Mother's Old Photos

I had a scare when I watched mum use the brandy to swallow a Nembutal capsule, saying, "This should make me sleep."

I mumbled something and retreated to my room. It did not take me long to rationalise away my fear, ignoring the fact that the stated dosage was two, I reckoned one added to five was not all that much more.

Half an hour passed before I crept into mum’s room. She was on her back snoring, on the bedside table stood the empty mug and glass. She did not stir when I touched her arm. Still I decided to give her more time, I went back into my room. I whiled away the time rereading the passage in Frank Harris.

I did not hurry this time, I let a full half hour elapse before ramrod hard cock leading the way, I again entered her room. She had not moved, throwing caution to the wind I once again removed my dressing gown, then I pulled back the covers. The sight was erotic, one arm her left lay across her, her left hand touching her right breast. Her other hand lay on her abdomen almost covering where her pubic hair was concealed by her night-dress. I immediately wondered if she had been playing with herself when she fell asleep?

She was like a doll when I half lifted half dragged her down the bed and lay her close to the edge. I piled all four pillows in the centre of the bed next to her abdomen. She did not even stir when I pulled her into a part sitting position and lifted her night-dress up under her armpits. Now I could see her breasts.

I gazed in wonder at those nipples I had admired from afar, lowered my head and began to kiss one. Instantly it responded growing hard between my lips. I began to suck and it grew harder, with my hand I massaged the other nipple and it too hardened.

I stopped, lifted and turned her so that she lay face down her firm backside elevated by the pillows under her belly. I spread her legs, just above her cunt I could see the brown puckered rosebud of her anus. Climbing onto the bed I parted the firm cheeks, lowered my head and kissed the closed flower. The first kiss was gentle, an exploration, then boldly I went to work lavishing wet sloppy kisses as I moved my tongue around it in a circular motion. I was sure the tip of my tongue could feel the rosebud opening.

I raised myself, pulled back my foreskin to reveal the purple head of my cock, a la Harris I spat on my hand and moistened the proud warrior. I leant forward taking my weight on one arm with the other I positioned the tip of my prick against the rosebud. I pushed gently, nothing happened. I pushed harder, still nothing. Another push something gave, it felt like an elastic band around my cock. I realised the head was in. Another push and the full length was in and she had not made a sound or movement. I began to move my hips.

I stopped repositioned my hands, now I was cupping her firm breasts in my hands. I began to thrust with my hips simultaneously squeezing with my hands. Soon all too soon the sap rose. I could feel the pulses as I discharged my spunk into her. My cock did not soften so I began to move again, this time I lasted longer. This was absolutely fantastic I was doing the absolutely forbidden and getting away with it. The sheer evil of the situation spurred me on and once again I came. This time my cock softened and with a soft plop fell from her. I knelt up and looked down. Her anus now looked like a rosebud about to bloom, from the opening seeped some of my spunk. I bowed down and licked savouring the salty, spicy taste.

Following Harris’s dictums I rose from the bed went into the bathroom and washed my limp tool paying special attention to the area behind the head. All the washing and fiddling about had one result - another erection. Not as hard and urgent as the first one but an erection non-the-less!

Intending to put mother straight, the pillows back and so on I went back into the bedroom. The sight of her lying face-down, open-legged with spunk trickling from her anus down onto the glistening lips of her sex was such a turn-on. Once again my cock began to send throbbing messages to my brain.

I had not fucked mother because I did not want to get her pregnant, but then I began to reason, so what if she did get a "bun in the oven", I was my father’s son, therefore the child would look like his. I turned her onto her back, got between her open legs and without a second thought plunged my prick into her moist cunt.

As I pumped away I savoured the situation. This was the ultimate in wickedness, a sin no one would ever forgive. I was filling the organ that had given me life with my life. I was not too impressed with the sensation: her ass had gripped me tightly, virtually milking the spunk from me; her cunt was slacker gentle and moist but not holding not grasping like her asshole had been. - I think it was there and then I developed what has become a lifelong preference for buggery over normal or cunt sex! The upside was that it took me far longer to cum. There was no rush, no bang when eventually my balls contracted and the spunk jetted into my mother.

