5 comments/ 284549 views/ 73 favorites Tell Mommy What You Want By: CindysBob [This story contains themes of incest and explicit sexuality. If such material offends you in any way, please don't read further. It is a work of fantasy and all characters depicted herein are over the age of eighteen. As always, comments are most welcome and I always appreciate your votes. I hope you enjoy.] _______________ Ryan never screamed, not once. I guess that's what I remember most about the accident, a twenty foot tumble from a rickety wooden ladder. I was working in the kitchen when I heard the creak of dry-rot giving way, then the sickening thud of my son's body impacting the sidewalk. His face was a knotted mask of pain when I got out to him, sweat beading over his shock-blanched features, his eyes pooling with tears. But he never screamed. Not so much as a whimper. ______________ "I've written down everything I could think of for you," Carol said rather absently, sliding the notepad across the kitchen table to me. "You know you'll have your hands full." I glanced at her scratchy writing and nodded. "Now without him being able to use crutches, you are going to have to assist him getting in and out of the chair. You have to watch your back with that. I don't want to come out here someday next week and be calling an ambulance for you." She offered a smile, a nurse's smile, a warm and wry crinkle of her lips. "Thanks," I answered, feeling better about it for a second or so, then seeing the break again in my mind, the shin bone jutting almost through my Ryan's skin, the right wrist bent so weirdly out of angle. "Now you said your husband will be able to help out in the evenings, so let him. You're going to catch eighty percent of the work, so trust me, and let him do as much as he can when he's here. Okay?" Again I nodded, wanting to beg her not to leave. "I'll be coming by every other day, so if you want, I'll take care of the showers for him. If you need to ask any questions, my pager number is on the bottom there. ...Once you get the drill down, you'll be fine." I stood in the doorway until her car disappeared down the block. I paused a second to collect myself, to get my "chipper" up, as it were. Two weeks ago I was teaching summer school English at my high school and Jack was an overly energetic teenager addicted to soccer. Now he was a convalescent, and I was, for better or worse, his nurse. "Honey," I called as I climbed the staircase. The ambulance attendants had carted him up on the gurney and as we only had a full bath on the second floor, Ryan would be pretty much confined there for the next six to eight weeks. Carol and the therapist from rehab had warned me that boredom would be our biggest problem. "Yeah," he answered, the TV we'd put in his room turned up too loud. "How're you doing," I asked, halting in his opened doorway. "I'm good, Mom." Ryan never was one to complain, always a quiet, serious kid, a kid who read a lot and didn't have too many friends outside of his baseball and soccer. Shy and too often blushing, no girlfriend yet...a late one to blossom, just like me. I caught myself wondering if he'd even made out with anyone yet, hoping he had, which I guess is an odd thing for a mother to reflect on. "If you need anything, just holler." "I'm good." "Okay." ______________ A week and a half crawled by. My lower back was nearly wrecked after the first three days, my thighs and shoulders quivering like Jell-O when I'd finally collapse into bed at night. Till you take care of someone like that, someone who can't get around on their own, you never really appreciate what a nurse does. Carol saved me when it came to his shower, which was an even worse ordeal than she'd made out. The bench in the tub routine, the trash bags and duct tape on the plastered casts. The obvious embarrassment of having a woman seeing him semi-naked like that, the towel wrapped around his waist till she pulled the curtain around him as best she could. I did the alcohol rubs twice a day like she's said, seeing him so tense those first few times I did it, then visibly relaxing as he got used to the physical touch. I massaged his back and legs, the alcohol cool on my palms as I kept kneading away on his young muscles, feeling the tension drain from him as I worked. It was strange that this was the only part of the daily grind that I looked forward to, as if that contact, that physical communion was a fresh bond with us, a bond that cut though his bleak isolation up in that damned room. My husband, Richard, was able to help out on some nights, but often he didn't get home till after nine at night, the summer being his busy season. There were just too many times I could see him starting to doze as he wolfed the late dinner I'd prepared for him. He was tense a lot of the time now too, some of it easy to attribute to Jack's injury which he blamed himself in part for...he was the one who'd told our son to clean out the gutter that day. I gradually started doing more of the work in the evenings, letting Rich relax on the couch, waking him during the late shows if he'd fallen to sleep. I was drifting into a pattern, I can see now. I was isolated as much as Ryan in some