And You Thought This Would Be Easy 03

Ok I know it's been a while but like I've said before I'm not really a prolific writer. Now apologies up front for not working on other projects but you go where the Muse takes you. Special thanks to "The Dude" for the editing on this piece, we'll see if we can keep the Grammar Police at Bay.

Again everyone person depicted in all my stories are eighteen years of age or older. Nothing written is real, that would be weird. Fantasy is just that, fantasy and Oedipus Stories have been around for centuries so I make no apologies there. The author neither condones nor encourages any of the actions depicted within this tale. This is more Porn than it is anything else so if you're looking for Tolstoy, Chekhov or Dostoyevsky, well you've come to the wrong place.

And so we begin.

*****

What am I doing? Who does this? How could I have fallen so far, willingly? All these and many more questions were busily travelling through my brain. None of them were receiving an answer of any measure. It had been three weeks since my fall from grace and my slide, if you could call it that, took the form of a full on plummet. 'The Plummet' as it were began from the moment I left my son's room and returned to my marital bed.

Roger was asleep upon my arrival, still firmly secured as I had left him. As I gently began to untie his ankles, releasing him from his night's confinement he awoke. "Did you even think of me last night?"

"Sometimes," I replied softly continuing to unfasten the terricloth ties from the foot board.

"Well?"

"Well what?" I looked at him giving him no indication I knew what he was alluding to.

"Tell me what happened."

"What do you want to know?" I relented.

"You fuck him?"

"Weren't you listening?" I asked feeling somewhat annoyed at the directness of the question. I had just finished releasing both his feet and was now looking in the nightstand for the keys to the handcuffs. I wondered to myself how he managed to sleep at all trussed up as he was. Once I found the key I approached the bed, it seemed odd us having this conversation. It was like we were discussing the weather or some other immaterial thing that had no relevance to us or our relationship.

As he began to sit up in the bed, rubbing his wrists and then his ankles he replied to my question. "A little bit."

"Well then, you know we weren't watching TV." The sarcasm and anger were dripping from my voice. I was angry with him. Moreover, I was feeling guilt and that guilt was driving my anger. Roger got up and stood, then immediately headed to the bathroom. I guess a night spent tied to the bed probably had some significant downsides.

I heard the toilet flush and then Roger returned, he grabbed his pajama bottoms and pulled them on before he walked over to his bureau and took out a T-shirt. He didn't even acknowledge that I was wearing my house coat and nothing else.

"Is he up?"

"He's been up and has left," I replied. "I thought it best he be gone when I woke you. I think we have a lot to talk about."

Roger immediately left our room and headed down the hall. He opened Michael's door and peered into the room. As you can imagine it was in complete disarray.

"Jesus Christ, Rachel, what happened in there?"

"What do you think happened in here?" I don't know if I was more annoyed with his questioning or confused at his response. His entire composure threw me.

"My god, look at this room, it's trashed." He was right, it was trashed. There were no sheets on the bed, really. The fitted sheet had come off sometime during the night and was never returned. Most of the pillows remained and a single sheet was draped over one corner of the bed. There was a pillow and a blanket on the dresser that I hoped Roger ignored or didn't notice, as I wasn't really feeling like explaining how they got there. The room definitely looked used and, embarrassingly enough, still smelt of sex.

"Alright you've seen the room, that's enough. Let's just shut the door, shall we?" I said in my most matronly of voices. I could feel my embarrassment rising the longer we stood there. It was of course at that point that Roger did the unthinkable; he walked in.

"Roger, get out of there," I admonished. "Jesus Christ."

All at once I felt embarrassed and prepubescent. Like some high school girl caught doing something shameful, but the fact was I didn't feel ashamed. At that moment I felt angry and betrayed. He had put this into motion. He had played his ever manipulative game and set things to flight. I wanted to yell at him, to strike out at him; after all he had driven me to this, had pushed me. Hell, he had gone out of his way to see this happen, so fuck him.

Just as I was about to say something more severe, he turned and looked at me in shock. For the first time it was actually sinking in. In that very instant, reality and fantasy collided and he had to reconcile these two desperately differing perceptions, each with its own set of precepts. Fantasy can be anything wild and broad with little or no fear of repercussions. Reality is truth and fact, mired in consequence, decision and choice, requiring ownership and acceptance. And now he was faced with all of that.

