Georges Mom

George spooned in close behind his wife as she maneuvered into position to allow their coupling. He had awakened her a minute earlier, rubbing her ass, kissing her shoulders, pulling her grudgingly from sleep. She did not like kissing or fucking missionary in the morning due to morning-breath and such, and she certainly would not be expecting him to give her oral. He was expecting her not to demand anything from him at all accept a "thank you" for giving him a piece of ass first thing in the morning. As she never wore underwear to bed, he studied the bedding as she pulled at her nightgown, the maneuvering, her right knee bending and lifting, her ass positioning. Knowingly, not wanting to rile her, he poked at her gently until the tip of his cock found her hole. Slowly, as she certainly would not be lubricated, he pushed into her.

"Whegee!" She blew. "We just screwed Wednesday night (it was Friday morning) why the hell are you so damn hard! Wait a second. Okay. A little more. Damn, you can feel so big sometimes."

After full penetration, George did not push his luck and remained still for a long few moments before he began to pump slowly into her. As he fucked her, she occasionally pushed back against him. As his arousal increased, hoping for a miracle, he reached to grab a handful of left breast. His hand succeeded but was instantly seized and moved to her hip. Not one to give up hope, George began caressing her ass, extending to repeatedly palming her back and massaging her shoulders.

"That feels good!" She murmured.

He soon returned to her ass giving it a good squeeze.

"My back and shoulders George." She complained. "You know I'm not in the mood. And the clock is ticking."

He could not see her eyes but figured she was probably eying the clock. Ignoring her request for more massaging, he began to concentrate on the task at hand. He placed his hand, cupping her ass and thigh, careful not to put too much pressure on her, and began stroking in earnest. In his quest for orgasm, he shoved into her hard numerous times.

"You're hurting me, dammit!" She admonished. "And you're breathing like a crazed animal!"

He was used to her criticism in the bedroom, so her nagging bothered him little, though he did not shove deeply into her again. His mind began to focus on last night. True, he had received much the same criticism in the beginning, but in the end the woman beneath him had ceased her condemnation, joining him in the greatest fuck he had ever experienced. She had said the same before kissing him goodbye. It was vivid in his mind as he climbed the ladder.

"Aggggggg! Ohhhhhhh!" He moaned loudly, as his cock jerked, spewing his semen into her pill protected pussy.

"Do you have to sound like an animal every time you come!" She said sarcastically.

"It's your sweet, tight pussy that causes it, you know!" He replied, as his semi-erect cock slid from her as she maneuvered to her back, her knees lifting slightly, her legs spreading.

"Well, you got what she wanted. I'm aroused now."

No more needed to be said. His left hand slid under her butt as his right hand moved to her pussy, his middle finger extended. He fingered her clit for long moments, causing her to moan appreciatively. His finger moved to enter her, to moisten his finger, hoping perhaps, to bring his cum to her clit.

"Don't play around, George!" She instantly challenged. "Put your finger back on my clit and get me off!"

'The lady did have a way with words.' He thought. But, he did as requested and soon the orgasm gripped her strongly. 'The same reason you sound like an animal when you come, my dearest'. He wanted to say but only smiled inwardly, feel her body quake, her ass lifting, as he had at least gotten her aroused. He did enjoy giving... as much as getting!

Jean rolled from the bed. They both had work and her day started early. George heard the shower water but he had not been invited to join her, so he knew not to try. She would leave within the hour, leaving him plenty of time to have another round by himself. As his hand toyed with this cock, he knew it was needed. As he snoozed, he thought about the prior evening... just 13 hours prior. His cock stiffened.

"See you later, baby." George heard, pretending to be asleep, feeling the peck on his cheek. "Thanks for this morning. I'll make you a good dinner tonight."

George lay listening for the door to shut. Why did she always have to seemed so happy after they fucked and so seldom during the very act, whether it was morning, noon or night. Hearing the door shut, he rolled from the bed and reached for one of his socks laying on the chair. Reentering the bed, he put the sock on his erect cock and grabbed a couple of pillows, folding them, placing them between his legs. Taking hold of this cock with his right hand, he rolled the pillows under him, keeping them between his legs. He instantly started to stroke, his ass lifting and falling. Again, he began to think about the prior evening.

