Incest/Taboo Crosswords

Crosswords

Mom doesn't want Sis and I to play.​

"Lynn?" Mom yelled. "Have you seen Tyson?"

She burst through the half-open door just as I sprang to my feet from my sister's bed. Lynn had turned and walked to the window, trying to inconspicuously button her yellow blouse but, unfortunately, the warm summer breeze caused it to billow out from her waist, betraying its insecure state to our mother.

If I wasn't so freaked out, I would have felt sorry for Mom. The look on her face changed from confusion to disbelief to distress in mere seconds. For once, the vocabulary champion of our household was at a loss for words, though she struggled to speak.

"Where's... I... oh, you're here," she said, looking at me. Then, "Uh, what are you doing?" she directed at neither of us, and both, at the same time.

Lynn had finished buttoning her blouse. Always quicker than I, she turned around and calmly answered for us both, "Ty was wondering what I was wearing to the beach party tonight, so I was just showing him my new swimsuit."

Lynn breezed past Mom and made a quick exit from her room.

"I have to go. Chad's picking me up," she yelled after she disappeared, feet pounding down the stairs.

Mom and I were left in awkward silence, avoiding each other's eyes, but there was no ignoring the fact that when Lynn rushed past it was obvious she wasn't wearing anything under her yellow cotton blouse. Mom looked back at the door, swiveling away from me, and I looked at the floor.

"I better get dinner on," she mumbled, shuffling out the door, whatever she was calling me for now forgotten.
​

****​

The beach party was long over and it had been five weeks since Lynn left for college. She and I were the same age and, even though I wasn't as smart as my sister, I had managed to graduate. Nevertheless, there was no college education in store for me. I had applied too late for the electrician program I wanted to do and now couldn't start until January so I was just working my weekend job plus three extra shifts through the week. Mom hadn't said anything more about that day in Lynn's room but I could sense tension whenever her name came up.

Though I didn't expect it to be completely forgotten, I hoped the incident would fade sufficiently that it would never need to be discussed. I did wonder what Mom had made of it. Surely, she had figured out that Lynn had shown me her tits but did she think more had happened? Did she think Lynn and I were actually doing it?

Sure, Lynn and I had always been close and hung out with a lot of the same friends, but having sex together? Well, alright, I admit I had tried to cajole Lynn into showing me her tits but was hoping to see more, maybe even getting her to bend over so I could look at her awesome ass, but what teenager wouldn't try with a sister that looked like mine? I mean, except for smaller tits and a tighter ass, she was the spitting image of Mom, just a younger version, and Mom was a nice looking woman. When my parents hosted parties, it was obvious from a bystander point of view that most of the men frequently checked Mom out.

A very nice looking woman indeed. My mind roved over my own personal memories of Mom's body. Actually, she wasn't that old looking. Sure, her ass had more padding than Lynn's but it was still nice to look at and when she wore a dress, you could see that she had great legs. Her hair was usually worn in an older-woman style but when she shook it loose like she sometimes did at night with only family at home she looked much younger and, now that I thought about it, kind of sexy.

I dropped out of my daydream and looked down at my hand which had slipped from resting on my knee to inside my leg. Well, on my crotch, actually, cupping my balls. I shook my head hard and jumped up.

Jesus fucking Christ, Ty. Get a fucking grip.

"Tyson. Dinner," Mom yelled from the bottom of the stairs.

I started for my bedroom door but stopped to check that my prick, which was sending happy signals to my brain, wasn't swollen enough to cause embarrassment. It was noticeable but nothing that couldn't be addressed by the visions of hammers and anvils I flushed through my brain as I descended the stairs.

After dinner, Mom did her crossword puzzles, as usual, while Dad alternated between reading and glancing at the news channel. A perfectly normal night at our house. I finished the magazine I was reading and shifted closer to look over Mom's shoulder. I didn't have anything else to read downstairs and was too lazy to go up to my room to get something.

