Incest/Taboo The Mom Memories: Kevin's Story

Mom put her hands on my head and tried to move it away from her pussy, but I held steady, continuing to work my lips on her panties. Her hands dropped away. It crossed my mind that my father had probably not put his mouth on her for a long time, if ever. Anyway, it didn't seem that she wanted to stop me all that bad. I shifted my knees back and opened my legs, letting Mom's head drop to the blanket. Dropping my hands from Mom's breasts to brace myself, I stretched my legs out to help hold my weight and lowered my hips until the front of my jeans pressed lightly against Mom's mouth.

I don't think I could have been more obvious but Mom didn't take the hint to unzip me. I was so horny, I almost came anyway. I rubbed myself sideways across her face for emphasis but she only turned her head, facing away from my desperate knob. I needed to do something, I was so horny I thought I would die. Lifting off her and twisting around, I laid down between her legs, lowering myself until I felt my jeans contact her mound.

"No, Kevin, no," she cried, her hands grasping my hips and trying to push me away.

"Yes," I gasped, "I'm so horny, I have to do something."

"I can't, I can't," she pleaded, struggling desperately to push me away, without success as my bulge pressed into her.

"I can't help it," I panted. "You let Matt rub you," I accused her. "I need to too."

Her hands relaxed. Unrestrained, I humped against her.

"Yes," she acknowledged, "and he ran away when I refused to do it again."

"I won't run away, Mom," I promised, "Just let me rub you like Matt did."

When her hands slid up over my shoulders, I knew I'd won.

"Ok, Kevin. I'll let you do what Matt did, and then that's it." She patted me on my back with both hands, giving me the signal to go ahead.

Reaching under, I undid my belt and pushed my jeans down over my throbbing cock. Released from the constraining power of my jeans, my dick straightened out against the mild strength of my jockey shorts.

"No!" Mom cried. "Keep your jeans on, like Matt."

"I'm still wearing my shorts," I wailed back, pressing down on her, delighting in the greater warmth from this closer connection.

"No, Matt wore his jeans," cried, less emphatically.

"It's too late," I gasped, rubbing my boner up and down on her pussy, humping against her like I was really fucking her.

In the time before she replied, I had rubbed my stiff cock through her a dozen times.

"It's not the same," she panted, "it's not fair."

I rolled sideways into her as I rubbed up and down. She moaned and raised her legs, her knees reaching almost to my shoulders. I rubbed her really fast, then slowed down to a slow grind. She shoved her pussy up to meet me.

"Why is it so hard to say no to you?" she panted, then let out a long, slow, "ohhhhhhhhhh, Kevin."

I became less desperate when I heard that. I concentrated on giving her the best rubbing, or fake fuck, I could manage. I changed my pace and pressure frequently and staved off coming until she did too. I kissed her when we finished, a long, languid tongue exchange.

When that was done, I whispered in her ear, "I'll never go away, Mom. I'll never leave you alone."

"I know, Kevin," she whispered back, "that's what I'm afraid of."

She watched me as she cleaned herself with a towel from the picnic basket. I took off my jeans, slipped off my shorts, cleaned myself with the dry back, and tossed them away. Buttoning her dress, still sitting on the blanket, she kept her eyes on me as I stepped back into my jeans. Instead of pulling them all the way up, I turned toward her, my cock sticking straight out.

"Are you boasting that you're bigger than the rest of the men in the family?" she laughed.

"Am I?" I asked.

Her response was to let her eyes twinkle as she held her hand out for me to help her up. I pulled her up but held onto her hand, moving it down to my cock. She pulled back when she realized what I was trying to do.

"Come on, Mom. It won't bite." I pulled her hand nearer, looking down to watch.

"No, I can't," she said, "I mustn't." She wasn't tugging her hand any harder, despite the extra pressure I'd brought to bear to get it closer to me. Her eyes, like mine, were on my cock and her hand.

I twisted my cock to nudge against the fingers of my hand and hers.

"Touch it, Margaret," I suggested softly. I don't know why I used her first name.

