David Writes an Erotic Story

'He slams his eleven inches deep up her cunt. After one stroke she comes. Five minutes later they were fucking again, and she was screaming like a bitch on heat. Her second climax was volcanic.'

I winced. David writing porn didn't upset me, but writing it so badly, did. It was crude, without any subtlety, and some of it was even naive, as if it had been written by an inexperienced adolescent boy. In my opinion, it was only a three out of ten. And I was being generous. My Son was very clever, he could do a lot better than this.

I'd gone into his room to tidy it up. As usual, it was a mess. I should speak to him about it, but he was a straight A student, studying hard, so for now, I'd cut him some slack. When I picked up the empty mug from his desk the PC made a noise, and then a document appeared on the screen, as if by magic. On another day I would have ignored it. It would be part of his thesis, and therefore of no interest to me. But something caught my eye, it was the word cunt. That was strange, because my Son was majoring in Geology, and not Gynaecology!

I knew that I shouldn't read it, but I was intrigued. It started off as a love story between a young man and an older woman, but it soon became porn. And when I'd got to the end, that's when I'd winced.

When I left his bedroom it was tidy, and the document on the PC was as I'd found it, on the last page, so that he wouldn't know that I'd read it.

For the next hour I was busy doing my chores, and then I put my feet up. As I drank my coffee, and munched on chocolate biscuits, I thought about David's story. Until it had got sexual, it had been well-written. However, after their first kiss, it had rapidly gone downhill. It was as if it had been written by somebody that had very little experience with women, and that's why it wasn't realistic. And that got me thinking about my Son.

He's twenty years old, and in my eyes at least, he's good looking. He has strong rugged features, just like his Father. If you like your men clever, then he's for you. I just wish that he was more self-confident. His Father has that in spades, and he'd used it to sweet-talk me into bed with him when I was only eighteen.

When Jim got home, I talked to him about our Son.

"Do you think he's still a virgin?"

With surprise in his voice, he said, "He's twenty years old."

That was his way of saying no. To him, being that age and still a virgin was unthinkable.

"But he's not like you."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You aren't shy. Talking to women is easy for you. You can charm the birds from the trees."

Without even a hint of false modesty, he said, "That's true."

"I don't think he's had much experience with women."

After shaking his head, he said, "He's had lots of girlfriends."

That wasn't true. Yes, some girlfriends, but not many. However, I didn't challenge him about what he'd just said, because he was never going to change it. As far as he was concerned, his Son was like he was when he was twenty. A stud!

I thought that he would have wanted to know what had prompted me to ask that question about our Son, but he hadn't. If he had, I wouldn't have told him it was because of the story that I'd read, I would have given him a nice smile, and then said, "No reason." For other men, that wouldn't be enough, but for Jim it would be. He would be happy with that answer. I loved him dearly, but I wasn't blind to his faults. He wasn't just self-confident, he was also self-centred, so he wouldn't be too interested in finding out what had motivated me to say it.

David wasn't back until seven, just in time for him to eat with us. During the meal he didn't say much, and as soon as he'd finished he went to his room. He would now be studying, or perhaps he would be writing more of the story?

We didn't see him again for the rest of the evening, and at ten o'clock we went to bed. As soon as we were in our room, Jim surprised me.

While we were undressing, he said, "Do you really think he's still a virgin?"

I could tell that he was concerned, even worried. This was unusual for him. He was showing compassion towards his Son. Then he spoilt it, when after getting in to bed with me, he revealed the real reason for his emotions.

"If he is, I hope he keeps it to himself. I don't want my friends finding out about it."

That got him a poke in his ribs, with enough force to make him yelp.

"That hurt, why did you do it?"

"If you don't know why, then there's no point in me trying to explain it to you."

I then quickly moved, so that my back was towards him. He knew what that meant. I was annoyed with him. Despite knowing that, I felt his hand on my breast. When I grabbed it, he pulled it back, and I let go of his hand.

"Sorry. Sometimes I can be a little insensitive."

It wasn't sometimes, it was often, and it was never little, but at least he was apologizing, and that for him was unusual.

