My Son Paints Me

My Son Paints Me

I can remember how much my son, Sammy, loved to create art from a young age. He was always drawing something, painting someone, taking classes to become more confident and more commanding of what he was seeing and creating. My husband then, Mark, and I encouraged him continually throughout high school, going to museums, even traveling to New York city together to visit all the museums so he would have a better grasp of different styles.

It was not always a very happy or stable time. Mark was sick for years with emphysema (he was older than me when we met and fell in love, I was actually only 19 and he was my art teacher - I wasn't very good, but he was brilliant). Then we had Sammy, and it was so great to be loved by him, and to raise our son, out in a rural part of New York state where Mark had his own quiet place. But he just would not stop smoking as part of his "Art Life" as he called it, and it got him. When Sammy was 16, he died of a heart-attack, and it was devastating. I don't know if Sammy just held it together better for me, but he was there for me through my grief, and I rarely saw him break down or cry.

All I saw him do was paint, and draw, and sometimes he would create until long hours of the night. He started to ask to paint me more as well, and I posed for him countless times as he kept working at his art - often, I could tell, as a way of trying to push past his grief. This is a good time to mention that I am about Five foot Two, fairly petite, natural red-head, and I was not perfectly fit but I kept up with some exercise and had a set of "jugs" as Mark used to joke about (and that was his favorite part of me, too). Sammy took more after his dad, who was taller, about 6 foot 2, and he kept very fit and healthy with a lot of swimming by the lake nearby our house.

Throughout this time, I wasn't sure if he was... more attracted to me than as Mom, if you know what I mean. I kept my clothes on throughout these years, and he kept his on as well (often a pair of overalls with a shirt, so he could keep the paint on him most of all). But I'd be lying if I didn't catch him sneaking a peak at me when we would go to the beach and I would take off my shirt and reveal my bathing suit.

I'd also be lying if, by 18, I wasn't looking a little more at him as well, seeing him as not simply an image of his father, but even more attractive. Maybe with a hint of my father as well.

Then came the heat wave of that summer before he went to college, and to say everything changed after that one... "experiment" would be an understatement, not just for his art, but for us, period.

It was already starting to be a heat wave the day before, and climbing into a sweltering 90's. We had air conditioning by then, but not usually very good. I would go around in a pair of shorts and a shirt (no bra), and Sammy would have on his overalls, but no shirt.

On this day, we were having breakfast when he looked up and his face looked kind of innocent, like a kid asking for something special (he was very polite). He asked if I could pose for him.

"Sammy, come on," I said in a half-joking way. "You don't think it's too hot for that? Your drawing room doesn't have the best AC. Maybe take a rest today?"

"Well, the thing about it is, uh..." He kind of trailed off and played with his cereal bowl.

"Yes?"

"This time, I'd like to draw you with less clothes on than usual. Like, in your bathing suit."

"Sure," I said. He was kind of wide-eyed and responded, "Really?"

"Of course. You got to get some more experience doing full Life Drawings before you go to college, right?"

"Yeah, that's the thing. And no one is around this summer that can pose for me, so... What do you say?"

"I'm your gal!" That was what I would say to him when he needed me. It felt good to be needed.

So, after we had our breakfast, I stepped into Sammy's drawing room. His painting canvas was opposite a long foyer next to the window. We had it open (though with a screen) to let in air. I had already changed and had on a two-piece bikini that I wore on special occasions - back when I wanted Mark to find me really sexy. I didn't consciously wear it for Sammy in that sense, but when I think back on it, I realize I must have thought somewhere about wanting to look.... Good for him. We were already sweating when he asked me to sit by the foyer by the window.

I went over and lay back, and he went to his seat and started to paint. For the first minute or so, I just lay back with my legs together and arms down, and I think we knew it was awkward.

"Raise your right leg up, like at a 45-degree angle?" he asked with an authority that took me by surprise. He asked me ways to pose before, of course, but this felt different somehow. There was some kind of change in his eyes, like he was determined to get something right. I moved my legs and while I had my bottoms on it left little to the imagination (I also didn't shave that much, so I knew my vaginal hairs were sticking out and easy to see).

