Incest/Taboo Tanning with Mom

Mom and I had hot apple pie and french vanilla ice cream with tea, a favorite of us both. We ate in silence.

"What was that all about," mom asked about half way through our dessert.

"What?"

"You know what. Don't play games with me, young man."

"Oh, that," I said casually, "I was just getting Dad's permission to share you." I scooped up a large spoonful of pie and ice cream.

"You know he didn't mean what you're thinking."

"Yes, Mom, he did," I countered.

"There's no way. He was just playing up to a little macho father/son exchange. He doesn't mean that."

"Not consciously, but he does mean it. I read about it on the internet."

"Bull."

"No, true. You said yourself this afternoon that you rarely have sex," I said, referring to the intimate discussion we'd had during our afternoon cuddle session. "The article on the net said that we evolved that way, elder males passed on mating rites to their successors, and in small hunting and gathering groups this was often to their own offspring. It was added assurance that their genes would be passed on."

"I find it hard to believe that would have relevance today."

"But it does Mom. Evolution takes a long time and, even if the context is different, the same motivations underlie our behavior today. Dad is very aware, unconsciously perhaps, but he is passing the torch. Even if he can't note it explicitly, he unconsciously approves. It's built in for him to approve, because it's in his best interest, and that of his family." "I don't know about that, Timmy."

"Read the article, Mom. I'll show it to you."

I dragged Mom up to my room to find the article on the internet. The door to their room was closed when we passed it and you could hear my Dad already snoring behind it. I made a production of searching for the article, but I finally found it. It was a bit long, but I was proud of my handiwork from the night before.

Mom read the whole thing. She seemed intrigued by the twisted logic spun through the article. Though she was quite tense when she initially sat down to read, she was relaxed near the end, partly through her absorption in the material, and partly to the neck and back massage I had started half way through without any reaction or notice from her.

When she finished, we started to discuss the article and other aspects of evolutionary behavior. We moved over to my bed and just lay on our sides, spaced apart, talking like a couple of friends. I didn't try to get close to Mom while she was on my bed. Instead, I suggested, after a long while, that we go downstairs, have some tea, and watch a late movie. As we left my room, I naturally put my arm around her slender waist, pulling her in, possessively, close to me. When we reached her room, she paused and whispered, though Dad couldn't hear anything through his snoring, "Go downstairs and put the tea on, honey. I'm going to change for bed first. I'll be right there."

The kettle had boiled, the tea was well steeped and I had eaten several pieces of lemon bread by the time Mom came downstairs. But the wait was worth it. She wore a pale blue shawl that fell from her shoulder to her knee. It was made of a shiny, silky material that clung to her figure. Under it, as I could see because it was open down the front, a very sheer nightie accented rather than hid her taut stomach and beautiful small breasts with their prominent nipples. It was very difficult to ignore these perfect little gems, jostling as she moved elegantly toward me, but I forced myself to continue my gaze down her lovely body. The nightie ended just above mid thigh, and her gorgeous legs continued down to her bare feet. Yes, bare feet, no heel, no slippers. She remembered. I loved Mom so much for offering this fabulous sensual and sexual display.

She stopped and stood in front of me. "I'm going to make us some hot chocolate instead of tea, sweetheart. You find a movie, and I'll be right back. Stay here," and she swept away into the kitchen.

Having anticipated a long challenge to convince Mom that Dad implicitly understood my view of sharing, I was shocked at this turn of events. Now I could hardly wait for her to return, my cock threatening to burst through the pajamas I had returned to my room to don. This was the point on the planet where water took the longest time to boil. But she had said to stay put and I didn't want to jeopardize anything now. I needed to react to her. I had a lot to lose by pushing.

When Mom returned, she had one large mug of hot chocolate, topped with a mound of whipped cream. She leaned across me, her little pears hanging down in front of my face, and placed it on the end table beside me. Slowly. And then she sat down right beside me, her thigh pressed tightly against mine.

"Gee, don't I get some," I asked, looking forlorn.

"We're sharing," she stated quietly. "Turn the movie on."

I was quite caught off guard, my cock starting to rise immediately. It was hard to keep up with my Mom. Five minutes into the movie, Mom asked me for some hot chocolate. I passed the mug to her.

"No, you hold it. Give me a little sip."

I raised the mug to her mouth and cautiously tipped it against her pouting lips. She slurped it, making more sucking sounds than necessary, I'm sure. After putting the mug back on the table, I turned to find her smiling at me with whipped cream all around her mouth and some on her pretty little nose. Her eyes were sparkling, "Clean me up, baby," she whispered huskily, and raised her face up to me.

