I looked back at my mother, incredulously. She had read my letter; she knew. But when? I had been with her every moment since she had gotten home. Even when she went to pee, I followed her into the bathroom, sitting on the sink to continue our chat like always. She had to have read it before she got home. My God! This evilly conniving woman had known the entire time she was home, yet maintained the façade of ignorance. From the minute she walked through the door she knew of my wicked intentions, yet maintained a strictly motherly role.
“Wait a minute there, kettle!” I thought to myself. “You did the same thing. Not once did you let on to your true sentiments. No, it’s different. She’s my mother, and I was simply talking to her the way I always do.”
Maybe I’m odd that way, but sometimes I have to talk to myself before I can see things clearly. That was just it. She was my mother; I was her daughter. Nothing was going to change that, absolutely nothing. Becoming my lover did nothing to negate her roles as mother, as best friend, as confidant; it only enhanced those roles. For once I felt at ease. I knew everything was going to be wonderful. And without a shred of apprehension, I followed my mother into her room and locked the door behind me.
“Baby girl, I am so sorry I never told you. I didn’t want you to think less of me. I didn’t think you’d understand.” My mother’s voice quivered as she spoke, a tear forming at the corner of her eye.
“Mom, you don’t owe me any explanation. You did what you thought you had to. I’m just so glad that you found Allison and Cindy, and that you didn’t allow your fear to keep you from your own happiness. I don’t want to be a barrier to that anymore. Live your life for you, not for us. If you’re happy, I’ll be happy.”
“I loved your photos. I hope you don’t mind but I came twice in the car on the way home.” She was so sneaky about changing the subject.
“When did? When did you?” I muttered out.
“I picked it up on my way to work, but I didn’t read it until I got off,” she giggled. “And man did I ever get off! I thought it was a letter from Allison; you sneaky little devil. But I had just left her house on Saturday. At the very least I expected something huge, something she was afraid to tell me while I was there. I was worried all day, so much so that I couldn’t even concentrate on my patients. Anyway, as soon as I was in the car, I pulled around to an empty part of the parking lot and opened it up. I never cried so hard in my life. You made me so happy, so proud. But those pictures, my dear sweet Rebecca, you had me cumming so hard. I don’t know how you didn’t smell it when I stepped into the house.”
“Think my pictures made you cum hard, just wait until the real me gets ahold of you,” I whispered to her. My mother’s sweet words had transformed the smoldering love I held deep in my heart into a roaring inferno. I don’t want to call it lust, because that sounds so dirty. I don’t mind dirty at all, but there was nothing dirty about the way I felt. It felt absolutely pure, just unbridled, uncontrollable.
Slowly, I inched forward, reaching behind my mother’s back, pulling her to me. Our lips met in a soft, gentle caress. I glided my hand lower, feeling the rough fabric of her nurse’s uniform, that thick polyester crap. I hated it, and not just because it felt so terrible, but because it was coming between me and my mother. Frustrated, my fingers met at her waistband, untying the knot. In my haste, I only made it worse. Giggling, my mother took over.
“Here, let me help you. You’re like your father with a bra.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. She was absolutely right though, and I realized that I needed to slow down. As she worked on the knot, I slid my hands under her scrub top, caressing the soft flesh of her back until I felt the bottom edge of her bra. I worked my way over to the clasp, popping it open with a snap of my fingers.
Our kiss became much more forceful, yet still soft and passionate. My mother’s soft delicate lips opened, massaging mine before I felt the tip of her rough tongue slip inside my mouth. As our tongues danced, my hand caressed those bony prominences of her shoulder blades, feeling them gyrate as she continued to work on the knot my clumsy fingers had created. I’m not sure why they turned me on. I guess every part of her turned me on.
“Shit!” she groaned, backing away to focus more on the knot. “Not tonight. No fucking way are you doing this to me tonight!” she cried out. Walking over to her dresser, she opened the top drawer and pulled out a pair of scissors. She looked almost mad as she cut through the strings. She put the scissors back and then pushed her pants down her slender gams, as if they were burning her legs. Only then did I realize she wasn’t wearing any panties.
