Caught in an Autumn Storm

Harry turned his mother around so they could be face to face again. He gently and sensually ran his fingers through her wet hair and clasped the back of her head in the cup of his hands. As they pressed their bodies together, Harry kissed her tenderly on the lips, intensifying until the two engaged in a deep kiss before they both drew back, surprised and staring at each other.

"Sorry but, I don't know, that..."

"...felt weird?" Harry completed his mother's sentence for her.

She nodded, smiling gently while sliding her soft hand along her son's cheek and neck. "I don't know why - I mean, all we did now seemed like the most natural and beautiful thing in the world, but when you kiss me like that..."

"Yes, I know." Strange, how both mother and son found sharing a lover's kiss so disturbing when they had just shared so much more.

Not wanting to dwell on it, Harry moved his head down to kiss and nibble Claire's nipples instead. Now that did feel right for both of them, as it did as when he gradually worked his head and torso down further along her chest, kissing and licking her stomach along the way before his face and fingers found his mother's warm, inviting pubic mound and warm, engorged vagina - a moist, pink-petaled blossom with soft folds yawning wide open and surrounded by a dense red "V" of hair. Harry was now half-hard again, just minutes after their first coupling. It only took a few kisses along her inner thighs and a few slides of his tongue along her outer labia for him to be ready and to sense that she was too.

Harry mounted his mother again, but before he could get in her, she pulled away, turned around, and got on her elbows and knees in front of him, "I want it like this, do me from behind!"

Her son gratefully accepted the invitation by kneeling on his knees behind his mother, the tip of his hard cock brushing her buttocks. Putting his hands on her hips, he guided Claire's ass up and his cock back into her. She let out a moan of pleasure - it was a smooth, easy entry since her pussy was now absolutely soaked within. Harry pumped his hips, thrusting harder and deeper into his mother's body. "God Harry, you're in so deep!" Their maneuvering had pushed aside the towel, so Claire's elbows, forearms, and knees were now sliding back and forth slightly on the moldy tarp with each of her son's pelvic thrusts. She paid no attention to the dirt, especially not when one of Harry's hands left her hips to reach around and touch her breasts, and especially not when moved down to caress her clitoris. "Yes, there, there..." she begged.

During their second coupling, Harry lasted much longer. As they worked their way inexorably towards climax and release, Claire's face was down in the rags with her elbows soiled by the dirty tarp. She would sometimes raise her head up, alternating between screams and whimpers for two intense, consecutive orgasms before Harry finally came inside of her, gasping and closing his eyes in ecstasy. They then collapsed, both exhausted, son on top of mother, the crown of his not yet fully flaccid cock still lingering in her pussy lips before he had to pull out to get in a mutually comfortable position.

"Wow" was all Claire could say, but it was sufficient - the tone of her spontaneous exclamation once stating "that was the most amazing feeling I've had in years" and "I still can't believe that my son just fucked me twice and that I encouraged the whole thing." Harry picked up on this and just smiled bashfully, nodding his head in agreement. Wow indeed.

In the meanwhile, the rain and wind had stopped long ago - through the dingy cracked window they could see that the storm had cleared.

"The sun's back up..."

"Come on Harry, I guess we should get dressed and go before someone catches us here in flagrante..."

"They'd be in for a sight to see." They both laughed nervously at each other, grinning playfully. Claire especially looked around the shed with disbelief. For some reason, the sight of one another's wet clothes draped over the chairs and their underwear lying at the end of the tarp seemed like an even stronger reminder of what had just happened than their own nakedness.

Harry and Claire stood up, wiped and brushed off the grime that had found its way from the tarp onto their bodies, and put on their underclothes. Harry stashed the wet and dirty towel and rag in his backpack and took out a couple of water bottles, offering one to his mother. Their little romp had dehydrated and exhausted them in the best possible way.

Claire and Harry half-reluctantly stepped outside to wring out their wet clothes as best they could for the last time and take in the warm sun again before getting dressed. While their shirts, jeans, and sweaters were soaking wet, they weren't cold as they made their way back home, the moist air was rising through the woods in a wispy fog illuminated by the sun's rays all around them. Neither said very much, except to point out how a rock ledge they used to sit on had eroded and collapsed or the sight of squirrels chasing each other in the treetops. Without having to say it, both were thinking the same thing - once the afterglow of the lust and passion had worn off, how would they feel about it?

Harry resisted the urge to say or do anything playful or suggestive on the way back or at home. Mother and son both realized that while it was possible that something like this would happen again, they had no intention of making it routine habit. If it didn't happen, then they'd both have a strange but fond memory of a stormy late fall afternoon of incestuous joy in the grimy, musty-smelling ruins of a storage shed turned makeshift hunting cabin - a memory without guilt or regrets.