I stood in my bra and panties, pretending to look closely at my face in the mirror. In fact, I was pretty sure that my son, Jeff, stood right outside the door and could see me. I’d have to turn my head quite a way to see him, but you know that feeling you get when someone is watching you? I had that feeling now and it turned me on. I’m a pretty good mom, I think. I do the right things and I give Jeff his space. I don’t sa...

“Ashely wants to watch us have sex,” I told my husband. “I think it’s OK. Isn’t it?” “Hell, no,” Robert said. “She’s our daughter. She’s only sixteen! She’s our daughter!” We argued for an hour, basically what’s the harm (me) vs. it’s incest, sort of (Robert). Halfway through, I got him to agree that it wasn’t incest. I kissed him for that and sat facing him on his lap. “Oh, honey,” I said, “something’s given you a hard-o...

From behind, I felt my son’s hands on my breasts. I was in the kitchen making dinner, just chopping an onion and almost done with that. He cupped my boobs, then pinched my nipples, not hard. I felt his stiff cock push against my ass. I was dressed, blouse and shorts, but I couldn’t tell what he was wearing. We’d done this before – not often, maybe a dozen times. My son was sixteen years old. His hands felt nice. Not as go...

I was talking to Jessica about fucking my son, something I’d done with Tommy three months ago. We’d never fucked again, although we did use our hands and mouths on each other more than we used to. “He molested you, Lolita,” Jess said. “No, he didn’t,” I insisted. “He was licking my pussy and just decided to go a little further. I can’t, I don’t blame him.” “It still sounds like sexual abuse to me. Even if you did enjoy it...

For several weeks, my seventeen-year-old son, Tommy, and I continued what we’d started. We’d moved to my room and its king-sized bed, his twin bed being much too small, but otherwise little changed. Tommy masturbated often, ejaculating on my sheets or sometimes on me, although never in my face. I masturbated little, but more than not at all. I gave him blowjobs that always ended with me swallowing his spurts and handjobs...

“What’s happening?” I asked my seventeen-year-old son. I was sitting in the living room chair by the fireplace, which wasn’t lit. He stood in front of me, bent over slightly, and had undone the second button of my blouse. I had left the top button open. He didn’t say anything at first and I repeated the question, “What are you doing?” He undid the third button of my blouse and I smacked my chest with my hand. I was a thir...