by the Wolf
Margaret lay on her bed in her room, biting back her moans as her fingers dug and plucked at her frustrations. Her eyes opened and closed slowly while she looked up at the ceiling, one moment seeing the simple white plaster, the next visualizing all of her strange fantasies and wishing she felt she had time for more than a quick session on her bed. Heat rose to her cheeks and sweat began to gather lightly in her black hair as she slipped her working fingers deep into her wet sex, thumb carefully pressing and moving her clit in the ways she knew would get her to release. Eventually.
It always took longer and heightened her sense of frustration on days like this. George was out of town on business again on a day when Margaret desperately wanted a good, hard plowing from her husband. The sort she didn’t even get lately when he was home. She hadn’t been sure if she had time to really break out her box of toys and select just the right one, but she’d needed … something. So it had been a quick look through the Internet on her tablet, finding all those stories and pictures that excited her and got her engine humming, then working as quickly as she could with her fingers to get her the rest of the way.
Margaret reached her other hand up to grip her breast while she pushed deeper and spread her legs, drawing them up and panting. Fantasies from the tame realities of her younger life to the lovely, twisted desires that could never be real flashed through her mind as the middle-aged woman stroked herself and teased her own nipple. Men of every shape and size invaded her in her mind, some plucked from the vaults of memory, others mere constructs of her head. One moment George as he was in college was bending her over a dorm bed and giving it to her good, the next a man she’d never met was shrunk down to the size of a toy and at Margaret’s mercy. Yet interspersed in all of them, unable to be pushed away, was the image of the younger man living in her basement, right there in the same house, so close, yet so unattainable. Her own son, Paul.
She was feeling less and less guilty all the time that the thought of her well-built twenty-year-old sent shocks of pleasant fire through her skin. The first time the thoughts had come unbidden during a long slow night of self-pleasure, Margaret had been mortified and unable to continue until she banished them from her mind. But as time went on, she couldn’t deny his objective attractiveness or the naughty thrill that the idea of doing anything with him brought to her. She’d even begun, in utter secrecy, to look up fiction and supposed true-life accounts of mothers that had fooled around with their sons. The thought had even occurred to Margaret once or twice to test the waters with him, if any of those things she’d read on the Internet had even one iota of truth, and see if she could become one of those impossible stories.
For the moment though, such ideas were locked in pure fantasy, and Margaret let them flood her senses once again while her hands worked faster and faster. Her finger tickling her nipple was her handsome boy’s tongue flicking and licking across it. She gasped as she dug her fingers deeper, pressed her thumb harder, and imagined her Paul’s healthy erection filling her. Her tongue ran over her lips and she panted as her son was cast even in her stranger fantasies as a tiny man at her whim. The thought of all the things she could do with that … delicious boy mingled with all the pent up energy that had been driving her mad all day until all those fantasies finally pushed her the rest of the way.
A high-pitched whine that would have been a loud cry without Margaret holding it back escaped as the intense orgasm washed over her entire body. She slammed her head back against the pillow, her body writhing on the bed and savoring that wonderful release from frustration that her fantasies of her son brought her. In those moments, she could feel no guilt, no shame, no worry, just the physical bliss that washed away all the rules of the real world and transported her for a few amazing moments. Her fingers continued to work at her most sensitive spots, and she occasionally brought them up to lick them clean before moving back in again, the sensual taste and feel of her own juices prolonging the climaxes. Finally, after a few minutes, she could do little more than lay there on the bed, basking in the afterglow.
Panting, she knew that it wasn’t really that long until Paul was home from his classes for the day. For just a moment, shame returned to her, as if he would somehow know just what she’d been doing and thinking. Though it was more likely he’d head straight down to the basement that he’d converted into some hybrid of a sleeping space and a home laboratory for his advanced course work. Paul had certainly taken after his parents in his intelligence and interest in physics.
The fact that he lived at home still was more a prudent financial choice than a matter of lack of initiative. The house was large enough and close enough to the university, especially with George’s own work there from time to time, that it simply made sense for him to remain there while working on his undergraduate studies and getting on the fast track through his Bachelor’s degree without worrying about rent to conflict with his studies. Adding in George’s successful consulting business with laboratories across the world and Margaret’s residual income from several patents early in her career, there was no concern about Paul being a burden. The only real concerns for Margaret had come in the last couple years.
Heading into her bathroom and starting the shower, Margaret’s mind went through some of the dance she’d grown used to after such intense fantasizing. Though the guilt had mostly evaporated, she still struggled each time with the possibility of some of these fantasies. Warm water cascaded over her still-sensitive skin, feeling amazing as once again she argued with herself. Some fantasies—namely the ones she’d always enjoyed about being a giantess or dominating shrunken men—were so impossible that once they were over, she never gave a thought to making them come true. But it was maddening knowing just how much this thing that had taken root in her head could actually conceivably happen.
