Welcome to a new story about love and incest. The characters in the story are fictitious and are in no way founded on anyone currently living. It is about a mother and son, and their struggles to not give in to that base creature that lurks beneath the surface of us all.
Please enjoy and leave a comment. Constructive criticism is always welcome.
T.
She woke with that same burning sensation in the pit of her stomach that had pursued her now for weeks. She knew what it meant and like every occasion before, she chose to ignore it. Instead, she got up from bed, went over to her chest of drawers and pulling out some leggings and a top, sat on her dressing table chair to slip on the tight lycra, sans panties, pulling on some socks, then wrestled into an equally tight T-shirt. She knew it was overly small for her, particularly with her sized breasts, but it held them nicely without the need for a sports bra, which she hated wearing. Putting on her jogging shoes, Clarissa slipped quietly from the house, she needed to try and run this thing off.
She loved the freedom that wearing no underwear gave her. Yes, she knew it would attract some attention, most of it unwanted, some...... maybe not so much. She was no exhibitionist, but would get some small enjoyment from the admiring glances that she would get from those few men she passed on her run. It was not too late that she would miss the other running nuts out there, but not too early either, that she would not bump into the odd dog walker or early-bird.
At 39, Clarissa had a good body and she knew it, was proud of it and fully intended to keep it that way. Her curves were all in the right places, her hardness where she wanted it and her general fitness equal to when she was in her twenties. She smiled as she jogged, enjoying her body and how it felt, though the burning sensation as it did on all the other days, got worse rather than better.
Her five-mile run, took her along the tow path of the local canal. It was still cool, though the sun was already up. The dappled light, from the trees she ran beneath, cast mottled shadows that teased her form in darkness and light as she ran. The chill in the air encouraged her already hardened nipples to make a further nuisance of themselves by getting harder and more sensitive still. The friction of her restrained, but not completely captured orbs as they jiggled nicely beneath the T-shirt was causing all sorts of fabulous sensations upon these erected nubs of erogenous tissue, that with each pound upon the road was causing Clarissa a severe distraction.
She found her breathing was not as controlled as it should be from just jogging and at times sounded more like she was involved in activity of another sort, her puffing and panting sounding more like a sexual encounter than a jog, which judging from the way her body was reacting this morning, was probably not far from the truth.
As her long legs pounded the road before her, each and every footfall, seemed to encourage the burning in her stomach, rather than dispense with it and as such, it had now radiated Northwards to her chest and of more concern to Clarissa; Southwards to her groin area. Her body was now in control it would seem. It wanted satisfaction, abuse, pleasure and sensitivity. It wanted something that it had been denied for many months now, it wanted, no, it demanded something of Clarissa. Her body was telling her that it wanted release, unmitigated sexual release. Clarissa was not however, prepared to give in to this primal feeling and despite knowing that she wanted it herself, was unprepared to be the only one involved in that activity.
Clarissa stopped and bent over, putting her hands upon her knees, both to help her catch her breath, but also in an attempt at taking away the distracting influence upon her nipples. Even the swelling of her chest as she took deep draughts of breath created exquisite sensations, emanating from her sensitive nipples and transmitting throughout her body, infiltrating her mind, eroding her resolve, like waves attacking an exposed shore-line.
Her bending down did nothing to help her, and further, only offered a perfect view of her pear-shaped, taught bum, clad in a few microns of stretched material, that hid nothing. She may as well have been naked. The seam of the leggings, was creating some extremely interesting shapes as it dived between her legs. The visual effect was not lost on a slowly passing motorist, who tooted on her horn as she went passed, leering lasciviously. To Clarissa, it was more disturbing than being ogled at by some dirty old man in a rain-coat. She stood up and glared at the woman, who just smiled, appreciatingly at Clarissa's full chest and misbehaving nipples. "Ow!" Clarissa groan, turning away. But fortunately, the distraction had been enough for Clarissa, she now felt she could make the last mile of her run, without...... well, without having..... she didn't want to think any more about it, and set off again.
She made her house with what felt like seconds to spare. Her body was in torment. All things sexual, seemed to be firing off. Her chest rose and fell erratically, she knew her erection-topped attributes were being displayed better than any male bird of paradise. She knew her body was telling her that she was primed and ready for sex and it had been transmitting this unequivocally for the last mile, if not the whole run. She was at a turning point, where her body would not take 'no', for an answer.
Clarissa had divorced her husband over a year and a half ago. He had found someone else, someone younger than her and that had really hurt, but what had probably hurt even more was that her replacement looked very similar to how she looked twenty years ago. Her husband hadn't just swapped her for a younger woman, he had swapped her for a younger version of herself! He truly was a bastard.
