Blood and Honey

Well, I'm back. I don't know for how long. I've stalled hard on Zinnea's stories (see my 'Zinnea Blossoms' series) but Georgia's have been bumping around in my head for a bit and people have asked for more, so here we are. Let's start here and see how we go.

This tale follows 'No Real Reason' but I'm writing it as a standalone, so hopefully you won't need to read the first to enjoy this. But do, you know, feel free to read the first. I'm okay with that.

Just advance warning: this is a slow burn and the focus is on emotion. If you're after some raw sex uncomplicated by human foibles, this ain't it. I'm also rusty so it's probably not my best. Nonetheless I hope you enjoy it.

-- Thermite

_____

What do you do when you find out that your mother's a shameless hussy?

Alright, maybe 'hussy' sounds a bit judgemental, even though she's used the word herself many times. 'Shameless' sure as hell fits, though. There aren't too many terms for a woman with no hesitation about finding and taking her pleasure that aren't, you know, wildly judgy. Actually, I can't think of any offhand, and I guess that's as much proof as you need that society's broadly fucked up when it comes to women's autonomy.

Uh... So, commenting on society and its bullshit isn't exactly why I'm here but I guess it's a bit why. None of us exist in a vacuum, society shapes us and our reactions as much or more than our genetics, and like I said - what do you do when you find out your mother's...

Really,

really

fond of cock?

This will take a bit of explanation, I guess.

**********

My parents got together and got married like some people do. They had two kids, a boy and a girl. My name's Teagan and despite what people guess at this point, I'm the guy. My sister, Tara, is the younger. Dad's name is Albert and Mum's name (yes, 'Mum' and not 'Mom' because I'm Australian) is Georgia.

I'm twenty-seven. Tara is almost twenty-five. Mum is in her late forties - I don't think she'd forgive me if I said exactly how old, even though nobody cares and keep thinking she's

literally

ten years younger - and Dad is fifty-nine. Spoiler: Dad's significantly older than his wife.

A few more establishing details: we live in a suburb of Melbourne, one of the classier (but not actually rich) ones. We're all really fucking white - I don't mean we're albinos or anything, but we're all of blatantly European stock - and we're all brunettes. This last one might not be entirely clear on a passing inspection because Tara keeps dyeing hers, from chunks of it to the whole lot. We're also... I don't know. Semi-nudists? On any normal day we're wandering around the house topless. Mum and Dad brought us up to respect our bodies, even though plenty of Puritan types would object (and have) to our exact usage of the term.

Dad's an accountant, Mum's recently got her Doctorate in... chemical science, I think. I'm a sparky (that's an electrician) but I'm getting kind of bored of it. Tara's an eternal student and frankly I don't even know what it is she studies these days. I'm not entirely sure she knows, either, but they haven't kicked her out so I guess she's passing her exams.

We all live together. I don't know why.

Scratch that. I know why

I

live with my parents. Not sure why Tara still does - maybe just because it's easier. She's never bothered picking up even part-time work and instead just makes money here and there as a model for life-drawing classes, that kind of thing. Casual work, you know? Hangs around with the artsy-intellectual crowd a lot.

Anyway, that's... more or less us. We're real normal in most ways. It's just that the ways we're

not

normal are, I guess, pretty significant.

**********

Mum and I have been having sex for exactly five years and three weeks.

It's that precise because we had a kind of... anniversary when we hit five, you see. It was

a lot

and my head's still spinning from it a little. It opened my eyes to many things about Mum, and about myself... but that's not what this story is about. You'll need to wait for that one.

The opening line gives away what

this

story is about. What do you do when you find out your Mum's a self-confessed hotwife and cock-drunk slut? How do you even process that? How did we even get to that point? Well, this isn't about that story either but I'll give you the short version.

Mum and Dad have date nights. They have a very, um, active sex life and Mum's a screamer so Tara and I were always,

always

aware of when they were Doing It. A lot more aware, I found out later, than they thought. So their date nights were fun for them and a break for us. Typically they'd go somewhere else after their date and fuck themselves into exhaustion somewhere that their kids couldn't hear them, and I get along with Tara most of the time, so it was a win-win for everyone.

