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Introduction:

The sweetest mom discovers her boy is both convenient and delightful. [She also recounts when her dad fucked her at nineteen!]
CANDY FINDS HER SON HANDY AND DANDY

by Oediplex 8==3~


The sweetest mom discovers her boy is both convenient and delightful.
[She also recounts when her dad fucked her at nineteen!]


Like the name of Madame DeVille's moniker, Cruella, some names fit the personality they are bestowed upon. Disney came up with that evil woman's apropos handle. My mother's folks named their only child, a daughter, Candy. This was shortly before the infamous 1968 movie was out. Though there were aspects of mom that paralleled the character that Ewa Aulin portrayed, she was named because my maternal grandparents thought her sweet.

She is. Think of the nicest and happiest and most giving gal you ever saw. Like the wife in the new movie “UP”, or some ideal beautiful and loving lady that is so darling and perfect. The sort of female that is always happy and perky, never down and wants to help others, she is an inspiration. That lovely woman is sexy in a natural way, with an attraction that stems from her intelligence as well as her physical charms. You'd want her for your girlfriend, you'd marry her in an instant, if she would have you; you would be proud to bed her and hope to keep her. Take her home to the meet your family, everyone would say how lucky you are to have such a special partner.

That would be the rare female indeed who could be all that. Almost fictional, an angel on earth, but earthy enough to get dirty in the boudoir. One in a million, even a billion; the pearl that you would give your fortune to possess, though if she loved you, it wouldn't matter if you were impoverished. Fortunately, my dad married the miracle that was mom, and we were nicely middle-class as it turned out. Unfortunately, while mother lived up to the nearly ideal perfection of what I described, she was my mom. Which meant that, while she was loved devotedly by me, yet my desire for her sexually was blocked by the incest taboo.

Thus at the age of my majority, twenty-one, when others of my age-bracket were far afield looking for their perfect mates, I had found mine at home. The problem of course was she was already married, to the man I love most, dad. Now my father was less than perfect, though a very good fellow in every way; handsome, a good provider, kind, courteous, considerate, or else he never would have won my mother's hand. 'I want a gal, just like the gal, that married dear old dad', in fact I wanted the very one. I knew that I could never marry her, but I could dream of having her – in bed. For sure, I frequently masturbated with thoughts of her curvaceous body coupling with mine.

Now my mom had perceived this fixation of mine and she didn't mind! She understood, even if nothing was ever overtly stated between the two of us. But by the look in her eyes, when she read my loving puppy-dog expression (and lusting look, tongue all but hanging out of my mouth like some cartoon wolf panting and drooling about the yummy lamb he wants to eat, the sexual symbolism lost on youngsters but not to their folks) mom knew of my yearnings for her in a carnal way, and she sympathized for me, perhaps even empathized. It didn't upset her, almost nothing did, except cruelty in any form. It was okay that her only child, her grown son, had feelings for her in that area.

It would be out of character of her total sweetness to resent what I could not help. I was like all other males who met her, who wanted to be her friend, protector and hero, and lover if possible. Like the best and favorite candy you craved as a kid, so as a man would you desire this wonderful woman named Candy. Since she had dealt with those reactions from guys all her life, she was understanding of her son being as the rest of the masculine half of humanity. But that didn't mean she loved me any less, nor allowed me any liberties, any more than she would any other man than her husband. Now I know that in these kind of stories often the pattern is to get the father-figure out of the way. Oedipus inadvertently kills his pop on the road that takes him to wed his mother.

But that was not the case in my tale. Dad was always there, just not always there for mom, at least when it came to satisfying her physical needs in the bedroom. Like most middle-age men his libido slowed and his dick was limper, and his pill supply included the modern prescribed male-enhancement medicines. But also like most successful middle managers, his job took up a great deal of his time and energy, even his presence at home suffered because of extended business trips. The combination of factors mentioned, to say nothing of the slide into routine rather than romance; left his Candy often unwrapped, much less lacking in licking, nor much sucked and hardly enough fucked.

That's where I come in - or came in; I mean of course, fit in, fuckin', and cum in. Came in Candy, creamed in my sweet mom, just like those confections with the white centers surrounded by the caramel, you know which ones I mean! To paraphrase Ogden Nash, 'Candy is dandy, but lick her is quicker to stick her'. Mom loved cunnilingus, and indeed could not resist it as a seduction method. She had to have cock after her cunt was eaten. I am a little ashamed to speak of my dearest mother in such crude terms and so boldly and bawdily, but those are the facts of how I got to bang her butt. And if you think my language is blunt, you ought to hear what she sounds like when we are in the midst of passion. I meant it when I said she was earthy, that in the sheets she's down right dirty!

Now remember I mentioned that she was born shortly before the namesake film debuted? Well, she had seen it once on video, when she was about my age. Nowadays it is available on DVD, but you won't see it at Blockbuster, you need to order it special through the mail services on line. I had never watched it, but I was intrigued, if only because family lore was that the actress and mom did bear a striking resemblance. Mom was that kind of a doll, and she retained her pretty girl looks even into her mid forties presently. So of course I rented it. It arrived the day after my father left for a two week trip to Europe. So I guess, in a way the pater was put out of the picture after all, for purposes of the action that followed after he left. But I wasn't to blame for his absence at least.

I invited mom to watch the movie with me in the family rec room. She thought that would be nice, it was a Friday, there was nothing else going on. We ordered in Chinese and brought out a six pack for the dinner and stuck in a bottle of Rhine wine for later. I put in the disk and we were off on a rather weird trip. You can Google the synopsis, but I won't bore you with the details of a sixties movie that is still odd and off-beat. The one thing you need to know is that at the end of the film, when Candy is finally fucking the last guy, she is surprised at learning his true identity. She says one word that gives the twist away, and gives a twirling spin to the whole plot in retrospect, and turns that twinkling instant into the last mind blowing sexual kinkiness.

“Daddy!” Cried Candy on the screen, in astonishment as she both orgasms and comes to the realization of who is screwing her, even as she is cumming. I heard mom say it too, but that did not register in my consciousness immediately, due to the shock of the incestuous implications that revelation produced in my brain.

“What?” I cried and hit the jump-back control that replayed the last minute of the cinematic climatic moment. This time when the dialog was confirmed, the echo from next to me also was repeated, and now I replayed the memory in my head and sure enough, though mom had been quiet for a while before that, she had chorused the line. Sure she had seen the scene before. But she had chimed in with her celluloid doppleganger, the second time too, “Daddy!” Her tone however was wistful and poignant. I wondered what had prompted her to speak and so pensively. I looked at her. She turned her head and blushed. Then her expression became clearly both vexed and amused at the same time.

“Oh don't look so shocked. It's not like you don't have a yen for me! What? - girls can't have a thing for their daddies too?”

My mouth flapped air a few times before the cogs kicked in and cognition cranked out the words I blurted, “You had a thing for grandpa?”

“I'm not the one that rented the dirty movie and got his mom to watch it with him!”

“It's not that dirty, especially by today's standards. You see more on the television in prime time, or soap-operas. And you're changing the subject.”

“Well, yes; its not exactly 'Taboo', is it. Pour me another glass of wine.”

“How do you know about 'Taboo'? Did you ever watch that film? That was a dirty movie!” This was an interesting topic if she wanted to change the subject away from her and her own father, she had picked one that captured my interest even more. Moreover, she had finally verbally acknowledged the unspoken matter of my incestuous feelings for her.

