Quality Time

Greg and I used to be like that, unable to keep our eyes (and hands) off each other’s bodies.

Now we always make love  with the light out.  Even getting changed we tend to do it furtively as if we don't want each other to see our naked forms.  Is it me?  Maybe I'm ashamed that my body is changing, not as tight, getting older I guess…

Lawrence seems mesmerized by the sight of me naked, just sitting and staring at me with a smile on his face.  I feel his gaze burn into my most private areas like a laser beam.  I take my little boy’s hands and place them on my breasts, delighting in his gentle touch, feeling my already hard nipples becoming than my son’s cock. 

I sit on the settee next to Lawrence and without a word, we start caressing each other’s naked bodies.

“My beautiful boy,” I whisper as I stare down at my son’s rod in my hand as I slowly masturbate him.  I thrill and my hot, pink love tunnel contracts involuntarily around my son’s fingers as they probe deep inside me. He whispers back, “I love you Mum.”

Again I straddle my baby boy, and kiss him deeply.  Reaching down I take hold of his penis and raising my hips I position his manhood between my fiery lips.  We stay like that for what seems like an eternity, and then staring deep into my baby’s eyes, I slowly impale myself, inch by wonderful inch, feeling my son entering my body, the body that gave him life so many years ago, now giving him his first tastes of the pleasures of the flesh, educating my little boy, being his first.

“Welcome home baby,” I whisper breathlessly.

Slowly I start to ride my Lawrence, leaning forward so that he can suckle on my nipples as he did when he was so much younger.

Lawrence looks me in the eye.

“Mum, can I try fucking you?” he asks.  I feel shocked at my son’s use of the expletive, that he would even know that word, let alone use it with his mum.  I feel shocked but also very aroused by the directness of it. “Yes baby, fuck me, please fuck me baby,”I whisper as I roll on to my back and clamp my legs around my son, pulling him into me.

Lawrence has wonderful control and as his thrusts get faster and faster I feel my own orgasm building, my breathing becomes ragged,  I start mewling like a kitten with my own building pleasure.  Lawrence raises himself up, staring down at me as he pumps my soaking pink tunnel. 

I feel like I have been transported to another world, a world of pleasure, a world of carnal lust where nothing else matters, where everything else is dull and drab when compared to the glowing star of our approaching climax.

“Ah, Mum I’m going to come,” shouts My boy, his voice strangely strained with passion, making him sound, not like my son... like me,,,

His thrusts reach a fever pitch as he starts to flood me with his hot cum.  The force and quantity take me by surprise and finally sends me over the edge.  I sit up and grab Lawrence’s neck as I thrust my body into his  as we become one person, a single shining being of pure carnal light. 

“Oh baby,” I mumble, “Oh my baby.”…

My name is Ellen Hunter and I love Monday mornings.  I have the house to myself and I can just laze around in bed dreaming my dreams and thinking my thoughts.  I like to think of this as my quality time with just me…and of course my pussy.

God, when was the last time Greg and I spent time just touching, exploring, glorying in the feel of each other’s bodies?  On the rare occasions that sex does happen now, it feels mechanical, a series of steps to go through to get to the end…

Lawrence lifts his buttocks to allow me to slide down his boxers.  I do this slowly, teasing myself as I slowly expose my son’s beautiful, rock hard, untouched penis. Lawrence’s cock stands straight up pointing almost accusingly at me.  He momentarily opens his eyes and smiles shyly at me.  I take his boxers off all the way and then straddle my son, taking his wonderful cock in my hand.

Already I feel the pre cum on the tip of my son’s cock.  Lawrence again opens his eyes and smiles at me, this time not looking shy but rather looking relaxed and intrigued as to what would happen next.

Lawrence starts to try to clumsily pull my knickers down.  I stand up, pushing him back into the settee and wag my index finger at him.

I start to dance for my son.

I love the slutty feeling of dancing for my son, having his eyes probing my body, lustfully watching me gyrate and caressing myself, lap dancing for my little boy who is just sat there with his hard cock twitching in anticipation of what will happen next.

It starts to get too much for Lawrence to stand and he reaches forward and takes hold of my hips.  I take pity on him and don’t try to stop him when he gingerly starts to pull my knickers down.  I am so wet by now, I can  smell my own musk as my little boy gets his first view of a pussy.  Lawrence takes my panties all the way down and I step out of them and  throws them on the table.

