Chez Fiona Ch. 01
byfogbankc

I'll admit I was frustrated. And frustration is a very powerful emotion. Or rather, it's a very powerful manifestation of other emotions. In my case, the frustration was a buildup of undirected lust and boredom, and a feeling of being neglected and underappreciated. And it all came to a head on a Friday afternoon, when I was sitting alone in my big, empty kitchen.

I should mention that I love my kitchen. It's the one nice thing my husband Harold has done for me in the last few years. Probably he had it build for me out of feelings of guilt about his sexual neglect. Whatever. It's a glorious kitchen with lots of morning light, and a wood-burning fireplace I can turn on in the evening. On this particular day, I was actually using the fireplace, slowly roasting a chicken I had planned on serving for supper, along with some oven roasted vegetables and some flatbread, with a phyllo-pistachio layer-cake for dessert. And then Harold called, to say that he had to work late and wouldn't be home for dinner. And I pretended I was fine with it, but inside, I was fuming. As if it wasn't enough that my sexual prowess was being underutilized, it was a further, perhaps even a greater insult that my culinary expertise was being ignored. But no matter. There would still be, Ethan and Nancy when they got home from summer school, and Peter, who was home from university for the summer. But one by one, each one called. First Peter, saying that he was going to be out with some highschool friends, and then Ethan, who had a date--his first girlfriend, Giselle, who he had not yet introduced to us. Nancy called to say she was going to be over at her friend Tanya's for dinner. Tanya Menko, who's mother Edith always made the most bland casseroles from the recipes on the back of noodle packages. I was damned if I was going to let this meal go to waste, though. I called my close friend Olivia, who lived just across the street. Maybe she and Tony would want to come over for dinner. Olivia picked up after the seventh ring.

"Oh my god, Fiona. Look out your window right now." The excitement in her voice was obvious. I took the cordless phone and went to the front window, peaking through the drapes. Someone was just leaving Olivia's house. A young man.

"Okay," I said, not sure what I should be looking at. "Wait a minute, is that Kim?" It was Kim, a friend of Peter's. Kim grew up down the street, the son of a Korean couple. He had taken Kung Fu lessons, and was chiseled like no other guy I knew. I had seen this--his finely muscled torso--when he and Peter would play basketball out on the front driveway. But what was he doing at Olivia's. Then it sunk in.

"You didn't," I said.

"We did. We did continuously, for about two hours, and I don't think I touched the ground once."

I watched Kim look back over his shoulder, then walk down the winding suburban street toward his own home.

"It was so good. I did things I've never done before. Things I never thought I'd do. Like... anal." She whispered the last word.

"That's great," I said, not even attempting to sound enthused. Kim had been my sexual fantasy, my little taboo, and now that was gone. If Olivia had him, for me to have him would be cheap, a copy-cat gesture. Even the possibility of masturbating while thinking about Kim lost all of its taboo.

"Have you ever had sex with a guy with a shaved head? In the shower?" It was a rhetorical question. Olivia knew that my sexual history was extremely limited. "It's so hot. He was down on his knees, rubbing his head against my pussy, it was like I was going to take his whole body inside me."

"Sounds great."

"Wow. Anyway, enough about me. Why were you calling?"

The thought of having Olivia and her husband over for dinner had lost its appeal. Of course, it wasn't Olivia's fault. I had never told her that I had lusted after Kim for all these years. No doubt it had been a long festering lust inside Olivia, too. Someday, when I was feeling less depressed, I would ask her about it, how it happened, who initiated it.

"Nothing," I said. "Just calling to see how you were doing. Oh, sorry!" I added a level of surprise to my voice. "I've got something in the oven I need to go check on."

"Okay, bye."

"Bye."

I dropped the phone on the couch and wandered back to the kitchen, regarding the chicken rotating slowly over the fire. Stabbed through with a skewer, it seemed it was getting a better sex life than I was. Part of me wanted to take the bird out of the fire and just toss it into the garbage. But I couldn't bring myself to waste what was going to be such a fantastic meal. So I set about preparing the vegetables, coating them slickly with olive oil and cracked black pepper, then sliding them onto the stove.

I checked the cake in the oven, which was coming along nicely, so I poured myself a cocktail--vodka, lime and gingerale, and set the table for one, a setting for myself at the head of the large oak dining table. What the hell... I decided I'd dress up a little nice, too. If nobody else was going to appreciate me, I'd at least appreciate myself. I put on stockings, lacy black underwear, and a really form-fitting crimson dress that I generally used only for Christmas parties--it went really well with my pale complexion and dark hair. I looked fantastic.

I went back downstairs, took the chicken off the fire, cut myself off a big piece of breast meat and leg bone, served up a few vegetables, and went and sat down at the table.

I picked up my knife and forked, but then stopped. I'm not sure why, exactly, but I made the decision I was going to eat with my hands and fingers. I think I liked the contrast--juxtaposition, I think that's the right word--of being dressed up in my best dress and eating this greasy, juicy chicken with my fingers. and it was delicious. the skin was nice and crispy, and the flesh beneath was tender and moist, with the strong flavour of pepper. Some juice ran down my arm, and rather than wipe it off, I raised my arm up and licked it, a gesture that gave me shivers. I was feeling carnal. I was feeling like an animal. I was so ready to masturbate.

"Fuck." I remembered that Olivia had just fucked Kim. Who was I going to think about now? I tried to bring the image of Kim into my mind, try to forget that Olivia had already been with him. I remembered him when he was younger, playing basketball out front, his body lean and firm and glistening with sweat, his movements so elegant and catlike, his gaze pure and unfocused, like he was seeing everything without looking. But I couldn't do it, couldn't think about him that way anymore. I cursed Olivia under my breath. And then, across the basketball court in my mind, beyond Kim, I saw Peter, standing there bare-chested, his skill pale like mine, but hair red like his father's. He was built, too. A nice, lean body, not as muscular as Kim, but lean and nimble. I had a decision to make. Was I going to let myself think about him while I masturbated? If not, I needed to move on and find a different fantasy before my mood passed. I continued to eat the chicken with my left hand, my right hand now hiking up my dress and resting it against my inner thighs where my stockings came to an end.

Just this once, I told myself. I'd let myself think about my son while I masturbated this time, but it would be a one-time thing. I know it would seem like to great a taboo for most women just to entertain those thoughts. But when I was a girl, I had fantasies about my father, so I guess to taboo of incestuous thought had already been breached for me.

So I imagined Peter there with me, at the table. Him in his basketball shorts, barechested, still sweating from exertion, leaning back in his chair, and in thinking such, slipped a finger slick with olive oil and chicken grease beneath my panties, and gently touched my clit. It was a nice, tingly lubrication, as I let my fingers wander delicately over my pussy, imagining Peter now rising from his chair, pulling his shorts down, and taking his cock--which, of course, I imagined to be enormous and glistening--in his hand, as it slowly gained firmness and direction, pointed toward me.

I continued to eat as I masturbated. I'm not sure why, except that it seemed really hot, really taboo. I helped myself to some grilled red peppers, juicy and almost tongue-like in my mouth, and found it easy to imagine that as Peter's tongue with all the excitement and fear of a boy kissing his mother. Delicious. I stuffed my mouth too full and the juice ran down my chin, down my neck, and again it was easy to imagine this as his eager tongue. And then I came. Just like that. It was so shocking, so hard, the best orgasm I had experienced in at least ten years, and everything went black and signals hit me in the back of my spine. A few seconds later, I was standing, leaning forward on the table, legs spread. I don't remember standing, but there I was. I legs quivered under the tension of my body. I sunk back into the chair, noticing that the floor below me was wet. Had I ejaculated? If so, that was another thing I hadn't done in at least a decade.

But as much as my body was on a high from that fantastic orgasm, my mind was reeling a bit. Those seconds after an orgasm are clear moments, I find. And there's no moment as sobering as the waking seconds after masturbating about your first-born. Hell. I was going to hell for that. Not that I believed in hell. I went upstairs and changed out of my dress, putting on jeans and a t-shirt, and went back downstairs, cleaning up the mess on the chair and the floor. And I put away the food. Anything to keep my mind off what I had just done.

But eventually I had no choice but to think about what I had just done, and the bittersweet reality that I would do the same again, that, unlike Kim, nothing could take this taboo away from me. That Peter could fuck any girl, and number of girls, could even fuck Olivia across the street, and the fantasy would never grow old for me, because my pleasure was at the thought of the incestuous taboo.

Was Peter a virgin? I doubted it. He had been at college for a couple years, after all. But I had never seen him hanging out with a girl. And the more I thought about it, the more it crept into my mind that maybe Peter was gay. One of his friends was definitely a homosexual. Maybe Peter was, too. I began to convince myself of this. If Peter was gay, I decided, there was no way I could think about him sexually. In the back of my mind, I knew I was just trying to trick myself into losing interest in him. The least I could do was investigate, though. Maybe he had emails on his laptop to a gay lover. He had left it here, hadn't he? I went upstairs to Peter's room, sparsely decorated because he had taken so much stuff with him to college. His laptop was on the desk, and I flipped it open, waiting for the display to come to life. I entered the password 'ginger'. It was his first pet, and he used it as a password for everything.

I opened his emails and scanned through, but they were all fairly mild. Emails to friends, classmates, usually just discussing their lives (which seemed pretty dull) or their classes (also dull). Some jokes about girls, but nothing to really establish him as being either gay or straight. I checked the bookmarks on his web-browser. Hidden about three folders deep, were a collection of bookmarks to adult sites. The first two were tame, collections of pictures of women masturbating. They didn't do much for me, but I could understand how a young man might be really into those pictures. That should have been enough proof to convince me that Peter was straight, but I kept looking. The third site seemed to be a collection of videos of big black men screwing tiny white women. Some of them started kinda hot, but they always got too vicious, looked a little too painful. The next site didn't have any pictures at all, just links to stories. I picked one from the list and began reading. It was talking about a boy watching his mother in the shower. My heart began racing as I read it, a stronger reaction than to any porn I had seen before--whether video or film or pictures. It was poorly written and I skipped ahead to the finish, which was of the mother licking her son's cum off the bathroom floor. I clicked back and read a different story, this one about a mother and her two sons. Then a third story about a father and a daughter. And then I heard something downstairs, someone coming home, possibly, so I quickly closed the website and turned off the computer.

I wasn't sure who was downstairs, but I wasn't ready to look at anyone. I went into my bedroom, shutting the door, and fell upon the bed. I hadn't intended for that to happen. I had intended to look at his computer, proving to myself that he was gay, and thus removing him from my fantasies. Instead, I had only proved--or at least found reasonable evidence to suggest--that he had similar feelings for me. What if I was to do something? Initiate something? If I took a first step, would he take a second, and would I then take a third? I no longer trusted myself--the slightest hint dropped, the slightest lingering glance could start something that neither of us would be able to stop.



I woke up beneath the covers. I could tell that Harold had been home, had slept beside me, had perhaps undressed me and put me to bed. But his side of the bed was now empty but for his smell.

"Hey dear," he looked up from his paper when I got downstairs. "Sorry I didn't get home until late."

"It's alright, I understand."

"Did you and the kids have a good dinner?"

"I wouldn't know," I said, somewhat resigned. "None of them came home for dinner, either."

"Oh." He looked at me earnestly, searching and likely finding the lines of hurt on my face. "How about tonight, we'll make sure that we're all here for dinner."

"That's great," I said. "Except that I spent so much time in the kitchen yesterday that I don't really feel like doing the same today."

"Well, I'll take us out for dinner then."

I nodded, giving him a pat on the sleeve. I could hear the shower upstairs. Was it Ethan, or Nancy, or Peter? It was the first time I had thought of Peter this morning, the first time I let myself remember the dark fantasies and surprising revelation that had followed dinner. I made myself breakfast, just toast and jam, and took the Books section of the paper. The sound of the shower stopped, and a couple minutes later, Peter came downstairs, his hair still wet from the shower. He wore boxershorts and a t-shirt, the shirt clinging to the wet parts of his chest. He sat down at the table across from me and started fixing a bowl of cheerios. I watched him carefully. This was easily a man I could be sexually attracted to, even as much as I had been attracted to his father. It would be too easy, even. I couldn't help it, imagining being pressed against his moist, firm body, his arms around me, sliding my housecoat up to touch my soft bare ass... I had to shook my head and looked away, turned, and knocked my glass of orange juice onto the floor.

"Shit!" I stood up suddenly, and then hurried to the sink to grab a towel.

"Need help mom?"

"No, just sit and eat your breakfast."

I knelt and began mopping up the juice. And then I looked up and through the forest of table legs and chair legs, I could see where his boxer shorts had ridden up his thigh and the head of his cock, shriveled and red, stuck out from beneath the plaid. I imagined crawling over there on my hands and knees, beneath the table, and just gently sucking it in, between my lips and against my tongue. Bringing him to full, agonizing hardness, even as my husband, his father, sat and read the editorials in the next chair over. So deliciously nasty.

And then the outrageousness of it hit me again. I picked up the towel and carried it to the laundry.

"I'm going out for a bit. I've got some errands to do," I called out. I got dressed and left.

I drove around aimlessly, just listening to the radio and thinking to myself. I tried to convince myself that things I was contemplating were evil, debauched and potentially dangerous, both to my marriage and to my psyche. But the more I thought about all those reasons why I shouldn't, the more it appealed to me. Trying to talk myself out of it was proving difficult. Maybe, reverse psychology would work.

After all, there was nothing really that taboo or exciting about fucking one's son. It was actually just a mediocre, bland act. It's not like I would be the first parent to screw their child. Why, I probably wouldn't even be the first on my street. Maybe Maude who lives two doors down fucks that goth-punk boy of hers all the time, chaining him up and riding him. Maybe Sing Chau has Kim fuck her every morning over the kitchen table after breakfast every morning. Maybe Harold was fucking Nancy right now, while Peter and Ethan both watched, or maybe took turns sticking their dicks in her mouth. God! I took a hand off the steering wheel and gave my breast a hard squeeze.

The reverse psychology wasn't working. My mind, it seemed had already been made up without me really getting any say in the matter.

There was also the matter of how to actually get him. I tried to imagine myself simply sitting him down, telling him that I wanted him, and figured he wanted me, too. But I couldn't realistically see myself saying that. I imagined just slipping into his bed late one night. Hot, but again, not something I could imagine myself doing. I've always been somewhat timid in terms of action even if not when it comes to desires. No, I needed him to initiate it. I would simply tease him, flirt with him, make him so overcome with desire that he would have no choice but to come to me.

I decided to begin that night at dinner, selecting the shortest skirt I owned.

