All Characters In This Story Are 18+ Years Old.
*****
Claude pulled his Oldsmobile Toronado to the curb and listened to the powerful motor purr for a few seconds before he shut it off. Hopelessly out of step with the modern trends, Claude loved this huge 'boat' with its big-block V-8 gasoline engine. He didn't give a shit about the mileage or the political correctness. He loved the pure comfort, luxury and size of the car. He also didn't mind the appreciative, even covetous, stares he routinely got from people too cowardly to admit their own desires.
Claude closed his eyes and thought about why he was here at his sister's house in Denver at 2 a.m. on a Wednesday after driving straight through from Portland. And there was another reason to love the Toronado: Eighteen hours driving and he was bushed, but not beat up and worn down.
Sally, age 38, was 19 years younger than Claude. "A family 'one-off' folks figured, but what a one-off she had been!" Claude mused. His thoughts suddenly shifted to their mother, Carla, who passed on, at age 79, at 5:46 a.m. Tuesday. The retirement home called him fifteen minutes later and by 7 o'clock he had shit, showered, shaved and was in the Olds with his kit bag heading for Denver to be with Sally and her 18 year-old daughter, Nel.
He never knew why his sister and her worthless, now gone and forgotten, husband had named his niece 'Nelson.' Maybe they thought it would be cute to be different, but when he heard the name, Claude's only thought was of the New York governor from bygone years. He was glad when she started school and asked to be called 'Nel.'
His reverie returned to a warm summer when he was just 18 years old. He was sleeping lightly in his bedroom, naked under just a cotton top sheet. A soft breeze sifted through his open window. The curtains randomly fluttered as stray wafts caught them.
He remembered suddenly the darkness over his bed darkened still more as a shadow loomed above his supine form. He had kept his eyes half-closed with his head naturally propped by his left arm, bent under his pillow. The shadow moved. Hands eased the sheet back, down his body to his knees, where they carefully laid it folded across his shins. He heard a sharp, yet soft, intake of breath followed by a softer, unmistakable "Oh!"
He had just processed the voice and recognized it as his mother's when he felt her hand close around his flaccid penis. The hand was warm, soft, dry and smooth. His cock liked it and began to thicken immediately in her loose fist. Just then the curtains fluttered and with the zephyr came a shaft of light from a streetlamp. Carla's face, intensely interested in what she held in her right hand, was accented by the sparkle of her eyes, fixed on Claude's growing young manhood. He knew from memory that her eyes were hazel with beautiful gold flecks, but now they were black diamonds set in a pale cameo framed by her long amber hair which fell forward, tickling his thighs and hips.
Carla leaned close to the bulb protruding from her encircling thumb and index finger. She gently rubbed her thumb pad under the chin of the fleshy helmet atop Claude's rigid engorged prick. Smiling, she bent and kissed its soft slit as a small blob of pre-cum oozed out. Claude forced himself to lay still, feigning sleep, while he thrilled to the touch of his mother's mouth. His cock leaped of it own accord when she circumnavigated his knob with her tongue, slid her right hand to the base of his stalk and hefted his heavy balls in the cupped palm of her left hand.
"Mmmm," she mewed quietly as she lightly pulsed her fist, continuing to slide it up and down his erection. Her voice was no longer clear because the top third of Claude's dick was in her warm wet mouth, pressed between her soft tongue and her hard palate.
Claude felt a familiar tightening as his sack shrunk and pulled his nuts together in Carla's hand. He decided to wake up. He moved quickly and grabbed his succubus by her porcelain shoulders. "Mother," he said. "I am awake. Kiss me here, now." He enforced the quiet command by pulling Carla up, off his cock and onto his bare chest. He breathed deep, inhaling the unique scent of her hair, body and perfume. She eagerly accepted his open mouth with hers. They kissed deeply and long.
Claude slipped his hands from her arms across Carla's back and down her rayon peignoir. Squeezing her bottom, he found the leg seams of her baby-doll's panties and pushed his fingers under, scraping his close-trimmed nails along the bare flesh of her inner thighs up to their junction.
Carla moaned deep into his throat. Her legs separated and she seized Claude's temples between her palms as she fervently kissed him. Claude ran his right hand back along his mother's spine to her shoulder blades. He inserted his left middle two fingers into the entrance of her dampening pussy while his right hand pressed her down to his chest. Carla's full breasts flattened. She twisted her shoulders in a lazy figure-eight, rolling her tits, beneath the baby-doll top, across her son's pectorals, scraping her hardened nipples, with scant protection, through the teenager's developing mat of coarse hair.
"Uhnn," grunted Carla, then she forced herself away from Claude's face but not out of his arms. "I'm so... sorry!" She began to sob silently and shake in her son's grasp. Gathering strength, Carla continued, "Oh, Claude, forgive me! Ben hardly touches me anymore... I think he has, OH! I don't know! Someone else... maybe several others." Her tears rolled across her face and dropped, like hot shards, onto Claude's cheeks. "I'm so...frustrated and... HORNY! I shouldn't have said that! I shouldn't have done this... Please, please, forget it. Don't HATE ME!"
Claude stopped diddling his mother's aroused cunt and rubbed her back lightly with both hands as she collapsed against him and buried her face in his neck and his pillow. "There, there," he soothed, lifting his left hand and stroking her hair, drying her pussy juice from his fingers at the same time. He wove his fingers into her hair and began massaging her scalp at the nape of her neck. "I could never hate you, Mother. I don't know what's up with Dad, but you have nothing to apologize for so there's nothing to forgive or forget." Claude lifted her head from the pillow and kissed her lightly. "In fact," he continued, "I am glad you are here. I liked what you were doing. I liked it a lot!"
Carla, no longer crying, weakly attempted to regain her self-control and maternal authority. "But it is wrong both morally and legally and I couldn't live with myself if I hurt you." She protested.
