Sex Cult

Jesus Christ. If I was laid bare before Mother before, this was her laid bare before me now. This was not the mother I knew, the one who’d bark at me for not flushing the toilet or nag me to take out the trash. Her tone was anything but authoritarian. This was meek, mild.

She felt like an equal here.

“I liked it,” I repeated, and maybe I meant it a little more this time.

She sniffled, but happy. I could practically feel her beaming from over here. “Would you mind?” She asked me.

I didn’t know what she meant, but immediately after, she took my hand and rested it on the top of her thighs. She spread her legs just a touch and guided my fingertips down along the inside of them, on up into the sex I was just penetrated with.

Slime. Goo. Musk. I touched the head of her bulb. She worked my fingers around in circles around it. A bed of long bushy pubic hairs ticked my fingers while she worked me around, feeling every corner of her swollen protrusion. Truly, it was the size of the head of a penis.

Except…

She trailed me down. “This is a labia,” she explained.

Down. “The urethra.” Teacher Mom mode.

“And…” She whimpered. “The vaginal opening.”

Once again, she brought my hand back up to her engorged clitoris. “The Fellowship was the only place that accepted this. No–” She breathed deep. “–it was beyond that. They called it a thing of virtue. I was nineteen, pregnant with you, when I stood before the priest and he inspected it.” She trailed off, clearly reliving a fond memory. “Your father was hesitant. He kept saying it was a cult. I kept up the faith that he would come around. He halfheartedly did…until…your sister came of age, and he refused his responsibility.” Mom rubbed that back of my hand. “I had to do it. With this–” her abnormal clitoris. “and then, sometimes more…” She didn’t elaborate.

So meek, Mother.

“You shouldn’t, uh, feel bad,” I said. “I liked it.”

Mom laughed. “That makes me so happy to hear!” She pulled my hand off her sex and hugged them tight between her palms. “If only your father would have.” She sighed. “But no, the thing is, your sister has more…experience with this. It’s hard to explain, but my role for you isn’t this.” She patted my bum. “It’s this.” She hugged me tight against her bosom, tickle-scratched my back and nibbled the lobe of my ear–tender love. She slid my palm down her stomach, through her bush, over the wet head of her engorged clitoris, and nestled the entire length of my palm into her slit. She rubbed it up and down and said, “this is our place together. Your sister has hers. I have mine.”

“That was why I overstepped my boundaries with her tonight, and I will accept her love to redeem me tomorrow. That is how this works. It was never about penance, Boo.” Her lips found my own and she held them long, yet, somehow chaste. “Even though we sin, even though there are parts of ourselves that may be deemed unsavory, our family’s purpose is to show that, despite all that, we still love each other. And through those displays, we learn to love that which we otherwise couldn’t. That is the tenant Fellowship, Boo. This is not penance. This is love.”

I knew about the penance, but this side of it was all new to me. “Why didn’t you ever explain any of this before?” I asked her.

“I–we try to hint at it. Remember the parable of Jezebel in the fruit tree? But it’s not something that can be told, so we wait until after someone violates God’s laws, and they can learn this for themselves. And there’s differing interpretations of the verse, such as Deacon John, who wholly punishes his blood while supposedly performing his own penance in private; however, that is not the interpretation that your father and I set for this family. Here, with me and your sister, there is no shame to be had. There is no punishment here, only acceptance.”

“Maggie?”

“Yes,” Mom chuckled, “in these few months since she’s come of age, she’s forgotten her prayers so many times. I swear she’s doing it on purpose. But, that’s what led your father to leave. Funny. He took no issue performing this penance on others, but when it came to his own family, that was where he drew the line, even though he knew this day was coming, and so it was me who did so upon her, just as she will upon you.”

Right then, all Mom’s comparison’s between the current me and Father didn’t feel…good. Father let her down–no, he let our entire family down, and while I still didn’t understand this all the way, I promised myself that I would never let Mother and Sister down the way Father did.

It occurred to me right then that I was still kneeling in all her juices: Piss, sweat, and cum. It was soaked into the mattress, and as I shifted, my legs sopped about her muck and her mire. This must be the parts “other may deem unsavory” that she was referring, too.

The current me may not be able to wholeheartedly accept all this in the way it sounds like Maggie did, but I still could try. I needed to show Mother action.

I let go of her hands and backed away from her. She sighed.

I turned to face her and laid my body over right in her smut. The mattress bled into me, and my naked body soaked into her pool of musk.

