Show Your Tits Show Your Tits

Thanks for all the interest in and kind words about Chapter 1 of this story. I appreciate it. I hope Chapter 2 is an adequate companion.

Some of this story is inspired by actual events.

As always, all characters engaged in sexual activities are eighteen years of age or older.

* * * *

The state wrestling tournament was scheduled three weeks after we returned from New Orleans. The finals were in St. Louis, a four hour drive from our home. The boys rode together on the team bus; Bruce and I drove the SUV, reserving a two bedroom suite at a nearby hotel.

Jacob had moved up a weight class. His opponent, Hank McVoy, last year's state champion, was stronger and had at least ten pounds on my son. Both boys were undefeated.

They met in the final match of the day. Riding on it was not only their undefeated seasons and a personal championship, but the winner's team would be state champion. It was late in the third period and Jacob, protecting his narrow lead, was parrying Hank's attacks.

With less than a minute left Hank, slightly off balance, lunged at Jacob. Jacob blocked the move, went low, and took Hank down hard; Hank literally bounced on the mat. Jacob moved in for a quick cover and the match was over, Jacob won by a pin. At least one fit older lady shot to her feet, applauding wildly. I was proud of my son, prouder still when Hank shoved him and Jacob, instead of retaliating, turned to his teammates, who had run on to the mat to congratulate him. I, along with the other parents, moved to the floor.

Jacob, followed by the others, headed our way. He took me in his arms and held me to him.

I kissed him. "I'm so proud of you."

I wanted him so bad.

"Thanks Mom. I love you."

"I love you too, so very much."

Coach waved the boys over, directed them to the trophy presentation.

* * * *

The winner of each weight class took the stage; Jacob, Hank McVoy still glaring at him, was the last to be handed his medal. We caught each other's eyes, I gave him the thumb's up, he returned the gesture. Coach was presented the championship trophy and passed it down the line of boys. After another round of applause they headed for the locker room. I was daydreaming about Jacob's naked body in the shower when Katana, whose son had won the middleweight champion, said, "Jen, you still with us?"

"Yes, sorry Kat, I was thinking about the boys."

"A bunch of us made reservations at Ruth's Chris to celebrate. Care you join us?"

Bruce and Jacob loved them a steak.

"Thanks, yes."

The boys came out of the locker room. Before we left Coach took the time to talk to each parent, saying something kind about each boy. Then as Bruce, Jacob, and I headed for the parking lot, I stopped.

"Darn, I left something in the stands. Bruce, be a dear, bring the car around. Jacob, come keep your mother company."

In the gym I took a quick look around - we were alone - and pressed Jacob to the wall, brought my mouth to his. He kissed me back, working my lips with his own. Knees shaking - I could barely stand - I molded my body to his.

We took a deep breath, joined his father. As the restaurant we were seated in the back corner of the table, against a wall. Everyone was festive, happy. My son rested his foot against mine, drew circles atop my thigh with a finger. I pressed my leg to his. Someone circulated programs from the meet, asking each boy to sign. Before passing the pen down the line Jacob wrote something on a napkin and slipped it to me under the table.

It said, "I want you."

I put it in my purse - I still have it - reached under the table, took his hand in mine.

Someone, I'm not sure who, suggested dessert. The boys had been sacrificing for weeks, struggling to make weight, there were no objections. We ordered and I said I had to go to the bathroom; Jacob, noting several people had to stand to let me out, said he'd take advantage of the opportunity. In the hallway by the bathroom he took hold of my arm, kissed me. The kiss was savage, near desperate; the weeks of longing since New Orleans lived inside that kiss. He pulled away. Adrenaline flooded my system; my son's face flushed red.

"Sorry Mom, I know I shouldn't, not here, but its just..."

He stopped, unable to find the words.

I put my hand on his shoulder, leaned forward, kissed his lips.

"Its okay, I understand. God, do I want you."

* * * *

We ate dessert. I reached under the table, pressed my wet panties into Jacob's hand - I'd removed them in the bathroom - then fondled his erection. His hand went to my knee; I spread my legs, inviting him to go further. He did, grazed my bare sex - I was happy I'd shaved that morning - and pushed a finger inside me. I squirmed, then groaned, the sound indecipherable in the din of the restaurant.

* * * *

We had a suite at the hotel. Jacob and I sat on the couch, Bruce in a chair facing us. We chatted; I reached over and straightened Jacob's hair; Bruce, who'd had a few drinks, shambled off to bed. I lay down, my head in Jacob's lap. He ran his hands through my hair, touched my face. I took hold of his hand, brought it to my mouth, kissed each finger.

