My Iny Grandmother

In this second chapter, the relationship between Matthew's mother and his grandmother is revealed and he begins to look at his rather uptight mother in a very new and very sexual light. It is strongly recommended that you read "My Kinky Grandmother" first.

Like the first chapter, this story contains explicit details of anal sex in an incestuous context, so if that offends you please pass this story by. The story begins exactly where the first part stopped.

Thanks to all who voted and commented on the first instalment.

Sylviafan

My grandmother and I were lying naked on my grandmother's bed, having just had anal sex together for the first time. It had followed a sensationally erotic role-play downstairs in the kitchen, where I had pretended to be my grandmother's father and she had played her eighteen-year-old-self and I had spanked her over the kitchen table and then fingered her cunt and finally fucked her. The whole tableau had been based around some unresolved issues connected with her father spanking her as a late teenager. On the final occasion, he had slid his fingers into her pussy after spanking her and she had lived her whole adult life wondering and fantasising about what would have happened if her mother hadn't come home at the critical time. She had also previously mentioned the fact that she had spanked my mother when she younger and I had asked if anything had ever happened as a result.

'Yes,' she had replied dully. 'Something did happen.'

I waited, frozen. I'd only really asked to tease gran but it appeared I had opened some sort of Pandora's box. Eventually she went on and I listened, entranced.

'Your mother was a difficult child. Or maybe I wasn't a very good mother. I used to lose my temper with her quite a bit when she was young and I'd smack her, because that's what my mother and father did to me when I was naughty.

'Of course as she grew up it happened less and less. I got older and more tolerant and anyway, I could punish her in other ways, like grounding her. But then one day I really lost it. It was odd, because it was almost exactly the same relative time as when my father had put his fingers inside me - the week before your mother was due to leave for university.

'She'd been seeing a young man who I thought was very unsuitable. Rode a motorbike and worked in a garage. Yes, I know I was being judgmental, Geoff kept telling me that, telling me that Ruth would meet the right sort of person at college, but I suppose I only half believed him.

'Anyway, she'd finished school so she was at home during the day and Geoff, your grandfather, was out at work, of course. Your mum used to stay in bed until ten or eleven in the morning and then go into the bathroom for an hour and use all the hot water, which annoyed me. It annoyed me so much that one day I stormed into the bathroom while she was in the shower and started shouting at her. She turned her back on me to protect her dignity or something and that's when I saw the tattoo on her backside.'

'Mum's got a tattoo!' I interrupted, astonished.

'Yes, she has. And you have to remember that people weren't tattooed then like they are today. Especially not girls! Tramp stamps, we used to call them. Or slag tags. And here was my daughter with one! Well I dragged her into her bedroom, soaking wet from the shower, and I threw her onto her bed and started walloping her bum, especially the cheek with the tattoo. I mean your mum takes more after her dad than me, as you know, and even then she was four inches taller and twenty pounds heavier than me, but I was so angry!' My grandmother paused, recalling the events of nearly thirty years ago. She took a deep breath and continued.

'Well your mum was thrashing about on the bed and crying and I must have smacked her seven or eight times, really hard, when this weird thing happened. It was like a blast of warm air going through me and melting my insides and I realised that I was really, really aroused! My stomach was churning and I had a lump in my throat and a tingling in my loins and this huge wave of desire for my daughter swept over me and I stopped smacking her and started stroking her and she calmed down and started moaning a bit and then I did what my father had done to me all those years ago: I slid a couple of fingers into my daughter's vagina.

'She was sopping wet, Matthew. And it wasn't from the shower. And that turned me on even more and I started sliding my fingers in and out and your mum started gasping and groaning and she opened her legs really wide to give me better access. Oh God, I can remember every detail, as if it were yesterday. I started to feel breathless and hot and I found Ruth's clitoris and I masturbated her for a few minutes and she had this enormous orgasm and then she rolled over and sat up, all red-faced and with her hair still soaking wet and said, "Do you want me to do you, Mum?"

'Well I should have walked out then, of course I should. But I was still on fire and I wanted to feel my daughter's fingers on me. So I pulled up my skirt and took my knickers off and I lay down on the bed with my legs spread and your mum knelt next to me and started stroking my labia, running her fingers through my bush. I couldn't speak! I wanted her fingers inside me so much but I was mute. And then she slid them in, two or three fingers! And she used her thumb to massage my clit and honestly, Matthew, I'd never been so turned on in all my life. I nearly blacked out when I orgasmed, it was so powerful, so intense. A mixture of the physical feelings and the forbidden feelings for my daughter.'

