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Subject: i n c e s t story: "A Beloved Mom" 22361
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Date: Sun, 20 May 2007 20:12:40 +0000
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A Beloved Mom
"What'ya reading? said my sister.
"The Flowers of Evil,"
"Your Lit 202, I suppose. Read me a little"
"Not exactly assigned, however." I read:
Close swarming, like a million writhing worms,
A demon nation riots in our brains.
"I feel that swarm, sometimes," Jill said. "But
what are the 'flowers of evil'?
"'Evil' or 'disgusting' things that have their
peculiar fascination and beauty."
"Such as?".
"Baudelaire wrote, "The unique and supreme
pleasure of making love lies in the certitude of
doing evil." His sexual imagery was very striking:
Thus, one night, I'd like,
When the hour of pleasure sounds,
To crawl, like a coward, silently
Toward the treasures of your person.
To punish your joyful flesh,
To bruise your pardoned breast,
And carve in your astonished flank
A wide and hollow wound,
And delicious sweetness,
Through those lips, new formed,
Brighter and more lovely,
To inject you, my Sister, with my Blood.
I had piqued her curiosity. "punish your joyful
flesh," she mused. I had no doubt she understood
it, though she had not quite finished high school.
She wanted to know about people, their unusual
experiences, though she'd had a lot more, I'm
sure, than the average 18 year old.
She came over to the chair where I was sitting and
knelt beside it. She looked up, her eyes curious,
framed in three shades of purple eye shadow;
"How is joyful flesh to be punished?" Her face was
beautiful, open, highlighted by her striking,
somewhat 'goth' makeup that led most people she
encountered to inquire, "Are you a drama student?"
In fact, she'd had a fine role in an amateur
production of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. She
interrupted my fascination, "How do we do it?"
"There are certain sexual practices.... " I said
trailing off, hinting..
I noticed her breasts resting on the arm of the
chair; firm, now, the size of oranges standing out
on her fine-boned chest and slender body. More
than one fellow senior had incurred her withering
remarks by asking "Are they real?"
"I inflate them," she'd say, and as the person
nodded, she'd add, "with the air that rushes
through your head." Again she broke into my
thoughts, "Go on." Seeing the direction of my
gaze, she smiled.
"Do you know what 'transgression' is?" I asked.
"Of course. It's breaking the rules or laws, the
kind of things you'll learn to do in law school."
She arched an eyebrow.
"Touch?," I said, "and it is also going beyond the
limits, for instance, of decency. This writer
believes transgression is necessary for the artist
and for any person who really lives. He lived with
a prostitute, Jeanne Duval."
"I would not just break a rule just to be breaking
it."
"True," I said. "But when you go beyond the
bounds, indulge the most unusual forms of
sensuality, you become hyper-aroused. People will
consider what you do, depraved and dangerous."
Knowing of her sexual activities, I asked her,
"Did you ever break the rules with a boyfriend?"
"Well, Dan did a lot of speeding. One time he
drove 110 miles per hour, to scare me. I didn't
notice at the time, but Mom sure did when I got
home; I'd wet my pants. 'What's that?' she asked.
'Just a spill,' I said and went off to change."
"OK," I said. "But for 'sex'; ever done it in a
weird, possibly forbidden place?"
"Oh yes. Once up in the higher balconies of the
theater where we weren't supposed to go. The guy
just laid me back, lifted the front of my skirt,
pulled my panties aside, and we fucked."
"Go on"
"Then we arranged our clothes, stood up and walked
out, casual as you please."
"Did the public location arouse you?"
"Yes; my heart was already pounding when we
entered the balcony. And I came like never
before."
"Even a minor transgression can heighten the
senses."
"Well, Mom didn't think it was so minor. I had to
walk past her, in the hall, coming in, and I tried
to be casual. You remember."
