Ralph Wrecked It Pt. 03

1

Earlier, I described my first encounter with my Granduncle Ralph. and how, barely out of high school, I threw myself at him, resulting in a hot fuck, both of us getting off on the incest. Despite our four decade age difference, we were lovers on and off for years. The family's secret avocation, I later learned, wasn't limited to us. I discovered a diary that revealed my Grandmother Darleen had spent over a year getting violated and abused by her father in their remote mountain home, and that she soon acquired an appetite for it. Finally, Ralph confessed to a years-long, passionate, brother-sister affair with her as well. After dear Ralph passed, he left me some stunning nude photos of Darleen, a 1970's porn film he made that surprisingly included my own mother, and a digital archive of photos of me, before and after my first marriage, some normal and some otherwise, let's say.

As I stated at the end of the second part, I was then trying to perpetuate the family tradition and deviously get into my son's pants. It wasn't always the case. When he first moved in with me at twenty-one, we were just normal mother and son. Sure, having him fuck me crossed my mind, but I figured it would never happen in a million years. We weren't isolated in a mountain homestead. The urge to mate with family likely diminished with each generation. That possibility seemed more remote than sex with the myriad young men I encountered daily in retail settings, or even the sometimes attentive college-age sons of my acquaintances. Nevertheless, that million years was reduced to nil after a drunken confession Caleb made one night, even if the disclosure was not about me.

Caleb is my second child. He began living with me after being ejected from his father's home for some horrible, unmentionable deed. A little background is in order.

In 1996 as a spectator at the Atlanta Olympics, I met Caleb's dad, Nick, an Australian, and aspiring tennis pro. We rushed into a fairytale marriage and horny me had two sons fairly quickly The tennis career stalled and then failed, and the friction of his desire to move back to his homeland eventually drove us apart, and the fairytale was over. Problematic visits on long flights by me and our preschool-age sons to see him across the planet led to their permanent residence in Canberra by the time the oldest was six. Caleb was always an introverted, socially awkward boy. Agoraphobic and possibly 'on the spectrum', Caleb was home tutored and had begun to take University classes online when he was suddenly made to leave his father's household.

Disgusted by my ex, I flew out and retrieved my son. Naturally I offered Caleb asylum back here in Virginia, no matter his infraction. After a traumatic series of flights he joined me, by now a twice-divorced housewife.

This son had his father's blonde, tall, square-jawed good looks. He of course had the 'crocodile hunter' accent from down under as well. Getting reacquainted after only semi-annual visits, we resolved to make a habit of weekend dinners together, but he otherwise spent his time working out or in his room online gaming or studying, having resumed his classes and a part time tech support job for a medical equipment manufacturer. I maintained my own part time position as a collegiate foundation board member.

After a few weeks, one night after three or four glasses of wine, Caleb finally admitted why he was forced out of his father's home. I asked if he was violent or had drugs, as his offense was made to sound terrible. No. With tears in his eyes, he confessed to spying on his female cousins, visiting on a long university break. He had placed a webcam in the air vent in the bathroom they used for three weeks. The alarm company made the discovery and Nick's sister, a total bitch, insisted Caleb be disowned or at least kicked out of the house. I had to rescue my son from a hotel room because Nick lacked the backbone to stand up to his family. He couldn't excuse a challenged young man's stolen looks at his aunt and cousins. The women were allegedly traumatized, although I knew all three spent plenty of time on topless beaches, showing their tits to all of vacationing New South Wales.

After my son's confession to me that night, I advised him not to listen to his aunt's intolerant bullshit, and assured him it was natural to be curious about those in close proximity, relatives or not. I maintained a 'so what' attitude and advised him how 'sick and twisted' was a family tradition, and could be outright fun. He asked how I knew, but I just smiled. I didn't want to push the issue. That night, by the time I was tucking my drunk son into bed, he more or less admitted the family angle made things even more exciting for him. Ah, bless his little heart, he had enough of my genes after all. I saw him looking down my top at my tanned middle-aged cleavage as I leaned in to kiss him goodnight, lingering and right on the lips. Still the same devious slut I've always been, I began to formulate my strategy.

In the midst of my initial planning, we received the news of Ralph's passing. It was both ironic and karmic that the family curse had reached its next generation and I was going to try to cultivate it. .

I mourned the loss that week of my first true love, and, I believed, soul mate. But I also knew he would have agreed I should carry on with Caleb.

