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29 Ocak 2024, 16:23
This is a complete work of fiction and should be enjoyed as such. All characters described are fictional and over the age of 18.
*
I finally pulled myself out of my catatonic state and trudged back upstairs to my bedroom. I picked up my dress from the bed and held it close to my face looking, again, at the cum stains...the closest thing I'd had to sex in months (and with my own son). I couldn't help but remember his pecker hanging down between his legs and getting bigger as he had related last night's events to me. The thought had me leaning in and sniffing the stain, there was the slightest whiff of manly musk, the same as the smell from this morning when my nose was nestled in his hair. I glanced guiltily around the room, even though I knew I was alone and timidly stuck my tongue out and licked the stain; the same sweet salty taste from his morning release caressed my senses. I shook my head and tossed the dress into the hamper. What was wrong with me, I must be sick, he's my son! I shucked my robe, hanging it on a hook on the back of the bathroom door and turned on the shower. I had a lot to think about and I still had all the usual weekend chores to do. Before I climbed in the shower I looked at myself in the mirror, make-up a bit worse for wear, even though I'd drunkenly touched it up the night before you could still tell from my mascara that I'd been crying, lipstick smears around my lips, I can only imagine those were from rubbing my face against Danny's crotch. The coup-de-grace was the dried crusting trickle of his cum running from the left side of my mouth to my chin. I looked like a proper whore after a busy night...though I didn't feel like one, even though my mind screamed at me that I should.
I climbed into the shower and slowly lathered up, thinking all the time about what to do, about my failed marriage, my cheating husband, my confused son, my feelings (what were my feelings?) about sleeping with him. I went through the motions of getting clean, shaving my legs and arm pits and washing my hair without really realizing it. My thoughts finally began to congeal as I was drying my hair, looking in the mirror again at my clean, unadorned face and deciding that I didn't deserve to be treated the way James had treated me.
I finished drying off and got dressed in a loose fitting tank top and a pair of old, tight, jean shorts (a half size too small, but they're worn-in and comfortable) I wear around the house when I'm doing chores or out, indulging my hobby, gardening in the backyard. I squared my shoulders, dragged the laundry hampers downstairs, leaning them against the washing machine and grabbed the phone to call Tami. Tami works as a legal assistant in a law firm in town. When I got her on the phone and explained what I wanted she told me she'd call me right back. I hung-up the phone, sorted the laundry (leaving my husband's clothes in a pile by the back door), and started a load before working my way around the house neatening things up. Tami called back about 10 minutes later and told me I had an appointment with a good friend of her boss who would help me out. I had to be there in an hour, I thanked her and ran upstairs to change into more respectable clothes and comb my hair.
Two hours later I was walking out of Bernard, Schmidt
*
I finally pulled myself out of my catatonic state and trudged back upstairs to my bedroom. I picked up my dress from the bed and held it close to my face looking, again, at the cum stains...the closest thing I'd had to sex in months (and with my own son). I couldn't help but remember his pecker hanging down between his legs and getting bigger as he had related last night's events to me. The thought had me leaning in and sniffing the stain, there was the slightest whiff of manly musk, the same as the smell from this morning when my nose was nestled in his hair. I glanced guiltily around the room, even though I knew I was alone and timidly stuck my tongue out and licked the stain; the same sweet salty taste from his morning release caressed my senses. I shook my head and tossed the dress into the hamper. What was wrong with me, I must be sick, he's my son! I shucked my robe, hanging it on a hook on the back of the bathroom door and turned on the shower. I had a lot to think about and I still had all the usual weekend chores to do. Before I climbed in the shower I looked at myself in the mirror, make-up a bit worse for wear, even though I'd drunkenly touched it up the night before you could still tell from my mascara that I'd been crying, lipstick smears around my lips, I can only imagine those were from rubbing my face against Danny's crotch. The coup-de-grace was the dried crusting trickle of his cum running from the left side of my mouth to my chin. I looked like a proper whore after a busy night...though I didn't feel like one, even though my mind screamed at me that I should.
I climbed into the shower and slowly lathered up, thinking all the time about what to do, about my failed marriage, my cheating husband, my confused son, my feelings (what were my feelings?) about sleeping with him. I went through the motions of getting clean, shaving my legs and arm pits and washing my hair without really realizing it. My thoughts finally began to congeal as I was drying my hair, looking in the mirror again at my clean, unadorned face and deciding that I didn't deserve to be treated the way James had treated me.
I finished drying off and got dressed in a loose fitting tank top and a pair of old, tight, jean shorts (a half size too small, but they're worn-in and comfortable) I wear around the house when I'm doing chores or out, indulging my hobby, gardening in the backyard. I squared my shoulders, dragged the laundry hampers downstairs, leaning them against the washing machine and grabbed the phone to call Tami. Tami works as a legal assistant in a law firm in town. When I got her on the phone and explained what I wanted she told me she'd call me right back. I hung-up the phone, sorted the laundry (leaving my husband's clothes in a pile by the back door), and started a load before working my way around the house neatening things up. Tami called back about 10 minutes later and told me I had an appointment with a good friend of her boss who would help me out. I had to be there in an hour, I thanked her and ran upstairs to change into more respectable clothes and comb my hair.
Two hours later I was walking out of Bernard, Schmidt