Temptation Ch. 01byChristineR©
To readers whose preference is to read instant sexual activity, I'm sorry to disappoint you.
Thanks to editor Norm.
My name is Christine. I am a 41-year-old wife and mother. If they were asked about it, people who know our family and me would probably call me a prim and proper wife. I'm cultured, moral, modest, wholesome, virtuous ... in a word, chaste. And that is the kind of woman I have tried to be for most of my life. They call me such because I do not miss going to church on Sundays and other days of obligation; and more so, because I have made the virtues of purity and propriety as unwritten rules to be carefully honored, at home and in the community. The truth is that decency and being a virtuous woman with high morals really does matter to me; these really are things that I care about.
On a scale of 1-10, it appears that most men and women who know me rate my sexual attractiveness as about a '7'. No matter, the fact is that I do take care to dress appropriately and act demurely, as a proper woman should.
I stand 5 feet 7 inches tall; weigh 128 lbs, brown-haired and blue-eyed. And I have been blessed further with smooth skin and a well-formed figure. The nature of my bosom is such that it is rather difficult to downplay.
I'm so proud of my son, a handsome young teenager named Albert. He's a polite, courteous kid whose good manners he'd obviously inherited from his mother. (Forgive my prideful slip.) He is 18. Still, the big growth spurt with that age hasn't hit him yet. He still stands at only about 5' 7" tall. That does make him not an inch taller than me yet. He has a very sweet personality, very thoughtful, and amazingly mature and discreet, far beyond his years; and he's dark-haired and blue-eyed, too, like his mother.
My husband Mark is a good family man and provider and not bad in bed, or was anyway. Suffice it to say that we are a happy family with a nice house living in a relatively comfortable community.
There is one thing I have to say. Just because a wife is doing her best to be a woman of virtue does not make her a living saint as some people may think. Inside the Sunday dress she wears is a typical woman, with needs and sexual fantasies too. To remain prim and proper though she keeps her physical expressions under the tightest possible control, but not necessarily her private fantasies.
And so here I am, a role model wife and mother, or so they say. No one in the neighborhood would ever suspect me of visiting erotic sites in the Internet, like Literotica.com, but I do of course, only when no one is watching. I must maintain my standing with the community.
* * *
One recent morning while I was cleaning my son's room, putting in order his disorderly stuff, I saw a white full-length cotton robe underneath his sheets. It was my robe. I was puzzled. How did that get here? I remember putting the gown in the laundry hamper the night before. And why in the world would it be in here anyway? Not suspecting anything further, I took it with me to the hamper to await the next washing.
I would have dismissed the discovery altogether if not for another one. Soon after, on another morning, I once more found a full-length silk robe of mine in his room, this time my pink one. That was the one I'd just slipped out from just about an hour earlier, before my son left.
I didn't take it with me to the hamper just yet this time but decided instead to ask my son later what on earth he wanted from my used private clothing. I decided to try to learn a bit more about this first just the same.
When he came home late afternoon, I allowed him to get some rest for some time before carrying out my planned "offensive." I would need to catch him, however, so to speak, before he could return the housecoat to my hamper. And to that, I remained vigilant watching his bedroom door.
The time for my "offensive" came. As a pre-emptive act, I didn't knock at his door when I entered his room. That was a mistake. Was I ever in for the shock of my life.
The scene was stunning, to say the least! What I saw was not for the hypertensive or the weak of heart. My handsomely gorgeous teen-aged son was lying on his bed masturbating, his mother's long robe covering his naked body. The scene looked like he was trying to heighten his sexual climax by carefully devouring every square inch of the gown, appearance, touch, scent, everything.
I managed to utter a quick apology before withdrawing and hurriedly closed the door, stunned and breathless.
My mind was awhirl, my legs quivering and about to buckle. I felt so weak that I had to hold on to something to keep upright. If my clothing were not involved, I would have been a good deal less stunned over what I'd just seen. Or at least, I thought it was reasonable enough to handle it satisfactorily, even if it was well outside of what I considered appropriate boundaries.
