While her son slept, Kit toyed with his limp cock.
It was long and ropy, the head fat. She tucked it in between his balls and lifted the genital handful, sighing with pleasure.
She bent down and kissed the pulpy tip. It smelled strongly of her cunt juice. She lipped it, gulped it into her mouth, tonguing the split.
He stirred in his sleep, groaned, turned away from her.
She relinquished his cock and balls, sat up gazing fondly down at him. Yes, he had fallen asleep after shooting his load into her. She must go easy on him. He did not yet have a man's strength, though any man would envy his long prick, and the stony hardness of it.
Naked, she padded softly from the room, closed the door, entered the bathroom and squatted on the john to piss.
She gazed down at her thighs. The inner surfaces were scummy with dried cunt juice and jism. Her cunt hair was matted to a muck, the auburn color dulled. She had to bathe. But she liked seeing this evidence of fucking with her darling son. She forked her index and middle fingers on her lips, pressed, opening them, revealing the scarlet split just as the stream of piss squirted into view. Her bladder had been full for a half-hour but she had dawdled, watching Sonny sleep, fingering his flesh, his developing biceps, his strong back, his protruding, narrow buttocks, and then playing with his cock and balls.
As her urine hissed loudly into the bowl she nudged her clit wake. Kit felt alive and vibrating in every cell of her body.
Some women said that after sex they felt strong enough to move pianos. Kit varied. Sometimes she was lethargic, as prone to fall asleep as men usually were. Today she was all energy. Get breakfast. Clean the house, it's Saturday. Wash clothes. Outside, the day was warm and breezy. She would have Sonny hang the clothes on the line instead of using the dryer.
He would work at the greenhouse. They were transplanting violets today, or something like that.
Abruptly she stiffened, as alert as a forest animal scenting danger. Oh no, he would not work in the greenhouse! Let that pretty Lily get her hooks in him? Never!
Kit did not underestimate her competition. Lily could not match her voluptuous body, but despite her disparaging thoughts about the dull darkness of the girl's hair, Lily was a threat. In truth her hair was raven's-wing dark, and glossy, her eyes splendid, and her cheeks had that hollowness of beauty. Her titties were not large but her extremely slim body made them appear so.
Even worse, Lily was no fool. She was a sharp-eyed little bitch, that was the truth of it, and she loved Sonny as fiercely as did Kit.
He would not set foot inside the greenhouse today.
Decided, Kit tore off a sheet of toilet tissue and swabbed her cunt, a futile gesture because it was still juicing. She rose and took her dressing gown from the hook on the back of the door, went carrying it out to the kitchen.
There she tossed it over a chair and put the coffee pot on the stove. She gazed out the window at the greenhouse, already an eye-hurting glare in the morning sun. She saw Bill Polsom moving about at the far end, slowly but with inexorable efficiency. He never wasted a movement. She guessed that had helped him become a baseball star, that constant conserving of his energy until it was needed.
He would be quite a lover, she thought.
But she had given up any hope of ever seducing him.
She massaged her pussy as she stood waiting for the coffee. She had, to take Sonny somewhere today. Out of town, Someplace where nobody knew them. She had to cement their relationship as lovers by performing as such in public.
Her twat felt softer than ever, and as she rolled the lips between her fingers, juice seeped out. She could smell it. In fact, she stunk all over of a hot woman. She smiled, pleased with herself Abruptly she turned and seized up her dressing gown, a quilted, concealing garment, put it on and belted it as she went out the kitchen door to the back lawn. She fluffed her hair, realized that she had not combed it, looked a mess, but did not give a goddam. She angled toward the gap in the hedge and entered the greenhouse by the side door.
The place was already steamy. The cement floor felt mucky under her bare feet.
Bill Polsom met her at the, center aisle. He wore only shorts. He was a large, rugged, hairy-chested man-there was gray in the dark hair-a cigar stub clenched in his teeth, unshaven. His hair was uncombed. She pictured him as having climbed out of bed, stepped into his shorts, then moving directly to the greenhouse, perhaps picking up the cigar stub on the way, chewing it for breakfast.
His eyes twinkled. "I wish my flowers were as pretty as you, Kit."
She grinned. "You always make my day, Bill. I should come over every morning to get my ego pumped up." She reflected that he always said something sweetly flattering on meeting her, then turned cold. She watched for the line of muscle to tighten his jaw, hardening him against her. He had a jaw like a horseshoe. It moved now, the cigar butt twitching as the muscle set. She thought, this husky man must have a terrible weakness for women inside to have let his wife take such advantage of him. But he had developed iron armor since then.
