Rich's Mum Ch. 02: Conclusion

Priscilla smiled. "You're finding all my little secrets tonight, aren't you?" She took hold of his hand and tugged him towards the bed. "How do you want me?" she asked, as she climbed onto the bed, kneeling away from him, offering her opening to him doggy-style.

Once again, Mark restrained himself. He didn't want just to fuck her like an animal. He wanted... he wanted to give her something... to make her realise...

He was being silly.

"No," he said. "Not like..." He swallowed nervously. "On your back. Please."

Smiling, Priscilla did as he requested. She parted her legs for him. He followed her onto the bed, kneeling in front of her, a callow acolyte worshipping at the altar of her experience. Angie had never been like this, never confident enough to offer herself to him fully in the half-light, to let him encompass her with his hungry, yearning gaze. Priscilla was utterly different, almost as if she were a different kind of creature altogether.

"You're beautiful," he breathed. She smiled up at him.

He bent over her sex, rubbing his thumb over her outer lips, revelling in their slick fleshy texture. Her flesh was already swollen and damp; the smear of pink between them glistened wetly. In its centre, a small dot of darkness winked at him with an irregular, mysterious rhythm. Like a pilgrim prostrating himself in prayer at the shrine at which, after a long journey, he had finally arrived, he lowered his head and kissed her cunt.

Her scent, rich and heady and thick with animal lust, enveloped him and the sharp tang of her overwhelmed his taste buds. His lips kissed hers once, twice; his tongue licked them and the taste of her, tart and exhilarating, made him shudder with pleasure. Her answering moan was gratifying, but not enough for him. He wanted her body to twist and shiver at his touch; he wanted her to, if not love him, then at least appreciate him. He didn't want just to take from her. He wanted her to know that.

But, she was intoxicating. He thrust his head further forward, aware suddenly that this was the place from which the best friend he had ever had had emerged, bawling and crying, into the world. The thought both stunned and excited him. He licked and probed with renewed vigour, not neglecting the hard nub of flesh that rested at the apex of her slit.

She moaned again, more forcefully this time. "Mark," she breathed, and the desire in that syllable made him proud, and stoked the flames of an answering desire in his own body.

His hands came up and around each of her thighs, gripping them and forcing them even further apart. Like a delicate flower, her cunt opened up to him and its pinkness shifted and reformed, becoming a slick, fleshy tunnel at the end of which a larger darkness gaped lewdly. He probed further with his tongue, tasting as deeply as he could. And all the while, Mrs Macauley - no, Priscilla - gasped and sighed and took irregular, ragged breaths.

"Mark..." She reached down with her hand, stroking his head roughly. "Mark..."

He lapped at her cunt, buried his face in it until her juices streaked his nose and cheek and chin. Her pelvis lifted from the bed briefly before crashing back down; her thighs quivered with a dangerous tension.

"Mark!"

Something in her voice pulled his head up. Lost in the sensual landscape of her body, it took him a moment or two to focus on her face. It was drawn, desperate.

"Fuck me," she gasped. "Fuck me now."

He licked her juices from his lips and awkwardly moved forward until his cock was poised over the opening on which he had just lavished so much attention. Priscilla stroked his arm fiercely.

"I want you..." she said, her voice shaking. "Want you now..."

He leaned forward until his face was above hers, hands planted either side of her head, bearing his weight. His body formed a canopy under which hers shivered and sweated in barely restrained anticipation. Her blue eyes shone as she gazed up at him.

Such longing. Such need in those eyes.

He slid the head of his cock into her and her wetness and tightness and warmth began to envelop him. Underneath him, she strained up to kiss him. As he returned her kiss, his cock slid into her some more and he began to move it in, out, in, out. Slowly, deliberately. She shifted beneath him, raising her legs behind him to give him deeper access to her cunt.

The sensation of fulness, of completeness, was almost overwhelming and he slowed right down. Instead of sawing in and out of her, he began to grind his sex against hers slowly, teasingly. She clutched at him fiercely and broke for breath. Her panting was loud in his ear; her grip on his shoulders, his waist, his cock was tight. He half-pulled out and she growled warningly. The long slow plunge back in saw the growl turn into a low sigh of satisfaction.

Shifting his weight to his left arm, he cupped her breast with his right hand, squeezing, stroking, manipulating - even as he increased the pace of his fucking.