"Isn't that skirt a little short for a family dinner?" Harold asked me as I was getting changed.

"You always used to like it," I said, calculating that any allusion to his sexual decline would end the conversation. He had no idea, of course, that I wasn't wearing panties.

We went to a nice restaurant called Fitzgerald's, and I ended up sitting across from Peter, through my own designs. I asked each of the children about their days, and let Harold talk about his work. I played with my hair, gently touching behind my ear, and licked my lips, not making eye contact with Peter but hoping that he was watching me.

Then, just after our food arrived, I dropped my fork, letting it slide down my leg so that it actually landed over by Peter. "Oh, damn. Peter, would you grab mommy's fork?" I hadn't planned the words out, and it was completely by accident that I called myself mommy. I hadn't called myself mommy in the third person like that in years. But if Peter was turned on by the thought of incest, that's what I wanted to do, right? Draw attention to the fact that I was his mother? Peter knelt to reach for the fork, and as his head disappeared beneath the table, I let my knees drift apart somewhat. Not too obvious. His head was down there for about five seconds, which isn't a long time, but longer than it takes to pick up a fork. That's it, I thought. Look at mommy's thighs. I bet you didn't know mommy works out.

I few minutes later, Peter dropped his fork, and again I let my thighs drift apart. When he did it the third time, I was asking Ethan about his plans for college next year. My hand was already in my lap, so I stroked my thigh in a gentle, distracted circle. I was sure Peter was looking now, and my pussy was growing wet at the thought. It was starting to look strange now with Peter dropping his for and his napkin all the time, so the next time Peter went down, I had my legs crossed. He didn't do it again through the meal.

The next morning, I slept in and by the time I got up, everyone had left. Or at least I thought so at first. Peter's door was closed and I opened it up a crack to see that Peter was still in bed asleep. This was the perfect opportunity to carry out the next phase of the seduction. I could go take a shower with the door open, or I could masturbate and make just enough noise that he could here me. That might be too much. I decided on the shower. Then the phone rang. I considered not answering, but when I saw it was Olivia calling, curiosity got the better of me.

"Oh my god, Fiona. Kim was over here again this morning. As soon as Tony left for church, he was here. I had pretended to be sick to get out of church. And we did it right on the stairs in the front entrance."

"That's great," I said, more interested in my own potential young stud than in Olivia's.

"I'm going to tell you all about it. Have you got time now?"

I thought for a moment, and then a devilish plan formed in my mind. "Come over and tell me. Nobody else is going to be home for a few hours and I want to hear every juicy detail."

I made us tea, and I put a batch of cookies into the oven, just as the doorbell rang. Loud enough to wake up Peter if he wasn't already awake. Perfect.

"So what's it like, fucking a young stud like Kim?" I let myself talk loud enough that my voice would carry upstairs.

"Oh, it's so incredible. He's so strong, so athletic. And he's got the most gorgeous cock."

I don't think I had ever heard Olivia say the word 'cock' before, but it was evident that our friendship was growing more intimate.

"And his balls are completely hairless. That's pretty hot. I asked him if he shaved them that way, like his head, and he said that no, they had always been hairless."

"Mmmm, more fun to suck on, I bet." I had one ear turned toward the stairs, listening for any sound of Peter.

"Yeah!" Olivia's eyes gleamed, obviously excited that I was so interested and eager to listen to her.

"I mean, I had young guys when I was young," she continued. "And they weren't that good. But now that I'm older, more confident, I know what I like, I know how to control the situation."

I heard the tiniest creak from the direction of the stairs. The second one from the bottom always creaked. So now Peter was definitely within earshot.

"So tell me how it started. Did you initiate it?"

"No, you know me, I'm completely timid."

"Yeah, me too," I nodded.

"No, he had come over to return our weed-whacker; his father had borrowed it. And I asked him in for a lemonade. And I must admit, the first thing I thought when I saw Kim there on the doorstep was sex. He's so well built. I've always wanted him."

"Yeah, me too."

"And he was sweating through his t-shirt."

"Mmmmmm," I let myself give a bit of a moan.

"And I was kinda flirting with him. I was mixing the lemonade with my back to him, and I was wiggling my ass a bit, just slightly, not sure if he'd notice. And then suddenly, he's behind me, pressing against me. So I push back, to reassure him that it's what I want. And then suddenly he's on his knees, licking the insides of my thighs, working his way up.

"Wow." I hoped Peter was hearing all of this. I hoped he was taking notes. "That's really daring of him. Most guys his age are so timid. Too bad there aren't more like him."

"Yeah, I wish you could have experienced it, Fiona."

"You said on the phone you did anal?"

"Oh god yes. I'd never done it before. Have you?"

"No, but I really want to," I said. That wasn't entirely true. I didn't really want to, but I was willing to, if Peter was involved. I wanted Peter to think that his mother had no inhibitions.

"Yeah, he did me from behind in the shower, and then afterwards I spread my legs for him really wide, so that he could do sort of a anal missionary position thing."

"Did you taste his cum?"

"Mmmmmm, yes."

"Oh, I'm so envious of that. It's been so long since I've gotten to taste cum. It used to be my favorite flavour in the world."

"Awwww, you poor thing."

"You have to do something for me sometime," I said.

"Sure."

"Sometime you've got to take his cum in your mouth, and then spit it into a little Tupperware container, and bring it over for me." It was such a lewd suggestion; I couldn't believe I asked it. Olivia seemed shocked, too. But she nodded.

"Okay, share the wealth."

"Wow, now I'm going to have to masturbate as soon as you leave."

"Okay, I should go then," Olivia asked. "Unless..."

"Unless what?"

Olivia looked embarrassed. "Unless you want to masturbate together. I mean don't get me wrong, I'm not a lesbian," she hurriedly added.

"No, me neither."

"I'm not even bi. I just thought you might want some company."

It was an unexpected proposition. I was really turned on, and this was something that would further intrigue Peter. On the other hand, I wasn't bisexual, and being with Olivia wouldn't really add anything for me.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

"Great, should we go up to your bedroom?"

I thought through the logistics, trying to determine where the best place for Peter to watch would be. "Let's use the sunroom, it's nice in there."

"Okay, go get your dildos," Olivia said, rising up from the couch.

"I don't have any."

"Oh dear. Well I know what to get you for Christmas!"

"Hang on," I said, heading into the kitchen. I heard Peter move quickly to keep out of my sight. Perfect. He must have been jacking off, listening to his mommy and another woman talk about sex so openly. I grabbed a few things from the kitchen and met Olivia in the sunroom.

"What have you got there?" she asked me as she laid out a blanket on the floor.

"Olive oil. And a zucchini, a cucumber, and a chinese eggplant."

"My god, Fiona. I had no idea you were so... nasty!"

I shrugged, handing her the cucumber.

We each undressed ourselves, keeping it truly an experience of mutual masturbation, as opposed to any sort of lesbian experience. But I was able to appreciate Olivia's slender body and small breasts, so much the contrast to my large, voluptuous curves. And I saw her watching me similarly.

"Are you thinking about Kim?" I asked her as she poured a bit of olive oil onto her fingers and began massaging her pubic bone. Her hair was blonde and thin, like a girl's quim.

"Yeah, just thinking about him going down on me, his talented tongue."

"Oh, I love a good tongue I said, leaning back and beginning to touch myself. The sun was coming in through the windows, warming the oil on the surface of my body. I snuck another peak at Olivia. She was massaging her breast with her other hand now.

"Your breasts must be really sensitive," I said. "I mean, I've heard that smaller breasts are generally more sensitive because they have a greater density of nerve endings."

"Yeah, I think that's true," she moaned as she said it. "Sometimes I can come just from breast play." She lay further down on the floor. "Okay, I think it's time to give this guy a try," she said, pouring the olive oil over the zucchini, and slowly sliding it against her pussy. I positioned myself where I could watch it slide between her girlish but experienced pussy lips. She stopped with it just a little way in, and laughed. "That's really big." But she continued, pushing it in deeper, until almost the whole vegetable had disappeared. And then slowly out again. I had never really watched anything slide in and out of a quim before, and I was amazed at what a beautiful sight it was.

"Okay, you're turn," she said, turning her head toward me. She continued to slide the zucchini in and out in long, slow strokes. I rubbed the long, slender purple eggplant up against my pussy, then slipped it inside. Olivia moaned as I did so.

"What did you say that was?"

"Chinese eggplant."

"Never seen one before. Much more phallic than a regular one. Where did you get it?"

"Chinese supermarket on twelfth."

"Oh, I might have to go and get you one."

"It feels fantastic," I nodded. "We can trade if you like."

"No, I'm good with mine." She had adjusted her pace, so that she was sliding her zucchini in and out at the same speed I was using.

"So what is it about a young man that's driving me so wild?" she asked me, her voice stretched thin with lust."

"I don't know, I guess it's a bit of taboo, plus you're both at the sexual peak."

"I think that's it, the taboo."

"Taboo is powerful," I nodded.

"Like this," she said. "Masturbating with vegetables in my best friend's sunroom."

"Yeah."

"Nasty."

"Yeah."

"Want to try something else?" she asked.

I nodded. "Anything."

"I saw this on a porno once. Not with a cucumber, but with a dildo." She took the zucchini out and slipped the cucumber inside her, then came over close to me, slipping her legs beneath mine, her hips moving close to mine. "Now, you put the other end in." I saw what she meant, and took the cucumber in one hand, guiding my cunt on top of it, but leaving it still inside her. I wondered if Peter was watching us. I hoped so.

We began to move, our pussies like two hungry beasts each trying to devour as much of the vegetable as possible. Well, slower at first, but it didn't take long until we were pulling all the way out, and slamming back together over the middle of the cucumber. Olivia moved a hand down to touch her clit, and then reached across to press it against my own, looking into my eyes for permission. By way of an answer, I reached out for her breast, giving it a gentle caress as I had seen her do to herself.

"Oh god, Olivia." I was still trying to think about Peter, thinking about him slamming his thick cock deep inside me, but I was becoming increasingly wrapped up in the moment.

"I take back what I said about not being bi," she moaned. "Kiss me."

We both leaned toward one another, the cucumber pressing deep inside me, and as her tongue entered my mouth, I felt myself exploding. I threw my arms around her, felt the telltale warmth at the base of my spine.

"You're coming," she moaned to me, pointing out the obvious, and then a moment later I felt her go taut as well. We collapsed to the blanket as she removed the cucumber. "Wow, I think you ejaculated."

I nodded, and motioned for her to lie down next to me. As hot as my incest fantasy was, this was pretty good, too. Maybe I could just be bi, and forget about trying to seduce Peter. I could have endless fun with Olivia.

But no, I had gone too far with teasing Peter to turn back. This had all been for him, the conversation, the masturbation.

"What are you going to do with the vegetables?" Olivia asked me, gathering them up.

"Make salad, of course."

"You're a pervert!" Olivia laughed. Then she leaned in close and kissed me. "I like that."

After Olivia left, I cleaned up the sunroom and got dressed, putting on a knee-length skirt, and made salad with the vegetables, chopping them up, adding a bit of onion and tomato, and cracked black pepper. And then I made a simple crab quiche to go along with it.

The front door slammed, and Peter yelled, "Hi Mom, I'm home." Yeah right, like you weren't right here watching every minute of it.

"Smells good," he said, coming into the kitchen. "What's for dinner?"

"Crab quiche and salad."

He took a fork, and went right for the salad, picking up a piece of cucumber, chewing on it thoughtfully. "Mmmm, I like the dressing. Tangy!"

I was a little surprised he'd be so blunt, but then he had no idea that I knew he had seen my entire encounter with Olivia. Very well, if he wanted to up the ante, I could play along. I took the fork from him, and took another piece of cucumber. "It's good, I said, but it needs a bit more salt." I looked him directly in the eyes, and tried to turn up the sultriness of my gaze. "It needs a little more salt, though." I saw his face turning flushed red. He knew exactly what I meant. "Can you add some salt to the salad for mommy?"

He was so embarrassed, but it looked like he was beginning to get his confidence up. This was going to be it. We were about to take an irretraceable step toward becoming lovers.

The front door slammed again.

"Fuck!" I looked away from Peter, my cuss giving away any pretense that this was a harmless exchange. A second later, Nancy came into the kitchen. "What's for supper?"

"Crab quiche and salad."

"And for dessert?"

"Canned peaches. Do you want to go down and get some?"

"Okay." Nancy trotted down the stairs, and I turned back to Peter. He was looking at me now, looking intensely, and looking back at him I felt my spine tingling. His blue eyes, almost identical to my blue eyes.

"I can't find them, mom!" Nancy yelled from the basement.

"They're on the top shelf!" I yelled back. I wanted to kiss him right now, the hottest, most sexual kiss I could muster. I knew he wanted it too, even if we only had five seconds, it would be enough.

"They're not on the top shelf!"

"Yes they are, dammit!" I turned away from Peter and stormed downstairs. I took a chair into the cold-room where Nancy was waiting, stepped up on top of it, and pulled a jar of peaches down from the top shelf. I had no right to be angry at Nancy, so I took a deep breath before speaking. "They're right here, honey." I said softly.

"Sorry, I didn't see them."

"It's alright. Now, take them back upstairs."

I returned the chair and climbed slowly back up to the kitchen. Peter was gone. I knew I shouldn't be impatient. One can't expect to seduce one's own son in less than 48 hours. It might take as long as a week! But I had made a lot of headway in this short amount of time. And at some point, I had passed the point of no return. I don't know where exactly that point was, but it was down the rear-view mirror now.

Chez Fiona Ch. 02
byfogbankc

Everyone gathered around the kitchen table for dinner, and I avoided eye contact with Peter. I was still aroused at the thought of everyone eating the vegetables that had marinated in my pussy and Olivia's. I took some of the salad, and took a bite. To my surprise, it was quite salty, as well as tangy. And not just any quality of salt--it was that delicious masculine salt that I hadn't tasted in years.

"Thanks for helping with the salad, Peter."

"No problem."

"It tastes really good," Nancy said. I grinned, wondering if she recognized the flavour, or whether it was a new taste for her. The thought of her eating her brother's juice was so hot to me, and I could feel myself getting wet again. I'd have to go masturbate again after dinner. When was the last time I was so sexed up? Such a long time.

