Capítulo 101: Aunt Janet's Dirty Boy Ch. 04
Fourth chapter. Mikey is stunned because of his nocturnal visitor. But are there more surprises waiting for him?
Thanks for reading.
GA -- Da Nang, Vietnam -- 29th of October 2017.
Aunt Janet told me not to worry. That she would, "Sort it out."
I felt the anxiety fizzing inside me, like a can of Coca Cola after being shaken. And I had been shaken, violently so.
"It wasn't you," I said, on the verge of hysteria. Then I started to babble, moving around the kitchen, a pinball trapped under the glass as I ricocheted from place to place. "Why would she...? I mean...? It's impossible. It must have been you."
She tried to soothe me, pulling out a chair while smiling in the cajoling way people use on recalcitrant toddler in a supermarket meltdown. "Mikey, sit down," crooned my aunt. "Relax, honey. Stopand let's think about it."
I gaped at Aunt Janet. "Aren't you bothered? Can you believe what she did?"
My aunt snapped at me, stern and commanding when she used my name. "Mikey! Just stop it. I told you, I'll sort this out. Just leave it to me. Wait 'til your mother gets home."
Everything went liquid in my stomach at the reminder I'd see my mother later that day. My sphincter loosened and my throat went tight and panic ballooned in my chest. Suddenly, I couldn't breathe, couldn't make sense of the topsy-turvy world. My aunt, my mother, the sex.
"I ... I can't face her," I gasped.
My aunt snorted and said, "She's got to face you, too."
I sat down, slumped in the chair with my elbows on the table and my face in my palms. "She knows what we did," I groaned in despair. She has to know. Why else would she...?"
When I looked at my aunt, her eyes slithered away, expression shifty all of a sudden. "I'd say you're right, Mikey," she said. "Margaret knows all right."
It was impossible for me to make sense of it all. I had questions, so many questions they tumbled and spun, the cacophony of voices inside my head hissing like white noise and rising in volume until I thought I'd go mad with it all.
"This is just crazy," I sighed. "And why won't you look at me?"
Aunt Janet winced. "Because it's my fault."
"I don't understand. What do you mean? Your fault? How could it be your fault?"
My aunt threw a quick glance my way, offered a wan smile, and then closed her eyes while shaking her head. She chewed on her lower lip and stared at the top of the table for several long seconds and, after heaving a sigh, managed to bring her focus up to my face. Then she said, "There's a lot you don't know, Mikey."
I saw her shrug, a gesture of resignation, like she'd given up.
"Maybe we better wait until Margaret gets home? I think your mum needs to be here before we ... uhm ... talk about this."
Anger, frustration, and a hefty dollop of confusion saw me up onto my feet. I felt a hot rush of emotion surge through me, the writers' palms of both fists hitting the table when I vented my feelings.
To Janet, I shouted, "I can't wait until then! This is fucking driving me mental! Don't you get it? Don't you understand? My mother was in my room last night. She got into my bed and ... and ... Fucking hell, Aunt Janet! I fucked my mother!"
We stared at one another. My aunt looked at me, eyes wide with what I took to be shock or surprise at my vehement outburst while I glared at her face. My heart jack-hammered inside the rack of my ribs, hot tears threatening to spill out of my eyes. I gulped, choking as I tried to suck in air. Then I was back in the chair, coughing and spluttering, close to crying because my tormented mind couldn't take much more.
My aunt had me in a tight embrace before I knew what was going on. She cooed at me, stroking my hair while I returned her embrace and took comfort from the familiar scent of her.
"It will be all right, Mikey," Aunt Janet murmured. "There, there, don't get all upset and worried. We'll sort it all out, sweetheart. I promise."
***
Back then, the mid-70s, my mother owned and ran a small newsagent, a shop which would later morph into what is today's convenience store. In those days a bell above the front door tinkled whenever a customer entered or left. The counter was fanned with the day's newspapers, comic in racks while large clear jars filled with confectionary items lined the shelves behind the counter. Sweets like pear drops and midget gems that my mother weighed out in ounces and handed over to eager hands, the goodies in a white paper bag with a twist at the corners. I loved the smell of the place. Her hours were from 9 a.m. until 6 p.m. She had an assistant to cover the early rush and evening trickle, so my aunt and I expected my mother to return home by quarter to seven that evening. For me, the wait lasted forever. I was the proverbial cat, unable to settle on the hot tin roof.
"She's late," I said, stating the obvious.
Aunt Janet nodded, lips a thin, horizontal line. "Yes, she is. But it's only just gone seven, Mikey."
