Incest/Taboo Nora in the Sun

But then mom took a step toward me. Her head was lowered, but she reached out with one hand and felt my arm, her eyes flicking upward at me. Hinting. Asking. I knew, without a shadow of a doubt in my heart what my mother was asking me.

All girls acted this way...

...when they wanted to kiss a boy.

My heart beat once, twice, three times.

I reached for her. Gently pulled her to me, pressed her soft arms in my grip.

I lifted her chin up. She looked at me. Dared me. Asked me with her eyes if I would take that next step.

I would.

I fell into the gorgeous red of her lips...

...and kissed her.

And my gorgeous, impossibly lovely mother kissed back.

Her lips were so soft... I tasted the wine. I felt the heat of her soft, flushed face on mine.

I kissed her, harder. She did the same back, her tongue tasting sweet, and I lost control. I pulled against her more strongly, crushing her body to mine, pressing her soft hips against mine, grabbing the nape of her neck and controlling it while she whimpered in the kiss. Her hands wandered up and felt at me, smoothing along my chest, grabbing at my arms, circling around my neck. Her tongue flicked against my teeth, and I responded in kind, our tongues warring, dancing against each other, the wet flavor of her mouth and the sound of her labored breathing breaking against my heart, my core.

Now you have her.

Lust, powerful, unbearable broke through the gates of my mind. I felt the blood rushing in me, down, down, and I felt a painful ache in my pants, my cock pushed against the inside, pressing harder and harder. My hands went town, seized her waist. Pulled her close. Her hips bucked against mine, against my throbbing cock -- and she whined softly as we devoured each other, licked and kissed, the wetness of our mouths commingling.

I moved a hand down the small of her back. She soft flesh of her ass was under her dress, and I pressed, reached, all the way until one of her lovely, pillowy cheeks was in my hand. I squeezed and she gasped, the flesh giving way under the cotton, and I felt an unconscious growl leaving me. Her hands raised up in response, tangling in my hair, gripping it tightly as she pulled my mouth into hers. The ache in my pants grew -- commanded me -- and I reached the other hand down to her other cheek, and gripped it, lifted and pulled at her dress material, pulling her harder onto me. I felt my cock straining, burning hot, and I directed her softness onto it, while I gloried in the otherworldly plush of her lovely behind.

My hands kept moving down until I had one below the cleft of my mother's cheek, and I pulled her leg up. My hands reached the end of her dress, and then my fingers suddenly found cool flesh, the smoothness under her thigh giving way as her dress lifted, as my hand plunged even farther toward the heat between her legs. Then I felt a thin, thin fabric, the thin panties covering my mother's cunny. My fingers dug under them -- I felt the edge of the burning heat of her secret place, and she whined in my ear, and the urgency in me grew - I thrust forward with my hips, pressing my cock where I was certain mom's soft, pink apex lay, while my fingers grew closer to it from behind, pressing against her hot, slick flesh -- I felt her fingers tighten in my hair -- and I felt her wine-misted breath crying, breathing in my ear as she let go of a husky moan, "oh, god."

Then she stopped.

Mom looked up without pulling away, our lips tingling from the interrupted kiss. Her dark eyes, her flushed cheeks, her now messy hair shone in the half-light of the street. She looked at me soberly, panting, full of recognition as to what was happening. The wine made her imperceptibly sway. She stared up, shaking, vulnerable.

I could tell she was truly afraid of herself. Of what she was doing.

Of what my mother's lovely, sex-starved body needed from her son.

"That's enough," she said hoarsely, hesitantly. I didn't know if she meant it.

The hot, damp feeling under her skirt, the slick sweat of her skin between her legs, the wet heat I felt now at the tips of my fingers called me. I was so, so close to having my fingers inside her.

Inside mom.

But... I bit the inside my lips as hard as I could, trying to draw blood and strength as the animal in me snarled against the last shred of sobriety I held.

My hands left the space under her dress.

She stepped back, looking away. Her pale chest heaved as her gasping slowed, her physical senses calming, her excitement fading, her consciousness filling with relief.

