My heartfelt thanks to editor Polopoly.
*******
It was strange yet so wonderful a feeling to reach an orgasm from the mere blending of fear and sexual arousal. My son and I were sitting so close together, scantily dressed and talking in whispers, when my husband's voice suddenly echoed in the four corners of the darkened house.
The sexual tension between us was so intense when we jumped off the love seat and stood in fear as my husband approached. The initial tingling sensation that slowly welled in my loins started to swell rapidly as he neared us until I exploded standing. It was a sensation that I never thought existed. The feeling was both ecstatic and delirious.
My son Albert took me by the shoulders when the peak of the orgasm made me too weak to remain standing. The "rescue" caused a head on collision of our erogenous zones. Almost at impact, my son's rock-hard tent pulsed together with my anal muscles through my thin robe thus intensifying the orgasm, littering tiny bits of punctures all over my sensitive body.
Albert used to feel sexual gratification from whatever remained of his mother's body heat through her unwashed clothing. It goes, therefore, that his gratification was more intense at that moment. For it were not just the traces of his mother's sexuality that pleasured him at that moment. It was the sexual object itself, his mother, her ass in rapid spasms while glued at his rock-hard penis through her sheer robe.
We were on cloud nine gripping with sensuality never before felt when my husband, his dad, started to grill me just a few feet from where we stood, our legs shaking in a blending of fear and pleasure.
"What the hell do you think you are doing down here at this goddamn time of the night, Christine? Why aren't you in bed?" he harshly asked.
I could only utter breathless gasps and panicky words as me and my son were putting forth whatever was left of our strength in trying to suppress the uncontrollable wiggling of our attached hypersensitive zones.
"Haahhh....I...can't...can't sleep ...I..."
"Why? What the hell is happening to you?"
I shook my head to mean "nothing." Words would not come out of my mouth for fear of stammering.
"For Christ sake, Christine! Just tell me what's going on."
"None...nothing..." I finally managed to utter with heavy breathing. He continued quizzing me on things I could not recall, as my body was at that moment entangled in sexual chaos with my son. I could only recall his stern order telling me to go to bed, "now and I mean now!" His order was in no uncertain terms. The words were harsh. Thanks heaven he couldn't see the synchronized and wonderfully felt spasms in my bottom, over my robe and under it.
My behind was still glued with my son's front when my husband turned his back to us. The young man was still hard and would not disengage from his mom's throbbing ass. When his dad suddenly looked over his shoulder I pulled off instantly. The break was so sudden that if only Mark looked back another time he would see the jerking of his son's steep tent in his boxers that just seconds earlier was twitching like crazy in his mother's robed crack.
Although Mark didn't ask Albert anything or anything about him that night it was easy to detect his suspicion. I was sure he didn't take the scene lightly. Mark was no moron. He was such a smart guy that a person's strange or unusual behavior would not escape his notice. Times were there when his jealousy made me uncomfortable. He was jealous of his own buddies, my son's buddies and virtually every male creature that happened to take a second look at me or at us.
Thank God he didn't drop by his study room or hell would have broken loose. I followed him upstairs but not before successfully retrieving my panties left lying under his desk. With my son's hardness so obvious in his tight shorts and my panties left lying on the floor, no right-thinking husband would think right anymore.
The flirt with incest emboldened Albert to play "harmless" games with his mother, something he never did before. Whatever euphemism I'd use to describe them would all lead to the same thing. They were all but virtuous and moral. Albert, however, would stay within the bounds of propriety knowing my awareness to it. Did I say propriety? Oh my God, people sitting next to me in church would surely think I had a terrible command of the English language if they came to know of the "harmless" games my son and I were playing.
Albert and I hugged each other for whatever occasion we could make an excuse for, turning each hug into a tight embrace, invariably linking our bellies and thighs together longer than necessary. When a boner swelled between our bellies we went for it and enjoyed the sensation but not one of us would make mention of it or would poke fun at it. We used to part ways painfully suppressing the sexual sparks in our loins.
It would sound funny to hear me say that my son and I were playing harmless games within the bounds of propriety. The games were faultless, we kept insisting quietly to ourselves. Faultless? Then we didn't have the need to conceal the acts from anyone. But no, that was not to be. We both jumped off a love seat each time a car would roar up the driveway. Why else if not for the fear of getting caught sitting close together, flirting and sexually aroused. And to think that we had claimed, at least to ourselves, that we always were within the bounds of the so-called propriety. Wouldn't that sound funny?
*****
Albert always tested my moods first whenever he attempted to sit by my side. When he saw it clear in every front, he'd sit beside me or would take position to lay his head on my lap. Like any typical mom it was hard for me to tell him to get off me, let alone push him off my lap, a part of me that happened to be an erogenous zone. There really was no choice but to allow his head roll over my lap even if it risked the quickening of my sexual sensitivity.
Behind the sexual undertones of the "harmless" games we played was the annoying feeling of guilt that, like the proverbial sword of Damocles, kept hanging over our heads. One good thing that resulted, however, from that common feeling was the compliance to an unwritten rule, a directive that stopped us from crossing the danger line. It was a rule that neither one of us had imposed but to which we both complied with anyway. At least until fate went to follow its course.
I'd be lying if I'd say I did not enjoy the pretense. The charade quickened my sexuality and it seemed to offer a new lease to my womanhood. The games at times would drive me to my bedroom then come out weak, exhausted and disheveled, reeling from intense pleasure, the intensity of which could hardly be matched by marital sex.
*****
It was the moment of truth one Friday night. My husband usually came home on Fridays a little late, either for reasons of business or a night out for relaxation with buddies. My son and I were alone together at home that fateful night. After dinner, Albert in his casual tight shorts and shirt went to sit beside me while I watched a musical program on television. I wore a long, light-blue silk nightgown with thin shoulder straps and only my white panties underneath. I enjoyed watching the program as it featured the 60's trio, The Lettermen. I wasn't sure if the trio on screen were still the originals although the songs they rendered on television were the same songs I used to hear when I was in grade school.
"Can I join you, Mom?" Albert asked softly, almost touching my left ear.
"You can but you may not," I kidded.
"May I join you?"
"Do I have a choice?" I asked smirking at him.
He kissed my cheek before running to the bathroom. He came back with the wide sky-blue towel that I used to wrap around my torso after each shower. What on earth he wanted to do with it I didn't bother to ask. We watched the trio on TV and listened to the old songs that I was sure Albert did not appreciate. He just wanted to have an excuse to sit beside me and rub his leg with mine.
"The sounds are romantic, Mom."
