Incest/Taboo The Mom Memories

Hi. My name is Dave. I'd like to tell you about what happened after my father had a very debilitating stroke. My mother asked if I would go through the stuff in his office when I came home from college for the summer because she didn't want to do it and Dad seemed agitated when she mentioned it to him. Of course, I assured her that I would look after it.

When I arrived home, my mother was less distraught than she had been two months earlier but she was still greatly relieved by my arrival. She was exhausted by friends, relatives and especially acquaintances she barely knew offering their sympathies about Dad's condition. She avoided all invitations to get together for coffee, dreading awkward conversations overloaded with concern about how she was managing by herself. She asked me to protect her from all that, to guard the gate since she found it difficult to say no. In her words, "I need you to look after me."

I didn't read anything into that. My mother was twenty years younger than my father but she was still twenty years older than me. I'd had an adolescent crush on her five years ago, rubbing my boner every night while dreaming of her late thirties figure as I drifted off to sleep. But now, I simply saw an exhausted woman. No, the memories of odd erotic moments didn't surface until later, when I was cleaning up my Dad's office. I found a box stuffed with letters at the back of the closet. My disinterest turned to shock as I read the correspondence he exchanged with members of a secret group, an incest group that exchanged true stories of their experiences with their moms.

There was a list of rules taped inside a flap on top of the box:

1. All stories must be true.

2. All names must be changed to protect the innocent.

3. The story must be about you and your Mother.

The first story in the first bundle was my Dad's own submission. He called himself 'Ron' but he violated the second rule by referring to my grandmother by her real name. Later, I would discover that wasn't the only rule be broke.

This was the first story in that set of files. My Dad's story.
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Hello all. Let me introduce myself. My name is Ron. Not my real name, but everything else I'm about to tell you is true. I grew up in the midwest on a farm, I suppose like a lot of you, even some of you city folk. Times were hard then, even before the depression. And there wasn't a lot of fun to be had like there was in the cities. On the farm, there was always work to do and, without a car, too many miles for us young folk to get together anyway with the little time we did have to ourselves. So we mostly socialized within our own families or our closest neighbors.

We did have a car, a Ford, but it mostly got used for just for going to church and trips to town for supplies. When I came of age, I made all the trips to town in the Ford, with my mother, and usually to church too. My father needed to stay and work the farm. He said he didn't have the time for socializing, and I may as well do the driving since I wasn't any good at fixing things or doing real work. He figured I should learn how to be good at something, and the only chance for that was if it was something I liked doing. Well, he said a piece there, he did.

My father was almost sixty then. I think he didn't come to town because he just plain didn't have any patience for people anymore. He liked being on the farm, and he liked being on his own. Most of the time during the week he was out in the fields all day anyway, and at night he was in the shop or the barn after dinner until he went to bed, never later than nine o clock.

My mother, Ellen, wasn't even forty by several years. When I look back at it, she too young to be with an old crock like my father. She was a pretty woman when she fixed herself up for church or going to town. She had long red hair that she often got me to brush for her because my father was always too busy though she once said that he used to like doing it for her.

Even at that age, my mother had laugh lines around her eyes, and when she smiled, there were up and down crinkles in her cheeks on either side of her mouth. But, like I said, she was still pretty. She and I spent a lot of time together since my father was always tinkering and I was had a thousand excuses for avoiding work in the field in favor of doing chores closer to home. Father said it was just plain easier to do things himself. I think he preferred being by himself or he would have made me come anyway.

Mother was a lonely woman, I realize now, looking back. She looked forward to church Sundays and loved going to town. After several times driving to town on my own with Mom, the excitement of driving wore off enough that I began to pay more attention to Mom. She was one of the prettiest women in our little town but she kept a polite distance from people, despite her seeming need to be near them. I know now that she was treading a careful path, making sure she didn't encourage the men or spark the jealousies of their wives who were all too aware that Father was much older than she.

