Two things can be said with certainty about incest: it is held almost universally in horror, and it is very widely practiced. The reader need not feel stupid if he fails to see how both those statements can be true at the same time, for he has good company in his bewilderment. Freud, who believed that literally every individual went through an incestuous phase as a normal part of his childhood psychological development, once said that "in the end one is compelled to subscribe to Fraser's resigned statement, namely that we do not know the origin of the incest dread, and do not even know how to guess at it."1 Masters assures us in his
1. Freud, Sigmund, in Masters, R.E.L., Pattens of Incest, N.Y., p. 186 scholarly work on the subject, "I have rarely ever talked with anyone whose confidence I enjoyed who did not admit to at least occasional thoughts of incest."2 Yet even though state legislators presumably have the same emotional patterns as the rest of the population, the penalty for incest in California and New Mexico is up to 50 years in jail.
The answer to the paradox, is, of course, to be sought in the mind's division into conscious and unconscious. In other words, it is perfectly possible for us to want something, and yet be entirely unaware on the conscious level that we do. When the desires of the unconscious come into conflict with the value system of the conscious, a great deal of tension usually results. It is this tension which Andre Tridon sees as the origin of the incest taboo. As he puts it: "The horror of incest which we all feel, or pretend to feel, is indeed an acquired feeling. Since every race has adopted stern legal measures to prevent incest, it can only be because incest is one of the cravings which mankind is constantly struggling against....If men and women avoided incest instinctively, no legislation would be needed compelling them to avoid it."3
Of course, incest is not just a matter for psychologists to debate, but a real social problem, too. Although many people who feel unhappy about some of this nation's antiquated and repressive
2. Masters, op. Cit., p. 65
3. Tridon, Andre, Psychoanalysis and Love, N.Y., p. 31 sexual legislation, but who are too lazy to try and change it, comfort themselves with the thought that it "isn't enforced anymore," such is not in fact the case. Many a parent who has found his or her spouse copulating with one of the children has sought revenge by reporting the incident to the police. And though subsequent reflection may cause the "injured" partner to regret his or her action, once the denunciation has been made, the state often feels compelled to prosecute. In an age when many innocent and uneducated people see the growing trend towards sexual freedom as "a collapse of the moral standards which made this country great," or something to that effect, a DA. can build a good political base by promising to "restore decency" by "going after the perverts." The fact that this will mean that a man or woman who simply gave in to her natural desires winds up in jail is not something to hinder a district attorney whose eye is on the governor's mansion. Much the same temptations and pressures are, of course, often behind the silly and oppressive efforts to crush the so-called "obscenity". (To certain individuals, the male and female reproductive organs are obscene, while poverty and disease are not. It is a strange point of view.)
At any rate, it is partly with an eye to much of the repressive anti-incest legislation which is on the books that this book is written. It is addressed not so much to the scientific and medical community, but to the intelligent and concerned layman who would like to know just what this incest business is that so much fuss is made about. For it is only by showing the public that not all unusual or "deviant" behavior is a social menace that we can hope for reform of some of our backward legislation. Democracy means letting the people decide. But no one who is motivated by ignorance and prejudice can hope to make a sound decision.
In some circumstances, incest behavior is clearly exploitative: a defenseless child is compelled to engage in behavior which it finds repellant. Referring to such cases, Masters, who is generally in favor of repealing the anti-incest laws currently on the books, says, "the incest prohibition, under certain conditions, has an exceptionally clear and valid basis," 4 and I would heartily agree. But I agree just as forcefully with his statement that "the soundest and most urgent of motives must underlie any attempt to tell men and women how to behave and how not to behave. When the forces of totalitarianism are so powerful, the correct choice is to try and expand the areas of liberty."5
I am a psychologist by interest, training and profession, and in consequence, the approach of this book is a psychological one. Rather than going into the amount of unhappiness and hardship that anti-incest laws have caused (such as when the breadwinner is jailed), or discussing the statistica!
4. Masters, Op. Cit, p. 5
5. Masters, Loc. Cit. prevalence of incest, I am going to try and show the reader just what some of the emotional pressures are which lead a person to violate a taboo which most of them regard as completely valid. Since incest is a very complex phenomenon, I am going to try and simplify things for the reader somewhat by concentrating on just one of its manifestations, namely sexual relations between mother and son. Although it is often held that father-daughter incest is substantially more common,6 the reason for this may well be that our culture expects men to play the sexually aggressive role, so that numerous mothers who are sexually aroused by their adolescent sons are actually unaware how to approach the latter. As Masters says of sibling incest, "not desire, but communication of desire, is inhibited."7 No third person account of a psychological phenomenon can ever have the vividness of the patient's own description of his or her experiences. For that reason, the five cases presented in this book are direct transcriptions of therapy sessions which I had with individuals who had incestuous experiences and who, for a variety of reasons, came to my office seeking professional advice and help. The recordings were made with their consent, and with the understanding that they might be used later in a work, though with the patient's
6. Masters, Op. CiL, p. 65
7. Masters, Loc. Cit. It is, of course, difficult to tell whether or not certain kinds of incest simply happen to be reported more often. Various factors could cause a statistical bias of that sort. anonymity fully protected. Needless to say, no effort whatever has been made on my part to edit out what prudes would call "bad language". The degree of inhibition or freedom with which a patient expresses him or herself is, of course, a vital clue regarding the patient's personality.
Since evaluating raw psychological data is something which requires professional training and insight, I have appended to each first-person account a brief summary of what I felt the most important features of the case were. The book concludes with a discussion of what the cases, taken together, tell us about incest as a psychological phenomenon and as a moral and legal question.
CASE HISTORY ONE
Margaret T. was an attractive woman of 40 who looked about five years younger than that. She was well-dressed, too, in what could best be described as quiet good taste. She had the sort of face which one usually imagines as friendly and happy, but which at the moment was quite literally contorted with unhappiness. I could see that it was costing her a considerable effort to keep from breaking into sobs.
"Doctor," she said, "I ... I hardly dare tell you what it is that's bothering me."
"Let me assure you," I said, "that we psychotherapists are pretty unshockable people. We've seen everything two or three times, and besides, what laymen often think of as 'perverted' is to us just another example of the richness and complexity of human behavior."
"I ... I suppose so. But you see, what's really bothering me isn't so much the shame, though heaven only knows what I've done really is shameful. It's the fact that I'm afraid that if I tell you what my problem is, you may find yourself having to inform me that there isn't anything that you can do about it. That I'll just have to live with it. And I can't live with it! I just CAN'T."
And at this moment, her self-restraint broke, and she buried her face in her hands and started to cry. Her whole body was convulsed with sobs, but I didn't do anything to prevent her from weeping. Tears are a perfectly natural safety-valve for our emotions, and the idea that people shouldn't cry in public is one of the sillier prejudices that our society labors under. I knew that after she had had a minute or so of sobbing, Mrs. T. would feel much calmer, and would thus be in a much better position to give me a clear account of just what it was that was bothering her. I knew already that it was probably sexual. When patients talk about having "done something shameful," sex is almost always involved.
"Mrs. T.," I said softly, after the tears had subsided somewhat. "Although I can never make any promises about how a case will turn out, particularly when I don't yet know anything about it, I would like to assure you that there are few patients who cannot receive substantial benefit from therapy."
"But I don't just want 'benefit from therapy,'" she said, looking up at me with her tearstained face. "I want to be cured! Do you understand? Cured."
She said this with great emphasis, as if an absolutely iron determination to "be cured" was necessary to make a "cure" possible.
"Cured of what?" I asked.
"Cured of wanting to fuck with my own son!" she said. She was probably not the sort of woman who used the word "fuck" in her daily life, but here it was a tool which helped her emphasize the disgust that she felt at her own behavior, and her desperate desire to be cured of that behavior.
"You want to fuck with your son?" I said, following the principle that one should allow the patient to choose the sort of language to be used to express a situation. "Have you ever done so?"
It was the question she had been dreading but also hoping for. Hoping for, because by its form it allowed her to convey this vital information with a simple, one-word answer: "yes".
"And this is what bothers you?" I asked. Needless to say, there was no tone of shock or moral reproof present in my voice.
"Of course! Is there anything sicker in the world than to let your son stick his prick into you?" she asked, seemingly surprised at the calmness with which I received her "confession".
"The thing is, Mrs. T., that what you describe letting your son stick his prick into you-is far, far more common than most people suspect."
She looked at me very intently.
"You see," I went on, "one reason that people often feel so bad about engaging in certain sexual activities is that they are under the mistaken impression that they are the only people in the whole wide world who would dream of doing such a thing. It came as quite a shock to America to learn from Kinsey that over 90 percent of all males masturbate at one time or another."
"But surely you're not saying that it's all right to fuck with your son," she said.
"It certainly isn't all right to feel miserably unhappy, which is how you feel at the moment. As for incest itself, that springs from a whole variety of causes. In some cases, it is symptomatic of severe emotional disorder. In others, it is simply the result of perfectly natural physical desire. Most examples, of course, lie somewhere between these two extremes."
"But can it be cured?"
"If the emotional problems which lie behind it can be dealt with, then their symptom-the incestuous behavior-usually disappears, since it no longer has any psychological need to fulfill. Until I know more about you and the circumstances of your involvement with your son, I can't say how easy or difficult your case will be."
"But you have successfully treated women who fuck with their sons?"
I could have pointed out that the important thing is helping the patient towards happiness and self-respect, and that this does not always necessarily involve ending the "deviant" behavior. But I felt that in her present condition, that sort of answer would just make her feel more confused and frustrated. So I limited myself to replying, quite truthfully, "yes, I have successfully treated women who fuck with their sons."
She gave a sigh of relief. The public is often afraid-not always entirely without reason-that a visit to a psychiatrist or clinical psychologist will just mean getting a run-around, and it was obvious that Mrs. T. was very grateful for having gotten a straightforward answer. If she suspected that it contained an element of over-simplification, she was not going to complain.
"So," she said, "I guess that I have to tell you everything, down to the last detail."
"I'm afraid so," I said. "It's the only way that we can hope to make any progress."
"Well," she said, "anything's better than having things continue like they are now, so here goes ... "
I'd always figured that I'd had a good marriage. The reason I'm talking about my marriage instead of my son is that I don't think it ever occurred to me to want sex with my boy until I learned what my husband was up to.
Brad was a good provider, and though I sometimes wished that he would be a bit more open about showing affection, I always thought that compared to a lot of women I knew, I didn't have anything to complain about.
Then, one day, I was going through the pockets of one of Brad's jackets, taking things out so that I could send the jacket to the cleaners. That was how I came across the letter.
I don't like to think of myself as a snoop, but I just couldn't help looking at it, after I saw the envelope addressed in a woman's hand to a postoffice box. I guess all wives have a sixth sense about things like that. The letter had already been opened, and in order to read it, all that I had to do was take it out of the envelope. It was a love letter, and written in terms that made it pretty clear that Brad and the woman who wrote it had been fucking for quite some time.
I burst into tears and threw myself down on the bed. That was when Brad walked in.
"What the hell are you bawling about?" he asked. He was never much of one for trying to find the right words for an occasion.
"This! This!" I said, waving the letter in his face. Tears were pouring down my face, and I couldn't think. Showing him that I'd seen the letter was just an automatic reaction of some kind.
"What the fuck are you doing reading my mail, huh?" he asked. I was flabbergasted. There wasn't a hint of apology or guilt in his voice. Just anger that I had dared to look at a letter of his.
I tried to defend myself. That's the word. Defend myself. He had somehow put me on the defensive, even though he was the guilty one. He was very good at that.
"Don't you think that a wife has a right to know when her husband is committing adultery?"
"Not when it's her fault!"
"My fault? My fault?"
"Your fault, stupid," he said. "If you weren't such a fucking bore in bed-and out of it-then maybe I wouldn't find myself having to go out looking for a real woman!" He really roared that out. Brad has a way of getting really caught up in an argument, so that no matter what the situation is, he soon feels that he's the injured party.
That was such a cruel thing to say that I started crying again, and Brad said, "If you think I'm going to put up with that shit, you're even dumber than I thought. Good bye!" He packed a suitcase and walked out. Just like that. He's always made a big thing about how a man should be unfettered and free, and I guess he was proving it to himself when he just walked out like that. I don't know where he is. With her, I guess, or maybe in a hotel. I expect I'll hear from him-maybe he'll just decide to try and move back in like nothing has happened-but for the moment he's just vanished.
You can imagine what I felt like after getting all that abuse, and then having him leave like that. And I didn't have any idea what I was going to tell Jim about where his father had gone. I spent most of the afternoon with my head buried in the pillows of my bed, crying.
It was three-thirty when Jim got home from school. He's thirteen, and the sweetest, most polite boy you could wish for. Not at all like his father.
"Hey, Mom, what's wrong?" he asked, seeing my tears.
"Nothing. N-nothing____"
It was hard to say more than that, but I knew that that just wasn't a good enough answer. He was going to start wondering why his father didn't show up.
"Your dad and I had a fight," I said. "He's gone off to cool down. He won't be back for a while."
"Did he make you cry? Did Dad make you cry?" Jim asked, his voice trembling with anger. Jim and I have always had a very close relationship, while I knew that he was not particularly fond of his father. Brad always wanted Jim to be a big athlete at school, even though he didn't begin to have the right kind of build for that.
"I guess so," I said, and Jim suddenly started hugging me, trying to comfort me. I put my arms around him too, and pulled him as close to me as I could. It was really wonderful to have someone who loved me in my arms like that.
As he snuggled up, I noticed how warm his body felt. He was pressed hard against my tits, and all of a sudden I realized that my nipples were starting to swell up.
I guess that maybe I should have pushed him away right then and there, but I hesitated. After Brad's nastiness, it felt so good to have this loving son of mine pressed close to me like that. And it was the hesitation that did me in. I found myself getting more and more excited, and soon I was too keyed up to be able to even think about pushing Jim away. If anything, I wanted him closer to me.
Maybe he felt the same way, because he just kept snuggling closer and closer. My clit was all stiff now, and I could feel my cunt get wetter and wetter. I'm the kind of woman who lubricates pretty easily, doctor, but believe me, I don't think I've ever had my cunt moisten up so fast.
I was shocked at the way my son's presence was turning me on, but there wasn't anything that I could do about it. It was as if someone else was in control of me. I slid my hand along his thigh to his crotch to see if his prick was as stiff and excited as my little clit was. If it hadn't been, I think that I'd have just about died with disappointment.
I didn't have a thing to worry about in that department. His cock formed a great hard swelling at the crotch of his pants. It obviously wanted to be out in the open, where it could swell up to full size, instead of being jammed into his pants like that. I gave it a squeeze, and it really surged against the fabric, as if it was going to try and bust on through.
"Jim ... Jim ... Jim...." I just repeated his name over and over again. I didn't have anything to say to him. I just wanted to hear the sound of his name.
Maybe I was carried away, but he was just as carried away as I was. No sooner did he feel the pressure of my hand on his cock, than he put his hands on my tits and started to knead and squeeze them through the sweater I was wearing. I've never gone in for really heavy type bras. I prefer the light, nylon kind that let a bit of nipple show through whatever you're wearing on top of them. So when Jim's fingers started to press against my tits, I could really feel everything. My nipples were hard as little pebbles now, and poking against the soft wool of the sweater. His probing fingers didn't have much trouble finding the two bumps they made, which were, after all, a lot harder than the surrounding breasts, and he immediately began pinching and pulling at them through the sweater.
None of this was very surprising, since I had already gotten his pants unzipped by this time. I could imagine how uncomfortable his cock had to be all confined like it was, and I wanted to make it feel a bit better. That was what I told myself, anyway. After getting the pants unzipped, I gave his cock another feel through the white fabric of his underpants, then pulled these down.
He gave a little gasp as his cock bobbed out into the open. I had my fingers on it in a second and started to stroke it. But I soon realized that I had better be careful about doing that. I know enough about cocks to be able to tell from the feel of one how close it is to its come. There was still a certain margin of safety left in Jim's-in other words, I could continue to squeeze and stroke it for a while before it went off-but there wasn't that much. And I knew now that where I wanted that whanger of his was not in my hand, but in my cunt, which was really screaming for some male attention.
Jim had always been kind of shy around girls, and maybe that's why I got the impression that I was the one who was calling the shots to a large degree. For instance, I don't think he would have dared uncover my breasts if I hadn't taken one of his hands in one of mine and slid it under my sweater. That gave him an idea of what I wanted, and he slid the sweater up around my neck. Then he reached in back and unfastened the hooks of my bra. After pulling it off, he just stared at my tits for a while, as if he couldn't believe how wonderful they were. Then he put his lips to my right nipple and started sucking away like mad.
I just about came then and there when I felt his mouth on my nipple like that. I breast-fed him when he was a little baby, and here he was at my breast again, but this time as a man! As he sucked I wished that I had some milk to give him.
His balls had some "milk" for my cunt, and I was determined to get it as soon as I could. I pulled my skirt up and worked my soaking wet panties down. His cock was exposed already, and that meant that when I had finished getting my panties down, there wasn't a thing in the world barring his cock from my steamy cunt.
Again, though, I had to sort of guide him. It wasn't easy to tell him just what it was that I wanted him to do, since we were so busy kissing. He had pressed his lips against mine after driving my nipple mad with them, and I had sent my tongue darting into his mouth. He responded in kind. It took a while for him to really get the idea of what sort of things he should be doing with that tongue, and it was pretty obvious at the start that he hadn't ever French kissed before. But like with everything else that he was discovering for the first time while we rolled around on the sofa, he was a pretty good learner. It wasn't all that long before he was doing a beautiful job on my mouth with his tongue.
The Frenching was great, but my twat needed prick, and like I said, my mouth was too busy for me to have much of a way of telling him that. So I put my right hand around his super-stiff cock and sort of guided it between my legs. He knew that I was more experienced than he was, and didn't give any impression that he resented me playing the active role like this. He just followed with his hips as I positioned the tip of his cock just inside the soft folds of my labia.
That was all the hint he needed. Although he had never had any chance to practice the actual techniques of fucking, he had a generally sound idea of what was involved. He knew that the next thing was for him to slide on into me, and that's just what he went and did.
Man, did that ever feel good, having that long, thin boyish prick of his slip on into my twat. At the time, I was way too keyed up to worry about whether or not I should be having my son's cock inside me, All I knew was that it was hard and nice.
I gave a little wiggling motion with my hips to inspire him into starting to move his rod back and forth, and he caught on right away. I pulled my mouth away from his for a second to whisper, "fantastic!" I meant that, too, even though I guess from an objective standpoint he was pretty awkward at first. What was fantastic was the sense of love and closeness that I got from feeling his prick sliding back and forth inside me. I've always thought that "technique" as such is kind of overrated. I mean, what really turns a woman on is the way the male feels towards her.
And anyway, it didn't take long for his technique to really improve. Like I said, he's a fast learner. His strokes got smoother and steadier, and it wasn't long before he was doing every bit as good a job as Brad ever had.
In ... out ... in ... out....
I was indulating my hips in time to his thrusts so as to increase the sensations for both his prick and my cunt.
His hands were going crazy on my tits. He seemed really fascinated with them and he didn't leave the soft globes alone for a second.
He was picking up speed now, really bucking, and I found myself breathing in short, sharp gasps, as he wound me up tighter, and tighter, and tighter. ... "Uh! Uh! Uh!" I gasped. ... Cock! Cunt! Cock! Cunt!
He was really thrusting now, really driving for home, and I could see the little beads of sweat standing out on his forehead.
Almost there ... almost ... almost....
"Fuck me Jim!" I gasped. "Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!"
My whole body felt like it was being twisted and wrung out by two gigantic hands. I couldn't stand the tension. I just couldn't stand it. But that didn't mean that I wanted it to stop. I wanted it to go on, and on, and on forever.
Suddenly, I felt his cock start to quiver, and then splat! splat! splat! Gob after gob of boycream splattered up against the inside of my cunt.
Man, oh man, that was all it took to get my little pussy blasting. My whole body seemed to go numb for a second, and then, wham! wham! wham! The come slammed through me in shock, after shock, after shock!
"Coming!" I gasped. "Coming so hard! So fucking hard!"
And was I ever! My twat clutched furiously at his spasming rod as if to try and pump every possible drop of boycream out of it, and my hips bucked and heaved frantically under him. And all the while our tongues writhed together.
Finally, it was over. One last quiver from his cock, one last spasm from my cunt. Then it was still, and we were laying there, gasping for breath, while his cock started to slowly go soft inside me.
It's incredible what a change a come brings, as far as giving you back your perspective. All the while that we had been pawing at each other, neither of us had stopped to think that what we were doing was committing incest. Violating the big No. But now that he'd shot all his sperm into me, and my soaking wet cunt was a bit more relaxed, too, we were able to see just what it was that we had done. Neither of us really wanted to look the other one in the eye. I knew that it was all my fault, and funnily enough, I suspect that he thought that he was the one to blame, even though that was perfectly silly.
He pulled his cock out of me, and without saying a word, we sat up on the sofa, looking at the floor. It must have been quite a sight, the two of us sitting there, him with long threads of sperm trailing from his now-limp cock, me with combined pussyjuice and boy-spunk oozing out of my pussy and making a circle on the sofa.
Finally, I spoke.
"Gee, tiger," I said, "I guess we got sort of carried away, didn't we?"
"Uh huh. I guess we did." A long silence.
"Well, everyone makes mistakes. I guess that the only thing we can do about it now is to promise ourselves that we'll never let something like that happen again."
"I ... I promise, mom!"
"So do I."
I wanted to kiss him on the cheek in a motherly way, to show that I understood and appreciated the self-restraint that he was willing to show, but I was afraid that that kind of kiss might easily turn into another kind, so I just patted him on the shoulder. It was a fine, boyish shoulder, still lean and slender, unlike Brad's big, overly-burly body. I felt a thrill as my hand touched it, and I took the hand away as fast as possible.
"I guess we've really got to be careful, huh, mom?" Jim said. Something about his tone of voice indicated that the touch of my hand had caused him the same sort of thrill that it caused me.
We managed to keep our promise for a little more than a day. And believe me, that was the longest day I've ever lived through. And the longest night, too, alone in my bed, thinking how nice it would be to have Jim there next to me. A fuck with him would be fantastic, but just having his slender body next to me, so that I could feel its warmth, would be really nice. I finally managed to get to sleep about three in the morning, and dreamed of nothing but having sex with Jim. When I woke up, I found that my cunt was sopping wet from its own lubricant, which had even made a damp circle on the sheet.
I'd heard somewhere that cold showers are supposed to be a help, and I took one so cold that I thought I was going to turn into an icicle. The out side of me, that is. My cunt stayed just as hot as ever.
Breakfast was really strange, with both of us making Smalltalk and trying to pretend that we had something on our minds other than each other and the thought of how nice a fuck would be. I was dressed in a bathrobe which I had pulled closed very carefully so that Jim wouldn't be exposed to a big view of my cleavage. His hand trembled when he picked up his glass of orange juice, nevertheless.
I found myself looking at the clock the whole time that he was away at school. Not that I planned on doing anything sexual with him when he came home-I was firmly decided to keep my promise to him and to myself-but I was hungry just to have a chance to look at him. And the funny thing was that there wasn't any room at all in my thoughts for Brad. I mean, our marriage seemed to be breaking up, and you'd think that a woman would be concerned about something like that. But in fact, I hardly thought of Brad at all. If he wasn't coming back, fine. If he wanted a divorce, fine. Maybe I wanted a divorce from him. But it wasn't anything that I was interested in thinking of. Jim was all I wanted to think about.
