We lay together, simply touching each other, continuing our exploration of each others skin, hair, and lips. Finally, she said something funny about the cum that was leaking from her pussy and we both dissolved in laughter. I knew then that everything would be okay.
Since she hadn't eaten, I now made her breakfast, then we paraded through the day in bathrobes, returning several times before dark to enjoy each others pleasure. No oral these times, just slow, languorous fucking. The work we had planned to continue that day had been forgotten. Before bedtime, we did shower, had some more champagne and made love one last time. I ate her pussy until she came again and again, then she once again sucked my cock, this time until I came in her mouth, even though she didn't swallow. She said she wanted to give me what Cathy would not.
Come morning, as she lay sleeping, I raised her leg and slipped my cock into her, fucking her ever so slowly as she awakened. I whispered to her to play with her pussy which she did with just the slightest hesitation. I waited until she had cum before emptying my balls into her. After a quick shower and a quicker breakfast, she helped me gather my things for my return home. While we were working, I asked her about the comment she had made about being called a cunt by some other men and what that was all about. Her response was that it was just something that had happened once which had upset her and that it didn't matter anymore. I left it there, kissed her goodbye and began my journey home, promising to return when I could so we could continue where we had left off, giving her tits one last squeeze as I turned to walk out the door.
My future was from that time filled with as many visits as I could make to be together with my mother. To eliminate any suspicions on anyone's part, I took Cathy and the kids along from time to time when they were not in school. My perfect cover for additional, solo trips was the necessity to deal with what turned out to be massive legal entanglements with Hal's business ventures, some of which had been legal, many of which had been not. Eventually, my mother divested herself completely of the whole thing, leaving her a very wealthy woman, just compensation for having to endure Hal.
I didn't think we would ever be caught. Then the shit hit the fan.
A word about my sister before I begin. When we were younger, Jenna and I had been very close. Together—without speaking about it—we suffered along with my mother through the turmoil of my father's death, through the poverty that followed, through my mother's marriage to Hal, whom we felt accepted us only as necessary evils which came as part of the package deal. Jenna eventually developed into a beautiful young woman, very sexy in a quiet way. I am sure that there were many guys of her generation who would have loved to have gotten in her panties, if only for an evening. She had ample cleavage, an athletic yet feminine body, thick and flowing chestnut hair, captivating blue eyes, delicate hands, and an easy-going manner with everyone. If she had a fault it would be that she fairly early in her teen years became deeply religious, something which thankfully the years had gradually begun to wear away. But because of her beliefs, we had gradually drifted apart. We remained friends, but I thought little of her convictions and I don't think she was particularly enamored by mine. Our final break was occasioned by her marriage to Frank, a fundamentalist minister who was forever spouting about the need for everyone to follow in the savior's footsteps, accept the lord, etc., etc. Somehow he managed to win the hand of my sister but I never saw them expressing outward affection for one another. That part hurt, as I knew Jenna deserved better and wanted much more. I though of him as a genuine asshole and saw him as seldom as possible. That also meant I saw little of my sister. The only times I saw her let her hair down was when she was doing an overnighter at my mother's house. Her language became more colorful and she was not averse to having a drink or two. I guess she realized that as soon as she returned to her home, she would be again living in a glass house, in conformity to the standards expected as the wife of a holy-roller minister. For whatever reason, they had not had any children. And even though Frank had automatically expected Jenna to immerse herself in the Lord's work, Jenna has stood her ground and sought fulfillment in her position as assistance branch manager for a personnel consulting firm.
My sister, Jenna, who lived just twenty miles away from my mother, arrived early one Monday morning following one of my weekend visits with my mother. Although she was not supposed to come until late morning, she—for some reason—decided to show up early. When she entered the house, Mom was still out on her morning walk. Since my sister had promised to help with "spring cleaning" and felt a good place to began would be with the laundry, she went into my mother's bedroom to strip the sheets. What she found (I would later find out) were the clear stains and fresh evidence that someone had been fucking in her mother's bed. She knew from experience the smell and appearance of male ejaculate. Jenna was paralyzed at the implication. She quickly undid her work, visited the guest bedroom, to prove what she suspected: my bed had not been slept in, even though she knew I had spent the weekend and had left just hours before her arrival. Her conclusion was that I had been raping her mother, since she just "knew" her mother was incapable of engaging in sex with her son unless she had been forced.
When Mom returned from her walk, Jenna pretended she had just arrived. They enjoyed coffee and rolls together. Then Jenna announced that it was time to get to work, the first task being to strip the bed in the master bedroom. Mom blanched at the suggestion, suggesting that Jenna run a few errands for her downtown. Jenna persisted, saying she could do that later while the laundry was drying. Mom could strip her bed and she would strip mine. Mom later said she almost had a heart attack. She knew that my bed had been unslept in. How was she going to explain that away? She resorted to stating that she had washed those sheets and remade the bed after I left that morning, an excuse that even Mom knew was pretty feeble and such an act quite unlikely.
Now Jenna knew. It only remained for her to have positive proof of what I was up to. She dropped the whole laundry question, giving Mom the chance to "destroy the evidence"
while she attacked the windows.
Two weekends later, I visited my mother again. That Friday evening, after what I thought was a romantic meal in our favorite restaurant, Mom and I finally went to bed. After a leisurely period of just enjoying each other's warmth and conversation, we began to make love. I was atop my mother, pumping my cock into her warm depths when the bedroom door burst open and Jenna rushed in. She had quietly let herself in using a spare key she carried.
Jenna had caught "me" in the act. "Get off of her! Stop fucking her!" she screamed at me at the same time she grabbed the nearest object (my mother's electric alarm clock) and hurled it at my head with all the strength and hatred she could muster. I was frozen with panic at our discovery and simply stopped moving, my cock still buried in Mom. My mother screamed. I just watched the clock sailing in my direction, ducking my head only when I was about to be hit. I was partially saved by the fact that just before it hit me above the temple, the cord snapped tight, greatly diminishing the impact. But it was still lights out for me. I was out cold, but not before falling from the bed.
Now it was their time to panic when they saw my eyes wide open, with only the whites of my eyes showing. Mom sprang from bed, buck naked, and knelt at my side where she was joined by Jenna. They tried to revive me, but I was unresponsive.
"Oh, my God. Oh, my God," my mother kept repeating, gently slapping my cheeks and wringing my hand in an attempt to revive me. Jenna thought she had killed me. Mom ordered her to call 911. After the call, Jenna returned to my side where it suddenly dawned on both of them that this was a somewhat delicate situation. What would the paramedics make of finding me where I was without clothes on, my cock and pubic hair glistening from the juices of our lovemaking? What followed must have been worthy of a key-stone kops scene. Jenna ran to get washcloth and soapy water to clean me up (my mom did the washing). My mother did order Jenna to dry me off, while she quickly swiped her pussy with the washcloth. Mom grabbed jeans and a sweatshirt and, when dressed, told Jenna they would have to drag me to my bedroom. They no sooner got me there, somehow managed to put my shorts on over my still half hard cock, and messed up the covers, when the paramedics arrived, just as I was coming to. Fortunately, by this time my cock was going soft. The story was fabricated that I must have fallen out of bed and hit my head, as this is how they had found me. But even though I was now awake, the paramedics insisted I be taken in for possible head trauma as what I was saying didn't make much sense and my "vitals" weren't that good.
