10 story about a mom & a son (part -1)

Arrival"

It was a day like any other. The night sky was a murky blue, the trees were a'whistlin, and the wind whipped at my clothes with a cool and strong force. The brush beneath me crunched softly as I walked towards The Grove. My trusty beagle Goldie was by my side, as always. He liked coming here even more than I did. He would wait near the front door each afternoon until it was time to leave, and when I was a moment tardy, he would glower at me with forlorn eyes while I pulled my keys from the inside of my gossamer jacket, which I always left on the hook nearest to the door. When we got outside he would stroll leisurely through The Pathway, sniffing the air and pissing on everything in sight, as if he owned the place. Countless birds and foul would have the fright of their lives as he rushed at them, intent on catching his prey, menacing as a dog usually is to a smaller being. 

Seldom was it that he actually caught one, but I think the thrill of the chase was what did it for him, not the end result of a dying body between his jaws. Whenever he caught something, he would almost always release it immediately, though there were a few times when his animal instincts took control of the situation. I remember one time a rat came across our path -- fat, ugly, something wet glimmering on her disgusting cheeks. This wasn't anything out of the ordinary, since it certainly wasn't the first rat we'd come across on our travels to The Grove. But there was something about this rat that drove Goldie beyond reason. To put it simply: he went absolutely fucking nuts. I could swear that his mouth may have even foamed for a moment, giving me quite a scare later as I reflected on this suddenly and unexpectedly, remembering how his mouth had had something (it was definitely something) in it, something that I had never seen before. Something that I would take care to never see again, honestly. I chalked it down to...momentary foam. Speaking truthfully, I don't know what the fuck it was. 

Regardless, he went absolutely fucking nuts and slaughtered the rat; and I don't take the term slaughtered lightly. I even started thinking of the whole fucked-up thing as "The Massacre at Cheeseville". I imagined countless newspaper headlines chronicling the whole thing, like, "Mayor Mouse brutally attacked on Swiss Street". Very creative, I know. 

It happened a couple of other times too, but not nearly as bad as the nationally celebrated/mourned "Mayor Mouse Mourning Day" (which happens to be a phrase I found on a popular adult swim show featuring raunchy talking animals). I tried to block the event out of my mind, making concerted efforts to just not think about it. Unfortunately, some things you can never forget. I could only hope that it wouldn't happen again. 

When I was a boy, my father always told me that the weak could never win in life, that viciousness was the only antidote to the world. It was never clear to me why he gave me said advice, but watching Goldie tear up that rat, years later, I finally understood: The world was viciousness. You had to fight fire with fire. That was the only way to survive, heck, the only way to thrive, even. Maybe I didn't want to admit that to myself, but the truth was always there -- in the back of my mind. Disturbing, sure, but enlightening as well? You bet your sweet ass. 

When I was in The Grove, none of that seemed to matter. I would recline back against the soft surface of the earth's floor, a song from twenty years past playing quietly in my head, my mother's face swimming before my eyes. I would remember her as I last saw her: Resting peacefully amidst the circumstances of her imminent death. It was the cancer that took her, and before I could understand what was even happening, it was time to make funeral arrangements. It was the worst time of my life, but when I thought about her in The Grove (which was the only place where I could think about her), it was all I could think about. The memories would flow through me, unabashed, until I'd had enough of them, and when I reached my limit, Goldie would never fail to notice. He'd trot over to me from wherever he'd been, prod me with his cute, wet nose, and bound off, hurrying towards The Pathway. I suppose I should consider myself lucky that it wasn't the living nightmare I was used to, that memories were nothing tangible. Only mirages and mirrors of the past that I tried to forget. 

But not hard enough, clearly, for I continued my travels to The Grove time after time, destined to find my mother's ghost in every shadow and stir of the wind. Do you know what's really interesting though? I never hated it. Not once. The only time I was truly alive was when I was there, visiting with the dead inside of my mind. I never wanted to be done with them (her)and I knew that if I ever truly left The Grove for good, the connection would be lost. 

