Well, now – where do I start?
I'm not used to doing anything like this. By which I mean sitting down and writing down my thoughts and feelings. Or, come to that, sitting here naked writing down my thoughts and feelings.
Because that's what I am – naked – and that's why I'm trying to take some deep breaths and focus on the words. I'm experimenting, you see, trying something new and daring. It's 5.30 in the morning here and the rest of the house is asleep – pretty obviously given how I'm dressed and the fact that 'the rest of the house' comprises by husband and my eighteen year old son.
Other than experimenting with something new and daring, it does beg the question of why I would take such a risk and to be honest, I haven't a clue why I'm doing it. I thought it might give me a thrill, sitting here nude with my robe over there in the doorway, every creak of the floors upstairs sending a thrill coursing through my body. And it does – far more than I even dared hope for.
Mike, my husband, will no doubt be asleep until around nine, as this is his day off, but Adam, my son, will need to be up by around half-seven to get himself together enough to get off to college. Okay, so I should be safe enough for another hour or two, but it doesn't change the fact that I am totally naked here and the guys are just a few feet away – vertically – without a clue.
I know from the pillow talk that sometimes gets us purring that Mike would love what I'm doing, and get a real kick out of the risk I'm taking. But Adam? Well there you have it really. He is the risk in so many ways. He's been peeking – or trying to – for a few years now, but if he ever saw me like this, I think he'd explode. Not that I actually want him to. See me that is, or explode for that matter. But just knowing that if a small grenade went off under his bed and he charged downstairs he might just catch me... well, it gives me a little thrill if truth be told.
It's not just the risk, though, that makes this such a thrill. I don't know if you've ever walked around your house naked but it feels so weird and wild. I'm typing this in our living room at the rear of the house and it's dark outside – I can't see if there's anyone out there looking in at this naked lady, sitting typing. I know that the chances of that actually happening are next to zero – the back of the house looks out on a small copse of trees that border a local golf course, and keen or not, very few golfers ever play before it's light – but it still feels so daring, and I feel so exposed.
I have been seen before during daylight hours – twice in the seven years we've lived here, and only ever topless – by golfers whose drives must have been sliced horribly to end up so deep amongst the trees. Not that they were complaining after locating their missing balls and getting a very brief peek at a local half-naked housewife, I imagine – but neither occasion was deliberate. Even though I'm typing this completely naked, take it from me that I'm too shy to deliberately let any passing golfer see anything untoward. I will, however, admit to 'just happening' to be in the kitchen at the front of the house wearing just rather flimsy undies a couple of times when I was fairly sure that a young businessman – a former neighbour – might be wandering past on his way to work. A rough patch in an otherwise happy marriage, or possibly an early sign of latent horniness.
5.50 now and every minute that passes makes me feel ever more exposed and, I have to admit, rather more aroused than I imagined I might be after this amount of time. There's still ages to go before there's any real danger and I'm starting to think that's just as well. The urge to please – pleasure – myself is getting stronger by the second and let's face it, I can do it, can't I? Ooh, I can, it seems – that was a slight pause as I let my hands caress – the right word – my bare breasts and then slide down my belly to a very warm, very wet part of me. I can even call it my pussy out for you since this is now definitely 'me time'.
The typing is becoming a tad disjointed now as playing is taking on a more distinct role. I'm not really fantasising or anything – just being here, being naked and playing with myself is enough. I have sensitive breasts – tits (I do like that word no matter that it's not supposed to be a 'feminine' way of referring to them) – and just cupping their weight in my hands, my thumbs rubbing across my rigid nipples – oh it's such a delight. And leaning back in this little chair, my fingers probing my wetness and heat. That's a form of heaven.
Exposure like this is constantly thrilling me in new and wilder ways. I know my tits have been seen before by those who really shouldn't, but all of me? My pussy? Never. And it's not just that I have nothing on below my waist – any woman can sit with knees touching, naked, and shows nothing really – but I'm constantly leaning back and spreading my thighs, exposing the hot, pink centre of me. I don't want to be caught like this – but I do want to be in danger of being caught like it.
Still only 6.10 (my typing really is slowing down) and I'm just getting hotter and hotter. The floorboards upstairs keep creaking as they settle and warp with the temperature changes, and every noise sends my pulse sky-rocketing. I was tugging gently on a nipple when that last creak came and my fingers tightened involuntarily, and I gasped with the thrill it sent though my naked form. My belly muscles pulsed and brought me ever close to climax.
And here I am, fingering hard and frequently now, suddenly sure that I am going to do something I've never done before in this house: I'm going to bring myself to orgasm with both the guys here in the building, while I sit here naked, trying not to whimper too loudly. I'm having to leave a good thirty seconds or more between every sentence I type and the feeling of pure decadence is growing with every minute. Every nerve ending is tingling, even the breaths that I take are sending shivers of real pleasure through my veins.
