Well, I think it's safe to say, my oedipal issues are back. I think you're going to enjoy this story...the climax is based on one of the most vivid dreams I ever had. Be forewarned however, cuckolding is involved in a big way and if that's not your thing, I'd give this story a pass. For the rest of you mother-son fans, enjoy! Please let me know what you think!



As always, this is a work of fiction and all characters within are ficticious!







There are quiet moments in my life where I reflect about the strange, wonderful and terrible twists my life has taken in recent times after a life of quiet, meek frustration. Sometimes, I wonder if perhaps I shouldn't feel at least a modicum of shame for what has happened, but when I search my heart for such feelings, they are not there. Maybe, instead of shame, I should feel guilt, but I do not. All I find is the joy that was missing for so long, a joy that brought with it a feeling of wholeness and happiness for the life I now lead. Perhaps others can judge me, but even then, who knows what longings and desires lay within their hearts?



#



It began when the power went out in Campion Hall early one Wednesday afternoon during Spring Semester. I was the executive assistant to the Chair of the English Department, a position I have held through the tenure of three different people. To most, I was a glorified secretary, but I am the glue that kept the University's English Department together and running at peak efficiency. Unfortunately, with the power out and my trusty computer dead, there was little I could do. When the maintenance people pulled the long face and said it would be late in the evening before the problem was resolved, Dr. Lane told me to take the rest of the day off.



I did a little grocery shopping on the way home, wondering if my son would be home for dinner. My husband was a given, Paul was a very regimented data manager at a major bank and did everything out of habit...the most punctual man I have ever known. My son, John, on the other hand, a grad assistant at the University was much more unpredictable...in part due to his ever changing work schedule – he worked in the Chemistry Department – working towards an advanced degree in Bio-chemical studies and helping with research and development of new pharmaceuticals.



I was a little surprised to see John's car in the driveway along with a small, sporty looking car parked right behind it. I presumed that my twenty-three year old and one of his buddies were hanging out – probably playing video games as we hadn't gotten the pool up and running yet...the weather while pretty had remained stubbornly cool,



I came in through the kitchen and put the food away, not hearing my son or his friend. I assumed they were up in his bedroom killing monsters on his X-box. It was only when I was passing through the living room returning from retrieving the mail from the mailbox that I heard them, the noise stopping me dead in my tracks.



A woman's voice cried out in something close to a scream, "YESSSSSS, JUST LIKE THAT, JOHN! FUCK ME HARD!"



It took my mind a moment to get my head around what was happening. If I had not been able to hear her words clearly, I would have thought someone was being murdered upstairs, but she had left little to the imagination, confirming my suspicions when she cried out, "YEAAHHHH, FUCK ME, FUCK ME, FUCK ME WITH THAT BIG DICK, BABY!"



I went a little weak in the knees and turned left and made a beeline for the den, suddenly needing a drink and Paul's well stocked bar being close by. That proved to be a mistake as I realized that I was now directly over John's bedroom. As I poured myself a brandy, the woman's cries now competed with the noise of box springs being tested vigorously and the thud of the headboard hitting the wall again and again. I overfilled my glass unintentionally and carried the large snifter to Paul's favorite overstuffed leather chair and sat down before my legs gave out.



As the woman's screams grew louder, I couldn't help but wonder what in the world he was doing to her. I was a little stunned. In twenty-seven years of wedded life, I had never once been made to scream like that by my husband. I took a long sip of the brandy and gazed up at the ceiling, mouth open in slack-jawed amazement that a woman could make such sounds.



Now, I never reckoned myself to be a prude...just inexperienced. I was raised in a religiously conservative family and had married an equally religiously conservative man. Paul was a good man...a faithful man in all his duties to me, although not very imaginative, in bed or out. We had been each other's first and only partners and even in the beginning, the passion and the magic that I had expected from sex wasn't there.



Paul, like every man in his family had been raised to treat sex more or less as either a chore of procreation or as a release when the pressures built to too high a level. At our best, we'd made love about twice a week and I can't honestly say I've ever had an orgasm with Paul. It felt good, sure enough, but with him it was basically two minutes of foreplay and then him climbing aboard and when he got his nut off, climbing off me and going to sleep.



