Stay With The Farm

She moved under the covers, facing away from the vacant side of the bed. Ruck went around to the other side, hooves clomping on the carpeted floor. "Too old for pyjamas," he muttered nonchalantly to himself.

"Shush honey, just do what ya think is best."

He climbed into bed, and stripped down. Pulling his shirt up and over his head he freed his chest, revealing his toned body. Unbuckling his belt and removing his trousers, he was left with aught but his boxers. He cautiously folded and tucked away his clothes, making a mental note to unpack fully tomorrow. Now able to appreciate the bed, he settled in beside his mother. There was enough space to maintain a decent gap between them. He turned his back to her, the two now oriented in opposite directions. The cotton sheets felt amazing against his fur, caressing his hide. His mom always had an eye for quality.

Drifting to sleep, the pair's breathing gradually synchronised; the rise-and-fall of their chests beating with one unified tempo.

* * *

Ruck's mother was uncomfortable. In her sleep she tossed and turned, her mature, buxom figure contorting under the choking heat of the night. The atmosphere was clammy, the temperature risen enough to ruin a good night's sleep. Despite this, she didn't stir. Her body was determined to rest, regardless of the hassle it took. Her poor son shared her discomfort, on the far side of the bed he moved regularly. His posture constantly shifted in the hopes of settling.

She gradually approached the edge of the bed. Her knees, bent as she curled up, dangled over the fabric cliff face, leaving the cover of the bed-sheets. Her arms bunched tightly against her chest, squashing her breasts, pulling the covers closer. Ruck felt the duvet drag over him, and automatically fought back, gripping and grabbing handfuls of it and tugging. This contest continued with both mother and son separating further and further — until both hung on the precipice of their respective sides. His mom exhaled in a strained manner. Her eyes remained closed, though she entered the tepid world of half-sleep. Walking the narrow tightrope between consciousness and the void.

Her nightgown felt like a lead weight, compressing her. It irritated her skin, brushing roughly against her fur with an unwelcome frequency. Her legs rubbed together, the heat of the night aggravating heat of another kind. Earlier, when in a fuzzy and tired state, she'd changed into her sleeping clothes — forgetting completely to put on some panties! She let it slip her mind, whether by routine or chance. The length of the gown (however short) hid her mistake when her son was present. Lucky. Now she was reminded of it by the burning between her legs. Unlucky. In blossomed like a flower, spreading from a small region in her nethers — her bud, her precious lips, and deeper, through the walls of her sacred passage. Moistening. Consuming her lower body with lust. Made worse with the knowledge her son shared her bed, and could wake up at any minute and discover her shame. She knew at a semi-conscious level she had to avoid doing anything that might let that happen.

The night progressed. She wasn't alone in her torment.

Their bedcovers found themselves cast aside, son and mom now lay in the open air. Ruck breathed, inhaling huge volumes of humid air and expelling it with force. He lay face-up in his boxers, exposed, without the cloak of the sheets to mask his erection. His underwear was held taut as his equine manhood pushed to free itself. His physical presence as a young, up-and-coming stallion was reinforced by the length of the rod he sported. His dick's inches were in the double-digits, how precise he wasn't sure, having never explicitly measured. Its throbbing nagged him, rubbing the woven walls of his boxers. He returned to lying on his side. His athletic body shifted in-place, one hand shoved beneath his pillow, the other draped across his chest. Those masculine paws wandered, digging under the elasticated strap at his waist. Carefully, he removed his underwear, sliding them down his muscly legs and discarding them. The exiled item of clothing fell to the floor. Temperature dropped in accordance with the extra naked surface, cooling him, but not a lot.

Ruck rolled over onto his back once more. His erection flopped haphazardly to his left, pulsing with the virility of youth. He groaned in his sleep. A small squirt of pre emerged, staining the sheets. Not content to stay still, he rolled again — now facing his mother, her back facing him. His dick throbbed painfully, being dragged up-and-down the bed-sheets in time with the rise and fall of his restless breathing. The thick pillar of flesh releasing more lubricant, anticipating action despite its owner's obliviousness.

He was dangerously close to his mom's behind, her bushy tail narrowly avoiding tickling his tip as she herself fidgeted. Her pussy moist and burning, was only a short distance away, increasingly sore and heated. At each flick of her tail she danced with fate, only saved by the difference in height between them.

