Once I'd finally fucked my mother, the six days of sexual excess that followed made the simple act of cocking a cunt sound tame, and trivial. It became clear to me she's addicted to danger, an extremist. Which not only explains how the prior six says had escalated so quickly from an unintentional wag of my partially obscured/ undisciplined dick in her face -- to cock-craven carnal and corruptive full frontal fucking, drenched in oral accompaniment that no Mother could believably ever utter.
But my mother was unlike any other. In form, features, and fearless unrelenting devotion. Her passion and zeal for extreme satisfaction, approval, and assured exhibition -- would exhaust anyone other than herself. Once I'd tapped the portal to her suppressed sexuality (not dormant at all, more like disciplined down), the rebellious fury that burst forth made obvious why she'd ever consider a painfully chaste 16yrs leading up to these dozen-plus days of erotic eruption with me.
For 6 more days she would audibly crave my erection and purposefully pump me for every ounce of conviction that I could supply. Soon the doors of our home were captivity, and the fence-line beyond a suffocation of our incestual activity. She had to put it out in the public. Continually daring any voice of reason to punish her for sinfully succumbing to such deviant behavior with her very own son. And in the process, seducing ever more flesh into the fold...
Until it stopped.
One more thing about the 6 days that followed... my incapacitated arms would have their bandages removed and freed from confinement - on the 7th. There was one more encounter beyond that before she was able to put a stop to it. But I hadn't expected any end ever to occur by then. Regardless, for the experience of those days in between, I'd gladly go through the painful removal all over again...
The morning that followed the deflowering of both myself, and any sort of flimsy incestual barrier we'd maintained to that point, I woke to find my mother lying next to me.
It seemed she'd been doing that type of thing more and more often as these days moved forward. I'd find her in my room in some manner, when I'd open my eyes to a new day... or the lingering late night. She would be there.
But this was different.
Normally she's not laying there fingering herself; watching her movements cause my morning erection to wag and tug at the helpless sheet of fabric between us. Normally she waits for some sort of agreement to take place before we allow direct pleasure to take precedence. But that progression was past.
She was beneath the sheet over top of us, legs askew (though not in direct contact with my own), her hands no doubt down between her thighs, stifling a continual moan of pained desire. I watched her for a few moments before she recognized I was awake.
Once she did I was greeted with a little-girl chew on her bottom lip and a guilty apology.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."
One of her hands came up from the pleasure center to effectively add a finger to her innocent sinning. The aroma was obvious. As was the wet results of her efforts below. She toyed with the tacky strings of pleasure for a moment, smiling, waiting for a response from me other than my eyes.
"Have you been there all night?" I asked harmlessly.
"No. I was over there..." she point to the corner of the room, dangling residual sex off her finger, "on the floor for most of it."
"Why over there?" I laughed.
"Cuz I was fucking myself all night and I didn't want to disturb you."
"You're kidding?!" How could that be possible after what we'd spent the day doing? My god!
An honest frown took over her face. "Don't make fun of me. I'm serious... It was very painful but I left you alone."
I'd become awake enough now to notice that her aroma wasn't just present beside me. The entire room was thick with it. We'd momentarily opened the windows following the banshee sex her, myself, and her best friend Jackie engaged in the day before -- but apparently she'd been at it long enough to overwhelm any formerly fresh air.
She could tell I was smelling it.
"And please don't tease me about my personal smell either."
That was not an issue for me. "Trust me. I like the smell. You can paint the walls with it if you'd like."
"Oh. Good."
Her manner was unusually docile and quiet. Unafraid to expose her actions at all but most definitely subservient about it.
I noticed she had a youthful looking tube top on -- pink and yellow stripes that ran horizontal. It wasn't much to cover her properly. In fact, it may not have been worn since before she got the boob job.
"Did you go running in that?" I asked.
"No... I've been in here since well before morning, I told you."
"But you dressed?"
She smiled and let her pinky hang on in her mouth. "Sort of..."
I guess she'd been waiting for me to ask that. Her response was soon followed by a slow reveal of her body as the sheet came down. Initially it appeared maybe she only had the tube-top on but as things moved further forward she pulled her knees up and revealed matching, pink-striped, cotton sock-stockings that claimed her legs all the way to mid thigh (the edges were frayed and aged there, perhaps from incessant tugging). Other than that she wore nothing below but bare pussy.
More important than the reveal of her uncensored outfit was that the bed was completely soaked. And I mean SOAKED! Pretty much a puddle beneath her.
"I made my own mess..." she cautiously whispered, while her limbs quietly squirmed around. "Sorry."
"Naughty girl," I offered her, pleasantly.
