The Reluctant Mother Ch. 02

This is the story of what happened after Joan, our next-door-neighbour, caught me fucking my mother on a sunbed on the patio at the back of our house.

It contains quite a bit of very explicit anal sex, so if that's not your thing, please move on.

For those who continue reading, thank you and please leave your comments/feedback as these are very important to an author.

Sylviafan

I'll start this story just after our neighbour, Joan, appeared round the angle of the house and saw me fucking my mother in the missionary position on a sunbed on our back patio. I'd told mum, when I was in the long and complex process of seducing her, that nobody ever came around the back of the house, they always knocked on the front door, which was true, ninety-nine percent of the time. So it was a shock for both of us when Joan from next door appeared and stared in disbelief and then shot back round the house and disappeared.

I was just about to come in my mother's pussy, so the timing, for me, couldn't have been worse. I had a sort of semi-climax and leaked my spunk into my mother as she lay rigid in shock underneath me. Then she pushed me off and we bundled ourselves through the patio doors into the dining room and mum slid the door shut and we stood looking at each other.

'Well that's done it!' said mum. 'We'll have the police around before the evening's out! Oh, God! How can we have been so stupid?' She fell forward into my arms, half sobbing, and I held her tightly and kissed the top of her head, and my spunk leaked out of her and dribbled down the inside of her thigh.

'It's ok,' I whispered. 'Joan won't say anything.'

'I hope you're right!'

For those readers who haven't read Chapter One of this story, my mum, Gillian, is a university lecturer in English literature. She's five feet six or thereabouts, and with a trim figure. Not as slender as she was twenty years ago but she looks good. She's got nice long legs, a full bosom and a pretty face and collar-length hair, dyed ash-blonde. She's got a rather elfin face with a slightly pointed chin and a generous, full-lipped mouth. Above this is a straight nose and brown eyes with dark-brown eyebrows. She's sixty-two now and her face is showing some lines and crow's feet and loose skin at her throat, but when she's made up and dressed for work she looks really nice.

And, just for completeness, I'm Michael, or Mike. I'm just shy of six-feet tall and wiry. I've got a mop of dark-brown hair and a friendly sort of face that my mum says is made for laughing.

The previous summer, just before my mum's sixty-first birthday, I accidently saw her masturbating on a recliner on our back patio. It had a profound effect on me and I spent most of the rest of that scorching summer trying to seduce her. As you will have noticed, I eventually succeeded and for the past nine months or so mum and I had lived like man and wife. Well, to be frank, we had sex a lot more than most of the married couples that I know. We fucked every night, and at least twice a day at the weekend. The sex was sensational, driven both by the incest taboo and our mutual love of intimacy.

I couldn't get enough of my mother's body, and she appeared to feel the same about mine. We fucked and sucked and licked. We used vibrators and dildoes and bondage restraints. We did oral and anal and loved them both.

And now Joan from next door had seen us both naked and fucking on the sunbed.

I was possible, just possible, I suggested to my mother, that Joan hadn't recognised me. After all, she'd never seen me naked and I'd had my back to her. Mum took little comfort from this, although she did admit it was a possibility.

The crunch came when bedtime arrived and mum refused to allow us to sleep together. I tried to tell her that it was a severe case of shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted but she wouldn't relent. She was tense and miserable; if the news got out that Gillian Parsons was fucking her son it would be she, as the parent, who would attract the most odium, the greatest condemnation. Her career would be at an end and her social and family life would be in tatters.

So I didn't press the point but it was a lonely and miserable week that followed that awful Sunday afternoon. We didn't touch or even kiss, and our conversations were forced and stilted. The summer looked bleak indeed and I was considering suggesting to mum that we move somewhere else when, on the following Saturday afternoon, as we dully watched television in the sitting room, there was a knock on the front door.

Mum went to answer it and I heard some muffled voices. A minute later Joan from next door came into the room, followed by mum, her face a mask of woe.

I've always been a great fan of the more mature lady, and I've always had the hots for Joan Armstrong, who lives next door with her husband Dave. I'll take this opportunity to describe Joan, as she's quite central to this story.

