An Accident, The Internet, A Hotel Ch. 02


Soon Mark's moans were coming more rapidly, and I knew his orgasm was imminent, as was mine. I quickly pulled him from my mouth, gasping for him to roll over. He did and leaned back on his elbows, breathing hard, his chest rising and falling sharply, his cock pointing straight up and very rigid, very tense. I moved back to the head of the bed, bringing several pillows behind me and bending my knees upward, spreading my legs. Then I smiled and held my hand out for him. Wearily, Mark sat up and came to me, kneeling between my legs. In my upright position, I could see clearly between us. He moved closer and began rubbing his cock against my vagina, up and down, causing me to wince whenever it came into contact with my clit. Mark seemed to notice this, and then sat back on his haunches, pulling away slightly.

"Wanna try something a little different?"

I looked up and he was smiling, still holding his cock in his hand.

"What?" I gasped softly, eager to have him inside my body.

He moved closer and took my hands in his, placing them near my vagina. Then he took my index fingers and guided them into my opening. I giggled and asked what he was doing.

"Just put the tips of your fingers inside… yeah, like that. Now pull yourself open a little."

I was breathing hard, but chuckled and asked why.

"Just wanna try something different," he said with a grin.

Curious as to what he had in mind, I complied, sliding just the tips of my two fingers inside my vaginal canal, up to the first knuckle, and pulled myself open. I felt a little awkward being in this position in front of him, even a little embarrassed to be doing this; holding myself open in such a personal and intimate manner. It made me feel as if I were offering myself to him. Offering my body; my heart and soul. Placing my entire being before him as a sacrifice.

Mark moved closer until just the very tip of his cock was in front of the gaping dark hole between my legs.

"Can you see it ok?" he asked.

I lifted my head, peering down between us. My heart was racing, eager to discover what he was doing to me. I nervously shook my head.

"No," I said.

Then I quickly turned to the lamp next to the bed. "Turn it on," I said, nudging my head in its direction. Mark reached over, stretching far, and clicked it on. We both winced, as the bright light suddenly filled the room, and I became very conscious of the position my body was in.

I was leaning back against the head of the bed, almost in a sitting position, my torso propped up. With my legs spread wide and feet dangling in the air, I used my index fingers to stretch my vaginal canal open. Mark held his cock so that it was pointed directly at the opening between my legs. A lump formed in my throat, and in the back of my mind I began having apprehensions. This wasn't about sex. This was becoming more like a ritual; a sacramental air surrounding it and the bed had become an altar. The feelings I had been suppressing, about engaging in incest with my son; feelings which I kept tightly bottled up, now suddenly detonated in a tumultuous fury. And just as suddenly, I didn't want to do this. I wanted to get dressed and flee; to run away and forget any of this had ever happened. I wanted to go home, back to my normal life as a wife and mother.

But I couldn't. I couldn't and watched nervously, mesmerized as my son slowly and methodically began stroking his cock, keeping the head aimed directly where I held myself open for him. I slowly turned my gaze upwards to his face. His eyes were closed and his lips formed into a tight circle, his cheeks puffing slightly in and out as he breathed. I started trembling. I was scared. This was a turning point in our relationship. The sex we had been engaging in before was merely physical, but this was wholly different. This was a shift in the paradigm surrounding us. He wasn't going to ejaculate on me, as part of some silly sexual antic. He was going to purposefully direct his semen into me. Whether he realized it or not, his deliberate act had greater meaning behind it. When we had sex and he was inside of me, his ejaculation was simply a consequence of our bodies coming together and being stimulated; something we could only feel, but never actually see. This, however, wasn't an overt sex act, and he was only stimulating himself in order to eject his semen; merely a preliminary procedure as part of a greater ceremonial act. Mark may not have recognized the significance in this, but it wasn't lost upon me.

I closed my eyes tightly, as sweat rolled down my forehead. I felt cold and clammy and my body shivered. "Oh God," I thought. "This is it. This is going to change everything about us forever."

"Open you eyes," he whispered hoarsely.

I clenched my teeth and slowly shook my head from side to side, whimpering softly.

I could hear his breathing, slow and deep, and he said it again. This time I complied, though reluctantly, doing as my lover asked. There was a subtle hint of a smile on his face.

"Watch," he said, and turned his eyes downward between us.

