Mom And Son In Poverty Share One Bedroom Apartment (Part 2) free porn video

"Can you pass me the wine," mom said. When she looked at me I saw that she had a slight lazy eye that I hadn't noticed before. She wiggled the fingers on her outstretched hand, beckoning the wine mug, and I realized it was because she was a little drunk.

"Hold on, I have an idea," I said. Except I slurred a little bit. I was a little drunk.

"Hm?" mom said, and she got up. She poured herself another glass of wine and watched me. I started gathering the pillows and blankets that were on the bed.

I tried leaning them against the wall, at the end of the bed closer to the TV, but they were sliding into the crack between the bed and the wall. I took the rolled-up dividing blanket from the center of the bed and shoved it into the crack longways, and then assembled the pillows and one of the blankets against the wall into a little makeshift couch. I left one of the blankets out so one of us could use it if we got cold.

Mom nodded. She refilled my coffee mug with wine and handed it to me. I drank most of it at once. She came over and assumed some kind of character, rubbing her chin and inspecting the pillows. She sat down very formally and then fell back very casually, rubbed her chin, and said, "This will do," and laughed. She curled her legs up so she was sitting cross-legged with her back straight against the pillows. The movie was starting.

I drank the rest of my mug of wine. I pulled the little table over to the side of the bed beside us, and got the bottle and the mugs.

"Thank you, sir," she said, and went to refilling our mugs.

There was only about half left in the bottle. Mom saw me looking at it.

She jiggled her body and said in her weird, affected accent, "Fetch me another, my dear."

She smiled wide. She was having fun. I was smiling too, and I felt giddy. I felt happier than I had in a long time. More than a year. For a moment I almost thought about why that was, I almost broadened the idea, and I stopped myself.

Instead, I looked at my mom as she handed me the mug of wine. The screen was flashing between different opening scenes and I saw it reflected in her eyes. She turned away to watch the movie and I sat down next to her. The little couch I had set up was smaller than I had expected, and we were very close to each other. I felt the rise and fall of her breath from where I was sitting next to her.

It was a very bad movie. I had been worried that it was too risque for my mom, but it was not much of anything. The movie almost seemed like a series of disconnected previews played out against green screens. About halfway through I burst out laughing at a particularly stupid scene and mom did too.

"It's so dumb!" she giggled.

"Thank god," I said.

"What?"

"I was holding in my laugh because," I hiccuped and a little wine came up my throat, "I didn't want to laugh at your movie."

She laughed for a long time, deeply. I had seen her laugh a lot lately. I felt like more than I had seen in her life. And this was such a shameless laugh, almost manlike, whatever that means.

"Baby," she kept laughing, "I wanted to see this because I thought the actors were hot in the commercial."

She laughed until she coughed, and then she leaned forward and kept coughing. I patted her back, and said, "Are you okay?"

She looked up at me with watery eyes, grinning, very close to my face, and said, "Yeah, wine, wine down the wrong pipe."

She cleared her throat and leaned back, closer to me than before. She adjusted herself, pulling at her bra a bit under her shirt, and looking for somewhere to put her hand. She was blindly searching and first put it on my inner thigh, then adjusted it closer to my knee. She squeezed my knee and ran her fingers back and forth, maybe unconsciously.

I don't remember much of the movie, but I remember us laughing throughout it. I remember being tired and asking mom if she wanted me to put the next one on. She asked me what it was about, and I started to read the back cover.

She said, "Oh right, this is my movie! The one safe for mom!"

I nodded, taking the teasing, my diaphragm sore from laughing so much more than usual this night.

We had slowed a bit on the wine but had almost finished the rest of the first handle by the end of the spy movie.

I couldn't really tell what this movie was about. The description on the back was worded strangely, like it was a poor translation. It was missing some of the standard information on DVD cases, like the rating.

The cover was a kind of sepia portrait of a couple overlayed on top of a modern photo of a scene of a bustling city that looked strange somehow. I read the back, and it was an Italian movie, and the city on the front only looked odd because it was modern but there were narrow roads and not many cars.