As he got to painting, I couldn't help but have my eyes stare down his torso, which was sweating profusely, and down to his crotch. He was already getting hard, and the line of his cock was starting to bulge around the lining of his pants. I don't know what it was, maybe it was the heat around us or how Sammy looked more manly, but I was feeling an incredible heat surge in my own vagina. It was pulsing and I could feel the beat throughout my entire body. I was barely able to catch my breath.

I could see Sammy looking at me a little more intently; he tried to avert my eyes, and instead was looking very intently at my breasts, as my nipples were rock solid. I had a crazy thought jump in my head, and I blurted out, "I should take this off."

He didn't even have a pause and said, "Yes, you should."

"But" I added, and my voice was coming from somewhere else, some where I was taken aback by later but felt primal, "I want you to be naked with me."

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow.

"It seems unfair that your poor old mum should be naked by herself. Come on, it's only fair."

I went behind me and unclasped my bathing suit top, and my heavy 34 D breasts came out into view. We both stood up at the same moment. I removed my bottoms, and after putting his brush down he leaned up and took off his overalls. He was not, little to my surprise, wearing any underwear.

I was wide-eyed at his cock, which bobbed up in the air. He was circumcised, and the head was juicy and beading with sweat, with long balls hanging down. I couldn't guess his size if I tried, maybe seven inches? Maybe more? It really was the spitting image of his father, only healthier, younger, than he had ever been with his cigarettes which definitely affected him. There was light but trimmed red hair lining his bush.

I leaned back into my position, and at the angle I was I had my legs spread and it left even less to the imagination for him as my vulva was spread. He sat back down and picked up his brush and really went to work for several minutes. He seemed possessed and his face was full of concentration. I was so in love with him for so long it is hard to express, but now the love was in an intimacy that was going too far. A voice in my head said, "No, what are you doing, Paula, this is crazy." But I didn't care. I wanted to see my son this way, and I knew he wanted to see me, all of me, and it made me feel wanted and desired.

"Sammy," I said.

"Yes?"

"I need to do something. And I need you to do something."

He stopped and looked at me. I looked at him deeply in his eyes then. "What is that?"

I took my hand and went down to my cunt, which was sopping wet, and started to rub my clit, which was throbbing and engorged. His eyes went wide again, and when I glanced, I saw his cock jump up.

"You need to, too. You got to... to..."

"Jerk off"

"Yes. Jerk off for me," I said, again with a deep voice that was like I was back with Mark and demanding he do things to me in bed.

He licked his hand and went down and put it around his cock and started to rub it. It was so fucking gorgeous as he was gliding his hand up around the head and then down his thick shaft. It was making me increase my tempo, and I must have then put a couple of fingers inside of myself. But I knew I was going faster and felt a throbbing increasing like I hadn't felt in years.

"Do you ever fantasize about me?" I asked.

"Yes, yes, I do. All the time," he said in a whisper.

"You like to cum to me? Beat your meat to me?"

"Fuck yes Mom."

I almost snapped out of it but furrowed my sweaty fucking face. "Paula, call me Paula."

"Yes, Yes, Paula."

I could see him increase his tempo, and so I did the same. We didn't talk much for the next minute and a half. We just kept looking at one another, me at his devilishly handsome and young face, and at that massive cock. His eyes were directly at my vagina.

I blurted out, "I'm gonna come. I'm gonna... gonna.... Oh, Sammy," I felt a massive jolt through my body, and I almost felt paralyzed I came so hard and let out a guttural yell that could have been heard for a half a mile. It was right then Sammy panted out, "YES!"

I saw him shoot three big jets of sperm onto the floor about three feet ahead of him. It was such a massive load, I couldn't believe someone could ejaculate that much. His penis shot a few smaller jets of cum, and then he was done and catching his breath. I had this immediate voice that came to me and said, "I need that inside me." I had to shake my head to snap out of it.

It was then we both sort of came down from this and he asked me if I needed anything. "Maybe a towel, hah," I said sort of jokingly. He got up in a sprint and got me a towel from the other room. His cock was still half hard but starting to deflate. I also asked him for some water, and he left and got a couple of tall full glasses.

