A Concerned Mother Pt. 02

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When you stop seeing your child as a child, or your child for that matter, then you begin to treat them as you would any person. For most parents this comes from frustration. Your teenager is acting out? Fuck her or him. They can go to hell. Who are they to put you through that abuse? The answer, of course, is your child. For me, it was not aggression toward my son that created the dissonance. It was lust.

Before, I told you about the one time I broke my one rule. This is the story about how I retired it altogether.

In the weeks following my fling with Howard and my self-love session in Max’s room, I began to feel less and less guilt. Rather, it would be more accurate to say that my need for the taboo began to drown out my guilty conscience. I spent most evenings with wine in my glass and my fingers inside me. The act of masturbating in my son’s bed was enough to keep me with fuel for my fantasies for a little while, but over time the memory became less and less powerful.

So it happened one day that I found myself back in my son’s room while he was at school, trying desperately to recreate the moment. It was hot and I came, but it wasn’t the same. I lay there in my son’s bed spent, sweaty and confused. I began to wonder if the act was no longer enough, no longer truly taboo, because I had already crossed the line and in doing so moved it further along. Perhaps I needed the shame. I must admit that the reason that I enjoy a man treating me like a real slut is because a tiny part of me is ashamed. Either way, I came and was not satisfied.

Splayed open on his bed, a very disturbing thought entered my head. I was at a cross roads, and I could either allow my perversion to turn to boredom—maybe finger myself a few more times under my son’s Japanese cartoon poster and be normal for the rest of my life—or I could push the line. I knew what that meant; I would probably stop seeing the lines altogether. I closed my eyes and felt the heat on my skin. I almost shuddered at the thought of giving myself to my son. I opened my eyes. Perhaps there was another way to satiate my perversities. I dressed and bounded downstairs to the kitchen, where my phone sat on the charger. I snatched it up and began to scroll through my contact list.

And so we come to the second date I brought home: Richard. I chose his name at random and called him. He was delighted to hear from me for the first time in seven months, and was absolutely interested in taking me to dinner the following evening. Short notice? Yes. However, I had fucked his brains out on our last date, so he was willing to reschedule somethings. After I hung up, I felt the pang of guilt again. It was weak, though. Too weak to struggle against my budding incestuous thoughts.

The following morning, I told Max that I would be going on a date and that he and his sister should call and order a pizza or something.

“Becca is going to a movie with her friends. She won’t be in until late.” He replied.

“Then you will just have to eat the pizza yourself, hon.” I told him. “I’ll leave the Visa card on the counter. Just don’t stay up late playing video games.”

“I won’t.”

I believed him. He would be too busy listening to me being rammed by some guys cock.

With the ground work lain, I made a show of my getting ready for the evening. I made sure to wash a load of his laundry and sit it on his bed for him to put up after school. I also made sure to leave a particularly scandalous pair of panties, a lacy thong that was practically see-through, at the bottom of the basket. When he got home I knocked on his door wearing just my towel, my hair wet, and asked if he had seen them. When he shook his head, I walked in and fished through his folded t-shirts, making sure to bend over just a bit. I pulled out the thong.

“Here they are,” I said.

I walked back across the hall and heard his door lock behind me as I entered my room. I had a pretty good idea what he was up to. I knew that after that night we would both have plenty of images to drive our fantasies. “Just save something for tonight,” I said to myself as I sat down to blow-dry my hair. When I emerged for my date, I was wearing my best red party dress. Downstairs, Becca was getting ready to go to the movies.

“Wow, Mom!” she beamed, “Looking good.” She gave me a serious and stern expression, bahis firmaları a reflection of one of my own, and added, “Make good decisions.” Then she laughed. It was my own words of wisdom, so often visited on her during her early dating years, thrown back at me. Of course, I didn’t plan on following our advice. She grabbed her keys from the hook by the door and bolted to her VW bug, apparently trying to make her show time.

I called upstairs for Max. He poked his head innocently out of his door.

“Come downstairs for a minute!” I shouted to him when it became clear he planned to talk to me from his doorway.

“Okay! Just a sec!” He said after an awkward pause.

He came down after a period of time typical for a boy to shrug on his pants. Man, I thought. Does he ever take a break? How much “enthusiasm” does he have? Once again, thoughts of him jerking off in his room hijacked my mind, with a brief image of him on top of me, my legs over his shoulders, thrown in for good measure. I began to feel as red as my dress.

“What?” he asked, descending to ground level.

“Nothing. I just wanted to tell you that I could be out a little late with Richard, and that I want you in bed at a sensible hour.”

As I spoke, I noticed his eyes darting from my face to my chest and down to where he must have imagined the thong was hugging me.

“I will-I mean-I won’t, mom.” He stuttered.

“Okay.”

