Perverts 'R' Us

Natural Mom's Organic Son

By DiscipleN ( inc-mom/son, breast fetish )

Chapter 1

My husband, Melvin Gulderson, licked his lips, not wanting to waste a drop of pussy juice.

"How was that, Natalie? I told you I had a surprise for you. Did you like it?"

"Dear," I replied, "that was a moment I'll always treasure. I'm so glad you talked me into it. Someday I hope I can surprise you as much or more!" The sincerity in my voice barely avoided the pit of irony which I had been slowly dragged into. I love my husband, but he was terribly naive and already had begun to suffer for it.

During the first two years of our marriage, dolphins couldn't have mated often enough to satisfy us. But reality found its bullseye, and I was shot in the womb with a number one son.

Even pregnant, I still enjoyed regular sex with Melvin, but the pace slowed with the physical problems of hauling an extra thirty pounds around my center of gravity.

After the delivery, I was much more sore than I had been led to believe. My girlfriends just gushed about how modern women literally could jump back into the sack with the mate after every feeding. (You know, all that sucking makes you so horny.) Tell it to the wind. My first son was a beast. He would grind his gums into my nipples so hard, I threatened to bottle feed him.

Dear, stupid Melvin begged me to stay the course because of all the natural benefits of breast feeding. And true to the pop-psychology researchers in child development, my son Clifford grew up to be a strong and healthy beast.

That's right, I said MY son. He didn't spend a moment with Melvin when he wasn't screaming. My poor man was willing and eager to help with all the chores of baby-rearing that would have left most men cowering in their den with TV remotes. His child never gave him a chance. Whenever he showed his admittedly plain face around Clifford, if I wasn't nearby and holding him, the entire neighborhood would become convinced that serial killers had descended en-masse on the Gulderson household.

I suppose I was partly to blame. My heart went out to my son first and then my husband. Isn't a mother supposed to protect and soothe her children? I know I showered little Cliff with too much affection. I discovered early on the quickest way to silence the lad was to open my blouse. That boy just loved tit - much to my despair, especially after he began sporting a perfect set of teeth. (Mother's milk is great for teeth!) His screaming would transfer to me, through my breast, but I was the adult and had to suffer the pain of his chewing in silence.

Melvin said, the doctors said, all the magazines said, every-bloody-body said to breast feed as long as the child wanted, even into late adolescence. It was nature's way, and science had proved over and over how they could duplicate the form, but rarely the function. I believed it. I also believed that as Clifford grew, he'd learn to prefer solid food.

Going into Clifford's sixth year, I stopped wearing bras. Clifford ate his meals from a plate but never slacked his demands at my flowing milk. Right after dinner, his dinner. He'd shout "Meelk, Meelk!" over and over. I'd have to bare tit in the middle of my own meal to shut him up, regardless of who we might be entertaining. If mommy dared to find a moment of peace, even as far away as the other side of the room, Clifford would crawl right over and climb up. Buttons would snap off at his strong groping, and I'd be required for immediate service. Thank heavens I was able to teach him to stop tearing at my nipples by the time he was four!

During those years I was less than an ideal lover to Melvin. Having another needy man climbing on my body was often more than I could stand. I warned Melvin that we should constrain our son from the tit, but he shrugged and said that he expected to make sacrifices for the proper rearing of our children.

The other problem was that Melvin and I wanted more than one child, and we had wanted them close in years of age, but nature played by its own rules. You see, breast feeding is a natural form of birth control. It stimulates hormones that delay ovulation, much like the pill. I often wondered if Clifford didn't instinctively know this and persisted at his sucking regimen to deny any potential competitor from my arms and my chest.

Clifford wasn't quite nine, when his father finally put his foot down.

"Now, I want you to know that this has nothing to do with punishing you. I love you son, but Mommy can't be nursing you whenever you want. What would your friends at school say if they found out? They stopped nursing years ago. You're growing up, and soon you'll be a man. You're already a man in your dad's eye, but maybe not yet old enough to drive the car, eh?" Melvin always tried to put a happy face on things.

Clifford's reaction was a hundred percent predictable. He screamed. "It's isn't fair! It's isn't fair! It's isn't fair!" and so on. Melvin and I stood up to him that day, even after he had lost his voice from screaming and finally sank into a deep sulk.

That night, Melvin and I fucked like new bunnies. I truly love my husband and don't consider his rather un-macho personality to be anything less than completely adorable!

The next day, after a surprising realization, I asked my doctor to put me on the pill. I wasn't sure I wanted to be pregnant right away, after finally escaping from Clifford's clutches. I wanted some downtime.

I didn't get much.

Clifford never did bond with his father. Melvin would take him out to ball games, on short camping trips, fishing, offer to play with him anytime, but the boy rebuffed every attempt. My poor husband was given only a pouty silence and no cooperation for all his earnest fathering.