“No I never saw it, did you? I bet you have, on the Internet or something. I heard about it from my brother, when it came out. All the guys had the hots for that brunette, what's her face.”

“Kay Parker.”

“So you have seen it, haven't you?”

“Uh, well yeah. It's a classic.” I poured more wine for me, I needed a drink!

Mom took a big sip and licked her lips, “Well, do you prefer brunette moms or blond moms?”

“I prefer you, mom. You looked like the gal in this movie, when you were my age. That's what grandpa said, and he was right, I've seen the old family photo albums. He didn't say the film was so . . uh . . erotic though.”

“Did you find the movie a turn on?”

“Not so much, though it was interesting to see the old fashion perspective from when the sexual revolution was beginning.”

“Honey, every generation thinks it discovered sex. The difference back then was that they finally had an effective birth-control – the pill, along with being able to cure VD or what we call STDs now days, and it was before AIDS. So the youth went wild and that was what the movie we just viewed was illuminating. It was the quest for sexual freedom in a society that had the traditional barriers removed, finally freed from the fears of the consequences of uninhibited immorality. But that was my parent's generation. Your grandpa was a little bit of a libertine in his youth actually, mostly it was grandma that tamed him. Mostly tamed, but not all together.”

“So, why did you say, 'Daddy', when the girl in the movie said it? Was there something between the two of you?”

“You and your dirty little mind, you! I'm tired and I've had plenty of wine. I'm going to bed. See you in the morning!” She avoided my question, and my eyes, and headed upstairs to her room. I finished the wine as I rewatched some of the movie, and tried to understand the implications of the last word, the cinema Candy had said, which my (sinning?) ma Candy had echoed.

What I came away with was that John Astin, who played the father, and also 'Uncle' Jack in the film, was a dirty old man, in the flick at least. Movie buffs will also realize that that era was the time of “Last Tango In Paris” also, and Marlon Brando, who was featured in “Candy”, the iconic star from “On the Water Front” and “The Wild Ones” was still a sex symbol back then, before becoming the older Don who was in “Godfather”; not to mention that the director of “Candy” was a very close friend of Brando's.

So it was in a little while that I followed mom upstairs to my own bedroom. In the hall I was startled to hear her voice. Mother was not asleep yet. Her whimpers and gasps were clearly her throes of ecstasy and when she cried out at the peak of her climax – yes, I stopped and listened, you know I have an Oedipus complex – as she was climaxing I heard, quite distinctly, “Daddy!” I had to retreat to my own bed then and my own call at cumming was “Mommy!”

Now wouldn't it be a nice little plot device if the next day, mom rented, or perhaps downloaded “Taboo” and suggested that we watched it together? I've read incest stories that used that exact thing to get the mother and son in bed together, but that was fiction and this was real life. She didn't. However, she did ask me to sit with her on the deck and talk after our lunch out there. The weather was wonderful and the beer cold and I was ever happy to spend time with the dream woman that I lived with.

“Sweetie, I wanted to ask you about something.”

“Sure, mom.”

“Well, not to press you, but some of your friends are getting married, and you don't even have a girlfriend at the moment.” I began to protest that between work and living at home, instead of going off to a different town for college, that I had not as much social life as when I was in high school. But mom put her hand up to stop me and continued speaking. “I'm concerned that maybe the . . thing . . you have for your mother is stopping you from looking for a gal to have of your own. Frankly, I want to be a grandma myself someday, though not necessarily right away. You understand what I am saying?”

“You're worried that my incestuous lust for you is stymieing my search for a mate, that it?”

“Mmm . .well, I wouldn't want your – infatuation with your mom to lead you into idealizing me as the woman that you want, and keep you from finding a perfectly marvelous lady that would make you very happy and satisfied, and make a terrific wife . . . and mother of my grandkids. More like that, though you put more bluntly, that's the general idea, yeah.”

“What about you and grandpa?”

“What do you mean?”

You had a thing, infatuation? Attraction? Yen? Yearning? Lust even? For your father and yet you married dad and seem happy with him.”

“Just because I said 'Daddy' last night during that last scene . .”

“And when you came, masturbating last night as well. I wasn't ease-dropping, but I couldn't help inadvertently overhearing though.”

“Hoisted on my own petard. Okay, since we are being adult and speaking plainly about desires for parents and such. Yeah, I did have a hankering to have my pop in the sack for a screw, just to see what mom was screaming about when she was having sex with him. You think I'm vocal, when I cum!”

“And did you – have daddy, Candy?”

Silence. More silence. Mom blinked first. “Yes, once, and you can't tell anybody, ever. The only reason I'm telling you is so that you'll know I have some idea what you are going through with your wanting me. But that is a very naughty thing to do. Dangerous, because it could wreck the family if it got out. Even now, so you don't dare even hint that you know.”

“Dad doesn't know, grandma doesn't know?”

“Grandma doesn't, your dad does. It sorta slipped out the first time . . oh God I can't believe we are having this conversation! . . the first time he . . ate me. UHH Jeez! I just love to be gone down on, see, and that's what gave grandma such loud climaxes, when grandpa would tongue her. Anyway, the first time your father did it to me I came really hard, 'cause it had been a while, and I just let out with the word you heard last night, 'Daddy'. So then I had to explain why I had called it out, but your dad forgave me and thought it was a turn on. I told him it was only once and that I would never cheat on him. And I haven't either, not ever.”

“Wow, mom that is some confession!”

“Yeah, but you can't tell that I told you all that.”

“You really like to be eaten?”

“I love cunnilingus, and I would have to fuck any man that gave me head, 'cause I get so desperate when I cum that way, I just have to have a penis up me. That is my one weakness. I don't know why I'm telling you that, seeing how that you would love to seduce me.”

“Mom I wouldn't use that knowledge to seduce you or ever do anything that would make you feel threatened by me, or ask you to do anything that you wouldn't want to do! I love you too much to ever harm or hurt you in any way!” I declared.

“I know, Sweety. But you have to get over me, so that you can get on with your life. I'm already married, taken, spoken for. Not that I'm not horny for all of being hitched.” she added for some reason. WAS there hope of our having our own one time, like her and grandpa? Wow! What about that? Mom having incest, such a stunning revelation! And what of all the information she had provided about her sexual proclivities and her being horny. Was she giving me 'ammunition' for a reason, either consciously or otherwise? I was intrigued, to say the least, by everything she was divulging. Was all this converging on a conjugal coupling?

“Uh . . mom, perhaps you might . . uhmm . . blunt the edge of my interest if I had – some kind of . . say reality check on my fantasy.”

“Like what, seeing me in my undies?”

“Well, I've seen you in your bikini, and you looked good, by the way, but what if you were - - in the nude?”

“Naked.”

“Yeah”

She thought for a long moment. “What of instead of blunting your edge, that whets it instead?”

I took a chance and asked, “What did that one time with grandpa do? Make you more or less lusting for sex with him?”

More thinking, then she said, “Grab a couple more beers and meet me in the rec room, make sure the curtains are closed.”

Nervous as a cat in a room full of rockers, or perhaps as a virgin in a cat-house might be more like it, though I was no virgin. Still the enervating nerves were alternating with the energy which was zinging through me, as I anticipated seeing my mother naked on display before me, for the first time. Not counting when I walked in on her once, as she was dressing. But I never forgot that view. This one I would remember for as long as I live as well!

