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Under the Caribbean Sun
* * * * *
Struggling to get comfortable behind the wheel of my Kia my son said, “Grandma sure enjoyed that.”
He’d detected the subtext. My mother’s gift, generous as it was, was also intended to… What exactly? Embarrass me, humiliate me, manipulate my son?
I said, “Yeah, she did.”
An hour ago, at Thanksgiving dinner, while my step-father sliced the ham Mom announced the secret I’d known, and kept, for the better part of two decades: she’d established a trust fund for my son.
* * * * *
My family, my extended family, had money, lots of money, they were Masters of the Universe:, developers, investors, doctors, lawyers, accountants, corporate presidents, vice-presidents, CEO’s, CFO’s. My straight-laced brothers and I were expected to follow suit. They did; I, the irredeemable wild-c***d, had no interest. I got pregnant as a teenager; he was the director of the food co-op where I volunteered. We married, but I soon realized while he looked hippie and talked hippie what he yearned for wasn’t me, but the family money. The marriage ended quickly and unhappily, neither my son nor I had heard from him in years.
On the positive side he’d been a hell of a fuck; I’ve had few his equal since.
So, on the occasion of my divorce my mother, with an oft-repeated, “I told you so,” set up a trust fund for my son’s proper education. The message: I’d never make enough money to do so.
I went to college, remained a wild-c***d (albeit one who, when it was a man, required a condom), got a degree in folklore, headed for graduate school, (more wild-c***ding), got a PhD, then a job teaching at a small public rural university in Virginia, where I calmed down the act. Then, after turning my dissertation into several published articles and an award-winning book, I was hired at the University of North Carolina.
In my world it was impressive; it my parents’ it was a lark: North Carolina was not the Ivy League, folklore not a real discipline.
In Chapel Hill my reborn wild c***d was circumspect: William was of an age where I couldn’t explain overnight guests by calling it a sleep-over with mommy’s friend. There’d been a couple of serious relationships, and when not there were covert means to address my sex-drive: liaisons with visiting graduate students (our own student body was off-limits), former lovers I’d meet at conferences, and the young, oft-married, and hard-bodied assistant football coaches and trainers whose disappointment at my refusal to let their players slide through my classes was offset by my willingness to let them slide their thick cocks between my legs.
* * * * *
Back to Thanksgiving.
After dessert – our long-time family cook had prepared her amazing Baked Alaska – mother ushered William away for a private discussion which my son, as we pulled away from the curb, immediately shared.
“It was basically the same old stuff. Grandma said you should have sent me to boarding school, Phillips Exeter would have been glad to have me, but despite my public high school education she said with my grades, ACT score, community service, and the ‘soccer thing,’ and her connections she can get me into Harvard or Yale. I could walk onto the soccer team, get a scholarship my sophomore year, and even if I didn’t – here she self-congratulated on how well she’d invested – there was more than enough money in the trust to pay for it.”
“What did you say?”
“I said I’d think about it, but I’m not going to Harvard. Y’know, Tar Heel born, Tar Heel bred, plus who wants to play soccer in the Ivy League when Carolina recruited me. You had the courage not to let them control you with their money, I can try to do the same.”
“Aren’t you afraid she’ll try to take it away?”
“Yeah, although maybe she can’t. She bragged how neatly her lawyers tied it all up, that no one else would ever have access. By the way, that pissed me off, that she thought you’d raid the fund.”
The notion that I’d try to steal my son’s money pissed me off too. I was not penurious, had never asked the family for money, and while the folklore faculty was far from the highest paid on campus I’d raised my son on my own.
“So I was thinking, as kinda of an FU to everyone, remember when you were dating Alan, getting serious, you two talked about a honeymoon at that Carribean resort, why don’t you and I go there over Spring Break, on me.”
“Son that’s sweet, but you can’t afford that.”
He handed me an envelope; it contained the fund’s financial report.
He could afford it.
* * * * *
I told him “no” several times, but my desire to go and the disappointment in his voice overcame my reluctance. Over the next months, wanting to look my best, I prepared. I’m a jogger/swimmer/hiker, not a weight lifter, but with my son’s guidance I hit the gym and worked out at home, losing ten pounds, getting my five foot seven inch body down to my college 127 pounds and my measurements to 36-24-35 (one more inch on the butt than in college – couldn’t get that off). I let my brown hair grow out until it hung past my shoulder blades, which would have been frowned on in the business school but was fine in my more bohemian discipline, and took the opportunity to get out in the sun, darkening my already dark skin.
People noticed. I could feel the eyes on me; flirtatious students, friends, and colleagues grew more flirtatious. My own libido was also on overdrive. Unfortunately no visiting grad student floated my boat and visits from my football coach, who was on the road recruiting, were irregular. Finally I put together a paper to deliver at a conference organized by a friend from graduate school. She had marvelous lips and tongue.
* * * * *
On March 1 the trust vested and William turned $10,000.00 in stocks into cash.
On March 2, debit card in hand, he headed for his computer to buy airplane tickets, rent a car (under my name), and contact the resort. Later, at dinner, he was distracted. I asked if anything was wrong. He said no.
Three days later he said, “Mom, we gotta talk.”
“What is it son?”
“It’s not my fault.”
Employing my wide-eyed quizzical look, perfected from years of hearing my students say the same thing, I stared at him.
William recognized it, laughed, and ice broken said, “After New Years I called the resort. They said I’d need to give them a credit or debit card, which I didn’t have, to reserve a room. Worried about Spring Break I asked if there’d be any trouble getting a room the week of March 9; they said no, they don’t cater to students and never sell out in March. So the day after the trust vested I called to make a reservation and it turns out a family from Brazil booked all available rooms for a reunion. Hoping for a cancellation I checked the site every day for an opening, then just to be sure called. On the third day a suite opened up. Desperate, I booked it.
“I’m not hearing a problem.”
“It’s the honeymoon suite. The groom ran off with the bride’s mother, so the wedding was cancelled.”
“The groom and the…”
I said, “Not that, we’re in the honeymoon suite?” then calming down added, “I guess it’s okay, weird but okay. Is there only one bed?”
“Yeah, but there’s more. A strict policy is posted on the web-site, it’s limited to honeymooners. Mom, it’s the only way we’ll get in.”
“You lied, you told them we’re on our honeymoon?”
“Well it’s more like the lady I was talking to assumed we were and I didn’t correct her.”
I stared at him.
“Okay, they’re pretty much the same thing.”
“Son there must be other resorts on the island.”
“There are a few, not nearly as nice, and they’ll be aflow with drunken spring breakers. Mom, this is the one you wanted to go to.”
“So what are you proposing?”
He pulled an envelope from his pocket, turned it over, shook it. Out fell my ex-husband’s wedding and my engagement and wedding rings.
* * * * *
Figuring an older more mature voice could find an exception to the honeymoon suite rule – certainly if there were no honeymooners they wouldn’t let it go empty – I called the resort posing as half an unmarried couple wanting it during the off season, but they were adamant. They said the room was good luck; couples who stayed there never divorced. They would not jinx its gris-gris.
* * * * *
That night I was more practical.
“Son we’ll never get away with it.”
“C’mon Mom, as good as you look, everybody will think you’d interest a younger guy.”
“The flattery’s a nice try, but we aren’t a couple, don’t act like a couple, don’t dress like a couple.”
“We can fake it.”
“Really? You’d have to transform yourself into a smitten young man who adored his bride, hung on her every word, pampered her, took care of her, wore whatever she wanted, did whatever she said, no back talk, no lip…”
That sounded pretty good.
“… you’d think about her all the time, anticipate what she might want and do it. Pull her chair out, open her car door, massage her neck and shoulders, call her ‘sweetie’ and ‘my love’ like you meant it.”
This sounded real good.
William nodded his head in apparent agreement and I decided to push it. I love to dance and suspecting my son, and his graceful athletic body, would be naturals on the dance floor I said, “You’d have to take me out dancing at night, which means we’d need to practice, hit a few clubs before we left. We wouldn’t want to look like it was our first time.”
Accepting my dare he said, “No problem.”
“And we’d need a new wardrobe, fun sexy stuff for our honeymoon.”
Pretending to give the matter serious consideration he sucked his lower lip into his mouth, lowered his gaze then, after several seconds, said, “Sold.”
* * * * *
In order to convince others he was my husband I’d have to be able to imagine him as my husband, as a man. We discarded the labels “mother” and “son” and with an occasional slip I called him William and he called me Rocky (my nickname, my mother had christened me the more ladylike Rachel) and used affectionate nicknames. Sweetie and gorgeous were among our favorites.
Our effort to be physically more affectionate was helped by the dancing. Good to his word, that night, twice more that week, we drove to a near-by city and, holding hands walked onto a dance floor and boogied. We learned how the other moved, learned to move with each other, and as we grew more comfortable we’d get lost in the music, move together like beaus, end each dance with a hug and kiss, return to our table, our fingertips touching atop it, our feet below it.
Whenever together we’d hold hands, slip an arm around each other, stand in the other’s personal space.
If in the same room but not physically close we’d glance at each other, hold the other’s gaze.
