Soccer Mom Slut

I had suppressed and held back my sexual urges for so long; kept that part of me locked up. But in a single moment, the key had been turned and the door was opened. I dried my hands and made my way upstairs. I wriggled out of my pants and practically tore my panties to shreds. Then I threw myself onto the bed, spread my legs wide apart and started rubbing my pussy with a manic, obsessed fury. I came in seconds, the image of my son burnt into my retinas.

From then on, it was only a matter of when not if. Over the following weeks and months, my old nymphomaniacal tendencies reasserted themselves with absolute force. Artie got laid more often than he had ever experienced in his entire life. I masturbated with a ferocity and intensity I hadn't felt since my early twenties. Barely a word was spoken between me and Chris, we simply revolved around one another, binary stars, full of hunger and lust, exchanging the occasional glance, freighted with importance and desire.

I got myself back on the pill. Artie had his tubes tied after Ava was born, so I needn't have worried about contraception. But I did now. My doctor didn't ask any intrusive questions and I didn't offer any illuminating answers. He signed the prescription, wished me a happy holidays and then watched me walk out of his office.

It was a couple of weeks before Christmas and I had gone out with some friends for a meal and a few drinks. I was a little tipsy when the cab dropped me off at my home. All the lights seemed to be out, so I assumed everyone had gone to bed. As we've already established, my husband wasn't a night-owl, so he would certainly have turned in. Calvin and Ava would be in bed.

But what about Christian?

He was still up, and he wasn't in his room. When I opened the front door, I heard some muffled sounds from the living room. I tip-toed forward, the only lights illuminating the darkness were the Christmas decorations and the flickering images from the TV. I peered in the room and saw two profoundly shocking sights.

The first: On the television screen, a young blonde woman was being sodomised by a huge black guy, while she frantically sucked the cock of another equally huge black guy.

The second: My adult son was stripped naked and he was sat masturbating on the couch. I hadn't seen him fully nude since he was a small boy. And I hadn't seen his erect cock since who knows when. He was sitting there, bold as brass, his legs spread wide, his hand wrapped firmly round his tall, thick meat. I'd seen some pretty big dicks, back in my wild youth, but I don't think I'd seen anything as big as his. It was huge. An absolute monster.

I stood there for a few moments, my panties a soaking, sopping mess, and stared at him in action. His fist was almost a blur, as he tugged and squeezed on his prick. It's shadow stretched out across his body, all the way up his chest. There was a sheen of sweat all over him, making him shine in the dim light. He was breathing a little heavily, but he wasn't panting or groaning. I could see the muscles in his legs straining. I could see his big, hairless balls twitching. I could see his toes curling inwards.

My mouth had dropped open, my tongue licking my lips. One of my hands was flat on the wall, supporting me as I swayed and shook unsteadily. The other hand was at my chest, cupping my breast, gently squeezing and fondling my flesh. Eventually, I decided to leave. Give him a little privacy. Part of me desperately wanted to watch him cum. Part of me desperately wanted to rush in there and help him cum. But the sane, rational centre of my mind was still functioning...just. I quietly tried to leave.

But then...

"Don't go," Chris said, softly.

I froze, mid-stride. For a moment I thought maybe I was hearing things.

"Mom, don't go. Come in. Join me."

He didn't pause for a second as he spoke. All the time, his hand flew up and down, continuing to beat his meat.

"I don't mind you looking," he said, in a very matter-of-fact tone, "in fact, I like it."

I tentatively entered the room. My eyes were still glued to his naked form. The constant movement, the jerking motion. And then there was the sound. The rhythmic slapping of his hand against his balls. It was so vivid. So real.

"I saw the lights from the cab pulling into the driveway. I knew you were coming home. I could have stopped. Gone to my room. You'd have been none the wiser."

"Why didn't you?" I whispered.

"You know why," he smiled at me, "I wanted you to find me. I wanted you to see me. You like looking at me, don't you?"

I said nothing.

"I know you do. I've seen the way you look at me. I've seen your eyes follow me round the room. The way you watch me when I'm out mowing the lawn, when I take my top off."

I almost squeaked in recognition, as if I'd been caught with my hand in the cookie jar.

"It's nice being watched. Being wanted. But I suppose you know how that feels, don't you? You feel the same way when I look at you."

I gasped.