She closed her eyes and he kissed her eyelids, her cheek, her neck. A curious cat-like mewing sound emerged from her, part approval, part yearning, all pleasure. Her fingernails scratched at his upper back and he fucked her harder, his lower body slapping against hers, the impacts sending the bed rocking.

In, out, in, out.

He felt an incredible warmth swell in his chest. He stroked her cheek gently with his free hand but whether she felt that gesture or not he didn't know. Eyes closed and body aligned almost perfectly with his desire, she was simply too lost in the sensations of his cock plunging in and out of her to notice.

In, out, in, out.

He thought of Rich in the room down the hall. Thought of him doing this to his own mother... how many times? It didn't matter. This was now and now, in this moment, Priscilla was under him, shaking and shuddering and moaning and murmuring and clutching madly at his cock with her hot, slick cunt.

In, out, in...

As if afflicted by a terrible seizure, Priscilla's body stiffened and her eyes flew open, although Mark knew that she was not seeing his face just inches above her. He felt his own pressure building, pushing him to the edge of a chasm into which he would gladly, knowingly, uncaringly leap. He ground against her as she came and then, with a handful of long, deep strokes, climaxed himself, his cock unleashing semen into her in spurt after spurt of white hot fluid. Around his cock her cunt flexed and spasmed and her throat unleashed a roar of exultation that almost deafened him.

Utterly spent, he collapsed into her arms and the two held each other, still joined, still lovers, still together.

Eventually...

"Thank you, love." Her voice was spent too, it seemed. Only a whispering ghost of it remained. He kissed her forehead, brought his arm up around her shoulders, shifted on the bed, whose once-ordered covers were now chaotic and damp. Her skin was sweaty and her hair unruly, but her face beamed up at him and his heart leaped and fluttered within his chest at the sight.

"Priscilla, I..." The smile on her face faded a little. "You're so beautiful."

"You young men and your flattery," she said lightly. Her finger traced a path down his chest, his stomach his abdomen. She cupped his now entirely flaccid penis and slack testicles in her hand. "You certainly know what you're doing with this..."

Another surge of pride. He lay back, blinking, trying to understand what they had just done together. She snuggled her head into his chest and then shivered slightly.

"We'd better get under the covers," she whispered.

"I thought you were..."

"Yes?"

"I thought you were going back..."

She smiled sadly. "Later, maybe. Rich will be alright for now." That curious mixture of maternal care and wanton lasciviousness reappeared in her eyes. "Come on, Mark. Let's get tucked in."

With some awkward manoeuvring and a certain amount of childish giggling, the pair of them soon found themselves under the covers and holding one another. Mark couldn't keep his hands still, stroking her bare skin with questing, possessive hands. For her part, Priscilla was content to be held and fondled by him, curling into him, her head resting on his shoulder, hands clasped against her chest, knees drawn up a little. He sighed.

"I love you, Priscilla." She stiffened slightly in his embrace, but he carried on. "I know what you said, but I can't help it and I know you can't... I mean, I don't think you can..."

She shifted her head so she could look at him, searchingly, her eyes warm but sombre, her expression carefully neutral.

"It doesn't matter," he said simply. "I've fancied you for ages and now..."

She kissed him then, softly and tenderly. "Get to sleep, Mark." She stroked his hair in a gesture that could have been maternal. Or something else. "I know what you're trying to say and I appreciate it. But, we'll talk in the morning." She smiled again, then, a smile he hadn't seen before. A smile that said the conversation was over. For now.

He felt a stab of disappointment at that, but the bed was comfortable, the pillows were soft and he felt incredibly tired. And his best friend's mother was naked in his arms, resting herself against his bare flesh. Prompted by Priscilla, he turned out the bedside lamp and she did the same to the other one, before returning to her place snuggled up against him.

In the darkness that smelled of perfume and sweat and fierce shattering sex, he let her warmth and his tiredness settle on his limbs and was soon in a deep and satisfied sleep.

*****

He woke in darkness in a strange bed and it took him a few seconds to realise he was alone. He couldn't tell what time it was, but it was still dark outside and the central heating had yet to come on. He fumbled for the lamp on the bedside table, fingers brushing against an assortment of feminine accessories - jewellery, tissues, deodorant and fragrance sprays, a solitary ear ring - before finding the switch.

