10 comments/ 92045 views/ 60 favorites Praying for My Son By: JerseyGirlBcom **All characters depicted in this piece are over the age of 18. As always, thank you for reading. Thank you for any comments you post. Always remember to vote vote vote. I did not anticipate writing a sequel to the previous piece however; I was inspired by the amount of people asking me for more. So this is for you. I hope you enjoy it.** The shame, the guilt, the vileness of having allowed my song to defile me haunted me for the entire evening, the next day, and the following week. I made it a point to leave the house before my son got up in the morning and wouldn't come home until my husband was home. I was sure my son would not try anything with his father around. Thankfully, my son went to college an hour away. I only had to do this dance for two days. He was gone Sunday night. That was when the real guilt hit. I had been so ashamed I had shunned my son. What message had I sent to him? Did he think I didn't love him anymore? Did he think he had done something wrong? He didn't do anything wrong. It was me. I am his mother. I am the one who should have known better. I should have stopped him. I should have never allowed him to touch me. It had just been so long, so long since I had been touched. It had been so long since I felt so warm, so needed, so lusted after. My husband and I had fallen into a sexless marriage years ago. I am pretty sure he is screwing his twenty-something secretary. But really, that is no excuse. He is my son. We should have never been so intimate. I prayed. I prayed each night for forgiveness. I prayed for strength. I prayed for it to never happen together. I prayed to God that I had not ruined my son forever by succumbing to my own needs without thinking of his. I was praying so hard, on my knees, with my back to the bedroom door the following week, I did not hear my bedroom door open. My husband was "working" late again. I was alone in the house. I had the television on, just for background noise so I wouldn't feel so lonely. It wasn't until I felt his hand stroking my hair. I turn, sharply, afraid at first that my husband had heard my prayers for forgiveness. I am relieved, delighted, and instantly aroused to see the masculine form of my son standing behind me smiling wickedly. He is wearing nothing put blue plaid boxers, low on his hips. The trail from his belly button, down the V of his pelvis, to his fabulous erection has captivated me. I had never gotten to sample the manhood I created. I turn my body toward him. He continues to stroke my hair and brings his hand to my cheek. He looks down adoringly at me. His free hand is gripping his growing erection. My eyes slowly scan up to his young features. My heart pounding, my sex heating up, and my nipples standing at attention, I realize I am completely hopeless. He nods, saying nothing to me. Without a word, I know what he has given me permission to do. My trembling hand slowly rises. My fingers slip inside the slit of his boxers and I coil them around my son's manhood and gently slide him through the opening. I marvel at the size, the shape, the perfect curve. It is swollen in desire, passion, and lust for me. My stomach flops in my mouth as I lick my lips. I want to. I have been dreaming of his cock since I first experienced it. It was the reason why I prayed so hard. It was so wrong. The guilt, the shame, it pangs my head but my heart, my sex, my clit all throb telling me to ignore it. To ignore society and do what I want. I want to taste him. I want to wrap my lips around his spongy head and suck him. I want to make my boy happy, like I had when he was a child. His hand continues to pet my hair. He is smoothing it lovingly. I close my eyes, trying to forget who I am kneeling before. I try to forget that it's my son's cock that is now nestled deep in my soft, wet mouth. I try to ignore the fact that I changed his diaper while he thrusts his hips forward feeding me his cock deeper into my throat. The two of us groan in unison when his cock dips past my uvula and fills my throat. I bob my head in time with his thrusts. We work together to stimulate his delicious cock. My tongue swirls around his shaft and he rewards me with drops of pearly pre-cum coating my throat. My son. It's my son's cock that is now driving in and out of my mouth, deep into my throat. It's my son's cock that I am sucking and savoring. His fingers curl into my hair and he holds my head still. I open my eyes. I have to see him. I have to see the pleasure on his face. His eyes are closed, and his mouth is open slightly. I watch as his head falls back and her groans. He forces his cock deeper into my throat causing me to gag, my eyes to tear, and drool to drip down my chin. He is taking my throat. He is claiming his mother's mouth as the home for his cock. "God! I have the best cock sucking mom ever." He sighs as he pumps in and out of my mouth. His words strum something deep within me. My clit pulses and my