Beep Stories


A work of fiction. All characters over the age of 18.
Part One
There are a lot of different things that go through your head when you are having sex with your son. Some of them are the same thoughts that I have had every time we have slept together over the past few months. One is disbelief. Not in a bad way, but in a pleasantly stunned, 'I can't quite believe I'm doing this', way.
I often wonder what I look like from his point of view. On my back with my shins rubbing against my shoulders. Craning my neck higher as he pounds on me. It feels like a hammer crashing against an anvil. Every blow is like whiplash, pushing my neck back and yet I stretch my muscles again to lift my head and gawp at his thick cock ploughing into me to verify that this is really happening.
The second thought is the pleasure. This is linked to the first thought. I don't think I will ever be able to get over this one. Forty-seven years of societal norms and nineteen years of motherhood mean I am unlikely to ever free myself of this part. Neither of us. There is no escaping this taboo. I do not want to. I can unequivocally say I have never cum as hard as I have cum on my son's dick.
Nothing that has come before can rival the intensity or frequency of orgasms he delivers to me. The kink of watching him, holding him and feeling him in me is impossible to quantify. Even the sound of our bodies slapping together is different, almost choral. I could listen to it for hours. I have been listening to it for hours. We have somehow managed to combine the thrill of a fling and the rush of an affair with the intimacy and closeness of a much deeper love.
Even so, I would have thought the novelty would have worn off by now. 'Novelty' is probably a strange way to describe mother-son incest, but in terms of new lovers coming together it is the most apt. He is the lover I cannot imagine tiring of. It is like the taboo is broken anew each time we enter the bedroom hand in hand.
I was a bit of a wild child in my younger days. Ever since I discovered sex, I was always hungry for newer and greater pleasures. Group sex, swinging, BDSM, women, role-play. It was all a wonderful tapestry that I couldn't help but explore. But even I never thought the most vivid and intricate part would involve exploring a sexual relationship with my son.
Tim is beginning to tire. I have run him ragged all day. Tuesdays are our special day. Alex is in the office, but I work regularly from home and Tim has no tutorials today. Even if he had I doubt he would attend. Spending all day in bed with his mother is all the education he needs.
Alex will probably be home soon. In the beginning I was neurotic about being caught or raising suspicions but now I have attained an almost zen-like calm. Somehow sex with Tim makes me feel like that. Like every problem or obstacle can be overcome after yet another cum-soaked session.
I just need this. This one final orgasm. One last dollop of son-cum to swill around my pussy. This is the one I know. The one that gets me pregnant. Deciding to have the baby has supercharged our lovemaking. This is the thought that resonates most now. It is scarcely credible that we have come so far in such little time.
Every day since he first unloaded his hot cum into my frothing pussy has felt like a whirlwind. It seemed so right and natural when we first started. There were no regrets or embarrassments. No shame or horror. That first kiss. The electricity of our tongues exploring each other's mouths and tasting each other's saliva.
The first running of hands over our bodies. The strange fumbling that should have been alien and objectionable but was instead horny and natural. The shedding of personas and clothes. The hardness of his body. The softness of my curves as we held each other. Allowing him to feel my bra and stroke my panties.
Feeling his erection through his boxers before freeing it to take in my hand. That first time watching him slide over me as he guided his penis into my wetness. That incredible first series of orgasms as I clutched his buttocks and tried to force him further into me. The first splash of cum being released into my pussy. I still shiver at the thought.
It has only been two months and already I have pledged my body and my future to him. I am literally head over heels for him and I cannot disguise it. Two months since we have upended our previous relationship and become something I could never have contemplated. It feels like a dream.
How quickly we accepted each other as lovers. I was not the priggish, nagging, uptight mother out to restrict his fun. He was not the irritable, unruly student who chafed under our shared roof. I never imagined that our tension could be resolved like this. That I would be transformed into this incest queen.
I had had affairs before and so had Alex. We were grown up enough to admit that, in a controlled way, they could be good for our marriage. We agreed to look the other way as long as it was a one-off or short fling and there would be no jealousy or rancour.