One date night Dad couldn't make it, so Tara badgered me into taking Mum out. She really niggled at it, too, until Mum and I agreed just to make her shut the fuck up (which she didn't; she insisted on dressing me as well but I have to admit she did a much better job than I could have). Mum looked

incredible,

I don't mind saying, all in wine red.

So we went out and had a super fun time. Dinner, drinks, dancing - all the Ds except the obvious one. Though Mum did kiss me - a lot - when we got back home. And it wasn't a Mum-kiss. It was a fuck-me-now kiss. But I didn't, obviously. I was too busy being freaked out. I was just drunk enough to start kissing back the second time but I...

Okay, so. This isn't so sexy, sorry. But I

really

didn't want to fuck my Mum. You know? It seemed freaky and weird and strange. So we went to bed separately. But then she came into my bedroom the next morning and...

Yeah, we fucked then. And it was really hot. I have no idea when that switch flipped from 'Holy shit what's going on' to 'Holy shit

that's

going on' but there you go.

I felt terrible for the next month. I could barely look at her. I wanted her again so badly but felt guilt like I'd never experienced before. Everything started going wrong - I got short-tempered, she got depressed, Dad got worried, Tara got nosy... Okay. Nosier. Not only could I not look at Mum but I couldn't look at Tara either - the topless thing - and I felt like I'd betrayed Dad so I just avoided

everyone.

I felt like all my friends and even strangers on the street could tell that I was a filthy motherfucker in the most literal sense. But neither Dad nor Tara knew what was going on - I know damn well they'd have said something. Tara especially. She's... not subtle. And our friends would have been grossed out... probably... but I know mine, at least, wouldn't have been able to shut up due to simple jealousy.

All

of them want to fuck my Mum.

In any case, I need to specify this and I'm not exaggerating it: our family is normally real harmonious. And this issue was... well, it was destroying that harmony. Neither Mum nor I saw that coming - but then I guess when we had sex the first time we weren't really thinking with the right body parts.

What do you do when you find out something like that about your mother, in the most practical and inescapable way you can possibly learn something?

Here's what I did.

**********

The first time Mum tried to get it on with me again I knocked her offer back pretty hard. I wasn't rude about it, exactly, but it was definitely a rejection and there was no way around it. No way to pretend that it wasn't. Our first time ended really well and she wasn't expecting me to backslide on the idea at all, let alone completely.

It was two days later. The circumstance wasn't complex and it wasn't glamorous. I was eating lunch in the kitchen on a day off, while Dad was at work and Tara was at Uni. Mum came in and I froze because I thought she was supposed to be out with a friend. She was surprised too. I guess she thought I'd be out as well. We were both topless, as usual.

Then she came up behind me and reached around to start rubbing at my chest. I could feel her breasts against my back and her nipples getting hard. It made me... Uncomfortable. Definitely that. But nowhere near as much as the fact that I was getting rock hard

real

quick. That scared me.

So I pushed her hands away and just told her 'No.' She didn't push, she just went silent for a few seconds and then left. I felt like a heel and squashed the head of my cock until the pain made my boner go down. That's a trick Dad had told me about when I turned eighteen to train myself out of premature ejaculation - even though that was never really a problem for me, exactly - and it's only now that I'm writing it down that this seems like it might be a thing that Dads don't normally tell their sons about.

I feel like a lot more women would be happier if it was broader knowledge.

Anyway, things didn't get better. She tried twice more over the next week and as difficult as it was I told her no. She never pressed the matter but I could see that it hurt her. And that made me want to take it all back straight away but I felt like way too much shit, so I didn't. But

that

made me feel like shit too because the more I didn't let myself, the more I imagined it.

I had this fantasy that I actually still haven't told her about, where we go to a club on a fetish night (there's plenty of those around Melbourne, all the fucking time). She's wearing a cute kitty outfit and I've got a collar and lead on her. I take her up on stage, tie her down and fuck her in front of everyone, make her squirt and scream (did I mention she's a squirter as well as a screamer?), make every damn person in there hard and wet and horny as fifteen thousand fucks.

I suppose, if I'm being honest, I haven't told her because she'd likely want to make it true and I'm not sure I want that. Not yet, anyway.

