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From: thedisciplen@yahoo.com (DiscipleN)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 12 Jan 2002 05:54:31 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Natural Mom's Organic Son (2/?) [slow, inc, m/F, M/F, cuck, breast]
Date: Sat, 12 Jan 2002 23:10:05 -0500
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The following is a work of FICTION.

Natural Mom's Organic Son
by DiscipleN

Copyright (c) 2002, by DiscipleN. All rights reserved.
This work may not be used for any commercial purposes without prior,
documented consent from the owner.



Chapter 2

I was a sad excuse for a lover that night. For all his enthusiasm, I
couldn't shake the dread that haunted me. I even failed to orgasm as
Melvin joyously came into my loins. I kept visualizing Clifford
hovering right where my good husband was making love to me. My
thoughts recoiled at the vision, but deep in my soul, I feared worse
that I could have cum at a level I wasn't prepared for, if only I gave
into the image and pretended my son was fucking me.
Nor did my delusion pass after that night. The only change I noted in
Clifford's behavior was that he no longer asked to nurse me when he
knew my husband was away. He did continue to speak with Melvin about
this new thing called sex. They talked about contraception and babies
and even various positions and alternate means of intercourse, far
more than I would have described to someone not quite eleven years
old.
"But the boy has so many questions, how can I refuse him?" Melvin
answered when I asked him to limit the amount of information he was
providing. My husband was for the first time feeling the joy of
parenthood, and nothing was going to spoil it for him. I only hoped
they hadn't gone as far as visiting strip clubs and porno shops.
Please pardon my attempt at humor.
No, I had to escape the fear that my son had set his sights on
seducing his mother. What evidence did I have? None. Zip. Zero. I only
knew that I wasn't imagining it. For weeks I prayed that I wouldn't
wake up one morning with Clifford thrusting his child prick into my
sleeping pussy. I fought continually against the sight of him
superimposed over Melvin's grunting but smiling face. If I were to
survive, I would have to take drastic measures. Instead of dreading
the future, I would have to grasp it and bend it to my will.
I stopped taking the pill. It was the best chance I had. If Melvin
knocked me up again, then nature's path would force me to think more
about new life inside me than the older one who endangered me.
"But honey, things at the office aren't doing so well. Let's hold off
until next year. Maybe it'll improve, and we'll have plenty to welcome
a new child in our family." Melvin worried when I told him I wanted
another baby.
I couldn't tell him the real reason. I had to lie to him. So I said
that I would go back on the pill, but it was the first lie I every
told my husband. From then, on every minute on the calender, during my
fertile times, were devoted to seducing my husband. As informed as he
was about human sexuality, he was perfectly ignorant of his wife's
ovulation cycle. It took about two years of steady fucking to conceive
Clifford, but we weren't really trying. This time I was ready,
stopwatch in hand.
Every night for a week, each month, I milked my husband for sperm with
my cunt. I'd try for at least two healthy squirts of his baby making
sauce before I let him go to sleep. In retrospect, I was too eager. We
both were older, and he had plenty of concerns of his own, work wasn't
going so well, the only thing he could relate to his son with was
about sex, and his wife had become a part time nymphomaniac. Who could
perform under those conditions? God, how I tried, but Melvin actually
began to refuse my overtures for love making. I couldn't bloody well
rape him, although I considered it.
On the other side of the coin, new developments were afoot. It was
sometime after Clifford's eleventh birthday that I caught him peeking
in my bedroom while I was changing my clothes. Melvin and I were going
out to see a play, and I wanted to look my best. By this time, I no
longer could persuade my husband to fuck me all night long by simply
winking. No, I had to work at his seduction. I had to smell nice and
pretty, and I had to wear sexy clothes, and I had to play hard to get
in a slutty kind of way.
Looking at the mirror from over my back I was able to grab the zipper
of my house dress and pull it down. That was when I noticed a slight
movement of the door. Had a breeze cracked it open? I moved to shut it
as I pulled the dress over my shoulders. My breasts flopped into the
cool air, just as I heard soft footsteps swiftly recede from the other
side. My heart jumped as I concluded the situation, but it had been
many months since my original fears. Over time, they had passed on, my
desire to get pregnant sufficed to sublimate them. I didn't think all
that much about my son peeking into my room that day.
Or the day after, when I found him digging into the laundry basket and
looking at my panties.
"Whatcha got there sport?" I asked, amused at the sight of a fourth
grader puzzling over a lacy, silk pair of purple undergarments.
"Where does it open up so you can pee?"
Once again my heart leaped in surprise. "Wh-what do you mean?"
"My underwear has a button to open when I use the bathroom. Why
doesn't this one?"
"A woman's body doesn't work the same way."
"What do you mean?"
I turned bright red. "You should perhaps ask your father."
"But why would I ask him when he doesn't have a woman's body?"
It was a terribly clever answer. I told you my son was a fast learner.
For a minute, I was speechless, but I didn't shirk my share of the
child rearing. I told him. "The place where I pee starts just inside
my vulva, and it doesn't aim very well. I have to take off my panties
and sit down when I pee."
Now an attentive parent might point out I could have talked about
women in general, instead of describing my personal habit. I'd rather
not have to answer that parent. But the answer seemed to end his
questions. Clifford dropped my panties back into the basket and
wandered off.

