An Awakening Ch. 04bygeronimo_appleby©
The door opened at Lawrence's touch. He paused on the brink, uncertain now. His body tingled. He knew it was folly, this mad adventure, but he could no more stop the course he was set than he could stop the tides. There was inevitability to his actions, as though his movements were scripted and he was merely acting his part in a play.
He looked into the room beyond the open door. A broad shaft of sunlight, its edge sharply defined, bisected the already bright room and highlighted the lazy dust motes that danced within its smile. The light came through the single window, the very window in which she had been so fatefully framed on the morning Lawrence had spied her nudity. He sighed heavily at the sudden memory of her shocking nakedness, a memory that blazed in his mind and which had caused him so much anguish.
Even though the view was restricted, Lawrence could easily picture the objects and furniture that were presently hidden. They were all familiar to him. He took a single step, and in so doing, was now beyond the point of no return. The room was both well-known and strange at the same time. He'd visited this room on many previous occasions. Its contents and their layout were like old friends, but today there was an exciting difference; this visit was illicit. This was her territory, and without her presence, Lawrence had no business to be there.
The thrill of guilt rippled through his gut and flashed, bright and hot, inside his skull. The amoral appendage, hitherto dormant between his legs, sensed the guilt and uncurled suddenly like a serpent sensing prey. This swift rise of lust burned and mingled with the fear and excitement already surging through the young man's veins in a heady cocktail of desire, and a low moan sounded deep in his throat. Lawrence closed his eyes and recognised her scent. It was the familiar smell of her that he had known all his life. It was the imprint of her, branded forever on his senses.
Beyond the call of reason, set on his irreversible course and mindless to discovery, Lawrence moved quickly to the bureau. The dark-wood piece of furniture held no interest for him; it was the contents he craved. There, nestled inside the open drawer! There was the prize. Soft and delicate, neatly folded, the treasure lay before him.
Lawrence lifted a piece from the trousseaux. He closed his eyes again and pressed the scrap against his cheek. It was so soft, so fragile, and he savoured the sensation of it against his own flushed skin. He brought the blue material to his lips and kissed it lightly, as though it was her flesh.
The subtle essence of her remained; vague and undefined, but impermeable nevertheless. The light, lingering trace of her was like an apparition - part sensed and part intuitively felt - suspended beneath the laundered scent, a delicate hint of her. Lawrence couldn't resist; the tip of his tongue, timid yet eager, traced the thicker band of cloth at the point which would have been tight against the most intimate part of her.
In his mind's eye, Lawrence imagined his tongue was pressed into the crease that had warmed the smooth, flat fabric. How would she taste? What murmur of appreciation would she let slip if he were savouring her arousal for real, and not just dreaming into this transient scrap of cloth?
While one hand pressed the forbidden garment to his lips, the other was drawn down to the insistent ache between his legs. He fumbled with the buttons and allowed his ardour the freedom it clamoured for. The single eye cried a thick tear and Lawrence used his mother's underwear to wipe it away.
With a groan, Lawrence tightened his grip and succumbed to the rush. He was like iron against the tantalizing caress. Every sense was alive within him, the texture against his tumescence inflamed his desires, and his hand moved quickly in a desperate rhythm.
The force of his inevitable release surprised him. A sob burst from his lips when the lust rained heavily onto the carpet between his feet, and further evidence dribbled reluctantly down the face of the bureau. He tried, in a moment of sharp clarity, to stem the tide using the pathetically inadequate clothing that was creased beyond recognition and balled in his fist, but the task was beyond his capabilities.
Still lewdly exposed, Lawrence turned. The madness had cooled and he was searching desperately for some way to mask the evidence of his trespass when shock flashed red across his vision. He felt a palpable, near physical blast at the surge of adrenalin coursing through his veins as his body reacted to what his brain refused to accept. He had neglected to close the door and, with fatal inevitability, his mother was standing there now.
A near gasp split the awful silence. 'Lawrence!'
He didn't react. There was no panicked fumble to hide himself from his mother's shocked stare. There was nothing Lawrence could do to influence time; he couldn't turn back the clock. He had been discovered so devastatingly inflagrante that it was almost comic. In another dimension, Lawrence caught sight of the dust motes still turning in their languid, unconcerned way, caught in the beam of sunlight that continued to pour into the room. 'How pretty,' he thought silently, his brain insistently detached from the full, embarrassed horror of his reality.
