Linda’s discovery – part 1b

Linda’s discovery – part 1b ( Incest stories for Adults only)

I didn’t hear from him until the following night. When I heard the phone ring, I knew it was him before even seeing the caller I.D. and my heart skipped a beat.

“Hi baby,” I answered, trying to hide the excitement in my voice.

“Is that always the way you answer the phone?” he laughed.

“Only when I know it is you,” I laughed back at him. “So – how was the party?”

He told me about the party and a few other mundane things that I would never be able to recall since the whole time I was wondering if he had unpacked his bag yet and seen the panties that I had hidden. We chatted for about 15 minutes and I was convinced – since he hadn’t said anything – that he must not have opened his bag.

As the conversation finally wound down he said “Uh, mom, I don’t know if you know this, but there was a pair of your panties in the things you brought me.”

“What?!?” I said, trying to sound surprised and alarmed. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s okay,” he laughed. “I just didn’t know if you even knew you were missing a pair and, if you had noticed, thought you might like to know that they weren’t lost.”

“Oh gosh,” I breathed, my face flushing. My plan was working even though he had no idea. “I guess I must have gotten them mixed up when I was washing your shirts to bring to you.”

“No problem,” he laughed again. “I didn’t know if you were trying to leave me a present or if it was an accident. I’ll just hang on to them until I come home.”

“Okay. Thanks,” I said, maybe a little too quickly. I could feel myself blushing furiously at what I had done and didn’t want him to catch on to my nervousness. “I’ll talk to you soon honey.”

We didn’t talk again for two days. I thought about him and my panties in every spare moment I had. I knew that he had to have smelled them, and tasted them. I so wish that I had the nerve to really talk to him about it. But maybe it was better this way – me knowing his secret and “innocently” helping him out.

When he called that Tuesday night the conversation again was about the ordinary events of our days. As we chatted I wondered to myself if he was holding the panties that I had left for him. Was it my imagination or was his breathing sounding somewhat ragged? Could it be that he was stroking himself with them while we chatted? I felt myself flush as we talked. Whether he was jerking off or not, the image was now in my head, and I was getting turned on.

“Is your roommate home tonight,” I asked, trying to control my breathing also.

“No, he went to the library for a couple of hours to study,” Mark said. It sounded like the phone was unusually close to his mouth. I could hear him breathing and it was having an effect on me.

“Um, baby, about those panties that I accidently put in your bag,” I started, hoping I didn’t sound guilty when I said the word ‘accidently.’ “I hope you didn’t show your roommate.”

“Gosh mom no,” he said, very sincerely. “Like I said, I just figured that it was either an accident or you were trying to give me a little present. Either way, it’s none of his business.”

I laughed. “Thank you, baby. It was an accident, but I’m not sure what you mean by a present. Would you think it was a present if I had done that on purpose?”

I started to unbutton my blouse and my shorts as I was asking. If he was going to jerk off while we talked, I didn’t see why I shouldn’t take care of myself at the same time.

“Well, you know…” Mark stammered. “Sometimes a girl will leave a pair of her panties for a guy as kind of a trophy or to… you know.”

“Masturbate with?” I couldn’t believe I had just said that to my own son – but I had, even as I stepped out of my shorts.

“Gosh mom,” Mark breathed into the phone. “Um, yeah… some guys like to have a girl’s underwear when they, you know, do that.”

I laid down on the couch now. I was naked except for the white thong that I had on. As I looked down to see my hand glide over them, I could see my flesh tones through the sheer material.

“I see,” I breathed back at him. “So… I am guessing you are one of those guys? That’s why you thought they might be a present.”

My hands were all over my body now. I didn’t even care if Mark could hear my ragged breathing over the phone – which I was still trying to control – but not having much success.

“Well, yeah, I guess. I do like it when a girl gives me her panties,” he said. Mark was having a hard time controlling his breathing now too.

“But what if it’s your mom that leaves them for you, baby? That doesn’t bother you?” I ran my hand over my own panties and could feel how wet they were.

“Hell no, mom,” Mark answered, his mouth closer to the phone now. “In fact, even better. There is no one that I am closer to. I love looking at them and touching them and…” His voice trailed off.

“And what baby? It’s okay. Tell me what you like about my – I mean a woman’s panties. You’re holding them right now, aren’t you? Tell me what you like about them,” I breathily said into the phone. God, I was hoping I wouldn’t scream into the phone in the midst of an orgasm while we were talking.