I don't reach climax easily – never have – but sitting here in this dark, silent house (give or take a little creak), I just know that it's going to happen soon and it won't matter that I take an age to finish because there's no one to interrupt. It's luxury mixed with liberal doses of daring and thrills. My heart beat is pounding loud and fast, I'm sweating despite wearing absolutely nothing, I'm using a little cushion to muffle the increasingly loud moans that I can't help but make, and the first little bucks and twitches are fluttering deep in my belly.
A double first, this will be – because I know it must be now – the first time I've ever climaxed like this and the first time I've ever thought to write down my thoughts as I get closer and closer. Both of those things are hot on their own, but together... oh what a combination! I almost – almost wish...
Oh god that last creak was very loud...
[this section was edited later to make it legible]
I think I should stop – that wasn't just the house settling – that was a footstep up there.
Bit of a problem and hard to type. Started really shaking. Tried to get up to get robe but belly fluttering like mad...
Another creak and this is trouble...
Oh fuck...
Can I write that? And what the fuck does it matter? I'm too close...
That wasn't just a flutter, it's starting. And that was a definite creak caused by a foot...
Oh my god this can't be happening...
It's from the back of the house. It's Adam...
I thought I had so long. Got to get robe...
Oh dear patience! Can't get up. Can't stop it...
Stairs! Oh my fucking god... that was a spasm... deep...
Oh god he's going to... I can't... oh...
Adam!
[this next section was written six hours later]
What can I say. You must know I didn't mean to be caught. I tried to keep writing because I thought it would stop things. Wrong, I know. Now, at least.
He walked right into the room before he even realised anything was happening. I'd already started – to climax, that is – as you can probably tell from what I managed to write, but when Adam strode into the room just a few feet in front of me I lost all control. His eyes were real early morning until I let out the first moan and then they focused so hard and fast. Focused on my totally bare breasts. And then on my fingers as they rubbed hard and frantically across my exposed pussy. It just made me cum harder and harder, and the harder I was climaxing, the more my boy stared at me. His boxers bulged and that made me cum harder. He whispered 'wow' and that made me cum harder. He put one hand on the front of his boxers – I cum harder. He said 'mum, are you...?' and I started to really wail as I cum yet harder. I tried to apologise even as my hips were bucking, my tits bouncing as I climaxed so close to my own son. So help me I held out my hand towards him – his hands.
He understood what I meant somehow. He grabbed my free hand and squeezed it tightly as his own free hand started to rub furiously at his so obvious erection through his boxers. When I managed to say 'yes' staring at that bulge he misunderstood that. He pushed the boxers down and his young cock sprang into view. Our hands unlocked and I grabbed at him even as his hands landed on my upper chest.
I rolled backwards, still bucking, still climaxing – not a multiple, but the longest orgasm I've ever had – and Adam landed on top of me. I think I tried to say 'no' but his cock parted my already soaking wet pussy lips in a single move.
A single move later, the head of his cock went from parting me to thrusting into me. And then he was there. He looked as surprised as I felt, but momentum won the day. My son, my baby just a couple of decades before, had his rock hard cock inside my soaking wet, hot pussy. My son was fucking me.
The 'no' I'd tried to say before turned to a stream of one word endlessly repeated: 'yes', I bucked and writhed and grabbed at his butt to pull him as deeply inside me as I could. He cum fast and I stopped him pulling out, and then kept him there deep inside me as his cock barely sagged before he was rigid again.
I'd finished my orgasm at one level, but at another I was still in the throes. I told him that I'd never felt so hot, so aroused. I told him I knew that this was all wrong for so many people – but so right for me. I told him that I'd never known before, but knew now. I told him that I adored him in so many ways. I told him to fuck me, hard.
What can I say? We fucked, made love, Words were whispered as eyes tried not to stray towards the ceiling. There was nervousness bordering on fear. There was shock verging on disbelief. There was my son's hot, rigid cock moving with something close to desperation as he repeatedly, blissfully impaled me, thrusting deep and hard.
I started to cum fully again, biting into his shoulder to stifle what would otherwise have been howls of delight. Adam's body took its cue from me and he buried his face in the cushion beside my head and he thrust one more time, deeply, cock twitching as he spurted what felt like a gallon of cum deep inside my pussy.
Time blurred as the moments of climax stretched into infinity and I felt myself almost merging with my boy as our mutual climaxes intertwined and we bucked an shuddered together. I don't care if I never cum that perfectly ever again in my life: that was perfection.
Focus returned after however long it was – minutes, maybe – and we found ourselves entwined, sweat-soaked, panting, gasping, bodies twitching with a series of aftershocks that felt, to me at least, stronger than some full orgasms that I've experienced in the past. In the minutes that followed as our breathing finally began to slow, I held Adam closely to me. At one point he seemed to want to slip away but I shook my head and grasped his slippery back harder. I told him that he was now the perfect son, with no idea where that thought came from. He told me I was beautiful.
It was a distant creaking floorboard that finally had us untangling our limbs and dashing for the few items of clothing that had been discarded at different points earlier. Adam's eyes were wide, a little fearful, almost pleading.