Light, subdued and golden, revealed what he had already suspected. At some point in the night, Priscilla had left him. There was only one place she could be.

He sat up and listened intently. He couldn't hear anything from the rooms on the landing. In fact, he couldn't hear anything at all. The house was silent. He glanced at the dressing table just in front of the window, took note of the brush, make up set and hairdryer on its surface, saw the bed he was in reflected dimly in the mirror above it. On the back of the door hung dressing gowns and a garment bag. In front of the wardrobe, the fluffy pink slippers were arranged neatly.

He considered the other side of the bed thoughtfully. He had never met a Mr Macauley and Rich had never mentioned him. There was certainly no sign of him in this room. It was overwhelmingly feminine and, while its counterpart was cluttered with oddments and jewellery, the surface of the little table on the far side of the bed was bare, apart from a lamp and a bowl of pot pourri that looked like it had seen better days.

Mark sighed. He felt like an adventurer in one of his role-playing games, waking up in the dragon's treasure store, only to find the most valuable prize of all missing.

Something fluttered in his gut and he thought of Priscilla, of what she had said before they'd fallen asleep. He thought of her resting in his arms, of her hair brushing against his chest, of her breath warming his skin. Most of all, though, he thought of the moistness and heat of her that had enfolded that most intimate part of him, caressing, squeezing and grasping at it with a passion he hadn't anticipated. He thought, too, of the loud cry she had given, a cry that had been torn from the very core of her being.

The fluttering in his gut grew stronger as he swung his legs out of the bed and stood up. Taking a deep breath, he made his way to the door, opened it and stepped out onto the landing.

*****

He heard the moaning almost as soon as he set foot on the landing and it grew more distinct as he moved towards Rich's room. It was Priscilla's voice, thick with desire and an unmistakeable carnal enjoyment. When he got to the door, he paused. He wanted to see, but also dreaded seeing. He knew what Priscilla had said, but seeing her with Rich...

The door was already partially open, but he would have to push it another two or three inches wider if he was going to satisfy his curiosity. A cruel sliver of ice twisted viciously in his abdomen, but his decision had been made when he'd first awakened and seen her gone.

Gingerly, he pushed at the wooden door.

"Yesssssss..."

Priscilla's voice, and punctuating it, soft rhythmic slapping sounds. The light from the bedside lamp softly illuminating...

"Ohhhhhhh..."

... figures on Rich's bed. On all fours, pert rear thrust into the air, head lowered, hair partly veiling a face on which Mark knew would be etched a dark, transgressive pleasure...

"Ohhhhhh, my baby..."

... Priscilla. Flushed skin moist with sweat, the fingernails that had scratched his back now clawing at the bed sheets. Behind her...

"Baby..."

... Rich, palely naked, eyes closed in ecstasy, looming over his mother's body, hands grasping her hips as he pulled and thrust, pulled and thrust. Slap. Slap...

"Ohhhhhh..."

Mark was naked too. But his role in this had been prescribed for him. He longed to enter, to stride over to her, to take his cock - and how hard it was as he watched mother and son copulate! - and thrust it into her mouth, to feel her take it willingly, moaning around it, choking on it, even as her child filled her cunt with his rigid flesh. Slap. Slap...

"Ohhhhh, Riiiiiiitchie..."

But the sensation that he had felt earlier on, watching Rich's hand on his mother's breast, seeing them kiss - not as mother and son, but as practised lovers - was so great here that it paralysed him. He could not enter; he could not intrude. He could only watch as his friend screwed his own mother, taking her from behind, ramming his cock into her, stretching her, pleasing her, fucking her.

Slap, slap...

The regular rhythm, insistent, relentless. The quick gasps, the sound of the rocking bed, the bodies joined and directed by a shared instinct, a single burning need.

"Son..." Priscilla said. "My wonderful... son..."

He slowed then, did Rich, bending over her slightly, grinding his cock into her, reaching under her to feel a hanging breast and tweak its nipple roughly.

Another gasp.

"Oh, goooooood..."

She pushed against him. There was something in the way she did it - some element of wanton submission - that made Mark, his hand slowly stroking his cock in the doorway, deliciously, feverishly sick. The rational part of his brain acknowledged that he had fucked Rich's mum just a few hours previously and that he had no right to feel this way, but the Priscilla he was seeing now seemed a world away from the confident yet somehow vulnerable woman to whom he had made love earlier.