She groaned and stopped trying to pull her hand away. I loosened my hold and saw her fingers open within my hand. I pushed my shaft in, nestling it against her palm. Her fingers closed over me. Her fingers were so soft and gentle, like little vines snaking around my cock. I started to harden immediately. She gasped, yanked her hand away, and ran toward the car. Calmly, I gathered all our things and followed her. She didn't let me stroke her leg on the way home this time. She was quiet, lost in her thoughts all the way. So was I.
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Hello. Kevin here again with more about my mother and I, and my brother Matt. I was eager to keep the pressure on my mom after that beautiful afternoon in the country when I caressed her legs for so long, lulling her into acquiescence, allowing me to touch all around her panties, finally surprising her by covering her mound with my mouth. I'd humped against her after that, in my shorts. Strangely, she hadn't been overly upset about either of those two events. Flustered, yes, but still talking to me. That changed when I pulled her hand onto my cock. She'd run to the car then and remained quiet and distant all the way home.

So the very next day, I made sure to help her do the dishes, though I normally only helped on the weekend. But she wouldn't allow me my usual brushes against her skirt or my hand on her waist. Nothing, nada. She was cold.

That went on all week, until Friday, when I arrived home early, armed with calendars and brochures for various colleges and universities, all far from home except the two local ones. I spread them out on the coffee table and sat in the middle of the couch, browsing through them. Eventually Mom's curiousity drew her over to see what was so interesting. She sat next to me and asked why I was looking at colleges so far away.

"They have good reputations, Mom."

"What about these?" she pointed to the local schools.

"Oh," I said dismissively, "I just got those for comparison. I'm not really interested in them."

"Oh," Mom replied in a small voice.

A minute later, she picked up one of the local brochures.

"This seems to be a good school. It doesn't look any different from the others."

"It's not the same, Mom."

"Why?"

"Well, it's too close to home. You have to live too, you know, enjoy yourself, not just study."

"You can enjoy yourself at home."

"No, Mom. I mean really enjoy yourself. You know, things you can't do when you're living at home."

Mom dropped the brochure in front of me. I pushed it away and continued browsing through the calendar of a distant university. Mom picked up the calendar for the local school, leafing through its pages. She set it down on top of the one I was looking at.

"This one looks interesting," she said.

"Mom," I complained, pushing it away, "I'm looking at this one."

Mom pushed it back, "Let's just look at it for a minute," she suggested, resting her free hand on my knee.

Relenting, I skimmed over the page and even turned to the next one. When I did, Mom's hand slipped from the top of my knee to the inside of my leg, though she seemed intent on reading the calendar. I waited a minute, pretending to read, before turning to the next page. As soon as I did, Mom's hand slid further up my leg, to the part where my thigh muscles thickened. Her hand was now pressed between both legs. Her thumb moved up and down, stroking my thigh as I 'read' the next two pages. I became conscious of Mom's own legs, pressed tightly to mine. She was wearing a one piece housedress that buttoned down the front, large buttons about an inch across that ran from her collarbone to the hem, just below her knees. It wasn't a dress to show off her body, typical of her wardrobe.

"I don't know, Mom. It wouldn't be much fun. It would be just like another year of high school," I complained.

"Oh, I don't know," she said, "it might not be that bad, spending one more year at home." Mom reached behind her head and pulled her scrunchie off, shaking her hair loose. She smiled at me, saying, "Why don't you try it for a year, and see." Mom squeezed her hand back between my legs and leaned forward to look at the calendar again.

I pulled a few strands of her hair out, straightening them along her shoulders before leaning forward myself, feeling my swelling groin slide nearer to her hand as I did. I left my hand on Mom's back, just below her hair. "I don't know, Mom. I think it would be more of the same old, same old if I stayed here."

"Not all the same old is bad, is it?"

I didn't answer.

"You like some of the things you can do at home don't you, or nearby?" she added as an afterthought.

"Sure. Some things," I admitted, turning the page and moving my hand to rest on Mom's knees. We didn't say anything as we read the calendar, but only seconds after turning the page, I began toying with the bottom button on Mom's dress. "It's your turn to turn the page," I said.

When Mom leaned over to turn the page, I slipped the button through its hole and took possession of the next button. Mom didn't seem to notice. We perused the topics for a moment before Mom said, "Your turn."

"Can you do it for me, Mom?"

