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Queen Emma readies herself for the arrival of her son, Prince Henry
Beaming ear to ear by the thoughts of seeing him again, Emma called her driver and sent him to pick up her son at Hamad International Airport while she readied herself to welcome him home. Between the traffic jams and the insane drivers in Qatar driving as if their cars are amusement park bumper cars, especially the taxis, fearing she’d have an accident in her excitement to see her son again, she didn’t dare drive herself to meet him. Some of these drivers drive their cars as if they’re alone in the desert riding their camels willy-nilly or riding their Arabian horses at breakneck speed. Some of these drivers are so rich that they don’t care if they smash up their cars. They’ll just buy a new one and more expensive model.
“Sheik, what happened to your Ferrari?”
“I ran out of gas, so I bought a new Ferrari, a faster Ferrari with a full tank of petrol,” said the Sheik with a wave of his uncaring hand. Thinking more of the inconvenience than the money, seemingly spending $300,000 was of little consequence. “Besides the ashtray in my old Ferrari was full.”
Unfortunately, that attitude of the superrich in Qatar, the richest country in the world, is more common than not. Instead of fixing something that’s broken, they’ll throw it away the old one and buy a new one. Instead of bothering to read the directions, whether it’s a TV, a stereo, or an appliance, they’d rather hire someone who already knows how something works to show them. Having little time and no patience for any of that, they can’t be bothered with things that bore them, aggravate them, or that cause them stress. They’re much like spoiled Americans only far wealthier. An inside look at the superrich in Qatar, these people never buy the extended warranties as they’ll never own anything past the original warranty anyway.
* * * * *
After not seeing one another for such a long time, Emma would much rather surprise her son in private with a warm, albeit somewhat inappropriate, motherly greeting than to ruin their first time together with the stress created by the drive to the airport and back. Besides, with her having such a difficult time deciding what to wear, which high heeled shoes matched which outfit, and how to fix her long, auburn hair, she took the extra time afforded her by not fetching him to make herself look pretty and, hopefully, sexually desirable. She wanted to do everything she possibly could and everything in her womanly power to make him want her as much as she wanted him.
If only she knew her son sexually wanted her as much as she sexually wanted him and if only he’d make the first move, she’d make all the rest of the moves. If only she knew that her dreams of them being intimate together weren’t just dreams but what really happened in another time and in another place. If only she knew that they really were reincarnated, then she wouldn’t feel as guilty in seducing him. If only she knew that they really made love and had sex many times before, she’d have no remorse in having sex with him now. Yet, the fact remained that she didn’t know for sure if they had lived before and were reincarnated now. Was her dreams her past realities or were they all just fiction? Her obvious lust for him and the sexual fantasies that she had of him continued to distort her reality?
Being that she’d be indoors with her son and not walking around in public, she ruled against wearing the matronly clothes she typically wore when going to work. She hated the clothes she was forced to wear when in public and that were enforced by Qatar’s decency laws for not only Qatari women but also for expats and tourists. With nothing sexy about them, the clothes she was forced to wear to work and in public hid the natural, God blessed, curves of her shapely, womanly body. Being that she was in her villa and away from prying eyes of those who’d report her, as long as she didn’t dare venture outside dressed like a slut, she was free to wear whatever she wanted to wear. As long as she stayed inside her private villa, if she so wanted and if she so dared to expose more of her naked body to her son, which she wouldn’t, not yet anyway, until she knew that he wanted her too, she could wear anything she wanted or nothing at all.
Just the thought of opening the front door of her villa to him while totally naked consumed her with incestuous lust and a sexual passion for him. If only she could show him her unclothe body without him deeming her an incestuous slut and a perversely perverted whore, she’d parade around him topless, in her sexy lingerie, and/or naked. If only to see the reaction on his face, she loved to open her door while she didn’t have a stitch of clothing on her shapely MILF of a body. If she did expose her naked body to her son, she wondered where he’d look first. If she did expose her naked body to her son, she wondered what he’d say. If only she had the indecency to stand before pendik escort him naked, she wondered what he’d do. Would he touch her? Would he feel her? Would he grope her before having wild sex with her or would he reject her because she’s his mother and he’s her son?
