A Question of Sex

Helen's mouth was alternately open and churning like a steam engine and then tightly closed, trying to keep the shameful slobber from oozing down her chin and reckoning how much pressure her lips would need to apply to such a stiff, meaty cock if she wished to suck it to the back of her wanton throat. The stranger took turns driving his huge tool into her mouth and then teasing her as he selfishly removed it. Only to then push it through the narrow gorge formed when she pressed her bouncy tits together. She was made to hold the sides of her breasts firmly while he slid the sleek pole into the warm gap. He would direct his firm rod towards her slick cleavage, sending it back and forth, fucking her tits and bumping it against her chin. Over and over before she was nearly hypnotized by its rhythmic assault on her body. This continued until the head appeared at the top of her glistening globes, shiny and dripping with her sweat. Then he would command that she open her mouth and allow the domed head to enter her. It bobbed against the back of her throat as he forced it on, gagging her and stuffing her cheeks like a chipmunk. Her mouth filled with slobber and indecent grunts of pleasure and pain escaped her swollen lips. Secretly, she craved the feel of such a tool stretching her mouth wide as it expanded and coating the insides with its creamy syrup. It would bump against her tonsils, leaving a slimey, white mark on her throat. Then she must use her pink tongue to paint sloppy circles around the massive head of it, and follow that by licking the veiny shaft and preparing it for its next lewd task.

When he was sufficiently certain that she had covered the smooth piston with her saliva, and she was rutting like a slut in heat, he took it away from her leaving her helpless as a child who had been deprived of her candy. Then to torture her further, he slowly removed it entirely, letting it linger for a moment just out of her reach and traced a path down her abdomen, and held it at the straining entrance of her ravenous cunt. How could this phantom manipulate her so easily? What possible hold could he have on her? Helen's hips were bucking and lunging to accept this marvelous present. He tortures her with his deliberateness and her pelvis twists and opens to accept him deep inside. The stranger has licked her folds and flicked at the tender clit until she is on the edge of desperation, eager and willing to be stuffed and defiled. Her body opens willingly to his desire.

Soon the thrashing in the sudsy water signaled that the moment of climax had arrived. Her soft hips pumped against the porcelain, the torrent of foaming fluids beat down on her yearning cunt and her hand was a blur, rapidly abrading the delicate folds while her palm mashed the protruding niblet of pleasure. Banshee screams of orgasmic relief reverberated off the tile walls and echoed in the solitary confines. Her frame shuddered and ripples of ecstasy fluttered her belly and uterus. Yet no hint of embarrassment or reserve could stifle her cries. The image was vivid of the stranger pumping her full of his seed while her release and total abandonment threatened to drown her in the four inches of suds. The spasms rocked her slender frame and her body acted as if something was alive inside.

For ten wonderful minutes, her body thrashed in the soft soapy mix, creating eddies of passion that swirled between her jellied legs. The climax rippled and convulsed her twitching torso until her spent body was wrung out and empty. She realized after the tremors subsided that her fingers had been plunged to the webbing and scraped the reddened inner walls of her pussy. The temporary pain in her hungry snatch awakened her senses. The young, virile stranger of her dreams was lying atop her supine body. His powerful manhood had just pumped the last of his milky jism into her molten depths. She pushed her fingers one last time into the honeypot, wanting his every last drop to fill that emptiness. Her body let loose.

She muffled an urgent, desperate plea to the stranger to be taken and sated in the most lecherous way. Promising to give herself over to his forceful demands if only he continues to grant these remarkable gifts. Finally, her insides give way to the life-essence of her sexuality, and even in the comforting waters, she is wise to the difference of her own hot fluids seeping out and mingling in her bath. For a brief time, she simply laid back, an empty, lifeless husk of used flesh. Then her limp, drained shell sunk slowly into the steamy surroundings and gradually the non-sexual half of her brain came back to consciousness.