"Then where the fucking hell is she?" I stood up and waved my arms as I spoke, frustrated and anxious. "I can't take this, Aunt Janet," I said. "I'm going to the shop."
My aunt was up on her feet as soon as I said it. She grabbed my forearm to hold me in place. "You can't go into the shop in this state, Mikey," she told me. "What will you say? You can't go in there and blurt it all out. Jenny will be there, too. You have to be patient. You have to wait 'til your mum gets back."
Part of my frustration came from the fact that I felt conflicted. On one hand I wanted to have it out with my mother. I wanted answers to a lot of questions. But, also, in equal measure, I was worried about what my mother might say. After all, I'd been fucking her sister, been involved in an incestuous tryst with my aunt and the whole situation had turned into a nightmare. How could I look my mother in the face knowing she knew about me and Aunt Janet? What could I say after what had happened the night before?
My mother -- my mother -- had come to my room in a clandestine visit. She'd used the darkness as cover, fooling me into thinking she was my aunt. My mother had climbed into the bed, naked. She'd sucked my cock and kissed my mouth. Then she'd climbed onto my hard-on and fucked her son. I'd heard my mother gasping and moaning, felt her sex squeezing my dick. In the end my mother had offered her sex from behind, taking me in up to my balls, my hands full of her buttocks and hips until I'd squirted cum into her body.
Why had she done it? What had she been thinking? If she knew about me and my aunt, why hadn't she railed and wailed and kicked her sister out of the house? For that matter, why was I still there? Surely she would be just as angry at me? It just didn't make any sense. I would have expected my mother to throw a fit when she realised what was going on between me and Aunt Janet. Anger and tears were one thing, coming to my room to fuck me didn't add up.
My aunt still had hold of my arm when her head snapped around and she looked at the living room door.
She let go of me while saying, "Did you hear that?"
"No," I said. "Hear what?"
"The front door," Aunt Janet replied.
I followed behind her as she went out into the hall.
"Margaret," I heard my aunt say. "You need to come down here. I know you're up there, Margaret. I saw you at the top of the stairs."
***
My mother not only owned the shop; she owned the house, too. My father, a heavy-goods driver, had been hauling a load of steel when something went amiss and the whole lot rolled down an embankment. Life insurance paid out a few thousand pounds. Enough to pay off the balance of the mortgage on the house and set my mum up in business. It was decent place in a nice part of town. A three-bedroom semi, which meant there'd been a room spare when my Aunt Janet's marriage disintegrated. We had a lawn at the front and a driveway up to a gate which then led into a long back garden at the rear. Bay windows overlooked the road at the front. My mother's bedroom was at the end of the corridor upstairs, and it seemed she'd snuck in, quietly closing the front door without us knowing.
But she hadn't been quick enough. Aunt Janet heard the snick of the front door and was out in the small hallway at the foot of the stairs before my mother could make it all the way to the top.
My aunt cried out again. She called, "Margaret! You can't hide from it. We all need to talk!"
I moved in close behind her and saw the shadow against the wall upstairs just before it flitted away.
"I don't want to," my mother called down. "Leave me alone, Janet."
My aunt's head swivelled so her face was towards me. I watched as she grimaced and muttered a curse. Then she baffled me by shouting, "This is like Simon, all over again!"
I wondered what she was talking about. Simon? Who the heck was Simon? Then the penny dropped and I was more confused than before.
While I mentally connected the dots, my mother shouted, "Shut up about that, Margaret! You just shut your fucking mouth!"
I took hold of my aunt's arm and turned her to face me. Asked, "What's going on?"
"Look, give me a few minutes to talk to her, Mikey," Aunt Janet said. Her eyes flicked to the ceiling in exasperation before she returned her attention to me. "I'll go up. You stay here."
"What did you mean it's like Simon all over again?" I was in no mood to let my aunt go. I wanted answers.
Aunt Janet glanced at my fingers when she tried to pull away from my grip and I grasped her tighter. "Something that happened years ago," my aunt replied. "Before you were born; before either of us was married. Before everything, Mikey."
"Simon? As in--?"
My aunt cut me off, interjecting with, "Yes. Him." She then yanked herself free of my grasp and started up the stairs. "Stay there," she snapped when I voiced an objection. "Let me talk to her first."
I let Janet get onto the landing above before I followed her. By the time I reached the top of the stairs, my aunt was already at my mother's bedroom. The door was open, loud voices on the cusp of a full-blown argument spilling out into the corridor. I didn't have to do much in the way of eavesdropping due to the volume. I could hear quite clearly from where I stood. I'm surprised the neighbours couldn't hear through the adjoining wall, which, thankfully, was at the opposite end of the house.
