The Sweetest Sin

I was a happy woman. To put it mildly.

The past year had been the most amazing of my life. We had all celebrated another birthday, my twin children and I.

I had changed so much. Lost weight, embraced my natural gray hair (still blonde down below, though) and, at the age of 43, gotten more sex per month than in any two years during my marriage.

How much sex? Hundreds upon hundreds of times. I'm not a "notches on the headboard" gal, but if I were, we'd need a bigger headboard. Jack, my 19-year-old son and lover, ploughed me an average of three times a day, all month round, no time off for periods. You do the math - I'm too busy getting laid!

My pussy had seen so much action. Jack had fucked me so much, I'm surprised that big strong dick hadn't been whittled down to a toothpick.

Amazingly, the frequency hadn't dropped away. We were doing it as often as ever. Making up for lost time, maybe? The hormones of an insatiable young fuck-stud and a voracious older woman? Or that indefinable mom-and-son X factor that meant the thrill never wanes. Something that happens when two lovers share half their DNA.

And because the female orgasm is so elusive, I couldn't just lie there and take it. I had to put my ass into it. And that made every fuck an event, every orgasm an achievement, something I had worked for. Every fuck was special, unique; I would never take him for granted.

Not that we didn't have quickies. Lunchtime when I was working, for instance. That was basically maintenance: keeping him drained. A blowjob or five minutes on top of Mom was enough.

Jack called me beautiful, and for the first time in my life, I could see what he meant. The expensive hairdo, the clothes, the huge boobs on a skinny frame. It wasn't one of those "Why, without those glasses, you're beautiful, Miss Jones" things. I hadn't suddenly been transformed into an Amazonian sex goddess, but I was looking the best me I could be.

And there was something else. You always look beautiful when you smile. I had been smiling a lot this past year.

Now our anniversary was approaching. First anniversary is traditionally paper, but I had a feeling Jack was going to get wood. We had so much to celebrate, and there was one place I wanted to be fucked by my teenage son on our first anniversary.

Money was no object, which was just as well, because this had cost me a fortune. For one thing, I had to buy off my daughter, Cassie. Her 19

th

birthday present? Her favorite band was performing in New York. She could go and see them while Jack and I were away. All expenses paid, I told her, without realising what that would entail.

"OK," I calculated. "One concert ticket, transport to NYC and back. You can stay with your father while you're there..."

"Mom, I can't go by myself. Can I bring a friend?"

I sighed. "That's a lot of money, Cassie."

"But you and Jack are going on a cruise."

"But you didn't want to come," I said.

Thank God.

I'd fed her a story of Jack wanting to see a bit of the world before settling down to the rat race grind.

"What if I changed my mind," she said, slyly. "I'm sure it's not too late to book me a ticket."

I gritted my teeth.

You little vixen

. I scanned the computer screen. "Oh, look, we are in luck. Here's a good airline deal. Yes, sure, take a friend, Cassie."

"And I don't want to stay with Dad. His place is too small. Can you book us into a hotel?"

I was in no position to argue. The anniversary celebrations were costing a fortune. A little extra to keep Cassie sweet was a good investment. "A week at your father's and a week in a hotel."

"Cool. And some spending money, Mom. New York's not cheap."

You're telling me.

But I had already booked tickets for Jack and me. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could get in the way. I was relieved when we settled on an amount that would keep Cassie happy and out of my way for the duration.

The other side of the equation was even more eye-wateringly expensive. I had to book Jack and me adjoining cabins, in case the ship was patrolled by the incest police. The hotel also had two rooms, lest anyone ask questions about an innocent mother and her equally innocent son sharing the same room.

Jack gave me his anniversary present before we left. I looked at the USB in my hand. "What's this?"

"Mom, you remember the night we first made it together? Well, the day before, I rigged up half a dozen cameras in my room. I wanted to be ready in case anything happened."

I must have looked puzzled.

"Mom, this is you and me, doing it, in color, hi-definition and earth-moving stereo surround sound, the first time."

"The first time we made love? Jack, that's astonishing. Thank you! The best present ever. But filming someone without their knowledge, is that legal?"

"Mom, that was about the most legal thing we did that night."

I grinned. "Hmmm. Well, I'm glad you did. I am so looking forward to watching this on the voyage!"

