Incest/Taboo The Mom Memories: Jack's Story

When we drove through another small village area Mom asked if I wanted to stop and walk about for awhile, but I declined, stating that I was really enjoying just driving like this. Mom gave me a peculiarly satisfied smile before hugging her head to my shoulder, keeping it there as we drove on. With Mom twisted forward to keep her head on the front of my shoulder, I let my stroking fingers slide to the sensitive back of her upper arm. When she giggled, twisting her right side even further forward and saying that 'tickled', I slipped my fingers down to stroke along the side of her waist.

I lengthened the strokes of my fingers as we drove, managing to brush along the edge of her breasts. There was no question, she wasn't wearing a bra. I could feel the swells as her tits sagged and jostled from the lack of support. I was thrilled, and so was my cock. I became more daring, brushing the side of her breasts intentionally.

"I thought it was my rear end that fascinated you so much," Mom suddenly spoke.

"What?" I responded, surprised, trying to sound innocent.

"You heard me," Mom said.

"I just tickling your arm," I protested, "and your side," I added lamely.

"Oh? Does that feel like an arm to you?"

I placed my fingers right on the heavy part of her breast, on the side, and tapped it toward me.

"You mean this arm," I answered with a laugh.

Mom laughed in response. "Yes," she said, "are you going to keep tickling my 'arm'?"

"Absolutely," I replied, "as long as it feels good to you."

Mom didn't answer so I let my fingers splay out around her breast, massaging her womanly meat in an obviously sexual grope. I tried to shift my arm further around her to increase my grip but couldn't until she lowered her shoulder, allowing me slip my hand in to cup her tit in my fingers and palm. We drove for a mile or so before Mom straightened up, squaring her back to the seat and forcing my hand off her breast and up to her shoulder. I was disappointed but realized she was probably uncomfortable sitting scrunched down like that. Imagine how pleased I was when my dear mother took my hand in hers and dragged it off her shoulder, pulling it down closely around her neck, to place it, palm down, right on her right tit.

"There," she said, patting my hand before dropping hers away, "that's better."

For the next few miles, I gently massaged Mom's right tit, feeling her nipple swell and stiffen as we drove in silence. Though I tried, I couldn't reach her left tit but I was satisfied with just the one. We even drove through the next small place with my hand in place. Mom made no move to push me away, or to cover it with her own. On the way out, Mom complained that it was really getting warm but stopped me from undoing the window.

"That was the last town before we get home, wasn't it?" she asked.

"Yup," I acknowledged.

"Can you take that old road, what is it ... Enderby Road?"

"Sure," I agreed. I was happy to take the long way, even down a windy, not very scenic road running through the middle of nowhere. I would have gone through China as long as she let me play with her tit.

As soon as I spoke, Mom's hands came up and started undoing the buttons on her blouse. I almost missed the road watching her.

"Keep your eye on the road, mister," she admonished me.

I slowed down instead, keeping my eye on her as she undid the second, and third button. I was shocked when she undid the fourth and then the fifth, right down to the waistband of her skirt. She dropped her hands into her lap, not saying a word about what she'd just done.

Tentatively, I moved my fingers over and hooked the edge of the open blouse, dragging it over to the side, just a bit. Mom didn't react, she just watched the road. Emboldened, I pulled more, far enough to expose her nipple and, when she didn't berate me, pulled it all the way over, exposing her entire breast. I was in my glory when my hand closed over her her bare tit, feeling her nipple poke into my palm, relishing in the jolt that contact sent through my entire body.

"You're so beautiful, Mom," I cried, "the most gorgeous woman in the world."

Mom laughed at my boyish enthusiasm. "So you like these as much as my bottom?"

"I love them. Can we stop, Mom? Just for a few minutes?"

"OK," she laughed, enjoying my obvious excitement. "Pull over up there," she pointed ahead to a flat grassy part off to the side of the road, overlooking a farmer's field.

I swung quickly in, keeping the car facing away from the road, and quickly shut it off, turning to face her.

Mom said, "Just for a few minutes. I want to get home and get Dad to do some things for me, out in the back, before supper."

