tagIncest/TabooAfter the Party

After the Party


An Oedipus County Tale

This is a work of fantasy. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental, and the actions contained herein should not be duplicated. All persons depicted are 18 or older. It's all pretend, folks.


"Honey, have you seen my cufflinks?"

John heard his father's voice drift down the stairs and into the kitchen, where the teenager stood staring at the contents of the fridge, clad in a plain T-shirt and a pair of blue sweatpants. His parents were getting ready for a Halloween party at his father's firm. It was some big swanky to-do, and his parents had gone all out.

John himself was just out of the shower, after returning home from practice. Now he was hungry, and with his parents going out, he was on his own for dinner. He was looking forward to a night at home without them. His girl Lucy would be coming over as soon as they were gone, and John was looking forward to some quality one on one time with her. She had the biggest tits and the juiciest pussy on the cheerleading squad. And John would know, having sampled them all.

"They're on the dresser, dear!" John's mother Yvette called up to her husband. She was already in costume, mostly, and had made her way down to the first floor of the house. She padded into the kitchen on stocking feet. "John, close the refrigerator door."

"I'm looking," John said peevishly. He looked up crossly, annoyed, but whatever he was going to say next died on his lips. The door to the refrigerator swung closed, as John's hand had gone limp, while another part of his anatomy began to harden involuntarily.

Yvette was a tall, statuesque woman of considerable beauty, blessed with substantial womanly charms. Her long red hair, slightly curled and normally reaching down to the middle of her back, had been coiled up and pinned beneath a frilly white cap. Her pale blue eyes and mouth were accented with a rich maroon color, the makeup gleaming wetly on her full lips, while her high cheekbones had been subtly accented with a warm blush.

Around her throat was a black choker, embossed with a small white cameo. The neckline of her black dress plunged daringly, revealing almost the entirety of Yvette's prodigious chest. Her large, softly rounded breasts shivered with each breath she took. The cups were decorated with a fringe of white lace that was worked into the front of the dress and flared out on the short, wide skirt into an apron. The white sleeves poofed out, outlining her slim, muscular arms. More lace bunched at the edge of the skirt, which reached barely to mid-thigh, and more lace seemed to be placed under the skirt, just barely concealing what lay beneath. Yvette's smooth thighs were bare, but she wore a pair of white fishnet stockings that reached just to the bottoms of her thighs, each one tied with a cute black ribbon. She held a feather duster and a pair of black stiletto pumps in one hand, and her jewelry in the other.

John had secretly, and occasionally not so secretly, lusted after his luscious mother since puberty. A host of horrible, sinful thoughts stampeded through his mind as he drank in the sight of her in the little French maid costume.

Yvette arched an eyebrow, noting her son's reaction to her. Not just the slackjawed expression or the flush that blossomed on his cheeks, but also the hardening of his member beneath the loose confines of his sweats. Yvette felt a prick of heat low in her belly. She allowed herself a secret smile, delighted with herself that she still "had it," enough to arouse a teenage boy, even if it was her own son.

She expected his father to appreciate all the work she had gone to in order to look this delectable for his silly party, and she was looking forward to coming home and having her brains fucked out by him. It had been some time since they had last had sex, fulfilling sex, and Yvette wanted to ensure her husband would be ready, willing, and able to perform his husbandly duties after the party. Of course, if there was time and opportunity during the party, she wasn't opposed to that, either.

Yvette placed her shoes and prop on the kitchen island, and the clap of the materials on the countertop seemed to awaken John. He flinched, turned even redder, and offered a lame smile to Yvette. "You look utterly fabulous, Mom," he stammered.

With a smile, Yvette managed a little curtsy. "Thank you, dear." She began to put her earrings in, long dangling silver things with amethysts and a bit of sparkle. "There's cold chicken from last night. You can reheat that in the micro or the oven, and I think there's some rice, maybe some noodles."

"What?" John looked at her blankly. "Oh, right, food. Thanks, Mom. Yeah, chicken sounds good." He looked momentarily confused, then returned to the fridge, and pulled the door open. Yvette couldn't help but admire his backside. Her son was becoming a man. A tall, muscular, handsome man with a beautiful butt. There was that prick of heat again. Yvette chose to ignore it.

