Incest/Taboo The Rambler

Mom's body started shaking as she turned the water off and began scrubbing one of the glasses she'd put in on top of the soaking knives and forks. I watched her pleated skirt shake and my thoughts jumped to the quivering mounds of flesh that caused such tantalizing movements. Those sexy, jiggling things moved as if they had a mind of their own, jostling seemingly unencumbered beneath the plaid covering.

Tim's description of his mom's pleated skirt suddenly seared into my brain. Had Mom changed into that skirt on purpose, for my benefit? Had Millie told her about what she was letting Tim do?

Fuck, I had a boner already. Awkwardly, I moved my legs around, finally reaching down to realign my cock into a more comfortable position. She couldn't be wearing anything under that skirt. There was no way those pleats could move like that if her bum was constrained, even if she was wearing bikini panties that only reached halfway up her butt.

"What?" I said. Mom had to repeat her question. I had missed it.

"I said, do you want me to help you too?"

I hesitated, somehow not ready for what I had been waiting so long to hear.

"I don't have to, if you don't want me too," Mom interpreted my pause incorrectly.

"No, I do. Please Mom, that would be great." I stepped close behind her and put my hands on her shoulders. "I'd love your help," I lowered my voice, allowing my groin to graze the back of her jiggling skirt.

"It won't be like last time," Mom responded. "We'll just make it look like you're out with your college girls again, nothing more." Her shoulder stiffened, dampening my rising lust, but she didn't pull away from my touch. It was the tone of her voice that pushed me away, a definite signal that I was presuming too much.

Though I kept my distance while drying the dishes I kept my eyes on Mom's enticing buttocks and she seemed quite happy to keep moving it around in this new eye-catching fashion. I guess I was welcome to look.

And that is how the week played out. Though I didn't approach Mom again I was sure my touch would have been no more welcome but the visual show continued all week despite warming relations between my parents. On Friday, Dad left after dinner for his regular bowling game with the boys and Mom disappeared upstairs, returning moments later dressed for bed, robe and all. I guess there was to be no jostling tease the night before the big show.

Mom filled the sink, dumping the cutlery in to soak followed by the glassware, as usual, but she didn't immediately begin washing. Instead, she stood with her hand on the tap, waiting for the suds to near the top edge of the sink and when it did she shut it off and walked over to the table where she stopped. Her elbows bent as she lifted her hands in front of her to fuss with something and seconds later I understood what as she lifted her robe from her shoulders and shrugged it down her arms, slipping it off and draping it over the back of a kitchen chair.

Mom turned back and walked toward the sink without looking at me. She was wearing a nightdress, much like the one she'd worn the past Monday morning but a little shorter and with just ribbon straps over the shoulders to hold it up. It appeared to be the only thing she was wearing, a conjecture that was confirmed as Mom leaned against the sink and started washing the dishes, the thin nightie covering her bottom leaving absolutely no doubt that there was nothing constraining her quivering cheeks.

I was in heaven. I stared in awe up and down Mom's legs, but mostly at her quivering buns, as Mom seemed to take special care again to ensure that each and every dish was impeccably clean. No. I lied. I snuck a few glances around the side to watch the side of her breasts bounce up and down with her vigorous arm movements, their cleaning action seeming to intensify whenever they sensed my close scrutiny.

Towards the end, my ardent attention leaving me in quite a fix, I leaned close to Mom to thank her for helping me out tomorrow night at the drive-in. Of course, I let my throbbing, bulging jeans press in to feel the warmth of those oscillating globes and was again treated to my mother's mild rebuke.

"You're welcome, dear, but remember that it's not going to be like you think, the way it was last time. That was an accident and it won't happen again."

As before, Mom didn't push me away and this time I didn't voluntarily pull back. Her tone was less intimidating but, even so, I wasn't about to be put off of this gloriously soft and warm flesh by just a stern voice.

Nevertheless, I was surprised when Mom allowed me to continue pressing against her, my bulge worming its way deeper into her softness. I kept my hands to myself and held my ground, even gently nudged further in, while continuing to dry the last remaining dishes. Mom didn't object, washing the last couple of dishes no faster, or more slowly, than she had the rest. Then, after she finished the last dish and to my further delight, she waited for the sink to drain instead of moving away to wipe the counters. I dried the last few dishes as slowly as I thought I could get away with but she didn't complain, using the wet cloth to wipe the sink and counter within easy reach, cleaning until I hand done the last dish. Only then did I reluctantly pull away, when there was no other obvious reason for us to be standing so close together.