Ruck was enjoying his dream, more satisfying now that he was hard. His cock twitched in reaction to the imagined events, stimulated but lacking the true feel of a soft pussy enveloping him. Forever trapped, unable to achieve orgasm. The curse of the wet dream. His upper half leaned forward, angling for a less annoying position. In doing so he smelled his mother, her scented mane. Fresh fruit extract of an unknown kind, scent matching how juicy she felt, bombarded by physical desire. He moved closer, her back to his front, breathing in her mane as it tickled his nostrils. He snorted, the sudden blast of air failing to wake her. Soon he made contact. His chest rubbed up against her shoulders, pecs propping up the blades. Bottom halves not yet entangled.

This would continue for several minutes. No new developments. Just closeness, teetering on intimacy.

Gradually, what started as a mere quirk of position and orientation became spooning. His arms wrapped around her waist, hugging her. She reciprocated, guiding his hands to a nice resting spot on her soft belly. His fingers wriggled, probing the tender midsection with care, driven purely by instinct and the intimate feeling of their motions clouding his thoughts. It was good — her body responded well to this touch, sending waves of warmth to every point her nervous system could communicate with. The slowly-entangling pair were emerging from their slumber. Almost risen from the depths, she gazed at the wall from her bedside, shadows at play, her eyes heavy and glossed-over, dreaming...

Ruck's lower body moved to align with his core, straightening, his shaft now in the danger zone. Aching. He was tall enough that his stallionhood didn't line up with her vulnerable entrance immediately. Some more twisting and turning was necessary for it to find a way in. He palmed her furry stomach with one hand while the other squirmed underneath her waist and entwined her from below. Broad forearms now held her...supported her. His mother's arm went behind, grasping in the dark. She found her hand confronted with the rippling barricade of her son's abdomen. Tentatively her fingers skirted a mere inch from his flesh, teasing his fur as they drift past. Both waking horses were on a collision course neither wanted to occur — and neither sincerely wanted to avert, instinct trapping all common sense.

Ruck's mother carried on her exploration, hand placed firmly on his body. It was solid. A well-exercised temple. She caressed her son.

His eyes opened. This was unexpected.

Both were finally awake.

"MA!" he blurted out, surprise taking him by storm, "I didn't...mean to...wake you..." His voice stayed low, almost apologetic for his exclamation a second ago. The room was silent, except for breathing.

"Mmmm...that's okay baby," she mumbled, "yer a lot closer than I expected..."

"You...you want me to move back?" he asked as her palm continued to journey across his physique.

"No baby no. S'okay...it's all good..."

The gravity of what they were doing (or about to do) weighed little upon them. Focus remained on cuddling, albeit more sensual than Ruck was used to. But familiarity kept him calm. How many months had his mother been alone? And in all that time, do you think she never wanted to hold him close? Her last remaining family? Everything was fine. This was okay.

He rested his muzzle on her neck, his grip on her steady. She sank into the comfort he provided, pouring herself into the mould his body made for her. As they joined, fur-against-fur, she could sense his heart beat, the powerful muscle thumping in his ribcage. The experience of laying against him was laced with nostalgia. Not for him, but his father...the way he held her, caressed her...

Ruck breathed in her scent. The aroma of her washed mane hadn't faded, nor did it diminish the strain he was feeling in his loins. "You smell nice Ma."

"Y'all feel nice hun."

Spooning morphed into groping. Ruck ran his hands under her nightgown, pulling it up — from slightly past the waist to her midsection. Her shapely legs were left naked, so too was her round ass. He rubbed and stroked her, getting nearer and nearer to the underside of her breasts. His hooves kicked and toyed with hers. Her leg shifted, rubbing her thighs together. The burning continued.

His mouth nibbled at her neck, the ebb-and-floe of his short, excited breaths tickling her sensitive skin. He found the perfect vector of attack, stimulating the nerves that dotted the side and back of her neck. His mother gasped, stunned at his precociousness; his touching, his feeling, his...fondling.

She put her hand to use, penetrating the empty space between her ass and his groin, hoping to find something special. Her other pawed at his limbs, making a show of fighting off his advances, but secretly egging him on — directing his attention to the best spots. Her fingers flexed in the dim light, and came across the monster dwelling due south of her gatehouse. The serpent had been sighted!

