Isabella's Fella

Isabella smiled. "I told you it wouldn't be a problem mixing Luz's juices with mine."

They soon fell asleep. He was the first to awake, a little before 10 PM. He sat on the edge of his mother's bed, aglow with intense male conquest and glory. He had had fevered sex with two gorgeous women, separately, in the same day. Michael cast a glance over his left shoulder at the sleeping form of his naked mother lying on her back. The starlet-like beauty of her face, the bountiful breasts now rising and falling with her steady breathing, and the supple thighs were spread in sleep as they were when she was awake.

She is smoking hot and an incredible fuck, he surmised. And she's my mom.

Michael initially felt a twisted pride, at being able to do what most boys have thought about at least once in their life. That pride was soon being overtaken by guilt. He had sex with his parent, a no-no by society's standards. The transformation to guilt increased as he sat there gazing at the luscious but forbidden shape next to him. His gaze encompassed her from her black hair which was splayed sexily on her pillow to the tips of her red-painted toenails which pointed to the ceiling.

The son soon knew there would be no way he could resist his mother. Unless she awoke with a completely changed mind, he would not be able to say no to her attraction for him. She was a five-star cougar, and what normal boy in his late teens could say "no" to the prospect or actuality of getting laid with such a woman. Michael also feared his initiating further sexual acts with Isabella, specifically concerned he would begin to relish in the incestuous aspect of those futuristic encounters. This fear began to take root in his thinking as he didn't feel bad about cheating on Luz. He summarized this was due to his start of liking consensual incest.

Michael believed he had to leave. Moving out, perhaps to another state, wouldn't do. He had to really leave. He turned away from his mother and stared ahead at the opposite wall. The 18 year old rubbed his eyes, then ran he fingers through his wavy hair. He pondered. Then he decided: the military. He would join the military, probably the Marines. He raised himself off the bed, and padded to his room. He lay on the bed, waiting for sleep. It would be an almost two hour wait.

Isabella slept more because of the joyous pounding she got from Michael. Her eyes flickered open and she glanced at the clock on the night table to her left. 12:47. She then looked and saw the empty space in her bed. The sleepy parent was a little disappointed her forbidden lover wasn't still by her side, but she mostly felt complete sexual satisfaction and a magnificent thrill. After a lengthy physical drought, she got an Oscar-winning fuck by a young stud. The fact that it was her gorgeously built son had her mind and body electrified. She felt no shame what so ever. In fact, she began wondering how she would be able to share him with his girlfriend, Luz.

The brunette needed to go to the bathroom. Still naked, she slipped into the hallway. She peered into Michael's room. She smiled with pride at his nude, still shape. He snored ever so slightly. She studied his mouth and wondered how he was at cunnilingus. Her mind created an image of him sitting at the kitchen table eating his Wheaties. She sauntered in wearing her flowing, blue silk robe which was open. She moved like a cat. She picked up his bowl and took his spoon, moving them to the sink, much to her son's surprise. She then returned to the table, promptly sat on it facing her son, and seductively spread open her long sleek legs, and huskily said, "This is the real breakfast of champions." She watched as Michael's face went from surprised at being robbed of his cereal and spoon to having a bugged-out look as he eyes lowered to her naked muff. Its open, pink lips were distended and shiny with oncoming wetness. The black field of pubic hair was short and trimmed. The brewing musk made his nostrils flare. He ended his stare by lowering his head between his mother's thighs, mouth open, with tongue jutting out.

"Aahhh," Isabella sighed, tossing her head back and closing her eyes, as Michael's tongue made first contact with her eager labia.

Her maxed-out bladder broke the taboo image. She turned out of her son's room. After returning to her room from the bathroom, she set her alarm for work, and went back to bed. She gleefully rustled her back and bum into the mattress, much like a cat does when it is happy. And also like a happy cat, she smiled as if the proverbial canary had been eaten.

At work Isabella was walking on air. Nothing bothered her, and everything was right. More than once her vagina tingled with anticipation at another go-round with Michael's manhood. When her boss stated the filings for a client had to be unexpectedly completed that night, she did not do her usual internal pouting at being given a last-minute thing to do. She was too happy to care. She just picked up the phone and called her son. She got the answering machine.

