The Big Flood of 1925

"Ellie! I...! Oh, fuck."

"Slow down! We shouldn't be doing this. But I want it to last! "

He tried. However, the exquisite feel of her velvety pussy was too much.

"Jesus! Jesus Christ! " His cock swelled and pumped a Niagara of seed into his sister's pussy.

"That's okay, baby! Cum for me! Fill my pussy! "

Clay collapsed on top of her; his breath came in harsh gasps, sweat streaming from his body. Ellen's legs were wrapped around him with her soft hands stroking his back.

"I'm sorry, Ellie! "

"Don't be sorry! This was your first time, wasn't it? "

He nodded. "it just felt so good! I couldn't stop! " He looked down at his sister. "is it always like this? "

" It will get even better," Ellen smiled.

She glanced over his shoulder. The tempo of the rain had picked up. She rotated her hips with his still-hard dick in her.

"We got the time, and you're still hard. We're going to do it again! Nice and slow this time! "

They fucked slow, with Clay taking long deep strokes under his sister's tutelage. She trusted her brother and wasn't afraid to describe what she wanted. Ellen came with her fist in her mouth to stifle her scream. That was four years ago when he was 18. She was right; it did get better!

They became clandestine lovers, stealing moments whenever they could. Ellen was convinced the first of her three children was her brother, who was conceived on her wedding day.

Ellen's new dress she picked out and bought from the Sears Roebuck catalog arrived shortly before her wedding. It was a print dress with brightly colored flowers. Unfortunately, the fit was a little tight, and the hem was further up her thighs than she wanted. Still it was the first new dress she had in years.

As was traditional in their community, Jimmy's parent's picked up her mother and father. No one knew how the tradition started, but it was religiously observed. As the youngest son, Clay's duty was to take his sister to church.

The parents were barely out of the door before the siblings were naked in their parent's bed.

"I'm going to miss you, Ellen!"

Ellen was on all fours, looking over her shoulder at her brother. Her face was a mask of lust.

"I'm not going anywhere but up the old road a few miles, silly!"

"Can we keep fucking like this?"

Clay gripped his sister's hips, slamming her bubble butt back onto his massive tool. They had learned much in the weeks since their first time.

One of Ellen's girlfriends found some soiled and wrinkled French postcards her father had brought back from when he fought in the War to End All Wars. The postcards showed couples and, in some cases, multiple people having sex in many positions and combinations.

Ellen and Clay experimented with most of them. However, her favorite was on her knees doing it like the bull did the cow. She loved the penetration she got being fucked this way.

They arrived at church with Clay's swimmers in his sister's womb, implanting itself in one of her eggs. She went to her wedding bed that night, already pregnant with her brother's baby.

Chapter

Anne knew her son was staring at her breasts. She was not an educated woman. Her education ended in the third grade. However, she had a Ph.D. in mother wit, the natural ability to cope.

An outside observer would note that she subtly encouraged his fascination with her. There were times she behaved more like a flirtatious girlfriend than his mother.

Her husband was unaware and unimaginative. He found her sudden bursts of intense arousal and her thrashing about unsettling and unseemly. Women of the 1920s weren't supposed to scream and holler like some harlot when their husbands took pleasure from them. He cautioned her to keep it down; their son was on the other side of the sheet hanging across the room.

He didn't understand that the histrionics were for their son, that she was performing for Clay.

Anne's mother cautioned that people living in close proximity tend to cross certain lines. She suspected her 60-year-old mother was speaking from personal experience. She recalled her mother and her oldest uncle being unusually close.

Clay was Anne's, last baby. Not by choice! His birth was difficult. The doctor told her she should not have more babies. She sighed as she recalled the empty ache in her womb. She craved a large family like her mother's eight children.

It was just as well. Her husband's sex drive dwindled with age. Their active sex life was in the rearview mirror.

***

"They just titties, boy! You don't have to look away!"

"I'm sorry, ma! I just...!"

Clay stopped, lost for words. His cock painfully strained against his jeans.

"Look, the water's still rising. We should go up in the loft."

"You're going to have to help me! All of this wet is making my arthritis act up."

She straightened up, bending backward with her hands on her aching back. Her breasts went from hanging pendulously to huge mounds on her chest. She placed one foot on the bottom of the rickety ladder and began climbing. She looked back over her shoulder and cocked a quizzical eye.

