Cum, Ye Motherfuckers, Cum

"Mom," he said hesitantly, obviously not wanting to offend me, "I don't wear boxer underwear like dad. I'm a jockey guy, you know that."

"They are not your father's underwear, kid!" I kidded my kid. "They are 'house-shorts' not underwear; you wear them instead of a robe. When it's warm like this evening, you put these on."

"I normally go nude, when I walk around the house." he replied.

"So? Are you going to go around naked when I'm here?" He blushed, I knew his weak spots. "Reserve your judgment until you try them. Go and put them on, they're silk, I think you'll like them. I got your favorite color, Sweetie." Cobalt blue, the only pair in the store that color, but such a wonderful soft silk, like a paper thin velvet. I was sure it would be a hit once he had them on.

I continued, "And I'll put on the new nightgown I bought too, then we will both have slipped into something more comfortable." Such a corny phrase, yet so appropriate on several levels for the things that I was going to be exploring. I went to the spare bedroom where my suitcase and shopping bags were and got out the nightie I had purchased special that morning. It was a pale blue, complimentary in hue to his shorts. But where his was a solid material, this was a delicate diaphanous silk, so translucent hardly anything was hidden when worn. At home, even with a much more modest gown, I wore a robe. But here my attire was to be different, with a naughty purpose in mind.

Make no mistake, the title of our story says seduction, but I was not the one being seduced. I put on a lacy flesh colored pair of panties of the finest slippery silk. They hid my bush, but teased by making its outline clear through the lace. No bra to cover my breasts, the aureoles were quite visible. I was a horny hussy; I had bought the outfit to entice. I am not a wanton woman that would roll onto her back with her arms open and legs spread, but this get-up was designed to have the same effect. But lest you get a misimpression; I was not there to seduce David against his will.

After all, he had never said anything, nor ever made a pass at me; not even responded reciprocally the couple of times I tried to French kiss him in the past year. I knew of his fantasies, yes, but I was not going to lead him into doing anything he was not willing to do, and enthusiastically too. I loved him and would never do anything deliberately to harm hurt him or embarrass him or cause emotional damage. But he did read those dirty books, and maybe he just needed a concrete clue that his mother would not hit the ceiling if he did make a pass at her. If these scanties didn't do it, then I had made a serious misjudgment of his desires. But I didn't think so.

David heard me coming down the stairs and was talking even before he saw me. "God, mom, these are really great! I love the feel! You were right! And the color is perfect. Where did you get them fro..uuhh . . ." he stopped in mid sentence as I rounded the corner into the living room. For a tiny moment I thought I had shocked him and gone too far in my 'undress' apparel. Then he let out a wolf-whistle and said, "Kooo-kooo-kahh-cheeww, Mrs. Robinsoonn!" The syllables were stretched to give emphasis on his compliment. "The Graduate" was fresh in everyone's memory, the middle-aged woman and younger man affair.

"Thank-you!", I said realizing I had blushed. I made commented on his shorts to cover my fluster. "Stand up and model those skivvies!" He rose and turned around slowly. I could clearly discern the shape of his cock and the silk draped over the tight firm full buns of the man who was also my son; my honey the hunk. Not a body builder physique, the beginning of a beer belly if he didn't watch it, but the athletic lines of his dad when we were in our early married life and back when hubby was still hungry for sex. "Quite handsome!", I returned his compliment.

I sat on the couch across from where David was. The wine and the long day suddenly caught up with me and I had a moment of being quite tired wash over me. I became aware that my legs ached. "Sweetie, would you mind rubbing my legs? I'm afraid your old mom got a bit worn out today hiking around the city."

"You're not old mom!" Then in the voice of Groucho Marx, "You're only as old as you feel and I'd be glad to feel you and make you feel young. . . . Sorry! Force of habit, I never could resist a double entendre given a straight line."

"You have a great sense of humor, Honey. You make me feel younger with your wry, ribald remarks." He came over and knelt in front of me. He was the image of his father at that age; indeed he had always been like a clone of his dad. I wondered if that was true even down to what hung between his legs, under the blue silk shorts. His strong hands began to rub my right foot. He knew just what to do; the massaging hands worked the tired toes and sore soles of both feet.

