Ariadnes Dreams Ch 03

The mood was awkward between the couple for some time afterward. Neither said a word, and Ariadne only lightly stroked her son's back as they lay there, their skin marinated with cum and sweat. After about ten minutes or so, Barry gently began to move, turning himself to face her and gaze into her eyes. For the first time since they'd begun, she began to contemplate what she had done and whom she had done it with. Her thoughts, once tinted by lust, became clearer once again.

A short time later, Barry kissed her forehead, rolled out of bed, and quietly gathered his things on the way out. Ariadne just lay on her side and watched him go, all the while feeling the syrupy cum leaking out of her naked pussy. She didn't raise a word to stop his exit. Conflicting emotions raged in her heart and mind, and she wanted to be alone to try and get a grip on them.

The slut slowly faded, and Ariadne alone was left to face the consequences of her actions. She remained still for sometime in that silent dark, until exhaustion finally claimed her and pulled her back into sleep.

When her consciousness was put to rest, she returned to her vivid dreams.

"God, what did I just do . . .?" she gasped.

It's simple, sweetie. You got everything you wanted. Everything you needed, and MORE.

"My own son . . .? How could I . . . how could I let that happen?"

If it makes you feel better, just say that it wasn't you. It was me . . . The slut that lives deep inside you. You surrendered your body to me, but it was the slut that was in control.

"But it was still my body and I . . . God, I enjoyed that . . ."

Oh, I know.

The 'slut' responded cooly, licking her lips.

So did I. So what's the problem?

"Everything! I might have just ruined my son's life! God, what if this gets out!? I could lose my business, never be able to show my face anywhere again. Oh, Jesus . . . could I be

arrested

for something like this?"

Barry is a grown man. He knew what he wanted.

"But . . . he's still a teenager. What if he was just confused, and I took advantage of that . . .?"

You saw what he was doing outside of your door. He watched you with lust in his eyes. He saw you doing nasty things to yourself, and he got off on it. He wanted to be doing those things to you . . . and you gave him the opportunity. You've given him more than any loving mother ever has.

"God, that just sounds so wrong, but maybe . . . maybe. . . No. What I did wasn't right. There's no way I can get around it or justify it."

But it made you happy. You can't deny that.

Ariadne bit her lip. "No . . . I can't. But, what about Barry? What if this destroys him? What if it makes

him

unhappy?"

What's done is done. The only way to find out is to wait and see

.

Ariadne lay in her bed for some time before finally she started gathering her clothes from the floor and slipping back into them. She couldn't erase what had just occurred, but she could at least put it out of her mind while she got back to work. She still had a Thanksgiving to prepare for . . . although she didn't even know whether her family would still be left intact after today.

She kept at it until later that evening, after darkness had fallen outside. Finally, she heard a key enter the front door and the knob turn. Barry came inside with a grocery bag and a cautious look in his eye.

"I . . . uh . . . I got those eggs for you, Ma."

"Oh, um, t-thanks, Barry. Just, ah, put them on the counter."

As he came into the kitchen, each step was careful and considerate. His face remained flush as he placed the eggs on the counter and stepped back.

Neither of them made eye contact, and within a few seconds, neither of them could perform comfortably in front of the other. Ariadne tried to focus on her cooking, but her movements were very slow and very deliberate, as though she were doing this for the first time in her life. At the same time, Barry stood just on the other side of the counter, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck, eager to say something, but unsure what.

Soon, it became clear how awkward they felt around each other. They didn't look like two people who even knew each other . . . let alone a

family

.

This was

exactly

the sort of thing Ariadne had been afraid of. This was

exactly

what she didn't want to happen.

After more awkward silence, it was Barry who spoke first. "So, ah, M-Ma? Do you . . . um . . . do you want to talk about, um—"

She bit her lip and her eyes lowered. "No . . . Not now, Barry." Her voice lowered into a quiver. "Please."

He sucked between his teeth and nodded dejectedly. "A-Alright. Well, um . . . I'm gonna be in my room, so . . . let me know if you need me." Those words made them both cringe. "For the dinner, I mean. Let me know if I can help with the dinner."

He sauntered off quickly after that and closed his door behind him.