Consumed with the thoughts of opening her villa door to her son naked, she wondered if he’d reach out his horny hand to touch her, feel her, and fondle her. Would he wrap his arm around her slim waist and kiss her while reaching one hand down to feel her naked ass and reach his other hand up to feel her D cup breasts? Would he surprise her and totally shock her by taking her right there and right then on the carpet and in front of her closed front door? Would he force her to her knees and force her to suck him. Would he turn her around and bend her over and fuck her like a dirty dog would fuck his little bitch, first sliding his cock in her pussy before plunging his stiff prick in her willing ass? Or would he reject her and forever have nothing more to do with her?
Only, instead of appearing at her front door naked, she’d much rather that he made the first move. Yet, if only she could take the first step across the incestuous line, having wondered it many times before, she wondered where he’d look first. She wondered if he was a breast man, an ass man, or a leg man. Being that her D cup breasts were two of her biggest assets, she’d wondered if he’d love her tits as much as she loves her tits.
Not knowing what to do with her never having been in such a sexual situation, she wondered if he’d just stare at her naked body without so much as touching her. She wondered if he’d embrace her, hug her, kiss her, touch her, and feel her or would he reject her, report her to his father, and no longer have anything to do with her. She couldn’t help but wonder if he was sexually thinking about her as much as she was sexually thinking about him. Where they travelled through time after being reincarnated over and again, she wondered if he was having the same disturbing albeit sexually exciting dreams that she was having too.
* * * * *
Coordinating her wardrobe around her top, she picked out a silk, sexy, Venetian red, button blouse. With her hair color sometimes clashing with and fighting for attention with the colors she wore, especially some shades of red, she liked how her auburn hair color complimented the color of her blouse. She had no problem with blue or green complimenting her hair but red, depending on the shade of red, was always problematic.
One of her favorite low cut blouses to wear, she liked this blouse not just for the shade of red, with red her favorite color, but because the buttons began where her cleavage ended. Flattering and highlighting her enormous D cup breasts that preoccupied the attention of most men, this blouse was so sexy. She liked how the low cut neckline not only showed off her long line of cleavage but also revealed her long, sexy neck, one of her best features. Giving him a sexy show by showing him her ample cleavage always made her feel sexy and who better to feel sexy with than to feel sexy with her son. The man of her love, the man of her lustful fantasies, and the man of her passionate dreams and her most erotic desires, he was the man that she was so sexually attracted to and the man that she most intimately wanted. Hoping to sexually tease him into wanting her, this blouse, along with her big tits, were her not so secret weapons she’d use in the seduction of her son.
If only he’d show his sexual interest in her, with him not having to do anything else, she’d do all of the rest. All it would take is a lustful look for her to know that he wanted her too, as much as she wanted him. Taking his look as her signal for her to seduce him, she’d take him by his hand to her bed. Once there, she’d show him how a woman loves a man and would teach him how to love a woman. No doubt, with all the sexual passion that she felt for her son, she’d ruin him for any other woman. No woman can match the love that a mother has for her son. No woman can compete with a mother’s love, especially when there’re naked and in bed together. No mother can match the love that she had for Henry.
“I love you Henry,” she said for no one to hear. “I want you. I want to make mad, wild, passionate love to you.”
* * * * *
Dressed only in her low cut bra and bright white, sheer, bikini panties, before creating her masterpiece of sexuality and seduction, she looked at herself in the mirror as if she was an artist looking at a blank canvas. With her sexy lingerie showing off and highlighting her figure, she not only looked so sexy but she felt so sexy. Not yet abandoning her to sag in defeat and wither and wrinkle in middle age, yet only a matter of time, thankfully, she still had her firm, sexy body, thank God. Forgetting for a minute about applying her makeup, more taken by how sexy her body still looked and how flattering her maltepe escort figure was, especially in comparison to how some of her younger friends have prematurely aged, she wished Henry was here now with her.
