Temptation Ch. 02

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My heartfelt thanks to editor Polopoly.


It was strange yet so wonderful a feeling to reach an orgasm from the mere blending of fear and sexual arousal. My son and I were sitting so close together, scantily dressed and talking in whispers, when my husband’s voice suddenly echoed in the four corners of the darkened house.

The sexual tension between us was so intense when we jumped off the love seat and stood in fear as my husband approached. The initial tingling sensation that slowly welled in my loins started to swell rapidly as he neared us until I exploded standing. It was a sensation that I never thought existed. The feeling was both ecstatic and delirious.

My son Albert took me by the shoulders when the peak of the orgasm made me too weak to remain standing. The “rescue” caused a head on collision of our erogenous zones. Almost at impact, my son’s rock-hard tent pulsed together with my anal muscles through my thin robe thus intensifying the orgasm, littering tiny bits of punctures all over my sensitive body.

Albert used to feel sexual gratification from whatever remained of his mother’s body heat through her unwashed clothing. It goes, therefore, that his gratification was more intense at that moment. For it were not just the traces of his mother’s sexuality that pleasured him at that moment. It was the sexual object itself, his mother, her ass in rapid spasms while glued at his rock-hard penis through her sheer robe.

We were on cloud nine gripping with sensuality never before felt when my husband, his dad, started to grill me just a few feet from where we stood, our legs shaking in a blending of fear and pleasure.

“What the hell do you think you are doing down here at this goddamn time of the night, Christine? Why aren’t you in bed?” he harshly asked.

I could only utter breathless gasps and panicky words as me and my son were putting forth whatever was left of our strength in trying to suppress the uncontrollable wiggling of our attached hypersensitive zones.

“Haahhh….I…can’t…can’t sleep …I…”

“Why? What the hell is happening to you?”

I shook my head to mean “nothing.” Words would not come out of my mouth for fear of stammering.

“For Christ sake, Christine! Just tell me what’s going on.”

“None…nothing…” I finally managed to utter with heavy breathing. He continued quizzing me on things I could not recall, as my body was at that moment entangled in sexual chaos with my son. I could only recall his stern order telling me to go to bed, “now and I mean now!” His order was in no uncertain terms. The words were harsh. Thanks heaven he couldn’t see the synchronized and wonderfully felt spasms in my bottom, over my robe and under it.

My behind was still glued with my son’s front when my husband turned his back to us. The young man was still hard and would not disengage from his mom’s throbbing ass. When his dad suddenly looked over his shoulder I pulled off instantly. The break was so sudden that if only Mark looked back another time he would see the jerking of his son’s steep tent in his boxers that just seconds earlier was twitching like crazy in his mother’s robed crack.

Although Mark didn’t ask Albert anything or anything about him that night it was easy to detect his suspicion. I was sure he didn’t take the scene lightly. Mark was no moron. He was such a smart guy that a person’s strange or unusual behavior would not escape his notice. Times were there when his jealousy made me uncomfortable. He was jealous of his own buddies, my son’s buddies and virtually every male creature that happened to take a second look at me or at us.

Thank God he didn’t drop by his study room or hell would have broken loose. I followed him upstairs but not before successfully retrieving my panties left lying under his desk. With my son’s hardness so obvious in his tight shorts and my panties left lying on the floor, no right-thinking husband would think right anymore.

The flirt with incest emboldened Albert to play “harmless” games with his mother, something he never did before. Whatever euphemism I’d use to describe them would all lead to the same thing. They were all but virtuous and moral. Albert, however, would stay within the bounds of propriety knowing my awareness to it. Did I say propriety? Oh my God, people sitting next to me in church would surely think I had a terrible command of the English language if they came to know of the “harmless” games my son and I were playing.

Albert and I hugged each other for whatever occasion we could make an excuse for, turning each hug into a tight embrace, invariably linking our bellies and thighs together longer than necessary. When a boner swelled between our bellies we went for it and enjoyed the sensation but not one of us would make mention of it or would poke fun at it. We used to part ways painfully suppressing the sexual sparks in our loins.

