Only Teasing
by Pan
Chapter 13
I was filled with a feeling of sick dread.
My son had just…he’d just cum inside of me.
Cecil had filled me with his seed.
It hadn’t just been teasing. It hadn’t just been a blowjob. I hadn’t just fucked him.
I’d cum around my son’s cock, and been so distracted by the intensity of my orgasm, I hadn’t…I hadn’t noticed when he…
I’d let Cecil cum inside me.
My son had just orgasmed inside his own mother. His semen was inside me.
My own’s son cum was inside me.
That had been sex. Real sex, not just teasing.
Incest.
I closed my eyes and tried not to hyperventilate. Normally when I feel this worried, this panicked, I’m able to calm myself down pretty quickly. It’s like my brain knows exactly what’s stressing me, and provides mantras to get me through it—reassuring statements that I’m not doing anything wrong.
But as I felt myself beginning to spin out, I was met with nothing but the silence of my own mind.
I’m a terrible mother.
The thought didn’t spring, unbidden, from some corner of my subconscious. It was a conclusion, reached of my own volition.
I’d just committed incest. I’d let my son cum inside me.
I’m a terrible mother.
“Cecil,” I said, not even trying to hide the panic in my voice. “Cecil?”
My son’s eyes were closed—his face wasn’t scrunched up, like he was thinking particularly hard about whatever puzzles he occupied his mind with. No, he was sleeping, clearly exhausted after what we’d just done.
Oh, fuck.
What had we just done?
I slipped out of the bed, put on some clothes, and made my way into the back yard.
What had we just done?
No, more than that. What had we been doing? For weeks now, it was like I’d lost myself in a sexual fog. Spending all my time naked, touching…touching my son.
Letting him touch me.
More than touch. I’d let him fuck me. I’d let my own son fuck me, whenever he wanted.
I shuddered at the thought.
I’d done everything I could to get my son hard. I’d blown him, jerked him off, swallowed his seed more times than I could count.
And then I’d fucked him.
What the hell was wrong with me?
Part of me wanted to blame Cecil, but I knew that wasn’t fair. I was a hot…I was a hot bi—…
I was a very attractive woman.
I was a very attractive woman, and my son was a heal…a healthy….
It wasn’t his fault. I couldn’t blame him for what had happened.
I’d spent the past month and a half doing everything I could to tease him.
I wanted to throw up. I’d deliberately, constantly teased my own son. I’d instilled some kind of…incestuous attraction in him.
And then I’d taken advantage of him for my own pleasure.
No wonder he’d cum inside me. Considering how much time I’d spent wrapped around his dick, it was basically a miracle that it hadn’t happened before.
I don’t know how long I spent, staring into the back yard, trying to process what we’d done, simultaneously hating myself, reliving every moment of the past few months, and trying to work out a path forward.
Where the hell did I go from here?
The sun was high in the sky when I decided that I couldn’t just sit and fret all day. My stomach was churning—I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to eat again—but Cecil might have woken up, and he needed to eat.
My son has…my son has nee…—
We needed to forge a path forward. I needed to do anything I could to return things to normal, if that was even possible.
We needed to work out what normal was, and do everything we could to get there.
And that meant that it had to stop. All of it.
I went and checked in on Cecil; he was still sleeping, a peaceful look on his face.
He slept for the rest of the day, which I was more than grateful for. I needed the space, the time to process what had happened.
How had it all gone so wrong?
By the time he awoke, I was sure of two things:
Firstly, that I wanted things to return to normal. Somehow I’d let everything spin out of control, and I had to make things right. I’m…I’m a good mo—…
I had to make things right.
And secondly, we could never cross that line again. We could never even come close.
I would do everything I could to avoid even crossing the line.
I’d come up with a plan.
“Hey honey,” I said quietly. His rest seemed to have done him a world of good. He didn’t look tired—he even smiled when I entered the room to see if he was okay.
His smile hit me harder than I expected, filling me with a familiar warmth, but I was resolute.
I had a plan, and I was determined to stick to it.
We had to end things. I didn’t even know why I’d started…doing what we’d done…but I knew it had to end. All of it. It was the only way to make sure that we never crossed the line—any line, to get things back to normal.
We couldn’t do any of it ever again. We shouldn’t have done any of it in the first place, but as much as I knew anything, I knew that we had to stop.
“I’m so sorry,” I said simply, and Cecil nodded. “I’m sure you understand.”
He nodded again.
“It has to stop. I can’t…I can’t…”
I paused. It had all been so clear, while Cecil was asleep, but now that it came time to share the plan I’d spent the morning solidifying, I was struggling to articulate it.
I should have made notes.
“Things need to change,” I said, trying to start again. “Like…”
I gestured to my clothes. I was more dressed than I had since before Cecil first got his prescription. Perhaps I’d overcompensated a little—I was wearing a baggy sweater and loose-fitting jeans—but I wanted to make it very clear how things were going to be, going forward.
As I looked at my outfit though, I have to admit—I felt a little ridiculous.
I love showing off my body.
Part of me recoiled at the thought, slipping into my mind like a foot into a well-worn slipper.
