Some of you reading this will know what it's like to be left high and dry when a partner suddenly leaves you. I know the feelings only too well after my husband of twenty two years took off with a blond, eighteen year old bimbo. First you feel anger. Absolute rage at everyone and everything. I know it's a cliché, but why should this be happening after you've given the man the best years of your life. I felt anger that my twenty year old son, Jason, who understandably didn't want to share his father's new home, had to move with me into a cheap, two bedroom apartment because that's all I could afford. From living in a nice house with all the luxuries I could wish for, we now lived in a horrible part of town, in a place where the walls are paper thin and there isn't even a washing machine.
After about six months, after you've gotten used to your new standard of living, the anger goes away. In its place comes despair, depression and a feeling of inadequacy.
You feel insignificant and worthless. In my case, the pretty, sexy clothes that I used to wear, remained in my wardrobe. No man would be interested in a forty two year old when there are so many young girls to be had. So around the house, and even when I went out shopping, sweat pants and baggy tops were my new uniform. Make up was no longer necessary, as I had no friends to impress or men to attract.
But I still had sexual needs to fulfil. Nothing takes that away. So most nights, before sleep, I would lay on top of the bed in my pokey little bedroom, and pleasure myself with a dildo and vibrator. I had to be quiet though. Like I said, the walls are thin, and my son always seemed to be in his room next door these days. I felt just as sorry for him as I did for myself. He, too, had become withdrawn and quiet.
Things began to change for the better six months after the separation from my husband. It came out of the blue one afternoon, as I was tidying my son's bedroom whilst he was at college. On the long wall that divides his room from mine, he had hung a framed picture of his current favourite 'babe', Kylie Minogue. It wasn't hanging properly so I went over to straighten it. As I manoeuvred it around, something behind looked peculiar. I took the picture off its hook to examine further, and what I saw nearly caused me to fall over. It was a hole in the wall. When I had regained my composure, I took a peek through. It was only a small opening, but it gave an almost unlimited view of my own room with a grandstand vision of my bed. I dashed into my bedroom to see where it appeared and try to understand why I hadn't noticed it before now. But even in broad daylight, it took me a few minutes to find it. It was hard to see because it was camouflaged by the pattern of the wallpaper.
I sat down on the bed in a state of shock. The realisation hit me that I was being spied upon by my own son. I suddenly thought about my nightly rendezvous with my sex toys. No wonder Jason was always in his room; he was watching his mother masturbate. My initial reaction was of anger. Anger at the pervert son I had brought up. However, that feeling disappeared very quickly. For the last six months I had felt unattractive and ugly. But now a man was interested in me. OK, so the man was my own son. But he must be seeing something he likes or he wouldn't be looking. Very soon I began to feel very excited at the thought of my voyeuristic offspring. I had initially thought about confronting him with my discovery, but now all I wanted was to let him keep his secret. His act of perversion had given me back some self -confidence and I wasn't about to throw it away. So I quickly went back into his room and returned the picture back to the wall the way I had found it.
That night, as usual, Jason went to bed before me. As I entered my room, I was filled with a strange, sinful excitement. I had decided to give my son a bit of a show. I had spent the day soaking in the tub. Before Jason had arrived home from college, I had put on some light make up, nothing too trashy, but enough for him to notice the difference in his Mom. Out went the frumpy clothes. That evening I had worn a shortish, black dress, sheer nylon stockings and black high heels.
I felt Jason's eyes on me all evening. I knew it was wrong, but I just couldn't help myself. I kept inadvertently crossing my legs as I sat on the couch, knowing I was giving my son a good flash of thigh. At around ten o'clock, feeling more horny than I had felt in months, I said I was going to bed. Jason, unusually, had stayed in the living room with me. He followed me along the corridor and we went into our separate rooms together. I normally masturbated in the dark, so Jason had only ever seen me by any moonlight that may have shone into the bedroom. From now on that would be different. So, with the bedside lamp on, I began to remove my dress. With my back to the wall that I knew my son was peering through, I let the dress fall to the floor. As I stepped to one side, I wore only a black bra, matching lace garter belt and French knickers, stockings and heels.
