Tonight, I am going to seduce my son. I can’t believe how wrong that still sounds. The idea first occurred to me the last time Ben visited me, over the summer. He spends most of the year at college, but still takes the time to visit me on the big holidays, and summer break. Fortunately, I live fairly close to a nice beach–and by close, I mean only a thirty minute drive–giving us something to do when neither of us has a better idea.
Together, along with hundreds of other like-minded individuals, we spent several lazy afternoons sunbathing under the blazing Californian sun. I don’t have the best body anymore, a combination of laziness and willful ignorance led to me putting on a few pounds, compared to how fit I used to be when I still had plenty of time and energy to exercise regularly. Of course, back then I was financially supported by my husband. I still consider myself beach worthy, though, and have no problems showing up in a string bikini.
Basking in the sweet summer heat was the first time I noticed how great Ben looked. He was shirtless–wearing just swim shorts–lying next to me, and I got a great view of his hairy body. He took after his father in that aspect. A roughly diamond shaped patch of hair, with a happy trail leading down his stomach. Before that, I had never thought of him as sexually attractive, he was always just my son, but seeing the similarity to his dad piqued my curiosity. I wondered if other parts of him were similar too. I looked down and noticed the slight bulge in his trunks, but it was impossible to tell much from that. I felt myself get excited, and also felt very ashamed I was having sexual thoughts about my own son.
The next day, we went back to the beach–one last time, before he went back to college–and just like the day before, I asked him to lotion up my back. I never made anything sexy out of it before, it was just routine. Only this time when his hands touched my skin, goosebumps rose all over my skin, and I felt my nipples harden. When he was rubbing in the cream, I imagined the same hands caressing every inch of my body, squeezing my tits and working their way down between my legs.
It took me a while to process those emotions. I know it’s wrong–on an intellectual level–but it’s really hard to ignore your own physical needs, and I knew since that day at the beach I wanted him. The only problem is, I have no idea if Ben feels the same way about me, which is a pretty big stumbling block. If we weren’t related, I could just go up to him and ask him if he wants to go out sometime, and if he doesn’t want to, it’s no big deal. We’d just live our separate lives. But our lives weren’t separate, and if I came onto him it could lead to disaster.
So, my plan is to find out if he’s interested, and if he is–admittedly, a very big “if”–go from there. That’s easier said than done. Tonight is Thanksgiving, and he’s due to arrive any moment now. I spent all day yesterday cleaning the small one bedroom apartment I now called home. Living in a big house had been nice, but I really don’t miss the amount of work it takes to keep a big place like that clean–not that I could afford it if I wanted to. I am paying for Ben’s tuition, so I can’t afford a much bigger place even if I wanted to. The only downside was not having a guest room, but Ben was happy sleeping on the couch.
The hardest part had been picking out clothes to wear. I wanted something I could show off my body in, but nothing too obvious. I ended up choosing a black satin push up bra, along with matching thong panties I got from Victoria’s Secret. If things don’t go as well as I hope they do, they could still be explained as regular underwear. They weren’t as scandalous as some of the sheer see through ones that would leave no doubt about my intentions. If things did go well though, they were just sexy enough.
Just sliding the panties up my legs, knowing full well what my plans were, was enough to get my juices going. I had to stop and bring myself to a shuddering orgasm before I was able to finish getting dressed, or risk ruining my underwear already.
The ensemble was completed by a nice coffee toned skirt, and a very form fitting white blouse. I wanted to look good, but not overdo it. It would be weird if I dolled myself up just for him, so I went light on the makeup, and just cemented that natural look guys seem to love. I just go barefoot in my apartment, so I decided against putting on socks or heels. Let him admire my legs and feet, if he wants to.
Looking at myself in the mirror now, I am satisfied. Not too formal or dressed up, but distinct enough to make an impression. I leave my hair alone, it looks good the way it naturally drapes over my shoulders.
The eight pound turkey is already in the oven, along with the stuffing. All the food I prepared–mostly store bought and canned, unfortunately–was definitely too much to eat for just the two of us, but it means I wouldn’t have to do any cooking in the foreseeable future, which suits bakırköy escort me just fine. For a special feast like Thanksgiving, I would normally have cooked everything myself, but the last couples of days I’ve been way too occupied with other–lustier–thoughts, to exert the effort required.
