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Fireflies, Part Three

  • Posted on May 23, 2015 at 11:42 am

By JetBoy

When I awakened, the sunlight that filled the room puzzled me for a few seconds — I normally slept on the other side of the house, where the sun only put in an appearance in the afternoon.

Then it all came back to me in a dizzying rush. My mother and I had made love yesterday; had shared our bodies, our souls. More than that, we’d fucked.

I was alone in bed, but Mom had left a fresh-cut pink camellia on the pillow for me. Sitting up, I breathed deeply of its fragrance, then caressed my breasts with the soft petals.

Rising, I stretched luxuriously, then padded into the bathroom to shower.

Minutes later, I descended the stairs, letting the wonderful aroma of breakfast lure me to Mom. I’d been tempted to surprise her by coming down completely naked, but settled on my sexiest dressing gown, the one that barely concealed my panties — at least it would have, if I’d been wearing any.

Mom was standing over the stove, as I made my entrance, turning pieces of bacon in a sizzling iron skillet. She wore her ivory-hued kimono — a gift from a Japanese student — that showed off her womanly figure to stunning effect.

Glancing over her shoulder, she paused to look me up and down appreciatively. “Hey, hon,” she said, the warmth of her voice stirring some very un-daughterly feelings of mine. “How many eggs do you want?”

Moving close, I embraced Mom from behind, grinding my mound into her generous ass. “Hmmm,” I mused, my hands opening the kimono, then slipping inside to cup her bare breasts. “Think I’d rather have these, actually.” I teased Mom’s nipples, feeling them stiffen to my touch.

Shaking her head, she moved away. “Really, Marcie,” she chided, opening the oven door to check on a pan of biscuits, which were just beginning to turn a golden brown. “You’ve got a one-track mind.” There was an amused light in her eyes when she said it, though. “Now you cut out this foolishness and sit down. Breakfast is almost ready.” Taking up a pair of tongs, she deftly plucked bacon strips from the skillet, laying each one out on a folded paper towel.

“Okay, okay,” I laughed, raising my hands in a gesture of surrender. Taking my seat at the kitchen table, I arranged myself in a very provocative pose, legs parted just enough to expose my pussy. “Oh, Mom-ma…” I sang.

“What, honey?” she replied, looking over her shoulder — then her eyes widened as she drank in the sight of me. “Oh, my.”

“Two eggs. Scrambled,” I purred, letting both hands trail slowly down my thighs.

Mom licked her lips as she stared at my cunt, which I was certain had to be glistening with wetness. Her gaze shifted up to my face, eyes narrowing into a mock-glare. “It pains me to say this, honestly it does… but my daughter has become a tease. And something of a slut, I suspect.”

I purred, “Oh, I’m your slut, Mom,” hugging myself. It was weird but exhilarating, playing the Bad Girl for my mother.

She folded her arms, giving me that are-we-finished? look that I suspected a few of her students knew all too well. “Honey. Behave.”

“Sorry, Mom,” I grinned sheepishly, straightening in my chair.

Satisfied, she turned back to the stove, taking two eggs and cracking them in a glass bowl.

Moments later, we were eating breakfast and deep in a discussion of W.S. Merwin’s poetry. I’d buried myself in his work for weeks while composing my final paper for American Lit class. Just another meal in our happy home, filled with Mom’s great cooking and good conversation.

Only as we ate, I couldn’t stop thinking of Mom’s nearly naked body beneath that silken gown. The front was open enough to give me tantalizing glimpses of her breasts, and I longed to bury my face in them, breathing deeply of her skin. As for Mom, she did her share of looking, too, glancing again and again at the outline of my nipples, which were all too apparent through the skimpy nightie I wore.

Finally we yielded up our knives and forks, took that last sip of coffee, wiped our mouths with the linen napkins that Mom had always used instead of paper ones. Without a word, we rose to tidy up, clearing away the remains of our breakfast.

Mom gently placed the last plate in the sink, then turned to me. I could read the desire she felt, written in her warm brown eyes.

Without breaking her gaze, I reached out to grasp the tasseled cord that wound about my mother’s kimono, tugging it gently to undo the careless knot that held the gown shut. It slowly parted, revealing Mom’s body. Underneath, she wore sexy red panties — nothing else.

“Oh, Marcie,” she breathed, her cheeks flushed with an excitement that mirrored my own.

Moving closer, I slid both hands beneath the silken material and around Mom’s bare waist, crushing my body against hers. She had just enough time to gasp before I kissed her.

My head swam with lust as I felt her open to me, replying to my hunger with her probing tongue. We kissed for a long while, reluctant to part even for the length of time it would take to climb the stairs to my bedroom — the closest one.

No matter — I had other, more daring plans for my mother. We had shared sweet lovemaking; now I was in the mood to be downright lewd. Let’s see just how wild we can get, Momma…

Abruptly breaking away, I hooked my thumbs beneath her kimono and pushed it from her shoulders. The smooth silk cascaded to the floor, and my nearly nude mother gasped again, making a half-movement to cover her breasts.

“Honey!” she exclaimed. “What — what if someone d-drops by?” She glanced nervously at the large kitchen window, which looked out onto our back yard.

“We won’t answer,” I replied, reaching for the hem of my nightie and yanking it up and off with a single gesture, leaving me completely naked.

I reached out to seize Mom’s hand and led her over to the kitchen table, now emptied. Firmly placing her hand upon its gleaming surface, my lips graze her ear as I whisper, “Bend over, Mom.”

She was trembling — partly from arousal, partly from nerves — but she meekly obeyed, lowering her upper half until her breasts were touching the table top.

I moved back, studying my mother’s backside with a fierce hunger that simmered beneath my belly. She was magnificent; soft and shapely, built for a lover’s comfort. Licking my lips, I gazed at the pouting cleft of Mom’s cunt, outlined beneath gauzy panties, remembering the adoration I’d showered last night on that wonderful part of her body.

Yeah, I’d had her pussy — now, I wanted her ass.

Drawing closer, I grabbed a chair with one hand, slid it beneath me and sat; my face mere inches from Mom’s buttocks. I grasped the waistband of her panties and drew them down slowly enough to make a show of it, licking my lips as her nudity was revealed to me one luscious inch at a time. Finally, my mother’s knickers ringed her ankles, and she stepped from them without a murmur.

I took a long, deep breath, then rested my hands on the soft globes, cupping them for a moment before I spread them apart, exposing the cleft of my mother’s anus. It was lovely — a sweet pink pucker that cried out to be kissed, like a little mouth. So that’s just what I did, burrowing between those soft cheeks to place an open-mouthed kiss upon Mom’s rosebud.

She gasped, a thrilled shudder rippling through her frame. “Oh, baby — oh God!”

I was licking my mother’s asshole, bathing her crack with long, luscious strokes. She was writhing atop the table, panting, “Marcie, th-that feels so — oh so good! I’ve n-never… never… ohhhhhh!”

It felt more wonderful than I can say, making love to Mom like this. To me, analingus is the most intimate of sexual acts — and it was a pleasure I only shared with special lovers. Who better to receive this precious gift than the woman who had given birth to me, fed me from her breasts, soothed my tears, taught me to read, raised me to adulthood?

As I rimmed her, my right hand slid up the inside of Mom’s legs and between them, cupping her warm, wet vulva for a few heartbeats before I brought my fingers into play. There was rich nectar dripping from her flower, and I felt it slowly coating my digits while I deftly masturbated her. My lips were wedged deeply into the crease of Mom’s buttocks, the tip of the tongue pressing insistently at the anal pucker.

“Marcie,” she moaned, quivering to my touch. “Marcie, I love you…”

Sensing my mother’s need for release, I allowed my fingers to seek out the fleshy button of her clit. She inhaled sharply as I lightly brushed her there one, two, three times; then took the inflamed nubbin between my thumb and index finger, gently pinching it.

A strangled cry exploded from Mom’s throat as a climax kicked in hard and fast, near-violent jolts of ecstasy coursing through her frame.

“Mmmmmohhhnnyeah… oh — oh JESUS!” she screamed, raising herself from the table with both hands, head thrown back.