Town was necessary for her sanity but it was also a social minefield. On the way to town, she was tense. In town, she was careful and controlled. On the way home, alone with me, she was at ease, sometimes even exuberant. She would chatter away, reliving her conversations with other women, and what she thought they were really thinking. I was her confidant. She would lean over closer to me to make a point, sometimes whispering when repeating some gossip or confiding her thoughts, touching my arm if it was a particularly juicy bit of news. I loved it.

I started driving more slowly on the way back to the farm, even though I loved to go fast, just to drag out our trip home. Mom never complained. I think she liked having more time away from home where there were no chores to do. That's probably why she never complained when I took our first detour, or maybe it was because it wasn't very far out of our way and it was a beautiful day.

Because I liked Mom being close, leaning in, touching me on my arm, I kept the window open and complained about not being able to hear her. At first, she just talked louder. Then, she leaned closer to me most of the time, which I enjoyed immensely. Finally, at no urging from me because it never crossed my mind, she simply moved her cloth shopping bags from between us to the door, or on the floor, and sidled up next to me. She would sit there, thigh pressed against mine, and yack almost into my ear as I drove, her arm on the seat behind my shoulders, sometimes curling around to cup my neck.

As soon as we crested the small hill coming out of town, she would shift her bags and slide over. And when we neared our property, she always moved back to her door. On the rare occasions when we passed another car, or one came up behind us, she would lean back over to her side. It was as if our closeness was a secret as well as her confidences in me. I wasn't sure why then but this really excited me. It was as if my Mom and I shared a world all to ourselves that no one should know about. Always, just before she pulled away, Mom would lean in and give me a big kiss on my cheek, sighing, "Well, we're home already." I took this as a signal that it was OK to take longer detours.

One day, I did something that started us on a road deeper into our special world. A road of touching. I started shifting gears more often, my hand thus making contact with her legs. I explained to Mom that, if we were going to take longer drives on the way home, we had to conserve gas. To do that, I explained further to my mom who knew nothing about cars, I needed to shift gears more often to maintain the best engine speed. "Oh," she replied, and went on with her conversation.

That making sense to her, I was then free to change gears, often up and down for no reason except to touch my mother's legs. She paid it no mind. It wasn't long before I managed to nudge her left knee tight against my leg when I was in second or fourth gear, close enough to the seat that she had to put her knees on either side of the long shift handle. I changed to holding the shifter on the shaft under the handle so my hand would come into more solid contact with her legs. Soon, she kept her legs open when I was in other gears because she could never tell when I was going to pull the stick back against her knees. So we would drive along, Mother chatting away with her hand around my neck and her legs open whether the shifter was forward or back.

I preferred to drive in second or fourth because then my hand was between my Mom's legs. I don't think Mom noticed the first time I shifted up to third and, instead of keeping it on the shifter, moved my hand back to rest it on the seat between her legs. I'm not sure that I recall the first time. I do remember suddenly becoming aware that my hand was there between her legs, for no reason. But she didn't seem to notice. So from then on I always moved my hand to rest on the seat between her legs. Tentatively at first, but then more naturally as if that's where my hand was supposed to be.

On one of our trips, I had trouble with the car so while she was shopping and visiting, I worked the motor. On the way home, Mother slipped over beside me as usual when I shifted into third gear after cresting the hill. She nestled into place against my thigh, opening her legs to make room for the shifter, and my hand. Keeping the car in third gear with the shifter forward, I said, "Mom. You'd better pull your dress back so it doesn't get dirty. I couldn't get all the grease off my hands."

"Oh, you'll have to get them clean before dinner. You know your father," was all she said. And then, amazingly when I look back at it now, she braced her feet to lift her weight and pulled her skirt way up so that the hem under her legs was completely on the top of the seat. When she sat back down, she pulled the hem on the top of her legs way back from where the shifter could reach, right up to her pelvis. She kept her hands there at the top of her legs, holding her dress in place for my next few shifts. I was very excited, almost in shock. I kept my hands on the shifter, afraid to put them down near her bare legs, which I had never seen before. My eyes were glued to the road.

