# # #
Then, one night, a night that I’ll never forget, daring myself to do so, and shocking even me when I did, after I drank nearly a bottle of wine from nervous sexual anticipation, I did something sexually provocative. Sometimes regretting it, I did something that I thought I’d never do. Even though I’m glad that I did it, I did something that I still sometimes can’t believe that I did, even to this day. I had sex with my son.
Something that I never did and had never done, deliberately flashing him while sexually teasing him, I wore my sexiest nightgown in front of him without having the modesty to wear a robe over it. I was as nervous as I was sexually aroused. I couldn’t believe that I was showing my son all that he only imagined when masturbating himself but had never seen. Immorally, overnight, by the encouragement of his X-rated masturbation dialogue, I had turned into a drunken whore. I was nearly, naked exposed to my son when he was masturbating.
‘God help me,’ I thought. ‘Why did I do that? Why did I show my son all that he should never see of his mother? I’m practically naked when wearing this sheer nightgown without wearing a robe over it.’
Normally, with me morally modest, a church going Catholic, and God-fearing woman, I wear a robe over my nightgown but tonight I didn’t. Instead, as if he was my boyfriend, my husband, or my lover, I acted as if I was his whore, his stripper, or his prostitute. Immodestly immoral, I wickedly paraded myself in front of my testosterone filled son while wearing my shortest, sheerest, lowest-cut, and sexiest nightgown. With my nightgown practically see-through, he could see everything.
# # #
Pretending that I didn’t notice him staring at all that I was showing, I watched his eyes bulging out of his head while he continually stared at me. Then, when I walked in the light, especially when I deliberately stood in front of the bright light of the television, I knew that he could see me as if I stood before him naked. In the way that I made him sexually excited, he made me sexually aroused. Having been a long time since I felt like a desirable woman, judging by his quickly growing erection that showed through his pajama bottoms, I felt like one now.
Not very difficult for me to determine how he felt about his mother, I could tell by his throbbing and pulsating erection that tented his pajama bottoms how he sexually felt about me. In the way that I was indecently depraved, I knew that I had sexually excited him. I knew that I had made him plenty horny enough to masturbate himself later tonight and tomorrow morning. It made me terribly, sexually aroused to imagine my son masturbating over me. Making me feel like a sexually wanted woman, he continued staring at all that he could see of my nearly, naked body.
Unembarrassed and unashamed, I knew full well that he could clearly see my shapely, nearly, naked ass. I knew that he could see my blonde, trimmed, patch of pubic hair. Making myself horny just by thinking about it, I knew that he could see the shape and the size of my big, D cup breasts, and my erect nipples. In the way that I’d be masturbating over my son seeing my nearly naked body, I knew that he’d be masturbating later over all that he was seeing of his MILF of a mother now.
Yet, even though I knew it was wrong to sexually tease my son, I didn’t care. I wanted him to see and to want to touch, feel, and fondle all that I was deliberately showing him. The closest thing to being naked in front of him, I wanted Timothy to see all that he could clearly see of my nearly, naked body. I wanted him to sexually lust over me in the way that I sexually wanted him. In the way that I suddenly wanted to have sex with him, I wanted him to want to have sex with me, too.
# # #
I imagined him masturbating later over all that he was seeing of me now. I imagined my son cumming over the imagined thoughts of seeing me nearly naked. I imagined Timothy cumming over the imagined thoughts of having sex with me. I imagined him not only cumming in my mouth but also in my pussy, too.
Not stopping there, I imagined him feeling my naked breasts, fingering my erect nipples, and sucking my erect nipples. I imagined blowing him while stroking him. I imagined sucking his cock. I imagined him cumming in my mouth and me swallowing his cum.
Again, not stopping there, I imagined him fingering my pussy. I imagined him masturbating me. I imagined him licking my pussy. I imagined him giving me oral sex. I imagined him making me cum. I imagined him giving me multiple, sexual orgasms with his fingers, his tongue, and his cock.
I wanted him to sexually want me in those moments that I sexually wanted him. I imagined him touching me, feeling me, and fondling me where a son should never touch, feel, and fondle his mother. Even though I felt like such a whore, an incestuous whore, I didn’t care. Sexually teasing him while wearing my sexually revealing nightgown gave me something to masturbate over later tonight and, again, tomorrow morning.
