The Art of War Pt. 02

"Lube me up, honeybun, time to hump your stump in mummy's rump!" she giggled, enjoying the dazed, happy, horny look on his face as he realised this was really going to happen, that all his dreams were about to come true. As he stared down at that curvaceous, quivering perfection, once again he had to fight the temptation to stick his face between her cheeks and go 'wubba-wubba-wubba', just to see what it felt like; later, maybe, but first...

Carol waited, smiling, while he slowly roused from his trance, then gasped as his warm tongue poked her in her pucker, before sighing happily as Ollie held her cheeks apart while his tongue explored her. He took his time; a treat like that spectacular bottom wasn't something to be wolfed down; no, this was a sweet, succulent peach, to be savoured, lingered over, then eaten slowly and carefully, paying attention to the finest detail; there would only be one chance to do it right first time, so he took his time.

Carol settled down to enjoy the way he rimmed her; he obviously knew what he was doing, and she loved having a talented tongue buried in her anus, so she went with it, determined to suck every last morsel of enjoyment out of this whole experience. Then, when Izzy sprang her trap, then it would be time to drop her own surprise on the two of them, and it was a big one, but it was the right time now; if they were old enough to try and double-team her, they were old enough to know the truth.

All this took a fleeting second and the merest scrap of her attention; what was occupying most of her attention was the expert way Ollie tossed her salad for her; she could feel orgasm building deep inside, he could see the signs himself, and he was doing his best to make it happen; the thought of Carol delirious with sexual overload and ready for a good bum-humping was keeping him at full mast and steel hard.

Carol shuddered as orgasm swept through her once again, sweet and intense, tempered with love for Ollie, and delight at his willingness to use her the way she wanted.

"I'm such a lucky girl..." a small part of her mind exulted, while most of her still blazed and fluttered with pleasure at what he was doing with her.

When Ollie moved away from her, she mewled discontentedly, wanting more of the thrilling sensations his squirming tongue was unleashing inside her anxious little anus, and then she gasped as he slid his finger slid into her, cold with the glob of gel he pushed inside her. As he slid his finger in and out, spreading the lubricant inside her, she sighed and moaned happily, then gasped as he slid a second finger into her, stretching her even further.

Carol relaxed, allowing her anus to relax, and Ollie's fingers inside her poked deeper, until he couldn't push them in any further, and when he began scissoring his fingers, she nearly passed out from the sensations he awoke deep inside her.

"Ollie, please...!" she groaned, and groaned again when his fingers were pulled out of her, to be replaced by the fat head of his cock, pressed squarely against the puckered little ring of her anus, to stop, as Ollie froze in place.

"Carol...mum...are you sure you want me to do this? This is like...it's really big, this is really no way back, are you really, really sure you want me to...now...like this? It's just...I never thought..."

Carol looked back over her shoulder at him, grinning wickedly as she grasped her pert cheeks and pulled them apart, her pink, crinkled little anus stretching open and winking enticingly at him once again.

"Yes of course I want this, Ollie-pollie, that's why we're here, so get on with it! Come on, sweetie, it's dead easy, quit strokin' and start pokin'!"

Ollie felt his cock stiffen even further, if that was possible, at the sight of her holding herself open so lewdly, and began to push forward, his eyes narrowing as the tight, muscular ring resisted his attempt to push in past it.

"Mum...can't..." he gasped, but still kept the pressure up, no more able to stop than he could stop time or prevent the sun rising; the moment had him in its grip, so he kept pressing inexorably forward until:

"Ooohh fuckkk!" he gritted as his cock-head suddenly slid past the barrier and into the hot, tight succulence of his mother's rectum.

"Ooohhh Goddd, fuckkk!" moaned Carol in counterpoint as what felt like a warm pickaxe handle suddenly slid into her rectum, stretching her open in ways she'd never felt before.

"Jeez, that hurts!" she hissed, but when Ollie tried to withdraw she reached back and grabbed his shaft, holding him in place.

"No, baby, keep it in, I just...I'm just getting...used to it...hold it there baby..." she panted, gently rolling her hips and clenching her buttocks; to Ollie, it felt like her anus was munching on his cock; he was ready to blow, and he was having serious issues with holding it in, because what he really wanted to do right now was go off like a New Year's Eve rocket and probably blow himself backwards off the bed with the recoil. He cast around desperately for something, anything, to take his mind off the two gorgeous mounds twerking in front of him and milking his cock so devastatingly well, but all that kept coming to mind was "hold on tight, thar she fucking blows!", which was no help whatsoever...

