Monica stared at her son. He had Gil's light hair, although it was bleached nearly yellow from the sun. He had her slim build, her delicate features, her sensitivity.
But it was very clear at that moment that he had his father's bull-sized cock.
She stared at the full pouch of his briefs. She tried to tear her eyes from it, but she couldn't. The big prick attached to Gil's stocky hips and full ass was a formidable-looking thing. The same cock on Bruce's slim hips and tight, girlish ass would appear absolutely devastating.
She was his mother. But she stood there in her thin housecoat with her cunt throbbing from the wild orgasm she'd just had and her nipples still spiking through the flimsy material, and she felt herself shiver.
She couldn't believe it! Thrilled sexually by the sight of her own son! And just after having her cunt split open by her husband's blasting cock!
She shivered and tore her eyes away finally, clenching the housecoat tightly around her waist, unaware that it made the flare of her hips more prominent and the jut of her round ass more saucy.
She felt Bruce's eyes on her body, and she looked back quickly. He was licking his lips. His eyes flicked upward to hers, then away.
He had been staring at her body! Was he imagining the way it had just been fucked by his father? Was his cock lifting and thickening inside his briefs right now, or was she just imagining it?
"…Bruce." She turned away again, flushing all-over, tingling from head to toe. "Yes, honey, I washed them last night," she said, her voice strange to her own ears. "I-I'll get them for you out of the dryer."
"I'll get them, Mom," he said.
She was hurrying to the laundry room. He followed her. She bent over to pull the jeans from the dryer. Her robe gaped open, and one of her tits fell firmly through the slit, spiked, red nipple and all.
She looked around quickly. He was staring at the firm cone. Her eyes were on a level with his crotch, and she couldn't possibly help seeing the sudden twitch of his cock, the formed line of it, the ridge at the end, running around his cockhead. The cotton briefs outlined everything, even the weight of his balls.
She tucked her tit back into the housecoat. She gave him a sickly smile. "Oops," she said.
He reached down for the pants. His prick swept along the side of her hip, and she could feel the ridge of the cockhead through the thin garments they wore.
He jumped back self-consciously, flushing all over, and there was no way he could hide the sudden throb of his prick, the filling of his briefs.
"Mom…" he gasped, turning his hips to the side to hide his filling cock.
"Here are your pants, Bruce," Monica said firmly, nearly gruffly. Her voice was scratchy and thick, and she didn't know which of them was more embarrassed at that moment.
He took the pants. He held them in front of him and seemed relieved that he wasn't on such display. His eyes kept flicking to the hem of her housecoat.
"Do you need a shirt too, Bruce?" she asked, wondering what he was looking at now. Was her cunt showing? God, she should just throw the damn housecoat away!
He pointed hesitantly and then decided not to. "You've got something…"
She glanced down and nearly fainted with embarrassment. A glistening trail of cum and pussy juice was running down the inside of her thigh.
"You all right, Mom?"
"Go eat your breakfast, Bruce!" she half yelled at him.
"I already ate, Mom," he said, cowering back from her sudden outburst. "While you and Dad were…" He swallowed down a big lump and couldn't keep looking at her.
"Then go get dressed, damn it!"
He swallowed again, looked terribly sheepish and injured, then turned and hurried back into the other part of the house.
Monica stood there and watched him, seeing the big lumps his balls made in the shorts, even when he was headed the other direction. She moaned heatedly and felt tingly all over.
She couldn't believe the way her heart was pounding. She couldn't stand the way her cuntlips swelled and shifted and opened and closed over the draining mouth of her cunt hole.
She pressed her pussy against the smooth, hard corner of the washing machine and fucked up against it hard, letting out another moan.
She was terrible! Her own son! Her cunt was slobbering down her thighs at the sight of her own son!
She pressed her hand against her watering twat. Even that wasn't enough. She turned her back to the doorway and bent over as if taking more clothes from the dryer and thrust her head into the gaping front of her robe.
She squeezed her whole crotch tightly, shaking it, feeling the fur and the wetness. She fucked her finger into her cunt and didn't mind the soreness. Her thumb rolled over her shamelessly straining clit, and electric jolts shot through her body and made her gasp with terrible heat.
She stood up. She looked back at the doorway. She licked her lips. She moved quickly and shut the door. She leaned against the corner and braced her fret on the floor and tipped her pelvis up.
She closed her eyes and shoved her hips forward and fucked her finger all the way up her sodden cunt. She jiggled her clit with her other hand.
Her robe gaped all the way open. Her arms squeezed in against the sides of her tits and made them thrust in firm, tight cones. Her nipples swelled with passion and jutted from the ends of her tits.
Her asscheeks bumped softly against the wall as she pumped her hips against her hands and masturbated with savage intensity.
