Incest And Other Crimes

Hope you enjoy this story. Everyone is over the age of 18.

If inclined, please comment. Be critical. Let me know what you like or don't like.

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It's a hot and humid day in mid-July. I'm relaxing on the deck after a quick swim in the pool. Mom has just finished her laps and is climbing out of the water, her black bikini blending nicely with her tanned legs and torso. Pushing 50, but still looking fine: shapely, athletic legs and toned arms; full breasts; maybe a slight tummy bulge and ample behind that signal the inevitable arrival of middle age.

She wrings water from her long, dark brown hair - no sign that I can see from here of the few streaks of grey that she refuses to color - straightens her bikini top and, with confident, lithe strides, approaches my lounge chair. Mom kneels astride me, her hands by my shoulders, hair dripping water onto my face, leans forward and brushes my lips with hers. She looks into my eyes...

"Fuck me before your father comes home."

I feign disinterest even while my cock twitches. "Oh man," I protest, "We only have, like, two hours!"

"You won't last an hour, big boy," she teases. Mom spreads her knees to the edge of the chair, lowering her crotch onto mine. I lean up and kiss her again, while she rubs her bikini-covered pussy against my growing erection. "Come on," she says, "I need that big cock."

We hold hands as we make our way to my bedroom. She leans against me, stopping two or three times to kiss. In my room, she reaches behind her back to unhook her bikini top while I grip the waistband of her bottoms and slide them off her hips and down to her knees. She wiggles out the rest of the way while I admire her dark, trimmed pussy bush, hairs still wet from the pool and, I suspect, newly soaked from her juices.

I take her in my arms and, as we kiss deeply, I revel in the feel of her body against mine. Her soft breasts press against my chest; her scratchy pubic hair tickles my thigh; my hands cup her ass cheeks and pull her tightly against me.

Our lips part and Mom's tongue slips out of my mouth. I grin as I push her gently onto the bed. I kneel above her and we resume our kissing. Gentle, wet kisses against her soft, willing lips. I kiss her cheeks, her earlobes, her neck, and she sighs and squirms as i move down to a breast, taking its nipple first between my lips, then between my teeth, teasing and torturing until she squeals and bucks her hips. That's my signal to suck harder, to suck as much of her tit into my mouth as I can. I pull on it, stretching it, working it with my tongue and lips.

"You prick!" she gasps, trying to pull free. "Fucking prick... ohhhhhh... noooooo..."

I let the tit slip out of my mouth and, feeling guilty because I know I'm going to ignore the other one, I move down to her stomach, kissing and licking past her navel to her abdomen and below until I feel her pubic hair tickling my chin and I get my first whiff of mom's cunt. She spreads her legs and lifts her knees and raises her hips as if to offer her hungry mound to a equally ravenous son.

"Mother fucker..." she gasps. Before she can concoct a string of filthy, suggestive words, I bury my mouth and nose in her bush, pushing hard and deep, chewing, kissing, sucking while my tongue probes between her lips, searching for and then finding her clit, flicking it, circling it (counter-clockwise the way she likes it), teasing it...

I eat her pussy for (I guess) ten minutes. Her juices have coated my face and have left streaks of wetness on the sheets. Mom is panting, moaning, sighing. She tries to squirm away several times, but I am relentless and I follow her pussy around the bed, my hands gripping her ass, pulling her snatch into my mouth, not letting her escape. I so love eating her. Could there be anything more forbidden, or more exciting?

Mom lies still, her knees together now, an arm flung across her face, covering her eyes. I move up where her head rests on the pillow. I take my cock in my hand, and rub it against her lips, leaving a trail of early precum across her chin.

"Come on, mommy cocksucker," I urge. "I know you want this."

"Mmmmmm... I do," she whispers as her lips part and she engulfs my cockhead. She slides her mouth down the shaft, slurping, teasing with her tongue, jerking me off with her mouth as I stiffen and enlarge.

I withdraw and position myself between her now-spreadeagled legs, using my right hand to guide my cock to her hole. She lifts her hips and I drive my dick inside her, sliding effortlessly on a veil of pussy juice. "Yesssssss... oh fuck, yesssss..." Mom is never quiet. "Motherfucker," she moans. "Mmmmm... my cunt..."

We fuck slowly, gently at first. We reach a perfect rhythm as my cock and her pussy thrust forward together. Her arms hold my shoulders tightly, her legs wrapped around my butt. I'm looking into her face as she stares dreamily into space. She pants and moans, I growl and grunt as we create a fucking symphony of lust and passion.