“Oh Mum,” whispers my little boy, “Your pussy is beautiful.”  I smile down at my son and allow him to stare at my sex.  I feel exposed but also aroused by his intense gaze.  I reach behind my back and unfasten my bra, allowing it to fall to the floor.

  It seems a long time since Greg has undressed me.  No need I suppose since on the rare occasions we do make love we are always in bed.   I am always the one who slips off my nighty, or merely lifts it up…

By the time Lawrence has pulled my wet jeans over my feet, I have slipped my top off and dropped it on the floor.

“Be a honey and pop these into the drier,” I say innocently, “You may as well dry your clothes at the same time.  It seems silly to go out in this horrible weather”

I complain of being cold, so Lawrence lights the fire.  I make a show of limping to the settee and we both sit together watching the flames and chatting.

It is so romantic sitting there by the fire, my son and me only wearing our underwear, comfortable in each other’s company.

I slide my arm around my son’s shoulder and Lawrence snuggles into me, the top of his arm pressing on my boob, making my nipple hard.  For what seems like eons we sit there in silence, watching the flames sensuously licking the logs with their fiery tongues, driving them to glow red hot with pent up desire

After a while I steer the conversation towards girls and find out to my joy that my little boy has not only never had a girlfriend, but has never even kissed a girl.

“You should get some practice for when you do get a girlfriend,” I suggest.

  “And how am I supposed to do that without a girl Mum?” asks my son.

Time to spring the trap!

“Well,” I say innocently, “You could practice on me if you want.”

“But you’re my mum,” blurts out Lawrence.

“And I’m a girl too.  It’s just practice and I won’t tell anyone darling,” I say in my best sugary voice.

“I suppose,” replied Lawrence.  I lean in and our lips flutter together as gently as butterfly wings.

We stay like this for what feels like hours.  I frankly can’t say how long in reality because I lose all sense of time.

Finally we part and smile shyly at each other.  “You’re very good at that,” I tell my son to give him confidence, “Time for lesson two.”

I lean towards my son and again our lips meet, but this time I put more force into the kiss.  Lawrence opens his mouth to me and kisses me back with a force that expresses a young man’s strong urge for physical union with the opposite sex.  We close our eyes and lose ourselves in the kiss, surrendering to the wanton feelings, forgetting we are   mother and son. 

We finally break the kiss and look at each other.

“Wow Mum, that was hot,” whispers Lawrence.  I know that we are both turned on from the kissing and so I ask huskily, unable to keep the passion from my voice, “Are you ready for the advanced training now?”

“Wow, more advanced than that?” smiles Lawrence, “Okay”

Instead of kissing him, I place my hand on his groin thrilling at the feel of my son’s engorged penis. Lawrence, not expecting this change in tack, stiffens and tries to pull away. “It’s okay baby, it’s okay” I whisper, “Let mummy teach you about how to be with a girl.  Just relax baby.”

Lawrence leans back, closes his eyes and relaxes.  I thrill as I feel the shape of my son’s manhood through the thin material of his boxer shorts. It feels similar to Greg’s but much harder.  As I touch my son, his rock hard cock jumps.  I start to touch and kiss my son’s beautiful, athletic body.  Slowly, ever so slowly I start to pull down his boxer shorts.

End of Part 2

Hi, my name is Ellen Hunter and I love Monday mornings.  Most Mondays I have the house to myself and I can just laze around in bed dreaming my dreams and thinking my thoughts.  I like to think of this as my quality time with just me……

I live with my family on a small  farm.  Our nearest neighbours, not counting sheep, are some 2 miles away.  My husband Greg is a sheep farmer and has around 300 sheep scattered across the moor.  Most Mondays, he goes into town to the livestock market taking the children with him.  Hence the reason I get my quality time.

My daughter Elaine has just finished school and has plans to go to university in the future.  She is a typical farmer’s daughter who loves riding her pony and helping out where she can on the farm.

My son Lawrence is just like his father when I first met him, handsome, strong and athletic.  He left school as soon as he could to come and work with Greg on the farm.

