“Stacy Martin!”, you again berate yourself in the deep recesses of your mind. How did you ever let it get this far? Until tonight, your only lover since your marriage was your husband John, attractive in his way, loving after a fashion, but perhaps gone a little bland. “But!” you again admonish yourself, “that's no excuse for this!” as you drive to the club that he suggested for your rendezvous. God! You even dressed as he asked, right down to your black satin panties, matching satiny bra and black fishnet hose. “Damn! If I don't look like a whore now, who does,” you continue remonstrating yourself, but the warm, silky feel of your undies, and knowing who will later remove them, titillates you as much as frightens as you as you drive on into the night, and to the next town some twenty miles away. He'd thought it better to meet in a place where neither of you were known. Reluctantly, quivering in anticipation, you agreed. “And damn it! You're still quivering! Can't you see this is wrong?! Don't you know it goes against the church and the law and even your marriage?” You tell yourself you know all this, and you tightly grip the wheel, yet you drive on, no thought of turning back, until you see the roadside lights beckoning you to your meeting place, a quaint little bungalow motel, just off the road, with a quiet restaurant and bar and convenient parking in the rear. Wheeling around the motel office, you see the door to the adjoining club in front of you. Stopping, setting the brake in your rental, you feel yourself go flushed once again as you check your hair in the mirror “Damn!, but you still look good at 36.” Its your make or break moment. “Well...,” you say to yourself as you exit the car, “Its now or never,” and you stride forward on trembling legs, grasp the door handle, and enter the club.
You blush, your breath catches, and you look to bolt back out as your entry is greeted by howls, hungry wolf whistles, and several lewd and obscene offers from the first half dozen cowboys you pass on your way to the lone open elevated bar-table along the side wall. As you make your way to the table, settle yourself in with one slender, heeled leg bent at the knee, the other toe grazing the floor, you anxiously search the small sea of faces for his. Is he here? Did he stand you up? Is this a fucking joke? Just when you're thinking just how bad an idea this really is, considering retuning home from all this foolishness, he rears his head from one of the further pool tables, hands off his cue, and slowly, purposefully strides towards you, the picture of a rangy outdoors man in flannel, jeans and boots. Your heart stops when you see the light in his eyes, his warm, wicked grin and his thatch of studiedly unkempt auburn hair. You mind a fog, your pulse roaring in your ears, your breath coming in gasps, your eyes are only for him. You don't even hear the hoots of “Never Happen!” or “Not a fucking chance in Hell!” from the cowboys dismissing his approach to you. Nothing else matters. He's here.
Boldly, obscenely, he strides right up between your legs, clasps your head in his big hands, and gazes deeply into your eyes. Your heart stalls, flutters; your breath catches again and your jaw drops as he catches your upper lip between his tongue and his own upper lip, worries it a little, then bends to give you the kiss you'd only dreamed of. To the hoots and cheers, and a few “What?!” of the local folk, he crushes you to his body, pressing his jeans-covered arousal on your already cunt-soaked panties, and continues the deep, soul-wrenching kiss. A small voice in the back of your mind tries to warn that you're only dreaming, but the forefront of your mind and heart knows this is real. Its happening now. He's here. He's kissing you in a very public place, and you're loving every trampy, breathy, saucy minute of it, shakes, trembles and all. When you both decide to come up for air, he again staring deeply into your eyes, the place is silent, all eyes on the two of you. In an unaccustomed sway of panache, he cups a hand on your butt, pulls you from the chair, and with a half-dancing turn, points you both at the door. You don't even hear the local fools anymore. Your eyes only for him, his only for you; your arms over his shoulder, his hand still firmly cupping your butt, you slowly stride out of the place and head to the room he's reserved for you. Another deep, body-shuddering kiss at the front door, and you're in the room. You don't know how or when. You're simply there. The lights are already dimmed, the sheets are turned back, and there's a bottle of sweet wine chilling in a bowl of ice on the small cottage table beside two snifters. He's pulling out all the stops, but you were pretty sure he would. It seems to be just his way.
Not one to waste the moment, he again clasps you to his body, kisses your mouth, your neck, your ears as he handily unties the behind-the neck knot of your sleeveless red halter, and peels it down below your black satin bra, kissing and nibbling down your shoulders and chest, to the very top of your cleavage as he does. Then, stroking your back and shoulders with one hand, he traces down your side to the zipper of your black micro-skirt, and in one svelte move, the skirt is suddenly at your ankles. Then, raising your arms, holding both your hands in one of his, he brings your halter back up over your breasts, over your head, and off your body as you daintily step out of your skirt. He steps back momentarily to take you in. You shiver slightly as you realize you're standing in front of him in only your bra, panties, garters, hose and heels. “God!”, you tell yourself. “I'm a fucking tramp on display.” But he steps forward and wipes that image from your thoughts with another earth-shattering kiss, his fingers stroking your back, his hands cupping and gently squeezing your butt, and then his mouth on your neck. Your juices are flowing steadily now, and the room reeks of feminine sex, a heady scent the doesn't escape him, as you see by his flushed face, his renewed ardor and arousal. Momentarily faint, you flush and back up against the wall. He doesn't miss it. Before catch your next breath, he's easily picked you up, carried you the few steps, and gently laid you on the bed.
