Nicole's Temptation Pt. 02

\Recently divorced, 42-year-old Nicole misses the convenience of having a husband around to satisfy her sexual needs. She resists the best efforts of her sisters to get her a replacement bed partner, instead developing a secret fascination for her nephew's cock when she spots it erect, poking out of his brief swim costume.

Finding herself alone with the 20-year-old in his bedroom, she does what any self-respecting lustful 40-something woman would do, seizing the chance for a furtive fucking session with him. Fearful her sister could find out that she fucked her son, Nicole tells Lachlan it must never happen again. But a month later, it does.

Nicole takes up the story again

Chapter One

At one end of my sister Stephanie's backyard pool, I am having what is rapidly becoming a ridiculous conversation with my 18-year-old daughter Georgia, both of us way too intoxicated to come up with anything deep and meaningful. I shouldn't, but I try to push her to admit she allowed her 20-year-old brother to go down on her as a birthday treat. Not only do I get confirmation it happened, Georgia reveals there has since been an encore performance. Her eyes sparkle as she describes the sibling licking.

Can her gleeful revelation of this incestual incident become any worse for me to hear? Yes, it can and does, when my daughter turns my indignant moral stance back on me, actually suggesting that, now I am again single, maybe I could draw some happy benefit too from my son's tongue.

"GEORGIA!" I shout my daughter's name way too loudly, indignant that she could suggest I commit incest with my own son, attempting to secure the high moral ground, even as my vagina still throbs from the wild fucking of my nephew's cock. I look up to see all of my siblings, and their partners, staring this way.

"Are you two having a family tiff?" asks my sister.

"Nothing to see here," I call back, dropping my volume back to normal levels. I turn back to my daughter.

"I could arrange it for you with Tom, mom. I mean, I understand how you might not feel comfortable asking him yourself. So, to save you any embarrassment, I could set it up for you. Oh, it would be so great ... he's so good, you'd love it. You can just lie in your bed in the dark one night, and he can come in, slip between your thighs, like he did for me -- twice now - and lick you out. Oh, mom, he's mastered it. I bet you haven't had an orgasm since dad walked out and our fingers aren't the same, are they?"

I resist admitting to my daughter that I would use my own fingers to give myself an orgasm, even though I advised her about doing it when we first had a sex talk.

"Mom, Tom is so good at it and you wouldn't be so stressed out."

"I will have you know, Georgia, that the last thing I am is stressed out. And the last thing I need is to have my 18-year-old daughter giving me sexual advice."

I turn to swim away, across to the pool ladder. I climb it, finding Lachlan is waiting at the pool edge, watching me emerge from the water, our positions reversed from how it happened that fateful day that started my indiscretions with him.

"Love your camel toe," he whispers as I pass close by him, only reinforcing my self-consciousness in wearing my new bikini.

"Is it still that obvious?" I pause to ask quietly.

"Oh yes! Even more now," is an answer I prefer not to hear. I feel I'm on a walk of shame as I return to my sun lounge. All three adult men -- two brothers-in-law and even my own brother -- are all gawking. Again, the saying, 'If you've got it, flaunt it?' comes into my head ... I think not!

Chapter Two

Monday morning, I wake with a hangover from the amount of wine I consumed at my sister's pool party. I linger longer in bed; Georgia comes in around 8.15 to tell me she's leaving for work. "So, mom, did you sleep on my suggestion?"

Still drowsy, I ask, "What suggestion, honey?"

"Having Tom go down on you, mom, you so need a good orgasm."

Having been blessed with three orgasms on each occasion I dared linking with my nephew for illicit and incestuous fucking, I know I am doing just fine. But I can't admit that to my well-meaning daughter, who considers me stressed.

"Georgia, I thought I told you yesterday what I think of your crazy idea. There is no way I'm having any sexual contact with my own son, and I don't want you doing any more with him either. Get it?"

Resignedly, my daughter concedes, "Yes, mom. I hear you, but you are so wrong. He's good at it and you do need it. But I'm 18 now ... you're not telling me what I can and can't do."

"Enough!" I tell her firmly.

Annoyed at me, she turns and leaves.

Nothing more is said on the subject the rest of this week. But on Friday evening, Georgia finds me watching TV in the living room, stopping to say goodnight before heading out to party.

"So, mom, I have set it up for tonight, I want you to wear your nicest nightgown."

