The sound of her bedroom door opening awakened her.

She had no idea of how long she'd slept, and she struggled to fully wake up. She hadn't drawn the bedroom curtains completely, and in the faint light of the street lamps she saw her son Mark standing in the doorway, wearing pyjama bottoms — all he ever wore in bed.

'What is it, dear? Bad dreams again? Come into bed, then — Mum will help chase them away!'

She threw back the bedclothes to let him climb in with her, and then pulled them up around his shoulders as he cuddled against her.

She stroked his hair. 'You haven't had nightmares for a long time now, ' she said. 'I thought you'd grown out of them.'

The young man didn't answer, but put his arm round her waist and hugged her tightly.

She became aware of her son's bare chest pressing against her breasts, and his legs tangled with hers, and she felt an unbidden tingle of responsiveness. Recently, she'd noticed him looking at her strangely, and staring at her legs and body.

At first it had amused her, and almost unconsciously she'd started to tease him, finding reasons to bend over in front of him, allowing him to see her cleavage, and crossing her legs slowly, so that he got a good look at her thighs.

Then, about a week ago, she'd had a bath, and on impulse she'd put on what she called her 'fuck me' underwear. She liked wearing it when she felt sluttish — she'd bought it for the benefit of a lover she'd had a couple of years earlier. It consisted of a half bra and skimpy panties, made of black gauzy material that revealed her nipples and pubic hair, and her breasts swelled out of the bra cups, while the panties covered less than half the cheeks of her bottom, and diminished to a narrow strip between her legs — she'd loved to see him looking at her before he took it off and fucked her...

She'd studied herself in the full-length mirror in her bedroom, deciding that her body was still pretty good: slim waisted, full breasts, nice legs ... she'd smoothed her hands over her body, turning and looking over her shoulder at her bottom, and smoothed that too...

Mark was in the kitchen doing his homework, and she'd giggled as an idea had occurred to her, and she ran down stairs and into the kitchen.

'I can't find that red sweater of mine — I've looked everywhere! Have you seen it, darling?'

She started to search the kitchen, opening cupboards and drawers, parading her near-naked body in front of him, letting her son see her body from every angle. At last she'd looked in the laundry basket and 'found' the sweater in it, as she'd known all along she would.

'Damn! I thought I'd washed it, ' she said, holding it up. 'Oh, well, I'll have to find something else to wear.

She felt a guilty thrill of excitement surge through her as her son's eyes bored into her body, and she'd asked him how his homework was going.

He'd mumbled something and torn his eyes away, and she'd gone back to her room, half ashamed of what she'd done, but strangely aroused at the same time...

Now, her son moved even closer, and she felt his penis poking against her tummy, and she suddenly realised what was happening.

She hesitated, and then slipped her hand between their bodies, and her fingers closed round her son's stiff cock.

'It's not about bad dreams — it's this, isn't it, darling?' she said softly, and gently squeezed him.

He didn't answer, but pressed himself against her, his breath coming faster. She squeezed his cock again — it was larger than she'd expected, and felt beautifully gristly in her hand, and then — it happened.

His body jerked, and he ejaculated explosively in her hand. It was her turn to hold him close, as his semen spurted over her arm and both their bodies, and she gently rubbed his cock, fondling him until the torrent subsided.

'Mum — I'm sorry — I didn't mean to — I — I couldn't help it!' he cried.

'I know, dear — it's all right — I'm not cross — it's my fault — I shouldn't have touched you, ' she soothed. 'I know I've been teasing you — it was wrong, and I'm sorry.'

'No, Mum! It was wonderful! All of it!' he said, clinging to her.

She gently disengaged herself. 'Anyway, let's get these things off — my nightie's soaked, and so are your pyjamas.'

She struggled out of her nightdress, and her son peeled off his pyjama trousers. She used them to wipe her arm and hand — she hesitated a moment, and then wiped her son's cock and belly, and then tossed them and her nightie onto the floor beside the bed.

She covered them both with the bedclothes again, and hugged her son against her.

He started to say he was sorry again, but she hushed him.

'I told you, dear, it's all right — we'll talk about it in the morning. Now, go to sleep, darling.'

She lay there, staring at the wall. Christ, we're naked, she thought, and I've held his cock, and it's jammed against my tummy ... I know it's wrong, but it feels good. I haven't been fucked for what, six, seven months, and his body is exciting...

After what seemed like ages, he stirred, squirming against her, and she stroked his naked back.