Zinnia Blossoms Ch. 01

I'm an editor and I work primarily online both freelance and for a pretty major publishing house. As long as I get my work done the day is pretty much mine so I wasn't overly concerned about not having gotten off that morning. That my son had seen me in all my pre-orgasmic glory (and I have to say that thinking on it there are far worse things to see) was far more of a concern. So I got in contact with my best friend and she was around as soon as my son was gone for the day.

Linda is a cutie. She's short, she's blonde and she has the sexiest curves ever. She's sort of like a modern-day Marilyn Monroe. What she's not, however, is a prude. Or, for that matter, particularly subtle.

"So what did you do?" she asked when I told her about it. "Did you keep going?"

"No!" I was shocked. "I fell off my chair and yelled at him to get out. What the fuck, Linda? He's my son!"

Linda shrugged without concern and drank some of the tea I'd given her. It's very hard to tell when Linda is being serious because while she is possibly one of the broadest-minded people I know she also often says things just to get a reaction.

"I bet he'd have loved the show," she mused as if considering whether it was going to rain later in the week. "I bet he would. I would." She didn't seem to notice that I'd gone crimson and continued unabated. "You could always find out, I guess."

"Linda!"

"Okay, okay," she said, holding her hands up. "You know me, always shooting off at the mouth." She grinned, then. "Mind if I tell Nate about this?"

"Yes," I said hotly, "I mind a great deal." Nate is Linda's husband. "This is strictly between you and me."

In the end it was decided, mostly by Linda, that this wasn't the end of the world and that what I really needed was a night out on the town. No dates, no stress, no work. A night out with the girls (in which 'the girls' meant Linda) and a few drinks to merry the evening on. I agreed to that. Mostly to shut her up about my son watching me paddle my pussy.

To tell you the truth Linda's always been good at talking me into a heat and it was working. That, more than anything, scared me. Maybe if she weren't so good at talking it up I'd have put the whole thing behind me.

Or maybe not.

*****

The night out was a shambles. In fact I'll go to far as to call it a fucking shambles. I mean that literally.

The city I live in is huge. It's a major metropolitan area and there are lots of night spots about. My house is actually in a suburban area but it's only a short taxi ride to the CBD. That's where we went, with Linda at the helm and me pulled along for the ride.

At first I was uncomfortable. A couple of women in their forties can get some negative attention both from the younger, firmer women about and from the men. A couple of vodka-and-Cokes cured that, though, and while the first bar we hit was a bust the second was far more promising. We sat there watching people eye us off, flashing some leg and slowly getting ourselves well past tipsy. Now and then a guy would come up to try and chat us up - to chat Linda up, rather - but she'd invariably flash her wedding ring and chase them away.

It wasn't until we went to a nightclub that things got really heated.

We'll call the place Avenue 8. That's not its name but it strikes me as a good name for a nightclub so that's what we'll go with. The cover charge was low and we got into the throng of dancers pretty quickly.

My best friend, as I've mentioned before, has a tendency to let her hands wander when she's drunk. There was plenty of touching as we danced, Linda's hands wandering over my curves, which were snuggled into a somewhat stereotypical little black dress. I didn't expect the kisses she laid across my neck but I wasn't complaining. I wasn't quite ready to kiss back but I certainly let my hands do a bit of wandering of their own.

As a matter of fact my hands had been squeezing and kneading Linda's beautiful rear for, oh, a good couple of minutes when I spotted Sally watching we from across the room with eyes so wide I thought they'd fall out of her head.

I froze and Linda half-stumbled against me. I watched as Sandy came up to her sister, passed her a drink and sat down to watch as well. They'd both clearly been keeping an eye on the action for some time.

Linda didn't help. She looked up at me (I'm a bit taller than her), turned and let out a laugh. Then she snuggled up against me and moved my hands up to her breasts - much, I might add, to the delight of a couple of guys dancing nearby.

"We didn't need to leave," Linda complained as I dragged her out of the club.

"We fucking did," I snapped. "You were giving a girl-on-girl feel-show to my daughters. Doesn't that strike you as being a bit weird?"

She just shrugged. "Ten minutes more and I was probably going to drag one of those cute guys out and suck him off anyway," she admitted.

"Is Nate okay with that?"

"Yeah," Linda said in an offhand kind of manner. I wondered if she'd care even if he weren't that permissive.

