Update - 13
********
The project was nearing its end. Tom and three of his friends from class, the 'Rambler' team were meeting in his room. Their meetings, originally held in our kitchen, had moved to his room about a month ago. Just before that, they adopted a curious habit of lowering their voices, stopping their conversation or changing topics whenever anyone else came near the kitchen.
At first, I thought they were talking about something else than the car, some girls or plans to get hold of some booze for the weekend, but eventually I realized they were keeping something secret about the car itself. I became suspicious that they were contravening my rule about not customizing the car.
Rather than go to the school to find out, which might embarrass Tom, I queried Laura whether she knew if Tom and his pals were up to something with the Rambler and was surprised by her response.
"I don't know. Why would you think I would know anything about it," Laura snapped.
I looked at my wife's back as she whirled away from me and pulled something out of one of the cupboards, though she had looked like she was leaving the kitchen when I came in and asked her what she knew about the Rambler and the boys' secretive behavior.
"I don't know," I answered, confused by the intensity of her response. Looking at her, now crouching in front of the lower cupboards that held pots and pans, I noticed her neck and the bit of her face that I could see from behind was rosy red. "I was just wondering."
"Well, I don't know anything about it," Laura snapped.
Bewildered, I backed out of the kitchen. Now, more than ever, I was determined to find out what was going on. I was convinced that Tom and his pals were hopping up the Rambler and that Laura knew about it and was afraid to say anything to me. I went to the school.
"Nope, it's completely stock. All original," Dennis Martens assured me. "Those boys are really into this car. They're here every spare class and after school until I kick them out. They've done a beautiful job, just look at it." He waved his hand at the Rambler, all shiny red and black in the far bay. I had to agree. It looked great, and original.
So what were those boys up to, and why had it upset Laura so much when I asked? Come to think about it, she had been acting kind of funny for the last while. On edge, like.
Laura
That was my excuse for searching my son's room. I'm not proud of it, or of the fact that I invaded my wife's privacy, by reading her diary when I came across it.
Tom, it seems, had found a set of diaries hidden in the Rambler, stuffed in the heater blower, easily accessed by a little metal door under the dash. A cold sweat enveloped me.
According to Laura's diary, Millie had had sexual relations with her son and she thought this might have something to do with why he was so different when he came back from Vietnam. It wasn't all the war, she had written. Thank god it was Milie's diary he'd found and not Mom's.
I read on, working back from the middle and then springing ahead, but I'll give it to you from the beginning, from Laura's first relevant entry.
I found a little black book in Tom's room today. It was a diary belonging to Gran's friend, Millie. It was sad, really, because it was mostly about Millie's thoughts about her son Tim. Tim had been Rick's best friend in school. He left for Vietnam before Rick and I met and though he came back twice, I never met him. Sadly, almost every entry was about Tim. Millie must have missed him so much, I thought, but I was shocked toward the end of the little book to find out how much.
Evidently, Tim had started making advances toward his mother. The improper kind. Millie was quite concerned about it, at first sure she was just imaginging it, but realized it wasn't her imagination when her son touched her one morning, innapropriately patting her bottom several times in the kitchen while she was making breakfast. Her husband was right there, sitting at the table, yet after the last pat, Tim let his hand rest on top of her buttock for several seconds, as if daring his father to look.
Millie was beside herself for several days. She hadn't said anything at the first touch because she was so shocked she wasn't sure it had happened. The second time, she just didn't know what to do and the next two times, she was afraid to say anything lest her husband hurt her son. She convinced herself she would give Tim a talking to once they were alone but the last time, when he'd let his hand linger, she was sure Tim thought she was OK with it. All that afternoon, she fretted that she had mistakenly encouraged her son. She vascillated between feelings of incrimination and guilt, the latter because the whole episode had been fraught with danger, and yes, Millie was surprised and loathe to admit, excitement.
Millie didn't get a chance to talk with her son that night and the next day the whole scene was replayed again, but this time, Tim found more opportunities to let his hand rest on his mother's ass. Again, Millie was afraid to move in case she called her husband's attention to what was going on. Unfortunately, her submissiveness encouraged Tim. He stood beside her, blocking her husband's view, put his arm around her and took the full weight of her breast in his hand, squeezing her for many seconds while she did absolutely nothing to stop him. A few minutes later, he did it again, and then sat down at the table as if nothing untoward had happened. Millie confessed in her diary that it was a couple of minutes before she could follow because she could hardly walk, having just leaned against the sink in the throes of a small orgasm.
This nonsense - Millie's words - carried on for several days. Tim was careful not to be alone with his mom, clearly wanting to avoid a confrontation with her. Friday night after supper, Millie insisted that Tim help her with the dishes instead of joining his dad in the living room.
She told her son she wanted to talk. I know, he had replied. Come to the drive-in with me and we can talk all night. At first, Millie was uncertain but then she realized that at the drive-in, she could have things out with her son without fear of interruption, so she agreed. As soon as she did, Tim's hands slipped under her arms and each grabbed a breast, and a very firm boner lodged itself between her cheeks, clearly felt even through the thickness of her pleated skirt.
He whispered in her ear, "We'll get it all settled tomorrow night."
Millie was so shocked, she just set her hands on the bottom of the sink to brace herself against his thrusts as he ground his stiffness against her backside, massaging her tits until he suddenly shuddered, gasped into the hollow of her neck, and stumbled out of the kitchen.
Millie hung her head in shame as another orgasm shimmered through her groin, its warmth spreading as she twisted her legs tightly together, not to squash it, but to wrest every thrilling tingle from it she could. She was more shocked at herself, she wrote, than her son. His teenaged behavior she understood. Her's, she didn't.
I heard Tom coming home so I left, leaving the little book exactly where it was. I would confront him about it later, I thought, but first, I wanted to read more.
********
I couldn't find the little book the next day, though I searched Tom's room thoroughly. That night, after we had all gone to bed, I quietly got up and went to my son's room. He was surprised to see me and even more surprised by what I had to say. He pleaded ignorance but fessed up when I threatened to tell his father about the diary which could only have come from the old car.