Unwilling to stop, I continued to masturbate my mother while French kissing her asshole, carrying her through at least two more orgasms. Finally she blurted “Marcie, oh God — n-n-no more, please!”

I withdrew my fingers, now bathed in Mom’s essence, saying goodbye to her anus with a flick of the tongue before rising to my feet. My mother lay on the table, knees bent, her toes resting on the floor. Her elegant back heaved with each deep breath.

Helping a dazed Mom to her feet, I led her over to the couch, where she collapsed into its welcoming embrace. Her hair was awry, face flushed, body glistening with sweat — yet her well-fucked appearance made me want my mother all the more, as if the tongue action I’d just given her had been no more than an appetizer.

Pausing to lick at my sticky fingertips, I studied the thick bush between Mom’s legs, now somewhat matted from her vaginal fluids. All my other female lovers kept their pubes shaved or trimmed, but there was something beautiful about my mother’s auburn thatch that made me wonder if I’d been missing out. Maybe I’ll let mine grow in, I mused, casually teasing my slit with a fingertip.

My eyes shifted to Mom’s face, and a surge of raw lust raced through me when I saw the animal hunger in her eyes. I’d yet to come that morning, and there was a fire deep in my womanly center that needed to be quenched.

She sat up straight, reaching out to grasp my hand. “Now it’s your turn, baby,” she announced, a rough edge to her voice, “and I’m going to fuck you like you’ve never had it before.”

I was speechless with excitement. I’d never heard Mom swear, not even when she lost her temper, and her deliberate use of the word fuck only tossed fuel on the inferno inside me. My shy, gentle, sonnet-quoting mother had been displaced for the moment, overtaken by this sexy, confident lesbian who meant to have her way with me — and I planned to let her.

So once again my mother and I mounted the stairs, hand in hand, hungry to experience more incestuous delights.

Leading me into her bedroom, Mom enveloped me in her soft arms, claiming my mouth in a soul kiss, humming with pleasure as she tasted her own cunt and asshole on my lips. Then, drawing away, she placed the flat of her hand upon my chest, giving me a shove. Startled, I lost my balance, falling back onto the bed. Propping myself up on both elbows, I gaped at her.

“Stay right there, girl,” Mom purred, her eyes burning into mine like lasers. “Mommy’s got a little surprise for you.”

Turning away, she opened the twinned doors of her handmade armoire, rummaged around inside, only to emerge with –

Oh. My. God.

My mother was holding this big, beautiful latex cock with a leather harness attached, a feral smile adorning her lips as she caressed its length — eight inches, at least. All I could do was stare, my body pulsing with excitement.

“Now, sweetheart,” Mom murmured, “it’s my turn to play.” She proffered the rubbery dick, which wobbled gently in her grasp. “Ever use one of these on a girl — or had one used on you?”

I slowly shook my head. “No, never — and that’s bigger than any real cock I’ve ever had.”

A flicker of concern appeared in her eyes — but before she could have any second thoughts, I beckoned her to me with a finger as I lay back, spreading my legs. “Let’s do this, Mom. C’mon — fuck me, right now!”

I was quaking inside with feverish desire, watching impatiently and fighting off an urge to caress my vulva as Mom carefully fastened the device about her hips, then anointed it with lubricant squeezed from a crumpled tube she took from the drawer of her nightstand. Then her eyes met mine, and my mother gave me a lustful look that had me feeling hot and cold all at once.

Her gaze remained unbroken as she knelt on the bed and crawled toward me — a wild beast, stalking game. I could only part my thighs further, offering myself to her. Soon, she towered over where I lay. Reaching down, Mom placed the tips of her fingers between my breasts, her smile deepening when she sensed the frantic poundpoundpound of my heart. She drew those fingers down my body in a slow, unbroken line; one that ended between my legs. A whimper escaped my lips as she fondled my cunt in the gentlest of caresses.

It was lovely, no denying that — but I was desperate to be taken by Mom, eager to get acquainted with the glistening prick that jutted arrogantly from her pelvis; to feel it slide deep inside me. I closed my eyes, willing it to happen.

Then her soft, yearning mouth covered mine, and somehow that eased my tension as I parted my lips, inviting her tongue to play. It was a relaxed but ardent kiss, Mom’s way of telling me Take it easy, honey — we’ve got all day to make love.

As I sucked on my mother’s tongue, she slowly lowered herself onto me… and that was when I felt the tip of her sex toy pressing against the entrance to my cunt. Opening my legs even further, I stared at my mother, aching with adoration for her. “Do it, Mom… oh, God, I n-need you inside me…”

I gasped in delight as the bulbous head slipped through the vaginal ring — then it felt as if the very breath was driven from my chest as Mom pushed the length of her cock into me, inch by incredible inch, until I could feel her pubes grazing my trimmed mound.

Pinned beneath the magnificent weight of my mother’s body, I clutched her to me, trembling. I’d never been filled so completely. That beautiful cock was touching places inside that no lover had ever reached. Every movement she or I made, however tiny, reverberated through me as if the earth’s crust was buckling beneath the bed.

“Ready?” Mom breathed, her nose millimeters from mine.

Words were beyond me at that instant, so I simply nodded, as emphatically as I could. She tensed slightly, then a choked cry broke from my lips when Mom drew back, and her slippery prick began its reverse journey from my cunt.

Mom withdrew until only the tip remained inside, then reversed herself, slowly entering me once more. This time, she somehow managed to penetrate even deeper.

“Yesssss, Mommy,” I whimpered, clutching at her ass with both hands. “F-fuck me…!”

I’ve noticed that whenever two women enjoy strap-on sex in an erotic story, they always seem to go at it fast and furiously; one lover taking the other in a crazed frenzy, bellies slapping together with every brutal thrust.

My first time was different. Mom’s fucking was smooth and steady, even affectionate. She kissed me again and again, sometimes working her tongue in and out of my mouth in time with her slowly churning hips. I pictured myself as a flattened beach ball, being filled by my loving mother — only she was pumping me full of pleasure, not air. The image was so ridiculous that I couldn’t help but giggle.

Mom gazed warmly into my eyes and whispered, “Silly girl.” Then her soft mouth claimed mine again, and I sighed, surrendering myself to her as I never had with a lover.

Each sweet stroke from my mother’s cock seemed to lift me ever higher, until I was panting furiously, dizzy with sexual rapture. I felt the approach of orgasm, welcomed it, aching for release.

Then her hand slipped between our moving bodies, snaking between my legs. Startled, I gaped up at my mother as her fingers found and lightly tweaked my throbbing clit.

“Ohhh! OHHH!” I wailed as a thunderclap smashed heedlessly through me, roaring and sizzling in my ears. Through it all, Mom continued to plow me, each new thrust a shower of bright orange sparks that seemed to cascade over our pumping bodies.

I was panting for breath, utterly spent. Mom continued to masturbate me, though, and before my heart could lapse into a steady beat I was coming again, my hands balled into white-knuckled fists, screaming hoarsely to the ceiling.

Finally I felt her fingers withdraw, the cock slipping from my vagina with a slurping sound. I emitted a gasp of relief before sinking into the sodden sheets.

Half conscious, head spinning crazily, I drank in huge gulps of air, my heartbeat gradually slackening into a steady rhythm. I heard Mom’s strap-on hit the floor with a light thud, then felt her body press into mine from behind. Warm, soft lips brushed my neck.

Spent as I was, I still managed to twist myself around to face my mother, giving her a sleepy smile. “That was awesome… love you, Mom.”

She drew me into her comforting arms, where I nestled contentedly; a little girl once more, calmed by Mommy’s nearness. “I love you too, sweetheart,” I heard her murmur as I drifted into slumber.

*****

Nearly two years have passed since that incredible weekend when Mom and I became sexually intimate.

Tennessee Williams once said — or had one of his characters say, anyhow — that time was the longest distance between two places. The last couple of years have proven the simple truth of Mr. Williams’ words, for me at least.

I’m currently working on a Masters degree, and plan to go into teaching. In my teen years, I resisted any idea of following in my mother’s footsteps; now here I am, doing exactly that. Go figure.

Mom is now openly gay, and blissfully happy with her life. Last year she took up with a woman who does house repair and carpentry for a living. Amy is in her mid-thirties, butch but beautiful, and almost never cracks a book. I like to tease Mom by calling her and Amy “The Odd Couple,” but they really do have something special.