A red letter event was when he deigned to let me ride him, but those moments were far and few between. Oral sex was outside his comfort zone and had only come into play the last few years when he'd begun having trouble getting it up and it had been totally one-sided, me sucking his cock because he believed that cunnilingus was nasty.



"CUM-CUM-CUMMMMING, JOHN! FUCK ME, FUCK ME HARD, MAKE ME CUM HARD!" I had listened to the woman sobbing and screaming for nearly twenty minutes with short pauses between her cries of passion and I was now completely freaked out. Twenty minutes was close to three times the amount of time Paul and I made love and as near as I could tell, my son wasn't done yet.



Her orgasm came and went, but the bed's creaking and slamming continued as did her moans which gradually grew louder again until perhaps twenty-five or twenty-six minutes had passed at the very least. "OH GOD, JOHN! FUCK ME, BABY! GIVE ME THAT BIG DICK FOREVER! CUMMING BABY! MAKE ME CUM!" Her screams of pleasure escalated even as I finished the last of my brandy and then I heard my son bellowing like a bull moose, nearly dropping my brandy snifter as it hit me that I was hearing my son climax. I sat my glass down and for a moment placed my hands over my ears, trying to drown out the noise of my son and some girl having an orgasm, the likes of which I had no experience.



When silence finally ensued, I struggled to my feet and shakily poured myself another overfull snifter of brandy, scarcely collapsing in the chair again when I heard giggling from upstairs and the shower go on in the upstairs bathroom. I shifted nervously in my seat, wondering if I should try and slip out – pretend not to have stumbled on my son's afternoon tryst with...whoever it was that was upstairs.



My thinking was just cloudy enough for me to realize that I had already drunk too much to get back in my car and drive away. I decided that the best thing to do was sit here in the shadows of our shadowy den and let them slip away. Silly me, I didn't even consider that my car that I knew I shouldn't drive was sitting in the driveway next to John's little Toyota. Then the noise of sex began again.



Though I couldn't hear them as loudly as I had in my son's bedroom, clearly my son and his friend were having sex in the shower. She seemed to be incapable of words, but her screams were loud and clear and again, I wondered what my son was doing that could make a woman make noises like that. I felt feverish, perhaps in part from the unusual amount of brandy I had downed, but also from a warmth that was spreading through my body, especially between my legs and across my chest and face. I didn't have to look under my blouse to recognize see the sexual flush spreading across my upper chest, neck and face.



It occurred to me in my suddenly slightly intoxicated state that I was turned on by the noises I was hearing along with the sudden graphic images of my son and his mystery woman and what they might be doing that were passing through my mind. Idly, I wondered if they were face to face or was my son taking her from behind...something Paul had never done with me. My free hand slid slowly down across my wool skirt to press between my thighs only to jerk back as I felt a powerful burst of sexual pleasure from caressing my covered mound. My heart was pounding wildly and my head was buzzing from alcohol and amazement.



The screams reached a fever pitch and again I heard my son bellow like a rutting animal and then only the shower could be heard, continuing on for a few more minutes. It stopped and I peered owlishly up at the ceiling, trying to track movement from the little noises that came now and again. Finally, I heard voices and the footsteps as they came downstairs.



I was silent as a mouse as they passed the den and they never noticed me. I saw John and a quick glimpse of a young woman...a few years younger than himself – tall and slender, with auburn hair and jeans that looked painted on. I felt a twinge of jealousy deep inside and wondered why.



I heard the front door open and then her exclaim, "Omigod! Is that your mother's car? Is she home? Do you think she heard us?"



There was some amusement in John's voice as he replied, "I doubt it. It's no big deal though...I am twenty-four after all. C'mon, Kelly, I'll walk you to your car."



The door closed and I was alone again. I discovered in the following silence that my brandy snifter was empty again and I rose and wobbled unsteadily to the bar and poured another drink, this one more reasonable than the others. I returned to my seat, not turning on any lights, suddenly appreciating the dimness of the room.



A few minutes passed by as I imagined John and his red-headed friend kissing passionately in our driveway – the images in my head showing them lip-locked while John groped her perfect, denim clad butt. Then the front door opened and closed again. There was a moment of silence and then my son called out in a tentative voice, "Mom? You home?" I heard footsteps and saw him pass the den and as he neared the kitchen, he called out louder, "Hey, Mom...where are you?"