ways, pampering him, making him the absolute center of my attention. I actually found myself growing jealous of Carol's efforts, while at the same time being dearly appreciative of all she'd do. And I could see the awful loneliness too. A couple buddies of his dropping by to play video games in the evenings, sometimes two or three of the boys he played soccer with coming by to watch an afternoon match on ESPN. Small breaks in a bleak monotony, one day leeching into the next, sounds and laughter from outside the house a mean taunt. __________________ Three weeks of it and I was snappish with everyone, including Ryan. I was moody and could taste the resentment in the back of my throat. It was a Tuesday morning. I was relaxing for a few minutes that morning, staring blankly at something on television, trying to enjoy a cup of tea and a few minutes to myself. The patio door was open and I could smell the garden. That's when I heard the crash from upstairs. I took the steps two at a time, calling Ryan's name as I went. The nightstand was tipped over, the bulb of the reading lamp shattered, my son dangling half out of his bed, his casted arm catching the floor to keep him from tumbling out completely. I remember hearing myself asking "what happened" as I stepped around broken glass and hefted my son back onto the mattress. "What were you doing," I wheezed angrily, winded by my race up here, looking over the toppled furniture, the drawer jammed open—the papers, the gloss of a magazine cover. I reached down for it without thinking. "Mom, don't..." Playboy, a dirty blond on the cover with her breasts strategically covered. I saw the damned rabbity ears up in the top corner. Without meaning to I glared at him, probably venting at the release of fear I'd felt as I came up here a mad woman. He turned away, cheeks burning to crimson. "Are you okay," I said after a second. No answer. "You could've hurt yourself...broken something else." He wasn't going to look back at me, I could see that. I bent and righted the nightstand, mindlessly setting the magazine atop it as I closed the drawer. "Sorry," he croaked, the fact that he was crying evident. My anger, such as what was left of it, dissipated instantly. "It's okay, Ryan," I said feeling tired all of a sudden. "I'll clean this up." "I'm sorry." "...Don't worry about it. Just think next time. Be more careful, okay." I went for a broom and dustpan and quickly swept up the debris, the corpse of the light bulb going into the wastebasket. The magazine was still sitting there, the perfect little cutie all ready for the newsstand. I opened the drawer and stuffed it back inside and asked if he wanted anything to eat, getting just another shake of his head. I milled about downstairs for maybe an hour or so, not doing much of anything, but using up a lot of energy. One of his buddies probably brought the book up for him. That is unless he had it there as his personal stash for a while. And I felt bad about how I'd yelled at him, shaking my head at the memory of how he'd turned away, what my expression had to be like. I was raised in a pretty puritanical house...well, an Irish Catholic house in Pittsburgh which had to be as close to some dour Pilgrim abode as you could get. I remember the day my Mom found a Playboy secreted away between my youngest brother's box spring. Holy fucking hell broke out, that poor magazine torn to shreds and tossed across our small foyer so that Danny could pick it up scrap by scrap when he got home from school. And I hadn't acted much better, had I? Without any real thought, I stopped in my tracks and started back upstairs, a soft knock to announce my entrance. "Sorry," he said immediately. I didn't say a word, but rather went over to the nightstand and took out the magazine, Ryan instantly averting his eyes, absolutely chagrined, ready for another outburst. I stepped up to the bed and looked at the young cover-girl again...she was legitimately pretty. I put the magazine atop his chest as gently as I could. "Don't try to get it on your own again, okay. Just ask me when you want it. ...I don't want you doing trapeze tricks on the floor." I let out a chuckle, or more aptly, forced one to the surface. Ryan was blushing, not touching the mag, a flash of surprise on his youthfully handsome face, maybe even a glimmer of awe. I turned and closed the door behind me, feeling better than I felt in weeks. The next day was Carol's visit. The shower, the therapy she'd take him through. Carol moved with an efficiency that always impressed. And she made us both laugh, even with her weakest jokes. After she left, I helped get my son arrayed on the bed, the pillows tucked in just right. And without asking, I opened the drawer and took out the magazine, smiling a bit as I handed it to him. "Don't I get a thank you?" He nodded, red-faced, not giving me his eyes. "You're welcome," I said as I strolled. Four more days, each day the same routine. I'd take it out and hand it to him and then wordlessly put it back in the drawer in the late afternoon. That evening I was out shopping, Richard staying with Ryan, a cousin of mine in for a visit. I bought what I had too and stopped for a coffee, savoring those few