We would hire babysitters so we could go on our own romantic interludes, usually to be interrupted by some emergency back home. Clifford tried to suck his babysitter's tits. Clifford had tricked the sitter and locked her outside of the house. Clifford set the sitter's purse on fire. Clifford went through babysitters faster than he had gone through diapers. Eventually, nobody was left, except me.

Thinking back upon all my misery since then, I realize it was still, largely my fault. I just couldn't handle that kid's energy. When he was with me, I was his whole world. He would make presents for me, string wrapped around paper, bound into funny animal shapes he copied from cookies. He would read stories with me and was a fast learner. (Mother's milk is great for early neurological development!) He would share his toys and even pick them up and put them away properly, as long as I was with him. He never brought friends home from school. His grades were passing to good. Clifford was even willing to chill around his father, as long as the distance between mom and him was shorter than the distance between him and Melvin. The three of us could actually have occasional fun together.

We all might have turned out quite well, as a family, if I hadn't gone and made one, unforgivable mistake. You see, secretly, when Melvin was out of the house, Clifford would still try and suck on my tits. It didn't matter that they had stopped offering milk. He was passionate for them!

I tried, honestly I did. I barred the gates from his desire for more than a year after Melvin's ultimatum. The boy's requests waned, but they never stopped completely.

My downfall occurred, by my own measure, on a weekend during Clifford's tenth year. Melvin was out of town on business, and my son and I spent the whole weekend running around town shopping for clothes. It had started out as a banner year in the Gulderson's household, and Clifford had mostly grown out of his previous year's wardrobe.

His body was amazing! It exploded like a weed, a tough one, impervious to pesticides too. (Once, he had found a bottle of it under the sink and had gulped down a mouthful. We didn't even have to take him to the hospital. He threw it up right away and was bothered with naught but a tummy ache and skipped two meals.) Nutritionists would have made him the poster child of natural nursing.

My girlfriends all looked at my ten year old boy and wondered when he was going to start college. I bought him two sizes of everything, worried that he might outgrow the first before we got home. I was also worried that we might not have the extra money to splurge on so many clothes again. The reason Melvin was working out of town over the weekend was because his company had begun to feel a new pinch in the local economy.

I was exhausted by Sunday's end. Melvin wouldn't arrive until the next day, and after stowing all the new purchases, with Clifford's help, I staggered into my bedroom and collapsed on top of that peaceful harbor.

My mind found its own peace in a very pleasant dream, where Melvin was shaking the bed, but this Melvin was six feet tall and built like a lumberjack. He was my MAN! Very gently he pulled on my dress and tugged the top over my shoulders. I still wasn't wearing bras. (I secretly hoped my breasts would sag so much my obsessed child might lose his desire through pure disgust. Unfortunately, my son got his toned physique from his mother.)

I mewled and cooed seductively as Melvin touched one breast and then the other. He pawed them softly and sequentially rolled them under his palm. By the time he started sucking, I was ready for him to tear off the rest of my dress.

"Fuck me, oh why don't you fuck me!" I said in my dream, but my manly Melvin was taking his time. He sucked my nipples like they were the sweetest fruits. I wanted to pull up the hem of my dress and show him where to really please me, but my arms lay useless at my sides. The best sensation I could manage in my flowing pussy was to grind my loins together. I wriggled and writhed like a slut in the winning team's locker room.

My dream was dashed into glass shards when Melvin suddenly bit down hard into my nipples. I shouted out and convulsed myself awake. My forehead was soaked in sweat, and my cunt shook from a cruelly-induced orgasm. My senses reeled, and I opened my eyes, and there was Clifford scrambling away.

Clifford was by no means six foot tall nor built like a lumberjack, and his resemblance to his father never did gain beyond a few hints around the ears. Only when he whined did he match his father's rare complaint.

"I didn't do nothing. I didn't do nothing!"

I watched him race out of the room. I was just tired enough to let it go, but there is no rest for the weary who raise Clifford. I struggled up, still buzzed from my little cum and got to my feet. If the boy's room had been in the opposite corner of the house, I might never have gotten there. The bathroom was the only barrier Melvin and I had to protect us from his boisterous play in his room.

I caught myself from falling at his doorway, which he hadn't closed. I found him facing away, curled up on his bunk bed, an obsolete symbol of optimism for our family's future growth.

"Let's just forget about it Clifford. Mommy's going to lock herself in her room and get some sleep. Don't burn anything down until morning, all right? I'll see you then." That was all I said.

I turned back and started to walk myself along the wall.

He asked a question.

"Mommy, what is 'fuck'?"

Without thinking, I replied. "It has to do with sex, honey. Now don't say that word ever again, or I'll wash your mouth out with soap." I imagined I was being fierce, but in my delirious state, who knows how the kid received it.

I continued successfully to my room. I even managed to work the lock. I looked forward to a bright morning, energy once again flowing through my body, ready to guard America and the rest of the world from the evil of my son.

The new day dawned. I noticed traces of my husband who must have arrived home earlier that morning. The fact gave me a bright start to my day. I luxuriated in the tub, moisturizing and scenting my body, all the long while, planning to kidnap my husband and lock my son in the cellar for the remainder.

