ALL ROADS LEAD TO TROUBLE
My son and I love the new HBO series ‘Rome’. We faithfully watch it every Sunday evening together. We also have HBO on demand, so if we miss an episode we can catch up, or repeat an episode if we desire. If you have seen any shows at all, you know how earthy, even erotic the programs can be.
Each Sunday night, we get comfortable in our robes, and sit on the couch together. I with my wine, he with a beer – now that he is old enough – and some kind of cheese or other snack on the coffee table in the living room. The lights are low; we cuddle, as is our custom. It’s just Bob and I now. Robert; my husband, died 10 years ago from cancer. Since then, Bobby has been the man in my life.
Until a few weeks ago, he was the man of the house, but strictly in an suitable manner; no matter what thoughts had crossed either of our minds, and what desires had hidden within our lusting libidos. Evidently, as events proved, both of us had naughty thoughts about the other for some time. ‘Rome’ was the catalyst for the volcanic eruption of erotic feelings we mutually had, releasing the hot lava flow of lust and physical desires from our inner depths.
The first inkling I had, of how the HBO series was going to change things between Bob and I, was the very first episode. In that opening hour, Octavian sees his mother rising from her bathing, totally nude. There are similarities enough in comparison to the actress who plays Atia, and myself, that we might be sisters, though I the younger. I was surprised at this amount of bare skin, full frontal at that, but had to remind myself – other times, other places – other mores, and this was cable.
After all the Japanese have different bathing and nudity standards than Midwestern Americans – and Rome was not Christianize as yet, when these events were happening. I glanced at Bobby; he saw my look and went totally red, then locked into the scene on the small screen again, as it finished. I thought for a moment that perhaps my boy was embarrassed for his mom to witness such an intimate moment, between a mother and son.
However, then my gaze fell lower than his flushed face, drawn to his lap, as his hands made a futile attempt to subtly cover his crotch. I had to conclude that he had sprouted an erection. His dilemma was not; as I had first thought, that I should have seen the TV activity, but rather the boner Bob had sprung. I realized in an instant that my son had been turned on by the incestuous implications, of the inadvertent exposure of Atia, to her youthful offspring. Additional, I surmised that his awkwardness came from a desire to see me naked in the bath, or otherwise nude somehow. But in fact he had!
“Bobby, do you remember when you saw me in the bath?”
“Yeah, Mom, I walk in on you, I had to piss – uh pee. I remember that I got to see your breasts, the left aureole was slightly oval compared to the other, and your pubic hair was a bushy brown triangle.”
“Well, you certainly did get an eyeful!”
“Sorry, Mom, I just remember all the details, because I always thought you were so beautiful, and that was an especially memorable occasion for me. I was wondering in the show, if Octavian got hard, looking at his naked mom. I wonder if he got turned on?”
(Like Bob had gotten, just now?) This was getting too close to home – our own home! I stammered, “Let’s watch and see what happens next, then.” Well the future Augustus did not make any moves on his mother, and the political plot moved forward for a while. During that lull, I contemplated the fact that my son had all but memorized my every feminine curve, and the curls of my cunt!
I remembered the incident as well. He had burst into the bathroom; I had forgotten to lock the door. I had just stood up to dry off, and I was reaching for the towel. I was Venus rising from the sea, naked and dripping, exposed in all my glory. I stood still like a statue, temporarily shocked into a pose, by my son catching me unexpectedly, and unclothed. But my brain was speeding with thoughts flashing by. I wondered at the time, what was the appropriate response?
What should I do? If I let him see me, will it warp his young mind? Or, if I make like nakedness is bad thing, will that give Bobby a sense of guilt later? For seeing his mommy, in the altogether. But it was already too late, he had seen me. Just play it cool and casual, I decided, and my spell broke. I reached for the towel, and holding it in front of me, used it to begin drying my head. Bobby had been looking at me a bit wide eyed, while those seconds passed by, in a long stretched moment of heightened conscientiousness.
Then he turned to the commode and said, “I gotta pee real bad, Mom!” and then he dropped his pants and pulled down his undies and urinated; like it was just as if I was doing laundry, and he was getting a soda. I remember his peter, too. It was a nicely circumcised penis. I wondered at the current state of my boy’s development now, as we sat watching the TV. Would the length and thickness be as long and fat as his father’s?
I came back to the present, with the sound of Bobby’s grunt. On the screen Atia with nothing on, was getting it on with some man. As I looked over at my boy, Bobby’s boner was bobbing out the fly of his boxers. It was anything but short and it looked thick. Any moment I half expected to see semen fly. My guess was that he had at least his dad’s dick and perhaps then some! I then became aware that my nipples were hard, and I was damp between my thighs. I was turned on, by my son being turned on. Turned on by a woman who looked like his mom, I realized! Was he thinking of me, as he watch the most graphic sex scene which I had ever seen, outside of an outright porno film?
Perhaps I glimpsed a bit of pre-cum, before he stuck it back inside his shorts, I was unsure. However, the show was over for the night, even if the TV program had a half hour to go. No more Atia antics, nor Bob’s big stalk growing out of his underwear. We finished our drinks, and I carried the food into the kitchen to be wrapped and refrigerated. The man of the house retired to his room to sleep, per chance to dream – of me? His mom, in wet dreams? Those thoughts were making me wet! Why? Did I want to . . . nah! Uh-uh! I was just horny after all these years without a fuck. Still, hadn’t I been curious of his dick, when he walked in on me. Was I in some way getting an erotic tingle, when he tinkled?
I retreated to my own room and stripped. I thought – wouldn’t Bob like to bust in on me now, and see my bust? Would he be in a hurry to see my hairy, horny, humid vee? I lay upon the bed, no covers, just in case he came in. Would he come in, would I want him to come in – cum in me? Why was I having these wild, crazy thoughts about my beloved boy? What if I was taking a shower tomorrow night, and he had to . . piss. My fingers found my crotch, I flowed. In my imagination, I was standing like I had been, not even a towel handy. He drops his boxers. He is hard already. He says, “I have to cum mommy!” and he turns toward me.