Friday was the reading of the will, with more relatives in attendance than the funeral. Descendents of Ralph's cousins came out of the woodwork for their share of the timber fortune. The next day I got my chance to visit the storage unit and find Ralph's special bequests to me, the horniest niece of them all.

At home, to ensnare Caleb, I began to dress for the day later, and undress for bed earlier, increasing my sloppy braless t-shirt 'pajama' time downstairs. I also started with a campaign of 'please zip me up's, abandoned panties on the floor dropped 'accidentally' with a sock or two on the stair landing. and bras draped on furniture or on the fitness equipment in our basement gym. all to subtly tempt him. I'd get dressed up just so he would zip me into an outfit, then I'd drive to a coffee bar and web surf long enough to have had 'drinks with the girls', and then request an unzip and bra unhook upon arriving home. I even made a few topless or naked dashes in the halls on occasion so he could 'catch' me, but had no luck.

Three weeks after the confession, at Friday bedtime tucking Caleb in, which I was doing after watching Netflix with him, I asked him if he felt better after our talk about 'the spying thing', we called it. He suddenly seemed uncomfortable.

"Sweetie, are you still worrying about that?" I sat on the edge of the bed and stroked the stubble on the side of his face.

"I feel like a pervert."

I sighed "Oh Caleb, Caleb, Caleb, I've got family histories that make your camera stunt seem like a peck on the cheek. How about a bedtime story?"

"Someone spying on their naked family? I doubt it."

"Yes, and also way worse," I countered.

"Worse? Within the family?"

"Yes, very within the family."

"Sure, right," he said skeptically. "Rumors, I'm sure someone made it up."

"I have a diary, in her handwriting." Caleb's eyes widened, but he tried to hide his enthusiasm. "Whose handwriting?"

"You'll see."

"Okay sure," he shrugged.

"Let me go down and get it, I'll be right back."

2

By down, I meant down to my second floor bedroom wall safe, location of the diary. My heart racing, I descended to the first floor library for some 'normal' family albums and was upstairs back in his third floor room winded, but in less than two minutes.

Caleb had the whole, large third floor of my ostentatious, oversized 'real housewife' home to himself, his work computers at one end and his bed and dressers at the other. In the center of the room was a mini-kitchen. giant leather sofa, coffee table in front of his two large TVs and different game consoles. I had the space renovated just for him, expecting nerdy girls he met online to be flocking up to see him, staining the couch's leather with bodily fluids. No girls had showed, and now I wanted to be the one to break in that sofa with him, but it was going to take some finesse.

When I returned he hadn't moved from where I left him, a good sign. His eyes seemed bright under the several rows of recessed halogen lights that shone from the ceiling. His shoulders were broad but pale as exposed by his plain white tank t-shirt. The blanket covered him up to his waist.

My son rolled his eyes as I arrived with an old photo album, as well as a plastic zip lock containing the diary. Of course the 'normal' albums were to show photos of a young Darleen, a visual aid for him, as it was.

"I knew this was a joke," Caleb moaned.

"No joke, this diary is old, when my grandmother was about your age. You need to see her; she's beautiful."

Sitting next to him on the bed, I took Caleb on a tour of a time past, pointing out the many likenesses of beautiful young Darleen, blonde ,shapely and in her twenties. The journey ended with an 8X10 glossy of her in a daring strapless ball gown, cleavage plentiful, a corsage on her wrist.

"Yes she's beautiful, she looks like you," he said sweetly.

"Thank you, darlin'. Now remember, you're sworn to secrecy. I haven't told anyone else about this, ever. I think she left it where only I would find it as a confession. I don't even think her husband knew. You and I are the only ones."

"Damn." my son said, his appetite whetted.

I told him about the three-room shack on the mountain she was raised in, and the dismal family life therein. Then I began to read aloud, mimicking her voice and hillbilly accent, which I knew of since it still surfaced when Grammy was angry. After only a few pages of Darleen being buttfucked, whipped, pussyfucked, and being forced to deep throat her father's cock, praying, rinsing and repeating, Caleb was fidgeting with a hard cock below his blanket. He struggled, not wanting to use his hands.

"It's okay to adjust your junk in front of me, darlin'," I said, not looking up from the yellowed pages and the faded blue fountain pen script on it.

