Queen And Prince Together Forever 4

Prince Henry returns home to his mother. "Long live the Prince!"

"Henry! You're home," she said running to him to wrap her arms around his neck. "I missed you so very much."

When wearing her high heels, instead of being up to the top of his shoulder, she was at eye level with his chin. With him leaning down to her and her leaning up to him, she kissed him with her eyes closed as if he was her long lost lover instead of her away at the university son. Even though the kiss lasted only for few seconds, she imagined it lasting longer while imagining that kissing him meant as much to him as it did to her.

She wished she could take him sexually instead of just having to settle for just his kiss. Definitely from this one kiss, with her fingers inside of her and her vibrator massaging her clit, she'd be taking his kiss to bed with her tonight. There, in bed, once masturbating herself, she'll imagined him licking her vaginal juices from her fingers in the way that she'd love to lick his cum from his cock. If only she could, she would.

'I'm so horny,' she thought to herself while almost saying it out loud and in front of her son.

As if plugging her into a wall outlet to electrify her, a million thoughts, responses, and impulses ran through her mind with the arrival of her son. Already so ready to have sex with him, she felt a familiar moistness between her legs and her nipples were already hard and begging to be fingered before being sucked. If only by the fact that he readily kissed her on the lips without turning away, she imagined that he missed and enjoyed kissing her as much as she missed him and enjoyed kissing him. If only by the fact that he didn't immediately break off their kiss, she imagined that he wanted to kiss her longer as she wanted to kiss him longer. Being that he agreed to come live with her in Qatar instead of living with his father in Boston, she imagined that he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

Wanting to kiss him longer and she would have kissed him longer if only she could have kissed him more passionately without him looking at her as if she was crazy. Something that no mother should do with her son, she wanted to part his soft, full lips with her tongue and give him a deep, wet kiss. Wishing she could French kiss her son, she'd love for him to return her kiss and French kiss his mother. She'd love to probe his mouth with her tongue while he probed his mouth with his tongue. Swooning at the thought of French kissing Henry, if only she could, she would.

Taking the risk that he'd think badly of her, she kissed him longer than she should, longer than what was appropriate, and longer than what was respectable. In those brief few seconds that she was kissing him, she pretended that he was her lover. She pretended that they were about to make love or had just made love. If only he was her forever lover, she'd be so happy. In her dreams of him, he is her forever lover.

As soon as he touched her and she smelled him as a lioness or a mama bear would do when greeting her cub, she imagined what it would be like to make out with him, really make out with him. With the both of them naked and with him touching and feeling her everywhere while she touched and felt him everywhere, she imagined what it would be like to make love to him. At that moment she wished he really was her lover instead of her son. She couldn't think of a better scenario of her son being her lover.

Something she routinely imagined in her sexual fantasies and perhaps experienced in their past lives, how better her life would be if her lover was her son? In the way that she sexually wanted her son, wanting nothing more in this world, she'd be so very happy if only he reciprocated the love she had for him by kissing her in the way that she so wanted to kiss him and to be kissed. In that moment, as if she was thrown back through eternity to begin their incestuous love affair all over again, she had memories of him making love to her. Those memories are what drove her crazy. Those memories are what kept the sexual feelings that she had for her son alive. Those memories are now all that she had.

Has she lived before? Were they lovers in another life? Sometimes so difficult to discern fantasy from reality, she wondered if he felt the same way about her. She wondered if he had the same disturbing albeit sexual exciting dreams that she was having. She wondered if he had thoughts about prior lives also. Only, how could she ask him any of that without him thinking that she was insane?

Not wanting him to deem her an incestuous slut, for her to show him real affection and the secret sexual desires that she hid from him, he needed to make the first move. As if attacking her before raping her, he needed to feel her through her clothes before undressing her. She imagined him stripping off her clothes. She imagined him taking her. He needed to take her in the way that she so wanted to strip off his clothes and take him. He needed to be the one to part her lips with his tongue and to touch and feel her everywhere with his hands. Without him making the first move, she was dead in the water and adrift in her endless sexual frustration with the unsated thoughts of having sex with him.

