Incest/Taboo Nora in the Sun

We awoke to the sound of mom's phone, the ringtone she had saved for dad. Through the tangle of sheets, I saw mom's pale arm reaching for the light on the nightstand. It was like out of a dream -- seeing her awakening in the same bed I was in. Never, in my entire life, did I imagine I'd see this.

"Ross?" She answered the phone blearily. I could hear dad's voice in the silence of the morning, even though the phone wasn't on speaker.

"Still no clue where you both are," said dad, still annoyed. "But I guess I deserve it after doing the same to you, huh?"

Mom pursed her lips together, agreeing reluctantly.

"Anyway," dad continued, "I think I've had all the fun I can out here. My head is killing me, and I think if I so much as even think of tequila I'm going to end up puking. So I'm headed out a day early to get back to work -- the firm's reimbursing it, thankfully."

"You're headed back without us?" Mom sat up, the covers slipping down her chest, the soft pinkness of her nipples greeting the morning.

"Yeah. So I'll see you back at home," dad said without a drop of emotion or care, entirely without any hint that we were family, almost as if mom were just a roommate, though I guess in a lot of ways, she kind of was.

"Alright. See you Ross," mom rubbed at her forehead. "Be safe."

"Uh huh." Dad hung up.

Mom fell back. She looked at me as if I were a stranger in the bed. I was sure she was thinking about what we did last night.

What I did inside of her.

"Uh," I tried to open a conversation. Smoothly. "Breakfast?" Great job, Brett.

"This is the last full day, you know." Mom seemed thoughtful. Far off. "And I don't think your father would have packed everything at the villa. We'll need to go back today if we're going to make our flight tomorrow."

"We're leaving already?" I got up, incredulous. "We just got here! We're in Cancun!"

"The plane tickets say tomorrow, Brett." She swung her lovely, curvy, long legs off the side of the bed and got up. "We'll have to make the drive back today."

I was aghast. I didn't want any of this to be over.

I didn't want to go home.

"What about the beach? What about exploring the area?"

But mom got dressed, wore relaxed clothes -- just a comfortable white sundress, nothing too tight. It was a soft look, a motherly one. Sandals. Sunglasses for the hangover. She pointed at my suitcase, lowering her eyebrows in a silent order, and I dropped the subject. She wasn't going to argue with me, even a little. We packed and went downstairs to get lunch since it was closer to noon, then checked out.

Once the clerk finished processing us, I remembered the swimsuit that they had in the store where I bought the massage oil. "Hey. There's something I'd really like you to get," I took her arm and brought mom up to the display. She looked through the glass of the storefront, assessing the sexy piece that barely functioned as a swimsuit at all -- all string, all skin, two whole inches of cloth, combined. Her eyes went wide as she measured just how skimpy it was.

"Brett, that's just vulgar."

"It's sexy." I pointed at the price tag. "It's not even that much. In the US, it'd be three times that."

"You have no clue what swimwear costs in the US, do you?" Mom smiled at me. "But maybe just for you, I'll get it."

"Please."

A minute later, mom exchanged cash for the tiniest shopping bag I had ever seen -- not even hand sized. That's all it took to package it. Mom asked the lady at the checkout if they had any Plan B, and the lady behind the counter uncomfortably pulled some from under the counter. Mom paid for it, looking at it nervously as the lady put it in her hands. As mom turned away, I saw the lady, the same one from yesterday, glaring at me.

We pulled out of the parking lot and left the Isla Mujeres at the edge of Cancun. The ocean was still there, but I internally said goodbye to the long line of resorts and endless sand. I noted the fact that we didn't even step outside on the beach while we were at the resort. We missed one of the best parts of Cancun. That's how short our time was.

I wanted to ask mom if we could go back, but the fact was, we had plane tickets, and if mom was an immovable stickler about anything, it was timing transportation and getting to the airport as early as humanely possible. She wanted to make the drive back today so that all we needed was the two hour bus to Belize City the next day. Even that would make her nervous.

The drive began with mom biting her lip and looking concerned. She gripped the steering wheel with alternating hands. Nervously. I could tell she was thinking about the Plan B. I noticed it, peeking out of her purse. She hadn't taken it yet.

"You alright mom?"