He had found them behind a small metal door stuffed in the heater vent under the dash.
"Them?" I asked. Yes. Evidently there was a stack of them in there. "I want to see it."
Tom got up and retrieved the little book from his school backpack. "The others?" Still in the car at school. He brought it to me where I sat on the edge of his bed. I began to read.
Tom sat next to me on the edge, reading along. I ignored him and quickly became immersed again in Millie's story. What had happened during their talk?
They had gone to the drive-in but not alone as Millie had expected. Evidently, Tim had manipulated his friend Rick into talking his mother into coming too. How he'd done this, Millie didn't know. She was angry at first because she couldn't talk but then she got swept up in the excitement of going to a drive-in, like the old days. She could talk with Tim after the show, she reasoned, when they were back in their own car.
It wasn't long after the show started, she wrote, that Tim snuggled close, arguing that they would look like dorks if the other kids could see them sitting way apart. She didn't remember letting her son kiss her, she just remembers his lips on her and that it felt nice, so she let it continue, thinking a little kissing couldn't do any harm. Anyway, in the darkness, nobody could see and, as in the kitchen that week, she didn't want to call attentin to what was happening.
That was a big mistake she wrote. She drifted with the feeling of his lips on hers, which got better and better. It was quite a while before she realized why. Tim's hand was under her skirt, way up, rubbing her panties. She was wet, soaking!
She started to struggle but Tim whispered frantically in her ear, "Shhhhhh. Don't make a fuss or Rick's mom will know."
In her muddled mind, his logic made sense. Afterward, thinking about the confined space of the car, Millie knew that Mary must already have known. Still, she relaxed and let Tim have his way with her. Soon, despite herself, she was pushing up against his hand, rubbing herself on him even harder. Before she knew it, her son had inserted himself between her legs, loosened his jeans and pushed them down, though his shorts were still on. He replaced his hand with his hard boner, a nice one she thought to herself shamelessly, as he pushed and shoved against her soaked panties.
Rather than pushing her son away, Millie opened her legs and threw her arms around him and held him tight, loosing her hold only when he needed room to get his hands under her sweater, pushing her bra roughly off her breasts and taking a tit into each hand. She didn't even mind how roughly he mauled her tits. In fact, she wrote, she loved it and began bucking against her son as wildly as he was. Twice more that night, in the car, she and her son rubbed themselves to mutual orgasms, each session lasting longer than the last.
Millie wrote in graphic detail, probably because she wanted to record the depth of her feelings at the time so if she questioned herself later she would have a basis to understand what she had done. I know I found it hard to believe that the really nice lady I had known was capable of incest, but I had seen the diary with my own eyes, and I could feel the intensity of her emotions through her words.
I was surprised to find that Tom was leaning in very close to me, his arm stretched behind, and his right hand was resting on my leg above my knee, his fingers just poking into the crease created by the pinch of my thighs where they pressed together. We were both breathing faster than normal. I know I was excited reading this, so I figured a teenager must be too. I was acutely aware that I was wearing just a nightgown with nothing on underneath, something Tom could easily see by simply looking down to where I held the book a few inches in front of my chest. Tom, having already been in bed when I came in, was sitting in his underwear and nothing else. I was well aware of that, too.
I knew I had to leave but I wanted so much to read more. Tom's hand pressed down on my leg, restraining me, when I started to get up. I looked at him, apprehensively, afraid of what might happen next.
"The book," he said.
I said I would bring it back but he argued that my room wasn't a safe place, not with Dad there. I said OK but said I wanted to read more. Tom nodded and agreed to bring the book home so I could read more the next night.
That first entry had been written in April. Laura had known about this for almost two months!
I can't stop thinking about Millie and her son Tim. They would have been about the same ages as Tom and I. I just can't imagine it. I have to admit that I caught myself looking at my son differently in the days that followed. I gave my head a good shake but I found my eyes following him again a couple of times, and I was regarding him as a handsome young man. Maybe that's normal for mothers, I thought, just before their sons are about to leave home to start their own life.
I snuck into Tom's room today to read more of Millie's diary but I couldn't find it.
********
That night, Tom brought the second book home. At midnight, I slipped out of bed and crept quietly down the hall to my son's room. Tom sat up in bed and made room for me beside him. This book was even more graphic. Millie described in detail several encounters with her son in their own home. Evidently, she had decided not to further her incestuous relationship after that bout in the car but was struggling against strong urges for the next few weeks. She couldn't help letting her son touch and rub against her and, in the end, she let him take her while her husband was sitting in the next room! I just couldn't believe it. Millie had had intercourse with her son!
At first, I felt very uncomfortable reading this with Tom sitting next to me in his underwear but I had became so engrossed in Millie's story I actually forgot he was there. I was almost shocked when I realized he was still sitting next to me on the bed, reading about Millie and Tim fucking, and became flustered for a few minutes. He was very excited. I could see his erection poking up in his underwear and his swollen balls below.
Why hadn't I worn a robe? The longer, almost knee-length, slip-like nightgown I was wearing had pulled halfway up my thighs when I had crossed and uncrossed my legs. I tried to get Tom to let me take the the book to read on my own the next day but he refused, ignoring my argument that we were both getting too little sleep. The book, he said, had to stay in his room. So I leaned back against his pillows to get more comfortable and started reading again.
I had only read four more pages when I realized I was holding the diary with one hand, even flipping pages single handedly. My other hand had strayed down to rest on my belly. Tom was lying on his side, bracing himself on his elbow next to me. My filmy nightgown had parted slightly on my chest, widening the slice of visible skin between my breasts but still leaving them properly covered as did the skirt of my gown, though it had fallen almost to my hips when I raised my knees so I could rest the diary against my bare legs. My breasts, however, couldn't hide their excitement, poking against the flimsy material of the nightgown, but there wasn't much I could do about that, and I wasn't ready to quit reading, not yet. This diary was the hottest thing I'd ever read.