Soon, Mom put her left arm around me in its usual position, and began using her right to accent her conversation, as usual. Gingerly, I moved my hand to rest on the seat between her legs, lightly scraping her bare legs for the first time in my life. I was ready to rocket my hand back to the shifter if she complained, but she didn't seem to even notice. But I certainly did. My cock hardened. I looked down to make sure it hadn't ripped through my pants like it felt it had. Relieved, I sidled my glance over to her legs. Clear, soft looking white legs, the sun highlighting short little blondish hairs sparsely covering her thighs. I couldn't look away, they were so beautiful.

"Watch the road, Ron!" she commanded crisply as the car wandered onto the shoulder.

But that was the only admonishment she gave. I kept my eyes on the road, but I shifted more often than usual, took a longer detour, and managed to have my hand in contact with her bare legs most of the way home.

The next week, just as Mom got into the car, I made a production of trying to rub grime off my hands. "Darn car," I complained.

"Watch your language, young man," Mom barked. When she slid over next to me, I reminded her to watch her dress. Without a word, she slid her skirt up again. I was in my glory feeling her legs all the way home.

The next week I forgot to go through my grimy hand act and was wondering how recover from that error when she slid over next to me and pulled her dress up without any prompting from me. I immediately moved my hand between her legs and started my little scrapes and rubs, my boner near breaking point all the way home.

The following week, Mom lifted her dress again, all on her own. After moving the shifter back into fourth gear, I made a dangerous move of my own. Whenever I was in second or fourth gear, back against the seat, I always kept my hand on the shifter. To be sure, I held the shaft under the knob so I could touch her legs more, but I never let go, always needing an excuse for my hand to be there. But this time, just like I did when in the forward gears, I let go of the shifter and dropped my hand behind it to the seat between Mom's legs.

This put me higher than I'd ever been, almost to her crotch, firmly in contact on both sides of my hand with the softest part of her thighs. Fearing an angry response but not being able to stop my hand from making its short journey, I was again surprised.

"I had a lovely time in town today," Mother sighed as she ran her fingers up the side of my neck. "A lovely time," she repeated as she stroked her fingers slowly up and down my neck, her pelvis seeming to push forward in the seat, or was that my imagination?

I hardly shifted at all on that trip. When I did, I quickly moved my hand back to its high position between her legs regardless of which gear the car was in. I was in bliss all the way home.

When we got home, after carrying in the supplies but before I could run out to the barn to relieve myself in private, Mom told me to stay in the kitchen. She sat down on a kitchen chair with her legs stretched out before her. I was startled when she suddenly pulled her dress up, holding the hem just below her crotch. This had never happened before. We always went out separate ways at home, never reentering our private world until the following week.

"I think you might have got some grease on my leg."

There wasn't a speck of dirt to be seen. I stared at her legs, brazenly displayed before me. She was looking at them intently as well, allowing me a better look at them than I'd ever had.

"No," she said finally, "I don't see anything. ... Maybe underneath. Could you look for me, Ronny?" she asked, lifting her knees to raise her upper legs, looking down herself at the bottom of her thighs. I stood frozen until she quietly said, "Come on honey. I can't keep my legs up forever."

Kneeling down, I inspected the underside of her legs. I could see all the way to her panties.

"Do you seen anything?" she asked.

Yes, I thought. Your beautiful legs, and your PANTIES!

Gathering my courage, I stretched my trembling hand out toward her, pointing, "Oh, there is a spot," I said, my voice cracking.

"Can you get it?" she asked, "I can't even see it."

"Sure, Mom." I tentatively touched her with my outstretched finger, high up on the bottom of her thigh. I poked at the imaginary spot of grease.

"Did you get it?" she asked.

"No, it's really on there," I replied, pulling my finger back to lick it before renewing my rubbing on her thigh near the crease where her leg met her bottom. With her permission to rub, I poked away, pulling my finger back to lick it several times.

"It's a tough one," I said as I continued rubbing, her leg now wet with my saliva.

"Rub it harder then," she commanded me in a strangely hoarse voice, which I proceeded to do. When I pulled my hand back I spat on my fingers instead of licking them and used several fingers to rub this time. I widened the area I was rubbing to cover the whole inside curve of her leg along the line of her panties. Up and down I rubbed, pressing very firmly. Her thigh was damp, I realized as I noticed a strange, pungent odor. I didn't need to pull my hand away to lick them, so I just kept rubbing her, the edge of my fingers starting to press against the side of her panties on each stroke up and down.

