tagIncest/TabooMother Fucks

Mother Fucks


~Naked beneath her summer dress, she stood before the light~

Connie had just finished putting away the last of the groceries and was turning to go into the living room to relax when she felt hands on her waist turning her. It was Jarred, her son's best friend. He pulled her close. She could feel the hard muscles of his chest flex against her breasts beneath the white T-shirt. At first she thought he was playing around with her. Then he kissed her hard on the mouth. For an instant, there was the moist warmth of his tongue in her, then he was gone, out the patio door, yelling back over his shoulder to Deek, her son, down the hall in his bedroom, that he'd see him tomorrow.

She wandered into the living room and sat down on the sofa, placing her hands together in her lap and turning her head, unconsciously, from side to side.. Had it happened, she wondered? It seemed unreal. She must have imagined it. Jesus.

"Hey, babe, get me another beer, okay?" Her husband Burt, ensconced in his recliner, glanced briefly at her over the sports section, then resumed reading.

As she opened the refrigerator door, she heard the sound of Jarred's chopper throttle up and roar off.


"He kissed you?" Ruth asked incredulously. She set a fresh cup of coffee on the coffee table in front of Connie. "You're kidding, right? Jarred?"

Ruth had been Connie's best friend for years. A divorcee with two failed marriages under her belt and presently dating a variety of men trying to find her Mr. Right again.

Connie nodded. "It was...out of the blue. I still have a hard time believing it actually happened," she said, then added in a perplexed tone, "but I know it did."

She added some cream to her coffee from a silver server and took a sip.

"Did he give you any tongue?" Ruth teased.

"I'm serious," Connie replied. "This is embarrassing. Deek's best friend. How am I going to handle this?"

Ruth slowly drew a Tijuana Slim from a teak box on the table and lit it with a heavy, chrome lighter in the shape of an Aladdin's lamp. She peered at her friend, for a moment, through heavily-shadowed lids, letting smoke drift out between her teeth in slow, curling tendrils.

What she saw was a fresh-faced woman in her early thirties who looked ten years younger. Shoulder-length blonde hair, cut straight across at the bottom and pulled back at the sides leaving her ears visible. Her eyes were wide and blue and the expression of innocence on her face truly mirrored her soul. She was, Ruth knew, naive about her sexual attractiveness. Raised by strict, God-fearing parents who had forced her to attend church every Sunday morning and evening and every Wednesday night, she had grown up lacking the opportunity to date many men, and, as a result, had not developed a sense of who she really was. She was taught to be the dutiful daughter who waited hand and foot on her father, then, later, on her husband; it was the only role, besides that of being the caring mother, she had ever known. And here she sat in her sleeveless, summer dress with her characteristically calm, demure manner, radiating subtle, sensual allure; her oval face serene, her breasts full and firm above a narrow waist and nicely calved legs.

Ruth sighed. What a waste.

"I think the best thing you can do is to ignore it," Ruth said. "Pretend it never happened."

Ruth knew Jarred very well. Star quarterback, but a bad reputation. Gossip was that he had knocked up a cheerleader after beating her up and raping her. The girl's family had moved rather than bring charges against him and embarrass their daughter by making the affair public. Connie huffed faintly, puffing out her cheeks.

"And how is that possible?" she said, with a resigned sigh, raising her hand, then letting it drop back into her lap.

"Or you could play it out," Ruth offered, archly.

"What do you mean?" She gave her dark-haired friend a quizzical look.

"Simple. What I mean is, when he kissed you, did you like it?"

Connie sank back into the sofa, crossing her legs, then stared at Ruth, raising a hand slowly to the hollow of her throat. For a moment she stroked the soft, white skin there with her fingernails.

"It happened so suddenly...I ...I can't recall feeling anything...really...."

"But something, yes?" Ruth prompted.

"Maybe a little," she lowered her eyes and fidgeted with the hem of her skirt where it had risen over her knees.

"Well, why not go with your feelings--whatever they are. Let your feelings be your guide."

"Are you suggesting that I--"

Ruth held her hands up, palms toward Connie as if she were fending off an invisible dart.

"I'm not suggesting anything. Just that you be in touch with your real feelings, then whatever you do will be right, no?"

Connie didn't answer. Her gaze had suddenly taken on an unfocused, far-off look.