I was never going to leave of my own accord. It would take something of truly magnanimous proportions to draw me out from my desperate routine. It wasn't just for my sake that I continued it either; Goldie would be devastated if we stopped coming. The Grove was his place just as much as it was mine. It gave both of us a reason to get up in the morning. 

Which brings me back to the seemingly routine trip that Goldie and I made to The Grove, on that seemingly innocuous evening. Like I said earlier, it started out like any other time. Weather? Same. Trees? Swinging crazily from the force of the wind as always. Grass around The Pathway? Dead per usual. My soul? That was dead too. 

It had always been a short walk to The Grove, but that day's walk was quicker than the others Goldie and I had taken. We were there in practically no time at all. I slid slowly down onto my ass near the base of an alder, while Goldie left to do some exploring. Immediately when I closed my eyes, I was taken back to a different time. I was sitting at The Dining Room Table with my mother, cards splayed out in front of us. She was smiling and nodding, as if I had just said something that she could relate to. I turned in my seat and looked behind me, but there was only darkness and splotches of light. I reached out towards it, leaning over the edge of my seat in a reckless fashion. But the farther I reached, the more it pulled away from me. 

I let my arm drop to my side. I turned back towards my mother, giving her an accusatory look, as though it were herfault that I couldn't reach the darkness and splotches of light. She shrugged in that adorable way she had -- whole body heaving up and down to complete the motion. I was beginning to sweat profusely. Something seemed a little bit off. 

I gave my mother a closer look. She was looking as beautiful as ever, her wide-set eyes accentuated with eyeliner and "just a dab of mascara" (one of her favorite expressions). Her neck was smooth and attractive, her lips were rich and juicy. She looked like a model of perfection to me. Even her hair had returned, cascading handsomely down her shoulders to rest on her bare back. 

She was wearing a lowcut backless dress -- a muted red one that she used to wear all the time when she and my father were still together. It totally accentuated her breasts, and laughter bubbled in my throat as I remembered how, as a small child, I would always stare open-mouthed at her chest whenever she wore it. My first introduction to breasts came in the form of this red backless dress, and I became so curious and confused that I started sidling up next to her in her bed late at night, hoping to look at her breasts a little more closely. After doing this for a while, I became so bold that one night, in a fit of madness, I reached over and carefully tapped one. Nothing seemed to happen, so I did it again. Unfortunately, the result was the same. 

I ended up stopping my investigations into the nature of my mother's breasts because I didn't really know how to go about them (maybe there was something else I was supposed to do other than just...tapping her breasts?). It seemed unlikely that I would ever figure it out. 

I didn't stop thinking about her breasts, though. They were always an object of fascination for me, being that they were literally the most perfect breasts north of Beaverton. Heck, probably north of Mexico. Not only were they perfectly round and scrumptious-looking, they were also a perfect shade of white that bordered on pale. 

Any significant movement would make them bounce. I nearly had an aneurysm one morning when I looked out the window and saw her on her way back from a jog. She was trotting towards the house and her breasts were doing jumping jacks in an incredible fashion -- they were practically spilling out of her shirt. I had to tuck my manhood to the side, as it had started to stick straight up. 

I often had to do that when I was around my mother, especially as I got older. She loved showing off her breasts in all different kinds of outfits, even if she was only showing them off to me. Around the house she would walk around in lingerie, or sometimes, nothing at all (albeit, she only did that when she thought I wasn't at home). It was exhilarating for me to see her like this, and probably exhilarating for her to be seen like that. Sometimes I would even try to one-up her by walking around in my underwear. The great thing about doing that was how easy it was for her to notice my cock, particularly when I was stiff as a flag pole -- several times I saw her looking at my cock through the lining of my undergarment, trying to be discreet but failing miserably. When I saw her doing this, I would adjust my positioning to emphasize my cock to the fullest extent, so she could get the best possible look at it. 

I even let the head of my penis peek out over the top of my underwear from time to time. She and I would both pretend that we weren't aware of it, though she made it pretty obvious how drawn to it she truly was. If I was on the couch, she'd sit across from me with a book or magazine, sparing my penis-head brief glances over the top of her literature. When she felt especially ballsy she'd sit next to me and graze the head of my penis with a hand or thigh when she shifted in her seat. She even grabbed it one time. I won't get into all the details, but I will say that it involved a good deal of intentional stumbling and falling. 

