All characters in this story involved in sex are over 18.
Charlie suffered in that nowhere-state between sleep and wakefulness. He was cold and sore. The hard floor made his shoulder and hip ache. Gradually he remembered his situation: He and his mother hiked up the mountain and got caught in a storm, they found this refuge hut, one of many that the National Trust maintained in these mountains for lost or stranded hikers and skiers. In the dark, they made a fire thanks to some kind soul who'd left wood, matches and paper so they'd stripped off most of their soaked clothes to dry them.
At least his front was warmish. His mother, Anna lay spooned there, apparently sleeping. It was sensible for them to share body heat under the space blankets they'd brought in their one-day packs ("Just in case", Anna had said), but they were in underwear now and the fire had dwindled.
At 22 Charlie still adored his mother. She'd raised him alone, an only child, so theirs had always been a special bond. And now here she was, the backs of her thighs against the front of his, his stomach in the small of her back, his chest against her. In her doze she held one of his arms against her chest, and he realised that his wrist was probably actually over her nipple.
And his back was so cold. He looked over to the fireplace, saw embers there, and reluctantly left his mother's warmth to go and rekindle the fire. It took a couple of minutes, by the time he went back he was unsure if he should resume his former position, until Anna's head popped out of the space blanket, bleary-eyed, and she said: "Awww, come back baby. I'm cold."
As he edged in beside her, he allowed himself to look at her before pulling the blankets in close. She wore a simple white t-shirt, no bra strap visible. Below a small strip of bare flesh at the tops of her hips, she wore white cotton panties. They clung to her form, showing a rounded butt and the hint of a pussy mound.
Just seconds after he'd returned to the spooning position, he wished he hadn't looked. His mind held that vision, the round butt, its deep cleft, and... part of the shape of his mother's pussy. Had he really looked there?
His right arm was on her hip. She took his hand and pulled his arm in close, like before, so that he now felt her warm breast flesh along his inner forearm. He tried to ignore it, tried to will himself to relax back to sleep. It wasn't quite dawn yet, they weren't going anywhere soon. Best to rest.
It was impossible. The whole front of his body was in contact with a pretty woman. He felt soft flesh along his forearm -- one of her ample breasts. And that image, of her back, her thighs, her bum, and the forbidden place between her legs.
At forty Anna looked thirty. Medium-length dark brown hair, usually in a pigtail, framed a soft face with deep brown eyes, high cheeks and a never-ending smile. She was a head shorter than her son, whose work in the building trade kept him fit. He had joined a rowing club, and now his chest, shoulders and arms were showing the results of his training.
Again Charlie's mind fixated on that mental image of his mother. It made him acutely conscious of his penis. As it was, it was nestled in the right side of his underpants, and the twin forces of a tendency towards morning wood and being pressed against a woman's body challenged his imagination to the limit. Perhaps inevitably, it began to stir. The swelling head rubbed the fabric, the extra friction increased the sensitivity. To avoid poking his mother with it, he tried to roll away a little, take the pressure off. He looked at his mother. She appeared to have drifted back to sleep -- the renewed fire had warmed the room and she had a hot body next to her to help along her slumber.
As his thigh lost contact with her, Anna reached back with her hand to pull him back, moaning a stifled protest at the loss of warmth. And that's how Charlie's near-erect cock accidentally found itself between Anna's butt cheeks, the head resting gently, right on her pussy.
Charlie's senses screamed. He did not know what to do. Maybe he should wake her? Get out of bed? His awkwardness lasted just seconds, then Anna's hips moved as she sought more comfort, putting extra pressure backwards on the cock she hadn't even realised was there yet, but now was resting, through the two layers of thin fabric, right at the entrance to her pussy.
Charlie pulled his hips backwards, breaking the contact. But that only meant his cock now pressed against her inner thigh. He froze. But before he could do anything, Anna's hand slowly reached back to his hip, gently urging him back towards her. He stiffened in resistance, thinking she was dozing and maybe hadn't realised it was him, that is, until she looked back over her shoulder and urged him forwards once again.