She then raised her scrub top over her head and pulled off her bra, leaving her naked, exposed. I had seen my mother naked countless times. Despite my love for the female body, I had never seen her this way. I always considered her beautiful, in fact gorgeous, even at 42. Her long brown hair cascaded over her shoulders. It was too dark to see them, but she had the most alluring green eyes, ones that just pierced through you. Her lips were full, accentuated with her lipstick which was now barely detectable. She stood 5’6”, a good four inches taller than I am. It meant that I always had to look up to her, which I would have done regardless of her physical stature. Her breasts were heavy, two full C-cups that offered the most comforting place to lay your head at night. A lifetime of 12-hour shifts had kept her fit and trim, her narrow waist tapering to her hips in soft, succulent curves. My eyes trailed inward from that point, following the V-shape of her inguinal creases to her slit, which opened invitingly as she stepped toward me.
“Let’s get you out of these clothes, Baby Girl,” she moaned as she pulled my sleep shirt over my head. For years, I slept in one of my dad’s shirts. Initially, I did it because I wanted to feel close to him. For the past couple of years, I just did it because it looked and felt so damned sexy. This one was a football jersey, Troy Aikman’s if I recall correctly. I had gotten it for my dad the previous Christmas, but confiscated it immediately for my own use. Honestly, I thought more about Troy than I ever did about my father, but with my mother bearing down on me, it was time for it to go.
I loved the way the polyester tickled me as my mother raised the jersey over my head. My nipples were so hard, like pencil erasers, and not little ones, like the size on the big pencils we used to use in kindergarten. Each hole of that jersey seemed to grab onto my goose-pimpled flesh, like tiny fingernails flicking across them. I heard her gasp when she realized I wasn’t wearing anything underneath. It always excited me, talking to my mom with practically nothing on, like I was getting away with something, but hearing her excitement pushed me over the edge. Not a big one, but I could definitely feel the spasms, as well as my juices flowing.
“Naughty girl,” my mother hissed into my ear.
“Me? What about you? Going to work commando?”
“Of course not, but after what those pictures did to me, I had to have something clean up with.”
“So where are they?” I inquired.
“They’re under my car seat. I couldn’t put them back on, and I sure wasn’t going to carry them into the house dripping.”
“Dripping? Oh, come on,” I replied incredulously.
In response, my mother just stared at me, not even blinking, for what seemed like an eternity. “Just wait,” she said breathlessly.
With that, my mother pushed me back onto her bed. It was still made, and the roughness of the bedspread felt like sandpaper compared to my mother’s smooth flesh. She lay on top of me, her warm body pressed into mine, pinning me to the very bed she shared with my father, where she cradled me in her arms when I had a bad dream, where I likely was conceived. That thought sent shivers through me, the hairs on my neck standing on end like a frightened cat. She reached behind me, over my head, and grabbed the sheets, yanking them from under me and tossing them aside. There was no need for sheets or blankets. The heat of our bodies provided sufficient warmth to compensate for the air conditioner, and neither of us wanted anything to conceal our bodies from our lustful eyes.
Once again, my mother kissed me, but there was nothing motherly about it. This was one of unadulterated passion and lust. As our lips pressed firmly together, our tongues united in a passionate embrace. I had loved my mother my entire life, and now I was showing her just how much, in a way I had never fathomed before.
A burning fire grew deep in my chest. Initially, it felt wonderful, like my heart burning with love. But that smoldering warmth intensified until I felt my entire chest would burst into flame. I had forgotten to breathe. In my lustful state, concentrating so intensely on my mother, on how soft her succulent lips felt on mine, on how her nipples poked so deliciously into my bosom, on how divinely her nails dug into my flesh as she gripped my ass, that I actually forgot to breathe. It brought back flashbacks of when I was 8 years old, when a neighbor took me waterskiing for the first time. When I fell, I maintained my grip on the rope, the boat dragging me face-first through the water, filling my lungs and stomach with a gallon of disgusting Louisiana lake water. After that, I never wanted to waterski again. I took a deep breath, then kissed my mother again, refusing to let the fear of asphyxiation deter me.
I could have kissed my mother like that all night; it was pure bliss. My mother wasn’t as easily satisfied. She began slowly kissing and licking down my body. I knew where she was heading, and I felt like a 5-year old with attention deficit disorder waiting for Christmas. Each kiss was a delicious torture. I wanted to scream, to grip her hear in my hands and push her down where I needed her, to beg her to fuck me. But this was my mother, who I loved and adored like no other, so I resisted, my love overpowering my lust.