As for me, I surprised myself by getting seriously involved with a man — something I never anticipated doing again. But Nicky is a truly special guy; smart, charming and incredibly sweet. Mom thinks the world of him, and so do I.

Nicky and I spend just about every spare minute of our time together… but he knows that Thursday night, with very few exceptions, is for me and my mother. He refers to those nights as “hen parties,” with that little smile of his that leaves me tingling all over. If only he knew!

When I arrive at the homestead, Mom is waiting for me with a smile and a warm hug. She mixes a couple of drinks, and if the weather permits, we sit together on the back porch, taking in the beauty of an Alabama night. Early summer evenings are the best — the air is cool and refreshing after the day’s heat and fragrant with honeysuckle, our yard alive with tiny glowing fireflies, flickering on and off, on and off — a sight I’ll always cherish.

My mother and I sit side by side on the darkened veranda, a citronella candle nearby to ward off mosquitoes. We talk of this and that, share the million and one details of our lives. After awhile, we fall silent, content to relax in each other’s presence.

Then I reach over to place a hand on Mom’s bare leg, stroking the warm skin, gliding beneath the hem of her dress. I don’t know why, but it always falls to me to make the first move. My hand slips between those soft thighs, finally cupping my mother’s mound through her panties.

Mom turns to me, her face radiant with desire –and our mouths meet in a kiss that quickly grows passionate.

Somehow, we find our way upstairs to her room. We undress one another, slip naked beneath the silken sheets. And then Mom and I make love, joining our bodies and souls in the warmth of her bed as we have so many times before… as we always will.

No one else knows of the forbidden pleasures we enjoy, not even our lovers. Yet this sweet secret that we nurture between us burns with a heat intense enough to occasionally make me ache to declare our love to one and all, to defiantly say that Yes, I fuck my own mother.

Obviously, I can’t do any such thing. The world isn’t ready to understand a relationship like ours, and probably never will be.

So instead, I’m setting our story down in print, sharing it with everyone who wants to know. I like to think that other women will be inspired by our love, that these humble words might give some longing teenager the courage to do something about the desire she feels for her mom, or convince a lonely housewife that lusting after her daughter isn’t wrong just because society says so.

For Mom and I, incest has only made our bond stronger — and the lovemaking we enjoy is as natural as breathing.

Fireflies, Part Two

  • Posted on May 23, 2015 at 11:32 am

By JetBoy

Mom led me into her bedroom, switching on a small lamp on the nightstand.

Her soft arms twined round my waist, mine round hers. We gazed at one another for a long moment, both of us suddenly shy, unsure of what to do next.

“I love you, Mom,” I whispered.

“Oh… I adore you, my sweet, sweet child,” she replied, her eyes misty. Then, just like that, our mouths met in an angel-soft kiss. I felt the tip of her tongue graze my lover lip, fanning my lust into a roaring flame. My own tongue came to life, seeking hers as our kiss grew increasingly hungry.

I slid my hands down Mom’s back to cradle her ass through her skirt. She moaned into my mouth, then suddenly pulled away. “Let me,” she gasped, fumbling at the buttons on her blouse. “I… oh, God, I need to be naked for you.”

I stopped her. “No, Mom. You’re a gift, the nicest I’ve ever had… and I want to unwrap you myself.”

Calming herself, Mom gazed at me dreamily. “Such lovely things you say to me, baby.” She placed a soft kiss upon my mouth, then stood silently before me, waiting to be undressed.

I took up where my mother had left off, unfastening her top one button at a time. Sliding the blouse from her ivory shoulders, I reached around her back to undo the catch of her bra. She shrugged it off, baring her breasts for me. I dipped my head to lick at a nipple — she shivered with delight — then resumed my work.

Flicking open the clasp of her skirt, I let the navy blue garment fall carelessly to the floor, leaving my mother in French cut panties. My eyes widened in surprise; I’d not known Mom’s taste ran to such sexy underthings.

Kneeling at her feet, I pressed my face into Mom’s belly, breathing in the sweet scent of her skin, deliciously tinged with a hint of wet pussy. Seeking its source, I nuzzled my way down to the dampened front of her panties, kissing her vaginal cleft through the gauzy material.

“My God,” she moaned, “I can’t b-believe this is really happening. I — I’ve wanted you, dreamed of being with you f-for so long…!”

Grasping the waistband of my mother’s panties, I tugged them down to her ankles with a single fluid motion, baring the curly triangle of her pubes. She stepped from the filmy knickers, then stood before me, posing for a moment. Then she laid down on her bed, naked and open, one hand tucked beneath her head.

“Well, honey?” she murmured, shyly enough to send my lust soaring even higher. “Do you like what you see?”

“I do, Mom,” I crooned. “You are a beautiful blossom, and I’m going to love you like you’ve never been loved before.”

I quickly undid my dress, letting it fall to the floor, then pulled my panties down and off. Now nude, I crawled onto the bed with her, straddling my mother on all fours, then bent to touch her left nipple with my lips before taking it into my mouth. She moaned as my tongue flicked at the stiffening tip. Her hand brushed my hair from my forehead. “I adore you,” she whispered.

I let my hand wander over her body until it rested between Mom’s thighs, my finger tracing the opening to her cunt. She welcomed my intrusion, parting her legs even wider for me. She smiled dreamily. “Oh, my… you’re good at this, honey.”

I pressed a fingertip inside her. “Oooohhh,” she mewed as I went deeper, then began to slide in and out — and just like that, I was fucking my mother!

My thumb began to press against her clit, and Mom’s eyes widened in awe. “Oh Christ, Marcie–”

“Shhh,” I pressed my fingers to her lips. “Don’t say anything. Just let me please you.” I manipulated her clitoris for a bit longer, then leaned down and took it between my lips, flicking the inflamed nubbin with the tip of my tongue.

Surprised, she thrust her hips against my face, the bed shifting beneath us. I buried my face in my mother’s soft chestnut curls, lips pressing into the moist, tangy flesh of her cunt in a lover’s kiss. The taste was intoxicating. Her thighs framed my face as I penetrated my mother with an exploring tongue.

My head spun at the enormity of what we were doing. An hour ago, Mom and I were innocently passing the time of day, chatting and fixing dinner. Now, I was naked and so was she, and I was fucking her with my mouth, her essence coating my lips and chin. It was forbidden, it was crossing a dangerous line, it was probably even illegal — and at that moment, it felt like destiny. Believe it or not, what surprised me most of all was that we’d never made love before.

I wanted all of her, hungered and thirsted for this incomparable woman who had given me life. She had always been there for me — now it was my turn to bestow a precious gift upon her. The gift of sexual ecstasy, freely given out of love.

My hand covered a breast, the other fondled her opening, my lips nursed her clit, and they all made love to my mother; loved her body and soul until she cried out; bucking wildly in the throes of orgasm.

Even after Mom’s climax had peaked and waned, I continued to lightly kiss her vulva, keeping her pleasure simmering while she recovered. She enjoyed it, too, crooning contentedly as I nuzzled her now matted pubes, savoring the thick, luscious taste and aroma of cunt.

Finally she touched my shoulder. “Come here, sweetheart,” she gasped. “I… I need a kiss.”

Lifting my head from between her thighs, I rose to my knees, gazing down in awe at my nude mother. Her hair was delightfully askew, her face flushed, body glistening with a fine sheen of perspiration — yet, somehow, she was even more lovely than ever. Grasping her extended hand, I allowed Mom to draw me down into her arms.

I lay atop my mother’s luscious body, between her thighs, loving the warmth and softness of this woman from whose vagina I had emerged so very long ago. Our mouths met, and I moaned out loud when Mom’s tongue emerged to trace a circle around my sticky lips, sampling her own sex.

We kissed for a long, lovely while, then Mom gently broke away. “I want to taste you now, baby,” she whispered. “Let me lick your pussy.”

Giving her a smile and a light kiss on the tip of her nose, I extricated myself from my mother’s embrace and rose to my knees, then moved to straddle her face. Her expression was one of wonder as she studied my cunt up close for the first time since my infancy. “So beautiful,” she sighed, brushing my sex with her fingertips. Closing her eyes, she takes a deep, luxurious breath, placing her hands on my hips. “Mmmm… you smell divine, darling — a libation to the gods.”

