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DESCRIPTION: When Tabitha catches her son and his best friend masturbating, she can't help but watch... When they catch her watching, then she is left with the question: Should she act like nothing happened, or should she admit to burning desire that she has- and her son has? So who really caught who? EXCERPT: I looked towards my son, to see what he offered; while his friend had such a nice dick- a perfectly suckable cock- I was lusting for the most forbidden fruit of all, if only for fantasy. I want to see the cock of my son, my only son, yes I do! “Fuck it,” Destin said, suddenly, finally giving in, and with that, he pulled out his own dick. As I saw it in the dim light for the first time I had seen it since he was little, I was impressed. Durrell had a nice, thick meaty cock, but my son is even more impressively built; while size isn't everything, granted, there are few things nicer than a big dick to suck on. And my son, well, I have no idea where he got this trait from- it wasn't from Andrew, that is for certain- but he is definitely fortunate. Destin's cock is a little longer than his best friends, and while it didn't seem much thicker in the light, it is an even match in it's girthiness; Destin has the type of dick that other men are jealous of, and the type that some women would be scared of at first. I've never had one that big; I wonder what it feels like? I didn't marry Andrew because of his physical traits, or his sexual ability; Andrew is a conservative lover, and even when we first married, the sex between us was adequate, but nothing to write home about. I married Andrew because I love him, and I knew that he was reliable, he was steady, and even if he is boring, he will never be the type to get a hair up his ass one day and disappear into the wild blue yonder. Destin's cock reminds me of one I had right before his father's; a one night stand in college I had, with a boyfriend of a girl that I was friends with. At the time, she and I were fighting, so I decided to fuck her man; although nothing came of it- me and her patched things up, and he ended up moving away- I still remember how good he felt inside of me. I wouldn't say I'm a size queen, but any girl who says she doesn't appreciate a nice cock- like that on the two boys in front of me- is only saying that because she doesn't want to hurt her husband's feelings, or she is afraid of fully embracing her own pleasure. Too many women are afraid to admit even to themselves what really turns them on. Like watching their son masturbating? “Almost there, watch out,” Durrell warned, and with a grunt, he came, a handful of spunk all over his closed fist. I bet that tastes good. Destin, meanwhile, didn't say a word; he simply groaned, and his own eruption burst forth. Even from a few feet away, I watched the thick drops of cum- a thickness that young men seem so able to muster- fly several inches into the air. “Oh fuck!” I suddenly exclaimed, verbally as I felt my own crashing orgasm sweep over my body, my legs twitching as I came, right after my son; I was last to cum, as always, but the feeling of intensity was one like I had not experienced in years, even if my hands were the cause (and not one of their beautiful young cocks!)
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Liczba stron: 72
by Madame Gallivant
Published by Lot’s Cave
The Catcher In The Den No.1
Caught Catching My Son, © 2018, Madame Gallivant
Cover by Lot’s Cave
All Rights Reserved
All Characters In This Book Are Age 18 Or Older
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the Lot’s Cave website and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
A Lot’s Cave Novel
Caught Catching My Son
“So has Destin talked about college yet?” I asked my husband, as I began setting the table for dinner.
“No,” Andrew said, looking up from his phone, “Why?”
As much as Andrew liked to complain about young adults and their phones, my husband of twenty years was just as bad. Andrew worked ten or twelve hours a day, and every moment he wasn't at the office, he seemed to be connected to his black plastic device.
“I'm just getting a bit worried, that's all,” I said, absentmindedly flicking a loose strand of my hair.
I am definitely overdue for a visit to the salon; there is way too much gray showing.
“He's very quiet, like you, hon, but still, he should be getting ready for the fall,” I agreed.
“Now you’re worried about what Destin's plans are?”, Andrew said, his voice switching to that tone of incredulous disdain that I have always hated, as his eyes looked back to his phone.
“A little bit,” I admitted, annoyed.
I turned back towards the stove top, and knowing that Andrew was paying absolutely no mind to me, I just happened to drop a plate from the counter.
Maybe that will get his damn attention!
“Damn, looks like you broke a plate!” Durrell said, in his loud, direct voice, a tone of laughing in his words as he walked into the kitchen.
“Mom, you okay?” my son, Destin asked, right behind his best friend, as usual.
“Yes, I'm fine,” I said, which was half true; having been a wife for two decades, and a woman for twice that length of time, I knew how to drop a plate without cutting myself. Turning around, I saw that Andrew still sat there, obliviously staring at his phone, but the two young men in the doorway were concerned with what I was doing.