I found them, uncharacteristically together in the living room, apparently sharing a father and son chat. I was amazed. Then I was horrified.

"...and eventually the erect penis, through gentle thrusting and true love for your partner cause you to ejaculate sperm into her uterus where just one of their wriggling, minuscule cells is soaked up by the egg and begins a new, human life."

Melvin was even using the psychologist approved picture book we had bought several years ago in the eventuality of our son's important education. I almost fainted.

"Golly dad, That's awesome!"

"Son, I'm honored to have been the one who could answer your question." Melvin tried a fatherly tousle of his son's wild hair, but Clifford ducked it and was the first to notice me standing in the hallway. My jaw dangled like a dead cat.

Clifford froze at the sight of me. His eyes held the only hint of powerful forces marshaling in his head. They were radioactive with curiosity.

Melvin followed his son's gaze and smiled warmly at me. "Honey, I think we might be seeing a new change in our son's personality." He got up from the couch and hugged me warmly. I don't think I said anything, but I did manage to close my trap. I might have sub-vocalized, "Oh shit!"

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 ever told my husband. From then, on every minute on the calendar, 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 lovemaking. 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 mother-fuckings, 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.

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 a 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. Its 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 its 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 lying 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 lying 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.

Chapter 4

An objective observer would have noted some success after Clifford's time-out. He never again rudely grabbed my body. Sure, he'd run up to me for a hug, but that was good behavior. I said my son was a fast learner.

My boy entered the kitchen one day as I put our week's meager supplies into the cupboards. He waited patiently for me to finish, but when I noticed him and gave him a curious glance. He walked over and looked up at me.

"Mommy, may I please suck on your tits?"

Now I had never said the words "tit" or "tits" in front of my son, and I'm pretty sure Melvin hadn't either. We only used the polite vernacular. Of course, if the boy was listening to Melvin's and my lovemaking, his sexual vocabulary would have quadrupled overnight.

"Whatever do you mean?" I attempted to draw out the origin of his word.

"Those." He pointed at my tits.

"These are your mommy's breasts dear, and you know you're not supposed to suck on them. Your daddy told you, you're not a baby anymore."

"But daddy's not here. Can I be your baby, just once more?"

I don't think I realized until that moment how my endless efforts to become pregnant had taken their toll on me. I wanted a baby. I wanted it more than anything. How else had I acquired a perverted fascination with my son's snow white cum?

"Oh, my dear son!" My heart melted and I lifted Clifford in my arms. Hugging him, I walked into the living room and carefully squatted down on the couch. I swiftly adjusted my son's position so that I was cradling his body and had his head in the crook of my arm.

He looked up at me.

I looked down at him. My face was filled with joy.

He looked at my covered tit that hung just out of tongue reach.

He looked back at me, hoping.

"You have the most beautiful breasts in the whole world, mommy."

"Son, please just let me hold you. You won't be my baby forever."

"On my birthday, you let me feed from them. They tasted so good; I want to suck them again." He reached for the closer tit, but he didn't touch it. His hand made a slow circle over the nipple poking out of my dress.

I was in trouble. My body began to respond. I was in love with my son, as a good mother should be, but I was also a highly sexual woman who hadn't been getting her minimal requirements for weeks. Clifford was seducing me with his respectful demeanor, and then he made that endearing motion with his hand.

I swooned. I took his child's hand and pulled it into my tit. God help me - I had to let him touch it.

He was so gentle. His palm worked silently with its small fingers to grab the nipple and push it into the softer flesh. He rolled the nipple in his fingers and then pressed it with his palm, softly mushing the whole tit flat against my chest. His hand returned to its earlier, circular motion, but this time he was rubbing my breast round and round.

I almost bit my lip from the powerful sensations that coursed through my body at his deliberate touch. My husband was the dearest, gentlest man on the earth, but he could have learned a whole new level of care and attention from his twelve year old son. Clifford acted as if my breast was the only thing in the universe that mattered. From my own perspective, other parts of my body began clamoring for similar attention.

I wasn't in the right position to grind my pelvis, however much my cunt begged to be prodded. I had to derive as much pleasure from my son's tit play as I could. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on his actions but that meant deliberately dropping my guard.

Clifford became bolder. He lifted his head and opened his mouth right next to his groping hand. With a pinch on my nipple he switched from hand to mouth, and began sucking on my tit, right through the thick cotton of my house dress. At first I didn't notice. I was in blissful separation. Then, once his spit soaked into the dress, I opened my eyes, and suddenly my fears were in full conflict with my desire.

It was not too late. I hoisted myself to a straight, sitting position. That jarred my son off of the tit he was nibbling. If my breasts had been bared, his mouth would have stuck like a suction cup.

He looked up at me with pleading eyes.

I returned only an empty expression.

Then I pulled my arms out of my dress and uncovered my heaving tits.

