A Lovers' Tale

Schaka©

An abused woman finds love and redemption in the arms of her son.

This story contains oral, vaginal, and anal sex. It explores themes that may be disturbing to some.

*****

A light cold mist fell, as I enveloped my shivering petite mother in my arms. I could feel her small breasts heave as she cried into my chest. Even in this moment of shame, her closeness is arousing. My hand slips down her side to her slim hip. I gently pat her behind. Through her tears, she looks up at me and smiles wanly.

My father stands stolidly off to one side. Like our lives for the past several years, he is at once a part of our tableau and distant from it. His sallow skin reeks of the rotgut whiskey that is his addiction. It is that addiction, and his penchant for likeminded whores, that is causing our humiliation. We were being evicted. In the space of ten years we devolved from a spacious home in an upscale suburb to a crammed bungalow to this vermin infested hovel in a crime ridden area of the city.

Through it all my mother stood by him. She endured the lost weekends when he went on drunken benders. She rationalized the cheap lipstick she scrubbed off his shirts and underwear. She excused his boorish behavior to our family and friends.

She even took a job cleaning rooms at the local no tell motel to make ends meet. Her ride to work meant taking two busses and a train. It took an hour and half each way. Yet she persevered. The stress took a physical and mental toll on her. She began walking with the slight stoop and downcast eyes of a person who has lost confidence in themselves. Her once stylishly coiffured strawberry blond hair now hung limply to her shoulders.

I seethed with rage as I watched my beautiful mother's spirit broken. I knew it was his failure not hers. It was because of his alcohol addiction that we were reduced to near homelessness.

Mom and I were as close as a mother and son should be. And like most boys, she was the object of my first sexual fantasies. However, our dire circumstances forced an additional closeness on us. It was a closeness brought on by a survivor's instinct. We were as two people stranded on a desert island. We needed each other to survive. We mentally and physically clung to each other in our despair.

By the time I reached 18 years old, my father's drunken verbal and physical abuse had broken my mother's spirit. She developed a nervous stammer and cowered in his presence. Paradoxically, I went through periods where I hated them both. He for abusing my mother and her for taking it.

He was always abjectly apologetic in the days after one of his drunken verbal and physical fusillades. However, the cycle repeated itself. That is until the night my anger overcame my natural respect for my father.

I heard mom's wail from my cramped bedroom in the damp basement. I knew it was my father abusing my mother. Again! A red rage welled in me. Barefoot, clad only in my boxers, I bounded upstairs and threw open the door.

My mother cowered naked on the kitchen floor in a fetal position, her hands and arms raised trying to protect her face. Next to her lay the rags of her old flannel nightgown. My hulking 6' 2", 300 pound father stood over her, his shriveled wet cock hanging limply through the opening in his boxers, his large hand raised to hit her again. Something in me snapped. In a blind rage, I charged across the kitchen floor and tackled him. We fell to the cracked tile floor in a heap with me on top.

I went medieval, pummeling him until he was bloodied and semi conscious cowering on the floor. A red rage clouded my mind and vision. My mother saved me from killing him. She wrapped her slim arms around my waist. She tried to pull me off him. My rage cooled as I felt her warm moist breasts against my back.

"Please Hank! Stop! Stop baby!"

I knelt over my bloody father, my fists still balled, adrenalin flooding my body. I felt her soft kiss on my sweaty back. Her arms circled and gently caressed my abdomen as she cooed soothing words. I felt the scratch of her pubic hair on my thigh.

"You bastard," I growled, "touch her again and I'll kill you."

I stood and stepped back allowing him to rise to all fours. He used the back of a kitchen chair to lever himself to his feet. Blood streamed from his nose and mouth, staining the front of his Carharrt work shirt. One eye was swollen shut.

"You bastard! This is my house. That useless bitch is my wife! Get out!"

Despite mom clinging to me, I swung and punched him in the gut. He explosively exhaled, stumbled backwards and fell against the kitchen door.

"John! Hank! Stop! Please stop!"

Mom stepped around and physically got between my father and me. When dad attempted to move toward us, she raised her tiny hand like a traffic cop halting traffic, her naked butt brushed against me.

"No John! You Leave! You both need some time to cool off."

"Fuck you! Fuck you both!" Dad hurled invective as he snatched open the kitchen door and stormed out.

Sweat streamed down my body, soaking my underwear. As I attempted to follow him, mom turned and wrapped her arms around my waist, her head lay against my belly. Only her clinging to me prevented me from following him.

With the crisis behind us for the moment, mom began to cry uncontrollably. I wrapped my arms around her naked warmth and pulled her tighter to me. As I gently kissed her bruised forehead, her nakedness pressing into my body aroused me.

"I've failed him as a wife. He needs me and I can't help."

"Mom! Stop! You owe him nothing! You have to stand up for yourself!"

I was embarrassed that as she clung to me, I was again aware of the scratch of her pubic hair on my thigh. Even sweaty and bruised, her heady fragrance filled my nostrils.

Mom, looked up at me, her eyes red rimmed and wet. Her gamin like face always reminded me of a young Audrey Hepburn.

"We'd better get cleaned up." As her arms dropped from my waist, she looked down at my semi erect manhood and then quickly turned away.

I watched her still shapely 42 year old behind as she hurried down the hall to the bathroom. She was like a porcelain doll with full womanly hips. They swayed deliciously as she moved.

She returned wearing one of dad's old shirts and carrying towels and the first aid kit. She moistened the towel in the kitchen sink then knelt in front of me. As she washed my scratches and bruises, she made tutting sounds. I flinched as she washed a particularly angry bruise.

For the first time in weeks, a genuine smile played across her face.

