Everyone gathered around the kitchen table for dinner, and I avoided eye contact with Peter. I was still aroused at the thought of everyone eating the vegetables that had marinated in my pussy and Olivia’s. I took some of the salad, and took a bite. To my surprise, it was quite salty, as well as tangy. And not just any quality of salt–it was that delicious masculine salt that I hadn’t tasted in years.
“Thanks for helping with the salad, Peter.”
“It tastes really good,” Nancy said. I grinned, wondering if she recognized the flavour, or whether it was a new taste for her. The thought of her eating her brother’s juice was so hot to me, and I could feel myself getting wet again. I’d have to go masturbate again after dinner. When was the last time I was so sexed up? Such a long time.
Ethan had rented a movie to watch that evening, some coming of age comedy that I had never heard of. But everyone else seemed keen to watch it, so I agreed to watch, too. I sat in the armchair, while Ethan, Nancy and Harold sat on the couch. Peter sat in the beanbag chair on the far side of the couch, which was turned slightly toward me. I ended up just watching Peter, imagining wandering over there to the beanbag chair, straddling him, and pressing my breasts down to his lips, his face, smothering his whole face. Reaching down and feeling his cock within his jeans. Pulling it out, and beneath my skirt, gentle settling down on top of him, letting him enter me… Peter caught me looking at him, and I didn’t look away. We just stared at each other, as we had in the kitchen earlier. I could see the slow change in his jeans, see the bulge grow and transform. Peter noticed where my gaze had traveled, and gave me a half-grin. In response I licked my lips, very slowly. I was getting so wet just from our illicit eye contract as our family sat between us, watching the film.
I dropped my hand into my lap, sliding it up my skirt and along the edge of my panties. Nobody could see where my fingers were over the edge of the armchair, but I knew Peter, watching me, could tell what I was doing. He slipped his hand into his pocket.
“Mom, can you get me some ice cream?” Nancy asked.
“Can’t you get some yourself,” I asked, annoyed that every time Peter and I began to get aroused, she had interrupted us.
“I’ll get it,” Peter offered, standing. He still had his hand in his pocket, to mask what I was sure was a tremendous hard-on. “Who else would like some ice-cream?” He looked toward me, and now standing, he could see how I had my hand up my skirt. I fingered myself slowly staring straight at him. “Mom, would you like some?”
“Yes, honey, I would.”
He went to the kitchen, and I heard the sound of the freezer opening. It took a few minutes for him to return, and I imagined what he might be doing. I fingered myself more vigorously, and a moment later, he returned. There was no longer a bulge in his pants, and when he handed me my bowl, I recognized immediately a glossy glaze over the ice cream.
It was a delicious combination of flavours, like old-fashioned ice cream that was naturally a little bit salty.
“Mmmm,” I gave a moan of pleasure that could have been mistaken by most of my family as a simple enjoyment of food, but which would not be mistaken by Peter. “Yummy,” I said, watching him as I ate, letting the ice cream melt in my mouth and linger with the cum, savouring the sensation of it running down my throat. I was so looking forward to drinking his salty juice directly from the tap. Fresh ingredients always taste best. Peter was still watching me, so I put my finger into the bowl of ice cream, slipping a bit of his cum onto my fingertip, holding it up so that he could see, and then slipping my hand down between my legs. Of course, he couldn’t see how I rubbed that bit of cum over my clit and into my pussy, fingering myself deep, but I’m sure he could imagine it. I couldn’t stand it any more, I needed a shower to cool off, so I stood and left the living room, taking time to let Peter admire my ass as I strutted away from him and up the stairs.
Monday morning, I woke up at seven and went down to start breakfast, preparing some muffins. Harold was already down at the table, reading the paper.
Peter came down soon after, looking cheerful and relaxed.
“You know Peter, now that you’re on your own, maybe you need to learn a bit more about cooking,” I suggested to him as I leaned over the table to clear Harold’s plate. I watched his eyes flicker between my face and my cleavage. “You know, women love men who can cook.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that.”
“So do you want some lessons?”
“You want mommy to teach you how to cook?”
He smiled. “Sure.”
I had not intention of screwing him. Not consciously, anyway. There were so many other things that I wanted him to do for me, like jerking himself off for me, feeding me his cum on a spoon.