Then he moved to my left calve. For him to do the job right I needed to spread my legs. As I did so, I automatically pushed the gown down between my thighs to cover my crotch. 'Counter productive to being seductive' I thought to myself and made note that I would need to find a reason to rather raise the hem for him to have a hint of hair down there.

David switched legs and to make easier access I skooched down the seat of the couch so that my bottom rested at the edge of the cushion. This had the effect of pulling the nightie higher on my thighs exposing my limbs all the way to the lacy panties. 'Perfect!' I thought to myself, a good look to make things cook!

As my son's administrations went to the back of the knees, alternating the massage of his mom's gams, like a ship tacking on the breeze, I felt my slit begin to moisten with the sensual pleasure and sexual potential of having my son between my legs. Soon I was soaked and the flesh color panties took on a slightly darker tone as they dampened and became translucent to provide a ruddy valley of feminine nether-lands concealed but yet revealed. Not exposed but disclosed nonetheless, a view which David inspected at close range as he continued his voyage of discovery to stroke my thighs in a most exciting manner. His hands smoothed the flesh beneath them as he drew down and then kneaded on the forward stroke.

He had a technique that was practiced. My son's touch both relaxed the muscles and stimulated my womanhood. I knew he was doing that on purpose and his glance at my face studied my features for this effect. I smiled at him then closed my eyes and tilted my head to the back of the davenport as an approving "Mmmm" purred from my throat.

The double caress of his hands on each side of my upper legs switched left and right and with each set maneuvered higher and closer to the juice laden lace at the apex, the apogee of my limbs and the base of my body and the center of my base carnal appetites. But his fingers stop just short of the fabric and did not cross the line of impropriety. He ended this most relaxing and erotic ritual with a kiss on my cheek that opened my eyes and opened my heart even more to this attentive son of mine.

I spread open my arms and encircled him in a hug before he might withdraw, I would not let him retreat from his most chaste yet very arousing of advances. I drew his head to my chest, his cheek on my one breast, his face in mommy's tits. He was eye to eye with my right nipple and cushioned on the pillow of my pulchritude. David made himself home in my arms, between my thighs, nestled in my bosom.

I could feel his hard-on through the silk of his shorts, my gown had slid to my navel when he had moved up to hug me and now undies and briefs were all that separated our genitals. He could hear my heart on high volume as it pounded in his ear pressed to my body. I caressed the silky clean hair of his head as his one arm went around my waist and left hand cupped the ribs next to the pout of my right teat.

This position the two of us had engaged in reminded me of something that had happened very long ago but was fresh in my mind thinking about my son and sex. "Honey? Do you remember when you came downstairs on a few occasions back in when we lived on Ridgecrest Drive, and you found mommy and daddy doing it?"

"God! Mom, I'd never forget it!" David's deep voice reverberated in the depths of my lungs and in the delicate shells of my ears both. "I thought the first time that Dad was hurting you. I heard you crying "No, no, NOOO!" and I wanted to go and protect you from him. But when I got downstairs and you realized I was there, dad assured me everything was all okay."

He continued, "I remember that you had your gown up to your waist and dad's boxers were down around his ankles and he was squatting between your legs. You were on the old blue easy chair. I didn't understand what was happening, so I snuck down to spy. The next time and the one after that, I was so curious as to why you were making the noises I heard, I had to see what was going on and if you were having sex. But I was too open in looking and got sent to bed with dad being angry. I wasn't sure why, but it was more than because it was just past my bedtime, I knew that."

"Yes, your father had been almost about to cum and didn't appreciate being hampering when humping. Coitus interruptus was not on our agenda in those days."

"I did sneak down twice more and peaked at what you two were doing when you were making those cries. I was very curious to see what intercourse was all about. You didn't catch me those times. I saw dad's penis erect and going into your tummy where it was hairy. I wanted to assured myself that you were not being hurt, plus I had an idea of what was really happening and was lured by the prospect of seeing sex. When you both shuddered in a paroxysm I knew something exciting and important had happened and the hugs and kisses afterward meant that it was all okay and nothing bad."

