The Mommy Dreams Case File

He could feel the lubrication of the lust lotion that seeped out of her love hole and coated her labia. It was far more copious than the pre-cum dripping from the end of his dick. But the mixture was making the entrance of the bulbous head of his boner a smooth and easy insinuation of flesh into flesh. The pulpy gates parted, pushed by the muscular battering ram which nosed into the cavity. The flash of the fantastic heat of her body enclosing the end of his penis was the start of the universe, the big bang moment, of existence out of the nothingness of cold void. As inch gradually followed sliding inch, the blade carefully thrust into belly – making the stabbing wound with its piercing, he went down his mother's womb.

In slow-motion, in mind's eye and with stop-motion emotional awareness, the penetration of maternal vagina was engraved upon his brain. Her encompassing love enclosed his probe and made it welcome in the most heartfelt of homecomings for his hard-on. Her joy of taking her son back in was like a rebirth. She was fulfilled in the filling, fused with him in the fullness that found her emptiness and made it whole again; her hole was the haven of refuge she would never refuse to her boy. At last, that long journey to the center of earth-mother was made, as he had made his mommy his adventure, the culmination of the rejuvenation was accomplished. They were reunited in a way that had not been possible before. The two had dissolved into the primordial stew of primal lust and primitive emotions, brought to a boil and bubbled over in passion that splashed a psychic wet spot which soaked the very fabric of existential existence.

Then in rewind, instant replay in multitude, he stroked his cock into mom's cunt. Up it went to bump the nubs deep, out it withdrew but never losing contact - always at the exact angle of engagement to slide back into the soft home and hump her once more. And again, again the to and fro of churning her chute, shuttling the thick spindle of stiff meat; while the hairy sacks of sperm boinged on her butt. The charge in his flashlight of love grew; it was lightning wound in a spring coil of high energy, waiting to be unleashed in an electrical arc of lethal voltage. Her bell jar of lust was equally radiant with the fire of crackling, sparking flashes, a glittering glow of atomic potential spread from her loins, throughout her entire body. The thundering crashes if their genitals clapping together drowned out all other things inside their heads.

The bed rocked, the earth moved, the universe shook, reality shimmered; he pounded her now, pinned her and pistoned his hammering penis in his mommy's manhole, plunging, plugging and pummeling. Her chamber accepted the violation of violence; of its own volition it opened the vault of her womanhood and welcomed the child as a man, the boy as big enough to take his father's place, to usurp the throne and be seated between her thighs as rightful king, cock of the roost. Gasping and groaning and grunting, their cries arose as the climax of hot action ascended. The pitch of whines and wails was climbing with the approach peak. Mother wrapped her arms around her demon lover, her legs lifted and heals spurred his haunches to hunch harder, his special spade to dig deeper. His upper limbs clamped beneath her shoulders to gain leverage, his feet plowed into the pad to push his torso as they mashed madly.

The ride went on. The rollicking romp of furious fucking was relished, every second of the sex a savored moment of pure joy, an ecstatic instant of sublime delight, distillation of the essence of ecstasy. Then they hit the apogee of intimacy as their orgasms triggered a chain reaction of fusion, the fission of friction had finally culminated in the climax of this intense incestuous union. Her paroxysm was matched by his spasms. As their organs were interlocked she felt his throbs and pulsing purges of sperm. He knew her cavity walls fluttered in response the gobs of jism that he ejaculated. The wash of spume finally sputtered to a stop, the tumescence lost its turgid volume. Her feet unclenched, her grip on his body lessened, her mind had exploded with "le petite mort", and now she lay under him as one dead. His panting and ragged breathing had been held in one final gasp of air and exhaled in a last long lingering sigh.

Wrote the po' wit, 'Quoth the Craven, "Evermore!"'