"Ok, Mom," I quickly agreed, grasping her blouse and pulling it wide, seeing her heavy breasts completely for the first time in my life. I slipped both hands down to cup a tit in each hand. Mom turned toward me to help. I rubbed and squeezed them, trying to get her nipples in the hollow between my thumbs and forefingers so I could pinch them. She seemed to like that quite a bit, sucking her breath in each time I did it, sighing and even moaning when I learned to keep them pinched like that for longer, and pulling them away from her tits without letting them fall from my hands.

Our few minutes turned into almost half an hour working her tits and nipples around in everyway I could think of, and I was kissing her, right on the mouth, with my tongue inside, for the last five minutes, whispering between, "I love you, Mom."

My cock was rock hard and Mom was panting just as hard as I when she finally rasped, "We have to get home. We can't be seen like this."

Reluctantly, but having no choice in the matter, I pulled away, started the car and headed down the road while Mom buttoned her blouse and fixed her hair in the mirror. Mom was sitting by the door long before we turned into our driveway.

True to her word, Mom sent Dad out to the back of our few acres to start the new garden area she'd been telling him she wanted. He dutifully headed off on the little John Deere he liked to play around with so much but not before she gave me instructions too, in front of Dad, "Jack. I need you to help me with some things around the house." Mom turned and marched upstairs, "Come on," she said.

I followed Mom up the stairs and into her bedroom. She walked over to the bedroom window overlooking the backyard, watching Dad putt out toward the back of our property. I stood about five feet behind her, waiting for her to tell me what to do.

I guess I shouldn't have been, but I was quite shocked when Mom's hands casually lifted up to the waistband of her grey, tweed skirt, pulled it away from her back, unhooked it and slid the zipper down its eight inch length. Mom's feet agilely kicked her shoes off and she dropped the skirt down, bending her knees to help her step out of it one foot at a time. Holding the skirt to the side, Mom told me to fold it and lay it over the chair.

Numbly, I took the skirt and Mom's hands disappeared around to her front to unbutton her blouse as she watched Dad slowly drive away on the little tractor. She shrugged her shoulders to help her slip the blouse off, tilting her head back to shake her hair before holding it out to the side for me to take.

"Throw it on the chair," she said.

I could see her gorgeous tits bouncing a little from my vantage point behind and to her side. Mom was now naked except for the panties that graced her lovely ass with similarly frugal coverage as Carrie's had. Her buttocks sloped down in the same separating sag, jutting out in a cock engorging invitation. Stunned, I stared as Mom gripped each side of her panties and pushed them over her hips, down her thighs to below her knees, then let her toes drag them over her calf and off her lifted foot, one leg at a time.

"Oh, sorry," she remarked casually, "I guess you might have wanted to do that."

My cock was diamond hard now.

"Pick my panties up and put them in your pocket," Mom said, still watching my dad.

Moving sluggishly as if I was in a dream, I bent down to grab Mom's panties, stuffing them into my right pocket as Mom stepped closer to the window and leaned forward, reaching out to put a hand on each side. Her feet were more than a foot apart, and her legs tensed prettily with the slight strain of pushing herself against the window. Her bare ass was the most incredible thing I have ever set eyes on, including Carrie's when I had dragged her panties down below her cheeks.

"You'd better get your church clothes off if we're going to get our chores done," Mom said.

Chores? Did she think I could do chores after seeing her like this?

Nevertheless, I obediently began to undress. Slowly, at first, and then quickly as I watched Mom watching Dad trundle away, in the distance now. Her legs swayed slightly and her ass moved in concert but it also dipped forward slightly and then rose backward, enticing, inviting. Come to me, I could imagine it saying. My pants hit the floor with a thump and Mom's head turned slightly to the side, her ear cocked, listening as I stumbled around, peeling my socks off.

"Is it as nice as you imagined?" she asked when I was finally still, moving her ass in an exaggerated circle.

I rushed forward, dropping to my knees behind her, grasping her bare hips and pressing my face to her soft buttocks, kissing each one in turn and rubbing my cheeks against her nether ones.

"Is it as good as hers?," Mom demanded, trying to move her butt away from my face but unable to avoid the rain of kisses I showered on her cheeks.

The only answer I could muster was to moan between kisses and nibbles on those pear-shaped wonders until Mom pushed away from the window and reached down, covering my hands on her hips with hers, pulling up and tugging them around onto her breasts that, though heavy enough to sag, still sprang proudly from her chest.

"Touch me," she whispered, "play with them."