"Come see my orchids," he said, turning and leading her up the center aisle.
Following, Kit studied his broad back, his rocky buttocks and hairy legs stiff with muscle. Despite the hardness of his physique he moved with the grace of a born athlete. Curious, she thought, that a pro ball player would turn to what many considered a sissy business, flower growing. She guessed she did not really know Bill Folsom.
He swept an arm over the orchid display, a dozen or so large flower pots mostly hidden by a froth of blooms like a tangle of ribbons and lace, canary yellow and mauve and violet, a profusion of such delicacy that Kit gasped.
She said, "They're so beautiful, Bill. I couldn't endure a whole greenhouse full of them."
He shrugged. "They become less beautiful, more of a scientific problem, how to breed for richer colors, stronger stems, petals that won't bruise. It's sort of detective work, figuring the secrets of growth and manipulating them." He pinched off a bloom, mauve wit gold edges, and handed it to Kit.
The flower was so exquisite that she was afraid to touch it.
He said, "You see; I'm starting up in orchids again. My debts are paid off."
"You're quitting violets?"
"I will when I can afford to. African violets are Mickey Mouse plants. Anybody can grow the damn things. You want challenge, take orchids and roses. Roses are maybe worse. Nine million diseases and insects prey on them. I mean real roses, hybrid teas. Not your back yard rambler."
Challenge, she thought. That was the key word in his vocabulary.
She told him then that she was taking Sonny shopping, that he would not be able to help transplant violets until later in the day-if they got back in time.
"He's a big help," Bill said. "And the work is good for him."
Kit had her own ideas about what would be good for Sonny today.
Sonny had always enjoyed watching his mother drive. Her manner was relaxed, her touch on the wheel light but firm. She seemed to always enjoy it.
Today she wore a crisp blue dress shorter, than any that girls at school dared wear. She had hiked up the skirt when she climbed into the car, and he watched her lovely pink-gold legs move with easy sureness as she braked and stepped on the gas.
He had of course promised to help in the greenhouse. But last night had so changed his world that he would do anything his mother wanted.
She was whipping the car toward the shopping center at Knowlton, twenty miles from home. Why? There were a dozen nearer. But watching her he forgot the need to hurry back to work. The windows were open and her hair flagged like an auburn banner, and her face looked softer, more beautiful than he had ever seen it. Her tits stood out like a pair of melons, jiggling when the car hit a rough spot in the road. Her thighs were spread. As the wind ruffled her skirt, he glimpsed lacy white panties and the shadow of her cunt hair.
She said, "You need a new bathing suit. And shot."
Buying clothes always bored him. He said, "The stuff I've got is all right."
"Not your shorts. They're too tight. They show your crotch bulge."
Peeling impish, he said, "Don't you like that?" She shot a glance at him, a blush tinting her cheek. "Yes, but there's no need to make a public display, especially since your package is rather large."
"Why not? You wear a bra to make your breasts stick out."
She smiled. "That's not the same thing." "It is too."
"You're being sassy, Sonny."
She spoke sharply but he saw a crinkling at her eye corners. She was enjoying the repartee.
He said, "Mother, your titties are so big that I'd think you'd want to pull them in out of the way.
"Do you want me to?"
"I'll have to study the problem." He slid across the seat and reached up under her arm and caressed a plump, bra-firmed cone of tit. He did it right there on the highway, cars passing, in blazing daylight.
"You horny thing," Kit murmured.
He guessed that meant that she loved it.
Despite her talk of tight shorts, she bought him a swimsuit like a jockstrap. It packaged his cock and balls up like a jutting tit.
She then drove toward Willow Lake. He got the idea then, that she wanted to put space between them and home, so nobody would recognize them. He felt guilty about leaving Lily and her father to do all the transplanting, but as they traveled his thoughts centered on Kit, and how great she looked in a bathing suit.
There was a small amusement park at the lake, a long curve of white bathing beach, floats anchored a hundred yards out, and islands not far beyond the floats. Hills surrounded the lake, thickly forested except for the outcroppings of gray rock on the higher slopes.
Kit parked behind the bathing cabins and there they separated.
In his cabin Sonny put on the jockstrap swimsuit. It was mostly straps holding a patch of material to his pubes and ass cleft. He was blushing when he left the cabin and moved into the crowd of people on the beach. But then he saw Kit and forgot himself.
She wore her yellow bikini, which like she had said did more to lift her tits than to cover them, and the bottom was so meager that a fringe of red cunt hair showed out one side.
