Facets of Love Ch. 08

Unlike my previous two bedmates, Mom wasn't naked. Her soft cotton night gown was cut low enough in the front to confirm she wasn't wearing a bra and was sufficiently short to give me a glimpse of panties when she bent over to turn off my bedside light.

"I'm not here to give you another sex lesson," she said as she kissed me on the cheek. "I'm going to teach you the proper way to sleep with a girl."

"Aren't they the same thing?" I asked.

"Some may think so, but when I say, 'sleep with a girl', I mean it in the literal sense. All the things your grandma and Aunt Gloria are teaching you are necessary skills for a healthy sex life, but you have to remember that, once you've found your soulmate, most of the time you spend in bed together, you won't be actively having sex."

"Because I'll be sleeping," I said, "something I've been successfully doing for eighteen years."

"You've been sleeping by yourself for eighteen years. Spending the night with another person is an entirely different thing."

"I don't understand. I mean I've never given it much thought, but I figured that, once a couple were done having sex, they just rolled over and dozed off."

"Robbie, sweety, what you just described is probably the norm... probably what most couples do, especially after they've been together for a few years. And it's also why a lot of your friends' parents are divorced.

"Sex, by itself, does not sustain a marriage or make you happy. Only love will do both. Sex is one of the many things you do to let a woman know you love her. Despite what you may think now, you can't have sex all day long. Most people are lucky to get in an hour of intimacy every week."

"Oh, come on Mom. You expect me to believe that you and Dad only do it once a week?"

"Your father and I aren't most couples," she said with a chuckle. "But even if you have sex two hours a day, every day, that still leaves another twenty-two unaccounted for. Twenty-two hours that you can use to either please, ignore, or piss off your significant other. I don't care how good you are in bed, if you spend the rest of your day either ignoring or angering your wife, you won't be married long.

"Now let's get back to the lesson at hand. Unless you have young children, you'll spend eight of those twenty-two sexless hours sleeping. Grandma and Gloria are teaching you how to please a woman before you go to sleep. My job is to ensure you don't piss her off while you're sleeping together and, possibly, how to give her sweet dreams.

"So, let me show you a couple of my favorite cuddling positions..."

That's exactly what we did. Spooning 101. Starting with her soft, barely covered breasts pressing into my back, her knees curled up under my ass, her arm wrapped around my waist, and a free finger nestled up against my belly button. If her hand had been an inch or two lower, she'd be shaking hands with my rapidly growing erection.

Which was a problem. Because, after a short discussion about proper pre-bed-time hygiene - "brush your teeth, take a shower if you need one" - Mom suggested we switch positions. Putting my chest against her back and my legs curled up under her ass wasn't a problem. But when I reached my long arm around her tiny waist, it didn't naturally fall on her belly button. It wanted to be higher. Chest high.

And there was also a problem with my third leg. If I left my boner in my boxers, it would poke Mom in the ass, most likely keeping her up all night. If I let it roam free, well, there's no telling where it would go.

This obviously wasn't Mom's first rodeo. She tended to my hand first, placing it directly on her nighty covered boob. And then she reached behind her, freed willy from his cloth covered confines, and captured him between her thighs.

In Mom's eyes, this was the proper way to cuddle. Which explained why Dad was always so happy, although I wondered if he ever got any sleep, because, with my hand on her boob and my dick rubbing up against her panties, I was anything but sleepy.

-

Mom was right. Despite my initial doubts, I eventually fell off to sleep and woke the next morning feeling well rested and ready to go.

Or maybe I was still sleeping, having one of those sweet dreams she mentioned the previous evening.

Opening my eyes, I could see a hint of sunlight streaming around the plantation shutters. There was no longer a soft boob in my hand, a firm ass snuggled up to my belly, or a cascade of blonde hair sharing my pillow. But I could still smell her. A hint of Mom's comforting aroma teased my nose... and... as I slowly transitioned from sleep to wakefulness... I realized there was also a tongue licking my cock.

"Mom?" I asked, looking at the large lump under my bed spread.