"You did it," I heard my mother shout, voice cracking. "I know you and Michael have done it."
Aunt Janet replied in an accusatory tone. "And what about you? You were in his room last night. He told me what you did, Margaret."
"I won't let you take him away from me."
I heard one of them sigh, and then my aunt's voice, quieter, much quieter. "I don't want to take him away from you, Margaret."
My mother was sobbing when she said, "Then why did you shag him?"
"Look, Margaret, sit down. Sit next to me." My aunt used the same soft croon she'd used to settle me earlier in the day. "Let's just talk this through. We've been here before."
The exchange grew muted. I could hear the murmur as conversation passed between them, but couldn't make out the detail. Desperate to learn more about what the hell was going on, I crept closer.
I got as close as I dared, the doorframe a few inches away while I hugged the wall, ears tuned.
I heard my mother say, "How could you, Janet?"
A pause before my aunt replied with a very subdued, "I'm an emotional wreck. It's been quite a time with the divorce. I suppose I wanted some ... comfort. He'd been looking at me. I could read Mikey's mucky thoughts, Margaret. I'm sorry, I should have been stronger. But I get so lonely and so ... well, so bloody randy. You know what it's like. You of all people should know."
"But it's Michael," my mother put in.
"I know, and he's lovely. He's a really lovely boy."
"God, Janet, what have I done? How the hell did it come to this? And why did you have to sleep with my son?"
My Aunt Janet let out a sigh. "Why did you sleep with him, Margaret?"
There was no answer forthcoming. At least not one I could hear.
But what I heard next sent an icy shard through my heart. What sounded like heart-rending sobs reached me, and my face burned with shame at the anguish I'd caused.
"Mum," I said as I stepped into her room.
They were both on the bed, both sat side-by-side, bookends with only heartbreak between them. My aunt held my mother, an arm around her sister's shoulder. My mother cried out huge blubbing tears while Aunt Janet, after looking up at me, held mum to her, lips pursing in a moue of disapproval when she saw me standing there gawking and useless.
Then my mother must have noticed my presence. She too looked at me, a wail issuing forth. "Oh, God, Michael," my mother howled. "This is just so fucking awful."
"Not now, Mikey," my aunt put in with a shake of her head.
"But--" I began.
"Why not wait for me downstairs," Aunt Janet added. "You could open a bottle of wine. There's that red on the counter."
"My mum's upset."
"I know, Mikey. That's patently obvious. But, please," Aunt Janet implored, "go downstairs. You can't help me with this. Not at the moment, you can't."
It was more to do with the pleading in her beautiful eyes that bade me to do as she asked. I didn't want to leave, was loath to do it, but the way my aunt looked at me compelled me to obey her wishes.
"Okay," I said with reluctance and a long look at my mother. "I ... I'll be in the kitchen. You know. When..."
Aunt Janet smiled and waved me away while my mother mumbled something indecipherable, gazed at the carpet near her feet, and rocked back-and-forth in apparent torment.
***
My aunt appeared an eternity later, which, when I looked at the clock turned out to be only a mere half-an-hour. I had the wine waiting for her when she walked into the kitchen and offered me a weak smile.
"Fuck," she sighed as she sat down at the table.
"Aunt Janet," I said, desperate for news, "what's going on? What was that about Simon? I don't understand. This is all bollocks. Tell me, please, what's it all about?"
My aunt reached for the wine. She tilted the bottle so the ruby contents glugged into the glass I'd left alongside. Janet picked up the goblet and took a hefty swig. Then she topped up. Only then did she fix her blue eyes upon me, sigh like she was exhausted, and say, "In 1956 your granddad took us on holiday to Morecambe. I was your age, a year younger perhaps. Your mum wasn't going to come with us originally, but she changed her mind a day or so before we were due to leave. She took some holiday from work on what we assumed was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I later found out why she'd changed her mind. You see, our brother met us there. Simon was on leave from the RAF. He had some time and decided to join us in Morecambe instead of coming home."
Aunt Janet paused and took another hefty gulp of wine. She sucked in a deep breath, grimaced at me, and continued by saying, "Simon was always a selfish bastard. He never did give a fig for anyone else but himself. He was a dirty sod, too. Anything in a skirt with a pulse. And, Mikey, I'm sorry to say, that included your mother."
I gaped at my aunt. Even though I'd had an inkling about Simon's part in the current scenario, I'd hoped it wouldn't be true. I'd hoped it would be some other Simon, any other Simon except my uncle. But, of course, given the fact that I'd been intimate with both my aunt and my mother -- albeit unknowing in the case of the latter -- as soon as I'd heard the name, it was only going to mean one thing.
