{ I have always felt that the "incest" category should have a subset of seduction/reluctance because it would be an uneasy step to take. That is where this particular story would fall. To this point, I haven't quite come to a conclusion. I'll let it rest for a while.}
It was in church when the truth of the terrible forecast hit home. Recently, the subtly salacious hints have intensified; until I now have very few moments where I'm not picturing in my crude fantasies, that each man I meet is naked with his stiff erection announcing his intentions, and I can almost feel each woman's tongue sliding along my aching clit. Sometimes I need to actually intertwine my fingers to keep from reaching for any stranger standing next to me. When those libidinal images flood my brain, I also feel the warm rush of my vaginal fluids percolating in my yearning pussy. I feel that familiar tingle that starts from somewhere deep in my uterus, then seems to travel up my spine and electrifies every nerve ending in my shivering anatomy. Then the intense heat that envelops my loins begins to moisten to a smoldering dampness that feels like a molten river beginning to swell in my throbbing cunt, held back barely, by the concerted effort of pressing my trembling thighs tightly together and holding on to the wooden seat-back in front of me. I was outwardly shaking and praying that all eyes were on the celebrant, leaving me to quietly wallow in the seductive torment of my oncoming orgasm.
"Why and how was this happening now?" I had ventured into this quiet realm to elude the prurient daydreams and nightmares that have been haunting my senses. The visions and the voices in my mind were anything but heavenly. Spectral voices murmured in my ears to "get undressed," or to "suck this," or even to "spread your ass cheeks for me." Thinking about changing diapers or washing dishes worked for about three seconds, then I imagined myself being asked to perform those functions while naked. I wasn't this kind of woman...not openly... not so lasciviously, why was I sinking into this chasm of depravity?
I was alert to the sudden buildup of the erotic pattern that flew through my arteries like a virus. I understood the biology of it, but I couldn't fathom the mechanics. In any serene setting I could instantly be consumed by these crudely exotic fantasies and my desperately horny body was helpless to resist these brazen urges. I wasn't overly religious but I felt that these forces were beyond this Earth, so I dutifully traipsed-off to mass, appealing for some spiritual guidance to comfort me. Instead; the darkness, the incense, the whispers and packed crowds drew my attention from the "good book" and to that nagging, insistent voice calling me to realize and to release my "inner slut." I was quickly building to a state of bliss, but the passion cascading over my slatternly body was a long step short of spiritual. My nerves were jittery as my body heat boiled and my pulse rate soared.
I was situated in the middle of a full pew inside of a jammed sanctuary. I am no stranger to masturbation and infact, I've been diddling my hungry cunt ever more frequently since this primal, compulsive craving has descended on me. But now, the lecherous pining begins without me. The quivering had no real origin but simply rattled me from my lips to my toes. Huge drops of perspiration began to drain from my scalp, underarms and pelvis. And that normally luxurious and hoped-for glow that usually atunes me to the sensual release that I've anxiously wished for, has become like a ticking bomb warning me that I have only seconds before an embarrassing and most-obvious depraved disaster awaits. I believed that if I attempted to slide behind the other parishioners and scurry up the main aisle towards the door, I wouldn't get fifteen feet before the dam burst in my fiery pussy and the warm sticky fluids began to seep down my thighs.
What if I were to just stealthily ease my hand against this man's crotch? Would he truly mind if- while we were all staring forward and looking appropriately enraptured- I quietly slid his zipper down and reached inside for his bulging cock? Or the lady to my left with the ample bosom and generous cleavage, do you think that while we sat and sang our sad devotionals, she would be upset if I cupped those hefty globes and playfully kneaded them like I was preparing dough for a fresh-baked pie? The man behind has his cock out and is pressing it against my neck, I need only to turn around and it could be in my mouth. "My Gawd, what's become of me?" I have to get out of here!
The mass was only in its middle and I was forced to wait it out. I pictured sands in a giant hourglass, dropping one lone crystal at a time. The sweat was leaking off of me like rainwater through a downspout. My heart was racing and I felt the pulse in my neck thumping. I wanted to just curl into a ball and hide. All of the standing, kneeling and swaying to the rhythms of the psalms were having an effect on my quavering form. It was as if I could sense my wet thighs sliding together or my big tits bouncing under my bra. With each movement, I felt my insides turning to jelly and when I rose from my seat, I was certain that it would let loose.