I hugged Mom to me, kneading her tits, rolling and pinching her nipples, watching Dad, as did she, until he turned and rolled behind some trees, not once looking back to witness my illicit molestation of his wife. Mom allowed everything, even letting me press my steel hard boner between her cheeks with the head poking out above her crack, rocking against her like we were starting to fuck. My brain screamed out in the charged silence after Dad disappeared on his toy tractor, I want to fuck my Mom!

"I want you, Jack, "Mom whispered as soon as he was gone, "to lift me onto my bed and put me on my tummy."
​

* * *​

I guess most of you folks know how it felt to lift my mom and walk her to the bed, the rapture of her firm ass cheeks folding over my cock and the thrilling strain of the effort to keep it there as I awkwardly moved her onto the mattress. Mom didn't help the transfer at all, because it was new territory for her and she didn't know what to do, or she was too horny to command her muscles to move, or, most likely, she simply enjoyed making me work for it. At any rate, she was like a rag doll.

I finally got her laying in the middle of the bed, legs parted to make room for me to kneel behind. I pulled her hips up until she was on her knees and pressed forward to rub my cock in the crack of her ass. She had raised herself onto her hands as I pulled her up on her knees, coming to a doggie stance, but as I rubbed my cock between her cheeks, I pushed on her back until she collapsed onto her shoulders with her head turned to the side. My whole body tingled when she presented herself like this, with her ass high in the air, face turned expectantly toward me but not enough to look me in the face. The feeling of power and control heightened the sensitivity in the tip of my cock, now rubbing through her wet pussy lips with the higher pout of her ass, so much I struggled not to come. It didn't help that she was breathing as fast as me.

"Do you like it from behind, Mom?" I was feeling cocky, no pun intended.

As I rocked against her ass to emphasize my demand for an answer, she nodded and cried, "I don't know. I've never done it this way before."

I was stunned. I felt in danger of losing contact with her glorious butt, of floating completely off the bed. My first fuck was to be Mom's initiation from behind. Two cherries burst in one act.

"You'll only do it this way for me, right? Not Dad." As if I was in a position to demand. What would I do if she said no?

But Mom nodded and her shoulders rocked forward as I lunged against her several times, her neck bending to absorb the shock. Her pussy lathered my cock as it slid beneath her and a thrill shot through me when the first moan escaped her lips. I continued rocking her bum and sliding my cock through her slippery lips until her moans merged into an almost continuous hum.

"Onto your tummy, Mom," I whispered.

"On your tummy," I repeated, louder, but she still didn't acknowledge me...she was in her own world. Perfect, I thought. I slid one hand up to rest on her ass above her crack and used the other to line the tip of my cock up for its first triumphant entry to her pussy. Carefull, I inserted the head, then, pressing down down on her hips with both hands, I shoved my whole cock into her.

"No, Jack don't," she gasped. "Your father's still home."

That didn't make any sense at all. She knew he was way out back. What did she think was going to happen, teasing me so, undressing in front of the window and commanding me to lay her on the bed on her tummy?

She grunted as I quickly banged into her a half dozen times.

"Ohh...ugghh...unnnghh...ohhhh...unnngghhh...don't...don't."

"Yes," I gasped, thrusting into her again and again.

She moaned, "Please, Jack...stop...don't."

I paid no heed. I lunged into her even harder.

"Get down on your tummy," I urged her forward. "Flat on your tummy."

Mom finally collapsed under my weight. I spread my knees outside her hips, straddling her thighs, and digging my toes into the mattress. Moving my hands from her hips to her ass, I spread her wide, my thumbs opening her pussy lips around my embedded cock. I lunged in as far as I could, forcing a grunt from both of us.

"Bad Mommy," I cried, shoving my cock into her again. "Naughty, teasing Mommy," I gasped.

I pulled out and pushed home again, and again, and again, shoving her deep into the mattress. I sat on her like that, fucking and fucking until she cried out and I spilled my son seed inside her as her wail filled the room, grinding around until I was too soft and slipped out.

Mom was crying when I collapsed on her back, hugging her, reaching around to grasp her tits.

"Don't cry, Mom," I begged her, "I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself."

She cried softly for a minute in silence.

"I know," she finally whimpered, "neither could I."

"But I'll need you again," I admitted, squeezing her tits and pinching her nippled softly. "I can't help it."