Harold was still sitting at the table, but across the high counter, he could only see us from the bursa eskort chest up. Not that he was looking; he was too engrossed in the paper. He’d be leaving for work soon, anyway. Harold couldn’t see how, as Peter came into the kitchen, I handed him a wooden spoon, but not simply handing it to him; I took his hand in mine, turned it over, ran my hand from his wrist down into the palm. It was a large hand, but still soft and young, slightly boyish. I put the wooden spoon into his hand, guiding his fingers as they curled around the shaft.
“I’m going to get you to mix some batter for me. Don’t hold it too tight. Sort of loose in your hand.” He relaxed his grip, and I slid the wooden spoon in and out of his hand, fucking his boyish grip.
“We’re going to be making a cake.”
“For Nancy’s birthday?”
“Yes. We’ve got two days, so we’ll bake the cake today, and then decorate it tomorrow. Now, start adding the ingredients.”
I loved the juxtaposition. Baking a cake for my daughter while seducing my son. Multitasking a mother’s duties to her family with a mother’s darkest fantasies.
“Now, you’re going to need some sugar, some flour, some butter…” I found a recipe for a nice light cake, and set it out before him. “Down to here. Mix these ingredients. I’m going to be making some bread. Be forewarned,” I continued, “the kitchen tends to get really hot when you’re doing a lot of baking.” I took the bottom of my t-shirt, and looped it back through the neck and tied it, that fashion that the girls in music videos always wore, and it pulled the fabric tight over my breasts. I glanced down to see if my nipples were visible through the red shirt. Not yet, but they could be before long. I looked up, to see Peter watching me.
“Well, I’m off,” Harold said from the table beyond, and my heart began to race. With Harold out of the house, Peter and I would have the place to ourselves until Ethan and Nancy got home at three. How far would I go? I wasn’t sure. Would I feel him through his pants? Would I get to see his cock? Hold it in my hands? Would I put his hands up my skirt, all the way up to where I had neglected to wear panties?
I began to mix up the flour and water beneath my own hands, forming it into a dough. Now was the moment to act, but my mouth was dry. We both dutifully worked on our tasks, our courage gone.
“So, how are things going at college?” I asked him at last.
“Pretty good. You saw my marks.”
“Yeah, I was meaning your social life, though.”
“Oh, that. Yeah, it’s good. I go out to the bar on weekends, usually hang around the dorm on weeknights. We have movie nights, and we play street hockey.”
“Sounds fun. How about girls?”
“Yeah, there’s some girls who play hockey with us.”
“Are you dating anyone?”
Peter paused for a moment before answering. “There was a girl I was dating for the first half of the semester. But she dropped out and moved home to Vancouver when her mother died.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. That must have been hard on you,” I offered sincerely. I knew how much it hurt when a lover moved away. “Are you seeing anyone now?”
He shrugged. “I go on a few dates, nothing serious.”
“That’s good. Casual sex is one of the best things about college.”
Peter looked up surprised, but smiling slightly. I felt relief that at last I had gotten the conversation back to sex.
“That’s what it is, isn’t it?” I asked him. “I’ve been to college, I know how it is.”
“Yeah, it’s fun,” Peter admitted. There’s some girls the dorm across the street. Three in particular, they come over and David and Chris and I, they come into our room after hours.”
“Mmmmm, group sex,” I smiled, looking across the counter at him.
“Not exactly. We each have our own, it’s more like parallel sex.”
“So you can watch each other while you’re doing it?”
“And you like that?”
He smiled, shy and embarrassed.
“You’re quite the voyeur,” I said, hoping to bring the conversation around to him watching Olivia and I the other day. Again, he didn’t respond, he simply blushed more furiously.
“It’s alright, I really like watching, too. I was pretty wild when I was in college. I even went to some orgies.”
I couldn’t believe I was telling my son about these experiences. “Yeah. Guys would line up for my blowjobs. I was famous.”
“Does Dad know… that you’ve done that?”
“He does. We met at an orgy. I had seen him around campus and thought he was pretty cute, but we had never spoken. And then I’m at this professor’s house and it’s kinda late and we were all screwing one another, you know how it is. And I still remember it so clearly; I was on my hands and knees, going down on this black girl who was on the couch. And then suddenly a big dick slips into my ass, and I turn around and it was your father.”
“That was such a long time ago,” I say, still lost in the memory. I had once been such a wild girl, and Harold had been a wild guy, bursa escort bayan but all of that had changed. I was just trying to capture some of that back.