We pick up the pace... fucking faster, harder. She's the one grunting now, tensed as I slam my cock inside her. She tries to talk, but the exertion interferes. "Mmmmmfffuck... cun... cun...fuhh... you fuhhh... fucking prick... FUCK ME!!" She screams those last two words, then mouths silent words, her lips moving without sound... only heavy, desperate breaths drowned out by the relentless "squish/slurp" of my cock ravaging my mom's pussy.

It is amazing being inside her. My thick dick fills her tunnel. It squeezes me from every direction; offers resistance to every stroke. She is warm, wet. Below me, her tits bob in a kind of slow-motion rhythm. Her beautiful face is flushed with excitement, passion. Her eyes look pleadingly into mine, as if to say "this must never end."

I stop to recharge and she relaxes. She laughs, sort of a throaty giggle. I take her head in my hands and kiss her and she responds. We catch our breath for a minute, my cock lodged fully inside her, not moving. I bury my head in her neck and whisper, "I love you..." She responds, "I love you... so much, so very much."

I look into her eyes again - they are glittering with expectation - and I start slowly pumping with my hips. Her legs grab my butt again and she starts laughing. "OH no, no... I can't... no you fucker... I mean yesssss... yesssss... ohhhh you prick." Her hips thrust forward again and as we synchronize our fucking, it's my turn to do the talking.

"Like the way I fuck you? Mommy like my big cock... like the way it fills your tight little cunt?" I thrust hard and deep. "Am I your fucker? You like the way your baby fucks you... pussy feel good mommy?"

Now she's screaming. "FUCK YES... FUCK YES YOU MOTHERFUCKER... CUNT FUCKER... WANT YOUR COCK... WANT YOUR CUM... WANT MY BABY'S CUM..."

And then I explode. Repeated, incredible spasms send streams of cum into mom's pussy. I can feel it fill her; I can feel its warmth as it washes over my cock. My hips thrust as I deliver spurt after spurt. The orgasm thrills me to the core and I shake when it finally subsides. My dick softens gradually and retreats from its warm and watery nest. I look down and see my creamy seed leaking from mom's pussy, matting her hairy bush, gathering in a pool on the sheet.

We disengage and catch our breath. Laying side by side, holding mom in my arms, I let her soft, luxurious hair caress my cheek. Long minutes pass until she speaks first.

"Do you think I'm a slut, Matt?"

"Don't talk like that," I answer.

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm just trying to make sense of it all."

"We can't go back," I tell her. "We can't undo what's been done. We've agreed about that. There's only the future."

"It seems so right and beautiful before and during," she says. "But so wrong and shameful afterwards."

"There's no manual for what we're doing. We know that it's wrong for the world but right for us." I stroke her cheek. "Are you sorry we started this?"

"No, I'm not sorry," she answers. "Amazed, dumbfounded... sometimes uncertain... afraid that it will end."

"That scares me, too," I confide. "Not that the fucking will end, but that we'll..." I leave that last thought unspoken as she presses a finger to my lips.

"You know I love you?" I ask.

"Yes," she answers. "You know I love you?"

"Yes I do," I say. "What else could matter?"

We are silent for a minute. She props herself on an elbow, kisses me on the mouth and says, smiling, "I told you you wouldn't last an hour."

I glance at the clock on the bedstand. "Close enough. I wanted to leave you time to fix dinner."

She jabs an elbow in my ribs and laughs. "Fuck you," she whispers.

"You did, mom."

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She was at the sink rinsing vegetables when dad shuffles into the kitchen. "Where's dinner," he grumbles.

Mom turns and answers, "You can eat out if you're in such a rush!"

He takes a step toward her. "Kick your fat ass you talk to me like that."

I come through the door just in time to hear the threat.

"Lay a hand on her and I'll break your fucking neck!"

He takes a step toward me then stops when he sees the look in my eyes. I'm 6'2" and fit; he's 5'10" and soft. He knows he wouldn't last a minute.

"This is bullshit!" He opens the door to the downstairs rec room, slams it shut, and stomps down the stairs."

I take mom in my arms. "When?" she asks.

"Not yet," I reply. "Soon... soon enough."

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So you're probably wondering how we got to this point... this wonderful, scary, incestuous point of no return. I'll tell you - I still can't believe it has happened - and then I'll tell you why and how we're going to eliminate the scumbag I call father and she calls husband...