Although I had spent the whole day longing for the moment when Jim would come home from school, the torture was even worse when he finally did so. Every second that went by, I had to restrain myself to keep from kissing him or petting him, or saying simply, "Jim, I love you." And if I had said that, I would not have meant that I loved him in the way mothers are supposed to love their sons.
Bedtime finally came around again, and I was a nervous wreck. I was literally quivering with frustration as I lay in bed, trying to keep from thinking about that long, thin, very hard prick of Jim's, and how nice it would be to have it in my cunt or in my mouth....
Finally, my will just cracked. That was all there was to it. I realized that I was going to go straight out of my mind if I kept trying to keep my desires bottled up like this. I simply had to have Jim. I knew that it was morally wrong, knew that I was totally betraying my duty as a mother by leading him astray in this way, and also knew that there wasn't a thing in the world that I could do to stop myself.
I got up and crept along the hallway to Jim's room. When I got there, I pushed open the door very quietly. But if I thought that I was going to find him sleeping, I was very much mistaken.
"Mom?" he said. "I guess you've been having trouble sleeping too?"
I just stood there for a moment, and then I ran over to his bed and took him in my arms. I couldn't believe how good it felt to have his young chest pressing against my breasts. My hand was under the blankets in a second, feeling his cock. It was as hard as stone.
"It's been like that for quite a while," he said. "Thinking of you, I guess."
My clit immediately stiffened up, and I knew that I wanted his prick in my cunt very badly. But I knew that I wanted it somewhere else even more.
"Darling," I said, "let's sixty-nine."
"Sixty-nine?" he asked, a tone of puzzlement in his voice.
The fact that he was so innocent that he didn't even know what a sixty-nine was just made him all the more desirable to me. He was my little boy at the same time as my big man!
"I'll show you, darling," I said, pulling the blankets all the way off of him. I got onto the bed beside him, and positioned myself so that my head was right next to his cock.
"Mom, are you going to ... to kiss my cock?"
"Kiss it, and suck it, and lick it, and do all sorts of other nice things to it, darling," I said. "And I want you to do the same thing to my cunt. That's what a sixty-nine is."
He looked very interested, so I decided that the thing to do was to get on with the job at hand. He was obviously waiting for me to start before doing anything himself, so I first took his prick in my right hand and stroked it a bit-not that it needed any hardening at all-then began to lick it like you might lick a lollipop. I could feel his body give a shudder of delight.
I was tempted to tell him to go ahead and start in on my cunt, since it seemed that he was so excited by what was happening with his prick as to have forgotten his responsibilities towards my pussy, but I decided to say nothing. I didn't want to appear to criticize him, and besides, I was sure that he would automatically start in on my twat as I got him more and more worked up.
After giving the prick a few more licks, one of which started at the front, way down at the base, and went all the way up one side of the penis, over the top, and then back down the other, I slipped the end of the thing into my mouth.
We women like to be filled up. I know that I do, and I've heard from some of my friends that they do too. And as far as I'm concerned, having some good, hard prick in your mouth is every bit as good as having it in your cunt.
I sucked away at the prickknob for a while, paying special attention to the place where it joined the shaft, since I knew that that was a very sensitive place for men. Then, I slid my lips up and down the whole shaft, so that the effect for it must have been a little bit similar to that of sliding back and forth inside a cunt.
Lick! That was his tongue on my cunt. It was a very timid, hesitant little lick, but it caused my hips to tremble with excitement anyway. And the feel of my soft labia, or the taste of my fast-flowing pussy juices seemed to really get to Jim, because the next lick was a lot bolder and more vigorous, and the next one even more so, so that soon he was slurping back and forth all over my twat as if it was something he'd been doing all his life. He'd come a long way since that day fourteen years before when he had come sliding out of that same twat and into the world for the very first time.
Slurp! Slurp! Slurp! At first he concentrated on giving me big licks that seemed to cover everything. But he's an observant boy, and it didn't take him long to realize that some parts of a cunt are more sensitive than others. Soon, he was concentrating on the inner cuntlips, and then he gave a lick to my clit.
Man! The pressure of his tongue right on that frantic little fun-button nearly made me come right then and there. I had to exert all of my self-control to keep from coming right then and there. He could feel my hips quiver, feel how my lips contracted hard around his cock, and he realized that my clit was something that he had better be very, very careful with if he didn't want to bring me off too soon.
So, from then on, he concentrated on my cuntlips, and also on working his tongue down into the depths of my vagina. There was something wonderfully alive and snake-like about the tongue as it probed deeper and deeper into my soft, wet womanhood. He liked to press the tip of it against first one of my cunt-walls, then the other. Finally, he pulled it back very quickly, so as to get as much cunt-juice into his mouth as he could. I guess the trick worked-his tongue certainly made a big, moist, "Cloop!" as it came free of my cunt-because he went right back for some more.
All of this was driving me straight out of my ever-loving mind, but I liked to think that I was giving him as good as I was getting. I sucked away on the very root of his prick for a while, and then, when I felt that his cock was getting too charged up, and might go off ahead of time if I wasn't careful, I gave it a rest by taking my mouth off of it altogether and sucking on his balls, which were really pulled up tight against his body with excitement.
I didn't do that for long, though, and soon had my lips pressing against his rod again. It was hard for me to choose between sucking on the place where prickknob and shaft joined, or on the root. I suspected that the former place was the more sensitive, but at the same time, when I sucked on the root, it was so good to have my whole mouth filled with cock, so the thing pressed against the very back of my mouth. It nearly made me gag like that, but I didn't mind.
All the while, I was giving my tits hell too. I have very, very sensitive breasts-I sometimes think that they are even more sensitive than my cuntbut although I'm very orally oriented, one thing that I don't like about a sixty-nine is the fact that your partner can't really reach your tits very easily. Well, I have had plenty of experience feeling them up myself, and I think that I managed to do a pretty good job.
I pressed the soft globes hard against my chest, and sort of rolled them around with my hands. I'm a 37-C, so there's plenty to roll around. My nipples were swollen up to about three times their normal size, and I made sure that they stayed that way as I pulled and pinched them.
Lick! Lick! Lick! Jim had my cunt just about ready to explode with come need. He had picked up all the tricks really fast, and knew just how to get me worked up. He saw, from the way in which I would ease up on his cock from time to time so as to prolong the action, just how exciting that sort of delaying tactic could be, so every time I thought that I was right on the brink of my come, he would move his tongue over to the outer labia, which of course aren't really very sensitive at all, and just run it back and forth there for a while until he sensed that I had cooled down enough so that he could get back to business.
We were both really frantic for a come now, and both just torturing each other by prolonging the sixty-nine, but it was the kind of torture that you want to have go on indefinitely....
I felt from the way my nerves were jangling that I had to be close to my blast-off, and something about the feel of his cock as it lay between my lips made me certain that the same thing was true about him. I pressed my lips a bit harder against his cock, and suddenly it gave that pre-come stiffening you get with penises, then started to shoot!
The feeling of that rod quivering between my lips, and of his sperm shooting against the back of my mouth, was more than enough to get me off too. I hung on the brink for just a second longer, and then Brrrrrrrt! My cunt let rip like a submachine-gun as the force of my come tore through it.
Gush! Gush! Gush! I guess all the pent-up frustration of the last few hours was propelling his sperm, since it really shot out of his cock and splattered against my palate. It felt like he was never going to stop, but was instead just going to keep on gushing and gushing until it had pumped him inside out.
Wham! Wham! Wham! My cunt was going every bit as wild as his cock. Since we were lying side by side, and I didn't have the weight of his body pressing down on me, my hips could really buck and heave like crazy. But he didn't mind the fact that they were slamming into his face. He just kept his lips pressed tightly against my cunt and sort of rode with the shocks.
Finally, we were both finished. He kept licking away at my twat, though, and of course I kept my mouth around his cock. Maybe because he was more used to the idea of incest than he had been the previous time we had sex, but now his cock was in much less of a hurry to go soft. It really felt good to press my lips against his cock as it lay there in my mouth, and to sort of slosh the sperm over it with my tongue, kind of basting the thing, so to speak.
At last, I slipped my mouth off, being very careful not to lose a drop of the wonderful sperm.
I've always thought that swallowing a guy's spunk is almost the best part of a sixty-nine.
I think that Jim had been trying to lick my cunt dry, but he finally saw what a hopeless task that was, and took his mouth away from my soggy twat.
We sat up on the bed together, and I opened my mouth so that he could see the pool of sperm in there. Then, I gave a swallow and sent the delicious stuff sliding down my throat with one gulp. Of course, it's not so much the taste that makes it delicious as the knowledge of what it is. The taste of his spunk was just like that of any other male's I've ever known. Sort of salty. But that didn't mean I enjoyed it any the less.
For some reason, even though we had obviously failed to keep the promise to each other about keeping our hands to ourselves, we didn't feel nearly as guilty as we had after our first sex-session together. Maybe that was because we were a little more used to the idea of incest, or because even though we had just had a come, we still felt sort of horny. It had been wonderful for me to have that prick of my son's in my mouth, but I knew perfectly well that I didn't want to go to sleep before having it in my cunt as well.
I didn't want to ask for that until his cock had had a time to rest up, since I realized that if he found he wasn't able to keep up his erection after sticking his prick in me, it might permanently damage his sexual self-confidence.
So, we sat there on the bed chatting together, and very carefully avoiding any discussion of the fact that we had committed incest again. I soon saw that my fears about his erection were exaggerated. I guess because I was sitting there naked next to him and clearly available for more action whenever he wanted it kept his cock from ever going completely soft. And soon, it started to get back to its old rigidity.
It looked so nice that I couldn't help making a playful grab for it, and of course that just stiffened it up all the more. He "retaliated" by grabbing at my crotch and tits, and soon we were both laughing like crazy and pawing each other. My cunt was all wet and ready to go again, and I could tell from the feel and appearance of his cock that it wouldn't have any trouble at all giving me another bang.
I thought it would be a bore to just do the missionary position, and besides, now that I had another partner than Brad, I had a chance to try something that I've always liked but that Brad was never too keen on-top riding.
I kissed Jim gently on the lips, then pressed his back down against the mattress. I did exactly what I wanted. I could tell that he didn't mind at all that I was playing the aggressive role. He knew perfectly well that I was more experienced than he was, and he'd always been a very trusting boy, so he was more than willing to do what I suggested.
I placed my legs on either side of his hips, and then took his stiff cock in my right hand, holding it so that it pointed straight up. Then, I moved my hips down until the knob of his penis was pressing against my twat.
He closed his eyes and gave a little sigh of contentment. I could see why, too, if his cock was feeling as much pleasure as my cunt was. The pressure of his penis-tip on my soft labia was really something else.
I sort of swivelled my hips around so as to increase the stimulation, and then, after making sure that the end of his prick was inside me, I slid on down, impaling myself on his hard boyhood.
In ... in ... in. ... It just felt so incredibly good to have that dick shove up into me, forcing apart the soft, wet walls of my cunt. I sat down on his balls, and jiggled up and down a bit. He just gazed at me with a dreamy sort of expression.
by this time, my cunt was really getting frantic, so I figured that although all of this foreplay was pretty neat, it was time to really get down to the business at hand. I moved my body slowly up by unbending my knees, until only the very end of his prick was stuck inside me. There was a moment's anxiety in his eyes, as if he was afraid that I was going to take my cunt all the way off of his cock and just leave him all frustrated, but this only lasted a very brief time. He trusted me far too much to think that I would really do something like that.
I swivelled my hips around, and this of course moved his cock in a circle. Then, I slid on down once more. He let out a contented sigh as I did so.
I like to start a fuck slowly, then build the tempo up more and more. So at first, I was really taking my time. After each downstroke I would rest for a while, and when I was up, with just the knob of his cock inside me, I would take my time about going back down.
But of course, all of this was still getting me more and more worked up, since every motion pulled my cuntlips across my stinging clit. And the more excited I got, the faster I tended to move.
Up and down! Up and down! I was working away at a pretty fair clip now. I noticed as I did so that Jim was staring fixedly at my tits as I did so. Needless to say, given how big they are, they were bouncing around quite a bit. I took them in my hands and cupped them. "Want to feel?" I asked. "I'd really love to have you do so."
That was all the invitation that he needed. He reached his hands up and squeezed my tits. Now it was my turn to give a little sigh of contentment. I was getting action above and below the waist. What more could a woman ask for?
In order to make it easier for him to keep his fingers pressed against my tits, I changed my motion from an up-and-down to more of a forward-and-back one. The effect on his prick and on my juicy cunt was just the same, but this way he didn't have to reach so far to get at my breasts when I was on each upstroke.
My cunt was really clutching at his cock now, so that even though it was awash with pussy fluid, the fit was still tight, which is how I like it.
"Mom!" he gasped, "oh fuck! Oh, you're so fine! Fuck! Fuck!"
My breathing was coming very slowly now as I worked myself up to my come.
Almost there ... almost ... almost....
My nipples felt like they were going to burst if he made them swell up any more with that constant tugging and pinching....
I knew that it would just take one more thrust to get the two of us off, and I was determined to make it a good one. I moved my cunt off his cock very, very slowly. Then, I slid on home, with a very steady, deliberate motion.
He was one fourth of the way in ... half way ... three fourths....
And suddenly I was coming, my cunt grabbing spasmodically at his prick, my hips heaving and bucking, while his prick started to spew. Because he had already had a come in my mouth, he didn't have all that much jism to fire, but that didn't prevent his cock from quivering away like mad, pulsing inside my flaming pussy!
When we were finished, I was surprised to find that I wasn't overcome with guilt feelings. In fact, it really felt wonderful having had this fuck with my son. I got into bed with him and pulled the covers up. We both slept wonderfully, snuggled together.
We've been fucking for a week now, and it was only yesterday that the guilt really hit me again, but when it did, it was like a tidal wave. I just couldn't believe what I had done. I had corrupted my son, I had given way to the worst, basest kind of desires. ... I felt so awful that I knew I had to get help or just crack up. I knew that my friend Betty had been a patient of yours, and that's what gave me the idea of calling you. And doctor, believe me, you've just got to help me!
It is well known that, as Masters points out, "Rejection by one of the marriage partners may force the other, frustrated partner to develop a sexual interest in one of their children."1 Certainly, we shall have further occasion to examine this phenomenon in the course of this book. But it should be borne in mind that "frustration" can exist on several different levels. Some of the women whom the reader will meet in the following chapters find themselves impelled towards their sons by a physical need. But in Mrs. T.'s case, the deprivation is essentially emotional, and had existed prior to the break-up with her husband, which simply revealed what had long been present.
There was clearly a great deal of resentment in the way in which Mrs. T. spoke of Brad. The way in which he defended himself when accused of in 1. Masters, Op. Cit, p. 82 fidelity by turning the argument into one about his wife's snooping shows clearly that he possessed a very dominant, aggressive personality, and one which was accustomed to riding roughshod over his wife's feelings. This was clearly something which she resented intently, and had done for some time. The only weapon that she knew how to use in her confrontations with her husband was the traditional feminine one of tears, and since Brad was a very insensitive man, this weapon was as good as useless. Thus, Mrs. T. felt terribly frustrated and defenseless.
Further therapy sessions revealed that she had had a very aggressive and demanding father, and that in a way Brad came to symbolize him. It is not uncommon for an individual to seek a marriage partner who resembles the opposite-sex parent, but when that parent has a personality flaw such as over-aggressiveness (or, conversely, excessive passivity) the result is, of course, that a flawed partner is obtained.
Thus, Mrs. T. had very ambivalent feelings about men. She was clearly a heterosexual woman, but because of her experiences with her father and husband, she was in many ways afraid of men.
As the reader can perhaps see, her son was tempting to her as a sexual partner precisely because he was non-threatening. A male without teeth. She was clearly the one who took most of the initiative in their relationship, and it was obvious that she relished this role reversal. It is significant that Brad, the super-aggressive (but inwardly probably quite insecure) man did not like sexual positions in which the woman plays the active role. But the young, inexperienced Jim was more than willing to have his mother take charge, and she very much enjoyed doing so.
The boy's motivation in all this was in some ways every bit as interesting as his mother's. Clearly, his father was, to him, the classic Freudian castrating father, the much-feared patriarch. The mother, on the other hand, symbolized warmth and tenderness. It is noteworthy that when he discovered that his mother and father had had a major argument, he instantly assumed that it was the father who was in the wrong. ("Did he make you cry?") The incestuous relationship which he entered into with his mother was a fulfillment of the Freudian fantasy of possessing the father's wife and supplanting him. The castrator was thus symbolically castrated, and the boy's own manhood triumphantly re-affirmed.
I explained to Mrs. T. that while there was nothing "morally wrong" about incest as such (or, for that matter, about any sexual activity done with the partner's consent), I thought she would probably be much more at peace with herself if she were able to get rid of her hostile and fearful feelings towards adult men.
Therapy involved resolving those conflicts that dated from her childhood confrontations with her father, and also making her more self-confident so that she would not feel intimidated by strong individuals she might come in contact with. It was so successful that when Brad asked to come back, she was able to tell him no, and subsequently obtain a divorce.
At the same time, since the result of treatment would inevitably be a diminution of her desires for her son once she was more able to handle grown men, I had some sessions with him which were intended to reassure him that his mother was not "rejecting" him by turning away from incest. I also tried to turn his own sexual interests in other directions. The result has been that Mrs. T. is currently going out with a widower who treats her as an equal, while her son's sexual energies are directed towards the girls in his high school.
CASE HISTORY TWO
Pete K. was a fifteen-year-old who had been sent to me for evaluation by the state juvenile corrections department. He had already been into a fair amount of trouble, with a quite substantial record for shoplifting and purse-snatching. But a rather vicious beating which he administered to another boy in the course of a fight made it seem like he was about to graduate to a whole new level of seriousness as far as his antisocial behavior was concerned. Fortunately, the state has a very enlightened attitude in regard to juveline offenders, and the judge wanted a psychological evaluation done before deciding what sentence to impose.
Pete was a surly youngster whose heart was clearly filled with hostility for the whole world. For him, defiance was a form of necessary self-assertion, and that meant that even though he must have known that co-operation with the man doing the psychological evaluation could be very important in determining what sentence he received, he was not at all disposed to show such co-operation. Clearly, he would have thought any other course of action unmanly.
"Pete," I said, "we've been sitting here for ten minutes, and you haven't said anything but two words: fuck off. Has it occurred to you that if you showed a different attitude, you might actually get some benefit from this session?"
"Fuck off, shrink."
"Well," I said, "your fate is in your hands. It's not something I'm going to worry about. A juvenile assault-and-battery case is pretty small potatoes to someone who has done psychological recommendations on convicted killers."
Of course, this was really not how I felt. I was very anxious to try and get through to this clearly very severely emotionally disturbed child. But sometimes it is necessary to take the patient by surprise, so to speak. To use subterfuges to get past that formidable wall of emotional defensiveness.
I picked up a newspaper and started to read it, as if the last thing in the world that interested me was this juvenile delinquent sitting in front of me.
It was a ruse, but it worked. One of the hardest things in the world for someone to put up with is being ignored. Pete's big defiant act depended, for its effect, on having someone to defy. Someone who was demanding something, in the form of cooperation, that he was simply unwilling to give. But I was demanding nothing. I was just reading my newspaper. Pete at first tried to retaliate by ignoring me in return, but he didn't have a newspaper, and in that sort of situation, props are very useful.
"You're really giving the taxpayers their money's worth, aren't you," he said finally.
Without looking up from my newspaper I simply said, "I've already learned enough about you to make my report to the judge. There isn't any point in my wasting any more time on a young punk."
"Young punk? You fucking shrink!"
I kept on reading.
"So that's what you're going to tell the judge, huh? That I'm just a young punk?" It was obvious that the description had really hit home. Deep in his subconscious, he was afraid that that was all he was-a young punk.
"Quiet, I'm reading," I said.
"You fuckin' shrink, I've done a lot of things the judge doesn't even know about."
I turned the page without looking up.
"I've done a lot of things you wouldn't dream of, Doc," he said. It was obvious that the extreme disinterest that I was feigning in his case was really getting to him.
"Why, I've even fucked my mother!" he said.
There was a moment's hesitation after the "even", and a certain touch of anxiety to the way in which he pronounced the words "fucked my mother", which indicated to me very clearly that he was telling the truth. His statement was not something that he had simply plucked out of thin air in order to shock me, but was rather something which was very seriously bothering him.
"Enjoy it?" I asked, pretending the most callous indifference.
"I ... I ... of course...." All he could do was splutter, he was so taken aback and disappointed by the way his big bombshell had turned out to be a dud. Finally he said, "enjoy it? Enjoy fucking your own mother? Look man ... I mean, it's a really heavy trip!" There was real anguish breaking through into his voice now. Now that he knew that his defiant, tough-guy act wouldn't get him anywhere with me, the only way he could keep from being ignored was to tell the truth and reveal something of his true emotions.
"Look," I said suddenly in a voice which no longer had the slightest trace of indifference in it, "why don't we stop playing charades. Something's really bothering you, and I'd like to know what it is. If you tell me, I may be able to help you. How about it?"
"Okay, Doc, okay," he said, the last bit of his resistance evaporating....
I never knew my old man all that well. He was a long-distance truck driver, and that meant that he was out on the road a lot. He died of cancer five years ago. What I do remember about him though is that he was tough. He has to have been maybe the toughest guy in town when he was alive. He'd about as soon belt someone in the chops as look at him.
Anyway, the last thing in the world he thought that a guy should take is shit from his wife. Some guys' wives just shove them around something awful, but not Mom. Dad was the one who'd do some of the shoving. If she talked back to him, he'd just say "quiet, woman," in a tone of voice that indicated that she'd fucking well better be quiet. And if she wasn't, whap! A good hard slap right in the kisser. That shut her up pretty fast.
Anyway, ever since he died, Mom really seemed to get on my nerves. She really started to nag at me a lot about doing things. At times I thought I'd do well to follow my dad's advice and just whack her one, but I held back. After all, she was my Mom, and I guess there's something about hitting your Mom that doesn't seem right. Of course, fucking her doesn't seem all that right either, but I didn't know at the time that that was what I was going to wind up doing one day.
The way things got started with the fucking was that a month ago I was screwing this girl from school when her mother walked in. I guess the girl's mother was really square, or whatever, but when she walked in and saw that I was letting her silly little Alicia get some hard beef right in the slot, she just about went through the ceiling, calling me a "filthy punk" and the whole works. Maybe I should have clipped her one, but I figured that doing that would probably finish me off with Alicia. So I just put on my pants while she was bitching at me, and walked out.
When I got home, there was Mom ready to give me hell for fucking Alicia. It turned out that Alicia's mother had called her while I was walking home and given her the whole story.
"What do you want to do, dummy?" she asked. "Get that girl pregnant? That would really be great. Just what we need. Here I am working my fingers to the bone to try and support you, and you go out and try and get some cheap little slut pregnant, just so that we can have some more mouths to feed."
"Lay off, Mom," I said. But she just kept going on and on and on about how fucking hard she had to work, and about all I could think of was going out and getting cheap sluts pregnant.
"I said LAY OFF!" I shouted, stepping right up close to Mom so that my face was only a couple of inches from hers. I was really pissed for being bitched at like that, and I guess it showed. Mom's face got that kind of timid look that it used to have when Dad was around the house waiting to give her a clip on the jaw. Funny thing, though, she looked really pretty like that.