Still, I could never bring myself to masturbate to her, or include her in my fantasies. For me, it felt like going a step too far. I did have fun with her in real life, sure, but that was different. I can't adequately explain how, but it was. It really fucking was. 

Seeing my mother in The Grove as the healthy, beautiful person she was prior to her diagnosis, I felt the familiar, innocent twitch in my pants. I let my eyes wander back to her breasts, urging my cock to its full length. I wanted to get back to how things were before, when she was healthy and amazing and I was young and full of life. It seemed to me that The Grove was finally giving me everything that I wanted for the first time, and boy, was I ready to take advantage. 

My mother was still smiling at me, her stark white teeth presenting a contrast to the tan skin on her face. She leaned forward. Her bosom spilled out of her dress and onto the table, and I watched greedily as her nipples quickly hardened. She covered her mouth with a hand, stifling a giggle. Her eyes were apologetic and shy as she rearranged her breasts back into the dress. 

My cock was throbbing like Nobody's (Nobody was a person that battled a cyclops, which is something they don't tell you) business. I still hadn't pulled my eyes from my mother's breasts. I scooted my chair closer to the table to get a better look at them, but in my haste, I brushed a card off the table. My mother bent to retrieve it, and as she did so, I spied a bit of nipple. I couldn't help but wonder when this tease would end, and what would happen once it did. 

She straightened up in her seat and presented me with the card. She then winked at me and stood from the table, slowly turning in a half-circle so that her ass was facing me. She abruptly bent over and pressed her thick bare ass into my face, startling me. I recovered quickly, however, and considered taking a bite out of it. She wasn't wearing any panties, and her pussy gave off the scent of sex and heat. 

It wasn't the first time I had seen my mother's pussy -- I used to spy on her in the shower -- but it was the first time I had seen it up close and personal. It was smooth, waxed to a tee, and very, very pink. By the looks it, my mother could take some serious cock. 

I wondered briefly whether she'd be able to take mine, but quickly put the thought out of my head. No matter the temptation, this was a look but don't touch matter, like in a museum. 

I needed to sit back and enjoy the show. 

My mother turned back around to face me, evidently surprised that I hadn't played with her pussy lips from behind. She straddled me, kissing my ears as she did so. I tried keeping my hands at my sides, but she found them and placed them on her tits, which had found their way out of her dress and were now swinging freely. She nodded at me, imploring me to play with her nipples. 

I shook my head, nervous now, but she insisted, so I rubbed her nipples softly through the fabric of her garment. Her mouth was fixed in a sultry, intense expression as I did so. She started grinding her pussy against my shorts, taking even more pleasure from that. 

I couldn't take it anymore -- I felt like I was going to burst right out of my 

clothes. I grabbed my mother by her hips and threw her onto the floor. Now was the time to follow through on my desires; I was finally going to fuck my mother. 

And I was going to fuck her the only way I knew how: As viciously as fucking possible. 

I undid my belt in a rush and beckoned her closer. She crawled towards me and pulled my shorts down to my ankles. She rubbed my incredibly stiff cock through my underwear, her perfectly saggy breasts pressing up against my thighs all the while. She grinned and grabbed my balls with her other hand. 

Using her teeth, my mother then tugged my underwear down my thighs. My cock slid out and nearly hit her on the nose, causing her to giggle uncontrollably. 

The whole thing was quickly becoming surreal. 

When she finished getting my underwear fully off, she proceeded to peer intently at my cock, as if inspecting it. She took my balls gently in her hand, making a sort of cradle. Her other hand moved down south to play with her pussy, which was sopping wet -- I could hear her juices moving within her as she fucked herself with a finger. 

My penis was throbbing so intently at this point that it actually ached. My mother was still teasing me it seemed, so I bent down and took her by the wrist, pulling her roughly to her feet. I took her other hand and placed it on the shaft of my penis. 