This time when his hand was back on my breast, I let him keep it there, and when his skilled fingers found my nipple, I gave a low moan. I knew what was coming next, and he didn't disappoint me. He was now kissing my neck, and as always, that was getting me excited. I was forty one years old, and we'd been together since I was eighteen, so he knew what buttons to press, and in which order. And for somebody who could be quite selfish, he was a generous lover. If I was to list his faults it would take me some time, and I'd need more than one page. But there would be nothing on that list that was anything to do with our sex life.

It wasn't long before I turned over. His fingers on my nipples was always nice, but his mouth on them was even better. As soon as my tits were facing him, he was greedily sucking on one of them. And I was moaning again, but this time louder.

When he pushed me onto my back it was so that he could get to my other nipple. It was now a two-pronged attack. One of them in his mouth that he wasn't just sucking on, he was also nibbling it, and the other was getting the expert attention of his fingers. And very soon it would get even better, because I'd opened my legs, and that was to let him know that I was ready to be fingered.

When they went in, I gasped. He'd pushed them in quickly, and he hadn't stopped until they were deep inside me. For some women that would have been too harsh, but for me it was perfect. Just what I wanted. Then as he started fucking me with them, I reached for his cock.

He was now servicing my tits and my pussy, and I was slowly stroking his swollen member. When we were younger, we'd both quickly reach it, and then soon after, we'd be fucking again. But now, for most times, once is enough, so we pace ourselves.

Even now, his cock still fascinates me. I'd come to him as a shy virgin, and it was the first one that I'd ever touched. Then it had seemed so big, perhaps too big for my little pussy. But now, because we occasionally watched porn together, I knew that it wasn't a large cock. However, his six inches was enough for me, and up to now, it has never failed to give me complete satisfaction.

As I got more excited, my hand was moving faster. Jim understood that, and he used it to tell him when I was ready to accept his cock. It was rare when I had to speak, to ask him to fuck me. But tonight I had to.

"Put it in," and then to make it clear that it was urgent, I quickly added, "And do it now!"

When he entered me I gave a loud sigh, and then when he was fully in me I purred. Was there a better feeling than having my pussy filled up by a nice cock? If there was then I had never experienced it. And this was just the start. He would now fuck me, using all the experience that he had, to a climax that would be long and satisfying. I loved him for lots of reasons, but his skill in the bedroom was probably the top of the list.

This time he didn't need any guidance from me. He was playing his part to perfection. He'd started slowly, but now, because he was finishing me off, he was pounding into me with a speed that was impressive for a fifty year old man. At the end of each stroke his balls were slapping into me, but the noise they made was drowned out by what was coming out of my mouth.

I tried to hold on, to make it last and I managed to do that, but only for a few seconds. Then it happened. And it was everything that I hoped it would be. It started in my clit, and then it was suddenly in every part of my body. I almost fainted.

It took me a while to come down from my high, and it didn't surprise me when I realized that he'd already pulled out. My climax had been so intense, that I was oblivious to anything else that was happening. I hadn't even felt him empty his balls into me, but I knew that he had because of what was now oozing out of my pussy.

Most men would now ask, wanting to know if they had satisfied their partner. Jim never did, because he knew that he didn't need to. As always, he just turned over, offering his back to me, confident that he had done a good job. Shortly after he was asleep, but I was still awake, thinking about David.

In the morning something unusual happened, we all ate breakfast together. That was because Jim was going into work later than usual, and David was going into college an hour before his normal time. I took the opportunity to fuss over the two men that I loved the most in the whole world.

"More toast."

"Who wants another coffee?"

"If you want more bacon it won't take me long to do it."

"There's an egg left, who wants it?"

When I realized that rather than being helpful, I was becoming irritating, I stopped asking.

When it was time for them to leave, they left together. I got a quick peck on the cheek from Jim, and, "I'll be back early today," from my Son as he was leaving the kitchen.