Clay grasped her waist, helping her up the first few rungs until his face was even with her behind. The wet dress clung to her curvy rump in front of his face. He fought the nearly overwhelming urge to kiss it as Ellen taught him to do her.

"Momma, I'm going to have to...!"

He pantomimed with his hands, indicating he needed to boost her up by pushing against her ass.

Anne looked back at her son. The water was rising fast. Standing on the floor, he was in waist-deep water.

"Hurry, boy! We ain't got time for the niceties. Boost me up!"

He placed his hands on her bottom and pushed, causing Anne to groan at the terrible arthritic pain in her knees. The only saving grace was the sensations in her nether regions from her son's work-roughened hands on her bare bottom. She was ashamed but savored the warmth that permeated her bottom.

At the top of the stairs, with one final push from Clay, Anne fell to all fours. Her lungs were on fire. Behind her, Clay sttod on the ladder, looking at her hairy pussy framed by her thick thighs. His lips were suddenly dry. His cock was painfully hard. Again, he fought the impulse to kiss her ass. Instead, he sat on the edge of the hatchway and looked down into the rising waters. The floodwaters were halfway up the steps.

"I better open that loft door so we can go on the roof if we have to."

Anne sprawled on her back on the floor, her lungs on fire. She pulled the halves of her husband's old shirt together, covering her nakedness. She watched the muscles in Clay's back ripple as he struggled to open the loft door. He stopped, sweating streaming from his face.

"It's stuck! We won't be able to escape that way. We'll have to climb up on the hay bales if the water gets this high!"

With the hay stacked to the rafters, the only open space was around the hatchway.

"What happens if we get up there and the water keeps rising?"

Anne's fear of drowning grew. She imagined herself pinned to the roof by the rising waters, then sinking into its depths as the water filled the barn.

"We just ain't going to think about that! Pa and my brothers will be looking for us as soon as possible."

Anne sat up, wrapped her arms around her knees, and lay her head on them. She was unaware that her pussy was exposed to her son. The impact of their situation was sinking in. They were trapped. They might die here.

"You said they was all on the levee sandbagging. Maybe they was swept away when the levee failed."

Clay sat next to his mother and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. He hugged her and kissed the top of her head.

"It'll be okay, Momma! It'll be okay!"

He shared her fears. However, there was nothing they could do but wait and pray for rescue.

Anne's head lay on her son's chest. In their headlong flight and subsequent struggle up the ladder, some of the buttons on his fly came undone. His tool created a significant bulge in his BVDs. She was aroused but ashamed of her lustful feelings. She sat up.

"I just remembered something!" She stared up into the rafters. "Look up there where those beams meet. Your pa hides his 'shine up there!"

He stood, holding his overalls with one hand; he tried to climb on the bales. Each time he tried to use both hands, they fell around his ankles, exposing his BVDs.

"Take 'em off, boy! You got your drawers on."

Red-faced, he let his overalls drop to the floor and stepped out of them. He scrambled up the hay bales. The space around the hay was tight, and he had to crawl. He spied the quart mason jar of moonshine. He held it so his mother could see.

"Got it!"

"Help me get up there. This wood floor is tearing my ass up! Besides, the way the water keeps rising, we will be up there soon anyway!"

After a brief struggle, she was on the hay bales. She lay on her belly next to her son, gasping for air.

Clay stared at her sizeable dark bubble butt. He took a long gulp of the fiery alcohol. He coughed, and his eyes watered.

"WOW! This shit...excuse me, ma...! This stuff is potent!"

Anne rolled to her side and reached for the jar. The shirt fell open, and her breasts drooped to the side.

"Look, Clay! I cain't hold this shirt together and drink too. Take a good look, get it out of your system, and give me that jug!"

She turned the jug up and took a long, satisfying gulp. She smacked her lips and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. As she handed the jar back to her son, she appreciatively eyed the significant bulge in his underwear. Her baby had grown into quite a man.

Clay took a sip. The liquor burned in his throat and warmed his belly. He felt a little light-headed.

"Ma, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, baby! Look, we're going to be up here for a while. We should talk to keep our minds off our situation!"

"Um...uh! How big are your...uh...breasts?"

"Tits, jugs, udders! They've been called all of that! Pick the name you like!"

She hefted one tit in her hand.