Mom came into the rec room in her robe. She grabbed a beer off the table and chugged a big swallow. Then put it down. I held my breath. She opened the robe, smiled at me as I saw her nipples and bush then dropped the gown and just stood there. I drank in the sight and drank a gulp of brew. I didn't trust myself to speak, I would have squeaked – my voice box was so tight – I just made a twirling motion with my finger and she slowly turned around to allow me to see her back-side as well. Then, looking over her shoulder, with a naughty smirky smile, she bent and with her legs slightly spread and with her hands spread her ass-cheeks showed me the sight of her pussy. I was fully erect by now.

She noticed. I was wearing only sports-shorts and a tee-shirt. “You too.” I didn't catch on immediately, my brain was benumbed, and I was bedumbed. “Sauce for the gander is sauce for the goose too,” she paraphrased, “you got an ogle at me, now I want to look you too!” I never got out of my clothes so quick. Thank heavens I was only in flip-flops. Now we were both standing and looking at each other's bare bodies. She made the turn-around gesture and I complied. You could have hung an anvil from my dick. Mom sat abruptly on the over-stuffed easy chair, without putting her robe back on, and picked up her beer. “So?” she asked, “have I whetted your appetite for mama, or blunted the point of your lust. I see your lance is blunt, but pointed in my direction. There's a little wetness on it's tip too!” She gave a slight laugh at her word play and my obvious arousal.

“Well, frankly mom . .”

“Yeah, you have got a big frank, or is that a hot-dog?”

“Well, you've got the buns!” I could play verbal games also.

“What kind of sauce does the guy who's taking a gander at my muff-in, want on his wiener?”

“Hot-sauce from your honey-pot.'

“My honey is sweet and spicy.”

“Sweet as Candy, and spicy like a taco sauce?”

“Would you like to taste it and see?” Would she let me!?!?! I remembered all she had said about a guy giving her a licking. I was ready to go a lap or two, if she would let me on the track, so to speak.

“Yes, I would love to taste you mom.” She suddenly realized where our conversation had taken us, and a look of uncertainty crossed her face. Before she could voice her objections though, I was kneeling between the thighs and putting my mouth where my mommy was. I strategically gave a long slurp from her labia up to her clit and then toggled the love-nub gently. She gave a little cry of surrender and spread her legs more, so that I had better access to her feminine charms. I used everything I knew to provide those regions with pleasure. I could tell that I was getting to her, her hips were bucking and she threw a leg up on the cushioned arm of the chair to give me full entree to her womanhood.

I knew what she wanted, but I also understood that I could not take advantage of her. I loved her too much to do that. So as the thrusting of her pelvis indicated she was ready to be taken, I instead, noble son I, concentrated on her clitoris and thrust two fingers in the the sopping wetness of her hole. I sawed in and out and made a vibrato with my tongue on the button. That did the trick and mom screamed as she peaked over the top and came sailing away on the wind of an orgasm, like the clouds streaming over a mountain crest both ethereal and chaotic the wild flow of her undulations whipped. Then she was floating down, like the rolling mist, lost in the fog of contentment and wispy in her settling back into the cushions like a fluffy kitten. Sex kitten, like the Lolita-esque actress who played Candy. At least she hadn't called out 'Daddy!'

Mom looked at me with an amazed expression. “I can't believe I let that happen. I can't believe that you didn't fuck me. I'm glad though, that you didn't take advantage of your mother's weakness, even though I had told you about it. Come up here and give me a kiss. I moved to her out-reached arms and we embraced. My still stiff boner pressed right on her mons. It didn't go unnoticed. “Could you get-off just rubbing on my tummy? I'll tell you about me and Grandpa. That always got your father hot. I know its not exactly fair compensation for what you did, but maybe it will take the edge off your arousal to cum that way.”

As much as I would have like to do some more intimate messing around with mom, the opportunity to get the scoop on her previous incest was too tempting to pass up. Besides, the way I was primed from the earlier activity, not much stimulation would be needed to trigger my own orgasm, I was so hyped. The mental picture alone of mom as a young adult and Grandpa in his prime was certainly an image that was provocative. I remembered an old photo of them at the beach, her bikini quite tiny and her pop muscular and handsome, if slightly balding. I nodded my head yes and spoke, “That would do the trick, I think.”

“Well, I was a couple years younger than you, nineteen, I had my birthday a month before this took place. Momma was visiting aunt Ellen who was nearly due with your cousin Jack. Mom was staying until after the baby was born 'cause Uncle Fred was in the service overseas, in the Navy on a minesweeper ship. So it was just daddy and me at home. I was always wondering what made mother cry-out so intensely when she and pop were making love. Was it his dick, was there something special he did with it? Or what he did when he had it in her, like touching her in a special spot at the same time? I knew the basics, I had a clit, just like any girl, but what did my daddy do to my momma, to make her clamor so much when she climaxed?”

“I wanted to find out, and I thought, if I could get my dad to show me, then I would make those same noises and have that same ecstasy. So I planned to seduce him. One thing I knew sort of got daddy hard was when I wore one of his shirts. For some reason, he found that erotic and I caught him peeping to see if I had any undies on underneath. Long tee-shirts didn't tease him as much, my bikini was not any big deal, even a slip and a bra would hardly get a rise out of him. But just let me wear one of his old button up dress shirts and he got curious about if I was wearing panties or not. So sometimes, to thrill him, and me too, I was scandalously without scanties.”

I asked mom, “Did you ever let him look – under the shirt, or get a glimpse of your naked buns, even flash your pubs?”

“Just enough, only very quickly and never blatantly, did I let him get the peek he wanted to have. But especially if mom was around I wore panties, but it was a game, see? Was I or wasn't I? If I was naughty and nude, beneath the shirt tails, might he get a gander at my privates? If I was letting him get a little 'eye-Candy' of my most secret skin, then he really got big and tented his pants. He would try to hide it under the newspaper, but I could tell, because his face would flush and his breathing became deep with a sigh now and then, and he became real quiet. Mom would sometimes guess what I was up to, 'cause she'd say, 'You're not being fair to your father, baiting him like that.'

A lot of times after my jail-bait teasing thoroughly got pop worked up he would do mom and I'd hear her howl with happiness when they went to bed. So when I was past jail-bait, and mom was gone that time, I decided that I would take our game to the next level. In fact, I upped it several notches. I made up several excuses, very reasonable; yet to do this and that, I was parading back and forth in front of my father with just a buttoned up shirt, no panties. And every time I passed him, a new button would be undone. First the top one, then the lowest, then second from the lowest, with my pert nipples poking at the thin cotton, and my blond fuzz making haphazard appearances as I strolled past.”

“Did he notice you were doing a slow strip tease?”

“OH! Yeah! Did he ever! And he had to adjust a couple of times to get comfortable. He was about to bust his zipper, I swear! Then I made my move and came and sat on the wide arm of the easy chair he was in. I bent to talk to him and he could look at my boobies, and when I crossed my legs, the shirt's side split showed lots of hip and no material beneath of any sort. Then I switched my legs and did a 'Sharon Stone' peekaboo of my crotch to dad. I had him primed and then I began to interrogate him. 'Daddy,' I wheedled, 'I want to know what you secret is.' Mom lowered her voice a tad, 'What secret do you mean?' he asked, not having a clue of course, where I was going, just enjoying his free show, and not thinking much.

“I asked, 'What do you do to mom, to make her so vocal and loud when you make love?' Swear to God, right then man almost choked on his tongue! He sputtered, then gave a weak chuckle and then tried to gain control of himself and the conversation. 'What do you mean? And you shouldn't be listening at our door, that's private.' I answered back and swung my legs over his lap at the same time, so he could see my thighs almost to the pubic hair. Gee you're plenty hard now!”

