Now That Daddy's Gone Ch. 01

Meg opened her arms and her boy mounted her. His cock pressed on her mound as his lips found hers. He kissed her, using his tongue the way his mother had taught him. Meg wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back, lifting her body to meet his as he rutted at her panty-clad cunt.

His hands slid inside Meg's negligee and unclasped her bra, he dropped it on the floor and hiked up the negligee past his mother's breasts to that he could suckle her nipples.

Meg moaned as her son used his lips, tongue, and teeth on her sensitive teats. She had taught him well and he took his time to ensure both breasts received equal attention. She reached down and found him rigid and throbbing. Meg knew that her son was capable of fucking her at least twice tonight; she loved that he was so virile and now that she had trained him, attentive to her needs.

She stroked his phallus and he groaned, lowering his face to hers so they could kiss. Meg guided his cock to her panty-clad mound, he pressed forward so that his cock was sheathed in the gossamer fabric of her panties and rubbed against her vulva. This had become a ritual. She knew her son loved the feel of her sheer panties and stockings on his cock and she always allowed him to exercise his fetish before they fucked. Sometimes he went too far, only yesterday he was rubbing his cock on her stocking-sheathed thighs and he uncontrollably ejaculated against her leg. She didn't mind, it didn't take long for him to recover.

He pushed his glans inside her labia and rubbed against her clitoris, Meg began to writhe beneath him, arching her body to encourage him. Peter extracted his cock from the gusset of her panties and slid it inside his mother, she wrapped her legs around him and held him tight while he began to fuck her.

They kissed and caressed and moaned and sighed as Peter bought her to the edge and then backed off, it was trick he had learned himself and she both loved him and hated him when he did it.

She loved that his technique was so good that he could bring her to the brink of orgasm at will and hated that he often kept her there for so long that she had to beg him to finish her off.

"Fuck me Peter! Fuck me son!" she bit his earlobe quite savagely.

Peter quickened his pace and pushed himself all the way inside his mother. Meg could feel his cock expand as it was about to erupt. Then it did.

Peter and his mother clung to each other as Peter jackhammered his cock in and out of her cunt. Her silken-sheathed legs grazed his flanks, her nails raked his back and her teeth bit his lip as she savagely extracted every scintilla of pleasure from her huge-cocked son. He filled his mother with his scalding issue, semen dripped from her cunt and soaked into her panties and even the sheet. The musky smell of his spend mingled with her perfume.

Now

The next day William Balfour went missing. He was last seen driving his old pickup down one of the dirt roads that bordered the cornfields. Peter spent two days searching the farm and surrounds and the sheriff and his deputies swept a wider area around town. People reported seeing William's pickup here and there but there was never any confirmed sighting of William or the car and there were hundreds of old pickups in the surrounding counties. William had vanished.

By now everyone in town knew that William was a lush and prone to extreme mood swings and it didn't surprise them that he had walked out of his marriage and the responsibilities to his family.

Peter made one last trip into town to see the sheriff who told him the sheriff's department would be spending no further resources looking for William Balfour, they had more important things to do than look for a drunk who had deserted his family.

Margaret saw the plume of dust rising from her son's battered old pickup as he turned into the farmhouse yard.

She powdered her nose, freshened her lipstick and straightened her seams ready for her son.

"Nothing mom. I think he's gone for good," Peter shook his head.

"Well that's settled then. Now that daddy's gone you are the man of the house. You can permanently move into my bedroom tomorrow," she said pragmatically.

Peter nodded solemnly.

"Anyway, it's six o'clock Petey, come over here and tend to your mother's needs," she smiled at him and held out her hand.

Peter left home early the next day and took a packed lunch. He rode old Blackie, a gentle gelding coming to the end of his days, for a few miles, taking it easy on the old horse. He came to a copse of unworkable land located roughly in the middle of the farm and guided the horse down a poorly marked trail until he came to his father's pickup, now almost unrecognisable, camouflaged with branches and leaves.

He tethered the animal to the lower branches of an old oak and gave Blackie a drink.

Then he went over to the mound of dirt under which his father lay buried and said a small prayer.

Peter threw more branches over the rusty old pickup and rode his horse around the copse of trees to ensure the car was invisible, then he started the long ride home. He needed to be there by six o'clock to carry out husbandly duties to his mother now that he was the man of the house.

To be continued