"I don't rightly know! It's been a while since I bought a bra! My old one is 46DD. I expect I'm closer to an E or F now. They weren't always this big. Breastfeeding all my babies made them bigger."

"I recall you breastfeeding me."

His eyes were glued to his mother's hand holding her breast.

"I breastfed you 'til you was almost 10! You loved sucking your Momma's jugs!"

Anne casually scratched her breasts, causing significant discomfort in her son's drawers. She took another swallow of alcohol.

"Now, it's my turn to ask you a question. Are you a virgin?"

"What? Ma, I...!" He sputtered, embarrassed by her question.

"Are you getting any, son?"

She felt light-headed and playful. Her son's discomfiture was cute.

Clay took a reinforcing swallow of the potent liquor.

"No, I'm not a virgin!"

Her eyes widened. One of her concerns was the lack of eligible women in their small county. Everyone was married or related. In some cases, both.

"Who...?"

Clay smiled, wagging a finger in his mother's face.

"It's my turn to ask a question!"

Anne lay back against the hay with her legs sprawled. The shirt fell between her thighs. Barriers were falling under the realization of their dire situation and the influence of the moonshine.

"Okay! Go ahead!"

"Why did you breastfeed me so long?"

Anne eyed him through slitted eyes. No one ever asked her that. She eyed her son's muscular body, slowing over the bulge in his shorts.

"Mmm! Now, this is something I never told anyone!" She paused. "I did it because it felt good!"

"Felt good? I don't understand."

"A mother carries a baby in her until it's born, nurturing that baby with her body. She builds a real connection with that baby. I hear some doctors call it maternal instinct," She shrugged. "I don't know what they want to call it. But you feel close to that baby. When it's born, you're happy. But you feel a little sad, empty. Breastfeeding helps to ease that sadness. You're still feeding your baby with your body."

"You said it felt good!"

"My nipples are sensitive. Sometimes when I breastfed, it felt so good I...!"

She hesitated to tell her son she sometimes had orgasms from breastfeeding. Particularly with him.

"You what, ma?"

"Hey! It's my turn to ask a question!"

She carefully set the jar on the hay bale. She was high from what she had drunk earlier, and now she was drinking more on an empty stomach. The potent corn squeezings were going straight to her head.

"So, who did you fuck, and how many times?"

Clay's eyes bucked at the word. He knew his mother cursed. It just felt strange to hear her use that word that way.

He blinked several times, focusing on his mother sitting across from him. He thought her bush looked a little wet; her pussy seemed to have swollen. He shook his head in an attempt to clear the alcohol-induced cobwebs.

"I cain't tell you who. But we do it a lot!"

"How come you cain't tell me who? Is it that hot-tailed Tilly Crumpet?"

"No! Not her! She'll fuck...! She'll do it with everybody!"

"Then who?"

Alice scooted across the floor and started tickling him. She did this often when he was growing up. She stopped when he entered puberty. She realized rolling around on the floor with him was inappropriate. Especially when he rolled on her and she felt his stiff cock pressed against her Mons.

She ordered him to let her up. However, her husband never understood why she was so hot that night. Usually, he was the aggressor. That night she practically raped him!

"Stop, ma! Stop! You know how ticklish I am."

His mother straddled Clay, her pubic hair scratching his belly. He tried to push her off him, inadvertently pushing against her breasts. His hands reflexively closed around them, squeezing their softness.

A warmth permeated Anne's body as her son's hands caressed her breasts. She straddled him as he lay on the hay bale. She was dimly aware that his hands continued to caress her breasts even as he writhed under her as she tickled him.

"Come on! Tell me! I'll stop if you tell me!"

"It's Ellen!"

"Ellen? Your sister Ellen?"

Alice abruptly sat up. She was straddling Clay, and his hard cock slapped against her ass.

Clay nodded dumbly, with the color rising in his face.

He raised his head, staring down his body at his mother's damp, swollen pussy lips. Her clit poked pink and wet from under her massive hood.

His mother was aroused! In truth, the only woman he had sex with was his sister. He learned everything he knew about sex from her. They used the French postcard she got from Tilly Crumpet as their guide as they experimented and learned together.

Anne was thunderstruck. She never suspected. She wracked her brain, trying to see if she had missed something.

She rolled off him and lay next to him. Her son and daughter were fucking, and Ellen was married with three children! Could it be that...?

