Part One
There are a lot of different things that go through your head when
you are having sex with your son. Some of them are the same
thoughts that I have had every time we have slept together over the
past few months. One is disbelief. Not in a bad way, but in a
pleasantly stunned, 'I can't quite believe I'm doing this', way.
I often wonder what I look like from his point of view. On my back
with my shins rubbing against my shoulders. Craning my neck
higher as he pounds on me. It feels like a hammer crashing against
an anvil. Every blow is like whiplash, pushing my neck back and yet
I stretch my muscles again to lift my head and gawp at his thick cock
ploughing into me to verify that this is really happening.
The second thought is the pleasure. This is linked to the first thought.
I don't think I will ever be able to get over this one. Forty-seven years
of societal norms and nineteen years of motherhood mean I am
unlikely to ever free myself of this part. Neither of us. There is no
escaping this taboo. I do not want to. I can unequivocally say I have
never cum as hard as I have cum on my son's dick.
Nothing that has come before can rival the intensity or frequency of
orgasms he delivers to me. The kink of watching him, holding him
and feeling him in me is impossible to quantify. Even the sound of
our bodies slapping together is different, almost choral. I could listen
to it for hours. I have been listening to it for hours. We have somehow
managed to combine the thrill of a fling and the rush of an affair with
the intimacy and closeness of a much deeper love.
Even so, I would have thought the novelty would have worn off by
now. 'Novelty' is probably a strange way to describe mother-son
incest, but in terms of new lovers coming together it is the most apt.
He is the lover I cannot imagine tiring of. It is like the taboo is broken
anew each time we enter the bedroom hand in hand.
I was a bit of a wild child in my younger days. Ever since I discovered
sex, I was always hungry for newer and greater pleasures. Group
sex, swinging, BDSM, women, role-play. It was all a wonderful
tapestry that I couldn't help but explore. But even I never thought
the most vivid and intricate part would involve exploring a sexual
relationship with my son.
Tim is beginning to tire. I have run him ragged all day. Tuesdays are
our special day. Alex is in the office, but I work regularly from home
and Tim has no tutorials today. Even if he had I doubt he would
attend. Spending all day in bed with his mother is all the education
he needs.
Alex will probably be home soon. In the beginning I was neurotic
about being caught or raising suspicions but now I have attained an
almost zen-like calm. Somehow sex with Tim makes me feel like that.
Like every problem or obstacle can be overcome after yet another
cum-soaked session.
I just need this. This one final orgasm. One last dollop of son-cum to
swill around my pussy. This is the one I know. The one that gets me
pregnant. Deciding to have the baby has supercharged our
lovemaking. This is the thought that resonates most now. It is
scarcely credible that we have come so far in such little time.
Every day since he first unloaded his hot cum into my frothing pussy
has felt like a whirlwind. It seemed so right and natural when we
first started. There were no regrets or embarrassments. No shame or
horror. That first kiss. The electricity of our tongues exploring each
other's mouths and tasting each other's saliva.
The first running of hands over our bodies. The strange fumbling
that should have been alien and objectionable but was instead horny
and natural. The shedding of personas and clothes. The hardness of
his body. The softness of my curves as we held each other. Allowing
him to feel my bra and stroke my panties.
Feeling his erection through his boxers before freeing it to take in my
hand. That first time watching him slide over me as he guided his
penis into my wetness. That incredible first series of orgasms as I
clutched his buttocks and tried to force him further into me. The first
splash of cum being released into my pussy. I still shiver at the
thought.
It has only been two months and already I have pledged my body
and my future to him. I am literally head over heels for him and I
cannot disguise it. Two months since we have upended our previous
relationship and become something I could never have
contemplated. It feels like a dream.
How quickly we accepted each other as lovers. I was not the priggish,
nagging, uptight mother out to restrict his fun. He was not the
irritable, unruly student who chafed under our shared roof. I never
imagined that our tension could be resolved like this. That I would
be transformed into this incest queen.