"Hi, baby. I just got the Finley account papers thrown in my lap. They have to be completed tonight. I should only be an hour or so late. Sorry, love. Order a pizza if you want. I'll see you when I get home." Then she changed her tone to a husky sound. "Byyyye."

The Italian beauty returned home almost at 8, practically skipping through the door.

"Mikey," she sang, "I'm home." Once again, her sex tingled.

There was no reply, no Mikey, and no sounds.

"Mikey, baby. Momma's home," she announced coyly. Still, nothing.

It would have been nice if he called and let me know he wasn't going to be home.

Isabella's stomach startled to gurgle, signaling hunger. She headed for the kitchen.

Maybe he's breaking it off with Luz, she gleefully considered.

She turned on the kitchen light. Her eyes immediately saw the piece of paper propped against the fruit bowl in the center of the table. She moved toward it, dropping her purse on the table. She picked up the single sheet.

Dear Mom,

Yesterday was absolutely incredible. I had never been so turned on in my life when you were watching me and Luz...that is, until you and I had sex. I felt so turned on, hornier, harder—never before like this, literally, in my life. And that's where the problem is.

Mom, you are smoking hot—your looks, your body, the way you fuck. I must admit I could never say no to you. I could never resist you. In fact, I would want to make love to you over and over again. But I can let this happen again. I am sorry. It's the incest thing; I fear I would end up enjoying it. I could tell by the way you said "Bye" on your message you're getting into it.

I am going to enlist with the Marines. I am truly sorry I am doing this, and doing it this way. Please forgive me. I could never say "I'm leaving" to you in person. I would see your beauty, your sexuality, your motherly love, and never be able to stay away from you. Again, I am very sorry.

I am going to Luz's and say "Goodbye" to her too. Honestly, it is far more difficult saying this to you then to her.

I love you, Mom. And I am sorry.

Love,

Michael

Isabella, still looking at the piece of paper, crumpled it with both hands. She began sobbing, tears rolling freely down her cheeks dotting the table and note. She went from sobbing to wailing.

"Michael!!!!!!!!!!!"

Her cries echoed throughout the silent house.

Michael's reasoning for his sudden departure to Luz was his patriotism. The Latina was saddened and bewildered by this unexpected turn of events. She also cried, but nowhere near as much or as emotionally as Isabella.

So Michael Faso became a US Marine. He eventually spoke with his mother, letting her know he was ok. She seemed relieved to hear from him and was tempted to ask "Why?" but she bit her tongue. Later, when it was determined he was going to Iraq and he relayed this to Isabella, his heart broke when she cried aloud.

In Iraq Michael was introduced to combat, up close and personal. He was fired upon, and he fired back. Guys next to him or close by were shot dead. Some were killed by IED's (Improvised Explosive Devices), their body parts strewed across the desert sand. He also saw many of the enemy go down. He endured scorching days that would make downtown Phoenix in August seem like the North Pole.

Sometimes during a firefight, and frequently when he was in camp, the image of his beautiful mother crossed his tattered mind. The question, "Why the hell did I leave?" crept into his mind during one night-time battle. The question took root in his subconscious and grew, to the point where he asked it daily to himself. Because she is your mother, and you're not supposed to fuck your mother, was the response. His mind questioned and answered itself constantly, frequently during actual combat.

The horrors of war gradually gnawed at the answer of his mental Q&A. It was a slow gnaw. However, Because she is your mother, and you're not supposed to fuck your mother as the sole foundation for him being a Marine fighting in the Middle East, began to crumble. This foundation was weakening more and more with every buddy killed or wounded, every close call, every inferno-like day and, soon, even after enemy kills.

The mental foundation also was weakened when, alone at night, Michael's natural male physical tendencies took flight and his penis throbbed. His mind and body yearned for the illicit delight and comfort of his desirable mother.

After months of no communication, Michael began writing to Isabella. Strangely, he did not address the letter with "Mom." He used her first name and maiden name. The stateside parent was immensely relived to get the first letter. She didn't even wonder why he wrote her maiden name. She was just grateful he was alive, unharmed, and had reopened the lines of communication with her.

Their communication became more frequent over the next year. The young Italian was thrilled to get letters from his mother. He told his friend she was his girlfriend. When he received a requested picture of her—nothing at all sexy—and his mates saw it, there were hoots and howls of "MILF!"