"When I want some broad, I take her, under stand?" I said. Mom didn't say anything. She just nodded. And the next thing I knew I was kissing her. It wasn't just some tender son-type kiss, either. It was the real McCoy. I grabbed her and pulled her right up close to me and pressed my lips against hers. She struggled as if she wanted to try and get away, but I didn't give a fuck about that. My prick was already crammed hard against my pants, trying to get out into the open. I forced my tongue into her mouth, and after a moment, her tongue responded.
I reached my hand down and unzipped my pants. My cock punched out hard against the underpants. Then, I pulled her panties down, so that there was nothing in the way of my whanger.
At first Mom had really struggled and put up a fuss, but now she just went limp in my arms. I pushed her against the wall, and then stuck my cock into her while we were standing there. I bent my knees so as to bring the head of it down lower than her crotch, and then by straightening my legs I shoved it on up into her.
The thing about Mom is that in some ways she's kind of conservative, so that even though Dad's been dead for several years, I don't think she's been going out and getting any sex. Maybe that's why she seemed so glad to get my prick inside her. She gave a sigh as my rod pressed apart the walls of her cunt. Even though her whole body seemed sort of limp, I did feel her arms tighten around me somewhat.
Man! You'd better believe that it's a turn-on knowing that you have your dick inside your own mother's cunt! I just stood there for a moment, enjoying the feeling, before I started to pump.
by flexing and unflexing my legs I caused my prick to slide up and down inside her. Up and down. Up and down. I could feel her start to respond, too, as her hips began to undulate in time to my thrusts. I was obviously the one in charge, but I didn't mind having her give a bit of help, too. She had a good sense of rhythm, and those hip motions felt kind of nice.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I was really going to it now, really laying that prick of mine into her. Every time I gave a thrust I could feel how I was causing her cuntlips to sort of pull, and every time they did that I could hear Mom give a little sigh of delight.
My balls were almost aching they were so eager to shoot their load off into her. They were all pulled hard against the root of my cock and raring to go.
My hands were kneading her tits through her blouse. She has nice, big tits. I could have taken the blouse and bra off, I guess, but the fact that this was such an unexpected kind of fuck, with us just standing against a wall with a lot of our clothes on really kind of turned me on for some reason or another.
Suddenly, I felt my cock give that funny little quiver that it does just before it shoots. I rammed it home hard, and as I felt the tip of it press against
Mom's womb, it started to shoot, with a series of sharp gushes.
Talk about a come! Since Alicia's mother had walked in on us before I had had a chance to get my rocks off, I had been in a state of real horniness since leaving her house. And now, everything was letting go at once, as my cock shivered and shook, and fired, and fired, and fired.
Mom was having just as good a go as I was. Which wasn't surprising, I guess, since I don't think she'd had a come since my old man kicked the bucket. Her hips sort of shook and heaved, and her cunt grabbed hard at my prick.
"Pete! Pete! Pete! Ohhhhhhh!" I heard her moan. Then, she sort of collapsed in my arms with a happy expression on her face. It was the goddamndest thing I'd ever seen. I've fucked plenty of girls in my time, but I've sure as hell never seen one who sort of fainted after you'd given her cunt the business.
It was kind of nice standing there with my whanger inside of her, but it wasn't something that you just wanted to spend all day doing, so I pulled on out after a while.
"P-Pete, that was lovely," Mom said in a timid, small kind of voice. "But do you think ... are you sure ... that we should have done it?"
"Why the fuck not?" I asked. "I like it. You like it. What more do you want? Don't worry about a thing. Just do what I say, and everything'll be okay."
I put on my jacket and went out for a walk. Part ly because I thought that a big, dramatic exit like that would impress Mom. If I just moped around the house, it would be kind of anticlimactic, I thought. But also, I kind of wanted to have some time to think over what I was getting into. I mean, I had acted really cool with Mom and all, but my feelings were kind of more confused than I let on.
"I had fucked my mother!" That was the thought that kept going through my head again and again while I walked. "I had fucked my mother!" I suppose there are a lot of guys who would have really felt guilty if they'd just done what I had. But that wasn't how I felt at all. I was proud of what I'd done. I'm not kidding you, Doc, I was really proud. My dad had a reputation of being the toughest guy in town, and here I was taking his place. Fucking his woman. I wasn't ashamed of being my dad's son, and that meant that I wasn't ashamed of taking his place. I was determined that I was going to be as good a fucker as he was, too. I was going to get books out of the library and read them so that I'd know all sorts of positions to really surprise Mom with.
Another thing, and that was that from now on I was going to be boss around the house, just like Dad had been when he was alive. There's no point taking a lot of shit from a woman you're fucking. It just doesn't make any sense at all.
When I got back, I decided that it might be a good idea to show Mom just what the score was by insisting on another fuck. Besides, one thing about my cock, and that is that it's always ready for action.
Mom was finishing up with the dishes when I walked into the kitchen. I slipped my hands under her blouse and cupped her bra-covered breasts.
"Please, dear, I've got to finish the dishes," she said.
"You're going to finish taking care of my prick first," I answered. I wasn't mean about it, but firm. That's the way that you have to be with women.
Actually, I don't think she really minded having to leave her dishes. I was giving her tits a pretty good feel through the fabric of her bra, and I've never known a female who didn't respond pretty quickly when her tits are being felt up.
As you can see, I'm pretty big-almost six fee-twhile Mom's just a little tiny woman. That gave me an idea how to impress her. I scooped her up into my arms and carried her out of the kitchen into the living room, where I dumped her onto the sofa. Although she was still murmuring some shit about the dishes, I could see by the look in her eyes that she really liked what I was doing.
I peeled her clothes off, and then took off my own. Now I was ready, but I didn't think that there was anything all that exciting about just getting on top of her and shoving my prick in. After all, that was something that I'd done plenty of times before. Maybe you're surprised, Doc, at the fact that I keep mentioning how many times I've fucked before, even though I'm only fifteen. But in my neighborhood, if a guy hasn't started to get plenty of pussy regularly by the time that he's thirteen, everyone thinks that he has to be some kind of queer or something.
"Okay, mom, get up on your hands and knees," I said.
"What do you want me on my hands and knees for?"
"Don't ask me a lot of dumb questions for Chrissake," I said. "Get on your hands and knees." Mom did so without any further discussion. I guess that Mom is the sort of person who really likes to be told what to do. Maybe the reason that she was bitching at me all the time was that she was trying to goad me into giving her the kind of firm hand that she really liked.
I got up on the couch behind her on my knees. Then, I reached my hands forward and cupped her tits. I pressed them up against her chest and let them flop down again. Holding the nipples, I pulled each breast out to the side and then let them bounce together. Judging from the sighs she was giving, she really thought that this action was neat.
All this was pretty nice, but my cock was hungry now for the feel of nice soft cunt around my prick. I moved my hips so that the tip of it was resting between her cuntlips. Then, I gave a shove, and I was back inside.
Since the first fuck, standing up against the wall, had really been kind of frantic, I decided to take it a bit easier with this one. I started out with nice, even type strokes, thrusting in as far as I could. And that's pretty far, since I have a good, long cock.
Back and forth I went, and as I did so I could feel her hips give that rhythmic countermotion that I remembered from the time before. Both of us were getting hotter and hotter with every thrust, and that meant that the speed was picking up, too.
"Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!" Mom gasped, which seemed to me like a kind of dumb thing to say, seeing that that was what I was doing. But you know how women are when you fuck them, Doc. Kind of strange in a way.
Her whole body was undulating now as I rammed my cock in again, and again, and again.
Then, suddenly, I was coming. One instant, I was thrusting away, and thinking that I was going to be able to hold on for quite a while longer, and then the next moment my prick was spewing come into my mother's twat.
"Ah! Ah! Ahhhhhh!" she gasped as her cunt started pulsing and quivering around my furiously blasting dick. We were both coming at the same time, and both coming really hard.
I pressed her tits hard against her chest as I unloaded, and then my cock gave a final spasm. I had shot all my load into Mom's pussy, and now I really felt sort of fucked out. So did she, from what I could tell.
That was all the fucking for that evening, but when I got up the next morning I felt ready for some more action. Like I told you, Doc, I've had plenty of girls in my time, but somehow doing it with Mom was sort of special. She's still a pretty good looking woman, but that wasn't all there was to it. After all, some of the high school chicks I baled were really good lookers, too. I guess in a way it just made me feel more grown up to be fucking with a grown up woman. And since you'd think that most mothers wouldn't let their sons stick their pricks inside them, I figured that the fact that Mom let me do that had to indicate that I was really quite a stud.
Mom looked a bit tired that morning, and besides, I didn't have too much time if I wanted to make the schoolbus. Normally, I don't mind being late for school, but I had collected a lot of demerits recently, and if I was late one more time, I'd have to stay after at school. That would mean that I'd have to wait longer before getting a chance to bang Mom's nice little twat, and I certainly didn't want that. So, to speed things up, I figured that a blow job before I went off to catch the schoolbus would be enough.
After I'd finished eating my breakfast, I pushed the chair away from the table.
"That was a swell breakfast, Mom," I said. 'There's just one more thing it needs to be perfect." And I unzipped my pants.
"Pete, you'll be late for school."
"Not if you're quick, Mom," I said.
"I'll do my best," she said.
She knelt next to me and took my cock in her hand. It was already good and stiff, so she didn't need to do any preliminary work on it. Just as she was about to slip her lips over it, I asked her, "Did Dad like you to give him head a lot?" For some reason, it really turned me on to ask her about my father's sexual habits and performance.
"Yes, he really did," Mom said. "Sometimes I think that he'd have rather have me blow him than anything else in the world."
"Do you like giving head, Mom?"
"Uh huh," she said, and slipped her lips over the end of my prick. She knew that she had to be quick, if I wasn't to miss the schoolbus, so she set to work bringing me up to my come as fast as she could, without wasting any time on elaborate foreplay. She started sucking right beneath the knob of my prick. I shuddered with pleasure as she did so. That part of me has always been really sensitive. Meanwhile, she was using her right hand to tickle and fondle my ballsack, which was pulled up really tight against the root of my prick.
I stretched my legs out in front of me and sort of stiffened the muscles up as hard as I could. I've found for some reason my prick gets worked up to a come a lot faster if the muscles in my legs are all tense.
Mom was sliding her mouth up and down the length of my shaft now, and the pressure of her lips really felt good on it. Then, when she was sucking away on my prickroot, she was able to use her tongue to give all sorts of special attention to my prick as it lay inside her mouth. There wasn't much room for the tongue to move, but that didn't matter. Togetherness was the name of the game, and just having the soft, wet thing pressed against my cock was excitement enough.
I was breathing heavily now as I felt her lips and tongue get me more and more excited with every second that went by. There really wasn't much time left, but the way I felt at that moment, I couldn't have given a shit about missing the schoolbus. All I knew was that the pressure of her tongue and lips was driving me clean out of my head.
I felt my balls tense for the shot, and then gush! gush! gush! I was sending gob, after gob, after gob of sperm shooting up into my mother's mouth. Her lips were pressing convulsively against my rod as it fired, her shoulders were heaving, and her eyes were closed. I could see that she was coming too. A glance showed me that she had one hand up her dress, and had obviously been feeling herself off while sucking my dick.
She slid her mouth off of my prick, and because she was in kind of a hurry, some of the sperm was able to get out from behind her lips and trickle down her chin. It really made her look kind of cute.
As she swallowed the rest of the stuff, I pulled on my pants and ran out the door.
"Bye, Mom," I said, "thanks for the blowjob. I've gotta run if I'm going to catch that bus!"
I did make the bus, as a matter-of-fact, and as I sat on it listening to the guys brag about all the pussy that they had gotten, I just sat there really feeling kind of superior. Here they were making a really big deal about all the cunt that they'd gotten off of a bunch of dumb little high school girls, and as for me, I'd actually had my prick inside my mother's twat!
Boy, you'd better believe that that school day crept by slowly. All the time that I was supposed to be listening to my dumb-ass teachers droning on and on about some dumb thing or another, all I could think of was Mom's twat, and how eager I was to get some more action off of it.
I sure knew what the next thing that I wanted to try was, namely a bit of cunt. Having my prick sucked my Mom like that reminded me of how nice that oral-type action could be. Besides, I'd never really had a chance to get a good look at Mom's pussy yet. I'd had my cock in it twice, but I hadn't really seen much of it. Well, that was a situation that I planned on correcting right away.
Finally, I got home, and Mom met me at the door. I kissed her on the mouth, then shoved her inside. I knelt in front of her and shoved my head up under her skirt. It really smelled nice there, with all the female odor trapped by the skirt. But I wanted to get a good look at Mom's cunt too, like I said, so I lifted the skirt in order to get a bit of light. I could see how she felt from the fact that the crotch of her panties was already wet. I pulled the nylon garment down, and there it was, my mom's pussy! It was one of the nicest ones that I could remember having ever seen. The cuntlips were a sort of soft pink, and just the right size. I don't like it when a female's cuntlips are really big and gross, but at the same time a guy likes to have something that he can get his lips on. The smell was really fine, too. I've always thought that one of the best things that a woman has to offer is her female odor. I mean, nothing on earth smells as feminine, does it?
Although I was really feasting my eyes on the sight of Mom's twat, and sniffing away for all I was worth, looking and smelling weren't the only things that I had come for, so to speak. My tongue was pretty anxious to get a taste of some of that cunt-juice that I could see oozing out of her woman-hole and down her thigh. It went flicking out, picking the pearly drop off of the soft, curving leg. I could feel Mom tremble as I did that. She was breathing in short, sharp little gasps, too, as she waited for me to really get down to the business of licking her twat.
I decided to kind of tease her a bit, so I worked my tongue up her leg very slowly, giving a series of little licks as I went. Finally, my face was right up next to her bush. You'd better believe that her female odor was strong then! I could feel my prick straining like mad against the fabric of my pants. I unbuckled my belt, than opened my trousers. I unzipped, and pulled the garment down. The underpants followed it in very short order, so that my cock could expand out to its full length, bobbing as it went.
I knew that Mom could hardly stand the wait, and for that matter, neither could I. I was working my tongue around her outer cuntlips now, running it over the hairy skin. Just about an inch away the delicate pink inner lips were waiting frantically for my caress.
Flick! My tongue tip made a sudden raid on her clit. She shivered violently. I risked another lick, and found I had guessed right. It almost set her off, but didn't quite.
I knew that I wouldn't be third-time lucky, though, and went back to licking her outer cuntlips to give her a chance to cool off.
Not that she was all that eager to cool off, judging from what was happening above her waist, where she was desperately pulling open the buttons of her blouse and unfastening her bra. I glanced up in time to see the boob holster come off and her breasts flop free. Mom's a very small woman, like I said, Doc, but her tits are quite big. And the fact that my tongue was giving her all that action below the waist had made them even bigger, I think. Certainly the nipples were swollen up to two or three times their normal size. There's something sort of neat about looking up at breasts from the underside. But the view that I had between Mom's legs was even nicer, and I turned my attention back to the job of making her pussy happy.
Slurp! Slurp! Slurp! Like a kitten licking at a bowl of cream, I sent my tongue sliding back and forth in rapid succession over her soft cuntlips. Man! I don't think there's anything in the world that feels nicer than nice, soft cuntlips. So wet, so yielding. And every time my tongue touched them, Mom's hips trembled, and my cock quivered in excitement at the knowledge that I was turning my own mother on so with my tongue. I would have really liked to grab my meat and beat off, but I decided against it. I can manage two shots in a row without any trouble, but three is pretty difficult, and I didn't want to waste my first come in the air on a hand-job when that same cunt that I was licking would be only too happy to have my prick stuck into it after I'd finished licking.
After slurping and sloshing away on Mom's labia. I wormed my tongue into her hole. It felt really wet and soft and mysterious and female! I mean, that hole is where it's really at. The clit and the cuntlips are really nice and all, but that hole is the cunt.
I pressed the tongue-tip against her cunt walls, then slid my tongue out again quickly so as to get as much of Mom's cuntdringle into my mouth as I possibly could. It tasted so fine that I immediately sent my tongue back for some more.
Mom sounded just about like a locomotive now, she was puffing and gasping so much. I could tell that she really couldn't take much more of this action that I was giving her, and for that matter, my cock couldn't stand to wait much longer for some attention. The thing for me to do was to get my mother/lover off as soon as possible. Still, I figured that if I was going to be a worthy successor to my father I had better do it with a certain amount of style.
I pulled my tongue very, very slowly out of her fuck-hole, then slid the tip of it right around the rim of her cunt, sort of pulling the dainty pink skin now this way, now that. Then, I sent it gliding very, very slowly towards her clit. I've cunned a lot of girls, and I've seen a lot of clits, but somehow I don't think I've ever seen any that looked harder or more frantic for a come than my mom's little funbutton did.
Closer and closer I came, while Mom gasped, "lick it! Lick it! You're driving me nuts! Please lick it!"
I waited until I was within about an inch, then pulled my tongue back while she shuddered with frustration. Then, before she knew what hit her, I was licking her clit again, and again, and again!
"Uh! Uh! UHHHHH! I'm coming! COME-ING!" she moaned as the orgasm hit her. I felt her hips start to buck and heave as her muscles started to unwind from the frantic tension that I had given her. Her pelvis even slammed against my face, but I didn't care. I just kept licking away on that pussy of Mom's, even as it exploded in a frantic burst of fuck-frenzy.
Finally she was finished, and I took my face away from her twat. There was cunt-juice all over my chin and cheeks. I stretched my tongue out as far as I could in all directions to try and get as much of it as I possibly could.
Mom looked really kind of exhausted, and fucked out, so that even though my prick was just crying for a come, I decided to let her have a bit of a rest.
"How about a drink, Mom?"
"Yeah, that would be nice," she said. I went to the cupboard and got the bottle of whisky. I had drunk plenty with other kids, but until now I had never done so in front of Mom. Well, I figured, if I was going to take my father's place in her life, there wasn't any reason I shouldn't start drinking around the house. A guy who's old enough to fuck his mother is old enough to drink with her, I decided.
She looked a bit surprised, but didn't say anything. I got the impression that she didn't really mind. That she was happy to have a man around the house who would act like one, and take charge. Maybe I'm just making up excuses for myself, Doc, but I really feel that Mom likes a firm hand, and since I have that kind of personality, it seems that we make a pretty good couple.
It was nice to be sitting there with a glass of whisky in my hand, and the knowledge that from now on, whenever I wanted one I could simply go get it, instead of having to sneak around. But my cock was still driving me wild. It was so goddam hard that it ached, and that really isn't an exaggeration. My balls were pulled up against the root of my prick so hard that I thought they were going to disappear up into it if I didn't do something to relieve the tension.
Mom was still working on her drink, though, and it seemed only fair for me to give her a chance to finish it. Also, I didn't want to give her the impression that I didn't have any self-control. I prefer not to have to wait for things, including sex, but if the situation is such that I do have to wait for it, then I can. I'm not some impatient kid.
Finally, she finished her whisky, and I put my arm around her shoulder.
"Let's get the show on the road, okay, Mom?" I said to her.
She just gave me a melting look that told me just how much she loved the idea of having my prick stuck up her twat.
Now, like I told you before, Doc, I figured that if I was going to be a worthy successor to my father, who I suspect was probably quite a cocksman, I had better try some unusual positions. The old slam-bang, thank you ma'am struck me as way too boring for any self-respecting fucker.
The school has a pretty extensive sex education program, which means that there are quite a lot of books on sex in the school library. I had spent my lunch break looking through one of them, and had noticed a description of how it was possible to fuck a woman while her legs are pressed together. Fuck her from the front while her legs are held together. I wondered if mom had ever heard of it.
"Okay, Mom," I said, "why don't you lie back and press your knees together."
"Press my knees together?"
"Uh huh."
"But I thought that you wanted to fuck."
"I do."
"How on earth can you fuck me when I have my knees pressed together?"
"Don't worry, Mom," I said. "Just trust me, and do what I tell you, and everything will work out fine."
Mom was willing to trust me and do what I told her, just as she was willing to trust Dad and do what he told her. In fact, this trust was so great that it made me a little bit nervous. What if the position really wasn't possible? After giving her all these big assurances, that would certainly make me seem pretty silly.
Well, I was going to find out pretty soon if I had overreached myself or not. Mom lay back on her back, and I positioned myself with my knees on either side of hers, ready to stick my cock into her seemingly sealed-off cunt. I had read the book's description pretty carefully, but just like you feel nervous on going in for a big test no matter how much studying you've done, so I was a bit worried that I might not remember all the details.
"Shit," I finally told myself, "a good cocksman like Dad could probably improvise if he had to. I bet he didn't learn everything out of a book. He probably didn't learn anything out of a book." Of course, that thought wasn't really all that comforting, since it meant that if I wasn't able to improvise myself, I couldn't be as good a cocksman as Dad was.
I eased myself down on top of Mom, and positioned my cock so that the tip of it was buried between her thighs. Mom's thighs are sort of heavy, so I couldn't see anything of her cunt. Her patch of hair in front just disappeared between her legs. Using my hand, I guided my cock in between the thighs and sort of prodded around until the tip of it found the entrance to her cunt. When I was sure I had, I gave a shove and ... I was in! The position was possible. The cock was able to push apart the soft flesh of the thighs. And since the cunt itself was up inside the pelvis, the position of the legs didn't make any difference to it. Where it did make a difference was where the entrance to the cunt was pushed between the cock and the thighs. That meant lots more stimulation for Mom's super-sensitive cuntlips, and lots more for my prick, too.
I was so delighted to find that the position was possible that I just rested for a moment enjoying Mom's admiration. I knew perfectly well that she had not thought that it would be possible, and that I had demonstrated in a very decisive fashion to her that I was a champion cocksman and well worthy of taking my father's place inside her cunt.
After savoring my moment of triumph for a second or two more, I slid my cock slowly back out again. The pressure of those compressed labia on my dork was really something else!
Out, out, out I went. Then, back in, good and hard and slow. Mom's hips wriggled in excitement. In ... out ... in ... out. ... Her tits were every bit as exposed and available as I could want, and my hands didn't waste much time in taking advantage of the situation. I sort of lifted my body up on one hand so that my other one could roam back and forth over the smooth surface of her tits. Her nipples were already good and hard, and I knew how to tease them into an even wilder state of frenzy. I sort of trailed the fingers of my hand in circles around them, gradually getting closer and closer to the hard little passion nubs. All of Mom's breasts are sensitive, but of course the nipples are a great deal more sensitive than anything else. So, as she felt those fingers of mine get closer, and closer, and closer, she was really trembling and quivering with excitement. Finally, I ran my right index finger right around the outside of the aureola of her left tit. Right at the place where the outside of the pink shaded off into creamy white.
"Uh! Uh! Uh!" Mom gasped, waiting for me to touch her stinging nipple with my finger. But at the last second, I sent my hand trailing out again towards the edge of her tits. I could tell that she was disappointed and excited at the same time. Shit, I know what having to wait a bit for sex can do for me, so I wasn't surprised by the fact that the technique worked so well on Mom. Of course, no sooner did my fingers reach the outside of her breasts than they started circling back in towards the nipple again....
Meanwhile, my cock was really laying it into that cunt of hers. I had gotten really worked up myself, and that meant that all the slow, easy action had given way to a series of really hard pistoning, as I buried my cock in her to the hilt time after time after time. She was giving sort of counter-thrusts with her hips, and her cunt was clutching really tightly at my prick.