Mom was almost finished a large puzzle. Only the bottom right corner remained. I leaned closer, brushing up against her side, and she turned the book toward me a little so I could read the clues, as if I would have half a clue what the answers would be. I was hopeless at crosswords and Lynn wasn't much better. Mom was an expert and tried to get us to do them to expand our vocabulary but her message fell on deaf ears with me and Lynn only filled in the easiest words in Mom's puzzles which bugged Mom but she didn't say anything because she didn't want to discourage her.

I started throwing out goofy suggestions as I usually did when I pitched in to help Mom when she was stuck. There was no chance of me getting the right word but sometimes my inane offerings triggered something in her mind and helped her finish.

Tonight wasn't any different. At first, Mom openly laughed at my ideas but then they started making her think and she ignored my further contributions as she turned the earlier ones over in her mind. The hand holding the pencil waved me off but I leaned closer as if proximity would improve the uptake of my ideas.

My thigh brushed the side of Mom's as I moved closer and, thinking I needed room, she leaned toward the corner of the couch but I followed, hanging my head over her shoulder. As I did, my leg pressed more firmly into the underside of Mom's thigh since her leg had lifted from the couch as she leaned away from me. In fact, I was pressing against Mom's hip near the edge of her ass. Believe me, I hadn't intended to do so, it just happened.

"Aha," she cried, filling in one of the longer empty spaces. Quickly, the remaining holdouts were swept away as Mom's mind, now renewed, sped through them as if a dam had burst.

"There," she said with a flourish. "We did it."

Mom dropped the puzzle book into her lap and reached across with her left hand to pick up her cold cup of tea. For a brief moment a gap opened between the back of her thigh and mine. Again, through no conscious intention, I naturally moved closer and, in fact, slid part way under Mom. The gap disappeared when Mom set the cup back onto the saucer and sank back onto me.

"There," she reiterated.

The puzzle book was retrieved and the page was turned, Mom's face already showing that she was ready for the next challenge but it soon turned to puzzlement and mine to horror.

The next page revealed a puzzle that had already been partially completed but not by the careful hand of my mother. This script was messy, it's letters often violating the line constraints quite unlike my mother's fastidious completions. That wasn't the main problem, however. The real issue smacked me in the face far before it penetrated Mom's awareness with gentler probes, for there, in plain sight embedded within the larger scrawls were three entries that I recognized. Therre were four letters across and five down in the middle of the puzzle and another six written across the center of the bottom : "tits", "pussy", and "showme".

Mom stared at the puzzle. The muscles in her thigh pressing upon mine became tense and my body became as rigid as hers. My mind reeled and sensations flitted throughout my body, urging it to flee, but I couldn't move though I so desperately wanted to run.

Slowly, hesitantly, Mom's fingers pulled the empty right page over to cover the left, exposing a new set of virgin puzzles. We both stared at the blank page. Finally, Mom dropped the book on her leg and reached across to pick up her empty tea cup, hand shaking as she brought it to her lips. She savored the nonexistent brew for a long moment before setting it carefully down. I could have escaped then but I didn't. I simply watched Mom take her extended, make-believe sip though I could clearly see from my vantage point that the cup was empty, but I didn't move. In fact, my body even rolled toward Mom so when she sank back, my thigh was even further ensconced underneath hers and the fleshy part of her buttock now pressed into my groin.

Mom started filling in the puzzle on the right side of the page, uncharacteristically leaving the left one undone. Her fingers squiggled, moving the pencil rapidly up and down the rows and columns as she completed the easier clues so well known to her. My eyes lifted from the page and gazed blankly toward my father who, at this particular moment, was watching the TV, a book held open on his leg in his left hand. Would Mom show him what he had found and explain its significance in light of her discovery a few weeks ago?