Instead of answering, she took me full into her mouth,

bobbing up and down,

withdrawing,

licking my tip while she stroked my shaft with her hand,

taking me to the entrance of her throat,

and then into her throat,

deep into her throat,

not once,

not twice,

but three times,

until her nose rubbed against my belly and my balls slapped against her chin,

pausing,

pausing so long I feared she would suffocate,

finally withdrawing,

gasping for a breath,

and then doing it all over again,

and again,

until my stomach tightened,

my ass clinched,

my balls contracted,

and I filled my mothers' mouth with rope after rope of cum.

I heard her swallow.

I felt her lick the overflow off my tummy and thighs.

I watched as she crawled out from under the covers.

"Good morning. I trust you slept well," Mom said as she gave me a chaste kiss on the cheek.

I was tempted to say, 'I slept like a baby', but that would have been a lie. I slept like a man. A man who spent the night with a beautiful woman in his arms. A man who wanted to spend each and every night, for the rest of his life, cuddled up just like he was the previous night. A man who wanted to wake up every morning with that same beautiful woman's face between his legs.

But that's not what a confused eighteen-year-old boy says to a woman who just gave him a blow job while, just the night before, insisted they were just going to cuddle. Instead, I said,

"I slept great. But I thought we weren't supposed to have sex."

"We didn't. You were a perfect gentleman all night long."

"What about this morning?"

"That was nothing to be concerned about. Just my version of a good morning kiss. Now get your butt out of bed and get ready for school. You don't want to be late for your first day as a senior."

Mom gave me one last hug and kiss (this time on the lips), climbed out of bed, pulled her nighty down so it covered her ass, and went back to the main house.

-

Mary Spencer Jones

By all rights, I should have been the first woman to sleep with my son. I know that may sound odd to most people but, given my family's unique social construct, it made perfect sense. I birthed him, I had first-say in his upbringing. I witnessed his first steps, heard his first words, and should have been his first fuck.

As it turned out, I wasn't Robbie's first, or even his second. I purposely chose to go third because I was scared to death that he might reject me.

"Really Mom? You want to have sex with me? That's just gross. You're like double my age. Why would I waste my time with an old woman when every eighteen-year-old girl in my senior class is lining up to get a piece of what I've got?"

Robbie never said those words. Even though they were the honest truth, my son loved me way too much to break my heart. But, if I snuck into his bedroom on his eighteenth birthday, took off my clothes, and forced myself on him, everything would change. Our relationship would be forever stained with the dark ink of incest, and we would lose the most precious bond known to mankind. The bond between mother and child.

So, I let my mom go first, figuring that, if Robbie would fuck a fifty-five-year-old woman, he might also be amenable to at least sleeping with me.

I asked Gloria to go second using the weak excuse that it fit into our normal sleeping rotation. Truth be told, I was just putting off the inevitable trauma for another day.

On the third day - two days after my mom took my son's virginity, one day after Gloria added a second notch to his bedpost - I hesitantly rose from my husband's bed, put on a short nighty, crept down the stairs, out the back door, and into the cabana where my son slept.

"We're not going to have sex."

That's the first thing I told him, partially because I didn't want to get his hopes up, but also so he wouldn't turn me away if my presence disgusted him.

He didn't object when I climbed into bed next to him and politely listened while I gave him a mother-to-son lecture on the difference between sex and love. At least that's what I think I told him. I tend to ramble when I get nervous. And I was nervous as hell because, let's face it, I was far from an expert on the subject of sex. Sure, I knew how to please Robert, and, with their guidance, I could also satisfy Mom and Gloria. Add my brief affair with Casandra, my college roommate, and those four people were the extent of my sexual experience. Note that only one of them had a penis.

Which brings me back to Robbie. He had a penis. A big one. As big as his father's, or maybe slightly larger if I could believe what Mom and Gloria told me. I had to rely on them because I hadn't seen my son completely naked since he was five.

We started our cuddle session with my chest against his back. Nothing overtly sexual. I wrapped my arm around his waist and let my hand wander up to his chest and then down to his stomach, both of which were toned and muscled. The temptation to continue southward, below his belly button and under his boxer shorts, was nearly irresistible. But again, fear took over. Afraid I would find a long, thick, throbbing erection and not be able to resist the temptation. And also scared to death that I'd find him as flaccid as a single strand of cooked spaghetti noodle, the ultimate sign of rejection.