"Mom exploded when she saw a big wet spot on the
back of your skirt: She just lost it. 'You're
peddling that cunt of yours!' She has the mouth of
a sailor, doesn't she? Though she tries to carry
herself with the dignity of a model. I don't blame
you for not speaking to her for a week."
Jill wanted to return to the topic at hand. "But
doesn't the thrill always decay?"
"Well, desire has to be first let out, then
attended."
Our discussion proceeded.
"Did you know that Byron, the poet, had sex with
his sister--well, half-sister?"
She started. I could see she was thinking.
"OK, Garth, let's quit horsing around. You want to
fuck me?"
"Well," I responded, sounding noncommittal.
"If you're thinking of fucking me, it ain't going
to happen."
"OK." But I sensed a flicker in my cock. "Well,
what is possible?"
"Hmmm... " she hesitated.
She had picked up my reaction.
"I just don't want that huge cock shoved in my
cute little quim." Ironically coy. I was
flattered. She was considering other
possibilities.
Then, she blurted out, "OK, here's your
opportunity. You may suck my pussy. And make me
cum. Is sucking off your sister transgressive
enough?"
"Yes; but judge for yourself--after the
experiment."
"OK, let's get on with it. But I will be requiring
something of you in return," she added. "OK. Name
it."
"I'll let you know."
"Get out of the chair," she said.
She removed her jeans and panties and sat down. I
couldn't believe it. The pussy I hadn't seen since
we were kids was showing there in full bloom,
covered by her dark moss. "This is so
cold-blooded," she said, opening her legs. "It's
awesome."
"That adds to the evil." She got the point. She
rotated her hips up. The black thatch beckoned me.
"Stroke my pussy!"
When her eyes closed I kissed down over her belly,
past her sex and onto her inner thighs. It felt
strange and artificial, at first, but I continued
these caresses until she became relaxed and
mellow. Her pussy began to give off that earthy
odor mixed with her lily of the valley perfume,
and I reached to insert two of my fingers into her
wet entrance.
When the hips began their rhythm, I lowered my
lips to her slickened ones, below, and inhaled
deeply. I slid my tongue from her cunt tunnel up
to her clit, sucking, swirling around it then
returning below. As she pressed her pussy against
my face, I knew she was losing herself in her
lust. With tongue and right-hand fingers I thrust
into her while my other fingers flicked and
stroked her clit. She started thrashing and began
to come. She moaned and grasped my head then
grabbed at my fingers to pull them in deeper. At
each stroke on her clit I heard a loud groan and
felt her flood, the involuntary twitching of cunt
on my face and around my fingers.
Though her thighs were clasped over my ears, I
heard her cry out "Suck me Garth omigod, ahhh."
She bucked and thrashed for a long while before
easing off. Finally I felt her thighs relax a bit;
I heard her first question. "How do you like
eating your little sister's pussy?" I just licked
my lips.
===
And so she began as my partner; together we
hatched schemes for 'evil' things we could think
of. We had an occasional repeat of lunching at the
"Y," and that seemed as far as she was
comfortable. She herself came up with some good
ideas, and she reported her experiments to me.
====
One day the idea came to her:
"We could fuck Mom."
"Wow!. ... I'm not sure I can arrange it, though."
"Well, I will start," said Jill. "I think I know a
way in."
"Lead on."
I thought of Mom and felt a little bit sorry for
her, till I remembered Dad. He'd brought me and my
sister up, from the time I was four and she was
two, until our early teens. "Your Mom just had to
go," he always said, "but she will come back."
I was 14, sitting on the front steps admiring a
sleek looking redhead of 30 something, when she
turned up our walkway. "Hi, Garth" she said, in a
friendly way. She seemed so familiar. Then I
noticed the compact little bum I'd looked up at
when I was four. "Mom," I said, "Come in and see
Dad." Dad seemed so happy to see her. They began
to chat, and I noticed what I hadn't at four. Her
pants were so tight that her sex was clearly
divided by the centre seam of the crotch. I
learned, however, she was very tasteful in dress
at work, and I'm sure it was that ass of hers that
led the boss, at various big corporations, to make
her his 'special assistant.'
