Blood and Honey

I remember that she tasted like blood and honey, the first from her bitten lip and the latter from the cough drops she sucks on when her throat feels shitty. It's a compelling combination and it was undercut by the taste of her breath as she kissed back. It was hungry kissing, the kind that's trying to make up for a month of denial, the kisses that speak of passion and a growing need to fuck.

Then I pulled back and tried to ask her the same thing - 'What do you want to do?' - but I didn't even get two full syllables in. She pulled my head back for more kisses and pulled one hand towards her until I had a palm full of her boob. The way her spine arched on that contact made her intentions clear: I'd have to openly and verbally object to get out of that bed without fucking my mother.

Of course, I didn't want to. And at that point I guess the dam had broken. I still felt like shit, more than a little bit, but I knew that I wasn't going to ignore my feelings for her ever again. This last month had been a fucking trial on everyone.

Struggling out of our clothes was one of the most awkward but weirdly luxurious experiences of my life. She only had the dressing gown on but that fluffy material causes a lot of friction over other fabric, and while my shorts were no problem, my boxers weren't so cooperative (mostly because my wildly hard cock got tangled in them almost painfully) and my t-shirt got stuck on my head somehow.

Eventually, though, we lay between the sheets together, running our hands over each other. I felt her hand tighten around the base of my cock but I wasn't ready for that yet.

Instead, I rolled her over onto her back. She made a soft, sweet sound of protest when she realised I wasn't getting on top of her - she really just wanted to get fucked - but that turned into a purr of approval as I kissed her throat, then her chest, then each nipple, along the under-curve of each breast and so on until I was fully snuggled between her legs. In the tent made by her knees I kissed up her thighs, making her wait, making her beg to feel my tongue on her slit.

Slickness ran over my tongue when I finally drew it from her taint all the way up to her clit in one long, slow stroke that opened her like a flower. I'd neglected to go down on her during our first time and I really love eating pussy. Time to rectify my earlier mistake. My hands held her thighs apart and back as I lapped at her, first flickering at her clit like a snake, then tasting her as I licked up her length, then burying my face in her crotch as I drove my tongue as deep in her as I could get, hunting for a different kind of honey.

Sliding a pair of fingers into her I angled them up, found her textured and already swollen g-spot, began circling it as I suckled on her clit with obscene, hungry slurping sounds. Her purr worked up to gasping and then a thin, hot wail as she rocketed close to orgasm, and when she came it was hard and wet. I pulled back only far enough to rub my fingertips back and forth over her clit, making her squirt harder and longer, drawing her orgasm out, and more than a little of it got on my face.

I didn't care. No, I loved it.

With my fingers now soaking wet, I pushed at her tight arse with one of them, sliding it slowly into her heated depths as I lapped at her pussy. I avoided her clit for a while, letting it become a bit less sensitive, pulling her attention to her rear entrance instead. Mum, it turns out, really loves anal and she took one finger, then two, then a third without much problem. I'd have tried for a fourth but the angle wasn't great and my hand started to cramp. In any case, she grabbed at my hair and shoulders, trying to pull me up between her legs and on top of her.

"Fuck me," she whispered, voice hoarse from long hours of crying and utter, unmistakable sexual need. "Please please Teagan please I need you to fuck me," she groaned, the tone twisting into a begging sound. "I don't care if you fuck my cunt or my arse but I need your cock, I need it, please fuck me..."

I don't think I've conveyed properly how incredibly hot my mother is but the keening, desperate way she begged for my cock almost made me cum right then, with almost no stimulation. Then her hand was around my cock pulling me closer and I slipped into her, the ribbed musculature of her pussy constricting around me like she'd never been fucked before.

The moan that ripped from her throat sounded as if it had been drawn out directly from her very soul, if you believe in souls. Right then I sure did. I pulled her wrists above her head, pinned them down with one hand and put the other on her hip as I drove into her as far as I could get.

It wasn't subtle. It probably wasn't even the best technique I've used. Neither of us cared. We were wound up far beyond caring and I simply pounded her, fucked her, screwed her cunt long and deep. Every stroke sounded and felt wet, splashing in the space under the sheet, her hyper-orgasmic body driving her up and through another screaming orgasm that I tried to muffle - with only minimal success - by kissing her.

And then, because she'd offered it to me, I rolled her onto her face while she was still shaking in orgasm and drove my cock up to the hilt into her waiting, convulsing arse.

I wasn't going in 'dry' by any stretch of the imagination and my fingers had warmed her up but it was less lube than I probably should have used. She didn't care, didn't even seem to notice discomfort. She just let out a low, shuddering moan and pushed back against my invading rod. Her arse was incredible, both silk-soft and lava-hot as I pushed in, my weight holding her hard against the bed. She couldn't have gotten away if she'd tried, and she very clearly didn't want to. I held her down and fucked her arse, burying a hand in her hair and twisting it. I remembered she liked that.

'Liked it' was an understatement. She screamed into the pillows, bucking back to impale herself every time I dared to slow down, encouraging me first with squeaks and then shrieks that I could barely hear through the pillows but knew absolutely what she meant.