I felt incredibly let down, a real fuck and it had been about as thrilling as an interrupted wank. Honestly the experience had been more intense when I shot my load over her pubes. I had learnt the truth of Lord Rochester’s dictum before I had even heard of Lord Rochester. (For readers who do not know what I am talking about, Lord Rochester was a friend of King Charles II - the king who had Nell Gwynn as one of his mistresses. This 17thC Earl wrote that - a woman’s cunt is the organ of procreation and her arse is designed for recreation.)

Somewhat disconsolately I knelt there, exploring this region between her legs with my fingers, while masturbating myself with the other hand. It took me a long time to achieve an erection. Eventually my cock was again erect. I was intending to shoot over her, when I realised that if I lifted her legs high I should be able to enter her anus once again.

No sooner had the thought struck me than I had those long legs draped over my shoulders, her heels resting on my back. Sure enough I was able to put the tip against the part open bud. It took little effort to effect an entry and once again I was in the saddle. It was ecstasy, I could feel that tight elastic band around the base of my throbbing cock as I pounded in and out of her. Long hard strokes, I would raise my hips until only the head of my cock was in her, crash down onto her pubic bone until every last millimetre was buried in her.

This time despite the enjoyment there was no premature ejaculation. Up down, in out, long strokes varied with quick sharp short thrusts, and so it carried on until at last my final cum began with a sort of electric tingle and finished in an earth-shattering cataclysmic explosion. Despite still being asleep her sphincter muscles were in a spasm of involuntary contractions that milked every last drop of spunk from my balls. And even then did not release their grip on my prick until it had shrivelled to fall lifelessly from her.

I got off her, looked at the clock, I had been in her room for nearly five hours. A veritable orgy that even Harris would have envied. Carefully I edged the pillows from under her. Sat her up and pulled down her night-dress. Before returning to my room I covered her up.

I must have been exhausted because I did not remember falling asleep. When I awoke it was light. Mother was still asleep. Briefly I considered going to my spy-hole. Then decided as I had not been out for nearly a week I had better take my boat out. If I did not there would be questions about fish I had not landed. I made myself a thermos flask of tea and headed down to the harbour. The tide was halfway in and small boats like mine could just get out, the local yachtsmen, (we called them "sticks and rags") would wait for another hour or so.

The passage out was beautiful I sat back, my arm resting on the tiller, listening to the TUNKA … TUNKA … TUNKA miss TUNKA … TUNKA miss TUNKA heartbeats of the little single cylinder diesel. I wanted to share my joy with someone, but there was no one, not even a sea-gull. So I screamed at the boat, "Hey I fucked the arse off mum." The boat carried on serenely round the point as if nothing was different.

It was a perfect day, not too warm and not too calm. Hour after hour I worked the handle of the jigger, with the same motion as sex I bobbed up and down the hundred baited hooks of the longline. As the fish bit the line grew heavier until I transferred it onto the winch drum and began to wind it in.

On the first shoot I caught about twenty legal mackerel. Rebaiting the hooks was a laborious task, but at last they were all back in the water and again I worked the jigger. When I winched in the next time I stopped and drank from my thermos flask. Whilst I drank, I gutted my catch laying the silver blue fish flat in a box of dry-ice.

To everyone else the day was like any other day. Overhead mewing gulls circled, diving for the tit-bits when I flung the guts over the side. Looking for a chance to steal fish from any uncovered boxes, but I was used to their tricks and did not give them a chance. Two of my cousins hailed me as they passed, "All right are ‘ee Karole boy." - In fact by months one of them was younger than me, but as I have said I was not one of them, - one of my uncles had said. "Boy you is playing around with that boat when you’me better suited to one of they rags an’ sticks jobs."

Not trusting myself to speak lest I gave way to the urge to shout out my adventures, I merely waved back. Then they were out of hailing distance, off round the far point to where they had laid their lobster pots. The day drifted on. Daydreaming I missed the half ebb tide and had to spend an extra five hours at sea.

It was dark when I came in on the flood tide, line astern of old Pengelly’s boat. Pengelly must have been eighty if he was a day, yet every day he went out in his boat. He was a second cousin to my father and so a relative. I was shivering with cold and had a raging thirst. Some of them chaffed me for missing the tide, I said I was on a shoal and the boxes I unloaded supported my story.

