We Kiss on the Lips

'I think you'd better go to your room,' I blush and wipe our saliva from my lips. To make myself as clear as day, I turn off the camera and hide it away. Confused and lost, I can see his bewilderment and forgive him as much as I can.

'I'm sorry,' he says, leaping out of the bed and hurrying to pick up his briefs.

I gasp, breathless. 'It's my fault,' I say, not that it helps. 'Just forget about it.'

Like that was ever going to happen.

7

I pace up and down the kitchen anxiously, unable to do much other than smile and blush. What I don't tell Michael that following morning as he summons the courage to apologise is that I must have watched that video about five times over, after he left; one hand helplessly attacking my pussy. I was absolutely soaked, feverishly hot. Nobody has done that to me before, nowhere halfway near that extreme!

But it's not his responsibility. It wasn't his big idea. I was still horned up to the eyeballs there and then. God help me if he noticed, because I certainly saw the frustration in his eyes, on his face, and in almost every hint of body language.

'You didn't send it to her, did you?' he asked.

'Would I?' I begged. That was some cause for relief.

'What did you do with it?' he asked. I wasn't prepared to answer that.

'I... I deleted it,' I lied awfully. 'Don't tell me I shouldn't...'

'It's just that I...'

Oh god! Don't say it!

'You wanted to see it?' I asked. Michael nodded almost shamefully. 'Why?'

'Honestly, mum, and please don't think wrongly of me,' he said, struggling to look me in the eye. I felt my breath leave me. Dizzying gravity threatened to drag me straight to hell from where I stood. And every word that escaped those lips, speaking longingly of mine, I hopelessly fully understood. 'I don't know what came over me but you were amazing.'

'Okay, as inappropriate as it was,' I said, trying to be correct at the least, 'I wasn't the amazing one.'

Yes, I had no argument and zero conviction, or resistance remaining. Who was I to let him feel alone the guilt that we should share, anyway?

'Apology accepted,' I said quickly.

'What, but I didn't apologise,' he said confusedly.

'And I accept,' I said just as quickly, opening myself to him. I accepted my son into my arms and folded forth against him. And there we hugged tight in the silence, rocking side to side. And at the end we parted so that I could meet his eyes.

Then we kissed on the lips again, a formal motherly peck. Not one of love or something deeper...

I fought not to be left a sobbing wreck. I wanted him. I still wanted him.

8

So life goes on, and we start at a little distance, just to be safe. Michael becomes a lot more socially active over the space of a few weeks, and spends less time at home. It kills me a little. I'm afraid I've ruined what we have - which has always been a frank, open-minded life with no need for secrets or emotional distances - and so I bury myself in my job and my housework.

When he's not out, he's gaming, eyes glued to his television screen, although when we do talk or eat together it seems as if nothing has happened. I still get my motherly kisses in. I still have those. And...

And I still have that video. I downloaded it to my tablet and hid it away. I watch it at night when I'm in bed and it makes me so wet that I have to sleep on the other side of the bed, opposite where I masturbate.

I come to the conclusion during one of these lonely excursions into my sordid daydreams, of kissing Michael turning into sexual intercourse, that if I was to take the plunge - so to speak - that I would be like a hot little water fountain around his cock, just streaming away.

As I furiously rub at my clit and labia on those excursions, the room is just an echo chamber of *splish-splish-splish-splish* in rapid succession. And I wonder what he hears when he's tugging at his big stiff tool. I can't forget seeing it the night I kicked him out of my bed.

I regret turning my own son down for sex more than I regret the result of us being in that situation. What does that tell you? I'll tell you what it told me...

9

One Saturday afternoon I was sitting on the couch, relaxing after hoovering the house down. Michael is sweaty, arms bulging with tense, meaty muscle, after working out with his weight set in the back yard.

I have this big grin on my face when he comes in and asks if I'm okay. Without thinking, I'm looking at Anne's most recent photo with her son at the swimming baths. I show Michael and ask how adorable they look. It doesn't cross my mind at the time that it will remind him of what happened the last time Anne posted a family photo.

'No fighting this time either?' he asks with a sheepish grin. Oh yeah, it all comes back to me.

'Probably just as well,' I reflect with a flicker of warning in my returning grin. 'You know how competitive some mums can be,' I hint and immediately clear my throat. Michael blushes ever so slightly. Either that or the full extent doesn't show under his radiant natural tan.

He digressed; 'Did that weirdo ever stop bothering you?'

'Oh yeah I slept relatively well that night,' I said and then froze when I realised how it sounded. Michael broke eye contact almost immediately.

'Good,' he said, and then stuttered, 'I'm gonna... I'm gonna go shower, I think...'

