"Get your cock out of my pussy right now, son."
Mom was aggravated, and I understood why. But on the other hand, it had taken me quite the effort to get to this point, and I wasn't about to give it all up too easily.
"In a moment. But can I ask you a question first?"
"No, right now." And she wiggled as if trying to extract my cock. But it was in too deeply. Which I made sure was the case, by keeping my pelvis right up against hers.
"I know it's wrong, mom. But doesn't it feel amazing?"
"If I say yes, will you take it out?" Her eyes were wide with excitement and fear.
I took that as a yes, but as I hadn't agreed to any deal, I used that to give her a few pumps. Out just a bit and then in. Again. Again.
She moaned. "All the way out. No. All the way out. Nnnn."
I kissed her lips. Top lip. Bottom lip. Top lip. And fucked her a few more strokes.
"What are you doing? Are you fucking your mother?"
"Yes." I stopped. "No." I resumed. "Yes."
"Stop. Stop."
I stopped.
"I never gave you permission to fuck me."
I instantly saw that the wrong answer here would be a big problem. Thankfully, in the heat of the moment, I came up with a right answer.
"Oh, mom, this is the best moment of my life. Please don't end it too soon."
We were in her bed. Spoon style. Her, with her nightgown rucked up over her hips. Me, with my pajama bottoms, down around my ankles. She turned around and looked at me.
"You're willing to risk our relationship, our love, our everything, just so you can say you fucked your mother once?"
"That's not the way I look at it. The way I see it, my fantasy of making love to the most important, sexy, beautiful woman in my life is coming true."
"Flatterer."
"It's true. But there's more." And I gave her a few good strokes just to remind her of what she was tacitly agreeing to.
"Nnnn. What's the more part?"
"Can you keep a secret?"
"Yes," she whispered. And I used the time to reach over her left hip to put my hand in the valley of her V. Two fingers stretched out to rub around her clitoris.
"I don't want to just make love to you once, for a moment. I want to be your lover. I want to make all sorts of love to you. Tenderly. Passionately. Like a lover. Like an animal."
I speed up my thrusts, and she began to meet them with her own. Was she aware she was doing it? Had she agreed, or was she merely so turned on by my words she no longer was in control of herself? In any case, I didn't stop to find out.
"I want to make love to you in every room of the house. I want to watch you walking around naked. I want to surprise you in the shower. I want you to give me a blowjob while I'm eating breakfast. I want to watch TV with you, while you let me lick you until you scream."
She was starting to whip her head left and right, right and left. But I knew she wasn't saying no. She was merely moments from a great orgasm. And so was I. My cock was pistoning in and out of her sweet, drippy vaginal walls, and there was only one way to call it: I was fucking my mother, and she was fucking me right back.
"And there's one thing even more."
"What?" she asked, and it was mostly a scream as her excitement built and built.
"I want you to love it so much that we have to do it again and again. You, asking your son to fill you full of his sperm. And me, doing the most depraved thing with his mother, over and over, and each of us crazy with desire for sex, sex, sex..."
My cock felt as big as a moon rocket, filling the aching tunnel of my mother's cunt. And with these last words, I could feel her going over the edge. She screamed, "No, no, no no," and bathed my cock with her secretions. And I let out one long "Yes," and pumped my sperm deep into her womb—the womb that had given birth to me, lo these 20 years ago.
It took us probably 10 minutes of heavy breathing to come back to normality. If there is such a state, when you have your cock still rampant, still stuck up your mother's cunt.
Finally my mother spoke. "We didn't."
"We did."
"You shot your sperm in me? I could get pregnant." And with that, she disencunted me and ran to the bathroom.
Several minutes later, she returned. I had started to wonder whether she was coming back. Her nightgown now hung down to her knees, barely showing any of the sexy skin I had enjoyed just moments before.
"How could you do that? I thought you loved me." She stood over me, by the side of the bed.
"But mom, I said that at our last therapy session because that's what you wanted me to say. As I remember, it wasn't one minute before when you admitted you never were a good mother. You never stood up for me. You always took the easy way out. You always cared about yourself more than anyone else. You made it clear I was number four in your life. You loved yourself most. Then Dad. Than Angela. (That's my sister.) You said it yourself that you didn't really like boys, and would have preferred if I were a girl, or even that I was never born."
My mother started sobbing. The truth hurts? Nah. She's just a drama queen on top of all that. We had gone over this in together in therapy. The four of us had been seeing a family therapist for a year now, just because I had taken my father's rifle and shot up some mailboxes. OK, two dozen mailboxes. And crashed the car while drunk. And had wrapped my lips around the rifle a few times and thought about blowing my head off. So there were those things to talk about. Angela had her issues too, including sleeping with her teachers and our priest, but my issues seemed to take precedence. Oh, and mom's slight problem with shoplifting, which got her arrested three times, and dad being of the addictive personality, with an overfondness for alcohol, opioids and hoarding. So we weren't the typical family next door, unless you grew up next to the Mansons.
"So this is your way of getting back at me after all these years? You want to bring me down to your level? You want to fuck me for all those times I ended up..."
"Screwing me?" I interrupted. "No. You see, I want to love you. I want us to have a good relationship. But I know if we just let things be the way they were in the past, I'd just move away and never see you again. I can do that. I'm a man now. But all those times you never were there for me because you had to go to the gym, or pick out a new dress. What you were saying was that looking good and being sexy was more important to you than being a good mother. Or, really, that was the way you thought a good mother should act. Maybe you were trying to get dad to pay more attention to you, But over all those years, you were also teasing me. Teasing me with your body and your sexuality."
She collapsed into a seated position, holding her head and crying. "It's not right. I'm evil. What you did was evil. Against the law, and nature. It's a crime."
"And what is being a bad mother, except all those?"
"That doesn't make it right."
"You're right. It doesn't."
She parroted back. "I'm right. It doesn't. It doesn't make it right."
I saw my chance. "But there's one thing that does make it right." Under the covers, I kicked off my pajama bottoms.
"What?"
"Stand up."
"What?"
"You heard me. Stand up."
She stood up, as did I. In one motion, I pulled her nightgown up, up over her head. She gasped. "Look," I said, pointing at the floor-to-ceiling mirror she had next to her walk-in closet. "Look at us."
I walked her a few steps closer to the mirror, and then stood next to her. She covered her large breasts in her hands, but left her lower extremities uncovered.
"You see how similar we are. We have the same nose, the same cheeks, the same mouth, the same jawbone. Our ears are the same."
Our hair was different, but that's because hers is long and dyed, mine is short. "We have the same build."
"Well, not entirely," she said, as a slight smile passed over her face. I saw her glance had been cast down at my penis, which was still mostly erect.
"You see, all those years of unhappiness we felt. It wasn't because we were so different, but because we were so alike."
