Not a Mama's Boy . . .

I gave my son Randy a couple of weeks to think about sex with his mother. I didn't want to overwhelm the boy; after all, he'd had an intense experience with his sister and he needed to process all that before moving on to a much more daunting emotional challenge.

Randy and I have been close since he was a child, but I couldn't call him a Mama's boy. There is nothing weak or needy in him. In fact, he'd been a rock to me when his father passed several years ago. Only in his teens, Randy took it upon himself to stay by my side through the funeral and the subsequent meetings with lawyers and accountants to sort out the financial maze my husband had built with his partner, Jeff. It was clear that Randy had a good head for business long before he ever attained his MBA, and that he'd make an excellent asset to the company in his father's stead.

Me, I wanted out of it altogether. I was left well provided for in my husband's will, and I had the option to retain a partial ownership but chose not to. If I'd been an older widow I might have opted to keep a hand in the business, but being only in my forties I hoped I still had many years ahead to build a new life for myself. And I knew that Randy was perfectly capable of stepping into his father's shoes.

I'd first noticed my son's attractiveness not long after I lost my husband. Perhaps I was just a lonely, horny widow. My husband had been some years older than me; but very dynamic and clever. I saw some of him in Randy, of course, but they were very different. While Victor commanded attention, Randy was more subtle. Victor did nothing by halves; it was the best of everything, all the time, and as a father he was quite demanding that his children succeed. They'd both done so, to my pride, although I'd worried that he was a little harder on Randy since it seemed a foregone conclusion that he would move into the family business.

Randy seemed content with this plan, he liked the work, and his good humor allowed him to become well-liked in the company. In fact, it had reached my ears that he was the object of quite a few female fantasies; apparently there was even a betting pool on who would fuck him first. Since I was no longer in the loop on office gossip, I had no idea whether or not anyone had won that competition.

Randy had no shortage of women in his life. He wasn't one of those sons who felt compelled to hide his sexuality from his mother. He'd brought girls home on his college breaks and I heard them raucously fucking. Even then part of me was a bit jealous and felt some longing for that kind of attention from him. I immediately put the kibosh on such feelings; after all, I was his mother. It was preposterous to think of him that way.

It wasn't until I began an intimate relationship with my daughter, Joannie, that I started seriously considering my son sexually. Joannie was a beautiful young woman, reminding me of myself at her age. She'd even jokingly accused me of wanting her so that I could fuck myself. It wasn't far from the truth. I'd kept my looks up, but there was no comparison in the tone of our skin, the perkiness of those breasts (although mine were larger) and the soft folds of her sweet little cunt. It flattered me a bit to know that, even after two pregnancies, I was able to make my daughter gasp in excitement, licking me, sucking my clit -- she'd been with other women and found me every bit as sexy.

So why wouldn't my son?

In hopes of assuaging any doubts he might have, I determined that we needed to have a talk. I hoped that by being direct with him it might dispel some of the reluctance he might have, that the very idea of us together was outrageously heinous.

I chose to make an appointment to see him at work. He wouldn't be caught by surprise at my arrival, and in a professional environment we could have privacy yet no expectation of the conversation turning into anything more.

I dressed carefully, so that he'd have no reason to believe I was there for anything but a chaste mother and son visit. I wore a navy blue suit, above-the-knee skirt and the waist-length jacket, paired with an ecru silk blouse and a low-cut, lacy camisole beneath- elegant yet sexy. During my last shopping trip with Joannie I'd picked up a new pair of Manolo Blahniks. Joannie called them 'fuck me' shoes; I was going to find out if they lived up to that nickname.

"Hey, Mom," he greeted me when I was shown into his office. He got up from behind his desk, and came around to give me a hug.

He looked sensational, but I'd never before noticed him as a man. Randy, my son. Those three words seemed forever glued together. Randy the man was young, fresh, full of that testosterone essence that made me close my eyes and smile when he held me for a moment.

"You look beautiful," he said, releasing me to sit in the chair in front of his desk. Our eyes met for a moment; he seemed embarrassed.

"Everyone is surprised to see me," I remarked, crossing my legs, relaxing. "I suppose it's been awhile since I made an appearance."

He nodded, returning to his chair. "They ask me about you. I tell them you're enjoying life."

"I am, for the most part," I agreed. "I'm always interested in enjoying it more, though."

"Oh?" he seemed apprehensive.

I leaned forward, my elbows on the front of his desk. "Have you talked to Joannie since I last saw you?"

"I -- uh -- well, no. I've talked to her but we haven't seen each other."