Its capture was quick. Equine digits encircled the fearsome tube of flesh. Warm to the touch. Ruck's breathing hastened, the young man expecting great things from this turn of events. She stroked it. Veiny and slippery.

"Oh God Ma—muh—momma!"

"Like that honey-pie?"

"Yeah, uugghhh, yes Ma I do—!"

She tightened her grip on his dick, causing him to squeal. A titillating sound emerging from a willing partner, the symphony of their love. She squeezed more fiercely, the solid mass retaining its shape, as testament to the hardness of his blood-filled organ. Ruck yearned to fuck.

Stroking, sliding her hand along his length — from the flared tip, over the medial ring, and almost reaching the base — learning his tells. Which moves produced the greatest relief. The poor, poor boy! He must be so pent-up...so uncomfortable...mommy will make it better.

Ruck felt his mother grip him, each squeeze a shot of life into his tired body. His lethargic self was giving way to a energised stallion, ready to give this mare the ride of her life. What experience he had with women before didn't matter, he had a feeling this would take both of them to new heights. The taboo alone would be enough to send them over the edge. Yes, the fact she was his mother buzzed in his brain, distracting him from devoting himself entirely to their foreplay. Bah! No more! He put that annoying truth aside, tucking it far down in the vaults of his mind, locking it up and throwing away the metaphysical key.

She did the same.

As she dry-milked his cock, her free hand took control of one of his and lowered it towards her puffy slit, thick and meaty and hungry for some stallion. Not yet, she told herself, she'd have her fill of him in time. First, he can demonstrate how to please a mare.

"It's okay baby," she said, sensing his apprehension. They were crossing this threshold no matter what, he just needed a bit of encouragement. "S'okay..." she cooed, her voice faint but audible, "go ahead..."

Ruck's index finger nudged against her clitoris. She went quiet; not speaking, not mewling, not even breathing. The moment was here! At last, after hours of restless sleep...it was too good to want to miss a thing. His hard fingertip found it again, pressing gently as the rest of its comrades sat on her lower abdomen, where the thigh meets the hip. She bit her lip. He mushed his finger against the fleshy nub, breaking her composure. "Ahh!"

Mom was enjoying this. Ruck smiled as he nestled his head beside hers. And this was merely the prelude to greatness. His shaft tingled with each methodical stroke of her hand, compressing and expanding along its length as the ring formed by his mother's paw traversed it. Throbbing. Painfully erect. That would be fixed in a couple of minutes, if all went well.

He grabbed her breast, cupping the large tear-drop, feeling one of the rock-hard nipples his mother was sporting. They poked at the fabric of the nightgown, threatening to stab through the piece. The same breasts that fed him for many years now served as an erogenous zone, somewhere to tease and play with, driven by his newfound desire. With a rub and a pinch he summoned delightful sounds from his mother, a melodious string of 'oohs' and 'aahhs' that wove themselves into an impromptu tune. She always had a beautiful voice. Whether it was singing him lullabies as a child or humming in the fields, her dulcet tones were a comfort. Her soft voice made things sound right and proper, and the world safe and harmonious. There's no question what they were engaged in was academically wrong, if one were to step back and analyse the situation from afar, dispassionately. To their minds however, the only morality was love. Pure love. Shared between a mother and her son.

Ruck fingered his mom, his tips probing her damp cavern. It was warm and wet, and squelched as he wriggled his fingers inside. His palm flattened her swollen clit, dragging it back-and-forth with the motion of his massage. These furry invaders slipped between her nether-lips and the depths of her pussy, stimulating its walls, soaked in the juices of its lining. She was desperately in need of male attention. The drought of the past year had brought a monsoon to the fore when the notion of bedding a young, healthy stallion crept into her mind this night. Wickedly, she guided him, helping his ministrations pleasure her the right way. Her thoughts turned to sinful matters, descending into depravity with each eager plunge of his digits.

Her nude backside and hips wobbled, bouncing before his stallionhood. He needed more. More excitement! More arousal! To accomplish this, Ruck removed her nightgown, pulling it completely away. Once his mom's head was clear of ruffled sleepwear he threw it across the room. She watched it strike the wall and fall to the floor. Her last barrier was gone.

"Thank ya honey, was gettin' a li'l stuffy in there."

