Between a Mother and Son; Part 3 ( the conclusion of a true story of forbidden love)
It was after my father had been moved out for several months that he began seeing another woman. This development did nothing to upset my mother, on the contrary, she welcomed it, and initiated divorce proceedings. The divorce was amicably settled in a few months, and our life moved on without him, except for his periodic visits to see my sisters. These became fewer and farther between, as his new partner wasn't predisposed towards children, nor was she keen to have my father interact with my mother. From her point of view, the less of seen of us the better, and her attitudes naturally influenced my father.
In lieu of his absence, and the developing relationship between my mother and myself, I became the family's default father-figure, a transition that seemed natural given the circumstances and was easily accepted by the girls, my mother included.
In truth, my mother had begun to treat me as her partner years before our relationship became sexual, even when my father had still been living with us. His alcoholism, and her resultant dependence on me, had initiated the situation, and the dissolution of their marriage accelerated it. For all practical purposes, I was my mother's husband.
I was happy in the role. I enjoyed being a father to the girls, getting them off to school in the morning, helping them with their schoolwork, driving them with their friends to see a movie, taking them to doctor's appointments or shopping. If my mother was working late at the office(or not), I was happy to prepare dinner for them.
In every way, they came to think of me as their father, and so they were accepting of the overtly physical affection my mother and I shared, and over time, came to see it as natural. We were careful not to be overly demonstrative in their presence, but we kissed, held hands or held each other close as couples do. When we watched television as a family, my mother and I cuddled together on the sofa, while the girls watched from the beanbag chairs. At first my mother and I tried to hide the fact that we were sleeping in the same bed, but eventually it was obvious, and we gave up the charade. We had expected questions, or recriminations, but they never came. On my first father's day, the girls even brought me breakfast in bed.
While our situation had become more "traditionally" domestic, the initial rush of our sexual liaison had not cooled, and sex was just as passionate as it had been in the beginning. In fact, both of us found the evolution of our circumstance to be just as arousing as the illicitness of its origins had been initially. We were mother and son, we were passionately in love, and as a result, the parent/child power structure had ceased to be. We were lovers, partners, equals in love.
Every night, once the girls were off to their rooms to sleep, she and I lay next to each other, perhaps reading at first, but that never lasted too long. We'd come together, and cuddle, hold each other and talk about the day. We might fall asleep, but more often than not, our lips would meet, our tongues would entwine, and our bodies would envelop each other, my cock drawn to her warm, wet pussy like a divining rod to water. Sometimes our fucking would be hot, intense, frenzied, and sometimes it would be warm, soft and slow. This night was of the latter variety.
As we lay on the bed, unclothed, she with her head on my shoulder, we kissed; slow, soft, sensual kisses, our lips enfolded upon one another, unwilling to part, and even then only reluctantly.
I rolled her over onto her back, and my lips met with hers again in an extended embrace. As our lips parted, I kissed her neck and shoulders and then moved steadily to her breasts. Taking her left breast in my hand, I bent my head to her nipple, and lightly ran my tongue across it, circling it before placing my lips over it, engulfing her hard nipple in my mouth. Gently, I began to suck on her nipple and as I did so, my tongue licked her areola. Then I moved to her right breast and continued my attentions.
Slowly, intently, I kissed her torso and stomach and moved my way towards her pubic triangle. Kissing her just at the top of her bush, my hands slid over her hips. Tentatively she spread her legs apart, just enough to give me access to her pussy. My tongue located her sweet flower, and gently parted her petals. To the sound of her low moans of pleasure, my tongue spread her vulva and found it's way just inside her, indulging in her sweet nectar. My lips lovingly sucked and pulled at her labia, savoring her delicate and sensitive folds, taking in her intoxicating scent.
She held my head to her vagina, moaning softly, contentedly, engulfed in pleasure and delight; a being of pure sensation; I imagined her entire life spent like this, immersed in exquisite sensation.
In time I stood, and taking her legs in my hands, gently spread them apart. Placing my hand on her pussy, I felt her moist and succulent hole with my fingers, inserting them, one at a time and gently sliding them back and forth between her soft walls as she cried quietly to the rhythm of my movements.
Taking my cock in hand, I lay down on her and gradually, slid myself within her. She lifted her legs above me as I moved my hips back and forth, within and without. Gently, slowly, we fucked; leisurely, seductively, prolonging the erotic sensations, our every nerve ending charged with sensual pleasure.
We kissed as we fucked, extending each touch of our lips for greatest effect, until together our movements slowed and then, gradually, stopped. Laying on top of her, I remained hard within her, throbbing to the pulsing of her pussy, as we kissed long, sweet, unhurried kisses, until finally, I softened and fell out from her sanctuary, without an orgasm, but utterly satisfied.
It was after this session my mother confessed;
"I don't want anyone else, ever."
My cock throbbed to the sound of her words.
"Neither do I," I said, holding her tight, and kissing her pliant lips.
She looked at me intensely; "I love you, more than anyone I've ever known, more than I can imagine loving anyone or anything...more than life."
I realized this was more than the usual pillow talk. This was serious, and I responded in kind; "And I love you—with all my heart. Now and forever. There's no one else for me, I want to spend my life with you."
"Really?" She gave me a look of mild surprise, as though I'd told her broccoli was her my favorite food. "Are you happy? Happy enough to be with me like this, and no one else, forever?"
"Deliriously happy," I pulled her close, and we kissed, a long, languid kiss. "I want to spend my life with you, just like this."
"Well then," She said, as our lips parted, " I think we should get married."
Taken aback, I let out a laugh, "You're kidding." She was dismayed at my reaction.
"I'm serious," she declared. "I know it sounds crazy...."
"Just a little," I said, incredulously. That was the wrong thing to say, with the wrong tone of voice.
She responded defensively, "What—you don't want to commit to me?" She pulled away and started to hit me. "You want to be free so you can screw whoever you want and leave me?" She hit me again. "You shit!"
A tear rolled down her cheek and she tried to stifle a sob.
I'd hurt her, not realizing the heartfelt seriousness of her suggestion, or recognizing where it was coming from. She was 18 years older than I, a circumstance sexually stimulating to me, but a source of anxiety for her. I reached out to touch her, but she slapped my hand away.
"No, don't," she responded angrily. "Get away from me. You don't love me, you just want to fuck me until someone younger comes along."
"Hey, hey....you know that's not true." I persisted against her efforts to fight me off, and put my arms around her and pulled her close. "I love you, I love you so much. There's no one else for me, you know that."
