This following is an account of the recent events in the lives of myself, my son, and others. If incest, lesbian, gay sex, and some other risqué stuff offends you then stop reading now. If you haven’t read chapter one then do so now.
I was at the office around 2pm when I received the call. It was my son Alex’s manager from the grocery store. There had been an accident. He wouldn’t say much, just that my son was alive and that it was, “non life threatening” and he was taken to the hospital. Then he pretty much hung up on me. I nearly got into an accident myself driving there with visions of losing my precious boy running through my head. The woman at the front desk in the ER would tell me nothing except a doctor would be out soon to talk to me. She was much more interested in getting our personal information but assured me that since the injury was at work any bills would go to the supermarket’s insurance.
Minutes turned into over an hour as I filled out paperwork and nervously watched staff and patients go in and out of the automatic double doors leading into the treatment area. The store manager was nowhere to be seen and he didn’t answer his phone. Finally, a big bear of a male nurse came out to speak with me. My son had a cardboard baler door fall on him breaking both his arms. He was friendly and helpful and told me Alexander didn’t have permanent injuries and I could see him as soon as they were done applying his casts.
He came back an hour later and guided me back to a small alcove where they had my boy. “He’s kinda high because I dosed him up with hydromorphone for the pain” Alex was on a bed his torso inclined both arms were in casts from just below his armpits to his mid forearms and secured with armrests. “Hi mom” he said to me a dopey smile on his face looking like he had drank a pint of whiskey. “Oh baby!” I said peppering his face with kisses. “What happened sweetheart?” “I was load—-ing the baler and the door crashed down on my….” he looked down like he just noticed the casts for the first time. “My arms.”
“We’ll move him to his own room tonight while the casts set.” Barry, the nurse informed me. He showed me the X-rays and stated that my son had two of the cleanest hairline fractures he had ever seen above each elbow and that there shouldn’t be any problems healing. I stayed with him for an hour before they sent me off telling me I can pick him up the next day. I called the store manager two more times but he didn’t answer. “That bastard!”
As soon as I get home I called Sal, a ruthless ambulance chasing lawyer I do taxes for. Locals call him, “Better call Sal”. He agrees the whole thing stinks and promises to be on the grocery store like a, “Timberwolf on a T-bone.”
After hanging up I realize I haven’t told my adopted daughter Li Mei about any of this. She’s in her basement bedroom where she spends 95 percent of her time when she’s at home. Blossom reacts in her normal subdued way and simply asks when Alex will be home. Even though she was raised in Texas, she has always had the quiet reserved personality typical of females from her birth country. The girl is so allusive and unassuming that we go for days sometimes without speaking. Blossom has three passions in her life. Video games, astronomy, and traditional Chinese cooking. Her basement abode has its own bathroom and kitchenette so about the only time we see her is when she comes out to do laps in the pool.
Barry the nurse calls me the next morning to pick up my son telling me to bring a pair of sweatpants, underwear and slippers. He will have to wear special side buttoned hospital shirts. Sal had just left after getting a statement about the accident. Alex is fully coherent but will be on oral painkillers for a few days. He suggests a home care nurse but I assured him I am fully capable of caring for my boy. Before we leave Alex sheepishly says, “Um Barry, I gotta.. Umm.” “You gotta use the toilet?” “Yeah” my son said a bit embarrassed. As he helps him to the bathroom to do his business and change into the clothes I brought, it dawns on me just how helpless my son will be for the next 6-8 weeks. With both his arms locked out straight, he will be totally incapable of feeding, washing or doing much of anything for himself. We are sent on our way with strict orders that my son move his arms as little as possible for at least a couple weeks.
At home I camp Alex on the couch with the TV remote and a big coke on ice with a straw so he can drink. He’s in a somber mood. It’s understandable. My boy, so energetic and athletic has his life of school, football, friends, and girls on hold and has to live like an invalid. The basement stair door opens and Blossom glides into the room, comes from behind and without a word leans over the back of the couch wrapping her slender arms around her brother saddling her cheek against his. At first Alex puts on a sour look, but his sister patiently holds herself against him giving occasional nuzzles until he finally smirks and then smiles. Mission accomplished she stands up and when Alex tilts his head back she surprises us both by leaning over again planting a lingering kiss on his lips before silently retreating back to her subterranean lair. It’s a bit more than just a sisterly peck and even though she’s not Alexander’s real sister it’s very forward, especially for her.