You start to speak, but he gingerly traces a finger over your lips as he traces your hip cradle and panty waistband with his other hand. Does he have enough hands for all he's doing? You're ecstatic, your body trembles, your breath is gasps, you're flushed and warm from your eyebrows to your nipples, your pussy is a flowing spigot. You thought you knew what making love was about, but you're through the roof now, and he hasn't even started yet. Its torture. You want to say so, but you dare not. You might ruin the moment.
You're on your back. He sidles up next to you on his side, tracing your face, neck and upper body with tender, wispy fingertips. Somewhere, he seems to have lost his shirt. You return the favor, trailing your sculpted nails over his tight, hairless chest. When he absently, nimbly slips a finger under your panty line, Oh My God! You cum! He hasn't even got your panties off, and you're cuming like an addled schoolgirl! Not the rip-roaring, screaming, squirting thing; your body trembles, your tummy flexes, and your ever-flowing juices change their scent to that of a woman who wants a cock NOW!, a fact not lost on him.
He turns your head for another smothering kiss as he undoes the clasp on the front of your bra, letting the cups fall aside to expose your ripened globes and blood-stiffened aroused nipples. He smoothly moves to cover the nearer nipple with his mouth while his free hand caresses your other. You continue to flow and flex. “What is fucking WITH you?!”, your mind shrieks one last time, but your body is putty in his hands, and he's gently sculpting a lover out of you. As he continues licking and sucking your nipple, his open fingers trace from your breast, down your tummy, to your panty top. Your body is already taut, lifted by your heels, to help him doff them for you. You no longer think straight. No longer worried about about what's happening, you let it happen. Somewhere in your love-lust haze, your panties, hose and heels have vanished, along with his boots and jeans. He lies next to you, you turn to him, naked body to naked body, as it should be, and return the caresses he gives you with kisses and caresses of your own. You're in Heaven, he's God, and your body yet sizzles and spasms to his touch. You're helpless in his hands. He kisses your mouth, he nibbles your chin and neck, he traces his tongue and fingertips over your breasts, he traces the bony ridge that is your pelvic girdle, until his mouth and both hands arrive at your aching, swollen pussy. You're stunned beyond belief at what he does next: the lover's kiss he gives your pulsing mound is the kiss you only wish your husband gave your mouth! You cum. You squeal, You bounce. You shriek. You shudder. And you flood the bed with more of your impatient love juices. God! If only we could have done this sooner! But...
When he senses your impatience, he rises over you, gazes deeply into your eyes, and mounts you, giving you his full length in one excruciatingly slow, agonizing stroke, and comes to rest on your body. His weight is a comfort, his arms engulf you, his manhood fills you, and his ragged breath in your ear triggers another wave of pleasure throughout your body. You've opened the door. He's come home.
His thick cock pistoning in and out of you sends more waves of current through you. He kisses you. You kiss him. He cuddles you, cradles your head. You stroke his hair. Thinking of you, he shifts your position, pulling out of you as he does. Your heart stops. You feel an urgent sense of loss until he has you on your side, he behind you, and you grasp his cock to bring him home again. His arms around you, tracing your body, cupping and cradling your breasts, your head on his, his manhood moving inside you with rhythmic persistence, you're on a cloud. You've never made love like this, but Damned if it isn't great! As you tense, he grabs your hips and pulls you tighter to him, giving you all he can reach, and you cum again...and again...and again. He brings the real woman out of you so easily, so often, that you wonder in some wispy way where he learned to do that. You might even dare to ask him some time, but not now...
His movements more erratic, his cock thickening inside you, you know he's close. Its your biggest moment of decision yet. And he helps you make that decision as he again pulls out, lays you on your back, and again mounts you. His pace quickening, his thrust deeper, his face and neck muscles red and taut from holding back, his look at you is all the question he needs. Your body glowing, sated, your mind returning, but taking a back seat to your heart, in a flash you ask yourself “Do you love him as much as he loves you?” “Yes!” “Would you deny him anything in your power to give him?” “No!” “Are you willing to have his baby...?” “Uh...yes...” You close your eyes on his gaze, nod your ascent, and you reach for his butt and pull him deeper into you. His breath explodes, his body trembles, he bottoms-out in you and lets go. You feel the deep spasming throb of his cock as he releases wave upon wave, thick, potent spurts of of his own love juices inside you. You cuddle him, you kiss anything you can reach, you whisper endearments in his ear, as you wait for his throbbing passion to wane. What a fucking weird time to remember that you ovulated just yesterday! Ohhhh, God! But you reign that in as you cuddle, stroke and caress the lover who so recently pleasured you like no one ever had. As he starts to roll off you, you roll with him until you're back mouth to mouth, body to body, sharing the glow of satisfaction. You trace his ear, he traces the nape of your neck. As you lie on the pillow facing him, you make one more decision. You douse the bedside light and pull the covers over you both. As you're being taken by the ghost of sleep to come, you hear the only real words spoken tonight: “I love you, Mom...”