He needed to be the one to squeeze her ass while feeling her breasts. He needed to be the one to force her hand to his emerging erection and hold it there. With a gentle but forceful hand to the back of her auburn, pretty head, he needed to be the one to unzip himself, push her to her knees, and fill her willing mouth with the full length and girth of him. With her so willingly obliging him, he needed to be the one to hump her mouth and fuck her face while she sucked his cock. If only she could, she would.

He needed to be the one to lick her from her pussy to her ass after he filled her with all of his warm, oozy, liquid desire for her. Just as she'd love for him to eat her, she'd love for him to lick her ass, really part her cheeks and get his tongue all the way in there. He needed to be the one to bend her over the table, lift up her short skirt, pull down her panty, and take her from behind. Whether him taking her vaginally and/or anally, it didn't much matter so long as he made love to her before he fucked her, really fucked her hard. She'd love to be his sexual bitch of a slave. She'd love to obey his every sexual command.

With her kissing him longer than she should, she hoped that he'd take the not so subtle hint of her unmotherly affection and kiss her, really kiss her. In the way that she so wanted to do with him, she hoped that he'd part her lips with his tongue. She'd like nothing more than for her son to French kiss her. She'd like nothing more than to be lost in the throes of sexual passion while kissing and kissing him. She wished she could make out with her son as if he were some stranger she met at the mall. She'd like nothing more than for her 22-year-old son to inappropriately touch her, feel her, and fondle every part of her 43-year-old well-kept, more than willing body while giving her deep, wet kisses.

With her thinking of preparing herself for this day since he left for school again, hoping to immediately burn the extra calories before it appeared as excess fat on her hips, she ran an extra mile every time she ate anything she shouldn't eat. Especially when she stood in front of her full-length mirror to examine herself, if she said so herself, she looked more like 33-year-old woman than she looked like a 43-year-old woman. With her son more mature and looking older, looking more like a 27-year-old than a 22-year-old, she more enjoyed thinking that there was only a six year difference in their emotional maturity than pondering that there was a twenty-one year difference in their physical ages.

* * * * *

"Hi Mom," he said opening his arms to greet her with a big, broad shouldered hug. Making her feel so small and so vulnerable, he lowered his 6'3" frame to meet her 5'7" form.

Briefly he lifted her slim, shapely body off the carpet as if she was the swan Princess Odette, a prima ballerina in Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake and he was, Prince Siegfried, her handsome suitor. He wrapped his strong arm around her to give her a hug while his other hand was poised around her shoulders as if he was going to dip her while dancing with her. She swooned in his arms. Only ruining her sexual fantasy, she wished he didn't call her Mom but Emma. He wished he'd deem her as a cougar and as his sexy older girlfriend instead of as his mother. If only he thought of her as his more mature, forbidden woman, she'd give him a hot sexual greeting to show him how much she missed him before and how much she wanted him now.

Pressing her pelvis so tightly against his while imagining humping him as she made love to him, giving him her subtle hint that she wanted him and had to have him, she hugged him tighter than any respectable mother should hug her son. Hugging him so tightly, she hugged him tight enough that she could imagine what he'd feel like inside of her. Perhaps imagining more than what was there, she thought she could feel his growing manhood pressing against her. Wishing she had greeted him at the front door naked, it was then that she imagined his cock in her hand, in her mouth, in her pussy, and in her ass.

The thought of his cock pressed against her soft belly even through her clothes inspired her to imagine them naked and, as if they had already made love before in another time and in another place, his hug encouraged her memory. Wishing that he'd drop his hand further down her back, she felt his long fingertips at the top of her round, firm buttocks. She couldn't help herself from imagining him cupping her ass while deeply kissing her. She loved to feel his hand squeezing her ass through her skirt and through the thin material of her panty. Now wishing she hadn't worn panties, why did she even wear panties?