"You're so hot, Mom. So fucking sexy. I love watching you. Watching the way your body moves. The way your boobs jiggle under your nightdress. The way your ass cheeks fill out a tight pair of jeans."

"You shouldn't...you should be looking at me like that," I croaked, my panties so wet, my juices were trickling down my inner thighs.

"I felt so guilty about it. I felt so guilty about wanting you. Wanting to fuck you. I thought I was a monster."

"You're not a monster, baby."

"Oh, I know that now. Back then I thought I was sick in the head. But it's amazing what you can get used to. What you can rationalise. I soon became comfortable with the idea. It was easier when I realised you felt the same way."

"I don't," I replied, knowing it was a lie.

"Sure thing, Mom. Whatever you say."

He carried on with his onanistic pursuit, entirely unfazed by my presence.

"It's pretty impressive, isn't it?" He said.

"What is?"

"My cock. Your little boy's cock."

"Uh...yeah, sure."

"It's long. I haven't measured it, but I reckon it must be at least nine inches. I can't get my hand round all of it, so I know it's pretty thick too."

I just stared at him. Stared at it.

"I thought I was a freak. When I first started fooling around with girls, it scared a few of them away. They didn't know what to do with it. They were intimidated by it. But then I realised it was a blessing."

I was still stood a few feet away from him, my hands now by my side. On he went, blissfully happy in his ongoing act of self love.

"Why don't you hitch up your skirt?" He said.

"What?"

"Hitch up your skirt. I want to see you properly."

"Chris, we shouldn't..."

"Do it."

I'd like to say I paused to contemplate my course of action, weigh up the situation and explore the moral alternatives. But that would be a lie. Without giving it a moment's thought, I pulled up my skirt. I'd dressed up for my evening out, and I was secretly thrilled to realise I was wearing stockings and a thong.

"Take off your panties."

My old training kicked in, born from a thousand different experiences with Uncle Bob or Mr Lyons or a hundred different jocks or a dozen or more college professors. Or an endless succession of guys I'd picked up in bars. My submissive nature. My desire to please. My need to be told what to do. As soon as my skirt was fully round my waist, I wriggled out of my underwear. They fell down my legs and I stepped out of them gingerly.

"Sit down on the chair. Opposite me."

I sat down.

"Now, spread your legs for me."

I did as he told me to. Slowly parting my limbs and opening myself up to him. In truth, the light was so dim, he wouldn't have seen all that much, but it was the symbolism that counted. I was exposing myself to him, revealing the most intimate part of my body. All boundaries of decency and decorum collapsing like a house of cards.

"Touch yourself."

I brought my hand to my cunt and began to rub furiously.

"You're so beautiful, Mom."

"Thank you, baby."

"Are you wet?"

"Yes."

"Are you turned on?"

"Oh fuck, yes."

"Are you going to cum for me, Mom?"

"Oh God, yes! Oh fuck, yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!"

In a matter of seconds I did as he had asked. My whole body writhing around. My nipples throbbing. My cunt clenching. Juices gushing out of my hot, tight snatch. Not long afterwards, he came. His cock rising up and then exploding in his hand. Gobs of cum shot out of his dick, splashing against his belly and chest.

Both of us sat there in silence, the only sounds that could be heard was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway and the heavy breathing from our aroused bodies. Finally, Chris stood up and walked towards me. His cock, still semi-erect, bobbed up and down as he moved. He paused, picked up my panties and then used them to wipe his body clean. Then he stood in front of me.

"Here," he said, handing me the little ball of damp cloth in my hand. I held it tightly, feeling the moisture against my skin.

He bent over and brought his hand between my legs. He cupped my vulva, his thumb brushing through my patch of pubic hair.

"Lose this," he said, motioning down to my crotch with his eyes, "I want you to be silky smooth down there, the next time we're together."

I nodded silently. Then he stood up, turned round and walked out of the room. I watched him leave, admiring his muscular ass cheeks as he disappeared. I lay there, sprawled out, my legs wide apart, my skirt hitched up round my waist. My cunt pulsing and throbbing, almost glowing like a warning light on the shore.

The next morning I booked an appointment at the beauty salon for a full-body waxing. A few months later I ended up getting laser treatment, burning away every follicle and wisp of pubic hair I had. I don't know if Artie ever noticed the change. If he did, he never said anything.

