It Happened One Night: A Series

I was stripping even as I was on my way past her. Just as pre-dick-ed, mom was sitting on the side of my bed when I returned from the shower. I was starkers, though mom had her robe on. She patted the bed indicating I should perch beside her. A quick peck on the lips and a fast pull on my pecker reassured me that things were about to get steamy for sonny. "Tom, do you remember what happened on your eighteenth birthday?" she asked sweetly.

"You said we would talk about it." (Mom had walked in on me masturbating, when everybody was waiting down at the dinner table. She had come to see what was holding me up. She saw me holding my upright member and cumming. She told me to hurry in dressing. People were expecting me downstairs. Later, when she tried to talk to me about it, I had been so mortified by embarrassment of my mom seeing me ejaculate, I asked her to never ever speak about it again.)

"And we haven't, but your twenty-three now."

"I guess it's not such a big deal, now that I'm more mature."

"Mama likes to role-play sometimes. What if that happened when you were twenty-one?"

"I think I could have handled the situation at that age.'

"Two days ago, was an even more memorable muddle of moral mix-up!"

"That's true!" I had to laugh at the obvious irony.

"Well . . . could we pretend that I came into your room one night when you were eighteen, in the same . . straits, as it were, and instead of demurely withdrawing, stayed to admire the view?"

"Whatever makes you happy, mom." (Whatever got me into her panties; though I was pretty sure she again had nothing on under her robe.

"Now that's an attitude I always am pleased to get from my boy."

"If only all my chores were so pleasurable to perform!"

"Touché'! Now stretch out on the bed, just like you were back then." I did so with my back propped up on the headboard. "I have come in and discovered my eighteen year old son yanking on his poor abused peter. While not proper, yet he proposes I may stay and observe the fun. This is an offer that I cannot turn down, as I have had a secret desire to observe him in his erect state for some time, ever since – you know when!"

I smiled, as I did know, and now I could let her have her wish. The other evening she (and dad) were providing me with the 'entertainment' and mom had been focused on what they were doing, even though she had obviously seen what I was doing. Now she could view my self-gratification at her leisure. Though I doubted it would allowed to finish, the Scottish blood in her veins would be loath to waste precious resources. She would make sure the cream would be saved for the churning done in her buttery depths. So I used a light touch and slow hand to manipulate my manhood, while she watched with a smug smile all the while.

Not long went by, before the lady that lounged at my side reached for the lance of the knight that was her new lover, and began to stroke the special spear. This was an art she had mastered as well, and my staff's stiffness was not abated but rather made more rampant and randy. I in turn reached out, as if in a scene from the classic with Kay Parker, and fondled mom's boobs, then sought her crack at the juncture of her legs. Her thighs separated as best she could and my digits felt the dewy opening in the downy fleece of her delta.

Such manipulations on both our parts, of each other's personal parts, prompted a change of status. No longer settling for fingering foreplay, my mother rose up to straddle my middle. Mindful of her gown – that is to say I minded it being on, wanting her as naked as myself – I drew off the terrycloth garment and let it slide to the side. Mom continued contact with my cock and directed the delicate instrument to the tender tissues of her sheath. Then she sank ever so slowly upon the shaft of her son and sighed contented to be filled full with the filial flagpole and fulfilled our shared fantasy.

The role-playing was no longer the point, now that my prick was properly penetrating mother's pussy. She rolled to and fro, undulating on top of me, her soft mammalian udders I utterly adored as they swayed across my chest. Her nipples, little rubbery protrusions exquisitely scraped the length of my pects up and down. Meanwhile, the incredible sensation of slick, hot, tightness tortured my dick, with increasing ferocity. The fucking was first class. None of the 'almost break your prick off' kind of roughness, none of the ball-busting banging down that some gals slammed.

Mom knew just how to settle in the seat when she sat, so that my shank sank within her body as if it were a violin bow stroking a Stradivarius. That was beautiful music. Nor did she allow the flute to flip out at the high water-mark when she rose to begin the cycle once more, and our rhythm built surely and steadily to its inevitable crescendo. Eventually she lifted her posture so that she was more vertical, though the seeming effortlessness of her movements never changed their gracefulness. She moved like it was a single flowing motion, the dolphins dancing upon the waves.

