Britslut’s

Slutty Stories

 

 Kirsten

© Copyright britslut 2008. No re-use allowed without permission.

 

I was worried about my son Peter. He’d always been a quiet, shy child, and to my knowledge had never had a serious girlfriend while at school. He spent a lot of time on the internet, doing I knew not what, but that seemed to be usual for his age group. Then, almost as soon as he had finished school and was waiting to go off to college in October, he announced hesitantly that he had met ‘online’ a girl in Sweden and she had invited him to go and stay with her for the summer.

I immediately, of course, thought of all the horror stories about him being lured to his death, or worse, by evil persons masquerading as girlfriends. But, as he pointed out with a new-found determination, he was not a child, he was 18, he could look after himself (privately I was not so sure about this), he and this girl - Kirsten - had got to know each other very well and if it didn’t work out, well, he could always come home again. I tried to get more details - would her parents be there, for one - but he fended me off and repeated ‘Don’t worry, mum, it’ll be fine.’

So I cried when I saw Peter off at the airport, laden down with rucksack and bags, looking young and absurdly handsome, and cried again when I got back to a lonely house. Of course it was partly empty-nest syndrome, which every parent has to go through, but also real concern for his safety and also for his well-being when she, inevitably, broke his heart. All I had was his address and his promise to text and phone me ‘regularly’.

The phone calls didn’t materialise but the texts and e-mails did. They were having a ‘wonderful time’, her house was in the forests, miles from anywhere, there was a river at the end of their field where they swam every day, the weather was so warm and sunny. They were getting to know each other really well, they were so happy together, etc. I nodded to myself resignedly. That sounded like a lot of sex was taking place, I thought, probably with the blessing of her no doubt liberal-minded parents, as Swedes were supposed to be. Oh well, my darling boy had to lose his virginity some time, I thought, and better to do it with a girl he obviously loved, in a sunny field in the forest, rather than in some sordid coupling in a rainy back alley. I hoped they were using contraception.

If I allowed myself to admit it, in fact, I was jealous. I hadn’t had sex since my husband had died three years ago, and I knew I needed it but couldn’t face going through the whole process of being wooed and seduced by a man who might not in any case be turned on enough by my 40-year-old body. Good luck to Peter, I thought, make the most of it.

I still worried about him, though, as mothers will, and was surprised one day to get an e-mail from him saying that Kirsten, his girlfriend, had suggested that I might like to come and stay with them for a couple of weeks. (I had bemoaned my lack of a planned summer holiday to him, I remembered.) After an exchange of ‘are you sure that’s OK?’ messages - I didn’t want to impose - it was finally agreed that I would fly to Stockholm the next Sunday. Their house was a couple of hundred miles from the airport so Peter gave me detailed instructions about which train to catch; they would meet me at the local station. ‘Kirsten says bring light clothes,’ he said, ‘it’s hot here and likely to get hotter.’

So, rather in a daze, I found myself on a very punctual and clean train slipping through endless forests and meadows in southern Sweden, watching out for a station I couldn’t pronounce the name of, wondering what I would find. Kirsten would be tall and slim and blonde, I decided, and her parents likewise, still good-looking and liberal and speaking perfect English. The house would be wood-built, sparsely but tastefully furnished by IKEA. They would have an old but well-maintained Volvo, and a wind-turbine on the roof. My ideas about Sweden were rather stereotyped.

It was about five in the afternoon when I arrived at ______, a tiny station in the middle of nowhere. I was the only person who got off and Peter was the only person waiting in the platform. He had changed, grown up – even in the month since I had waved him off his shoulders had filled out, his hair had lightened and his skin tanned in the sun. We hugged silently, me taking comfort in his warm, solid mass.

‘Oh, it’s so good to see you again! I’ve missed you, you know. Still, it looks like Sweden is agreeing with you.’

‘It’s great, Mum, I’ve been having a fantastic time. I’ve been a lot healthier since I came here, you know, no more catarrh and no more spots either!’ Peter had suffered from adolescent acne, although it had started to clear up in the last year. ‘Come on, the car’s just outside. It’s only about 20 k.’

‘No Kirsten?’ I said as we got to the car - a small new red Citroen, not a large old Volvo - suddenly suspicious again.

‘She’s making dinner. A feast in your honour - we usually just have salad mostly. She’s dying to meet you, though.’

In the car, speeding along the deserted road, I turned to him again. ‘Are you sure it’s OK me descending on you like this? You’re sure her parents are happy about it?’

‘It’s OK, mum,’ he said with a familiar note of affectionate exasperation. ‘You’ll see when we get there.’

I opened the car window. ‘You were right about the heat. I should have dressed in something cooler. Good job the train was air-conditioned.’ My slacks and blouse were starting to stick to me.

