Only Teasing
by Pan
Chapter 2
I almost swooned at the power of Cecil’s stare when he saw the clothes I’d bought.
At the checkout and for most of the ride home, I’d been concerned that they were too much. As soon as my son laid his eyes on the outfit I’d bought, I knew that they’d been the right choice.
After all, it wasn’t like Cecil had told me to buy them. That would have been weird, and wrong. No, I was an independent woman, who had decided—of her own accord—to start dressing sexier around the house.
I, and I alone, had decided to start dressing like the hot bitch that I was.
And I could see that my choices were having the desired effect—Cecil couldn’t stop staring at my long, exposed legs, at the three-inch heels that I’d been unable to resist picking up, and the cleavage practically overflowing from my vest-top.
I’d realized that for more effective teasing, not wearing lingerie wasn’t actually the best option: while I was at the mall, I’d picked up a range of pushup bras (with panties in matching colors—the pair I had on were slowly getting wetter at Cecil’s lustful gaze).
I’m a hot bitch, I reminded myself. I want to show off my body. There’s nothing wrong with that—it’s only teasing.
I stood there, chest out, fingers itching to lift up my grey skirt and flash my son my panties (now that would be teasing) for almost ten minutes until I couldn’t hold out any longer.
“I’ve got to go,” I panted, and practically sprinted upstairs to my room…no small effort in heels.
I’m a sexy woman, I told myself as I threw my body down on the bed and slipped one hand up my skirt. Something about Cecil’s gaze had made me so wet, and I was unable to resist the temptation to get myself off.
“I’m a hot bitch,” I muttered. “I’m a hot bitch who loves showing off her body.”
My fingers quickly made their way underneath my panties, and soon I was shuddering in desperate orgasm. Only after I’d cum did I realize what I’d done—I’d been in such a hurry to get off that I hadn’t even shut the door properly, and Cecil was standing just outside, staring straight at me.
For some reason, this didn’t worry me.
So what if he sees me cum? I asked myself. Masturbation is normal.
I should cum in front of my son more often.
A smile slowly crept across my face, and I tried to act as though I hadn’t even noticed Cecil standing outside the door. Bringing my hand up to my face, I loudly smelled my fingers, enjoying the scent of my own juices.
“Mmmmm,” I moaned, shutting my eyes, hoping my son was still outside the door, still watching his mother. My other hand reached behind me to unzip my skirt, and soon I was laying on the bed wearing just my bra and panties, as I sucked my own cum off the tip of my fingers.
I’m a wet, horny slut, I told myself. But it’s totally harmless. I should cum in front of my son more often—it’s only teasing.
The urgency had worn off, and my second orgasm was more for his pleasure than my own. I slowly ran my fingers up and down my exposed skin, shivering at the contact, hoping Cecil was close enough to see the goosebumps forming, the blood rushing to the surface. I grasped my breasts through the bra, bucking my hips off the bed, and stroked my pussy-lips through my soaking wet panties.
It was more than twenty minutes later when I finally came again, two fingers slowly pumping in and out of my slit, my nipples threatening to burst out of my bra, and my ass red from where I’d been unable to resist spanking it.
When the red haze of orgasm passed, I looked up to find the hallway empty—Cecil had gone.
Laying there in the afterglow that you only get from truly good sex, a thought struck me.
What the hell was I doing?
I’m a wet, horny slut.
I’d just cum in front of my son—hell, more than that. I’d put on a show for him. I’d pulled my own hair, spent several minutes on all fours, spanking my ass as I squeezed my left tit so hard I could still feel it throbbing.
I should cum in front of my son more often, I reminded myself…but no, that wasn’t right. What I was doing was wrong. What I had done was wrong.
It’s completely harmless.
Is it? I was sure that putting on a sex show for your teenaged son wasn’t normal, wasn’t harmless. There was something seriously wrong, and it had to stop. Whatever I was doing, it needed to stop…starting with all the new clothes I’d bought.
I’m a hot bitch.
Maybe I could keep some of the new clothes. I just had to make sure that I wasn’t parading around in front of my son in my underwear—it was important that Cecil saw me as his mother, first and foremost, and not some kind of…sex object.
I’m a sexy woman.
Admittedly, even in my old clothes, it must have been hard for Cecil to ignore the fact that his mother was…well, that his mother was stacked. I stood up, and looked at myself in the mirror. Even after so many years with them, I still sometimes impress myself with my tits.
I love showing off my body.
Obviously I could never again do…what I’d just done. But that didn’t mean I had to dress like a prude. I had a fantastic body, and Cecil obviously appreciated it.
I love showing off my body.
Sure, he might have been my son, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a hot-blooded male.
I’m a sexy woman.
I could hide my curves under clothing, but it wouldn’t stop him from imagining what I looked like…or, after today’s performance, simply remembering what was underneath them.
I’m a hot bitch.
No, it made sense to dress however I liked around the house.
It’s completely harmless.
It wasn’t like seeing the female form was going to do any damage to the kid. Let him see what a real woman looked like—it would prepare him for life, after all.
I should cum in front of my son more often.
And hell, I’m a hot-blooded female myself. Of course the attention of a man is going to turn me on…what was I meant to do, refrain from getting myself off?
I’m a wet, horny slut.
If Cecil happened to see me getting myself off, and if I happened to get off from showing him, what was the harm in that?
After all, it was only teasing.