I returned to watch Mom's fingers drive the pencil across the page and suddenly became uncomfortably conscious of the warmth of her thigh and the soft press of her buttock . Somehow the thought of that pleasant feeling escaped my skull and dropped like a stone to the source of the sensations, causing it to expand. With pure and utter horror, my mind registered the tactile sensation of my burgeoning cock. It wasn't swelling sufficiently to be noticed, at least not yet or so I hoped, but it was growing none the less. What had triggered this new feeling, at this awkward moment of all times? Well, the memory of my sister's tits, as they had accidently been presented to me on that day, bracketed by the open yellow blouse, had suddenly surged into my consciousness.

STOP, my mind screamed. Stay still!

But it didn't. I gritted my teeth and pictured a ring of large sweaty men in leather harnesses laughing as they swung enormous hammers onto my swollen balls, stretched over a large anvil next to a roaring fire. WHAM, WHAM, WHAM. Nothing, no effect whatsoever. Instead, my cock shifted as it stiffened, seeking growing space like the little tyrant it was.

Mom's fingers stopped, frozen with the pencil in the middle of forming a "G" at the begging of a word. Another uncontrolled flinch in response to a tingling sensation I couldn't ignore prompted Mom's fingers into motion, grasping the near edge of the page and pulling it over to the right, returning the book to the previous, unfinished, messy puzzle. Staring at those words again — tits, pussy, showme — caused another uninhibited flinch. My leg muscles tightened, already in receipt of the automatic commands from my brain before my conscious mind was aware, preparing to flee. Reacting to my own muscles before me, Mom's hand slipped off the book and fell onto my tensed leg, its grip silently commanding me to stay. Only when my muscles relaxed did Mom's hand release my leg and return to its former activity.

I stared helplessly at the words: tits, pussy, showme. The warmth of Mom's body, the fear of what was to come, the threatening presence of my father, even though I couldn't tear my eyes away to see if he had noticed the tension on the couch — all these things impinged on my senses but none could stop another forbidden flinch.

The pencil moved to a position under "showme". It scribbled: "leave her alone."

For the first time since I had started helping Mom with the puzzles, she turned to look at me. I nodded, slowly, in solemn affirmation. Mom nodded in return and turned back to the puzzle. I started to get up but Mom stopped me with a brief grip on my leg and the tension in my muscles abated. The page was turned and Mom began filling in the crossword again.

I alternated between watching Mom and looking at Dad but mostly I focused on Mom. I didn't just watch her fingers scribble over the puzzle; I noticed how slender and feminine they were. I admired the crook of her neck where it wasn't covered by the hair hanging loosely over her shoulders. Her throat pulsed gently with her breathing and my eyes descended until they registered the valley between the slight swells that yielded the first hints of the fruit filling the blouse below. My eyes explored further, past the first unsecured button and then the next where the bursting fullness confirmed that here sat a mature woman and not a mere girl.

Mom made a mistake, a rare event. She reversed the pencil and rubbed the tip across the page. It was a long word. Mom pressed the book tightly against her leg as she scrubbed the errant letters away, shaking the book and her leg, and mine below. Her bottom, by the laws of physics, wriggled, shooting blazing stars through my groin. I stifled a groan as my cock stiffened into full hardness, stretching into the remaining space in my jeans and bending outward when that was filled.

I knew my swollen member was pressing into the black material of Mom's stretchy pants but there was nothing I could do. The letters were gone but Mom continued scrubbing. Finally, she stopped and, after a brief pause, pencilled in a new word and sighed in satisfaction as it meshed with several others crossing its path.

Mom continued with the puzzle. I had hoped my erection would subside but it didn't. It was as rigid as ever but Mom paid it no notice that I could detect even though she must have felt its presence. She didn't lift her soft buttock or acknowledge its impudent presence in any way.

Twice more, Mom made mistakes. This was unprecedented. Mom never made mistakes and she had made three on this puzzle alone, all on longer words. The prolonged scrubbing to remove the offending marks didn't help my mental attempts to quell my swollen cock. Quite the opposite. I was now beyond worrying about its growth, or the rude announcement of its presence. There was nothing more it could do to attract additional attention except rub itself into Mom's bum but that ability was beyond its control. That could only happen if I allowed it.