"Oh. Brett." She said, in a slight daze. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

I didn't want to ask her to take it. We had 72 hours, and it hadn't even reached 12. It was a weird moment -- I felt nervous. Excited at an unnamed possibility. Scared. Reluctant. A part of me didn't want her to take it at all. I felt like maybe she didn't want to take it either.

Our five hour drive back to Consejo went by in near silence. We only spoke when passing off the driving, when filling up with gas, when we got lunch. I couldn't quite tell if it was a sad silence or a nervous one, but either way, it was tough to handle, made worse by the fact that I had nothing to say to make the silence go away.

Hours went by. At one point, while I drove, mom took out the box of Plan B and stared at it. She drank some water, reading the label. It went back into her purse, unopened. I heard a deep breath. Like a nervous sigh.

I turned the music mix back on at some point, in the endless highway jungle heading south. It blended into itself, the time fading it into mere noise. Every town, every tourist trap, every gas station was another reminder that we were leaving the region and that at some point tomorrow we'd be back on home soil.

And then what?

The sun had already fallen out of the high point in the sky. It was early evening by the time we pulled up to the villa. Mom woke up, stretching, the white dress flowing gently with her movement, and stepped delicately out of the car.

"I'll get the luggage," I offered. She went on as if she didn't hear me.

There was no sign of dad at the entry. His shoes were gone, and all that was left of his luggage was another broken luggage wheel and a small scratch in the flooring from where the broken piece likely dragged.

When I got inside, I saw mom standing by the sliding glass door at the back, the one that overlooked the patio of the villa. It had a sea view, and it was suddenly strange to me that I never really bothered to take it in from that spot. The ocean was spread out in front of it -- twilight colors starting to touch at the edges of the sea.

Mom's arms were folded in front of her, tightly.

"Hey." I tried a small wave to get her attention. "You alright?"

"No." Mom seemed to shrink.

"What's going on?"

Without answering, she opened the sliding glass door and went outside to the patio. Golds and oranges made streaks across the sand. The sound of the surf roared ahead of us, the occasional dot of a person along the stretch of public beach our villa sat on.

It was weird that I never really bothered to go there either. It was always that secret place instead, though maybe our time here was better for it.

Mom looked out to that beach and seemed to be very, very lost.

I didn't know what to do. What could I do?

"I'm going to clean some stuff," I offered. "So the landlords don't charge us extra."

Mom muttered some barely audible thanks, and I left her there. Her stare was fixed on the water, the waves, the way the light skipped off the ocean.

I only started to clean, but felt unsettled. It didn't take long for me to give up and to go back outside, where mom stood at the ocean's edge, farther than before, looking out. The water lapped at her feet, where she stood in perfect stillness, like a statue of marble. The sun was now low on the mountains behind us. Shadows streaked up into the water. The gold faded into dark aqua, and the sound and scent of the sea clouded us completely.

"Hey," I went up to her from the side, trying not to startle her. As I got close, feeling as the tides rose up to cover my feet, I finally got a closer look at her face.

She was crying. Her eyes were red, her face was blotchy. My mom wiped her face, but the tears kept coming. She put her head low, trying to keep me from seeing.

"Hey. Mom." I went up and wrapped my arms around her, and she embraced me around my waist, tightly. She pulled me as close as she could, squeezing as hard as she could, as if we could become one.

She was shaking in her crying, silent, except for the soft brushing of her face on my shirt. But she started to lose control. As the water surged up over our feet again, she let go.

I held her for moments while she sobbed in my arms. The sun was completely gone over the horizon. The sky was a deep, darkening blue. The time moved far, far too quickly.

"I don't want to go," she finally cried, her voice hoarse. "I want to stay here forever."

"I'm sorry," I whispered. I held her close to me. I wanted it to go on forever too. I didn't want to leave this beach, to leave behind the villa, the lights of Chetumal. To let that secret pool be discovered by any other, to let life go back to anything like the way it was.

Mom's hair smelled so sweet. Stars shone over the edge of the water, climbing, little gems in the sky.

She eventually took a deep breath, the sound like the softening noise of the surf. Her crying stopped. I could tell she was thinking, processing. It was her way -- to take difficulty in stride, to let the emotion out, only once. Just once. And then to breathe deeply, to think, then to continue, with some new, self-sacrificial mindset at play. It was what made her so incredible. It's what broke my heart.

