My husband left me years ago and, at the time this story begins, I was thirty-five years old. I’d been feeling horny for most of this particular day but I still hadn’t done anything to satisfy my arousal before my teenage son came home after visiting friends.
At sixteen years old, Sam was tall with a medium build that wasn’t too muscular, and he kept his black hair short. He was fit — didn’t smoke — and was extremely well endowed. Yes, I confess I’d seen him in the shower a few times and, although his cock was flaccid, it was impressively long and thick. Another confession: I often thought about seeing him erect, imagining that it would be huge and hard.
Truthfully, I got wet thinking about his cock and when I heard him in his bedroom with various girlfriends I was in floods. Oh yes, Sam was definitely advanced for his age and enjoyed giving and receiving oral — and fucking, given the chance.
Sam also loved to flirt, even with me. In fact, for weeks he constantly flirted, following me around the house, getting more and more naughty with his remarks and grinning at me. It became obvious that my young son had ideas about fucking me.
I did not discuss this with him but there was no mistaking the signals. I knew he wanted to fuck me — and, as it was some time since I’d had a hard cock, I was truly tempted. So, I came to a decision: if Sam made the first move, I wouldn’t stop him…
It’s early evening and we’ve just finished eating. In the lounge, my son is sitting on our large settee and I waste no time settling next to him and sipping more of the red wine I’d started drinking during our meal. The wine was making me feel hot while we exchange small talk, chatting about ordinary every day happenings. Just one difference: I felt sexual energy building between us. It was the way he’s looking at me, especially my breasts. He was drooling.
I stood and turned on a small lamp at the side of the settee, then slowly walked over to switch off the main light. In the subdued glow, I returned to sit alongside Sam. Almost immediately, he put a hand on one of my big tits and caressed it over the top of my thin blouse. My hard nipple told its own story but I said nothing. After all the weeks of flirting, my son was finally making his move.
Clearly encouraged by my silence, he put his other hand on my knee and gradually slid it up the inside of my thigh. My skirt just about covered my pussy and as my naughty teen son fondled my breasts and pinched the hard nipples, I saw a remarkable bulge in his jeans.
Unchallenged, he slid his hand further towards my panties and I opened my legs, providing my horny son with easier access. Gently he rubbed along my pants and I felt very aroused and moist. His bulge was even bigger now and I reached down to feel his hardness. We both rubbed and felt over our clothes; Sam got even harder and I got wetter.
We were not speaking — our hands were doing all the talking — and I wanted to fuck him but it would not be on this settee. My bed I was in the adjoining room and, with the sexual heat at fever pitch, I whispered, ”Hey, Sam, why don't you come to mummy's bedroom and we’ll see what comes up."
"Oh, yes,” he grinned, “I’d love to go to your bedroom with you."
When we stood, I saw his lump was now enormous. “Oh my,” I said, "it seems you have a problem. Would you like mummy to sort that out and show you what your father is missing?"