*****

When I got home - without Linda - I couldn't help but admit I was all but dripping. I couldn't even tell you why, to this very day, but the night had wound me up like a top.

So, what's the smartest thing to do when you're half-drunk and horny with no safe release? Stop drinking, of course.

I kept drinking.

My head wasn't hurting any more but it also wasn't clear. And I was drunk, sure, but I can't say I was plastered. I sort of wish that I could. It'd be nice to have someone other than myself to blame for how the night ended.

Dane came in very late. He'd been working hard and he was angry. I heard the slam of his keys on the kitchen bench as I sat in the lounge room with a shot glass and a bottle of wine. Having shots of wine, if you're wondering, doesn't make you get drunk quicker. It's just a bit of silly fun. Dane let out a laugh when he came in and he pulled a seat up to sit next to me.

My head lolled a bit and I knew for a fact that I looked more drunk than I was. I'd learnt to do that in university and it was a skill that hasn't failed me yet. People forgive a lot more honesty when they think you're rat-arsed drunk.

"You're drunk, Mum," he observed, accurately.

"Yeah, bit," I admitted. I stared at him. Then I stared at my glass. I was tense and worried. There was a lot that I wanted to say to him but I didn't want to hurt him. "'Bout this morning," I began, but he cut me off.

"I'm going to need a drink as well if we're going to talk about this," he admitted. There was a pause as he fetched both a shot glass and an unopened bottle of very good vodka. He doesn't look anything like me but he has my tastes in drinks.

We shared a drink or three and didn't talk about much - his work, his bastard of a boss, the two very arrogant companies he'd had to run courier jobs for. I could see him getting relaxed and when I leaned a little against his arm he didn't pull away.

"Dane," I tried again, "this morning..."

"I'm sorry, Mum. I wouldn't have come in if I'd known."

I grinned a cheeky grin. "Should I leave the door open a bit so you know next time?" His blushing face made me laugh and I bumped his shoulder with mine. "I'm kidding," I said, "don't have a heart attack."

"So... You're not mad at me?"

'No, I'm not mad at you.' That's what I wanted to say. That's what I should have said. 'No, I'm not mad, let's just put it all behind us.' But that's not what I said. That's not even close to what I really said.

"I was so close," I said in a dreamy kind of voice, both flushed and horrified to hear my own voice. "If I'd kept going for just a moment I'd have cum all over my fingers."

There was a long pause.

"Er," Dane tried, but words failed him.

I burst into tears. The shame of it, the stupid shame, telling my own son how horny I'd been and feeling like I couldn't stop. It was wrong, I knew it was wrong and I wanted so much to be a good mother, but I wanted him and I couldn't get past that one basic, carnal fact. I covered my face in my hands and he, probably automatically, put his arms around me.

My head turned and my lips caught a kiss meant for my temple. It was a chaste kiss, one that I knew was coming. I can't even say it was an accident. It really wasn't. As soon as I felt his lips touch mine I wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and kissed him hard.

Dane didn't pull away but he also didn't respond. He was frozen there, completely out of his depth, no idea how to react. I could have apologised then, backed off, and things would have been... Well, they would have been fucking weird between us, but it would have been a relatively normal weird. Instead I pressed on, buoyed not by courage or even really alcohol, but instead by a rush of lust that had my free hand snaking down to clutch at the - yes, I wasn't imagining it - growing bulge in my son's pants.

"Mum," he said softly as our lips finally parted, but I cut him off.

"Fuck me," I said in my smokiest, most seductive voice. I felt him shiver and leaned in for the kill, so to speak. I kissed the lobe of his ear, nibbled and sucked it, whispered in it. "I need it, you saw how wet my pussy was." Dirty talk is something I love doing and I was using it like a weapon that night. "I need my pussy fucked by a nice hard cock. You'll fuck me, won't you, honey?" My voice twisted into a gentle, butterfly-light plea. My eyes, big and wide, looked up at him. Vulnerable. Begging.

And all of it a ruse. I wasn't begging. I wasn't vulnerable. I was a half-drunk, horny woman determined to break a three-year-long drought on the end of her own son's cock.

Speaking of, Dane didn't stop me when my deft fingers pulled that selfsame rod from his pants. God he was hard!