Ethan had rented a movie to watch that evening, some coming of age comedy that I had never heard of. But everyone else seemed keen to watch it, so I agreed to watch, too. I sat in the armchair, while Ethan, Nancy and Harold sat on the couch. Peter sat in the beanbag chair on the far side of the couch, which was turned slightly toward me. I ended up just watching Peter, imagining wandering over there to the beanbag chair, straddling him, and pressing my breasts down to his lips, his face, smothering his whole face. Reaching down and feeling his cock within his jeans. Pulling it out, and beneath my skirt, gentle settling down on top of him, letting him enter me... Peter caught me looking at him, and I didn't look away. We just stared at each other, as we had in the kitchen earlier. I could see the slow change in his jeans, see the bulge grow and transform. Peter noticed where my gaze had traveled, and gave me a half-grin. In response I licked my lips, very slowly. I was getting so wet just from our illicit eye contract as our family sat between us, watching the film.

I dropped my hand into my lap, sliding it up my skirt and along the edge of my panties. Nobody could see where my fingers were over the edge of the armchair, but I knew Peter, watching me, could tell what I was doing. He slipped his hand into his pocket.

"Mom, can you get me some ice cream?" Nancy asked.

"Can't you get some yourself," I asked, annoyed that every time Peter and I began to get aroused, she had interrupted us.

"I'll get it," Peter offered, standing. He still had his hand in his pocket, to mask what I was sure was a tremendous hard-on. "Who else would like some ice-cream?" He looked toward me, and now standing, he could see how I had my hand up my skirt. I fingered myself slowly staring straight at him. "Mom, would you like some?"

"Yes, honey, I would."

He went to the kitchen, and I heard the sound of the freezer opening. It took a few minutes for him to return, and I imagined what he might be doing. I fingered myself more vigorously, and a moment later, he returned. There was no longer a bulge in his pants, and when he handed me my bowl, I recognized immediately a glossy glaze over the ice cream.

It was a delicious combination of flavours, like old-fashioned ice cream that was naturally a little bit salty.

"Mmmm," I gave a moan of pleasure that could have been mistaken by most of my family as a simple enjoyment of food, but which would not be mistaken by Peter. "Yummy," I said, watching him as I ate, letting the ice cream melt in my mouth and linger with the cum, savouring the sensation of it running down my throat. I was so looking forward to drinking his salty juice directly from the tap. Fresh ingredients always taste best. Peter was still watching me, so I put my finger into the bowl of ice cream, slipping a bit of his cum onto my fingertip, holding it up so that he could see, and then slipping my hand down between my legs. Of course, he couldn't see how I rubbed that bit of cum over my clit and into my pussy, fingering myself deep, but I'm sure he could imagine it. I couldn't stand it any more, I needed a shower to cool off, so I stood and left the living room, taking time to let Peter admire my ass as I strutted away from him and up the stairs.

Monday morning, I woke up at seven and went down to start breakfast, preparing some muffins. Harold was already down at the table, reading the paper.

Peter came down soon after, looking cheerful and relaxed.

"You know Peter, now that you're on your own, maybe you need to learn a bit more about cooking," I suggested to him as I leaned over the table to clear Harold's plate. I watched his eyes flicker between my face and my cleavage. "You know, women love men who can cook."

"Yeah, I've heard that."

"So do you want some lessons?"

"Huh?"

"You want mommy to teach you how to cook?"

He smiled. "Sure."

I had not intention of screwing him. Not consciously, anyway. There were so many other things that I wanted him to do for me, like jerking himself off for me, feeding me his cum on a spoon.

Harold was still sitting at the table, but across the high counter, he could only see us from the chest up. Not that he was looking; he was too engrossed in the paper. He'd be leaving for work soon, anyway. Harold couldn't see how, as Peter came into the kitchen, I handed him a wooden spoon, but not simply handing it to him; I took his hand in mine, turned it over, ran my hand from his wrist down into the palm. It was a large hand, but still soft and young, slightly boyish. I put the wooden spoon into his hand, guiding his fingers as they curled around the shaft.

"I'm going to get you to mix some batter for me. Don't hold it too tight. Sort of loose in your hand." He relaxed his grip, and I slid the wooden spoon in and out of his hand, fucking his boyish grip.

"We're going to be making a cake."

"For Nancy's birthday?"

"Yes. We've got two days, so we'll bake the cake today, and then decorate it tomorrow. Now, start adding the ingredients."

I loved the juxtaposition. Baking a cake for my daughter while seducing my son. Multitasking a mother's duties to her family with a mother's darkest fantasies.

"Now, you're going to need some sugar, some flour, some butter..." I found a recipe for a nice light cake, and set it out before him. "Down to here. Mix these ingredients. I'm going to be making some bread. Be forewarned," I continued, "the kitchen tends to get really hot when you're doing a lot of baking." I took the bottom of my t-shirt, and looped it back through the neck and tied it, that fashion that the girls in music videos always wore, and it pulled the fabric tight over my breasts. I glanced down to see if my nipples were visible through the red shirt. Not yet, but they could be before long. I looked up, to see Peter watching me.

"Well, I'm off," Harold said from the table beyond, and my heart began to race. With Harold out of the house, Peter and I would have the place to ourselves until Ethan and Nancy got home at three. How far would I go? I wasn't sure. Would I feel him through his pants? Would I get to see his cock? Hold it in my hands? Would I put his hands up my skirt, all the way up to where I had neglected to wear panties?

I began to mix up the flour and water beneath my own hands, forming it into a dough. Now was the moment to act, but my mouth was dry. We both dutifully worked on our tasks, our courage gone.

"So, how are things going at college?" I asked him at last.

"Pretty good. You saw my marks."

"Yeah, I was meaning your social life, though."

"Oh, that. Yeah, it's good. I go out to the bar on weekends, usually hang around the dorm on weeknights. We have movie nights, and we play street hockey."

"Sounds fun. How about girls?"

"Yeah, there's some girls who play hockey with us."

"Are you dating anyone?"

Peter paused for a moment before answering. "There was a girl I was dating for the first half of the semester. But she dropped out and moved home to Vancouver when her mother died."

"Oh, I'm sorry. That must have been hard on you," I offered sincerely. I knew how much it hurt when a lover moved away. "Are you seeing anyone now?"

He shrugged. "I go on a few dates, nothing serious."

"That's good. Casual sex is one of the best things about college."

Peter looked up surprised, but smiling slightly. I felt relief that at last I had gotten the conversation back to sex.

"That's what it is, isn't it?" I asked him. "I've been to college, I know how it is."

"Yeah, it's fun," Peter admitted. There's some girls the dorm across the street. Three in particular, they come over and David and Chris and I, they come into our room after hours."

"Mmmmm, group sex," I smiled, looking across the counter at him.

"Not exactly. We each have our own, it's more like parallel sex."

"So you can watch each other while you're doing it?"

"Yeah."

"And you like that?"

He smiled, shy and embarrassed.

"You're quite the voyeur," I said, hoping to bring the conversation around to him watching Olivia and I the other day. Again, he didn't respond, he simply blushed more furiously.

"It's alright, I really like watching, too. I was pretty wild when I was in college. I even went to some orgies."

"Really?"

I couldn't believe I was telling my son about these experiences. "Yeah. Guys would line up for my blowjobs. I was famous."

"Does Dad know... that you've done that?"

"He does. We met at an orgy. I had seen him around campus and thought he was pretty cute, but we had never spoken. And then I'm at this professor's house and it's kinda late and we were all screwing one another, you know how it is. And I still remember it so clearly; I was on my hands and knees, going down on this black girl who was on the couch. And then suddenly a big dick slips into my ass, and I turn around and it was your father."

"Wow."

"That was such a long time ago," I say, still lost in the memory. I had once been such a wild girl, and Harold had been a wild guy, but all of that had changed. I was just trying to capture some of that back.

"You and dad, you don't do it anymore, do you?" Peter asked, and I turned my attention back to him, my chance to re-embrace that girl I was 20 years ago. Maybe do something that girl would never have imagined.

I shook my head in answer to his question, and we were both silent.

"I think this is mixed up," he said.

"Bring it over here."

He brought the batter over to me, and I gave it a quick stir, checking the consistency. "Pretty good. You'll have to let it sit for a bit now."

"Okay."

He went to the fridge and poured himself a glass of milk.

"You were asking about my sexual experiences earlier," he said hesitantly, so much more timid than the boy who had ejaculated on my ice cream the previous night. I wondered why he was so tentative, why I was so tentative. Maybe because being alone, there was nothing to hold us back, so we held ourselves back.

I nodded, encouraging him to continue.

"Valerie and I, she's the girl who moved home, sometimes we have phone sex."

"Really?" I was genuinely surprised. It was something I had never done, but the thought of it really struck a chord with me. "You mean, you masturbate, she masturbates, and you talk about it."

"Yeah."

"What sort of things do you say?" I wanted him to say something dirty to me. Say something nasty to his mother.

"You know, I tell her what I would do to her, what I would want her to do to me."

I was eager for details. "Like what?"

"Well, I might tell her that I want to perform oral sex on her while she kisses my penis."

"But that's not how you would say it."

"Well, no."

"So what would you say?"

"Well, I might tell her that I want her to put her pussy on my face and let me slip my tongue inside her while she wraps her soft lips around my cock," he said it softly, watching my reaction, as though afraid I might be offended. Instead, I bit down on my lip, and let it slowly slide between my teeth, a gesture I knew would demonstrate how turned on I was.

"And then would she say something like how she just wanted to grind her pussy into your face?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"And would she tell you what she was wearing? Would she say that I she was wearing a red t-shirt, a long blue skirt, and no panties underneath?" I asked, describing my outfit.

"Really?" he asked, catching my meaning.

"Well, I don't know, that's something I might say if I was having phone sex. And then I'd tell him to unbutton his jeans."

Peter looked like he wasn't sure whether that was a flirt or an order. "I would ask her what she intended to do once I took my jeans off."

"I would move around behind you," I said, dropping just a bit more of the pretense. "Drop down to my knees, focus on your gorgeous young ass, run my hands over it, stroke the crack..." as I spoke, I was shaping the dough beneath my hands into two life-sized as cheeks, lovingly smoothing them, take a finger and pressing it gently down into the crack.

"So, will you take them off?"

"Really?"

"Really," I said, dead serious.

Peter gulped, and turned his back to me, and began to undo his belt. He looked back over his shoulder, as though checking for my approval. So suddenly modest. I raised my hand and gave my breast a little squeeze, showing him there was no mistaking my intention. While my face was calm and confident as I could make it, inside I was freaking out, to use my daughter's phrase. Again, I asked myself how far I was prepared to go. Peter's jeans slid down his legs, and his boxer shorts, too. His ass was right in front of me, only a few feet away. He didn't look back over his shoulder again. He just waited for me.

I wanted to run, or at least get a drink of alcohol, but this moment was too fleeting. I might not get up the nerve again. So I dropped down to my knees, and crawled quietly across the kitchen floor, coming up behind him.

"You're a good boy for doing what your mommy tells you." He didn't say anything, but he shivered as I brought my mouth close, and I knew he could feel my breath. "And you've got a sexy ass."

I reached up as high as I could, and put my hands on his shoulders, slowly sliding them down his back, feeling his young muscles. Gorgeous. I was imagining our rolls reversed, him behind me, his broad back arched as he pressed against me. I couldn't resist any more, and I pressed my tongue against the very top of his ass cleavage. He moaned and shook a bit.

"I love a nice, sexy ass. Do you?"

He moaned again, whispered that he did. "I mean, a girl's ass," he quickly added. Not a guy's ass, not my own."

"A girl's ass. Yes, girls have lovely asses, too. Have you ever fucked a girl up the ass?"

He was quiet, but looked up and could tell he was shaking his head. I kissed my way further down. "You keep your ass nice and clean, don't you? Do you want to fuck an ass?" I asked as I ran my hands up the insides of his thighs. "Wouldn't that be nasty, seeing your cock slipping between two soft ass cheeks?" He was silent, but again I could tell he was nodding. "Hang on a second, don't move."

I went back to the counter and took the dough ass I had been shaping with my hands. "I've got an ass you can fuck," I said moving back behind him, standing now. Obviously he would have thought I meant my own, and while I liked the thought of him pounding me from behind, I still wanted to draw this out more.

"Here's an ass for you." I reached in front of him, the dough ass in my hands. Peter looked down and laughed. He was taller than me, so I couldn't see over his shoulder, but I grazed the dough against his cock. And felt him stir.

"There's some olive oil on the counter," I said. "Never fuck an ass without lubing up first."

Peter reached for the oil, and I heard the gentle sound of him stroking his cock.

"That's better," I said, running the crack of the ass along the bottom of his cock. "Mmmmm, yeah, that's real good."

Then I stopped stroking, and pushed the dough down against him, his cock forging it's own hole into the mound of dough. He moaned out loud, and I pressed myself against his back. Through the dough, I could feel his cock. I pulled the dough off of him, and then on again, slowly and gently. "You like that? You like fucking an ass while mommy presses against you from behind? You want to fuck Valerie's ass while mommy presses against you? Of would you rather fuck mommy's ass?" I asked him, kneading the dough in my hands, swirling it around his cock. "Huh?" I asked him when he didn't answer. "Do you want to fuck mommy's ass?"

"Yes."

"Say it."

"I want to fuck mommy's ass."

I moaned, trying to hold back just a bit. "But that would be incest, wouldn't it?" His cock felt so large through the dough. "That would be a filthy, dirty, horrible sin. And we'd both end up going to hell, wouldn't we? You don't want mommy to go to hell?" I doubted Peter believed in hell any more than I did, but I couldn't help emphasizing the taboo. Maybe I'd be able to hold back, just stay at this level, itself a rich and dark taboo.

"I want to fuck you, mom."

"I know you do, Peter."

"Please?"

"Not yet, baby. Not yet. Just cum for me. You know mommy loves your cum. That was such a nasty thing you did for mommy last night, putting your cum on her ice cream. That got me so hot."

"Oh mom."

"That's it, baby. Cum for me."

"OH MOM!"

I pushed my hand through the dough, found the cavity his cock and carved out, and felt his tender, thin skin for the first time. I wrapped my hand around him, felt the pulsations as he shot the dough full of his ejaculate. It was hot on my wrist.

He turned around, and I saw his naked front for the first time, his cock still wrapped in dough, and my hand still pressed through the dough, too. It looked like some work of modern art and I laughed.

Peter laughed too, short, gasping laughs strung together with words. "That was the hottest thing ever."

"Yeah," I said, as I took the dough in both hands and squeezed it around his cock, making sure I got every last drop, and then slipping it off. And I looked on his cock for the first time. It was still fairly rigid--the orgasm seemed to have done little to abate it. It was maybe seven inches, maybe a bit more. When you're right down there with a cock, imagining it inside you, it always looks so impossibly huge.