My groin felt suddenly cold as we parted and the wrinkly indent in the back of her nightie attested to the firmness with which I had pressed into the soft flesh underneath. I stared at Mom's thinly clad ass, admiring the shadowy line defining the division between left and right cheek, even being able to make out through the thin old material where her crack ended and spread like a butterfly at the fleshiest protrusion where her panties likely rested when they were present. Mom stayed still for a moment, as if letting me have one final look before she turned and walked slowly to the table, lifting her robe and continuing her exaggerated gait until she silently disappeared into the living room.

She was sitting on the couch wrapped in her robe watching TV when I finally managed to walk without hurting myself.

"Thank you, sweetie," she called as I headed upstairs to my room.

"No problem, Mom," I replied hoarsely.

I spent the night upstairs spanking my monkey, hard.
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We were running down the road in my sweet Rambler, the four of us, listening to the Stones rocking out of the new cassette deck that had replaced my aging 8-track. Mom and Millie seemed to like the music as much as Tim and I, something you never would have suspected if you saw either of these women outside the confines of this car. Magic was in the air, that's for sure. I could sense it in the carefree laughter and joyful appreciation of the great music filling the car as we less-than-hurtled down the road.

Tim and I had met our moms at the mall on the edge of town where they left Tim's car and climbed into the Rambler. The moms had said they had some errands to run first. My initial disappointment watching Mom get out of Tim and Millie's car dressed in a light but long, full-length summer coat dissipated once we got underway. Everyone was in a good mood and our moms acted more like twenty year olds with a couple glasses of wine under their belt than two women soon to turn forty. I was high as a kite just knowing where I was going, my mind filled with dreams of what I hoped could happen. I was giddy.

We passed through the gate without incident, trying hard to maintain a more somber mood so the attendant wouldn't think we actually had been drinking. I dropped Tim off at the concession while we proceeded to the same area in which we'd parked before. We were early, so Tim arrived only a few minutes after we had parked and placed the speaker in the passenger-side window. Mom had already taken Tim's place in the front seat, Millie waiting for her son in the back, as before. Except this time Mom insisted that I sit by the door, a reminder that she was indeed not going to be cornered. So ok, my hopes were dashed at little, but my raw enthusiasm for this evening couldn't be squelched.

Tim entered the driver-side door with an armful of drinks and popcorn which he handed out before getting in the back, shutting the door and locking it, and reclining the front seat so he and his mom could see the movie, should they decide to actually watch it this time. I reclined our side of the seat too but not as far back so that Mom would have to stay close to me. Mom locked the passenger door and then turned away, her back twisted my way so she could watch the movie and also easily look into the backseat to chat with Millie. Tim and I said nothing, both eager for the movie to begin and not interested in anything else. That was when Millie surprised us all by pulling out a bottle of red wine and four plastic beakers.

"Your Mom and I got a head start this afternoon," she laughed, at least partly explaining the carefree attitude in the car trip here, "and since we're going to be here for at least four hours, you two can have a couple of glasses too. But only two," she warned. "The rest is for Mary and me."

I could hear the clink of two other bottles contacting each other in Millie's big-bag purse, together with the tinkle of her and Mom's laughter. The pop was set on the floor as we all began sipping wine while we waited for the movie to begin. The fermented grapes eventually loosened my tongue and Tim's too and we were all gaily yacking when the drive-in lights shut down and the screen filled with previews of the coming attractions. We were already on our second beaker of wine.

Tim and I quit contributing to the conversation and the chatting between the women gradually subsided until there was only the odd comment for the first fifteen minutes of the movie proper. I noticed Mom turn toward the backseat as if to say something but then she looked back without a sound. I looked over to see Millie wrapped in her son's arms, his head obscuring her face but the movements suggesting a long, tongue-entwined kiss was well in progress.

