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From: thedisciplen@yahoo.com (DiscipleN)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 18 Jan 2002 07:18:02 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Natural Mom's Organic Son (3/5) [no-sex, inc, panties, cum]
Date: Fri, 18 Jan 2002 19:10:04 -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 3

I know that in my own orgasmic throes, I yelled Clifford's name, but I
immediately tried to bury my treason with, "...your dad is the best
fucker in all the world!" Melvin took the compliment and poured his
semen into my cunt.
"I love you my darling!" He kissed and kissed me.
I quivered and quaked to a tumultuous series of orgasms, whipped up by
a storm of fantasy: Clifford on top, from behind, in my ass, forcing
himself down my throat! I was lost to the idea of whoring myself out
to my son. The tempest subsided, and I drew myself away from my
husband, wracked with guilt and tears.
After all, they were only fantasies. Every day I imagined ridiculous
things that would never happen. I was an adult woman, capable of
withstanding intense traumas and temptations. I knew who I was and the
difference between right and wrong. No twelve year old child would
cross that line while I was on duty!
Life will continue, I told myself.
The very next day saw the beginning of my downfall.
I was in the kitchen preparing spaghetti. I listened to Clifford
playing with his more expensive toys in the living room. Since his dad
was away at work, and he was out of school on spring break, it was
okay to have fun with them. Before his father returned, they would be
piled up in the closet with Melvin's muddy shoes.
I called him to lunch, and heard him call out, "Oh boy!"
"Mmmm, I love spaghetti, mommy." He made a point of hugging me before
plopping himself down in his kitchen chair. With every bite he rubbed
his tummy and grinned at me, but I wasn't buying any of it. All of his
smoke and mirrors allowed him to eat at a snail's pace. I easily
finished my plate before he was done. Then he enacted the brilliant
part of his extemporaneous plan.
"I'll get you some more." He jumped up and ran to the stove.
"But I don't want any mo-..." I warned after him, but he was already
lifting the pot and hauling it over to me.
"It's too hot! Uh oh, whoa! Whups!!" And suddenly the entire pan of
simmering sauce splashed over my back.
The thick fabric of my house dress repelled it from soaking in just
long enough. I jumped up and tore it away from my skin. I ran into the
living room, steaming sauce dripping everywhere. My dress was off of
my torso in record time as I raced into the bathroom. Grabbing the
shower hose, I opened the cold tap and poured water down my naked
back. Thank goodness I don't wear bras. It might have caught the fluid
in the worst of places.
My moment of crisis fled, but I sat shivering on the lip of the tub
realized I had thought only of my own salvation. I had scarcely looked
at Clifford to discover if he too had been endangered. I was fully
caught off guard.
Clifford ran into the bathroom and hugged me. Tears flowed from his
eyes. (He was quite convincing.) "Mommy, mommy I'm sorry. Did I hurt
you?"
"I-it's okay. Mommy's out of danger. Did you hurt yourself?"
I looked him over, and yes there were a few stains, here and there on
his clothes, mostly on the legs of his trousers.
He looked at himself. Realizing my half naked condition. He began
pulling off his own clothes.
I over corrected for my mistake and mistook his actions. "Is it
burning you? Here!" I aimed the portable shower nozzle right at his
clothes as he swiftly removed them.
The next thing I knew I had a totally naked, wet boy jumping into my
arms, hugging me.
"The water's so cold!"
I hugged him back to warm him.
A few seconds passed before my carefully constructed warning system
finally called bullshit. At least I managed to stop him before one of
my nipples 'accidentally' fell into his mouth.
"Hey, did you spill that deliberately?"
My son was not the best of liars. He hadn't seen too many examples to
copy, but he gave it a mighty try.
"No, it burned my hands."
"Let me see them."
He fell back on the crying defense.
 I stood up from the tub's rim, still holding him and reached for a
towel.
"All right, stinker. Let's get you dry and into some fresh clothes." I
carried him into his bedroom.
"I think we may have to discuss punishment." He buried his face into
my  shoulder and upped the volume of his distress. But other, more
telling signs exposed his facade. Foremost, he was sporting an
erection in his young cock that could have put a dildo to shame. I
could feel it pressing against my belly.
I hurried to place him on his bed, and I wasn't gentle with the towel
either. His sobs quieted but assumed a more sincere quality. However,
he continued to contemplate my exposed tits. He knew he was in
trouble, and my tits were as inaccessible as if I were wearing a bra,
a dress, and a parka. His cock didn't quite follow the logic.
As I finished toweling him, I gave his cock a quick swipe before
drying his legs. I barely touched it, but upon lifting his leg to get
the last wet spots, his pelvis gave a slight twitch and I watched a
long spurt of white fluid jump out of his dick and land on the length
of my arm. As second jet landed on his left side.
The towel dropped from my hands.
I was speechless.
I couldn't move.
All I could do was sit on the edge of my son's bed and stare at the
rope of semen that slowly spread around my forearm. It was perfectly
white, without a blemish, and I swear I could feel millions of sperm
cells swimming, doomed in their search for an egg.
Perhaps I was lucky in that I wasn't ovulating that day. Who knows
what I would have done? What I did was bad enough. I was absolutely
fascinated with what I considered to be the most beautiful, perfect
cum I had ever seen. I had only seen my husband's and the cock juice
of two other men before him. But Clifford's was like the finest facial
cream, heavy and rich. I was sorely tempted to spread it over my tits,
into my face, and even taste it. It's smell alone could have seduced a
harem of women.
"I'm sorry, mommy."
"I'm sorry too." I didn't say that I was sorry his gorgeous prick
fluid hadn't been shot into my womb at the height of it's fertility. I
shook my head, picked up the towel, and walked out of his room without
another word.