She's petite, no more than five feet two or three, and perfectly formed with sculpted legs, well-defined hips, a narrow waist, a full bust and thick, black, wavy hair. She has a rather round face, like a doll's, with very full lips, and a snub nose and big blue eyes with very white whites. She's three or four years younger than mum, maybe fifty-eight or fifty-nine, though it hardly shows in her face, unless you get really close up. But despite her age I always used to think she looked innocent, and my adolescent fantasies about her knew no bounds.

She was always kind to me when I was a kid and, her sexual attractiveness aside, I liked her very much. Particularly when it dawned on me that her husband was a self-centred and lazy bastard who bullied his mild-tempered wife into doing everything for him.

Mum invited Joan to sit down and offered her a cup of tea. Joan declined with a thank you and a smile and I was glad because I didn't want to be left in the room with her while mum made the drinks.

Joan took the easy chair, which faces the settee, and mum sat down at the other end of the settee, a good three feet from me, and we looked at Joan and Joan looked at us. She seemed embarrassed, not surprisingly. Eventually she spoke.

'Excuse me if I'm a little bit nervous; this is really difficult for me. But I thought I ought to come round and put your minds at rest. I'm sorry it's taken nearly a week to summon up the courage.'

'It's about Sunday, isn't it,' my mother said, quietly.

'What you and Michael do is entirely your affair,' Joan continued. 'Obviously it was a bit of a shock to see you both like that and I'm sorry I just turned and ran...' She paused, as though recalling the incident. 'Actually I suppose I couldn't really have done anything else, could I?

'What I really came round to say was that I haven't told anybody else and I won't tell anybody else, ever.'

I looked at my mother and saw the tension drain out of her. Her shoulders relaxed and her face lost that strained look. I was probably undergoing the same metamorphosis.

'Thank you,' she said, with sincerity. 'Are you sure you won't have a tea?'

This time Joan accepted. She looked a bit more relaxed too. Mum disappeared into the kitchen and I was left with our neighbour.

'Thank you,' I echoed. 'It would have been devastating for us if word got out, especially for mum.'

'Yes, I can imagine.'

We lapsed into silence and after a few minutes mum appeared with a tray of tea and some chocolate digestives on a plate. She fussed around with the teapot and the milk and then we sat with our mugs in our hands and looked at each other, nobody sure of what to say. Some comment about the weather would have seemed banal in the extreme, given the circumstances. Mum eventually broke the silence.

'I'm sorry you came upon us like that, Joan. It must have been as great a shock to you as it was to me. Us. You see nobody ever comes around the side of the house; I thought the side gate was locked but evidently it wasn't.'

'I knocked on the front door but when you didn't answer I thought I'd pop round the back. I could see both your cars were on the drive. I'm ever so sorry. It's not as if it was anything important, I just wanted to borrow that big casserole dish.'

There was another silence which we tried to fill by sipping our tea and reaching for a biscuit. It was mum who spoke first, again.

'It started last summer,' she began, and I looked at her in surprise. 'It's alright Michael, I'm not going to give Joan any of the gory details.

'And since we started sleeping together I've felt like a new woman. More relaxed, more confident, a greater sense of well-being. Sleeping better. I was lonely, Joan, as I think you know, and Michael has made me feel like a whole woman again. A whole person.

'Oh I know what we're doing is against the law, though it's not in some countries, like France for example. But we're consenting adults and so I think the decision should rest with us. It's not as if I can have any more children,' she added, with a hint of defensiveness.

'You don't have to explain it to me, Gillian,' said Joan. 'If I had a son like Michael I'd probably feel the same.' It was supposed to be a joke but nobody laughed and Joan went bright red and looked at her watch and said she needed to be going.

I heard the front door close and mum came back in and I stood up and took her in my arms and we kissed and her mouth opened against mine and her tongue slipped into my mouth and I hugged her tight and pressed my growing erection into her loins and she pressed back and suddenly we were both light-headed with desire.

'Bed?' I suggested.

'Oh God, yes.'

We flew up the stairs to mum's bedroom and stripped off in record time. Then we were on the bed, naked, mouths fastened together, my hands on my mother's breasts, cupping and squeezing the soft flesh, feeling for her nipples, hot and rubbery.

