Understanding Mrs Philpott

Ben Esra telefonda seni boaltmam ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Anal

All characters in this story are over 18 years of age

Mum came back from Mrs Philpott’s house looking flustered. I thought nothing of it — mum had been visiting almost daily to help Mrs Philpott and her son Billy. Mr Philpott had died suddenly a week or so before this particular day, they were taking it pretty hard, and mum was showing the strain of being a good friend to Janice Philpott. I still called her “Mrs Philpott” even though I’m ‘of age’ now.

I was in the shed fixing the lawnmower for the tenth time. After a few minutes, mum came out there too, and I could tell she was conflicted by something. She was fidgety and intense, but I knew her well enough to let her say whatever she had come out here to say, in her own time. I was ready to try to start the pesky mower but I tinkered some more, waiting for mum. Finally, she said: “Tommy, I’m not sure how to talk about this, but you’re the only one I trust since your father died. And I need to unburden. OK?”

“Of course, mum.”

“Well, OK. Here goes. I went back to Janice’s place because I forgot the casserole dish and I’m gonna make them another one. I usually only go in the mornings.”

She paused. I said: “OK. Go on…”

“Well, obviously they weren’t expecting me.”

“Who?”

“Janice and… And Billy.”

I put my screwdriver down and wiped my hands with a rag. “I don’t get it. You’re often there. What’s the big deal?”

Mum looked at me, sizing up the atmosphere for her revelation. But she didn’t hold my gaze, looked away, and said: “Well, um… OK. Here goes. They were in bed. Sort of. Understand?”

“No. What do you mean ‘sort of’?”

“Oh hell. I mean, they were doing what a married couple might do in bed, but on the couch in the front room.”

I gulped. I think I knew what she was trying to convey without actually saying it, but I needed to be sure I hadn’t misunderstood so I spelt it out in plain language: “Wait. You mean Mrs Philpott and Billy were, well, having sex or something?”

She wrung her hands and just nodded.

“Shit! OK. Well, um…” (How was I supposed to react to my mother telling me she’d witnessed her best friend committing incest with her own son?)

“Jesus Tommy what should I do?”

“Did they see you?”

“No. At least they didn’t stop.”

“So if they didn’t see you, how did you see them? How can you be sure of what they were doing?”

She looked me in the eye then looked away again. She took a deep breath and said: “I stopped in the doorway. Janice was bent over the arm of the couch facing away from me, Billy was behind her. Tommy, I’m in no doubt. His pants were around his ankles, I saw his butt and he was, well, grunting.”

“Oh my god, mum. Was it… shit. Was it rape?”

She shook her head. “No. Janice was… um… encouraging him. What am I to do, Tommy?”

“Nothing.”

“Huh?”

“They’re adults. It was consensual. I know it’s technically illegal, but…”

“Technically izmir escort bayan illegal? What the hell? He’s her son, Tommy!”

“Yeah. And look what they’re going through — nobody understands that better than you. Each other is all they have left.”

“Tommy, I’m not sure what to think or feel.”

“Mum, just don’t judge them or do anything at least not yet. Try to understand first.”

She was still bewildered and went back inside. I started the mower successfully and got on with the overgrown lawns. Thoughts came into my head. Billy is a thin young man, Mrs Philpott is what they call a “full-figured” woman, meaning she’s not thin. Hell, I’ve dreamed of those tits myself.

In my lawnmower-noisy cocoon of thought, I relived some of the grief when dad died. It was still raw two years later — I’d just turned 18 then and hadn’t even got my driving licence when the police knocked on our door. Industrial accident my ass…

In my mind I saw Billy thrusting into his mother, she was saying things like “Ooh yes baby” and “Fuck me son”. Mum might not understand but I sure as hell did. Many a night I’d spent holding mum while we cried together. She might not remember those three or four times when she held me to her breasts. Or the night we spooned on — and then in – her bed, fell asleep together like that.

She might have been racked with grief, but I recall an awareness awakening in me through those weeks. She had left behind the mantle of ‘mother’ and became ‘woman’ to me. For the first time I recognised her as a woman, a sexual being, not just… well, if I’m honest, not just a provider to me.

And there was that time… She had burst into tears at the sink. I went to her, put my arms around her from behind, one under her breasts and the other across them. I kissed her neck.

As I mowed now, I wondered about that moment. I gulped as I recalled with more clarity now. Yes, it did happen. I had cupped her breasts while I kissed her neck. She held my hands there for some seconds, and the embrace was only broken when I disengaged and moved away guiltily.

That was almost two years ago. Both of us had acted like it never happened. But it did. Why did I break away? Because I wanted to go further. No, not just ‘further’. All the way. While I fondled my mother’s breasts, and she let me — she let me! — I had wanted to go all the way.

She had probably pretended it hadn’t happened out of parental responsibility or guilt. And I had probably put it out of my mind because I didn’t want to focus on the emergent fact that I wanted to have sex with my own mother.

I hadn’t realised it, but I’d stopped moving even though the mower still growled. I shut the throttle off. I had something to say to mum.

I went in through the kitchen door, and there she was at the sink. It was a happy coincidence and I knew how I was going to say what was on my mind now. I stood close behind izmir escort her, too close for her not to be aware of me.

“Mum, think back. After dad died. Right here. Do you remember?”

