Ebooka przeczytasz w aplikacjach Legimi na:
Odsłuch ebooka (TTS) dostępny w abonamencie „ebooki+audiobooki bez limitu” w aplikacji Legimi na:
© Copyright 2018, Veronica Sloan, All Rights Reserved
NOTICE: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Disclaimer: This story contains explicit content, including graphic descriptions of sexual intercourse and consensual incest. It is intended for adults only. All characters depicted are 18-years-old and older. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.
Cover design by Veronica Sloan. Cover photo © stryjek.
* * *
Years ago, Jennifer and her son began an incestuous relationship. Their forbidden lust blossomed into a tender need, but when Zachary met his wife they vowed to end their affair. Resisting temptation was easy when they lived so far apart, but today Zack is driving to his mother to help her fix up the house. It's a scorching summer morning in the Georgia countryside, and they'll be all alone...
© Copyright 2018, Veronica Sloan, All Rights Reserved
* * *
It took approximately two hours for Jennifer to admit she was hiding from herself. She glanced away from the sliding closet mirror in her bedroom and focused instead on the new French tips of her toes. She ignored the hanging mirror in the front hall and directed her attention to a grubby streak on the console table. After she wiped that clean, she dusted the blinds, scoured the bathroom, rearranged the pillows on the couches and beds, and took out the trash. With each chore she studiously avoided her reflection in the windows. She let her eyes pass over the black reflection on the dead TV screen. When she ran out of things to busy herself with, she went to the kitchen to soap her hands.
In a fugue, she watched the bubbles squeeze between her fingers and go dancing down the drain. She followed them down, her palms spiraling in a strange sympathy, until the morning glimmer caught the metal of the faucet. There, at last, she confronted her anxious reflection. Distorted by the curved spout, she looked even more ridiculous than she felt. She let out a nervous giggle and blushed like a little girl.
Jennifer slapped her wet hand over her mouth. "Oh, what is wrong with you?" she moaned. They were the first words she'd spoken all morning, and they meant nothing. There was no mystery in her apprehension. Zachary was coming to visit.
She was so anxious that she couldn't eat a thing. She felt sick and delighted at the same time, like a horny virgin on prom night. "Stop it," she whispered to herself. "That is not appropriate, Jenni."
No, not appropriate, but there was no better comparison. How long had it been since they'd been alone together? Alone and with nowhere else to be? Paul was gone, Olivia was staying in Lawrenceville. It would just be the two of them here on a hot summer day...
Jennifer's thighs clenched and her sex developed an annoying, peremptory twinge. If she didn't push her thoughts to some less salacious subject then she'd soon need to change her panties. It was shameful.
"What is wrong with you?" she repeated to the faucet's twisted reflection. "Do you know how old you are?" Zachary had a beautiful young wife and Jennifer was 26 years her senior. She was also Zachary's mother, as if that mattered...
She watched the clear water drip from her glossy nails and wondered, When was the last time? Was it a week before the wedding? No, that was just a kiss--a long, tearful kiss of unseemly yearning. The last time she'd felt him inside her, the last time she'd cried out his name, was long before he met the woman who would be his wife. Loneliness, desire, frustration, and sympathy, pushed them into each other's arms. And raw, needful love. She felt wicked afterward, like she'd failed him, but in the moment it was the truest expression of her love. She gave her young man an outlet for his masculine energy, holding him inside her in that most intimate embrace...
And for her, it was validation. She knew that it was vain to want him, and to want him to want her, but how much better did she feel in that salacious afterglow? Her son had gazed down at her and laid his palm upon her breast, fingers greedy, lips hungry for more. She had given him more, so much more, guilty and enraptured at the same time. She was not the kind of woman to do anything like this. It was incest. But Zachary's penis was beautiful, his erection swift and powerful, and he filled her sex as well as her heart. "More," he had grunted into her ear. "I want more, mama."
She told him to empty himself inside her, to spill his frustrated seed. How many times had her horny son ejaculated into her aching womb? That was the source of his life, the little world inside her belly where she had felt him kick. It wasn't right for her to think of that as his penis swelled and gushed its fervent load, nor for it to excite her, to push her to climaxes she'd only dreamed of. Was it wrong if he made her feel beautiful?
There was something magical about it, too. In those secret moments, she inhabited the role of both mother and lover. Like a pagan rite, the boy became a man when he returned to the place of his creation, within the woman that knew him best. Not that her vagina was the only place he came. She had encouraged him to stroke himself over her skin, between her breasts, even upon her gasping lips. In the throes of her passion, she wanted his semen everywhere. Afterwards, she could scarcely believe her own naughtiness. She promised herself, often, that the last time was the last time. It was never the last time.
