This story is about incest. It contains detailed descriptions of the sexual relationship between a 13-year-old boy and his mother. If you are not of legal age in your community, or if you find such material offensive, don't read it.

Sweet Grapes
Chapter 2
by parthenogenesis

Only after I'd spurted my last spurt did Mom relax her grip on my cock. "Larry," she gulped, her voice low and soft, catching in her throat, "you've got to get out of here." Slowly, she shifted her weight, rocking forward and bracing her hands carefully on the edge of the tub. As she raised her body, I felt myself come out of her, and it seemed to me that her pussy was still trying to hang on. When she was standing, I noticed that her knees were shaking.

I stood and stepped out of the tub, and Mom turned to face me. I was expecting her to give me six or eight different kinds of hell, but her eyes looked incredibly soft and deep.

"Mom," I began, "I—"

"Larry, baby, it's okay. Please don't try to say anything."

I picked up the Time magazine and went back to my room. I lay down on the bed again, just looking at the ceiling, trying real hard not to think of anything. When Mom finished her bath, she knocked on my door and politely called out, "Your turn."

I took my bath, then went back downstairs and found Mom and Aunt Nellie chatting on the porch again. I sat with them for a while, but I wasn't paying any attention to what they were saying. My head was spinning. First, I'd fallen and put my nose right into Mom's crotch, and I couldn't forget her woman-smell. Then she'd fallen, and in the process of my trying to catch her, two of my fingers had gone right into her pussy, and I wanted to live again the feeling of touching all of Mom's private places. Then we'd both fallen, and we'd fucked, whether we'd meant to or not. I knew that I should have been horrified for having had sex with my own mother and feel guilty for it, but I didn't. Mom was a fine looking woman, whether she was my mother or not. When I looked way, deep down inside myself, the truth I found was that I wanted to smell her and feel her and fuck her again. That's what I felt guilty about.

All of a sudden, I was aware of Mom and Aunt Nellie standing, stretching, yawning, and exclaiming about the lateness of the hour and how sleepy they were. I followed them into the house, then trudged up the stairs behind Mom. At the top of the stairs, we bade each other a civilized good-night. Mom took her final turn at the bathroom and I took mine, and we retired to our bedrooms.

I took off my clothes and got under just a sheet. I was still thinking about Mom, so, of course, I got a hard-on. But I didn't jack off as usual. I didn't want to spoil the memory of the feeling of fucking Mom. I just lay there, waiting for sleep to come, willing my mind to stop. Just when I was falling over the edge into sleep, consciousness a waterfall breaking into veils and droplets blowing away in the wind, my door opened and a ghost stepped into my room. I was so startled that I sat bolt upright in bed. No, it wasn't a ghost, of course. It was Mom, wearing a loose, flowing white nightgown.

"Larry, are you awake?" she whispered.

"Now I am," I said. "I was just dropping off to sleep, and when you walked in, at first I thought I was seeing a ghost."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to scare you. I was having trouble going to sleep, thinking about everything that happened today. I finally decided that you and I needed to talk, but it can wait until tomorrow if you're too sleepy."

I wasn't at all sure that I did want to talk. Despite my guilt and confusion, I was enjoying my memories and my fantasies, and I didn't particularly want them to be brought to an end by reality. I was afraid. I wasn't sure what I was afraid of. Maybe I was afraid that Mom was going to give me some kind of lecture and tell me to put the events of the day out of my mind, for good. Maybe I was afraid that she would be angry. Maybe I was afraid that she'd want to steer clear of me. I didn't know. Maybe I was afraid because I thought that fear was the appropriate thing to be feeling, a proper reaction to guilt. A need for some kind of punishment to set things right. But it was clear that Mom and I had some unfinished business that needed taking care of, so I decided that the right thing to do was clear the air and be done with it.

"No, I'm not sleepy, and you're right, we need to talk. I think it would be better if we did it now."

"Larry, the things that happened between us today were strange, bizarre accidents. I never in my life would have dreamed of such things happening. But I know that they had an effect on me, and my guess is that they must have had an effect on you. I think that the easiest thing to do would be to put our feelings into tidy little boxes, to say to each other what we think is 'right' to say, not what we really feel. I am going to try to be completely honest with you, and I hope that you'll do your best to be completely honest with me. Fair enough?"

"Fair enough."

Mom sat down on the bed, about even with my hips. She was a pale shadow in the faint light coming through the window.

