Incest/Taboo The Mom Memories

No, no, no. I wanted to find out if he'd done my grandmother. I didn't give a shit about Frank. I could remember my grandmother when she was old but I'd seen old pictures when she was younger, and quite a desirable woman. But, I started to read Frank's letter, anyway.
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Hi everyone. My name is Frank. I won't say my mother's name, I'll just call her Mom. My story isn't that long and maybe not that exciting, but it is what happened. My Mom and Dad always seemed to get on well and were about the same age. I was close to Mom because I was sickly as a small child. There was something wrong with my heart so I couldn't be active in sports. So I'd always been closer to Mom than Dad and she always doted on me. We spent a lot of time together.

But that all changed when I discovered girls. Or, should I say, one particular girl. I became interested in girls late, not until final year in school. I went on a few awkward dates and Mother tried to be helpful to make sure I did OK. So she would ask me about the girls and give me advice on how to deal with them. She just hated for me to be disappointed.

Then I met this girl in first year college. Mom knew something was different because I didn't want to discuss her. This really piqued her curiosity and she was relentless in trying to find out more about Donna. Now, I really did like this girl but I think the reason I wasn't so eager to discuss her with Mom was because she'd already taught me a lot and I didn't need to ask her much anymore. Things were going well; I didn't need help. And this seemed to be exactly what seemed to bother Mom. She wanted to be involved, to be in the know, for us to be confidants again.

Mom queried me when I got home. She'd corner me in the kitchen when Dad was watching TV, in the living room if he was working in the garage, or even come to my room to grill me. Somewhere along the line, I changed from avoiding Mom to feeding her a line, about how Donna was different from the other girls, more mature, sexier. I even mentioned that her figure was more womanly than the girls I'd gone out with before, how she was more confident and more casual about her dress. "Not sloppy," I assured her, just that she didn't get flustered if part of her blouse opens a bit, or her skirt rides up when we're laying around studying. And there was that one time when she was just wearing a long nightdress, because she'd forgotten I was coming over and had gotten ready for bed early.

"Well," she said, "you want to be careful, Frank. You don't want to have to get married and not finish college."

"Oh, Mother," I replied, "we're not going to go that far." And then I added, impishly, "It's just that she looks so good, Mom. It's a great feeling to be around a woman who's comfortable with you, who doesn't mind letting you enjoy seeing her."

"Oh, I see," Mom's voice trailed off and she looked away, up toward the ceiling. "I see," she said again, and wandered off.

Now, I had led Mom on a bit. Donna had been in her nightdress but she'd covered herself up with a housecoat before we started studying, and the glimpses of her legs and bosom were not intentionally provided. I just thought I'd put Mom off her questioning by providing answers that might embarrass her. But it didn't. In fact, it seemed to intrigue her even more, and something else: It made her jealous that another woman was garnering her son's attention.

I twigged to this the next day when Mom asked me again about how 'comfortable' Donna was with me, and how she showed it. This is where something evil in me sprang forth, something that made me lead Mom further down the garden path rather than admitting that I'd stretched the truth a bit.

"Well," I answered, "she shows her legs at lot. I mean, she doesn't dress in really short, slutty skirts or anything like that. But she wears night clothes when we're at her place, you know, slips and stuff that she only wears around the house. But she's not fussed about me seeing her like that. It's nice."

"Nice," Mom repeated. "And is that it, she let's you look at her legs?"

"Well, if she's wearing button up pajamas," I pushed a little further," she doesn't seem to mind if a button or two comes loose. It's nice to look at a woman, especially when she lets you. It doesn't do any harm. It's just looking."

"I see," Mom responded, "I see."

After dinner, I was sitting in the living room reading over my notes for an upcoming exam while Dad was watching a baseball game. Mom had gone upstairs after finishing the dinner dishes instead of joining us in the living room as she usually did. When she came downstairs, she had already changed for bed. She was covered in a floor length robe and wore her fluffy pink slippers. She sat down in the chair next to the couch to read a magazine.

The movement of her foot, bouncing in time to some music heard only by her, distracted me from my studying. The robe had fallen from her dancing leg, baring it to her knees but was held from parting further by the magazine Mom held in her lap. Her foot was tapping to the silent melody as well, and twisting around in a small circle.