‘It’s really hot during the day. Only trouble is, you can’t sit out in the evening because of the mozzies. Gets cool at night, though. But the house is amazing, really well insulated, hardly needs any heating even in the winter, apparently.’ He went on to explain about the technology, always one of his enthusiasms, while I gazed out at the endless forests, broken every few miles by a house set in a few acres of meadow. Not the sort of place you could pop round to borrow a cup of sugar from the neighbours, I thought idly.

We turned in to a drive though the trees, and soon emerged into a large clearing. The house was like the others I had seen, wood construction, with a steeply pitched roof. Cut logs were stacked against the walls. It looked like something off a travel brochure. Peter parked the car and got my case out of the boot while I looked around, trying to calm my nerves. I followed him through the open front door and through the wood-panelled lobby into a large new-looking kitchen. A tall, slim woman in a sleeveless, calf-length cotton dress was chopping vegetables. She turned on hearing us and smiled broadly and held out her arms. I guessed she was mid-thirties, but in great shape. No make-up, healthy tanned skin, blue eyes and short, ash-blonde hair.

‘Hi, Gina, welcome! It’s so good to see you!’ Her English was accented but flawless. She grasped my hands in hers and gave me a kiss on the cheek - her lips were soft and warm.

‘Thank you ... oh, I don’t even know your name! Peter has told me hardly anything.’

Peter gave a nervous cough. ‘Mum, this is Kirsten.’

As the saying goes, you could have knocked me down with a feather. In fact, I had to sit down rather quickly. ‘Oh my ...’ was all I could say. My mind was a whirl. My son ... going out with - no, living with - a woman nearly my age. No wonder he had been so economical with information. Oh no, I thought, this is bound to end in heartbreak.

I managed to smile at Kirsten, who was looking at me with concern. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘It’s just that ... well, I wasn’t expecting ...’

‘You were expecting an 18-year-old girl?’ she said with a grin. ‘Peter, I did tell you! I can see it is rather a shock for you, Gina. But you must not worry. Everything is OK, we are very happy. Here, I will make you some tea. Peter has educated me in how to make tea the English way.’

She busied herself with a kettle and teapot, while Peter sat next to me and held my hands. ‘Sorry, mum, I didn’t know how to tell you. I knew you wouldn’t approve. I thought if you could meet Kirsten you’d be bound to like her ...’

‘I’m sure she’s very nice ...’ I said. ‘But ... oh, I don’t know!’ I felt tears forming in my eyes, and hated myself for it.

‘Mum, I’ve grown up a lot in the last month. I know how I feel. I know the problems. But we can make it work, I know we can.’ How often have I heard that before, I thought. ‘I really want you to like Kirsten, you know.’

I nodded, and stood up unsteadily. I went over to the Swedish woman, standing looking at us uncertainly. I took her hands as she had taken mine and said, ‘I’m sorry, Kirsten, I didn’t mean to be rude. It was a bit of a shock, that’s all. But I’m glad that you and Peter are happy together ...’

To my surprise she hugged me tightly. I could feel her breasts pressing against mine, and smelled the fresh outdoor scent of her hair. I hadn’t been hugged so thoroughly since my husband died. I patted her back gently until she released me.

‘So we can be good friends, yes?’ Her pale blue eyes searched mine, and I saw that they glistened with tears, as did mine. I nodded, feelings welling up in me. ‘Look after him, won’t you?’ I said. ‘He’s all I’ve got.’ To avoid crying openly we hugged each other again. I was nonplussed by the sudden outburst of emotion I had felt.

Kirsten gently wiped the moisture from my cheeks. ‘Peter is embarrassed,’ she chuckled, ‘two grown women, crying over him. Never mind, he will have to put up with it.’ I could hear in her voice her love for my son, and it reassured me. I kissed her on her cheek, and the bonding was finished for the moment.

The tea was brewed and we sat and I drank a cup down gratefully, needing its comfort. Peter, still looking a little embarrassed, stood next to Kirsten with his arm resting on her shoulders, and she leaned against his waist easily and gave him a worshipping glance. I could see how fond they were of each other. I found myself, with faint surprise, wondering how the sex was. Kirsten was a beautiful and healthy woman, obviously in her sexual prime, and Peter was now a virile young man. No wonder they were in love.

‘Peter, why don’t you show Gina round the house while I get on with the dinner?’ the woman said. The subtext was obvious, that it would give me and my son time to discuss all the things he should have told me earlier. A good idea ...

He showed me the large lounge and smaller, more intimate, dining room, the shower room, the library and study, the open-plan staircase, the bedrooms, all en-suite, and the huge attic which doubled as storage and ‘den’. Everything was panelled and floored in light wood, spotlessly clean, tastefully furnished, as I had expected. Bright soft rugs and wall-hangings broke the severity.

‘Wow,’ I said, when we had finally come to the room I would be using. ‘She’s not badly off, is she? What does she do for a living?’

‘She got left loads when her husband died. Insurance policy or something. Doesn’t need to work, writes a few articles now and then.’

‘And she lives here on her own?’