I had had affairs before and so had Alex. We were grown up enough
to admit that, in a controlled way, they could be good for our
marriage. We agreed to look the other way as long as it was a oneoff or short fling and there would be no jealousy or rancour.
The idea of sharing me with other men turns him on a little I know.
The 'hot wife' with the wandering eye. Some of the details he likes to
hear about. Others he couldn't care less about. I almost want to tell
him about Tim. Not explicitly, but in an abstract sense.
The thought of me describing sex with our son to him while he is
blissfully unaware is a turn on. I worry that I may let too much slip.
Articulate too much of an enjoyment. I worry that I may lay out just
how much I am shifting away from him. Away from his rules.
And now here I was. Breaking those ground rules. With the last
possible person I should be doing it with as well. I should feel bad
for Alex, but I don't. His ignorance is delicious. It adds to the
wonderful confection of the past few months. Just thinking about the
time Tim has spent inside me compared with his father in the same
period is a turn on.
Tim pauses for breath. He releases my ankles and my legs fall back
down on to the mattress. I admonish him and pull my legs wider. I
settle back into a hollow. A rut in the mattress that I am sure has been
created over the past few weeks as Tim has drilled me from above.
'You'll never put a baby in me like that, son of mine.'
He chuckles and resumes his thrusting. I grunt as the rhythm of his
penis sets my pussy tingling again. I never knew what intimacy was.
I thought I did with any number of people including my husband.
But here on my back, in my son's bedroom, is where I truly
understood what intimacy was. A total invulnerability to the outside
world. Just Tim and I sealed in our cocoon, seeking only to pleasure
and serve each other.
My hip twinges. The pain from the accident is still there. I bite my
tongue and push it aside. It will be overcome very soon I know. I am
so close to another orgasm. I feel my pussy squeezing Tim's dick,
urging it to expel its precious white cargo. A wave of contractions
that ripple all the way along his drenched cock. Teasing the cum out.
I have drained so much of it with my mouth and pussy. It is a wonder
that any remains in his balls. He always seems to find some for me.
Waiting to be flung once more into my wetness even if it is just a little
dribble or drop. I will accept it all.
Tim senses my discomfort and slows his rhythm. It amazes me how
attuned he has become to my body in such a short space of time. He
has a knowledge and understanding of it that far surpasses that of
my husband. But then even Alex and I were not as rampant and
relentless as I have been with my son.
Not when we first met, not on honeymoon, not when I first got
pregnant. There is nothing quite like the chemistry I feel with Tim.
Both in and out of the bedroom. He has become an addiction I cannot
be weaned off. There is no rehab or therapy for what we have
unearthed.
The bed squeaks louder. I haven't got used to this cramped single
bed. I hate how restrictive it is. It barely fits Tim on it. I hate how it
jumps and jerks when Tim is close to cumming and thrashing down
on me. I want to spread my legs further, have my knees at right
angles to allow Tim better access to my pussy. Shorten the gap
between his eager dick and my willing womb as much as possible.
It is only because we are close to Alex's arrival that we have retired
to Tim's room. It is easier for me to recover myself if he makes it back
and we have not concluded our day's quota of fucking.
He has surprised us twice so far and we have only just avoided
detection. I sometimes think I want him to find us. Catch us in our
moment of shared ecstasy as Tim blows his load into me. I cannot
imagine many divorce papers have ever had 'incest' listed as
grounds.
The first time we were in the loft together. We had shared a spliff and
had settled into our post-toke clinch with me riding him while he
giggled up at me with his glazed eyes. The slammed front door
quickly shook us out of our haze and we were able to recover before
Alex knew anything was amiss.
The second time we had taken precautions but even then it was still
a near miss. I was bent over the kitchen table with my panties pulled
to one side as Tim slammed me from behind. Thankfully the rest of
our clothes were on and it was a relatively smooth transition to
normalcy when we heard Alex's car pull into the drive.
Other than those two close shaves our time together has been
remarkably incident free. A blessing of the busy lives we all lead. Tim
and I can hide between the appointments and obligations we have.
