Blitzed

Laundry forgotten, I lay on my bed, tears of shame streaming down my cheeks as I tried to blank out the words that ran through my mind, like an endless recording. "Ficke Meine Mutter, Fuck My Mother, Ficke Meine Mutter, Fuck My Mother, Ficke Meine Mutter, Fuck My Mother!"

How could my own flesh and blood disrespect me so much that he could use my photo in such a way? What on earth was he thinking? Was it really disrespect, or, Heaven forbid, wishful thinking? I felt a moment of panic, but as I recognised the possibility that I was right, I became calm, and able to think rationally. After all, Angus was hardly the first teenager to fantasise about shagging his mother, and he certainly wouldn't be the last. In most cases their focus changed when they met "Miss Right," so all I had to do was wait because I certainly didn't feel the same way about him. Nonetheless I thought it prudent to keep a wary eye on him, at least for now. After a couple of weeks there had been no change in the way he had always looked at me, so I relaxed. Just to be sure, I sneaked into his room to see if he had pasted our faces on any more images of the couple, but despite searching high and low there was no trace of the magazine.

Five or six months later I persuaded Hamish that a kitchen renovation was overdue. He agreed without hesitation, admitting that we were now wealthy enough for "Ma Bonnie Wee Lassie" to have nothing but the best, although in his typically Scottish way he saw no sense in spending money to pay someone to tear out the old fixtures, when he or Angus were perfectly capable. We called a supplier to come and take measurements, and after a visit to the factory to check the quality, we ordered new cupboards and counter tops, before going in search of the latest appliances.

Professional installation was arranged for the following Friday, and when the new cupboards were delivered the day before, I rang Hamish who sent Angus to start removing the old. The work went better than expected, and by lunch time there remained only the old appliances, which would require qualified tradesmen to disconnect, and one large wall cupboard. As Angus loosened the three main screws holding it in place, I stood at one end ready to put my shoulder underneath as additional support if it was needed. When the screw at the furthest end from me was removed, the unexpected happened. The fastening closest to me tore free and the whole unit swivelled on the remaining central screw. My end came crashing down, ripping my blouse and pulling down my bra, leaving an angry red weal on the pale skin.

Angus cursed, moving quickly to relieve some of the weight, then stared hard at my fully exposed breast. "Sorry Mum, are you OK?"

With my hands full there was nothing I could do to cover myself, so I merely nodded. "It looks worse than it is, but I can't hold this thing up much longer. Hurry up and unscrew it so we can take it down."

Without taking his eyes from my bare tit, he took the entire weight of the cupboard on his shoulder and wrenched it loose, lowering it to the floor as if it were a toy. As he straightened I moved to fix my bra in place, but he licked his finger and rubbed the mark. "Are you sure you're ok?" When I nodded he lifted my breast as casually as though it were an every day occurrence, teasing my nipple as he placed it gently into its cup.

When his fingers curled around my now bra covered breast I looked down. "Shouldn't you be doing that with girls your own age?" I protested weakly.

"They're not you." A simple phrase that said it all, given what I had seen in the magazine.

I heaved a sigh of relief when he removed his hand, but the feeling was brief as he stripped away the ruined remnants of my blouse, and dropped it on the floor. He reached out and I backed away in alarm, but my heels came up against the cupboard we had just removed and I fell backwards until I was sprawled along its dusty top.

He laughed and knelt beside me, staring thoughtfully at the darkening bruise. "That looks painful. Would you like me to kiss it better?" I started to shake my head, but leaning closer he pulled up my bra and covered my nipple with his mouth.

"That's not the sore place," I said indignantly, trying to push him away with arms that had suddenly turned to lead weights."

"I know," he agreed. "I said I would kiss you better. Isn't this better?"

"You know what I mean," My protest came out as a whisper so quiet I couldn't be sure I had really said it.

Both hands were on my tits, stroking, teasing as he sucked each nipple in turn. "Is what you mean what you want?"

I shook my head, not in denial, but because I was no longer certain. I wanted him to stop, but I didn't want the sensations to stop, because now they were so intense that I was barely aware that he had slipped his hand under my skirt. "Let me feel your cunt."

'Cunt!' How I had always hated that word! But hearing it from my son's lips caused a sudden gush of wetness. I tried to stop my my legs from opening, but it was impossible, and I shivered as he raised my skirt and pushed his hand inside my knickers.

He parted my cunt lips and pressed a finger insistently against my clit, and I recalled what I had told Mum about sometimes having to listen to her body. And right now my body was screaming so loudly I couldn't hear myself think. I lay in helpless surrender, letting his probing fingers explore my wetness, telling myself that this was wrong. That this shouldn't be happening, then my mind flew back through the years to the cupboard under the stairs, to the delicious forbidden thrill I had felt as my Dad pushed his hard dick into my fanny for the first time.

Suddenly I knew that every illicit shag I had had since then - Chuck, Wilbur, Armand, the Swedish man whose name I could no longer remember - had only been foreplay for what was about to happen. For what had to happen. I raised my hips for him to take off my knickers, wanting him to look at my cunt, wanting him to see and appreciate how smooth and hairless it was, just like that of the woman being fucked in the magazine.

He hooked his fingers in the waistband and drew them down my legs and off, and I smiled with pleasure as his eye widened.

"God that's beautiful," he whispered, parting the lips and exploring my inner folds with a fingertip. He probed for several long delightful minutes, then unfastened his belt and stepped out of his trousers. "We have to do it Mum."

I nodded agreement. "Yes, I know. We can't stop now." For the first time since he was a toddler I saw his dick, pleased and impressed how strong and vibrant it had become, and I watched him bring it closer and closer, pushing my hips forward at the last second to help him enter me. I felt like a teenager again, with the remembered scent of new mown hay in my nostrils as he fucked me with the urgency and vitality of youth.

Years before, a pussy filled with Chuck's cum had closed a door on the past, and now, as my son's thrusting incestuous cock spilled his healthy young spunk into the creamy darkness of my gloriously fucked cunt, another door opened on a new and exciting future.