The Slumber Party

"You know, Carrie," Grant said as he squeezed his sister's bare bottom after pounding her in both her pussy and her ass, "I think I like virgins. Can you send me some more?"

Carrie pried herself out of his grasp and looked him in the face. "What the hell are you talking about?" she said hotly.

"That slumber party," he said dreamily, his face breaking out in a smile that Carrie fervently wished she could wipe away. "I liked deflowering all you girls. You were so naïve and innocent. I think those are the kind of girls I want. I've had enough of the other kind."

"Yeah," Carrie said acidly, "I'm sure you have."

"So can you get me some more?" he said, ignoring her sarcasm.

Now she propped her elbows on his chest. She had some vestigial instinct to cover herself so as not to display her nudity in her brother's presence—but then she thought,

What the fuck does it matter? He's already probed me every way a man can possibly probe a woman.

"And how exactly am I to do that?"

"Come on, Carrie," Grant said bluffly, "you're a freshman, and I'm sure there are plenty of other freshman girls who need someone to show them the ropes."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Listen, guy." she said. "In the first place, I've only been in school a few weeks, so my circle of acquaintances—freshmen, virgins, or otherwise—isn't exactly very large. And the fact that I live at home isn't helping things any. If I were in a dorm, that would be one thing—but I'm not. And in the second place, am I some kind of madam that I'm now supposed to feed you virgins so you can demolish their hymens?"

"You got it in one," he said jovially.

She shook her head in disbelief. "Grant, I know you think that, as a star football player, you can do anything you want. But you can't. You're going to have to start behaving like a civilized person, otherwise

no one

will want to be around you."

She was afraid that she may have made Grant angry with that remark—but if she, his sister, couldn't say it to him, who could?

To her surprise, he looked at her pensively. "Maybe you're right."

She quickly followed up on her advantage. "You bet I am! You gotta start treating people—especially women—better. They're not your slaves, and they're not going to open their legs, other any other parts of their bodies, to you just because you snap your fingers."

"I know that," he said quietly.

"Listen," she said intensely, "I don't think you realize how important the 'first time' is to a girl. It sets the pattern for the rest of her whole sexual life, and if it goes bad, then she can be traumatized forever. What you did at my slumber party was really pretty horrible. You had no right—"

"I know I didn't."

"—and you can't expect to behave that way without eventually suffering some kind of punishment that you won't like at all."

"I hear you, sis."

She peered into his face to make sure he wasn't just placating her. "You mean that?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

"So," he said, ever intent on the matter at hand, "can you get me some?"

"Some virgins?" she asked tiredly.

"Yeah."

"Okay. I'll do my best. Not promising anything!"

"You're the best, sis!"

*

What happened next would never have happened if Grant hadn't decided—unusually for him—to get up a little past midnight one night in October and get himself a soda from the fridge in the kitchen. His own mother-in-law unit had no refrigerator.

He hadn't been able to sleep and figured that a cold ginger ale might help settle his stomach and let him relax. But as he got the chilled can from the fridge and closed the door, he heard from upstairs a sound he was all too familiar with.

It was a female pleasuring herself.

Those inarticulate moans and groans were unmistakable: he had elicited them often enough from his own sex partners over the years. While he was struck by how different women sound when in the various stages of sexual ecstasy, he had no doubts about what he was hearing now.

Hah!

he chuckled to himself.

Carrie is getting some solo amusement. I don't know why she didn't call on me: I'd have been happy to oblige.

Wearing nothing but some thin cotton boxer shorts, Grant drifted in the direction of the upstairs bedroom. He had to admit that both seeing and hearing a woman experiencing an orgasm was one of the most stimulating things he could think of—even better, in some strange way, than having an orgasm himself.

Women are so sensitive to touch, smell, taste; men tend to rely more on sight and touch. Really, we don't hold a candle to women when it comes to sensitivity.

With supreme care not to step on any creaking floorboards, he glided up the carpeted stairs. Maybe he could help Carrie a bit, even as he sensed that she was reaching her climax within a matter of minutes if not seconds. She may not have wanted intercourse, but why would she turn down a helping hand—or mouth?

So it was more than a little surprising to him when he realized that the moaning sounds—now clearly reaching a crescendo—were coming from the closed door of his mother's room.

Why it should have been so striking to him that Jessica would need solitary stimulation, he would at that moment have been unable to say. He knew that she had gone on virtually no dates during the several years following his dad's abrupt departure from the household, and from time to time he regretted that she was not getting her share of physical contact. He had read somewhere that women in their late thirties and early forties are actually at their peak of sexual desire, and the idea of such a radiant creature as Jessica being deprived of satisfaction pained him in an abstract sort of way.

So with shaking hand he turned the knob of her bedroom door and walked in.

Of course, no lights were on, but a gibbous moon was letting in a fair share of illumination into the room. As he walked, almost like a zombie, toward the bed, he saw Jessica lying on her side, her back to the door—and, therefore, to him. Her hand was seemingly fastened to a spot between her legs.

She was naked.

He saw the nightgown she must have been wearing: it had been tossed carelessly aside and now lay on the floor next to the bed. The moans were getting louder now—and no doubt that was why she hadn't heard the door opening and her son padding mechanically into the room. Only when he stood almost directly over her, blocking some of the moonlight, did she realize she wasn't alone.

Stopping the motions of her hand at once, she gazed up and over her shoulder.

"Omigod! Grant!" she cried out in a harried whisper. "What are you doing here?" She struggled to cover her salient portions—breasts and groin—with her hands.

Grant could not ever recall seeing his mother naked. Maybe that had happened when he was a baby and she had just given him a bath, but there was no way he could have remembered that. As he now gazed down at her, all he saw was a radiantly beautiful woman, with exquisite curves at breast, hips, thighs, and even calves, and a face that, although now distorted by alarm and embarrassment, was as beautiful as any he had ever seen.

"Grant, please!" she cried desperately. "You shouldn't be here!"

The one thing he felt was:

I've stopped her from reaching the culmination of her desires. That's a shame.

In a hollow voice he said, "I want to help," and then bent down on his knees, gently placed a hand on his mother's hip to get her to lie flat on her back, and then parted her legs with both hands.

"My God, Grant, what are you doing?"

He did not answer, but instead buried his head in his mother's crotch.

She was dripping wet, some of her juices covering the insides of her thighs. The initial taste of her wetness was electrifying; as Grant had found through extensive experience, every woman's juices tasted different, sometimes substantially so. Some were acrid, some were almost sweet, and some had no appreciable taste at all.

Jesisca's juices were on the slightly sweet side, and as he continued to lap them up and send them down his throat, while also working her labia and clitoris with his lips and tongue, he felt a strange kind of union with the creature who had borne him twenty years before. He had emerged out of this orifice then, and now he was servicing her as a kind of recompense for the pain she must have felt in her delivery.

As for Jessica, her feelings were more than mixed. Superficially appalled as she was at this sudden Oedipal act on her son's part, some deep-buried segment of her spirit made her wonder whether there was really anything wrong with what was happening. It had been years since she had felt she was Grant's mom: the moment he had become taller and stronger than her, her ability to restrain and discipline him had gone out the window. At times she felt intimidated by his presence; at other times she had trouble realizing that they were related at all. But at still other times—and now was such a time—she secretly admitted that Grant bore an uncanny resemblance to the husband who had abandoned her; the husband whom she had first met when he was just about Grant's age. That thought cast her back to her own adolescence and young adulthood, when her beauty and charm and intelligence and dynamism had made her the desperately sought-after prize of more than one appealing male.

And so she placed a hand on Grant's head as he licked and sucked at her sex, his hands now seizing her bottom and relishing in their firm and fleshy curves. All conventional morality urged her to pull his head away and order him from the room; but her hand instead remained gently on the crown of her son's head, actually keeping it in place.

Good Lord, he does know what he's doing!

In a matter of minutes she began feeling that telltale sensation, proceeding from her toes all the way to her head, that signalled the pinnacle of her desire. Her body was racked with tremors, and with her other hand she squeezed her own breasts as she let out something close to a scream as an overwhelming orgasm washed over her.

She arched her back and bucked her legs, pinching a nipple to enhance the climax. Her cries turned to a kind of choking sob, as some vestigial shame at experiencing an orgasm—and expressing it in such a shameless manner—in the presence of her son came over her; but mostly she was simply imbued with a dizzying sense of supreme pleasure—pleasure attained, for the first time in years, by someone else's ministrations rather than her own.

As she struggled to get a grip on herself, she looked around to see if she could pull a bedsheet over her nude form. But she had been lying on top of the sheet and blanket, so that wasn't possible. The futility of concealing her nakedness from her son led her to fall back exhausted on the bed, her hands lying outspread beside her.

She looked down at Grant as he stared up at her, his head still only inches away from her sex. "Grant, that was really naughty of you. You shouldn't have done that."

"You didn't like it?" he said naively.

She colored at that. "Well, of course I liked it—but you . . . you're my—"

Grant didn't give her time to finish. He stood up abruptly, and she could see at once the tent that had appeared in his boxers. Still in something of a daze, Grant stripped himself, and Jessica peered intently at the large, erect member before her.

She couldn't remember when she had last seen her son naked—it had probably been when he was no more than eight or nine, long before his organ had developed fully. She was well aware that he was something of a rake, and she felt there was not much to be done about that; in any case,

she

couldn't do much about it, since he had made it abundantly clear that her strictures on the subject counted for nothing.

Now, seeing that hard-as-rock member quivering close to her face, she felt a certain pride that she could have borne such an impressive specimen of masculinity. Her husband hadn't exactly been an Adonis in the sex department, but there was no question of Grant's preeminence in that regard.

And so, when he pulled his cock down to the level of her lips, she seemed to feel a strange obligation to take as much of it into her mouth as she could.

That utterly unique fusion of stony hardness and velvety softness that an erect cock can have was something she had not experienced at first hand for years, and even though this was her son's member—

my own son!

—she used lips and tongue eagerly to bring it to even greater hardness. With her hands she reached around to seize Grant's bottom, glorying in the taut muscles and the cute little dimple in each buttock. She wondered if Grant was going to send his seed shooting down her throat, but he had other things in mind. After several minutes of oral stimulation, he pulled his cock out of his mother's mouth and lowered himself on top of her.

"Oh, Grant, no . . . you mustn't . . ."

But there was no stopping him. Looking down at her with unnatural calmness, he moved his hips in such a way that his cock found her cleft, still wet from her orgasm. Even though she nominally felt the need to resist this acme of incestuous union, she unconsciously raised her legs and bent her knees to facilitate his entry. And when he did enter her fully, she let out an immense gasp at the novelty of the sensation.

Oh, God! How many years has it been since I've had a big, hard cock in me? Too long, too long. I know I shouldn't be liking this, but I can't help it!

He pumped her gently at first, then more vigorously. Initially he had held his arms extended so that he could gaze down at her naked form, but soon he let his body fall on her, delighting in the feel of her heavy, shapely breasts against his chest. At times he reached under her to grab her bottom, and at one point he reached a hand between their bodies as if to make sure that he had actually committed himself to the act of copulating with his own mother.

She couldn't help throwing her arms around his neck, sometimes stroking his back and at other times being drawn to his gorgeous bottom, rubbing and stroking it as if it were a beloved cat. His tempo was increasing now, and she knew he was ready to explode. And when he did so, grunting in her ear and sending many jolts of his fluid deep into her, she sensed that something truly cataclysmic—but not in any way loathsome or horrifying—had occurred.

He flopped over onto his back, lying panting next to her. They were both gazing unseeingly at the ceiling, lost in reflection. Jessica looked down at her sweat-covered body, feeling the male juices dripping out of her cleft; but inexplicably she wished she could preserve that emission in her most delicate spot forever.

"Well, Grant," she said resignedly, "that's that." She had no need to say more.

You're now officially a motherfucker.