Despite myself, I did shift my weight a couple of times. They were small, involuntary movements but they increased the tingling sensations in my cock almost beyond control. Mom still didn't react but a short time after the second one, she finished the puzzle and pulled the page back to reveal the previous one again. She stared at the offensive words for half a minute before writing below her own words, "leave her alone", adding "PROMISE" in capital letters in an empty seven-letter slot. She turned to look at me and I nodded immediately. The puzzle was covered again.

"Well," Mom said, drawing Dad's attention. "Your sister will be home in a few weeks. We'll have to plan a proper reception for her."

"She's just left," Dad said, seemingly annoyed at the interruption. "What brought that on?"

"Oh, I don't know. I was just thinking about her and hoping everything is going well. I just want everything to be perfect for her when she comes home. It must be so stressful going to college and I want her time at home to be as relaxing as it can be."

The last phrase was stated with added emphasis. Mom turned and fixed me with a steady, firm gaze. I nodded, feeling uncomfortable and seeking relief from her attention.

"I suppose so," Dad mumbled, already returning to his book though I think he'd been watching TV when Mom spoke. None of us had been to college so we had no idea what it was like there.

Mom moved to get up and I pulled back to make room. She put her hand on my leg to help herself up. I might have been imagining things but I think she squeezed it more than necessary to lift herself up.
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****​

That night in bed I relived Mom's discovery of those incriminating words and the subsequent press of her thighs and bottom against my leg, over and over. I hadn't meant to jack off but the press of my palm along the length of my dick soon made me turn on my side so I could stroke it properly. I also didn't mean to come but couldn't stop as I beat my cock faster and faster, imagining that Mom had pushed her backside onto me on purpose. She couldn't be offering me an alternative to my sister, could she? In the frenzy leading up to my orgasm, I was sure of it but in the cold reality of the aftermath while i was cleaning up my mess, I knew it was too good to be true.

Reality offered the more truthful portent of the world. The next day, Mom's interaction with me was outwardly no different than any other day but I felt a distinct distance between us that wasn't normally there. I was hurt at first but then became angry. When my parents took up their usual respective evening positions, he reading and her doing crosswords, I initially responded in my own typical fashion: I repaired to my room to waste hours on shoot-em-up computer games. However, I couldn't keep focused and kept getting easily killed rather than winning. After less than an hour of play, I wandered downstairs, frustrated and angry, already dressed in my pyjamas and house coat.

Neither parent looked up when I entered the living room. I looked at them for a long moment, then turned into the kitchen where I waited for the kettle to boil. Patiently, I watched the tea pot steep, thinking about nothing in particular but aware that my unconscious mind was planning something. I just couldn't grasp what it was.

Mom looked up when I set a cup of tea down on the end table beside her but Dad didn't even notice his. I returned for my own mug and sat on the couch near Mom but not right beside her. She was wearing a similar outfit to the one she'd worn the day before: black stretchy pants and a white blouse. Looking at her, I realized Mom was kind of chic in a simplistic bohemian way. She had one foot resting on the coffee table and the opposite leg crossed over the knee of the first, foot dangling and toes tapping to some silent tune. She hadn't even thanked me for the tea.

At some point during my observation, I realized that Mom was aware of my perusal but acting as if she wasn't. How I knew that, I can't explain but more interesting to me was , why? I let my eyes rove over her body, from head to toe, or more to the point, from chest and along her shanks to her knees, and back again. It wasn't the tenseness I sensed in her limbs that signaled her secret discomfort but rather the almost unobservable twitches in her face. Mom was expecting something from me and she was nervous about it.

"How's the crossword going?" I asked, quietly, so as not to rouse Dad's attention.

Mom nodded, as if to say Ok, but didn't speak.

"I thought the tea might help," I said, hoping to make her feel just a little bit obligated to me.