My fingers fiddle with my clit, and diddle my pussy. I watch in my mind’s eye as his fist grasps and strokes the handsome hand full of flesh, the staff of manhood my boy has for his mother. I can feel the rising climax within my body; the very nastiness of the naughty encounter only serves to enhance the excitement, building to a peak. I watch as the vision of Bobby begins to spume great splashes of white ropes on my freshly cleaned flesh. The testosterone icing drips on my torso from breast to tummy. Just as this is happened, I heard him saying, “Oh god, Mom, I’m cumming for you!” This initiates my own spasms of physical pleasure, as I writhe on the mattress. I cum too, imagining my son’s orgasm has been the trigger of my own tonight.
As I lay there on my bed, in sweat and secretions that soak the sheets, I floated down to earth. I then was stiffened with shock. I realized that I had not imagined the words spoken by my son, they had been a cry heard from his room. The fantasy vision had not vocalized, the person in the adjacent room had. Bob and I had masturbated at the same time, thinking about each other. It was kind of weird, sort of having sex with your own son, and cumming simultaneously, no less! But Bob didn’t know that I had been thinking of him, had been spurred on by the thought of him spurting.
Thank God too! What might his actions be, if he knew his mother had given into a moment of lust for her son? It was the first time I could remember, of having had thoughts about Bob that way, sexually. But I doubted that tonight, was the first of Oedipal fantasies for him. I thought back over the last several years or so, and realized that he had been checking me out for some now. Had that time of catching me, in the buff in the bath, been a mind-bending experience for my boy? Had he been skewed by the incident, into wanting to screw his mommy? Had tonight’s intimacy, tempted me into wanting to be wanton with my son?
Or had I not been maybe looking to Bobby, as a surrogate spouse. Was this the first time I had ever considered my, son sexually? Not overtly, my noting how his ‘package’ bulged in his swimsuit; the glimpses of his tight buns flashing, as he scampered from the bathroom to his room after a shower, when he had forgotten his robe. Why not just ask mommy to get it, and pass it through the door? Or was the ‘streaking’ done, to provide me with erotic inspiration?
While, tonight was the initial time of his being directly the object of my physical desires, perhaps unconsciously something more had been going on. I began to recollect that there had been a blending of his father’s and Bobby’s face in dreams of sex with my departed husband. They had, in the last couple of years, been interchangeable images, as Bob was maturing to look like his dad. Was I, in fact, subconsciously lusting after Bob for sometime. This evening had it finally broken through to the surface; manifested itself as a fantasy, based in those past incidents, and present inadvertent intimacy?
I fell asleep without any answers. In the morning, I had a vague recollection of a dream, where I had been dressed in a Roman toga. I was also horny, before breakfast even!
CHARIOTS OF DESIRE
Several days later, I arrived home from work early. I had finished a project ahead of schedule and decided to make a special dinner for the two of us. A curry stew we both loved. Bob was evidently off for today. It had rained hard most of the day, and put the damper on his work at the construction site.
I could hear the TV in the living room. I thought he would hear me come in. Evidently, he had not. There he was on the couch, watching Rome again. I walked into the living room, and saw he had his pants down. He was obviously masturbating. The screen showed the scene of a naked Atia in her bath, on pause. Bob was whispering, “I love you Mom, I love you Mom.” His raging hard-on was thrusting in his flying fingers. Since his fantasies about me had been revealed in his inadvertent crying out, during his cumming the other night, I was not overly surprised.
However, I was momentarily frozen with inaction. Not wanting to embarrass him, yet at the same time, to get a gander at the cock I had imagined in my own fantasy. But I was unable to go undetected. I felt the moment go by in slow motion, his dick squirting, my panties getting wet, his turning and seeing me, my smiling as best I could, his look of surprise. I broke free of my daze and said, “I’m sorry Honey; I didn’t mean to intrude on your privacy.” A standard reply, but I almost said ‘your privates!’. I withdrew, as fast as I could on my shaky legs, to the kitchen.
I began dinner with extra noise of pans and such, to let him know I had retreated from the inadvertent exposure. Soon enough, my barefoot boy with cheeks of cherry, shuffled into the room. He made mouthing motions, but no sound came from the lips. His flabbergasted brain refused to function at that high a level. I took pity on the poor boy. I wrapped him in a motherly hug, kissed his cheek so crimson with chagrin, and murmured, “It’s okay baby, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. All boys do it, and many girls do too. It’s perfectly natural to masturbate.”
“But I . . . well, what I was viewing, I uh . . .that is. . “
I decide to defuse the issue, so that it lost its power to build a barrier between us. “Bobby, I don’t mind that you are turned on by that woman.”
“But, did you hear what I said?”
White lies are useful. “No, I was there and gone so quick I didn’t hear anything you said, Sweetie. Was it something naughty? Everybody says things they wouldn’t say out loud in company, when they are in private moments of passion. But I missed it, and I imagine you would rather not repeat it, since it was a personal thing.”
His face showed great relief. “Yeah, that’s something I wouldn’t want you to have overheard. Thanks Mom!” Bob squeezed me in a big hug, and I hugged him back. I could feel his still stiff flagpole against my abdomen. He began to extract himself from the embrace, but I held him. I put my hands on his hips drawing him tight to my body. I whispered to him. My hot breath in his ear like a lover, my breasts and hips mashed to his body, in our clench.
“You remind me a lot of your father, handsome and strong and manly. Mommy understands a boy your age has needs. It’s okay to provide relief for those urges. Don’t ever feel awkward about them, or be too self-conscious to discuss them with me, if you want to. I’m your only parent, and you can trust me with your needs. Ask whatever you want to know, and tell me whatever you might want to share. I will always understand, and be supportive, and aid in anyway I can. My goal is to help you to develop into a healthy, and wholesome adult. I love you in all ways, and nothing will ever change or diminish that.”
