Whir-r-r-r-r . . .vvvrrrooooommmmmm!
Yes. Oh thank you God, thought Mark. He left the sputtering bacon to watch his sister’s departure through the living room curtains. That’s right. Keep going. Halle-fucking-lujah.
Quickly, he returned to the eggs. Just right, he thought. Bacon? Good enough. Okay, onto the plate, plate onto the tray. Coffee in the cup, one sugar. Good . . . but something’s missing.
Being careful to open and close the door silently, Mark stole out into the yard to clip one magnolia flower for the breakfast tray. He was glad he hadn’t forgotten. No way could he have done that with Lara around -- she’d know something was up.
Before taking the tray upstairs to his mother’s room, he made double sure the doors were locked, and bolted.
“Mom?” he whispered at the door of her room. It was open slightly, he pushed it gently with the tray. “Mom?”
There she was, well-snuggled into the covers, like a little girl. All but her tousled head and one arm were buried beneath the big comforter. Lying there, snoring softly, with the ghost of a smile about her pouty lips, she was the very picture of sweet innocence and leisure. Mark put the tray down on the bedside table and sat next to her.
“Hey,” he said softly, kissing her bare shoulder. “Wake up. Lara’s gone.”
Melinda Dehner was dreaming. It seemed like the dream had gone on forever: sweet, slow dreams. She had heard that dreaming in color was a rarity. That was nothing. Not only were her dreams in color, they were even in slow motion sometimes. And she could smell things in her dreams. Vividly, like she was really there.
In her dream this morning, they were castaways. That probably came from watching
The Blue Lagoon
together the other night. They had been alone on the beautiful, lush island for many days, and had long ago stopped bothering with clothes. There was no one around to see them, to interfere. The island smelled of coconuts and palm trees, and salty sea air, and pineapples and mangoes. There was probably no island that really smelled this good, but this was her dream, and it was all real.
They had been out in the surf, playing. It was a glorious day, and she could feel the warm embrace of the sun on her limbs. Her body was younger, fitter in her dream, and she loved the way he looked at it. Her body gave him a hungry expression that made her wet with desire, so that now, as she collapsed on the shoreline, and spread out her dripping, tanned legs for him, and his face lit up, she felt a stirring in her stomach, and a thrill passed through her chest. She smiled delightedly as he dropped to his knees before her, his body also bronzed and dripping, and knelt to lap at her crotch.
Now came the slo-mo part . . . With agonizing slowness he bent his face to her offered pussy, and dragged his tongue up and down the furry slit. She reveled in the delicious sensations, running her fingers through his damp brown ringlets in encouragement, grinding her butt into the powdery sand. And there, there was that smile, that wonderful smile, lighting up every corner of his lovely face . . .
“Mom . . . hey . . . wake up, sleepy.”
Yes. That face, her son Mark’s.
The coconuts, the salt sea air faded, to be replaced by more familiar smells: coffee, bacon, toast? Yes, there -- on the nightstand. What an angel.
“I made you some breakfast,” he said. “Lara’s gone.”
“You sure?” was all his mother said, but she smiled beautifully, and squirmed luxuriously.
“Positive. Locked the door behind her.”
“Mmmmm . . . ,” she purred, and brought her other hand out from beneath the sheets, reaching for the front of his shorts.
Mark thrilled and stood up to assist her. She constantly surprised him. He had hoped to create a cozy atmosphere in her bedroom that morning, to ease her into their day with breakfast and coffee, then to spend a leisurely hour or so beside her. But this sleepy urgency was better than he had hoped for. He had barely unbuttoned and unzipped before she was grasping at his dick, rapidly hardening inside his underwear. My God, he thought, she’s barely even awake! But there she was, easing up on one elbow to smile sleepily at his cock, to take its throbbing head into her warm mouth. He combed a few strands of her brown hair behind her ear as she sucked him in, stood beside the bed and watched as she slowly devoured him, felt his knees weaken, heard himself moan as the delicious suction increased. He leaned forward so she could suck him with her head still on the pillow, and she now used her free hand to hold his balls. Her other hand, he noticed, had disappeared beneath the covers.
