Justin rushes to the far side of the table and holds the chair out, looking at me anxiously, patiently - the suggestion obvious. With a hidden sigh I glide forwards on my low-heels and sit with my knees together, back straight - like a lady should. Pushing my chair in so that I am facing my plate, my son leans over and sniffs my hair which causes me to freeze.
A second later, the kiss is gentle, at the nape of my neck, then another deep inhale through the nose which is almost touching my flesh.
Though this shocked me, it did not come as a total surprise.
Justin is like his father, like all men I should think. And like mother often told me around the time my body started to change that 'men do and women must endure'. No truer words have ever been spoken, Justin's father rutted upon me night after night for the first years of our marriage - pumping me full of his seed before rolling off and falling asleep. I did my duty, I endured. Not once did I deny my husband his due.
Thankfully Justin soon stands up and returns to his chair, looking rather pleased with himself. His hand rises with his glass of wine, "To you mother, you look beautiful tonight!"
I nod my thanks but secretly resigning myself to whatever path fate set me upon. With Justin's father dead and buried there is simply no where else for me to live - the man I married hadn't the sense to insure against his own demise, I was left penniless and quickly destitute. All too soon after the funeral, I had to move out of our home - which the bank took possession off.
There is simply no where else for me to go - forty-nine years-old, widow and broke, with no family or friends to help. My son came to my rescue immediately before the funeral, acting so mature now that he has a good job and a place of his own - of course he offered to help his mom he said, though I hadn't the bravery to ask it myself. There was the underlying message, 'his home' he had spoken - as if our lives have transformed and he the adult and I the child. No, not a child - something more, like an animal that lives on its most basic desires without thinking of the consequences - a man.
It was Justin's eyes of course - and every woman knows, feeling them Cara zing her, undressing her constantly. Justin started early, always looking at me as if he was starving and I was a platter of food. Then my panties started to disappear and I didn't enquire when they simply showed back up in the dirty hamper days later. The stains on his bed all normal right? But when he starts to peak at me, subtly at first then not so subtly - as if he cared not for the life he would loose if his father had caught him...
Oh yes, as a mother, I knew.
And my defence was to fall back on the wisdom of my mother - though barely out of childhood, Justin was a man and as such, it was my job to endure. So I ignored his interest, hide my rage from my family at the humiliation and indecently forced upon me, and then his intensity finally waned some years later. Though never truly disappeared as I had hoped.
With the offer for a new life, living in my son's home, I felt powerless and feared where the offer may lead. Supper tonight was our first together, a celebration he said. Yet he suggested I dress up, nylons with a skirt Jason said - to look pretty, for him. That wasn't the first indication since I arrived just this afternoon with my two bags in tow that things were going to be a trial between us - it was that look, eyes like his fathers, devouring me alive as I stood in his doorway to accept his charity.
I gritted my teeth and resolved to do what I have always done, endured.
The meal is surprisingly good, but I guessed it was purchased and reheated - my son never even boiled an egg when he was living at home. No doubt, from this meal forwards I would be doing the cooking. We ate in silence throughout, his eyes upon me and not his meal - his real hunger obvious. The plates are quickly removed after that portion of our meal and he is again behind me, kissing the nape of my neck, a tongue this time licking just behind my ear. I clench my jaw and held my breath - willing it to be over, for him to be satisfied with this. All the while, knowing it to be untrue.
Justin reaches around my torso without his earlier gentleness, laughing lightly as he whispers into my ear, "You should show more cleavage mom." His hands grope my abundant chest, even while I silently cursed my large breasts and the constant interest men seemed to have toward them since they started to develop. Two buttons of my blouse are roughly opened.
Then the dessert appears, my son red in the face and I'm full of surprise that he hasn't done more - his father would be snoring in bed by now.
I barely eat, my appetite gone - knowing as I do what was next. Its in my son's eyes don't you know.
I've never felt this negatively when my husband gave all the signs that he wanted to mount me - but this was my only child not my husband I reminded myself. Yet, like I'm sure mother would say, he is just like all the rest - a man. He is certainly no longer a shy teenager who peeked up my skirt at the supper table - and Justin is making sure the message came across loud and clear that he was the man and this was his house. Just as my being here meant that I was now part of his home, like a possession, a painting on the wall.