‘Yeah, her kids are both married.’

‘Married! How old is she then?’ I could hear the panic in my voice.

‘She’s 44, mum. Not that old.’ Older than me, I thought. But she certainly didn’t look it. I took a deep breath.

‘It’s all very well, Peter, I’m sure you’re having a great time now. But just think, when you’re, say, 40, Kirsten will be ... um ... 66. She’ll be an old woman.’

‘Hey, don’t you think you’re jumping the gun a bit, mum? Who said we’re going to last that long? You’ve got us married with kids already. We’ve only been together for a few weeks.’

I sighed. ‘Never start a relationship while you’re planning to end it,’ I said sadly.

‘I’m not, mum. We love each other very much. Anyway, what’s wrong with 66?’ He grinned, adultly. I punched gently him on the thigh, in exasperation.

‘Well, make the most of it, that’s all I can say.’

He nodded, seriously. ‘Yes, we are.’

‘Just one question - when did you find out that Kirsten wasn’t your age? I know you corresponded on the internet a lot.’

‘Oh, she told me straight away. There was nothing secret.’

‘And you still ... wanted to go out with her?’ I realised that ‘go out with’ was a pretty meaningless euphemism, but I couldn’t think of a better phrase.

‘Yes, of course.’

I looked at him in wonderment, then shook my head.

‘Now, leave me alone while I unpack and change into something cooler. I’m still cross with you for giving me such a shock, you know.’

I chose a sleeveless cotton top which showed too much of my bra, so I changed it for a thinner, unwired one. A knee-length silk skirt and sandals. I wanted to look my best for the evening - although I thought that Kirsten wouldn’t be one to dress for dinner; she was effortlessly beautiful anyway. I didn’t want to let the side down. Then I lay on the bed and tried to practice my yoga relaxation. The faint odours of food wafted into the room and distracted me. I realised that I was hungry.

The food was wonderful and fresh - wild salmon, venison casserole with vegetables from the garden, forest fruits and local cheeses to finish. We drank white wine and laughed a lot, in my case partly from the sheer weirdness of being with my son’s girlfriend who was older than I was. But they certainly acted like boy and girl - casting loving and/or lustful glances, touching each other affectionately, completing each other’s sentences. Kirsten showed no tendency to mother him ... the difference in their ages seemed to be irrelevant.

But the wine and the travelling were taking their toll. I had to suppress several yawns. It was getting dark outside. I declined a coffee and apologised for my tiredness.

‘Don’t worry, Gina,’ she said. ‘You have had a tiring day - and a shock! We usually go to bed early too.’

I offered to help with the clearing up but she wouldn’t hear of it. ‘The dishwasher will do most of it. You have everything you want? Get up when you like. Help yourself to anything you need. We’ll see you in the morning!’ She kissed me on the cheek again and hugged me tightly. ‘Sleep well!’

I toddled upstairs, washed my face and cleaned my teeth, put on my nightie (a long plain white T shirt) and snuggled under the duvet in the big soft bed, and was asleep almost instantly.

Sometime in the night I awoke. The house was utterly quiet - no noise came from outside. It took me a while to remember where I was. I lay there, all my worries about Peter trickling back into my mind, as they do in the dead of night. Then I nearly jumped out of my skin as a faint shuddering moan sounded from outside my room. It was followed by a girlish giggle and then some rumbling voices, then more moans and rhythmic thumping sounds. I strained my ears, then realised that I was listening to my son and Kirsten making love. They certainly weren’t trying to be quiet, although the walls muffled the noise a lot. I grew hot and embarrassed, trying not to imagine what exactly they might be doing. No doubt the Swedish woman was sexually ultra-experienced, and Peter was a quick learner. To my shame I found myself becoming aroused ... I pulled the pillows around my head and tried to sleep.

I awoke to daylight. The house was silent and I had forgotten to put my watch on the bedside table, so I had no clue as to what time it was. But I was desperate for my early-morning cup of tea, so I got up and padded downstairs on bare feet. The floor was warm and the smell of grass and pine floated through the open windows. I found the kitchen and stopped in shock.

Kirsten was standing by the counter, her back to me, and she was stark naked! Her lean body with its firm buttocks was evenly tanned - she looked like an artist’s model. She must have heard me, for she turned around and her face lit up.

‘Gina! Good morning! I hope you slept well.’

I just stared at her. I couldn’t stop staring at her high, smallish breasts with their brown tips jutting towards at me, and her crotch with its wisp of pale blonde hair which didn’t hide anything.

‘Oh, sorry,’ she said, smiling, ‘We don’t usually bother with clothes much in the summer. I hope you don’t mind.’

‘Um ... no, that’s fine,’ I stuttered. How many more shocks was I going to get?

‘I’ll make you some tea,’ Kirsten said. ‘Are you hungry?’ She busied herself with the teapot while I just gazed at her naked form, wishing I was as beautiful.