Apparently, it had won some awards in the 80s but it was just recently released for American markets. It seemed like a strange movie to have in a Redbox, but the company could have easily made the same mistake I had made, and mistaken the release date and the aesthetic for it being a recent Hollywood drama.

"I have no idea," I said, and put it on.

Mom filled the mugs with wine again. She passed mine to me and sipped hers. There was enough in the handle left for two cups, maybe more. I wasn't sure if I wanted to drink much more. My stomach was upset and I was dizzy. Mom still seemed spry, and she watched the movie attentively. I leaned back, but couldn't quite get comfortable.

The movie was showing a busy street somewhere in southern Italy. Opera was playing and there was a hard cut to doves being released from a cage.

"Are you comfortable?" mom said.

"Yeah, uh," I said. I sounded drunk. I was drunk.

"Oh, honey. Are you liquored up?" she said.

I was embarrassed and a little annoyed at this question. It was obviously just an innocent teasing, but I was drunk and a little confused. She grabbed my chin and looked at me in the eyes. Her face was puffy from wine and she looked a little concerned. Then her eyes looked over to the heater.

"I'm turning this off, it's too damn hot in here," she said.

She got up and turn the heater off.

"Humidifier, too," I slurred.

She pointed at me and shook her hips, smiling, and spun to turn the humidifier off.

"Babe I'm sorry but I'm taking this off, I'm sweating." She was already pulling off her long sleeve shirt. First her belly, and then her tits, cupped in a beige sports bra. She struggled with her sleeves for a moment, and she was making a show of it in her funny character effect, which made her tits shake even in the sports bra.

It was supposed to be more modest, but there was so much behind it, rippling over. The bra looked too small. Maybe it was. I thought she had gained a little weight. Not that I minded. Why would I mind? Why would that even cross my mind? I looked away from my mother's breasts.

"Do you actually mind, honey?" She was slurring but sounded serious. "Seriously, not joking for a second, I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I know it's not the same as being around the house when you're a kid."

I looked at her. She was really asking. She was standing there, in a bra and baggy nylon shorts, her hands clenching and unclenching. She really was worried that this had bothered me earlier.

"No, no." I shook my head and waved my hand. I felt a little sobered up. My thoughts were racing but my head wasn't spinning. "I was just kidding, it's fine, really. This is our home now. You can get as comfortable as you want here. You're good, it's okay. I want you to be comfortable."

More than was necessary. I was still drunk. But she looked touched. Was she blushing? Mom came back over and sat as she had before, and then she sat up.

"Are you comfy?" she said.

I adjusted myself. For the duration that we had been lying there, I had been sitting in a stiff posture, trying not to lean too much into mom. I sat up a bit and squirmed around, and she sat up and leaned into me, and my arm found its way around her back as I naturally adjusted to be more comfortable. She laid back down and it was much better, though my legs were curled sideways, tucked under her knees. The tips of my fingers were just barely touching the fabric on the side of her sports bra.

"This fucking draft," she said.

She was talking about the draft through the window. It was bad, even when the rest of the room was warm. Nebraska was just too cold. Minneapolis was cold, too, but there was more trees and buildings where we were from, and they blocked the wind. It was the wind, really. It howled and whistled. It cut right through any crack.

Last winter we had switched sides on the bed a couple of times because she got cold easier than I did. I remember that it was odd waking up on what was usually her side of the bed and seeing her sleeping on what was usually my side of the bed, across the rolled-up dividing blanket. That blanket was tucked between the wall and the bed behind us now, and I could feel her breathing on the very tips of my fingers as her breasts rose and fell.

She grunted and leaned forward and pull up the blanket over both of us, looking back annoyed at the window and the shoddy construction. She had shifted and my hand was dangled in thin air now, no longer slightly touched her exposed bra. I was disappointed and started to chide myself for being disappointed, then I forget what I was thinking about.

After a long moment, I realized mom was watching the movie again. I looked at the screen. People were arguing in a library. Two were men: one was dressed in rags that looked like they were from Les Miserables, but he had a long peacock feather in his filthy hat. The other was in a tattered suit. Two were women: one was in a frumpy short yellow dress and fuzzy blue scarf, and looked like a 1920s flapper. The other wore a tattered suit.