"Let's go inside," she said, her voice once again firm.

"Alright."

We stepped through the sand, walking with impossible slowness, the breeze picking up, wicking at her dress. The sound of the ocean calmed as we left it, and above us, above the soft light of the villa, above the darkness of the jungle and the dots of streetlights in the village, the stars grew bright and spread, infinitely out.

Mom reached out and took my hand. We walked, hand in hand, as lovers.

"Wait here," she said as we got onto the patio. She went inside, came out with some light food from the fridge. Fruit. Cheese. What was left of the tequila. Two glasses. We left the lights off, the residual light from inside enough to illuminate our food.

We sat together on the patio, watching the stars come out while we sipped the last of what was there.

"I'm proud of you, you know," mom said. She sipped her tequila and looked away from me, toward the darkness of the ocean.

"Yeah?"

"You've grown, so much." Mom nodded to herself and stared out, as if trying to see something in the stars that dusted the horizon. She started to talk about life, what it meant, while keeping her eyes from looking at me. In the dark, it was hard to tell what kind of face she made as she dispensed all of her wisdom, all of her knowledge, condensed. What kind of things to expect. What kind of people I would meet, the sorts of struggles I was practically destined to face.

"I think it's getting closer to that time, you know? Where you're supposed to go out on your own. Completely." I could tell she was biting her lower lip. "Back to real life."

"I know." We went silent for a moment.

"I know you're headed back to college right after we arrive home." She sighed. "Are you excited for it?"

I wasn't. I knew mom was hurting, and I knew she was mourning the end of all this as much as I was. Going back was hollow. It was empty. It didn't have her. What the hell was I supposed to do?

"Don't answer that," mom said, interrupting my train of thought. Her whole demeanor changed -- she was once again the strong woman with the cutthroat business attitude that lectured me on the road trip. She was the strong mom that could have been, the one that was now.

"Listen to me. Life goes on like this. Nothing is perfect, and all things end, but if you let that erase everything good you have then you've wasted what you did have. Brett..." She took the rest of the glass and downed it. Poured another splash for each of us, emptying what was left in the bottle, and downed that. "I need you to make the most of this." She looked at me with her dark, solemn eyes. Her fingers went delicately over her chest. "Make the most of it," she repeated, trying to communicate some meaning.

"Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you?" It was a more important question than she had ever asked me. The seductive look in her told me that tonight was the night I would have to prove that I could let go, that I could enjoy what little time we had left, to make it glorious.

My mother stared at me intensely, waiting for me to answer. "Tell me. Tell me you understand."

"I understand."

"Good." Mom leaned back. "Drink up."

I took the glass and downed the last drops of the tequila. Mom edged the empty tequila bottle to the side. There was now nothing separating us on the table.

"Alright," she said with finality. "Listen to me, now." Her eyes were clear. Her voice was strong, and straight. Her tone was relaxed, but intentional. She was in full control.

"Listen to me, very, very carefully."

I listened, with total obedience. My heart pounded, I felt a deep, crushing sadness. I didn't know why.

"We both know what we've done. We both know that it's almost over. That it's almost time to go home. I love you, Brett. But you have so, so much of your life ahead of you. What are we supposed to do, to carry this on forever? It can't go on." Her words slapped me, hard. I couldn't even think. I couldn't receive.

"So tonight, for our final night here, I am going to give you all of myself."

My heart stopped. "What?"

"Everything, Brett. Do you understand? Every bit of me. I am going to let you do whatever you want to me. Whatever you want. And whatever you want me to do, I will do it for you, I'll use every bit of me for your pleasure, this one last time." Her breathing was steady, her eye contact unyielding. "My body is completely yours tonight -- you may use me, abuse me, do anything you wish to me. Anything you want to try, it's on the table."

"I want you to know that I love you, son, with everything I have. And tonight, there will be no protests from me, there will be nothing from me that will stop you from fulfilling everything you could ever dream of with me. In return, all I ask is that you remember tonight forever, while accepting that afterward, it's time to move on. Know that I will move on as well, and that I will be fully expecting you to make a life of your own so that you never, ever feel like I have held you back in any way."

I stared at her with awe. Her words were so firm. There were no tears, no trailing sentences. Mom was strong, she was ready, her word was final. "You are my son, my beautiful boy, and I love you, and I want you to know that I have your back with everything. If this is our last night, then I need you to make it count."