It sounds strange but from a logistical perspective, incest with my
son has been very convenient. It is so much easier to conduct an affair
with someone living under the same roof.
Some days it was as easy as rolling out of the bed I shared with Alex
and rolling into the one I soiled with Tim. Part of it is the unlikeliness
of our relationship. No-one expects or even conceives that we are
enjoying the most tawdry love affair with each other. It feels like a
great heist or crime we have pulled on an unsuspecting world, but
something so incredible I almost want to be found out.
I wonder what they would do if they knew. Family members,
friends, work colleagues, neighbours. If they knew what Tim and I
had been up to behind closed doors. Slowly rotating our way
through each room, exploring new positions, experimenting with
quickies and long, sensual sessions that go on for hours. Screaming
filth and whispering tender expressions of love. Lying in each other's
arms and making plans for the future.
People speculate and gossip about all manner of encounters and
trysts, but a mother and son are sacrosanct. Beyond suspicion. It
stretches credibility too so far that sometimes even I feel like I need
an independent witness to corroborate the delicious incest that Tim
and I are committing. I want someone to be jealous of the orgasms
my son is giving me.
Tim gasps and slumps forward. I have worn him out. His dick lies
buried in me, still hard and throbbing. It is the last part of him to quit.
It is just everything else that has come to a standstill. I hold him close
as he catches his breath. It is a wonder he has been able to go on for
this long.
I have lost count of the times we have brought each other off today.
Alex was barely out of the gate before we had jumped into the
shower together. It is the best type of sex when even a break to grab
lunch is grudgingly taken. The house is alive with the sounds of our
slapping bodies and breathless cries. Like a clockwork music box
that opens when we are alone together.
Tim says something but it is muffled by my shoulder. I feel the saliva
escape his panting mouth and drool down to my nipples. His chest
presses against my breasts. I place my feet back on the mattress and
rub his back. My eyes scan across his room and the familiar sights I
have grown accustomed to over the past few months.
The crack in the plaster of the ceiling as I lay on my back. The mark
on his bedpost that I tease him is the notch he has made for me. The
row of books on the window sill as I kneel on all fours on the bed.
The phone on the desk that broadcasts the video of the doorbell
camera as I am spooned from behind. The full mirror of the wardrobe
as I ride on top and watch his cock slip in and out of my pussy. The
rug that chafes my knees and back when we don't make it as far as
the bed.
It almost sounds as if I am bored and focused on something other
than the matter at hand, but it is the opposite. I have come to know
this room like I have to come to know my son. To some extent it has
always been a cipher, closed off and locked away from my prying
eyes. But now it is open and I am enjoying its abundance.
Tim cums with a sharp gasp. I clutch him closer as his cock spasms
in me. I am so used to the sensation now. I have learned its
idiosyncrasies. How it flaps around deep in my cunt with every spurt
of cum. How he always seems to have a final delayed spurt that
thrills me again after the initial barrage. The speed at which it shifts
from hard to soft and then hard again if I keep him in me long
enough. The groove of every vein that ribs against my pussy walls.
I kiss his forehead as he lays spent over the canvas of my body. I have
knocked him out. It has taken several rounds of exertions but
eventually I have landed the vital blow. I shift my head to the side to
check the camera. Alex's car is still conspicuous by its absence. He
has been getting later and later. I wonder if he is seeing someone else.
Once upon a time the thought would have been enough to at least
stir some level of wifely jealousy but it is the opposite now. I hope he
is happy whatever he is doing. Our mutual betrayals soften any guilt
we may have. Irrespective of the other parties.
Eventually, Tim stirs and pulls his slick cock from me. He rolls over
and rubs my leg. We barely fit onto his single mattress, so we drape
over each other's sweating bodies. I go into my now familiar post
ejaculation routine. Lifting my legs up to funnel his cum into my
waiting womb. I don't know how effective it is supposed to be, but it
pleases both Tim and I to watch me take the pose and think about his
seed swimming in my pussy. It reinforces the naughtiness of what
we are doing. Sometimes there is so much cum I have to do it quickly
before it decants out of me. He kisses my cheek and uses one hand
to support my leg.
