Introduction:

As you may know from the first eight chapters, almost two years ago, my stepson, Robert came to New York to spend the summer with me. At the time, I was living in a one bedroom, split level flat in Manhattan. Robert slept on the couch in the living room. I slept upstairs on the loft.

One night, I came downstairs for a drink of water. I wore my typical nighttime attire, an oversized t-shirt and my panties.

It was after midnight. I saw Robert in the small study sitting at the computer, his back to me. He was wearing headphones and he was watching pornography on my computer while slowly masturbating. It was am amazingly erotic sight.

I knew at the time that should quietly return upstairs without disturbing my stepson. I knew I should leave him to privately complete his objective. But instead, I stood there in the shadows, mesmerized by this erotic sight. It was as if I could not force myself to leave before I saw him ejaculate.

I am ashamed to admit this, but I became so aroused at the sight of him pumping his erection with his fist that as I stood there in the darkness, I raised the hem of my t-shirt slightly and quietly slid my fingers inside my panties and began touching my erect clitoris as I watched.

I watched intently for several minutes silently rubbing my little nubbins, hoping to witness Robert's orgasm.

Some movement or reflection must have alerted Robert to my presence, because without warning, he swung around and saw me standing there with my hand in my panties stimulating myself.

He confronted me.

I was mortified at being caught. Despite my denials, Robert knew what he saw. And the bright crimson embarrassment that burned across my face and neck as Robert repeatedly asked me what I was doing back there in the hallway removed any doubt; it was plainly obvious that I knew I'd been caught.

I finally escaped back to my bedroom and prayed that this incident would never be mentioned again. I was not so fortunate.

Robert insisted that we revisit the incident the next evening over dinner, which led to a discussion about masturbation. During that discussion, I acknowledged that masturbation was normal and healthy. Under further questioning, I admitted that I too masturbate occasionally, or at least attempt to do so.

My statement that I 'attempt' to masturbate started an entirely new line of questioning; one that led to me admitting that I have a difficult time reaching a climax, and often give up before I achieve the desired goal.

I am not sure how he did it, but Robert pressured me into discussing a number of personal things, many of which were far too intimate for a normal parent-child discussion. He posed questions in a manner that got me to reveal things about myself that I had never revealed to anyone else.

He pressured me into discussing how I masturbate. I admitted that I usually just rub my clitoris. He even got me to admit that on occasion, I have inserted a device to achieve an orgasm. I used the term 'device'. I was too embarrassed to utter the words 'vibrator' or 'dildo'.

By the end of dinner, I was exhausted. I felt like a witness who had been interrogated thoroughly. And I was beyond embarrassed. But I answered Robert's questions honestly. He was correct, if masturbation was a normal and healthy activity, I should be willing to discuss it like an adult.

But clearly a barrier between us had been broken. Robert felt very comfortable discussing aspects of our sexuality that made me very uneasy. Yet, I must admit, these conversations stimulated me in some strange way.

After dinner, while Robert rinsed the dishes and loaded the dishwasher, I changed into my normal sleeping attire, an oversized t-shirt and my panties. It was neither revealing nor inappropriate. I considered changing my normal routine and not changing into my t-shirt for bed, but I reasoned that was silly. We had a discussion about masturbation, nothing more. It would be ridiculous for me to alter the routine I had because of our dinner conversation.

Robert was wearing gym shorts and a form fitting t-shirt as well.

I returned to the living room where Robert was loading the blue-ray player. He had rented a movie, 'Mandingo', for us to watch together. Mandingo was a racy, R-rated film about the south in pre-civil war times. It was about slavery, and had a series of very steamy interracial sex scenes. These scenes were far more explicit than I was expecting or with which I was comfortable.

Robert's was growing noticeably aroused as we watched the wife of the plantation owner enjoying being 'pleasured' by one of the large muscular black slaves on the plantation. Her moaning as the large black slave fucked her on the screen was difficult to ignore. Her line 'pleasure me Mandingo!' sent a chill through me. Yes, I was becoming aroused too, but my arousal was slightly less obvious than the huge tent that formed in the front of Robert's gym shorts.

Robert began stroking himself, subtly at first. But as the action on the screen got more explicit, Robert became more obvious in his actions. I knew that I should leave. I was sufficiently aroused that I knew I could 'get there' tonight in the privacy of my bedroom with minimum effort.

But something kept me from leaving. The scene unfolding in front of me was too tempting. And I am not referring to the scene on the screen. Watching Robert brazenly masturbate was too intoxicating. I could not force myself to leave. I wanted to witness his ejaculation before I went to my bedroom to bring myself off.

