Teaching My Son

When my son noisily came home at 2 am, I was on the edge of a mind-blowing climax. Maybe that fact could explain what would happen during the next few days and weeks between the two of us. Maybe. In any case, I had been stretching the plateau of my pleasure for hours, alternating between reading erotic stories and watching old sex movies I had made with my husband years ago. I had also been experimenting with different dildos, vibrating toys and nipple clamps. I had even been on the verge of opening the large chest hidden at the back of my walk-in closet for the first time in a while.

My son, Steph, wasn't supposed to come back home tonight. Two weeks after his actual 18th birthday, tonight had finally been the evening of his birthday party, which was supposed to end with a night spent with his girlfriend. And, judging by his veiled comments and his high-keyed nervousness, I knew that tonight would be his first time having sex with his girlfriend. His first time ever.

And so, all alone in the house we shared (only the both of us since his dad, my husband, died in combat five years ago), I had planned my own special evening. Even though I'd had a few inconsequential boyfriends since my husband died, nobody had ever kindled anything more than superficial feelings in me. Both in terms of romance or sex. Those short relationships did nothing to satisfy my very high libido.

Ever since I could remember I've had a very high libido and never in my life have I understood women who complain about boyfriends or husbands that want too much sex. Or those that were shocked by the crazy sexual ideas the men in their life had asked them to do. In fact, through the years I realized that I had more libido than most of my boyfriends.

But that was neither here nor there. Right now, I was gasping in bed, shocked out of my sexual plateau by my son's arrival. I was covered in sweat and my hair was plastered over my face by now, my entire body quivering with interrupted pleasure. I was breathing as hard as if I had run five miles. Normally, I would have sworn under my breath and simply let him go to his room. But it soon became obvious that something was wrong.

First of all, I knew he should have stayed the entire night at his girlfriend's. But secondly, whenever he came home late he was always very careful not to wake me up. Tonight, he was making a hell of a racket. I rolled onto my back, took a few deep breaths and got up. I slipped on my night gown and sighed as I saw my nipples poking through the thin fabric. Well, there wasn't anything I could do about that. It was a warm summer night and I was not about to put on a thicker gown.

I climbed down the stairs, swearing as I saw my heavy breasts bouncing all over the place. My breasts were simply too big for me to go braless. But I couldn't think of that now. I would only have to be careful not to make my breasts move too much. In the end, Steph was so worked-up that he didn't even glance at my breasts or the obvious nipples that crowned them. I found him in his room, muttering angrily under his breath as he paced from his bed to his window. "Hello sweetie," I said from the doorway to his room. He hadn't heard me coming and startled at my voice.

"Oh. Hello mom," he replied in a rough voice.

"What's wrong?"

"Everything!" he moaned as he sat on his bed.

I sat next to him and began asking question. I could see that he was drunk, but only slightly so. Much less than I had been afraid of. But as I kept on asking questions, I soon realized that he really didn't want to talk about it. I was surprised to learn that his girlfriend had broken up with him, but by reading between the lines, I gathered that it had been because of something he had done. Ten minutes later Steph's explanations were still cryptic and since he was clearly exhausted I let him sleep.

Back in my bed, surrounded by my toys and a delicious story of accidental penetrations between a mother and her son on my laptop, I took a deep breath. My pussy was still dripping wet, my blood was still hot, but my mind, a mother's mind, was too concerned about my son to let me sleep.

After my eyes were drawn to the erotic story again, I bit my lower lip. Although I hadn't mentally pictured my son while reading the story earlier, the combination of intense lust and motherly concern made everything merge together. In the incestuous story, the character of Dustin began to morph into my son and Tessa, his mom, began to look like me. Before I could stop it, my mind conjured images of Steph and me dancing together, alone in a room in a nudist colony.

When I felt a surge of heat and pleasure from my pussy, I closed the laptop. Fantasizing about a mother and her son was one thing. Fantasizing about your own son... Shit. Maybe it was because I was tired? Maybe it was because I was slightly drunk myself? Or maybe it was that my body had been so close to an orgasm for so long? In any case I found myself reclining on my bed and pushing my hands between my thighs.

