The Story of an Hour

*Inspired by the short story of the same name by Kate Chopin.*

I stood silently by the door as my husband Richard gave me one last long lecture on everything that needed to be done while he was away for his week-long business trip.

"Do you understand, Louise?" he finished in the formal, emotionless tone he used with everyone, including his own wife.

I nodded silently in response. To my surprise, I felt my heart quicken with excitement as I realized my husband was moments away from being gone for a whole week. Only then did I realize how much I'd been looking forward to this day.

My husband was not an abusive man but he was cold, stern, and controlling. I was not allowed to go anywhere alone outside of work and, when I was done, I had to return straight home. Taking too long to return would result in a long interrogation of where I'd been. I was always guessing at what he wanted and why, just hoping not to trigger the days of icy silence he'd punish me with when I did something that displeased him.

I said goodbye to my husband and shut the door behind him. As I watched the taxi drive away to the airport, I sighed. I felt like I had released a breath that I'd been holding for all twenty-one years of marriage. I was free! For seven glorious days, I was free! No worrying about what I said or what I did. No constantly checking in with him over the phone. I could eat, wear, and do whatever I wanted! In a moment of mischievousness, I stripped off my clothes, freeing my large breasts from the confining bra my husband insisted I wear even at home. I danced through the halls of my empty house, spinning about like the woman from The Sound of Music.

I froze as I heard the lock of the front door click open. My heart sank as, for an irrational split second, I thought my husband had returned. But my heart soared even higher before when I heard my son Jack's voice shout "I'm home!" There was nobody else in the world I'd rather share my temporary freedom with.

"Hi, honey!" I shouted back from upstairs as I quickly threw on my old, threadbare nightdress minus the bra and panties. I felt my breasts jiggling as I hurried down the stairs to greet him. I saw my eighteen-year-old son in the living room and threw my arms around him, mashing my unbound breasts against his chest.

"So Dad's gone?" he asked, instantly realizing what my outburst of emotion signaled.

I nodded, barely repressing a smile.

"Good," he answered, years of tension released in that one word.

For the rest of the evening, we talked about his father, voiced our every resentment and frustration. It felt so good to say our grievances out loud rather than hiding them in whispers, rolled eyes, and sighs.

As we sat down for dinner, I noticed that his eyes kept darting back to my newly unrestrained bosom. "Like what you see?" I asked flirtatiously, hefting my breasts in my hands.

"I-I'm sorry," he stammered. "It's just that, well, um..."

"Go ahead, dear. We've been so honest with each other this evening."

"Well, it's just that I've never noticed how BIG they are."

I giggled. "A few years after we got married, your father told me that I looked like a whore when my breasts jiggled."

"That bastard. You've never looked more beautiful."

I don't know what came over me. I think our newfound emotional openness disarmed all my inhibitions. I got up from my chair, rounded the table, and kissed my son right on the lips. He didn't pull away and soon I felt him kiss me back.

After what seemed like an eternity, I broke the kiss and opened my eyes. He gazed into mine with loving intensity.

Jack was the first to speak. "That was awesome."

"Yes," I said breathlessly. "Yes it was."

A long moment of silence passed between us. Again, Jack broke the silence.

"So, Mom...how far do you want to go?"

"Wh-what do you mean?" I knew exactly what he meant.

"Do you want to...y'know..."

I glanced down at his crotch and saw the bulge forming under his pants. "Are you asking me if I want to have sex with you?"

Jack looked away from me, embarrassed.

I wasn't sure if I wanted to have sex with my son. But I did know that I had only seven days of freedom before my husband came home and I was going to make the most of them. So, reluctantly yet excitedly, I said "Yes."

He took me by the hand and led me to my bedroom. I stripped off my nightdress, letting my son see my nude body for the first time. I laid down on the bed, my legs spread. My son stripped off his clothes, revealing his seven-inch erection, the tip wet with precum. He climbed into the bed and started fondling my breasts. I leaned forward and gave him another kiss.

"Are you ready?" he asked. I nodded impatiently.

"Do it, Jack. Fuck your mother!"

I moaned softly as Jack's erect member made its way up my cunt. My son started to thrust, slowly at first, then picking up speed. He grunted like a beast while I moaned softly. "Harder," I hissed through clenched teeth. "Harder!" Soon my son was thrusting as hard and fast as he could. I felt my climax building within me. "Oh baby, fuck your mother! Oh! OH! Oh God, I'm cumming!" I saw my son clench his teeth, fighting not to spill his load as he rode out the contractions of my orgasm. But soon he too was pushed to the limit.

"Mom!" he said between grunts. "I'm gonna cum!"

