The Forbidden Shore

I slightly shifted my position in her divine saddle and began making long, slow and even strokes, savoring every millimeter of my movement in her sheath, still gobsmacked at my great good fortune. After a minute or so, Mom wrapped her legs around my hips and canted her pelvis upwards, staring at me intently, lust blazing in her eyes.

"Fuck me, Peter," she said simply. "Fuck me hard and make me cum, baby boy. Knulla din moder."

The previous evening, our coupling had a very emotional, almost sacramental feel, as we finally expressed our love for each other fully and completely. Now, having claimed one another, pure, undiluted lust made its first, full-fledged appearance. I set to my task with a will, quickly increasing my tempo and force until our thighs were crashing together with loud slaps.

"Oh, yes, baby. Like that, yes, like that!" Mom moaned as I pounded her. The more forcefully I thrust into her wetness, the more she seemed to need. I gradually became consumed with the idea of penetrating her as deeply as I possibly could, as if the depth of my fucking would somehow make her more fully and completely mine.

Pausing for a moment, I placed her legs over my shoulders and resumed my stroking. This seemed to afford some more depth, Mom murmuring wordless approval as her hands gripped my shoulders. As I increased the tempo and ferocity of my attack, I began to sense a blunt resistance to my deepest strokes and Mom's eyes flew open, staring wildly at me.

"My God, Peter! Yes! Yes! So deep! Sooo gooood!" she wailed as I hammered her.

Abruptly, her eyes rolled back into her head and she shot her legs straight out into a quivering, shaking V. I could feel her fingernails clawing furrows in the skin of my back. Sweat stood out on her brow and a crimson flush suffused her face, shoulders and upper chest, an almost savage grimace distorting her features as she crested.

"Ahh! Peter! Ahhh! Ahhh! Ahhhh! Bay-beeee!" she wailed, as her climax wracked her.

I was so captivated by her unrestrained passion that I forgot to cum myself. I gradually slowed my tempo and Mom's legs fell limply to the bed, completely flaccid, her breath labored. I stopped my thrusts, still hard within her.

Mom lay completely inert beneath me for several minutes, her breathing gradually returning to normal. Finally, her eyelids fluttered and opened, her face a mask of amazement as she focused on me.

"Fuck," she exhaled. "Holy dritt, Peter. That was unbelievable, you big, bad stud."

"You were amazing, Mom, just amazing. So sexy."

"If I was amazing, it's because I was being fucked within an inch of my life by my wonderful son."

"You're so beautiful when you cum, Mom," I murmured. "It's the most beautiful sight in the world."

Grasping my face with her hands, Mom pulled me down and gave me a tender, lingering kiss. "You're a hopeless romantic, darling. I love you very much for that. But I also love that you can fuck like a demon when I want it," she added giggling.

"I have lots of inspiration," I said simply.

Mom blushed and turned her head. "I'm a very lucky woman," she said quietly. Turning back to look at me, she smiled and said, "I think we have unfinished business, young man. Momma needs to feel her son's cum inside her. What are you going to do about it?"

"Be a good son," I replied, beginning to move within her again.

"That's my boy. Oh yes, just that way, Peter, just like that, lover."

We soon settled into an easy rhythm, Mom holding me close, whispering encouragements and Norsk endearments into my ear as we loped along. Strangely, I was in no hurry, totally in the moment, savoring every cycle of our waltz of thrusts and grinds. I wanted it to last forever, but soon I began to feel the telltale tightening in my groin and my pace quickened.

Mom immediately sensed my impending climax and began whispering to me. "That's right baby, let it go. Give your cum to me. Put it all inside me. Fuck me, baby. Cum for me, son. Cum for your momma."

Those words pushed me right over the edge and I was suddenly in a free fall of ecstasy. I felt like I was delivering a river of sperm into my mother. With each contraction, each, spasm of pleasure, my whole body tightened and cords stood out in my neck.

I was only able to gasp a word at a time, each syllable corresponding to a blistering rope of cum inside my mother's pussy.

"Ohhh - God - Mom - Mom - I - Love - You - Mom!" I cried, flooding her with my seed.

For a moment I blacked out and then I was kissing her, deeply, ferociously, possessively.

As a bead of sweat dripped from my forehead to land on her cheek, I finally breathed again. "You're mine now, Mom," I said fiercely. "Only mine. Always mine. Always."

Hugging me tightly, a tear rolling down her cheek, Mom nodded once. "Yes. Just you, Peter. Only for my son, my only lover."