As my fingers slipped into my willing pussy I closed my eyes and imagined myself dancing naked with Steph. I could almost feel his cock hardening against my blonde pussy and rubbing against my soft belly while my breasts rubbed against his own naked chest. And then after a few songs we would accidentally fall on the couch. In that fall I would, accidentally of course, straddle his lap and impale myself on his hard cock.

In my bed, my body arched with pleasure and I knew I was about to climax. I reached for my favorite dildo that I had made ready next to me. It was a big dildo that was very realistic to the point of having a small pump that I had filled with fake sperm. As soon as I slipped it's thick shaft inside me I climaxed, fantasizing that it was my son's cock. I almost screamed his name out loud!

In my mind's eyes he was now over me in the missionary position and I fantasized him shooting his sperm deep inside my pussy. My body arched on the bed as I squirted the first surge of fake sperm into my pussy, rocked by so much pleasure. I could distinctly feel the cool sperm inside me. My climax exploded like a fucking bat out of hell!

In my fantasy, for the second spurt, my son would pull out and shoot over my large breasts. I drew the big dildo out, aimed for my breasts and squeezed a second time. The actual feeling of a thick rope of sperm on my breasts made my fantasy so much more real! Using my upper arms I squeezed my large breasts together and felt them slide against each other, lubricated by my son's sperm. I let go of the pump and resumed caressing my clit with my hand for a long moment while I pushed the cock between my breasts.

I knew the dildo only had three such spurts of cum and for this final ejaculation, I imagined my son screaming "Oh fuck Mom, you're so hot!" as his sperm arched all the way to my face. And so I grabbed the little pump again and squeezed it as hard as I could. When I saw the last stream of sperm coming for and then landing all over my face, my climax exploded back to life. Had I just climaxed a second time while my first climax was still going on? Multiple climaxes were nothing new for me, but never so close together! Right now I didn't know and didn't care.

My eyes now closed, I could feel my son's sperm slowly running down my face as I kept climaxing. I brought the dildo right above my head and pumped a few more time, making the last few globs of sperm fall right into my mouth. By now I was covered in sweat and my son's sperm and I was ravaged by this climax like never before during masturbation. I threw the spent dildo on the floor and pushed my hands back to my pussy. Using the sperm that was leaking from my pussy I covered my lips and clit as I kept stoking this intense climax as hard as I could.

It was a miracle that I didn't scream out loud. I have no idea how I managed that, especially since I knew that I was a screamer. Eventually, my entire body began to ache with too mush sensations. By that point my body was bunched up, with both my upper body and legs off the bed. I soon collapsed fully on the bed, twitching and trembling, feeling my breasts moving around in slow circles. Taking a deep breath I stretched like a cat and felt myself almost blacking out.

Afterwards, I lay on the bed trying to recover a semblance of sanity and normal bodily functions. My fingers were idly playing with my son's fantasized sperm as I began to fully appreciate what I had just done. Despite my incredibly high libido, despite my ability to appreciate a good mother and son incest story and despite the fact that Steph was looking more and more like his father every day, I had never fantasized about him. Not because I hadn't allowed myself to do it; it had simply never occurred to me. But now I had done it. And my body had never felt as good after masturbation before. Almost as good as the best sex I had ever had with Steph's father. Christ!

The following day, because of Steph's reserved disposition and my own slight lingering guilt, we didn't talk about his ruined birthday night. But very late during the evening, my son came and sat next to me in the living room. I was reading a book next to a small fire and I was surprised by his presence. He had a book of his own and after smiling at him I remained silent, letting him start the conversation.

He soon did. I mostly listened for a long while as he worked through this difficult discussion. He was red-faced, was breathing quickly, he fumbled with words, hesitated a lot and tried to use euphemisms that he thought would be acceptable for his mom. Why was the discussion that hard for him? Quite simple actually: it was about sex. The actual party last night had gone pretty well, but the night with his girlfriend... not so much.

