Şubat 22, 2024

A Depraved Viewing Pt. 02

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Thanks to everyone who gave positive feedback on the first part; you’re the reason there’s a second part 🙂

This part is a bit longer, I really hope you enjoy it.

*****

It had been a month since I had stumbled upon and watched my son masturbate. The image of his naked body and his climax had become seared into my mind’s eye. Each night of the month that had passed I had shamefully and disgustingly pleasured myself to the imagery in my head.

After every orgasm shame would wash over me, ‘I will never do that again!’ I would tell myself, obviously deluding myself because the next night that same animal lust would come calling, the same image of that hot white load erupting out of his thick cock would elbow its way to the front of my mind and I would submit to it. I honestly can’t recall a time in my life when I have had my legs splayed as often as I’ve had in the last month!

An obvious consequence of my carnal thoughts was a breakdown in meaningful conversation with my son. Sure, we still talked, but I found it increasingly difficult to look him the eye. Fortunately he was still at that age where talking to his mum at any long length was a pain in the bum, so he didn’t seem to notice my change in behaviour. But I didn’t want our relationship to be this way in the long term. I knew I needed to do something. The sane solution would be to stop using him as masturbatory material, but so far that had been a non-starter. I decided to take drastic action: I called my therapist and arranged a session.

I’d not seen my therapist, Liz, in some time; not since my husband and I had divorced. She helped me through that time more than I could ever tell you. Having been through a divorce herself, Liz had the required empathy to help me through such a trying period. She was also a few years older than I, and having someone a few years your senior talk to you and tell you that everything will be okay was very comforting. I always felt safe in her environment. She was patient with me and never judged me. I was hoping that was still the case.

“How have you been?” Liz asked me as I sat down on the big beige sofa across from her.

“Not too bad, thank you.” I politely replied, “Yourself?”

“I’m well, thank you.” She calmly answered. “It’s been a while since your last visit.” Her voice was so calm and serene, it was like she was born to do this job.

I nodded. “Yes, it has.” From there we did the polite and socially acceptable small-talk, it was nice. It felt good to be back in these surroundings. And I felt comfortable wit Liz.

“So what can I help you with? Your message seemed to have a sense of urgency.”

“Well, it’s quite a delicate subject.” I replied with what had to be the understatement of the century.

“Aren’t they all?” Liz smiled.

I laughed. “Yes, I guess they are!” I sat and thought for a few moments. I knew what I wanted to tell her but I was petrified that she would judge me or confirm that I am a sick individual, unfit to be a parent.

She must’ve seen how pensive I looked. “Whatever it is you want to tell me remember that I am not here to judge, I am here to listen and help as best I can.”

That helped. I took a deep breath and began. “Okay… So, about a month ago I came home from work quite late.” I paused. “And I saw… something that I wasn’t meant to.”

“And am I right in assuming that this ‘something’ is why you’re here?” She astutely asked me.

“Yes.” Was all I could muster in reply. I sat there in silence and tried to arrange my thoughts.

“I don’t wish to push or pressure you too much, but without knowing what this ‘something’ is I can’t be of much help.” Liz offered

I gulped. “When I came home I saw my son…” I had to force it out. “…masturbating.”

Liz, totally unfazed, shifted in her seat “That must have been quite a shock for the both of you.”

“He didn’t see me.” I confessed. “He’d left his bedroom door open and he was just there on his bed… doing it.”

Liz’s expression did not change. “That’s a perfectly normal activity for him to be doing, but I sense you know that?” She quizzed.

“Oh, of course. I’m not daft, I know what young men get up to.” I shot back, maybe a bit too defensively.

“How long did you watch?” Her question was asked like she knew exactly what my issue was.

“Until the end.” I hung my head.

“The end?” She queried.

I sighed. “Y’know, the end. When he…”

“Ejaculated?” She bluntly interjected.

“Yes.”

“How were you feeling throughout all this?”

My head still hung, I took a deep breath. “I was shocked at first. I’d never seen him doing that before.”

“Understandable.”

“But I just kept staring; I didn’t move.” Revealing more. “I kept telling myself to move, but I was just frozen.”

“Were you enjoying watching him?” A hay-maker of a question.