‘Peter and I usually go for a swim before breakfast,’ she said. ‘But he’s fast asleep. I think we had too much sex last night.’ She said it so matter-of-factly. ‘Maybe you would like to come for a swim? It’s wonderful this time of day.’ She gave me a cup of tea and sat opposite, hugging her knees. I could see her pussy lips, pink and fat, pushing out between her thighs. I wondered if they were sore from too much sex.

‘Yes, it sounds good. I brought my costume with me.’

‘You don’t need it. It is much better naked.’

‘Someone might see ...’

‘Oh, there is no-one for miles. Anyway, what does it matter?’

I drank my tea. I had in fact been skinny-dipping once as a teenager so the idea wasn’t completely alien to me. I took a deep breath, peeled off my nightie and stood there naked in front of her trying not to look embarrassed.

‘Gina, you are beautiful!’ she exclaimed, and gave me a hug. Her skin was warm and soft, and I must admit, after the initial shock, that I realised how much I had missed the feel of a naked body on mine since my husband died. ‘Come on, let’s go outside.’

Kirsten took my hand and lead me out into the garden, and then across the meadow. The grass was damp with dew and my bare feet were wet. Gossamer webs shimmered in the low sun. The air was warm on my naked skin and I suddenly understood the appeal of naturism - which, after all, had probably begun in Sweden.

The river was about half a mile away, flowing gently between pale rocks. There was a big pool which was obviously the favourite swimming place. Kirsten climbed onto a rock, sinuously, and dived cleanly. She came up laughing. ‘Come on, Gina, it’s wonderful!’

I stood on the rock, took a deep breath, and dived. The water was colder than I expected and I surfaced gasping and shrieking. ‘You didn’t warn me! It’s freezing!’

‘You will get used to it!’ the woman laughed, and dived down to try and catch my legs. We played tag for a while, giggling and splashing like a couple of kids, until I started to shiver and hauled myself up onto the bank and into the sunshine. Kirsten joined me and we lay on the short grass feeling the warmth soaking into us.

‘I should have out some suntan cream on,’ I said.

‘The sun is still low. You will not burn yet. Later, it would be advisable.’ She stretched her arms and legs wide luxuriously. ‘Mmm, this always makes me feel horny.’

I had not yet got accustomed to her frankness. The cold had hardened my nipples to the size and consistency of door-stops, and to be honest it was making me feel a little aroused too. I glanced across to my companion. To my shock she had her hand on her pubes and was stroking between her lips, her eyes closed in bliss. I had never seen a woman masturbate before and couldn’t tear my eyes away. Kirsten rubbed her clitoris gently but firmly with two fingers, twisting her head from side to side, her mouth open. Her nipples too were hard and projecting. Drops of water glinted on her skin. She began to buck her hips and make little moaning noises. I watched in embarrassed fascination as she achieved a long, slow, consuming orgasm, the breath rasping in her throat.

When she had come down from her plateau of ecstasy, she opened her eyes and smiled at me, who was looking at her with open mouth.

‘Mmm, that was nice,’ she purred. ‘Your turn now.’ My mouth fell open even more. Before I could respond she rolled towards me and put her hand gently on my pubic bush. Something like an electric shock went through my body, and I was unable to resist. Her fingers began to circle over my pubes, sending little quivers of excitement through my limbs. I was helpless as she slowly increased her stimulation, moving her hand downwards slightly until her orbiting fingers were a millimetre above my clitoris. I realised that it was ages since I had allowed myself an orgasm.

My hips arched upwards of their own volition, trying to increase the pressure of her hand. But Kirsten didn’t want to let me come too soon. She built up the pressure in my loins slowly, ever so slowly, until I was as taut as a bowstring and screaming silently for release. The muscles in my thighs and stomach were trembling with tension, my nipples and breasts ached and my vagina was quivering with emptiness. I could feel hotness seeping out of me.

After keeping me hovering me the brink for what seemed like a lifetime, a touch of her fingertip onto my straining clitoris finally triggered my climax. Waves of ecstasy crashed through my body. My hips bucked and my back arched. I could hear someone crying as if in agony and realised that it was me. Pulses of hot lava coursed through my loins. When the orgasm finally began to ebb, the woman touched my clitoris again and it all started all over again.

Five or six times I reached a peak of bliss that I did not know existed, and when she finally removed her hand from my pubes I was left limp and drained, quivering and damp. I must have drifted into a doze.

Kirsten’s touch on my hip woke me. I turned to see her looking at me affectionately.

‘Oh, Gina, you are the most orgasmic woman I have ever known! I think somehow that you needed that very badly, yes?’

I could only nod. I was still in shock at the violence of my sexual response. I did not know that it was possible for me to come like that even once, let alone several times in succession.

‘Thank you,’ I managed to croak. It seemed the right thing to say. She stroked my forehead for a while and then stood up, holding out her hands to me. ‘Come on, let’s have some breakfast. You must be hungry after that.’