"What's happening?" my mom said. She leaned forward to watch more closely. My arm fell flat to the bed.

"I have no idea," I said.

The movie was clearly not that old – also clearly from the 80s, but it hadn't aged too badly. It would have been high definition and if we weren't watching it on a DVD player on our shitty box TV in our shitty excuse for a motel. But there was something about it that reminded me of old black and white movies. I don't really know about movies. It was like Charlie Chaplin. The movements seemed sped up, the speech looked dramatized even though it was delivered normally. Well, I don't know how it was delivered. It was delivered in Italian, and there were subtitles I hadn't been reading. It was very stylized, in a way that seemed intentional. But I didn't get it. Why make a modern movie like that?

"They're cousins," my mom said.

"What?"

"These two, in the suits," she said and jabbed her finger twice at the side of the room the TV was on.

"I'm sorry, I haven't been reading," I said, quietly.

My mom turned to me. The blanket fell a bit and I remembered she was only wearing her bra. The way the blanket had fallen, its edge resting on the lip of the sports bra, it looked almost like she was nude. And she wasn't exaggerating earlier about being hot: she was sweating. I saw a bead of sweat run down one of her breasts and leave a dark spot on the edge of the blanket. The reflection of the screen flashed in the streak of salty moisture left on the soft flesh of her breast.

She laughed, and I looked her in the eyes. She raised her eyebrows and shook her head. Jesus, I was drunk. The blanket had only fallen when she turned to look at me. I started staring at her tits, no, at my mother's, my mother's breasts, as soon as she had turned to look me in the eyes. She laughed again.

"In the movie, okay," she looked exasperated and like she was trying to remember something. "Okay, I don't really know. I've been trying to keep up but, uh, your momma's a little tipsy. Those two in those awful suits are cousins. They were separated, or fighting, something like that? But they came to a cocktail party with these dates, just a coincidence, and now they're fighting with their dates."

I looked at the screen. This sounded too complicated, but my mom sounded interested. The men were arguing with each other and the women were arguing with each other.

"Why are they in the library?" I said.

My mom shooked her head, "I don't know."

"Do you like movies like this?" I said.

She shrugged.

As the men on screen were arguing with each other, and the women on screen were arguing with each other, it began to seem emphasized that the man with the peacock feather and the lady with the flapper outfit were getting tired. They were saying anything, and they were saying it lazily. The man in the frayed suited and the woman in the torn suit were arguing with their respective partners’ passionately still, mocking them for giving up on the topic.

At the same time, the man and woman in suits said something to the dates they were separately arguing with. The subtitles translated it identically, but the words spoken in Italian from the actors clearly differed in some way. But the translation was:

-Do you know why they put us here?-

The tattered suits said it simultaneously and then looked to each other in the way that looked like Chaplin, like The Stooges, like the Marx Brothers.

The others, the man in the peacock feather and the woman in the flapper dress, the dates of the tattered suits, both responded at the same time, but they sputtered entirely different things. They started stomping around and waving their hands in a way that seemed even more cartoonish and antiquated.

I thought, that's so stupid. Why are they doing that in a modern movie? My mom sat up further. She leaned off the side of the bed. Her baggy shorts and her big modest panties conspired to create a wide opening that went right down her asscrack. I leaned forward to look.

"Look!" Mom said, and leaned back, cracking her backward bound head against mine forward bound.

We both gripped our heads in pain. She moaned in a high-pitched way that seemed unfamiliar to me, but struck some kind note that drove me to lean forward and touched her head where I had hit it.

"I'm so sorry, are you okay?" I said.

She spun and gritted her teeth and made fists and for a moment I was actually scared. I must have looked scared. She immediately relaxed and grabbed the side of my ribs with one hand and the side of my face with the other. She had been joking. Of course, she was, it was a joking face. She was pretending to be mad that I headbutted her.