After all, that was how it had all started. Showing off my body to my son. One minute I’d been wearing a push-up bra, and the next minute…
…but I mean, it wasn’t like every mother who showed a little skin ended up fucking their son.
I glanced at my outfit again. It felt so wrong. Unnatural.
I’d gone too far. I’d made too much of a change. It’s like when you start dieting—if you tell yourself that you’re only going to eat a thousand calories a day, you’ll only last a few days before abandoning the whole thing and eating an entire family-sized pizza by yourself.
As long as I made sure things didn’t escalate like they had last time, there was nothing wrong with showing off my body.
It’s only teasing.
“Wait a second,” I said, standing up to remove my jeans and sweater. Underneath I was wearing a tank-top, a black bra, and the only pair of sensible panties I’d been able to find in my closet.
I could see myself in the full-length mirror in the corner, and I had to admit…I was a sexy woman.
Yeah, this was maybe a little more revealing than most mothers were around their sons, but it was totally harmless.
There’s nothing wrong with a teenage boy checking out a sexy woman.
“Now,” I said, after pausing to let Cecil’s eyes run up and down my body. “What was I saying?”
Oh, yeah. Things needed to change.
I didn’t want to stop showing off my body—there was nothing wrong with that.
I’m a hot bitch.
But that was where we had to draw the line. I could walk around in lingerie, maybe even naked. If he gets turned on by my body, that’s totally natural.
And maybe it wouldn’t be the end of the world if he watched me masturbate. I mean, that’s just part of life, right? I wanted to make sure that my son was well-adjusted—a healthy male—and if anything, seeing a woman masturbate would help him with that. Especially in this porn generation…seeing how actual, normal female arousal worked, that would be the healthiest thing for him.
I should cum in front of my son more often. My son is a healthy male.
I’m a good mother.
I felt myself starting to get wet just thinking about it. Being such a good role model for my son, showing him how normal women masturbate, how easily even his own mother can get aroused…
I’m a wet, horny slut.
Part of me wanted to offer to get off right then and there, but I knew if I let myself get distracted, I’d never get to the point. I was distractingly turned on, but it was nothing I couldn’t deal with. And my arousal was much less of a disruption than if I stripped off the rest of my clothes and began touching myself, talking Cecil through every wicked thought running through my head.
There’s nothing wrong with a bit of dirty talk.
“Things need to change,” I said firmly, and was relieved when Cecil nodded. He’s such a good boy. Such a healthy male.
My son has needs.
“That means no more…—”
I’m such a cock-tease.
“No more…—”
Blow-jobs aren’t sex.
“I can’t…—“
I love it when my son fucks me.
“No,” I gasped. That was the real problem. The blow-jobs had been fine—it’s only teasing, after all, and blow-jobs aren’t sex.
No, the problem had arisen when I’d let my son…inside me.
That was when I’d lost control. Everything up until that point had been fine.
“I can’t fuck you,” I said with a gasp. “That has to stop.”
Cecil stared at me intently, his mouth a thin line of disappointment.
I love it when my son fucks me.
I love it when my son fucks me.
I love it when my son fucks me.
“You can watch Mommy get off whenever you want,” I said insistently, my head swimming. “I’ll suck your cock any time. But I can’t…we can’t…—“
I love it when my son fucks me.
The thought was running on a loop, filling my head, drumming itself onto my soul.
I love it when my son fucks me. I love it when my son fucks me. I love it when my son fucks me.
“I can’t,” I gasped. “Please…”
I love it when my son fucks me.
It was too far.
I love it when my son fucks me.
I couldn’t.
I love it when my son fucks me.
No!
In an effort to distract myself, I tore off the rest of my clothes. I’d made my point—he understood that we couldn’t allow things to escalate like they had last time.
Now I needed a distraction. We both did.
“Do you want to watch Mommy get off?” I asked with a smile, but Cecil ignored me. There was a crease in the center of his forehead as he stared at me.
I love it when my son fucks me.
I love it when my son fucks me.
I love it when my son fucks me.
Laying back on my son’s bed, I looked him in his eyes, staring straight into his huge glasses.
“Mommy is so wet,” I purred. “Mommy has such a wet pussy, and she wants to touch it while you watch.”
I love it when my son fucks me.
I love it when my son fucks me.
“Please, Cecil,” I gasped. “Watch Mommy fuck herself. Watch Mommy…”
I love it when my son fucks me.
As I came in front of my naked son, I could tell that he wanted nothing more than to move his body on top of mine and fuck me, as he had so many times before.
But he couldn’t. We couldn’t. I…—
I love it when my son fucks me.
When I was done, I offered him a blow-job, but he didn’t say a word. He just kept staring at me, that determined stare that he’s had ever since he was a babe.
I love it when my son fucks me.
I love it when my son fucks me.
I love it when my son fucks me.
I love it when my son fucks me.
I fished his cock out anyway, and sucked him off as he stared at me, a singular thought running through my head.
I love it when my son fucks me.
The next few days were a blur. Cecil didn’t leave his room, and neither of us got dressed again. He was still awake when I went to sleep each night, and he got up before me each morning. He ate the meals I brought him, allowed me to suck his cock, but didn’t otherwise react. I offered to let him touch me, to taste me, I offered him anything he wanted, anything except that…
But he always refused.