'I'm not sure if anything came out that time, Mum.'
'It did. Not a lot, but definitely something. It all adds up.'
We laugh. At the madness of our love. The forbidden pleasure of it.
The natural joy of it. How he still calls me 'Mum.' It feels strange for
him to call me by my name. We toyed with him trying my 'normal'
name, but it almost feels impersonal. As though I am trying to
obscure the thrill of what we are doing as mother and son when the
reality is I, we, are celebrating it.
'I mean it. I can feel it. It's coming.'
'Thank God, Mum. You're wearing me out. I'm not sure I can keep
this up much longer.'
'Well, I'm so sorry to impose on you with all this sex, Tim.'
He laughs and brushes the sweat-lined hair from my face.
'Honestly Mum, I love it. I love it. I love this. I love you. I want this
more than anything. For you to have my baby. It sounds so
amazing...each time I say it.'
'Say it again, Tim.'
'I want you to have our baby, Mum. I want to get you pregnant.'
I lift my legs higher and grin at him.
'Yes, Tim...soon. Very soon.'
'I never...never thought I would have this challenge.'
'Challenge?'
'I mean...I never thought my dick would almost be too raw to fuck.'
'You're not even close, Tim.'
'I know, Mum. God, you just keep me going. I can still do it. I've still
got plenty of cum to put in you.'
'I'll hold you to that, Tim. A cum oath is very serious. Much more
serious than a blood oath. Don't think I won't be keeping track. If it
doesn't go in my pussy or my mouth then there could be trouble.
And if you think I'm insatiable now, just wait till I am actually
pregnant.'
I take his hand and hold it over my tummy. To bless the union of
fluids swirling in me. We have only been 'officially' trying for a week
but already I know we have conceived. I think back to seven days
ago and when we broached it.
'Broached' is probably the wrong word. It was like we just arrived at
the decision without any debate or consultation. It was the eight
week anniversary of when we first made love. We were enjoying a
slow, comfortable screw by the fireplace. The type of lovemaking
where each thrust was long and deliberate and accompanied with a
kiss. Where we could almost hold a conversation as Tim dipped in
and out of me. I can't remember who mentioned it first. If it was me
or Tim, but we were in agreement straight away. It was uncanny how
in tune our minds were.
It felt like the natural culmination of what we had started and what
we were hoping to continue. It had always been there, in the
background. An unspoken, implicit agreement from the first time he
came deep in me. I think I subconsciously knew as soon as those first
ropes of cum erupted from my son's penis and into my pussy.
There was so much that should have held us back, so much to
consider and plan for, but that was all swept away by just the idea of
it. It was too much to resist or object to. I had never been as wet as
the first time he came in me. He had never been so hard or cum so
much. We bring out the nasty in each other. The thought of being
impregnated by my son was the embodiment of those urges.
Besides...we were already fully committed to the crime. We may as
well see it through to its logical conclusion. Tim and I still mention it
jokingly. How we have shifted from law-abiding citizens to prolific
criminals breaking the law multiple times a day. I don't feel like a
law breaker or a wanton and depraved person. I feel like a liberated
woman indulging her darkest desires to their maximum pleasure.
I had assumed those days were behind me. It had been twenty years
since I was pregnant and I was a different person now. A different
woman. I didn't have any of the nerves or fears of back then. Alex
and I had always been vague about having another child until the
idea had dissipated completely. But the thought of having Tim's
baby filled me with a sense of purpose and happiness. I was
overcoming all the trepidation of my younger self.
I had replaced it with the firm conviction of my love for Tim. My son.
My man. I feel pride at the thought of carrying his child. Our child.
