Scenes from the Amaranth Room 01

Scenes from the Amaranth Room -- Part 1

A horny mother's quest for ecstasy

1.

Electricity arced through my nipple as Kurt drew it into his mouth, sucking greedily. Years ago, I had nursed my son, my breasts full of milk, nourishing him and satisfying his hunger. Now, as a young man home from college, Kurt nursed at my breast with the same vigor, but with an additional motive. I nuzzled his dark brown hair, luxuriating in the sensation of his mouth gorging on my swollen breast. My hand slipped between his thighs.

As was his habit when he awoke me most mornings, Kurt was completely naked, his cock bobbing. It was obvious he needed his mother. Wrapping my hand around his erection, I gently tugged the skin taut. The shiny, purple helmet of his cock swelled, a drop of precome oozing from the tip. Kurt moaned gently, turning his body to allow me easier access to his cock as I slowly moved my hand up and down. My pussy began to throb as I masturbated my nursing son.

For several minutes, my hand kept a steady rhythm on my son's cock, not too slow and not too fast, just the way he liked it. As he nursed, his hips gently undulated, keeping rhythm against my strokes. I whispered breathily into Kurt's ear.

"My baby likes that, huh?" I cooed. Kurt moaned his approval as my other hand found his nipple. As I tweaked it, pulling it and scraping my fingernail back and forth over the red tip, his body began to squirm, his thrusts growing more urgent. Milk trickled from the side of his mouth, and I could tell he was distracted by my attentions. Suddenly, he pulled away from my breast, a squirt of milk spritzing the bedsheets.

"Goddammit, Mom!" he panted, the pupils of his hazel eyes wide and dark. "It's time to fuck!"

Obediently, I fell back against the cotton caress of rumpled bedclothes, my arms and legs opening wide. His cock bobbing like a flagpole in a high wind, Kurt leapt on top of me, nestling his hips between my open thighs. I never failed to be wet and ready on these beautiful, hazy mornings. Our nude bodies quickly coupled as my son mounted his frantic attack, pushing his hardness deep inside his mother. I gasped and shuddered as he found his mark, that lovely spot near my cervix, and pushed as hard as he could.

"Oh, holy shit, Kurt," I sobbed with pleasure. "Goddammit, fuck me...FUCK YOUR MOTHER!"

He drew his glistening cock out of my pussy until the tip brushed against my swollen cunt lips. Then he slammed it back into my pussy violently and repeatedly as I moaned. The sound of our bodies slapping together filled the room as his lean, muscular body raped me to satiety, unstoppable. My hands clamped around his hips as I felt the muscles in his ass and thighs tensing repeatedly. His hot breath washed over my face and breasts as I sensed his approaching orgasm. I closed my eyes, thinking of my horny boy, and of all the years we've been together, loving, nurturing, then as he grew to maturity, fucking like animals. His cock jerked inside me as his orgasm hit.

"Ohhh, yes, Mom, YES!" Kurt's voice quivered with lust.

Feeling his thick, young cock injecting my womb full of his hot, sticky seed, I joined him in the climax.

"Ahhhg!" I growled, wrapping my legs around his back, pulling him as deep inside me as I could. God, my son was hung like a mule, and such a stud. I made him that way, strong and well fed with an endless supply of mother's milk.

Kurt remained inside me for the remainder of the morning, his body stretched on top of mine. We dozed. We kissed. He drew more warm, fresh milk from my breasts. We fucked again. Kurt took me from behind as my wildly jiggling breasts slung milk across the blankets. I took as much of his cock in my mouth as I could, tasting my juices and blowing him to yet another copious orgasm. God, I love the taste of my boy's come.

It was just another day for me and my beautiful son.

2.

It was eighteen years ago, when Kurt was a baby. As a young, divorced mother, I relished feeding time with my newborn son. Early one morning, I remember, soon after I had grown comfortable with the routine of nursing, I sat in the big, overstuffed chair by the window in the nursery, resting my head, relaxing as Kurt drew milk from my breast. As I drifted, I noticed his constant suckling created not only a tingling in my hard nipple, but a throbbing sensation down in my pussy.

At first, I blushed with shame at the thought; a mother getting aroused while nursing her son. I was so young then, and it didn't take much to get me hot and horny. But what to do? When feeding time ended, I placed my lovely bundle into his crib to sleep, but my libido had other plans. My nipples had become toughened and more sensitive after several weeks of nursing, so every feeding turned my pussy into a throbbing furnace. Having no man around didn't help matters, and I needed relief.