It would sound funny to hear me say that my son and I were playing harmless games within the bounds of propriety. The games kartal escort were faultless, we kept insisting quietly to ourselves. Faultless? Then we didn’t have the need to conceal the acts from anyone. But no, that was not to be. We both jumped off a love seat each time a car would roar up the driveway. Why else if not for the fear of getting caught sitting close together, flirting and sexually aroused. And to think that we had claimed, at least to ourselves, that we always were within the bounds of the so-called propriety. Wouldn’t that sound funny?


Albert always tested my moods first whenever he attempted to sit by my side. When he saw it clear in every front, he’d sit beside me or would take position to lay his head on my lap. Like any typical mom it was hard for me to tell him to get off me, let alone push him off my lap, a part of me that happened to be an erogenous zone. There really was no choice but to allow his head roll over my lap even if it risked the quickening of my sexual sensitivity.

Behind the sexual undertones of the “harmless” games we played was the annoying feeling of guilt that, like the proverbial sword of Damocles, kept hanging over our heads. One good thing that resulted, however, from that common feeling was the compliance to an unwritten rule, a directive that stopped us from crossing the danger line. It was a rule that neither one of us had imposed but to which we both complied with anyway. At least until fate went to follow its course.

I’d be lying if I’d say I did not enjoy the pretense. The charade quickened my sexuality and it seemed to offer a new lease to my womanhood. The games at times would drive me to my bedroom then come out weak, exhausted and disheveled, reeling from intense pleasure, the intensity of which could hardly be matched by marital sex.


It was the moment of truth one Friday night. My husband usually came home on Fridays a little late, either for reasons of business or a night out for relaxation with buddies. My son and I were alone together at home that fateful night. After dinner, Albert in his casual tight shorts and shirt went to sit beside me while I watched a musical program on television. I wore a long, light-blue silk nightgown with thin shoulder straps and only my white panties underneath. I enjoyed watching the program as it featured the 60’s trio, The Lettermen. I wasn’t sure if the trio on screen were still the originals although the songs they rendered on television were the same songs I used to hear when I was in grade school.

“Can I join you, Mom?” Albert asked softly, almost touching my left ear.

“You can but you may not,” I kidded.

“May I join you?”

“Do I have a choice?” I asked smirking at him.

He kissed my cheek before running to the bathroom. He came back with the wide sky-blue towel that I used to wrap around my torso after each shower. What on earth he wanted to do with it I didn’t bother to ask. We watched the trio on TV and listened to the old songs that I was sure Albert did not appreciate. He just wanted to have an excuse to sit beside me and rub his leg with mine.

“The sounds are romantic, Mom.”

“I never thought you knew the meaning of that word.”

“Sure I do. I’ve read about Romeo and Juliet and all that stuff.”

“Oww, come on. Those stuff are only for academics. They are not what I would have in mind with the mention of that word.”

“Pitt and Jolie?”

“Not even that. I’d like to remember the real romantics as portrayed by that trio on the screen. Things like…red roses for a blue lady. But, oh well, those were the days. Today, a guy lays his girl in bed pronto. And they’d call it romance.”

Laughing out loud, Albert spread the wide terry cloth on our laps to cover our lightly rubbing legs, mine crossed left over right. He explained that the night was getting a little cold. “Sure it is” I said, sarcastically though. The night was not really getting cold, that was the truth. A bit later, however, fleeting glances at the squirmy movements emanating from beneath the terry cloth made me see flashes of eroticism.

A story I once read in Literotica suddenly flashed into my mind. It was about a mother and son quietly masturbating together under a blanket covering their jerking laps while watching a soft porn movie, with living room lights off. Both came with neither of them wanting the other to know.

I tried mightily to get my mind off it and listen instead to the melodious songs by the Lettermen on television. But the wicked thoughts about the story and how it drew its parallel with me and Albert just wouldn’t get out of my mind, what with our grinding hips and legs under cover of cloth. Christ, just glancing at that uneasy piece of terrycloth covering our laps ignited sensuality, at least in my mind. And there I was talking of red roses for a blue lady.

Out of nowhere the thought of my son’s fetish, his enjoyment to the feel of any apparel that touched his mother’s body suddenly invaded my already sex-wrapped maltepe escort bayan mind. It added tiny pinches to my hardening nipples that were then already straining my nightgown, almost to the point of popping out of it. I could feel the drenching of my panties.