He gets up to bring me a glass of water. I shift on the bed as our
combined stickiness clings to me. I have given up trying to wash our
linen. It gets dirty again too quickly and I cannot keep up. Try as I
might to keep as much of Tim's cum inside there always seems to be
plenty left to stain the bed.
I pull the drawer out from under his bed and slip on a floral print bra
and panties. He always prefers me in more demure and 'mumsy'
attire whether that is under or outerwear. When we first began
sleeping together I would try and titillate him with daring and
revealing outfits and lingerie but I quickly found out his tastes were
more vanilla.
He preferred the cardigans, the skirts, the blouses, long pleated skirts
and pant suits and blazers. The pearl necklaces and lockets. The hair
held up by barrettes or kept in a bun. The chemises and negligees.
Understated makeup and minimal jewellery.
I think it is part of the whole conception. The more moderate and
reserved the outfit he more it turns him on. It emphasises to him that
I am his mother. Straitlaced, conservative and borderline frigid. A
well-kept, well-to-do suburban middle-aged woman. A professional
with cultured tastes and a predictable home life. He loves to tear that
image apart and rip me from my modest trappings. Free the whore
underneath.
So, all the racy and salacious stuff I bought especially for him had to
go. Rather than deciding alone I took him with me to shop for the
outfits and underwear he would like to fuck me in. It had been so
long since I had taken a man shopping with me. Someone who
wanted to be there. Someone who knew he was the ultimate
beneficiary of the whole trip. It was such a thrill for us to wander
around the shops browsing through the racks of clothing and
lingerie, him trying to hide his erection and me trying to dampen the
desire to lock him into a changing booth and let him ravish me.
It was the thrill of other people as well. Strangers all of them, but
wondering what they saw when they watched us hand in hand,
giggling and necking. A young man cavorting with someone old
enough to be, well, his mother. If only they knew. I almost want them
to know. Just one. So they can watch and admire us. I feel we put on
quite the spectacle with our bodies and our tongues. A feast for all
the senses.
Tim hands me my water and inspects me. He approves of the bra
and pantie combo but then it is one he picked out on a recent trip.
'Mummy lingerie', he calls it, with a twinkle in his eye. He cups my
breasts as I swig the water. Sometimes I wonder if we would ever get
out of bed if it were not for the intrusion of our regular lives.
I pull out a skirt and blouse from the drawer. I slip on the bracelet
and butterfly necklace he has bought for me. I have accumulated
more clothes and paraphernalia in my son's bedroom than I have in
my own marital room. I have lost count of the times on a morning
when I have started to head towards Tim's room to grab the dress or
bra I need for the day and then corrected myself without Alex
wondering if I am quite mad. Or it could be my body recognising its
needs before my mind has woken up.
My husband is the only cloud on our horizon. We have still not
formulated a plan for how we will deal with my impending
pregnancy. Even the simplest scenario where we could pass it off as
Alex's child is an unhappy compromise.
I don't want Tim to have to hide. I want him to be able to raise our
child with me. To be a true family no matter the obstacles in our way.
In our mad abandon to procreate we didn't fully grasp how our lives
would be impacted. But it is part of the magic we share. That
somehow we will find a way. That somehow this union of mother
and son will continue to thrive despite the headwinds we face.
Tim slips into some slacks and a shirt. I sit on the bed in a state of
utter relaxation. I am aware of the clinical benefits of sex but I never
imagined it could be so therapeutic. Tim's cum in my body is an
analgesic, stripping away my pain and replacing it with a floating
bliss. It soothes every last nerve and vessel. Its effect reaches parts of
me I did not know I had.
He opens the window to let the scent of our sex out. I pull perfume
from the drawer and spray it on me though I will need to shower
before bed. Alex will indulge the odd mystery smell but out of
consideration for each other we always attempt to obscure evidence
of our extramarital adventures as much as possible where we can.
We should shower and cleanse ourselves, but the likelihood is we
will only dirty each other again before Alex arrives. Two months into
this mad escapade and the fires of our singular passion are not
dimmed. All our clothes and linen are tagged with the scent of our
mingled juices. Even now I feel the last trail of his cum smear the
fresh fabric of my panties. This is my happiness now. Feeling my
son's semen dry on the hem of my thoroughly fucked pussy.
