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I kept playing with his balls and his hard cock as I moved above him and lowered my wet mound over his waiting mouth. He knew what to do, and eagerly slurped my free flowing juices. Tim was now moving his hips up and down pushing his cock deeper.
I then turned around and moved my wet pubic area over his young cock and lowered myself onto him taking all he had into me. Our lips met as we kissed and squirmed each matching the others thrust. Tim now had his hands on my buttocks holding me close.
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“Yes I think I have read some article somewhere on that subject. I understand that incest between a Mom and her son is a matter of the son feeling like he is man enough to challenge the dominant male, the Dad, and the woman feels that she needs to know that she is still desirable. Don’t get any ideas. It is Taboo, so don’t
get any thoughts along those lines.”
“How can it be more taboo than a White wife getting laid by a young black guy?”
“I don’t know son, but it is wrong somehow,” I continued. Now my thighs were getting little tingles in them and my stomach was having little muscular contractions. I knew the signs. I was getting horny talking to my own son. Oh, I could not believe I was entertaining a fantasy of having sex with my own son.
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BB and I were like two dogs. I was like a bitch in heat and he was following me around like a stud dog. I think it was the third night that we were sleeping together that I awoke late the next morning and noticed that I had left the bedroom door open. As I passed Tim’s room, I noticed that he was already up. “Oh, damn it all,” I
thought. “He has seen me and BB so what shall I do?”
I walked into the kitchen and Tim and I exchanged greetings and I poured me a cup of coffee and joined Tim at the breakfast table. I could see by his expression that he had seen us and I was wondering how this would play out.
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She untied my ankles. Then my wrists. Gratefully, I massaged my wrists, but she grabbed me and turned me over. My wrists were bound together behind my back, my ankles bound again to the bed. In spite of myself, I was still aroused. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all. Her voice was husky.
“Shame on you, going to singles bars, looking for mature women.”
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Her finger slid into my mature pussy, and I cried out again. Her mouth went from breast to breast, sucking, licking, nibbling at them. Her finger rubbed my clit frantically, and before I knew what was happening, I was moaning in ecstasy as a tremendous orgasm rushed through me.
She stopped. I just lay there panting.
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She moved to one side, my eyes following her. She bent over, and I heard a rustling sound. Then she stood again, and leaned over the bed. I felt something close around my wrist. I blinked, and my wrist was tied to the bed frame.
I tried to protest, to say something, but she jumped on the bed and wrapped another rope around my other wrist. Quickly, she fastened it to the bed frame. I lay there in shock as she tied my ankles as well. No longer was I excited. I was scared.
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For several blocks, she held my hand tightly as we walked along the cracked pavement. Stopping in front of a small furniture store, she paused.
“In here”, she whispered. To my amazement, a key appeared in her hand, and before I knew it, we were in the furniture store with her locking the door behind us.
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I was bored. I’d been sitting in the bar for two hours already and all the nice-looking mature women were either with
someone or didn’t want anything to do with someone like me. I smiled to myself, too bad for them.
I leaned back on my barstool and stretched, my eyes roaming the patrons one last time before leaving. There
she was. A stunning dark-haired mature women looking right at me, a faint smile on her perfect lips. I held her eyes
for a moment, to see if she was serious, but her gaze never wavered.