Albert put his right arm over my shoulder and played with my gown’s thin strap. Soon, he was caressing my tickly bare shoulder causing my ass to squirm in the couch, stirring up more jerks beneath the terry cloth covering our lower bodies.

My usual attempt to stop him was to grab his fingers with mine and slide them away in very slow steps in a way not to offend him. For some reason, I failed to do it this time. Instead, I turned my face towards his with an expressive albeit pleading look hoping he’d understand. Yes, he did but remained defiant as he continued caressing my shoulder.

“Albert, I know you’re just playing but your dad won’t understand it. He is not like us. He is, his car will be pulling up in a minute.”

“Don’t worry, Mom. I mean no harm. I’m just fascinated and caught up by your being such a feminine mother, nothing more.”

“I can understand that. But your dad won’t. He may be barging in through that door any minute and we’ll both be in deep trouble.”

“For what?”

“Haven’t you noticed his sarcasms and insinuations about us? Our physical closeness to each other does not escape his notice. You know how smart your old man is, don’t you?”

“Yes I know he is smart, but we are much smarter,” he smiled. “We won’t get caught.”

“My God, Albert, watch your choice of words,” I said, trying to sound offended.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I…humm…I…”

“You’re what?”

“Just…you know…kidding.”

We turned speechless gazing into each other for a few seconds before both gazes dropped to each other’s mouths. The gazes inexplicably lingered causing an ambiance that was mixed with passion and awkwardness to hang over us. My alert mind immediately sounded the alarm bells. Rightly so, but the sensuous part of me would not seem to muster the necessary interest to intently heed the warning.

“Your…your dad won’t be happy… to see me with you this way.”

“He won’t see us.”

Gazes shot back into each others eyes. Our voices were low and breathy, almost drowned by the melodious songs of the Lettermen from the TV set.

“That… doesn’t make it right, does it?”

“Trust me, Mom. I’m just…just…”

“Just what?”

“Just trying…to be with you.”

“Like this?”

“MMMMM…yeah…like this.”

We both smiled clumsily after which our gazes alternated between each others eyes and mouths. A breathy silence followed. For a moment I thought of turning my face away from his. But then my face wouldn’t comply. The tide of passion was too strong to go against. Where the red roses in my mind had gone, I really would not know to this day.

Albert’s finger resumed the tiny touches on my shoulder causing a tingling shock that traversed to my nipples and pussy like there were electrical fibers interconnecting each one. A stunning standoff was ensuing between my strong mind and my weak defenseless body, each trying hard not to blink in the face of the sexual tension building up.

Our uneasy gazes firmly locked to each other’s trembling lips, staring with bated breaths at the gap between two pouting mouths. My pussy was literally dripping.

The gap started to close slowly, so slowly, bit by bit. My heartbeat was rising at an alarming rate. What I called a standoff had turned into a duel, a clash of desires between a sensible mind and a sensuous body. My “strong” and sensible self fought valiantly but just couldn’t force the sensuous part of me to stay away from the danger line.

Fate took over. My sensible mind blinked. Sensuality pushed aside whatever sensibility was left in the other part of me. The slowly thinning gap between two ravening mouths closed. The sodden lips of a mother and son collided in a kiss, a tender kiss that would soon inflame their bodies into hedonistic abandon.

As I uncrossed my thighs our hips unevenly wriggled and our legs involuntarily intertwined causing the wide terry cloth covering our laps to slide down and fall from our knees.

The kiss was so sweet and gentle but wet with passion. My son and I tasted each other’s lips, nibbled, chewed and licked them wet. I grabbed my boy’s handsome face with both hands, caressed it, fondled it, feeling the sensuous touch of my own flesh and blood.

As my palms slid between our glued faces I pretended, just pretended, to cover from anyone’s view the mated mouths of a mother and son, me make-believing that my hands could conceal the wicked locking of mouths from anyone watching over us, God included.

With my son’s right palm now sensually caressing my shoulder, the kiss tightened as it turned juicier by the minute, fulfilling an intense sexual longing that both mother and son refused to accept through self-denials.

Our lips broke apart but escort pendik remained close and lightly touching. The sound of heavy breathing was on the air. With half-closed eyes, I gazed at a thin string of saliva bridging our wet mouths, watching it as it collapsed into our chins.

