Exponential Lust

Prelude on "Exponential Lust"

I have to tell this story just as I have lived it and continue to live it. It's about a woman's lust, and yet more than lust -- and no one word will do in categorizing it.

To put it another way, it is lust multiplied and multiplied until it transcends itself and becomes something experienced but without a word to even connote it.

You may be wondering what might produce such "exponential lust," as I will call it.

Yet a savvy reader such as you yourself who visits this virtual place or place in virtual space, must have a conjecture in mind.

You may wonder: "Is the woman talking about discovering her sexuality after years of repression?"

Or: "Is she going to tell us about how several men took her,

initially

against her will, their massively erect organs filling every eager moist cavern of her hot and sweat-drenched body?"

But might it be something else, this instance of exponential lust?

Perhaps it is something in the interstices of conventional categories, something that, if it is given some typifying name, can only mislead? Might it be something that resists boundaries? (For instance, if an author may say so, might the misleading categories be those employed in this virtual place to locate this and other such stories in one and only one place?)

Whatever you think, read on dear savvy reader, because in only a paragraph-moment you will see that only this last conjecture faintly approaches what the author of this somewhat torrid tale will now try to convey in words.

As an experience -- as it has happened and is happening, lifting my life beyond anything I had known or even considered before -- it is

indescribably

delicious. At least to me!

You, my reader, are entitled to your own opinion.

Mother's Watcher

It all began on a quiet Saturday evening on an ordinary street in an ordinary suburb of one of those large urban places in the USA that teem with multitudes of people, some alone, some in pairs, others in crowds. We live on this street: my husband and I and our only child, our teenage son.

My husband had made us some drinks, put on some favorite background music, and dimmed the lights. I had completed my own preparations, wearing only that which I knew would produce the desired effect on my virile man: a lacy bra and panties, and, above all, the black spike-heeled shoes that accentuated my long and (I must say) very attractive legs. I was hot to trot!

My man was still the handsome, thoughtful person I had married. Partly because he was still attracted to me, I had made special efforts to keep my figure trim, and, although my bust had changed in the usual way after becoming a mother, I saw that Don – that's my husband – still found my pendulant breasts to be of erotic interest.

But it turned out that this particular Saturday evening would be different. In one respect, it was different in what seemed to be a totally innocent and insignificant way: Bobbie, our son, would be staying home instead of cavorting somewhere else with his buddies. So there would not be the usual house-to-ourselves situation on that Saturday evening. Still, Bobbie was in his room, door closed, watching his TV or whatever.

I didn't think about it one way or other as I left the bathroom, the warmth of the bath supplemented by my growing anticipation of Don's caresses.

The drink that Don had given me earlier had been a bit stronger than usual. And I had glimpsed a promising bulge in his shorts as Don had handed me the inviting drink with a big grin on his face. Perhaps that explains why I did not close the bedroom door as I entered that room to join him on our king size bed.

For a long time we kissed, at first gently and lovingly, and then with growing passion. I felt Don's knowing fingers on my back, and then my bra slipped off and soon I closed my eyes to enjoy the action of his lapping tongue and hot mouth on my now eager breasts. I let my hands play over his body as he did so, with a feathery touch over his still-covered but erect penis. I sensed its growth in size and urgency as I murmured encouraging words to show him how much I was enjoying the situation.

"Mmm, that feels so good Don, I love it," I whispered.

As he enthusiastically sucked and as my nimble fingers caressed his swollen hidden manhood, I heard a light creaking noise, the sound of a nearby door, I now realize. But at the time I was too absorbed in my sensual pleasure to respond to what that sound might signify.

After a few moments, I felt Don's tentative hand on my neck and I responded immediately. I usually knew what he desired just by such slight gestures, so I shifted my position. Kneeling above him, I tugged down his shorts and felt a liquid response at my core when his massive erect organ popped up into view.

I reached to caress it lovingly and then moved down to a comfortable position and commenced to make love to my man's cock. I licked the moist head and swirled my tongue around it, feeling it grow even harder, and then … I engulfed it with my mouth. What a joy to suck my husband's familiar but passionate prick!

My juices began to flow as I heard Don whisper the words he knew would have that effect. "Oh, yes, I love it! Oh, you know how to suck! Oh, baby, keep doing that!"

As I fervently sucked Don's incredibly stiff cock, I heard a slight sound near the open bedroom door. This time my attention was drawn to it enough for me to open my eyes while continuing my mouth-loving adoration of my husband's cock.