"Fine! So fucking fine!" she gasped. I could see that her forehead was covered with little beads of sweat now, and her shoulders were heaving and shuddering. She wasn't far from her come now, and that was fine with me, because after having to wait out the cum session already, my cock couldn't stand much more of this waiting, not with the way it was rubbing back and forth against those cuntlips of hers.
So, I realized that it was time to wind this little session up. This time, when my fingers went circling in towards her nipple, that's where they actually wound up, pulling on the aching little rosebud, giving the attention that it had wanted for so long.
In! Out! In! Out! Every time I slammed my cock into her cunt, I thought that it was going to be the last time, and that this stroke would surely get us both blasting. But each time, we both managed to hold on. I say hold on because even though we were just about to go out of our gourds with come-need, and wanted nothing more than to get ourselves off, we also wanted this wonderful agony to go on and on and on....
"Make me come!" Mom pleaded. "Make me come! Make me come! I've just gotta ... just gotta...."
She was right. It really was high time. I really started to lay into her, really driving for the come that we both so desperately needed.
One!
Two! Almost ... almost. ... Three! "Pete! Pete!" Four!
Five! And ... we ... were ... just ... about ... to ... COME! COME! COME! Our sex organs exploded simultaneously, with my cock sending my spunk shooting on up into her womanhood, while her hips trembled with her female fuck frenzy and her cunt clutched at my cock as if to make sure that I could never take it out again.
Wham! Wham! WHAMMM!
And then ... it ... was ... over....
For a moment, I could hardly breathe, hardly even think. I felt totally exhausted, totally fucked out. Man, oh man, oh man, had that been a ride. And I knew perfectly well that Mom felt just exactly the same way. She had her eyes closed, and was gasping for air like a fish out of water. I could feel her heart hammer away like mad under her left tit. I pulled my cock out of her slowly, and lay down next to her. Normally, I don't go in for all this tenderness shit that females like a lot. I mean, it seems to me that a real man is mostly just interested in getting his rocks off. But this time, somehow, it really felt nice to just lie there next to Mom and hold her hand in mine.
After a while I got back into action again, and fucked her in the ass. And since then, I've done just about every position with her that's in the book, and then some. Maybe I should feel guilty about all of this, but I don't. Frankly, I've fucked plenty of girls in my time, and I've never enjoyed it as much as I enjoy fucking with Mom. It's not something that I'm interested in giving up, and I don't really see what it has to do with the trouble I'm in with the law. But I guess you wanted to hear about it, and to tell the truth, it has felt pretty good to have a chance to tell someone about it.
Even the rankest layman should be able to see from the above account just what an emotionally disturbed youngster Pete is. The first and most obvious sign of this is his obsessive desire to replace his father. Freud tells us that this desire in universal in adolescent boys, and though this is a view that has been increasingly disputed by modern researchers, there may well be a good deal of truth in it. But there is clearly a world of difference with reality, and learns to find substitutes for the desired mother, and Pete's concern with giving his Oedipal fantasies the most concrete and literal expression possible.
It should also be apparent from the above account of his that his tough-guy act is not entirely an act. By that I mean that in some ways he really is emotionally deficient. Unable to feel certain kinds of feelings, such as tenderness, love, understanding. Or rather, if he is able to do so, it is only within a very limited range, and with great difficulty.
This emotional deficiency doubtless stems, to a large degree, from the fact that he lost his father at an early age. Even if Freud is right in his emphasis on the adolescent's hostility towards his father, human emotions are nothing if not ambivalent, and every boy needs a male identity-figure to mold himself after. Perhaps, as Pete's account indicates, his father was as insensitive a man as Pete seems to wish to become. At any rate, since he had died by the time Pete was entering his most formative years, psychologically speaking, Pete had to create an image of his father to model himself after, since the real father no longer existed. And the environment he grew up in-the jungle of the slums-led him to emphasize those frankly rather negative characteristics which have a high survival value in the slums: Hardness, ruthlessness, aggressiveness.
The absence of a father often makes a growing boy feel very insecure, and Pete thus tended to exaggerate in his efforts to be like he imagined his father must have been. He decided to adopt only those qualities which, in his fantasy, his vanished father possessed. All the qualities which made him "the toughest guy in town."
Compassion, gentleness, these were all more or less specifically rejected.
Pete's image of how he should behave led him into anti-social acts that made him feel like more and more of an outcast. The real world, as represented by the forces of authority, was ranged firmly against him. And his response to this was characteristic: a further retreat into fantasy, a further emphasis on those qualities which had led to his isolation and anti-social behavior in the first place.
No one's personality is entirely one-sided, however, and it is obvious that a certain part of his craved just the kind of tenderness which he went to such pains to despise. His statements about his relations with his mother, and how he dominated her and showed no interest in what she wanted or felt, are interspersed here and there with moments of rather surprising tenderness. As, for example, when he describes at the end of his account how, after having sex with her, it felt good to lie next to her and hold her hand. But, of course, he is very quick indeed to point out that he doesn't usually "go in for all this tenderness shit that females like a lot." In one breath he thus expresses his need for gentler emotions, and his fear that they are in some way degradingly unmanly. This kind of conflict and tension can produce a great deal of emotional discomfort, and it is not to be wondered at when this manifests itself in extreme forms of anti-social behavior.
About any human relationship, the truest thing that can be said is that "it takes two to tango". And it is perfectly obvious that without the impetus provided by his mother, the incestuous relationship would never have come into being. It may seem strange to talk about his mother providing the impetus for anything, since she seems like the almost classic example of the dependent, passive person. But there is such a thing as "passive aggressiveness". When a person, by acting extremely helpless, actually gets someone else to do something that he might well not have done otherwise.
Pete is an intelligent boy, and what he said about his mother wanting a strong replacement for her late husband strikes me as very true. He was probably also right in saying that one of the reasons that she nagged him so after his father's death was that she so badly wanted to goad him into assuming this role. One should perhaps qualify this, however, by pointing out that people are often quite ambivalent in their feelings towards the aggressiveness or passivity of their personalities. The aggressive person sometimes longs to play the passive role, and vice versa. So that some of her nagging may have also been an effort to assert herself and enjoy the aggressive role that her husband had so totally excluded her from during his lifetime.
Once she had pushed her son over the brink by nagging him about his sexual activities (note here that she may well have been subconsciously jealous of the girl whom her son had been having sexual relations with), she immediately reassumed the passive role that corresponded to her deepest emotional needs. Mrs. T., in the previous case, was at least making an attempt to control the situation. She was bothered by it, and tried, though unsuccessfully, to give practical effect to the tugging of her conscience. Such was certainly not the case with Pete's mother. Once he manifested a desire for her, that was the end of the matter. Her thoughts on the subject seemed to go no farther than "he wants it, so it must be right."
Thus, her son could play out his fantasies of adulthood and father-replacement without being faced by any impediment at all.
The reader will recall that Pete had already gotten into considerable trouble with the law, and since I felt that his deeply seated emotional problems were at the heart of his anti-social behavior, therapy was clearly required if he was not to wind up in prison one day. My report to the judge indicated this (without going into details about his incestuous involvement), and he was put on a special probation program which featured state payments for therapy.
So far therapy has been difficult. In addition to his natural stubbornness and desire to be defiant, there is the problem that he is very ambivalent about wanting to end his incestuous involvement with his mother. It is difficult to try and get a person to develop a greater ability to feel emotionally close to others, while simultaneously trying to wean him from the one relationship in which he does, to a certain extent, have such feelings. Yet his involvement with his mother is so tied up with his father-identification that it is difficult to see how it could be left undisturbed, for it is precisely his desire to be just like his father, "the toughest man in town", which is at the root of his problems. At the moment, I am trying to emphasize the positive aspects in his relationship with his mother, such as the tenderness that he does seem to feel for her underneath all his macho. Hopefully, it will be possible later to extend these feelings to other women, and then to de-emphasize his mother as a sexual and emotional partner. Unquestionably, however, therapy will be a long and difficult process, and though I am generally something of an optimist, many factors make me think that success is by no means certain. In the first place, his whole environment emphasizes his ethos of toughness and ruthlessness. The girls of the slums often not merely expect a man to exploit them, but are hardly willing to respect one who does not do so. More importantly, his mother is very anxious for the incestuous relationship with her son-which so conveniently fills the emotional vacuum left by the death of her husband-to continue. An influence like this is something that a patient can only overcome if he very much wants to do so, and whether that is something which Pete really wants, or wants that badly, only time will tell.
CASE HISTORY THREE
Sally L. was a big, freckle-faced woman of 38, with bright red hair. She would certainly never have passed for a beauty in the city, but her big, warm smile, ample figure and bright eyes certainly seemed well enough in place in the country, and most of the men in the farm region where she lived regarded her as a "fine looker".
I met her when I went off into America's heartland to do research for an article about rural sexual mores. The subject seemed to me to be one that had not been sufficiently studied, and besides, I wanted a change from the patients that I always ran into in my city practice.
Mrs. L., who was married and had one son, didn't regard herself as having a problem in the world, at least not psychologically speaking. Most of my studies are of people who have come to me seeking help. Here I was going to her (and to others like her) seeking information. Yet, she engaged in a form of sexual behavior that many people, or at least many laymen, would regard as highly "perverted": she had regular incestuous relations with her thirteen-year-old son Mike. The fact that a term such as "perverse" could be applied by many to describe a contented, happy, self-respecting woman such as Sally L. says a great deal about how our normal value-norms need revision.
Country people such as her are often rather reserved with strangers, so it was necessary for me to spend a considerable amount of time visiting with her before I was "accepted". But once I was, all barriers fell, and I was treated with the open frankness that rural folk often show in their dealings with one another. That meant that when I felt that the time was ripe for me to get down to the business at hand, and ask her if I could have some information on her sexual life, she had no objections at all.
"Sure thing, Doctor," she said. "I dunno why you city slickers want to know about the sort of stuff that we country folks get up to. After all, I bet you all have thought up lots of stuff that we've never gotten around to imagining. But I don't have any objections to answering a few questions if that's what you want."
"Well," I said, "to begin with, do you confine your sexual activities to your husband?"
"To Zeke? Land, no. He got his balls caught in a threshing machine a couple of years back. Can't do a plumb thing any more, poor guy." Zeke was not present at the time.
"So you have other partners?"
"At the moment, one other partner. Before I found him, I kind of shopped around a lot. You know how it is with pricks, Doc. It's kind of like store-bought clothes. You've got to make sure that you've got one that fits. But once you get one you really like, you kind of get used to sticking with him. That's the way with me. I kinda like to settle down."
"Who is your present partner?" I asked.
"Why Mike!" she said. There was a slight hint of astonishment in her voice that I had not guessed something so obvious as that a woman with a handsome thirteen-year-old son would not find him a convenient source of sexual diversion.
"You have sex with your son?"
"Sure thing, and he's just about the best pussybanger this side of tarnation. Why, when he grows up, he's going to make some little bride mighty happy. I only hope he has something left over for me when that day comes."
Mike did not happen to be present, but I got the distinct impression that if he had been, it would not have made much difference in his mother's frankness.
"How long have you been having sex with Mike?" I asked.
"Oh, 'bout four months," she answered. "He was just thirteen when we started, but boys have gotta grow up pretty fast in this neck of the woods."
"Would you like to tell me how you got started with him?"
"Sure thing," she said. " 'Zamatterafact, it's a kind of funny story in a way...."
Mike's always been really fond of animals, ever since he was just a little kid. He always liked to feed the chickens, and do stuff like that. And of course, he liked to raise animals as pets, too. Take a little chick and grow it into a hen. Lotta boys 'round here do that. 'Course, there's always a bit of a fuss when the thing's full grown and has to go to market with its brothers and sisters, but I guess that that teaches the kids something about the world. There are certain things that just gotta be, and that's all there is to that.
Well, the last animal that Mike raised up like that was a little lamb. A little girl lamb. Sheep sometimes have an awful hard time giving birth, and as a matter-of-fact, they don't always survive it either. Well, Suzie-that's the name he gave the lamb-lost her mother that way, and he asked us if he could raise her with a bottle. Me'n Zeke said yes. After all, there isn't much you can do with a newborn lamb, but once it's grown up into being a sheep, it's a valuable animal. We raise some lambs here for meat, but we also have some for wool. Zeke and I figured that we'd use Suzie for wool when she'd grown up. That way Mike wouldn't mind. Kids have got to learn that what's gotta be gotta be, but sometimes they make kind of a ruckus about learning it, and I always say that there's no point just going out looking for trouble.
Well, anyway, Mike raised that lamb, and got to be awfully attached to it, even when it was a big sheep, and not really cute any more like when it was a lamb. He even used to take it away from the flock and lead it on a string like a dog.
One day, I was going out behind the barn for something, when I heard kind of funny noises inside. I peeked in through a knothole and there was Mike really giving that ewe's cunt the business with his cock. The grunting that he made as he shoved his dork back and forth inside her was the noise that I heard.
I'll allow that I was a bit taken aback, Doc. Mind you, any farm woman who has an ounce of brains in her head knows something about the kind of things that the menfolk get up to with the animals sometimes when there isn't any human pussy around. As a matter-of-fact, Zeke once told me when he was a little drunk that he didn't think he knew a single guy who hadn't had his dick inside an animal at one time or another. And that it wasn't just something that boys did.
Well, that was true, but even so, it kind of gives a mother a turn when she sees her son doing something like that. Not that there's anything really wrong with it-how can there be, if all the menfolk do it at one time or another-but I guess a mother is always a bit surprised and even unhappy to see that her little boy is growing up so fast. After a boy's gotten used to pussy-even if it's only a sheep's pussy-you can bet your boots that he's going to want more pretty soon. And that means that he'll be going after the girls, and maybe knocking them up.
Those were some of the things that I felt when I watched my son fuck that sheep Suzie, but those weren't the only things that I felt. The truth of the matter is that my clit started to stiffen up right away, and I felt my cunt get pretty wet. I'd decided to treat myself to some city-slicker type nylon panties when I was in the city last time, but though they sure look nice, with all those bright colors and everything, they don't absorb half as well as the regular cotton kind. So whenever you get all hot and bothered and your cunt starts to get wet, it really feels wet. And that's how my cunt felt right then.
When your pussy feels like that, there's only one thing to do if you want to get your peace of mind back, and that's to give it what it wants. Or as close as you can get. What a cunt usually wants is some nice hard prick. But when that isn't available, it's usually willing to be satisfied with a bit of finger action.
I slipped my fingers under my dress and wormed them in between my panties and my leg. Wow, did I ever feel hot there. Mike had been going for a while before I discovered him, so he was ahead of me. I had only gotten myself about halfway worked up when he came. I could tell by the way he sort of let out a groan and stood there shivering while his cock must have been firing away inside that sheep of his.
While I pressed my fingers against my cuntlips, I saw him pull his cock out of Suzie's cunt. It was still pretty stiff, and I just couldn't believe my eyes how big it was. And all glistening wet, too. I guess that sheep must have to get all slick inside like we gals do.
Finally, the tip of his cock came clear, and there was a long thread of come hanging from it, trailing back into Suzie's cunt. Somehow, the sight of that really turned me on, so the moment I saw it I pressed my thumb against my clit about as hard as it would go.
I found myself hanging fire for just a second, and then I let fly with one of the wildest comes I had ever had, with my hips bucking all over the place, and my cunt giving all sorts of contractions, as if it was trying to grab hold of a cock that unfortunately wasn't there inside it. The hardest part for me was to keep from making a lot of noise. Normally, when I have a good, hard come, I like to really cry out, but this time I didn't want to. I wanted time to think over what I was going to do about my discovery, and that meant that I didn't want to let Mike know that I'd been spying on him, anyway. Besides, snooping and spying aren't such nice things really for a mother to do. Or for anyone else to do, for that matter.
I put my dress back down, and walked quickly back to the farmhouse. There were a couple of things that I knew already. The first was that I was really turned on by the sight of my son's prick. Maybe I should have been bothered by that fact, but I wasn't, to tell the truth. Oh, we country folks know that people aren't really supposed to fuck with their sons, just like we know that they aren't really supposed to fuck with sheep, either. But you know, out here in the country there's just less to do, and I guess we take kind of a looser view of these things than city folks do.
Now, like I told you before, Doc, I'd had plenty of men ever since Zeke got his balls caught in the thresher, but I didn't feel completely satisfied with any of them. Oh, there were plenty of fine men among them, with good, hard pricks. But like I told you, I sort of wanted to settle down with one regular lover, and none of them quite seemed to fit the bill in that regard. But maybe my son would turn out to be the one I was looking for.
The only question that remained was how to go about getting him interested in me. I assumed that even though he liked fucking with that sheep of his, he wouldn't have anything against trying some human pussy too, but I still knew that it was a subject that had to be brought up in a kind of careful way.
I waited until that afternoon, when he was in the kitchen with me. Then I said to him, "Land sakes, Mike, you sure are getting to be a big boy!"
"Guess so, Mom," he said.
"Why," I went on, "everything about you's big. You've got big shoulders, big arms, big legs, big everything. I bet that your dick is just about as big as the rest of you."
"Mom!" he said, kind of surprised that I would say something like that to him.
"It's just the truth isn't it," I said with a smile. I was pretending that I was just making casual conversation, even though I really felt nervous, because I really wanted that prick of his badly, and I was afraid that I was going to blow it. Blow my chance I mean, not blow his prick. Blowing his prick wasn't something that I was afraid of doing, it was something I wanted to do.
"Mom, I guess I've gotta go and get busy with my chores," he said.
"Go get busy with Suzie, I bet," I said. He turned about as red as a carrot.
"What are you blushing about?" I asked him impishly. "I just said that I expected that you were going to go out and kill time with Suzie. Land sakes, you spend more time with that creature than you do with your own mother."
"I don't think you'd like being led around on a string," he said, trying hard to emphasize how harmless what he did with Suzie was.
"No, you're right there," I said, "but there are a lot of other things I'd like that you do with Suzie."
"Like what?"
My only answer was to reach my hand out and grab at his crotch through his denims. He gave a little gasp of surprise, but already I was kneading that cock of his. And it was starting to respond, too. Thirteen-year-old kids are always so horny that it doesn't take much to really get their motors running. I remember when I was thirteen. About all a boy had to do to get me to come was look at me.
"Mom!"
"Feels nice, doesn't it?"
"Uh yeah, but...."
"But what?" I asked, continuing to squeeze his prick, which was trying hard to burst through the confining denim.
"But ... but nothing. It does feel nice," he said. Already, whatever objections he had to have me feel up his cock had just about melted under the pressure of that hand of mine.
"Mike," I said, "I don't mind what you do with Suzie. Not that I know exactly what it is, but if you're like all the other menfolk around here, I have a kind of fair idea. But that doesn't mean that you have to neglect your mother." I gave him a smile to show that I didn't really feel like he had "neglected" me, and that I was just talking that way to let him know how much I wanted to fuck with him.
His eyes were fixed on my blouse. I have big tits, like you've maybe noticed, Doc, and my nipples are really large too, so that even when they're covered with a bra, they still manage to make little lumps in my blouse or dress if it isn't too thick. Well those two bumps there on my tits were where he had his gaze riveted.
"They look nice, don't they?"
"They sure do," he said, and licked his lips. A lot of his shyness had worn off by now. It had only been the result of surprise, anyhow.
"Maybe they'd look even nicer like this?" I suggested, and unbuttoned my blouse so that he could see my bra. "Or this," I added, taking my hand off his cock for a moment so that I could peel off my blouse and unfasten my bra. Man! You should have seen his eyes as those big melons of mine came rolling free of the bra right in front of him. If those nipples turned him on when all he could see of them was the bumps they made in my blouse, you can guess what he thought about having a chance to look at them all naked and swollen. I was so excited by what was going on that my nipples were already good and hard, and since they are pretty big anyway, that meant that they were absolutely huge.
He leaned forward and started sucking on one of them. That was just exactly what I had wanted him to do, and I gave a little sigh of happiness as I felt him press his lips against my nub. Meanwhile, I pulled down his zipper, and peeled his pants and underpants down so that I could get a good hold on his cock.
It was really big, too. Mike may be only thirteen, but I guess that maybe different parts of a boy's body mature at different times. Most of him still looked like a boy, though a big boy. But his cock was as big as those on most men I've seen. I wondered if maybe it was going to keep growing. As it was now, any cunt that it got itself rammed up (and I hoped that that would soon include mine) was likely to feel pretty full and satisfied.
I guess that we could have fucked standing up, but then there wouldn't have really been any way for Mike to keep on sucking my nipples, and I got the impression that he was getting as much pleasure out of doing that as he was likely to get out of any fuck. Besides, I was enjoying having his cock in my hand. So I figured that maybe a nice way to really get acquainted with each other would be for us to feel each other off.
Mike was too busy sucking on my nipple to think of that, so I took his right hand in mine and guided it between my legs. One second of touching me down there made him really keen on the idea of pawing my pussy to a come, and soon he was rubbing his fingers all over my cuntskin, and getting me worked up as hell, too.
Meanwhile, I was stroking his dick with nice, even strokes. I didn't want to get him worked up too fast, though, since all of this was so much fun that I wanted it to continue for as long as it could.
I later learned that Mike hadn't yet had a chance to fuck a human female, or even feel one up, for that matter, so maybe that's why there was something so eager about the way he was exploring my twat with his fingers. He was poking now here, now there, and he seemed to notice what the reaction was that he got from each little thing he did. For instance, he brushed his fingers against my clit-as much by accident as on purpose, I think-and of course that got a really big shudder out of me. He sensed that he had found a part of me that was so sensitive that he had better not touch it unless he wanted to bring me off right away, and he moved his fingers along to other, less supersensitive parts of my cunt.
He really had a natural instinct about sex. I could tell that from about the first minute on. Some guys just do it as if it was some sort of mechanical thing. But Mike had a certain style and an understanding of what it was that women liked.
For instance, my tits are very sensitive. But when someone just concentrates all his energy and attention on one of them, and leaves the other one all alone, I get to feeling pretty unbalanced. Well, Mike seemed to sense this, and so after sucking my right nipple for a while, he changed over and started to suck on the left one, even though I guess that from the point of view of his mouth, one of them must have felt just about exactly like the other one.
He had three of his fingers jammed up my cunt, and I sort of felt like I did when I went to the city and visited one of those gynecologist fellows. Of course, I really enjoyed that, too, but this was even better, seeing how the fingers belonged to my son.
His cock felt so stiff already I almost thought that it would break if it tried to get any stiffer. His balls were pulled up tight against the base of the thing, and I got the impression that he was not at all far away from his come. Well, that was fine by me, because I knew that it wouldn't take much more wiggling around of those fingers of his inside my cunt to get it off. As for my nipples, they'd been sucked so hard that they were almost sore, but I didn't mind that one bit.
I pressed my fingers really hard against his cock, and it suddenly started to shiver. Then all of spunk came flying out of it. Mike is really quick-witted, and as he felt his cock start to come like that, he remembered the reaction that he had gotten out of me when his fingers brushed my clit. He pressed his thumb against it and gave it a little flick.
POW! That was all I needed. A lightning bolt shot down my backbone, and then I was coming and coming, and coming. This time I didn't have to worry about making noise (Zeke was off in the city), and you'd better believe that I was moaning and groaning to wake the dead as I felt that cunt of mine spasm and spasm, while my hips bucked and heaved.