pussy is so hot, it feels like its melting. The guilt is like an aphrodisiac. I am addicted. I am addicted to my son, to his cock, to the shame of letting him be so intimate, so sexual with me. I can't help myself. As he continues to work my mouth, my throat, my hand snakes down my belly and I begin to press against my clit. I spread my own pussy lips open and press a finger against my protruding love button. I close my eyes just as my son opens his. I can't look him in the eye while I play with myself sucking my son's cock. I feel so dirty, I feel so shameful, and the guilt is eating me alive. Yet I can't stop. I can't stop myself from sucking his harder, hungrier. I can't stop myself from squeezing and rubbing my clit causing my pussy to spasm in response. I needed him. I needed him to continue to use me. My son pulls my head back and in a fluid motion pulls me up then tosses me back onto my marital bed. He throws me, face up; onto the bed I share with his father. My legs parted, my hand buried in my sex. My face is covered with drool from having worshipped my son's cock. My son grabs the hem of my flimsy over-sized T-shirt and flips it up, exposing my swollen, aroused sex and puckered nipples. I blush immediately. It's not the first time my son has seen me this way, so aroused by him. The knowing smile on his lips sends me deeper down my shame spiral. His body collapses on top of me. The strength in his youthful body is immediately evident as he holds my arms above my head. He thrusts his hips blindly, his cock awkwardly missing my sex until he finds his mark. I grunt and throw my head back feeling his cock spear into my slit. He thrusts shallowly at first, short quick bursts, teasing me as he only allows the rounded thick tip of his cock to open my sex, my long neglected sex. I coo, and shake my head. I want more. I want him to take me. I want him to give me his full erection. I can't stop myself. I open my mouth and am horrified as I begin to bed him. "Please! Please harder, more. Please give me more." My son's hands squeeze my wrists harder and he growls. "Yes mommy." And I gasp. I gasp as he fills me. I gasp as my sons full length is forced inside my tight sex. I lose all of my breath my eyes open, staring vacantly at the ceiling, as he fills my pussy to the max, stretching me open, pressing against my cervix, his full length, to the hilt, is now buried inside me. "Mommy, aren't you supposed to say thank you," He whispers in my ear as he begins to thrust slowly, powerfully, inside me. I whimper in delight, in passion, in lust, "Yes. Yes. Yes. God, yes. Thank you." His teeth grab my earlobe and his breath is hot in my ear. His entire body is covering mine, his hands holding mine above my head. He begins to thrust harder inside me. My sex on fire. I feel like I am going to explode. The way our bodies are positioned my clit is pressed against his pelvis and is stimulated each time he pushes forward, offering me his cock. He picks up the pace, the intensity. He is pummeling my sex, which is sloppy with wetness at this point. I can feel his muscles tightening each time he thrusts deeper and harder. The grunting in my ear as I work my vaginal muscles to squeeze his cock harder drives me insane, deeper down the rabbit hole of sin. I can feel him growing inside me, swelling more, if it's possible and I can't take it. I can't hold on anymore and am pushed over the edge. I scream his name at the top of my lungs. I scream my son's name as I explode in orgasm. I feel the gush of my own wetness flowing from my body and down my ass as he continues to piston his cock in and out of me. The hardness of his member is like nothing I have ever experienced. His youthful stamina means he is able to maintain the speed, depth, and vigor of a stallion. I ride the wave of my orgasm, forgetting the guilt, forgetting the wrongness of having my son's cock buried inside my body. Just as my spasms of post-orgasmic bliss began to subside the guilt and shame come back ten-fold. I whimper and my son withdraws his cock. I open my eyes, immediately missing the feeling of fullness, the feeling of being fucked better than I ever have in my life. I am immediately showered in streams of pearly cum. The first spurt lands on my eyebrow. The second my cheek, the third goes into my open mouth. I taste my son, I taste his essence and the shame washes over me as my son stands proudly holding his cock in his hand aiming the sprays of jizz all over my body. I begin to tear up. Trembling in my bed I cry, sobbing. What have I become? What am I doing? I did it again. I am ruining my son. I am destroying his sexual health. Then I hear his voice, whispering in my ear with his hands on either side of my head. "Sleep in it mommy. Sleep in my cum, remember how good your son fucked you. Every weekend I am going to fuck you mommy. Every weekend." His soft lips pressed against my forehead, landing nowhere near the dripping cum he had sprayed upon me. I nod my head unable to look at him.