Quintin and his mom stop by which cheers him up. Alessa, a year younger than I, immediately leans over Alex cupping his head and slathering his face with more kisses. “Oh my poor Bambino!” She’s wearing one of her usual summer sun dresses, and even in his injured state, I catch my son staring down the valley between her B cup breasts. I don’t blame him because my eyes are enjoying a quick trip up and down her firm, tone, athletic legs.
While the boys hang out, me and Alessa sit at the kitchen table and talk. As usual she brings a bottle of her favorite northern Italian wine that’s so potent it’s more like port. “I will help you anyway I can Cassandra.” she says waving her hand as if shoeing a nonexistent insect away. Listening to her drag out the vowels of my name in her seductive Tuscan accent is like hearing fine baroque music. We’re both the same height at five foot seven but besides that any similarities of our shared Mediterranean heritage diverge. I’m darker skinned with deep brown eyes and curly chocolate hair. Alessa has fair skin with blue-green eyes and dirty blond hair that she always has tied back. I have a somewhat pretty face, but she is flat out lovely with symmetrical Germanic features and a sharp sculpted nose. She once joked that her ancestors weren’t Romans, they were the people that sacked Rome.
She got pregnant with Quintin at seventeen by a Black French footballer whose team was playing in Italy. Her family wasn’t happy about her having an illegitimate “halfrican” so she moved in with American relatives before having her son in the States. In the subsequent years she managed to wrangle US citizenship and moved to Texas and works as a dental hygienist. She also leads a high intensity aerobics class three times a week which gives her a sexy fitness girl physique.
Alessa is wonderfully direct and open about everything in her life and her demeanor draws the same from me. Telling her every detail of my sexual exploration since my husband’s death came as natural as talking about the weather. “You must live and love to the fullest my Greek fragolina.” she would say. I looked it up to find she was calling me her, “sweet Greek strawberry.” I want to bite into her like she’s a strawberry but so far she’s given me no indication that she likes girls. She gets a ton of interest and has had a string of men but never gets too serious with any of them and hasn’t mentioned a guy in quite awhile. After an hour they leave but not before she gives me her customary kiss on each cheek as her hands run down my arms clasping her fingers in mine. Every time she does this she looks deeply into my eyes like a lover. I half expect, and want her to lip lock me, but it’s just a part of the more intimate nature of her upbringing.
Alex is watching some 80’s action movie that doesn’t interest me in the least but I sit on the couch with him anyway, enjoying a newfound happiness and appreciation just to be with him. As the movie ends I notice he’s squirming and uncomfortable. “Are you in pain sweetheart? You’re not due for another pain pill until dinner.”
“I um, I gotta pee mom and I don’t think I can do it myself.” He says nervously.
For the first time it hits me that just like the nurse I’m going to have to help Alex with his toilet duties. “It’s OK it’ll be just like when we potty trained you baby.” But as I help him off the couch and to the bathroom, I become as nervous as he is. Despite the awkwardness, I also feel a tinge of excitement. I stand by his side in front of the toilet. He has to remind me to raise the seat. There’s no fly on his sweatpants so after taking a deep breath, I pull the sweats and his underwear down around his hips watching the cotton fabric stretch over his smooth round butt. It’s the first time I’ve seen my son’s bare buttocks since he was five and they’re just as firm and beautiful as I imagined.
“Are you ready?” Alex is looking away from me red with embarrassment. I realize my heart is thumping in my chest. Looking down I see it. My son’s cock. It’s flaccid of course, so it is impossible to tell how big he would be hard. But like the rest of him, his penis is beautiful and he’s certainly not small. I had Alex circumcised because of hygiene and that most women prefer the look especially in the US. He has a small patch of light brown pubic hair and as I look he clenches stifling his urge to urinate which makes his dick jump slightly. I swallow hard then reach down delicately taking hold of him between my thumb and index finger, just behind the head, aiming him at the bowl.
A few seconds go by and there’s nothing. “I’m just kinda nervous. I’m not use to somebody holding me mom.” He says.
“Take your time.” I whisper giving him a peck behind the ear. He’s still looking away so I again look at his penis. I gently slide my remaining fingers under his shaft my pinky rubbing against his silky testicals. With a small grunt, a squirt of urine shoots out, most of which hits the porcelain. A steady stream follows and I easily aim him towards the center of the bowl. This is the first time I’ve held a man to urinate. “No wonder men like to piss on stuff. This is actually fun” I think marveling how easy it is to piss in any direction.