Aunt Janet winced and nodded when I gasped out, "My mum and her brother?"
"Yes," she said, with a half shrug.
"Uncle Simon?"
"Yes, Mikey," Aunt Janet snapped. "Your Uncle-fucking-Simon."
***
"I don't remember what set me off being suspicious," Aunt Janet told me. "I think I tried to tell myself I'd been imagining things, but the nasty, horrible notion just wouldn't shift. I was shocked at first, then angry. But," my aunt added, pausing to suck on her bottom lip for a second, "after a day of thinking about it, I got a bit warm between my legs at the idea of them being together. I've always been highly-sexed, Mikey. A bit too randy for my own good, and even my own sister and brother being intimate together made me all gooey inside."
Agog at the story, I stared at my aunt and asked, "What did you do?"
My aunt grimaced and then gave a small chuckle. Then she brought her attention to my face. "I watched them, closely, and then basically walked in on them while they were in Simon's room at the guesthouse. Your mum and I shared a room, so--"
Aunt Janet shrugged and let me think about it, allowing me to put the pieces into place.
"Your mother went berserk, Mikey," my aunt continued. "Not violent, but almost hysterical. She was crying and begging me not to tell. There she was, bawling and carrying on, and Simon was jumping around like a crazy man. He was shouting and waving his arms." Janet paused again and let out a little giggle. She smirked, blurted a laugh, and said, "His dick was waggling around stiff as a board. He could have had someone's eye out with it," Aunt Janet quipped.
I could see the humour in the scene and, regardless of the fact I'd been listening to a tale about my own mother's incestuous tryst with her brother, it did make for a comedic scene when the image of my uncle leaping around, his cock a hazard, popped into my head.
I asked, "Did anyone come? Did they get found out?"
Aunt Janet shook her head. "No, nobody came along to see what the fuss was about. And it was me who got your mum calmed down."
Another pause lengthened between us. I processed what I'd learned so far, the power of it still sufficient to shock me, although the strength of my surprise was somewhat diluted because I was also guilty of incest. Somehow, having experienced the dark, taboo pleasure of clandestine carnal knowledge of my aunt, it wasn't such a huge leap across the divide to hear about my mother and uncle.
Eventually, after a heavy gulp and a long, slow sigh, I looked at my aunt and asked, "So what happened next?"
To my surprise, my aunt's cheeks flamed scarlet and she pulled a face. "Well, I--" she started, then giggled and added, "God, this is embarrassing."
I could guess what was coming but still prompted my aunt to tell me.
"I went with Simon, too," Janet revealed.
***
"It caused all sorts of ructions between me and your mum. She got jealous and went all funny in a dangerous way. She made veiled remarks in our parents' presence. We were lucky she didn't throw us all to the wolves by telling about everything. But it was an exciting time in some very bad ways."
The thought came to me, insidious and so wrong my voice cracked when I voiced it. "Did you and my mother ... You know ... Together?"
"What, like lesbians?"
My aunt gazed at me while my own cheeks burned. I couldn't help but feel a little frisson of arousal at the idea of my aunt and my mother together.
"Well, yes," I mumbled. Looking away from her face.
Aunt Janet laughed. "No," she said. "We were never close that way. We didn't have sex with Simon in front of each other, either -- if that's your next question."
Despite the new revelations -- or perhaps because of them -- when I looked at my aunt I saw again her physical appeal. In my mind's eye I pictured her as she must have been at 18 or 19, and, as delicious as I thought she was in the full bloom of her thirty-something years, it occurred to me she must have been devastating back in the 50s.
I couldn't help but feel the jealousy for my Uncle Simon for having experienced Janet back then.
Then my body responded. My cock thickened and grew and the desire for Aunt Janet bloomed hot and fierce.
Suddenly, the atmosphere between us felt thick and heavy, charged with sexual tension. My aunt must have seen something in my face or intuited my need because a few seconds later, without me even knowing how we came to be that way, we were groping and grasping each other, kissing with that urgent hasty desire which can only be cured one way.
Overwhelmed by incestuous desire for Aunt Janet, I just about destroyed her blouse so I could get at her breasts. I freed her boobs by hauling them out of her bra, then snuffled and gasped around a mouthful of breast-flesh, sucking her nipples while I squeezed those big orbs together, the weighty texture arousing me so much I grunted my pleasure. While I feasted, my aunt unzipped me and freed my dick. Janet jacked at my length, her own arousal apparent in the way she groaned and muttered about, "This gorgeous big cock."