"No, we can't take it with us. We have to pass through customs and immigration, remember. Best if we leave it at home and watch it when we get back."

So I put it in the drawer of my bedside table for when we returned. Ordinarily, nothing could have kept me from sitting down and watching it there and then, but I still had so much packing and organising to do. Virile teenage boys have their uses, but planning overseas trips is not one of them.

I had expected to feel seasick when we left harbor. But I soon saw that you can't build a multi-billion-dollar industry on people paying thousands of dollars just to throw up for several days. The cruise ship was big enough that we felt only the very slightest hint of being in motion (except when we were in bed, of course).

I had imagined we could do a dirty version of

Titanic

, me standing at the prow, dress hiked up, Jack feeding it into me from the rear. But I soon realized that modern cruise ships aren't quite built for that. And even if they were, there are always people around. Not to mention the security cameras.

The best I could do was put on my shortest mini, find a quiet spot at the railings, lift the front of my skirt up when no one was around, splay my legs as wide as I dared, for as long as I dared, and let the Atlantic breeze play with my pussy. Jack swore later that he could taste the salt!

We resolved to make the most of the cruise experience. Evening dress, dining at the captain's table, taking in an onboard show or two.

The first night, we dressed up: Jack in his tux, which makes me moist; me in my gown, which gets him instantly stiff. As soon as we saw each other, dressed to fuck, we knew dinner wouldn't last long. I was a giddy wet mess, my fingers and pussy quivering as I did up his bow tie, remembering all the times we had cum while I did that, impaled in his lap.

We planned to have a quick meal, then we'd be each other's main course back in bed. We had expected to be dining alone and discussing what we would be doing to each other later. But we were placed at a large table with several other couples.

I wouldn't have minded, but Jack was sat next to two women, part of a college reunion cruise party, who flirted outrageously with him.

It wasn't difficult to see why. I was biased, but he had grown into a gorgeous young man. Assured, polite, humorous. And very good looking. Not leading-man good looking. More the best buddy who gets the leading man to the wedding on time.

He's funny in a sexy way and clever and obviously great in bed and has a job he loves that doesn't pay much and he has a tiny apartment in the bohemian part of town with genuine art on the walls and some of his own black-and-white photography and shelves full of books and he cooks like a dream and he probably has a disabled brother he cares for and he has a regular Friday gig playing guitar in the local coffee house and he's honest and loyal and open and would make a great father, and why the girl isn't going for him instead of the leading man is a mystery.

He's there throughout the movie, but his big scene comes toward the end, when he gives the hero a speech, probably about shaping up, or sticking to his principles or not losing the girl. He's never at the top of the credits, but he's the one who increases the average vaginal moisture content in the theatre.

Jack handled the attention brilliantly. He paid them the requisite courtesy of a young man acknowledging the attentions of tipsy women coming on to him in public. They were hot for him. But in all our relationship, Jack had never given me any reason to doubt his fidelity. I trusted him completely.

He would politely bat away their compliments and their innuendos, joke with them in kind, and when he turned back to me, he made me feel, with his eyes, his words, his hand high up on my thigh under the table, as though I was the only woman on the whole ship.

You can't begin to imagine how sexy that is, how secure and loved that makes a woman feel, how wet my juicebox was, and how richly I rewarded him after we had skipped dessert and made our excuses.

Next morning, Jack kicked off with a dip in one of the ship's pools. I watched from the shade, shielding my pasty alabaster skin. As he emerged from the water, I worshipped his body with my eyes, getting increasingly aroused as I planned what to do with it when we got back to my cabin.

But I wasn't the only one with eyes.

A low whistle came from a nearby deckchair. "What did I tell you. Would you look at that package." It was one of the women from dinner last night. "That has to go special delivery."

"My God, yes," her companion said. "It must weight a ton. If he fell overboard, that thing would drag him straight to the seabed."

"I wish it would drag him to my bed. Christ, I'm so horny..."

I was outraged. They had no right to talk about my baby that way. That was my job!

As for those swimming trunks, yes, well, I had bought them for him, but I hadn't reckoned on the startling effect when they were wet...

Back at the cabin, Jack just laughed when I told him what had happened. "C'mon. Let's take a stroll. It's a big ship. We'll be able to avoid them."