“I can’t mom,” he pleaded. “I don’t think it would be right.”

“Honey, you can tell me,” I said. Then, with a small laugh I said “There is nothing you’re going to tell me that I haven’t probably already done… or maybe doing right now,” I added in almost a whisper.

“I like smelling them. I actually love the way they smell. I can tell you were excited when you were wearing these, weren’t you mom?”

“Um, yes baby, I guess that I was. Sometimes even your old mom gets images in her head that turn her on.” Somehow speaking about myself to my son in the second person seemed to be less nasty. But my hands were inside my panties now rubbing my clit, my breathing increasingly choppy.

“I could tell,” he said. “I could see where you had gotten them wet with your pus… er… juices.”

“It’s okay honey,” I soothed. “I know you aren’t a virgin anymore and know about a girl’s pussy. It’s okay if you say it.” God – I was on fire. “You’re masturbating right now, aren’t you Mark? I can tell from your breathing… that you’re… jerking off.”

Silence.

Then, in a whisper, “yes.”

“I’m glad you are enjoying them baby,” I whispered back.

As much as I wanted to hear him cum with my panties, I wasn’t sure if I was ready for him to hear me cum yet and I reluctantly thought that I had pushed it about as far as I ever would have thought possible even hours before.

“Mommy’s going to let you take care of yourself now baby,” I said soothingly. “We’ll talk again soon.”

With that I hung up and treated myself to the most intense orgasm of my life.

“Oh, my god,” I thought. “What am I doing?”

It had been three days since Mark and I had spoken and I had listened to him tell me he was masturbating with my panties while we talked. Needless to say, it was a conversation and memory that rarely left my consciousness in that time. It’s not like I hadn’t enjoyed it. In fact, that was part of the issue I was grappling with. I had enjoyed it. Further, as soon as we hung up, I had fingered myself to an incredible orgasm. Mom: imgur.com/v6lUvYO.jpg

Up until that point, I had been okay with masturbating while fantasizing about my son – because it was just that – a very naughty fantasy that only I (well, and my best friend, Anne) knew about.

But now I had let it progress to a new level. Shit, I had even encouraged it. It was one thing to tacitly know that Mark was masturbating thinking about me, but another to listen to him while he did it. To make it worse, I felt sure he knew that I was doing the same thing while we were talking. I was wracked with guilt. The only saving grace was that I had hung up before either one of us had cum. At least I had SOME sense of decency, I rationalized.

When Mark called that night I was still feeling guilty – but had resolved to address it with him and put a stop to any further inappropriate conversations between the two of us.

“Hi honey,” I answered, trying to set a somewhat serious tone off the bat.

“Hey gorgeous,” he said cheerfully. “Long time, no chat.”

“Mark, before we chat anymore, I want to talk about the other night,” I said sternly. “I love you and love that you and I can talk about anything – but our conversation last Tuesday was not the kind of conversation any mother should have with her son. I just want you to know that I’m sorry that I encouraged it and it won’t happen again.”

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line. I hoped I hadn’t come across as judgmental of him.

“Mark? Baby? Are you there?” I asked, this time my tone was softer.

“Yeah mom, I’m here,” he said. I tried to read into his voice what he was thinking but I couldn’t.

“Geez mom, I hear what you are saying. But I guess I have a different take on it,” he explained. “I loved that we were able to talk like that to each other. I can’t tell you how hot it was for me and how much I ca–, um, enjoyed it after we hung up.”

“Honey, that’s not what I’m saying…” I interrupted.

“I know mom,” he said before I could go on. “I know it may seem weird for most mom and sons, but it seemed okay for us is all I am trying to say. I love you mom. And I want to be able to talk to you about anything, even if it is about sex. Actually, especially if it is about sex. Who better to talk to when I have questions about things like that than your mom or dad?” he reasoned.

I knew he was rationalizing, at least somewhat, but he was also hitting a soft spot with me. Since his dad had left, it was just him and me. I knew that I was probably over-protective, but I also knew that I had to fill the role of both mom and dad in his life, since his own dad spent less and less time with him as the years went by.

“But honey,” I said, trying to gain control of the conversation again, “it’s one thing for us to talk about things like sex and masturbation, and it’s another for us to listen to each other as we do it.”

“Gosh mom, you were playing with yourself too?” he asked, obviously excited.

Uh oh, I thought. I knew that I had accidently confirmed what I thought he already knew. How was I going to get out of this? I quickly decided to try the clinical, honest approach.