In any case, however, I immediately made the missing connection. It could only mean that my son was harboring sexual fantasies towards his mother. He was apparently making his mother's recently used clothing into a fetish of some sort, directing his sexual energy to it and to the traces of his mother on it, her scent and body heat. And as far as I was concerned then, it was wrong!
I began rehearsing a dialogue on how to talk about it with my son. As I did, it flashed into my mind that he might have thought I failed to recognize my clothing anyway. And so, I decided not to talk about it for the time being.
Masturbation is held, after all, in the general public's mind, to be a normal thing, especially for adults anyway whether male or female. Therefore, there need not be a fuss about it. Chidingly, I reminded myself, I even do it myself, for heaven's sake.
Come dinner time, Albert told us he'd come down later. Obviously, to avoid embarrassment was the reason behind it.
The next day, when I was about to do the laundry, my pink robe was back at the hamper, with additions. The stains of my son's ejaculations were there for me to see and touch.
A sudden sexual tingling enveloped my body. The thought of my son ejaculating in my just taken off private clothing, my body heat and scent still in it was, to my mind, very sexy. I abandoned the laundry stuff and soon found myself in my bed, wrapped in the unwashed, long robe that my son had sprayed with his potent sperms the night before, participating in a very private, sensual behavior.
The touch of the silk was erotic. It seemed now as if I could feel the intensity of my son's youthful passion as he'd heatedly ravished my article of private clothing. For myself, I began masturbating in the same unwashed gown as hotly as my son had probably done, if not more so.
Spreading and writhing obscenely, my robed body began to perspire as my fingers neared my pussy. My mouth opened and expelled a loud gasp as my finger touched lightly against the wet flesh along my clitoris.
Using my finger, I made rhythmic in and out strokes while my left hand wandered up beneath my robe playing with my erect nipples.
My thighs began to tremble, tightening and untightening as my steadily probing finger drove me to still higher states of arousal.
When my heated body was about to explode my legs straightened and spread further apart, curling my toes and feeling the silky robe tease my thighs and calves into sensual awareness.
"My God! I'm... I'm...coming...almost there...Oohhhhh!"
When I exploded, my quivering ass rose up in the air. I must have remained jerking about like that for a full minute as I crossed the peak of one of the most ecstatic orgasms ever to hit my body.
When my ass finally fell back to bed, my body wouldn't stop jerking. My ass continued to shake, my crack spasming with sensual aftershocks.
I felt guilty when it was over, very guilty. I knew so well that two wrongs do not make a right. Yet I had done it, the second wrong. For hours, my prim and proper self couldn't fathom the reason why, nor was it very pleased with me.
Because guilt and sexual spasms lorded it over my mind and body I failed to do the laundry that day. I decided to do the washing the next day.
Come evening at dinner time Albert couldn't look directly at me. The poor kid was so obviously embarrassed. I wasn't much more able to look directly at him either. If only he knew that I too had done what he had. My shame and private embarrassment was beyond measure.
We clumsily and uncertainly did our best to carry on with life as usual as I didn't bother to mention anything to my son even before his father came home. All the while my husband was totally oblivious to what was in the minds of his wife and son in front of him.
After dinner I went to my hamper to throw in more clothes for washing when I noticed something odd. Would I be in for another shock of my life, the second in a row in 24 hours. The still unwashed robe that my son and I had shared sexually was missing. Almost instantly erotic chills ran down my spine.
Powerful sexy thoughts of my son jerking off in our sexually-shared housecoat, after doing it myself earlier in the day, flooded my mind. If not for the equally powerful feeling of guilt I could have quietly walked into my son's bedroom door to watch him and do it with him.
Guilt, however, sternly told me to run to the bathroom and douse my heating up body with running water.
True to form the shower made my body and mind fresh and clean. But not for long. I hurriedly rushed back to the laundry room to check and, luckily, was not disappointed. The robe of seduction was back, reeking with sex. As I buried my face in it I noticed that the scent of my creamed body was still very much in it, however, mixing with my son's masculine scent.
Without bothering to check on who could have noticed me I locked myself in the laundry room, tore off whatever clothing was in my body, slipped in the silky robe of seduction and intensely masturbated in it, standing with my back against the wall.
