Magnus and His Family Ch. 05

She then placed one of his fingers on the focus of her sensations. "That's my clitoris. You'll want to rub that—gently at first, then a little more vigorously."

Curt was now totally focused at the task at hand. He was almost wanting to scoot down and get an up-close-and-personal look at her sex, but figured that learning by touch was good enough for now. The female clitoris struck him as almost comically small, but he could nonetheless feel it swelling a bit as he caressed it. Not all that different from a penis, I guess. And as he did so, he looked up in amazement as Imogen opened her mouth and let out a series of moans that made him realize he was doing a good job. For good measure he stroked her labia also, not quite knowing what they were but grasping intuitively that some intense sensation was there also. As he continued to work, Imogen arched her back and clutched the bedsheets with her fists—and then, as the orgasm flooded over her, she let out a cry and then bit her lower lip in an agony of ecstasy. Curt knew instinctively that he should keep on stroking her until her climax was entirely over. Only when Imogen pushed his hand away and collapsed in exhaustion did he become aware that he had succeeded with flying colors.

But his pride at his achievement was dwarfed by his admiration of his partner.

"Ma'am," he said quietly, "you look so beautiful when you . . ." He trailed off in embarrassment.

"When I come?" she said between pants. "Thank you, dear." I think Paul said that to me a while ago.

Imogen now wrapped her arms around Curt's broad shoulders as she snuggled up to him. She continued in teacher mode.

"Now it's time for a little cuddling," she said. "Women love to cuddle—both before and after sex."

"I like to cuddle, too," Curt said.

She looked up at him. "Good for you!"

What Curt really meant was that he had already become entranced at the feel of Imogen's naked body next to his—whether it be her heavy breasts pressed against his chest, or the fur of her delta tickling his leg, or her firm, curvy bottom as he stroked it gently with his hand. She had also buried her face against his neck, kissing and licking it; and as she languidly stretched a hand down in the area of his groin, she took some interest in what was happening there.

"I see," she said, "that you're getting revived again."

"Yes, ma'am," he said sheepishly.

"Don't be apologetic. You won't believe how many men can't revive themselves even after one climax—let alone the two that you've had!" She gazed up at him with an impish expression. "So . . . you'd like some more?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said again.

"Would you like to try something different?"

"What would that be, ma'am?"

It was only after a pause that Imogen said: "Would you like to go into my bottom?"

Curt gasped, and his hand momentarily came off of her posterior. Naïve as he was, he knew something about "rear entry"—at least to the extent that it was not to every woman's taste.

"You—you like that?" he said.

"I do."

Curt didn't reply, and Imogen took that as a yes. As she reached across his body to reach for the top drawer of the nightstand, she said, "We need some lube." She looked at him sternly. "Don't ever do this to a girl without lube. It'll hurt both you and her—especially her." She glanced quickly at his swelling cock, thinking: You'll split the poor girl in two with that thing of yours.

The thought of hurting any female was appalling to Curt, and he watched wide-eyed as Imogen fished out the little blue jar from the nightstand.

"That—that's what you use for lube?" he said.

"Yes, it works pretty well."

She wasn't sure whether he had the courage or inclination to lube her up himself, so she quickly did the job, wiping her fingers on some Kleenex. Curt may have thought that the standard position was for the female to get on all fours; but when Imogen remained flat on her stomach, he sensed that this position would do just fine also.

As he got on top of her, Imogen felt a shudder of apprehension. The thickness of Curt's member—how rock-hard again—instilled her with just a hint of apprehension. So she said tremblingly: "Just go slow, dear."

"I will, ma'am," Curt said.

He did as instructed. In fact, he proceeded so slowly that he had trouble getting the head of his cock into her, and Imogen had to lift up her butt to get him ensconced. The first sensation of that tight little orifice made him gasp again, and he unwittingly plunged in several inches at once.

"Easy, dear!" Imogen cried as a twinge of pain went through her. "Not so fast."

"I'm so sorry, ma'am!" Curt cried.

"It's okay. Just take it easy."

By this time he was more than halfway in, and he figured that was enough for him to start a little gentle pumping. He felt so transported—almost as if his entire body were in her—that he placed his whole weight on her back, as she spread het legs wide to accommodate him. And, like his predecessors in this position, he reached around Imogen to seize her breasts in his large hands, almost using them to balance himself as he thrust in and out.

With Curt entering her deeper and deeper, Imogen sensed that he was in no position to give her the pleasure she desired. True, what she was feeling was almost unprecedented, and she half wondered if she would faint from the sensation of this thick piston ramming her bottom; but she remained conscious, and as she sensed that Curt was coming to the end of this incredible experience, she slipped a hand down to her own sex to stimulate herself.