I'm a lady of leisure. I didn't work, so I had plenty of time to do the dishes. They could wait until I'd had a second cup of coffee. However, when I'd finished it, I didn't start tidying up the kitchen, I went to David's bedroom. Like yesterday, he might not have closed the story that he was working on, and I was curious to see if he'd written more, even though I knew that reading it was an invasion of his privacy. But he wouldn't know that I'd been looking at it, so no harm would be done.

As I jiggled the mouse, so that the screen would come to life, I was expecting to see the document again, but I was disappointed. There was no story, just the desktop icons. That was probably for the best. I shouldn't be reading it. If it was the other way round, and he was reading something that I'd written without my permission, then I'd be seriously annoyed.

I was almost out of his room before I turned around, and then I started walking back towards his desk. Curiosity had got the better of me. He hadn't left the document open, but I might be able to find it.

It's fair to say that I'm not a computer expert, but I'm also not a novice, so I did manage to find it. And it wasn't that hard to find, because it was in a folder that was named, 'My Stories', and that folder only contained one item, 'Young and old'. Even before I'd opened it, I knew that it would be the story that I'd read yesterday.

It didn't take me long to read it.

He'd added two more pages, and he'd also made some changes, but it wasn't any better. And one part was even worse.

'His cock was very big, but she took all of it deep into her throat without gagging. And when he came she swallowed all of it. Declaring that it was delicious.'

That piece was worse than bad, it was ridiculous. You can't take all of a huge cock without gagging, and you can describe the taste of cum using lots of different words, but delicious isn't one of them. Does any woman like the taste of it? I don't, and none of my friends do, but I was the dutiful wife, sometimes letting him come in my mouth. And, on special occasions, I might even swallow it, but it was something that I didn't enjoy doing.

David was indeed home early, just after one o'clock, and he hadn't eaten.

"I'm starving, is there anything to eat?"

I gave him a stern look, and he laughed. He'd offended me. I was a Mother, I prided myself that in my house there was always plenty of food, and that I could prepare a meal at short notice.

Fifteen minutes later it was ready, and shortly after he had a clean plate, and he was asking for seconds. That was eaten as quickly as the first helping. If he wanted thirds, then he was out of luck, because there was nothing left. But when he patted his stomach I knew that he was full.

"Thanks Mum, that was delicious."

Now that was the right time to use that word!

When he left the table I started to tidy up. He would be in his room for hours, and I might not see him again until tomorrow morning. But I was wrong, he was back in less than ten minutes, and from the look on his face I could tell that he was upset. I now had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I didn't know how, but it seemed that he knew that I'd read his story.

"Have you been using my PC?"

They say that honesty is the best policy, but I was going to ignore that advice. Before I could lie, he spoke again.

"You have. Somebody has read my story, and it can only be you."

"It might be your Father."

That got a shake of his head, and I knew why. Jim wasn't stupid. He ran a successful business with more than forty people working for him, but what he knew about computers could be written on a postage stamp with a three inch paintbrush. We both knew that he wasn't capable of opening the word document.

There was only one thing left for me to do. I should confess, and hope that he would forgive me.

"Yes it was me, but let me explain."

I quickly did, and he was understanding about the first time that I'd read it.

"That was my fault. I should have closed it. You saw it, and you were curious."

But he wasn't happy about me going back today to read it again.

"That was wrong. And you must have known that."

I didn't answer him, I just hung my head in shame. I got some more angry words from him, and I took them on the chin. Then it ended with him giving me a hug, to let me know that I was forgiven.

I was now in the kitchen, washing the dishes. Then I had a sudden thought, I hadn't asked him how he'd known that somebody had read his document. I was sure that I'd closed it. The next time I saw him I would ask.

Twenty minutes later, when the kitchen was clean, and I was sitting at the table enjoying a coffee, I got my opportunity, because he was back.

At the same time, like a well-rehearsed double act, we said, "I have a question."

That creased both of us up. When we'd finished laughing, he was the first to speak.

"You go first."

I asked my question, and his answer was simple. When I'd exited the document I thought that I'd closed it, but I hadn't. I'd just minimized it.

"And what's your question?"