Tentatively, I placed my hand on Mom's shoulder, exerting the slightest pressure to pull her back closer to me but she resisted and I dejectedly resigned myself to watching the movie, hard as that was with my friend enjoying the fruits of our joint labor so enthusiastically in the backseat, apparently not shy about the sounds leaving the back of the car.

Twenty minutes passed by. I couldn't get into the B movie, the first of a triple-header horror set, though Mom seemed enthralled. I couldn't match her teasing all week with the long, form covering coat she was wearing. Why couldn't she have worn a thin, loosely knit yet figure-hugging sweater like Tim's mom was sporting, the kind of thing she so often favored, the kind of thing a quick glance in the backseat confirmed allowed easy access for an exploring hand. That lucky bastard.

"Mom?"

"Mom?"

"Shhhhhh."

I touched her shoulder, lightly pinching the material of her coat.

"Aren't you hot?"

"Hmmmm? ... oh, yes, now that you mention it." Mom's elbow pulled back so her hand could start fiddling with her belt but she soon stopped, becoming engrossed in a scary scene on the big screen.

I slipped my hand forward and rested it on Moms arm, by her waist.

"Would you like me to do it?"

Nothing. Mom stared at the screen.

"Mom?"

She nodded absently, pulling her elbow back to let my hand slide around to the front. Gently, I worked the buckle loose and pulled the belt out, then began slowly undoing the large buttons, trying not to disturb Mom. When the last button was undone, I carefully pulled the coat apart to loosen it on her shoulders, then tugged it away bit by bit, with Mom adjusting her weight to help. It took a long time but I finally managed to slip the sleeve off Mom's right arm and peel the coat away, laying it on the seat between us. I reached around Mom's front to tug the sleeve down her left arm, pinched between Mom's side and the seat cushion. Though more awkward, Mom shifted her weight to accommodate my effort, never taking her eyes from the screen. I was acutely aware of each time my forearm brushed across the front of Mom's breasts, covered by the familiar soft sweater. Finally it was done and I reached behind her to pull the coat from underneath.

"Fold it please," Mom said, "so I can use it as a pillow."

Dutifully, I folded the coat in half three times and placed the wadded bundle under Mom's head and watched as she shifted herself around to get comfortable, turning her back more to the seat than squarely toward me. I could now see her face more easily and I took time to enjoy the slight creases on either side of her mouth that she hated so much, a growing mark of her maturity. I let my eyes wander lower then, over the pale orange, loose knit sweater that covered her pert breasts that were, it was true, also showing their maturity by lying flatter on her chest and hanging lower, closer to her tummy, than I'm sure they once did. But I bet those nipples never stood so proud and firm, thrusting strongly into the sweater that encased them so inadequately without the added support of a bra.

Mom was still watching the movie but with her face only turned party away from me I'm sure she was aware of where I was looking. I had the distinct feeling that she was purposely looking away so I could take my time to enjoy her body, to savor it after my long wait. Had she covered up and made me wait just to make it taste sweeter in the end. My optimism at that moment fervently believed it and I loved her for it. Tim may have had the joy of digging right in but his cock couldn't have been as hard as mine at that moment, not without the benefit of the magnificent tease Mom had just executed. She would have made a tremendous flyfisher.

Just as that thought flitted across my grey cells, Mom moved her legs, a movement that caught my eyes and dragged them down over her short white skirt to her knees, as far as I could then see. Short white skirt? My eyes retreated a foot. Yes. Mom was wearing a very short, pleated white tennis skirt. God, I stiffened painfully in my jeans. As I looked, Mom's hips lifted slightly and her legs opened, barely an inch, but they parted nonetheless. What an incredible sense of timing she had. My cock hurt.

I leaned closer and put my arm tentatively across Mom's waist and gradually lowered it across her tummy. I snuggled into her side.

"Ricky?" Mom whispered her affectionate name for me.

"Yes?"

"Promise you'll be good?"

"I promise."

Mom smiled, then said, "Please try at least."

"I will," I replied earnestly, but she was already turning away to see the movie better, twisting into my arm, lifting her back from the seat. Before moving in to fill the space behind her, I pulled my arm away from her waist and, as surreptitiously as I could, I unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans, pushing them down to relax the pressure on my poor tool, down until the waistband was below my shorts. Only then did I snuggle into my mother, replacing my hand around her waist, tucking my arm in until it grazed the bottom of her slightly sagging, mature breasts, wiggling until my hips were lined up behind hers.