“You and dad, you don’t do it anymore, do you?” Peter asked, and I turned my attention back to him, my chance to re-embrace that girl I was 20 years ago. Maybe do something that girl would never have imagined.
I shook my head in answer to his question, and we were both silent.
“I think this is mixed up,” he said.
“Bring it over here.”
He brought the batter over to me, and I gave it a quick stir, checking the consistency. “Pretty good. You’ll have to let it sit for a bit now.”
He went to the fridge and poured himself a glass of milk.
“You were asking about my sexual experiences earlier,” he said hesitantly, so much more timid than the boy who had ejaculated on my ice cream the previous night. I wondered why he was so tentative, why I was so tentative. Maybe because being alone, there was nothing to hold us back, so we held ourselves back.
I nodded, encouraging him to continue.
“Valerie and I, she’s the girl who moved home, sometimes we have phone sex.”
“Really?” I was genuinely surprised. It was something I had never done, but the thought of it really struck a chord with me. “You mean, you masturbate, she masturbates, and you talk about it.”
“What sort of things do you say?” I wanted him to say something dirty to me. Say something nasty to his mother.
“You know, I tell her what I would do to her, what I would want her to do to me.”
I was eager for details. “Like what?”
“Well, I might tell her that I want to perform oral sex on her while she kisses my penis.”
“But that’s not how you would say it.”
“So what would you say?”
“Well, I might tell her that I want her to put her pussy on my face and let me slip my tongue inside her while she wraps her soft lips around my cock,” he said it softly, watching my reaction, as though afraid I might be offended. Instead, I bit down on my lip, and let it slowly slide between my teeth, a gesture I knew would demonstrate how turned on I was.
“And then would she say something like how she just wanted to grind her pussy into your face?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“And would she tell you what she was wearing? Would she say that I she was wearing a red t-shirt, a long blue skirt, and no panties underneath?” I asked, describing my outfit.
“Really?” he asked, catching my meaning.
“Well, I don’t know, that’s something I might say if I was having phone sex. And then I’d tell him to unbutton his jeans.”
Peter looked like he wasn’t sure whether that was a flirt or an order. “I would ask her what she intended to do once I took my jeans off.”
“I would move around behind you,” I said, dropping just a bit more of the pretense. “Drop down to my knees, focus on your gorgeous young ass, run my hands over it, stroke the crack…” as I spoke, I was shaping the dough beneath my hands into two life-sized as cheeks, lovingly smoothing them, take a finger and pressing it gently down into the crack.
“So, will you take them off?”
“Really,” I said, dead serious.
Peter gulped, and turned his back to me, and began to undo his belt. He looked back over his shoulder, as though checking for my approval. So suddenly modest. I raised my hand and gave my breast a little squeeze, showing him there was no mistaking my intention. While my face was calm and confident as I could make it, inside I was freaking out, to use my daughter’s phrase. Again, I asked myself how far I was prepared to go. Peter’s jeans slid down his legs, and his boxer shorts, too. His ass was right in front of me, only a few feet away. He didn’t look back over his shoulder again. He just waited for me.
I wanted to run, or at least get a drink of alcohol, but this moment was too fleeting. I might not get up the nerve again. So I dropped down to my knees, and crawled quietly across the kitchen floor, coming up behind him.
“You’re a good boy for doing what your mommy tells you.” He didn’t say anything, but he shivered as I brought my mouth close, and I knew he could feel my breath. “And you’ve got a sexy ass.”
I reached up as high as I could, and put my hands on his shoulders, slowly sliding them down his back, feeling his young muscles. Gorgeous. I was imagining our rolls reversed, him behind me, his broad back arched as he pressed against me. I couldn’t resist any more, and I pressed my tongue against the very top of his ass cleavage. He moaned and shook a bit.
“I love a nice, sexy ass. Do you?”
He moaned again, whispered that he did. “I mean, a girl’s ass,” he quickly added. Not a guy’s ass, not my own.”
“A girl’s ass. Yes, girls have lovely asses, too. Have you ever fucked a girl up the ass?”
He was quiet, but looked up and could tell he was shaking his head. I kissed my way görükle escort further down. “You keep your ass nice and clean, don’t you? Do you want to fuck an ass?” I asked as I ran my hands up the insides of his thighs. “Wouldn’t that be nasty, seeing your cock slipping between two soft ass cheeks?” He was silent, but again I could tell he was nodding. “Hang on a second, don’t move.”