"Mum!" Caleb said in shock. My son, pale from too much time indoors, turned red in the face and groaned in embarrassment.

"We're both adults. We can talk about boners. It's not like we both don't know it's down there." I looked blatantly at his crotch, the sheet unable to fully disguise the bulge between his thighs. "Fair is fair. We can talk about any of my body parts if you like." My eyes met his.

"Mu-um!" he said more loudly.

Caleb gathered the sheet over what looked like a beautiful piece of meat as I

stopped abruptly and closed the stiff book cover.

"Why'd you stop? It was just getting good!"

"Oh that's enough for tonight. I'd better leave you to it."

"To what?" he asked, looking at my sloppily tank top-covered chest with the lilac bra straps and edges that showed randomly. After nursing, my breasts never deflated to their original proportions. With my modest middle-aged weight gain, they were a ridiculous F cup now and losing the fight with gravity. When walking, what had once been an endearing sway and jiggle, now had become random seismic collisions.

"Tossing off, I think you call it down under. Need lube?"

"MUM!!" he exclaimed, his jaw hanging open in shock afterward.

"I'll read more if you want. I won't mind if you stroke yourself while I read. I always used to read to you at bedtime," I said, then pouted to display my disappointment. I was really pushing it now.

"Yeah, you'd read Harry bloody Potter!" Caleb stared at me for a moment, then exhaled loudly and began halfheartedly laughing. "Okay you got me! I thought you were serious there. I was going to suggest professional help. And everyone thinks I'm the nutter."

I said nothing, smiled, leaned down and kissed him on the lips, lingering there half an inch away for a few moments.

"Goodnight darlin' Have fun!" He rolled his eyes.

3

The next day by mid-morning Caleb was in the kitchen, possibly commando in shorts and a T-shirt asking for more from the diary. I was pleasantly surprised and mentally cancelled my plans for the day. The archive of family abominations must have made quite an impression, since he usually was gaming all day on Saturdays. I ceased my dish duties and retrieved the diary, returning to the kitchen, where he had poured us each coffee. Crotch check. Semi-hard, cock head ridge. Yep, nothing under those shorts but him. How sick! A mother surveying her son's shorts, I thought.

Sitting across from me at the bar-level breakfast counter on our kitchen island, Caleb fidgeted with those shorts frequently as I read the diary aloud, careful to call the woman Darleen, since 'Grammy' projected the wrong image.

Soon I pretended to not notice that my son had been almost constantly busy with his hand below the tabletop across from me. He was clandestinely stroking a bit with it still inside his flimsy shorts like I wouldn't notice, or better yet, assuming that I would approve. After all, I had told him to 'go for it' upstairs last night. After the account of Darleen volunteering to be whipped outdoors in the cold after a Valentine's day date to make her father jealous, I spoke up. I wanted Caleb to shoot his load, in my presence or not, before the sad part where Darleen's father's drinking finally kills him.

"You can go faster with that," I said, pointing at his crotch, which was below the marble countertop. "More coffee?"

"Yes, please." Caleb said, passing me his mug, ignoring my 'faster' comment. In the reflection of the oven door glass I could see him do some major adjustments to his shorts.

"Need to go upstairs or just use the bathroom down here? You're welcome to stay right here when it happens, of course." I turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow as the Keurig belched on the counter. He seemed to know what I was implying, the expulsion of his load, but the conflict shone on his face.

"I'm really glad you're enjoying this sweetie." I passed him his coffee, but didn't want to disrupt the moment. "I know it's a lot to comprehend, definitely a guilty pleasure. I still enjoy reading it, especially now, with my wonderful son." We exchanged smiles. I got through a few more sentences.

"Mum?" he asked, "Why are you doing this?" he gestured to the open diary, crumbs of its brittle spine littering the countertop.

I took a deep breath "I want you to know you aren't alone, Caleb. We're an...unusual, very rare family, at least some of us. I want you to be happy in every way, including whatever way you want, well...sexual release, let's call it. If this is one of those outlets, know that I'm glad, ecstatic really, that I can help with it. Or any other outlet."

Caleb's eyes were suddenly wet.

"I shouldn't say this as the girls' aunt, but I think it's cool as hell how you videoed those little bitches. I hope you got a lot of... mileage out of it before they found the camera." I gestured toward his crotch again as I spoke.

"They have the lamest arse tattoos," he quipped.