The idea of sharing me with other men turns him on a little I know. The 'hot wife' with the wandering eye. Some of the details he likes to hear about. Others he couldn't care less about. I almost want to tell him about Tim. Not explicitly, but in an abstract sense.
The thought of me describing sex with our son to him while he is blissfully unaware is a turn on. I worry that I may let too much slip. Articulate too much of an enjoyment. I worry that I may lay out just how much I am shifting away from him. Away from his rules.
And now here I was. Breaking those ground rules. With the last possible person I should be doing it with as well. I should feel bad for Alex, but I don't. His ignorance is delicious. It adds to the wonderful confection of the past few months. Just thinking about the time Tim has spent inside me compared with his father in the same period is a turn on.
Tim pauses for breath. He releases my ankles and my legs fall back down on to the mattress. I admonish him and pull my legs wider. I settle back into a hollow. A rut in the mattress that I am sure has been created over the past few weeks as Tim has drilled me from above.
'You'll never put a baby in me like that, son of mine.'
He chuckles and resumes his thrusting. I grunt as the rhythm of his penis sets my pussy tingling again. I never knew what intimacy was. I thought I did with any number of people including my husband. But here on my back, in my son's bedroom, is where I truly understood what intimacy was. A total invulnerability to the outside world. Just Tim and I sealed in our cocoon, seeking only to pleasure and serve each other.
My hip twinges. The pain from the accident is still there. I bite my tongue and push it aside. It will be overcome very soon I know. I am so close to another orgasm. I feel my pussy squeezing Tim's dick, urging it to expel its precious white cargo. A wave of contractions that ripple all the way along his drenched cock. Teasing the cum out.
I have drained so much of it with my mouth and pussy. It is a wonder that any remains in his balls. He always seems to find some for me. Waiting to be flung once more into my wetness even if it is just a little dribble or drop. I will accept it all.
Tim senses my discomfort and slows his rhythm. It amazes me how attuned he has become to my body in such a short space of time. He has a knowledge and understanding of it that far surpasses that of my husband. But then even Alex and I were not as rampant and relentless as I have been with my son.
Not when we first met, not on honeymoon, not when I first got pregnant. There is nothing quite like the chemistry I feel with Tim. Both in and out of the bedroom. He has become an addiction I cannot be weaned off. There is no rehab or therapy for what we have unearthed.
The bed squeaks louder. I haven't got used to this cramped single bed. I hate how restrictive it is. It barely fits Tim on it. I hate how it jumps and jerks when Tim is close to cumming and thrashing down on me. I want to spread my legs further, have my knees at right angles to allow Tim better access to my pussy. Shorten the gap between his eager dick and my willing womb as much as possible.
It is only because we are close to Alex's arrival that we have retired to Tim's room. It is easier for me to recover myself if he makes it back and we have not concluded our day's quota of fucking.
He has surprised us twice so far and we have only just avoided detection. I sometimes think I want him to find us. Catch us in our moment of shared ecstasy as Tim blows his load into me. I cannot imagine many divorce papers have ever had 'incest' listed as grounds.
The first time we were in the loft together. We had shared a spliff and had settled into our post-toke clinch with me riding him while he giggled up at me with his glazed eyes. The slammed front door quickly shook us out of our haze and we were able to recover before Alex knew anything was amiss.
The second time we had taken precautions but even then it was still a near miss. I was bent over the kitchen table with my panties pulled to one side as Tim slammed me from behind. Thankfully the rest of our clothes were on and it was a relatively smooth transition to normalcy when we heard Alex's car pull into the drive.
Other than those two close shaves our time together has been remarkably incident free. A blessing of the busy lives we all lead. Tim and I can hide between the appointments and obligations we have. It sounds strange but from a logistical perspective, incest with my son has been very convenient. It is so much easier to conduct an affair with someone living under the same roof.
Some days it was as easy as rolling out of the bed I shared with Alex and rolling into the one I soiled with Tim. Part of it is the unlikeliness of our relationship. No-one expects or even conceives that we are enjoying the most tawdry love affair with each other. It feels like a great heist or crime we have pulled on an unsuspecting world, but something so incredible I almost want to be found out.