"Ok, then, let me ask you: do you feel bad about what happened today?"

"Yes. No. Both."

"That sounds honest enough. Then let's talk about both. First, what do you feel bad about?"

"I feel like I've done something very wrong, something that I shouldn't have done. The word 'shouldn't' keeps echoing around everything I'm thinking, no matter what I think."

"Larry, in thinking about things, I've had to be honest with myself and to admit that whatever happened was half my responsibility. If I'd moved the ladder when you suggested it, or if I hadn't tried to reach out too far, then I wouldn't have fallen. If I'd been more sensible about the tarantula, or if I'd given you just a minute to put some clothes on, or if I'd just got out of the tub and come and got you, then we wouldn't have...I wouldn't have fallen on you. Right?"

"Yes, but..."

"But what?"

"But I touched you in places I shouldn't have. It was wrong. And when you fell on me in the bathtub, we didn't just...I mean, it wasn't just that...I mean, well I..."

"Came?"

"Yes, c-came, right inside of you. I tried not to, but I couldn't help it. This is so embarrassing."

"Sweetie-pie, I am a married woman. I know what a male orgasm is. And I know that thirteen-year-old boys come easily and a lot. It was only natural, and I hope you'll try to get over your embarrassment.

"But let's forget what you felt bad about for right now. What didn't you feel bad about?"

"Do I have to tell you this?"

"No, but I wish you would."

I was silent for a long moment. Mom waited patiently, not pressing.

"Well, ok, then, the truth is that this is both good and bad. I liked it. I enjoyed it. I liked touching you between your legs and I liked...I liked, uh...I, uh, you know, when we were in the bath tub. But I feel bad because I liked it."

"Larry, I can't tell you how much I appreciate your courage in telling me how you really felt. Emotions are funny things. They tend to go their own ways, no matter how we might think we'd like to feel. Now, let me tell you my truth: I felt pretty much the same way you did."

Mom was speaking very softly, almost whispering.

"When I felt your hand sliding up my leg, after I realized that you'd caught me and I got over being scared to death that I was going to break my neck—you know, I was so scared that I almost peed in my pants, and if I had, it would have run all over your hands and down your arms, and wouldn't that have been something—I was both afraid that your hand was going to go between my legs and at the same time hoping that it would. I've noticed how you've grown lately, and I think that maybe every mother feels some sexual attraction to her son, well, it's one of those good and bad things because if we feel it, we're supposed to shut it off. Anyway, I began to feel a thrill as your hand got closer and closer to my crotch, and when your fingers went inside of me, and I felt you touching the front of me, I let go of my resistance and.... Oh, Larry, I liked it—a lot.

"Then, in the bath tub, I guess I must have wanted you to see me naked, and when you said that you didn't have any clothes on, I wanted to see you too, and when I saw your hard-on, I really didn't know what I was going to do next. But when I landed on you and realized that you'd gone right up inside of me, I ... I ... I realized that part of my life has been missing for a long time, I mean, you know, your dad seems to spend most of his time and energy at work any more. Then, when you came, and I felt your cock pulsing inside of me, I couldn't control my reaction.

"To be completely honest with you, when I think about it, I believe that everything that happened today was really my fault, and I don't want you to feel guilty for it."

Her fault? She liked it? Oh, God. What should I say now? After a few seconds, I decided that the best course was to carry on honestly. With a very dry throat, I said, almost in a whisper, "There's still one thing I feel guilty about, and I'm scared to mention it, to say it out loud."

Mom looked at me with nothing but tenderness in her eyes. "What is it, sweetie? I can't make you tell me, but I will promise not to be angry with anything you say. It would be best if we can deal with all the guilt and be done with it."

"You're right about that. I don't want to go around feeling guilty."

I sat silently for what seemed like a long time, trying to work up my courage. Finally, I decided that I had to get the words out in the open.

"The real truth, Mom, is that I'd like to touch you again. More."

Mom reached up and took both my hands in hers. "Larry," she said, her whisper becoming husky, "please try not to feel guilty about that. I'd like you to touch me more, too, but I was afraid that if I let you know, you'd think I wasn't acting like a proper mother, and that you'd be repulsed by the idea of being close to me. I know that, to you, I seem ancient. I was afraid you'd think I was an old hag."

"Mom! You're beautiful. You know that. And you're hardly ancient. Maybe in another year or two," I couldn't resist adding, "but not yet."