I tidy away the drawer. My drawer. Filled with stockings, bras,
pantyhose. Skirts, blouses and jeans. Razors, creams, ointments. A
separate makeup bag just so I can prepare myself for Tim. The video
camera we have bought to occasionally film ourselves together and
watch later. A photo strip from that time we took photos in the booth
at the chemists. Making faces and sucking each other's tongues. An
unopened box of condoms. A memory card with footage of us in full
incestuous flow.
The jewellery box he has bought for me. Scented candles and
flavoured lube. The panties worn from our first time together and
still soiled with our juices. The chequebooks for our new joint bank
account. The silk scarves we use to tie my wrists to the bedposts. A
secret Mother's Day card that Tim wrote to me outlining how he
planned to make it especially memorable. Designs for tattoos to mark
our love for each other.
Holiday brochures for the future, romantic weekend breaks and long
sun-soaked cruises. A book of baby names. A mountain of evidence
should anyone else discover it but to us, simply proof of our
undeniable love and horniness for each other. The only thing I keep
in my shared bedroom with Alex are the remnants of my wardrobe
and my sex toys. I don't need them when I'm with Tim.
I worry that Alex may discover it. It is not like it is a well-hidden
trove or guarded by lock or other barrier. Even a few discovered
items would lead to someone jumping to the obvious conclusion.
There really would be no denying it. 'Yes, Alex. I am conducting a
torrid incestuous affair with our son and yes, we are indeed working
very hard to get pregnant together. Oh, did I mention it's the best sex
I've ever had?'.
Tim seems remarkably calm about any such danger. To him the
drawer represents a shared life and a shared future. It is a portal into
our own little world where we can fully express the all-consuming
desire that we have stumbled on. He tells me how he masturbates to
the footage of us together when I am in my own room with Alex. I
tell him to save his cum for me.
Every night away from him is painful. Particularly those rare nights
Alex and I have sex. I feel like a double agent making sacrifices for a
greater good. Sex with Alex is not unenjoyable. I remember when it
used to be one of my favourite things in the world, in fact. But after
twenty years of marriage and two months of Tim, it just feels stale
and bland. I try to cover my disappointment as much as I can. I don't
think of Tim at all. I can't risk calling his name out. He knows I go
through this subterfuge for him, but it is no consolation. In our
house, two out of three people go to sleep unhappy.
I've never felt guilty before. The arrangement Alex and I concocted
was explicitly designed to remove the possibility of guilt. Yes, we
could see other people, but we would always come home to each
other. We would always have each other. Now the guilt is for how
Tim must feel. How I am betraying my son whenever I sleep with
my husband. I am finally discovering the appeal of monogamy. I
have finally found the one person that makes me want to forsake all
others. In the last place I would have thought of looking.
Has it been two months? Two months since we took those first
thrilling steps into each other's hearts. It doesn't seem possible. It
seems like a cherished lifetime, but also a blur. A flash of tangled
limbs, sticky tongues and endless cum. So much cum. I feel like we
have generated enough memories to fill a library and the servers for
a porn site. In a way, that drawer is the archive of our passion. I plan
to keep on filling it.
I head to my office to try and at least perform some work today. It is
strange; I've always been a consummate professional, never slacking
or wasting time meant to be working. Not until I discovered the
pleasures of sleeping with my son. Now I am half-dreading being
lambasted or audited for my lack of productivity on my days
working from home. Everyone knows their risk of addiction. It's why
people don't try smoking or hard drugs or any potentially
destructive habit. I never envisaged I would become addicted to
incest with my son. It was not something I could have calculated or
screened for. And it has been anything but destructive.