Mom stood up. "Come with me."

She held out her hand.

If I took it, it meant that I was accepting the same. That after tonight, after I could give and take anything and everything I wanted, that it would be over.

Mom wasn't just asking me to move on. She wasn't just asking for a night we could never forget, and then to forget it. To make love, to forget love. She was asking me to grow up.

Her hand was trembling.

I could tell, in her dark eyes, in the serious, calmness of her face, that this is what she wanted.

I took her soft, white hand, and in that instant, I became a man.

She led the way into the house, moving like in a dream, her hand like a blooming flower in mine, through the sliding glass door, past the couch, and the armchair, passing the kitchen, her hair glimmering in the half lights of the villa. We made it into the entryway where the stairs were, and she moved ahead of me, her dress swishing, the shape of her bottom conforming to the movements of the skirt, her perfume filling my senses as she moved ahead, glimpses of her milky legs as she went upward. We were on the second floor, outside of her room, outside of the door where I attempted to kiss her goodnight only a few nights ago.

The door was closed. Mom held my hand next to it. She didn't look at me, instead staring at the door, where inside, the bed that was reserved for her and dad lay waiting. She looked at me. I could hear my heart pounding in my hears. Hear her breath, heavy, as her nervousness finally revealed itself.

My mother put her hand on the knob, turned it, opened it. It opened smoothly, silently, into a white carpeted space. She didn't make a move to go in, and instead, watched my face, while I watched hers. It was a face of acceptance, of fear, of stoic dignity, of the soft blush of sexual reception. I thought of the moments where I waited for her to enter the hidden place with the pool, where I held the vegetation back. Of the way she looked. Of the way I must have been looking at her in this moment, as the door was held open for me.

The room was twice as large as mine. A king bed with all the sheets tossed to the floor stood in the center of the room. A couple mirrors lined the sliding closet doors. To the east side of the room, a double door opened up onto a balcony. But it was just me. Just me and mom. The lights were low.

I was already erect, already panting with excitement, already prepared to ravage her. The sad thoughts of leaving her behind were fading, they were disappearing -- mom wanted this, mom wanted me to grow up and leave, and even though it hurt, it was what I knew she wanted for me, more than anything.

She walked to the bed. All that was left on it was the top sheet -- a perfect surface. The only sign that dad had been there were the blankets that formed a pile on the floor.

My mother reached down, lifting the edges of her white dress. She stopped when the edges reached her waist, revealing a little pair of lace panties. White. Dainty. Only marginally whiter than her flesh. She watched my reaction to it, watched as my cock tented against my pants.

Her dress continued upward. Her soft, tight tummy, pale, only lightly tinted with the sun, was still marked by that inkwell of her belly button, by the smooth and gentle curve of her flesh as it led up to the underside of her breasts. I didn't realize she wasn't wearing a bra, but there were the pretty jewels, the ruby nipples, the color of pale coral.

The dress went up, over her head. It floated gently to the floor as she let go -- it collapsed by the sheets, by the blankets. Mom lifted a hand to the bun of her hair, and pulled it free. Her hair let go -- it cascaded, it drifted, it settled around her breasts, down her arms, behind her shoulders.

She was like a Nordic Eve. All that was left was her panties. She turned slowly to the side, hooking a finger into the waist band, pulling it gently down, the edges pressing into the softness of her flesh, of her fertile, wide hips, her legs, the ample flesh betraying just how soft she truly was, until the edge of black hair emerged, the carefully trimmed triangle, softened over the time spent here, all the more beautiful and natural for it. She kept lowering the panties, down, down, opening her mouth and watching as I stood, entirely hypnotized by the dot of pink, by the lips of her pussy as they uncovered for me, a shining color like her tongue.

The pair fell from her thighs, settled to the floor, around her feet. She stepped out of it, watching me, the way I worshipped her from afar.

I took off my clothes. Let my cock spring free as I pulled off what was left. We stood, entirely naked, in the semi-light of the room, witnessing each other fully. Waiting.

"I meant it," she whispered, "when I said anything you wanted."

