Come and Sleep in Mummy's Bed

Staring at the delectation between her legs, Aaron was sure he could see the cleft of her sex outlined by the near gossamer of the faded denim.

And so it went on. For a full two hours, while his mother, apparently innocently, went about her business attacking the flora, Aaron was tormented by frustration. It seemed that every time he looked up or returned from some errand, his mother, a single, mud-ingrained gardening glove covering one hand, secateurs at the ready in the other, and with, in an eccentric twist to her ensemble, a round-crowned, wide-brimmed straw hat on her head, was thrusting her perspiration-beaded breasts into his face. Or she’d be bent over, the cleft of her cunt chewing cloth. Aaron swore she wore no underwear beneath the shorts, while he stared, mesmerised at the long, lean muscles flexing in Ingrid’s legs as she squatted and raised, squatted and raised, intent upon her garden.

The young man’s frustration peaked in the kitchen when, after a long, cold glass of lager, in mid-afternoon, Ingrid leaned close and kissed his cheek. The kiss landed very close to the corner of his mouth. ‘Thanks for the help,’ Ingrid murmured, fixing her eyes on her son’s.

He couldn’t help but glance at her breasts as they bulged dangerously close to a wobbling over-spill in the near ineffectual bikini bra. ‘That’s OK, Mum,’ he’d babbled, reddening as the clean, honest scent of her sweat-sheened body wafted upwards. How he managed to remain in control, didn’t succumb to the fevered urge to kiss his mother, to tear that bra from her body and lick the sweat from her skin ... Ah, but if he could just pull down those shorts, push her onto her back, spread he legs wide, and lave her sex with his tongue ...

Aaron didn’t see his mother’s smirk when he fled the kitchen. Nor did he witness the scene in her bedroom, her on the bed, freshly showered and rubbing at her sex, squeezing the breasts he’d so wanted to suck.

‘Oh, baby,’ Ingrid murmured as she fingered herself to a climax, imagining herself naked, except for the hat, on hands and knees in the garden, with her son’s cock stuffed inside her body as he fucked into her from behind. ‘The sun on our bodies as we frolic naked in the garden, my darling,’ she sighed to the empty space in her bedroom. ‘Fill Mummy with your seed,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, fuck, I’m coming ...’

And the teasing and the flaunting went on.

Then came the night that Ingrid, quite by accident, an uncontrived situation, was passing her son’s room. By his own design Aaron had left the door ajar in the hope that his mother would see. The crazy idea had been that his mother would see him masturbating, be overwhelmed with lust and desire, come into the room and ... Well, I’m sure you can guess what Aaron hoped for. And all he had to do, if only he’d known, was to turn and look towards the door.

*

Neither mother nor son had the gumption to make the first move. Ingrid had her suspicions, indeed she’d teased, flaunted and taunted the young man mercilessly, yet he made no overt move. Suspicions were all well and good, but the woman was loathe to act on mere speculation.

Aaron, despite his mother’s exhibitionism and his own inflamed desires, also lacked the courage to escalate the situation. He too was unsure.

Then came the afternoon he left work early.

‘Server’s down,’ Mr Jackson, Aaron’s boss had said. ‘Might as well take an early bath, Aaron me boy. There wouldn’t be much happening this arvo anyway. Go on, make the most of it while I’m in a good mood.’

Aaron had skipped out and driven home in the old Escort – his, bought and paid for. He habitually used the back door to the house, all the family did, well, just him and his mum now since his dad was gone. He’d closed the high, wooden-slatted gate behind him and noticed the washing hanging on the line – no sign of his mother, though. Dammit, he’d hoped she’d be in the garden sunbathing ... Maybe even naked. He could never tell with his mother these days. But Ingrid hadn’t been there, much to his disappointment.

He’d walked through the open kitchen door ...

And seen her ...

... His mother, his beautiful mother, sprawled on the single-seater, her dress unbuttoned, her body visible. Nearly all of that gorgeous body. Aaron’s heart began to race when the reality of what he was seeing hit him. He swallowed several times, eyes wide, his mouth an O of surprise.

From where he stood, scant feet from the unbelievable sight, Aaron heard his mother mutter: ‘Do you want Mummy to suck it? Let me suck you, you can come in my mouth; on my tits; in my hair, or ... You could squirt into my cunt.’

That word! Oh my God!

And her tits, her body and what she was doing to herself. Aaron knew now the answer to his question about his mother’s pubic bush. A precise triangle, geometric perfection, graced that place just above the cleft of her sex. The rest was clean and smooth. He saw his mother’s labia, surprisingly meaty flaps that seemed to suck greedily at her fingers as she fingered herself. Her face was screwed into a grimace of intense concentration, a candid expression of undiluted, candid sexual abandon. A plumb-bob the density of a house brick dropped through Aaron’s guts as his brain struggled to process the erotic image of his mother masturbating.