When we were finished, he took his lips off of my nipple, and his hand away from my cunt. I gave his cock a final little squeeze, then let go of it. "Pretty nice, huh Mike?"
"Sure was."
"And we haven't even gotten to the best part yet." Since he'd already stuck his prick in Suzie's cunt, there wasn't any need for me to explain what the "best part" was. I didn't want to try for it right away, though, because his cock had just had a come, and I didn't want to get too demanding with it, not until I knew just what kind of stamina it had. So I let him run along and do his chores.
Two hours later, he showed up in the kitchen, and told me that he had gotten everything done. The chores he had had to do would have normally taken him four hours, and I knew that it would never occur to him to lie about something like that. If he said he had done them, that meant he had done them, in half of the normal time. I could guess what the reason was he had worked so hard.
"Okay," I said, "for getting everything done so fast, you deserve a reward, and I think you'll like the reward that I have in mind." I sort of wiggled my hips as I said that, and he gave a big grin.
"C'mon, sport," I said to him. He followed me into the living room and we both stripped off our clothes. Close up like this, his boyish body looked even handsomer and more exciting than it had when I had spied on it through the knothole while he fucked Suzie. His prick was good and stiff, and I could guess that it probably had been during much of the time that he had spent hurrying through his chores.
"Why don't we start off with a good ordinary fuck," I said to him. "I like the fancy stuff, too, but I think that sometimes plain old meat and potatoes are best."
He nodded his head in agreement. I meant what I said, too, but there were other reasons for my wanting to start with a good simple position, despite the fact that all the men I've slept with since Zeke got his balls whacked off have taught me a lot of tricks. In the first place, I figured that this was Mike's first fuck with a woman, and that it would be best to start him on the basics. He already had had some practice fucking, but that was on a sheep, and I guess that with a sheep there's only really one position possible, so however many times he had stuck that prick of his up Suzie's cunt, he was bound not to know too much about sex. Secondly, I was curious about what kind of a fucker he was, what kind of natural talent he had. And I think that that's often the sort of thing that shows through most clearly in a good, simple fuck.
I lay on my back on the sofa and spread my legs, and of course he didn't have much difficulty figuring out what that was supposed to mean. He got down next to me, ready to climb aboard.
"Maybe before you start you'd like to have a good look at my equipment," I said. "You've already had quite a feel, and I expect that's given you a pretty good idea of what you're working with, but even so, I don't think it would hurt for you to get a close look at everything."
Mike was obviously delighted by the prospect of getting a close look at everything, and he put his face close to my cunt. No sooner had he done so than I heard him take a couple of deep whiffs through his nose. I guessed that that womanly smell of mine was something brand new to him, and something that he really liked, too.
"See those folds there by my hole? Those are my cuntlips," I said to him. "They're really sensitive, too, so when you want to get a girl worked up, those are the things to go for. Of course, I'm sure you found that out for yourself in the kitchen a while back."
Needless to say, giving him this little guided tour wasn't exactly the sort of thing likely to keep my cunt all calm and collected, so it wasn't much of a surprise to me when he asked, "is your cunt supposed to be all wet like that?" I was a bit tempted to ask if it wasn't wet on a sheep but I decided not to. I might embarrass him by asking him a question like that, and that sure wasn't something that I wanted to do.
"Yeah, it's supposed to be like that. That's to make it slick so that guys' pricks can slide back and forth in it without any trouble."
"What's that hard thing I touched in the kitchen that made you come so fast?" he asked.
"That's my clit," I said, "and that's the most sensitive thing that a woman has. If you're ever in a hurry to bring her off, just give her clit a bit of attention like you did in the kitchen, and you'll have her coming in no time. But of course, for the same reason you'd better stay clear of it if you want to sort of prolong things."
He nodded while I told him all this stuff. He's always been a really curious kid, eager to learn new stuff in school or out of it, and I could tell that he was paying a lot of attention.
I said a few more things about cunts in general, and then I told him, "frankly, all this talk about fucking is really getting me pretty hot and bothered. Why don't we move on to a practical demonstration."
That was fine by him, and he placed himself on top of me and positioned his cock. He was very careful about it. Even though he had stuck it into Suzie plenty of times, he had never done so with a woman, and I could tell that he certainly didn't want to hurt me. He slipped the end of it between the folds of my cuntlips, then pushed on in rather slowly and gingerly.
That didn't mean that having him go into me was any less fun. I've always thought that for a woman there's no feeling in the world like that of having a good hard dick slide into her. And since there could be no doubt at all about the fact that his penis was good and hard, I didn't have any objections to make about the fact that he was handling it a bit timidly. That was just a sign that he loved me and wanted to be careful with me.
Besides, I was sure that he would start acting a bit more vigorous with his tool soon, once he got used to the idea of having it in his mother.
He paused for a moment with the thing stuck inside me. Then, he started to buck, slowly at first, but then faster and faster. I was right in the observation that I had made in the kitchen when we were feeling each other up. He had plenty of instinct for sex, plenty of good, natural technique. Already by the sixth or seventh stroke of that cock of his he was moving it back and forth inside me like he'd been fucking women for years.
His hands weren't leaving my tits alone, that was for sure. I guess he's just a very breast-oriented kind of guy, because he seemed almost as interested in feeling up my breasts as he was in fucking my cunt. Because of that natural talent of his that I mentioned, that meant that he was doing both things very well. He had a way of pulling gently on my swollen nipples that was able to drive me clean out of my mind.
In! Out! In! Out! Nice hard strokes. Hard but easy, too. Nothing jerky or unexpected. The kind of pure bliss that a woman can only get from a guy who has good prick-control.
"Mmmm, you're great," I said.
"Thanks Mom," he replied. I could see from the look of contentment on his face how pleased he was by the compliment. That was because he could tell from my tone of voice that I meant it completely sincerely. It isn't possible to convincingly fake that soft purr of a woman who really likes the way in which her cunt is being filled.
My cunt was clutching at his prick as it slid back and forth inside me, and my hips were giving sort of special undulations in time to his thrusts. He was very, very good, there was no doubt at all possible on that score, and I was getting very, very worked up.
"Uh! Uh! Uh!" I gasped. Already it was getting hard for me to really focus my thoughts. All I could concentrate on was the wonderful feeling of that cock slamming back and forth inside me.
In! Out! In! Out!
Cock! Cunt! Cock! Cunt!
"Gonna make you come, Mom," he said. "Gonna make you come so hard!"
He was right, too. I could tell from the way in which my muscles were all tensed up, tell from the tension I felt in all my nerves and almost in my hair roots, that when the dam broke, it was going to be quite a flood.
I was sure the same thing was going to be true with him. I don't think I could remember having a harder prick inside me. And there was something so determined about him. It was hard to believe that he was only thirteen, but then like I said, Doctor, boys grow up quickly around here, and besides, he'd had plenty of practice on the sheep.
My head was lolling from side to side on the sofa cushions as I felt the muscles in my legs give little spasms. My back was arched as far as it could go, my nipples felt like they were going to burst, and still the fuck went on.
Then, all of a sudden, I felt my whole body go numb. It was as if I suddenly no longer existed, but it was a state that only lasted for the tiniest fraction of a second. Because almost immediately afterwards I felt my body flood with sensations as it broke loose in just about the wildest come I could ever remember.
BRRRRRRRT! I felt like my body was just going to fly to pieces. It wasn't just my cunt that was trembling and quivering around my little boy's cock. It was every muscle I had, spasming and letting go all at once.
And he was coming too, coming like there was no tomorrow, with his prick shooting away like mad inside me, pouring out the contents of his balls.
Come! Come! Come!
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
I could hardly believe it when it had stopped. It had seemed for a moment like it was going to go on forever. And once it was done, and all the frantic fuck-energy was drained out of me, I almost felt as if there was nothing left of me. All I could do was just lie there with my head spinning, and hope that some day I would be able to get my breath back and sort out my thoughts again. From looking at him, I was able to guess that my little boy felt just about exactly the same way.
We were really too tired to continue fucking, and besides, there's always an awful lot to do around a farm, so we went off to attend to our business. That night, though, we both felt pretty rested up, and since Zeke was still away in the city, and we felt it was a good idea to make hay while the sun shone, I went to visit Mike in his bedroom. You can imagine just how glad he was to see me, too. To show me, he flipped back the blankets on his bed. I could see the massive erection he had. Whether he had gotten it in the short space of time that I had been standing in his room, or whether he had gotten it earlier from thinking about me, I had every right to feel highly complimented.
I had already found out that he had a lot of style and natural talent for fucking, and that meant that I thought it was now time to make some use of that talent. One of the best ways to do that, I thought, was to have some oral sex. There's no other kind of sexual activity I know of where style and sensitivity are more important. I mean, if a couple is just doing a regular, missionary type fuck, all the guy has to do is keep shoving his cock in and out. Each time he does that, he pulls the woman's labia over her clit, and if he goes on doing it long enough, she'll come. Oh, I know that that's kind of an oversimplification, and in fact one reason that I had started Mike off with the Missionary was that I thought that in a simple position like that, his talent, if he had any, would have a good chance to shine through. The point I'm trying to make is that there's no way to bungle your way through a tongue-job. If you don't know which parts of a woman's cunt are the most sensitive, if you don't know how to "read" her in the sense a judging from her moans and shivers and other little signs just how close to her come you've got her, you'll never manage to satisfy her.
I was fully confident that my son had the necessary talent to satisfy me with a tongue job, and for my part, I was very eager to get my own mouth around that prick of his. It had sure felt nice between my fingers, but there's a world of difference between the kind of low-key enjoyment that you can get from just squeezing a prick with your fingers, and the bliss to be obtained from giving a good cock a blow job.
Mike thought that my idea of oral sex was really great. He obviously remembered how much he had enjoyed the little tour I had given him of my cunt before we fucked that afternoon, and he was delighted at the thought that he would get another look, and smell of it, with the added attraction of being able to lick it.
I lay down on the bed next to him, and positioned myself so that my mouth was near his crotch. As I did so I heard a loud sniffing. It was obvious that he didn't want to waste a second in getting some of that woman-smell of mine up his nostrils again.
I placed my fingers around his cock and gave it a squeeze. Even though the thing was already very, very hard, it responded to that pressure by stiffening up some more. Like I told you, the rest of Mike still looked very boyish, but his prick was the full sized model.
I licked my lips in anticipation as I looked at it. I noticed how nice his balls were, too, and it occurred to me that they normally get forgotten in the excitement of licking and sucking on the actual prick. So, to give them a bit of attention too, I gave them both a tender kiss. Apparently that wasn't something that Mike had been expecting. He stiffened up with excited surprise.
Suddenly, I felt a very nice, very insistent pressure on my cunt just behind my clit. I knew that that had to be Mike getting down to business with his tongue.
Well, my mouth was every bit as ready as his was. I gave a quick little lick to his piss-hole, then slipped the knob of his cock in past my lips.
In fact, I hadn't had a cock in my mouth for a couple of weeks. The guy I had been fucking with before hadn't been much for oral sex. But it wasn't just the wait that made this prick feel so heavenly as I rubbed my lips back and forth on its taut skin. It was the knowledge that this was my son's prick! It belonged to my little boy, who was now growing up to be a big man.
I slipped my lips up and down the length of his shaft, while using my tongue to give some added stimulation. At the same time, his tongue was really busy with the task of driving me straight out of my mind.
Lick! Lick! Lick! It seemed to be everywhere. It darted into my vagina, it slid back and forth across my cuntlips, it even made a daring lightning raid on my clit. I guess the taste of my cunt-juice was really spurring him on. The taste and the smell of it, that is, because I could hear him take one deep breath after another through his nostrils. There could only be one reason for him to do that.
I had one hand on his ballsack and was gently squeezing and caressing it while using the fingers of my other hand to play with my tits. At the moment I was concentrating on the root of his prick, but I was planning on going back to the place where shaft and knob joined. Variety! That's what I think the key to successful fucking is.
His tongue kept working its way deeper and deeper into my twat. It was almost as if he was trying to get at the entrance to my womb. I've known plenty of other guys who've made the attempt, but none of them has ever succeeded. It's just out of reach of a tongue, and that's all there was to that.
Well, out of reach or not, that didn't mean that his tongue wasn't causing all sorts of delightful sensations as it writhed and wriggled around in there.
His cock felt like it was ready to blast, and I started to rub my lips hard around the base of the knob. It gave a final shiver, and then started to gush.
He remembered what I had said about my clit, and what he had learned from practical experience that afternoon. As soon as he felt that he was on that sort of pre-come plateau, he pressed his tongue against my clit, and the result was that we both went off at exactly the same instant, with my hips bucking and heaving while his cock filled my mouth with spunk.
Filled is the word, too. Seeing as he had already had two comes in the course of the day, one in the morning and one that afternoon, I could hardly believe how much sperm those balls of his held. The stuff was splattering against the back of my mouth and dribbling down my throat. It was under my tongue, it was between my teeth and my cheeks, it was absolutely everywhere. And still it was coming!
It did finally stop, of course, and I slid my mouth off of his cock. I sloshed the sperm around in my mouth a bit with my tongue, and finally swallowed it in a couple of gulps. I could have gotten it all down on one gulp, of course, but swallowing spunk is so much fun that I like to prolong the pleasure whenever that's possible.
I snuggled up to him in bed, and we went to sleep together. It would have been fun to try something else right then, but one thing about a farm, and that is that you have to get up early. It was tempting to think of what fun we could have spending the whole night fucking, but we knew that that would tire us out so much that the next day would seem awfully long and tiring.
We did manage to get in a quickie before going about our chores, however. We had a few minutes to spare, and it was such beautiful weather outside that we felt we just had to start the day with a fuck, Everything else was too perfect for us not to.
Just because we were in a hurry didn't mean that we didn't want to show any style or imagination, though. So, instead of just engaging in the missionary position, Mike took me from behind, dog-style.
I got up on my hands and knees and waited for him to stick his cock into me. In some ways, I think that that waiting bit is the best part of a dog-style fuck. There you are, totally exposed, totally available, totally female. You cunt is completely uncovered, and your tits are hanging away from your body like ripe fruit. You know that your lover is going to take you, but you aren't quite sure when. And there you wait, all tense and excited.
As I waited there on my hands and knees, I suddenly felt a strange sensation on my cunt that I couldn't identify at all. There was a moment's pause, and then there it was again. If it was a finger, it was brushing my twat very, very lightly.
Then, I realized what it was. It was Mike blowing lightly on my twat.
It wasn't long after that I felt his hands around my waist as he steadied himself ready to shove in. Then there was the gentle pressure of his cock burying itself inside of me. He cupped my tits in his hands and fondled them while working my cock with nice, smooth movement of his prick. A final shove, and I was coming, and so was he, our two bodies locked together and right in step. It was very, very nice.
Since Zeke came back from the city, we've got to be a bit more careful about how we do things, since even though I guess he must know that a full-blooded woman like me can't get by without sex at my age, I think it would sort of hurt him to be presented with proof of my carrying on with someone else. And maybe the fact that that someone else was his own son might rile him up even more. I just don't know.
As I mentioned in my introduction to this book, it is possible for incest to be motivated almost entirely by physical needs of the most normal sort, with no psychopathology present whatever, and that is obviously the case here.
Mrs. S.'s desire to have sex with men other than her husband stems directly from the fact that he is no longer able to give her sexual satisfaction. She is aware of that fact that it might make him unhappy to know that she finds her sexual pleasure elsewhere, and this bothers her to a certain degree, but at the same time she is honest with herself about her own desires. She knows that she has sexual desires too strong to be denied, and that for her to lead a life of sacrifice by renouncing all sex on account of her husband's infirmity would be an essentially false and pointless gesture. It would not bring him any real increase in happiness, and it would certainly make her much less happy. Our society has always placed quite strong emphasis on self-sacrifice, but that does not mean that selfsacrifice is automatically the choice which the emotionally well-adjusted person should make. In places, it certainly is a sound, and impressive choice. But to be unaware that one's own happiness should count as much as anyone else's is to show an inadequate sense of self. By realizing the nature of her desires, and not covering them over with a veneer of moralizing or self-justification (she simply recounts the facts and allows the listener to draw his own moral conclusions) she gives a strong indication of being a fundamentally healthy person from a psychological point of view.
Mrs. T. in the first case sought revenge on her husband, and was afraid of grown men. But certainly those motivations are absent here with Mrs. L. At no point in her narration did she show any hostility at all towards her husband, and I got the distinct impression that she felt sorry for him and regretted this accident which interrupted their life together. Certainly, there is no breathless love involved, but the two of them seem to get on well enough together, and realistically that is about as much as you can ask of any couple once the honeymoon is over.
Unlike Mrs. T., Mrs. S. does not seem fixated on the fact that her partner is a young boy. Mrs. S. has had a variety of adult lovers, and though none of them came quite up to the standards that she set for anyone who might wish to become her regular and permanent lover, the fact that they were grown men does not seem to have bothered her in the least.
What does seem to attract her to her son is much more that he is part of the family. On one hand, rural morals are clearly quite casual and loose. But on the other hand, there is often a strong sense of respect for the family as an institution, and it is therefore not all that surprising, in this cultural context, that Mrs. S. would like to keep the sex "in the family."
The reader may wonder to what degree her case is a specifically rural phenomenon. There is an old saying in the Ozarks that a virgin is a five-year-old girl who can run faster than her pa and her brothers,1 and there is certainly probably less self consciousness about incest or bestiality in the country than there is among city people. Mrs. S.'s comments to the effect that she knew something was "wrong" but in the country it didn't seem to apply showed a fine ability to realize that moral codes are guides to help the individual get through life with a happy, well-adjusted personality, and not straight jackets into which all desires must be forced.
Despite the fact that country attitudes on these matters seem more casual, I would like to assure the reader that I have run across many cases of incest (and for that matter, bestiality) among city dwellers where the motivation seemed very clearly
1. Quoted in Masters, Of. Cit., p. 47 to be essentially physical in nature, and where the individuals involved showed no pathological psychological tendencies at all.
One definite benefit which country people do get from their more casual attitude towards incest is that incest itself is "defused" in a sense, and is unable to damage people through guilt feelings when they engage in it. Mrs. T. had many psychological problems, but some of them, such as her intense sense of guilt and personal worthlessness stemmed from the fact that she was aware that she had violated a taboo. Individuals who live in a social setting where that taboo is much less strong are able to commit incest without feeling this kind of guilt. Those of them whose incestuous behavior does spring from pathological causes do not, at least, have to bear this extra weight, and people such as Mrs. S. are able to go their ways without requiring any therapy of any sort at all.
CASE HISTORY FOUR
When he came into my office at the high school where I was subbing for a school psychologist friend, Billy H. was obviously a very nervous fourteen-year-old. He kept fidgeting with his fingers, and looked down at the floor instead of up at me.
"Well, Billy, what can I do for you?" I asked him.
"Gee, Doctor," he said, "maybe I shouldn't be bothering you like this. I mean, what I have to say isn't really all that important."
"If it's important enough to make you think that maybe I could give you some help, it's important enough for me to be interested in," I said with a smile. "After all, that's what the school board's paying me for."
"Yeah, I know, but...." His voice trailed off into nothing.
"Billy," I said, "sometimes when we have problems they are sort of personal, aren't they?"
"Yeah...."
"So personal that it's kind of hard to imagine telling anyone else in the world about them, right?"
"Uh huh ... "
"But sometimes, even if that's the case, telling them is the only way in which we can hope to rid ourselves of them. Now my profession is helping people with their problems. So you can imagine that I've heard an awful lot of them. That means that however bad you think your problem is, I've probably heard others quite like it before, and won't be at all shocked."
"I guess you're right."
"So don't you think that maybe you can tell me what it is that's bothering you?"
The boy's hands were shaking violently now. He looked up at me with desperation in his eyes. I could see that he realized I was right, realized that he should tell me what it was that was bothering him so badly, and yet he hardly dared to do so. Finally, he gave a swallow and spoke.
"I ... I fuck with my mother!" he said. Judging from the way he looked at me, I don't think he would have been surprised if I had called a lightning bolt down on top of him. He felt so incredibly guilty about his incestuous involvement with his mother that he just couldn't understand that someone might react with anything other than shock and disgust.
"Billy," I said gently, "I know that you think that fucking with your mother is something that's terribly, terribly bad, but it really isn't."
"It ... it isn't?"
"No. In the first place, I've known plenty of other boys who've done so. And one of the greatest experts on people's feelings, Freud, felt that every boy goes through a stage of wanting to fuck with his mother."
"But they don't all actually do it," he protested.
"That's true. And that's why I would like to have you tell me all about how you and your mother got started fucking together. That way, I'll be able to find out what it is that's making you so unhappy, and we can see if we can do anything about it."
"O-okay," he said in a very small voice, and began his story....
My Dad's a travelling salesman, so I don't see an awful lot of him. He's away most of the time, and I think that maybe one reason for that is that he and Mom don't really get on all that well when he's home. I kind of like him, but I guess because he's away so much, I'm not really very close to him, if you know what I mean.
With Mom, it's different. She and I have always spent a lot of time together. She'd like to take me to the zoo, and museums, and places like that that I enjoyed. And I always told her when something was bothering me. She'd have good advice to give me, and lots of understanding, too.
But when I started to go out with girls, I guess that I started telling her less about my feelings. I mean, it seemed sort of personal. I don't think that mom was very happy about the fact that I wasn't so open with her any more, but she didn't really criticize me or complain.
Anyway, about three weeks ago, I started going out with Sherry. She's this really neat girl in my class, and really popular, too. I was amazed that she was willing to go out with me, seeing as all the big athletes really go for her too.
I took her to a pizza joint, then we went over to her house to listen to records. We started making out, but all of a sudden, she said, "hey, don't you like to French kiss?"
I don't know all that much about sex, so I said to her, "what's a French kiss."
She didn't stop laughing for maybe three or four minutes. She was almost rolling around on the floor.
"What's a French kiss?" she asked incredulously. "You've gotta be kidding. I mean, I just didn't know that there was anyone left who was so out of it!" And she began to laugh again. It wasn't a good natured kind of laugh, either. It was as if she was saying, "you dumb cluck. How did I get stuck going on a date with you!"
I felt so humiliated that I mumbled something about how I had had to get my homework done, and left. I managed to keep the tears in on the way back to my place, but when Mom saw me and asked if I had had a nice time, I just sort of broke down.
"Honey, what's wrong?" she asked as the tears started to pour down my face.
"Mom ... it was awful!"
"What was awful?" she said gently.
"I don't want to talk about it!"
"You don't want to let your mother in on your secrets any more?" she said. There was something so calm and soothing about her voice. So I said, "Mom, I tried to kiss Sherry, but she just laughed at me."
"She laughed at you?"
"Yeah. I didn't know what a ... a French kiss was, so she just started to laugh at me!"
Of course, Mom didn't laugh at me on learning that I didn't know what a French kiss was. Instead, she said, "that just shows what a silly little girl she is. After all, everyone has to learn sometime about sex. It's not the kind of knowledge that we're born with."
"W-what is a French kiss, Mom?"
"It's a kind of kiss where the people keep their mouths open so that their tongues can touch each other."
"That sounds kind of weird."
"It's not, though, darling. It's very nice. Here, I'll show you so that in the future you'll know how and won't ever be embarrassed again."
