Seduced by Innocence

Most mothers would never confess to having an affair with a younger man. Even fewer would confess to seducing innocence and forcing their wiles on a clueless 18-year old boy. Wondering how this anonymous temptress can sleep at night? She doesn't, which only makes things worse.

Women like me, the ones that would confess to having an affair with a younger man, prefer to say that the young lion was the aggressor. They feel more comfortable confessing that they were seduced by a passionate spectacle, an uncontrollable superstar that overpowered their ladylike restraint. This makes my revelation all the more shocking. The young man that I seduced could be called innocent, even ignorant of my designs. In turn, his innocence, his complete ingenuousness to temptation, is what inspired me.

I am a woman of 40 years old, with curly brown hair and a body of average proportions. Being an active housewife keeps me busy and averagely fit. Sometimes I spend time with my grown daughter and handle her two babies for that extra "lift", which keeps my arms strong even if I still qualify as a plus size dress. I am proud of my body and delighted when my husband tells me that I look as sexy now as I did 20 years ago. That said, most people could never fathom why I would have lustful desires for such a younger man.

His name was James. When I first heard that an 18-year-old boy was coming to housesit for my husband Barr and I, I was slightly unnerved. I admit the thought of a horny young boy in my bedroom sniffing my dirty panties was unsettling. I tried to warn Barr of the possible danger, but he laughed off my worries. I even had Barr playback the security footage just to show him how harmless this man-child James really was. I was slightly embarrassed when all the footage revealed was the young man eating pizza and watching syndicated sitcoms. Now that I look back, maybe my paranoia was fueled by a glimmer of wishful thinking.

James was physically fit; he was a farm boy that had just recently come to the big city only to land the job of a gas station cashier. James had broad shoulders, strong arms, thick blonde hair and a shy smile. His eyes were pure and unpretentious. He was the type of young man who would run across a block just to track you down and give back extra change. I knew of him because he was the son of my former housekeeper, a woman who I was very close to even after she retired. My attraction to her son developed over time; I failed to realize, it was a latent attraction for many years.

I wasn't foolish enough to believe that I loved James. I did love his innocence, and wonder how much better the world would be, if everyone were a bit more childlike. However, my love only deepened for Barr as the years passed. What I felt for James was an attraction. I admired his body. I began to long for his face in quiet moments. Sometimes I would think unmentionable thoughts about him and snicker, just wondering how he would blush to hear me repeat them. I began to hear his docile voice at night and wondered how he would sound in bed whispering to his own future wife. Barr is a good husband and rarely ever leaves me alone at night. However, when he does, the intensity is unbearable. On those rare, lonely nights I started to think of James and wild sensations came over me, of inviting him to my house for no apparent reason. I wondered what he would say or do. That boy, always so selfless and positive, I know he would never say no to me. Though I do wonder if confronted with me in a sexy red camisole and dry martini, if he would have faintest notion on what to do next.

I still remember the day that Barr told me had to take a week-long business trip and would have no choice but to leave me unattended and alone in the house. He apologized for moments on end but all I could hear was my pounding heartbeat, becoming increasingly painful as each moment passed. I realized then and there, that I could not resist this temptation. The idea of one free week, and seven days of restless, quiet boredom, would either give me too much opportunity or at least drive me to the brink of insanity. The only way to cure this throbbing in my soul, and yearning in my intimate parts, would be to invite him to me. To speak to him alone. To seduce him. To force him to make love to me. If I didn't do it, I would be a better person; I would have resisted a terrible temptation. I would live a happy marriage and have no regrets. But if I didn't take him, my curiosity would never rest. If I did, and if there were fierce consequences to follow, I would have to accept them. Reality would scorch my flowing oasis.

I waited until the third night of solitude and then called my former cleaning woman, with the message that I would require the services of her son for house sitting. I remember chatting with her so innocuously, improvising details about a fictitious "trip" that Barr and I were going on. How odd, that I loved this woman so much, but felt no remorse of lying to her, and ordering her son to be delivered as fresh meat. I was using him, taking advantage of his youthful, virile body. Part of me even wanted his mother to watch the rape unfold, so that a pair of mournful eyes would judge me. Does that make me a psychopath? Anonymously, I asked both a psychologist and a swinger to explain my obsession to me. One said I was a very sick woman and the other applauded my efforts to explore my peaking sexuality. The idea of rationalizing my behavior turned me off. The fact that he was of legal age, as opposed to the first time I lay eyes on him, was becoming a slight disappointment. I was destined to taste his forbidden fruit.

When James first arrived I inquired about his method of transportation. The dear, he had none, and walked a good mile to come to my humble home. His generosity brought a smile to my face and a stain to my panties. Every look he gave me was one of friendship and loyalty. He would make a better woman than I weep at herself and feel remorseful of thinking such awful things. I suppose that means I'm incorrigible.

I asked James inside. We made small talk for a while. To my amazement, James never once snuck a look at my cleavage or gawked at my legs. I should mention that I was wearing jeans and a high top, but still, for an 18-year old that restraint was amazing to me. I excused myself and decided to slip into something a bit more aesthetic. I purposely left the door open hoping that James would peer inside and see my naked body from a generous distance. I glanced back but James was just looking cluelessly around the room. For a moment I pondered how embarrassed I would be if I came onto this quizling and he rejected me in puerile shame. The thought only aroused me further and I started to have shortness of breath.