The sensuality of it was intense. I found myself into the thought of my son sucking my breasts and massaging my crack as my body was feeling the sensual touch of the sexy silk wrapped around it.
As I furiously fingered myself, the image of Albert's youthful hard cock in his mother's love nest made my climax far more real, filling and fulfilling me with his potent eruptions.
My body shook like I could hear thunder crashing over me when I deliriously felt the touch of silk tight under my bottom as my own finger pushed the seductive clothing through it.
When it was over, my body, with the love-battered robe still hanging loosely over it, was lying on the floor, moaning and hips jerking spasmodically.
* * * * *
I went to church the next Sunday, still, as prim and proper as a wife of my stature would be, notwithstanding the evil actions that I had done. No one, absolutely no one, knew, or will ever know, of the sick fantasies my son and I had shared in my private clothing.
One late night, the erotic stories I'd been reading would not leave my thoughts. sleep eluded me. As my tired, hard-working husband snored away his body's fatigue, I slipped into a robe to cover my pantied-only body and went down to the study to read more newly submitted stories of the same sort, covering various genres.
They were all coarse stories, using words that made me squirm most uncomfortably. But oh, the tales they told in spite of that! As usual now, reading them made me so horny.
As I read with passion, I slipped out of my white panties and nakedly started pleasuring myself. In less than a minute, I was fast approaching a mighty orgasm that I knew could quite possibly make me fall from my chair. Almost there, I was startled at the last moment to hear footsteps coming down the stairway.
However frustrating it was, I immediately closed the webpage, put my robe back around myself, and rushed out of the study, expecting to meet who I thought was going to be my husband.
I was stunned to see Albert, my son, instead on his way to the laundry room. He looked like a budding Adonis in his gray shorts and t-shirt. Even in that dimly lit juncture, Albert's attire revealed in outline his developing manhood quite clearly. He was equally surprised to see me in his darkened path, as he thought I was already fast asleep.
Instantly, I knew what he was up to. He was out to get his fetish, another of my dirty robes. He wanted to feel what was left of my body heat on it.
His youthful face could not conceal his surprise and disa[ointment over his suddenly altered change of plans. How I wished I allowed him to take his fetish before I went out of the study. But then how would I know that it was him?
He stammered trying to explain to me what he intended to do at the laundry room at that ungodly hour. As he stuttered about, I was horrified to remember my panties had been left lying on the study room floor. I was so quietly thankful it was my son and not my husband who'd come down. I'd surely have been in deep trouble were it Mark, especially if he were to have tumbled upon those discarded panties.
After quietly exchanging a few quiet words of social greeting, I began quizzing the young man there in the darkened hallway. Due to the stillness of the night we were careful to talk in low voices, something that wittingly or otherwise intensified the aura of sex in the air.
Not a few would say that a mother and her son, both scantily dressed as we were and trapped in a darkened corner of the house, was only for the fantasy books. Yet, me and my son were exactly that at the moment.
I, his mother, just a few feet away from his obvious anatomy, was in even less proper apparel. I was in my long white silk robe with nothing underneath. My defenseless womanhood could have been so easily contacted or penetrated by any horny animal, had there been one around. Luckily, it was a courteous, polite, and somewhat distraught young man that was the only male animal present.
I tried to play down the sexual tension building up by taking the chance to ask him what he had been doing to my clothing.
"Let's have a talk for a while, shall we?"
I swayed my hips towards the living room, my hands tightly clasped at my sheer robe. He followed, side by side with me with his right hand around my waist. Such a gesture was nothing new to us but, for an unexplained reason, it felt unusual to me that night.
"Have a seat, young man."
"Anything important, Mom?
I really wasn't prepared for an intense verbal confrontation; so I was forced to engage him in small talk while silently rehearsing in the back of my mind, dialogues of my theme. Once sorted out, and taking a deep breath to settle myself, I turned to more significant matters. Finally, I took a seat in a chair opposite where he was seated, facing him.