"You want mommy to kiss it and make it feel better like she used to." She said teasing me as she dabbed.

I laughed then grimaced as the movement caused me discomfort.

"I don't know! We're both a lot older now. Those magical kisses might not work."

Mom stopped, balled her fists and sat them on her small hips.

"Oh! So now I'm too old," she said in mock anger.

"Mom, you know I didn't say you were too old. You're twisting my words."

She surprised me when she leaned forward and gently kissed the bruise. Her hands left her waist and grasped my waist as she kissed the bruises on my chest. Her kisses were feather light, barely touching my angry bruises.

My cock began to harden as she kissed my lower chest. I felt her freeze then pull back. "Perhaps we should stick with the towels and ointment."

I felt the heat rise in my face. "Mom, I'm..."

She brought one finger to my lips and pressed lightly. "Shush! It does this old girl good to know that at least one man finds her attractive." She looked at me doe eyed. "My hero," she whispered.

My voice squeaked when I tried to speak. I cleared my throat.

"We need to get some ice on your bruises, mom."

I took the towel, rinse it out and filled it with ice from the refrigerator. As I applied cold compresses to mom's bruises, I could see they were turning an angry black and red. She whimpered as my ministration caused her pain.

"I'm such a baby!"

"You are my mommy baby," I whispered as I kissed her forehead. "I...uh...need to open the shirt to clean your other wounds."

She nodded her agreement. My fingers were like thick sausages as I fumbled with the buttons on the shirt. Her eyes were unreadable as they went from my hands unbuttoning the shirt to my face. She blushed when I opened dad's shirt.

Her nipples were hard, erupting from her pink areola like coral erasers. A pattern of bruises covered the area under her small breast, across her small womanly belly pooch to the forest of her reddish pubic thatch.

Despite myself, I was aroused, my cock pressing against the slit in my boxers. I was living a pubescent dream seeing the object of my fantasies partially naked in front of me.

Mom flinched and groaned as I cleaned her bruises. "Should I kiss your bruises to make them better?"

Before she could answer, I leaned down and kissed a particularly angry looking bruise on her abdomen. I felt her trembled as I moved to another lower down bruise, my hand resting on her quivering belly. I was a man possessed! Her heady aroma was like a drug. She grasped my head in both of her small hands, pulling my head away.

"No Hank! No! We...we mustn't! I'd better finish."

"Are you sure you don't want me to kiss your bruises like you did mine?"

For a moment we stared at each other. When mom finally spoke her voice was quiet.

"You know I do! You are my knight in shining armor. But they are things we cannot do!"

"Mom," I said gently, "I understand!"

Her voice was weak, quavering.

"I'm...I'm sorry! I'll take care of the rest. It's not proper for a son to take such intimate care of his mother's body."

Her hands still held mine pressed to her quivering abdomen. I would learn later that our closeness, not the cold compress caused the quivering.

"I don't mind," I croaked. My dick ached from being so hard. I could feel the wet dampness of my precum soaked boxers against my thigh. Mom's face colored as she saw my hardness.

She pulled my hand from her abdomen to her mouth and kissed it again.

"I'm going to bed."

Mom rose, modestly pulling the front of the shirt together and holding it closed with her small delicate hands. My father's huge shirt hung loosely to her ankles. She looked for all the world like a waif, her eyes large, dark and luminous.

"You are not going into HIS room! He will only abuse you again when he comes home."

"I have to," she said sadly, her eyes flicking from my crotch to the floor. "That is my place."

I scooped her feather light body up in my arms. My father's large shirt billowed out, my hands ended up on the bare silken skin of mom's thighs just below her butt.

"No mom! Not tonight! You'll stay in my room where I can protect you."

"No baby! That would not be proper."

She weakly resisted, but I prevailed. She wrapped her arms around my neck and laid her head on my shoulder. The warmth of her breath on my chest sent chills through my body as I carried her downstairs to the only refuge we had.

"I really shouldn't! He will get angry," she murmured as she clung tightly to me.

"Mom, I don't give a damn about him getting angry! And I promise you, if he touches you again, I'll kill him!"

She never returned to her marital bed. Even when dad ultimately returned home. After several days, he launched into a tirade, citing his right to sleep with his wife. When he balled up his fist and attempted to grab my mother, I stepped between them.

"If you touch her...!"

He took a step back and scanned my face with his rheumy eyes.

"Fuck you both,' he growled and skulked off to his bedroom.

In later years, I realized the tableau was almost primeval. I was the young warrior, assuming control of our small tribe. I claimed the old chief's place and woman. When he skulked off to his empty bed, he tacitly accepted my primacy. He could stay. He was still my mother's husband and my father. However, he was no longer the man of the house.

Sleeping with my mother in the small twin size bed was an awkward. It was inevitable that we saw and felt more of each other's bodies than a mother and son normally would. However, over time we grew comfortable seeing each partially dressed, and on a few occasions, naked.

We were not lovers. Not in the physical sense. But we were intimates. At night, we clung to each other in the dank cold of the basement, under ragged blankets and whispered of better times. We cuddled for warmth, mom's small body pressed into mine with my arms around her.

There were difficult moments. Inevitably, I would wake up to my morning wood poked against her small shapely behind. Mom was sanguine about that. She would reach between us and smooth my t-shirt she used for a nightgown. Other times, I would wake to find my large hands covering her small shapely breasts. We both smiled nervously and pretended nothing untoward happened.

Soon we grew accustom to even this nocturnal intimacy. We cuddled without shame. In her sleep, mom would press against my morning wood. Her hands would cover mine cupping her breasts. Again, we were not lovers but intimates.