"I wondered if you'd talked about what she said," I continued, in my best sensible tone of voice. The last thing I wanted to do was overwhelm him with my desire to make love with him.

He knew better than to play coy with me.

"Well, uh, yeah," he admitted. He was having trouble meeting my gaze.

"I'd like to know what you think about it. You've had some time to let the idea kick around in your head."

"Mom, I love you. You know that. And, well, you're a beautiful woman. I mean, with Joannie it was . . . really great," here he cleared his throat, "and it wasn't too hard for me to forget that she was my . . . sister."

"Go on," I said.

"Okay," he said, his demeanor suddenly changing. He looked me straight in the eye. "I have been thinking about it. I've been fantasizing about it. I love the idea of making you so hot that you want me. It all turns me on like you can't believe."

I sat back, smiling. "I'm happy to hear that."

"But when I remember you're my mother, I'm just consumed with this --" he shook his head. "I don't know if I can do it."

I nodded. "I think what you're worried about, sweetheart, is what it will be like between us afterward. At Christmas, birthdays, that sort of thing. I want to assure you that there will be no drama. Now, your sister and I, we enjoy each other as the mood strikes us, and I hope to do the same with you. But I will never interfere with any relationship you have, and if you decide that the fun must end, all you have to do is tell me."

He sat for a moment, staring into space. I gave him all the time he needed. Eventually he looked at me and nodded.

"If I don't do it, I'm going to regret it forever," he said. "If it's not good for either of us, we never have to speak of it again. Deal?"

"Of course, my dear. If you're not otherwise engaged, I'll expect you this evening."

He looked a little surprised, but didn't flinch. "All right then. I'll be by after work."

Having got what I wanted, it was now my turn to be nervous. Randy's conquests were all young, nubile women twenty plus years younger than me. Kept up or not, I knew I'd never measure up physically. My advantage, then, had to be in expertise.

I sorted through my closet for the perfect seduction ensemble, settling on a simple jersey dress and pearls. I loved being fucked in pearls but I had no idea why. I wore nothing under the dress. No doubt those young things he was used to trussed themselves in Victoria's secret lacy underwires and those ridiculous thongs that make your ass sore. Fuck that.

I heard him enter the front door and call for me. I'd thought of asking him to use my first name, Julia, but somehow it felt wrong to pretend that I wasn't his mother. Hell, the titillation in this was the fact that I am his mother. At least it was for me.

He found me in my sitting room, prim on a loveseat, my knees together.

"Come here, my love," I reached a hand out to him.

He took off his suit jacket and joined me. He didn't hesitate to put his arms around me; he felt warm and strong, and smelled faintly of cologne and soap. I pushed my nose against his neck and nipped him a little, my lips pressing his soft flesh, moist, and a tiny flick of tongue.

He jerked back, looked at me, and smiled.

"Like that?" I whispered.

"Yes," he tugged his tie off, and undid the first two buttons on his dress shirt. I helped him, and began softly kissing his neck again, working my way to his mouth.

Our first kiss rocked us both. He shoved his tongue in with no hesitation, the heat and little groan he made sending radiating impulses directly to my clit. I felt my nipples tense up at the same time. Oh my.

After a few minutes of this wonderfulness, he took my face in his hands, gazing at me, and started again, kissing my mouth, then moving slowly down toward my ear, onto my chest, and against my cleavage. By now his hands had cupped my buttocks, pulling me closer to him, almost on his lap. I loved how he felt holding me like this. I wrapped my arms around his neck and let him take his time. I'd had a fleeting fear that, due to his youth, he'd try to get away with a few kisses, a quick fuck and orgasm for himself. But not my boy. He knew that any job worth doing was worth doing well.

Now his hand moved up to my breast and I arched my back to press myself against him. He squeezed my nipple and I squealed a little; he seemed to like that and did it again. Then he moved the soft fabric aside to free my straining tits.

"Damn," he whispered.

No doubt he liked that my nipples, like his sister's, were pink and pert. He immediately set to licking and sucking them. I moved my hand to his waist and down to his fly; his cock felt nice and hard under there. The poor thing needed to be free, it wanted to come out and play.

While Randy attended to my nipples, he moved in order for me to unzip him. I opened his slacks first, enjoying the sight of his cock outlined in his blue underwear. He helped me get the slacks off, then I teased him, fingering the waistband of his underwear, running my thumb over his hard cock underneath, making him squirm and groan.

