Anal In The Attic! - Lady Devreux - ebook

Amy decides to sneak up to the attic for a little self pleasure, when her husband and her boys are busy in the yard. Little does she know, her eighteen year old son is on to her habits- and he follows her upstairs, where he catches her doing something that sons should never see their mommies doing! This is an erotic romance novel, containing incest themes, and is for adults only (18+). Excerpt In the mirror, I saw the unmistakable presence of my son, Charles. He stood there, a blank look on his face- he seemed to be as startled as I was, unsure of what had just happened. He was dressed in a pair of red and white shorts, a stained white wife beater, and his black hair stuck to his head from the sweat that was emanating from his body. I saw that his hand was inside of those loose athletic shorts that he wore, and what looked like a very large and very erect penis jutted forward from his body. How long had he- “I saw what you were doing,” Charles said, taking charge- he was the oldest, and he was used to bossing his younger siblings around, as he broke from his own spell, “So, how long have you been jilling off like this, mom?” It is inevitable that when people masturbate, and they live in a house with other people, that one or the other will at some point walk across their activity. I had almost caught him jacking off before, in the living room, and I had dismissed it. Now, though, I was the one whom was caught- not by my husband, which would have been useful, or by my daughter (which would have been bad, but understandable in the way that females naturally understand each other)- but by my son! “Charles, I- wait, I don’t think,” I stammered. Yes, I am in the right- I am an adult, and it is my business if I get myself off. I don’t have to explain myself to anyone, especially you! I knew this, so how come it was so hard for me to say it- I should be yelling at him, and then I remembered I was naked. Fully naked, my entire mature body exposed to the eyes of my son. “Doesn’t it bother you, seeing your mother naked?” I said, weakly, the first thing that came to my mind. I would not have liked to see my mother naked, and a boy should not want to see his mother naked, either! “Nope,” Charles said- I could see him grinning in the mirror.

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Chapter One

Chapter One: The Perfect Day

What a perfect day.

So far, everything had been going good for a Saturday- for once, both me and my husband had off from work (as a waitress, that is a rarity), and in an even rarer occurrence, my children were actually not fighting. Breakfast had been a relatively basic affair- toast, jam, and cold cereal- but the greatest part of the meal was that I did not have to play the referee.

As a mother, I have many jobs- in addition to serving customers at a local eatery, at home I am still expected to be the primary provider of housework. My husband works too- at a local factory that makes, of all things, toilet bowls- and I understand that the last thing he wants to do when he gets off work is to help with the cleaning. Normally, I allow him to get away with this. As in any marriage or other long term romantic relationship, over the years you learn which battles are worth fighting- and which ones are not.

We live in what could be called a normal town, in a normal house- or as close to normal is, nowadays, anyway. Our home is located on the end of a tree lined street, though it is far from a modern house, or an up and coming new development. Our part of Ohio was much as it had been for the last century or so- a town that had more closed factories than open ones, with streets that needed patching and people that needed steady work. The neighborhood we lived in was unremarkable, with the same homes that had stood for decades. It may not have been the wealthiest part of town, but at least it wasn’t a crime ridden inner city slum.

Jeff had pushed me into agreeing to move here not long after we were married, twenty five years ago, with the idea that this would be our starter home. His father was one of the senior members of the union at his company, so Jeff was not worried about ever losing his job. Plus, toilets are always going to be needed, and while China can make almost everything cheaper than Ohio can, the quality requirements of personal porcelain ensured that they would never take over this market. Jeff thought that eventually he would replace his father in his position, once the older man retired, and maybe even become the shop steward. When those days arrived, we would be moving out of the city and into the country- this was just temporary.

Instead, in this nine hundred square foot two story building, with it’s faded blue-gray paint and old fashioned style pane windows, we had lived ever since. While Jeff had never been laid off- even in the recent depression- he had not become his father. The union was disestablished, thanks to some wrangling by the company and idle threats that intimidated less stalwart workers into signing it away, so there would not be another shop steward. Jeff didn’t get his wage or benefits cut- as part of the agreement, the current employees maintained their pay rates- but the once certain future of an eventual solid thousand dollar a week income was as likely as winning the lottery. I had given up the dream of a brand new suburban home, but I should not complain.

Jeff had been smart enough to buy this place when he did- even the other houses on our block were now renting for double or triple our mortgage payments. How the new employees managed to survive, with their wages less than Jeff started at thirty years ago, was beyond me.

Be grateful you don’t have to figure that out.

Raising three boys and a girl in a house with three small bedrooms is a challenge. Siblings will fight anyway- it is as natural as puppies biting each others tails- but with all three of our sons living in the same room, in a triple bunk bed, the fighting had been nearly constant since they had all become teenagers. Brothers fight differently than sisters do- I have only one sister, and Jeff was an only child- and sometimes it could be difficult to understand exactly what they were arguing about. As a girl, I had fought with my older sister about things such as boys to date or clothes that I wanted to borrow- my boys may not want to share each others clothes, but they always seemed to get into fist fights over everything from video games to who got to borrow my car.

Hopefully this was going to change soon- our oldest son, Charles, had just turned eighteen, and was about to graduate from high school. I did not want to push him out of our home- that would be wrong to do- but I hoped that he would get into a college that was halfway decent, with ample dorm space. One less son at home, reduced the arguing factor substantially, and since he was the oldest, he always knew how to manipulate the others into doing what he wanted. If his sister annoyed him, then the boys would gang up on her- if he was mad at one of his brothers, than he would play the other one off against him.

Charles didn’t have terrible grades, but his high school career had been far from stellar. He wasn’t interested in sports, not that Jeff had been either, and he wasn’t an Einstein- just an average every day kid. I was hoping that he was going to get into college somewhere, without us having to pay the tuition- but there was a good chance that he was going to be living home for more than just a few months. Our credit was okay, but a second mortgage to send one child to school was not fair to the others, even if we could afford another payment every month.

This was one of the reasons that I had been taking more shifts at the restaurant lately. I had been working at this place for almost a decade- it wasn’t the best place to work, or to eat, but it stayed busy enough to justify staying employed there. Plus, with almost all women in this town who were not working at a factory seeking waitressing jobs, I knew that jumping from one place to another at the slightest offense or the slightest idea that the grass was greener on the other side was foolish. It was better to stay put, and I knew it.

At forty seven, I can’t lie- I was tired of slinging hash and bringing eggs and bacon to hungry truckers and drunk college students. Don’t get me wrong- being a waitress isn’t all bad. While it is definitely not the line of work for everyone, it does have certain perks. I come home with money in my pocket every day, and though we usually need to spend it right away to fix something or someone, at least we never have a day when we are completely tapped out of funds. My feet are always tired when I come home, and last night had been no exception.

Jeff may not have been a man to push a vacuum cleaner or even pick up his own clothes, but at least he was skilled with his hands when it came to repairs. He had kept this house from falling apart, which was a definite accomplishment. When we had purchased the place, the building was already showing it’s age- after our long time of living here, it was definitely holding together due to Jeff’s handiness with a set of tools. On Saturdays, there was always some project or another that my husband had to do- and I usually was working a double shift.

Today I had off, and as I poured myself a cup of coffee in our small kitchen, I watched from the window as Jeff co-ordinated our sons into a reluctant work team. The lawn was getting bad again- for some reason, people seem to toss trash all over the place, and the wind always blew beer cans and soda bottles into our yard. Jeff stood there in his old tobacco stained overalls, a gift from his grandfather when he got his job at the plant, as I decided what I was going to do for the day.