I grabbed him before he could turn. My movements were quick and precise as I reached up to kiss him on the cheek, then crushed him with a brief hug, squashing my tits against him in the process as I looked up into his eyes. He gave an appreciative little smile then, and before I could let go, he reached down and we kissed on the lips.

'Love you,' he hummed before heading upstairs.

Now, one could take what they will from Michael's kiss and say that it was just a figment of my imagination telling me that there was still something there other than the innocent love he had for his mother. But like I said about the lies you can't tell with a kiss on the lips, there are as many different ones for different meanings as cats have different meows.

That little meow left me thinking wow, whatever it was, because it felt like the kind of smooch you give a girl when you want to remind her that you like her. It was the kind of smooch you put across when you don't want to pressure a girl, but you want to signal your availability, maybe?

Could I be wrong? Of course I could. Michael is young and might not know as much as his mother knows about kissing. His mother did a lot of making out when she was younger. It was almost like a religion to her.

Yes, I could be wrong, until you consider the fine, fine details of that night all those weeks ago, when my son and I were on the verge of doing something so very primal and lustful together.

The fire was stoked again. It's amazing what one kiss can do, isn't it? And so while Michael showered the salty sweat from his body, and did god knows what else, I stood there, redundant of all other thought and motivation, rushing back to that night and recalling every sensation we shared, great and small.

If that had to be my defence, I might as well go to hell, but hopefully it would be the one full to the brim with all the fun people, all the best bands, and non-stop bikini parties. As if I was in a dream, I floated up the stairs and into my bedroom and disappeared briefly from the world.

10

How do I detail the lust a mother feels for her son when she's willing to cross that taboo line? You know the line I'm talking about. You don't have to know it's going to happen, just to take steps towards making it a very real possibility!

My heart is heavy and yet strong, adrenalized and yet clear. Every erogenous zone in my body has a direct line, alight and buzzing with impulse. I'm like some growling racing car, high on horsepower and torque. My mind racing at an insane speed, I'm aroused by fear and uncertainty, seeking hot, hard friction beneath me. I'm an unstoppable bitch in blistering heat.

All of this is happening inside me and yet on the outside I appear calm and composed. I am only soft and warm human flesh, fighting to catch my breath at the mere thought of what could soon be. I am split right down the middle, all the way from my aching, tingling vagina, and right up to my mind's eye.

The only thing keeping me held together is the ache of wanting to be split, to have his sex part mine, to dig deep in the garden from which he was once upon a time harvested.

Between my breasts my heart aches with promises, but those promises I can only make to myself. I yearn for love, like a virginal young girl, but I must carefully love only the promise itself that my son would make love to me.

Mouth dry and thirsty, my body lustful and hungry, I don't even need that. Just lay with me, kiss me like you did that night, and juice my ripe old fruit into quivering jelly. God I have a terrible mind, a sick perverted mind.

I'm going into overdrive. Please, understand me, son, and take the hint for what it is!

11

I watch the video one last time, to make sure that what I'm doing is what I really want to do. I must make a clear distinction. Because there's what I want, what I want so much, and then there's the cold hard reality. Not the hot hard reality, not the long, stiff, and throbbing reality - the pre-orgasmic reality - but the one that comes when everything goes horribly wrong; the reality I'll never want or forgive myself for!

Those few words I failed to mention, "I love you too," are the only words in my message, and then hovering, anticipating, reluctantly hesitating, I go for broke and hit SEND...

The rest of the day I'm watching closely and I know he hasn't seen it. The hours are torturous, covertly dangerous, until night falls, where I sigh anxiously and finally retire to bed.

12

"You kept it!" comes the late response.

"I did!" I send right back. Waiting for his next response, I creep out of bed and exhale a nervous breath. I wriggle out of my top and drag my bottoms over my pear-shaped bum. The skimpy Brazilian white lace knickers stay on just for him.

Heavy breathing once again, I stay composed and calm. Back in bed, I cover myself, laptop back in my lap again. "Why?" is all he can say at this point. Good question, it appears I'm just as speechless.

Say it, woman, go all the way. You wanted this. You still want this. "Because I didn't want to stop," I type. And then; "Did you want us to stop?"

"No."

"Did you keep on wanting me afterwards?"

"Yes, did you?" he asks.

"Yes. I want you now."

"So do I; so much."

And there it is. We're hanging by a thread. What do I do now? Is there anything left to say? Do I invite him into my bed now? Do I go to him in his?

"Do you think we should talk about this before we do something we shouldn't?" I put it to him. He says okay. So I ask him to wait for me outside my bedroom door.