Chris and I had sex for the first time on the night before Christmas Eve. We both waited for everyone else to go to bed, and then we sneaked downstairs to be alone together. I wore a black negligee and stockings. We made out on the couch, as he fingered me. He praised my newly-smooth snatch, as his digits probed inside. Our tongues duelled together, our mouths wide open and hungry. Then I sucked his dick. He came in my mouth and I swallowed every drop. Just like I always would.

Maybe ten minutes later, once he was ready to go again, he placed me down on my back, pushed my legs wide apart, and lined his cock up at the entrance to my cunt. He looked at me and smiled. I bit my bottom lip and tugged on my nipples with my hands. The negligee, torn to shreds, lay on the carpet.

"Do you want my cock, Mommy?"

I nodded.

"Do you want your son's cock inside you?"

I squealed out a mumbled yes.

"Beg me for it."

"Please, baby. Please give me your dick. Mommy wants it. Mommy needs it. She needs you to be inside her. She needs your cock. Fuck Mommy. Please, my precious boy, fuck Mommy."

So he did. He slammed himself inside me and I gasped. There was pain to what he was doing, but there was excitement too. He was right. He was big. One of the biggest cocks I'd ever had, and I had enjoyed plenty. But most importantly, this was my son's cock. That added a whole extra level of intimacy and excitement to what was happening. Just the very fact of it induced a whole frisson of pleasure. This was incest. This was illegal. This was magnificent.

He pounded away at me, his beefy tool sliding in and out of my hot, wet channel. I stretched my legs around him, trying to pull him closer, deeper. My hands reached out to his neck, and I clung on for dear life as he pummelled and thrashed away at my body. The entire couch rocked with our movement, as he fucked me senseless. We were trying to be quiet, but our incest would not be denied or dampened down.

I had already cum half a dozen times or more, my orgasmic nature coming to the fore once again. My eyes rolled back in their sockets, as I gargled and groaned and panted. His dick felt huge inside me, ginormous; an obscene invader, stretching and filling me out in a way I had never experienced.

He bent over and buried his face in my tits, chewing on my nipples, slurping on my creamy flesh. He licked and bit at my breasts, sucking as much of me inside him as he could. Then we kissed some more, my mouth falling open to welcome his tongue with my own. I wrapped my arms round his neck and pulled him down as tightly to me as I could. I was bent almost double on that couch, and my back would be killing me in the morning.

He'd changed his rhythm now. He was no longer thrusting and slamming. He was buried deep inside me, to the hilt. He was just pushing forward, as if his body wanted to climb into mine. His butt and hips just twitched sensuously as he carried on grinding his body against me. I kissed and licked and bit at his neck and shoulders. There wasn't a glimpse of light between us, our bodies were squeezed together, as one.

"My baby, my baby, my baby," I whispered, holding him, welcoming him, needing him.

He came inside me, shooting his seed deep within my body. His whole frame froze, every muscle straining. His back arched, his legs shaking, his dick erupting. Every drop of him shooting against the walls of my snatch, like little pearly bullets. Then he collapsed on top of me. I lay there, slightly winded, his body a dead weight pushing me down into the couch. I stroked his hair, I caressed his back.

And I cried.

I cry a lot these days. I have done ever since Chris and I started sleeping together. I weep. I feel sick sometimes, wracked with guilt and shame about what we are doing. Don't get me wrong, I love him and I truly love fucking him, in a way I can't properly explain. But I know it's wrong. I know we shouldn't be doing it. It's a betrayal. Not just a betrayal of his father, but a betrayal of the entire family. A betrayal of the normal, regular, mother-son relationship we should have.

But it doesn't stop me.

I sobbed that night, his cum dripping out of me, tears rolling down my cheeks.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

"We shouldn't have done this. It was a mistake," I whimpered, my voice breaking and faltering.

"Hey, hey, hey," he said, pulling my face closer to his, "don't say that. I wanted to be with you."

"But it's wrong."

He kissed my cheeks, licking each tear with his tongue. He smiled at me. A solid, reassuring smile.

"I love you, Mom. Soooooo much. What happened between us was beautiful. Perfect. You were perfect."

"A mother shouldn't do that with her son."

"You gave me what I wanted. You always do. And I adore you for it."

"But it's wrong."

"Shhhh," he said, softly, "you're my good little girl now, aren't you?"