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ABOUT 7 MONTHS AGO... Early January

DAY ONE

We blame Pat for starting it all. A neighbor and mom's long-time friend, Pat is a 50-something divorcee, school teacher and (in the best possible way) slut. She fucks indiscriminately, eagerly, passionately; compiling a list of conquests from our mailman and UPS driver to her principal and at least two town councilmen (and currently, we think, one of the lady cashiers at the supermarket).

With dad out of town on one of his frequent business trips, the three of us are partying on a Tuesday night in the living room of our suburban Cincinnati home. We're past tipsy and approaching plastered on a combination of wine coolers, margueritas and cheap champagne, while Pat regales us with an hilarious and improbable account of her hookup with Bart, a balding, overweight history teacher whom she lured into the janitor's broom closet one day after school.

My head is spinning and mom looks glassy-eyed as Pat finishes her story, staggers to the sofa and falls not-so-accidentally into my lap. She wiggles her bottom, drapes her arms around my neck and gives me a wet, champagne-flavored kiss and a near-tonsillectomy with her tongue. I figure I have my own tongue here doing nothing, so I slide it into her mouth and we swap spit for about a minute.

"Ohhhhmyyyyygoddd," says Pat. "You have a horny little boy here!"

"You... two...stop...it," Mom says, trying to sound stern but sounding amusingly drunk instead. "Doon you crupt him..."

Pat giggles, I spread my legs and, arms flailing, she slides slowly between them until her butt thumps on the floor between the sofa and coffee table. Mom erupts in a paroxism of laughter; unfortunately, she was slurping a drink at the time, and she sneezes champagne out her nose. Classy group we've got here.

Pat, still on the floor, recovers enough to say, "Really, Lynnie Lynnn Lynn... have you kissed this studly son of yours recently?"

"We kith... kish... we kissssss every day," said Mom, trying to sound properly sober.

"What, like little peckers on the cheek?" Pat starts giggling and can't stop.

I jump in. "Don't say 'little peckers.' It's bad karma."

Mom goes to slap my arm but misses. "Ish what we do... little peckers?" Now mom starts laughing and can't stop. She kind of slumps against me, head back, eyes closed. "Shhh... shhhow me wadwedo."

"Yeah... show mommy how you kiss her," Pat goads.

So I do. I'm seeing kind of double, but I find one of her mouths and press my lips softly against hers, holding it for long seconds until her lips part slightly and I slip my tongue in to meet hers. My hand caresses her cheek and we continue to kiss for a minute or more.

I'm scared now, heart is thumping, and I pull away. I half expect mom to slap me.

"Mmmmmmm," is all she says.

"Wow," was Pat's contribution.

Maybe I don't have to apologize, I'm thinking. Mom's head still rests on my shoulder. "Nice kishhh," she murmers, and falls asleep.

I use a couple of pillows to prop mom comfortably on the sofa, then try to stand, but end up sitting on the floor next to Pat.

"Very very hot," she says. She kisses me on the lips and presses against me, boobs first. It feels wonderful and that's when I notice my cock has stiffened.

"Don't you say anything," I warn. "She won't remember."

Pat nuzzles my neck. "She'll remember. That was too hot to forget."

This is crazy. I push Pat away and onto her back. I start to unbutton her pants but she stops me.

"Not now," she says. "Not with your mom here. She'd totally freak." She grinned, "Ohhh, but I do want that cock!!"

I left mom sleeping on the couch. I prepped coffee for the morning and stumbled upstairs to my bedroom. I have no idea if, when or how Pat found her way home.

DAY TWO

"I feel like crap," said mom.

"My head's gonna fall off," I added. "Soon, I hope."

We stayed still, sipped our coffee, didn't speak until mom looked up and said, "Did you kiss me last night?"

I gave her the best embarrassed smile I could muster. "Ummm... I thought you kissed me."

She stared, said nothing more.

I jerked off later, "the kiss" and other possibilities prominent in my mind.

DAY THREE

Both feeling better. Mom is at the kitchen table and I give her a kiss on the cheek as I pass and head for the coffee maker. She reaches out and pulls at my arm.

"Matt, why did you kiss me the other night?" she asks.

"It's no big deal," I said. "Pat was... being Pat, and we were... being drunk."

"How did we kiss?" She looked nervous, probably afraid of the answer.

I shrugged, not sure how to answer. "Want me to show you?"

She smiles then. "No."

I jerk off again that night. It's all about mom. I'm both ashamed and excited.