Finally, I felt her warm breath on my navel, her tongue flicking across it. Then lower, at my waist, until at last, I felt her sticky breath on my inflamed clit. She was panting, and my sex throbbed each time the warm air caressed it, only to chill over between, like tiny ocean waves lapping at me. I longed to feel something else though, something more concrete. I bent my knees and spread my hips invitingly, trying desperately to encourage my mother, to guide her where I needed her most.
“Oh momma, kiss me.”
I don’t know why I used that word. For some reason, I couldn’t talk dirty to her. I loved her. I wanted her. She was my lover, but she was also my mother. For the first time I saw how our roles could impact our relationship. I felt so conflicted. I wanted to talk dirty; it’s such a huge part of my sexuality, but I didn’t want to disrespect her. I made the decision then and there. She had already proven that she will always be my mother, that our passion for one another would never change that. I was bound and determined to do the same.
“Do you see how fucking wet my pussy is for you, momma?” I asked her. “It’s fucking dripping for you. Lick me. Taste me. Taste your little girl’s pussy,” I begged, bucking my hips upward toward her lips.
A sinister grin spread across her face. It held a curious mixture of lust and pride. I had never seen that look before, not on her, not on anyone, but I liked it, and knew I wanted to see it a lot more often.
“Yes, baby girl,” she crooned. “I can see it. I can smell it. And I can’t wait to taste you.”
With that she leaned in, her soft tongue parting my labia, its rough surface sending vibrations through my entire body.
“Oh, fuck! That’s it. Suck my fucking clit, mommy. Feel how hard it is for you, how much you turn me on.”
My knees clapped together, trapping my mother’s head between my thighs. Each time I clenched them together, my clit pulsated, like a thousand tiny orgasms flooding through me. I reached down gripping her hair in my hands, squeezing the soft strands of her gorgeous hair between my fingers. I relaxed my thighs, then squeezed again, each time those pulsations in my clit growing stronger. My impending orgasm mounted, closer and closer, each feeling like the next would be the last.
“Suck it!” I hissed. “Suck it like it’s a tiny little cock. Put your lips around it and suck the shit out of it.” Each word pushed me higher and higher. I kept anticipating the fall, waiting to go over that edge and fall hard into the throes of ecstasy.
“Oh momma, suck me. Oh fuck, I’m going to cum for you. Your dirty little slut’s going to cum all over your fucking mouth.”
My mother didn’t miss a beat. Like an expert, she continued to suck me, maintaining her tongue in perfect position over my little nub. All the hair pulling, name calling, and hip bucking in the world couldn’t dissuade her from her task. Just like always, she was right there when I needed her, exactly where I needed her.
That’s when I felt it. Somehow gently, yet forcefully, my mother eased two fingers inside me. It wasn’t very far, but she curled them upward, and that set off a trigger in me like no other. There was something there, some magical little button tucked away inside me, and my mother was able to find in seconds what I hadn’t found in all my 18 years. Well, not exactly, I hadn’t masturbated my WHOLE life, but you know.
The orgasm that coursed through me at that moment is indescribable. Until that moment, I thought I knew what sex, what cumming was all about. How wrong I was! Oh, I had orgasms, but they were mere tremors on the Richter scale of love. This thing was a fucking 12. I don’t know how we even stayed on the bed. I don’t know how my brothers weren’t barging into the room wondering what tornado had just touched down in my mom’s bedroom. And as soon as that one was over, another one was taking its place.
There was no more dirty talk. It was all I could do to breathe. My lungs were starving for air despite my panting. My mouth and throat were so try I wouldn’t have been able to talk anyway. Still, my mother didn’t stop. She continued that torrid onslaught, not just on my clit, hell, I could have tolerated that, but on that glorious internal button that she found with such ease. My body twisted and contorted in ways that a carney would have envied, yet her fingers never wavered from that spot. Masterfully, she maintained the perfect pressure, the perfect speed, the perfect everything. It was like she was made for me, like I was made for her.
When finally my body shut down, no longer able to supply the needed energy to continue, my mother withdrew. Slowly, she kissed her way back up my spent body, curling up next to me, cuddling me like so many times before, unlike so many times before. I leaned back against her, my head resting on her natural pillows. Part of me wanted to nestle up to her and fall asleep—a very small part of me. The much larger part wanted to make her feel the same way. I was so thankful she was my mother. I knew my lack of experience precluded me from performing to that high standard. With anyone else, I would have felt inadequate, but this was my mother, and I felt so secure.