Pleased with himself over dinner and perhaps the silence of my submission, Justin leads me into the adjoining living room, rushing about like a child to light a dozen candles, turning on some light instrumental music. Was this where he wanted me? I grit my teeth and willed my heart to slow itself.
My mind shouted at me, to run and scream - to chastise this man like he was still the young boy that stole my soiled panties. What then? What if my son should evict me from my only option? His tempter had always been like his fathers, volatile and sometimes illogical - yet easily countered if given his daily rut. Would the son be as easily calmed? I had no skills, just a old middle-aged woman and house-wife - how would I survive outside my son's home?
His strong arms encircle me, his lips finding mine. I do not push him away, nor do I bite the tongue that is soon slipping into my mouth. What I did do was to stifle my gag reflex - though in such a way, my son probably thought it a guttural groan of pleasure.
Big masculine hands are soon upon my bottom, roughly kneading it like I was raw dough, his hardness pressing into my stomach aggressively. I hold back a sigh and resolved to endure, hating myself, hating my late husband for putting me in this situation and hating my mother for being right.
The hands are trembling as they unzip my skirt from the back, pressing my Sunday woollen garment to the floor like some rag. When was the last time Justin's father was this hungry for me? I can't recall.
I hear a tear and I wince, my blouse was almost forty dollars when I bought it several years ago - money I no longer had.
I've been here before, felt the desire of a man with the hands roughly groping me and the hardness pressing through clothing - desperate to get off, wanting nothing more than to use me like a tool out in the garage, tossed aside when done.
My son suddenly steps back, hands dropping to his sides, his eyes devouring me in my underwear. The candles are enough light to embarrass me, my hands coming up to cover my chest, my groin, even though he must have seen more peaking through that hole he had dug through his closet into my room years before.
"Take the pantyhose off mom."
It wasn't a request - his hunger obvious. If I wanted to resist, I should have done it before this moment - knowing it was too late.
A part of me is surprised at this voice my son was using - so different from the nervous teenager that tried to had to peak at me.
Resigned, my hands move slowly, doing what was bidden even though I wanted to die. But I cursed that wish away when I remembered that my bastard husband would be waiting for me on the other side, if the priests where right I mean.
"Damn I can't believe this is happening mom!" I stood there feeling like an old fool - how can my son look at my ageing body like it was a teenage girl. Men, other men and even my husband up to his death, didn't look at me like that - ever. Well, no one but Justin of course - which just confused me all the more. Sure my breasts garnered enough attention before I had a child but since then only my son had eyes for me. It was all so surreal.
My hands wanted to return to their concealment position but I forced them to my side, wearing only my panties and bra - neither sexy in my estimation. Hell, nothing I owned would classify as sexy.
"Turn slowly mom."
God, the balls on this boy, I thought! His father was a quick hump and roll off kind of guy - and if you are going to do it just get it over with Justin! I had resolved myself to enduring a moment of my very own son humping inside me once a day like his dad had done if it gave me a home, security. Yet this was something else and I couldn't quite put my finger on why it bothered me so much.
Facing away from my son I feel him approach, his hands coming up and fumbling with the five hooks of my bra. Then its slipping off my shoulders, falling to my bare feet with the rest of my best clothing. I wished this was a nightmare and I would soon wake up but I knew it to be reality. My son's breathing was heavy, quick - I could feel how hot it was against the sensitive flesh of my shoulder and neck and I suppressed a shiver.
Thumbs slipped beneath the elastic of my cotton pantie, forcing them down my wide hips to my feet and I dutifully step out of them. Hands on my shoulders turned me yet again, to face the man my son had become.
I'm naked, not a stitch of clothing, while he stands before me in slacks and shirt. His eyes are wild, ablaze and his slacks had the dent I had felt earlier.
Why was I feeling like this - almost as I had that first time with my late husband. That woman, a girl really, had not listened to her mother, had allowed her boyfriend to take her to a hotel, believing his promises, his praise, then he was inside her and it hurt and he didn't care, not stopping when I cried out and then it was over. He was mad at me for acting so childish, while I cried in misery - my thighs red with my blood. I never revealed to my mother that I had lost my virginity, that I had been forced to realize all that she had foretold was all true - fearing her distant cold 'I told you so' look more than the pain of my first time. I was soiled and allowed the man to use me just a few nights later in the back of his parents car - the pain was no longer there but neither was anything else. I just let him do what he needed to do, praying for it to be over soon - which it nearly always was.
