An Awaening

Chapter 02: Elisabeth

The following is the second scene in the Awakening series. A reader may possibly prefer to read An Awakening (Angelique) to gain an idea of previous occurrences relevant to this particular piece. Thanks to Selena for her work on this. Any errors that remain are entirely mine.

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Elisabeth moved from the window on trembling legs and sat at the edge of her bed. Her heart hammered within her chest, a low thumping in her ears. What had she just done? Whatever had possessed her? It was such a surprise, no, more than that; it was a shock to see her son, Lawrence, looking up at her after she'd drawn back the drapes. Elisabeth's first thought was that it had been the young gardener, Joseph, standing below and looking up at her; then she saw that the young, blonde Adonis was her own flesh and blood. Elisabeth knew she could have closed the curtains or even moved away from the window, but something had stopped her, she had been compelled to remain where she was. The sight of Lawrence's strong, defined upper body, with his lean-muscled arms and broad chest had stirred her deep in her belly. The fact that the young man staring up at her nudity was her son had no impact upon Elisabeth's consciousness at all. She concentrated her attention on how striking he looked with the light sheen of perspiration from his exertions oiling his muscles. Just for an instant, Elisabeth ached for the physical presence of a man so intensely that she lost control and blatantly flaunted herself at the figure below her window. Now, however, she was mortified. What had she done? What would the boy be thinking? Had she actually stood like that for him? Had she exhibited herself to her own son?

Elisabeth thought of her actions. She felt warmth in her face, but she wasn't sure it was entirely due to embarrassment. There was something more. Her son had witnessed her nudity, and that would be difficult enough to deal with of course. It could possibly have been a subject that neither would ever make any reference to, and it could have remained untouched between them for as long as they lived, but she had taken the whole issue to a higher level - and it had excited her. So what now? Would they ever speak of this event?

Although Elisabeth understood that the flush on her cheeks was more than embarrassment, her morality denied it all, and her tummy flipped with angst, causing her to groan with the mortification. Why? Why had she... exhibited herself?

'You stupid, stupid woman,' she whispered aloud. 'Your son, how could you?'

Nevertheless, as Elisabeth crawled back into her large bed, she felt the insidious pull of that excitement. A puff of air passed her lips when she let her middle finger slide through the slippery lips of her sex. Despite her feelings of shame that had begun to wane in the light of a stronger yearning, there was no denying that the sight of her son's well-defined, muscular torso had aroused her. He was maturing. She missed him when he was away from home, but perhaps the real reason for that was that she had been without a man for a long time, and her son's half-naked body had roused a dormant desire deep from within.

She had her many admirers; she was still a very attractive woman and could have had any number of men between her thighs, younger or older. But it was simply that she didn't find any of them to her particular liking, or taste. There was also no more time to think of why...

'Oh, oh,' Elisabeth grunted quietly as her climax broke. Her whole body was suffused with glowing, the epicentre deep within. As soon as she had calmed, the guilt and shame crashed over her like a wave. 'My god,' she murmured. 'Am I depraved? That was so, so wrong.'

Elisabeth then made a solemn vow to herself that she would never do such a thing again. She would never again think of her beautiful son in a sexual way. She had no inkling at that moment at how difficult it would be to keep that secret promise. She had no way of knowing what chain of events her spontaneous action would trigger. It would have been beyond her sensibilities to conceive of what was to take place between her son and her daughter that very afternoon; an event she was, at least in part, responsible for.

When Lawrence arrived home later that evening, he resembled a victim of shell shock from the Great War. His face was devoid of expression. His eyes were distant, as though he was studying something unseen by anyone else. He seemed terribly distracted and responded only vaguely to questions. He was jumpy and restless one moment, pacing and wringing his hands in another before sinking into a stillness so complete it was difficult to garner his attention again. Elisabeth's immediate concern was that it had been her display that morning that had upset her handsome son. What she couldn't know was that Lawrence held a far, far darker secret in his bosom, and at that moment no amount of motherly probing could elicit a response from him.

'Lawrence, dear, what is it? Whatever's the matter?' Elisabeth asked quietly when she eventually dared to visit him in his bedroom. 'Please, darling, please tell me what's wrong.'

Lawrence turned his head to look obliquely at his mother who was standing next to him, her hand on his shoulder, her face etched with concern.

'Yes?' he responded with a glazed look in his eyes, as though he wasn't entirely certain who she was. 'I'm sorry, Mother, what were you asking?'

'What's the matter, dear? You seem so... so...?'

It took him a moment to respond, as if only half his being had been listening. 'So?'

She wouldn't approach. 'So distant, dear.'

'I'm fine, Mother,' he whispered barely loud enough for her to hear, staring blankly at the wall again.

He was not fine, but Elisabeth could not get through to him, reluctantly leaving her son to his distractions. Not daring to broach the subject of her exhibitionism, Elisabeth also felt powerless to continue.

Two days passed and Lawrence made another appearance after that disturbing evening. Elisabeth had stopped at the threshold of his bedroom on several occasions, but she still couldn't bring herself to enter and speak of what had passed between her and her son on that bright, spring day. Nothing would be resolved, nothing could be resolved. There was some improvement. Lawrence looked a little brighter. His eyes had lost that distracted, pained look, and he managed to hold a conversation with his mother over breakfast that consisted of more than monosyllables. They discussed nothing of any consequence, save the weather, the local gossip and prospects for a hearty roast for supper. That's when Elisabeth became convinced the gulf forming between them had been caused by her own actions.

For Lawrence, though, the past two days and the three nights had been like no other in his 20 years. Confusion reigned after witnessing his mother's nakedness at the window, and the perversions borne of that episode. But the supreme reason for his descent into such a shocking state had of course been his incestuous coupling with his sister. He had arrived home with a cauldron of emotion boiling within him. He had loved his sister innocently, as a brother should, but now that love had been supplanted by something beyond comprehension. The innocence was gone, replaced with burgeoning lust beyond description. Then, there was the guilt, and this guilt was equally as powerful as the love he felt for Angelique, his sister. Could he have been the cause of this?

Lawrence had trouble sleeping. It was this clash of emotions that gave rise to the battle fatigue symptoms he displayed immediately after leaving Angelique in her house following the outset of their affair. He couldn't seriously concentrate on anything, thinking of his sister and of how she had looked and tasted when they had shared intimacies in the drawing room of her home. He couldn't shake the images, from the look in her eyes when she laid spread before him, to her legs straddling the arms of the chair, and finally the syrupy pink of her sex so candidly offered. His heart thumped and his cock stiffened whenever he recalled Angelique's soft moans and sighs of pleasure, which turned suddenly to a torrent of language more befitting a practiced whore as she urged him to fuck her hard and deep. Then, afterwards, her words of forbidden love, that were spoken with such feeling it speared his heart. She wanted him again, wanted him forever, and Lawrence realised that he felt the same.

Another reason for Lawrence's confusion was his sister's attitude towards their mother. She not only wanted to continue the incestuous affair with him, but Angelique had stated that to seduce Elisabeth together would be something very desirable indeed. This, after wading up to his waist in the waters of incest, excited Lawrence beyond comparison, and he prepared to plunge head first into that pool once he had reconciled himself to the guilt.

The damnable guilt.

Lawrence was on a precipice. He looked at his beautiful mother across the table and recalled her naked form in his mind's eye. 'Yes,' he decided, 'I want her as well. I want her and my sister.' But how could he make it happen?

'What have you got planned for the day, darling?' Elisabeth asked, breaking Lawrence's reverie.

'Today?' he replied, at a real loss to answer. He hadn't considered how to spend his day. He again looked across the table at his mother. She stood and appeared to be taking her leave. Lawrence felt an enormous flood of love for his mother when he saw the concern on her face. She really was worried for him. Then he had a flash of inspiration. 'I know,' he said brightly. 'Why don't you and I have a little picnic together?' He saw his mother's face lighten immediately at this suggestion. 'Cook could prepare us a little hamper. I'm sure she wouldn't mind.'

Elisabeth smiled: 'Yes,' she nodded enthusiastically, relieved that her lovely Lawrence was back. 'That would be marvellous. Shall we say ...one o'clock?'

An animated grin from Lawrence: 'Agreed. I'll meet you by the old copse. I'll bring the hamper and a blanket.'

It was arranged, a pleasant picnic in a secluded spot in the grounds. Although Lawrence had decided to pursue the seduction of his mother, he didn't have any idea how to proceed. Perhaps he would just see how things progressed and take his opportunities as they arose.

After a word with the cook, Lawrence - with a spring in his step to match the season - virtually danced up the staircase and into his bedroom. He was already looking forward to having his mother all to himself that afternoon.

Elisabeth arrived at the copse early, before her son. It was another gorgeous day, a slight breeze whispering through the leaves that cooled her cheeks. The sun beamed to warm her exposed arms as she made her way along a narrow path that led to the secluded copse. The shade was just right. Elisabeth had chosen to wear a light summer frock. It was modest enough and only showed a hint of cleavage at the décolletage. Her bare, golden-hued legs were visible from just below the knees. She looked entirely respectable.

While she waited patiently in the dappled grove, she pondered a little about the chasm that yawed between her and her son, the picnic the first opportunity to advance the issue. What explanation could she offer to explain his state the evening that followed their unfortunate encounter? She believed that she must have been the cause of his fugue and steeled herself to at last broach the subject with him.

'Yes,' she said to herself quietly and with determination. 'This afternoon, I'll just have to take the bull by the horns.'

'Hello, Mum.'

Lawrence's deep voice surprised his mother, and she gave a small start of surprise. 'Oh, Lawrence, you gave me a fright.'

'I'm sorry, Mother. Are you alright?'

'Yes, of course.' Then after recovering: 'You've brought the hamper; good.' Elisabeth busied herself and took the blanket from her son without looking at him directly. After spreading the blanket over the lush grass, she knelt and only then smiled up at her baby. 'Come on then, put the hamper down and sit next to me.'

'What a fine day for a picnic,' Lawrence said, while he remained standing and looked down at his mother. 'And you look beautiful, Mum, really lovely.'

There was something about the look in her son's eyes and in the way he spoke that set Elisabeth's nerves tingling. She experienced a sudden rash of goose bumps raise along her exposed arms, and felt a flush grow up from between her breasts and along her throat.

'Oh... Why thank you, Lawrence,' she said discomfited. 'And you look quite handsome. That shirt suits you. So much has changed in you in less than a year.' Elisabeth's voice sounded strange to her own ears. She identified a slight tremor in its quality and wondered if Lawrence had noticed. 'Come along then. Do sit down,' she added in an attempt at normality.

Lawrence settled down next to his mother. She had preened for him, he thought with a spark of recollection of his sister's face and semi-nude body. Lawrence superimposed his mother's figure on Angelique's as he recalled their forbidden tryst, and this imagining caused a hot flash of desire to spark in his loins. He could feel the heat from his mother's proximity after he settled on the blanket close to her, while her familiar scent fanned the flames of his lust to a blaze.

'Wine, Mother?' Lawrence held up a bottle.

'A drop please, yes,' Elisabeth replied. She admitted to herself feeling a little uncomfortable in his presence. Her son's eyes had a disturbing gleam, and his voice was thick and hoarse. Then Elisabeth experienced a moment of clarity and her eyes widened in surprise. She recognised the timbre in Lawrence's voice; it had been a long time, but she knew. He was, at last, becoming a man; a most familiar man, a man with sexual desires.

Lawrence poured two glasses of thick, red wine, handing one to his mother. She took the glass with a trembling hand. Still shaking as she looked at her son, Elisabeth held the glass to her lips and took a deep draught.

'Is everything alright, Mother?' Lawrence asked when he saw her trembling and noticed her gulp from the glass.

'I... I don't know, Lawrence,' Elisabeth said quietly, her eyes downcast and her expression glum. 'I'm a little confused. Perhaps a drop of this wine will help.'

Sensing that conceivably his moment had come, Lawrence shifted towards his mother on the blanket. She was so close now, so very close.

'Tell me, Mother, please, whatever's the matter?'

Elisabeth cupped the wine glass with both hands to keep it the liquid from spilling. 'You know that has been my question to you, of late.'

Elisabeth became startled by a pressure on her leg. A worried look wrinkled her brow when Lawrence's hand rested against the smooth skin just above her exposed knee. She suddenly felt cool, the heat from his hand felt as if it had just snuffed a fire. Then Elisabeth heard the roar of the ocean in her ears as blood quickened around her body.

Elisabeth was determined to breach the wall that had been built between her and her son. Things had gone too far, she thought: her son's earlier state of mind, his eyes, his voice, and now this – his hand touching her leg!

She felt the draw of desire and its narcotic effect. A memory of familiar warmth and presence had been resurrected for her. Elisabeth's body unconsciously responded to her son's touch. Her nipples stiffened beneath her dress. She felt a tiny clenching and accompanying quick itch between her legs. Elisabeth inhaled deeply, a rasping sound loud in the glade as she struggled against the urging of her body.

'Lawrence, please...' She placed her hand over her son's that covered her leg. 'We have to speak of what happened the other morning... Please...'

'I know, Mother,' Lawrence rumbled in a recognizable song to her ears. He gazed into his mother's eyes. He drank in the sight of her pretty face. He felt the velvety smoothness of her shaven and perfumed leg. He suddenly grew reckless, abandoning reason for desire that scorched his skin. 'You were so beautiful there. So very beautiful.'

Then, before his mother could react, Lawrence moved his face close to hers and kissed her lightly on the mouth. For a moment, a split second, Elisabeth allowed herself to be kissed by the familiar presence. She responded by returning the sweet pressure on his mouth.

And then she became alarmed when she felt her son's tongue probe between her lips, seeking to invade her. A thunderclap of reality exploded in her brain. She pulled away. 'God ... no! Stop, this can't be happening! Lawrence... please.'

Elisabeth struggled against her son's grip as he thrust himself upon her. He had become so strong; she had to fight desperately to wriggle free, as if for her life. Lawrence was unheeding of his mother's pleadings and efforts to get away, caught in an infernal spiral of lust and wanting. He wanted his mother as much as he had his sister, so very urgently to become one with her. He loved her. Couldn't she see that?

Elisabeth finally freed one hand from his grasp and took the only course open to her. She slapped her son across his cheek as hard as she could. The report of her hand against his skin was like a rifle shot that echoed in the glade. Her hand stung severely from the blow. He released her. She rose and ran in a blur. Lawrence felt for the angry welts of her fingers rising immediately on the not so innocent skin of his face. Instantly his eyes lost the intensity of his berserker frenzy for comprehension to dawn. His vision cleared on a large stain from her wine blotting the blanket.

'Mama... don't go!' Lawrence called too late.

His mother, sobbing and holding her wounded hand tight against her tears, had already run from the copse, leaving Lawrence amid the ruins of their picnic on such a beautiful, sunny day.