Part I

I’m Sara.

I'm about to turn 50, and all this began about a year-and-a-half ago. My husband, Sam, is 50, and we've been married for 25 years. Given that it’s consumed half my life, all in all, it's been a good marriage. 

Sam and I have two kids: my son Eric, who is now 21, a little 11-year-old girl named Emma.

As we got older, sex with Sam became more sporadic and, frankly, less satisfying, as I imagine it does for most couples. But in the fall of 2013, he had an accident that put him totally out of commission for several months.

Do I blame what happened on the fact that Sam and I didn’t have sex for a few months? I can’t really say that - I’d been unfaithful before. But did a lack of sex drive me to the ultimate act of infidelity? It’s possible.

I go to one or two conferences a year related to my work. On more than a few occasions I’ve found myself flirting - and more - with men. I told myself it wasn’t completely sinful because I rarely went “all the way.” There was oral, mutual masturbation, lots of dirty talk, and tons of petting and touching, but no penetration.

Nearly all of these “sexy time partners” have been guys around my age. I’ve almost exclusively played around with married men so that everybody is on the same page. This is strictly about short-term fun -  no falling in love, no phone calls at home, no meeting in between trips out of town. If we end up at the same conference next year, maybe we do it again, but no promises.

The fall of Sam’s accident, I went to a four-day conference across the country. The first night, a college kid at the hotel bar was flirting with me. Again, I usually stuck to older married professional types, but this kid kept me interested, and I found myself flirting right back. Before I knew it, he had his hand on my thigh, and I didn't stop him. I was horny as hell, and finally, I just looked at him and said, "Do want to fuck me?"

It floored him. He actually sputtered. I laughed, then took his hand and pushed it under my skirt so he could feel the heat coming from between my legs. I looked him dead in the eye and said, “I'm not kidding."

He kissed me in the elevator, and I reached down to touch him through his jeans. He was rock hard and seemed thick, and I’d already made up my mind that tonight would be one of those times the “no penetration” rule didn’t apply.

We were all over each other before the door to my room was fully closed. I pulled his t-shirt over his head and pushed him back onto the bed. Straddling him, I leaned down to kiss him again, running my hands over his smooth chest. He grabbed my ass roughly, and I ground down on his cock, my skirt already riding up nearly to my waist.

I broke our kiss long enough to lean up and make a big show of unbuttoning my blouse, removing it, then slowly taking off my bra as he watched. When it was fully off, he almost seemed to growl, ran his hands up my body to grope at my tits, and leaned up to kiss and suck my nipples. I reached behind me to fiddle with his jeans, but couldn’t get a good grip on the zipper. Finally, he bucked his hips, flipped me over, and began to dry hump me. My pussy was on fire, and when he finally unsnapped his pants and fished out his cock, I lifted my feet to try and push them off him. I was too clumsy to do it properly, and we both laughed as he shoved his pants and his underwear down, and a beautiful, thick cock came into view.

Now he was totally naked, but I still had on a skirt and panties. I told him to undress me, and he did it slowly while kissing my nipples, my tummy, the tops of my thighs. As young as he was, he was still damn good at this, and when he had me naked at last, I was soaked. I finally grabbed him by the hair and pulled his face into my pussy.

It was glorious, and that’s when IT happened. He was lapping at me expertly, and he looked up at me with a goofy-ass grin on his face.  

With his mussed dark hair, his blue eyes, and that goofy-ass grin, he looked so much like my son Eric that my heart skipped a beat. He immediately buried his face back into my pussy, and I came with a vengeance.

I could spend a whole lot of time telling you about how he fucked me, but I know that’s not really the story you’re here for, is it? You want to hear how I got from that night until that weekend when Eric finally took me; when I became an incest whore.

And you’re just going to have to wait.

Author’s Note

And so it began. Sara would always leave me like this. She’d build me up, then say she needed to go home for the day. Sometimes I get a brief message from her that night, just a hello. Sometime she’d pick right up where she left off the very next day. And sometimes she’d disappear for a week or more. That led me to believe that she might not be telling me a true tale at all, that she wasn’t a mother fucking her son at all, but that she was a middle-aged guy in a basement, jerking off as much as while writing as I was while reading. But, God, did I love it when she came back to tell me more. This time, she kept me waiting for three days, and then she just started writing as if it had been five minutes between messages.