If only he was with her now, daring herself to do so and now horny and sexually frustrated enough to flash him, she’d surprise him, shock him probably by walking out of her bathroom wearing nothing but her sexy lingerie and a pair of high heeled shoes. Wouldn’t that shock the shit out of him to see his mother in her underwear? Acting as if she didn’t realize that she wasn’t fully dressed, she wondered his reaction to seeing her in her low cut bra and sheer, bikini panty. Better than showing him what she looks like naked, she’d love to sexually tease him by showing him what she looks like in her sexy lingerie while he imagined the rest. If he looked close enough, he could see her nipples through her sheer bra. If he stared long enough, he could see her dark patch of trimmed, auburn pubic hair. Maybe once he saw her in her suggestive, sexually stimulating, and erotically revealing underwear, he’d want to see her naked too.
Imagining him staring, with her always so curious about his wants and desires, she wondered where he’d look first. While wondering it before, she wondered it again. She wondered if he was a breast man, an ass man, or a leg man. Maybe in the way that she hoped he loved sexy women, he was a whole body man. Imagining him falling speechless by the sexy, lingerie clad sight of her, she wondered what he’d say when he collected himself. Imagining him reaching out to touch her, he imagined him reaching out to feel her. Imagining him taking her and making passionate love to her, she wondered what he’d do in seeing his MILF of a mother, a mother that she hoped he’d love to fuck, dressed so scantily in her revealing underwear. Whatever he wanted to do to her, she’d allow him the wicked, sexual access to her naked body. Whatever he wanted her to do to his naked body, she’d do it to him. With her having three holes for him to fill, she was ready, willing, and open to anything.
Only nothing more than her sexual fantasy and possibly not even his sexual fantasy, if only he shared her sexual fantasies too, she’d be so happy. If only he’d whisper his lust for her in her ear while kissing her neck and while slowly moving his hand down her blouse to feel the weight of her breasts while fingering her nipples. If only he’d stick his sculptured hand down her panty to touch his mother where no son should ever touch his mother, she’d stick her hand down his pants to touch her son where no mother should ever touch her son. If only he’d confess that he’s been having weird, sexual dreams about her too, she’d understand that the sexual passion that he had for her, she had for him too.
With her dreaming and fantasizing that they were already sexually intimate, they’d have such fun playing out their shared sexual fantasies by reliving their historic past. She’d willingly dress up as his queen with him her prince. She’d love nothing more than to give him a royal fucking and majestic sucking. She’d love nothing more than for him to take total sexual control of her before she took total physical control of him. Tying him to her bed to tease him while whipping him, she’d have him begging her to stop and give him sex.
Being that her nipples were supersensitive and one of her erogenous zones, with his fingertips touching, squeezing, turning, twisting, and pulling out her nipple, she’d do anything he wanted her to do. Perhaps if she prodded him a little by sexually teasing him and flashing him her bra and her panty clad, semi-naked body, with him unable to hide his sexual arousal by the obvious bulge in his pants, she’d discover how he really felt about his mother. Was he as sexually attracted to her as she was to him? Except, fearing that he was like most Arab men, if she dared show him too much skin, he’d deem her a slut for not covering herself. If she showed him how she sexually felt about him and wanted him, he may deem her as a whore and reject her by never seeing her again. If only he knew that she’d love for him to call her a slut and would be totally turned on by him calling her a whore, she wondered if he’d treat her as the slut and the whore that she wanted him to treat her as.
Oxymoronic in his disgust for her and at the same time in his repressed sexual desire for her, as long as he gave her hot sex and showed her the sexual passion that he had for her after he showed her the disgust that he for her, she’d be a very happy woman. If only he knew that she wanted her son to teach her a lesson for being bad, very bad, she’d love nothing better than for him to spank her naked ass really hard. Making her his submissive, little bitch, she’d love for him to take her and make passionate love to her before fucking her, really fucking her hard. While calling her a slut and a whore, she imagined him pulling her kartal escort by her hair to slap her across her face. Then, dragging her by her hair, she imagined him forcing her to her knees and pulling her hair even harder for her to open her mouth and to take him inside.
