Mouse Bk. 05 Ch. 03

Her heart jumped as his eyes smoldered at the sight of her. If he was disappointed, he didn't show it.

Her own eyes fell quickly back to his glistening, inviting, young cock, where the speed of his movements had unconsciously increased. He moved faster now. He was excited, and growing more eager, and maybe finally comfortable with his situation. Nothing was going to stop them.

She eagerly let one hand find his again. She slowed him down. She wanted this to last.

Sinfully, guiltily, Melanie covertly let the her thumb drift, ever so carefully and slightly, downwards. It grazed the skin of his prick as they moved. It slid, softly, from base to tip, then tip to base, moving with his, actually touching his young, forbidden cock.

Heedlessly, she pressed harder, applying pressure with her thumb. She stared at her thumb, watching it make contact. His own eyes watched her hand. He knew what she was doing. They knew what they were doing.

She stole a quick look at his face. It should have been a quick glance, just a glance. Once she saw his face, with his eyes focused so narrowly and intently only on her hand, she couldn't look away. She watched him, as he watched her stroke with him.

The urge to take his cock in her hand became stronger. She couldn't fight the urge to let him see his mother holding his beautiful cock in her soft, loving hand.

Melanie grew bolder. She moved to slip her fingers beneath his, between his hand and his cock. He resisted, at first, but she was insistent, while his resistance was never truly willful. An easy, relentless pressure forced her fingertips under his hand. His attempt at restraint ultimately only increased the pressure of her hand against his cock. It only made her touch him more firmly.

She stared into his face the whole time, bathing herself in the look of pleasure she kept there.

As her touch overcame all of his other senses and thoughts, he had to surrender to it. He had to enjoy his loving mother's hand on his sinfully hard, commanding prick.

His own hand now rested gently on hers, not guiding, not resisting, just touching hers, following hers, like a lost puppy, as she took over stroking him. She touched him. She held him. She moved with him. She pleased him.

Melanie's own eyes fell back to his cock, now in her own, loving hand. Her heart leapt at the sight. She wrapped her fingers, easily, gently, around his prick, encompassing it in a ring of protection and pleasure. She never stopped moving. She never broke her rhythm.

His own breathing matched her strokes. As she quickened her pace, so did his breaths.

She was in complete control now.

His own hand began to wander, ever so slowly and gently itself, in a loving caress up her arm. Up his fingertips went, just barely touching her skin on the way, tickling and teasing. After a short journey, it came back down to the back of her hand, then reversed, going further. Each time his fingertips shyly traced their way further and further up her arm.

She knew what he wanted. She wanted it, too. In her mind, she urged him on.

His touch finally followed her arm its whole length, up to the shoulder. He lingered there for a while, hesitantly tracing small, sensuous circles on her bare shoulder, in rhythm with the motions of her hand up and down the length of his shaft. His fingertips were then drawn downward, almost as if by the pull of gravity, not back down her arm, but down her front, over her collar bone.

Her head bowed down. She felt as if she were in a dream. Her eyes followed his lovely hand on its forbidden course, knowing all the while what he was intending, where his hand was headed.

Melanie closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, expanding her breasts into his touch as his hand approached them. His caress was electrifying. Bolts of pleasure shot through her flesh whereever he touched her. Without thinking, not knowing what she was doing, she squeezed his cock hard in her hand in response to the sensation.

A stifled groan escaped his lips. He cut it off, as if he were afraid that she would hear it, as if she would stop if she knew how much she was pleasuring him. As if she would ever stop.

She looked at his loving eyes again. With his finger slowly circling her nipple, with her own hand more quickly and firmly squeezing and loving his cock, she stared into his face, waiting for him to look at her.

When their eyes met, she straightened her back, lifting herself up higher on her knees, presenting herself to him, giving him a good, full view of her body. She soon brought her second hand to his cock, wrapping it under the first, letting two hands hold and squeeze and pleasure her son as he drank in the sight of his mother's naked torso.

His eyes were like smokey glass, seeing and unseeing, both at once. He was lost in a world of pleasure. He was right here, alone, with her, only with her. The world was gone. He knew only her eyes, and the sight and feel of her breasts, and the unbearably wicked feel of his mother's hands on his hard, young, smooth cock.

