Broken Shoulders

My other hand diddled my clit for all I was worth, and so eventually my orgasm began to roll over me. Now, everyone knows that sex is 90% in the mind, and there are all sorts of psychological and physiological things going on in our minds when we think about sex. Sights, sounds and smells all play a part.

I was rapidly approaching orgasm, in my fantasy - my mystery singer was approaching me, removing his suit as he did so, and I was of course rubbing my clit frantically. I should add now, and admit to being a bit of an exhibitionist, and I have a fetish about being watched having sex. I say that, because I want you to understand where the next part of the fantasy comes from. As the singer approaches me, the stadium is suddenly FULL of people. Not just that, but as he removes his trousers and underpants, I get a look at his dick, and I can hear the crowd chanting "Fuck her ... fuck her ... fuck her." -- at which point I usually come.

Except this night, I dunno. Maybe it was the smell of my son on the pillows, the whiff of his deodorant maybe, or just the fact of being surrounded by his stuff. Either way, as the guy stood in front of me and his cock became erect in front of my eyes, I realised with horror that I was imagining Ben's cock. I was imagining my own son, stood in front of me balls naked and with a fucking huge erection.

OK. I'm sure there will be plenty out there that will judge me for that, and you are all welcome to have your opinions. For myself, I will say that at this point, it was just a fantasy.

But I came so fucking unbelievably hard that I had to bite down on the pillow to stop myself shouting as the orgasm ravaged me. I shook and shivered for what seemed like ages, as wave after wave of soft undeniable pleasure washed over me. Fireworks exploded in my head as my clit felt on fire.

A full ten minutes later, I stopped shaking, and opened my eyes -- aware that I now had to face the truth and reality of what I had done. I had brought myself off, rubbing my clit imagining my son's cock. Thankfully, the cock had got no further -- it didn't need to.

I drifted off to sleep after that, but it was a low soulless sleep as I continued to berate and criticise myself for what I had done. Guilt and shame rolled around in my head, refusing to let me sleep until I acknowledged I was a terrible, wicked mother.

The following morning brought another dilemma and I saw it as soon as I went in to see Ben. He wasn't upset or anything, just a little cold. We keep the house warm usually, but when Ben had gone to the toilet, on his return to bed he had of course, been unable to pull the bedcovers back over him. As a result, he was sat on the bed.

But it seemed I had caught him at an inopportune moment, because as soon as I entered, he blushed profusely and yelled that I should knock. I should have knocked, maybe because it was MY bedroom, I forgot I dunno. But, either way -- when I walked in, Ben's cock was fully erect.

I bit my lip and apologised, then turned around -- but not before seeing my son's cock in all its glory. My mind flashed back to last night and my fantasy. In my fantasy, my son's cock was very big but now, having seen it in real life -- I had to evaluate that it was much bigger than I had realised, or thought possible.

It was easily 10 inches, and thick -- especially at the base. A thought crossed my mind to wonder if he had maybe been using those suction pumps you see on porn websites.

Yes, OK. You got me. I watch porn, of course I do. I'm a woman with desires and needs as much as any man. And although most of the porn is male orientated, you do occasionally -- well, I do leastways -- come across some gems.

Anyhow, seeing my son's distress and embarrassment I quickly turned and left. I think I uttered some inane comment like "I'll come back later."

For the rest of that day, oh my god -- I couldn't get the sight of his cock out of my mind. When he went to the toilet, I made a point of pulling his shorts down from the front which meant my hand brushed his cock a little. Equally, as I pulled his shorts down, my gaze now focused between his legs.

After each occurrence, I hated myself. I felt so dirty and disgusting, I told myself I was wicked and evil. I demanded of myself, to know why I was doing it. I denigrated myself over and over, reminding myself that he was my son. And THAT ... was the problem, had I only known it then.

Because the more I insulted myself, the more I reminded myself that he was my son, deep down -- the more turned on I got. I should say at this point, that all this was still very much just in my head. True I had touched his cock briefly in the course of my caring -- but I had not, as yet touched it for pleasure.

That opportunity came when the district nurse arrived. Ben asked me to leave them alone for a minute and I did so. I was intrigued as to what it was, he could tell the nurse, that he felt he couldn't tell me. I soon found out when the nurse called me in.

