Katrina Rules

"Time for my back rub."

"You starting to feel entitled?"

"If I knew what those hands could do, I'd been asking years ago."

I pulled her nightshirt back, exposing her shoulders, and began work. Mom took deep long breaths and cooed her appreciation. She was not as tight as yesterday; the muscles moved easily between my fingers. When I shifted position to her lower back Mom pulled the nightshirt up, exposing her fanny and most of her back.

Would I be going to far if I said...

"You've got a nice butt Mom."

"Thank you son, so do you."

No, apparently I would not be going to far.

Starting at the base of her spine, I worked my way up Mom's back. Mom spread her arms, her legs drifted apart. When I worked a knot out a groan, almost animal, erupted in her solar plexus. She was leaving her body to my whim. I worked by hands up her sides, slipping them further and further under her body. She offered no resistance. How close to her tits could I go? The answer was mighty close; my fingertips grazed their sides.

I moved down, did her feet, started up her legs. Her eyes were closed; her mouth open, fingers curled; she was breathing heavily. The tip of her tongue played on her lips. My hands were on the inside of her thighs, inches from her crotch, applying gentle pressure. She spread her legs further. I worked my hands up further, closing in on her sex, waiting for her to say something, to close her legs. Instead she murmured, delight evident in the voice.

"Oh son, that feels so good."

I leaned forward, took a whiff. Mom was turned on. I worked her butt, taking liberties I wouldn't have dreamed of yesterday. I spread her ass cheeks, exposed the cleft, ran a finger down it, then took the cheeks in my hands, kneaded them, moved lower and lower, within an inch of her sex. I intensified the pressure. Mom began rocking her hips into the bed, her groans guttural and graphic. There was no mistaking her arousal. I cupped the bottom of her ass cheeks and turned them inward, forcing her pussy lips closed.

She gripped the sheet and moaned, "Uuuuunnnnnnnhhhhhhhhhhhh."

My cock was throbbing.

"Son, use your fingers. I need it. Katrina Rules."

I reached between her legs and ran my index finger from her perineum, across the mouth of her vagina, along the length of her labia, to her clit, listening to Mom's gasps and groans, watching how she responded. After half a dozen traverses of her sex I stretched the skin above her clit, freed it from its hood, touched it with my thumb.

"Uuuunnnnnnnhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

Resting my palm on her perineum, I pressed, rubbed, and massaged her labia, making small circular motions whenever encountering an especially sensitive spot. I varied the pressure, sometimes a lot, sometimes hardly any at all.

"Son, that feels so good."

Her labia was a swamp of girl juice. I fingered her pussy lips, moved my middle finger inside her, up to the first joint, then to the knuckle. The walls of Mom's vagina, tight and swollen and wet, spasmed on my finger.

"My god son, feels good, feels so good."

Mom's mouth was open; her fists clenched; she was humping my hand. I plunged another finger inside her; finer-fucked her; Mom arched her back, her pussy walls clamped down on my fingers, her head bounced up from the bed, she yelped, "Nneeeyyaaaahhhhhhhh," and an orgasm ransacked her body. I stopped, unsure of what to do. Mom noticed my hesitation and between heavy hurried breaths said, "Keep going, keep going."

Well, Mom was multi-orgasmic.

"Put your fingers all the way inside me."

I did; I pushed my thumb inside her.

Her face still buried in her pillow. Mom raised herself up on her knees. "Feels good, feels so good, oh son, my clittie, play with my clittie, Mommy needs it bad."

I slid a hand across her stomach, pulled the skin taut above her clit, rolled it between my index and middle fingers. Mom gasped. I jiggered my thumb; Mom worked the muscles of her vagina, squeezing tight. Her moans were primal. She reached between her legs and covered my hand with her own, pressing it to her sex; air was exploding from her lungs. I pressed her clit, rolled it hard against her body ,and she came, "Eeeeyaaaannnnhhhhhhhh." Her knees slid backwards, her backside descended to the mattress. She lay there, taking deep long breaths, wallowing in the aftermath of her orgasm.

I started to pull my hand away from her vagina, but she said, "No, I like the way it feels against me."

I lay next to Mom, my body pressed to hers, my hand on her sex.

.

After a few minutes she picked her head off her pillow, kissed my cheek, and in a sleepy voice said, "Okay, let's do that again, nice and slow."