It has been as unexpected and thrilling a surprise as I could ever have
imagined. I never thought that someone would be able to make me
feel like this again. Giddy, girlish, in a euphoric bubble that I don't
want to ever collapse or burst. Incapable of focusing on anything else
other than the arrival of the next orgasm. And I am still somehow not
tired or jaded of it. Normally this amount of sex in such a short space
of time would start to leave me underwhelmed. I would almost start
to get fucked out. But there is none of that. If anything, my desire
grows.
I try to dissect the pleasure. To work out where it came from. If it is
the breaking of cultural or societal taboos that heightens my pleasure
so much. If it is a biological or psychological switch that flicks in me
when Tim and I make love. As a teacher I am naturally curious and
this was no exception. It is a bolt from the blue that has electrified
my body and upended my mind. When I try and discuss it with Tim,
he becomes coy and shy. Like I have caught him doing something he
shouldn't be doing and he expects to be punished for it. It's odd how
he reverts to the bashful introvert. How he doesn't want to delve
deeper into what makes our lust tick.
Especially when I have experienced his thick cock slamming into me,
his firm hand spanking my arse or pulling my hair when we are both
close to cumming. When we are 69ing each other and I feel him on
top of me choking me with his cock as he tongue-fucks my cunt.
When he goes really deep in doggy and makes me squirt. He is
anything but shy once we are alone and naked.
I have awoken something in him I know. Something that perhaps
only I could have brought to the surface. I have no choice but to enjoy
it as much as I can even though I want to study it in an almost
scientific way. It sounds clinical but for some reason I worry. I have
never been wanted so much by a man. Wanted so much by the one
person who should not want me at all. It is the same feeling in me. I
have never wanted to be a whore as much as I want to be for my son.
I have never wanted a man to let him do whatever he wants to me as
I have with Tim. Like magnets that are supposed to repel. We have
somehow reversed our charges and nothing can stop us coming
together.
I worry that the explosive sex will fade. That this inexplicable,
pulsating desire we have for each other will dampen and we will
become like most other couples. Bored and contemptuous of each
other. Trapped in tame and almost grudging sex lives. I want what
Tim and I have to go on. To never end. Right now it doesn't seem
possible, but five, ten, fifteen years down the line? I marvel that my
main concern in life now is whether I will still be having earthshattering sex with my son several years into the future. That my
husband has become an afterthought and my married life a
necessary sham that I use to conceal my true passion.
I give up on my marking and open a browser. It is hard to focus with
Tim in such close proximity. I am sure that his grades are suffering
as much as my own work. Nothing else seems important when we
are together. I check our joint account. I told Alex I was doing it to
buy books and pay for other university expenses but all I have used
it for so far is buying outfits and underwear with which to titillate
and seduce his son. The first initial batch of risqué outfits and then
the more staid and moderate apparel that Tim helped me pick out. I
have still kept some of the older ones. The corset, babydoll and body
stocking. Who knows, he may end up changing his mind on them.
Alex has set up a regular payment to it. I am using the money to save
for a trip. I want Tim to make love to me on the beach or in the ocean.
I want to be able to travel once I am pregnant with the baby and
while I am still able to. I don't feel guilty about using Alex's money
for this purpose. He wants us to be happy though we have been
hiding what form that happiness takes. We will toast his contribution
as Tim and I fuck on a far flung shore.
I am already shopping for maternity outfits. Things to wear at home,
to the office, in the bedroom. I have yet to take a test but already I am
imaging Tim nursing at my swollen nipples and caressing my
growing belly as he fucks me. I make a reminder on my phone to
order a pregnancy test in preparation.
The thought makes me wet again. Tim's cum is still fresh in me and
I am already yearning for another dose. Part of me knows it will
never wane. This sick lust will never dampen. We are both unique
lovers to each other. We offer something that no-one else can come
close to recreating. We will never become jaded or tire of each other.
The taboo is too strong. I check my phone to see a message from Alex.
Working late. Don't wait up. A message like this would normally be
enough to confirm my suspicions he is seeing someone else. Now it
doesn't bother me so much. I close the browser and get up from the
desk. I unbutton my blouse and go to see where Tim is.