While John busied making himself a meal, Yvette went to check on her husband, and found him coming down the stairs, tying his tie, slicking his hair back, and trying to jam the vampire teeth into his mouth, all at once. Joseph was a smart man, handsome, occasionally virile, and an excellent provider, but he was also more than a little scatterbrained. Yvette stepped forward to give him a hand.

As she straightened his tie, Joseph cast an admiring glance at his wife's impressive cleavage. "Did John see you in that?" he asked, stupidly, instead of simply complimenting her.

"Yes," Yvette said. "Why?"

"What did he say?"

Yvette smirked. "He could barely say anything." Not exactly true, but she wasn't going to fish for compliments from her husband by relaying her son's.

Joseph smiled broadly, lecherously. "You're going to knock 'em dead, tonight, babe. No one at this party is going to look half as ravishingly as you."

That was better, Yvette decided. She placed a chaste kiss on her husband's lips, not wanting to muss her lipstick, but surreptitiously cupped the growing bulge at his crotch. He reacted as if stung, stepping away quickly. "Not with John around," he hissed. So much for "better," Yvette thought.

She sauntered back into the kitchen to put on her shoes while her husband went into the hall closet to get their coats. Yvette tried not to notice the sidelong glances John gave her as she sat down at the kitchen table and slid her shoes over her dainty feet. Feeling wicked, she leaned over, giving John a perfect look at the huge tanks barely restrained by the top of her dress. She heard a sharp intake of breath, but studiously avoided looking at him while she took her time with her footwear.

When she heard the clump clump of her husband's approach, she straightened, and pretended not to notice John adjusting himself.

"All set?" Joseph asked from the doorway to the hall, coats in hand.

"Yes, dear," Yvette said. Smoothly she rose, taking a moment to test her balance on the sexy but precarious shoes. Her feet would be killing her by night's end, but she knew it would be worth it. Yvette scooped up her featherduster, then turned to John. She gave him a quick kiss on his red cheek. "No parties tonight," she warned. "Your father and I will be home late, and I expect everything to be fine when we get back."

John nodded. "Have fun, you two."

Joseph held Yvette's coat for her as she slipped inside, and while she left for the front door, he smiled at his son. "Who you bringing over tonight?" he asked conspiratorially.

John smirked. "Lucy."

Joseph gave him a chuck on the arm and a wink. "Just remember to be careful, kiddo. Have fun -- we'll be back plenty late, okay?"

John waved to his father as he left, and turned back to the plate of food he was making. He'd just as soon send Lucy with his father and keep his mother home with him, but he knew the likelihood of that happening.

While his food heated in the micro, John picked up his cell phone and dialed Lucy.


Yvette guided her husband's Lexus into the driveway behind her own car. She was fuming, a mix of marital anger and sexual frustration, and almost missed the small red Jetta parked on the street in front of the house. She glanced at her drunk husband in the passenger seat, head thrown back, eyes glassy, slackjawed and sloppy.

The party had been a disaster from the get-go. Joseph had left her with the other partners' wives and gone straight to the bar. Cigars came out. A variety of alcoholic drinks were hammered home, as the men tried to outdo one another, drinking more and more. Joseph had been quite the drinker back in college, but that was a long time ago, and he quickly became inebriated. Extremely inebriated.

Meanwhile, all the brittle, overly tanned, disgustingly thin wives, the scars of their various plastic surgeries invisible yet no less obvious, could barely stand Yvette and her natural, unaffected beauty and curves. While Yvette struggled to keep a civil tongue while defending herself, her husband became stumbling and then falling down drunk. Yvette was actually tempted to give in to Steve Baxter's clumsy pass, but Joseph lurched over to them in mid-conversation and accosted Steve. There would have been a scene, with untold repercussions for her husband's career, if she hadn't at that moment dragged him out of the party.

Total elapsed time: three hours.

The night was a total waste. All the primping and plucking and shaving and painting, slipping into the sexiest outfit she had ever worn; all of it completely wasted. Ignored, taken for granted, and passed over by her own husband. Again. Yvette was furious.

She parked the car, grabbed her shoes off Joseph's lap, and leapt out into the driveway, leaving her semi-conscious husband in the car for the moment. The ground was cold, but her arches were killing her. She hurried across the driveway to the back door, finding it unlocked. She would have to yell at her son as well, it seemed. Yvette let herself into the house and quietly shut the door behind her. She was about to flip on a light and call to John, have him fetch his father, when she heard a curious noise.