As her eyes cleared and leisurely opened, she caught a fleeting glimpse of the young man withdrawing his steely tool and unfolding himself from between her battered thighs; this man who had brought her such pleasures, now placing one gentle, wet kiss on each of her perky nipples, proudly displaying for her approval the shiny, dewy lance that she bent forward to place a parting kiss on and taste the last of his salty seed. As he faded into memory, his visage could only be seen in a passionate haze. This was always enough to satisfy her lust before but today was different. An anonymous vision that gratified her and disappeared was fine, now in the steam and foggy afterglow, the puzzle was coming together. Try as she might to fight the presence of the lewd intruder, the animalistic image cleared.

The crooked, leering smile and the awkward nod of acknowledgment. It was unmistakably Mickey. She recoiled with instant awareness of the dicey occurrence of her son in this suddenly incestuous daydream. He emerged as if conjured, to drape a shadowy curtain of crude, illicit desire that would haunt her now. What was he doing invading her dream sequence? Or was she dreaming of him and her feverish brain resisted comprehension until the very end? Abruptly, she needed to remember if, in the thralls of her passion, she may have screamed something incriminating or possibly shouted out a name that could never be spoken in this situation. Especially as she recently often wondered, does he sit on the other side of that wall and listen to her innermost deviant fantasies?

Had she been thinking of Mickey? Had she been thinking of fucking Mickey? Did she want to fuck Mickey? The lewd obsession swirled in her brain and she couldn't let it go. Helen thrashed in the water as if she'd seen a shark fin, and scrambled to get out of the tub. She stood shivering in front of the mirror, but not from any sudden temperature change. The chilly water slowly funneled to the broad "Y" at her middle. Her blonde pussy hair was knotted and dripping wet as if she were peeing down her thigh. Two small droplets clung tenaciously to the tips of her pert breasts. She felt an expansive ripple of goose-pimples cover her lithe frame, and hoped that it was merely from the chill. The figure staring back at her from the glass was one that she had trouble recognizing. There was a slight pocket of extra flesh at her abdomen and the heavy D-cups showed the weight of her advancing years. They bounced and jiggled nicely enough- still capable of catching eyes. But there was a sinister shadow behind the naked lady in the reflection.

Why, she wondered would any young man- let alone her son- want an aged, overweight, almost non-sexual woman like the one staring back at her? She hoped that a negative response would quell the fire in her aching cunt and allow her to return to her normal fantasy. Wait... why did she include her son in that assessment? Why would she still be standing here naked and shivering, thinking about Mickey? Why didn't she keep a bottle of vodka in the bathroom?

Helen rushed to cover her nudity with a plush towel, and prayed that this self-examination would end entirely. And she avoided as best she could, the slutty, brazen image who unabashedly just fingered herself to a seismic orgasm while dreaming of her young son jamming his swollen cock first into her hungry mouth, and then deep into her wanton, desperate cunt. Helen felt the walls closing in on the steamy, mirrored room and raced down the hall to the cocoon of iciness in her lonely bed. The muffled footsteps and slamming doors alerted Mickey to the move. And when he heard the heavy recoil of bedsprings as though his mother threw herself on the mattress, instead of her normal procedure of brushing her lovely locks and applying lotion to her fine skin, he stopped his exercise in mid stroke.

Just the thought of her as she would massage the rich oil into her supple flesh and smooth the aromatic cream along her silken thighs could always be counted on to bring him to full arousal. He'd think of her rubbing the ointment along her fine neck and to her shoulders. Then her hands would lift the soft undersides of her supple breasts and spread the cream longingly around the heft of those weighty mounds. He could picture himself standing behind her and cupping her pliant boobs in his palms, the fingers kneading her like warm dough and pinching those pink nipples. His sweaty paws would never let her alone. He wished to possess her. And he believed that she craved the same thing.

It started innocently. He would occasionly be asked to warm his hands together and then gently rub the scented lotions onto her broad shoulders and down the curve of her back until he'd reached that favorite part of his, the concave indenture at the base of her spine and the enticingly molded mounds of her sculpted bottom. Even at this age,the memory of seeing and touching his mother's naked back while he rubbed oil on her glistening torso, and his imagination as to what lies beneath those taut undies, would stay with him. His first truly wicked thoughts about this woman's body emerged from this seductive urge to reach under his mother's panties, and with greasy, groping fingers to squeeze and knead those pliant buns.