As I listened patiently, I managed to put together a clear enough picture of the problem. Although he and his girlfriend really loved each other and both had been looking forward for this first night together, they had each imagined two very different scenarios of how that night was going to unfold. His girlfriend seemed to have a very typical female fantasy: very romantic, very slow, very soft, etc... He was just as typical on the other side: very intense, very creative, nothing forbidden, etc...

I closed my eyes momentarily when he told me, totally innocently, that he had watched a lot of porn movies last week to get ideas of what to do. "Steph..." I said softly. "I thought you knew that.... Porn is not reality."

"I know, but still!" he replied, his face red again as he looked at the floor. "Sex is sex, right?"

"Yes, but..." I paused, taking a deep breath. "Remember when you first saw a real MMA fight? How you couldn't believe how different it was from fights in martial arts movies?"

"Yeah, so?"

I mentally swore, cursing the fact that his father hadn't been present during Steph's adolescence. I had tried to talk to him about sex, but coming from his mother, he hadn't been as receptive as he could have been with his father. He couldn't even make the connection with my combat analogy. "Look. Porn isn't bad in itself, but it's designed to be a show for an audience. Real sex with someone you love isn't done with an audience in mind."

"Hmmm. Ok?"

"Porn is to sex what kung-fu movies are to real MMA."

"Oh," he replied, frowning as he began to see the difference.

"Did you ask her to do something that she didn't--" I stopped, his reaction an obvious answer in itself. "Ok. And what did you do then?"

"Damn..." he groaned, standing up. "I shouldn't have talked to you about it. I'm so useless! Fuck!"

And with that he left and went to his room. My first instinct was to follow him, but I decided to let him calm down. I took a long bath but as I came out of the bathroom his door was still closed. His light was on, but even though I lingered in the kitchen for a while, making noise to let him know I was there, he didn't come out. It was the first time he had said fuck in front of me, but I didn't mind too much. I knew he was feeling really bad.

I closed all the lights and went up to my room. As I was replying to an email from an old friend, I heard him climb up the stairs. I had been naked, so I hurriedly grabbed my gown and tied it just as he knocked on my door. When I opened the door I saw him looking at the floor, probably as filled with shame as only teenagers can. He slowly lifted his head up and began to speak, but he paused as his eyes glanced at my breasts. When I looked down I saw that while my nipples were both hidden by the evening gown, most of my breasts were not. I had closed and tied it hastily and had been too concerned by him to check it. I took a moment to pull the outer side farther in to properly cover myself.

After clearing his throat, Steph said "I'm sorry mom. I shouldn't have said the f-word, and I shouldn't have left like that earlier."

I invited him in and we sat on my bed. "It's alright baby. I understand that you're feeling awful right now." Some deep part of my mind knew that having him on my bed so late, with me wearing nothing but a night gown, wasn't a good idea. Especially after what I had done on that very bed last night. "Do you feel like talking about it with me?"

"No..." he began. He then looked at me with a shy smile and added "But I think I need to talk about it with someone."

For the next thirty minutes he slowly opened up and I discovered that Steph's only real sex-ed had been porn. His school's sex-ed seemed to be a total disaster and now I dearly regretted my own reticence to talk to him about it after his father's death. I discovered that he seemed to have as big a libido as both his parents had. If he only knew about the large box of toys I kept under the bed, all the taboo erotic stories I read or even worse, the life-size female sex doll I still kept in the chest even though my husband was gone.

Shaking my head, I said "I'm sorry about that Steph... Being a single mom of an adolescent son isn't easy, especially that part."

"I know you did you best and that I wasn't receptive at all about that talk!" he replied, laughing softly. "But now... And I couldn't even learn what it's like to be a happy couple by watching you and dad."

We both paused for a moment. We had been a loving couple, but Steph was only thirteen when his father died, just as he became an adolescent. I then told him that I would try to help him. "How?" he asked, puzzled.

"Well, I may not be 18 anymore, but I'm still a woman and I still remember what it felt when I was discovering... all this."

"Ok," he replied, clearly dubious, yet hopeful.

"We'll start tomorrow, son." I kissed him on the forehead, only realizing later that it had given him a very good view of my cleavage.