'What happened then?' I asked after gran had been silent for a couple of minutes. I was feeling hot myself, and my cock, having so recently ejaculated up my grandmother's arse, was hard and throbbing.

'Well I did walk out after that. Without saying a word. I was so ashamed and embarrassed. And for the next few days, until Ruth went to university, it was really awkward in the house. Even Geoff commented on it and he never noticed anything.'

'Was that the end of it?' I asked, hoping it hadn't been.

'No,' replied my grandmother softly, after a pause. 'I couldn't stop thinking about it and when I did I felt overwhelmed with shame but I also got very aroused and I had to masturbate during the day when Geoff was out at work. And I started wanting sex with him more, too. He was quite surprised and asked what had come over me. If only he'd known!

'I had to talk to Ruth, and it couldn't wait until the holidays, so one weekday I drove up to the university and met up with your mum in the Junior Common Room and we had a coffee and we talked.'

'And...,' I prompted, feeling warm with arousal. 'What did mum say?'

'I started out by apologising and saying that I didn't know what had come over me and it would never happen again and Ruth said, "Don't be silly, Mum. There's nothing to be embarrassed or ashamed about. What we did was wonderful and special and I'd like to do it again, if you would."

'She went on to tell me that she wasn't gay, had never had a desire for any other woman and enjoyed sex with men very much. Well I think nowadays this would be called "too much information" but all I could do was listen. She told me that she'd had a bit of a thing for me for years and that she had fantasised about touching me.'

'So it's still going on,' I interrupted.

'Be patient, Matthew, I'm coming to that. I wasn't comfortable with it, not then. I drove home with my mind in a whirl, I don't know how I got through the next few weeks until Ruth came home for the holidays. And when she did, you could cut the atmosphere with a knife.

'But I'd made my mind up. I wanted it to happen again, too. So what if it was incest? It wouldn't be hurting anyone else. So the first morning Geoff was at work, I took my clothes off and went into Ruth's bedroom, before she'd got up, and I got into bed with her and put my hand between her legs. It was a bit crude but your mum sort of cooed at me and opened her legs and I found her pussy and, well, you can guess the rest.'

'So it's still going on,' I repeated.

'Occasionally,' my grandmother admitted. 'At first we were at it like knives, every chance we could get. But then she got married and you came along and we toned it down a bit, once a month or so, and that went on for years. Right up until your dad left, and then Ruth seemed to lose interest in sex. We probably only did it a dozen times after he left before I went to France.'

'I can't believe it,' I stuttered. 'All those years when I was growing up and you and mum were... having sex together!' I was still ragingly hard. 'Was it just fingering?' I asked.

'At first, yes. Later on we used our tongues as well as our fingers and we experimented with toys, too. Funnily enough we didn't kiss each other for a long time. I think both of us thought that was a step too far, which is crazy when we were licking each other's pussies.'

'Fucking hell!' I said. 'Sorry, Gran.' I had a sudden mental image of my gran's face buried in my mother's cunt.

'That's alright, Matthew. I imagine it's a bit of a shock to you, even given what you and I do together.'

'Have you been together since you got back from France? Since you and me... started sleeping together?'

'Would it bother you if I had?' my grandmother asked.

'No, I suppose not.'

Without answering my question she looked down at my erection, 'Why don't you go and wash that lovely cock of yours and come back and give it to me again?'

I was off the bed and into the bathroom in record time. I washed and rinsed my erection and plunged back into my grandmother's bedroom where she was waiting with her legs spread wide. I scrambled onto the bed and sank my cock deep into her cunt and started fucking her with long, hard thrusts.

'Has it turned you on, Matthew?' she asked, looking at me with her dark eyes as I fucked her. 'Hearing about what your mother and I got up to?'

'Yes,' I gasped, thrusting harder, my pelvis crashing into hers. 'Of course it has.'

'Your mother looks delicious naked,' she said softly. 'She's got beautiful full breasts and a lovely dark bush and she tastes divine!'