Now, I had seen my Mom's legs before, up to her knees in any of the dresses she normally wore, and all the way up in the summer when we went swimming. But I began to pay more attention to her legs and her swirling foot than I did to my notes. I sensed that there was something strange in the air, given our conversation earlier that day and the one before. Something was very different. I could feel it, and there was something odd about the pleased smile on her face.

Suddenly, I noticed her looking at me, watching my eyes following her legs. Flustered, I went red in the face but I couldn't help looking back down at her legs, which never stopped moving.

"Studying for a big exam?"

"Uh, yeah," I managed to squawk.

"Would you like some help? I could ask you questions." She tossed her magazine aside and leaned forward, reaching out for my notebook, which I numbly handed to her. She asked me a question, to which I didn't respond.

"Come on, Frank," she urged me, stretching her leg out, scrunching her foot until her slipper fell off, poking me in the knee with her bare, pink-nailed toe.

I stumbled out an answer which I'm sure was wrong, but she went on to ask me more questions without saying anything. After each question, she poked the side of my knee with her toe, curling her foot as she drew it back a bit. The strange smile never left her face.

After a few more questions, my Dad burst in, "Come on you guys, take it upstairs. I can't hear the game."

Mom stood, "Come on then Frank," and walked off with my notes. I followed her upstairs to my room, watching her hips sway from side to side all the way up the stairs. In my room, she motioned for me to sit on my bed. She closed the door and latched it. "We don't want to be disturbed while we're studying, now do we?" she said as she walked over to the chair by my desk.

She dragged the chair closer to the bed and then sat in it, facing me, crossing her legs as she laid my notes on her knees. "Now, where were we?"

I watched her legs as she wiggled her foot while looking over my notes, until her slipper fell off. She continued twisting her foot around, drawing my attention to her feet. "Oh, yes, here we are," she said, lifting the notebook and letting her robe part a little above her knee, exposing the side of her thigh just a little. She began to ask me questions.

Every once in a while, she would lift her leg and poke at the side of the bed beside me where I sat with my back against the headboard. She would hold her leg there, the muscles tensing as she pushed at the bed and relaxing as she released the pressure on the mattress. When she pulled her leg away to cross it on the other, her robe would slip a little higher up her thigh. She would then pull her robe together to cover her legs, but not every time. I could see more and more of the side of her thigh, the curve of her leg at the bottom drawing my eyes as it dropped down in a gradual swell out to the fullness of her thighs.

The first time she left her robe open was after she'd left her foot on the bed, continuing to ask me questions, her leg on full display the whole time. When she pulled her leg back, she didn't cross it over the other one right away. Instead, she held the notebook up high, hiding her face, while her legs were openly displayed right up to the top of her thighs. She examined my notes like this for several minutes, allowing me to freely gaze at her open legs before saying, "Oh yes, here we are," and casually crossed her legs again.

I had long since raised my knees to rest my head on them, partly to improve my view of her legs and partly to hide my raging boner. When Mom heard Dad come up the stairs and enter the bathroom to get ready for bed, she stood and leaned down to give me a kiss.

"Would you like me to help you study tomorrow night too, honey?"

I tried to look into her eyes but I couldn't tear my own eyes away from the vista yielded by her parted robe as she bent over, a clear horizontal view inside her lacy, yellow nightgown revealing unencumbered, dangling breasts, nipples barely covered by the flimsy material. Mistaking my lack of response, she went on, "Well, you think about it and let me know."

She stood and, hips swaying, walked to the door where she turned and smiled sweetly before she went out.

The next day, Mom wore a white blouse and heavily pleated skirt that fell to her knees. Although conservative, I couldn't help but keep my eyes on her legs while she prepared dinner. I don't think this was lost on her and she seemed pleased. As dinner ended, just as Dad was getting up to retire to the living room, Mom asked, "Are you going over to Donna's to study tonight, dear?" As she finished her question, she brought her hand up to toy with the top button on her blouse, threading it loose after Dad left the kitchen and pushing her blouse apart a little. She gave me a funny little smile.

Although I had made arrangements to study with Donna, I changed my mind on the spot. "Uh, no. I thought ... maybe, you could help me out again, Mom."

"Oh, I'd be happy to. I like helping you, Frank."

