Soccer Mom Slut

Which makes what is happening now all the more stark and unforgivable.

3

I took a quick shower and cleaned myself up, thoroughly washing my son's bodily fluids down the plug hole. By the time I had finished, Chris had returned to his room. I quickly stripped the bed and opened the window to air out the stink of incestuous sex. Then I made my way downstairs and put the sheets in the machine to wash. Calvin and Ava were both absorbed by cartoons on the TV. I could hear the loud thud, thud, thud of music emanating from their older brother's bedroom upstairs.

I was busy in the kitchen, preparing dinner, when Artie returned home. I heard the front door open and there were some muffled screams of 'Daddy' from Ava and Calvin. Then my husband made his way into the kitchen.

"Hey, honey," he said, kissing me on my forehead.

"Hey," I replied, "I thought you were going to be late? Chris said you had some meeting?"

"Yeah, it didn't last as long as I thought it would. I was able to get back earlier than expected."

I was suddenly conscious of the fact that he might have come back to find me spreadeagled on our bed, with Chris vigorously fucking me in the ass. That was quite a bullet dodged.

"Hey, Dad, I scored a goal in my game!" A voice cried out, Calvin marching in to the room.

"Did you, champ? That's great."

A normal family scene played out, father and son bonding over sports, mother making the family meal. What could be more mundane and unremarkable? Except this family wasn't remotely normal or mundane. But that reality was not apparent at this point in time. It would be, a few hours later.

The evening progresses. Calvin finally takes his shower. Food is consumed. Life is lived. Ava is first to bed. She has to be told a story and then I had to lie with her for half an hour or so, before she slips into a deep, peaceful sleep. Then, somewhat more reluctantly, Calvin followed her to the land of Nod. Artie tended to be an early bird, so he was always nodding off on the couch after eating his evening meal.

"I'm going up," he told me, yawning loudly, "you coming with me?"

"Not yet," I replied, motioning towards the TV, "I want to see if they catch the bad guy."

"I'm kind of betting they will."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, wiseass."

Artie got up, came over to me and kissed me goodnight. Then he trudged upstairs. I heard him move around for a few minutes, then things settled down, as he got into bed. Maybe five minutes later, I heard a door open and then footsteps on the stairs. I looked up to see Chris enter the room.

"Hey, Mom," he said softly.

"Hey, honey," I replied.

He was only wearing a pair of basketball shorts and I glanced up at his muscular frame. God, he was such a handsome young man. He sat on the couch and started flicking through images on his phone. I returned my attention to the television screen, but after a few moments I was conscious of movement in the corner of my eye. I looked over and I saw my son was now masturbating. He had whipped his big meaty dick out and was tugging away on it quite merrily with one hand, as he looked at some video playing on his phone in the other.

"Jesus, Chris!" I hissed, "can't you control yourself?"

"Apparently not," he replied insouciantly, "why don't you come join me?"

"Haven't you already pushed your luck today? We nearly got caught earlier."

"Come here."

"Chris..."

"Come. Here."

His tone brooked no argument, so I found myself getting to my feet. I was wearing a robe and short nightdress, which I quickly disposed of. He'd seen me naked so many times by now, I wasn't remotely self-conscious around him. It wasn't a very long journey from my chair to the couch, but I tried to make the trip as entertaining and sultry as possible. I swayed my hips and arched my feet, stretching out one leg and then the other. He just smiled at me, as he continued to lazily stroke his cock.

He was sat with his legs wide apart and I stood in front of him, staring down at him.

"Are you going to be a good little girl and suck my dick?"

"Yes."

"Then get to it, slut."

I winced a little at his harsh tone, but I admit it turned me on as well. I sank down to the floor, resting my hands on his thighs, to brace my weight as I descended. Once I was settled on the carpet, I continued to stroke and caress his hairy skin. I could smell the slightly musky odour of his penis, and that scent thrilled me in the way it always did.

"Here, let Mommy take care of that," I said, as I grasped hold of his cock.

"Thank you, Mommy."

I took a firm grasp of his thick meat, both my hands wrapped round him. I squeezed and tugged on the hot, sweaty flesh, panting lightly as I did so. I leant over and licked the underside of his head, before tickling and teasing the tiny piss-hole at the tip of his cock, tasting just a trace of urine. He gasped a little at the sensation. Then I wrapped my lips round his dick and started to suck intently.

