She pulled away. The mattress started to sink around all funny. I heard some clothes rustle. There was a clack, an elastic slap, and a whole lot of wiggling.
When she was through, a damp musk flooded my nostrils. I heard some wet slops, a muted moan, and the mattress sunk in behind me.
A bare bosom pressed into my back. There was no mistaking warm smooth flesh. Her big mounds splayed across my bare shoulder blades. Her lips rested on the nape of my neck. Warm, heady breath. A moist patch of a tongue peeked through. Anything but chaste.
“And I know you’ve been hurting, Boo. But you’re the patriarch of this family now, and that comes with responsibilities that–” Mom sucked in a breath. “–that I don’t think you understand. You’re the same as your father in that regard.”
Her hips scooted closer. I felt an arm pressed between them. Then that arm slid out, it wrapped around my chest, hugging me. Mom’s fingertips dripped with moisture, and the sweet musky aroma lingering on them was overpowering. I’d never smelled anything like it, but something about it just didn’t feel right.
“Did you think that Maggie was trying to punish you? Did you think that Maggie wanted to harm you?” Mom asked, and as she did, her fingertip poked into my belly button, she slathered her sticky musk inside. She worked her way up, drawing a trail of slime on my bare stomach. She worked circles around my nipples. They hardened.
“Sweetie, I know you don’t understand, but when your sister had her fingers inside you, that wasn’t penance. That was love.”
Her hand went down. My towel draped off my upturned thigh, and once again, I was naked before Mother, except this time–
Oh! Now it all made sense.
–except this time, the lights were off so she couldn’t peek.
Her tongue left my neck and wiggled into my ear. Her nails tickle-scratched my stomach, prickling that sensation lower and lower until it brushed across my pubic hairs.
“She touched you there because her love for you, it was unfathomable, and that was how she expressed it.” Oooh, aaah. Mom moaned, and I heard wet slaps down from where her thighs would be. The bed bucked. She bit my ear then said, “Your sister accepts you. That’s what she wanted to say. Every piece of you, she loves, even that which others deem to be dirty, even when you do that which God considers to be wrong–such as forgetting your prayers.”
Mom trilled against me–petting, rubbing, purring. “Have you been praying these last few days, Boo?”
My entire sensory being was alight against my mother–my chaste, God-fearing mother’s oozing sex–,and I shook my head, no.
I felt Mom’s hand slide out from between her legs. She’d scooped dripping moisture from between her. She held those fingers, curled up, before my lips. She fed it to me.
Tangy sweet Mother.
I sucked her sex from her fingers.
“Did you find that part of me disgusting?” Mom asked.
No. Of course, I shook my head.
“So,” Mom began prodding her fingers into my rosebud once again, “why did you believe that your sister found this part of you disgusting?”
Mom never entered me, only massaged, same as before. I groaned and arched my back into her. “That’s…that’s different,” I huffed. “That’s my butt.”
Mom stopped her prodding, wrapped that arm around my stomach and pulled me tight into her bosom, just cuddled there. She didn’t speak for a while, just pet me softly, until finally, I heard her trail off “…that’s the same thing your father said before he left…”
It occurred to me, right then, that despite all Mom’s sensual trappings, my penis was still flopped over, dead flaccid.
I wrapped my fingers around Mom’s hand and held her palm tight against me. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
Her hips ground her sopping wet bush into my ass, oozing and dripping her wet sex everywhere, but I felt her intensity taper out. She was giving up.
“…apologize to God,” she muttered.
Her voice wasn’t coated in venom or condescension. It was something else. She was disappointed in me. I couldn’t stand that feeling. “You…you can touch me there…if you want.” I arched my back against her.
She gasped, and cupped my hips tight and pulled me into her, rocking me forward, smooshing my bare ass into her sex. I realized, this wasn’t a massage. Mom was humping me. She panted into my ear; her hips thrust sharply upwards, faster–faster–faster, until the bed was creaking; the headboard slammed into the wall. Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang. It was as loud as a hammer pounding a nail, no doubt Maggie heard, up there in her room.