I wonder what they would do if they knew. Family members, friends, work colleagues, neighbours. If they knew what Tim and I had been up to behind closed doors. Slowly rotating our way through each room, exploring new positions, experimenting with quickies and long, sensual sessions that go on for hours. Screaming filth and whispering tender expressions of love. Lying in each other's arms and making plans for the future.
People speculate and gossip about all manner of encounters and trysts, but a mother and son are sacrosanct. Beyond suspicion. It stretches credibility too so far that sometimes even I feel like I need an independent witness to corroborate the delicious incest that Tim and I are committing. I want someone to be jealous of the orgasms my son is giving me.
Tim gasps and slumps forward. I have worn him out. His dick lies buried in me, still hard and throbbing. It is the last part of him to quit. It is just everything else that has come to a standstill. I hold him close as he catches his breath. It is a wonder he has been able to go on for this long.
I have lost count of the times we have brought each other off today. Alex was barely out of the gate before we had jumped into the shower together. It is the best type of sex when even a break to grab lunch is grudgingly taken. The house is alive with the sounds of our slapping bodies and breathless cries. Like a clockwork music box that opens when we are alone together.
Tim says something but it is muffled by my shoulder. I feel the saliva escape his panting mouth and drool down to my nipples. His chest presses against my breasts. I place my feet back on the mattress and rub his back. My eyes scan across his room and the familiar sights I have grown accustomed to over the past few months.
The crack in the plaster of the ceiling as I lay on my back. The mark on his bedpost that I tease him is the notch he has made for me. The row of books on the window sill as I kneel on all fours on the bed. The phone on the desk that broadcasts the video of the doorbell camera as I am spooned from behind. The full mirror of the wardrobe as I ride on top and watch his cock slip in and out of my pussy. The rug that chafes my knees and back when we don't make it as far as the bed.
It almost sounds as if I am bored and focused on something other than the matter at hand, but it is the opposite. I have come to know this room like I have to come to know my son. To some extent it has always been a cipher, closed off and locked away from my prying eyes. But now it is open and I am enjoying its abundance.
Tim cums with a sharp gasp. I clutch him closer as his cock spasms in me. I am so used to the sensation now. I have learned its idiosyncrasies. How it flaps around deep in my cunt with every spurt of cum. How he always seems to have a final delayed spurt that thrills me again after the initial barrage. The speed at which it shifts from hard to soft and then hard again if I keep him in me long enough. The groove of every vein that ribs against my pussy walls.
I kiss his forehead as he lays spent over the canvas of my body. I have knocked him out. It has taken several rounds of exertions but eventually I have landed the vital blow. I shift my head to the side to check the camera. Alex's car is still conspicuous by its absence. He has been getting later and later. I wonder if he is seeing someone else.
Once upon a time the thought would have been enough to at least stir some level of wifely jealousy but it is the opposite now. I hope he is happy whatever he is doing. Our mutual betrayals soften any guilt we may have. Irrespective of the other parties.
Eventually, Tim stirs and pulls his slick cock from me. He rolls over and rubs my leg. We barely fit onto his single mattress, so we drape over each other's sweating bodies. I go into my now familiar post ejaculation routine. Lifting my legs up to funnel his cum into my waiting womb. I don't know how effective it is supposed to be, but it pleases both Tim and I to watch me take the pose and think about his seed swimming in my pussy. It reinforces the naughtiness of what we are doing. Sometimes there is so much cum I have to do it quickly before it decants out of me. He kisses my cheek and uses one hand to support my leg.
'I'm not sure if anything came out that time, Mum.'
'It did. Not a lot, but definitely something. It all adds up.'
We laugh. At the madness of our love. The forbidden pleasure of it. The natural joy of it. How he still calls me 'Mum.' It feels strange for him to call me by my name. We toyed with him trying my 'normal' name, but it almost feels impersonal. As though I am trying to obscure the thrill of what we are doing as mother and son when the reality is I, we, are celebrating it.
'I mean it. I can feel it. It's coming.'