I moved forward, compelled. Pushed her gently back onto the bed, where she fell, her hair rising in a halo around her head, her breasts heavy, moving back and forth with the momentum. Her mouth was barely open, and she watched me, patiently, waiting for me to take her.

In any way I wanted.

I could have done anything.

Anything.

I could have taken her from behind, fucked her mouth. I could have choked her, spat on her, used her other hole, called her every name in the book, I could have unleashed every ounce of animalistic aggression on her. She accepted it. Willingly. Anything, for her baby boy. She would have let me do it and she would have begged for me not to stop until I was satisfied, no matter what it was.

But I didn't want that.

She was so, so beautiful, so otherworldly. A goddess. The one who gave birth to me.

The one I loved.

Even if it was wrong, even if it could never be.

I climbed onto the bed. Moved a hand behind her neck, pulled her face to mine. I kissed her. I kissed my mother, her tongue moving into my mouth, mine into hers, the taste of her so sweet, like citrus, like the breath of jasmine.

Her legs spread for me, her hands moving down my stomach, my waist, tracing down the length of my cock. I could see that she was already glistening down there, the lips of her pussy already shining with wetness. She was open for me, she was ready for me, she wanted me inside her again, waited to take me within her.

I moved my cock close to her cunny. Her hips were already moving, already guiding themselves for me to enter her. She put both of her arms around my neck, held my shoulders, pulled herself closer to me, while her dark, dark eyes stared into me. She was panting, the faint red of her tongue visible in the dark.

The head of my cock pressed against her pussy lips -- she was soaked, dripping, the clear and sweet fluid wicking along my head. I pushed in, slowly. With every inch her eyes grew wider, and then lowered as I sank in completely, the heat splashing up without resistance, the softness, the slickness, the heat of her cunny gripping me.

We were one.

I kissed her neck, her cheeks, her beautiful, shadowy eyes, the dark hair that veiled her.

How could I let this go?

"Brett," she whispered through her kisses, taking in the sensation as I moved in her, each breath smooth, heavy, shuddering. "Anything you want. Anything."

"Mom," I said, trying to keep myself from bursting out. "I love you."

She stared at me, her cheeks red, each movement already sensitive inside of her. She looked at me, confused, in heat, her hips moving on their own. "Don't you want to use me? Whatever you want honey, I can let you--"

The words slipped out again. "I can't. I love you, mom."

I fell into her eyes and she seemed to fall into mine.

It was as if we looked at each other through a tunnel -- her face was the only thing left in existence, her flushed lips, the heat of her breath, the wide, distracted eyes that closed with each movement inside of her.

I could hear the faint rush of the waves outside. It synced with our breaths, with the way she held me, impaled, the heat and the wet pulsing around my cock, moving as if we were tides.

"Do you?" She asked.

"I do."

She bit her lip, her eyes shifting like the ocean. Watched me. Watched my eyes, my lips, moved her head gently from side to side, to see if I was lying. "You love me?" Her voice was faint. A brush.

"I love you."

She moved her hands to me, pulled me deeper, her eyes still open, still watching. I felt the softness at the deepest part of her, the wall of her cervix, where I gently moved against it and stayed. Her breath caught, a soft whine, while her eyes gently flicked between my lips, my eyes, while she tried to understand.

"Mom, I love you," I said again, moving inside of her, pushing upward, pulling back, dragging the head of my cock against her G spot, her hands clenching as the movement went smoothly back. I pushed forward again, only focusing on her pleasure, the way she would feel in the deepest, most sensitive spots. In between movements, in between each of her soft sighs, between each careful stroke within her, she gave a slow blink, the realization of what I wanted to be for her forming.

Her mouth closed as the realization became final. I saw the bravery summoning in her face. In the way she pushed her soft, soft lips together.

"Brett?"

"Yeah."

"I want you to do it... inside me again."

She closed her mouth. She was afraid. Afraid of what I would say. Afraid that I would be shocked. Scared. That I would think she was crazy. That I would see her as something different, that I would shrink back from the love I said I had.

But I wasn't scared.

"Alright."

I pushed in, back and forth, our locked eyes unlocking some form of pleasure in her I had never seen in a woman. It was a look of absolute trust, absolute love. Absolute acceptance. Mom's cheeks turned red, her eyes were clear pools, her gasps grew sharp with each movement.

I pulled back.

And then unleashed myself onto my beautiful mother.

