Stacy 's Dream
by Wistful

m/F, inc, confidence game, rom, insecure

Mom gets a second chance ...

1.

"Stacy Martin ! ”, you again berate yourself in the deep respite of your mind. How did you ever let it get this far ? Until tonight, your only lover since your marriage ceremony was your husband John, attractive in his way, loving after a fashion, but perhaps gone a piffling bland."But !"you again monish yourself,"that 's no alibi for this !"as you drive to the ball club that he suggested for your rendezvous. God ! You even dressed as he asked, right down to your total darkness satin panty, matching slick bra and Joseph Black fishnet hose."shucks ! If I do n't count like a sporting lady now, who does,"you continue remonstrating yourself, but the warm, satiny feel of your undies, and knowing who will later transfer them, titillates you as much as frightens as you as you drive on into the night, and to the next townspeople some twenty miles away. He 'd thought it better to meet in a lieu where neither of you were known. Reluctantly, quivering in anticipation, you agreed."And damn it ! You 're still quivering ! Ca n't you see this is wrong ? ! Do n't you cognize it goes against the Christian church and the law and even your marriage ?"You severalize yourself you know all this, and you tightly grip the wheel, yet you drive on, no thought of turning back, until you see the roadside lights beckoning you to your meeting billet, a quaint niggling bungalow motel, just off the road, with a quiet restaurant and bar and convenient parking in the rear. Wheeling around the motel office, you see the threshold to the adjoining club in front of you. Stopping, setting the brake in your lease, you feel yourself go flushed once again as you check your hair in the mirror"red cent !, but you still look good at 36."Its your make or break bit."Well ...,"you say to yourself as you exit the car,"Its now or never,"and you stride forward on trembling legs, grasp the threshold handle, and enter the club.

You blush, your breathing time grab, and you look to beetle off back out as your debut is greeted by howling, hungry wolf whistles, and several lewd and obscene offers from the first half XII cattleman you pass on your way to the lone open elevated bar-table along the face bulwark. As you make your way to the table, settle yourself in with one slender, heeled leg bent at the articulatio genus, the other toe grazing the floor, you anxiously search the low sea of faces for his. Is he here ? Did he remain firm you up ? Is this a fucking jocularity ? Just when you 're thinking just how bad an idea this really is, considering retuning home from all this foolishness, he rears his head from one of the further pool table, hands off his cue, and slowly, purposefully strides towards you, the picture of a rangy outdoors man in gabardine, jeans and boots. Your heart stops when you see the lighter in his eyes, his warm, wicked grinning and his Edward Thatch of studiedly unkempt auburn hair. You mind a fog, your throb roaring in your pinna, your breathing space coming in pant, your eyes are only for him. You do n't even hear the hoots of"Never Happen !"or"Not a fucking chance in pit !"from the cowpoke dismissing his approach to you. Nothing else matters. He 's here.

Boldly, obscenely, he strides right up between your legs, clasps your head in his big hands, and gazes deeply into your eyes. Your kernel stalls, flutters ; your breath catches again and your jaw driblet as he catches your upper lip between his tongue and his own upper lip, worries it a little, then bends to give you the kiss you 'd only dreamed of. To the bird and cheers, and a few"What ? !"of the topical anaesthetic folk, he crushes you to his body, pressing his jeans-covered rousing on your already cunt-soaked pantie, and continues the recondite, soul-wrenching kiss. A small representative in the cover of your idea effort to warn that you 're only dream, but the forefront of your judgment and philia knows this is actual. Its happening now. He 's here. He 's kissing you in a very public place, and you 're loving every trampy, breathy, overbold mo of it, shakes, trembles and all. When you both decide to come up for air, he again staring deeply into your eyes, the plaza is silent, all eyes on the two of you. In an unaccustomed sway of style, he cups a deal on your butt, pulls you from the chair, and with a half-dancing tour, points you both at the door. You do n't even hear the local anaesthetic fools anymore. Your eyes only for him, his only for you ; your branch over his shoulder, his hand still firmly cupping your arse, you slowly stride out of the place and head to the room he 's reserved for you. Another deeply, body-shuddering kiss at the front room access, and you 're in the room. You do n't know how or when. You 're simply there. The lights are already dimmed, the canvas are turned back, and there 's a bottle of odoriferous wine cooling in a bowl of ice on the small cottage table beside two brandy snifter. He 's pulling out all the full stop, but you were pretty sure he would. It seems to be just his way.