I'd tried, I'd really tried, but this was inevitable. My son was what I wanted.

"I love you."

He smiled, a happy smile. "I love you."

I reached up, touched his face. "You're my husband now."

I sat up, unbuttoned my blouse, undid my bra, shrugged them both off. He touched a breast, ran two fingers down its side. I leaned forward, kissed him, a slow patient sweet long kiss. We explored each other's mouths; his tongue caressed my tongue and lips, the area behind my lips, my cheeks, the roof and floor of my mouth. We ended our kiss, but I could still taste him, a sweet fresh taste. I stood, undid my skirt, it pooled at my feet. My sex burned. I held my hand out to him and said, "Are you ready to rumble?"

He followed me to the bedroom, where I turned, folded my arms across my chest, faced him, ran my eyes up and down his body, and said, "You are wearing entirely too many clothes."

He stripped. He was the most beautiful thing on the planet. He walked over, kissed me. I kissed him back. He scooped me up in his arms, kissed me again; our tongues intertwined, making up for lost time they danced with each other. He lowered me to the bed, bent his head to my blood engorged nipples, drew them into his mouth. I writhed, relishing the sensation; my eyes fixed on his cock. I reached for it; it was hard and strong and mighty. A thick drop of pre-cum emerged; I caught it on a finger tip, brought it to my mouth, licked it from my finger.

I wanted him in my mouth.

I tugged on his cock and ran my tongue on my lips. Jacob understood. He straddled my prone body and his ass on my tits, moved forward, guiding his hard cock to my mouth. I lifted my head and my tongue flicked out, swirled around the cock-head; it was sticky with pre-cum. He moved forward and I took the head between my lips, then opened my mouth wide and cradling his balls, drew him into my face. Rivulets of pre-cum dripped from his dick.

I'd never felt more alive. This was what I was meant for: to be my son's lover.

As I sucked him I remembered New Orleans, how he'd fuck me, come, get hard, do it again. There was no need to hold back, he could go all night. I grabbed his dick, frigged it in time with his thrusts in my mouth, waiting for him to feed me his cum. He placed a hand atop my head, the head of his cock bumped against the back of my mouth. My tongue slathered on his tool; I sucked til my cheeks puckered.

We kept going, his cock spearing in and out of my mouth; soon his balls trembled in my hand, pulled back into his body, and Jacob groaned, "I'm coming Momma," shuddered, and filled my mouth with thick semen. I gobbled down what I could, but still some dripped down my chin.

He was delicious and I wanted more of his jizz - it was intoxicating - but there was something I wanted even more: I wanted him to mark me as his. I pulled his cock from my mouth, twisted my hand on the shaft. He groaned and bathed my face with spurt after spurt of hot sticky cream. It splashed across my nose and my lips, splattered my chin and cheeks.

Jacob, his cock softening in my hand, surveyed my cum coated countenance, told me he loved me, then went to the bathroom, returned with a warm damp cloth and lovingly cleaned my face.

When he was done he laid down and I rolled on my side, snuggled up to him, placed my head on his shoulder. We touched, talked, caressed, laughed, touched some more, stroked, kissed. I was happy; my son, who'd I taken care of for eighteen years, would now be the one taking care of me.

My breasts pressed to his side I ran my fingers up and down his tool; soon he was erect. I rolled onto my back, held out my arms, spread my legs wide.

"I need you inside me. Come to Momma."

He knelt between my thighs and filled me with his cock. I stopped breathing, savored the feeling of my body yielding, then molding itself to his. When he was all the way inside I kissed his mouth; we fucked in long slow strokes. He told me how beautiful and special and sexy I was. I wondered: how could I have said no to this?

Soon my ass was wriggling on the blanket, my fingers clawing his back. I flung my pelvis into him and, exploiting my fabulous new musculature, squeezed his cock-flesh with my cunt. Jacob groaned; I came. He curled his head down, licked a breast; bit a nipple - it was all fuel on the fire - and I came again, my cunt convulsing in a series of rapid spasms. Jacob growled, "Ohhhhh, Mommmm," and buried himself deep inside me, his pubic hair tickled my shaven sex. I spread my legs further; Jacob's thick log sank a little deeper into me.

