'It's not my fault. I just can't bloody help it.' How often had she repeated those words to herself, always those same sentences rattling around inside her head? She did not consider herself a nymphomaniac, despite what other people may think. It was just that sex constantly preyed on her mind. Every day, and even during the night, the most innocuous of things would suddenly set her off, and what she needed most when that happened was to either fuck, or at the very least, masturbate. When she slept, it brought no respite, her dreams tormented by lustful acts with strangers or even members of her own family. Male or female, it made no difference. Once that fire ignited in her belly, and no matter what she did to try and stop it, she knew it was inevitable that it would quickly travel to her vagina. The juices would start to flow, and her nipples would become erect, another sure sign that she was in heat.
Did she find it embarrassing? Of course, she did. But there was nothing she could do to stop it despite it not being an ideal situation; although lots of men would probably disagree. When it happened, she just needed someone; young or old, big, small, ugly, or handsome; it made no difference so long as they had a cock and could get it up. Failing that, she needed a pussy and fingers. Any woman would do, someone to rub her twat against, someone to jam their fingers into her cunt and frig her roughly until she burst and achieved her seismic climatic release.
She had been married, quite a few times sadly, but none were ever destined to last. When a fresh relationship began, her new man could never quite believe their luck. Not for her, 'I'm washing my hair tonight,' or 'It's that time of the month,' or even 'I've got a headache.' She needed shagging every night, several times preferably. It was sex before tea or maybe straight after. It was mid-evening or early morning. Out in town, in a bar or a club, maybe the cinema, when the feelings started, she pleaded with her beau to fuck her. Upstairs on a bus, in the car during a journey, she didn't think there was anywhere that she hadn't opened her legs.
The problem always arose when her current partner, husband, or other half was not with her. Because then, she needed to find someone else, fidelity going straight out of the window, and in next to no time, so too would her marriage.
At work, and she'd had plenty of jobs; she had attained an advantageous position. You could say it was because she had slept, or rather, fucked her way to the top. At thirty-six, she ran five miles every morning and had a body that most twenty-year-olds would be envious of. Every boss she had ever had, and there had been quite a few, could never quite believe their luck. No need to try and proposition her; she had lost count of how many offices and boardrooms she'd had sex in. Eventually, though, she became a liability, word got around; as did she when the lust came over her, and then it was usually time for her to move on.
There was a date circled on the page of her open desktop diary, the twenty-fifth of January; it was a day she had been dreading. Thankfully, it had arrived and departed without anything untoward; but she knew that the time was drawing closer. She had a son, conceived with one of her husbands, or maybe one of the many men whom she had allowed to penetrate her; and that date had been his eighteenth birthday.
Over the years, and although she loved him dearly, she had managed to keep him at arm's length. He'd had many babysitters when he was a baby. As a toddler, he had a nanny, and when he was old enough, she sent him to a prep school and then to a private boarding school. She didn't want him to see her as she truly was. When that ache in her fanny controlled her sensibilities, the temptation was to leave him alone, desperation sending her out, searching for someone to relieve the demands of her body.
Thankfully, on the few occasions, he was with her, she had managed by locking herself in a bedroom and plunging toys into her cunt; but now, unfortunately, he had come of age. He needed no one to take care of him anymore, and she was afraid that she may be inclined to try and seduce him at some point when her desires got the better of her.
They were not estranged; rather, her son probably thought of her as being distant. That wasn't true. She had always sent him away to keep him safe, despite how much she wanted to be with him.
Jonjo was no longer a child; he was a handsome young man, and as she looked at his photo, dressed in his suit and posing at his prom night, she pushed away the thoughts that had invaded her mind.
Even now, and as yet, he was still away; thinking about him made her knees tremble and she could sense her developing urge. Over the years, although they had met up several times, she hadn't seen a great deal of him. When he returned home for his summer breaks, she would often pack him off to her parents or suggest a summer camp, anything that kept him at a distance from her. She only had pictures of him to go by; the one sitting on her desk presently, and the one in her bedside drawer.
It was no good; the urge was increasing rapidly, and she needed to finger herself. Racing up the stairs, ripping clothes off in the process, she was naked by the time she reached her room, throwing herself onto the bed and rummaging in the drawers.
Extracting the photograph, she gazed at her son. It had been taken at Easter, Jonjo on a faraway beach. It was his eighteenth birthday present, and he was posing for the camera; tanned, and wearing nothing but a pair of swim shorts. Her mind had already removed them; imagining his cock rigid as she lay on her back and opened her legs. The initial touch made her shiver, her fingers teasing her pussy open. She neglected her vagina for a few seconds because her nipples were demanding attention; each one twisted and pinched until it stood erect, solid, and throbbing with the pleasure of her touch.
And then her fingers returned to her pussy, one on either side of her clit, as she rubbed slowly, eyes closed now, as she imagined Jonjo shuffling between her thighs, his plump knob pressing against her fanny. This had become her go-to scenario; her arousal escalated until her fingers replicated his cock and were plunged into her quim. The frigging was frantic, fast, and hard, her mind now imagining her son looming over her as his cock penetrated and pounded her cunt.
The pressure was building, his picture now discarded because he was alive in her mind, so real that she could actually feel his shaft inside her as her other hand abused her tits, squashing and fondling the flesh; her nipples becoming twin peaks which transmitted pleasure signals to her brain. On the edge, she was seconds away from exploding as her fingers switched to her clitoris and the world disintegrated around her.
She imagined her son's cream filling her pussy, mixing with the cum and juices as her thighs clamped together; her body shaking as the force of her convulsions made her thrash back and forth. When she surfaced from her orgasm and gazed at her son's photo once more, she felt nothing but an overpowering love for him. There was no disgust or repulsion in what she had just done; this fantasy of hers was one she used frequently when masturbating, because the eroticism of imagining having sex with him, gave her the best climaxes she had ever experienced.
Slowly she wiped herself, cleaning up the wetness that covered her pussy and mound, as well as what had run between the cheeks of her arse. She had to be careful, this soon after an orgasm, her body was still ripe, and too much touching and wiping could quickly reawaken her arousal. Her legs were still a little unsteady as she recovered her clothes, dressing slowly and then retouching her foundation to make her face look presentable once more.
Despite having had his birthday, Jonjo was still safe until the end of the month. That was when his school finished, and he arrived home to await his exam results. She was hoping he had done well for the simple reason that a university would take him away again, out of range of a potential indiscretion. Failure meant that finally, he would return home, and she did not trust herself. If he were here full-time, even if he got a job, eventually, she would try to seduce him, that was if she hadn't raped him first.