"Jill, how will you get to her?"
"She has her weak moments. It's silly, but did you
notice that after a big lottery, like the NY
State, if she doesn't win a nickel, she's
depressed. And she takes more than a couple stiff
drinks."
"She's hard to figure," I said.
I'd never learned the full story of why she'd
left, or come back, but one night I overheard Dad
saying something like "Did you get it out of your
system?" I wondered what "it" was. Jill and I were
just civil, at first, then we got to like her, but
still didn't exactly look on her as a parent. It
was probably her desire to be loved that led her
to mostly give up on 'minding' us, but she tried
to show Dad that she loved and cared for us. But
always we remembered our Dad, not Mom, getting up
a night, in our childhood emergencies.
"With your help, I think I can get to her."
"You sound so detached," said Jill, "I feel a bit
like that." When Mom came back, trying to make
amends, we half played at being her devoted
'teens'. But when Dad suddenly died of a heart
attack a 3 years ago, we backed off, withdrew to
ourselves, and she was smart enough not to try to
'parent' us. Except for a few incidents with Jill.
"I hadn't realized she was actually depressed at
those times."
"I asked her, 'what's the matter?' one time," said
Jill. "She said, "' I used to be with 'money' all
the time. Now I have to pin my hopes on a fucking
lottery.'"
"With her looks, I'm sure some of the 'money' took
a big interest in her, at age 25."
Jill's analysis of Mom's vulnerabilities sounded
correct, and so we bided our time. In a couple
weeks, it was the state lottery night, 12 million
dollars at stake, and thousands of prizes. I took
care to be out at the time of the announcements; I
slipped in late in the evening. Jill filled me in,
the next day.
====
Mom heard the announcements on TV, and Jill heard
her say, "Oh shit, not again," and pour herself a
drink. Jill walked in and sat down next to her.
"That's a bummer, Mom." Jill snuggled up. "But I
love you just the same." Mom brightened a little.
Neither my sister or I said such things very
often.
"Relax, Mom, lie back and I'll massage your neck.
But do you want another drink?" Mom took one and
laid herself out, on her back, on the sofa. Jill
was at the end and began to massage her neck.
"M.m.," said Mom. Jill moved to her face after a
while, and then to her shoulders. Mom was just
relaxing. From Mom's shoulders, Jill went to the
sides of her chest. Mom's breasts were not large,
but now, in her thirties, they hung toward her
sides when she was lying down. Jill brushed them,
as if by accident. Mom didn't move. Jill proceeded
to the breasts themselves, and tried to defuse the
situation. "Mom, these are so firm. ...I always
admired them. And they're still gorgeous at your
ripe age." Teasing. Mom smiled and let the
caresses proceed. Jill brushed the nipples and
then began squeezing them lightly. Again, she
acted casual. "These are awesome nipples, Mom. I
know they attract a lot of attention." As Jill
twisted them, Mom moaned a little.
"Jill, you're my daughter," said Mom, stirring
herself. She put her hands on top of Jill's to
keep them from moving. "Of course, Mom" said Jill.
"But it's not like I have the hots for you. I just
admire your body and think you look really sexy.
OK?" Mom was quiet. It dawned on Jill that Mom's
hands had just stopped hers, not removed them.
Jill pressed against Mom's nipples, her hands
under Mom's. Mom pressed too.
They progressed quickly. Jill got her to remove
her sweater and bra, and Jill began applying
lotion. Mom took another drink and surrendered
herself, her breasts, to Jill's tender
ministrations. Mom was squirming. Jill wasn't sure
how to proceed. She didn't want to freak out Mom
by just going for her pussy. "Let yourself go,
Mom," she said. She took Mom's hand and placed it
on her crotch, over the pants. Mom began gently to
stroke herself as Jill massaged her breasts. "I
hope you don't think I do this all the time," Mom
said. "It's a release, Mom, I understand." Mom
unzipped and stroked herself through her panties,
and Jill saw a wet spot. She turned down the
lights. "Just pretend I'm not here," she said.
"Relax yourself." Bold in the darker room, Mom
sighed and slipped fingers under her panties.
Jill shifted position, so she was beside Mom. She
stroked Mom's breasts with one hand and gently
rested her hands on Mom's, below, feeling Mom's
fingers madly at work. She pressed down, and Mom
moaned as the fingers were forced into her. Jill
smelled success. She also heard--though Mom did
not--the small sound of me entering the apartment.
She knew I would be in the darkened foyer,
watching.
I saw Jill's hand on Mom's, bobbing. Jill pulled
down her panties and slipped her hand toward Mom's
pussy and slid her fingers in. Both their hands
glistened with the juices of Mom's dripping cunt.
Since Mom's hips swung up even more fully into the
fingers, Jill began slipping in two of hers,
alongside Mom's two. Jill seemed to get into the
spirit of it and applied her lips to Mom's large
nipples. Mom began thrashing in her lust,
approaching climax. Knowing she was out of it, I
moved from the foyer into the end on the living
room, standing silently. Jill began talking to
bring Mom over the edge. "Come. Let yourself
come," she said. "Fuck these fingers. Fuck 'em
hard."
She wanted Mom to focus on the fingers, and Mom
probably didn't even realize that Jill moved her
other hand down to frig her clit and shoved three
of the fingers from the other hand into Mom's
gaping hole. I silently slipped up on them and
took over Mom's breasts. I felt the hard nubs in
my fingers. I pressed into the firm flesh and felt
my cock harden. Mom's climax was imminent, and it
was all I could do not to press my cock, in my
pants, against her. All at once, Mom cried out,
"God, Jill, I'm cumming. Omigod. Fuck me." I saw a
spurt of juices, and Jill shoving as deep as she
could. A look of triumph on her face. She realized
the power she had, to make a body totally
convulse.
Mom had a smile on her face, and she began to come
out of it. I had quickly exited, unnoticed. "Mom,
I love you," I heard Jill saying, as I quietly
closed the door to my bedroom.
===
Jill and I pow-wowed the next morning. Jill was
happy. "I was right," she said. "We've found the
way in. So to speak." She winked. "And
incidentally, I don't think I'm going to be
hearing from her again about my morals and my
cunt."
"I don't think you will, either. You were great,
Jill. Did you get off too?"
"Oh yes," she said. "I thought it was too much to
ask Mom to frig me. But after I was alone, I
dialed up the big "O" on my li'l telephone."
"Did the transgression excite you?"
"Yep, it was a real violation of decency. My cunt
was just dripping. As you said, the greater the
evil, the greater the volume of fluid."
We began to discuss to the next phase. Jill was
pretty sure she could get Mom worked up again, and
we talked about my just sneaking in and impaling
the aroused cunt. "It won't work," said Jill, "I'm
sure she could deal with something like that." I
proposed that we might 'get to' Mom, play with her
mind because of what she'd done. Jill doubted it.
"Even if we had the last session on film, I'd look
like the seductress. ... I like your idea,
though," she added, "I just have to take her
further. She has to be drawn in and feel
responsible, not merely seduced. For instance,
when you 'discover' us, I want her face buried in
my pussy. That's a little harder to explain."
In the next two weeks, Jill was with Mom a couple
more times, massaging her, then bringing her to
orgasm. We wanted Mom to become accustomed. At the
next lottery night, Jill arranged to be home with
Mom. Mom lost. Jill encouraged her to have a
couple drinks and things proceeded pretty much
like before. When Mom's sweater and bra came off,
Jill especially admired her breasts. Stroking
them, she said, "I'm sort of self conscious about
mine. They don't hang like a woman's ... like some
of my friends' do. And I'm so embarrassed about
these nipples that always stick out."