We were face-to-face at this point. Her eyes bored into mine as her fingers worked her way up my cock, clearly searching for the head. My whole body tingled when she found it. She used two fingers to stroke it, and I gasped as I felt myself orgasm, shooting thick, hot cum onto my mother's body, which dripped down near her pussy. 

I felt embarrassed that I had shot my load so quickly, but my mother didn't seem to mind. She smiled brightly at me and took me in her mouth. My cock was so damn sensitive that I thought I might cry out. Her tongue was a wonder as her lips slid up and down my shaft. I grabbed the back of her head and pushed her lips further down it, causing her to gag. 

I wanted to punish her for being such a tease earlier, so I took my cock out of her mouth and slapped her with it. She seemed to like that, nodding at me with wide, eager eyes. She then took one of my hands and placed it around her neck, so I could choke her while beating her. 

I squeezed tight around my mother's neck, hitting her repeatedly with my manhood. She was making direct eye contact with me all the while, which I took as a challenge. I really needed to punish her, and to do so, I was going to have to step my game up a little bit. 

Her delicious-looking pussy was the spot I needed to hit up next. It was the pussy that had relented in letting me enter this cruel, vicious world, and for that, it deserved a good hate-fuck. 

So I grabbed my mother by the pussy (literally!) and maneuvered her over to the table. I spun her around and quickly slid my cock between her ass cheeks, preparing to enter. I took one of my hands and explored her pussy, which was wet to the touch. She reached a hand back to grab my thigh, her nails digging tightly into my skin. As I rubbed her pussy rhythmically, going from slow to fast to slow to fast as a motherfucker (lol), I felt her juices begin to give way. 

I wasn't going to let her squirt before I fucked her, though, so I moved one of her legs onto a chair to get a better vantage point for entering her. Her pussy gaped at me, imploring me to place my cock within. I obliged. 

My mother was even wetter than I had realized. My cock almost slid right back out as I entered her from behind, and it was all I could do to keep it in. I slapped her ass with brute force and grinned at the red mark that appeared. I leaned forward, placing a hand on both cheeks, and slowly shoved my cock deeper inside her. 

She fucking loved that shit. Her nails dug deeper into my thigh as I rammed her repeatedly. I gradually increased my intensity until I had her ass Jiggling Like Jonas [Valanciunas]. 

She was nodding her head up and down, her body moving in sync with mine. I couldn't believe my luck; here I was fucking my busty mother in the ass, living the dream, and yet, I couldn't help but feel as though something was a wrong here. Just another day in the Grove, perhaps...but it was hard for me to really buy into that. It had never been like this before when I was in The Grove, so why now? 

Unfortunately, it was practically impossible for me to think about that question for any length of time. My mother grinding her bare ass against my cock was enough to do that to me, I suppose. Calling it a distraction would be a gross understatement. 

All I could really seem to think about was how amazing it would feel to fill my mother's pussy with a nice, hot load of cum. The sight of her breasts bouncing up and down, mixed with the view I had of her ass and pussy, was making it very hard not to explode inside of her. My goal was to hold on for as long as I possibly could, but I knew that if I kept fucking her ass, I wouldn't stand a chance. 

My mother's pussy was still wet, after all this time. She had started fingering herself while I fucked her -- her thin fingers working furiously at her clit as my cock continued its annihilation of her pussy. 

Rather abruptly, she threw her head back. Her body started convulsing, and her face held an expression of both pleasure and pain -- she looked like she was being tortured but somehow liked it. My cock slid from her pussy as a stream of blissful juice flooded out, drenching my cock and thighs. I put it back in for the briefest of moments before it happened again, this time incapacitating her to the point where she lost her footing. 

Her ass hit the floor with a loud smack, and I noticed she was sobbing. I eased myself next to her and took one of her breasts in my hand, sucking on the nipple and then biting it. I used my other hand to finger her pussy, which promptly shot out more pussy juice. 

I kept at fingering her until her eyes rolled back and her knees shook uncontrollably. She was fighting my hand weakly, trying to get me to stop, but I was not about to show mercy