Jacob fucked me with a powerful steady rhythm, rolling over my clit with each thrust. I squealed; waves of pleasure swept through my body. I grabbed Jacob's ass, pulled him to me. My head fell to the side. I could see us in the mirror. Jacob followed my eyes, discerned what I was looking at, twisted our bodies around to provide me with a better view. I watched as I fucked my son, fucked my own flesh. My pussy was meant for him. When his cock was in me everything was right; when my cunt muscles massaged his thick meat everything was just what it was meant to be.

Jacob was a piece of iron and he was all mine. We fucked, we kissed, our tongues danced together. He broke the kiss, groaned; I twisted my ass, flexed my pussy muscles. He threw his head back and shouted, "Oh Mom, I can't believe I'm fucking you."

I dug my nails into his back. "Believe it, you make Momma's pussy sing."

I pressed my lips to my son's mouth, slipped my tongue inside. His hands roamed over my body, touched, caressed, squeezed. He raised himself on his forearms and moved forward; his cock slid over my g-spot. I arched my back, tightened the contact, orgasmed; my cunt spasmed, contracting violently on my son's penis. He dug his head into my shoulder, jerked, grunted, then bellowed, "I love you, Mom," and came, flooding my womb with steaming hot seed. I wanted to tell him I loved him, but what came out was a feral mewl of pleasure.

Impaled on my son's cock, orgasm after orgasm crashed through me. I sobbed and cried and bleated and laughed; my body burned with pleasure and exhaustion. My son collapsed atop me, both of us gasping for breath, our hearts beating as one.

Our bodies were slick with sweat, the room pungent with the smell of sex.

There was no going back.

We held each other. When I told him it was time for me to return to my husband's bed, Jacob offered to walk me home and there, my naked body pressed to his, my husband's inert sleeping form next to us, Jacob and I shared a long good night kiss.

* * * *

The next morning Jacob and I returned from our run to find my husband sitting in front of a cup of coffee, looking miserable. I kissed him, carefully, on the bald spot atop his head. "Rough night?"

"Yeah, too much toasting the victory. By the way, congratulations again son."

"Thanks Dad."

"You're welcome. Jessica, Katana called. She and Frederick want to hang around St. Louis today, but her husband needs to get back. She asked whether he could ride with us. I said I didn't see a problem."

I'd barely heard him - Jacob was standing next to me, his hand on my ass - but I got the gist. "That would be fine dear."

Bruce staggered to his feet. "Well, I better start getting ready. I'm gonna take a shower."

While he did I sucked off his son.

* * * *

Wearing a comfortable light summer dress, short and sleeveless, buttons running up the front, my son in baggy shorts and a tee-shirt celebrating the team's championship, we met Katana, her husband Mike, and son Frederick in the parking lot. Rejecting Mike's chivalric offer to let me sit up front, we piled the luggage on the middle row of seats and Jacob and I climbed into the back, opening our computers to occupy ourselves on the drive home.

It started slowly. My son kicked off his sandals, dragged his big toe across my foot. I kicked off mine, did the same.

He lay a hand atop my thigh, his palm on my dress, his fingers on my leg. Just laid it there while he watched a television show. Thirty minutes later he moved his fingers, slightly, caressing my skin. I looked up; made sure my husband couldn't see what was happening, typed a message, sent it to Jacob.

"Feels nice."

His touch was sweet and sensual. It went on awhile. My nipples hardened; I looked down, made sure they could not be seen in this dress, then leaned back, sighing contentedly. Encouraged, his hand slid between my legs, caressed my inner thigh; I let my legs drift apart. Then he started working up my leg, approaching my sex; I clamped my legs shut, looked at him, shook my head no.

A ping on my computer. "But I want to..."

I shook my head again. He eased his hand out and ran his fingers atop my thigh. It felt good and oh so naughty.

"You guys okay back there?"

"Just fine Dad, how's it up there."

"We're fine."

Jacob's fingers started back up my thighs. He was persistent, thank god; I glanced around, made sure the movement was invisible, turned to my son, winked, slid forward, opened my legs. Jacob pressed his hand to my panties - damp with arousal - then hooked a finger inside them and played with my swollen pussy lips. When I didn't object he slipped his hand inside my panties, pushed a finger inside my vagina, worked my clit with the heel of his hand.

I leaned back, my hands on my knees, and closed my eyes. He took my hand in his and I rolled my head to the side. He'd unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his shorts.

I checked - Jacob's laptop would block any view - and pushed my hand inside my son's shorts, took hold of his erection, twisted my hand on it.

We drove on, mile after happy mile. The world was my cunt, his cock, the hum of the SUV on the highway.