Strange, but I didn't think of Millie as a bad person. She clearly loved her son, and her husband, too. But the incredible excitement she felt when she was with her son shone through her writing and I can understand how she couldn't stop herself. She was at a loss how to explain it herself. A church-going woman, she found it very difficult to resolve and then simply gave up.
The descriptions of the sex in their home would make any woman envious. They did it everywhere: in the basement, the kitchen, and even her son's bed when her husband was home; on the stairs, the living room floor, bent over the dining room table (in those days?) and her own bed when they were alone in the house.
When I finally finished reading, my hand had slipped lower and I was almost cupping myself, my fingers resting not so lazily across the top of my panties. I didn't need to see my nipples poking through my gown to know I was very ready for sex. Shocked, I got up very abruptly and left, yet I turned to toss the book flilppantly back to my son.
"Get another one for tomorrow night," I half whispered.
********
Tom didn't bring the next diary, claiming he forgot. I was distraught but he was calm and suggested I read my favorite parts from the first two books out loud, suggesting it would help him remember to bring the next one. I don't know what he was up to but I didn't want to go back to bed without another serving of Millie soup, so I agreed.
Tom handed me the diaries as I settled on his bed, mentioning that he liked the nightgown I was wearing and was glad I hadn't worn a robe. I snapped that I had left my robe because I didn't want to wake his dad but that wasn't quite true and I had no excuse, even to myself, for putting on one of my sexier nightgowns. I had a fleeting feeling of being a little like Millie.
So I found myself whispering to my son as I lay beside him, reading the part where Millie let Tim inside her from behind while washing the dishes, with her husband watching TV in the living room. This saved Tom from having to read himself and I understood the roots of his demand as I felt his eyes roaming over my body. It's difficult to describe how nervous I was, how fluttery my skin felt. I had a hard time not touching myself and felt strangely glad about the nightdress I had chosen, with its see-through bodice. I knew my son could see my breasts and nipples in all their gory detail. Reading aloud was vastly more exciting and, as much as I didn't want to sense them, reading to my son sent amplified my feelings so high I felt I could shatter.
It was when I re-read the part where Tim first began patting Millie's ass that I felt the first brush of Tom's fingers on the back of my right thigh. I wasn't sure at first, just as Millie had been uncertain. But when he did it again there was no doubt. Still, I didn't object. Why not? My husband wasn't sitting in the room, ready to explode, as in Millie's case.
There it was again. A stroke this time, not a brush. He won't bring the rest of the diaries, I rationalized, if I make a big fuss. He's just tickling my leg, making it feel nice. There's nothing wrong with that.
The strokes grew longer, traveling further, all the way up to the underside of my knee and then slowly down, sometimes in the center and other times outside but later, more often, down the soft inside, coming close but always swerving aside before colliding with my panties. The sparkle of my son's touch reached as far as my toes and spread through my groin. I was ready again and it wasn't just from reading.
I closed the book with a snap. "Time for bed," I said.
Tom implored me to stay a while longer.
"Why?" I asked.
"Could I kiss you?"
"What?"
"Just to see what it feels like. They seemed to like kissing a lot."
It was too far. Tom, seeing my confusion, said, "Just a little one. I promise I'll bring the next book tomorrow."
I relented, holding still and even pushing my lips up as Tom lowered his face to mine. He gave me a little peck, then another, and another. Relieved, I laughed, releasing my nervousness, but when I did, his lips pressed firmly down on mine. We had a real kiss. A nice one. When it was finished, Tom asked, "Just one more?"
I nodded, and we kissed again. The same way but right at the end, Tom let the very tip of his tongue push between my lips, barely inside my mouth, swiveled it from side to side and quickly pulled away.
You can imagine how I felt at this point, can't you. My wife and my son. How could she do this to me?
Tom surprised me by coming home from school at lunch today. My anger about him skipping classes dissipated when he held up two new diaries, one for this afternoon, he said, and one for tonight. I followed him as he walked upstairs, waving them beside his head, and joined him when he sat on the edge of his bed. Tom held the books away. Try as I might, I couldn't reach them, so I gave up.
"I can wait as long as you can," I sulked, not even convincing myself.
"You can't see them until you put on your reading clothes," he said.
"My nightdgown? Tom. I can't put that on in the middle of the day. What if Dad came home?"
"Why would he. It's the middle of the day?"
I made a grab for the diaries, a response to his logic not forthcoming, but he easily held them away.
"All right," I said. "Give me a minute."
I walked away knowing it was wrong for him to ask this of me and even more wrong for me to comply, but I was surprised that I wasn't mad. I even gave my hips a little extra sway as I left his room. For some reason I can't explain, I felt strangely excited and even pleased that he was making a game of our afternoon reading session. Somehow, it made it less sordid.
I was standing in front of my dresser mirror when Tom knocked on my door and poked his head inside.
"You're taking too long," he complained.
I could see in the mirror that he was pleased. I was wearing a deep green nightgown, knee-length but cut too deep in the back to be ordinary sleeping attire. This one was designed for entertainment, not sleeping. I felt a tinge of wicknedness for wearing it. I hadn't worn it for years and was pleased it still fit so well.
"I thought we'd read in here," I explained. "It's more comfortable than your bed."
Tom came in and walked up behind me in his own 'sleeping/reading' clothes. He had taken his shirt and pants off and was wearing only his underwear. He headed for my bed but I stopped him.
"Please undo my necklace for me," I asked, lowering my head and holding my hair to one side to expose my neck, stretching it to make it look long and slim. Why was I teasing my son this way? Because it makes me feel alive, I answered myself.
Tom had a difficult time getting the necklace undone but he finally managed it. I could hear him smelling my hair and neck. I knew he wanted to press against me, like Tim had done to Millie, but he restrained himself. He wasn't so cocky now and I enjoyed putting him in his place.