We never crossed the line into a full blown sexual relationship in the two years since dad and I fought. I wanted too. Sometimes I pressed the issue, dry humping mom's ass while massaging her breasts. Mom would moan, grinding her bare ass against me as I caressed her breasts and pulled on her nipples.

If I tried to enter her, she would scoot away.

"No, Hank! We mustn't! That would be wrong."

"But mom! We both want it!

"We can't, baby! We can't! I am your mother and your father's wife. We cannot commit incest and make a cuckold of your father. I think too much of him to betray him like that"

We shared what some might consider an unusually intimate relationship for a mother and son. It would take the humiliation of homelessness to push us into the ultimate taboo.

***

My thin cotton dress was moist from the mist, as the sheriff's deputies stacked our belongings on the curb. Our neighbors peering through their windows exacerbated the humiliation. After years of financial setbacks, punctuated by stints in alcoholic rehabilitation for my husband, John, we were losing our last refuge. I hated the place with its vermin and grimy windows. It was, however, our gathering place, our cave sheltering us in a hostile world. I buried my face into the only safe place left, the crook of my son's strong arm.

It had finally come to this. We are homeless. Despite what my son tells me, I know it's my fault. I tried to be a good wife, to be supportive of my husband. My failure to be a good enough wife has brought us to this. After 25 years of marriage, with the lone exception of my loving son, we have lost everything.

The fact that I cling to Hank instead of my husband in this moment of stress and humiliation says a lot about the state of my marriage. I have failed in my wifely duties. I stand apart from the husband I failed and shamefully seek the comfort of my son's arms.

Hank and I grew closer after he and John had a big confrontation a few years back. John came home drunk, reeking of whiskey. I was unable to sleep, worried that he might come to harm. I was sitting in the kitchen in my flannel nightgown when he finally stumbled in.

Relieved, I stood and went to him to greet. He reeked of stale alcohol and cheap perfume. He turned his head away as I stood on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He placed his large rough hands on my shoulders and pressed me to my knees.

I knew what he wanted. I did it often. It was my duty. Our entire sex life was me giving him blowjobs. It was nearly ten years since we had any other sex. I did not mind. Not really! My religious upbringing said I was his helpmate.

I sucked hard, trying to get him an erection. I really tried. My jaws ached from my efforts. He finally pushed me away and slapped me across my face.

"You useless bitch! You can't even suck a cock!"

He grabbed my nightgown in the collar lifting me off the floor. The cheap material ripped and I fell to the floor naked. I saw stars as my head bounced off the floor. John tossed the ragged remains aside. I lay in a fetal position as he rained blows on my body. I must have screamed for him to stop. I don't really recall. The blow to my head when it hit the floor left me groggy and disoriented. As I drifted in and out of consciousness, I heard an animal howl. John let out an explosive exhale and went flying across the kitchen.

Through a red haze, I saw Hank take John to the floor. He straddled him and pummeled his head and body. John tried to fight back but at 6' 1" 210 pounds, my 18 year old son was younger and stronger. The ferocity of his attack was at once frightening and, shamefully, arousing. The two men in my life were fighting over me. Thinking back, that was the first time I saw Hank as man who was also my son. At some visceral level, I knew I was the prize to the winner.

My nipples were painfully hard. I felt a tightness in my chest and wet a warmth between my legs. It was shameful. My son and my husband were fighting and I was getting aroused. Naked, I struggled to all fours. The warmth in my sex permeated my body.

Even as I feared he might do mortal harm to his father, I watched my virile son protect me. My heart beat faster. Not with fear now, but at how the muscles in his arms, bare back and sinewy thighs moved as he defended me. His ear length dark hair wetly framed his face as he pummeled John. His face, twisted in rage, excited me.

I shook myself out of my disgraceful reverie. I crawled to where they fought and wrapped my arms around Hank's back trying to pull him off his father. As my face was pressed into his sweating body, his intoxicating animal like scent invaded my nostrils.

"Please baby! Stop before you kill him! Please!"

It was not my strength but my Hank's acquiescence that caused him to stop beating his father. Breathing heavily, Hank rose to his knees. John cowered on the floor. He had pulled himself into a fetal position with his arms protecting his face.

I will never understand the impulse that made me kiss Hank's sweaty back. As he stood, I stood with him, my nude body pressed into his back. My arms, wrapped around his waist, felt the ripple of the hard muscles of his abdomen as he stood. I could feel the back of his thigh on my sex. I shivered, my pussy wet with my unconscionable lust for my son. His perspiration moistened the front of my body.

Shameful sensations coursed through my body as I clung to my son. My nipples ached from being so hard for so long. The acrid odor of his perspiration filled my nostrils. It excited me and involuntarily I pressed my privates against his thigh.

After John left, over my half hearted protest, my son scooped me up and carried to his bedroom in the basement. I never left.

Since then, John stays out days at a time drinking and I sleep in Hank's room. I constantly worry about what might happen to him on one of those benders. His sallow skin and labored breathing suggest he is not well. He has begun to not bathe. He only shaves sporadically. I know it's wrong. However, I am happy that at night I now inhale my son's manly fragrance instead of my husband unwashed body or smell his fetid breath.

I know it's wrong to be this close to my son. I know polite society would condemn the fact that I sleep in my son's bed caressed by his strong youthful arms. However, what am I to do? In his arms is the one place I feel safe and loved.

At first, it was disconcerting to wake up wrapped in his arms with his hand cupping my breast and his erection pressed against my behind. My Christian upbringing reinforced by memories of my bible thumping parents, screamed at the impropriety. I rationalized our intimacy. I accepted the impropriety.