Charlie's throat was dry, he looked into her eyes questioningly then swallowed hard, allowed his body to roll back to where it had been. Anna turned back away as Charlie's cock found its former nest. Taking the arm that was around her, she took his hand and placed it gently against her breast. Charlie immediately noted two things -- a pea-sized hardness in the palm of his hand, and heat on the end of his cock.
"Mum?"
"Ssshh, baby."
Crackling from the fire signified the increasing heat in the room. A moment of clarity arrived in Charlie's mind. All sorts of possibilities raced through his head, but they always returned to the reality of the present: his cock was against his mother's pussy-lips, and she held his hand to her breast. Still he wondered if she was truly awake, truly conscious of what they were doing. His doubts evaporated when Anna took his hand and put it under her t-shirt. He now cupped her full breast, flesh on flesh, felt its weight and warmth, and the hardened nipple. He squeezed, rolled it gently. He took the nipple between his fingers and thumb, felt it stiffen even more.
Anna moaned, sighed. She realised her son had his cock where nobody else's had been for... how many years now? But shouldn't she get away from him, beg his forgiveness? He was her son, and she was enjoying the closeness, the tender caress of his hand on her breast, and... sweet jesus, his cock resting against her pussy, now wet with desire. Guilt rose in her, so that for a moment her arousal waned. She was at the point of putting an end to this madness when two pairs of hips took control. Gently but surely, Charlie's pressed forwards almost involuntarily, and reflexively hers pushed back. Despite the resistance of their underwear, Charlie's cockhead was now inside her outer lips.
It wasn't enough. It was never going to be enough. As though by some invisible signal, Charlie broke the contact to pull his underwear down at the same time as Anna rolled her panties down and away from her hips. When Charlie put his cock back, the increased heat and wetness of her bare pussy flesh made him gasp. There was a second's hesitation, each asking themselves and the other a silent question, then Charlie simply pushed.
Anna's insides opened up fully, wetly. She moaned and almost squealed. She couldn't gauge size with just the head pressing her panties into her, but now... her son's cock was long and thick. He was still pressing, needing to be as deep inside her as he could, and just as his tip hit her cervix his mound pressed against her outer lips. Charlie's cock literally filled his mother's pussy.
"God, mum. You're so..." He didn't finish the thought. He was looking down now, his mind acknowledged the fact. His cock was buried inside his own mother, as he'd so often dreamed, and it was heaven. He pulled back a little, saw the glistening of her wetness in the orange firelight, then pressed it back. He didn't care about the pain of the hard floor now. It was banished by the sheer pleasure of his cock, gloved along its entire length by his mother's tight, soft wet pussy. He gripped the point of her hip in his free hand while he pushed into her.
Charlie felt a familiar boiling almost straight away. Anna felt it too. She rocked her hips back to urge him on, tell him it was OK. Charlie was lost in his lust. His balls tightened, his shaft went rigid, his mind went to fireworks and then pure incest lust came over him like a tidal wave -- a spurt, another, grunting his semen into his mother in a fog of burning lust, right inside, so that she felt his pulsing cock through her whole being.
Too soon it was over, Charlie's body lost its tension, he slumped beside her and lay there panting and regaining his senses. He wasn't even aware of her really. His cock was still in her wet tunnel, but for some seconds that was the only sense he got of her. As her whole being returned to his consciousness, he was torn between the desire to stay exactly where he was and the renewed insistent pain all along his left side.
Anna, always in tune with her son, felt his discomfort. She pulled her hips forwards, reluctantly letting her son's fabulous cock flop out of her, then pulled her panties back up and went over to the fireplace. Charlie watched her bottom, still amazed at what had just happened. Was she going to leave him now? Run away? Scream in disgust and revulsion? Dread overcame him. This was no small thing, what they'd just done, maybe he'd lost her forever?
Anna checked his coat, then her own, and decided his was drier. She lay it on the floor, near the fireplace. Charlie still watched her, knowing now that she was not leaving him but not yet sure what she was doing.
"Come over here, baby. It's warmer."