The very next day Clifford walked up to me and asked what the
difference between a vulva and a vagina was. Fortunately, I could show
him that in the book. Unfortunately, as was my habit, I let him sit on
my lap as we looked at it together.
"What's this word? ..cli-tor-ice..." He pointed at a beautiful and
accurate cross section of female genitalia.
"Clit-o-ris. I pronounced it correctly."
"What does it do?"
My mind was quick with a safe answer. "It's just a tiny bundle of
nerve endings, like the tip of your finger."
"You mean like your nipples?" Clifford brightened immensely at the
thought, and he dug his hand under his seat to find my cli-tor-ice.
Apparently, my husband had covered the subject of nerve endings
before. My heart pounded, and I ended the lesson by grabbing him and
standing. I made an excuse about having to start dinner.
Day after day, Clifford began bombarding me with questions about
female anatomy. He stopped all conversation with his father. It was
like a flood dam had opened up and Clifford was diving over it. The
next clue supporting my nearly forgotten dread of Clifford's
intentions arrived soon thereafter.
I usually shake out our laundry before placing each item into the
washing machine. A drop of wetness hit me on my cheek. In my hand was
the same pair of panties that had so fascinated my son, and when I
wiped my cheek I could feel how slimy the one, small drop was. Looking
closer, I spotted a milky white fluid staining my purple panties. Then
I remembered that I hadn't actually worn them since they were last
washed.
Clifford must have dug into my dresser drawer and stolen them. Worse
he had used them to catch what was certain to prove to be his own
body's attempt at creating life. Suddenly, I was chilled to the
marrow. My skin rippled with goose bumps and the hairs on my arms
stood full of fright. Instead of doing the sensible thing and scream
bloody murder and tear around the house, beating my son within an inch
of his life, I had the other thought.
I couldn't prove, without a DNA lab analysis, that the stain was my
son's. What if Melvin had found a romantic moment alone and had
honored me in a private way. Tears budded lightly in my eyes at the
thought. Then I angered that his seed and been wasted when I needed it
for my ultimate protection from Clifford!
I wasn't even close to going crazy, but my fears returned to haunt me.
Once again, I found myself staring up at Clifford's shining face when
Melvin obliged me with a hard fucking. Oh, why does conception have to
be so random? I'd taken enough cum up inside me for a dozen sperm
banks over the last year, and still my ovaries launched one egg after
another into oblivion.
Those dark days changed me. Melvin's now occasional act of lovemaking
would give me the most intense pleasure I had ever experienced, for I
had lost my long struggle to keep from thinking about my son. Slowly,
with every incredible orgasm I experienced in my fantasy
motherfuckings, I grew more and more desirous of the real thing.
Clifford's tactics took a turn towards further intimacies as well. On
his twelfth birthday, when I hugged him and told him he was the
special boy of the day, he asked me how special.
"Today is your day, son." Melvin hadn't had a fatherly moment with his
son in nearly a year and was likely to say such things. "Anything
goes, whatever you want."
Clifford laughed at the thought, and suddenly I found him piercing my
clothes with an intense deliberation.
"Go ahead, and open your presents." I was able to distract him from
what I was instantly aware he considered a potential present." I
sighed loudly as he tore into the gifts on the table. Melvin took
pictures.
The day remained a happy one for all. My husband as a tradition spent
far too much of our struggling budget on gifts to his son. Clifford
was decent enough to thank him, but he saved his enthusiasm for the
trinkets I felt we could afford.
"Wow, mom it's a book about dinosaurs and a shirt." He tore his own
right off, changing it for the new one. "It's beautiful, just like
you. And it has a dinosaur sewn into the pocket. This is the best
present ever!"
A Bacchanalia of battery powered noise and lights waited inertly on
the living room floor as he grabbed me for a deep hug. I felt blood
filling my neck and cheeks as I openly despaired, hoping Melvin
recognized it as sharing his disappointment. My Melvin never blinked.
His upbeat mood remained, sitting down to explore the book with me and
my son. Clifford sat on my lap.
The birthday boy was of course treated to his favorite supper, and he
got to choose the television until bedtime, delayed an extra hour