Shamefully, there were nights I awoke to the feel of his tool between my ass cheeks dry humping me. Over time, I returned his sexual overtures, grinding my ass against him. Sometimes I felt the steel of his rod sliding through my engorged vaginal lips. I shivered at the intimacy. I drew the line at penetration. I'm not sure why. I wanted to.

Now, as the deputies stack our few meager possessions on the curb, his strong arms envelope me. They provide a physical and emotional barrier to the elements and our humiliation. Even now, with my world falling apart, I feel safe in his embrace. I am comforted when his hand slides familiarly over my hip and pats my behind. Often over the years I have sought validation and comfort from him. He is my bulwark against the abuse John has heaped on us. In those ways, he is more of a man than his father. He can accept and show affection.

This closeness, this emotional dependence has led to behavior some might find questionable. My only defense is the old one about walking a mile in my shoes. Spend 25 years in the emotional desert created by a distant abusive husband and you will seek comfort wherever you can. Perhaps we have touched each other inappropriately. Initially, it never went further than that.

***

I could feel mom's small breasts press against my chest as she clutched my forearm, her fingers flexing on my arm in her anguish. During our slide from a semblance of prosperity to a scant step above homelessness, she and I grew closer. We were always close in the mother/son sense. However, the financial calamity that befell us when dad's drinking finally cost him his job, also made us confidants.

After our confrontation, dad was rarely home. Those days were a relative heaven. He became the outsider who infrequently intruded on our meager existence. We tacitly accepted he had a slim hold on our lives.

Over mom's strenuous objections, I quit college and got a job working evenings at Burger Heaven. Many nights after working 10-12 hour shifts flipping burgers, mom and I would sit across from each other at the kitchen table and talk, I in my boxers; she in her thin flannel nightgown.

"Mom, you should leave him. He is never here anyway. You and I could find a place together."

"He needs me, Hank! I know you can't remember, but he was once a loving husband and father."

My anger welled in me as I slapped my hand on the worn cracked Formica of the kitchen table.

"He is an abusive drunk," I screamed, and if he hurts you again, I'll kill him."

Mom stood and walked around the table. She stepped behind me and wrapped her arms around my neck. Her head is next to mine, her soft cheek pressed against mine. Her closeness calms me.

"Don't do that, Hank! If you do, they will take you away and I will have nothing."

***

We loaded the van with all we could. The heavier items Hank and John stacked to the front to balance the weight. The leaf springs on the old truck were in bad shape. What we could not take would be soaked by the persistent light shower and be worthless. When we finished loading as much as we could, Hank walked to the back and opened the cargo doors.

A small bench seat filled the back. His old truck was once a classy custom van with carpeted walls and mood lighting. It sported two captain's chairs in the driver's cabin and two more behind that. The rear bench seat folded down into a bed.

"I'll drive," dad said, his voice slurred.

"John, you've been drinking."

"I'm the man of this house," he said, his arm loosely waving at the place we were being evicted from.

"if you were more of a man, she would be sleeping with you. Not hiding from you in the basement."

"Hiding! Hiding!" My father's voice was derisive, his large meaty finger stabbed at the air. "I know what you are doing down there! It's sick! I should tell those deputies and see what they do about it!"

"Stop it! John, you drive. But you are a sick bastard if you believe what you are suggesting. Hank, help me into the truck."

"Why the hell are you going to sit back there?"

"Because, John, you and I have nothing to talk about."

"You skinny bitch! I suppose you are going to blame this on me too."

"Mom! Dad! Please! The situation is bad enough without you two fighting."

"Well fuck you then!"

"I may as well fuck myself. It's been years since you touched me. You're too much in love with the bottle and the sluts you pick up at the bar."

Something snapped in me. I'm not sure what it was. I loved my husband. However, somehow I still loved him but I felt different about him. I had tried to help him. I really had.

***

I was proud of her. She stood up to my father. However, to short circuit their argument, I scooped mom up and deposited her in the back of the van.

My hands caressed her warm bare legs as her short dress rode up on her thighs. She was as light as a feather. As I deposited her in the van, her skirt flew up, revealing her pink panties with the blue sunflowers. Dad snorted, turned, and walked to the driver's side door. He snarled at me when I saw him take a pull on a bottle of rotgut he secreted in the van.

Mom was sitting with her back against the carpeted wall of the van crying. Her skirt was still up.

"Nice girls sit like ladies," I teased, trying to lighten her mood.

She smiled through her tears. Then she straightened her skirt.

"Who told you I was a nice girl." She smiled through her tears.

For a moment, we held each others eyes. Then I climbed into the van and closed the cargo doors.

Boxes and suitcases filled the floor between the seats. Our pitiful few clothes were draped over the captain's chairs. From the back of the van, dad was clearly visible. If he turned his head, he could see us. I sat against the opposite carpeted wall with my legs spread. Mom sat opposite me with her legs between mine and crossed at the ankle. The hem of her skirt pulled up to mid thigh, revealing her satiny slim legs and thighs.

We both looked toward the front as father yanked the truck in gear and sped off. In front of us was an uncertain future. The manager at the motel where mom worked agreed to let us have a room. Behind was the evidence of our destitution piled haphazardly on the curb in the quickening rain.

"Here mom! Wrap yourself in this blanket until we get to the motel and we can change out of these wet clothes."

Instead of taking the blanket, mom leaned forward and got on all fours. She crawled the few feet to me, turned and sat down with her back against me.

"Cover us both! Our body heat will keep us warm."

After I covered us with the blanket, mom found my hands and placed them on her abdomen. Then she lay against my chest, her head turned to one side watching dad's back.

***

I arranged for us to stay in the motel where I worked. The manager was sympathetic to my circumstances. However, he could only give us one room and that for only a few days. The three of us would be cramped into that one room.