I approached James wearing my red camisole, giving him a see-through shot of my C cup breasts and my lacy panties. I wanted the transition from mom-next-door to smoldering femme fatale to be alarming. To my amusement, James merely returned my breathy "hellooo" with an affirmative and amicable nod. I started to wonder if he was a virgin and if he even knew what a woman in heat looked like. The thought of it made my loins flood and I knew at that moment that he smelled something exciting and new.

I told him that I was attracted to him and that I couldn't stop thinking about him. Is it a sin to speak the truth? He tried to nod it off, politely reflecting my sentiments, but with an uncomfortable lean back. I elaborated and even said that I wanted to make love to him. James didn't scream or lunge back, but he did seem genuine confused. He asked about my husband, what Barr would think if he saw the two of us together? I happily exploited his words, using circular logic and promising the exciting notion of a secret between us. James pondered the possibility, finally taking a glimpse of my ample breasts and milky-white legs. Still, he turned me down, saying that he would know if it happened and that it would be "wrong."

I accepted his resolution and sat myself down by his side. Minutes passed and I enjoyed the awkward tension between us. He didn't know how to excuse himself and I was so aroused I could hardly breathe. Eventually, I gently put my hand on his knee and subtly worked my way up past his thigh and up to his manhood. I looked into his eyes as I made his bulge grow; his eyes showed fear but an unwillingness to resist my will. His respect and admiration for his mother's friend were stronger than his shyness or his guilt complex. In fact, the only remorse he seemed to fathom was a sin committed against his own principles. I asked him if he ever touched himself and he replied no, seeming oblivious to what it meant. I unzipped his pants, ignoring his repetition of my name, anxiously awaiting to see what the erect penis of a young man looked like. The more he objected the more I whispered "please", so longingly, so reassuringly, that he couldn't object. He couldn't hurt the feelings of a person he cared so deeply about.

I gripped his member in redemption, stroking it delicately, never taking for granted that I was holding James' essence—his spirit and his most personal weakness in my hands. His penis was beautiful, a perfectly sexual representation of his boyish, guileless charm. I whispered to him that we wouldn't have to tell anyone what we did and that every two people whoever meet in life have at least one "secret" between them. I tried to put my mouth on his head but the moment he saw my red lips so closely massaging his prick he shifted back from me.

He didn't answer me when I asked him what's wrong. I knew that my body was doing a fine job of representing my essence to James. He was growing rock hard in anticipation and finally allowed himself to stare at my breasts in awe. I said nothing for a few long moments, but allowed him to look at me, to scan my body and imagine the possibilities. My next move was to try and ride him on top. I desired his dryness to enter my wet sanctuary; I wanted that flaming wick be extinguished. But when I climbed atop his hips, my center region spread open wide, this seemed to scare him the most. The frustrating thought of how to successfully steal a young man's virginity only stimulated my natural juices, even as he continued to politely flee from me.

Right after I asked him if he was my friend, to which he nodded profusely, I took his hand and put it to my bosom. The touch of a mature woman's breasts excited him and he began to breathe throatily, accepting the fact that I wouldn't allow him to resist me. Love wouldn't take no for an answer, not today. I met his eyes and smiled at him, letting him know that everything was going to be okay. I lifted off my camisole slowly and exposed my naked breasts. This time, he reached out and touched them of his own accord. Slowly but surely he was gaining confidence. He at last discovered his pleasure and communicated that thrill to me through his body heat. I knew then in my heart that someday he would make many women very happy.

I knew that the boy was too afraid of my wetness and unfamiliar with the full capacity of a woman's lips. He left me no choice but to smother him in my affections. I got off the couch and dropped to my knees, my breasts still bouncing back and forth much to his fascination. I leaned forward and suffocated his tower with my breasts, easing it between my mountains of flesh. My erect nipples rubbed against his unshaven pubic hair while my bosom rode his firm, defiant staff. Though he was becoming breathless with excitement, I sensed that I was chafing him. I reached down and put my hand inside my pussy taking some of that wetness up with me. The scent of a woman enthralled him, as I smeared the juices all over his throbbing, choirboy steeple. A big hug later, my breasts were soaked with natural lubricant and glistened as I mashed together my femininity with his harder sex.

I increased the speed of my bouncing as I sensed he was aching to come, and probably for the first time in his life. I wanted him to come while looking into my trusting eyes, my supple breasts still betraying him with devastating intensity. I opened my eyes wide and watched as his ejaculate flew all over my womanly charms. His spunk lotioned my hair, prettied my face, brightened my lips and brought gooey tears to my eyes. James looked shock. As I suspected, the boy had never come before. He even apologized a few times for "corrupting" me. I gave him permission to use the shower but not before giving him an eyeful of my unfettered nakedness—my drenched breasts, my pudgy tummy and my creamy bush. He watched my fleshy ass bounce away with all the devotion of a new worshiper.