I turned and padded in my bare feet toward the bed, glancing in the mirror as I passed, mischievously pleased to see the effect I'd had on him. I leaned over in exaggerated fashion to fluff and stack the pillows before settling back into them, holding my hand out for one of the diaries. Tom handed me one and settled in beside me as I opened it and, unasked, began to read aloud.
It was a fantastic story. Millie described how she prepared herself all day to be with her son: soaking in the tub for hours to soften her skin, shaving her private parts, scenting herself, going shopping for sexy underwear with lacy tops, plunging necklines, and panties that barely covered but separated her cheeks. She seemed to revel in recounting every little detail. She described a long kitchen scene in which Tim had come home from school, like Tom had today, and taken her against the door of the fridge. It was very intense and exciting and I imagined myself in her place being thrust hard against an appliance my husband had bought for me.
That thought returned my attention to my son. I don't know how long I had been riveted on Millie's story but I barely noticed when Tom began stroking my thigh, like he had last night. But today he was allowing his hand to stretch out on the downstroke so the back of his fingers could caress the inside of my other thigh. I found, with a little shock, that he was no longer swerving to avoid my panties. Instead, he let his knuckles drag between my legs, skittering over my panties down to my bottom before swooping in a long arc up my leg to start over again.
I was wet. I glanced down at my chest to confirm what I already knew: my nipples were poking shamelessly through my nightgown. Tom's fingers glided down my inner thigh and scraped across my panties before starting another ascent. Shameless, I read on. That night, Tim snuck into his mother's room and, while her husband slept, pulled her from her bed, taped her mouth and fucked her standing up right in their room. Millie described how she soaked for hours in the tub the next day, reminiscing and playing with herself as she recalled stretching her hands to the floor to brace herself as her son rocked her from behind.
At some point during that story, Tom had pulled my nightgown off one shoulder, baring my right tit. The skin was incrediby tight over my breast and it was perking up prouder than it had for fifteen years. My nipples were aching and I scolded myself for letting my breast be exposed like this. There was no excuse for going this far, yet when Tom tugged the loose sleeve down my arm, I let go of the diary to let him slide it off my hand.
I started reading again but had barely read three sentences when Tom's head lowered to take my sore nipple into his mouth. I sucked in my breath and lifted my arms to make room for his head so I could keep reading. Tim had skipped classes again and was ramming it into his mother, holding her legs so far back her knees were on the mattress. Millie described this in such detail, I could feel it nudging at my own door.
No. It was Tom. The page blanked before my eyes. My nipple was sucked deep into his mouth but his fingers were no longer sliding up and down my thighs. His palm was pressing against my bottom but his fingertips were on my panties and they had worked their way into my secret crevice. They moved so gently, as if they didn't want to call attention to themselves, to get caught. Oh, so delicately they pressed.
If I don't react, I remember thinking, I can pretend I don't know. I'll stop in a minute. It felt so nice. Oh, god. He was worming his finger around so good. How did he know to do it that way?
I read more, soaking in encounter after encounter, until I butted up against some pages stuck together. No, not stuck. Taped. I banged the book down on Tom's head and showed him the taped pages when he reluctantly pulled his mouth off my tit with an audible, sucking smack.
As he looked at me, groggily, I didn't recriminate him for sucking my breasts or invading the sanctity of my panties. Instead, my eyes pleaded, begging him to remove the tape. I needed to read more. I wasn't just super curious, I was horny as hell. As I looked at my son, he sat up and moved his hand, between my legs like before but now all the way, snug against my mound, cupping his fingers in a firm massaging grip, moving as if trying to squeeze water out of a wet tennis ball.
I should have been outraged, I should have smacked him, but I didn't even look down. I wanted to read more and my eyes must have told the story because Tom kept massaging my panties, pressing his thumb which stretched across the top and curling his fingers to cup my pussy.
Tom nodded at the tape and, with this approval, I removed it and began reading again. I felt my panties sliding up my thighs within seconds, to my knees and over, down my calves. Absently, I lifted my feet so my son could slip my panties over my toes.
I can't say I didn't feel Tom slowly run the tips of his finger along the sole of my foot and then drag his nail up the center of my calf, do a little circle around the back of my knee, and then creep with agonizing slowness down my inner thigh to return to where my panties had been. They paused there for a moment before beginning the first, tentative exploration of their new, unprotected claim. The tiniest little touches, flicks and rubs. For my own sanity, I pushed my nose back into the diary.
I was in the middle of an intense fuck in the Rambler at a drive-in movie when Tom slipped his fingers inside me. Strangely, I felt like part of the story when my son's fingers first pushed into my slit, then slid forward, pushing past my lips and into my wet pinkness. It's just part of the story, I thought, when I felt his knuckles widening my opening.
I offered no resistance when Tom urged my legs wider and his fingers began moving steadily in and out of my pussy. I actually opened my legs more and began twisting my hips to meet his incestuous hand, reading the story, becoming the story. I don't know how long I let Tom finger me. I know I came, at least once, but I didn't return to the real world until I finished the book and then I knew why Tom had taped it shut.
Millie described it so well, looking over Tim's shoulders while he squirted the last dregs of his spend inside her, watching Rick almost falling over the seat as his hips hunched into his mother's face. This affected Millie deeply; she made a special note in her diary, in capital letters: 'I WANT TO BE MARKED TOO.'
Rick had had sex with his mother? In the Rambler? Was that why she wouldn't let him take me out in it? Why she'd kept it all these years?
I dropped the book. I was barely aware of Tom, pulling my legs wide apart and thrusting his stiff undershorts against my soaking pussy hair, vigorously dry-humping me. Well, not so dry. Within a minute I realized his cock was sticking out of his waistband, just before it began spraying his frothy cum all over his stomach and mine as he groaned his way to his first orgasm on his own mother. Rick got his mother's face, Tom got his mother's belly.
This has to stop before it's too late, I thought, as I scraped a palmful of Tom's spunk off my tits.