She tried to make her shame stop her from doing this, but her body was aflame. Still, or again, she wasn't sure. Suddenly, it didn't matter which. There was only her heat, her lust, her incredible need to come.
It didn't matter whether she was still hot from Gil's fucking big prick or the sight of her son's surely virginal one. She had to come again, and she was going to.
It came fast. Her hips canted outward, thrusting her naked, flaming pussy through the halves of the robe. Her tits jiggled wantonly on her chest. Her knees flexed, and her thighs quivered. Juice squished out around her cunt-embedded finger, and her clit felt as if it would explode and burst into flame.
"Ahhhhh, God!" she screamed tightly, doing it as quietly as she could.
Dizzying waves of orgasm rushed through her body and made her shiver all over. It was lucky she was propped by the two walls making the corner of the room, or she would have fallen over. Her knees gave way, and her legs wouldn't hold her any more.
She slid down the wall, gasping and shivering, her finger twirling and fucking in her spasming cunt, her other hand rolling and pinching at her clit and all over her mound.
Her knees came up and spread to the sides as she slid to the floor on her ass. Her cunt mouth gaped wide. The tissues were flaming pink and glistened with dripping cunt juice. Her fingers made shameful sounds of wetness at her pussy mouth.
She gasped and mewed until it was all over, and then she let out a deep sigh.
She huddled there on the floor in the corner and looked at the cold white porcelain machines and felt utterly depraved.
"Monica?" Gil called, the sound faint through the closed door. "Hey, baby – where the hell'd you go?"
She sat there. Her cunt squeezed around the knuckle of her finger, as if trying to push the finger out and make her stand and pull the robe around her body and look busy and innocent.
She didn't give a damn. Let him find her like this. What would he do? Get hot and fuck her again? Raise hell?
She didn't budge until the last moment, and then some shred of decency still left inside her made her scramble to her feet and toss the clothes from the dryer into the plastic basket just when he opened the door and saw her.
"Ya deaf?" he groused. "Come on, do that crap when I'm gone. Fix me some more breakfast. That damn pansy ate half of it."
She turned and looked at him. He was fully dressed and ready to leave now. The kindness of a few moments before had been replaced by the crudeness she couldn't stand again.
She straightened up and looked at him squarely. "Bruce is not a pansy," she said firmly, challengingly.
She was ready to tell him how she knew. She knew it by the way his huge cock had begun to swell at the sight of his mother's naked tit. She knew it by the throb of his virginal cock brushing against the side of her hip.
Gil looked belligerent for a moment and then backed off from the brewing fight. "All right, he's not a pansy," he said with a wave of his arm. "Fix the breakfast anyway, huh?"
They went into the kitchen. He sat at the table and waited for her to finish cooking more breakfast. Bruce came through, dressed in the checked jeans. He avoided Monica's eyes. He started to give her the little kiss he always did before leaving for school and then didn't.
"Go on," Gil taunted. "Don't mind me, honey. Kiss Mom bye-bye." He shoved another forkful of eggs into his mouth and grinned.
"Gil!"
"Listen, kid, lemme tell you something. You oughta be kissin' that cute little twat – that Nancy, instead of your mother. You're gonna give somebody the wrong ideas, see?"
He laughed and stuffed his mouth again, holding his fork like a stabbing instrument. Bruce made a sound of agony and turned aside, ready to run from the house.
"Gil, that's enough!" Monica cried. "Bruce, you come back here!"
He stopped, but he didn't come back. Monica went after him, into the other room, where Gil couldn't see or hear them.
"Damn it, I wish he'd lay off me, Mom!" Bruce whispered with a strangled sound, close to tears.
Monica put her arms around her son and hugged him tightly, smoothing her hand over his forehead as if he were still a small boy.
"Oh, honey, I wish he would too. But he won't. It's his crude way, sweetie. You'll just have to be a big boy and learn to take it, that's all."
Her tits were pressed tightly against him. It was natural and good at first, and then they both became aware of the heat passing between them, of the remembered sights of each other's bodies just a few moments before, and the warm, soft contact took on a new and scary meaning.
"Mom…" he whispered, licking suddenly dry lips.
Monica backed away from him quickly. She didn't know if that were better or not. Now he was starring at the ends of her tits, and he could see that the nipples were spiked and rubbery and stiff.
"Mom…" he said again.
"Bruce, stop looking at my tits that way. You have no right to, Bruce. I'm your mother, Bruce." Her words were quick and breathy, and she tingled all over.
"Maybe your father's right for once, Bruce. Maybe you shouldn't be kissing me any more. Maybe you should pay more attention to Nancy than you do. You do like her, don't you, Bruce?"