My mouth collided with hers again, and I drove my tongue into her with urgency. She moaned, accepting my mouth, my lips, closing her eyes and moving her hips, desperate for me to be deeper in her, to move faster. My own hips moved, and I slammed into her, not adhering to any pace, not adhering to any rhythm, it was only the movement of desperation, plunging in and out of her, using the full length of my cock to fill her and fuck her, her moans quickly turning into an audible cry that breathed a loud, high pitched sob of pleasure with each thrust.

I moved my head down and bit at her neck, and she gasped, my thrusts still pulling noise from her. "Oh, fuck, baby, Brett! Fuck!" I felt her tits swinging, back and forth onto my chest, the soft give of her legs as she wrapped them around me while I used all of my strength to pour my lust into her, to let go, to make every ounce of myself directed for the sole purpose of emptying myself into her. Her sensitivity was greater than I had ever seen it, each centimeter of movement within her was multiplied into an ecstasy that a girl could only experience in the most special state.

Her voice grew higher, her cries louder with each movement, my hips making a full slap against her, the speed increasing, the tension building in my core. "Oh... fuck, Brett!" Her voice was nearing a scream. She was shaking under me, her hair moving up and around her face, her hands trying desperately to hold onto some part of me. There was nothing to hold her back from making noise, nobody could hear us, nobody could see us -- it was only our bodies, only our pleasure, only the heat and the sweat and the incestuous ecstasy. She let go, her voice turning into a full scream as I fucked her, harder, faster, the pressure building in my own hips as I felt the buildup. I was groaning, I couldn't hold back either, I became an animal that had its mate pinned and the heat wouldn't stop.

"Oh, Brett, please, yes!" Mom's scream echoed through the room, her own orgasm building in a pent up grip in her core, one I could feel clenching on my cock, the tightness surreal, her voice the final piece of what I needed. "Cum in mommy, please Brett, yes!"

I fucked faster, the buildup pouring over -- the heat flashing higher, the snap of orgasm rocketing upward -- and I came, a thunderclap, spasming pulses of semen shooting upward and into my mother, my mom, my Nora, who suddenly arched back, my cock at a new angle now, her legs wider, receiving me deeper, pushing against the farthest edge of her womb as I poured every ounce of myself as deep as I could into her, my own orgasm unlocking hers. As mom could feel my seed flooding her she gave a last cry, a deep sob, acceptance, her pussy clenching on me, hard, as her whole body shook, as she took my semen as deep into her as she could, her hips pushing upward, the semen moving down, down, flooding into her womb. Both of us pulsed, both of us could only see white, both of us felt the orgasm striking upward, shattering, our fluids mingling, the sensation of hot cum squirting deep into her.

We were still, stuck, frozen in the moment as I felt my cock weakening only as the heat faded in me. We were breathing, heaving. Mom's fingers were in my hair. Mine were around her face, traced on her neck.

She looked at me, her gasps timed with mine, her eyes glassy, her lips full, and red, a light pink across the half smile in her cheeks. "I love you," she said, silently.

"I love you too, mom."

I meant it with everything.

We woke up at the very edge of the dark of the morning thanks to mom's alarm on her phone. Only the faintest ray of light came through the balcony windows -- it streaked onto the bed, where mom and I looked at each other. Last night was only evident by the way she looked at me. With absolute trust.

We only had a couple hours before the bus would arrive. I pulled on my underwear as mom, still naked, laid out a few outfits on the bed, her finger hooked on the edge of her lips as she tried to figure out which one would work for her. Her form was so beautiful -- the soft curve of her heavy breast was like art, like the crest of a wave. Her heart shaped bottom was painted with the faint tan along her pantyline.

The light grew outside. Mom was still stuck, trying to choose between leggings and a tee or a longer dress. I opened the balcony windows and looked out. The sun was a line of bright gold over the horizon.

"Hey," I called. "You've got to see this."

"I'm not wearing anything," mom said as a matter of fact.

"Wear my tee, it's next to the bed," I said. Mom came over after a few more seconds. My shirt was only barely large enough to cover her hips, but it wasn't enough to completely hide her ass. It peeked out from under the shirt, firm, pale, decorated by the tanlines. It was cute.