As I’m checking on the turkey, which would be done soon and already started turning into a beautiful golden brown, I am reminded of a conversation I had with my best friend, Margaret, a few weeks earlier. I told her over drinks that I really needed to get laid, and planned to seduce a hot young stud. Of course, I left out the part where that young stud would be my own son. We are very good friends, but how do you tell someone you plan on fucking your own flesh and blood? I asked her for advice on how to seduce someone twenty years your junior, if there was any chance they’d be interested in an older woman, but Margaret just laughed.
“Please! All you need to do is flash your tits at them, and they’ll come running willingly.”
She’s open and forward that way, something I was jealous of at the moment. I’m sure if she were in the same position, she’d just open the door stark naked, and expect him to fall to his knees, begging to service her. I just can’t picture myself doing something that brazen. She did have a point though. Ben is supposed to notice my body, and my current getup doesn’t really show off anything.
I go back to the bathroom, and take my shirt off. The bra has to go, so I take it off. I grab a loose tank top and a red pastel blazer. One look in the mirror confirms that going bra-less is definitely the way to go. I lean forward, like I’m pretending to serve something on the dinner table, and the tank top is loose enough to get a pretty good shot of my cleavage. If I lean forward enough, you can definitely see all the way down. That will give me some room to play with, depending on the mood. At the thought of him ogling my tits, my nipples harden. They’re clearly visible through the fabric, which they hadn’t with the bra. Another point for bra-less.
My skirt didn’t match the new outfit, so I put on a pair of snug dark jeans. To top it off, I dig a silver chain necklace out of my jewelry box, set with a small ruby pendant. It hangs directly between my breasts, and will definitely draw his attention. It’s not a real ruby, of course–or real silver, for that matter–not that it matters much. The purpose here is to flaunt something else, something definitely authentic. All that’s left now is a splash of perfume, and I’m finished.
The oven beeps from the kitchen, signalling that the turkey is ready. It looks absolutely delicious, and I thank my own mom for teaching me how to cook the perfect bird. If she could see me now, would she approve? She always told me I should take what I want in life, but I don’t think she had quite exactly this in mind. But if anything is going to happen tonight, it will be consensual. Between two adults. Two grown up people who are capable of making their own choices in life.
I start setting the table, pop the gravy into the microwave for a short bit, and set Ben’s plate opposite mine on the long edge. That way I’ll have an excuse to reach over the table and give him an eyeful of cleavage.
While I’m still carrying stuff out of the kitchen, the doorbell rings, and I can feel butterflies fluttering in my stomach. I never got this nervous except for first dates, but I guess this was a first of sorts. I take two very deep breaths, and open the door.
Ben is standing there, bag in hand, looking handsome.
“Hey Mom,” he says, with a smile on his face.
I take a step forward, and embrace him in a hug, sliding my arms around his chest. I feel his warmth against my body, and my heart skips a beat. My nipples, which are definitely hard again, dig into his chest. There was no way he wouldn’t feel them, pressing into him. I feel his hand on my back, and goosebumps rise on my arm. I smile inwardly, and let go.
“Gee, Mom. Miss me much?”
“It’s always nice when you visit, you know that. Come in, food’s ready.” I don’t have to repeat myself; he eagerly steps in.
“Mmm, that smells wonderful.”
He puts down his bag, takes off his shoes, and together we carry the rest of the food, including the turkey, to the table, and sit down. Everything is going good, so far, except for the fluttering in my stomach.
“So, tell me how’s it going at college?” I stand up, and grab a large carving knife and fork. With every cut of the knife, I can feel the pendant between my breasts jostle around.
“It’s going pretty good, I finally have some interesting classes this semester.” The pendant seems to be working, I notice he keeps sneaking glances at my bosom when he thinks I’m not paying attention. He is obviously enjoying the sight, so I’m going to up the ante a bit. See what he makes of this.
“You want some breast?” I ask, feigning innocence, başakşehir escort and hold up a piece of turkey I just carved.
“Wh–oh, yeah, please!” He holds out his plate, and I load the piece on. Damn, I hoped I could have reached all the way over to his plate and given him two additional pieces of breast. I can’t believe what a rush this is, both scary and exciting.
