Carnal Corps Ch 02

There are some additional directions I can see taking this story, but at present I have nothing on paper. I am working on a teacher-student tale, among my favorite themes, and then I'm not sure. The tenth anniversary of Hurricane Katrina in Louisiana has inspired an idea and in light of the strong reader response I would also like to return to Bella and Sam. Any thoughts?

As always, all characters are eighteen years of age or older.

* * * *

I woke up; my hand was numb. I eased my arm out from under my son's somnolescent head, stood up, kissed his cheek. A smile formed on his lips. I headed back to my bedroom

It was 3:00 A.M. My husband was snoring, dead asleep. I turned on the shower, started thinking about Alex flirting with the red-head at the party. How many nights had he crawled into bed with me after having just deposited his cum in another woman?

I skipped the shower. Tonight I'd sleep with him with another man's, his son's, seed inside me.

* * * *

When I woke the next morning my husband was in the shower. Putting on a robe, I went downstairs to fix coffee and make breakfast. When Alex entered the kitchen he did a double-take, his eyes lingering on my disheveled appearance.

I offered an explanation. "I was up late last night, helping Ross. By the time I got to bed I was tired; I skipped the shower."

"Where is he? He's usually up by now."

I knew Ross was awake, I'd heard him in his room. After last night, I reckoned, he was probably wondering about how to face me.

"I guess he's sleeping in. Don't worry, I'll check on him."

Then came what I'd been expecting. "About that play tonight. Is it a big deal? Your Mom wants me to entertain some clients."

"No, not really, its experimental theater, Professor Nyong'o suggested Ross try it. I can go alone, but you better be there for Julius Caesar next week."

"Thanks hon, I appreciate it. I'll be there, I promise."

I got my husband out of the house, whipped up an avocado omelette, went upstairs, knocked on Ross' door. Mumbling, he invited me in.

"Hey tiger, I made your favorite."

He didn't look at me. Instead, eyes cast down, voice trembling, he said, "Mom, about last night... I'm sorry... got carried away... don't know what came over me... won't happen..."

While I had no plan when I'd entered his room, One came to me in a flash.

"Ross, there's no need to apologize, last night was wonderful."

He looked at me, wondering whether he'd heard me correctly.

"I mean, you're right, we shouldn't make it a habit, but last night was amazing. It was intimate, loving, and frankly, I can't recall sex that was ever that intense."

"Mom, are you saying it was okay?"

"I guess I'm not saying that. I'm not suggesting we do it again, but there was nothing wrong with what happened. Think of it as a special moment in time, like all the planets aligned just for us."

The shame and embarrassment on my son's face evaporated. He stood and hugged me; I hugged him back. I felt a little burn between my legs. I hadn't lied. The sex had been great.

* * * *

Ross drove into the city early to practice with Amanda. I arrived about ten minutes before the show and took a seat in the back of the small theater. Ross and Amanda were on first. She was not good; her voice was shaky, not sensual, and she got flustered after she blew a line. Ross' complaints about her had been well-founded.

Ross, on the other hand, did well. When Amanda forgot a line he'd improvise, get her back on track. As his character began talking dirty his voice dripped with arousal. And, as I listened to him, the feeling that enveloped me when Ross and I had practiced returned. My pussy grew moist, my nipples erect, my clit throbbed, all of it enhanced by the fact that my son, standing in front of me and an audience, was talking dirty.

I shifted position, dragged a hand across a nipple. A bolt of desire exploded in my sex. I dropped my hands to my lap and rocked my hips, pushing a knuckle against my clit. When Ross and Amanda left the stage I slipped out, found the bathroom, brought myself off - it took only seconds - then returned for the rest of the show. As the actors bowed at the end I caught Ross' eye, gave him a thumbs up, and left, remembering when I'd appeared on the stage in my teens; you wanted to hang with your cast mates, not your Mom. On the way home my hands were busy, fondling tits and cunt, bringing me a very satisfactory orgasm soon after I pulled into the garage.

* * * *

I was up early the next day, scanning the internet for reactions to the performance. The big local media didn't cover it, but two reviews on local art sites praised the show. There were several positive comments about my son; Amanda had been panned.

My husband was up next. He didn't ask about the play and I didn't mention it. Ross, who'd gotten home late, staggered downstairs mid-morning. I showed him the reviews I'd found. He read them, scanned the comments, turned to some local art blogs. The play, and he, had been well received.

* * * *

In the early afternoon the phone rang. It was Sandy, asking for Ross. Her tone indicated something was wrong. I gave Ross the phone.