I remember him reaching into his gym shorts to touch himself, skin-to-skin and looking directly at me and saying, "So mom, how about it. Will you join me? It's normal and healthy, right?"

I remember Robert pulling off his t-shirt and tossing it on the couch next to me. His muscular chest and shoulders were strangely appealing to me despite the fact that I knew these thoughts were totally inappropriate.

"Come on mom, join me. It's normal and healthy, remember?" he urged a second time as he stroke his huge erection. My breathing was labored from the involuntary arousal at this sight. I felt like I was not in control of my actions. It had been years since I had seen a man's erection. I had never before witnessed a man masturbating.

Initially I refused. However, I am ashamed to admit this, but after protesting and refusing to join in several times, I relented. I could feel myself blush deeply as I began to touch myself through the material of my panties as I watched Robert pump his huge erection in his fist.

I resisted the urge to reach inside my panties and touch myself skin-to-skin, but I did touch myself on the outside of my panties as Robert watched and masturbated.

I could not climax, but I got close. Then suddenly, Robert stiffened and groaned, and ejaculated rope upon rope of white, translucent semen across his belly. It remains the most erotic image I have ever witnessed. The scent of his semen filled the room. I was dizzy with lust. I have never been so aroused.

I should have politely left at that point, gone to my bedroom, and gotten myself off. I could have cum very quickly. I am ashamed to admit, I did not do that.

Instead, I got up, got a warm, wet wash cloth, returned and cleaned the semen from my stepson's tight abdomen and took his semi-rigid penis in my warm cloth and wiped it clean. I even took a small dollop of the ejaculate and brought it to my nose and inhaled his scent while he watched.

His penis grew rigid under my touch. As his penis throbbed back to life, I simply could not release it. I continued to gently massage it under the guise of wiping it clean. But Robert and I both knew that after five seconds of wiping his penis, I was now intentionally stimulating him.

"Is this okay, baby?" I asked.

"Oh god yes."

Soon he was touching me. I froze when his hand touched my thigh, but I reasoned, I cannot be offended by Robert touching me while I have his penis in my hand.

I kept my thighs together. Robert pried them apart saying, "I just want to feel your arousal, mom."

I relented again, and slowly separated my knees, giving him access outside my panties.

Without removing my panties, he pulled the leg aside and fingered me. He knelt in front of me and kissed and sucked my erect clitoris driving me to the most powerful orgasm of my life.

Robert then persuaded me to relieve his erection orally. That night Robert became only the second man to make me cum, and the first man whose sperm I ever swallowed.

I was so embarrassed and ashamed of my behavior.

It had been three years since I had had an orgasm with another human being. The last person with whom I had shared an orgasm was Robert's father before our divorce.

Upon reaching my orgasm, with Robert's mouth on my clitoris and his fingers deep inside my vagina, I began sobbing uncontrollably. I was overtaken with guilt and remorse. I continued to cry uncontrollably for several minutes as Robert tried in vain to console me.

I eventually went to my bedroom and tried to reconcile my sin. I cannot describe the guilt I felt that night as I relived the experience over and over again, convinced that I had jeopardized my immortal soul by my careless actions.

The next day I continued to be tormented with an indescribable guilt. I returned home determined to never fall prey to this temptation again.

However, Robert had other ideas. Emboldened by my weakness of the previous night, Robert met me in the kitchen wearing only a towel. He had just emerged from the shower.

I tried to dissuade him, to tell him that the previous night had been a tragic mistake. He was undeterred. I remember the next few minutes like they were yesterday. Robert stepped back from me, dropped the towel in stood in front of me naked and told me to watch.

I stood there mesmerized as he slowly became erect with no physical contact. Pulse by pulse, his penis grew hard to its full seven inches and stood proudly in front of him.

"How did you do that?" I asked in wonderment.

"Mom, I simply thought about you. If just thinking about you affects me this way, hw can it be wrong. My body would not react this way if it was wrong."

I knew his logic was flawed, but I had no answer.

Robert then knelt in front of my an slowly ran his hand up my inner thigh. I grabbed his hand and stopped its progress, "No Robert, don't. We mustn't."

"Mom, I just want to see if you are experiencing the same reaction I am. If you do not react like I do, I will leave you alone, I promise."

I cannot explain why I did it, but I released his hand and allowed my stepson to reach under my dress and feel my wetness. I stood there shamefully and allowed Robert to touch me. I stood there, in my kitchen, motionless as he slowly pulled my panties down, and returned his hand under my skirt and allowed him to finger me while I braced myself on his broad shoulders. I held on to him, balancing myself as I squatted to give my stepson full access to my wet and dilated vagina.