But I could not be that smooth or controlled when the urgency of my climax was pressing the paroxysm to its peak. I clutched her hips and began to pound my peter into her tummy, desperate now to try to drum my mad manic demand that our screwing gallop to its conclusion in mutual orgasms. Mother caught the fever of my frenzy, from the faster flailing at her crotch. The crashing of our flesh sounding out the beat of amplified passion. She matched me, and my hips rose to meet hers as she rode my meat, socking it to her center in sync.

Then the sweet cum came on so strong that my penis throbbed with pulses that went on even after I was drained of the last drops of goo it could give. That first burst of the billowing-bubbling lotion spitting from my tip touched her uterus and signaled the most significant cum in my life. I just had to jam my cock in her cunt and try to hold it as far-up / in-deep as able, because I could not help my instinctive impulse to have my mate conceive.

Fortunately that was beyond possibility, or at least probability (it wouldn't be a virgin birth) though nothing is absolutely certain. There are miracles; but mom had had her tubes tied, so it was reasonable that I wouldn't be propagating any progeny, what awful offspring that would bring! Boy would that be a bummer of a baby, to sire such a son. Brother would that be a downer, to father a daughter, who's also your sister, with whom you had sibling rivalry! Not too good, so you see, to beget what you'd regret. 'Nuf said?

But back to the dream cream in mom. Mother as well, ripped a royal set of contractions in her climax, the convulsions of her vulva felt from feet to skull. If my physiology is imprecise, it is because I lack the poetry to convey those cataclysmic claps of clasping grasps her vagina gripped me with, as we were joyously joined at the groin grinding our genitals together.

Just how do you describe the grandest fuck (until then, but later topped with her below me) that you ever had in your young life. Give me a break, it was a goddamn super screw, we had a hell of a cum and it was heaven being inside my own mother when we came at the same time – mundanely depicting the magnificent incestuous sin our union was, would be immoral.

Be that as it may, it was wonderful fun.

Nor were we done! After a well deserved respite to recover our breath, recoup our energy and for both of us to quaff a beer; we were re-engaged in our quest to frolic. 'Til the father came home, or shortly before, so that he wouldn't catch us and have a cow, that was a beast we could do without in the house. Yet that bomb was to be nonetheless dropped later – if you saw the previews, for the next installment. Meanwhile, mom and her son, meaning me of course, were head-over-heals . .er . . more like mouths-to-middles in a sixty-nine configuration that provided a terrific transition to the next phase of our frisky free-for-all fucking.

Mom was popping multiples of orgasms as I made love to her muff and stuff, but I was not ready for the next spasm of my well worn willie. But when we switched to positioning ourselves for the second insertion, that got the hairy balls rolling. I began giving mommy what I term the Tommy gun; rapid fire, large caliber rounds of ammo, a Valentine Day's massacre of cunt by a killer cock. Corny, but when I'm horny, I pour on the hot lead in bed and the babes are dyin' for it. To do this feat of fornication, I take the dominate position over the supine partner. Or if you will, the classical missionary position. Not bragging, but when we go at it that way, the gals haven't got a prayer, though they find themselves begging for more.

Mom liked it that's for sure. I plowed into her furrow with my fresh enthusiasm for doing the dirty. Her legs were cradling her baby boy, all man and boffing her with my beefy salami. I felt like the conquering hero, returned home victorious and now reaping the rewards offered by his welcoming woman. The slide of my dick was slow, then quick, varied and her vagina was voracious in gobbling it into her cunny. My back began to feel the strain of stabbing my manhood in that way. So I scooted up and had her hips high, the legs lifted so that her knees were nearly next to her head. With better leverage I was able gain good ground in plunging my pleasure sword in her scalding scabbard; my nuts knocking on her ass as I beat my plowshare into the womanhood of the one who had given me birth.