"We need to discuss hygiene, Mrs Edwards." the nurse had said. I was about to ask for details when she said "Ben here, has developed a bit of a rash ... here ... under his foreskin."

Well, my mind whirled and before I could regain a semblance of levelheadedness -- the nurse pulled back the sheets, grabbed Ben's cock and pulled back the foreskin to show a small reddish area on the knob.

Poor Ben's head flew backward in embarrassment and his eyes stared at the ceiling. I myself stared at Ben's cock -- it was the first time I'd seen the knob. Oh god, when I think about it now it was so big and purple, absolutely gorgeous.

"You need to apply this antiseptic cream ... here." said the nurse sounding nonchalantly as if she was applying it to a hand. "Twice a day, for 4 days should do it."

I remember, I was about to speak when she shushed me. "Also, after he urinates, you need to use some toilet paper to dab off the excess urine."

Again I was about to say something when she added "The excess urine gets trapped under the foreskin you see, and it causes an irritation."

After she had gone, I went to sit down -- trying desperately to take in what she had just said. I was going to have to hold my son's cock and pull the foreskin back and dab it with toilet paper? I was going to have to apply cream to his lovely knob twice a day.

I suspect had someone took a photo of my face right then, it would have been torn in a mixture of delight and sheer terror.

The delight satisfied the wicked side of me, the one that craved to see my son's cock. But the sheer terror -- well, that was worse. Because I began to realise the possibility, that I might not be able to control my desires anymore -- and that, might very well cause a very awkward and embarrassing situation. Not to mention how revolted and sickened Ben would feel. How would he react? With total disgust no doubt. And I remember considering the possibility -- despite him being my son, that he may well even report me for abuse.

That night, I sat alone in front of the TV with a glass of wine and ran through the gamut of shameful feelings I was having. How could I be turned on by my own son? It was a question that ran around and around in my mind until, with a degree of insight I reasoned to myself that it was not 'my son' per se but - his cock, his very large cock.

Through drunken reasoning, I managed to conclude that it was an euphemism. What I was actually feeling, was that of emptiness and the huge cock represented the desire to be 'filled'. It sounds so daft now, but believe me after a bottle of wine it sounded like a damn good theory.

I immediately opened my laptop and went to a porn shop website. On there, I quickly searched for extra-large dildos. I found one, in the shape of a fist and a full 17 inches long. I nearly creamed myself just looking at it, so I ordered it. What is it they say -- never order stuff online when drunk.

The other thing they say you should never do when drunk is to suggest to your son that you should share a bed with him.

To be fair this was a genuine, but daft and drunken idea to help my son. He was unable to pull the covers back over him after going to the toilet in the night. If I was in the same bed, I could pull the covers back I reasoned. I wasn't drunk, well not to the point of being unaware of what I was doing. Back then a bottle of wine was not a lot for me to drink.

So, that night as I tucked him into bed as I usually do, trying desperately hard not to stare too much at his cock. We had sort of got over the awkwardness of me seeing his cock I think, Ben seemed Ok with it as long as it wasn't a really good look. He tended to lay on the bed then I would face away from him and flick the covers up, then rearrange them once his cock was covered. It didn't always work but it sufficed for us both to feel comfortable about it.

This particular night, I suggested it to him -- that I could sleep on the bed next to him. He was apprehensive of course, and unsure. I remember trying to placate him by saying we could put pillows down the middle to separate us -- but I don't think he was convinced. It was only when I pointed out my reasoning, that he relented and agreed to it. I explained that when he returned from the toilet, I could just flick the covers back over him and get back to sleep quite quickly, whereas if I was in his bedroom he would have to wake me up fully to tuck him back in.

Pleased with myself, and pleased that he'd agreed to it I went into the bathroom and disrobed -- completely forgetting that Ben was still awake and able to see me. At least, I think he could see me. I glanced back into the bedroom, and he seemed to have his eyes closed, so if he did see me, he made no comment. I wore my bathrobe till I got to the side of the bed then turned the light off, slipped the dressing gown off my naked body and climbed into bed beside my son.

