Field Hands

[©2011 BY CLINTON09; ALL CHARACTERS ARE OVER THE AGE OF 18 WITH IDENTITIES DISGUISED; THIS STORY HAS A 'HARDER EDGE' THAN MOST; BE WARNED: HERE BE DRAGONS; FOR AGES 25 OR ABOVE]

[Mom and son celebrate her freedom/divorce with a Caribbean vacation; they go to a rarely visited cay and have quite an adventure.]

[Caveat: Note to reader: there are many 'kinder, gentler' stories than this one. You might consider that before embarking. Well, we warned you.]

It all came as a minor shock to me. I had no inkling that my parents were contemplating a divorce. As it turned out, they weren't—it just happened.

My mother, Sue, was thirty-six. She had let herself age 'gracefully' and not try to be some little ingénue or cover girl. From tanning and jogging outdoors, she had some facial lines (heavens!) and even a few lines of color in her legs that she hadn't had there as a teen. There were a very few extra pounds, here and there. She was a true soccer mom and looked the part.

Now that didn't give her husband/my father a license to fool around. Alas, that is what he did. When mom arrived at his office for an unplanned lunch outing, she instead found him and his dowdy secretary doing unspeakable things. His tubby 'girl Friday' couldn't type or do much else, but she was much younger than mom at twenty. My mother stormed out and filed for divorce the same day.

That brings us up to speed. Everyone in the office knew what was going on with 'the old man' and that Rosanne Barr-like secretary of his. My mom got a nice settlement. Sweet...

Mom kicked him to the curb. I was offered the choice of parents, since I was still a minor at seventeen (for one more week). I chose my mom.

Before our great trip, mom and I had never so much as looked at each other in the wrong way, let alone 'done anything'. Oh sure, there were nights when she'd 'tuck me in'. Sometimes tearful, she'd whisper sweet nothings about how much she loved me before a goodnight kiss.

It was innocent in the extreme, even if the kisses lingered depending upon her mood. Still and all, there was nothing untoward about a good-night kiss, even if it lasted one or two minutes...Well, okay, on those nights she gave me a really long goodnight kiss, I normally would have some pretty hot dreams.

Those dreams would feature me and guess who doing wild things ending in a long breeding session. The only other 'unusual things' between my mother and me was her 'attire' as I was growing up. Until I was 'too old' at nine, she didn't worry about what she was wearing, or not wearing, around me when we were alone.

She also called for me to get her this or that while she was taking a bubble bath. So it wasn't a big deal: a lingering kiss goodnight, our own private little birthday parties, mom's bubble baths, and doing her hair and nails. That was it: Just a normal boy and his gorgeous mom.

Okay, one last thing: when her old man was away on trips, she always had me lay out her clothes for the day. I never questioned her about that. It was so simple, too. Bottom drawer for undies, either thong or those 'defective' ones she got which lacked a front to them. Top drawer had her bras, all 34D. All of them were stretched to the maximum, her heavy breasts often making the clasps burst open in the back or the button in the front pop off.

For some reason, all of the bras had a pointed little dome inside at the center of the bra. Little did I know that mom's nipples erected whenever she saw--or even thought--of me.

So there we are. Mom and I were still together after the divorce. My mother was beautiful of face (blonde hair, blue eyes, Hollywood smile) and figure. If you ever saw that Farrah-Fawcett Playboy disk you'd have some idea of my mother's spectacular figure...and understand why those bras were worn out the way they were.

Anyway, she wanted something to spice up our lives and cheer her up after the shock of the divorce. She saw this ad for inexpensive luxury vacationing on a rarely visited cay in the Bahamas. Mom thought it'd be wild and daring to go off the 'beaten path' for once. Our neighbors were this marvelous black couple, both attorneys. They said they never heard of that island, though they frequently wintered in the Bahamas. They warned us about being too daring in our plans. Perhaps we should've heeded their warning.

Taking the Caulk flying service from Miami, we soon found ourselves at this remote cay, not much more than a speck of land in the Caribbean. The plane dumped us and our luggage (mostly mom's) on the driveway of the home. The place was frequented by small aircraft and sail (pontoon) planes.

We waited for a bellhop then gave up and headed to the main building to introduce ourselves and get schedules for meals and entertainment. Yes, sure...