Thank god, Laura had come to her senses before real harm had been done. A fingering. I could live with that. I had no choice. But not I knew that Laura knew about me and Mom. That's why she's been so difficult the past couple of months. If I'd cum on my own mother, then who else wouldn't I try to have sex with? She must be wondering about that. I turned the page, looking for the next entry, to see if she had forgiven me in her mind. There wasn't any more entries, not yet.
I couldn't sleep. That's my excuse. Lying awake, staring at the dark ceiling and listening to Rick snore, I couldn't get Millie's reference to Rick and his mother out of my mind. That sweet old lady that had looked after her grandson so many times, might have fucked her own son. Had she really, or was it just that one time, a blowjob?
I pointedly didn't think about the afternoon, and Tom, but I convinced myself that I needed to get that next book. I needed to read it tomorrow, to find out. I would demand that Tom give it to me tonight.
Cautiously, I snuck out of bed, easily getting to the door and out without so much as a peep or interrupted snort from my husband. Yes, I admitted. I could have easily slipped on my robe. Without so much as a shrug, I stepped through the door and padded confidently down the carpeted hallway in the darkness.
There was a crack of light showing underneath Tom's door. I opened it and he looked up from reading the diary, smiling, as if he knew I'd come.
"Hi Mom."
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me, then stepped toward my son, my hand held out.
"Give it to me," I demanded.
"No," Tom smiled, closing the book and pushing the hand that held it under the covers.
"I mean it. I'm not playing around, Tom."
"I am."
"I want to read it, by myself, tomorrow."
"No way, Mom."
"Yes."
I kneeled on the side of Tom's bed and tried to get my hand under the covers, succeeding easily but several minutes of struggling proved that I wouldn't be able to pry the book from Tom's grip. Flushed and panting from my efforts, I twisted around and sat on Tom's bed. Tom sat up and began fluffing his pillows, setting them vertically against the headboard before leaning back, sitting up, watching me. I ignored him, concentrating on catching my breath, wondering how I could get the book away from him. Tom pulled up on his covers, trying to pull them open but couldn't because I was sitting on them.
"C'mon Mom. Let's read a little tonight," my son said, his voice pacifying.
I shook my head.
"C'mon Mom. You know you want to. I'll let you read the rest tomorrow by yourself if you do."
Tom tugged on the covers and, after a moment, I lifted my weight, allowing him to pull them back. I twisted my back toward him, lifting my feet onto his bed and slipping them beneath his covers.
"Just for a few minutes?"
"Yeah," Tom replied.
"You won't get carried away like this afternoon?" I asked for his self-control, privately doubting my own.
"No way," Tom replied, handing the book to me.
I opened the book and, as I sucked up the first two sentences, Tom's hands pinched my neck, a gentle massaging assurance, then caressed my shoulder and outer arms, pushing the ribbon straps of my nightgown off my shoulders, then down and over my elbows.
"No funny business, Tom," I said, leaning back into the pillows.
"I know," my son acknowledged as I settled into the book, not missing a word as I passed the book from one hand to the other, facilitating his removal of my arms from the straps of my nightgown.
I was deep into the next part of Millie's story but I still felt the rustle and then a thrill as my son tugged the loose front of my nightgown down and away, freeing my breasts. They were already taut, nipples hard, trembling before his gaze. I lifted the book higher, the better for him to see. I turned the page and began reading Millie's description of her conversation with Rick's mom as she twisted around in the Rambler to talk while her son obviously fingered her from behind.
Tom's hand closed over my left tit and squeezed my nipple, released it for a moment, rolled it between his fingers, then tugged it upward, lifting my breast from my chest. He let it fall, then started rolling, squeezing and tugging. I was about to say something when Tom's mouth enveloped my right nipple and sucked it long and hard. I decided to keep reading. I'd already let him do this before. What harm could it do? I let my hand caress the back of his head, my fingers toying with his hair as I concentrated on what Millie had to say.
He fucked her! He fucked her! He took her from behind.
Oh god. Tom's fingers were on me again. Shit! When had he done that? My panties were halfway up my thighs, my legs as open as the stretched panties would allow. Oh god, that felt so good. His fingers were fluttering all around my pussy and dipping, unexpectedly, just a little bit in. Fuck. He was so good at teasing me. There. Now. The little dip. Yesss. Ohhhh and up my slit, opening me, letting my wetness seep out. Oh, yeah. Fluttering, fluttering, dip, slide up my slit, now ... OMG, oh fuck.
Tom had suddeny plunged two fingers deep inside me, right into my pink hole, then shook them like a little vibrator.
"Shhhhh, Mom."
I must have moaned out loud. His fingers pulled out, made a quick circle around my soaked puss, then pushed inside, deep, the thickness of his hand pressing against my pubes, shaking. Ohhhh, jeez.
My panties were at my knees. He must be pulling them off with his other hand. I wasn't reading. My eyes were closed. My legs were pulled back, probably in reaction to his first deep insertion. I couldn't let him take my panties off. They were sliding down my calves, already at my feet. I can't, I can't let him. They were scraping over my toes. I lifted my feet, stretching my toes in futile resistance, trying to hook the waistband of my panties. They were off. I couldn't stop him.
Immediately, my legs opened wide, very wide. I don't know if Tom pulled them apart or I let them fall but I know I reached out to clasp my knees, holding my legs lewdly back, wide open.
"Tom," I murmured.
"I'll let you take the book," he whispered, his lips pinching the tender inside of my thigh, his fingers already making my lower lips scream again.
"Promise?"
"Yes."
God. His thumb was inside me, his fingers stretching down toward my bottom. What was he doing? His mouth was here. He's ... he's ... licking me. OH GOD. Oh god. Oh god. Don't stop. Wigglling thumb. Tongue. Tongue. Tongue. Magic. Lick me. Lick me. Right there. Oh yes, right there. Suck it. Yeah, suck it. Yeah, licking, I know, licking, suck it again. What's your finger doing? Poking me there. Why?. Oh, yeah ... that's it, suck it, suck it, like a little cock, that's it, suck it, suck my woman cock,
yeah, ok, your finger, if that's what you want, just keep sucking, yeah, yeah, yeah, baby, yeah, baby, suck, I'm cumming, cumming, cumming, ohhhhhhhhh, gooooodddd!