Mother was not so easy to placate. In those days we had no VHF, no mobile phones, the only means of communicating with shore carried by a small boat were a few flares. Everyone knew that if you fired them, you had probably cashed in your chips! I shrugged off mum’s fussing, drank several mugs of tea in quick succession and sat down to a plate of fish and chips.

That night I slept like a baby. In the morning I again took the boat out but I did not miss the tide this time and was home in the early afternoon.

Up into my room, dragged my treasures from under the bed. I spent hours looking at the photographs, reading Frank Harris and sitting looking into space recalling the events of the last few nights. I regretted that I had slept the night before. In preparation for the coming night I checked the contents of my matchbox, there was only three left. I went into the bathroom, opened the bottle and replenished my box.

It was mum’s drama group evening. From seven o’clock I endured the agony of an anticipatory hard-on. I moped around the house unable to settle, the evening dragged, I tried to watch TV, it was no good all I could do was look at the crawling hands of the clock. From half-past-nine waiting for mum’s return at ten o’clock was like suspended animation, every rotation of the minute hand seemed to take an hour or more. I would look, then look away, then look again and the second-hand seemed not to move: and my cock got harder and harder.

I had nearly decided to succumb and go for a wank when I heard the front door open. Mum came in dropped the deadlock, put her head round the living room door, announced that she was worn out and going straight to bed. Before I had turned off the TV she was calling me. "What mum?" I called up the stairs.

"Make me a cup of tea."

"I must go to the toilet first I shouted back." I had to get upstairs, I could hear her moving around in her bedroom. I went up the stairs two at a time. Dived into my room, grabbed the matchbox. Into the bathroom, eventually forced out a leak, pulled the flush and back down the stairs into the kitchen.

She says she is tired so she won’t take any, I thought as I emptied the contents of six capsules into her mug, then I spooned in the sugar. When the tea had brewed I carried our mugs upstairs, took mother hers and retreated to my room to wait. Half an hour went by, there was no reply when I called. I crept across the landing and opened the door, she was asleep.

Back to my room. I must not be impatient. More clocks dragging, I don’t know if it made the time pass to review what I had already done to her or if it made it drag. Either way that is what I did for the next half-an-hour, I sat thinking about all that I had done with her. The wonderful arse fucks and the let down of fucking her cunt. Was I weird that I had a decided preference for fucking an arse rather than a cunt, was I a secret Gay (except we did not use the word Gay in those far off days)?

Eventually it was time. I was so sure of myself that I did not even bother with my dressing gown. Naked I crossed the landing and went into her bedroom. Mum was asleep on her back lying diagonally across the bed her head nearly hanging over the side of the bed.

I turned back the covers. She must have been tossing about because her night-dress had ridden up almost to her armpits, exposing her sex, pubic hair and belly. I only had to lift the night-dress and her breasts were exposed.

I was going to move her to the centre of the bed to get her in the right position to fuck her arse with her on her back. Then I was attracted to her partly open mouth. I recalled another passage from Harris, I knelt astride of her head gently opened her lips. As I lowered myself towards her, my cock slipped between her lips and over her tongue.

I moved up and down gently fucking her mouth. This was mind-blowing I bet no one else at school has had oral sex. I froze! Fear made my prick begin to soften. Mother’s hands were grasping the backs of my thighs as she pulled me closer to her. She was swallowing the whole of my god-damn prick. She was awake.

I was no longer doing her. By grasping my thighs she was controlling my body and doing me. Pushing me away so that my cock was no longer crammed into her throat, she began to stimulate just the head. I thought that she was moving her tongue in a circular motion - as if she was polishing it.

I felt my balls tighten as the cum started its journey up my pulsating cockstem. As I tried to pull out, she knowing I was about to cum pulled me tight to her. I could feel her nose against my scrotum and her chin pushing into my pubic hair.

The spunk jetted into her throat in a series of pulsing jets. My young vigorous cock remained erect and she did not release me. She was like a vacuum cleaner sucking the spunk out of me, stimulating my balls by moving her nose against them.