The doorbell rang and I answered it. A much younger man than Howard greeted me at the door. Richard was only twenty-seven and I had not planned on dating him again due to the age difference, but he was only 9 years older than Max and I thought that if Max saw me with him he might better picture himself in Richard’s place. I met him with a peck on the cheek and as we walked down the driveway he put his hand on the small of my back. A glance back ensured me that the door was just closing. I wondered what Max would be thinking.

Richard opened the passenger door for me and I sat down, my skirt riding up just a little. I did not adjust it. When he had sat down and closed his door, he made for the ignition, but I stopped him. He gave me a quizzical look, which disappeared as my fingers ran from the inside of his thigh to the growing bulge in his pants. I unzipped him.

“Here?” he asked, looking around as though the neighborhood watch might be waiting in the low evening light, ready to dial the police.

“I’m just going to take care of your big friend here,” I said whipping his dick from his open fly and squeezing it with all of my gripping strength. “I know you younger guys need to clear your heads sometimes,” I glanced down at his cock to force the double entendre, “and I want you paying attention tonight at dinner.”

I bent over and took him into my mouth. He was still soft enough for me to engulf his cock whole. I would not be able to do it after it became fully erect, at least not comfortably. I began to suck him off slowly, as though I was trying to release the last drop of water on earth out of a hose and into my thirsty mouth. Pretty soon he had his hand on the back of my head and was pumping up into my mouth, vigorously, his ass rising and falling from his seat.

“Oh, god!” he suddenly moaned, “I’m going to cum.”

I forced myself farther down on his dick, gagging, as he pumped his seed down my throat. His fluid ran from my mouth back down his shaft, and I had to use the palm of my hand to keep it from staining his slacks. For a second I felt like I was going to asphyxiate in semen, but he let his hand go and I took a coughing breath. He looked at me, as I wiped his cum from my hand and mouth with a tissue and placed it back in my purse.

“Dinner, then?” I said smiling, “If I’m not too full.”

He switched his lights on as we sped off into the dusk.

We had a good night full of good conversation. I had a few glasses of wine and he had a beer. After a little food and some light dancing, we made for the door. He picked up the check, which, considering the world class blowjob I had given him, was the least he could do. On our way out, he mentioned that there was a hotel a few blocks away. I told him that I was afraid that if he took me there, I might fall asleep after. No, I told him it was best if he took me home. He was quiet on the way back, so kaçak iddaa I asked him if there was anything wrong.

“It’s just…I thought we might continue what we started before we left to eat.” He said.

“It certainly seems like you finished,” I shot back, “Or was that not your cum in my mouth?”

“Yeah. No. You’re right.” He said with a smile.

“What makes you think I’m not going to invite you up?”

“Didn’t you say you had a rule?”

I hadn’t remembered telling him that. Normally, I suggest the hotel and nobody asks. Apparently, I had let him in on my compartmentalizing of my sex life and my family.

“I did have that rule, but lately I have felt that they might be old enough to cope with the fact that their mother needs a little attention.”

“Okay,” he said, “Just checking.”

“That’s sweet of you hon.” I said, giving him a big kiss.

We pulled into the drive and parked. I got out and glanced up at my son’s second floor window. The light shut off, and I thought the curtain might have moved a little. That’s right, I thought. Mommy is home. Richard and I made it into the house with the noise customary for two inebriated people trying to sneak in. I bumped my elbow on the door frame and he almost knocked over the table by the door. We tip-toed up the stairs, snickering like kids, and mounted the staircase, hands firmly attached to the banister. At the top of the stairs, I noticed my son’s door was cracked. I stopped on the top stair and turned to Richard. He stopped a few stairs down, his face at my navel. I pulled him into and embrace and sat down, pulling him down to me.

“What are we doing?” he whispered.

I pulled my skirt up, revealing my lacey thong, and spread my legs wide.

“It’s my turn.” I told him.

He squinted. Then realization dawned and he got down on his knees and buried his nose in the fabric stretched over my pussy. I ran my finger through his hair, before grabbing it forcefully as I began to grind into his face. He began rub his nose around as he took in the scent of my hot, wet slit. He looked up from between my legs, which were now straddling his head, and bit playfully into my mound. I gave a little gasp, which encouraged him to bite a little harder. His hands slid up my thighs and grabbed the tiny strands of my thong. I thought he was going to slide my panties down, but he tore them off with a painful tug. That’s one thing about a youthful lover; what they lack in experience, they make up for in exuberance. Richard forced my legs apart and dove down into my pussy, flicking his tongue at my clit, which was still too sensitive. I redirected his attention to the folds of my labia.

“Lick me there, baby.” I whispered, knowing that if Max was watching at his door, he would hear me. “Lick that dirty pussy. Make me cum.”

He went hard at me for a few minutes and I encouraged him with my dirty talk. Normally it might not be enough to send me over the edge, at least not with such a sophomoric technique, but as Richard ate me out, I was thinking about Max standing behind the door, peeking out, furiously jerking his cock over his slut of a mother. I came with a squeal, squirting my juices in Richard’s face, and probably soaking the carpeted step below.