Jeez, my hips were humping, humping his face, so hard, ... there, again, ohhhhh, goooood, yeah, humping, fucking my son's face, buck, buck.
Finally, nirvana. Relax. Relaxed. I looked down. Tom's head still between my legs, his thumb inside me, his finger ... in my ass. God, that's so weird. No one has ever done that. He's wiggling it. It's so weird. So different. He's licking again, sucking. No, I'm done. ... Where's that from? That tingle, surging, yess, yess, spiking, yess, ohhhhhh, yeah, wiggle, suck, wiggle suck wiggle, suck, ohhhhhh, ohhhhh, ohhhhh.
Now, finally, RELAXED.
Tom. Climbing over me. NO. I closed my legs, clamping tight. I can't, you must understand, son. He's still climbing, straddling my thighs, my stomach, over my chest. Oh, god, he's naked. His cock is pointing right at me, he's holding it, jacking it, leaning forward, no, Tom, I can't, I can't, mmmphhhhhh, no, Tom, mmmmmphhhhhhh, ok, mppphhhh, ok, slow, mppphhhhh, give me a chance, mmmmphhhh, mmmmphhhh, mmmmphhhhh, jeez, in my mouth, c'mon, not my nose, shit, it's in my hair, how am I going clean that before going back to bed, gurrgle, gurgle, I can't hold any more, Ok, on my face, that's it, empty it, mark me, mark me, mark me.
********
The next day I rushed around getting all my chores done so I could reserve the afternoon for reading Millie's diary and nothing else, in my room, alone. I had a bath first, thinking about it, then settled in on my bed wearing my big white, fluffy, terry cloth bathrobe with only my scented body within. Not long after I began reading, my wicked right finger, the long one, crept under my robe to ruffle my pubic hair. But not for long. Soon it was exploring my sensitive nub, dipping lower to retrieve a little natural lubrication to spread around, in tiny, loving circles.
Millie detailed several encounters with her son. She and Tim were fucking like rabbits now, every chance they could get. Millie had long since passed any semblance of reluctance but she did play it up, though briefly, just to tease her son. She confessed that teasing Tim was the most erotic foreplay she had ever experienced and couldn't help wearing the pleated skirts he seemed to like so much. She found many opportunties to open her legs while they were all sitting in the family room to let her son see her naked but nicely trimmed and scented pussy, tripping on the potential danger inherent in a simple twist of her husband's neck. She thrived on the shock on Tim's face and the visibly growing lump in his pants, specially when she lifted both legs from the couch, stretching her legs and curling her toes, perfectly matched with a seductive smile, and sometimes a blown kiss. By the time she snuck out of her room, he had to scurry down to the basement with Tim hard on her heels. He was so worked up the first fuck was inevitably hard and noisy.
Sexy as Mille's record was, I found my mind straying to Tom. I kept wondering if he wanted me as much as that, if he would stay as interested if I actually let him, not that I could ever bring myself to do it. But look what you've done already, Laura, I forced myself to face the facts. You let Tom kiss you down there, put his finger in your dirty place, got him so worked up he came on you. Had I secretly been wanting that ever since I read Millie's description of Rick doing it to his Mom?
I dropped the book beside me, opened my robe and legs wide and used both hands to pleasure myself. My eyes closed, I imagined Tom skipping classes, coming home and finding me like this, legs wide open, hot and wet, loving myself. Wide open. Yeah. My finger moved faster while the other rubbed harder. How would he fuck me? I knew he would. There wouldn't be any choice, not with his libido driving him. He'd have to and I wouldn't be able to stop him. I'd have to let him take me.
I orgasmed soon after that. Tom didn't skip school and he didn't come home. I was both pleased and disappointed. I was properly dressed when Tim and then his father came home. I put the diary under Tom's pillow with a thank you note saying I had finished it, that it had been a special time sharing its secrets but now it was over, our own secret to be cherished for the rest of our lives.
"So you finished it," Rick said as soon as he came in.
I blanched, blood draining from my face as I turned to look at my husband. How did he know? I tried to wipe the guilt from my eyes as I faced him, but he wasn't looking at me, he was looking at Tom, both of them with huge grins on their faces.
"When?" Rick asked.
"This afternoon," Tom replied. "Do you want to take it for a spin after supper?"
"Let's go now," Rick replied, excited. He turned to me, "Is that OK, Laura?"
"Sure, sure," I said, shooing them off.
So they went for a ride. They were gone over an hour. When they returned, Rick insisted that Tom take me for a drive the next day to show me what I had missed. Tom was more than pleased, assuring his father that me definitely intended to show me what I had been missing.
So now we're up to date. I had begged off joining my son and wife on the Saturday drive. There things I needed to do.
What ludicrous words I had uttered last night, before I found Laura's diary this morning, and the note with Millie's diary she'd left under Tom's pillow. Now I was waiting for their return. They were gone all day and I couldn't read their faces when they came home. If anything, they acted more normal than they had for the past few weeks. Well, we'd see about that. All I had to do was wait for Laura's next entry in her diary. Probably Sunday or maybe Monday after I had gone to work and Tom to school.
Tom had told me he only had the car for a week and then he had to let the other members of the team use it for a week each so it wouldn't be back for at least three weeks after this one. I figured if something was going to happen, it had to be this week.
It was a lovely day for a drive. I was apprehensive about being alone with Tom in the car where it had all happened for his father but thought the confrontation may be necessary for to find closure, for both of us. I made a nice picnic lunch, including a bottle of merlot to take the edge off, should it be needed. What the hell, I thought, I threw in an extra, just in case.