"Oh you dirty fucking whore," he whispered, as his head fell back on the cushions behind him.

My mouth widened, as more and more of his dick disappeared inside me. His hand moved to the back of my head and he pushed me downwards. I gagged a little and tried to relax my throat, swallowing almost all of his prick. He continued pushing, until my lips were touching the base of his cock. He held me there, and I choked on him. My saliva flowed freely, even as my breathing became more laboured.

He reached out with his other hand and pinched my nose shut. He smiled smugly after he did it. My eyes were streaming, my face was bright purple, my throat was burning. All the while I could feel his cock pulsing in my mouth, my muscles squeezing and massaging his thick member. I struggled for breath but didn't panic. I knew the games he liked to play. I enjoyed being in this position, servicing him, as I became increasingly lightheaded.

Then, just as I felt myself slipping into unconsciousness, he released his grasp and I pulled myself back off him. I gasped loudly for air, strands of saliva dripping from my lips. I sucked in lungfuls of oxygen, panting and groaning, as he once again stroked his dick. He smiled at me serenely.

"I don't think anyone sucks my cock as good as you do, Mom," he said.

"Well, no one loves you like I do, baby."

I leaned forward and started licking and sucking on his balls, taking one in my mouth and then the other. My tongue rubbed against the almost shiny skin of his sack. My hand joined his in jerking him off. Then he lifted his body up and started tugging his boxer shorts down his legs. I helped him, stripping him bare. Then he leaned back, lifting up his legs and pulling them towards his body. His hands grasped behind his knees and his ass reared up in front of me. His little puckered hole twitched and spasmed.

"Why don't you show me how much you love me," he said, softly.

I smiled at him, winked, and then buried my face between his butt cheeks. He gasped as my tongue slid inside his anus, and his dick twitched in arousal. My little boy loved having his ass eaten. Apparently, one of his first girlfriends had a rimming fetish and she had introduced him to butt-play. Ever since, he had been a total fiend for it, and I was more than happy to cater to his depraved desires.

I nom, nom, nommed away at his bum, my tongue pushing deeper inside his humid bowls. Chris was a pretty clean kind of guy, showering at least once a day, but his ass tasted of, well, ass. It was coppery and sweaty and musky and totally fucking delicious. Just a hint of dirty sweetness too. I trailed my fingernails against the soft skin of the back of his thighs, as I licked and probed and explored.

He squirmed and wriggled on the couch as I ate away at his butt, groaning and grunting. With every lap of my tongue, his prick thickened and lengthened. He was pretty close to cumming, his body was giving off all the tell-tale signs. He liked to cum on my face or tits, hosing me down with a creamy glaze, but there was one place he liked to cum more then any other.

Without warning, he firstly pushed me back and then promptly pulled me upwards. I practically crawled up his body until I was on my feet. Then I swung my leg over his lap and straddled him. I grabbed hold of his dick, lined it up with the entrance of my cunt, and sank down on top of him. Both of us sighed in happy unison as he entered my body once again. He buried his face in my tits, and began thrusting his cock up and down. I could feel his lips and tongue against my nipples. He chewed on them forcefully, sucking and tugging with his teeth.

I wrapped my arms round his head, pulling him tighter against me, feeling him suckle and feast on my boobs, recalling the way I had breast-fed him as a child. Then he lifted his head up and kissed me. Our mouths came together in a deep, soul-searching quest for intimacy. I could feel his dick heave up and down as we made out frantically. Our tongues rolled and rippled together, our lips locked tight, my hands lost in his long brown, tousled locks.

He and I have done everything a man and a woman can do together, sexually. He has fucked every hole I have. He has choked me, slapped me, spat at me, pissed on me. And I have done the same to him. But nothing - absolutely nothing - made me feel closer to him than when we kissed.

There was something so intimate, so personal, so forbidden about what we were doing. This was my son. This was my child. Twenty years earlier I had given birth to him. I had changed his diapers. I had wiped his ass. I had sung happy birthday to him as he lay in my arms. I had tucked him into bed at night and kissed him softly on his forehead.