To my surprise Bob started crying, he clung to me like when he was a youngster. I tried to support him, even though he had long grown bigger than me by several inches, and quite a bit in weight. This unexpected reaction, was but another unanticipated turn of things, that were making life with this man/child a confusing relationship. I made soothing sounds, that got him to calm down. Meanwhile, I was getting turned on, with his ridged rod continuing to poke me in my belly. I had been turned on with the sight of his bare cock, and though it was now in his trousers, its image was still in my brain as it pressed my flesh.
“Mom, I wish I could tell you something, but I can’t. But I want you to know that I love you too, in all ways . . . all ways.” With that he gripped my hips, and pressed his hunk even harder to me. The unspoken implication in that gesture, said more than words could. Bob must have thought he had gone too far, for he broke contact abruptly, and rushed off to his room. I knew he would stay there until dinner. But that last squeeze had primed me, and lit a fuse.
I reach under my skirt and stuck my hand in my panties. If Bobby came back, he would get quite a surprise. My digits found the sweet spot, and stroked the nub for the few moments it took to bring me to climax. My knees were so weak, I had to grab the edge of the kitchen table to keep upright, and then to sit on a seat. My panties were around my ankles, the juices soaked my skirt beneath my butt. When I could catch my breath and come down to earth, I unhitched the undies from my feet. Holding them in my hand, I popped as fast as my long legs could go to my own room to change.
‘My god!’ I thought to myself, as I changed into my nightgown and robe, ‘If that had gotten any more blatant between us, I might have seduced the kid right there on the kitchen floor!’ What, I wondered, was I doing letting that amount of sexual tension charged up between Bobby and I? If a spark struck at the right – no, wrong moment – we might wind up allowing our fantasies to play out. That was no way to raise a child. Yet of course, Bob was no longer a child, he was a young man; youthful and viral and handsome and, yes I admitted it, sexy. But even the Romans, had taboos against incest. Though from what I remember from the PBS’s “I Claudius” series, such morals were sometimes ignored by the ruling families.
Several days passed, without the kind of contact that ventured into the perilous waters that we had skirted earlier. It was Sunday evening once more, and our routine had been followed as usual, save that we did not cuddle. It seemed the closeness of that simple intimacy, seemed a bit dangerous to both of us. Tonight I had freshly showered (with no interruptions), and in order to make it to the couch before the show started, I simply threw on my old bathrobe, nothing on underneath. Typical of our casual dress around the house, but perhaps not as prudent in the light of recent events. This proved true, with the subsequent outcome of that evening.
Bob was already seated at the end of the sofa. Our drinks were poured out already, and the chips and dip at ready. I sat next to him, but he did not put his arm around me, as he often did when we shared a special program together. I didn’t think of it as him being standoffish. I did noticed he was wearing the boxers again, and a half-tee that showed off his nice abs. No erection yet, so I turned my attention to the show, not consciously realizing that the show I hoped to really see was not on the screen. It turned out, that night I would be the one providing the entertainment.
There were less sex scenes, and more violence and politics in the second episode. While the story developed, and the characters were more fleshed out, (though there was enough skin shown between slave and otherwise), still the erotic content had been toned down from the first show. This seemed to mellow the mood I was in. Perhaps the bath and wine helped too. So I was a bit careless when my left hand was reaching for the chips, and scooping the dip. Eventually, I notice the son was rising in the west, at the waist if you will. I realized that when I went for a chip, the robe would dip, and he was able to glimpse my left breast. Bobby was getting the scoop on my tip.
Instantly, both of my nipples went pebble hard and pointy. Our eyes lock together, as he knew, that I knew, where his eyeballs had been. Then I looked down once more, to see the ruddy helmeted head pop out of the fly. I wondered what his balls looked like. I made an effort to look him in the face once more, he was red again. I found it amusing, though I did not want to laugh and humiliate him more. So, I said the first thing that popped into my head. “That’s the oval one.” That broke the tension, and we both giggled. Then, for some reason I can’t fathom, I pulled the robe to expose the right tit, so he could clearly see the opposite nipple, and murmured, “That’s one is still round.”
Bob’s eyes went wide, as he glued his focus to the right globe. “How about ‘What’s sauce for the gander is gravy for the goose’”? I mangled the old expression, but the genders were correct. I got a “huh” from Bob. “‘Tit for that’” I said, my creativity evidently heightened with my voyeuristic desires. I pointed to the protruding pole in his pants. I got a dumbfounded look from my son, who didn’t catch on yet. “I showed you mine, now I get to see yours!” I made it plain as I could, without actually telling him to drop drawers. Dawning came slowly, but then once he understood, he rose slightly and pushed his boxers to the floor.The fine beefcake, that had been playing peek-a-boo, was now totally exposed to my delighted eyes and leering libido. I stared at Bobby’s beautiful boner, royally erect, proud and with goodly dimensions. He was circumcised, and the helmet head was a lovely little plum by now, with a dew drop of pre-cum seeping out. I shrugged off the robe from my shoulders; my tits were fully exposed to my son’s lusting gaze. This kind of entertainment was more of orgy origin, than the arena combat we had watched in one episode, though weren’t the gladiators supposedly to be popular with the ladies? And certainly my breasts were a spectacle for Bobby, just as his spear was sporting a show for his mother!
In truth, I had a crazy desire to lick the lollipop, suck that man-candy until the sweet cream burst out. I knew that Bob would be in heaven, if he were allowed to nurse on my bodacious boobs too. Why not? I knew why not. Because one thing led to another, and I was not about to have sex with my son, even though the thought made me soak my thighs. On the other hand, I knew that it was wrong to be a cock-tease. I decided that perhaps we might help each other’s fantasies, but from a distance.
“Bobby,” I said in a sexy breathy voice, “I’m going to make a suggestion to you. If you agree to keep all this a secret, just between the two of us? And you mustn’t try to go any further than this, because I’m still your mother. But if you promise, I’ll also let you peak at my pussy!”
