Cum erupted from the tip of Jacob’s cock again as he relived those moments over and over, just watching the shadow of his mother’s uncovered nipple. It bubbled up through the sheets, covering them anew in a fresh, musky sheen of cum that coated it and dripped downwards, widening the already massive pool of arousal and precum and cum that stained his sheets and made them cling wetly to his naked body.
When the throes of orgasm left him, he looked down at the shape of his hand and drooping cock, sliding back into its sheath of foreskin, leaving behind a trail of arousal and evidence of his orgasm. A single thought went through his head: what the fuck is happening to me?
He got up, sliding out his young naked body from the sheets. He balled them up and stuffed them into his laundry basket, telling himself that he’d wash them that night, when he came back from whatever his plans were with Chase, his high school buddy, for the day. He’d sort things out then.
Jacob cracked open his door, looked around furtively for any signs of motion. There were none. The coast was clear. Alice – his mother, he corrected himself – must be downstairs, probably helping herself to a glass of orange juice. He swung open his door, hoping to make a quick dash to the bathroom, where he could clean up and slip out of the house before anyone noticed. What he had not planned for, however, was his door to squeal like a freshly-fucked college girl and alert possibly the entire neighborhood to the fact that Jacob was awake.
A moment of silence passed; then, from downstairs, his mom’s voice sounded. “Jacob?”
He cringed, cursing at himself. Stupid mistake. Always lift the door a little when you want it to be silent. He had been caught up in his rather horny trail of thoughts. “Yeah, Mom?” he answered weakly.
Her reply came quickly – suspiciously quickly. “Come down and get some breakfast.” Not an abnormal request, but still – she almost never called for him in the mornings, letting him do his thing and eat when he wanted to. He just prayed that she hadn’t seen him last night, didn’t want to talk or confront him about the events that had transpired; both in the bathroom and later, in the darkness of an open bedroom door.
“Give me a second,” he called back. “I have to use the bathroom.”
—
Alice was at the dining table, drinking a glass of orange juice. She’d woken up that morning to a cold bed beside her, Richard already gone to go play golf with his business partners. Hopefully he would let them outscore him by a swing or two, puff up their ego and oil them up for the dealings that he’d hit them with while he was out there. But that left Alice by herself, in the mornings, without anything to do. She’d tried reading for a little bit, but had been too distracted. Then she’d tried to go back to sleep for a while. But she couldn’t ignore the pulsing between her legs. So she’d done what she could, what she always did when she was horny with no cock around to satisfy her – regardless of who was on the other end of the shaft. She’d masturbated.
It hadn’t really helped. With two fingers in her cunt, sopping wet and as horny as she’d ever been, she’d tried to fuck herself to oblivion, but simply found herself unable to. Even her rabbit vibrator, at the highest setting, had only been able to get her to orgasm after ten minutes, much longer than it usually took with her little toy. And even then, the orgasm had done nothing to allay the horny undertones that had stayed with her when she had woken up and grown with every waking moment. No, they had done nothing but make her even more horny, even more in need of a good fucking. By who, she was not yet ready to say.
So she got up instead, pussy throbbing, wet as can be, juices running down her legs, but still devoid of a fulfilling orgasm, and had gone to shower. Images flashed through her head at the sight of that glass wall, now clean. She touched the spot where her son had come again and again, right in front of her, coating that glass, and lightning jolted through her fingertips and into her pussy. Not an orgasm, simply more arousal. Subconsciously, she had been wondering, hoping, that there would be some cum left there on the wall. Her son’s semen. Her little boy, now all grown up, and his seed, spurting out the little eye at the end of his cock, flying onto the wall. She had tasted it, last night, on her hands and knees. She would have done anything in that moment to keep tasting it, to stay there like the slut that she was and lick all of the residue of her son’s semen off the glass.
