Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Mother, Son, .
Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Sandy Strider was a con artist. Now 36, Sandy had started fooling people when she was 8. The cons grew more subtle, more successful with each passing year. Her 16-year old daughter, Susan, and 14-year old son, Scott, had been con job babies to nail the wealthy father. The two children, in awe of their mother, were learning the family trade. Sandy was a loving, but unconventional mother. Sex, a lot of sex, was an essential element in the long con.
Sandy Strider, outfitted in one of her 'Mama's Gonna Go Get Us Some Money' power suits, smiled at her two children, Susan and Scott.
Susan, 16, said, "Bring back a lot."
Scott, 14, said, "We like money."
Sandy smiled again, "I know."
Susan said, "How long?"
"A couple of months. Maybe three. Possibly longer."
"We'll be fine."
Scott tried to keep worry from showing, "Be careful, Sandy."
Sandy smiled her kindest, most understanding Scott-smile, "I will, sweetheart."
Susan gave her younger brother a fond glance, "Sandy's always careful."
Sandy hugged and cheek-kissed her daughter. She whispered, "Take care of Scotty." She had given Susan more detailed instructions earlier.
Sandy hugged and deep-kissed her son. She kissed him until she felt him go erect against her thigh. Gave his cock a fond squeeze and left.
Sandy left carrying her usual black Tumi slouch bag. Which looked like something a stonemason might carry his tools in. The same bag, no matter how long her journey -- a weekend, a month, a year. One bag contained all she needed.
Makeup of course. Lingerie. Tees, shorts, slacks, dresses. Mix and match, no problem. Oh, and a fresh set of fake ID -- passport, credit cards, debit card, check book, Social Security card, library card, a couple of letters sent to her at a phony Chicago address. Other minutia that would lend credence to her cover story should anyone rifle her belongings. She would make that easy to do.
Scott watched without comment as his mother packed the necessaries to make herself ready for anal sex.
Scott never could hide his emotions from Sandy and Susan. He was not only the youngest, but the most emotional. Both his mother and sister took good care of him.
When the front door to their Upper West Side apartment closed behind Sandy, Susan undid her brother's belt, "Blowjob or pussy, honey?"
Scott knew that Susan was trying to take his mind off their mother's departure. And he knew that it would work. For a while anyway. He hated when his mother left home without him.
But, he was freaking 14. Sex obsessed, of course.
Earlier that morning Scott had watched his mother prepare for her trip. As he had every morning that he could remember, He waited outside her bathroom as she showered. Waited with a big, fluffy towel.
He'd always been in love with his mother. In awe of her.
Sandy smiled kindly as Scott gently patted her dry. He loved it. And loved watching her put herself together.
Sandy stood in front of her full-length mirror examining herself closely. Without exception, she always stepped into a pair of fuck-me heels first.
The Scott spritzed her favorite scent into the air and watched his mother stride through it, leaving just the faintest citrus scent on her skin.
After her shower, after letting her son towel her softly, after the heels and the scent, Sandy did her makeup. Just a hint of foundation, a hint of color, a touch of lip gloss.
Scott, engrossed, watched the process every day.
Sandy, her lush auburn hair damp from the shower and smelling faintly of flowers, let her hair dry on its own. She never used a dryer, wouldn't damage that luscious mane.
She applied her makeup standing in front of her mirror. At 5' 10", she was taller than most of her competition -- other women -- and the heels made her even taller.
Sandy didn't take her beauty -- vivid, slightly slanted green eyes, model's cheekbones, strong chin -- for granted. She exercised daily no matter what part of the world she was in. Watched her diet like a fiend. Drank a little wine, but no hard liquor. Smoked a little dope, but nothing else.
Scott and Susan had inherited their mother's wide swimmer's shoulders, her narrow waist, taut butt and long, long legs. Susan also had her mothers pert, smallish, up-tilted boobs. And her little-girl like pussy. Both were waxed -- full Brazilian -- regularly.
As Scott ogled his mother in the mirror's reflection, she smiled an understanding smile, "Not too shabby, right?"
As always when he watched the morning ritual, his cock was hard and throbbing, pulsating with need and want. Sandy watched in the mirror with fond amusement as Scott moaned and started spurting up into the air.
Mentally, Sandy counted, "One, two, three, four, five, six, my, seven."
Even though climaxing without touching himself was a weekly, at least a weekly, occurrence, Scott still blushed every time.
Sandy winked at him in the mirror, "Nice, baby."
As she watched him wipe his cum from her hardwood floor, Sandy wondered to herself, "Will he get hard again? Before I dress?"
She smiled again, "Come here, sweetheart."
Even at 14, Scott was already two inches taller than his mother. She smiled up at him, "Good cum?"
Blushing again, he just nodded.
Sandy used her left index finger and thumb to squeeze the very tip of his cock. This forced the opening to become wider. She grasped the base of his cock tightly with her right hand and slowly drew it up toward the head. She smiled up again, "One last drop. Just for me."
Sandy bent down and, still squeezing, licked up the last of his cum. She took a couple more moments forcing the tip of her cum into the slight opening.
Then, it was back to work. She picked up her hairbrush and started counting mentally, "One, two, three..."
An hour after she had started her morning ritual, Sandy smiled at Scott. He was erect again. Good. She said, "Jasmine."
Scott left and returned moments later.
When Sandy had hired Jasmine to run the household, she had interviewed over 30 women. And around 10 men.
She had liked the serene 50-year old from the first. Jasmine had five kids and two grandchildren. She still had a strong Jamaican accent, a charming island lilt. She worked three full days a week -- Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
Jasmine was plump, around 5' 2" and cheerful. Mocha-colored skin.
When Sandy was off on one of her longer trips, Jasmine used to look in on the kids when they were younger -- 8 and 6. Sandy hadn't worried about them then and still didn't. They were conscientious, smart and careful.
This morning Jasmine brought in a tray with Sandy's tea steaming in a Waterford cup, skim milk already added. One slice of dry rye toast. Breakfast.
Jasmine glanced at Scott's erection and raised an eyebrow to Sandy.
She smiled, "Second boner."
Jasmine smiled back and left the room.
When Sandy had first hired Jasmine she was up front. To a certain extent. She had told Jasmine that she earned money from men, allowing her to assume that Sandy was a prostitute.
This neither pleased nor shocked Jasmine. She was already falling in love with Susan and Scott.
Over the years, as Sandy came to trust Jasmine more and more, she gradually explained about the con games, about how she really earned her money. She often sat her children down with Jasmine so she could school them all at the same time.
Like... "Yes, sex is often involved. It usually gives me an edge. Helps distract them when they're thinking of pussy."
Jasmine nodded along with Susan and Scott.
But Susan and Scott got a more detailed education. Sandy had used her pregnancies to get her four-bedroom condo paid for. Monthly maintenance fees taken care of for life. Then gently, but firmly, she eased the father out of the picture.
She had planned on including the kids in her elaborate cons from the beginning.
And she was successful. Although the earliest schemes were more blackmail than con.
Sandy never brought a mark home, never let them know who she really was, where she lived. In fact, she rarely worked New York at all.
Using Susan and Scott while they were still very much jailbait was the exception to the no-New York rule.
Sandy researched like a professional, like an academic. She studied man after man. Determining wealth, social position, career status, vulnerabilities. The targets had to be married. And have children.
Most of all she researched sexual peccadillos.
With both a little girl and a little boy as bait, the sexual proclivities of her targets were of paramount importance.
Once they were out of diapers, Sandy encouraged nudity. Strongly encouraged. She was pleased that Jasmine had no reservations on the subject.