"I'm sorry baby, are you okay? Are you too drunk?" she made a kissy face and wide eyes. I might have been too drunk, but I felt like she was making fun of me. I was never especially self-conscious. But I didn't want my mom to think poorly of me.

"No," I forced a laugh. "I was just getting some more wine, and, you leaned back."

She nodded and looked and me curiously. She stood up in front of the screen and poured two more mugs of wine. I took mine and drank some and held the rest in my lap and curled up to get comfortable again. She sipped her wine and got comfortable. Apparently, we were watching the movie again.

Now the two suits, the ragged suits, were arguing with each other instead of their dates. But they were grinning ear to ear, shouting at each other. They were grabbing books and pretending to read from them, and then throwing them at each other.

It became a kind of dance, and they tried to dodge each other's thrown books, and when they were hit they laughed. The man in the fauxrags and the peacock feather looked disgusted. The woman in the flapper outfit looked disgusted. But those two tried to make small talk with each other. It was hard to follow the subtitles with both pairs talking simultaneously, and sometimes it just reverted to

-Everyone talking...-

but there was the sense that the peacock and the flapper were talking about incidental things, anything they could think of, the weather and the economy. They were talking about the colonies, or companies. Something like that. I failed history. But the tattered suits were throwing books at each other like shurikens and grenades, and they had stopped even opening them and flipping through them before they said

-This one says...-

-They are a fool, this one says...-

And they were breaking into laughter doing this.

My mom was entranced. She nestled even further back into me, accidentally spilling some of my wine under the cover. I reached to see where it spilled and grabbed a fold in my mom's belly. It was wet with wine. She didn't look away from the screen. God help me, I rubbed her stomach for a moment before pulling away. She never took her eyes from the screen and I didn't say anything.

On the screen: the peacock and the flapper stormed out. Immediately the two suits made eye contact with each other. They began to strip their clothes away.

"What the fuck," I said.

"Shh," my mom said.

They were entirely naked. Their bodies looked entirely different than they had before they had stripped off their clothes. The man was shorter than he had seemed in his shoes. In the movie, the woman, who already had her tits out (long, dangling tits, sharp brown nipples, little circle areolas).

She was fat. Well, not quite fat. But she was fatter than my mom. Was she? No, she was less proportional. Her tits weren't as nice. What? Her breasts weren't as full, and they dangled too far. Was there anything wrong with that? Why did I care?

She bent over, and the screen cut hard again to her picking up his shoes. She displayed the platforms, running her palms along the bottom like on an infomercial, to show how thick the platforms were and how they made him look taller.

Then she held them up to his still clothed groin and shrugged. He dropped his pants, and she looked up, annoyed, and pull down his underwear. His penis was flaccid, and comically long and skinny. She laughed, and pulled it like the string of a bell.

The screen hard cut to a chapel bell ringing. The chapel bell was ringing for a long time.

I started laughing.

My mom turned to me.

"What?" she said.

"This is really dumb," I said, and my laughter faded.

She looked offended and turned back.

“I like it,” she said. “It's weird. It makes me think.”

The bell kept ringing. Why was it going on so long? What kind of movie was this?

There was another hard cut, and it was just the previously raggedly suited man's comically long skinny flaccid penis. It was dangling, slightly swinging, and bells kept chiming. They chimed for a long time. The penis began to grow, very slowly. I had some sense that it was in a rhythm with the chiming bells, but it was too slow, too hypnotic. He was now half erect.

I felt myself start to doze off.

I felt myself snore, and my mom slapped my knee. I looked down, but she had pulled the blanket up farther, so I could only see the top of her cleavage and the folds and crevasses of the blanket where our knees and feet were. I was tired and woken quickly so I didn't even wonder why that was what I was trying to see. But it was warm under the blanket. I looked at the screen.

We were looking at the previously raggedly suited woman's vagina. The old leather of a book was just visible at the top of the screen. Her legs were splayed out wide, and she kept adjusting herself to read better. I was looked at the vagina. It was not a pretty one.

