She Wonders Ch. 02

Masterfully he ploughed her deep and swift, slowing every tenth to fifteenth stroke so that he could sink in to the hilt and tease her cervix. When he did he milked forth a guttural moan from his mother, and then shallow pants to match his speeding rhythm.

So wet she sloshed, he sawed in and out with ease, wet flesh slapping at her backside. And Eric marvelled in the sight of Sara's bouncing tits as she gripped the headboard to push back against him.

'I'm coming,' he soon announced intensely. Sara's eyes lit up with youthful excitement.

'Deep as you can,' she instructed, wrapping her legs around him and forcing her hips up off the bed.

'Fucking hell,' Eric blurted his disbelief, overjoyed at her prowess. She was actually too much for him. He fell back onto his haunches.

Bewildered he then watched her take back control, as Sara levitated her torso with the strength in her arms. Like that she rode him, fucked herself for all she was worth, until he cried and began to blast her womb full with his seed.

Wrestling her back down onto the bed he bottomed out and continued to fill her up. Her feet locked at his back to draw him in, Sara cried softly into his ear, until all that remained at the inevitable end - a slowly synchronising chorus of ragged breaths!

12

'I'd better get going,' she said regretfully, and that sparked another round of sweet lovemaking; first with their newfound love for kissing each other. A matter of moments later and her son was deep inside her again, plunging into her from behind.

He didn't know how just the feel of his hands on her bottom made her feel, the way he took control. Another three shattering climaxes and it was his turn to unload once again. Looking over her shoulder, her expression sleepy but grateful, she both blessed and scorned him with a smile.

'It's half past midnight, Eric,' she exclaimed seriously. 'I might even be missed!'

He kissed her backside, then nibbled it sharply, surprising her. Begrudgingly she began to get dressed, slipping on her skirt, her bra, and then her tee and sandals.

'You can keep my knickers while they're fresh,' she offered with a naughty wink, earning her a spank and a kiss.

'Bye mum,' he said almost sadly, finally seeing her out of the door, and now they were back to innocent hugs pecks on the lips.

'I'll see you at Sunday dinner tomorrow,' she bode, smiling from ear to ear as she walked to her car.

'I love you,' he spoke softly after her. One last glance back over her shoulder and straight from the heart Sara requited his sentiment. More than ever she loved him!

THE END

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EPILOGUE

Like clockwork the kids were nattering away with dad in the living room and the roasties were browning off in the oven. It was half past one and still there was no sign of Eric. She didn't let it bother her. He was a man of his word, always.

Last night Sara had returned home to her husband, happily used and abused, and without contest she had slipped into her nightie, and with her son's spunk still oozing out of her, she slipped into his bed and deep into sleep.

Jim had broached the subject of why she was spending more and more time sleeping in his bed and not theirs. There was an impotent outrage about the way he approached it, and all because he didn't dare accuse her of anything.

She was also ironically spending more time with Eric. What could that mean?

'Jim, it isn't a problem if you don't make it a problem,' she offered resolutely that morning, and hopefully preventively of his pathetic grumbling. But Jim wouldn't have it.

'What's going on?' he demanded to know, and tilted toward her as if to impose the very truth out of her.

'Okay,' she said nodding rigidly. 'Do you really want to know? I'll tell you, Jim. We're past it!'

'What?' He couldn't begin to comprehend what she meant, no matter how glaringly obvious it was.

'You've turned into a right grumpy old fart and you're not even old,' Sara declared in her frustration. 'You never have a good thing to say about me anymore, or Eric. You're always moaning about one thing or the other...'

'Oh,' Jim reacted, leaning back out of her face and suddenly petrifying until she thought he had turned to stone. 'Is there anything else?'

The sarcastic bastard!

'You hog the bloody bed, and for that matter you snore like one and so, yes, I'll sleep in Eric's bed from now on if it means that I can get a wink of sleep,' she shouted. 'Alright?'

'Well then,' Jim began to say; only he hadn't begun at all.