Sandy talked.

"I read them too."

Sandy talked a while longer.

"What did you tell her?"

Sandy talked. Ross occasionally grunted to acknowledge he was listening; he also started staring at me.

"I have an idea. Can I call you right back?"

Ross hung up.

"What's wrong?"

"Amanda saw the reviews. She called Sandy, said she wasn't going on tonight, didn't need the humiliation. Sandy tried to talk her out of it, but she couldn't and said it probably didn't matter anyway, Amanda already sounded three sheets to the wind."

"What are you going to do? Is there an understudy?"

It was a stupid question; there would be no understudy.

"No, but I have an idea. You can play the part. You've got it down cold and you fit the bill, a sexy older woman."

"Thank you Ross, but I'm your mother. What if someone saw me talking dirty to you, they'd call Child Services."

"Yeah, I considered that. You can wear a mask."

That actually made a lot of sense.

"Can I think about it?"

"Yeah, for about five minutes, we're running out of time."

I could see how much Ross wanted to do it.

"Okay."

He picked up the phone, called Sandy, said he'd been practicing with a neighborhood lady, a family friend who knew the part. She had the part down cold. She also had experience on the stage and was willing to go on, but didn't want be identified. She'd asked if she could wear a mask.

Ross listened, filled in some details, said good-bye, hung up.

"Sandy wants to meet you, but she likes the idea and loves the mask, it adds a touch of the surreal. If we're going to hide your face, however, she suggested clothes that really show off the bod."

I took hold of my son's hand. "Okay, let's go pick them out."

Upstairs, I changed outfits while Ross and I discussed how best to capture my slut side. We eventually decided simple was best: boots, form fitting jeans, skin tight white tank top, sheer, near transparent, bra. The outfit emphasized my full round tits and accented my cleavage and flat tummy. It was something an older woman might wear to seduce a younger man.

On the way to the city, as I contemplated the evening's events, a concupiscent fog also began descending over me. My pussy tingled, my nipples throbbed. By the time we arrived at the theater my pussy lips were swollen and damp. Spreading my arms, I displayed my body to Ross, "What do you think, stud?"

Ross was already in character. "If I convince anyone I'm hesitant to fuck that, I'll know I can act."

I put on sunglasses and Ross introduced me to Sandy as Betty. I had not expected Sandy to be such a striking woman. Her hair, dyed a preternaturally bright red, was held in place with a bandana. Glossy red lipstick made her small mouth stand out. Big brown eyes, also carefully made-up. Large breasted, a little heavy, triangular face. Her left arm sported a brightly colored tattoo. I was surprised Ross had not mentioned her look - patterned on Rose the Riveter - but then I wasn't sure if Ross knew who Rose the Riveter was.

We read through the script. Sandy was sold. "The only problem we'll have is convincing anyone you're in your mid-thirties."

Sandy had already gone on-line, picked out a mask at Mardi Gras World. We went to buy it; we stayed in character. Ross touched my face; his hand grazed my ass. I slid an arm around his waist, pressed my body to his. Other shoppers noticed. Some scowled, others smiled.

My arousal ticked steadily upwards. The anticipation of performing before an audience, dressed as a slut, talking filth with - to no one's knowledge - my son, poured fuel on the intense blue flame between my legs. In the theater Ross and I sat together, holding hands, ab-libbing, immersed in the fantasy, describing exactly how we'd fuck each other into insensibility. I went to the bathroom. When I came out I stuffed my panties in Ross' hand.

He looked down, mouth agape.

I guided his hand to his face. He took a long deep whiff, smiled.

"That's the smell of your mother's pussy, her hot wet pussy."

Sandy called us over, directed us to the stage. "Knock 'em dead."

We were, I was told, magnificent. I barely remember the performance. My pussy was on fire, my nipples, outlined in my white tank top, hard and throbbing. I was completely in the moment, the distinction between pretending to want and wanting my son forgotten. I was so engrossed in my role that I missed several of Sandy's signal to end the performance; Ross noticed it when he glanced over my shoulder when I pulled his face to mine and kissed him, my tongue hungrily exploring his mouth.

We turned, bowed to the audience. The applause was enthusiastic. Holding hands, we stumbled off the stage. Sandy signaled the next couple to start, then turned to us.

"You guys were great. Up the stairs, second door to the right. It's a small office, relatively clean."