Mom’s leg wrapped around me, and with a practiced motion, she flipped me onto my stomach, then straddled over top of me, still humping her sex into my ass.
I hadn’t truly seen her naked, but from sensation alone, I knew my mother was nothing like the girls on the computer. Her nethers were not shaved. They were wild with threads of long, now matted, pubic hairs. She was wholly, unapologetically, woman.
Her hard nipples danced along my lithe back. Her slightly chubby frame, those soft motherly folds, splashed against me, rubbing my smooth skin with her building sweat.
She pressed her hands into the back of my head, shoving my face into the pillow. I gasped for breath and had to wrestle against her grip to wriggle my head to the side to draw a breath.
She pushed her bosom up away from my back, now, our only connection: the fusion of our sexes. My bare ass splayed against her thighs. Jerking. Me. Up. Pounding. My face into the pillow. Wooden slaps of the headboard against the wall. Wild. Animalistic.
She quit pushing my face down. Her hands found and pulled my cheeks apart. Then, a long slow sensual stroke and I felt her pussy work lower down my valley. She paused. Drip, drip, drip. Musk into my crack.
Her hands pulled and splayed my cheeks as far as they would go. They grabbed on the front of my pelvis and pulled me back into her, doggystyle, as I’d learned from the computer videos. She pushed the base of my spine down, until my ass was arched up into the air. And she shoved her hips so far into me, my body scooted forward until the top of my head pressed into the headboard.
Lips kissed my crack. Her coochie flexed. And I realized Mother’s sex was grazing my deepest recesses. Her hand felt around down there. She repositioned, and I realized she was lining the top of her vagina–the bulbous clitoris, I believe it was called–up against my hole spread before her.
The swollen nub flicked across my crack. Her hips spasmed, and I recognized it as the same white hot electric shock Maggie had given me. Mother was feeling that.
For the first time, my weiner flexed and a gush of blood shot into it. Half erect, now.
When I felt the nub lined up dead center with the bullseye, Mother pounded me forward. She didn’t grind up and down. She was imitating penetration. And then she wasn’t. The bulb slipped into my asshole, just the tip. God, her clitoris must have been three times the size of the women in the video, swollen up like a micro-penis, almost.
And Mom abused her anatomical oddity. She went to town on my behind with that thing.
Pounding, pounding, pounding. Her nub dug deep into my hole. Not true penetration, but it was rubbing itself inside me–that I could feel just the same as my head bouncing against the headboard.
More, more, more, faster, faster, faster, and she arched herself into me, shrieked into the pitch dark bedroom, her hips spasmed, beads of moisture dripped off my crack, down my balls, and then there was a long spurt, a pressurized stream laser focused on my clenching and gaping asshole.
This wasn’t cum, at least, it was nothing like the video’s I’d seen. Mom had wholly let herself go and was straight up pissing into me.
Her piss drenched my whole lower body, and then, there was so much, it even washed down my arched back, onto my shoulders, wetting the nape of my neck, the bottom of the hairs on my head.
Her hips shuddered. They bucked once more. The stream stopped, and all the tension released from her. She flopped over on top of me, her hips occasionally flopping like a fish.
She laid like that for a few seconds, a few minutes; Lord, it might have been an hour.
What must have been a full bladder’s worth of piss soaked into the mattress around me. Every shift of my weight let up a wet slop. It bled and puddled down around the lowest points: My knees, chest, chin, cheek.
All of a sudden, Mom gasped. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”
She bolted upright, panting–but not sexually, it was frenzied, borderline hysteria. She shook me, and rolled me over. The joints of my hip groaned, stiff and sore from being stretched for so long. She was sitting on her legs, a repentant position, and she pulled me up until the back of my head was on her thighs.
Sweat and piss and frothy cum dripped off my body: Hers.
She leaned over, hugged my head around her arms, into her vast bosom, and rocked me. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
My mouth was too smothered into the crack between her bosoms to speak, but I did manage to groan. She took that completely the wrong way.
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