The rules for conversation: pay attention (not half but full, hang on every word), smile and nod while you listen.
At restaurants we ordinarily didn’t patronize we’d hold hands, he’d pull out my chair. Sitting we’d mirror each other’s actions, use pet nicknames and animated gestures, look into each other’s eyes, listen, laugh at the smallest joke. He’d pay the bill, I’d kiss him in thanks.
I enjoyed it; it had been awhile since I’d seriously dated. I liked the attention, liked the envious glances of women wondering about my good-looking young man, liked the occasional glances of young men wondering how my son had scored this fine older woman.
My good mood was reflected in my everyday demeanor. Friends and colleagues said there was a certain glow to me.
I also had a whale of time dressing myself, and my son, for our honeymoon.
Thinking we just might pull this off I looked forward to trying. In bed, at night, I’d imagine the luxurious resort nestled in a lush tropical paradise, me displaying my hard body on the beach in a tiny bikini, handsome William bringing me a drink, and slip a finger inside by swollen cunt.
* * * * *
Pulling up to the resort in the convertible we’d rented I was happy to see William fiddling with his wedding ring. He’d wanted to put it on several days ago to get used to it but I insisted he wait until this morning. One woman’s observation: newly married men, adjusting to the sensation of it on their finger, play with their wedding rings.
My son came around the car, opened my door, offered me his arm. I stood, he kissed my cheek and whispered, “Happy honeymoon darling, you look beautiful,” in my ear. I brushed his hair into place, kissed him, and holding hands we entered the lobby.
The clerk, who let her gaze linger on my son a beat too long, checked William’s ID, said, “Mr. and Mrs. Barnes it’s so good to see you,” turned to a co-worker, said, “Let the boss know,” and said to us, “Ms. Pamba, the resort’s manager, insists on greeting honeymooners personally.”
Saying, “That’s kind of her,” I wrapped a hand on William’s arm, stroked his skin with a finger tip. While still not entirely comfortable touching him this way – there was an undeniable sexual component to it – it was what any woman would do after the clerk’s covetous glance. It helped that my son’s fit physique was a delight to touch.
Responding to my touch William’s hand, his fingers sweet and sensitive, drifted to my lower back, his thumb stroked my spine. The clerk’s eyes flitted to the side and following her gaze I saw a striking brunette, a few years older than me, approaching.
“Our happy elopers, Mr. and Mrs. Barnes welcome.”
She kissed my cheek, did the same to William, and said, “My name is Mimi, I’m the manager. They alert me when the honeymooners arrive so I can greet them personally.
“Please, it’s William and Rocky.”
There was a hint of confusion in her eyes.
“I’m Rocky, it’s a nickname, my legal name is Rachel.”
She handed me her card, kissed my cheek, and said, “This is my private line, if you need anything text or call. I’d love to show you around. But first there’s a bottle of champagne in your room, on the house. Have a wonderful time.”
My son turned to me and with just the right look in his eyes said, “We’ll be sure to do that.”
* * * * *
After tipping the bellboy we walked along the living room’s wall-length floor to ceiling window overlooking the beach. I slipped my hand into William’s and said, “It’s beautiful, thank you. And, by the way, you didn’t tell me we eloped.”
He said, “Oh yeah that. I was worried that someone might wonder why we booked so late so I kinda said we were eloping, let them fill in the details. Y’know a couple so madly in love, so hot for each other, they decided they couldn’t wait. You ready to test the water?”
I said, “Love to, but if we’re eloping – and if there are any more secrets to our romance you should let me know – the first thing we’d do is screw like bunnies. Mimi knew that, that’s why she let us go so quickly.”
The place was lovely. Tastefully decorated, the living room opened on a balcony overlooking the ocean, the oversized bath included a Jacuzzi, and the spacious bedroom a wide firm bed. The closet was big enough for my entire wardrobe.
William said, “You should have brought more stuff.”
I slid my hand around his waist and said, “You’ll just have to buy your bride a few things while we’re here, something fun and sexy. After all, you’d want to spoil me on our honeymoon. Now since we can’t appear in public anytime soon I’m thinking that Jacuzzi looked mighty cosy. Care to join me husband of mine?”
William said, “You’re really enjoying this,” and went to change, re-appearing in the tight little swim suit I’d picked out for him, then continued filling the Jacuzzi while I, in the bedroom, tried on several of the bikinis I’d purchased for this trip, checked myself in the mirror, settling on a modest floral design. I’d save the daring ones for the beach.
Upon my return, voice enthusiastic, William said, “Whoa Mom, lookin’ good!”
Fishing for a compliment I turned in a 360 degree circle and said, “You really like?”
“Very much, you’re gorgeous. I have the hottest woman here.”
With a, “Thank you,” I slipped into the water. He handed me a glass of champagne, and our mantra of the last few days – always touch each other – took hold. He moved my foot into his lap, rubbed it with his thumbs. We chatted, grew quiet, relaxed. He moved to the other foot and I leaned back, enjoying his hands, the warm coursing water, lost track of time.
My phone pinged.
“What is it?”
I picked it up, slid over next to him, leaned into him, and his hand moving to my neck, kneading its muscles, said, “A text from Mimi. The masseuses had a cancellation this afternoon, the guests are out fishing and hooked a marlin. You interested?”
“Sure, sounds great, let her know.”
I put the phone down.
“I will, but not yet. You gotta figure we’re still consummating. A studly young man like you and a fit older lady like myself can go for hours. Your hand also feels good on my neck.”
Forty-five minutes later I texted back, happy to find Mimi had reserved the spot. We changed into shorts and tee-shirts, buried our swim suits in the cloth bag I’d packed – newlyweds would not wear swimsuits in the Jacuzzi – put the champagne and glasses by the bed, then I peeled back the comforter and blanket and, squirming and bouncing, flopped onto the bed.
William said, “What are you doing?”
“We wouldn’t want a nosy maid wondering why the newlyweds bed wasn’t a rumpled mess.”
William laughed, pounced on the bed. We wrestled playfully for a minute or two, then stood up, pulled the comforter into place, and I said, “Now that looks like we had a good screw.”
All this thinking about sex was getting to me. I was horny.
* * * * *
Coming around her elegant desk Mimi welcomed us to her office, directed us to a small beige love seat. She poured us each a cup of tea, then returned the pot to its place, I noting the delightful jiggle to an ample butt that perfectly fit her comely hourglass figure. Feeling self-conscious about checking out my hostess I looked to my son and, happy to see his eyes were better behaved than mine, glanced out her window. Her office overlooked the pool and ocean beyond; if I worked here I’d get nothing done.
As Mimi sat in a chair facing us William, snapping me back to reality, reached for my hand. I leaned my body into his and, after some engaging small talk Mimi said, “I’ll have Sanchez escort you to the spa,” brushed back her thick black hair, picked up the phone, and said, “My darling, they’re ready.” A moment later a good looking young man entered. Mimi stood, pecked his lips with a quick affectionate kiss, and said, “Rocky, William, this is my son Sanchez, he works here as an intern. He’ll show you the way.”
The resemblance was striking: short with dark eyes and skin, high foreheads, round faces.
* * * * *
The masseuses, slender small-breasted blondes who could pass for Swedish although their accents revealed they were from the American South, wore white cotton pants and tank tops and, I suspected as I watched the fabric drag across their skin, not much else. They handed us towels and directed us to the adjoining dressing rooms.
My son opened my door, I entered, and was reaching to close it behind me when one of the masseuses, in a sweet Southern drawl, said, “Its good to see old-fashioned chivalry.”
Damn, I almost screwed up. We were married, we’d dress, or undress, together.
My son followed me inside.
* * * * *
“Act like we do this all the time.”
“Can I stare?”
“Any man married to you would stare.”
“Any man I married would be too classy to stare, especially with two strangers on the other side of the door.”
* * * * * *
I’d never experienced a massage its equal. My masseuse – I’d not expected such powerful arms and fingers on that lithe body – working carefully and patiently, understood my body better than I. The rhythmic music was gentle and hypnotic, the candle light indirect and comforting, the smell, an aromatherapy, intoxicating, and the oil, warm and silky on my skin, seductive and sensual. My body devoid of stress, my mood elevated, I was a sponge absorbing sensations.
I drifted, lost track of time, grew increasingly aroused. Not, “Damn, I hope that hunk has a big dick because I need to be fucked now,” aroused, but, “I want to spend a rainy Saturday afternoon being touched, caressed, cuddled, kissed, stroked, and then slowly and sweetly entered,” aroused.
The masseuse lifted and rotated my leg, then asked me to sit up. My eyes closed, head slumped slightly forward, she worked my neck, shoulders, and upper chest, then moved my neck, arms, and torso in gentle circles.
At some point she touched my upper back, said, “We’re done,” and I lazily lifted my head, opened my eyes, saw my son looking at me with the same placid eyes. His towel, as was mine, lay across his lap, my breasts – nipples hard – hung free.
If not so relaxed instinct would have kicked in and I’d have yanked the towel back into place, covering myself and giving the game away, but for a moment I just sat there and William had the presence of mind to say, “Darling, you look like you enjoyed it as much as I did. That was wonderful ladies, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. It’s a pleasure working with two such responsive subjects. Maybe we’ll see you again illegal bahis siteleri while you’re staying with us?”