"Rub it harder," she gasped in a weirdly intense voice.

I obliged, quickening my pace. Then, the sound of the tractor filled the house through the open kitchen door. My mother sprang up, her face flushed, and rushed upstairs. "Go help your father," she yelled as she flew up the stairs.

Of course I didn't. I had a huge boner, absolutely huge.
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That night, Mother informed my father that she needed me to take her to church on Wednesday afternoons because she'd volunteered to help with some church service. That was news to me, she hadn't mentioned anything, at least I didn't think she had.

On Wednesday, after lunch, we pulled out of the yard. As soon as the house was behind us, Mom pulled her dress up. This had never happened before. We only touched on the way home, never on the way into town. Acting unsurprised, I simply moved my hand down between her legs. Within a mile, I was rubbing her leg in the same spot I'd done several days before. I rubbed in silence. Mom didn't talk. Soon, I moved my hand to rub in the same spot on her other leg, though there was never any 'spot' there, and so no 'reason' to rub there.

As I rubbed her thigh with my finger and thumb, the edge of my hand was scraping against her panties. Mom's breathing became quite ragged. I focused my attention on the action of my hand, pressing it more firmly against her panties.

"I don't want to go to church," Mom broke the silence, her voice broken and breathless. "Take the road up to the hill," she instructed me, indicating a spot where we often went for a picnic in the trees overlooking our fields. As I turned off the side road toward the picnic spot, I turned my hand as well, facing my palm directly at her panties. Driving along, I gripped the mound underneath her panties, firmly squeezing it, and started to rub it up and down.

By the time we parked under the trees, I was rubbing her furiously and she was pressing herself against my hand, following it up and down. I turned toward her, pulling my hand away to replace it with my left hand, putting my damp right around her shoulder, up to her head, pulling it in to my chest.

"Mom," I gasped, frigging her panties. "Touch me, touch me too," I cried.

I felt her hand, her little hand, fumbling with my pants. My cock leapt against her touch. Then my pants were unbuttoned and her hand was fishing underneath, groping for my cock. She found it, her fingers curling around my shaft. "Oh, my, Mom," I shouted as she started moving her hand up and down, jacking me off with her incredibly soft fingers, sliding them right up over the head, unlike my own action that always remained on the shaft. She pinched and twisted her fingers ever so gently, teasing my head, then down and up in full, long strokes. And then I was coming, spurting, gushing high into the air, into her lap, onto her chest and her dress, and on my shirt and pants. Her legs closed tightly around my hand, trapping it, her legs shivering as if very cold, violently cold, though I could feel they were steaming hot.

We lay there for several minutes before Mom said, "We'd better rinse these things off in the creek and dry them before going home. Come on," she said, taking her dress off, "give me your clothes."

Mom swished our clothes around in the creek and spread them out on the grass to dry in the hot afternoon sun. We lay about on the grass in our underwear, switching between the sun and the shade. Mom wasn't wearing a bra, she just wore a kind of slip thing though it was made of cotton and not the silky material we have today. It was like she was wearing a very revealing dress. Designed for wear beneath a dress, it was much shorter. While Mom dozed on the grass, I spent my time surveying her body. I was quite taken by the lack of wrinkles that were evident on her face when she smiled or frowned. Her body looked much younger.

I became especially intrigued when I noticed something which had somehow escaped my notice; her panties were spread out in the sun next to her dress. I had watched as she laid out our clothes but my attention was on her legs, exposed in her short underdress much more than I'd ever seen. I simply didn't look at the clothes on the ground.

Now, as she lay back with her arm covering her eyes from the sun, I fixed my gaze on her midsection, trying to see through the thin cotton material, to no avail. But, always creative, I pulled up a long strand of grass and, leaning on my elbow next to her, began tracing it up and down Mom's thighs. Her only reaction was to smile. Trailing the ticklish grass stem along the seam made by her thighs where they pressed together, I eventually succeeded in parting her legs, lowering it to feather along the inside of her legs, moving her thighs even farther apart.