"What, what for? What are you talking about, Georgia?"

"Tonight is the night you get to have your first orgasm in ... oh, who knows, eons probably."

"What are you talking about?"

"I've booked Tom to give you one of his specials when he gets home."

"GEORGIA! You better not be still talking about that stupid idea of yours?"

"Mom, it's not stupid, it's what you need. I lined up Tom to save you having to ask ... avoid any embarrassment. I told him not to drink too much and not to be home too late. So, when he comes in, he will come to your room, get into your bed where you'll be waiting. Might be best to leave your panties off..."

"No way, you didn't? How could you, Georgia? I told you I didn't want that."

"Too late now, it's all arranged, you can't back out."

"I can, you know, where's my phone? I'll call Tom now, tell him that I never want my own son doing something that intimate with me. This is a zany idea of yours."

"Good luck with reaching Tom, mom. When he goes drinking with his buddies after work, he turns his phone off."

"Well, you have to stop him somehow. You started this, so you better stop it."

"Sorry, mom, can't do that."

"Yes, you can. Wherever you thought you were going with your friends, you will have to be late while you detour to wherever Tom and his buddies do their drinking and tell him it's off."

"Sorry, mom, he could be at any of five bars. I don't have time to go around them all. Remember, on your back in bed, no panties, a nice nightie so you look and feel good for a special occasion with your son. Spray a dab of that nice perfume of yours between your thighs. I told him not to get too drunk, so he licks you out just right ... he does have a tendency to drink too much."

She spins around and rushes for the front door while I futilely shout her name. She ignores my pleas, leaving me to sit, fuming, in front of the TV, not conscious of anything I watch. My head is spinning as I ponder how to reach my son while he is sober enough to understand. When he goes drinking on Friday nights, he binges, often out until 2 or 3 in the morning. I don't want to be waiting up that late to then try to explain how his sister got it all wrong and I won't need the services of his tongue on any sexual parts of my body.

How could my daughter put me in such an invidious position? I want a stress-free night at home, going to bed at my normal time ... to sleep. I can't take the chance of being in bed asleep when Tom gets home, getting his tongue where I don't need it before I can stop him. I could leave a note, telling him it's all a big mistake, but he could be too drunk to see it or read it. What must he think of Georgia's plan? Does he actually believe his mother wants an incestuous relationship with her son? What must he think of me?

Oh, this is so terrible.

I do get tired while watching TV and by 10.30, I am beginning to nod off for a few minutes at a time. In one of my awake moments, I decide to go to bed, but not before writing 5 identical notes with the simple message, 'Tom, forget Georgia's plan, I don't want that.' I stick the notes where I hope Tom will see them ... his bedroom door, bathroom door, toilet lid, my bedroom door, and on the kitchen bench.

I go to my bedroom, taking a fresh nightgown from the drawer. Is it a coincidence that the one on top is my nicest and newest? Has Georgia been here and placed that one on top? I put it on anyway, but keep on the panties I wore all day, also ignoring Georgia's suggestion to spray perfume on my inner thighs.

I get into bed, laying on my side, my normal sleep position, hoping to be asleep quickly. Despite being drowsy while watching TV, I find sleep will not come and I constantly check the bedside clock ... 10.50, 11.10, 11.30.

Twice, I hear a sound in the house, has one of the kids arrived home? If so, which one? Will they see my notes stuck up everywhere? I consider getting out of bed to check if Georgia or Tom are home, but that could wake me up more and I will never get to sleep.

I see 11.45, 12.00, 12.15 ... still can't sleep. I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling in the semi-darkness, even though that's how Georgia told me to lay while waiting. I am so apprehensive ... fearful my son will accept that Georgia knows what I want. I don't want him thinking badly of his mother.

What if it happens, what unknown repercussions could come from committing an act of incest with my own son? Doing it with my nephew is one thing, but letting my son go down on me would take it to another level. In my sleeplessness, I even contemplate if I could enjoy it if I let it happen? Oh, Georgia has put me in such a difficult situation.

Desperate to sleep, I even begin thinking of Lachlan and his cock, revelling in the memories of how good he has been on our two occasions together. Is it wise to think about him at this time? I reach my fingers down, finding my panties wet from my reflections. But it works, concentrating on a single sexual line of thought, does get me off to sleep.