That night, I went to sleep on the very edge of the bed, facing away from him and I suspect he did the same. However, when I woke next morning -- it was with a start, and I realised that the pillows separating us had been pushed down and my leg was draped over his. I managed to remove it, get out of bed and put my dressing gown on before I heard Ben stir.

I remember telling him that we needed to put the cream on his knob, and cursing myself that it had sounded as if I was quite looking forward to it. Truth was, I was looking forward to it and I was cursing partly because of that, and partly because I feared I'd given the game away.

I remember Ben groaned and said something like "Its OK today. Maybe I don't need it."

I realised then that he was talking about me applying the cream and he seemed to still be having some major issues about having his mum handle his cock. It was understandable I guess, although from what I've heard a lot of men have this fantasy of having their mum touch them.

Anyhow, I remember thinking that I just need to do it. Tear that plaster off, so to speak. I whipped back the covers and to my shock, realised that he was semi hard. Was that why he didn't want me to put the cream on today, I remember thinking.

His cock was not fully erect, but stood under its own steam so to speak -- rather than resting on his thigh when it was flaccid. I grabbed it, probably a little too eagerly and quickly pulled the foreskin back. And that's when I first felt it twitch in my hand. Oh my god, I remember my heart doing a back flip, and my mind twanged with warnings of danger and depravity.

The bulb of his cock was as magnificent as it had been the first time, I'd seen it. So full, and purple, strong and powerful. I placed a bit of cream on my little finger then gently applied it around the rim of his knob. Even as I did so, I could feel him tremble -- could feel his cock twitch with anticipation and I saw his face wracked in effort as he tried his damnedest not to get an erection. He sort of succeeded, but I wasn't disappointed.

I was about to remove my hand when, and I still to this day don't know if it was a conscious or unconscious movement -- Ben pulled his hips down. My fingers were wrapped quite tightly around his shaft at this point, and this movement had the effect of pushing my hand upwards. Then with the very tiniest of grunts, Ben flicked his hips back up, which again caused my hand to now slide down his cock.

My face must have been a picture because Ben took one look and went bright purple. "It ... it tickles, that's all." He muttered embarrassingly.

Of course I didn't buy it, my son was trying to get me to jerk him off. But then, as soon as I said it -- I realised I was falling into my own trap once more. I simply couldn't allow myself to think like this, it was insane. It was disgusting and depraved and if I didn't stop -- I was going to end up in a whole heap of trouble. But still, that tiny little flicker of lust and desire continued to occupy the very depth of my mind.

It was a couple of days later, the next incident happened. I woke up before the alarm as I always do. Beside me, Ben lay still and slumbering. I had gone to sleep the previous night, at the edge of the bed. However, when I woke, I discovered to my horror that I was more than a little cuddled up to my son. My tits pressed into the side of his cast, that was ok as he wouldn't feel them. But my naked and raw pussy was in direct contact with his hip. And I realised with some embarrassment that I had probably been grinding my clit against his hip bone.

I felt downstairs quickly with my free hand and sure enough there was a dampness there. Somewhat shocked, I disengaged quickly and as gently as I could. I was about to get up when I saw the small wet patch on the bedsheet covering Ben's cock. I knew immediately of course, he'd had a wet dream. I trotted off to the bathroom and returned with a few sheets of toilet paper. As I got near Ben's eyes flashed open and initially, he wasn't sure what had happened. I was about to tell him when he looked down and saw for himself. He was so apologetic, so embarrassed the poor lad. He spluttered and tried to mutter an apology, but I told him it was OK, that it was perfectly natural. There was a strange tone in his voice when he said how good a release it had been, but he was sorry for the mess.

Believe me when I say I so desperately wanted to ask what the dream was about, but at the time I felt that Ben deserved a bit of privacy and dignity. I pulled the rest of the covers back and quickly swabbed up as much cum as I could. I told him he needed to get up because I'd have to change the sheets. As I took the toilet paper to the bathroom and glanced down and saw one quite decent glob of cum, and realised that my son comes in glassfuls.