There, at the door, was Bobbie! He didn't move. He seemed frozen, utterly still. Despite the dimness of the room, I knew he could make out the nature of the scene. His Mom almost naked! His lustful Mom going down on his Dad's massive cock! Both moaning with pleasure!

At that point, without articulating it, I made a self-discovery.

I found myself transported into a new state of being. At first my skin tingled and goose bumps appeared everywhere. And then, after a moment or two: a state of utter lust! Suddenly, I wanted a cock in me! I wanted to be fucked! Better said: I wanted to be

seen

being fucked! Better: I wanted

my son

to see me being fucked! Who would have thought it!

So I turned and, rapidly removing my panties, I spread wide, and in the process must have given Bobbie another sight to behold! His Mom spread-eagled on the bed, her blond bush and moist clit on display! And obviously eager to be fucked!

I spread my legs still wider and high into the air, knowing that his eyes would devour my body, including those stiletto black shoes pointing to the ceiling. I wanted him to see me that way: his Mom as a lust-driven creature, needing to be fucked!

"Fuck me, Don! Fuck me now!" I cried out.

I wanted Bobbie to hear it! Just the knowledge that my son was hearing me say such a thing thrilled me, sending paths of electric sensation throughout my body, creating a sizzling liquid bath into which my husband's hot and urgent prick now plunged. Bobbie was watching his Dad fuck his Mom!

In and out! In and out!

"I'm being fucked," the thoughts emerged, cascading through my mind, "and my son is watching. His cock must be hard. He wants his Mom! In his dreams he'll fuck me."

How utterly delicious! How incredibly erotic!

Then it seemed that I had a hundred orgasms! I was some organic equivalent to a pistol set on automatic. I groaned and moaned and cried out and just went wild!

Then I fell back. Don, innocent of the extra erotic stimulus to which I had responded, also fell back, sweat-drenched and exhausted from all the pounding he had given me. He simply uttered "Whew! Wow babe!"

When I glanced at the door, Bobbie was gone.

That next morning, we sat around reading the Sunday New York Times and the local paper. I sipped my coffee and tried not to look Bobbie in the eyes as he munched on his breakfast cereal. Don was absorbed in the news of the day. When my eyes finally did meet those of Bobbie, he blushed and looked away and I felt my face redden.

It took a few days for Bobbie and I to be able to talk to each other in any normal way, to get beyond mutual avoidance. Toward the end of the week, things seemed to be back to normal.

But behind the appearance lies the reality.

I replayed that Saturday evening scene in my mind, over and over, becoming increasingly moist with lust and more lust. I wasn't sure what would quench my thirst, my hunger, my craving. But what did I want? Beyond the idea of being watched again, I wasn't sure. Would making love with Don ever be the same? In any case, he was far too busy with his work during the week to even think about sex.

As the week went on, I became more and more obsessed with thoughts and feelings that I knew were not of the sort a mother should have concerning her son.

Where feeling directs, action follows. On Thursday morning, I just happened to be wearing no bra and a loose shirt and just happened not to be wearing my panties as I squatted down to look for something I dropped just in front of Bobbie as he sat in a living room chair. As I spread my legs somewhat and leaned over to reach for the object, I felt myself grow wet as I surreptitiously observed how his eyes did a dance as they bounced from the curve of my breasts to the glistening folds of my vagina and then back to the breasts. In a moment, though, I caught myself from going any further with this shameless erotically charged display. I arose and left the room, my face hot with the excitement of forbidden thoughts and feelings.

As for Bobbie, the next day he spent all his time alone in his room. As part of cleaning up the house a bit as usual, I entered his room to empty the wastepaper basket, and found an extraordinary amount of used tissues in it. I knew what that meant and Bobbie knew that I knew it. We both blushed and he looked away as I quickly left the room.

The episode generated a flow of my juices and I retired to my bed and lay there, thinking about him as he had been lying there on his bed, listening to a CD, wearing only his shorts. His tall muscular body was tanned from his exposure to the summer sun. As I lay there, picturing in my mind what I had seen, I remembered that as I glanced at him, avoiding his eyes, my eyes had been drawn to an obvious bulge. Surely his masturbation sessions just more of what he had been doing before that Saturday evening? But were they now consumed with a certain motherly focus? I blushed as I thought of my display of the day before. Yet I wanted him to see me in all possible sexual ways!