Over the kitchen sink, Jennifer's knuckles turned white. Her panties were wet now. She could feel them sticking to her sensitive labia. She would need to change them before Zachary arrived. She reminded herself, once again, that those days were finished. They had agreed to leave their sordid past behind. This time, the last time was truly the last time.
"It was," Jennifer whispered, as her fingers slid between her thighs. Leaning against the kitchen sink, she massaged her wet pussy. "It was the last time," she hissed, as she stroked her swollen clitoris. "I promised." Her breaths grew raspier as she squeezed herself, rolling into her palm with the desperate undulations of a nymphomaniac. "I promised," she moaned. "Oh, baby, I promised..."
He was her baby. He trusted her to keep him honest. She would do that, but first she needed to take care of herself. She still had a little time. She unzipped her shorts and slithered out of them, then pushed her freshly manicured nails under the moist band of her panties. She felt dirty, but sometimes that was necessary. Zachary understood that.
As she touched herself, and imagined her son's beautiful erection, she wondered if his wife understood that, too. Sex could be sweet and tender, but sometimes it was just the clash of two desperate bodies. Did Olivia love him like that, she wondered. Did Olivia give him everything that her darling son desired? Did she pamper him? Did she say all the things he liked to hear?
In her jealous heart, Jennifer believed there were some things only a mother could do for her son. She knew what Zachary wanted, what he needed. How could she not? She had been there for his first steps, his first words. It was she who first told him about the birds and the bees, who later showed him the true wonders of the female body. He wasn't a virgin when he first came inside her, but she was his first real teacher. And he was such an attentive student...
Her reflection in the kitchen window was flushed, already glistening with perspiration. "What is wrong with you?" she gasped. But she knew. Zachary was coming to visit. She cried out his name as she came.
His hands were shaking. It was an hour's drive from his house to hers and for the first half he pretended he was just hungry. It wasn't nerves, it was low blood sugar...
Breakfast was small, just a few pieces of burnt toast and a drop of orange juice, and Zachary was a big man. He was taller than his father, much closer to his grandfather's 6'3", and his shoulders were broad. Women gave him second glances in the street, wondering if he was someone they'd seen before (an NFL rookie, perhaps, or a college baller) and if his woman was feeding him right. Olivia wasn't much of a cook but Zack didn't mind. His mother taught him how to take care of himself. She would be furious if he told her he'd mostly skipped breakfast.
Jennifer was adamant that her boy needed to be well fed. He needed his strength, at all times.
Zachary's size wasn't the only reason women looked at him in the street. He had one of those faces. More good boy than bad boy, his smile was nearly as big as the rest of him. He flashed it easily and spoke with a gentle Georgian drawl. It was a smooth accent, reflecting a moderate blend of his mother's native Californian and his father's Atlanta twang. Women who heard it across a room melted in their seats. Women who heard it whispered in their ear lost most of the feeling in their legs.
Because he looked like he did and spoke like he did and smiled like a movie star, most people thought Zack was a Casanova. The truth was that he'd only whispered in a few women's ears before he met his wife. He wasn't the kind of man to treat women as disposable flings. He'd sown his wild oats a long time ago, in Jennifer.
Zack tried to ignore that dirty thought as he steered his truck up the old dirt road to his parents' house. Rocks churned up from the soil rattled the chassis and set his whole body to shaking. It made it easier to ignore the tremor in his hands. "Stop it," he whispered. "You made a promise."
It was a promise agreed to by both parties. What they'd begun in passionate surprise they concluded in sober consideration. They knew their relationship could only harm the people they cared about. It would not matter to their friends and extended family that Jennifer needed Zachary in those difficult years, or that Zachary adored the attention. If he felt any guilt at all it was for that. No woman had ever made him feel the way his mother had. When she stripped him bare and worshipped his body, when she took command of his muscles and his vigor and put him to work inside her, he was in heaven.
Zack tried to persuade himself that her ministrations were not so divine, that she was simply a means of relieving his teenage frustration. Even if that was true, he could not deny how enthusiastically she relieved his frustrations. For years she was happy to play their secret, dirty game.
How he loved the way she played him. Coming home late one night, he found her reading quietly in the living room. He bent over her shoulder to kiss her cheek, and she stroked his neck. "How was your date, baby?" she whispered.
"She's a real sweet girl," he whispered back.
"Did she play with it, baby?"
He groaned into her cheek. "No, mama."
"Did she make it hard?"
"Show me, baby. I can help."
And so he'd stood there, leaning against the plush head of her chair, while his mother pulled his cock out of his pants and stroked his thick erection. After a minute of staring into his eyes, she laid her book in her lap and lowered her mouth to his glistening slit. Softer than silk, her lips wrapped around its head. She cared nothing for her own pleasure that night, only his. She scooped his balls into her palm and fondled him, sucked on him, swirled her spit inside her cheeks to tickle his sensitive foreskin, before finally swallowing his seed. Zachary had clutched her head and thrust into her mouth, grunting like an animal with every angry pulsation.