"Okay, baby, I'm ready..." murmured Carol, and Ollie began slowly sliding his bone-hard, over-stimulated cock deeper into Carol's stretched-tight anus. He kept his eyes averted, because he knew if he looked down and watched himself plough her, he was going to explode, and no power on Earth was going to be able to stop him.

So he screwed his eyes shut tight-shut and desperately tried to ignore the rippling tightness surrounding him, the hot, slick, clinging succulence as he pounded into her, and most of all, the brain-buggering knowledge that, against all the odds, he was balls-deep in his super-hot, sex-bomb mother's Strada Cioccolata.

"Harder, baby, yess, yess, harder!" gasped Carol, breaking him out of his trance. Ollie opened his eyes, and groaned at the sight of Carol's lovely buttocks squashing and rebounding against him as he pumped into her. With a low, lustful growl, he wrapped her hands around her small waist and pulled her to her knees, before sliding his hands up her ribcage, to cup, and hold, and squeeze her large, perfect breasts and pinch her long, sensitive nipples, savouring the gasps of pleasure as he did.

Carol pumped frantically against him, meeting him stroke for stroke, feeling him getting to the point of no return, even as she stroked and rubbed her pussy, frigging herself into what felt like it could be an epic orgasm. Utterly oblivious to everything around them, neither of them noticed the bedroom door swinging open, or Izzy standing in the doorway with her digital camera and smartphone once more trained on the lovers fucking so energetically on the queen-sized bed.

Ollie was just getting into his vinegar strokes, short and stabbing as he worked up to just blowing his load deep inside the hottest arse in the western world when:

*FLASH!* FLASH*FLASH*FLASH*FLASH!*

"Nooo, fuck, Izzy, thirty fucking seconds, oh my fucking God, what is wrong with you?!" he yelled, slumping back on his haunches, his cock popping out of his mother's gaping anus to slap wetly against his stomach.

"Nearly there, oh my God, so near, you little cow, what, you couldn't wait thirty seconds? I'm gonna fucking kill you!" he moaned, cradling his testicles in an effort to stop them leaping up and down frenziedly.

Izzy ignored him, instead grinning down at her mother while clicking away with one hand, and holding the smartphone in the other, keeping both cameras trained on her as she panted and gasped.

"Gotcha, you bitch, now things are going to change around here!" she gloated, "Now I make the rules, and you shut your face, and mind your own business, or everyone and their fucking aunt is going to see you banging away with a big old dick stuck up your arse! Let's see how seriously they take tight-arsed old Snooty-Bitch Bartlett when I post your pictures and dirty, filthy video on every rogue site from here to Beijing and back!"

She lowered the camera and leaned down to sneer at Carol.

"And now I'm taking Ollie someplace nice and clean, somewhere you're not invited, I'm going to scrub him down with Clorox to get you off him, then I'm going to fuck him into a body-cast, and if you don't like it, well, I really don't care. Howzaboutdat, Mommy-fucking-Dearest?"

Carol slumped down, her eyes unfocussed, waiting for the ringing in her head to subside. Her lack of response only irritated Izzy even further, who leaned closer, her lips almost caressing Carol's ear.

"Didn't you hear me, Mommy Dearest? You are fucked, you hear me?"

La Grande Révelation:

Carol frowned, but to Izzy it didn't look like an 'oh fuck I'm screwed' frown; it looked like her 'now where did I put my keys' frown, unconcerned and only slightly miffed. Izzy paused, not sure what was going on here; right now her mother should be a grovelling heap at her feet, instead she was flicking her hair back and swabbing-off with a wet-wipe. WTF?

When Carol was done, she smiled at Izzy, a bright, genuine, cheerful smile, and patted Ollie on the thigh, looking regretfully at his rapidly deflating boner. Izzy's lip dropped lower and lower as Carol became the picture of unconcern, for all she was stark naked in bed with her son, glossy with sex-sweat, and sporting a pair of nipples you could use to play the bass line from 'Under Pressure'...

"Now dear, what were you saying? Oh yes, something about a video. OK, let's see it; Ollie, turn on the TV, there's a darling. Come on Izzy, pop it on-screen, poppet, this I have to see!"

Izzy's jaw was scraping the carpet. 'Poppet?!! Dafuq?! OK, so Old Trout wasn't grovelling at her feet, but this? She was in bed, naked, with her son and his mega-dick, with a butt-hole stretched wider than a wizard's sleeve, and all she could think of was watching herself getting bed-slammed? What was she missing here? The old bitch should be begging for mercy, not settling back like it was family fucking movie-night!