My mother’s warm hand and gentle caresses produced a comforting, yet rejuvenating effect. As my motor functions restored, I began kissing her, first between her breasts, kissing the beads of sweat that decorated her cleavage like specks of glitter, while inhaling the sweet aroma of her perfume. Slowly, I kissed my way down, gradually working my way to the foot of the bed. As I lowered my body to the mattress, her legs splayed open, beckoning me. Her pussy looked exceedingly inviting, like somewhere I had been before, some place I desperately wanted to return to. Her labia were meaty, swollen, splayed open in the shape of cutest, sexiest little heart, her little button adorning the top like the tip of Cupid’s arrow. This was all framed by her black wispy curls, trimmed neatly like a freshly mowed lawn. I could even see little droplets of moisture, like early morning dew. She was absolutely beautiful.
I was mere inches away from her sex. I gently slid my fingers up her slit, playing in her wetness, the smoothness of her flesh contrasting sharply with her coarse hairs. The pouty lips begged for attention; I pushed them aside, watching her swollen nubbin poke out prominently, proudly.
The heady aroma of my mother’s mature pussy filled my nostrils. It was the first time I ever smelled another woman; I never got close enough to Jennifer’s sex to smell it. Sure, I had smelled my own, on my panties, on my hand, but this was vastly different. Mine was barely detectable, a faint smell that I took every effort to conceal with perfumes and powders. However, after smelling my mother, I knew I should reconsider. Hers was a delightful fragrance, one that intoxicated me with lust.
For some reason I was nervous. I had licked my own juices from my hand thousands of times. I knew this was my mother, who would love and adore me no matter how sexually inept I was at cunnilingus. Still, for some reason, I was scared. I wanted it, oh God how I wanted to taste my mother, to pleasure her even a fraction as well as she had pleasured me. Still, I knew I was at a crossroads, and I was about to journey down the road, not only of lesbianism, but of incest.
As I lowered my lips over her clit, I felt her labia engulf my cheeks. It felt like her pussy was eating me, even as I was eating it, like it was kissing me back, and I found it incredibly erotic. Her clit was huge. As I sucked it into my mouth, it felt as if I was sucking on the tip of my little finger, and I could swear I felt it growing by the second. Wrapping my lips around it, I flicked my tongue across the tip, just as countless erotic stories had described. It was all I had to go on, that and the example my mother had just provided.
Those fears, those nerves, were quickly squelched. As I teased her, I felt my mother’s hands caressing my scalp, weaving her delicate fingers through my hair. When I hit a particularly sensitive spot, she moaned, her hips bucking wildly against me. I quickly learned, getting the most profound responses by squeezing her clit gently between my lips, licking around it in tiny circles rather than directly on it, flicking my tongue across her labia, and pressing firmly on her clitoral hood with my upper lip.
Easing lower, I slipped my tongue inside her. That seemed to set her off.
“Jesus fucking Christ! Oh, you sweet angel. Ram that beautiful tongue inside me, baby. Fuck your momma with it. Oh fuck yes. Push your tongue up my pussy. Yes! Yes! Oh, baby I love that. Oh, you sweet baby girl,” she whimpered.
I beamed with pride. Honestly, she said a lot more, but her thighs kept clamping down over my ears so I didn’t catch it all. Still, I could have listened to her all day, and likely could have climaxed without any other stimulation.
I loved the way she talked to me, not just the words, but how she said them, the tone in her voice, everything. Whenever I masturbated, I always had to hold it in. I wanted to scream out, to say aloud the dirty thoughts that permeated my mind. But with brothers in the next room, I didn’t dare utter a peep, and even when I was home alone, I held it in. For once, I got to experience another lover saying what I was thinking, what she was thinking. I felt so connected to her. I imagined every word she said, visualizing it. I pictured my tongue as a huge cock, delving deep inside her sex, tasting her, feeling her, pleasuring her to orgasm.