There was only one possible answer. It would mean being naked with my son again, but we’d be okay. Then, wondering whether the massage effected him the way it did me, before I could tell myself no I dropped my eyes to his towel. No hint of an erection, either it hadn’t or he had better self-control than I.
Needing to stretch and back in newlywed mode I raised my arms in a slow circle, rolled my shoulders, my breasts swaying gracefully on my chest, then stood, wrapped the towel around my waist, leaving my breasts exposed, and said, “We’d love to.” William stood, slipped his arm around my waist, turned into me, his chest pressed to the side of my breast, kissed me and said, “That sounds great my love.”
We retreated to the dressing room, changed, thanked them again, left a tip on the counter.
* * * * *
On the way back to our room it was William who broke the ice. “Those women were amazing. Are you turned on? I sure am.”
“Yeah. I wondered if it effected you the way it did me.”
I did not mention looking at his crotch.
He said, “Sure did. The only thing that kept me from becoming erect was the terror at doing so. After a session with those two we newlyweds would need additional consummating. Why don’t you take the first shower. Take your time.”
Well, that answered the question of whether he knew I masturbated in the shower.
“Thanks, I could use it. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”
“Yeah, I know. If you prefer we could be indirect, use euphemisms, but I think we’re beyond that.”
* * * * *
I aimed one of the twin spigots at my head, the other at my sex, and warm sweet water flowing down my body I quickly brought myself off. Then, the immediate need addressed, enjoying the endless hot water I pushed myself to the edge, retreated, did it several times before allowing myself the joy of a powerful orgasm.
A few minutes later, my son in the shower and I dressing in the bedroom I smelled it. Had William masturbated while I was in the shower? I pulled back the blanket on his side of the bed, touched his pillow, it was warm; I brought the pillow to my face and sniffed. It smelled good, like my son. Pulling the blanket all the way back I saw the outline of his body on the sheet, ran my hand on it. It was warm with a hint of his perspiration. Then I saw it, leaned down to make sure, touched it, recognized the thick slick texture, brought it to my nose. It was cum. I wiped my finger off on the sheet, pulled the blanket back into place, finished dressing, realized my son was still in the shower. At home his showers never lasted more than five minutes. Was he hard again? Was he in there masturbating?
* * * * *
We sat together on the couch, legs d****d across each other, playing on our tablets, then having given it enough time for some consummating, went to the balcony and watched the sunset, my son standing behind me, his arms wrapped round my waist, our bodies pressed together. Later, at dinner, my son, the devoted doting husband, held out my chair and we talked and listened, laughed, shared a dessert (my choice). Later we danced, my son holding me tight, me pressing my body to his trim powerful form, sharing an occasional kiss – just a peck. It was wonderful.
Back in our room I showered first, masturbated again, came again. William, who normally bathed in the morning, had acceded to my request – I like my bed-mate clean – was taking his shower. I wondered, was he masturbating n there, had he masturbated while I showered. I thought about checking his sheet again, decided that went too far, and wearing flannel pyjamas – I’d picked out the same for William – crawled into the large bed and fell asleep. In the middle of the night I returned from the bathroom, took a moment to study my son – he was so handsome. When I got back in bed without waking he murmured something, rolled over, lay an arm across my body, spooned me.
It felt good to be held by a man.
* * * * *
We woke early, stashed our flannel pyjamas in the bag I bought, and headed for the dock; our scuba diving guide had said the sights were most spectacular in the morning. Enjoying the opportunity to show off my newly trim body I wore a revealing indigo bikini, something a bride would wear to get her man’s juices flowing. Our guide was solicitous, might have been unwelcomingly so if I was not accompanied by my athletic young husband, and perhaps, feeling safe, feeling sexy, I was guilty of a little more preening than normal.
On our return I saw Mimi on the dock talking to the fishing guides. Assuming we’d head back to our room to do what newlyweds do, she waved us over, said she’d have lunch sent up – the chef was preparing her excellent ox-tail soup – and suggested we drop by her office at 3:00. She planned to get down to the beach, would love it if we’d join her.
After eating – the food was delicious – I showered and masturbated, then, while William showered donned a revealing yellow bikini and rumpled my side of the bed, then went to the living room, turned on the television, and was joined by my son wearing the tasteful – albeit small – red swim trucks I’d bought for him. He sat on the far end of the couch, placed my feet in his lap, and rubbed them as we learned that weathermen on Spanish television were uniformly bodaciously well-endowed women dressed in form-fitting clothes. If Mimi needed a second career there was one waiting.
When the show ended my son checked his watch and said, “It’s time to head downstairs. I hadn’t anticipated how much time we’d have to set aside on this trip for not having sex with each other.”
“A young man like you has a reputation to consider.”
Laughing, he said, “Yeah, and if my bride looked like you I’d never leave the room.”
* * * * *
My son, sunglasses sitting atop his head, wearing a swim suit, pull-over shirt, and sandals, held the door open for me as I followed Sanchez into his mother’s office. Recalling the view I glanced at the window, saw the reflection of my son behind me. He was looking at my ass.
Sanchez said, “Mama asked me to offer her apologies. There’s been an emergency. One of the lodges had a power failure, she’s there with the electrician. She wanted you to know the beach is lovely and said I should remind you of the Brazilians.”
After Sanchez left we headed for the beach and I said, “William, in Mimi’s office, did you check out my butt?”
Expecting a denial I heard, “Sure was, I look every chance I get. Just playing the role of a newlywed, and it is one fine butt.”
That was not something he’d have said to me two weeks ago. Not sure of what to say I said, “Thanks, I think.”
He leaned in, kissed my cheek, and said, “You’re welcome. When you look this good people stare. Do you know what Sanchez meant about Brazilians?”
I said I didn’t; then we reached the beach and I did. I slipped my hand into William’s and said, “They’re nude.”
“Yeah, Brazilians sun bathe in the nude.”
“What are we going to do?”
Shrugging his shoulders William said, “Chicken out, blend in? What would newlyweds do? I’m game if you are. Wearing that bikini you can’t pretend you’re embarrassed by your fine bod.”
That was also not something he’d have said two weeks ago.
“So your mother has a hot bod?
That was not something I’d have said two weeks ago.
“You’re enjoying this, talking to me like this, playing my husband.”
“Any guy would.”
Thinking two could play this game I said, “Well, you’re right passable eye candy yourself,” and scanned the crowd. I was in better shape then most of these people; why the heck not? I said, “I’m game.”
Finding a place off to the side I untied my top, slipped out of the bottoms, and enjoying the sun on my skin spread sun block over my body. It was top of the line stuff; it felt good. When I lay down William said, “Let me do your back.”
I said, “Thanks,” and handed him the bottle. William worked the lotion into my shoulders and upper back, his strong fingers turning it into a massage. I murmured in relaxation and approval. His fingers tips moved down the side of my body, along the outside of my sensitive breasts, then, emboldened by my failure to object he took advantage of our role-play and his hands slid up my legs, across my ass. I let him do it again before saying, “Thank you William. I think my butt’s safe.”
He said, “Just being careful, such perfection should be protected,” then laying down beside me added, “Can you get my back darling?”
I sat up, my naked breasts swaying, and said, “Of course sweetie,” wondered what people would think if they knew William was not my husband, but my son.
I worked the sun block into William’s back, enjoying the sinews of his robust body. By the time I reached his butt, his high hard firm butt, I was ready for a bit of revenge and put my weight into it, vigorously working the lotion into his rump before laying beside him.
He rolled over, said, Thanks,” kissed my lips, and we lay naked together, his foot touching mine. When I wasn’t dozing off, my eyes shielded by my sunglasses I followed the young hunky guys wandering by, enjoying it when they, feeling safe under the anonymity of their own shades, checked out the hot older woman. Finally, growing thirsty, I asked William for water and he sat up, dug a bottle from our small cooler, and said, “Are those people heading for, coming back from the dunes, doing what I think they’re doing?”
I rolled over, exposing my back side to the world, sand clinging to the perspiration on my skin. Couples were walking towards the dunes behind the beach – men’s equipment turgid, women’s nipples swollen – and languidly returning – turgid and swollen no more.
I said, “It sure looks like it.”
He said, “I feel better.”
“Surrounded by all this beautiful female flesh I’ve gotten turned on. I wondered if it might be,” here he paused, searching for the right word, “inappropriate.”
I said, “Should I be jealous?”
“Who said I wasn’t talking about my beautiful bride?”
I raised myself on my forearms, my breasts hanging below me, my nipples still in the warm sand, and said, “Smart ass.”
He ran a hand down my back, stopped before reaching my butt, and said, “You have a mighty fine ass too. I could use some relief, maybe I should wander up there.”
“I’m not sure you should William.”
Nodding towards the dunes I said, “Because if you go as a couple you’re doing it to have sex. If you go as an individual, people will think you’re a voyeur, going to watch.”
“Maybe they want to be watched? After all, they’re wandering around naked before thousands of stranger and are about to have sex in public.”
“Still the presumption should be to respect privacy.”