Ever the early riser, you awaken with a disoriented start, your bedroom is different, the smells are different – oh... Oh! “Shit, girl! You really went and did it, didn't you?, you mildly reproach yourself as you snuggle closer to the wonderful young man sharing your bed. “You made a date with your own son, let him FUCK you, and even let him CUM INSIDE YOU! Gawds! You can still feel some of it coming out of you yet. Are you pregnant? Do you even really care anymore?” “Um... Not really.” You love him, and you love what the two of you have started. But you want to push it, see just how far you – and he – will go. You don't know yet how you're going to do that, but it has to be this morning if you're going to forge a bond with him. For now, a shower. You gotta clean off the sweat and un-mat your sticky pussy before it stinks and glues itself shut. You stroke his chest, give his cock a gentle squeeze (it pulses in response), and head off to the shower, leaving him uncovered. If that and the noise of the shower don't wake him, you'll at least be treated to a luscious sight when you come back out.
In the shower, you tell yourself in no uncertain terms that you made a bed last night, and you damned well enjoyed sleeping in it. Son or no, that young man loves you; he's a damned good fuck, and you aren't ever going to let him get away if you can help it. And you've hit on the thing you want to try, even need to try, to make sure of him. Will he...?
You come out of the bath wrapped in a large fluffy white towel knotted between your breasts, and turn to see him waiting his own turn. You both flush. He kisses you as deeply as you remember from last night. He's still here. You playfully tickle his ribs, and stroke a fingernail down his semi-erect cock. He rips the towel from your body, and swats you on the tush as you playfully scamper away. Then the door is closed and you hear the shower once again. As he hums a vaguely familiar tune you can just hear over the shower, you decide to pull your big guns out of your purse – a small, clingy blue-gray tube dress designed to leave nothing to the imagination, and strategically roll it onto your body, ensuring with a quick glance in the vanity mirror, that the last inches of your bare pubes are still visible from a distance. If you're going to slut for him, may as well pull out all your own stops, hm? You studiedly have your back to the bathroom door when he opens it, your hands just studiedly on your skirt as though to finish rolling it down the last few inches when you turn to see him – just as you'd hoped, naked save for the towel he's running through he hair his cock still half-mast. Game on!
He takes you in with one up and down glance, you both flush, His cock rises, he cocks an eyebrow, you lick your lips,, and he's on you! Pinning you to the wall, he plants his now fully aroused cock at your front door, and slams in! “Owwwwwww!” He's pulled in some hair and a lip in with his lunge, but that's released when he backs out for another lunge. You growl. He grunts. You both huff. You slam into one another. This isn't “making love,” this is raw, animal passion playing itself out on your bodies. You had to know if this would happen... You? You're in pain, you're in pleasure, you're in heat! He's in rut. You know you won't cum from this one, but you do! You screech! You scream! Your body goes taut. You can't move. You can't breathe. You flood your legs and the carpet beneath you with your squirt! Ohhh God! You NEVER did THAT before! UhhheeEEEEE!!!, you wail, as he slams into you one final time and unleashes his own pulsing gusher inside you! Your juices mingle down both your legs as he breaks the kiss to again gaze softly into your eyes. Love, sated passion, confusion, embarrassment, joy all vie for space on his tender, young face. You disabuse his confusion with a long, loving kiss of your own as you remove his penis from your body and casually, intentionally wipe his last dribbles on your skirt hem, before doffing it and guiding you both back to the shower. You know you'll be wearing that tube dress all day today, and that it'll be good for at least two more boffs, maybe more?, before you get wherever it is you're going. God! How slutty is that?!
After breakfast in the tiny diner, you back in your cum-stained tube dress, of course with no undies, you check out of your room, leaving your rental keys with the clerk for the company to come reclaim it. Your card will cover it, of course. You hop into his restored classic convertible, now fully understanding his penchant for the bench seat and center seatbelt of those older cars, You smile as the wind catches your hair. You lean your back against him, his arm over your shoulder. your hands on his arm as his his fingers dance over your bare cuze and clit, rewarding you with a string of screaming, mind-blowing, seat-soaking cums as you blow down the two-lane highway, the sun and the wind in your hair. Its a dream you'd thought long dead, but that your own teenage son revived and fulfilled. Sweet. What will you name the baby...?