"Mum, we shouldn't -"

"Oooh," I breathed, pumping him with my hand while I leaned up to block his objection with another kiss. I pulled one of his hands to my boobs and, after a moment's hesitation, felt his fingers close around one of them in a gentle squeeze. When I felt his resistance slip I moved down and kissed the very tip of his lovely cock before slipping down it, my lips a perfect 'O'.

My son isn't circumcised. I find the practice to be barbaric. Luke was and while I never minded I swore early on that my son wouldn't have a perfectly healthy strip of skin clipped off his willy for no good reason. If it became medically important then absolutely, but it never did.

It was mostly retracted - they do that when the penis they're on is hard but I nonetheless took immense pleasure in rolling that foreskin all the way back with my lips. He sat stock-still, probably a bit scared, but I reached for one of his hands and put it on the back of my head. Brief pain flared up from the bump but then I lowered my head and my son's magnificent cock slip into my waiting, hungry mouth.

Dane's cock isn't a monstrous thing. I could exaggerate and say he has a huge snake dangling between his legs but he doesn't. It's around six inches (which is actually slightly above average, don't let anyone tell you it's not) and it curves upward slightly. In fact I found the angle to be hard to work with - my teeth got in the way - so I slipped off my seat to kneel in front of him.

The feeling of a man's shaft gliding down my throat... I'd missed it so much. I love giving head. Dane's taste is similar to Luke's, I found, but also uniquely different.

When Dane pulled me off his rod I let out a small, pitiful whine. Now I was begging. No more pretence, I needed to get fucked and I didn't care that it was Dane, not any more.

"Not here," was all he said, putting his cock back into his pants and slipping off his seat. Those were the last words he said to me all night.

*****

I followed him upstairs. The lack of cock was unsettling to me and in my tipsy state I wasn't sure if he was going to just put me in my bed and leave me. I thought I'd pop if he did.

He didn't.

He didn't take me to my room. He took me to his. That was the first sign that I was about to get what I wanted. The second was that he locked the door behind us. His door did have a lock. I wasn't the first girl to see the inside of his room, either, and it belatedly occurred to me that even if his sisters came home and heard thumps and whimpers they'd assume Dane had brought some new girlfriend home.

I stood very close to him as he turned around, brushing my hands over his body. His own touched me, very gently, as if I'd suddenly change my mind. A hand came close to my bosom, hesitated, and I leaned against it, kissing his collarbone as I did so. His hand wrapped itself around my breast and I pulled his head down.

"Please," I whimpered, almost crippled with need. "Fuck me. Now. I'm not kidding and I'm not running away."

I grabbed his belt and walked backward to his bed, pulling him with me. Looking up at him I sat down, my face level with his crotch, a hand running over the cloth-covered bulge.

He groaned and put a hand over his face as I undid his belt but he didn't back off. When his cock bobbed out of its confines I could see and smell a bead of precum on the end.

No more preamble, I decided, and I showed Dane how good his mother is at giving head.

Hand and mouth worked in unison, spreading saliva up and down his length, bobbing hard as I fucked my mouth with him. When my hands started pulling his pants down he let them fall, stepping out of both them and his underwear obligingly as they struck the floor. My tongue swirled around the head as it slid between my lips and I worked my way down to the very base of him (after a couple of uncomfortable false starts), deep-throating my big boy. When my hands weren't flat on his thighs they were massaging my breasts, pinching my nipples through the dress, or frigging my increasingly hungry pussy right through my already sodden panties.

My fingers spread my juices around. When I said that I get wet I mean really wet. The back of my little black dress had a wet patch on it from where my cunt had hungrily leaked on it. Now I spread my legs and rubbed the rough fabric of my underwear hard against my swelling clit before letting my fingers slip beneath to glide in my sodden folds. I've been told I have a gloriously sexy pussy and it was running like a tap. I made sure to get the tight ring of my arse glistening and damp from my spilt juices, not sure where my son's tastes would take him but wanting to be ready for anything.

I whined again when he pulled his rod free from my mouth but I could tell from the tight way he gripped the base that he was close. He didn't want to finish yet - such a considerate boy! - and I didn't want him to either. He kissed me hard on the lips, as if exploring the taste of his own dick, tongue gliding over mine. Then he leaned me back on the bed until I was lying.