"You know I do, Mom! But I just… Mom, I don't mean to stare at your tits, but I… oh, Mom!" he wailed.
He started to turn away again, obviously in torment. She couldn't bear to let him leave in that state. She grabbed him and hugged him again and kissed him fully on the mouth, hard, with far too much passion, having to break it off with a heated gasp.
"Bruce, we'll talk about it when you get home," she said quickly. "We'll work something out. We'll talk about it, darling. Go to school. Don't worry. Don't be upset. Aunt Vicky's coming this afternoon. Maybe she can… maybe she… we'll talk about it, honey."
She pushed at him. She wanted him out of the house now, before she hugged him again and pressed her tits against his manly chest and did crazy things that she would never be able to justify.
He turned and left. She stood there, her hands clasped together and pressing inward against her tingling cunt. She didn't know why she'd mentioned Vicky. She wished she hadn't. She didn't need her sister to help her raise her son.
But it had always been that way between her and Vicky. Vicky was the leader. The one confused little Monica went to for help. The one Monica always had obeyed, no matter how crazy the order. It had been that way all the time they'd spent growing up together, and the whole syndrome was returning to her again.
Gil came in and interrupted her thoughts. He carried his suitcase and was smoking a cigarette, sucking on it as it dangled from his lips.
"No more ass. Damn near the last butt. I don't know why the hell I stay with this Goddamn job," he said. He grinned at her, totally oblivious to the way she felt right then. "Guess I'll go out and wait for Duke to pick me up. If I stay in here, I'll just end up draggin' you back to the sack and fuckin' another load up that sweet wet pussy of yours."
She smiled quickly, having to force it. "I don't think my sore pussy could take your big prick again, honey," she said.
She reached up and took the cigarette from his mouth and kissed him lightly. It seemed cold and sterile to her, compared to the one she'd just given her son. It frightened her. What was happening to her! She kissed him again, lips parted and soft, tongue thrusting into his mouth.
"Hey, now," he breathed huskily after it was over. He put his arm around her waist and let the suitcase drop to the floor.
"Gil – Gil, there's not enough time. Gil, don't get started," she said, trying to back away from him.
"I'm started," he said. "Oh, baby, it's gettin' bigger by the second. God, honey – gimme a quick one. One last fuck."
"Oh, Gil…" she moaned, damning herself.
He pulled her toward the couch, unzipping his fly on the way. His big prick sprang out, stiff and throbbing again. She looked at it and moaned inside.
He sat on the couch, his legs spread. He pulled her to her knees on the floor. "Real quick," he gasped, holding his prick toward her face. "Gimme a quick blow with those soft lips, Monica."
"Come on – come on! Duke's comin' any minute. Baby, you gotta! You want me leaving here with a hard-on like this?"
She looked at his hard-on. She didn't give a damn what he did.
"Baby, listen – I'm sorry about Bruce. I thought over what I been doin' to him. It ain't right. I see that. Tell him I'm sorry, will ya? I'll quit riding him, I promise."
She looked at him. "Do you mean that, Gil?"
"Yeah."
"You're not just buttering me up?"
"Hey, come on. I don't crap around when I say something serious like that, and you know it."
That was true. She looked into his eyes. His prick throbbed right over her chin. He was telling her the truth. How she knew she wasn't sure, but she knew.
"I love you for that, Gil," she said softly.
She reached out and took his prick in her hand. She jacked it a moment. It pulsed and beat under her fingers. She licked her lips and parted them.
A tiny sound came from her mouth when she opened it. She stretched her jaws wide. She pursed her soft lips and fucked the warm, wet cavern of her mouth down over the head of his cock.
"Ahhh, God!" he groaned, tipping his head back and fucking his hips upward. He put his big hands gently at the back of her head and tangled his fingers in her hair.
Monica knelt on the floor between his legs and sucked his prick. She did it lovingly. It surprised her. She'd been ready to bite it off a moment ago.
She wished there were more stability in her feelings toward Gil, but it had been this way from the beginning – hating him one moment and loving him the next.
Her head bobbed under his hands. Her tongue wrapped around the sensitive underside of his cock and milked the strong, stiff shaft. Her lips squeezed and sucked, and she pulled them off and looked up at him, watching him gasp with the sudden removal of her mouth.
"Promise, Gil?" she asked. "Promise you won't ride him any more?"
"God, yes! Ohhhh, don't stop, baby! Don't stop! Christ, I'd promise you anything right now, and you know it!"
"That's what I'm afraid of," she said.
He grabbed for her. "Hey, I mean it! No shit, baby, no shit!"
That was his version of an absolute pledge. It was good enough for her. She opened her mouth and sucked it down over his straining, throbbing prick again.