Wordlessly, in a kind of shocked trance, Izzy connected to the smart TV and cast the video from her phone. Instantly, there, in living colour, on 65 inches of high definition QLED screen, was her mother, writhing and humping madly as Ollie and his thick, pump-handle of a cock made short work of her; this was weird enough, but having her nudging Ollie and pointing excitedly at the interesting bits only added to the weirdness.

Izzy sat, silently, dazed and confused, as every incriminating, dirty, hot and horny second of the evening's action once again unfolded on screen, with her mother watching avidly, cuddling herself up against Ollie, who was treacherously starting to re-inflate as his naked mother undulated gently against him; Izzy could feel something beginning to bubble inside her, building toward some sort of climax, finally hitting 'Overload' when Ollie's hand crept around Carol's waist to cup her breast.

"What the fuck, mother, are you fucking insane? I'm trying to blackmail you, bitch, why can't you just do the decent thing and stay fucking blackmailed? Just what the fuck am I missing here?" she exploded, the rage clicking up another notch when Carol just smiled at her; at least Ollie had the decency to snatch his hand away and try desperately to not look guilty, which fooled no-one, but her mother...

Carol was enjoying herself thoroughly; Izzy was going in and out of focus in incandescent rage, Ollie was looking like he was about ready for a return bout, and the best was still to come. Time to stoke the fires a little further...

"Is there something wrong, little Izzy-bear? Sit down and tell me about it, mummy only wants to help, baby-boo!"

Izzy froze; 'Izzy-bear'? 'Baby-boo'? That was a great big full HD clue she'd finally gone ga-ga; Ollie's big boner had knocked her brains loose and they'd scrambled, that must be it, there was no other explanation...

She opened her mouth to tell Ollie to call the nut-house, they had an express delivery, one crazed old trout, when Carol grinned slightly maliciously and flipped a corner of the bedclothes over.

"If you like, you can join us, baby; Ollie-pollie's been so sweet to me, and even after last night, I'm sure he's still got a spare tank-full for you! Shall we ask him?"

The question caught Izzy mid-outrage, and the strain of her conflicting needs to scream, demand what the fuck was going on, and launch a kamikaze attack on Ollie the Traitor nearly sprained her jaw and catapulted her into the closet.

"I don't know what you're so upset about, Izzy-bear," continued Carol in that infuriatingly calm voice. "This is what you two were plotting all along, wasn't it? While you were busy humping like two jackrabbits last night? Poor Izzy-bear, and you too, silly Ollie, you'd really do that to me? What would your poor mother say?"

Izzy's ears pricked up at that. Ollie just looked blankly at her, while inside, Izzy crowed delightedly. Yesss, Old Trout had finally slipped her cams properly; referring to herself in the third person, definitely a sign of some sort of mental derailment; now they could get finally get her off their backs for good! Hah, the rubber-room was in sight!

"What are you yakking on about mum, as if I didn't know!" she asked, expecting a stream of idiocy, but Carol sat up straighter and pulled the bedclothes more comfortably around herself.

"I said, Izzy," she said, speaking slowly for the benefit of the hard of thinking, "What would your poor mother think of you two plotting, seducing, and blackmailing me like this? Simple question, sweetie..."

Izzy plumped down on the edge of the bed, fixing Ollie with the Reaper-Stare of Imminent Death. His burgeoning erection promptly decided it had important business elsewhere and faded from sight, while her 'deal with you later' look intensified.

"Now, Mommy-Dearest, just what are you babbling on about? You are my mother; you're a vindictive, poisonous old rat-bag, but you're my mother, so when they come and take you away, and they will, because you're obviously as mad as a fucking mongoose, please try and remember it's for your own good; we can't have someone as bonkers as you wandering the streets and frightening small children, so believe me when I say it's for your own good. I'm going to laugh like a fucking drain, but then you probably won't remember any of this, because you'll be spending your days doped-up to the eyeballs and chained to a toilet."

Carol gave Izzy her patented long-suffering 'what have I done to deserve this' look and eye-roll, and settled herself a little more comfortably against Ollie, who stared slightly apprehensively at the faint line now showing between Izzy's eyebrows.

Carol sighed, and patted the bed.

"Come closer Iz, I need to tell you something; it's about time you knew. I meant it when I asked you what your mother would think of all this. I asked you that because, baby, I'm not your mother. Nor yours," she added, flashing a quick glance at Ollie.

Izzy stared at her in shock. 'Oh my God, she's a fucking nutter, it's worse than I thought!' roared through her mind. 'Bonehead's going to have to sit on her while I call the cops, they're going to have to section the old trout, she's finally cracked...OK, play along, play along, don't set her off, find out where she's going with this lunacy...'