The blonde was naked, wrists and ankles taped securely to a straight-backed chair. A red ball gag was buried in her mouth. Leather thong straps cut cruelly into her cheeks. Her blue eyes were wide with terror as they focused on something off-camera.

"Man, I'd like to fuck that," Deek said, clicking his mouse to enlarge the picture on his monitor.

Jarred, standing behind him, glanced out the window above the monitor to where Deek's mother was hoeing in a small vegetable and herb garden. She was wearing blue shorts, red, sleeveless blouse and a wide-brimmed straw hat. Beyond was a vista of rolling meadows and woods scattered randomly. Fluffy white clouds drifted majestically through the brilliantly blue sky.

"You know who she reminds me of?" Jarred said, distractedly.

"No, who?"

"Your mother."


"Oh, yeah. Pretty much so; only Connie's prettier." Jarred motioned out the window with a jerk of his head. "D'you ever think about what it would be like to fuck her?"

"Do you with your mother?" Deek answered sarcastically.

"I've done more than think about it."

Deek turned to look up at his friend half curiously, half cynically.

"Have we got a little bullshit piling up around here?"

Jarred shrugged.

Deek formed a mental image of Peggy Mercer, Jarred's mother. A pretty woman with long, wavy-brown hair. She and Jarred's father had been separated for years. He pictured Jarred on top of her. Both naked. Writhing hungrily. It was an unsettling image.

"How did you get her to do it?" Deek asked, he knew his friend too long not to know when he was telling the truth.

"Didn't have to do much; she wanted it as bad as I did. One evening, while we were talking about various things, she asked me if I'd ever smoked grass. I told her I had, and she asked me if I had any. Said she had done some in college. She was cool then, I guess. I got out my stash from the bottom drawer of my dresser. After we'd done a couple of joints; I turned the lights down low and the stereo up. It was like she was no longer my mother but just my best girl friend who was willing to do anything with me. Somewhere along the way we got naked and spent the whole night doing it."

"Damn," Deek said, under his breath. "Damn."


Connie saw Deek and Jarred come out onto the patio. Jarred climbed on his sleek, black chopper and roared off. Deek waved at her and called out that he was on his way to the drive-in theater were he worked nights. Then he climbed in his Nova and barreled off, much to her annoyance. Gravel for the driveway wasn't cheap. She'd remind him of that tomorrow.

She was wet with sweat as she entered the house. She closed the patio door behind her and took off her clothes in the laundry room, off the kitchen, and stuffed them into the washer to do later. She went to the bathroom and filled the tub and turned on the portable stereo sitting on the hamper.

She lay with her head against the back of the tub, submerged in the warm, soapy water. She was faintly aroused, yet feeling guilty, remembering Jarred's kiss and the feel of his hard body against hers.

What was it that Ruth had said? "Let your feelings be your guide." She moved her hand down her slippery belly to where her pubic hair began. There was a tingling sensation. She touched herself more deeply and trembled from a heady rush.

She began to move against herself, closing her eyes, letting her fantasies run wild.

The phone was ringing. She let it ring, hoping it would stop, but when it didn't, she realized it might be Burt who was doing a long-haul up to Canada.

Reluctantly, she climbed out of the tub and wrapped a cheap, thin towel--one of the many Burt had taken from the anonymous motels he had stayed in--hurriedly around herself. She padded into the living room and glanced at the caller ID. It wasn't Burt's number; it was Jarred's. Why would he be calling when he had just left?

"Wanna go for a ride?"

Naked on the back of his motorcycle?

She put the phone down and went into the dining room. Through the patio door she could see him straddling his motorcycle, parked on the patio. She hadn't heard him returning. When he saw her, he folded his cel-phone and put it in a holder on his monkey bars.

She moved closer to the patio door, holding the towel pressed to her breasts. She realized she hadn't placed the Charley bar in the bottom groove of the door. He could come in anytime he wanted.

But he made no move to do so. Instead, to her shock, he leaned back casually and unzipped his pants, taking out his cock. He began to masturbate slowly. His cock was big and uncircumcised. As he milked it harder, the foreskin slid back over the swollen, purple head.

When he was fully hard, he jerked his cock rapidly until gray squirts of cum shot from the pee hole and onto the flag. When he was finished, he shook his cock off against his thigh and put it back in his pants. He started his bike and roared off.

