Wicked Thoughts 3

It's Monday evening and Audrey and Simon are having sex.

It could have been a complicated. If they'd allowed it to be.

You see, Audrey is Simon's mother.

It hadn't been going on for long, the sex, in fact this was only the third day, but long enough for Audrey to get over her initial doubts about possible complications.

Audrey had thought about them, but hadn't mentioned them, why would she? They were both adults and besides, the sex was too good to spoil with complications.

And she certainly wasn't going to interrupt her impending orgasm. She'd already had one; a little shiver that had caught her by surprise and been all the more pleasant for it. The one that was hovering at the base of her tummy was promising to be quite a bit more than a little shiver, so she was waiting, hoping that Simon wouldn't stop and that she could have her orgasm as soon as it was ready.

And, thankfully, Simon didn't seem as though he was going to stop, and she certainly wasn't going to interrupt him, especially with something as complicated as complications, not when he was in the middle of doing what he was doing.

Which was probing his tongue into her pussy and sucking against her. She felt the telltale quivering building in her thighs and knew that she was getting close. He sucked harder, twisted his lips and pressed his tongue up.

Audrey grabbed at the back of his head and, lifting her knees, pressed his face into her body. 'Ohyesohyesthat'sitrightthereooooorightthere.' And a moment later she squeezed her bum tight, groaned and shuddered as the waves of pleasure rippled through her.

Simon didn't stop, in fact he sucked even harder. "Youwwwwwfuckyes." And her orgasm seemed to roll into an even deeper trough of pulsing light.

And only when her grip on his head loosened did he push himself up to his knees, and, without asking, slide his cock deep into her sopping pussy.

"Ohhh you are a beautiful, gorgeous monster Simon Wicker." She growled, lifting her ankles onto his shoulders.

Only fifteen minutes earlier Audrey had been slumped in one of the armchairs, still wearing her work clothes and on the phone to her sister,.

She'd heard the front door bang and Simon had walked in. Stopping in the doorway he'd watched her for a moment before pulling off his clothes. Her eyes had then followed him as he'd walked into the room, or rather, they'd followed his rising cock as it had walked into the room.

By the time he was halfway he was on his hands and knees and he completed the last few feet staring at her knees.

"Got to go Maisie, something's come up." She'd dropped the phone and spread her legs, inviting him in. "Come on then, don't keep me waiting."

He hadn't.

He still wasn't.

Gripping her thighs he pressed hard against her bum, forcing every last millimeter of his hot flesh into her liquid tunnel. Pulled out and slammed back in.

"Ooooh you bugger."

He did it again, thrusting hard into her, his thighs slapping against her arse. Twice he pulled back too far and slipped out, both times she'd guided his slippery shaft back into her waiting heat.

Easing off and grinding up against her he tugged the buttons of her dress apart and pushed her bra up off her large breasts. Began pinching her nipples, gently twisting and rolling them with his fingers until they were red and bullet hard.

Leaving them he leaned back and started pushing up, his cock rubbing along the roof of her pussy. a move that nearly had her, but, when he licked his thumb and stroked across her clit, that really did it.

"Ooooooohhh." Her whole body seemed to jump. Her bum and tummy tightened, her voice quivered and her shoulders and head pressed back into the chair as she let it take her, to overwhelm her.

Audrey had known it was going to be a good one, they were all good ones: just that some were better than good, this one was much better than good.

She held onto it for as long as she could, then, with a sigh and a big smile, let it go, let Simon ease her feet down to the floor and sat back, knew that he hadn't cum. Maybe later.

She also knew that she looked a half naked mess, didn't care. She shuffled herself up, got a little more comfortable and went into a dreamy half-sleep.

Her thoughts went back to that fateful holiday: just a weeks break in a hotel on the coast. She'd gone into their shared room one afternoon to find him asleep on his bed.

He was so damned attractive. His cute Italian looks: a complete contrast to her pale English skin, was the only good thing his father had given him. Simon, with his jet black eyes and hair, his long legged, wide shouldered swimmers build, was an absolute darling. It was such a shame he was so painfully shy around the girls, it was the only reason he hadn't been swept away by now. Still, their loss.