Their climaxes came almost in unison, and they both cried out incoherently as Curt shot an immense load deep into Imogen's rectum. It seemed to go on forever, and she could hear his groans as his mouth rested close to her ear. Her own orgasm seemed unusually extended, continuing as he lay like a dead weight on her, his cock still plugging her firmly.

Finally, after minutes, they came back down to earth, and Imogen said softly, "You'd better come out of me now."

Curt sensed that his withdrawal might also be painful to Imogen, so he pulled out as carefully as he could. But his final exit did send a little jolt through her, and she couldn't help emitting a little moan.

"Are you okay, ma'am?" he said, deeply concerned, as he rolled off of her.

"I'm fine," she said. "It was wonderful, wasn't it?"

"Yes, ma'am." Suddenly he got choked up. With glistening eyes he went on, "You're the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Oh, Curt," she said, stroking his face gently, "you're such a sweetheart."

That particular endearment, formulaic as it may have been, somehow opened the floodgates. Flinging himself onto her, his head buried in her breasts, he broke down and cried like a baby. Imogen had an inkling something this might happen, and she merely stroked his head and held him close until his paroxysm was over. She had no problem with male tears—in fact, she wished more men would make use of them.

But Curt now seemed hugely embarrassed at his emotional display. With a hasty "Thank you, ma'am," he pulled himself away from her, seized his clothes, and left the room.

Without bothering to dress, Curt stumbled back into Paul's room.

Paul was accustomed to seeing him and his other teammates naked in the locker room, so the sight of a nude Curt holding his clothes against his chest provoked no alarm. In fact, Paul himself, having heard the moans and groans of his mother and his friend in the next room, had engaged in a delightful session of self-pleasuring as he indulged his imagination as to what was going on.

Paul watched Curt as he dressed quickly.

"So how was it, man?" he said, although he knew the answer to that.

Without looking at his friend, Curt said, "It was great, man. Really great. Your mom—she's just the most fabulous person I've ever met."

"What did you do with her?" Paul asked bluntly.

Curt scowled at him. "Hey, man, I'm not telling you that. It's private." In fact, it's kind of holy.

"Okay, okay. But how many times did you come?"

Curt flushed when he said, "Three."

"Three!" Paul cried. "You were there barely an hour."

Curt just shrugged. She has a way of getting the best out of a guy.

As he finished dressing, Curt was chewing his lower lip. After a long pause, he said: "There's something I have to ask you, man."

"What is it?" Paul said.

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"Sure, I get it. What is it?"

There was another pause before Curt said: "Do you sleep with your mom, man?"

The two young men gazed at each other for a long time. Paul had to take his hat off to Curt for figuring this out so quickly on his own. But Curt was no dummy. The readiness with which Imogen had agreed to this plan of "teaching" Curt about sex had made him sense that something more was going on. Inconceivable as the idea of a son getting it on with his mother might ordinarily have been, Imogen's beauty and youthful appearance made it far less so.

"Yeah, man," Paul finally said, "I do."

Curt closed his eyes for a moment. "Jesus, that's wild!" he breathed. "How—?"

"Hey," Paul said defensively, "it just started a little while ago. She's been so lonely, man, ever since she left my dad two years ago." Suddenly Paul got up from the bed, approached his friend, and placed his hands on his shoulders. "We do it for love, man. I love her so much, and she loves me. And this is how we show it."

"I get it, man," Curt said with a soft smile. "She's an incredible woman. If she were my mom—" But a sudden stab of pain seemed to go through Curt, and he winced.

He pulled away from Paul and headed out the door. "I'd better be going. It's been great, but I'd better get home."

Curt had a hand on the knob of the front door when he heard Imogen say softly, "Aren't you going to say goodbye to me, Curt?"

He wheeled around, seeing her dressed again in that thin robe. The sash wasn't tied very tightly, and there was a fair amount of cleavage showing.

"Sure, ma'am," he muttered, looking at the ground.

She came up to him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and gave him a long, long kiss on the mouth. At first Curt merely placed his hands on Imogen's back, but as the kiss went on he slid a hand down to her bottom. This was no crudely lascivious gesture, but a reminder of the intense intimacy they had just shared.

After their lips separated, he whispered in her ear, "Can I—can I come back sometime?"

"Of course," he said. "Anytime."

He gave her a look of ineffable gratitude, then left.

Imogen turned around to face her son. "That's one remarkable young man," she said dreamily.

"Yeah, Mom, he's great."

"But . . . there's something sad about him." She drifted back in the direction of her own bedroom. "I wish I knew what it was."

She closed her bedroom door firmly, and Paul understood that for tonight, at least, she wanted to be alone with her thoughts.