I was rattled. “No! No no no. That’s disgusting…” My words may have said one thing but my demeanour https://bursali.org said another, and Liz knew it. She didn’t have to say anything, she just gave me a knowing look and I crumbled. “Yes! God help me, I enjoyed watching him.” I bawled. “It had been so long since I had seen a cock and his just looked so… young and… oh, Jesus, so BIG!” I looked at Liz, expecting to see disgust, but she remained neutral.

“Is that all?” She pressed me.

“It turned me on, watching him turned me on.” I felt my eyes watering. “Watching my son play with himself made me wet!” I was grateful that it was just Liz and I in her offices, if there were anyone else they would’ve surely heard my cries.

“It may be taboo to admit this, but we are just animals. We cannot choose what stimulates us sexually.” Liz attempted to assure me.

My head firmly in my hands I and raced through the rest of my story. “I masturbated as soon as I went to my room, and I have masturbated about him every night since.” I sat back in my chair and awaited judgement.

“Sexual fantasies about members of our own family are very common.” She began. “It may shock you but it’s true. And it may also shock you that you are not alone in having these sorts of fantasies.” I was shocked and my face said so. “You are not the first person that has told me about having sexual fantasies about their child and I’m sure you will not be the last.”

“But it feels so wrong.” I said.

“Look, I’m not going to sit here and tell you that watching him masturbate was right, but equally I am not going to sit here and tell you that taboo fantasies are wrong.”

“You don’t think it’s sick?” I asked

Liz laughed at the question. “Fantasy is never sick or wrong in my opinion; you aren’t harming anybody. If you were to act out these fantasies that is another issue.” Her reply felt like the comforting answer I had been seeking.

“I’m worried that this is going to hurt my relationship with him; I’m already struggling to look him in the eye.”

“In that case, try not to fantasise about him.” She said. “When you pleasure yourself try to use other methods, explore other fantasies.” She made it sound so easy!

I frowned. “I’ve tried, but it’s been difficult to do that.”

Liz shrugged. “I think if you remind yourself that masturbating to fantasies of your son is hurting your relationship with him you’ll stop.” Her logic was sound. I couldn’t really argue with her.

“Okay, I’ll give that a try.” All of a sudden I felt positive. Liz had always been very good at making issues I believed to be huge and unmanageable small and manageable.

“Is there anything else on that topic you feel you want to discuss?” Liz enquired.

I shook my head. “No, I think that’s everything.” The remainder of our hour together flew by.

Two weeks had passed since I had my visit with Liz, and I was delighted that the advice she had given me had been working wonders. I had not fingered myself to visions of my son once in that time. I was so proud of myself. Each day that passed the shame seemed to fade away.

Of course I’d still been masturbating in that time, but I’d taken Liz’s advice and seeked alternate stimulants. My masturbation sessions became a Si free zone. The first few days were difficult, but I managed. My good friend Internet porn made a welcome return to my sexual arena, particularly young women eating each other’s pussies, but that’s another story!

Late one Saturday night, with Si out on the town with his friends, I retired to bed early. Naked and comfortably cozied up under my blanket, I reached for my laptop off of my night-stand. I’m sure that my initial intentions were good, check my Facebook, emails, etc, but I lost my way pretty quickly and was pouring through page upon page of videos on one of my favourite porn sites.

Just looking at the preview images was enough to get my motor running these days. My right hand was on auto-pilot and had begun gently caressing the folds of my vagina. While my right hand was busy doing that, my left was busy hovering over the preview image of a video that had taken my fancy. A rather crudely named little title called ‘Mum squirts on daughter’. With a name like that I felt obligated to give it a watch.

The movie wasted little time on plot development: daughter is caught stealing from mum’s purse. Mum catches her. Daughter pleads for forgiveness. Mum tells daughter she must be punished. Mum punishes daughter by stripping daughter nude and violently licking daughter’s pussy. If it seemed ridiculous in my head it seemed positively engrossing to my cunt, which, by the time the stripping had commenced, was soaking wet.

Soon the daughter was eating the mum’s pussy with absolute ferocity! I was aching for that sort of attention. All I wanted was a young woman’s tongue teasing my moist hole. I pulled my blanket over my head, closed my eyes and let my mind take me to that place. That’s when my phone rang.

The bursa escort kız loud vibration against the wooden surface of the night-stand was jarring. It ripped me clean from my world of imagination. I furiously threw off my blanket and looked at the buzzing and flashing device. The device that had torn me from my happy place. It was Si.

