Gail And John A Mother And Her Son

Dear readers,

What follows was written completely by myself. However, it is a recreation of events lovingly described by my very good email friend Gail M. She is currently involved in an incestuous relationship with her son John and has been for a number of years. I have reconstructed the scenario that led to the first time they made love. This scenario came from a series of discussions we have had regarding incest and a variety of other topics of a sexual nature. Certainly, I have taken some poetic license for "artistic" reasons. I will mention that the physical descriptions of Gail and John are rather accurate. These are quite attractive people! The events described are essentially true as related by Gail.

Gail knows that I don't approve of her relationship with John. But she also knows, and I hope my readers will appreciate, that she and her son have my respect and my love. She is a very special, very lovely lady.

My work has previously been published under a different nom de plume. I've found it necessary to change this name for important reasons. Suffice it to say that I retain all rights to my work. It may be republished on any FREE site as long as proper attribution is made.

Enjoy!

Love,

Sweet Peril

*

It hasn't bothered me for some time now. It used to. Perhaps many or even most of you will think that it SHOULD. But the fact is, at this stage in my life, my relationship with my son John is to us, the most natural, the most beautiful, the most pure coupling imaginable. We are both secure in the strength of our love both filial and physical.

We first consummated our love when he was eighteen. Perhaps at that tender age, there was an unfairness in the division of authority between us. What boy of so tender an age could truly resist the charms of an attractive woman even those of his mother? What boy could exercise true free-will when confronted with the beauty of his mother in her unfettered desire of his essence? Technically, he was of legal age but emotionally, were his decisions really his own?

This no longer concerns me. Years later, my son's life is now truly his own. A breathtakingly handsome man, he's taken the opportunity to sample other women, exquisite women.

But always, he has returned to me. Always, he has returned to his mother. How did our relationship turn from a normal, loving, nurturing relationship between mother and son to the animalistic, passionate romance that we now enjoy? When did that first spark of sensuality burn between us? It is difficult to say but what follows will be an attempt to portray to you the reader a sense of the love, the heat, the depth of our bond. When my son is inside me, nothing else matters in this world.

I shall try to express why.

When John was seventeen, he moved in with me. He had been living with his father, my ex-husband, for some time but tensions were building between them. He was particularly offended by his father's treatment of me after our divorce. I think he just grew weary of constantly defending me from the endless tirades my ex directed towards me. Eventually, he left his father to move in with me.

I had mixed feelings about this. I love my son dearly but I had grown to appreciate my privacy. I had no concerns about modesty. I could wear whatever I wanted around the house ... or go naked. It was my choice. Also, since my divorce, I had begun to enjoy the company of men. I dated. I had men over. And sometimes, they shared my bed.

But now, I had a young adolescent living with me. Things had to change. Out of respect for my son, I voluntarily elected to compromise my freedom ... I felt I needed to shield my son from the realities of my sex life so the men were gone, banished. This was quite difficult. I am by nature an extremely sexual woman. Also, I promised myself that from now on, I would dress more "conservatively" around the apartment when he was at home.

At first, all of this was not a problem. I simply subjugated my libido by throwing myself into my work and into the nonstop effort of taking care of my boy. Actually, we turned out to be quite good roommates. Unfortunately, old habits are difficult to break. Occasionally, I would forget the impact that my physical appearance could have on an impressionable, rapidly maturing young man.

You see, without wishing to brag, I must tell you that I am quite a beautiful woman. At the time, I was 37 but few would guess that. I'm a redhead with piercing eyes. My skin is like alabaster since, because of my delicate complexion, I have never been a sun-worshipper. This fact has served me well and has contributed to my overall youthful appearance. I'm tall, slim but not skinny. My body is definitely feminine. I have full, rich curves in what I take to be the right places judging by the admiring stares I often elicit from men. Very often after a gym work-out, I like to examine my shape in the women's locker room. My ritual is fairly structured. I'll strip my leotards off my sweaty body and, completely nude, will walk to a large wall mirror. I check myself out, turning this way and that oblivious to the averted glances of the other women to my rather impromptu "demonstrations". Every once in a while, a woman will catch me alone and tell me what lovely breasts I have or what a great ass I've got! At any rate, sometimes the power of my appearance on the sexual drive of a maturing boy is lost on me. Occasionally, I'll forget and wear something a little too risque around the house. Nothing OBSCENE, but nonetheless inappropriate: little French panties and perhaps a tee-shirt without the formality of a brassiere. Maybe I'll forget and amble out of my bedroom in one of the skimpy negligees I'm fond of sleeping in. John has caught me dressed in such a manner and I could clearly sense the effect I'd had on him. Sometimes he'd be embarrassed, sometimes anxious.

