FRIDAY:
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Rebecca Jefferson kissed her husband, Dwight. She nuzzled his patchily bearded chin with her nose, her one hand rubbing his flabby chest, and her other the lump in his groin. He may have been well past his prime, but he was all hers. Now if only she could get him to give her another baby.
"Good morning, sexy," she muttered in the sexiest voice she could muster.
"Hmmm...???" he muttered sleepily.
"How about we work on making that baby?"
"Huhhh...?" he asked briefly before returning to snoring.
Louder this time. "I said..."
Five minutes later, she stepped out of bed, grumbling. Feeling chilly in the late November morning, she threw on her pink robe over the sexy blue baby-doll that had failed her, and tied it taut. Shaking her head as she took one last glance at the snoring man on the bed, she slowly closed the door shut and began quietly shuffling her way to the stairs. At the bottom, she smelled coffee and saw her son, Roman, waiting at the island as soon as she got to the doorway.
He was standing and sipping his coffee with his back to her, wearing his usual tank-top and boxers. As usual, she took a primrose moment to enjoy the thick, rippling muscles of the back, shoulders, glutes, and thighs of her robust young man. Her mind couldn't help but imagine the muscles being put to vigorous use as he plowed whatever cheerleader of the month he brought to his room. Her imagination only had to provide the visuals, as she had heard the audio track just last afternoon. She could not have imagined that any man, especially after the demands of a rigorous football practice, could beat up a pussy so consistently and for so long. The steady pounding of a headboard laid the rhythm base, the plateaus of the whines and moans of a coed filled the sound, and the loud thwacks and shrill screams punctuated several climaxes.
Being a cool mom, she had always been amenable to his trysts, just as long as he, one, used protection, and, two, his father never found out. With time, at her behest, he had delineated more and more details of his couplings to her rapt, encouraging attention.
Still, he had never done the deed while she was in the house. Yesterday was the first time that the 18-yr old had given her a live recording of just what he had been up to. Later, just before Dwight's arrival, still sweaty and reeking from the dizzying musk of a good fuck, the boy stood close to her, towering above her. Far too turned on by her son's sex life, she had tried to defuse the tension with a joke.
"Well, I really enjoyed your recording session."
Rebecca couldn't help but shudder as she remembered his answer, delivered with a look that she would never forget.
"Well... good. It was an audition tape I made expressly for you. Did I make the cut?"
Aside from its flirtatious effect, the boys remark referred to his perennial scheme of replacing his father as her breeder. It had started as a jejune comment, sprouted into a recurring inside joke, and eventually a shared fantasy. Yet, while she enjoyed the thrill associated with, for example, the discovery of multiple, nearly bursting used condoms in his trash, she would never take the final step. She was Dwight's and he was hers.
But that didn't mean that she couldn't sample the goods. Glancing once more at the empty stairs to make sure they were alone, she untied her pink robe and walked into the kitchen slowly.
"Good morning sweetie," she announced.
"Hey mom... oh wow..." the teen began to mutter and gawk at her as soon as he turned around.
Rebecca's ears pinkened as her eyes looked towards the boy's boxers and found the rapidly growing bulge she expected.
"Eyes up here, Your Hardness," she giggled, teasing him.
"S- sorry. You just look really sexy, that's all."
"You're a sweetheart. You don't look... bad yourself," she trailed off, her eyes having moved onto his bulging arms.
"Thanks," the teen muttered as his mother slipped into his embrace, his nose in her red hair. "Mmm... you smell good too."
"So do you sweetheart..." Rebecca muttered, her forehead pressed against his shapely pectoral. Despite being two decades older, she always felt like a little girl in the arms of the well-built teen. He had slipped his hands into her robe and was luxuriating in sampling the fabric of her baby-doll. She kept her eyes peeled for the stairs; however many ways she rationalized these increasingly frequent embraces, Dwight likely would not agree.
"Is dad coming downstairs?"
"No... he's still asleep."
Roman laughed as he looked down at his mother, "Guess it must have been all that baby making sex."
Rebecca looked up at him and scowled in disapproval, even as she couldn't help but snort. "Oh ha ha. Don't be mean to your father. He had a long week."
"What an idiot..." the boy muttered as the boy stroked and groped the cellulite of her exposed buttocks.
"Roman!" she gasped disapprovingly. Her racing heart felt like it would beat out of her chest.
"God... and on the Friday off on a long weekend too." The teen's green eyes pierced into hers, "I wouldn't let my girl out of bed at least until noon."
"Why not?" the housewife whispered, her heart racing as the boy's fingers played with her panty straps. Poking out of his boxers, the teen's fat pussy-spreader throbbed vigorously against her tummy rolls. Despite being inexcusably familiar with the sensation of her son's fat glans weeping hot precum onto her bellybutton, Rebecca still found her son's endowment bewildering.
"Because if we're trying to make a baby, I'm going to make sure we succeed."
"Oh.. I see... this is about that hare-brained idea of yours."
"Of ours. You're just too chicken."
Rebecca pouted at the boy's toothy grin and pushed him away.
"You're too much..." she muttered as she opened the refrigerator.
"What? You know you wanna try me out..." the teen asked as his eyes goggled at his bent over mother's plump posterior, her robe parted courteously for his viewing pleasure.
"You rascal. We can't do that."
"Why not?"
Rebecca put down the last of the ingredients to look at him. "Um, because I'm married to your father, Romeo, and we made a promise to be faithful to one another. Until death do us part?"
The boy's face hardened and he looked away for a moment, conflicted.
"What?" she asked, surprised by the severity on the teen's usually jocular face.
He then made eye contact with her again, "What if he didn't keep up his end of the promise?"
"What do you mean?"
