Orley Whip

ORLEY WHIP

I know exactly where and when my son Owen was conceived. I was a second-year college student, going on twenty, and had been sexually active for almost a year, but I had to drop the Pill for three months on doctor's orders, something about telling your hormones to get back in line. Mine didn't need it, because they were galloping through my veins like wild horses in Montana. I was a drum majorette during the college rag and I found the diaphragm I had to use as a prophylactic instead, a bit irksome when I did the high kicks. Of course, if you're a drummie, those high kicks cause a standing ovation in the male onlookers, opening their pockets and their flies, and also cause envy in the female members of the crowd, because they can just imagine how you can wrap your legs around a guy when you have to fuck standing up, as often happens when you have to do it in corridor or an alley.

Anyway, I should have put the cum-stop back after the parade, but I was swept along with the crowd, got properly pissed in the pub, lost my panties somewhere during the evening, and then accommodated the rugby football captain by leaning back on the bonnet of his Beetle and spreading my legs. He was rather drunk too, fucked me and then pissed on me to boot, the fucking pervert. I had several fucks later that evening, but it was that flyhalf's shot that hit the target, because my Owen proved to be good athlete as well. But because of at least six other pricks (I lost count after that) which had visited my carnal joint, I had no case and bore the consequences.

I'm not at all religious and would have had no moral objection to an abortion, but after missing the second period, the little guy had started kicking footballs in my womb and I sort of grew attached to him, and today I'm glad I didn't. I dropped out of college and started as a barmaid in a local hotel, which was a good move because it put bread on the table and pricks in my pussy, as I'm rather partial to fucking, you see. The bigger my tummy grew, the keener the guys were to screw me, this being a big turn-on for them. Of course, they paid me for the privilege, which monies I put aside for a rainy day, such as putting my baby through college when he grows up.

I popped Junior the day before Christmas and discovered that my pear-shaped boobs had swollen to resemble smallish melons, which was a real bonus because now I had a proper cleavage. Serving customers while your boobs are threatening to pop out any moment certainly trebled the clientele of the pub, and once Junior was weaned, I had no end of suckers who would try their damnest to extract milk from my melons, usually after I had extracted cream from them downstairs, being a sucker for that myself.

Now that you have the background, I can tell you the real story.

Owen had scored well in his final school exams and won a scholarship to study Graphic Design and Photography at the local technicon; he also proved to be a good rugby flyhalf as well, like his father, but he had not yet discovered the joys of fornication. For his second year he needed a good camera, so I dipped into my pussy savings and bought him a Canon with the necessary lenses; he already had a laptop. Then another problem arose: he needed to practice with the camera, and because of the slant of his course, it needed to be 'glamour photos'.

There was no shortage of girls who would gladly pose for him, but he because he was still a virgin, he was scared of taking up the offers. He came complaining to me, but the reason he gave was not the real one. 'They're nice girls, mom, but I have a sneaking suspicion that they want me to get them pregnant so that I must marry them. I'm too young to settle down with a wife and a snot-nosed kid. I still want to enjoy life, see a bit of the world, maybe visit France and the Riviera.'

'So, you need a model? Would I do?'

He looked me up and down and said, 'You are still in fucking good shape, mom!'

'Yes, my boy, in my fucking line of work it pays to stay trim and slim, and very fit.' For that reason I still jogged five kilometres every morning, then take a shower and a rubdown before I go to prepare breakfast, and I avoid the starchy and fatty foods. Because the bar only opens at ten, I also have time afterwards to sun myself in the nude in the small courtyard at the back of the house so as to keep my overall tan.

'Can I snap you in your undies, mom?'

'Yes, I don't see a problem with that. We can have a look at the different sets. Where would you take the pictures?'

'The ideal would be in the studio, but that is closed during the summer holidays,' he mused. 'We can try indoors, mom.'

'The courtyard is also fine, Owen; nobody can see us there.'

'I'll have to see how the light is, mom.'

We went to my chest of drawers to select the undies and finally settled on a mauve-coloured set consisting of a quarter-cup bra, a half-slip and a pair of lacy tanga panties. Owen went to set up the camera and lights in the lounge while I donned the undies and viewed myself in the full-length mirror: I still looked good for a forty-year old sports model, I thought, and trotted off to the lounge. Because it was high summer, I did not need a dressing gown, and, anyway, Owen was used to seeing me in various stages of undress, and even starkers when I was tanning outside. Nevertheless, there was a strange tingling in my body, a sense of momentous things in the offing.

We tried various poses: sitting and reclining on the sofa, standing next to the occasional table with a vase in my right hand, with the same vase standing by the window facing towards and away from the camera, and also standing in the doorway. I took off the half-slip and went through the motions again, also bending over to let him snap my arse, but I could feel that I was getting wet! For one shot I stood in the doorway and half-turned towards him, and he nodded.

'That looks better, mom. Can you pull the bra down a bit?'

I did that, but apparently the angle wasn't quite right, so he came to me and pushed my boobs up so that the tops of the areolas were visible. He was flushing, and so was I. I reached down and felt his boner: he was only wearing his shorts because it was so hot. He swallowed and breathed deeply, 'Jesus, mom!'

'You feel good, Owen. I think you've got a splendid tool.'

His blush deepened. 'You really think so? I've always been scared...'

