tagIncest/TabooIncestory: Shacking Up

Incestory: Shacking Up


She was in my condo, sitting on my couch, my old photo album on her lap, a glass of red wine in her hand.

"Hello," she said in greeting.

I hadn't seen her in nearly a year and at first I almost didn't recognize her. She'd put on a little weight and her features had softened a bit but time had been very kind to her.

Her hair was its natural rich shade of black, no dyes, and no highlights. She'd let it grow out and I was struck by how much her crystal blue eyes and pale skin contrasted so sharply with it - it gave her an exotic, almost Gothic, appearance.

Her full breasts filled the top of a skimpy white tight tank top and it was obvious she wasn't wearing a bra. Her jeans shorts were barely shorts but showcased her gorgeous thick legs extremely well.

She was saved from looking trashy by a pair of expensive high heeled Italian sandals.

"Hello, Mother," I answered, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She sniffled and set down the wine. The album slid off of her lap and fell to the floor but she ignored it to light a cigarette.

I shut the door and dropped my backpack.

"How are you?" she asked, her hands shaking slightly. I couldn't tell if it was from nervousness or from alcohol.

"What do you want?" I asked abruptly.

She looked up at me sharply, her eyes held hurt and her lip quivered in anger. She was obviously very emotional and I felt a sharp pang of guilt for being gruff with her.

"Sorry," I said, "You took me by surprise. You should've called first."

"How are you?" she asked again, puffing on the cigarette.

"Surprised," I replied.

"Suuuuurpriiiise!" she cheered.

Sometimes she had a strange sense of humor when she drank.

She picked up the wine and sipped it, her bright eyes flicking up to mine then away again quickly.

"Get a glass and join me," she suggested patting the couch beside her.

"I don't drink wine," I replied, "That's Sara's."

"You're still with that ... with her?" she asked incredulously, "I'd have thought you'd wised up by now."

It wasn't a secret that Sara disliked her and it was obvious that the feeling was mutual. I guess that Sara was always a little intimidated by my mother. The fact that my mother was a drunk didn't make it easy to defend her.

"I'm an adult, Mom," I laughed, walking to the closet to take off my jacket, "I can choose my girlfriends and I do like to have sex occasionally."

I hoped that if I was obnoxious enough she'd decide to leave before my girlfriend came over. It was an immature way to go about it but I didn't know what else to do.

"Real sex?" she asked sarcastically.

I looked at her sideways: "What other kind is there?"

She smiled at me condescendingly in response.

"I doubt that you know what real sex is."

I felt a surge of adrenaline and a feeling I hadn't experienced in a long time ... not since the last time I'd seen her.

It was a strange mixture of shame, guilt, and frustration: Shame at the slutty way she acted when she drank; guilt for the way it made me feel when she did; frustration at the fact that I couldn't do anything about it.

"You're drunk again," I admonished.

"Not yet," she laughed, "but I'm working on it."

She'd started drinking heavily when I was about thirteen. Dad had forced her to quit her job and stay home. He'd inherited a small Biotech firm with military contracts. It was more than enough income for the household and he'd insisted that she should find other ways to fill her time ... social events and such.

Mom wasn't the Society type.

Her drinking became heavy and more frequent until eventually; it wasn't uncommon to see her staggering around the house, like she was now ... barely dressed, obnoxious, with a glass of booze in her hand.

"Can you be polite to me at least?" she asked.

"Whatever," I tossed my jacket rather than bothering to try to hang it up and walked into the kitchenette.

She followed me with her eyes like she was tracking a target.

"I don't know what I did to make you hate me. I always thought that I was a good mother to you."

"You were," I lied.

She smiled at me nervously.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry for ... for whatever." She stubbed out the cigarette and sipped the wine again.

I looked at her for a moment. She was blind to the effect her drinking had on her ... and to the effect it had on me.

"I don't hate you, alright!" I stammered, "I had a hard day. Sara's gonna be here soon and she's hard enough to deal with without adding you and a bottle of vodka to the mix."

"That's it, isn't it?" she lit another cigarette, "That little slut finally managed to turn you against me!"

"You turned me against you," I said evenly though the words made me cringe as I spoke them.

She looked at me seriously for a moment and stood up abruptly.