And now I was spreadeagled on top of him, impaled on his cock. My sweaty, naked body bouncing around next to his, my big fat tits rolling up and down against the hard muscular frame of his chest. And we kissed like teenagers, my entire life and soul lost in the primal fury of our bodies meeting in incestuous bliss.

"I'm gonna cum," he spluttered, his cock expanding inside me.

"Do it, baby, do it. Cum inside me, my beautiful boy. Cum inside Mommy. My cunt belongs to you, my little man."

"I love you, Mom!"

"I love you too, sweetheart. I love you more than anyone else. You're my favourite, baby. I love you more than your brother and sister. So much more. You're my number one. I'm all yours. You own me,"

My frantic, almost hysterical babbling was enough to tip him over the edge and, with a final few thrusts, he exploded inside me. I could feel his dick erupting, gobs of cum shooting up my pussy. I groaned and moaned as he roared and bellowed. The two of us climaxing together, my body writhing and bucking on top of his, his hands sinking deep into the fleshy buttocks of my ass.

He came again and again and again, his dick pulsing and twitching. The two of us froze, as waves of pleasure washed over us. My toes curled up, my nipples throbbed, my clit almost vibrated. I collapsed forward, pressing him back onto the couch, my sticky body falling flat against his. There was silence, save for our panting and wheezing. I could feel his jizz trickling out of my twat.

We kissed some more. Languid and slow now, our tongues sliding and slithering, as his hands gently caressed my naked back. I brushed his hair out of his eyes and cupped his cheeks. I stared into his eyes and he stared back into mine. We just smiled and kissed and touched and breathed slowly. He was still inside me and everything felt lovely and perfect and wonderful.

"I love you so much, Mom."

"I love you too, baby. More than I can possibly say."

"Really?"

"Absolutely. I adore you, Christian. And I adore what we do together."

"Me too, Mom."

"I love the way you fuck me. I love the way you make me cum. No one has ever fucked me like you do. It's special, what we have together. Magical."

And I meant that. Every goddamn word. Don't get me wrong, embarking on an incestuous relationship is fraught with dangers and concerns. A whole ton of things can go wrong. There were times when I felt physically sick with guilt and worry. But when we were together like this, when I was naked and he was inside me, it all seemed worth it.

"Did you mean it?" He asked, "when you said I your favourite?"

"Of course. Always."

"This isn't going to end, is it? We're going to keep on fucking...I mean, making love?"

"Forever, baby. I'm yours forever."

I leant forward, resting my head on his shoulder. I could feel him getting hard again inside me and wondered if he would have me one more time before I went to bed.

4

I knew he wanted me long before we actually did it.

I recognised the look in his eyes. It was the same look I had seen so many time before. Hunger. Lust. Desire. I remembered seeing it when I was a kid. I had seen it in the eyes of Uncle Bob. I had seen it in the eyes of Mr Lyons. I had seen it in the eyes of the dozens of men and boys I had slept with during my wild years.

I hadn't expected to see it in the eyes of my teenage son.

Artie and I fell in love, and married almost as soon as we graduated from college. I was pregnant less than a year later. Chris was a lovely, cuddly, chubby, cheerful baby, and we both adored him. But try as we might - and we certainly tried - we couldn't seem to produce a brother or sister. Eventually, we decided to settle for what we had, and stopped thinking about expanding the family unit. It would be years later when, completely out of the blue, and in relatively quick succession, I got pregnant with Calvin and then Ava.

I look back on those years with a tremendous sense of fondness. We were living the American dream. We were married, with kids. We had a house with a yard, two cars, and we took a foreign holiday at least once a year. If anyone had asked me, I would have said I was blissfully happy. Yes, there were down moments, every married couple has them, but I thought I was happy.

But, in truth, I was living a lie. I realise that now. I had suppressed a part of me. Hidden it away. And that part of me was the sexual aspect of my nature. Sure, Artie and I slept together, but he was never particularly libidinous. He liked sex, but it didn't drive him. He never pushed me for it. And when we did it, it was always kind of mundane. Pedestrian.

I had enjoyed some crazy times, and had gotten used to a certain type of sex. Hard, nasty, sometimes violent fucking. With Artie, it was sweet and loving and tender. For the longest of times, I welcomed that. It had initially been a relief. But at some point I realised it had become dull and uninspiring.

