Show Your Tits, Show Your Tits Ch. 02

I spent the next two nights in my husband's bed. On the third night I went to my son's room, we made love, I slipped back into my husband's bed undetected. I did it the next night, thinking I was safe, but that morning over coffee, Bruce said he'd woken up in the middle of the night and noticed I was gone. Had I gone to sleep with Jacob?

"Yes."

"Well dear, when you do that don't think you need to come back to our room. Just sleep through the night." Then, touching his belly, he added, "As I said, I've got no one to blame but myself."

That week I slipped into Jacob's bed twice, the next week four times. Bruce seemed not at all perturbed. Then one night Bruce, on the way to grab a beer during a commercial break of an NBA game, saw Jacob and I in the living room. I was sitting on the couch in a night gown, reading a book, leaning against my son, who was wearing gym shorts and looking at his computer. My son let out a huge yawn, we'd gotten up early that morning to run a 10-K. I complemented his yawn with one of my own.

Bruce said, "You guys tired? There's no reason to sit up with the old man. Why don't you hit the sack."

I looked at him, trying to find some guile, some hidden agenda, some suppressed anger in his face. I saw nothing.

"Look, you're likely to end up there anyway, why not start there?"

Jacob turned off his computer.

"That makes sense Dad."

Jacob held his hand out to me.

"Ready for bed?"

And over the next weeks, at night, I'd peck my husband on the head, tell him I loved him, and follow my son to his room.

* * * *

The day before Jacob's high school graduation - it was set for a Sunday night - my husband was scheduled to play in a golf tournament/fundraiser. In past years I'd volunteered at the event, but this year I begged off, claiming that Jacob and I had some last minute preparations for his graduation. It was not entirely a lie, we did have to pick out a tie, but we did that in less than half an hour, then hurried home to take advantage of the empty house.

I noticed Bruce had left food on the counter he was supposed to have taken to the tournament. In the past I would have brought it to him, but today I had other things on my mind. I was putting it back in the frig when my son's muscular arm circled my waist and his rigid cock pressed to my butt. I leaned back, kissed him, loving the smell and warmth of his body. He kissed the back of my neck, my shoulders, slid a hand to my butt, praised its hard athletic perfection. His tongue explored my ear while his hand remained on my ass, massaging and kneading the flesh. He knelt, reached under my dress, took hold of my panties, pulled them over the curve of my ass; they fell to the floor. I slipped one foot out, then the other. Jacob stood, unbuttoned my dress; it followed my panties to the floor. I undid my bra, tossed it on the counter. I was nude.

Jacob kissed me and knelt; he kissed each butt-cheek, told me he loved me, that I was beautiful and wonderful and sexy, that he loved my body, that my ass was magnificent, then reached between my legs to my pussy lips. They were wet and swollen, my clit throbbed, there was a tingle deep inside me. He bit an ass cheek; I moaned. He bit the other; I gasped, long and loud. His tongue went to my asshole, licking leisurely and lightly. The tip of his tongue wriggled inside me. I felt it in my cunt.

He worked my ass and I wondered, not for the first time, was I ready, was the time right? Jacob and I had discussed anal intercourse. I'd told him someday; that I had to get used to the idea. Now, as his tongue pushed inside me, I tensed, no one had ever been there. And then I thought, that was right; it could be part of me only my son would know; something I, unknowingly, had reserved for him my entire life.

It was also dirty and wrong, deviant, contrary to the values of our subdivision, of my husband's friends. And, at that thought, I was ready.

My son, tonguing my butthole, told me how good I tasted. I relaxed and he grew bolder, his hands held me open, his tongue swirled on my anus, then wiggled its way inside. I shuddered and squealed. Holding my butt cheeks open with his hands, he tongue fucked me. I reached back and further spread my ass cheeks.

It felt weird and wicked and depraved, my whimpering filled the room. He found nerve endings I didn't know I had; arousal radiated through me.

Excited, I reached for my clit, dragged a finger across it, and said, "Jacob darling, maybe its time you sodomized your mother."

He stood, said he'd be right back, dashed from the room. He needed to work a bit on his bedside manner. I reached behind, sank my index finger into my asshole, wriggled it, groaned in delight. Jacob returned, stopping to watch my wanton display. I turned my head, pulled my finger from my asshole, licked it.

