This is a complete work of fiction and should be enjoyed as such. All characters described are fictional and over the age of 18.
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I finally pulled myself out of my catatonic state and trudged back upstairs to my bedroom. I picked up my dress from the bed and held it close to my face looking, again, at the cum stains...the closest thing I'd had to sex in months (and with my own son). I couldn't help but remember his pecker hanging down between his legs and getting bigger as he had related last night's events to me. The thought had me leaning in and sniffing the stain, there was the slightest whiff of manly musk, the same as the smell from this morning when my nose was nestled in his hair. I glanced guiltily around the room, even though I knew I was alone and timidly stuck my tongue out and licked the stain; the same sweet salty taste from his morning release caressed my senses. I shook my head and tossed the dress into the hamper. What was wrong with me, I must be sick, he's my son! I shucked my robe, hanging it on a hook on the back of the bathroom door and turned on the shower. I had a lot to think about and I still had all the usual weekend chores to do. Before I climbed in the shower I looked at myself in the mirror, make-up a bit worse for wear, even though I'd drunkenly touched it up the night before you could still tell from my mascara that I'd been crying, lipstick smears around my lips, I can only imagine those were from rubbing my face against Danny's crotch. The coup-de-grace was the dried crusting trickle of his cum running from the left side of my mouth to my chin. I looked like a proper whore after a busy night...though I didn't feel like one, even though my mind screamed at me that I should.
I climbed into the shower and slowly lathered up, thinking all the time about what to do, about my failed marriage, my cheating husband, my confused son, my feelings (what were my feelings?) about sleeping with him. I went through the motions of getting clean, shaving my legs and arm pits and washing my hair without really realizing it. My thoughts finally began to congeal as I was drying my hair, looking in the mirror again at my clean, unadorned face and deciding that I didn't deserve to be treated the way James had treated me.
I finished drying off and got dressed in a loose fitting tank top and a pair of old, tight, jean shorts (a half size too small, but they're worn-in and comfortable) I wear around the house when I'm doing chores or out, indulging my hobby, gardening in the backyard. I squared my shoulders, dragged the laundry hampers downstairs, leaning them against the washing machine and grabbed the phone to call Tami. Tami works as a legal assistant in a law firm in town. When I got her on the phone and explained what I wanted she told me she'd call me right back. I hung-up the phone, sorted the laundry (leaving my husband's clothes in a pile by the back door), and started a load before working my way around the house neatening things up. Tami called back about 10 minutes later and told me I had an appointment with a good friend of her boss who would help me out. I had to be there in an hour, I thanked her and ran upstairs to change into more respectable clothes and comb my hair.
Two hours later I was walking out of Bernard, Schmidt & Westing Partners firm with a smile on my face. Ms. Schmidt, the friend of Tami's boss, had assured me that the suit we had worked out against my husband was a slam dunk as he was clearly in the wrong for cheating on me with this other woman. She had retained the services of a private detective to gather further evidence, as we were still technically married and had recorded his voicemail message as evidence.
It was now mid-afternoon and I knew that it wouldn't be long before Danny got home. I still didn't know what to do about what had happened between us, but I knew I wanted to be home when he got there so we could work it out. I hurried home and changed back into my work around the house clothes and moved laundry. The more I dwelt on the events of the night before, as related by Danny, and the events of this morning as I experienced them the more troubled and confused I was feeling. I began to wonder who was more confused, Danny or I? Danny had apparently harbored some sexual fantasies about me for awhile, which is wrong, isn't it? But at the same time, if I hadn't known it was him (which I didn't before he called me Mom) I would have been, and was, happy to go down on that fat, long cock of his. If there was one good thing my husband had brought, however briefly, to our marriage, it was a big dick. It seemed James had passed that trait on to his son. My mind kept drifting back to that big cock swelling before my eyes and the feel of it moving between my lips and what bothered me is that it didn't bother me that it was attached to my son. Maybe it'd just been so long since I'd had sex that I was just happy to have any attention or maybe there was a part of me that felt special the way his eyes roamed over me and his cock got hard just thinking about me.
I was pondering all this while I vacuumed the house when I heard the front door slam. "Danny" I called out, turning off the vacuum cleaner, but he just stomped upstairs. I paused a minute, trying to collect my thoughts and figure out how to proceed, before finally following him up. We just needed to start talking about this if we were going to work it out.
I marched up to his room and opened the door, "Listen son, we need to talk and work this ou..." I stopped mid-word; I had walked in right as Danny had removed his soiled work jeans and boxers (obviously getting comfortable after a long day at work). Once again I was staring at my sons dangling prick and large balls. He stared at me and stood up, not covering up, just looking at me. I shook my head and said "See, we really need to talk."
Danny smirked at me and put his hands on his hips, "See anything you like Mom?"
I turned around and said, "Really Danny, this is not helping, come downstairs when you're dressed and we'll talk, ok?" I stepped out quickly and pulled his door to behind me, it popped back a crack and I peeked through for a moment to see him wrap both hands around his shaft and start to pump it with his eyes closed.
I walked downstairs, figuring I'd give him time to take care of himself and change while I made us some dinner. About 30 minutes later Danny sauntered into the kitchen in a pair of loose exercise shorts and an old t-shirt. I was working at the stove frying some vegetables as he walked up behind me and hugged me. His hands brushed the bottoms of my bra-less breasts and he snuggled up behind me pressing his chest to my back and his crotch to my butt. I could feel that either he hadn't 'taken care of himself' up in his room or he needed to do it again.
I tried to keep things light and like they used to be, "Hi honey, did you have a good day at work?" I asked him as I pulled away from him to move down the counter and mix some flour for the pork chops I was going to fry after the vegetables.
He got the idea and sat down at the table behind me, "Fine Mom, the usual, at least it's a wet job in the summer."
We made small talk like that while I was preparing dinner. When I sat down across from him with plates of food in front of us I finally noticed how he was staring at me, like I was prey or something and his eyes kept drifting to my breasts while we were talking. I decided now was the time to broach the subject. I cleared my throat and started, "Danny, what happened this morning, and apparently last night, was wrong. I can't excuse my actions last night, and this morning I should have paid more attention and never let it happen, but it can't happen again." I took a breath, " I'm your mother and you shouldn't think of me in a sexual way. I'm sure there are pretty girls that come to the car wash or that will be at college in the fall that you can date or at least fantasize about, instead of your old dowdy Mom."