"So, what now?" Peter asked me, suddenly sober and straight-faced. The reality of what we had just done hit me, too.

"I don't know, Peter." I took his hand. "I guess we should think about what we've done and decide where we go from here."

He nodded. "I'm sorry, mom."

I gave his hand a squeeze, and then leaned in close, planting a kiss on his cheek. "Don't be, honey. This was my fault, for better or for worse. I was feeling desperate, I decided I wanted to seduce you." I looked away, annoyed at myself. It would have been better to leave it as a fantasy. The more real it became, the more painful and difficult.

"Do you..." Peter appeared to have difficulty asking this next question. "Do you have a food fetish? I mean, with the vegetables, and the ice cream, and now the dough?"

I smiled, and considered the question. Peter didn't even know about how I had masturbated at my private dinner last week.

"Yes, I guess I do."

Peter nodded.

"Does that shock you?"

"It surprises me a little. I never would have thought that about you. Like you going to orgies when you were in college. I wish I had a girlfriend who was that uninhibited."

I gave him a big grin. "Well you do now. At least, a secret girlfriend. If you want her."

"Oh mom," Peter took me in his arms and gave me a big kiss, passionate and wet, full of soft young lips and a daring tongue that sought out my own.

His hands moved down my back, to where my spine was bare with my t-shirt knotted up. He pulled me against him, and I could feel the warmth of his lovely dick through my skirt, pressed against my navel.

The doorbell rang.

"Shit," I said. I contemplated not answering, but whoever it was rang again, and finally I broke down and went to answer, looking back over my shoulder as Peter put his pants back on.

I opened the door and there was Olivia, a tight-lipped smile on her face. I asked her how she was doing, but she just continued to smile, slipping past me into the foyer. When the door closed, she flung her arms around me and gave me a big kiss. I was so surprised that I didn't open my lips at first, but as I did so, I tasted a delicious slick go from her mouth. Cum. It was sticky and warm, and probably somewhat diluted by her saliva. She pursed her lips to push more of the cum into my lips, and I sucked it down.

"Wow, what was that?" I said, when she at last let me catch my breath.

"You said you wanted to taste Kim's cum. So there it is. And that's fresh, not five minutes old."

"It's yummy," I said softly. "But you might want to keep your voice down. Peter's here."

"Oh!" she looked embarrassed. "Speaking of hot young men," she whispered, and I pretended to look offended, smiling secretly to myself.

A moment later, Peter trotted down the stairs. "Hi Mrs. Graff. How're you?"

"Peter! I haven't seen you in years. And call me Olivia, now that you're a grown man and all."

I nudged Olivia. "Cum on your lip," I whispered. She turned, giggling to herself, and then turned back. "So how's college?"

"It's good. I'm doing well in all my studies."

"Yeah? That doesn't surprise me. You were always good in school."

"Thanks," he said, not looking at her. He was looking at me, and I could tell exactly what he was thinking... He was thinking about fucking my ass. I wasn't ready yet.

"Olivia," I said, turning to my friend. "Do you want to stay for lunch?"

I fixed up some leftovers and we sat down for lunch, Peter and I across from each other and Olivia at the head of the table. Olivia talked about her pet dogs, basset hounds.

Under the table, I reached across with my foot, slipping it into Peter's lap. I felt right away the hardness between his thighs, and he looked at me with wide eyes, and then grinned. I rubbed him in long strokes with my foot. I felt a hand touch my foot, and while that in itself didn't surprise me, it did surprise me to both of Peter's hands above the table. But Olivia's right hand was below the table, and I could see now from the angle of her arm that it could very well be in Peter's lap. There was nothing I could do. Peter and I looked across at each other helplessly as Olivia touched my foot again, this time feeling along the bones, finding the ankle, connecting it to my knee, my thigh. Of course, she could not say anything about it--she was the one who put her hand in my son's lap.

She moved her hand further up, grazed the hairs on the lips of my pussy, and felt my wetness. For a moment I thought she might slip her finger in right there, but she suddenly pulled away, awkward and rushed. "I just remembered I have something in the oven. I need to get going." Peter and I looked at each other as she headed for the door. I had taken a risk and we had gotten caught, but I wasn't sure how much damage had been done.

I watched through the window by the door as Olivia walked down the driveway and across the street, giving a glance back toward my house. She looked a little shocked and confused. I heard Peter's footsteps behind me, felt his hands rest on my hips with a gentle urgency.

"Will she tell anyone?"

I shook my head. "No."

"Mom?"

"Yes sweety?"

"I can't handle the teasing any more. I really, really need you."

I sighed. Part of me sighed with resignation, part of me sighed with relief at the inevitability. One last try. I would make one last try to talk myself and Peter out of it. He was pressing against me now; I could feel the warmth and firmness of his cock against the small of my back.

"Have you thought about how far it's going to go?" I asked him.

"You mean having sex?"

"I mean beyond that. Casual sex is easy enough. It would be hot; it would be taboo. But what happens if, you know, we develop feelings for each other."

"I already love you though, mom."

"You might love me, but you're not yet in love with me. Have you thought about how that will fuck you up for life? For me, it's okay. I'm in a hopeless marriage. I can acquire baggage without fearing that it's going to hurt me later. Except that at some point you're going to meet the right girl, fall in love with her, and you'll have to move beyond loving your mother. And that's going to hurt like hell for me."

His hands moved up my shirt, gently grazing against my breasts. I arched my back, forcing my tits into the warmth of his hands.

"I dunno, mom. I guess you should have thought of that before you started seducing me."

I nodded. He was right. There was no way this wasn't going to lead to a whole lot of hurt for me at some point. Be in now or in a few days or in a few years. I'd regret making love to him, and I'd regret not making love to him. He had found my nipples through the fabric, and was squeezing them gently between thumb and forefinger.

"It's time for you to put your sister's cake in the oven. Go do that and then come back to me. After that, no more teasing, darling. I promise."

He slowly detached himself from me. I was going to make love to my son. I needed to decide where. Right here against the door? The kitchen floor, the living room sofa? I could have him in the shower, on the stairs, in my bed, in his bed...

Yes, that was the fantasy: fucking him in the bed he had slept in since childhood, where I had read him bedtime stories, tucked him in, helped him get dressed. I turned and slowly walked up the stairs, and as Peter came back into the hallway, I looked back at him over my shoulder, my gaze indicating I wanted him to follow.

I began unbuttoning my shirt as I climbed, letting it slide down off my shoulders. "Do you want to suck mommy's tits like you did when you were a baby?"

"Yes," Peter said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

I turned into his bedroom, and he followed behind me. I sat down on the bed, and watched him, again cautious and hesitant. I stroked the bed beside me. "Come lie down, put your head in mommy's lap."

He laid down on the bed, his head on my lap, looking up at me with those big blue eyes. "I want you to know, Peter, that I really want this."

"I want it too, mom."

I leaned forward slightly, so that my breasts, clad in a simple white bra, brushed against his face. He closed his eyes and moaned softly. My nerves tingled with the delicate sensation, and my nipples rose to firm heights, even through the bra. I took my left breast in my hand, guided it down so that the nipple rubbed against his parted lips. He responded instinctively, and I felt his saliva soaking into the fabric of my bra. His hand moved up my back, found the clasp of my bra and unhooked it. I shrugged my shoulders forward, letting the bra slide down. I tossed it to the floor, and brought my breasts down to him again, this time naked to the touch of his lips, the surprisingly coarse grain of his teenaged cheeks.

"You're making your mother so horny," I said. "I love to have my nipples sucked. I ran my hand down his chest and then back up, unbuttoning each button with a slight awkwardness. His chest felt good, solid and muscled. I licked my fingertips, and touched them to his own nipples. They responded in their own modest way. Then I slipped my hand lower, daring to slide it flat against his navel and beneath the thick leather belt of his jeans, beneath even the elastic of his underwear, over the soft curls of air, and gripping his firm, solid shaft. It felt so good in my hand, suprising me with it's thickness.

Peter gasped, and raised his head to look down, as though needing visual confirmation that his mother's hand was, indeed, down the front of his pants. He looked back up at me, his eyes wide in awe. I smiled down.

"You've got a magnificent cock, Peter."

"Bigger than dad's?"

I thought of telling him how massive his father's cock was, larger than anyone I've ever had. A pornstar cock. But that wasn't what Peter needed to hear.

"The biggest I've ever had," I lied. It was impressively large, though. Probably the second biggest I've had. Big enough to fill me. Big enough to stretch my long-ignored pussy wide until the edges of pain, to probe me deeper than my fingers ever went.

I unfastened his jeans and turned, climbing onto my knees, using both hands to slide his pants down around his ankles. My hips were above his head, affording him a good view up my skirt.

"You aren't wearing any panties, mom!"

"I did that just for you."

His hands moved up and down my thighs, going higher each time, until he began to delicately graze the hairs of my cunt. I imagined that the girls he screwed at college were still fairly thinly haired, or maybe shaved like in those magazines. I had never bothered with grooming my pussy, though. The hairs above my quim were a thick, black thatch. I hoped he wouldn't mind. He pulled my hips down, and I leaned back, sitting directly upright, just above his face.

I felt his tongue gently exploring my pubic bone, the hollows on either side of the pussy. I loved that he didn't dive right in, that he took the time to build me up a bit more, first. And then he was at my clit, pressing his tongue firmly against it.

I laughed, remembering how, when he was a kid, he had been able to touch his nose with his tongue. Never did I imagine I'd be the beneficiary of that tongue.

He asked me what was so funny. So I told him, and he laughed too. And then he slid his tongue inside me. Deep inside me. It was so warm, so quick. I ground my hips down against his face, feeling his chin against my clit.

"You're so good," I moaned out.

He moaned something in response, but I couldn't hear, his words were muffled by my pussy. I lifted up a bit so he could speak.

"Tell me what you want. Any position at all, Peter. On top of you, on my hands and knees, standing, anything," I gasped. "I need you inside me."

"Doggy style," he said.

I ground my hips down against him again, imagining it. "Yeah, fuck me like a dog. You want to make mommy your bitch?" The dirty words coming out of my own mouth were driving me wild. "I wanna get fucked by my own pup. I wanna feel his sperm, his seed inside me."

I slipped off of Peter's face, and slid down to the floor, crawling on my hands and my knees across the carpet. I had a brief thought that I would get horrible carpet burns from this.

Peter was behind me quickly, his hands under my skirt again, rubbing my quim with his whole hand.

"You're so wet, mom."

"I'm so ready for you, dear. Now get it the fuck in me."

He did as I asked. I was amazed how easy he slipped in. He was so big, but he fit me like a hand in a glove. A long, smooth stroke, until he was lodged all the way inside me. I could feel his hip-bones against my ass.

"My god," Peter said in amazement. He didn't move. He just held himself inside me. I didn't want him to move. Not yet. I was just enjoying the pleasure of being so filled.

"I feel like if I move at all, I'm going to cum," Peter said.

"Already?" I was disappointed. I wanted to make this last.

"Don't worry," he said, apparently catching my disappointment. "I'll be able to keep going even after I cum."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

I began to squeeze him gently with my hips. Just gently squeezing around his girth, and then releasing. I could feel him pulsing in reaction. And then a sharp intake of breath.

"That's it Peter. Shoot your cum deep inside your mommy's pussy. You know how she wants it." He didn't say anything as he came, but I felt the power of his orgasm as it washed over him. I felt it as his throbbing muscle shuddered inside me, and I felt it has his warm seed spread out inside me. "God, Peter," I moaned, looking over my shoulder. "I can feel your cum in me." He looked back at me with those gorgeous eyes, and slowly began to slide in and out, his cock still hard and eager. That's the best part about young lovers... the endless stamina. I purred and pushed my hips back against him, feeling his cum now flowing down my pussy, lubing his passage into me. I reached down between my legs, let some of it drip onto my fingers, and then raised it to my lips and tasted our mingled juices.

Peter's hands roamed over my back, his fingertips running over my ribs, and then to my shoulders, massaging my back with his hands. It felt good, but I wanted the intensity heightened. "Harder," I whispered roughly. "Fuck mommy hard." His hand immediately went to my hair, grabbed a handful of my black locks, and pulled hard at it, forcing my neck back, as he pulled out sharply and then slammed his cock back inside me.

"Oh yes!" I cried out, my spine tingling as he slammed in harder with each thrust. With each thrust, he pulled at my hair, forcing my willing hips back against him. His other hand dropped around me to grab roughly at my breasts, and then slide down and touching my clit with suprising gentleness. My knees stung from the carpet. "Make your mommy cum, honey."

"Yes, mommy. I want you to. I want to make you cum so hard."

I slumped forward, my face against the carpet, thrusting my ass up against him.

"You're so beautiful, mom. I've wanted you for so long. As long as I can remember." Suddenly his hand let go of my hair, slid down my back, and then a finger slipped into my ass. That drove me over the edge. I screamed out to him, screamed out his name, silently praying that the house was still empty. He pushed forward and down, pushed me down flat on my stomach, into the carpet. I felt his whole weight bearing down through his cock, deep inside me. My son inside me. My son's finger in my ass. My son's toes digging into the backs of my knees. His mouth biting down on my shoulder.

"You're making mommy come so hard," I cooed gently, still riding out the spasms of my orgasm.

"I'm going to cum again, mom."

I shook my head. "Take it out of me."

"But I want to cum."

I shook my head again. "Take it out and cum on my face like the porn stud you are."

That got him out of me, and I rolled over, sliding down between his legs. He stood for a moment, looking down at me as I licked my lips, silently begging for his juices. Then he knelt, raised my head with one hand, and with the other, squeezed the shaft of his cock. I could see the bottom of it pulsating, and closed my eyes a second before I felt his hot cream spurting onto my face.

"Oh mom!"

I opened my mouth wide, felt more cum landing on my tongue. "That's it, cum for mommy," I said, unable to stop grinning. He collapsed on top of me, his breath heavy and slow. I licked the cum off my lips and slowly opened my eyes.

"Kiss me," I said.

He did so, slipping his tongue between my lips. I hadn't swallowed yet, and I let him slip his tongue through his own cum. He lapped it up, and then raised his head above me, parted his lips, and let his cum slide again into my mouth. This time I let it go right down my throat.

"That's so hot, Peter."

"I know, mom. You should see yourself in the mirror."

I rolled over. There was a floor-to-ceiling mirror only a few feet away, and I could see my face covered in long beads of cum. "I hear this makes great face cream," I said, gently rubbing my cheeks with my hands, massaging the sperm into my skin. "What do you think?" I asked, turning to Peter.

"Very shiny. Very beautiful," he said.

