Privately she came to think of it as a perversion. Something that only certain low types did. June was an urbane, sophisticated woman. This rationalization was like others people do to justify something they cannot have. It’s called the sour grape principle. The fox could not reach the grapes after repeated tries. He rationalized that they are probably sour anyway and not worth the effort.
She felt dirty. She needed a shower. She swung her feet over the side of the bed and stood up. As she moved around the foot of the bed, she recoiled as she stepped on the wet rug where Carter had cum. She stared from the soaked rug to the ruined duvet. She glanced at the door leading from her bedroom to the sitting room that separated her bedroom from her husband’s bedroom.
She knew he was not there. He was never there physically or emotionally anymore. He was wherever he spent his time.
June unbuttoned the remaining buttons on her blouse and slipped it off. She grimaced as the cotton silk material slid across her sore nipple. She gingerly rubbed it with her forefinger. If they were bigger, I could lick it and make it better. She looked again at the large residue of her son’s orgasm. Jesus, how much did he come?
She unzipped her skirt. It dropped from her slim waist and fell in a pile over her son’s mess. When she picked up her skirt, her fingers inadvertently touched the wet spot. She snatched it back and used her foot to kick the skirt away. She held her moist hand with her fingers up and spread. She looked around for something to wipe her fingers, to remove the residue of her incestuous act, to cleanse her fingers and herself.
She turned toward the bathroom and stepped again into the wet spot. She stood naked with both of her tiny feet fully contained by the circle of Carter’s ejaculate. As she wiggled her toes, she brought her cum moistened fingers to her mouth and licked them. A shiver when through her body as she tasted the salty stickiness.
Disgust caused her stomach to turn. She knelt and rubbed that hand through the sticky mess. She hated herself for being so weak. She brought her hand to eye level. The thick liquid was cold and congealed. She licked it from her fingers one come coated finger after another, smacking her lips as if it was some delicacy. She ran her hand through the rapidly drying pool. She opened her legs and stuffed the hand into her pussy. Her swollen clit pulsed as she frigged herself to orgasm with her hand covered in her son’s cum. For the second time in her life, she squirted, adding her juices to her son’s on the rug.
I am a sick bitch, she thought as she rose shakily to her feet and moved into the bathroom. She had to balance herself briefly against the ornate door of the Kohler shower as she waited for the shower to warm. She stepped into the water and adjusted the temperature to as hot as she could stand it. The steaming hot water cascaded over her body as she stood with her eyes closed and head raised. I am a very sick bitch.
Unlike the fox, June had sampled the grapes. At a visceral level, she wanted more. Moreover, she hated herself for it. She was sinking to a level of depravity of epic proportions. And she did not care.