Fantasy To Reality 1173

My name's Karen Wilkins. I've just turned 50 years old, I'm white, generally considered quite good looking for my age, with brown eyes that match my hair, which hangs to my shoulder blades and which I usually wear in a ponytail. I'm five feet seven tall, my figure's still reasonably trim, though my boobs have swelled to a DD cup and I do have a little bit of a belly on me and chubby thighs. I live on the outskirts of North London, I work in a local convenience store, I've been divorced for eight years, and separated for three before that, and before what I'm about to tell you happened I hadn't had sex for seven years.

Like, I imagine, a lot of women in my position I think about sex occasionally, like when I'm watching Mark Harmon in NCIS, but only in a sort of detached way. I do give my pussy a nice little vibro-massage now and then, but that's as far as it went. My 20-year old son Peter and I were quite settled in our own little lives and the last thing I wanted or needed was some new man wading in and upsetting that.

Things started to change last summer. I was sitting on the loo one morning, still half-asleep, and I must have forgotten to slide the bolt on the bathroom door, because in walks Peter stark naked with a towel over his shoulders. Yes, he's my son, but before my brain switched into gear my most basic instincts clicked in and my eyes went straight to his rather impressive cock and forest of pubic hair. A split second later my brain did catch up and I screwed my eyes shut and squawked "Peter!"

Seeing his mother doing her business I expected him to back out the door but instead he just half-turned away from me (giving me a view from eight inches away of his shapely bum) and said "Sorry mum, I need a shower and I'm in a rush, I'm due in class in less than an hour. Anyway, it's not as if I haven't got anything you haven't seen before." Peter's studying bookkeeping at the local college. And as for his comment, of course that was technically true, but the last time I'd seen him in the all-together he'd been about nine years old. Anyway, he stepped into the shower and closed the door, so all I could see was his vague outline through the frosted glass.

I finished off as quickly as I could, and as I closed the bathroom door behind me I heard Peter leave the shower. I don't know what made me do it, but I opened the door again to see him drying himself, the towel held under his balls which swelled up, with his cock rearing above them like a flagpole. My mouth went dry, and I mumbled "Erm, Jenny phoned, she said she'll be round about seven tonight."

Jenny's his girlfriend. Totally unfazed by my return, and doing nothing to cover himself up, he grinned and said, "I know mum, you told me last night," shaking his head as if he thought I was going demented. The way my cheeks were burning as I shuffled back to my bedroom, I wondered if perhaps I was too.

Shameful though it felt, for the rest of the day I couldn't get the sight of my son's cock and balls out of my mind. Every time I closed my eyes I saw them. I didn't see him again that day, but in bed that night as I played with my vibrator I caught myself fantasising that it was Peter's knob pushing between my pussy lips. When I saw him at breakfast the next morning I knew my face was turning as red as a beetroot but he didn't seem to notice.

It was really hot that summer, and Peter took to wearing just tennis shorts around the house and nothing else. Literally nothing else - he sometimes sat opposite my chair on the sofa, with his legs splayed, and if I scrunched down a tiny bit I could clearly see his wedding tackle up the loose leg of his shorts. I'm quite sure he wasn't doing it on purpose, and I'm certain he had no idea what affect he was having on me, but I'd never felt so sexually frustrated in my life as I did those few weeks. I was using my vibro every night, sometimes in the morning too, but nothing seemed to be able to drive the thought of cock, and my son's in particular, out of my mind. I really felt as if I was going round the twist, and I seriously considered going to a pub or club dressed like a tart and offering to fuck the first man who looked my way. Then fate seemed to play a part.

I'd been having trouble with my home computer, and Peter had promised to ask a friend from the college football team, who was studying IT, to have a look at it for me. One night out of the blue the front door bell rang and I opened it to find a young black man standing there. He smiled and said "Mrs Wilkins? I'm Jase, Pete asked me to call round to look at your PC."

Taken by surprise, I said, "Oh, well, Peter's not in this evening but if you don't mind that I'd be grateful if you would." He was a nice looking kid, very dark skinned, very polite, a couple of years younger than Peter, an inch or so shorter than me and slightly built, dressed smartly but casually. I realised I knew him slightly - his parents are big wheels in the local Baptist church, and his mother's a regular customer in our shop. I showed him the computer in the corner of the front room and left him to it. After about half an hour he called me over. "Right Mrs W, I've had to reboot your hard drive but I saved your data to..." He grinned as he saw my eyes glaze over and said, "Anyway it's working fine now, and all the stuff you'd saved is still there."

I thanked him and asked how much he wanted but he refused to take payment. As it was a really hot night I offered him a drink, and he asked for an orange juice. I poured myself a sherry and we sat opposite each other making small talk. We soon ran out of things to say though and, as we sat in a slightly uncomfortable silence, I realised Jace was trying, and failing, not to stare at my boobs. He finished his juice and put the glass down, obviously looking to escape, when I burst out, "Jace, would you like me to suck your prick?"

I'd had no idea I was going to say that, and it shocked me as much as it did him. He obviously couldn't believe what he thought he'd just heard and yelped "Sorry Mrs Wilkins?"

What happened over the next few minutes felt for all the world like an out-of-body experience, as if I wasn't myself but watching me turning into a middle-aged vamp. I rose from my chair and, as Jace stared at me open-mouthed, crossed to the sofa and sat next to him. I heard myself murmur "I haven't done it for a while but I used to be very good at it." I rested my hand on his groin, feeling him stiff inside his jeans and, hearing no objection from him, I undid them and, pushed them down to his ankles. Seemingly in the same dreamlike state, he lifted his bum off the sofa to push his white Y-fronts down.