Mom looked sympathetic. "They're fine."
"Please have a look, Mom, and tell me if I'm
weird, OK?" Mom nodded and Jill removed her top
and bra. Those oranges did not droop at all; their
tips perked up, but Mom probably didn't figure it
was Jill's arousal that caused it.
"Jill, your breasts are sexy, very attractive."
Jill looked reassured, moved closer, and began
stroking Mom's again. Mom lay face up on the couch
and Jill knelt on the floor and pressed her
breasts against Mom. "Do you like them?" she said,
with a tremor in her voice. She was fingering
Mom's nipples; her own ripe breast, just inches
from Mom's face. Jill kept up with her left hand,
but with her right, she offered the breast to
Mom's mouth. Mom looked at Jill, and probably to
re-assure her, started sucking the dark nipple.
Jill closed her eyes, genuinely aroused.
"OH Mom, I love you." This time, as things heated
up, Mom needed no encouragement to loosen her
pants and start fingering herself. Jill
interrupted her kissing and hugging and took off
her own pants and panties. "I feel so good with
you, Mom," she said. "I know it's not like you
have the hots for me." While Mom continued
masturbating, Jill stroked her own breasts.
"You're gorgeous," she said. "But Mom, some of the
girls tease me about my pussy."
"Why, dear?"
"Well, it's the thick curly black thatch. They
call be "Brillo."
"You must not listen to that."
They began their lovemaking again, and Jill moved
Mom's hand into her dark curls; Mom began stroking
Jill, as if to say. "It's fine."
"Oh that feels good Mom; but do you think it's too
bushy?"
"Of course not," said Mom, and did not resist
Jill's pushing against her hand. "Mom I know you
really love me," Jill said, kissing her again on
the breasts. Mom's hand was pushed toward Jill's
wet slit. Jill gently ground her hips and felt Mom
caressing her, first outside, then just inside her
pussy. They were both getting hot, and Jill
squeezed onto the sofa next to Mom. They kissed
and their hands probed each other's pussies.
Jill was quite flushed, but she pulled back a
little; "Mom, there's something I can't ask
anybody."
"Yes."
"Does my pussy, all wet, have a funny smell? My
last two boyfriends always crinkled their noses if
I pushed their heads toward there."
"They don't know anything," said Mom. She raised
her fingers to her nose and inhaled. "That's so
sexy, that musk."
"So what is there about me? said Jill, as she
thrust a couple of fingers deep in Mom. Mom closed
her eyes. Jill suddenly rose, and placed a leg
across Mom's chest. She crouched down and brought
her pussy just an inch about Mom's mouth. She
turned her head, as if embarrassed. Probably to
reassure her, Mom raised her head and kissed
Jill's cunt; Jill lowered herself and reached
behind to stimulate Mom's breasts. Mom started
licking her and soon Jill was moaning. Mom reacted
to Jill's passion; I heard, "Fuck my tongue, my
Baby." Then Jill said, "Mom I love you," while she
bore down on Mom's face.
That was my signal to creep in, and I did, in time
to see Mom deeply inside of Jill's pussy lips, and
Jill riding her thrust-out tongue. I knelt, at
Mom's waist, and Mom had no view. I touched the
Mom's dripping lips gently and Mom rolled her
hips. I gradually introduced three fingers and
used my thumb on her clit. This swollen pussy that
I'd seen pressed into her jeans just seemed to
devour my hand. I smelled her musk and heard her
moan. Jill was grinding her pussy into Mom's face
when Mom's body began bucking in climax, her cunt
spasming around my fingers. I heard Jill say,
"Mom, I'm coming; I love you," and then Mom's body
stiffened and convulsed in orgasm. I withdrew my
fingers and went and sat on a chair nearby where I
could still smell the reeking sexual aromas. Jill
got off Mom's face, which was shining in Jill's
juices.
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