Chapter 2
It was a hot summer day and Timmy was wearing only a pair of cut-off jeans. He was a slender, athletic youth, the outline of his developing muscles delineated nicely, his belly tight, his hairless chest starting to grow wide.
The jeans were very tight, too.
When Jennifer walked into the kitchen, she could not help but notice the way that his crotch bulged.
Oh, wow ... he is really growing up fast, she thought. He must take after his father, the way his cock is packed into those shorts . . .
Then she blushed at such a thought concerning her own son. She had never noticed his sexual maturity so clearly before, and knew it must be because she was feeling so horny. She wondered if the lad had started jerking off yet.
She was willing to bet that he had.
She had started playing with herself when she was twelve, and Pete had told her that he started whacking off when he was thirteen, so it seemed only logical that Timothy was an old hand at beating his meat.
It was hard to imagine, though.
She still thought of Timmy as a little boy.
But with the size of that bulge in his jeans . . % a flash of depraved fascination coursed through the horny woman. She would have liked--secretively, of course--to spy on her son, to watch him jerk himself off.
The thought caused her to blush with shame.
And excitement, too.
Timmy was sitting at the table and Jennifer stood at the stove, cooking his bacon and eggs. She glanced towards him to say something and saw that he was staring at her. She was well aware that her outline could be clearly seen through the black silk of her negligee. When she looked at him, the boy dropped his eyes hastily and blushed.
Jennifer decided that she shouldn't have worn the sexy garment, after all.
Still, what harm did it do?
It was totally innocent, she assured herself.
Even if the boy got excited by it, there was no harm in it. It was no different than getting excited by looking at a girl in school or a centerfold in a magazine.
Even if he thought about her when he jerked off . . .
Well, no harm, maybe.
But Jennifer had to admit that that was a very stimulating idea.
She had coffee, sitting across the table from Timmy while he gulped down his bacon and eggs. He glanced at her from the tops of his eyes, covertly. She knew that he was looking at her tits, and she also knew that her nipples were sticking out in stiff points against the black silk. Those sensitive tit-tips tingled, just as if Timmy's vision had tactile properties--as if he were caressing her with his gaze.
Jennifer was embarrassed.
Yet she could not bring herself to move away. The glow that his fascination had brought to her was far too pleasant to be foresaken. She even leaned forward slightly, thrusting her tits out toward him, happy to realize that, at thirty-five, she could still arouse the interest of a teenage boy, even if that boy was--or maybe because he was--her own son.
She was ashamed of herself for harboring such incestuous thoughts. But she still figured that it was innocent enough--naughty, but harmless.
She might even manage--by accident--to let the boy get a look at her naked, sometime.
The thought thrilled her to the core.
In the bathtub, maybe, or the shower . . . soaping herself and pretending she was not aware that he had come in, that she had left the door ajar ... or just acting nonchalant about it, as if it had never occurred to her that he was now too old to be looking at his mother naked ...
She might manage to get a look at him, too.
It would be easy enough to wander into his bedroom or into the bathroom ... if only she could manage to keep her embarrassment and excitement from manifesting itself.
Jennifer was getting so aroused by such thoughts that she frightened herself.
It was just too, too depraved. She had to force these terrible ideas out of her mind. It was just that she was so damned horny, was all . . . after she'd rubbed herself off, she would realize how absurd such thoughts were.
She wished that Timmy would hurry up and finish his breakfast and go out.
Jennifer was very eager to finger-fuck herself.
"Tim!"
A voice called from outside. It was one of his friends, Jerry Turpin. When Timmy heard the summons, a fleeting frown passed over his face. He didn't want to leave the table yet, and he had been dawdling over his breakfast. But Jennifer welcomed the distraction. It broke the mood that was making her feel so distinctly uncomfortable. She gathered up the plates and took them to the sink.
"You run along, Timmy," she said.
She heard his chair scrape back from the table. As he stood up, she could not help but sneak a quick glance towards the boy. The front of his jeans was swollen alarmingly.
He jammed his hands into his pockets, trying to conceal his hard-on.
He went out, slouching.
Jennifer took a deep breath.
That was a weird scene, she thought. I'll have to be careful about things like that.
But even as she cautioned herself, she knew full well that while she rubbed her cunt to a lather she was going to be thinking about her son's bulging crotch.
She had started to do the dishes. Although she was impatient to get back to her bedroom and play with her steaming pussy, she figured she might as well finish the dishes first. It would only take a minute. Her hands moved through the soapy water slowly, as if it were an exercise she was doing in order to tone up her manual dexterity for later, when her hands would move in the same way through her frothy crotch.