2.

Not one to desolate the here and now, he again clasps you to his torso, kisses your mouth, your neck, your auricle as he handily unties the behind-the neck mile of your sleeveless red halter, and flake off it down below your black satin bra, kissing and nibbling down your shoulders and chest, to the very top of your cleavage as he does. Then, stroking your vertebral column and shoulders with one paw, he traces down your English to the zipper of your black micro-skirt, and in one svelte move, the skirt is suddenly at your mortise joint. Then, raising your arms, holding both your handwriting in one of his, he brings your halter back up over your boob, over your head, and off your body as you daintily maltreat out of your chick. He steps back momentarily to take you in. You shiver slightly as you realize you 're standing in front of him in only your bra, panty, garters, hose and heels."God ! ”, you tell yourself."I 'm a piece of tail tramp on display."But he steps forward and wipes that image from your thought process with another earth-shattering kiss, his fingers stroking your backbone, his hired man cupping and gently squeezing your tail end, and then his mouth on your neck. Your succus are flowing steadily now, and the way fetor of feminine sex, a reckless odour the does n't break loose him, as you see by his flushed fount, his renewed ardor and arousal. Momentarily faint, you flush and back up against the wall. He does n't miss it. Before catch your next breathing time, he 's easily picked you up, carried you the few tone, and gently laid you on the bed.

You start to speak, but he gingerly traces a finger's breadth over your sassing as he traces your hip cradle and panty girdle with his other script. Does he suffer enough hands for all he 's doing ? You 're ecstatic, your consistence trembles, your breath is gasps, you 're flushed and warmly from your eyebrows to your pap, your pussy is a flowing spigot. You thought you knew what making beloved was about, but you 're through the roof now, and he has n't even started yet. Its twisting. You want to say so, but you dare not. You might ruin the moment.

You 're on your back. He sidles up adjacent to you on his position, tracing your face, neck and upper body with tender, vague fingertips. Somewhere, he seems to bear lost his shirt. You return the party favour, trailing your sculpted nails over his tight, hairless dresser. When he absently, nimbly slips a finger under your panty lineage, Oh My God ! You cum ! He has n't even got your panties off, and you 're cuming like an addled schoolgirl ! Not the rip-roaring, screaming, squirting thing ; your body trembles, your stomach flexes, and your ever-flowing juices change their smell to that of a fair sex who wants a putz NOW !, a fact not lost on him.

He turns your head for another smothering kiss as he undoes the clasp on the front of your bra, letting the cup fall aside to expose your ripened orb and blood-stiffened rouse teat. He smoothly moves to report the nearer nipple with his sassing while his free hand caresses your early. You continue to menstruate and flex."What is fucking WITH you ? ! ”, your judgment shrieks one last meter, but your trunk is putty in his hands, and he 's gently sculpting a devotee out of you. As he continues licking and sucking your nipple, his undetermined fingers trace from your breast, down your potbelly, to your step-in top. Your body is already taut, lifted by your heels, to help him doff them for you. You no longer think straight. No longer worried about about what 's happening, you let it befall. Somewhere in your love-lust fog, your panties, hosiery and heels have vanished, along with his kicking and jeans. He lies next to you, you turn to him, naked body to bare soundbox, as it should be, and return the caresses he gives you with kisses and caresses of your own. You 're in Heaven, he 's God, and your body yet sizzles and muscle spasm to his touch. You 're helpless in his manus. He kisses your rima oris, he nibbles your chin and neck, he traces his glossa and fingertips over your titty, he traces the bony rooftree that is your pelvic girdle, until his mouth and both custody arrive at your ache, swollen kitty. You 're stunned beyond impression at what he does next : the lover 's osculation he gives your pulsing mound is the buss you only care your husband gave your mouth ! You cum. You squeal, You bounce. You shriek. You shudder. And you flood the bed with more of your impatient love succus. God ! If only we could have done this Sooner ! But ...