We sat there silent, more or less, for another two hours as I sat, still completely naked, and he is painting and now completely focused on what he had in front of him on his canvas. At this, he realized it was getting late and had some other work to do and called it a day.

That night, I barely had any sleep. I would nod off and I had a dream that I was on the ground and a spigot from a faucet was covering me in honey, or something that seemed heavy, until I couldn't see anything. Then, Sammy was standing over me so tall, a giant, but I looked past his cock to see his face and it was that nice smile and intense eyes. I felt so warm and happy in the dream, like a little kid covered in all of that honey.

When I woke up, I masturbated twice in half an hour and had to put my face in my pillow to not wake up Sammy. I knew this wasn't going to stop at just us pleasuring ourselves. I had to take it further, for him but for me, too.

Two days later, we returned to Sammy's room. I wore the bikini again and he was in no shirt but a pair of loose shorts, this time leaning on a table with one hand holding up my head. He had a large drawing pad that day instead of a large canvas with his oil paints and was furiously drawing and scribbling with a big black piece of what looked like red charcoal. It was still hot, probably even hotter than it was when we were there the day before last.

I looked at him and said, "Sammy?" His eyes were not looking at me at first, like he didn't want to acknowledge what had happened the other day. But his shorts had a massive bulge that betrayed his artist's concentration. I realized my tone was too sharp, so I softened and, in a whisper, said again, "Sammy?" That caught his attention, and he looked at me. I took myself off the stool and removed my top and my bottoms.

"Yes, of course," he said, also in a whisper like we were sort of connected on some other plane that we didn't want to say out loud. He got up and removed his shorts and his beautiful, sweaty cock and large swaying balls were in view again. He sat down and I went back to my position. For five or ten minutes we sat in silence as he drew, but not as harshly as he had been on his paper. He drew softly, and even as I felt my cunt throbbing and needing something, anything, I was also completely enamored with everything that was this young man in front of me. I couldn't believe Mark and I had created something this brilliant, this unique.

I took my hand off of the stool and walked slowly over to Sammy. I stood over him and he looked up at me. "You should, uh.... What are you doing?"

"Shh, it's ok. Put that down and look at me. I'm yours, you know that?"

"I, uh.... I guess so?"

I laughed a little. "You don't have to guess."

I took him by the hand down to the floor and got on top of him. I straddled him and took his cock in my hand. It felt so warm. I then leaned up and aimed it right at my vulva and put it at my entrance.

"Are you, are you sure?" Sammy asked.

"You won't last long, but it's okay. It's okay." I kept saying okay almost to myself as I slid down his throbbing member until my entire cunt was filled with him. He looked so innocent then, I almost felt a little bad like what am I doing to my poor little son. But he wasn't so little. He was really fucking big, and it felt so good to have him fill me.

I started to ride him, slowly at first, for the first ten or fifteen seconds, and it had been since Mark that I had anyone inside me, and it felt familiar while very different. I created this and now it was inside of me. I leaned down and kissed Sammy and our tongues locked and danced together so sloppily that his saliva dribbled down his chin. I gripped him with my muscles, and he responded with an eye-popping reaction. He kissed my breasts and loved my nipples with his tongue.

After a minute, I could feel him growing bigger inside of me and knew what was next. "You can go ahead, Sammy. You should feel what it's like, what it... oh, God, keep going," I said this even though I was humping. I was in a delirium as I was on the verge of cumming. I didn't quite get there though as I started to feel Sammy grunt and shouted a "FUCK!" as his cock started to spasm in my vagina. It felt so warm, and I could feel him twitching repeatedly and for about eight or nine times he spasmed until he finally leaned back.

We both had to catch our breath and did so for a minute after. Finally, I got up off of his softening cock and held my hand over my soaked crotch. I laughed and then he laughed, and we both started laughing, we didn't know why. Maybe we were just delirious from the heat, or looking at one another, or the whole situation. It was a state of total bliss.

I left the room then without a word and went to the bathroom. I had to pee, and I thought I should get his copious jism out of my body. I was not on birth control, and yet it didn't occur to me I could get pregnant (it was a few weeks after my last period, maybe still in my most fertile time, I wasn't sure). When I sat down it really did pour out of me, and peeing felt good. Right then, I heard a soft knock on the door.