There was a window over the sink.
Looking out, she saw Timothy and his friend Jerry walk into the back yard.
Tim still had a hard-on.
Jerry was also wearing only a pair of shorts. He was a tall, slender boy, with freckles. He had wide shoulders. Jennifer found herself looking at both of them, her gaze switching back and forth. They were in conversation and she wondered, with a little thrill, whether her son might be telling his friend that he had seen his mother's tits.
Despite herself, she hoped so.
She wished that Jerry had come in the house instead of calling from outside. She would have liked that boy to get a look at her tits, too.
My God . . . what's wrong with me? she wondered.
Am I so depraved that, after only one night without sex, I'm thinking of robbing the damned cradle?
Not that I'd ever really do anything like that ..."
But, still . . .
Her cunt was simmering, swirling around just like the soapy dishwater in the sink of her crotch. The hell with the dishes, she thought. She dried her hands on a towel. Out in the yard, Timmy and Jerry had started fooling around, wrestling. Jennifer watched their trim young limbs twist and twine as they struggled on the grass in playful combat. She moaned. She wished that she were wrestling with them, clamping a leg scissors around slim torsos, pretending that she was struggling as she ground her flaming snatch against a lean belly, a hard thigh, a hairless haunch. She could cling to them, laughing as if it was all in fun, as she rubbed her tits against them. Using a half nelson and crotch lock, she could pin the lad, her hand cupped over his cock and balls as if by mistake ... or she could tighten a scissor grip around one of their heads and . . . . . . ohhhhh . . .
She was dizzy with lust.
She took one faltering step back from the sink and her legs threatened to collapse. All her strength, all her life force, seemed to have seeped into her loins, leaving her weak as a kitten, hardly able to walk.
She wasn't sure that she could make it to the bedroom.
Then she thought: Why bother?
She grinned wickedly at the thought of masturbating at the kitchen sink. The idea was so out of place that it struck her as erotic.
She opened her negligee.
She was still looking out the window. Jerry had slipped behind Timmy and was bending him backwards in a cobra twist. Timmy's back was arched and his crotch thrust up, his cock still swollen in his tight jeans. Jennifer stared at his delightful bulge and her hands began to move down her naked belly, towards the burning ember of her twat.
She cupped her cunt, holding it, her hand not moving, as if she were trying to contain her passion. Her cunt-lips were unfurled, her slit widened out into a oval. Her gaping slot was flooded with cream. The sticky juice trickled over her palm and seeped between her fingers.
Her clit was like an ignition button, sparking against her hand with an electrical pulse.
She had intended to stretch out comfortably on the bed and enjoy a long, leisurely handjob, but now she was so hot that she knew that would be impossible. She had to get her rocks off quickly. Afterwards, maybe, she would give herself a more prolonged and less frantic fingering, but for the first orgasm she had to yield to the urgency of her needs.
Holding her fat tit in one hand, she began to work the other hand around in her crotch, rubbing and massaging. She was panting like a steam engine, her sensual lips parted and her eyes narrowed to slits.
In the yard, Timmy slipped free and rolled on top of his companion, pinning him.
Jennifer wished he had rolled on top of her.
She began to use both hands on her cunt now.
She spread her pussy-flaps wide open with her fingers while she ran her hand along the sodden hole, tracing her cunt-lips and fingering her love-nugget. Then, tilting her wrist, she began to push three fingers up her hole while she rubbed her clit with the other hand.
She brought her hand to her mouth and licked her cunt-juice off her fingers, feeling utterly depraved, wanting to do everything imaginable. And more.
Cunt-juice was delicious, she thought.
If it tasted that good when it was delivered by hand, what would it taste like all hot and bubbling right out of a creaming cunt?
Her hand went back to her crotch, the pussy-juice replaced by saliva. She started playing with her pussy with both hands again, stroking her clit with one while she steadily fucked up her hole with the other. She was turning her wrist and forearm so that her fingers corkscrewed up her slippery gash, her hand turning like a pitcher delivering a curve ball as it thrust into her pussy.
Her belly humped in and out, pushing up against the rim of the sink. Her hips began to grind from side to side and her taut ass bucked as she fucked her hands just as if they were a prick.
Her eyes blurred. She still watched the two boys wrestling in the yard, but through a mist.
Long, lateral waves of sensation began to sweep across her hot belly.
Electric thrills coursed up her thighs.
The two tingling ripples of sensation met in her cunt, crashing together with overwhelming force as they mingled. Her pussy was awash with cream. Her hands were moving like lightning now, spasmodically jerking up her juicy hole, wildly pawing at her cunt-lips and clit.