We said nothing for a minute, but then she straightened and cleared her throat. Her poise was businesslike, but I could hear the subtle tremble in my mother's voice. "We can't be doing that, baby." She swallowed. "We're..." She trailed off. Her hand went up to her cheek. She looked at me sadly, and I felt myself falling in the dark of her eyes, wanting to ignore those words and to explore the tremble in her chest, but she finished, finally. "I'm your mother."

The moment was over.

I answered her, "I know."

The last magic of the night was gone.

"We need to get back," I said, numb. "I'll call a taxi." I turned and left the side streets first. Mom's quiet footsteps echoed behind me. It was so late in the night -- nobody else walked the city streets. Our taxi pulled up. We got into the back seat together. Didn't look at each other.

If you insisted, she wouldn't have stopped you.

If you tried to take her, she wouldn't have resisted.

You had her.

Those thoughts cycled in me torturously, over and over as we left behind the soft, warm lights of Chetumal.

I woke up late the next morning as if I dreamed everything. A part of me thought I had.

Mom was in the kitchen, alone. She wore a longer dress than last night. Blues and pinks in the color of sunrise. Thin straps over her shoulders. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun. She looked at me and smiled, pretended as if we never kissed, placed food in front of me as if I were sixteen again and getting ready for school. As if she was just my mom again. As if, hours ago, my fingers didn't brush against the soft, wet slit between her legs.

"Your dad hasn't come back yet," she said brightly. "I hope he's alright. He's probably sitting in an alley somewhere wondering where his wallet disappeared to."

"Mom..." I addressed her hesitantly. "Last night we..."

Her bright smile disappeared. She set the cookware down and leaned back against the counter, her true feelings surfacing on her lovely pale face. Regret. Concern. Confusion. Her lips looked so soft.

"Last night..." she cleared her throat but couldn't finish the thought.

We stared at each other guiltily, remembering the sights of skin, and sweat, re-living the sounds of music and desperate breathing as we kissed in the side streets. Of the heat that flared between our legs as we pressed our hips together.

The front door opened and we jumped, startled. Dad stumbled in again. I noticed that the clock in the kitchen said it was just past noon.

"Welcome back. You look great, dear," said mom, her fake brightness back. Dad looked like he had just gone through a threshing machine. His disheveled clothes and bleary, exhausted eyes could have landed him in an arrest lineup without surprising anyone. The stink of booze drifted into the villa with him. He half tripped onto the couch just like he did yesterday. We watched him, waiting to see if he would even justify himself. But he didn't. All he did was snore.

Mom frowned at him, disappointed.

I wondered if she felt any amount of guilt, not for the way she and I touched each other, but for the fact that she just kissed a man that wasn't her husband. But the longer I watched, the more certain I became -- the guilt was there. She looked at him sadly, her lips drawn thin. As if she had betrayed him. But she took a deep breath, remembering why she and I left him at the bar last night in the first place. She pulled her shoulders back in defiance. Shifted her soft hip to the side. Looked at me.

A different set of emotions clouded her face.

"We'll have to figure out another plan for today without him," said mom, echoing yesterday." Her eyes were serious. Focused. Cool.

"Alright."

"I'd love it if you took me to that hidden pool again," my mother said, unblinking.

After I changed, I nervously waited for her at the front door. She asked me to take her to the secret pool. The memory of yesterday flooded back, my stomach flipping while I replayed the images of creamy skin decorated by the falling water, sealed in the gorgeous intimacy of that moment.

It didn't take her too long. I heard the door to her room close upstairs. I heard her footsteps. I stepped out to watch her descend the stairs.

First, her lovely legs appeared. One after the other, proceeding from the heavens. All of her skin was now tinged with the kiss of sun, a gold and pink that made her glow in divine radiance. Her immaculate skin revealed itself as she entered my sight, my eyes drawing upward to the point between her legs, where a silky blue swimsuit cupped her apex. It drew up, the one piece covering her belly as the silk transitioned in color, moving from aqua blue to a sea green, shimmering in the light that passed through the windows throughout the villa. It had to be incredibly expensive.