Tracing my homemade tickler around her kneecaps on one down stroke, I suddenly moved it quickly down behind her knee and was rewarded by a girlish giggle as she quickly jerked her legs up to avoid my ticklish intrusion. The hem of her underdress fell to the tops of her legs, staying there when she again lowered her legs, demurely closing them again. However, prim as this was, her legs were now exposed all the way to where her panties would have been. I could see the hair tufting out below the edge of the underdress.

I was so engrossed in this image, my hand had stopped moving. Catching myself, I began tracing my grass tickler along Mom's thighs to open them as I'd done earlier. Success was achieved although it seemed frustratingly slower than before. Whether my imagination or not, I still don't know to this day if Mom delayed opening her legs deliberately so as to tease me. But tease me she did. My cock had grown right through the opening in my boxers, my only attire. Eventually, her legs did part, and slowly, so slowly, I managed to tickle them apart sufficiently to expose her secret treasure. My first unhindered view of a bare pussy.

She sucked her breath in sharply when I first traced the stem of grass around the outside of her pussy lips and dragged it through her pubic hair, repeating this action over and over for several long minutes. The only reaction I observed was shorter, more rapid breathing and a sudden intake when I first trailed the grass along the crevice formed between her nether lips. Repeating this latter action caused her legs to lift up and down slightly with each stroke as she moved to keep pace as I took my turn to tease her.

Eventually, I stopped with the leafy head of the grass stem pressed into the middle of her now moist pussy. I pushed on the stem, attempting to shove it inside my new toy, but it only bent more the firmer the pressure I applied. Suddenly, it folded in half and my pinching thumb and finger collided with Mom's bare, wet pussy. I froze. She gasped. I pushed, twisting and parting my digits to align them with her vertical slit, allowing easy entry. My knuckles disappeared, about an inch of my thumb and finger becoming enveloped within her slippery kiss.

Mom's hands clutched the grass at her sides, her eyes squeezed shut. I hadn't noticed when she'd pulled her arm away from her eyes and didn't know if she'd been watching me. I was too fascinated with my engagement of her womanly charms. Her knees rose up several inches off the ground but I kept my hand firmly lodged in her quim, moving my fingers in a gently rotating motion which seemed to please her judging by her breathing and the soft moan escaping her lips. I sensed I was doing well.

I pulled my thumb out and allowed it to rest on the top of her slit while filling the vacated space with another finger. I pushed both fingers in as far as I could, twisting them inside with my thumb rocking along with them where it lay on her outside her pussy. This she seemed to really like. Keeping my fingers buried deep, I repeated this move for some time, slowing my twisting motion but gouging deeper into her. Her legs kept trying to rise higher the more I did this, so eventually I grasped her bare foot with my left hand and moved it around to my side, sliding in to place myself directly below her bottom.

Keeping my hold on her ankle, I followed it up in the air as she lifted her now freed legs. Seeing the added exposure this provided, I used my hold on her ankle to push her legs even further, going so far that I lifted her backside from the ground. This afforded tremendous access for my right hand so I inserted my two remaining fingers and began a slow in an out, twisting motion, abandoning my thumb work on her upper slit.

As I worked, her breathing continued getting harsher and harsher, her moaning louder. Enthralled, I shifted myself forward on my knees, pushing her ankle even farther ahead. She bent her knees as I shoved, bringing them to rest near her sides, lifting her pelvis and opening her legs in an almost obscene display of her wet, soaked pussy which was dripping fluid down into the crack of her upturned ass. My fingers were moving in and out of her faster now. Her breath was truly hoarse and rasping.

I settled my knees against the bottom of her thighs, holding her in her lewd upturned position. My cock, sticking out through my boxers, pressed against her ass, its head poking between the hole she used for her dirty business, and the one now fully engaged by my frantically pistoning fingers. I began thrusting my cock along this line, hunching my hips forward and back in time with the to and fro of the thrusts of my fingers.