Her head bobbed faster and faster. She gave him a good sucking, one that would last. She couldn't believe that his balls were full again. All night, and then this morning.
He gasped and moaned and fucked his hips up at her mouth. His big prick was a throat-filler. Her cheeks bulged. Her tongue worked over his shaft and the velvety, swollen head again and again.
Suddenly, it wasn't his prick any more. It was Bruce's. In her mind, it was the virginal, smooth cock of her son.
Her cunt burst into flames. She let out a muffled moan and thrust her hand between her legs and squeezed her cunt tightly. The tingling got worse, grew stronger.
Then she couldn't believe her own cunt, either. Her clit sprouted down from the top of her cleft and reached for her fingers. She swirled her hand over her cunt and moaned and sucked on his solid shaft until the big, swollen head was bumping at the back of her throat and threatening to gag her.
"Ah! Ah!" he gasped. "God, it's terrific! Baby, you're really doing it this time! God, honey! Do it!"
All the way! Just this once, baby, all the way.
Her emotions spun. She'd never sucked him all the way off before lust once, then never again. She didn't like the taste and feel of his cum in her mouth.
When she sucked him, she blew him to the point of orgasm and then pulled her mouth off and jacked the pulsing white jets of jism from his prick.
They had both come to accept that kind of finish. It was understood when she'd started just now that that was the way it would finish again.
But something was different this time. The thought that she was sucking her son's prick made it all different, and her head spun with dizzying sensations and thoughts and images.
She drew and sucked. Her fingers twirled over her clit. It was going to happen any moment. She could feel his prick throbbing threateningly. Already, he was pressing at her forehead to assist her in pulling away so that he could blast into her hand.
But she resisted his pressure. He gasped again and again, not knowing what to make of it. Then his hands slid around to the back of her head, just resting there as she bobbed up and down, not forcing her.
There was that curious mixture again. If he'd forced her, she would have fought with him. It was so strange how he could be crude one moment and gentle the next. A real stinker and yet lovable.
"Honey, honey, honey!" he gasped. "I'm gonna come! Baby, it's right there! Honey, take your mouth… ohhhhhh, don't take your mouth… God! Oh, God! Here it – yaaagh!"
His bellow shook the house. His hips lunged up from the couch. His prick swelled to unbelievable proportions in her mouth and throbbed violently.
Monica squeezed her eyes tightly shut and felt her own orgasm surge through her body at the same time. She moaned and squealed around his pulsing prick as the first jet splashed against the back of her throat and slid down into her belly.
Bruce! Bruce's cum!
The thought blazed through her mind and made her orgasm terribly intense, and she swallowed all the cum Gil poured through his prick into her mouth.
Maybe it was the repetition. This was the third time this morning she had come over – images of her son. It didn't seem quite as shocking and depraved the third time. Besides, as long as she only imagined it, what harm was there – what harm?
"Oh, Christ, Monica!" Gil gasped when it was over, hugging her so tightly she thought her neck would pop. "Baby, you did it! I love you! I love you!"
She nestled between his thighs and gasped against his belly. "You made me a promise, Gil."
"I did! I sure did! And I'll make it again and again if you'll [missing text]."
"Maybe, darling – maybe," she said, smiling up at him, swallowing over and over.
A car horn blared at the front of the house. She pushed back and got up, standing between his legs still, wrapping the housecoat around her waist.
"Damn," Gil said wistfully. He grinned at her. "Now I'm gonna be horny for a whole month, just thinking about right now, waiting for the next time. You shouldn't have done that, baby."
Monica watched him stuff his stiff prick into his pants. He had to bend it to get it through the slit. She licked her lips and swallowed again, trying to get rid of the taste of his cum. She was beginning to think she shouldn't have done it herself.
She stood in the doorway and watched Gil climb into Duke's car. There were two other men in it Gil waved at her. He'd never done it with such fervor before. The car backed out and goosed down the street, and she looked after it until it was out of sight.
A month. A whole month without him.
She moved through the house to the bedroom. She stripped off the housecoat and went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She brushed her teeth while it ran and warmed.
She looked at herself in the mirror, seeing the jut of her firm tits, the side of her red nipples poking from the ends. She straightened and ran her eyes over her curving waist and the flare of her hips. She looked directly at her cunt and saw the teak-brown triangle of pubic hair, the puffy cuntlips, the pinkish separation between them, still glistening with cunt juice.
She shivered slightly. She still didn't know what to feel at having him gone. She was going to get horny. She knew she was. She always did. A healthy woman couldn't go a month without getting horny.
She'd always masturbated before, when it got too bad for her to stand, when she started looking at every man who came toward her.
But this time.
Something was different this time. She felt it clear at the back of her cunt.
The moment with Bruce had made it different.