I knew I had teased her long enough when I felt my mother pull away, lifting her hips further off the mattress and pushing my head lower. I knew immediately what she wanted; apparently we had the same kinky genes. My heartbeat seemed to flutter in my chest. It just seemed so dirty, yet so fucking hot. The thought turned me on, but I was sure I was unique in that category. Now, I knew I wasn’t alone. With my eyes fixated on my mother’s beautiful face, I gently ran my tongue across her rosebud. She shuttered, short, deep gasps causing her lovely breasts to quiver. All that captured air came pouring out in the sweetest moan, as I stiffened up my tongue and pressed it firmly inside her, feeling the wrinkly flesh open up around me.
I watched with pride as my mother raised her hand to her mouth, biting down on the thick fleshy pad of her palm. I knew it well. I did it the same thing regularly when I was having a particularly wonderful orgasm and didn’t want to announce it to the entire house. It was just so erotic watching my mother do it, like watching myself. I marveled at how similar we were.
I continued licking her, my nose pressed against her introitus. She wasn’t quite as vocal, but her whimpers and pants encouraged me. I worked my way back up, the tip of my nose massaging her clit as I pressed my tongue back inside her pussy. I delved as deeply into her as I could, not so much for her pleasure as my own. I wanted to taste her. Little droplets had been dripping down her crack, soaking the sheets, and I simply could not get enough of my mother’s cum.
As I licked my way back up to her clitoris, I slipped my middle three fingers inside her. Mimicking her, I curled my fingers upward, feeling for anything different, watching my mother closely for any evidence of that internal button. When my fingers brushed along this spongy spot, nowhere near as deep as I thought, she let out this guttural moan, her stomach stretched taut. Gently, I traced tiny circles around it as I took my mother’s button into my mouth. As I did, my mother’s legs draped over my shoulders, her heels locking in the small of my back, pulling me into her. Soon, those heels were digging into me, using them for leverage as she rocked her hips, grinding into my mouth.
Her hips gradually became more and more animated. Needing more leverage, my mom planted her heels back into the mattress, lifting her ass up high. No longer was I able to gently stroke her. No, her hips were rocking violently, fucking the three fingers buried deep inside her as she held my mouth to her clit, essentially fucking my lips with here oversized clit.
“Oh shit baby I’m going to fucking cum. Oh my baby girl, oh, make me cum, make your mommy cum all over your pretty little face. Make mommy your little slut. Make me your dirty little whh—whhhhh----whoooorreeee.”
I was cumming on my own accord, not because I was touching myself, but simply because I was making her cum. I couldn’t help but notice that my mother wanted to be my slut, my whore, while I couldn’t help but feel like hers. It just made me feel so close to her, so intimately connected. We wanted the same things, thought the same things, even felt the same way.
As she started to climax, my mother reached down between us, pushing my tongue out of the way as she rubbed her own clit. I must admit that it hurt my feelings a little, thinking I wasn’t doing it quite right and she had to take over. Still, that thought was fleeting, as a million new thoughts raced through my mind, watching my mother pleasuring herself. Here was a persons most intimate activity, masturbation, and she was sharing it with me. How lovely!
As I thought that, little raindrops fell onto my cheeks, my forearms, my breasts. I know we were inside, but that’s what it felt like. That’s when I realized what my mother was doing; she was squirting. Her hand blurred across her clit as this throaty cry ascending from her lungs. She released both simultaneously, a shrieking cry filling my ears as her hand raised up to her lips, sucking them clean of her sweet juices. Even in the moonlight it was clearly visible. Her pussy was dripping. Every inch of her, from her navel to her knees, was completely soaked, as was my face and chest. I understood then why my mother’s panties were still in her car. Part of me wanted to retrieve them and suck every drop from them. If I didn’t have a fresh mess in front of me to clean up, I may very well have done just that.
“Oh my sweet, Rebecca, that was amazing,” she hummed as I licked her clean. “I love you so much; don’t ever forget that.”
“I won’t mom,” I paused, then continued, “protector….confidant….best friend……lover.”
Kissing my way back up her torso, I nestled in her chest, then reached back behind me to pull the sheets and blankets over us. I kissed my mother goodnight—just a normal mother-daughter kiss goodnight—well, except that I could taste myself on her lips. I slept that night better than I had in years, knowing our relationship was secure, knowing my mother was truly happy, and secure at last, with my own sexuality.
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with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.
<a href="http://www.lushstories.com/stories/incest/my-mother-my-lover-bathing-jennifer.aspx">My Mother, My Lover: Bathing Jennifer Part 4</a>