As Kurt slept away, safe in his crib, I retreated from the nursery to the master bedroom. I stripped naked and slid across the soft, cotton blankets of my full-sized bed. Childbirth had changed my body somewhat. My D-cup breasts remained somewhat firm, but my tummy sagged a little. Certainly more stretch marks spiderwebbed across my belly, ass, breasts and thighs.

Listening to the gentle creak of the old ceiling fan, I closed my eyes and inhaled the morning air wafting through the open window. I found my hands rubbing up and down my thighs. Initially, I merely luxuriated in the silky smoothness of my young skin. Without being touched, my pussy lips would moisten and flare, and my clit would protrude, erect and glistening, from a thick patch of dark, brown floss.

Of course, horniness got the best of me, and I needed more. I reached between parted legs and boldly slipped a finger into my sopping wet hole. What could it hurt? The entry made me gasp sharply with pleasure, my face burning red with shame. My other hand squeezed a breast, tugging on the nipple to simulate the breastfeeding I'd just administered.

Probing my pussy, I concentrated on the tingling in my nipple, now matched by the throbbing of my clit. It wasn't a new or alien sensation. Long ago, I discovered the pleasure of touching, tugging, and pinching the nipples of my developing breasts. Before I knew how to masturbate, I would spend many silent eternities in my dark bedroom, quietly moaning as slender, delicate fingers squeezed my breast buds into hard, tingling red points -- a mysterious torture of which I longed for relief.

Luckily, my older brother introduced me to orgasms soon after. Many a night he would spy on me as I played with my tits, becoming frustrated when I repeatedly failed to end the session by masturbating. In the dark, he would silently stroke his cock as I pleasured myself. Sometimes my hand would make its way down my legs, but I had no idea what to do with the strange sensation down there.

Soon, Billy had his mouth glued to my aching nipple and his hand inside my panties, vigorously rubbing my wet pussy. He wasn't much older than me and wouldn't know a clit if it poked him in the eye, but I came anyway, violently, and often.

Again, that was years ago.

Billy and my younger brother, Neil, both took pleasure in their sister's body, but this particular day I had only my firm, agile finger frigging the wetness of my pussy while I tugged at my reddened nipple.

Oh, what a filthy slut I was! I knew I was being watched by God, or perhaps my deceased parents, while I frigged myself to orgasm. That thought slowed me a bit, but soon I accepted the peering, ghostly eyes and began concentrating on my pleasure. In time, I welcomed those eyes. In time, they helped me come.

"Watch me, you fuckers," I hissed in a low voice, gazing at the crown molding above the dark, ebony bookcase. I noticed the books needed dusting. I imagined a hungry mouth on my breast. "Your girl is masturbating in front of you. Watch me, Goddammit. Watch your darling slut!"

Soon, it began to build. I knew it was going to be a big one, but I couldn't noisily thrash about in orgasm, otherwise, I would disturb Kurt, sleeping soundly in the nursery. I couldn't wail with each smashing, searing wave of pleasure, since I might frighten my dear boy.

Slowly, while keeping a steady rhythm against my clit, I snaked my ankle around a long, wooden bedpost. Torturing my breast with one hand, I stroked my pussy with the other. My wet fingers blurred against the red-pink flesh of my clit. I began taking deep breaths as the tension inside my body rose to the breaking point.

Suddenly, it hit.

3.

In my youth, I was an exceptionally still and quiet lovemaker. As my brothers pistoned between my thighs, I came as quietly as a moth. In turn, I could lower myself down on a hard sibling cock and buck against it with hardly the squeak of an errant bedspring. God forbid if my parents discovered their young darlings fucking each other senseless.

When I grew older and moved out on my own, I quickly became loud with my passion. My brothers and other lovers relished the noise, sometimes with surprise, as I orgasmed repeatedly with ear-piercing delight. Released from the forced secrecy under my parent's roof, I knocked over furniture, banged walls, broke beds and even spurred my concerned neighbors to call the police. Instead or a rape or homicide, the blushing officers found a panting, well-fucked girl with a half-open robe, scarcely concealing her glistening, sweaty body.

But now, I reverted to my younger days. As I came, my body arched slightly. With my ankle tucked firmly around the bedpost, my body strained, quivering as the first wave of the orgasm hit. I squeezed my eyes shut, body taut, as wave after wave of pleasure wracked me. The bed groaned for me as I let out a muffled gasp. My fingers never left my pussy.