"Wow." Mom's eyes widened at the sunrise. The light grew brighter, now reflecting in a broad and shimmering arrow toward the villa. The golds gave way to deep oranges, to the aura of citrus and copper.

I moved behind mom and put my arms around her. Her soft body under my shirt still felt inviting, still felt like I belonged in it. She pressed against me and put a hand on my hip.

"How funny," she said quietly. "This is the first time we've gotten up early enough to see the sunrise, isn't it?"

It was. I wanted to answer, but I was distracted by the feeling of her bottom against my length, which was already hardening.

She felt it. Looked back without turning her body. "We have only a little bit of time," she said. "There's still some cleaning to do."

I lifted the edge of the shirt, revealing more of her form to me. My cock grew, pressing against her bottom through the cotton of my underwear. I reached down. Pushed my elastic band down, let my cock free. It settled on her flesh, her warmth more than enough for it to come to its full length. Mom reacted, pressing herself harder against me. She reached her other hand back, over her shoulder, touching along my neck.

"You have two minutes," she said, her voice a low whisper. "Then we need to finish getting this place ready."

"Two minutes?" I asked, immediately going to work. I reached down and spread her legs, grabbed her hands and placed them on the edge of the balcony. She leaned over the railing, presenting herself, standing on her tip toes to allow better access. Her cunny was beautiful -- two perfectly symmetrical lips, two perfectly soft edges, a coral pink shade. The soft glisten of wetness already shone between them.

I took my cock and placed it there, against her wet softness, and to my surprise, I slid in -- she was already prepared -- and as I entered her, she gave a low, happy moan. "Hurry up, baby."

The heat, the slickness, the sunrise, my mother in my hiked up tee shirt, all these things combined helped me even in the slow mental fog of the morning. I looked across the beach to make sure nobody could see us. The sand was empty of people, only the light of the sun and the movement of the surf accompanied me as I thrust in and out of her as fast as I could.

The building tension grew quickly, her gasps and the wet sound as I smacked against her ass were more than enough, the feeling of her tightness constricting on me with heat and slick joy -- the sight of the rising light was more than enough.

I felt it, the strength building in my taint, my core, the volume of mom's breaths rising, growing musical with her voice as she enjoyed the fast movement of the quickie. I was groaning too, with effort, with pleasure. Her pussy was so tight and lovely.

"Baby..." She said, urgency apparent. "We need... to hurry..."

"I'm hurrying," I grunted.

"No... I mean... don't cum inside me... it takes too long to clean up..." Her breaths were getting faster, and so were mine.

Her voice grew higher while mine deepened. The fire and drive in my loins was getting stronger. She was moaning, the volume matching my movement, the strength and tension increasing. I was getting so close -- my balls were tightening, the juices inside her getting more slick. I was stretched, tight, my jaw clenching as I started to crest.

I bit my lips, trying to keep from bellowing, but mom's arms wrapped around the rails as she opened her mouth and let go of a gorgeous sound -- I peaked, I crossed the threshold, and I felt the shock snap in my core as I started to cum, unable to hold either my voice or my jizz. "Pull out, baby," mom whined, "hurry."

I pulled out as I felt it shoot up, and my cum cast in a long, powerful rope over her ass, the pump in my balls causing it to shoot upward, up her back, over her cheeks, and as it poured onto her, mom made a delighted humming sound, her lips pressed together in the soft heat, her legs moving in a gorgeous wink as I shot spurts of semen all over her lower back and ass, some of it spitting onto her labia as her ass cutely wagged in front of me.

Mom stayed leaning over the rails, trying to catch her breath. The light was brighter now, the sun was no longer a golden tone, but a pure white that lit us up, that was already warm and tingled against our skin. Her lower back was covered with my semen, and it collected in a slow stream at the base of her back, where her dimples and structure created a thin pool for it to gather in. In her movements, as she savored the feeling of what I had done, a rivulet spilled over her side, another down one of her cheeks. It was shining in the sun.

Like the tanning oil on the beach.

"Fuck, baby..." mom's sighs were much more breathy than I was used to. "I'm almost thinking about sleeping in now."

I felt dizzy and stumbled back. As I leaned against the balcony door, mom's beautiful, curved, semen-decorated form straightened. She turned back, thick drops sinking down the artful roundness of her bottom. "I'll have to use your shirt to clean this up, you know," she said, winking, her face warm and pink.