Very nervously, I craned my neck forward, looking down. The tip of his cock was less than an inch from where I held myself open. His hand was making long slow strokes along the length of his cock. And on the last stroke, he brought his hand to the base and held it very still. I could see his body trembling, and he was breathing quickly.

In a very low growl, I heard him grumble.

"… ahhh… Jesus…"

My heart nearly stopped, as I watched a long stream of pure white semen jump from the tip of his penis like an arrow straight into my body. I gasped, not at the physical sensation, though I could feel and hear it, but at what I was seeing, what was happening to us; what we were doing.

Then, just as quickly, the stream stopped. Mark's breathing came quickly, as he tried to catch his breath. I looked up at his face, but he told me to keep watching. I turned my eyes down again and he grunted once more, sending another thick white stream into me. I whimpered, as it entered my body, but did nothing to stop it. I didn't want to. I gave in, surrendering not only to our sexual desires, but our primordial cravings. Mark was making me his own; his property, and I was letting him. I wanted this.

Mark gripped his cock tightly and held his head back, his mouth hanging open and the muscles and veins in his neck straining, as he fought to control his ejaculation.

"Aw fuck!" he cried out.

Another powerful stream shot into me, and I pulled my fingers wider apart, stretching the sensitive skin of my vagina almost to the point of pain.

On the verge of tears, I whimpered again, as he filled me.

"… oh my God," I whispered softly, as I witnessed my son physically transform our relationship.

Mark slowly lowered his head and opened his eyes, staring down at me. He swayed back and forth, looking as though he were physically and emotionally drained, body and spirit.

My jaw hung down, as we looked at each other.

"…oh fuck," I sighed, my voice quivering. "What did you do to me?"

I could feel his warm semen pooled just inside the mouth of my vagina.

I was trembling from head to toe, and he only gave me an exhausted, almost sleepy, smile in reply. Then he put his hands on my hips and pulled me closer. His cock entered my body and I felt the semen he deposited inside bubble out around it. With my hips lifted off the bed, he held me tightly to his body and began slowly bucking against me. My arms flopped over my head and I gave myself to him completely. Mark pulled on me, lurching his cock deep with each thrust, as I hung limply like a rag doll and let him flail my body. Then I felt his hands leave my hips and slide up to my breasts. I could have ended this all by letting my body fall from his cock, but instead I put my feet firmly on the mattress and held myself up, keeping us locked together.

I was in full compliance and the ceremony was complete.

We fucked wildly on the bed, grunting and crying out in pain and pleasure. Mark filled me time and again, never stopping, never withdrawing from my body. This wasn't about sex. It wasn't about any ephemeral and spurious notion of emotional bonding, which I had foolishly deluded myself into believing. It wasn't even about the real reason for why we started doing this in the first place: that we both enjoyed sex, not caring that it came by way of an incestuous relationship. Mark was no longer my son, nor I his mother. All of that was swept away now. We had become, in the strictest sense of the words, soul mates. And it was acknowledged when he called me by name.

I was on my hands and knees; my hair tousled and hanging in sweat-stained strips around my face and neck. Mark laid atop me, as he squat on his feet from behind, his cock deeply assaulting my body, and his arms wrapped tightly around my torso, his head on mine. As I held up the weight of our bodies, my arms trembled. I could feel his body sliding off of mine, as we were both coated in a thick layer of sweat and bodily fluids, and he'd push himself back up with his feet, keeping his body firmly mounted on mine. Mark was squeezing my breasts tightly, and with each thrust of his cock, he'd grunt in my ear and I'd whimper, partly in pain, but mostly in knowing he found pleasure in taking me this way. I belonged to him.

"Oh, fuck, I'm in love with you, Amanda," he groaned, licking my ear.

I closed my eyes tightly and winced. My lungs were burning, as I gasped for air, straining to keep myself from collapsing under our combined weight. My throat was dry and my voice cracked.

"Oh my God," I growled, pushing my ass back to meet his every thrust. "Ahhh… fuck… I love you, too."

And then he held his cock deep inside me and ejaculated; cementing the bond we had created.

My arms finally gave out and I fell to the bed with Mark on top of me, hugging me closely and professing his love.

The next thing I remember is hearing Mark say my name.


I stirred in my sleep.

"Hey… wake up."

I slowly turned my head and opened my eyes. Daylight filled the room and Mark was lying next to me, propping his head upon his elbow and smiling. He reached over and gently ran the back of his hand across my cheek.