I awake abruptly, feeling my bed moving. Someone is on my bed, I feel the covers being pushed aside, exposing half of my body. I am tired, I rub my eyes, trying to make out if the person on my bed is my son. I can smell alcohol; it must be him. Has he not seen any of my notes? "Tom, is that you?"

"Yes, mom, don't worry, it's me, don't say anything, just lay there."

"No, Tom, it's all been a big mistake. I told Georgia I didn't want..."

Male lips touch mine, shutting my words down. He reeks and tastes of alcohol. His kiss is brief and quite chaste, no attempted tongue. I am in shock; I didn't expect my son to kiss me on the lips. I mean, he has and does, all the time ... and this kiss is no more sexual than the way he always kisses me, so I can't object to that. Maybe he's seen my notes and has come in to wake me to tell me he understands. I relax, ease my tension and anxiety ... for a moment.

"Shush, mom, it's ok, Georgia said you'd be in denial, but I understand."

My tension returns, "No, it's not denial, Tom, I really don't want this, I've told your sister time and again ... I don't need this, and I don't want this."

"Shush, mom, yes you do. Georgia told me how stressed you've been."

Raising my voice, "I am not stressed." I feel one of my son's hands touch my left breast, his palm caressing it ... I don't expect my son, at twenty, to touch me there ... so sexual. What did I think? Did I expect he'd just shove his face in my pussy? I haven't thought of how this might happen, because I kept shut out all possibility of it going ahead.

"No Tom, please don't ... don't touch me there."

"You've still got great tits, mom."

"No ... don't say that, Tom. I've told Georgia, I don't need this, don't want this, not with you. Do you know what incest is?"

"Yes, of course I know, it's no big deal, mom."

His caressing hand feels good on my breast, tweaking the nipple ... I feel it stiffen. His lips replace his fingers as they slide to my waist.

"It is to me, Tom."

He is ignoring my pleas, his fingers are at the waistband of the panties I have worn all day, he tugs them down over my thighs, exposing my pussy.

"Would you please stop this now, Tom?"

"Mom, these are so wet." In the stillness of the night, I hear my son draw in a deep breath, "Oh, they smell great too, can I keep these?"

Oh my god, my son is sniffing my panties, the pair I wore all day. "No, you can't. Would you please stop?"

"Mom, you are so wet, you must have been thinking about this all night. Sorry, I'm so late home. Don't worry, I'm here now. Just lay back and enjoy."

I can't tell my son that my panties are only wet because, to get to sleep, I reflected on his cousin's wonderful cock fucking me. I have to let him think whatever, even if that means he believes I'm turned on by my son.

I feel his body moving over my right leg, positioning between my thighs, feel his hands on my bare thighs, spreading them apart, I feel his legs between mine, his bare skin against my bare skin. Oh my god, bare skin? Is he wearing any clothes? I hope at least jocks. I don't want to feel my son's cock touching me anywhere if he's naked, particularly if this is getting him hard.

I feel his fingers touch my pussy lips, gently running his fingertips along them, separating them. "Oh, mom, you are so wet down here."

He is repeating himself, as drunks do.

"No Tom, please, stop this now, I don't want it, not with my son. Can you hear me? I ... err ... oh my god ... no, don't touch me there ... oh no, you mustn't ... ohhh! No, not your finger ... oh my god, it's inside me."

Will this be my final futile attempt to stop this from happening? His fingers feel great, so persuasive that I am losing my reluctance. He slips a finger up inside my pleasure passage, easily finds my g spot, scratches at it.

His finger remains, continuing to be busy there, now his tongue -- wet - slides up from my vaginal entrance, between my wet labia, all the way to my clitoris. His lips close around my clit ... sucking on it, my body almost levitates up off the bed.

With no conscious direction from my brain, my hands reach down, grasping the top of my son's head, forcibly pushing his face harder against my bare pussy. No, how can my hands do that, betray me like they have a mind of their own? I can't have my son believe that I crave this. My fear is maybe I do.

"No, you shouldn't..." are the feeble words I mutter in one last attempt to have him stop. But my body is already telling me that he should. All willpower is swept away by that probing finger and his sweeping tongue.

The assessment of my virgin daughter, with limited sexual knowledge, is absolutely correct on her brother's ability to go down on a woman. Tom's tongue is magical, slipping and sliding up and down within my wet channel, slurping around my clit, even daring to push his stiffened tongue tip into my pleasure passage to briefly replace his probing finger. I feel an intense throbbing start deep inside.