My body shuddered, but I kept my hand pressed against my wet, matted fur, massaging the last of the spasms away as I took deep breaths to regain my composure. Completely calmed, and quite spent by the orgasm, I slowly licked the wetness from my long, slender fingers, savoring the taste and scent of my pussy.

4.

God, what a shameful slut I became. This new wave of self-pleasuring had enflamed an already-healthy libido. With no man around the house, and my brothers visiting infrequently, every day became torture. With housecleaning out of the way, I fidgeted until my boy cried for his milk. Stretched out on the sofa in front of the television, legs apart, my hands rubbed up and down the insides of my thighs. After the game shows, the familiar soap operas played out, day after day, with tales of love, lust, and deception, as I teetered on the edge of oblivion.

I tried to refrain from masturbating, not wanting to wear out the experience, but often I caved in, frigging myself through one orgasm after another. Eventually, I had to place a towel underneath my ass, since the urgent, dripping wetness between my thighs never ceased. Constantly erect, my nipples tingled with anticipation.

Even before my new bout of self-discovery, I took great care of my nipples, rubbing them with vegetable oil, making sure they remained succulent for Kurt. Now it had become a sadistic exercise that left me panting and crazed with lust, ready to rape the nearest doorknob or mophandle. Countless times, I picked up the phone and started to call one of my brothers, but always thought better of it. They had problems of their own and couldn't put their lives and families on hold to satisfy their sister's needs at a moment's notice. I fought the insane fire raging inside my body, but it was a losing battle. I had to find other outlets for relief.

5.

Before she passed away, before the cancer took her, my mother offered to watch the baby at least once per week, to my joy, to give me a day to myself. There were many adult clubs in town, places where singles would meet, hitch up, and take care of their needs. However, I didn't want a strange man lingering around the house, or someone like my ex-husband, with the drama that might ensue, so that avenue was put on hold. One day I went, reluctantly, to an adult book store. I had no idea what I was looking for, but knew that was where I would most likely find it. There I found an extensive range of dildos and vibrators, and the next wrinkle of my erotic journey would begin.

6.

My baby grew, healthy and happy, never losing his eagerness to nurse. On the contrary, the older he got, the harder he would nurse, then the teeth started coming. Most mothers lamented teething, but I took it in stride, and soon relished my boy's biting and tugging. Another year or so passed, and the time came when I stopped nursing Kurt in the presence of my family. For all external appearances, he had been weaned to solid food, a fact that I always demonstrated when family or other company paid a call.

But after everyone had gone, I returned the lid to the jar of strained carrots and latched the front door, pulling down the windowshades. Retreating into the cool, dim comfort of the nursery and that big, comfortable easy chair, I would sit and relax. As Kurt approached, I unfastened the buttons of my blouse. Soon, I would be stripped to the waist, my breasts swollen with nourishment. My well-suckled nipples protruded stiffly, eager to begin feeding.

7.

School days approached, and I feared my little Kurt would reveal our secret to his classmates. Already, I had sworn him to secrecy in regard to relatives and outsiders, but now, I gathered all of my willpower and forced an end to our mutual habit.

"But Mom," he frowned, tears coming to his eyes as I cradled him, "why do I have to stop?"

I fabricated the best explanation available at the moment. One that was, to my surprise, the truth. "Kurt," I gazed into his eyes. "You're getting to be a big boy, all grown up." I wanted to cry, but fought the urge. My baby was indeed growing up, and things were changing. "Mothers nurse babies because they can't feed themselves." I squeezed him tightly, our bodies intertwined on the bed. "You can now feed yourself, just like a grown-up." I wiped away a tear. "Don't you want to be a man someday?"

"I guess so," he sniffed.

"Plus," I figured the embarrassment factor would add meat to my argument, "your new friends at school will pick on you terribly if they find out. You wouldn't want them to call you a titty-baby, would you?"

"No," he murmured softly.

Of course, breaking such a strong habit was rough for both of us. There were long faces, crying, begging, on occasion, and the constant battle not to rip open my blouse and give him what we both wanted. To make matters worse, my lactating breasts had no part of our cold turkey program, and I was tormented by a pair of tender, swollen jugs weighing down my chest.

Desperate, I began to nurse myself. At best, it was an awkward procedure, leaving me with a tired mouth and a strained neck. Also, ingesting copious quantities of milk on a daily basis caused my weight to balloon.

