Falling for My Mum Ch. 05

We had an intimate, romantic meal. Though the place was busy and loud, it didn't seem to matter, the word shrank to our table and all that mattered to me was the beautiful woman whose face was framed and lit by the candles between us. I love watching you eat, it was so erotic to watch you elegantly devour your food, the way you licked your lips, dabbed at the corner of your mouth with your napkin, played with the stem of your glass. I wasn't surprised to find myself hard -- these days it was more surprising when I wasn't hard around you. At one point I felt your naked foot touching my hard on through my trousers. I looked up, shocked and into your smiling face.

"I just wanted to check," was all you said before using your chopsticks to flick some rice into your red mouth.

"Jeez Mum, you're going to kill me you know," I said as you continued to massage my cock with your red-painted toes.

"I do hope not darling," you said, leaning forward to give me a splendid view of your round breasts, "I have plans for you and your young body you know."

"Don't worry," I shot back, "If I'm going down, I'm taking you with me Mrs Moore."

You licked your lips and put a finger to your lips with a quizzical expression. "Mmm, death by sex, I know that's been done many times before, but death by incest? Worth a try."

Dinner finished around 11 and we headed down through the milling throng of revellers towards Trafalgar Square. There was a low-level police presence, keeping a watching brief on those who got too drunk, and the thought struck me that I wondered what would happen if I confessed my crime to one of the Bobbies. What would he say? Would they drag me off? I smiled, they probably wouldn't even believe me.

We made it to the famous square, with the National Gallery, St Martin-in-the-Fields and the Canadian and South African High Commissions which flanked the square all illuminated. We headed down the steps into the square itself, inching our way past the crowds already gathered there. I held your hand tightly as we manoeuvred our way through the mass of people. You got a lot of comments and offers from younger guys but you just smiled sweetly and told them you were taken.

Eventually we reached the base of one of the famous lions designed by Landseer that stood guard around Nelson's Column. Having worked as a tour guide for a summer I knew that Landseer had based the hind-quarters of the lions on his pet Labrador as no lions were to hand. Like us, the lions were one thing masquerading as another or, more accurately, half one thing half the other -- we were half mother and son, half lovers and at different times we pretended to the world just to be one or the other. God I was feeling philosophical tonight, must have been the New Year, plus the booze. I couldn't help but wonder where we'd be in a year's time. It was too dangerous to go there, though, too many of my friends' relationships had ended when one or other asked 'where do you see us in a year's time?' I wasn't going to fall into that trap -- when we discussed the future, I'd have a plan, I just had to work out what it was.

"Why have you brought us here Tom?" you said crossly, "We won't be able to see a bloody thing from behind this plinth." I grinned.

"We're not going to be behind it," I said and moving you in front of me, I slid my hands around your waist and then down onto your hips and just under your arse, feeling the shiny material of your leggings against my cold hands. "Here mate, give us a hand would you," I said to a burly guy up on the plinth with a small group of others. At the same time as I said this, I lifted you up into the air and you gave a little cry of delight and fear. The man reached out his arms and pulled you into them, placing you gently on the stone before reaching down with his hand to give me a lift up too. "Thanks mate," I said with a smile. He grinned back.

"My pleasure," he said genially, "Not every day I get to have such a beautiful woman in my arms." You blushed and gave him a peck on the cheek.

"Thank you kind sir," you pouted and I slapped your bottom gently.

"She's such a hussy," I said to our new friend.

"Even more of a keeper then!" he grinned and I shrugged happily. You leant over the back of the bronze lion and I slipped my arms around your waist, feeling the warmth of your body against my hands as I nestled myself behind you, my hard cock pressing into your arse cheeks even through the tick fur coat you had on. You gave a contented sigh as we watched the crowds down Whitehall towards Big Ben and the river. We didn't say much, just gently rocked against each other in the cold air.

At about ten minutes to midnight I felt the devil in me rising again and I whispered in your ear. "Want to cum one last time before the New Year?" You looked at me over your shoulder, wide-eyed in surprise and fear.

