A Family that Lays Together...

"Why don't you put some music on?" Cindy suggested, knowing this would keep him occupied for a minute and hopefully cool his ardor.

In the kitchen, Josh had come up behind his mother, who was standing in front of the oven, checking on the meat pie she had placed there 20 minutes or so before. Though she could actually see her son approaching her through the darkened glass which acted as a mirror, she pretended to be taken by surprise as he whispered into her ear.

"Mm, smells good."

She longed for him to place his hands on her waist, then up over her apron and onto her breasts. She longed too for him to lean right into her so that she could feel what she was certain would be the erection in his pants.

Once, before Josh was married, one evening when Cindy had been over for dinner, it had started snowing heavily and they had offered her the use of the guest room. Once Collin had fallen asleep, Imelda had crept out of her room and down the corridor, unable to believe that Cindy would still be in her room. As it happened she was, but Josh was in there with her.

She could hear them talking and laughing. Every now and then one or other of them would tell the other to be quiet, after which they would both dissolve into even more uncontrolled laughter. Finding herself shivering, Imelda went downstairs to get a coat before returning to her station outside the room. This time, she couldn't hear any sounds, even though light was still spilling onto the carpet in the corridor.

She thought they must have gone to sleep, and she was herself about to go back to bed when she heard Josh groan. Her sixth sensed told Imelda that Cindy was blowing her boy, her Josh. Her first reaction was not one of arousal, but one of anger. How dare that girl do such vile things do her son?

Whatever emotions she was feeling, Imelda remained rooted to the spot. She could hear her son moaning as it seemed uncontrollably. Suddenly she was no longer a bystander but a participant, her finger rubbing her clitoris. She was no longer angry or envious; she was herself in Cindy's place. The girl had vanished away.

So much so that when Cindy spoke, for Imelda it was her own voice that she was hearing. And whoever spoke those words, they were words that she would never forget.

"God, you are so fucking big! Bigger than any man I've ever been with!"

It was only a matter of minutes before Josh came (presumably into her mouth, since Imelda could hear nothing from her), but by this time Imelda herself had already come - twice! Her clitoral climax having been gotten out of the way, she had reached a tremendous orgasm in her vagina - one that seemed to go on for ever.

Now here they were together in the kitchen. She just knew he had to be hard. She could unzip him right there and then, and blow him, knowing he would come before anyone came looking for them. Then she could get up on the counter and he could fuck her with his gigantic weapon.

In the event, Josh had moved over to the fridge, where he was getting something to take through to the living room. Imelda gave a small cough and told Josh she would be through in a minute or two, when she'd seen to the salad dressing. In fact, it was already made, and was sitting in the fridge, where Josh would have probably noticed it. She just needed a little time to calm herself, to make sure that she was her usual composed self, in control of all around her - and inside her...

Imelda sat down next to Cindy on the couch, just as she had done a few months back in what seemed now like another era. Even as he chatted with his father, Josh let his eye briefly wander across the room.

"What a picture they make!" he thought, even as images of the two of them kissing one another passionately raced across his mind.

Later that evening, after they had arrived home, Josh had a laugh at his own expense when he recalled that fantasy. Whatever Cindy might have gotten up to (and she'd told of what she called some 'fumbling about' with another cheerleader at high school), the idea of his mother so much as kissing another woman, let alone getting really intimate with her, was preposterous. One might as well expect the same behaviour from the pastor's wife!

FOURTEEN

Imelda had only been waiting for a window to open and now finally it had. Collin was going to be away on business for a few days in Dallas (followed by a seniors golf tournament over the weekend in Florida) and, by a miraculous stroke of fate, Cindy's mother, who lived in Alaska, had chosen this particular time to slip on the ice and break her wrist. Cindy thought it was the least she could do to go back for a week or so and help her keep house. The others said nothing to her but found this amusing, because of all the things Cindy wasn't equipped for it was cleaning, cooking, shopping and domestic chores.

"Maybe you could ask Josh to come over and keep you company," Collin said to Imelda shortly before he departed.

