Nora in the Sun Pt. 06

Chapter 13

Mom went over to a patch of leaves and poured the cum from her hands, carefully using them to wipe the rest from her fingers. She kept looking at me, half stunned.

We got dressed slowly. Left even more slowly. Outside of that place, it seemed like she wanted to pretend it hadn't happened at all. She put on her hat and sunglasses and walked the private beach, and started talking about the ingredients in the tanning oil -- what made it so expensive and effective. I didn't listen. I just watched her hips sway for what felt like long, long hours until we departed to the main road and toward the villa.

When we made it back inside, there was a note on the counter. Off to the bars, don't wait up. -R

"I guess we're alone," said mom, hesitantly. She looked at me and then quickly looked away.

"For how long?" I asked.

"I don't know," she murmured. "But he'll be gone for a while." I thought about how he kept coming back in the morning. Judging by mom's pursed lips, she was thinking about it too, wondering why he never got back to the villa before it was light, as if he were sleeping somewhere else.

I thought of dad talking with that blonde from yesterday. Maybe it wasn't a question of sleeping somewhere else, but with someone else. Mom brought a hand up to her temple and rubbed at it, her eyes low.

"Maybe we'd better eat something," I tried to interrupt her train of thought. "I can turn on the cooking channel and we can try to make whatever they're making." Mom nodded and gave a worried smile. It immediately dropped.

"Son..." she folded her arms around herself. "What we did..." I realized that up to this point, neither of us addressed the way we touched each other. The way I came in her hand. She looked guilty and unsure.

I wanted to be honest with her. "I thought you were beautif-"

"Let's talk about this later," she interrupted suddenly, her cheeks changing color. "When we've had some time to think about it." She left to change. I heard a soft, "oh my god," as she went upstairs. It was hard to tell if it was worry, or shock, or curious arousal.

he came back, minutes later, wearing a pale pink cotton sun dress. It was short, much like the one she wore in Chetumal, barely covering her thighs. As it drifted while she walked downstairs, I saw it flare up. Underneath the sundress, along her hips, I saw a glance of something white and lacy. She made eye contact with me, clearly aware of what the breeze allowed me to see, but she didn't put her hand down to lower the hem.

We cooked in silence -- just a couple light plates of fruit, a salad with herbs. The cooking show on television didn't match what we were making, but it didn't matter. What mattered was the stream of relaxed voices coming from the TV, drowning the awkward tension as we passed close each other, raising dishes over and behind each other.

She looked angelic, her dark hair up in a loose, messy bun, her hips cocking from one side to the other as she shifted while cutting mangos. I wanted to bury myself in those hips, to lift the hem of her dress and feel her plump behind, to explore the details of the white lace that covered it.

I thought about what mom and I had already done.

About how dad was going to be gone, for a long, long time.

I started to get hard.

I wanted her again.

Did she want it? She wore this just for you. What was going on in her head? About the waterfall? About the way she kept looking below my waist? What do you think that means?

I stepped close to my mother. Put a hand on the counter next to hers. Brushed against her side. I heard a soft breath escape from her as she closed her eyes. "Can you get the water?" She turned her head to look behind her as I drew closer. I lightly pushed my pelvis against hers, pressed my rod in the indent between her cheeks. The softness of her ass made me shudder. I wrapped a hand around her hip. Pushed myself farther between the cheeks.

I felt her hand move back. It settled on my upper thigh. She turned around, her breathing heavy.

"I need the water on the table, Brett." She pushed at my hip, lightly, and I stepped back. She put her hand on her chest, looking down, trying to regain her composure. "I'm almost ready." Her eyes snapped up to me. She clarified, "I mean, dinner's almost ready." Her hand went to her rear. I noticed that the way I pushed against her actually tucked the cotton between her asscheeks, revealing the shape of her bottom under the dress. She took hold of it with a couple fingers and pulled it out, clearing her throat at the same time.

"Once you pour the waters, you can sit down," she said tensely. "I'll be there in a second." I dimmed the living room lights on my way out of the kitchen.

When she finally arrived at the table and set everything down, she leaned forward. I saw down her dress, marveled at the low cut, how her breasts were so close to spilling out of it. She watched me as I watched her and whispered, "Go ahead. Eat."

