My husband left me years ago and, at the time this story begins, I was thirty-five years old. I'd been feeling horny for most of this particular day but I still hadn't done anything to satisfy my arousal before my teenage son came home after visiting friends.
At eighteen years old, Sam was tall with a medium build that wasn't too muscular, and he kept his black hair short. He was fit — didn't smoke — and was extremely well endowed. Yes, I confess I'd seen him in the shower a few times and, although his cock was flaccid, it was impressively long and thick. Another confession: I often thought about seeing him erect, imagining that it would be huge and hard.
Truthfully, I got wet thinking about his cock and when I heard him in his bedroom with various girlfriends I was in floods. Oh yes, Sam was definitely advanced for his age and enjoyed giving and receiving oral — and fucking, given the chance.
And Sam also loved to flirt, even with me. In fact, for weeks he constantly flirted, following me around the house, getting more and more naughty with his remarks and grinning at me. It became obvious that my young son had ideas about fucking me.
I did not discuss this with him but there was no mistaking the signals. I knew he wanted to fuck me — and, as it was some time since I'd had a hard cock, I was truly tempted. So, I came to a decision: if Sam made the first move, I wouldn't stop him...
It's early evening and we've just finished eating. In the lounge, my son is sitting on our large settee and I waste no time settling next to him and sipping more of the red wine I'd started drinking during our meal. The wine is making me feel hot while we exchange small talk, chatting about ordinary every day happenings. Just one difference: I feel sexual energy building between us. It's the way he's looking at me, especially my breasts. He's drooling.
I stand and turn on a small lamp at the side of the settee, then slowly walk over to switch off the main light. In the subdued glow, I return to sit alongside Sam. Almost immediately, he puts a hand on one of my big tits and caresses it over the top of my thin blouse. My hard nipple tells its own story but I say nothing. After all the weeks of flirting, my son is finally making his move.
Clearly encouraged by my silence, he puts his other hand on my knee and gradually slides it up the inside of my thigh. My skirt just about covers my pussy and as my naughty teen son fondles my breasts and pinches the hard nipples, I see a remarkable bulge in his jeans.
Unchallenged, he slides his hand further towards my panties and I open my legs, providing my horny son with easier access. Gently he rubs along my pants and I feel very aroused and moist. His bulge is even bigger now and I reach down to feel his hardness. We both rub and feel over our clothes; Sam gets even harder and I get wetter.
We're not speaking — our hands are doing all the talking — and I want to fuck him but it will not be on this settee. My bed is in the adjoining room and, with the sexual heat at fever pitch, I whisper, "Hey, Sam, why don't you come to mummy's bedroom and we'll see what comes up."
"Oh, yes," he grins, "I'd love to go to your bedroom with you."
When we stand, I see his lump is now enormous. "Oh my," I say, "it seems you have a problem. Would you like mummy to sort that out and show you what your father is missing?"
"Oh, yes mummy." He's definitely eager. "I want you mummy; I've wanted you for ages."
"Oh, you're very naughty, Sam." I smile at him. "Listen, I didn't come on to you but I had decided that if you made a move, I wouldn't stop you."