Paul was right there, in the flesh, in the house, in the real world. He was legally an adult, and a damn attractive one at that. Yes, it was incest, she reminded herself, but if it was consensual and no one was being hurt, what would be so wrong with that? She thought that at least once or twice she’d seen him noticing her body when he was a teenager, so maybe he’d want it too.
But what if she was wrong? What if she tried something, tested the waters, and it turned out her son was disgusted by the idea? He might not find her attractive because of that little bit of middle-aged weight she’d put on. He might be completely horrified by the idea, making things incredibly awkward around the house. What if it got out that she tried to seduce her own son who wanted none of it?
Margaret shook her head and dipped it again under the water. She always did this to herself, always came up with the worst-case scenario. Even if he wasn’t interested in such things, she thought Paul loved her enough to leave her dignity intact. It wasn’t like she’d throw herself at him immediately; she’d test things out in stages, backing off at the first sign of disinterest. It was still always theoretical anyway in these head games.
Though more and more, it was less theory and more planning, she had to admit. George had been so absent the last several months, and for some reason, she’d been so horny of late. Having a young man in the house that might lick her, plow her, that she could fool around with…
As Margaret soaped up her breasts and body and panted a little, she almost started touching herself again and felt heat rise to her cheeks. In that moment, she knew she wouldn’t hold out much longer. The debate with herself was almost done for the time being, and it was just a case of what to do with the results.
Approaching it like an experiment as she calmed herself and finished cleaning up, Margaret thought about her first steps with a little flutter in her chest. For the first time since the thoughts had entered her head, she would take action and gauge reaction. That was what it was all about: a logical hypothesis to be confirmed through action-reaction. Simple as that. Tonight she would make dinner for herself and Paul, and she’d wear something provocative. Not completely inappropriate to her age or too obvious, but just enough that her son would have ample opportunity to check her out. If she could tick off enough confirming reactions on her mental checklist, she’d move on to more touching. Then if those reactions were consistent … well she’d see about taking it to the next phase when that happened.
It was comforting, as it always was to Margaret, to at least have a course of action, and to know she could set the experiment to stop at any point if the desired result did not occur, before anything dangerous happened.
She stepped out of the shower with a renewed sense of purpose and almost a calm detachment from the problem. Margaret began picking out the clothing she would wear tonight, trying for something that looked like what she would wear around the house but also accentuated and displayed all her best features.
Margaret was bringing the pasta and sauce in from the kitchen while Paul set out a couple plates for them. Already she couldn’t help but admire the dark-haired boy in his simple red t-shirt and blue jeans, and she began silently counting and trying to judge the looks he gave her.
She’d chosen a low-cut workout top that barely contained her D-sized breasts without a bra, and a pair of comfy shorts that just happened to nicely frame her ass. It was easy enough to pass off as something she’d worn to do yoga earlier and felt comfortable in, and it would give Paul enough chances to ogle her if he took them. When he’d arrived home to see her like that, she had a sense that he was watching her a little more closely than usual. Already in the course of setting out their dinner, Margaret thought she’d clocked at least a few looks, but she knew those could have just been a reaction to her outfit. She needed data.
“Thanks for making dinner, Mom,” Paul said casually as he sat down.
“Oh, no problem, I was in the mood to cook.”
Had he just glanced at her breasts for a moment and looked away? It seemed that way. One more bit of data for her decision on how to proceed. She had a few more ways to show off and gauge his reaction.
As she finished setting up the table, Margaret found various opportunities to stretch to reach something or bend over to retrieve something from a low area. At her age, she knew how to play it subtle and get a sense for the feeling of eyes on her. At least several times, she thought she felt Paul staring, only to find someplace else to look when she turned back.
When what she thought of as Phase One seemed to garner enough evidence, Margaret took at least a couple opportunities for light, affectionate touches when passing by Paul. He didn’t pull away, but she thought she could detect just a little tremble in him. Was it nervousness at an awkward moment, or did he share some of the same feelings she did? She didn’t have much time to test things further before they sat down to eat.
The two sat next to each other at the corner of the dining room table. Conversation was fairly casual, and Margaret kept her voice even and easy, but inside she was a tumult of wondering. Everything felt so close, so … plausible with what she’d noticed so far. Yet she didn’t have surety yet. She didn’t have enough to move forward and take the next step. Part of her just wanted to stand up, rip her top off, and ask her son if he wanted to fuck. But she knew there was no way she could be that bold. She needed more reactions.