Sometimes, in my dream, my sister's watching us in the crowd. Sometimes she's there, kneeling in front of me, ready to catch my cum on her tongue after I've fucked our Mum silly. And while Mum and me don't look too similar (except for the colours, and there's no lack of generic white brunettes in Australia), Tara looks

exactly

like Mum when she was younger. No missing the family resemblance there.

Everyone in my dream crowd knows they're watching incest.

That fantasy's a problem, you see. It was a problem then because it meant I couldn't look at either of them. It's a problem now because I

still

find it hard to be too close to Tara. I'm not a huge guy, cock-wise, but I'm also not small and I know she's noticed that sometimes I've got a bulge.

And I just... don't know what to do about my little sister. But this isn't about that.

**********

All of this - the guilt, the avoidance, depression, anxiety, raging useless hard-ons - continued for about a month, like I said. Eventually I just stopped talking to people. I sat in my room a lot and looked at my stuff, wondering what I'd take and what I'd leave behind if I moved out. It got so bad that I was actively applying for places to live, near the end.

I'd just sent off a rent application - not that I really needed it, I could have got a mortgage but I definitely wasn't thinking straight - and was coming out of my room when I heard something down the hall, from Mum and Dad's room.

She's a happy person, for the most part, but I knew the sound of Mum crying. That almost broke my heart. No, I guess it

did

break my heart. I turned to go and stopped. Then I turned again and stopped again. I must have stood in that hallway completely paralysed for ages - it felt like hours, though I guess it was more like a minute at most. Time gets weird when you're fraught with emotions, right?

She was sitting on the bed, facing away from the door, when I peeked in, wrapped in her fluffy pink dressing gown. She didn't hear me. I just looked and saw. Then I backed out.

And then - yes, you guessed it, there's a theme of indecision here - I went back in again.

She turned when I sat on the bed. By the look of her eyes she'd been crying a long, long time. She had dried tears on her face and her eyes were bloodshot and while she was clearly still crying her tear ducts had wrung themselves out, probably a long time ago. She was twisting the cord of her gown in her hands over and over and I just...

Mum was naked in front of me. Not in the sense of clothes, but emotionally. She was raw and bare and couldn't have pretended to be okay no matter how hard she'd tried; hell, she couldn't even form words, much less sentences. She just sobbed tearlessly and stared at me, scared and hurting. It was like all of her hope had gone out, all of her happiness had been poisoned or drained away.

And I knew that I was the one who'd done it.

I pulled her to me as much to hide my own tears as to comfort her. Laying back on her bed I tugged her with me and drew her close to my body, wrapped my arms around her, snuggled her against my chest. Soon I was crying too, crying hard, and she tried to sit up when she heard that but I just clung on tighter. I'm a lot stronger than her so eventually she gave in.

"I'm sorry," I told her, repeating it like a mantra over and over, ignoring her when she shushed me until eventually she put her hand fully over my mouth to shut me up. She dragged the sheet over us and -

**********

I woke up with a splitting headache and an astounding boner. I knew where I was before I fully came to consciousness because Mum was asleep on my chest. I don't have a girlfriend and I only rarely sleep in the same bed as Tara, so... Plus, she smelled like Mum. My Mum doesn't smell like most Mums. My Mum smells dizzyingly good.

That's almost certainly why I had the boner.

Of course, the fact that she had a leg over mine and I could feet her bald pussy up against my thigh probably contributed to my state of excitement.

It'd be nice and narrative to say she woke up shortly thereafter and we stared romantically into each other's eyes, realising the depth of our emotions and blah blah blah. But the fact is that she slept for three more hours, give or take, and my leg was in danger of going to sleep near the end of it.

What did happen, though, was that it gave me a lot of time alone with my thoughts, and no way to avoid them.

Mum felt good. I could remember - acutely - the feeling of her mouth around my cock, of the tightness of her pussy, of the bounce of her tits and arse. I knew how much she enjoyed sex - just genuinely enjoyed it, everything about it - and how good she made me feel about myself. I thought about how good I wanted her to feel and how I never, ever wanted to see that bereft expression on her beautiful face again.