I was practically shivering with desire and my need for release… but the college student in me had to ask. “Um… isn’t a libation a drink, Mom?”

My mother looked at me with twinkling eyes. “Yes,” she murmured. “Yes, it is.” And she drew my cunt down to her waiting mouth, penetrating me with a sharp thrust of the tongue.

A strangled cry broke from my throat as my mother feasted on me, her mouth making wet sounds as she greedily drank deep of my womanly essence. I swayed back and forth atop Mom’s face, hugging myself, my body throbbing with the pleasure that only lesbian sweethearts can know.

I basked in the moment, nearly sobbing in joy as my mother’s tongue circled the opening of my cunt, her lips buried in the moist, warm flesh. Oh, she had a wicked, wicked mouth, and knew how to use it to drive me wild. But as I lurched headlong toward the blessed oblivion of orgasm, she suddenly drew away to nuzzle my inner thighs.

I moaned, cheated of the release I craved. Damn... Mom was teasing me! I felt the warmth of her breath caress my pubis as she slowly licked her way back to my sexual center; then once again, the rollercoaster began its slow ascent.

Mom pleasured me every which way for the longest while — taking me to within a millimeter of release, then shifting her attention just enough to deny the climax I craved. There are many ways to love a woman’s sex with your mouth, and my mother had clearly learned more than a few of these from her previous bedmates.

She pressed open-mouthed kisses into my cunt, occasionally punctuated by quick darting flashes of tongue… bathed the surface of my vulva with long, slow licks that always ended with a brief flick at the clitoris… nibbled playfully at my labia, tugging at the sensitive flesh.

Then, just when I was on the verge of frustrated tears, Mom’s lips enveloped my clit, sucking delicately at the inflamed tip. My entire body arched up from the bed as an enormous orgasm hit me like a fist, cartoon stars cascading behind my eyes.

I’d never come so explosively. Rivulets of fire seemed to course through every inch of me as I bucked and rocked in a mad frenzy, tightly clutching my breasts. I wanted to scream, but was incapable of sound.

To this day, I wonder: was my pleasure so intense because of Mom’s skill as a lover? Or was it because the forbidden aspect of our fucking added to my excitement? Actually, I like to think of a third possibility — that the blood bond between my mother and I meant that she knew my body as well as her own, sensing instinctively what her baby girl needed.

I found myself curled upon my side, not quite knowing how I’d gotten there. Dazed, utterly spent, I felt the heat of Mom’s body against mine. My eyes slowly opened, then focused on her smiling face.

“Oh, Marcie,” she sighed, “that was – incredible. I’ve imagined b-being with you for a long time, you know… but my fantasies didn’t come close to the real thing.” She brushed my damp forehead with her lips. “That wasn’t sex, honey — it was poetry.”

I rolled my eyes. “Mom, please… shut up and kiss me.”

With a giggle, she closed the gap between us to do just that.

We lay together in blissful silence for a long while, our mouths playing sweet, childish games together. The lustful urgency that had claimed us earlier had waned, replaced by a warm, contented glow. Our tongues entwined languidly as Mom and I explored just about every possible way that two women could kiss.

It was so good, so perfect. Right then, I loved Mom more than anyone or anything. She was my parent, my friend, my teacher, my rock of stability in an uncertain world — and now, a sexual partner.

After awhile our loins began to throb with renewed desire, and Mom and I came together to make love once more. This time, I slid between her legs, positioning our bodies so that my wet cunt was resting against hers. Gripping my mother’s soft, creamy thigh, I began to move my hips, slowly grinding our sexes together. With a coo of delight, Mom responded in kind, pushing back into me.

Every other time I’d fucked a woman this way, it was fast and furious; an intense workout. But as for my mother and I, we took our sweet time at first, allowing the pleasure to build gradually. We couldn’t kiss, but I reached out to fondle her breasts, then caressed her flushed face. She took my fingers between her lips, sucking them.

The feeling of her hot, wet flesh sliding against mine was exquisite, the rich wine of our lust flowing in unison. I was brought up in a Christian household and have always been a believer… and though it might sound like blasphemy to some, making love to Mom in this wondrous way seemed like the nearest I’d ever come to being touched by the hand of God.

When we came, it was simultaneously — her ecstasy feeding my own, mine amplifying hers. The gentleness of our coupling quickly became frenzied, bodies rocking together in an increasingly crazed rhythm. We drove one another harder, faster; like wild beasts in heat. Finally, our mutual joy reached its unimaginable peak, and I simply let go, falling back into the damp sheets.

Somehow Mom and I moved into each other’s arms, and we lay entwined for a long while, our sweat-glazed bodies gradually cooling with the approach of night. The sounds of the neighborhood serenaded us through the open window as we rested, letting the world return in its own good time.

Finally, my mother’s body shifted against mine, and I opened my eyes to find her smiling at me.

“Love you, sweetheart,” she murmured, just the same as she always had.

“Love you too, Mom,” I replied.

Disentangling herself from me, she slowly rose, stretched herself with a contented yawn, then bent to pick up her dress. Draping it over her arm, she turned to me, that gentle smile still on her lips. “I’m going to take a quick shower, honey… then finish getting our supper ready. I suppose we’ll be dining later than usual tonight.” She paused. “You should wash up, too. I’ve put fresh towels in your bathroom.” And with that, she exited, still naked. I stared at Mom’s generous ass as she moved through the door, then disappeared down the hallway. Just like that.

Dazed, I shook my head to clear it, wondering what the hell just happened? My mother and I had come to bed, undressed and made passionate love — and suddenly she was Mom again, making small talk as if we’d only sorted the laundry together!

It confused me, but I decided to follow her lead for now. So off to the shower I scooted, to wash away the evidence of our loving.

As I scrubbed myself beneath the flowing water, I wondered if this would be a one-time thing; if Mom would ever want to be intimate again. A tendril of sadness touched me at the thought of never getting another chance to kiss my mother that way — to undress her, to touch her beautiful body, to taste her pussy. I licked at my lips, hoping that a trace of her still lingered there.

Jesus, this was crazy. Mom and I had made love mere minutes ago — and I was already hungering for more!

I felt an impulse to press a hand between my legs and masturbate, right there and then. Instead, I somehow managed to curb my lust long enough to finish washing myself, then climbed out and toweled my body dry.

Back in my bedroom, I selected some fresh clothes to wear. Wanting to look my sexiest, I chose a short blue dress that showed my figure off quite nicely, deciding to go nude underneath. A hint of lipstick, a touch of scent, some deft work with the hairbrush and I stood before the mirror, liking what I saw and hoping that Mom would too.

Just then I heart her voice, wafting up the stairs. “Honey… supper’s ready.”

Taking a deep breath, my heart fluttering, I made my way downstairs.

I had no idea what to expect, so it was something of a surprise to enter the dining room and find my mother standing beside her chair like she usually was before we sat down to dine, waiting for me. Like always, we joined hands and Mom said a brief blessing, then with our whispered, “Amen,” we took our seats and began to fill our plates.

As we ate, we innocently chatted about Mom’s work and my classes. She filled me in on the latest doings in our neighborhood, and I talked about the books I’d read lately.

It was such a normal, pleasant evening that the hot sex my mother and I had shared earlier began to seem like a weird dream; the kind of thing my perverted mind might have conjured up after eating pepperoni pizza at three in the morning.

After a dessert of homemade peach cobbler, we cleared the table and washed up together like we always did — Mom washing, me drying. Despite the undercurrent of erotic tension I felt coursing through my belly, the mood was relaxed and mellow.

I placed the last clean dish in the cupboard, then turned to Mom, ready for anything. She gave me the sweetest smile. “Want to watch a movie? I rented one for us. It’s just a silly little romantic comedy, but…” She was blushing.

“Sure, Mom… I’d love to.”

We moved to the living room, where Mom put the DVD in the player and I switched off the lamp on the end table, leaving the room illuminated by the glow of the television screen. Side by side Mom and I sat on the couch, watching the opening credits as they scrolled past.

