Our little family was just two people. I thought about holidays where we chose not to travel hectically back and forth between different relatives. It was just us. I remember cuddling one Christmas eve when he was in high school, after dinner. There was nothing sexual about it, but it was so loving and beautiful and safe. There was always a twinge of sadness on holidays since my husband left, but it made my love for David all the more total. He was everything. It was such a strange feeling to be here with my naked cunt out, masturbating over thoughts of David fucking me.
The comments to his post ran the full spectrum of possible feedback, and I read all of it. Some people questioned my son’s reading of the situation. Some said that he should just go for it, and one comment suggested to try to set up a mother- son orgy with our friends. He upvoted that one. Most of the feedback was encouraging.
A couple that interested me were supposedly from mothers who claimed to be in a relationship with their sons. Both put forward that he needed to consider how wrong it is considered by most and by society and how difficult it is psychologically for a mother to make the choice to fuck her own son. The first one said to be patient and keep being affectionate and to let me open up to him in my own time. The second one said the opposite. She put forward the idea that as bad as I may want it, I would be hesitant to make that choice and that he needed to be decisive when the time was right. She wrote how grateful she was that her son came on to her, basically forced himself on her and took choice out of the equation. He came into her room one morning in just a towel while she was masturbating. He ignored her protests and started eating her out. When he stood up, the towel had fallen away and she watched her son slip his dick into her. After months of struggling with her feelings, it satisfied a deep need to let go of all the responsibility and just to be in it, experiencing it and loving every second of it. ‘It’ in this context meaning incest. Meaning actually fucking her own son.
Fucking incest. Who am I? I asked myself as I flailed my fingers helplessly over my slippery clit.
One comment that he upvoted suggested to leave clues his mom could find that made it clear he wanted sex, such as taking my panties to masturbate with and leaving incest porn up on the computer.
Damn. That’s exactly what happened. The only card I held was that he didn’t know for sure that I saw it. But he might, depending on how he had arranged things in his room and if I left things close enough to how they were.
Why does that even matter at this point? I asked myself. We are going to fuck. I knew that. My cunt was on fire. I wanted that. I didn’t feel I even had a choice. David and I were attractive people. A beautiful woman and a hot young man. Both in our sexual prime. We were living together and shared an intimate closeness. I rolled on my back and pointed my toes in the air as I continued playing with myself. I closed my eyes tightly and imagined his body over mine. It would be the most natural thing in the world for us to get naked, touch, display our bodies and our aroused genitalia to each other, and make a connection. The only choice I had to consider was how to fuck my son “responsibly” while maintaining some level of dignity and control.