"Mom, I had a nightmare and can't go back to sleep. Can I sleep with you? Please..."
As I was roused from my sleep, I should have had no problem with this simple request from my son, Brad. His bastard father, my ex-husband, left us for another woman before he was born, and Brad had recurring nightmares of being abandoned...of being alone. Because of this, I loved him unconditionally and let him scamper into my bed and snuggle with me until he found the much-needed comfort and drifted into a sound slumber.
Lately, however, Brad's seemingly innocent nightly requests had become a dilemma for me. It may have been because my impish little boy had matured into an eighteen-years-old tall hunky stud of a young man who towered over me by six-inches. Yet, I think that the real reason for my hesitation was because Brad was hung like the proverbial horse. I guess it was a mother's blindness but somehow I failed to notice how his cute little pee-pee had gradually grown over the years.
I discovered this one night after his eighteenth birthday when I as usual granted one of Brad's requests. He had quickly fallen into a deep sleep, starting on his back but soon rolling to his side to spoon me as he had done for years. However, this time when he cozied up to me in his sleep, his erection had slipped through his boxer slit to press alarmingly against my nightie-covered buns.
While momentarily shocked at the initial contact, I wasn't horrified. I knew that young men sprouted unexpected erections and especially when sleeping. What was happening was something natural, expected, and nothing to be alarmed at. Besides, I had willingly foregone adult male companionship and intimacy after my divorce to devote my life to Brad. How many times through the years I had told myself that I did not need to have hot-and-heavy sex with a man and was in perfect control of my bodily urges.
I didn't discover the foolishness of my self-denial until the next night when my short-nightie had ridden up and a seemingly sleeping Brad slipped his naked erection between my inner thighs. I remember jerking at the sudden presences of my son's intrusion but after a moment of pause, I realized that he was asleep and probably dreaming judging by the soft mumbling I heard from behind me.
I should have immediately disengaged Brad's manhood from being sandwiched between my thighs and pressing against my womanhood. However, after eighteen years of abstinence, I was paralyzed by the sensation of having a massive cock sliding from my pantie-covered puckered anus to my stiff throbbing clit. I bit my lip so as not to utter a sound when Brad began to slowly pump his groin back and forth, repeatedly poking his bulbous dick head against my surprisingly wet panty-crotch.
I would be lying if I said that I let Brad have his way with me. I silently responded to his wet-dream dry-humping by pushing myself back, willingly meeting his gentle shoves. My hand slipped over my panties to stroke myself and let my fingertips every once in a while brush lightly against his dickhead.
I don't know whom Brad was dreaming of but from his quickening of his pace, I could tell that my son was ready to cum and I moved my cupping hand further down. With my heart beating in my throat, I struggle not to make a sound but could hear my pussy juices squishing loudly. Then with a sudden thrust, Brad exploded his youthful semen, spurting into my curled fingers and drenching my panties' crotch. Quickly turning my face into my pillow, I muffled my own orgasmic cries as I struggled not to move.
Before I could gather my wits, my son rolled onto his back and his semi-soft but still impressive manhood slipped from between my legs, and soon his soft snoring could be heard. Breathing heavily, I lay there for a while, trying to figure out as to what had just happened. Before I knew it, I brought my spunk-covered fingers to my nose to deeply inhale its heady aroma his musky deposit and then licked and suck all of it appreciatively off my fingers and palm. Closing my eyes, I surprisingly drifted into a satisfying sleep with my hand shoved between my thighs.
Initially, I foolishly thought that what had occurred that night was a one-time phenomenon. Brad didn't speak of what had happened and I wondered how he could not have known what had occurred. As for me, that night seemed like some incredibly realistic wet-dream that brought to life my physical needs and sexual urges that had been long suppressed. Yet, as I would discover, this was the start of when fantasy became reality.
Now, before you think that I'm some sort of depraved and desperate mother, let me tell you about myself. My name is Lana. I have been fortunate to have many men say that I'm attractive. I think that this is largely due to my unique blend of Eurasian ancestry.
My physical features favor my Caucasian father with gray eyes, light brown mid-back hair, long shapely legs, full breasts that are eye-catching yet not to the point of being saggy or obscene. From my Japanese mother, I enjoy slightly almond-shaped eyes with double eyelids, a creamy skin tone to the curves of my five-six body, large meaty ruby-red nipples, a certain grace that bordered on exotic, and a gift of looking much younger than my forty-one years of age.