Greg and I always had a great sex life, and he is the only man I have ever slept with, but as the years have gone by our trysts have become fewer and further apart leaving me feeling frustrated.  I even find myself admiring my son and fantasizing about teaching him about women, so that when he does get a girl he will have some experience.

On this particular Monday, Greg has gone to the market with Elaine but Lawrence has stayed at the farm to do some work.  As soon as the Landover leaves I ring up the Harnaby’s, who own a holiday cottage on the edge of the Moor.  As I hoped, they are not staying at the cottage, and Fiona Harnaby is all too happy to tell me where the spare key is hidden and allow me to use the cottage, although I don't tell her why.

The day is perfect for my plan, cold wet and threatening more rain.  I find Lawrence outside.

  “Hi honey, your dad wants me to check the sheep on the moor”, I lie, “Will you come with me to keep me company?”   “He didn’t say anything to me mum but sure lets go”, replies my son.

We get to the path that starts to fall down towards the moor edge and Lawrence stops.

“Look Mum, I’m pretty sure we have seen all our sheep.  I think we should head back to the farm, it looks like it’s going to bucket down”

I blurt out, “No, no, no!  Just a little further!”.  Reluctantly my son agrees to go to the moor edge.  Then it starts to rain.  Perfect!

Before long, we are both soaked with water making our sodden clothes feel like twice the weight.

“That’s it Mum, there are no bloody sheep down here, let’s head back”, moans my son grumpily.

We just turn to go back and that’s when I have my fall, landing in the wet grass holding my knee and doing the best gurning impression I can muster.

“God Lawrence, I think I have sprained my knee, I don’t think I can go any further”, I fib trying my hardest to suppress a smile.

“Bloody perfect”, moans Lawrence, “What the hell are we going to do now?”

“Language young man”, I chastise him, “Help me up and we can see if the Harnabys are home”.

Lawrence supports me and we hobble over to the cottage. We go through the charade of knocking on the door and waiting outside and of course no one is home. 

“You wait here mum, and I will go to get help”.

“Before you go honey, let’s see if we can find a key… That rock over there looks a likely place…..”

Lawrence helps me into the house and I drop down into a chair.  Lawrence kneels in front of me and moves my supposedly injured leg around.

“I don’t think it’s broken mum, you probably just need to rest for a bit.  Will you be okay here for a bit while I go and get some help?”

“Sure honey,” I say giving him a syrupy smile, “Just help me off with my boots first.”

Lawrence pulls off my boots and socks.  While he is doing that I unfasten my jeans. 

“While you are there honey, help me off with my jeans, they are really wet and uncomfortable,” I demand innocently.  I don’t help; I merely lift my bum off the seat and make him struggle to undress me.

End of Chapter 1

I slide off my shorts and kick them to the wind. They are holding me back. I kick off my underwear too. Now it's just me with my naked pussy on the sand. Doesn't sound good? That's why a take off my T-shirt and put it under my ass. I tilt my pussy to the sky to avoid getting any sand where it doesn't need to go.

I suck and spit liberally on three fingers and use them to rub my clit in tender circles. And then I push them inside myself, dancing my hips back and forth to land at the base of my fingers. Fucking myself softly in this way, skyward, legs spread, inviting the clouds to participate.

People are walking toward me. My shorts and underwear have blown away, and I have no recourse for cover. So I continue to lie there moving myself in circles. A couple stops in their tracks when they see me.

"My dear, you know the rains are coming?" says the woman. "You’ll catch a cold undressed like that."

Smiling at her, I continue to fuck myself softly, my fingers moving toward space, creating wetness on a lonely beach. I say nothing, but study the couple, in their 50s.

"You're very good at that," says the man, pulling his lady closer. "You should give lessons to women on how to have orgasms. Lesson number one: find a beautiful outdoor location!" At that, the man laughs voraciously, free hand on his chest, as though he is the cat's pyjamas of progressive sex jokes. The woman subtly rolls her eyes, smiling at me knowingly.

"Yes, you're very skilled at pleasing yourself," she says. "But you know you seem a little lonely. Would you like some company while you finish? I mean, I know you've got the wind, and those two lovebirds over there, ,” she says, gesturing to the dunes, “but we've both got lots of experience with loneliness. And with orgasms too.”