I pressed my knees even further ahead, lifting her back right off the ground and her ass high in the air. Her thighs fell back against her chest, her knees by her head, pressed tight by my forearms as I released her ankle and pulled my fingers from her pussy. I gently inserted the fingers of both hands between her pussy lips and pulled her cunt open, revealing the wet pink slit and a gaping hole widened by my thrusting fingers. Leaning down, I enveloped her wide open pussy in my mouth, pushing my tongue into that open orifice. I sucked and wiggled my tongue in that hole as I thrust and hunched my cock against the small of her back, its tip reaching to the start of the crease between her ass cheeks. I kept it up until my spunk splashed all over her back. Then I released her, her hips and legs falling to the ground on either side of my knees as I withdrew.

I knelt there watching her. Her forearm again covered her eyes. When her breath returned sufficiently to allow speech, she whispered hoarsely, "My god, Ronny, my god!"

Standing, I removed my boxer shorts. I stood there, naked, watching her. She smiled suddenly, "You've made such a mess on my back." She twisted her body, writhing slowly against the grass to rub my mess off. When she arched her back, her breasts were thrust against the material of her underdress, bunched on her belly beneath her tits. My cock started to rise as I watched her sexy undulations. I knelt before her again. Leaning over her, I grasped her underdress and pushed it up and over her breasts, baring her tits to me for the first time in my life that I could remember. Shoving the material up to her neck, I brought my hands down to grasp a tit in each hand, squeezing and massaging them like small balloons filled with water.

I pressed my cock against her pussy, lining my shaft up with her slit, pushing it to split her lips so they partially encased my now hardened cock. I began sawing back and forth along her wet crevice. She gasped and moaned out loud, "Ohhhhhhh, that feels so good. ... Ohhhhhhh .... Don't let it go inside, Ronny," she gasped, "Promise me or I'll stop." When I kept silently shoving my prick along her crack, she repeated, "I mean it, Ronny. Promise, or I'll stop."

"I ... promise ... Mom," I gasped, barely able to speak. I pressed harder, shoving my cock along her faster and faster. "I promise, Mom, .... I promise," I repeated, shoving, shoving, shoving, squeezing her tits. It wasn't long before I released another load of spunk, this time on her belly and spraying her tits. I collapsed on her, pressing my softening cock hard against her belly. I didn't move for a long time. She traced her fingers across my shoulder, down my back and along my sides. At some point, she began to sing a lullaby as she softly stroked me.

When I finally stood up, our clothes were dry. As we dressed, I noticed our tractor working one of our fields far in the distance. Following my gaze, shading her eyes with her hand, Mom softly said, "There he is in his world, and here we are in ours."

As we approached the road from the grassy trail to the picnic spot, Mom quietly announced, "This can be our church on Wednesdays, Ronny, if you like."

"I like, Mom, I replied."
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Four long days to Sunday. I suggested a shopping trip to town on Saturday but Dad said no. On Sunday, I started feeling Mom's pussy when were barely out of the yard. My hand quickly slipped up to her belly and down into her panties so I could massage her bare pussy. Not much longer and I had three fingers buried in her cunt. I tried to drive straight to the picnic spot but she wouldn't let me.

"We can't miss church on Sundays, Ronny. Picnics are for Wednesdays."

I was so eager to head home after church that Mom became irritated with my impatience while she shopped for supplies. I wanted to head for the picnic spot as soon as possible. When we finally left town, I began groping her before we even crested the hill. Mom was not pleased. In fact, she became quite annoyed with me, pushed my hands away and moved to sit close to her own door. There was no picnic site that day.

I sulked the rest of that day and Monday but by Tuesday I had learned my lesson and was extra helpful to Mom. On Wednesday, we left for our extra 'church' visit. Mom sat by her door again. As we neared the turnoff to the picnic site, she was still there. Suitably admonished, and feeling I was still going to be punished, I slowed the car just a little, hopeful, but applied the gas again to go by the turnoff when she gave no indication that she wanted to stop. Disappointed and flustered, I drove past the turnoff.

Within a hundred yards, Mom spoke, "Let's show our faces in town, stop into the church, have an ice cream and then come home. Alright, Ronny?"

