If you want 10" cocks, women who orgasm in 10 seconds flat, simultaneous orgasms or gallons of cum then I'm sorry but this is not the right story for you. I like to write about ordinary people with ordinary sexual appetites in slightly out of the ordinary situations. I try to keep the plot lines as near to reality as I can.
I try to keep the sex as true to my own experience as possible. I love to write about kissing, stoking, how sex feels and sex as an encounter which involves all the senses. I do like to 'get dirty' but only in the height of my character's arousal. All my stories have my own experience in them, but they are not autobiographical.
This story is an exploration what circumstances are needed to for a mother to have sex with her son in the presence of her husband. It does depict consensual sex between a mother and her son (over 18) and if that offends you, please bear in mind it is a fantasy and perhaps this is not the story for you.
Constructive feedback welcome. Thank you for reading my story.
Act 1 - The flight
"Port engine oil pressure dropping." My son, Harry, reported.
"Keep an eye on it, son." My husband, Bob, replied. "Maddy, can you locate the nearest airfield, work out bearing, distance and ETA?"
I picked up the charts and started scanning for the nearest airfield.
My husband is an experienced 'warbird' pilot, and we were 'island hopping' an old DC3 'Dakota' across the Pacific from Australia to USA for its' owner, a wealthy Los Angeles based businessman. At the last minute, Bob's usual co-pilot had fallen ill, and Harry agreed to help out.
Harry had got his Private Pilot Licence at 16. He hadn't flown much in the last 2 years as it seem 18-year old's find partying and girls more interesting that flying, but he is a good pilot and Bob trusts him. I had done a bit of flying but not as much as Harry, so my job was navigator and stewardess. We were a good team and much in demand for transporting large WWII aircraft.
"Maddy, look out the window and see if there are any visible leaks." Bob barked. I was used to being ordered around in flight. On the ground Bob is a very considerate man but there is no time for 'please and thank you' in the air and certainly not in an emergency.
"Yes, oil is visibly leaking, not a huge amount but it is a constant flow. The nearest airfield is 75 miles on a bearing of 030. At 90 knots we should be there in 50 minutes" I updated Bob.
"Port oil pressure, Harry?"
"Still dropping slowly but not in the red," replied Harry.
"Ok, this is the plan. I've I have already turned onto heading 030. Maddy, switch on the handheld GPS and monitor our progress. Harry, let me know before we hit the red on port engine oil pressure. We need to save this engine so we will shut the port engine down just before the gauge moves into the red. We are at 22,000 ft. You two will need to standby to dump the cargo if our rate of descent puts a landing in jeopardy. I'm going to make a pan call."
"Affirm," Harry said.
"Affirm," I echoed.
Bob made the pan call. I was so proud of both my boys, at no point did either panic. It seemed appropriate that the airfield we were heading for was an ex WWII strip on a deserted island. It would be a shame to dump the cargo as it was our 'bonus'. It consisted of 4 large crates of Australian food stuff destined for Australian ex-pats living in the States, stuff you can't buy in the States.
"Oil pressure, Harry?"
"Green, estimate 10 minutes to red."
"Course and distance, Maddy?"
"Change to 035, 25 miles to run, ETA 16 minutes."
"OK its tight but doable, turning to 035 and starting descent, Harry prepare to shut down port engine in 5 minutes, Maddy keep your eyes peeled for the island."
"Affirm," Harry said.
"Affirm," I echoed.
We didn't need to dump the cargo. The tension rose as Harry shut down the port engine, but everything was going according to Bob's plan.
"Airfield 040," I spotted the island; it was tiny. Not much more than a strip of concrete and a few palm trees.
"Affirm," Bob said, "lower undercarriage, Harry, report locked."
"locked."
Landing with one engine can be tricky but Bob managed the emergency in his usual way, completely without fuss. We came to halt at the end of the runway. No one said anything for a couple of minutes as we all collected our thoughts.
Bob was brilliant. He had Harry and I scout around the island while he called the authorities and the owner on the satellite phone. The authorities confirmed our fears. As we had landed safely, had food and were in no danger it was a commercial matter, and we would have to organise our own rescue. The owner was more sympathetic. He agreed that once we had diagnosed the problem with the engine he would send a plane with parts, engineer, and extra fuel.