Storm Doris

"Well this is kinda horrible, isn't it?"

"True," I sighed, "And I guess I should be thanking you for making me switch off the phone. Seems like we're going to be needing them when this storm finally clears." The wind was still howling up above us.

"Let's hope it's not too long, though, it's getting pretty cramped down here."

I nodded, not quite pointlessly since he must have been able to feel my head move, "I second that. Are you okay there, though? You feel even closer to me now."

"I'm good, but I think the staircase shifted another inch or two when I tried to get up it. Maybe my back was keeping it in place before. Is it too much for you though?"

"If we could breathe in turns it might be easier, but seriously I'm fine if you are."

Close in front of me, my son sighed deeply, "I'm good, but I'm sorry about... well, about ruffling the clothes."

I stopped thinking about darkness and sardine impressions and took stock of what Philip meant. It didn't take long. Somehow during his aborted ascent of the short staircase, both his and my robes had come open and it was now my nightie pressed against his bare chest. And maybe of more concern, said nightie wasn't exactly long -- meaning that Philips boxer's were now tightly pressed against my night-time panties. Very brief ones, at that. I could also feel a stirring inside the boxers and if I was being honest -- and let's face it, I wasn't exactly in a position not to be -- I knew that it was all normal and natural for the young man, but also that it was horrendously close to being extremely awkward.

I tried to make the situation less embarrassing -- for both of us, "It's hardly the time and place to worry about such things. It's not like it's a deliberate thing, is it? Like I said earlier, these things pop up... I mean, these things just happen by chance and it can't be helped, ok?"

"I guess."

"I mean it," I told him.

"Even though... it's getting sorta... firmer?"

"Yes, even though it is. Like I said, it's just proximity and maybe it'll even take your mind off the storm and stuff."

He sighed, "Jeez, mum!"

I shrugged, "I'm not saying enjoy it, but it happens and under the circumstances it's hardly a crime, is it?"

"Well..."

"Just try to relax, and think pretty thoughts." I was impressed with my own ability to ease my son's mind, even if it did feel like the weirdest situation ever. "Think about what's-her-name, Lynne or Lynette, your latest girl."

"Lydia," he sighed, "But it's hard to think about her with you up against me. You're way cuter."

"That's ok then... what?" The situation suddenly felt a lot weirder. A ton weirder.

"I just meant Lyds is cute, sure, but I'm trapped here with you and you're the one with all the right curves and stuff."

"Philip! I'm your mum for fuck's sake!"

He was clearly embarrassed, "Sorry! I just meant... Your curves are right here, right now, and it's not like I can't think of them... of it. I don't mean I fancy you or anything like that!"

I was a little confused but those last words seemed sincere and acted as some sort of palliative -- no matter the rather hard evidence to what might have been the contrary pressing firmly into the middle of my belly, "Well... I guess it's still ok then... but just... try not to think too much, ok? About me?"

"I'll try," he promised, slightly unconvincingly, "But do you want to call for help now? From the storm, I mean."

"There's no point, is there? It's still raging up there," I took a deep breath, "Just try to relax here... and don't worry about... things." I'm not sure who I was trying to comfort the most.

Philip seemed to settle then, though, and even if his hands rested more firmly on my shoulders -- both bared by then -- he didn't move against me or press any harder than was already necessary and caused by our cramped conditions. For a while there was an awkward silence with us both frozen in our overly intimate postures, but my son finally found his voice.

"Sorry about teasing you earlier. The diet stuff, I mean,"

It eased my mind, "Don't be. I really should find another plan or whatever."

"You don't need one anyway, mum."

Those words had a disquieting effect, "You think not?" I asked the question without much thought but with a sudden, worried, pile of other thoughts crashing down on me.

Philip went to shrug, I think, but must have thought better of it, "I just meant you're okay for your age, especially compared to some of the other mums. Not that you're fit and cute or anything."

It was a relief, "Not fit and cute, then?" Oh, come on -- I wasn't suddenly fishing for compliments but what woman of my age doesn't like to be told they're still at least a little bit attractive?

My son sighed, "I just meant I wasn't thinking about how fit and cute you are... but that doesn't mean I don't think you are. If you see what I mean?"