I came then, with a sort of gasping grunt. My third orgasm of the morning, short and sweet. I came out of my grandmother and rolled on my back, my penis softening.

'You never said what the tattoo was,' I said, suddenly.

'It's a rose. A red one. It's rather tasteful, actually. I used to kiss it a lot.'

'Why did you tell me those things?' I asked, not knowing if I meant the whole story or just the details of my mother's body.

'Why indeed,' she answered, softly.

I spent Saturday with my grandmother, as I mostly did nowadays. We made love on Saturday night, but I'd had three orgasms that day already and I struggled to climax. If I hadn't been thinking of my mother and grandmother together I don't think I'd have managed it at all. I was also in shock, to some degree. My mother had always been a rather remote and insular person. Not unfriendly, but with a certain hauteur, an aura about her that said, "I'm just that little bit better than the rest of you". So finding out that she and her mother were having an incestuous sexual relationship, and had been for years and years, was more than a surprise; it was a dislocation of everything I'd ever known or believed about my mother.

We made love on Sunday morning, too, but that wasn't as good as usual either. Debra seemed to sense this.

'Are you ok, Matthew?' she said after we'd finished. 'No, I suppose that's a bit of a silly question after what I told you yesterday. I imagine it's taking a lot of processing.' She stroked my brow. 'We both love you very much, nothing has changed.'

But she was wrong. Something had changed. I made my excuses after breakfast and went back to my flat where I pottered around doing housework, my mind in another dimension. Eventually I sat in my chair by the window and stared out across the street to the little arcade of shops opposite and gave myself up to thinking about what my gran had told me.

It felt a bit as if I'd just been told that I'd been adopted as a child and my mum wasn't my biological mother. Why had she been so fucking uptight, when clearly there was another person just beneath the surface? A wilder person. A more giving and empathic person. Possibly a nicer person. I didn't care about the incest. Why should I? I was fucking my grandmother. I cared that she hadn't been that other person to me, and to dad. Maybe if she had been, dad wouldn't have left.

And a tattoo! That was particularly galling; mum had always been contemptuous of anyone with a tattoo. I'd brought a girlfriend round a few years ago and she'd had a kingfisher tattooed on her shoulder and mum practically sneered at her and told me later that she thought the girl was "unsuitable". Presumably my father had known about it, or did she insist on wearing a nightdress, or only fucking in the dark?

Suddenly I sprang to my feet. I needed to see my mother. Not to confront her; Debra had made me promise not to say anything. But to look at her and listen to her and try to reconcile her with what I now knew.

She was in on a Sunday afternoon, of course. She didn't seem to go out much nowadays. Didn't seem to have many friends. I let myself in with my key and called out, 'Mum?'

'In the sitting room, Matthew.'

Sitting room indeed! Everybody else I knew called it the living room or the lounge. Only my mum called it the sitting room, as though it was some sort of stately home.

'This is a nice surprise,' she smiled at me as I walked through the doorway and I immediately forgave her a little bit because when she's not curling her lip in disdain, she's got a really nice smile.

She was sitting in her favourite easy chair, filing her nails. A little table next to her chair held an assortment of nail varnishes. My mum's got lovely hands and she's very proud of them. Long, tapering fingers and perfect oval nails which she paints in various shades of red.

'I was just going to make some tea. Would you like some?'

'I'll make it.' I disappeared into the kitchen and came back five minutes later carrying a mug of tea for me and a cup and saucer for my mother. I put hers on her little table and sat down on the sofa opposite and looked across the room at her.

Ruth Harding, my mother, is forty-seven years old, although with the help of cosmetics she could pass for less. She's about five feet six or seven and has a classic hourglass figure which she accentuates by wearing flared skirts with tight waistbands. You wouldn't describe her as slender, although she's not really overweight, certainly not by modern standards. Voluptuous probably describes it best. Her hips and bum have expanded a bit with the onset of middle age but the last time I saw her in a bikini, which was about six years ago, she looked ok. Her legs are long and quite sturdy and her breasts are full and heavy-looking under her blouses. If my grandmother's breasts can be described as being the size and shape of oranges, then my mum's are probably more like grapefruits.