While I haven't slept around a whole lot, I had my fair share of men before I met and fell for my shit-ass husband. Bret was one hell of a good-looking guy - tall, muscular, suave, and quite a ladies' man. Many said that we made the perfect couple - attractive, passionate, and highly sexed. Bret knew how to use his good-size dick, and was surprised when I proved to be his match in bed. Seeking to secure a sense of exclusivity, we made the foolish mistake of getting married.
For a while, things were great. The publishing company I had worked at while getting a college English degree hired me for this neat editing job. While the pay was decent, the benefits were great, especially when working from home was one of the perks. Bret was a regional airline pilot who was gone for three days when he flew a four-city route. When he returned home, gratuitous sex was had all over our little house in the suburbs. Now that I look back at that time, fucking each other silly was the only thing we had in common and upon which our marriage was built.
The start of our end happened when Bret unexpectedly took leave and proceeded to screw me into utter bliss and sheer exhaustion for nearly a week. He took me first thing in the morning, throughout the day, and in bed at night. I don't know how many gallons of sperm that man pumped into me but I loved it...until I missed my period.
"You're what?" exclaimed a clearly shocked Bret. "How the hell did you get pregnant?"
"Well, it partly your fault," I defensively blurted. "When you fucked me so much while on leave, I was so exhausted that much of the time I slept into the afternoon. I think there were at least two days that I forgot to take my birth control pills. When I discovered this, I doubled up on pills and thought I'd be okay. Hey, wait minute, aren't you happy that you're going to be a father?"
By the stormy look on his face, I immediately knew Bret's answer and what he was about to say. "Don't even think it, Bret! I'm having this baby...our baby...and we're going to be a happy family."
Boy, was I wrong? While we continued to have sex in the first trimester of my pregnancy, Bret had become more and more forceful to the point of being vicious. It was as if he was fucking me so hard to induce a miscarriage. Then when my body began to change, my so-called loving husband became more and more disinterested in me and finally got to the point where he visibly abhorred my swollen breasts and belly. When I needed caring and loving, I only found disdain and silence. Bret spent more time away from home and when he came to bed, he reeked of alcohol and passed out without a word.
What I didn't know was that Bret had found a stewardess who was willing to be a sexual replacement for me. At first, they carried on while flying together and then the slut would service him in her tiny apartment or motels near the airport. Furthermore, I wasn't aware that Bret and his mistress had applied for and been accepted by a major airline that flew out of an international airport in another state and would require them to relocate.
"Lana, I'm leaving you and filing for divorce," read the note I found on my computer when I returned from my prenatal check-up. "I never wanted a kid but you had to ruin our relationship. Don't try to contact me or count on me for anything. I've found someone else and we moving to another state to start a new life together. I'll be flying with the big guys in the friendly skies. You were a great fuck before getting pregnant], and my cock will always remember your sweet mouth and tight cunt. Bret."
They say that "Hell has no fury like a scorned woman," and they are right. My publisher's brother-in-law happened to be an excellent divorce attorney who took Bret to the cleaners for me. Besides child support payments, my bastard of an ex-husband had to cough up seven years of alimony even though our marriage had been a short one. These payments were successfully argued for and won because Brad had just been born, Bret had abandoned us, I had no family to rely on, and I might be forced to work part-time to raise my child. The alimony would be enough until Brad could attend elementary school.
After my nasty divorce was settled, Brad, my lovely son from my disastrous marriage, became the sole focus of my life. Some may call me a helicopter mom but I was always there for him, especially when he would ask, "Where is my dad?" In my own way, I helped him through his childhood as a single/broken home child, a confused tween, and to that of a struggling teenager. I know that for Brad, I was the one constant in his life, giving him unconditional love and acceptance no matter what he did.
I attracted many male suitors while Brad was growing up. But, while all seemed friendly at first, in the end, they were only interested in sinking their puny little dicks between my spread legs. When this possibility was made contingent on them becoming a step-dad to my growing son, they all balked like my shit-ass ex-husband. As a result, I made a conscious decision to place my sexual needs and life on hold to better focus on Brad.
"Mom, can I sleep with you...please," brought me back to the reality of the moment. After the last session, I knew that we had reached a turning point that would forever change our mother-son relationship. I knew I should reject any further advances by my handsome son since incest was sinful and legally wrong.
