I sighed and tousled my son's long hair as he slept, curled against me. Our lovemaking had been typically intense; he had quite the fetish for me in my present state, grown so round with his child. I was due within the week, and we were doing all we could to make the most of our time together. It would be more than a month until I recovered, and even then we would have to fit sex in around work, feeding, and trying to catch sleep between our newborn's noisy awakenings.

He'd had me straddle him, mindful of my belly, and then suckled at me the way he had more than two decades ago. Then, he'd done it for sustenance; now, he did it for our shared pleasure. And to relieve the pressure in my breasts, grown almost painful with the amount of milk they held. My breasts have always been able to bring me pleasure, and he'd long ago learned to make me climax merely by toying with them, but as I'd progressed they had grown more and sensitive. Tonight, I was unsure as to whether he'd bought me to orgasm more times with my chest or my clit. He was amazing, the perfect lover.

Ah, but I'm getting ahead of myself. I should start at the beginning...

Our first time together was the result of a mistake. Fortuitous now that I looked back on it, but it had been unintended. As I'd grown older, I lost my girlish figure and developed curves I saw as unattractive. Last year, in a misguided bid to recapture my youth, I'd posted a few photos of myself in lingerie, along with some audio stories, on-line. I'd been feeling fat, frumpy, and generally unappealing, and it had the desired effect; I got mountains of feedback from admirers telling me I was a sexy woman, and that any man should be glad to have me. It always made me blush, and I could never quite see in myself what they did, but it felt nice to be wanted again, even if it was by men- and not a few women!- I'd never really meet.

One of the most effusive compliments came from a mysterious admirer. He told me I looked like an ancient fertility goddess, wide hips, shapely thighs, and a wonderful bust. If I let him- and I did, of course- he would rave on and on about how beautiful I was. Eventually, we agreed to meet on-line for an audio chat session, where we would play out our mutual fantasy; an incestuous liaison between a mother and her son, with her at risk of becoming pregnant. It was so gloriously taboo, and I had looked forward to it immensely.

When the time came, I was disappointed. Not by him, of course, but because of technical difficulties at his end; he could not get his microphone working, and could not use the one built into his laptop for fear of his mother- asleep down the hall- hearing what he was about. But we made do, and he typed whilst I spoke, masking my accent and husking my voice to conceal my natural tone. And, oh, he had a devious mind; he asked me what my son's name was, and I told him it was Michael; we had laughed at the coincidence, for it was his name, too! But his cheeky suggestions drew me out, and I came again and again for him. We pretended to fuck, and I begged him to pull out, not to come inside me, not to get me pregnant. God, what a turn-on! But all too soon it was over, and we said our good-byes, promised to contact each other again, and went our separate ways.

I was covered in a sheen of sweat- and my own juices. He'd had me submit to him, scrawl on my chest with the secretions of my dripping cunt. It was coming up to summer where I lived, and the nights were warm; I didn't fancy going to sleep in that state, so I padded out of my room and went to have a shower. And as I passed my son's room, saw a soft light under his door. That's odd, I thought. What's he still doing up? It's almost three o'clock in the morning, after all...

And as I stood there, I could hear soft sounds, sounds I recognised all too well. He was masturbating! I chewed my lip, still turned on from before, my mind swimming with the image of my son atop me.

Incest was just a fantasy for me, but I thought a quick peek to expand my knowledge couldn't hurt. My son's room had a faulty door, one that never locked properly. I was very careful to respect his privacy, and always intended to have it fixed, but I never quite got around to it. Perhaps, on a subconscious level, I had been waiting for an opportunity like this.

I silently opened the door, peeking through ... and was in for a rude shock! My son faced away from me, hunched over his computer table. And he was masturbating, all right, moving with furious speed, grunting and twitching. But what really surprised me was the succession of images he was watching in a slide show; all were pictures of me in varying states of undress. I swallowed. My son was jerking off whilst fantasising about me! Not that he knew it, of course, with my head carefully cropped out of each photo. And I could hear him whispering "It's OK, mommy, I promise to pull out before I come- honest."