“What!?” I yelled.

“Hi, Mrs Grey, it’s Zack.”

Hearing Zack’s voice and not my son’s turned my anger quickly into worry. “Is Si okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine… Well, he’s pretty drunk.” Zack replied.

My worry returned to anger. “Jesus Christ, how bad is he?”

“Pretty bad.” Zack informed me.

“Where are you?” I snapped.

“We’re at the front door of your house; Si can’t find his keys.” Zack answered. I swear I detected a quiver in his voice.

Poor Zack didn’t deserve to make this call, poor boy. “I’ll be right down!” Hell hath no fury like a woman interrupted while she masturbates!

I was fuming. If there is one thing I have never been able to abide it is being interrupted while I am masturbating. I slammed my laptop shut, pulled myself out of bed and slid on my robe. I was going to give that boy hell for this.

I headed downstairs to the front door. I could see the porch light was on and I could make out the distorted figure of my son and Zack.

“Hello Mum!” He belted out upon seeing me. Good god, he was a mess. The front of his shirt and jeans were clearly soaked in what I could only assume was alcohol. I had never seen him like this before; he could barely stand!

“Sorry to leave him with you like this, Mrs Grey.” Zack said apologetically, shouldering Si’s weight.

I shook my head at this sorry scene. “Well, at least you brought him home in one piece, I guess.” I helped Zack carry Si through the front door and together we plonked him down on the stairs, where he fell sideways and laid there, his head resting on the carpet. My vagina had never felt cooler.

Zack looked at me and smiled awkwardly. “I, uh, better go.” He said softly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry.” I told him as I saw him out. “If he’s feeling bad now, wait until how he’s going to feel in the morning!” Zack politely chuckled and I shut the door.

I turned on my heels to face the drunken reprobate on the stairs. “Right, come on, upstairs with you.” I ordered my wasted son. He slowly and clumsily stood himself up.

“Sure, sure, sure.” He slurred in reply. He turned and faced the stairs. I put my hand on his back and helped ease him up the stairs. God knows he couldn’t have done it on his own, and the last thing I wanted was a trip to the hospital on account of him falling ass backwards down the bloody stairs!

As we crawled up the stairs the whiff of booze off of him was unbearable. Lord help me I could’ve sworn he was leaving a vapour trail. I held my tongue though. I thought it’d be best to leave the ear-bashing until the morning, when he had a banging headache. And his boozey stench more than covered the lingering smell of my once moist pussy.

After what felt like an age of the earth, we reached the top of the stairs. Si stood there and laboured for a moment. I was in no mood to wait. “Come on, what you waiting for?” I scowled. Pissed up as he was he could sense the tone in my voice and he got himself in gear. A few staggered steps down the landing and we were into his bedroom.

He fell backwards onto his bed. I shook my head and puffed out my cheeks. What a mess. I had never seen him this steaming drunk before, it was like his father had never left! Whenever his dad would come home like this I would stand over him, just as I was Si, and tell myself that ‘I’m not going to sort him out, if he wants to sleep like that in those stinking clothes then he’s welcome to!’ I would always cave into my husband and my son was no different. I fastened my robe and grabbed one of his boots and yanked it off. Si didn’t make a sound. Off came the second boot. Again, no sound.

As I tugged at one of his socks, he lifted his head up off the mattress and looked at me. He looked right down my robe and spluttered, barely coherently, “You’ve got big tits!” before crashing his head back down onto the soft surface. Normally the observations of a drunken idiot would have no effect on me, but this one did. I liked that he recognised how big my tits are. I thought about what Liz had said about it being common for a parent to fantasize about a child. Was it common for child to fantasize about a parent? I wondered if he’d ever thought about my breasts in the past. I wondered if he’d ever tried to steal a fleeting glance before. I wondered if he’d ever masturbated over my big globes. I tried to steer my mind away from these choppy waters.

He made not another peep as I went about the arduous task of undressing him. His shirt was soaked and sticky, his t-shirt underneath was somehow sticky too. And the smell! My word, what a state.

His jeans were the toughest bursa anal yapan escort to remove. Bloody skinny jeans. Or spray on jeans as I call them. Even dry these would have been a pain, but beer soaked made them cling to him ever tighter! I wanted to get this over with. I unfastened his belt and un-popped the buttons (no zip!). I could see that he had pants on underneath. I grabbed the bottom of his left leg and peeled the damp denim down. I’ve no idea how he ever got these on. My momentum almost carried me arse over head as my final tug pulled the leg free. It was the exact same process with the right. I was sweating buckets.