Yvette paused. Still clutching her shoes, she slid her way across the kitchen tile in her stocking feet. There it was again. It sounded like some kind of moan. But not a bad moan, not a pain moan. A pleasure moan? And it sounded like John's voice...

Yvette crept down the hall. The hall was darkened as well, and it looked as if the only light in the house came from the living room, where the sound was coming from. Another moan, and then a kind of liquid sound. Yvette felt a stab of heat in her loins. She knew what she would see if she crept forward. She knew she should retrace her steps, perhaps close the back door more loudly, and call to her son.

Instead, she moved forward. Just enough to see around the corner of the doorway into the living room. And hopefully not be seen.

Instantly Yvette's temperature rose several degrees. She stifled a sharp gasp. She felt the folds of her pussy moisten and begin to part. Her teeth and then her tongue massaged her lower lip, and she knew that her hardened nipples had nothing to do with the cold air outside.

Her son John sat spread out on the couch, his t-shirt pulled up to his pecs, revealing his six pack abs. A pair of jeans and boxers lay pooled around his ankles, and a truly enormous and beautiful rock hard cock erupted from between his legs. A crinkle of brown hair at the base, a tower of pale flesh, and an angry purple head as thick as a plum. She couldn't see his balls, but she knew instinctively that they would be just as masculine and virile and perfect as the rest of him.

Kneeling between his legs was a young woman with a wild shock of red hair, an explosion of freckles across her small nose, and full red lips that were even now kissing and caressing John's cock. The girl wore a blue halter top, pulled down around her waist, and a short white skirt equally bunched up around her waist. Her large, braless tits swung free, capped by tiny pink nipples that grazed John's thighs as she devoured him.

The girl's lips were stained with John's precum, while strings of her saliva slid down his length. John's head was thrown back, his mouth releasing occasional moans, while the girl's attention was entirely upon the massive tool in her hands and straining her lips. Neither of them saw Yvette.

The frustrated mother had to fight the urge to lift her skirt and apron and plunge a hand into her suddenly soaked panties.

The girl's hands slid up and down John's amazing cock as her tongue teased his cockhead. She looked up briefly into John's lust contorted face, and smiled that secret smile that all women do when they are pleasing their man.

Another moment, and Yvette would so something inappropriate. The surge of jealousy that came as the girl smiled should have shocked her, but she was past shocking herself at that point. Wordlessly, she backed away, back down the hallway into the dark kitchen. Yvette's hands opened and closed, making frustrated fists. Her pussy lips tightened of their own volition, hungry for cock. She bit her lip, mastered herself momentarily, and thought quickly.

Part of her, the part ashamed at what she had seen and how long she had watched and how consumed by lust her viewing made her, wanted to let them finish. To sneak away. But she had no escape; just a drunk husband in the car, one too far gone to even take to an all night diner and sober up with coffee.

Another part of her, the jealous, lustful, sex-deprived part of her, wanted to stop them. To storm into the room, push the tart out of the way, and show her how to really suck a cock.

Yvette found a way to compromise. To be somewhat responsible, but also to satisfy the unnatural feelings that were now heating her nether regions. She opened the back door and loudly closed it. "John!" she called, surprised that her voice did not shake. Yvette flipped the kitchen light on, then slipped her feet in her shoes. "John!" she called again, louder this time.

From the living room: "Oh shit!" "They're home already!" "Get dressed!" all spoken quietly, but urgently. If Yvette wasn't straining to hear, she might have missed it.

"I need some help with your father, John" Yvette added loudly. She slowly began to cross the kitchen once more, divesting herself of her coat as she went. Her heels clicked loudly as she walked down the hall. "Where are you, John?"

"Uh, in here Mom," he said. She followed his voice to the living room. John and the girl had quickly got themselves together, but they looked disheveled, and even if Yvette hadn't witnessed the blowjob, she would have been able to guess what was going on. The girl's lipstick was smeared, her tits engorged and straining against the halter top, and John stood awkwardly, a massive bulge straining his jeans.

"Oh there you are," Yvette said sweetly. "Oh, I'm sorry, am I interrupting?"

"No, of course not," John said quickly. "Mom, Lucy. Lucy, Mom. Lucy was just leaving."