Cindy was much less enthused by the idea, but decided to float it to Josh anyway just to see how he would react.

"Oh, I don't know," he replied. "I really ought to get started on the baby's room."

The baby's room in question was the second floor bedroom close to theirs, which they had earmarked for their firstborn. It was currently used as a storeroom and needed a little remodeling, then redecorating. Josh and Cindy had already decided on the color scheme.

Josh realized he'd painted himself into a bit of a corner with this comment, but maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. His mother had been acting a bit strangely of late and it might be best if he kept contact with her to a minimum. Maybe they could meet up in town for lunch one day, and perhaps he could visit her on the Saturday evening after he'd spent a day working on the baby's room.

As for Imelda, she immediately embarked on a fitness regimen, spending every spare moment in the gym, and counting the days until Collin would be off. When the day came, she was up early to make him breakfast and drive him to the airport. Wishing him luck with his golf, she kissed him on the cheek before heading to the library, her exercise clothes in a small tote bag, ready for the workout she had planned for the evening.

As expected, she didn't hear from Josh during the day, so she thought she'd take the initiative and call him once she got home. His tone was a little remote, she thought, but that didn't bother her in the least. He suggested they had lunch together the next day, but Imelda said she was busy and suggested the Friday. Josh seemed to perk up when he sensed that his mother wasn't desperate for his company, and by the time they ended the call he was back to his usual cheerful, teasing self.

On the Thursday, Imelda was working only a half-day. Even then, the time seemed to drag as she looked forward to the session with the Thai manicurist which she had booked for two o'clock. Two hours later she left the shop, feeling a million dollars with her fingernails and her toenails looking a treat in different shades of red - the fingernails blood red and the toenails scarlet.

She had yet to meet the man who could resist the message conveyed by this colour, representing fire, danger and raw passion. Usually it was a case of look, but no touching; but, if everything went to plan this weekend, touching would be just the start of it.

A vigorous session in the gym followed, after which Imelda, resisting the temptation to do a little shopping and eat out, returned home to the salad which she would be eating - again - for dinner. Fresh fruit followed, and then an early night. She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep immediately, but then she hadn't intended to. First, she needed to attend to her non-material needs.

Placing the wedding photo of Josh and Cindy on a pillow on the bed beside her, she dropped her hand to her sex and began to rub her clitoris, her eyes boring through Cindy's wedding dress. She was feasting on her tits. They were alone in the washroom of the hotel where the reception was taking place. Cindy's long white dress was piled up on the floor, covering her dainty feet in their Italian-made fancy buckled shoes.

Her pussy was bare - smooth and shaven. To her garter belt was attached a blue ribbon ("Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue", Imelda realized with delight). She had just enough time to make her climax before the guests began to miss them. Dropping to her knees, she let her tongue travel once up her slit, and once more down again, before assaulting her as if her life depended on it. Even as Cindy cried out in ecstasy, Imelda received the orgasm that she was craving at her own fingers.

Still, though, she wasn't satisfied. Cindy had only been the appetizer. Now she needed the main course. Her eyes focused on Josh, looking so handsome in his tuxedo. Suddenly, she was alone with him. He had come into her hotel room early on the morning of their wedding. Cindy was in the room she was sharing with the maid of honor. He was having trouble with the studs on his dress shirt. He asked Imelda to help him sort them out. He hadn't yet put on his suit. He was wearing only shorts.

"You've missed a button," his mother told him. "I'll have to undo them all and start again."

Her fingers fairly flew down his starched shirt-front. Before he had time to realize what was happening, her fingers were uncoupling the last stud. Now, he knew, was the time to thank his mother and return to his own room. Instead, he found himself rooted to the spot, unable to do anything as his mother's soft hand traced circles over his well-defined abs.

Something (be it gravity or a mother's intuition) caused the hand to move lower. Its circling now included the upper part of his shorts. They were red, screaming fire, danger and passion - raw passion. It didn't take long for the motion of her hand to be impeded by his rampant erection.