Yes, I cleaned my arm, and I didn't succumb to tasting it, but in one
fateful moment, I had learned of the potency of my son's seed.
My reaction to his ejaculation hadn't escaped him. Clifford must have
been additionally motivated to continue crossing the line. I hadn't
even punished him for deliberately spilling the spaghetti sauce, thus
forcing me to undress in front of him and provide him with the perfect
excuse for not only exposing his rock hard cock but pressing it into
my stomach as he hugged me.
He renewed his campaign of temptation in subtle ways.
Several days passed without incident. Clifford returned to the routine
of schooling, but Melvin seemed destined to work later every night.
His company continued to flail. Hand made pastas and sauces turned
into canned, and then to boxes of foul tasting macaroni and cheese.
New clothes hadn't entered our closets for months.
As Melvin came home with less and less, he was equally less interested
in sex. He had begun to pass on my most concentrated efforts to seduce
him, especially during my next fertile period. I told myself, if we
didn't conceive in the month following, I was going back on the pill
just in case the most ridiculous and fantastic of my worries leapt out
of my head and into reality.
One afternoon, after Clifford's return from school, I walked past the
open door to his bedroom. I heard him mumbling something or other, and
I peeked in.
He lay on his bed, fully naked, masturbating into my purple panties.
Without a word, I retreated, donned a sweater, and went outside for a
walk.
Half an hour later, I returned to find said undergarments laying on
top of the laundry in the basket. I couldn't resist lifting them up
and looking at the dark stains and wet clumps of slowly drying cum. In
surprising self-revulsion, I immediately dumped the laundry into the
washing machine and ran the entire cycle twice, adding detergent each
time.
A couple days later, we were together on the couch, watching
television, waiting for Melvin to return, late from work as usual.
Clifford rested along the length of the couch, and I sat up against
the back. His head lay peacefully on my lap. We typically left the
living room lights off to watch TV, and all I could see was the screen
and the side of his face.  His bored expression tepidly followed what
was a fairly dull movie.
At one point in the story, the noisy box quieted. I heard a peculiar
sound from my son. It was something like a hiss, but in short bursts.
I looked down and saw that he had turned his head slight towards my
crotch and was sniffing it.
"Clifford, sit up." I said, dutifully.
He flashed me a quick pout but obeyed.
The next morning, he burst into my room when he knew I would be
undressing for the shower. Melvin was already back at work, and my
uterus had been left wanting.
"Mommy, mommy, look what I can do!"
He wasn't fully naked. He was wearing a t-shirt and slippers. He did
have a hard on. Please pardon my attempt at humor. He pointed at his
buttocks which clenched an ostrich plume borrowed from the arrangement
in the living room. "Look, I've got a tail!"
"That's nice dear. Go put your pants on." I tried to ignore him.
Then he thrust his rampant cock forward and said. "Now I have two
tails, one in front and one in back."
For half a second I doubted my response. I was holding my doffed dress
in front of me. It wouldn't have taken half a second for it to drop to
the floor. I backed into the master bathroom and shut the door. After
taking a full hour to wash, I covered myself with a large towel,
reopened the door, and peeked out. He was gone. I stepped across the
threshold into my room.
In the middle of the floor, there lay my purple panties. A beautiful
white glob beaded up from the dark stain in the middle of them. My
heart stopped for two beats, and I gulped unconsciously. I reached my
hand down, slowly, and disturbed the glistening pool with the tip of
my finger. It felt like the smoothest pudding.
I don't know what would have happened if I hadn't been interrupted by
my son's voice. "Mom!"
I looked up and saw him peering around the end of the bedroom door.
"Peek-a-boo!"
"Get out and shut that door!" It was the first time I ever snapped at
my son. He responded instantly, but he sulked for the rest of the day,
even after school.
It was time to call Melvin. I didn't actually mention the cum involved
in these episodes.
"Look honey, yeah, that's not right him peeking on you, but I don't
think we have to hire a shrink. His body's changing. He's got all
sorts of curiosities and desires for experimentation. It doesn't mean
anything."
I didn't just hang up on my husband, but I didn't let the conversation
linger either. Fortunately, when he returned from work that night we
came to an agreement about punishing any future misbehavior. He even
made love to me, perhaps as a means of reassuring me. However, he had
finally noticed that I was out of The Pill (it only had taken him a
year an a half). He sought out an ancient condom relegated to the back
of his dresser drawer. I guess it worked well enough. I didn't catch.
One day later, I had my first opportunity to discipline my son's
growing misbehavior and disrespect. He easily overstepped the mark. I
was simply reading a magazine in the living room when he surprised me
from behind by placing his hands over my eyes. When I 'guessed who'.
He dropped his hands onto my tits and grabbed them. He was actually
rubbing them through my house dress before I could summon the patience
not to strike out in anger.
"Stop that Clifford. Do you hear me?"
He stopped. "Yes mommy." spoken with disappointment.
"This time, I am going to punish you. Now go to your room and shut
yourself in for two hours. I want you to think twice about invading my
privacy."
"Yes Mommy." He trudged off to his room. I didn't hear a sound from
him for two hours. I walked by, once, busy with housework and found my
purple panties laying on the carpet like a welcome mat to his bedroom
door. The cum on them was scarcely minutes old. I squatted down and
lowered my nose right above my own panties, blessedly soiled with
sperm I imagined could impregnate the female population of India. I
very nearly stuck out my tongue but withheld at the last moment. A
terrific effort of my guilt complex compelled me otherwise. I lifted
the underwear and carried them into the kitchen. There, I stuffed them
into the trash compactor and hit the compact button.
Clifford simply moved on to an unadorned, gray, cotton pair.

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