You'd think. But at our first stop, in one of the onboard coffee shops, who should we spot but our two friends. We hurried past them to the counter. I bought an apple. Jack eventually chose a banana. We went up to the empty mezzanine floor and took a banquette seat, looking down through the glass partition at the women.

"Aren't you going to eat that?" I asked Jack.

"I have a better idea. Scoot to the edge of your seat. Good. Now spread."

"Oh, no! Anyone looking up here could see me! I don't want to flash the whole ship."

"Do as I say, Mom." He held up the banana. It was big - not as big as him, but it had an intriguing curve.

"Jack, no! You can't be serious. I won't stand for this."

"Luckily you don't have to. Just stay sitting." His strong hands were already spreading my reluctant thighs and his fingers were inside me. Then, before I knew it, he had inserted the yellow tip.

"Jack, I swear, if you don't take that thing out of me this instant..."

He wiggled it in the entrance of my cunt. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the sensation.

"Just say, Mom, if you want more. A little more in your cunt. Just another inch? There, how does that feel?"

This was madness. "Get it out of me, Jack ... take it out this minute. Oh, God, that feels ..."

He pushed it in further. I had to admit, the curve felt great. But we couldn't do this. Anyone looking up here would see us. Nevertheless, between his pressure on the banana, and my lack of resistance - I may even have tilted my ass to give him easier access -- he soon had it five or six inches up me and was beginning to fuck me.

"Are you enjoying this, Mom, getting screwed by a piece of fruit?" he whispered in my ear. "Is there anything you won't do to get that little fuck-hole filled?"

I knew I should have been furious with him. Knew I should have been disgusted at what he was doing. But - as with so many of things he did that I resisted - I was loving this. The combination of risk and eroticism. He knew me and my needs better than I did. I concentrated on the irresistible see-saw motion, one end rubbing my clit and the other bending up to touch me inside.

I knew someone might glance up here at any moment, so I willed myself to make this quick. I craned my neck to look down. I moved my big boobs out of the way and watched it, thick and long and yellow, push into my pubic thatch, then pull out again, shiny with my juices. I watched my furry lips cling to it as it came out, and be pushed in as he re-inserted it. Concentrating on cumming, I sat back, and the scene played like a movie across my eyelids as I moved toward release.

No wonder he had take so long to select the banana: it was a good choice for pleasing a woman. This was dirty and dangerous, but it was bringing me to a climax. Soon enough, with that thing moving in and out of me, I was gasping and bucking my hips as I came. On a piece of

fruit

.

I fell back, panting. And that's when there was a movement at the corner of my eye. We were being watched by a small child, three or four years old. I flushed hot. When had he gotten here? How much had he seen? He slowly turned his big eyes from me and said in an English accent to someone behind us: "Mummy, Daddy. That lady there..."

I tried to sit up, But I was still impaled on my organic dildo. Jack stared into my eyes, knowing I couldn't do a thing about it. Panicking, I shuffled back in the seat, but he moved the banana with me. I tried to shift forward, but he held it firm. He had me pinned down. His eyes gleaming with amusement at my predicament, he held me there for a dangerously long time, staked to the seat, then slowly he withdrew the banana, which made a sucking sound as it came out.

I was down the stairs as fast as my wobbly legs would carry me, and out the door. I stood on the deck and looked back to see Jack at a table, charming the two young ladies, who were simpering and smiling.

Come on, get a move on.

"What was that about?" I said when he finally joined me outside.

"Just having a chat with our friends."

"Well, I don't ... wait -- where is the banana?"

"Oh, I must have left it on their table," he said innocently.

I looked inside. One of the women was now holding the same banana that I had last seen when it was slick with my slime. She began peeling it, then ...

Oh, dear!

I took his hand and smelled his fingers. "Heavens above, Jack, if I can smell it, so can they. Come on, let's lose ourselves."

"Do you think they'll call the cops?" he said with a grin. "I can see the headlines.

FRUIT FUCKS LOCAL MOM -- Woman can't cum fast enough

."

"More like

FRUIT RAPES LOCAL MOM -- Traumatized toddler testifies in court,

" I replied.

"It wasn't actually as dangerous as you thought," he said. "With the reflection off the balcony glass, you'd have had to look pretty closely to see much from down below."