His finger returns, playing in my wetness, but only to gather up my juices before reappearing at my tight little anal ring. No ... he wouldn't!

Oh, my god, he would! My son's wet finger circles the rim a few times, then pushes through my sphincter that relaxes enough to accept the roaming digit. His tongue is ravaging my pussy while his finger tickles my arse. It's feeling good. Oh, Georgia's perseverance is paying off, she called it right.

Not every male has the talent to do this well for a woman. In my dreamy slumber, I find it remarkable that my son's tongue and finger technique is so similar to the way that Roger used to do this. Whatever faults my ex had, I must concede he was always very good at this. Is it possible that Tom is getting lessons from his dad on pleasing women? They still see each other from time to time. Roger is egotistical enough to offer lessons to his son.

What would my ex think if he could see me now, on heat, sexually alive from my son's tongue lapping my pussy. Oh my god, if Roger has been coaching Tom, I hope my son is sufficiently respectful of me not to tell his dad about this night. And it can only be one night. I cannot afford to become addicted to incest with my son. It is bad enough that I let my nephew fuck me a second time ... so well that I have no doubt I'll let him do me again ... and soon.

Oh, can Tom's cunnilingus get any better? He seems to raise the intensity of his tongue strokes. I feel an orgasm building deep inside my body. My hands continue holding my son's head, my fingers steering him, guiding his moves at my pussy, pushing and pulling to vary the pressure.

My looming orgasm is closing in quickly ... my thighs are trembling, and my pussy is pulsing as the climax hits, rolling over me in waves. My hands continue to hold my son's head, keeping it clamped between my upper thighs, until the intensity eases. I relax my thigh muscles and Tom pulls his head clear.

It is dark in my room, insufficient light to make out my son's facial features. I can't see if he looks pleased to have pleasured his mother in the same way he did his sister. Tom looms up as a shadowy silhouette, his torso upright above my knees. I want him to quietly go to his own bed now ... without any conversation. The last thing I want to hear at two in the morning is my son boasting of how good a lover he is, or to tell me his dad taught him everything he knows.

I can just make out the shape of his upper torso and head ... he looks to be coming forward. I feel something wet and hard brushing high up against my inner thigh. Oh my god, is that his erection? Hard, leaking wetness ... it must be and he must be naked. "NO!" I scream at my son, "no Tom, no more ... not that."

"I'm so horny, mom ... please, it will feel so good inside you ... hot and tight."

"NO, definitely not! I can't! Not that!"

"Why not? You let me lick you because I could make you feel good. Why can't you make me feel good too?"

"Tom, it's bad enough that I trashed my morals to let you do what you did. I am so consumed by guilt at this moment. But Tom, if I let you put that inside me, we'll be crossing a line that I just can't accept. I'm sorry, Tom, I can't do it and I won't do it ... I have to stop this now."

"I am so horny, mom ... I have to cum, I just have to. If you won't let me, I'll go wake up Georgia, she'll help me out. She owes me big time for the orgasms I gave her."

"NO, don't wake your sister, you can't do that with her, she is still a virgin."

"Is she really, mom? I don't know, she says she is. This is one way I can find out."

"Whether she is or she isn't, you can't do that with Georgia, it's wrong ... and so is this. It's all wrong, I don't know how I let this go this far."

As good as my body feels, I really don't want to do anything more with my son. Yet I understand his frustration. He has generously pleasured his sister twice, and now me too. My ex used to explain how men get blue balls when they can't cum after a long erection. Maybe I should help my son out ... just this once?

"Oh, damn you ... alright Tom, come on, shuffle up here and sit on my chest."

Hearing me acquiesce, my son moves quickly, settling his arse down on the slope above my breasts, knees beside my ears. I feel his hard tip brush against my closed lips. I really don't want to do this, but feel an obligation. I part my lips and wrap a hand around his cock shaft, moving the head closer so that it easily slides into my mouth. I can't believe I'm about to give my son a blow job.

I begin to stroke the shaft, pushing it in and out between my lips. Pre-cum oozes from the eye of the head. Just as he did for me, I bring my tongue into play, licking and slurping around the head, slipping beneath to lick his most sensitive spot.

"Oh, mom, you're good, very good. Oh, I need this."