The ample sides of her bottom were bare, the swim suit shrinking back along her hips. Above them, her heavy breasts were cupped in the metallic sheen of the swimsuit. It pushed them upward and together, her tits overflowing, barely contained in the low cut. The swim suit had no straps. Her upper chest and shoulders were revealed. Tiny white fabric flowers blossomed along the upper edges of the one piece, decorating mother's tits with an impossible dignity.

She came down the stairs, descending like the goddess of some long-forgotten sea, her hair free and loose. Some of her hair was lighter, shining, kissed by our short time in the sun. Like amber lines, like veins of gold. She turned and I realized that her lower back was bare -- the one piece opened up behind her, revealing a circle of her lower back to the sun. I realized that I was staring with my mouth open, leaning forward, tense and hungry.

Mom watched my reaction and grinned as she perched her sun hat on top of her long, dark locks. At the bottom of the steps, she gathered a long, flowing shawl and wrapped it around her waist. She put on her sunglasses and leaned her head to the side. "Let's go, baby."

The way she spoke, the way she was acting, her choice of swimsuit, all of these things confused and excited me to no end -- deep down, I knew what all of this meant. I looked at the door. If we went through it with every intention to go back to that secret paradise, then that meant...

I offered my arm. She stepped close to me and took it, her hands twining around my bicep, her hip brushing against mine, and we stepped into the sun.

Neither of us could bring ourselves to speak on the way to the beach. It felt like hours -- agonizing ones as I felt the overwhelming desire to run there, to arrive in that hidden place as soon as possible. Mom's pink cheeks hinted at the mix of emotions and feelings within her, but I couldn't see her eyes through the dark sunglasses.

We made it onto the beach. Walked along, side by side, arm in arm to the palm forest and the hill. No words. Just building, scared anticipation as we entered the shade of the tropical canopy.

The ground rose beneath us. The vines grew dense. Rocky walls appeared, lining our path. The tree at the entrance appeared. "We're here." We stopped before it together.

There was no returning once we went inside. This entry symbolized a taboo that could not be undone. The memory of seeing each other at our most natural, vulnerable states floated before us, coupled with the urgent panic of knowing we wanted that again - a warning that we were not merely making a mistake, doing something on accident. This would be by our own choices. If my mother and I went through, we would cross a barrier that was undeniably wrong.

I stopped before it and pulled the tree to the side, as if opening a door for her. She stayed in place. Removed her sunglasses. Took off her hat, and held it in her small hands. Looked at me. Mom was trembling, biting her lower lip as she nervously calculated in her mind what she was doing -- what she should do -- if she should stop and run back. I felt much of the same, but her soft, reddening cheeks, her dilated pupils, her parted lips, her trembling told me what else she wanted.

"Do you want this?" She suddenly asked.

I couldn't respond. I just held open the door, watching her, begging internally that she would make this choice. Even if it was wrong. Even if I was her son. We stared into each other's eyes, searching. I gave a slight nod.

A minute passed. Nora took a deep breath.

And my lovely, goddess of a mother moved past me, through the rock face, and into that secret place. An ethereally sweet scent flowed with her. I realized she was wearing perfume, something she deliberately put on before we left. Cloves. Honey. Jasmine flower. As if she were a silk-adorned concubine, in the long-lost empires of the Middle East, preparing herself for her summons to the chambers of a powerful master.

I followed after her, drinking in the scent.

The air cooled, the soft mist brushed through our senses. The sound and sight of the waterfall and the moss-painted walls meant we were in another world.

My mother and I were alone.

She turned to face me by the pool. The lovely white flesh of the tops of her breasts were bright in the low light. Something in her had changed. "Now what?" She asked, staring at me with her dark, knowing eyes.

"We could..." I looked at the pool. Back to her. Followed her lovely curves downward to the silk bathing suit that kept her gorgeous body hidden. It was beautiful but I wanted it to go. I wanted to see her vulnerable again. "We could skinny dip."