Mom nodded again but curtly as if to say thanks but don't bother me now, I'm busy. I picked up my mug and took a sip. Carefully, I set it down on the coffee table near Mom's foot more than a foot closer to her than I currently sat. I shifted towards her on the couch.

"Is it a hard one?" I asked, peering at the book.

Mom nodded, tensely.

"Really hard," I persisted, moving even closer.

Mom shook her head slightly, grimacing in concentration.

"That hard?" I commented, closing the last few inches between us and bringing my housecoat into contact with Mom's stretchy pants. Her face twitched and the letter she was completing strayed outside it's little square.

"Why don't you take a tea break? It might help."

Mom didn't answer but a minute later, she reached over with her left hand to pick up her tea. I experienced a heartfelt appreciation of the fact that Mom was a south paw. Reaching across her right leg with her left hand to pick up her tea lifted the left off the couch, allowing me to snuggle close like I had the day before.

"Tyson. Leave me some room," Mom chided me.

"I'm just trying to see what you're doing," I said.

Mom sipped her tea, then set the cup down and returned to her puzzle. I watched her fill in a few words, then leaned across her to pick up her spare pencil from the end table.

"Tyson," she complained.

"Sorry," I mumbled.

Mom completed two more words, then appeared to be stuck. I moved the tip of my pencil toward the puzzle but she pushed it away. I tried twice more and was rebuffed both times, the last time verbally.

"Stop it," Mom cried.

Dad looked up then and smiled. He seemed to discover his tea for the first time and picked it up, draining it in one long gulp before returning to his book.

I moved the pencil toward the crossword but stopped when Mom's right hand moved up, preparing to block mine. I hovered for a moment, then withdrew. About to move forward again, I suddenly changed my mind and flipped the pencil end for end. The eraser now pointed at the book.

"Don't you dare," Mom warned, obviously thinking I was going to try to erase one of her entries.

"I wouldn't dream of it," I laughed.

Nor would I have ever dreamed that I would do what I did next. I moved the pencil, but sideways instead of forward, until it bumped against the side of Mom's breast.

There was a pregnant pause as both Mom and I reacted to what I'd done. Or, I should say, failed to react. I kept the eraser pressed against the side of Mom's breast, fascinated by the way it actually moved as she breathed, and Mom just sat, rigidly unmoving, her face still. Neither of us knew what to do next.

It could have been an accident. Was she waiting for me to acknowledge it as such, to say... sorry, or just pull it away?

In defiance of all logic, I moved the pencil, but not away. Instead, I moved it down, along the curve of Mom's breast, stopped, then dragged it up to its original point of contact and even above, still in contact with Mom's mammary. Mom glanced at Dad and I quickly shot a look at him as well. Then, the unimaginable happened. Mom raised the crossword book up so it almost stood on her crossed leg, blocking the line of sight from Dad to the tip of my pencil. Mom's own pencil once again contacted the page and another blank space became a word.

I rubbed the pencil up and down the side of Mom's breast, almost cheekily, like a spoiled kid announcing to his minder that he knew he was doing something wrong and was enjoying it all the more because he was getting away with it. Mom filled in two more words while the eraser fully explored the side of her blouse, at least the part that swelled nicely. After that, she pushed the pencil away.

I picked up my mug, took a swig of tea, and asked, "So, exactly when is Lynn coming home?"

My question hung in the air, orphaned for several long seconds until Mom responded, tersely, "Two weeks from this Saturday."

"Oh," I said. "That soon?"

"Yes," Mom's response was even more curt.

I set my cup down, but this time on the end table beside Mom, leaning over her to do so. When I settled back, I moved the eraser back onto Mom's left breast and allowed it to play along its curvature, even venturing toward the front. I dropped the pencil beneath Mom's breast, pushed it toward her and lifted her breast with it, allowing it to skid outward until the weight of Mom's breast pushed it away and bounced back to her chest. Fantastic.

