At the Shack

She kissed me again. Her lips were like fire on mine, hot and yet moist. We clung together, our mouths open, tongues battling for entry.

Abruptly she broke from our kiss and stood up.

"Stand up," she commanded.

I obediently stood up and she took my hand and placed my fingers on the latch of the zip that ran down the front of her housecoat.

"Undress me," she said.

I drew down the zip and as the housecoat opened I could see she was naked underneath. She shrugged the housecoat from her shoulders and it dropped to the floor at her feet.

She looked at me as if challenging and said hoarsely, "Well, do you still want me?" Mother was in her forties at the time and perhaps doubtful of her female attractions, yet to my eyes she differed little from the first time I had seen her naked.

I've wondered about that since. I've already implied that mother would not be accounted an outstanding beauty – although I'm not sure what that means – but for me she has been the most lovable and desirable woman on earth.

In reply to her question I said, "I told you long ago I shall always want you."

Her manner to that point had been imperious, but now she suddenly melted. She undid the cloth belt round my robe and then took it off. She pressed against me murmuring, "Darling...darling...I want you so badly...love me...show me you love me."

I was taller than her by about four inches, but my penis fitted neatly between the lips of her vulva as she started to work it over my length.

I could feel its wetness as she continued speaking, "I love you...I love ...I've been cruel but now...now I'll give you everything you want...I won't hold back...not ever...just love me..."

I could feel and hear her desperate need and I place a hand on her breast and gently pressed it. It was warm and yielding and she moaned, "Lovely darling...lovely...suck my nipples...I want you to suck them."

She seemed almost to swoon back onto the divan and as I came beside her I could feel her trembling with passion.

I took one of her sweet pink nipples into my mouth while I caressed her other breast with my hand. She was almost beside herself, whimpering and crying out her love as she clutched my head to her breasts.

She tasted honey sweet and I sucked her fervently. But there was more I wanted to taste. I wanted to taste her femaleness, the centre of her womanhood.

She protested as I stopped sucking her nipple, but I ignored her and getting off the couch I swung her round so that as I knelt before her I was looking directly at her pudendum.

The long groove of her vulva, the lips looking swollen and at the top the little hood that covered her centre of pleasure, and all glistening with her love juice.

I ran my finger along the wet groove and mother gave a howl of ecstasy. As I inserted my finger into her vagina she moaned and whimpered.

For a while I worked my fingers into her as she lay back helplessly writhing until I touched her clitoris. This dragged a long scream from her as she begged me, "Don't stop...don't stop...". But I did stop.

I parted the lips with my fingers and leaned forward and started to lick.

I felt her convulse and she cried out, "What are you doing...what are you doing to me...you can't...you might not like...oh darling...darling...oh God..."

From protesting she gradually subsided and held my head to her. I wondered if it was possible that my father had never enjoyed her in this way. As I was to later learn he had tried it once and found it unpleasant and never attempted it again.

For me it was the epitome of giving love to a woman. But then, I revelled in her taste and smell. When I started to lick and suck her clitoris she became frantic and began to orgasm.

It was a struggle to hold on to her as she thrashed and bounced on the divan in a wild display of euphoria.

The lower part of my face was soaked with her warm fluid and I stayed with her until at last she gave a long drawn out sigh and I felt her relax.

She was saying repeatedly, "Ivor, what have you done to me...what have you done...it was exquisite, but was it all right, did you like it?"

"Mother," I said quietly, "I've waited for years to do that to you."

I drew her back gently onto the divan and as she lay there in an attitude of surrender I carefully parted her legs and then lay between them.

I was probing with my penis for her entrance when I felt her hand guide me in.

I slipped into her, passing under her pubic bone and into her hot wet depths, so soft and clinging.

I had my full length in her when it happened. It was like receiving an electric shock. A pulsating grip held my penis for a few seconds, and the mother asked, "Did you like that, darling?"

I tried to respond, but all I could stammer out was, "I-it wer-was...I've never felt...do it again...please..."

There it was again, like a powerful clamp. To move my penis in her I had to make a concentrated effort.

She released me and gently laughing she said, "You see, my love, I'm never going to let you go...never...you're mine now."

I had already held back too long, and as I let my orgasm go mother seemed to spring into action.

"I'm coming again...I'm coming...let it go...put it in me...fertilise me...make me pregnant...I want a baby...I want...oh God...I need...I want...oooaw....oooaw...darling...yes...yes...aaaaow..."