Pulling Ross behind me, I started up the stairs. We found the door, stepped inside. I reached for his pants, unbuckled his belt, pushed my hand over his waistband, found his very stiff cock. Ross' hands, inside my tank top, pulled my tits free of my bra and over the top of my shirt. He ducked his head, sucked on them. I held his mouth to my breasts, pulled his belt free, unzipped his jeans, yanked them past his waist.

"Oh, baby, yesssssss, eat Mommy's titties."

Ross undid my jeans and forced them past my waist. I kicked off my boots and ran a hand through my pubic hair, dipping a finger into my snatch. Ross reached between my legs, clumsily trailing his fingertips along my swollen pussy lips.

"Don't tease me Ross. Put them inside me. Use your fingers on me."

I was so fricking wet; they slid in without resistance. My son finger-fucked me, first with two fingers, then three. I moaned, pulled his mouth from my breasts, kissed him. He rested his palm on my labia. I rubbed my clit against the heel of his hand, reached for his beautiful hard cock, dragged it across my stomach. The head, wet and slippery, left a shiny trail of pre-cum behind. I wanted him inside me. I angled him down, but he was too tall, I too short, I couldn't get his dick low enough.

Ross found the solution. Taking hold of the fleshly cheeks of my ass, he picked me up. I ran the head of his cock between my pussy lips, watched the tip of his manhood slide along my shiny pink pussy, coating the crown with cunt juice. I wanted to slide my cunt down over his pole, take his full length inside me, but I also wanted to be fucked long and hard and Ross could only hold me up for so long. I squirmed; Ross lowered me to the floor. I turned, leaned over a desk. My tits had fallen out of my tank top; my jeans were somewhere on the floor. I looked back over my shoulder, hair stuck to my face, need smoldering in my eyes.

"Ross, fuck your Mama, fuck her like the rutting bitch-dog she is."

I made no effort to control my voice. The audience couldn't hear us and the cast and crew had seen Ross and I scurry up to the stairs. Except for the incest part, they knew exactly what was going on. I imagined them staring at the office door, wishing they could watch, or join in. I loved them knowing; I loved the wickedness of it.

Ross stepped behind me; his cock jutted between my open legs. He rubbed his cock-head over the face of my pussy, but was having trouble finding the mouth of my vagina. I reached between my legs, fitted the dick-head to my cunt, and Ross, somewhat to my surprise - I assumed he'd plunge in - slipped slowly inside me, savoring the moment.

"Oh Mom, you're hot and tight and wet."

I rose up on my toes and arched my back. Ross slid straight in, filling my fuck-tunnel. I moaned; I loved being stuffed with his man-meat. I bounced on my toes; his cock swished around inside me. Ross was motionless, relishing the sensation as his cock swirling inside his mother's pussy. But I wanted more. I grabbed his ass with both hands and pulled him into me. Ross understood. He took hold of my hips and began thrusting with hard fast strokes. I loved it, loved feeling his cock slide in and out of me. I reached for my clit; it was a hard ridge, begging to be teased. I pressed a finger to it, groaning with pleasure. Ross took a breast in each hand, squeezed, pulled on the nipples.

I reached back, cupped his testicles.

"Are your balls full of cum, ready to drench Mommy's pussy?"

"Yessssss."

"I'm thinking about the big load you're going to shoot inside me. I love your hard cock."

"Mom, I'm watching my cock slide in and out of your pussy."

It was heaven. I drove my hips back, urging him to fuck me even harder. I wanted him buried deep in my belly.

"Mom, you're so wet inside, so wet and tight."

"Oh god son, you're huge. You're splitting me open."

We kept going, fucking fucked on and on, with intensity and abandon. When he was inside me I felt full. When he pulled out I was desperate for him to fill me again. We rolled our hips, tried different angles, different speeds; they were all wonderful. Ross picked up the pace, his hands left my breasts, tool hold of my hips. I grabbed the sides of the desk. Our bodies slapped together; the room wreaked of sex.

"I'm close, real close," he said.

"Me too."

"Mom, I want you to come with me."

I returned a finger to my clit, frantically worked the erect bud. Ross's hands slid across my sweat covered body to my breasts. He pulled me towards him. Half-standing, I bounced up and down on his cock. He trapped my nipples between thumb and forefinger, aggressively rolled them back and forth. In normal circumstances it would have been borderline painful, but these were not normal circumstances; it was exactly what I needed. I spotted a small mirror on the wall and watched my son, an expression of depraved joy etched on his handsome face, fuck me.

"Ross look in the mirror, see the cock hungry bitch you've turned me into."