My man of the house could only nod his head ‘yes’. He glanced up to meet my eyes, he was all but hypnotized by the sight of his half naked object of desire. With his promise in place, (I hadn’t expected any resistance), I suggested my plan of action to him. “Bobby, when we go to bed tonight, I want you to leave your door open, and I’ll do the same. I know that you’ll masturbate thinking about fucking your momma, you can make all the groans and moans you want, call out my name, be vocal when you cum. And you can think of this when you are imagining me.” I slowly, but oh so brazenly, undid the belt of my robe and parted the sides, to show him the brown curls he had seen before in the bathroom.
“Puh . . pleh . . please open . . . ” He begged. I had not thought I would do so, but at his plea my knees parted, of their own will it seemed. I spread my thighs to flash the dripping gash of my sex. The moment was so erotic, it felt like a cherry bomb went off in my head. Still in a somewhat shaky voice, he asked, “Will you have your door open too, so you can hear everything?” I made a slow and deliberate nod, indicating that I would be listening. “Are you going to masturbate too?” I nodded again, that I would. “And will you be thinking of me, and you doing it?” I smiled and closed my thighs. Then I leaned forward, and with my nipples brushing his chest, kissed his lips very lightly.
I whispered in his ear, “Why, you’ll just have to hear, and find out for yourself, big boy!” I reached out and gave a quick squeeze to my son’s sex baton. Leaving my robe still on the couch , I walked naked as a jaybird to my bedroom. Behind me, Bob followed my lead. His shorts were still on the floor, in front of the couch, the next morning. I went into the bathroom to relieve my bladder, then proceeded to my bedroom, and opened my door, I left it all the way to the wall. Climbing on the bed I shut off the light on the nightstand. Turning around, I saw Bob standing at the door. His athletic torso was silhouetted in the door frame; I could discern his penis still at attention. I waved at him, and said in a sugar-coated voice, “Goodnight, dear! Sweet dreams . . .!”
Bob turned and left, I heard him open his door and it knocked against the stop. Let the fun and games begin, I thought! But a few minutes went by, and I didn’t hear anything. It occurred to me perhaps he was waiting to hear my own moans. So I began to stroke my nipples with both hands. I smiled, recalling the look of lust that had filled Bobby’s face when he saw them both completely bare, not having to just remember his mommy’s mammeries, as he got to view them once more. The nipples responded to the physical stimulation, but were all the more sensitive for the psychological eroticism, knowing that my son wanted to do this to them too.
I moaned softly, but loud enough to carry to my son’s waiting ears. Then I also touch my clitoris, and my fingers slid down to tease briefly at my opening. “Oh! Bobby,” I all but called in a louder voice, “I like your body, I think you’re so sexy. I wish you could touch me right now!”
I heard his bed shift, the old springs creaking, then he responded. “God mom! You’re so hot! I’ve wanted to make love to you for so long now. I think about you every night. I wanted to get a look at your pussy, and this evening I got to see it up close. It was all open and hot and red and wet and ready! What I wouldn’t do or give, to put my aching prick into that sweet hole. I know it would be tight, and squeezing my hard dick to make me cum. I would stroke in you slow and then hard, at first gentle and then more quickly. I’d be the best lover you ever had!”
Well, that was certainly an earful! I longed to see what I knew had to be happening in the other room. I envisioned his fingers wrapped around the meaty shaft, moving up and down like he was putting into me, thinking about me beneath him. Was he using some pre-cum to help, and saliva to make the motion smoother? He sounded like he was trying to sell me on screwing him. But I wanted to hear the words, and tones of his being lost in the throes of pleasuring himself. “Bobby . . .” I directed my words to him, “I want you to think about what mommy is doing to herself right now. I’m putting two fingers in my pussy, and pretending that it’s you in me.” That got a grunt from him. “My nipples are hard, because I’m imagining that you’re sucking on them, as you are thrusting your big cock inside my cunt.”
“OH Yeah, Mom! I’m inside you, and I’m going to make you cum big. I’m going to fill you up with my hot cream!”
This was more like it! “Yes, Honey! Make mommy climax, make me cum. I want all of your gooey cream in my tummy. Squirt in my cunt; fire your hot sperm into my womb! Let it all go, mommy wants her boy to release his jism all up, deep inside me . . . Oh yes, ohh! I’m cumming now, Baby! Cum with me!” I hoped to have him pop his cork right then, as I was so keyed up I was ready to get climax myself!
“Oh yeah! Mom, I’m shooting my wad in you . . . uh, uuhh. Aahh . . mommy – here it is, jeez! I’m creaming big gobs!” Moments of our panting duet followed, and I went off myself.
My right hand was stroking the clit with the middle finger, as the rest of the digits combed the labia and pubic hair. My left had the middle three fingers shoved into my love tunnel, which wished they were my son’s cock jammed to the hilt. The shock-wave was a sweeping blast of spasms, and my head imploded, a skyrocket of an orgasm. I was so primed for that peak, it was a huge flash and explosion of physical pleasure, that I had waited for, had so greatly wanted.
My heaving sighs joined his, then as we both calmed down, I said, “Thank you Darling, that was hot! Have a good sleep, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
Could we do that together sometime, I mean watching each other?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Babe. Too much of a temptation to go further, like touching each other and maybe even more. But you can dream about it, sweet wet dreams!”
“I understand . . . sweet dreams – of me I hope! Good night.”
Soon all was quiet. His breathing I could hear turned regular, and then entered the soft pattern of youthful rest. I lay there thinking of the audacious act I had just committed, with my own son. If not outright incest, then certainly the very spirit of it. I wondered if I should feel worse about it than I did. I was determined not to let things get outright physical; but after all, he already fantasized about me. And now I, him too. If we have shared about our desires for each other, wasn’t that better than hiding them and their being a secret? Better to channel them in a benign way like we just had, than giving into them. But, could it be kept at that safe distance? Perhaps I should not allow our little listening game to go on. Yet . . . it had been sooo good!!