quiet minutes alone, thinking of the odd enjoyment I was deriving from this simple deal of giving him that thing. I knew he was masturbating to it. At least that's what I figured...a boy his age, no girlfriend yet. And then I just stood up, leaving my coffee half finished, and walked out. The convenience store was just down the street, the glossy magazines arrayed behind the counter. "A Playboy," I said as I came up to the clerk, knowing that I was now every bit as red cheeked as my son had been. God, I hoped no one I knew would walk in. "Which," the clerk answered with a thick accent. "The..." He was pointing, I squinted...one like he had at home and a Lingerie one. "Both." ______________ I couldn't wait for Richard to leave that morning. It was Carol's day to come by and I wanted to give it to him before she got there. I cleared my throat from the doorway. "Hey." "Got something for you," I fairly croaked, pulling the magazines from behind my back with a flourish. His jaw dropped a bit. He was surprised alright, maybe more than surprised. "Thought you might be getting tired of the one you have." "...Thanks," he muttered. "This is all lingerie," I babbled rather stupidly, fanning the pages with my thumb. "Is that okay?" Ryan gulped and nodded. Suddenly I wanted to see him open it up. I stepped closer to the bed and flipped closer to the center of the magazine. A gorgeous blond in a red teddy, perched on all fours, her heavy breasts almost spilling free of the lace. "See." Ryan nodded again, a jerky movement. I flipped though a few more pages, a slim oriental girl a camisole draped down her body to expose perfectly shaped but smallish breasts. Suddenly self conscious, I flipped ahead another page or so and it was then that I saw the clear jut of Ryan's penis through the sheet, the tenting that I'd so often see Richard wake to. He was angling his slim body, trying to mask it. "You enjoy 'em," I muttered hastily and backed out of the room, closing the door securely. I went to my bedroom and leaned against chest of drawers, legs quivering and weak, seeing my flustered refection in the mirror. I steadied my breath, my heart snapping along. "What the hell's the matter with you?" I asked myself, getting no answer. I was corrupting my kid and getting turned on by it. What the hell is wrong with this picture, folks? I went downstairs and started cleaning, a frenzied job meant to bury my thoughts, which seemed to keep coming back to the dirty books and my Ryan, to the way he was contorting to hide that erection. "Keep this up and you better start a fund up for his next twenty years of psychiatric bills," I whispered to myself, jarred from my solitude by Carol tapping at the patio door. I let Carol do everything that morning, as opposite my usual custom of helping her out in any way I could. She was up there almost an hour with him, all the while I kept up my frenzied pace with what I was doing. "Are you all right?" I turned and saw Carol standing there. "I'm fine," I lied. "How's the patient." "Good. You need help at all?" "You take it easy and I'll get things squared upstairs," she said looking worn out by her exertions, giving me a look of cool appraisal, as if sensing that something wasn't quite right with me. I made coffee and set out two cups, listening to the noises from the second floor...muffled thuds, shuffling, the dull hiss of the shower. It felt a little guilty at my desertion. "Everything go okay?" I asked when she finally came into the kitchen. "I'm a pro," she laughed, pausing to curl a defined bicep at me. "You have time for coffee?" "Sure." We sat there and chatted for ten minutes or so, an aimless conversation on topics I can't even recall today. It was nice to talk this way, to just have a break in the routine. "Ryan was very...how should I say...very excited today." I glanced across the rim of my mug, seeing that playful grin she often punctuated her words with. "Excited?" I queried. She rolled her eyes with amused embarrassment. "Yes, excited. Excited as in the way a boy his age gets excited and can't get un-excited." "Oh." "It's alright," she chuckled, waving away any concern. "You see it more than you'd expect doing what I do. ...He was probably a thousand times more mortified by it than I was, trust me." "I'm sorry," I said, laughing without really meaning to. "Seen one, seen 'em all, honey." Carol switched off it then, taking the conversation elsewhere before she finally got up to leave. I watched her drive off, feeling a curious melding of embarrassment and excitement...excitement wondering at how she'd seen it. Or more likely had she actually seen it or just a towel shrouded thrusting. I shook my head to clear away the thought, again thinking that I must be going stir crazy to even be running my mind along thoughts like these. I was distracted the rest of the day, minimizing the time I spent with my son, doing busy work, making several phone calls I'd been neglecting. I brought him his dinner, sat with him while he watched television. I asked for the magazines I'd given him and tucked them into the drawer before Richard got home. I was distracted throughout the night, tossing and turning, fitful in my sleep, up twice to