His eyes grew round, and he immediately descended. His mouth devoured the original, bespittled nipple, and his hand grasped the dry one. His mother wriggled her free hand under the boy and pressed the folds of my skirt into her thighs. I was lost.

On a sunny, spring day in a room darkened by thick curtains, a loving mother allowed her devoted son to pleasure her by sucking and rubbing her tits while she secretly masturbated.

I was driven to a single, excruciating orgasm that left me weak and delirious. Suddenly, I imagined my husband kneeling on the floor, sucking me, but he was sucking my cunt. Just before I expired, I heard Clifford say.

"Will you be my whore?"

The spinning room engulfed me and I blacked out.

It was dark when I awoke. I lay stretched on the couch, lengthwise. My exposed breasts were dry, but I could tell that Clifford had sucked on both of them by the lingering smell of his spit. Another fluid he left hadn't fully dried. A great puddle of his cum lay in the dip of my belly. This time I was not shy. I fingered the slimy mess and tasted of it. His flavor was golden and pronounced. It spoke of power and delight. I spent several mindless minutes spreading its stickiness over my torso, rubbing it into my breasts and nipples as if it were luxurious skin cream.

I almost came again, but my reverie eventually expanded beyond my own physical realm, and I spied Clifford lying on the plush carpet. His pants were still pulled down around his knees and his soft prick had fallen to one side. A musical hum surrounded him as he breathed in his sleep.

Two spotlights swept across the living room curtains, and the roar of an engine was silenced. Melvin had returned.

I picked up my child, secured him in his bed, and shut his door. Melvin found me in the shower.

"Hey, shouldn't the man who won the big contract today have first dibs on this part of the house?"

"Melvin? You want to shower? I'm almost done. Just a second." I shut off the water and stepped naked into my man's arms. We embraced and he kissed my ear. Then he whispered, "I bought a whole box of condoms for tonight's celebration."

My throat involuntarily gulped. I'm not sure why I then said what I did, but I meant it. "Let me think about that. I'm not sure I'm feeling all that well." He gave me a slight look of disappointment. "Whew, my stressed out husband does need a shower! Here, get those pores all freshened up, while I make the man of this house a big supper." At that he smiled.

This night happened to be my most fertile time of the month, and I threw the chance of conceiving with my husband all away, literally. Feigning slight physical discomfort, I wrapped a bright, new condom over my husband's eager penis, and I masturbated him until he spewed his watery cum into that receptacle. I then transported his dying seed to the toilet and flushed it into the municipal waste treatment system.

In the morning, he tried again, surprising me by squeezing his condom-covered dick into my sleeping crotch. I awoke immediately and chastised him.

"Melvin, I know in the past, I liked being awakened by my husband's passionate embrace, but today I feel like you should have asked me first."

"Oh." He tilted his head in confusion.

I hugged him and kissed him, saying that I understood he meant well, but sometimes a woman does change her mind. To compensate, I fixed him a sumptuous breakfast and gave him the royal treatment with hugs and kisses before sending him back into the vicious world of making a living.

Clifford appeared sometime in the middle of my wifely duties. He followed me around at a distance, always watching from a doorway, observing my body language, deciphering the tone of my voice, figuring out what I was really doing.

I was getting Melvin out of the house as efficiently as possible.

As soon as Melvin's car zoomed off into silence, Clifford approached me with a perfectly timed hug. I lifted him up and carried him back to the couch. He helped me pull down the top of my dress and was soon nursing away on my tits and kneaded them with his hands while I pressed fingers into my cunt. This time I reached up under my dress to fuck myself, and I had deliberately failed to wear my panties.

Soon, mother and son were swooning in their passionate embraces and succumbing to cumming, at least I did, first. This time I did not faint, but I closed my eyes until they were slits and rested perfectly still. And in that heady aftermath, I watched my son climb off me and unzip his pants. He pulled them down and released his beautifully sized, blood-filled cock into the living room air.

Clifford surprised me then. I was expecting him to anoint my body with his sanctified liquid, but I expected him to use his own hand. He used mine. He gently lifted up my arm and wrapped my fingers around his cock. Then he moved my hand up and down his flesh, back and forth. Was this a repeat of when he masturbated over me the day before?

My aroused son spewed his cum right away, but I almost blew my cover of pretend sleep when his jets of sperm shot out in a high arc and landed directly on my naked navel. I swear shivery aftershocks of orgasm swept through me with each spurt. It seemed to me that he spent more time cumming than he had trying to make himself cum. I was eager to touch and taste it. The dribbled, last drops of cum had run over my hand as he finished his own throes of ecstasy. Muted cries rumbled from his throat. I could hardly wait to stuff it in my mouth.

But my son was a perfectionist. He wanted to leave only the pool of his love as his offering and thanks. Clifford licked his cock juice from my hand until it was perfectly clean. Then he replaced my arm back on the sofa. I wanted so much to grab him and hug him, but I was afraid of disturbing his work of art glistening on my belly in white. Still, my son was not finished with his seduction. He could not have possibly known that I had watched it all, but he sat down on the carpet and waited, his eyes sparkling with devotion. My heart flew out to him.

