My Mother My Lover Ch. 01

When we prepared for bed she seemed to take a little longer than usual to get ready. Unusually, she told me to get into bed first and I lay waiting for her in the darkness.

When she came into the room I could see that she was wearing the top of the pyjamas that I had bought her. She was naked beneath, her breasts hanging softly below the fabric. I didn't understand why but there was something even more enticing about this than actually seeing her unclothed. The top reached just down to the upper part of her thighs. I could see the creamy whiteness of her skin beneath and I felt instantly that she had dressed in this way for my benefit and not hers.

That knowledge was the most incredible thing that she could have done and in that instant, and with that choice, she had reshaped the nature of our tryst. This was a woman who wanted to share the excitement of sex with her partner and who had dressed to please him. The fact that her partner was her own child meant that this she had made a choice that others would not.

She sat on the side of the bed and looked at me before kissing me. Her kiss was light, not passionate, just a gentle brushing of my lips. She looked at me again, holding my face in her hands. Her expression was blank and I waited for a few seconds but she didn't speak. I hadn't expected her to. I knew that this was different to the way in which she had come to me in the past and I was turned on by the tension between us and the sense of her so close to me.

I slowly moved my hand to place it on the soft skin of her thigh and nervously slid my fingers over her skin to the place between her legs that I knew she loved me to reach. This was the first time that I had touched her vagina without her offering it to me and I had no way of knowing how she would receive this. She placed her hand over mine and drew it onto her, my fingers finding that she was already wet.

We stayed like that for a while. I touched her in the way that she had taught me to and she opened her legs a little to let me press my fingers slightly inside of her. Eventually, she put her hand to the back of my head and pulled my face towards her breasts as I continued to finger her. She was still in a sitting position.

My lips found her nipple as I kissed through the fabric of her top. Instinct took over as I began to suck and I was amazed at how she stiffened instantly at the contact. She began to guide the movement of my head and in turn the movement of my mouth. I could tell that she was taking enjoyment from what I was doing. This was my first real introduction to the mental delight of knowing that you are giving another person sexual pleasure.

By now I had stopped the movement of my hand and was focused on sucking her. The silk of her top was soaking wet from my mouth and created a flimsy barrier between my lips and her breast. She reached down to unfasten it and we parted momentarily as she opened it, before guiding my face back to her. I sucked at the warm bare flesh of her and she gripped my hair as if to encourage me to increase the pressure.

When she spoke it was quiet, broken words punctuated with short gasps and the softness of her voice seemed to cast just a shadow of words through the silence of the room.

"That's beautiful my darling, it's beautiful. I love you doing that. I wish that had milk for you, I wish that I could give you my milk my darling."

What she said took me aback. Until now neither of us had ever vocally expressed pleasure at the incestuous urges that we both so obviously felt, but she made those urges real in what she said. She was confirming that I was her child and that she was taking sexual pleasure from something that otherwise represented the simplest and most natural of bonds. When she said it I realised instantly that the thing which made this so intensely sensual for me was not just the taste and feel of a beautiful woman's breast, but the knowing that I was sucking the body of my own mother and that we were both experiencing an erotic thrill from what I was doing.

If she was leading me into a deeply dark place of forbidden bliss, then I was a willing participant and I gladly made my own choice to follow her. Eventually she drew back from me and held my face in her hands again. I pressed my lips against the skin of her palms and touched my fingers to the skin of her body. She turned slightly from me and moved to open the drawer at the side of the bed. This was one of the places that I had secretly searched in the past and I watched as her hand reached through the garments and things that she kept there.

I don't know why I had forgotten about them, but I was surprised when I saw her bring out the box of condoms that she kept there.

I watched as, without looking at me, she unwrapped the cover and opened the box. It was such a mundane and tiny thing to do and yet it signified something important. Still without looking at my face, she tore the cover from the sachet and squeezed out the rubber sheath. She drew back the quilt from the bed and I felt the gentle touch of her fingers brushing over me as she placed the condom over the wet tip of my erection and expertly rolled it down over my shaft.

Now she at last looked into my face as she spent a little time just pressing her fingers around me, a mixture of the practicalities of making sure that the condom was firmly in place and of touching me in a way which confirmed my readiness for sex.

It occurred to me that she was seeking some sort of reassurance from me before she went any further. Her eyes looked into mine and I thought that I could see just a shade of doubt or nervousness. I had no idea what to say or do but I knew that I didn't want her to stop. I placed my hand on hers and moved it slightly against my penis, trying to transmit to her my need and willingness for this.

When she moved she made no attempt to remove the loose hanging silk top she was wearing. I could see the soft plushness of the pubic hair at the centre of her as climbed across me and then felt the weight of her as she moved across my lap, still facing me. My penis slid into her as she guided me between her legs and I realised that I was about to know how it felt to make love properly for the first time.

She held my head against her shoulder as she moved slowly up and down on me. My own hands rested around her waist and back and I could feel the shallow rise and fall of her hips as she gave me her body. With each movement of her, I felt a tremor of pleasure rush up through my own body. I wasn't conscious of her reaction to what we were doing but could feel her hands at my head and neck as she steadied herself on my body.

She seemed fragile as she slid herself smoothly up and down me and I was aware of how tight her insides felt as she wrapped them around the fullness of me. But if, in my naïve inexperience, I had wanted to ease back from her in the fear of causing her any pressure then I would have been unable to take any sort of control. Whether this was for her own or for my pleasure was irrelevant, she was controlling the movement between us and in doing so she was leading me towards my orgasm.

When it came it was rushed and full. She made no sound but I gave sharp and audible exhalations of breath as the sperm pumped up and through me. She felt the start of my release and squeezed the floor of her pelvis tightly around me in what I now know was a simple technique to increase the power of my orgasm.

Although I didn't realise the intricacies of how she was using her body to give me the most she could, I think that I did understand that she was making choices about the physical sensations that I was experiencing. That knowledge must have triggered something deep in my mind as the reality of my mother screwing me like this pushed me into a deep and tumultuous feeling of sexual pleasure.

Afterwards she took over the necessary, and I suppose messy, business of separating our bodies and removing the condom full of my fluid. I don't think she had herself climaxed but that wasn't anything that would have concerned me as I lay back against the pillow.

She took me in her arms and held me as I came to terms with the experience of that first time with her. Neither of us said anything. Being with her like this was not a new experience for me even if what had just happened was. My mind was empty and the pleasant exhaustion of having made love dragged me into sleep.

The next morning when I woke she was already up and about. When I went downstairs she was preparing breakfast and was her usual smiling and beautiful self. She made no mention of the night before and to anyone looking in on this scene there would have seemed nothing unusual as we went about the normal routine of a mother and son.

To me it seemed that nothing had changed, even though everything had. Whatever fumbled and daring games we had played before this meant little now. We had become lovers.