His mother tensed, her limbs twitching, and Aaron’s attention was drawn to her trembling thighs and the convulsive jerking of her hips as she fucked onto her fingers. He saw one hand move to those breasts, watched her mauling and squeezing the big tits as she came noisily.

Aaron heard his mother gasp, ‘I’m coming. Oh yes, I’m coming. Fucking coming ...’

A long pause followed. The young man became dimly aware of the tumescence wedged tight against the constriction of his underwear and work trousers. He rubbed his erection through the cloth, watching his mother as she panted and gasped, caught in the aftermath of her apocalyptic climax.

A momentary impulse came over him. He should leave, he thought. If his mother opened her eyes at that moment and saw him their relationship would never be the same again. There would always be this huge thing between them. Irreversible and eternal.

But she was just too beautiful. He had to stay, had to look at her and imprint every impression, each empirical sensation, in his mind. The image of her, dress loose, splay-limbed, and with her sex pouting sulkily between her legs and oozing its desire had to be scortched into his recall for future masturbatory pleasures.

Then Ingrid’s eyes opened. Her blue stare, the same shade as the summer sky outside, that pale hue that made his mother’s gaze so unique and, at that moment, so sexually electrifying, regarded him for a few heartbeats. Aaron saw her blink as she registered his presence. Ingrid’s face clouded for a second and then her legs clamped tight against her wrist.

‘Shit!’ she exclaimed; understandable given the circumstances. ‘What ..?’ Ingrid clawed at the back of the chair, reaching behind to heft her body upright. Even as his mother struggled to stand and recover some modesty, Aaron noticed the way her breasts swayed heavily. His erection clamoured for release. ‘Oh God,’ Ingrid began to babble. ‘This ... Oh ... Aaron ... Shit ...’ Her hands, once she’d managed to stand, scrabbled for the flapping edges of her dress. ‘Aaron, I’m—’

Her son cut the words short. ‘—You’re beautiful, Mum,’ he said, quietly.

‘What?’ Ingrid replied, her cheeks rosy with her post-orgasmic flush, purpled deeper with mortification.

‘I said, you’re beautiful, Mum,’ Aaron repeated.

And for Ingrid, at that pivotal moment, it all fell into place. She had choices. She could bluster and bluff, make excuses and suffer the ignominy, or could take control and, carpe diem, influence the outcome, decide both their futures.

‘Oh, Aaron,’ she sighed, releasing the dress, allowing it to fall open and reveal a swathe of skin to her son’s eyes. ‘Do you think so, baby? Really?’

‘How can I not,’ the lad croaked. ‘Look at you.’ He nodded towards her. ‘Just look at you,’ he added, limply, his hand lifting, palm uppermost, gesturing.

‘I’ve been teasing you, Aaron,’ Ingrid confessed, ‘ever since you kissed my neck, in the kitchen the other week. Remember?’ Her son nodded. ‘That time I wore those shorts and the bikini top, Aaron.’ Ingrid took a step towards her son. ‘It was for you. All for you. I was testing you.’ Her arms flapped at her sides. Aaron saw the jiggle of her breasts and gasped. ‘You seemed to have taken an ... unusual interest in me all of a sudden. Like you fancied me.’ Ingrid laughed; a short bark, before her expression grew serious again. She fixed her eyes on her son. The youth shuffled his feet, his cock stiffening further as his mother’s eyes slitted into a feline look of wanting. ‘And I wanted you to fancy me, Aaron,’ Ingrid whispered. She closed the distance between their bodies. Aaron gulped, longing to reach out and touch his mother’s skin. He wanted desperately to feel her body, squeeze her breasts and slide a finger through the heavy lips of her vulva. But still he hesitated, even then unsure. ‘Do you fancy me, my baby?’ Ingrid’s voice was a whisper. She was close enough to her son that he could smell her and feel the heat of her body radiating out to him.

‘Yes,’ Aaron croaked.

With a tut of annoyance, Ingrid yanked the ragged loincloth of her underwear down her legs. She kicked the scrap away and then reached for Aaron’s hand before, still gazing into his eyes, she placed the flat of his palm against her stomach. ‘Do you want to touch me?’ the woman breathed. ‘Do you want to kiss me?’ She guided the boy’s hand to her breast. ‘Do you want to lick Mummy between her legs and then put that thing of yours into her?’

‘Shit,’ Aaron groaned. ‘Mum ...’