When he was out of sight, Ariadne's emotions finally flooded and she sunk to her knees, her eyes bursting with tears.

"Oh God . . . Oh God . . ." she hugged her arms against her chest as she sobbed. "I knew it. I-I've ruined everything. I've destroyed everything between us."

The next day was no better. Barry and Ariadne barely spoke to each other all through Thanksgiving day, only exchanging dialogue vital to maintaining a daily life. They avoided eye contact whenever possible, and they never came even within a full yard of one-another. It was positively torturous, and Ariadne felt a bit of heart die each and every second it continued. She wanted desperately, so desperately to talk about what had happened, but she couldn't. She just couldn't. There was this giant elephant just sitting in the house with them, and Ariadne couldn't bear to acknowledge it, not even to try to save any semblance of love between her child and her.

She had become a complete

failure

as a mother.

They went to bed in separate rooms, where Ariadne felt her body grow hot again. Though it made her feel dirty, she touched herself again and kept a faithful watch on the door. Part of her long to see it open, just a hair . . . to see a pair of eyes staring at her through the dark. The thought got her off—it drove her mad with lust.

It would let her know that he had forgiven her. That he didn't see what happened before as a mistake. That she wasn't the world's worst parent.

But it never came true. This time, the door never moved.

Things grew even worse the rest of the holiday weekend. She and Barry barely saw one-another, let alone spoke. He just stayed in his room the whole time, playing those damn games. She sat in the front room watching television or checking her laptop for client orders. She did whatever it took to try and get her mind off of the situation, but still it lingered in the back of her mind, just hanging there like a hangman's noose.

But their strained relationship wasn't Ariadne's only lingering concern. On Saturday, she took a trip to the drug store and bought a home pregnancy test; despite being a lustful wreck at the time, she distinctly remembered that her son had emptied his balls into her pussy, and despite being so much older, she was as much a fertile woman as he was a nubile young man. At the time it happened, she was overcome by her slut side that she thought of nothing except the needs of her body. But now that she was back to Earth, there were consequences to consider. There were things that needed doing.

She never told Barry where she was going, and only casually shouted that she would be back in a bit. Going into the drug store and buying the pregnancy test was one of the most awkward things she had done in her entire life—though she knew that it had to be a completely normal occurrence, and she'd of course done it before twenty years ago, the circumstances were

much

different this time. Or at least, for her they were. To everyone else in the store, she was just another thirty-something, over-the-hill brunette that seemed a tad socially inept.

How could they imagine that she may have been pregnant with her own

grandchild

?!

Returning home, Ariadne performed the test quietly and set it aside to wait the necessary five minutes. Since a watched pot never boiled, she looked around for something to do for the time needed. She decided to listen to one of her favorite songs, which ran for about four minutes and thirty-nine seconds. That should give the test plenty of time, she thought.

Except she barely even

heard

the music at all. Her eyes were constantly on the minute-second counter, and her eyes constantly darted back to the bathroom. Her foot tapped nervously, and she started chewing her fingernails for the first time since she was a little girl. It was even impossible to for her to find a comfortable angle to sit in—her heart was racing so fast that she couldn't help but feel restless.

Why were these five minutes taking so long!? Why did every tick of the clock seem to take longer each time!?!

Finally, the music stopped and Ariadne raced out of her seat and ran back to the bathroom. She picked up the indicator and held her breath.

Negative.

She sighed, and fell back on the wall, rubbing her forehead. So she wasn't pregnant after all. That was . . . a good thing, right?

And yet, why did part of her feel

disappointed

by the news?

It couldn't be that something inside of her

wanted

to have her own son's baby . . .?

No, it wasn't

her

that wanted it. Despite what had happened, despite what it might have cost her, the "slut" was still there. For the most part, things had slowed down just a tad after what she and Barry had done, but she could still feel that side of herself tingling at the back of neck. More than once, she caught herself cupping her own breasts while she sat alone. It was even worse when she thought of the night before Thanksgiving. About how her son had ravaged her pussy . . . staked his claim on what he desired. He had been such a predator. Such a magnificent beast. Such a

man.

