Homecoming Son

"You can't think of me as one of your little conquests, you know," I told him.

"Never did, never will."

Why were we whispering?

If there was a God and he can see all, know all, he can certainly hear us too. This was a sin I'd spend a long time in hell for, though.

I kissed him, my hands around his face. And then pulled his pants down exposing his cock, as my face came down to meet it. I paused for just a second before my licking its head, now shucked well beyond its foreskin. Precum there was: salty, almondy. Holding it with my right hand, its thickness just a little more than the shaft of my tennis racquet, I swirled my tongue around Jon's cock head, skinning the foreskin down just a little bit more to expose the good stuff. And went to work.

Blowjobs have always come easy to me, my Mum taught me early and well in regards to our most demanding Dad, but every man is different. Pull up and release tension works on some, pull down and release tension works on others, some like just sucking, others like the focus on licking, more than a few have liked ball play and a finger up the bum. From his moans, Jon seemed to be the swirling tongue on the glans type and --

"Oh Mum, Oh Mum, I love it, and your hair stroking my belly, its amazing."

Two minutes of cock work and my mouth needed a rest, I took a pause, put my cheek on his thigh looked up at him, and even in the lowlit dark could see the smile in his eyes. So I'm sure he could see mine.

His cock throbbed in my hand and he flexed it up and down like a whinnying horse tosses its head, I figured he wanted release, I wanted it too but there's nothing more I like than taking things to the edge.

I wanted to touch him everywhere, taste him everywhere, I contented myself with little licks and kisses of his thighs. With him still lying on the couch and me astride his legs, I took one of his balls in my mouth. His hair added a level of fuzzy texture like a furry little apricot, first one, then the other, all the while stroking his cock like I imagined he would when masturbating, and caressing his thigh with the thumb of the other hand in upwards strokes. Then both balls in the mouth, a little tight --

"Ouch!,' Jon hissed.

"Sorry, baby" (Never complain, never explain, never apologise -- unless its to your intimates). Time to move into overdrive. I did a 180 and put my bum to his face.

Jon knew exactly what to do. He licked, he sucked, he blew, he inhaled -- "Mmmm, you smell and taste great, Mum" -- he touched, he fingered -- even the arsehole and the deliciously sensitive skin around it. Everywhere I felt him, was an electric glide and pulse of pleasure. And he wasn't even really working on my clit! With whatever free hand he had he would squeeze a breast, tweak a nipple. My boy had game. The problem with 69s though is that all too soon there's a sensation overload -- I've always found it impossible to focus on the feelings of both ends, so I switched off down below as it were and turned the max attention to my son's blowjob cock. "Go gentle on me, baby, I want you to think about coming now."

I used my right hand to wank Jon as I sucked him in and out, my left just cupping his balls with the middle finger pressing up to his bum hole. Our bodies were sweat-wet now too, Jon's cockhead, even in the little light we had, glowing almost with pinks and oranges whenever it escaped my mouth. I could feel him pulsing, I could feel him throbbing, I felt him clenching and then, with what I now am playing back in remembrance as a roar in my ears, Jon came, pushing gobbets and gobbets of come into my mouth. I didn't want to swallow it straight away, I wanted to get a measure of how much he came; Jon twitched a few times in response to my further sucks and squeezes --

"Oh my fucking God, Mum," he gasped. My son.

I had half a mouthful of his tastes-a-lot-like-avocado cum. Call me cumpetitive but you know, I needed to emphasise that I was no ordinary girl of his when it came to sex. I turned round, realising that my pussy through my juices and Jon's saliva was dripping wet, and brought my face to his.

I opened my mouth to show him his cum.

"You," he said chuckling.

I gargled a bit to showcase our work. And then leaned forward to kiss him. As Jon's mouth opened so did mine, and all that drooly cum went into him.

He seemed surprised at first but we snowballed nicely and after a minute or so, had completed our first meal as an incestualised mother and son. There are men who have had blowjobs from me in lieu of sex -- because I didn't want to fuck them/fancy them enough/ didn't want the ensuing hormonal and social bondings -- and felt a blowjob would get them off my back and let them know I at least felt they were worthy of some kind of sex. Plus, there wasn't any cum that ever was tasteless or inedible.

This oral though, this was more than sex. This was love. This was the beginning, the continuation of something a whole lot more. We all know the Oedipus Complex is real; trust me, Mums feel the same desires too. There should be a name for it, shouldn't there?