‘I watched you, you know, Aaron. Just like you caught me now. I caught you and watched you. Upstairs, when you were in your room ... Wanking.’ Ingrid leaned closer to Aaron and, placing her lips against his cheek, kissed him. ‘I wanted to go to you when I saw it, Aaron. I wanted to go to you and suck you until you came.’ Ingrid took half a step backwards and overlay her son’s hands with her own, urging the young man to massage her breasts. ‘I wanted to suck my own son’s cock.’ Ingrid pushed Aaron’s hands more firmly against her tit flesh, savouring the feel of his palms against her nipples. ‘That’s so wicked, isn’t it, Aaron? Me wanting to do that to you. But I have a feeling you would have let me, my darling boy.’

‘Yes, Mum,’ Aaron moaned, his face slack as the reality of his mother’s taut, heavy breasts registered under his fingers. ‘Anything ...’

Ingrid unzipped her son’s flies and unbuckled the belt holding his trousers up. ‘You’ve grown into such a big boy,’ she murmured, fingers curling around the girth of Aaron’s erection and easing the thing out. ‘Such a big, lovely boy.’

A whimper came from Aaron as his mother slowly eased her fist up and down the length of him. ‘Mum ...’ he managed before a long groan overtook his ability to speak.

‘Kiss me, my darling boy,’ Ingrid instructed softly.

The woman’s stroking increased in tempo as her mouth opened and her tongue slid between her son’s lips and past his teeth. She held the boy’s cock in an underhand grasp as though holding a tennis racquet. Sensing his need, knowing he craved the sweet agony of ejaculation for it had gone on for too long, her taunting him in the past, it was only proper that she should help him come.

For Aaron the kiss was more exciting than seeing his mother climax. Her hand on his cock meant less than the kiss; to him the kiss embodied a true connection. Ingrid offered her son a lover’s kiss, not the chaste peck on the cheek expected from a mother, but a true mixing of their emotions, a signal of her desire to take him into her body as his tongue rolled and parried with his mother’s. He knew then that he would fuck her. It was inevitable. The moment he entered her, heard her sigh and murmur his name as they made love, proper love, for the first time ...

‘Mum,’ Aaron warned. ‘Mum, I’m ...’

‘Do it,’ Ingrid urged, delight in her tone. ‘For me, baby. Do it for me.’

The woman reversed her grip, all business focussed upon those inches of iron gristle in her fist. Aaron moaned, head lolling, hips jerking as he fucked into the woman’s hand.

They kissed again, tongues swirling, breath mingling, and with Aaron grunting his intentions into his mother’s open mouth. The boy gave one, long, final groan. Ingrid positioned herself in front of the boy, her mons close to the end of his cock, crying in triumph when the first squirt of jizm splattered against her body.

She gave another shout of delight. ‘Oh, yes, my lovely boy,’ she crowed. ‘It’s coming out of you so hard! Cover Mummy’s tummy with it, baby. Come on, spray it over my cunt.’

The stuff kept pouring out of him. All the pent up frustration, weeks of it, finally unloaded onto his mother’s skin and the fluff of her pubic thatch.

Ingrid pumped and pumped, even when the shower had slowed to an ooze she kept tugging at her son’s root, coaxing all of the gloop from the slit in the head of the thing. His semen slid down her body, trickling over the mound of her pubis, hanging in a thick strand from her labia to plop onto the parquet woodwork of the living room floor. She smeared her son’s seed into her skin, writhing and wriggling with renewed desire. She wanted to fuck, wanted to be fucked by her son, all of that long, thick cock splitting her open ...

‘Let’s go upstairs, baby,’ Ingrid suggested. ‘To my bedroom. I want you to come upstairs with me.’

She released Aaron’s cock. The thing, jutting undiminished from the sprouting of the boy’s pubic hair, an ardent finger eager for more, sprung upright. Ingrid turned, shrugging the redundant dress to the floor; she had no need of it now. The garment rippled like water as it slid over her body. With swaying hips, which hypnotised Aaron, Ingrid walked from the room towards the stairs. She paused with a hand on the banister and one foot on the lowest riser, to turn and look back seductively over her shoulder. ‘Come with Mummy, darling,’ she grinned, and then licked smears of semen from her hand.

Aaron, spurred by his mother’s invitation and the promise of her derrière, hurried after her.

Ingrid lay on her bed and looked up at her son, who knelt between her open thighs with his cock in his hand and an earnest expression on his face. ‘What’s the matter, Aaron?’ she asked.

‘Is this right, Mum? What we’re doing.’