I did, and appreciated the effort he was putting in to not think about the curves that were pressed against him. It was what I wanted to hear, I guessed, in any case. My fault, my bad. "Well, that's very nice. But get your mind back to Lynette."

"Lydia. And like I said earlier, that's hardly easy under these circumstance, is it?"

It was my turn to sigh. He was a teenager and I figured he had a point -- and I don't mean the one pressed so firmly into my belly. "I guess." I allowed, "But don't--"

Whatever warning I was about to deliver was cut off by yet another crash. Another tree had bit the dust and the cellar rocked. And I mean that quite literally.

Behind me the boxes seemed to fold down into themselves and before I could so much as try to keep myself upright I was tumbling backwards, Philip collapsing forward on top of me, a grinding, wrenching sound coming from somewhere behind and above him. All around us, bits of wood and earth tumbled from the ceiling and walls and I buried my head in my son's hair to keep them from my gaping, gasping mouth.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably no more than ten seconds, everything down in the cellar -- including me and my son -- was still, and only Doris howled into the darkness. I tried to take stock of what had happened.

Clearly the back wall of the cellar -- or maybe the floor -- had caved in. I had tipped back and was now laying horizontal on the boxes with my son trying to brace himself above me, although he was now further down my body. Thankfully he was finding purchase enough so that I wasn't being crushed, and I figured he would soon stand back in the space that must have been created.

"Can you move back yet?" I asked.

He grunted and I could feel him trying to squirm back, "Fuck, no! I think the stairs must have collapsed. They're on my back and I don't think..." More grunting, "No, I can't shift them. Maybe the roof caved too."

I took my head from his hair and looked up as best I could. The darkness was all around us but I could see some light from the hatch-way above what must be where Philip's feet were laying. Most worryingly I couldn't actually see his feet because they were evidently covered by the staircase and rubble from walls or ceiling. The light I could see was patchy and not in any way well-defined. We really were badly trapped now.

"I think you're right, Phil... storm or not, can we phone out?"

Above me he nodded, sending dust and debris cascading into my face, "I'll try to get mine. It's in my robe pocket." His arms left my sides and he mumbled an apology for resting harder against me. Then swore. "Fuck I think it's come out as we fell."

That was scary, "Mine's in my pocket too -- can you get that one?"

"I'll try. Or maybe find mine beside me. Which pocket is yours in?"

"My right." There was a scrabbling at my side, then another loud curse.

"Fuck! That pocket's empty too. It must have... oh shit!"

"What? What is it?"

I felt my son brace his weight again, "It's nothing too bad but... well... "

"Oh, come on! What?"

"Er... my boxers..."

"Your... oh," In the fall they must have either slipped down some or torn. To say that I could feel the evidence was understating things. Something hard, smooth, and very warm was laying against my left thigh. And by 'something' I'm sure you can guess what. I tried to think fast, "It's... ok... nothing deliberate... and I have panties on..." I'm not sure to this day why I said that last thing, "Accidents happen. Just try to find one of the phones and we'll soon be out of this mess." He was laying much lower against me thanks to the fall, and our positions now were all too forcibly intimate for his liking -- or mine. But it had happened and, as I'd said to Philip, I was at least still wearing things. I realised then that the short nightie was now well above my waist and I hated to think how that might look to anyone. But when push came to shove, we needed to get out regardless of who saw what. "Keep searching!"

Every move and wriggle my son made in search of the phones became a small nightmare for me as I felt his member move from side to side, rolling on my bare thigh, his intimate flesh against mine, and I prayed hard and fervently for his success.

I should have known as a confirmed atheist such supplications would be useless and when my son slumped back down after a few minutes it was confirmed.

"I can't find either of them, mum!"

My maternal instincts kicked back in and I cuddled him closer, "Don't panic, angel, the storm will be over soon and when it's all calm we might be able to wriggle down to the hatchway."

"Can I try now?"

I shook my head in the dark, "If anything else caves in we might be separated or worse -- and like this there's more chance we'll be safe, ok?" He squeezed me harder. And that's not all that became harder -- but I couldn't blame his body's natural reactions, especially as that gave me an idea. "Look, Philip? Phil? I know this is horrible down here, but I can feel your body isn't too bothered by things."