I first mumbled. Next, I flickered open my eyes. I raised my head and looked at my belly.

"Oh no, what is this?" I asked aloud, as if to myself in surprise.

"Mommy, are you sure you don't know?" My son answered innocently enough.

"Did you do this? Oh my goodness, Clifford you're not fully dressed." Like the last time, he had left his pants down around his knees, but this time his cock remained fully erect. I couldn't help but stare at it. Regardless, I had a role to play.

"Haven't I warned you about invading your mom's privacy? This is terrible! I want you to put your clothes back on and march to your room. Stay there for the rest of the day. I'm going to tell the school that you have to miss your classes."

He pulled on his pants and zipped them quickly before following my orders to the letter. I, on the other hand, remained on the couch until I heard his door close. With both hands I scooped up every drop of his beautiful cum and sucked it into my mouth. I wiped and scraped my belly until the last of it was trickling down my throat. Then I rested in the glow of yet another orgasm. I replayed the morning's follies in my head and fucked one sperm washed hand into my wet cunt and pinched my nipples hard with the other.

There was work to do in the house, but not much. As the day ticked and tocked, I occasionally poked my head into Clifford's room and gave him brief lectures about appropriateness.

"Masturbation is a healthy pastime. I hope you never feel guilty about it."

"Okay, mommy."

On my second visit, I told him, "Most people have pretty strong feelings about bodily fluids. You wouldn't ever spit on mommy would you?"

"I'm sorry."

"We all make mistakes."

Later, I remember saying, "You know, semen is a pretty special creation of your body. I hope you respect that."

"It makes babies."

"Yes honey, it does." I beamed. "I'm sure yours will make wonderful babies."

I finally finished my house work and felt that Clifford had been timed out long enough. I knocked on his door, like I always did.

"Mommy, can you get me a drinking cup?" He asked through the closed door.

"You want a cup of water?"

"Can I have just the cup?"

"Sure, but if you want, you can get the cup yourself. I know that my good boy won't repeat his naughtiness. You don't have to stay in your room anymore."

"Okay."

I heard him shuffling on the carpet. He opened the door and walked out. His body was fully naked, and his beautifully erect cock bounced as he moved past me to the kitchen.

I didn't know what to do or say. So, I didn't do anything. I heard a cupboard open. A few seconds later his bare ass waddled past me in the opposite direction, cock in front standing like a ship's mast in rough seas. He held a white plastic, cartoon cup in his hand. He walked back to his room, but left the door open. Then he sat down on his bed and commenced to jack off.

It wasn't my place to stand and stare, but I couldn't help myself. The very innocence of his demeanor tugged at my skirt like the four year old boy who used to suck on my breasts whenever he wanted. I promised myself, I'd never deny him again.

Clifford appeared to enjoy pumping away on his prick meat like a chef enjoyed making a nice salad dressing. He knew I was looking on, but he didn't seem the least bit embarrassed. I was as red as a beet!

After nearly a minute of steady jacking, he looked at me and smiled. I smiled back, swallowing my heart as it wrestled its way up my throat. I wrung my hands spastically, behind my back to keep myself from plunging them up my skirt and into the naked cunt that called their names.

Not quite one more minute later, he raised the cup to his prick head that glistened with precum and he shot several loads of bright cum into the cup. He even used the rim to scrape the last drop off of his cock. Again he smiled at me.

A moment of silence passed. My embarrassment only grew. But just as I cleared my throat with an appreciative tone and was about to leave, he stood up and walked directly towards me.

"Mommy, if you want this, you can have it." He held up the cup.

My eyes lost focus. Moisture there blotted the sweet figure of my son.

My arm reached out unbidden. My hand accepted his gift.

"Th-thank you." My throat whispered hoarsely.

Then he walked back into his room and shut the door. I heard him fumbling with clothes. My husband would return soon.

I was washing the cup in hot water and plenty of dish soap when Melvin hugged me from behind and kissed my neck.

We made, fabulous, passionate love that night, but I double checked his condom before and after. My cunt was his willing whore, but I refused to even kiss him with my mouth. I couldn't bear the thought of disturbing the salty tang of my son's delicious cum with any flavor of Melvin's. I orgasmed several times lost in the fantasy that my husband was a precocious, twelve year old child of my womb.

Chapter 5

"Uh oh!" Melvin said to the refrigerator's interior.

"What is it, honey?" I looked up from my mixing bowl.

"It looks like Clifford's milk's gone bad." He lifted my son's plastic cup. I had left it on the drain board last night, but now my husband had discovered it in the 'fridge. I bit my lip, nervously.

"I'd better wash it out." Melvin turned to the sink. "Poor kid, he even used plastic wrap to keep it from evaporating."

"Wait!" I yelped. "Let me see."

Melvin obeyed without a trace of suspicion. I looked through the Saran wrap and immediately took it from his grasp.