“Thanks,” he says, and begins piling on side dishes. I pour some red wine into two glasses, and hand him one, then fill my own plate, finishing with a nice splash of gravy.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Mom!”
“And the same to you,” I reply. “You know, I’m really glad you’re here.”
“Aw, thanks Mom. You know I love being here.” I don’t think he knows–yet–just how glad I really am.
“And you’re always welcome! So, tell me more about college.”
He does, and I listen. For a while, I almost forget about my intentions, until we both finish our plates. Every once in awhile, I catch him sneaking glances at my cleavage. My nipples were still hard, and clearly poking through the fabric.
“Seconds?” I ask him.
“Yeah,” he replies.
Before he could hold up his plate, I stand up, and–sticking a piece of turkey on the fork–bend down and reach all the way over to his end of the table. I had seen the effect this had on my tank top earlier in the mirror, and know that right at this very moment, Ben can very clearly see my tits, diamond hard nipples and all. This is it, let’s see if he bites.
“T-thanks,” he stammers. I sit back down, smiling. The sight clearly had some effect on him.
“No problem, there’s plenty more where that came from,” I say, teasing him with the double entendre. This is starting to be really fun, and I feel a dampness forming below.
“C-could you pass me the, uh, gravy? Please?” he requests, nervousness obvious in his voice.
Emboldened by his response, I grab the gravy boat, and using one hand to brace myself on the table, lean over again. Instead of just placing down the boat near him, I pour it on his plate myself.
“Just say when, honey.”
I take my time, pouring slowly, to make sure he receives plenty of time to stare. He is openly gawping, not paying attention at all to his plate anymore. A small shiver runs through my body. The plate is drowning in gravy now.
“Really? You planning on drinking this?”
He is instantly snapped out of his reverie. “Oh shit! That’s too much!”
“Well, you didn’t say when.”
“Sorry, I was, uh, distracted.”
“By what?” Could he be so bold and admit he had ogled his mother’s tits?
“Uh, I don’t know.” Smooth. He’s clearly unsure whether or not I’m just accidentally giving him the show of a lifetime. He is probably as aware as I am of how disastrous a mistaken assumption could be. For that matter, I’m not really sure yet either. It’s one thing to appreciate someone’s boobs, and quite another to take it further. Ben shifts around in his seat a bit, and rearranges his pants with one hand. Does he actually have a boner? I’m astounded, that opens up a lot of possibilities.
“So, do you have a girlfriend at college?”
“No, I’ve been too busy. Girls take up a lot of time. Besides, they’re all just so… immature?” Is he hinting at something?
“Really? And how old is your dream woman exactly?”
“Uh, I don’t know,” he says, not sounding very honest. “Just someone more, you know, experienced.”
“What, someone like me?” Hopefully that isn’t too forward.
“Um, yeah. I mean, uh, you know, someone LIKE you, but not, uh…” he is squirming around, and starts to blush. What a sight! I decide to let him off the hook, though. There’s no reason to rush things.
“I know, don’t worry.” And he sighs a breath, looking relieved.
We are both finished with eating at this point, so we start clearing the table. I box up the leftovers, and just put the dishes into the sink. They can wait until tomorrow, I’ve got better things to do.
“I’m completely stuffed, and I think the turkey’s making me sleepy.” I grab the bottle of wine–now half empty–and glasses, and move to the couch in the living room. I take off my blazer, and relax into the smooth and cool leather. Ben sits down at the other end, and pours more wine.
“Dinner was great, Mom.”
Without shifting in my seat, I reach forward and try to grab the glass of wine standing on the coffee table, giving Ben another view of my bare tits. I almost overdo it, and stop shortly before my breasts spill completely out of my top. Although that idea has merits. Now it’s time to see whether or not all of this was in vain.
“Thanks. I’ve been up on my feet all day, getting ready.” Well, that’s true enough, I just hadn’t spent the entire time on the food. “You won’t mind giving your old mom a foot rub, would you?”
I spin around, resting my head on the armrest, and without waiting for him to reply, I plop both my feet into bayrampaşa escort his lap. Jackpot! My heel makes contact with something long and hard. This is definitely a good sign. He is squirming around at the unexpected pressure on his cock, and I pretend like I’m trying to find a comfortable spot–surreptitiously rubbing his hard-on through the fabric several times.