I’m also incredibly turned on. The cock I was staring at under his wet swim trunks two days ago is now in my hand. I feel his warmth and even the vibration of the fluid running out of him. Too soon the flow ebbs and stops. “Hold up mom.” I feel the muscles in his groin contract as a couple more squirts exit him. “Are you done sweetheart?” “Just shake a couple times then milk once kind of like, you know, a cow.” He says. I follow his instructions and the last of his piss is out of him. He finally looks at me. “Thanks mom.”
I reluctantly release him and kneel down, deliberately to his “rear”, my face just inches from his smooth teenage ass. “Oh God that was so hot!” Gripping the elastic I reluctantly pull his sweatpants and underwear up covering him again. I can’t wait to do this again! The question of how we will bathe my son with his plaster casts both puzzles and excites me. I put him back on the couch. He’s tired so I put a blanket over him. “I’ll be upstairs for a few minutes-I have to call the lawyer.” I tell him.
Scampering upstairs to my room I beeline to my bath, unbuttoning the front of my jeans as I go. Within seconds the jeans and panties are around my ankles, my right leg is free and knee is up on the vanity. My inflamed pussy is open and visible in the mirror. I lock eyes with my reflection surprised at the raw look of lust on my face. Raising my right hand under my nose, I slowly inhale and the faint musky masculine scent of my son’s genitalia slams my nostrils like an aromatic aphrodisiac. “Oh fuck!!” I exclaim as my other hand slaps against my cunt immediately frigging my engorged clit. “Aaahh!” I’m a sick bitch. I know I should feel deep shame for what I’m doing but any guilt is far outweighed by the intense need I have. I skillfully manipulate my pussy while rubbing my boy’s scent along the underside of my nose. I’d lick my hand but I don’t want to erase the smell. “Your mommy’s a whore Alex!” I proclaim to the empty bathroom. My hand is a blur on my pussy quickly driving me towards an orgasm. I’ve cum many times before thinking about my son but this will be different. This time I actually touched him, and I will again. A throaty growl escapes me.
A minute later I lean over-face against the countertop as a climax wracks my body. A primal groan echoes off the walls. My hips undulate against my hand before my shaking legs fail and I slump to the floor breathing heavily. Laying on the cold tile, catching my breath, the familiar guilt returns. My son is downstairs on the couch, sleeping peacefully knowing his dutiful mother is caring for him. He’s unaware that she’s a sexual deviant with twisted carnal desires not just for him, but for his best friend and his best friend’s mother. What would he think of me?
Getting to my feet, I clean my slick pussy with a warm wash towel and make myself presentable. I call Sal. He called in a favor with a Texas OSHA agent and with his authority bossed their way into the supermarket the minute they opened with a baler maintenance guy in tow. They inspected the baler while the store manager skulked around at a distance. The old baler has two large springs to counteract the weight of the heavy sliding vertical door. The spring on one side had long since broken loose and the employees were told to prop up the door on that end with a two by four. While my son had his arms inside the baler, the other spring broke which dislodged the 2X4 dropping 150lbs of metal door down on my boy’s arms. The only thing that saved Alex from far worse injury was the 2X4 getting wedged along with his arms.
While they were there a crew showed up with a new baler with orders to remove and dispose of the old one. The store is playing CYA. Sal had all this documented and before he left the manager handed him a phone-one of their corporate lawyers wanted to set up a meeting to discuss a, “resolution for this issue”. “Don’t worry Cassandra, we’re going to give them a resolution right up their ass.” Sal assures me. I actually laugh and thank him. After hanging up I get online and order waterproof cast covers with next day delivery so Alex can use the shower. My employer calls waiving all office obligations and cutting my work back so I can stay home full time until he is capable of caring for himself.
My son is sleeping on the couch. I turn off the TV and sit by him studying his statuesque face and listen to his even breathing. I love my boy more than anything and the thought that thirty minutes earlier I was masterbating thinking about him brings on another round of guilt. I’m a good mother. These thoughts I have are just natural desires any woman would have for a gorgeous young man that she’s around all the time. And they’re just thoughts. No harm, right?
I cook spaghetti, garlic bread, and broccoli for supper. Alternating between giving myself then Alex mouthfuls off our respective plates then wiping his chin and putting a glass of milk to his lips so he can drink. Some home care professional would see this as a job but I’m enjoying every minute of caring for my son, although I have to chase an alluring vision of my boy’s sensual lips wrapped around his friend Quintin’s penis from my thoughts. After dinner, we have another somewhat embarrassing episode when I have to pull his pants down and wipe him after he takes a dump. Even that, “distasteful” task is mildly sexual for me. Afterwards I tell him, “We’re just going to have to get use to this baby.” and give him a peck on the cheek.
