A Matter of Timing

She felt his resurgent cock grinding into her thigh. My god, she thought, it is true - an erect cock has no conscience. He was ready to get back into the warm sanctuary of the canal that had given birth to him. She reached between them and placed his by now hard as iron rod at her vaginal opening. In he slid, but very slowly this time and with due caution stopped, when he was less than halfway in. But there was really no need for concern, for her dilated and juiced up vagina accommodated his huge cock quite easily and his cock sank in to its root, effortlessly. This time around, there was no urgency. Ryan was more secure. He had fucked her and knew she wanted to be fucked. Wanted to be fucked by him - her son. He lifted himself up and looked down on his mother and down further to where he could see his prick sliding into her cunt. She watched the coupling with him, her eyes hooded and her mouth open with lust. And this went on for quite some time; his outstretched arms bearing his weight, so that he could alternately observe her face as she got fucked and then watch his cock leisurely penetrate the maternal cunt. All the while he kept a steady pace with his incursions and excursions, savoring the sensation of his prick gliding in and out of her slick yet clutching vagina.

He reached down and slid her sleeveless dress off her. Next, he got rid of her bra and there to behold were her perfect tits. Still perky and upturned, with pink nipples, which were now taut with desire. He had wanted to see her breasts in all their naked glory for weeks, and this was his moment of fulfillment.

Just looking was not enough. He had to possess them, as he wanted to possess her. So he reached down and engulfed them with his hands. He worked the soft nipples with his fingers till they stood up proud and straight and aroused. But handling them was not enough. He lowered his face and licked one, then the other. First all around the rounded periphery and then the prize, the nipples. He fondled each in turn with his tongue, goading them till they stood exuberantly taller and firmer than before. And yet while all this breast worship was going on, he kept a steady pace of fucking down below enjoying the sensation of his prick gliding in and out of her slick yet grasping cunt.

Then he felt her heels digging into his buttocks, goading him to ride her. And he did just that. He dropped down, resting his weight completely on her, and rode her furiously till he felt her flood her cunt and soak his cock, with her come. Her vagina was a tight, yet slick canal that gripped his cock, yet allowed it to smoothly piston in and out. His mouth was attached to hers, their tongues fucking the other, sucking with the zeal only pure lust could engender. Then he felt his desire rising to a crescendo, begging for release; to release his sperm in his mother's vagina, yet again. He lifted himself up, his mouth reluctantly released by hers, and began ramming her at warp speed. He grabbed hold of her tits and squeezed them in his grip and his lust, as he continued viciously violating her cunt. He was on cloud nine and beyond as he realized he could do almost anything with her and she was a willing and submissive partner. Surely, his squeezing her boobs so fiercely should have brought at least a cry of protest from her. Not at all, in fact if anything, she was rutting and grunting in time with his penile onslaught, completely oblivious to the discomfort, if any, his breast squashing was producing. This brutal attack could not last long and it did not. With a loud grunt he came once again inside her. She felt the warmth of his emission in her cunt and that triggered her own wet climax.

For a while they lay there on the narrow chaise longue, recovering. Then he fell away from her, out of her cunt, off the chaise longue, and onto the carpet. He lay there still breathing heavily.

She sat up and putting on her crumpled and now stained fashion statement, made her way to the kitchen for a glass of water. It took him some time to realize that she was gone. But when he did, he got up and went looking for her, buck naked. She saw him out of the corner of her eye as he entered the kitchen. She spluttered into the glass, "Cover yourself!"

"Why?" he asked as he closed the gap between them and began stroking her covered bottom. She reached back and tried to remove his hand from her behind. In response, he moved his other hand to hold her buttocks and pushing himself into her began dry fucking her with his cock. Next, he pushed her dress up and was preparing to fuck her from behind, his youthful cock hard and eager to go yet again, when she forcefully pulled away from him and said firmly, " Come."