"Mum, I'm sorry but--"

"Shush now," I interrupted the apologies and took a deep breath, "Maybe you can concentrate on that. Let your mind wander on such things and maybe that'll stop the panic a little." I knew what I was saying and apparently so did my son.

"You mean try to enjoy my hardness?"

"It might help," I nodded again, really meaning it by then. After all, he did it enough when he was alone in his room and when all was said and done, was it that big a deal? I thought for a moment, "No hands anywhere though, ok? And no words."

He gave a tiny nod, "It feels so nasty, though... are you sure?"

"Positive. But if you ever tell anyone I will deny everything shortly before castrating you and feeding your balls to the dog, ok?"

He snorted something like a laugh but then held me closer. "Is it ok if I move just a little?"

I thought for a second he meant higher up my leg and I was about to scream 'no' at him, but then understood he was just talking about a little move of his hips to... well, to help him masturbate against me. It was still horrible on many levels but I wanted him to forget about our predicament. It was a sacrifice on my parts, and I was so far out of my comfort zone -- but I was his mother, his guardian... "Just a little," I said, patting his shoulder.

He started to move then, just a little bit as he had said and as I had imagined. It was awful for me on so many levels, but it was a duty I had and I understood that. I held him close and let the top of his chest press against my breasts -- my tits, to Philip, I guessed. If he could blank out the darkness and the disastrous position we found ourselves in for a minute or two, then -- really -- what was wrong with that?

He was breathing heavily against my neck very quickly and despite everything, I hoped he could preserve the moments for as long as possible, make the whole experience something calm and relaxed and above all else, long. In the deep, dark recesses of both the little wine cellar and my tiny brain, I felt the stirrings of something deep within me.

We all have needs, I knew, and while my son was attempting to satisfy one of his, my own body began to remind me that he wasn't the only one that desired things. I started to wonder if maybe it would be my turn somehow after my son -- but knew at once that while a mother could grant her own flesh-and-blood his release in front of her, it could never be the same were the situation reversed. I would have to wait, but that was just fine so long as my boy was diverted from the surrounding nightmare for a few--

The next crash was the loudest yet.

Behind me something else collapsed and I found myself tipped even further backwards, the roof seeming to press closer above me. I panicked for a moment fearing for Philip's safety but he came to my rescue with a quiet 'mum?'.

"We're okay," I began but then stopped. My panties had torn in the latest slippage and my son was now braced above me, his body all too close to mine.

And that's where I started this:

There it was, no more than an inch from the very centre of me -- from parting my labial lips, no less -- and I had the strongest feeling that no matter how hard either of us tried to stop it, we wouldn't be successful. It was the most alarming, scary, heart-racing moment of my life.

His member -- his hard member -- had slid further up my thigh, and with no panties on now... I could feel the heat from the tip of his erection as it rested so very, very close to the very centre of me. He was aroused and excited -- just as I had wished for him -- but there was an element of arousal deep within me too. But that did not, in any way shape of form, mean that I wanted congress with my own son... no way...

"Mum! It's so dark and I can't move back!"

"I can't move either," I was gasping,

"Is this it?"

I knew what he meant and I swear I thought it was. I couldn't say it though. "We'll... we'll be fine."

"I feel so trapped!"

"It will be over soon. The storm, I mean!"

Above me, Philip slipped a tiny fraction more, "Shit mum!"

I held him as best I could, "It's ok, angel, it's not your fault!" His member -- his cock -- was so close to me now, so very, very close. And this could be the end of things... He was a strong young man now. An oddly elegant young man. And it really could be the end game here and now.

If it was, who would ever know? If we were dug up still coupled but long dead -- there, I said the word to myself -- who would care? Not me and not, I imagined, Philip. Could I, though? Should I?

Another tremor came with another slip, and even in the near pitch-darkness I could see my boy's eyes widen as the head of his cock pressed against my womanhood -- my pussy -- and my decision was almost, almost, made for me.

But I wanted one final decision in my life. If I relaxed my legs even slightly then he would part me. My own son, my Philip. I would be fucked one last time, and he would finish with this world fucking a woman who he apparently thought was 'cute and fit'. And who would be there to criticise either of us?