His hand went to my neck, kneading the flesh, and he said, “So come with me.”
“You can’t wait til we get back to our suite?”
“I could, but I don’t want to. Think of it as part of the resort experience.”
It wasn’t much of an argument, but it didn’t have to be. I was turned on and as I imagined the naked men and women making love in the near-by dunes I got hotter.
We were man and wife. There was nothing wrong with taking a stroll.
“Okay, but if this gets out I’ll sell you to the gypsies.”
We headed for the dunes. I wondered, were the young men who’d been checking me out envious of my beau, did they imagine us fucking under the Caribbean sun? What if they knew we were mother and son, would they be horrified, amused, aroused?
In the dunes my son’s theory was confirmed. While tall grass in the valleys between the dunes afforded some privacy, few took advantage, instead making love where anyone wandering by could see. By the time we found an unoccupied, relatively private spot William was not the only one who needed to masturbate.
“William, I’ll wander off so you can take care of yourself.”
My son, not fooled, knew exactly what I intended.
“No Mom, this is the best place we’ve found. You use it. I’ll find another spot, then come back and get you.”
My orgasm, hard and sharp, came quickly, and while there was another bigger better one inside me I was temporarily satiated. I scanned the dune line, saw naked William heading my way. He was beautiful.
* * * * *
That night, back at the resort, we ate dinner, danced. My son held me tight, I clung to him. Later, in the shower, my back to the wall, water splashing on my sex, I slipped a finger inside, pressed another to my clit, brought a breast to my mouth, sucked my nipple, wondered, was my son in the bedroom, in our bed, jacking off? I pushed that image from my mind; my thoughts turned to the beach, the dunes. I came, came again, then a final time, a thundering roiling orgasm that buckled my knees. I slid to the shower floor.
* * * * *
While the resort offered horse back riding, its trails were well-traveled and tame. Wanting to explore this tropical land we found a stable more to our liking and the next morning, wanting to get there early, we drank a cup of coffee, packed a blanket and lunch, took off.
The early start was a god-send for we got lost before finding the right dirt road (path would have been more accurate). Once there William ducked into the office, a rickety building close to collapse, to pay while a wiry young man led me into the yard. The horses were healthy, strong, and friendly; whoever ran the place knew his or her horses.
My son, mischievous look on his face, joined us and we took off with a rough map of the local trails and a detailed topographic map. Our sure-footed horses knew the way; our early start meant we had the trail and this lush verdant land to ourselves. As I rode, my hips grinding on the soft leather saddle, increasingly aroused I slid forward, increasing the pressure on my sex, my pleasant reverie interrupted when William said, “This looks like a good place for lunch.” I looked around; we were in a clearing with a small pool of water at the base of a series of waterfalls trickling down the side of the mountain.
It was perfect.
We tied up the horses and as they dipped their heads to drink William and I lay our blanket on the soft soil. I pulled my tee-shirt over my head, unveiling the bikini top I wore underneath. Chosen for this bumpy ride, less skimpy than what I’d worn to the beach, it held my breasts high and firm on my chest.
My son’s eyes flicked to my chest, returned to my face.
“Did you just peek at my tits?”
Wearing a cat that ate the canary grin he said, “The girls are standing at attention, hard not to notice.”
I looked down. My nipples, hard and erect, were clearly outlined in my top.
The girls did look good.
* * * * *
After eating William pulled out a joint.
I’m a college professor; I teach folklore. I did not feign shock that it existed or that my son might indulge.
“Where did you get it?”
“At the stable, a bonus when you rent two horses.”
Gesturing to the dense jungle he said, “We should. We’re honeymooning on a Caribbean island, surrounded by this. I think we’re safe.”
He lit it, took a hit, passed it to me. It was good shit, I passed it back.
Things slowed down, soon we were giggling. The colors and smells of the world grew brighter, more intense.
He lay down, so did I, resting my head on his muscular stomach.
He reached for my hand, ran his fingers on it, my palm, my fingers, his motion sweet, intimate, sexy. I loved it. I was stoned.
My sex simmered.
After awhile, I’m not sure how long, he said, “I’m told you can get under that waterfall.”
Lost in thought I had to ask him to repeat himself, then said, “What do you mean?”
“There’s a little cave, or shelf, under that waterfall. You can crawl onto it, get inside the waterfall.”
I rolled to my side, supporting my head on my hand, and said, “I see what you mean, but our clothes will get soaked and in this humidity they’d never dry before we had to get back on the horses.”
Running a finger down my spine he said, “Who said anything about clothes,” stood, and added, “It’s our honeymoon, we’ve already been naked together, and we shunned the resort’s trail in the hope of finding something like this, let’s go for it,” as he pulled his tee-shirt over his head.
I should have anticipated what happened next, but when my son pushed his jeans and underpants to his knees, it hung before me. Stoned, belly full, distracted by the beauty of the world around me I stared at it, thick and brown, several beats too long.
I like them big (not porn star big, but big). My son, while at the moment soft, had the makings of big.
While there was no disguising what just happened my son, the gentlemen, said nothing and offered his hand. I took hold of it, stood, and turning around said, “Thank you darling. Could I get some help here?”
He untied my bikini top, I turned back to him, dropped it on the blanket. I was impressed; his eyes remained fixed on my face. Suppressing the urge to lean forward and brush his skin with my breasts just to see what would happen, I accepted his dare and pulled my belt free, handed it to him, bent forward to work my breeches down my legs. As my brown hair fell over my face I wondered, was he, with no chance of being caught, scanning his mother’s body? Would he think my breasts sagged? Would he understand how hard I worked to keep them in shape, how nice and firm they were for a woman entering the second half of her thirties?
I stepped out of my breeches, stood. This was the third time I’d been naked with my son, but it felt different this time, it felt naughty, a fun naughty. Was it because we were alone, because we had no good excuse for doing it?
He ran a finger down the side of my face and said, “You’re a truly beautiful woman.”
I smiled, touched his lips, said, “Thank you my darling. Now lead the way.”
We crawled under the waterfall, the cool refreshing water splashing my naked body, onto the shelf. Its surface, purple and magenta clay, had a slick near libidinous feel. In the limited space William settled against the wall, I leaned my body into him, and we watched the sunlight, an array of ever-changing colors, play on the cascading water. I shivered and William lay his strong arms across my chest, the heat of his body warming mine.
I wasn’t sure how long, but some minutes later William moved his mouth to my ear, whispered, “Don’t make a sound,” and pointed to the clearing. It took a second to see – its brown buff fur blended with the forest – but it was a monkey, a foot and a half tall with a tail of similar length, sitting upright. It scanned the scene, chirped, and a troop of about two dozen monkeys emerged from the jungle, filling the clearing. They raided the remnants of our picnic, drank from the pool, played, scanned their surroundings while nonchalantly accepting our presence and that of the horses.
I slipped my hands into William’s, held his arms to my chest, snuggled my naked body into him.
Soon the monkeys, with the same circumspection with which they’d appeared, melted back into the forest.
I turned, my breasts dragging on my son’s strong arms, kissed his cheek, said “Did you know about this?”
“The guy in the office told me about it, about the shelf, said sometimes the monkeys come down this time of the day, suggested leaving our food out; it attracts them. I thought about telling you but I wanted it to be a surprise plus what if they don’t show. I’d hate to disappoint you.”
I kissed his mouth, just lips, said, “This is the best honeymoon ever.”
Holding hands we moved out from under the waterfall and lay on the blanket, my head on his thigh. We talked, he stroked my hair, and while in this humidity it took awhile for our bodies to dry I didn’t mind, for the day was lovely and I had grown comfortable being naked with William.
We packed up, dressed, mounted our horses. I rode behind my son and, watching his powerful body rock with the motion of his horse, moved forward on the saddle and brought myself off, small gentle orgasms – quiet whimpers, no screams. Back at the resort I called first shower. We both knew why.
Facing the shower head, water coursing down my body, I cupped my breasts, squeezed, touched myself as would a man. With an endless supply of hot water there was no hurry and I turned my back to the showerhead, licked the tips of my fingers, moistening them with saliva, slicker than the water, rubbed my taut hard nipples, lazily trailed my other hand down my body, across my flat stomach, found my clit, stroked it, the lightest of touches.
My current football coach, my recent grad student, their firm bodies floated through my mind. I thought about the young men on the beach, the way they looked at me. Heart rate quickening I moved my free hand from breast to breast, stroked played rolled my nipples. The picture in my head morphed, it was me riding my horse, grinding my sex on my saddle, watching my beautiful son in front of me, his body lean and hard. A new image entered my mind, William and I naked under the waterfall, and then I imagined him opening the door of the shower, stepping inside, feeling my tits, canlı bahis siteleri his strong hands feeling my tits. I forced my thoughts back to my most recent graduate student but soon William filled my imagination. My breathing quickened, I worked my breasts, squeezed my nipples, slapped the curve of my underboob.
I brought my hand to my mouth, sucked on four fingers as if little cocks, spread my plump vaginal lips with two of them, sank the other two into my most intimate space, a little bit at a time, rocked my hips, eased them deeper, deeper, wished they were a cock.