We lay together for a while, casually touching, not with intent to excite again, but just to feel close to one another. The only sound came from the wind swirling outside the house. Even that was somewhat dampened by the heavily falling snow, hushing everything towards stillness. After a bit, the silence was broken rudely by the growling of my stomach.

Mom laughed and ran her fingers through my hair. "Men! You're all so...basic."

I brushed her hair back from her forehead and kissed her.

"I thought I already sang for my supper," I protested lightly.

"Mmmm, that you did, big guy. I suppose I could cut you a little slack..."

"Thanks," I said drily. "Nice to know I'm in your good graces."

"Brat. Let me clean up a little and I'll get some breakfast for us."

She wrinkled her nose and grimaced. "Smells like a cathouse in here."

"And how would my sainted mother recognize the odor of a cathouse?" I teased.

"Not very sainted anymore, you double brat. I'd paddle you if you weren't such a big lug."

"I'll get the sheets in the washer," I offered, standing up.

"Not so fast, there, buster," she interrupted, grabbing my hand. "Sheets can wait for a bit. If you're doing the laundry, who's going to scrub my back?"

Grinning, I pulled her to her feet and into my embrace. "Your body slave awaits your pleasure, Mistress Christine."

"That's more like it, Mr. Smartmouth."

I took her hand and led her into the en suite. Soon, the shower was billowing steam and the mirrors fogged completely. When we stepped in together, Mom took charge, proceeding to scrub me, lovingly and sensuously from head to toe. Of course, one or two areas got a bit more attention than others and by the time she handed the soap to me, I was at full, bobbing and throbbing staff.

Leaning back against me, my cock resting on the flare of her back and buttocks, she sighed and closed her eyes. She looked radiant and alive, her skin blushing rosily from the heat of the steam, her hair slicked back into a dark, faux pony tail by the running water. Grabbing a bottle of shampoo, I poured out a handful and began massaging it into her scalp. She sighed happily and relaxed further against me.

"Mmmmm. That's lovely, sweetheart. You're spoiling me rotten."

"Nothing is too good for my special girl. She deserves all the spoiling she can get," I said seriously.

I proceeded to shampoo her thoroughly, massaging her scalp to the point she was practically purring. After rinsing and conditioning her hair, I turned my attention to other areas of interest, drawing a gasp or two when I briefly sucked her soapy nipples into my mouth. I licked, fingered and probed every millimeter of her I could touch and soon we were locked in another fierce embrace, her hand grasping my cock and rubbing it through her slit.

I turned her around, bent my knees slightly and tilted my pelvis, bringing my cock to her opening, rubbing, teasing with my tip, making her moan in frustration. Mom was beside herself with excitement, pushing and rubbing her buttocks against me, rising up onto the balls of her feet and thrusting back, trying to capture my hardness, but I was having none of it, enjoying my teasing session.

Finally, I decided that I'd made her wait long enough. I grabbed her hips and angled myself to take her...

and the hot water ran out.

"Oh SHIT!" Mom shrieked, taking the brunt of the shower's stream. Spinning away from the cold and out of my grasp, I was left exposed to the full output of fifty-degree water, with predictable results.

"FUCK!" I bellowed, backpedalling quickly. I slipped on the dropped bar of soap, landing heavily on my ass, now taking the jet of cold water full in the face. "GODDAMMIT!"

Mom reached into the shower stall and rescued me, turning the tap off. Dripping wet herself, her nipples hard as cherrystones from the combination of previous excitement and cold, she laughed so hard she could barely stand up.

Grumbling, I got to my feet and grabbed a towel. Mom did the same and we began chaffing each other vigorously to restore circulation. Mom was still laughing so hard she could barely catch her breath and her jag gradually tapered into giggles interrupted with hiccups as we dried ourselves.

Finally, she caught her breath enough to speak. "The wages of sin, Peter, the wages of sin."

Still cold, I had shrunken quickly and painfully and it felt as though my balls had retracted into my armpits. I didn't see much humor in the situation and grumbled as such to Mom, which set her off on another round of giggles and snorts.

Eventually, I was able to find the sense of humor I had temporarily misplaced and laughed along with her.

"And what if I catch pee-new-moanya?" I asked, play-acting petulance.

Mom wasn't having any of it, giving me a zinger right back.

"Just as long as you don't get pee-nis-moanya," she riposted.

"You'd fuck your son on his deathbed, just for your own pleasure?" I asked incredulously, pretending to be deeply hurt.