"Tommy, no!" you hissed, "We can't, not here," you pleaded. I just grinned wickedly and let my hands slip down over your crotch, feeling the sexy material and pressing it right against your pussy lips. I felt you jerk against my touch and give a low groan. "Please..." was all you said, sign enough for me to continue. I ran two fingers along the outline of your lips as my other hand began to squeeze your arse gently, rhythmically, slowly breaking down your resistance to this public act of indecent behaviour. When I felt your legs open, I knew you were ready and I raised my hand to your waistband and slid them down inside, my hand coming into contact with bare flesh.

"Mother!" I exclaimed in surprise. You looked back over your shoulder a faux innocent expression on your beautiful face.

"What?" you said, a smile playing on those luscious red lips. "They'd ruin the lining." I laughed and allowed my cold hands to slide down through your sparse blonde thatch and play with your clit which had emerged from its protective hood eager to be stroked. I obliged it and teased it gently, rolling it, pressing it and allowing my fingers to move further down, sliding easily through your slick lips to the opening of your pussy that was almost bubbling with juices and excitement. My other hand moved from your arse up your body and inside your cardigan, popping the buttons open and cupping your breast. The covering of your big fur coat allowed my movements to be hidden but our earlier helper noticed and gave me a wink, blocking the view of others with his body. Your hands were now splayed across the back of the Labrador, if he'd had flesh you'd be digging into it, instead you scratched a little at the bronze surface with your nails.

At a couple of minutes to midnight, I pushed my fingers into your pussy and crooked them, stretching you, feeling your muscles part around me and then squeezing my fingers, wanting to trap them inside you. "Oh Tommy, don't fucking stop," you gasped.

I leaned in and whispered in your ear, low enough so, amidst all that joyous throng only you could hear, "Don't worry Mummy, I shan't stop," I told you and wiggled my fingers.

I drove you on to that orgasm, impaled on my fingers, knowing that my hard cock was pressing into your arse, leaking pre-cum into my pants. You came on 'Nine' as the crowd were counting down, your long low moan lost in the crowd's chanting, but not lost to me. I heard it, I felt it, it was mine, you were mine Cat.

As Big Ben chimed midnight, you turned to me and kissed me fiercely. Our arms around each other's necks we snogged in the New Year. A long, long snog which was just delicious. "Happy New Year Tommy," you told me as you broke away, your palm on my cheek.

"Happy New Year Cat," I replied looking into those crystal eyes and never wanting to look away.

* * * * *

Mother of the Bride. Some mothers throw themselves into it, suffocating their daughter with their love and ideas, others hate the thought as it only reminds them of their own advancing years and their lost youth. It was interesting to watch you respond to this dilemma. It helped remind me that as well as a sensational lover and the sexiest being that had ever drawn breath in my mind, you were also a fantastic Mum to Sara and to me. You did everything that she asked for in an unfussy way and also made sure of the things she didn't know she needed but without being condescending or needy. You knew that the day was about her and Olly not anyone else and you showed her your love by recognising that fact and making sure that everyone else did too. I was so proud that you were my Mum as well as my lover.

Being brother of the bride doesn't hold out many prospects. There isn't a huge amount for one to do. It's customary, of course, to be one of the ushers for the groom but that mainly just involves showing people to their seats on the day. It does also mean that you have to go to the stag night, even though you hardly know any of the groom's friends and they are slightly wary of you as a representative of the other side who can't quite be trusted not to blab to the bride.

The wedding was due to take place the day before Easter at the end of March and I had used the time since New Year to think about our future and to make my plans. I wanted to have things in place before I raised it with you and they did a few weeks before the wedding. I accepted the new job, gave notice at my job in Westminster and took advantage of a weekend where you and Dad went skiing to go flat hunting, putting deposit on a nice two-bedroom rental property that could easily house us both if you agreed to join me. I had agreed to start work on the Tuesday after Easter and I resolved to tell you about it after the wedding. That didn't leave much time but I wanted to go first -- to show you that I was serious and also to cover our tracks. If we left together suddenly then it might raise the suspicions of Dad and others.

