Something in White

Jenny chose something in white. White lace underwear with a pretty rose pattern motif and matching stockings. The stockings were tight enough to cling to her thighs without the need for suspenders.

A white silk robe hung easily over the curves of her body and a loose fitting sash held it together at her waist. It was expensive and beautiful. She liked that. It reached only to the upper part of her thighs, short enough to reveal a glimpse of skin between the garment and the tops of her stockings.

The clean freshness of the white contrasted strangely with the rich blackness of her hair. She loved her own hair. She reached up behind herself and loosened it, allowing its full length to fall down across her shoulders. Finally, she applied a trace of red lipstick to match perfectly with her nails.

She looked at her own image reflecting back at herself as she stood before the full length bedroom mirror and smiled. This was how she liked it to be. She liked him to experience her like this. She wanted him to feel the purity of her love for him fused with the sexual ache for him that never seemed to fade. She liked him to taste that blend. Nobody else could give him a mixture of love and excitement in the way that she could. His romantic lover and his needy little whore twisted together. She knew that he liked that. She knew that he would want her.

Jenny heard the car in the driveway. She expected that he would see the single light and come into her bedroom to find her. He always did that. She liked to think that 24 hours away from her was just too long for him. It was too long for her when he was gone. She hated him being away for more than even a few hours. That was when the ache started and that ache hurt like hell. She needed him to soothe that ache.

She was still standing in front of the mirror when he came into the room. He hadn't called up to her and he didn't speak now, at least not right away. He walked silently, slowly and carefully to her. There was just a slight pause. Not too long. Just enough for them both to be conscious of the other's breathing as his body came near to hers.

He folded his arms around her waist and held her to him. Jenny didn't turn around to face him. He was late. He had been due back an hour ago and he knew that she worried when he was late. He knew about the ache. She stood and let him hold her, but she didn't turn around. She needed him to know that she didn't like him being late.

Sean held his hands around her waist. Jenny sensed the gentle concern of his embrace and felt better. The worry was subsiding. He was home. He had come back to her like he always did, even if he was a little late. She rested her own hands on his arms and looked at their reflection in the mirror. She could see and feel his hands resting lightly against her stomach and she let herself relax as the softness of his touch seeped through the fabric of her robe. She adored it when he held her this way, keeping her safe in his arms.

"How was your father?"

She spoke quietly, the tone of her voice matching the tenderness of their embrace. Jenny despised the hours that Sean spent away from her, but most especially when he was with his father.

"He was fine, he sends his love."

Jenny didn't respond immediately. Not all love was worth having. As Sean held her to him she stared at their reflection, resting herself back against him and letting the presence of him wash through her. Her faced showed no expression, but she sought his eye contact in the mirror when she spoke again.

"And how was she?"

Jenny placed a slight emphasis on the word 'she' that suggested her distaste. This wasn't a genuine or even a passing enquiry or concern. It was a question that required a reaction but not an answer.

Sean was aware of her body tensing just a little as she spoke. He knew where this was going. Where it always went. He drew her to him a little more tightly and brushed his lips across the nape of her neck before whispering back to her. He knew what she needed to hear about his father's new wife.

"Forget her. She's nothing. She's nothing to me and nothing to us."

There was just the faintest flicker of a satisfied smile across Jenny's face as she lay her hands over his, signifying to him that she welcomed the touch of his lips to her skin but, more importantly, that he had said the right thing.

"Does she ever ask you about me?"

Sean answered carefully, moving his face upwards slightly so that their eyes could again connect through their reflection as he spoke.

"No, but if she did I wouldn't talk to her anyway. What I think, feel and do is none of her business."

"She must ask you though, she must ask you about your life. What you're doing, how you spend your time. She must ask you about yourself."

"I don't tell her anything," he replied.

He spoke to her again, this time whispering. Pausing between words as he carefully pressed his lips to her skin, punctuating his sentence with the gentlest of kisses.