We had made no plans past that. Sleeping in the van was not an option, it was filled with our stuff. A homeless shelter was a possibility.

Long ago, I read a travel voucher about California. In the hills above Monterey Bay, in the Santa Cruz mountains, there was an enclave called the Misty Valley. The brochure said it was a private community of technical professionals and artists. It went on to say the residents led an alternative life style and were fiercely independent. My heart ached for that live and let live life style, to be free of my life's entanglements.

There are times when you never really decide to do something. It just happens. I read somewhere that our individual life experiences accumulate and move us in a given direction. My decision was like that, an accumulation of experiences.

As Hank watched perplexed, I turned and straddled him.

"Cover us with the blanket."

"What are you doing, mom?"

I held my finger to my lips and nodded at John driving.

As Hank leaned to wrap the blanket around us, I took his face in my hands and kissed him. It was a soft kiss. A lingering kiss. He sighed as my tongue probed his lips seeking entrance.

Our tongues played as we gave ourselves up to the passion of the kiss. I felt my son's hands tremble as he lifted the hem of my dress. I shivered as his large hands grasped my ass.

"Push your pants down," I whispered in his ear. I could feel his delicious hardness pressing against the wet gusset of my panties.

"Are you sure, mom?" He nibbled at my earlobe as he whispered to me.

Unable to speak because of my nervousness at what we were about to do, I could only nod my head. I rose to my knees and let him struggle down his pants and underwear. I reached between us and for the first time held my son's cock in my hands.

It was a thing alive, hard and pulsing yet pliant to my touch. With my other hand, I pushed the gusset of my panties to the side. We giggled nervously, stealing furtive glances at my husband's back as I took several attempts to get his tool positioned at my hole. Our foreheads touched as, for the first of countless times, my son's cock entered my pussy.

I could feel him pulsing in me as we kissed. I wrapped my arms around his neck. We held each other's eyes as I slowly slid back and forth, relishing the feel of him in me.

The van was caught in slow moving traffic. I saw John place the whiskey bottle to his lips, toss his head back and take a long draught. A torrent of emotion rushed through me as began to move up and down on Hank's cock. He was large but not overly so. His father may have been larger. However, he touched parts of me that had not been touched in years.

My climax came quickly. I'm not sure if it was the passion of the moment, the illicitness of our incestuous act or years of denial. I came hard with my face pressed into my son's shoulder. I sank my teeth into his shoulder as my body quaked with the release of my pent up need.

What we did was wrong. I accept that. As my son's cock pulsed in my spasming pussy, I did not care. I did not care what society thought about incest. I was fucking the man I loved and who loved me.

The van lurched to a stop. A blast of cold air hit us as John lowered the window to curse the driver in the car next to us. I could feel Hank's cock pulsing in me as we stopped making love.

"Mom, He is too drunk to drive. He could get us killed."

"I know baby! I know!" I felt tears run down my face.

"What's wrong?"

"I wanted this moment to be special." For perhaps the first time, I looked at my husband with not quite hate but a strong distaste.

My gaze flicked from my son's face to the back of my husband's head as he drove. A part of me wanted him to turn and look back, to see us. I wanted him to know that his son replaced the emptiness in my heart and in my pussy.

I felt no horror at the forbidden act we were committing. I reveled in my son filling me with his manhood. I felt like a woman, who after a long courtship, finally consummates her love.

I couldn't stop kissing him as I meet his thrust with my own. Forgotten was my husband of 25 years sitting not 15 feet from us cursing the traffic and drinking from his bottle. Even my parents strident warnings about the wages of sin faded. I will pay the price. If an afterlife in Hell is my punishment for fucking my son, then I will enjoy my Heaven on earth.

He fills me so completely. Our movements are like practiced long time lovers. I can feel what he needs and he knows mine. We break our kiss, gasping for air at its length. I wrap my hands around Hank's neck and lean back. I mouth the words, "I love you." What's left of my world has shrunk to the back of this van and my son's cock.

***

It's almost like a dream. I was making love to my mother. I could feel her sheath flex and massage my cock as she rode me in the back of the van. We are in a world apart, softly thrusting against each other. Then mom trembled again and her pussy tightened, almost pushing me out as she came.

I'm close. I want to fill her with my seed to consummate our love. Mom came again, whimpering.

The van lurches again as my father brakes hard. I need to take over, to save us from his drunken driving.

"Mom! This is awesome! I don't ever want to ever stop! But dad..."

The van lurches again and mom and I look to the front of the van. I can feel her pussy flexing, massaging my cock. Her small nipples are rigid and red with her passion.

My father is not even hiding it anymore. He has the bottle to his lips with one hand on the wheel. The rain has picked up and traffic is crawling.

"Mom, I'd better drive. Dad is in no shape!"

"I know baby," she sighs.

As she rises to her knees, we both look between us at my cock exiting her. Our eyes moved from that to each others eyes. When my swollen cock head finally comes out, we look at each other and, incongruously, giggle.

***

Hank had not cum. And I so wanted him to. I wanted to feel his seed fill me. However, we did share something so intimate we were sated just by committing the act, by finally crossing that last taboo. I was his now.

I helped Hank slide his underwear and sweatpants on. Before I tucked his cock back in, I kiss it, tonguing the slit.

Somehow, Hank and I convinced John to pull onto the shoulder. Hank opened the cargo door on the van, jumped out and walked up on the driver's side of the still running van. I sat in the back of the van wrapped in the blanket. As I look at my drunken husband draining his whiskey bottle, I could feel my wetness in my panties.