Josh winced and made one last effort to ensure that the first person he fucked on this day of all days should be his wife. But it was all to no avail. His shorts no longer presented any sort of a barrier, and his mother's tongue was doing incredible things with his distended penis.

"Aw, fuck!" he groaned - louder and more passionately, Imelda felt certain, than when she had heard him through the door of the guest room.

"Fuck me against the door!" Imelda told him, moving across the room and leading him by the hand.

Before he had a chance to think what he was doing, he had lifted his mother up so that her legs were around his waist. In one easy movement, he entered her, causing her to cry out in abandon.

"One, two, three, four," she counted every stroke as he went deeper and deeper inside her - deeper than any man had ever been.

He had got no further than seven when she began to come (shamelessly and magnificently). He needed only two more strokes before he too came - bellowing like a buffalo as he unloaded himself inside her.

"Now, time for my beauty sleep," Imelda told herself.

But her heart was still racing and she had to wait a full twenty minutes before sleep overcame her.

FIFTEEN

Since Friday was a workday, Imelda had to balance her wish to be as attractive as possible for her son with the need to dress appropriately for the library. She knew how much Josh liked her in stockings, so she picked out a pair of tasteful, sheer hazelnut nylons that matched her skin tone, luxuriating in the feel of the fabric against her smooth skin. She finally settled on a cream blouse and a knee-length fawn skirt with a modest slit at the back, pairing her outfit with a pair of low matching heels.

Her outfit drew appreciative comments from her coworkers, one of whom asked her jokingly who the lucky man was. If only she knew!

Although she had plenty of work to do, time seemed to stand still, and she had to stop herself from looking at the clock since it appeared to be going backwards. When a group of them took a break for coffee, she dealt with her frustrations by joining her colleagues in the vacuous chitchat as best she could - her mind however occupied with other things. Or, to be more precise, with one other thing - her son.

Finally, the clock ticked round to one o'clock and she was free to go. Understanding how important it was that she should retain her composure, she said her goodbyes in as measured a way as she could muster before taking her coat and heading for her car. Checking her hair in the rear-view mirror, she drove the short distance to the restaurant and made one last check before walking, as calmly as she was able, to the door.

Her son was already there, rising as his mother approached to pull out the chair for her. He wasted no time in complimenting her on her appearance, sending a tremor through her body. She couldn't be sure if he had noticed it or not, but she didn't mind either way. She thought she caught him looking at her bust, more pronounced than usual on account of the push-up bra she was wearing.

She asked him how he was coping without Cindy and he told her about the work he was doing on the baby's room. When Imelda asked him straight out if his wife was pregnant, Josh laughed and said that they wanted to be ready for all eventualities. He went on to talk about other things, but Imelda was no longer listening. Why shouldn't it be their baby that gurgled and cooed in that room? The absurdity of the notion provided no sort of obstacle to her. The idea of carrying his baby had taken seed in her mind. Now she would stop at nothing to have his fertilizing seed buried in her uterus!

When he told her that he would be spending the next day at home using his power tools to remodel the room, she hit on the plan that she would use to seduce him.

"How about I come over in the evening with some dinner?"

"There's no need to go to any trouble," he replied.

Imelda had no intention of spending any time in the kitchen on this day of all days.

"It won't be any trouble. I'll just pick up some Chinese on the way over."

"That would be great, mom," he said.

And so the trap had been set. Imelda remained at the table with the coffee she had ordered, as Josh left her to return to his office. He had insisted on paying, seeing that his mother would be taking care of him on the following day.

"Taking care of you!" Imelda reflected, as she watched him walk away. "I couldn't have put it better myself."

When she woke on the Saturday morning, the magnitude of the task she had taken on threatened to overwhelm her. She realized that if it had any chance of working she needed to have a plan: not just one plan, but a Plan B too. She would also need to be icy cool and to be possessed of a confidence that was total, bombproof. What she was doing had to appear the most natural thing in the world.