When the sound of the engine was no longer audible, she dropped the towel and stepped out onto the patio feeling a cum spot with her bare foot. Kneeling down on her hands and knees, almost as if she were mesmerized, she began to lap up his cum like a dog. It as still warm with the faint odor of bleach.

She came suddenly, without warning.

Her head slipped beneath the soapy bath water causing her to awake instantly; she rose up gurgling, her heart racing, her breathing labored; her climax had been so intense that her head throbbed with pain.


Sunday morning she put on her red, linen shirt-dress with a belt of leather tabs linked by colorful glass beads and a spaghetti-straps tie hanging down in the front. Carrying a pair of taupe high-heeled pumps with open toes, she set out across the meadow from the back of her house, as she usually did through the summer when the weather was nice, and walked to church, two miles distant.

She hadn't bothered trying to get Deek to go with her. Since he rarely got in from work before 3am. And like his father, he didn't have much use for religion anyway. That always bothered her a little, but not enough to stifle the enjoyment of her solitary walks, listening to the birds chirping, feeling the sun warm on her skin, the fresh air, the breeze gently caressing her hair. These were the days that filled her with exuberance, an unbridled joy of being alive.

She waded Miller's stream under a clump of piebald sycamore's and paused in the middle to stare down through the crystal clear water at her red-nailed feet wavering against the multi-hued, sandy bottom. Small minnows darted here and there over golden grains and speckled pebbles, like tiny birds' eggs, for the cover of smooth, mottled rocks the size of softballs. A dragonfly hovered for a moment about her face, sheening iridescently in the light, then zipped off, while long-legged water spiders skied jerkily by her calves. Nearer to the shore larger rocks peered above the water, their surfaces covered with splotches of green and white lichens. Dead, gray, branches of the sycamores--black and shiny where they had sunk into the water--lay nestled among clumps of Queene Anne's Lace, golden rods and dusty, tall grasses

She made her way up a familiar path through the trees, brushing away a silvery spider's web, and finally came out into a meadow near an orange tube gate across a narrow, paved road from a brick church. In front, people were milling about socializing. Men in plain, short sleeves; women in colorful summer dresses. After the peace and quiet of her walk, Connie was reluctant to enter this preening gaggle of humanity.

Holding onto the gate for balance, she slipped on her pumps, then waved at Peggy Mercer and Ruth, who were standing in the shade of a small maple talking, and joined them. As she did so, she saw Jarred astride his motorcycle, at the edge of the parking lot shaded by the church. The center of attention, it seemed, among a younger group of male and female admirers.

Both Peggy and Ruth were with their current male suitors, so Connie separated from them and took a seat near the back when everyone filed into the church. The air conditioner wasn't working very well and several women began fanning themselves with circulars that were always stuck in the racks along with the hymnals.

After the Sunday school classes were over and everyone had filed back in for the main service, Jarred startled her by sitting down next to her. They were the only ones seated toward the back. A few rows down, a little boy of four or five, with buck teeth, was standing, next to his mother, on the seat of his pew, staring backwards at Connie, his chubby hands gripping the scrolled top of the back rest. Spittle dribbled from the corner of his mouth and there was a vacant, idiot look in his eyes. It was the Scott boy who had been born retarded. The mother was a fat, pear-shaped woman, with huge breasts and scraggly hair; semi-retarded herself. The father was a drunk who only worked when he needed another bottle.

One of the elders got up to announce the page number of a hymn. There was a shuffling sound as people reached for their hymnals and pages were flipped. They remained seated for this one. Someone cleared his throat, and almost as if it had been a signal, the singing began, wavering slightly off key at first, then getting on track.

"Precious Jesus..." Connie had sung the familiar words a thousand times. She was no longer even conscious of the words. They had become merely one, long, drawn-out sound.

Jarred leaned toward her, pretending to share her hymnal. But the words he sang were not the ones in the hymnal"

"Precious Jesus bring me ass / Precious Jesus make it fast."

She felt the heat of his thigh against hers. He reached his hand out and touched her knee cap with the tip of his finger and slowly traced a circle. Softly he kneaded the flesh letting his fingertip follow every dip and hollow of the bones. He pressed, creating a white spot, waited, then pressed gently again. The tip of his finger felt unnaturally warm to her.