When he opened the door, John fell out to the pavement in a drunken stupor. He was barely coherent as Hank half carried, half walked his bulk to the back of the van. I dropped the blanket and helped roll John into the van.

Hank lifted me in his arms and carried me to the passenger side door. He opened it and sat me in the seat. Then he returned to the driver side and climbed in.

I turn my captain's chair sideways. I feel amazingly free. To my right, the rain falls relentlessly. I could see the seemingly endless line of red brake lights in front of us as the traffic inches along.

To my left, through our pitiful belongings, I see John lying on his back. His eyes are closed. His mouth is open, saliva running down his cheek.

I kneel between the seats. "Pull your pants down."

Hank looks at me then quickly to the back of the van. "Are you sure, mom?"

"I'm sure."

He raises up and I pull his pants down again exposing his cock encased in his underwear. I fish it out and French kiss his slit, sliding my tongue up and down it. For the first time in my 42 years, I taste my pussy juices on my son's cock. It is ambrosia, a nectar of the gods! He is instantly hard. As I take him in my mouth, I watched my husband. I wanted him to wake up. I wanted him to see me sucking our son's cock. I wanted him to know that another man's cock had been in my pussy and now was in my mouth.

Hank's cock is a thing alive! It pulses and throbs in my mouth. The taste of his precum is a sweet nectar. It mixes with my saliva and slides down my throat to my belly. I suck harder. I want him to fill my mouth with his essence. All the while I watch my husband, willing him to wake up.

Hank groans. I feel his cock pulse rhythmically. My son is cumming. He is going to fill his mother's mouth with his hot sticky cum. Even though I have not touched it, my pussy pulses in harmony with Hank's cock. As he fills my mouth and my belly with his sperm, I cum with him.

***

At the motel, mom directed me to the room her manager rented her. When she opened the door, the view into the room depressed me. The ceiling was water stained. The non-descript wallpaper hung in strips from some walls and was nonexistent in others, the moldy drywall showing through.

Against one wall was a freestanding face bowl with a rust streak under the faucet where water dripped. The shower was merely a cubicle placed in the corner adjacent to the face bowl as though it was an afterthought. The grimy shower door hung by one hinge.

On the far wall opposite the face bowl, the motel manager had placed two twin beds adjacent to each other. The size of the room meant that you had to turn sideways to move between the beds.

"Hopefully the shower works," I said as I sat our battered suitcases on the floor. "I'll go get dad."

I was surprised when she turned and grabbed me around the waist.

"Hank, I'm sorry for what happened back there in the van. I...I...just feel so lonely sometime."

I embraced her, holding her slim body to mine. Even damp from the rain, her hair had a heady aroma. I kissed the top of her head then pushed her back and held her at arm's length.

"Mom, the only regret I have is I couldn't lick you and return the favor. I can't wait to taste you."

She giggled like a school girl, bringing one small hand to her mouth. "Promise," she giggled.

***

I watched Hank duck walk John into the room. They both were soaked by the rain and the perspiration of their exertions. John is semi coherent. He leered at me and reached out. I shied away, repulsed now by his advances. He no longer has a right to my body.

Hank dropped his father, fully clothed, into the bed by the far wall. I felt a thrill shoot through my body as I realized Hank and I would sleep right next to his drunken father.

"Where the fuck we at," John asks drunkenly, trying to rise from the bed.

"Home, John," I answered, "YOU are home."

I watched as he rolled to his back and started snoring.

Hank's strong arms enveloped me. I leaned my head against his broad chest.

"We'll have to take short showers," I said nodding my head toward the shower. "This place never has enough hot water."

"What about him." Hank pointed at his father.

I looked at my husband. For the first time in our long painful marriage, I saw him for what he was. His dissipation and lack of self esteem brought us to this point. It was not my fault. I knew that now. I supported him in every way a wife could. I did not fail him; he failed me. I did not feel sorry for him. I did not hate him. I was just tired of the constant struggle.

"He's got a skin full. Leave him there."

"We should shower together. Otherwise the hot water might run out before one of us finished showering."

***

"Are you sure, mom?"

She walked to the shower, turned the water on and adjusted the temperature. I was torn, my eyes moving from her to my father asleep again on the bed.

"Hurry baby, while we still have hot water."

I pushed my rain soaked sweat pants and boxers down in one motion. I walked over to mom and we stepped into the shower together. The hot water was heaven. Mom and I took turns washing each other.

We were as lovers frolicking in the water. I soaped her body lingering over her hairy pussy. Mom moaned and covered my hand with hers.

"I used to keep it shaved. Your father didn't like it. He said it made me look like a prepubescent school girl."

"I'll shave it for you."

Mom looked at dad snoring on the bed. Then she looked back at me.

"I have scissors in my sewing kit," she said pointing at the black zippered bag sitting on top of our luggage.

We rinsed the soap off us and walked naked across the room. ,

***

Sensuality is one of those words that gets a lot of use. It's used to describe shoes, perfumes, people, etc. I have another use for it. It describes my son first trimming and then shaving my pussy. All of this while his father lay sleep not ten feet away.

First, he had me sit in the lone chair in the room. It was an old wing back with the rolled padded arms. I scooted down in the chair until just my ass clung to the edge of the stained dark cloth. Hank had me spread my legs with one leg on each arm of the chair.

I felt so exposed, so vulnerable. I never had a man, anyone for that matter, have me in such a licentious pose. I must have looked like the women in one of those girly magazines. I felt myself getting wet.

I could see beads of sweat on his forehead. I smiled to reassure him. I wondered in my nervousness whether it looked like a grimace. I closed my eyes. I fought the mental battles of guilt. Guilt at cheating on my husband. Guilt at entering an incestuous relationship with my son. And finally, guilt that my son was kneeling between my wantonly spread legs gently pulling a comb through my tangled mass of pubic hair and trimming it.