We reached the main house where we found there were no other guests, no itinerary set up, and no males of any kind. There were a dozen females of various ages, with six elders obviously in charge.

Esther (one of the elders): "Well, we were wondering when someone would answer that damn ad in the Miami Herald; we'd run it for two years. If you haven't guessed by now, this isn't the Emerald Beach Hotel in Nassau. We like your money, even if it is only U.S. currency. However, the exchange rates have changed."

"So, we now need not just your cheap currency but some solid work out of you. We are putting the two of you to work tomorrow, tending and harvesting the crops that your heroes from Spain and England brought here for cash crops or to feed their slaves. You will be OUR slaves. It's only fair; I think you'd agree if you could see it from our viewpoint...our history. So, white devils, sleep well tonight; you will need all the rest you can get for tomorrow."

We weren't sure whether this was a joke or not. Then one of the elder women produced a Luger P08, no doubt left by some prior guest. I didn't know if it was loaded, but she sure knew how to pull back the bolt before she put it against my forehead. It was a quiet reminder that escape was 'frowned upon'. That got us quietly moving along to our pathetic 'guest house', a wooden shack that must have cost at least $20 to build.

Mom and I huddled together that night, literally quaking. The next morning at sunrise, we were given this horrible tasteless porridge (made from breadfruit I was told) and then taken to the fields.

At the start, I was pudgy, pale (from being an indoor video game jock), pasty and puny. My mother was only a few pounds and a few shades of pale short of perfection. This experience would even the playing field and bring us together.

Both of us had at least packed sports activity duds which could serve as work clothes. Our clothes were new and quite nice...at first. We kept one change of clothes intact in the vain hope that we might need them while escaping.

On my eighteenth birthday, we got back to the workers' home after an exhausting day. As usual, mom had to stoop over the low-lying crops, pinching excess flowers while jarring those damn Asian beetles. I for my part would do the same. I also had to do the heavy lifting when there were picked crops in the bushel baskets or heavy palettes to be off-loaded.

As a result of all this, my mom had dropped her excess weight of a pound or two really fast. My God, this place was like the beauty spa from hell, but it did make us tanned, lean, strong, and healthy. My mother's 'natural figure' now came into view like a Michelangelo sculpture hidden in marble. She had been a prematurely aging 'soccer mom'.

With the incredible hours of work, the relentless sun, the bending and lifting, my mother was now lithe and fit enough to be an NFL cheerleader. What was even better was that she was unbelievably toned, like the bikini models in those ESPN fitness competitions. Sleek, sexy, perfect; my aging soccer mom was now atomic hot.

I for my part was like an eighteen year old bodybuilder, with a great physique and outrageous 'guns' on my arms from all that lifting. As we toiled in the field, getting tanned (it only took days) and toned (that took weeks), our clothes were being used to the point of wearing out. Eventually, our clothes were mere tatters (except for that one set kept in reserve...just in case).

You must remember that we were toiling beneath the Caribbean sun. So here I was a strapping eighteen year old, deprived of any other social contact. As I toured the fields behind my mother, I would see her well tanned legs, her now pert and rock-hard behind, and the sides of her perfect breasts. Not many soccer moms of her age still had dimples just above a pert bum.

As her son, I should've just ignored that imagery. Instead, the heat brought out the animal in me. I would pull up behind my toiling mother, grab her, and let my now erect ten inch cock slide right into her thru the tatters of her outfit. Sweating from the hard work, she still could manage a low moan of pleasure as my rough big-headed cock slid into her with no opposition. The rough invader rubbed her sensitive walls vigorously.

We had been reduced to animals and now we were having sex in the open like animals. My now gorgeous mother could be seen in the middle of this farm field, standing while her bulked up son was drilling into her from behind. Mom was looking skyward as I was breeding her like a male rabbit. Talk about strange, we had been almost hypnotized into our respective roles.

So, as I was desperately trying to cum in her, my mom was actually starting to move again, row to row, plant to plant! I just gave up. As she drifted away down the long plant row, I stood, huffing and puffing, my magnificent ten inch baby maker still erect, still hard, positively dripping with pre-cum. Some days I wouldn't take 'no' for an answer and followed her until she'd allow me to unload deep inside her. She'd complete her rounds, her cunt overflowing with cum, the excess oozing out and drooling down her tanned satiny thighs.

