The Sweetest Sin Pt. 03

Ağustos 5, 2022 0 Yazar: admin

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Amateur

Chapter three of four-part story

“Admit it, Mom, I’m just your fuckboy, aren’t I.”

I looked up from my book. “I wouldn’t put it in quite those terms. More of a son with benefits.”

I had been fucking my 18-year-old son for six months, more or less round the clock. I’d put him on the payroll, at a generous wage, so that he would be available to me, any time of the day, at a minute’s notice.

“You hired me to be your assistant,” he continued, “but there’s not enough work to justify what you’re paying me.”

“Jack, I pay you for your services. Let’s just say I’m very pleased with the services you are rendering.”

“Funny, Mom. Well, I’d like to switch things up round here. Make some decisions, justify my salary.”

“Sure. If they’re improvements on what we’re doing now,” I replied.

“I was hoping you’d say that. OK, here is the list. Rule 1: No Panties. Rule 2:…”

“Wait, back up. Rule 1 again?”

“You are not to wear underwear. Ever. Anywhere,” he said.

I chuckled. “Wait, now, Jack. I thought you were going to come up with ideas for improving things around the house, around the business.”

“Mom, I can’t think of one single thing that would make a bigger improvement to our lives than your not wearing panties. And believe me, I’ve looked at it from every angle.”

“Ha. Right. Well, around the house, I’m happy to go commando. It’s kind of exciting. But when I’m out in public…”

“That’s when it’s most important,” he interrupted. “I want you thinking of that thing between your legs every time you move. I want you to be aware that one mis-move, and you will be exposing yourself. And I want access to it at all times. I need to know there’s nothing between you and my fingers or my cock or…”

“Be serious, Jack. What about when I go to the doctor?”

“You gynacologist?”

“No, Dr Venntner, our MD. Last week I had an earache.”

“You had an earache and Dr Venntner asked you to spread your legs? What kind of pervert is he?”

“No, Jack, he … well, what about if I have to meet a business client, give a presentation?”

“Mom, do you have a bunch of clients lying on the floor, looking up your skirt?”

“Not funny. What if they can smell me in a meeting?”

“I guess that depends on how turned on you get in a meeting, london escorts Mom. Do you really love your job that much that your clients can smell it?”

“Jack, stop it. What about when I’m shopping – if I bend down to pick something up?”

“From what I’ve seen, you know exactly what you’re doing when you bend down, and exactly what you are showing. And if you’re in doubt, just do a little more practice in your robe in front of the mirror.”

“OK, OK, what about when I am changing at the gym,” I said.

“You don’t go to the gym.”

“I do now. I’ve taken out membership to get my fat ass fit. You can’t expect me to strip to the buff in front of everyone when I take a shower. Or would you rather I get in the car straight away and drive home all sweaty?”

“Mom, that’s up to you. You have to get stripped to the buff for a shower anyway, in case you hadn’t noticed. The rule just says not to wear panties, knickers, frillies, scanties, bloomers, briefs, thongs or other such nether apparel. How you not wear panties is up to you.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“Don’t blame me, Mom, I don’t make the rules.”

I argued, I really did. But he was insistent. I finally managed to carve out a couple of exceptions. I could wear underpants in church (those polished pews) and if I had to attend hospital for any sort of procedure. The Rules also permitted me to carry one (1) pair of panties in my handbag at all times. And I was allowed to wear panties with jeans. Except Rule 2 was: No Jeans.

As he knew I would, I soon began to enjoy the thrill of reaching for a can of beans in the grocery store or surreptitiously opening my legs under the table at a business meeting. I would have done anything for him. In fact I wanted to go further. I suggested a sign that would show I was his, body and soul. I begged him to let me get a giant tattoo of his name running down my back. Or “JACK’S MOM” branded on my ass. I so badly wanted to give myself to him, to be his possession, his property.

He shook his head. “I don’t want that flawless alabaster skin marked. No tattoos, no piercings. You don’t put a bumper sticker on a Ferrari.”

