I have a confession to make. I never thought anything like this would actually happen, and I can't believe I'm going to relate this story to you, but maybe doing so will provide some kind of therapeutic value to my guilty conscience. For the past year now I've been sleeping with my son. Or rather, to put it bluntly, he's been screwing my brains out. And I've loved every minute of it. How could a respectable wife and mother do something like this? Well, it didn't just happen overnight, and like I said, I still feel guilty sometimes. Let me try to piece together what brought this on.
I guess you could say I was brought up in a strict household. My parents were very religious people, and did their best to raise a daughter becoming of their virtuous standards. They wouldn't let me date long after my friends had started seeing boys. Even after I began dating, they would scrupulously check every boy's background to make sure they were decent young men fit enough to take out their daughter. I wasn't what you'd call a rebellious teen, but I rebelled enough to know that I wanted out of that house. When I was eighteen I met Brad Hanson, the local minister's son who had just graduated from law school. My parents were delighted when we began dating, and Brad knew all the right things to say to reassure them regarding his intentions with me. Although I was smitten with Brad, looking back, I probably had some ulterior motives when I convinced him we should get married. As I mentioned earlier, I didn't know how much longer I could take living with my overbearing parents. Marrying Brad would get me out of there while keeping my folks happy too. My family thought I was too young to get married, but they thought so highly of Brad that they acquiesced when we told them we were engaged.
As you might expect, as an eighteen-year-old virgin I was more than curious about sex. I hadn't done anything more than kiss before I married Brad, so I was very shy about it. Sex with him was awkward for me at first, but I eventually came out of my shell. Brad may have been the son of a minister, but he was very open about sex. So much so that if my parents had known that side of him they probably never would have let me date him. Brad was a considerate enough lover, and he knew how to coax my developing sexuality without being too aggressive.
It didn't take me long to discover I loved sex. I still had a lot of inhibitions, but my attitude changed profoundly. I wasn't so much afraid anymore, as I wanted to find out about all the things I'd been missing. After a month of marriage I felt comfortable enough to let Brad go down on me. I never imagined how great it could be; I came so hard I was out of breath from the screaming. I loved Brad even more as I learned to trust him in the bedroom, and it made me want to do everything I could to please him. Around a week later I mustered enough courage to suck his penis. I felt proud when he came on my pillowy breasts, and right then I knew I enjoyed giving pleasure as much as getting it. I also knew that I was a sensual young woman with a very strong interest in eroticism. But my sexual self discovery got somewhat put on hold about two months later when I joyously told Brad I was pregnant.
Brad was thrilled at the prospect of becoming a father, and for the next couple of months our life together was blissful. The pregnancy brought us closer together and our intimacy grew. As time passed however, Brad started to change. He was always the type to bring his work home with him, but up until then it had never taken precedence over me. He wasn't nearly as affectionate with me either and our love life deteriorated. I started feeling neglected, unattractive, and depressed. Maybe he wasn't interested in having sex with his expecting wife, but my libido was far from dead. I held out as long as I could before I decided to relieve myself through masturbation. I'd never masturbated before as my upbringing had been that it was a sin, but my needs eventually won out. At first I would only touch my breasts and stroke my thighs; I was so horny I could have orgasms from that alone. But as my experience with this type of pleasure grew I needed more. I didn't want to stimulate myself 'down there', but once again my frustrations took control. I began with just squeezing my thighs together until I came, and when that wasn't enough I began using my finger on my clit. But it wasn't long before I was again feeling unsatisfied. One of the things I had discovered about myself with Brad was that I enjoyed vaginal orgasms as much as clitoral orgasms. I hadn't felt Brad's cock in me for so long that one day while masturbating I put my reservations aside and tentatively slid a finger up my pussy. Slowly, I fingered myself, the feeling so good. After I came I felt ashamed at having fingered my vagina with my child still growing inside me, but it was so good I knew I couldn't stop. I was hooked.
As time passed I became more and more concerned with what was happening between me and my husband. I confided my problems with a friend and she assured me that a lot of men had difficulty being intimate with their pregnant wives and that everything would return to normal once the baby was born and we got settled in as parents. My fears moderately relieved I decided to let Brad off the hook as far as our sex life was concerned. He was still a good husband in other ways, and was helping out with housework, getting the baby's room ready, etc. If he didn't want to make love to me for awhile that was OK.
Pleasing myself wasn't all-bad anyway; it was giving me a chance to explore my own imagination and sexual fantasies. I often fantasized about making love to a mysterious, sexy man. Someone who found me irresistibly attractive even though I was six months pregnant. I'd long ago found out that it was normal to fantasize about people other than our mates, so I wasn't concerned about being unfaithful. I also started enjoying X-rated films. Brad had a small stash of blue movies he gathered in his youth. I had never seen a porno before and was now curious about them. They were unlabeled tapes of older films, most of them terrible. But there were a few that really turned me on, and added fuel to my erotic daydreams. One day I was watching a particularly well-done film. The actors were attractive and the sex was intense.