I learned, though, that farm women are strong--real strong. My mom was exercising (working) 12 hours a day so she could give as good as she got. If she really didn't want it and wasn't just playing coy, she'd let me know it. Ouch...

Finishing the day's work with a hard cock bobbing in front of me, I lifted the heavy palettes onto a skid. With the setting of the warm sun, my day was threw and I literally staggered back to the 'guest house'.

One day, mom slipped on some mud and was on all fours. Crudely I lifted her up and attached her to my rock hard cock.

Mom: "If you're going to have your way with me, at least face me as if you love me!"

With that prodding, I removed mom from my cock, where she'd been in front of me, suspended above the ground, held up only by that ten inch monster. Twirling her around, I lifted her atop my mighty meat, letting her settle down until she was firmly attached to me. She let out a slight gasp and then moaned out the first of eight orgasms that night.

It was quite a sight: I was slowly walking back to the 'privacy' of our shack. Meanwhile, my mom was attached to me in front like a papoose. She wrapped her legs around me while our lips danced and my hands roamed across her perfect tanned curves.

Mom: "This is horrible; we're treated like animals and now we breed like animals. Is this our fate...oh that feels so good...no...wait...THERE!...I can't...I can't fight it. Oh, God, Jimmy, breed me...breed me now. They probably want us to produce a huge new army of field workers. We should say no, but I can't. I want your sperm, your precious seed, deep inside me. Please baby, please plant it inside my own fertile garden. Your seeds can safely grow there. Give me your babies!"

That day was the best day we ever spent on that accursed island. I walked all the way back to our shack with my mom going up and down on my cock like the twelfth cylinder in a Ferrari. My powerful hands, exhausted from the heavy labor, still mustered enough strength to work my mom's perfect body up and down at lightning speed.

Once we got to our little hovel, we barely got inside the door. I closed it with my foot and then pressed mom against the closed door. At that moment I blasted her insides with a tidal wave of cum: cum absolutely teeming with my vibrant lively sperm. I was then in incredible shape and that seemed to help my stamina. I came copiously. Mom moaned in pleasure as the searing hot liquid splattered her insides with the very seed of life. The excess thick white syrup slowly dripped out, a stark contrast to the rich darkness of her fantastic tanned thighs.

After finishing, we settled into bed. To mom's shock, it only took a half hour in the tight quarters in bed for me to get hard again. I was so turned on we ended up doing it four times that night. Three more times I came deep inside of her. The last time, we were so exhausted we literally collapsed together in mutual orgasm with my final blast of baby batter into that tight, clinging love tunnel.

So, it turned into a daily routine. Hard work in the field, occasional breaks for gruel, and then back to work until the sun set. With the blessed return of (relatively) cool nights, we'd stagger back to the 'palatial mansion'.

There, seated on the crude twin bed that had to accommodate both of us, was my now perfect mother. She looked like the tanned Bo Derek of 'Ten', or at least her well-built mother. You can only imagine how I felt after a long hard day in the field. Here I was shoehorned into a tiny bed with this woman with jutting tits, a sculptured body, a rock hard bum, and shapely tanned legs. There was no way that I wouldn't get hard, steel hard, just snuggling.

My beautiful mother always tried to talk me out of it, saying she was exhausted from the fieldwork. That was true enough, but I couldn't help myself. As we lay there together, my powerful cock just naturally sought entrance to her. Mom would be there, facing away from me. Then she felt this thing, like a cast iron pipe, pushing relentlessly between her tanned legs, then upwards towards the very gates of heaven. Her 'gates' were covered by a thick soft forest of the palest blonde hair. Sometimes she pushed me away; I never forced myself upon her. Other times, she'd push the cockhead (the size and shape of a large mushroom) inside of her, just lightly touching her slavering pussy lips.

On those wonderful nights, my cock would be admitted into the best place on earth. Nestled in the sopping wet pussy lips of my horny mom, my love messenger would begin its long journey into the fertile depths of my wonderful mother. As I pushed it forward, the oversized cockhead would drag itself along, rubbing and tingling her inner walls. Then it seemed to settle into this deep gorge. As it 'landed' there, she'd always wince, in pain and utter pleasure.