Moments later I had my aunt on the table. She boosted her rump onto the horizontal surface after yanking up her dress and hauling down her underwear. Seeing her shove her knickers down with such eagerness is an impression that will stay with me forever. It told me Aunt Janet's desires were as strong as my own. In an almost indecent display of wanton fervour, Janet's sat on the table and opened her thighs, the scarlet slash of her cunt wet and glistening through the dense foliage of her pubic bush.
"Put it in. Fuck me," my aunt said through a groan. She splayed her folds and slid a forefinger over her clit while rolling her eyes. "Mikey, just hurry up won't you. I'm so randy, sweetheart. Please, put it in and do me. Don't be soft about it. Just shag me."
We went at it like that, me standing with my jeans at my shins, my hands moving over my aunt as we coupled in bestial frenzy. No style or finesse, completely selfish and uncaring to other's needs. It was a vehement fuck, with both of us striving to peak. Aunt Janet snorted and moaned and rubbed at her bean, boobs swaying, her tits spilled over her bra.
It got so heated I managed to get my knees onto the table, Janet on her back, legs wide. The firm surface beneath us meant I could really go at Aunt Janet's body, and I fucked at her like I wanted to pin her to the oak with my cock.
"Dirty boy," groaned my aunt. "Dirty, naughty boy. Just listen to that, Mikey. It's so bloody obscene. Listen to my twat, darling. It's so fucking juicy for you."
She was talking about the liquid squelch coming up from where my girth split her open and my length probed deep. My aunt Janet was sodden, her lust a physical manifestation which slipped from her sex and lubricated our joining.
"Aunt Janet," I moaned, the surge rising through my core. "I love you. I never want to stop doing this with you."
And then we were both groaning, semen gushing from me in a great rush of joy. I grunted and gasped and kissed my aunt's mouth, her breath bursting from her while her fingers kept busy down between us, the digits working her clit.
My aunt came a few seconds after my climax erupted. She sobbed at me and told me she loved me, too, her hips shunting back and forth in her efforts to keep her orgasm going.
"Oh, God, Mikey," Aunt Janet mumbled when it was done.
I slid out of her body and found my feet once more, my cock slick with our mingled desire. I watched, fascinated as cum seeped from Janet, jism a pool on the table top after the goo dribbled through the crease between her buttocks.
My aunt levered up onto elbows and forearms. She blinked and exhaled, cheeks ballooning before she asked, "What are we going to do about your mother? We can't carry on this way if it's going to cause upset."
A long, shivering string of cum dangled from my dick, its own weight eventually breaching Newtonian law so it plopped to the tiles next to my feet.
After watching the blob spatter onto the tiles, I looked at my aunt, desire resurgent when I saw her there in lewd dishabille, boobs on display, pubic hair matted, her eyes slowly clearing after being glazed with lust.
"I ... I don't know, Aunt Janet," I stammered. "But I know I want to keep doing this with you. I can't help it. I love you."
My aunt smiled, an odd expression that looked to be tinged with regret.
"Sweet boy," she sighed as she came up off the table. Eye-to-eye, Aunt Janet gazed at me, then ducked in to kiss my mouth. "You shouldn't say that, Mikey. I doubt it's love. You're just a randy young man."
I thought different, but kept my mouth shut. My aunt had unlocked deep and tender emotions and I wanted to be with her on a more serious level. Not that I could have accurately articulated the feelings at the time, everything was still too new, too confusing and crazy, but I had formed a strong attachment to my mother's sister. One which went beyond the bounds of what would usually be considered as normal.
Tangential thoughts popped into my head. I pulled up my underwear and jeans and shuffled around to restore my modesty while, at the same time, asking, "Why do you think my mum ... well, you know, snuck into my room that way?"
When Aunt Janet scooped her breasts back into her bra, she grimaced and shrugged and said, "It's likely to be the jealousy again, Mikey. Me and you ... Your mum has a notion I'm going to take you away from her. That you'll move on with me and leave her behind. It's very complicated," she finished.
"What can I do?"
My aunt heaved a sigh. "I don't have a bloody clue."
***
I hesitated some four feet from her bedroom door. Did I really want to do it? Could I face her knowing what I knew? The visit from my mother the previous night had altered everything about my perception of her. In that moment, she was a stranger to me.
Eventually, finally, after I'd dithered and turned away twice, I steeled my resolve and approached the door. I knocked, fear clogging my throat.
Her voice sounded weak, emotionally drained. She asked, "Who is it?"
"Me, mum," I said, my face up to the wooden panel. "Michael," I added, unnecessarily.
All I heard was silence.
When it stretched on for thirty seconds or more, I knocked again.