Despite everything she knew was moral, she couldn't deny that she had enjoyed what had happened, and that, if the slut had her way . . . she would do it again.

Sunday came, and she didn't see Barry until it was almost time for his flight back to California, and the only time the two of them got within arms length was inside of her car. The drive to the airport was muted and uncomfortable—the longest damn drive she'd ever taken in her entire life. And when Barry stepped on the plane, it was without a single word. He only gave her a faint, forced smile before heading through the terminal.

As she'd been promised, once Barry was gone again, the wanton slut came out to play. Her time locked away had made her even more restless and impossible to satisfy. The fingers, the nudism, the toys, were simply not enough anymore. As much as Ariadne hated the thought, there was only one reason: the slut's standards had changed after just one sampling of Barry's cock. Dead plastic and metal, unable to truly give or receive, simply didn't do it for her now. Less than a week after Barry returned to California, Ariadne was back at the mall, headed back to the sex shop.

Hopefully, Rick would be there.

Yet, when she entered the shop, she found that he wasn't. Behind the counter was a girl about the same age with short, bleached blond hair and black roots. She was just as skinny as Rick was, and shared some of his taste in fads. Along with her wispy hair, she had black shadow around her eyes and piercing on her nose and lip. She was wearing a white t-shirt with the strap of a pink tank top visible underneath.

She spotted Ariadne as she approached and greeted her with a friendly smile.

"Hi! Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Um," Ariadne began, peeking behind the girl at the curtain which led to the employees-only area. "Is Rick here today?"

A sly grin passed through the girl's lips. "Ooooh, you must be Ariadne Garrett."

"Wow. H-How did you know that . . .?"

"Because my brother mentioned you a few months back. Your name was on the check you wrote. Your description kind of stands out from our other customers, and believe me . . . he remembered

you.

He's going to be pissed that he missed you today, especially when I tell him you

asked

for him."

"Oh, he's . . . he's out?" Ariadne asked disappointedly.

"Yeah. He's gonna be gone a while. Came down with measles a few days ago. He's probably at home watching Steve Wilkos or something right now."

"Oh. Well . . . I hope he feels better soon," Ariadne said with a warm smile. "Give him my regards."

"Oh I will," the young woman said with a knowing smile. "My name's Emily, by the way. I'm his big sister. Is there anything I can help you with, or were you looking specifically for my brother?"

Ariadne thought about it for a moment. While it was true that she had come here to speak with Rick . . . she hadn't quite made up her mind whether it was with illicit intent or if she just felt more comfortable making her purchases with him. In a manner of speaking, he was her "first", and he really made her feel more at ease about what she had been purchasing. The fact that he seemed enticed by her interests really helped her set aside the pangs of guilt.

But Emily seemed just as nice in that respect, and Ariadne really didn't want to go home empty-handed . . .

"Well, maybe you

can

help me," she said.

"Sure," Emily nodded.

"I'm, uh . . . I'm looking for something new. The stuff I bought last time worked great, but . . ."

"But it got old after a while, right?"

"Right," Ariadne agreed.

"Oh, trust me, honey, it's pretty normal. Although, I don't think I've seen anyone grow bored with our stuff as fast as you have. I mean, if I remember correctly, you bought quite a lot of products that day."

"Yes . . . I did," Ariadne admitted sheepishly.

Emily cupped her hand under her chin and thought. "Well, what are your interests? If you tell me a bit more about your fetishes, I can point you on the right track."

Ariadne paused at the question—she had never really even thought about her fetishes before. She had hardly even fantasized much about sex in all her life, and the only two people she'd ever done it with were Stewie . . . and Barry.

"I'm not sure," she dismayed. "Sorry, but I never really thought about it."

"Oh, that's okay, hon. Sounds like you're kind of 'vanilla'. A lot of people don't even give fetishes much thought until they've seen the options. So . . . I tell you what: I'll ask some questions and that'll help me learn what I need to know. Cool?"

"Yes," Ariadne agreed.

"Okay, first . . . do you get laid much? Or is most of this for single-player use?"

Ariadne found it harder to answer such a personal question than she initially thought. "Um, 'single-player' I guess."