When I started to help clear up the dishes, Mom shooed me away. "You go get ready to study," she insisted, "and I'll be right up."

I went to my room and changed into my pajamas. I couldn't sit there for another hour in my jeans like the night before, bending the hell out of my dick. I dragged the desk chair closer to the bed so her feet would stretch right onto the bed against my leg or, if she pushed her feet on the edge of the mattress, her she'd have to lift and bend her knees, which would make her skirt slide up her thighs. Then I waited. I couldn't help touching my dick and rubbing it, congratulating mysel on my cleverness, while erotic images of my mother played in my head.

When she came, she was wearing the same floor length robe. I wasn't disappointed because I was looking forward to it parting over her gorgeous legs as she stretched them from the chair to my bed. But Mom ignored the chair. She came directly over to the foot of the bed, kicked off her slippers, and sat on the end of the bed, crossing her legs yoga style. Her legs were completely covered by her robe, and there was no way it could open to show her legs while she was sitting like that.

"Hand me your notes," she commanded, stretching her hand out. I passed them over, disappointment turning to embarrassment as I shamefully realized that, in this new seating configuration, I was left with nothing to hide my still hard cock tenting my pajamas. I closed my legs together, trying to hide it. Mother didn't seem to notice as she immediately launched into a series of questions.

As our interaction turned into a real study session, quite like my real visits with Donna, my hardon subsided. Just as I was really thinking about my exam, Mom stretched, arching her back as her arms reached up toward the ceiling. "Oh, I need a break," she said, standing up. She walked in a little circle and stopped again at the end of the bed. Without saying anything, she toyed with the belt on her robe, loosening it slowly, and then pulled it completely undone. Opening the robe with her hands, she pulled it wide, holding it open for a moment, and then slipped it off her shoulders, wriggling her hips to help it fall to the floor. She stood there for another moment, clad only in her nightdress, before saying, "Are you comfortable studying with me, sweetheart?"

"Yeah, Mom. You're great to study with," I blurted out, closely examining her figure, her body hardly hidden by the thin material of her nightgown which fell short of her knees. The thin silky material clung to the side of her breasts despite the plunging, lace-lined neckline in the front, the holes in the lacy part providing tantalizing peeks at the skin underneath. She stretched again, her breasts bulging and almost parting her bodice.

"Good," she said, "because I'm very comfortable studying with you, you know."

She resumed her position on the bed, again crossing her legs, but this time they were bare, and her openness lifted the hem way up, so high I could see her panties. Instead of holding my notes in front of her, she laid them on the bed between us, leaning over to read, opening a gap in her bodice which allowed me a clear view of her bare breasts as they dangled slightly from her chest.

She asked questions slowly from then on. It was as if we both understood that studying was now peripheral to something else we were doing. As my cock hardened and bulged against my pajamas, I realized she could see it, just as I could see her panties from my similar vantage point. I didn't care. I didn't want to move lest I break the spell surrounding my bed. I kept my eyes steadily on her jiggling breasts, straining to peer down the gap in her nightgown as she leaned over, absurdly far, to read my notes.

Mom nudged the notes closer to me until the top edge pressed against the bottom of my legs. She grasped my ankles, pressing down on them to lift herself, and dragged herself forward closer to me, bringing her bent knees to rest under my legs that were stretched over hers so that my feet were planted on either side of her thighs. Her gaze fell to my tented pajamas.

"Is this how you study with Donna?"

"Yes," I lied.

"Is this how she lets you look at her?"

"Yes," I lied again, "almost."

"Almost?" Mom asked.

"She lets me touch her legs." Truth had now been left far behind.

"Like this?" Mom took my hands and laid them on the upside of her knees where they were bent, her calves tightly squeezing against the bottom of her thighs. When she drew her hands away, I started to stroke her legs along the crease between her calves and the inside of her thighs.

"Yes," I croaked out.

"Do my legs feel as nice as hers?"

"Better," I croaked again.

"Better?" she smiled.

"Yes."

She seemed pleased. "What else does she let you do?"

"She lets me look at her, up here," I nodded at her chest. Pinnochio must be turning over in his grave. Mom looked skeptical.