We resumed the kissing, the gentleness of which had slowly eroded. The tender kiss was getting harder and deeper, slowly but deliberately in a mind-blowing crescendo until it muffled whatever moans would leak out of the seal.

With our mouths now locked so tightly together and with the sound of the Lettermen from the abandoned T.V. set singing, “The Seventh Dawn” the deepening kiss had turned us totally oblivious to anything and everything surrounding us. Fear had turned into daring. We no longer cared of a possible danger that could already be lurking in the shadows, threatening to end the lives of a mother and son committing a sin against God and man.

The music lingered on so did the steaming incestuous kiss. My caressing palms could sense the hallowing of my son’s youthful cheeks as he sucked his mother’s tongue into his throat, swallowing it like it was his last supper.

“…there is someone walking behind you… turn around (turn around)… look at me (look at me)…”

So went the song by The Lettermen on television. The lyrics were loud and clear for me to hear notwithstanding our passionate moment in another world. The words sounded sympathetic too as they seemed to warn us of an approaching danger.

My hands fell from between our glued faces as the kiss intensified. Albert was now kissing his mother hard, deep and ravenous, forcing my head to fall back. We kissed wildly, hands flying over heads and backs tightly, positioning for deeper kissing and tonguing.

With legs passionately intertwined, soles rubbed the other’s calf as the kissing turned wild. My arms stretched up around his neck while his left hand reached down under my rumpled nightgown, feeling my thighs and ass, squeezing the cheeks and caressing the crack through my soaked panties.

We broke the wild kiss to catch our breaths from the throes of death just in time. I threw my head back to take as much oxygen as I could. My breathing was heavy, so heavy. My nightgown was totally disheveled, the thin straps of which had slid down my shoulders in the erotic scuffle.

My son, to my amazement, remained vigorous, forceful and energetic. As his left hand continued to caress my ass from under my rumpled gown, the young lover unabatedly carried on his flaming desire for his mother, licking and biting my ear followed by oral assaults all over my upper body, from my mouth and chin to my tilted neck down to my naked shoulders and nude back. The luscious mad kisses sent jolts and shivers all over my quivering body.

“Haaahhh….Haaalbert… Your dad…will…kill us…He is…he is…coming…please…stopppp…aaaahhh.”

No, my son would not stop. He untwined our legs, took position, rubbed his hands up my thighs beneath my nightgown, or whatever was left of it, and tagged at my soaked panties. I raised my butt involuntarily till my panties slid down to mid-thighs. My waist was now the only covered part of my restless body. The mad kissing went unabated licking his way down to my stomach and navel before going up to concentrate on my exposed breast. He lapped at my nipples, nibbling and sucking them alternately while his fingers found and penetrated both my holes.

“Oh… my…Godddd!” I moaned and squealed in delight as I threw my arms at the back of my tilted head, clutching at my brown hair, arching my back to give my young lover more and easier access in pleasuring his mother who had equally turned mad if not more in the incestuous foreplay.

My lover’s simultaneous attacks on my throbbing holes and hard nipples made my body shake and spasm in an incredibly powerful orgasm. My squirming butt rose from the love seat, fell back on its side, only to rise up again as if it had a mind of its own. I bit my lover’s shoulder to suppress my scream of delight, a blissful scream that, if left unchecked, could scandalize us to death. I reached down to grab his rock-hard penis as I crossed the peak of pleasure trying hard to give back to him what he was giving me. I just couldn’t concentrate in stroking his raging hardness because of the overpowering pleasure flooding my body.

I released his shoulder from my erotic bite, brought my slobbering mouth to his ear, nibbling it, biting it, breathing love sounds into it.

“Your dad…is…coming…Al…Albert…We..will die…aaaahhhh.”

“Say you love me.”

“I’m your…mother”

“Say it, Mom.”


“Whisper my name.”

“Please stoppp…”

“Whisper my name.”

“Al…Albert…it’s too intense…please… stop…”

I was descending from the peak when my rising and falling butt hit the edge of the couch causing us to tumble down the carpeted floor. My son just wouldn’t stop. He continued finger-fucking my clit and ass while his insatiable mouth renewed its attack on my nipples. I was on the carpet, bucking and twisting from the relentless sexual assaults. The attacks sent me to another blinding orgasm so powerful that I no longer cared if death followed it. I was in seventh heaven!

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