I kissed Mom's cheek and nuzzled her neck. She turned her head half toward me.

"Ricky?" she whispered.

"Yes?"

"Remember your promise."

"I will," I assured her, believing myself.

"Good boy." Mom pushed her mouth up, waiting for a kiss.

I obliged, our first long, loving kiss of the evening, the first in weeks. A most delicous, memorable taste.

When the kiss ended, Mom's left tit, the one closest to the seat, was cupped firmly in my hand, its nipple digging into my palm as if the sweater wasn't there. I braced myself for her reaction, mind searching for a winning response, but Mom simply looked up at me in the darkness.

"Did you have a good week?"

"What?" she caught me competely off guard, I had no response for such a normal everyday question.

"Did you mind helping me this week? With the dishes," she explained further.

"No, not at all," I replied lamely.

"Good. I like your help."

Mom turned her face back to the movie and, at the same time, pushed her bottom back against my underwear, causing an immediate, swelling response. My reactive surge was met with firm, if somewhat spongy, resistance. And despite the quelling efforts of my mind, that unruly bulge made its presence known in sporadic throbs for the rest of the movie. Oh, how I wished I could retrieve my arm to lift that skirt, for I was curious to see what kind of panties she was wearing, if any. But I daren't let go, for I was now squeezing that breast and even pinching its nipple, tugging it through that thin sweater, and Mom was letting me. I didn't want to lose that, or the feeling of her bottom pressing back whenever I pulled and rolled her exquisite, hard and long nipple.

Mom turned to me for another really long set of deep kisses during which I managed to lower my hand and slide it up underneath her sweater to play with both breasts. How fantastic to be with a real woman instead of a girl. A woman who, instead of giggling and trying to bat my hands away, arched her back to push her tits deeper into my hands, who relished the way my fingers pinched and tugged her nipples, lifting the full weight of her tits right off her chest. A woman that moaned into my mouth as my knee threaded between hers, my thigh pressing tightly against her pussy, loving the return thrust of her hips rubbing her pubes along my leg.

The movie ended shortly after that and as the lights came on so people could more easily find their way to the concession, I realized that I had been totally unaware of what was transpiring in the backseat. I had been completely engrossed in my own affairs.

Mom turned onto her tummy and looked over the reclined seat to talk to Millie, holding her beaker out for Tim to refill it with wine, as he did for his mother. He and I abstained while the mothers talked. We didn't even talk to each other. We were each engrossed with the woman in our own end of the Rambler.

I tickled Mom's back as she talked, swooping in slow circles the length and breadth of her soft skin, caressing her neck and dipping into the concave hollow of her waist, tracing her shoulder blades and delving into the groove of her spine to the small of her back, trailing my fingertips along the waistband of her skirt. It was on one such trip that I unexpectedly embarked upon a new path, my finger tracing a line straight down the middle of Mom's skirt, along the crevice between the twin rises of her buttocks until it fell off the end of the pleated skirt into the canyon formed by her closed legs, and then ticked the backs her thighs down to her knees.

She parted her legs on the return trip, allowing my delving fingers to reach more of her tender inner thighs, welcoming me under her skirt where I tickled the bottom of her panties where the fleshy part of her cheeks escaped their confines. Eventually, I slid up and over. Mom paused only briefly, in mid-sentence, the only sign she yielded that her son was now brazenly caressing her ass.

I thought she allowed it because the others couldn't see and a protest would only call attention to the fact of it. So minute after minute slid by and I slipped and slid, poked and prodded, cupped and scratched, exploring every inch of Mom's perfect, womanly bottom. I discovered that Mom was wearing a pair of thoroughly modern panties, the kind only models wore back in those days. They barely reached over the crest of her buttocks, stretching tightly across her cheeks, creating the entrance to an intriguing cave which I explored with my longest finger.

In an attempt to reach further into this dark crack, the crook of my long finger tugged Mom's panties down the lower slope of her bottom, a retreat she tried to stop by twisting her hips in an effort to pin her panties more tightly to the seat but this only helped my effort by rubbing the arches of her panties over her hips, the easier for them to slide down.