"She does. Honest, Mom," I lied shamelessly, holding the most innocent look I could muster on my face. I stared at her breasts intently. I let my palms fall flat against her leg, near the juncture of her thigh and her hip, my thumbs trailing down between her legs. I gently pinched her legs as I stared, as if to emphasize how important it was to see her breasts.

"You're sure she lets you do that?"

"Yes, Mom. She really does." I slid my hands deeper between her legs.

"Alright, then. But just a peek for now." She reached down, grabbed the hem of her nightie and pulled it up, slowly. It seemed to take forever to bare her belly. It took even longer to clear the bottom of her breasts, but then there they were, her hands held up in front of her face, holding her nightgown, her tits springing out toward me.

Gorgeous. Simply fantastic, beautiful tits. Her arching back stripped any sag that might be there and jutted her nipples into the air. Just as I was losing all restraint, about to plunge my mouth down onto one of those incredible globes, she yanked her nightie down.

"That's all for tonight," she gasped, her breathing rapid for some reason, matching my own. We sat facing each other, in collusion. She smiled, then laughed softly. "Maybe we're getting too comfortable with each other," she sighed, leaning her head forward.

I moved ahead myself, until we were cheek to cheek. I looked down at my hands on her thighs. My cock was very, very hard. I could tell that it had poked through the open fly in my pajamas and was bare to her sight.

"I don't think so, Mom. I think we're just right, perfectly comfortable."

Reaching up I tilted her head forward tight against my cheek so that she was facing straight down at my cock, its head straining up toward her. Neither of us spoke and there was no other acknowledgement that my bare cock was pointing up to her face. I pushed my left hand even deeper between her thighs and let my thumb slide out across the front of her panties.

To distract her from this action I immediately prompted, "Could I look one more time before I go to bed, Mom?" as if I was asking for yet another bedtime story like I always did when I was little, and she always complied. I held her head against me as once more she lifted her nightgown up and over her breasts.

"Let me look for a while, Mom," I pleaded, continuing to brush my thumb across her panties.

After a minute, I dropped my right hand down from her head, and slowly moved it toward her hanging breast. We both watched, heads together, as my hand moved closer until it cupped her right tit. Gently, I brought pressure to bear until I was squeezing her tit, massaging it. She didn't pull away. I pulled down on it, squeezing as my palm and fingers slid off, pinching her nipple and tugging it down toward the bed.

"Thanks, Mom. This is more than Donna ever let me do," I finally spoke the truth. "I want to study with you all the time."

"I'd like that, son."

"You'll always do more for me, won't you Mom?" It was a rhetorical question, the answer understood.

"Yes, baby. I'll always do the most for you, more than any girl," Mom answered anyway.

Just then we heard Dad coming down the hall. We hadn't heard him climbing the stairs. He paused outside my door, which this time Mom hadn't latched. We froze, like deer caught in headlights.

"I'm going to bed," Dad called out.

"OK dear. I'll be right there. We're almost finished," Mom answered, managing to speak in a normal voice.

I reached up to pull Mom's head further forward. I kept pulling, increasing the pressure, slowly pulling her head down toward my quivering cock.

"More, Mom, more," I pleaded, almost whining.

Dad's footsteps retreated toward the bathroom.

I pulled my other hand away from her panties to place it against the back of her head too.

"Please, Mom. More," I repeated. I heard the bathroom door close.

"More," I gasped as I felt her dry lips squeeze over the head of my cock.

"More," I said again as I my cock pushed into her mouth.

"More," I gasped louder as I pulled her head down and thrust my hips forward, my cock tasting the wet feel of her tongue as it slid under my shaft.

"More ... more ... more, " I rasped as I hunched my hips erratically, again and again, fucking my cock into her mouth.

"Mommy ..." I cried out loud a minute later, spurting my come into her mouth, holding her tighter with each spasm, each release of my spunk into her throat.

I fell back against the pillows, my hands loosely holding Mom's head on my softening cock.

She didn't look up. She kept her her face down on my cock, bathing it with her tongue until it lay limp in her mouth.

"Tomorrow, I need to start studying for my history exam," I announced.

She nodded her head, springing new life into my young cock. She squeezed it in her mouth.

"Dad's already gone to bed," I stated for good measure, trying to keep her there as my cock swelled and hardened in her mouth.

She nodded again, the action sliding her mouth over my cock. I grasped her head more tightly, thrusting gently, fucking her sweet mouth for the second time in ten minutes, for the second time in my life.