"I – I suppose that would be nice," I hear myself saying. Talking to them is delaying my orgasm, and I can't be sure that the younger pair on the bluff haven't already finished — what with the wind blowing in every direction, and all. I find this possibility somewhat disappointing, because if I'm honest, I wanted to cum with them.

The man and woman each take a seat in the sand, on either side of me. He is tall, stout, and good looking in an older guy Richard Gere kind away. No joke. Her — I think I would compare her to Martha Stewart, but brunette not blond, and with sexy smile lines at the edges of her eyes, like sunrays.

"Peter, why don’t you do that thing that you do so well… on my thighs? I always feel so taken care of when you do that," said the woman.

Peter leans forward, parting my already parted legs with his hands. His hands are callous, and feel amazing against my soft skin. He traces my thighs with his rough fingers: from my hip creases down to my knees and back up again. First, the outside of my thighs and then slowly, working inward — that innermost silken road.

It's hard for me to keep fucking my fingers in that position with him, so I just rub my clit instead. He does it very lightly, very slowly, unassuming.

"You're making her feel good," says the woman. "You're so good with your hands, dear. Look how she's arching her body. She is closer to loving herself with us around, I think."

The woman licks her finger and traces circles on my asshole. The added sensation is simply too much to bear. I arch my back to the heavens, the sun nibbling my breasts. My body is on fire. I am touched. I did not think good Samaritans really existed.

But I was wrong. I am touched by the sun, the wind, the mist off the water. I am touched, by him and her. And by those others I can't really see or hear anymore.  The woman inserts only the very tip of her finger into my ass.

The gesture sends me over the edge. I open wider and clench harder around them both. My muscles love me. I am a shot in the dark, the light. My growl turns into a scream as I expel light outward, and into the world. As I expel both friendly strangers out of me as well, with the sheer force of my core pleasure.

I take comfort in the fact that nothing stays settled. Especially with all the wind we've been having lately on the island, lots of changes are circulating, I can feel it.

The End?

I'm sexually frustrated. Apparently, I’ve got a lot of options, but they're all so deeply problematic that I decided to hold out for a quality experience. See, I'm 35, which means I've had some years to feel how things go wrong fast, and stick with them anyway, and learn from my stupid choices.

These days, I'm not in the mood for a one night stand. This is not to knock one night stands, because I am all for a quality one night stand. But the better it is, the more likely I am to want to turn it into a second meeting. Call me all-or-nothing girl.

I jump in the hot shower. Letting the hot water run over my face, my neck, I close my eyes, imagining the heat on my body is the warm energy from a man, energy that can’t be rinsed off. I forget what it feels like not to want to rinse off.

Walking around outside in my too-short shorts, not giving a fuck, my hair still wet, I am aimless. I feel like I am walking around in a giant dream bubble. No work for the day. I slow my stride as I realize my shorts are getting me aroused. Pleasurable chafing, I suppose.

I walk around down by the water, rootless, too stimulated for my circumstances. I see a couple fucking in the dunes, just barely removed from view. I sit within earshot, on the hot sand, and listen to the wind hissing through their sounds. I sit down, not caring. I smell rain coming on.

I can hear the woman moaning, using her "A" vowels all the way to the back of her throat. I can hear her tilt her body up to meet his. I can hear her nails gripping his ass. And I can hear the synergy between them. He’s letting the wind blow through too. I can hear him groaning like he wants to make a home.

My hand slides down, over my stomach to my too-tight, chafing short shorts. I run my fingers along their ridges. I suck in my breath, and let my head fall back, to the earth. There is no one around. Am I dreaming? Or is this a real day? Are these two mutually exclusive?

The woman is circling climax now. She sounds like she's on top, the way she's vibrating her voice. Her frantic song of trying, trying to make something that deserves to be made. I think maybe they're both married and cheating on their spouses. That would account for their third partner, the wind. But then again – I hope they're not.

My hand slides into my underwear and I use my middle finger to press my clit like a button. Do I care about the pervert hiding in the dunes? I mean, the hypothetical one? Yes. Part of me is concerned, and part of me aroused. So I don't open my legs all the way. I try my best to maintain a less conspicuous pose, but quickly abandon that for the sake of pleasure.

End of Part 1