I wanted her. I could feel the hunger in me getting worse every second. The heat of her cunt against my leg, the press of her boobs on my side, the tightness of a nipple where one breast had fallen free of her dressing gown. The lushness of her lips, the sparkle in her eyes...

And I guess I realised the worst part: that I'd fallen in love with my mother.

That's why I live with my parents, you see. I might fuck other women, I might love my sister and my father, but I'm

in love

with Mum. I didn't just want her body. I wanted her heart.

I had no idea when she woke up exactly. Around three hours, sure, but the 'give or take' part of that equation is... fuzzy. I just became aware that she was watching me, one curled hand on my chest, her head on my upper arm (which, again, was starting to lose circulation).

She looked scared. Not hopeful, not yet, but scared.

I opened my mouth. She put her hand over it immediately.

"Teagan, if your first words are going to be 'I'm sorry,'" she told me in a hoarse, exhausted voice, "then just shut the fuck up. I don't want to fucking hear it. I know you're sorry. You don't need to be and I already know you're not going to believe that so

fucking keep it to yourself

or I'm going to scream." There was a pause and then she added, "Think of something else to say."

So I did. I moved her hand away, gave it a few seconds and then fixed my eyes hard on hers so she'd know I wasn't just saying the first thing that came to my head (which, I'll admit, was indeed 'I'm sorry').

"I love you."

She let out a sob and bit her lip so hard it drew blood. Then she sucked in a long breath and let it out again.

"I love you t-"

"No, Mum." I shook my head. "Your turn to shut the fuck up."

It's rare that I say anything like that around her, and I've never said anything of the sort

to

her, so it made her fall silent from sheer shock. I didn't even need to put my hand over her mouth, which is good because she has a beautiful mouth. I filled the moment with words because that's what I do when I'm nervous (read: fucking terrified).

"I love you. I

love

you. You, Georgia." I paused to let that sink in. I never use her first name. "I'm a shit and I don't deserve to even live here with you but I've been so awkward around you because I feel like if I touch you that's it, I won't be able to stop, ever, even if Tara or Dad are around. But I'm shit-scared because I've fallen in love with my own mother and I only just realised it about half an hour ago.

"You're so beautiful, I told her, "and so loving and wondrous. I never, ever wanted to hurt you but I just... Couldn't. And now that I'm here I never want to get out of this bed again. I want to do... so many things to you and with you."

There was silence for a while. She didn't look scared any more. She looked hopeful, and confused, and maybe a little annoyed.

"So why aren't you?" she asked me, eventually.

Sure, it was an offer. A bold offer, one that she probably made to take the edge off. But I didn't want the edge off. I needed that edge. I needed it to be real, to feel painfully intimate.

"Because..." I shrugged. She jabbed me in the side. "Because I don't deserve it."

"Bullshit. I decide who deserves me," she glowered, "not you or anyone else." More than a bit of annoyance, then. "I won't say you didn't hurt me," she added, "I've been heartbroken for a month. That's not something that just... goes away. And your Dad's never seen me actually heartbroken before so he has no fucking idea what's going on. I've been pushing his questions away."

"Yeah, I've been doing the same with Tara."

"Right. So yes, I'm hurt, but I love you too. I don't want to lose you." She bit her lip again but the pain of the last bite got through to her and she winced, sucking on it instead. "I found some real estate agent replies you got in the mail. It just... broke me. I've been crying since yesterday lunch time. No you fucking don't," she added, seeing my expression. "You don't get to make this all about your guilt just like I don't get to make it all about my pain."

I thought about that for a few moments and then shrugged, a bit sniffly.

"So what do we do?"

"What do you

want

to do?" There was a pause. "I'm serious," my Mum said. "Right now, more than anything else, of all the things you could be doing, what's at the top of the list?"

I sighed heavily. My head was pounding. I rubbed at my eyes.

"I'd say 'getting some painkillers' but that's not true," I admitted. "I want to be kissing you."

"Right," she nodded. "So kiss me."

I stared at her. No, I side-eyed her. It was such a sceptical expression that she couldn't help but laugh, her throat so raw it devolved into coughing.

"Simple as that. You want to kiss me, I want to be kissed. So do it. Stop thinking and -"

She stopped talking because customarily it's hard to do so when you're being kissed. At least, the way

I

was doing it.