Well friends, that's it for now. I'll tell you more about me and Mom in my next letter. In the meantime, I look forward to reading your stories.
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Wow, I thought, I'd have to keep a look out for the rest of Frank's story while searching for Dad's. My own cock was bursting uncomfortably against my jeans. I was just about to loosen my pants when I was jolted out of my reverie.

"How's it going?" Mom asked, her head poking just inside the study door. I hadn't heard it open. I almost jumped out of my chair.

"Mom! You scared the hell out of me," I complained.

"Oh, sorry. I was just about to go to bed and I need help to get Dad out of his chair."

"Ok, Mom, I'll be right there."

I picked up a folder and tossed it over the letter I'd just finished reading, then fussed about like I was busy until Mom left. I needed a moment to let my excitement subside. When I left the office I was surprised to find Mom waiting by the stairs. She started up when she saw me and I fell in behind her. And that's where my eyes stayed ... on her behind.

I guess reading these letters made me think of my own Mom. As I examined my Mother's behind, I remembered her treating me to glimpses of her body over the years. A flash of cleavage here, a look up her dress there, always when my father wasn't around. In fact, she would almost always treat me when he wasn't there. Unfortunately, that was rare. My Dad worked as an insurance consultant from home, and was almost never away. I don't know if it was the letters or my Mother's still shapely ass that caused the rush of blood to my pecker, but it was definitely stirring by the time we topped the stairs and walked the length of the hall to my parents' room.

Father was waiting in his wheelchair. Mom had already changed him into his pajamas. He only needed to be transferred to the bed. Since he'd had his stroke, Dad just sat in his chair or propped up in bed, seemingly unaware of his surroundings. I immediately moved to pull Dad up, holding him by slipping my arms under his while Mom moved the chair out of the way, and then turning to sit him on the bed. I lay him on the pillows and swung his legs onto the bed. Mom pulled the covers over him and plumped the pillows to make him comfortable. Then she stood looking at him with me behind her. Dad gazed into space.

"Oh, Davy," she cried softly, stepping back into me. I curled my arms around her shoulders, grasping my own arms to hold her snugly against me. We swayed slightly back and forth as Mom stared at Dad. I realized that my arms were crossed right across her breasts. I don't believe, had I not read those letters, that I would have noticed this, or been self conscious about it. But now, I was extremely aware that my forearms bore the weight of her breasts, and could feel her nipples pressing just below the crook of my elbows.

Looking over her shoulders, I could see that Mom's robe had loosened while we were getting Dad into bed and her lapels had parted sufficiently that my arms were directly against her nightgown. Only the barest fraction of an inch of material separated my bare arms from her warm breasts. I felt myself stir down below and squeezed her tighter, mashing her tits against me.

"Not so tight, sweetie," she whispered, as if Dad shouldn't hear.

"Sorry, Mom," I replied, loosening my hold a little. "You don't need to whisper, you know."

Mom twisted her head up to speak to me, moving her breasts on my arms as she did so. "I know, but he's less agitated when its quiet, and he can see and hear, you know."

Turning back to look at him, her nipples grazed the inside of my forearms. I held my arms looser against her now so that my arms kept brushing her nipples. Perhaps to avoid my touch, she pressed back against me, contacting my groin where my cock continued to stir. My arms followed, renewing their light contact against her.

"The doctor told me that Dad's mind had regressed, kind of like in alzheimers. He said Dad would recognize you but think I was him when he was younger." I was lying, like Frank had lied about Donna.

"Really? They didn't tell me that. Which one told you that?"

"That specialist guy, the older one. I don't remember his name," I replied. "He told me in the waiting room when you were talking to the other doctors. He said it would be comforting for Dad if he saw you and me together. He didn't talk to you?" I needed time to develop this line of bullshit that was forming in my head.

"No. Are you sure he said that?"

"Yeah, he said that even if it was a little awkward that I should act like I was Dad. He said I should hug you and be intimate with you. He said it would stir Dad's memories and might help him recover a bit. Maybe."

"Oh. But I don't see how ..."

"He said Dad would think I was him, and that he was reliving memories with you. He said intimate moments make the most potent memories and were the most likely to bring him back." I knew where I was going with this now.