DAYS FOUR thru SEVEN

Something has changed, I think for both of us. We don't talk of that evening with Pat, but we're acting differently with each other. We have always been affectionate, never improper, but probably freer than most mothers-and-sons in how we talked, teased and interacted. Now we were starting to flirt; me intentionally, I'm not sure what was going through mom's mind. Where we used to share a quick hug, especially in the morning or at bedtime, now they lingered. I held her perceptibly longer and closer and she didn't resist. Where we used to exchange a "quick pecker on the cheek" (thanks, Pat, for that lasting image), now they were softer, lasted longer, often with my arm encircling her waist, or her arm draped around my neck.

I've been watching her closely these last few days, appreciating her beauty and sensuality, imagining us together in intimate situations. I feel guilty still, but not so ashamed.

My bath towels are caked with dried semen. I wonder if she notices when she does the wash.

DAY EIGHT

It's a Wednesday evening. Mom and Dad had a brief shouting match about money and overdue bills before he stormed downstairs to his "cave." She is upset and rather than watch TV in the living room, we decide to watch a movie in my room.

We settle on my bed, side by side. Before the movie starts, she says, "You know I hate him?"

"I know. So do I."

"He's ruining everything. He's ruining our family. He's gonna lose the house and everything we have."

I put my arm around her, stroke her soft, luxurious hair. "The family is me and you," I tell her. "He'll never ruin that."

"I don't know what to do," she said, the desperation evident in her voice.

"I'm working on a plan. I wasn't going to say anything. Give me some time."

"A plan? What kind of plan?"

"A plan to get him out of our life."

She turns and looks at me. And the tears start running down her cheeks. "My God," she sobs. "What am I doing? Why don't we just leave. Get a divorce. Start new someplace else..."

"Because then he wins," I answer. "And he gets everything. You know he will. Everything of yours and everything of mine. He's a lying scumbag who will work the system until he wins."

She sniffles, doesn't speak for 20 minutes. I see that her eyes are closed and the tears have dried.

Finally, "What kind of plan?"

"I don't know," I say. "I have some ideas. I don't know how it will all work out. I don't want you involved."

She turns angry then. "You won't do anything unless I'm involved," she hissed. "Anything! I want to know everything every step of the way. Whatever you're doing, we're doing together." Her hand grips my arm so hard it hurts. Her look is fierce. "Promise me!"

"OK." She digs her nails into my arm again. "Ouch... I promise... OK?"

Silence, then she grabs my arm again. She is shaking. "Will we kill him?"

I turn to her, hold her face between my hands and kiss her briefly, gently, hoping to calm her. "I don't know what will happen. I really don't. Don't even think that. Whatever we do, it will take time. We can't make any mistakes."

The movie is an afterthought. We lay silently in the quiet of my room, eventually making small talk about less consequential matters: my classes at school, the electric bill, the threat of snow. Mom lays against me, so soft, so warm, her head nestled against my neck.

Minutes of silence, then she says, "Remember last week when we partied with Pat?"

"I think I remember," I say, smiling.

"I talked to her today."

"Yeah?"

Silence for a minute, then, "Kiss me like you kissed me that night."

We both sit up and face each other. Her face betrays a mixture of mischief and fear. I lean close and press my lips against her cheek, hold it there for a minute until she laughs softly and pulls away.

"That's not how you kissed me," she whispers.

So I did it the right way. Our lips meet, moist and warm, moving against each other until my tongue brushes her lip and slides into her mouth, where her tongue responds slowly, deeply. We part briefly and then continue, a new kiss, harder this time but not desperate, certainly more passionate. My heart is pounding and my dick stiffens as she moans quietly and her breathing becomes more rapid.

Our lips part but we remain face to face, our foreheads touching, both smiling a little nervously.

"I don't know why I couldn't remember that," she purrs.

"Rum... wine... champagne?"

"Mmmmmm... could be."

I kiss her again, softly, briefly. That seems to snap her out of her reverie. She moves back, touches my cheek, and says, "You know this is so wrong."

"I know." I searched her face, and was sure of the only response I could give her. "And you know it's so right? For whatever reason, whatever there is between us, this is so very right."

She started to move off the bed. I tried to stop her. "Don't leave," I pleaded.

"I can't stay. I can't."

"Stay with me tonight," I offered.

She gave me a rueful smile and, her voice low and hoarse, said, "I'm your mother."

She walked to the door, turned, and I could see she had started crying again. Our eyes locked for a moment, then she softly closed the door and walked to her room.

DAY NINE

I didn't sleep at all last night. Spent an hour staring out the window. Went downstairs to the kitchen for some juice. Walked back upstairs. Mom was standing outside her door. "You have to sleep," she said. "You have early classes tomorrow."