"Do you realize how much I've wanted this mom?"
I just looked at him, tried to smile warmly but felt my lips not move from their somber place.
"Dad was a bastard and I'm sorry he is gone but not if it brings us together finally." A hand reaches out, takes one of my own - he is no longer trembling - thats a sure sign! I'm pulled toward my son, his hands returning to my bare bottom, his lips already smashing into my own. His words strangely moving but I had little time to think about it before that hardness was already pressing into my stomach.
I wish he would just get it over so this long awful day would be finished!
Then he is swaying, moving me with him and it takes me at least a full minute to realize that my son was dancing to the low music. Strange to say the least - his father never danced - and I never imagined dancing naked with a fully clothed man, let alone my only child. His lips move down my jaw to again lick and suck at my tender neck. When was the last time I went dancing?
He is moaning soon enough, the thrusts into my abdomen anxious and desperate - thank god! Perhaps he will just pump it onto my belly and we'll be done for the night!
Justin suddenly turns and leads me to his room so quickly that I had to half-ways run. I wished, just like when the teenage boy had been peaking up my skirt beneath the dinner table, that he would just find a girl his own age to relieve himself with. At least, I told myself with resignation, with his obvious hunger it was sure to be a fast ride.
In the darkened room, gray light from the moon the only illumination, my son is again kissing me sloppily while his hands desperately yank his own clothing off.
Soon, I told myself over and over!
On the bed, crawling awkwardly backwards so that my head was comfortably on the pillow, my thighs wide so that my son already lay between, our lips still joined, our saliva practically dripping from my chin.
At least Justin is not totally inept, finding the mark easy enough, but finding the entrance a little tougher to enter than expected - dry as I was. Like his father, he didn't stop to enquire why it shouldn't be ready for him, but instead, Justin spit on his hand and rubbed it into my slit before insistently pressing forwards until forced fully into the channel that it desired.
My grunt was not of pleasure but pain, wincing as the penis enters me. Coldly I realize he is larger than his father, thicker and longer - filling me up more. My only response was to curse silently, realizing that this would only cause more pain down there.
With his face moving to the nape of my neck, drool rolling out his open mouth while pressing his forehead into the pillow, my son starts to pump anxiously and quickly within my body.
My feet come off the bed, my hands on his back urging him on. Just get it over with Justin, I whisper without a sound!
His bed was rocking violently, his thrusts causing pain to the point I knew it would hurt in the morning and from the sounds my son was making it was obvious that my wish was going to be granted. I felt that large thing inside me freeze, enlarge minutely before it began pumping - shooting hot seed deep inside my body again and again, feeling warm and comforting in some strange way, in an amount that was surprisingly abundant.
And then it was over, I had endured the abuse of my person yet again, surviving what my son wanted of me. Justin had collapsed upon my body, trying to regain his breath, breathing hoarsely into my neck while my hands stroked his messy head of hair, his sweaty back. All the while hoping he would soon turn over to allow me to slip out of this bed and to my own down the hall.
Just like his father I chuckled to myself, barely sixty seconds in the saddle.
A smile actually spread upon my face, I had done it, I had endured!
Then Justin sat up on his elbows, looking down into my face and catching my smile before I could hide it. Tenderly his lips kissed mine, "I love this mom - being here and inside you."
At that very second I realized something was terribly wrong - something that had never happened to me before, the man-thing inside me was still hard and throbbing powerfully. It had not died away, slipping out exhausted as I had expected.
So many things went through my head, dread and surprise being the most prevalent.
Then my son's cock began to move again, that big thing inside me moving easier with the grease of his earlier climax, slowly easing out and back in.
Gone was the urgency, desperation, and it left something else... ? Lips kissed my face, from my brow to my chin almost tenderly before moving down to find my breasts, sucking at my teats as if they still held milk.
That minute threshold was soon past and I was left confused - this was not how it was supposed to be! My sex was reacting, only minutely at first but the signs were there, threatening more.
I clenched my eyes and gritted my teeth, even ignoring the tongue that tried to part my lips, begging my body to back off - not here, not now, not with him. The only pleasure I had ever experienced was with my own hand, in private with only my most secret of thoughts as my partner.
The size of that penis did not help, its extra breadth and length stretching me past my previous endurance, as if forcing some response with its movement and duration. That penis kept moving patiently, in and out, forcing the pleasure to come unwillingly.