The up and down pattern of the service seemed to exacerbate the rapid, sloshing juices that were roiling between my hips. Rising to my feet was agonizing because I feared an unheard-of accident in such a pious setting and when allowed to sit, I did so gingerly since every motion nearly triggered this unholy impulse. I was compelled to lightly shift my weight from side to side while upright, and when seated, to always be balancing on one butt-cheek so as to not put any more pressure on my engorged clit. Fearing that at any moment I would crumple into a convulsive, fetal position and give-way to my sensual desires and fervor.
I nervously scanned my fellow congregants who were in various stages of devotion and spied the teary eyes or wistful smiles with just as many bowed heads and silently mumbled pleas to heaven. "Was I the only one there who was receiving lewd, sexually-demeaning images and envisioning my neighbors in various states of nudity?" These horrific thoughts and depictions had been swirling through my confused mind off and on for weeks; at traffic stops, in the grocery or the beauty salon, matched with that warm, sharp, prickly sensation that signaled my gathering sexual pleasure. I would almost scream-out to be pleasured and satisfied.
The bawdy images and lewd temptations wouldn't stop. Like a child who imagines that they have "X-ray vision," I glanced at the well-dressed man to my right and only saw his turgid organ swaying and swelling, tempting me to my knees and sucking its distended length. When I vigorously shake my head to clear my thoughts, I see the young woman beside me whose dress has dissolved into thin air and her pert tits and cleanly shaved pussy offer their erotic pleasures to my hunger. All around me, it's like being at an orgy and the swaying hands and whispered prayers are grasping and calling to my lonely body.
But there is one voice that overrides them all, and it is eerily familiar. It belongs to my eighteen-year-old son Robert, who has entrenched his Rasputin-like sexual influence on my submissive character. My name is Anna, I am not a well-educated woman but I can see what he has been doing and I am helpless to fight-off his exotic advances. I was raped when I was a teenager and so, I'm barely twice his age. Sexuality and open lewdness frightens- yet captivates me. Robert has recently discovered and pounced on this flaw in my development to be enticing and with his job at a sexual emporium, he has all of the material he needs to flaunt and entrap me.
Using just introductory psychology and some of the samples from his work, he has been taunting me with audacious offers and leaving gifts of explicit lingerie or adult toys on my bed or at the breakfast table. He places dirty movies on the recorder and when I won't agree to watch them alongside of him, he leaves them there, with their filthy cover pictures, daring me to not just peruse a few minutes of the perverted action. Hints and whispers about my buxom figure or suggestions that I'm growing older without ever having been young, have eaten away at my resolve. he has even inferred that incestual relations could be kept private and are all the more exciting do their explicit sexual appeal and their implicit lewdness. I know that I should have spanked him down when this all started but I didn't and now, as water gradually erodes rock, I have slowly begun to agree with his libidinous innuendos.
And it wasn't enough that he managed to gain an unfortunate upper hand in our seemingly-lecherous mom/son relation, he had begun to insinuate that he was the one who could rehabilitate my deeply-rooted sexual fears and encourage and incubate the passion and desires that stir within. In other words, it would be good for me and he would be doing me a favor. I understand how abnormal this sounds but when you are trapped in this impenetrable web, any helping hand- especially when no other helpful source appears- is the one you reach for.
The church service mercifully ended without my making a complete fool of myself, and while some concerned citizens noticing the sweat dripping from my forehead and the flushed cheeks, inquired if I were feeling alright, I was able to sluggishly duck-walk to my car and avoid any serious conversations. There is a small pond below a hillside in back of the church, where I was able to stop the car and hopefully relieve the stress of my condition. That voice- and all of it's erotic temptations- was always just beneath the surface. The perspiration had begun again in earnest. My dark hair was plastered to my head and the minimal makeup that I wear was streaked and smeared. The thin cottony peasant blouse was draped and glued to my upper body, clinging to my torso even with a slip and bra, and it blatantly outlined my full D-cups. The swollen pink nubs that crested my 36-inch chest were pronounced and sharply defined.
