A son comes home to Mommy for some tender loving care on Valentine's Day.
Just in time for Valentine's Day, a loving son returns home to his incestuous mother.
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A dream come true, with nowhere else to go, my son, Ryan, finally came home to me, on Valentine's Day, of all days. Gone for five, long, and lonely years, unable to find a job, after serving his country in Iraq and Afghanistan, his girlfriend, Nicole, kicked him out of their apartment, after living together for only a year. With me not having a couch and with my son's bad back injured from the war, I knew that he'd be sleeping, where he belongs, in my bed with me.
All so very innocent, a loving mother and her adult son coming together in hard economic times, we're both adults, after all. Only, after his father, Jack, died, killed in Iraq, grieving over my beloved husband, while dreaming about Ryan every night having sex with me, my son doesn't know that I've transitioned from a grieving widow to incestuous slut. I feared that God would take my son, too, in the way he took Jack. I couldn't bear my son not returning home safe to me.
Because of the raw and highly charged emotions of war, where my husband was killed and my son could have been killed, my psychiatrist told me that my grief has transferred my sexual feelings from my dead husband to my living son. She's wrong, of course, which is the reason why I don't see her anymore. My incestuous feelings towards my son are not a recent manifestation, as my psychiatrist believed, but because they look so much alike, as if my son was my deceased husband reincarnated, I've been lusting over my Ryan for years.
Hoping to avenge his father's death, Jack was the reason why Ryan joined the Army. Fearing he'd die, too, my sexual dreams about Ryan started, when he shipped out overseas and I was alone with my insane thoughts. Still a grieving widow, not ready to be so alone, maybe things would have been different, had Ryan not gone off the war, stayed with me, and helped me through my sorrow. Maybe had he been there emotionally for me then, I wouldn't want him as much as I want him sexually now. I don't know, my mind is all a jumbled mess, that is, until I see my Ryan. Then, I'm okay.
I wrote him every day, while dreaming about him holding me, hugging me, kissing me, and, eventually, touching me, where no son should ever touch his mother. I never confessed my feeling to him, of course. Hoping he'd want me, masturbating over him in the way that I hoped he masturbated over me, while thinking of having sex with me, I sent him some cheesecake photos of me. More suggestive than revealing, but always accidentally on purpose flashing him my panties, my bra, and sometimes more in the photos, while knowing full well that showing less is imagining more, especially when my man is away at war. Nonetheless, wishing that I could be so inappropriately naughty, I so wanted to send him a photo of me topless and naked even, but not wanting to shock him, turn him off, and scare him away, I didn't dare.
Wanting him to think of me as a MILF, a mother he'd love to fuck, acting as if I was unaware by smiling wildly, I sent him a photo of me sitting on the living room chair with my knees innocuously parted just enough for him to steal a peek of my bright white, cotton panties. Then, masturbating over exposing my panties to my son, I wondered if he'd think about touching me, licking me, and fucking me, as much as I thought about touching him, sucking him, and fucking him. A sexy game we used to play that inspired some hot pillow talk later, Jack, Ryan's father, loved it when I flashed his friends my panties during a drunken night of partying.
Because I've always had a hot ass and long, shapely legs, my husband's favorite body parts, I sent Ryan another photo of me standing on a ladder hanging Christmas decorations, while wearing a very, short skirt that exposed my panty clad ass cheeks. Having to take two dozen pictures to get the candid shot, I had to set the timer and angle the camera to capture the shot that looked most accidental, when it was all so preplanned. I wondered if my son enjoyed seeing my ass in a purposeful up skirt, as much as his father and his father's friends did.
Later, becoming even more daring, as I grew hornier and my lustful, incestuous desire for my son grew out of control, by the reoccurring sexual dreams that I had of him, I sent him a photo of me leaning over my birthday cake blowing out candles, one that he could clearly see down my low cut top. Not wearing a bra, I wore my husband's favorite top, a peasant blouse that widely opened, whenever I leaned forward. Jack loved when I wore that top, especially when not wearing a bra. I'd lean over his poker pals, while serving them drinks to flash them my abundant breasts and someone always grabbed a feel, when Jack left the room or when Jack pretended he wasn't looking. All in good drunken fun, allowing his friends a touch and a feel, they allowed me to return the favor by groping their erect cocks through their pants.
Speaking of breasts, pretending that I didn't know my breasts were so exposed with my big, hard nipples making their appearance, while pushing against the thin material of my bikini bra, and my pussy slit clearly visible in my bikini bottom, I sent Ryan a photo of me in my barely there bikini to show him how much weight I lost from not eating because I missed him. Especially in that photo, it wouldn't take much for him to imagine his mother naked. Jack loved it when I paraded up and down the beach, while wearing that bikini and flashing men my sexy body.