Where had his father been that night? He could have been upstairs sleeping off his whisky, or sleeping it off somewhere else. He could have been working upstate or buried in a brothel. He wasn't there, was the point. He was never there when they needed him, so they learned to rely on each other. That reliance became a bond that became a need in itself, then a craving. It climbed to such feverish intensity that Zack spent half his date fantasizing about going home. Mary-Beth was a pretty girl, with long, smooth legs and a flirtatious smile, but all he wanted was his mother's sweet lips and her talented tongue.
Jennifer allowed him to fuck her mouth until he was soft, and even then she continued to suck and lick him clean. When it was finally over, his lust spent to its last drop, she dabbed at the corner of her lips and smiled. "Thank you, baby," she purred. "Now get to bed."
It was not the way boys and their mothers were supposed to behave, but it was the only way he wanted to live.
For Jennifer, it was a grand escape. She had tried for 18 years to live with a man that did not love her. She was a California girl at heart, not suited for the south, but she might have adapted if the man she married did not prove himself to be a selfish fool. She never cheated on him, even after he stopped hiding his affairs. She wanted to divorce him but Paul refused. Did she want to destroy their family?
Too many nights Zachary listened to his mother weeping in the laundry room before he finally went to her. He found her curled up on the floor, her eyes wet, her cheek enflamed where Paul had let his knuckles fly. That was the first time her husband let his anger overcome what little sense he had. They'd started screaming at each other in the afternoon and it continued through dusk. Zack arrived after the fact, his lips tingling with the kisses and promises of Mary-Beth, but when he understood what happened his lust twisted easily into fury. He swore he'd murder his father.
He rose to go but his mother held him down. She would not let him pursue the man in anger, knowing all too well his strength and what it could do if unleashed. His adrenaline, already spiked from his awkward groping with Mary-Beth, crested until the blood roared in his ears. "Just hold me," his mother begged. "I just want to feel safe."
"I can make you safe," he promised. "I got you."
"Don't let go of me, Zachary. Mommy needs you."
He hadn't called her mommy since he was a boy. The word scorched his heart. His mother's nails clawed at his biceps, desperate for his security, his love. In that moment, his body still thrumming with sexual passion, there seemed no better comfort than a long and loving kiss. His mother's lips were salty and wet from her tears. She gave a muffled groan of surprise but did not stop him.
Jennifer's muscles ached from the panic that gripped her soul. She had not been kissed like this in years. She was starved for affection. She was hungry to feel anything else but disappointment and fear and loathing for what her marriage and, by extension, her life, had become. She felt the hard bolt of her son's erection through his jeans and, moaning, reached for it with instinctual lust. He moaned back at her, a horny teenager still. She moaned again, suddenly wet, suddenly yearning...
They did it on the laundry room floor. Her vagina was hot and eager for his young manhood, and at the same time unprepared for the fullness of that organ. Zack was much larger than his father and Jennifer wasted not a moment in telling him so. For the young man, his mother's body was unlike any girl in his graduating class. Her breasts were full, her hips wide and supple, perfect for holding on. He held on until they'd each expended their crazy lust and returned to their right minds.
Later, standing in their separate showers, each reflected on the incident with shock--but not horror. Jennifer made her son promise not to hurt his father but said nothing about their union, neither encouragement nor explanation. Zack's only thoughts were of protecting his mother, and her body. He had barely dressed himself, his hair still dripping from the shower, when he went back to her. His smooth forehead creased with concern as he said, "I won't let him back in the house. I'll never let him touch you again."
"No, Zack," she said, unthinking. "I need to be touched. I can't stand this loneliness." Her skin was still warm from the steam, her hair fragrant with her conditioner, her sweet, maternal scent...
He touched her. She could not let him go. Her fingers splayed over his young muscles, her heart swelling with pride at his goodness. This was her son, young and strong and beautiful, and she wanted those innocent qualities inside her again. It was so much easier to accept his lust than to confront the ugly world outside her door. They went to the floor again, buried in one another, and this time she felt her son's semen drench her birth canal. "Oh, my baby," she moaned. "What have I done to you?"
"You set me free," he told her. Now that her body was open to him, he begged her never to close the gates.
For years they begged each other in equal turns, to finish or to begin again their sweet, insatiable sin. Zack's father never knew, which was no great surprise. Even a blind man would have seen the new tenderness between mother and son, but Paul was less than blind. He was trapped in a hell of his own making, ignorant to all but his demons. When Zachary told him never to lay a hand on Jennifer again, Paul was genuinely surprised. He did not remember the fight that led to the attack, or the attack. He complained that his wife probably gave him reason to hit her, to which Zack simply said, "How many reasons do I need to hit you?"