"Mum," I said, putting some force in my tone. "Can I come in? I ... I think we should talk."
"Leave me alone," she said. "Go back to your aunt."
The petulant reply brought on a hot rush of anger, and I muttered "Stupid, jealous bitch," before I opened the door.
I saw the shock in my mother's expression. She was in her bed, under the covers, her face turned towards me, eyes and mouth wide.
My mother blinked several times, then cried out, "Don't you come in here!" She sat upright, the covers falling away to show her bare shoulders and upper slopes of her breasts. "I can't look at you, Michael. Not after what you've done with her. And not after last night."
You made last night happen, mum," I said, ire still bubbling.
That little truth made my mother close her eyes and tilt her face towards her lap. "Oh, this is such a mess," I heard her mumble.
She looked so forlorn the irritation I felt melted away. She was still my mother and I loved her. The thing in the 50s with her brother didn't matter to me. Not at that time. All I wanted to do was to make her feel better.
"We can fix this," I said.
My mother sighed and looked at me, expression distraught. Her voice was a croak when she asked, "How, Michael? How can we fix it? You and that bloody sister of mine ... The bitch," she added in an aside. "She always was a mucky cow. Mad for the men. Mad for cock," she finished, spitting the last word.
"I know about Uncle Simon," I said.
My mother's eyes went wide again, huge and round, her jaw hanging slack.
A pause of a few seconds followed. Then my mother exclaimed, "God, the big mouth on her! I'll swing for her! See if I don't!"
I wished I could suck those words about Simon right back into my mouth. But I couldn't, they were out there, loose in the wild.
Trepidation griped in my guts, insides twisting with the fear I'd made everything so much worse. I took a pace towards the bed.
"Mum, please," I said, moving closer. "Don't be like that. Can't we just try?"
She watched me, wary, like I might plunge a knife into her throat. I made it to the bed and, after a brief hesitation, sat on the edge.
My mother continued to stare, face tight. The way she lay half-reclined gave me the impression she was wound up with every muscle humming, sinews vibrating with the effort not to run from the room. I looked at her while she gazed at me. I don't recall any sense of time passing. It could have been seconds. It could have been minutes or hours. Then, with a hiss of air through her nose, my mother relaxed.
"I can't believe what I did. Last night with you and all that time ago with Simon. God, what do you think of me, Michael?"
"I love you," I said, simply. "You're my mum. That won't change."
It seems I said just the right thing. Couldn't have phrased it better because my mother asked, "Will you hug me? Can you bear to touch me?"
And when I did, when she held out her arms and I saw her bare breasts -- which were the equal of her sister's impressive frontage -- a quiver of yearning pulsed down in my cock.
We cuddled, the heat of her body making me harder.
Then we were kissing. It was Aunt Janet in the kitchen all over again, only this time I had my hands on my mother's breasts while she gasped into my open mouth.
"God, Michael," my mother groaned. "What...? Do you want to? I mean, Janet is here."
In response, bold as you like, I pulled back the covers and saw my mother's naked body for the first time.
"Oh, mum, I want to," I said on a moan.
***
Physically, there's not much between my mother and aunt: same ripe figure and rounded curves. My mum might be a little thicker around the middle which, if anything, made me hotter for her. There were differences facially, but it was obvious they were sisters, the resemblance there in the eyes and the shape of their mouths. The similarities had a strange effect on me. I'd become familiar with my aunt, so much so I had the confidence to do what I did with my mother. The lines were blurred, the relative newness of being with mum making the boundaries indistinct. Where I might have hesitated in touching my own mother in such intimate places, the times I'd shared with her sister seemed to make it easier to push down the walls between a mother and son.
As we kissed, I eased my mother down onto her back, a hand sliding over her stomach, my fingers finding the crinkly thatch several inches below her navel. When my middle finger found her bean, my mother moaned and spread her legs in what appeared to be automatic response to my touch.
"Oh God," she sighed, squirming. "Michael, are you sure?"
I replied by kissing her again. My tongue slipped into her mouth, a finger going inside her body in search of that place which so excited my aunt.
When I found the spot, my mother gasped and pushed at me. She stared at me, eyes round with surprise, her legs folding at the knees while she spread her thighs even wider.
"Ugh," my mother grunted. "Oh, shit. That's lovely. Don't stop. Don't stop rubbing me there."
Encouraged by her vehement response, I went up onto my knees, getting more comfortable so I could angle my wrist and hand and continue to work at that place. My mother's response was to let out a long, curdled groan, a sound of absolute delight while she slumped back onto the bed. She mauled at her breasts with one hand, the spare hand going to my wrist, her fingers holding me tight, like she was worried I'd stop.