I moved in and started to lick her face with long, slow licks. When she was clean, I kissed her, pushing my tongue inside near the end of the kiss. Then I broke to watch the movie. In less than a minute, I heard a husky whisper, "More hot chocolate."

The whipped cream was almost gone but she took a bigger sip this time, getting me to tip it up so that more spilled around her mouth. "Clean me," she commanded when done. I did, kissing her several times, longer with each kiss, my tongue within her for each one. I again turned to the movie.

"More."

I picked up the mug and turned to her.

"Not that."

I put it down and turned to take her into my arms, engaging in a long, intense kiss. When I pulled up, she said, "Touch me."

I reached down and grasped her tit, massaging it through the thin material, bending her already hard nipple against my palm.

"Not there. Touch my pussy. I asked Dad if he wanted to share me when I got changed," she explained. "He didn't say no, so I think he wants me to."

She raised her lips up to mine again, "Touch me, Timmy," and slipped her tongue into my mouth.

Our kiss had barely started when I slipped my hand between her open legs onto her bare pussy. I rubbed it back and forth, and side to side. I didn't stop kissing her, both of us breathing through our nose. I slipped several fingers into her wet hole and started to frig her, twisting and holding my hand against her for a moment with each plunge.

I broke our kiss. I couldn't help myself, I cried hoarsely to her, "I love the feel of your cunt, Mom, I just love it."

Her eyes smoldered at me, "Then put yourself in it."

I stood up and dropped my pajama bottoms, throwing my shirt aside as well. I put my knees between hers on the couch. She pushed herself up, making room for me. I shoved my knees right to the back of the couch, hooked my elbows under her knees, lifted her up and held her. I lined my cock up under her open hole and lowered her down onto it. I groaned.

"Oh, God, baby, oh god," she moaned in response.

I held still with my cock embedded fully in her. She opened her eyes, and they started to sparkle again when she startled me with a husky laugh.

"Sharesies," she laughed, and rocked her cunt against me, using her ass to push herself away from the back of the couch onto my cock.

I groaned again and started plunging my cock in and out of her. No finesse. I just started fucking her hard. Bam, bam, bam, slap, slap, slap. How could Dad sleep through that? If he came out of his room, the first thing he'd see would be his son hammering his wife on the couch. Who cares? I'd die for this.

I didn't slow down until I came. Then I kept holding her up for several more minutes, thrusting up into her every few seconds, further and further apart, until I finally pulled out and stood up.

"Stay and watch the movie with me sweetie," Mom implored me when I started to turn away to use the washroom to clean up. I turned back, sat down, and pulled her close against me. We watched the movie for another fifteen minutes or so, then she stood and walked to the far end of the living room. She paused, turned half toward me and said, "It shouldn't take more than fifteen minutes for my boy to recover." Then she turned, kneeled down, and leaned over the ottoman, the backs of her thighs open to me and the short skirt of her nightie leaving the bottom of her pussy exposed.

I stood and moved toward her, my cock thickening as I walked. I froze, and quickly glanced up the stairs. Was that movement? I stared upstairs. Long seconds passed.

"Hurry, baby."

"Shhh, Mom."

"Please, I need it."

"Just wait."

"No. If you want it, come now."

I tore my eyes away from the top of the stairs. Looking down, I saw that she had pulled her nightie up over her back, baring her ass, and spreading her legs.

Dad left my consciousness. I knelt behind her and fed my cock into her wet, steamy pussy. I started into her with long, slow strokes, and kept this up for a while. My urgent need was gone. Now I needed to fuck her better than she was used to. I didn't want to just share, I wanted to be her best man, the one she chose first, the one she'd do anything for. I suddenly started ramming my cock into her, fucking her furiously for a full minute, then I stopped, fully plugged into her and swirled my cock around, moving her butt in little circles. Then I pulled out completely. Her loud moaning toned down into a soft whimpering. I slowly pushed my cock into her again and started my long, slow strokes again. Pausing as if to start ramming her again, I fooled her by pushing it in slowly to the hilt and then grinding her around again. Pulling almost completely out, I started rapidly ramming her again. I kept repeating this change-up, eventually grasping her hair and gently pulling her head back until her face was fully forward. Her moaning undulating up and down the sound scale, at the lower, guttural end.

I wished I could have fucked her forever like that, but we eventually came, lying together for several minutes afterwards, silently, except for our breathing which slowly came under control. She got up and disappeared upstairs. I turned off the lights and followed. When I passed her bedroom door, I noticed she had left it ajar. But then she came out of the bathroom, smiled when she saw me, reaching up to kiss me.

"See you next Sunday." Then she laughed throatily and bounced into her room, shutting the door behind her.

Had she opened the door on her way to the bathroom, or left it open when she first came down? Or had Dad really been there?​