Slowly, I turned around to face my invisible son. Teasingly, my hands came up to my breasts and nimbly undid the front fastening of my bra. As the hook came apart, I slowly exposed my heavy, naked orbs. I am only five two, even in four inch heels, but I am slim around the waist and top heavy, if you know what I mean. I cupped my tits and began to fondle them. I brought one up to my face and began to lick around the hardening nipple and its dark surrounding circle. Then, I sat down on the bed and swung my legs up so that I lay flat on top. I reached into the drawer of the bedside table and took out my sex toys.
Keeping the leg straight that was nearest to the wall that my son was peering through, I bent my other at the knee, so that my shoe was flat on the bed. My knickers were loose fitting, so I gently pulled the gusset to one side and began to explore my pussy with my fingers. Wow, I was already so wet down there. I rubbed my clitoris furiously with the knuckle of my right thumb. In the past, I had stopped myself from making any noise so as not to attract my son's attention. But now that I knew he was ogling me through the hole in the wall, I wanted him to both see and hear his mom in the throes of ecstasy. I groaned as the tingly sensation coursed around my loins.
After a couple of minutes of frigging myself, I reached over and dipped the helmet of the eight inch rubber phallus into a jar of lubrication that I keep on the bedside table.
With my legs spread, I brought it up to my pussy. Holding on to it where the balls would be on a real dick, I toyed with it around my clit. Then, when I couldn't stand it any longer, I forced it into my gaping hole. I gasped as it spread my womanhood apart and penetrated up to my womb, its oversize proportions being bigger than any man who had ever fucked me. I pulled it back until it almost came out of me, then rammed it back in all the way to where my hands held onto it. I got a slow rhythm going and was soon moaning loudly in pleasure. I turned my face towards the hole in the wall that Jason was peeping through, and gave it a dreamy stare. In the space of twelve hours I had turned myself into a sexual exhibitionist. I was working myself into a lather just thinking about how naughty it was performing in this way for my own son.
I had unwittingly increased the speed of the dildo and realised I was close to orgasm. So, fucking myself with that in my right hand, I took hold of the vibrator in my left. As I switched it on, the familiar buzzing reassured me that I would be climbing the walls very shortly. I placed its throbbing tip onto my clitoris and immediately went into convulsive, loud thrashing motions. As my senses reached their crescendo, I let all inhibitions go, and cried out in shouts of pure delight. I fucked myself until I was sure I had completely come, and then slowly started to drop the tempo. The dildo plopped out of my pussy as I lay on the bed breathing heavily. I couldn't be sure, but I thought that I had heard similar noises coming from my son's room. Just in case he had more to give himself, before I got into bed, I gave Jason a nice view of me seductively peeling off my stockings.
Over the course of the next few weeks, I treated my son to this performance almost every night. It was the thrill of doing something that I shouldn't, something that is taboo in almost every society, that really turned me on. Being spied upon is only exciting if you know you're being spied upon. That my own flesh and blood was fantasising over his mother was tremendously stimulating to my erotic thoughts.
Other things changed after that first night's show. Firstly, I began to get back some of my old self-confidence. Secondly, my relationship with Jason became a bit more touchy feely. I had abandoned my bag lady image completely and returned to wearing clothes that showed off my body. Even at home, I always wore make up and high heels. I think my son had become aware that I knew he was peeping at me, and I think that he knew that I enjoyed teasing him. As a result, we became physically closer; touching each other on the arm or shoulder more frequently than ever before. At that stage I was still aroused by the naughtiness of it all, and especially of the feigned secrecy on both sides. But I hadn't really given much thought to how it would develop, or whether I would be prepared to go all the way with him.
The monthly cheques from my ex kept Jason and I in food and shelter. So, after finishing the daily housework, there was nothing much for me to do except watch TV or daydream. It was during a bout of this that I began to worry that my son might be getting tired of seeing his mom just masturbating every night. I had become hooked on his secret attentions and couldn't bear to think of him ever not wanting to spy on me anymore. I had to do something new to keep his interest up. The answer was so obvious, that it took me a whole week to find it; I needed a man. My husband had always been trying to get me to have sex with him and any other man (he wasn't fussy who), saying that it is the biggest turn on in the world to see another guy fuck your wife. I therefore assumed that a son would also like to see his mom being screwed by another. But what would really turn him on, I thought, would be for him to see me having dirty sex. By that I mean filthy, degrading sex. I imagined my son spying through the hole as I was fucked by a vagrant, or by a really old man, or maybe gang raped by two black guys.