His hand continued to explore her breast, tracing taunting circles around her erect, excited nipples, pausing occasionally to lightly pinch and pull them.

They held each other's gaze as their motions and pleasures and intensity grew. She could see a fire burning in his eyes. She kept that same fire deep inside her own, but hidden, subdued, under control. She kept it hidden. She had to remain in control.

He was such a temptation. It was so hard, but she had to remain in control.

Doug's hand left her breast, gliding instead up her neck, under her chin, to her lips. She kissed his knuckle, ever so gently. Eyes locked on his, she took one fingertip into her mouth, sucking it softly, showing him what she didn't have the courage to do to the prick in her hand.

He let her play that way for a while, kissing and tasting and sucking his fingers. His expression slowly changed. What fear and apprehension was there drained away, leaving behind a look of near rage, a lusty, angry thirst that could not be restrained or lost until it was quenched.

He grew impatient. This wasn't enough. Boys had no patience. He was still a boy, if in the body of a man. His hand crawled into the hair behind her head. His hands were strong. They were young, but they were no longer small. He was a strong, large boy. He was a strong, large man.

He pulled her head towards his. She fought him. This panicked her. The change in his demeanor, and his obvious intention, frightened her. She couldn't kiss him, not her boy, not like that, not like this. She struggled feabily.

He was too strong for her, while he didn't need or wish to be gentle anymore. His fingers dug into the back of her skull. When she tried to slide out to the side, he grabbed a handful of her short hair.

It hurt. Her skull felt as if it were being stabbed by a cluster of knives as he pulled her by the hair towards his lips. She stared, wide eyed, into his face, into hungry, needy eyes, as he leaned forward to press his lips firmly against hers. His mouth opened wide to consume her own. His tongue attacked her.

She'd betrayed herself by holding tightly to his cock the entire time, never releasing it to use her hands to keep him at bay. She quickly, willingly fell into his kiss, even as his strong hands painfully held her head, forcing her lips harshly against his. She moaned, trying to make it sound pained, trying to hide her secret pleasure, as her son's lips worked feverishly over hers and his tongue sloppily invaded her mouth.

She clung to his cock for dear life.

The kiss lasted for torturous hours, but only a moment. It had no sooner started, she had no sooner lost herself in the power and surrender of that wicked, incestuous kiss, when his hands pushed her head away. At first, she didn't understand. At first, she was ready to beg him to stop, to let her try again, to let her kiss him again and again.

Then she knew what he was doing, and she fought him once more. His hands, wide strong hands backed by muscular, powerful arms, forced his mother's head closer and closer to his burning cock.

She fought him, uselessly, hopelessly, and without conviction. She wanted him to win. His cock was right there. Her son's cock was inches from her face.

She celebrated her defeat by savoring the feel of his cock against her cheek bone as his powerful grip pressed her against it. In one, last act of resistance, she clenched her mouth shut, refusing to take his cock inside her. Her tight lips brushed against the satiny skin of his shaft, feeling and tasting the slippery, bitter coconut oil he'd smeared there.

His hand continued to press her face against his cock. His hips drove up, off the cushion, to add their strength to her supposed discomfort. She writhed, enjoying the sensations as her son's virile cock rolling across her cheeks and nose. It was so warm and hard against her, like a stone that had been baking in the sun. She felt it pressing the skin of her face into her cheekbones.

Her lips parted slightly, just enough so her tongue could snake out to feel its smooth, forbidden surface, tasting the bitter tang of the suntan oil that coated it.

Even as he forced her into this act, she thought about who he was. She was so proud of her son. He'd achieved so much. He'd lead the team to the state basketball championship that had eluded his mother in her own youth. He'd graduated third in his class in high school. He went on to become captain of the golf team at college. Soon he would be graduating magna cum laude with a degree in economics.

Her son was going on to law school.

She'd raised him well. He'd achieved so much. He was her darling, eldest son, her favorite, the overachiever, the master at everything he did.

Now he was mastering her.

She lost herself in the feel of his long, stiff, excited cock, slick with too sweetly coconut scented oil, pressing along the side of her nose and against her lips.