'Why, for heaven's sake?'

'Because it gets so big, mom, when I'm excited.'

I grinned and asked, 'Do I excite you?'

He sucked in his breath, because I was fondling his cock through his pants and felt it grow some more: my hand was not big enough to go around it, and the head was near the top of his pants, ready to break cover! God, and I was all wet handling my son's dick!

'It is big!' I said, and felt it pulsing under my hand. My mind flashed back to my first year at college when I first laid my hand on my consort's dick in the cinema, and he creamed his pants! He was quite embarrassed by the mess in his briefs, which had soaked through to his pants, and we had to wait for the cum to dry before we could leave. I sensed that Owen was ejaculating now, because he was pushing his dick against my hand and his breathing was fast and shallow. Then the wetness spread and he said, 'Oh, shit, mom!'

'It's alright, Owen. Go and clean yourself up and then we can continue.'

He disappeared and I dipped my hand into my panties. I was extremely randy now and started finger-fucking myself, thinking of his big cock in my hand. Glory be, I had brought my son to shoot his cum! I leaned again the doorjamb as I went into ecstasy, climaxed, and soaked my panties. I'd better go and change too, I thought, and went to my room, changed into black string panties and my matching string bra, which is basically two nipple caps on a string. I was telling myself that I was just out to be a sexy model and tease him a bit, but subconsciously I had already decided to fuck my son! Oh, Jesus, that dick must be ten inches long and eight inches in circumference!

We met again in the lounge, and he gulped when he saw me.

It still amazes me that a man can see a woman completely naked and be unaffected, but the moment she puts on a piece of suggestive clothing, he has an instant hard-on. My outfit didn't cover much, because the larger labia were pouring over the sides of the tiny panties, and my bum was completely bare except for the little string around my middle and in the cleft of my arse. His boner was as big as ever and a wet spot was already showing on the front of his clean pants, and my lust for my son advanced with leaps and bounds... but how to get his hands on me, and that big dick in my cunt?

We went through the different poses again, but I was scheming. Then I remembered the tube of Orley Whip with which we had recently decorated the cake for his 20^th birthday, and went to fetch it in the kitchen. I squirted a drop of the cream on each tit, and then ran a trail down over my navel to my bush. I noticed his eyes popping almost out of their sockets when I came back, but he started snapping feverishly. The lure was working! Because my melons were now hot and swollen almost to capacity, the cream started to flow and I said, 'Fetch a cloth so you can wipe my tits clean again, Owen.'

He did so, but when he came back, I said, 'Why don't you just lick up the stuff? It's a pity to waste it, you know.'

I watched his eyes, saw the brief battle there, but his mouth had a lecherous turn about it, so I knew we were on the home stretch now. He placed his hands on my boobs and started licking. I removed the string bra and poured some whipped cream on the nipples. He lapped it up. I felt his dick beating against my tummy, so I backed to the sofa and sprawled back on it.

'Follow the trail, Owen,' I moaned, spreading my legs very wide so that the string panties gave up the job of trying to cover my cunt entrance. My clit is quite prominent and I sprayed some cream on that too as he went down the middle, now on his knees between my spread thighs. The smell of my sex was very strong in the air! I started creaming myself when he got there and I could see naked lust now in his face. That was the moment I was waiting for. I untied the knot on my left hip and pulled the panties aside, my cunt now flaming red after the orgasm, and said, 'Come fuck me, Owen. I want your fat dick in my cunt!'

His eyes were big! 'Jeezus, mom, you mean it?'

'Yes, come and fuck your mom! I've been lusting after you ever since we started this morning.'

He groaned. 'So did I, mom!'

He shoved down his pants in one movement and sort of rose up on his knees. His prick was huge and drooling, smelling of his sex. My cunt was sopping wet, and the next moment I felt that huge head cleaving my twat and going, going, going, right up till I felt his balls against my arse, stretching my cunt almost to capacity. Oh, it was stupendously glorious and exhilarating! I had my second climax while he was still going in, then we started fucking each other passionately, I screamed, 'Tell me what you are doing, Owen!'

He shouted back, 'I'm fucking my mom! She's my personal whore. I'm fucking your cunt, you mother-whore!'

'Yes, fuck me, you motherfucker! Oh, god, what a trip!'

He was fucking furiously now and I felt the third climax building up in me, but I held myself in as best I could until he erupted in me, screaming his joy in the tremendous release. I screamed my heart out because it was easily the best fuck I've ever had in my life!

There was one joy left: I contracted my vaginal muscles and forced out some of his spunk onto my cunt lips. He licked me clean and I had a fourth orgasm. Jeezus, I was properly pooped after that, but had to leave shortly for my bar duty. I said, 'Tomorrow we can do a shoot in the courtyard, in the nude.'

He smiled very broadly and patted his dripping dick. 'I'll be ready, mom!'

I had a good afternoon and evening in the bar and came back with the slingbag stuffed full of paper money. I didn't want to disturb Owen, so I undressed in the dark and slipped into bed, and there he was, my lover-boy! It is just as well that a woman can fuck twenty times a day, or even more when the occasion arises.

One final note: After losing his virgin to me, Owen scored easily with the girls, but we still continue to fuck often because it is a special thrill, this Oedipus thing.