"Yes?"

Sammy opened the door. Still naked, and his cock was starting to get hard again, but only at half-mast. His face looked so sweet and kind, like when he was younger. But he was older, and what he asked made me feel at ease. "Are you okay after that? I know that was... crazy."

"No, it wasn't crazy. It was... good."

"Oh? But, we just had sex. And, you're... well..."

I sighed but smiled. "Sammy, I've seen how you've been looking at me. Even before this painting." I finished peeing and wiped up and flushed the toilet. I got up and put my arms around him. "I want this. I want you. I can tell this is helping your art, and you're going to make such awesome fucking work I can't wait to see."

"So..." he had a little pause and looked at me. "Can we... you know, go again?"

I laughed. "Here, let's take a shower. We need to clean off. Then... we'll see."

I took him by the hand, and we went in and I closed the curtain. I turned on the water and put it to the cool-lukewarm temperature because of the heat and it felt great. Sammy got some soap and washed my arms and then I turned and washed my back. I leaned back into him and felt him at full hardness again. His head was peaking against the top of my ass, and I just ground himself into him.

"Feel how hard my nipples are," I said. He touched my breasts and pinched them lightly but assuredly. He was getting good at this. He placed kisses on my neck and I felt such a hot charge in my vagina that I let out a "woo" out of nowhere. He laughed a bit and kept kissing.

"You're so adorable. And so hot. I wish I told you that before," he said so softly. Even his voice was a turn on. I turned around and went on my toes to give him a deep kiss. Our tongues danced fervently as he pushed me against one of the bathroom walls. "I got you," he said to me and then picked me up a bit as he got his girth back inside of me in one big thrust. My eyes rolled back as he did this and while it felt good to have him back in me, it was an awkward position (our shower was not as large as I would like or for space for a deep hard fuck).

After some seconds of humping I said, "hold on." He put me down and I turned off the shower. Then, I took him by the hand and kissed him as I brought him down to the floor of the bathroom. I knew this was not comfortable either, but I wanted to feel his whole weight on top of me. I lay back and he kept kissing me fast and hot as I positioned his cock into my soaked entrance. He slid in in one stroke and it wasn't like before. He fucked me very hard and we were both moaning in unison and my legs wrapped and locked behind his ass.

Since he had just come twenty minutes before, he lasted much longer. It was good to just feel him as he went fast, then a little slower, and then he lifted my legs up and pushed them to my bosoms as he went even deeper than I expected. My eyes were ready to pop out and he just found that so sexy.

"This is the best day of my life," he said very matter of factly in between moans.

"Same."

"I'm going to cum again."

"Go ahead. Please. I need to feel you cum. It's so good... So hot... So much cum."

"But, aren't you- " I knew what he'd ask and I cut him off.

"Just fuck me. Paint me inside. Come on." I commanded him and he obeyed as he picked up his pace and I saw his face tighten as his penis engorged and I felt him shoot off again. It wasn't as large a load as before, but it was still a lot for me. He slowly slid out again and his sperm fell off to the porcelain floor.

"I love you, Paula." He said.

"Mom. Just Mom," I said as I held him and we cuddled for several minutes in a deep haze of comfort as only we could have.

After this, we went back into his room and he did paint me for the rest of the day, no more sex except that we were, naturally, still very naked. It was an immense amount of work that he put into the one drawing, only breaking for a short snack, and when it was done by the next day it was mind-blowing what he did with the level of detail in my shape and form, like I had some next-level goddess energy coming out of my body or something (that is just me amateur interpretation). But it was in my eyes that he found something soulful and tender.

That next week, we were having sex regularly. I thought at first I would want him to wait and build up his semen so it would be thicker and hotter in my vagina, but he couldn't stop kissing me and making me feel wanted. I wasn't exactly warding him off as I wore only a pair of underwear around the house, even cooking or just watching TV. I wanted us being naked together to become more normal, so he didn't think about it (though I was hypocritical as I wanted to see him just as much). But the painting continued, and being naked through the process would still lead to me getting him off - sometimes with a blow job, other times he would eat me out and he would not stop at one, no way, he would go for me cumming three or four times before stopping to return to his art - and not just in his painting room but also outside. That felt risky, though we did it late enough at night (with just the light from a couple of candles to give it some dimension) that no one would possibly see us. That time, I should add, I gave him a hand-job, and he fingered me and held his hand over my mouth as I screamed in total abandon at how he was so natural without any guidance on my clitoris.