Tom was the perfect gentleman, taking us for a long drive. I wondered if it was the same place he'd taken his Dad because it would certainly have been memory lane for him, in the country outside his old home town. Tom pulled off onto a windy country lane that climbed a small knoll and curled around to the far side, out of sight of the main road. He pulled off of that in the grass and pointed the Rambler toward the valley below us, a small quaint farm in the distance. It was very picturesque.
I started to get out so we could have our picnic on the knoll behind us but Tom suggested we stay in the car and enjoy the view without the bugs. So we did. As we ate and drank our wine - from plastic beaker, such class - I waited for Tom's plea to revisit our new relationship. I girded myself, resolving to stand fast, but the assault never came. We finished our sandwiches and fruit, and then the bottle of wine. Tom pulled the second bottle out of the basket. Against my better judgement, I let him open it after he promised we would stay put for a couple of hours at least to enjoy the splendid scenery. How often did we get to spend a relaxing afternoon in such a beautiful place, he asked?
I was very relaxed, even a little tipsy, when Tom made his move. He lowered the back of his seat and urged me to do the same, so we could have a little nap and let the effects of the wine melt away. I declined, saying I was quite comfortable the way I was but after a few minutes, I found it awkward sitting upright while Tom reclined next to me, so I relented and set my seat back to his level, lying almost flat. The back of the Rambler's front seat reclined all the way until it was resting on top of the back seat, creating a makeshift bed that was almost but not quite flat. Expecting Tom to make a move, I braced myself for the inevitable confrontation.
"Not sleepy?" Tom asked.
"No," I replied quickly, nerves to jumpy, not enjoying the prospect of a fight with my son. I wished it hadn't been such a nice day. It was too warm to wear a coat, so here I was wearing a sleeveless summer dress and sandals with nothing underneath but bra and panties. At least my dress was modestly cut in front, showing the tops of my breasts but that's all, and the loose skirt fell almost to my knees. Actually, I looked like a mom.
"Want to read a little, then?" Tom asked.
That caught me off guard. "Read?"
"Yeah. I have one of the diaries with me."
A tingle raced down my spine and dissipated slowly through my pelvis.
"I don't think so, Tom. I've read Millie's stories. I wouldn't mind reading them again one day, but by myself."
Tom took a long sip of his wine, craning his head up to avoid spilling. "Suit yourself," he said.
Minutes passed until my curiosity finally got the better of me.
"Do you have one I haven't read?"
"Of Millie's? No you read all of them."
"I didn't quite finish it," I said.
"I'll give it back to you, if you want."
"Ok."
Tom craned his neck and finished his wine, tossing the empty beaker behind him. Clasping his fingers behind his head, he sighed, sounding very relaxed.
I was perplexed. My son wasn't going to cause a scene, taking the news about the end of our special relationship calmly, as if he was already resigned to it, or more accurately, that he wasn't bothered by it.
I felt a weird twinge, one I hadn't felt since I was a young teenager during my first year of dating. It felt like I wasn't the one calling it quits, and I didn't like that. I knew I was, but he should be upset, and he wasn't. He's a libidinous teenager, I reasoned, recovering my pride, he must be faking it.
"Tom?"
"I don't have that one with me," Tom said, assuming I was asking about Millie's diary, but I had already forgotten about the diary. Had he not found it under his pillow with the note?
"Didn't you get it with my note?" I asked, suddenly nervous again.
"Yes, I got them," Tom answered. "They're still there."
"Then?" I said, inquisitively, providing the opportunity for him to let loose, to tell me how much he wanted to go further, and for me to deny him, for our own good and that of our family. I braced myself for the emotional onslaught I knew would now be forthcoming.
"I thought you'd like to see one of the new ones, so I brought one along," Tom's new information floored me. It was like an unexploded bomb had landed, sizzling between us.
"One of the new ones?"
"Yeah. One of Gran's."
KABOOM!
"One of Gran's?"
"Yeah," Tom turned on his side to face me, lying closer. "Do you want to read it?"
There was a long pause. "Yes," I said breathlessly.
"Turn around then," Tom instructed.
My whole body was tingling. Feeling suddenly meek, I turned around onto my side, facingaway from my son. I could hear him fumbling behind me.
"Close your eyes," he said.
As soon as I did, his his passed over me and rested on mine.
Tom didn't say anything, so I opened my eyes to find a small red diary, red like my own instead of black like Millie's.
"Read it," Tom suggested.
I opened the book and began reading, to myself, flipping through entry after entry of mundane stuff until I encountered Mary's misgivings about her son's sudden interest in her, similar to those felt by Millie about Tim. Her misgivings were followed many entries later by a subtle shift in attitude, to one where Mary was piqued by Rick's interest, even flattered.
Considering her son's lust to be a temporary phase, Mary confided that she couldn't help having some fun while it lasted and began engaging in actions she knew would heighten the experience for both of them. She wore clothing she knew would catch her son's attention, walked and sat in ways that would emphasize her legs, and wore soft sweaters that would capture Rick's eyes. The more she play acted, the more she scolded herself, and the more she played the more she enjoyed the feel of Rick's eyes on her body. She became addicted to her son's lustful attention.
And then, Rick said Tim's mom had suggested they go to the drive-in with their sons. Bull as it turned out, but neither Mary nor Millie knew that. As I read about the first 'date' from Mary's perspective, Tom removed my sandals. I had tucked my legs back on the seat.
"You shouldn't put your shoes on the seat," he admonished me, slipping my sandals from my feet. He didn't explain why his hands needed to stay on my legs, brushing up and down, his fingers scratching along my calves, nor did he offer any reason why his upper hand eventually slipped around my knee and under my dress, caressing the top of my left thigh.
Mary was describing what transpired at home between the first and second drive-in excursions when Tom pulled me closer to him. His leg hand was now caressing the top of my thigh from knee to hip under my dress. Stop him, a little voice whispered in my head. Tom's other hand was tickling my neck, so platonic, so nice. It wasn't until I finished Mary's description of Rick's manipulation under her skirt as the lay on her stomach talking to Millie that I realized that my dress was unzipped and the back of my bra unsnapped. How could I be so focused not to feel myself being undressed?