I tried to lose myself in the film, but was conscious of little else but my mother’s nearness; the warmth of her body next to mine. Mom had applied a fresh hint of the gardenia scent I’d always loved, and it had never seemed so enticing.

There was a nearly irresistible urge that burned inside me; telling me to slip a hand under Mom’s skirt, gliding between those soft thighs until I was touching the warm, womanly center of her.

Instead, I kept my hands to myself, like a frightened adolescent boy on his first date. What if I came on to Mom right then? What would she say? This was utterly absurd. We’d had our faces buried in each other’s cunts just a couple of hours ago, and now I was too nervous to put a hand on her leg!

Needless to say, I retained almost nothing of the movie. My mind was lost in a mad whirl of love, lust, sex and incest.

It seemed a small eternity before the swelling strings signaled the film’s end. Mom switched on the lamp, and once more I waited for something, anything to happen.

She stood, stretched, then murmured, “Oh, my, it’s been quite a day… time for bed, I think.”

A note of helpless melancholy sounded inside me at the thought of Mom departing for the night, leaving me alone — and that was when she reached out to take my hand.

“Marcie, honey,” she whispered, giving me a look I could have basked in forever, “will you sleep with me tonight?”

I brought her hand to my face, pressing a kiss into her palm. “Yes, Mom,” I replied, my voice quivering with emotion. “I… I’d love to.”

Once again we mounted the stairs together, our hands still lovingly entwined. Only this time, the fevered anticipation of that first climb to Mom’s bed had been replaced by a feeling of warmth and well-being.

Somehow at that moment my thoughts returned to the fireflies that illuminated our back yard on warm evenings like this; tiny, ever-moving smears of green and yellow. As a little girl who loved to capture those wondrous insects, then release them back into the Alabama evening, I’d imagined that the soft light they emitted was a sign of their happiness. Suddenly, I found myself wanting to believe that again; because I seemed to be filled with that same light, shining in me like God’s love.

We entered my mother’s bedroom together, quickly moving into a lover’s embrace. My mouth sought out hers, and we kissed. Her soft lips brushed enticingly against mine; then our tongues engaged, almost bashfully at first. Soon, though, our kissing was ardent and oh, so sensual.

Grasping the lower half of Mom’s dress, I hoisted it up, baring her legs. She lifted her arms, allowing me to undress her. Mom was nude underneath but for pink panties, and I knelt to tug them down to her feet. My heart leapt as I uncovered the thick furze of her bush, yearning to feel those dark red curls ticking my nose.

I moved closer, intending to bury my face between my mother’s thighs and drink from the fleshy chalice… but I was halted by her hand on my shoulder. “No need to rush, honeybunch,” Mom laughed. “It’s a long time until morning. Why don’t you let me undress you now?”

I sheepishly rise, and with a coo of delight, she tugs my dress up and off. Being Mom, she has to neatly fold my dress and place it on a nearby chair, her eyes drinking in my nudity. Somehow, that simple gesture makes me smile.

Mom reaches out to touch me, trailing the tips of her fingers between my breasts, over the belly and down to tangle in my neatly trimmed pubic strip. “You are a vision of loveliness, my child,” she whispers. “My precious, precious flower.”

“You’re the beautiful one, Mom,” I reply, allowing a hand to glide down her side until it rests on the curve of her hip. “I see girls at school who think they’re so sexy and desirable… but there’s nothing real about them.” My hand travels around her body as I move closer, caressing her ripe, round ass. “All they want is to be perfect little Barbie dolls.” I traced the cleft of my mother’s anus with a gently probing finger, and she whimpered. “What I want is a woman, Mom. That’s you. A real, imperfect, magnificent woman who I’m aching to fuck.”

Mom’s eyes twinkled as her arms entwine me. “Go right ahead, baby,” she breathed, her mouth covering mine, parting my lips with an inquisitive tongue.

As if dancing, we made our way to Mom’s bed with a few graceful steps — still in each other’s arms, unwilling to break our passionate kiss for even a second. We relaxed into the sheets, two nude bodies sliding silkily together.

There we were, my mother and I — naked, in bed and ready to experience lesbian incest once again — but we were too caught up in kissing to take things any further. We fed like hungry babies on one another’s mouths, our tongues darting, retreating, tangling as we kissed over and over again. Or was it a single kiss that lasted for a small, sweet eternity?

Of course, the sexual heat between Mom and I had to finally spill over, igniting the sheets with renewed passion. Our hands began to boldly wander, fingers creeping into intimate places.

Finally I broke away from my mother with a quick peck on her nose, raising up just far enough to twist around 180 degrees, reversing myself atop her body. A blissful sigh flowed from me as I came face to face — so to speak — with Mom’s pussy.

And what a glorious sight that was, dear readers… framed by soft auburn pubes, her labia were swollen with arousal and parted to reveal glistening pink flesh, crowned by the inflamed tip of Mom’s clitoris. I inhaled deeply, drinking in the rich, musky aroma of her cunt, letting the scent transport me. This was a moment in time that I wanted to keep and savor for always.

And that was when I felt Mom’s hands on my hips as she drew me down to delve between my thighs, covering my throbbing sex with her mouth — that long, lovely tongue penetrating me in a lewd variation on the French kiss.

I pressed my face deep into the musky swamp that was Mom’s cunt, wanting to baptize myself in her honey. And even though I’d only gone down on her once before, her pussy already seemed as familiar to me as my beloved teddy bear. But after all, I remind myself with a sticky smile, this was my home before I came into the world, wasn’t it?

Then my mother and I settled in to pleasure one another in earnest, and I more or less stopped thinking about anything for the next few minutes.

There’s a strange, beautiful energy in the sixty-nine position. It’s a closed circuit of sexual ecstasy; a circle where rapture feeds upon itself. And that energy was even stronger, I’d long believed, when it was shared by lovers of the same gender. And when those same lovers are linked by the blood knot of kinship that joined my mother and I, one created from the womb of the other? It’s like no sexual experience you can imagine.

Oh my stars, what an incredible coming together it was for us both. Our bodies fitted together flawlessly, her heart and mine beat in perfect unison and when we came, I was so caught up in this melding of souls that for a crazy instant, it seemed as if I actually was my mother!

Afterward, we lay side by side, her fingers entwined with mine, moonlight spilling through the blinds to paint milky stripes on the wall and ceiling.

“I adore you, baby,” my mother whispered, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. “If I could write the beauty of your eyes, and in fresh numbers number all your graces, the age to come would say ‘This poet lies, such heavenly touches ne’er touched earthy faces.”

I resisted the urge to giggle — God, Mom really was an English Lit professor to the core. Still, there is something thrilling about a lover paying tribute to you with words from Shakespeare, so I crawled on top of my mother and rewarded her with a kiss.

After a long, lovely while we allowed our mouths to part, exchanging whispered good-nights before settling down to a deep, dreamless slumber.

Continue on to Part Three

Fireflies, Part One

  • Posted on May 23, 2015 at 11:20 am

By JetBoy

I sipped at my iced tea, watching my mother as she stood at the kitchen counter, deftly chopping vegetables. God, it felt good to be home. I’d just finished a brutal year of college, and looked forward to a relaxing summer with Mom.

You might have heard of my mother, actually, except that I can’t tell you her name. She’s a fairly successful author of historical novels. She ditched my loser of a dad when I was ten, and has been content to live on her own ever since, raising me along the way. She’s still beautiful, and could easily have found another husband, but chose not to. I thought she simply wasn’t interested in finding a new love — but as you will soon see, there were a few things I didn’t know about my mother.

Anyhow, I’d just finished my tea and put the glass in the sink when she said, “Would you get my glasses, honey? They’re on top of the short bookshelf in the study.”

I walked along the wide hallway over the deep pile carpet that we’d had since before I was born, absently looking for shapes and faces in the curlicues that adorned the wallpaper — something I’d enjoyed doing as a little girl. It always made me feel at home.

Mom’s study was also the house’s library, a room crammed to the ceiling with books filled with wondrous things. I’d read many of them growing up, and those thousands of pages I’d thumbed through had left me with a real thirst for the written word. I was very much my mother’s daughter in that respect.