Instead, I stopped and slowly fingered his belly button, the lone remnant of the umbilical cord which joined us for the first nine months of his life. A reminder of the sacrosanct bond we once shared. The promise I would love and nourish him for as long as he needed me.

That's when it hit me.

My son is eighteen years old. He is not a child anymore. He is a man... a fully grown man who no longer needs his mother.

But does he want me?

Well, there's one surefire way to find out.

Reaching down and grabbing his dick would have answered my question but, either way, it would have put us both in an uncomfortable position. So, continuing with my stated purpose of teaching him how to sleep with a woman, I rolled over onto my other side, and told Robbie to do the same... positioned so that his chest was against my back... and his rock-hard cock was poking me in the ass.

He wants me! My studly son has a hard on for his mommy.

Sensing that Robbie was simultaneously confused and embarrassed, I took the reins, first placing his upper hand on my boob and then fishing what had to be a painful erection out of his shorts and trapping it between my thighs.

"This is my all-time favorite sleeping position," I told my son and, to prove the point, I was soon fast asleep.

-

The next morning didn't quite go as I planned. My intent was to wake before Robbie, stealthily extricate myself from his embrace, and sneak back into the house while he continued to snooze. Unfortunately, for the last nineteen years, whenever I woke up with a hard cock between my thighs, I had slipped under the covers, taken said cock in my mouth, and sucked until its owner filled my belly with cum. It wasn't a deliberate action. It was instinctual. Some people stretched as they made the slow transition from REM to consciousness. I sucked cock.

For nearly two decades, that cock belonged to my husband. Robbie took after his father in the 'well hung' department so, in my dream addled mind, the cock between my thighs, the erection that pressed against my slightly damp panties, the rock-hard woody that called to me from under the sheets... that masterfully crafted hunk of man meat had to belong to Robert.

Sucking my son's dick was an honest mistake. But once I realized what I was doing, once my mind caught up with my Pavlovian morning response, it was too late to stop. Only a truly evil woman starts giving a man a blow job and then quits before he's satisfied. It was my first sexual encounter with my son. I had no choice but to let him know that I wanted him as much as he wanted me. And, if the amount of jizz he shot down my throat was an accurate indication, he wanted me a lot.

-

When I got back to my bedroom, Gloria was doing to Robert what I had just done to his son. Not wanting to interrupt, I stripped off my night shirt and headed for the bathroom. I was just stepping into the shower when Gloria joined me.

"So? How did it go?" she asked.

"I gave him a blow job."

"Really? I thought you were just going to cuddle."

"Yeah, that was the plan. But things got a little confused this morning."

"You accidently sucked his dick? How does that happen?"

"Don't judge me. It just did."

"And?"

"And I'm not sure how I feel about it."

"What aren't you sure about?" Robert asked as he joined us in the shower.

"She gave Robbie a blow job," Gloria said.

"I thought you were just going to cuddle," Robert said.

"We did. We cuddled all night, and I never took my nighty or panties off. But this morning..."

"You sucked our son's dick?"

"It's your fault. I thought he was you."

"You can't tell the difference between my dick and Robbie's?"

"Well..." I stammered, "I was half asleep..."

"...and they're damn near anatomical clones," Gloria said in my defense. "Not to mention that they also taste the same."

"What in the high heavens are you talking about?" It was my mom's voice, coming from the now open bathroom door.

"Mary accidently gave Robbie a blow job and Ryan's giving her a hard time about it."

"His name is Robert, not Ryan," Mom scolded Gloria. "And tell me how you inadvertently suck a man's cock," Mom said, turning towards me.

Before I could answer, Robert did what he did best and took charge.

"Shouldn't we wait until the kids are out of the house before we have this discussion?" he asked.

"The kids are gone," Mom said. "They've all had their breakfasts, no thanks to you three, and left for school ten minutes ago."

"Good," Robert said. "Unless anybody has something pressing to do this morning, I suggest we adjourn to the bedroom and discuss this like sane adults."

