Instruction

"Tell...tell your father that I'm lying down with a headache." I saw my panties hanging out his pocket and said, "Give those to me and don't say anything about this to Paul."

I could hear the front door opening and my husband calling out, "I'm home!"

John shook his head and said, "Agreed – we won't mention this to Dad, but we will finish this conversation later!" He pulled the panties and gave them another sniff. "I'll keep these to remind me that you and I have unfinished business." He glanced at his wristwatch and shook his head. "Aw, hell. I'm late for the lab."

My son leaned down and gave me a quick kiss smack on the lips. "I'll be home late...gotta lot of lab work tonight." He winked at me and turned and went out the door, stuffing my panties deep inside his pants pocket.

As he went down the stairs, I heard his muffled voice and then his father's. With my head still spinning, I crawled underneath the covers until only the top of my head was exposed. In a few minutes the door opened and I heard my husband murmur, "Cathy? You okay, hon?"

"Headache... lemme sleep," I groaned softly, hoping I sounded sleepy and not drunk.

A long silence ensued and then Paul whispered, "Sorry, honey. Get some rest."

The door closed and I was left alone...just me and my guilt and my sudden lust. I had been scant seconds from letting my own son put his mouth on my cunt and I was still wet at the thought! My body quaked with unrelieved need and I squirmed and pulled up my dress under the heavy blankets, momentarily stunned to find myself without panties, but then plunging my fingers deep into my pussy, aching to be loved by someone. I shut my eyes and tried to picture Paul touching me, but he kept morphing into our son, that awful, carefree grin of his on his face as his tongue emerged snakelike to pleasure me.

Like a wanton slut, I fingered myself, rubbing my swollen clitoris and swirling three fingers inside my pussy, creating pleasure, but never enough...just getting within reach of orgasm, but unable to make that last bit of distance and then...

The bed swirlies suddenly hit me and as the room began to spin, picking up speed with every revolution, I staggered from the bed and barely made it to the master suite bathroom before I was on my knees before the toilet. I heaved and heaved, all for naught – caught up for agonizing minutes with the dry heaves, knowing that I would feel so much better if only I could throw up.

Eventually, my need to vomit faded, much like my desire to orgasm had in the moment of extreme distress. I climbed to my feet and rinsed my mouth off. Suddenly, feeling hot and tired, I struggled out of my dress, tossing my bra on top and turned to return to bed. I paused and looked at myself in the full length mirror hanging in the bathroom, my own nakedness giving me pause.

I looked at myself and tried to see what my son saw...what would cause him to be so daring with his own mother. At first, I was repelled, but then I tried to see it from his point of view and it was illuminating. True, I did not have the tight, firm body of his sexy young girlfriend, Kelly, but for a forty-seven year old woman, I had nothing to feel ashamed of.

I ran my hands through my short, tousled black hair, still happily pleased to see no gray streaks yet. My face was still unlined and my dark brown eyes still clear. My body, while not young and tight was still good for a woman my age or even a woman ten or fifteen years younger. My breasts were still pert – small melons with the nipples still pointing slightly upwards...with a 36C cup, there was still more than a handful, but not too much. My tummy had a slight pooch to it, the one that nearly every woman who's had children would recognize. I was actually proud of it, my small belly giving me a more womanly aspect. My hips were a little larger than when I'd been eighteen, but my cheeks hadn't sagged too much and I'd seen more than one college boy sneak a peak on the rare days I wore slacks to the university.

I slid hands through my neatly trimmed bush, taught by my mother to keep things neat between my legs. Speaking of my legs, they were still shapely and toned. I turned and looked at myself from different angles and suddenly felt a little better about myself. True, at five foot, two inches, I could have stood to lose ten or fifteen pounds, but I suddenly realized I wouldn't be ashamed to show my body off to a lover. Or my son as an image of him between my legs popped up.

I walked unsteadily back to bed and crawled beneath the covers, suddenly feeling weary and afraid. Realization of how close I had come to committing incest with my son washed over me and part of my dismay wasn't over that as much as how willing I had been in the moment.

Struggling with those thoughts I fell asleep – my dreams a strange mishmash of being lost and alone and wanting something I could not identify, but which seemed to be just beyond my reach. Often, I could hear my son's voice calling to me and saying, "I can help, Mom...you know I can!"