Destin, of course, was just being the good son he always was; the middle child, the only boy, he was used to putting up with women and their ways- from his older sister Bridget's competitiveness, to his younger sister Gwen's babyish qualities. Smiling, almost shrugging his shoulders, he began to pick the pieces of gray ceramic nearest his feet up from the floor.
Durrell smiled too, but the look on his face was not one of a son's concern, but that of a hungry male animal; as I knelt to pick up the pieces next to me, I saw his blue eyes look first into my own, down to the swell of my breasts, and then back to my face- a glance that, while not long enough for me to call him on it, let me know exactly what he was interested in.
Looking him directly in the eye, I let Durrell know that I knew what he was doing; many men, when I catch them staring, immediately turn their heads quickly, almost sheepishly.
Durrell, smiled even more broadly, and he made a point to look down again at the flesh exposed by the top of my plain blue blouse. He was caught, and he didn't care.
“Do you need help with anything else?” he asked.
You smooth bastard!
I tried not to grin- here was this eighteen year old, my son's best friend, flirting with me- and I really shouldn't have. Grinning just encouraged him, but I couldn't help it; meanwhile, my myopic, self-absorbed husband was still off in his own world.
The boys sat down at the table, and as I served dinner, I saw that Durrell could not seem to keep his eyes off me; as Destin talked a little bit about some school event, Durrell's glances kept going from his plate to my chest. Despite myself, I felt warmth growing in between my legs.
Durrell was a good looking boy- no, young man- taller than average, with thick, jet black hair, blue eyes, and an almost chiseled jaw. I could not help but notice how his white t-shirt clung to his chest, the clear outlines of his muscles straining against the thinness of the fabric; yes, he was one good looking young man.
My son is the same height as his best friend, and just as attractive, though in his own way; though the boys share the same length of inseam, there the similarity in looks ends. Durrell is dark haired, with pale skin, and ice cold blue eyes; my son is tanner, with brown eyes like his father, and light brown hair that was somewhere in between my own and his dad's.
Yet neither one of them had girlfriends, at least not to my knowledge; a mother doesn't know everything, let alone everything about her son's best friend, but I had never heard either one of the boys mention anything about a girl in particular. Sometimes I walked by them when they are playing video games and they are talking about how some classmate was blowing someone in the bleachers, or who had the best pussy, but nothing they had said had ever indicated to me that either one of them had anything but second and third hand “experience.”
“Hey, mom, is it alright if Durrell stays tonight?” Destin asked me, and that made Andrew lookup from his phone.
“Well, tonight isn't the best-”my husband began to say.
“Yes, of course,” I said, smiling at my son, and quickly, almost daringly, at Durrell, “You are always welcome in our home.”
Now who's playing the game? I should be ashamed of myself!
“Tabitha, I have to get up early tomorrow-” Andrew began to say, whining really.
Lately he had taken to whining, and I was getting tired of it.
It was bad enough that Andrew didn’t give any thought to his appearance anymore- nobody can help getting older, myself included, and I don't expect him to be perfect- but Andrew had embraced the complacency of middle age in fullness. His hair, once thick and brown, was cut poorly, due to his insistence on “getting it cut for under ten bucks”; his glasses, last updated in the Clinton administration, did nothing but make his broody eyes look even more intense. Not in a good way, either; Durrell's eyes blaze with the intensity of a young man's ardor, but my husband’s eyes had the intensity of an accountant looking for an error in the books.
Andrew is not a pauper; he makes a decent living, and there is no reason why my husband can't buy shirts that don't come from thrift stores, or pants that don't have rips on the bottom because they are too long for his legs. Andrew works in an office, and office casual is somewhat to blame for this new sloppy employee look, but the least he could do was wear decent jeans!
“You always get up early,” I reminded him.
With that, Andrew decided to leave the table for his office. The man does work hard, well, as hard as pushing buttons on a computer can be. I have never been able to accuse my husband of mental laziness; I just wish he would invest some of his efforts into his body.
At forty-two, I am not a school girl anymore; three kids has put a few extra pounds on me,
I have some sags and wrinkles and the normal effects of age on my body. Nobody can expect to turn thirty, let alone forty or older, and not have some changes in their physical appearance. But I go to the gym every morning, I walk and I run, and I make an effort; and while I won't ever be the young girl I was back in college, I still make men look at me in want. I still see that look of lust in their eyes when I walk by.
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