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Empty Nest Ch. 06

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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September 15th marked the start of my third trimester. I was just three months from having Ben’s baby, and I was getting used to life on my own now that he was off at college. We talked a few times a week and he painted a picture for me of early-morning classes, late nights at the library, and budding friendships with kids from his dorm.

In turn, I told him about my days: my relief that the sticky summer heat was starting to subside, the way my coworkers had started to count the number of times I went to the bathroom every day, the baby’s fun new habit of kicking me awake around four in the morning.

Ben worried I was lonely, and I was. But I assured him I was seeing friends, going to parties, all the things a mom with a (momentarily) empty nest was supposed to do. I worried that he was lonely, but he promised he wasn’t too homesick.

Our phone calls were always chaste; you never knew who might be able to overhear. I wanted to ask him, “Aren’t you homesick for me? Don’t you miss the fun we have? Don’t you want to come home and fuck me?”

Without seeing him in person, it was impossible to know whether he was moving on, pretending like our special relationship never existed. I wanted him to go out and have his own life and not be held back by me. Honestly I did. But it felt like a breakup all the same.

What I didn’t tell my son over the phone was that my hormonal needs hadn’t stopped when I hit the third trimester. I didn’t tell him I’d ordered a vibrator online and used it almost every day when I came home from work and before bed. I didn’t tell him I closed my eyes and imagined him when I masturbated. I told him every time we talked that I missed him, but I didn’t explain all the ways I missed him.

The closest I got was when I told him how badly I could use a massage. I was entering the achy stage of pregnancy, everything from my shoulders to my back to my feet struggling with the extra weight. I fantasized about Ben rubbing my back almost as much as I fantasized about him making me come.

Ben, as always, would do anything for me. After I told him about my aches and pains, he asked if it was OK for him to come home that weekend. Soon I was buying him a bus ticket and couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.

By the time the weekend rolled around, it had been nearly a month since Ben and I saw each other. There was a fall chill in the morning air as I drove to the bus stop. I put a little effort into my appearance, taming my hair and wearing a little makeup and wearing a new sweater that hugged my bump. It started to rain as I drove, dashing my plan of waiting for Ben outside my car, showing off my look.

The bus arrived and I could barely see out the windshield, between the rain and the fogging windows. I thought I saw Ben get off but wasn’t sure until he spotted my car and approached. I unlocked the back gate and he dumped his stuff in– a duffel bag and what looked like a big bag of dirty laundry. My heart was racing.

“Hey, baby!” I called out over the sound of the rain. “Get in quick!”

Ben ran around to the passenger side and climbed in. His hair and jacket were soaked from just a few moments outside. “Hey, Mom,” he smiled.

“Are you growing a beard?” I asked. Ben blushed. It looked like he hadn’t shaved since he left, and his baby face was buried under a layer of dark stubble.

“I guess so,” he said. I leaned in and kissed his fuzzy cheek. My nostrils filled with the smell of him, the smell I’d missed so much.

“It looks good!” I told him, and it was true. He looked like he’d grown up a lot. Now it was his turn to size me up.

“Thanks. You look, uh…” He glanced down at my stomach. At seven months, I was already getting “ready to pop” comments. My belly was beginning to fill my lap.

“Huge?” I laughed, patting my tummy. Ben laughed with me.

“No. Well, uh, yeah, you definitely got bigger. But you look good.” He was looking at my face now, seeing me with my hair and makeup done for the first time in a while. We both blushed. Rain hammered the roof of the car.

“He’s already almost four pounds. I don’t know how I’m gonna make it to December,” I groaned.

“Can I feel?” Ben asked. I smiled. After all we’d done together, he still asked permission to touch me. I undid my seatbelt and presented my stomach, and he rubbed it through my soft sweater. “Wow. It’s getting so tight!”

“I know!” I marveled with him. “I really had a growth spurt while you were gone. I got a bunch of new stretch marks too,” I added with a sigh.

“Can I see?” Ben asked. I glanced around. The parking lot was emptying out as people rushed home in the rain. Besides, it’s not like there was anything strange happening. Just a young guy feeling his mom’s pregnant belly.

I lifted my sweater and peeled down the stretchy panel of my pants, revealing my bump in all its glory. My skin already looked stretched to its limit, getting thin, veins showing through. My once-cavernous bellybutton was shallow and stretched out, on the verge of disappearing. bayan esmer escort bursa The stretch marks I’d talked about were red and jagged, along my lower belly.