"Alright, fine," she said, her voice cracking with emotion, "I'll find a motel then."

"What?" I asked, "Why would you do that?"

A tear ran down her cheek.

"I left your Father, okay?" she cried, "And your being a total shit to me!"

I didn't believe it. We both knew she couldn't make it on her own - she didn't have the means or the discipline to take care of herself - at least not at the standard she'd grown accustomed to. She would have to be extremely desperate to leave him.

It was more likely that she was lying and he'd finally thrown her out.

"What happened?" I asked, not really expecting an honest answer.

The tears became a flood and she sobbed.

I instantly forgot whatever I'd been mad at her for. I couldn't stay strong in the face of her anguish and rushed to her, took her arms, and pulled her into a hug.

"He's cheating on me!" she sobbed into my shoulder, "I'm so fucking angry ... I don't know what to do ... where else to go."

My intention was to comfort her. Sara was tiny and thin like a ballerina, Mom was soft and warm. I found myself enjoying holding her in a more intimate way than was probably appropriate.

"I'm sorry," I said sincerely, "I didn't know that you'd split up."

She didn't seem uncomfortable at my sudden closeness, as a matter of fact; she dropped the cigarette into the ashtray and pulled me more tightly to her.

"It's alright," she sniffled, "Can I stay or not?"

"You got any bags?"

"What you see is all I have," she stated, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands, "For now anyway. I can probably get stuff from the house tomorrow."

I should have felt the way that most kids do when they find out that their parents have split - I realized that on a conscious level but instead I felt an odd sense of relief.

"Please," she whispered, "I really need you right now."

I'd spent a lot of time as a teenager trying to cover up for her and clean up after her ... just to try to avoid my father being upset at her. I guess I was just trying to keep the peace.

In a strange way, I'd missed it, missed her drama, missed the way she'd needed me. She was my Mom and despite her failings; I couldn't help but feel that I still had an obligation to help her.

"I only have the one bed," I informed her, "I don't think you'll like the couch much, it's not very comfortable."

She regained her composure, let me go, and plopped back on the couch

"I'm sure it will be fine," she said quietly.

"Sara won't be happy."

"You think she'll mind us shacking up?" she laughed.

She ran her hands through her thick hair to put it up in a ponytail and I couldn't help but stare at her body.

"Are you going to be alright?" she asked.

I realized suddenly that I was staring at her tits and looked away quickly in shame. When I looked back at her she was watching me intently with a wry smile on her lips.

"I don't think I'll need more than a day or two," she picked up the wine glass again; "I really do appreciate it."

She held the glass up to toast our arrangement.


I had a strange feeling that I'd just bitten off more than I could chew.


I spotted her a few hundred dollars to buy some of the things she'd need. She promised she'd pick up some Chinese on her way home. I spent the time trying to figure out how I was going to smooth things with Sara.


Sara came by while she was gone and noticed the lipstick stained glass and cigarettes in the ashtray.

"What the fuck!" she screamed at me.

"Relax," I laughed, "My Mother was here."

"What does she want?"

"Look," I brushed her thin blonde hair away from her forehead and kissed her around the eyes to try to soothe her, "She needs a place to stay for a little while and I told her she could crash here."

"Hah!" Sara laughed, pushing me away abruptly, "I knew that lush would pull some shit like this."

"What do you mean?"

"Women's intuition!"

I looked at her confused.

"Look," she said, "It took me a year to get you to move out."


"You know as well as I do that she didn't want you to leave and now she's horning in on you so that she can be in control of you again."

"She's not in control of me!" I protested, "She never was."

"Whatever!" she stepped back a step, "I've seen the way she acts around you ... and if I didn't know how much of a pussy you are I'd swear you'd fuck her!"

"You're jealous of my Mother?"

"Tell me you wouldn't fuck her!" she put her hands on her hips, "Shit, I'd fuck her!"

"Your nuts! I only want you, Sara!"

She grabbed my dick through my pants and squeezed hard.

"Prove it!" she challenged.


She squeezed my dick harder and twisted: "Show me!"

"Ow, Shit!" I grabbed her hair and spun her around forcing her face first into the wall.

She ground her ass back against me lustily.

"That's it!" she laughed.

"Sara, come on," I pleaded; I wasn't particularly in the mood at the moment.

