The Spark

At the time, I couldn't believe it, I didn't know whether to feel shocked, shamed, angry or pleased that my son had overstepped the mark with a close friend of mine. One thing was for sure, I was in a bit of an awkward situation and I now found myself sinking into a journey toward the forbidden.

Let me explain. Helen, my neighbor and very close friend, was, like me, in her early forties and married with a growing young family. She had an eighteen year old son Simon who was a friend to my own nineteen year old son.

Helen had just recanted the story of how my boy, after spending an evening at her home sharing some beers with her son, had asked her for a kiss when he had managed to find a moment alone with her. Of course, Helen had politely declined, reminding him that she was a married woman. But this hadn't stopped him forcing himself on her and wrapping his arms around her waist and squeezing her bottom. Apparently he attempted to slide her skirt up and pushed his body against hers where she could clearly feel his arousal. She fortunately stopped him with a simple reprimand and a gentle push away.

Helen had sort of giggled as she told me the story, but it worried me that she was considering him as some sort of pervert or worse a potential rapist. I had reassured her I would deal with it, but all the time I was thinking . . . I had no knowing of what I should do.

Helen played the situation down and made little of it, explaining that it was a combination of the alcohol and his hormones running wild and that this happens to most teenage boys.

Still! I was upset. Thoughts raced through my mind and continued to torment me after I had been told this story. I found it very difficult to concentrate on any other subject over the next few days and even more difficult to carry on normal conversation whilst in the company of my son. What should I say? Should I confront him with it? Could I confront him with it?

What if Helen had fabricated the tale, that was unlikely . . . surely? Perhaps she was teasing me by making me believe that my son Donny found her attractive enough to become aroused by her.

She was slim, with a teenage sized ass and pert little boobies admittedly. Should I feel upset that her son Simon had not attempted to force himself upon me. I felt attractive enough myself, much more of a Marilyn Monroe figure, that would not be an unfair comparison, even for my age, the only major difference being that I had a dark chestnut hair color, styled slightly more classic.

Besides, I thought that Simon was not as handsome as my Donny anyway. Oh dear! -- was that wrong to think like that? -- of course not, mothers think that their own children are better looking than that of other families.

I still felt I had to say something about the incident, if for nothing else other than to keep Donny in check and hopefully warn him not to pester or attempt to molest Helen again. I didn't want my friendship ruined, or the neighborhood gossiping.

Over the next few mornings whilst preparing breakfast, I thought I could quickly speak to him after his father had left for work. But it was during this time I had noticed I could hear the sound of his bed creaking, it was not the sound of him awaking, more a rhythmic sound that increased in tempo over a short time period of a few minutes and then was followed by silence, then followed by the sound of him jumping from the bed and dressing.

I could guess what he was up to and if I thought correctly, he certainly must have active hormones, because every morning before breakfast I figured he was masturbating. Now I couldn't scold my son for 'wanking', it was a natural act after all, him relieving some of that sexual energy. My concern was that he was fantasizing about sex with Helen.

Over the following mornings a weird situation was developing. As I stood in the kitchen, I was building this picture in my mind of Helen in the bedroom in a variety of sexual positions, moaning and grunting as my son made love to her.

I was being sucked into a confused and bizarre state of mind where I was actually imagining my sons' sexual fantasy, partly with disgust but equally with excitement. Why should I be thinking such a thing? One thing was for sure, hearing him wank in the morning was strangely, starting to make me hot.

The thoughts of my sons sex rarely left my mind from each day from that point forward. When I spent time with Helen during the day, either at my house or hers, we would sit in the kitchen sharing general chit-chat. Meanwhile, in my mind it was quite different. I was looking at her and undressing her for my boy, and had started including her in my bizarre three way fantasy.

Like so many erotic fantasies they are set alight by a small spark and grow and grow into a raging fire and I could feel this fire growing in me. At first my imaginings were of my Donny coupled in intercourse with Helen and I was a detached observer, somewhat like watching a porn movie but with people that looked familiar. I felt rushes of guilt and upset, and feelings of lust and excitement all at the same time, all whilst thinking a variety of lewd thoughts.