I kept my breathing steady for fear I would gag. That would be unforgivable. That was not the point I wanted to show her.

Then I felt around in the dark, prodded Mother’s knees. Perhaps without thinking, she opened them to me just a little bit. Same as she did before, I used her legs to find her hands, and I pulled her down next to me.

She moaned contentedly, and gave me a peck on the lips, then longer. For the first time, I opened my mouth to her–our/my first true kiss. This was her role to me.

She slung her thick thigh over mine, wrapped it around, and tugged our sexes together. Her tongue licked across the roof out my mouth. She counted my teeth. There wasn’t a part of my mouth she didn’t caress with her own. I poked my own tongue into her mouth. Drew it back sharply, suddenly realizing what I had done. Her kiss stopped. I didn’t want that, so I just went for it, and shoved my tongue deep into her mouth, slithering across her insides the same as she’d done to mine. It turned from tentative to passionate, and our lips smacked together. Hungry. Lust–but laced with a speck of something I was coming to learn was love.

I felt her finger tread through my fluff, down between my thighs, and I opened my legs to her, pushing her thighs open to me, and she flicked my rosebud–but that was all. That was not her place, she was communicating. Her finger waggled up my perineum, then she clench a big fistful of balls, kneading them, massaging them until they ached, poking in the folds of skin and fluff, and then I felt it: Her palm gripped around my cock.

My Mother’s hand. Sweet friction burned as she pumped my cock. Her hips bucked closer, repositioning. Her bush ticked my stomach–wholly woman, wholly unashamed–and I couldn’t tell exactly what the head of my penis was touching, but it slathered through a delicious trench.

Mom groaned and spasmed. “There!” She lifted the leg that was slung across me high up into the air, curled her foot back around until the ball was pressed against my ribs–flexible, flexible, Mother–and she fed me inside.

Moist velvet clenched and gripped. She ground her childbearing hips into it. Her engorged clitoris wriggled into my nest of pubes, just above my cock–that was how close she was to me.

She slipped more of my penis inside her vagina. It wasn’t tight, not like the computer videos always described it. It was soft, wholly encompassing, inviting me in.

For the first time, I humped myself into her. The head of my cock played with her front door, peeking in and out of the threshold as her hand guided it. The sensation of her tenderness caressing my sensitivities caused my toes to curl.

I wanted to bury myself inside her. I wanted to orgasm, to cum deep in her womb. We could have a child! Was she fertilized already? I didn’t know. Surely pre-cum leaked from my dick.

But there was one problem.

I stopped my thrusts, and broke from our impassioned kiss. I buried my face in her bosom, and whimpered, “I’m sorry, Mom.”

Shh. Shh. “It’s okay, baby.” She spread herself more and tried to push my half flaccid rope deeper into her drenched canal.

It fed halfway up the hilt, then I felt her vagina clamp down. “Mommy’s got you.” She kissed the top of my head.

I’d always imagined a vagina to be smooth, and I didn’t know about any others, but Mother’s was anything but. Exaggerated nubs–ribs, maybe?–swallowed my cock from all sides. Her walls clenched, and for a second, I thought my pathetic little rope would slip out. Instead, the nubs writhed, and an extremely weird connection popped into my head: It was that scene from The Little Mermaid, my favorite movie as a kid. It was the part where Ariel ventures into Urusla’s cave, and that carpet of eels are writhing along the floor.

I couldn’t help but huff out a laugh, which made a fart noise against Mom’s fleshy bosom as the air escaped. She took that as permission to go deeper, and those eels in her cave slathered around my cock as the walls clamped down and released. It was a rolling effect, urging my rope onward, feeding it into her tunnel through muscle precision alone.

It felt wondrous.

“Bury me, Mama, bury me.”

“Mmmhmmm,” she purred in my ear.

Her eels pulled and stretched my penis into her, one rolling wave at a time.

Finally, we got to the end. Mom, being spread so wide, and me, accepting it. My entire cock, still hopelessly flaccid, was stretched to the hilt as deep in Mother as it would go. She purred and cooed and rocked me. Pet my head against her bosom. Massaged my cock along her walls, stretching and tingling those wondrous ribs across my bare sensitivities.

Mother, wholly engulfing my most private of places, and me, being pleasured along hers.

It went on and on. Her flesh was sweating, as was mine. I could tell she was tired, but she pushed herself to pleasure me. Panting, moaning, accepting her son’s cock.

Finally, when I thought she was pushing herself too hard, I pulled my head from her bosom, and said, “I’m sorry Mom. I–I really am trying.”