Well, I guess I had only seen one in person. I was usually generous, just more drunk. Generous? Who was I? Why would I talk about my ex-girlfriend like that? I was looking at the screen. The outer labia was bulging, puffy. But the inner labia was too. It was too spread out, I don't know. It looked like meat.

I don't know, it wasn't right. My mouth watered. On screen, the book lowered, and she crossed her legs. The pussy lips, the outer labia, closed a bit. But on screen, we were inside her crossed legs. I thought I saw her clit throbbing in the shadows of her lips.

“I just don't know why she has to be so fat,” my mom said.

“Looks fine,” I mumbled. “She's not that fat.”

My mom rubbed my knee under the blanket. Eyes still glued to the screen.

Hard cut to a flat scene of them both reading in the library. The books were covering both of their genitals. The woman's tits weren't covered, but they weren't much to look at. My gaze slowly drifted to them. I watched for as long as I could.

I fell asleep.

5.

I woke up. I was leaning back now, but not entirely. My neck hurt. It was resting at a bad angle, against the wall. The room was very dark. When I opened my eyes all the way the first thing I saw was the screen. There was a logo that just said DVD in silver floating across the screen, and when it hit the side of the screen it bounced very naturally, fell into a float, a soar, before it slowed again. Then it hit the other side, and like a pool ball, picked up speed and repeated the pattern, bouncing to a random place.

I was leaning halfway laying down with my neck against the wall. My mom was asleep and her face was in my crotch. She was face down in it. She was bent like she had fallen asleep while watching the movie and slid down at on odd angle into that position.

Through my sweatpants, through my boxers, I felt her warm breath. We were mostly covered by the one blanket. It wasn't big enough to cover both of us if we stretched out our legs, but we were curled up under it together. My left leg was free and my right leg was between her hips. I felt the warmth from her crotch on my leg just, below my knee.

My left arm was free on the bed. My right arm was hanging over her chest, over the blanket. She was comfortable, her face buried in my crotch where the blanket didn't cover us. I wasn't comfortable. I was half asleep, I wasn't thinking, so I laid there for a while.

Feeling her breath in and out, her mouth on the fabric just between my dick and my balls. Actually, it hurt a little bit. Her nose was jutting right between them. I felt the rhythm of her breath, I felt it in my body pressed against hers and in the air lightly pulling in and out on the fabric of my groin.

I felt my dick start to fill with blood.

Was this bad? I didn't know, I may as well have been asleep. She didn't know, she was definitely asleep. My cock grew, slowly, like it was feeling things out. Her face was its boundary. It struggled, painfully, and kept filling. Then it was full and hard, the base of my penis between her lips and nose, the shaft shoving upwards into her cheek. I moved my hips and it grew to around her ear.

I couldn't sleep like this anyway, as pleasant as it was. I wasn't thinking it was pleasant at the time. I wasn't thinking anything, I was mostly asleep. I was just feeling. So I moved over. Her face flopped over onto my chest and she squirmed a little bit, clearly still asleep.

She exhaled and moved her face into my armpit. I leaned up and grabbed a pillow from where I had set up the makeshift couch. As I leaned up I saw that the other handle of wine had been opened and was sitting on the little table. I leaned forward some more and saw that one of the mugs -- her mug -- still had a little in it. I finished it, and I laid back down, cuddled up with my mother.

I tried to get comfortable on my own account, even tried to pull away a bit. As I did, I felt my hand brush against her chest. I laid there for a moment. Then I pulled the blanket back. It was cold. The heater was off, and the wind outside was alternating between howls and whistles.

I pulled the blanket back and my mom's breast were there. Behind her sports bra, but nearly spilling out. I pulled the blanket down further and looked at her stomach. She had definitely gained some weight. If I wanted to, I could pull her bra down. It would be a simple motion.

I pulled one of her breasts from her bra, but I did it too fast and too rough. She squirmed. I closed my eyes. I was scared. My head wasn't on the pillows -- in fact, the way I had moved, she was farther up than I was. If I looked straight ahead, my eyes were around her neck. She was on the pillow, and she was splayed out in a way that looked comfortable. I was curled up in the awkward position I was in.