"Hmmm. I wonder how much that poor kid saw."

"Oh well, my Cummy Mummy," he said in a British accent, "It'll be something we can discuss with our new best friends. The young ladies are looking forward to renewing our acquaintance at dinner."

No chance. Jack was confined to cabin after that, like a hound on a leash. And that was the best thing we could have done. Away from home, no emails, no phone calls, no dinners to cook, we fucked. And fucked and fucked and fucked. We

rocked

that damn boat. The only time I got dressed was to throw on a robe when our meals or cocktails were delivered to my cabin door.

On the sleeper train from Calais to Paris, I took my first load of semen on foreign soil. Then my second ... We rutted half the night and left our couchette stinking of sex, staggering out at Gard du Nord to catch a taxi to the hotel.

In the corridor outside our room, Jack unlocked the door and swept me off my feet. "Welcome to the honeymoon suite," he said, carrying me across the threshold. Well, that deserved a blowjob. No sooner had the door closed than I had unzipped him and lowered my head to feed.

But after showering, we made a real effort to keep our hands off each other's bodies. This was Paris, after all. We ventured out for some sight-seeing. But we were not in a touristy section. This was all high-end retail, geared for visitors with money. Jack had assumed I would book us into some romantic, rundown little hotel, not a modern monolith. But that was all part of my plan.

We did some window shopping, wandering into a few fashion and tech shops and ending up at a jewelry store. The sales assistant admired the wedding band around my neck. "Where is the clasp? How do you remove it?"

"No clasp," I told her in French. "This is for life. It's for my lover. I'm never taking it off."

She raised her eyebrows and nodded almost imperceptibly at Jack, who was off inspecting a case of bracelets.

What the hell. I was dying to tell someone. Why not this woman on the other side of the world. I would never see her again - who could she tell?

I nodded. It felt so good to reveal my secret. "Yes, he is my lover," I said in a low voice. I resisted telling her he was my son - they probably have laws against that in France too.

"He's beautiful. And what - 24 years, 25?" she asked casually.

"Nineteen," I replied.

Her eyes widened and her hand went to her throat. She was almost panting. "A 19-year-old lover? My God, madame is blessed. And the band, the ring -- you cannot take it off? You wear it everywhere? In the shower, as you sleep, when he mates with you? At 19 they are always hard. He must ride you often."

"Morning, noon and night. Everywhere. The greatest sex of my life. And my ring - my metal collar - is a sign that I am his forever. I submit to him completely. I submit and he fucks me."

"I understand," she murmured. "He is your master. There is nothing you will not do to prove your love." She examined Jack. "He looks like you, madam, if you do not mind me saying so. His eyes, especially. The angles of his face. I think you are closely ..." I thought she was going to say

related

; and I knew that's what she meant, but she said: "closely

suited

. Very closely."

So she had guessed. My heart leapt up in my throat. I nodded and ducked my head, blushing: "It's true."

She laid a quivering hand on mine. "

L'inceste

? With your 19-year-old son? Mother of God," she whispered excitedly. "The pleasure, it must be exquisite."

The tears came to my eyes. "The things he does to me. He is my life - my

life

, do you understand? Before this, there was nothing. I wish I could shout it to the sky. My son, my lover, my whole world. But I cannot say anything. You are the first person ... the only person ..."

"Madame is a lucky woman," she said, breathing heavily. "You cannot say anything, but you have everything. I wish I had the courage. I would ... But, now," she broke off, "here is your young man, and I think he has other things on his mind than shopping. Go, madame, and live our dream."

As we left, she turned the sign on the door to Closed and drew down the blinds. And I knew that in the back room, sitting on an office chair, skirt around her ankles, those elegant fingers would soon be dancing the can-can on her chic Parisian clitoris...

Jack and I had an early dinner in the hotel restaurant, then I dragged him upstairs. Neither of us had climaxed since morning. He fingered me in the lift, and if we'd been staying on the 30

th

floor rather than the 20

th

, I would have cum. No matter: I had something else in mind.

It was a year to the day since we had first slept together -- a night I would never regret. This was going to be a night I would never forget. I sat him on the bed in the master bedroom and took his shoes off. "Give me 10 minutes," I said.