Picking up her glasses, I wandered happily through the room, breathing deeply of that scent I loved so well — of paper, bound up in volumes of many hues and shades. Each one waited patiently, eager to be picked from its shelf and browsed; pages turned, ideas absorbed.

I seated myself behind Mom’s desk, allowing myself a leisurely carousel spin in her chair. As my last turn came to a slow stop, I spied a thin manuscript lying upside down on the desk with a bookmark I’d given my mother on my last visit — a laminated strip of Belgian postage stamps — inserted about halfway into it. Curious, I turned it over.

The title showing through the clear plastic cover startled me – My Daughter, My Lover, my mother’s name typed neatly underneath. I stared at the words, puzzled.

I began to flip though the pages, reading occasional passages, my eyes widening as I took in the story. My God, Mom had written a story about incest – lesbian incest, no less!

My body began to throb as I found myself quickly engrossed in this tale of a mother who takes her own daughter to bed and makes passionate love to her. My arousal only grew stronger as I pored through the part where the daughter returns the favor, licking her way down her mother’s body and eating her wet pussy.

Since the beginning of my freshman year of college I’d experienced lesbian sex many times and loved it, so to discover that Mom was writing stories like this was equally as exciting as it was shocking. And I could have been mistaken, I suppose, but… the character of the daughter seemed a lot like me.

I quickly turned back to the story’s beginning, skimming through the first few pages until I found a description of the girl. My heart thumped so loudly that it echoed in my ears as I took in my mother’s words.

Finally, I closed the thin binder and leaned back in the chair, staring at the story’s title. Could it be…? I wondered, head reeling in a mixture of excitement, confusion and fear. Does Mom want to make love to me?

“Marcie?” My mother’s voice called from the kitchen. I quickly dropped the manuscript onto the desk as if it were on fire, and hurried toward the hallway — remembering at the last second that I’d forgotten Mom’s glasses, dashing back to snatch them up before racing from the room.

“Here.” I handed the glasses to her, trying not to betray the storm of emotions that raged through me right then. “I’m going to sit on the back porch for a bit… looks like there’s a nice breeze.” I placed a gentle kiss on my mother’s cheek before leaving the room.

I stared out into the June evening, hands resting on the oaken rail that enclosed the porch. The soft glimmering of fireflies could now be seen, and the buzzing of crickets filled the air as I stood there quietly, scuffing the floor with the toe of my sandal. All my thoughts were of that strange manuscript, done up on my mother’s manual typewriter and annotated here and there in red ink, her scrawly handwriting as familiar to me as my own.

Julie, the young woman in the story, was my age, with short coppery hair like mine, a college student who was visiting home. Too close for coincidence. The longer I thought about it, the more convinced I was that the character had to be a barely disguised version of me. The page Mom had bookmarked was especially exciting — that first scene of intimacy between mother and daughter.

“Glorious weather,” she said softly, suddenly standing next to me.

“Mmmm, yes… it is,” I replied inanely, my mind filled with images of sapphic love, brought to life by my mother’s words.

Mom gave me a sweet smile that had my knees trembling. I could see the shape of her body through the summery dress she wore. She still looked luscious at thirty-eight, I had to admit. It occurred to me then there were no lines visible through her clothes — was she naked underneath?

The thought made me quiver inside… and it was at that very moment that I knew I wanted her. My own mother.

“Beautiful,” she smiled, gazing at me; then gesturing toward the garden, still visible in the fading light. “The flowers.”

I knew what she really meant — and it wasn’t the flowers. God, she was flirting with me!

I leaned forward slightly, my upper arms squeezing my chest, leaving the cleavage more pronounced. “Am I one of your flowers, Mom?”

Her eyes dipped for a moment to take in my partially revealed breasts. “You are, angel… a lovely flower, ready to be plucked by an adoring hand.” She blew me a small kiss and returned indoors, giving me one last sidelong glance before vanishing.

I stared after her, my mind already wandering into some very forbidden places. “Damn,” I whispered.

I was tempted to slip a hand into my panties and touch myself — right there, right then. I struggled. I resisted. Finally, I went back inside, looking for her. She was in the kitchen.

“Need any help?” I asked, then leaned against the back of a chair by the kitchen table. I watched Mom’s bare legs extending from beneath her skirt, a flowery number that ended a few inches above the knees. My eyes roamed upwards, taking in her shapely hips. I realized for the first time that the women I most desired as lovers had bodies very much like that of my mother, full and curvy. How could I not have seen that before? I wondered.

I imagined the soft, warm delights hidden under Mom’s skirt, and knew that I craved them. Desperately.

“Honey?”

I glanced up, startled from my reverie. “Y-yes?” I asked.

“I said yes, I would like some help, thanks very much. You can set the table.”

“Ah. Okay.” I shook my head, in a futile attempt to clear it.

I pulled the silverware drawer open. She was standing nearby, close enough to touch. Instead, I inhaled deeply, registering the scent she wore. She glanced at me. “Mmm, you smell so nice,” I cooed. “I’d even go so far as to say… intoxicating.”

She looked at me again and smiled. “That’s very sweet.” Her eyes held mine for a moment longer, then she turned back to the sink.

I picked out knives and forks. “Spoons?” She nodded and I took out two, closed the drawer and leaned in to gently kiss her neck, every atom of me alive with excitement.

“I was just thinking about how good it is to have you home,” she said softly.

She turned and faced me, a hand resting casually on her hip. Her eyes were inviting, her lipsticked mouth even more so. I’d stood in the same place thousands of times growing up, and never had I felt the way I did right then. Mom’s fresh breath caressed my cheek. Her lips were inches from mine and ripe for tasting. I closed the distance and let mine brush hers, taking her in my arms. Jesus, she felt good.

“I’ve been thinking the same thing, Mom. It’s always nice to be home with you, but this time there’s something extra special.” I knew what it was, too, but I wasn’t telling. I felt warmed from her, tingling from head to toe with desire. I kissed her again, this time letting it linger.

“That was nice,” she cooed as I gently broke away. “You’re a very good kisser, honey.” She reached out to touch my cheek. “Your lips are so warm… and sensual. But then, I think that women’s mouths are far sexier than men’s could ever be.”

I was surprised at my mother’s candor, even as and a rush of naked lust flowed though me. She’d given me an opening big enough to drive a truck through, and there was no way I’d pass it up.

I took a deep breath, released it. Steady, girl. ”Mom… have you ever made love to a woman?”

She nodded slightly. “Yes… yes, I have,” she murmured, then gazed thoughtfully at me. “What about you, honey? Have you ever…?”

I reached for her hand. “Yes. Many times.”

She smiled. “What was your first time like?”

“It was wonderful. I was a little drunk, but that wasn’t why it happened.” I stopped and watched her eyes brighten slightly. “Anyhow, I loved the experience. Her kisses were different, better, and the way she went down on me was… well, you know, right?”

She slowly nodded. “I do.”

“Tell me about when you first did it,” I purred.

She ran her fingers through her dark auburn hair. “There was an older student in my Advanced Writing class named Sophie. She stopped by my office one day after my last class and handed me a binder. ‘My stories,’ she said. I promised to read them. Then she said, ‘Don’t show these to anyone else… I wrote them for you.’ She walked away without saying anything else. So I read one. It was about a girl in love with an older woman.” She shook her head. “Strange. I’d never given that kind of thing much thought, really, but as the story progressed, I found myself so — soincredibly turned on. I… I fingered myself right there at my desk, until I came. I’d never done anything like that before.”

“What about the other stories?”

“I hurried home and read them all… every one had a lesbian theme.” She shook her head, an awed light in her eyes. “I couldn’t stop touching myself while I was reading. It shocked me. I’d never known that I… could be that way.” She laughed, blushing slightly. “I lost track of how many times I came that night — five, maybe more. It was so satisfying that I began to wonder if I should, well, try it for myself.”

“Being with a woman?” I asked. Mom shyly nodded.

Watching my mother reveal this new side of her sexuality excited me as much as the story she was telling. My legs parted slightly, my skirt riding up far enough to reveal bare thighs.

Mom moved closer, casually placing a warm hand on my hip. It felt wonderful.

“So what happened next? With your student?” I reminded her, eager to hear the rest of the story.

