Mom's Fertilization Seduction

We both leaned forward and hugged. I was surprised that her eyes glistened with tears when we parted. I wondered if being pregnant had softened her, or at the very least fooled with her hormones until she was overly sensitive.

"I'm so happy for you and Wayne," I said. Suddenly, I WAS happy for them. She was my age and had experienced the joy of being a mother. That's something I'd treasured for 18 years. "I can't wait to tell Stan the good news that his cousin is going to be a dad! What did the proud papa say when you told him?"

Again her hand tightened and she tilted her head a little. I could have sworn her smile looked a little forced and nervous as she said, "Well, that's something else I wanted to tell you—"

That's when the front door burst open, throwing Coach Braket into the room.

Every time I saw him I couldn't help but think how much Tom looked like his father's cousin. Must have been some dominant gene that skipped Stan, but was lurking there in the background.

He didn't even acknowledge my presence. "You give her the envelope?" he asked Denise.

"Here it is," she said and jumped up. It was right there on the coffee table. She handed it to me. "We're so happy to help Tom out," she said.

"Yeah, real happy," Coach said. "And I know why you're extra happy, Denise," he growled.

Denise looked at him with wide eyes, but coolly said, "My sixth grade student," as if that explained it all.

I took the envelope and made a straight line for the door. I turned and said, "Congratulations to you both. I hope I get to see the baby sometime."

"Yeah, right," Coach muttered as I shut the door.

I could hear them both yelling in the house as I got in my car.

*********************

"TOM!!" I yelled as soon as I got in the door.

When he stepped into the kitchen, I held up the prize—the envelope that assured his scholarship.

He must have been working out, because he was wearing his running shorts and sleeveless T-shirt. The muscles of his arms and shoulders glistened and his lean sinewy legs showed what propelled him into being the fastest receiver on the football team.

"I can't believe it, Mom! I kept hoping, but until now—I thought it might be too good to be true!

His joy overflowed into a great big bearhug for his mom. He lifted me from my feet and whirled me around and around. We both laughed with the great emotional release of the moment.

"You're all sweaty!" I chuckled.

"Afraid of a little DNA from your son?" he chuckled back.

"Not in the least little bit," I said, and kissed him on his sweaty cheek.

He put me back on my feet, but didn't let go. In fact, he made the hug even closer while also maneuvering our bodies to "fit" more tightly, to map as much area as he could of his own torso and hips onto mine.

I didn't think to retreat.

"Mom, I want to thank you for going over there today. I know it wasn't easy for you. Yanno, with Miss Locke and everything."

"It's Mrs. Locke-Braket, with a hyphen no less, now that she married," I said.

"She'll always be Miss Locke to me, after a whole year in the sixth grade with her."

"You'll probably always see her in that position ... as your teacher."

"Yeah, that's ONE position I'll see her in."

Before I could finish a quizzical look at him, he leaned forward and surprised me with a tender kiss on the mouth. "I just want you to know how much I appreciate you, Mom. Not only today, but for always. I want you to know how much I love you and want to do anything that would make you happy. ANYTHING."

He hung his head over my shoulder and pulled me close with his strong arms. The heat of his recently-exerted body radiated into my chest and his aroma, the musky maleness of his sweat, filled my nostrils.

I inhaled the essence of my son deeply. I luxuriated in the moment and lingered there.

Then, I was aware of something else. That something ELSE was pushing against my crotch. If I didn't know better, I would have thought my son had a hardon!

My curiosity got the best of me and I shifted my hips in a little exploratory sway. My pubic mound definitely could define a rise and a fall on either side of something hard. I did it twice more to be sure.

"Oh ... my ... God!" I thought. My son has a raging hardon while he's hugging his mother! Some involuntary reaction I reasoned, and he's probably embarrassed to pull back and show the "obvious" through those thin running shorts.

A funny thought came to me: I wonder how big it is? Why would I even think that? Most likely because of that damned video!

I figured the best thing to do was give him a few moments to "calm down."

I asked, "Did you know Miss Locke was pregnant?"

His eyes widened. "Aahh ... yeah ... kinda. I've known for a long time."

"Tom! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Lots of reasons! I know how you and Miss Locke are. I know how she gets to you."

"That's no reason not to tell me. You know I would have wanted to know about something like that."

"Mom, something like that is exactly what you shouldn't know about. You start, yanno, obsessing about when anybody else gets pregnant. And I thought especially Miss Locke and how you react to her."

"I don't obsess," I explained. And I thought I explained in a calm, non-obsessive manner.

"You're saying that you don't want to get pregnant? You're saying THAT has changed?"

I didn't say anything.

"You want me to be honest with you, Mom?"

"I always want you to be able to say what's on you mind to me, Tom. You know that."

Before he told me what was on his mind, I could feel something that was probably on his subconscious mind: my son's hips were making little grinding motions against me. They were subtle, but definite and rhythmic. And, his penis, if anything, had gotten even harder and more pronounced. I could feel it pressuring against the thin fabric of my tight shorts, which served as little pressure buffer for my vagina.

I didn't pull back. Whether I was calling his bluff ... or something else ... I didn't have time to think about because Tom said:

"I know Dad can't get the job done. I've known that for a long time. You think I don't hear you talk with him? You think I don't think I hear you complain to Aunt Marie all the time?"

He pressed his hips even harder against me, but I was too moved by his words to react.

"Tom, you shouldn't have to worry about something like that, I—"

"But, Mom, I know how much you want to have a baby. And now, with me getting ready to go off to college, I know how you'll obsess about it and get all depressed. I don't want that to happen."

"So that's why you didn't tell me about Miss Locke. You were never going to tell me?"

To my horror, I suddenly realized that my own hips were meeting every little thrust of my son's crotch with a welcoming push forward of my own. Without even suspecting what I was doing, I had been absentmindedly humping my son's hard cock.

Enough calling his "bluff." I pulled away.

"I was going to tell you in my own way. I was going to tell you today, in fact. In my own way, a way that would have made it easy to understand my plan."

He backed away, envelope in hand. He didn't even attempt to hide the tentpole that was stretching the fabric of his shorts.

He waited several seconds, every one of which had my eyes were glued to his crotch. He waited until my eyes came up and met his.

"You need it, Mom."

He walked out of the room, leaving me to ponder the meaning of "it."

*******************************

You'd think after all I went through so far, I would have tried to get some rest and calm down.

Instead, I dove for my laptop and half hoped there wouldn't be another email from Prikxxcharming so I wouldn't have to deal with it. The other half of my hope was the half that won: there was a fresh arrival in my inbox with the subject "Cum & C!"

"I can't believe I'm going to watch this," I said to myself and then looked at my bedroom door to make sure it was closed—for the third time.

I played the video. It started the same. It got to the same place where the other video had ended.

This time, the hand speeded up even more and seemed to me to be too rough and careless, like it was trying to get to the end as if it was a chore to get done.

The hand slowed down and I could see the cockhead swelling. The woman's other hand came around the body (she must have been standing behind him). In it she had a small transparent plastic cup. You could see there was a label stuck on the opposite side.

She expertly positioned the opening of the cup at the end of the penis just as it exploded with a milky white splash of goo. It gushed into the cup. Then ... again ... and again. I counted seven separate large floods that spurted from that magnificent cock.

The cup was three quarters full—full of a gelatinous thick mix of semen and sperm.

"I can't believe how much cum there is!" I said out loud.

The woman dropped the cock unceremoniously and the masturbating hand disappeared, only to reappear a moment later with a screw-on top for the container. She fitted it on, and a couple of turns later, the contents was safely sealed away.

That was the end of the video.

"So much cum!" That thought kept on intruding into my mind. So much. Especially when I compared it to Stan's meager production—if you could even call it that—if he could even get it up. Just a couple of drops you could clean up with a Q-tip.

No wonder I couldn't get pregnant.

What was in that cup could get me pregnant five times.

"Or more ..." I said.

I watched the video a few more times. Okay ... maybe more than a few more times. Finally, I noticed something: When she was putting the top on, the cup turned so that the label was showing for a second.

The good thing about a video is the trusty pause button. I paused it several times before I could find a frame that wasn't completely blurred from motion.

The bright blue print on the white label read: AFC 03-IUI-DALB-3X213-04.

I didn't know what all the numbers meant, but I knew what AFC meant: Ablineaux Fertility Clinic. How did I know? My sister, Marie, worked there!

I watched the video a few more times, every time "oohhing" and "aaahhing" each time the penis erupted. And each time I promised myself I wouldn't let my curiosity get the best of me.

I broke my promise and picked up my phone and made a call:

"Marie, I need your computer skills!" I said, trying to hide my excitement.

"My computer skills are limited to waking up and putting a computer to sleep. You know that. What really do you need?"

"Write this down and tell me what it means," I said in my best "command" voice.

"Shoot."

"AFC 03-IUI-DALB-3X213-04," I dictated.

There was a hesitation. "Okay, I got the AFC ... then what?"

"Don't screw around, Marie. I'm not in the mood."

"Where did you get this?"

I thought it might be imprudent to say "Off a video of a woman jerking off some young guy" so I said "Don't ask" instead. I added, "Can you tell me what it means or any clues who it could belong to?"

"You didn't find this laying on the sidewalk or in some trash container did you?"

"Marie!"

"Okay. The AFC obviously stands for Ablineaux Fertility Clinic, where I work, by the way. That's the company which prides itself in discreet confidentiality and looks very sternly on any employee who might dishonor that discretion—like in losing one's job!"

"That part I got myself," was all I said.

"This is the identifier we use to label sperm donations. The 03 is the month. By my calculations, that means March. The "IUI" means Intrauterine Insemination. This means we're gonna use the ol' turkey baster to go into the woman's body. Not 'in vitro' where—"

"Yeah, I get it," I said impatiently. I wanted to know "who" more than "how."

The "DALB-3X213" is a coded patient identifier, and the 04 is the number of times the procedure has been done. So that means that was the fourth time. Not a good sign."

"So you don't know who this belongs to?"

"From my vast list of memorized random numbers? No, Tess, I DON"T know who this belongs to!"

"And there's no way you can ...?" I left that hanging out there.

"Not from home. You know this is the sort of thing that loses people jobs, a break in the trust patients give to us."

"So ... you won't do it?"

"Of course I'll do it. You're my sister!" She laughed. "I'll call you tomorrow after I check the records at work."

*****************************

"I want to have another baby, Stan," I said as I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Stan was still reading, as usual.

"Can't we just be happy Tom got his scholarship and not talk about this tonight. You're overreacting because you found out Denise is pregnant."

"I'm NOT overreacting! I'm reacting perfectly normally for a woman who wants a damned baby and hasn't been able to get pregnant for 18 fuckin' years. Or non-fucking years, as has been the case. You don't even try any more. At least make an effort. Have a few drinks and loosen up so you don't get your 'performance anxiety.' I'm so sick of that."

"It's a real thing. Look it up!" Stan said calmly.

His calmness, his lack of concern infuriated me most of all. I kicked the covers off me—off both of us—and stamped towards the bedroom door.

"Where are you going?"

"To check my email," I said, too loudly.

I closed the door of the study behind me and turned on the small desk lamp before curling up on the couch there. I opened my laptop and was greeted with another email. This one had the subject: Do You Think?

There was no attachment to this one. The body of the message read "You already watched the video, didn't you. You haven't written back any of your thoughts yet. And I say yet because I expect you've got something to say about it. If you write me your honest thoughts, I'll send you the video with the audio intact. It will answer lots of questions. Then, answer this question: do you think you could make me cum harder than her? Why?"

Why would I even answer this? Why was I caring at all about this video? this guy? him cumming?

I was getting all confused. So much was happening—the scholarship, Denise, Tom and his flirtations, Stan and his ... his lack of attention to me. And THIS. This video that had a hold of me. I wanted to forget it, but couldn't stop wondering about it. And I couldn't stop watching it.

That cock. And the way she jerked him off. And the way he ejaculated!

My baby-making body was responding. It was yearning for that counterpart to my egg. Something deeply elemental was calling to me, and tearing me apart.

Denise was pregnant, and I wasn't. How unfair was that?

Why would I play along with this dangerous game of this email. I didn't know who sent it. Was it random? It had to be. No one knew this email address of mine. It was impossible.