She got on her hands and knees now, in the morning, even with the clean glass, and licked the wall again. Shameless, she thought to herself, even as she kneeled there like a bitch in heat, like a whore, like she needed her son’s cock right then and there. Not far off the truth, all things told. Could she taste it there? Was that… her son’s semen, or its afterimage burned into the glass? She brought a hand to her pussy, supporting herself on just her three other limbs now. There was no foreplay, no teasing of her hole or her clit. She shoved three fingers into her little opening and whimpered as she imagined her son pounding her from behind and licking his cum from his cock as he stuffed it down her throat. Her pussy exploded in orgasm, her first real orgasm of the day, at the image in her head. Wave after wave pounded into her head, shaking her from head to toe. All through it, her fingers kept pistoning in and out of her pussy, emulating a cock. She curved her fingers up slightly matching the curve of her son’s –
What the fuck was happening to her?
In the past twelve, maybe twenty-four hours, everything had changed for Alice sexually. The random thought of her son masturbating when she had been on her chair, masturbating herself, yesterday. Will, the plumber, in the shower as he masturbated and came like a fountain all over her. Even more importantly, the sight of her son masturbating to her dildo. And perhaps the hottest, horniest, most incestuous of all, the taste of his cum coating her mouth as she licked it all off the glass in front of her. So much had happened, so much that should make her feel wrong, feel icky, feel like a failure of a mother that had come tasting her son’s semen, licking it and playing with it in her mouth.
Instead, that single thought went through her head. What the fuck was she doing? But not in the way that she expected. Not in the way that told her that she was wrong, that what she was doing was completely abhorrent and immoral. No, the thought went through her head in one way, and one way only – why was she here, on her hands and knees, licking the dried vestiges of cum off a wall, instead of from the source?
She wanted more. She needed more. She really did. And the wrong part wasn’t that she did. The wrong part was that she didn’t have it already.
Alice needed a plan.
So she robed up, wearing nothing else underneath, and tightened it around her waist. She pulled her hair up into a messy bun, the way it had been last night when she had had her throat fucked raw. And she put on those glasses that she’d had last night, when she had watched her son cum in front of her. And she went downstairs, and sat down at the counter, and poured her self a glass of orange juice. And waited.
Almost an hour later, the door to Jacob’s room swung open gently. She heard it, heard the squeal of its old hinges as it opened and the shameful silence that followed. She could almost imagine him there, cringing at the sound, as he tried to stalk his way, cat-like, to the bathroom and beyond.
She smiled to herself. He probably thought that if it hadn’t squealed, she wouldn’t have known. But she always knew when he was up, and when he left his door. She attributed it to her mother’s senses.
Well then. Time to start the first phase of her plan.
“Jacob?” she called upstairs.
His voice echoed back to her, but it sounded slightly weird. Cautionary. “Yeah, Mom?”
She replied immediately, nervousness bleeding into her tone. “Come down and get some breakfast.”
A heartbeat passed before he responded. She hoped he couldn’t tell that anything was off – if anything was off.
“Give me a second,” he called back after a moment. “I have to use the bathroom.”
Images of what had happened the last time he’d used the bathroom flashed through her brain, but she suppressed them. That would come later. Alice nodded to herself, satisfied. Now she had to deal with the rest of her plan. She just hoped she was up to the task.
—
When Jacob came downstairs, he found Alice sitting exactly where he expected. In a bathrobe, at the table, with a glass of orange juice in hand. She had her hair done up in a messy bun, barely containing the blonde strands within its mass and leaving a few rogue ones framing her face. She wore thick black glasses, with large lenses that made her brown eyes seem a little bigger than they really were, open and inviting but still serious as she read something on her phone. Her robe did little to hide her figure. Large, voluptuous breasts with tight, fuzzy cloth woven over them, crossing over plunging cleavage. Tight waist with a cord cinching the robe even tighter, accentuating the disparity between her breasts and her waist. Wide hips, flowing down to her mid-thighs, where the robe left off and led into sculpted, toned thighs and dainty calves. He’d noticed these things before – he’d have to be asexual to not. But something had changed in his brain, something primal. Before, he would never have considered the woman before him hot; she was simply his mother. Now, however, things had changed, and his body ached to fuck her, pound her, even as he approached his imminent doom at her very hands.
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