"No problem Ma," he growled sensually. Happy to help.

His index finger flicked and fidgeted inside her. "Ooohh Ruck baby...ya know just where to touch!"

"I did some things in college besides study."

Oh my, she thought, my baby boy's a real stud! She pictured him wooing the ladies on campus, a handsome farm boy showing them all how they 'do it' in the country. Those well-to-do city girls with their books and their looks were positively defenceless!

"Ya-yuh-ya been with many girls?" she stuttered as he tended to her.

"O-on-only...ahh...a couple," Ruck replied, losing his speech faculties whenever she picked up the pace masturbating him. But I learned more than enough to show you a good time, Ma...

"So ya know what happens next," she moaned, "the birds an' the bees."

"The birds and the bees," he repeated, finding it difficult to concentrate. "Mmm-hmm." He withdrew his hand from her slit.

She stopped tending to his shaft, now finding her way to his balls, giving them attention as they sat snugly in their pouch. Her hand rolled his sac gently, squishing his large orbs. Those things'll shoot plenty, she thought, heh...mama's little six-shooter...locked and loaded...

He grumbled, his balls massaged by her deft motions. "Shh...stay still...momma knows best," she murred coyly. Ruck, enraptured, obeyed. He held himself rigidly, refusing to budge as she handled his endowment. Mother knows best. Truer words had never been spoken.

A hearty throb rocked his world. Ruck's member jerked under its own strength, fighting with the vice-like grip of his mother's mitt. The reproductive organ dripped pre in greater volumes than before, wetting the area between him and his mother — leaking onto her hand and arm. He struggled to contain a moan. What escaped him was a nicker instead. She released her grasp on his testes. The flared penis stood proudly to attention, upright and erect. Free of his mother's touch. Standing tall, ready to please her...

Her lower lips, starved of attention in the brief minutes between Ruck's hand leaving and her sensual massaging, flared up in heat and wanton desire. She craved him. Emotionally and physically.

His tip scuffed the fur on the back of her thigh, an inch below the curve of separation where her furry cheek rose from her leg, oozing its slimy anticipation across that patch of fur. Nearby, his mother's vulva pulsed with an eager flex of her vaginal musculature, dripping its own juices to match his release.

Contact was sudden. Their bodies kissed in the most intimate way.

Pushing, he entered her, his flared head confronted with her pleasant folds. His mom squealed — he was making love to her. Long-awaited love, akin to what she enjoyed with his father. His sabre settled snugly inside as he paused, an inch deep. They both gasped in shock. What had they gone and done?

"Ma," Ruck cried, "it feels so—"

"Good? Yes baby. It's good fer me too!"

He held there, dragging out the pleasure of initial entry, until he could no longer control his lust. Ruck adjusted his hips, pushing his cock into his mom. His powerful pillar sank into her pussy. Two inches, then three, then more — his flattened equine tip opening up the passageway, clearing the way for the rest of his member. The vaginal lining embraced its visitor, blood-filled flesh met blood-filled flesh as they rubbed and pressed together. Closing around him tightly as he ventured forth, her inner walls clamped down, impeding his flow. Ruck groaned in tandem with his mother as they wriggled in-place to find a better angle of penetration. His mom spread her thighs, confidence enough in their course of action to abandon any tight-legged hope of warding away her desire. The move gave Ruck what he needed to push deeper, and the young stallion gleefully obliged, holding her leg high in the air.

His medial ring slipped past her nether-lips, marking the approximate half-way point of his length. His mother felt as though she had room to spare. Mares of her calibre were built to take this sort of punishment. Large female anthros were his choice of lover. Other species much smaller than him he'd slept with, but nothing beat a girl accepting the entire package without complaint. Ruck continued to press his incestuous advance, widening her swollen lips as the base of his cock was swallowed whole. He stopped, fully hilted, sac nestled snugly at her thighs. Drawing out the pleasure.

"Wh-what n-n-now?" he asked. Did they break off? Or keep going? A line had been crossed, something both of them were willing to accept, right up 'til her entrance tickled his balls. Concern flowed through them — mother and son — for committing this sin.

She glanced back at her son, worry painted over his muzzle, and stared longingly into his eyes. "Go ahead," she said softly. His eyes matched hers, and doubt was vanquished.