Mom Son Time

All night, and all the next day, the tornado of passion carried them across fields of desire.

As Nathaniel was climaxing for the 3rd - or was it the or 4th? - time - this time, across her lips as she lunged forward, desperately, to take him on her tongue - he saw her kissing him, in a sort of animalistic frenzy - and he looked up to see the sun, rising, decked with majestic purple hue, wearing green mountains like a prom dress. And he swore, "I will never forget this sunrise."

She always knew when he was about to explode; in those moments, he felt like a train that had jumped the tracks - so reckless, so not in command - but she was in command - the way she flicked her tongue - the way she seemed to be speaking a foreign language to his body - a language not even he knew - the way she read his pleasure, like a mystery book, with a surprise ending, that she had written - she always knew when he was about to explode, and for how long, and where, and how much - like she'd planned the whole thing. She knew, but he never did, and he was fine with that. More than fine; it was better this way.

The next time Nathaniel looked out the window - he was startled to find - the sun was setting; just then, she lowered her body onto his; she was so, so - all he could think, was so, so - so, wet: with sweat, with love, with lust, with new desire, like a fresh spring day ripe with dew. She was so wet.

He looked out the window again. Startled, now, the sun was setting. Setting fast, in a fuzzy flurry of red and yellow and burnt orange. The stars twinkled dimly, and then they lit up the sky, and then they faded behind cool silver clouds, and the room got darker, and darker. The darker it got, the wilder she got; they made love in every room in the house. When he looked out the window again, the sun was setting again, and once again, she was lowering her body over his; still, so wet He thought it strange - hadn't the sun already set, just seconds before? Hadn't they been in this exact same position just a moment ago? What had happened to time? Were lovers frozen in time with no need for clocks and jobs and food? - they might have eaten; he couldn't remember.

Time was not a reality: only space was; up until then, his life had been ruled by time. Every second of every day, he had to be "productive." There was always work to do, and a time clock was always ticking anxiously in another room. But now, there was no goal and no product to be made, except love; all the had to make was love; he could take as long as he needed; there was no time clock ticking in the distance. This was their time: their special "mom and son" time; yet, this wasn't wasted time; it was time too full to be counted. Every second was an hour; still, hours flew by like seconds; every second was full of meaning like some kind of deep poem; every second was like the painting of a master: so full of texture and tone that it needed years of studying; as you studied that second, hours passed; then, another slight color in the masterpiece emerged. Nathaniel and Cindy were painting a masterpiece. Before such a work, even time bowed.

A son was fucking his mother; even more, a man was making love to a woman. Every time he entered her, he did so slowly, with care, and she would moan and writhe in please until she finally received him. Every time he entered her, he felt like a virgin. He felt at home; for lack of a better word, he felt "comfortable." This was the pussy that gave birth to him. He had entered the world from this pussy; now, he was reentering the world, not coming out of, but cumming in, this pussy. She would often cry, "This is wrong, but fuck me, son." But, in her quieter moments, right before he came inside her, she would say, "Make love to me son. Please. I'm begging you." Then, her pussy would quake, and she would cum so hard, and squirt everywhere. Nathaniel realized his mother needed someone to make love to her. To be attentive to her. Normally, his father, or some other man her age, would satisfy this need, but there was no one to do so. So, as a matter of love and care to his own mother, Nathaniel had to fuck this woman like a slut, and make gentle love to her, like a mother.

This mother, and this on, made love at least 5 times a day that first week. Every time was special; every time was sacred. When Daniel came inside his mom, she would relax, spread her legs a little wider, and receive all of him. And, he would go slow, savoring her pussy, diving deeper and deeper, and deep and he could go, letting his cock explore his mother's pussy ... until he couldn't take it anymore, and he exploded inside her in pulses of cum and pleasure.

Daniel always wondered what it was like to really make love to a woman. He was something of a player; he had been with over 50 women. But, now, he was with THE woman, the woman he wanted to make love to for the rest of his life. Yes, she was his mother, and perhaps that meant she understood him more than any other woman. But, this he knew for sure. He could cum in this woman for the rest of his life, and be HAPPY.