The skirt of my dress rolled up for him very easily. I'd forgotten how easy it was to make myself ready for sex in that dress, which is odd because that's one of the reasons I originally bought it. I ran my fingers through Dane's hair as he nudged around my pussy, taking up position between my legs. His breath was a thrill of pleasure over my cunt. Tears ran down my cheeks, guilty tears of shame, but I didn't stop him. I rocked my hips. I wanted more.

The first touch of his tongue on my clit almost made me cum then and there. I know that sounds made-up but it's true. I was so wound up and what we were doing was so naughty, so thrilling, that it almost overtook me. It didn't take too many long, enthusiastic laps to set me off, either, and I heard a noise of surprise as my already damp sex became much more so, my thighs shaking in orgasm.

I couldn't see - it was too dark - but I felt his fingers exploring. They slid into me, examined the rough texture on my front wall, the silken depths further back, the puffy ring of my cervix. I heard his laugh as, so deep in me, his fingers made me arch and rock. Fingers prodded at and tempted my arse, the tight hole flexing and relaxing rhythmically.

Then he started moving up my body, pulling my dress as he went. It got caught about halfway up and there was an awkward, less-than-sexy moment when I was forced to stop him and unzip for fear of ripping the garment, but soon it was over my head and off.

I could see him kneeling over me, looking me over from neck to knee, barely hidden in my underwear. I saw his cock twitch in anticipation and I couldn't decide if I wanted to hide myself and run in shame, or to spread myself and demand he finish what had been started.

He made the decision, in the end, by kissing my neck and working downward. He tried - and failed - to get my bra off single-handedly so I gave him some help with that and my breasts bounced free. I heard his breath catch and he stopped, staring, for a few moments. A huge grin crept across my lips as I pumped his rod with one hand.

My son's a boob man, I noted gleefully.

Then I lifted my hips and slid my panties down my legs as he watched. I carelessly tossed them to one side where they made a lewd, soppy 'splat' noise as they hit his wardrobe. Finally I stretched my arms out to him, welcoming him.

He didn't take the offer immediately. He pulled his shirt off first. Naked and glorious, a heated silhouette in the dark, the sight of him made my heart leap and melted the core of my sex.

That turned into apprehension and then, as he lay down, near panic. He suckled on my nipples, one at a time, and the every thrill made me wetter and more scared. As I felt his shaft rub up and down my painfully swollen clit I let out a terrified squeak.

"Please," I begged, "gently."

The absurdity of it didn't seem to strike either of us. Here we were, about to commit incest in the most definite and undeniable way possible and I, his slutty, dirty-talking cock-sucking mother, was begging Dane to be careful with me. It felt like I was a virgin again, helplessly vulnerable in my man's arms, quivering in delight and fear at his every touch.

Then a moment of hot squishy pleasure as the head of his cock teased my folds. Then a heated pressure and I felt him gliding into me.

It ripped a squeal from my lips. I couldn't help it and it was out before either of us could stop it. My pussy walls were swollen and, gushy mess notwithstanding, I was tight. I felt every inch, every fraction of an inch, as he pushed into me for the first time. One of my hands grasped at his tight bum and the other at the back of his neck. I felt like he was crushing the air out of me with that one thrust. Then I felt his pubic hair tickling my clit and his heavy balls bump gently at my arse.

He was in. My boy was in. My own son was fucking me.

"D-dane," I whimpered, "y-you're fucking your mother." I felt him stop. He could hear the panic in my voice. "And she f-fucking loves it."

Then he kissed me. Hard. I felt him pull back and it was like having something impossibly valuable taken from me. I let out a ragged breath as he pushed back in and I knew, without a doubt, that this was really happening.

He glided into me over and over and, with the glorious motion, I began to let him in more easily. He grunted now and then as I clenched around him reflexively, my legs locking behind his back to keep him from pulling all the way out. I wasn't concerned about pregnancy; I was on the pill just to keep the worst of my period symptoms down. My tits were squashed against his chest as he thrust and I kissed him, oh, how I kissed him. I was still crying, silent tears that I couldn't really understand, but every time he tried to slow down I'd tighten my hands on his backside and urge him on.

I think I came before he did. Or it was at the same time, I'm not sure. I know it wasn't the feeling of him tensing, pounding deep and twitching as his cock spurted his cream deep into me, nor the feeling of that sticky cum spilling out and down my skin, because when I felt those things it extended my orgasm. I came so hard and so long, biting the meaty flesh of his shoulder and muffling my scream as best I could (which wasn't, on reflection, very well).