"I don't mind," I said, trying to keep from laughing.

We got dressed after mom wiped herself, I did the shorts and shirt route while mom put on some leggings and a thin, white blouse that seemed just low enough to allow me to see the occasional glimpse of her bra, and we finished cleaning the villa, throwing linens in the washing machine, throwing out garbage, making sure anything broken was collected on the counter. "They're going to fine us for all this," mom mused. "I hope these things were cheap. Though I guess what landlord wouldn't buy cheap? I wonder if maybe landlords are better in other places."

Other places.

The phrase jogged something in me, a question that gently formed. I resolved to answer it once I had access to wifi or data again. In the meantime, the scheduled time for the bus to arrive was fast approaching.

Once we arrived in Belize City, the airport let us in without any issues -- I guess the printers work better in Belize, of all places. The security was also much less stringent -- no pat downs this time.

I took advantage of the wifi. Looked up some student resources, got confirmation on the question I had. It was something that opened up a lot of opportunities for me -- all I had to do was figure out a way to phrase it for mom.

We boarded our plane, mom in the window seat, me in the aisle, and we waited, the movement of the flight attendants familiar and predictable, the chatter of the pilot and the sound of the gets a welcome sound. Dad's seat was empty, and we waited for it to get filled by some new ticket buyer, except by the end of the boarding call, nobody came to sit between us.

I almost wanted to get off the plane at a few points during the boarding call, try to convince my mom that we could be Belizean farmers. While I wondered just how feasible that would be, and whether I could even manage to keep a houseplant alive, or if she'd even have an inkling of wanting to do it, mom just smiled at me and watched me from her seat. "I had a really, really good vacation, Brett." Mom reached a hand out to me and lightly touched my arm. "The best I've ever had."

I smiled back. "Well, good. It was looking pretty rocky there for a bit."

"No kidding." Mom rolled her eyes, glancing at dad's seat. "It's so funny, I honestly want to stay here forever. Since it's with you." She gave a renewed smile. "Though, I guess that little conversation we had yesterday takes precedence, doesn't it?" She seemed only a little sad. Only a little concerned. But accepting. The plane moved on, taxiing into place for takeoff.

"Hey," I said, piecing together the stuff I learned while we were waiting to board. "I did some research."

"Oh?" Mom turned her head away and looked out of the window. The engines were getting louder.

"The university... in our town? Where you and dad live? It takes transfer credits."

Mom's head snapped back to me.

"So I was thinking... to save money," I continued, feeling a smile growing, the volume of the engines rising as I felt the plane start its run, speed picking up with each word, "I could get my credits transferred over... and maybe move back in with you?"

Mom's mouth opened up in shock. Then delight. Her smile was wide, the noise of the engine drowning out whatever shocked gasp she might have been making.

"Of course!" Mom said excitedly, barely audible over the airplane. "Of course, Brett, anything you want!"

The plane tipped back as it rose from the runway. We started to chatter about the college-related possibilities, while the thought of living together again grew from a little hopeful seed into an ecstatic joy. We were in the air now, both of us smiling with abandon, both of us feeling our hearts beating with unstoppable happiness.

After a while, the excitement faded, but we were still happy, exhausted now from the week, from the emotion, from waking up so early. We were far above the clouds and passing over the Gulf of Mexico. Home awaited.

The seatbelt lights turned off, and we were free to move around. Mom turned to me, her seatbelt now off, a light smile, tired eyes. "Baby," she said quietly. "I'm pretty tired. Do you think I could nap on your lap again?"

"Of course," I said. Mom laid down, her dark hair draping over my leg, her hands settling on my thigh. I remembered the flight toward Belize. How somehow, while sleeping, she touched my crotch, practically massaging it through my pants, how I had to wake her up in a careful way to avoid the embarrassment and strangeness of that situation. Mom was going to get a kick out of that.

"You know," I said, carefully breaching the subject, "I've got a really funny story about the last nap you took on a plane."

Mom shifted, adjusting her head, laying on her back on the seats. Her face was pointed directly at me, her whole body relaxed. Her arm drifted up, her fingers tracing along my leg, moving up toward my cock, until her fingers settled on the tip, stroking me under my pants.

"So do I," mom said.

She winked.
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The End.​

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