"Any good reason you can tell me for heading down to the laundry at this hour?" I asked, careful to keep it in a whisper.
"Just probably the reason why you're here," he quietly joked, smiling, rather obviously trying to fend off his uncomfortableness over the item. He surprised me with his apparent composure.
"I was in the study playing with the computer. I heard someone coming down. I thought it was your dad."
"Then jumped out, scared that Dad might see you chatting with someone in the YM?"
Hm, for a kid, he's sure cocky with his comebacks, I thought to myself.
"I don't use the computer for chatting. Not my cup of tea."
"Good. Very good then."
"Why'd you say that?"
"Nothing," he replied, coyly shaking his head.
"What if I do?"
Our eyes met as we shared a suppressed giggle before we resumed talking. Our quiet whispers returned to the mundane however. We remained at that visual face-off for sometime and quite loaded by then with sexual implications as we chatted quietly in soft voices.
"Hey Mom, what really makes you awake at this time?"
"Why do you ask? Dissapointed that you failed to get something from the laundry?"
"Well, ummmm...just asking."
"What if I let you get it now, would you?"
"Ahhh, errrr, ummmm...what is it?"
"Don't know. It was you who was headed there."
A brief pause followed after which, for an obvious reason, we giggled together.
I rose to my feet and went over to the couch to sit beside him. That seemed to be the right thing to do at this time as his gazes started to wander around my scantily covered anatomy like his eyes had x-rays with them. But it was not before I went over the counter to pour drinks for us. It was a good way, I thought, to calm our nerves.
Now seated beside him, me on his left, we seemed to be almost invariably drawn to each other. In the resulting closeness, our legs pressed together lightly as we sat there side by side.
Before I could avoid it, Albert slowly but firmly welded the entire length of his left leg with mine. I made no attempt to move my lap away as I didn't want to embarrass him. I knew anyway that the touch of my robe was his fetish. More so with my leg in it, live and jerking.
The light pressing of our legs at first seemed to be a normal thing, at least to me. When it lingered and hardened, the friction started to quicken my sexual sensitivity.
We remained quiet while sipping booze and, after sometime, his leg lightly rubbed mine vertically. Unconsciously, I responded and did the same.
The rubbing and swaying of our legs plus the sexual arousal building up in me was not good for keeping my robe together in discreet and proper fashion. I had to hold on to it to keep it from falling open.
And oh, the rubbing, swaying and light jerking of our legs continued. The setting was soooo erotic. It was that of a mother and son in the dark, playing footsie in a love seat.
A natural feeling of guilt made me contemplate not to allow myself to be carried away with such lingering footsie with my own son. But the sensations were too good to stop as the friction between our legs was turning sensuously hotter by the minute.
Then to add to the quandary at that juncture, I swear I saw a tent begin rising up in my son's shorts. Shamelessly, I was hardly doing any better. God, was I getting wet.
Our conversation rather faltered, neither of us seeming to be thinking very clearly somehow.
"You're ... ummm."
"I mean...you know...pretty."
"Sure, you are."
"Thank you. But, you Know what?"
Once more we shared a suppressed giggle as we both stammered. Our legs, still erotically glued together, continued to rub and lightly sway. Words failed us both. With my sitting across no longer distracting him, he was able to raise his vision to my face. He looked me gently in the eye. I responded in kind. And then, it stayed that way. Our eyes remained locked together, lingering and wordless even as we continued sipping our drinks.
Human breathing was the only sound in the still of the night. The locked gazes strongly affected the internal goings-on in our bodies, or at least in my body.
When the eyelock broke my stare dropped at my son's hard-on, straining within his shorts. I was sure he knew about it. What he didn't know perhaps was the presence of a sexual resonance. He was hard while his mother, sitting beside him, was wet beneath her robe.
From the looks of it it seemed we both had discarded whatever morals was developed in our psyche. Had the love-battered robe that we sexually shared in separate private moments caused it? It would seem that it did.
Soft and breathy whispers resumed. If someone happened to be eavesdropping on us from an unintelligible distance, he would have jerked-off right then and there in the dark just listening to what he would imagine as "love whispers."