He was never casual about it though. One time, I was taking a shower and I'd run out of soap. My shower was so hot and steaming and wonderful and the apartment was so cold, I figured I'd spare myself the shock of going into the hallway for more soap.

So I called out to John to have him bring me some. After perhaps a minute, I heard the bathroom door open. I figured that John would simply leave the soap on the counter. I was quite surprised when instead, he actually drew the shower curtain open and handed it to me. There I was; steaming water cascading over my utterly nude body, my son gazing at me as he gave me the soap. He stood there for no longer than a second. However, I'll never forget the look on his face in that instant. He was speechless, stunned, his eyes wide open. He glanced at my large breasts, the nipples erect in the moist heat. His gaze then drifted to my lush cunt. Lastly, he looked up at my face. It was obvious that he was embarrassed even mortified at his transgression. He quickly closed the curtain and stepped out of the bathroom leaving me to ponder over what had just happened.

That night, and many nights since, I pictured in my mind's eye, the image of my son as he gazed at my wet, naked body in the shower. It very quickly became clear that his expression was more than just normal adolescent male curiosity. It was the undeniable expression of lust that I'd seen from men a thousand times in my life. What was perhaps most surprising was not this realization but my reaction to it.

I found myself pleasantly excited. The thought that I actually turned on my own son became strangely thrilling to me.

Weeks went by since that incident. Then, another event occurred that also rather surprised me. One day, I was particularly exhausted after a very long day at work. I went into my bedroom and got undressed. I slipped into my favorite negligee: a short, very sheer babydoll nightie (a big favorite of my ex-husband). Thinking my son would be out for several hours with his friends, I went into the living room to watch television. Exhausted, I fell asleep on the sofa.

I don't know exactly what it was that caused me to awaken. My eyes slowly drifted open and there was John, standing silently over me. He'd apparently been watching me as I slept. As my consciousness gradually returned, I noticed that in laying on the sofa, my nightie had ridden up my side revealing all of my right thigh and providing my son with an unobstructed view of my cunt. I had no idea how long he'd been standing there but as he became aware that I had awakened, his eyes caught my own. He smiled embarrassed and immediately darted off. I rearranged my nightie, got up and went to my bedroom to again return to sleep. The strange look on my son's face never left me until I finally drifted off.

These events lingered in my mind. My son was clearly turned on by my physical presence. Over time, this reality became more and more exciting to me. Certainly, I knew that like all boys his age, he masturbated. He'd spend an undue amount of time in the bathroom. I'd find an occasional Playboy under the mattress in his bedroom. I knew what he was doing. I never brought it to his attention or sought to embarrass him over what I took to be a completely normal activity. But lately, I had discovered something new. My own panties would turn up in the laundry hamper with obvious semen stains ... An expensive brassiere would turn out to be missing from my dresser.

So my son found me physically desirable. Could it also be that I filled his fantasy life as well? When he ejaculated on my panties, did they serve as an impersonal fetish? Or were they a direct link to his recollections of me, of my body, of my own sexuality? Did my own son fantasize about making love to his mother?

The very idea was incredible! It repulsed me. Yet at the same time it was wonderful! I tried to push the thought out of my mind but my mind invariably returned to it. Perhaps my own forced celibacy was playing tricks on me. In truth, I was incredibly horny. I seemed to walk about in a constant state of arousal. I felt like I was on the verge of exploding at any moment. At times, I would even go into cold sweats and late night shivers.