"I fucked him, alright? I fucked our son!"

Now facing me fully, the look on his face was strange. I'm not sure what I had expected, rage, anger, hurt, sorrow, I don't know, but what I saw was none of those. What I saw could only be described as arrousal.

"Did he cum in you?" he breathed the question almost as if he were afraid to ask.

"Don't you get it Roger? I fucked him. I fucked Michael! I've been fucking him all night and this morning too," I looked at Roger as I spoke, my face ashen, my eyes wide. "I've changed the very nature of our relationship, we can't go back now. We can't go back to what we were."

He didn't seem to understand the gravity of what I was saying. He was too lost in his own lust.

"Is that what you want? Do you want to go back to what you were?"

"Yes, part of me does," I said as I turned to face him. "I'm still his mom. I nursed him, I raised him, he came from me."

I looked down as I spoke. I surveyed my body. I could see streaks of Michael's cum on my stomach, thighs and breasts. I could still feel where his hands held me, squeezed me, pinched, probed and massaged me. Again my nipples began to harden of their own volition, giving away my arousal. "This is so much to handle right now and I don't know if I can. I think we may have gone too far."

"You said only part of you wanted to," Roger spoke tentatively.

"Yes, part of me did want to, does want to." I caught myself as I spoke and hearing my words knowing they were untrue.

"But part of you doesn't want to. Part of wants something else, thinks something else. What does that part of you want?" Roger knew he would regret the answer to this question even as he asked it.

"Oh god, Roger, I don't know. I mean I do know, but I don't know." I was so hesitant at this point, worried that telling him the truth would hurt him but wanting to tell him the truth because I desperately needed him to know.

"Tell me. Tell me about that part. Tell about what you think you don't know."

"I can't," I thought I would cry as I began to speak.

"What do you mean you can't?"

"It'll hurt too much."

"It'll hurt too much? Hurt who, too much? Hurt you?"

"No, Roger. Hurt you." My eyes watered as spoke to him. The emotions I was feeling were difficult to capture singularly. There was this jumble of thoughts and feelings all mixed together into one mess which was difficult enough to articulate without the added pressure placed on me by my husband's incessant need.

"Tell me, I need to know."

"Tell you what Roger? Tell you I'm a slut. Tell you I'm a whore," my voice radiated lust and sex, almost vibrating as I spoke. "Tell you I liked what happened, what happens, and I want to do it again."

Slowly, I backed away from our son's room. Roger pursued. We moved down the hall, me in my housecoat, which was open allowing partial glimpses of my nude body beneath. A flash of thigh, a hint breast, followed by a peek at my bare sex, all seemed to further entice and draw my husband away from my son's room and toward me.

"I like fucking him and I think he likes fucking me, and I want to fuck him again and again and again." My heartfelt passion was almost intimidating. "He's going to fuck my tits, fuck my mouth, fuck my cunt and fuck my ass, and I'm going to cum every time he does. Every time. Are those the things you want to know?"

"Yes." The reply was as simple as it was brief. Yes, he wanted to know all those things. He craved knowing, needed to know, and got off on knowing. God help us both it was sexy, hot, nasty, even as it was devastating; he knew and I knew it. He wanted to know, he wanted to hear, he wanted to watch, I knew it, it had always been a voyeuristic fantasy of his. I could tell he was in a quandary, his emotions were a mess, he must have felt defeated in a sense and virile in another, as reviled as he felt or should've felt, he also felt aroused and horny.

Roger was rock hard and from the look in his eyes I knew he wanted to fuck me, to stick his raging hard on deep inside me and fuck me until he had nothing left. He wanted to flood me with his seed. He knew I was wet with cum that wasn't his, he knew my pussy had been fucked by a larger, thicker cock but still he wanted to penetrate my depths and feel my silky smooth folds. He wanted to ravage me as much as he wanted to make love to me. In a sick, distorted way he wanted to reclaim what was his, to mark it with his seed. Isn't that why a penis head is shaped the way it is? Shovel shaped so that it can scoop out cum vying for my eggs. So how could I tell him no? How could I let him know that what was once his, was now and forever beyond his ability to reclaim. So in that moment I resolved to fuck him. I resolved to let him cling to a hope I knew was lost. I still loved him, he was still my husband, but he was no longer my man.

