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Kisses, quivering_flesh@yahoo.com
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                    "Pajamas, Part 1" 
            (MFb pedo incest mother-son con)

     
     We dozed under the sheets, now heavy with the smell of
our love making. Deliciously cool and crisp hours ago, when
we had first stumbled across the unoccupied room and then
into bed, tumbling into a world of our own making, yet
nonetheless an unpredictable world, they now secured that
world tight around us.
     
     I knew her name (Kathy) and her age (just forty).
Nothing more. Except the curve of her buttocks, the taste
between her legs, and the wisdom of her middle finger.
     
     I first saw her sitting at the bar, listening
distractedly to a woman friend recount her own adventures
that evening. She'd been wearing a dusky brick-red dress
that stopped high above the knee, but not shockingly so.
The dress had clearly been taken off and put back on several
times already that night, each time a bit more carelessly.
She'd lost track of her shoes, and was unconsciously
gripping and ungripping the brass foot rail with her toes.
Her hastily brushed thick, black hair reminded me of Sophia
Loren.
     
     An ache of such longing and despair gripped my belly
that I nearly cried out.  I have no chance, I said to
myself, competing with the dozens of sophisticated,
practiced men her own age and older who crowded the house.
     
     She restlessly turned to survey the room. I caught her
eyes, dark and glistening with the wild careening of lust
unfettered.  Instantly I comprehended the arc of her life,
the trajectory that had carried her into, among and then
through to land her in a new world, with new rules, new
possibilities.  Perhaps a guy, awkward, twenty-six, hungry
for the moment when a woman takes her own pleasure in his
presence, had a chance after all.
     
     Now, hours later, I curled my thighs snuggly against
her bottom while my penis, heavy and aching from the intense
love-making, nestled in the heat between her cheeks.
Propping my head up to watch the fire over her shoulder, I
saw what a magnificent room we'd found.  Large, with dark
wood, big old oil portraits on the wall in the Victorian
style and a brick fireplace with a muttering fire.  The
generous bed sported a heavy canopy. Strangely, we had found
only this room unoccupied, and the bed undisturbed.
     
     I buried my face in her nape of her neck.
     
     A noise.  Looking up, I saw a young boy coming into the
room.  His hair was an ordinary brown color, like my own,
tousled as if he'd just woken from a pleasant dream and was
looking for someone to tell it to.  Small blue and red birds
wheeled across white cotton pajamas.  He'd buttoned his fly
wrong.  It gaped open slightly where the metal nipples in
the snaps had missed their true mate, the metal glinting in
the firelight, festive ornaments in a setting of soft
cotton.
     
     He seemed sure of himself, as if he understood what he
wanted.  That was not me at his age.  I had needed and
imagined things only later understood, too late to seize
them in their purity.
     
     Kathy stirred, feeling his presence.
     
     "Michael?"
     
     "I couldn't find you," he said in a sleepy, petulant
little voice.
     
     "You buttoned your pajamas wrong again."  She deftly
popped the two snaps apart with the fingers of one hand.  A
thrill leaped through me.
     
     "I washed, just like you told me," the boy reported
proudly.
     
     "Let me see."
     
     Her hand disappeared inside his pajamas and his little
boy sex appeared, nesting in her palm like a baby chick
freshly hatched from its shell.  My penis stiffened against
her bottom.  She pushed back against me in response,
encouragingly.
     
     "You're a good boy, Michael."
     
     "I can't do it so good by myself.  The ladies helped
me."
     
     "You didn't pester them, did you?"
     
     "No.  One of them put some perfume on it."
     
     Kathy leans over the edge of the bed into him and
inhales deeply.
     
     "Uhm, you smell delicious."  She toys with him gently,
affectionately, stroking the small penis between her thumb
and the palm of her hand, the long, delicate fingers reach
into the open fly and disappear inside his pajamas.  She
rests her cheek on the bed, languidly studying the little
boy's genitals as they begin to stir.
     
     "You're almost a man, Michael, you know that?"
     