For a moment, my rational mind returned to me. "Jack, you have to pull out."

"But Mom..." he pleaded.

"I don't want to get pregnant. Pull out now or you'll never fuck me again!"

My son pulled his cock out of my cunt and, with a couple strokes of his hand, made himself cum. The first spurt of cum shot out with such force that it hit me square in the face while the next few splattered on the undersides of my breasts and onto my belly.

As his climax died down, Jack collapsed beside me. He wiped his cum off my face with his hand. "Sorry about that, Mom."

I smiled. "It's okay, honey. I don't mind." With a wicked smile, I sucked his cum off his fingers. Returning my smile, Jack smeared the rest of his cum all over my breasts, rubbing it in like lotion. After a few minutes of rest, his cock rose once more.

"Ready for another round?" he asked.

"Oh God, yes."

I had five more incestuous orgasms that night. When we weren't fucking, we were holding each other, enjoying the afterglow of our sinful lovemaking. We only got a few hours of sleep that night.

We called in sick to work and school, determined to use our time alone to its fullest potential. I bought a box of condoms and we used them religiously. Jack wasn't too happy about them at first, but he learned to enjoy watching me suck his sperm out of them.

The next week was a blur of pleasure. We experimented with every kind of sex we could think of. I took my son's thick, creamy payloads on my face, on my breasts, in my mouth, and even on my ass. It was like our own little honeymoon and we lost track of time.

On the morning of the day my husband would return, we were woken early by the ringing phone. I climbed out of bed and answered the phone with a groggy "Hello?"

"Is this Louise Mallard?" asked the voice at the other end.

"Yes," I said irritably. "Who is this?"

"Mrs. Mallard, I represent the Federal Aviation Administration. I'm afraid I have some bad news."

I woke up. "What?"

"I'm afraid that the plane your husband was flying in has crashed. I'm so sorry for your loss."

He said more, but it was all a blur to me. I said a quick thank you and hung up. I returned to my room in shock.

"Who was on the phone?" my son asked.

"The FAA," I said in a neutral tone. "Your father is dead."

We lay beside each other, silent. I was saddened to hear what had happened to my husband but only in the sense that I felt bad for any person who died. I felt no love for him and no grief.

"Mom?" said Jack. "I know this sounds bad, but I'm kind of glad that Dad's dead."

"Me too, honey." I couldn't fight the smile that spread across my face. We were free. Completely, permanently free. "We don't have to worry about him any more. He can go to Hell!" I reached over and caressed my son's cock until it grew again. "And our affair doesn't have to stop!"

Jack took a condom from the nightstand but I snatched it out of his hand and tossed it across the room. "No more condoms!" I said forcefully.

"But you could get pregnant!"

My mind went back to the months when I was pregnant with Jack. My belly swelling with life. My tits filling with milk. My hormones making me hornier and kinkier than ever before.

"I want it," I declared. "I want to have your baby."

Jack took his place between my legs, his seven-inch cock at the ready, and thrust it into my pussy once more. He fucked me with the force of a jackhammer, his lust fueled by the thought of getting his own mother pregnant.

"Oh Jack!" I moaned. "Fuck me! Fuck your mother, you sick incestuous pervert! Fuck me and make me PREGNANT!" I came three times before Jack reached the edge.

"Mommy! I'm going to fill you with my cum! My baby-making cum! Oh GOD, YES!" My son came with the force of a fire hose, filling me with his warm, fertile baby-batter. I felt its heat flood my womb and I imagined the millions of wriggling little sperm cells swimming about and looking for my egg. I was determined to have my son's incestuous baby.

Over the next hour, my son dumped three more thick, sperm-laden loads of cum into my womb. It was so liberating, deliberately trying to get pregnant. Soon we were worn out and just spooned together in the bed. I caressed my belly, where a new life was hopefully taking root.

All my hopes for the future were dashed when I heard a single sound: the front door unlocking.

My son and I both instinctively knew what that sound meant. We both jumped out of bed and threw on whatever clothing was nearby. I grabbed a bra and put it on. After seven days without them, it felt more confining than ever.

I went downstairs to greet my husband, who started yelling at me for not calling or checking in with him while he was gone. As I listened to his lecture, I felt my son's cum running down my inner thigh. I surreptitiously rubbed my thighs together to keep it from dripping down my leg.

The FAA had made a mistake. My husband wasn't on the plane that crashed. He was very much alive. As I halfheartedly listened to his voice, I felt the return of every weight that had been lifted off me while he was gone.

And though I didn't know it at the time, I was pregnant with my son's incestuous twin babies.