If readers want to understand the female character in this story better, it is suggest that they first read 'From An Incest Victim' by this author, though it is not necessary to read it to enjoy this.
When I was 14 years old, I started dating a boy, who was sexually aware. Donnie kept pressuring me to have sex. Within a few months, I had partially given in and started giving him hand jobs. By the time that I turned 15, this escalated to blowjobs. He kept after me, trying to get me to 'go all the way', and I continuously refused. I must say that I became quite expert at orally pleasing him. Finally, I conceded. On our first and only 'all the way' encounter, Donnie had taken my virginity and was still 'making love' to me when my father walked in on us.
Donnie was allowed to leave with his body intact, but I was not that lucky. My father raped me on the spot. At first, I hid the truth from my mother, because dad had pleaded with me and promised that he would never touch me again. It was the alcohol that made him do it, he insisted. He even swore to me that he wouldn't drink anymore. However, within two weeks, I had missed my period, and from then on, it was all downhill for him.
On mama's insistence and my testimony, my father was sent to prison.
During the interim fourteen years, my life has been a personal Hell. I have not been able to have a lasting relationship with any of the men in my life because the memory of the incestuous incident is so deep-seated in my psyche. Even my short-lived relationships have been without sex because of my fears of older men (father figures). Needless to say, my inner sexual feelings were often in turmoil.
Yet, as I get older (I am 29 years old now) I often think of my father and I sometimes wonder whether he was truly at fault or was it 'in him'? Could it have been in his genes? Was it possible that he could not have avoided it? These thoughts are now especially relevant.
It was about a month ago that I found my 14-year-old son on top of his little girlfriend in our living room, pawing and trying to put his hands inside of her clothes. I interrupted the scene and soothed the young girl's nerves before taking her home. Naturally, she 'broke off' with him immediately thereafter.
I felt that the time had come to talk to my son about sex. He already seemed quite knowledgeable, but I wanted to make sure that he was fully aware of all of the dangers and perils. I told him everything that was necessary, yet he had a real curiosity and wanted to know things about his father, about me, etc. I answered as best I could, but finally I slipped and the truth came out.
I expected him to react in horror, but instead I found him positively enthralled and he kept asking more and more questions. The Genie was out of the bottle. I realized that I was telling my son much more than he needed to know, yet I felt a strange inner excitement in sharing the details with him. To my surprise, I noticed that my story had gotten Donnie aroused. I could see the tent pressing in his jeans.
That first night, after relating my experience to my son I went to bed, finding myself strangely aroused. Unable to sleep, I began to masturbate, remembering my father fucking me. Remarkably, I only had pleasant memories. As I worked myself to a sexual frenzy, my mind switched from my father and for the first time in my life, I thought of my son's cock.
After finishing myself off, I lay in horror at what I had just envisioned. It was bad enough that I had dreamt about my son Donnie for the past couple of years, but to now actually masturbate and fantasize about him was shocking. Was this what had happened to dad? Did my father have these same feelings about my sister and me? Obviously, from everything that I had gone through, I realized that my thinking was perverted. Yet, I could neither hate nor stop myself. During the next couple of nights, I found myself glancing at Donnie's crotch when he was not looking and, when I was in my bed afterward, I thought of it.
On Friday night, he again queried me about my rape. God forgive me, but this time, I purposely began going into the details, while fully intending to arouse him. I told myself that I just wanted to see if Donnie would get hard at my words. Instead of just telling him that my father had just put his 'thing' in me and forced himself, now I told him graphically how I spread my legs, wrapped them around him, and pushed back with my body.
Within seconds, Donnie's pants were sticking out. I am sure that he was also wet. Shortly thereafter, we said goodnight to each other. Donnie gave me my nightly peck on the lips but I could feel him linger there longer than on other nights and I felt an uncomfortable strangeness within me. We both went to our bedrooms.
As I undressed, I tried to understand what I did and why. Was I truly trying to arouse my own son? Obviously, I was, but for what purpose, I wondered. Was it for my own amusement at seeing him get hard? Then I faced the more obvious question. Was I trying to get Donnie aroused so that he might want to do more? I denied to myself that was the reason, yet deep down inside of me I knew that that was probably my real motive.