My feet again rose, locking together behind the small of my son's lean strong back, my lips opening for that tongue yet again, sucking it. I felt the betrayal of my body and hated it even while my hips began to thrust into my son's hard organ, the slap of our flesh loud even over the squeaking and thumping of the bed.
Justin was groaning into my open mouth, his body slick with sweat and my mind was almost lost to the passion that was rising within me unstoppable like the tide. Then I felt the hot molten sperm shooting yet again inside, making me feel almost full with it, my son whimpering and groaning into my mouth.
I thanked god that I had not lost my resolve, that the beast within me had not risen to humiliate me. I had been close to that summit - reacting like I have never done before with another man.
Though my passion was slowly ebbing, the realizing that I had dogged the bullet. Sex between man and woman was not something of pleasure for the latter, but something to endure, to give to her mate if you will. The reality that this was my son and not any other man simply reinforced the wisdom of my mother.
I lay beneath my son in this incestuous moment because I had no one else in my life, no where else to go. It was also 'only sex', if you get my meaning - it was an act that held no consequence besides child rearing, but I was years past that worry. There was only Justin and I now - and if truth be told I was lonely! No, not in that way, I don't need a man to feel any kind of pleasure - but as one human being with another. And my son did love me, in his own way certainly, and that was comforting. The gazes, the passion that had lead us to this moment were simply alien in my world - no one else looked at me like that, there was no other man that wanted to be with me, to care for me. So that had all lead us here - for me to endure sex with my very own child.
As expected, my son soon rolled off me, the penis inside shrinking by the second slipped from my body with a small almost inaudible pop.
I was starring at the ceiling, thanking god for finally ending this night, for giving me the endurance to see it to its obvious conclusion.
And it was done - I had endured again right?
Then why was my son laying into my side, his head on my shoulder as his hand was strolling down my soft fleshy body as if he was starting this night rather than ending it? The hand slipped onto my private parts, causing my face to burn in shame at how wet and warm it was and that it could not be concealed, with our combined juices slipping from me in embarrassing amounts.
Yet he didn't try to slip a finger into me, as his father had done decades past, instead began to stroke and grind against my sensitive enlarged clitoris!
I was shocked! His father did not even seem to know what a clitoris was let alone tried to touch me there.
My body stiffened and my back arched upwards at the initial intimacy, a gasp loud even to my own ears. His lips found my closest nipple and sucked as his fingers worked me like a piano keyboard.
Even as my mind began to blur, I realized that I had been too ready to think I had escaped the humiliation of climaxing earlier with that long exquisite coupling. The cloud that until this day I had only felt alone, in private, my passion overshadowed everything as I simply existed for the final pleasure.
Never with a man, but how rare in my life had it been? How infrequent were my orgasms really?
I was thrashing my head around on the pillow, my heels hooked into the bed as my hips lewdly pumped up and down in the air. My son's head lay upon my bosom, I could feel those eyes looking at me in my most private moment and I was powerless. The fingers worked as if they were my own, stroking my clitoris almost magically so that I was left panting and moaning for release.
Then I heard it, a loud pitched squeal that sounded vaguely like my own grew as my mind exploded as my orgasm took control. My whole body jerked and vibrated in response, buckling my son off me and lasting nearly a whole minute until I lay exhausted and sweaty as my senses returned.
My god what had I done?
Lips were kissing my own, my son chuckling at my most defenceless moment and I hated him for it. I rolled away from him, no longer able to endure another second and was relieved when I felt him roll away from me. Yet facing away from each other and in the darkness of the room I could feel my son smiling triumphantly and I felt shame.
I never realized when sleep overcame me, my exhaustion winning over my confused emotions. Yet I realized when I awoke, on my side in the fetal position, realizing who owned that big hard penis inside me, pumping slowly in and out of my greased hole.
On our sides, in the dark of the night my son was doing me again - an unheard of occurrence in my forty-nine years. It was unlike the first or the second coupling just hours before, not unpleasant but certainly not as intense as the latter time. I was simply amazed that my son would get erect yet again, not only that but it still shocked me that he was interested in me, and not some hard-bodied thing his own age!
Half asleep it seemed to last forever, my own pleasure heightened but not rising so that I was left in a pleasant sexual fog. My son's cock was certainly magnificent - filling me up like I had never conceived.