"Sure." I slipped the next one through as Mom leaned forward to turn the page without me having to ask. I slid my arm down behind her back and reached around to hold her waist. I took hold of the third button as Mom flipped the page and undid it hallf way through the page. Mom flipped the page before I could undo the fourth but I did it as soon as she straightened up anyway. Her dress was now undone up to the 'V' in her legs, that heavenly juncture, and I would have been able to gaze at her panties except Mom dragged the calendar back onto her lap, holding it there for us to read.

Undeterred, I kept my hand under the book, dropping it between her legs, spreading my fingers out to caress familiar territory.

"You have a beautiful touch, Kevin, but we should wait for Sunday, don't you think? Your Dad will be home from work in less than an hour."

"No, I don't think so Mom," I replied, continuing to brush my fingers over her thighs. "If I'm going to stay here for college, I have to have more fun than just on Sundays, don't you think?"

"I ... I guess so." Mom seemed a bit flustered by my precocious response.

"You looked flushed, Mom," I observed. "Are you too warm?"

Mom nodded, thankful I think for the diversion.

"Here," I said, pulling my hand away, Mom's face immediately expressing relief, "let me loosen your dress around your neck."

I began to undo Mom's top button, suggesting she turn the page to keep her mind on something else.

"Why don't you turn to the next page, Mom?"

Mom dutifully flipped to the next page as I finished that button and moved on to the next. When my fingers took on the third button, Mom let out an exasperated sigh, leaning back against the couch, pinning my arm behind her and pulling her dress away from the invasive fingers of my left hand.

"Kevin," she said firmly, "your Dad will be home in forty-five minutes. Now, behave yourself."

"Mom, if I stay here for college, I won't have classes all day long. There will be afternoons when I'll be home." I let that sink in before going on. "So I'll want to play, even though it isn't Sunday." I waited, expectantly. Mom nodded her understanding. "So I have at least half an hour to see what it would be like to enjoy myself, if I stay home for college next year. Right?"

Mom nodded. I took possession of the third button again and quickly slipped it out, then moved directly to the fourth. This button was the gold, for it would open Mom's dress to just below her breasts, revealing the gorgeous swells of her tits. I slowed my pace undoing this button, watching Mom's face the whole time, working by feel, not even looking to see the result until I'd finished. I loved the tension as I worked, and the resigned patience in Mom's eyes as she tolerated my fumbling.

I was disappointed when I finally looked down to admire my handiwork to discover a heavy white bra. Mom laughed out loud when she saw the hurt look that must have crossed my face.

"Don't cry," she laughed.

Now it was my turn to be flustered. Upset, I undid the next button. Mom's dress was now held together by only one button.

"Will you undo that for me?" I asked, indicating her bra.

"Nope, it's your show," she insisted.

It didn't take me as long as I thought to open that thick casing to reveal the soft treasures underneath. She really did have nice, ample and mature tits, but her nipples weren't hard. Mom wasn't excited, probably because of my pressure and the stress of worrying about my father's arrival. I realized then that I should never push her, I should always find a way to pull her in.

"You still have half an hour, easily," she said. "What are you going to do," she mocked, "stare at them for thirty minutes?"

Undeterred, I answered immediately, honestly. "I could, Mom. You don't understand. I could look at you for hours. I'm not Matt. I'm not looking for a quick feel. I love you, everything about you."

I slid my cupped fingers under Mom's tits, gently, taking her weight, lifting them from her slouched tummy.

"If you just wore an old dress, like this, even with a thick sweater over top, but let me know that you weren't wearing a bra, or panties, then that would be enough. For you to do something sexy like that, just for me, that's what I call fun. And I'd enjoy that so much, I'd never leave home."

Tears welled up in Mom's eyes. Actual tears. She pulled me to her, hugging my head to her breasts.

"Oh Kevin," she cried, "I love you so."

When she released the pressure on my head, I pulled away just enough to slip my mouth over her nipple, sucking it in. I didn't bite, or pinch and tug her other one with my hand. I just sucked and sucked, moving over to take the other after a few minutes, only then manipulating the now wet one with my fingers, but gently, very gently. I moved back and forth every few minutes, from one nipple to the other, sucking and gently squeezing her tits. She was excited now, I could tell from her hard nips and the rapid rise and fall of her tummy. I was aching to grasp her panties in my hand but I didn't want to go too far.

When I pulled my head away, I was surprised how much her tits had firmed up and how long, stiff and swollen her wet nipples really were. I had really done a job on them. I kissed her.