We had slowly migrated back down the hall and were standing at the threshold of our bedroom. I knew as soon as we crossed that imaginary line, the one that represents more than what it physically is, a simple entranceway into a sleeping quarters. Yes, he would want me in the worse way; he would buy into the imaginary in its representation and want to reclaim what was his. It was then that I fully intended to reclaim my own power in this relationship. It was my pussy, my cunt, my sex, my vagina, and I would fuck who I pleased.

"Now my mouth still tastes like cock and I have three loads of cum in my cunt, so are you going to fuck me or am I just going soak the sheets and waste all this sex and love juice?" I moved onto the bed, opened my housecoat and exposed myself completely.

"Oh baby, you are such a slut." He said as he got between my legs. It was like he couldn't believe his eyes; I was fabulously exposed and waiting to be taken. The mouth of my cunt gapped open. It was soaked with sex juices and the heady aroma flooded both of our senses making his cock stiffen even more and his balls tight, while my pussy just flooded.

"Oh god I need to be inside you." He exclaimed. He held himself at my opening, appearing full of pent up anxiety and trepidation. Once he did this, once he entered me and confirmed that it was real, that I'd been fuck by another man, stretched by a larger cock and inseminated with virile potent sperm, there was no turning back. He had fantasized about this and I knew it. He had thought long and hard about this moment, rehearsed it in his mind, role-played it, masturbated to it and now he was going to experience it for real. Our only hope would be that it was everything he had envisioned.

"Come on you bastard! You turned me into this, you made me explore this side of myself, you wanted it real. Well, it doesn't get any more real than this." I stared at him, daring him to take the next step.

"Stick your cock in that nasty stretched out pussy, feel all the cum floating around in there. He stretched me out good, you bastard, just like you wanted; I am a whore now, a fucking whore, so fuck me!"

Roger drove his cock deep into my thoroughly fucked out pussy. One quick hard thrust and he was all the way inside me. His shaft slid in, slick and smooth, meeting no resistance, stopping only when his pubic bone ground into mine. He moaned loudly signifying both his pleasure and disappointment. His cock was enveloped in my vagina, warm, soft and wet like liquid sex.

"Ahhh, ffuuuck," he groaned which match my own guttural response. "Ohhh, fuck me baby. Fuck me."

Usually when we had done this in the past, the head of his cock would rest against my cervix. This time our sex was going to be much different. Only my vaginal walls smothered Roger's cock; my cervix was pushed deeper into my body. He knew what this signified; the depth of our son's previous penetration had re-shaped my pussy. His cock was bigger than his father's, I knew it, and now he knew it. Michael surpassed him in both length and girth. After all we had both seen it that day at the pool party; maybe he'd never seen it hard, but he'd seen it. Roger's lust was overpowering as he leaned forward to kiss me, our mouths devouring each other. He was desperate to take me, to make me his again. As if to acknowledge this I greedily began to kiss him back, to suck his lips and tongue, our mouths in a frenzy of passion.

"That's right baby you're all the way in me now." I moved my hips in tight circular motions, grinding my pubic bone into his, every once in a while I would thrust up lifting my ass off the ground, rocking his cock in the socket of my cunt. There is nothing more erotic than the feel of a lover pressed firmly against your body. My breasts were mashed up tight against his chest. His arms wrapped around me, holding me. His hands exploring my body, moving up my sides and back down, touching and feeling me, sending electric shocks of pleasure throughout my body. I spread my legs wide to give him access to me, to push himself as deeply into me as he could, letting him know that I would swallow him whole if I could.

"Oh god you're really stretched. So fucking sloppy, so fucking sloppy."

"Yes baby, yes I am. And I'm going to continue to be stretched for quite awhile." We continued to kiss as we spoke, or bodies writhing and twisting in a glorious sexual knot. "I've been thoroughly fucked, baby, and filled with cum, just like you wanted."

I continued to move my hips in circular motions, pressing our groins together in order to increase the friction we both needed to feel in that moment. I loved the feel of his body next to mine, but moreover I wanted him to feel what it was like to have me after I'd be fucked so thoroughly by our son. The thought of it was more erotic than anything I had previously experienced.

"Are you going to fuck him again?"

