This story contains fictional characters engaging in sexual relationships or activities and are 18 years old or older. Please feel free to leave constructive feedback. All rights reserved.
Please read Broken Shoulders (Pt1) before reading any further. I'd like to thank you all for the lovely feedback from pt1. Especially like to thank those 'mums' that reached out to chat about the subject further -- I suspect most of them are catfish but hey ho -- who am I to judge.
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It had now been 2 days since my outburst, and since I'd blown my son whilst frigging myself like a wanton slut. Those 2 days were pure purgatory for me, as I wrestled with what I had done. The pleasure and excitement of that day had diminished, replaced by a wealth of humiliating and degrading thoughts about how bad a mother I was.
It all actually began the morning after it happened. We had gone to bed that night, my mind still awash with emotion and thoughts of what I had just done. When I awoke the next morning, most of my body was now draped over my son, one of my tits was on his tummy and my leg was over his groin with my cunt now inches from his cock. I slid my hand down slowly, not wishing for my movement to disturb Ben. I remember touching my pussy and feeling how wet it was -- it seemed I was in a state of perpetual wetness these days.
I extracted myself as slowly and gently as I could, almost holding my breath as I grabbed my dressing gown and went downstairs. Once in the kitchen I breathed again, made myself a coffee and then sat there with my head in my hands. My mind was awash with different emotions and feelings, a jumble of thoughts that seemed to make no sense. I struggled to even get a logical thought to remain long enough for me to consider it.
At this point, I'm sure most of you are thinking -- and hoping -- that I go back upstairs to fuck my son? It doesn't happen like that, not in real life.
Firstly I still felt so profoundly guilty and ashamed about making my son cry. He's a good lad and he didn't deserve all that grief and vitriol regardless of the day I was having. I should have controlled myself better, I was his mum for fuck's sake. But what's done was done and I had apologised -- not that that it made me feel any better.
But then there was what (and who) had come afterwards, and this in truth was the sticking point. I tried to reason with myself as I felt the feelings of shame and indignity begin to circle in my mind like vultures waiting for the prey to die. It wasn't anything he hadn't seen before I told myself with a reminder that he had seen me come whilst impaled on the plastic dildo in the shower.
The previous night's fapping however was in a different league and I had kissed him too, passionately, and wantonly. But in actual fact, what fractured my mind the most was the lack of consent. I know, that sounds really stupid when I say it now -- and given what I was doing to Ben at the time.
Ben had not asked me to blow him, had not even made the briefest of suggestions to the fact. Yet I had dived down on his cock faster than a seagull sweeps down on a piece of bread. I had not hesitated, had not even considered my son's wishes -- I was interested only in my own self-gratification. This was proven by the fact that I also began to fuck myself with a dildo in full view of my son and again, without his consent.
Do I think he minded? Well, no of course he didn't. Did he complain? No he didn't -- but he didn't ask to see it either. The bottom line was I had not given him the choice and I was culpable for that.
I sat at the kitchen table, head in my hands allowing these thoughts to swirl around in my head. I paused only to refill my coffee mug and then resumed my own castigation.
I berated myself over and over at how bad a mother I was being. I was giving in to feelings and emotions that a mother should be able to keep in check. From what I'd read on reddit and on other forums (if they can be believed) is that quite a few moms have these thoughts about their son(s). The difference with me was that I was acting on them.
I remember how much I hated myself just then, I remember thinking how disgusting and perverted I was. A part of me tried to rally, reminding myself of the fantastic feelings I had experienced and of the earth-shattering orgasm I'd had. But the thought barely got past my mind's first control gate.
After a while and whole lot of soul-searching I decided I needed to wipe the slate clean and move on. Ben had 10 days until his cast was off and in those 10 days I was determined that life would be as normal as possible.
To this end I had to make sure not to place myself in any further compromising situations. So I went back upstairs and entered the bedroom, moving straight to the wardrobe I got a pair of clean shorts then told Ben to get out of bed and I'd put his shorts on. He seemed a little bemused as I recall, not surprising I guess. Ben was probably hoping for a repeat performance of the previous night.
He stood up and I put the shorts on him and pulled them up in a no nonsense fashion, then placed his slippers next to his feet so he could put them on.
"I need to talk to you, downstairs." I said to him as I left the bedroom. I think I sounded a bit more gruff than I realised because when he got downstairs, he asked if I was OK. In response I sat him down and gave him his drink, complete with straw.
I took a breath, knowing I had to be calm, assured and above all I need to sound sure and certain.
"Ben, what happened last night was ..." I began. Straight away Ben interrupted me.
"It was fantastic." he replied enthusiastically.
I glared at him, and asked him to please not interrupt me and he blushed and nodded. At least I knew how he felt about what had happened.
"What happened last night was wrong." I said directly, then began my explanation.
I saw his face drop slightly, his smile diminished, and it broke my heart -- but I knew it had to be this way.
I told him that I felt a mother's duty to her son was to look after him. To provide him with the social and emotional skills required to navigate this crazy world of ours. Then I told him what I felt it was NOT her duty to do. A mother shouldn't corrupt her own son, a mother shouldn't take sexual pleasure from him -- in any shape or form.
Giving him a blow job, kissing him, letting him see her fucking herself -- these were all terrible things that a mother should not do to her son. Then I explained that I understood why he felt it was OK, I told him that he was young, and he couldn't see the harm I was doing to him. Ben began to shake his head, but before he could interrupt, I continued.