Izzy schooled her face into a carefully neutral, non-threatening, 'don't startle the nut-case' expression of friendly interest, only mouthing 'call the police...' at Ollie when Carol looked away for a second.

"So, mum, you were saying how you're not my mother. And yet I look just like you, mother dearest; how do you explain that?"

Carol smiled secretly at the condescending, 'keep the loony calm no matter what' tone in her voice, but the face she turned to Izzy was open, honest, sympathetic, even.

"Izzy-bear, you and I look alike because we both look like mum, and Ollie looks just like poor daddy. Did you never wonder even once why he didn't look anything like me, or you, or your father? It's because your father, my husband James, isn't your father; he was my husband, yes, but I'm your sister, babies; I'm your big sister..."

Izzy stared at her in shock, thinking 'OK, never saw that coming. God, this is worse than I thought, she's actually demented, what the fuck are we supposed to do now...?'

Ollie decided it was time to chime in.

"Hold on a minute...mum...Carol...whoever, just answer me one thing; why, if this is true, have you never told us anything before now, and where's your proof? Sorry, but this just feels like another head-fuck, pardon my French, in a long day of head-fucks; show me some proof, mum, or Carol, or whatever you are, because otherwise why should we believe you? You have to admit, after a day like today, this just sounds...fucking crazy..."

Carol nodded agreement, and shooed Izzy off the bed so she could slide out and stand up. Ollie felt more than a passing twinge of sheer lust as her wonderful body once more revealed itself as she shook her hair out completely unselfconsciously, her body rippling in a manner guaranteed to make any red-blooded straight male wank frenziedly like a safari-park baboon.

She padded over to the dresser, took a small key from a drawer, and unlocked the bottom drawer, pulling out a pile of photo albums and a thick sheaf of document folders. She closed the drawer and carried the armload back to the bed.

"Come here, Ollie, and you, Iz; I need you to see this."

Izzy peered curiously at the photo album, wondering what she was looking at, half expecting pictures of obscure pop stars, or some gibberish story about how they're all really the secret clone-children of Marilyn Monroe and the space aliens/lizard people/Illuminati/Freemasons who actually run the planet. The reality, however, was more mundane; in one picture there was a man who looked amazingly like Ollie, with his arm around a woman holding a baby, a little girl, judging by the pink shawl she was wrapped in. The woman looked just like Carol. Standing next to her was a girl in her late teens or early twenties, the spitting image of Izzy, with a toddler, a little boy, in her arms, grinning happily at the camera. With a shock, Izzy realised the little boy was Ollie, with light, fluffy, baby-hair and a chubby little baby-fat face, to be sure, but unmistakeably Ollie; that meant the baby had to be her. What the hell was this, and who were these people?

Ollie and Izzy looked at each other, and then at their mother.

"Mum, are these...?" began Ollie, and Carol nodded. Izzy realised her mother's eyes were brimming as her finger gently stroked each image in turn.

"That's daddy, mum, me carrying you, Ollie, and mum's carrying Izzy. You were almost two when James took that picture, Ollie, I was eighteen, and we took this picture because it was your first birthday, Izzy."

Ollie slowly ran his finger over the faces of the two people in the photo, tracing their features; the hair was different, but he could see how he was almost the image of the man in the picture.

"What happened, where are they now...?" he murmured. Carol tried to speak, but her voice cracked, and Izzy suddenly realised Carol was trying not to cry. Ollie slid out of bed and grabbed the box of tissues from the dresser, handing a handful to Izzy, who gave them to her mother in turn, while they waited for her to compose herself.

Carol finally smiled to show she was OK again, and flipped through the album until she came to an older photograph, a tall man with sharper, more angular features, but the same eyes and expression as Ollie.

"This is granddad, Oliver Bartlett; he came here just after the war, when this place was pretty much still deserted and quite heavily bomb damaged from the Blitz, and he bought most of the houses along this street. Before the war this was a pretty run-down, working-class district; this is where the Covent Garden market porters, dray-men and cab-drivers lived, here and Pimlico, where he also bought-up a couple of streets; hard to believe, eh? Anyway, granddad was a builder, so he began rebuilding and refurbishing the houses he'd bought; I suppose today you'd call him a property developer. Daddy worked with him when he was old enough. He was born in this house, and so was I. He met mummy at school, they got married when they were twenty-two, and I was born the next year. They always wanted more children, but I was seventeen before you were born, Ollie; poor mummy had so many miscarriages, but she wouldn't give up trying; she wanted to give daddy a son, someone to take over from him and granddad one day."