As I found myself alone in my room, I wondered how I would manage to help him. And then it hit me: I could write an erotic story! I did that a lot for my husband and while it would be very different this time, I could try to make Steph see things from a young woman's point of view. And so I grabbed my laptop and began writing. Of course my son was one of the protagonist, an 18 year old virgin about to discover sex with his girlfriend. I began writing the story from the point of view of his real girlfriend, but then stopped, realizing that it wasn't a good choice given the current state of their relationship.

And so I created a girl character from scratch and I would tell the story from her perspective. As I filled page after page, I realized that while this girl wasn't me, she certainly looked like me. Even at 18, she had a full pair of breasts, a slim waist, womanly hips, long legs, long blonde hair... I laughed, covering my mouth with my hand as I discovered this. At least I had succeeded in creating a girl quite unlike Steph's girlfriend, who was thin and had very small breasts. I briefly wondered if I should make the character less like me. But by then, I was quite aroused and the thought that my son would maybe think of a young me as he read this... My nipples tingled!

A few hours later I had a decent first draft and my pussy was ready for release. I placed my laptop on the nightstand and removed my tank top and panties. Thinking about all the things I had tried to show my son, I masturbated until I climaxed while thinking of him losing his virginity inside my own pussy. What a naughty mother I was!

The next morning I re-read the story, made some small changes and fixed whatever minor problems remained. I went down to the kitchen and we ate breakfast together, talking about other things. I had to run a few errands and decided to send him the story in an email just before leaving. In the email, in addition to the story, I told him that it could give him a taste of what could go through a virgin girl's mind, as well as what she might want to do during her very first experience.

It took me a bit more than an hour to complete my errands and I found myself feeling very nervous when I came back home. Steph was in his room and he got out with a big smile. Clearly, he had enjoyed the story. And, judging my his flushed face, he had masturbated after reading it!

We sat down together at the kitchen table and talked about it. But despite our previous talks and the story, talking about that subject in the bright light of day was awkward. I learned that what I had described felt way too soft for him, too slow and too long, but he was too shy to go into more detail. After a third long silence, I suggested an alternative. I asked him to write a similar story, but from his point of view, fantasizing about what the ideal first time would be for him. He was surprised by the suggestion, but told me he'd try it.

Two days later, as I was ready to go to bed, I received an email from him and grinned when I saw that it was a story. In it, I met the two same characters I had created and the beginning of the story was quite similar to my own. But as soon as things got more physical, the story transformed into what I would call cheap porn. I felt raw masculine energy oozing out from the words, but it was clear that it was entirely shaped by typical porn scenes. There was nothing I liked more than raw masculine energy, but it did have to be channelled properly. In his story, it just exploded all over the place! There was no connection between the characters and the girl was just there to fulfill the guy's desires, with no trace of any wishes, desires, plans, personality.... In other words, she was a sex toy for him.

I sighed. Despite everything we talked about in the last few days, despite the story I wrote for him, it seemed that he was stuck in this simplistic and vulgar porn mindset. I could now understand his girlfriend pretty well. If Steph had tried to do all of this the first time they had sex together... Shit!

I took a deep breath and thought about it. Clearly, like most other things in his life, Steph was not going to learn about this through words and ideas. But what else could I do? I was not about to send him to a prostitute! I didn't think that any girl his age would be willing to indulge his porn fantasies either...

And then it hit me: Steph had pretty much described the girl in the story as a glorified sex toy, so why not use a real sex doll! I could ask him to show me what he'd like to do with a girl! And I could correct him or make suggestions! One more time, an alarm rang in the back of my mind. Was I really thinking about asking my son to simulate sex with a sex-doll in front of me? It certainly looked like it!

But by now, after fantasizing about fucking him, after writing a story about taking my son's virginity and reading his own story about ravishing a younger version of me, that alarm sounded very weakly and from far away. I shut it off easily and walked to my closet, where I knelt in front of the chest. The doll was still there, as ready as she always was. I pulled her out of there, cleaned her thoroughly and placed her on my bed. I grinned, put on my night gown over my nakedness and went down to my son's room. He had been waiting to get my reaction to his story, and boy would he get more than he had bargained for!