I was tired of being horny. I was tired of being sexually frustrated. I needed a sexual orgasm. I needed to cum. I needed a reason for me to masturbate myself.
With my son the only man within my reach, why not have sex with him? Why not allow him to masturbate me? Why not allow him to eat me? Why not allow him to fuck me? After all, I’m his mother and he’s, my son. Then, again, that was the biggest reason why I shouldn’t have sex with him. I’m his mother and he’s, my son.
If he made me cum, I’d make him cum, too. I’d stroke his cock. I’d suck his cock. I’d blow him. I’d blow my son. I’d allow him to not only cum in my mouth, I’d allow him to cum all over my face and across my naked breasts. I’d allow Timothy to give me, his mother, a cum bath.
# # #
When Timothy didn’t make a sexual move to bed me, from that day forward, I continued flashing him while sexually teasing him. I continued wearing my sexiest and sheerest nightgowns without having the modesty to wear a robe over them. When I wasn’t flashing him my panties, my cleavage, and my low-cut bra, I flashed him my naked pussy and my naked breasts.
With me sitting across from him on the couch, he sat in his father’s big chair. While reading my book or watching TV, pretending as if I wasn’t noticing him staring at what he could see of me between my shapely thighs, I continually crossing and uncrossing my long, shapely legs. As if I had his chin on a leash, every time I crossed and uncrossed my legs, he looked over at me. No doubt, he hoped when wearing my short skirt that I’d flash him my panties or when wearing my short nightgown that I’d flash him my naked pussy.
Indeed, with me being the whore that I had become, I flashed him. I flashed my son all that he had hoped and stared to see. When I wore my short skirt, with my knees parted just enough for him to continually see my panty clad pussy, I flashed him my white panties. When I wore my nightgown, again, with my knees parted just enough for him to see his mother’s naked cunt, I continually flashed him views of my naked pussy.
I exposed myself to my son in the way that a morally, modest mother should never expose herself to her son. I exposed myself to my son in the way that I had never exposed myself to any man. I exposed my panty clad and naked pussy to Timothy in the way that he had deliberately exposed his erect, naked penis to me when masturbating himself. I showed him that I wanted to play his game and to be his whore.
Then, that night, surprising me, something that he never does and that I never expected him to do, as if I was his girlfriend, his wife, or his lover instead of his mother, he sat next to me on the couch. I couldn’t believe that he was sitting next to me. After years of sitting across from one another in the same room, he showed me that he cared. In the way that he looked adoringly at me; he showed me that he loved me.
In the way that he sexily looked at me, he showed me that he wanted to have incestuous sex with me. Moreover, and oddly enough, in those fleeting moments, if I was reading him correctly, he showed me that he sexually wanted me as much as I sexually wanted him. Only, with me afraid to make the next sexual move, I hoped that he’d take that decision out of my hands and make the next sexual move.
“I can see the television much better when sitting in front of it instead of sitting to the side of it,” he said as his excuse for sitting next to his mother.
# # #
Once again, with me not wearing a robe over my flimsy and sheerly, revealing nightgown, needing the warmth of his body, I cuddled against him. Hugging him, I snuggled right up to him. Instead of moving away from me, surprising me again, he put his arm around my shoulders. He lovingly held me in the way that he had never held me before.
“Keep me warm,” I said. “I’m cold.”
With my hand on his pajama clad thigh, we stayed like that all night. To show him that I was tired, I started yawning and I continued yawning for the next half an hour. Then, hoping that he’d touch my big breasts, feel my big breasts, and fondle my big breasts, I closed my eyes, slumped down my head. Wanting him to take sexual advantage of me, I pretended that I was sleeping.
The more that I pretended that I was sleeping, the more that I leaned against his t-shirt clad body, and the more that I lowered my torso to his pajama clad cock. Pretending that I was in deep sleep, I slowly slid myself down lower. I continued lowering myself until the side of my head was on his lap and mere inches away from his pajama clad, semi-erect prick. With him thinking that I was fast asleep, and with me pretending to be asleep on him, the top of my nightgown was wide open.
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