"Ethel or Irene? Which do you prefer?" He had whispered into her ear as he cradled her in his arms and pumped moderately into her.

"You know my whole family calls me Sis." She had whispered in a matter - of - fact tone.

"Your pussy is good, Sis." He whispered, giving her praise in the hope that she would relax.

"You ever measure it?" She questioned.

"6 ½ inches from the bottom." He answered. "Do you feel my balls against your ass?"

"Yes." She whispered, mixed with a light moan. "And you seem to be a bit thick. Your father was a tad longer but you are thicker. Push it! Push it deep! See if you can get pass that used pussy."

****

He had arrived at her apartment building nearing 6:30 PM. Exiting the car, there was a soft drizzle of rain and he hurried into the building. Taking the elevator to the third floor, he walked the short distance to apartment 3-A. The apartment faced the front of the building with a balcony overlooking the parking lot, the main road, Tidewater Drive, off to the left. He used his key as he always did.

Entering the apartment, covering the five steps of entrance-way, he found his mother standing at the counter of the small kitchenette pouring a glass of Coke. She must've seen him pull into the parking lot. He was instantly struck by her manner of dress; a tight fitting, red light-wool skirt, white blouse hanging loose, smallish earrings and her hair properly combed and curled. She was barefoot. He did not know, but she bra-less.

"Hi, mom." He said with a confused tone. "I thought I was here to put a bookcase together? Are we going out to eat or something?"

"What do you mean?" She asked.

"Just wondering. You are dressed to the 9s." He proposed.

"Is there something wrong with me wanting to look decent for my boy?" She chirped.

"You could have a date. You're looking hot, is all. And you might give the old codger a heart attack. You have many to choose from in this building."

"And what the hell would I want with any of the men in this building? I don't need any man!"

George knew he had hit a nerve and decided to ease off. Not that she ever eased off on him... all the

sexual innuendos and accusing him of screwing the gal in 1-C."

"So, you think I look hot?" She queried sarcastically. "Maybe you should take a walk down to 1-C. That whore will take care of you!"

"All of the guys at the bus company call her pin-cushion. And, I don't pay for pussy!" He retorted, noting his mother's glance of disapproval of the word. "She is not my type anyway. I would prefer a more mature woman much like yourself. You know any mature women in this apartment building in need of a boyfriend? If, I was going to mess around on Jean it would have to be with someone very discreet and clean."

"Is Jean treating you any better?" Irene asked, choosing to ignore his comment in question. "Or, are you just taking care of things yourself?"

"Since I don't want you picking on me too, I prefer not to discuss my wife, or, anything else you might think I do. I suppose, this is the bookcase?" He asked, pointing to a large box against the wall.

Irene handed her son the glass of Coke. He took a few sips, sitting it on the small kitchenette table that was actually in the living room against the counter/wall separating the living room from the kitchen. He acquired the small box of tools his mother had already placed on the table. He lowered the box to the floor, opened it up, and began to assemble the bookcase.

His mother prepared herself a cup of tea, then, leaned against the kitchen column to watch him assemble the bookcase. All went well for a bit...well, sort of.

"Hell, this Philips head is too big for the damn screws!" He complained, as the screwdriver repeatedly slipped off of the screw heads.

"Maybe, you're just not a good screwer." Irene chided. In her mind, it was a double edged sword. He caught the meaning!

"Put a little hair around the head of this thing and I can screw it just fine." George uttered quietly to himself.

"What did you say?" She queried, with a bit of challenge in her tone.

"Nothing, mom". He snapped.

"I heard what you said." Irene chided. "Put a little hair around it, huh? You're a bit full of yourself aren't you, talking like that in my presence?"

"I wasn't talking to you!" He replied, in a perturbed tone. "But tell me something? I know you don't like men... hate them actually... but what do you do about sex... or, maybe you're just a cold fish like my wife? Or, maybe when you're alone you do the same thing you accused me of?"

Irene was furious at her son's questions and accusation. It was all true! It showed in her face and she knew it. She turned and walked to the small stove and fumbled with the teapot until she gained control of her anger. Just as she was about to turn around, she felt her son close against her. She felt his hands on her hips.

"I'm sorry, mom." George said in a low voice. "But your a great-looking woman. I remember things... both seen and heard. I don't think you are a cold fish... you just,,,,,,,,don't want to be under a man's thumb... telling you what to do."

"And what exactly do you remember?" She queried. "Really, I'd like to know!"

"I've seen you naked." He admitted. "In the bathroom and in your bedroom. I've seen and heard you pleasing yourself. And I've always wondered... if ...

Irene was aware of his hands inching up her sides. Undoubtedly, when they got high enough, they would inch to her breasts. She could turn or push his hands away? But, she too had wondered... what if...

His confession had only mildly surprised her. In their old apartment, she had found a small hole scratched into a painted window pane between their bedrooms. It was odd to have a 6 pane window in such a place. The scratch was small enough that there was some question as to him making it or it just being there on its own. Regardless, she had started leaving the light on at night, knowing he was in his room, when she undressed, nude, and, on occasion when she pleased herself, never letting him have a direct on view of her privates. The bathroom was a quandary! But, finding that small hole had set her on a path of repeated and ridiculous accusations and sexual innuendos to rile him and to give herself her own fantasies.

If she wished to confess, it might surprise him that her attire this night was intended to bait him, but things were moving too fast. She had not expected him to be so physical... so quickly. She did expect things to actually escalate... sexually. But, she had envisioned a word battle of sexual innuendos and accusations, them, charging towards each other near the sofa, fighting, then, hugging and kissing passionately, before making passionate love on the sofa. Instead, now, she could not let down her guard or give in to physical desire.

"Well, you'll have to tell me sometimes how you managed that." She said. "But lets deal with the here and now. You're not happy at home, you tell me you're not screwing around, so, you think your poor pathetic mother who doesn't have a man in her life ought to lay with you, and we both will be happier? Is that about it!"

His hands and risen level with her breast and the very tips of his fingers touched the back edge. It surprised her when he smooched her neck, kissing her lightly. Then, his hands made the move, cupping her breast, squeezing them lightly. He would now know she was bra-less.

She had to admit it felt good to feel someone else's hands touch her body. But, too, she was shocked and appalled at his brazen physical forwardness. She did not like being pressured by a man... any man!

"Well, I suppose, you have answered my question." She said sarcastically. "you're like every other damn man I've ever known. Given the chance, you'll take what you want. If you want to screw me, you can take me, but don't expect me to participate."

Her challenging words had opened the door. He had reached this point, his hands massaging his mother's breasts, and, while she had not slammed the door on him, she was not offering any assistance or encouragement. His instincts told him to cease the madness, but his fantasies might be realized. If he persisted, there was a chance that she might come around. He was not going to just take... but give. Unexpectedly, finding her bra-less, he reached up under the blouse and reacquired bare warm tits. He manipulated them softly, thumbing the flat nipples. Within a few moments, they began to rise. It was a good sign!

"They are warm and soft." He praised. "I could not tell if you had on a bra. They stand up nicely and way more than a handful. Does it...me handling them... feel good?"

"Yes." She said flatly. "I suppose."

He wanted to turn her, unbutton her blouse, and suckle at a nipple, but he longed for something else. After two long minutes his hands retracted back to her hips and he began to gather her tight fitting skirt up, inch by inch.

"Aren't you the least bit worried that screwing me... coming in me... might be a concern?" She queried, still with a mocking tone.

Actually, Georgia had not given any thought to the query. But he took a shot.

"When you spent a couple of weeks in the hospital about eight years ago? I'm not certain, but didn't that operation take care of the problem?" He asked this with an air of confidence.

George now had her skirt up high enough to stroke the back of her thighs. He took his mother's silence as a "yes", that the operation had taken care of any fear of pregnancy. His right hand reached to stroke and caress the back and outside of her lower thighs. Harmless enough...no need to rush, he figured. "Your legs are firm, smooth and shapely." He praised. "It's all the walking I do, I suppose". She answered, in a monotone voice.

Pushing the envelope, in his mind, she could still shut him down, he slid his hand inside her left thigh. He was disappointed to find the skirt to be a hindrance to his ultimate objective. His hand retreated once more.

Irene was not used to such attention being given to her...seduction. She was more used to "Wham Bam thank you ma'am" type of encounters with the few men she had allowed to screw her. George's father was one such type. The skirt was now up to her waist. He had seen to it with more vigor. His right hand began caressing her panty-covered buttocks, his fingers-tips slipping under the bottom elastic.