"I'd better do up your dress now. Dad should be here any minute."

"He's usually late on Mondays," Mom answered, her hands slipping around my face. "Kiss them some more, baby."

"No Mom. It's too dangerous." Mom laughed at our sudden switch in roles, but she allowed me to start buttoning her dress, doing her bra up herself. When I moved down to do up the buttons in her lap, Mom opened her legs, showing me her panties. They were dampish in front and a musky odor wafted up to infiltrate my nostrils. It was very exciting for her to do that, that simple sexual act.

"Thank you," I said.

"You're welcome," Mom answered, knowing full well what I was talking about. I knew then we had reached an understanding.

"It feels weird to have you look at me like that," she whispered.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" I asked.

"No," she said, "not in the least." She watched me, looking at her panties, examining the soft rise from her tummy and fall between her legs, stained by a dark, damp cleft down the middle. "I'm intrigued," she said, "by your fascination." She paused, then added, "I like it." She moved then, bulging her panties up toward me, laughing quietly at her own joke.

Just then, we heard Dad's car coming up the gravel drive. I jumped up, nervous.

"You'd best go up to your room and do your homework," Mom said, buttoning her skirt as she calmly walked to the kitchen.

Dad was pleased to hear that I wanted to attend college in town, saving him big bucks. He told me he was very relieved that I was staying, what with Matt leaving and all, and he was proud that I was so thoughtful, so considerate of Mom. "She wouldn't say anything, you know. But I know she's just ecstatic that you're not leaving."

Mom wouldn't let me help clean up the kitchen after dinner again, and she disappeared upstairs for an hour afterwards. I could hear the bath running and couldn't stop myself imagining her getting in the tub, soaping her body, rinsing off by dribbling water over her thrusting tits with a large sponge. She was wearing her bathrobe when she came downstairs, like that time she'd let me see her legs, but this time she just sat demurely at the other end of the couch reading a book while Dad watched CSI. During the middle set of commercials, as usual, Dad bolted upstairs to use the bathroom.

Mom continued reading but reached down to scratch her left knee. Whatever was bothering her must have been quite itchy because she slipped her hand under the folds of her robe to scratch her bare skin on top of her leg but soon moved it to the outside of her leg. Though she continued to read, Mom also kept scratching her leg, slowly moving her hand higher and higher until she was almost scratching her hip. As her hand had moved up, she had pulled her robe open with it, exposing her left leg as she went. Frustrated, she dropped her book, loosened the belt on her robe, and pulled it from her leg entirely, scratching furiously on her bare hip. My eyes, closing following the entire path of Mom's scratching fingers, quickly noticed the absence of any panties covering her hips. I had just shifted my eyes to the tops of her thighs, barely glimpsing a tuft of light brown hair peeking out between her legs, when the toilet flushed upstairs and Mom snapped her robe closed, arranged it to cover her legs once more, and secured the belt.

Dad returned to watch the second half of CSI and Mom continued reading her book. Part way through the second half, Mom suddenly looked up from her book, catching me still looking at her, and smiled, configuring her face into a knowing expression, as if she and I were sharing a private communication.

There was another episode of CSI on after that. Mom offered to make hot chocolates just before it started and called me into the kitchen as soon as the episode proper began. Entering the kitchen, I knew I would never leave home until Dad kicked me out. Thank god for Matt.

Mom was leaning against the far counter, her robe unbelted, and displaying a narrow, two inch gap down the entire front. I couldn't see her breasts but I could see that the was braless since her skin was visible right through the middle. I could also confirm that she was indeed not wearing panties as my attention slid down to the area sloping down from her tummy to a small, brown quilt of hair. I walked toward her.

Just before I reached her, Mom whispered, "Is there something you wanted?"

"You called me, Mom," I whispered back, my eyes looking down past the swell of her tummy.

She ignored my response. "To see perhaps?" she asked, then added, "Or touch?"

My eyes remained on her patch of hair but I said nothing. Tentatively, I stretched out my hand. I felt like I was standing inside a seashell, there was that much noise swirling around in my head. It must have been my heart pounding and the sound of my own blood rushing to my head, and probably to my rising cock as it sucked in most of my spare blood. I extended my fingers, pointing them down and cupping my hand toward her.​