I cleared my throat and said a bit hoarsely, "In the den, honey."



John returned and stood in the doorway, his tall build blocking what little light was in the windowless room. "What're you doing sitting her in the dark, Mom?" he asked slightly amused.



"Just having a bit to drink, dear," I replied, trying not to slur my words.



John said nothing, but slipped into the room to the couch and turned on a lamp next to it before sitting down. I smiled at him, trying to reconcile the man sitting there with the little boy he'd always been to me. His longish brown hair was wet and combed back out of his face. He was wearing a Red Sox jersey and blue jeans, battered sneakers on his feet. At six foot-one and nearly two hundred pounds, he was borderline stocky, resembling my brothers and my father more than his own father – Paul being a skinny fellow who was five inches shorter than his son. His dark brown eyes stared at me with amusement and curiosity. I stared back, not knowing what to say. As fearless as he'd always been, John leaped right into it.



"So, I guess you heard Kelly and me going at it, huh?"



I nodded and trying to smile, replied, "Uh...yep." I felt lightheaded as the alcohol began to really hit me.



John smiled just as he had as a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Are you mad, Mom?"



I slowly shook my head which made my head spin. "Nooo," I finally responded. "You're a grown man. I wouldn't recommend letting your father catch you like that." I sighed and said, "I'm not mad, but I..."



John leaned forward, his brow wrinkling with curiosity. "What, Mom?"



I knew that this was inappropriate – that a mother shouldn't discuss such things with her son, but between the alcohol and my own need to know, I replied, "I um, was just wondering how you made...Kelly, was it, how you made her scream like you did?"



My son's mouth fell open in surprise, his eyes widening before he leaned back and laughed. "You're not serious, Mom!"



"Yes, I am!" I answered, the alcohol lowering my inhibitions. "I've been married to your father for twenty-seven years and he's never...I've never screamed like that when we made love. Never!"



John laughed again; not seeming to mind hearing his mother's complaining confession. "Well, then, Dad's not doing something right."



I took a sip of my brandy and sighed, "Maybe I should have you give him some pointers." I laughed, amused at my own awful comments.



My son licked his lips and a thoughtful expression crossed over his face and he said in a lower, teasing voice, "Well, I could always show you a few things and you could teach them to Dad."



I nearly dropped my glass as I gasped, "John, I'm your mother! That's not funny!"



John scooted a little closer to me, sliding along the couch. "I'm serious, Mom. You deserve to be treated right and if Dad isn't doing his job, maybe I can help!"



I drained my glass, although whether to avoid answering him or to find some liquid courage, I wasn't sure. "What could you show me anyways?" I finally said in a strained but curious tone.



John moved to the edge of the couch, his knees almost touching mine. Grinning like the cat that'd caught the canary, he said, "Lord, Mom...where do I begin?" He mockingly stroked his chin as if in deep thought and then snapped his fingers. "I know, tell me about Dad's oral technique."



I felt that warm blush on my skin begin to burn as I snorted derisively, "What technique? Your father has never..." I stopped, my embarrassment temporarily overwhelming my alcohol spurred brazenness.



"Oh, Mom," John gasped with maybe actual disbelief in his voice as his hand dropped onto my knee – gently squeezing it through the cotton of my dress... "You're telling me that Dad has never gone down on you? He's never licked your pussy?"



I fell back into the big chair like I had been slapped. "JESUS CHRIST, JOHN!" I yelled, partly out of fear and partly from anger. "I am your mother. You don't...we don't discuss such things. You're my son for God's sake!"



John didn't remove his hand and he seemed to ignore my ire as he calmly replied, "Yes, I am and it pisses me off to think Dad's not doing right by you. I mean...hell; eating pussy is one of the essential keys to good orgasms. What's a man's tongue good for if not to slowly slide up and down a woman's lips, curling around her clitty and diving deep into her sweet flesh, making her wetter and wetter for the..." He paused and rubbed his crotch which I suddenly noticed had quite the lump. Suddenly, I realized that somehow, John's fingers had slipped under the hem of my dress and were now resting on my bare skin...



John was suddenly was on one knee, his hand still on my leg. "I mean, a woman deserves a little orgasm from her man's tongue alone...it helps prime the pump for the really big orgasms later!"