She gasped as I squeezed her thimble shaped buds hard and kissed her cheeks and her throat and her shoulders and she writhed in pleasure as I worked my way down to her bosom, taking a nipple in my mouth and sucking and biting. She squealed as I bit down harder and then I was on the move again, kissing the soft flesh of her tummy, tickling my nose with her soft pubic hair, parting her thighs, seeking her labia and sucking the fleshy lips into my mouth. She was very wet; her secretions musky and light, almost sweet. Her love honey, I used to imagine it as and I lapped it up with relish, my cock rigid, part of my brain revelling in the fact that this was my biological mother I was going down on; this was full-blown incest and it was, as always, mind-blowing!

I slid my tongue into her as far as I could get it and licked upwards, rasping over her clitoris, making her moan and shudder with desire.

'Yes,' she gasped. 'Oh God, yes!'

I sucked her little pearly bud into my mouth and flicked the tip of my tongue over it. At the same time, I coated a finger in her juices and found her anus. I slid my finger into her sphincter and pushed it deep into her rectum, and my mother came with a scream, twisting her body and clutching at the duvet with white knuckles.

As her climax subsided I entered her with a long, hard thrust and it felt so good to be back in my mother's liquid-velvet cunt after a week's abstinence. She hooked her legs over mine and rode with me as I fucked her with long, fast strokes, feeling my orgasm build, feeling waves of love for my mother swarm through me as I started to come, pumping a week's worth of spunk into her, the pleasure centres of my brain fizzing with excitement.

Afterwards we lay together, staring at the ceiling. Mum reached for the bedside tissues and mopped up the trickle of my seed that was running out of her.

'What do you think Joan meant,' I asked, eventually, 'about feeling the same way, if I was her son?'

'I'm sure you know perfectly well what she meant,' replied my mother, drily. 'Joan fancies you. Always has.'

'You're kidding!' I said, with sincerity. 'I never knew that! God, I used to wank myself silly thinking about Joan! Maybe I should have done something about it. Mind you, that husband of hers is a big unit. Anyway, how do you know she fancies me?'

'A woman can tell these things, especially a mother,' mum replied, enigmatically.

'She was very kind to me when your father died,' she went on, after a few minutes' silence. 'We had a long conversation one night. Her husband was out boozing again and I invited her in for a drink and she stayed until after eleven. We talked about all sorts. Work, holidays. Children. She said how sad she was that Dave never wanted any. And then we got to talking about our husbands and we'd had a bit to drink by then and... well I said some things I shouldn't have about your dad's sexual prowess and she told me that Dave just had her when he felt like it and it was horrible and one-sided and she hated it. And there was a moment, just for a few seconds, when I thought we were going to fall into each other's arms and end up in bed. We didn't, but I never forgot that moment and I'm sure Joan felt the same.'

'Have you ever slept with another woman?' I asked her, although I was pretty sure she'd have told me if she had.

'No,' she confirmed, 'I haven't, although I kissed another woman once, or rather she kissed me.'

'Ooh do tell.' I was all ears and my cock was stirring again.

'Oh gosh, it was years ago, when I was a junior lecturer. I was at some faculty party in the Senior Common Room and my boss, the professor of English at the time, asked me to go down to her office with her to look at something or other. I forget what she said. It was about nine in the evening and the offices were deserted.

'Once she got me inside she got me up against the wall of her office and kissed me and pushed her tongue into my mouth and I responded. For a few minutes I kissed her back. I was really surprised because she was married and had kids. She was a very attractive lady. 'Then she started feeling my breasts and trying to rub my pussy through my trousers and I pushed her away.'

'And that was it? No replay?'

'No, never. It was never mentioned. It was as if it had never happened.'

'What would you have done if Joan had made a move on you that time?'

'I'm not sure,' said my mother, slowly, 'I think I'd probably have gone with the flow. I do find her very attractive. If I was gay, she'd be just my type.'

I had become very aroused by this conversation and my cock was rigid and pointing at my chin. Mum had noticed too.

'Do you want me again, Michael?' she asked, softly.

She rolled to me and we kissed and our tongues writhed together and I tasted my mother's saliva and felt the warmth of her lips and the liquid of her mouth and I became very, very excited as only my mother could make me.

'I want your anus,' I breathed into her mouth and she smiled and reached for the lubricant on her bedside table, giving her tacit consent.