Now because of several circumstances, it was a couple of weeks before Bobby and I watched ‘Rome’ together again. He went to the movies with his buddies, to see a blockbuster action flick. I had a long-standing invitation to a party, celebrating a close gal-pal’s birthday. Since we had HBO on demand, both of us kept up with the missed episodes, but we did not watch them at the same time, due to our busy schedules.
Nighttimes were more subdued in the following days, than the eventful evening of spiritual incest. I spoke to Bob about the need to not let the special sharing we had, develop into more. Nor, was that to be any sort of regular activity we ought to be engaged in. He said he understood, and would respect my limitations and the boundaries I outlined. I don’t think he was convinced that we should cool the sexual intimacy, but he did not put up any resistance. My guess was he was biding his time, until another opportunity arose. That he figured arguing would only make me less likely to be open to such an encounter again. This was wise on his part, and it worked.
Of course, even with doors closed, our adjacent rooms allowed us to hear one another masturbate, and once in a while the doors might be ajar. So while there were no more explicit ‘play-dates’, there were times when we would both be participating in double-eavesdropping; thinking of one another, as our hands and fingers substituted for an incestuous partner. We didn’t dialog, but our vocalization was explicit. We both knew that we had a consensual reciprocal audience in the next room, catching the sounds of our lusting self-abuse. No doubt these bedtime shenanigans fueled the underlying lust that possessed us both. It certainly contributed to the torrid tomfoolery that followed.
The next couch rendezvous for ‘Rome’, I was clothed in a light flannel robe. Bob was in cotton pajamas, as the season descended into autumn. That’s right, it was the “fall of ‘Rome’”; and of course other things were in decent, such as moral standards in our home. Things were becoming indecent indeed. The show produced no erotic moments, but had a memorable line by Atia. After the show had ended, I turned to Bob and said, “Well, you don’t have to ‘eat goat’s balls’ to put ‘oak’ in your penis’ . .”!
Bob grinned at me and said, “I wondered if you caught that. You know all I have to do, to get a woody, is think about you, mom. I love you, and you’re so beautiful. You’re sexier than any of the women on the show.” He had his arm around me that evening as he often did, and he leaned into me and gave me a big kiss on the lips. I kissed him back. He continued to kiss me, and I heard loud alarms going off in my head. But the moment was so sweet, I found it hard to resist. We continued to buss, and then Bobby Frenched me. I pushed him back from the clench and looked at him.
He had big puppy-dog eyes. I just smiled and shook my head slightly. However, he looked so cute and forlorn I gathered him into me, in a big warm hug, my arms encircling his chest. As my son and I hugged each other, there at the sofa, I felt his firm chest expand with a sigh, my breasts were pliant against his torso. His hands began to stroke my back in a rubbing motion. An innocent massage, that felt very nice and comforting. I patted his back, and said how good his hands felt doing that. My son began to knead the muscles in a back rub. Soon though, the strokes move to my sides, and brushed against the pout of my tits. Puppy wanted to get his paws on mommy!
Well, I was getting in heat, and I thought a little petting might not be too naughty, as long as we kept our clothes on. My hands went to his neck, and caressed the back of his head. I turned his face to me with gentle guidance, and kissed him, then Frenched him! That was a signal he took to be bolder, and while we did kissy face, his hands maneuvered toward my front. They found the mounds of soft flesh and the hard nipples that capped them. He was tender while exploring the friendly territory, my bosom welcoming the arousing touches. He tweaked the hidden buds, and cupped the swell, giving a delicate lifting squeeze to sense their suppleness and weight.
It was then, that I that reached out, and put my hand down his pajama pants. Under the elastic, nestled in soft springy hair was his rigid cock. It was smooth and hot, long and strong, thick and oozing pre-cum; which I expertly swirled around the head. I thought about the time I had seen it fully exposed in all its glory, a thing of beauty, a scepter I wanted to accept inside me, but knew would be sinful to do. My hand glided up and down the staff of my son, so lightly that there was only the barest of friction, the faintest of feeling to his supersensitive skin. I knew how to handle a man in that condition. One does not want to treat it like just meat, but rather like a fragile instrument.
I felt Bobby’s right hand slide down to my hip and up to my breast, then down to hip, and lower to my knee. Then under the gown along the outside my leg. I was still making creative lip contact, but gasp as I felt him make the move. I ought to have objected, but I was the one who had breached his britches; so how could I say no now, when he was wanting to be naughty in my nightie? I didn’t want to let go of the toy I was tinkering with. It was only fair that my son got to jiggle my jugs, and touch my tush. However, once he had handled my hind end, he headed for my bush. I whispered my reservation about this threshold being transgressed.
“Baby, not there, that’s going to far, I can’t let you . . .”
“But, mom,” he interrupted, “you’re feeling my dick – can’t I just see how wet you are? Just once, a quick feel of you down there. I promise that I won’t go any further than you say. Please mommy, let me, I want to touch you too.”
I was holding puppy-dog’s boner, and he wanted to play with my pussy. ‘Tit for tat’, my own words came back to me in a chiding tone of irony. “Okay, Honey. But just for a moment, so you can see how hot your kisses have made me.” My son’s hand came round my thigh, tugging to try to open my private place to his exploration. I let my knees spread, and scooted my rear forward, to allow access to between my legs. Bobby cautiously ran his hand up my leg, and made for the juncture that was his goal. It slid over the thighs inward and invading the thatch of hair, but didn’t tarry there as he wanted to dally lower. The hand turned south, and his fingers began to seek the swamp below the forest.
Meanwhile, I was gripping the handle of manhood, of the hunk who was holding one of my knockers, and finding my nub of femininity with his thumb. As he discovered the pearl of pleasure, he made a sideways motions which made me almost pass out. I lifted my legs so that the gown dropped to my waist, the full of my womanhood once more exposed to my son’s sight. Now, however, his fingers were finding the exposed privates a playground of sexual excitement. They found their way to the labia, and caressed the nether lips, before foraging into the dripping hole of my vagina. First one finger sought to snake its way up, then two returned.