"I know," Mom answered, her fingers reaching over her shoulder to touch mine. "Neither can I," she sobbed.

"Then what's wrong," I pleaded, "Is it Dad?"

"No," she answered quietly, a salty tear running down her cheek. "I have to go to confession next Sunday."

I had been a nervous wreck ever since Mom brought me crashing down from the highest point in my entire life. From vigorously fucking her from behind, those simple words, "I have to go to confession next Sunday," threw me into a deep depression. Was it all over? Would she really confess?

Strange ideas ran through my mind for days. I could kidnap Mom and run away with her. I could commit suicide, or kill Mom, or both of us. None of these ideas, you can imagine, were satisfactory. Could Carrie help? She was Mom's best friend. If Mom would listen to anyone, it would be Carrie. Could Carrie convince Mom not to go to confession? Could she convince Mom that she hadn't committed a sin?

Maybe. I resolved to enlist Carrie's help, and the best way to do it, I figured, would be to ensure that Mom's confession would involve her demise as well. What better way to motivate her? I needed to reconcile them.

Then a wonderful thought struck me. If life as I knew it was to end on Sunday, I might as well fuck Mom as much as I could until then. What did I have to lose? What would it matter if she didn't want to? But first, I would try to reason with her. After all, she seemed to love it from behind. According to Mom, nobody, not even Dad, had never treated her to anything but the stock, church sanctioned, missionary position. I decided to approach Mom with my thoughts that night and cursed myself with wasting a whole day and a half stressing out instead of shagging Mom.

After dinner I helped Mom with the dishes but wasn't able to explain my ideas to her because Dad kept wandering through the kitchen. I did manage to refresh the memory of our interlude in her room that Sunday afternoon and I could tell it excited her. After the dishes, Mom sat next to Dad on the couch and watched TV for half an hour, then got up to change the laundry. I followed her downstairs a few minutes later.

I got ideas, I can tell you, watching Mom lift clothes from the washer and bend over to stuff them into the dryer. She hardly seemed interested in what I had to say, but her face and neck flushed as I quietly recalled how nice it was doing her from behind, and how we probably wouldn't ever have a chance to do it that way ever again after Sunday.

But Mom seemed to be getting cross, jamming clothes harder and harder into the dryer. After starting it on a new cycle, she folded the warm clothes she'd just retrieved quickly and haphazardly rather than in her usual efficient but neat fashion. She seemed so agitated that I finally pinned her arms to her sides from behind and held her still so she would pay attention to what I was saying. I laid my head against Mom's back and she leaned forward onto her elbows over the folding counter, hanging her head between her hands.

"What is it you want, Jack? What do you want me to do? I have to confess. I have to."

Mom was very stressed. I tried to soothe her with my voice.

"I know, Mom. I'm not arguing that. But you can't confess until Sunday, and you can only pay the price once, don't you see?"

"No. I don't see."

"On Sunday, you have to pay the price for all the unconfessed sins that came before, right?"

"Yes."

"All of them at once, right?"

"Yes."

I slid my hands from her shoulders down her arms to hold her wrists, stepping close behind her, my jeans brushing her dress.

"From this moment right up to Sunday, right?"

"Yes."

I bumped myself into her behind, holding her wrists tight. My cock was already hard, bent into an uncomfortable bulge in my jeans that I pressed against the softness of those gorgeous pearish twins.

"The punishment is the max for what you've done, isn't it?" I ground myself into her.

"Yes," came the forlorn answer.

I humped into her bottom several times.

"It doesn't matter how many times you commit the same sin, it can't get worse."

"So?"

I hunched into her butt, pushing her against the counter, and spread her legs by pressing her knees out with mine.

"Oh god, Jack. Stop it. I know what you're trying to do. It's not right."

Mom's voice went up and down in cadence in response to my thrusts against her behind. I was continually thrusting my bulge into her bum now.

"That's just it Mom. It's not right, right up to Sunday morning." Bump, bump, bump.

"Jack, no. Stop it."

"If you want me to stop, call him. Call Dad, Mom, if you want me to stop."

Mom fell silent, her head rocking forward as I continued to hump against her ass, and I knew she wasn't going to call out, wasn't going to stop me.

"Remember, Mom? How it felt when I put you on your tummy?"​