Slowly, I opened my eyes. I was looking directly at one of her nipples. Her tit, the one that took up all my vision, seemed so big here. I saw every rise and fall of her sleeping breath in the gentle movement of my mom's single exposed breast. The wide areola, as I had seen before. It was an inch from my face. The nipple was different. It was growing. I had pulled the blanket and the cup away, and it was cold in here. It got cold so quickly. I remembered the sayings about watching paint dry and watching grass grow. I vaguely thought that this was a funny comparison.

I fell asleep again.

I woke up gagging, my chest convulsing, pulling in tight breaths. I bit my tongue, which had been hanging out for some reason.

"Shh, shh," Mom said.

There was light. It was white light, but it wasn't the fluorescent lights of the parking lot outside our apartment. It was early light, blueish but with a lot of glare, barely breaking through our blinds. The earliest daybreak reflecting off the snow that had collected in the night.

My tongue was out and I drew it back in and blinked my eyes open. I saw only pale flesh and faded blue branches, and then I was choking again.

"It's okay, baby," my mom said.

I pulled back and looked around. The room was dimly lit and cold. My mom was in the position I remembered her in when she last fell asleep, but she was gripping the breast I had exposed with one hand and had a new mug of wine with the other. We almost made eye contact, but I couldn't do it. She almost looked angry.

"Go back to sleep," she said, and squeezed her big exposed breast twice.

I looked at her, confused, and started to try to move, but one of my legs was gripped between her thighs. There was pain. It was my dick, once again pressed hard between my sweatpants and my leg, at an angle that it was almost bending. I felt dampness where my dick curved painfully onto the edge of my thigh.

I didn't know what to do. I felt scared. I felt vulnerable.

I closed my eyes.

A rough bulb with smooth edges touched my lips and then rushed in. I opened my eyes again and saw my mom's fingers gripping her exposed breast and shoving it into my mouth. She relaxed her grip and gently stroked my face. I began to suck. She sighed.

Jesus. I licked her nipple. I sucked on it, lightly, and ran my tongue around the bumps, and then I sucked hard, teasing with my teeth, before coming back and sucking in a light rhythm again. Then I flicked my tongue over the nipple and made like I was going to suck hard before I settled back into a rhythmic pull and release, saliva bubbling through my teeth across her breast.

My cock hurt so bad pressing against my pants. I wanted to take it out but I didn't want to stop what was happening and I wasn't sure what was happening.

"Eat, eat," Mom said.

It was weird. I liked it. I didn't like it. I liked it. What the fuck. I reached my hand up and grabbed her breast. There was so much of it. I started licking all over it. I got onto my knees and opened my eyes wide.

That was when it really struck me that it was my mother. She was laid out there, turned slightly on her side. One of her breasts was exposed, the other was still cupped in the sports bra. Her waist and legs were curled under the blanket, and her thighs stubbornly gripped one of my ankles even as I tried to get up on my knees. I looked her in the eyes.

They were puffy and red. Tears ran down her cheeks. She drank the rest of the mug of wine in her hand and dropped it to the ground. I heard it roll across the floor. I didn't know what to do, and I grabbed her breast and squeezed her nipple between my knuckles.

She grabbed me by the back of the head and pulled me down to her, straight into her chest. Her breasts enveloped my head and my nose hurt from where it connected sharply with her sternum and it must have hurt her chest, but she only screamed, raspy and phlegmy,

"Don't leave me!"

She ran her hands through my hair for a few minutes. I lay like that, my face wrapped in her breasts, as she stroked my head and quietly cried. Every now and then she gave a muffled sob. Slowly she gripped the hair on the back of my head and pulled me up to her face to look me in the eyes.

Mom was still for a moment, eye reds, bags underneath, and then her face trembled. She really was crying. She was holding onto the hair on the back of my head in a death grip. I pulled forward, feeling some of my hair tear out of my scalp, and kissed her on the lips.

She let out a sob and shoved my face back between her breasts, releasing my head and covering her face with both her hands as she cried.