The second day of the free week, he returned to my home. Upon seeing him I felt less pounding excitement; it was more of a sentimental reunion. As soon as I closed the door behind me, he began kissing my chin and my throat, eager to begin his new sexual experiment. This newly carved specimen didn't need further polishing. It was time for him to shine in his new role as a lecherous paramour. I pushed away his pecking lips and demanded that he follow me to my bedroom. I wasn't about to guide him through his next lesson. He had to show me what he wanted and communicate his need. I wanted this fledging to fly immediately after being shoved from the nest.

So I lay on the bed and ordered James to undress. This command caught him off guard, as he clearly wasn't the type to admire his own masculinity in the mirror. His face became bashful and he hesitated, probably second-guessing if he should stay or run away to a safe place. He slowly unbuttoned his shirt, looking at me in uncertainty. I gave him no reward or no kind face to encourage him. I merely glared, testing his resolve. He slowly unbuttoned his pants and dropped them giving me a glance at his quickly shrinking erection. When I demanded that he drop his briefs and give me a clear and unfettered view of his cock he shook his head in shame.

I laughed when he politely refused and went to reach for his pants. I felt obliged to remind him that it was he who requested our second tryst and that he would have to see it to its completion, regardless of how I behaved. Otherwise, his mother would be informed of something truly terrible. Nothing too kinky or empowering. Perhaps I would say that Barr caught him on tape sniffing my underwear. The thought shocked him and he despaired. I, on the other hand, had to cross my legs to keep from squirting. I watched James pull his briefs down exposing a hard member, one that was quickly gaining strength even after a humiliating defeat. I wish I could say that I was teaching James the joys of BDSM. Truth be told, the whole experience was a selfish one and one that made me as wet as I have ever been since my elementary school "accidents."

I made James wait and feel the awkward energy. He had nowhere to go and nothing to do but fulfill my commands and suffer the manipulation. I commanded him to come and undress me and to look at my body carefully as he did so, never taking for granted this wonderful privilege. Loyal to the end, the young dick did just so, first removing my blouse button-by-button and then patiently pulling off my stockings. He tried to take my skirt and panties off, but I wouldn't cooperate. I struggled to remain put, while he groaned and pouted, always ready to call it quits, but still fearing my heartless retribution.

He finally became frustrated and took me by force, throwing my legs up in the air and pulling all my bottom clothing down in one violent sweep. There he saw it, my bare bush and my pristine oasis waiting to be penetrated. Any more teasing the boy and he would probably force himself on me, so the last request I would make from him had to be quick. I meekly rolled over to my mini-dresser by the bed and pulled out a silver package. The same shiny trifle that would one day become his best friend.

Put this on, I told him, giving him one last sincere smile. He carefully tore the packet open and eyed the rubber in endearing passivity. I stifled a laugh when he tried to put the condom on backwards and then showed him the proper way to "suit up." I spread my legs apart and gave him a full view of my snatch, stretching out my clitoris with one hand and pulling my labia apart with the other. As he climbed atop me and entered my soaked haven with his beautiful cock, I grasped his pasty butt cheeks and pulled them closer to me, making sure I could feel every last inch of his thrust. He recklessly pounded me, slipping out repeatedly and staining my clean sheets with natural lube and pre-cum. When he was ready to give himself to me, to my surprise, he pulled himself out and watched as he ejaculated inside the condom.

There James sat on my bed, his sweaty ass rolling over my satin pillow, and his face fully satiated. He pulled off the loaded condom and thoughtlessly shoved it aside, allowing it to drip all over our new carpet. Sweet James, this naked young stallion, was only beginning to realize his full potential. The third night I ignored his calls and the fourth, I turned the lights out pretending that I had left town. I said nothing to him ever again, which probably scared him to death during those first two guilt-ridden weeks. I shudder to think of how my abuse will affect his future outlook on sex. Maybe he will become a real heartbreaker in his time. Maybe he will blame me for fucking up his life. I shudder...and I come again.

In case you're wondering how I can sleep at night after what I've done, the truth is that I spend most of my nights battling insomnia. Often times I sit in my bed, never once cleaned from his taint, and I long for another week of vacation. I hardly ever get a good night's sleep. On the rare occasion that I do, I am always basted in the sperm of a virgin.

I did have quite a surprise that second week, when Barr finally came home. He took it upon himself to check the security camera. No, I didn't receive my comeuppance, so continue to hate me if you must. Actually, after viewing the footage a red-faced Barr proceeded told me that he had always entertained a recurring fantasy of his beautiful wife having sex with another man. A much younger man, the type of young hard stallion that he always aspired to be but fell short of because psychopathic women are indeed a rare breed. I became overjoyed that I inadvertently fulfilled his fantasy and the two of us made cruel love to each other all over the stained, smelly sheets. Now the both of us spend long, lonely nights in bed yearning to find another diamond in the rough, that charming spirit of ignorance, that one delicacy that cannot be turned away. A woman like me doesn't confess sins very often, but when I do, I unleash every loathsome thought. The subaudition trickles forth and pangs of conscience strike me seven times, as I become rigid and purged. Innocence seduces me and I return its challenge in kind.