She moved out of the kitchen, still sipping water from her glass, and went back to the library. She wiped down the leather surface on the chaise longue off all evidence of their recent sexual jaunt. Then she got him to pick up his clothes and then picking up her own bra and panties, made her way up the broad staircase to her bedroom. He followed close behind, fondling her undulating buttocks as she ascended. He was ready to prong her from behind, but she gave him no chance as she relentlessly ascended.

Once in the bedroom, she quickly removed her dress and lay down naked on her back, on her bed. She spread her legs and looked at him invitingly.

For some unknown reason he was unable to accept her invitation. He, who had been so ready to fuck her in the kitchen and on the stairs, was suddenly and inexplicably inhibited. Because it was his parent's bedroom? Because she was his mother? Who knows? But distinctly in evidence was the loss of his cock's tumescence. He stood forlorn before her, for never had this happened to him. Her maternal feelings were aroused by his despondent disposition. She sat up on the side of the bed and reaching out, grasped his cock. Lovingly, she ran her hand up and down the shaft marveling once again at its heft. And lo and behold, it began appreciating her admiration by once again rising to the occasion. And as for her, whatever maternal feelings had driven her to hold his prick, were quickly blown away by the storm of lust that his expanding organ engendered.

She moved in and engulfed it with her mouth. She could taste her secretions as well as his on it and all it did was arouse her and so she worked her tongue over it, massaging its underside while feeling its helmet striking her palate. His pride restored, his cock proud and erect, he reached for her head and began banging his prick into her mouth, endeavoring to push the whole fucking thing down her throat. She allowed her mouth to be used for a while, using her teeth to remind him to limit the depth of his thrusting. Then she pulled his prick out of her mouth and made him lie down on the bed, with his flamboyantly erect prick sticking up into the atmosphere.

Holding his cock, she mounted him, and slowly descended on his cock till it was buried in her vagina. She had impaled herself on the whole fucking thing. No problem. Like it had taken a little effort and gradual descent but they were pubis to pubis, only his ball sac hung outside her vagina. She pushed down on his chest with her hands and bracing herself thus, she fucked him vigorously. He lay there passively, reveling in the sensation of her forceful fucking. But not for long, because her dangling breasts beckoned him to reach up and squeeze the shit out of them. And this went on for some time - her furious riding and his furious squeezing, mother and son, rutting and glorying in their union. With a moan she lowered herself and found his mouth. Eagerly, their mouths joined in the merger. He let go of her breasts and found her buttocks instead, driving her to ride him with more vigor and this she did till they reached their sexual zenith, remarkably simultaneously.

She lay on top of him, exhausted. He held her firmly to him, licking her face and neck with gratitude. And they remained like this, till sleep claimed their fatigued bodies.

In the morning, she woke up before Gabriella could come into the house. She disabled the alarm to give Gabriella access, though Gabriella could have done it herself without alarming the home security system. Perhaps, it was her way of gaining control, of reiterating that she was her own person and not her son's slut, even though she had the vague feeling that that is what she was last night.

When he woke up he was alone. The bedroom door was firmly shut. This was a completely strange environment for him. He had never slept in his parents' bed before and waking up in it rendered him disoriented. It was broad daylight outside and he could vaguely make out noises of human activity within. He covered himself as best as he could and then cautiously but quickly made his way to his own bedroom.

Later, after he had made himself presentable, he descended to the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. He found his mother in the opaque glass enclosed alcove adjacent to the kitchen sipping that coffee while Gabriella was going over with her, once again, the arrangements she had made for meals during her absence. Gabriella had planned to take the next two weeks off to visit relatives in Phoenix. The family was going to drive down immediately after she had served them breakfast. But the ever grateful, ever mothering, ever responsible Gabriella was not going to just leave them to fend for themselves. She had produced a broad hipped, middle aged, cheerful 'cousin', who was going to stay in Gabriella's house and look after the family in her absence. And this 'cousin' had helped prepare breakfast that morning with her.

And what a breakfast it was - fresh fruit, followed by a frothy concoction of eggs, spinach and bacon bits, topped off by a frozen creamy peach creation, all accompanied by freshly baked croissants.

