The Article Part 2

Note : This story is completely fictional!

It’s along time since a classic story from me here the super classic part two.

As we ate I started to look at mum – sort of taking an inventory of her assets. She was quite a bit younger than the widow, and certainly a lot better looking. 

The track suit didn't give a good view of her figure, but obviously I seen her dressed in other clothes and just that morning over breakfast I'd had that view of her breasts; not overly large, but nicely rounded and firm.

Her mouth didn't look as sensual as the widow's, but it had an interestingly short upper lip with a fuller and slightly protruding lower lip that often looked shiny and moist. 

But it was her hair and eyes I'd always found most alluring, the reddish gold hair and her long lidded dark eyes that slanted upwards towards their outer edge, giving her a slightly oriental look.

She glanced up at me from her plate of soup and caught me looking at her. Her face flushed and she looked quickly down again.

I tried to hurry through the meal so that I could get back to my room and masturbate, but I seemed to be having trouble swallowing. 

We ate in silence, both of us wrapped in our own thoughts. I wanted to try and work out what she was thinking, and continued looking at her, and kept getting caught doing it.

Mum seemed to be agitated and was having trouble sitting still. As she spooned the soup I could see her hands trembling slightly, and she was breathing rapidly, causing her breasts to rise and fall quickly.

One moment she glanced up at me and we looked into each others eyes and I could see her dilated pupils.

Suddenly she rose and grabbing her plate with its partially finished soup she hurried agitatedly over to the sink. She stood there with her back to me, her head Bent, her hands on the rim of the sink, and her shoulders moving with each breath she took. 

In a moment of what I suppose was compulsion I stood up and went to her, and parting the back of her hair I kissed the nape of her neck and whispered, "I'd never tell, mum."

She leaned back against me and putting my arms round her I cupped her breasts with my hands. I felt her high firm buttocks pressing against me, teasing my penis some electric feels my my whole body. I could hear her breathing heavily and reaching down I pulled up the top of her track suit until her breasts were uncovered; I took them in my hands, gently pressing her nipples.

"Don't darling...don't," she gasped; "Please...please don't...oh...oh... do this to me unless you're going to...oh darling... go all the way. Don't work me...oh...up and leave me...ah...ah...hanging; you don't know what that...oh don't darling...does to a woman when she's...ah...oh..."

"I won't leave you hanging," I murmured.

I eased one hand down through the elastic top of her track suit trousers and pushing down her panties I felt for her vulva. Its lips felt swollen and engorged, and as I inserted a finger into my own mother’s vagina it was hot and very wet I can’t believe I am touching the most forbidden area of my own mother.

I searched for her clitoris, and finding it I slowly circled it with my finger.

Mother was sobbing and crying out, "Darling...oh my darling...you're driving me mad..."

She turned in my arms and pulling my head down to hers she kissed me frantically, and in seconds we were eating each other. She struggled blindly to pull down the zip of my trousers and then took hold of my penis; slowly stroking the foreskin over its head.

"Oh God I need you," she gasped, "I need you...I need you..."

I eased her over to the kitchen work Bench, Bent down and pulled off her trousers and lifted her on to the Bench. She did the rest, parting and raising her legs to present her vagina to her own son. 

I stood in front of her and was about to press the head of my purple head of penis into her tunnel the love canal and the forbidden place for a son when I had a thought that deterred me.

"You won't get pregnant, will you?"

In a stifled voice she said, "I don't care...I don't care...for God's sake don't stop now...I need it...I must have you..."

That knocked out my reticence. I slid the head of my penis into her waiting entrance the whole world heaven feels entrance– into her hot, wet, sucking femaleness; the tunnel of ever lasting love.

I moaned as I felt the walls of my mother’s vagina clinging to my shaft, as if trying to draw me in deeper. 

She was whimpering and sighing, "Beautiful...beautiful darling," as I moved back and forth in her.

She started to shake with gradually increasing intensity, crying out, "It's happening...no...no...don't make me...oh no...please don't....aaah....ow...."

She seemed to convulse, putting her hands behind my buttocks dragging me close as if she would absorb me completely, and wailing, "Yes...yes...oh my God...oh my God..." Then with a long drawn out cry, "Aaaahneeeow," she started to sob in earnest.

My testes released their burden, pumping white incest sperm up my shaft and into her. We struggled together for several seconds, striving to get my full length into her. As I finished she wept, "Don't stop...don't stop...I haven't...oh...ah...oh..."

I knew from my experience with the widow what she needed. Her orgasm was still going on, so I kept moving in her until I felt her relax.

She leaned forward weakly, her head on my shoulder. "So good...so good...oh darling..." she sobbed. 

I held her to me, my slacked penis still in her vagina. When we did separate and she was standing on the floor, there was that moment of awkwardness – of shyness – that seems to follow even the most satisfying coition. 

Mother glanced up at me almost timidly and said, "I'm feeling a bit shaky...fragile...I'll make a cup of tea."

The idea of making tea was so mundane we looked at each other and started to laugh. We clung to each other for a while as our laughter subsided. 

When we had quietened mother asked, "Was it all right, darling, you didn't mind...I mean because I'm your own mother you don't feel...?It wrong"

"It was wonderful, mother because the forbidden fruits are more taste," I reassured her.

She gave a sigh of relief and said, "I'm starving, I think I'll cook something for us."

"That's strange, I replied, "I feel hungry too."

"I wonder why?" mother said in a taunting tone of voice.

When we had restored our clothes she gave me my orders. 

"You make the tea while I cook."

I obeyed while she set about cooking a pile of eggs and bacon.

I had the odd thought that this too was wonderful. It was like having the ordinary and the extraordinary; having both things with someone you loved and wanted to be with. Not like when I was with the widow. After I'd screwed her two or three times in succession I was lucky to get a cup of instant coffee.

The tea was ready before the food, so I sat at the table with my cup watching mum turning over the bacon and listening to her complaining when the cooking oil splattered. In a manner unusual for me I went to her and said, "Here, I'll do that, you go and drink your tea." Was it gratitude for what she had let me do with her that had brought about this change in me, or was it in the hope that my action would reap future reward? 

She didn't drink her tea - at least, not right away.

Saying, "I'm sticky and uncomfortable," she hurried from the room to return a few minutes latter wearing an odd pair of track suit trousers. I must have thumped a lot of sperm into her. 

She was just in time for me to dish up the food. 

We both ate voraciously, as if having gratified one sort of hunger we had released yet another.

"We shouldn't have done that," mum said through a mouthful of egg.

"What?" I asked, pretending not to understand, "You mean we shouldn't have cooked and made tea?" 

"You're just being stupid, you know what I mean; we shouldn't have made love."

"There you are, you said it," I responded, cutting the rind off a slice of bacon, "We 'made love,' and it says in the bible we should love our neighbour, and you're my nearest neighbour, so I love you; and look at what a wonderful appetite its given us."

"You know the bible doesn't mean that and..."

"No, but it should," I quipped. 

"The trouble is," she said thoughtfully, wiping a smear of egg from her chin, "once you start something like this and you like it, it's hard to stop."

I picked out a piece of bacon from where it had become lodged between my teeth and replied, "Who said anything about stopping."

She looked across at me earnestly.

"You...you don't want to stop?"

I looked back at her with equal intensity and said, "No, I don't want it to stop."

"You do realise I'm a one man woman, and I expect my man to be a one woman man, don't you?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

"No more widow?"

"No more widow, she's got enough in tow anyway."

Mother looked coy as she asked, "But you will do some of the things you've done with her, with me, won't you?"

"No point in wasting good training," I replied, "we'll do all of them and anything else we can think of."

"Let's hurry up and finish eating and then we can have a shower and start getting inventive, darling."

It was only when I sucked on those ripe pink nipples of hers, and felt her wet squishy sex organ descend on my mouth that I discovered mother was a lot tastier than the widow. I'd never really liked it when I had raised my head from the widow's genitalia and the lower half of it was covered in her juice. With mother it was a joy to be soaked with her fluid, especially when she licked it off.

In due course the inevitable happened, and mother announced she was pregnant. That was a bit stomach churning at first, but seeing how happy she was about it, I started to enjoy it too. 

She gave birth to a daughter, and in fact I expect to get a visit from her in a couple of day's time. She works as an air hostess on overseas flights, and always comes to see me when she's in town.

Since I told mother that I'd never tell, you might be wondering why I'm writing this. Mother died two years ago (From soon after we started to be lovers I never called her mother, but I won't reveal her name). We were together for nearly fifty five years, and for many of those years we remained ardent lovers. When finally her health declined I became her carer and loved her to the end and beyond.

Since she is now dead I feel free to write something of how we became lovers, and to make the point that not all incest is negative. 

I am in my sixties now, and although I could still engage in sexual activity, I don't really have the inclination. She was the great love of my life, and so it will remain to the end. 

I sometimes wonder what happened to the Almin mum and son.