I was lost in her, pumping my seed in deep as if responding to her cry to be fertilised.

I'm not sure to this day whether I really understood that cry - that it was seriously meant. Certainly it was different from the usual cries of the girls I had copulated with – "Don't make me pregnant will you" – but with mother I had been given the freedom to perform that act of creation unrestrainedly.

My sperm slammed into her. We were struggling together for ever greater depth of penetration. Beneath me mother was screaming and weeping still begging me to impregnate her.

One final spurt into her and I started to unwind but mother was still thrusting up against me as her orgasm continued to hold her in its grasp.

With my softening penis I kept moving with her as I kissed her tear stained face.

Then she too started to relax, although she was still sobbing.

I waited until she had calmed down, and then said, "Did you mean it when you asked me to make you pregnant?"

"Of course, darling."

"But can you still...?"

"Of course I can, why, do you think I'm too old?"

"Well no, but isn't it dangerous at..."

"My age? Perhaps, but lots of women are having babies at my age these days, and beside, when I decided to come here and find out if you still wanted me, I was determined we should do it properly."

She had stopped sobbing and she looked at me mischievously, smiled, and said, "I thought it might tie you to me more securely."

"You don't have to get pregnant to do that," I assured her.

Then a hideous thought struck me; "My God, father...if you do get...didn't you ever want more babies with him?"

"Yes, but he had a vasectomy soon after you were born."

"Then if you are pregnant he'll know he's not..."

"Yes, but he never need know that it's you, and anyway, that's changed."

"What?"

"You're father and me."

"Changed...how...?"

"You remember how before you went away I said I couldn't commit adultery?"

"And incest," I added.

"All right, and incest, although obviously I wasn't so concerned about the incest. It was the thought that your father was faithful to me, so I had to return that faithfulness."

"Ah, so you're telling me he isn't faithful now?"

"You got it in one Ivor. He's found another woman."

"He must be mad," I protested. I couldn't imagine any guy who had mum would want any other woman, but I suppose that's a subjective view.

"Do you mean he's left you," I asked.

"Oh no, he hasn't left me. My salon brings in too much money for that. He likes his fancy cars; his nice house and," she gestured towards the shed, "his boat. You don't think he got all that from his salary, do you?"

"I'd often wondered," I admitted.

"So, Ivor, I shall be leaving him, that is, if my son wants me. I'm not a woman to live alone or to do without sex, but I want it to be with someone I love and who loves me, and I think you qualify."

"I qualified a long time ago," I replied.

"Yes," mother said. "Ah...Ivor, do you want to come in me again?"

I still had my penis in her vagina and it had hardened again and she must have felt it.

"Er...well...if it's okay with you."

"It will always be okay, darling, I've got a lot of giving and taking to do, so why don't you put your lovely hot sperm in me and then we can have a shower and decided what we're going to do for the next couple of weeks. By the way, you will do that nice thing with your tongue again, won't you?"

"Try and stop me," I said as I started to move in her.

* * * * * * * *

The decision about what to do for the next couple of weeks didn't take long to settle. In fact it virtually settled itself. I have to admit though, that we did do some other things, like swimming, surfing and fishing. But just as all roads were once said to lead to Rome, so they always led to sex as far as we were concerned.

At the end of the fortnight we had to separate. Mother wanted me well clear of the melee she anticipated when she told father she was leaving him.

There were many other things that had to be arranged. The division of property and, since mother had said that initially she would come and live with me in my flat, we knew that we should at some stage have to get something bigger because mother was pregnant.

Then there was a matter of her business. That went relatively well because one of her assistants, Samantha, made an offer which mother accepted.

In the final melt down mother came out of it with a lot of money. She had however foregone some of the money because she wanted to hold on to the shack for sentimental reasons – specifically, as the place in which we first made love. It had never had a name, but mother always refers to it as "Honeymoon Cottage."

As I write, mother is in her early sixties and me in my early forties. There is a false rumour that women of her age are no longer interested in sex. For any who are anxious about this I can assure them that it is not true. If anything mother is hotter that she ever was, and it's me who has to struggle to keep up with her.

Its university vacation time and we're off to Honeymoon Cottage next week and our daughter Jane is joining us with her boyfriend. I'm wondering we're going to have to share the big divan with them.

Just another thought; during that fortnight in the shack I never did get in to Port Crown to buy the tap washers, so fixing the bath tap had to wait for another time.