It was then I realised who I had been having cyber sex with; he'd typed those words as he listened to me ogasming, after all. My son! My own son! Art imitating life, or life imitating art? Who knew? More to the point, who cared!

I had a sterling opportunity. I knew now that he found my body desirable, I knew that he was turned on by pretending to be with his mother, and here I had the chance to make our unwittingly shared fantasy a reality. If I dared, any way. I bit my lip. In the chat, he'd told me he particularly liked a certain set of blue lingerie; I'd pretended I was wearing it for him, even though I'd stayed in my comfortable summer robe. I slipped back into my room, dressed in that lingerie, and then rubbed at my crotch, working some of the fabric between my lips to display a camel toe, making sure they were stained with my juices. And then I went back to my son's room, sneaking up behind him. As I stared over his shoulder, curious to see how large he was, he caught a glimpse of me in his computer monitor. He gasped in shock, then spun on the revolving chair to face me.

And, my God, he was huge! A full ten inches at least, and so round I'd struggle to circle it between thumb and forefinger. I could only imagine- at least for now- how good that would feel, buried inside me.

"Mom!" he gasped. "What ... what are you doing in here?"

I smirked at him, leaned forward so he could see more of my cleavage. His eyes darted about, comparing the colouration of my skin and position of moles and blemishes on my chest to the images flashing behind me. As his haw swung open in shock, his lust-smoked blue eyes bulged with the realisation that he'd been chatting with, drooling over, and fantasising about his mother!

"Don't be coy, baby," I cooed, settling myself in his lap. His cock throbbed, bouncing this way and that, and although he tried to look away from me, he couldn't. His eyes kept drifting to the bosom he'd been praising only a few minutes ago. I felt so sexy right then, knowing that even my own son couldn't stop himself from staring at my chest. I breathed in deeply, jutting my breasts out towards him as I took that glorious shaft in my hand, working at it; he was slimy with pre-come, and my hand moved easily on him.

"You didn't know, did you, baby? But that's all right, Michael, neither did mommy! But now we do. Now we both know. So the question becomes ... where do we go from here, hmm? You bed, or mine?"

He gulped, scarcely able to believe his luck. Here I was, the woman of his forbidden dreams, offering myself to him freely. His cock surged in my hand. "I ... I..." he stuttered. "Are you sure, mom? I mean, God, I want you, I've wanted you for so long, but..."

He trailed off. I brushed his hair away from his forehead, kissed him there reassuringly. "Yes, baby. Mommy's sure. Did you know who I was tonight?" He shook his head. I was flattered; he'd never known who I was, not until right now. I lifted his chin up, drew his eyes into mine, and said "But you liked the way HowMayIPleaseU looked in her profile pictures, didn't you? And the way she sounded? Did it remind me of me, baby? Did it remind you of your real mommy?"

"Yes," he said, his voice thick with lust. "I thought ... I thought, since I'd never be ale to have you, to have this, that she would be the next-best thing." His eyes seemed to burn into my own, and I realised with a start that for him this was not purely physical. I knew in a flash that he didn't just want to fuck me, he wanted to make love to me, wanted to be my one and only. And we'd played that fantasy out not half an hour before.

"Oh, baby," I whispered, in awe of the need I'd kindled in him. "Michael, I never knew. If only you'd said ... if only I'd known..."

He kissed me deeply, our tongues twining. One hand slid up my back, to the clasp of my bra, whilst the other traced a path from my seeping crotch to my right breast, caressing it, squeezing it. He broke away, looked at me shyly. "But now we both know, mom. And now ... now we can act on it." I nodded, afraid to break the spell. "And in answer to your question before, I want you in here. On my bed. Oh, mom, you have no idea how many nights I've lain awake, jerking off, wishing you'd come in so I could be with you ... and now I can. It's amazing. A dream come true."