What if I had succeeded? After all, I thought, he did linger a moment while kissing me goodnight. Had he been thinking of trying to kiss me ... really kiss me? I felt those familiar stirrings within my loins and the answer became obvious. I was enjoying making my son hard and it was exciting me that I was doing so.
Quickly I jumped into bed, completely naked, with the full intention of bringing my body to eruption. I slipped beneath the blankets and just as my fingers began to touch my pussy, Donnie knocked on the door. I quickly pulled my hand from between my legs.
He stuck his head in the door. "Ma?" he called softly.
Like a little girl caught with her hand in the cookie jar, my heart began beating hard against my chest. I had no idea what to expect or any inkling as to how I might react.
"Yeah, sweetie, what'sup?"
As he walked into the room I saw that he only had his jockey shorts on, which was his usual attire.
"Can I, can we talk a minute?"
"Yeah hon. Sit here." I moved a hand from under the blanket and patted the side of the bed. He sat down and remained silent while looking at me, apprehensively.
"Well?" I prodded.
I saw his Adam's Apple swallow nervously and after a thirty-second wait, he plunged into the conversation, "I, well, your story, you know, what you told me about you and your ... dad ... you, well, I er..."
He was obviously uncomfortable, so I tried helping. "Yeah sweetie, what about it? What d'ya wanna know?"
Again a slight hesitation. "Well you know I'm just ... You said he ... Well I'm trying to know how come - I mean, I think you enjoyed it, didn't you?"
I smiled at my son's discomfit, and by now my own incestuous genes were taking over. I guessed that Donnie's were stirring also.
"You mean when my dad was inside me? Pushing in and out?" As I asked these questions, I could see his jockeys rise from his expanding prick.
He nodded almost as if he was afraid that his voice would betray him if he spoke. I realized at that point that I had truly wanted to have sex with Donnie, my own 14-year-old son. I had often seen his prick, and as he got older I took notice of its increasing in size. I also, god forgive me, but I had actually seen this piece of flesh as a thing of beauty. A thing of beauty that, I must admit, excited me.
I purposely looked at Donnie's crotch so that he could see me looking there, and I whispered, "Does that make you hard? Thinking of my dad in me?"
With downcast eyes he simply murmured, "Uh huh ... yeah, I er guess so..."
"When I tell you the story, do you think of the cock moving in and out of me?"
He nodded furiously. I turned on my side to face him. Laying on one elbow, I gently moved my free hand over his body and placed it on his lump, as I whispered, "Whose cock do you think of in me, baby? Your daddy's?"
He did not respond. He seemed frozen to the spot. Slowly, I closed my hand softly on his cock and whispered, "This cock? Is this the cock you think of in me sweetheart?"
As I squeezed on the hardness in his pants, he groaned, "Nnnnggg, yeah, yeah, mom, yeah I doooooooo..."
"Take off your shorts baby. Is that what you want?" He nodded and stood, and I urged, "Hurry, baby. Come up here..."
I was out of control. All these years without sex and now I had the cock of my desire. The cock I had watched since he was a baby. The same cock that I began dreaming about from the time that the boy was 10 years old. I had dreamed the thoughts, but now I did not want to dismiss them anymore. I wanted this cock as surely as my father wanted me. The only difference was that I was not forcing this on my son. He actually desired me just as my dad ... his dad ... desired me.
As soon as he kicked his jockeys off his ankles, he stood there looking at me, awaiting instructions. My eyes traveled to his cock and I was fascinated by it. The flesh was so pure and full. Not as big and scary as our father's was, but bigger than the original Donnie, who was three years older than my son was when he took my virginity. With the original Donnie, I became an expert at giving 'head' and I actually enjoyed doing it. The thought of sucking my own son's cock had my pussy juices simmering.
"C'mon baby, lay here..." I moved inside further and patted the bed.
My son moved, nervously climbing up on the bed. I lifted the blanket for him to slip underneath.
.... There is more of this story ...