Because she is your mother, and you're not supposed to fuck your mother was finally removed from Michael's reasoning as a result of one intense battle. The Marines were taking fire and their lieutenant, a man who Michael had grown to respect, was killed during a charge by insurgents. This along with the way the officer fell—his head literally exploding into shards of bone, blood and grey matter—affected Michael immensely. After he was rescued by Air Calvary, Michael no longer cared that he had fucked his mother. He didn't care that you're not supposed to do this. He just wanted to safely get back home, to her, and screw her and love her.

At Camp Pendleton, the time-honor tradition of cheering returning soldiers was in full swing. Men and women in uniform were reunited with spouses, children, and other family members. There were smiles, hugs, kisses, tears, and yells of people's name. Michael watched as many of his comrades were seeing their families and friends for the first time in a very long while. He wore his green fatigues, along with an anticipatory smile. He was scanning the crows for his mother, Isabella. Michael was looking around like a dog tied to a hydrant while the owner is in a store. At first he didn't spot her, then he couldn't help but see the gorgeous, curvaceous figure in the crowd. She had already spotted him and was wading through the people toward him.

Her black hair, slightly wavy on the sides of her face and reaching to just past her shoulders, appeared to flow like a horse's mane. Just a touch of make-up adored her face. Fuchsia was the color of her lipstick. She wore a violet, satiny one piece dress which was more like a second skin rather than a garment. The sleeveless top had been created with cleavage in mind. Isabella's large, braless tits moved with little constraint in the flimsy material. Her pink, pebble-like nipples shimmied deliciously back and forth against the inside of the top, adding to the twin peaks' excitement.

The mid-thigh length of the skirt offered more than a copious view of her long, shapely legs. Her well-toned thighs and calves were bare—no nylon. Her pretty feet were encased in 4 inch black leather heels. The generous slit in the skirt offered more to see as she walked. She actually sauntered, her heart-shaped ass and flared hips rolling like ocean waves.

Their eyes met and their smiles were wide. He moved to her, she to him. They met, he dropping his duffle bag, and wrapping his arms around her. She wrapped her arms around him, and the embrace was fiercely tight at first. Then it loosened, and their lips crushed together. The kiss was one of happiness and hunger. The lips undulated, hers soon parting to allow her tongue to slither into her son's mouth. He immediately responded, sucking on the tip of it, and brushing his invigorated groin and against her lap.

Realizing they both needed to keep this greeting at least a PG-13 rating, Isabella withdrew her tongue and restrained herself from pushing up against Michael's growing member. He also lowered the intensity, now allowing the normal emotions of surviving a war to course through his body. The hunger for long-lost illicit sex was transformed into tears. They first started rolling down his face, then hers.

"Hi, Isabella," he sniffled.

"Hi, my baby," she responded.

They kissed again and then broke it off, just to look into each other's eyes. Michael saw several feet behind her his battle mate, O'Grady, standing in shock with bugged-out eyes and his mouth wide-open. He mouthed to Faso, "Isabella?" Michael nodded with a sly grin. To which his friend mouthed, "Wow!" and flashed a thumbs up.

The young Marine returned his gaze to his mother's. More tears seemed to be flowing out of her beautiful, dark eyes. "You're home. You're not injured," she cried. "You're home. You're home," she repeated. Her gaze on him became intent. "And you're mine."

"Yes—" he wanted to say 'Mom' but didn't want anyone to hear it. "Yes, Isabella. I am home. And I am yours."

Mother and son, unbeknownst to anyone at the base, returned to being in each other's arms and kissed.

Michael and Isabella made their way to the camp parking lot holding hands. The sexy brunette caused much whiplash amongst the returning and stationed troops. She led him to her rental car, a 2010 royal blue Cadillac DTS. She beeped open the doors and handed her son the keys. Maintaining eye contact with him Isabella, flashing a seductive grin, slid into the front passenger seat. Her skirt pulled up her legs, revealing her smooth thighs. They slowly parted. A pair of white silk panties tightly hugged the pouch of her vagina. She secretly relished how the young vet's Adam's apple bobbed up and down and his eyes seemed to zoom out of the sockets. She closed her legs and the door. Michael opened the drunk, threw his duffle bag in, closed the trunk and practically skipped to the driver's door. The Caddy pealed out and off the military base, and headed for Highway 101.