"What time is it?" I groaned, squinting my eyes and shading them with my hand.

Mark glanced over his shoulder at the clock on the nightstand.

"Almost ten thirty," he whispered.

I closed my eyes and groaned, pulling a pillow over my head.

"God… lemme sleep a while longer."

"You're supposed to go home this morning," he said.

I groaned again.

"Call home for me," I moaned.

"What do I say?"

"… Mmm… anything… I don't care…"

The bed jostled slightly, as he rolled off.

The next thing I felt was Mark shaking my shoulder.

"Hey, sleepy," he whispered.

With my eyes still closed, I slowly regained consciousness and a small grin curled my lips. I rolled onto my back, stretching my arms far above my head, and opened my eyes, squinting up at Mark. He smiled and I closed my eyes and yawned. As he rolled off the mattress to stand, I opened my eyes and watched him walk around to the foot of the bed. He smiled and reached down to poke my foot.

"Get up, lazy," he said.

I stretched my arms and legs, pointing my toes straight out at him, and moaned happily. Then I let my body suddenly relax, like a stretched rubber band, flopping my hands onto my stomach with a huff.

"I don't wanna," I said with a defiant smile and stuck out my tongue.

Mark slowly leaned down and grabbed hold of my ankles. I grinned, thinking he was going to rub my legs, but instead he gripped them firmly and pulled me across the bed, letting my feet fall to the floor. I squealed as my hair splayed out behind me, and then Mark bent down to take my hand. He helped me sit up, and then sat on the bed next to me. I draped an arm around his shoulders and laid my head against him with a sigh.

"I'm tired," I said softly, turning to look up at him. I batted my eyelashes and he leaned down to kiss me. I opened my mouth, accepting his tongue, and closed my lips around it and sucked gently. We sighed and snickered and very soon the kiss broke.

"You taste good in the morning," I whispered.

Mark chuckled.

"What do I taste like?"

"A cookie."

He laughed again and planted a few tepid kisses on my forehead.

"Help me to the bathroom," I said, resting my hand on his shoulder for support.

As we hobbled along, I snatched my shower kit off the credenza.

Inside the bathroom, as I sat on the toilet to relieve myself, Mark turned on the shower for me. He held his hand under the spray, adjusting its warmth, while I watched. When I finished, I asked if it was ready.

"Yeah," he said. "I think so. See if ya like it."

I stuck my hand in and nodded, and then stepped inside. Mark went over to the toilet and dropped the seat and sat down. I stood under the soothing warm water, holding my head back and running my hands through my hair, soaking it thoroughly. When I opened my eyes, I saw Mark sitting there watching me.

"You gonna get in?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Nope. Took one already."

I picked up my bottle of shampoo and squirt a generous glob in my hand.

"Why?" I exclaimed. "You shoulda waited for me."

"You were asleep," he replied.

"Still shoulda waited," I said, pushing out my lower lip and pouting.

After a short time, Mark finally spoke and said, in a matter of fact manner, that I had a nice figure. As I propped my foot on the edge of the tub and ran a washcloth over my leg, I glanced at him and smiled.

"Seriously," he said. "You really do. I think you have the body of someone…"

I looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Half my age?" I said sternly.

He chuckled. "Nah," he replied. "Really, though. I think you look more like you're… I dunno… twenty-something?"

I rose up and gave him a smile satisfactory to his answer, and then turned toward the spray to rinse off. Then I reached down for my razor and shaved my legs. As I neared my vagina, Mark blithely asked me to shave my pubic hair off. I stopped and raised my eyes to him. He was wearing only the slightest impression of a grin. And the way he said it, it was less of a request and more of a desire on his part. I glanced between my legs at the small orange triangular patch I had always kept there for Ryan. He liked it that way; something to tickle his nose, when he went down on me, or play with as we lay in bed and he ran his hands over my body. At some point, his fingers would find their way between my legs, and he'd gently comb them through my pubic hair, occasionally pausing to pluck softly at them. I'd lay there naked on the bed, my arms held over my head, and sigh, enjoying the tender sensations. It was his little way of expressing his love for me. Not necessarily trying to sexually arouse me, but make my body feel good all the same.

I glanced at Mark and, without hesitation, pointed to my shower kit.