One day, my son and his friend were in our garage lifting weights. I rarely bothered him when he was working out. For some reason though, I came into the garage to ask them if they wanted a cold drink. The two boys were stripped to their gym shorts and nothing else. Their bodies were covered with a thin sheen of sweat. Now Raymond, my son's friend was certainly a handsome young man with a very nice body. But I was stunned to noticed how strong and muscular my own son had become. His physique was becoming VERY impressive.

John looked quite masculine with his shortly-cropped blond hair and his rich tan. My son was getting to be quite tall, certainly several inches taller than me (and I'm five-foot-eight). His body was developing wonderful definition and mass. The bench-pressing he was obviously doing was building a powerful, well-shaped chest that was no doubt the envy of older more mature men. He was downright magnificent! At that moment, as I compared him to his good-looking friend, I was proud of how my own son clearly excelled. Suddenly as I was looking at him standing there in his little shorts, I found myself becoming VERY hot for him! It was as though a flood of female hormones surged through my very being. I don't know if he noticed the rapid change that came over his mother at that moment, but I understood immediately that I had to leave the garage.

That night marked the first time in my life that I masturbated while fantasizing about my own son.

It wasn't to be the last. I found myself fantasizing about him constantly. My mind would drift to images of him in all stages of undress. I pictured us making wild, passionate love. It was insane but I couldn't help myself. I couldn't stop imagining my beautiful son, on top of me, showing his mother just how virile and masculine he really was, showing his mother just what he was capable of doing to a woman.

I began to speculate on the nature of his male "equipment". His father was very large. Was the son as exuberantly endowed? I had no idea. I'd not seen this part of his body in many years. I found myself checking out his crotch in the hopes of unraveling this mystery. My suspicions were that he was but it was so difficult to tell.

Eventually, I was to find out quite unequivocally.

One night, I was particularly aroused. I was SO missing the physical company of men that I felt as though I was going out of my mind. I simply could not expunge images of my son from my thoughts. I had a glass of wine and then made my way to my bedroom after dinner. I closed the door (or so I thought). I turned out my overhead light and walked over to the side of my bed. The only illumination in the room was a small nightlight. Slowly, sensually, I stripped off my clothing. I unsnapped my skirt and removed it from my torso. I unbuttoned my silk blouse and slowly drew it over my shoulders. There I was clad only in a pastel blue, lacy brassiere and a matching pair of elegantly styled panties. I still had my stiletto pumps on.

What I didn't realize was that I had not thoroughly closed my bedroom door. Silently, it drifted ajar by perhaps four inches. My son, dressed in his pajamas and himself ready for bed, had ambled by my bedroom and apparently noticed the open door. He stopped, peered in and seeing me in the process of undressing, elected to stay and watch surreptitiously. At this point, I reached behind and unsnapped the clasp of my brassiere. I lowered it down off my shoulders and dropped it to the floor. Unknowingly, John had a perfect profile view of my firm, well-shaped breasts as they stood proudly forward. I tweaked my nipples hard between my thumbs and index fingers. The delicious twinge of pain caused them to come immediately to attention ... I fondled my breasts lovingly, savoring the sensation.

I reached down and ever so slowly drew my panties over my smooth, creamy thighs. I let them fall down my calves and over my delicately turned ankles. I stepped out of them still wearing my heels. I was now completely nude though completely oblivious to the presence of my son standing outside my door, taking in every movement.

I moved my hands from my breasts to my rich mane of long, red hair. Luxuriously, I ran my fingers through my hair raising my arms high overhead. I threw my shoulders back and my chest forward. I felt wonderful. I knew that in a very few moments, I would experience a profound release from my torrid libido.

I looked down at that magical place residing between my thighs. What pleasure that small area of my body had given me in my life! Now, I directed my attention to it. My cunt hair was delicately trimmed. It has always been black as the night in sharp contrast to my pale, white flesh. In the glow of the little nightlight, it was revealed as a tight, well- formed triangle. Still standing, I subconsciously spread my legs imperceptibly. I placed my left hand firmly upon my breast enjoying its fullness. Almost beyond my level of awareness, my right hand descended to my thighs.