"I don't tell her anything. I don't tell her that I have a girl. Or that she's beautiful and that I'm in love with her."

His words cleaned and dressed the wounds inside of her. The ache was fading. As he spoke, her long and perfect red painted nails scraped lightly over his hand as he carefully and slowly undid the sash at her waist.

Jenny let him do that. She did nothing to stop him as his hands parted the fabric of her robe and he rested his touch against the soft smoothness of her skin.

She let herself sink into the pleasure of this physical contact. He moved the flat of his palm across her stomach and she felt a surge of sweetness rush through her. Her open robe fell away slightly at her neck. He spread his kiss across her shoulders. His lips moved upwards, sweeping lightly across her cheek. He breathed words gently into her ear. She closed her eyes as the lushness of his voice penetrated a part of her that only he could reach.

"And I don't tell her that I'm fucking my own mother."

The spoken acknowledgement rippled through her in a delicious sensation. He was eighteen. Handsome and caring. A beautiful boy. Her own son but also her lover. Every single time they played out this act of incest she knew she should stop. And yet, it was her consciousness of how much this excited her that made her need him. His words found a place in her that only he could ever reach. He was the only one that could cure her ache.

She closed her eyes now. His fingers stroked across the line of her skin just below her waist and then skirted the fabric of her panties. He paused a while. Perhaps this was the point at which their natural instincts held them back from the threshold. Jenny took her own hand and guided him as his fingers slipped inside the material and spread through the twists of fine hair.

She drank in the sensation and the significance of the moment. Jenny wanted him to know that he could have this part of her. She wanted him to know that his mother wanted his touch.

She shuddered a little and breathed in deeply as she felt his fingertips trace down her slit. His touch massaged over her, the contact eased by the warmth and wetness that had already started to leak from her. He moved his fingers in a slow motion caress that made her tremble.

She raised a hand behind her to touch his face. One of his arms stayed wrapped around her waist, holding her against him, whilst his other reached down so that his fingers could play and push gently against her. She pressed the cheeks of her behind into his body, needing to be as close to him as she could get so that he could insert one of his fingers just inside of her.

He drew a slow and careful circle repeatedly over the apex of her vagina and eventually, as she responded to his attention, his fingers were able to find her swollen clitoris as she opened up to him. She moved herself slightly back and forth in time with his touch, a beautiful agony rushing through her.

Jenny opened her eyes and saw herself in the mirror. She fed her ache on the image. Her face was flushed with the pleasure of the feel and sight of her son masturbating her. She could see him touching her. Jenny's mouth opened just enough to let her breath pass back and forth in time with his caress.

The sight of him standing behind her, wrapping her body inside of his embrace. That was the thing she craved most when he was gone from her. She looked at their bodies together as he pressed delicate kisses against the back of her neck and pleasured her with his fingers. His touch was exquisite but, most of all, she adored the way he held her to him.

Later, when she took him into her bed, she liked them to make love in that way. She would lie on her side with her back to him so that he could fold himself around her as he pushed his cock up her. She wanted him to be able to penetrate her as deeply as possible. More deeply than anyone ever had. More deeply than his father ever had. The feel of the entire length of his unsheathed cock probing her was bliss. Jenny cherished this. The way that they were joined tightly together as he ran himself in and out of her. He was slow and loving, causing the pink sugar walls of her insides to melt and collapse over his swollen penis.

The feel of his body bucking with involuntary thrusts as the intensity of her son's orgasm broke inside of her to join with her own was dreamlike. But most special to her were the moments afterwards.

They lay together, perfectly still, with the sweat of their bodies and the wetness of their cum forming a film between their warm skin. In the darkness of the room she could just make out the now crumpled white silk robe, lying on the bedroom floor where she had taken it off for him.

As he held her to him she felt the glow of loving satisfaction. Not just the satiated feeling that came from their sex, but a deeper feeling of contentment.

His arm still lay lovingly around her waist and his hand rested caringly over her stomach. She rested her own hand on his, holding it against her son's child growing inside of her.