"Hey, you," I managed, "I have a feeling that maybe, in reality, we could be totally fucked here. What say you?"

"You said... well... yes, I guess we are."

"If you slip any further, buster, you're gonna be in me, fucking your own mum. What say we take that final decision away?"

I could feel his confusion, "What do you mean, mum?"

"I mean," I said, slowly, "How about you and choose to fuck? If you want to?"

"Want to? Oh, mum yes please, oh yes!"

"Sure? Is it what you've been dreaming of?"

"I guess there's no time left for being nice is there? Being polite?"

I shrugged beneath him, "I guess not. So, have you?"

"Fantasised about you? Yeah, a lot."

"You realise if I relax my legs, fantasy becomes reality?"

"How can you tease at a time like this?"

"Old habits," I said, "But you're right. We don't have time for silly games."

I relaxed the muscles in my thighs and my legs parted just a little. Just enough, in fact, for the tip of my son's cock to press between my labia, spreading those lips as it sought entry. I gasped, shocked at just how delightful that sensation was -- and shocked at how much the taboo nature of what we were doing -- even there hidden beneath the wrecked house -- excited me. There were no deep, hidden sensations by then, just a need. I relaxed further and the muscles in my pelvic floor softened and opened the final channel for my son. His cock slid inside me, deeper and deeper.

And without need of a further word we started to fuck.

I'd seen his little cock a thousand times when he was a baby, and now I was feeling that same but much bigger cock buried deep within me, moving at an already frantic pace. I couldn't move much but I tried to buck against his thrusts and finally reached up and tore my nightie open.

"There," I panted, "You might as well have access to every curve, yeah?"

His hand shot up to cover my bared tits and he moaned his pleasure even more loudly than I did.

"Fuck, mum! They're even more gorgeous than I imagined!" He gasped loudly then, "But... oh fuck mum, I think feeling them is going to make me... oh fuck..."

"Cum? Do you need to? Need to fill your mum's pussy with your juices because she's letting you fuck her? Fuck her and feel her tits?"

"Yes! I don't want it to stop though!"

"Just cum in me, angel! I think if you cum in mum's cunt then she's gonna cum on your hard cock!" It was true, "And if we ain't getting out of here, I reckon there's no need to stop the fun is there?" Right then I wanted it all.

"Oh fuck, yes! Oh shit, oh fuck.... I'm gonna..."

He exploded inside me, his cock thickening somehow before unleashing spurt after spurt of his cum deep inside my pussy. It was the trigger for me and my own climax rushed to the surface, my eyes widening at the speed of its arrival. I howled something at the ceiling just inches above my nose, my fingers raking my son's back, my hips grinding against his as the spasms had me bucking even harder beneath him.

He held me tightly, one hand still on a tit, the other sliding across the cardboard behind my back, his cock, still hard, still buried inside me as my own juices gushed and mixed with his cum. It wasn't the hardest climax of my life, but it was easily the most intense, somehow electrifying in its speed and power.

I started to rock my hips the second I got my breath back and I heard the gasp of delight from my son's lips. He got the message though and we were soon fucking again, more slowly this time, relishing what might be our last sensations of this lifetime.

"Did my language shock you?" I asked between thrusts.

"Not as much as being able to fuck you. And the rules on swearing don't apply down here, do they?"

I nodded against his shoulder, "True and true."

"You're gorgeous."

"In the pitch blackness, maybe."

"No, Always."

I managed a laugh, happy -- amazingly -- and a tiny bit embarrassed by, of all things, the compliment, "Oh, shush and... you're sure the swearing doesn't offend?"

"It'll cost you another fuck."

"Fair enough," I agreed easily, "Then pound my cunt just as hard as you like. With that gorgeous young cock of yours."

And he did. Boy, did he.

My Philip, my only son, made me cum again and again. Countless times as the darkness enveloped us. But in truth there could have been the brightest of lights on us, an audience of millions.

Sure, I was single and seldom ventured into sexual games and pastimes, but Philip's youthful enthusiasm, his gorgeous body, his glorious passion, his perfect size and growing confidence... they all added up to something close to sexual perfection. If those hours or minutes were to be our last, then -- almost -- so what? As ways to go went, that was as close to the best as it must be possible to get.

But we didn't go, though.