Jacob held a tube of lubricant; he squeezed some on his finger. Wondering what good such a tiny amount could do on his oversized cock, I tensed up, my asshole tightened. I took several deep breaths, calmed myself, planted my arms on the counter, tilted my butt up, offering it to him. He rubbed his hand over it and a single finger, coated with oil, effortlessly slipped inside me. Rotating his finger, my son finger-fucked my ass, spreading the lubricant inside me. A sweet warmth filled my rump.

Another finger joined the first. I whispered, "That feels good."

"Would I hurt my sexy mother?"

No, he wouldn't. If there was one thing I was sure of, it was that my son loved me. He would do anything for me, as I would for him. Yes, I'd give him my asshole. Using the muscles I had spent so many hours in the gym perfecting, I clamped down on his fingers and pushed back, moaning in growing lust.

Jacob brought his other hand to my clit, rubbing it in a tight circle, catalyzing the sensations flowing through me. A third finger entered my asshole; the fingers on my clit grew more insistent. I imagined what we must look life, hard-bodied mother, naked and leaning over her kitchen counter, a sex-toy for her fully clothed son.

His fingers kept moving; nerve endings crackled; the discomfort all but forgotten. Feeling an orgasm approaching, I concentrated on my clit, on my asshole, squealed in delight. I was a sexual animal, drenched in libidinous pleasure, celebrating my body without reference to rules or mores. I was my son's wanton slut, open to anything he desired.

I squeezed my breasts, twisted the nipples, adding pain/pleasure to the cauldron between my legs, to the fingers pumping in and out of my asshole. Jacob twisted his fingers, rolled my clit against my body, a fire burned through my mind. Writhing moaning grinding, I came. Juice ran down my thighs. I fell forward. My nipples tightened, there was a throbbing deep within my sex; I was ready. Jacob kicked off his shorts and stood behind me. I reached around and placed the head of his rock-hard erection at the opening of my well-lubed ass.

He bucked the head inside me with a short thrust. I whimpered, told him it hurt, that I wanted more. He stroked his hands on my body, soothed me, assured me he'd stop if I asked. The pain began to subside. I nodded and another inch was pushed into me. I shuddered: pain came, diminished, drained away.

Accompanied by my groans, inch-by-inch, he filled my most intimate part. When I felt his balls on my ass, I turned, bit his lip, kissed him, pushed my tongue into his mouth. His strong hands kneaded my tits. He flexed his cock inside me; my cunt tingled.

I swallowed, whispered, "Be gentle," and pushed back against him. He slid his cock in and out of me, each thrust a little harder, a little deeper. My body was no longer mine, it was ours.

His knowing practiced hands ran over me. He sang my praises, told me how beautiful I was, how much he loved me. What had been deviant and unnatural became acceptable, normal. He took hold of my hips and shoulders, pulled me back into him.

The pain continued, but now it focused and intensified the joy. My son moved more rapidly; each stroke bottomed out deep in my ass. I moaned, jerked my ass on his cock, whimpered, "It feels so good."

I could hear cars drive by, hear my neighbors talk, their dogs bark. I was something none of them would ever understand, a licentious dirty son-fucking mother. And the dirtier I felt, the higher I flew.

I felt sorry for them, for their lives; they'd never know this kind of incestuous delight.

My son was grunting, his fuck-rhythm rapid and hard. I knew that sound, those motions, his climax was approaching. I flexed the muscles of my ass, clamped down on his cock, narrowing the chute, milking his dick, I begged him to shoot his seed into my ass; told him I was his whore, his slut, his cunt.

He took control of my movements, set my ass at the angle he wanted, pulled me into him. I howled, told him to fill my asshole, to use my body.

He thrust harder, moved up on his toes, drove his cock deep into my asshole, hollered, came, filled my rectum with hot cum in a series of divine spurts. Grabbing hold of the kitchen counter, he pressed against me, groaned one last time, slumped over me. We lay there, breathing hard, my tits flat on the granite counter top; he pulled out of me with a happy slurp. I turned, wrapped my arms around him, told him it had been wonderful, that I loved him. He thanked me, said I was beautiful, that I'd made all his dreams come true.

I reached behind myself, caught some of the cum dripping from my ass, licked it off my finger.

"From now on honey, if we're careful, the backdoor is open for business."

He grinned; I placed my hands on the side of his face, brought his lips to mine. His tongue entered my mouth; more drops of cum slithered out my ass.