"Well, that certainly narrows it down. Do you prefer penetration or stimulation?"

"P-Penetration." Ariadne shifted her collar uncomfortably.

"Do you like length or girth?"

"Length."

Emily stepped from behind the counter with a step-ladder. She stepped up and reached for a large box, at least 2-by-1-feet, at the top of a shelf. Once she stepped down, she handed the box to Ariadne. "Here you go," she said. "From what I gather, you'll probably like that. I don't remember seeing it on your purchase list from before."

It was true, Ariadne had never seen this particular item before, but it looked magnificent. Her pussy was already tingling with anticipation for it.

With an aside glance, Emily added: "Although, if you're willing to spend some real dough, there's some other things I could recommend for you . . ."

The mystique in Emily's tone captured Ariadne's curiosity. "What is it?"

"Just a sec," Emily said, pushing a switch on the wall behind her. Suddenly, the gate at the front of the store began to fall, sealing off the entrance, and leaving Ariadne and Emily the only two inside.

"Follow me," Emily directed, disappearing behind the employee curtain.

Ariadne followed her beyond the curtain and past a large office and break room. A minute later, the two headed downstairs, and Emily turned on a light switch to reveal what lurked underneath the store. A huge space, kind of a cross between a storeroom and a workshop, was set up downstairs, with some of the most incredible and intricate machines Ariadne had ever seen. She didn't even know what half of them were supposed to do. There was one that looked like it was built from parts of a motorcycle and an ironing board. Another seemed to be a modified treadmill attached to an oriental rickshaw. Her mind boggled with just what the hell people were meant to

do

with these things, but her imagination was going wild with possibilities.

"What do you think?" Emily asked.

"It's incredible!"

Emily beamed and backed away, her arms spread outward. "Some of these machines are commercial products, but are only sold on special requests. Others are things that customers have asked Rick and me to put together for them in our spare time. We don't do that too often, though. Too much time, and we don't have the staff or budget to run safety tests and shit like that. If a customer hurts themselves on our crap, it's bad for business."

Ariadne couldn't believe it. "You and your brother build sex machines in your

spare time?

"

"Well, I design 'em. Rick builds 'em. I'm an artist and Rick's in school to become an engineer. This started as kind of a little side project for us, and we enjoyed it, so we kept at it. Like I said, though, we've had less and less time for it over the years and all, what with me taking over the store and Rick starting school."

Ariadne could only shake her head in astonishment. "Amazing. Really, amazing."

Again, Emily beamed. "Thanks, babe. Now, what I wanted to show you was this way."

Ariadne followed her another corner of the room, where Emily direct her attention to a machine that was small, at least compared to some of the others, and shaped something like a saddle with a dildo pointing up from top. Ariadne stared it over a few times before finally turning to Emily.

"What is it?"

"It's a Sybian," she told her. "I mounted one onto this bench to make it easier for customers to sample it without having to get on the floor if they didn't wanna."

Ariadne's eyes widened. "T-try it out? You mean, I could . . .?"

"Oh sure, if you wanna. I'd have to stick around and supervise for safety concerns, but if you want to go at it, knock yourself out."

"What about your store . . .?"

"Oh please, girl. If I can sell you just

one

of the things down here, I can afford to leave the shop closed for an hour or two. Besides, I think after the money you dropped last time, you've earned the privileges of a 'preferred' customer."

Ariadne thought about it, and the idea only enticed her further. She'd never done anything like this outside of her home before, and certainly not with an audience. She'd had her little exhibitionist streak in the garden, but that was as far as it had gotten. The idea of letting a complete stranger watch her fuck herself on some machine made her very excited.

Your pussy is tingling just from the thought, isn't it?

A voice inside teased.

Do it.

"Okay," she said with a swallow. "I'll do it."

"Bitchin'," Emily cheered. "Give me a minute and I'll set it up. You go ahead and make yourself comfortable."

While Emily did her setup, Ariadne backed away and slipped out of her clothes. It didn't take long—she had stopped wearing a bra and panties ages ago, and her skirt and blouse slid away from her body with ease. She decided to leave her heels on . . . both because the basement floor was cold and because she felt sluttier with them on.