He pulled her hair back hard, again jabbing pains into her scalp at the roots, then thrust her head forward again. She did what was required, now. She opened her mouth wide to take her son's cock into it. He pressed her head further still, thoughtlessly, ruthlessly driving his cock down her throat.

He couldn't know what he was doing, or what she could do. Melanie was sure he'd never met a girl that could do what she could do.

She knew she shocked the poor boy when his cock penetrated her mouth and throat all the way to the hilt, like the dagger with which Shakespeare's Juliet had stabbed herself in the hear, when her forbidden romance had ended, when her own forbidden lover had died.

Once there, with her son's cock deep down her throat, Melanie relished the experience. She held her son there, unwilling to release him, even as his grip on her hair and head slackened, as he himself was lost in the hot, wicked feel of his mother's loving mouth fucking his cock like no girl ever had.

Melanie's hands wandered frantically over his body. She explored and adored every ripple of muscle and sinew. She marveled in the marble like hardness of his abdomen and thighs. Every muscle in his body was drawn tight in excitement and suspense. Every sinew of his body clenched itself in bunches under her ministrations.

She moved on him, then. She took control, as she lost her own self control. Melanie was an animal on her son's cock, kissing, sucking, licking, moaning, swallowing, humming, tasting, taking. Doug's hands went similarly wild, mirroring her frantic assault, rubbing and caressing, aimlessly and out of control, touching every part of his mother's body that he could reach. She happily devoured his mindless groans along with his cock.

She had him now. She played and hunted, and waited, too, like a patient predator stalking her prey, her next meal. She waited for his unseemly cum to boil up from the depths of his balls to burn her mouth and throat.

With a start, Melanie, standing in the door, watching her son, heard Doug issue a loud, extended groan, tearing her out of her fantasy. She dropped her hand in a panic from its harsh grip on her breast. The sliding door was half open, letting the sound travel easily in to her. With his iPod on too loud, he obviously had no idea how much noise he was making. Recovering from the shock, Melanie listened to it momentarily like it was music.

Doug came then. Melanie stood entranced by the sight of her son's cock launching a long, brilliant stream of cum, shining silver in the sun, up the length of his body, landing on his abdomen and chest. She'd never seen a man, or college boy, shoot his cum so hard, so far, so fast. Drops of it landed up on his own nipple. A long ribbon of cum stretched like a sash along the length of his achingly masculine body.

He'd outdone even Michael.

Melanie's own body jerked and twitched, hovering just on the verge of orgasm. She was so close. Her panties were wet and messy, having burrowed into her crotch with the relentless rubbing and pressing she'd used before finally stretching them aside to get the flesh on flesh contact she craved. Her fingers were slippery wet with her own juices.

The sight of her son, her powerfully sexual, eldest son, coming in front of her eyes, drove her to the very brink. She rubbed herself feverishly, while pressing one tit hard, rhythmically, against the door jamb, and holding the other tightly in her other clenched hand, digging deeply into the soft, yielding flesh with her own fingers.

She was so close to orgasm herself, so close. Melanie was disappointed and annoyed that she had outlasted the boy. Still, she continued her thoughts, returning to her fantasy, as Doug lay there, recovering, with his magnificent oil and cum covered body glistening in the bright sun.

She imagined herself still sucking his cock, but the excitement of that image was gone, tarnished by the interruption. She needed something more than that, now.

He grabbed her hair again, pulling her mouth from his cock. She fought him again, but for another reason. She struggled, trying to get her mouth back onto his wonderful young prick, ready to taste the cum she knew was building inside it, the cum she needed to taste to give closure to the whole torrid escapade.

"Please, baby, please," she begged. "Let me taste it. Let me..."

Her words turned to a scream as he tugged hard on her hair, pulling her painfully back up to him. She expected him to force another kiss from her, but he spun agilely out from under her while still dragging her up to him. From the concrete beside her, he forced her face down into the recliner. Melanie froze there as she felt Doug sit on the edge, beside her, his unyielding hand still holding her head down, pressed unkindly into the cushion. As quickly as it began, he loosened his grip, suddenly becoming soft and loving again. He ran his fingers through her hair.

Melanie whimpered, but held herself still.

"Sh. It's okay, Mom. Sh."