“Mom! You said that to Grandpa?!”

“No! I meant you, babe! I can feel you stiff and rubbing against me. Just continue to do that while I tell you all about your grandpop and me. And he was about to 'pop' out of his pants alright, when he saw that he could all but see my pussy. I answered his protest, 'Its not so private when you can hear her clear to the end of the block!' He admitted that she did make a fuss. 'What do you do to the woman to get her so worked up she makes like an air-raid siren?' I continued to pry. His pry bar was uncomfortable I could tell, so I slid down to kneel on the floor in front of him. Naturally the shirt I had on caught on his knees and slid up exposing my muff and tummy – but no panties! I undid his belt and button, then unzipped his fly. He looked on like a scared rabbit in the hypnotized stare of a big snake.”

“Only I was the one looking at the snake, and it was nice size, but nothing so spectacular to cause the commotion mom made. Guess what, daddy didn't have any underwear on that night either!” mom giggled a bit. “I guess that sometimes he went 'commando' as its called. I touched my pop's poker and it jumped! I undid the last two buttons of the shirt on me, so he could see my throat and the cleavage and right down to my labia and he was looking alright! I put the tip of his prick in my mouth and bobbed my head a touch, just to give him a taste of my going down on him. Then I asked again, 'What makes mom moan so noisy, daddy? How do you do it?'

“His breathing was getting ragged, and the head of his dick was like a plum, purple and swollen. 'We shouldn't . .' he said. I almost whispered, 'Shouldn't do what, dad?' He looked at me and made up his mind that he was the man, and he was going to take charge of this naughty daughter of his and not let her have him at her mercy. No! the other way around! I could see that thought flood his mind, just like it was a spill of red wine spreading on a white table cloth. 'Shouldn't do what, dad?' I repeated. 'Do this!' He growled and he took the shoulders of the shirt on me, and pulled it right off in one strong manly gesture, stripping me bare. He didn't say any more, he just did what he knew I wanted him to do. He clutched me by my arms and he came out of the chair, turned, and planted me back down in the cushion, seated right where he had been. All in one motion so that we were reversed in position.”

“He opened my legs at the thighs and indicated I should scoot my hips forward with a tug behind my knees. 'This is what makes your mother wail like a banshee.' he explained, then buried his face in my juncture and gave me the best eating out that I have had before or since.”

I was rubbing, sawing my boner on mom's mons, the crinkly hair was a fine friction on the underside and my cock skittered up by the clit and lower to touch the damp split and I wanted to put it in her so bad that I could scream. I guess screaming runs in the family. Mom continued to rock her pelvis with me, to enhance my dry-fucking as she finished the story.

“I loved what he was doing, and he was doing everything that lips and tongue and sucking mouth can do to a female's sexual anatomy. But not just what he was doing, but the way he did it. The variety, and combinations, alternating warm and coolness, and different pitches to the hums and types of strokes which sometimes his tender or otherwise firm flesh made in contact with my feminine tissues. He did it for a long time, and I came and came, and was screaming like mom at the end. And I said the same thing she did, when she could take it no more, when she was at the limit of endurance, we needed the same thing of him.”

“He, having so sweetly tortured us so, had to comply; had to obey our command of love, our demand of lust. 'Put it in! Give it to me!' I yelled down to daddy with his face in my genitals, 'FUCK ME NOWW! Please! Fuck me daddy, put it in and fuck me . . . ffuucckk mmeee!'” she echoed the clarion call of the same sounds she had made then and which evidently grandma gave too at the instant of ecstasy turned almost agony.

I almost thought for a moment she was asking me to actually do it to her. But then I knew that this was in her imagination, and was not our our time yet. I saw in my mind's eye, his pants down around his knees and his penis sliding into mom's vagina as she had begged him to do. Then, I came on top of mom as she bucked up recalling her fuck-lust with her parent and lost in the memory, even as I was overcome with lust for her and thought of what it would be like to go in the hole where my grandfather had been. To cum in my mother, even as her father certainly had released himself within her as well. A large dollop of jism squirted on her abdomen, even as my mom also climaxed from her fantasy of remembrance.

As we both calmed down from our orgasms, for mom had gotten off on the memory as much as having me dry-hump her; mother ran her hands through my hair and gave my face kisses, on forehead, lips, cheeks, even nose. “Mmm . .” she cooed, “That worked alright, didn't it?”

“Yeah, I did get into the narrative, that was hot! Just one time huh?”

“Yes, neither of us wanted to hurt mom, and we felt that if we didn't stop there, it would be sneaking and secrets and get messy. So we mutually agreed that it had to be a one time only tryst. But now I knew why mom moaned and I could make suggestions to my lovers as to how to improve their cunnilingus. And neither daddy, nor I, lacked for sex. At least I didn't until you father went from romantic to routine, and now it seems eating my pussy is old hat, and sex is comfortable like an old slipper, for lazy days around the house. When did my vagina become antique footwear?”

“I think mom, maybe the 'Candy' needs a new wrapper, and a fresh ad campaign to remind dad that his bride is the Candy-dish he married and the sweetest sugar-baby around, so that he treats you like the true treat you are. That not only does he gets his own lollipop licked, but he'll rediscover he has a sweet-tooth for nibbling your charms and licking your dainty confections.”

“Well, getting a new sexy night gown is the easy part. What do you suggest for the new and improved advertisements to regain his zest for my charms and reinvigorate him in my bed chamber?”

“I'm not sure yet, why don't I sleep on it . . . in your bed with you. I'm sure something will cum up, in the course of the doing that, I'm bound to be inspired!”

“I know what will be in-'spire'-d, and I might get speared by your fresh ideas, if I'm not on my guard. Do you think I should sleep with the fella that is out to seduce me? Not to mention, I might just sleep-walk, and roll right over on top of him and sleep-screw his brains out. I think that is a dangerous idea indeed! Especially if you sleep in the raw like your momma does,. You do, don't you?”

We were back to word-play. “Yeah, but remember that I have exerted the most exemplary self-control and been the most honorable of suitors. So even if I'm just in my birthday-suit I will be respectful your virtue, virtual as it might be, because you certainly weren't a virgin when you met pop. And besides which, the version you told me of making it with your father means that incest is not unknown in the realm of your boudoir!”

“We were in the living room, remember. But alright, if you promise to be good.” (Which meant yes to bundling with her! OKAY!)

“I promise to be on my best behavior, and if I'm not I promise that I'll be good.”

“Do you know the difference between a nice girl and a good girl?”

“No, what is it?”

“The nice girl wakes up and says, 'Good morning, Lord.' - the good girl wakes up and says, 'Good Lord! Morning?' So if we are both good in bed together, we are going to be very naughty. But that's not the deal, if you sleep with me, you let me get my beauty rest. Understood?”

“Okay, I get it – I'll be . . nice.”

“Well, not too nice, that would be boring. Then you might as well be your old man!” She laughed. “Hey, there's a movie I know that your dad wouldn't want to see with me, but perhaps you'd like to come and watch it with me? It's an Italian art flick, subtitles and obscure meaning and all that?”

I knew which side my bread was buttered on, or which side of the bed the margarine (and mother) was spread. [That's an obscure reference to “Last Tango In Paris” if you will. But hey, if Brando got into Candy's panties, perhaps I might also.] Despite my promise, I suspected that mom might be wanting to let things continue and dabble in incest once more. So European art films here we come, or cum, whatever worked to get me onto mom's mattress and between her thighs again! “Sure, mom, I'd love to.”