All preplanned but making it appear accidental, knowing full well my top would pop off by the force of the water, a few times I lost my top when a wave toppled me over. Pretending I didn't know my top was missing, I'd walk up to my blanket more concerned with my disheveled hair than being embarrassed by my exposed breasts. Always some nice gentleman returned my top to me, no doubt, while getting a closer and longer look at my tits. If only I could show Ryan my breasts, I would but not knowing how to make that appear accidental in a photo, I can't do that.
Lastly, Ryan wrote me telling me to get on with my life. Grieving long enough over his Dad, he hoped that I found another man, someone who'd love me, as much as his father had, to make me happy. He wrote that I was too beautiful to waste my life living alone. He told me to buy some sexy clothes to attract someone. Finally, as an accidental way to flash him my breasts, I sent him a much too revealing photo of me in my new, sexy nightgown, the one he told me to buy, after he told me to stop pining after Dad and go out on the town and have some fun. I knew my son could clearly see the outline of my breasts and my nipples through the sheer material of my nightgown. Thinking about him stroking his cock over me, while looking at his mother's naughty pictures, it's not easy teasing a man 8,000 miles away, but I hoped I had.
With the hope of the safe return of my son replacing the grief that I still had for his father, if it wasn't bad enough that my country took my husband, now they have my son's fate in their hands. Four long years later, and liable to be called back at any time with four more years on active reserve, when he was finally discharged and home safe, hoping he'd come home to me, he moved in with his slut of a girlfriend, Nicole. Shocked and saddened, insanely jealous, when thinking of them having sex, I couldn't believe it, when he chose her over me. I was devastated. Now, a year later, he's coming home.
Now that she threw him out and that he's finally here with me, sexually teasing him unmercifully, I plan on making him mine. Dressed in a short skirt and a low cut top, my usually sexy uniform of the day, one that routinely flashes him my panty and bra, I spent the afternoon flashing my son deliberate up skirt views of my white panties, when we watched TV in the living room, and intentional down blouse views of my bra, whenever he stands over me. Skilled in making my flashes appear accidental, after having flashed my husband's friends, co-workers, family members, neighbors, and strangers, not having to look to see if he was looking, I knew he was. I could feel the heat of his stare of desire burning holes in my panties and bra. Then, that night, in readiness for bed, wickedly, I donned my sheerest nightgown early and removed my panties.
Feeling so sexy, oh, my God, I'm such an incestuous slut. Even though I was completely covered by my nightgown, because of the sheerness of the material, I felt so arousingly naked. About to flash my son my breasts, my trimmed blonde pussy, and my ass crack, I felt so nervous. Wishing and hoping he'd take me and show me the lust that he had for his mother, in the way that his father did for me, and in the way that I had for my son, I felt so vulnerable. Ready to cross the incestuous line, I felt so depravedly wicked. Determined to show my son what no mother should ever show her son, I wanted my son to see what no son should ever see of his mother. Hoping my devious plan worked, I wanted to make Ryan horny enough that he'd want to touch me, hold me, caress me, and spoon me, as we slept.
With no lights on in the kitchen, but for the glow from the television in the living room, I stood in front of the open refrigerator door, as if trying to think what to cook for supper or pretending that I was looking for something buried in the back shelves. With my breasts hanging forward and my pubic hair clearly visible, knowing my body was so exposed to my son through my transparent nightgown, I could feel him staring. Remembering the sexy fun we had, after the hot pillow talk that I had with my husband, whenever I flashed his poker pals in this very way, I knew my son could see through my nightgown, as if I wasn't wearing one. Later, after supper, while he was watching TV, I'd walk in front of the bright screen, knowing that with no lights on in the living room and with the TV lighting me up, as if I was standing in front of an X-ray machine at the airport, he'd have the same clear view of me, only closer, that he had of me standing in front of the open refrigerator door.
The best part of my little incestuous game of exhibitionist teasing was when I leaned in front of him to wipe the dust off the TV screen. Just as I did with my husband's friends, I knew that he could see my ass crack and my pussy in between my legs. When I bent at the waist, while turning from side to side. Having already practiced my flashing moves in the privacy of my bedroom and in front of the full length mirror, I knew that Ryan could see my exposed breasts down my nightgown top. Intent on making everything appear unintentional and accidental, fully aware that he's his horny father's son, if this flashing show doesn't get him aroused just before bed, then nothing will.