Part II

Eric and I have always been close. I kid him that he's a momma's boy. He’s not clingy and strange as that label may imply, but rather affectionate and loving with me. He's very handsome, and I don’t just say that because I’m the mother he’d like to fuck.

Eric has always had girlfriends around, and they are invariably the sexy, popular girls. Truth be told, he’s a cocky little bastard about the girls he dates, and I didn't fool myself that he was still a virgin at 19. He came home disheveled and glowing often enough for me to recognize the look of a young guy who’d been fucking in the backseat of a car somewhere.

Truth be told, Eric was always a flirt, and he was not hesitant to flirt with me. As he got older, I enjoyed it more, and I was equally flirty with him. It all seemed fun and perfectly harmless, and even my husband would joke about it.

I should add that when I was in high school, I had a bit of a crush on my older brother. When I look back, I realize that Eric is a lot like him at that age - cocky, confident, good looking. As we got older, my brother was checking me out, and I was checking him out, and there was a definite sexual tension in the air. I won't go into a lot of details about that, and we never had sex, but I will say that we ended up “fooling around” a bit. 

Having had that relationship, I was always turned on by the incest fantasy, and I was a dirty girl. Back in the 1980s, it wasn't easy for a girl to find stimulating masturbation material after I found out how boring the bodice rippers my mom read were. My brother introduced me to dirty pulp books published by a company called Beeline. I’ve always liked my porn more literary than visual, and I devoured those books when I could get my hands on them. Of course, I was too embarrassed to buy them myself, and when my brother left for college and took his collection with him, I became an adept little shoplifter to feed my fantasies. 

There was more incest than you'd think in those little paperbacks. Most of it, of course, was written by men for men, and most of the stories I pilfered were of brothers and sisters. In order of popularity, it seemed it was brother/sister, followed by mothers and sons. Again, I think that’s because I’m sure the vast majority of those books were written by men. Every boy dreams of fucking his mother at some point in his life, right? And sisters are such a nearby, more available form of fantasy. In my experience, men seem less inclined to sexualize daughters and daughter-figures, although you horny bastards surely wouldn’t mind fucking any other nubile 18-year-old, would you?

Anyway, that’s a long way of saying taboo thoughts and incest have turned me on nearly as long as I can remember, so when the internet came along and I discovered Literotica, I was enthralled. Stories of brothers and sisters would make me cum harder and faster than anything else I read on the site, and I was constantly looking for new tales. I was never attracted to my own father (although I did often rub myself while listening to him and mom go at it some nights), and the concept of mothers and sons was just alien to me back then.

I do remember the first mother-son story I read. It was called “Built for One Thing” and after that, I was hooked. I fucked myself silly so many times to that story!

So - did I fuck that college kid instead of one of the other guys my age I’d fooled around with but never gone all the way because of some subconscious desire to explore that fantasy? Did it turn me on so much because I was already attracted to Eric in a completely inappropriate way?

It’s possible.

But whether the desire was there before that work trip, or if fucking a college kid was the proximate cause, things got even flirtier with my son and continued to escalate over the next several months.

By the time all this started, Eric was out of high school but still living at home. The plan was for him to attend a local community college for two years before transferring to his out-of-state dream. This left a lot more time in his schedule than in high school, and most of his classes were downtown near where my husband and I both work. The three of us would meet up for lunch a few times a week, and Eric would often stop by my office to visit. The younger ladies in the office - and plenty of the ones my age and older - were always happy to see him, and the little shit made it a point to flirt with all of them shamelessly.

Some days he and I would have lunch alone, and those came to be the days I liked best. We talked and talked about everything, and we’d end up touching a lot. Our knees would touch under the table; I’d reach over to stroke his arm while telling a story; he’d put his arm up on the back of a park bench we might be sharing, and he’d gently brush his fingers on the back of my neck. It was exactly the kind of touching you’d be doing with someone you were flirting with - or trying to seduce. 

Gradually, our hugs were tighter, and they lasted a lot longer. I started making excuses about not being able to meet my husband for lunch, and Eric and I would drive somewhere across town instead of walking to the places we’d usually go, so we could avoid running into my husband or other people we knew. I don’t think either of us planned it that way. We just naturally fell into finding more and more time to be together. It just became something special just for us, with a rhyme and a reason all its own.