"Yes," Mom," I replied dully.

"And let's pick up some cokes for our picnic. Would you like that?"

"I sure would, Mom," I replied enthusiastically. "I sure would."

"Good. Let's hurry then, so we can have lots of time in the sun for our picnic."

I pushed the gas pedal to the floor to move that old Ford along. This was no Bonnie & Clyde V8 model. Mom still sat on her side of the car, but that was OK. The future looked bright.

Mom didn't dally in town, except when we had our ice creams. She made a brief visit to the church, making sure to say to several people on the way there and back to the general store. But she took her time sitting on the veranda of the store eating her ice cream, making an exaggerated display of licking her cone when she and I were alone. On the way home, she shifted positions to sit next to me, opened her legs and pulled her dress up, holding it in place with her hands on either side of her hips.

"I'm really in the mood for a picnic, Ronny," she sighed, closing her eyes and laying her head on my shoulder.

I moved my hand down gently -- I certainly didn't want to incur another hiatus from picnics -- and moved into place at the juncture of her thighs. SHOCK. Mom wasn't wearing any panties, and she was already moist.

"Mmmmmmmm," she purred as my fingers entered her slit and softly moved up and down. I continued my gentle ministrations of her lips, and sideways rubs with my thumb on her clit, until we turned off to the picnic site. Mom was moaning softly by that time, her eyes still closed. When I shut off the engine, she spoke, still not opening her eyes, "Go spread out the blanket and call me when you're done."

With lightning speed I spread the blanket and returned to escort Mom, offering my hand in the most gentlemanly manner I could muster. "Thank you, sir," she acknowledged my effort as she took my hand. Before she sat on the blanket, she unbuttoned her dress, slowly, while I watched. She never took her eyes off me, a slight smile on her lips the whole time. Pushing the dress off her shoulders and over her hips, she sat down immediately. She was completely naked. She held her arms up to me, beckoning. I undressed in a flash and settled on top of her between her opened legs.

Pulling me to her, she whispered, "You can do anything you want but you can't put your thing inside me. Understand?"

"Yes, Mom," I eagerly agreed, "I understand." I quickly began moving my rigid cock against her pussy mound, rutting between her wet, swollen lips.

"Wait," Mom instructed. "First, I want to feel your mouth on me, like you did before." Her hands had moved to my shoulders, pressing me down. As I succumbed to her will, she moved to grasp my head, steering my mouth until it was where she wanted it. "Yessss," I heard her moan, "That's it, do it, do it, ohhhhhhhh."

I didn't rush. I took my time. I realized this was special and would pay handsome rewards. I sucked and licked for a long time. I alternated between lapping her with my tongue and jabbing in her like a little cock. I even inserted my finger in her when I was licking up high on her slit, which she seemed to like the best. A long time later, Mom confided that I was the only one who had ever done that for her.

When she was done, while she was still gasping, I moved up and furiously humped my cock against her soaking pussy until I came. Rising to my knees as I was still shooting my spunk, I spurted come above her belly to splash some on her tits. Waddling forward, my knees on the ground straddling her tummy, I laid my cock down between her tits, pressing them together to encase my still spasming tool. My final squirts dribbled onto the base of her neck.

"What's it feel like, Mom, to have a mouth on your secret parts?" I asked, pushing my cock toward her head in little minithrusts.

She laughed, not fooled in the least by my 'innocent' question. "Oh, I don't know what it would feel like for a man. You'd like to find out, would you?"

She laughed again, then formed her lips into an exaggerated kiss, lips protruding, then widened her mouth into an open and pouting oval ring. Her eyes danced with mirth and truly sparkled when she saw my cock already lifting into its recovery. Raising up and forward on my knees I guided its tip to her mouth, pressing against her pouting lips. Gently, I moved it back and forth sideways on her lips. When she tipped her head forward and opened her lips, I pushed it gingerly inside, feeling the warmth of a wet mouth on my cock for the first time in my life.

