Carnal Corps Ch. 01

"You don't mind?"

I picked up the script, Ross joined me on the couch. His presentation was stilted and I matched mine to his, reading with little emotion and no passion. But nonetheless, hearing such filth from my son's innocent lips was titillating.

"How'd I do Mom?"

"You did fine. I bet you didn't think you'd get all the way through."

He blushed. "Nah, not really."

"Why don't we both review the script and get together later tonight."

* * * *

After dinner I put on a shorts and a tight sweater, told Alex that Ross and I were going to work on something for his theater work-shop. Alex grunted, barely hearing me, the subject of no interest to him.

We met on the back porch. Ross sat on the couch, his back on the end. I faced him, laying a leg over one of his. His presentation initially lacked sexual energy. On the other hand, I found myself enjoying the nasty words; arousal seeped into my voice. Ross responded, he became less stiff. When we finished I praised him, kissed him, took a shower, masturbated: real nice orgasm.

Ross and I read through the play twice the next day. He was comfortable with the words, but sexual need, which had begun to pervade my voice, was barely present in his. The part required him to be aroused, hungry. How to help?

"Son, you're doing better, but you need to sound like you really want..." might as well be explicit, it was sort of the point,"...to fuck me."

"Mom, how am I supposed to sound like I want to..."

He stopped.

"Say it Ross, say 'how am I supposed to sound like I want to fuck you?'"

He paused, then, "Mom, how am I supposed to sound like I want to fuck you?"

There was no hint of sexual intonation.

"That wasn't so hard, was it, but we need to tap into your libido. Do you watch porn on your computer?"

"Mom!!"

"Excuse me, you're a teenaged boy, stupid question, let me rephrase. Tonight, watch some porn while reading the script. Something like the play, a young man and older woman, and then - no masturbating - join me at 7:00. Your father will be absorbed in Mad Men. We'll have the hour to ourselves."

Ross began to object, but he was a good boy. He listened to his mother.

* * * *

When he came downstairs I was wearing a tiny pair of cut offs and a tank top that emphasized my toned midriff and ample chest. Ross noticed.

"Well, you've been watching all those porn stars, we gotta keep the feeling going. How do I compare?"

"You're beautiful Mom."

"Good, but let's get in character. How would you say it in the play?"

Ross hesitated, then, "You're a piece of ass."

"Try, 'You're a piece of ass slut,' and sound like you mean it."

After a moment's delay, with real sexual tension in his voice, he said, "You're a piece of ass slut."

I moved closer; my chest bumped his; I whispered in his ear, "Say it again."

He did; he was even better this time.

"Excellent stud."

He sat at the end of the couch. I leaned against him, my back on his torso and draped his arm across my chest. We read the script. Sexual need was present in his voice, the pornography worked. When done we stayed in character.

"Excellent stud. Now go jerk off, dream about me. I'm gonna shower. There's a fire between my legs that needs my attention."

He looked at me. Was I serious? Holding hands, we walked upstairs. At his bedroom door I kissed his cheek, pressed my breasts and hard nipples to him, told him to go play with his cock. In the shower, ideas on how to further prepare Ross for his role flitting through my mind, I brought myself to dual orgasms. My sex drive had been in off-mode for too long; I was digging this game.

In bed that night I thought about how to help Ross. By the time I fell asleep two definite ideas had formed in my mind. I'd try them tomorrow.

* * * *

I dropped Ross off at Tulane the following day, went shopping, memorized the script over several cups of coffee, changed into my new outfit, drove to Tulane. Ross was sitting on the theater steps, talking to Rani. She was wearing a white shirt and a black and white speckled vest and pants. Not many woman could get away with such a butch look; she could. I rolled down the window an waved. The two of them walked over.

While I chatted with Rani through the window, Ross climbed into the SUV. As he did so I pulled up my dress, exposing the straps of my garters and tops of my black lacy stockings.

I said good-bye to Rani. Ross, distracted by my peep show, belatedly did the same

I drove off. "I notice when you borrow my catalogs. This is a look you like, isn't it?"

"Mom, yeah, but..."

I gestured to a script on the console. "I memorized I today. We'll rehearse on the way home."

We did so. I ran my fingers over my legs and undergarments. Ross watched. His voice took on an husky tone; his tongue slid along his lips. When we were done I praised him and suggested a second read through.

"Sure Mom."

"Call me slut."

"Mom..."

"Call me slut."