wander through the darkened house. I was in a strange mood. Thinking about my son being erect in front of Carol like that had sparked something I didn't really like within my psyche, yet I couldn't dampen the excitement it stirred. It was almost four in then, the air heavy. I was standing at the patio door in my nightgown, the garden completely darkened. I know I didn't think about it in any way, my hand working the door silently, a breeze enlivening the humid summer air. I was shaking, my hands trembling as I leaned my weight against a cast-iron table that I used as a potting station, my right hand bundling up the sheer material of my nightgown, slipping in along the elastic of my panties... ...I was looking up at the stars, sprawled awkwardly on my side, eyes spilling tears, my abdominal muscles utterly wrecked with the most punishing wave of orgasms I'd ever experienced, afraid to draw so much as a single a breath lest some primal shriek escape my lips. "Oh, my God," I finally rasped, shocked at what I'd just done, palm still buried in the coarse curls of my pubic hair. "...God!" I pulled up to a sitting position, hunched over as if in some worship of Satan. I steadied my breathing, glancing about to assure myself that there was no unwanted face peering down from a window...my neighbor's or my own. I hesitantly got to my feet and stood there for a moment, wiping the tears from my cheeks. "Never think that again," I whispered angrily to myself, almost crying now. "...You sick twisted fuck, you." _____________________ I didn't give Ryan his magazine that day. I bustled about, did whatever I had to do, and whatever I didn't have to do. I brought him his meals, sat with him for brief periods. Again, I was snappish and easily irritable. I kept thinking about what I'd done in the shadowed garden the night before, the fantasy I'd been toying over as my finger caressed the slicked curve of my vulva. Several times that day I experienced moments of emotional overload, where I'd literally have to halt in my tracks and grasp some support, my breathing reduced to ragged bites. The next day seemed more settled, at least those first hours of morning. Carol came by and did her work, again with no assistance from me. She was rushed herself and our conversation was brief and brisk. I wandered upstairs after she left and found Ryan in bed, even more miserable with boredom. "You want the TV on," I asked, stepping into the silence. "Uh,uh." I went over to the nightstand and picked up three magazines. "How about one of these? ...Which one do you want?" "None of 'em," he grunted moodily. "You sure," I asked, seeing him look away. "...I'll look at them with you. You can tell me which girl you like the most." Ryan looked back at me, his expression empty. I realized how out-and-out twisted what I was saying was, but I couldn't stop myself. "The Lingerie one?" I went on, holding it up for him, leaving it hang out there until he reached for it. "I don't want you to be embarrassed about looking at things like that," I heard myself say. "It's good you like them." "Thanks," he muttered warily. "Now come on, show me which one you like best?" I jested. "Um..." There was no chair on that side of the bedroom, so I plopped down on the edge of the mattress. "You must have a favorite." "Um...maybe this one." The pretty Asian girl I'd seen when I first gave it to him. "What's she got that you like?" Ryan laughed nervously but made no answer. I looked down and immediately saw the stiffening beneath the wrinkled sheets, the exact image I'd fixed in my mind last night as I stepped outside. "Maybe your friend can answer," I said playfully, pointing down at the tenting beneath his waist. He instantly groaned, mortified beyond words, twisting onto his side in a futile effort to hide it. "It's okay, it's okay," I said hurriedly, softly grasping his shoulder, feeling the rigidity there. I reached up and stroked his curly mop of hair. "...Shhhh." Tell Mommy What You Want He eased back finally, his uninjured leg cocked up at the knee to mask his predicament. "Carol told me you have it when she's doing her work with you. I don't want you to be embarrassed, Ryan. It's natural. ...Did she ever say anything about it?" He shook his head absently, looking like he wished he could crawl under the bed and hide. "So, come on, why do you like her?" I said, popping a light punch into his shoulder. "She, um..." "She's very pretty." "Yeah, I guess." "Her breasts aren't that big, do you like that?" He nodded, then nodded again, just faster. "Little breasts," I mused, edging my butt more securely onto the bed. "Which other ones do you like?" "Her, the one here with..." He'd been flipping down the pages for another model when I reached down and lightly brushed my fingertips along the outlined shaft of his penis, just as I'd been doing in my mind the previous night, an imagined touch that dropped me into a truly shattering climax. Ryan jumped at the sensation, the shock of it etched over his boyish features. I brushed my fingers along the full length of it then, deliberate, leaving no doubt as to whether I'd intended it. "Jeez, Mom, he gasped, squirming away as best he could with a leg anchored in a