Not that I did anything about it. I never for a second contemplated cheating on my husband. I knew from prior experience that it would be the easiest thing in the world to find a lover, but I wasn't going to betray Artie. Okay, I was sexually frustrated, but I would cope. I would survive.

And then I realised my oldest son wanted to fuck me, and everything changed.

The first hint came out of nowhere. I remember it vividly. It happened one Saturday morning, a day like any other. I was downstairs, doing laundry. I was wearing a bra and panties and a short robe. I was busy pairing up socks when I dropped one on the floor. I bent over to pick it up, and that was the moment Chris strolled into the room.

"Hey, Mom, is it okay if I..." was as far a she got.

"What's that, honey?" I looked back over my shoulder and saw him gazing at my semi-exposed ass.

"Uh, nothing," he mumbled and disappeared from view.

I stood up and smiled a curious smile. My little boy was becoming man, I thought to myself. The whole idea seemed amusing and I got on with the rest of my day. But something fundamental had changed in that moment. Chris had always been an affectionate, tactile boy. He loved hugs and kisses, and would spend hours on the couch, snuggling up to me.

Not anymore.

From then on, there was a distance between us. He now hated to be kissed or cuddled, and couldn't abide any display of affection from me. This seemed terribly sad and I said as much to his father. Artie just said it was a thing every mother had to accept, as her son continued his journey through adolescence.

"He'll grow out of it," my husband told me, with great authority, "it's a phase. He'll be all over you in a few years' time."

Turns out my other half was quite the soothsayer, just not in the way he imagined.

Calvin and Ava were still little munchkins and still sought out their mother's affections, but I was sad that their elder brother no longer shared their innocent desires. It hadn't just been post-coital bullshit when I told Chris he was my favourite. He had been my favourite, and I wanted that physical connection to return.

It was a case of be careful what you wish for, I suppose.

Over the following months and years, I noticed other things; the kind of clues a lot of mothers would pick up on with a teenage boy in the house. Chris spent an inordinate amount of time in his room, no doubt jerking himself off, I imagine. Every so often, a pair of my panties would go missing.

And then there was the way he would look at me. Most of the time, he was perfectly normal. Distant but normal. But sometimes, when he didn't think I was paying attention, I would see that look on his face. The look I remembered so vividly from my youth. That hungry look.

If I'd given it any serious thought, I would have dismissed it as the typical ordeal of raising a young man. Teenage boys were basically erect penises with a body attached to them. I found the tissues under his bed, even the occasional girlie magazine at the back of his closet. What was it, his father called it? A phase. It was a phase. Nothing unusual. Everything would go back to normal eventually. That's what I told myself.

Then I saw Chris playing basketball with his friends, and suddenly I was entering a whole new phase of my own. Or perhaps, more accurately, I was re-entering a phase from my past.

I was stood in the kitchen, rinsing out some glasses in the sink, minding my own business, when I glanced up and saw Chris and his buddies playing in the driveway. His father had put up a hoop years earlier and a gang of young men were now fooling around, somewhat raucously. A totally familiar, mundane, unassuming sight; the kind of thing you would see in any yard or driveway across America.

I looked at them almost absentmindedly, smiling affectionately to myself, when I suddenly noticed that my son wasn't wearing a shirt. It was possible that more than one of his friends may have also been running around topless, but it was Chris who drew my attention. He wasn't ripped or anything, but he was in good shape. Lean, hard-bodied, defined. No six-pack, but there was definitely some muscle on display.

I gasped to myself, suddenly seeing him in a whole new way. My little boy was a man. I mean, I knew this already - he'd been taller than me for several years - but I still thought of him as a child. For the first time ever, I acknowledged he was an adult. A handsome, sexually alluring adult. I stood there, wide-eyed and disbelieving, for a long time, just watching these men move and play.

Or, more accurately, I watched Chris move and play. Sweaty, glistening, twisting, writhing. Everything about him was so perfect, so attractive, so fucking hot.

It was as if a whole section of my brain was slowly coming back to life. I imagined it as a row of supercomputers in a dusty warehouse somewhere. They looked dead and lifeless, but then a couple of lights switched on, flickering and pulsing. Then, one by one, more lights became illuminated. There was whirring and rumbling and clicking, as these powerful calculating machines stirred and vibrated for the first time in years.