Down to his pants, and even they had not escaped a boozy soaking. Si still out cold. Flat on his back and now snoring. I paused for a moment. I stared at his groin. As I stared those images that I’d been been trying so hard to suppress came rushing to my head. I tried to think about what Liz had told me. I gulped. What was I to do? ‘Just leave him.’ I told myself in Liz’s voice. But I couldn’t leave him lying in those sticky and sodden briefs he was wearing. Could I take them off him, though? Surely not?

I looked around his room, I don’t know why? I knew we were alone. It must have been for fear that I was about to be caught doing something I shouldn’t be. I took a deep breath and reached out to the waistband of his briefs. As delicately as I could my fingertips slipped inside the elastic. My breathing had become strained. I tried to remind myself that I was doing this so he wouldn’t wake up in crusty vodka and red bull stained pants, I tried to remember what Liz had said, but in the deepest and darkest recesses of my mind I knew why I was doing this: I wanted to get an up close look at my son’s big cock.

I checked again that he was out for the count; he was. I gripped the elastic waistband and gently pulled. My heart raced as I eased down the stinky briefs. Just like when I had watched him masturbate, I knew what I was doing was wrong, but that primitive heat had once again begun to stir within me. I tried to run and hide from it, but it had found me. It overrode all notions of right and wrong. As it always does.

I edged his briefs down bit by bit. I swallowed hard when the erratic hairs of his bush sprang free from their confinement… He moved. My heart almost leapt from my mouth. I stood there at the foot of my son’s bed, bent over him, frozen. I should have just left him be, but I waited to see if he would settle down again. I wasn’t going to be denied a viewing. He settled down again.

The fire inside me was burning brightly now; the inside of my robe softly grazed and teased my stiff fat nipples and the heat in my nethers was ablaze again. I felt impatient; my deviant desires could no longer wait. As fluidly, and as fast as I could, I yanked my boy’s briefs down.

What a sight to behold, in all its thick glory, my son’s cock. I was a state. My knees had gone so weak I had to steady myself against the bed. My temperature must have gone through the roof, I felt so stuffy I could of sworn I was suffocating. My brow was slick with sweat. Quite the contrast between myself and Si’s cock, which was perfectly calm.

Despite not sporting the monstrous hard-on he was when I spied on him, my boy’s tool still looked mighty large. My God, I was so impressed. I felt such a deviant. A filthy filthy deviant whore. I think these thoughts only helped egg me on; my cunt was on fire.

The heat had become too much, I felt stifled and stuffy, I felt as though I couldn’t breathe! I needed relief, I needed to be free! My movements were sudden and direct, I pulled the drawstring of my robe and threw the heavy garment back off my shoulders. My big boobs spilled out into the cooling air of Si’s room, the skin of my big round bum felt chilled and the hair on my moist mound was soothed. Sweet relief.

I stood naked over my son. My naked son. Good heavens I felt so depraved. Imagine he came to at this moment? Me stood over him, naked as the day I was born! I would certainly have some explaining to do. Fuck, I felt so naughty! So turned on! I cupped my big tits and looked at him. “They are big, aren’t they?” I whispered. “You like mummy’s big tits, don’t you?”

I eyed his soft rod. What now? I thought to myself. Should I just give in to the fiery lust, fall onto my knees and take him in my mouth? I couldn’t do that, he would surely wake up. This was the point I had arrived at: the only thing stopping me from sucking my own son off was for fear of waking him. If he were awake and willing I would suck on that rod until his balls were drained. What a mother I am.

As my eyes were busy devouring Si’s cock, my right hand snaked its way down my body and rested on my inner thigh, poised. I wanted to masturbate for him. It didn’t matter that he was passed out, it was the symbolic nature of it that was making my nipples pop and my juices stream down my legs. I was a fiery whore and I wanted to show off for him.

I ran my fingertips through my damp pubic thatch, sliding my hairs between my fingers, toying with myself. Jesus, I could not stop myself, I just couldn’t. My fingers stealthily slid through the long grass of my bush and found my dripping sex. Oh, my I was so wet. Wetter than when I watched him wank himself off.

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