While I rubbed at my mother, I also studied her body and face, soaking up the detail of her features twisted up with the pleasure of it, her tit-flesh rolling, her movements jerky as she shoved herself onto my fingers.
I managed to get my jeans down with one hand, a bit of a struggle because I had to concentrate on giving my mother complete attention and, when my cock was free and out in the open, I started to jack at its length.
"Let me do that for you," my mother put in. "Let me do it, Michael."
The reality of who she was hit me like a near physical blow when my mother's fingers closed around my girth. The dark, taboo feelings swirled through me again. "Mum," I groaned, fucking her fist. "It's you. It's really you."
"Shush. Not now," my mother replied. "I can't think about it now, Michael. It's too sordid. First my brother, now you." She paused and winced and sucked in air, head lolling back before she let out a moan. My mother's hips moved quickly, little squeaks and squeals coming from her mouth, her chin on her chest, eyes set on where my hand worked her body. "That's so fucking lovely," my mother informed me. "Keep going. Don't fucking stop. I'll get there, Michael. I'm so bloody close..."
Over several moments of a strange detachment, I watched my mother while she rocked and thrust and grunted through her climax. She came, hard. My mother let go of my dick when the force of the orgasm hit her. She let out a yelp, eyes open and staring before they glazed over and she let it all go. For me, it was perfectly clear, an indelible image: her tortured, joyful grimace; the sounds she made; her boobs shivering and rolling and the spasmodic jerk of her hips. My eyes and ears and sense of touch were tuned to the input. Every detail is etched in the crystal hall of my memory palace.
I took it all in, staring in fascination while the orgasm boiled through my mother. Then I heard a squelch from where my fingers were engaged in their work, my mother's flesh slick and wet on the digits until her sex made that liquid sound and squirted what I thought was piss onto my palm. The stuff didn't gush out in a torrential stream. It was just a squirt, the same as I'd seen when my mother cooked pancakes and then used one of those plastic lemons to flavour it up. At the same time the hot burst splashed against my hand, my mother blurted a sob and bent almost double at the waist. She grabbed my arm and held my hand in place while smearing her cunt over my fingers. My mother babbled nonsense about how she felt in the moment, most of it in single words until she finally managed to groan, "Oh ... Oh, God ... Michael. Baby ... Oh, sweetheart..."
When she eventually calmed, I examined my hand, certain she'd peed on me.
"It's cum," my mother informed me, breathless and gasping. "Lady-cum, Michael. It happens sometimes."
I had questions about that, but didn't get to voice them at the time. While my brain worked over this new phenomenon, my mother rolled onto her front and reached for my dick. Then she was up on her knees, leaning in low to suck at my cock.
It occurred to me my mother was licking her sister's essence from the shaft and swollen bulb. I had a couple of seconds to wonder if she could taste Aunt Janet on my flesh, and then the rush of delight swept me away. My mother was sucking my dick. I knew we were going to fuck.
***
Our first time, or at least it was our first time in my mind, the nocturnal encounter didn't count as far as I was concerned. Although, I suppose it did, but this second time with my mother was fundamentally different. For one, I could see her. I actually knew it was her, with all the emotions and feelings involved at such a momentous occasion.
So, for what I came to regard as out first real time together, we were coupled together in the missionary style, me up on straight arms so I could watch my mother's body accepting my length. We started slow with long, languid strokes. I savoured the moment. My experience with Aunt Janet had taught me that the first couple of times are the most intense emotionally. Not that subsequent sex with my aunt was any less exciting, but the newness of the first few times together had their own special flavour -- the taste of sin.
My mother looked so beautiful, laid there as she was, thighs wide in invitation. To see her so uninhibited in front of me, her own son, sent a jolt of desire through my core. Her voluptuous body was mine to possess. I was inside my mother; I was fucking the woman who birthed me.
While I worked my dick in and out of her, my mother looked up at me and asked, "Are you all right, Michael? You look very serious there."
"I ... I think you're wonderful, mum," I mumbled in reply.
"That's good, baby," she said, stroking my face. "I thought you were having second thoughts. You looked worried."
"It's just incredible, mum. Doing this with you. It feels so good. You're so beautiful."
I saw her eyes soften and realised it was love in my mother's expression. Then she reached up and hooked her fingers at the nape of my neck, her torso angled so she could kiss my mouth. A moment later we were loving, making true, emotional love, the natural filial connection changing, growing stronger, altered forever.
We moved together for a very long time. I lost all sense of the present, overwhelmed as I was by being so intimately joined. My mother murmured endearments in-between kisses, our bodies constantly moving, love blossoming.