She could get up and leave, but she knew she wouldn't. Besides he might follow her. Was he crazy enough to cause a scene? What had come over him all of a sudden?

He moved the hem of her skirt up slightly and stroked his fingers lightly down the inside of her thigh, just above her knee. She pretended not to notice. She sang, keeping her eyes focused on the words, until they became blurred jumbles of nonsense as impossible to decipher as a secret code.

Her voice faltered as he released the bottom button of her dress. The widening slit revealed more of her thighs. His fingers played along the tender flesh with a light, almost feathery touch. Her eyelids drooped. It was an effort not to become completely absorbed into the seductive touch of his hand. He squeezed the inside of her thigh and pushed the skirt farther up. Releasing another button.

His hand was halfway up her thigh now. She gritted her teeth, without realizing, and trembled with each touch.

Were they being watched? She didn't dare open her eyes to see.

She heard a giggle. Was the idiot child staring at her? Drooling slobber down his chin? Was he enjoying the show? Was the child possessed by a demon sent to mock her? She pictured idiot eyes leering at her with evil intent.

Suddenly, she found herself standing, unsteadily. The congregation was singing the final hymn posted on the escutcheon hanging on the wall next to the dais. There was a concluding prayer by Brother Orin and everyone started shuffling out.

She had retreated too far within herself to stay focused on individual faces as people streamed by. In a few minutes she was alone. The sounds of cars starting and muffled voices reached her ears as if she were separated from the real world by a labyrinth of tunnels distorting every sound.


When she got home, Connie put her shoes on top of the washer and began unbuttoning the top buttons of her dress as she walked down the hall to her bedroom. She paused at the doorway. Farther down, on the opposite side of the hall, Deek's door was slightly ajar. For a moment she stood there, then slowly raised her hand to her throat, pressing her palm to it with her thumb on one side of her neck and her fingers on the other. She stroked the delicate skin lightly, then lowered her hand and went to the door, pushing it open gently.

Deek was in his bed lying on his back naked. He had kicked the covering sheet to the side in his sleep. His cock was hard and arched up over the hard muscled stomach. Connie took a few hesitant steps into the room. Her heart was beating hard in her chest. Almost without thinking, she unbuttoned her dress and loosened the belt, letting them both drop to the floor. Her breathing became more shallow and rapid as she reached behind herself and unhooked her bra. After this had joined the dress on the floor, she resolutely pulled her panties down her legs and stepped out of them.

She moved several steps closer to the bed, reaching out to take the large cock in her hand -- then froze.

There was the sudden, familiar sound of an air horn giving off it raucous baritone and gears catching as a 500 horsepowered diesel tractor slowed and turned off the highway onto their long, gravel drive.


Connie wheeled around and hurried into her bedroom, hastily throwing on her terry bathrobe. She stepped hesitantly onto the patio barefooted as Burt pulled his rig to a stop about fifty feet from the house in a graveled lot he had made especially for it. After a minute or two, he shut the engine off, opened the door and stepped down off the running board.

As he approached, she could tell by his lumbering gait that he was exhausted, and, as he came nearer, she saw that new lines had been etched in at the corners of his eyes. He gave her a weak smile and a quick kiss.

"Want something to eat, honey?' she asked.

"Naw, hon; right now all I want is a quick shower and hit the sack. Been up for the last twenty hours. I'm done in."

He sat down at the dinning room table and emptied his pockets while she got him a beer and sat down adjacent to him, observing him quietly. She had never seen him as rung out as this. His face was pasty, and he looked ten years older. Yet he was only thirty-six, five years older than herself. He'd already lost most of his hair. Only a few, thin wisps remained on top. His jowls were beginning to sag, there were bags under his eyes, and in the last three or four years, he had developed a noticeable paunch. Driving a truck was hard on a man, she knew. Long hours behind the wheel; layovers; the fast food and, above all, the loneliness took their toll.

She got up and hugged him from behind.

"You take your shower; then I'll give you a good, long massage. Make you feel a whole lot better."

He looked around at her and grinned. "Maybe something else make me feel better, too."

"Hmm, and maybe you're not as tired as you look, huh?"

"Maybe," he grinned.

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