"Damn right, sonny-boy," Mom riposted briskly. "Stor harde kuker like yours don't just grow on trees, you know. Once a girl gets one, she needs to use it as much as possible while she can."

Stepping close to me, she ran her hands over my once-proud penis and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I'll make it up to you a little later, sweetheart," she said, bussing my cheek tenderly. "Right now, I want to make my son-lover a delicious Julefrokost. How about pancakes, maple syrup and some nice, crisp bacon?"

I suddenly realized how hungry I was. I picked Mom up and gave her a big hug.

"There's nothing I'd like better, Mom. Let's get dressed and I'll make some coffee too."

Chapter 10

Christmas breakfast was, quite simply, the finest meal of my entire life. We were both ravenous after our night of passion and discovery, but even so it took an hour to eat the thick-sliced rashers and blueberry studded hotcakes. With Mom in my lap, there were about three or four stolen kisses or caresses for every bite of food we took.

By the time we did finish our meal, I was hard enough to split kindling and Mom was dripping. That turned into the first time I took her on the kitchen table. We were in such an inflamed state of impatience that I simply pulled her panties to one side and buried myself to the hilt without ceremony, accompanied by Mom's groaning approval. It was a miracle we didn't break every single dish as well as the legs of the table.

It was only after I pulled out from her, leaving a gobby trail of spend on the floor and tablecloth, that it occurred to me the window curtains were drawn fully back. Mom seemed to have the same thought as me, but a brief look of worry flashed across her face.

"Not to worry, Mom," I tried to reassure her. "Nobody can see anything. They'd have to come all the way around to the back of the house to get an eyeful."

"I know, Peter, but I forgot to tell you that Hilda said she might drop by this morning on her way out with some of her Christmas kuchen. "

"I see," I said slowly, the significance of our risky position coolly dispersing the last of my pleasant post-orgasmic haze. "Do you think she could have seen us?"

"I don't know, darling. I think we could trust her, in any event."

"Well," I sighed. "It's a little late to worry now."

"Anyway," I added, "I don't think I could have waited to get you into bed. I needed to have you right then."

"You really think Hilda would keep quiet about us?"

"She and I share everything, Peter," Mom said seriously. "We're very close - no secrets between us. She knows me so well, I don't think I could hide anything from her, anyway."

"You know, she's had the hots for you for years," she added with a smirk.

Not to be outdone, I teased right back, "Planning on loaning me out, Mom?"

Mom snorted a laugh. "Not bloody likely, darling. I love Hilda, but your stor kukk is all mine."

"So, no sharing the wealth then?" I pretended disappointment.

"Mine and only mine," she repeated, eyes narrowing dangerously.

"All yours," I agreed hastily, pulling her close for a lingering kiss.

"Mmmm," she hummed, melting against me.

At that moment, we heard knocking at the back door.

"Shit!" Mom exclaimed, breaking away from me. "That's probably Hilda!"

She frantically grabbed her panties and quickly adjusted the twisted and wet fabric, grimacing as my messy gift leaked around the gusset. I pulled my sweatpants up with a jerk and grabbed some paper towels and began quickly cleaning up the mess on the floor and tablecloth. Mom took one from me and stuffed it hastily in her panties, wincing slightly as the rough material contacted her sensitive lips. Then she quickly did up her robe and ran her hands through her hair, bustling to the door.

A goose-bump inducing draft announced Hilda's arrival and I heard them greet each other enthusiastically with wishes of Merry Christmas. Sitting down at the kitchen table, I waited for Hilda's entrance, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible.

Hilda gave me a hug and peck on the cheek and sat at the table across from me. Mom bustled around for a few moments, getting her a cup of coffee. We all sat at the table, Mom next to me, her hand finding mine surreptitiously under the table. We exchanged pleasantries and best holiday wishes for a few minutes, but it seemed somehow perfunctory, at least from Hilda's side.

Her eyes constantly shifted back and forth between Mom and me, appearing to probe and measure. Her look was at some moments so penetrating, that I thought we were undergoing some sort of nonverbal interrogation.

After a minute or two, the silence between the three of us became both embarrassing and intensely uncomfortable. I began to wonder just how much Hilda knew, or was surmising and I started to worry, wondering if Mom was correct in her assessment of Hilda's friendship and discretion.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, looking away. Somehow taking this as some sort of acknowledgment, Hilda finally broke the silence.

She spoke only one word, asking "When?" with an ironically arched eyebrow.