I pulled down his PJ’s bottoms to his feet, and began stroking once more the grand glands, the spectacular spear of my boy. His fingers began to work in and out, sawing the wet opening, finger fucking me, his mother. I could tell I was going to cum with all this stimulation at my loins, and the exhilarating lust in my head. But I feared we would go past the point of mutual masturbation, and actually have intercourse. I cried out my fear, which at the same time it was also my intense desire. ‘Don’t fuck me Bobby, we can’t do that! Just cum in my hand. Let mommy see you shoot. Let it all go on my tummy, squirt your sperm on mommy’s belly.”
“Cum with me mom,” suddenly his fingers were deep, and he switched to a curling wavy motion that hit my G-spot. That was both unexpected, and like nothing his father, or any other man had ever done. It was totally awesome, and utterly unavoidable in the effect it had on my cunt. I blasted. Dynamite in the hole went off. A geyser of fluid literally shot out of my pussy, while I clamped down on the digits that continued to trigger multiple orgasms, that seem to go on and on. With the last of my strength, I stroked his pole to bring Bobby off too. The sight his mom going over the top, with me beating his meat, made my kid cum.
Almost as in my first fantasy of this moment, weeks ago, Bob’s ejaculation sprang out of the tip, in long white streams landing not on my abdomen, but upon the mons, my pubic hair was festooned with his semen. And one drop clung, in a portend of things to cum, to my left labia – right at the very portal of love. Disaster had been diverted, incest had been avoided, at least the ultimate act, at least for now. Bobby bent to me, and hugged me. I could feel his still firm dick throbbing against my lower body. I wanted to someway to thank him, for our night of passion, and his self-control when I had almost none. I pulled the gown’s neck down exposing my left breast. I moved my son’s face to it, so that nipple and lips connected.
“The oval one.” I murmured as my boy began to nurse. I felt his penis begin to grow hard once again. Bobby started to rub it against me, it was going lower, and lower, and I knew where it was going. But I was not about to go there, with my son. Things had gotten out of hand tonight. (Well, things had gotten ‘handled’, and that was the reason for what had gone on.) But it had to stop, before it went beyond what had already been too much intimacy, between a mother and son. If we did go all the way, then I was unsure that we wouldn’t be able to stop from making love anytime we wanted. A horny teenage boy, and a lonely woman with the hots, were a combination that made for spontaneous combustion.
My musing had distracted me from the events transpiring at the middle of our bodies. Bobby’s cock was now cruising up and down my slippery soaked crotch, a heat-seeking missile that was looking for a silo. The turgid tuber of flesh was wanting to go to ground, as it was grinding against my soggy rut. I grabbed his ass-cheeks with both hands, and pulled him tight. “Do you remember what you promised me, about limits and respecting my boundaries? Then we have to stop, because you are about to cross into the land of incest, and we must not go there, ever. No matter how much we want to, we are not going to fuck. Because our love for one another, is greater than our lust for each other. Okay?”
“Okay . .” He stopped. Damn!
The next week passed; time went both slowly, when I thought of what our next viewing of the series would bring, and quickly, when I was absorbed in the everyday routines that were part of living in our contemporary life. In a way, I was like the ancient peasant wife, waiting for her husband, who was off in foreign lands, for him to return from the fighting, looking forward to a loving reunion. On the other hand, I was involved in modern mundane matters: making Caesar salads and preparing pasta, feeding the beast of burden called a Buick, making the sacrifices any mother would make for her child, and of course participating in the back-stabbing politics of the local PTA.
Meanwhile, my kid was up to something. But what, I wasn’t sure of, as he was keeping it mum from his mom. It involved trips to the library, some fussing around in old storage boxes in the attic. A load of laundry he wouldn’t let me see. (What an odd activity!) And Bob asked me to pick up a couple of bottles of a good Chianti. He went grocery shopping too. But I didn’t see what he got, not snacks from my observations of his trash. He had some plan, but it was as hidden as that cart load of treasure on the show. But when it did come to light, it was a delight and a treasure!On the evening of the next episode, my son – get this! – made dinner. He said it was an authentic meal that could have been served back in the time of first-century B.C. The wine was for the meal, so we cracked open one bottle and saved the other for the show. He was very good too. The lamb wasn’t over-cooked, and the vegetables were mixed with an oil and herb dressing and steamed. Bobby had done research at the library on all of it. Too bad some of his school projects had not been given as much effort. But then his motivation was a bit stronger, as the goal he was going for was not a grade of A, but an F for . . . well, I didn’t intend that he might accomplish that laurel, but to the victor . . . I won’t spoil the ending if I tell you he did to me what Anthony did to Cleopatra.
He told me that he had prepared the evening to be a special one, so that we might enjoy the watching of our favorite program in a ‘Rome-mantic’ ambiance. I was pleased by his taking charge, it was a very adult and mature commanding man that I was contending with that evening. Not that I was objecting to his directions initially. He said that the Romans bathed regularly, and that he had his earlier, but I was to take a bath before dinner, please. Well, that was no big deal, I was happy to oblige him. After all, I didn’t have to cook, he had been doing that. I enjoyed my time in the tub, but when I returned to my room, wrapped in a towel, I was met by him in a sheet.
It was draped around him like a toga! Bobby explained that he has studied the style and way of wearing the antique fashion. He had gotten a couple of old bed linens form our storage, and washed them. Using safety pins to fasten the garment on, he said he thought it would be fun to wear them, while we were viewing the period they were popular in. I was a bit surprised, but agreed that it would set the mood very nicely, for the meal and viewing that night. He then said he would help me to dress in the manner that was our attire for the affair, both banquet and show. I asked what was the type of underwear they used.
“None”, was his answer, and he smirked as he said that I ought to lose the terrycloth, because it was time to be attired in my toga. The scamp! I knew what he was waiting for, so I undid the knot. The material around my torso fell suddenly to the floor. I stood before him, once more like Venus rising naked from the sea, for him to take it all in. The penis on him was rising too, I could see it must be standing, tenting the fabric at his middle. However, Bob brought over my covering, and did a masterful job of swathing me in the expanse of cloth, fixing the clasp at my shoulder to secure the apparel. He even fixed up my tresses in Alia’s style. I could have been an extra on the set! But I felt more like a goddess, the way my son seemed to worship me, as he worked.