We walked back to the house arm in arm, her warm bare hip against mine. My limbs felt uncoordinated and I was glad of her firm body for support. I could feel juice smearing down the insides of my thighs - I still couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.

My son was in the kitchen when we got back, laying the breakfast things out. He did a double take when he saw his naked mother on his girlfriend’s arm. Strangely, I felt hardly a twinge of embarrassment.

‘I see Kirsten’s converted you to nudism, then,’ Peter said. ‘It feels good, doesn’t it?’

‘What about you, my love?’ Kirsten laughed, indicating his shorts.

‘Well ...’ Peter looked sheepish. ‘There might be a problem.’

The Swedish woman chuckled and hugged my arm. ‘He always has an erection when he is with me, he says. It’s true, mostly. Is that the problem?’

Peter nodded, looking at me.

‘Well, I’m sure Gina has seen it all before! There is nothing wrong with erections, is there?’

‘Umm ... no ...’ I said.

‘Anyway, if we are going to be naked then it is unfair if he is not, yes? Come on, Peter!’

My son shrugged and peeled off his shorts. Kirsten was right, his cock was solidly and gloriously erect. I stared at it - despite what she had said, I had not seen my son’s cock since he was about 10, and certainly never hard. And a magnificent specimen it was too - larger than my husband’s, who had not been poorly endowed. It rose up to his navel, rigid and bobbing slightly, obviously extremely aroused.

The woman ran her fingers up it gently, and Peter’s hips bucked. ‘Now you know why I am in love with your son,’ she said, ‘The secret is out!’

He blushed and I managed to cast him a reassuring grin, the image of his potent erection still etched onto my brain.

‘But you will have to wait, my darling,’ Kirsten said to him. ‘We are hungry - for food!’

The breakfast was a sizeable meal - cereals, fruit, yoghurt, crusty home-made bread, cheese, smoked meats, marinated fish and various other local delicacies. I was indeed hungry after my swim and quite draining orgasms, and did the food full justice. After a while I got used to being naked and to seeing my son’s naked body with its ever-hard cock next to me. Afterwards, while Peter cleared up, Kirsten and I went and lay on sun-loungers in the orchard to the side of the house. I rubbed on some sun-cream but she didn’t bother - her skin looked tanned enough already.

‘I’m so grateful to you, Gina,’ she said, stretching sensuously. ‘Your son is a wonderful lover.’

‘Um ... thanks,’ I said, wondering why she thought I was responsible. ‘His father was too. I’ve only felt like half a person since he died.’ The warmth and peacefulness seemed to encourage confidences.

‘Yes, I was like that. I was very depressed for some months. But then I decided that life is for living. I started dating again. Gradually I put it all behind me. You must do the same.’

‘How long since ...’

‘Oh, it’s ten years now. I still think about Lars. But ...’

I didn’t hear any more. The large breakfast, the warmth and my tiredness had conspired to send me into another doze.

I woke slowly, conscious first of a light warm breeze on my bare skin. I could hear a soft rhythmic liquid sound, and wondered if there was a water feature somewhere. I opened my eyes, and saw Peter and Kirsten lying on the other sun-lounger, locked in sexual congress. My son was on his back, his feet towards me. The woman lay on top of him, her knees drawn up by his sides. His cock was buried in her pussy, his hands gripped her buttocks. Because of their position and her almost non-existent blonde pubic hair I could see as clearly as in a porn film. She rocked back and forth slowly, his cock sliding in and out of her with the liquid noise that I had heard.

I watched in horrified fascination. I had never seen a couple making love in real life, and when one of them was my own son and the other his 44-year-old girlfriend - it was jaw-dropping. And also, I had to admit to myself, very arousing. I felt my own vagina becoming engorged and hot.

Kirsten raised herself on her arms and started to swirl her hips back and forth fluidly. It looked like she was trying to get his taut scrotum inside her as well. I recalled how large his erection was and shivered at the thought of what she must be feeling. Peter reached up and cupped her breasts, and she put her arms behind her head and rested her weight on his hands. Her rhythm increased and she gave a series of stifled cries, thudding her hips down onto his.

When her orgasm had died away, he lowered her onto his chest and she hugged him. To my disbelief I saw him reach back and dabble a finger in the wetness around her pussy, then slide it into her neat pink anus. It seemed to admit him very easily. He started to buck his hips, faster and faster, ramming his cock deep into her, almost lifting them off the cushion. Then his body went rigid and he gripped her buttocks tightly and I swear I could see the fat tube on his cock throb as the semen pulsed up it into her vagina. Kirsten murmured something and hugged him tightly as he emptied his balls deep inside her.

Even when their throbbings had finished and they lay there sated and motionless, I couldn’t tear my eyes away. I realised that my hand had strayed of its own volition to between my legs, where my pussy was now wet and swollen. I was unable to pull it away.