Letting go of my tits, he did so. I planted my hands on the desk top. Ross kept slamming into me, then grabbed my hair, pulling my head back towards him. At this assertion of control and dominance my pussy exploded. I arched my back and whimpered, "Oh shit yes, yes baby yes, yessss, yyyyeeeeeessssssssssss, yyyyyyyeeeeessssssssssssssssssssss, yyyyyyyyeeeeeeesssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss, fucking yes!!"

The orgasm hit me like a tidal wave, I was helpless before it. My head snapped forward; my legs and arms spasmed; I thrust my ass back and up. Ross jerked into me, yelped, and filled my pussy with thick creamy cum. As he came another orgasm whipped through me, battering my mind and soul. My moans became guttural grunts.

Ross staggered backwards. His cock pulled out of me and jerked upwards. He unloaded again. An arc of seed leaped from his penis, spreading across my ass and back.

I collapsed onto the desk, my legs draped over its edge, my feet resting on the floor. Ross reeled backwards until he reached the office door. We were red-faced, panting. I felt the cool air on my exposed wet vagina. Ross's cum slid across my back and ass.

I wanted more. I twisted my neck, pushed the hair from my face, looked at my son. Ross, glassy eyed, gazed back at me. A content happy smile split his face. In a dreamy voice he said, "That was... amazing. You were... amazing. I came so hard."

"I know. I can feel your cum in my cunt, on my back."

Applause broke out. The third vignette was complete. We had time.

I struggled to my feet, took off my tee shirt, reached behind, undid my bra. My areolas and nipples were dark, distended. Ross' eyes studied them; I tweaked my nipples.

"You like my tits?"

"Yeah Mom, they're amazing."

Ross' cock - I felt a debased thrill as I ran those words through my mind - was close to fully erect. The foreskin was wet and shiny, the tip pink. His big balls swung back and forth. I fluffed my bush, pushed a finger inside. I was soaking wet, juicing like crazy. Slowly, provocatively, I walked over to my son. Without my shoes on the top of my head barely came to his chin. I looked up, bit my lip, got on my toes, kissed him.

"Hey lover."

He kissed me back. A long slow lazy kiss. Our tongues entwined, caressed, stroked, explored, entwined again. His lips were fresh and light and sweet.

"I love you Mom."

I wrapped my fingers around his cock. It was smooth and warm, throbbing with each beat of his heart. I squeezed it; it got harder.

"I love you too son."

I pushed the foreskin back. The swollen head emerged from its sheath, a milky bead of pre-cum at the tip. I brushed my thumb across it; Ross drew in a breath; his cock jumped in my hand.

I started jerking him, focusing on the shaft, letting his foreskin take care of the cock-head. I was deliberate; we had time. Ross dragged his fingers across my chest, circled my areolas, worked my stiff nipples with his thumbs. I shivered with delight, stepped closer, fondled his heavy testicles, rubbed his thick cock across my stomach, leaving a shiny streak of jism behind. He touched my pubic hair, teasing the dense thick mat.

"I like it natural. Don't shave."

His hand dipped lower, his fingers found my cleft. My pussy lips, swollen and puffy, were wet with my juice and his cum. I bent my knees, slid my feet apart, opening myself, inviting him in. Ross eased two fingers inside and pushed deep, so wonderfully deep. I clutched his cock. He pressed his fingers to the roof of my vagina. When he found my g-spot I raised myself on my toes, squealed.

"Shit," I said, "Oh, shit, that's so good."

Afraid I might topple over, I leaned into him, rested my head on his shoulder. I stroked him, he stroked me. We stood there, swaying, masturbating each other, luxuriating in the sensations. I kissed his chest and shoulders. Sometimes his hips jerked involuntarily, a little reflexive thrust. The head of his cock shone with pre-cum.

"Tell me son, tell me exactly what you're going to do to your mother."

"I'm gonna put my hard cock inside her hot wet pussy."

I squeezed his balls. "What are you going to do with your cum?"

"I'm going to shoot it inside you. I'm going to fill you up with spunk, drench your pussy. Mom, I've got so much cum for you. I'm going to fuck you, pump my cum inside you, fill your hot pussy, watch our mix drip back out."

"How are you going to do it? Standing up? On a bed?"

Ross said nothing, but started forward. I stepped backwards. The disparity of our heights would make it difficult to fuck standing up. I looked over my shoulder and saw a computer on its side lying against the wall. I angled towards it, stepped onto it, wrapped my hand around his cock, rubbed the head against my swollen pussy lips, centered it on my opening. He pushed in, a couple of inches, then stopped, delaying full penetration. I groaned in frustration and need.