Mark rapidly peeled off his tee shirt and gingerly kicked off his sandals, being careful not to disturb his mother. When she had engulfed nearly five inches of him in her mouth, she moaned in a long, low tone, sending a buzzing sensation through his entire body that nearly made him cum. This was wonderful, so fucking wonderful. He had never dreamed anything like this.
He was so hard, he filled her mouth, and he was all hers! Melinda flicked a loving eye up and down his frame as he got naked for her, noting his bare chest, his tight little belly. He was young, he was fit. Oh, not as fit as some other boys at his school, he was no jock. But younger, fitter, more beautiful than anything she’d seen in a long time. And he was so hard, and she was doing it to him. She was loving his dick, so much bigger, stronger than she’d thought it would be, and he was happy, he was loving her for it. She could see it in his eyes.
She could also feel it in her mouth. One throb, two -- he was close. She knew it, could feel it, could hear his quickened breathing above her. Sometimes when Melinda got him this close, she liked to stop, just to see what he would do. As hot as her dream had gotten her, as urgently as she was rubbing herself beneath the sheets, as much as she wanted to taste his cum, she stopped now, popping his cock from her mouth with the sound of a champagne cork.
There, she thought, smiling up at him. Now what would he do?
Before she had time to guess he was at it. What a wonderful boy. What a sweet boy. He didn’t grumble, didn’t complain. Didn’t grab himself and jerk off on her face (although in truth, Melinda thought she might not mind that sometime). In an instant he was at the foot of the bed, scurrying under the covers to crawl up between her legs. She sighed and wiggled her ass hedonistically against the covers, almost able to imagine herself back on that beach. In seconds she could feel his hot breath on her thighs, felt him wrenching aside the crotch of her panties to bury his face in her moist curls.
What a treasure, she thought, as she felt his tongue plunge into her. Such a good lover he was becoming. Not thinking of himself, not even touching himself -- his hands were under her buttcheeks. Just concerned with her pleasure. He was having a tough time with the panties; she eased her butt off the bed so that he could drag them down. An instant later his tongue was back in her, lashing. His lips were sucking her in. He was always frantic at first: a few frenzied seconds of devouring her and he’d slow down, start to kiss and nuzzle her clit, and tongue-stroke her channel the way she’d taught him.
Had David ever been so considerate, so careful of her pleasure? She thought he may have been, when they were very young. She made herself push the thought from her head. She did not want to think of Mark’s father -- his lies, his cruelty -- but of Mark. Of her own baby boy, now doing his level best to suck the whole of her cunt into his mouth.
There. Now he was slowing, now he remembered. Up and down. Round and round -- ohhhh -- that was nice. Ooooh, God in heaven yes. Oh Jesus oh baby --
“Oh Jesus fucking Christ!” she muttered, unable to contain it. “Oh baby, that’s right . . .”
Wonderful, incredible. She let go of his head and ran her palms along both sides of her tits, rubbing the silky material of her nightgown over her nipples. Electric. Rippling little shocks all the way down to her pussy, the pussy he was licking and tonguing so sweetly. Good, she thought, observing the little points her nipples made in the gown, but not good enough. She slipped the straps down over her arms, hauled out her heavy breasts. Yes, they were big, not as tight and firm as she’d like. But he liked them. Oh yes. The tips of her fingers, round and round each nipple. The tip of Mark’s tongue, round and round her button. Oh my god yes. She pinched her nipples hard, wrenched at them. Oh fuck. Fuck yes. Mark loved her tits. He gobbled them up, every chance he got. She imagined his dick between them now, imagined it throbbing and spurting, her hard nipples covered with his boiling cum . . .
“Oooohh,” she moaned. “Oh god . . .”
He had stopped! Was he learning her tricks now? Was he able to sense when she was close, holding off to tease her?