Then, when I went up on straight arms again, the sight of her body brought out the beast. Hunger for my mother's flesh brought forth a growl. She seemed to get caught up in the feeling as well, shunting her hips to take me deeper and harder.
"Fuck me," my mother snarled. "Smash me, Michael. God, it feels so lovely."
I went at her like I was intent on shattering her pubic bone with the force of my lunges. We grappled and gasped, kissed and moaned, both of us moving towards the pinnacle.
My mother shifted around and moved from under me before I came. She rested her weight on a hip and an elbow, eyes on me while she fingered her sex. Eyelids heavy with whatever it was she was feeling, my mother asked, "Can I get on top?"
Aroused as I was, I cranked at my dick to prolong my pleasure. I nodded and said, "Anything, mum."
A second or two after that, with eager haste my mother scrambled upright and clambered over me. She knelt, knees either side of my hips, a hand at my dick to hold me upright. Her chin was on her chest when she looked down past her shivering breasts and her hand worked my length. My mother's boobs jiggled and swayed in response to her movements, her sex enveloping my cock in its molten embrace as she sank down onto it.
My hands were full of her body. Buttocks and hips and tits, my mother starting to ease herself up-and-down on my length.
She went at it in a robust style which had me close to the edge almost straight away. "Mum," I grunted, afraid I was going to come. "I ... I don't think I can take this for long."
"Do it if you have to, Michael," she gasped. "I've already come, baby. Don't worry about me. You can do it inside me. In fact, I want you to do it inside me. I want my boy's cum."
Our flesh slapped together while her boobs swung and swayed. My mother loomed over me, her arms outstretched, hands either side of my head while I held her waist and watched the metronomic swipe of her tits, the things smacking together at times, sometimes swinging in unison.
Then it began. The pleasure got too intense and I came. I groaned out words about loving my mother and then felt the rush, my dick letting whatever goo I had left after squirting cum into my aunt.
As I moaned in delight, my mother let out a squeal, levering upright and massaging her breasts while also rubbing her bean.
Then it was over and I lay on my back, gasping at the ceiling while my mother collapsed alongside me. And, when things had cooled down, that's when I experienced the squeeze of guilt in the pit of my stomach. I'd been so carried away being with my mother I'd forgotten my aunt.
***
1981
As it happened, any concerns I had about my Aunt Janet's reaction turned out to be unfounded. She knew where I'd been, and with whom. Later that same night I had another visitor. I'd been with my mother and had snuck out of her room, anxious not to bump into Aunt Janet. But, an hour or so after I'd gone to bed, drained by emotional strain and the excitement, not to mention coming twice on the bounce, Aunt Janet came to my room.
There was no sex between us, although if my aunt had been so inclined, I probably could have found the mustard and given her a tumble. It seemed she wanted to make it clear I was free to do what I wanted, that our affair was mostly fun. Aunt Janet told me I wasn't to take it too seriously. After all, it wasn't like we could get married, have kids, live together in cosy domesticity. We had other considerations: incest and age being just two.
"I know you've been with Margaret again," my aunt revealed. "And I don't want to cause any more upset where she's concerned."
The very next day, in the afternoon, my mother then surprised both me and her sister by confronting the situation face-on. Despite what looked to be a very embarrassing time for her, my mum, stuttering and avoiding eye-contact most of the time, basically laid it out the same way her sister had done. The upshot being, eventually, after some discussion, we decided to leave things as they were for a while. We would continue to love in our incestuous fashion. I could go to my mum or my aunt, and they would come to my bed when the need took them. Each of us was free to start an outside relationship if we so chose. Neither my mum nor my aunt wanted to put any restrictions upon me. They both agreed there could be this physical thing between us, but we couldn't realistically expect anything like a normal relationship. We were family after all, related by blood, there was no way we could ever let it out in the open.
But time passed. A week turned to two. One month was suddenly six. A year slid by, with me keeping pace with my apprenticeship at an engineering firm while my mother worked hard at the newsagent business and my aunt took a lease on a pub.
During those years I tried a girlfriend or two, but always compared them to my mother and aunt. The sex was all right in a bland and normal way, it just didn't come close to the arousal and excitement I felt when I was balls-deep in incestuous joy. Plus, regardless of my aunt's words about it being a physical thing, I loved them both on a deep and emotional level I doubted I could ever experience with anyone else.
So, in 1981 the three of us lived together. We each had our own room, a space of our own. And while my mother and aunt never showed any inclination towards any sapphic encounters, while we never moved on to a threesome, I continued to love them both.
I remained my Aunt Janet's dirty boy.
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