by J 12/25/00
Some of you reading this will know what it's like to be left high and dry when a partner suddenly leaves you. I know the feelings only too well after my husband of twenty two years took off with a blond, eighteen year old bimbo. First you feel anger. Absolute rage at everyone and everything. I know it's a cliché, but why should this be happening after you've given the man the best years of your life. I felt anger that my twenty year old son, Jason, who understandably didn't want to share his father's new home, had to move with me into a cheap, two bedroom apartment because that's all I could afford. From living in a nice house with all the luxuries I could wish for, we now lived in a horrible part of town, in a place where the walls are paper thin and there isn't even a washing machine.
After about six months, after you've gotten used to your new standard of living, the anger goes away. In its place comes despair, depression and a feeling of inadequacy.
You feel insignificant and worthless. In my case, the pretty, sexy clothes that I used to wear, remained in my wardrobe. No man would be interested in a forty two year old when there are so many young girls to be had. So around the house, and even when I went out shopping, sweat pants and baggy tops were my new uniform. Make up was no longer necessary, as I had no friends to impress or men to attract.
But I still had sexual needs to fulfil. Nothing takes that away. So most nights, before sleep, I would lay on top of the bed in my pokey little bedroom, and pleasure myself with a dildo and vibrator. I had to be quiet though. Like I said, the walls are thin, and my son always seemed to be in his room next door these days. I felt just as sorry for him as I did for myself. He, too, had become withdrawn and quiet.
Things began to change for the better six months after the separation from my husband. It came out of the blue one afternoon, as I was tidying my son's bedroom whilst he was at college. On the long wall that divides his room from mine, he had hung a framed picture of his current favourite 'babe', Kylie Minogue. It wasn't hanging properly so I went over to straighten it. As I manoeuvred it around, something behind looked peculiar. I took the picture off its hook to examine further, and what I saw nearly caused me to fall over. It was a hole in the wall. When I had regained my composure, I took a peek through. It was only a small opening, but it gave an almost unlimited view of my own room with a grandstand vision of my bed. I dashed into my bedroom to see where it appeared and try to understand why I hadn't noticed it before now. But even in broad daylight, it took me a few minutes to find it. It was hard to see because it was camouflaged by the pattern of the wallpaper.
I sat down on the bed in a state of shock. The realisation hit me that I was being spied upon by my own son. I suddenly thought about my nightly rendezvous with my sex toys. No wonder Jason was always in his room; he was watching his mother masturbate. My initial reaction was of anger. Anger at the pervert son I had brought up. However, that feeling disappeared very quickly. For the last six months I had felt unattractive and ugly. But now a man was interested in me. OK, so the man was my own son. But he must be seeing something he likes or he wouldn't be looking. Very soon I began to feel very excited at the thought of my voyeuristic offspring. I had initially thought about confronting him with my discovery, but now all I wanted was to let him keep his secret. His act of perversion had given me back some self -confidence and I wasn't about to throw it away. So I quickly went back into his room and returned the picture back to the wall the way I had found it.
That night, as usual, Jason went to bed before me. As I entered my room, I was filled with a strange, sinful excitement. I had decided to give my son a bit of a show. I had spent the day soaking in the tub. Before Jason had arrived home from college, I had put on some light make up, nothing too trashy, but enough for him to notice the difference in his Mom. Out went the frumpy clothes. That evening I had worn a shortish, black dress, sheer nylon stockings and black high heels.
I felt Jason's eyes on me all evening. I knew it was wrong, but I just couldn't help myself. I kept inadvertently crossing my legs as I sat on the couch, knowing I was giving my son a good flash of thigh. At around ten o'clock, feeling more horny than I had felt in months, I said I was going to bed. Jason, unusually, had stayed in the living room with me. He followed me along the corridor and we went into our separate rooms together. I normally masturbated in the dark, so Jason had only ever seen me by any moonlight that may have shone into the bedroom. From now on that would be different. So, with the bedside lamp on, I began to remove my dress. With my back to the wall that I knew my son was peering through, I let the dress fall to the floor. As I stepped to one side, I wore only a black bra, matching lace garter belt and French knickers, stockings and heels.