"How long...? "Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat and took a big pull from the jar. "How long has this been going on? "

He took the jar from her and took a swallow. He started to speak but was distracted by the ominous creaking of the barn. He glanced around the barn, which seemed to be holding.

"About three years,"

The water hissed loudly as it rushed through the barn's lower level.

"Three years, "she exclaimed.

Anne leaned over Clay, balancing herself with a hand on his thigh. She blinked several times, trying to focus. She was close enough that her nipples brushed his chest.

"She's only been married three years! She has three kids! How...? "

She covered her mouth with her hand. Her eyes widened.

"The children, my grandchildren, are they...?"

She pointed at her son. He smiled weakly and shrugged.

He and Ellen suspected at least one of her babies was his.

Clay was high enough to stare unabashedly at his mother's nakedness. It gave him strange thoughts. He touched her abdomen, stroking it.

"Just a minute, young man!"

She pushed him back down and lay partially on top of him. She was high and feeling playful. She was dimly aware the cheeks of her meaty ass captured the head of his rigid tool as she moved on top of him. She had a thought, a wicked thought, an evil thought. No one would ever know!

She never finished the thought. The barn creaked loudly and moved, shifting slightly under the force of water.

Startled, Anne sat up. Her son's cock slid between the cheeks of her ass, and Anne's vaginal lips captured his shaft.

She groaned, and her hips involuntarily slid back and forth. Clay's cockhead and shaft stroked the sensitive flesh just outside her entrance. Her eyes popped open when it touched her hypersensitive clit.

"Stop," she moaned.

Her body and the alcohol betrayed her. Anne dropped forward, placing her hands on her son's chest. She slid back and forth, running her cunt up and down his shaft. It felt incredible.

"Oh my god! Ma, stop moving!"

He tried to push her off him. His hands fell on her titties, and he squeezed. His mother's groan emboldened him, causing him to sit up and take a nipple in his mouth.

Clay suckled hungrily. His mother cradled his head as he nursed. She was lost in the multiple sensations of him suckling and his cock teasing her cunt.

She had fantasized about sharing this intimacy with her son. When she and her husband fucked, she thought of how Clay's cock would feel. When she allowed him to squeeze her breast from behind and they dry-humped, she wanted him to lift her dress and slip his cock in her pussy.

The sound of splintering wood interrupted them. Anne's eyes popped open, and she stared around, disoriented. The splintering wood interrupted her resolve to fuck her son. She suspected they would die here anyway and who would know?

"Get up, ma! The barn is breaking up! "

She fell back against the bay bales when Clay pushed her off him. His cock bobbed as he crawled to the hay bales' edge and looked down. Even caught up in her drunken lust, she saw the fear in her son's face.

"The stairs broke loose. They took part of the floor with them! "

"Oh my god! We're going to die! "She began crying uncontrollably.

Clay crawled over to her and pulled her to his chest, trying to console her. Clay was serene, believing the end was close. He stroked his mother's lower back. Events were out of his control. He accepted the possibility that they might not make it. His hand slipped down to her ass. He was surprised when she began grinding her crotch onto his thigh.

"We gonna die here, ain't we, son?"

"I don't know, ma! It don't look good!"

The alcohol and the possibility of imminent death freed Anne from her last inhibitions. If she was going to die, there were things she wanted to do. There were secret yearnings she needed to satisfy. She cuddled closer to her son, wrapping her arms around his waist. His thigh felt amazing between her legs.

"Spank me! "

"What? "

"Spank me! Your pa used to do it all of the time! "

"Ma, I cain't do that! It wouldn't be right!"

Her wetness leaked from her pussy, coating his thigh. The head of his rigid cock was trying to tear a hole in his drawers. Anne's ass cheeks clenched and relaxed as she ground into his thigh. He felt her juices flowing into him. He lightly tapped her ass. Then rubbed the spot.

"Harder! "

Lust and fear clouded her thinking. If she were going to die, she would experience the one thing she shamefully fantasized about. She would never do it under more normal circumstances. She was going to fuck her son!

He raised his hand and brought it down hard. The sound of flesh on flesh competed with the creaking of the barn.

"Oh Fuck!"

Anne grasped his cock and squeezed it. The pain in her ass radiated pleasurably through her body. Her husband never really understood why she liked spanking so much.