She couldn't help herself from imagining him lifting the back of her oh, so short skirt to feel her shapely buttocks through her sheer, bikini panties with his big, strong hands. She couldn't stop herself from imagining him feeling her breasts with his other hand while his fingers teased her nipples to harden through her blouse and bra. In the way that his fingertips remained poised at the top, back portion of her white panty, she wished his fingers were poised between her legs while wishing she wasn't wearing any underwear. She was already wet while imagining him fingering her pussy and rubbing her clit. As if she was dreaming, something she's never done while awake, she was sexually fantasizing about him with her eyes wide open. Now, at the very least, she wished she would have had the courage to have greeted him at the door in her sexy bra and panty.

"Never mind about your suitcase. Leave if for the maid take care of your dirty things tomorrow. Come sit with me in the living room. Let's have a drink to celebrate your graduation and you returning home to me," she said kissing him on the lips again this time with her eyes wide open.

"But I have a Christmas gift for you, a souvenir from England," he said.

So excited to see her son again, she nearly forgot that it was Christmas. Even with the few holiday decorations she found on her shopping excursions, it certainly didn't feel like Christmas living in Qatar. They didn't play the endless Christmas songs to remind her of the holiday. With sunshine instead of snow and with turkeys hard to find, seemingly, Christmas in Qatar was just another day.

"And I have a Christmas gift for you too, more of a combination welcome home and college graduation present for you," she said. She imagined giving him a dildo and a vibrator as his very special gift to use on her instead of giving him the car she bought him, a snow white, new Mustang GT parked in the garage downstairs. "We'll have plenty of time for gifts later," she said thinking of the 1/18 scale model she wrapped as her way to tell him that there was a life-sized version of the die cast car awaiting him downstairs. "Right now, I just want to talk to you."

When she kissed him, she hoped he'd take her hint. When she kissed him, she wished he'd part her lips with his tongue and kiss her with the same passion that she imagined him kissing her in her dreams. When she kissed him, she wished her reach up his hand to feel her big tits through her blouse while fingering her nipples through her bra. When she kissed him, she hoped he'd push her back up against the wall and stick a hand up her short skirt, a skirt so short that she didn't dare wear it out in public for fear that she'd be held, questioned, and arrested for indecency. When he kissed her, French kissed her, she wished he'd reach up her short skirt to feel and squeeze her ass through her panty. When he kissed her, she wished he'd cup her pussy through her panty and push her panty aside to finger her pussy.

* * * * *

When sitting across from him, even with her knees tightly press together, with the triangular opening just above her slim, shapely thighs, she knew as soon as she sat like that her son would be rewarded with a view of her bright white sheer panties. She knew that as soon as she parted her knees to slowly and seductively cross and uncross her long, shapely legs, in the way that Sharon Stone did in Basic Instinct, that she'd give him more of a show of her sexy legs and her panty clad pussy. She wondered if he'd notice. She wondered if he'd look. She wondered if he'd stare at her panty clad pussy while imagining fingering her, licking her, and making love to her before fucking her.

This was it, her more than subtle way of flashing him while sexually teasing him. This was the hint that she hoped he'd take to make his move across the line of incest. Crossing and uncrossing her legs, whenever she leaned forward to reach the table, she knew she was flashing him her panty along with the tops of her breasts, her cleavage, and her bra. Willing to do anything to please him and erotically tease him before sexually pleasuring him, she'd give anything for her son to touch her where only she's been touching herself lately. She'd like nothing more than to show Henry how much she wants him by showing him how wet she is for him. She'd like nothing better than to have put his mouth on her and his tongue inside of her. She quivered with the thought of him fingering her clit while licking her pussy.

She watched his eyes dart from the down blouse view of her cleavage and bra that she was giving him to the seductive flash of her panty that she continued flashing him. Only, she didn't want him to just want her sexually. She wanted him to love her in the way that a man loves a woman and not in the way that a son loves a mother. Already in love with him not just as a mother who loves her son, she loved him in the way that a woman loves a man. With her showing no compunction about crossing the imaginary line of incest, and with her knowing she's done this many times before in past lives, she was ready to give him whatever he wanted of her as long as he made the first move.