'Lawrence... please...' It was obvious that his mother, too, was experiencing difficulty in reconciling what she had just observed. She had faced her own period of torment following her son's accidental witnessing of her nudity at the window. She had been aroused to the point of furtive masturbation following her reciprocal appreciation of his muscled torso. During the original incident, Lawrence had gazed up at her while she had looked down upon him, and she knew in her secret heart that she had, in fact, flaunted herself to her son. She was to blame, or so she thought, for her son's fumbled attempt to kiss her during the garden picnic; just as she was to blame for this... Elisabeth struggled for a description and was found wanting.
'Lawrence, I...' Still no words would form.
Elisabeth took a step toward her son, who was standing in profile to her. Elisabeth's eyes were drawn to the thick, downward curve of him. In spite of herself, and her original rejection of her son's clumsy advances, Elisabeth felt a rush of warmth deep in her belly. The warmth grew and moved downward and Elisabeth felt a single trickle of her own desire leak from her. She saw the glistening pools dotting the carpet, and then surveyed the devastation spattered across the dark bureau. The obvious, physical evidence of her son's virility turned the trickle between her legs to flood, and Elisabeth felt the throbbing pulse at her vulva and tips of her breasts.
Lawrence turned and faced his mother fully. His face was rent with an expression of utter despair as he finally accepted the enormity of his crime. He looked down at the balled remnant of his mother's underwear, defiled and corrupted in the palm of his hand. With a grunt of disgust and self-loathing, Lawrence cast the thing aside before he pushed the offending appendage into his flies. Then, with one final glance at Elisabeth's shocked face, he pushed past his mother and out onto the landing.
For a long moment, Elisabeth remained immobile. She stared at her spoiled underwear that lay in the sunlight still blazing through the window. Then, she bent slowly and plucked it from the carpet. She uncurled the cloth as though it were a balled sheet of crumpled paper and examined the silver stains; the evidence of Lawrence's sin.
Elisabeth recalled the image of her son in profile and the glow in her tummy grew suddenly hotter and became an insistent beat between her thighs. She could feel herself awash with her arousal, and knew that her present underclothes would be smeared with traces not dissimilar to the stains on the material she held in her hand.
Elisabeth had arrived at her open door in time to see Lawrence in the final, agonising throes of his ecstasy. She had no way of knowing what his actions had been prior to her arrival, and, in unknowing imitation, she lifted the cloth to her own lips and smeared the residue against her tongue.
Sleep was elusive for Lawrence that night. He lay on his back under the covers with his eyes open and stared into the dark. He sensed, rather than heard the door to his room open and he turned his head to see a figure vaguely silhouetted in the doorway. The figure remained indistinct, the dark hallway being only slightly lighter than the room, and after entering, whoever it was stood silently for several moments.
'Mother?' Lawrence whispered uncertainly. 'Is that you?'
The door closed and Lawrence heard the swishing of feet on the carpeted floor as the shape moved towards his bed.
'Yes.' A single word in the darkness and Lawrence felt the covers lifted from him and the mattress shift with his mother's weight.
'What..?' he began, confused by his mother's unexpected appearance as well as her actions.
'Our secret,' Elisabeth whispered to her son. 'This will be our secret.'
Shock prickled through Lawrence when he realised that his mother was naked next to him. He could feel the length of her body against his own; he felt the heat from her where her flesh touched his. Her hand found him limp and flaccid, but he grew swiftly at her touch.
'Oh God, Mother,' Lawrence groaned.
'I know you've wanted this,' Elisabeth murmured, her fist moving against her son's flesh. 'I denied it... I denied it to myself,' she continued with her son's girth in her tight grip. 'It just seemed so sordid, I mean you're my son, for God's sake, but after seeing you today... So long and so thick... I can't help it. I want you to love me. I want you to love me like a woman should be loved by a man.' Lawrence sensed his mother's anxiety despite the delicious tickle at the root of himself. 'Do you want to love me, Lawrence?' Her breath fluttered against his cheek.
'Mama,' he groaned in response. 'I've wanted to since I saw you at the window. You're so beautiful... Your body...' He moved quickly, causing his mother to release his swollen, aching member.
He pushed his mother's legs apart and knelt inside the V. He reached out blindly and found the switch to the bedside lamp. Elisabeth blinked quickly at the unexpected light before she gazed up at her son's glorious nudity.
'Very impressive, my darling,' she giggled playfully and reached up to take him in her fist once more.
'You're so, so beautiful, Mother,' Lawrence sighed as the soft light illuminated his mother's honeyed skin.
'And so are you, my baby,' Elisabeth whispered hoarsely as her lust spread in a rosy blush upon her neck and chest. 'Use it on me,' she continued. 'Use it on me very soon.'