I knew things were getting out of hand when the most taboo thought entered my mind. Not a thought of full sex, but an explosive moment that entered my mind on a lusty evening with my hubby.

We had returned home from an evening at our regular pub and were both slightly tipsy, my hubby was in one of his horny moods. He wanted me to change into some sexy night-time outfit, which I was only to glad to do, thinking of the love making I would enjoy. But as I went to my lingerie drawer and started sorting through the garments, thoughts of dressing up for my son started racing through my head. As I sat and undressed at the dresser table I turned and looked at the marriage bed and pictured my naked son lying astride Helen. I imagined her to be fully clothed, wearing her blouse, which she had open to her navel. Her small titties were squeezed out of the cups of her bra and her big brown nipples were erect. I pictured her with her tight tweed pencil skirt ruffled up around her hips revealing her tan nylon stocking tops and suspender belt. She still had her brown court shoes on but her legs were raised and pointed from her bent knees toward the bedroom door. I watched my sons ass gently and sexily pump up and down and thought of his throbbing hard cock thrilling the inside of Helen's loved up pussy. Yes I was thinking that way about my son . . . 'throbbing hard cock', but still, not making love to me.

I was in love and hyper excited by these fantasy images as I drew my fully fashioned black nylon stockings over my legs. I fastened the suspender belt around my hips and secured the fastenings. I then placed my luscious black half cupped embroidered silk bra on and my black maribou kitten heeled slippers on my feet. And finally a transparent teal teddy trimmed with black maribou and opened down the front, it only being held together with a little bow.

I stood up and framed my hairy pussy in a triangle between my hands as I gazed at it in the mirror lustily, then I quietly asked under my breath . . . 'Are you ready to watch your mummy fuck my darling?' I again turned to the bed imagining my son there.

I climbed onto the bed and assumed an enticing and provocative pose as if lying beside Helen and Paul in their love clasp and shouted through to the lounge to my hubby 'Are you coming to bed, it's late'.

I knew this wouldn't make the intention of my wanting a fucking obvious should my son accidently overhear it in the real world, as he was hopefully asleep in his room only a few doors away. Secretly I was wishing he was here to watch his mummy and daddy enjoy their session, the thought made me all the hotter.

Within seconds my hubby was in the room stripping his clothing off and before you could shake a tail feather, he was on the bed beside me. His cock was already hard in wanton anticipation and glistening with pre-cum. If he could only imagine what I was thinking. I loved it as we groped and kissed, I felt his fingers enter me as I wanked him, then I sucked him for a bit as he lapped at my pussy lips. We played and teased for some time before he positioned himself between my thighs.

'Are you watching baby?' I let slip, as my husbands wonderful dick slid into my hallowed love chute. Hubby lay atop of me propped up on his hands watching as he fucked! I turned to the side, again seeing my boy and Helen in my fantasy laying beside us, matching our rhythm as we each fucked in unison. I started imagining talking to him - the feeling was intense, I stretched my hand to that side of the bed dreaming my son was holding it.

'Fuck her slutty pussy!' I blurted out and could feel my husbands reaction as at first, he paused. Then I gasped aloud. . . 'She's your whore, fuck her, fuck the nasty lady' . . . my husband started thrusting with full slamming strokes gathering pace as he went.

That was the point where I knew the taboo obsession had taken over bigtime. I was on fire, my body was burning with sinful pleasures and wicked thoughts, my husbands fucking was feeling better than ever and the fantasy thoughts were fueling it.

I cried out 'Yes! Yes! kiss me baby, kiss your mummy, she's cumming . . . she's fucking and cumming!' I felt a tongue push into my mouth and started tongue wrestling as orgasm after orgasm flooded my entire body. I grabbed and held my hubbies hair, thrusting my tongue rapidly in and out of his mouth like a cock fucking it, dreaming it was Donny who was kissing his mummy, just as my inside was being washed with jets of hot spunk from his dad. I was groaning out loud in ecstasy. 'Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! baby!' I sighed. 'Oh . . . mummy feels good.' I whispered. 'Fill me with your Cum daddy . . . fill my hot cunt!'

My husband loved it, but little could he imagine what his now depraved wife was thinking.

I was wanting to fuck my own son.

What was happening to me? Should I attempt to fulfill my fantasy?