14

Of course, I'm naked but for my lacy knickers, as I open up my door to him. He too is the same, but for a stretchy, thin pair of shorts. We kiss on the lips, hands all over each other. I feel something in the palm of one of Michael's hands, something smooth yet it scratches my naked shoulder.

We kiss on the lips, our lips part and our tongues meet. Cool skin reacts to heated breaths, there are goosebumps and shivers between us. And we kiss deeper, bodies pressed together, a stiffening bulge against my tummy. The dam breaks, my heart explodes, my dream is coming true.

I take a hand and smooth it over the outline of his cock. So hard, so thick, so capable, my knees won't hold me up forever. I run my hand down underneath and cup my palm gently around his testicles. Eyes locked together expectantly, he takes a breast in one hand and shapes it like soft warm putty.

I peel down his shorts, first seeking two handfuls of his muscular butt, and then seeking last the big reveal, setting his gorgeous cock free. It bobs and flinches, winks at me, I wrap a hand around it. 'Let me taste you,' I whisper. With intense dark eyes, Michael nods.

Taking his shorts all the way down, I come to a kneeling position. Lord, what a view, as I look up at him, the tip inches before me. His cock kisses me on the lips, and I part to take him in. I fishhook him with the tip of my tongue before wrapping myself around him, then lovingly suck the salty sweetness from the swollen pink head.

With a little spit, his forehead eases, and I work it back with two hands circling. His sharp gasps for air, though mostly out than in, echo out into the house's darkness. A little while later and he's accustomed to my writhing tongue, though his knees tremble just like mine, as I make him perfectly slick and slippery.

I stand up and draw him in, taking him by the hand to my bed, and we kiss on the lips just standing there as I guide his hands to take down my knickers.

And then I'm sitting on the bed when I see what's in his hand. Erotic fascination grips me, one hand stealthily busy at my soaking pussy. I hear him tear the packet with his teeth, that sound tells me what's coming. And then he's rolling on the latex condom from tip right down to base.

'Do you like my pussy?' I ask him as I stare into his eyes, my thighs spread wide and my fingers easing apart my glistening labia. He nods, mesmerised. 'You came out of this pussy, just a baby. You're my son. I'm your mother. I need you to know what we're going to do.'

'We're going to feel so good together,' Michael says.

'You're going to fuck your mum and make her come,' I told him, and then, 'and when you're done...'

With expert fingers, I tore the latex condom clean off him and let it drop to the floor.

15

Rising, falling, rising, falling - I'm cradled in his arms. My arse is in his hands, my hands hold on to his broad shoulders. My legs interlocked with his strong arms he hoists me up and down and up and down. Breasts pressed softly to his muscular chest, eyes gazing, he fills my pussy to the brim.

And he's big, so big that he stretches me, but I'm so wet we slide so effortless. My son's stiff cock is deep inside me and I can't stop coming. We're plunging wetly, dripping, soaking, gasping and hissing at each other.

Fuck me, I love you, Michael. I want this with you forever!

'Your mother's pussy loves you,' I whisper in his ear. I feel the strain I'm putting him through. It's time to let him breathe. 'Why don't we take this into bed so I can knock you off your feet,' I say. And next I'm riding him to heaven.

We kiss on the lips like lovers, addicts for the drug named 'lust', fitted together so sweetly that you'd think my son was made for me, not just from me.

We take a break to break the sweats and laugh and talk, and kiss. Yes, we kiss on the lips. So often that night, we kiss on the lips. There's loving, spooning, and cuddle-fucking. There's shagging, slow-screwing, and hard, deep, fucking - and oh my word there's so much coming - but mostly we kiss on the lips, because you cannot fake that love.

He rests me in my easy chair, in which I usually go to read, parts my thighs and eats me out; then he bends back my knees. And knelt before me, talking dirty, he eases in so deep, and uses my hips to pull me onto him, and gallops home to glory.

'Come inside me, come in deep,' I moan softly as we slide together, and I milk him with my hips, and we kiss on the lips. Crying, straining, he squirts inside me, filling me with my son's own seed, we kiss on the lips, and then he rests his face between my tits.

16

We go to bed and sleep together long until the Sunday noon, then wake together, blush and smile, and we kiss on the lips. And he fucks me so good over and over again. God knows where he gets the energy from.

Michael and I have an amazing relationship. We've been making love for three years now. It doesn't get in the way of life. It just makes what we have so much better. As for fools who criticise, what do you have that I don't? Yes, one day I'll have to let him go, but that seems a long way off.

Literotica mothers and sons, I feel compelled to tell you. Kiss on the lips if you love each other, and see what it awakens!