Lawrence growled and impatiently replaced his mother's hand with his own. He pushed the fat bludgeon against the molten heat of his mother and rubbed the length along her cleft. Elisabeth's nipples showed her desire as her hips lifted and she urgently attempted to take her son's length.
'Mother,' Lawrence gasped when he felt the truth of his mother's wanting. 'You're so wet... My God, you're absolutely sodden.'
Lawrence paused for a moment on his outstretched arms. He looked down at his mother's body and then into her love-filled eyes. Then, as he bent to kiss his mother's mouth, he allowed himself to be drawn into her.
Mother and son kissed as lovers for the first time, their tongues meeting as Lawrence sought desperately to occupy as much of her as he could physically manage. He wanted to invade her, to fill her, and to make her his own. He had loved his sister the same way only days before, but his mother was different. He needed to assert his influence and control over her from the outset. He was to be the head of the family now and his mother would have to submit to his will. It was the awakening of his dominance.
Elisabeth opened herself to her son as he lifted his torso from her after that first, hot kiss. She offered herself without reservation and was thrilled when she felt the power of him; gloriously thick and agile as they moved together so easily. She looked up at his sweet, handsome face which, at that moment, was a mask of concentration. She felt the youth and vigour of him as she ran her hands along the packed muscle of his chest and down along his flanks. Lawrence hissed and drove harder when Elisabeth dug into his taut buttocks in a frenzy of fingernails.
'You're mine,' he grunted, punctuating each word with the press of his body. 'You're all mine, every inch of you.'
'Yes,' she yielded immediately. 'I'm yours, darling.' And then shocked her lover by using language more suited to a Liverpool docker when she described what she wanted him to do to her.
The coarse obscenities, so foreign and uncharacteristic, flowed from his sweet mother's mouth and ran along the gutter of Lawrence's mind to swirl and blend in the sewer of his darkest desires. The effect upon Lawrence was devastating; that his mother knew these words... That she knew them and used them so freely now... In his mind, the woman beneath was no longer his darling Mama; she became a foul-mouthed whore who deserved to be punished.
The dark thoughts of how best to punish his slut brought Lawrence rapidly to the brink. He felt the headlong rush of his release and fell into the abyss.
Elisabeth sensed her son's departure from reality moments before his ascent to the peak, and she gloried in the pulse of him as his essence poured into her. The tiny fluttering of Lawrence's seed against her body opened the floodgates of Elisabeth's own climax and she pulled her son even tighter and closer to her with both her arms and her legs enveloping his shuddering form.
'Come to my bed, darling,' whispered Elisabeth hoarsely a few moments later. She could feel the sticky wetness of their combined sin when she walked from her son's bedroom and moved quietly along the passage.
His mother's modesty was restored by a long, flowing nightgown when Lawrence appeared, somewhat bashfully, minutes later.
'What have we done, Lawrence?' his mother questioned.
He said nothing for a time, taking the question and tone of her voice as a sign of her shame.
Then he spoke: 'We made love, Mother.'
Elisabeth's eyes flashed dangerously. 'Love?' You call that, "Love"?' She moved the few paces to stand before him. 'We didn't make love, Lawrence.' Her voice softened in response to her son's hang-dog expression. 'You gave me exactly what I wanted... What I asked for.' Her hand caressed his cheek and she continued. 'We will make love, right here in my bed, and very soon, but I wanted to know how you feel.'
Emboldened by his mother's statement of intent, Lawrence replied: 'I feel as though I'm taking my rightful place within the family, Mother. I should be the head. You should be here for advice and guidance, but ultimately, I should be in control.'
'And that "Control" includes me?' Elisabeth asked.
Elisabeth pondered deeply for several moments. What a change in circumstance in just a few hours. The heat she had experienced between her thighs in the moments following her accidental discovery of her son in her room had been intense, overpowering, and had led to her complete abandonment of her morality. She had known her own son carnally, and now he was usurping her position at the helm.
'Allow me to influence your decision, Mother.'
The low, deep timbre of his voice and the dark look in his eye sent a glacial shard of lust through her which melted before the furnace of her renewed craving for her son.
'Oh, darling,' she murmured at the light but insistent pressure upon her shoulder from her son's hand. Elisabeth sank lightly to her knees and gazed enraptured at the unbridled tumescence that swung heavily before her face. 'Anything you desire, my Son,' she whispered finally. 'Anything you desire.'
And Lawrence smiled wickedly as his mother's mouth opened in invitation and she pulled him closer.