Finally I reached in and brought him out, his manhood there in my grasp, warm and throbbing with anticipation. His breaths had quickened when I began touching him, but became even sharper now as I moved to lick his cock. Holding him in my hand, I licked every inch of him, tasting the sweet precum, squeezing the shaft gently, sucking his balls a little.

He surprised me by spreading his large hand on the back of my head and pressing me into him. I took his cock in my mouth and sucked while he moved my head up and down and writhed in pleasure. It was clear that he wanted to come, so I gave him my best effort; changing up my tempo, sucking hard and releasing, blowing hot air on the tip.

And then he exploded with a loud exclamation, still holding my head down, so that I took his load into my mouth. I swallowed just because it seemed the most disgustingly sexy thing to do in the circumstances. The very act aroused me even more.

I licked him clean and sat up, smiling. "You're not through yet," I informed him.

"That was a warm-up," he nodded. "God damn, where did you -- forget it, I don't want to know."

"I'm a woman of many talents," I assured him. I stood and took off my dress, and awaited his reaction.

He simply stared at me, at my crotch, which I'd let grow out in the last couple of weeks, and put his hands on my hips. He began kissing my stomach, softly, almost reverently, careful to ease his way down toward my cunt. He ran a finger through my pubic hair, pressing a little harder each time, making me grunt. I was so wet that if he shoved himself in right now I'd ride him all night. But he continued taking his time. I moved my legs apart, inviting him inside me. Still using the one finger, he explored my vulva, oh-so-slowly caressed my clit (I moaned), and inserted his finger inside my vagina. He finger banged me a few times with a snort of pleasure, especially enjoying the way I writhed.

He had me right where he wanted me. It occurred to me that I'd assumed I'd be the one making all the moves; how wrong I was! I felt like a young woman again, at the mercy of my lover, letting him play me like a cheap guitar. I was ready for anything Randy wanted to do.

Generously, he wanted to give me an orgasm. He moved back to my clit now, employing more fingers, first touching me gently, now more intensely, and finally squeezing it hard, making me cry out, to the point where I fell back onto the loveseat, my legs spread wide across his lap, as he worked my clit into an agonizing frenzy of pleasure.

My orgasm surged through my clit to my cunt, and all through my body; my God it hadn't felt this good in years. Even as good as Joannie was, she'd never done this to me.

Both of us were panting now. I clung to him and he held me against him.

"You okay?" he asked me sweetly.

"That was wonderful, incredible," I said through deep breaths.

"Here," he said, taking my hand and putting it on his cock, which was hard again. I stroked him, loving the feel of him, as we kissed those hot wet kisses again.

"Now I'm gonna fuck you," he said.

"Oh my," I feigned dismay.

"Don't worry, you'll love it," he assured me with a wink.

I let him maneuver me. He lay me on the pillows against the arm of the loveseat and spread my legs. Then he got on his knees between them. I touched his sweet young face and ran my hands down his chiseled chest, to his hard, hard cock. He kissed my nipples a few times and with a hand spread my pussy lips to admit his cock.

He knew I was ready, he knew he could shove it in all the way if he wanted to, but he chose to take it nice and easy with me, doing a slow in-and-out as we gazed into each other's eyes. Christ, this is my son, I thought. And that made my nipples harden up; I looked down at them and smiled.

He picked up the pace while we still held each other's eyes. The harder and faster he went, the more intent the stare between us. As if we dared each other to not like it, to say 'stop! It's wrong!' but neither of us did. It felt so goddamned good.

I finally closed my eyes, concentrating on his masterful thrusts, his soft grunts, the maleness inside me, about to make a very hot, sticky deposit. I matched his grunts with my own; we jerked in unison, unable to stop, our bodies in a rhythm of ecstatic pleasure that couldn't be broken.

He came first, bursting inside me, gasping, and at the sound of him and the feel of his cum inside me, I came just a few seconds later. It was the nearest I'd ever been to orgasming at the same time as my partner.

"Oh my god, oh my god," I said over and over, gripping his strong shoulders, trying to keep him inside me as long as possible. It felt better than anything ever had. It also felt filthy and nasty because he was my son. And that thought made me orgasm again, using my own fingers on my clit.

"God, Mom," he rasped, "are you still cumming?"

"Yes, yes," I said, my hips undulating from the slowly subsiding pleasure.

He just let me come down on my own, holding me, stroking my leg with his hand, kissing my hair. After a few minutes we both breathed normally again, and looked at each other.

"How was it?" I asked, hopeful that he wasn't now filled with disgust and remorse.

But he smiled broadly. "Fucking amazing," he responded. "You don't mind if I spend the night, do you?"