“What do you mean Tommy?” She stopped peeling the potatoes.

“We were each other’s comfort then. But there was more, wasn’t there?’

“No. I don’t know. Tommy, please…”

I moved closer, trapping her against the sink. Her butt was against me. I reached around her as I had then — one arm across her breasts, the other below them.

“It was like this, mum. Remember?”

“Tommy, please don’t.”

Slowly, but deliberately, I placed my hands over mum’s breasts. I leaned forwards and kissed her neck. She stiffened and repeated: “Tommy, please don’t.” But she made no effort to break my embrace, so I went for it.

“Do you understand Mrs Philpott and Billy now, mum?”

“It’s wrong, son.”

She still stood with her hands on the sink, not exactly ‘letting’ me caress her breasts and kiss her neck, but not doing anything to stop me either. I pressed forwards with my hips. My emerging erection was obvious enough through my shorts and it nestled between her butt cheeks. Her thin cotton dress could not have disguised its presence.

“Tommy. Tommy, we can’t. We shouldn’t. I’m your mother.”

Despite her words, her body betrayed her. A firm press backwards from her hips was all I needed to embolden me to cross the next barrier. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

I gulped at my own audacity. She’d been telling me to stop for some minutes now, if she repeated just once more it was over. My heart thumped wildly in my chest at what might come next. Agonising seconds passed, but she said nothing.

I reached behind her and raised the hem of her dress. She pushed back at me, sensibly making room beside the sink where I’d trapped her and bent over slightly. I bunched her dress up and flipped it onto her back. Now her panties and thighs were right there, and I needed badly to touch her. Shaking, I put my hand between her legs and cupped her pussy. It was warm, moist even. I was sweating, and my cock was achingly hard in my shorts. I hurried to unbuckle them and release my hardon from its confinement. I almost swooned when I saw mum reach back and slip her panties backwards over her butt and wriggle them to the floor.

My mind was hyper-alert and fuzzy at the same time. Mum’s pussy was there, her thighs were open, I had my cock in my hand. Mum’s backside was pale and smooth. Her pussy looked a little shiny, pink. I was lost in erotic confusion, but my instincts knew what to do. I pressed forwards, mum adjusted her hips to get the angle, and it was done. My cock was buried inside my mother’s pussy, all the way, and I was in heaven.

Now that I was inside her tenderest secret place, my desperation gave way to the desire to experience these minutes to the fullest. Mum pressed gently back at me, and escort izmir I met her pressure. After a minute or so, she pulled her dress forwards and over her head and got rid of her bra, and I resumed fondling her breasts, each a little more than a handful, with pointy nipples tickling the palms of my hands. I watched in amazement as my cock slid up to my stomach inside her and came out shining with her womanly essence. She was moaning softly, more like forced breathing than a groan, and a new desire came over me. I wanted to see her orgasm.

I think I surprised her when my cock popped out of her, to be replaced two seconds later with my tongue. I’d dropped to my knees behind her and put my face where my stomach had just been.

Mum shuddered: “Oh god, Tommy. Shit. Oh my god…”

Her pale thighs rippled at the touch of my tongue inside her secret parts. I used my hands to part her cheeks and get right in there, so that my nose was right in her butt unavoidably sniffing in the salt-sweat of her arse just as my mouth drank in the salt-honeyed juice of her pussy.

I kept this up for maybe two minutes until her legs began to jerk involuntarily. I figured my desire to make her cum was working out, but still I didn’t expect it when it burst over her. I could barely keep my mouth on her pussy as she wriggled and jerked against my face, soaking it with fresh juices as she spasmed out a climax that lasted maybe five seconds. I was inexperienced and didn’t know what to do, so I just kept licking up the juice.

Mum reached one hand behind herself and held my head still. She was trembling slightly, I didn’t know it but her afterglow was not subsiding, but was building to another orgasm straight after the first.

This time she vocalised it. “MMMNNNNGAH. Ah AHH, fuck. Oh shit. Oh shit. AAhh, Tom-my!”

I felt proud of myself. I’d seduced her and driven her wild. But my newfound superstud image was soon to evaporate. Even as I began to mentally plan some sort of sexual marathon, mum turned and pulled me to my feet, dropping to her knees in front of me, and before I’d had time to assimilate what was happening I was already grunting towards cumming in my mother’s mouth.

And it was a charged, frantic, desperate ejaculation. I was vaguely aware of her tongue under my shaft and the warm wetness of her mouth, and a gentle squeezing on my balls that must have been one of her hands, but it was all lost in fog as my balls exploded into her mouth, five, six, seven spurts, until I was drained, panting and sweating, chest thumping, dry in my mouth from the sheer electricity of what had just happened between us. Us. Me… and my mother.

The afterglow was short and sweet. My body was satisfied, but my mind went into overdrive. Incest. We’d just committed incest. I needed it, mum certainly seemed to want it. But what the fuck now? She was naked, I was standing in my shorts with my t-shirt still on. How do you look at each other, as mother and son, right after becoming incestuous lovers?

“Oh god. Mum. What did I just do?”

Mum stood, looked into my eyes, and seeing the confusion in me, she smiled and said, “Why Thomas Matthews. I do believe you just fucked your own mother. It’s OK, baby. I understand Mrs Philpott now.”

Ben Esra telefonda seni boaltmam ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *