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Click hereLooking back, it seems amazing that overnight my entire life changed. I went from being a soccer mom to a son fucking, slutty mom. My marriage essentially ended that Homecoming night. Vincent and I are still legally married and live in the same house, but I never again attempted to be intimate with him. Compared to the magnificent lover that our son is, I wouldn't -- couldn't respond to him even when he did make overtures to me.
My life revolved around my son and the new found world of sexual freedom and decadence that he and his friends have introduced to me. My desires for my son have left me almost fearless. When Vincent is off on one of his trips, John and I are free to enjoy our carnal whims in any part of the house we desire. When Vincent is home, we are no less daring.
Neither of us think nothing of spending the night together in either my son's bedroom or my own and by nature I am a loud person in the throes of orgasm and I'm sure Vincent has heard my cries of pleasure many times throughout the night and many is the morning my husband has met myself or our son leaving the other's bedroom after a night of passion.
Quite often, I am on my knees in the shower sucking my son's cock when Vincent will walk in to wash his hands or to urinate. The shower door is opaque and I'm sure our forms are visible through the pebbled glass. Or perhaps, John will have me pressed against the shower wall, fucking me from behind and I'm sure my whimpering from John shoving his long, thick pole into my pussy or my asshole have left no doubt in Vincent's mind as to what our son and I are doing.
If Vincent is home on the weekend, he says nothing when I disappear downstairs to where John and Dell and Chuck are waiting for me, naked and cocks proudly erect. Likewise, he says nothing on Saturdays as I usually emerge from the basement, sometimes naked, always reeking of sex and splattered with sperm and go upstairs for my hot soak in the tub.
As time has passed, we've become even more open, more daring. Lately, I've taken to walking naked or barely dressed into the living room where my son and husband are watching a show or a game, I smile at my son and turn around and leave, confident that he will follow me to my bed.
I know I am intentionally rubbing my husband's nose in it, but I feel it is little recompense for all the years he treated me so ill. Vincent tried to take our son aside and stake out his "territory." I don't know what was said by either John or my husband, but Vincent was visibly shaken afterwards.
I consider my son to be my husband now. I belong to him body, heart and soul. I marvel at how gentle and loving my son is and treasure every minute we spend together, whether carnal in nature or not.
John is now graduated from High School and is attending a local community college, brushing up his basic academic skills before entering college. In about two years he plans to attend school two states away. We're making our plans for moving there. John tells me he cannot bear the thought of being so far away from his mother. For my part, I cannot conceive of ever spending another night alone. It is my happy fate to spend the rest of my life in the arms of my loving son.
The End
- COMMENTS
alo0ozalmost 5 years agoI love inest stories. But they loose their charms for me if they incorporate other people.
Al though it was a great writting, not so much to my liking.
Anonymousover 5 years agoThanks for this great story. I love family love and hope you'll continue this theme with more please.
M
johnturbo1946over 6 years agoid love to have a mom be so sexually charged....i would have shared her with my best friend also
Anonymousover 8 years agoBut I agree with the readers who think that the sex should be restricted to the mother and son. It goes against the grain for a son to want to share his mom with others. For a boy that hairy hole between his mother's legs, his mother's vagina, is a sacred place. It's his own birth canal, where his whole life-story began. To him, it's the most beautiful anything in the whole world, and he enjoys dwelling on it in his mind. He loves saying the words to himself, "my mother's vagina," even "mom's cunt," "my mother's tasty twat," "the twat I came out of," and similar terms of endearment. Everything about his mother's mommy-hole fills the boy with glee, thrills him from head to toe. Even if he hasn't laid eyes on it, he imagines the soft hairs that surround it, the lovely coloring, its planes and indentations, the heart-stopping crease, and the strong musky aroma that wafts up from it, better than the priciest French perfumes, his own mother's cunt-smell. For a son, his mother's cunt is a shrine to worship at--and a treasure to plunder. For nothing can ever feel as good to a boy's penis, as warm and loving, as welcoming and life-affirming, just so damn right, as his own mother's vagina. Share that paradise between his dear, dear mommy's thighs with anyone else? Not in a million years.