William, in the next room, knew his dirty mother was masturbating in the shower. Was he doing the same, pulling on his thick hard dick? Picturing his hand flashing up and down I trapped my clitoris with my thumb, imagined myself standing in the doorway of the bedroom watching William’s powerful pistoning arm, fingers wrapped on his hard tool. My son had met my amours over the years, knew I liked sex, but I bet he never imagined how dirty I could be. My taboo thoughts driving me forward I twisted the fingers inside me; my thumb on my blood engorged clit grew more assertive. In my mind William was coming, spraying his thick heavy seed on our bed, on the sheet on which I’d sleep tonight, and then my insides were convulsing and I was coming and I blurted, hearing the words as if spoken by someone else, “Fuck I’m coming William, fuck I’m coming.”
* * * * *
My phone flashed but throughly enjoying the luxury of William blow-drying my hair I ignored it. His shower had been quick – if he’d masturbated he done it in the bedroom while I showered – and when he returned to the bedroom, towel wrapped around his waist, his lovely chest exposed, he offered to finish what I’d just started.
I closed my eyes. I’d brought myself with the image of my son in my head. There’d been no harm, but still a no-no. Also a no-no: masquerading as newlyweds to get a room in a resort, being naked with your son, sharing a bed with him and, as I opened my eyes and saw his reflection in the vanity’s mirror, thinking him a hunk, even if he was. It was time to rein it in.
When he finished I checked my phone. Mimi had texted, inviting William and I to join her and Sanchez at the resort’s tent on the beach. William was game. I put on my least revealing bikini.
The tent, set up in the shade of several large trees, was on the far side of the beach and as we traversed it I, noting not everyone was nude, decided not to go naked myself. At the tent Mimi, thick black hair hanging loose past her shoulders, her relatively conservative bikini doing little to hide her extraordinary curves, greeted me with a hug and my son with a kiss. We followed her into the tent and my eyes dropped to her butt; if you could find a way to can that wiggle you’d be a millionaire.
Inside the tent – forty feet by forty feet, air conditioned, stocked with an array of food and a full bar – we were greeted by Sanchez. Dressed in shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, he was nicely built, although not William’s equal. William ordered a beer, I a pina colada. I took a sip; Sanchez made a kick-ass pina colada.
Outside, in two unoccupied chairs, I spread lotion on my body, William did my back, and I thought of the women watching, wishing they had such a gorgeous attentive lover. When it was my turn to do his back I took my time, preening before the ladies with my young man.
As I finished, feeling playful, deciding to tease my son, I said, “Isn’t Mimi beautiful.”
After a slight pause, as if he hadn’t noticed, he said, “She’s attractive.”
“I’d thought you’d go with sexy or exotic.”
He pulled his sunglasses down and his eyes casually scanning the length of my body said, “I’m with the sexiest woman here,” then lay back down, slipped his hand into mine, and added, “Also most exotic.”
“You have a silver tongue.”
“Maybe, but every guy out here is checking you out.”
“Even all these twenty-somethings?”
“Especially the twenty-somethings, guys dig a hot older woman.”
“How ’bout you?”
He rolled onto his side, dropped his head, and his grip tightening on my shoulder closed his lips on mine, did it again, then, rolled onto his back and said, “I’m on my honeymoon with one, aren’t I. There’s no one here in your league.”
A bit taken aback – I’d expected a peck – a bit excited, I d****d my leg over his and said, “Well I have the sweetest sexiest man on the beach.”
I meant every word.
I drifted in and out of sleep. When awake, sunglasses on, I’d note the scrumptious bodies passing by, when sleeping my dreams were intense and erotic. I woke from one, ready to return to our room, the shower, my fingers, but now William, eyes closed, was sleeping. I ran my eyes ran down his supple muscular body, stopped. He was hard; my son was having an erotic dream.
He was substantial.
A bell rang interrupting my inspection and Mimi, standing before the tent, said, “Last call everybody. There’s a storm coming tonight so we’ll be breaking down the tent. Food and drinks will still available at the gazebo.”
Woken by the commotion William stretched his magnificent arms and said, “I think I’ll get another beer. Do you want anything darling?”
“I’d love a pina colada.”
Playing the adoring bride my eyes followed him as he walked to the tent, drawn to his ass, tight and high, and back, a t****zoid formed by his broad shoulders and slender waist. When he disappeared inside I slid my sunglasses back on, lay down, but kept my eyes on the tent, watching him, two drinks in hand, move with elegant grace, gliding across the uneven sand; the muscles of his legs lean, his pecs well defined, his abs flat.
The forbidden thoughts of the shower had returned, but what did it matter? Surrounded by hundreds of people no harm could come of it.
He handed me my drink, sat, and we watched the crew under Mimi’s direction break down and cart off the tent with a speed and dexterity I’d have thought impossible. When done she, accompanied by Sanchez, approached.
I said, “It’s amazing how quickly they did that.”
“They’re good workers. Sanchez and I are going to take a walk along the tidal bay on the far side of the dunes. With the storm coming the sunset should be stunning. Would you lovebirds care to join us?”
It sounded to good to pass up. “We’d love to.”
The land on the far side of the dunes was undeveloped; you could imagine the island deserted. Out of sight of the resort Mimi, accentuating her barely-tamed beauty, loosened up and when she said, “If it won’t offend anyone I’d like to take off my bikini top, the sun feels so nice on my breasts,” I said, “Go ahead. Why would you think we’d be offended?”
“Sometimes our guests from the United States are a little more conservative.”
William said, “Not a problem. We sunbathed nude yesterday.”
Sanchez said, “I told you Mama.”
What could I do? When Mimi removed her top so did I.
Holding our sons’ hands we walked along the shore. Mimi had been right, the bay – fish lept from its surface, birds flew overhead – was not to be missed and the sky was ablaze the four of us sat. Mimi was beside her son, leaning her body into him, and I, the bride, between my son’s legs, my back on his chest, his arms d****d across my chest, resting on my breasts. Maybe the pina coladas deserve some of the credit but a few days ago, when we’d arrived, we’d never have pulled this off. Now it felt near normal.
The sun reached the horizon, the sky a backwash to flock after flock of birds, glowed in an array of colors. William, playing my husband, stroked my hair, kissed the side of my head. I loved it.
When the sun was gone the boys stood, helped us up, and William and I knew there was one thing every newlywed on earth would do at this moment. William wrapped his arms around me, tilted his head; I pressed my body to his, flattening my breasts on his chest. He kissed me, we moved our lips on each other, did it again. His kiss was wonderful, strong, and masculine.
I told him I loved him, kissed him again.
Mimi, smiling, said, “I love bringing newlyweds here, they always love it.”
William said, “Thank you, it was wonderful.”
We headed back, stopping atop the dunes so our sons could tie our bikini tops back on, and Mimi, not expecting that William and I to leave our room tonight, recommend several items on the room service menu, then invited us to eat lunch with her tomorrow at the lingerie show.
* * * * *
Williams offered me the first shower, told me there was no hurry. I said thank you.
I lit two candles, adjusted the water to the light of their flickering flames.
I cleaned hair and body, caressed every inch of my skin, let my needs focus, build, intensify.
Knowing girls like to be clean when they do it, my son had offered me the shower. Boys, they just like doing it. Was he laying on our bed right now, pulling on his dick?
Maybe he was doing it somewhere else, jerking off on the couch, in a chair?
Leaning against the shower wall, the dual spray directed at my breasts and sex, I rotated my hips. One finger glided around and over my nipples, two fingers pressed my labial lips together, moved them against each other. There was no hurry, no rush, no one expected to see us tonight.
I brought a breast to my mouth, licked my nipple, ran my fingers through my inner labia, along the sides of my clit, to the entrance of my vagina. As blood poured in my pubes grew more sensitive. I trapped my clitoris between my labial lips, massaged it, slipped a finger, then two, inside myself, used my thumb on my clit, visited, re-visited favorite spots, found new ones, moved in circles, back-and-forth, up and down.
I circled my anus with the pad of a finger, worked the tip inside, wiggled it, went deeper.
I wished I’d brought my butt plug.
When he finger was all the way in I pushed my backside against the shower wall, ground the open palm of my hand on my vulva, drove the finger deeper in my anus. Varying positions, angle, force, I came, a small delicious detonation deep in my sex.
My mind drifted to the last few days with my hunky son. They were perfect days, romantic days, sexy days. I couldn’t imagine another man showing me such a wonderful time.
I removed my hand from my sex, caressed my body, teased myself to a higher and higher pitch, opened the shower curtain, scanned the counter in the dim light, grabbed my toothbrush, slipped the handle in my rear – a makeshift butt plug is better than none – returned my fingers to my snatch and clit, drove myself back up the mountain, got to the crest, peered over the edge, slowed everything down, drawing it out, extending it. I squeezed my ass on the tooth brush, caressed breasts, stomach, thighs, sides.
No hurry, I had all night. The other guests would notice we’d skipped dinner and imagine us in bed, sheets and blankets askew, bodies entwined, William driving his fat dick into me, my arms and legs wrapped around him, pulling him to me, craving needing wanting his hot hard tool and cum, fucking me, fucking me.
The image throbbed in my mind.