The next morning I start the day by helping Alex urinate. This time both of us are slightly more comfortable although I don’t delude myself about how much I enjoy holding his manhood. I make him breakfast forking the food to him and afterwards brush his teeth with his electric toothbrush. The waterproof cast covers are delivered none to soon because he’s starting to stink. He protests about having to shower but I tell him we can’t have him smelling like a homeless person for the next two months. The plan I’ve come up with brings me butterflies of apprehension and excitement.
I slip on a one piece bathing suit covered by my bath robe and grab some fresh clothes for Alex. “Come on mister” as I drag him off the couch and upstairs to my bathroom. “Ah mom, I’m not that dirty!” We use to shower together sometimes but that stopped when he was about five. My heart pounds in anticipation of doing it again. My son stands awkwardly in front of the shower, we’re both tense but I try to act casual as I unbutton and remove his hospital shirt and slippers. Then I run the plastic cast tubes up each arm securing them tightly with the elastic fittings on either side of the plaster. That done I kneel beside him and after a moments hesitation pull both his sweatpants and boxers down to his ankles and he steps out of them. Besides the casts he is now naked as the day he was born.
Struggling to control my breathing I feel the first signs of moisture between my legs. “Your incestuous fantasies have come home to roost Cassandra” my conscience tells me. “I’ll get the water going.” I say turning away blinking hard and exhaling deeply. Besides building our house as sturdy as a bank vault, my late husband went first class on all the appliances, heating and cooling and the multiple water heaters. You could shower for a hour and not run out of piping hot water. “OK baby it’s ready.” Alex slips by with his back to me and steps into the shower under the stream of water. My shower is spacious, with a integrated bench seat and a removable shower head. Countless times I’ve sat on the bench my legs spread wide-the shower head held against me on pulse setting massaging my pussy to orgasm.
I shuck off my robe catching him glancing over to see what I’m wearing or not wearing underneath. The last couple years, especially after I improved my body, I’ve noticed my son looking at me in a sexual way. Never blatantly, but when he would catch me in just underwear or wearing revealing bathing suits or dresses he would get that hungry look that I covet from men. At first it unnerved me. I chalked it up to teen hormones. But soon I came to appreciate it, relishing it, even wearing and doing things in front of him to draw his carnal attention. A son is the most intimate person in many women’s lives. He came out of you. Was nurtured by you. You watch him grow into manhood. I definitely feel this way about Alex. Having a latent sexual connection between us brings me some shame but also a strange type of excitement that I’ve never felt with anyone. Up until now it was just something it my head, a fantasy that would never be acted on. Now it’s standing right in front of me and every fiber of my being wants to turn fantasy into reality.
I step in behind facing his back, both of us soaking up the soothing toasty water. It feels good and he lets out a contented sigh as the warm wetness cascades down his sculpted body. “I’ll wash your hair first dear.” “Um, okay mom” he says. I watch his torso expand as he takes and exhales a deep breath. I’m not going to hurry this. “I’ll make sure every inch of my boy is squeaky clean like any good mother would.” Who am I kidding?
The shower head has a shut off and I pause the flow pouring shampoo into Alex’s hair, lathering it into coconut scented suds. “Close your eyes” I tell him barely above a whisper, my lips inches from his ear. I’ve stepped in close behind, so close my D cup breasts are brushing against his skin. My sensitive tits feel him even with the fabric of the suit between us. Post breast enhancement surgery I enjoyed intensified pleasure with any nipple stimulation which is common. Unfortunately, it’s common for the hypersensitivity to fade which is exactly what happened. Missing the additional erogenous stimulation, I searched for a way to make my tits permanently sensitive and found it with Platelet-Rich Plasma injections into my aerolas. My areolas became more pronounced and sensitive and a stiff breeze is now enough to make my nipples stand out.
Pulling a fresh washcloth off the rack, I add a little more shampoo and clean my son’s face while my free hand massages the back of his neck. He relaxes somewhat and some of his tension and embarrassment seems to ebb. After resuming the water flow and rinsing his head I slightly lift each arm in turn and scrub his armpits and the exposed skin of his arms and hands, then rinse out the cloth, add more shampoo and work his back and sides. My boy’s wet flesh looks magnificent and I take a few seconds to enjoy the view of the sudsy water running down his back disappearing into the crack of his ass. Has Quintin had his cock in that ass? Has his face been down there? The thoughts of what sexual acts my son and his best friend may engage in besides blowing each other makes my pussy deliciously clench.