His dick was altogether smaller than Peter's, with just a few tufts of pubes, but it was ramrod-stiff. He gasped and shuddered as I wrapped my hand around it, stroking it gently up and down a couple of times before dipping my head to take it between my lips. I had never even seen a black cock before but there I was sucking one, belonging to an 18-year old boy I hardly knew from a deeply religious family. He curled his fingers tightly in my hair and whispered "Oh my god." After no more than a minute or so he began to pant, and as I tasted his pre-cum I wrapped a hand around his small, soft, hairless balls. Within seconds, with a huge gasp he started bucking at me and his jizz exploded into my mouth. I sucked hard and licked his length to hoover up every drop.

As I straightened up Jace quickly pulled up his pants and jeans and, still buckling his belt, made for the door, mumbling that he'd better go. Still in a kind of daze, I pulled my knickers off, lay back on the sofa and frigged myself to a nice, comfortable orgasm.

Even though we hadn't screwed that seemed to satisfy my cock craving for a little while; I could even look Peter in the face without feeling a blush coming on. From the look of terror on Jace's face I didn't expect to see him again, nor did I have any wish to. But a week or so later, I was again surprised by my door buzzer, and again opened it to find him standing there. Shuffling his feet and eyeing me nervously, he said "Pete told me he was taking Jen to the pictures tonight, so I thought maybe, erm..."

My mind went numb and I stood back to let him enter my hallway. Silently I led him up the stairs to my bedroom and, still unspeaking, we undressed ourselves and, both naked, settled onto the bed. After an initial cuddle and kiss (Jace had clearly never had a Frenchie before) I went down on him again, then lay back as he sucked my boobs and swirled his fingers in my pussy, giving me a gentle orgasm. When he sucked his fingers I thought he wanted to lick my pussy but he made no move to. We kissed and cuddled some more and he clearly wanted to fuck me, but at that moment my phone dinged with a message from Peter saying he'd be home in ten minutes, so Jace hurriedly dressed. As he was leaving I took his face between my hands, kissed him hard, then told him this could never, ever, happen again. He looked disappointed but nodded and left. I went to bed, naked due to the stuffy atmospehere, and heard Peter enter the front door a few minutes later.

The next morning at breakfast Peter told me he'd seen Jace leaving, and asked me what he'd been doing there. I could easily have said I'd had more trouble with my computer; I don't know why I didn't. Perhaps I was still tired, perhaps I just couldn't be bothered to lie, but I heard myself saying, "We had sex in my bedroom."

After a moment's stunned silence Peter gave a nervous laugh, as if he thought I was teasing him, then he saw I was quite serious. In a strained voice he replied, "Mum - you and Jace? Seriously? Why?"

On reflection it seemed a strange question but that didn't occur to me at the time. My finger must really have been on the self-destruct button that morning because I shrugged and mumbled, "I wished he was you." A look of absolute shock crossed Peter's face and I immediately wished I could bite my tongue off. I burst out "Petey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that, I just...I don't know..."

Seemingly stunned he stood, mumbled "Bye mum, see you later", and stumbled out of the room and towards the front door.

I rushed after him, crying "Peter, please, wait, let me explain..." but a moment later I heard his motorbike start. I called in sick to work that day, and by the evening my eyes were swollen and red with crying. I tried to call Peter and I texted him several times but he didn't respond. I couldn't believe I'd been so fucking insanely stupid, I was terrified my son was revolted by me and that I'd never see him again. Exhausted by my emotion, I crawled into bed in the early evening and fell into a deep sleep.

I didn't hear Peter get home, but in the early hours of the morning I felt the side of my bed sag and realised someone was sitting on it. I smelt a faint whiff of beer and wondered for a moment if I was still asleep and in a dream, but then my son asked me softly, "Mum, did you mean what you said this morning? That you wished it was me in bed with you yesterday? Truthfully?"

I couldn't see his face in the darkness but I knew he was staring intently at me. I wanted for all the world to undo the damage I'd done, to lie to him and say of course I didn't, I was just pulling his leg, but I didn't feel I could lie to him. Quietly, shamefully, I replied "Yes. I'm sorry Peter, I..." A finger rested across my lips and he shushed me. Feeling wretched I turned over in bed, placing my back towards him, tears rolling down my face.

The pressure on the bed lifted. After a few seconds I felt a slight draught as the duvet was lifted, then the bed sagged again as Peter slid in beside me. I felt unable to breathe as he slipped his arms around me and cupped my naked breasts, pulling me into his chest. I let out a shuddering breath and whispered, "Peter, this is..."

I'm not sure what I was going to tell him it was, or wasn't, because at that moment I felt his burning cock stroking the cleft in my buttocks as he pressed against me. Hardly believing what was happening, hoping this wasn't a particularly vivid dream, I reached a hand behind me and wrapped it around his length, feeling every vein, every sinew. He nuzzled my ear for a moment then pushed forward again. I removed my hand and, after a moment's searching, the tip of Peter's prick found my pussy lips. His hands moved down to my hips and he pulled me onto him, until he was buried inside me to the hilt. My fantasies became reality as my darling son eased me onto my front and screwed me, slowly at first then gradually quickening the pace, pulling me towards him with every stroke. I sobbed as I came, my vagina tightening around him, and a few moments later I felt his glorious release inside me.

He slowly withdrew and whispered "I love you mum." I span round to face him, squeezing my arms around his neck, burying my tongue in his mouth, our naked sweaty bodies melding. We slept locked in each other's arms, our legs intertwined, and in the morning I tasted Peter's beautiful cock for the first time, delighting in swallowing his juice.

That was a few months ago. Peter's still seeing Jenny, but now every night he spends in our home he's in my bed, inside me, his loving mum.