If only he knew that he didn’t have to pull her hair for her to open her mouth, she’d willingly suck him. Yet, better that he should think that her sucking him was his idea rather than her idea, she’d still be able to keep her motherly morals if only he’d make the first sexual move. If only he’d make the first incestuous move, she’d be so happy. If only he’d make the first sexual move, her life would be complete with her being sexually satisfied.
Wet just thinking about her son forcing her to suck him, she imagined him putting a firm hand to the back of her pretty head to inject her mouth with the full length and girth of him. She imagined him humping her mouth and fucking her face in the way she imagined him forcing any one of his Saturday night whores to blow him. Then, exploding his seed inside of her willing mouth, she imagined him not letting go of her until she swallowed all of him and until she licked every drop from his erect cock. While squeezing her tits and slapping her ass red raw, she’d love nothing better than for him to tie her to his bed and treat her as if she were his sexual slave instead of his mother.
“Oh, my God, Henry, I love you and I want you so very much,” she said to her reflection in her mirror. “I’d like nothing better than to blow you as soon as you walked through my front door. I’d like nothing better than for you to make love to me before fucking me. I’d like nothing better than for you to take me anally.”
Then, turning the tables on him, imagining him tied naked to a support beam in her apartment while she had her wicked, sexual way with his naked body, she imagined controlling him and torturing, just a little, until he agreed to be her sex slave. With his wrists bound and his ankles tied, she had the image of him looking much like a human starfish albeit with his cock dangling while awaiting the pleasure of her hand and mouth in the physical, emotional, and sexual torture of him. Teasing him with her fingers and then slowly stroking him with her hand before teasing him with her tongue, her lips, and her mouth, there for her pleasure and entertainment, she imagined Henry being her own personal CFNM stripper. Then, allowing him to take unconscionable sexual advantage of her too, she imagine Henry sexually servicing her at her command and whimsy.
Yet, only just a sexual fantasy, alas, she knew that Henry would never have sex with his mother. Yet, just as they were in her dreams, what if they were both just as sexually attracted to one another in reality as they were sexually attracted to one another in her dreams? What if Henry was having the same dreams? Surely that would be proof enough that they both lived before. What if Henry wanted her as much as she wanted him? Just as she dreamt, what if Henry dreamt of having sex with her too? What if Henry was masturbating over the thoughts of having sex with his mother? What if Henry has been having these dreams too about living in another time and another place while having incestuous sex with her?
“Oh, my God, if only he’d show the sexual desire he has for me, I’d show him the sexual desire I have for him too,” she said for no one to hear while reaching down in her panty to touch herself. “I wish it was his fingers fingering me and not my own.”
* * * * *
Hair and makeup always transformed her from very pretty to extraordinarily beautiful. Applying and perfecting her makeup with a brush here and a brush there, she sprayed her hair with hairspray before dabbing her Prada perfume on her neck, on her chest, on her wrists, behind her knees, on her ankles, and where she sexually fantasized he’d touch her and finger her before licking her. Perfuming every beating heartbeat of her, she didn’t leave a pulse point unscented. Being that her long, shapely legs were tanned and waxed, she didn’t bother wearing pantyhose. She hated the damn things. If she had her druthers, she’d wear nylons with a garter belt but she didn’t want anything getting in the way of her flashing her son her panties, if she so dared.
“Oh, my God, I’d love to flash Henry my panty clad pussy,” she said while applying her makeup and fixing her hair.
Armed and dangerous, she carefully put her blouse on over her 34D cup breasts as if she was a bodyguard hiding his big guns and as if she was donning a suicide bomb vest instead of her Venetian red, silk blouse. Her concealed and sometimes deadly weapons, her big guns were her breasts and she certainly had big, shapely ones. From men opening doors for her, to being seated at a better table at a restaurant or club, to hailing a cab on a rainy night, or to getting the attention of men or a specific man, she couldn’t even count the number of times her having D cup breasts on her shapely body came in handy. Only, no longer in America and not wanting to be arrested for public indecency, she had to be careful where and to whom she flashed her long line of cleavage and supersized breasts.
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