Dinner was scrumptious, and with the several glasses of wine I had, (he kept my goblet filled!) I was feeling quite mellow by the time the night’s entertainment came on. I also, was expecting my son to come on to me, as well. After all, he had managed to get me nude already, as he was dressing me, and the exotic clothing, turned out being quite erotic, as I discovered. I was sure that the kind of activity which we had engaged in during prior programs, would be stirring pyres of lust in my Italian stallion beside me. What I didn’t expect was the plot of the broadcast we wound up watching. Did my son? Hard to say, perhaps he had a hint, or it might have been pure serendipity. Have you seen that episode? Where Octavia seduces Octavian? Incest, beamed right into your living room.
It wasn’t Atia and her son, but it was still family relations. We were in our familiar pose, Bob’s arm around me, our hips snug against each other, the body heat went right through the thin fabric. It was warmer than last week, but I felt a flush of warmth in my face that had nothing to do with temperature of the air. The atmosphere was charged with sexual tension, the energy of the titillating scene was tantalizing in the intimate setting, a temptation to take up where we had left off before. As the credits rolled, I turned my head to gaze at my handsome son, and his look of fond regard was my reward. We kissed. Then we smooched some more, as Bobby’s hand softly sought my breast and my fingers fumbled at his boner.
In a few moments after more sweet necking on the sofa, with a nimble move of his dexterous digits, my pin became open, and my gown gave way. There were my charms exposed again to the eyes of my boy. His mouth made a trail from my throat to the tips of my tits. I closed my lids and allowed his lips to love my erect rosettes. His palms cupped my globes and squeezed gently to test their tender fullness. I was his woman, his partner to our shared passion. I gave myself over to the sensual sucking, that I long ago had once had from him as an infant, but now Bob was a man, making love to his mother’s mammaries. His devotion was equally divided between both orbs of flesh he feasted on, a banquet of pulchritude, a meal on mommy’s two teats.
When he was done with nibbling on my mounds, he went for feasting in valley territory. I knew that I needed to make a token protest, at least. How could I let my son go down on me, without trying to keep him from doing what I was sure was too naughty for a mother to allow her offspring to do? Except he was not a child, but an adult; young, but mature; my baby, but grown; my kid, but becoming my paramour as he continued lower. “Darling,” I whined. I gasped when his tongue tickled my gash, “Remember we have limits. You mustn’t be there like that. You can’t . . . uhh . . . my cunt. Noo, please . . . ohh, yes! do that!” Bobby was not paying attention to my objections, but my words, now were communicating the opposite from what I begun with, had tried to say at the start.
“Mmm . . . higher, lick my clit! Yess . . like that, faster – now slowly.” He took direction just fine now. “Yeah, put your tongue deep in to my opening. Uhm, uhm . .ooowh!”
His sounds were muffled, but he was making, “Yum – - yum” noises an he munched on mamma’s mons of Venus. He had a natural talent for cunnilingus, Latin for eating pussy. (Did that make him a ‘Latin’ lover?) I was too far gone to prevent him from ravishing my cunt with his oral assault. I knew that soon enough my vaginal Vesuvius was going to erupt. Bobby was as merciless with his torture as any cruel master, I was a slave to his slavering lashes. His laps upon my poor pud punished me with pampering pleasure. I was unable to stop the spread of my thighs and the lifting of my legs, with knees bent and pelvis tilted to provide entree to my nether recesses. Bob took full advantage of the situation gave every fold and crevice wet caresses, with his face fastened to my crotch.
Then, I felt the quaking that signaled the earth was about to move, the world to rock, the firmament liquefy. My whole being shuddered, my hips began bucking upwards with involuntary spasms of orgasmic contractions. My soles and toes clenched, my anus puckered, my face was a mask of grimace. I could tell the flow of my frothy emulations were pouring out. My hysterical cries were driven from my lungs in long wails. I had an effervescent fever fill my head, my brain stopped functioning at any sort of higher level, and was simply pure primal animal feelings of instinctive craving for physical gratification. I came down to earth like a bungy cord of nerves and muscular twitches, with aftermath jolts – alternating with reflexive relaxation. Finally concluding with the collapsing all my tensions, and I surrendered to a sweet blissful numbness of not any conscious thought at all.
I was dimly aware of being guided upstairs to my bedroom by my son. Bobby was now as unclothed as I, we were totally naked, but our nudity hardly registered, and caused no surprise or concern of any sort in my blurred mental state. I was not drunk, (maybe a bit tipsy after my more than my fair share to the two bottles of Italian wine); but I was more wiped out by the awesome orgasm I had just yielded to, thanks to the oral talents of my equally bare escort. Bob lay me on my mattress, I stretched out, grateful for the soft comfort under my body, which was still quivering a little from the concussions of the tumultuous cum he had provided.
I remember his clambering up beside me and our embrace, an entwining hug, with delicate kisses and caresses of the most caring sort. Then I drifted off, to wander among the fleecy clouds, as shepherd boys played pan-pipes. Satyr fauns fondled me, while cherubs brought the most delicious skins of wine, bowls of ambrosia, and flowers to festoon my tresses and body. I woke feeling like I had been in a Disney film, with Pegasus’ families, and centaurs, and an idyll landscape of lusty romps and romantic trysts. I realized those images were Greek mythology, but that stuff had been appropriated by the Romans, right?
In any case, my private faun, to my naughty nymph, was stirring as well, as the bright sunlight streaked through the narrow slot between the drapes. Memories of last night’s frolic and royal banquet, (I wasn’t thinking of the lamb), came back to replace my lingering dream imagery with real memories of our Roman holiday. But, this vacation of romantic rendezvous was not over yet. I spied the pipe I wanted to play, the flute I wished to flirt with, the peter of Bobby, my personal pan-boy. I bent over the morning woodie of my son, and began to wet his whistle with my mouth. Reciprocating for his lascivious licking of last evening, I swallowed his wand as deep as I could, almost gaging as it threatened to touch my tonsils.