Lucy's look shot daggers at John, but the boy didn't notice, or pretended not to notice. The girl turned her attention to John's mother, looking keenly at Yvette in her costume, and the daggers found a new target. Lucy allowed herself to be ushered to the front door, and with her sweater in hand, was unceremoniously shoved out on the porch. Yvette took several deep breaths as Lucy exited her home, and neither John nor Lucy attempted to hide the fact that they were eyeing Yvette's cleavage as her massive tits rolled around in their cups.

It was at this point that Yvette's subconscious allowed her conscious mind to realize certain general characteristics that she and Lucy shared.

"Sorry about that, Mom," John said. "I didn't realize you and dad would be home so early." He paused, looking over Yvette's shoulder. "Where is dad?"

Yvette allowed herself to sigh, which she knew did things to certain portions of her anatomy. In her heels, she could look John in the eye, but his eyes were nowhere near hers. She smiled inwardly, that heat flickering to dangerous life deep within her belly. "Your father is passed out drunk in the car."


"Would you go get him, and bring him up to the bedroom?"

"Yeah, sure, of course Mom." John headed down the hallway towards the kitchen and the back door, but paused. He looked back at Yvette. "You okay?"

He was such a sweet boy, Yvette thought. For some reason, that only fanned the flames. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

Yvette heard the back door slam; John always did that, no matter how many times she told him not to. She stepped into the living room, noting the drawn curtains, the pillow on the floor by the foot of the couch and... what looked like something dripped on the surface of the couch. Yvette heard the back door open, and the sounds of John wrestling with his drunken father into the house, up the back stair to the second floor.

Yvette placed a finger on the drip mark. It was still warm, and whatever it was came off on her fingertip. She brought the finger to her lips. Salty and sweet. Her whole body shuddered. She felt her moist pussy lips tighten, the nubbin of her clit rubbing against the stained surface of her panties. Precum. From her son's cock. Oh, you naughty girl, Yvette.

John's thunderous footsteps hammered the front stair. He appeared in the doorway to the living room. "Dad's unconscious. I, uh, laid him on his side."

John's eyes narrowed, examining his mother. "Are you sure you're okay, Mom?"

"Yes, I'm fine, why do you ask?"

"I dunno. You just look a little flushed."

Yvette giggled. Actually giggled, like a silly teenaged girl. She couldn't believe it. Somewhere, deep in her mind, the voice of a forty year old mother told her to act her age, take a shower, go to bed. But she knew she wasn't going to do any of those things.

"I'm fine dear," Yvette said again. "I'm just a little mad at your father."

"I'll bet. What happened?" Yvette arched an eyebrow. John frowned. "Yeah, right, pretty obvious I guess." He looked at her again, and his eyes lingered on her cleavage. "Are you going to check on Dad, or, or, um, change or anything?"

Yvette smiled. "Your father can wait." She smoothed the back of her skirt and sat down on the couch. "Do you... want me to change?"

John paled visibly, but shook his head.

"Then I guess I'll stay in costume, for a little while." Yvette patted the couch cushion next to her. "Come sit by your old mom."

John hesitated for a moment, but sat down. However, he was careful to keep a cushion between them. "You're not old, Mom."

Yvette smiled. "Thank you sweetie." Yvette patted the cushion next to her again. "Come sit with your mother, baby."

John looked uncertain. His eyes flashed from Yvette's face, gauging her mood, to her breasts, straining against her top. Lust apparently won out. He slid down the couch, closer to her. Instinctively, his left arm stretched out behind her. Yvette took the opportunity to slide closer still, snuggling up under her son's muscular arm. She was careful to make sure her right breast pressed into his chest. John's body stiffened, but he did not pull away. Yvette let a hand fall casually against his jean-clad thigh.

They sat there for a little while, not saying anything. Yvette enjoyed the feel of her son's arm around her, the strength in the thigh beneath her hand, and the warm, wet, gooey feeling growing in the core of her body. Slowly, she began to run her hand up and down John's thigh, gently kneading his leg.

John shifted a little and forced a laugh that came out as a squeak. "Are you sure you're okay, Mom?"

"Mmm-hmmm," Yvette said. "So, what were you and Lucy up to when I interrupted?" So bold, an inner voice said.

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