So we went out for a romantic dinner at a French restaurant, some nice Burgundy wine with Chateaubriand for two and then the cinema. A rare revival showing of “La Luna” by Bernardo Bertolucci, the same guy that did “Last Tango in Paris” and this was about - get this – mother and son incest! Not “Taboo” but it was in the 'ball'-park, if you will! Jeez! I wondered if mom had that planned or what? She must have known about the showing of that film before I even had made my first move on her. So the whole milieu of that evening dovetailed into the theme of familial sexual intimacy. Once more I wondered at mom's motives, and if perhaps we were working at converging carnal purposes. It seen so!

When we returned home, mom seemed tired and wanted to hit the sack soon. I put some things in the dishwasher and went to my room and stripped, then headed to her bedroom, sans pajamas or any other garment. She was already in the sheets, but my side was turned down to show she had expected me. I slid in to the linens and cuddled up to mom, spooning to her since her back was toward my side. As mentioned earlier, she also like to sleep in the bluff, and we were two bare bodies cozying up close and personal. In no time, my boner was bumping her buns. I could feel her cheeks clenching and pushing to settle it in the crack.

“What did you think of the movie?” mom queried.

“I thought it was an interesting film, though the middle part was sort of slow.”

“How did you like the ending?”

“A little too obscure, it should have been more direct as to the conclusion, less editing of the consummation, more graphic of the sex between the mother and son, bolder in it's depiction of incest.” My erection was pressed hard against my mother's back-side, and rubbing now up and down a bit to let her know I wanted to do more. Just like the movie had not had enough action but implied more, I desired to couple with her as the pair on screen had; if you observed that the obscured was obviously obscene. However, my well prepared critique that I had rehearsed in my mind for just that question from her backfired. Mom turned on her back and had gales of hysterical laughter. She pulled me to her in a hug, all the while uncontrollably screaming because she thought my little speech totally funny, though I did not see the humor of my probative criticism.

“I suppose that you would have liked that mainstream movie to be as graphic as “Taboo”? Or that scene in “American Taboo: Three” with the mother and son in the bathroom?” Wait a minute, how did she know about the second incest film? I of course, with my obsession for mom, had downloaded such classic clips. “You have certainly do have a little Oedipus complex thing going on, don't you?”

I lifted myself over her and thrust my rigid rod against her abdomen. “Does this feel like it's a 'little thing'?”

Mom's eyes got wide open and she smiled that smirky smile again, “No it doesn't, is that all for me? Goodness!” she teased.

“Yeah I wanted to see them do it, naked and sweaty and grunting and going at it without any reservations and lots of X-rated shots. How come you knew that was playing at the theater? And how do you know about “American Taboo: Three”? What gives with that, mom?”

“You mean, what's up with the incest flicks? I'd say you are . . up - that is. You know that I have been on to your lust for me for quite some time now. Since you now know about my own experimentation with incest with my father, don't you think I might take an interest as to the subject as a parent as well. I know how to Google. I found the stuff on the Internet. I couldn't plan the art-house showing of “La Luna” when your dad was going to be out of town, that was serendipity, and you were the one that rented “Candy”. I didn't know about that until it was on the TV screen last night. Maybe it was kismet or karma or whatever the cosmic forces that worked to bring the plot for “Candy” to the moment of her incestuous realization, that brought all those things together. But that was just a movie, fiction, this is real life.”

Mom started to maneuver me between her thighs and her pelvic thrust were creating some very hot friction in the real life of our connections physically. “I'm pretty tired, but if you want to cum, I understand. Or you can save it for the morning.”

If I saved it for the morning, I might (I certainly would!) get mom to have another cum with me and who knows where that might lead! I decided to let the moment go by and try my luck in winning a morning fuck, if she would let me. I said I'd take a rain-check and we fell asleep in each other's arms, just like that. It was lovely, but I had the wildest dreams, like the trippy movie we had viewed the night before, but the blond mother was also the Jill to my father/uncle Jack in the psychedelic melange.

The next morning was Sunday. Had dad really been gone only forty-eight hours? So much had taken place with the incestuous intimacy that had blossomed between mother and I. I looked over at mom, who was still sleeping. Somehow in the night we had ended up the way we had started, spooning. My dick now was rising with morning woodie oak and pressing in the split of her bottom. I reviewed the things she had said to me and done with me over the short but eventful period.

I now knew why she empathized with my lust for her. She had shown an extensive knowledge of incest films. She exposing herself and then allowed our erotic contact several times, even to stimulating simultaneous orgasms. All the thinking lead me in one direction. I had pondered, 'What about all the information she had provided about her sexual proclivities and her being horny? Was she giving me 'ammunition' for a reason, either consciously or otherwise? Was all this converging on a conjugal coupling?'

The answer had to be YES to the last question. Yes, to the middle as well, for why was she giving me the key to unlocking her chastity? 'I would never cheat on (your father). And I haven't either, not ever'. If that was so, didn't she want me then to unlock her lust and let out the lonely lady that wanted to be free and to frolic with her son, like she had with granddad? Conclusion? Mom wanted me to take her, even if she couldn't openly 'fess up to it out-loud, or even admitted to herself consciously perhaps. She had made it clear as the window pane that let in the early sunlight, that she needed to have sex, was willing, even wanted to do it with me! Candy was desiring to be unwrapped, and her son was both handy and delighted to be the one to lick her and lay her, to be her new incestuous lover.

Mom began to do that clenching thing with her gluteus maxi-muscles, like half a hand job – length-wise – sort of. Anyway, that let me know that she was awake and in an amorous mood. I began the motion that was interrupted last night and she responded with her hips in counterpoint. That set the 'pecker protrudus' on a path down toward her 'vaginus slotorium'. What do they say about Latin-lovers? Obviously I was not a good student since I failed Latin, it was all Greek to me. But I wasn't doing any 'Greek' this a.m. either. I was hoping for a different hole for my pole. But just as the stiffy was sniffing the morning dew on the valley moss and getting close to a dip in the warm bath of mother's womanhood, she turned around to face me. Nuts! Blue nuts.

“What do you want to eat for breakfast?”

Groucho Marx was never given a better straight line for a double entendre. “Your muff-in, of course.”

“That would be nice!”

“No, that would be good!”

“Good Lord! Morning?”

“What do naughty girls say in the morning?”

“What?” she giggled.

“Lord! Its good in the morning!”

More giggling, that ended when my mouth reached her nether parts and began to nibble on her nookie. “Ooo! That IS good! Am I Jill Claybourne?”

“Your Candy all grown up and now its not daddy, its sonny.”

“Its sonny on Sunday, and he's doing mommy in the morning. OoOHH! Yees! Just like that, oh, Lord! Here I cum! AHH! And she did, like a firecracker, simply went bang and had a sweet little orgasm right quick. But I didn't stop, that wasn't the idea to end the scrumptious munching on her muff, I hoped to feed her some sausage in a while, if she was willing. That is what I was aiming at. I was doing fine, and she was escalating her climaxes as they built one atop another. I knew she had to be reaching that critical mass point where the big bomb would be triggered and then she would beg for my manhood to make her complete and I would give in to her demands to be taken.