We ate in silence. Fruit. A fresh salad. She brought finely cut pieces of ripe mango to her soft lips, sealed them around the fruit, made a barely audible musical note of pleasure with each bite. The mango was intensely sweet -- riper than any I had at home. It seemed to literally melt in my mouth. The tingle and tang followed down my throat with each swallow.

Mom closed her eyes with each bite. Each note she made with every piece made me ache under the table. A piece of mango juiced within her lips. The nectar slipped down her mouth, forming a thick line of sweet dew on her chin.

Like cum.

She dabbed it with a napkin, looking at me, her face flushing.

She must have seen my jaw clenching, my hands tightly gripping the table as I watched her. "It seems we have a lot to talk about," she said, reluctantly.

I nodded. "You first."

"Well..." Her voice trailed off. "I think... we'll need to be mature about what happened. Honest." My mother took a deep breath. "What we did, son... was..." she cleared her throat, glancing toward my waist, blushing. "it was wrong." She put her hands under the table and looked down. "I'm your mom, for pete's sake. We shouldn't have... I shouldn't have touched you like that. You're so young, too young to understand-"

"I understand perfectly, mom," I interrupted.

Mom stood up quickly, the table shifting, the utensils clattering in the force of her hips driving against it. "No, Brett, you fucking don't." She was shaking. Her voice was high, as if she were panicking, suddenly realizing the full weight of what happened. "Brett, you came in your own mother's fucking hand. In my hand. Oh my god, Brett, your fingers were inside me! What kind of a mother am I?" I could see the suppressed guilt rising with a vengeance to torture her.

I didn't know what to do. Her guilt was too much. I started to feel sick inside, the grief erasing the heat I was experiencing before. I didn't want her to feel like this. Not anymore. I wanted to take everything back. "Let's go for a walk," I suggested.

"Alright," she whispered, calming down, her fingers lightly covering her soft, full lips.

We went outside, toward the ocean. The stars were in a wide band over us -- orange lamps dotted the sand to the north and south, and far along the water, we could see all the lights of Chetumal, multicolored and flickering. We walked together. The roar of the surf increased. A breeze blew along mom's dress, her pale legs flickering in the dark.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"I am too," she replied, her arms around her waist. Her hair was undone. It rippled in the wind. "But it's not your fault," she finished.

"It's not?"

"I think in a way, I'm responsible for this. I am your mother, after all. I just don't know what came over me," she said, falling deep into thought. "I just... I felt a certain way. Felt like it wasn't... that it wasn't bad, maybe. I just felt so appreciated by you, and I was having so much fun in the city. I was so drunk and I felt so..." she swallowed. "I felt young, Brett. You made me feel very young yesterday. You made me feel very young today." She looked at me, her eyes were intense with... something. "It was exciting."

I nodded, her obvious physical reaction to the memory turning me on. I tried to suppress it. She continued, "And I don't know if it's because you were away at college, but you're so damn good looking now. You've grown, so much... you're an actual man now... with a pretty cock."

That last word surprised even her. She shook her head, continuing. "I guess I forgot that you used to be -- that you are my son." She took a deep, nervous breath. "God, Brett. Whenever you looked at me..."

Her eyes flicked between me and the water ahead of her. "Whenever you looked at me... or touched me," I saw her swallow. "I felt..." Her pause went on forever. "I felt like you saw something in me. That you maybe wanted me. I felt like you thought I was beautiful."

"But you are."

We drifted to a stop at the edge of the waves, and she turned to face me, the direction of the wind bringing her hair before her face, pulling the skirt high around her gorgeous legs. She stared at me, searching my face. To see if I meant it. And with everything in me, the longer I looked at my mother's pale face, the lightly sun-kissed hair, the lovely smoothness of her chest, the curve and shape of her indented waist sweeping out to her ample thighs, the more I meant that she was beautiful.

I ached, and admitted to myself that I wanted her. To be inside her. To consummate with the most beautiful woman -- to make love to my mother.

She gave a soft laugh, brushing her hair out of her face. As if she were a girl. It made my heart throb.

The surf rose up and brushed against our feet. A cool mist sprayed up from the water.

"And I do want you," I said.

She blinked. One of her hands stayed on her cheek. "You really think I'm beautiful?" Mom asked.

"I think you're incredibly beautiful," I said. I pushed farther. "I think you're sexy."

"You think your mother is sexy," she repeated, murmuring. Her hand went down her neck. "Did you... like it? What happened today?"