"Fuck my arse! Fuck it! Fuck me more! Please, more, please!"

The more the begged the more I fucked her. I guess I was training her - unintentionally - that I like it when she begs me for cock, because she said that word a lot over that day.

The funny thing is, I didn't cum that time. We both just kind of... ran out of energy. I had her on her back and was fucking her arse deep when she came one last time and after that it was like we were puppets with our strings cut. I collapsed on her and we didn't move, my cock still in her back passage, until I went limp and slid out.

**********

We lay there, still and panting, for what seemed like another hour. Again, it was probably really only a couple of minutes. Finally, though, she pushed me off to go have a shower. I dropped back down but she tugged my hand, smiling impishly, until I joined her.

We soaped each other down, though not in the sexy way - okay, not just in the sexy way. Once we were rinsed she backed up against me, rubbing her butt against my cock (which had gotten hard again because I had a beautiful woman cleaning it) until I bent her over and drove it into her pussy once more.

Shower sex is slippery and not always safe but somehow we managed to make it work, her orgasmic voice bouncing off the tiled walls before she squatted and and took me in her mouth. When I came it was right down her throat and if she spilled any of it, the shower washed it away immediately. I was, oddly, a little sad; I would have liked to see it over her beautiful face or stunning tits.

I needn't have worried. I've had more than enough opportunities since.

**********

Looking back on it, I have no idea how we weren't caught. All it would have taken would be Tara or Dad coming home. If they found us snuggling in bed then maybe that wouldn't have been so bad but hearing those screams... there's not a person in this house who doesn't know very keenly what Mum sounds like when she's being boned properly.

We kept it a secret for a long time, too. Oh, Dad knows now, it's not like we hid it for five years. And they've been swingers longer than they've been married, so he knows we're still having sex, too. But for a while - longer than you might think - it was just ours. Our secret.

I'll admit I didn't expect any of this - I mean any of it. Nobody really expects to have sex with their parent, I guess, but I sure didn't expect to find myself falling in love with a woman who also happened to have given birth to me over two decades prior. I didn't expect to react so strongly to it, but I guess that was just naive of me. It's taboo for a reason and most people aren't even tempted to question it. I sure didn't expect Mum and I to make up by fucking in her bed one day.

But what I really didn't expect was Tara marching into my room the next morning.

"Hey, fucko!"

I looked up from... I forget what I was even doing. She was topless, as usual, and she sure as fuck noticed when I had to actively drag my gaze upwards from her breasts. She was scowling when I met her gaze.

"Uh..." I scratched my head a bit.

"If you're done perving," she snorted, though that was a throwaway comment with no heat behind it, "you need to sort your shit out. With Mum?" she sighed in exasperation. "You've been fucking weird the whole mo-"

"Oh, that," I said, cutting her off. It was a bit rude of me but I really didn't want her thinking about this too much. "We've sorted it out. It's all good."

That caught her by surprise. She blinked at me a few times. I watched her open her mouth and then close, before trying again.

"You sure?" she asked, narrowing her eyes all suspicious-like.

"Yep," I nodded, giving her two thumbs up. "All good."

"What was wrong with you, anyway?" she asked.

There was no way I was going to answer that honestly but I also don't like lying to my sister, and not just because she's good at spotting lies. So I opted for one of the truths at my disposal.

"Well... I was looking at moving out. Into my own place." I watched her expression change from suspicion to confusion to shocked horror. "Yeah. Mum wasn't happy. Dad doesn't know I've been thinking about it. It's been tying Mum up in knots because..."

"Yeah, I get it," Tara nodded. Then she shook her head. "Nope, none of that. I hope you're not gonna do it."

Now it was my turn to be confused.

"Why... Why would you care?" I asked. "I mean we all get along, sure, but most people move out of their parents' houses eventually."

"In our culture," she pointed out.

"Yes. Well. We're in our culture so my comment stands."

"Well." Tara shrugged, momentarily at a loss for words. "It just... feels wrong. I mean you've seen your friends' families. And my friends' families. They get along, sure, but not like ours does. There's room here, we look out for each other and it's..." She pouted then, cutely, and I wondered if that's how Mum used to look when she pouted at Tara's age.

"It's..?" I prompted her.

"Harmonious," my sister continued, using that word we'd heard our parents voice to describe the feeling. "We just... work together. Splitting up the family would feel bad. Like, really bad. It'd change things for the worse, make us more distant."

I had to agree she had a point.

"Either way," I shrugged, "I'm not moving out."

Tara squeaked happily and bounced over - again, topless, so emphasis on 'bounced' - and threw her arms around my neck. She went to kiss my cheek but I turned my head and she got my lips instead. Close-mouthed but it was a surprise to us both. What was more of a surprise, however, was how... simple it felt? Simple is the wrong word. Chaste? Pure?

No. Wholesome.

I watched her go, happy and satisfied with my answer, wondering at the twin tastes of sweetness and family.

Blood and honey.

-- End