Jacob started working me harder, my hips rocked with his hand.

"Hey Dad, how 'bout some tunes."

"If it's okay with your mother."

Jacob looked at me. My eyes were dilated, my lips parted, my face flushed.

"Whatta ya say Mom?"

I hadn't heard the conversation, my mind was elsewhere, but whatever Jacob wanted was fine by me. "That would be great."

My husband turned on the radio. Hits of the Eighties.

"A little louder Dad."

The volume increased.

My son ran his fingers along my pussy lips, stroking and palpitating the swollen flesh; he teased and explored my vulva, acquainted himself with every recess, valley, and fold; he pushed a finger inside me, moved it, in and out, up and down, round about. I breathed in short hard gasps, occasionally I moaned; the music drowned it all out.

My son kept going. He wanted me to come in the back seat of a car his oblivious father drove down the highway. He was a naughty boy; he wanted his mother to be a naughty girl. The pleasure between my legs grew ever more fervid, my hand slipped off his penis; my being centered on my cunt; I struggled, fighting the urge to heave my hips into his hand.

He dragged a fingertip across my g-spot. My heart pounded, my cunt pulsated, my breathing was deep and hard. It was building inside me; it was inevitable; it would claim my soul. He returned to my g-spot, worked it hard, my gut tightened like a spring and then it all let loose and it was here and I came and it flowed though me like a river; I let out a low long whine lost in the music blaring from the radio. When it was over I leaned against my son, kissed his cheek, dug my hand into his pants, fiddled with his penis, felt it jump and jerk, rubbed the pre-cum into the head. My pussy lips tingled.

The radio was turned down.

"How you two doing back there. I could use a pit stop."

"That's fine dear," I answered, "I'd like to stretch my legs."

* * * *

At the interstate exit there was a run-down convenience store; otherwise it was wooded and wild. Exactly what I wanted.

I went to the bathroom, surprisingly clean, then returned to the store to find Mike and my husband eyeing the donuts.

"Honey, Jacob and I are going to take a walk, five, ten minutes. I'm getting a cramp, want to walk it off."

"Sure." That left them more time for the donuts.

Fifty yards behind the store I found a secluded spot, leaned against a tree, spread my legs, looked over my shoulder. I had taken my panties off in the bathroom.

"Fuck my horny cunt."

And that he did.

* * * *

I hope I have been clear in these pages that I didn't, don't, hate my husband; he was at heart a decent man. He made a nice living, didn't gamble much, and as far as I know was faithful. Its just that he preferred the happy social world of his friends, and they were perfectly nice people, responsible people with good jobs, good kids, to me. What he wanted from me was dinner, a clean house, advice on what to wear, someone to remind him where he'd left his keys and accompany him to social events. If my needs were increasingly met by Jacob and my gym buddies, that was fine; there was less for him to worry about.

Jacob and I resumed the life we'd built before New Orleans; when we went to the gym, hung out on weekends, or went out on a weekday night it did not, other than Bruce's occasional crack that I was keeping Jacob from getting a girlfriend, draw attention. That my husband preferred hanging with his buddies gave Jacob and I plenty of time to fuck like the oversexed animals we'd become.

As to my husband, I wasn't sure if his sex drive was recovering or whether I was so sex-obsessed myself I simply saw sex everywhere, but several times a week I'd hear him jerking off in the shower or find cum-stained Kleenex in a wastebasket or the toilet bowl. Sometimes, to keep up the pretense of my marriage, I'd flirt with Bruce, offer him my hand or mouth, but he'd always proffer an excuse which I'd graciously accept.

* * * *

Then there was our first screw-up. My husband, especially after a few beers, was a sound sleeper, which meant I could slip into Jacob's bed for a middle of the night fuck. Then, one morning, I woke up in Jacob's bed. He was gone. Shit, I'd passed out.

I put on my robe, crept down the stairs. I heard Bruce and Jacob laughing in the kitchen. I poked my head in. Bruce said, "Good morning sleepy-head. Why didn't you tell me?"

Before I could respond Jacob said, "Dad didn't know that sometimes, when his snoring gets real bad, you come and lay down with me to sleep. I told him you tried the guest bedroom, but after all these years of sleeping next to him you have trouble sleeping alone."

I turned to my husband. His face was serene.

"Sorry dear, I guess I thought it might hurt your feelings."

My husband touched his belly, then slapped our son's taut stomach.

"No one to blame but myself; I've gotten all out of shape. Jacob, thanks for taking care of your mother."