She pressed her open lips against mine, and her tongue eased its way into my mouth. It felt very, very exciting, and I suddenly noticed that my prick was trying to erect in the confines of my underpants. Since she was standing right next to me, that meant that her belly could feel my prick as it grew hard. That didn't bother her, though. In fact, she just pressed herself all the closer to me, so that she could feel my prick even better through the intervening layers of clothing.
I didn't really understand what was happening, or why Mom was behaving like that, but one thing that I did know was that it was really exciting. My prick almost hurt from being cramped there inside my pants. I didn't mind though. What I really liked was the way it was pressing against her soft belly, and the way in which her breasts-which are pretty big-shoved against my chest.
"That silly little Sherry didn't know what she was missing," Mom said. I felt her hand slide down between us and cup my turgid crotch. She gave a squeeze, and I shuddered with excitement.
She kissed me again, then said, "that prick of yours feels like it could do with some more room." That was certainly true, and I didn't have an objection in the world when she unzipped my pants and then pulled down my fly. My prick expanded instantly to full size, and she didn't waste any time putting her hand around it and started to stroke and caress it.
"Come on," she said, "I can think of a better way of doing this than standing up." She led me into the living room, and together we sat down on the floor. She sat next to me, stroking my cock and saying, "my, but you're a big fellow now."
She pressed my shoulders back on to the floor, and then, after working her way out of her dress, she placed a leg on either side of my hips and started to work her way down over my cock, which she was holding upright in her left hand. I was so surprised by all of this that I didn't know what to think. But who wants to think when a fabulous looking female is about to impale herself on your dick? I hadn't even given a girl a French kiss yet, and here I was about to get my prick up inside Mom's warm, wet cunt!
I felt the tip of my prick slip on between her cuntlips. She paused for a moment and sort of rotated her hips, moving my prick around in a circle. Then, she slid the rest of the way on down. I let out a gasp as I felt how my hard rod forced apart the walls of her tender cunt. She had a really dreamy expression on her face, as if she was finally getting to do something that she had wanted to do for a good, long time.
She sat there for a moment with my prick inside her, and then started to slide her body up and down over it. As she did so, I could see her big breasts flop and jiggle. The nipples were all swollen and hard. I reached my hands up to cup the tits. She liked that, and sort of bent over so that I could keep my hands on her breasts more easily while she moved up and down. I took the nipples between my fingers and pressed. She gave a long, drawn out sigh.
Up ... down ... up ... down....
I'd beaten off before, but the feeling of my hand on my prick was never anything like the feeling of those warm, wet cunt-walls clutching at it.
"Mom ... you're so wonderful!" I gasped as I felt her continue to work my prick. A warm glow suffused her face when she heard me say that.
I was breathing kind of heavily now, and so was Mom. Her body had a fantastic undulating rhythm to it that was really driving me right out of my mind.
"Mmmm, you're prick is so nice and hard!" she said. And, of course, that kind of remark was hardly likely to make it feel much softer.
"Up! Down! Up! Down!
Almost there ... almost ... almost ...
Every time she slid back down over my prick I thought that I was going to come, but she had a fantastic knack for keeping me just, and only just, under the boiling point.
"Make me come, Mom! Make me come!" I gasped. She gave a sort of knowing smile. She realized that although I could hardly stand to wait for a Come much longer, I was also enjoying this fantastic tantalizing torment, and really wanted it to go on.
Every muscle in my body felt like it was tied in knots. I felt like I was going to go crazy if this went on any longer.
Mom slid her body very, very, very slowly up the length of my prick, and then glided on down again.
Down ... down ... down....
I caught my breath. I knew that this was going to be IT! With a sudden shudder, my cock started to spew its load of spunk up into Mom's body, as I came, and came, and came. She was coming too. I felt her cunt clutch furiously at my rod, felt her whole body jiggle as she sat there on top of me.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
"Fine! So goddam fine!" she moaned as she felt me send its load of spunk up into her cunt.
As soon as we had finished, and some of the fuck-frenzy had left me, I started to feel kind of funny about what we had done together. After all, it is sort of weird to fuck with your own mother, and besides, I've always gotten on pretty well with my Dad, when ever he was around. It just didn't seem right, somehow, to be sticking my prick up his wife's cunt.
"Mom," I said, "that was really fantastic, but do you ... do you think that we should have done it?"
She gave me a big smile.
"If it was fantastic, darling, what could have possibly been wrong with it? I mean, if two people can get something going together, isn't that what's important?"
"I g-guess so," I said, actually, I really wasn't all that certain on the point, but I figured that Mom had had so much more experience with life in general, and fucking in particular, that there wasn't a whole lot of point in my doubting her. After all, what did I know? I hadn't even known about French kissing until my mother had shown me.
"Anyway, sport," she said, "if it bothers you, we don't have to do it any more if you don't want to. It's just that I thought that we were able to have a lot of fun together."
When she said that, she sort of wiggled her shoulders, so that her tits jiggled a bit. Looking at those soft, smooth globes, I knew perfectly well that I was going to want to fuck with her some more.
"No, Mom, don't get me wrong," I said. "I thought that it was really great. It's just that I was thinking about Dad, and how he probably wouldn't like the thought of what we were doing together."
"Billy," Mom said, "I'd be the last person in the world to want to criticize your father. But the truth of the matter is that he's sort of a stick-inthe-mud."
She seemed a little bit put out by the fact that I had raised some objections to what we had been doing together. I didn't like to think that I might have made her mad, so I said, "honest Mom, I didn't mean to be a killjoy."
Mom gave me one of those great, big smiles of hers. One thing about her is that when she's annoyed, her bad mood never lasts very long.
"I know you didn't," she said, "and I have a good way of showing you that I'm not mad, either." And she spread her legs so that I could see her pink gash between the tufts of hair.
"Why don't you have a bit of a sniff and lick down there?" she asked. "I've never known a guy who didn't like that."
That sounded fine to me. I'd always kind of wondered what a woman was really like down there between her legs, and now I had a good chance to find out. I put my face next to her cunt, and eagerly drank in every little detail.
"Have a smell, too," she said, with that wonderfully warm, friendly voice of hers. "I know a lot of guys who think that the way in which a woman smells is almost the best part of her."
I took a deep whiff through my nostrils, and for a moment I thought that the smell would be almost enough to make me come right then and there. It was a bit like the odor that you sometimes got standing right next to the girls at school. The difference was that they were clothed, so you just got a bit of a smell, while Mom was stark naked, and my face was only about an inch or two away from her dainty twat. That meant that the female odor was able to come on really strong.
Man! I mean, there's nothing in the world that smells anything like that. When you get a whiff of twat, you know that you're really getting a chance to smell something female.
Her cunt looked as good as it smelled, too. Her cuntlips were about the same shade as her nipples and her mouth. They were soft and quite large, and covered with little droplets of pussy lubricant. They were sort of half folded over the dark entrance to her vagina. I couldn't see up her hole, but I certainly planned on finding out what it was like with my tongue.
I gave her cuntlips a quick flick, and she moaned softly. That was a promising beginning, anyway. I licked again, and I could see her hips quiver slightly.
"Mmmmm," she said, "that's really great!"
I could see how the cuntlips sort of half covered her clit. In school we have sex education classes, and though they're sort of dumb, and don't really tell you about important things like French kissing, they still let you know a bit about anatomy, and I had heard that the clit was an especially sensitive part of the female body. Well, it seemed like this was a good time to find out. I pressed my tongue against it, and got a really fantastic response. Mom let out a gasp, and her hips really quivered with excitement.
"Careful, Billy," she said. "That really feels fantastic, but you'd better go kind of easy on me there if you don't want everything to be over before it's even gotten started." Judging from the way in which her body had trembled, I could guess perfectly well that she wasn't exaggerating. So I moved my tongue on to other parts of her anatomy that weren't quite so fantastically sensitive. I soon found that the cuntlips were just about perfect for licking. They were good and sensitive, but at the same time, they didn't have quite the kind of hair-trigger reaction that he clit did.
I slurped my tongue back and forth on the soft pussy flesh, then sent it down into that dark hole of hers, to see what it was like.
It turned out to be very wet, and very soft, and very warm, and very, very nice. I pushed the tip of my tongue against first one of the cunt-walls, then the other, and noticed that each time I did so, Mom gave one of those little gasps of hers. I had never realized how incredibly sensitive women are. Frankly, I hardly see how they keep from coming just walking down the street, if their equipment is all as supercharged as that.
"Wow! What a cuntlapper! Lick me hard! Lick me! Lick me!" she gasped.
I sort of pulled the rim of her cunt this way and that, while continuing to sniff away at the delicious female odor. As for my cock, it was already completely stiff again, despite the fact that it had had a come a couple of minutes earlier. I guess that the idea of licking my Mom's cunt was really something that turned me on.
Mom was really writhing around now on the floor as she felt my tongue lap away at her pussy. She obviously wanted a come, and as for me, I was really anxious to get some more action on my cock. So, I gave her cuntlips a couple more licks, then pressed my tongue against her clit as hard as it would go.
Her whole body tensed for a second, so that it was as rigid as a statue. Then, it let fly in a series of frantic shudders that had her pelvis bucking and heaving. I could tell that her cunt must feel incredibly sensitive, but I was also able to guess that no matter how tender it felt, Mom probably wouldn't mind it getting a bit more stimulation, either. So, even as her hips quivered, I continued to send my tongue darting out against the sopping wet pussy flesh.
"No! No! No! I'm too tender there! No!" she gasped as I continued to lick her labia. But it was perfectly obvious from her tone of voice that what she really meant was "yes! yes! yes!"
Her hips finally stopped heaving, and she lay there on the carpet gulping air into her lungs. I could see her belly rise and fall, along with her chest and tits, as she breathed.
"Was that okay, Mom?" I asked. "Did I do okay?" I had never tongued a woman off before, and I wanted to make sure that I was doing it right. I wanted to give Mom as good a job as I possibly could, and I also wanted to learn as much as I could about the technique, so that I wouldn't ever be humiliated again like I was with Sherry.
"Okay?" she gasped. "Okay? You were fantastic, that's all. Just fantastic. I've never known anyone who liked twat like that. I guess it's something that you like doing, huh?"
"You're the first woman whose twat I've ever licked, Mom," I said, "but I thought it was really great."
"Uh huh. I've found that the things that guys really do best are the ones that they really enjoy."
"Have you ever known a guy who didn't enjoy cuntlapping, Mom?" I asked.
"Not really. A lot of guys are kind of put off at first by the idea of oral sex. I don't really know why, but they think there's something degrading about it, for some reason. But once they get their faces down there next to the cunt, and once they get a chance to smell it, they change their tune pretty quickly."
"Mmmm, I can bet," I said. "I can't imagine anything in the world much nicer than the smell of cunt. Do all women smell as nice as you do, Mom?"
"Well, I've never smelled another woman," she said, "but I expect so. I mean, I'm sure that we all produce much the same kind of lubricants and fluids in our pussies. But anyway, I bet that prick of yours feels like it's ready to burst."
"Oh, I can wait if you're still tired out, Mom," I answered. Actually, waiting wasn't going to be exactly easy, given the frantic state that my prick was in, but I didn't want to tire Mom out too much. She sounded kind of fucked-out and exhausted.
"Mmm, you dear, dear boy," she said. "I bet you would be willing to wait, too, just to make me happy. But I can see what your cock looks like, and no cock that looks that stiff can possibly be completely happy."
"But are you ready, Mom?"
"I think I've had enough fucking myself for the time being," she said, "but that doesn't mean that there aren't all sorts of nice things that I would enjoy doing with your prick. Here, place it on my chest between my tits."
I did so, straddling her chest with my legs. My prick was pointed straight at her face. Just as I was starting to wonder just what it was that she had in mind, she put a hand on each of her big tits, and pressed them together, squeezing my cock between them. It was a really neat feeling for me to have it imprisoned like that. I had it pressed against her chest, and on either side it was receiving pressure from her big tits.
"Got the idea?" she asked with a sly smile.
"I think so, Mom," I said.
"Why don't you see just how much of your stuff you can shoot into my mouth," she added. "Frankly," she went on, "I've eaten in plenty of good restaurants, but I've never had anything that tasted a tenth as good as spunk!"
I started to slide my cock back and forth between her globes. I could see a contented smile spread on her face.
"Mmmm," she said, "you just wouldn't believe how sensitive my tits are. I thought that I had had enough coming for the time being, but your cock feels so nice there that I think I'll feel myself off while you work yourself up to a come!" She put her right hand down on her crotch, and started to finger her cunt.
Licking her pussy had already gotten me really worked up, and having my cock enclosed by my Mom's tits wasn't exactly the sort of thing that was likely to cool me down much. I knew that it wouldn't be long before I was spewing. I just wanted to make sure that I got as much of my spunk into Mom's mouth as possible. I knew that she was looking forward to that, and I certainly didn't want to let her down.
Back and forth I rubbed my cock, and as I did so, I felt the muscles in my back and thighs pull tighter and tighter, and my breath come with more and more difficulty. As for Mom, she was giving out with funny little whimpering sounds, and her head was tossing back and forth from side to side. That was going to make it a little bit more difficult to make sure that I shot my load into her mouth, but I was going to do my best.
Her belly was sort of undulating and quivering under me, too. I guess that as she felt herself up, she was sort of flexing and unflexing her legs. That didn't surprise me. It was something that I had done a lot when masturbating.
I knew that my cock was just about to go off. I steadied myself, and said, "Mom, I think this is it!"
"I think so too! I can feel it!" she gasped. She held her head still with the mouth wide open, so that I could get a better shot. I gave my cock a hard shove between her tits, which she was pressing together even more firmly, now, and as I did so, I could feel it start to quiver and shoot.
The sperm came gushing out, and the first gob hit her lower lip. She changed the angle of her neck a bit, and the next bit went right into her mouth, followed by the gob after that and the one after that!
I could feel her hips shudder under me, too, and I could guess that the moment she felt my prick start to quiver there between her tits, she had pressed her fingers against her clit, so as to bring herself off at the same time.
My penis gave a final little shudder, and then one more drop of pearly cream oozed out the tip and dripped onto her chest. That was it. Mom seemed very, very satisfied. She used her tongue to lick up all the spunk that had not quite made it into her mouth, and then she swallowed that which had gotten in. One big gulp, followed by a big smile for me to show just how much she had enjoyed the action that I had given her.
"See, darling," she said, "there's no need to go around with silly little bitches like Sherry when there's someone at home who really appreciates you."
I certainly didn't get much of any sleep that night. I just didn't know what to make of the situation. I had fucked with my own mother. Right for a start, that seemed pretty awful. I mean, no one's supposed to do something like that, and besides, even though my Dad and I were never really close, or anything like that, I knew perfectly well that he wouldn't want any other male sticking his prick into his wife's cunt-let alone his own son. Dad always sort of trusted me, and I felt like I had really kind of betrayed that trust.
On the other hand, Mom's cunt sure was fantastic. Fantastic to have sliding back and forth over my prick, fantastic to look and, fantastic to smell. Here I'd been made to feel like some punk kid by Sherry, and then my mother had gone and made it perfectly obvious to me that I was a real man after all. Like I said, it was really a pretty confusing situation.
I guess it was the feelings of guilt that got the upper hand in the end, though. Mom's cunt was pretty tempting, but it seemed to me that no matter how tempting something is, you should be willing to give it up if it seems wrong to you. I told myself that even though the fucking session with Mom had been really exciting, it was going to be the last one. In fact, the next morning, when I woke up, I stayed in bed an extra fifteen minutes so that if Mom suggested something I could point out that I just didn't have time if I didn't want to be late for school.
As it happened, she didn't suggest that we fuck, and I almost think that I felt disappointed. Hadn't she been satisfied with the action that I had given her the night before? She did keep giving me a hungry kind of look, though, as if she couldn't stop thinking about how nice it would be for her if my prick was out in the open again. I realized that I was probably going to have to have a long, heart to-heart talk with her to make her understand that I thought she was really neat, and that if she wasn't my mother, and married to Dad, I would like nothing better than to fuck her morning, noon and night. It wasn't something that I was much looking forward to discussing, though. Heart-to-heart talks are something that I prefer to avoid.
All day in school I managed to keep my mind on my schoolwork and off of Mom's soft, pink cunt, though it wasn't easy. But what really decided things was the look that I got from Sherry at the end of the day. I had avoided meeting her eye until just the end of my last class, when she gave me a really snotty, contemptuous look. Sort of an amused "there's the little boy who doesn't even know how to French kiss" sort of look. Man, did that ever piss me off! I guess if I hadn't fucked with Mom the day before, I would have felt really crushed and intimidated by that look. But instead, all that I could think of was, "you dumb little bitch. Here you are putting on airs, and thinking that I don't know anything about sex, when in fact I had my prick inside a woman just yesterday evening. Inside my mother, too! She thought that I was such a virile guy that she decided to fuck with me, even though she knew how mothers aren't supposed to fuck with their sons!"
The funny thing was that I guess some of what I was feeling came across in the way I looked at her. Not that she had any way of guessing that I had fucked with my mother, but I must have looked at her in a really contemptuous, condescending way, because she turned her head and blushed. Don't think that didn't make me feel good, to intimidate the girl who had laughed at me and pretended that I was just some kind of dumb-ass shithead.
In fact, that felt so good that I couldn't help thinking about it all the way home on the bus. Which also meant that I couldn't help thinking about Mom, and how nice it had been to fuck with her. That stupid little Sherry! I didn't have any trouble getting women to want me. I knew one who was waiting eagerly for me at right that very moment. In fact, her twat was probably all wet and her clit all hard as she sat there waiting for the school bus to show up.
Thinking about how Mom's clit was probably all hard was enough to make my prick pretty hard, too. I licked my lips as I thought of Mom's little fun-button, and how nice it would be to give it a final lick to get her off, after driving her really wild with passion by slavering all over those delicate pink cuntlips of hers.
The more I thought about all these things, the hornier and hornier I became, and I was soon aware that there was no chance at all of my walking in the door and saying to Mom, "sorry, but I don't want to fuck with you. I think that we should have a talk about this...." That would be too hard on her after waiting all day for me, and frankly, I knew that I couldn't stand it either. My prick was almost hysterical now in its desire to get inside
Mom. Well, just a few more minutes, and I would be home.
I almost literally ran up the path to our front door. I didn't even have time to get the key in the lock before Mom opened it. She must have been waiting right near it and heard the sound of the key against the keyhole.
We didn't say anything. There wasn't any need. It was perfectly obvious that the one thing we both wanted more than anything else in the world right then was to fuck.
"C'mon, sport," Mom said finally, after we had kissed and hugged and stripped each other's clothes off. "I've got a position for you that I think you may kind of like."
I was ready to try anything that Mom suggested. She certainly knew more about fucking than I did, and I was certain that anything which she thought was good probably was.
She led me into the kitchen, of all places. There's a breakfast table there with some armless chairs around it. It was the chairs that she wanted.
"You've got to have an open chair without any arms for this position," she said, as she pulled one of them out from under the table. It wasn't yet clear to me how you would go about fucking in a chair, but I was more than willing to learn.
"Okay, Billy," she said, "now you plunk your ass down there on that chair."
I did so, and she then placed herself so that she was standing with her legs on either side of the chair, and her cunt right above my crotch. I was starting to catch on.
Mom put her hands on my shoulders, and then started to squat down. I held my prick upright as she did so, and soon she was impaling herself on it.
"Mmmm, you just can't believe how nice it is to sit down on a hunk of good, hard prick," she said. "And yours is about the hardest I've ever found."
That remark implied that she had tried out plenty of other cocks beside mine and Dad's. I couldn't help wondering just how many. Well, this obviously wasn't the time to ask.
She kind of jiggled up and down a bit, while smiling and giving me playful little kisses on my lips, cheeks, forehead, ears, all over, in fact.
Then, she started to work my cock by alternately flexing and unflexing her legs. It was sort of like the way she had ridden my cock up and down while I was lying on the floor the day before, but there were some important differences, too. This way, with her sitting in my lap, her face was right next to mine, and that meant that we could kiss without any difficulty. I really go for kissing, and I know that Mom does too, so this aspect of things was really nice. We did some French kissing as she slid her pussy up and down over my cock, but we also did more playful type kissing with the lips, too. Mom's neck turned out to be really sensitive, and I got her giggling like a girl as I tickled her neck with my tongue and kissed her behind her ears.
Up ... down ... up ... down ... All the kissing action may have been sort of playful; but down below the waist, everything was a lot more serious, with both of our sex organs getting hotter and hotter as Mom continued to work them together. Every time she unflexed her knees and lifted her cunt up, I could feel the suction between her pussywalls and my prick. And the same thing was true in reverse when she slid on down again. I could even feel how her cuntlips were pulled against my prick with every stroke that she gave.
"Mmmmm, nice, nice, nice," she murmured as her hips undulated in time to her strokes. My cock really felt tense, and my balls were pulled up really tight under my prick. I knew just how anxious they were to fire their load into her cunt. I knew that all my concentration on my schoolwork during the day had been a fact, that I had really wanted to think about Mom and how nice her twat was.
Mom was really going fast now, and timing her strokes to coincide with her breaths, which were coming in short, sharp pants, like those of an excited dog. I wasn't in much better shape. I could feel how every nerve I had was all raring to go. All that was needed was that final signal, and I would really be unwinding.
The signal came with one last downward swoop of her body. She kind of gulped as she made it, and I guessed that she knew that this stroke was the one that was going to get her off. Her pelvis ground against my balls, and for an awful moment I was hanging fire, not sure if I was going to get it off or not. Then my rod started to explode in a fantastic series of tremors as I shot my stuff way, way up into Mom's cunt!
That cunt was going wild too, and Mom pressed her hands tightly against my shoulders as the two of us sat there, coming together like it was the end of the world.
Gush! Gush! Gush!
Come! Come! Come!
It was quite a ride. Quite a ride....
"Mmmm, that wasn't so bad, was it," she said with a smile as she eased herself off of my cock. As she did so, a lot of the pussy-fluid and sperm that I had shot up there came oozing out and dribbled down the inside of her thighs.
"It was great, Mom. But sometimes I can't help wondering if maybe things aren't more complicated than we think. Maybe we should talk this over more...."
"What is there to talk about?" she asked with that big, warm smile of hers. "I like your prick and I love you. I hope you love me and like my cunt. So we give each other what we want. Could anything be simpler?"
It seemed to me like there was more to it than that, though, but I was so afraid of hurting her feelings. I mean, she had done so much for me. If it hadn't been for her, I think that the business with Sherry might have pretty much permanently crushed the manhood out of me. But as it was now, I knew for sure that I was a man. There wasn't any doubt possible about how stiff my cock had been just then, or the time before. So, I figured that maybe it would be better if I kept my mouth shut, at least until some better opportunity showed up for me to raise the subject without hurting her feelings.
We sat there and chatted, and I got the impression that Mom was intentionally trying to steer the conversation in such a way that it wouldn't really be possible for me to start a serious discussion about our incest. She asked a lot of questions about the kids at school, and what really surprised me was how hostile she seemed to be to most of the girls I mentioned, even though she didn't know most of them personally. When I said something about one of the girls at school, Mom would usually answer by saying something like a "a stupid little bitch, I bet."
"Well, Mom," I said after one of these exchanges, "she isn't so bad really."
"I'm sure she isn't," Mom replied. "I'm being catty. A mother's just so afraid that her son will fall in with the wrong kind of girls. I mean, so many of them really are nasty little bitches. And maybe there's a bit of jealousy too. I'm getting old and tired, and I suppose I'm afraid that you probably think that the girls you hang out with at school are a lot better looking than I am."