I settle in, one foot still resting on his cock. At a loss for words, he starts rubbing the other foot with his hand, kneading the sole with expert fingers.
Time to tease him some more. “Mmmm, that feels good, Ben, but can you be a little bit harder?” I feel his cock twitch a bit, and he holds his breath. “It’s been a long day, and my feet hurt.”
“Sure, Mom,” he exhales, and starts kneading harder. It actually does feel a lot better, and I close my eyes.
“Tell me more about college,” I murmur.
He starts talking about which classes he has this semester, and what the professors are like, but the food combined with the wine takes its toll on me, and while he is still rubbing my feet, I doze off.
***
“Mom?” I awake to Ben gently shaking my shoulder.
“Wha…?” I ask, blearily. “What time is it?”
“It’s getting pretty late. I let you sleep for a bit, but now I’m getting tired too, and you’re sleeping in my bed.” Shit. That didn’t go exactly as planned. Not all is lost, though. Time for my backup plan.
“Ok. I’m gonna go take a quick shower, and I’ll bring you some clean sheets for the couch.” Sleeping on leather sucks, and I don’t want him to settle in before I put on a show.
I get up, and head to the bathroom. I purposefully leave the door cracked open, just an inch. If someone–in this case I hope it will be my son–peeks in, they have a clear view of the side of the tub with the shower head through the large wall mounted mirror. If he is actually going to do it, he will be waiting to hear the water, so I simply strip off my clothes without a lot of pomp, and step into the tub. The shower curtain isn’t very see through, so I just leave it open. I’ll have to pay attention and not make a mess on the floor.
I turn on the water and let it run for a bit, waiting for it to heat up. Once it’s hot enough, I step under it, and let the water run over my smooth, naked skin. I make sure to stand facing the mirror.
While I’m lathering up my arms and shoulders, I notice the door moving inward slightly. Through the mirror, I can vaguely make out his face looking in through the crack. The butterflies in my stomach return. This is way better than just flashing him a brief glimpse of my tits. I’m standing there, fully naked, and my own son is looking directly at me. That’s all the confirmation I need.
I continue lathering up my body, going slower than I ordinarily would. I spend a lot of time soaping my tits, focusing on my hard nipples. Then my legs, then my pussy. I shaved yesterday in anticipation, and my skin is nice and smooth. I quickly move past, though I have plans to return there later. Next, I pretend to accidentally drop the shampoo bottle. It makes a loud clattering sound, and I turn around, spread my legs a bit, then bend over at the waist to pick it up, exposing my ass and pussy to my son. I can feel the warm water splash on my lower back, and involuntarily shudder at the thought of being so… exposed.
Then I shampoo my long brown hair, while rinsing the suds off the rest of my body. I rinse off the shampoo, and then apply conditioner. I don’t actually need to, but I’m getting so excited being watched I want to prolong the experience as much as I can. And Ben still hasn’t seen the highlight I have planned.
I put one leg up on the rim of the tub, and start rubbing my labia. Oh god, yes. The wetness I feel below isn’t just from the water. I insert a finger, and slowly move it in and out, letting out a moan here and there. I insert another finger, and stimulate my g-spot, while gently rubbing my clit with my thumb. I need the other hand to steady myself. Since I spent the entire day in various states of horniness, it doesn’t take a lot to push me over the edge. I melt into a climax, and let the waves of pleasure bounce around my body, tingling from head to toe.
When I open my eyes again, I notice I’m slumping against the wall. I didn’t even feel it, too lost in the big O. I needed that.
I stand up again, and wash the conditioner out of my hair. Then, I turn off the water abruptly and step out. I hear footsteps outside the door, quickly departing, and smile to myself. He had just received a one of a kind performance, and I hope he enjoyed it as much as I did.
I grab a towel and rub myself dry, going much faster now that he’s not watching anymore. I don’t blow-dry my chair, and instead just let it hang loose in wet strands. Instead of putting on my clothing, I just wrap the towel around me, which will make the next part easier.
I step out of the bathroom, and grab a clean linen sheet and spare blanket from my bedroom. I walk out into the living room, where Ben is sitting awkwardly on the couch. He looks slightly embarrassed, and sits like he is trying to hide an erection. The fly on his jeans is still open. This is going to be it, no turning back now. Either I am just about to fuck my son, or my life is going to be ruined forever.