To this day, I couldn't tell you why I did it. Inquisitiveness? Wickedness? Either way, out of Ben's sight I took a finger and dipped it in the cum then offered it up to my waiting mouth. A little shiver ran through me as I savoured the taste and consistency with my tongue before swallowing it down. I immediately felt shame and humiliation at what I had done. I felt so guilty, so sick and depraved -- to have licked my own son's cum. But a part of me, deep down a lustful part shivered with excitement. Normally when I give a guy a blow job, once he's come -- either in my mouth, on my face or on my tits -- I usually scoop the cum with my fingers and lick them dry then lick his cock dry. What can I say? I love the taste and feel of cum as it slides down my throat. A part of me really wanted to clean up my son the same way, I knew that couldn't happen but a part of me desired it anyway. No doubt you'll judge me for that as well.

It had now been 3 weeks since Ben had got home. God what a few weeks they were, and I remember thinking that I had another 3 of them to get through. I also realised that in that time Ben had only really had a face wash.

I'm not one of those people that has to shower every day, except on warm summer days perhaps. But ordinarily -- three or four times a week sufficed me. But I knew Ben had not showered for a bit longer, so that day I had decided he would take a shower. I wasn't clear about the logistics of it, and in truth -- like all other situations, I probably should have thought about it a bit more before diving straight in.

My plan was simple, wrap a towel around Ben's plaster and get him in the shower. Our on suite shower is actually a wet room but it's not very big. Then I turn the shower on, take the shower head down and then using a soapy sponge, wash his lower bits and hose him down with the shower head. What could be simpler.

Getting Ben in the was not going to be a problem, wide though his shoulders were due to the plaster cast. What I probably should have thought more about was what I was wearing, and how wet I was going to get -- in the water sense, I hasten to add.

I had, after a lot of effort, and lots of metaphorical self-flagellation managed to stop myself thinking about my son's cock for several days now. I'd convinced myself that everything I had done to that point had been necessary for my son's well-being. I didn't allow room for doubt or guilt, I told myself I was caring for my son like any mother would. Did I truly believe it? I don't know -- maybe a little. But it sufficed to get me through the guilt and embarrassment so that I could do what needed to be done.

Ben was laying on the bed as I recall, when I came into the bedroom. I told him it was shower time and his face had a mix of excitement and blind panic, which made me smile. I ushered him into the bathroom and placed the towel around his shoulders as best I could. He manoeuvred himself into the shower area and faced the wall. I really couldn't tell at that point if it was to hide his excitement or his embarrassment.

The first thing I should have done of course, was to take the shower head in my hand before I turned the water on. But I didn't and as soon as I reached across to turn the water on, the water sprayed all over my arm and the top of my shoulder. It was a cheap blouse, and I wasn't so bothered about it, but it did feel weird on my skin. What I did fail to notice, was that part of the front of the top had got wet and being cotton had become translucent. The shape and outline of my breast could now be seen.

I stretched up again, taking the shower head in my hand and getting myself a little wetter at the same time. I do remember cursing when I noticed how wet the front of my top now was and what could now be seen. Ben was still turned away from me and I remember anticipating what his reaction would be.

I applied some shower gel to the sponge as best I could then began to lather his back, down over his arse cheeks and then down the back up his thighs to his feet. All the time I was telling myself that I was his mother, just washing her son because he couldn't do it himself. But as soon as I knelt down and my face was level with his bum, oh my god. Between his legs, dangling freely was his huge cock.

I will admit that my mind, and my resolve froze a bit. I'd already held his cock, and Ben had sort of jerked himself on my hand, so a part of me figured I could go the whole hog and just hold it while he jerked his hips.

It was a ludicrous thought and one that I was able to dismiss after a few strong inwardly directed reprimands. Sorry, did I say I dismissed it? I meant, I pushed it out of my mind -- it didn't go away.

When I began to wash his arse cheeks and I spread them slightly, to my amazement I saw Ben's cock twitch and I swear it grew an inch at least. Then I stood up - It was time to wash Ben's front, so I instructed him to turn around.

As he did so, my gaze was drawn down to his groin where his cock was now more than semi hard. I guess he must have caught sight of my tits in the wet top and his cock came to full erection instantly. A part of me was proud, pleased that I still had the ability to have an affect like this on a man, even if it was my son.