I pushed two fingers inside myself, curled them, corkscrewed them, pressed my backside to the shower wall, rotating the toothbrush handle in my anus.
Right now were Mimi, Sanchez, the people we’d met, picturing us, the lovebirds, a trim attractive older woman and her young athletic husband, fucking, ramming their bodies into each other, his fat cock spearing into her hungry cunt. I was atop the mountain but didn’t ease off. Trying not to think of my son I jibbered, “Richard,” the name of my football coach, but the picture in my head was William, William fucking me with his beautiful hard cock. Moaning and groaning I realized I should have turned on the fan for my son must be able to hear me, but did it matter? He knew I was masturbating.
There were lights in my head: rainbows, sunsets, Christmas lights, mountains of Christmas lights, and they grew more intense and my clitoris was a roller coaster which had reached the apex and was now plunging down the rails and I was coming. An all-consuming euphoric uninhibited pleasure occupied my body and I yelped my joy.
I slid to the floor, let the warm water flow down my body, my mind hazy, a sweet smoldering burn in my sex.
* * * * *
In my eagerness to get in the shower I’d forgotten my bathrobe, so after drying off I wrapped a towel around my waist, leaving my breasts exposed, blew out the candles, and headed for the bedroom – what was the purpose of false modesty at this point – finding myself disappointed that he wasn’t there. I thought about my flannel pyjamas, but why not wear what I wore at home, what was comfortable. I put on panties and a white sleeveless tee-shirt, studied my image in the mirror as I combed my hair. The sun had darkened my skin and lightened my hair. I looked good.
William was in the living room, stretching. I watched him. As his mother, of course, I thought him handsome and adorable, but over the last several days I’d come to see him in a new way. Gorgeous, but unlike other gorgeous young men not full of himself. Instead, thoughtful, attentive, gentle, and kind, with hands that knew how to touch you, he was any woman’s dream.
“The shower is all yours my darling.”
He turned, said, “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I’ve been here a couple of minutes. You’re a beautiful young man.”
He looked up and down my body, smiled, said, “I got good genes. Where are the pyjamas?”
“I ditched them, decided to wear what I normally wear to bed. As much time as we’ve spent with each other in the nude the flannel pyjamas seemed an affectation.”
“You fill out your clothes nicely, make them look good. A very sexy look. I warn you, I sleep in the nude.”
A smile crept onto my face as I, laying a hand on his chest, said, “That’s going a bit too far. How about boxers?”
He put a finger under my chin, tilted my head up, kissed my cheek, whispered in my ear, “Anything for my sexy lady.”
William fished a pair of clean boxers from his bag, headed for the bathroom. I watched him, his back, butt, and legs, then turned to the mirror. William was right, it was a sexy look. The shirt emphasized my full round breasts, a hint of my dark nipples was visible. I stroked them, felt it in my sex, turned to look at my ass, loved the way my panties clung to it. I liked looking sexy.
I went to William’s side of the bed, pulled back the blanket, ran a hand down the sheet, felt the lingering heat of his body. While I’d been in masturbating in the shower he’d lain here and done the same. I found a drop beside his pillow. I touched it, brought it to my nose, smelled it, thinking I shouldn’t, tasted it. It was cum, my son’s cum. He’d missed this drop when he cleaned up, but that was understandable. It was at the head of the bed; it must have been quite a spray.
I folded his blanket back, returned to my side of the bed, crawled under the sheet with my computer. William’s shower went on and on. That was not his style; he favored short showers; he must be masturbating. He’d just done it in bed, now again in the shower. He would be fun on a honeymoon. Eventually the shower turned off and my son, wearing boxers, hair damp, crawled in bed besides me.
“Hey Mom, did you use my toothbrush?”
“No, why do you ask?”
“I found it in the shower.”
Even if I had a lie ready it’d have made no difference, my face was red with embarrassment.
William said, “What is it?”
“I grabbed it by mistake, I thought it was mine.”
“What was it doing in the shower?”
What was the point of lying? There was no way to sugarcoat this one: I’d masturbated with his toothbrush in my ass; I had to tell him.
“Okay. When I was playing with myself in the shower I used it.”
“Used it? How? You got a toothbrush fetish?”
“No, I don’t. I stuck it in my butt.”
Here I laughed, “The handle.”
“Thank god I brushed with the other end. So Mom, you like anal play?”
“Grandma says you’re a wild one. No reason to be embarrassed, after all I just masturbated in the shower and I like anal play. I, however, may want a new toothbrush, although I’m keeping this as a souvenir.”
I said, “Very funny,” handed him the remote control, said, “Find a good movie,” and lay my head on his shoulder, running my fingers through the light dusting of hair on his chest.
* * * * *
An hour later, dozing off, I said, “Honey, you’ll have to tell me how the movie turns out and thank you, I’m having the time of my life.”
He kissed my forehead, said, “Sexy lady, the pleasures all mine.”
I rolled onto my side, fell asleep. Later the sound of the storm woke me. The light was off; except for the flashes of lighting the room was dark. William had laid his arm over my body. I slipped my hand into his, whispered, “I love you son,” and went back to sleep.
* * * * *
The next morning we headed for gym, did weights, ran several miles down the beach, bought mangos from a local vendor, jogged back to the resort to get ready for the lingerie show.
Back in our room William said, “So what should I buy you my darling?”
Hands on my hips I said, “What would a man buy his wife on their honeymoon?”
“Something conservative and practical?”
“Slinky and naughty?”
* * * * *
Mimi and Sanchez, hosting a table for eight, had reserved two spots for the newlyweds. I wasn’t sure what to expect – I’d never attended a lingerie show – but was pleased by how classy it felt. The lingerie was top-of-the-line, the models graceful, and the space, on the second floor, well-lighted and overlooking the ocean, beautiful. William and I discussed what to buy, called several models over for a second look, decided on classic, chic, and sexy: black stockings, garter, panties, and bra. It would go perfectly with the little black dress I’d packed and the black stilettos on-sale in one of the resort’s stores.
For good measure – we were newlyweds – we bought a couple teddys.
During lunch Mimi mentioned she’d booked a rumba band for the evening – her favorite had unexpectedly become available – and insisted William and I, in my new lingerie, join her for the show. When I said I knew nothing about the rumba she invited William and I to an impromptu class she and Sanchez, in light of the sudden booking, would lead that afternoon. We signed up. I love to dance.
Mimi and Sanchez, excellent teachers, moved with skill, grace, and passion – you soon forgot they were mother and son – and by the end of the hour I knew that William and I wouldn’t embarrass ourselves on the dance floor. I also learned that the rumba is one sexy dance. Emphasizing the hips — the upper body mirrors the hips – it’s a dance of courtship and seduction dominated by the woman, who lures her man with charm and sensual movement, then rejects him. His response is to become ever more macho, his dance a physical performance designed to win her favor until finally he becomes the personification of masculine ardor and she turns in his arms and permits him a kiss.
After our lesson we bought those stilettos, 3 ½ inch narrow heel, fricking hot, hit the tennis courts for a couple games, returned to the room. In the shower I didn’t masturbate – a little sexual frustration would give my dancing added pizzaz – trimmed my rectangular patch of pubic hair. William volunteered to blow-dry my hair. When my towel slipped to my waist and exposed my breasts I casually worked it back in place.
Time to dress. I sprayed myself and the room with perfume, played rumba music on the television, slipped on my bra. The fit was impeccable, my clothes would look perfect atop it. I slipped the stockings on thinking how shapely and toned my legs were, put on the rest of my lingerie, the stilettos, examined myself in the mirror, looked over my shoulder at my ass.
I was sexy and beautiful and feminine and strong, in a sexy beautiful place, with a sexy beautiful young man who treated me like a queen.
I looked again. The lingerie, complimenting my femininity and power, was perfect.
I considered calling William in, showing him, but decided no, not yet. For now how deliciously hot I looked beneath my clothes would be my secret.
I slipped into my little black dress, fastened my earrings, touched up my make-up, double-checked everything, dabbed some perfume behind my ears and on my wrists, headed for the living room where William, bent forward, was putting on his shoes. In khaki slacks, turtle neck, and shoes polished to a sheen he was magnificent. Hearing me enter he popped to his feet and, eyes alight, grin forming on his face, he walked towards me and said, “My god, you’re hot.” Delighting in the contrast of the soft cotton fabric and hard muscles underneath I ran my fingers on his chest and our lips came together for a short kiss. My hand went to his upper arm and heart racing I kissed him again. I was feeling things I was not supposed to feel.
I looked up him, wet my lips, said, “I love your cologne.”
“It’s the first time I’ve worn it.”
I moved my head to his cheek, slowly drew the air into my lungs, said, “Very nice.”
* * * * *
We sat out the first couple of dances, watched bahis firmaları the other dancers, let the music flow through us, absorbed its passion and rhythm. The rumba is more than movement, it’s an attitude.
And while I watched all the dancers my eyes were most often drawn to Mimi and Sanchez, hips in constant motion, bodies one with the music, the effect hypnotizing, sexual. At the end of the second dance Sanchez motioned me to join him, Mimi did the same to William, and after a fiery dance they returned to the table, leaving William and I to each other.
