The Chair

As she went to change into her suit, closing and locking the door behind her with soft snick and click as modesty would dictate, she could hear the splashing squeals of her son and his wife, married now almost ten years, as they played in the pool.

She sat in her plush dressing chair with its cushioned arms covered in a softly rough fabric and slipped into her one-piece quick. She stood, pulled on a sunning robe, and sat back down, leaning on one of the arms as she stared out her bedroom window which looked down on the sunlit chlorinated water. The tenor and tone of the two below had swerved into an argument, a resistance. Her daughter-in-law had left the cool water and now stood shivering, arms crossed, and shouted a simple, "No!" then turned and stomped to an unseen gate at the side of the house. A minute later, their car started out front and the peel of tires sounded as she, obviously angry, drove away.

Mother continued to watch her son in the pool, His face had the naughty grin she recalled from his early teens, so many years ago now, and she saw why as he stood and left the water. He had obviously considered his mother's slow pace as an opportunity to engage his wife, left just a moment ago, in a little raunchy activity.

The head of his cock still stood... just slightly peeking over the top of his trunks, and still smiling, he grabbed a towel and lay on one of the lounge chairs arrayed around the pool where he continued to lazily rub himself.

His mother was shocked. At the argument and now it's cause. Shocked mostly that she didn't look away from her son who seemed to have totally forgotten there was another in the house...

and this other was his mother who didn't, couldn't stop staring as she stood slowly and quietly dragged her dressing chair in front of the window so that she herself couldn't be seen, placed a knee in the cushion while her other leg straddled the arm, a bare foot on the floor and she watched him over the high back of the chair.

Why was she still watching? Did she want her son? No. That would be wrong. So. So. Wrong.

But she found, as he slipped his hand beneath his shorts to grip his cock, of average length but full, firm, and thick, that she must simply want the sight of any sign of lust from any man.

So, in her mind, she tried to forget who this man was and watched and was again shocked to realize she'd lowered herself so that her pussy was now slowly grinding on the arm of the chair.

Now, watching was wrong enough but this... this violated everything and the thought of that brought an unbidden moan to her throat which she released as she forced her hungry clit harder into the chair's arm.

Her son... no! Not her son. Just a man... with a beautiful cock... her son's... no... yes! It was her son! And the first shiver passed through her as she agreed with herself that the idea of it had almost made her cum.

She raised herself now and scooted the chair over and turned it to its side so that it only barely concealed her... should anyone... her son... glance up, but he was distracted by his own lust as he stroked a cock now slick with his own leaking.

"God that looks good," his mother whispered alone in her room above him as she began to earnestly fuck the arm of the chair until she had to... had to! pull the suit bottoms aside and let her bare pussy grab the fabric, and with this done, she slipped her arms from the one-piece so that her heavy breasts and hard sensitive nipples could brush against it too.

And the taboo swelled within her as she thought, "Don't look up. Please don't look up at a mother... your mother... needing fucked. Wanting fucked by a man... any man... no... not any... him... my son... I want fucked by my son... Please don't look... if you look I'll let you, beg you, let you fuck me, son!"

And as she said this last part out loud, a low guttural grunting as she clenched and came hard on the hard arm of the chair, her son looked up.

And she came again and again. And again as he stood and headed toward the house.