I made it my mission to massage that member, so that he must succumb to mamma’s mouth. But with all my skills he would not give up his crème, he remained turgid but could not cum. Or would not, I wasn’t sure. Eventually, my facial muscles grew tired, and I had to give the fine art of fellatio a rest, and take a breather. I lay back panting, but my own arousal had been stimulated while attempting to bring my offspring off. I was happily to accept Bob’s kisses, which were little peck to start, peppering my lips and eyes and ears, then neck and breast with more ardent sucking. Then they mixed with licks and soft blowing as he pampered my entire torso. His goal was not the melt-down of last night’s eating out, but an exploration of my whole body.
He turned me on my tummy, and continued to administer his methods of making oral love. He started with my back and shoulders, worked his way down the spine, and eventually to my buns. I adjusted my thighs to allow him to kneel between, and concentrate on my butt. His tongue was now seeking to taste the sauce that was running out of my cunny. I hiked my hips to give Bobby access to the slit of my sex. From this back attack, of tongue in groove, I was getting incredibly charged-up. I was having the ache of emptiness, that signaled the need for something filling of my hollow. I felt his finger slip into the special space, it sawed in and out once or twice, before it was joined by a second.
I was open and defenseless to this handling, he was conquering my body once again with his manipulation of my genitals. Not that I was objecting. Each time he had upped the ante on our touching of each other’s privates, and there had been a gratifying outcome; yes, a satisfying cum indeed for every instance! This probing promised to be such as well. Then the fingers withdrew and did not return. For a moment, I thought Bob was going to turn me over again for a more frontal invasion of his digging digits. But no, again there was pressure at the spot where I was wet and hot. It was a smoother, blunter prod; it was his rod! I needed to object immediately, before he entered the passage of my pussy. The barbarians were at the gates of the Vestal Virgins!
Only I was no virgin, vestal pure or otherwise. Indeed, I was a womanly vessel in want of a manly filling. I had led Bobby into this garden of temptation, let my son dabble in my delights, eat in my Eden, have a taste of my apples. I had suck on his snake, for godsake! I had no right to deny him this last territory of my body, it certainly was not terra incognito by now! The limits I had set were no longer valid, as legitimate demarcations of his mother’s demurement. How could I stop my son from giving me his love in this ultimate way? I could not. I wanted him too, in the worst way, in the exquisite intimacy of incest. I felt him enter, the head gored into my most sacred site, and I sacrificed my virtue, any iota I had left of it. My offering to him, was my son’s sensuous sinful sword stabbing my fleshy wound.
Thus with that thrust, began our orgy for two. I thought, Atia didn’t know what she was missing! The greatest of the Caesars, Augustus; who once as Octavian had viewed his mother’s naked form; surely had many women during his reign of power. He had lost out on the chance to have coitus with his mother. What a pity. But we were not going to be denied that decadence, my son and I. Bob took me. I was willing, but he was in control, and he had me. There was nothing I could do, but enjoy the sweeping of that sweet meat through my juicy grotto, and back again, repeatedly reaming my rump, pumping my pussy. I hiked my hips higher, and provided a red target for his Cupid’s arrow of Eros. His javelin of love speared into my loins, and lunged deeper for the angle I offered. Bobby’s hands came under and around, to clutch my swaying breasts, and hold the spongy teats while he teased the tender tips.
I moved to my hands and knees. Bob knelt behind me, while he moved his paws to maw’s haunches, and my son banged back and forth to beat the band with his baton. I could feel the bumping of his testicles on my clit, every time he drove his fat spike in my center. He nailed me, he drilled me, he screwed me. His tool was a relentless hammer, pounding in my hole; striking the womb in the heart of my inner most recesses with every blow. I was gone off the deep end of madness, as I absorbed the best punishment of all, the smacking of Bobby’s groin against mine, in merciless lust and lechery. I gloried in the raw rutting we were engaged in, the absolute depravity of my son’s penis in his mother’s vaginal cavity. It was the beast-tial bacchanal of our incestuous love.
Then, with a firm, but not to be denied, jostling of limbs, and turning of my torso, he flipped me over; lifted my legs, and plugged back in. No doubt Bob was the dominate partner, controlling the action, making the choices. He was having his mom as his mistress, making me delirious with pleasure once more. His prick was proudly pleasing my pussy, it’s length was a ruddy shaft of muscle that split my cunt, and plied it’s skill in my slick split. I was just a body, having my every fiber carrying the current of electrical ecstasy. I had no existence, beyond the universe of ecstatic chaos, that swirled in my sex. I felt myself shrink to a pinpoint of light, and then I went NOVA!!! The burst of energy release from my focal point of being, the vortex of my nerve center, was the Big Band of paroxysms. I blacked out, I went momentarily went unconscious, from the overwhelming flash of passion I experienced.
But I was back in the midst of the boiling action, in time for my Bobby’s climax. I was glad I didn’t miss that cumming-of-age moment with him, as he became truly a man in my womanhood. He stretched out on top of me, just as I revived from my brief petite morte, and with his chest heaving on my cushioning breast, legs extended and toes stiff into the pad. He locked his penis into my vagina, and with thrilling throb – after mighty throb, squirted his hot semen into mommy’s cunt. I shed tears of joy that we had finally united in this most beautiful of acts. The blessed union of two becoming one, of our rejoining in body, and now our souls too, one in spirit. I felt a wash of love and happiness to be having sex with my boy. He was my man now, as well; I was his woman. Whatever the future held, the ancient past had been the path to it.
Rome wasn’t built in a day, and it took some time for our relationship to construct that bridge of our love; which spanned over the gulf of longing, to the land of lust, and our life of incest. But it is now history, and when I think back on what we have done, all I can say is, “Quique amavit, cras amet”, ‘May he who has loved, love tomorrow as well’!