Mom took my response with a blink. I thought she would hesitate.

But she didn't. "Alright," she quietly breathed. Her hands went behind her. Hooked into the silk under her arms, where her creamy breasts pushed out. She pulled downward, shifting her shoulders down, one at a time as the silk peeled away from her chest, oceans of my mother's white lovely breasts revealing themselves. Her lovely tits fell, one after the other, the fragile pink of her nipples greeting the misty air, pointing at me as her flesh relaxed, falling softly free. She rolled the swim suit down, farther, past her tummy, to where her waist tightened, and then to where her pillowy hips widened out.

I was achingly hard, my cock straining through my shorts.

She bent low, looking upward at me, her hair veiling her heavy teats swinging gently from side to side as the one piece pushed off of her hips. She straightened, her breasts pushing out, her fingers letting go of the swim suit completely. It fell to her ankles in a shimmer of silvery blue.

Mom pressed her legs together, her feet crossing as she stood staring up at me, her yielding thighs pushing softly, showing only the black triangle of hair above the connection of her legs. I wanted to bury my face in her.

Her hands came together in front of her, covering the patch of hair, hiding her apex from me. "It's your turn," she said, hoarse, struggling to keep her voice even. "Fair's fair." She looked down at the protrusion in my swimwear. Back up to me. Back down.

I pulled mine off with one move, let them fall, let my manhood free. I felt it throbbing -- watched as my mother's eyes focused on it, following every twitch it made. Her mouth opened as I flexed it, forcing it to arc upward. The anticipation was extreme. For both of us. She closed her mouth and I saw her eyes flaring, staring fixedly at my cock.

Her feet shifted. It wasn't much, but it was enough to see her thighs barely part, to finally reveal the hint of pink under her pubic hair. I felt precum rising from deep within. I felt myself coiling like a predator. I wanted to drive into her. To take her. To give my mother everything, to plunder everything she had.

I took a step forward.

No going back.

We made our choice to be here, to be together.

And to embrace all the consequences of it.

The lust exploded upward in me like an unstoppable tidal wave - I strode up and pushed her back -- we collided with the mossy rock walls. Mom gasped, I pressed against her -- our skin was hot, burning, and our mouths collided -- our wet kisses seared our lips, our skin. I squeezed her neck, feverishly grabbing at her legs, her breasts, circling around behind her, sliding down along her lower back, grabbing her ass and driving my fingers into the softness of her cheeks, wanting to tear her apart and to devour all of her soft, fragile flesh. She gasped heavily, pain or pleasure, I wasn't sure, but her hands clutched at me, one tightly held my hair before pressing at my face, sliding downward along my stomach, her other hand pressing behind her, feeling the cool, slick moss all along her back.

I pressed my cock onto the indent of her hip and she looked down, eyes wide, breathing heavily. "Wait -- son," she gasped, before I sealed my mouth over hers again, our tongues pushing past each other, breathing each other in.

Her hand went down my stomach while we kissed, her fingers lightly tracing down my pubic hair, weaving through it as she pressed her palm along my pelvis. Her hand opened up. Her soft fingers moved into a circle...

...as she wrapped them around my throbbing cock. I felt her body react as she touched my erection, the surprised shivers as I twitched in her grasp. Pleasure rocked through me as she squeezed, as our kiss disconnected and she looked down, open mouthed, marveling as her hand started to move up and down.

A bead of clear precum shot upward, emerging at my tip. "Brett," she whispered. "My baby boy." Her hand started moving faster, jerking me off as I clutched at her soft, pillowy ass, as I kissed along her neck, behind her ear, holding her tightly to feel her excitedly tremble as the handjob increased in speed, as her grip tightened, as her breathing became louder and faster in her excitement.

I reached farther, pulling her ass cheeks apart, leaning to bring my own fingers closer to her from behind. It was impossibly hot between her legs, the heat emanating from a pink, wet place calling my fingers home. My fingers pushed farther, and found... a slickness. A scent that rose, a heady musk from her arousal. I traced along it and mom shook under me, her handjob slowing as she took in the sensation of the cool rock wall and my fingers exploring between her legs.