His fingers finally dug inside my panties, Mary wrote. I was lost again. Dimly, I was aware of Tom pushing my dress up and over my hips, shoving my left hip forward, tipping me onto my stomach. I accommodated his efforts, my sole concern keeping the diary where I could read it easily.
Tom moved in close; he was reading over my shoulder. Mary's description of Rick's surprisingly masterful manipulation of her secret lips was making me very wet. I felt Tom's fingers behind me, scraping up my inner thighs until they were rubbing underneath my panties, in the damp part between my pussy and my ass. When had I opened my legs to beckon him so blatantly? I knew I had. He rubbed with more and more friction as I read until, suddenly, there was none. His fingers had slipped through the leg, inside my panties. His other hand slid under my dress, outside my lower leg and up my waist, curling around to my tummy and then up to palm my right tit, flattened against the seat. My stiff nipple was firmly grasped between Tom's fingers, squeezing hard. I bit my lip as my son's lips began nibbling my neck.
Put your fingers in me, Mary wrote. The thought echoed in my mind. Put your fingers in me, son. As if he could read my mind, Tom's fingers slipped inside me again. Mary's description of the way Rick fingered her was matched exactly by my own son's invasion of my cunt. He was reading along with me; we were playing roles: Rick and Mary, Tom and Laura. I opened my legs wider, welcoming his fingers, knowing the squishing sound was implicit in Mary's writing. I was lost.
Tom's hand was moving aggressively inside me, pulling out and banging in with a twist. I loved it, as I did the fingers roughly squeezing my tit. It was as if he was fucking me with a big stick, trying to get more and more inside me. Suddenly, he pulled out and grabbed my panties, pulling my hips up, then dragging my panties down over my thighs to my knees. I stayed up, shamelessly presenting my backside with wide open legs, my pussy literally dripping.
I moaned out loud as soon as I heard Tom unbuckling his belt and groaned when his jeans were shoved roughly over his hips. I twisted my head, leaning on my forehead to look under myself, instantly mesmerized by my son's dangling weapon positioning itself behind me. Am I really going to do this? Mary did, she gave herself to her son. Why shouldn't I?
I was still pondering when Tom's cock pushed into my slit. I was watching all along but I guess you can see something and not think about it at the same time, so it surprised me. Now he was through my slit, spreading me. God, he felt so good. It wasn't that he was bigger than Rick, though we may well be, it was the tensile strengh his youthful pole vibrated into my clasping muscle, singing I'm here and I love it. It sang so vibrantly, passionately bursting forth and just as arduously withdrawing, pausing for the chorus to chime in, then thundering through the hall again.
I struggled to help him fit me perfectly like I'd never done before. I had never put such effort into being fucked. Sweat poured down my face, over my forehead into my hair and onto the seat. I dug my toes into the floor to push my ass wantonly up to meet my son, begging him to drill me down to the seat, grind me with exhuberance, and pull back for another onslaught, my trembling ass cheeks following him up to ready my hole for the next attack.
He filled my pussy with his spend, and then some. It overflowed, dripping down my legs. Exhausted, Tom collapsed on the seat, sweating as profusely as I.
I'm proud to say that it was me, and all my years of exercise, that recovered first. Tom was still gasping for breath, his still cock wavering in the air above his lap, when I straddled him and lowered myself, enveloping his manly member, my cuntlips struggling to scrape down his tired shaft. I felt like my tonsils had been given a tickle when our pubic hair mingled. He was definitely a little bigger than his father.
I began fucking him, lifting and letting myself fall with a bang, pulling his head to my tits, shoving my long nipple into his mouth, grinding his face on my chest. Nipple to nipple, again and again, over and over, until his semen seeped into me again, the excess once more spilling down the inside of my legs. He certainly manufactured a lot of cream.
By the time Tom felt ready for another one, it was too late in the day. He tried to convince me, telling me that later in the diary, Gran described an afternoon right here in this spot, that is, the hill behind us, when Tim and Rick had fucked their mothers from behind as they lay over the removed backseat of the Rambler.
"Another time," I told him. "You can't do it all in one day."
Tom smiled, "But it has to be this week. I have to give the car to the other guys for a week each. That was the deal for their help."
"Just the car, right?" I asked.
"And the diaries too. They saw them."
I started to argue but Tom stopped me, "Only the ones about Millie and Tim, not the ones that mention Dad."
I was satisfied. It wasn't until we were on the way home that the implication dawned on me.
"Your friends are going to try to do their moms, aren't they? That's what you've been whispering about for weeks."
Tom turned to me and smiled wickedly, "Yes."
I nodded, digesting this delicious information. I knew all these women, had known them for years.
"Will you tell me everything you find out?" I grinned at my son.
"Of course," he grinned back, dropping his hand from the wheel to grip me firmly between my legs. "Then you can write it down and read it while we ... fuck."
I pulled my son's hand tighter against my reviving pussy, "Don't talk like that."
Despite my protest, his talk made me tingle again. He slipped his finger inside me, wiggling as he drove and talked, whispering to me how he thought his friends would approach the seduction and capture of their moms, my friends. I came again on the long drive home.
But it was such a long drive. I stretched out for a nap, my head lying in my son's lap. In the darkness, I unzipped his jeans and pulled his healthy young cock into my mouth, bobbing and weaving, he loved it all, even when I scraped my teeth down his shaft. Perhaps he loved that most of all because as soon as I did it he burst inside my mouth, rocketing the last of his jiz into my throat.
I lay quietly the rest of the way while Tom caressed my neck and shoulders. I thought about how Tim and Millie had fucked like rabbits, everywhere they could. I wondered if it would it be like that for us now.
I was angry reading Laura's diary the following week but when I finished, my cock was in my hand and I was masturbating. I too wanted to hear about what happened with the other moms. Even through my anger, I realized a certain balance to it all. Anyway, how could I confront them without bringing it all out into the open. None of us wanted that.
********
...The End.
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