I sat up, and he gave me a big, warm hug. "I hope," he said, a touch of nervousness returning to his voice, "that we can do that again."

I smiled at him. "Well, you still have more cooking lessons tomorrow." I looked up at his bedside clock. "Speaking of which, you better go check on the cake. Stick a fork in it. If it sticks to the fork when you pull the fork out, it needs more time. If the fork comes out clean, it's done."

Peter began getting dressed, and I did the same. I couldn't find my shirt, but then I remembered I had taken it off on the stairs. I went out into the hallway to the stairs to look for it, but it wasn't there, which was odd. It must have been somewhere in Peter's room. I went and found a different shirt from my closet, taking a moment to look at myself again in the mirror. The skin on my face was indeed shiny and smooth from my son's lotion.

We had leftovers for dinner, and every time I looked across the table at Peter I would get distracted and horny. It was so bad that I could feel myself getting wet, and whenever I moved my thighs, they slid wetly against one another. Every time I closed my eyes I saw Peter looking deep into my eyes, and when I opened my eyes he was there, staring at me too. My knees stung from the rug-burns.

In the evening, I went upstairs early, claiming I needed a bath. Truth was I was too horny to think. Part of me was shocked that I didn't feel guilt or regret. But the sex had been so good, so hot and intense that I couldn't think negatively about it. I undressed in my room, and opened the drawer to get my nightgown. Inside was a letter. The envelope just said, "Mom."

How sweet, a love letter from my Peter. I slipped on my nightgown and took the letter with me to the bathroom. What dirty things did he have to say? I could sit in the tub, read his letter, and masturbate. That would be a good end to the evening.

I sunk into the tub, keeping my fingers dry for the time-being so as not to smudge the letter. But as I unfolded it, I recognized immediately that the writing was not Peter's. It was Ethan's.

Dear Mom;

I'm sorry for putting this in a letter, but I couldn't imagine any other way to talk to you about it. We were let out of school early today, and I came home around 2:30. When I came home, I found your blouse on the stairs, and I heard sounds coming from Peter's room. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn't help hearing what you and Peter were saying and doing. You don't need to worry, I have no intention of telling anyone. I just felt that it was important for you to know that I know. I guess you're probably lucky that it was me that came home early and not Dad. By the way, I put your shirt in the laundry hamper.

xxoo

Ethan

I put the letter on the floor and sunk down into the tub. Shit. Ethan was right, we had been careless. Ethan knew, and Olivia probably suspected. That was two people more than should know about us. Could I trust Ethan to keep a secret? I wasn't sure. He was an awkward guy, 19 years old and just about to go away to college, but still having little of the maturity that Peter had. But no, I trusted him. I tried to put it out of my mind, focusing on Peter's gorgeous cock at my lips, in the seconds before he came on my face. My pussy responded, opening up to my fingers. But then I found myself imagining Ethan, sitting on the floor outside Peter's room, his pants open, stroking himself with my silk blouse. Listening to his mother and his brother fucking. What had he heard? What had I said? I had told Peter to fuck me like a dog, told him to make mommy his bitch. How embarrassing! Still, it would have turned Ethan on so much. He would have been imagining himself fucking me from behind.

A new scenario began to visualize in my mind: I stand in the kitchen, alone. Ethan comes in, and I can see right away that he has an erection beneath his corduroy pants. He tells me he heard. He knows how Peter and I were fucking, he heard it all, he even tape-recorded some of it. And he tells me he'll tell dad... send the tapes to him at work. Unless I get down on my knees right now and suck his cock. So I do.

I masturbated as I imagined all of this, my pussy opening up so wide that my fingers were becoming ineffectual. I took a slender shampoo bottle and slipped the head inside myself. Much better. I imagined my geeky younger son blackmailing me, fucking me up the ass, making me fuck him in the back of the minivan when I picked him up from school. Making me fuck all his friends too, all of them equally geeky, but so horny and so eager to cum all over me.

My muscles went taut, and I gritted my teeth as my orgasm swept over me. The water seemed to have gone cold, and I sat in the tub, shaking. The reality was that now that I had Peter, I wanted Ethan, too. Fuck, I was becoming a whore to my children. Would I end up wanting Nancy, too? Her strong, athletic volleyball body, her pussy, which I suspected was probably virgin... I swore at myself, and hurriedly climbed out of the tub.

Chez Fiona Ch. 03
byfogbankc

I couldn't sleep, so I got up in the middle of the night to get a glass of milk. I passed Peter's room in the hallway and paused, wondering if he was awake, wondering if he was thinking of me. Wondering what would happen if I went in. But I moved past. And stopped at Ethan's room, wondering again what would happen if I went in. I wondered if he wanted me--if I could have him if I wanted to. I tried to convince myself that it wasn't the case, but in the end, I knew that just like Peter, he was mine for the taking. I kept walking.

On a hunch, I looked out the front window. The kitchen light was on across the way at Olivia's place. I needed someone to talk to. I slipped on my sandals, pulled a jacket on over my nightgown, and went out into the suburban night. There was a warm breeze, and the neighbourhood was so quiet. I went around to the back of the house, and peeked in through the window. Olivia was sitting at the kitchen table, her laptop in front of her. She was drinking some sort of juice and wearing flannel pajamas. I tapped quietly on the window.

She looked up, startled, but smiled when she saw me.

"Hey," she whispered as she opened the door. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah. I just needed to talk."

She nodded. "Tony sleeps lightly. Let's go for a walk."

She met me around at the front door, sandals and a jacket over her pajamas. She had Norberg, one of her dogs with her. "We'll go to the park," she said.

We walked quietly for a little while. "Is it what it looks like?" she said at last.

I nodded. "Yeah."

"You told me you weren't getting any. Not that I'd necessarily expect you to tell the truth about something like that. I mean, I can understand why you lied."

"No, I was telling the truth yesterday. All of this, it just happened today."

"Really?"

I nodded.

"And how was it?"

I waited a while before answering. "It was really, really good."

"I thought so. Hottest sex I've had in my life was with my cousin. I was twenty one. We screwed on the rec-room pool table after thanksgiving dinner. I came like ten times."

"Something about the really awful, sinful stuff."

"Yeah. Of course, I don't have the option of going any further. I'm fucking the boy from down the street now, which is probably about as close as I could get to incest. With no son, I mean. Of course there's my daughters, but I'm not really bi..." she thought about what she was saying, how she had said that to me right before we made out. We laughed together. "So maybe I will do my daughters. Peter's a stud though. You're so lucky. You have to tell me the details."

So I did. Everything from the beginning, even about how Peter had been listening when she and I made out with the vegetables. I told her everything I said to Peter, everything he did to me.

"Wow. That's really hardcore. Send that in to some magazine."

I shrugged, feeling better about the whole thing. "What if I had the opportunity to do Ethan, too?"

"Really?"

"I don't know, I'm just thinking about it."

"One at a time, or both at once?"

The image formed in my mind of straddling Peter's cock while Ethan fucked me up the ass. I looked at Olivia, who had her eyes closed. She was apparently imagining the same thing.

"Two brothers. That would be hot," she said. "Especially if they were twins. Or a father and a son, that's even more taboo, I think. Like Peter and Harold."

I laughed. "Good luck with that. Harold hasn't gotten hard in years."

Olivia shrugged. We stopped walking and turned toward each other, again seeming to think the same thing, and then leaned toward each other for a gentle, passionate kiss. It was so tender and sensual, but I felt the bite of arousal behind her tongue.

"You're my best friend," she told me. "And I'll never second-guess you're decisions. I'm just glad you're honest with me."

I nodded. "Of course."

"And you have to keep giving me details."

When I got home, I went upstairs and immediately slipped into Ethan's room. It made perfect sense: were I to have sex with Ethan, it would make him an accomplise in incest, and would guarantee his silence. Deep down, I knew that wasn't the real reason. I wanted to fuck my younger son, I wanted to see how far I could take this.

I stood above his bed, wondering how to proceed as my eyes became accustomed to the low light. There would be no need for seduction, no need to discuss it. I knelt down, drew back the covers from his pale, moon-blue chest, and slipped my hand down inside his boxer shorts. He was warm and flaccid, and I touched him gently, wondering how aroused I could get him before he would wake up. My heart was beating so heavily that my chest was a little sore. The only thing more exciting than a young lover was a new young lover. How would he react? What would he say? Or would he just lie there and pretend to be asleep? He was growing beneath my hand, the tension of his root strong enough to draw from its resting position and push at the thin cotton of the boxers. I untucked him, poking his cock up through the opening in his shorts, and then leaned forward, and wrapped it in my mouth. It was long and slender, not a thick cock like Peter's. It was a good cock for sucking. It would be a good cock for ass-fucking, too. I worked my mouth around it, letting it rub against the roof of my mouth. Ethan stirred in his sleep, then went still, then moved again and suddenly sat up.

"Mom?"

"Lie back, Ethan," I mumbled, barely taking him out of my mouth.

Ethan slowly slid back down. "What are you doing, mom?"

I took him out of my mouth, and moved down to his balls, licking them softly. "It's called a blowjob sweetie."

"I know what it is," he whispered fiercely.

"Oh, you've had them before?" I asked, keeping my voice low.

"Maybe. But why..."

"After your little letter today, I was worried that you'd get jealous of your big brother. You know I love you every bit as much as I love him," I said, and then sucked one of his balls into my mouth.

"Oh mom."

I shushed him. "Quiet now. Just lay back and cum for me." I took his cock in my mouth again, and began to suck. I could feel myself getting so wet beneath my housecoat, and I reached one hand down to touch myself, slipping a finger over my clit in long strokes.

"I just want your cum right now, baby. But you can fuck me sometime," I said, then plunged my mouth down on his cock. "If you want to," I added next time I came up. I pushed down again as far as I could, and then swallowed, pushing down at the same time. I gagged a bit, but he was in my throat now. I had never done this before. I had read it in magazines, how to deep throat, but with Harold being so eternally flaccid, I had never gotten the chance to use that knowledge. Until now. It was a little uncomfortable, having him in my throat as I gently worked in and out. But what I was doing was so hot that it counteracted the discomfort. I pushed down further, at the same time slipping a finger deep inside myself, finger-fucking myself in time with Ethan's cock in my throat. Then I discovered that if I pushed down all the way and stuck out my tongue, I could lick Ethan's tight little sack while deep-throating him. Ethan wrapped a hand through my hair, pushing and pulling a little roughly. I could tell how much he liked that, the deep-throat/tongue combination. And when he started to cum, I could feel it first against my tongue, the throbbing at the base of his shaft. So I pulled myself up, drawing my tongue along the bottom of his cock, until just his head was still inside me, and his cum squirted out onto my tongue, my teeth, trickling down the back of my throat.

I swished it around in my mouth. It was a little more mild than Peter's, not nearly as salty. A bit more sweetness. I swallowed it back, and then slid up Ethan's body, giving him a little kiss on the lips.

"You're cum is delicious, baby."

"Mom?"

"Yes, honey?"

"Am I dreaming?"

I gave him another kiss. "You'll have to wait and see," I said. I slipped out of his room, down the hall, and into my own room. Harold was snoring. I climbed into bed, and tried to decide whether I wanted to continue masturbating. I hadn't cum yet, but so much had happened today already, and I felt certain I would have the opportunity to do more than simply masturbate tomorrow.

The life of a housewife can't be all sex, though, and I spent most of the morning getting things set up for Nancy's nineteenth birthday, which was only a day away. I was midway through wrapping when I realized that I hadn't bought Nancy any clothes yet this year. I got my purse and wallet and went out to the minivan, and drove down the mall about fifteen blocks from our house. There were lots of teenagers hanging about, since it was the middle of summer, and the only kids not at the mall were the ones taking summer-school, such as Ethan and Nancy.

I was going in and out of clothing stores, trying things on, when I came across a cute little pleated plaid skirt. It was very sexy, sort of a school-girl outfit. Not the sort that Nancy wore, though. She didn't have many guys in her life who would appreciate her dressing sexy like that. But maybe that was the problem--she always dressed in very common clothes so she never stood out to the guys. I decided she needed something more provocative. I bought the skirt in her size, then found a matching tie, a white cotton shirt, and a pair of white knee-highs. She didn't have shoes to match the outfit--mostly she wore running shoes--but I'd let her buy her own. This was definitely what she needed--it was the sort of outfit I had seen in music videos or on the covers of mens magazines.

When I got home, there was a message on the machine from Harold. He was leaving work early and was wondering if we needed any groceries. He said that since I wasn't home he'd pick up some milk and bread, since we always needed them. He was a thoughtful man, caring and honest. I felt bad that things had turned out the way they did between us. Not a loveless marriage by any stretch, but certainly a sexless marriage. Of course, it had been my fault, too. I had withdrawn from him after the children. Not consciously, of course. Maybe, though, it was something in my subconscious where I had associated the sex between us with pregnancy, childbirth, and the stress of raising the kids.

I was thinking about all of this as I started wrapping the outfit for Nancy. I had worn sexy outfits like this once. Not in the past few years, though. And Nancy's size was pretty close to mine... I stripped down right there at the table and quickly pulled on the outfit. It fit pretty well--I could tell as I was putting it on. I had to see how I looked in the mirror. I ran upstairs to the main bedroom, and stood in front of the full-length mirror. It was really, really stunning. I looked like a playboy model, except maybe for my large nose. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail, which made me look even younger. Of course, I could never wear this outfit out in public. Was it a little too much for my daughter to wear? I began to question the logic of giving it to her.

Just then, the door slammed downstairs, and Harold called out a "Honey, I'm home."

I quickly began to change out of the outfit, but then I began to wonder what Harold would think of it. I pulled the knee-highs back up, and crossed the hallway into Nancy's empty room.

"I'm upstairs, dear," I called down to Harold. "Come up here for a moment, I need your opinion on something."

He came up the stairs and turned into the master bedroom. "Over here," I said from across the hall.

As he turned to look, I gave him my best pouty-sexy face.

"Ummm, wow."

"What do you think?"

"It's... a really different look for you, honey."

"It's not for me, I bought it for Nancy. But now I'm thinking it might be too sexy for her."

"Yeah, she's not given to sexy outfits."

"She's at that age now," I said. "It wouldn't hurt for her to have some sexy clothes." I turned my back to Harold and bent over at the hips, smoothing out one of my knee-highs.

"Remember what I would wear when we met?"

Harold laughed. "I remember you had that super-tight beatnik black turtleneck and then you'd just wear tights underneath. And a beret."

"I loved that. I loved being your beatnik sex goddess."