But what had really caught her attention was something his father had definitely not given him.

Goodness knows what he'd been dreaming about but the result had pushed through the gap in his towel and was so hard it wouldn't lie down. She hadn't been able to move: had been mesmerised for a long minute. But once she'd gotten over that initial shock it had taken all her self control and countless 'shall I shan't I's' in her head to stop her from walking over and wrapping her hand around it. After too long looking she'd reluctantly backed out of the room and gone down to the pool to think about nothing else. Later, when she'd had the room to herself, she'd thrashed her clit numb remembering that pole of hard muscle and flesh.

For the rest of the holiday she'd felt ill. Not sick. But dizzy and confused. She'd seen her sons erection and she'd wanted it.

Getting home, when she had some real privacy, she'd called Maisie and told her what had happened. Exactly what had happened.

"Did you get a picture?"

"What?! Nooo I did not get a picture. He's my son Maisie, I'm not going to take a picture of my son's cock." She'd suddenly felt bad even calling it a cock.

She'd sensed her sister pouting. Then heard her giggle. "Stop it Maisie." Then she'd giggled herself, hadn't been able to help herself. "Oh my god Maisie, you should have seen it, damn thing was near touching his chin."

The conversation had degenerated from there, with her sister of the firm opinion that Audrey should have taken matters in hand, after all, she'd said, the boy clearly needed some relief.

As, in many ways, did Audrey.

Audrey should have been appalled at the whole conversation but it had been very much tongue in cheek, or cock in mouth as Maisie had crudely put it, and been punctuated with howls of laughter, lots of giggles and far too much wine. But it definitely had an impact on her reactions to what came later.

Which was only a month after the holiday viewing.

She was on her hands and knees in the garden, just doing some weeding. When she caught a movement at a window of the house.

She shifted ever so slightly so that she could see the window a little better without being too obvious.

Simon was watching her.

Instantly she felt her face flush and her heart start banging, her throat tighten and, most tellingly, a burst of heat between her thighs.

For the briefest of moments she wondered what to do; how to respond, whether to respond.

What she did next decided the future.

She carried on gardening, turned a little and put her back, and therefore her bum, towards him.

What she'd managed to stop herself doing, and it took a lot of restraint, was squeeze the muscles in her pussy, that would really have set her off, and doing that while on her knees in the garden, in full view of her son would not have been a good thing.

Looking back she thought about why she'd turned her bum towards him, why she hadn't responded in another way. It took her a little while to confront herself and to acknowledge that she'd been turned on and that she'd actually wanted her son to look. She liked being turned on and she loved the fact that perhaps she was turning him on.

Then she remembered him in that hotel room and wondered if he'd been dreaming about her.

For a little while after the 'gardening incident' she didn't do anything different. She didn't wear anything different, she didn't flaunt herself or say anything inappropriate.

But she became very aware of where he was.

And when he was where it would work, she might spend longer with her back to him, might bend over more often, might move her bum around a bit more. But she didn't do it too often, tried not to be too obvious: she didn't want to frighten him off.

But, once she'd settled into this new way of thinking about him, she started making other changes.

She began showing more leg; just a slightly exaggerated swish of her dress, flicking it when sitting, that sort of thing. Sometimes she'd leave a button undone, not always, and not the top one: too obvious, but one between her boobs, that way it gaped and showed her bra. What made it easier was that she'd always worn dresses: having always found them more comfortable, light dresses in summer, heavier ones in the winter, thin button-up ones in the house and garden: dusters her grandmother had called them.

Her next biggest change, and it took her another couple of weeks to get to this, was not wearing knickers, even when Simon wasn't around. It made her feel so bad. Not in a 'bad' bad way, but in a 'naughty' bad way. She found that she loved not wearing them, it was so liberating. And was such a turn on.

And of course she told Maisie everything. Who was outrageous.

But she began to realise that Maisie was right. At some point she'd want to do more, more than not wear knickers, being looked at wouldn't be enough. But for now she was enjoying just being looked at: it made her feel good, even desired, and it really did turn her on.