On Good Friday, the day before the wedding, the rehearsal in the church was happening and then the two families were going for a quiet meal at a posh restaurant in St Albans. Sara had been home for a few days prior to the wedding and had been a bag of tension and nerves. You had spent a lot of time together, helping to calm and distract her. Dad, of course, had been away until the morning before the rehearsal and so I had been left rather as a spare wheel and hadn't had the chance to take advantage of Dad's absence in my now traditional way of bedding his wife. I therefore felt, what with my own work thatI hadn't seen a great deal of you. That morning you told me to make myself scarce during the day but to make sure I was at the church for 6pm. As neither Sara not Dad had yet appeared, you gave me a very unmotherly kiss and sent me on my way.

There's not a great deal to do in St Albans on a bank holiday but I managed to find enough, helped by a timely visit to the cinema, to fill the time before six. I popped home around five to get changed into chinos and a jacket to look smart for the rehearsal and dinner and then used the fading early spring sunshine to guide me along the familiar path to our local church. We had always been intermittent rather than regular church-goers but like many respectable upper-middle class English families we knew the inside of our local church reasonably well and were on speaking terms with the vicar. The church was bare, it being Good Friday, and the altar had been stripped the night before. It was be re-covered for the wedding but then stripped again before finally being restored on Easter morning.

You and some friends had been busy that afternoon with the flowers and that added some much needed colour and life to the building. My part in the rehearsal was minimal, just learning where to direct people and that gave me plenty of time to lounge around at the back and people watch. You had worked your magic and Sara looked cool, relaxed and happy while Olly looked happy but nervous. Sara had four bridesmaids, two of whom I knew from her school days, the others being university friends that I hadn't met. All were attractive to varying degrees and Olly's Mum was what one would call well preserved but, as ever, I only seemed to have eyes for you and you outshone all the other women there. You were dressed is a royal blue knee length dress. It was high cut to just below your neck so revealed nothing of your cleavage. Instead, the dress swelled around your chest in the most delicious and tempting way that couldn't help but draw one's attention back to it again and again. A thin black patent leather belt cinched in the dress around your waist and I adored the way your hips flared out and the dress sculpted itself around your perfect arse. Your legs, emerging from beneath the blue fabric, were encased in black stockings and black heels with an ankle strap and pointed toe. There's not a huge amount for the mother of the bride to do in the rehearsal either, aside from the bride the traditional wedding ceremony is very male dominated -- the vicar, the father of the bride and the best man all have important roles to play with none for any of the other women. You joined me at the back and we sat in the pew, side by side, knees pressed up against each other, hand in hand, watching our friends and family, sharing an intimate moment that none of them could have guessed at. I gently stroked the inside of your palm and your wrist and, looking over from the corner of my eye, I can see the rise and fall of your chest quicken as you began to breathe more shallowly. Your own eyes, that glorious crystal blue that I loved so much, flicked over at me and a smile played at the corner of those red lips. I suspected that something wicked was running through your mind and I knew it for certain when the rehearsal finished and you said that you and I needed to stay behind to finish off the flowers and that we would join everyone at the restaurant.

For a few minutes after everyone had gone that was exactly what we did do -- dutifully arranging the flowers while my whole body itched to get at you. Watching your arse move in that tightfitting dress while you leant over an arrangement of flowers on your tip toes was agonisingly arousing made all the more so by the fact that you knew exactly what you were doing. Eventually, I could bear it no longer and, positioning myself behind a big stand of flowers I pulled you behind it and into a deep embrace. I gave you a long, searching kiss, one that spoke both of my need and my intentions. You allowed me my kiss but when my hand slid between your nylon thighs, you clamped them closed and pulled away shaking your head.

"Not in here darling," you said softly. I looked disappointed but you smiled and pointed at the CCTV camera over by the East Window. "We don't want to give ourselves away do we? We'll find somewhere more...anonymous on the way," you said with a smile. We left the church arm in arm, my upper arm against the swell of your breast. The sun had set now and the gloom descended, it being that time of year when even a sunny day feels cold when evening falls. As it was Good Friday, the shops had all been closed since five and many pub landlords had decided not to open, a hangover from the days when they couldn't open. The streets were, therefore, pretty empty, especially on the outskirts of the town centre.