As she finished eating, Margaret stood to take her plate to the kitchen and let her hand brush her son’s arm, her fingertips feeling the muscle tone there. “Okay to help me clean up, sweetie?” she asked, worrying for a moment that her voice sounded too seductive.
“Uh … in just a minute. I … need to let my food settle a little.”
Margaret headed into the kitchen, carefully putting the plate in the sink. Frustration dogged her. She’d hoped to get him into the kitchen and apply a few “accidental” bumps to see how he’d react. Maybe as they washed up, she could bring the idea into the open if he seemed to be enjoying it. And he never needed to wait before, he was usually like a bottomless pit with an iron stomach. Why was he still sitting there?
Margaret walked back from the kitchen and over to her son. He was still sitting there, waiting even though his plate was clean. She reached carefully for it and let her breasts gently brush the back of his shoulder. Just a casual touch as she sneaked a peek into his lap. From the bulge in his jeans there, she could see her son was hard and trying not to let on.
Taking a quiet, deep breath, Margaret realized that this part of the experiment had proven true enough, and it was time to continue. She’d thought about how she might begin at least a dozen times, but with the moment pressing in on her, it was hard to just take the leap and open the conversation. Doubts still clouded her as she found her voice.
“Paul,” she said slowly, her fingers brushing the back of his hair while her other hand retreated from the plate to touch his shoulder, “I need to ask … do you think I look good in this?” She cursed herself, sounding like a woman just having a mid-life crisis.
“Uh, yeah, Mom. You look fine.”
She slipped around further to his side, trying to pull everything together as she looked him in the face. “What I mean is … I’ve noticed you looking at me a few times tonight. Do you think I’m attractive?”
“Of-Of course. I’m sure a lot of guys still look at you.”
“No, I mean, do you think I’m … sexy? Do you like my body, son?”
“Jesus, Mom!” Paul almost flinched at the question, and a blush rose to his cheeks. Suddenly, Margaret had a feeling that she needn’t worry at all about his feelings. “I … I guess I can admit that you’re hot. But … I’m not, like, some pervert or anything trying to get a look at you.”
“Well, I don’t really mind you looking. Have you ever actually thought about it though?” Margaret stroked his hair gently, enjoying the touch and wanting to soothe him. To make it okay for him to admit what he wanted. “I mean, have you ever had any … fantasies?”
“I don’t know.” He shifted a little nervously in his chair, but did not pull away from her. “I mean, maybe…”
“Oh really?” she said, giving him a nurturing grin. “You know you can be honest with me, sweetie. I won’t judge you.”
Paul bit his lip and his eyes moved down away from hers. “I have … I get these thoughts once in a while. You know. But you don’t think that’s sick?”
“No, honey, I really don’t. Because if you really wanted,” she said with another glance down at his crotch, “we could give something a try.”
He stiffened in surprise. “What? Th-That would be incest,” Paul said, almost like a recording of some rule he’d heard. He added sarcastically, “And we’re not backwoods hill folk.”
Margaret chuckled. She could almost see the internal argument she’d had with herself a few times playing out in Paul’s head. “Well, it’s not as uncommon as you think.”
“What do you mean?”
She had a moment of hesitation. “Um … I’ll be honest, Paul, I’ve been thinking about this for a while.” Her fingers returned to the back of his head, tracing little trails though his hair that he seemed to enjoy. “And I’ve been reading some things online since I first started thinking about it.” Margaret leaned a little closer to her son. “Society says it’s taboo, but a lot of completely civilized, well-adjusted people have actually decided to … express their affections this way.”
A little sigh escaped Paul, and Margaret could see the bulge in his pants holding firm. “S-Seriously?” he asked, the wheels obviously turning in his head.
“And it’s not like anyone’s being coerced,” Margaret continued. “You’re an adult now, and you can choose to do this or not. But I think we’d both enjoy it. Especially since you’re staring at my tits.”
Paul blushed and looked away while Margaret stifled a giggle. She moved to her top and pulled it down, exposing her naked breasts underneath and pulling her arms out of the straps at her shoulders until she could push the top down to her waist.
“It’s okay, sweetie. Obviously I want you to look now,” Margaret gently put a finger under her son’s chin and turned his face back to her. “And maybe feel them too.”
Margaret saw Paul’s eyes fixate on the gentle sag of her breasts. He made a sound that was almost like a guilty whimper while she leaned slightly forward. She just smiled, knowing he might need a little guidance now that the subject and the real possibility had been well and truly broached.