When the moment seemed to arrive, she stretched out her arms and pulled me up, saddling me between her thighs and wrapping her arms around me, deliriously kissing my face. Then her hands were clutching my ass and she was bucking her hips and making almost panicky gasps and gulps. My raging hard-on was sawing in the greased groove and mashing the clit. Edging down with every stroke closer and more centered, nearer and prodding deeper into the oily cavity that awaited to be filled. I felt the dampness, it slicked the tip and the labia was parting. I put my tongue into her mouth and Frenched her to make sure she couldn't speak and object if she had last minute second thoughts and cold feet – or cool something more midway on her person.

DING-DONG! BANG! BANG! Bang, DING-DONG; bang bang bang! Who the hell was making a racket at our front door? Of course it broke the mood. “I'll get rid of them!” I said with a very irate tone. I was not going to be polite. Whoever they were, it was lucky for them we didn't own a shotgun! I grabbed dad's robe from the hook on the back of the door and struggled to put it on in time, before I opened the door and blasted who ever was so rude on a Sunday morning. Of all the times to pound on somebody's front door! I tied the robe just a moment before swinging the door wide, and was about to curse a storm at whoever it was.

It was the little girl from across the street, all in tears. As sad as one of those pity-paintings of the orphans with big dark eyes, the ones that make you go AWW . . and want to take them in, and give them cookies and milk and a good home? You know the ones I mean. “Have you seen my kitty, Fluffer-Nutter? She's missing and I'm afraid she's hurt or something! I looked all around the block and can't find her. She's been gone all night! Have you seen her?” I knew Fluffer-Nutter, well named for a long-hair white Persian with a quirky personality and a love of getting stuck in trees.

“No, Natalee, I'm sorry, I haven't seen your kitty, I'm sure she's okay. Cats don't get lost much, they come home when they're good and ready. Just give her some time. If you don't find her by noon, I'll help you go look, but you shouldn't be overly worried, Okay?”

With that reassurance Natalee went off to bang on the next neighbor's door. I closed ours and went back to mom's bedroom, but she had gotten up and put her gown on. She smiled and said, “Well, it seems that both you and Natalee are missing pussy this morning!” I didn't find the comparison funny. We moved to the kitchen, I sat down while she puttered around fixing breakfast. “Bacon?” That was not the porking I had wanted to do this morning. “I'm afraid the muff-ins are all eaten for the moment.” Mom was rubbing it in and trying hard not to laugh, but she had to hide her face. I could hear little chortles escaping.

“I'd like an order of eggs-tasy, please.”

“Sure, will that be hard-boiled, or sonny-side-up?”

“You almost got a fat sausage, what the English call 'bangers'.”

“Yeah, about that. I'm afraid that I might have gotten carried away, this morning. My . . weakness was letting your willie wiggle it way into my womanly place. I was so wanton I was wantin' to do that; but maybe that would be going too far with my own offspring. You are going to have to be the strong one and remember your promise.”

“Actually mom, while I said that I would never make you do anything you didn't want to, and that I would never harm you or hurt you. I didn't promise not to make you if you begged for it, nor do I think that you would be hurt nor harmed if I . . uh . . 'shot you with my friendly weapon'.” The last a quote I remembered from some old movie with James Colburn.

“Still, that would be a problem, if we did have sex. Just like when I screwed your grandpa that one time. It has to be the best kept secret, and the temptations is very great to do it more than just once, which is a whole-nother kettle of fish!”

“Eel and snapper?” I quipped and this got a laugh. She poured me some apple-cider, putting the glass in from of me. “Is this the juice of the fruit of temptation?” I took a sip.

“Maybe, but you better keep that snake in your pants under control Mister, or the wrath of the Almighty might just toss you out of Eden on your ear!”

“I only got just the barest taste of paradise, with my snake. What I really want is a big bite of a Candy apple.”

“Like these two?” Asked mom, and she came over and opened the top part of her robe. She thrust a breast toward my mouth and I latched on, sucking a nipple in my lips. “Mmm . . That is soo good!” she cooed.

I reached between the parted robe and ran my hand up her leg to her thigh, and then to the “demises that therein lie!” as Shakespeare put it in “Romeo and Juliet”. I'm good at remembering the dirty parts of things I learned in school. What I was learning from mom might be titled 'School for Scandal'; and her demises were still a little slick from earlier, and as I fiddled and diddled they became dripping again. My mouth switched to the other breast as I opened my robe. I used my free hand to lift the back of mom's gown and then I turned her to sit on my lap facing me.

This clever maneuver had her bare bottom sitting on my exposed erection. While not aligned quite right this had me poking my renewed boner in close proximity to her slit as it stuck through the divide of her sweet derri?. Mom clutched my head and kissed the top. She gasped out, “Oh God, don't make it so hard on me, I want to, you know I do, but we can't, it wouldn't be fair to your father.” But she rose to turned around and sat again, but so her back was to my face, and she was doing a lap-dance kind of wiggle; her bare bottom on my upright rigid rod, the juices coating the head of my hard-on and it was sinking up and slinking into that basin of sin at the center of her sex.

My two hands reached up and grasped her tits, the fingers and thumbs were twiddling the nipples trying to add the sensation to tip the balance in favor of our connecting. The copulation we both burned for, the sword I was thrusting seeking the scabbard she had, that was meant to sheath such a implement. “You are the one who is making you-know-what hard on me!” I countered her accusation. I knew she got my point, both the verbal and the fleshy one.

“Oh, yes! It is. Nice and hard!” She gave a sort of gasping trilled laugh as the head of of my instrument found the cavity it was searching for and slipped in – I mean the whole plum of the purple bulb was engulfed within that honey pot of her vagina. I moved my hands from her breasts to the side of her hips to draw her down to as far as I could, and make the penetration as deep as the position would allow. But just as I was about to jam her rear with my beef stick, she popped up and turned to kneel before me, putting her mouth over the disappointed peter and sucking, gulping several inches of cock and her lips moved up and down as she brought the cum to burst out of my man-muscle like it was boiling over.

In a sense, that is exactly what took place, my prick was so hot and ready to cream. I probably wouldn't have lasted but a few strokes in her pussy, if I had gotten my dick in her, but I would have rather had the pleasure of that, though her oral treat was nice too. Mom looked up at me, licking her lips. “That was a close call, huh? Well I didn't want to give you a case of blue-balls, even though I got carried away and almost let you . . . do what my daddy did. But he did it because I begged him and we could not control ourselves. But we are not going to let that happen to us, are we?”

“Would it really be so terrible if it did? 'Cause frankly, I don't think I would mind that much if we transgressed once - - or twice, or may be three . .” Mom lightly slapped my still springy dick and shook her finger at me.

“Listen mister 'I-want-to-commit-incest-with-mommy'; I'm the mommy and I make the rules. And I say we can't go that far, because that is just too much of a mess to clean it up. 'Once the glass is tipped over, there is no getting all the milk back in', right?” she quiped. (This referred to a infamous incident in our family lore, where, as a very small boy, I had tried to get spilled milk back into the cup I had accidentally knocked over. My parents, witnessing my attempts to rectify this mishap, couldn't help themselves as they just sat there and laughed hysterically at my comedic antics. While now days I can look back and laugh also; ever since, the lesson has been proverbial when a 'Humpty-Dumpty' disaster happens to me.)

I realized I needed another approach, a different strategy if I was to get my mother – either willingly or by reason of loss of self-control – to allow me to make love to her, at least once. But once that line had been crossed, it would be easier to cross over it again, and again. Because you see, the other lesson I learned as a toddler tipping over milk glasses on occasion was; not that there was no use crying over spilled milk – nor all that much laughter either, save for that one time; but this lesson I also gleamed . . . mommy usually has more milk in the fridge, i. e. there is plenty in reserve if needed.