When he senses your impatience, he rises over you, gaze deeply into your eyes, and mounts you, giving you his full length in one excruciatingly slow, agonizing stroke, and comes to rest on your soundbox. His weightiness is a comfort, his coat of arms engulf you, his manhood fill you, and his ragged hint in your ear gun trigger another moving ridge of joy throughout your body. You 've opened the door. He 's come home.

His thick shaft pistoning in and out of you sends more undulation of electric current through you. He kisses you. You kiss him. He cuddles you, cradles your principal. You stroke his pilus. mentation of you, he shifts your position, pulling out of you as he does. Your heart stops. You feel an urgent mother wit of loss until he has you on your incline, he behind you, and you grasp his stopcock to institute him home again. His arms around you, tracing your body, cupping and cradling your breasts, your head on his, his humanity moving inside you with rhythmic tenaciousness, you 're on a cloud. You 've never made making love like this, but Damned if it is n't great ! As you tense, he grabs your hips and pulls you tighter to him, giving you all he can reach, and you cum again ... and again ... and again. He brings the very woman out of you so easily, so often, that you wonder in some dim way where he learned to do that. You might even dare to ask him some time, but not now ...

His cause more erratic, his cock thickening inside you, you know he 's close. Its your grownup moment of decision yet. And he helps you make that conclusion as he again pulls out, lays you on your cover, and again climb you. His step quickening, his thrust deeper, his nerve and neck muscularity red and tight from holding back, his flavor at you is all the query he needs. Your trunk glowing, sated, your mind returning, but taking a back seat to your heart, in a fanfare you ask yourself"Do you love him as much as he loves you ?"“ Yes !"“ Would you deny him anything in your power to break him ?"“ No !"“ Are you willing to have his baby ... ?"“ Uh ... yes ..."You close your middle on his gaze, nod your acclivity, and you reach for his fundament and pull him deeper into you. His breathing space explodes, his body milk sickness, he bottoms-out in you and lets go. You feel the cryptical spasming throb of his peter as he releases wave upon wave, thickly, virile spirt of of his own love life juices inside you. You cuddle him, you kiss anything you can reach, you whisper endearments in his ear, as you wait for his throbbing passion to wane. What a shag weird fourth dimension to think back that you ovulated just yesterday ! Ohhhh, God ! But you reign that in as you cuddle, stroke and caress the lover who so recently pleasured you like no one ever had. As he starts to roll off you, you roll with him until you 're back rima oris to verbalize, body to eubstance, sharing the glowing of atonement. You trace his ear, he traces the scruff of your neck opening. As you lie on the pillow facing him, you make one more decision. You douse the bedside light and rip the natural covering over you both. As you 're being taken by the spook of sleep to fare, you hear the exclusively genuine words spoken tonight :"I love you, Mom ..."


3


Ever the early riser, you awaken with a disoriented start, your bedroom is different, the smells are dissimilar - oh ... Oh !"tinker's damn, young lady ! You really went and did it, did n't you ?, you mildly reproach yourself as you snuggle confining to the wonderful young man sharing your bed."You made a date with your own son, let him FUCK you, and even let him CUM INSIDE YOU ! Gawds ! You can still sense some of it coming out of you yet. Are you pregnant ? Do you even really like anymore ?"“ Um ... Not really."You love him, and you love what the two of you have started. But you want to push it, see just how far you - and he - will go. You do n't have intercourse yet how you 're going to do that, but it has to be this morning if you 're going to forge a bond with him. For now, a shower. You got ta clean off the stew and un-mat your gummy pussy before it stinks and glues itself shut. You stroke his pectus, fall in his cock a docile credit crunch ( it pulses in response ), and head off to the shower, leaving him uncovered. If that and the haphazardness of the shower do n't come alive him, you 'll at least be treated to a luscious good deal when you come back out.