Ever since he was a little boy, I’d go into Eric’s room to say goodnight and give him a kiss on the forehead or cheek. It was something natural, something he expected, and it didn’t stop just because he was no longer a little kid. But as this unacknowledged flirting got more intense, our nightly ritual did, too.

Eric would usually already be in bed under the covers when I’d come in. I’d stand in the doorway, and we’d chat a bit about our day or plans for tomorrow or whatever book he was reading. After a few minutes, I’d walk over to the bed, lean down and kiss him on his forehead, usually with a “Goodnite, kiddo,” thrown in.

First our nightly chats got a little longer. Before long, I was standing inside the door as we talked. A few weeks after that, I began sitting on the edge of his bed before leaning over to kiss him goodnight. I started letting my robe fall open, hoping he would look at me, or I’d go in without my robe and just a gown that would ride up my creamy thighs. 

Eric began to alter his habits as well for these nightly excursions. He started laying on top of the covers, not underneath them. In a tight t-shirt and thin running shorts, I could clearly see the outline of his cock. At some point, he stopped wearing the shirt at all, and I was without the robe more and more, and my hand might brush his chest when I kissed him. I started kissing him on the cheek like I’d done when he was a boy instead of on the forehead as I did when he became a teen. Those kisses lingered more, and moved closer to his mouth.

One night I went in wearing a tank top that I usually only wore to the gym. My breasts aren’t huge, but I have nice cleavage, and it was definitely on display in this. My nipples were hard, and I bent over to kiss him on his cheek and briefly touched his chest. Again, my touch and the kiss lingered a little longer than usual.

A couple of nights later, I got even bolder. I put on one of my husband's undershirts that is much looser on me. With no bra, I knew that when I leaned over, I’d be giving him a full view of my breasts. 

When I leaned in, I steadied my hand on his smooth, warm chest. I felt the neckline of the shirt fall open. My nipples were like pebbles, and he took a good long look. I brushed my lips against his cheek, pulled back, did it again. I ventured toward the corner of his mouth, and when I finally stood up, I glanced down and saw his cock straining against the thin fabric of his shorts.

Author’s Note

This time it was six weeks before I heard from Sara again, and just like last time, a message just popped up unexpectedly, continuing the narrative as if she’d never left off.

Part III

One night, the family met for dinner at a local Italian place. We sat in a booth, with my daughter and I sharing one side, while Eric sat directly across from me next to his dad. Even though we weren’t alone, I did something I’d started doing on our lunches together. I slipped off my shoe and rubbed it against his foot and calf.

When my husband got up and went to the men's room, I got even bolder, raising my foot and placing it on his knee. I’d never even gone that far when we were alone, much less with other family members around, but something compelled me to push it. Eric responded by reaching down to grasp my stockinged foot, rubbing his thumb over the sole while looking right in my eyes. When my husband returned, I quickly dropped my foot and slipped my shoe back on while Eric and I shared a secret smile. That night I didn’t go into his room to say goodnight, because I was too afraid of what I might do.

A couple of weeks later on a Friday, my husband made plans to have drinks with buddies after work. My youngest was with parents, so I texted Eric to see if he wanted to have dinner together at the same place. My heart fluttered as it felt like I was making a date.

It was a wonderful night. The flirting was overt, even in a place where people knew we were mother and son. We both knew we were treading on dangerous ground, and neither of us was flinching. 

Halfway through dinner, my husband called to say he was going to be later than planned. I smiled broadly at Eric, reaching across the table to stroke the back of his hand as I told his father to have fun and stay out as long as he liked.

I got a little tipsy at dinner and told Eric he'd have to drive. At the car, he came around to open my door like a gentleman, and just before I got in, I turned to face him. Standing very, very close, I put my hand on his chest, and said, "Thank you for a wonderful date." 

He did his typical little smirk and said, "That's what this was?" 

I said, "yes" and then just kissed him right on his lips. Long enough that it definitely wasn't motherly, but nothing too aggressive.

He seemed a little shocked and actually drew back a bit. I thought I'd ruined everything, but then he pulled me in for a hug, and he was hard. I felt him pressing against me, and if he would have asked, I would have sucked his cock right there.

He whispered, "I love you mom" and kissed...