Eventually Kirsten stirred and eased herself off my son. His cock popped out of her with a liquid sound, leaving her vagina loose and open. She stood up, stretched and turned towards me, her face radiant with sexual afterglow. She saw me looking at her like  a rabbit in the headlights, smiled, and knelt down by my side.

‘Did you enjoy that?’ she whispered, and placed her hand over mine, pushing it gently into my fleshy pubes. I was paralysed. She started to rub, slowly and softly, my fingers mingling with hers in a slippery tangle. I knew what was going to happen and I couldn’t stop it - nor indeed, to be honest, did I want to. Her pale blue eyes pierced mine while she circled her hand gently but relentlessly on my pussy. I felt an orgasm rising slowly, hotly, achingly. It rose and rose until my whole body was arched and straining and gasping. And still she continued her slow grinding against my clitoris ... I whimpered.

Strong arms grasped my shoulders. Peter hugged me to him, and with my free hand I clutched at him. The scent of his maleness filled my nostrils, coupled with a hint of Kirsten’s own sexual fluids. ‘Just let it happen, mum,’ he whispered. ‘Let it all come.’

I gave a long low agonised scream and my loins exploded against Kirsten’s insistent hand. It was as draining and all-consuming as my previous climaxes down by the river, and lasted just as long. Peter held me tightly while I crested the peak of bliss four, five, six times, straining my hips upwards, gasping and crying until tears stood in my eyes. I wondered if I would ever stop coming.

But all good things have to end, and they both hugged and stroked me while I gradually deflated and the quivering in my vagina died away. Peter and Kirsten kissed me on my cheeks.

‘Wow, mum, I never knew you were so sexy,’ he whispered with a chuckle in his voice.

‘You don’t mind do you?’ I husked. ‘I can’t seem to help it.’

‘Of course I don’t mind. Kirsten has that effect on me too.’ We laughed, the embarrassment gone.

‘Fancy another swim?’ the woman said. Peter was keen, but I was feeling much too relaxed and said I’d just lie there a while. They kissed me again and walked off hand-in-hand, like lovers. I lay, listening to the birds and the rustle of the trees, my mind a slow whirl. My body was drugged with orgasm, my limbs weak. I could feel a big wet patch under my bottom but couldn’t be bothered to move. I wondered how I had gotten into such a situation, me, a staid, slightly prudish widow, lying naked in a Swedish orchard having just been helped to multiple orgasm by my son and a woman older than I was. It beggared belief. I tried to analyse my feelings - slight shame, guilt, worry, but all swamped by a massive endorphin high and a desire to do it all again. There was a strange sensation in my vagina - I realised that it was enlarged, open, needing to be filled, eager to be stretched and wanting the friction of something unyielding against its membranes. It hadn’t felt like that for a long time ...

I must have dozed and day-dreamed, for suddenly I realised that I was thirsty. I peeled myself off the sun-lounger and wandered, sticky-thighed, into the kitchen. Peter and Kirsten had returned without disturbing me. My son was leaning back against the counter, his eyes closed in pleasure, while the woman knelt before him. She was obviously fellating him slowly and expertly. I watched the play of her shoulder-blades as she twisted her hands around his shaft and bobbed her blonde head back and forth. I had a sudden temptation to kneel behind her and switch his cock into my own mouth and see if he noticed. But the surge of guilt got the better of me, so I just stood and watched as she took him right into her throat with every sign of enjoyment.

Peter’s eyes flicked open and saw me, and he grinned, while Kirsten continued to suck him unawares. Eventually he took her head in his hands, pulled her off his cock and turned her to face me. His cock was red and shining with wetness, hugely rigid. Kirsten’s lips were swollen and a trail of saliva hung from her chin. Her eyes were smoky with arousal.

She staggered to her feet. ‘Gina! You were fast asleep. Are you ready for some lunch?’ She hugged me, the points of her nipples drilling into my breasts.

‘I don’t want to interrupt ...’

She grinned. ‘No problem. It is good to delay sometimes. Then, when it finally happens ... boom!’

I glanced at Peter, and he gestured helplessly to his cock, looking as if it was about to explode, then shrugged with resignation. I almost wanted to help him out myself ...

Kirsten bustled around preparing some salad and drinks and within a few minutes we were sitting at the table. Peter’s cock was so engorged that its head was poking up over the level of the tabletop. There was big clear drop of pre-cum oozing out. Kirsten reached across and scooped it up on her finger and licked it with relish. Then she gave me a quick grin. ‘Sorry!’

Afterwards, I toddled off to have a shower and freshen up. I thought it would give them time to finish off what they had been doing before lunch. I dried myself with the big soft towel and looked around for my clothes to put back on, then remembered that I had spent the morning naked. I wandered back into the kitchen. Peter was standing by the table, his woman leaning back against him, his arms around her. They were talking softly. I thought that they made a good couple.

Kirsten came towards me with a serious expression on her face, and took my hands in hers.