‘What do you think, baby? How does it make you feel? I’ve thought about it, the consequences, it hasn’t just been about the fantasy for me. And,’ Ingrid grinned, attempting to reassure her son, ‘you started it.’ She shifted on the bed, moving away from the boy. Sitting upright, with a pillow propped behind her, she reached a hand to Aaron in a come here gesture. He complied, laying with his head against the quilt cover, level with Ingrid’s hip. Ingrid swivelled her body to face her son, thus bringing her sex, a calculated act on her part, inches from his face. ‘Do you love me, Aaron?’

He nodded, replying with, ‘Yes, Mum, of course I love you.’

‘I don’t mean like you’ve always loved me. I mean, do you love me, like you’d love a girlfriend? Do you want to be with me ... For us to be a couple?’

‘I ... I’m not sure. I mean I’ve thought about you a lot, thought all kinds of ... You know ... Dirty stuff. I haven’t really thought about us being together.’ The impact hit Aaron then. The full meaning of what he’d wished for materialising. To be with his mother, like in a relationship, a proper, grown-up thing. Lovers. What if they argued and it ended up like it did with his dad? The implications were enormous. Frightening.

‘You know how I feel, Aaron. You know I want a man who respects me, loves me, and who doesn’t just want a quick fuck. Although,’ Ingrid’s voice grew treacly, a low, seductive growl, ‘It’s been a long time since I’ve been fucked.’ As she stressed the obscenity, Ingrid lifted a leg and revealed her vulva, sticky-lipped with lust. ‘A nice little fuck, Aaron,’ she purred, sliding a finger between the folds of her labia, gasping when her finger slid over the slick nub of her clitoris.

‘You mean?’ Aaron asked, swallowing heavily at the sight of his mother’s pouting sex so close to his face. ‘That ...’

‘Just once, Aaron,’ Ingrid urged, rolling onto her back and opening her legs. ‘Just one little fuck. Then we can discuss the future and, well, if you feel you can’t commit, why then, we’ll have a little secret to keep between us forever more.’

‘I do love you, Mum,’ Aaron insisted as he rose to his knees and settled between his mother’s legs again. ‘You’re beautiful and sexy and—’

‘—Kiss me, darling,’ Ingrid interrupted, reaching for the lad’s cock. ‘Kiss me and put it inside me ...’

Ingrid gasped as her son’s blunt cock head nudged at her sex. She moaned when, after the tiniest resistance, Aaron thrust and slid half of his considerable length into her.

With his mouth pressed against hers, Aaron began to slide in and out of his mother’s body, thrusting deeper on each inward glide.

‘I love you, Mum,’ he sighed, overwhelmed with tenderness for the woman whose legs had encircled his hips and who was doing her utmost to take as much of him inside her body as she could manage. ‘I want to be with you forever. I want us to love each other, like this, all the time.’

‘Every night,’ Ingrid replied, panting as her arousal heightened. ‘Every night. Doing this. You fucking me. Every night you can come and sleep in Mummy’s bed ... Oh, baby, we can be naked together in the house all the time. We could go on holiday and walk together in the evenings like a real couple. The two of us, my darling boy ...’

Aaron, holding his torso tilted away from his mother, but with hammering hips, slammed into her harder and harder. He leaned down and kissed her again. Maintaining the speed, urgent tempo and rampaging violence of his downward thrust, Aaron craned his neck and sucked his mother’s nipples. He fell against her body, pushing his arms beneath her to grasp her shoulders. They kissed yet again, Ingrid bucking her hips upwards to take more of Aaron into her body. Her need to have him inside her burned white hot. She wanted him deep, needed to feel that cock pulsing, a living, elemental entity invading a place it shouldn’t be. The taboo nature of the act, mother and son copulating ...

It was that which brought on Ingrid’s climax, the illicit nature of what they were doing, what she was doing, with him, her son.

Damn them all, Ingrid thought, recklessly euphoric as her climax broke. He’s my son and we’re in love. I won’t care what anyone thinks of us. And then, for long seconds, she let the glory of her orgasm thrill through her body.

His mother’s vehement reaction to the sensations, the delicious rush of ecstasy that surged through her veins and tingled her nerve-endings, brought Aaron to his own orgasm. He had time to blurt a warning, not that Ingrid could hear it, before the spurts of jizm squirted into his mother. The goo poured out of him, a rush of hot seed that filled Ingrid and farted obscenely as the couple’s slippery conjunction forced the gloop between his pistoning gristle and her soft insides.

Finally, as they lay spent, Aaron, chest heaving, lying alongside his equally breathless mother, decided that he wanted nothing more than to be with her like this, always. Every night with her. Fucking her. Every night he could come and sleep in Mummy’s bed.