When it filled me up a third time in only a few hours my smile was on my lips as I began to fall back into slumber, enjoying how it lay withing me as if made for me.
I awoke to the sound of the shower, my face rapidly heating up with embarrassment from the memories of the night before. I rushed from the room to find my robe still sitting on the top of my unused bed.
How shall I face my son after he witnessed my climax? How wicked for me to do that with my very own son! I ached for a bath, but the only washroom was already taken and was forced to wait.
I was still coming to gripes with this and other emotions as I cleaned up the supper dishes from the night before and then began to make bacon and eggs for my son. Then he is behind me, smirking privately while wearing only a wet towel about his waist.
As I stand there in shame, he unhooks the towel and lets it drop giving me my first glimpse of that monster between his legs. Lecherously I stare, amazed to discover it about the same size soft as his fathers had been while hard - a sudden desire to see it hard fills me and I shove it down, turning back to the frying pan on the stove. My face hot with shame I feared my son could read the lecherous thoughts coursing through my mind.
Yet my son pulls me around and wraps his arms about me, his lips on my own. Like the day before I stand still and let him do whatever vile act he wanted, wishing it only to be over, praying that I had the strength to endure yet again.
Into the dining room after removing the pan from the burner, my robe is pulled from my body, his eyes again ablaze while devouring me visually. Strangely he presses me face down on the newly cleaned table, an oddly exposed position - not able to see but knowing I was fully revealed. His father never did it outside our bedroom after our son was born - and had never done it in any position than with him on top of me.
Even more oddly, my sex contracted and I forced myself to ignore it.
Just when the waiting was becoming unbearable and I just wanted it to be over, embarrassed to admit I wanted to feel that monster inside me yet again, a tongue slipped into the cheeks of my bottom. Horrified I froze, the tongue slipping deeper until it pressed into my sensitive rear passage and I was shocked that anyone would do this!
Hands grasped my big fleshy cheeks and pried them apart, the tongue aggressively experimenting, forcing itself into me. My god, I thought with a silent scream, doesn't Justin know what he is doing and where!
I was alternating holding my breath and gasping for air, endure even this I screamed at myself. As sick and disgusting an act this was, my body began to react, my mind slowly realizing to the impossible. What the hell was wrong with me?
Justin, my son, then stretched his head and tongue lower, grinding it into my clitoris before drawing it up and into my vagina. As horrific as I felt my body was reacting, the sounds of pleasure escaping from my own lips. The tongue was moving like a small thick penis in and out of my body and I was shocked that I had not cleaned up from the endured coupling the night before, yet this did not seem to slow my son's oral attack.
And that was what it was an 'attack', forcing my body to react to unthinkable acts. He would suck and grind my clitoris with his lips and tongue before moving to either my anus or my vagina - wiggling the tip of his tongue deep inside me before moving it in and out like a small penis.
I felt the familiar cloud of pleasure come quickly and fought in vain to stop it.
When two fingers slipped into my vagina and the tongue again returned to violating my rear hole, that summit was reached.
I screamed out, "No!" The climax shooting through my body, leaving me feeling almost alien. This was not happening, I thought while laying on the table recovering from my climax! My son had allowed me the privacy to recover by removing his hands and mouth from my body and I thought he may even leave the room but it wasn't so.
The cock, feeling larger than last night if possible, slipped into my wet hot hole with ease and I groaned at the exquisiteness of it. An echo of the night before, a dull pain inside my upper thighs - from the initial abuse I had taken that first ride. Hands grasped my soft hips and began to drive that man-thing in and out of my weary body. Instantly I realized that I had not descended all the way to the base of that pleasure-mountain, that my fall had stopped at his entrance and almost impossibly, began to rise yet again to that summit.
My head was whipping around, spittle flying out in all directions. This can not be happening - if this was some strange demented dream then my whole life had been a lie, been for nothing. This level of pleasure was what happened in those trashy love novels I read the first years of my marriage but then discarded them as being unrealistic.
The cloud of pleasure was even overcoming my mind, my spirit if you will, and I was surprised to find myself anxiously entering into it.
My son was fucking his mother upon his dining room table with energy and enthusiasm. That was what it was 'fucking' - perhaps for the first time in my life I was fucking a man and loving it! Our bodies clashed loudly, the echoes lewd and louder in the day than it had been the night before. The table too creaked and groaned, and a part of me feared that it would break with my weight and my sons energetic thrusts.