He didn't say anything for a while. I hadn't meant to trap him in a conversation about our relationship, it just happened that we got here. I just wanted to feel sexy in his eyes again.

"You haven't worn it in a while."

He was right, of course. I bent over again, this time looking back at him over my shoulder. "I can be your schoolgirl sex goddess, though. I can be your sexy schoolgirl, your naughty nun, your german army dominatrix, whatever your fetish is, Harold." I ran my hand up the inside of my thigh, hoping to make myself irresistible, but at the same time emotionally readying myself for rejection, for Harold to turn and leave the room. But instead, he undid his belt, and my heart leapt.

"You like this?" I asked him in my most innocent voice. "You want to be my schoolteacher? You want to give me a lesson? Or maybe you want to be my daddy. Is that what you want?" I could see alarm on his face. Not revulsion, just alarm. Perhaps I had guessed his deepest fantasy. "That's, it, isn't it? You want your little girl desperate and eager for your enormous sex." I turned to face him, running my hands over my body, caressing my breasts and getting deliciously turned on. Seducing Peter and Ethan had been hot, yes. But it had been so easy. I never actually doubted that I could. But seducing Harold--I wasn't sure I still had that in me.

"Oh Fiona..." he whispered, coming towards me.

"Call me Nancy," I said. "Call me Nancy, daddy."

"Oh Nancy..."

I moved back as he walked toward me, giggling innocently. "I've wanted you so long, daddy. Ever since I was a little girl and I first learned about sex. I remember when I'd pretend to get scared and want to sleep with you and mom, and I'd feel the warmth of your body and I just wanted to reach down and hold your cock."

I sat down on the edge of the bed, crossing my legs. "Did you want me too, Daddy?"

He nodded, awkwardly, just watching me. I could see his erection through his pants. It looked as big as ever. "When I'm with my boyfriends, sometimes I pretend that it's you. Do you pretend it's me when you're fucking mommy?"

Harold gave a half-smile then. "You're mommy and I haven't had sex for a very long time."

"When you're fucking your secretary then?" I said it without thinking, and then immediately regretted it. I had figured it out at a Christmas party four years ago, but I had never let on.

Harold looked hurt and offended. "How did you know?"

"Mommy told me," I said, staying in character to avoid having the argument turn suddenly serious. "But it's alright, she said that she still loves you very much... So did you think about me?"

"Well, Miss Hutchins and I haven't done that for a couple years. But yes, I fantasized about you when I was screwing her. And sometimes, I thought about your mother."

It was so sincere and honest that I wanted to break character and give Harold a huge hug. But I had to stay with it. "Can you show it to me?" I asked, pointing toward his crotch. I didn't want to delay any longer, incase the moment was lost.

He unzipped his pants, and dropped them and his shorts down to his knees. I squealed in girlish delight. "Oh, it's so big! Bigger than any of my boyfriends."

"You have a lot of boyfriends?"

"Only a couple. And sometimes, I fool around with Peter or Ethan. And your cock is bigger than either of theirs. I'm such a dirty girl." I tried to give him a look from behind my character, show him that I was being honest. It's so much easier to be honest when you're not being yourself.

Anyway, his cock was huge. Since we met at a sex party, it would be safe to say that it was the first thing I noticed about him.

"Can I touch it?"

"Yes Nanc, touch it for me."

It was reaching out for me, that elusive creature that had seemed to ignore me for almost a decade. I gently stroked it. "It's so beautiful, daddy. I've waited so long for this."

All ready there was a bit of pre-cum on the tip, so leaned forward, licking it off delicately. "I hope there's more where that came from." I opened wide, and sucked him deep in my mouth. I wanted to deepthroat him, the way I had done Ethan, but I needed to work up to it... Harold was so much thicker.

"That's it, baby," he moaned, his hand wrapping around my ponytail, pulling me against him. I loved that, having his hands in my hair. Harold had the most erotic, enormous hands. "That's it, my girl."

"Okay daddy, my turn," I said after taking him out of my mouth. I spread my legs wide, laying back on the bed. I stroked the inside of my thigh, then slipped my hand inside my panties. "I'm so wet, daddy."

He knelt in front of me, and kissed his way up, following my hand. his mouth was warm, and I loved the saliva cooling on my skin. Refreshing. Then I felt his lips through my panties, nuzzling a bit, then licking gently. He pulled the panties aside, and I shuddered as his tongue touched my bare pussy.

I closed my eyes and relaxed. It was really nice being eaten out not by one of my sons or my best friend from across the street, but by my husband (even if it was during some perverse, incestuous fantasy). There's a delicious comfort to it, so I spread my legs wide, urging him to continue. I unbuttoned my shirt enough that I could stick a hand inside and play with my breasts. Harold gave a moan, and I looked down to see that he was looking up, watching me touch my breasts. I just grinned, laid my head back, and continued.

I suddenly startled and aroused by the touch of his tongue against my asshole. "Oh, Har... er... daddy, that feels so good. Nobody has licked me there before."

"No? Has anybody fucked you there?"

"No, but I like how it feels. I sometimes slip a finger in there when I'm masturbating. I masturbate a lot, I'm such a bad girl."

"Well, maybe I should slip my cock in there."

"But your cock is so big, daddy."

"It'll fit, it just needs a bit of lubricant."

On a hunch, I rolled over and opened Nancy's bedside table drawer. Sure enough, there was a little tube of Vaseline in there, along side a moderately-sized purple dildo. I took the Vaseline out and handed it to Harold. He looked surprised, and we exchanged a smile, for a moment no longer role-players but parents who have just discovered something a little surprising about their daughter.

I pulled my panties off and rolled over onto my stomach. "Fuck my ass, daddy." I closed my eyes, and concentrated on the feeling as he slipped a well-lubricated finger inside me. "How's that feel?"

"Oh, you're so nasty, daddy! Finger-fucking your daughter's ass!"

He climbed on top of me, and wasted no time in pushing himself inside. It was sharp, a little bit painful and he surged deep into me. Part of me wanted to cry out; I always felt conflicted when I was violated like this. But the pain subsided quickly and I was left with the delicious joy of anal sex. I began to buck my hips back into him, eliciting a loud slap with each thrust.

"Fuck me, daddy. Fuck your slutty little daughter's ass."

"You like that, Nancy?"

"I love it!"

I rose up to my hands and knees, so that I could buck back harder against him, and his hand went to the front of my shirt, ripping it open roughly, clutched at my breasts, squeezed the nipples to full length. Then he took my ponytail in his hands again and pulled at it, pulling my neck back. Not to far, just enough to make every nerve on my head tingle and shudder. It sent me over the edge, and I reached down, touching my pussy as my senses were flooded with the sweet honey of orgasm. It was painfully good, washing over me in waves.

"I'm gonna fill you up with cum, baby. I'm going to fill your ass--"

"No, I want it on my face."

"Your face?"

"Yeah, all over, like skin cream."

He pulled his thick shaft out, making my ass feel suddenly cold and empty, but I rolled over and slid down beneath him, gently wrapping a hand around his balls, a finger on his ass. And then he exploded upon me, his cum on my forehead, my cheeks, my nose, my lips, and salty and strong--like Peter's--down inside my mouth. Harold just shuddered--his body taught--and then he collapsed on the bed beside me. I just looked around at the pink walls, and quietly hoped to myself that Nancy would have as much fun in these games clothes as I had.

"I'll get you a washcloth," Harold said.

I shook my head. "No, I like it on my face."

"You're so nasty. I always loved that about you."

"Maybe I shouldn't give this outfit to Nancy," I said, grinning. "I should save it for us. Plus, now every time that you see her in this, you're going to think of sex."

"Yeah."

"As if you don't think of screwing her all the time already. Not that I mind."

"Are you sure you don't mind?" he asked me.

I wanted to tell him about Peter and Ethan. "I would love for you to fuck her. I mean that truthfully. I think it would do her good, and I want you to have all your fantasies fulfilled."

"It would be such an awful thing, though."

"What, incest? I don't think incest is so bad, as long as it's between consenting adults."

"I guess not. Have you ever fantasized about it?"

I nodded. "I thought about my daddy when I was young. And now..."

"You think about Peter. Or Ethan."

"Both, yeah," I said. I took a deep breath. "And... in the last few days..." I couldn't believe I was telling my husband this, "... I've done a lot more than fantasize about them."

"You mean you..."

"Yes."

"With both of them..."

"Yes."

"At the same time?"

"No. Separately."

Harold didn't say anything for a few minutes.

"What are you thinking?" I asked him.

"I dunno, I guess that's pretty hot. I mean, I'm a little jealous but it's not like I didn't deserve to be cheated on. When I was a boy, I'd fantasize about my mother."

"Yeah? You wanted to fuck her?" I remembered Harold's mother, now somewhat faded, but she had been really glamourous when I first met her, with a curvy body and tremendous breasts.

"Yeah. So I guess I'm jealous of the boys because they get to fuck their hot mother and I never did."

"So you don't mind?"

"As long as I'm still the alpha-male, no, I guess I don't."

"And I don't mind if you fuck Nancy," I offered.

"Really? But I'm not sure she would want to."

"Well, if you ever want to seduce her, let me know and I'll do everything I can to help. Maybe we can even have a threesome sometime."

The ejaculate was starting to dry on my face, and I didn't want to let it go to waste. "Back in a minute," I said, and ran downstairs. I took a spoon and gently spooned the cum off of my face and dropped it into a bowl. An impressive load, but I would need more. I put some cling-wrap over it and put it in the freezer, then went upstairs, taking my clothes to the master-bedroom and stripping out of the schoolgirl outfit. There was cum on the collar of the shirt. I'd need to wash it before wrapping it.

Harold was in the shower, singing happily to himself. I couldn't believe we had sex. I didn't think it was going to happen again after all this time. I sat on the bed and just listened to him sing.

Chez Fiona Ch. 04
byfogbankc

I made an angelhair pasta dish for dinner, giving everyone very generous portions of fresh parmesan cheese, which I was usually somewhat frugal about, because it was so expensive. And I had made a roasted bell pepper and eggplant sauce, which is quite spicy and a favorite of Ethan's.

The atmosphere at dinner was quite interesting: Harold was boisterous and happy, asking about everyone's lives, suddenly a more involved and attentive father than he had been of late. He prodded the boys about their girlfriends, and asked Nancy if there were any special guys she was bringing to her birthday party tomorrow. I knew he was thinking about screwing her, and he looked at me a bit apologetically. I reached beneath the table and gave him a lingering pat on the thigh, letting my hand slide suggestively upwards. I decided to do some flirting of my own.

"Ethan, did you sleep alright last night?" I thought I heard some noises from your room.

He didn't look up at me, he just shrugged. "I dunno, I had some weird dreams."

"Oh really?" I asked with my sexy-innocent voice. I seemed to be using that voice a lot lately. "What sort of dreams?"

"I was... this mathematician, and everything was in black-and-white..."

I slipped my foot across and stroked his leg gently. His eyes bulged, still not looking at me, trying to continue describing this dream.

"And there was some equation I was trying to figure out, and I had this big old-fashioned computer, and when my computer figured out the equation, it became self-aware and crashed."

"Fascinating," I said, still stroking his leg. Of course, he had no such dream; it was from a movie called Pi, which he assumed nobody else at the table would have seen. Well, he couldn't very well have said that the dream was about his mother sucking his cock and drinking his cum.

After dinner, Nancy declared that she was going over to Tanya's place.

"I forgot some papers at the office tonight, so I'm going to head back in to work." Harold gave me a knowing look, then turned to Peter and Ethan. "You boys be sure and help your mother clean up in the kitchen, eh?" I couldn't believe it: Harold was really getting into this idea that I was fucking the boys. "You need a ride to Tanya's?" he asked Nancy. The two of them left, and I began clearing the table. Peter and Ethan began helping, loading the dishwasher, but they were eyeing each other suspiciously--as though each wanted the other to leave, so that he was alone with me.

"Ethan, can you dry? Peter, you can put things away." I rolled up my sleeves and began filling the sink with water, adding huge amounts of soap, working up a nice lather of bubbles, and began washing the grease from the dishes. As Ethan dried, he stayed close against me, letting his arm brush against my own. I could tell that for him, even something so subtle was a daring gesture. Peter was a little more forthright, letting his hand graze my ass--occasionally even giving it a little squeeze--every time he walked past me. I pushed back gently into his hand. Peter was ready to go--he'd have me right here and now if I let him. But Ethan needed a little more loosening up.

I reached a hand down into the water, then gently flicked it at him. He seemed not to notice, so I did it again, but with more water this time.

"Hey!" he objected in mock anger, and I flicked him a third time. He took a step away from me, then took his towel, wet from drying the dishes, and snapped it at me. The towel caught me sharply on the hip, and I yelped, then splashed more water.

"You two, you're making a mess. I just washed that counter!" Peter said from across the kitchen. I turned to him and dipped my hand into the sink one more time, expertly sending water all the way across the kitchen, covering his shirt in soap and water.

"Oh, that's it, I'm gonna get you." He opened the fridge, found the pitcher of water, and poured out a glass, and made gestures as though he was going to throw it at me. I wasn't sure he was, but I ducked down, anyway. But as I did so, Ethan grabbed my arm tightly, pulling me back up, and a blast of icy cold water hit me full in the chest and face. I screamed out, dumped a bowl full of sink water on Ethan, and twisted out of his grasp.

He ran to the far side of the counter, to where Peter was. Peter threatened to hit me with another dose of ice-water, so I ducked down below the counter. Looking down, I realized my t-shirt was soaked, and either from arousal or from the cold water--likely a combination of both--by nipples looked as though they were going to burst through both by bra and my white t-shirt. I ducked my head into the cupboard. There had to be something... and then I found a bottle of champagne. Perfect. I could hear Peter and Ethan whispering to each other, no doubt planning some way to assault me with more water. I began shaking the bottle of champagne. I debated sticking my head up to see where they were--they had fallen suddenly silent. But they might be waiting for me to stick my head up... I loosened the wire restraint, and gently twisted at the cork. I could feel the tension behind it, feel how it was about to burst out. I'd have to be careful not to shoot one of the boys in the face with it!

I decided to crawl around the side of the counter, trying to catch them off-guard. Then suddenly, a hand caught my foot from behind.

"Got her!" I heard Ethan yell, and a half second later, Peter came around the corner the other way, a jug of orange juice in his hand. I pressed the cork with my thumb and it shot out, followed by a thick spray of champagne foam. I stuck my thumb over the end, increasing the tension and shooting Peter's face full of it.