My hands reach around gently washing his chest, rubbing his muscled pectorals, brushing against his nipples. Then down his belly to just above his crotch area. “See this isn’t all that bad, is it baby?” My jaw is saddled in the crook of his neck and shoulder and I resist the temptation to lick the side of his handsome face. “No, it’s okay mom.” Alex’s breathing is deepening. It occurs to me that with his arms locked straight he’s probably unable to relieve his sexual needs.
“This is your teenage son Cassandra!!” My inner voice screams. I shouldn’t be enjoying this, but I am. Kneeling down, I wash his left leg down to his foot, which he lifts to help me. Fuck, even his feet are sexy.. After repeated the process with his right leg, I stand. This just leaves his private areas. I can do this. It will be just like helping him piss. Keep it together. Your son has enough problems-he doesn’t need his own mother molesting him.
Stepping alongside I cup the soapy washcloth against his groin, running it up and down over his penis and below his balls. Alex takes several sharp uneven breaths and his cock immediately starts to harden. He awkwardly turns away slightly. I finish quickly, pretending not to notice his arousal and get behind him again. “Okay babe, lean forward a little.” He does opening up his sweet backside to me. Oh God! This is better than any twink porn ever! I struggle to control my breathing while extending the hose on the shower head to spray up into his crack from below. His jumps slightly but the water’s warm and I take my time hosing out his unseen bung hole. He even bends forward slightly more when he feels my washcloth covered hand sliding up and down inside his crack over his anus, his slick ass cheeks rubbing against my wrist.
I could spend the whole day here doing this and much more but with a final spay we’re done. I turn off the water and open the door grabbing a big bath towel. He’s facing away probably trying to will his erection down as I dry his back, and he is more or less flaccid by the time I work my way to his front. “See, that wasn’t so bad. We’re going to have to do this a bunch more until your casts come off.” I’m not sure how often I can justify getting my hot son naked with me in the shower but I’ve already decided to have as much intimate contact with him over the next two months as possible. It’s good that I’m wet from the shower because my vagina is seeping fluid. Can I smell my sex or is that just my imagination? Can Alex smell my arousal? “God I’m such a nasty bitch!” But can’t help myself. My little voice of reason has given up and left, leaving me alone to face my perverse incestuous desires.
After getting him in fresh clothes and donning my bath robe, I camp Alex in his room with his play station. “I have to finish showering now baby. I’ll be back to check on you in an hour or so.”
I’m in my room with the door locked moments later and seconds after that in the shower naked with a six inch flesh colored dildo that’s looks about the size of my son’s prick. My ass barely hits the shower bench before the silicone phallic is lined up with my sopping cunt. A guttural groan emanates from my lungs as I slam it balls deep inside me. “Aahhh!! Fuck! Fuck! That’s it Alex, give your whore mother your beautiful cock!” I hiss. The toy is making wet sloshing sounds as I rapidly drive it in and out of me. I imagine my boy wasn’t injured and that he could somehow hear my cries. He would barge into my bathroom and see me in my lustful depraved state. He yanks me off the bench and forces me to my hands and knees on the shower floor. Then forcefully shoves his cock into me from behind. Taking what is rightfully his!
My free hand claps against my pussy massaging my clit. As turned on as I am it won’t be long. Grunts and gasps echo off the tile and my tits heave with my exertion. “Give it to me baby-give me your beautiful cock!” My legs open and close of their own accord my breathing becomes ragged. Thinking about Alex when I masterbate is like throwing gasoline on a carnal fire. Less than a minute later a powerful orgasm rocks my body and I almost fall off the bench.
It only takes a few seconds for the post nut clarity to reassert itself after my orgasm subsides. As I lazily run the toy lengthwise along my labia, I realize this is going to happen again, and again. There’s just no way I can be in daily intimate contact with my gorgeous boy and not fantasize about him while pleasuring myself. I shouldn’t even try not to. “Just enjoy the next couple months of this Cassandra. Yeah, you’re a sexual deviant, so what?” As long as I don’t cross the line and Alex doesn’t know about my taboo desires then what can it hurt. But the next thought in my head is, “What if he does find out? What if I did do something overtly sexual with him? What would he think of me? What would he do? Would he hate me, or???”
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Please don’t take too long.