I shuddered and closed my eyes as I whispered, "Did you...did you lick Kelly's pussy before you fucked her today?" I was desperate to hear his answer and yet frightened at the same time.



My son chuckled as he slid his hand forward a little and brought his other hand to my other leg. The hem of my modest dress had somehow slid above both my knees. "Until my tongue and jaw ached, Mom. I bet she climaxed twice before we fucked. She loves my tongue." He flicked it out in an obscene way that reminded me of that snake-tongued rocker from my teenaged years – the one the preacher had said was a knight in Satan's service. "You're telling me that you've never had your pussy licked?"



Slowly, I moved my head from side to side, barely able to whisper, "Never."



John leaned forward, his hands sliding up my upper thighs even as his forearms slid back my dress nearly to my crotch. "That's just so wrong, Mom," he said, his voice both sad and serious. He licked his lips and said, "I know you'll think this is an awful idea, but Mom, I would love to show you how wonderful it is. I would love to eat your pussy."



I moaned, feeling something wonderful spurt inside me, making my panties wet underneath my dress. "Oh, that's...incest, son. That's so wrong. I – we can't....um, no!"



John moved in a little closer and I felt terrible embarrassed as the scent of my aroused cunt suddenly wafted up into my nostrils and if I could smell myself, I knew my son could smell my wet pussy. "I can't see how it'd be wrong if you and I did something out of love. You always taught me that love was the most important thing a man and a woman could share. You know I love you. Do you love me, Mom?"



I shivered as I felt his hands atop my thighs began to slip slowly downwards, his thumbs and a couple of fingers resting lightly on my inner thighs. "Don't you love me, Mom?" John repeated softly, his gaze so intense I couldn't meet it.



"Of course I do, I'm your mother," I replied faintly, but then tried to put iron in my voice as I added, "I am your mother, John and that's why we can't do this! It's wrong!"



John gave me that reckless grin of his and said, "Maybe it's wrong, but I think you like the idea. You're turned on right now thinking about it aren't you?" He leaned closer, his face hovering over the hem of my dress so close he could have snagged it with his teeth. He inhaled deeply and said, "I can smell how turned on you are, Mom. I can smell your pussy."



"N-no, I'm not!" I moaned.



John's fingers slipped further up my thighs and he shook his head teasingly as he said, "Yes, you are, Mom. I bet you're sopping wet right now. I bet you're creaming in your panties." I jerked as a spasm of pleasure exploded between my legs as suddenly his thumbs stroked up and down my mound, tracing over my swollen lips plastered against the cotton of my panties.



My son's eyes widened with pleased surprise as I moaned, "Please..." as he stroked them again. Then I felt his fingers hooking over the waistband of my panties. I moaned, "Please, son...you can't..." even as I raised my hips and my son peeled my panties away and proceeded to slip them off my legs.



John raised my wet panties to his face, pressing his nose against the sopping wet spot in the gusset. "You smell lovely, Mom," he said and then he confidently ran his tongue over the soaked material. Grinning, he said, "Just as I expected, you taste wonderful.



"Oh John," I sobbed as I had a little orgasm burst between my legs and spread throughout my body...my nipples now so hard that they hurt, scraped against the fabric of my bra and I was helpless to stop myself from running my hands over my covered bosom.



My son flipped my dress up, revealing my pussy, naked and flowered below my neatly trimmed 'V.' John literally licked his lips as he glanced up into my flushed face, his eyes locking on mine and said, "Mom...you're going to love this!" He shifted on the floor, his hands spreading my thighs wider to give himself more room and as he stuck out his tongue, a car horn blared outside and we both froze as it blew again...Paul's signature and habitual way of announcing he was home.



"Dammit," I said out of frustration, a little flame of shame deep within me recognizing that I wasn't the least bit relieved that my husband's arrival home had prevented me from doing something unnatural with my only child. I tried to stand, but the room was spinning somewhat and I knew I was drunk. John reached out to steady me and I clung to him like a piece of driftwood in a flood. "Get me upstairs, honey," I moaned. "Get me up to my bed."



John nodded, pausing only to snag my panties off the carpet and stuff them in his pocket. He then surprised me by scooping me up in his arms and quickly hauling me down the hallway and up the stairs, moving swiftly and gracefully as if I weighed nothing and not stopping until he gently set me into bed.