naturally.
As the evening wore on and little Clifford grew sleepy next to me on
our pillowed sofa, Melvin asked. "Was there anything else you wanted
tonight?"
My son seemed to wake up, as if his earlier drowsiness had only been a
ploy. "Anything goes?" He snuggled on the couch closer to his dad and
paid full attention, as if they were the closest pals.
"Sure, anything except further delay of your bedtime." Melvin
cautioned. "Well, maybe even that." He then smiled broadly.
The little beast's eyes glowed with private victory but pure, personal
suck-up to Melvin. "Well, there is one tiny thing..."
"Great. Let's hear it." My husband turned and smiled at me in his
moment of dadness.
"Do you think I could feed from mommy's breasts, just one more time?"
"NO!" I yelled and I launched myself to my feet, indignantly. Except
that I didn't. I completely froze. My accumulated fears pounced upon
me all at once, tying me down and gagging me silent.
Melvin didn't know what to say.
"NO!" I screamed at him telepathically.
"Gee..." His voice attempted.
Clifford displayed the largest, saddest eyes ever seen on a twelve
year old, even larger than in the cartoons.
"I-I guess th-that would be up to your m-mother." He gulped and looked
at me helplessly.
Dear, dearest Melvin, man of my bed and my home, father to my child,
how could you betray me so? You have to protect me! You...
simpering... fool!
"Clifford are you sure that's what you want?" My voice was strangely
calm.
"Uh huh, more than anything."
"You know, I don't have any m-milk."
"I know." He said in his most adult voice.
"Maybe..." Melvin started what might have been a chance at redemption,
but I was too far gone, interrupting him with a movement.
I reached for the shoulders of my dress and pulled out my arms. My
outstanding nipples gripped the material. I slowly peeled it away from
my trembling skin down to the waist. There, in the blue glow of the
muted television, two healthy breasts waited for their son's
attendance.
I wasn't sure what to make of Melvin's expression: concern, shock,
arousal? There was no mistaking Clifford's. He scooted deliberately
over and placed his hands possessively around my waist. Then he
snuggled up underneath the farther tit and sucked it into his mouth. I
could hear him humming with delight. I think Melvin could too. My
husband tried to distract himself with the TV, but without sound to
drown the activity an arm's length away, Clifford's humming always
drew him back.
I was transported. My breasts had never felt so sensitive, so alive. I
couldn't help but support my son's head with the crook of my arm. I
began to rock him as he suckled gently. My heart knew the dear child
was seducing me, but the thrill of the situation: Melvin looking
obviously unwanted, Clifford's victorious gleam, and his sucking. Oh,
his sucking drew trickles of moisture to the surface of my pussy. I
wanted to grind my hips and rub my clitoris against my panties. I was
suddenly reliving my fantasies about my son, and my cunt grew hotter
and hotter. I tried mightily to keep these emotions away from my face,
to give Melvin reassuring looks mixed with hope for a quick end.
I don't know how I prevented myself from cumming. Clifford was lost in
his own delirium, eyes closed, mouth twitching on automatic. The one
outward sign of his true experience was the most blatant. His young,
erect cock pushed out a tent in his pants. I don't think Melvin
noticed, but I couldn't keep it out of my peripheral vision.
The next thing I knew, Clifford had placed his hand on my other tit
and began kneading it, pulling at the nipple. I couldn't help but
throw back my head in pleasure and grunted, mouth closed.
Finally, Melvin had seen enough.
"Okay, Clifford. It's past your bedtime."
I dearly wanted to press the child further into my tits, but somehow I
managed to extract myself from his torturous pleasuring. The whole
sick scene ended. I turned to my husband with a guilty face pleading
for forgiveness, but he had already stood up to turn off the TV. He
ignored the remote in his hand.
I figured I had only once chance for redemption.
I nearly raced to put Clifford to bed, and I literally dragged Melvin
into ours, displacing the minimal amount of clothing necessary to get
his cock deep inside me and devour it desperately with my cunt. Even
then it took the disoriented Melvin a while to acclimate to my passion
and spend his baby making sperm deep into my belly. If only it had
been the right time of the month, the rest of this tragedy might never
have unfolded.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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