Now, having recently been permitted to let his own hands stroll along that arched spine and feel her ribs beneath his touch, envisioning the full, sensuous tits crushed on to the sofa, and being so near to her special place he could taste it, he wanted more. And seeing with his own eyes the telltale wetness at her crotch, that proved beyond anything that she could say- or not say- how much pleasure he could bring to her. Then spying her sexy blue eyes concentrate so determinedly, even for the briefest second, on his booming erection and the sensual effect it had on her perky nipples, he "knew" that she must be falling under his influence. His hand again clasped the stiffened cylinder and began a vigorous pumping motion. With two unsatisfactory discharges already, both to the accompaniment of his naked mom, this time needed to be rewarding.

Helen was tucked into her queen bed, feeling instantly small and alone. She threw off her terry robe and laid dejectedly on her back. The softness of satin sheets as they conformed and soothed her anxious body calmed the trembling spasms that racked her frame. She felt like she was going through menopause with the instant mood swings and temperature changes. Her body, so recently tingling with ecstasy, then jilted to reality and sent reeling in a muddled quandary, now shivered as her sweaty torso suddenly cooled down. Perspiration dampened her hair, but her frigid nipples felt as if they would crack if touched. Her pussy was damp from her recent bath but the moisture along her groin was a mixture of sweat and her own secretions. She was tormented with emotional guilt even though she had done nothing wrong. And now she struggled with the notion that her aching womb desperately hungered for something that every taboo, deviant urge warned her was extremely forbidden.

As she wrestled with her conscience, her hand exhibited a determined will of its own. Her treacherous limb kept inching closer to her squirming pelvis, on the dubious pretense that her cold fingers could be warmed by holding them between her warm thighs. The guttural moans from her dry throat and tingling tickle from the depths of her uterus alerted her that this could not be correct. The chill though was replaced but by a steadily rising, portentous heat.

The taunting image would not go away. In fact, the more she tried to ignore it, the more persistent it became. Helen's hand was nervously nestled in her crotch, but she attempted to convince herself to move it. An incubus-like spirit held it firmly in place and manipulated the digits so that they pawed at her captive vagina. The image of Mickey's leering countenance swooped into her brain and hurried the fingers along their salacious path. Why would her mind allow her son's angelic smile to be replaced in her eyes by that of a lecherous deviant who had just licked her pussy to an excruciating agitation, and was flaunting his fleshy spear in preparation of plucking her rose? She conjured crude scenarios of lust, forcing her fingers deeper into her starving cavern to quench the fire. In all of them, her son's brown eyes hypnotized her and his swaying, cobra of a cock kept her entranced. Her palm teased the wiry curls that outlined her most precious orifice and pressed the stiffened, swollen clit. And two fingers snaked further into her hot, wet canal.

Her cunt moistened anew, sending electric ripples of sensual delight through her body as if touched by a live wire. She was lost in a delirious state. "Yes Mickey, oh Gawd yes!"

Her fingers were now slick with her body's natural lubrication and they delved deeper into the fiery tunnel that was the source and treasure of her hunger. She told herself that these lewd, impertinent cravings were incestuous and strictly taboo. But from that special place inside of her, she could hear Mickey's reply that if the two of them weren't hurting anybody, and if they relieved the built-up sexual tension and feelings of sincere longing, "What could be the harm?" She nodded subconsciously in agreement.

The searching digits poked and twisted inside her moist walls and the piston action grew more pronounced. Her moaning and muffled shrieks were more intense. She was cupping her breasts and twisting the taut nipples, begging him to suck and bite the engorged tips. "Incest," she kept repeating silently, still feeling twinges of unease, "maybe it is only a word." But she continued to plow into her tight little snatch and to rapidly abrade the stubby reddened clit. Successive waves of delirium swept through her quivering frame and she was on the brink of an ear-splitting climax.

Driven to the very edge of reason with her body shaking uncontrollably and her hips humping the soaked mattress, her vivid imagination implored her son to take her. This was no longer an anonymous stranger that would visit her fantasies when she was feeling low, whose face in a haze, would supplement her frantic fingers. This mystery partner whom she wished would dominate her body and fill her sexual needs, had taken shape and was a stranger no more. She recognized his face and could summon his name. And most awkwardly and crude, she had physically kissed him for years, and tonight had actually seen his giant cock.