She tensed, then, uncertain and suddenly frightened, as his hand coasted smoothly down her spine. He traced the curve of her ass, up and down, out to the side and around. Melanie tried to relax under his gentle touches, while driving her own breasts down into the recliner for further stimulation. The motion naturally arched her back, thrusting her ass up toward him. As soon as his fingers, inevitably, worked their way toward her openings, she tensed further.

"No, Doug. No. I'm your mother..."

It was a silly thing to say.

"Sh. Be still."

His thick finger slipped effortlessly inside her. She was embarrassingly wet. There was no hiding that. His finger had slipped in with such shameful ease, even though she held her legs tightly together.

His finger left her then, feeling empty and a little alone. He stayed still at her side. She lay there, stiff and tense, wondering what he was thinking, what he was doing, why he was waiting. She wanted his finger back inside her. She pictured him admiring her body. She hoped, at least, that he was admiring her body. It wasn't good enough for him, she thought to herself.

She felt a moment of shock as hot, slippery coconut oil poured onto the crack of her ass. It ran down one cheek, straight over her asshole. The surprise of it, unexpected and very hot, after the bottle had been baking all afternoon in the heat of the sun, at first felt like it seared her flesh. The sensation quickly changed, reminding her of the hot, slippery feel of cum dripping down her ass.

Doug moved then, kneeling on the recliner behind her, while rubbing the oil onto his hands, and his cock, and around her anus. She knew then what he was going to do. She tried to tighten her thighs and butt cheeks, to hold her legs together, to clamp herself closed. She thought about trying to run, to fight him.

She stayed there. Her eyes squinted tightly shut. Her face pulled itself into a grimace as her fingers tore into the cushion of the recliner, hanging on, preparing for what was coming.

"No, Doug, no, not like this."

"Sh. Sh."

She tried to keep her legs together, to fend him off. She did try. She was a strong woman, but no match for him. She was no match for her strong, young son, and her heart wasn't in it. Her son was going to take her, despite her feeble, insincere protests. It wasn't going to be loving or kind. He wasn't going to fill her pussy with his marvelous, young cock.

He was going to fuck her in the ass. He was going to fuck his mother hard in the ass. And now it was what she really wanted.

"Please, Doug, please, baby, not like this. Anything you want, anything, not this."

"Sh. Sh. It will be okay. Sh. Your ass will be like a virgin pussy for my cock, Mom. A tight, virgin pussy."

She felt his cock head, her son's magnificent cock head, slippery with hot oil, pressing against her ass hole, pressing into her ass hole, ready to penetrate and fill and pleasure his mother's ass. She shyly lifted her ass up to him, helping him, silently urging his cock to spear and spread and fill her.

"Yes, Doug. Yes."

Doug startled Melanie out of her fantasy again, by launching himself upright in the recliner, looking frantically about for something. He quickly grabbed his towel. He'd lost track of time. His mother could come home any minute, to find him lying naked on the deck with his own cum covering his abdomen and chest.

Melanie stumbled backward in shock herself, as soon as he had shot up and spun around. She twisted her ankle as she stepped back, falling with a too loud thud on the floor. She'd come very close to being seen. Doug had probably heard her fall. She hoped now his iPod was turned up as loud as it could be. She scrambled up, clumsily wincing at the pain in her ankle.

She hurriedly hobbled to the stairs, and up, grimacing in pain the whole time, her heart racing from both lust and fear.

* * *

Melanie sat on the edge of her bed. Her ankle throbbed. Her fingers smelled. Her panties were a mess.

She was overwhelmed with guilt for what she'd just done. She told herself that she hadn't done anything, even as a tear ran down her face. How could she be so bold and crass and selfish? How could she even think such a thing?

She pulled out the mangled list she'd been carrying now for a while.

     Tried, and failed, to seduce a strange, young woman.

     Cheated on husband.

     Made brother cheat on his lover.

     Raped a man.

     Committed incest.

     Raped my brother.

     Loved it.

She violently crossed out the "d" in "loved" in an act of vicious self honesty.

Then, in frustration, she crossed out the word "brother," leaving only the words "incest" and "love it" staring at her accusingly from the page. She added more lines.