"Yes," a moment's hesitation, "slut."

"Good, now slide over. This time I want you to run your fingers on my stockings and garters."

"Mom!"

I gave him a hard look.

"Slut, I can't play with your underwear." He had said "slut," but the tone said "Mom."

"All you'll be doing is touching my thighs. You've done it a million times. It's no big deal, but you need to get in character. I know its hard, but you were offered this role because it is hard. So slide over and enjoy my lingerie, I wore it for you."

We started again. I took his hand in mine, ran his fingers along my garters, around the hem of a stocking. When I let go Ross, haltingly, took the initiative. When we reached the highway I set the car on cruise control and spread my legs. When he did not react I took hold of his wrist and moved his hand between my thighs. I felt a spasm in my sex; I groaned. Ross began to caress my skin, his touch gentle. It was also working, he was delivering his lines with burgeoning sexual desire. I looked to his lap. He was hard. We finished a highway exit before our own.

"Son, that was wonderful."

"Thanks Mom, I think I'm finally getting it."

It was time for the second idea I'd devised the night before. I would make our rehearsals private, something to be hidden and so a bit wicked, a bit dirty.

"Yes son, you're doing great, but, y'know, I was thinking, we should probably keep these rehearsals to ourselves. Your Dad doesn't get theater. He wouldn't understand. They should be our private thing."

Ross, unused to conspiring against his father, took a moment to respond. "Sure Mom," then, on further thought, added, "Yeah, just us."

When we got home Ross went to a friend's house. I went upstairs to shower, bringing myself to an orgasm. When I got out of the shower I was still horny. I thought about how I used to welcome my husband home dressed in sexy lingerie. I called Alex, made sure he'd be home for dinner, put on a lacy shelf bra, garters, panties, the stockings with the seam that ran down the back of my leg, finishing off with a short skirt and stiletto heels.

Ross got home first. He walked into the kitchen, took a long look at me, and assuming I was in character, said, "Fucking hot." There was a twinge between my legs. Alex, minutes behind his son, kissed me and, after an appreciative glance, said, "What kind of mood are we in?"

"Take me upstairs and find out."

* * * *

We were cleaning up after dinner when Alex's phone went off. He checked the caller, grimaced, texted that he'd call right back.

"Emergency at the office, thought it could wait til tomorrow. It'll take about an hour. I'll take the call in my office."

"Okay dear."

As I watched him disappear down the hall I figured why waste the opportunity. Turning to Ross, undoing two buttons of my blouse to reveal a healthy expanse of breast, I said, "Whatta ya say to a quick rehearsal?"

Ross immediately slipped into character. He looked at my chest, not bothering to disguise his admiration.

"You like my tits?"

"Yeah."

On the back porch I let my skirt slide up my leg, revealing the garters and stockings. I leaned forward, displaying my chest, and asked Ross to undo another button on my shirt. When his trembling hands brushed my breasts I gasped; my nipples stiffened. We began. We'd both memorized the script and, our hands free, I explored his arm and chest, stroked his thighs. Ross started slowly, but was soon caressing my torso, the top and inside of my thighs. He was hard and I, who'd started the evening horny, smoldered. I needed to be fucked.

When done we both stood. My legs were shaky. Ross's eyes were fixed on my chest, which was rising and falling with each breath, the outline of my nipples clearly visible. I asked him to rebutton my shirt. His shaky hands resting on my breasts, he did so. I ran a finger down his face.

"You're doing so well. That was incredibly sexy, hot. Every woman in the audience will be on fire. I know I am."

Ross' breathing was deep and slow, his eyes dazed with desire. "I've got a good teacher."

I kissed his cheek, my lips lingered on his flesh, by body pressed to his. My leg bumped his erection. "You better go take care of that." I turned and walked away, adding an extra wiggle to my walk.

Even my inexperienced son could see I was a bitch-dog in heat.

His father was in the closing stage of his telephone conference, regurgitating the team's action plan. I kneeled, unzipped his pants, hauled out his cock, took the head in my mouth. Alex, with admirable focus, brought the meeting to an end.

"You're on fire today. What's going on?"

"Not sure, let's fuck."

We hurried to our bedroom, stripped, minimal foreplay, he was in me. We were not subtle. He drove his cock and out of me; my pussy walls sucked on the hard meat. I thought about when I met my husband, when I was dazzled. I thought about my marriage, the first fifteen years, when I craved my husband's naked body, when I couldn't wait for him to come home and fuck me. I thought about flashing my son while talking to Rani. I thought about rehearsing with Ross on the porch, the way his hands felt on me. I thought about my son, in the house, right now. Had he jerked off? Was he jerking off right now listening to his father fuck me?

A picture came to me. My son's hand's flashing up and down his cock, listening to his father take me, cum rocketing from the head of his cock.

And then I came, hard and strong, multiple times, the best bunch of orgasms in years.

* * * *

The next morning Ross was sullen, withdrawn. I asked; he said he didn't want to talk about it. It was at the end of my yoga session, when relaxed, my mind open, that the answer burst into my brain.

I had sexualized our rehearsals. Then I made them into a dirty little secret, something naughty, to be hidden, kept private from his father. All this had helped Ross' performance. Now I would extend these principles; I would further empower Ross; I would let our pretend sex life, in a small way, control my real sex life

I called and asked Ross if he wanted to join me for lunch at Pizza Man. He never said no to Pizza Man.

We shared a pepperoni. When it came to pizza the kid had no imagination.

"Last night, your father and I were pretty loud. I guess it seemed disrespectful."

He squirmed; I'd hit the nail on the head.

"Mom, its just..."

He stopped, not sure where he was going.

"I'm going to be honest with you. When you and I rehearse, I get aroused. You've come a million miles in the last few days. The point, or at least most of the point, of this production is to get people turned on. It's working."

"Really Mom?"

"Really."

I ran a fingernail across the top of his hand, feeling a sudden pang of desire. I toyed with the end of one of his fingers.

"But I guess is seems disrespectful. You and I go out on the porch, you get me all hot and bothered, then I fuck somebody else."

I watched. Ross accepted the explicit words; he had come a long way in the last few days.

"How 'bout this. I won't fuck your father after we rehearse. I'll either masturbate or go to bed horny."

* * * *

Late that afternoon, sitting on the couch, facing each other, we did another read through. I rubbed his feet; Ross was more aggressive, his hands worked their way up my legs. It was our best rehearsal to date. I complimented him.

"Thanks Mom, but now's the hard part. Sandy wants us to ab-lib the endiing. Outside of this script, I'm not sure how to talk dirty. I've got no experience."

"Try the internet."

"What?"

"The internet. There has to be dozens of sites dedicated to talking dirty, or with samples of dirty talk, or stories in which people talk dirty. You'll find all the material you need."

"Good idea." Then he paused, "What's Dad gonna think when he sees the show?"

"Would you prefer he not come?"

"Yeah, I would, it'd hate to explain it to him and it would ruin our secret."

"He's not much into theater. If something doesn't come up, I'll manufacture an excuse for him not to come. This will be between you and I, just you and I."

"Thanks Mom."

* * * *

Alex and I were going to a party that evening. Recalling last night's romp, thinking maybe we could still fix things up, feeling a bit guilty about conspiring with Ross, I put on garters, panties, stockings, a sheer black lacy bra, and as high a set of heels as decorum allowed. I made sure that Alex saw it all before I slipped into a short tight low cut dress.

"And what kind of mood are we in?" he asked, looking at me with happy eyes.

"Strip me after the party and find out," I purred.

* * * *

The party was a disaster. Alex gravitated to an attractive red-head who worked at a local architectural firm. Alex said he didn't know her but had to be attentive, she was a potential source of business. But I'd seen this behavior before. The connection between them was effortless; their chemistry patent; the lie obvious. When another guest, a general contractor, mentioned that Alex and the red-head had just signed a contract to design a two story office building for him, my suspicions were confirmed. She was a past, maybe a current, lover. I just wanted to leave. I made sure his glass was always full; soon I was driving one very drunk husband home.

Ross helped me get him upstairs, where we stripped him. Ross put his hand in mine.

"You look nice tonight Mom."

"Thank you son. How's the research going?"

"Great. You were right. The internet's a gold mine of dirty talk Instead of having too little to say, I've got too much. I was winnowing it down. Wanna help?"

I looked at my husband. "Sure, let me freshen up."

"Thanks Mom. The materials are in my room, let's do it there. And don't dwaddle, I want that sexy butt on my bed pronto."

It was playful, but he was in character. "My butt is at you service."