“A few days later, Sophie returned to my office. ‘Did you like the stories?’ she asked. I told her that I did, very much… and she closed the door behind her.” She paused. “I was afraid, but curious to know more. Sophie sat on the corner of my desk with her skirt hiked far too high. She wore nothing underneath… things were exposed. ‘You’re a beautiful woman,’ she said to me, ‘and I want to go to bed with you.’”

“God!” I exclaimed. “That’s — that’s like something out of a porno flick!”

“I’ll take your word for that,” she replied dryly, then resumed. “I knew I could lose my job, but I couldn’t resist… I had to give her what she wanted. We went to Sophie’s place and made love — for hours, actually.” She sighed happily, lost for a moment in the memory, then blushed. “I… I’ve only been with women since then. I suppose that, well, I’m a lesbian now.”

I gazed deep into her eyes. “Those stories of hers. All women with other women, you said. Were any of them about… incest?”

Mom was quiet for a moment, her fingers brushing my side. “Yes,” she hesitantly said, “one of them was.” She was trembling, ever so slightly.

“Did that story turn you on, too?”

Her eyes were dark pools as she stared at me, finally nodding almost imperceptibly. “Yes, it did… very much,” she whispered. “Why d-do you ask?”

I said nothing in reply, only leaned in to kiss her again. Her lips were soft and sweet… and I teased them with the tip of my tongue. She jerked back, gaping at me. “Oh, God.” Her voice quivered with uncertainty, but she was excited, I knew that much. I closed the distance she’d created and kissed her again, this time with more passion. Her hand curled around my neck as if to hold us together. Her mouth accepted my tongue. I kissed my mother like a lover, feeling more alive than I could ever remember.

She again withdrew, staring at me. “H-honey,” she breathed.

“I want to tell you something now,” I murmured, stroking her face. “Linda, this one girlfriend of mine… she told me about the times she shared with her mother — intimate times. They’ve been lovers for years.”

Mom’s eyes burned with immediate curiosity. “Tell me about them,” she pleaded.

I allowed my hand to drift slowly down my mother’s back, finally resting on her ass. She said nothing, but a tiny smile told me that she enjoyed my touch. “Linda told me that she was only fourteen when she and her mom first made love.” I began to gently fondle her bottom, pausing to squeeze a firm cheek.

She gasped in response, as much to the lewd story I was telling as my roaming hand. “Only f-fourteen… oh, my.”

I continued. “They were cuddled up on the sofa one night, watching a movie. They started sort of play kissing… you know, teasing each other. Linda said that it was totally innocent, mother and daughter getting giggly and having a good time together.” My fingers pressed into the cleft between Mom’s buttocks, and a tiny whimper escaped her throat. “Only suddenly, and Linda says shestill doesn’t know how it happened… she and her mother were kissing for real. Tongues and everything.” I leaned in to lick a path up the soft pillar of her neck.

“Oh, God,” she whispered. “Oh, baby…”

“She said that they kissed for a long time… half an hour, maybe more. Then I guess her mom worked up the nerve to touch her — and it excited Linda so much that she started touching her mother back.” I reached for Mom’s hand, placing it upon my breast. Her eyes widened with wonder as she began to explore its heft, its softness. “Then Linda’s mother asked her if she wanted to know about how two women can love one another… and Linda said yes.” Mom teased my nipple with a fingertip, and I moaned as it stiffened to her touch. “Then they got up from the sofa and climbed the stairs, hand in hand.”

Mom dipped her head to nuzzle my throat, whispering, “Go on… tell me the rest.”

My head spun. “Well… there’s not much more to tell. They went into the bedroom, I can’t remember whose… they undressed each other, then slipped into bed naked — and then they made love.”

“Did they do — everything?” gasped Mom as I slipped a hand between our bodies, cupping her vulva through that thin skirt.

“Everything,” I breathed, my finger trailing up and down the crease of Mom’s cunt. “Her mother knew all about lesbian sex, and she taught Linda very well.” I smiled. “I can vouch for that… she’s a real tigress in bed.” My mother was fondling both my breasts now, and my cunt was so wet I could feel it drip. “They went down on each other — her mom showed her what to do — and then she got Linda up on all fours and licked her asshole.”

“Oh,” Mom moaned. “Oh, yes.”

“After that night,” I continued, “they were regular lovers. Linda practically moved into her mother’s bedroom, and they fucked almost every night.” I paused to kiss Mom’s mouth, and her tongue darted between my lips for a lovely instant. “In fact,” I purred, “Linda’s mom took her virginity not long after that, with a strap-on cock. Her seventeenth birthday present.”

“Oh, Marcie… how did that story make you feel, when Linda told it? Did it — did it make you hot?”

I wrapped my arms around my mother, crushing our bodies together. “It did, Mom. I couldn’t get Linda naked fast enough.” My pelvis pressed into hers, grinding our mounds together. “Later, she showed me stories she’d collected from the internet… all about mothers and daughters being sexual together. It turned me on, Mom. All of it.”

“It… it turns me on, too.”

I ceased the motion of my hips, gazing deep into my mother’s eyes. “Mom…” I whispered, “I love you.”

“Oh, my sweet angel…”

I cut her off by placing a finger over her lips. “I saw the story on your desk… and I read it. Enough of it, anyhow.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh my God… I can’t believe I left that out.” It was so sweet — she was actually blushing.

“I’m glad you did, Mom,” was my reply.

Biting her lower lip, she gave me a shy glance. “So… what did you think?”

I allowed my fingers to caress her face, and she turned her head to kiss them. “I won’t tell you how excited it made me… but I’ll bet you can guess.” I trailed my hand down my mother’s body until it covered her breast. Her heart was racing like sixty, and I could feel a nipple stiffening beneath my palm.

I nuzzled Mom’s ear, then trailed my tongue around its edge. “I want to ask you something, Mom… am I in your story?” I bit lightly at her earlobe. “Hmmmm? Is Julie meant to be me?”

“Oh, oh-h… oh b-baby, yes,” she stammered. “You inspired me… I — I’ve wanted you…”

“Mom… would you come to bed with me?” I fondled her breasts, scissoring the erect nipples.

Suddenly my mother turned to me and pressed her mouth to mine, kissing me hungrily. I moaned into the kiss, my tongue engaging hers. Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over… and Mom was staring at me with beseeching eyes.

“Yes, honey,” she gasped. “Yes, my precious daughter… make love to me, please. Take me, have me — make me yours.”

Closing my eyes, I moved in to claim Mom’s mouth, Frenching her as ardently as I’ve ever kissed a woman. She instantly matched my ardor, her lips sliding moistly against mine. I felt her hand move beneath my skirt, finding the front of my panties before slipping inside them. I tore my mouth from Mom’s, crying out as her fingers found my wetness.

“Mmmm… you’re dripping, little lady,” she cooed. “I can’t wait to taste you.”

My own hand darted beneath Mom’s skirt, covering her panty-clad cunt. I could feel her own wet heat through the filmy material. Clearly, she was ready for more.

“Come on, honey,” she murmured, placing a hand atop mine. “Let’s go upstairs.”

Hand in hand, we climbed the stairs, grinning like giddy children.

Continue on to Part Two

Midnight Awakening in Amherst

  • Posted on May 23, 2015 at 12:00 am

By Cheryl Taggert

The following is not new, though many of you may not have read it before since it was never on Leslita. It is also autobiographical and explains how lesbianism and other homosexual love is about more than sex. Enjoy, or at least I hope you do.

For Lisa

I lay in bed last night, thinking of you. The kisses that seemed to melt like butter on a warm stove were still a memory, the intimacy borne of our love palpable in the air. Looking over in the dark, I could see the silhouette of your beautiful face that shone in the pale moonlight. And I thanked the moon for its illuminating caresses. As I lie here now, ignoring the morning that is on its way in a few hours, the memory comes alive as I paint your image in my brain once more. I am there again as if it is only just happening. . .

My love wants to burst from within my heart, causing a tightness that lingers in my chest. The tightness begins to flow from my body through my eyes, the tears of joy and complete love overflowing my soul, spilling over the eyelids you love to kiss. My vision blurs, but you are still visible in the moon’s glow, as if nothing could prevent your beauty from dominating a room.