She closed her mouth on my cock, swirling her tongue all around its head, then back and forth underneath. She moved her head back and forth, moving her mouth down over my shaft and then sucking as she withdrew. Then she lay still, moving her little hand up to loosely grip my hip, her eyes flashing a questioning expression.

Slowly, I began to move my cock in and out of her mouth, my own eyes questioning. When her eyes flashed a confirming response, I starting moving my cock faster. When I moved too fast for her, she pinched my hip. I immediately slowed. She governed my speed like that but only had to control me two or three more times. I fucked her mouth. I was glad I had already come because I wouldn't have lasted in her mouth for twenty seconds if I hadn't. As it was, it was only a few minutes before I felt the surge coming. Panicked, I pulled out as it began emerging from my cock, sure that she wouldn't want it inside her. Even though I'd come only ten minutes earlier I still squirted quite a bit of spunk on her face.

Wiping it off, she told me I could keep it in when I was in her mouth, acknowledging we would do this again. She washed her face in the creek and returned to the blanket suggesting we drink our cokes. We lay there, relaxing and sipping our cokes, chatting about life but mostly just surveying our surroundings. When she was finished, she turned onto her tummy to snooze in the sun. I did likewise.

I woke to realize I had fallen asleep. Looking over, I saw that Mom was still asleep. Admiring her naked body, my cock began to rise again. Ah, the power of youth. With my foot, I pressed her right foot away from me, opening her legs wider, then got in behind her. Lowering myself, I carefully lined up my hard cock with the crease in her ass. Gently, I pressed it between her cheeks and slowly started moving back and forth. Her body rocked slightly with my movements but she didn't wake up until I dug my cock deeper between her cheeks, its head nudging against her rear hole.

"Ronny, what are you doing?" Her voice was soft, quiet.

"I can't help it, Mom. You look so good. I need to rub you again."

"OK, honey, but not there." She reached around to grasp me with her right hand. Pulling my cock away, she redirected it to slip between her legs, right under her bum. When she felt it there, she closed her legs, trapping it in a tight grip. "There," she said, "do it there."

As I began moving again, she lifted her hips to let her hand slip underneath. On a downward plunge, I felt her hand receive my cock, her fingers keeping my cockhead pressed tightly against the underside of her crotch, reaching far enough to rub the bottom of her pussy. "Do it. Oh, Ronny, do me," she said.

Oh, and you bet I did. I really humped on her until I spilled my seed into her hand.
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I couldn't wait until Sunday. By Friday, I had a constant boner because I couldn't stop thinking about Mom. I had to avoid my father more than usual because it was so obvious. Coming downstairs for breakfast, I had to turn around and wait until he had left for the fields. When I did come down, Mom let me know he was angry that I had slept in because he needed my help. I was to walk out to the north field as soon as I'd had breakfast, and she was to make a lunch because I'd be there all day.

"Well, you can't go out there like that," she said, looking at my tenting pajamas, laughing, "You won't be able to walk."

I walked toward her, pulling my pajamas out and down, releasing my bobbing dick. I stood before her, looking helpless, pleading.

With an expression that kinda said, 'Good grief', she took it into her hand and dropped to her knees. "Alright, but I'm not doing this every day." She sucked me until I exploded in her mouth, pulling out to let a little splash on her face. "I think you like doing that," she accused me.

She was both right and wrong. I did like doing that, and after that she did suck me off every day. As she washed her face in the sink, I lifted her skirt and began lapping at her from behind. She shuffled her feet back and apart to allow my tongue better access. Soon, she was on all fours on the floor, her skirt thrown over her back, my face firmly embedded in her ass as I licked the bottom of her slit. I lifted her right off the floor, her thighs clenched around my head, stabbing my stiff tongue in her until she shuddered to a climax.

Well, that's all for now. Mom and I had a long relationship that lasted long after my father passed away. I'll tell you more about it later, but first I hope to hear back from some of you about your own memories of your moms.
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I was hard. If true, then my father had almost fucked my grandmother. Had they gone all the way? I flipped through the rest of the stories in the first bundle, looking for a continuation of my father's story. But it wasn't there. Nor was it in the next bundle. I found it on top of the the third bundle. Feverishly, I opened it and started to read.​