Make love not war, and there was no greater peace than being in my mom's womb, the pussy that surpasses all other piece of ass. But as I was barging into her beautiful bottom with my battering ram, I was approaching the point of no return. Once more I was tilting over, about to topple down the mountain of mounting momma, and off the cliff of climax, into the abyss of bliss. But before I had quite passed that promontory of priapic petrification of paroxysm's perfection, (you know – when you freeze up because the cum is so powerful all your muscles stiffen like you have living rigor mortis) right then mom literally screamed when she beat me to the punch by blowing her voluble siren, her vocal shriek of vented satiation.

Hearing that wild wail sent an electric zinging running up my spine, ricocheted around my brain and back down again, round the bend to my penetrating prick and right out the hole as if it were a ski jump of jism. Jeez! What a thrill to make your mother cum so hard she blast your eardrums numb with the cry of her orgasm exploding. Then to prove your ultimate love, and long held lust to your lovely and lascivious lady, by letting her have that potent lotion that pours out again and again in the ecstasy that is near agony in its intensity.

It's like simultaneously holding your breath until your lungs are about to burst, while holding your palm over a flame as the pain gets worse and worse, at the same time having to hold in diarrhea that threatens to flood from your asshole in a jet of wet shit – but the opposite. It's a relief, release and relaxation all at once, but a very very good feeling; not bad, not painful, not twisting your guts; wonderful and sweet, if too sudden and all too swiftly over, even so. But understand, what to cum in mum is, is to spend yourself within her eager receptive and loving body. She was joyfully pleased with the gift of physical reunion with her child, grown to adulthood and loyally devoted to her. That gift to her, her openness to you, that bonding; it something that goes beyond special, above just great sex, it extends into the spiritual realm.

All of which is trying to say, it's really fabulous to lay your mother. To echo my thoughts of earlier, not so long ago; "Gee mom, last time was really cool, when you and me fucked, when can we do it again? Huh? Huh?" I didn't exactly use those words, but close. Mom laughed and kissed me, reached down and held my now limp and slimy package, gave it an affection it squeeze, "Why we'll just have to watch the weather report. But now showers are forecast for the immediate future, before the Norman comes stormin' in from his job and gets jealous. So better get washed up lightning fast, so no thundering peals from your father follow, and if he gets wind of this, that's what might happen. Then all hail might break loose. However, sonny, you really shone today, cloudy though it might otherwise outdoors have been. Don't worry, the sheets of rain, and your reign in my sheets, shall cum again, and again, soon enough."

She was right as rain!

It Happened One Day

Dad catches us, and things get even more interesting.

Friday it rained all day

When I awoke on Friday morning, the storm due Saturday had moved in early, as will sometimes happen. 'Yeah! A whole day fucking mom!' I thought. But it was not to be so. Yes, I was not going out to the construction site, but I was going to be working at home – housework!

Just as unexpectedly mother had gotten a call from old friends she and dad knew, who were in town this weekend, though it was fuzzy from where and when their association had been. When I asked, mother was vague, almost evasive about the details. They were delighted to accept the invitation to dinner Saturday night that mom extended.

Which means we had today to clean. Mom would shop and run errands and cook tomorrow. Instead of nailing boards and laying bricks, or nailing mama and getting laid, I was vacuuming and helping mom straightening up. Not the sucking and 'straightening' up with mom I had imagined initially.

Finally, (I won't bore you with the describing the chores) we were able to get to relax; it was only early afternoon, so mom suggested a shower and then some recreation. ONE shower, for the both, and the sort of fun I had envisioned and hoped for on rolling out of bed. Now we were going to do another sort of cleaning and have a roll in the hay. Yeah! After all!

Now, I have showered with a friend (with benefits) before this, but being in the spray with my own mother had a special sort of spectacular effect on my libido. I had this tightening in the back of my head, like when I get super excited after viewing a lot of porn, and am ready to start jacking any minute. It was like that feeling the whole time we were in the stall.

Of course the slippy-sliddy soapy sensuous hands on everything / everywhere / all the time was a mutual activity. Shampooing and sudsing as such were useful, but my fingers in mom's pussy were the finer of the frolicking. I cleaned her clock, if you will; she climaxed a couple of times. She washed my cock, but we saved the jism for when I was jammin' her genitals. What a wonderful way to enjoy each other. It's a wonder washing facilities are not made larger and given padded floors. I guess hot-tubs cornered the market, but it's a concept, ain't it?