twenty-pound plaster cast. I reached and again touched him, this time just settling my palm there. "Do you want me to stop?" "I..." I started stroking him through the sheet in earnest, very lightly at first, then quickening, hearing his breathing thicken...he was staring at my working hand now, the practiced slide, the way I adjusted so as to grasp him fully, feeling the surprising heft of his tool. Not even a minute... "Aughhh... " Ryan's face was contorted, eyes shut. I knew he was coming, the frenzied throb as he ejaculated into the folds of cotton, the sudden wetness seeping beneath my palm. I released him then, stunned a bit that I'd actually done it, seeing him open his eyes and look at me in an uncomprehending way. I simply got up and left the room, flustered, knowing that he had to be freaking. I didn't care, I had to go. I had to go downstairs, away from him. I went out into the garage and there, without preamble, pulled my slacks down around my ankles and leaned against the wall, one hand for support, one hand curling around my vagina...I was very wet, warm slickness on my digits as I found that delicious little nub, ten seconds tops and I screamed when it hit, weeping gasps as I furiously jacked my index finger over it again and again, the orgasm flaring like an inferno against my eyelids. I lay there for several minutes afterwards and then calmly got up, pulling up my slacks and smoothing myself out. I was shaking with the residual adrenalin, but I felt no guilt, even though I knew I should. I went into the kitchen and sliced an apple into six wedges, carefully cutting away the core before arranging them on a small plate with a clump of white grapes. I brought the plate upstairs and knocked on his door jam. "Snack?" Ryan didn't answer, he was befuddled, agitated. He couldn't look at me. "I'm sorry I shocked you," I said, coming into the room and putting the plate on his night stand. "Did you like it?" No answer. I honestly don't think he could've answered if he wanted. I went to the bathroom and put a wash cloth under the warm water, ringing it dry. "Here, let me clean you up," I said, attempting to pull back the sheet, only to have him yank it back to his chest. "Ryan, I'm sorry if I upset you. I just know..." I stopped myself from talking and put the dampened cloth on the sheet. "I'll let you alone for a while. I just know you're frustrated and lonely up here and if I...if I can help you like that, then I'll do it. You just have to ask. That's why I gave you the books. ...Wash up and eat the fruit. ...I love you, you know that don't you. I just want you to be happy." I left him and didn't go back up till dinner, which I left him eat alone. Other than to say goodnight, I stayed away from him for the rest of that day. I knew I had to let him ask for it...actually that was an integral part of the fantasy for me. I made myself hold myself back from it. I honestly think I was ready to crack up that first day with the anticipation. Two days it took. Two whole days where I pretended like nothing had happened. If he spoke ten words to me I was lucky. __________________ "How was everything," I asked, bending over to fix his pillow. Carol had just left and I was just making sure he was comfortably settled. "Good." "Okay, then you rest awhile and I'll..." "Mom..." "What?" "I..." I felt a delicious chill course though my veins. "You can ask me, Ryan. I told you that." "Do you want to..." "Do you want me to? If you do, just ask." "Will you..." My son's voice was shaky and intimidated. "Will I jerk you off?" I laughed...surprised at how relaxed I was with it, a refreshingly girlish lilt to my voice. I left the room and came back with a bottle of baby oil. I put the bottle down and reached for the sheet, only to have him clutch it tightly. "Ryan, let it go. Just lay back and relax." I flipped the sheet away...my son was dressed in running shorts and a tee shirt, his hardness already evident. "Take off your shirt'" I said, as I reached down and started the arduous task of pulling the shorts down over the casted leg. He again tried to stop me but one look silenced him and he wordlessly pulled the tee up over his head. He had a beautiful young body, smooth and firm, slender, the perfect proportion of litheness and muscle. His cock was rigid, straight and thick. I realized I hadn't seen it since...it was so long, and now it was erect and hard in anticipation of my touch. "Relax," I said again, climbing onto the bed with him, feathering my fingers over his silken chest, staring into his eyes as the excitement heightened. I reached across him and took a squirt of oil into my palm and quickly slathered his penis, roiling my palm as I slid up and down its length. He reached over and brushed my breast...I immediately pulled away, shaking my head, my turn to be flustered. That was some type of line there, wasn't it. He did it again, and I pulled back further. "Don't do that." Ryan was cowed with the words and I settled into my rhythm again, sensuous, loving...again he "brushed" my left breast. I stopped and pulled back. Why not, I thought. "Should I take this off?" No answer. "Tell me to do it and I will." "Take it off," he stammered. "...I want you