It was an absurd thing to say, but yet again I loved how he made me feel good about myself, always complimenting me, buoying me up with positivity. london escort I knelt at his feet. “Jack, I want to prove I’m yours. Love, honor and obey, sickness and health, till death us do part.”

He put his hand under my chin and tilted my face up. “Wear my ring.”

“Yes, oh God, yes.” My heart jumped. “Jack, I would love that.”

He lifted me on to the bed. He ate me out, I sucked him off, and the next Saturday he took me out in the car, going west on the highway. I’d never been here before, but Jack knew what he was looking for. He pulled up outside a building. Tattoo Parlor it’s the man’s place to suggest it.

There was another change – not really a Rule, more a bit of fun, an in-joke. We did our research and eventually found a pink nail polish that exactly matched the color of my nipples. So I was flashing my nipples at everyone I met, even though they didn’t know it. As I say, not much in itself, but it amused us. We did try to find a lipstick to match my … sadly, that didn’t work out so well.

As for me, I had only one Rule for Jack: no masturbation. If I had to go to a church meeting or shopping or a business conference – even overnight — he was to wait, no matter how built up he got, no matter how blue his balls turned. Every drop of his cream was mine: facial, blowjob, tits, hair or direct injection into my cervix. Every drop. If there was fluid with sperm in it, it belonged to me.

In addition to the services he was rendering me, he was learning computer coding. His twin sister Cassie was scornful: “So that’s what you’re going for? Coding? The last refuge of a loser?”

What a cow. He couldn’t say anything back to her, but I knew coding wasn’t a vocation for Jack. Now that he had stopped pretending to be my admin assistant, it was a way of earning money without having to leave me in my big house, all alone and horny. I felt guilty, but as he told me: “Mom, I’ve waited years for this. You are all I want. Why would I find you, only to spend all day away from you at some stupid job?”

So he was doing coding part-time, and doing me pretty much full-time.

Meanwhile, as I hit the gym and found a diet that suited me, and started wearing away the extra pounds, Jack was growing, bulking up. I like to think I was partly responsible. After all, nailing london escort agency your mom more or less non-stop has to have some effect on a boy’s emotional and physical development. It was just one more turn-on, clutching his big hard biceps while he rode me.

While I swam, he worked out. Weights, rowing machine, boxing bag. I was shedding weight; he was filling out. I had to buy him a new suit and tuxedo (but kept the original tux for erotic entertainment). His 19th birthday was approaching. Before I could make plans, he suggested something: a road trip.

“Just a few days. Cassie can take care of herself. Or let her stay with friends. You and I can share the driving. We needn’t go far. See the sights, stop at a different spot each night. Get away together, just you and me. It would be the best.”

The more I thought about it, the better I liked it. We could get out of the house, enjoy time in our own company at our own pace. And it was fun planning the itinerary. We wanted to visit several places, but not spend too much time driving. We decided to head for the coast and meander from town to town, sightseeing, exploring antique shops, lingering in cafes and restaurants. I rang to organize our first night’s accommodation, then the rest we left to chance.

Little did I know I was about to get the three greatest erotic experiences of my life so far.

The weather was good. Stopping a couple of times for gas and rest breaks, we also took time out to stroll along a quiet beach, just us and a couple of people walking dogs. We wore shades and I had a big sun hat and we kept our heads down. I figured we wouldn’t bump into anyone we knew, so we held hands. Just held hands and walked, the sand between our toes – the sort of thing ordinary lovers take for granted but that we found so precious.

Whenever we went out together, we must do nothing to provoke suspicion. No kissing, no contact. It was even dangerous to look at each other for too long, because it was impossible for us not to show what we felt for one another. In those circumstances, the slightest touch – our hands “accidentally” grazing as we walked, or my breast “accidentally” pressing against his arm as we stood in line at the theatre – was electrifying.

We sat by the shore. The waves rushed up, closer and closer to our toes. I brought my knees up to my chin, reflecting that there was nothing but air between my pussy and Africa.

“This is so lovely, being here alone with you, Jack. But where do you think we’ll be in five years’ time, 10 years, 20?”

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