I love it when my son fucks me.
But I couldn’t. We couldn’t. I just…—
I love it when my son fucks me.
The thought was constantly on my mind. All day, no matter what I was doing, no matter what I was thinking, the same eight words ran through my head, again and again and again and again.
I love it when my son fucks me. I love it when my son fucks me. I love it when my son fucks me.
I love it when my son fucks me.
But we’d crossed a line. We’d gone too far. We’d…—
I love it when my son fucks me.
It wasn’t long before the lack of sleep started to have a toll on my son. He looked…not sickly, exactly, but certainly fatigued. He’d developed bags under his eyes, and he was starting to sway, even as he sat on the bed.
I begged him to take a nap, to lay down on mommy’s bosom and rest, but he wouldn’t. He didn’t say a word. He just stared at me blearily, his glasses emphasizing how bloodshot his eyes were, the crease in his forehead deepening by the day.
“Please, Cecil…—”
I love it when my son fucks me.
“Can you just…—“
I love it when my son fucks me.
“I’ll do anything you…—“
I love it when my son fucks me.
“Anything but that,” I said softly, not sure why I was replying to the voice in my head. To my own insistent thoughts. Well, thought. Singular.
I love it when my son fucks me.
Another two days passed, and suddenly it stopped. The sentence had almost become background noise, like when you live beside a busy highway, or your neighbors start doing construction.
I had stopped noticing the thought, but I noticed its absence.
“I love it when my son fucks me,” I said softly.
I checked in on Cecil. I love it when my son fucks me. To my great relief, he was finally resting, his eyes closed in gentle slumber.
I love it when my son fucks me, I thought to myself, staring at him with a smile.
I was standing in the kitchen when he awoke, I love it when my son fucks me. Don’t ask me how I knew—I was halfway across the house. I love it when my son fucks me.
But as soon as Cecil (I love it when my son fucks me) returned to consciousness, I could tell.
I knew. I love it when my son fucks me.
I’d been preparing lunch, reading ingredients, reminding myself I love it when my son fucks me, when a thought suddenly hit me.
It’s only teasing.
I glanced back at the recipe, confused. I love it when my son fucks me.
It’s only teasing.
Narrowing my eyes, I tried to put the thoughts together.
I love it when my son fucks me. It’s only teasing.
My eyes widened with epiphany, then narrowed in confusion. That didn’t make sense.
I love it when my son fucks me. It’s only teasing.
But how could it only be teasing when…—
I love it when my son fucks me. It’s only teasing.
No, but…—
I love it when my son fucks me. It’s only teasing.
I blinked twice, and took a deep breath. The thought was utter nonsense…but at the same time, completely true.
I love it when my son fucks me. It’s only teasing.
A groan left my mouth. I wanted to…I wanted to…
I love it when my son fucks me. It’s harmless.
I needed it.
I love it when my son fucks me. It’s only teasing.
No. But…
I love it when my son fucks me. I’m a wet, horny slut.
Yes.
I love it when my son fucks me. I’m a hot bitch.
Taking off my apron, I started moving towards the bedroom where I knew Cecil was waiting for me.
I love it when my son fucks me. I’m a sexy woman.
I couldn’t. I shouldn’t…
I love it when my son fucks me. My son is a healthy male.
I had to.
I love it when my son fucks me. My son has needs.
I had to.
I love it when my son fucks me. It’s only teasing.
I love it when my son fucks me.
When Cecil saw the look of lust on my face—I love it when my son fucks me—he tilted his head to the side patiently…more of a reaction than I’d seen from him in days.
I love it when my son fucks me. I’m a good mother.
I stepped into the room, as if my legs were on autopilot. I love it when my son fucks me.
I love it when my son fucks me. I’m such a tease.
When I reached the bed, I dropped to my knees.
I love it when my son fucks me. It’s only teasing.
I could just suck his cock again, I told myself. I could just make Cecil come with my mouth, as I’d done so many times in the past few days.
I love it when my son fucks me. I’m a sexy woman.
Or I could let him watch me cum. I could scream his name, tell him what a dirty slut his mother is. How much she wants him.
I love it when my son fucks me. My son has needs.
I could use my feet, or my hands. Anything. Anything but…—
I love it when my son fucks me. I’m a wet, horny slut.
Cecil leaned back as I straddled him.
I love it when my son fucks me. I’m a hot bitch.
He let out a small moan as my pussy lips parted, allowing his hardness to penetrate my soaking wet pussy.
If he gets turned on by my body, that’s totally natural. It’s harmless.
We simultaneously released long, ragged breaths as I allowed the weight of my body to lower me, until my son’s entire cock was inside me.
I love it when my son fucks me. It’s only teasing.
“Cecil…” I groaned, and was met with a smile, filling me with warmth. The warmth I’d been unknowingly craving for days. For months.
It’s only teasing. It’s only teasing. It’s only teasing.
A few minutes later, I smiled as my son came, filling my cunt with his seed.
I love it when my son fucks me.
After all…it’s only teasing.