I tried to think of something else, but what came back to me instead was Saturday evening and Don's words and my actions and, in the remembered dim light, Bobbie watching. Watching me suck his Dad's cock! Seeing me spread wide and calling out to be fucked! Without even touching myself, a wave of ecstatic orgasmic pleasure swept across my body and then I fell back, relieved but for only the moment.

Then it was Saturday evening again.

As it turned out Bobbie had a date that evening. Don, coming out of his workaholic week of disinterest in sex, was hot and passionate as we lay in our bed and made out. Of course, the door to the bedroom was open. After all, we had the house to ourselves.

Then, in the midst of a blissful moment while Don made love to my clit with his knowing tongue, I heard the faint sound of a door closing downstairs. The outer door! I was all ears as Don lapped at my suddenly more flowing juices. Then I heard the telltale sounds on the stairs. I knew it would be Bobbie! I was hot with the idea of it. I knew that Bobbie would have taken off his shoes and would now be climbing the steps with stealth, his heart beating rapidly, his entire body inflamed with the prospect of viewing more sexual scenes involving his own mother and father.

And I knew I would provide a fresh supply of such forbidden pictures for his next rounds of masturbatory fantasy!

I shifted around so that Don and I were in the classical sixty-nine position, with my head as close to the open doorway as possible. I commenced to suck my man's cock, while my own juices flowing into his eager mouth as Don flicked his hot tongue at my sensitive clit. I awaited the arrival of my peeking son!

Then he was there! Inner words bubbled up out of the inferno of lust that his presence generated in me.

Oh, Bobbie, yes, watch Mom! Watch her suck! Stay there and watch her be fucked!

My mind reeled with the inner conversation. I was using it to multiply my arousal, and arranging the situation in such a way as to send myself into ever more heightened states of sexual delirium. It was exponential lust!

Then Bobbie stood at the doorway, only a few feet away from us. I lifted my mouth from Don's penis and swept my tongue around his balls. I had a sense of the startling impact this had on my audience! But it was not enough for me. I wanted to feel the reverberating effect of a still great impact on him!

Consumed with the idea of this something else, this something wilder, I shifted a little more so that one of Don's legs was pointing straight at the ceiling. Then I let my tongue undertake an even more intimate journey across his legs, his balls, and finally – my face red and my heart pounding with the very idea of it – I kissed and licked his puckered anus.

I seemed to hear an abrupt intake of breath, a gasp. And then my own reaction to that reaction: Probing the nether pungent hole, my tongue initiated a rapid in-and-out action.

"Oh baby, that's fantastic! Oh yes, do it!" Don cried in passionate surprise.

Oh yes! Bobbie watching! Oh joy! I wanted him to see me doing this thing, making love to his Dad this way!

In a moment, Don could take it no longer. "Oh, babe, let's fuck!" he cried out.

I turned and sat above him, grabbing his erect hot cock and enveloping it in my cauldron of boiling cunt-juices, then feeling it deep inside me! My back was now to Bobbie as I fucked my husband, up and down, rocking and rolling!

"Oh, yes, oh yes," Don cried out. I felt myself swoon and then orgasmic throbs consumed me. Then, a few moments later, I fell against his chest as his spurting organ went into decline.

Breathless, we lay there in each other's arms. But my ears were tuned to the doorway. I heard a slight creaking sound. Bobbie would be on tiptoe, headed downstairs and out, where he would wait for a while and then "return" from his evening out.

That was last Saturday evening. And now, I find myself engaged in mental rehearsals and revisions of tentative scripts for the next pornographic show to be staged for my secret watcher.

I can guess what his reactions will be. In his room late in the night, early in the morning, at other random times, with his door closed, his body naked on the sheets, his boy-prick swollen with incestuous desire, and his mind a theater of taboo adventure, he will self-pleasure himself. He will imagine himself in the role of his Dad fucking his reckless and lustful mother.

This story will continue. I want my watcher to see more! For him to see more, I must do more!

I rack my brain like a film director envisioning a scene that will have the desired effect on the audience. But, in my case, I know the desired effect is indirectly on myself, taking his role in my mind, finding it exhilarating just to imagine myself in some wild state of abandonment and being watched by my son. I'm thrilled to think of it! Oh, I know, it's wrong. But that's why it is so delicious.

Reader, do you have any ideas for what I should do next Saturday evening? Tell me! Tell me! I must go further! It's too thrilling to stop!