'Thank God, Mum. You're wearing me out. I'm not sure I can keep this up much longer.'
'Well, I'm so sorry to impose on you with all this sex, Tim.'
He laughs and brushes the sweat-lined hair from my face.
'Honestly Mum, I love it. I love it. I love this. I love you. I want this more than anything. For you to have my baby. It sounds so amazing…each time I say it.'
'Say it again, Tim.'
'I want you to have our baby, Mum. I want to get you pregnant.'
I lift my legs higher and grin at him.
'Yes, Tim…soon. Very soon.'
'I never…never thought I would have this challenge.'
'I mean…I never thought my dick would almost be too raw to fuck.'
'You're not even close, Tim.'
'I know, Mum. God, you just keep me going. I can still do it. I've still got plenty of cum to put in you.'
'I'll hold you to that, Tim. A cum oath is very serious. Much more serious than a blood oath. Don't think I won't be keeping track. If it doesn't go in my pussy or my mouth then there could be trouble. And if you think I'm insatiable now, just wait till I am actually pregnant.'
I take his hand and hold it over my tummy. To bless the union of fluids swirling in me. We have only been 'officially' trying for a week but already I know we have conceived. I think back to seven days ago and when we broached it.
'Broached' is probably the wrong word. It was like we just arrived at the decision without any debate or consultation. It was the eight week anniversary of when we first made love. We were enjoying a slow, comfortable screw by the fireplace. The type of lovemaking where each thrust was long and deliberate and accompanied with a kiss. Where we could almost hold a conversation as Tim dipped in and out of me. I can't remember who mentioned it first. If it was me or Tim, but we were in agreement straight away. It was uncanny how in tune our minds were.
It felt like the natural culmination of what we had started and what we were hoping to continue. It had always been there, in the background. An unspoken, implicit agreement from the first time he came deep in me. I think I subconsciously knew as soon as those first ropes of cum erupted from my son's penis and into my pussy.
There was so much that should have held us back, so much to consider and plan for, but that was all swept away by just the idea of it. It was too much to resist or object to. I had never been as wet as the first time he came in me. He had never been so hard or cum so much. We bring out the nasty in each other. The thought of being impregnated by my son was the embodiment of those urges.
Besides…we were already fully committed to the crime. We may as well see it through to its logical conclusion. Tim and I still mention it jokingly. How we have shifted from law-abiding citizens to prolific criminals breaking the law multiple times a day. I don't feel like a law breaker or a wanton and depraved person. I feel like a liberated woman indulging her darkest desires to their maximum pleasure.
I had assumed those days were behind me. It had been twenty years since I was pregnant and I was a different person now. A different woman. I didn't have any of the nerves or fears of back then. Alex and I had always been vague about having another child until the idea had dissipated completely. But the thought of having Tim's baby filled me with a sense of purpose and happiness. I was overcoming all the trepidation of my younger self.
I had replaced it with the firm conviction of my love for Tim. My son. My man. I feel pride at the thought of carrying his child. Our child. He gets up to bring me a glass of water. I shift on the bed as our combined stickiness clings to me. I have given up trying to wash our linen. It gets dirty again too quickly and I cannot keep up. Try as I might to keep as much of Tim's cum inside there always seems to be plenty left to stain the bed.
I pull the drawer out from under his bed and slip on a floral print bra and panties. He always prefers me in more demure and 'mumsy' attire whether that is under or outerwear. When we first began sleeping together I would try and titillate him with daring and revealing outfits and lingerie but I quickly found out his tastes were more vanilla.
He preferred the cardigans, the skirts, the blouses, long pleated skirts and pant suits and blazers. The pearl necklaces and lockets. The hair held up by barrettes or kept in a bun. The chemises and negligees. Understated makeup and minimal jewellery.
I think it is part of the whole conception. The more moderate and reserved the outfit he more it turns him on. It emphasises to him that I am his mother. Straitlaced, conservative and borderline frigid. A well-kept, well-to-do suburban middle-aged woman. A professional with cultured tastes and a predictable home life. He loves to tear that image apart and rip me from my modest trappings. Free the whore underneath.

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