Pushing still further, she half-sat up against Rich, a change in position that demanded he take hold of her around the waist. Mark saw him kiss her neck and shoulder and she writhed and moaned at the touch of his lips.

It was at that point that she opened her eyes and saw Mark standing in the half-open doorway, cock in hand, a look of undisguised longing on his face.

He caught her gaze. She gave no signal that he should join them, no acknowledgement of his presence at all, apart from a subtle change in her expression that was part sadness and part defiance.

And then it was gone, as her son thrust up deep inside her cunt, and her eyes closed and expression dissolved, reforming into a mask of pleasure.

"Ohhhh..."

Rich thrust her down onto the bed, his hand on the back of his mother's neck, pushing her face into the covers. He quickened his pace, the answering thrusts of his mother's pelvis becoming more forceful, more violent, than before. Rich grunted, pausing and then shuddering and Mark knew he was coming, shooting his semen deep into his mother's body, which shook and shuddered, grasped by a sudden ecstasy all of its own.

Still hard, Mark quickly left the landing and made his way back to Priscilla's bedroom.

*****

He stumbled towards the bed, hand around his cock, tugging at it in a fevered frenzy of lust and, he at last admitted, jealousy. It was one thing to acknowledge mentally that Priscilla was not - and, indeed, could never be - his; it was another thing entirely to see it etched on her face and delineated in her shaking, shuddering, convulsing limbs.

Rich fucked his mother.

In the cluttered, lonely space of his mother's bedroom, the implications of that fact came home to Mark. He stood by her bed, seeing but not seeing the wardrobe, the dressing table, the scattered jewellery on the chest of drawers, the humped ghostly pale negligee discarded on the floor.

He lurched towards this last item almost by instinct. It was the closest he could get to her at the moment. Her body had occupied it; her spirit had animated it. Her skin had brushed against it over and over again.

Heart thumping, he picked it up and, almost without thinking, wrapped the smooth satin around his cock. He fell back onto the bed making no effort to halt or guide the lurid thoughts that played across the screen of his mind. He slid the thin material up and down his cock ferociously, viciously. He imagined that the garment was Priscilla's cunt. He imagined... he wanted to fuck her raw, to prove his worth to her, to make her scream with pain-tinged pleasure. He saw...

Priscilla on her back, Rich's cock in her mouth, sucking hungrily, debasing herself in her need. His own cock was buried deep in her cunt, a hard invader, implacable, unrelenting. Revelling in the prolonged teasing contact, he withdrew it slowly, like a duellist drawing his sword from its sheath, before slamming it back into her. This is where it belongs,he thought. This is where it belongs...

Mouth stuffed with her son's cock, she growled and moaned. She wanted this: to be dominated, to be used, to be fucked. Stray strands of straw-blonde hair plastered to her forehead, shoulders and chest damp with sweat, her body was a roaring engine of pleasure, vibrating in time to the rhythms of the two men to whose desire she had made herself subservient.

Mark watched Rich's cock disappear into her mouth once more, heard him gasp, felt a swell of affection for him, of pride as he came, a huge quantity of off-white, thick fluid that his mother had no hope of containing filling and overflowing her mouth. He saw it dribble obscenely from the corners of her mouth, even as she tried to gulp it down. It glistened on her chin and dripped down onto her pink-flushed chest.

Rich turned to him, smiling.

"Fuck her, mate," he said. "Fuck her hard."

He placed his hands on her hips and drew her further towards him until their bodies were tightly - almost painfully - crushed together. She looked at him then. Her son's cum still dripping from her chin, she looked at him with eyes flashing defiance. He would smash that look from her face, he vowed, would make her pant and groan and sigh, desperate for his cock, desperate for him to shoot inside her.

Grinning, his cock confident and hard within her, he began his work...

The scene shifted to...

Priscilla surrounded by men. Rich could have been one of them; he couldn't tell. The men's faces were obscured, their features blurred. Their cocks, however, were in sharp focus as Priscilla took them into her mouth, her hand, her ass, her cunt. She was purely animal now, operating on instinct, hungry, insatiable. The men were completely silent. Only Priscilla's moans, growls and mewlings could be heard, along with the slapping, sucking, pattering sounds of sex. The smell of semen, of hot, juice-slicked pussy was all around him.