The only thing I really needed to do that morning was come. Sleeping with my son's cock lodged up against my pussy and his hand on my boob got me in the mood. Swallowing a large load of his seed got me wet. Showering with Gloria damn near got me off, but not quite. So, when we reconvened in the bedroom, I laid on my back on the edge of the bed, spread my legs, and gave Robert a desperate "come hither" look.

That's how the conversation started. My ankles on Robert's shoulders, his cock in my puss, Gloria and Mom watching from opposite sides of the bed while the four of us debated whether it was appropriate for a thirty-seven-year-old woman to give her eighteen-year-old son a blow job.

"The way I see it," Mom said, "this is exactly like my Nipple Envy theory except, instead of Robert being envious of baby Robbie sucking on Mary's tits, he's jealous of Mary sucking on Robbie's adult cock. Lucky for us, the solution for both situations is the same. When baby Robbie monopolized Mary's boobs, I graciously let Robert suck on mine. And now that Robbie is of age, I'll gladly take care of Robert's needs those days Mary's tending to her son."

"Or, to put it in plain English," Gloria said, "you're going to make the supreme sacrifice and suck Robert's cock when Mary's doing the same to Robbie. Something both you and I would willingly do even if Mary wasn't sleeping with her son."

"You two are missing the point," Robert said as he slow fucked me with long, steady strokes. "This isn't about me. I'm not jealous of my son. Sure, I was a bit surprised to hear about Mary giving him a blow job, especially since she told me that she wasn't going to do anything sexual with him. But, considering our current lifestyle, I have no right to tell Mary who she can and cannot have sex with. Just like I can't dictate what Gloria May and Martha do outside of my bedroom, or in it for that matter.

"What we're discussing is Robbie's upbringing. When Martha came to me with this cockamamy plan, I only agreed because I thought it would make him a better person. I didn't know shit about how to treat a woman when I was his age and the only way to learn was by trial and error. I got lucky. I got Mary, and then Martha, and then May. The three of you molded me into what I am today, and I would be a horrible father if I didn't give the same advantages to my son.

"That's enough from me," my wonderful husband said. "What do you think, Mary?"

"I... I think... I think I'm going to come."

And I did.

Not an earth shattering, life changing climax. But not a flash in the pan either. It was a satisfying, pressure relieving orgasm which cleared my mind and steadied my nerves.

"I agree with Robert," I said after my convulsions stopped.

"Of course you do," both Mom and Gloria muttered in similarly sarcastic tones.

"What I did with Robbie this morning was a mistake. Not because I had oral sex with my son. He had a need and I fulfilled it. That's what good mothers do.

"But let's face it. You don't have to teach a boy how to eat ice cream and men don't need lessons on receiving blow jobs. Both come to them naturally. If our goal is to transform Robbie into the man his father is, we should teach him how to consistently please a woman, both in and out of bed. I've no doubt that, after a year of Mom's and Gloria's tutelage, he'll be able to coax an orgasm or three out of the chilliest ice princess on the planet. But, in the process, we also need to teach him how to listen, how to respect, how to put other's needs in front of his own.

"I don't want to raise a high-priced gigolo. I want to raise a man. A good man. A man worthy to be called Robert's son."

-

Robbie Jones

For the next nine months, I slept with three different women. There are seven days in a week. If you do the math, I should have slept with each woman twice a week and then, to be fair, either sleep alone Saturday night or have a third session with one of my three sex tutors on a rotating schedule.

That didn't happen. Grandma and Aunt Gloria alternated nights Sunday through Friday. I only slept with Mom on Saturday.

I'm not complaining. Far from it. The things I did with Grandma and Aunt Gloria would fill the pages of a hundred full length erotic novels. And even though all I did with Mom at night was cuddle, her Sunday morning wakeups were well worth the wait.

Despite my nocturnal (and early morning) activities, my tutoring sessions didn't appreciatively change our previous relationships. I was still Mom's son, Grandma's grandson, and Gloria's favorite nephew. I continued to mow the lawn every week and attended to any other chores Dad or the ladies asked of me. And I did my homework. My schoolwork and also the projects assigned by my sex tutors.

"I want you to have a fifteen-minute conversation with a different girl every day," Mom told me one Saturday night as my hand gently caressed her nighty covered boob.