"Yeah," I nodded, savoring the memory of her look of surprise when my semen shot into her hand. "I loved it. Even if it was wrong."

"Even if it was a mistake?" She asked. I prepared myself. I was sure we were coming to the point that I had experienced with other girls after 'mistakes', points where they would say it wasn't going to happen again, points where we should move on. End it. I felt a growing wave of misery as I tried to accept the impending end.

"Even if it was a mistake," I said, "And it really was a mistake." I really tried to mean what I said. "It was wrong for us to do it. We can't do it again. We're family. We can't."

"We can't?" She asked. My heart stopped.

...

...

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Chapter 14

"I know it's wrong, but..." Her voice trailed off. She looked at me, her dark eyes wide, her form breathing with scared hesitation. "But I want it to happen again, baby." Even in the darkness of the sunset, I could tell her face was lit up, flushed. It was excitement. It was more.

"Even though it's... wrong?" I croaked in disbelief.

"If we... as long as we..." she swallowed, "as long as we don't go any farther." Mom nodded. "What we did is far enough. We can touch each other. A little. Then it's not so bad, right?" I could see her breathing heavily. "But we can't go any farther. We're related, so... any farther would be too much." she emphasized.

"What we did today is as far as we can go. I can... touch you. You can touch me. You can kiss me, you can... put your fingers..." she trailed off. "But," she licked her lips, "we can't do anything else. I can make you come, with my hands, and you can touch me down there, and make me feel good too. But that's it. Alright?" Her reddening face and the way she touched at her neck made my cock spring up in my pants.

I nodded.

She wanted it. She offered it.

Your own mother.

I felt myself coiling in anticipation. I didn't want to wait. I wanted to pick her up, to carry her back. I wanted her again, now.

Her eyes told me she was thinking exactly what I was thinking. She rubbed at her neck, staring at me. "Do you want to go back," she asked, finally. "To the villa?" I felt myself straining against my pants. Longing to be free. Longing to feel her small hands wrapped around my cock again.

"Yes," I said through a clenched jaw.

I offered my arm. She took it, wrapped her arms around it. We turned, our backs to the ocean, and went up the beach back to the rental. I felt her shaking, her fingers trembling. Mom's hips brushed against mine as we walked, quickly, building up speed.

I couldn't even make it inside. We climbed up the steps to the patio, and just as the lights on the desk illuminated her face, I could see her anticipation through flushed, red lips. I grabbed her by the neck, pushed her against the wall, and we kissed, her soft, sweet mouth tasting of forbidden fruit, her slick tongue flicking inside my mouth as she moaned. I reached past her neck, slid my hands down, searching for the soft, pillowy ass below. Her heavy breathing was in my ears.

"Come on," she said, fumbling for the sliding glass door. "I don't want anyone to see."

We stumbled in, turning off the lights, hurrying inside and to the couch, falling into it. Her fingers went down my chest, her hands undoing my buttons as she kissed my neck with light, wet sucking sounds. I pulled up her dress -- her white lace panties came into view. They were smaller panties than usual -- barely covering her pussy, the back shrinking into a thin, white string that only sat between her round, lovely cheeks. A thong.

I pulled up the rest of the dress, and she brought it over her head, unveiling a similarly lacy bra.

She tore my pants downward, her open mouth gasping in anxious tension. A hand pulled down at the waistband of my underwear, and my erection snapped upward. Her other hand went down as she stared, licking her lips. She wrapped her fingers around my cock, and then looked at me as she started to move it up and down.

I shuddered as precum gathered at the tip. She watched it emerge, the thin drop shining in the darkness of the living room. Her lips looked so soft, her surprised, open mouthed stare directly toward my penis stirred a beast within me. I wanted to grab her by the back of her head, force her down, make my mother taste it. I shuddered at the thought, but gripped the couch instead -- mom had laid out the ground rules -- we could only touch with our hands.

I let go of the couch, leaning forward, her hands leaving my rod and moving up to my neck, kissing me as I pulled at the elastic along her hips. Her soft flesh gave as my fingers pressed into it, as I hooked into the string of the thong and pulled it back, my mother's white thighs lifting up, her legs together. I shifted lower on the couch, looked under her and saw the light, juicy pink between the mounds of her bottom.

My mother's wet, soft cunny.