"No, that's not milk." I said truthfully. "It's clotted cream." I exaggerated about the slightly clumpy prick cream. "I was going to use it later today."

My husband made a sour face. "Well don't put it in anything I plan on eating. I'd hate to think of this stuff running down my chin. It reminds me of semen, but it's not watery enough."

Clifford looked up from the table where he was drawing with crayons, waiting for breakfast. He didn't say anything.

I cooked waffles. They were a smash hit. We ate them with grapefruit halves and milk. The day began. Melvin embarked upon stalking the wild account. I began cleaning the dishes. Clifford showed me his picture.

"Look mommy, it's you!" He was careful to keep his colorful work from the water splashing in the sink.

He had drawn a simple stick figure with two circles and dots for tits and a triangular, cunt thatch. It was the same color as the hair on my head.

"What's this?" I pointed at the brown scribble.

"That's your pubic hair."

"How do you know what it looks like?"

"I dunno. I saw one in that picture book. You mean you have something different?"

I repressed an indignant cough and wiped my hands with the dish towel.

"No honey, but yes, in some ways."

"May I see?" He asked politely.

As if there were any doubt about where this conversation was headed, I began disrobing.

My cunt hung about a foot below his eyes. He didn't act at all surprised, but in fact he had used the right color after all.

"Do you see what a smart boy you are?" I complimented him.

He looked up. "Can I suck on your tits?"

This time I didn't correct him. I pulled up a kitchen chair and sat down, spreading my legs so he could stand between them. My son leaned over and wolfed one down. Clifford steadied himself by grabbing my waist. Mom's hand found itself soon buried inside her pussy, fucking it slowly to the rhythm of his sucks and syncopated tit fondling.

We played at nursing in the kitchen for almost half an hour before I couldn't stand to have another orgasm. He licked his lips as I sat up and closed my legs. In perfect form, my son unbuttoned his pants and pulled them and his underwear down to his knees. My favorite cock sprung out before my eyes, closer than ever. I did manage to resist finger-fucking myself further, as he jerked on his beautiful shaft.

I even stood up, to his immediate concern. He calmed again as he watched me pull the white plastic cup from the fridge and unwrap his early morning present. Seating myself again, in front of him, I warmed it between my breasts.

A couple minutes later, I held the cup to his arched prick as he spurted his milk of heaven into the previous issue. He looked up at me with the satisfaction of a job well done.

"Did you want your mommy to have this?" I asked.

"Uh huh!" He nodded.

I stirred it with my middle finger and then licked that finger. "Mmmm, it tastes so good!"

As I sipped on the double dose of creme de la creme, Clifford watched me resume my finger-fucking. He cocked his head at the activity but didn't disturb me. He was certainly able to understand that this was my way of enjoying sex by myself. I'm sure Melvin had mentioned the practice to him.

My orgasm went beyond incredible. I don't remember being able to see for nearly a minute after the h-bomb went off inside my skull. I thrashed on the chair and shouted, "Oh, this is the best cum in the world!" My tongue scoured my lips for every drop.

I slowly recovered. The cup fell to the floor, empty, licked clean by my fingers and my tongue. My arms dangled at my side. I couldn't get to my feet, and the room was full of bright spots. I couldn't see what Clifford was doing, but I could feel him.

My son put a finger inside my cunt. It was wet and dripping and he easily slid his first finger between my pussy lips. I heard him say, "cunt".

"Clifford!" I admonished. "Go to your room."

He left without a complaint.

I didn't seek out my son until Melvin returned home later that afternoon.

My husband didn't offer me sex, and I was okay with that. He lay in our room, absorbed in a book, and I watched TV in the living room. An hour after Clifford had been sent to bed, I walked down the hall in my sheer nightclothes and tapped on his door. A minute of silence later, he opened it just enough to pass the white cup to me. I continued to my bed where my husband failed to acknowledge my entrance, and I climbed in under the covers. I sipped the warm cum and dreamed of young cocks. I'm not sure Melvin even heard the slurping.

Early the next morning, my husband was more amorous. There was a chill in the air, and he snuggled close for warmth. He woke me with kisses traveling down my back and around my waist. I kissed him and even frenched my tongue into his mouth. The taste of cum had long faded into the night, and I didn't mind mixing my morning breath and sour saliva with his. He grabbed me and pulled me close. I could feel his hard penis through the sheet draped between us. I shook my head.

"I have to check on Clifford," Was all I said.

"Is something wrong?" He grew worried.

"Perhaps. He's been masturbating quite a lot, and I'd like to monitor it, just in case."

I could feel Melvin's internal shiver at the thought of his son as a sexual being. He was okay about the boy's curiosity and questions, but the idea of intruding on his son's privacy troubled him understandably.

"It's okay, he's been very respectful of my 'spot checks'." I smiled.

"Well, how much is too much? When I'm away on business, I miss your love terribly. I've run into a client's bathroom to jack off thinking about you."

How sweet, my Melvin. "Silly, it's only too much if you hurt yourself, and from what I've seen of you, you've been staying in great shape." That was all it took to diffuse his amorous intentions. He was as happy as if he had cum. Extra hugs helped too.