When our kiss ended he dropped to his knees and licked my slit, asshole to clit. I leaned against the counter, stroked his hair. His tongue pushed inside my pussy, slurping down the cream bubbling between my legs. I placed a hand on the back of his head and ground my sex on his face. The smell of my arousal filled the kitchen. He flicked my clit with his talented tongue; I squealed, took hold of my breasts, rolled my nipples between my fingers, cried out, bucked against him. He pinned me to the counter and slipped a finger into my ass, wriggled it around. I came, howling my delight. He kept licking my cunt and I came and came again, finally pushing him away; my cunt had reached its limits, for the moment it was too sensitive to touch. He stood and I undressed him, dropped his clothes on the floor; we headed upstairs.

* * * *

Several hours later, naked, I came downstairs to fix lunch. My cell phone was on the counter. There were several texts from my husband asking me to bring the food he'd left behind, then one saying never mind, he had to run an errand that would take him by the house, he'd pick it up himself. I ripped the refrigerator door open; the food was gone. He'd come home! He must have figured out what was happening; our clothes were scattered on the floor; we'd left the bedroom door open; we'd howled like dogs in heat.

I calmed myself, picked up our clothes, forgot about lunch, headed upstairs. My son, naked, was sitting on his bed talking to his father. The conversation was low-key.

He hung up.

"Was that your Dad?'

"Yeah."

"How was he? Why did he call?"

"He seemed fine. He said he wanted to let me know what time he'd be getting home. You okay?"

I explained everything. We imagined the best, planned for the worst, decided, if confronted, we'd tell the truth. My husband deserved that and all I could hope was that his fundamental decency and aversion to scandal would allow us to devise a mutually acceptable solution.

He got home when he said he would and thanked us for letting him spend the day with his friends at the golf tournament.

* * * *

That night I slept with my husband. He was his usual self. The next morning, more of the same. Over coffee we discussed Jacob's graduation and Bruce, intermixed with memories of his own graduation, asked Jacob about his plans after the ceremony. Jacob said he was going to a party with his wrestling buddies. Frederick, the designated driver, had a van big enough for twelve. Bruce said he'd take Jacob to lunch and drop him off at the school gym for the rehearsal.

Jacob and I made eye contact. I nodded yes. Jacob said great.

As his Dad dressed Jacob pulled me aside.

"What's going on? Dad never wants to hang with me."

"Maybe he's getting sentimental. Maybe he wants to quiz you about yesterday. If he starts to make a scene, lie, say whatever works. I'll straighten it out."

His father came downstairs.

"Jennifer, tonight after the graduation, why don't I take you to Moe's."

Moe's was first class. What was going on?

"Sure honey."

They left.

I checked and re-checked my phone. Then there was a ping and a message from my son: "Everything is going to be alright. Dad wants to talk to you."

* * * *

We were at Moe's, Bruce uncomfortably stuffed into an old brown suit far too small for him. I'd gone out for a manicure and wore heels and a crimson pants suit that displayed some cleavage. If I was going down, I'd go in style.

The waiter brought us our drinks, we ordered dinner. Bruce made rumbling sounds in his throat. Whatever he had to say, he was going to say it now.

"Jen, I know I haven't been much of a husband to you."

His voice was meek, apologetic. He seemed almost ashamed.

Unexpectedly, I felt sympathy for him. I took his hand in mine, "Bruce, you're a good man."

"Thank you Jen, but I've known for a long time I'm not what you want, or deserve, in a husband. I make a nice living, but let's face it, I spend all my time hanging with the guys. I don't take you on dates, don't show you off, don't pay attention to you. I've let myself get out of shape. Y'know, sometimes I tried to do better."

At times over the past decade - albeit, ever less frequently - he'd proclaim that we should spend more time together. We'd go out on a couple of weekends, make love, and he'd hit the gym, lose a few pounds, but something would come up - the NCAAA tourney, the NFL fantasy draft - and he'd return to the guys and old patterns. The first few times we went through the process I'd taken him seriously, recently I had to feign belief.

"Last year, when you started going to the gym, I was resentful. You were succeeding where I'd failed. But then I saw a bright side. As you and your gym buddies, then as you and Jacob got closer, hung out with each other, well, I didn't feel guilty about spending so much time with the guys."

He paused. "I also liked it when we went to parties, you looked so good, the guys were jealous."

I was confused. "But honey, you seemed to lose all sexual interest in me."