The first day of school arrived with its usual tears and apprehension. My baby had been with me for five years, and now the time had come for him to go out in the world. I taped a photo of us in Kurt's red lunchbox. "I love you, angel," I whispered in his ear, leaving him in the care of a pretty, young teacher. I closed the door to the car and cried for fifteen minutes. Driving away from the school, I became aware of the fact that I had several hours to myself.

With a cell phone at the ready in case my baby needed me, I drove to the department store to buy something I direly needed: a breast pump. Next stop was the adult book store. I parked two blocks away in case someone dare recognize my grey Buick.

My God, I never thought shopping for a dildo would be such a chore - so many from which to choose. After picking through dozens of battery-powered, liquid-filled, and/or dual penetration devices, I chose a basic, old-fashioned standard.

"Good choice." the twentysomething cashier ran her slender index finger along the shiny tip. "These models last forever. My grandmother still has hers."

Not knowing what to say, I smiled with embarrassment. Both of us were thinking the same dirty thought. For a brief moment, I pictured her pouty little mouth draining my heavy tits in the back room of this funky little dive.

"Batteries?" she asked, with an inquisitive furrow of her brow.

"What?" I asked, stupidly. My concentration had been sidetracked, wrestling with the erotic scenario.

"These take three 'C' cells," she explained, then smiled. "You don't want to get home with this and not have batteries."

"Oh," I blushed. "Okay."

The girl retrieved the batteries, glancing at me repeatedly with a sly grin. It must have been obvious to her I was a virgin to these devices. Intense heat radiated from my face and throat.

"Warming gel?" She inquired. Again, I stared vacantly, totally devoid of comprehension. "Here," the girl continued, not waiting for a reply. Taking a small vial from under the counter, she popped it into my bag of goodies. "A free sample," she grinned. "I think you'll like it."

By then, I just wanted to pay her and get home. God, I needed to come! I don't remember driving home or parking the car. The moment the door slammed behind me, I stripped naked, leaving a trail of clothes from the front door to the bedroom. Dumping the dildo and batteries out of the paper bag, I took the batteries and jammed them into the device. Sliding the switch back and forth, it refused to work. My hands shook impatiently.

"Goddammit!" I growled, cursing the uncooperative little device. Flopping back on the bed, I jabbed the lifeless dildo into my sopping, wet hole. The smooth tip rubbing against my clit made me come almost immediately. I gasped and writhed on the bed, spritzing fluid on the bedclothes as waves of pleasure surged through my pelvis. Still, it was no match for my slender, expert fingers.

"Fuck it," I said loudly, and flung the useless tool against the wall. Using my old, familiar friends, my hands, I rubbed my slick crotch furiously, quickly coming again. "Fuck...oh yeahhh...ohhh FUCK," I hissed like a filthy whore, wishing someone, anyone, was in the house to hear me, and to watch.

Squeezing my breast savagely, thumbnail digging into my nipple, my glistening fingers slapped wetly against my matted little patch of fur. "Ooooh," I shivered, lips pursed, as another, mellower orgasm cleansed my body. My back arched as I continued the assault on my pussy. Images flashed through my brain; watching my son's mouth suckle on my breast, the girl at the adult book store devouring my pussy while my mother watched, my brother's surprise visit last year, when Kurt walked in on us fucking. Remembering the moment my son gazed upon Billy, his naked uncle, buried to the hilt inside his equally nude kid sister, sent me yelping over the edge once again.

What a perverted moment, I thought. I loved and hated it at the same time. Still, the orgasm was true and strong. God help this evil girl.

A hazy parcel of time drifted through the bedroom. Fingers still buried in my pussy, my thoughts focused on Kurt. Turning my face to the clock on the nightstand, I noted the time. Ninety-six minutes until Kurt let out of school. I raised my glistening hand to my nose, sniffing the gentle musk, and proceeded to lick the juices from each finger.

Wetting both of my index fingers, I gently circled my areolas, feeling the bumps and ridges. With my thumb and forefinger, I tugged firmly at each nipple until milk began to trickle down my breasts. It was at that moment I noticed the extreme wetness of the blanket. Rolling over, the cover squished from pussy juice. At first, I thought I had peed on the bedspread (a malady I began suffering during pregnancy), but a sniff-test ruled that out. Thank God I had placed a moisture-proof pad over the mattress. After placing fresh accoutrements on the bed, I tossed the soiled linens into the wash and stepped into the shower to rinse away my goo.