As we walked down one of the less fashionable streets you suddenly pulled me into the shop front of an RSPCA charity shop. Grabbing me by the lapels of my jacket you kissed me fiercely, wantonly, electrically my cock responding instantly to your embrace. "You want to fuck me Tommy?" you whispered hoarsely. "Well, do it here and do it now," you told me. Well, that was a gold=plated invitation if ever I'd had one and I wasn't going to refuse. I kissed you again, hard this time, biting your lower lip between my teeth, pushing you back against the glass of the shop window. Your hands were down by your side, palms pressed against the glass, fingers outspread, back arched towards me. My own hands were on your generous hips, pulled you into my erection, making you feel how much I wanted you. Then I felt your hands at my zip "Don't waste time darling, we don't have much time," you said as your blue-painted nails disappeared inside and your fingers closed around my hard cock, roughly pulling it out from its hiding place. You looked from it up to my face, hunger in your own eyes and a wicked smile played again on those lips. "Fuck me from behind Tom," you told me.

I spun you around and you pressed your hand up against the glass, opening your legs to steady yourself and pushing your arse out towards me. My hands lifted the hem of your dress and hitched it up over your thighs and arse until it rucked up in the small of your back, exposing your creamy arse cheeks framed delightfully by your black suspender belt and divided by a thin flash of black lace that nestled in the crack of your arse before flaring out to cover your pussy lips. Hurriedly, I pulled the thong aside, no time to pull it down, and in one movement drew my cock back and then drove it home. Your pussy lips opened and swallowed me whole, so damp were you. How could we turn each other on so much, I wondered, that we seemed to exist in a permanent state of readiness for each other. I didn't have the chance to wonder that for very long as the sensations engendered by the slick folds of my mother's pussy have a tendency to destroy the capacity for rational thought and reflection. Instead I focused on fucking you Cat -- no tender Christmas love making by the fire or cheeky New Year's Eve fingering, no, this was raw hard fucking, a son bending his mother over a shop front and fucking her from behind. Fuck it felt good didn't it though. I could see the pleasure in your face reflected in the glass of the shop, your mouth open your eyes staring ahead at nothing, half a laugh in your throat at the sheer reckless danger of this all. We had thrown all caution to the wind and were simply revelling in the pleasure that we brought each other.

You looked back at me over your shoulder and your eyes flashed with the primal joy of an older woman who owns body and soul the young man who is fucking her. "Give it to me darling," you ordered, "Give it to Mummy hard and fast like you want to." You were right, of course I did want to and I obeyed. I fucked you like an animal in heat, looking back it was partly fear that made me fuck you like that -- fear that this might be one of the last chances I had before I left and you might not follow me. I wasn't thinking that, then though, I couldn't think of anything but your cunt muscles squeezing me the slick juices that eased my movements in and out of you and the need to dig my fingers into your arse cheeks and hips as I held you in position and gave you the fucking that you needed.

I came with a low growl, I wanted to roar but couldn't because of our exposure. I heard you hiss with pleasure as my cum pumped into your pussy and I could feel your muscles milking me, drawing as much of my incestuous fluid back to the place where I was made and born. Its tribute paid my cock shrank back to its normal size and consistency and I slipped it from it spiritual home and back into my pants. You slid the lace thong back into place, pulled your dress back into place and used your hands to smooth it down. You used the glass from the shop to adjust your hair and then turned back and smiled at me. "Ready?" you asked as if nothing had happened, as if we hadn't just been going at it like animals, as if I couldn't still see the palm print against the window pane. God, what a woman I thought and took your arm. We reached the restaurant a few minutes later. Everyone looked up from their menus and smiled. I took my place down the end of the table, with the other ushers, while you slipped in next to Dad and Olly's father. I couldn't help but wonder, as you sat down and adjusted your position, whether some of my cum had seeped out into your knickers as you chatted charmingly to Sara's future father-in-law. My mother, my woman I thought with a surging, fierce pride.