I extended my middle finger and lightly rested it between my labia. Instantly, I sensed my hot, wet secretions! I began to gently rub my finger along the cleft. It felt wonderful. My dampness increased a thousand-fold. I curled my finger and slid it into my vagina, my cunt. I moved it back and forth, up and down in my cunt. My breathing got heavier. I started squeezing my breast harder, tweaking the nipple. It must have been a remarkable sight for my son to see: his own mother pleasuring herself, her legs weakening, ready to buckle. At last, I couldn't support myself in my evolving ecstasy. I laid down upon my bed never removing my left hand from my well-caressed tit or my right hand from my wet, by now throbbing cunt. I started moaning softly. I massaged my cunt ruthlessly, my pelvis jerking perceptibly.

Then I could slowly feel my impending orgasm rising from deep within my loins. I turned my head and suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I detected movement. I looked to the door and there I saw him: my son, standing in my doorway watching my every move.

It was like being struck by a thunderbolt. I knew at that instant that I should stop immediately but I couldn't. I was just about to peak to a fabulous orgasm and I was powerless to terminate it. Perversely, the realization that my own son was watching me pleasure my naked body only spurred me to greater excitement. And then, a second thunderbolt struck me. As I looked to my son, I glanced down. My son had his penis out of his pajamas and he was stroking it with complete abandon. My own son masturbating at the sight of my nakedness.

And his penis! What a wondrous organ it was ... so long and thick and so turgid. He was as hard as a rock. His cock was nothing less than extraordinary even exceeding his own father's remarkable endowments. The sight of that massive rod of male flesh, the flesh of my son thrilled me. I could feel my orgasm crescendo to an unparalleled peak. Involuntarily, I looked up at him and as I felt my orgasm rock my hips, my pelvis, my entire body, I began calling out his name. Endlessly, over and over again as I felt my release. I could see him stroking his huge cock furiously. I kept calling his name, I encouraged him, I extended my hand to him and crooked my index finger at him beckoning him to come to me. Suddenly, he did.

John pushed open the door and ran to me. He yanked off his pajama bottoms and bounded onto my bed. He knelt down between my thighs and peeled off his top letting it fly across the room. My son, my gorgeous, magnificent son, kneeling between the outspread thighs of his own mother. Such a powerful, muscular young body. What a chest he has!

What an amazing cock he has! At that point, I knew that I was about to embark on something so dark, so forbidden, so WRONG, yet I couldn't help myself. I reached up with my right hand, the hand that seconds before had so expertly pleasured my own cunt, and gently grasped my son's cock. I stroked it lovingly, reverently, taking over where he had left off.

Then, slowly, resolutely, I made a decision for the both of us. I stopped stroking and looked lovingly up to his eyes as he leaned over me. Gently, I began to guide his fully erect penis towards my already soaking pussy. I was a little reticent of his great size but I was more frightened of the impact of what I was about to do on the two of us. But in truth, I was helpless. The die had already been relentlessly cast. His glans touched my cunt and then ... he entered me.

My cunt devoured his penis and my pelvis began oscillating to accommodate him. My son placed his hands beside my shoulders as he supported the weight of his torso. I could feel the powerful strokes of his body as he plunged his cock harder, deeper into my cunt. I looked lovingly into his eyes, my beautiful son's eyes as he fucked me. He gazed back at me, his own love for me, his mother, amply reflected in those lovely eyes.

John fucked me, harder and faster. He grabbed my tit and started sucking it, kissing it. He licked my nipple and bit into it making it exquisitely hard. He lifted his head and started kissing my neck, my jaw and at last, my lips. I plunged my tongue into his mouth and he sucked it graciously.

I could feel his cock swelling in my cunt, pulsating, throbbing. His strokes became more frantic. Each time his pelvis drove into me, it felt like my body was going to split. My son was an animal, a primitive savage as he fucked his mother so violently. My orgasms began bursting forth one after another after another endlessly. I was helpless in his arms-utterly overwhelmed by my son's sexual energy.

At last, his strokes became slower but deeper, his penis enlarging even further. Then a glazed look came over John. I felt his seed squirting endlessly into my cunt. I marveled at the incredible potency of his youth. Finally, his body went completely limp as he climaxed. He collapsed in my waiting arms, our two spent, naked bodies pressed tightly together. At that point, I knew that I was closer to my son, my lover than I had ever been to anyone.