"Yes baby, I am." I answered. There was no hesitation in my voice. Once I was conflicted and my mind plagued with guilt, remorse, anger and disappointment not mention some self-loathing. But right now, in this moment and in the presence of my husband, naked as I was, I didn't care. I had simply rationalized my love for both men, the father and the son. So my answer was easy, I was alive with sexual energy and the answer was easy. "Yes, I'm going to fuck him again, and suck him again. We're going to explore each other's bodies and press each other's limits. I will teach him and he will teach me."

"Oh my god." Roger began thrusting wildly into me now, his hips moving rapidly. He was a raging fuck machine, pistoning his cock in and out of me. He wasn't looking for release; I don't think he could have cum at that moment anyway, although he was highly aroused, his body needed more and so did mine. We were fucking for the sake of fucking. His body was vibrating all over, we had heard about tantric sex before and that an orgasm if delayed and held long enough could be different, close to metaphysical. We had originally thought that was simply bullshit, but in this moment I was a convert: Here we were rhythmically pounding and writhing against each other, his cock going in and out of me, the slick sound of sex filling my ears; we were blissfully unaware of anything else. I knew he would deal with everything else later, right now he just needed to fuck me and I needed to fuck him. Nothing else mattered at that moment but the continual rapture and pleasure of fucking. We were lost in this moment, to this moment, and both he and I knew it.

"When?" He huffed loudly in a voice that sounded as though it came from outside his body. His cock stroking in and out of me, the sloshing sound of our fucking filling my ears, the smell of sex flooding the room. My orgasm was building deeply inside of me, each contraction causing my aching uterus to spasm. Soon my cervix would thrust itself against my vaginal wall in an attempt scoop up the potent sperm that saturated my womb. I knew Roger had no viable sperm left to give me and what sperm that was left would be my son's. My body was electric, my nipples hard pressing into his chest, my hips opening wide. I was getting ready to breed.

"Tomorrow, tonight, later today, after I'm done fucking you." I meant every word of it, I would fuck Michael again, and again and again for as long as he wanted to slide his beautiful cock into me I would let him. I would take his potent sperm into my fertile womb without a care, knowing too well the potential outcome. "I'm going to go into his room and suck that magnificent cock of his. I'm going to fuck him and he's going to be my lover."

"And then what?"

"Well I might just take a day or two off work." I smiled at him, knowing that, that was exactly what I was going to do. In all likelihood I'd take more than a few days off.

Roger continued to fuck me while we spoke. The talk only served to arouse him more. We were both high on sex, drunk with endorphins. I had been in a continued state of arousal throughout the whole night and now it was the next day.

"Are you going to fuck him all day?"

"Is that what you want baby, for me to fuck him all day?" A mischievous smile returning to my face. I was beginning to like the idea of two lovers, of two cocks whose only purpose was to serve me. "You want me to take him inside me and fuck him like I'm fucking you. As a lover?"

"Will you fuck me after?" His thrusting never abated, even as he asked this very loaded question. I would fuck him, of course I would fuck him but it would never be the same as it was. Michael was now my lover, not his father.

"Yes baby, of course I will." I said my hand reaching up to caress and sooth his brow. "You need to make me cum now, baby. It's getting late and we have a long day ahead of us. Make me cum and add your cum to his, you know you want to, now mix your seed with your son's."

That was it; I took him over the edge. I had taken his fantasy and blew it apart. In fact I had turned it inside out and upside down. Roger was completely caught up in this new and heightened sexuality. I felt beautiful and feminine, which seemed to have him enthralled. His cock raged inside my sex. The continual motion of our fucking bringing us both to the edge, pushing us to greater heights, I was beginning to worry about what I might say or do next.

"Oh fuck you, bitch, you're going to make me cum."

"Fuck me, baby, fuck my used cunt." I encouraged knowing he would not be able to hold back any longer. Frankly neither would I, my orgasm was right there sitting as if waiting for something to push it/me over the edge. And then there it was.

"Oh god, you're going to make cum." Roger groaned and his cock spasmed and began flooding me with rope after rope of his seed.

"Of course I am, baby, that's what a good whore does: she makes her men cum." And then it happened my orgasm hit and radiated out from the centre of my sex. My legs trembled and my stomach fluttered uncontrollably. I grabbed roger's shoulders and dug in with my nails, scoring his skin deeply. "Fuucck, you bastard!!"