"Mom, that isn't true," I said.
"Oh, I bet it is."
"It really isn't. I mean, the girls at school are okay, but they don't have anything like your experience or anything."
"But they're pretty, right?"
"Oh, some of them are, but it's a really immature kind of pretty. They don't look sophisticated like you, Mom. They may look pretty, but you look beautiful."
"Is that true? Is that really true?" She clasped me to her as tightly as she possibly could. "It's so wonderful to have a loving son like you, who says such wonderful things, even if they are just compliments to make his mother happy."
"I really mean it, Mom."
"If you mean it, show me! Show me!" she said, and she flopped on the couch in a way that made it pretty clear how she wanted me to show her that I really thought that she was beautiful.
And I really wanted to show her, too. Mom is beautiful, and I don't think she's ever looked more beautiful than she did then lying back on the couch with her legs spread and a couple of strands of her hair trailing in her eyes.
I got on top of her, and eased my prick into her cunt, while she gave a little moan of delight. Then, I started to work back and forth inside her.
"Fuck me! If I'm still beautiful, fuck me! Fuck me!" she gasped, and I heaved my cock back and forth as hard as I could, really sliding it on the wet sides of her cunt. Her hips were undulating in response, and her eyes were closed. She kept moaning and sighing.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I was pounding away like crazy, and my cock felt like it was made out of cast iron. I was going to show her. I was going to show my Mom that she was still a desirable woman. She was still a desirable woman, but what I desired right at that moment was not so much her body as a chance to let her know how wonderful I thought she was.
In! Out! In! Out! My body was covered with sweat as I pounded and pounded and pounded. I don't think Mom could even think right then. She was just gasping, and wriggling, and moaning as I let her have my meat again and again, and again.
One final stroke, and my cock was unloading, letting her have all its sperm in a series of shuddering jolts.
"See, Mom," I said quietly. "If you weren't beautiful, I wouldn't be able to fuck you like that!" She pulled my head down next to hers and murmured, "you're just so wonderful darling. My own wonderful boy!"
Just as I finished pulling my cock out of her cunt, we heard a car pull up into the driveway. There was only one person that could be, namely Dad!
I dashed up to my room, carrying my clothes with me. Mom ran into the bathroom.
"Anyone home?" Dad asked as he stepped in the door.
"Uh huh," I called out from my bedroom, as I frantically pulled my clothes on. I opened the door and ran down the stairs to meet him.
"Where's your mother?" he asked in that friendly, but kind of distant way that he has.
"In the bathroom, I think."
He sat down on the sofa, and I sat next to him and chatted, asking him how his trip was, and stuff like that. At that moment, I heard a flush (doubtless done just to fool him), and Mom appeared out of the bathroom door. She gave Dad a hug, and it really bothered me somehow to see her do it. I couldn't understand how she could really be fond of him if she was willing to cheat on him with his own son.
I thought the atmosphere was sort of tense the whole rest of the day, particularly at dinner. But maybe that's just because I felt sort of bad about the fact that I had been fucking with Mom just before Dad walked in. After all, he had been out on the road making a living so as to support us.
That night, as I lay in bed, I tried to sort out my thoughts about the whole crazy situation. I figured that Mom would not try anything with me while Dad was around, but of course he was never around for long. What bothered me most was that although I was really grateful to Mom for kind of initiating me into sex, so to speak, and proving to me that I was a man, I felt now like I could probably get the sex I wanted off of the girls at school. After all, a lot of sexual success is self confidence, and I had a lot more of that now than I had when I made a fool of myself with Sherry. But I knew from all the things that Mom had said to me about how she felt jealous of the girls at school being so young, that she'd probably really flip out if I took up with one of them.
At just that moment, my door opened. It was Mom!
"Your father's asleep," she whispered. "He went to sleep after fucking with me. I hope he had a good time. I know where I have to come to get a good time for my cunt, though."
She sat on the bed next to me, and started stroking my hair. Then she kissed me, and pulled the blankets down. She put her legs astride me and slipped her cunt over my cock. Then she worked herself up and down until we both came.
It was a nice fuck, and I enjoyed it, like I always enjoy fucking with Mom, But again, when it was over I felt sort of guilty about it, too. Guilty and trapped. But I couldn't think of anything that I could say about my feelings that wouldn't hurt Mom. And that's the way it's been ever since. The only difference is that I find myself getting more and more uptight about the situation as time goes by, and I don't know what I can do about it. I .was hoping that maybe you'd have some good advice for me, Doctor.
Human beings are social animals, which is to say that mental and emotional health is not something which exists in a vacuum. Rather, it is a question of how the individual relates to others, and reciprocally, the effect that they can have on him. It is not at all uncommon for a patient who seeks psychopathology of some other individual with whom he must come in close contact. Such was certainly the case here.
Billy H.'s mother clearly belongs to that category of women who are so emotionally wrapped up in being mothers that they resent any indications that their children are growing up, and unconsciously seek to retard the maturation process by creating as many new ties of dependency as they possibly can.
For Mrs. H. to be close to her son, take him to the zoo, et cetera, was perfectly natural. But when she used her body in order to make this closeness all the more binding, then an unmistakably pathological element had entered the picture.
Although statistics are very hard to come by, it is my belief that this sort of maternal desire for incest in order to keep the son in an emotionally dependent role is far more common than some people think. Precisely why Mrs. H. has this psychological need is something that is difficult to determine without actually interviewing her, something which I never had a chance to do. The fact that she fears growing old is certainly a clue. She is obviously an emotionally insecure person who associates maternity with youth. This is a natural enough association, since most women are young when they actually bear their children. What is abnormal in her case is that she is unable to do as most women do and find a new role for herself as the direct "mothering" one becomes less and less necessary given the increasing maturity of the child.
It is obvious that Mrs. H. dislikes the young females whom her son associates with at school, since she quite correctly sees them as rivals for his affection. And since this affection of his is something which she believes that she cannot possibly do without, she is willing to offer her son her body.
The reason I am dealing with her at such length, rather than getting right into a discussion of Billy's problems, is that she is the one who set the ground rules for their relationship. It strikes me as highly significant that so many of their sexual encounters involved a position in which she plays the active, dominant role. Again, within limits, there is nothing at all strange about a woman wanting to do this, or about a man wishing to play the passive part. But given the other circumstances of the case, it is clear that when Mrs. H. "top-rode" her son, she was emphasizing his subordinate, dependent position.
This neurosis of hers acted powerfully upon the son. Like most adolescents, his feelings about sex were somewhat confused and contained a significant amount of anxiety. This anxiety was of course heightened by the bad luck that he had of running into a girl like Sherry, whose gleeful and pitiless ridicule indicates that she herself probably has substantial psychological problems.
Adolescence is a time when a boy normally loosens the ties that bind him to his mother. But precisely because these ties have been so important in childhood, this is a difficult process, and the male teenager who finds himself facing a seemingly difficult or even hostile world is likely to find himself very tempted by the idea of returning to the comforting dependency of childhood. And when, along with this dependency, he is offered a satisfaction for his new and sometimes frightening sexual desires, the temptation can be very, very strong indeed.
Of course, making a healthy adjustment to the pressures of grown-up life is something that every boy must do if he is to achieve mature and responsible adulthood. Insofar as Billy has not made this adjustment, he had psychological problems which required professional help.
It is clear that he wanted to break away from his mother, and that his acceptance of her offer of "childhood with sex" was only a momentary weakening in the face of the difficulties of growing up. But he lacked the strength to make this clear to his mother. It is legitimate to try and avoid hurting other people, but a well-adjusted individual is also willing to accept responsibility for doing so in cases where it is unavoidable. As I said earlier, one's own desires are every bit as important as other people's, a failure to perceive this, or to act on it, is not a mark of sainthood but a sign of inadequate sense of self. Clearly, Billy had to tell his mother that he no longer wanted to continue the incestuous relationship.
In the course of the therapy which he undertook at a low-cost clinic I recommended to him, he came to see that he had to stand up for himself, and he finally acquired the courage to do so. This meant something of an emotional rupture with his mother, who was outraged at losing her bed partner and her "little boy," but Billy had achieved a strong enough degree of self confidence in therapy to face this painful situation. Certainly, it was in his long-term interests to do so rather than to let the situation drift, for the latter's course of action could only have ended with his becoming a weak, dependent "mamma's boy."
CASE HISTORY FIVE
Every social class has its own distinctive ways of showing emotion, and this goes for-self-confidence as much as for any other psychological state. But self-confidence is perhaps never quite as convincing, quite as impressive, as it is when possessed by a member of the upper class.
Mrs. Phemie W. radiated self confidence. There was self confidence in the way she sat, in the way she talked, in the way she moved her hands. The elegance and good-taste of her clothes showed her to be a woman of subtlty and discrimination. To be truthful, I was surprised to see her in my office, for nothing about her suggested that she was laboring under any difficult emotional problem which required professional help.
"I hope I'm not wasting your time, Doctor," she said in her smooth, even voice, "but there's a nagging doubt I've had for the last few weeks, and I decided that perhaps I should see someone who could tell me if I have reason to let it worry me or not."
"What sort of doubt?" I asked.
"About my sons. About the way I'm bringing them up. Our life is somewhat unorthodox, and although it brings us all a great deal of satisfaction-if those words suggest that there's sex involved, let me assure you there is-I can't help wondering if I might not be doing them some harm. Certainly that's the last thing in the world that I'd want. They're such splendid boys, and even if they weren't splendid, they'd still be mine and I wouldn't want to hurt them."
"You say sex is involved. Does that mean that you have sexual relations with them?" It was obvious that with a woman as calm and sophisticated as this one, no little subterfuges were necessary in order to broach even a subject like incest.
"Yes. We have sex all the time. Well, not all the time, but certainly very frequently."
"Does your husband know about this?" I asked.
"Oh, I think so. I've never tried to hide it, though I haven't gone out of my way to tell him, either."
"It doesn't sound like a very close marriage," I said.
"Oh, it's not, but then it was never intended to be. Strictly a manage de convenance right from the start. I didn't go into it as a wide-eyed girl expecting romance. I knew that for financial reasons my father wanted me to marry Richard, and I'm sufficiently addicted to luxury to have been more than willing to go along with him."
"It's a marriage in name only?"
"Effectively. Richard's interests lie elsewhere. In spheres that exclude me."
"He's homosexual?"
"No, he's a heterosexual, but his tastes involve whips and things like that. My skin's way too thin." She gave a sly smile.
"How do the boys like their father?"
"Oh, quite well. But I think that it's really my brother Andre whose been the real "father figure" for them. They share the same sort of interests: roulette, sports cars, things like that, though my boys aren't old enough to really enjoy those interests yet. They like to think about them and talk about them, though."
"How old are your boys?"
"Fifteen and thirteen."
"Are you their sole sexual interest?"
"Good heavens no. I certainly would be worried if I were."
"Well, Mrs. W., this all sounds very interesting. Why don't you let me have the whole story from the start, and I'll see what I can make of it."
"All right," she said. "It's a decadent sort of story, since we're decadent sort of people. But at least I don't think it'll bore you."
And so saying, she began to tell it....
It all started about six months ago, when I got home from a party. My escort, a very sexy older gentleman, had accompanied me home, and we were looking forward to having a nice fuck together. It was four in the morning, but I figure that any hour is good for sex.
Roger, my friend, was a bit impatient, and started to undress me in the hallway. Soon I was down to nothing but my bra and panties. He had his pants off, but from the waist up was impeccably dressed in a dinner jacket. We headed for my bedroom.
I guess it was because we were a bit drunk that we didn't notice the sounds that were coming from the other side of the door. I opened the door, and there was my son Henry getting ready to fuck a very pretty young girl. Henry is fifteen, very handsome, very sexy. He has plenty of luck with girls, though I normally don't watch him actually fuck them.
Everything would have been all right if this girl had just come from the proper background. She would have taken the incident in stride, and after I had closed the door, would have gotten back to the business of being fucked by Henry. But alas, it seems that she was from the middle class.
Now, I know that that sounds terribly snotty, and I don't mean it to. I have nothing against middle-class people, or against Henry going out with middle class girls. But they sometimes lack a certain ... flexibility. There isn't much of the old "middle class morality" left, but there is a bit. This girl was perfectly willing to fuck with Henry, but she was not willing to shrug off the fact that her boyfriend's mother had witnessed her in the act. Maybe because she knew just how horrified her own mother would be in such a circumstance.
So, even though I said "sorry, kids," and closed the door quite quickly, the girl burst into tears. I could hear Henry try and comfort her, but I didn't get the impression he was making much headway.
Roger put his arm around my waist and guided me into another bedroom.
"Roger," I said, "I think I broke up their party!"
"It wasn't your fault, Phemie. They should have been fucking in Henry's room, anyway. He knew you had gone out to a party, and he might have expected that you would come back and want to make use of it."
"I think it's the mirrors that made him want to use it. But even though you're right, I do feel sorry about having spoiled things for them."
"It is a shame, but there isn't a thing that you can do about it now, darling," Roger said, as he started rubbing my right nipple into a state of frantic hardness.
At that moment I heard the front door open and close. That was obviously the girl leaving.
"Guess you're right," I said. The pressure of his fingers on my nipple was getting me quite turned on. When a man really knows how to play with my tits, I can't concentrate on anything else.
After we had finished, and Roger had gone to sleep, I got up and went to see Henry. Even though Roger was right, and it was the boy's fault in a way that his fuck had been spoiled, I couldn't help feeling that I owed him some sort of an apology.
He had left my room and gone into his own. (Roger and I had fucked in yet another bedroom.) His light was still on, and he was in bed reading.
"Hi, Henry," I said.
"Oh, hullo, Mother."
"Sorry about walking in on you like that. Was there a big scene with the girl?"
"Big enough," he said, indicating with a wave of his hand that there wasn't any girl next to him in bed at that moment. "Don't worry about it, though. It was my fault anyway for going and using your room:"
"Maybe so, but I feel sort of bad about it. I bet you're still pretty horny, too." I knew from personal experience that if a fuck has to be called off at the last moment, beating off isn't much of a substitute.
"You can say that again," Henry said with a smile.
He doesn't usually wear any pajamas, and I could see his chest above the sheets, since he had himself sort of half propped up in the bed. And for some reason, as I looked at that boyish, but already fairly nicely-developed chest, I couldn't help wondering how the rest of him would look. There was sort of a lump under the blankets where his prick should be. I squeezed the lump, and said, "yeah, you are horny!"
"Hey, Mother, cut it out. I'm ticklish!"
"I bet you're ticklish there," I said, giving another squeeze. I suddenly tickled him under the right arm, and while he was sort of doubled up laughing and trying to defend himself, I managed to pull the covers down. Sure enough, his cock really was rigid. I hadn't been able to tell for sure, before, since there were so many layers of blankets on it.
"Here," I said, "let me make up for spoiling your fuck." And so saying, I bent down and slipped my lips around his cock.
To be frank, when I entered his bedroom I hadn't the slightest idea that I was going to make sexual advances to my son. Or at least, I didn't think that I did. I guess we really can't tell for sure what's in the back of our minds, can we, Doctor? But at any rate, all the horseplay had gotten me in a kind of playful mood, and besides, I did have plenty of champagne still sloshing around in my belly. Otherwise, I guess that I might not have tried such a thing as sucking on my son's prick.
"Hey, wow!" he said, obviously sort of surprised. But he really had been left in the lurch by the departure of the girl, and that meant that he had been left in a pretty acute state of horniness. It didn't take much lip-action by me on his cock to convince him that the best tactic for him to follow was to lie back and enjoy.
Although I had first started sucking on his cock as a kind of joke, it soon became a dead serious activity. One thing about me, and that is that no matter how much sex I get, I'm always ready for more. Roger had just given me a very nice come, but that didn't mean that the familiar feel of a cock between my fingers and in my mouth didn't get my motor cranked up again pretty fast. My clit hardened up, and I felt some pussy-juice ooze out of my cunt and start to trickle down my right thigh.
"Mother, you're really good," I heard him say. I knew I was, too. And I knew the reason. It was because I enjoyed what I was doing. I've always thought that the feel of a nice hard cock in your mouth is really fantastic, and I'd just about as soon blow a guy as fuck with him.
I was using my fingers to squeeze and caress the base of his prick while my lips played around with the very end of it. I sort of rubbed my tongue gently across his piss-hole, and pressed my lips against the spot where the knob and the shaft of his prick joined. He was giving little shudders now, and I guessed that I was getting him pretty worked up. I moved my fingers down to his ball-sack and found that it was already pulled up tight against the root of his prick.
I slid my lips up and down the length of his shaft for a while, and then started sucking away at the base of his penis. What I liked about doing that was that it resulted in my mouth being completely full of prick. I was even able, by moving my head from side to side a bit, to rub the very tip of his penis against the back of my mouth.
"Mmmm, go to it, Mother. That's fantastic! Ah! Ah! Ah!" he gasped. I don't think that I was very far behind him as far as being worked up was concerned. I had been playing with my labia since I had started in on his cock, and one thing about my labia is that it doesn't take my attention to them to get my whole body wound up just about as tight as a banjo-string. Besides, the mere presence of a cock inside my mouth was enough to get me cranked up pretty fast.
It was kind of late, and I was starting to get sleepy-wine sometimes does that to me-so I didn't want to make an all night thing out of this. I pressed my lips very hard against the spot where his knob and shaft joined, and was rewarded with that funny little stiffening that cocks give when they're just about to shoot. That told me all that I needed to know, and I rubbed my clit very hard.
BINGO! I felt my hips start to heave and buck as the force of the come ripped through my body. And his cock was shooting away happily, emptying the contents of its balls into my mouth.
I sucked on the thing for a while longer after it had finished shooting, then pulled my lips off of it.
"Taste nice?" he asked.
"Mmm," I murmured through closed lips. Then I swallowed his sperm.
"That was really something else, Mother," he said.
"I guess it was," I replied. Then I headed back to the other room to get some sleep.
Roger had some things to attend to, so that when he woke up, he said a hasty good-bye and left. I understood why he had to go, but that didn't mean that I wasn't a bit sorry too that I hadn't gotten a wake-up fuck. I rang for the maid and said to her, "is Henry up yet?"
"Yes, ma'am," was the answer. "I just took him his breakfast in his room."
"All right," I said, "bring mine in there too." She went off to get another breakfast, and I headed to Henry's room.
He was sitting up in bed again, this time with a breakfast tray in front of him. He was eating heartily.
"Morning, Henry," I said. "Big appetite?"
"I'm in training."
"For what?"
"The sexual Olympics. I want to get a gold medal for endurance."
"If your endurance is anything like the other qualities you have, there won't be any problem for you."
He looked at me slyly. We were both thinking about what we had done the night before. If we didn't actually mention it, I guess it was because we were still old fashioned enough to feel just a lit tie bit dubious about incest.
The maid came in with the breakfast. I had her leave it on the desk. When she left, I carried it over to the bed, and then placed it on top of the covers after I got under them.
"Ah, les convenances!" Henry said. "It would never do for the maid to see you in bed with me eating your breakfast."
"Oh, I don't know," I said, as I started in on a piece of toast. "After all, we aren't doing anything."
"Speak for yourself," he said with a grin, and suddenly I felt the nicest pressure on my cunt. It was his hand. Groping under the covers, they had found my pussy, and were slipping up into it.
"Mmmm, that's really nice," I said, "but I'd like to finish my breakfast first. I'm hungry."
"Roger tire you out? He must have a lot of stamina for his age."
"Now don't you go making fun of Roger," I said. "If you can do half as well as he can when you're in your sixties, then I'll be very proud of you."
Henry was still feeling up my cunt, but he was doing it in a casual sort of way, rather than really trying to get me all cranked up for a come. That way, I was able to continue talking and eating my breakfast, even though his fingers were poking and prying all over the place.
"Mmmm, goes well with the marmalade," Henry said as he pulled his fingers out from under the covers and started to suck the pussy-juice off of them.
His hands were soon back at work.
"Have you any idea how difficult it is to eat breakfast when someone is feeling up your cunt?"
"Never having had a cunt, I guess I don't know. But if you'd like to return the favor on my prick, we can have an interesting discussion on breakfast and comparative anatomy."
I finally got my food eaten, and lifted the tray to the floor.
"Now for business," he said as he threw the blankets off. Like me, he hated the idea of fucking when you couldn't see what you were doing. "What would you like?"
"The Missionary."
"Ah, Mother, you're getting conservative in your old age!"
"Oh, the Missionary isn't as bad as all that. Besides, it seems to me that the very fact that we are going to be fucking together is unorthodox enough. I kind of like the idea of starting off something like an incestuous affair with something as pedestrian as the Missionary Position."
In fact, I didn't feel quite as calm and collected as I tried to pretend. Now that I could see his entire naked body, I was really very eager for him to stick that prick of his inside me.
"The Missionary it is," he said. I spread my legs, and he got on top of me. He was breathing kind of quickly, and I had no way of telling whether that was just because he felt all horny and excited, or because the idea of incest made him tense. He's a boy of pretty liberated views, so I doubt if it was the latter.
He pressed his cock against my labia, then moved it so that the tip of it was nestling just inside my hole.
"Feels good already."
"Mother, I bet your cunt is so used to having things stuck in it that you couldn't tell the difference between an elephant's prick and a noodle."
"Ah now, how about a little bit of respect for your poor old mother?" I said.
"I don't know about that," he said, "but I sure know of something else that I'm willing to give to you." And so saying, he shoved his cock the rest of the way into my twat.
"Mmmmm," I murmured, as he settled into a nice, even rhythm. "That little girl who ran out of here last night didn't know what she was going to miss."
"Guess not," he said, as he continued to slide his penis back and forth on the film of lubricating fluid that my cunt was so busy secreting.
I was later to find out that he was quite fanatical about breasts. I got my first indication of it right then, when he started to trail his fingers back and forth across my tits. (I had discarded my bathrobe before getting in bed with him, of course.) I don't think that I have ever felt such a sensitive touch there. And believe me, I've had plenty of men touch my tits at one time or another. As I felt him play with my breasts, what I was reminded of was a concert violinist playing a Stradivarius. Maybe it sounds a bit boastful for me to compare my tits in quality to a Stradivarius, but my son's fingers were certainly as sensitive as those of any violinist that I had ever seen.
He started out by sort of nudging my tits to one side or the other. Somehow he had guessed that the underside of my breasts was particularly sensitive, and he gave that area special attention. My nipples were all swollen and hard by this time, of course, but that didn't mean that he devoted all his attention to them. I think he was rather going on the theory that to keep them excited, the best thing to do was to keep them a bit hungry. Every now and then his fingers would brush across them, and whenever that happened, I would give a shudder of pleasure. But then he would move his fingers elsewhere on my breasts.
It was so tantalizing that it was driving me out of my mind, but that didn't mean that I wasn't enjoying it.
In ... out ... in ... out. ... Always that nice, easy rhythm. It's nice for a mother to learn that her son is a real man in the sense of being able to keep his cock good and stiff (Henry certainly had no problems in that department!), but I think it's almost equally comforting to find out that he has natural style. Some guys just shove their cocks back and forth inside you as if they were trying to pump up a tire. But every thrust of my son's penis inside me told me that he was aware of each nuance of feeling that he was causing in that twat of mine. And he was causing plenty.
Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. He was picking up speed, now, and his breathing was becoming a bit more labored. He likes to pretend that he's always as cool as ice, and never gets excited about anything. But the way that prick of his was starting to slam back and forth inside my cunt certainly told me differently. The important thing was, though, that even as the tempo picked up, the elegance and style and sensitivity of his technique remained unchanged.
"Wow, you're quite a fucker!" I said.
"Motherfucker?"
"Uh huh."
"To tell the truth, you're about the best lay I've ever had," he said. That struck me as quite a compliment, since he was handsome as a god and I had the distinct impression that he had already gotten a good deal more than his share of pussies.
"Fuck me!" I gasped. "Fuck me! Fuck me!" That cock action was really starting to get me pretty desperate for a come.
Henry didn't say anything, but continued to work away with that cock of his inside my hole.
"Uh! Uh! Uh!" That was the only way I could breathe, now.
In! Out! In! Out! I felt like I should have come minutes ago, and that it was only my son's skill that was keeping me back so that I could enjoy the fuck longer.
Almost there ... almost ... almost....
In! Out! In! Out!
How much longer could he keep this up for? How much fucking longer?
Then I felt him pull his cock back very, very slowly. I sensed that this stroke was going to be the one that got me off, and that he was going to make it a really good one.
Back in he slid, really slowly, and really hard.
In ... in ... in....
I felt my body ready for the come as that hard hunk of male meat kept on gliding in.
Then, all of a sudden, my cunt was going off like a box of fireworks that someone had dropped a match into. It was clutching frantically at his cock as my hips bucked and heaved, my back twisted, my shoulders trembled. ... And his cock was shooting away like it didn't plan on ever stopping.
Of course, eventually it did in fact stop, but that didn't mean that it just went limp right away. Not by any means. It stayed just about as hard as it had been while it was still sliding back and forth inside me. It really felt good to lie there with the hard male thing filling up my female cavity.
From that day on, Henry and I fucked at every possible chance, and since neither of us had much else to do (his school vacation was still going on), that meant that we had plenty of chances. I guess you could almost call it a sort of honeymoon, at least in so far as the degree to which we were obsessed with each other's bodies, but that's the only sense in which you could call it that. There wasn't anything silly like our falling head over heels in love with each other. Before fucking with Henry, I had loved him as a son and liked him as a very witty and charming friend. And that's just what my feelings were now. The only difference was that to my previous respect for his personal qualities had been added a substantial respect for his abilities as a cocksman.
My son Damian, who's thirteen, has always been a good deal more shy and reserved than his older brother, and I suppose that that's why I didn't notice sooner that something was wrong. He was saying next to nothing to me unless I addressed a remark to him specifically, but since he was often off in some dream world or the other-like a lot of bright children, he's very given over to fantasynothing seemed very clearly amiss.
Finally, though, when I was sitting in the library talking with him, I noticed how one sided the conversation had become.
"You seem awfully quiet, Damian," I said.
"I guess I just don't have anything to say."
"Nothing to say?"
"Not that you'd be interested in."
There was something in the way he said that, a note of unmistakable bitterness, that made my mother's warning bells start to go off. I could tell now that something was very definitely wrong.
"Why wouldn't I be interested in what you have to say, Damian?" I asked.
"I don't know. I just don't think you would." His lower lip trembled, and I could sense that he was not all that terribly far from tears.
"Aren't I usually interested in what you have to say?"
"No." The lower lip was trembling even more, now. "I'm not?"
"You're just interested in Henry. He's the only one you-love." And with the magic word, the rains came. Tears started pouring down his cheeks, and his body shook with sobs. I took him in my arms instantly, and even though he had said only a second before that he didn't think I loved him (what an absurd charge!), now he was pressing his body tightly against mine, seeking comfort and protection.
"Damian, Damian," I said gently, "of course I love you just as much as I love Henry. What on earth ever gave you the crazy idea that I didn't?"
"You have s-sex with him, but not with me," he sobbed.
So that was it! The sensitivity of children is amazing. Damian is certainly not the kind of boy to go snooping and spying around, but somehow he had learned-from the vibrations in the atmosphere, so to speak-that Henry and I were having sex together. As you've probably guessed by now, Doctor, I've never been one for moral strictness, and when a man stays over, I don't try and hide the fact. Damian and Henry have gotten used to the fact that I take lovers, and I guess they must have noticed the kinds of glances that my men friends and I exchange, and the way we speak to each other. Obviously, some of that had crept into my behavior with Henry, and Damian had picked it up. That's the only explanation that I can think of, barring mental telepathy.
"Damian," I said softly, "the reason I haven't made love to you yet (the 'yet' made him look up and stop crying) doesn't have anything to do with me loving you less. In the first place, Henry and I sort of got into it without realizing it, and then kept on. Secondly, you're such a quiet, studious boy, always reading your books and playing the piano, that I guess it never occurred to me to think you were anxious for some sex. Obviously, I misjudged you on that count, and I'm sorry. And your brother is older than you by two years, so maybe for that reason I was less inclined to think of you as a sexual partner. I'm sure that that was a misjudgement too."
Damian already looked a good deal happier. He may not have been certain yet that he was going to actually get some sex, but he believed what I had said to him, and thus wasn't worrying any more about the possibility that I might love him less than Henry.
I knew, though, that in the long run he would get resentful again if I kept on fucking with his brother without doing so with him too. That was natural enough. And for that matter, there really wasn't any reason that I shouldn't fuck with him. He was a slender boy, not very old looking for his age, but at thirteen he had to be past puberty, and looking back on all the lovers I have had, I can remember some who looked decidedly on the frail side, yet who turned out to be fantastic as sexual partners.
"So, are you happier now?" I asked him with a smile. The smile wasn't the only thing he got, because I had my right hand on his crotch and was pressing his penis through his pants. Judging from its hardness, he wasn't going to have any difficulty at all as a lover.
"Uh huh," he said with a smile. "You know, that feels nice, Mother."
"Mmmm, and not half as nice as some of the things that you're going to be feeling soon," I said. I unzipped the fly of his pants and pulled his underpants down. Then I squeezed his cock tenderly. There was a definite boyish quality to its dimensions, still, but that didn't prevent it from being good and hard, and for us women, stiffness counts a good deal more than size.
We were sitting on a sofa, so it was the easiest thing in the world for me to gently press the boy's shoulders down against the cushions. Meanwhile, I was wriggling out of my clothing as fast as I could. This fuck might have started out primarily as an effort to cheer Damian up and convince him that I didn't play favorites. But like I told you, Doctor, I get horny pretty easily, and the feel I had gotten of that slim, hard dick of Damian's was enough to have my clit all stiff, and my cunt definitely moist.
I pulled my bra off, and my tits flopped into view. Judging from the blissful expression on the little boy's face, he was going to turn out to be every bit as much of a breast freak as his brother. Well, that was fine by me, since my breasts are so sensitive that I don't think it would ever be possible for them to get a enough fondling.
Damian was, as I had mentioned to him, a rather bookish boy, and as a result, didn't know all that much about the mechanics of sex. That was why I had decided that for our first fuck together, I should be the one to play the active role. He wasn't sure quite what I was up to, but he knew that in a little while his prick would be inside my cunt, and that knowledge was enough to make him happy.
I held his stiff prick up with my right hand so that it pointed towards my cunt, which I then lowered over it.
Damian gave a little sigh as my cunt covered his cock, and so did I. It was his first time ever of having his rod inside a woman. That was why he felt so good. As for me, I certainly couldn't claim that this was the first penis I had ever had inside me, but I enjoy being filled with dick so much that every time is like the first time.
"This is how people fuck?" he asked.
"This is one of the ways that people fuck," I corrected him. "Don't worry, I'll show you all the other ways too, but I thought we should start with this one, because it's one of the easiest." I could have added that what I meant by that was that it was one of the easiest for the male, since he didn't have to do anything, but I thought it would be more tactful to omit that little explanation.
After I was sure that we were both comfortable, I started to work my pussy up and down over his rod. Up and down. Up and down.
"Gee, Mother," he said, "I never guessed that fucking could be this nice."
"Is it all that different from when you play with your prick?" I asked him. I knew that all boys masturbated.
"Uh huh," he said. "I can't explain how it's different, but it is. It's a lot nicer."
Cock-in-cunt! Cock-in-cunt! Cock-in-cunt!
Up! Down! Up! Down!
I sort of shook my shoulders while I fucked, so as to make my tits jiggle more. I thought that that would liven things up a bit, though judging from the blissful expression on Damian's face, things didn't need any improvement at all.
"Why don't you put your hands on my tits and feel them?"
He did as I suggested, and I kind of leaned over so that he would be able to keep his hands on them while I moved my hips. I found quickly that he has all of his brother's natural ability to fondle tit the way a woman likes it. And with him, it was clearly natural ability, because I was the first woman he had even gotten to first base with, while Henry had had those hands of his on enough tits to keep a bra factory busy for a year.
My cunt was really getting excited now. Every stroke that I made pulled my labia across my clit, of course, and all that tender pussyflesh down there between my legs felt like it was in danger of catching fire.
"Uhhhh! So nice! Mother ... Mother...."
He almost sounded delirious, he was so happy. And part of his happiness came from the fact that in addition to the simple physical enjoyment which I was providing him with, I was also offering him proof, so to speak, that I loved him as well as I loved Henry.
A couple more strokes would do it. Just a couple more....
Up! Down! Up! Down!
Then, suddenly, I felt his prick start to quiver inside of me, and I felt his come splattering against the entrance to my womb. The feel of that hard dick blasting away inside me, and the knowledge that it belonged to my son Damian, was enough to get me going right away.
"Ah! Ah! Ahhhhhhh." I gasped as I felt my spine tingle with flash after flash of fuck energy, and the walls of my cunt grip at the little boy's prick.
It was a very nice come for both of us. A very, very nice come. And when it was over, little Damian, who had been all quiet and unhappy just fifteen minutes ago was all smiles and talking away at a mile a minute. Now that he had been initiated into the mysteries of sex, so to speak, he wanted all the information he could get. I had to tell him all about the different positions, and what the advantages and disadvantages were of each. I think he may have already known a fair amount of all this, but liked to hear it from me anyway, as we sat there naked on the sofa in the library. Also, I suppose because sex has always been such a natural part of my life, I guess that I sort of forgot to give Damian and Henry a "facts of life" type lecture. I know that sounds incredible, considering the kind of home I've described, but it is precisely because that home was always so full of fucking that I managed to sort of lose track of the fact that sex information isn't something that one is just born with. Henry had just picked it up.
After about half an hour, his prick felt all rested again, and certainly looked that way, too, seeing that it was pointing straight up at the ceiling as he sat there on the sofa. So, even though I might have had some doubts otherwise about the wisdom of letting someone so young try for a second shot so soon after his first one, I decided to give in to his request. He was so excited about being a man now that he wanted to get on to the business of trying some more positions. He had figured out from the descriptions that I had just given him that, in fact, there are plenty of other ways of fucking in which the male did a lot more than just lie back on his back and keep his dick straight. He wanted to try his hand at the aggressive role.
Well, that was natural enough, and so I lay back on the sofa and spread my legs. He got on top of me, and then shoved his prick in. I crossed my legs over his back so as to make my twat tighter for him. I've always thought that that version of the Missionary beats the plain-vanilla, keep-the-legs-straight version to hell.
Of course, Damian was a little bit clumsy at first, but he got into his stride pretty quickly. Soon, his penis was sliding back and forth inside me like he was an old cocksman from way back, and there was nothing at all fake about the gasps and moans that I was giving.
A few more shoves, and we were both coming together, once again. This time, he didn't really have any sperm left, but his prick behaved just as violently, and though I prefer it when there's something that I can feel shoot up into me, I had a good time too.
Most of the time, I fuck with the boys separately. I think that sex with more than two people can often get kind of unfocused and sloppy, if you know what I mean. But of course, rules are made to be broken, at least from time to time, and I've found that on certain occasions, the more the merrier.
For instance, I was talking with a very good woman-friend of mine whom I've known for years. She mentioned a daisy-chain, and said she hadn't participated in a good one in ages.
"Too difficult. I guess the kids nowadays want something that's a lot simpler."
"Mmmm, I don't know," I said. "I know a couple of kids who would probably be more than willing to give a daisy chain a try."
Marlene is someone I've known for years, and really trust, too, so I didn't have any qualms about revealing to her that I regularly fucked with my sons. She thought I was really lucky to have such a supply of good, readily available cock. And when I mentioned the possibility that the four of us might try a good, old-fashined daisy-chain, she was utterly ecstatic.
The way we were going to work it was as follows. I got on my hands and knees, and Henry was going to fuck me from the rear, dog-style. Damian was lying on the floor in such a way that his prick was right under my mouth. Needless to say, I was going to suck on it. And Marlene was going to squat over his face so that he could lick her to a come.
The important thing in a daisy chain is to get, everyone to a come at as nearly the same time as possible. Needless to say, that's a bit tricky, but the system we settled on for achieving that was as follows. Everyone was to try and bring his or her partner right up to the edge of orgasm. Then, when it was apparent that just a bit more licking or sucking or whatever would do the trick, they would put the partner on "hold," so to speak, by easing up the action just a bit. Just enough to keep the other person at a constant level of near-orgasm. When people had reached this state, they were to signal it by raising their hands. When everyone had raised his hand at least once, Henry, who was to be at the rear of the daisy chain, would start to really ride me for a come. I'd feel this and apply just that extra bit of pressure needed to get Damian off. He, in turn, would lick Marlene's super-sensitive clit, or do something of the sort.
It all sounds sort of complicated, and of course it is. A daisy chain isn't the sort of thing that you want to do every day of the week, or even every month of the year, for that matter. But like an exotic drink, it's fun once in a while.
I waited there on my hands and knees, wondering when I would feel Henry's cock slide on in to me. In fact, the first thing that I felt was his hands, stroking my back, followed by his lips as he gave my neck a kiss. Then, the tip of his penis slipped between my cuntlips and glided on into my twat.
It felt really nice, but I didn't have time to admire it. I had to get down to business with Damian. His prick was already hard from waiting. I took it in my hand and gave it a squeeze. Then I pressed my lips around it and started to suck, Marlene, meanwhile, lowered herself down over his face. I could see that to tease him she was keeping her clit just out of reach of his tongue. But that kind of teasing a two-edged sword, and after a second or so she gave up on it and squatted further down, so that his tongue could flick across her labia. I could hear him sniff deeply. I had learned in the last few days that he was very fond of the smell of my cunt. Obviously, he quite liked the smell of Marlene's cunt, too.
As for Marlene, she cupped her naked tits in her hands and started to caress them. Even though Damian didn't have much of a view, he soon realized that this was what she was doing, and he reached his own hands up to her breasts. She was perfectly willing to let him take her place at the job of fondling her breasts.
Henry was giving me his usual, first-rate stuff. That wonderfully confident, easy motion of his cock back and forth inside me. He also had his hands full of my hanging tits, and pressed them against my rib cage and against each other.
Meanwhile, I was sucking away hungrily on Damian's prick. It was incredible how rigid that young boy's cock could get. So hard that it hardly seemed like flesh any more.
My cunt was really getting worked up by that action Henry was giving it. And I could tell that Damian's prick had that special tension that a cock has going into the stretch. I don't mean that final little stiffening, but the stage before that.
In! Out! In! Out! Man oh man, was that clit of mine ever getting excited, as my labia rubbed back and forth over it again, and again, and again!
I knew that I was going to be coming soon if Henry didn't slow down, so I raised my hand. He saw the signal, and modified his strokes slightly. The angle was slightly different, so that there wasn't quite as much rubbing on my cuntlips. If ever anyone was born to fuck, it was Henry.
My lips were teasing the root of Damian's cock. Now I moved them up so that I could suck on the place just underneath the knob. I felt Damian give a little shudder. I reached my hand out and cupped his balls. They were pulled up as tight as they could go.
Suddenly, I saw his hand go into the air. That meant that he was pretty close to his come, and his own judgement there more or less confirmed what I had already decided must be the case on the basis of how his cock felt to my lips.
Marlene's hand was in the air too, and that meant that Henry could really go for broke.
In! Out! In! Out! Man, oh man, was he ever driving me hard!
I felt my muscles tense, and knew that I was just about to come. I pressed my lips hard against Damian's prick-knob, and his cock started shooting into my mouth at just exactly the same moment that Henry's started unloading in my twat. Talk about double action! And as for me, I was coming like crazy, every muscle in my body twitching to the force of my female explosion. Marlene was jerking back and forth over Damian's face, so it was obvious that he had gotten her off without any difficulty.
It was a fantastic come, and when it was over, it felt fantastic to have those two pricks still resting in me. Henry's in my cunt, and Damian's in my mouth. I slipped my mouth off of my younger son's cock after a while and swallowed the spunk, while Henry pulled his slowly softening rod out of my vagina.
We've done all sorts of other things together, Doctor, but I think you've probably gotten the basic idea. Now what I'd like to get an idea of is what you think the effect of this on the boys' long-term emotional stability might be.
Superficially, Mrs. W. could hardly seem more different from Mrs. S., the farmer's wife in the third case history. One of the women is unsophisticated and financially not particularly well off. The other one is cosmopolitan to the point of decadence, and has plenty of money. But in fact, the two cases are very similar.
The point where they resemble each other is in the non-pathological basis of their incestuous behavior. Many readers who may even have been shocked at the seemingly decadent casualness about sex displayed by Mrs. W. will perhaps be surprised that I assert that there is nothing emotionally unhealthy about her, but it is true nevertheless.
Phemie W. operates within her own value system, and while it may seem a somewhat strange one to other people, it nevertheless provides her with a perfectly satisfactory foundation for her emotions. I have a good number of rich clients, and I can assure the reader that her
"decadence" is a good deal more common among the very wealthy than he may think. There is an old saying that "the rich and the poor get to do all the fucking, and the middle class has to pay all the taxes." But the fact that for a person of her social level Mrs. W.'s behavior is not all that unusual is rather beside the point. What is important is that it satisfies her. She gives every indication of being a contented individual who suffers from now inner tensions or conflicts. In psychology, what differentiates healthy from unhealthy behavior is not the acts themselves that are engaged in, but the motives that lie behind them. If a woman dents the car to punish her husband, this is unhealthy behavior, because it arises from tension that should be resolved by being brought out in the open. If she has sex with her sons simply because she enjoys sex and because they are good partners, that is healthy behavior, strange though the idea may seem to the layman. Mrs. H. in the previous case had sex with her son to keep him dependent. This is highly pathological. Mrs. W. has sex with her sons, but this does not alter the healthy mixture of maternal love and friendship on which her relationship with them is based.
Mrs. S., the farmer's wife, likewise engaged in sex with her son for purely physical reasons. She, like Mrs. W. operated within her own value system, which was based on such country principles as an acceptance of bestiality and incest.
This distinction between pathological and non pathological motivation is not an artificial one, but very important. The person who acts out of fear, or envy, or some unhealthy emotion such as that, is unhappy and can usually only obtain happiness through therapy. The person who acts out of unselfconscious desire is perfectly able to lead a happy life.
As I mentioned in the conclusion to the previous case, the emotional health of one individual can have a very dramatic effect on that of another person who is closely involved with him or her. Thus, Mrs. H.'s neurotic need to have a dependent little boy meant that without therapy, Billy H. was in danger of failing to make the transition from adolescence to self-confident adulthood. Conversely, the essential soundness of Mrs. W.'s motivation means that her sons are not in any danger of being psychologically harmed. Her mores are to a large extent those of her circle, and of course it is to this circle that her sons will naturally belong as adults. Since their mother does not regard her incestuous involvement with them as requiring her to feel guilty, so they, too, do not feel guilty, and since guilt is one of the most destructive results of unconventional behavior, they have avoided a major trap which awaits people engaging in an incestuous liason.
Mrs. W., for all her seeming decadence, is a loving and concerned mother. The very fact that she was willing to give up her involvement with her sons if I recommended it is proof enough of that, as is the tenderness and gentleness which she displayed to Damian when she learned that he felt unloved. This kind of unselfish, yet non-possessive love is the best kind that a mother can offer. Her sons will doubtless engage very freely in sex as adults, just as they do so now as adolescents. That, doubtless, will bother the more puritanical observer. But they give every indication that they will grow up into self-confident men, and from the point of view of the psychologist, that is more than enough.
CONCLUSION
It should by now be clear to the reader that regarding incest, "there is no single or simple motivation for such intercourse; there is no typical 'incest offender'. There is no inexorable and inevitable consequence of incest behavior."1 We have seen in the scope of this book women turning to incest to satisfy deeply seated neurotic needs, and women who are simply after a good bed partner. We have seen incest growing out of a desire to punish the husband, and incest motivated by the wish to keep a child dependent. In short, we see that in using the term "incest," we should bear in mind that it refers only to a specific physical act 1. Masters, Op. Cit, p. 37 sexual intercourse between blood relatives-and not to any particular psychological condition. In the same way, a sneeze is a physical act which can have quite unrelated causes, such as a virus infection, or an allergic reaction.
In the majority of our samples, the incestuous behavior was indeed the manifestation of important psychological problems. This may be because the incest taboo is so strongly ingrained in our culture that only a driven person is liable to countervene it. The number of Mrs. S.'s and Mrs. W.'s who simply ignore those parts of the moral code which seem irrelevant to them is fairly small. Unfortunately, the general public has not yet reached that level of independent thought and discrimination.
The fact that incestuous behavior often has a pathological background does nothing, however, to justify the current laws against it: The women and boys who came into my office needed help in some cases, but there is no reason to believe that this help could have been more effectively administered in the context of a prison, and vice versa.
It may be objected that in some cases, such as that of Mrs. H., the patient was inflicting psychological damage on another. But of course, that is a risk which is present in all human relations. There are many women who wish to keep their sons dependent upon them who nevertheless do not go so far as to offer them their bodies. The psychological harm is likely to be the same.
All that the law can effect is to control people's behavior. But in interpersonal relations, the attitude behind the behavior is usually what can be destructive. For instance, assuming-and it is a rather absurd assumption-that Mrs. H. had controlled her desires for her son because of her fear of criminal prosecution. Her attitude towards him would have nevertheless been much the same, and she would have almost unquestionably found countless ways of giving it expression.
No one really knows why the incest taboo came into being in the first place. The theory that it represented a primitive sort of genetic consciousness on the part of our forebearers has now been largely discarded as ethnologists have learned just how ignorant primitive man is of the reproductive process. Certainly, with birth control and abortion as accepted features of American life, there is no psychiological reason why incestuous behavior should be threatened by the law.
If the legal prohibition of incest has no positive function, it certainly manages to have a very harmful negative function (in addition to the confinement of so-called offenders): the implantation of guilt. As Masters puts it, "the behavior is damaging, partly or entirely because it is so strongly prohibited. The forbidden act has been psychically charged with a kind of toxic force that strikes at the psyche of the violator."2 We have
2. Masters, Op. Cit, p. 195 seen just how heavy a burden that guilt can be in the cases, too. Even a self-assured woman like Mrs. W. found herself needlessly concerned that she might be doing her sons some harm.
Guilt and unhappiness are things which society should be trying to eradicate, not encourage. And it can only be eradicated if so-called deviant behavior is met not with fear and disgust, but with understanding and reason. Masters says that he is "well aware that the application of reason to sexual behavior ... will meet with the greatest resistance in those areas where the prohibitions are presumable most potent ... "3 But we must make a beginning.
3. Masters, Op. Cit, p. 5
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NOTE: While most of the above works deal with incest per se, some which do not have been included because of the indispensable psychological background which they give.