The car was soon parked in a secluded section of land off the highway. Isabella and Michael were locked in an intense and hungry kiss. Their lips were ravenous to each other, pressing hard, sliding, gently pulling.

"Mmmm, baby," Isabella cooed.

The intensity and hunger increased as Michael, groaned "Oh, Mom," and jabbed his tongue into her eager mouth. Her lips voraciously sucked on the welcomed intruder. When his tongue pulled out, his mother's followed, pressing into his mouth. He sucked on her tongue and heard her moan. The kiss and tongue-twirl went on and on, breaking only once for "I miss you" 's to be exchanged.

The illicit couple's hands were also eagerly busy, sliding up and down each other's bodies. Isabella's right hand moved to his crotch and palmed the erection within his fatigue pants. It overjoyously jumped, then throbbed. She rubbed and grasped the cloth-covered protrusion. Michael broke the tonguing to emit a deep and grateful moan.

Michael's left hand slide under portion of the dress top which (barely) covered Isabella's breast. He squeezed it.

"Ahhhh, Mikey."

He cupped the heavy mammary, feeling the fullness and the warmth of her flesh. It felt scintillating. The point of her hardened nipple almost burned his palm through the fabric.

Isabella was on her way to nirvana. Her son was home safe, good-looking as ever, and harder than Chinese algebra. Her breast was being treated to a hand that wasn't her own, and her sex lips were getting swollen while her juices started brewing. She moved fast, breaking away from Michael and sent her hands to the back of her dress. The next sound in the car, besides their mutual heavy breathing, was the sound of the zipper being tugged down. The horny parent opened the top of the dress and shrugged it down off her shoulders, revealing to him her buxom breasts in all their naked glory.

"Ohh," he uttered, transfixed on his mother's mouthwatering tits which rose and fell with each of her labored breaths.

"They missed you," Isabella encouraged. She arched her back, highlighting their fullness and hardened tips.

The Marine's head dropped like a stone onto the closest nipple. He sucked in between his lips the large pink aureole, sending a shock of pleasure throughout Isabella.

"Oh, yes, my baby boy! Suck my tits!" she moaned. "Suck Mommy's nipples. Love 'em, just like when you were a baby. Love 'em! Suck 'em!"

That's exactly what Michael did. He orally adored his mother's rack. He kissed, licked, suckled—with forbidden sexual hunger. He kissed the fronts of both quivering breasts, licked their half-moon contours, and suckled the excited teats.

"Michael that feels sooo good!"

The stud son slurped away. "Mrrpphh."

"Suck momma's tits! Suck momma's tits!" she lustily urged.

Michael worshipped from the left to the right, from the right to the left, over and over. He took as much of each of her fleshy orbs into his mouth and sucked it. Isabella's bust felt like it was on fire. The touch of his lips and tongue had her swooning and writhing. Her breathing was asthmatic-like.

The lusty Marine added caressing and fondling the breasts, and fingering the nipples to his incestuous repertoire.

"Squeeze 'em, Michael! Squeeze 'em. Pinch the nipples. It feels great! Mommy's tits are all yours!" The one-two approach of her son's mouth and hands on her boobs increased Isabella's squirming in the front seat.

He pushed his face into the spacious cleavage. He alternated between kissing and lapping it. There was a slight taste of perspiration, and a hint of Calvin Klein's Eternity. Michael gave another round of hefty squeezes to each breast.

"Mom, your tits feel so wonderful," he groaned.

All this taboo treatment of her mammaries had the brunette's cunt soaring. The labia were engorged, and juice was cascading steadily into her panties. The smell of her sex also increased, wafting throughout the automobile. Its growing pungency hit Michael's nostrils like a two-by-four. He quickly pulled back from her chest.

"Let's get out!" he advised, opening his door.

Isabella was shocked and disappointed. Her face showed it. She was stunned at his sudden departure first from her chest and then the car.

"Michael, what are you doing?" She watched as he ran around the front of the car to her side. He opened her door.

"Mom, please get out."

She remained seated, with the top of her dress down to the waist and her massive boobs on display in the late afternoon.

"Please, Mom," he pleaded again.

She sat still, but then relented, slipping out of the car. Michael took her wrist and led her to the back of the car. Her breasts jiggled and her heels clicked along the smooth pavement. It began to dawn on her what he was doing.