Mom leaned toward me and kissed me on the mouth, her lips soft and moist. I thought I felt her tongue tickle my lips just as she pulled back.

"But," she said, "if we're going to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, then I have to tell you that there were two things wrong."

My heart stopped. What could it have been?

"The first thing was, when your fingers were inside of me, you pulled your hand out so fast that it hurt. You have to be gentle and easy with a woman's tender flesh. This is something you should know. After all, one of these days you're going to be grown up enough to be petting with girls your own age."

My heart started again. I was unhappy that I'd caused Mom pain, but it was a simple mistake, a reaction to fear.

"I'm sorry I hurt you, Mom. I was afraid I'd done something really wrong, and I thought I should get my hand away as fast as I could."

"Can I show you something?" Mom asked.

"Sure," I said.

Mom stood and slipped the straps of her nightgown off her shoulders, and the nightgown fell to the floor. She was no more than a suggestion of a nude woman in the faint light. She sat back down on the bed, closer to my waist this time.

"If you treat a woman right," she said, "her vagina will make its own lubrication so that you can enter her easily. Then you'll be able to slide your fingers or your penis in and out of her without having to worry about hurting her. Most women's breasts are erotic. Would you mind touching and kissing my breasts, and sucking my nipples?"

Would I mind? I didn't tell Mom that that was a dumb question. I just sat up and leaned forward. I put one arm behind her back and began to touch her breasts softly with the other hand. Mom's breasts were small and firm, in keeping with her athletic figure. They just barely cupped on the bottom. Gently and slowly, I ran my hand under her breasts and over them, squeezing just a bit, tracing the outline of her nipples with a fingertip. After a few minutes, I leaned farther forward and kissed her breasts all around, and licked them. Then I licked around her nipples, and finally took one of her nipples into my mouth. I sucked it and ran my tongue over its rough top, and bit lightly. Mom tipped her head way back and moaned.

Then Mom reached over and took my left hand. "Now," she said, throatily, "feel here."

Mom placed my hand right on top of her bush, and, using her middle finger as a guide, pressed my middle finger into her slit and down toward her pussy. It was warm and wet and slippery.

"See?" she said.

I began to move my finger up and down between Mom's legs. She put her arms behind her and leaned back, spreading her legs as she did. I ran my finger up and down and up and down. She got wetter and wetter, and her breathing became more audible. I reached my finger down as far as I could, almost to her asshole, and felt that the wetness had run down there, too. I moved my finger back up, bringing her juices with it, and felt the hard nub of her clitoris. I made circles around her clitoris, rubbing it gently on the sides and the bottom. Mom's breathing got faster. Her wet pussy felt so good that I thought I could have rubbed it forever, and I just kept my finger moving up and down, in and out, around and around.

Then, suddenly, Mom made a little sound like, "Eep!" I could hear her catch her breath and press her mouth closed to keep from crying out, and her legs slammed together, trapping my hand. Her whole body seemed wracked with spasms, and her legs clenched and relaxed, clenched and relaxed. When the spasms stopped and her breath started again, she was panting. My cock was rock hard, tenting the sheet, and the sheet was wet with oozing come.

Mom turned toward me and fell into me, wrapping her right arm around my neck and grasping my rigid cock in her left hand. Her breath against my neck was nearly scalding.

"The other thing wrong," she gasped, "was that in the bathtub, you got to finish what you started. I didn't."

She stood up and yanked the sheet off of me, then lay down on her back beside me. "C'mere," she said, pulling me on top of her.

She spread her legs wide, then reached down and took hold of my cock and guided it to her dripping pussy. With one push, I was in to the hilt.

At first, I just lay there, feeling the slick, grasping heat of Mom's cunt wrapped around my cock, understanding suddenly that being inside a woman was something that could never be described. It had to be experienced. All the nerve endings in my body seemed suddenly sensitized, and, without thought, I simply felt—felt the wet heat that was the focus of my attention, felt all of Mom's skin pressed against mine, felt the swell of her breasts against my chest, and felt the hard bumps of her nipples insisting slightly at my ribs, felt a slight cooling breeze across my damp back. At the same time, I was thinking, "I'm fucking! I'm actually fucking! And she wants to do it! So this is what it's like!" Then I felt an increase in pressure against my cock as Mom slowly squeezed, from the inside, and my cock flexed in automatic response.

"Oh, Larry," Mom sighed. "You feel SO good."