It was practically dripping, shining in the darkness of the living room. Two coral pink lips pressed together, promising tightness, a light, sweet musk rising. Mommy's pussy. I wanted to taste it. I wanted to set my mouth on her and to drink in the juice between her thighs, even if it was insane -- even if it was wrong.

I remembered the rules she set, and lowered my hands underneath her instead. I pushed my index finger along the inside of her thigh, pulling her legs gently open. She tensed, her fingers searching upward along my face, pressing into my hair.

At the top of her pelvis, where the lips of her luscious cunt joined at the top, just under the soft triangle of pubic hair that she had so carefully trimmed for this trip, her clitoris shone like a little gem. I moved my finger along it, over it, feeling her shudder under me as I grazed it, dragged my fingers between her pussy lips, feeling them give with wet, slick juice. I gathered it with my fingers, wiped it along her clit, before rubbing against it with the pads of my fingers. Mom shuddered.

My middle finger and ring finger went down, and pushed. The opening between her pussy lips gave way, and my fingers started to sink into her. Mom gave a high pitched whine as it went in, knuckle by knuckle, her hands clutching at my hair.

Her clit looked like a coral pomegranate seed, like a shining opal. I moved my thumb over it and gave a gentle push. She twitched, and moaned, "oh honey... my baby..."

My fingers started to move in and out, the soft firm texture of her tight pussy constricting over my hand. With each movement, she gave a slight gasp -- I angled my fingers upward, searching for the spot, and when I felt the fleshy ribbing at the ceiling of her pussy, she arched back, breath catching. I pushed into her, faster, fingerfucking her the way I had learned in college, as if she were a lovely stranger I had just met and convinced to come back with me to the dorms.

Mom's hips bucked as I pushed in and out, faster and faster, the slick, sticky sound of my fingers getting louder and louder, as my knuckles pushed hard between her meaty lips, as she opened her mouth, eyes closed, core tensing.

"Fuck, oh fuck, Brett!" Mom started gasping, her hands latched onto my shoulders, her nails scratching me. "Oh fuck... oh fuck!" She pushed her hips forward, grinding herself on my fist, rolling her hips, making my fingers twist inside her as she gave a loud, throaty cry. I felt her shudder, as her insides quivered and I felt a rush of juices squirting over my fingers.

She shuddered, whining, and grabbed my head, pulling it close to her chest, "slow down now, baby," she gasped, burying my face between her soft, milky breasts, the lacey bra smelling of jasmine. I held my fingers inside her, feeling her slick pussy clench on me. She breathed heavily. She looked down at me as if I were just a kid again, as if I were being held on her lap, but her eyes were sultry, dark, aroused.

"It's your turn, baby," she whispered, her hands spreading out, moving down my chest. "Let me hold that pretty, pretty cock of yours."

But I couldn't stop thinking about the little pink nub of her clit. About the juices that ran down from between her legs. About the sweet scent that made me ache to taste her... to drink her in.

"I want to taste you," I said. I grabbed inside her thigh and moved my fingers over her clit. She shuddered as I shifted down.

She laughed, stroking my hair. "Honey," she said, her tone a mix of warning and surprise, "you're very sweet, but I'm your mommy." Her hands pushed me away gently. "Besides, I think you're going to like what I'm about to do to you." She stared up at me, her dark eyes flirting. "Do you want to cum on mommy's tits? Do you want to cum all over your mother's chest?"

I stood up in a flash, and mom sat up on the couch, leaning forward, finally unhooking her bra. It fell to her waist, her overflowing breasts falling loose, her soft, tasty nipples darkened with the heat and excitement.

She scooted to the edge of the couch. My cock stood at attention close to her face. She stared at it, licking her lips. "Oh honey," she said, her voice throaty and yearning. "You have such a pretty, pretty cock." She took it in her hands and squeezed, breathing in sharply. Her hands started moving, and I shuddered as her handjob continued where she left it. "It's not that I don't want you to taste me," she said, her dirty talk sending spasms through me, "but I just want to see my tall, handsome son cumming for his mommy, that's all."

My precum surged up, and a sticky drop slid down my tip. She let go of my cock with one hand while she continued jerking with the other, and lightly pressed her finger on the opening, then drew it away, a strand of my cum pulling for inches until it disconnected. She looked up at me. "Oh, honey... Is it good? Do you like it when mommy touches you?"