Thus if we did have an 'accident' and I 'spilled' my cream in her, mommy had more that enough reserves to satisfy my needs, and accidents do happen. I had spilled milk any number of times as I grew up, now that I was a grown-up boy, I knew that sometimes accidents happen on purpose! So – how to get mom to 'mess'-around with me again, to where we at last get to do what she and grandpa did? – that was the question.

I remembered that mom and I had talked about getting dad reinvigorated as far as their sex life went. That seemed a place I could start. I helped mom clean up after we had a light breakfast. While we were drying the dishes, I suggested that I would be happy to accompany her to shop and pick out a new 'wrapper' to use in enticing pop into a amorous frame of mind.

Guys, women love to drag their males along shopping, don't ask me why, but it seems to have a positive effect on their libidos. If you don't sulk, but are cheerful about being her companion, it often pays off in benefits that are both romantic and passionate! Try it, what have you got to lose? You can tape the game and watch it later, skipping the commercials . . meanwhile you can make a play for the lady you love!

So we went to the local Bloomingdale's and blew a bundle on a nightgown that had multiple layers. It was like the dance of the seven veils, to be stripteased off her until the poor man who was the intended victim of her seduction was overcome with desire and became silly-putty in her hands. New perfume, appropriately dabbed in erotic places that the nose will be in proximity to when the mouth is busy being naughty. Easy access undies to give both ideas to the male of her choice and provide no barrier to the achievement of such dirty thinking put into action. Vanilla scented candles, who knew? - but you can Google it, it is the go-to smell for generating masculine lust. Wine, a fine rose', to release the inner beast in him; as long as you had a strong leash.

Of course. when we got home I asked mom to model the new lingerie. I had a bottle of her favorite white wine chilled and I had bought some lavender scented candles and put on a selection of music for a romantic mood. I told her it was a dry-run for when dad came home, but in fact, I was hoping to get her wet and worked up so that she was situated and stimulated for incest. The music was on and the goblets poured when she appeared. She was a vision, I must say.

Her long blond hair hung down her back. Her translucent pale yellow gossamer fabric of the filmy apparel made her look like a angel. Or some nymph from an illustration: fleeting laughing sprites, seductive waifs that traipsed through medieval forests. The kind which lure men into their beds and so their paramours become enchanted; in the morning it seems all a dream, until they discover that they have the head of a donkey, for men are such asses when it comes to beautiful women! I was enchanted, but the ass I was hoping to have was mom's. I was the one doing the seducing, and hoping for a night in her bed, that by morning my dreams might cum true! Even if it wasn't quite mid-summer.

Mother twirled and dance to the music, laughing and slowly the gauzy garments wafted away, one by one, until there were none and the golden girl spun and cavorted in her God given raiment. Finally, she ended with a whirl and wound up down at my feet, out of breath, but with a glow and gleeful that she had spun a spectacular choreography and most erotic striptease, totally impromptu, but with great artistry. She was flushed with pride and arousal from her extemporaneous and titillating Terpsichore.

I handed her a wine glass and she took a long sip. “Mom, if you weren't naked already, any guy that saw you do those beguiling moves would have to rip the clothes from you and ravish your body, he would be so bewitched by your beauty and gracefulness and sexy self.” She let out a throaty and sultry laugh and took another gulp of wine.

But this time she spilled some, as she was still shaking from her exertions; and with her amusement, being pleased that she had accomplished the effect she has striven for. A little driblet rolled down between her breasts. I immediately leaned over and licked the droplets. “Delicious!” I exclaimed. Mother murmured her joy at my spur of the moment lapping and decided she wanted a little more and deliberately spilled a tiny amount more down her cleavage.

I went to my knees, to be at her level and slurped some more! She dipped a finger in the goblet and spread the beverage on one nipple. I suckled it clean, then she repeated for the other and so did I. She lay back and handed the amber libation to me. I dropped a small spill on her genitalia and ran my tongue quickly to catch the fluid.

Putting the wine glass out of the way I then began to make serious administrations with my lips and tongue to the labia and clitoris and all about those sensitive regions of her crotch. Suddenly mom gave a little scream. “EEK!! I'm sorry, babe! But I gotta pee!” and up she rose to her feet and sprinted to the toilet. Over her shoulder she called, “Bring the wine to the bedroom, I don't want us to get rug-burn!”

Well, that seemed to be a good sign of more intimate fun to come, so I quickly stripped right there and took the two wine glasses to the kitchen to replenish them and then quickly scampered into her bedroom. I heard the plumbing flush and she appeared as naked as Botticelli's Venus and even more luscious for her baby-doll looks and firm full bust.

She sauntered over and flounced on the bed. She rolled over to the glasses, taking one she lifted the wine to her lips and made a long sip, letting a little spill again down her front, accidentally on purpose! It trickled down the front - right to her pussy. “Now, where were you?” she asked in a flirting manner, put the goblet on the side and lay back. I went for the golden pelt that tufted from her mons and began my elaborate and steady assailing of her tender targets.

The wine left a small taste that added to her own intoxicating love liqueur. The soft flesh of her tissues; the labia, the clitoris, the pure pink grotto that led into her very body were my lips' playground. I swashed the moist mussy mess of genitalia with the tip of my tongue, like I was painting the petals of a delicate orchid. I slathering the color of love over the entire bloom of her sex.

Mother's hands were in my curls as she sometimes directed my attentions, and at other times simply caressed the scalp of her son that was providing the luxurious lapping at her female erogenous zones. Her “Yes!”es and “OHH!”s and “There!”s, her sighs and moans and mews were the most beautiful music to my ears. How I loved pleasuring her, it was both art and worship at once. She gave herself to me, to do as I wished, and all I wanted at the moment was to give her all the joy I could offer.

I knew that by a slow build up, a lingering lengthened climb to her climaxes, would garner the greater overwhelming release. The more wending the ascent, the better her tumble over the peak would produce multiples of orgasms, the waves of paroxysms that would parade from her womanhood. To this ultimate consummation only was I dedicated, with no ulterior desires, save her ecstasy.

But as I have afore mentioned and imparted to my listeners, she had to have cock after her cunt was eaten. By my chivalry, was she saved from the destiny of that incestuous concupiscence earlier when I restrained myself and refrained my raw lust from ravaging her. But now there was nothing to salvage my own honor when she reached crisis and cried out in desperate delirium, “Put it in! Give it to me! Yes! Please! Put it all the way in. Fuck me, Honey, put it in me and . . . ffuucckk mmeee!” The echo of earlier was not lost on me, the meaning of her plaintive plea.

Like with her father, it was a command of lust sure, but love as well certainly, as the instant of ecstasy turned almost to agony. I was the angel of mercy to sooth the demonic demand her tortured body craved, no matter how depraved. The look in her eyes and the nod of her head was indicating she knew what our consummation meant. Still I hesitated. She was telling me, through those silent signs of assent that it was okay to fuck her, that she had allowed the escalation and was acquiescent with, even welcomed, the consequences of the ensuing aftermath of our consanguine copulation. Finally I could not resist the deepest urges of my libido.