When mom toweled my hair, it reminded me of when I was a kid. I always loved that particular attention. But I'm not a kid and more and when she dried my middle, my member was at attention. This time we went straight to my folk's bedroom and began our foreplay. It does help to have a broad mattress to frolic upon. Mom pounced on the bed like a little kid, flouncing down and bouncing up to flip over on to her back. I smoothly stretched beside her prone figure, the both of us on a sort of diagonal orientation, as I went to kiss her she tickled me on my side at the waist – you know the spot – she poked and I responded with a spasm.

Then we did something that we had not engaged in for over thirteen years, had a 'tickle-tussle'. I was more of a contender now than at ten, having gained reach and height which put me more equal to mom in this cockamamie combat than when I was a kid. In no time the nicely made bed was mussed with the wrestling and gamboling of our silly, yet sensuous nonsense. But soon my touches were in sensitive places, which were less tickly and more erogenous. Kisses were interspersed with caresses from the both of us and the contest turned into outright foreplay. Now we were working to turn the other on; not that we weren't already riled and ready to have a raunchy rumpus right then and there!

My fingers found her slit, slick and hot and she moaned her pleasure, as my diddling digits played in her delta. The button of her clit was popped out for easy access and her labia were swollen with a rosy hue from the excitement. She likewise was having her manipulative fun with my firm member in her grip and she also coddled my cockles hanging heavy with a load to explode – go boom in her womb. I'm not quite sure how it happened, but we transitioned from feeling each other up to fucking, so that we were side by side and I was inserting my dick in her pussy that way.

After some minutes of this awkward engagement, with not enough body contact and less leverage for connecting, mom pulled me over on top and spread her thighs. But the way we were headed was our feet to the headboard and vice versa. I didn't care, because I was screwing mom again. Her legs wrapped around me, heals on my butt to spur me on to ram my prick into her soft center. Tight too, as she used those internal muscles to clench my manhood and make the experience superlative. I was really socking it to her; she gave out with her signature siren of high pitched calls of her cumming, "UH! OH! MMM! AHH! EEayYAHH! EEE!! IYEEE!!!". I was getting ready to inject her with a mighty blast.

I lifted my head up and froze – not like that time I described before, in the paralysis of orgasm, but in shock and fear. In the open door, which we had not bothered to close, stood my father. I didn't know how long he had been there; it could have only been seconds. Mother's climax was still ringing in my ears as I looked straight into my father's face and wondered if he would kill me or simply disown me and send me out on my own. Mother could see by my expression that something was up, or amiss. My father saw that I was up his Mrs., and she was loving it.

"Dad!"

Mom turned her head as best she could to view him. We sort of rolled, so that I was on the side of the bed furthest away from my paternal parent, and my maternal mistress got to her feet to face him on the closer side. We stood as statues in a tableau, somewhat of a repeat of the first instance of paralysis for our triangle of intimacy a few nights ago. This time though, it was I, not pop, who had been boffing mom; would the outcome be so amicable? I doubted it. But once more I was surprised. Mom walked over to dad. "Your home early, Dear. How was the office?" She undid his tie and took it off. "Did you have a hard day?" She unbuttoned his shirt. I just stood there. "I have some news for you!"

My old man was a bit nonchalant, which made me nonplussed, when he calmly answered, "This is not news, that you two have the hots for one another."

Mother continued to undress him as she talked, working on his belt buckle. "No, I mean that the Thompsons are back in town this weekend, I invited them over for tomorrow night."

"Betty and Jack?" her husband asked.

"Do you know of any other Thompsons?" said his wife, undoing his zipper and making sure his trousers puddled at his ankles. Then he was helping her get the rest of his clothes off. I was confused – so who were the Thompsons anyway? Why wasn't dad pissed at me boinking his spouse? What did he mean, 'not news, that you two have the hots for one another', it wasn't? What did he know? And mother was acting quite calmly all the while conversing with her husband who had just discovered her infidelity with her own son! How was that? What was going on? What was coming off were my father's boxers as the last garment, revealing a huge hard-on.

"Who are Betty and Jack?" I asked, finding my voice.