Sometimes he would pull out, because as he joked, he had to "paint" me that way, but more often than not he came inside of me. He would sometimes last twenty, twenty five minutes, and I was so excited and wanted by him when he lasted long (often times the third time in a day, and in one day we went four, which by that point he had very little left to ejaculate, but still fun). I still hadn't told him I had no protection, and maybe he thought I wanted to have his baby without a word after I said it was okay for him to let loose in the bathroom.

I did have my period a week and half later, however, and it led to one of the more insane moments of our relationship; he wanted to still have sex even during this time, and it was not a light period. I did not exactly feel sexy, but I didn't want to disappoint my Sammy, so I put down some extra sheets on the bed and he got on top of me and had extremely hot, deep sex with me. He was not grossed out by the blood, on the contrary he was weirdly fascinated by it... to the point where once he came, he got up and left in what looked like a sprint. He came back with a small glass cup.

"What in the world are you doing?" I asked, rather incredulous but curious.

"It's a... well, you'll see," he grinned. He scooped up the mix of blood and cum that was at my entrance and put it into the cup. Later that afternoon, I saw what he was trying to do, and it was both hilarious and sort of disturbing: he was using it as a painting mixture as part of his oils. So, literally my own inner fluids and his own, and the painting he made was of me on all fours and it looked like something out of hell. I told him he should never sell it, probably not show it to anyone else but me, and he agreed.

We both got a little busier with our work schedules in the week after my period, and we stopped having sex on the regular. He got a summer job that took him away from his painting, and I had to return to my home job doing customer service calls. We only had a quick kiss in the morning and when he got home, and he looked so forlorn when saying he was too tired to do anything more. But we finally each had a day off that weekend, and it was early in the morning when he came into my bedroom and woke me up with a kiss on the head. I rolled over and said hello. I was naked as he was as well, and he was fully erect (maybe morning wood, he had the same kind of messy bedhead that I did).

"No, wait, let me brush my teeth, I must have such bad breath," I protested. He just kissed me anyway and got into bed with me. He just wanted to kiss, and we made out for what felt like half an hour even if it was only five or ten minutes.

"I love you," he said.

"I love you so much, Sammy. More than you can ever know." His warm penis was touching my bush and trying to find its entrance that it had enjoyed for weeks.

"I haven't jerked it in days," he said softly. "I don't know how long I can last."

"It's ok. You need to come, just come to Mommy, just come to me," I kept repeating this as I guided him inside of me, and it was somehow harder than I had had him even up until this point. Had he grown magically? His tip rubbed up against the end of my canal. We started humping in lock step, side by side, eyes locked. Every nerve ending and part of me in my cunt was electric. And he was not kidding, as after thirty seconds I felt him grow even larger.

"I should pull out?"

"No. Cum inside me. Make me pregnant."

"Really."

"Really. Give your mom a baby."

At that last 'y' on baby, he came, and it felt so hot and filling. I shuddered and came as he did, and it was the best sex of our courtship up until then. I felt bad that I hadn't mentioned my thoughts to him before this, but I was really worried at first about him making me pregnant with another child.

Over that past week of waiting, I realized I did want to create life with him, to be full of him even more. He had so much love for me, in his soul, in his art, in how he expressed himself with his paintbrush and his body. It would be risky, but I wanted to try. I had a feeling that that intercourse that morning was what knocked me up, given how much he had saved up and how fertile I was, even as we still kept fucking unprotected for the next week as he finished his last three paintings before going off to college. By the time of my next period, it didn't happen, and weeks went by and I confirmed it through a test that I was pregnant.

Months later, he was home for a break and painting me again, both of us naked, me now with a big, large bump and holding it as he brushed with a concentration and frenzy that felt otherworldly. Once again that day I got up, slowly and yet eagerly, pushed aside his canvas, took his giant cock, and got on top of him with a kiss on his cheek.

"Let's go," I said. And we did.