She pleaded with him to use his pointy tongue on her deprived clit and bring her to the ultimate sexual crescendo. Then she would accept his huge hose into her trampy gullet and put a shine on it to show her appreciation. Every nerve ending was about to fire at once. Helen begged her son to lick her to climax as her fingers drove her insane with lust. Her sodden pussy was alive and eager to be taken. Incest be damned.

In his solemn confines with his ear tuned to the uncommon rumblings from his mother's room, his own energies had been steered towards his relief. But now with the haunting urge to yank his stiff tool to the craven image of his mom's naked, over-heated body, he heard the low moaning whispers. He distinctly heard his own name being mumbled in a hoarse, begging tone. It seems she was calling to him and he hurried toward her. His throbbing cock was at full attention and his grip was tight around the swollen shaft. Even in this condition he felt compelled to search for her. He padded down the carpeted hall, stopping just outside her door, and listened to the hushed, plaintive wishes coming from inside. Could he really just burst into his mother's room, with his cock in his hand? Overcome with the urges of a young man's sex drive, he was literally shaking with desire, but this situation was both abrupt and absurd and demanded careful reasoning. As always when his hand was filled with cock, reason went out the window.

"This had to be a dream," he reasoned. Did he misread her intent, and was he thinking with his dick? Earlier in the evening, she was undoubtedly on the verge of climax when they sat together, and he often visualized her playing with her pretty pussy, but could this be true? Maybe she wasn't thinking of him, at all? That would be incest! But he had to know, his knees were rattling and his erection was at the boiling point. He tip-toed to the door and quietly turned the handle, his heart in his throat. The door opened a crack and in the soft light from a waning moon, he witnessed an incredible sight.

Helen was sprawled naked on the bed with the sheets tossed aside. Her eyes were clenched shut but she was not sleeping. One hand caressed her tits, rolling the perky nipples between her thumb and finger, alternately squeezing them both and kneading the tender flesh. He watched as the pressure applied by her fingertips caused small waves to ripple on her supple bosum. When she lifted one and pinched the taut flesh, it was as if she were selecting ripe fruit. He stood wide-eyed and slack-jawed. The other hand was buried to the webbing of her fingers, plunging repeatedly into her gaping maw. Mickey could smell and taste the hormones in the air. He gawked in complete surprise when he saw her middle and ring fingers, shiny with dew and sticky from the silky tendrils of fluid trailing each successive plunge into her dank passage. "Take me please, Mickey," he heard her beg faintly, in a submissive, pleading gasp. "You're right," she uttered. "It's only the two of us and no one needs to know. I want your cock!" Her fingers were working her in to a feverish rush. Helen was writhing on the bed with her creamy fluids seeping out of her and the squishing, slapping sound of her hand ramming against her distended folds.

He cautiously pushed the door enough to squeeze his body into the room, and slowly inched the few steps closer to her bedside. Mickey was stunned, yet fascinated to observe his naked mother fully exposed and entirely vulnerable. Her long legs were splayed apart and bent at the knees, and her hips were thrusting violently to match the rhythm of her wiggling digits. From this view, he could see both her tight little pussy and her brownish rear orifice. The reddish-purple folds of her outer lips winked open. Her fingers were shiny from the viscous fluid and strumming the tiny, hooded appendage so furiously. His motions now matched hers. He was stroking his large rod, using the pre-cum oozing from the tip to grease the friction. The pumping noise seemed loud to his ears and he feared that she might open her eyes and scream in terror at the sudden intrusion in her bedroom. Plus, in another minute he would squirt a hot load of milky sauce across her pliant, anxious anatomy.

Helen's crystal blue eyes were tightly squeezed shut, but she was semi-conscious and babbling under her breath. Her mouth was stretched in obscene dimensions and her tongue wagged, leaving traces of drool drizzling from the bottom lip. Her cheeks were rapidly inflating and breathing hard like a bellows as if an invisible cock was being fed into it and jamming her throat. A hand cradled both tits in the crook of her arm while the palm roughly grasped a firm globe and the plump, pink nipple peeked between her fingers.