Ben stared, fascinated, then touched it. His skin against mine made me shiver. The air in the car was hot and humid. My son traced slow circles around my stomach and rain dripped from his hair.

“I can’t believe it,” he said.

“What, that I’m so big?”

He hesitated. “That we did this.” His hand slid around to the lower slope of my stomach, feeling the stretch marks. “We made this baby.”

“I know,” I said. “How do you feel about it?”

Ben nodded and kept rubbing, staring at my stomach. “It’s weird,” he said. “Kind of weird and kind of amazing.”

“Weird how?” I asked, knowing full well this was weird in lots of ways.

Ben shrugged. “It’s kind of scary. I really can’t believe I’m going to be a father.”

“You know that’s not what I expect,” I reminded him. “You just have to be a big brother.”

Ben kept stroking my stomach. “Yeah. But I’ll always know I’m really his dad.”

I nodded. My lonely, hormonal body was responding to his touch. I wanted him. I wanted to take him home and strip those wet clothes off of him. But if he was feeling weird about this, I wanted to talk it out.

“You don’t regret that we did this, do you?” I asked.

“No,” Ben said immediately. “I wanted to give you what you wanted. And, uh…” he went red. “It’s been fun. It’s exciting. I really don’t regret this.”

I smiled. “I missed you.” The rain was really coming down.

“I missed you too,” he said, so softly I could barely hear it.

“Should we get home, then?” I asked.

Ben looked around. The parking lot was just about empty. Our windows were fogged, and rain flooded down over the glass. I realized what was going to happen a second before he leaned in and kissed me on the lips.

“Ben!” I gasped when he was done. My heart pounded in my chest.

“Nobody can see us,” he said. He reached over me to turn off the windshield wipers, killing the repetitive squeaking sound. He kissed me again and my excitement threatened to eclipse my fear of being seen.

“Ben, let’s go home and do this,” I told him. In response he grabbed my breast.

“You want me to stop?” He asked, squeezing gently, making me whine. I shook my head.

He kept kissing me, slowly massaging my breasts at the same time. “I had to buy new bras again,” I told him.

He smiled. “They just keep getting bigger!” He pulled up my sweater to reveal my boobs. My bra wasn’t the sexiest one I owned; cute lacy things tended to only be available in smaller cup sizes. I’d bought a few of these tan, medical-looking bras to hold back my truly enormous tits. But Ben didn’t seem to mind. His eyes went wide like a cartoon character’s. Shaped and lifted off my tummy, my breasts created a huge canyon of cleavage that made me feel like a porn star.

Ben tried to tug my sweater the rest of the way off and I stopped him. “What if someone comes by?” I asked.

“But I want to get your bra off.”

I smirked at that. “Guess what? This is a nursing bra.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that, so I demonstrated. I opened the little flap over my right breast and exposed my big hard nipple. Ben let out a little moan. I let him open the other flap. He kissed me ravenously, one hand on each tit, his thumbs teasing my nipples. My turn to moan.

“I really missed you, Mom,” he panted as he pulled his mouth away. “I thought about this the whole ride home.” He moved down and pulled my nipple into his mouth and I hissed with pleasure.

“I thought about this the whole last month,” I told him, still anxiously looking around. The parking lot was empty now, and our windows were so foggy it reminded me of a date I’d been on long before Ben was born, before I even met his father, to see “Titanic.” We were probably safe. But we’d come a long way from only touching each other in my bedroom.

My son nuzzled and suckled my breasts, his hand rubbing my thighs through my maternity pants. He was making me so wet I wouldn’t have been surprised if there was a puddle when I got up. I played with his hair and rubbed his shoulders and kissed the top of his head.

My nipple left his mouth with a wet popping sound. “I read that milk doesn’t come in until after the baby’s born,” he said. “Is that right?”

I ran a hand down his back. “I think I started leaking a few weeks before I had you,” I told him. “But just a little. You don’t have to worry about milk just yet.”

“I’ve been thinking I want to try it,” he said. “Would you let me drink it?”

I giggled. “As long as there’s enough for your brother, you can share.”

He rubbed my stomach. The nipple he’d been suckling was big and wet and obscene-looking. “My son,” he said.

“Your son,” I repeated, my hand joining his on my belly. “That’s your son, Ben.” Usually we talked about the baby as just his brother; I worried bursa ucuz eskort Ben would think it was strange to be reminded that he was the father of my baby. But now it seemed to excite him.

“I can’t believe I used to be in here,” he said, continuing to explore my stomach.