Of course, Clarissa went through the usual retribution. 'What did I do wrong?' Or perhaps, 'What if I had been more loving as a wife?' But in the end, she concluded that it was simply that he was a bastard. Their sex and the passion within it had deteriorated years ago and felt like they were just going through the motions to please the other person, when in truth, they weren't really pleasing anyone. She had assumed it was just an age thing, something all couples go through. It was an age thing; it was because she was getting too old for him! At 39 she was too old?
Clarissa pushed the thought away and slipped her key quietly into the door lock, letting herself into the house. She kicked off her shoes putting them under the little table in the entrance way and placed her keys on top; ascending the stairs as quietly as she could so that she did not wake her 19-year-old son. But as she got to his door, it opened wide and a dishevelled teenager grunted at her. "Hi....ugh." Chris rubbed at his eyes and yawned, combining several actions all into one.
"Hello Chris, sorry if I woke you?"
"If you mean coming back from your jog, no you didn't."
"Meaning I did when I went out?"
"Uh huh."
Clarissa looked at her son. He was still very much her little boy in countless ways, but in others he was a large and powerful man. His pyjama top was undone and exposed his copper-coloured skin. His chest was completely devoid of hair, which surprised her, because she remembered how proud he had been when at 13, he found his first hair and assumed that he was now a man. 'He must be shaving it?' She though as she continued her appraisal. His pectoral muscles looked toned and firm, his little nipples seemed to be erect at the moment, which made her smile wryly. Her eyes travelled to his abdominals, a wash-board of muscle, chiselled, but relaxed. She then gasped as she noticed the 'tent' in his pyjama bottoms. 'How could she not notice the 'tent?' She drew in a breath and looked up to his eyes for an explanation?
Chris was casually, but avidly, looking at her chest. "Chris?"
"Er sorry mum," he said, putting his hands over his misbehaving appendage. "Busting for a pee. You know how it is?" He stumbled around her and disappeared into the toilet, closing the door behind him and leaving Clarissa standing there with her mouth open.
She heard Chris talking to himself, or perhaps more accurately, talking to his penis in encouragement. "Come on now, I'm busting, pack it in!" It was obvious to Clarissa that he was trying to make himself flaccid enough to urinate. She suddenly laughed out loud, and clamping her hand over her mouth, retired to her room. She remembered how her husband had told her, that he must have a pee before sex, because afterwards, it would take him quite a while, before he could pee again. She also remembered her husband's term for an early morning erection. 'Piss Proud.' Her son was 'Piss Proud.'
To be fair, she had seen her son's little erection, many a time when he had been a baby and even in his younger years. In fact, when changing his nappy, he had managed to catch her out, and before she knew it, he had emptied his little bladder all over her chest. Her smile broadened as she remembered those years when he was a baby. So much happier than recent years. 'I guess he is a little bigger now?' She thought to herself, 'I wonder how big? If that tent is anything to go by.....' She pushed her bedroom door to, and moved to her en-suite, disgusted that her thoughts were moving in that direction.
As she stood before the full-length mirror, her mouth dropped open for a second time. The sweat from her run had soaked into her tight-white-T-shirt, turning it pretty-much transparent, where it touched her skin directly. The most notable signs of transparency, where of course, where the material was stretched to its limit, about her breasts and the still wildly mis-behaving nipples, which could be clearly seen within the darkened surroundings of her areola. Her cleavage was also visible as the sweat-soaked T-shirt had given up trying to hide the treasures beneath it. In fact, she may as well have not been wearing the thing at all, for all of the protection it gave her! "My God," she said quietly to herself, "how could I not have known......OH SHIT, CHRIS!"
She tore off the small item of clothing, noticing that her whole upper chest and neck were flushed with embarrassment and removing the rest of her running gear, she vowed not to wear it again. Standing in the shower, washing herself down, she could think of nothing but her son, Chris. 'Had he clearly seen my breasts? He couldn't have missed my nipples, could he? He would have to have been blind not to? And was he getting erect because he had seen them, or was he truly busting for the loo?' She wished she had looked there first, but then why would she check out her son's appendage? She covered her face with her hands, wondering what sort of Pandora's box she was opening?
Chris was downstairs making breakfast for them both, when Clarissa came down in her dressing gown. The piece of apparel wrapped tightly about her. "I bet that you feel better now? Chris said, whilst looking at her over his coffee cup and sliding across the bar her orange juice.
"What do you mean?" Clarissa said, immediately on the defensive. Her thoughts still in the gutter. She looked down and was pulling at an unseen thread on the gown, just to remove eye contact.
"I mean you looked hot when you came in, I mean really hot!"