I nodded.

"You're my good little slut? Who'll do whatever I tell you?"

I nodded again.

"I love you, Mom."

I sighed, then we kissed once more. I knew what we had done was wrong, but I knew I wasn't going to stop it from happening again. After all, like he said, I was his good little slut.

5

Once the rubicon has been crossed, there was no stopping us. Despite my concerns, despite my guilt, the brakes were off. Almost every night we would fuck in the living room after everyone else had gone to bed. Regularly I would sneak into his room first thing in the morning and wake him with a sloppy blowjob. My head bobbing up and down under the duvet as he groaned and moaned uncontrollably. We would constantly be fondling and groping one another as we passed each other in a room or hallway.

He had reignited that part of me that had been slumbering away for years. The slutty, filthy, libidinous part of me. I had been a fully-fledged nymphomaniac when I was a younger woman, and rediscovering that aspect of my personality was like slipping into a pair of comfortable shoes. Sex is a bit like riding a bike; you never forget how to do it. I was ready to fuck. I was ready to suck. And my eldest son was the lucky recipient of my largesse.

The best times were when we could spend a few hours alone together. I suggested that Artie might take his youngest children to watch a movie on a Saturday morning; or perhaps go swimming with them.

"You don't spend enough time with them," I had told him, "they barely see you, since you're working all the time."

"What about Chris?" Artie had asked, "would he want to ride along?"

"Oh no, no, no," I spluttered, "I'm sure he'd have better things to do on a Saturday morning than hanging around with his little brother and sister."

Which, of course, he did; namely, pounding away at his mother's cunt and ass, while she devoured the mattress in his room.

Then there were date nights.

Chris would disappear, saying he was going off to meet his buddies, or something. No one really paid that close attention; he was a grown-up, he could do what he liked. I would come up with some cover story about enjoying an evening out with the girls. I'd get all dressed up, including black stockings and a thong, and go off to spend time with my son.

On occasion we might go out for an actual date - a meal somewhere or maybe a film - but usually we'd just check into some cheap hotel and spend a couple of hours fucking each other's brains out. These were the same sort of places I had visited years earlier with Uncle Bob; no different, save perhaps a new lick of paint. Although this time, the tawdry events involved my biological son.

I was sat on the bed at one particularly sleazy motel on the outskirts of town, when I heard the door of my room open. I had dispensed with my dress, and was wearing only my underwear. I looked up and saw Christian walk in, my heart soaring at the sight of him, as it always did. But, on this occasion, he wasn't alone. Following him into the room was a young woman.

"Hey, Mom," he said, amiably.

"Uh...hello," I stammered in reply.

"This is Kendall," he said, motioning to the girl.

"Hiya," she said, in a fairly bright and breezy sort of way, as she was chewing gum.

"Uh...hi," I managed to blurt out.

"I kind of...well...uh...I kind of thought Kendall might want to...we'll...I thought she might want to join us."

"Join us?"

"Yeah. In bed."

My mouth fell open. I clamped it shut, then it fell open again. I didn't know what to say, and I was suddenly totally conscious of the fact I was sat there in my bra and panties, with a complete stranger stood idly by.

"What the? I mean...what do you..? What?"

"I thought the three of us could, well, you know, the three of us could fuck." He at least had the decency to look embarrassed.

I was silent again. I didn't know how to respond. I'd been with girls before, back in my glory days, I was perfectly happy to eat some pussy, but this was different. Chris hadn't given me any warning. He hadn't discussed his little scheme with me. And then there was the sudden realisation that this situation was leaving me a little exposed, in every way possible.

"Look, I don't know what's going on here, but this isn't funny. I don't know why you insist on calling me Mom, but I am not your mother..."

"It's okay, Mom, Kendall knows. She won't be any trouble, will you Kenny?"

The girl giggled and smiled at me.

"Sure thing. Don't worry, Mrs Ingham, I'm totally fine with you and Chris fucking. It's super, super hot. Incest isn't a big deal for me at all."

"Tell her why," he urged.

"Sure. You see, I'm getting boned at home too. My older brother fucks me and so does my Dad. Sometimes, they both do me at the same time."

She said this in such a matter-of-fact tone, it was as if she was simply describing the route she had taken to reach the motel, or what she had enjoyed for dinner that evening.