I was relieved when he began applying the shaving cream. It covered my wetness. Hank had some difficulty holding my vaginal lips and trimming the hair around there. My copious secretions made them wet and slippery.

Hank's hands were gentle as he rubs the shaving cream into my stubble. The process fascinates me. I lean forward and watch as my son pulls his razor through the foam. It was an incredibly warm moment. A moment of intimacy shared with my partner, lover and son.

Laid bare for the first time since I gave birth, my nether region felt cold. My eyes popped open as I felt the cold shaving foam being applied to my intimate parts. I smiled down at my son shaving me. His sweating face was a picture of concentration, eyes squinting, brow furrowed and his lips pressed into a thin line.

When he finished, he leaned down and kissed my pussy lips for the first time. I was like a virgin, shivering at that first kiss. He traced the outline of my vaginal lips with his tongue.

"Do I...taste okay?" I was raised to believe that our private parts were distasteful, something to be hidden. Yet Hank was kissing mine, causing delectable shivers in them.

"Like Ambrosia!"

***

Mom's pussy was not the first one I licked. However, it was the first one where the taste was as described in the romance novels. Her juices were thick and sweet. They flowed easily dribbling across her ass cheeks and my chin.

I love the licentiousness of her legs in the air held by her hands on her thighs. Her exposing herself like this meant her complete surrender to what now seemed inevitable. Mom gripped my head and pulled me tight to her as she climaxed, her body shaking. The room spins as I drink her ejaculate.

***

"No fair," I groan as I come down from yet another orgasm. "I have cum many times and you have only cum once."

I gently push his head away and lower my legs from the arms of the chair.

"Mom, I want to be sure you are happy!"

I stood, took his hand in mine and walked the few short steps to the bed. I crawled in bed. Hank followed me.

"Would you think I was a slut if I asked you to do something I always wanted to do?"

I watched a quirky smile play across my son's face.

"But you are my slut, my mommy slut! And my mommy slut can ask me anything."

The short phrase carried a double meaning, a meaning I would come to embrace. I was my son's slut. I would fuck him anywhere, any time he wanted. I would fuck anyone he wanted me to. I was his. My pussy was his. I was his mommy slut.

"I want to 69. I want to feel your cock in my mouth while your mouth pleasures my pussy."

***

"Turn around."

Mom smiled devilishly at me and turned head to toe. As she walked backwards on her hands and knees, I could see her pussy lips were swollen and beaded with her juices. Her freshly shaved vulva glistened with her wetness. I pulled her slim childlike rump to me, burying my face in her pussy.

"Oh sweet Jesus! I can't believe I denied myself this most delicious of pleasures."

Mom took my cock in her hands and slowly stroked it as I ran my tongue the length of her pussy with the tip of my tongue just inside her labia. Mom groaned and took me in her mouth.

Dad snorted and turned from his back to his side facing us. Spittle drooled from the corner of his mouth down to the paper thin bedspread. I glanced at him but never stopped licking the nectar of my mom's pussy.

I did figure eights with my tongue circling her large swollen clit, crossing her dripping engorged vaginal lips down to her peritoneum and back. Mom ground her pussy into my face. She took my cock out of her mouth and looked back at me.

"Baby, that feels incredible! Don't stop! Please."

I pressed her up off me.

"Never mother, never! I will drink this delicious nectar as long as you want."

***

He pulled my hips down and teased my pussy with gentle kisses and licks. My... cunt... spasmed. I embraced the word with all of its connotations. I held no reservations about my situation or its implications. Only the copious flowing of my juices embarrassed me.

He was no larger than his father. It was not size I needed. My hand held his tool at the root. The corners of my mouth ached. I gagged as his mushroom head touched the back of my throat.

At that moment John snorted and rolled over. I watched him as I continued sucking Hank's cock. You bastard I thought. I gave you 25 years of my life. The one good thing that came of our marriage is under me now, eating my pussy while I suck his cock.

As my son licked my pussy, I could feel my orgasm building. It started deep within my stomach, radiating throughout my body. I looked over at my husband of 25 years as my son, our son, brought me to a soul shaking orgasm. I saw his eyes flutter open. He stared at us blankly. In his drunken stupor he did not realize that he was watching me place the horns of a cuckold on him. He no longer had a claim on me or my pussy. I screamed as Hank brought me to a soul shaking orgasm.

I could not stop my hips from pumping nor my back from undulating as my body quaked under my son's ministrations. At its peak that same wanton thought came to me. I wanted John to wake up, to see us sucking and licking each other.

I took Hank's cock back in my mouth again. I sucked hard, applying pressure with my lips while my tongue circled his cockhead. I wanted to taste him again. I wanted to taste my son's cum. I wanted it to fill me mouth. I wanted it to feel it slide down my throat into my belly.

I felt my son's body began to tremble under me. His cock swelled in my mouth. His hips began to thrust and he stopped licking me. It did not matter.

His first hard spurt sprayed my tonsils. My mouth filled with his essence as my son shot his seed into my mouth. I tried to swallow it all, gulping it down as fast as I could. I did not want to waste a drop. But it was too much. As Hank's thrusting slowed and his loud moans quieted, I felt his hot juice squirt out of the sides of my mouth. I felt its warmth as it slid down my chin. Still I sucked. Finally, I pulled back. I kissed the head of his cock and collapse on top of him.

***

With my head laying in the vee created by her legs, I kiss mom's thighs. They were delicious wet with her perspiration and cum. Even as she lay atop me recovering, I can see the whitish liquid seeping from her hole.