"Yeah. The better you looked, the more embarrassed I became about how I looked. I didn't want to be naked in front of you. When you would show interest I'd back off, but what I really wanted was for you not to take no answer for an answer, to take control, show me that you found me desirable."

I had no idea. "I'm sorry dear, I didn't know."

"Don't feel bad, it was silly of me to expect that to read my mind."

What I was afraid was going to be an ugly confrontation was turning into a therapy session; I chided myself for being so unaware of my husband's feelings. How much better than he was I?

"Then one day you and Jacob came back from a bike race. You were laughing, touching each other. I had this weird thought; it's like they're in love. I could have done something, confronted it then, but I rationalized it, pretended I didn't think something was going on. I used it as another excuse to hang out with the guys."

The meals arrived. He picked up his fork; he was quiet, organizing his thoughts.

"Did you become lovers in New Orleans?"

"Yes. We promised to stop there, and we did for awhile, but the night of the wrestling championship, we started again, haven't stopped since I'm afraid."

"Don't be afraid."

"Excuse me."

"Don't be afraid. I'm not going to make a scandal out of this; it would blow up both our lives. If you want a divorce, I'll agree and keep it polite, but I don't see why we need one. I like my life the way it is; I don't want to be single."

This was unexpected.

"Did you say this to Jacob?"

"Pretty much."

"What did he say?"

"He didn't admit anything, but said he appreciated how well I was handling it. I'm sure he wants to talk to you before doing anything."

Bruce looked to the side, contemplating what might have been.

"I would have been happy pretending I didn't know, y'know. But after yesterday you two have been walking around on tender hooks. I should have left the food in the frig."

He looked at me, waiting for an answer, but I needed to talk to Jacob before making a decision. Bruce understood. "Why don't the three of us get together tomorrow and figure it out."

"That sounds right."

* * * *

We ate dinner, made small talk, ordered coffee and dessert. Bruce was fidgety. There was something on his mind, something he wanted to say, but he required encouragement. I took his hand in mine, squeezed.

"What is it?"

He looked at me, looked down, and said in that little boy voice I hadn't heard in months, "I asked Jacob if he minded if, well, if he didn't mind, if once in a while, well, you know, if you could play with my thing. With your hand, like the old days."

Donning my best poker face I said, "What did Jacob say?"

"He said it was your body, it was up to you." The same tone, with a hint of the helpless.

I studied my husband's face. Was he really, in the midst of acknowledging that his son had taken his place between my legs, coming on to me? His skin was flushed, his breathing slow and deep. I touched his wrist; his heart was thumping.

He was aroused.

I flipped his hand over, there was a thin sheen of sweat on it. I ran a manicured nail over his palm. He'd always liked that; he shuddered.

I thought about what he had said earlier, that when he'd refused my sexual overtures he'd wanted me to push, take control.

I decided to move forward. I sat up straight, pushed my shoulders back, emphasizing my trim powerful body and chest, and touched his face with a nail painted a sexy red.

"You're being a very good boy about this."

He replied in a faltering child-like voice. "Thank you. I always try to be a good boy."

"But you've also been a bad boy."

He drew a breath in sharply, looked at me - his eyes were dilated - then looked down, seemingly in shame.

"What do you mean?' he whispered.

"Now be honest, you know you can tell Mommy anything."

"Yes," he paused, then, "Mommy." Same little boy voice.

"You've been spying on Mommy, haven't you, listening when she and Jacob fuck?"

He shook his head, indicating yes.

I slid close to him, reached under the table. He was erect. I thought about the Kleenex in the waste basket and toilet bowl. Bruce was masturbating daily. He'd never shown this much interest in sex. Now, talking about my affair with our son, had him hard.

Was he aroused by being cuckolded by his son?

I worked his zipper down, forced my hand inside his pants.

"When you spy on Mommy, when you listen to Jacob fuck her, does it make your weenie stiff?"

He said nothing.

"Now now, tell Mommy the truth, does it give you a stiffie? Do you play with your pee-pee when Jacob fucks Mommy?"

A pause, then, "Sometimes."

"Do you imagine, in your mind, Jacob pushing his big fat cock into me over and over, filling Mommy with his dick?"

A drop of sweat formed on his lip. His face reddened. I twisted my hand on his penis.

"Do you imagine me coming on his cock, squirming and shouting and shaking."

"Sometimes Mommy."

"He fucks Mommy so good; he makes me squeal like a pig."