Sometimes it would turn her on so much that she'd unexpectedly find herself on the brink of cumming and would have to grip onto something really hard, really concentrate until she got back from that brink.

But later, when she was on her own, she'd remember the brink and her orgasm would make her shudder and scream into her pillow.

Other times she'd really question herself. She was his mother after all and this really shouldn't be happening. But, she'd tell herself, it would just be sex, nothing wrong with that, and Simon was old enough and mature enough to understand that, what harm could it do? That's what she'd tell herself anyway.

Then one day he touched her. It was hardly anything; just the faintest brush of his hand across her bum as he passed behind her. It might have been a mistake, she wasn't sure. It took all her will not to respond, to act as if nothing had happened. But her pussy was on fire and inside she was shaking. But all she could do was stand there until he'd gone and then, only then, did she walk stiff legged to a chair and collapse onto it.

She'd never felt anything like it.

The very next day it happened again. This time she knew it wasn't an accident. There was absolutely no reason for him to pass that close to her, but nonetheless he did. And when he did, his hand once again brushed lightly across her bum. Imperceptible but definitely there.

Again she didn't react, just gripped the edge of the sink until he was gone and then collapsed, shaking, onto the chair.

She began to engineer glimpses of him when she knew he was looking at her: either a direct glance or reflections in a mirror or window.

He never caught on and on several occasions she watched him adjusting himself: she almost felt sorry for him; it was pretty hard to hide.

But it was even harder to ignore.

And then one day she made a decision. Enough was enough. She'd had enough of just taking it, of just standing, waiting for him to do something, at this rate they'd never get beyond his 'drive-bys', as she liked to describe them to Maisie: who was incorrigible, demanding daily updates and telling her what she should do next.

She'd taken enough, she was going to get some back.

The very next time, as he walked away from his 'drive by', she turned and wrapped her arms around him, pulled him tight against her and whispered in his ear. 'Give me a hug baby.' She knew full well that he had an erection and that the tip of it was only an inch below her arm.

He wriggled against her then froze.

And she realised that she'd miscalculated. It wasn't an inch below her arm at all.

It had been trapped sideways by the waistband of his shorts but a combination of his wriggling and her hug had dislodged it. It was still covered by his tee-shirt but it was now completely vertical and Audrey's wrist was touching it.

Both their heart rates doubled, Simon whimpered. She stopped breathing.

Neither of them moved.

Audrey was conflicted: boring said 'don't', daring said 'do'.

It was a struggle but, in the end, boring won. She gave him a long kiss behind the ear and let him go. "Go on, off you go." He almost ran from the room while she'd taken a deep breath and sat down.

Audrey knew he wouldn't be able to stop what he was doing but doubted he'd have the nerve to take it to another level, not for a long time anyway. His motivation for doing it was obvious and his wriggling and shuffling did nothing to hide the evidence, but he thought he was being surreptitious. He wasn't.

But Audrey now wanted that next level, but she was his mother so was conflicted. She knew that she either had to, put a stop to the whole course of events now or carry on and take matters to that next level. They were both adults, but she was his mother: it was down to her.

She had to decide: boring or daring.

Boring was......boring, and probably the right thing to do. Daring was fun, exciting, and she hadn't had exciting for far too long.

And what had just happened was an opening. Boring had won that time but, if she wanted more she had to let daring win, and soon.

She'd never be able to live with boring, not now.

Next level came far sooner than she expected.

That evening they were having dinner at the table: she'd always insisted on eating at the table unless it was take-out, then they'd have it in front of the tv. That evening was no different, Simon had tried to stay in his room but she'd insisted: knocking on his door until, looking exceptionally sheepish, he'd come out.

She'd gone back to the oven and now had her back to him but absolutely knew that he was watching her from his chair at the table: he'd rushed there as soon as he'd entered the kitchen and she'd known why.

Simon always wore shorts and tee-shirt in the house, nothing else, and she heard him shuffling on his chair and risked a quick glance, caught him trying to get 'comfortable', he already had an erection.

She groaned inside. Where the hell had he got that from? Definitely not from his father, that's for sure, he'd been a prick in name only.

So, when she sat, she touched her knee to his and left it there.