to." I knelt up, wiping the oil from my palm and pulling the blouse from along my waist. I worked the buttons rapidly and shucked it off my back. I reached behind and unhooked my brassiere, the straps drooping at my shoulders. I have large breasts, thick nipples, areolas the size of silver dollars. I was always self conscious of them, embarrassed by the attention they drew, and now that they'd settled more than a bit with my forty-years of earthly gravity, I was genuinely worried he wouldn't like them. "I'm warning you, these aren't as nice as the girls in your magazine. ...You take it off, okay?" I squared my shoulders and let him slip the lace cups away from me. He grinned and I found myself deeply pleased to be looked at like this. I took his uninjured hand after a moment and brought it up to my left breast, a jolt as he touched it, my nipples were hardened. Ryan sat up and caressed them, unsure of himself. "You can suck on them," I whispered hoarsely, thinking lewdly that he'd done that so many times before...so long before, the weight of milk pulling them down along my ribcage. He brought his head up and suckled a nipple, first one then the other, tender, as if afraid to hurt me. "Bite down on them soft, baby," I moaned, closing my eyes to the unexpected pleasure of it. I had to end this now, I thought, reaching down and again taking his cock in my hand, manipulating it faster now, quickening as he continued to suck at my tits. Then that grunt, a choked rasp, the indescribable sensation as his semen began to splatter over me, viscous threads flaying over my exposed belly with each frenzied thrust into my fist. And then the crash that sent him collapsing back onto his pillow, hiding his face from me. Without a word I cleaned us both up and then lay alongside him...his naked body, the penis shrunken, me stripped to the waist, my breasts pressed against him. "We shouldn't be doing this," he said after a moment. My heart sank. "If you don't want to, we won't." I whispered and slowly got up from the bed, standing over him for a long moment, bared from the waist, my tits pulling down along my chest. "I'll do whatever you want me to do. ...Anything at all, all you have to do is ask. It is just for now though, just for while you're stuck up here like this. ...I want to make you feel better." Then thinking of it, I added. "...I like doing it." The next day I waited for Richard to leave, watching his car disappear down the street. It wasn't even six o'clock yet. I hadn't slept well again and was exhausted. "Anything you want." The words kept sparking through my mind, the way I'd said them, the import of it. "Mom." It started when he yelled, a twinge of pleasure radiating from deep within my pelvis. "What?" I said before I even got to his door. "Are you sure it's okay? I mean with..." "It's okay, baby. It's just for a little while, so it's okay." "I..." "What do you want?" "Well, like yesterday..." "For me to jerk you off," I asked. Ryan nodded. "I said you can have anything you want, Ryan. Are you sure all you want is that," I asked, miming a fast hand-job with a wiggle of my wrist. "...Why don't you think about it and then after breakfast, you can tell me if you want something else. ...Don't be afraid to ask, okay." I showered after dropping off Ryan's cereal and juice. I kept thinking of what it was I was doing here. What consequences would there be...even if it all stayed a secret, like it should. The words echoed through my head. ...anything you want ...anything you want ....anything you want... "Ryan..." "Mom..." He'd pulled himself up into a sitting position and was waiting. I was dressed in a short silk robe that I'd had for a good ten years and had worn maybe twice. "Now tell me what you want, baby." "I..." "You have to say it," I said, stepping in front of the bed and undoing the cinched knot securing the robe. "...Do you want to see me naked?" "Yeah," he whispered shakily. "Then say it. Tell me to strip for you." "Strip...strip for me." I took a step back and let the robe slip off my shoulders. I was nude beneath and had shaved my legs that morning in the shower. I thought I looked pretty good and his smile said I was right in that opinion. I was five-foot-ten, and held myself on the thin side, which for a mid-aged lady with rather large breasts is saying something. I'd looked at myself in the mirror that morning. My dark hair was cut short and there were the first streaks of gray in it, my face had just a few wrinkles. With a bit of drama I climbed atop the bed and drew the sheet aside. Ryan was naked, he'd struggled from his shorts on his own. I crawled up across his body, seeing the litany of names etched into his cast, feeling the wetness between my legs. Straddled atop him, I bent and offered him my lips, by tits swaying free beneath me, the stiffened nipples incredible against his bare chest. "Kiss me," I whispered, closing my eyes, rewarded with a light brush of his lips across mine. "Have you ever kissed a girl before," I asked gently. He nodded. "...I mean really kissed?" I went on, lowering my face to his, ardent now, pressing my mouth to his, feeling his shyness melt, then the touch of his tongue. I crushed my full weight