‘Gina, Peter and I have been talking. We want to go and make love, but we would very much like it if you joined us. How do you feel about that?’

I looked over her shoulder at my son. His cock was still at full rigidity, so it looked as if maybe she hadn’t finished off her blowjob after all. He looked at me lovingly and nodded. I melted. I kissed the Swedish woman on the cheek and said, ‘I’d love to, if it’s OK with you.’

‘It’s what we both want.’

Her smile was radiant, and I got another warm, hard-nippled hug. ‘Let’s go to our bed. It’s the biggest.’ She took my hand and dragged me towards the stairs.

‘I’ll join you in a minute,’ my son said. ‘I need a pee and it’ll take ages to get this thing down.’

Kirsten lead me into the master bedroom, where there was an enormous king-size bed. She pulled the duvet onto the floor, knelt in the middle and held out her hands to me. Helplessly I knelt in front of her and we hugged, then slowly toppled over to lie on our sides facing. Kirsten kissed me with incredible gentleness on the cheeks, the forehead, the eyelids, nose and finally the mouth. Her lips were full and soft and hot. I returned the favours, and gradually our tongues began to emerge and dance. Her hand explored my breasts delicately, teasing the hard aching nipples, and I did the same to her rock-like nubs.

Now I have to confess at this stage that I was not entirely a stranger to lesbian sex - well, if you can count a couple of kissing and groping sessions with a school friend when I was 16 and impressionable. (We kept our panties on.) Lying on the bed with Kirsten brought it back vividly - the incredible softness of a woman’s skin compared with a man’s, the lightness of touch, the knowing exactly what felt nicest, the languorous build-up.

Her hand wandered with excruciating slowness across my stomach to my pubes, and I automatically lifted my leg to allow her access. Then, greatly daring, I trailed my fingers across her flat stomach and abdomen until I encountered the top of her slit. Her wispy pubic hair was almost undetectable. Her leg lifted and I slipped in between her soft, swollen lips.

‘Oh, Gina,’ she breathed with ecstasy in her voice. ‘You are the sexiest woman in the world.’

We stroked each other’s pussies for eons of time, in no hurry to climax, just enjoying the exquisite sensations. After a while I realised that Peter had joined us. He was lying behind Kirsten, his arms around her, nuzzling her neck while she continued to kiss me. I felt her labia, clutching my fingers, open up, and realised that he was penetrating her. She moaned into my mouth as his cock slid deep into her. He gripped her hip and began to thrust gently, pushing her pubes against my hand. My son was fucking the woman in my arms!

Without thinking I moved my hand down and encountered his hot shaft with its spongy base, moving slickly in and out between Kirsten’s lips. I stroked it with fingertips, relishing its hardness, then reached further to cup his swollen scrotum, urging him further into her. Back to her taut abdomen, and I could feel the head of his cock as it pushed against the front wall of her vagina. It was almost like being fucked  myself.

Kirsten’s breath was hot and ragged in my mouth. I circled the tip of her clit with my finger until I felt she was on the point of orgasm, then backed away, hugging her as her body was pushed back and forth by my son’s urgent thrusts. Her own hand, still buried between my legs, had rather lost track of its task as the sensations of her double lovemaking took over. But I didn’t mind, I knew that my turn would come. The feel of her near-orgasmic body in my arms was stimulation enough.

Peter was grunting and panting with exertion as he continued to pound into her from the rear. I could hear the slurp of her juices as his cock plumbed her wet insides.

‘That’s right, fuck her,’ I whispered, amazed at my own coarseness. ‘Fuck her really hard. Get your big cock right inside her. Make her come. I’ll help you ...’

My son now had both hands on Kirsten’s hips, and was ramming into her with all his strength. I slipped my hand down between her legs again - her pussy was swollen and slick with juice and it took me a few seconds to locate her hard little clitoris. But once I found it I rubbed it with a will and soon she went rigid against me and screamed out in ecstasy. I could feel her loins throbbing as the orgasm shook her. Peter grunted loudly and rammed himself an extra inch inside her and I swear I could feel the spurts of his cock as he emptied his semen deep into her womb. They shook together with synchronised climaxes, and I felt a deep glow of happiness for them.

We lay, conjoined, sweaty, breathing deeply. I kissed Kirsten’s damp face. Eventually she stirred.

‘Gina,’ she murmured, ‘That was wonderful. Thank you.’ I kissed her again. We lay contented.

‘Mmm, Peter, I am leaking,’ she said after a while. ‘Your cock has come out. He makes so much sperm,’ she said to me, ‘I am awash with it. Is that the right word?’

I giggled. ‘Yes, exactly right.’

Peter rolled away and got some tissues and carefully, lovingly, wiped her crotch clean, while she hugged and kissed me.

‘Now, Gina, you must be so horny after that. Will you let me lick your pussy? You don’t mind if Peter watches?’ I just turned onto my back and spread my thighs, mutely inviting her between them. I’m a slut, I thought, and what’s worse I don’t care.