For the following few days I tried to think about how I could put these ideas into action. In fact, the thought of lowering myself to some of the thoughts I was having was really beginning to get my own juices flowing. Like everything else that had happened to me recently, the solution came suddenly out of the blue one sunny, yet cold afternoon in the self-service laundry.
I have to go there once a week because, like I said, we don't have a washing machine in the apartment. Almost every week, I see this old tramp in there keeping warm. He's quiet and no trouble to anyone, but right from the first time I saw him, I could see that he liked to leer at the women in there. He had never looked at me whilst I was going through my drab phase, but now that I had smartened myself up, I had felt his eyes upon me all the time. I had made up a plan in my mind. As I carried the washing the three blocks to the laundry, I was praying he would be there today.
It was quite a big self-service laundry, and surprisingly, today it was deserted. My heart sank as I went to the washers and began to read one of the month old magazines that the proprietor supplies. I turned around hopefully, as the door opened suddenly, but it was only another housewife with the weekly wash. She sat down next to me just as my cycle finished. I pulled the clothes out of the machine and into a basket, and carried them over to the dryers. As I turned into the aisle that had the machines on the right wall and a bench of seats opposite, my deflated spirits rose. There, quietly dozing at the very end was the vagrant I had hoped to see.
He woke up when he saw me and gave me a long, unashamed leer. I wasn't surprised; I had dressed especially for that reaction. It was a bitterly cold day, which explained why the tramp was sitting in the warmest part of the room, and I had worn a long overcoat. But as I slowly and deliberately walked past all the empty dryers that were furthest away from him, in order to place my clothes in the one nearest to him, I let my topcoat swing open to reveal my clothes underneath. I was wearing a tight, white, see through blouse over a white, lace, half cup bra, a very short, black mini-skirt, barely black hold-ups and black patent, high-heeled ankle strap sandals.
After placing the money in the slot, I turned and took a seat on the bench not a foot away from the old dosser. As my coat fell open, I crossed my nylon covered legs towards him. He said not a word, but I could feel his eyes burning my thighs as he brazenly stared at them. After a minute, I turned to give him a smile, but his glare never left my limbs. It gave me the chance to look at him closely. I guessed he was about sixty years' old, scrawny and dirty. His long nails were black and his clothes were tattered and stained. A year ago, if you told me I would soon be trying to seduce a piece of shit like this, I would have laughed in your face. But now, with the thought of my son watching me being abused by this down and out, I was in a state of high arousal.
As I let my skirt ride up a little, I knew that the tramp could see the bare flesh of my thighs above the hold-ups. His pants were big and baggy, but he made no effort to hide the movements of his right hand as he fondled his private parts through his pocket. Behaving like a wanton slut was so nice and naughty.
I knew what I had to do, so after about ten minutes, I got up to place my dried clothes in the black sack I had brought them in. As I emptied the dryer, I let a pair of my skimpiest panties fall to the floor and pretended not to notice. I turned to leave and hoped that my deliberate carelessness and feigned struggle with the washing bag would achieve the result I had planned. With heart in mouth, I started to walk slowly away. I had taken only three paces when I heard the tramp's voice calling to me.
'Hey, lady. You dropped these.'
I turned slowly. The vagrant was now standing, and holding the panties up to his waist as though modelling them.
'They're very nice.' he said, with a leering, almost toothless, grin.
'Thank you so much', I began, in a whimpering, girlie type voice. 'I'm so clumsy. I'm always dropping my panties.'
The double entendre was not lost upon my dirty, old admirer.
'I'll bet you are, lady', he said.
It was now or never for me, so I took courage and made him my offer.