"See if I have some scissors in there," I said.

He leaned to the bathroom counter and pulled the kit closer, peering inside. Then he reached in and retrieved the small scissors and handed them to me. I moved out from under the shower and closer to Mark, perhaps a subconscious maneuver on my part so my lover could watch as I proved my devotion to him. I carefully pulled out tufts of bright orange hair and began clipping them away, letting them sprinkle down to the bottom of the tub. Soon all that was left was fine stubble. I handed Mark the scissors and he set them on the counter. Then I reached down for the soap and lathered myself, and then used the razor to remove the remaining hair. I placed my foot on the edge of the tub and spread my legs wide so Mark could see my act of submission to his will. When I was finished, I turned to the shower and rinsed myself, holding my waist out under the water, brushing away the residual soap and hair. Then I turned back to my lover, placing my foot once more on the edge of the tub and ran a hand between my legs, smiling at him.

"How's it look?" I asked.

He slipped off the toilet to the floor, kneeling in front of me, and picked up my razor. He examined me closely, running his fingers up and down, looking for rough spots to smooth down. He'd pinch the fleshy skin and stretch it far, carefully gliding the razor over it. When he was satisfied, he sat back and smiled.

"Turn around," he said, twirling his finger.

I did and looked over my shoulder at him.

"Bend over and spread your feet."

I complied, putting my hands on my knees and pushing my ass out toward him. He moved closer and placed his hands on either side of my ass, opening it wide.

"Reach back and spread your ass for me," he said.

Once more, I did as he requested, and felt him place the razor close to my anus. I took a nervous breath.

"Careful," I whispered. Then I closed my eyes, as he removed the remaining symbolic outward trappings I had for my husband.

When he was done, Mark smiled up at me, and then leaned in, pushing his tongue flat against me and dragging it up between my legs. I closed my eyes and grinned, cooing softly.

A short time later, I was sitting on the bed putting on my socks. We talked about what we wanted to do that day, but first on the agenda was lunch. We were famished. And, when we were both presentable to the world, we grabbed our jackets and headed for the car, walking hand in hand.

In the brief few minutes it took us to reach the parking lot, it suddenly dawned on me that, earlier in the morning, when Mark tried to wake me the first time, he called me by my first name. Then I remembered how he had done the same thing that night, as we consummated our new relationship. The only reason it struck me as odd was that it felt so good, and I wondered why he hadn't done it sooner.

Mark and Amanda.

I liked the sound of that.

Over lunch we chatted and laughed, talking about one thing or another. It was as if everything was back to normal, the way it had once been, when I was still his mother. I didn't feel like that any more, though. Instead, I felt as though I was his girlfriend. And the more thought I put into it, the more I wanted to assume that role; the more I liked the idea and wanted him to be my boyfriend.

For the remainder of the day, we walked around the mall, did a little shopping, browsed for a long time through a bookstore, enjoying each other's company. We held hands and stole fleeting kisses when we could. With books in our hands, opened and studying them and standing aside one another, we'd occasionally rub shoulders playfully and snicker. I felt full of energy and so very much alive with him, something I hadn't felt in a long time. I hadn't felt like this since I first met his father. And though the thought of Ryan should have returned my senses, instead it only cast a brief shadow over my heart. Not because I felt any sense of remorse or guilt, but rather I wanted my thoughts to be solely of Mark, my lover.

"What'd you tell 'im, when you called this morning?" I asked, as we sat on a bench inside the mall, sharing a large slushy drink. Mark swirled the straw around and said he told him I wasn't feeling well and would probably stay the night again. "And what'd he say?" I asked, not that I cared, as I had already made up my mind to stay. Mark shrugged and handed me the cup. "Said ok." I brought the straw between my lips and glanced up at him with a soft smile.

"Him": that's how I now thought of Ryan. Not as my husband, though I knew it was true. And not as Mark's father. But simply as "him", someone I knew; an acquaintance. I didn't have any ill feelings toward Ryan, and I did still love him, but the truth of the matter is, I now loved Mark more. In fact, there were now three things making me feel closer him than I ever had to Ryan: a deepened sense of love, beyond the parental or amorous; a physical lust for one another and fervid desire to entice and tease our bodies into orgasm; and the incestuous relationship we now shared and an equally passionate disregard for it.

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byjtmalone70© 27 comments/ 193258 views/ 111 favorites

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