In the bathroom I took off my clothes and took the time to study my nude form in the mirror. I was a beautiful woman. I had been an active and imaginative lover, always ready for a roll in the hay. Last night was our best sex in years. I'd wanted to give Alex my body again tonight. I was angry and resentful, but I was also aroused; I wanted my sexuality back. I washed my face, brushed my hair, put on some light eye make-up and red lip stick, and opened my lingerie drawer. I held up a sheer baby doll, imagined Ross' face if I wore it. I put on cotton pyjamas. The fabric was soft, the legs and sleeves full length.

* * * *

Ross was sitting in front of his computer. On the screen a young man had pinned a voluptuous older woman to a wall. Her breasts were mashed on his chest, he was driving his oversized equipment into her, she was clawing his back and babbling obscenities. Ross was wearing only red gym shorts. The pornography, I thought, must have distracted him while changing. Ross turned off his computer; the image slowly faded away. Pushing some papers to the side, he sat on his bed and motioned for me to join him.

"You look good Mom,"

"In these ratty old pj's?"

"Yeah Mom, you can't help but look good."

I smiled.

He said, "I was thinking, let's run through the last page of the scripted material, then start the ab-lib."

"You're in charge stud."

We began. I quickly got into character; I quickly got turned on. The sexual energy that had been present all evening merged with that in our roles. My breathing slowed and deepened. I moistened my lips with my tongue. I stroked Ross' thigh. When we finished the scripted material I ran a finger tip down my son's face, stopping at his lips, and kissed his mouth. When I pulled away I was looking at him through half-lidded eyes. I ran a finger up his leg, stopping short of his penis. I began the ab-lid.

"Maybe I've been too subtle, I need to be fucked."

"Are you sure, we just met?"

"Sweetie, I'm a slut, I don't need to know you, I just need to be fucked. I'm a dirty lady. I told you, I spy on young men, watch them at night, through their windows, with my binoculars. Pick out the cocks I want in my pussy. I've watched you, I know you have what I need. I want you to come on my face, cover me with semen."

Ross' open palm settled on my thigh; a tingle ran through my body. I glanced down, my nipples were hard and erect, visible in my pyjamas. Ross followed my eyes.

"You like my tits? Do you want to spray your cum on them? Watch it slide down my boobs, drip from my nipples."

"Bitch, I thought you said you wanted to be fucked. What do you want? That I come on your face, your breasts, or...," there was a barely detectable pause, before he added, "in your cunt."

"My cunt, I need you to fuck my cunt. Should I beg?"

"Never hurts."

"Okay honey, fill my cunt with cum. Then I'll suck you, get you hard so you can come again, spray it on my face, on my fat tits. I love cock; I love cum. So fuck me, I'll be your whore, then come on my face, on my tits. We'll do it til the sun comes up."

My tits rose and fell with each ragged breath. The desire that had been seeping into me was coursing through my body, it had become a deluge. I arched my back; my breasts jutted out; Ross, eyes' glazed, he gawked at them. He was aroused as I.

"You like my tits don't you?"

"God yes, big and fat and round, I love your tits."

"Imagine spraying your cum on them."

"Unnh..."

"Imagine your cum sliding down them."

"Unnnhhh..."

I took his hand, moved it to my side under my pyjamas. Encouraged by my wicked little smile, he caressed my flank.

And then it came to me, a way to further personalize the story, to make it more immediate, more real.

"Is the problem that I'm too old? Old enough to be your mother? Is your mother old and ugly? Is that why you won't fuck me?"

"No, my mother's beautiful."

"Really? She's a sexy piece? Does she have big tits like me. Does she talk dirty, does she say," and I paused between each word, "cum, jism, prick, cock, cunt?"

Ross' hand trembled on my side. The flame between my legs jumped up a notch.

"She used to, she and Dad used to fuck all the time. She'd try to keep her voice down, but still I heard her say the filthy nasty words. They don't fuck much anymore. They don't know I know, but she found out Dad cheats."

"That's sad, to have a hot horny mom who isn't getting fucked as much as she needs."

"But it's been different lately, she's giving off heat."

"I bet it's because she has a hot son."

Ross swallowed. I slid my hand up his leg, toward his hard-on.

"Y'know what, I think she's spied on you, like I have, she knows about your fat dick and big balls, she wonders how much cum you can shoot. I bet when she masturbates she thinks about you. How about you? When you masturbate do you think about her?"

The words poured from me. I was on fire, in a sexual haze, a pea soup of lust, not questioning why I was encouraging my son to imagine fucking his mother. The small voice in my head that should have been screaming "no" had checked out.