That was the end of that, also no contest.

The doorbell rang, shaking Sara out of her recollection. 'Don't get up,' she shouted into the living room after ten seconds passed with no response. Waltzing to the front door, she laid her eyes on the distorted silhouette beyond the glass window, smiling broadly.

'Hello son,' she whispered, accepting Eric into her arms.

'Hello mum,' he replied with a secret, knowing smile.

'Oh make way, the king has arrived,' Jim wailed sardonically from his armchair.

In his arms again she tiptoed up and leaned into a tender kiss, as they ignored his father. Following his mother into the kitchen, Eric helped her to set up the dinner plates, and to serve out the meat.

'Which one's dad's?' he asked. Sara pointed at the one on the end, with the usual pile of Yorkshire puddings and a fountain of gravy. Right in front of her, Eric lifted the selected slices of beef to his lips and licked the lot of them with long, cruel strokes of the tongue.

'Naughty,' she said lowly, shaking her head, but with a mischievous smirk on her radiant face.

And at the dining table the five of them sat. Jim and Sara sat at both ends, John and Sandra side by side, and Eric sat wide-legged adjacent to his mother. For a long while there was nothing but silence, and that silence was good for as long as mouths were full.

'So did you enjoy yourselves last night?' Jim asked, and when Sara looked up and saw that he was staring intently at Eric, her breath froze.

Eric, who was slow to respond, turned down the corners of his lips and nodded, then looked to his mother casually. 'Yeah we just talked and had a laugh, didn't we, mum?'

Sara beamed a nonchalant smile at Eric, then continued to fork at her food, sawing her potatoes down the middle.

'Must have had a lot to talk about,' Jim then said accusingly, and the air froze too. John and Sandra didn't know where to look. They judged Eric alone all the same.

'One o'clock in the morning!' Jim insinuated.

'You know the saying, Old Gaff,' Eric responded cleverly. 'Time flies by when you're having fun.'

What was Jim going to say now - that his wife was a bit past having fun? Nothing he could say would reflect well on his increasingly cranky ways. Nothing!

John and Sandra then looked at each other uncertainly. Surely they couldn't have been on their dad's side on this.

'Do you remember 1am, dad?' Eric then doubled down. Then he looked straight at John and Sandra, catching their attention with precision timing. 'And don't tell me you two are in bed for 9pm on the weekends...'

'You should probably have a social life on the weekends though, Eric,' John spoke up. 'Rather than stealing your mum at every opportunity...'

Sara, as much as she wanted to run to Eric's defence, knew not to. He had learned to defend himself. Instead she rested her elbows on the table's edge and crossed her fingers, over which to rest her chin.

Shoving potato, gravy and meat into his mouth first, chewing and swallowing in his own time, Eric looked his elder brother in the eye and dryly laughed under his breath.

'Go see your wife and kids, John,' he said, and Sara, rooting for him, battled not to laugh, or to show any emotion. John welled up with anger, but soon deflated when he realised that he had no argument.

Eric only had to look at his sister for her to know that he could say the same of her. But he spared her. He then looked back into his father's reddening face, still neatly and politely filing food from his plate into his mouth.

'I mean if you had plans that's fair enough,' he continued. 'But are you telling me what I can and can't do under my own roof, or are you telling mum what she can and can't do under hers?'

Jim had lost his appetite. The least likely thing to happen in all the world, he placed his knife and fork back onto the plate of food, barely half-finished, and sat in silence, just looking at it. Meanwhile Eric continued to eat happily, enjoying his roast.

'This is lovely, mum,' he complimented, earning him a grateful smile. 'I don't know what I'd do without your Sunday dinners'

Sara wondered then; 'Jim, are you done?' But Jim did not respond.

And then back to Eric; 'Spare Yorkshire puddings there if you want them, son...'

As Eric took his father's plate from under his nose and began to take his pick, all but he and his mother sat awkwardly still and quiet, not knowing what to say or where to look.

And just like Sara, in presence and in mood, that silence was pricelessly golden.