down atop him, passion flooding as my lips intertwined with his, tongues swirling wildly. "I want to suck your cock," I blurted, instantly embarrassed by the coarse sound of it. "...Tell me to suck it, Ryan." "Suck it," he wheezed. I kissed a path down his chest, across his muscled belly, dragging a nipple across the vein tangled underside of his penis, feathering it with my lips, taking his entire length into my mouth with one dip of my head. My son gasped and stiffened...I was sucking him, that smooth silken feel of a man's cock like nothing else, scrapping my teeth lightly as I'd lift, retching as he touched the back of my throat, never breaking eye contact with him, even as he put a palm to my forehead to shove me down further on it. "Don't come yet, baby," I muttered breathlessly, wondering what it must be like for him to be watching his otherwise reserved and demure mother with his cock buried in her mouth. "I'll let you fuck me if you want. Is that what you want?" He nodded, reaching down to caress my cheek with a meld of lust and genuine caring that I'd never before experienced. "Tell me that's what you want. Tell me to do it. ...I want to fuck you, baby. I wanna be your first. ...Tell me that it's okay. Please tell me to." He couldn't get the words out. I lifted my pelvis up and straddled him, reaching down to guide his thick bulbous head into my body. The feeling as I lowered my weight onto it was indescribable; the burn that always accompanied penetration for me, then that exquisite rush of sensation along the length of my spine. I tilted my head back and let out a deep groan, a throaty purr as I started to ride it, my palms rested on his sternum, my body lolling as I moved up and down, growing quite frenzied now...Ryan was coming, his fingers clutching the sheets, a shout through clenched teeth. I could feel the pulsing as my son pumped his seed deep inside me, and then my own climax hit, a wrenching, vicious thing that ripped across my abdomen, wave after wave even as I felt his hardness break within me. I realized I was shrieking then, bucking down on him harder as one orgasm ripped into the next. I opened my eyes after what had to have been several minutes, my body absolutely spent, collapsed atop my son's, my lust crumpled, my gaze unfocused, a sheen of cooling sweat between us. "That was so good," I whispered, kissing his chest, tasting the salt on his skin. I waited a few more minutes and at last lifted myself off him. He smiled shyly, as I looked down at the crawly trail of sperm dripping along my inner thighs. "Are you okay?" I nodded and grinned. "You came a lot," I said vacantly, wiping up a bit of the opaque liquid with my fingertips. Ryan started to look away, but I put my fingers to his chin and made him look back at me. "We'll do it as much as you want while you're laid up like this. Every day if you want, okay, maybe twice a day. ...Anything you want to do with me. Anything at all, baby." He nodded. But when you're better, we stop. ...Agreed?" Again that nod. I grinned and leaned in to kiss him lightly on the forehead. "Don't go," he said. I saw that his teenaged dick was already stiffening. This was gonna be a busy couple weeks, I thought wickedly as I bent to take him into my mouth again. _________________ And it was; five more weeks till he was partially mobile. We messed around every single weekday in one way or another, often twice a day, with a few three-timers thrown in for good measure. It was the most wildly erotic time in my life. I was forty-two years old and I permitted my teenage son to violate me in virtually every way he could. I swallowed his sperm in more mouthfuls than I can remember, coolly instructed him in the reciprocal art of cunnilingus, where he proved himself a true savant, a novice maestro who reduced me to a humping machine riding my pussy down upon his eager face. On one memorably wanton afternoon, sparked by an innocent query as to my own "first time," I rabidly described nearly every sexual interlude I'd ever experienced, the words spilling out in a torrent, fueled by the all too evident effect they had upon his youthful libido, grinding my cunt down on his cycling tongue as I spewed forth on raw backseat fucks and even a particularly rough three-way that an old college boyfriend had argued my into. I could share it all with him I felt, and the effect was so intensely liberating, a perverse tumble into carnal bliss. It was the best time in my life sexually. And when he was finally off the crutches, the leg able to bear weight at last, I put on the brakes. I explained that that was what we'd agreed to, that we had to stop. Ryan was disbelieving at first, then turning moody and hurt as he realized how determined I was. On my own side, I was moody and nuts. We made it to almost eight months; eight utterly miserable months. I'd had an in-service day at school and was preparing for the end of my semester. It was maybe two when I got home and Richard was out of town on business. I wasn't too happy about being home alone with my own son at that point, as I'd had to rebuff several increasingly overt passes from him over the interceding time period...and to be honest, the "rebuffing" was