Just when I thought she had emptied me, she jammed a finger up my arse. A seismic explosion ripped through me as the last of my spunk flowed into her mouth. She released my thighs. I pulled away.

She patted the bed come on dear hop in. I got into bed next to her, unsure what to do. I was confused. Nothing in Frank Harris’s adventures had prepared me for this. Where was the anger I had expected. The indignation. All of that I could have coped with, but this silence was unendurable. She seemed to accept what had happened.

Opening her legs she grasped my hand guiding it down to her pubes. "Stop thinking for now. Be a gentleman. I want you to bring me off. It’s not fair to leave me high and dry."

I was cautious when my finger entered her slit, tentatively I stirred her clitoris. This one fingered exploration lasted for a while until she said. "Stop fooling about do me harder, use two fingers … Put one on each side of my clit - that little bud you’re teasing and move them around … That’s better." She began to move her hips in a circular motion, her breathing became faster and shallower. "Oh come on baby doll make me cum … Oh lord please don’t stop … please don’t stop … don’t stop …" She gave a long drawn out. "Ooooh." Grasped my hand pressed it tight against her and clamped her thighs shut.

Opening her eyes she simply said, "Thank you."

We lay there in silence, this was a situation that I was totally unprepared for. If she had shouted, screamed, threatened, been angry, I would have known what was going on and responded accordingly. Again it was her silence and apparent acquiescence confounded me, not knowing what to do or to say I simply lay there.

The silence must have got to her because eventually she spoke. "Did you enjoy that?"

"Why yes of course I did, in fact I think you are fantastic."

She reached for my cock and gave it a squeeze. A strange feeling, it was a gesture of affection akin to when she would squeeze my arm when we were going somewhere that might not be nice, like going to the dentist or a funeral. "You are not bad yourself. I must have been going around with my eyes closed I didn’t realise you had grown-up so fast." My cock began to stiffen in her grasp. "You randy little git!" She laughed, "if that is how fast you get hard no wonder my backside was sore."

It was out she knew. I mumbled something about how sorry I was.

"Sorry you did it or sorry I caught on?" She flashed back.

"Just sorry."

"Oh so you didn’t enjoy screwing me then?" She said angrily.

Another lesson - with women it is all too easy to say the wrong thing. Maybe that is sexist to say, and as you will see it is all too easy for a woman to say the wrong thing to a man. Maybe it would be more accurate to say the male and female psychological make-up is so different that often we are incomprehensible to one another.

"I did not mean that." I hastily assured her, "I really did enjoy every minute of it."

"Well from what I could tell the other morning you certainly made good use of my arse. I could not decide if you fucked my cunt. Did you?"

I was stunned at the language coming from my mother’s mouth. Hypocritical, really when you think about it - after all I had been more than willing to put my cock into it and to fill it with my spunk, so why should I have been surprised when she spoke in earthy language. All a part of that contradiction in the male attitude to women we want then to be both Madonnas and Whores at the same time.

"Yes mum."

"Did you even consider you might get me pregnant?"

I decided it would be best to lie. "I didn’t think - well not until afterwards."

"Well it’s too late to worry now. Which did you enjoy the most?"

"To be truthful I enjoyed screwing your arse the best. It was tighter and more exciting."

She laughed, "You're a chip off the old block."

"How did you know?" I asked.

"When I awoke yesterday I felt lousy, like I’d got a hangover, at first I thought I was sickening for something, I felt the same the day before. Then I realised my arse hurt. In fact it was really burning like I had piles or like the first time I’d had sex that way. Then I felt that feeling, something wet and warm swilling around inside my bowels. There’s only two ways I know of that you feel like that, an enema or sex. I knew it wasn’t an enema, so it had to be sex. Then when I went to the toilet the grey white traces were clear to see. From there on it did not take Sherlock Holmes it was elementary really. I looked in the bottle some of my sleeping tablets were missing. I remembered the night-time drinks and I knew for certain what you had done and how you had done it." She gave a laugh squeezed my leg and said. "If you look under the bed you will see the cuppa you brought me up undrunk."

What could I say except another mumbled sorry.