After breakfast he found his mother making preparations to go out to the art gallery where she was going to meet up with a few friends to view a collection of European impressionist paintings, on loan from another gallery. He walked up to her and embraced her from behind. She went rigid and freeing herself, turned around. With distance between them, she said," I need time to think about this," and then turned around and left.

He was far from crushed. He had fucked her and knew that she had enjoyed it. He knew he was going to fuck her again. She needed time to think things over and he was okay with that. After all, she was his mother and what they had done was a bit out of the pale, of a mother son relationship. Okay, way out of the pale. But he now knew that she was as much into fucking as he was.

His mother was conflicted. Not so much with the fact that she had fucked her own son. Though, there was a little of that, it was mainly the way she had behaved. She felt she had behaved like a slut and was kind of ashamed because she had been her son's slut. She felt he would lose all respect for her and she really could not stomach that. Even more importantly she felt she would lose respect for herself. Loss of self respect now that was awful. Or was it? Determined not to over think matters she avoided him as much as possible, denying him any opportunity to proposition her. Because, as she worked through her mental conflict she realized that if he was to proposition her she would joyfully agree.

He thought things over as well. Maybe, everything had gone too quickly and too far. His baser and pornography loving nature had taken over and was obviously satisfied about how things had progressed. But the civilized more cerebral part of him felt something missing. It was true that he wanted to fuck his mother, because he lusted for her. But that was not all. He wanted to make love to her. To softly seduce her, to hold her like a fragile and beautiful thing, to murmur sweet nothings in her ear. He loved her and treasured her and respected her.

But then, his brain would play the recordings of that night and all he wanted to do was go caveman and capture her and subdue her and fuck the daylight out of her. Because he loved the way she had fucked him. As if she was a slut; his slut.

In the final analysis he decided that for his next act he needed to gently seduce her or even better let her seduce him, if their fucking was going to have a future. Make her feel like a lady. Restore her pride. Even though he felt instinctively that deep down she was into fucking as much as he was, and hell, may even be a slut. And so deep down he knew he was going to fuck her again and again, provided he played his cards right.

He did not get a chance till a few weeks later.

His parents were supposed to go off for a short vacation in Spain. However, this fell through at the last moment, as his father was called for an emergency meeting of the board of one of the companies he was a trustee for, in New York. So, on a Friday, mother and son found themselves eating dinner together. He had planned on spending the weekend at home rather than in his apartment. There was course work to be done and he always found it easier to work at home rather than at his apartment. She, obviously, had no social engagements as she had planned on being in Spain.

Gabriella had made up for Ellen's disappointment at not being in Spain by cooking this traditional Catalan meal, with Escudella served in two parts. The first being the escudella proper which was the soup consisting of a broth with pasta and rice and then the carn d'olla which is all the meat used in the broth, served afterwards in a tray along with the vegetables used. This was topped by Peres de Lleida, a typical Catalan dessert composed of peeled pears cooked in a kind of lighter crema catalana and served cold, covered by meringue and decorated with cherries. There must have been some pure Catalan blood in Gabriella's lineage, otherwise how could she have created this traditional meal that had you thinking of the smell and feel of Barcelona with each forkful?

At the end of this gastronomical extravaganza both mother and son were sated and very mellow. Gabriella and her husband cleared the table and neatly stacked all the dishes in one of the dishwashers and got it going. Then she served them gourmet espresso with a smile on her face, wished them goodnight and good luck and left to do the hooky poky (or not; her choice), with her husband in their own space.

Mother and son looked at each other across the table. This was the first time that they had been completely alone since their sexual liaison. She was filled with trepidation. He was completely at ease. She was scared of being propositioned by him, because she knew she would succumb and she was even more scared that she would end up once again behaving like a slut, beholden to his big cock. He knew he was going to fuck her tonight and the only question was how was he going to set the ball rolling.