“Me neither,” I smiled. Under my hand, my tummy rippled, and I showed Ben the spot. “He’s awake.”

Ben felt the kicks for a moment, then leaned over and kissed my stomach. After a few kisses he returned his attention to my nipples. Above the driving rain I could hear the wet sound of his lips on me, and the groans and grunts that came from my mouth.

I felt hot, restricted in my clothes, but I didn’t dare take anything else off. Ben tugged at the stretchy waistband of my maternity pants, and I stopped him. “Baby, wait till we get home.”

“I want you,” he said breathlessly.

“I want you too, Ben,” I responded. “But even if nobody sees us, there’s no way to get you inside me. There isn’t enough room in here.” My car wasn’t tiny, but it didn’t have the room for a six-foot-tall man and a very pregnant woman to have sex.

“I can’t wait,” he said, and undid his belt. He lifted his butt off the seat and before I knew it his pants and underwear were at his ankles. He was more than hard: throbbing, twitching. Angry veins stood out in his shaft. He tried to climb into the front seat with me and I pushed him back.

“Get my purse,” I told him. “It’s in the backseat.”

He was confused, but as always he did what he was told. He handed me my bag and I found a plastic bottle inside.

“Cocoa butter,” I said. “I use it for stretch marks, a lot of good that’s doing.”

“You want me to rub it on you?” He asked, looking me over, ogling my bare belly and exposed nipples.

“No,” I said, squirting some into my palm. I rubbed my hands together to warm it up. Then I grabbed Ben’s penis with my greasy fingers.

“Oh!” He cried, seeming surprised. I smirked and started to rub him up and down. His hardness felt amazing in my hand. Rigid as steel, but slippery with the lotion.

“I can’t believe you’re still this hot for me,” I told him. “I thought I’d be too big and fat for you now.” And that was true. I’d worried about the way Ben would see me; I was no longer in that nauseous first trimester and I’d packed on the pounds everywhere. And it wasn’t just weight. How many teenage boys were attracted to women who were seven months pregnant?

“You’re beautiful, Mom,” he panted as I made my hand into a fist and caressed him slowly with it, feeling him buck his hips. “You’re still beautiful. I can’t believe you’re… having my baby…”

“Okay, so I’m beautiful,” I teased. “But am I sexy?”

Ben was staring at me, or more specifically my breasts. “Yes!” he gasped. “You’re so sexy… you’re so hot… just look at you!”

The rain hadn’t let up. I took a glance around and kept jerking off my son. “You look at me,” I said. “Just keep looking, Ben. Look at my breasts.”

With my free hand, still slick with cocoa butter, I rubbed my nipple. Ben whimpered.

“You like how big they’re getting?” I asked in what I hoped was a sexy whisper. “They’re going to get even bigger. When they fill up with milk.”

He groaned, his eyes fixated on my nipples. I touched the other one, making them both shiny.

“You want to drink my milk, Ben? Like when you were a baby?” I didn’t know where this was coming from. The extent of my dirty-talk abilities, even with Ben, had been variations of “yes” and “harder” and “oh my God.” But I could see that it was working him up. He writhed around in the seat, thrusting up into my hand.

“Yes,” he panted.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I want to drink your milk.”

He groaned with frustration when I took my hand away, but it was just to reapply the cocoa butter. “Be patient, baby,” I told him, and grasped his penis.

He made all sorts of funny little sounds. I started to go faster. “If you’re a good boy and get good grades at school, you can have some milk,” I found myself saying. It sounded ridiculous. But Ben clenched his teeth in sweet agony.

“Okay, Mom,” he panted. “I’ll do it. I’ll be good.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a pair of headlights, approaching through the rain. My stomach lurched.

“Baby, come for me,” I told Ben. “You gotta do it now. Look at my boobs.” I went faster and faster, squeezed him so hard it must have hurt. Ben did as he was told, got an eyeful of my chest, and roared with pleasure.

I hadn’t thought to aim it. Ben shot his load all over the dashboard, over his shirt, and onto the arm of my sweater before I got it under control. The headlights, thankfully, were moving farther away. Parking at the other side of the lot.

Ben sputtered and gasped his way through his orgasm, then slumped into his seat. “Oh my God…” I reached over his nearly-comatose form to get some napkins out of the glove compartment.

“Clean yourself up, baby,” I bursa anal yapan escort told him, wiping a dribble of spunk off my new sweater. “Let’s get you home.” I closed my bra flaps, pulled down my sweater, and started the car.