Gently, I pulled the cup of the bra off her other breast, and it spilled out into my grasp. I kissed the nipple, only half-hard, only half exposed to the cold of our home. Then I flung one of my knees over her body and gently turned her so she was fully on her back.

I saw her part her fingers to see what I was doing as she was crying. I began to manipulate her bra down further on her body so that the straps and the cups weren't at odds, but then she adjusted herself backwards onto the pillow and reached behind her back, unstrapped the bra. She still let it lay across her, but I saw the ends of the straps splayed out on the bed. I looked her in the eyes.

"Don't look at me," she said, and with one hand shook one of her breasts and with the other gently pushed me towards it.

I fell onto them and started sucking and almost biting, teasing with my teeth. I fit as much in my mouth as I could and pretended like I was going to chew for a moment, then withdrew and flicked my tongue over the nipple as I gently squeezed the base of her breast. As much as I could grab, anyway. It spilled over my hand whenever I tried. God, there was so much.

I moved to the next breast and did the same. This one was holier somehow. She had opened this one for me. I licked both, again and again. I tried to add some variety each time. I was enjoying myself.

I looked at the clock well after I had started and I had been going at it for ten minutes, fifteen minutes. Jesus fucking christ I was enjoying myself. Without noticing I had begun to rub my cock, still bound painfully behind my sweatpants, on my mom's thigh along with the rhythm of my licking and squeezing.

At some point, she had stopped crying and for the most part, stopped moving. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing fast, laying on her back nearly entirely still, but I felt her quickened heart rate whenever my mouth closed wide across her areolas and slowly, carefully tasted everything there. I knew that this was normally too long to be sucking on tits, but this was so different. I pulled back eventually.

I leaned in towards her face, and touched her cheek with my hand. Now I was concerned because now she was still and I felt like the instigator. But I woke up to this. What was happening?

Her eyes fluttered open. Dark brown. Puffy and red from the wine and tears. I kissed her cheek, and said,

"What do you want?"

She said, "What do you want?"

I kissed her neck, running my tongue along the artery, sucking lightly at the end. I licked her collarbone, where I knew it ran under her full flesh. I ran my tongue halfway down her sternum, then slid off to the left. I kissed the flesh of her breast, I squeezed it softly, I ran my tongue around her nipple three times, each time teasing it, and then sucked on it properly. I ran my tongue and fingers back to the sternum, then ascended to her breast on the right and did the same.

All the while I was running my fingers softly along her arms and legs, barely touching.

Then my tongue returned to her sternum and my hands went to her hips. I kissed her gently and asymmetrically along the length of her chest and belly while my fingers slowly worked off her panties and shorts at the same time.

I got to the belly button, her delicious plump belly, and its centerpiece, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I admitted to myself that I loved it. I dug my tongue into her belly button and roughly yanked her shorts and panties the rest of the way down to her knees. I grabbed at her belly, relishing the folds, and kissed along them.

I scooted back, and a mess of panties and ball shorts were in my face. I started trying to pull them off by the feet ends, and she lifted her legs obligingly. As she scooted back to allow the shorts and panties to slide off her feet, I saw the bottom of her asscheeks, cruelly restricted against the bedsheets, and her asshole, barely peaking out a few inches down from her vagina. I pulled off all the bottoms, tossing them across the room.

Her crotch. Black, tangled pubic hair. A full bush. The sides of her full thighs. Jesus, Jesus. I dove in but caught myself. I kissed up above her right knee as my right hand ran down the side of her left thigh.

My right hand gripped the left thigh hard, fingernails nearly digging in, her flesh squeezing through my fingers, as my tongue fell into licking a stretch mark that ran all the way down into the thigh. It was a highway, a slight depression, on the tip of my tongue I could barely feel that it was a different depth and barely a different texture, and I loved what it meant, and I rode it home.

Before my tongue had reached the outer labia of the vulva, I circled slightly back and ran my tongue halfway down her right thigh again. My right hand had been squeezing her left thigh, and I released it. With my left hand, I suddenly gripped her right thigh firmer than I had the other and squeezed, as I ran my tongue softer and slower down her left thigh.