Whenever I was certain I was in as deep as I could go, she'd always turn, give me a deep soul kiss, and move ever so slightly. With that tiny movement, my cock suddenly felt her slip away. Curious, I would bend her up on our tiny little bed until her legs were bouncing against my shoulders. With her in the shape of an 'L', I found I could make that last plunge inside and touch this strange alcove. There, my baby-maker seemed to find a new home, even tighter, warmer, and more welcoming than ever before. Unknown to me, I was directly inside her fertile womb. Then I released my tidal wave of cum, flooding it with baby-making sperm.

The only variety in our daily life was a night when we could sneak off to the nearby shore. We weren't watched at night; they presumed the reef sharks would be good enough prison guards. Well, we didn't go for a swim, but some nights we just had to cool off in the surf. Right out of 'From Here to Eternity', we would make love under the starry sky. I particularly loved it when my mom would be on top and I could see Orion's Belt just over her shoulder as she sat upon my ten inch tower of love.

Like I said, when we first were drafted into farm work, we were just innocent mother and son, pale, pasty, and totally Platonic. Then, forced to sleep in the same bed, work in the same field, and face the same hardships, we became hopelessly linked in love and passion. In other words, as we went from suburban wastoids to natural hardbodies, our native instincts emerged. For my part, I wanted to breed, constantly.

As a result, every morning...that's EVERY morning...my mother would awaken with her pussy positively dripping, drooling out, the very seed of life. I was relentless and remorseless, cycle time or not, exhaustion or not. I was a breeding machine and constantly pumped my potent seed into the unprotected and incredibly fertile womb of my (now) gorgeous mother. Every night was like we were making porno films. I would finish up with my cockhead just barely within the lips of her pussy. When we finished my now used up cock would be ejected with a mild popping sound.

It was the same thing in the morning. I would awaken with some serious 'morning wood', maybe ten inches worth. After awhile, my mom was very understanding and let me vent my love inside of her. You have no idea how nice it was to be able to pump all that potent seed inside a welcoming and unprotected womb instead of into some waste basket. As a result of this, often mom would head out into the fields in the morning, a trail of my cum drooling down her satiny thighs and shapely tanned legs. My mother was blessed with incredible legs that kept bikini-wax sheen with no effort on her part.

From city people we had been turned into animals of the field. Months into our 'adventure', my clothes were so worn that I walked about the fields with my cock swinging free and easy. There was no mystery when I came upon my supersexy mom. Anyone with binoculars from 300 yards could watch that ten inch cobra raise its magnificent head in excitement. I tell you, it was a wonder that any work was done at all given my almost constant state of arousal.

We were a closed little world of our own: our only contacts the harsh, bitter women of the main house. There was no respite from them; they never relented or repented. On New Year's Eve, they paid us a rare visit. As one of the elder women mumbled drunkenly, another went about joking about our 'accommodations' in that shack. Of course, her 'concern' for us didn't stop her from trashing the place. We couldn't intervene, as the eldest lady, as always, packed that heat (Luger pistol) and wasn't shy to wave it about.

The only other stimuli for me was a single copy of Sports Illustrated, the first swimsuit issue. It was in a protective plastic wrap and left in our little house—a memento of the SI camera crew who shot the issue here on location. The original pictures featured the hot model Cheryl Tiegs; she wore a revealing bikini that clearly displayed her marvelous bush. It was an arresting sight.

Later, SI put out an airbrushed version of that 1st issue, her suit covering her fabulous 'forest' down there. To be honest, I would occasionally steal a glimpse of it before servicing my equally exciting mom...

Day after day, I repeatedly pumped pints of life-giving sperm into my mother's unprotected pussy. It only made sense that this industrial unloading of oceans of potent seed inside a fertile womb would have some effect. Sure enough, my mom got pregnant after my eighteenth birthday when we started having sex. She had a miscarriage.

When she got pregnant a second time, the 'elders' of the house said that the last pregnancy took too much time out of mom's workday; instead, they were going to 'fix that'. They planned to have some midwife do a procedure on her! They implied that she'd never have to 'worry' about getting pregnant again.