I notice the mound of your breast has freed itself from the sheet’s covering. It peers into the darkness, seeking my lips. The nipple caps the soft, firm flesh. The coolness of the night kisses the crown of your breast, urging it into mild stiffness as it puckers to return the night’s kiss. Gentle breezes that waft through the open window caress you. I feel unbidden jealousy of the night air as it coaxes a response from you.

I gently move toward you, determined to reclaim what is mine.

I watch the rise and fall of your breast and wonder if your dreams are about me. I imagine myself crawling into your body, knowing what you know in your dreams, feeling what you feel. Making love to you with need’s passion in your dreams as well as the waking world.

With a stark suddenness, I unexpectedly breathe in your scents–perspiration and female sex mixed with Opium perfume and your strawberry-scented shampoo. The aroma fills me with longing, and I feel the excitement percolating deep in my most private places that I share only with you. My clitoris awakens from a brief slumber, stiffening instantly, ignoring the orgasm you brought earlier.

Still breathing your fragrance deeply into myself, I shift closer. I can feel your warmth wafting from you; I imagine the center of that heat and long to devour its various flavors. My own heat and moisture flows from me with an urgency that overwhelms me. I reach down to my own fur-covered softness, feeling the wetness, surprised at the quantity of fluid that has gathered there to lubricate my sex. I hold the wet fingers to my nostrils and my own scents mix with yours, bringing the pounding of my heart to a steady throbbing against my ribs. Placing the drenched fingers into my mouth, I savor the appetizer while imagining the main course.

I move to you and feel your breath tickle my cheek. You breathe deeply in sleep, and I imagine your brain noticing my scent, triggering a dream of me. I stare at your closed eyes that dart behind your eyelids. My imagination breathes, and I imagine that your eye movements of dreams long to tell me what is happening in your slumber. I attempt to read their signals, and I imagine you are kissing me in your night world.

Finally, I can take it no more. My longing for you envelopes me entirely as I bend closer and place my lips gently on your cheek. You are a deep sleeper, and I silently apologize for the waking that will come, hoping you will think the passion is worth waking for. I kiss you softly on the lips, my tongue darting quickly into the soft opening, caressing just inside the warmth. My mind snaps into the future and I imagine my lips on other softer, moister lips to caress living ecstasy from you.

You begin to stir and I continue my kiss. Slowly and tenderly, you begin returning my attentions. You sigh deeply, wrap your arms around me, press into me. Joy fills me as I realize my wish came true: you don’t mind the awakening.

My eyes have been open because I want to see you when you open yours. They flutter, open, see me. Then all is dark as we kiss passionately, eyes close to allow the other senses to experience more fully our bodies intertwining.

My leg moves between yours as I press my sex into your hip. My own thigh moves into your mound. You press gently upward and I feel the beginning of your wetness against my flesh. Our breasts meet, press together. Our nipples harden as I feel yours press against the soft flesh of my breast to engage in a lover’s kiss, nipple to nipple.

We writhe tenderly together, seeking pressures that will increase our excitement. My love for you overwhelms me again, and tears of utter joy spring to my eyes. I wonder what I have done to deserve your love. I can actually feel your love for me emanating from you. It is intoxicating, and I revel in the swelling of my heart. I drink freely of the emotion and am drunk with the nearness of you. The world doesn’t accept our love, saying it is unnatural, but I can think of nothing more natural in the world.

It is a startling paradox.

Your kiss becomes more insistent. Apparently, I have touched off a need in you, and that thought thrills me as I continue to press myself into you as much as possible without penetrating your skin and becoming one body with you, although that is my deepest wish at that moment. I imagine again what that would be like, to feel my own touches on your body, to understand your love for me from your perspective, to experience the orgasm that I give you. The thought increases my intoxication of love, which in turn feeds the thought. This makes our love perfectly circular, like a wedding ring but more precious and dear.

Our urgency mounts. You finally break the kiss, taking my head in your hands and pushing my face from yours to stare into my eyes. You are communicating wordlessly. I notice that you, too, are crying with the knowledge of the enormity of our love for each other. You don’t need to tell me the reason for the tears; I already know. And that knowledge, more than anything, confirms my idea that we are perfect soul mates. We are one, lover, loved, lover. I cannot enter your body, but I am already inside your soul. And that is enough.

I move to the nape of your neck, just above the collarbone. I nuzzle and kiss there, knowing how much you love it. I nibble my way to your earlobes. You begin to squirm beneath me.

“Oh, God, Cheryl. I love you so,” you whisper to me.

“Not as much as I love you,” I reply softly. It’s a game we play when we say these most important words. It is appropriate.

“Yes, as much . . . or more,” you breathe, fully understanding the rules of the game.

I rise to my hands and knees, looking down at you. We are both naked, in more ways than one. And we accept it. It is what makes our life together so perfect. I notice that your hip glistens with my wetness. At the same time, I feel the coolness of the night kiss the moisture you have left behind on my thigh and remember the night air’s kiss on your breast earlier when you were sleeping.

Now it is my turn to complete the game that isn’t a game at all.

“Maybe as much, but never more,” I murmur, lying down to suckle the breast that the night air had kissed earlier.

Your nipple swells as I pull the blossom of flesh into my mouth. My tongue flicks the aureole and tip of the nipple, relishing the feel. You begin to moan softly as you stroke my back. I can feel the bed move as you begin to squirm into the mattress. Your passion rises, matching mine.

I open my eyes to see your other hand, the one not on my back, pinching and pulling your unattended nipple. Your moaning increases, signaling the heightened passion that is working in the wetness of your soft petals below. While I continue to suck the stiffened nipple, my hand begins its journey down your belly. I bypass the center of your rising lust, moving to the insides of your thighs to squeeze and caress.

Leaving the nipple behind, my mouth begins to follow the hand’s journey. I kiss and tongue the firm flesh of your tummy, stopping to dip my tongue into your navel. Your squirming increases. I breathe in your scent. My mouth waters in anticipation.

My hand has found the back of your knee. My soft contact with the tender flesh is particularly arousing to you. My fingers play it tenderly as if your flesh is a sensitive piano. The contact is so soft that I am almost not touching you at all.

Finally my mouth has arrived at the wetness left behind by my sex on your hip. I lick the sweet-tasting moisture away. I move up to the source of your pleasure that is strangely also the source of mine. The fragrance is strong, matching our passion. I breathe the aromas of the intoxicating flower and decide I can wait no longer. I feel that you can’t either.

My tongue flicks out and touches your swollen clit. It is wet, waiting, insistent. It seems to reach out for the contact. Your moan rises through your body from that one small spot.

Lowering my face to you, I cover this other mouth with mine. Your hips rise from the bed to meet the welcome guest. I sense your need. Your orgasm’s arrival won’t take long.

My lips and tongue explore every crevice, returning again to the urgent need of your clit. You pull insistently on my body, which is perpendicular to yours. You need to be doing the same to me, and I allow the motion to pull me into you.

As your mouth makes contact with my most sensitive flesh, my own urgency and passion surprise me. I realize I was momentarily unaware of my own need, concentrating on yours only.

Soon we are moving against each other’s lips and tongues. Grinding our sex into the other’s mouth. Meeting the thrusts of our lover’s tongue. For now, this is the definition of perfect bliss.

The passion builds and we approach the cliff that is our mutual orgasm with amazing speed. We moan loudly, filling the room with our song of lovemaking. Wails of pleasure seem to echo off the walls and our minds. We are nearly there. We hold the other’s hips in a love grip. Our mouths try to send our love to the other with each moment of contact, as if we could fill each other with love from our lips and tongues. Our passion is explosive.

Finally, the moment arrives. Our bodies move to the cresting orgasms as we reach our peaks simultaneously. We are dancing a ballet that we have perfected. Rising, rising, the orgasm builds to a throbbing mass of feeling – physical, emotional, and spiritual.

Our lovemaking complete, our loving continues. I move to lie in your arms. We hold each other, savoring the afterglow of our loving dance. We are contented.

“I love you,” I say.

“Not as much as I love you,” you reply.

And so it goes.

Unsure of the truth, we drift happily into a deep sleep until I awake to lie in bed thinking of you and the passion of our lovemaking and our love.