"Don't be such a mama's boy!"

I yanked up her shirt to expose the tattoo across the small of her back.

"I'm not the one with the 'Daddy's Girl' tramp stamp on my ass!" I teased running my finger along the edge of the ink.

She twisted her head and bit my wrist hard.

"Ow, Bitch!"

She was provoking me, she always seemed to want me to be mad at her when we fucked, and it always seemed to work.

"Why are you always ...?"

She was impatient and pushed her jeans and her panties down together.

"Are you gonna fuck me or do you gotta ask your mom if it's okay now?" she sneered.

"Stop, Sara ..."

She reached back and unsnapped my pants one handed, reached into my jeans, and fished out my hardening cock.

"Are you saving this for her? Are you a Motherfucker now?"

She finally got the reaction she wanted from me.

"You really want me to fuck you?" I aimed my dickhead at her sphincter.

"Fucking duuuuh!"

"Alright, then."

I shoved my cock completely into her asshole in one solid thrust.

"Ow! Shit!" she cried out in shock.

"How's that?" I asked.

She gasped like a fish out of water and tensed reflexively around the cock buried in her ass for a few seconds before finally relaxing enough to unclamp.

She wasn't a stranger to anal sex ... I'd just taken her by surprise.

She looked over her shoulder and forced a smile.

"Is it in yet?"

I let my anger completely go this time. If she wanted to get fucked rough ... well now I was willing to oblige her.

I pounded into her ass mercilessly. She responded by fingering herself in rhythm with my thrusts, swirling her hips and moaning.

"There ya go!" she hissed, "Fuck my ass!"

I sensed her reaching orgasm - a slight quivering that started in her abdomen and moved up her spine. I let it go when she peaked, my cum filling her tiny ass and running down her legs as she ground her fingers over her pussy and panted.

"Happy now?" I asked her as she wound down.

"Sure," she pushed off the wall forcing me to let her go, "Who wouldn't be happy that their boyfriend is living with their slut mommy."

"She's my mother!" I laughed.

"Exactly!" Sara announced as she pulled up her jeans without bothering to clean up my cum, "She's got lots of money; I'm sure she could've made other arrangements."

She had a good point.


I watched my mom across the table as she twirled her noodles and slurped them down noisily. She noticed me watching her and guiltily wiped her mouth with a napkin.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked.

I hadn't realized I was looking at her in any particular way.

"Like what?"

She smiled and lifted a forkful of noodles, opened her mouth wide, maneuvered the lowest hanging noodles onto her tongue, tilted her head back, tilted the fork down, and slurped the noodles into her mouth between pursed lips.

She smiled that wry smile again, looked me in the eyes, and dramatically swallowed the noodles in one dramatic gulp.

I felt myself blush.

"Like that!" she laughed, pointing the fork at me.

I looked down at my plate embarrassed.

"What happened with Dad?" I asked to change the subject.

"I told you," she stated.

"I can't believe he'd cheat on you ... I mean ... you're still so beautiful ... even at your age."

She looked at me tenderly.

"You have to take care of me now," she suggested, peering at me through her bangs, "since I'm getting so old."

"So much for dating for the rest of my life, huh?" I laughed.

"Eat," she ordered, "You're too skinny."


My eyes popped open. I'd been startled awake by a sound ... I knew that sound ... It was the sound of my cheap bed's springs squeaking.

I rolled over on the couch and looked at the cable box. It was a little after two in the morning. I sat up and listened. The sound of the springs was slow and rhythmic and I guessed right away that she had to be masturbating.

My cock hardened and I rolled onto my back listening to the sounds of my bed creaking, trying to imagine what my Mother was doing to herself ... in my bed ... in my sheets.

I found myself rubbing my dick, imagining that I was standing over her on the bed, watching her fuck herself.

The squeaking gradually increased in frequency until, suddenly, it ceased.

I dropped my cock guiltily and pulled the covers over my head.

It took a long time to fall back asleep.


I startled awake again.

It was early morning and she was in the kitchenette going through the cabinets. I could see her clearly due to the street light behind my building shining through the blinds.

She was so short that she didn't have a choice but to try to balance herself on the edge of the counter to try to reach the top shelves.