When Mom tried to push the pencil away, I parried with words.

"I'm looking forward to seeing her."

Mom wrote in the book and jabbed her script. 'NO.'

I pushed my pencil toward the crossword and this time Mom didn't try to stop me.

'Then?' I wrote, in the first available four-letter space.

I returned my pencil to the top of Mom's breast, resting it there, waiting. Mom pointedly avoided looking at me but slowly returned her pencil to the book and wrote in another entry. It was the proper answer to the clue. She was doing the puzzle again.

I let the pencil lightly follow the slope of Mom's breast out until it fell over its edge. I kept it close to her breast, tracing its outline, feeling the excitement in my loins grow as it passed over the point where I knew her nipple must lie underneath the bra. I played that pencil over Mom's breast constantly, up and down, until she finished the puzzle. She started to close the book.

"Do another one, Mom," I suggested, but we both knew it was more than a suggestion.

I was actually surprised when Mom complied. By the time she was two thirds through, my pencil was rubbing all over her right breast too. By then, I had convinced myself that my tightly controlled but excited breath was matched once or twice by Mom's own. Perhaps I strayed too far when I tried, successfully, to push the top button of Mom's blouse through its hole, for the second it popped through, Mom snapped the book shut and stood up.

"That's enough," she cried sharply, then belatedly added, "for one night."
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****​

I was exhilarated. It took me hours to get to sleep that night, even after I had emptied my balls. My poor cock was sore, I beat it so much. I fell asleep dreaming of my pencil rubbing up and down Mom's bare tits, flicking her nipples while Mom whispered to me, "Suck them, Ty."

I predicted that Mom wouldn't have a second pencil the next night. I knew she would do her crosswords. Otherwise, Dad would say something, but I knew there wouldn't be a spare pencil. Mom wasn't surprised when I snuggled up close to her and seemed to welcome me. She even thanked me for the tea that I brought.

"Are you going to help me again tonight?" she asked, smiling pleasantly.

"Every night, Mom. I love helping you do your crosswords."

Our banter was lost on Dad. His attention remained fixed on his book.

Mom seemed smugly pleased and I think she could hardly wait for my discovery of the missing pencil but her faint smile disappeared when I produced one of the pencils I had shoved in the pocket of my housecoat before coming downstairs. I immediately moved it onto Mom's breast and, resigned, she raised her book to block my nefarious activity.

I had been rubbing the pencil over her glorious breasts for almost ten minutes before I realized Mom's blouse didn't have buttons I could push undone. She was wearing a thin turtleneck sweater which I didn't notice until I moved the eraser between her upper breasts in search of a button. The faint smile returned to Mom's face.

She seemed almost eager for me to continue rubbing the pencil over her breasts after that, as if to rub it into my face that I may have outsmarted her with my pencil stash but she had bested me with the removal of the 'gates' to her bare breasts. That smile stayed on Mom's face as my anger led me to scrub the pencil over her breasts.

That roughness accidentally led me to my next victory. The eraser, because of how firmly I was scraping it over Mom's tit, dug into the bra underneath her thin sweater, and pushed it a ways down her breast before the pencil snapped over the top of the bra. The importance of that didn't immediately dawn on me but several passes later, I purposely dug the eraser into the bra and pushed, keeping the pencil tight to Mom's tit. The tip dug in, between the bra and Mom's flesh, out to the crest where I pried it outward. At the same time, I found the strap on Mom's shoulder under the sweater and pulled it over as the pencil lifted the bra over Mom's nipple and off her breast.

Mom's smile disappeared and a replacement grew on my face. The bra collapsed underneath Mom's breast which bounced freely under her thin sweater, the nipple now advertising its presence. Quickly, I pushed the pencil across to Mom's other breast and, in concert with my hand behind her shoulders, relieved it of its covering too. The bra now encircled Mom's waist below her breasts, leaving them free except for the inadequate covering of the thin sweater.
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