I rolled my mother on to her front and parted her buttocks with my hands, revealing her pucker, a little knot of light-brown muscle. I buried my face in her bum crack and pushed my tongue into her anus, relishing the naughtiness and dirtiness of the act. My mother had been a little shocked the first time I'd done it, but she had grown to accept, and even to enjoy being rimmed as a precursor to full anal penetration. I used my tongue on my mother's arse for long minutes, tasting and smelling her most intimate parts. Then it was time to push my seven inches of stiff meat into her tight little bum hole.

I lubed her up thoroughly, pushing two gel-coated fingers right inside her. Mum groaned and wriggled an arm underneath herself so that she could masturbate as I fucked her arse. She only allowed me into her most private sanctum about once a month, but we were old hands by now and I knew when and how hard to push to get myself in and avoid hurting her.

She relaxed herself with an effort as I pushed my bell-end against her sphincter, gripping my shaft hard, with gel-sticky fingers, the shaft bending as her muscle ring resisted me. Then her sphincter was opening and my cock was going in and stretching her hugely and she groaned again as the head entered her and her ring tightened around my shaft and I was sliding into the depths of her rectum, feeling the soft enveloping grip of her rectal walls, feeling her sphincter gripping the base of my shaft as I bottomed out inside her.

'Is that alright, Mum?' I asked, as I always did. She had once suggested I call her Gillian when we were in bed but I stuck to mum or mummy because it made it all feel more forbidden, and mum never mentioned it again.

'It's big, Michael, and it feels good. It always feels so good.'

I felt her fingers as she slid them into her pussy and started gently fucking herself. I started fucking her too, long, slow strokes that almost had me coming right out, then back into her velvet depths, with a faint squishing, lubricant noise.

And as I fucked her I leaned down and whispered in her ear.

'How would you like to taste Joan's cunt?' I asked. 'Would you like to lick her and smell her sex and bury your face in the thick, black bush?'

Mum groaned again, louder, her middle fingertip sliding over her clitoris.

'And would you like to kiss her and watch me kissing her and fucking her?'

Mum gasped, her orgasm approaching.

'And would you like to watch while I did this to Joan? While I fucked her arse? You would, wouldn't you?'

With a choking noise my mother's climax hit her and she writhed and wriggled as the sensations crashed through her nervous system and her anal sphincter spasmed as she came and that made me come, a bursting, sudden orgasm that greyed everything out except the bed and my cock and my mother's anus and then I was pumping a second load of spunk into her and the feelings were subsiding and I was withdrawing slowly, a string of my ejaculation joining my cockhead to my mother's bum.

We slept together that night, for the first time since the incident, although we didn't make love. I'd come twice inside my mother that afternoon and she'd had two orgasms too and there are limits. But we talked as we lay in each other's arms in the dark. And it was about our neighbour, Joan, that we talked.

It was mum who opened the conversation.

'You remember what I told Joan when she came around this afternoon? About feeling like a new woman?'

'I remember,' I said.

'Well you got me thinking this afternoon when you were whispering in my ear as you... well, you know. And I'm thinking that this new woman wants to try some new things before it's too late.'

'Such as?' I asked.

'Such as making love with our neighbour, Joan.'

'Christ!' I said, 'are you serious?' I hadn't seen that coming, although perhaps I should have done. I was about to ask how she was going to go about it when she surprised me even further.

'I don't want to do it on my own, though, Michael. I want you to be there, too.'

'Three in a bed?' I asked, incredulous.

'Yes,' said my mother, 'if that's what you want to call it. It's not unknown you know.' She paused. 'I suppose it's pretty unknown when two of the three are mother and son.'

'Whatever makes you think Joan will want to join us in bed?' I asked.

'Because she fancies you. Because she fancies me too, I suspect. Because she's in a lousy marriage with a drunken shit and she craves some affection. I don't know, Michael, but I'm fairly sure she'd agree.'

'How does it work?' I asked. 'I mean her husband lives next door too.'

'Yes,' replied mum, 'but more often than not he's down the pub. And anyway, I happen to know that Dave's going to Portugal next month for a week to pay golf. When he's safely out of the way we could take Joan out for a meal to thank her for saying nothing and then we could bring her back here afterwards and see what develops. I'll talk to her tomorrow.'