Every Friday night my son would invite a group of his friends from college (all white men between the age of 18 to 20) back to our house to hang out, and I’ve been doing this routine where I would retreat to my bedroom, strip naked, and play with my vibrator all night long, all the while they were in the living room. The idea that at any minute I would be caught thrilled me and on several occasions I had powerful orgams as I heard footsteps outside my bedroom door.

Last Friday evening I became a bit more adventurous. I used to be more cautious while pleasuring myself, but the thrill was getting a hold of me.

As usual I was sitting on my bed in the nude, with my heels to my ass, and a dildo inside my pussy. But this time, I kept the bedroom door slightly open, not fully open, but just enough so that anyone who passed by the hallway outside would be able to see the crack. I was also more vocal than usual and I even tasted myself a few times while I was playing with my breasts with my other hand.

Then, just as it had happened the previous Friday, the familiar footsteps could be heard outside of my bedroom, and when it got closer to my door, the sounds disappeared and I knew someone was standing there and watching me intently. It got me extremely excited, more excited than I have ever been, in a very, very long time. 

“Someone was noticing me!” I was screaming inside myself. The dildo was sinking down into my body like a foot sinking into the swamp. Not sure if this is the place for poetry, but what the heck: the treacherous fenland was my body becoming the earth that I could set my ear against, to hear the pounding of my own heart inside the earth. 

I was facing away from the door and I laid my head against the mattress so my pussy and ass were fully exposed to the direction of the door and once again I pushed my dildo all the way in. 

“Mom is riding that huge BWC dildo again,” those words flashed before me as I imagined my son was there as well, telling his friends how much his mother is a slut. 

“My mom used to love getting punished by my dad. He used to tie her up and whip her with a riding crop. I even have pictures of her getting punished.”

“Holy crap! Let’s see. You are such a lucky son to have such a gorgeous MILF slut for a mother.”

“Shhh … I will show you pictures of her getting tied up later …. Let’s finish watching her playing with her dildo first.”

The memory of my very dominant ex-husband flashed through my mind as I raised my hip upward until the dildo was on the verge of popping out of my pussy, and then I slammed my pussy down again, until it thrusted all the way down to the base. It hurt me alittle, and the hurt made me miss my ex even more.

I fantasized that ex was straddling me again, and he was now raising the fierce-looking black riding crop toward the ceiling, and once again he was taking careful aim at the most sensitive parts of my body: at my breasts, my clit, my thighs, and my butt cheeks. I took a deep breath, feeling my nipples rise and my pussy tingle, as the weapon of torture was brought down with a sureness and a fury that knew no compromise. 

He was the exact type of man that I fell in love with, and in my son I see an almost duplicate copy of him. And it made me feel glad. 

I remembered that pain again. Also the pleasure. The eruption of a sudden taste, like I was eating something very spicy. It stinged so hard, and yet the aftertaste was so sweet! How I wished I had a man who could do this to me now. I was thrusting harder and faster on my dildo, and my mind reeled, functioning at the level of a whimpering, wounded animal. 

I fucked myself harder on my dildo. Low gutteral, muted sighs of woe escaped from my throat. My mind took me on a voyage of its own. I had fantasized my son watching me, I had remembered my ex punishing me, and then I fantasized that I was being gangbanged by a group of complete strangers.

I felt myself breathing harder and faster. 

I respond sexually to the forbidden, the taboo, to the stranger, to the unknown. For me sex is always an adventure, and the more thrilling and more dangerous it is, the more turned on I am. 

I felt myself getting close, and soft I murmurred to myself, “Ohh … please rape me. Torture me. I’m a slut. I’m shameless. Gang rape me …”

“Holyshit your mother is such a kinky whore.”

“Shhhh …. “

My pussy was flowing freely, and happily I gathered my own moisture on my fingers and licked myself up, imagining it was my son who was fucking me. I rubbed generous amounts of it over my cheeks, and lips, the sweet aroma of my own pussy juice becoming a memento of every masturbation session that I did. 

Then it happened. I fucked myself to a powerful orgasm. I was moaning my son’s name. “Help mommy. Please help.” I was moaning my ex’s name. “Please help.”

And no one responded. I was nearly crying from the agony, the pain, the emptiness. 

I became a cloud, congealed around the central object that is the big white cock dildo, and I was glowing red against the setting sun, deep dark red. 

 I didn’t stop until I fucked myself to several more orgasms.

My entire body was covered in a sheen of sweat after I was done with myself. I prostrated myself completely on my bed for several minutes as I regained my breathe and collected my composure, and then I decided to turn my head back toward the door and before I had fully turned my head, I heard the sudden onset of multiple footsteps rushing away from the door and I was able just to glimpse from the corner of my eye just the silhouette of some person who were slinking away like a feral cat.

Finally, someone was noticing me. I thought to myself and I was glad, a sweetness filled my heart.