I slipped out of bed, not bothering to don my robe over my nightgown. I left Melvin to face the chilly morning's challenge to take a shower. Down the hall, I entered Clifford's room and knelt by his bed. He was still sleeping.

I kissed his small hand, and life crept into my son's inert form. His eyes blinked, and he yawned and stretched. Finally he had crossed the threshold into semi-consciousness.

"I love you mommy."

"I love you too, sweetheart. Do you have a present for mommy this morning?" I looked down at his hips. There, under the bedspread a portentous hill waited for the day's commencement.

Clifford turned on his side facing me and pulled the covers behind him. I saw his firm cock aimed straight at my face. I looked at my arm that lay near him.

"Would you like to use Mommy's hand this time?"

"Oh yes, mommy!" He was fully awake now, and he took my hand and gently wrapped my fingers around his cock. It felt like every other cock I have gripped, but it was my son's, and that made all the difference. Its life force connected with my own.

He began pumping my hand on his hot shaft, but I wasn't long in adding my own efforts to his. Soon, I was jacking him off without his help. The new sensations were too much for him.

"Mommy, where's the cup?"

"That's okay honey, just let yourself go." I opened my mouth.

It may have been the sight of my lips ready to catch his seed that triggered his first spurt of hot cum. It impacted on my tongue. I was jacking him wildly, and the second missed to score on my right cheek. My hand kept pumping jet after jet into my eager face. The final score was about fifty-fifty. I decided to save the half that I hadn't swallowed and licked only the area that my tongue could reach.

Clifford was flush with his orgasm and beamed fully red-faced from delight. "Oh mommy, it never felt that good before!"

I kissed him lightly so at not to disturb the cum on my cheeks, and I told him to get ready for breakfast. I returned to my room.

"Oh no, honey what happened!" Melvin was walking out of the shower. The sight of my face showered with pure white cum that tickled with life confused my trusting husband.

"Bad timing." I told him. As he exited it, I walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind me. I managed to wash everything else without a drop of water diluting the mask of my son's ejaculation.

Melvin finally cornered me in the kitchen. "Clifford, could you leave the room, while I talk to your mother?"

"No." He answered simply.

"Then you'll have to hear this in front of your mother."

"What is it, Melvin?" I took the pressure off my son.

"What is it? You've got that stuff on your face. It can't be what I think it is."

"Of course it is, dear. It's your son's dried cum. I read in a very expensive magazine that it's good for the skin. I figure why not take advantage of a dumb mistake on my part."

"Clifford, did she do anything to you this morning you don't feel right about?" He studied his son.

"No! Stop picking on her." The boy shouted.

"Look son, I just want to make sure that you aren't being subject to bad behaviors. I love you. I'm your father."

Clifford thought for a moment, fishing for treasure. "If you're a good father, then you need to go to work. Isn't that what you're suppos' to do? Don't be late."

Melvin faced the first challenge to his authority, and I think he handled as well as he could. He looked at me with worry written all over his face, like the cum flakes slowly peeling off of mine. "Honey, you don't need that stuff. You have the nicest skin a husband could want."

"It's not for you, Melvin." I patted his shoulder and handed him his lunch bag.

Looking as if his world was crumbling before his very eyes, he stared blankly at the floor and walked out. He whispered, "But today is Saturday." My lover and I heard the front door open and close. We heard the car start and drive away. I picked a flake off of my face and let it dissolve on my tongue.

"Mommy, do you want another present?" Clifford got out of his chair and walked over to me. His cock was bulging in his pants.

"Not right now, sweetie. You're mother wants to savor this moment." I slowly munched on delicate cum flakes until my face was clean again. They were particularly good with coffee.

Clifford stayed by me until his erection faded. Then he wandered out of the kitchen. I knew he wouldn't jack off without me. I found him playing with his toys in his room.

"Do you remember why you were sent to your room yesterday?"

"Uh huh." He nearly pouted.

"Say it." I prompted.

"I disturb'd your privacy."

"Yes you did, but today is another day. From now on, I'm going to be your whore mommy. You can do anything you want to me."

Clifford wasn't sure heard me right. He blinked and shook his head. When he opened his eyes again, I was still there. That's when my son got his first and only case of nervousness. "What am I suppose to do with a whore mommy?" Please pardon my setup for an attempt at humor.

"Anything or nothing. I am yours for whatever purpose and for however long you like."

My redundant explanation seemed to reassure him. He considered it carefully. I kissed his busy forehead and wandered back into my daily routine.

More time passed than I had anticipated, but without fail, Clifford emerged to confront me.

"Mommy, can we go to the zoo?"

"Of course we can honey." I dropped the broom in my hand and went straight for my purse and keys. I reminded him to bundle up, and I called a taxi.

I bought him ice cream and jelly beans until he didn't want anymore. After a gorgeous day outside, we returned home, and I picked up my broom and continued sweeping.