Suddenly I came out of my sleep, a hand on my shoulder, shaking me. "Cathy? Hon, are you okay? You've been out for hours."

The dim light of the bedside lamp was on and my Paul was sitting on the bed in his pajamas looking at me with some concern. I coughed and replied in a raw voice, "What time is it?"

My husband yawned and said, "It's ten-thirty – time for bed. How's your head?"

"Better," I murmured and then on a sudden whim of lusty desire, I shrugged off the blankets, exposing my naked upper body to my husband and caressed his crotch. "Make love to me, Paul."

My husband nearly jumped off the bed at my touch, looking shocked at my nakedness. "What are you doing without any clothes on, Cathy?" He said in a voice that was mixed with both surprise and irritation.

"Waiting for my husband to get naked too," I giggled as I sat up, trying not to wince as my hangover announced itself. "Let's make love, darling. I need you!" I kissed him on the face, trying to wrap my arms around him even as he raised his arms to block me. My head felt like it was about to explode, but my horniness overrode my hangover.

"Cathy, good lord. It's Wednesday for crying out loud!" He moved away, sliding away from me and removing his glasses. "I've got a ton of work tomorrow. We're bringing the new client banks on line in a few days."

As my husband rambled on, I scrambled to my knees and tried to kiss him and entice him with my nakedness, rubbing my medium sized breasts against his pajama clad body. "Make love to me, Paul, please!" I moaned, my tongue brushing against his closed lips.

"What's got into you, Cathy? It isn't Saturday night and you know I need my sleep to stay sharp." He pushed me away even as I cupped his crotch again, confirming his lack of interest. I fell back onto the bed, feeling embarrassed, ashamed and frustrated. I rolled up in my blankets and rolled away from my husband, blinking back tears. I felt Paul settle into the bed and the light went out. He leaned over me and kissed me on the cheek and said, "Get some sleep, Cathy; I'm sure you'll feel better in the morning."

He flopped down on the bed, pointedly ignoring me and turning away, depriving me of any last chance of enticing him if he'd snuggled up against my naked body. As I lay there in my humiliation and anger, I could hear his breathing quickly slow and then Paul began snoring. I tried to get back to sleep, but my frustration kept me wide awake, helped along by my pounding hangover.

Finally, I rose, finding a nightgown in the dark – an old flannel granny gown that zipped down the front and fell to my ankles. I slipped quietly out of the bedroom and went downstairs, pausing in the kitchen to find some aspirin and then wandering dissolutely through the house. I peered out the living room window to confirm that my son's car wasn't there...both relieved and disappointed that he wasn't around. Finally, I made my way back to the den, intending to watch a little television, but I couldn't get into anything so I turned it off and decided to have another brandy...a little hair of the dog as my grandfather used to say.

I sat in the den, occasionally sipping at my brandy, but not getting drunk again. I small lamp provided light as I sat there and thought about my life and Paul and my son, John. I was tired, the day's strange events wearing on me, but I didn't want to return to bed. I was waiting for something...waiting for my son to come home, even if I didn't want to admit it.

Just before one in the morning, I heard a car pull into the driveway. A few minutes later, the door opened and closed quietly. Footsteps walked past the den, then halted and returned, John noticing the light. Then my son was standing there, smiling down at from the doorway. "Hi, Mom," he said softly. "Couldn't sleep?"

I shook my head and said, "Got a lot on my mind."

John snorted and stepped down into the den, pulling off a light jacket and tossing it aside as he replied, "I guess so. Things got kinda heated this afternoon."

"And then some," I said as John sat down on the couch, sitting close as he did earlier. "We're not going to get carried away like that again. I am your mother after all."

"We're not?" John replied, reaching out to again put his hand on my knee. "I thought I promised you we'd finish this conversation later. It's later, Mom."

I pushed his hand off my knee and hissed, "Stop this, John! You're my son, goddamnit and we're not doing any of this!"

Undaunted, John knelt at my feet and placed both hands on my knees. "Are you sure, Mom? You look pretty...I don't think the word frustrated does you justice right now. Did Dad leave you hanging again?"

I looked away as I muttered, "He'd have to start in order to leave me hanging!" I immediately regretted saying it. Paul was my husband and deserved some respect. "John, stop it!" I snapped as my son's hands encircled my exposed ankles and slipped underneath the hem of my nightgown which had enough play to allow him to raise it up. I locked my knees together, but he suddenly had my nightgown lifted up enough to expose my legs above the knees.