What was I doing? I wasn't thinking. I was feeling. Did it feel right? I don't know, it felt good. I felt like I was good at it.

My tongue went to her vulva, finally. My balls were aching and my dick was numb. This wouldn't give them any relief but god I wanted to hear her moan while my cock was rock hard and dripping against the sides of my boxers.

Still, I was patient. I kissed right outside of her labia. I kissed slightly inside, then I ran my tongue up and down the outer labia. I slipped into the inner one, and I went up a down the left side. I pulled my tongue away for a half-second and went up and down the right side of the outer one, and then I stuck two fingers in.

My mom was soaking wet. It was so warm, like a bath. I could feel her pulse with my fingers inside her.

I slid my right arm down my mom's left leg, tickling it as I went, and I went to the foot and tickled and squeezed the sole.

I looked up to where her head lay on the pillow and she very light smirked and trembled.

I took this hand and gently squeezed the base of her pussy lips and then slid the fingers in slowly as my tongue worked. I started tapping the roof of her vagina with my curved two fingers and I shoved my face straight into her pussy. I could have sworn that I felt a splash. I couldn't breathe.

Her belly and groin engulfed my face, and her thighs squeezed the side of my head. I suckled for a moment. I shoved my tongue as far as I could into her vagina proper, right below where my fingers were working, and my lips pressed as firm as they could again the inner labia, sucking.

I felt my mom lift her hips into the air and my head followed. I slurped. I was trying to drink, and I did get a little, but then I remembered where I was and what I was doing.

My tongue slipped out from under my tapping fingers and got above them. I circled around the top arc of the inner labia once again, always taking my time, and then with the very tip of my tongue touched the clitoris.

I felt a sharp pain in the pain of my head.

"Fuck you! Fuck you!" my mom screamed.

She tightened her thighs and I couldn't breathe, and she kept punched me in the back of the head.

"I am your mother! What are you doing to me! I am your mother! I am your mother!"

She released the thigh grip and my head fell against the bed. She jumped and ran to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. I heard her sobbing.

I caught my breath. It was light in here now.

What time was it?

I looked at the digital clock on the DVD player. 8:45 AM. We have been up for a while. We're both used to waking up so early. We're confused. We're still a little drunk. Well, I wasn't still drunk. I had a little bit of a headache.

Wait, what just happened?

I licked my lips. I knew what happened. I got up and took my sweatpants and boxers off. I took off my shirt. My cock thrust up at a thirty-degree angle. It was throbbing and drips ran out of the head down the shaft. I went over to the bathroom door and knocked.

"Mom?" I said.

No answer.

"Why did you hit me like that?" I said.

No answer.

The door swung open and I was slapped again and again. I was laughing as I fell backwards and crashed into the wall. I turned away from the slaps, covering my face, and my mom started slapping my bare ass. She grabbed me again by the back of the hair and bent me over the sink. We had just washed our dishes here together. I felt the cold steel rim of the sink on my belly and I smelled soap and drain grime from where my head hung into the sink.

"When'd you take your pants off?" she laughed, loudly.

When she laughed, I felt her

I could feel my mom's red hand marks spreading across my hairy ass. I'm an adult. Why is she doing this? I felt her grip my ass and shake it before slapping it again, hard, like a spanking, like punishment, but harder than any child could take. She kept yelling things to me, but the words were so quick and loud I had no idea what she was saying. So loudly I wondered for the first time in over a year whether our neighbors could hear us in here.

Pain spread across my asscheeks. She was spanking me. Did I like this? I don't know. She was doing it, and I just wanted to touch her again.

I felt her bury her fingernails into my asscheek and loom up behind me, her tits pressed against my back. I could feel her quick, heavy breaths through her nipples descending and rising from the skin of my back.

I felt a moment of sobriety. Suddenly I was horribly ashamed.

How will I live after this? What are we doing?

She had stopped and stepped back. I turned around. She looked me in the eyes, a blank stare on her face. She hugged me deeply. My faceTo continue reading this story you must be a member. Join for FREE here.