"Fuck!" Peter yelled out. With one hand, he tried to block the stream of champagne. With the other hand, he splashed out the carton of orange juice, soaking me in wave after wave. I turned the champagne bottle to Ethan, who had now gripped both my ankles, and shot his face full of it. He swore, but didn't let go; he held to my ankles tightly, one in each hand, about shoulder-width apart—a grip that would allow him an easy view up my wet legs. In a show of false modesty I pressed my thighs together. Had I worn panties today? In my aroused, frantic state, I couldn't remember. I hoped I hadn't.

Peter grabbed my arms, twisting the champagne bottle out of my hand, and holding my arms out above my head. I lay on my stomach in a pool of orange juice and champagne.

"You've made a mimosa out of me!" I declared.

"A what?" asked Ethan.

"A mimosa. It's a cocktail," Peter said.

I nodded. "Orange juice and champagne." I could lick it up off the floor by sticking out my tongue. I didn't though, I just breathed in deeply smelling the wincing citrus.

They held me there, and we fell into a silent stalemate, neither of them sure what to do next and me restrained from movement. Of course, we all wanted the same thing, more or less.

"Okay, let go."

They did as I told them, and I pulled my legs in, rising up to my hands and my knees. Peter's face was inches from my own.

"Kiss me. Kiss mommy."

I saw him look past me to Ethan, unsure of how to act in front of his brother. Then he leaned into me with a soft, gentle kiss.

"Mmmm, nice," I moaned.

He kissed me again, and I put an arm around his neck, pulling him in against me.

"Now stand up."

His crotch was a little above my face, and I could see his nice shaft through his jeans. Of course he was hard. I would have been shocked if he wasn't.

"You know what mommy wants. Take it out for her."

Again, he looked at his brother. Likely they hadn't seen each other naked in years. But he undid his jeans, and gently slipped them down to his knees.

"These too," I said, looking at his shorts. He modestly pulled them down. So modest. What happened to the boys that we assaulting me with orange juice? I looked over my shoulder.

"What are you doing?" I asked Ethan.

"Nothing."

"Oh no your not. Your not playing the voyeur this time. Have you eaten pussy before?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Good. Get to it," I said, wiggling my ass at him. He touched my thigh, and slowly began sliding it upwards. "That's it, baby," I cooed. Ethan now involved, I turned my head back to Peter, and found my face pressed solidly against his cock. "Oh, Peter!" I nuzzled it, letting it slip along my cheek, pressing my nose as far as I could between his cock and his thigh and then breathing deeply. Meanwhile, Ethan had moved his fingers up and was touching my pussy. Not just an exploratory touch, but firm, like he knew what he was doing.

"Can you feel that, Ethan? Can you feel how wet Mommy is for you?"

"Uh huh."

"Mommy's so wet for both of you."

I took one of Peters balls in my mouth slowly and gently, lifting it with my tongue and then letting it fall back into my mouth. All I could taste was the citrus of the orange juice—it was such an overwhelming flavour. I worked my way slowly up the underside of Peter's shaft, flicking my tongue across with quick horizontal strokes. He moaned, and pressed himself against me. I rewarded him by cupping my mouth over the tip of his cock and sucking it gently, and then I slowly began pushing down.

"Oh mom!"

"Mommy. Call me mommy," I said, coming up for air.

"Oh yes mommy, take me all the way down."

I put my mouth on automatic, just sliding slowly up and down Peter's shaft. It was so long since I had two guys at the same time—not since before these two guys were born—that I had forgotten the challenge of sexual multitasking.

I worked my hips back against Ethan's hand. "That's it, right inside."

"It feels so good inside you. So hot!"

"Taste my heat, baby. Use your mouth," I said, giving my mouth a break as I stroked Peter with one of my hands.

I had barely spoken when Ethan pressed the full of his face against me, his mouth like a vacuum over my pussy. "Oh god, honey." I moaned again, as Peter took my head in my hand and guided my mouth back onto his cock. I let him dictate the speed, gently pulling against my hair. I loved the feeling of his hands in my hair, working into my scalp as he urged me to take him deeper.

Ethan's tongue found it's way to my clit. I bucked my hips a little, feeling Ethan pressing his mouth against my clit, his nose slipping between the lips of my quim.

I wanted to tell him how good it felt, but I was to far down Peter's shaft to make more that a guttural grunt. So I grunted. Ethan recognized it as a sound of approval and pushed harder.

I needed more. I took Peter's cock out of my mouth. "Oh god. Okay, Peter, you fuck mommy. Ethan, you come up here and give mommy your cock to suck on." I rolled onto my back, my legs spread wide.

Peter got between my legs, while Ethan knelt above me. I could just reach his balls, and I gave them a little lick with my tongue.

"That's so good, mommy, licking me right there."

"I can feel how heavy you are with cum, son."

"Oh yes, mommy!"

Peter was fucking me, but not with his cock. He was sliding the wet, foaming neck of the champagne bottle into my pussy. I moaned, and bucked my hips a lot.

"You like that?" Peter asked.

I moaned, and wrapped my lips around Ethan's balls. "Wow, that's so hot," Ethan said, referring both my lips on his balls and the site of a champagne bottle in my quim.

"You should see her with a cucumber!" Peter said.

"Really?"

"She a total slut for food, aren't you, mom."

"Oh baby, you're mother is a dirty slut for anything long and hard that you care to put in her," I said, wrapping a hand around Ethan's cock as I continued to suck at his balls. "Come on, Peter, use your cock." I got onto my hands and knees, taking Ethan's cock in my mouth. After a couple quick sucks, I took it out and looked back over my shoulder at Peter. "I want some incestuous cock in both ends of me."

I was really getting off on talking dirty, trying to make this already dirty sex even dirtier; trying to make it the ultimate in filth. I relaxed my hips as Peter put his cock against me and leaned forward, slowly penetrating me all the way. My quim was already so wet and open, it offered no resistance; it took only a few seconds before Peter was sliding all the way in and out on every stroke, giving me a good, hard fuck. I relaxed my throat, struggling to take Ethan's cock. He was nice and lean, easier to handle than his father or his big brother. I relaxed my body, just enjoying the feeling of being so completely fucked.

It had been so long since I had two guys at once. Not since my college years. It's an amazing thing, being surrounded by all that masculinity, all that dick. Should I take Ethan up my ass while Peter was in my quim? Or take both them in my mouth or pussy at the same time? So many possibilities. What was too far? Was anything too far, after all I had done? It all felt so fucking good.

I suddenly became aware that Peter was about to cum. "No, not yet!" I pushed my hips down, popping his cock out. "You know how much I need to taste your cum." I looked back at Peter, who was kneeling there, his cock throbbing visibly. He had his eyes closed, and I knew how hard he was trying not to cum, to think unsexy thoughts until the encroaching orgasm subsided. I continued gently sucking Ethan for a moment, and then stood, stretching out my sore muscles.

"Ethan, do you want a turn in mommy's cunt?"

"Oh yeah, mommy."

"How to you want to ravish your mommy?"

"Up on the counter," he said.

I did like he asked, and sitting up on the counter so that my pussy was just off the edge of the counter.

"Your mommy wants you, baby."

He came toward me, and I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him in so that his cock was nestled in against the folds of my pussy. I gave him a deep passionate kiss, as he reached down and fondled me.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," he moaned.

"Oh believe it baby," I said, taking his cock in my hand, and gently slipped the tip of it into me. I arched my back, squeezing his ass with my heels and driving him deep into me.

"Fuck her hard!" Peter called out, watching from behind and gently stroking himself.

Ethan was spurred on by his brother, and wrapped his arms around me, bucking his hips. I leaned back, and he rubbed against my g-spot. The feeling was too intense, and I surged forward into his arms, lifting up off the counter. Ethan stepped backward with me still in his arms, carrying me. For a second I wasn't sure if Ethan could hold me, but he steadied his legs, and then began fucking me even harder.

I moaned, clutching at my young son's body. I kissed him again, feeling his tongue deep in my mouth. Such a delicious boy! I was ready for the next extreme. I looked over at Peter. "Ready to put that in my ass?"

He nodded eagerly, and I reached back to the kitchen counter, grabbing a bog bottle of olive oil. As Peter came up behind me, I splashed him with the oil, making his bronze torso glisten. Then I held the bottle over my own head, soaking myself in oil.

"Hold me still," I instructed Ethan, gripping his ass with my ankles. "Just for a moment."

Peter's fingertip penetrated my asshole, causing so many nerves to tingle. I relaxed my asshole, and then squeezed tight around his finger. It felt so good, squeezing his finger with my ass.

He began fucking me quickly with his finger. I held tightly onto Ethan and moaned. This was so nasty, so good. I couldn't wait. Peter could tell I was ready, too.

His cock hurt a little as he slid it into me. But I moaned, and tried to take it like a smutty porn star. I wished that someone was filming this, so that I could document exactly how lewd and libidinous I had become. Maybe next time I'd set up a camera.

In the meantime, Peter's cock was easing into my ass, and I could feel myself loosening up, allowing him deeper. I gripped Ethan's shoulders, and lifted myself up, and then slowly slid down, sliding Peter into my ass and Ethan deep into my quim. It all felt so good. I lifted up and then slid down again, and both boys moaned loudly. They both gripped my hips, lifting me and then sliding me back down on their cocks. I was so slick with the olive oil, the boys had to squeeze me so tight to avoid losing their grip. I could taste the oil on my lips. I liked them, then kissed Ethan.

"Oh god, mom."

"I'm such a lucky mommy to have such studs for my sons. I love this," I moaned. "God, I love being a dirty, filthy, incestuous mommy!"

It wasn't just the incest that I loved. It was the kitchen, too. Being fucked in my kitchen. Being covered in olive oil. I had this tremendous desire to eat something. I reached down with one hand and felt around on the countertop: fruit bowl. I took a plum, raised it to my lips, savoured the texture of the skin, so much like the purple, swollen head of a cock. Then I bit into it, tasting the sweet, juicy interior. I kissed Ethan, using my tongue to push the piece of plum into his mouth. I took another bite, then turned my head, kissing Peter and pushing plum into his mouth. As I kissed Peter, Ethan did something that shocked me a bit: he spit the little piece of plum out. I heard him spit, and felt it land on my cheek. I continued kissing Peter while the juice of the plum ran down my neck, into my cleavage. I broke off my kiss with Peter, long enough to say to Ethan, "You fucker. Bring your mouth over here to mommy's."

I urged him closer, and bit down a bit on Peter's lip, not letting him pull back. Then Ethan's mouth was on mine, too. Which meant that his lips were on Peter's, too. I brought the rest of the plum up between us, into our mouths. I moaned loudly; my god, both my sons, fucking me at the same time, both of them kissing me at the same time. Both of their tongues in my mouth. They weren't fucking me really hard—the duality of the position made it a little awkward. But they were both inside me, I was suspended between them, touching nothing in my bodies. I felt my consciousness fleeting, even as my orgasm hit. It was an orgasm like none I've had before, an orgasm that replaced all my senses—my sight turned red, my hearing to white noise, my nerves to numbness, my scent and taste both to sour emptiness. All I could be aware of was the nerves within my own body.

The sound of my own voice screaming brought me back. I could feel that I was on the floor. There was something brushing against my face. Cock.

"That's it, cum on mommy's face. Cum all over mommy's face."

It took only a second after I said it before I felt it hitting me. I licked my lips, and my sense of taste returning as I licked that salty cream. Delicious. It was Peter's. Ethan's ejaculate hit me on the other side of the face. I licked the other side of my mouth, and tasted him. I didn't swallow. I wanted to. I wanted to simply devour it all. But I controlled myself. I opened my eyes, wiping the cum from them, and then I smiled up at my sons, extending my arms to them. They helped me to my feet.

"Oh god, mom..." Peter said.

"You liked that, didn't you? Being way up my tight ass. And you, Ethan," I touched my hand to his cheek, "you were rubbing against my g-spot in such a good way."

"Do you want a washcloth?"

"No," I said, going to the freezer and getting the dish of their father's cum. I used my fingers to wipe my face off, and then got a spatula to make sure every bit of that delicious stuff was in the bowl.

"What's that, mom?"

"Nothing..." just something I'm making.

"We should get dressed before dad gets home!" Ethan said, suddenly. I shrugged.

"Your father knows. He's okay with it."

"Really?"

"Maybe sometime I'll take all three of you at once," I stepped toward them, and realized there was a big pool of champagne, orange juice, and olive oil.

"So, I think it would be safe to say that you boys owe me a favour or two, right?"

"Yeah, sure mom."

"Clean the kitchen. I'm gonna go have a hot shower and go to bed."

Chez Fiona Ch. 05
byfogbankc

I fell asleep right away, and awoke in the morning, alone. When I got up and began to get dressed, I felt something on my backside—a bit of an itch. When I scratched, it felt a little crusty, and tasting my fingers, it felt like cum. So apparently Harold had come home horny, and masturbated against my backside. I could deal with that sort of affection from my husband.

When I went downstairs, the house was quiet, but the kitchen, I was happy to see, was spotless; my sons had obviously felt very grateful. It was a relief, because I had so much to do today—all the preparations for Nancy's birthday party that night. I also had a lot to think about. I was enjoying everything that I was doing: screwing my sons, my neighbour across the street, encouraging my husband's lust for our daughter. Yes, I loved all of it. But it was so much the opposite of what a mother should be doing. I tried to push the thoughts out of my mind as I went about preparing the cake for Nancy. Eggs, flour, sugar—

Shit. No sugar. I went and got my keys, preparing to drive down to the supermarket. But Olivia would have sugar—I could just run across the street. And then I could tell her all about last night.

I went across and knocked on her door. She opened it, wearing some sweaty, tight workout clothes. I smiled at the remembrance of her naked body. "Sugar," I said, holding up a measuring cup.

She smiled and let me in.

"Stay for some tea?"

"I'd love some."

We sat down at the table, and chatted for a bit about our busy schedules.

"Wow, I can't believe Nancy is turning 19."

"Yeah, I know."

"Would I ever love to be that age again," Olivia said, wistfully. "You remember what it was like?"

I nodded.

"I think that's why I love fucking Kim. He makes me feel so young."

"Mmmm."

"Is that what it's like for you and Peter?"

"I don't know if it's the age, exactly. Well, I mean the thought of incest is really hot for me."

"Yeah," she gave me a smile that showed me exactly what she was thinking. "So have you had any further adventures with Peter?"

"Yeah," I sighed, remembering the intensity of the previous evening.

"Mmmm," she gave a little moan.

"And," I continued, "with Ethan."

She gave a little gasp. "Together? Or separately?"

"Together," I said. "In the kitchen. One in my pussy and one up my ass."