I was really getting into it, having fingered myself to a wonderful orgasm. In it, a young man had gone to see his teacher about his poor grades and, well, you can figure out the rest. What made this movie different was what happened next. The student came home to tell his mother he got an A in school. She told him what a good boy he was and gave him a kiss on the cheek. I was expecting the film to end, but it didn't, as the older woman then gave her son a very un-motherly kiss on the lips. I was shocked and horrified by it but it also stirred something in me that kept me watching. Whether it was this unexpected twist in the story or some latent feelings I had I don't know, but I found myself getting aroused. I kept watching the incestuous lovers on the screen, the scene getting hotter and hotter.
They were now naked, the son tonguing his mother's pussy while she kept moaning what a good a boy he was. The scene shifted and they were now having intercourse, the mother urging her handsome son to give her his come. By now my hand was wildly fingering my pussy, and by the time it ended I had an earth-shattering climax. I lay back trying to regain my composure. The scene was over and there was some dialogue. The son was telling his mother how he really got his good grade. She laughed carelessly and said she would have given him an A+. Although I'm not going to blame actions I took years later on a film I saw I admit I probably never would have never considered something like this as erotic if I hadn't been exposed to it this way. For years I felt guilty about how much I had enjoyed that movie, but I learned that there's nothing wrong with having atypical fantasies and that they're harmless as long as you can control them.
A few months later Brad and I had a healthy baby boy we named Kevin. Life was as normal as it can be for a couple raising a newborn. My incest fantasies more or less became dormant with one notable exception. After I had Kevin, my breasts, which are already 36 D's, swelled even larger. I've always thought they were one of my best physical features, and before I had the baby one of my favorite types of foreplay was for Brad to suck and lick my sensitive nipples and areolae. As you might expect, it took some time before my sex life with Brad returned to normal. Long after we were making love again Brad would refuse to stimulate my breasts because I was lactating and even the remotest possibility of getting milk on him made him downright squeamish. I've heard that some women get aroused by breastfeeding and I have to admit it happened to me too. I tried my best not to let it happen, but when you consider that one of my most sensitive areas was being ignored by my husband, it's easier said than done. I fought it for as long as I could, but eventually started fantasizing that it was my husband sucking my nipples instead of my baby and allowed my feelings of pleasure to overwhelm me. From time to time I combined that thought with the fact that I was nursing, and the idea of feeding Brad with my milk made me wet with excitement. And other times my incest fantasies got mixed in too and I pretended that Brad was my son suckling me. It got me so hot I'd have to finger myself to orgasm once Kevin was done feeding.
All I'll say about the intermediate years is that we settled in as a typical well-to-do family living in the suburbs. Brad's law practice never made money a problem, and I was happy with my career of wife and mother. My love life with Brad may have gotten a little stale over the years, but anybody whose been married as long as we have understands that. I still love my husband and find him attractive, even though he's put on some pounds and lost most of his hair over the years. I don't mind saying I've aged extremely well as I get a lot of self-satisfaction from my appearance. I like to spend my free time exercising and even though I'm thirty-seven I think I can hold my own with most women in their twenties. My breasts sag a little more than they used to, you can't expect them to be perky for a woman with my cup-size or age. But they're still big and shapely, and they (like the rest of me) still get a lot of appreciative looks from men. I've become a bit of a flirt over the years and I love it when a handsome man flirts back. Despite Brad's assurances that I've 'still got it', it's nice to know I can continue to make heads turn at my age. I think I've given you enough background information that you have an idea of what I'm like so I'll now flash forward to more recent events. Does my past explain why I did what I did? Drop me a line and let me know.
I guess things really began a few months before "it" happened. As a lawyer's wife I was accustomed to periods where I rarely saw my husband, but this time things were different. Brad was working on a case for Mr. Dixon, a very wealthy client. The problem was that it consumed almost all of his time. The more work he did, the more Mr. Dixon was impressed with Brad's diligence, and the more responsibilities he gave Brad over his affairs. Although I should be proud to say that my husband was doing such a great job, in reality it depressed me as it made things increasingly difficult on our home life. I begged Brad to cut back, but he wouldn't, saying this client would make him into a major player within his profession. I pleaded with my husband; we lived a more than comfortable lifestyle, we didn't need any more money. But for Brad it was about power and personal clout, and he wouldn't relent. Sensing that it was affecting our relationship, however, he did promise to take certain evenings off for special occasions. Being the sentimental type I wanted him to spend Valentine's Day with me, but Brad, after checking his calendar, insisted it was impossible. So I settled by waiting until our anniversary, which is about a month later.
I had a restored sense of optimism as our anniversary approached; I wanted it to be a sort of renewing of our love for each other. I didn't ask Brad much about what he had planned for us, as I wanted to keep an element of mystery involved. All I did was drop a couple of hints along the way to remind him that our special evening was approaching. Brad's meticulous about detail and I knew he wouldn't forget, but the mere thought of him doing so was so devastating for me that I had to make sure it wouldn't happen.
Our son Kevin was certainly aware of the change in my attitude as of late. As a regular eighteen-year-old kid he spent a lot of time with his friends, but I had a close relationship with him too, and he was aware of the problems of late between Brad and myself. But my enthusiasm grew constantly as the big day approached, and Kevin was happy to see the dark clouds that had been circling over me gradually fade away. When the day of our anniversary arrived I was positively brimming with excitement, which was not lost on Kevin either.
"I haven't seen you this happy in years, Mom," he said.
