It was well after 10 o'clock when I woke up on Sunday morning. I stretched my arms out and my robe fell off my shoulders. I smiled; that son of mine had forgot to put my arms back in the sleeves. I shook my head. The things I let my son do to me last night and my first thought is, how he didn't remember to put my robe back on correctly. I took a deep breath. God yes, the things I let my son do to me. The images flashed through me. But where was the guilt, the self-loathing? I'd let my son use me like a one of those life-like dolls and I felt refreshed, rejuvenated. I sure didn't smell that way. I reeked. My Davey had toweled some of his and mine sweat off me, but I needed a good cleaning, a nice long, hot shower. I sat up and looked around the room. Why didn't I hate myself?
With no answer I climbed out of bed, grabbed my rope and dragged it to the master bath, threw the stained, smelly garment into the hamper, turned on the shower. I looked into the mirror. My hair was a tangled mess, my makeup smeared. I cupped my hands under my tits and raised them, wishing they would stay like that.
The steam from the shower rose behind me, I opened the glass door and stepped in. The hot spray running over me felt so good. I reached for shampoo and massaged it in my hair, rinsed and then reached for the body soap and lathered it on my face, neck, underarms, arms, tits and worked my way down. I ran my soap covered fingers over my bald pussy, letting my fingers slide between the slit.
"MMMMMMMMMMMMM", I sighed, not even tender. I reached for my dear, ever ready detachable shower head and rinsed the soap off me. I grazed the pulsating head over my pussy, this time not letting it rest to long. I put the shower head back in its' bases holster, I shrugged, "Not this morning lover, sorry."
I knew exactly where my Davey was. Every Sunday morning him and a group of his high school buddies play a game of pick-up football at the park. He usually gets back around 2 o'clock.
As I was looking into the mirror, drying myself off, I wondered what Davey would do if he found me waiting for him, dressed to the nines, letting him realize I knew exactly what he had done to me last night and that I had permitted it to happen? And without a bit of hesitation or reservations, I said out loud to myself in the mirror, "Well, hell, let's find out."
I wrapped a towel around my wet hair, grabbed Stewart's robe off the bathroom door hook and went into the bedroom sitting myself down at my vanity. I looked into the mirror, sitting in my husband's robe, I inhaled Stewart's musky scent. Then it hit me, my first pang of guilt and regret. Poor Stewart. I'd never cheated on him. Not that I hadn't fantasized about other men. His best friend, John, and then there was this one supervisor he had for a while I would have loved to have surrendered myself too, but that's another story.
I questioned my reflection, "Beth, maybe this isn't such a good idea? Maybe you should just let this all pass and fade away. A onetime mistake, an aberration. It would kill Stew." He really was my first real love. I'd been with a few other guys, but after, he's been the only one. We decided to get married when I got pregnant with Davey and never looked back.
I stood back up. Gave myself another quick glance. Hitched up the belt and headed downstairs for some coffee. The long robe dragging on the floor.
I stood against the counter, sipping the hot java. Staring into the empty kitchen waiting for my English Muffin to pop up from the toaster. The feel and scent of Stewart's robe a constant reminder of him. I made a vow to myself to leave my son alone, no more 'traps', no more 'tricks', just get back to normalcy, if possible. With the resolution in place, I finished the muffin and took a last sip of coffee. I headed back to the bedroom to get dressed and move on.
As I passed the couch, I thought, 'God, it's always going to be a reoccurring reminder that this is where it all started with my Davey.'
"Davey". His name brought back the thoughts of last night that came back to me in waves like the orgasms he had given me.
My mind churned, 'I hadn't even seen his cock. I had it in my hand, my mouth, my pussy and had to keep my damn eyes closed all the time! It just wasn't fair.'
By the time I got to my bedroom, the vow from the kitchen had vanished. I hung Stewart's robe on the back of the bathroom door again, no need to be reminded of him anymore. Davey is my only thought, my conquest, I want my turn. I unfurled the turban on my head, wrapped myself in another bath towel from the chest down, sat myself back down in front of the vanity and got to work.
Nothing subtle about the makeup today. I put it on as if I was going out to a party. A good base, mascara, rolled up the eye lashes, rogue for the cheeks, ruby red lipstick. I wanted Davey to notice. I painted my fingernails red, to match my lips. I even gave my toenails a nice coat, never know, I might give my little boy a foot job. I picked out a perfume I thought he'd enjoy and gave my neck, between my tits and a dash of it between my thighs. I blew dried my hair, making sure it had some body to it to frame my face. As I was finishing up, looking into the mirror, I gave myself the once over. "Jesus, Beth, I think you look GOOD!"
Now for the outfit. I knew just the one. Stewart had given it to me for Valentine's Day last year and it produced the desired results he wanted. I chuckled, 'I bet it's father like son.' The sheer laced black panties went on first. I slipped the panties up my legs over my ass. I could still see my pussy slit through the thin fabric. Then the matching bra. I hooked the back up in front, turned it around, slipped my arms through the straps, adjusted the lacy cups over my tits it gave them that needed lift. As I put on the nighty, it made me feel naughty and with only a thin strap in front, I made sure the bow was easy to untie. I kept double checking myself in the mirror. 'You wicked little bitch.' I thought. I took out a pair of never worn black, silky sheer stretch knit, clingy, thigh high, stockings, with wide lacy thigh bands and sheer toes. They felt cool as I slowly pulled them up over my feet, up my calves and halfway up my thighs, making sure they didn't run. I rubbed my legs together loving the sensation of the silk on silk between my legs. I ran my finger over my legs and shivered thinking of Davey's fingers moving over them, up and down my calves and thighs.
I pulled my thoughts back to reality and stood up; I walked over to the closet, stopped. 'Which shoes?' There they were. A three-inch heel, black pair of sandals. A thin strap just above the ankle and another just above the toes. PERFECT! I sat back down at the vanity and slipped them on. I stood, picked up the short sleeved matching lacy robe, pulled my arms through and let it hang over my shoulders, open in front.
I moved back to look at the finished product. I held my breath. 'GOD, I do look like a woman that wants to be fucked.'
I glanced at the time, SHIT! It was almost 2. I quickly closed the bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed and waited for the sounds of Davey coming home.
Now my thoughts raced; "How should I do this? Invite him to come into my bedroom through the closed door? Leave the door open so he sees me when he passes? Wait till he showers and then...?' I liked that idea. A clean young 18-year-old boy, compared to a sweaty, stinky one. Then the idea came into focus. I smiled at myself.
Thank God, I didn't have long to wait so I could think myself out of this.
"MOM!" The call came from downstairs. I held my breath. Another call, "Mom?", not as loud, seemed to come from the bottom of the stairs.
I heard him bound up the stairs. Then a softer, "Mom?" at my closed bedroom door.
"Hi honey, I'm dressing. Be out in a few minutes."
"Okay, I'm going to shower." Then silence.
My heart was pounding in my chest. I took an uneasy breath. Counted to ten and walked to the door. Listened through it for a few seconds, heard nothing, then cracked it open and listened again.