But any real or imagined deficiencies in her figure tend to be compensated by her hair and her facial features. She's got a shoulder-length mass of wavy, dark-chocolate coloured hair which surrounds a face of exquisite prettiness. A smooth complexion, a full-lipped mouth, which reveals even, white teeth when she smiles, high cheekbones, a straight nose and dark, heavy-lidded eyes. Looking at her now I can't really see my grandmother's genes in her, except perhaps in the eyes.

We talked as she filed her nails, holding her hands up to her eyes every few minutes and turning her hand this way and that. I sipped my tea and looked at my mother, noting the beginnings of crows' feet at the corners of her eyes and her cleavage, which was just visible where her white, silk blouse was open at the neck. I noted her black stockings and high-heels - the only lady I knew who wore high-heels around her own house - and I looked at her skirt-clad hips and I imagined my grandmother undressing her and pulling her skirt down to reveal her suspender belt and stocking tops.

In fact I couldn't stop looking at my mother. I drank in her obvious femininity, her shapeliness, her curves, her elegance. She appeared in a new light to me. A very physical, sexual light. Overlay that with what my grandmother had told me about the two of them having sex together and I was soon dizzy with desire and my prick was hard and throbbing in my pants, my earlier antagonism largely forgotten and replaced by more primal urges.

Yes, my mother looked good. Very good. And desirable. I felt the stirrings of jealousy that my grandmother had seen mum naked, had explored her body's most intimate parts, had brought her to screaming climaxes...

My mother saying something jerked me out of my reverie.

'Sorry,' I said, 'I was miles away.'

'I was asking you which nail polish I should wear. I can't make up my mind between midnight ruby and crimson desire.' She held up two miniature bottles that looked about the same to me. 'Or maybe this dark emerald. I've never worn green before. It might be a bit racy, don't you think?'

'The green looks nice,' I said, thickly. My cock was rigid and uncomfortable.

'Ok.' She unscrewed the cap and proceeded to paint her nails, the chemical odour of nail varnish filling the room.

'What do you think?' she asked when she'd finished, holding her hands out to me, palms down and fingers splayed, her nails a dark, shiny green, like the leaves of a rhododendron bush. I had a sudden vision of them digging into my flesh as she writhed underneath me.

'Lovely,' I told her. 'And quite sexy,' I added before I could tell myself not to.

'Sexy?' she echoed. 'Oh goodness, do you think so?'

'Are you off out somewhere?' I asked, changing the subject.

'No,' she replied, 'not really. I'll have to do a supermarket shop tomorrow, or Tuesday. I ought to pop round to your grandmother's this week too, see if she's ok.'

'She's fine,' I said. 'I went round yesterday.'

My mother smiled at me again. 'You two are spending quite a lot of time together since she came back from France. That's nice. It's good of you to give your time to your grandmother, Matthew. She won't be around for ever.'

My ear was tuned to any hint of sub-text but I got nothing.

'I should be going,' I said. 'Things to do.' I stood up and took my mug into the kitchen.

'Well, thank you for popping round. It's quite made my day!' In a rare display of affection she hugged me, being careful with her nails, and kissed me on the cheek. I had a fleeting sensation of her soft lips on my skin and the scent of her perfume and then I was through the doorway and getting into my car, my prick still rigid, congratulating myself that it hadn't pressed it against my mother when she hugged me.

I went back to my flat where I thought about the events of the weekend. There was no doubt that I was now seeing my mother in a completely new light, and it had had a profound effect upon how I thought about her. Up till now, she'd just been my rather snooty mother. Always there for me but holding me slightly at arm's length. Now she seemed like the epitome of a sexually desirable, mature lady. And let's face it, I thought, if I could have sex with my grandmother, then why not with my mother? She was clearly not averse to a bit of incest. God, how good would that be! On the other hand, I told myself, I was in a relationship with my grandmother, so would screwing my mother at the same time be a betrayal? Of course not! The two of them were also in a relationship. How weird was this? And how much more weird could it get?

That night I masturbated to visions of my mother and my grandmother. I imagined the two of them in each other's arms, kissing; I imagined them with their heads between each other's legs, faces buried in sopping wet labia. I saw myself kissing my mother, fondling her big breasts and her hairy pussy, fingering her and fucking her, on top and from behind. I imagined my mother riding me, her generous breasts wobbling backwards and forwards as she ground her clitoris into my pelvis. I came with a deep groan and a gout of hot semen.