"I got news for you kiddo - I saw you, even if daddy didn't and that is why from then on we made love only in the bedroom with the door closed or when you were away at camp or your grandparents. But I kept quiet because I knew you needed to know that I was not being abused, but that it was a loving act between your father and me. But after that second time I was afraid that your father would catch you again and spank you for spying. So I decided to raise the level of privacy to our bedroom on the second floor."

David responded, "After I learned the facts of life, and was wise to what was going down, you should pardon the expression . . ." We both chuckled, "I listened almost every night on the stairs, with my ear to the door and ready to bolt back to my bedroom if you came out to use the bathroom. You only caught me a couple of times doing that!"

"Darling," I sighed and shifted a little with my hips to get more comfortable, "after a couple of times realizing that you were not going to quit being curious, we decided to just let you listen. We had the same problem with your sister; at least she used the intercom. So we knew you were there, we just determined it was not going to put a damper on our sex life." Speaking of damp, his lump on my mound was keeping me moist. I shifted again, not for relief or easement, but to enjoy the erection rubbing my clit though the thin, twin layers of silk.

"Did you use the Vaseline then when you were ease dropping on your parents going at it?"

"No, I had my underwear on, in case you caught me, and I brushed it up and down on the edge of the step thinking that I was entering your pussy!"

God! All this reminiscing was getting me hyper-aroused. "I sometimes had your daddy do me next to the door when I was sure that you were there, so you could hear real well."

"Yeah! I remember those times. I could even hear the sucking sound of dad's dick going in and out of your vagina. And the slapping sound as his balls beat against you. And your little whimpers before your loud screams as you came. That was so totally hot mom!"

I was totally hot and turned on now. He could have taken me then if he had known so and was bold enough. I gasped and rocked my loins again; he reciprocated with a bump and hump of his own. Though we didn't continue to grind we were both aware of the arousal of the other and of each other's acceptance of the contact at so intimate and dangerous a level. "Yeah, he was giving it to me from behind, my favorite position, and I could hear your panting through the door too!" I was glowing incandescent down at my genitals.

"Do you want to suck mommy's breast like you did as a baby Sweetie?" I knew the answer and pulled down the nightie to expose my right boob. The nipple looked like a new pencil eraser, pink and pointed and proud on a ruddy half-dollar cap of raspberry colored pebbled flesh. David's lips nibbled their way to attach the vacuuming mouth and swirling tongue of his eager orifice. I had a sudden sense memory of the days when he was an infant, milking his mommy while his daddy went down on me and made me rocket.

My husband had been a developer of jet engines for his huge firm. A rocket scientist with the certificates to prove it. But in the love making department he sent me to the moon regularly. After having given birth to our first born, before we could resume normal intercourse, his mouth had acted in concert with the activity of nursing David. These double simulations were some of the most erotic and profound sexual experiences I had ever had and were not to be repeated with the birth of my second child, as she was bottle fed because of logistical considerations due to several factors. Those were the only times I was able to get off through cunnilingus, rather than begging to be fucked.

Now the recollection of that coinciding of nurturing and sexual titillation; the infant suckling at my tit and my husband sucking on my clit at the same time, which had sent me over the brink of ecstasy, cascading into a euphoria of multiple climaxes; that memory reached out and took over my brain as I relived the moment of supreme love and sexual elation. I was giving and being given to, a new bride having the wedded bliss of unbridled joyful sex with my spouse and a baby to cherish and adore at my breast.

My brain was a time machine that transported me mentally and physically to the climax of those moments. My body buck in lust as my phantom hubby make my gonads gloriously happy. As I peaked in remembrance I came in reality and returned to what was really happening. David was still nursing on my nipple and dry fucking me with his hard-on humping on my tummy. Sliding on the slippery fabrics that separated us from intercourse, as his cock tried in vain to poke the spot where the opening of my womanhood was.

My sweet baby, David, was now a grown man, with his penis rubbing up and down on my mons Venus instead of a step. His lips once more on my milk giving mammary, now dry save for his saliva. His cock cumming on mommy, excited to climaxing from our intimate talk and erotic activity. The evening had transported us both to a moment neither of us had planned and both had approvingly appropriated as a natural course of where our conversation and closeness was leading to.