By the time we got home, he had recovered. We dashed through the rain to get inside, locked the door behind us, and stripped off our wet clothes. Ben pinched my big butt as he followed me up the stairs, making me squeal. When we got to my bedroom he moved to bend me over but I stopped him.

“Get on the bed,” I told my son, and he complied. His hardness stuck straight up as he waited for me to climb up and mount him.

“I’m not too heavy for you, am I?” I asked as I straddled him. His naked body looked so skinny next to mine. I was the heaviest I’d ever been but the way he looked at me made me feel sexy. Powerful. Full of life.

“No way,” Ben smiled.

I leaned down, squishing my belly between us, so I could kiss him. Then I sat on his penis and swallowed it all up inside me.

“God damn it,” I hissed. “I missed this.”

Ben laughed. “Mom, I never hear you swear.”

I looked down at him, not moving just yet, just savoring the feeling of him inside my body. “Fuck me, Ben,” I whispered.

He did as he was told. As rain hammered the windows he thrust up into me again and again, bouncing my heavy body on his lap. My breasts flopped up and down with our movement; my belly rose and fell. This wasn’t as easy as it used to be; I got sweaty and out of breath quickly, and my back began to throb. I reminded myself to ask Ben for that massage later.

Even though he’d just had an orgasm, Ben didn’t last long. After a few minutes his eyes rolled back and he slammed his penis deep into me, filling me with his seed. That was another thing I’d missed.

“Welcome home, baby,” I said after he’d helped me climb off him and lay beside him, planting a kiss on his cheek.

“It’s good to be back,” he wheezed. He looked pretty spent, but he put his hand between my legs and found my wet, swollen pussy, overflowing with his seed. Almost absentmindedly he put two fingers to my clit and rubbed in tight circles, using the sounds I made to find the right place and speed.

My gasps got louder and became grunts… then a long scream that I tried to muffle with my hand. I didn’t want the neighbors to think I was in labor.

I shivered with orgasmic aftershocks for a while after. My son and I lay side by side, catching our breath, warm and happy, sneaking glances at each other until the rain lulled us to sleep.

The rest of the weekend was more of the same. The rain didn’t let up so we had to entertain ourselves indoors. We hardly left my bed except to eat, and I got ravenously hungry from all the cardio we were doing. Sex wasn’t as easy as it was during the second trimester, and I was more uncomfortable, but I still wanted to take advantage of every minute Ben was home. I even taught him to use my vibrator to get me off, something he became skilled at quickly.

The highlight of it all might have actually been that long-promised massage. I showered and Ben knelt me down against the bed after, rubbing my soft clean skin all over with cocoa butter. He went as hard as I wanted him to, relieving the tension in my shoulders (aching from carrying my breasts), my back (aching from carrying my belly) and my feet (aching from carrying all of me.)

When he turned me over he rubbed cocoa butter into my breasts and belly, and my relaxation turned back to excitement. I returned the favor by lotioning my hands up and massaging Ben’s shoulders and back and chest and thighs, teasing and teasing until I got my hands on his penis and tugged on it until it exploded all over my shiny boobs and stomach.

Of course the weekend was over before I knew it. Soon I had Ben packed up in the car with his freshly-done laundry. We were both sore and spent as we drove to the bus stop. I was sad to send him back, but more confident that he’d come home for more before long. We didn’t talk about when he’d return, but I knew it would be soon. Maybe next weekend, even.

Which is why it was so strange that, not long after returning to school, Ben became hard to pin down. We had a nice normal conversation a few days after our weekend ended, but then a few of my calls went unanswered. His text replies, too, were sporadic.

I would be able to get him on the phone for a few minutes at a time, and he always said everything was fine, he was just busy with schoolwork. He dodged my questions about him coming home. September became October and I started my eighth month of pregnancy before he said he’d come back.

“That’s great news,” I told him. I was sitting in front of the TV, stroking my belly and snacking on sour candy. “I can’t wait to see you. Plus, like I texted you, I got the crib delivered and I’m worried I’ll throw my back out if I try to put it together myself.”

“I’ll help you with that, Mom. No problem.” That was my sweet, helpful Ben. Back at last.

“Would that Saturday morning bus still work for you?” I asked. “Or would you rather come down Friday night?”

There was a pause. “Can I get back to you about that?”

“Sure, honey. I know things are hectic for you right now.”

“Okay. And, uh, could you get an extra ticket? I mean, can I bring a friend with me?”

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

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