Mom hooked her ankles around the backs of my knees and wrapped her arms around my ribs. She started rubbing my back lightly and began a rocking movement with her hips. When she began to rock, I began moving my cock in and out of her. In seconds, we'd achieved a rhythm that had her hips rising to meet my downthrusts and then rocking back down as I withdrew.

Not really knowing what to do, I just continued this movement for several minutes, glad that I'd come only an hour before, or I would have shot my rocks off in an instant. Then something automatic seemed to take over, and I began to vary the rhythm. After Mom's hips rocked down, I didn't immediately move back down to catch her upthrust. Instead, I adjusted my motion so that just the head of my cock was inside Mom, almost as if I were going to pull out. Mom gasped. Then, slightly out of sync with the regular movement, I suddenly thrust into her forcefully, driving my cock in until our pubic bones were grinding together and my balls were resting against Mom's asshole, and I stopped, pinning Mom to the bed even as she tried to move. A breathy "Oh!" exploded from Mom's open mouth.

And then we went wild. Mom wasn't rocking her hips any longer, she was bucking as if she were trying to escape, but at the same time, she raised her hips and locked her ankles around the small of my back so that I couldn't get away. In a contest of tension, she bucked and held; I wrested and thrust. I wasn't just moving in and out of her any more. I was soaring and gliding, dipping and thrusting, slashing and stabbing, gentle and pounding. Mom's gentle caresses on my back turned into the rake of her fingernails, and she began to pant as if she were running the race of her life. I could feel my orgasm starting to build just forward of my asshole. It seemed to me that my cock was doubling in size and hardness, and that the pressure building inside of me was threatening to explode. I began to pant, too, and to draw in and out of Mom to the full length of my cock, faster and faster.

Suddenly, Mom grabbed the cheeks of my ass with what felt like all her strength, digging her fingernails in, and bucked upward, slamming her hips against mine with bruising force—and then stayed there, her legs crushing me against her. "Uh!" Mom exhaled. "Mmf! Mmf! Mmf!," muffling her sounds against my collarbone. And then I exploded. I came with such force that I was afraid for a second that I'd torn the inside of my cock out, afraid that the violence of my ejaculation would pierce Mom's womb like bullets. And I came, and I came, and I came.

Probably our orgasms lasted only seconds, but it could have been hours. Time stopped, became meaningless. All that existed was sensation. Coming until I thought my brains were draining out my cock. Coming even after I was dry, I think. Coming until I hurt, I'd squeezed so hard and so long. And then we relaxed.

Mom was still panting as if she'd just crossed a finish line. "Oh, God!" she breathed. "Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. I've never... I never thought... Oh, God... Larry, you just don't know... Oh, God!" And then she went limp all over, panting and catching her breath.

I raised up on my elbows to give her breathing room, suddenly aware from the cooling of my chest that we were dripping wet. As Mom's breathing slowed back to normal, I traced her hairline with one finger, brushing her damp bangs back from her forehead. From time to time, her pussy would contract and a slight shudder would run through her body. I blew gently on her forehead, then kissed all across it. I kissed her eyelids and the end of her nose, and I kissed her cheeks and her ears. Then I kissed her mouth. She responded with a wide kiss, pressing her tongue against my lips and into my mouth, softly, lovingly.

My cock was shriveling, finally. I rolled off Mom and lay on my left side, and she rolled to her right side, facing me. Our arms were were folded across our chests, touching. Mom extended one arm and rubbed the end of my nose with her index finger. "Oh, baby, that takes care of the second problem," she said, with a throaty chuckle, "oh, boy, does that take care of the second problem. I feel like I've been to heaven and back. I'm melted. I don't have any bones."

"Mom," I began, my voice cracking in a hoarse whisper, "I don't know what to say. I mean, I've never... I can't... I..."

Mom rubbed the end of my nose again. "Shh, then," she said. "You don't have to say a word."

We lay together like that for another indeterminate period of time, and, as I felt myself drifting toward sleep, Mom stirred. "I'm about to fall asleep," she said. "Oh, Larry, I'd love to spend the night cuddled up against you, but I've got to go to my room. I'd hate to have Aunt Nellie decide to come upstairs in the morning and find us in the same bed."

My cocoon of sleepiness unraveled into disappointment. I guess I'd just assumed that Mom and I would continue to lie together like that. "Nuts," I said. "You're right." I kissed Mom on the end of her nose, and we shared one last lingering kiss. I think I was alseep even before Mom had left my room.