She was wearing one of my long t-shirts. The shirt would have only just covered her ass under normal circumstances but now I could clearly see her thick sexy legs and panties when she stretched.

I felt myself stiffen at the sight of her exposed heart-shaped ass and the way her fat tits were outlined by my shirt as she struggled to pull herself up over the counter.

She must have sensed me watching her and looked over her shoulder at me.

"Damn, why did you put the coffee up so high?" she whined.

"Sorry," I sat up but would have to wait a moment or two for my morning wood to subside a little before I would be willing to attempt to help her.

She let herself drop down off the counter and leaned against it crossing her arms impatiently.

"Do I have to ask you to help me?" she admonished.

"No," I laughed, "I just need a minute to ... to clear my mind."

She smiled, looked down, shook her head, and put her fingertips to her forehead.

"Look, I'm your mother," she sighed, "I've seen your stuff more than a few times. Hell, I even touched it once or twice, believe it or not!"

Hearing my mom talking about touching my penis made it jerk and stiffen even more.

"You're not helping!" I told her.

She shot me a look from under her thick black bangs and smiled again.

"Hurry up," she laughed, "I've got things to do today."

I decided that it wasn't going to go down anytime soon; she obviously wasn't concerned that I was at full-mast, so I tossed aside the covers and stood.

Her eyes wondered over my body for a moment before she looked down with a guilty expression.

I felt a rush at the way her eyes had lingered on my stiff cock for just a split second longer than was probably necessary.

"Well, come on," she said.

Walking across the living room under her gaze was definitely the most awkward experience I'd ever experienced. The hormones and adrenaline coursing through my veins made my heart pound and my muscles tense. I felt like I was on stage in my underwear.

She stepped aside to let me get to the cabinets but she was still close enough for me to feel the warmth radiating from her skin.

I got the coffee and set it on the counter.

"Sugar too."

I got the sugar and set it on the counter.

"Thank you," she said and leaned up to kiss my cheek and ended up pressing her body into me, her tits mashing against my chest, her hip brushing my stiff cock.

"Anytime," I mumbled and pulled away from her.

She watched me return to the couch and cover up.

"Sweet dreams," she said sweetly.

I rolled over so my back was to her.

There wasn't any possibility of me going back to sleep now.


Thoughts of her tormented me all of the following day.

It was like being a freshman in high school again. Every time I let my mind wonder for just a moment it would dredge up her image and my dick would thicken in my trousers.

I spent a lot of time at my desk for once but I still didn't manage to get any work done.

I stared at my screensaver and tried to think my way through everything that was happening to me. Eventually I had no choice but to come to the only conclusion I could.

I'd never considered how attached I was to my Mom before, not until Sara had made an issue out of it.

Now it was painfully obvious even to me.

Maybe it was the perspective of a young man rather than that of a child that caused me to realize why my Mother made me so upset all the time ... it was simple ... a simple and awful truth.

Sara was right.

I wanted to fuck my mother.


I stopped by Sara's to get a nut on the way home, to try to do something about the state I was in before I dared to spend anymore time around my Mom.

Her Father was still home so I had to play 'Mr. Nice Boyfriend' for a few hours until it was time for him to report for duty.

He was a Texas State Trooper on the nightshift so, fortunately, I knew he wouldn't be around long enough to get in the way of me boning his daughter.

He knew my Father from the club and sometimes they played a few holes of golf together in the summer ... as a matter of fact, that's how I'd met Sara in the first place.

Our Father's had kind of pushed us into dating ... she'd been recently dumped by her college sweetheart and I'd never had a girlfriend so I guess it just made sense at the time.

I don't think either of us ever really cared for each other. It all always seemed a matter of convenience more than anything.

She pleaded for me to stay the night after I fucked her but I begged out saying I had to help my Mom get settled in at the condo. That didn't sit well with her and our night ended with her slamming the door behind me as I left.

The sad part about it all was that I felt more frustrated after fucking her then I had to begin with.


Mom was passed out on the couch wearing one of my shirts for a nightshirt again.

There were two empty wine bottles on the table and the ashtray was overflowing. The TV was tuned to a channel that specialized in late night soft porn and I had to wonder what she'd been up to while I was gone.

"Mom?" I called her softly to see if she would respond.

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