Having succeeded in his oral pursuits, Richard shot up, putting his tongue in my mouth, sharing with me the taste of my own eager cunt. I unbuckled his belt, one leg over his shoulder, in what must have looked like a gymnastic feat. I unbuttoned and unzipped his slacks, and slid them down. He kept one hand on the second floor landing to steady himself as he jerked his own jockeys down and guided his hard cock into my spit-slick hole. He entered me with a thrust and began to hump hard and fast. I grabbed his ass cheeks in my hands and added my own force to his.

“Did you like me sucking that dick earlier?” I asked between panting breaths.

“Uh-huh” he managed.

“Say it. Tell me you liked it.”

“I—uh—liked it.” His thrusting began to reaffirm this fact.

“Liked what?” I asked, keen on specificity.

“I liked you sucking my cock! I—I liked you swallowing my cum”

I imagined Max’s eyes widening at the reveal that his mother had blown her date earlier that night. I wondered how was taking the news that she didn’t spit, but swallowed. I hoped he was taking kaçak bahis it with a hand on his cock and an eye at the crack of the door.

“What did I do with that load? Huh? What did I do with it?” I asked, as though he had not already told me (us).

“You swallowed it!”

“What did I do?”

“You ate my fucking cum!”

“You think I’m a whore, don’t you? You think I’m a whore for eating that spunk!”

“Yes!”

“Tell me, goddammit!”

“You’re a fucking whore for eating my cum, you filthy bitch!”

I pushed him off of me and rolled over on my stomach, raising my ass into the air like an animal presenting themselves for mating, which is exactly what I was.

“Then fuck me like a whore!” I demanded.

He slid in from behind, quickly, needing no more invitation, and began to pound me hard and fast. The sound of his hips smacking against my ass as he gripped my skirt for leverage filled the house. The noise probably carried to the basement, so I’m sure it was ambient to Max.

“Ohhh…you dirty fucking slut. Is this what you wanted? He asked.

“Yes!” I screamed, my orgasm building faster with each flashing thought of the secret teenage voyeur no doubt building toward his own.

“You wanted me to fuck that fucking whore cunt, didn’t you?”

“Yes!”

Richard was really in it now, talking without my prompting, and I could tell he was getting close. The dirty talk was driving him toward eruption. Of course, it wasn’t truly meant for him. It was only partly meant for me, in fact. I stared up at the crack in the doorway, to where I believed my Max was watching. I waited until I knew Richard was about to finish, until his cock hardened inside me, then I shouted at my son’s door.

“I’m a filthy fucking slut,” I squealed to both Richard and Max, “and I want you to fucking cum!”

“Oh shit!” Richard yelled, emptying his balls into my beaten cunt.

I didn’t have time to worry about the cum pumping into my unprotected pussy; I was screaming with pleasure, as I imagined my son releasing jets of his hot white cum into whichever panties he had taken from my dresser that evening. I never looked away from where I thought his peeping eyes must be, not even as Richard collapsed on top of me, having injected me again with his semen, this time from the other end.

After the passion subsided, I ushered Richard away quickly, as I began to fill drained from the night’s events. It was like I had fueled my sex with an emotional combustive, and now I felt drained. He was sweet about being kicked out, probably eager to relate the details of the night to one of his young friends—tell them about how rotten of a slut his date had been. I took a shower and slept like the dead. The next morning Max would not meet my gaze, and when he did he would flush. That is when I knew that he had seen it all.

Over the next few weeks, after Becca had moved off to the university, I intensified my efforts. I began to wear only my robe to the breakfast table. I made sure that my breasts were spilling out and that I flashed him the occasional leg. I sent him to school each morning with a hard-on—I know, because I made sure to hug him tightly and kiss him on the cheek as I did so. I took to tanning in the back yard, often on my stomach with my skimpiest bathing bottoms, and always topless. I toyed with him constantly, teasing him at every opportunity. It was hot. I spent the weekdays priming him for my weekend date nights.

Oh no, of course I kept bringing men home—never the same one twice—and fucking them hard and loud. I went through my contact list fast enough, and pretty soon I was picking them up in bars and in clubs. They had me in my bed, on the stairs, and even once against the wall. I began to feel like a connoisseur of cocks. It was our ritual. I would bring home strange men and let them fuck me while I begged them (and my son) to cum.

All the while, I still felt a small reserve of guilt, not yet destroyed by my whorish behavior. Sometimes I would be so full of emotion and passion that I would begin to cry. I hid this from my partners and my son. The shame that made my skin burn red was indistinguishable from the pleasure I derived from it. All the same, I could not stop. I was too busy cumming. And so was my son.

Still, it would be a lie to say I didn’t know where it was all headed. I may not have known how exactly it was going to get there, but I knew eventually it would. Eventually I would cross the last line. I just never would have believed that Becca would play a part.

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