In a final quick slip, the waistband of Mom's panties burst down her bottomly slope and crashed into the crease between thigh and cheek, my fingers slipping underneath, between her legs. As if in a movie, no pun intended, the lights suddenly dimmed and the second movie started.

Mom quickly twisted back onto her side, clamping her legs shut and trapping my hand. A minute passed while everyone shifted about new positions, except for me. I was rigid. Mom turned to face me and I braced for the rebuke that hadn't been delivered before but was sure to arrive now. I prepared to defend myself. Those dark eyes sought mine.

"Kiss me," she whispered.

I hestitated, unsure if I'd heard her correctly, the words still sinking into my brain. She opened her mouth, to speak again or to receive my kiss, I don't know. I kissed her, sinking my tongue into her mouth, aware that my hand was still firmly clamped between her legs, reaching through to press against the sweet, hot dampness of her pussy.

As our long kiss continued, my fingers became hot and slippery, allowing them to move more easily, though in such tiny movements, with the slight rocking motion of our bodies as we sought to meld our mouths together. When we finally stopped kissing, Mom turned her face back to the movie and I kept my hand where it was. After a bit, sensing that this transgression was to be allowed, I slipped my hand from behind, slid it up and over her thigh, and nestled it back into place under her panties, this time from the front with my fingers slipping deeper into her groove and my palm cupping her mound.

I squeezed my prize in a pulping massage and, as Mom continued to watch the movie as if nothing was out of line, I nestled into her neck and whispered in her ear.

"If you were mine, I'd parade you down the street in this short skirt knowing every man we passed was staring at your gorgeous legs, to the ire of the women who knew their men were torn between watching your legs or your breasts bursting against your sweater, converting it from a mere clump of material into a work of art."

And while I whispered, I slipped my slippery fingers all over her soaking, rubbery lips, teasing them apart and even dipping inside, briefly tasting their clammy grip.

"And at parties, while the women gathered in the kitchen to ready the evenings treats, I'd hold you back with the men, standing behind you and sliding your dress slowly up your thighs until just a glimpse of your panties showed. Then I'd wait, with the others, until you spread your legs to show them what you kept only for me, that no other man could uncover."

Hokey, I know but it just sprang from my lips and Mom thrust her pussy hard into my milking hand. She turned her face toward me and I prepared for another long kiss.

"Put your fingers inside me," she rasped.

There was no hesitation, I was sure of what she'd said. I pushed in first one, then a second, and finally a third. I twisted and squished my fingers around in her cunt, then slowly began surging into her, digging in until my knuckles spread her puffy lips, knarling, rubbing, grinding.

"I'd drop your dress before the women came back. None of them would suspect anything since your man had been there with you the whole time, but all the men would envy me, glancing furtively at you for the rest of the night, wishing it was them and not me that got to fuck you that night."

"ohhhhhhh, god, ricky. Mmmmmmmm, ugghh uhhh."

Squish, squish, squish. She was so fucking wet. My fingers were fitting right inside her stretched pussy, easily twisting back and forth.

"You're the most fuckable woman in the world."

I quickly slipped my tongue inside Mom's mouth, muffling her moans, and started furiously frigging her cunt. When I broke the kiss, her moans continued unabated and I looked down to watch my hand twisting around in her sloppy pussy. I was amazed. Mom had twisted toward me and my invading hand, almost onto her back. She had pulled her feet up to brace their arches against the front corner of the seat and spread her legs as wide as they could go. She was hot, hot, hot.

I slowed my frigging hand and began teasing Mom's clit with my thumb. Rubbing, pressing, circling, spreading. Over and over and over.

"Fuck," I whispered, again and again, spaced out, until she moaned and moaned with each utterance, and then, finally, repeated it.

"Fuck," she whispered, voice ragged and hoarse, "fuck."

Quickly, I pulled my hand away, to a wailing moan, flipped my shorts down and tucked the waistband underneath my swollen balls, slipping my hips over her right knee and guiding my throbbing pole toward her slick, begging slit, frantically yanking her panties up to her knees with my free hand.

"Fuck," I whispered, nudging my head between her puffy lips.

"Fuck," she whispered, her cunt grasping.