Yes we came together, mother and son. We came together to be in his home alone together. We came together to share the gentle joy of the physical ministry of his massage. We came together closer in sharing about times we were unable to speak of before; until now. Adult to adult we could openly be honest and understand the complex dynamics of the sexual tensions that had existed between mother and son , Dell and David.

Confiding about the times by the bedroom door when David's father, my husband, had made love for both of the men to me; and I had given myself to both males as well simultaneously, one physically and the other symbolically. And yes, oh yes, we had cum together, back then and now too, now climaxing in a humping of hot arousal not to be denied and which must be shared as male and female as well as child and parent, son with mom, David on Dell. We had come together and cum together, as evident from each of our soaked silks saturated with sexual secretion.

I could still feel his after-throbs, quaking on my tummy so sweetly. Detect the hot damp spot that spread in his shorts and seeped through fabric to be felt on my own flesh, my skin alerted by his ejaculation of man-seed, son-cum, kid-creaming. The moment was given a coda of sighs when the ragged gasps and heavy heaving of our lungs was replaced with our murmurs of reassurance and love and respect. Then silence, as the momentous enormity of our mutual masturbation made us reflect in the afterglow on the meaning of our act of love.

Our intense peak of cuddle-coupling diminished into the most pleasant of quiets and spiritually satisfaction of a higher level of love, having been reached in a totally delightful and satisfying fashion, free of guilt, without guile and open to more exploration later without any recrimination now or ever. Without actually having sexually intercourse, David and I had become lovers as sure as if we had done the deed. But it was far beyond the corporeal connection, even if it had not been physically consummated. We were now more intimately bonded even than some married couples failed to achieve. What a blessing, what a curse! And I knew that tomorrow this blazing course would culminate in convivial consanguinity.

We arose and repaired to our separate bedrooms for the night. It might seem silly to have separated at that juncture, but at the time it seemed natural to not move to a mutual mattress and more likely more mating. So we slept, and well each, on our individual pallets, at peace with our peccadillo of incestuous passion, no regrets nor fears of reproaches in the morning light to disturb our slumber.

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In the morning we were dressed for breakfast, David in his work suit to go to the office, I in my clothes suitable for housework. But this day David returned my French kisses, brushed my tit and gently squeezed my buns as he did so. I fixed him a cheese omelet, folded to make a suggestive split with a single sausage link slyly laid in the groove and a glass of milk to drink as well. Eggs and meat with dairy; the male shape and female products were graphic and metaphorical in meaning. David laughed and enjoyed the dish, saying, "Mom, you know what I like! It's Dell-icious!"

I bent down and whispered in his ear as he left for the job, "Tonight, I am making your favorite dinner and also giving you something you have long wanted to eat too!" Then Frenched him again. His eyes told me that he clearly understood that the evening was be most memorable for both of us. His hand slid up my legs between my thighs and discovered I worn no panties. I turned instantly wet, but knew he needed to get going. "No dawdling - nor diddling! Best be off to work now, we can work on getting off later!" With a grin he gave me a big hug and a hot kiss and I felt his hard-on press against me, before he turned and exited out the kitchen door to his car.

The day was spent shopping for dinner and cooking, not much cleaning to be done but a little laundry, including the sin saturated undies of last night's session of indecent indiscretion. I rummaged in his tape collection for mood music, set up candles on the living room mantle. I began to cook the rump roast that was his most desired 'Dell-icacy' of mommy cooking for her sonny boy. Then I took a long bath and a short nap. By the hour he was due, the table was set and scene of seduction set-up, the meat and potatoes were hot and ready and so as moma! I'd let him pop the cork on the champagne, I'd pop his later!

When David arrived I loosened his tie and gave him a big kiss but no tongue. I patted his butt and told him to put on some jeans and a tee shirt. He put his hand up my frock and discovered the cotton panties I had on. I grabbed his arm and firmly disengaged my boy from man-handling me. "Later!" I said arching my brows and smiling to reassure him that the promise of the morning was not forgotten, "dinner is getting cold, pot-roast, your favorite!"