"But why wouldn't he have told me?" Mom asked.

"He said a mother might feel awkward asking for that kind of help from her son, even though she would certainly go along with it for her husband's sake. He said he was going to talk to you about it later but if you didn't say anything to me I should take the initiative. He said it was experimental, and the other doctors might not agree with it so we shouldn't discuss it with them."

"Well, what should we do?"

"He said to start with just hugging and stuff, then see how it goes."

"But how far ..." Mom's voice trailed off, perhaps not wanting to finish her sentence, to follow where it lead.

I jumped in, "He said to go slowly, but it was important to keep going until we got a reaction from him." I moved my arms around on her breasts, my arms tight enough that I could feel her nipples bend with my movements.

"But he doesn't react to anything," Mom protested.

"I know, Mom, but we have to try until he does." I couldn't help pressing my groin forward, becoming excited as I anticipated what might happen. "Just close your eyes, Mom. I'll just hug you and kiss your cheek. Maybe he'll remember himself kissing you."

Mom closed her eyes. I nuzzled her neck, then began brushing her cheeks with my lips and planting little kisses there. Folding my wrists around the curve of her breasts, my hands formed a case to hold them as I rocked gently into her behind. After several minutes of this, Mom opened her eyes.

"Did he do anything?" she asked, a little breathless.

"No. Be patient, Mom. It'll probably take a while. Here, take this off so it looks like you're getting ready for bed. Maybe that will jog his memory." I slipped Mom's robe off.

Mom stood there, eyes closed again. I didn't close in behind her right away. I just had to look at her, standing in just her sleeveless nightgown, her back bared in a 'V' down the middle. I moved in to retake my position, put my arms around her and nestled my groin against her rump, now covered only by the thin nightgown. I dropped my head to nuzzle her cheek, kissing her and running my lips down the side of her neck. Within minutes I was running from her cheek to her shoulder, planting little kisses all the way. I slipped my right under her arm and snaked it around under her breasts to grasp her waist. I kissed her ear. She sighed softly. I traced its outline delicately with my tongue, then dipped it inside. She sighed again. I pressed harder against her bottom.

Suddenly, she broke away, looking flustered.

"Did he do anything," she gasped, not looking at me, her face going a little red.

"No, Mom." Then, sensing that she might be reaching her limit for this kind of behavior from her son, I added, "Maybe that's enough to get him started. I think we should leave it until tomorrow. What do you think, Mom?" I wanted her to sign on to this plan, to be part of it.

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah, Mom. We have to keep it up until he reacts." I needed her commitment in case continuing became questionable later.

"Yes. Ok, tomorrow, then," she agreed, perhaps just to put it off in order to relieve her discomfort, but she had made a commitment and I was happy.

"OK. Goodnight, Mom." I gave her my typical peck on the cheek to emphasize that we were still mother and son outside of our intimate act for Dad's sake. Then I left.

I ran downstairs, back to Dad's study, to renew my search for his letters. By luck, I found one almost right away, at the top of the fourth bundle.
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Hello again all. A little more about my own mother then. As I said, after that day in the kitchen Mom did relieve me with her mouth almost every day and sometimes more often. Every Sunday and Wednesday, we had our full on naked sessions at the picnic site, after working each other up in the car. Mother would let me rub myself anywhere I wanted to, even on her behind, but she wouldn't let me get inside her, anywhere, except her mouth.

I discovered that pleasuring her with my mouth worked best for me. After that, she would let me slide up over her belly and tits to shove my hard cock into her mouth. I just loved fucking her face. If I ate her first, she almost always let me fuck her mouth and pull my cock out after the first spurt or two to drain the rest on her face. I don't know why, but that was always the best part for me.

Once, when Dad was working on the tractor out in the yard, Mom came up behind me as I stood, several feet back in the kitchen from the open doorway but still in plain view, and slipped her hand down the front of my pants. Quickly, I sprang to life as her fingers slid around my shaft, slowly jacking me to full mast, squeezing the head and rubbing her thumb on its helmet. She wouldn't let me turn toward her, or move away from the doorway out of sight. When I was fully hard, she used her other hand to push the front of my trousers down, baring my hard cock to the doorway.