But it had to be local if they were using the Ablineaux Fertility Clinic.

So confusing. So, so confusing. There were a million reasons to ignore the sender's request for my thoughts. A million. I should just forget it.

But ... he said my questions would be answered by the audio. And I had a million questions too.

So confusing.

There was an excitement to keeping this thing going. A naughty sexual tension that I was relishing. Something missing in my mundane life. And now on top of it, Tom, my beloved son was soon leaving for college. That emptiness would be piled onto everything else.

I decided to answer the goddamned email. I wrote:

*******************

Dear Prikxxcharming,

I don't know how or why you chose me, or why you would think I'd be interested in your "donation."

But, you have piqued my interest and I'd like to hear what the audio has to add.

Why you would be interested in my response is beyond me, but I'll give you my honest opinion and let you make of it what you will.

At first I was shocked by what I saw, then interested, and now I have to admit I'm kind of fascinated and wondering what the end of the story is all about.

It's all shrouded in mystery. You ejaculating in the Ablineaux Fertility Clinic cup (oh yes, I did figure that part out), the woman who I surmise is going to be the recipient, and you. Why would you want to be a sperm donor? And why would you want me to know about it?

You see. All shrouded in mystery. So. You've succeeded in making me curious enough to want the answers you promised. If the audio provides the answers, please send it. If it doesn't, then let this be the last contact between us and end this game here.

You're probably looking for some evaluation of your performance. You asked me to be honest so here it is: impressive. You've got a big, beautiful cock. One that would make any woman take notice. One that any woman would want to coax to full hardness with her hand (or her mouth). Would I want to feel my hand around it? I have to admit the answer is yes. Would I want to feel its heat and hardness? Again the answer is yes.

Of course the sight of it brings a response to a woman's body, including mine. Seeing what is between your legs has brought a wet throbbing ache between my own.

And your ejaculation was spectacular. You asked me to be truthful, and I have to admit I've never seen anything like it. It would surely overflow my mouth, or my vagina. And, given the right time of the month, your sperm would certainly make any woman pregnant.

I'm sure it was a success at the clinic.

There, my egotistical mystery man (I surmise you're egotistical because who else would want to show off like this), I've given you my honest thoughts.

Now, as to your last question about if I could make you cum harder. I have a healthy ego of my own. I can't say how you would react to my touch; I don't know you. But, I can say I would do things a little differently. I would have been more patient, more gentle, and less abrupt.

Would you have cum harder? I can't answer that. But, you would have cum in a more tender and satisfying way with me. Of that I'm sure.

I hope this qualifies as being honest and thoughtful. If it does, I'll expect you to keep your part of the bargain and send the audio. If it doesn't, then goodbye.

Sleepinbooteezz

**********************

I read it over twice, questioned why I would say half the stuff in there—to a stranger— and then took a deep breath and hit "send."

I was too agitated to go back to bed. Back to bed with Stan, who still pissed me off, so I read for a while in the study.

I must have dozed for half an hour and thought I'd check my email one last time—just in case.

I was surprised to see I had gotten something. It was from Prikxxcharming. It was a video. THE video.

I pressed play. And it played. This one had audio. It had a woman's voice saying:

"I don't know how you talked me into this."

That was all she said.

Then, there was a male voice. The voice said three words. Those three words were:

"OOOHH! MISS LOCKE!"

The first voice was Denise's.

The second voice was my son Tom's.

********************************

I was furious.

I was beyond furious.

And—I was so ashamed.

These past few days I had been looking at a big cock and letting it work some kind of hypnotism on me, watching it get hard, watching it cum—and then to find out it belonged to my own son!

Furious!

It would be bad enough if I had done that and no one knew. But, someone obviously knew. Whoever sent it knew Tom was my son. Why else would they send it to me?

And—what if my words, my thoughts that I wrote got out. What if people knew what I had written about my own son? I'd be ruined. WE'D be ruined as a family.

I was pacing the hall, back and forth, back and forth, with an occasion trip to the bathroom sink to put more cold water on a facecloth I was holding to my forehead to soothe my aching mind.

The bedroom door opened and Stan peeked his head out.