My dear late husband was very good at pussy licking, but Kirsten was a genius. As soon as I felt the touch of her mouth of me I knew that I was in for an long and roller-coaster ride of pleasure. It was a good ten minutes before she even got to my clitoris, despite it thrusting upwards in desperate longing. She concentrated on my labia, outer and then inner, on my vaginal entrance, my taut perineum and even my anus! I was quivering with arousal. Her fingertips held my lips apart and I strained my thighs ever wider so she could get her mouth, her lips, her tongue exactly where it felt best. I wanted her to get her head right inside me ...

Peter was kneeling by my shoulder. I turned my head - his cock, although still large, was flaccid for once. I put my arm around his warm hips and hugged him to me, my son, now a man, able to pleasure his woman as much as she needed, confident in his own sexuality, with no shame from his mother or anyone. I loved him very much.

He held me tight as Kirsten started to work on my clitoris. I heard myself mewling with delight as she licked and sucked and nibbled and twanged it. I wanted her to put her fingers inside me, to fill my emptiness, but she just kept tightening me to an ever-higher pitch of ecstasy, like a violin string. Peter slid down to lie beside me, holding me firmly. I felt his cock against my hip, stirring then hardening until it was a solid rod of iron. He thrust his loins against me involuntarily.

That did it. I fell over the edge and howled with abandon, bucking around so that Kirsten had to hang on to me like a dog with a stick. Waves of bliss crashed over me, fire blossomed from my loins, wetness sluiced from my vagina. My thighs convulsed, squeezing her head, ramming my pubes against her face. For a while I am sure I died with pleasure.

When I came to my senses I was on my side again, Kirsten was facing me, hugging me tightly, little aftershocks were still racing across my loins, and Peter, my son, was lying behind me, his arms around my waist, holding my breasts with my nipples digging into his hands, his great cock lying between my buttocks and up along my backbone.

Kirsten’s hand stroked my sopping wet lips gently.

‘You want him inside you, don’t you?’ she whispered tenderly. ‘It’s OK, it’s not wrong. We both love you.’

I moaned. Yes, part of me, most of me, wanted to feel my son’s great prick inside my empty vagina. But something held me back.

‘You do want it, though, Gina, don’t you?’ the woman murmured. ‘All women do. I know. I love you for it.’ She kissed me tenderly and parted my labia with her fingers.

‘I love you too,’ I whispered raggedly.

‘Let me put him inside you, will you?’

‘Yes!’ the word was forced out of me, and I started to sob. Kirsten reached back between my legs and I felt the firm head of a cock sliding between my slick, open lips. Despite my arousal it was tight, tighter than I had ever imagined. The woman massaged my pubic mound while Peter pushed gently. My vaginal tunnel dilated and his great shaft slid smoothly up into my belly. I sobbed with emotion. Kirsten hugged me tightly, smothering my face with kisses. He was right up as far as he could go, my own son, his cock pushing against my cervix, filling my cunt, stretching me to breaking point. Kirsten’s hand massaged my labia and his balls.

‘There,’ she breathed. ‘He’s inside you now, Gina, right inside. You’re fucking, just like a woman needs. Just let him fuck you as much as he wants. As much as you want ...’

The orgasm swept over me without warning. The feeling of my own son’s cock buried up to the hilt in me, sandwiched between her warm soft woman’s body and his hard male one, was too much to bear without climaxing helplessly. Peter started to thrust, gently at first, then harder and fiercer as his lust took control, and my orgasm just kept on coming, renewing itself again and again in endless throbs.

‘Oh mum, you’re so tight!’ he gasped in my ear. ‘I’m going to come!’

He rammed into me almost painfully and I felt his shaft pulse as he shot gout after gout of fresh spunk into me. Another even fiercer orgasm exploded inside me - or maybe it was just a continuation of the others. My vagina spasmed around his cock. I almost lost consciousness with the power of the climaxes.

When I came to my senses I was lying in my son’s arms. My whole body ached, my breasts felt sore and my vagina was bruised and tender and leaking. He felt me stir and kissed me.

‘Where’s Kirsten?’ I said.

‘She’s gone to make some tea. Mum, that was great. I’ve wanted to do that for years, you know.’

‘Really?’ I laughed weakly. ‘I never knew.’ I pondered. ‘Maybe I’ve wanted you to do it for years too.’ I kissed him tenderly. There were no secrets between us anymore.

Kirsten appeared with a tray. ‘Hello lovebirds!’ she said with a big smile. ‘Looks like I’ll have to share Peter with you from now on!’

‘Don’t worry, Kirsten,’ I said. ‘I don’t think I could cope with that sort of loving too often. He’s all yours.’

She smiled. ‘You can share him whenever you like, Gina. I couldn’t be jealous - well, not if you let me join in!’

 

 

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 last modified 8 April 2008