She whispered as she caressed my cock. When Dad turned our way, searching for a tool on the ground, she stopped my flight response, firmly holding me in place, not missing a beat on my cock. As Dad cast about for his tool, Mother worked mine. If he looked up, he would have seen me. She whispered to me about how she wanted to feel my come, tonight, even before Dad went to bed, while he was still downstairs, on her face!

I exploded! She squeezed my cock hard, as if to make it shoot farther. Even though I was five or six feet from the door, I'm sure some shot outside. When I was done, my father forgotten as I spurt my life out, she laughed, "You'd better clean that up before your Father sees it."

That night after supper, while my father sat in the living room drinking his hot rum before going to bed, Mom sucked me in the kitchen. Several times at dinner, when Dad wasn't looking, she had made her mouth into an 'O' and then smiled. When dinner was finished, I was hard as a rock. She held me back in the kitchen, saying she wanted help with the dishes if I wasn't going to work out in the fields. My father seemed pleased with this, I suppose thinking it would embarrass me into working harder. She sucked me like a real whore. She pulled me into the larder and gave me a real wet cocksuck. She kept spitting on it, holding me by my legs instead of my cock, whispering hoarsely when she pulled her mouth off, over and over, "Come on, fuck me with it. ... fuck my mouth ... fuck my face ... come on me," on an on.

I got so excited I was jamming it into her mouth. She didn't mind. She kept egging me on until, finally, I burst onto her face. It didn't come in spurts. It more like a volcano burst. I don't think I've ever come so much in my life.

Mother became more and more sexual like that as the years went by. But she was always unpredictable. She never let me fuck her though. I never got inside her. Until Dad died, that is. Returning from the funeral, I tried to touch her. She still looked sexy to me in her black dress. I mean, I did feel weird trying to feel her up in her funeral dress, but I couldn't help it. She was angry, batting my hands away, "We've just put your father in the ground, for God's sake!"

When we got home she went upstairs to her room and I, properly admonished, made tea for us, wondering when it would be 'proper' for me to start molesting my mother again. Then she called me. "Come upstairs, Ronny. Hurry!"

I ran upstairs. Had she collapsed? Was she overcome with grief?

Bursting into her room I was greeted with a sight I'll never forget. There she was leaning over, her hands planted firmly in the middle of the bed, her black funeral dress pulled up high onto her back, her legs parted and her ass bare. "Where have you been? It's yours now. Come fuck it!"

In a second my pants were down and I was in her. In less than a minute I'd pushed her onto the bed and shoved her head down at the pillow. My first fuck was over a minute later and I collapsed on my mother's back, gasping for breath.

As I lay on her, Mom said, "He would never do me like that. He always had to be in front, on top of me, no other way, always finishing too soon."

In case that was a complaint about my early finish, I set about fucking her again. I fucked her for hours that night, until we fell asleep. I woke up, took a piss, and went back to bed. She was still sleeping, on her tummy, her legs parted. Not to be deterred, I pushed my hard cock into her and started fucking her slowly and gently. When she woke up a few minutes later, I really started into her.

And that's the way it went. That first year after Dad died, maybe two, I fucked her several times a day. On Sundays we stopped at the picnic site and just talked, read books together, or sometimes just napped in the warm sun. It was almost like a shrine to us now.

But the rest of the time, we were always touching. Turning her ass toward me almost guaranteed a good rump fuck. And it wasn't just me. She'd flash her eyes, wiggle her ass, and the chase was on.

The farm suffered. We had to hire help. That's what got me started as the insurance rep for our area. We had to be more careful with help around, but we still managed. It wasn't long before we discovered Mom's other favorite position. One morning, before I woke up, Mom discovered my piss hard, straddled me, and started having herself a nice fuck. I woke to find her leaning over me, her hips slowly grinding up and down, her pussy milking my cock. That was the typical way I woke up from then on.

But she still liked it best from behind, and so did I. It was her favorite for the many, many years I fucked her, until I married, a man of more than forty years, and brought my wife home to live on the farm. But more about that, in my next letter.
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I was too excited about the next day to search for my father's next letter, even though it hinted at Dad fucking my grandmother while my mother was around. But my thoughts were now on a real live woman, my Mom. Tomorrow, I was going to touch her. Tomorrow, I was going to get sexual with my Mom, right in front of my Dad.​