Chapter Two - And Aunty Makes Three
Peter Balfour finished work early and decided to head to the creek and take a swim. He stripped naked and dove into the cool, clear water. His twenty-year-old body was well muscled and developed from working hard on the farm; he was fit, tanned, healthy and very well endowed. His eight-inch penis swayed from side to side between his legs when he climbed out of the creek and onto the bank, it had a good girth and swelled to ten inches of solid meat when tumescent.
Peter pulled his watch from his shirt pocket, it was five-thirty and he had an appointment at six in the afternoon that he always kept. He had plenty of time today because he was out and about in his brand new 1967 Chevrolet pickup. It was painted a practical light olive green for working the farm but the new chrome glistened in the afternoon sun. It was his pride and joy, he and his mother had looked at the farm's books and figured they could afford to buy it to replace the rusty old pickup in which his father had run away.
William Balfour, Peter's father, had been missing for over a year now. A hardworking farmer who had descended into drunkenness and become a degenerate alcoholic, William was last seen driving away from the farm in his old pickup. He was listed as a missing person but no one was looking for him. It was assumed that by now he was probably an itinerant bum in a nearby city or more likely a John Doe buried in a pauper's grave somewhere.
Peter let the sun dry his body and then he dressed and climbed into the cab of his truck and drove the five miles home at a steady twenty miles per hour. This gave him time to park the truck in the barn and pick some flowers for his mother from her garden out front of the farmhouse.
At thirty-six-years-old Margaret Balfour, nee Ryan, was a stunning woman. She was wearing full makeup, earrings and a necklace and her black hair was worn in a bob with bangs cut just above her big blue eyes. Meg preferred the conservative fashions of the fifties rather than the modern bright-coloured shifts and skirts, patterned tights and low-block heels that were now popular. She was big-breasted and long-legged and liked to dress to show off her attributes. She was wearing a navy-blue, knee-length pencil-skirt, a white fitted satin blouse, black four-inch high heels and seamed flesh-toned stockings. Not farm attire at all.
On the few occasions that she went into town she would dress in modern garb but Meg liked the nostalgic look of her early womanhood in the nineteen-fifties. Besides, her son like his mother dressed this way too, it reminded him of the hours they had spent together each day when he was home-schooled by her. But Peter was now the man of the house.
Meg had spent the day working in her garden and doing housework. At five o'clock she started dinner and then went upstairs to her bedroom to get changed, fix her makeup, and came had down just before six o'clock sprayed liberally with perfume.
Meg heard the door slam and immediately became excited. There was one chore that she and Peter always took care of at six o'clock, a chore they both fully enjoyed. Meg leaned over the kitchen bench pretending to fiddle with some condiments, she kicked up a heel, opening up the kick-pleat in the back of her skirt to expose the seams on her stockings running up the back of her long legs.
Peter inhaled the appetising smell of dinner mingled with his mother's perfume and strode across the dining room, smiling. He pressed himself against his mother, pushing his hard cock against her buttocks and cupping her breasts, he could feel that her nipples were hard. He nuzzled her neck and shoulders.
"Hard day in the fields Petey?" Meg asked bearing back against him with her buttocks.
"Yes mom, it was a hard day," Peter, nipped her earlobe playfully.
"As hard as you feel against your mother right now?" her bright-red lipsticked-lips parted in a grin.
"Maybe not that hard," Peter chuckled and smelled her hair.
"Shall I help you with that?" Meg turned around in her son's embrace and stared at him with her pretty blue eyes.
Peter pressed his lips to hers and kissed her hungrily and held her tight against him. Meg opened her mouth so that he could put his tongue inside her. Peter squeezed her buttocks and moaned with lust.
"Yes mom, you can help me," Peter moaned.
"Like this son?" Meg took a half-step back and reached for the bulge in his pants.
Meg traced the outline of her son's hard cock through his jeans and was not surprised when a wet-patch appeared. Her nylon panties were wet from her own juices afterall.
She unzipped him and extracted his engorged phallus with some difficulty. She was always amazed at the heftiness of her son's penis in her small hands. She used her red-nailpolished fingertip to dab at the globule of pre-ejaculate that exuded from the eye of his cock. She bought the finger to her lips and put out the tip of tongue and lapped at it.
"Mmm Petey, you taste good," Meg grinned.
"Perhaps you had better get a larger sample," Peter smiled back at her.
"But first let see how good you taste mom," Peter slipped his hand under his mother's skirt.
Meg shuddered as Peter slipped his fingertip across the front of his mother's translucent white nylon panties. Her knees began to buckle when he pressed the silky material into her vulva and caressed her labia with it. He deliberately kept his fingers away from his mother's clitoris, he would make her beg for him to touch it but she had duties to perform first.
He extracted his finger and sniffed his mother's pungent bouquet and then tasted her vaginal secretions.
"You taste pretty good too mom," Peter smirked.
Meg was halfway to her knees and Peter pressed down on her shoulders and Meg knelt on the floor before him. She took his cock in her hand and lightly caressed it. Peter was likely to prematurely ejaculate if she stimulated him too much too soon. Not that it mattered too much, he soon recovered, sometimes not even becoming fully flaccid before he was ready to go again. But she wanted his semen in her mouth or her vagina; it would be wasted splattered on her fingers, although she had licked his cum off them plenty of times in the past.
Peter thrust his hips out, he was impatient for his mother to take him in her mouth. She acquiesced and guided his throbbing cock to her lips. She licked the tip of his penis with the tip of her tongue, lapping at the precum. Then she fluttered her tongue on her son's fraenulum and listened to him groan. Finally she took him in her mouth and began to suck him.
"Oh yes please mom, that is so good!" Peter moaned, putting his hands on her head to guide her.
His cock was too big to take it all in her mouth, but she took as much as she could, working her lips along the shaft, using her tongue on the bottom of it, drinking the efflux of precum that issued from his cock. She cupped his scrotum and gently massaged his testes making him groan louder. She knew he wouldn't last much longer.