"Did you like my story?"

They say that honesty is the best policy, and this time I took that advice. I didn't hold back. He got my honest opinion of it. When I talked about the sex scenes in the story I thought he would find that embarrassing, thankfully he hadn't, but he was disappointed when I told him how badly written they were. When I'd finished, he looked crestfallen. I now wished that I hadn't been so critical of it.

"If you cut out all the sex you'd have a half-decent story."

"But that's what makes the story exciting."

"Not the way that you write it."

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted saying them. He was like a beaten man lying on the floor, and I'd bent down to punch him again. However, in less than a minute, that beaten man was back up on his feet, ready to take on the world. And that had been achieved by me giving him a big hug, and then telling him that I would help him with his story. And I would enjoy doing that.

Later on, while I was in the kitchen cooking, we talked about it again. And this time I was doing my best to not be too critical about what he'd written. But why did he want to write a story? He'd never shown any interest in doing that before. There was only one way to find out.

"Why are you writing it?"

He seemed surprised that I'd asked that, but he shouldn't have been because it was an obvious question to ask. It was a while before he answered me, so he must have had to think about it.

"I think it's because I spend a lot of time doing Geology. I like it, it's an interesting subject, but it's completely factual. I felt the need to do something creative."

"But why make it pornographic?"

After seeing his reaction to that, a mixture of horror and shame, I rephrased it.

"Sorry, I meant to say, why make it erotic?"

This time his reaction was better, but I think he would have preferred me referring to it as a love story.

"They say write about what you know."

So he wasn't sexually inexperienced, he just wasn't good at choosing the right words and phrases to describe what happened in the bedroom. His Father would be pleased. When I'd told him that his Son might still be a virgin, it had upset him, and he'd refused to believe it.

"But I wanted my story to be about what I'd like to experience."

I didn't know how to respond to that, and for what seemed like a lifetime, but was only seconds, there was awkwardness between us. It was broken by me giving him a big hug, that lasted way too long. When I eventually ended it, my heart was beating faster, and my pussy had moistened, because I'd felt his cock pressing against me.

He stayed with me in the kitchen for another hour, and we talked a lot more, but not about his story. For now, we'd exhausted that subject. I asked him how his Geology degree was going, and he told me he was doing well, then he described, in too much detail, what his thesis was about. I listened attentively, even though I understood very little of what was said.

As he was leaving, he asked, "Did you mean it when you said you'd help me with my story?"

A big smile, while I was nodding, told him that it was a yes, and to reassure him, I also spoke.

"We'll start tomorrow."

The next day, when I woke, I was excited, but I couldn't understand why. It was a normal day, nothing special was going to happen. Then I remembered yesterday's conversation with David. I'd promised to help him with his story. Was that the cause of my excitement? No, that was silly. I was in a good mood, and I should just enjoy it, rather than trying to find out why that was.

I'd expected him back at five, but he surprised me by returning at half past three.

"My last lecture was cancelled."

"Good, that means you can help me cook. I'll prepare the meat while you peel and chop the vegetables."

And then, before he could come up with some excuse for why he couldn't do that, I said, "Then while it's in the pot cooking, we'll work on your masterpiece."

We were now in his room. He was sitting at his desk, and I was next to him, on a chair that I'd brought with me from the kitchen. In front of us, opened at the first page, was the word document, 'Young and Old'.

While we'd been together, preparing the meal, I'd given some thought to how I'd approach this. Softly softly, or jump in and go straight to the worst of it. I'd decided on the second option, to start with the first time that they'd got intimate. That was on page six.

"If you want it to be erotic, you don't have them fucking within seconds of getting into bed together. And pussy is a better word to use for a woman's most intimate place, instead of what you've written."

"OK."

"And stop grinning. I know your Mother has just used some naughty words, but you are twenty years old, not fifteen. We are having an adult conversation."

That got a quick sorry from him, and the grin had now gone.

"Start with them holding each other tightly, their mouths almost touching. They look at each other, and the inevitable happens. They kiss. Try to imagine it, that will help with your writing."