Who was I to argue? I pushed my thumb back inside her; Mom's vagina squeezed it, let it go. She brought her legs together, trapping my hand against her body. I worked her clit with my index finger, fucked her with my thumb, steadily increasing the pace and force of my movements. She wheezed and groaned; the contractions of her cunt muscles grew stronger and stronger. She balled her fists.

"Ennh, eennnhhhhh, eeeennnnhhhhhhh, eeeeennnnnhhhhhhhh."

Mom's hips began a series of short sudden jerks. I pushed my hand hard against her, pinned her to the mattress, attacked her clit, twisted my thumb inside her. Her cunt muscles spasmed in random powerful waves.

"Eeeeeeeennh, eeeeeeeeeeeeeeennnhhhhh, eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeennnnhhhhhhh, eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeennnnnnnnnhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

She raised herself on her hands and shoved her hips and rump into my thumb. I held her in place, then twisted my hand against her sex. She seemed entirely focused on the sensations, her jaw locked, and she came, yelling in animal fury, then sank down to the bed, turned on her side. There was a blissful smile on her face.

I lay my arm across her body, crossed her ankle with my own. She kissed my nose, my lips, sweet short happy affectionate pecks.

"That was amazing son."

"Yeah. Never imagined I'd be playing with my mother's pussy."

She walked her hand down my body, placed the palm of her hand on my penis. It immediately stiffened.

"Well, Katrina Rules are a two way street and let it never be said I left my son with blue balls."

She pivoted her hand inside my gym shorts. As she squeezed my cock, I rolled onto my back, raised my knees to my chest, pulled off the shorts, tossed them to the floor. Grasping my shaft, Mom shimmied down the bed.

"Nice dick son. Where's the lotion?"

I handed her the massage oil. She unsnapped the lid, sprinkled the liquid in her palm, reached for my cock, wrapped her fingers around it, and then Mom took her time and explored my manhood. One hand twisted on the shaft, the other gyrated on the crown; her thumb explored the sensitive flesh below the head. She released the shaft and toyed with my scrotum, she stroked my chest and the inside of my thighs. Mom's touch was beguiling and I was happily lying on my back, wallowing in the delightful gift of Mom's talented hands.

"Spread your legs."

When I did Mom sat between them, squeezed more lotion onto her hands, took hold of my dick.

"How does it feel son? Does your mother know how to give a hand job?"

I started pumping my dick in her hand; she squeezed harder and jerked faster; her other hand caressed my balls. Its middle finger worked my perineum. I was breathing in short gulps.

"Do you think your Mom is nasty? Is that what you're thinking, my nasty Mommy is jerking me off?"

My balls tightened, grunts replaced breaths. Leaning forward, she took my cock in both hands, twisted one around the base, captured the head with the other.

Her tone became earthy. "Not the innocent Mommy you thought I was, but a dirty Mommy, a vulgar obscene Mommy, a Mom who loves her baby boy's man-sized cock, come for me son, come on your Mommy's hands."

Cum exploded from my cock. I hadn't masturbated in days; the spray was copious, landing on Mom's cheeks and chin, her chest, her breasts, sheets of it slid down her skin. I stared, mesmerized by the sight of my mother covered in cum.

She ran a finger down her face, through the goo, sucked some off her finger, smiled, a sweet loving compassionate smile, the sex-happy vixen of a few seconds ago already fading away.

"I'll get a towel, clean us up."

She went to the bathroom, ran the water, returned, wiped me down, dried me off, returned to the bathroom, reappearing, to my disappointment, in pyjamas. I pulled my gym shorts back on and rolled towards her, laying an arm over her. She kissed my nose.

"We should probably keep the full extent of Katrina Rules to ourselves. The public wouldn't understand. Y'know, technical legal stuff."

I kissed her forehead. "The secret is safe with me."

* * * *

When I woke the next morning I heard voices in the front yard. Mom was talking to Bev. Donning a tee-shirt and sandals, I joined them.

Mom explained. "Bev's learned that my firm's Baton Rouge office has stockpiled necessities for displaced employees and is using its connection with CVS, it's a big client, to make medicine available. She's got a list of prescriptions that people in town need, who knows when the local pharmacy will re-open. She asked me to drive to Baton Rouge - the road is open - to pick up supplies and medicine. I told her sure. Wanna come?"

We headed west, the amount of destruction steadily decreased. As we closed in on Baton Rouge our cell phones beeped back to life. We called out-of-state friends, told them we were fine, asked them to pass the word.