Since his course work had to do with the Cinchona bark and its effect on the development of the South American Economy, he set the ball rolling by asking her opinion about it. Of course it was medical, since quinine was extracted from the bark of the Cinchona tree and quinine had been successfully used to treat malaria. And of course like all doctors she was really into teaching, and so she held forth, gaining confidence as she spoke. He listened to her, enthralled by her knowledge but more by the sound of her wonderful voice and the movements of her mouth and the memory of that mouth on his and the thought of what that mouth had done to his cock. And up went his cock in appreciation. Down boy, he admonished his prick, your time has not yet come.

And of course they had to move to the library where she could pull out tomes to bolster what she was telling him. Like real libraries in the homes of real life educated folk, unlike fake ones offered up by wannabes, it was stacked floor to ceiling and row upon row with real books, that had obviously been read a few times.

She held forth for quite a while. He took notes feverishly and noted down all the references as well, to come back to later on, because he was good student, and he really did have an assignment with a deadline. And at the end of all the holding forth he had enough information and more to meet that deadline.

More to the point, by letting his mother exercise her mind and teach him - he had wooed her with the mental equivalent of chocolates and roses. It had certainly left her with a feeling of well being and of being prized. And wasn't that exactly why men presented women with trinkets?!

Now he had to move on. To the main event. But he was going to give his pornographic brain the day off and let his otherwise civilized brain have its way.

He took her hand in his. He held it, even as she looked at him curiously. Softly he traced the tendons in her hands, completely engrossed in what he was doing. She stifled her admonishment mainly because the sensation of having her hands rubbed was soothing and pleasurable. And so there was no maternal reprimand when he moved her hands to his lips.

Just a, " Ryan, what are you doing?" Was that a reprimand, an admonishment? Her tone was neutral. He was not paying attention to her responses. Not a bit. He was caught up in his own script. The script to be followed if he wanted this fucking relationship to continue.

He looked up at her with his clear blue eyes with what she thought was moist admiration. He had definitely given the pornographic part of his brain the day off and so who knows what exactly he was feeling?!

His feelings mattered not. For this is not a tale of emotional conflict. Not a Russian Novel, not a ' Brothers Karamazov' or some such grand entity. Not even a French Novel, softly erotic yet sensuously arousing. This is a pornographic tale of Epic Proportions. Of immense cocks and lusty vaginas. So bring it on said the pornographic part of his brain. But hold it right there said his entire brain. We have given the pornographic module the day off. Whether or not it left with Gabriella - it should have.

So unlike the first time where he had just stuffed her fingers into his mouth and sucked them and her into submission, the civilized part of his brain made him release her hand and just gaze into her eyes with yearning. Make conversation it said. The biggest sexual organ a man has is his brain; said his brain. The non pornographic, otherwise civilized part of his brain, that is.

And so, " Mom, how do I tell you that what happened the other night was the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me? I mean it was out of this world wonderful. I am sorry if I was impetuous and brash. I am sorry if I hurt you in any way. I want it to happen again. But I do not know what I have to do?"

If it sounded phony, it was. Because his porno loving self ( which apparently had still not taken the day off ) was telling him - just bend the bitch over that chair and fuck her, you know she will love it and you know she knows it. But his non porno loving self was not so sure. Net result - he just looked at her with his clear blue eyes.

She sat and stared at him for some time, trying to make up her mind. Then in the end her lust took over. She reached out and put her hands on his face, slowly stroking his cheeks like she may have done years ago in his childhood. He was after all her son even though she now coveted him as a lover.

She looked up at him and his clear blue eyes. Softly she moved his face to hers and gently kissed him. Her lips ran over his face and finally locked on onto his mouth. Delicately, her tongue came out and played sensuously with his. He let her set the pace. He was not going to rush things or impose himself on her in any way. Instinctively, he understood that this was the way to go if their fucking was to have a future.

And then, just like the time before, she said, " Come." And holding his hand led him up the stairs. But unlike the last outing he did not fondle her buttocks as he ascended the stairs behind her. He just followed passively, led by the pull of her hand in his.