Green light was lit, the go given, the flag waved, the rev-ing of engines had roared, and now the brakes were off and the gas was stomped and the gears were shifted; the wheels of incest rolled, the clutch – the clinch – was engaged. We were now in the race for real. Faces like dials, instruments of sexual throbbing machines. The speed and movement of our chassis's was read on the looks that passed between us, as our beings merged into one, with perfect erotic mobilization. The thrust and penetration was smooth and swift and cycled rapidly; the back and forth, in and out, up and down, forward – reverse, motion of synchronized parts. All that mechanization couldn't begin to provide an adequate depiction of the zillion nerve endings that thrilled to the flesh in flesh flashing in instant but endless ecstasy together.

Now all the while, as I pounded my prick in the sanctuary of my sweet mother; the very demure lady of the family dinner table, the most modest of hostesses, the church going matron of our neighborhood; was letting loose a cacophony of bawdy language that seemed more likely from a trollop in a whorehouse than a Midwestern housewife of more moderate manners. “Yeah! Boy! Give me that damn cock in my fuckin' cunt! Bang me, Hard, more, I need it – that's so goddamnfuckin' goood! Shit you're big! Oh yeah, I got to have it, I'm so hot, hotter that hell, Jeez! Give me all your fuckin' dick in my poor little pussy! Harder deeper, uuh . . ahh! Yeah! just like that in me – in me - - MAKE ME CUM BABE – FUCK MEE!” The more we screwed, the more of the same!

I had never heard such a stream of wild and raunchy talk from the orifice of the woman who once washed out my mouth with soap, for having let 'shit' escape from my lips in polite company, when we had been guests at somebody's house. The taste of soap is never forgotten when so administered. But the bitch in bed with me, chewed up the unexpurgated dictionary and spat out the words like she was a preacher on a rant about the devil and sin – only she was in the midst of demonstrating the very desecration of morality, of course. Honestly, it was a turn-on to hear her spew such nasty and profane utterances, earthy, dirty and even filthy words; I loved her all the more for them.

Like a tornado, the whirlwind of lust and unleashed sensual delights lifted us into the dizzying dazzling of both emotional and sensory spinning, then sucked us back as a vortex of physical need for sexual gratification, the painful ache to achieve orgasm. The heightened intensity of the moment, of being with the most yearned for and most forbidden, but more deserved and yes greatest loved - while granted, lusted after too – person in our lives, was too wild and wondrous to absorb at the time. Only after in reflection can my words even begin to convey the rapture and transcendent nature of that uniting. Candy – the actress/role/icon – sought the meaning of the physical and spiritual bonding of sex and discovered that the ultimate mate was her own flesh and blood. “Daddy!”

But I was crying “Mommy!” as the gush-rush of jism jolted out the end of my nozzle injecting the cream in the Candy center, the hot surgery sauce of icing that was the topping of that bubbling of sweet sex with my mother, my lover finally and fully and filled with my offering of son's semen. How generous was her gift of our coupling, the granting of her erotic dance and seductive allurement nude upon the stage of her mattress, played out to the end of the completion of our communion in both mind and bodies. For she knew what she was doing and what it was doing to me, and what the natural consequences of those actions would lead to. And yet, she did, and we did.

Candy – the mother/ who was real/ but idolized by her son – provided the meaning of our physical and emotional bonding of incestuous sex, when, as we mated, flesh and fluids mixing as we fucked, grabbed my buns in her hands and as I let go inside her pulled me even tighter and deeper and cried, “Baby!” Her legs up, knees bent, pelvis tilted to insure the penis had maximum penetration in her vagina and was socked right to the very mouth of her uterus, for best chance at procreative projection at the moment of truth. The dearest and most darling, generous and supportive woman, ideal and perfect, lovely lady had made love with me. My fantasy cum true. Now I could move on with my life, find a wife, make Candy a grandmother; - though not necessarily right away!

I rolled off her and collected our goblets, passing a wine glass to mom. We both took long pulls on the chilled alcohol. For some moments we just looked at one another, with smirks and smiles and loving gazes, as we sipped. Then I had to ask, “Okay, mom why did you let me . . allow us to do it after all? Before you were so determined that we shouldn't, and yet when the moment came and you begged me - yet I still hesitated – but you not only were giving me permission, but seemed to be insisting that I make love to you. So what changed?”

“Well, I first of all realized that it wasn't fair to you, knowing I had the chance to share terrific sex with my dad, but denying that same delightful and special experience to you. Then again, while both my pop and mom were still quite active sexually at that point, your dad and I are not so much. I needed more than what his attentions have been lately and you are handy, as well as lusting after me in any case. That was the second reason.

The third is that all the near . . misses (Mrs.?) that we have been having, well, they whetted my appetite. I got not only wet but my desires were sharpened to the point that I needed, had to have a good fuck, and did you ever deliver that for your sweet momma!! Those were enough to turn things around, but there is one more.”

“The last is sort of more a hopeful possibility. That if it ever comes out, if your father ever discovers our indiscretion; then perhaps it will be as much a turn on as when he learned about me and daddy. After all, your hankering after mommy, your Oedipus complex, is not all that much of a secret. If I know about it, so does you dad too, neither of us are blind to the signs of your lusting for me. In fact, we have discussed your feelings on occasion, but I never suggested that I might give into your wanting me. But it did sort to peak your father's interest, perhaps even perked up his peter for the evening when we talked about it.”

“So maybe the 'eggs-tasy'-hitting-the-fan, if your pop ever caught on to our occasional liaison, wouldn't be so messy; might be more inspirational, 'in-spire the sire' if you will!”

Which meant to me, that this time in the sack would not be a one time only affair – it certainly was an 'affair to remember'! But also one that would be carried on with Candy for quite some time to come, and some cums to have at times when Candy would be willing to carry on, with me - her son! Which reminded me of the promise I'd made, to try to think of some way to renew the romance in my parents relationship. After all, I did love dad and didn't want to have him not enjoy the wonderful woman he had married. Since after all, now I got to share her sometimes too!

“Mom, I did come up with a new fresh ad campaign for you. To get dad reinvigorated about getting it on with you. The new lingerie and that dance you did would melt any man's heart and stiffen his hard-on. But I think that I have thought up the perfect slogan for you.”

“Okay, I'm ready, what has your creative brain brewed up?”

“Lickitysplit!”

“Lickitysplit?”

“Yeah! As well as the romantic evening with your sexy dance, and the candles and wine; we make a sign for the bedroom, a poster which says . . .” I described my idea. This is the way it appeared.

What's the thing I love best of sex?
Lickitysplit!
How can you best make me cum?
Lickitysplit!
How fast will I have an orgasm?
Lickitysplit!
How can you best get me to fuck?
Lickitysplit!
Lickitysplit!
Lickitysplit!
Until I beg for it!

It worked, when he returned home to mom's sugar-seduction, dad was certainly rejuvenated. He was like . . . well, like a kid in a Candy store!
23 comments

anonymous readerReport

2011-07-15 03:43:37
nice way to wrap up a good story is with a good pun that referrances the name of the son's sexual desire for the woman he lusts for like that of the forbidden fruit

anonymous readerReport

2011-01-06 04:45:26
لللللللل

Anonymous readerReport

2011-01-04 10:34:25
One of the best written works (non-erotic and erotic) I've ever read. 6 stars out of 5

Anonymous readerReport

2011-01-04 10:34:19
One of the best written works (non-erotic and erotic) I've ever read. 6 stars out of 5

Anonymous readerReport

2011-01-04 10:34:01
One of the best written works (non-erotic and erotic) I've ever read. 6 stars out of 5

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