     "I am a man.  Watch."  The boy's penis is no bigger
around than Kathy's thumb but it rises into the air, a soft,
slender stem.  The testicles are just budding, two smooth
knobs.  Her eyes shine at the sight of this delicate, sweet,
forbidden sweet.  Of their own volition, Kathy's plum lips
part.  She exhales softly, her mouth inches from the boy.
Under the sheet, hidden from the boy, I feel Kathy's hand
searching for me between her legs.  My heart pounds against
my ribs, an ocean roars in my ears.
     
     She draws my cock, the fulfillment of that young
promise before her, toward her.  I'd come three, maybe four
times that night already, but now I am as stiff as a novice
in the third month of his vows.  Kathy's sex, slick with her
own juices and the sperm of a dozen different men, has
swollen tight with excitement, tighter than even her
fundament had been. My cock is barely inside her, but I have
to stop and press my eyes and ears closed to slow the
onrushing crisis.
     
     "What is he doing?" the boy asks.
     
     "He's tucking it in, dear," she says, her voice soft,
tender.
     
     "That's what we do."
     
     "Yes," she breathes.
     
     "Don't you want me to tuck it in?" he says, more
puzzled than hurt.
     
     "Yes, I do my love."
     
     He smiles a small boyish smile.  "Good."
     
     "Would you like me to kiss you first?"
     
     "Yes."
     
     Just as the baby sucking his mother's breast returns in
pleasure what he receives in sustenance, this woman now
returned to her son.  First she gently teases him by blowing
her mouth on him, then takes quick, tender laps of her
tongue along the length of his youth. Finally she enfolds
him in her mouth, taking in the small erection little by
little.  The moisture from her mouth evaporates off his cock
in the warm air, and he laughs from the tingling sensation.
     
     I slide further inside her, pressing up against the
bottom of her belly, just as his budding testicles disappear
behind her plum-colored lips.
     
     She devours him completely. Her tongue flicks out under
his balls, probing his anus with its tip.  He laughs
girlishly and struggles to pull away.
     
     "You're tickling!"  He pops out of her mouth,
glistening with her wetness.
     
     "You don't like it when I touch you there?" she says,
laughing herself.
     
     "It tickles."
     
     "Come to bed, darling," she says, raising the sheet for
him.
     
     He clambers into bed and she enfolds him in her arms.
He snuggles into her, his cheek against a swelling breast,
his belly pressed to hers, his legs inside her legs. With
one hand she cradles his head, with the other his buttocks.
     
     The boy looks up at me from his mother's breast and our
eyes meet. He sees himself in me, years away, and I see
myself in him, years ago.
     
     My cock throbs, and I can't help thrusting inside her.
     
     "Shh, don't move," she whispers to me.
     
     The boy wriggles against her. Her hand on his buttock
guides him to the right place, then teaches him the rhythm
for his stroking.
     
     Suddenly I feel a small wet finger pressing and
slipping against my cock.
     
     "Tuck me in, Mommy."
     
     "Yes, baby."
     
     She slips a hand between their bellies. I feel her
fingers brushing against me. Then the small wet finger
returns, sliding back and forth along my own cock.
     
     She inclines his head, guiding his mouth to her nipple.
Without a murmur he sucks on it.
     
     And then from this small body comes a gentle ebb and
flow, a primordial rhythm, hushed, tentative, yet eager and
full of longing as his small penis, slipping along my cock,
squeezed between her sex and mine, surges back and forth.
     
     He closes his eyes and rests his head on her breast.
Her head inclines toward his, her lips on his forehead. He
is inside her, part of her again, two hearts beating in one
body as before, he encircled by her flesh and forever safe,
she ripe with new being.
     
     Why do they need me? I wonder. I am an intruder.
Perhaps I should withdraw and slip away, leave them alone in
their perfect happiness?
     
     Reading my thoughts, she lifts her hand from is
buttocks and curls it behind my head, pulling me into the
circle of their love.
     
     "Come," she says, "come."
     
     I reach down and cradle the boy's bottom in my palm,
urging him back and forth. Now both of us are truly inside
her, part of her, finding our world in her, just as the man
who made the boy with her found himself in her, years ago.
     
     My pleasure comes in long deep waves, accompanied by a
choked cry escaping my lips. The boy shudders. His mother
grips us tight inside her, holds us, pulls us even deeper.
Warmth and wetness flood over us.
     
     We doze.
     
     
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