"Dad is a fool, Mom," John muttered with a knowing smile on his face as he rubbed the tops of my thighs. "Maybe I will give him a few pointers on how to please you. Of course, I need to find out what pleases you first, Mom." He slid his hands up under the gown, trailing his fingers along the tops of my thighs.

I made as to get up, but put up no real fight as my son again slipped his hands onto my inner thighs and pushed them slightly apart. "Don't do this, son. I'm your mother...respect that."

John looked into my eyes with a wolfish expression. "Oh, I plan to respect you, Mom...I expect to show you how much I really care before I'm finished...if we ever really are finished." My son licked his lips and smiled almost hypnotically into my eyes. "I've been thinking all night that making you happy could be the work of a lifetime."

"Please, John...don't." I tried to push my gown down and his hands off me. I managed to get his right hand free of me, but quickly realized that he'd moved it of his own volition.

He looked at my flannel gown with some distaste. "I know this is comfortable, but it's sort of in the way, Mom. What say we at least open it up some?" He reached up and hooked his index finger into the metal pull ring at the neckline attached to the zipper. I moaned as he gave it a yank, sliding it down enough to partially expose my breasts.

John arched an eyebrow in surprise, expecting, I suppose for me to fight him every inch of the way. "Let's start small, Mom. Let's just undo this gown and get a good look at your fine body." Slowly, he began to pull it down as he stared intently into my face. "You want to stop, okay by me, Mom, but you have to do it."

"Please, son...don't," I whimpered.

John laughed and shook his head. "Not good enough, Mom. Words are easy – you want me to stop, put your hand on mine and stop me." He pulled down on the zipper, taking his time. I watched, seemingly helpless as it descended towards my stomach. He brought his other hand free and tugged my gown down to keep the path of the zipper straight. As he unzipped me, my gown began to spread wide, exposing my naked body. I suddenly realized my hand was softly caressing the skin above my breasts and that they were completely visible. Had I pulled the gown apart?

My smallish breasts heaved with excitement, my nipples, erect and sticking out prominently like two extended eraser nubs, pulsed almost painfully with blood. The zipper steadily descended, the gown now spreading with a little help from my son's free hand, past my belly and then my son sighed as he spied the crest of my trimmed bush. "Lovely, Mom, just lovely!" Helpless and unwilling to stop him, John finished unzipping me and after spreading the flannel cloth back to reveal me, my son placed his hands on my knees and spread them, revealing my pussy, wet and dripping since the moment I'd heard his car come up the driveway.

John ran his hands along my inner thighs, only pausing as he brushed my outer lips, making me quiver. "Mom, your pussy is...well, beautiful. I cannot understand how Dad refuses to eat this pretty thing."

His touch on my skin, so close to my pussy was maddening, but I still made a feeble attempt to dissuade him. "John...son, your father is upstairs. If he found us like this..."

"He can sit down, shut the fuck up and take notes," John interrupted me in a harsh, forceful voice that somehow made me even wetter than before. My son looked up at me, intently staring into my eyes. "You need this, Mom. You want this. I want this too." He paused and grinned at me. "I want this because you're my mother and I love you and because you deserve it and because I just can't pass up the opportunity to eat a good looking woman's wet pussy!"

John winked at me and then without warning, mashed his face against my pussy, making me cry out as I felt his mouth on me and his tongue rolling up my slit, plowing between my labia and tasting me. I clamped my hand over my mouth, fearing I would wake Paul up as for the first time in my life, I felt someone's mouth on my pussy...the strangeness...the wonderfulness of it sending spasms of unsuspected pleasure coursing through my body!

There was something wicked and alien as John rolled and spun his tongue around in me, over me, like some mad and curious creature...alive and seeking something that it craved. Carnal joy swept crashed over me as John growled approvingly and I realized that what it craved was me.

My son rose up suddenly, his face dripping with wetness...my wetness hovering scant inches from my own mouth. I felt his hands on my breasts, covering them and squeezing as he hissed, "My God, Mom, you're delicious!" Then John kissed me, his tongue assaulting its way into my mouth to find my tongue which responded out of instinct as much as desire, sharing with me my own taste. Fingers pinched at my nipples, clamping down hard as I moaned into John's mouth. Passion I had only dreamed of swept me away as we kissed...passion I had never felt with my husband...passion that compelled me to abandon all restraint and unleash all my basest desires.