I went back to the counter and took the dough ass I had been shaping with my hands. “I’ve got an ass you can fuck,” I said moving back behind him, standing now. Obviously he would have thought I meant my own, and while I liked the thought of him pounding me from behind, I still wanted to draw this out more.
“Here’s an ass for you.” I reached in front of him, the dough ass in my hands. Peter looked down and laughed. He was taller than me, so I couldn’t see over his shoulder, but I grazed the dough against his cock. And felt him stir.
“There’s some olive oil on the counter,” I said. “Never fuck an ass without lubing up first.”
Peter reached for the oil, and I heard the gentle sound of him stroking his cock.
“That’s better,” I said, running the crack of the ass along the bottom of his cock. “Mmmmm, yeah, that’s real good.”
Then I stopped stroking, and pushed the dough down against him, his cock forging it’s own hole into the mound of dough. He moaned out loud, and I pressed myself against his back. Through the dough, I could feel his cock. I pulled the dough off of him, and then on again, slowly and gently. “You like that? You like fucking an ass while mommy presses against you from behind? You want to fuck Valerie’s ass while mommy presses against you? Of would you rather fuck mommy’s ass?” I asked him, kneading the dough in my hands, swirling it around his cock. “Huh?” I asked him when he didn’t answer. “Do you want to fuck mommy’s ass?”
“I want to fuck mommy’s ass.”
I moaned, trying to hold back just a bit. “But that would be incest, wouldn’t it?” His cock felt so large through the dough. “That would be a filthy, dirty, horrible sin. And we’d both end up going to hell, wouldn’t we? You don’t want mommy to go to hell?” I doubted Peter believed in hell any more than I did, but I couldn’t help emphasizing the taboo. Maybe I’d be able to hold back, just stay at this level, itself a rich and dark taboo.
“I want to fuck you, mom.”
“I know you do, Peter.”
“Not yet, baby. Not yet. Just cum for me. You know mommy loves your cum. That was such a nasty thing you did for mommy last night, putting your cum on her ice cream. That got me so hot.”
“That’s it, baby. Cum for me.”
I pushed my hand through the dough, found the cavity his cock and carved out, and felt his tender, thin skin for the first time. I wrapped my hand around him, felt the pulsations as he shot the dough full of his ejaculate. It was hot on my wrist.
He turned around, and I saw his naked front for the first time, his cock still wrapped in dough, and my hand still pressed through the dough, too. It looked like some work of modern art and I laughed.
Peter laughed too, short, gasping laughs strung together with words. “That was the hottest thing ever.”
“Yeah,” I said, as I took the dough in both hands and squeezed it around his cock, making sure I got every last drop, and then slipping it off. And I looked on his cock for the first time. It was still fairly rigid–the orgasm seemed to have done little to abate it. It was maybe seven inches, maybe a bit more. When you’re right down there with a cock, imagining it inside you, it always looks so impossibly huge.
“So, what now?” Peter asked me, suddenly sober and straight-faced. The reality of what we had just done hit me, too.
“I don’t know, Peter.” I took his hand. “I guess we should think about what we’ve done and decide where we go from here.”
He nodded. “I’m sorry, mom.”
I gave his hand a squeeze, and then leaned in close, planting a kiss on his cheek. “Don’t be, honey. This was my fault, for better or for worse. I was feeling desperate, I decided I wanted to seduce you.” I looked away, annoyed at myself. It would have been better to leave it as a fantasy. The more real it became, the more painful and difficult.
“Do you…” Peter appeared to have difficulty asking this next question. “Do you have a food fetish? I mean, with the vegetables, and the ice cream, and now the dough?”
I smiled, and considered the question. Peter didn’t even know about how I had masturbated at my private dinner last week.
“Yes, I guess I do.”
“Does that shock you?”
“It surprises me a little. I never would have thought that about you. Like you going to orgies when you were in college. I wish I had a girlfriend who was that uninhibited.”
I gave him a big grin. “Well you do now. At least, a secret girlfriend. If you want her.”
“Oh mom,” Peter took me in his arms and gave me a big kiss, passionate and wet, full of soft young lips and a daring tongue that sought out my own.
His hands moved down my back, to where my spine was bare with my t-shirt knotted up. He pulled me against him, and I could feel the warmth of his lovely dick through my skirt, pressed against my navel.