At the firm's Baton Rouge office Mom was treated like a conquering hero, the affection for her palatable. We were taken out for lunch and offered several places to stay. While a hot shower sounded mighty good to me, Mom was clear: we needed to get back. After lunch the partner in charge of the CVS account reported the medicine was ready and with our truck packed to the gills: food, water, propane, batteries, flashlights, etc., we headed for the drug store. Mom went inside; I pulled into a line several blocks long to buy gas.

Forty-five minutes later, as I was pumping fuel, Mom approached, carrying several bundles.

"What took so long?"

"Lawyer stuff, I had to sign a ton of forms. CVS is protecting itself; its generally against the rules for one person to pick up dozens of prescriptions for others."

I hadn't thought about it; it made sense.

She looked both ways and kissed me. No tongue, but it was not a mother-son kiss.

"I'm glad you came back home."

"Me too Mom."

The drive back took about an hour. Most of the people needing medicine met us at the police station. Mom and Bev delivered what was left. When done we unloaded the truck with the help of several people milling around downtown. Bev invited everyone back to the station, where she fired up her grill.

"The stuffed pork chops just finished defrosting, might as well eat 'em."

* * * *

After my shower I emerged from the bathroom to find Mom face down on the bed, wearing one of my tee-shirts, waiting for her back rub.

I teased. "I'm not sure you deserve one. There was minimal heavy lifting today."

"Well buster, if you are going to talk like that, I may just have to send you to your room where there is, I'll remind you, no air conditioning."

It was south Louisiana in August, the poster-child of hot and sticky; a back rub was a small price to pay. I lit some candles, crawled on to the bed and, as I coated my hands with the massage oil, Mom pulled the tee shirt over her ass, to the small of her back, and spread her legs.

After last night I wasn't sure how far I could go, but I was willing to find out. Gabrielle had taught me the difference between a therapeutic and sensual massage; this one favored the latter. I focused on a few areas: shoulders, calves, thighs. When I found a knot I'd work it out, but in contrast to the last two nights there was more compression and more stroking, at times long and firm, at times I lightly dragged my fingertips across her skin.

"My butt, do my butt."

I kneaded her ass as if it was dough; Mom's moans were deep and unabashedly sexual. I spread her ass cheeks, oiled a finger, ran it along her cleft to her anus, rubbed the opening with the flat of a finger. Between heavy breaths Mom said, "Oh god son, that feels so good."

Was she offering herself to me? Trying to sound confident I said, "Katrina Rules."

"Oh god yes, Katrina Rules."

Starting above her clit, I ran a finger down the length of her sex, caught her juice, smeared it along her butt crack. She pressed her hips to the bed. "Mmmmm, feels nice, do it again."

I did, several times. She raised her bottom. I inserted a finger in her pussy. She pushed against it. I rocked it back and forth within her. Turning her head towards me, she brushed the hair from her face

"You have magic hands."

I rolled her onto her back, sidled up next to her. We were inches apart, looking into each other's eyes. Her finger moved over my lips, traced their shape, explored the contours of my nose. I reached under her shirt, cupped her small breasts. She pressed her thigh to my erection.

"This is nice."

I said, "Yes."

She winked, smiled sweetly, said, "Katrina Rules," and brought her lips to my mouth. My heart skidded to a halt at the soft brush of her lips on mine. She placed her hand on the back of my neck, held me. When she lowered her head to her pillow, I followed it down. Her tongue slipped from her mouth, stroked my lips.

I hadn't been sure. Was last night an outlier? Two people in extraordinary circumstances with nowhere else to turn But now I was blushing, my face red, burning with emotion. I wanted my mother. She tilted her head. I touched her tongue with the tip of my own, ran my fingers through her hair, coaxing her to deepen and prolong the kiss.

Her fingers slid into my hair, held me to her. Her tongue was inside my mouth, mine followed hers back into her mouth. They played with each other, slowly and carefully, exploring and learning. They danced together, glided, stroked, tasted.

When our mouths finally separated, our eyes locked together; we were processing what was happening. Then Mom took hold of her tee shirt and, as I leaned back, pulled it over her head. She was naked.

I scanned her body, lowered my head, nuzzled her neck, worked my way up to her ear, kissed it, whispered, "You're beautiful."

I kissed her mouth, straddled her, licked one breast, then the other. I held one in each hand, moved my mouth back and forth, feasted on each, in slow hard licks with the flat of my tongue. Mom's breasts were sensitive; her undulating body signaled her delight.

I slid down her body, my mouth hovered over her vagina. Yesterday I'd found my mother's scent intoxicating. Now it was stronger, more earthy. My mother was deeply aroused.