Her whole body was vibrating.
Her face had become a mask of pure lust.
She arched her back sensually, pushing her pelvis out. Her nipples were as hard as bullets and her love-bud was swollen to bursting. She pushed her belly right up against the edge of the sink. Cunt-juice was fairly flooding from her now. It seeped between her fingers into her palm and ran in creamy ribbons down her forearm. Frothy banners of joy-juice poured down her thighs. Her crotch was as foamy with cum as the sink was with soapy water. Yet despite the thrills that flashed through her and the cunt-juice that gushed out, the horny housewife was not yet at the peak. The thrills were building, coming higher and faster one upon the other as she worked desperately towards the height of all feeling, the apex of sexual sensation.
She was moaning and panting and gasping.
The thrills came with such frequency now that they were linked together. The rapid sequence became one long, sustained ripple coursing through her crotch.
She cried out as she reached the peak.
Her cunt melted. So much pussy-juice gushed from her cunt that she felt as if her whole being were draining out, leaving her body an empty shell from which the kernel was melting, a husk with all sensation milked out.
Her hands continued to work on her lathered cunt as she stroked and shoved, milking her wonderful orgasm out to the very dregs, working every last spasm from her sparking clit and every last drop of joy-juice from her steaming hole.
At last she was finished.
Her cunt was emptied, although her hands continued to move, slowing gradually.
A smile of utter satisfaction and contentment turned her sensual lips.
That, she thought, was lovely.
If I can take care of myself so nicely, it won't be such a hardship to spend a week alone.
She thought that she would finish doing the dishes now, and then maybe she would go up to her bedroom and rub herself off again.
Out in the yard, the boys had stopped wrestling and were stretched out, panting, in the grass.
In the kitchen, Jennifer was panting from her own exertions, her smooth body as coated with perspiration as if she had been wrestling, and the insides of her thighs slick with streamers of congealing cunt-juice.
Looking at the boys, she felt a touch of shame.
My God! How could I have had such thoughts about my own son? she wondered.
That poor, innocent lamb . . .
t t t
"Saw my mom's tits, this morning," said the innocent lamb with a dirty grin.
Jerry looked up, interested.
"Bare tit?" he asked in awe.
"Well, no . . . but just as good. She was wearing a nighty thing that was real sexy. I could see right through it. Being my mom and all, it never occurred to her that I was looking, see? And I could see her big nipples and the dark circles around 'em . . . whatever they're called . . . and the way her tits came together in what they call cleavage ..."
"Jeez ..."
"Gave me a big boner, for sure."
"Yeah! Your mom is real sexy ..."
"Ummmm. Saw her ass, too. While she was cooking."
"Boy! I wish I could."
Timmy frowned slightly.
He wasn't sure if he should allow his friend to express such a desire about his mother, despite the interest that he had admitted. He was a bit confused about it. What was a guy supposed to think when he saw a real sexy woman, if she just happened to be his mother?
Both Timmy and Jerry were virgins, at the stage when they suffered terribly from that condition and tried desperately to rectify it.
Jerry had felt up Emmy Lou Jones a few times, including a feel of bare tit, and boasted of it.
Timmy had had equal success with Martha Andrews--an equal failure in not being allowed to proceed beyond such pleasant, but frustrating, beginnings.
Both boys jerked off with great regularity.
Now Jerry, inspired and not aware that he might be treading on doubtful soil, asked, "You ever think about your mother while you're whacking off?"
"Aw . . . naw ..." Timmy said.
Jerry grinned lewdly.
"I have," he admitted.
"What? My Mom?"
"Sure. Lots of times."
"I ought to whip you for that."
"Naw, there's nothing wrong about that," Jerry said. "I think about my own sister sometimes, too."
"Yeah? I think about your sister once in a while, while I beat my meat."
Now it was Jerry's turn to look dubious. "Think about her . . . how?"
"You know ... I pretend I'm fucking her."
"My sister's a virgin, damn you!" "So what? So's my mother!" "Huh?"
"Well . . . you know what I mean ..."
"Yeah. But there ain't nothing wrong in just thinking about mothers and sisters, is there?"
"I guess not," said Timmy, who had, in fact, planned to do just that the next time he jerked off.
Jerry looked sly. He said, "Want to go to the clubhouse and look at my new dirty comic book?"
"Is it real dirty?"
"Yeah. Popeye and Olive Oyl."
"Okay," said Timmy.
He knew where that would lead.
And he knew that he was going to think about his mother while he did it ... .