I pushed at the firm, rich lips of her pussy. It felt immediately slippery -- and as I teased my finger between each lip, I felt mom tense under me. Her mouth opened, her breath caught. She looked up at me. Waiting.

I pushed farther, my index and middle fingers sinking in the feeling of her heat and wetness, of the tight pressure inside her. Her eyes widened. I went a knuckle deep, two knuckles, and then leaned forward, kissing her, plunging my tongue down her throat as she closed her eyes. My fingers pushed in farther, sinking all the way, and mom gave a moan through our connected lips.

I curled my fingers slowly. Felt her squirm with pleasure as I pushed against the top of her insides, where I knew a more sensitive spot lay. "Brett!" She made a high-pitched squeal. She gasped, pulling her lips off of mine, shocked at the noise she made. Stared into me with a look of surprise, her soft pink lips trying to say something, anything to explain the way she reacted to my fingers, still curling inside her, rubbing against that spot. I moved them in a 'come here' motion, and with each movement of my fingers, her eyes heavily fell closed, then back open as I pushed along at the slick, wet walls inside. Her moaning rose and fell. "Ohh..." she shuddered and leaned her head back, closing her eyes.

Then her hand moved faster on my cock, gripping it tight, moving up and down, faster and faster. My legs buckled from the pleasure that rocked through me as my mother's hand passed into a blur, her soft fingers pressing into my rod as she jerked me off, her breathing fast in worked up effort. I tensed up, and she leaned her head forward, looking down at the way I throbbed and bucked, looking up at my face, watching the way I reacted to her expert hands.

I felt it building. Pressure, at the base of my shaft. My testicles started to constrict, to tighten. I felt it rising. I couldn't breathe, the rising ecstasy stopping my words as I passed beyond the point of no return.

Something was coming up. Now.

"Mom," I groaned. "I'm going to... I'm gonna..."

She locked eyes with me, her cheeks red, her breathing heavy.

Without looking away, my mother whispered, "I know, baby."

And I exploded.

Mom quickly moved her hand from the wall to catch it -- the semen that pumped from my cock in an endless stream, shooting into her hand as she kept jerking me with the other one. It kept going, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes back in pleasure as she loosened her grip slightly and shifted to jerking me off in an underhanded grip, her fingers splaying over my balls as she massaged them, the cum finally slowing, falling to the earth between my feet in drops.

She stepped back, letting go of my cock, my fingers pulling loose from inside of her. I staggered, the last drops of semen still falling from me in long, thin strands to the ground. My mother looked down at her palms, one hand empty, the other cupping the puddle of silvery, cloudy white. She stared at it in curious horror, still breathing heavily. The blush of her cheeks had spread down her neck, over her chest, the pink nipples now red from excitement.

I could see a faint glistening between her legs where my fingers had just been.

"What have we done," she whispered, awestruck, still looking at my cum, which was now trickling between her fingers and dripping into the leaves.

I wasn't sure how to respond. We had crossed a line, for reasons that no one, no one, could possibly accept or understand. But I understood.

And she did too.

She looked at me, curious. And then she remembered. "Your father," her voice dropped, disappointed in the reality that came flooding back, "is going to wake up soon."

What we did was suddenly starkly out of place in our minds, like a piece that didn't go with this puzzle.

How could we possibly treat this as anything but a dangerous situation that had to end? How could we possibly accept what we had just done?

remembered my dad was on the couch, passed out when we left.

I remembered that mom was married to him.

That he was the one funding the vacation.

I remembered that I had to go back to college when we made it back.

I knew that outside of this secret place, there were too many obstacles, too many people that could find out, too many risks to the rest of our lives.

There was no way we could continue, but how could we possibly even look each other in the eye when we had just pleasured each other -- when my fingers had been inside my own mother, when my cum still dripped from her lovely white fingers?

The rest of my life flared before me. All the places where mom and I would interact were a dark, unreadable blur.
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