Simon moved his leg, just enough to break contact.

A couple of minutes later she touched her knee to his again and watched the indecision flicker across his face, but he didn't move. She just carried on talking.

Throughout the meal she tried to open a conversation with him but he was still upset about what had happened earlier and spent the entire time with his head down, eating as fast as he could: he just wanted to get it over with and to escape.

So, when she got up to clear the table, he jumped up with the obvious intention of dashing back to his room.

But, in his haste and panic, he knocked his chair over and his hip bumped hard enough against the table to rattle the plates.

Audrey instinctively turned towards the clatter. He froze, staring at her, a horrified look on his face. Her eyes dropped, couldn't do anything else. The wide damp patch on the front of his pale grey tented shorts told the story.

Daring won.

She stepped towards him and touched her fingers to the damp patch.

He closed his eyes.

Audrey was already shaking. She pushed the thoughts of stopping away and stroked up the taut fabric to the gap in his waistband and slipped her hand down into the heat.

Touched his hot flesh.

It was a solid, unyielding extension of his body. She'd seen it like this once before, had imagined it countless times since. Now she was touching it for the first time. She moaned.

Her fingers lightly brushed over his burning skin, the top and sides were solid muscle, the tip a sticky silky dome, the underside a soft, squidgy tube that she followed down to carefully cup his tight balls, then stroked a sharply pointed nail down to rub between his buttocks.

Stepping closer she pushed her other hand in and caressed him with soft fingers, brushed the sensitive tip then edged down to stroke along his length. He came. She had no warning. It just gushed out of him.

She let the thick liquid pool in her palm until it oozed between her fingers. She loved it. She loved him for it.

"Oh baby." She whispered and kissed him on the lips.

His lips were dry, warm and soft, his breath sweet between her lips.

Mmmmm, his tongue flicking as she slowly scratched his balls and rubbed a long finger between his buttocks while massaged his still hard cock with his own cum.

Her head buzzed, she desperately wanted one thing. She randomly pushed plates and cutlery away from behind her and perched on the edge of the table.

She pulled him towards her until he was between her legs. Lifting her dress she pulled him even closer, guiding him, his cock almost touching her, her fingers still on him, closer, their eyes locked, his tip brushed the course bush of dark hair then the wet heat, he entered her.

Sliding a hand round to his bum she pulled him until he lurched forward and, in a rush, slid all the way in. The intensity of feeling was instant and made her gasp, she thought she would never get her breath again.

She watched his eyes, wondering what he was thinking, thought she might cum at the pure pleasure of just looking at him. Of seeing the look of surprise, of worry, of happiness, even of horror on his face.

But the feeling was incredible, waves of pleasure constantly rippling through her. It had been so long for her. Too many years to bother counting. And he'd slid in as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

She could feel him inside her, feel his entire length, his thickness.

She braced sticky fingers on the table behind her and grabbed the back of his neck to hold herself upright; she wanted to be close, to feel his breath on her face, to be able to look into his eyes.

Audrey wanted him to move. She wanted him to fuck her. wanted to feel his cock move, she didn't care if he came, in fact she really wanted him to cum, wanted to feel him cum, wanted to watch his face when he came, as he pumped his cum into her.

She squeezed herself around him, pleading with her eyes, encouraging him. "It's ok baby." She whispered.

He looked at her. Moved, a little tentatively, but he moved: pulled back then pushed in again, they both groaned at the same time and he did it again, kept going as his confidence grew until his full length was sliding in and out, his thighs rubbing between hers. Every nerve ending seemed to be responding; everywhere he touched was tingling, his hips rubbing against her thighs, his hand on her leg, her hand on his neck, and her pussy......her pussy was a burning volcano about to erupt with each thrust of his gorgeous cock.

But he kept speeding up until he was going too fast and would then stuttered to a stop.

Audrey didn't want to interrupt him, worried that it might upset him, but she could see that the poor boy was getting frustrated.

She pulled his head closer until their foreheads are touching. "Take your tee-shirt off baby." Letting go of him Audrey dropped back to rest on her elbows and watched as he fumbled it over his head and dropped it to the floor.