My eyes fluttered open slowly and I was immediately aware of "him" on top of me, screwing me. I was on my back, my legs straight out and spread a bit. It took me a second or two to realize "the him" was not my husband, Bruce, but, Clarence, my 26-year-old son, getting a piece of my ass. I could tell he had not been at it long as his rhythm was uncertain, still moderately benign, and his breathing could barely be heard or felt against my neck.
I was not overly concerned as it was not his first time mounting me, nor was it likely to be the last. I had taught him to be a courteous lover as he supported his weight on his elbows and toes, as he straddled my thighs, his T-shirted chest weighting lightly on my bare tits, in his awkward and precarious position. As I was not actively positioned or engaged, my stretched out posture, beefy thighs and shallow spread did not allow him to get his insignificant length, a mere 4 1/2 inches, properly inside of me. Still, his rock-hard firmness kept the domed head inserted inside my pussy, not popping out as his action was more of a recurring stab than a stroke..
My memory quickly returned and I realized I must have passed out coming out of the shower. One would think one would learn from past experiences and not shower when you're intoxicated and popping pills. My head felt like it was going to explode but I had to push it aside. My simple-minded son was always my first concern. I let him continue without letting him know I was conscious. I wasn't sure I was even going to let him know.
He had been out on the deck of our cabin fixing a log cable that had come loose during last night's storm. His dad had gone on a hunting trip two days earlier and Clarence had been grabbing my ass and fondling my tits all morning, which I allowed and enjoyed when we were alone. With some difficulty, I managed to keep him focused on the job at hand, but I knew I was going to have to service him before or after lunch, and a little liquor always smoothed out my inhibitions, not that I really needed to be inebriated to screw the boy. I had apparently consumed more than I thought or my pills had not mixed well with the alcohol.
I remembered sitting on the deck watching him and consuming my fourth drink, and thinking that I needed my morning shower before giving Clarence what he desired. His father had screwed me in the wee hours of the morning before leaving, two day ago, and I was more than ready to play. Clarence had apparently found me on the floor passed out. It must of been some effort for him to get me to, and on, the bed. But the boy had ample muscles and finding me nude on the floor gave him incentive. Still, I would need to shame him for taking liberty with his unconscious mama.
At 53, I am not the slim woman or the looker I use to be a mere 10 years ago. At 5'7", 197lbs, my weight is concentrated in my lard ass, sagging breasts, a bit of a belly, and ample thighs that, if you listen carefully in the quiet, steep mountains of British Columbia, create a scratching sound when I walk in jeans.
On the plus side, the abundant red hair between my legs, matching the shoulder length hair of my top knot, sets me apart from the other wives around our ultra-deep lake community. Though maybe not as positive, due to my proclivity last summer to spread my legs for a hand full of the nearby married men, it is rumored my thick red pubic hair is still a favorite topic when they gather and my husband is not among them.. My half-witted son, who sees it more than his father, finds the color mesmerizing .
No one, fortunately, knows or suspects our incestuous relationship. At the moment, I am now tense and concerned. Our cabin has abundant windows with only the ones facing the lake touting curtains. Clarence had, out of necessity, no doubt, deposited me on my and his father's bed on the main cabin floor, his bed being in the small loft. Clarence is too simple-minded to care about being caught, though he does seem to understand that what we do sexually is our secret and would make his dad really angry. The boy manages to keep his hands to himself when his dad or others are around.
I'm laying here worrying about the abundance of unshielded windows, knowing how easy and disastrous it would be for a neighbor to stop by and see him screwing me, if they happen to look through a side window, or even the window of the front door which has the curtains pulled open. On our lake, the nearest cabin is ½ mile distance. I am hoping everyone is home eating their lunch as Clarence's poking is beginning to have an arousing effect. My body is beginning to feel warm and my pussy is beginning to yearn for a little more of what little is at hand. Let me be honest here! Clarence's cock leaves a bit to be desired when it comes to depth of penetration, but his amply packed, smoked sausage thickness makes up for his length quite nicely.
"Clarence, sugar." I say, finally throwing caution to the wind, placing my hands on his hips. "Let mama get her legs up."
We maneuver together as he knee-steps his legs between mine as I spread and lift my legs up. His cock popped free and I reach to acquire it, placing it back to my fuck-hole. I hear him moan lightly and his body quivers at my handling of him. I squirm my ass as he enters me, pushing his cock as deep as possible into me. As I said, this is not our first time and he knows what's required of him. We are now properly coupled.
"Don't be in a hurry, baby." I direct. "Give Mama a chance to catch up."
In less than a minute, I am fully engaged, thrusting my ass up, matching his, now, stroking rhythm. His thick cock is scrubbing the inner-walls of my vagina making it come live. The windows are forgotten.
****
History;
Clarence was just over 20. My son was "Special" and having a bad day, whimpering and sighing with despair for no reason I could get him to admit to. At our home in Port Hardy, his father at work, I sat on the couch with him and cuddled him closely. He nuzzled my clothed right breast. As I often did around the house, I wore no bra. In desperation, I was mentally searching, I unbuttoned the first three buttons of my house dress and exposed my right breast. Cupping it, I offered him my deflated, mostly flat, nipple. Accepting it, he suckled at my nipple and I could see the calmness settle in. I became aware of both nipples firming up, through I was not aroused in any way. It seemed so innocent and casual at the time that months following I did not hesitate to release my breast when we were alone and it seemed necessary.
Then one evening he was distraught and could not sleep, so, alone at home as we were, I climbed into bed with him and offered him a nipple. Still uncovered, he wearing boxer shorts, I saw he had erection. I had seen him naked many times, even erect occasionally. Never gave it a thought! But this time, after a few minutes of his suckling, me staring at the bulge in his pants, I succumbed to the desire to touch, then, squeeze it. Minutes later, I desired to bring it forth - to see it - to touch it more. Toying with his bare manhood, appraising it for the first for what it was - its purpose - I was impressed not so much by its length but by its thickness. Knowing it was wrong to handle him, I went to put it back. He pleaded with me to continue, then, to stroke it.
Trying to explain to him the incestuous connotations of doing that would have been like talking to a brick wall and my aroused being offered me no leniency. I continued to fondle with his cock until I was soon stroking it with intent to give him an orgasm. As I masturbated him, he sucked hungrily on my firm nipple. When he ejaculated, he released my nipple and groaned loudly with an open mouth. I was again impressed, no, amazed, at the amount of cum that shot forth.
That evening, after cleaning him up, covering him, kissing him good night, I retired to my own room. A sleepless night awaited me! I fingered my pussy numerous times, with short naps in between. With every one of my orgasms, the phrase, "fill my pussy", took on a whole new meaning as my mind revisited the large amount of cum that had erupted from the head of my son's cock, flowing onto my hand in a warm cascade.
Afterward, I often found his boxer's front stiff with dry semen. Apparently, I had started something and knowing his orgasm to be substantial and uncomfortable to wear through the night, I lovingly suggested he use a sock. Neither of us even blushed or laughed nervously. He asked if I minded him doing it without me and I assured him I did not and it was quite natural.
Needless to say, my indiscretion set a precedent. Clarence started expecting me to masturbate him whenever I offered him a nipple to calm him down. I had to threaten to withhold whatever I felt would work at the time, which generally turned out to be the very thing he was being so unruly and obstinate to get me to do.