"I've always watched the way you walk. You've got a nice swing... not your hips so much as just your buttocks... it seems to be so natural." He praised.

"You think I don't know that?" She chided. "But you watch every ass that comes by you! But, thank you." A moment's pause. "Still, I would think you would have more respect for me to be doing what you are?"

"I respect you, mom. I have always showed you respect." He retorted. "But you harass me with your sexual innuendos. I want you to think... that maybe... you're getting what you deserve. And heaven forbid... you might like it!""

After giving her ass a light but firm smack, his hand dropped once more to the back of her thighs.

As she felt his right hand palm inside the now unobstructed left thigh...and crotch... she steeled herself for what she knew was coming. Instead of stopping what she knew to be insanity, she caught herself, involuntarily, spreading her stance. Slowly it was creeping, caressing upward... sliding downward... coming back up. Too soon, the edge of the hand pressed into her panty covered crotch. It then turned palm-up, pressing against her, until now forbidden to her son, panty-protected pussy. She felt warm and slightly dizzy.

George heard the faintest moan as his middle finger creased the panties into her labia. He felt the slightest bit of moisture, giving him a positive note. He scrubbed her pussy lightly a few long moments hoping to elicit more moans from her. Giving up, his hand retracted once more.

"Can you hold the skirt up for me." He queried.

Grudgingly, she did him one better. Standing straight and reaching under her blouse she un-did the side clasp, zippering the side down. As it fell, she stepped out of it, noting, George moving it out of the way. She instantly felt the refreshing coolness of being rid of the wool skirt. As she felt his fingers catch the upper elastic of her panties, drawing them down off of her, she stepping out of them, she realized the hard fact that in less than five minutes time she was now bare-ass naked, stripped so by her son.

'You incestuous bastard!' She said, then thought. 'But am I not to blame, also?'

It surprised her when he put his lips to her ass, kissing and nipping each side lightly and lovingly. Then, the sentimental feeling disappeared when his right hand palmed her pussy again, his middle finger searching for her clit. Finding it, trying as she might, she could not suppress the moan that escaped her.

"Damn you! Damn you!" She voiced angrily, spreading her stance farther, of her own accord. "You are taking advantage of me. You know I have not let a man near me in a couple of years! Stop doing that!"

A bit surprised, George stopped manipulating her clit and slid up to her mound, finding a robust bush. He remembered the color, dark reddish brown, like her topknot. He pressed the back of his palm against her pussy, enjoying the lavish hair in his fingers, and again, lavished kisses on her ass.

"Are you under control?" He queried softly.

"Yes. Yes." She muttered. "You just surprised me, that's all. I wasn't expecting... I don't know what I was expecting! I mean, you were rubbing my thigh...then. I knew where your hand was going... I just.. You really want to screw me? I won't stop you. I won't! I mean it."

"If you want me to take the blame, mom, I will. But, I think we have gone too far... and I put emphasis on "WE"... to stop. I might never have enough nerve again. And, next time you may be more obstinate. I'm not stopping! I'm going to put my finger on your clit again."

She gave a slight puff of air as the finger returned to her clit. She could no longer deny her arousal as her pussy began to lubricate as he manipulated her clit with his finger.

He was aware of her wetness. "We have a very secure place here and we have the time. I'm going to screw you...and more. And, before I am finished you're going to admit I am a good screwer and that you are glad we FUCKED. Say it! FUCK!"

"NO! I don't like that word and you know it."

"You're going to say it!"

"The hell I will!"

Her body felt the electric shock of him poking her hole with his finger.

"WHAT THE HELL, George!" She exclaimed . "I'm your mother, for crying out loud! I'm not a slut!"

"Fine! Just fine!" He retorted. "You don't want my finger inside of you... fine!"

George was losing control. Things for him, too, had moved along much too quickly. Much more so than in his fantasies. Now, after nearly sticking his finger into his mother's pussy, receiving a strong rebuke, he now felt a strong desire to punish her for her abstinence. He would instead consummate their their new found intimacy right here. He wanted desperately to have his mother's pussy. She was wet and well lubricated and he was going to have it. Standing straight, he withdrew his hands and went for his belt buckle. In a few brief seconds he had his pants and briefs down around his ankles.