"Which one? Which cock did you take up your ass?"

I tried to remember. It was a little fuzzy, but I remembered kissing Ethan straight on, and kissing Peter over my shoulder... "Peter. I took Peter up my ass."

"God, Fiona! I am soooo envious." She said it with just a bit of a mocking voice, but there was a bit of sadness behind the words, too. Honest envy, not necessarily of the sex, but just of my sons.

"Thanks, Olivia. But I still can't shake the part of me that says this is really, really wrong."

"Of course not. That's why you love it. You've been a good mother all your life, and now you need to do something completely sinful."

"Is that it? I like to sin?"

"Well, a sin that feels good."

I sighed. "Isn't that the worst kind of sin, though? A sin that you're committing simply because it's a sin?"

"I don't know, I guess that might be a really bad sin in some sort of Miltonesque version of religion. But incest plays a very important role in nature. Incestuous procreation isolates recessive genes and encourages mutation, which sometimes becomes evolution."

"Is that so?"

"I read it somewhere."

"Well, I'm not about to procreate with my sons. Last thing I want is another kid. I've just got them out of the age where I have to take care of them."

"Yeah, and now you're at the age where you can fuck them. Speaking of which..." she said, standing up. "Your fuck stud number two is home."

I looked up the window and saw Ethan across the street, walking up the driveway.

"Go fuck him," Olivia said.

I could feel myself tingling at the thought. But I needed time off from screwing—my pussy ached just a little. My asshole, too. "Why don't you go fuck him?" I retorted.

"Really?" she asked.

I thought about it for a moment. I didn't have a problem with the idea of Olivia screwing Ethan. I wanted my boys to have a full, rich and lush sex life, and I certainly didn't want to be possessive of them as a lover.

I looked at my watch. "Okay, you've got twenty minutes," I said. "After that, I've got to get baking."

"You're sure you don't mind?"

"Why would I mind? You and him having sex is a lot less perverse that him and me. Right now I don't have any right to be jealous of anyone."

"Mmmm..." Olivia came to me and gave me a long, passionate kiss, "I'm gonna go suck your son's brains out," she whispered into my lips.

"Yum, you go do that. I'll stay here and hope that Kim comes by looking for you," I said, thinking about Olivia's hot asian boytoy. She grinned back at me, and then almost ran to get her shoes and cross the street. I watched through parted curtains as she rang the door. Ethan answered, and they talked for a moment, before she went inside.

I knew I had told her she had twenty minutes, but I couldn't wait. I wanted to know what they were doing, hear their moaning voices. I at least had the awareness to grab a cup of sugar before leaving Olivia's, locking the door behind me as I left. I crossed the street, and slipped around to the backyard, entering through the kitchen door. I could hear them upstairs, so I left the sugar on the counter and tip-toed up the steps, going down the hall to Ethan's room. The door was still mostly open, and I stood at the doorway and looked in: Ethan was lying on his bed, still fully dressed, but by best friend was straddling his face, her own pants removed. Her hands were pressed against the wall, and I could see her face: eyes closed, lips parted in pleasure. Ethan gave a muffled moan from beneath her.

It was a sight that got me juices flowing instantly, but it also made me smile: afterall, it was my sexual experiences with Olivia that kick-started my incest. It also made me a little sad. Olivia's own son, Johnny, had died when he was just six, in an allergenic episode. I didn't know her at the time, our friendship was more recent. But I understood the pain that she had endured, never knowing the man that her son would have grown up to be. She had made it clear how jealous she had been of my incestuous experiences... maybe part of her wished that Johnny had grown up so that she could do the same with him.

I slipped quietly into the room, sat on the bed, and quickly slipped my hand down into Ethan's pants groping his wonderful member. He groaned loudly, moving his head as though struggling to see who was touching him, but unable to move because of the closeness of Olivia's thighs around his face.

"What is it, dear?" Olivia whispered to him.

"It's okay," I whispered to them both. Olivia spun her head around to look at me, a little shocked but with a wicked grin. "Oh Fiona, I'm glad you came over. Did you teach him how to do this?"

"Do what?" I asked.

"East pussy. He's really good!"

"Mmmm, no, he seems to have a natural instinct for it."

"Must be hereditary," Olivia said. "Probably from his mother's side." She gave me a knowing look.

I unfastened Ethan's pants, and took his cock out. It was rigid and throbbing, a bit of precum glistening on the tip. I bent my head down and wrapped my lips around it, tasting his juice, a little tangy and not so salty as his brother's. I wanted to do something special, not for Ethan, but for Olivia. I remembered the incestuous role-playing I had done with my husband just yesterday. Or had it been two days ago? I was having so much sex with so many different people that I was beginning to lose track of little details, like the passage of time.

"You know, Ethan," I began. "Olivia is my very best friend." I climbed onto the bed, straddling Ethan. I spread out my skirt, rubbing my panty-clad pussy against him. I leaned forward, and kissed the small of her back, slipping my tongue down into the cleavage of her ass. "You might even say that she's almost like a sister to me—that's how dear of a friend she is."

I slipped a finger down against her asshole, and then further down, touching where Ethan's open mouth and Olivia's open quim met.

"That would make her your aunt," I continued, feeling Ethan's tongue with my fingertip. "Now that you've fucked you mommy, it's only natural that you fuck your auntie Olivia."

I felt Olivia shudder, and I knew it was from absolute arousal. I slipped up against her backside, pulling off my shirt and my sportsbra in one motion. "And what about you," I whispered in her ear as I pressed my breasts against her back, wrapping my arms around her. And touching her breasts under her sweater, scissoring my fingers around her hard little nipples.

"You like the thought of that?" I whispered. "You want to fuck you dirty little nephew?"

"Oh god yes," she moaned. "I want to take my own flesh and blood inside me," she whispered. "I need him!"

I could tell this was something more for her, more than just fucking the boy across the street. When she turned to look at me, she had tears on her eyes. "It's okay," I cooed to her. "It's okay." I was right, this was about Johnny for her. I wanted this for her so much, I wanted it to make her happy, make her fulfilled.

I stood up, pulling my skirt and panties off, then knelt to suck on Ethan, getting his cock all lubed up with my saliva.

"Do you want your auntie?" I asked Ethan.

"Oh yes..." he moaned.

"Tell her," I instructed him.

"Oh Auntie Olivia, I want you so bad."

"Oh yes, Ethan."

"You have such a delicious pussy, I want to fuck it so bad."

"I think he's ready for you," I said to Olivia, putting my hands on her hips and pulling her down so that she was straddling Ethan's hips. I could see on her face that she was still holding back her tears a bit. I looked down at Ethan, and I could see that he was a little bit confused by the tears, so I put my hand on his, giving him a little squeeze of assurance.

Then I took both hands, and placed them on Ethan's cock, holding it straight up. Olivia put a hand over mine, and slid her hips down. She cried out loudly, almost painfully as she impaled herself on him, and Ethan surged his hips up, powerfully, into her. He moaned loudly, too.

I watched Olivia's face, her mouth wordlessly open, eyes squeezed shut. She was leaning, almost like she was about to feint. I climbed on the bed behind her, wrapping my arms around her. And holding her upright, using my strength to help keep her upright. I kissed her neck, running my tongue up behind her ear.

"Oh, my love," she whispered. I wasn't sure whether it said to me, to Ethan, or to the dead Johnny. I wondered, as I held her there, about the existence of angels, and whether they age. He would be eighteen now... what would he think of his mother's lust for him? Would he understand? Would he be there, with us, somehow slipped into Ethan's body so that he could feel his mother?

Of course, I didn't believe in any of that. But I wanted to, right then. Then Olivia snapped out of it. I felt strength return to her body, consciousness return to her movements. She put her hands on Ethan's shoulders, and ground down against his cock. I slid back a bit, rubbing my pussy against Ethan's thigh.

"That's it, Ethan. Fuck your auntie Olivia, fuck me hard," she moaned, slamming down against him, and pulling up. I cupped his balls gently, then bent to suck on them a bit. I could feel how full and ready to burst they were.

"Oh Ethan, you're such a dirty boy. I'm so glad your mommy let me play with you!"

I slipped a finger into her asshole, and she cocked her head over her shoulder and gave me that wicked grin again. "Whatcha doing back there, sister?" she asked me. I just smiled back and slipped my finger a little deeper. She gasped, tilting her head back.

"Come sit on his face," she said. I loved the idea. I had actually been thinking of doing that for a few minutes, but I didn't want to come between them. Now that I was invited, I scrambled around, straddling Ethan's mouth. He strained up to touch his tongue to my clit, sending shockwaves through my body. I settled down onto him, enjoying the sight of my best friend riding up and down on my son's cock. We looked at each other, and stretched out our arms, intertwining our fingers. Then she leaned forward, her mouth parted for a kiss. So I did the same, and we shared the most delicious, wet, sensuous kiss. I pressed back down against Ethan's face, smothering him in my juicy pussy. Then I broke my hold on Olivia's hands, took her by the wrists, and led her hands to my own. We were all on the verge of cumming—I could tell by the strain of their bodies that Ethan and Olivia were both feeling the exact heights of pleasure that I felt. I reached down to Olivia's hips, slipping my finger over her clit. I came first, still kissing Olivia, feeling the unrestrained desire in her mouth. It was that, more even than my son's lips on my quim that made me cum. I screamed out, breaking the kiss, and the scream seemed to set off Olivia, who rose up, right off of Ethan's cock, falling forward against me, crying out first my name, then Ethan's. Dazed, crushed by Olivia's embrace, I saw that Ethan's cock was suddenly unembedded, so I reached down and grabbed him, hard. Almost as soon as I did, his cum shot out, up his over his own chest, onto the arm I gripped him with. Olivia collapsed down upon Ethan's chest, and I collapsed across her back. Achieving simultaneous orgasm is difficult enough with two people; we had almost achieved it with three. It had been such a strange, wonderful fuck.

After a minute, Ethan's voice came from the bottom of the pile, somewhere near my pussy. "This is, umm... really great. But I can hardly breathe."

Olivia and I rolled off of him, and I ran my tongue over his belly where the cum had transferred. Then I licked up the cum that had landed on my arm, and the reside still on Ethan's stomach. I didn't swallow, but instead kissed Olivia deeply, transferring it into her mouth. She took it, stretched out over Ethan, and kissed him. I saw his eyes goes wide, shocked at having his own ejaculate transferred into his mouth. Then he sat up on the bed. I sat up beside him, kissing him, and he swished that ejaculate back into my mouth. It was almost sexier for my son to give me his cum with a wet kiss, than to give it to me as a load from the cock. It was hot, either way. I left the room abruptly, running downstairs, to grab the bowl of cum I had been accumulating through these last few days. I spit out the cum into the bowl, then ran back upstairs to my two lovers, who were already beginning to get dressed.

"Ummm, auntie Olivia?" Ethan said.

"Yes dear?"

"Can we do this again sometime?"

"If it's alright with your mother," she said, looking at me.

I smiled at the two of them. "Of course it's okay with me."

I took my clothes and went back to my room, tossing them in the hamper, and put on my housecoat.

A while later, after Olivia had left, Ethan came down stairs.

"How are you doing?"

"Oh, great!" he said. "Although that was kinda weird. It looked like she was crying a bit at times."

I nodded. "Sometimes sex isn't about the sex. She had a son who died many years ago. About the same age as you. And I guess my relationship with you and Peter has been a little difficult for her."

Ethan nodded in understanding; I wasn't really sure he understood. I wasn't even sure I understood everything that was going on with my friend. But we were doing what we could to help her, and that was important.

"And now," I said, as Ethan came behind me and put his hands on my hips, "I have to make a birthday cake for your sister, and dinner for about a dozen people. So no distracting me." He dropped his hands. "Take your hot body and go do something useful, like mowing the lawn."

I put together a spicy marinade and a bunch of pieces of chicken, because it was an easy thing to throw together, and then I started the cake. Flour, water, sugar, vanilla extract in one bowl, and then the icing in another: water and egg-whites, mixed together and beat until they were emulsified, and then powdered sugar, and about five tablespoons of cum: Peter's, Ethan's, Harold's. I mixed it all together, and tasted it: just a bit of saltiness, a bit of sweetness, and so smooth and creamy. It wasn't an obvious flavour. It someone told you that there was cum in it, you'd taste it. Otherwise, you might not even notice it. I loved the idea that I was going to feed all this cum to my family, to my children and to their friends. It made me feel so dirty, so appallingly perverse.

I shook my head at the pervert I had become, and went about making some stewed mussels with cilantro, lime and black pepper (a favorite of mine, and a bit of an aphrodisiac, not that anyone in my house needed one—except maybe Nancy).

As I stood infront of the window looking out into the back yard, Ethan came around pushing the lawnmower, his shirt gone, his thin, athletic body glistening with sunscreen. He saw me watching through the window, and stopped, looking at me.

I couldn't believe that this gorgeous young man was one of my lovers. One of my many lovers. It made me so happy to remember the things we had done together. I unbelted my housecoat, and took out one of my breasts, playing with the nipple for him, and then pressing my breast against the glass. His eyes went wide, and he started coming towards the house, but I waved him back; I just wanted to tease him—I had no time for another romp.

I put the cake together and put it into the oven, then heated up the grill and put the chicken on. It would take about an hour to cook everything, which would give me just enough time before the guests started to arrive. I toasted some cornbread that I had in the freezer, and then made a simple greek salad: black olives, tomatoes, red onion, cucumber, and olive oil. I resisted the urge to drench my body in the oil and beckon Ethan to come in.

I still had presents to wrap! I had completely forgotten! I ran upstairs, and pulled things down from the closet: a couple books, some cds, a cellphone, and the school-girl outfit. I was having second thoughts about giving that last one to her. I wasn't sure she was ready. I wasn't sure she was comfortable being an object of sexual desire. I had corrupted my sons. But Nancy was different—Nancy was more innocent than either of them. I had to draw the line somewhere. I feed her the cum-icing, but no schoolgirl outfit. I put it back in the closet, and took the gifts downstairs to wrap.

I went over the guest list in my head. Harold and I, Ethan and Peter and Nancy, of course. Nancy's friends Tanya and Lauren, and Ethan's girlfriend Giselle. I was really curious to meet Giselle: he was the first girlfriend Ethan has had, and my son's skill with cunnilingus suggested to me that his girlfriend must have known a thing or two about it, too. That would be eight of us, though. I ran through the menu in my mind, hoping that I had made enough food.

The cake came out of the oven, and I set it on the rack to cool, and set the icing beside it. I couldn't resist having another taste of it.