Grant, in his turn, looked down at his glistening cock, feeling a strange pride at what he had done. Which of his college friends would have had the courage to do such a thing? More to the point, which of them had such a beautiful, desirable mother that would lead them to

want

to do such a thing?

All at once, he seized his mother around the waist and thrust her onto his recumbent body. She landed heavily there with a comical "Oof!" and was about to complain about being manhandled, but instead she listened in awe as he cried out:

"Oh, God, Mom, I love you! I love you so much! You're such a sweet, wonderful creature, and I want you more than ever!"

Touched by his passion, she was a bit apprehensive at the exact meaning of that last phrase. He had been stroking her bottom ardently, and so it was no surprise when he said directly into her ear:

"I want to go into your bottom."

A shudder went through her.

"Oh, Grant, I have to draw the line there! You really can't do that."

He seemed taken aback. "You don't like it?" he said wonderingly.

"It's not that," she said impatiently. "It's the idea of my own son, doing—"

"You gotta use lube, of course," he said with sudden enthusiasm, almost tossing her aside and heading toward the bathroom. She was about to urge him to put something on before he left the room (

what if Carrie sees him naked?

), but realized the pointlessness of the warning. He returned in less than a minute carrying the familiar blue jar.

"

That's

your lube?" she said incredulously.

"Yeah—it works pretty well," he said smugly.

And with that, he briskly turned her onto her stomach and prepared to apply the substance.

"Hey!" she protested. "I haven't agreed to this."

"You'll like it," he said casually, as he uncapped the jar and put a liberal dose of the stuff on his fingers. She watched in a kind of amazement as he first lubricated the area around her anus, then boldly inserted two fingers into the orifice. She let out another huge gasp, shuddering at the thought of what was happening to her (

My God, I don't think

I've

ever placed my fingers there!

), then lay prone in defeat as her son prepared to mount her.

"You've done this before, haven't you?" he said with a strange eagerness.

"Not for a really long time," she admitted.

"You mean Dad didn't . . .?"

"No—I wouldn't let him."

"Why?"

"I just wouldn't, that's why!"

Flummoxed, Grant proceeded to bring his cock toward the lubricated hole. Then he inserted several inches of it into her.

A sudden jolt of pain went through her. "Hey, easy there! I'm kind of out of practice."

Grant did ease up, but still managed to enter her fully over the course of the next few minutes. His thrusts were soft and gentle at first, but gradually increased in force. As she lay flat on her back, he reached around and took a breast in each hand, squeezing them so tightly that she thought he was irrationally trying to coax milk out of them. The sensation of anal entry again threw her memory back to more than twenty years before, when she had allowed several young men to do that to her; and she knew that the only way to get through the experience without undue pain was to make herself as passive as possible while the man did his business. She was not accustomed to being so helpless, but in a way she relished the unusual sensation of being the all but lifeless receptacle of his desire.

His explosion caused him to cry out as if

he

were in pain, and he squeezed her breasts even more tightly, as if needing to cling to them like a drowning man clutching a life preserver. He again sent wave after wave of his seed into her, and the feel of his fluid in this strange spot almost made Jessica pass out.

Grant pulled out a little faster than he should have, causing her more pain than he had done from the penetration itself. As she let out a cry of anguish, he almost leaped from the bed and rushed to the bathroom to clean himself off.

When he returned, Jessica was still lying flat on her stomach, almost comatose. As she turned her head and looked up wearily at her son, she suspected that even this was not going to be the end. And it wasn't. Later, he made her engage in a lengthy session of sixty-nine, sending his fluid down her throat as he coaxed as many as three consecutive orgasms out of her. And, as she lay exhausted afterwards, he once again penetrated her anus and shot more seed into her.

After that, she said, "Oh, Grant, please, we have to stop!"

"All right," he said grudgingly. He lay on his back next to her, his face largely expressionless.

She suspected he was planning to remain there all night. So it was with some trepidation that she said:

"Grant, dear, I think you'd better go back to your own bed."

He looked at her as if mildly insulted or disappointed. "You don't want me to stay here?"