John broke the kiss and slithered back down my body, his lips planting kisses on my neck, breasts, nipples and stomach before he again assailed my pussy, licking and sucking my sodden flesh. I'd never felt so wet or hot between my legs. I wanted to open myself up wide and let my son worm his face back to the place it had originally came from.

My moans were getting louder with each lapping stroke of John's tongue and while I tried to keep one hand over my mouth, the other scrabbled frantically for something better to use. I snagged a corner of a decorative pillow and pressed my face into it, letting go with a terrible scream as my son's insatiable tongue swirled around my clitoris, mercilessly teasing it with the tip of his maddening probe.

I writhed about, mastered by my son's oral loving, utterly his. He lifted my legs up and draped them over his broad shoulders, giving himself a better angle to delve into my exploding pussy while his hands again sought out my breasts, pulling and twisting my nipples and kneading my breast flesh with an expert's touch.

Into the silky material of the pillow, I moaned his name again and again as he rolled that magnificent tongue up and down my slit, now delving deep inside me to lap up my flooding juices, then sucking on my pussy lips and again and again, returning to my clitoris to tease, lick and then ever so gently, to capture my swollen nub between his lips and suck.

I screamed into the pillow as my first ever true orgasm rocked my world, not caring if the pillow was muffling my cries or waking up the entire neighborhood. I was caught up in the rapture of pure sexual ecstasy, reveling in it and knowing instantly that I would be forever addicted to it, consumed with the need to recapture such joy and perfect pleasure again and again.

John masterfully rode my pussy with his face with the ease of a longtime practitioner, his tongue ever in motion as he slurped and sucked at my pussy, drinking of my creams as if they were the nectar of the gods. My heart pounded wildly in my chest till I thought I was on the verge of a heart attack. I could barely breathe – the intensity of my orgasm producing black spots in my vision until I gave one last lusty scream and collapsed, nearly comatose as John made my body continue to shake and quiver as he continued to eat me...easing me back to Earth with his expert tongue.

I was crying a little when my son rose up to smile at me and then leaned in and kissed me again. With what little strength I had left, I kissed him back and with trembling arms, hugged him to me as fiercely as I could. "T-thank you, s-son," I stammered between gasps of breath. "I-I n-n-never knew...it w-was w-w-wonderful!"

My son kissed me again and again, kissing away my tears, lapping up the smears of my own creams his face had pasted over mine. Kissing me softly on the lips, he finally replied, "Mom...this is just the beginning. You've just experienced the tip of the iceberg as far as to how wonderful I'm going to make you feel."

His words, coupled with the absolute conviction in his voice, sent a delicious tremor of anticipation through my aroused body. I was about to reply when suddenly from above us came the unmistakable sound of Paul's cell phone, the tone an annoying electronic song set at high volume that I recognized immediately. It was Paul's company. They only called when something was wrong.

The noise abruptly stopped as Paul must have answered it. A minute or two of silence was followed by a loud, "DAMMIT!" and then we could hear my husband stomping about upstairs. By the time he came downstairs, John and I were sitting at the kitchen table, our faces scrubbed, my gown back in place, although the soft flannel felt sweeter than ever against my aroused flesh.

Paul was wearing sweats and toting his briefcase and a suit on a hanger. "I told them that Connors was an idiot when it came to writing code," he barked, accepting a car mug of coffee from me with nary a thank you.

"What's wrong?" I asked as John watched bemused.

"Oh, the new client's system up and collapsed. I have to go in and find the damn problem," my husband grumped back. "I'll just catch a nap in my office if I can get it fixed. No sense driving there and back twice even if I can get it fixed before the presentation meeting at ten o'clock!"

"Sorry, honey," I replied.

Suddenly, Paul seemed to be aware that we were both up in the middle of the night already. "What's wrong, Cathy? Why are you up at this hour?"

I shrugged and replied, "I couldn't get back to sleep after being in bed all afternoon and evening. John got in from his lab about a half hour ago." I could feel the sudden guilt crawling all over my face as I said, "We were sitting here talking."