Slowly, I turned around to face my invisible son. Teasingly, my hands came up to my breasts and nimbly undid the front fastening of my bra. As the hook came apart, I slowly exposed my heavy, naked orbs. I am only five two, even in four inch heels, but I am slim around the waist and top heavy, if you know what I mean. I cupped my tits and began to fondle them. I brought one up to my face and began to lick around the hardening nipple and its dark surrounding circle. Then, I sat down on the bed and swung my legs up so that I lay flat on top. I reached into the drawer of the bedside table and took out my sex toys.
Keeping the leg straight that was nearest to the wall that my son was peering through, I bent my other at the knee, so that my shoe was flat on the bed. My knickers were loose fitting, so I gently pulled the gusset to one side and began to explore my pussy with my fingers. Wow, I was already so wet down there. I rubbed my clitoris furiously with the knuckle of my right thumb. In the past, I had stopped myself from making any noise so as not to attract my son's attention. But now that I knew he was ogling me through the hole in the wall, I wanted him to both see and hear his mom in the throes of ecstasy. I groaned as the tingly sensation coursed around my loins.
After a couple of minutes of frigging myself, I reached over and dipped the helmet of the eight inch rubber phallus into a jar of lubrication that I keep on the bedside table.
With my legs spread, I brought it up to my pussy. Holding on to it where the balls would be on a real dick, I toyed with it around my clit. Then, when I couldn't stand it any longer, I forced it into my gaping hole. I gasped as it spread my womanhood apart and penetrated up to my womb, its oversize proportions being bigger than any man who had ever fucked me. I pulled it back until it almost came out of me, then rammed it back in all the way to where my hands held onto it. I got a slow rhythm going and was soon moaning loudly in pleasure. I turned my face towards the hole in the wall that Jason was peeping through, and gave it a dreamy stare. In the space of twelve hours I had turned myself into a sexual exhibitionist. I was working myself into a lather just thinking about how naughty it was performing in this way for my own son.
I had unwittingly increased the speed of the dildo and realised I was close to orgasm. So, fucking myself with that in my right hand, I took hold of the vibrator in my left. As I switched it on, the familiar buzzing reassured me that I would be climbing the walls very shortly. I placed its throbbing tip onto my clitoris and immediately went into convulsive, loud thrashing motions. As my senses reached their crescendo, I let all inhibitions go, and cried out in shouts of pure delight. I fucked myself until I was sure I had completely come, and then slowly started to drop the tempo. The dildo plopped out of my pussy as I lay on the bed breathing heavily. I couldn't be sure, but I thought that I had heard similar noises coming from my son's room. Just in case he had more to give himself, before I got into bed, I gave Jason a nice view of me seductively peeling off my stockings.
Over the course of the next few weeks, I treated my son to this performance almost every night. It was the thrill of doing something that I shouldn't, something that is taboo in almost every society, that really turned me on. Being spied upon is only exciting if you know you're being spied upon. That my own flesh and blood was fantasising over his mother was tremendously stimulating to my erotic thoughts.
Other things changed after that first night's show. Firstly, I began to get back some of my old self-confidence. Secondly, my relationship with Jason became a bit more touchy feely. I had abandoned my bag lady image completely and returned to wearing clothes that showed off my body. Even at home, I always wore make up and high heels. I think my son had become aware that I knew he was peeping at me, and I think that he knew that I enjoyed teasing him. As a result, we became physically closer; touching each other on the arm or shoulder more frequently than ever before. At that stage I was still aroused by the naughtiness of it all, and especially of the feigned secrecy on both sides. But I hadn't really given much thought to how it would develop, or whether I would be prepared to go all the way with him.
The monthly cheques from my ex kept Jason and I in food and shelter. So, after finishing the daily housework, there was nothing much for me to do except watch TV or daydream. It was during a bout of this that I began to worry that my son might be getting tired of seeing his mom just masturbating every night. I had become hooked on his secret attentions and couldn't bear to think of him ever not wanting to spy on me anymore. I had to do something new to keep his interest up. The answer was so obvious, that it took me a whole week to find it; I needed a man. My husband had always been trying to get me to have sex with him and any other man (he wasn't fussy who), saying that it is the biggest turn on in the world to see another guy fuck your wife. I therefore assumed that a son would also like to see his mom being screwed by another. But what would really turn him on, I thought, would be for him to see me having dirty sex. By that I mean filthy, degrading sex. I imagined my son spying through the hole as I was fucked by a vagrant, or by a really old man, or maybe gang raped by two black guys.
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