In the cascade, you tell yourself in no unsettled terms that you made a bed finis Night, and you damned well bask sleeping in it. Son or no, that young man loves you ; he 's a blame good fuck, and you are n't ever going to let him get away if you can serve it. And you 've hit on the matter you want to try, even need to try, to make certainly of him. Will he ... ?

You come out of the bathtub wrapped in a large fluffy Elwyn Brooks White towel knotted between your breasts, and wrench to see him waiting his own turn. You both flush. He kisses you as deeply as you remember from last night. He 's still here. You playfully thrill his rib, and stroke a fingernail down his semi-erect prick. He rips the towel from your trunk, and swats you on the tush as you playfully scamper away. Then the door is closed and you hear the shower once again. As he hums a vaguely familiar tune you can just learn over the cascade, you decide to pull out your big guns out of your pocketbook - a small-scale, clingy bluish-gray tube wearing apparel designed to leave cypher to the vision, and strategically roll it onto your consistency, ensuring with a flying glimpse in the conceitedness mirror, that the last in of your bare pubes are still seeable from a distance. If you 're going to slut for him, may as well pull out all your own layover, hm ? You studiedly have your cover to the lavatory door when he opens it, your hands just studiedly on your skirt as though to fetch up rolling it down the conclusion few inches when you turn to see him - just as you 'd hoped, naked save for the towel he 's running through he hair his stopcock still half-mast. punt on !

He takes you in with one up and down glimpse, you both even out, His rooster rises, he cocks an eyebrow, you lick your sassing, , and he 's on you ! Pinning you to the wall, he plants his now fully aroused pecker at your front line room access, and slams in !"Owwwwwww !"He 's pulled in some whisker and a lip in with his passado, but that 's released when he backs out for another lunge. You growl. He grunts. You both huff. You slam into one another. This is n't"making love,"this is raw, creature passion playing itself out on your dead body. You had to screw if this would take place ... You ? You 're in pain, you 're in joy, you 're in heat energy ! He 's in rut. You know you wo n't cum from this one, but you do ! You screech ! You scream ! Your body goes taut. You ca n't make a motion. You ca n't breathe. You flood your legs and the carpet beneath you with your squirt ! Ohhh God ! You NEVER did THAT before ! UhhheeEEEEE ! ! !, you wail, as he slams into you one final sentence and unleashes his own impulse gusher inside you ! Your juice mingle down both your legs as he breaks the osculation to again stare softly into your optic. Love, sated passion, confusedness, embarrassment, joy all vie for quad on his tender, young face. You disabuse his confusion with a long, loving kiss of your own as you take his penis from your body and casually, intentionally wipe his final stage dribbles on your skirt hem, before doffing it and guiding you both back to the cascade. You know you 'll be wearing that underground apparel all day today, and that it 'll be full for at least two more boffs, maybe more ?, before you get wherever it is you 're going. God ! How slutty is that ? !

After breakfast in the tiny buffet car, you back in your cum-stained tube dress, of course with no undies, you check out of your room, leaving your rental key with the clerk for the company to come reclaim it. Your card will cover it, of course. You hop into his restored Graeco-Roman convertible, now fully understanding his penchant for the judiciary tooshie and center seat belt of those older cars, You smile as the wind catches your whisker. You lean your back against him, his arm over your shoulder. your bridge player on his arm as his his finger's breadth dance over your bare cuze and button, rewarding you with a string of screaming, mind-bending, seat-soaking cums as you blow down the two-lane highway, the sun and the wind in your hair. Its a dream you 'd thought long stagnant, but that your own teenage son revived and fulfilled. Sweet. What will you make the baby ... ?