She reached carefully for his hand, mindful to feel for any resistance and let go if she did. He did not resist for a second and simply let her guide him until she placed his hand on her left breast. The instant his fingers touched, they gripped and stroked. Margaret sighed and her son let out a happy groan as he squeezed her breast, his fingers delicately teasing her erect nipple.
“See?” she said with a smile. “Now that just feels nice, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah … yeah it does,” he said, the little tremor of nervousness slowly diminishing.
“Hmm, I like it too,” Margaret said. She slowly laid a hand on her son’s shirt. When he welcomed the touch, she let her fingers slip down, her breast still in his hand, and carefully rubbed along the bulge in his pants. She could feel the hard length pressed against the denim, and it almost made her mouth water.
Paul let out a nervous twitch but did not pull away, continuing to kneed and finger her nipple. “Oh, Mom. I just … I didn’t … I’ve thought a little about it too, but … I never thought it could happen.”
“I know. But this feels good too, doesn’t it?”
“Oh God, yes!”
Margaret leaned closer. Her other breast rubbed against her son’s shoulder as she moved her lips close to his ear. “I’d really love to suck this. Are you okay with that?”
Paul could barely speak as his cheek leaned to rub against her chest. “Yes. Yes, please.”
An excited tremor coursing all through her body, Margaret slipped away and helped him pull out his chair, making room to kneel in front of her son. The way he’d agreed so readily, the feeling of the hardness against her hand where she stroked, the anticipation after so many fantasies made her tremble almost like a young virgin.
She steadied her hands as she reached out and carefully unzipped Paul’s pants. Undoing the button on his jeans, she made room for his cock to stand even more in his boxers. Reaching gently in, she fished the erection out, letting her hand slide up and down the length. Her son was hard and throbbing and he groaned as she savored the first touch of his penis. There was always something about the first real sexual touch, but in this case Margaret felt it almost ten-fold. She sighed and slowly pulled her hand away, feeling the barest flicker of doubt and wanting to make sure Paul was still okay with this.
“Now, Paul … this is the last moment to back out and not talk about this again. It’s a big step, but I know I want to do it. What about you?” She looked up at him. “Are you ready for your mom to suck your dick?”
Just saying it gave Margaret a pleasant little thrill as she watched her son. Taking ragged breaths, his cock pushing up in front of her as she spoke, Paul looked down at her. He thought for just a moment, she could see in his eyes, then he just nodded slowly.
Margaret leaned in, her hands rubbing his thighs, and slowly wrapped her lips around Paul’s cock. With a loud humming moan, she ran her tongue along his length and slid her lips up and down while Paul let out little gasping sighs and slid in his chair. Her son’s cock was delicious! As Margaret worked it up and down, taking the head easily into her throat and letting the tip of her tongue lightly tease his balls through the flap of his boxers, she realized how long it had been since she’d been able to enjoy the simple pleasure of giving someone a deep blowjob.
“I can’t believe it,” Paul muttered. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
Margaret could hardly believe it either, but as she deep-throated her son and swallowed slowly and sensually around the thick cockhead while sucking at it, she knew she wanted it to continue. She bobbed her head, swirling her tongue and tasting every inch up until she was kissing the tip of his member before sliding back down to the root and pulling it into her throat again. Paul groaned, his head tipping back while she felt his pre dribbling against her tongue. Barely able to force herself to slow down, Margaret slipped her lips up and down several more times, tasting his cock and precum, her hand slipping over to pump and milk his shaft with every upstroke. Then she glided back down to swallow around him a while longer. Every moment made her tingle all over with the raw physical feelings and the realization of her forbidden fantasy.
“Oh … Ooooh! I—I’m gonna cum! Gonna cum!”
Sucking and pulling her lips slowly away, Margaret kissed the head of her son’s cock and lifted her head just a bit, her hand gripping and pumping furiously. She closed her eyes with a smile as Paul groaned loudly and shifted in his chair, the first powerful spurt hitting her right on the lips and chin. Moaning herself, Margaret kept milking him, feeling more of his load hit her neck, her chest, loving the feeling as the warm, thick cum splattered her breasts. She licked her lips to taste it as more hit her chest, her left hand massaging the spunk into her skin and teasing her nipple, all while Paul twitched and moaned in his chair. Apparently her son had been quite pent up before she got to him, she realized when he finally began to slow down to a dribble against her hand.
They stayed there for a few moments as Paul recovered his wits and Margaret simply enjoyed the feeling of her son’s orgasm all over her. She pulled her hand away and licked her fingers clean with a little moan. Savoring the taste as well as the feel, she was already thinking about how easy it had all been in the end. And what it meant that now she could likely indulge herself with her son at any given time.