* * * * *

Emma sat on the couch sipping her wine while listening to her son, Henry. Missing him, with her having been sad for so long by his absence, having him finally here with her now was as if he died and returned to life. Once he went away to college, missing her daily interactions with him, even though he mostly lived with his father, she never grew accustomed to living alone and to living without him in life. Now home finally not only for the Christmas holiday but also to live with her again after being away at school in London seemingly forever, she was glad to have him back home with her. With him staying in the United Kingdom for another six months after graduation to see Ireland, Scotland, and Wales, she feared that he might like the country enough to stay. Yet, with him finally returning home to her, it was obvious that he missed her and Qatar, the country he's known off and on since a child.

After divorcing her husband a lifetime ago, Henry was the only family she had. She had lots of friends of course, but having lots of friends wasn't the same as having her family there with her. She missed her son so very much, so much that she's been having odd dreams and disturbing sexual fantasies about him. Embarrassed to admit them even to herself, some of her sexual fantasies included not just sexually teasing her son but painfully torturing him as her way to control him for her to get what she sexually wants and needs from him.

At first her dreams, more like nightmares, were disturbing that she dared to dream of herself naked with her son. Feeling shyly ashamed the next morning while still in bed naked with the lingering thoughts that she fondled, stroked, sucked, and made love to her son's penis in her dream, she masturbated herself to the memory of her realistic sexual fantasy. If only he was any other man but her son, she'd be off the wall sexually excited in making love to him. Every night, either she'd have the same dream of them having sex or a new dream with them in a different place, time, and even in a foreign land. With her most recent dreams going back to the 16th century England, hoping to make some sense of it all, she hired a writer to help her put to paper what she's been thinking, dreaming, and sexually fantasizing.

She wondered if the impact of her leaving Boston and the Museum of Art for the National Museum in Qatar several years ago, was finally taking a toll and having an impact on her that played out in her dreams. Perhaps with her working long hours to forget how lonely she is without her son, she's working too much. She sometimes missed Boston but, no comparison to living in Qatar, comfortable living here now and not imagining living anywhere else, she missed her son more. Maybe if she still lived in Boston instead of living in repressed Qatar, she'd have had sex with her son last year when he was home for the summer. Nonetheless, still puzzled by her visions and her sexual fantasies, perhaps her dreams were trying to tell her something. As simple as that, without any hidden message, maybe she was reincarnated after all.

It was odd to her that even after living here for so long that she still dreams in English even though she's fluent in Arabic. Moreover, being that she's one of the curators at the museum where she works, she'd think that she'd be dreaming of antique artifacts and what life was like thousands of years ago instead of having sexual dreams about her son. Even more baffling, why was she dreaming of England in the 16th century unless she had some connection to King Edward IV, King Richard III, or Henry VII? She had no idea. Perhaps with her handling all of these antiquities, maybe they're haunted and possessed to inspire her dreams. If some of the thousands of year old Egyptian artifacts were haunted why couldn't these more modern day artifacts, albeit artifacts that are still more than 400 years old, be haunted too?

Maybe she sexually thinks of her son because he reminds her so much of his father. Maybe she thinks of her son naked because she's just stressed, sexually frustrated, and horny and just needs to get laid. Maybe she manifests her sexual feelings upon her son because she doesn't have a man in her life. Maybe she thinks of herself naked with her son because she works too much and is just tired. Such a cruel joke to play on her, maybe she has lived before with him as her lover instead of as her son. Definitely she needs a boyfriend only even if she had a boyfriend, what's the use, they couldn't live together. The law here, they'd have to be married to do live together and after all that happened in her marriage, she didn't think she'd ever get married again.

Destined and doomed to live her life alone, her sexual options aren't as readily available here in Qatar as they are in the United States. For fear that they may think her a spy, a modern day, albeit female version of Indiana Jones, she had to be careful who she was seen with, who she talked to, and who she dated. Even though she's lived here for years, speaks the language, and knows the customs, she's still deemed a foreigner. Maybe if she renounced her American citizenship, denounced her Catholic religion, embraced their religion, and became a Muslim, the locals would be more accepting of her. Only, unlike the Catholic Church, as a woman and regarded lesser in class, she's not allowed to even pray with the men. Prophet Muhammad said that if men and women were to pray together that they'd be more interested in looking at and lusting over one another than in praying. Imagining a man staring at her shapely ass as she prayed, maybe Muhammad was right.