"So," I said, feeling more motherly than perverted at that moment, "do you want me to keep reading and share this with someone who loves you and isn't judging...and actually understands, and you keep going?" I gestured toward his crotch. "Or do you want to take the diary upstairs? I'll never mention it again." I couldn't believe I was possibly wrecking my own plan by giving him an escape, but I did love him. It seemed like an hour, but was probably only fifteen seconds before he responded.

"You won't mind if...."

Damn, I fucked it up. He was heading upstairs.

"I stay and you keep reading it to me? "

Oh, no he wasn't! "I would love that!" I smiled, almost in tears myself.

I read only a single sentence before Caleb seemed to be sliding his dick out of his elastic waistband. My heart was pounding. I felt like I was eighteen again and a guy I really liked was pulling his out for the first time. I was finding it hard to concentrate. My son's hand and forearm were blocking the view in the oven door reflection, but moving steadily back and forth.

"Mum?"

I looked up over my reading glasses, feeling both matronly, in my long white denim shorts and blue V-neck top, but with the rapidly dampening slit of a much younger woman in my everyday cotton panties. I would have been less-dressed had I expected his visit.

"What did you mean by you understand? Have you..." he asked, his voice trailing off. "..um. spied on... family?"

"Worse." I looked into his blue eyes, smiling slightly.

"Who? Gramps?" There weren't many possible candidates, but my father never touched me sexually, not that I would have stopped him.

"No, no, not him. All in good time, " I chuckled.

"So you'll tell me about that, too?"

"Yes, but when it fits...chronologically."

"Damn!" My son smiled, and his elbow began to move faster. .

Flattered by his interest in my contribution to the family legacy, I continued narrating. After the day of the naked drive, with Darleen, a bag over her head, being whipped in a clearing, Caleb was stroking madly and was growing more erratic. What happened next almost ruined the entire campaign.

My damned cell phone went off. Dumbass me left it on. It was over on the kitchen table next to my purse. I rushed over and sent the call to voicemail. then turned the phone off, tossing it into the open Dooney and Burke. I was only gone for a moment, but the sudden jolt must have distracted Caleb. He was sliding off his stool.

"This...this is crazy. Go call them back, I'll leave," Caleb said, suddenly reverting to his anxious self, his speech winded and quivering. "Sorry Mum, I got carried away, I..." There were tears on his cheeks.

"Oh sweetie..." I went immediately to him to hug his broad shoulders, a maternal instinct. Caleb wasn't normally a hugger. His feet were on the floor, but he had not yet corralled his stiff meat down into his shorts, I felt as I embraced him. He tried to pull his hips back, but I was thrilled at the sensation of what felt like an English cucumber poking me in the gut. I most deviously pivoted and pinned him so his back was against the eating bar. The bare underside of his cock was against my stomach, but unfortunately my shirt separated them. The instinct to console my offspring was stronger than the impulse to lower my head and orally assault his erection, but just barely.

Caleb began to cry as I shushed him and spoke into his ear. "It's okay. Mommy's here, my sweet boy. Mommy understands. I'm so glad you're here with me now." During our embrace, he tried a few more times to push me back, no doubt to stash his cock. Each time I stood firm and his shaft rubbed a short distance up and down my abdominals.

Suddenly Caleb let out a grunting whine and I thought it was just a deeper sob until he kept gasping and he began to tremble violently. Another panic attack? Not with warm fluid soaking my stomach in the vicinity of his cock head. My boy was spewing his orgasm between us! What a terrific moment, even if it was a unintentional! I began to caress his back and verbally gush over Caleb as he sobbed hot exhalations into my ear.

"Oh my darling! How wonderful that you're sharing this with me! I'm so happy Caleb!" I rubbed my fingers through the hair on the back of his head and looked up into his reddened eyes. I'm 5'11" but he's still taller. The wet spot in my shirt grew and cooled and I felt some of my son's semen soak through to my skin. How devine! After holding him for a couple minutes, we separated. I felt his semi-hard penis fall away. He sniffled loudly.

I looked down as I stepped back, and for an instant saw my son's beautiful, glossy organ, softened but still swollen and overhanging his elastic waistband like the handle of a candy cane. Strings of sperm stretched between my top and the still-reddish dick until they fell and hung from his head, glistening in the midday sun, as were the many drops of his fluid already on the faux wood kitchen floor at our bare feet. It's a sight I'll never forget.