The music started and William took me in his arms. We danced; he approached me; I rejected my suitor. William, calling on all his physical skills, all his machismo, repeatedly offered himself to me. It was a role my handsome powerful son played well, made sexier by the lingerie I wore under my dress and the secret knowledge that my suitor was my son. By pretending to be married, by this choreographed sexual courtship, we were flouting the taboo. I loved it.
And we did so again. The rumba ends with the woman accepting her lover, their mouths coming together for a kiss, and at the end of the dance William pressed his mouth to mine, his lips, full and strong, folded over mine. There was a charge in the core of my being.
Throughout our next dance I looked forward to those lips and when they came my tongue grazed them with a surge of arousal that could not be denied.
The band began again and I looked at him through hungry hooded eyes and wet my lips in anticipation of our kiss and when it came my tongue moved into his mouth and my stomach growled with desire.
And when the next dance ended he held my body to his and his tongue, moving with the rhythm of the dance entered my mouth.
After announcing this was the final number of the set the band played with a throbbing intensity and we danced and my breasts were swollen and skin flushed and there was a burn throughout my body and when the dance ended I parted my lips and stroked his tongue as it moved into my mouth and knew everyone was looking us, the newlyweds hot and hungry for each other, and no one expected us to wait for the second set.
The kiss ended and William, his voice full of need, said, “Let’s go back to the room.”
There was no need to say why.
We thanked Mimi and Sanchez for inviting us, headed for our room, two horny newlyweds who cared nothing for decorum.
William scooped me up, carried me over the threshold, closed the door, lowered me to the ground, and I attacked him. Pressing him to the wall, my mouth was on his. My tongue explored his lips, mouth, teeth, at first frantically then, as his strong tongue curled on and played with mine, more deliberately and with blistering heat.
His hand went to my back, drew down the zipper of my dress.
I moved my mouth to his ear, licked it, nipped his ear lobe, and when he was done with the zipper said, “What do you think?” and stepped back. The dress slid down my body, pooled at my feet. I stood, offering myself for inspection in heels, bra, garters, straps, stockings.
His eyes were eager and pleased and I knew he liked what he saw and he didn’t need to say it but he said it anyway.
“You make that shit look good.”
Kicking my dress to the side I stepped towards him, slipped my hands under his shirt, and fingers outstretched moved them up his chest,, said, “You’re sweet,” kissed his mouth, then taking hold of the hem of his shirt and tee-shirt pulled them over his head, held them to my face. Damp with his perspiration – our dance had been vigorous – his scent was strong, intoxicating. I turned my head up, looked into his eyes, smiled, and after a second he said, “What is it?”
“It doesn’t feel wrong.”
“I know. It’s like all this pretending allowed me a fresh view of reality, at what is possible, what is desirable, even if forbidden. I want you, why shouldn’t I have you?”
I unbuckled his belt, pulled it free of his pants, said, “Then you’ll have me,” and placed my palm atop his erection, traced the outline of his cock-head with my thumb.
He dropped his head, kissed me, a slow passionate kiss, pulled his head away, said, “Wow, that feels good.”
I worked his pants over his hips, touched his erection through his boxers, ran a finger up its length. “I’ve been peeking at this big boy. It’s beautiful.”
He said, “Should we move this to the bedroom?”
I said, “Yeah, the bedroom.”
One of his hands holding mine, the other holding up his pants, we scuttled to the bed, where he sat and I knelt, showing off my cleavage. I untied his shoes, pulled them and his pants off his feet, and hung everything up, giving him the opportunity to study his mother in heels and lingerie. I enjoyed his eyes following me.
He said, “Rocky, you’re some sexy.”
I struck a pose, turned to face him, and allowing myself for the first time to completely and openly to enjoy the sight scanned my son’s body. He was perfect.
When I was done I said, “So you think your mother is sexy?”
He stood, said, “I do,” and held me not as his mother, but as a woman. I buried my head in his shoulder, kissed his skin, turned my gaze to his face, pecked his lips, did it again. The third time my tongue ran along his lower lip, moved inside his mouth. His tongue welcomed it, played with it, then slithered into my mouth. The kiss went on and on and his hands, gliding on the silken fabric, moved down the side of my body to my waist. I turned in his arms, felt my breasts on his chest, felt his dick, hard and hot and throbbing, trapped between us.
I wanted to suck that cock.
I placed his hands on my bare shoulders, said, “William, please sit down,” and shivering with excitement dropped to my knees. I glanced at the mirror, saw myself in lingerie and heels kneeling before my naked son in a pose classic and submissive. Eyes sparkling with mischief and desire I brought my face to his dick, took a deep breath. Stiff, warm, and hard, its bright veins pulsed with blood, pre-cum dripped from it. He smelled like a man. I licked the head, he tasted like a man.
If I was going to suck my son’s cock I wanted him to participate.
Heart beating rapidly I said, “You can have anything you want, but I want to hear it you say it, you’ve got to tell your mother what you want.”
Seeing that the broken taboo excited me he said, “Touch your son’s cock, then kiss it.”
Wrapping my fingers on the shaft I kissed the tip, rubbed my soft bottom lip on the underside of the crown. Seeing the amount of pre-cum dripping from him I licked and kissed the head, then moved away. William groaned, a strand of pre-cum clinging to my lower lip stretched between us; it broke, swung down and across my chin. I opened my mouth, held it an inch from his cock, blew a stream of air on it. William’s grip on my shoulders tightened, holding me in place as he dragged his cock-head across my face, smearing my lips with fresh pre-cum, on my cheeks and chin, and recalling my admonition – he had to say it – said, “C’mon Rocky, Mom, suck me.”
I closed my eyes and William drove his cock into my warm soft moist mouth, moved it in and out. My lips clamped on him, I sucked while my tongue lathered attention on the oversized intruder. He looked down and I, eyes now open, clear and sparkling with pleasure and need, looked up, urging him on. Driven, like me, by repressed forbidden desire he grew more aggressive, thrust harder; I wrapped my hand on the base of his shaft, twisted. My breathing grew ragged, my lips numb, until I gagged and William, reining in his passion, pulled out.
“You okay Mom?”
I stretched my jaw, swallowed, said, “Just needed a quick break, that’s quite a dick you’re toting. Use my mouth, fuck it like a cunt,” and took him back inside, moving forward until he reached the back of my mouth. He slid a hand into my hair while I feathered the underside of the shaft with my tongue, rotated my head, moving his dick around inside my mouth, squeezed the shaft.
I kept going; his breathing flattened out, his fingers in my hair relaxed, his thick dick swelled. Recalling the taste of the drop of his semen I’d found on the bed I cupped his testicles, palpitated them, my motion gentle and insistent. They pulsed, pulled back into his body, jerked, and with a sharp groan erupting from his solar plexus the deluge came. This, however, was not my first rodeo. I swallowed every salty musky drop, continued sucking as he flopped back onto the bed.
After licking the head and sides I joined him. We cuddled, touched, and when he returned to cogent I moved my head onto his chest and said, “So whatta ya think, does your mother know how to suck cock?”
Laying his arm across my shoulder he said, “Sure does,” then added in a tone unexpectedly serious, “I don’t want this just for tonight, just for the resort, I don’t see why we should stop.”
Drawing random shapes on his stomach with a finger I said, “Do you understand the consequences of you and I as lovers?”
“Probably not, but you didn’t say no.”
Picking myself up on my elbows I pushed the hair from my face and said, “No, I didn’t, and maybe everything has changed, but let’s take this one day at a time, see what happens. Plus I’ve found men should always avoid making big decisions after a blow job.”
He slipped his hand behind my neck, worked my muscles, said, “Good point. Okay, we’ll see what happens,” and kissed me. Unlike other guys he didn’t mind the taste of cock and cum on my lips and in my mouth; score one for him.
He kissed me again, cupped my breast, ran the side of his thumb over my nipple and areola, rubbed the silken fabric of my bra into them. I reached for his penis; it was thick with blood.
I sat up, asked him to unsnap my bra. After briefly struggling with the mechanism he did and I lay it on the table, turned to him, my breasts swaying with the motion, said, “Help me with the panties, stockings, won’t you?” and moving to the head of the bed leaned against the elegant headboard, my legs outstretched and still sporting heels before me. William curled his fingers into the hem of my panties, pulled. After briefly clinging to my wet sex they moved half way down my thighs.
“You been checking out your mother’s privates?”
“Yeah, is it a problem?”
“No, I haven’t noticed you do it. You’ve been subtle, a gentleman, which is good. I trimmed it in the shower before we went dancing. It makes me feel sexy. You like?”
He leaned forward and I spread my legs, opening myself as far as the panties, still wrapped around my thighs, allowed. William, staring at my sex, inhaled his mother’s love, passion, and lust, and said, “Very much, sexy, very beautiful,” then sat up, slipped my shoes from my feet, undid the buckles of my garter, and his touch, sure, sweet, and sensual, rolled my stockings down my legs, then removed my panties. With an appreciative smile he held my ankles and kissed my feet, ran his tongue between, sucked my toes, sc****d their pads with his front teeth. My eyes fixed on him I reached down, stroked a finger from my vaginal lips, swollen, open, and wet, through the folds of my labia, across my clit. My motion was measured and deliberate, not hard or quick enough to bring myself off but enough to feel real fricking good. My son’s happy eyes showed he enjoyed the show.