"When what, Hilda?" I asked innocently.

"Last night, or the night before?" she inquired with some impatience, her eyes boring into mine.

Again, I played stupid. "I don't understand, Hilda."

"Jesus," she said in exasperation. "It's a good thing you guys don't play poker. You can't hide anything for shit."

Measuring her words slowly, as though speaking to a child, she continued, "I. Said. When. Did. You. Guys. Start. Sleeping. Together?"

Mom blushed and shot me an "I told you so" look.

Hilda immediately clapped her hands together delightedly, crowing triumphantly, "I knew it! I just knew it! It's about damn time!"

She took Moms hand in hers and squeezed it, her eyes glistening. "I'm so happy for you Chris, so happy."

"Hilda, you're okay with this?" I asked incredulously.

""Well, Peter my boy, it's not really any of my business to begin with, but your mom and I have been best friends forever. I think she deserves to be happy," she said flatly. "So, yes. You can trust me. Absolutely."

"And the fact that I'm her son...?" I asked.

"Don't mean squat," she riposted, almost defiantly. "I've known for a long time you two are right for each other - ever since you were about sixteen, if you must know Peter. I've seen the way you both are together. I think you two are meant to be with one another. Okay, I'll admit that it's very exciting that you're her son, but I think the naughty factor is just the cherry on the sundae - breaking all those rules and conventions."

"Besides," she said with a grin, "What woman wouldn't want to be with a hunk like you, Peter?"

I blushed, with nothing to say. Mom squeezed my hand tightly and then got up. She bent to whisper something in Hilda's ear. Hilda's eyes went wide and she covered her hand with her mouth, blushing.

"Oh my goodness," she whispered, looking at me furtively out of the corner of her eye, "That big?"

Mom nodded her head, looking at me with love and pride the whole time. I was so embarrassed that I couldn't meet Hilda's eyes.

"Ohmigod, Chris, I'm sooooo jealous!" Hilda exclaimed. "Handsome, strong and hung to boot! You are so totally fucking lucky, girl!"

"Shit, Mom!" I spluttered, incandescent with embarrassment.

Laughing, she came back to my side of the table and sat on my lap, her arms around my shoulders.

"I told you, now didn't I Peter? I told you Hilda and I had no secrets from each other and I told you that I didn't think we'd be able to hide things from her anyway. Didn't I?" She asked, settling back down to sit in my lap.

"You did," I acknowledged grudgingly. "But Jesus, telling her about my...my..." I ran out of words, too mortified to continue.

"Your enorm pikk?" Mom asked, clearly delighting in my discomfiture.

"Well, yes," I sulked.

"I'm very proud of my son," Mom said simply, amusement still dancing in her eyes. "I want Hilda to know how proud I am of him and how happy his big dick makes me, especially when he fucks me."

At this point, I gave up. I would have thrown my hands up in resignation, but I was still busy holding onto Mom. I couldn't understand how my quiet, reserved and proper mor could be in such a crazy, elated and nonchalant mood about fucking her son. I sensed that what she was saying would go no further as far as Hilda was concerned, but it still was shocking to hear her speak so openly about our secret.

Sensing my unease, Hilda reached across the table and squeezed my hand.

"I'd die before I told anyone about the two of you," she said seriously, holding me in a steady gaze. "Chris is as much the sister I never had as she is my best friend."

"I want her to be happy," she added. "She deserves so much to be happy, Peter, and I'm so glad it's you she's with. You'll look after her the way she needs."

"I'll do my best, Hilda," I agreed quietly. "Mom means the world to me."

Hilda stood abruptly, clearing her throat. "Well, I guess I better be moving along, Chris. I promised to help out at the church after services today and you guys need to, uhm, have some more holiday cheer," she chuckled.

"Just one bit of advice," she said, giving a parting shot over her shoulder. "Beds are generally more comfortable than kitchen tables."

Her laugh followed her out the door, lost in a blast of cold air as she let herself out into the swirling snow.

I looked at Mom, still blushing. "Busted," I said, shrugging my shoulders.

"I told you, Peter. She knows me. She knows me."

"Well," I said, "Shall we follow your best friend's advice?"

"Mmmm, I don't know Peter. Momma's kind of sore. You've been beating me with that big piece of meat all night. I think I need a little break," she apologized a little sheepishly.

"How about I draw you a hot bath?" I asked.

"Ah, that would be wonderful, darling. After that, we can open presents. And then..."