“Mmm, how was that, sweetie?” she asked as she opened her eyes and looked up at him.
“Oh God, Mom, that was just—” he broke off, looking embarrassed as soon as he looked down at her. “Oh, I am so sorry, Mom!”
“For what?” she said, feeling his sticky load dripping down her skin. “Giving me exactly what I wanted?” With a grin, she sensually sucked a finger into her mouth and licked it the rest of the way clean, moaning. “Mmm, so yummy. Next time I’ll just swallow.”
Paul gave a surprised chuckle, and his head tipped back onto the chair. Margaret had never really hidden from her son how much she loved sex once he’d hit the right age to understand, but she’d never actually exposed details. She’d always wanted him to have a healthy respect for sex in all its forms without making things awkward by giving parental TMI. Now though, she felt it only appropriate to let him see completely who she was in that regard.
Her hand stroked up and down his thigh. “Of course, if you feel like it, son, you could always come upstairs with me and pay me back.” Margaret winked at him, still kneeling there with her top exposed and covered in his seed.
“Oh … Oh, sure. Right, Mom,” Paul said, as if still trying to accept that this was really happening. “I will. I want to. I just … first I need to check on a couple things downstairs. And, uh, I need to, um…”
“Recharge?” Margaret asked playfully, her fingers reaching to gently tickle his balls.
“Heh. Yeah, that.”
Margaret chuckled as she stood up, feeling wonderfully turned on as her son’s eyes followed her chest. He was still so flustered and excited. She knew he wasn’t completely inexperienced, but this was clearly something on a new level.
“That’s fine. Do what you need to do. I’ll be waiting upstairs. In my bedroom.”
Leaving Paul to sort himself out and the dishes for some time later in the night, Margaret went upstairs to the bedroom, still enjoying a slight high from feeling sticky with her own son’s cum. In her room, she shimmied out of her clothes as quickly as possible, wanting to enjoy being naked in the house with him. She swirled her finger through Paul’s cum and carefully circled her nipple, loving the sensation of it and the pleasant tingle that ran through her body. She couldn’t wait to have him pressing to her, to teach him all of the best places to touch her, maybe even talk about some of her more modest fantasies. Of course, she knew she should probably clean herself up if she wanted him to nuzzle and lick her breasts. It might take some time to discover if her son was open-minded enough to taste his own spunk.
In her master bathroom, Margaret wet a cloth and carefully cleaned her face, neck, and chest. The swipes against her breasts brought another pleasant shiver throughout her body while she wiped the drying mess away. When it was all gone, she gave a little sigh and smiled, looking at herself in the mirror.
She’d actually done it. All that going back and forth, all that worrying about how he’d react, and she’d finally crossed the line and verified if it could really be possible, and wound up giving her son a blowjob. And it had tasted good. So good, probably because of all the anticipation leading up to it. Now she only had the mildest worry that when he came down from it, he might decide he didn’t want to go down this road. That after the heat of the moment, some reservations would crop up and Paul would—
Her thoughts were interrupted by the explosion from the basement.
The house didn’t rattle, but the sound was clear enough. Her first thought that Paul might be hurt, Margaret grabbed a robe from a hook on the bathroom door out of habit and raced down to the ground floor. She wasted no time moving through the dining area to the door to the basement and flung it open. Smoke billowed out of the basement, but thankfully no flames, and Margaret momentarily cursed her stupidity for not checking the door first. But her son might have been in danger; all other thoughts took a back seat.
She descended the stairs cautiously, noting that she did not feel any heat or see any flickering. The likelihood of flames diminished as she continued down, waving her hand and realizing that the smoke was not as thick as she’d first thought.
“Paul?” she called out. “Paul!”
“I’m here. I’m … I’m okay … I think.”
Margaret breathed a sigh of relief. His voice sounded oddly far away, but he was down there and able to answer her. “Where are you? Are you hurt?”
There seemed to be a moment of indecision. “Um, I’m on my workbench to the right. Not hurt, no. But … I think I am going to need some help.”
“What do you mean?”
She heard a tiny sigh from the workbench as she moved towards it. “You wouldn’t believe me. Just look over here.”
The thin layer of smoke and mist were starting to clear, and Margaret peered around at where Paul usually sat to work. The basement was strewn with tables holding the equipment he’d set up at home, and Margaret thought she noticed a few new additions since the last time she’d been down a few days ago. When she found the bench where Paul usually sat to do his work, there he was, standing on it … and only six inches tall in a pile of his larger clothes.
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