William placed my feet down, leaned forward, and slowly and forcefully, with the flat of his tongue, licked the face of my sex. My body jerked, “Uuuuuunnnnnhhhhhhhh,” exploded from my mouth.
His soft strong tongue swept up and down, probed the face of my vagina, ran over cunt, vagina, labia, clit, perineum, moved inside me. My hips swaying and gyrating I covered his head with a hand. My ecstatic whimpers joined William’s exhalations of delight.
My son was eating my cunt.
My labia pulsed, my clit burned; the fire inside me, fueled by this exotic place, the days of sexual tension, William’s devotion and skill, and the shattered taboo, burned fast and bright. My son’s relentless tongue and lips continued their work; my whimpers became gasps, moans, cries of passion. Turning his focus to my clit my son sucked it into his mouth, trapped it with pursed lips, swatted it with his tongue, over-and-over, pushed a single finger inside me, bent it at the knuckle, dragged its tip on the roof of my vagina.
The pressure in my clit and g-spot grew, merged. Hips undulating I cradled my breasts, rolled my nipples between thumb and index fingers, emitted a string of short hard intense “unnnnhhsss.” I had to come, needed to come, and then losing all control I detonated. An orgasm spread through my body with the power of a gravity wave born with the merger of two black holes, leaving me wasted and spent. I lay still, eyes closed, sucking in air, my cunt, my toes, my fingers and teeth tingled.
William moved up the bed next to me. I turned to him, a thin sheen of sweat covering my body, buried my face in his chest. I liked the way he smelled, his warmth.
He kissed the top of my head and said, “You taste good.”
With a mumbled, “Mmmmm,” I licked his nipple, said, “So do you,” reached between my legs, scooped up some moisture, eased back his foreskin, rubbed my juice into the crown, gave a couple vigorous tugs.
He was soon erect and having regained my strength I rolled onto my back, spread my legs, said, “It’s time son. Make love to, fuck your mother.”
Moving onto his knees, his impressive dick sticking straight up, he stared hungrily at my flushed post-orgasmic body and said, “Y’know, you’re beautiful.”
Gesturing to him I said, “You’re not bad yourself,” and he moved forward, holding himself up over my body on his hands. I reached for him, dragged the head of his penis across my sex, placed it at the mouth of my vagina, said, “I’m ready.”
He closed his eyes, but did not move inside me. Was he contemplating the enormity of what was about to happen, that he’d be fucking his mother, that I’d be fucking my son? I thought he, a horny teen-aged boy, would be ready to go, but he needed time. I understood. My mother had called me the “wild one” and she’d been right. My sex-life had been far from conservative, I’d swapped, been with men and women, groups, teachers while in high school, professors while in college, but never dreamed I’d go this far.
Coaxing him, I rocked my hips, moved William a few scant millimeters inside me, but it was penetration and when I again said, “I’m ready,” William opened his eyes and smiled. Whatever struggle had taken place within him had been resolved. He moved onto his knees, effortlessly hoisted my legs over his shoulders, positioned his cock at the entrance of my gaping cunt, stared at the thick cock-head engorged with blood and nestled at the door of his mother’s most sacred private personal place.
It would be the ultimate act of i****t, the ultimate act of intimacy, the ultimate act of lust, the ultimate act of love, the ultimate sin. He pushed, his thick erection slid inside me, just an inch, pause, short retreat, again, a little deeper, then again, and again.
He continued moving inside me – his cock seemed to go on forever – until our hips met. I was stretched and stuffed and deliciously full and he, staring at our conjoined bodies, said, “Mom, I’m in you,” and I raised my head and looked. My pubic hair, matted with lust and sweat and cream, melded with William’s; they were one, we were one. I felt arousal and need and overwhelming love.
I dropped my head to the pillow.
At first I let him do the work. My son, a skilled lover with a big cock, varied angles, rotated his dick inside me, dragged it on my g-spot, massaged my clit with his index and middle fingers. Passivity was soon impossible; my sex quivered and spasmed, swelled and burned. I moved my hips with him, the room echoed with my grunts, his groans, the slick wet sounds of sex. My clit and g-spot throbbed and trembled.
And while this fuck might be the first of many, still it would never be repeated, for it was our first. His hard penis pistoning in my tight velvet softness I started to perform, swinging my hips as if on the dance floor, at first gently, then more actively, sliding my sex on a cock that was plumbing the depths of my soul.
A few minutes ago I’d told him we’d take it, “one day at a time,” that, “we’d see what happens,” and I’d meant it, but now I knew it was bullshit. Why would I deny myself? We’d spent the last weeks expanding, breaking boundaries and rules, pretending to be lovers, sharing a bed, accepting each other’s nakedness. We loved trusted respected each other, were attracted to each other, and now, with the taboo dust at our feet I knew I’d fuck my studly son every chance I got. We couldn’t go back to the way it was, and why should we? I was a horny woman, a beautiful horny woman who loved sex, needed sex, who lived with a big-dicked teenager at the height of his sexual powers who needed it as much as I. No, this cock-hungry woman would be ready, whenever, however. And I knew something else: he, as would I, would have other lovers, but there’d never be anyone who’d out-fuck me for he and I had left all boundaries behind.
This fuck was tender and sweet and wonderful, but it was not what I needed; I needed a fuck a****l in its intensity. This fuck should be primal, raw, and transcendent, something that would read the last rites as we interred the roles of mother and son beneath lust and need.
I placed my hand on his chest, pushed him away.
He withdrew, panting, a question on his handsome face, but I turned, got on all fours, looked back, shook my head to move the hair off my face, and said, “You were right, everything has changed and I’m not giving this up. You and I are fuck-mates. Today, tomorrow, back home, as long as our parts work. Show me how much you want me.”
William, his cock flopping before him, hands on my hips. moved behind me. I reached for it but he said, “No, let me,” and ran it over my sex, placed it on my vagina. I braced myself, ready for him to shove his full length inside me, but he said, “Look in the mirror, have you ever seen anything sexier.”
I turned, looked at the mirror over the vanity. There I was, my trim toned body on all fours, my hair tousled from our love-making, a wild hunger in my eyes. My son was behind me, his muscular young body framed perfectly in the mirror, hands on my hips, a happy confidence in his eyes.
I answered his question. “No.”
He said, “What if grandma could see us now,” and drove his cock into me.
We found our rhythm, fucked hard, then harder still. Breath exploding from my lungs each time he bottomed out inside me I arched my back, providing him a view of my ass. My heavy tits swinging below my body I dropped a shoulder to the mattress, anchored myself in place.
“God you feel good, you’re so big, such a great cock. I need it, need it.”
He placed a hand on the back of my head, held me in place; his forceful thrusts jolted my body; his cock swelled, stretched me, luxuriated in the cloying softness of his mother’s i****tuous cunt.
I tipped my pelvis forward and remembering the tooth brush he spread my ass cheeks and drove his pinky into my anus, pressing it to his thrusting cock through the thin wall separating my anus and vagina, forcing it to slide on the roof of my vagina. His fat cock-head and hard shaft battered my g-spot with each powerful penetration. I covered my clit, worked it furiously. My g-spot and clit burned brighter and hotter, grew, became one, throbbed and pulsated. My core, buffeted by intense pleasure, flexed, spasmed, squeezed his cock.
My son, my young stallion, filled me; he was dick and I cunt.
“God, Mom, why didn’t we start fucking years ago?”
“I don’t know, but we’re going to make up for it. Your Mom’s a horny lady, you’re gonna love it.”
Even in the air conditioning sweat dripped from our bodies. My orgasm was approaching; my groans grew shorter, sharper, the dam ready to burst. I struggled to hold it back, wanting to come at the same time as William, but knew I couldn’t last much longer and then William said, “I’m gonna…”
I reached for his balls, said, “Do it son, come in me, come in me…”
“Unnnh… unnh… unnh… unnh…”
“Give it to me.”
He threw back his head and roared as his sperm flooded the womb of the woman who gave him life. As they did a wave born in my clitoris and g-spot flowed into my belly and thighs, chest and legs, my whole body, but I was stuck, I’d held back too long. William understood and leaned forward, grabbed my tits, rolled my nipples between thumbs and forefingers, and came again, shooting ropes of hot sperm into me. It was what I needed; a pleasure bomb went off and the dam crumbled, surging waves of bliss inundated me. Buffeted by furious orgasmic energy my muscles convulsed burned spasmed and I went over the edge, lost control of my body, riding the experience as if it was a wave in a relentless stormy sea. My brain dazzled, my body overwhelmed, I slumped face first to the bed. His cock slid from my body; cum and cunt juice leaked from my sex.
My son held me. I told him I loved him, he kissed me, said the same, and without a concern or care in the world I drifted off to sleep.
* * * * *
I woke in the same position – I don’t think I moved all night – to the sound of my son’s gentle breathing. We were lovers, connected in a new way and, I knew, in the old way too.
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