"Uhuhuhuhuhuh," she grunted. The harder she worked, the further away the promised orgasm was. In a frenzy, Sally tore at her black panties with her fingernails, ripping the crotch out of them. She welcomed the feel of the cool, smooth wood directly on her wet sex organs.
Her hips twisted and swiveled as she made love to the banister. Sweat beaded her face and poured down her thighs. But it wasn't enough.
Exhausted, Sally got off the banister and unsteadily mounted the stairs. Her feet were like lead. Her cunt was an unbearable burden between her wobbly legs. Secretly she regretted letting Jason leave.
The bath had seemed like a good idea. When Sally had lowered herself in, to the foamy water and felt the subtle warmth creep up her legs and engulf her crotch and then surround the soft mounds of her breasts she had thought everything would be okay. The fire would be put out. She would be back to normal.
At first it had seemed to work that way. She was soothed by the hot water and foamy soap. The scent of rose bath salts filled the room. And then, like some sort of compulsion, she had to start playing with herself again. She thought about Jason and all the times he had snuck around trying to catch her in the bath. And that reminded her of his penis and that led, naturally, to the steady beat of his cock in and out of her clasping cunt. And that started it.
Gingerly she slid one finger in her turgid slot. It was enough to get the yearning going stronger than before. Her cunt sucked at her probing finger trying to pull it in.
She opened her thighs and lay back in the water and felt it running into her heated cunt around her probing finger. She mewed at the compulsive pleasure the feeling brought her.
Slowly she added another finger to the one already in her snatch. She twisted her wrist and felt the wonderful stretching that made her feel so good. She was like a woman released. But to no good purpose. She was sexual and yet insatiable. Laying in the tub of water, Sally knew Hal – or any man – couldn't really satisfy her now.
Jason's cock might do it, she knew. But she couldn't forget what was on the end of that cock: a demanding, perverted male. A man!
Recalling how close she'd come to getting cornholed by Ralph, Sally shivered even in the tub of steaming water. While one hand played with her snatch, she slipped her other one under her buttocks and pressed a finger up against the rosy opening to her rectum. It was so tiny she wondered how Ralph had planned on getting inside her butt without killing her. The thought sent strange feelings surging through her body and she couldn't stop wondering about it.
Tenderly, she pressed against her asshole opening with a finger greased by soapy water.
She twisted her hips and enjoyed the feel of her fingers twisting in her cunt. And then, suddenly, the pressure on her asshole was gone and her finger had slid up her rear hole.
"Ohmigod!" Sally cried out. Her mouth was open in wonder. The sensation was unbelievable. It was as if her finger up her butt had found another way in her sex hole and was almost touching the two fingers twisting desperately in her snatch.
The water lapped around the pink-tipped bits of her breasts that were still exposed. But down around her hips there was a steady swirl of movement that threatened to swamp her.
Sally focused on the ceiling in wonder as the feelings raced through her from cunt to asshole to cunt. This is dirty, she told herself. It's evil and I can't do this. I mustn't!
Her fingers lanced in and out of her sex hole and she almost cried out loud, it was such a good feeling. Her asshole was stinging, but it was a good sting and her finger slipped out and she stroked her breast with it. Her hand started on the soft underside of her tit and slipped up the flesh in a milking motion which ended when she pinched her nipple. The hard feel of her own fingers on her swollen and abused nipples was driving her into a frenzy. She stared up at the baby blue bathroom ceiling and breathed hard as she played with herself and tried to imagine what kind of man could entertain her.
"Mommy, what were you doing downstairs?"
Sally almost swallowed a mouthful of soapy water. She sat up in one sudden motion, slopping water on the red carpeted floor and stared at Tommy, her eleven year old son.
The boy was standing in the entrance to the bathroom and he was staring at her as if shocked by her hand on her own tit. He was wearing a t-shirt and a pair of blue shorts and the shorts were poked way out in front. A long way out.
In her confusion, Sally almost asked if it was his first hard-on.
"What… what did you say, Tommy?"
She tried to sink into the water, but her damn tits kept bobbing up and she could tell from the way her son's eyes moved that he was entranced by them.
"I wanted to know what you were doing downstairs, Mom. You know, when you were up on the banister."
"I was…" Sally looked at the boy and realized her fingers were still jabbed in her cunt and she was as excited as crazy. "Come closer, Tommy," she said. "And Mommy will explain."
CHAPTER FOUR
Tommy reminded Sally of herself. His thick, chestnut hair with its dark red tones was tousled and curly. He had big, innocent eyes and a creamy skin. Before, Sally had always wished he'd been a girl. But not any more. The thirty-one year old housewife didn't know what had taken possession of her, but she knew her only interest at the moment was the bulge in the front of her son's shorts.
Dutifully Tommy walked all the way into the bathroom and stopped only when he was right at the tub. "Yes, Mom?" he said. His eyes kept flitting to the tips of her nipples.
Knowing he was looking at her tits, the son who had suckled on them when he was born, gave Sally a roiled feeling. She was reminded she was a mother, but she didn't feel like one. Her own eyes kept dropping to the spiked prick in the boy's pants and her mind was confused with wondering what it looked like. It had been years since she'd seen any of her sons naked. And now…?
Don't do it, her conscience screamed at her. It's incest. It's wicked to touch your own son's sex THAT WAY!
It's wicked to be raped by my own brother. Sally reminded herself. That's incest too. That big cock of her brother's sliding easily in and out of her weeping vagina, that she knew was incest and terrible and it had felt so damned good she could cry right there in the bathtub.
She needed something so bad just then… And if her brother had been good, what would her son be like? She knew he'd be gentle and tender and she could show him all about sex and…
It was too late for Sally's conscience to do anything constructive. Tommy stood right next to the tub and was looking down into the soapy water with an obvious, terrible feeling of concentration. The bulge in his pants was even bigger than it had been moments before.
"What are you looking at, Tommy?" Sally asked gently.
Suddenly the boy's face was confused and he looked away. A flood of red ran up his neck and across his face and into his hairline.
"Tell Mommy, Tommy!"
"Aw, gee, Mom. Nothing. I was looking at nothing."
"That's not true, Tommy." Sally smiled up at her young son from the warmth of the bathtub. "Were you looking at this?" She ran a hand up her firm, flat stomach and cupped her breast and held it up as a bulge of firm but soft flesh. She squeezed and the nipple got visibly thicker.
Tommy gulped and tried to look away, but he couldn't. The desire to see his mother holding and fondling her own breast was too much for him to control. He turned his head to stare directly at it.
"Well, Tommy?" Sally's voice was musical not threatening. She experienced a wild pounding within her. The excited frenzy of her heart had grown faster and faster and her own hand on her tit was hot and frantic feeling. She squeezed and was rewarded with a thrill of joy.