Is this the END?

NAH!

Chapter 6

My husband, Melvin Gulderson, continued to lick his lips, not wanting to waste a drop of pussy juice. He knew that it wasn't only pussy juice dribbling down his chin, but he still maintained a blind eye to the affairs of his household. They had unfolded in this manner.

It was late Saturday night when my husband returned home. I greeted him with a hug and a kiss as usual, and I had prepared a wonderful dinner. His new upswing in pay was making a real difference our lives. He was destined to work more hours than ever before, and I wanted to reward him for his faithful, burdened efforts.

Even Clifford was respectful of his father's role in the family. He didn't so much as fondle me at dinner that night. Neither of us ate much. Clifford's stomach wasn't used to so much candy, and I wasn't so hungry, having consumed two full loads of my son's plentiful jism, during our visit to the zoo.

He had me jack him off into a cup of ice behind a construction drape, and watched me slurp it down, ice and all. Back at home he jacked himself off at my face and scored much higher than I had that morning, much to my immediate delight. At the dining table, I suddenly wished he had mostly missed my mouth, so there would have been more flakes to mix with my mashed potatoes. They were all I ate.

Melvin quietly dropped his napkin onto his empty plate and walked into the living room. We heard the television roar to life. Clifford rose, leaving an unfinished mess on his plate and he leaned into the living room to shout, "Gee, that's loud, dad." The volume lowered right away.

I was clearing the table when Clifford took me by the hand and led me to my bedroom.

"Take your clothes off, mommy." He was patient as I stripped. I still wasn't wearing a bra or panties. He reached out and stroked my body all over as I stood naked in my bedroom.

"You feel so nice." He tweaked my hard nipples with his fingers, giving me wonderful shivers. Then he laid me on my bed and took off his clothes. My boy was still predictable; he started by sucking on my tits. I hugged him and kissed the top of his head as he drew his pleasure from my voluptuous treasures. I wanted to put my hand in my cunt and fuck myself, but he stopped me.

"No mommy, not like that." He wiped his mouth with his arm.

Then he left me lying on my bed all alone. I watched his naked butt wobble down the hall. When he returned, I was surprised to see Melvin following behind. My son pointed at my willing figure.

"Show me." He said.

The face my husband displayed, I had never seen before. It was strangely otherworldly, like he had left this world and found one were the rules let him live. My husband began to disrobe, but only his lower half. His now, insufficient cock was stiff and ready, although you would never have known it from his blank expression. He climbed on the bed and kneeled between my legs. Clifford stopped him.

"You have to wear a condom."

His dad climbed off again and went to his dresser. Clifford and I both inspected the fit over his cuckolded penis. Again he mounted himself between my legs and dipped his torso down. My son watched his every move.

I felt the rubber coated head push into me, easily because I was so wet, but why was my dear son treating his whore mother like a...? I forget myself.

"Go ahead dad, fuck her. I want to see it all." Clifford's own hard cock went unattended as I was fucked by my robot of a husband. My heart went out to the boy. I promised myself I wouldn't cum, no matter how long Melvin thrust himself into my dripping pussy. I think I actually dried up somewhat under his ministrations.

"Okay, stop it!" Clifford had to shout over my husband's panting. Melvin was starting to get into it, but just before he came, my son ordered a cease fire. Clifford pushed his father aside and lay his body on top of mine. He slowly fed his marvelous, milk bred cock into my trembling cunt. I could hear Melvin jacking himself off as Clifford pumped his meat in and out of his mother, his whore, for the very first time. Melvin's slapping was a disgusting sound compared to the music my son played inside and out my fertile cunt. My body wrapped around his, and I eagerly joined into the rhythm of my original, all natural, pure organic mother-fucking.

My young, incestuous lover held himself back for as long as he could, but I was already orgasming from his kisses and fondling hands and especially his perfect cock drilling my fertile hole. Superb oil gushed out of his loins and blasted its way deep into my womb. The highest quality baby making seed soaked my innards and delved in every moist cleft. He cried out with lust and joy, and I joined him screaming in blissful union. There was no doubt in my mind as to the outcome. In nine months, another member of the family would arrive.

Melvin had come in his rubber, big deal. He watched me fuck my son twice more that night before he wandered into Clifford's old room and fell asleep.

I was wakened the next morning by renewed thrusting of my son. We were quickly swept to the best orgasms. Afterward, he rose up with a wide yawn and wandered into the bathroom. I was lying there, contemplating perfection, when my husband's head, appeared from behind the foot board.

"Natalie, I have a surprise for you." He said, looking nervously at the closed, bathroom door. His glance preceded the moment my Melvin finally acted like a man. He crawled back into his own bed and buried his head between my thighs.

My husband, Melvin Gulderson, licked his lips, not wanting to waste a drop of pussy juice.

"Did you like it?"

"Dear," I replied, "that was a moment I'll always treasure."

Again, he glanced at the bathroom door that hid him from his son.

I told him, "I promise it will be our little secret."

The End