Yes, that night, he pressured me into allowing him to touch me, and then enter me. My only victory was that I did convince him to allow me to install my diaphragm first.

He made me cum several times that evening. I never had any control after that.

I seemed physically unable to deny that boy anything. And he sensed my weakness. He seemed to know better than I did that with sufficient persuasion, I would submit to his desires. I was lonely. And I craved the affection and attention far more than the sex, making me so very vulnerable to his seduction.

After allowing him to enter me, and ejaculate inside me, there was no turning back. He became my lover. I was not able to dissuade him. He now owned me.

And I cannot deny, I liked being owned this way.

And as you would expect, Robert shared my bed with me the rest of the summer. We fell into a routine of sorts. Every day, before I came home from work, I would insert my diaphragm, even after I was taking oral contraceptives and the pill was supposed to be adequate protection. I simply could not risk getting pregnant by my stepson.

I believe we made love virtually every night, often more than once. Even when I was menstruating, Robert still wanted me and had me. Robert found a sturdy, plastic step-stool that he placed in the shower when I was menstruating. He would have me stand on the first step and fuck me from behind, while the warm shower washed away any evidence of my period. I would face the shower wall, bracing myself against the tile as Robert pounded me from behind.

I never was able to climax like this, but the fact that Robert wanted me, or perhaps needed me, even when I was on my period was very flattering to me. I have never felt as sexy or desirable as I did with my stepson.

I have never been fucked so often or so well in my life as I was that summer.

Occasionally, I was met in my kitchen by a naked young man sporting a raging hard-on as I enjoyed my coffee before work. Robert’s standard joke became, “May I offer you some cream with that ma’am?” as he entered the kitchen expecting his good morning blow job before I left for work.

I never refused him. I doubt I ever could.

We took a wonderful vacation over Fourth of July in the Adirondacks. We will both always cherish the memory of those four days when we could behave like a couple in public.

During that trip, Robert convinced me to wear 'ben wa balls' inside my vagina while we went horse back riding at the Circle B ranch. The two ben wa balls would click and clack together with every trotting step the horse would make. I tried not to cum, but the banging and clacking of those two vibrating spheres inside me proved to be far too much. I struggled to remain in the saddle as a massive orgasm overtook me. To my horror, the orgasm caused my vagina to 'gush' in a manner it never had before, soaking the crotch of my jeans with a noticeable wet spot. I was so embarrassed dismounting in front of Danny, our guide, as he looked at the dark wetness in the crotch of my jeans. I don't know if he thought I wet myself or what. (see chapter 8 for the details of what occurred that day.)

To this day, every time Robert discusses seeing me climax on horseback, with the 'ben wa balls' banging away inside my vagina, he gets aroused. 

 Later that summer, he talked me into renting a motorcycle one Saturday. At Robert's insistence, I inserted the ben wa balls for our motorcycle ride together. We drove along Shore Road with me clinging to Robert on the back of the Harley, with 'ben wa balls' clicking and clacking inside me, and the vibration of the two-cycle motor sending waves of pleasure through me.

Once I started cumming, I could not stop. I just hung on, clinging to Robert as climax after climax quaked through my core. I was begging for him to stop, to let me come down, but he drove on. I actually think I had a ten minute orgasm! By the time he finally pulled off the expressway and let me dismount, I was shaking and dizzy.

I lost count, but I swear I had seven or eight orgasms on the back of the motorcycle before he let me stop. I still get wet just thinking about that afternoon.

Yes, Robert’s creativity, sexual energy and endurance was of mythical proportions. I know he was nineteen. Well, actually he turned twenty in early August. But even on an ‘age adjusted basis’ he had more stamina and drive than anyone I have ever heard about either personally or from literature. Robert continued to tell me it was me that inspired this level of performance.

Despite all my misgivings about the nature of our relationship, I found his attention and sexual prowess deeply emotionally fulfilling on some level. But my massive guilt did not abate.

By the end of the work week, I would actually feel sleep deprived; having been awakened multiple times in the wee hours of the morning by Robert's massive boner. At least two, sometimes three times during a week, Robert would take me between one o'clock and four o'clock in the morning, leaving my vagina sloppy with his semen oozing out of me.

I loved it. It was flattering to be the center of his sexual universe, but it was exhausting as well. I knew it would end soon with his return to college so I endured the fatigue, and enjoyed the attention.

I came to accept...