"I'm going to eat your pussy."

She spread her legs. A sheen of juice, running half-way to her knees, sparkled on her inner thighs. Her clitoris, long and slender, peeked from its hood. Her pussy lips had opened up. They were beautiful.

"Please, my darling son, please, its been a long time,"

I licked her vagina, then up her labia. I'm not sure what ambrosia is, but I'm pretty sure it tastes like this.

I lay my open palm on her belly, she was breathing in a deep steady pattern, and made several laps around the perimeter of her vagina, kissing, licking, sucking her pussy lips. I pulled them into my mouth, rolled them between my lips. I licked the face of her pussy, then sank my tongue inside.

"Ooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

I turned to the labial lips, sucked one, then the other. They were rosy pink in color and wet with lubricant. I took them in my mouth, tugged. I pushed my tongue into her vagina, savoring the liquid bubbling within her. Mom was rolling her hips in movements akin to a belly dancer.

"Oh son, your tongue, feels so nice."

I drank heavily of her flow and, temporarily satiated, moved up, my squiggling squirming tongue working the furrow of her labia. The tip of my tongue danced in tight circles around her clit, then flicked it from side to side.

I took my time, varied my approaches. I dragged my tongue, first the soft bottom, then the rough top, over her clit. I sucked her clit into my mouth, rolled it between my lips, ran the tip of my tongue across it. Mom's left hand cradled my head; her right hand caressed her torso, kneaded her breasts, touched her lips. The undulations of her belly became more pronounced; she moaned, releasing tension with each staccato rhythm. I picked up the pace, slapped her clit with my tongue.

Propping herself up on her elbows, she raised her head. Her dark eyes smoldered with desire. She was breathing heavily, gulping down air. The tip of her tongue sat on her bottom lip. She nodded and I attacked her clittie, held it between my lips, battered it with my tongue. The rolls of her belly grew stronger. Her moans were guttural, tension and need echoed through the room. I assaulted her clit.

Mom's head flopped back, her hips jerked upwards, her arms flailed in the air. Noise exploded from her solar plexus; pussy juice poured from her; she was coming. As she did her body went rigid and she pressed her thighs together, trapping my head. I sucked on her vagina, helping her coast back down, then moved up the bed, propped my head on my elbow, studied her happy face. She looked at me through lazy contented eyes, she touched my mouth; a finger tip glided through the pussy juice that covered my face. She kissed my lips.

"That was wonderful son."

I lay down and she rested her head on my shoulder. I kissed her forehead, stroked her hair and face. After several minutes, some semblance of vigor returning, she reached down, felt my half-stiff dick through my gym shots.

"Why don't you take those off."

While I rolled on my back to do so she reached for the drawer in her bedside table; her movements were slow and shaky; she was having no success. Finally, she fell back, laughing.

"It appears you wore your Mama out. Hand me the bag in that drawer."

I did so. She held it above her chest; a small box of condoms fell out, landing between her breasts. She struggled to open it, her fingers still clumsy and uncoordinated.

She handed the box to me.

"Would you do the honors."

I was going to fuck my mother. I was rigid.

She answered the unasked question. "At the drug store, while you were pumping gas. I paid for them separately. They won't be on the bill I turn in for reimbursement."

I opened the top of the box, pulled out a condom, tore off the foil top.

"Stop, I want to do the rest."

I handed her the condom; Mom struggled to the sitting position, kissed my mouth, told me she loved me, stroked my hard cock, squeezed the condom from the pouch, fitted it to my cock, rolled it down. She settled onto her back and spread her legs.

"Son, no one's been up there since your father. I use a vibrator, not a dildo. So not to hard, especially at first. I'll need time to adjust. You're bigger then your Dad."

I was about to fuck my mother. It's not that I didn't want to, it's not that I had any doubts, but it was still fricking enormous. I didn't want to rush it. I knelt between her legs, ran my cock up and down her slit. She was soaking wet.

She squirmed and moaned, then said, "Son, that feels wonderful, but I want you inside me. I'm ready."

I placed my cock at the entrance of her vagina, she wiggled her hips. I slipped inside, just the head; I straddled her body, rocked my hips forward, moved another couple of inches into her.

She grimaced. "I thought it looked big, but it's huge. Hold still, give me a moment."

Then, after a few Lamaze breaths she said, "Okay, that's better, I'm ready, take your time, please."

I said, not sure if I meant it, "Mom, we don't have to do this, I don't want to hurt you."