getting increasingly harder for me to pull off. I thought about it all the time. I missed it so much it physically hurt. "Ryan," I yelled as I came into the living room. "Here," he answered dully, sitting in and armchair at the far corner...how hadn't I seen him there. "How was your..." Ryan reached over and deliberately pressed a button on our answering machine. Richard's voice, still in Atlanta, a hurried message about the negotiations dragging out and his having to stay there through the weekend...three extra days minimum, saying he'd call me later that night. Ryan clicked it off. "Looks like we have ourselves a long weekend." "Ryan..." My son stood up and without another word pulled off his shirt. He'd bulked up in the school weight room since his making recovery, and was maybe an inch or two taller. "Ryan, stop..." He shook his head and started to pull off his jeans. The living room curtains were opened wide, cars passing up and down the street in the late afternoon sun. His erection was jacked threateningly against his briefs. "Ryan..." He stared at me as he slid them off, his cock springing up at a brazen angle. "People can see you," I blurted angrily, moving across the room to draw the drapes. He caught me from behind just as I got my hand on the cord, spinning me hard against the wall and pressing me up tight with his nude body, trying to kiss me. "No," I shouted, pushing him off me with more anger than I knew I felt...what was I so angry about. He reached out and fingered the top button on my blouse open. I swatted his hand away and started to redo it. "You know you want it." "Don't say that. Don't talk to me like that." "What, are you getting it from someone else now?" he said acidly. I hit him across the face as hard as I could, tears spring to my eyes. "Don't say that to me," I screamed. "I'm sorry, Mom." "Mom...god, do you hear how that fucking sounds. ...We can't do this, baby. We can't. ...I'm sorry I hit you, but we can't." Ryan reached up and again undid the button on my blouse. I pushed him back...forgetting now that we were standing there in front of that damned picture window with anybody you could imagine strolling by. "I said no." Ryan hesitated a moment and then did something that floored me. He stepped up and with one forceful motion ripped my blouse open to the waist, buttons flying, piling me back into the wall again as he tugged it down along my shoulders, even as I started to desperately pry his hands away. "No..." I was sprawled on the hardwood floor instantly; Ryan wrestling down atop me, frantically pulling my black brassiere and lace-capped slip down below my breasts, a young bull now, wild in the eyes as he bunched the knee-length skirt up over my waist, my own body responding as if despite itself, that warm spreading sensation below my naval, his flesh on fire as he pressed his full body weight down upon me, anchoring my face as he clamped his lips across mine, pressing our mouths together until any vestige of resistance melted and I was kissing him back, my hands roaming his body, stoking that tautly muscled ass of his... Tell Mommy What You Want "You wanna fuck now," he whispered hoarsely, his expression making it abundantly clear that I was going to be fucked whether I liked it of now. That turned me on completely, a deafening rush of blood coursing thru my skull. "Fuck me," I heard myself answer, nodding. Ryan kneeled up and ripped what was left of my outfit off, flinging the ragged bits of cloth across the floor. I reached down and took his throbbing cock into my hand, closing my eyes to the delight of its heat. "Take me upstairs." "No, right here," he answered, hoisting my legs up and positioning himself before me. "The window...people can s... " "Let 'em watch," he snarled, entering me fully with one sharp thrust, the shock and sudden pain sucking out my breath. "...Say we'll keep doing it." "I..." Ryan sank a wicked thrust into me, my hips anchored in place for the full impact. I shrieked, instantly stung with a blinding climax, a towering wave that buried me so deep that for several seconds I could hear nothing but my own thin keening. "Say it," he repeated through the fog of crackling neurons. "I want you. Oh, god, I want you..." "I'll fuck you anytime I want," he muttered close to my ear, picking up the pace as he drove his cock into me again and again. "I want you to, I want you to," I whispered, a mantra of complete submission as another orgasm built in my head. ..."I love you, baby. I love you so much." "Oh, fuck," he yelled, reaching his own peak, his cool semen gushing into me, sinking his weight onto me as he pounded in the last few strokes. "It's okay," I said after awhile, looking up at the window, the sun reddish and low now. "You like it, Mommy? You like that fuck?" "Don't be bold, baby." "...Sorry." "Shhh," I mouthed at his ear. "...Its okay, it's all okay." "...Mom." The sky looked like it was ablaze, the burning sky of hell. "You wanna take a shower with me," I asked, giving him my brightest smile. My son nodded. "Okay, then," I whispered, stroking his damp cheek, giving him a playful wink. "Take Mommy upstairs and we'll have some more fun." "Three days." "Three days to start."