After her experience of the previous day, she decided to fill her hours as best she could. As soon as she got downstairs, she put the washing on, and while that was going through its cycle she took herself off on a run she sometimes did in the neighborhood. The dry, windy conditions meant that the clothes would take only two or three hours to dry, after which she could get down to an afternoon's ironing. Much as she hated ironing, she recognized that it was the ideal activity for her, since it always took so much longer than she expected.

Thus it was that she found herself at her dressing table at half past five, putting the finishing touches to an hour-long process of beautification, which had taken in a variety of body washes, lotions and conditioners, as well as razor, tweezers and scissors. For this most special of all occasions, she had purchased a new perfume, one she had read about online, a British creation called Jardin d'Amalfi.

As soon as she applied some to her wrists, the subtle scent of rose and apple convinced her that she had invested her dollars wisely. It was far and away the most captivating fragrance that she had ever come across. When she looked in the mirror, the face looking back at her pleased her. Her brown hair looked glossy, her hazel eyes were clear and bright, and the dimples on her cheeks added character to her face. Only the wrinkles on her neck gave her cause for displeasure. If only it could have been as smooth as the back of her hands, where no ugly veins yet marred the alabaster surface.

At last the moment she had been waiting for arrived, as she picked up the lingerie from where she had laid it out on the bed, letting the fine material run through her fingers. She stepped into the garter belt, then, sitting on her chair, carefully put the black stockings on and attached them to the garter belt.

"Now for the pièce de resistance!" she told herself, picking up the Ooo La La matching thong and front-fastening bralette.

"I will wear the panties French-style," she said, "outside the garter belt. So much easier to remove in an emergency!"

After admiring herself from every possible angle in the full-length mirror, she put on her black silk blouse with three-quarter length sleeves, followed by the black satin pleated skirt which she had bought specially for the occasion. It wasn't exactly a mini skirt, but the hem still fell a couple of inches shy of the knees.

There was no point, she thought, in going to all this effort without investing in top-quality shoes, and, after much searching, she had found a pair of classic Italian patent calfskin four-inch heels. All that was needed to complete the ensemble was a coat that both hid from view the knockout outfit she was wearing underneath it and hinted at the possibility of a look that would be beyond her son's wildest dreams.

She had found that too, even if it had meant a visit to the neighboring town. Looking at herself in the medium-length double-breasted leather trench coat with its wide lapels, zipped side pockets, prominent buttons and broad belt, she felt empowered beyond words. She could have been a member of the secret police of an authoritarian regime, an interrogator with ways of making her subjects talk, of bending them to her will, of getting them to divulge their deepest, darkest secrets.

She called ahead to the Chinese restaurant so she could pick the food up en route, then, with one last check in the mirror to make sure that everything was as it should be, she got in her car and drove the ten minutes to the Xi Palace - named by its owner in honor of the Chinese president. Attracting one or two admiring glances from pedestrians as she made her way back to her car, she placed the paper bag containing the food on the floor in front of the passenger seat to avoid stains. Then, it was time for the final leg of what had been a long journey - the five minutes to the house her son shared with his wife. Only he wouldn't be sharing it with her that night if all went to plan.

Although she had a key to their house, she decided not to use it. She wanted to blow her son away from the outset - right at his front door. She had to wait for twenty seconds or so after ringing the doorbell, but knew he must be taking the time to extricate himself from whatever position he had got himself into. All she knew was that she would soon have him in a position from which he would have no desire to extricate himself, with his mother impaled on his penis.

The effect on Joss was all she could have hoped for. The expression on his face went from one of astonishment to one of desire in less than a second. Try as he might to cover it up with a joke about there being no need to dress up for a take-home dinner, Imelda was gloriously aware of his eyes taking in her entire body from head to toe.

She was convinced that she could see his heart drumming against his T-shirt, which was flecked with specks of sawdust and spots of paint. How that testimony to his masculinity turned her on! She knew at once that she wanted him to be wearing it when his pants and boxers came off and she descended onto his outsized pole.