We both turn our heads as my dad groans and rolls to his side facing us. His eyes open, flutter and close again

"I haven't cum like that in years."

"Good thing," I teased her, "you would dehydrate yourself."

Mom slaps my thigh. She raises to her knees and turns on top of me. She straddles my waist and wags her finger at me.

"Hey you! Have some respect for your old mother."

I watched as she delicately used a finger to scoop the drips of my cum from her chin. I watch as she licks her fingers clean.

"See? You almost drowned your old mom!"

We laughed as she crawled up and lay in my arms. We cuddled, exchanging soft kisses as we enjoyed the afterglow. In the next bed, dad fully clothed, snored noisily.

"So what do we do now, mom?"

"Oh I don't know! How many positions do you know?" She laughed her hand caressing my chest.

I smacked her butt, eliciting a delightful squeal. "You know what I mean," I laughed. I nodded my head toward my father. "Eventually, he will wake up. Then what happens?"

Mom's tiny hand slid down my belly to my cock, sending chills through my body. As she stroked me she raised on one elbow and looked back at my father.

"Oh I don't know," she said with a wicked gleam in her eye, "let him watch?"

I smacked her butt again. "You know what I mean." My cock, never fully soft, grew erect under mom's hands.

Mom raised to her knees, her ass toward my father. She through one leg over me. She walked forward on her knees until my dick slapped against her lower abdomen.

"That's a concern for tomorrow. Tonight we fuck. I want to feel you in me. I want to feel you fill my pussy. I want to be fucked hard! Tomorrow is a million years away."

She rose up slightly, pressed my tool down and positioned it at her entrance. Her eyes widened as the head of my cock parted her lips.

"Baby, in some way I feel like a virgin, feeling my first cock sliding into me."

I held her hips as she placed her hands on my chest and sank down. I watched her eyes widen. Then her mouth opened in a moue as I filled her.

"Mom, you are so tight!"

"Mmmmm, lets wait a moment for me to get used to you."

We looked between us. I was about halfway into mom. Dad groaned. We glanced at him and giggled. Then she continued sliding down until I was fully in her. She slowly rotated her hips, getting used to me in her.

I had a crazy thought as I lay still, letting my mother set the pace.

"Fuck! Keep doing that! It feels amazing. Can I ask you something?"

"Hank, as long as you don't take your dick out of me, you can ask me anything!"

I began to slowly pump up and down, complementing her rocking motion.

"Should I still call you mom?"

Her eyes were closed. Her mouth open. She began to rise and fall slowly.

"You can call me anything you want." She opened her eyes and looked down at me smiling. I used to love being called dirty names."

I held her hips as I began to thrust harder. Sweat streamed off both of us.

"You'll always be mom...and my mommy slut!"

Mom began to rise and fall faster. I could feel her pussy spasming around my cock.

"Yes, Hank! Yes! Mommy is your slut! I'll always be my son's mommy slut."

Mom threw her head back and let out a loud mournful howl. It continued as her pussy spasmed and came, squirting on my lower abdomen and crotch. Her tight pussy massaged my cock. I groaned and shot my load deep into her.

Breathing heavily, mom collapsed on my chest. After a moment, she raised her head. I leaned up and we kissed.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to stay just like this, with you in me. What was your second question?"

I reached out and cupped her ass, squeezing it. I could feel mom flex her Kegel muscles on my cock.

"Are you on birth control?"

Mom rolled off me. "Get up for a minute."

Confused I scooted up in the bed. Mom turned sideways on her hand and knees facing dad. "Come on baby! Fuck your mommy slut doggy style."

***

It felt so wicked to feel my son's cock sliding into me while I looked at my sleeping husband.

"Spank mommy baby"

His first slap was tentative "Harder" The room resounded with his ass slap.

"You hot little bitch! Answer me! Are you on birth control?"

"That's right! Talk nasty to me. Treat me like your slut."

He rained slaps on my ass as we rutted. I knew he wanted an answer. I watched John's eyes flutter. They opened briefly. They were unfocused, rolling in their sockets. I pursed my lips and blew him a kiss. He closed his eyes and rolled over, facing the wall.

"No, you sweet dick motherfucker! I'm not on birth control."

***

The warm California sun warms my naked body. The brochure about the Misty Valley was right. The people of the Misty Valley embraced us when they heard our story. They allowed us to stay. The atmosphere is one of live and let live. We have been here nearly two years. We have never regretted the move.

As I lay here, listening to Hank and our six month old Ashley, splashing in the pool. I can feel the first popcorn like sensations in my belly as our new baby moves for the first time.

Our old life is a distant dream. We made love all night in that filthy motel with my husband, John drunk and sleep in the next bed. Between our epic lovemaking sessions, we had whispered conversations about what we should do.

By dawn, we decided. We showered in the rust stained shower. We made love again. I leaned against the shower wall while the tepid water washed over us as my son, my lover took me from behind. We left John half the money and took the van.

True the house we live in is small and rented. It's has been a struggle. Hank is getting his degree through an online college. In return for working as a teaching assistant, he takes a few classes at UCSC in Santa Cruz. He will finish work on his bachelor's this Fall.

We never heard from John. Periodically, Hank checks the internet for divorce proceeding or death notices. So far he has found neither.

I hear the sounded of naked feet padding on the deck. I open my eyes and Hank is standing over me with Ashley in his arms. His crotch, like mine is shaved. We started shaving after we began frequenting the nude beaches.

"Ash and I are going to have lunch. Do you want some?"

"Yes, please. And you can leave her here."

I sit up and take my wiggly daughter from her father. We plan on at least one more after her brother is born. Life is good and we are loving it.