"Fuck," I groaned, sliding home, all the way, no stopping for go, cock lunging, on the attack.

I paused when I was in to the hilt and lifted Mom's hips toward me for a tighter fit.

"Ohhhh, Ricky," she whispered, her arms circling around my head. "Fuck me."

I'm a good boy, and I did as I was told. I started slowly, pulling out almost all the way and then all the way back, trying to take my time but the pussy of an aroused woman can derail even the best of plans. It wasn't long before I was shoving in and out as fast as my gasping breath could support.

Both Mom and I were moaning loudly. The thought of being discreet or shy with Tim and Millie right there didn't cross my mind. I kept rocking Mom up the seat and toward the middle of the car, almost pushing her off onto the back of the driver's side which was reclined further than our side. After pulling her back several times, I got up on my knees and pulled her ass off the seat by her hips but this soon proved too difficult.

Mom pulled off and sank into the seat and arched her legs far back, closed together with her feet braced on the roof of the Rambler. What a sight that was, with her ass and the tender backs of her thighs outlining her swollen pussy. I straddled her haunches and pushed my cock deep inside her to a very loud, gutteral moan. Hers, mine -- I'm not sure. Probably both.

I thought we'd been fucking hard before but that was nothing compared to the serious pummeling that happened with her womanhood so vunerably presented to the stiffest cock I had every manned. I had to hang on to the back of the seat to stay upright and barely managed to even then. That poor Rambler -- I don't know how its crappy suspension survived.

I exploded inside Mom, gushing for what seemed like an eternity but was probably less than a minute until, finally, I sank over her in total relaxation, cock buried, until she signaled her discomfort several minutes later. I fell off to the side, still gasping for breath. I'm sorry to say she had to ask me for something to block my spunk from dripping all over the seat. I found some napkins and she cleaned herself up.

"Do you guys want to smoke a carton of cigs?" Millie's laughter peeled into the front of the car. "Wow ... and I mean wow," she said. "That was really something."

Mom laughed and said something. I was too exhausted to speak.

"Jeez, Mary. I'm surprised you didn't push a hole in the roof. You guys should make porn movies."

Our timing was perfect because the movie ended and the lights suddenly brightened. People began exiting their cars and heading for the concession. Mom turned onto her stomach so she could talk to Millie more easily and I flipped her skirt up onto her back so I could play with her ass again. I used my foot to push her panties, circling her ankles, off her feet. She let me touch her wherever I wanted and didn't protest when I urged her thighs further apart. I was fascinated to see my white spunk oozing out of her pussy.

Something about that sight made my cock suddenly harden and without thinking about the fact that Tim and Millie were facing forward or that the drive-in lights were still on, I clambered to my knees between Mom's legs, leaned way in and inserted my cock into her pussy from behind, shoving my spend back where it belonged.

"Don't mind us," Millie laughed as I began humping Mom in earnest.

"Jesus, Rick. Already?" Mom huffed one word at a time between thrusts. She pushed her ass up and back to make it easier for me and when I increased my tempo in response, she spread her arms and clutched the back of the reclined seat to stop me from rocking her right onto Tim's lap.

I didn't care what anyone thought. I was fucking this beautiful woman no matter what. I kept humping faster and faster, and harder. I didn't notice when the lights dimmed and the movie started. All I knew was that it was dark when I came.

I had barely got off Mom and pulled my jeans up when there was a metallic knock on the window next to me. After a brief panic, I rolled it down a couple of inches. It was the drive-in manager, holding a long flashlight..

"Time for you to go," he said, pulling the speaker box off the window. "Start 'er up and get lost. Don't come back," he added, hanging the speaker on the post. At least he didn't shine his light into the car.

I got out and walked around to the driver's side to several hoots and hollers. By the time I started the car and turned the lights on, horns were honking and the hooting was widespread. We exited the drive-in, banned, to a loud chorus, Mom and Millie keeping their heads low.

After that, our reputation as cocksmen was assured at school.

On the drive home, Mom sat close to me, one arm circling my back at waist level, the other toying with the front of my jeans. Tim and Millie were similarly silent in the back but whenever the light of passing cars allowed, I noticed Millie's eyes regarding me intently through the rear view mirror.
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