'Look, I've got to carry this bag of washing about three blocks. It's terribly heavy. My son carried it here for me but he's gone back to the apartment that just the two of us live in. If you'd be so kind as to carry it home for me, I'm sure I could think of some way of thanking you.' I pleaded.
I couldn't have made my invitation any more explicit without actually asking him to fuck me.
'You sure this boy of yours won't be upset at you being helped by me?', he asked.
'No, not at all. In fact, he'll be pleased. And he would insist that I thank you properly.' I reassured him.
The old vagrant rubbed his unshaven chin as if in deep contemplation. I helped him reach the conclusion I wanted, by letting my overcoat open up and reveal my partly exposed breasts and nylon covered legs. I had placed the bag of clothes at my feet, and now the wizened tramp was slowly bending down to pick it up. As he did so, he took the opportunity to examine my body. When he stood upright, a good foot taller than me, he said:
'OK lady, after you.'
We walked silently back to my apartment. I knew Jason would be home by now. I was so wet already at the thought of offering myself to this piece of crud and being spied upon by my son. I entered the living room first and said hello to Jason who was sitting on the couch watching TV. I had taken off my coat in the hallway, and could see by the look on my son's face that he was excited to see the way his mother was dressed. His expression became even more obvious when he saw the tramp follow me in.
'This is my son, Jason', I said to the vagrant, who gave a slight nod of his head in my son's direction.
'Jason, this gentleman kindly offered to carry the washing home for me. I'm just going to take him into the bedroom and show him where things go.'
On saying this, I sauntered into the corridor that led to the bedrooms and the old man followed eagerly. We went into my bedroom and I told him to put the washing on the floor and to close the door. The tramp did as I instructed and turned back to face me. I had moved already to the side of the bed. I don't think I had ever been so sexually aroused as I said:
'I think I know how you would like me to repay you for your service'
The vagrant began to rub his groin as my hands went up and began to unfasten the buttons of my blouse. As I pulled it out of my skirt and let it fall off my shoulders to the floor, revealing my dainty, white half-cup bra, I heard the almost imperceptible sound of Jason's bedroom door being closed. I knew that my son was now watching me. Slowly, I unfastened the zip on the mini-skirt. After I had stepped out of it, I moved towards the old guy, now wearing just the bra, black thongs, hold-ups and heels. I stood in front of him, just about a foot away, and craned my neck to look up into his eyes. As I sensuously licked my crimson lips, he put out his filthy hands to touch my breasts. I held them off and told him there had to be some ground rules set first. I spoke loudly enough for Jason to be able to hear every word next door. I told the vagrant that this was the one and only time he would have me. I said that he had exactly one hour to do whatever he liked and then he would have to leave. As a final command, I told him that there would be no mouth to mouth kissing.
As my eyes wandered down his skinny body towards his groin, I saw the throbbing bulge enclosed within his stained pants. I reached out my left hand to fondle it.
'Oh, you're ready for this, aren't you, old man.' I said admiringly.
His whole body stiffened as I rubbed my hand along the entire length of his shaft.
'You want me to shower first, lady?' he enquired.
As I walked back to the bed and lay down, invitingly, I told him that if I'd wanted a clean man I would have chosen one. Then, looking at the bedside alarm clock, I advised him that his hour had just begun.
The old tramp lost no time in peeling off his raincoat and tattered shirt. After he'd kicked off his boots, he undid the belt that held his baggy trousers around his waist. When they fell to the floor, leaving him completely naked, I saw, at last, the body of the man who would soon be abusing me. He was skinny as a rake, and this only served to make his swollen, vertical penis look even bigger than it actually was. His back was hunched, and apart from a thick bush of red pubic hair, he had not another on his body.
He walked to the side of the bed and hovered over me. His skin was wrinkled and grimy. I put my right hand up to his prick. The old man gasped as I pulled back his foreskin. Underneath, his helmet was covered in the white cheesy remnants of previous masturbations. Under normal circumstances, I would have been disgusted at what I was about to let this piece of human garbage do to me. But, I hadn't had a real prick in me for so long, and, knowing that my son was watching his mom getting fucked by this old guy, I was just so very horny. I continued to give the tramp a couple more pulls before I looked into his eyes and told him that I wanted him to fuck me.