She came toward him, trudging through deep sand, smiling broadly, titties jiggling, hips switching, a small, chubby, beautiful woman whose loose auburn hair tossed in the breeze.
She wound her arm about his as though they were dates, and whispered, "Mr. Sexy, your penis looks like a banana."
Eyes flashing, she bit his shoulder lightly, then broke into a run for the water, leaping over sunbathers with the lightness of a teenager.
Grinning, he trotted after her, watching the bobbing of her asscheeks and the flutter of her hair.
She dove in, struck the water flat, arms already flailing at it. She was a terrific swimmer. Sonny broke into a dead run and plowed through the shallows as far as he could to gain on her before starting to swim. He knew she could beat him to the float. She always did. He dug hard, pulling himself a dozen strokes face down before taking a breath. When he surfaced he saw that he had caught up.
Had she slowed to let him match her speed? He saw her glance toward him. She was stroking smoothly but not reaching. Yes, she would let him win the race, like a girl would when she was a guy's date.
The float, white-painted wood on oil drums, was empty. They reached it, panting. Kit glanced at him, laughed, then plunged underneath. He followed, caught her in the cool water shadowed by the float, in near-darkness, trapping her seal-sleek body in his arms.
She floated against him, tangling her slippery legs about his, her mouth open for his kiss.
He tongued in and sucked his mother's lips. His cock gave a surge as her arms vined about him and her hot belly dissipated the water's chill.
She fingered his cheeks as her tongue wove about his. She turned his head, her mouth yawning to consume his tongue, his lips, sucking in long, rhythmic gulps. At last she shuddered, groaned, drew away rubbing her forehead on his cheek.
He untied her bikini neck cords and turned the front down. Her white boobies floated to the surface. He thumbed the puffed crowns, bent the lengthening nipples. Kit responded by thrusting a hand down to his cock, wrenching it out and clutching it fiercely.
She panted, "Sonny I'm so hot-I've got to have it-"
"One of the islands?"
She nodded and thrust out of his grasp, left the shadow of the float and really dug water, arms churning. Sonny quickly followed but she drew ahead. She no longer cared to flatter his swimming ability. He pulled with all his strength but was a dozen yards out when she thrust out of the water and ran up a grassy slope and disappeared into the woods.
Touching bottom, he began running, aware that his stiff cock protruded out the leg hole of his swimsuit. He saw no one on the island shore. He splashed out of the water, raced into the woods.
Ahead, in an open glade, Kit was bent over, her tits hanging out like rosy-tipped white bells, stripping down her bikini bottoms.
Panting, Sonny paused and stretched his trunks over the jutting length of his cock, tore them off Kit was naked, holding the small yellow patches that made up her bikini in one hand. Seeing him move toward her, she gave a laugh and turned and plunged off through the woods.
She ran like a deer. He followed her bobbing white asscheeks, dodging around bushes, jumping fallen logs. Her titties flung about and as she glanced back at him her eyes flashed with gee. Sonny felt his cock wag stiffly and his balls jumping all about as he ran, stretching out, ten-foot strides, a leering, naked, stiff-pronged satyr such as he had seen in an art book, chasing a white-assed, milky-titted forest nymph. He would not catch her. He would run eternally, like the satyr fixed for all time running in the art book, desperately hard of cock, his scrotum leaping as though it might wrap around The immense stem sprouting from his loins.
Surely, his mother could not run this fast. She was no longer a girl. And yet she was, that was it, his mother had become a young girl like Lily, whooping with laughter as she led him through the island forest. She ran through partial shade that mottled her flesh with leaf patterns. She exploded into sunshine where the globes of her white ass were plump snowballs of flesh. She ducked into shade where he chased those glowing white cheeks or the bob of a tit as she turned back to see if he was still in pursuit.
He guessed they were circling the island again and again. It could not be large. He should stop, cut straight across and intercept her. But the race had become an end in itself. She was showing off her new-found, exuberant youth. He would play her game.
Then he tripped over a root and fell flat on a bed of dry leaves.
Kit's laughter trailed off into the distance.
She ran, leaped over bushes, dodged around trees, high as a kite on fresh air and love and lust. Never had a dozen cocktails or even Myra's pink cigarettes raised her this near the clouds. She joyed in the jumps and lurches of her titties, in the loud squishing of her cunt, in the feel of cool forest air on every inch of her skin, in the damp grass and the cushioning dry leaves underfoot. She wished she could throw away her bikini and run naked, forever, her big-cocked son in hot pursuit. She had escaped home, Bill's greenhouse, her job, Myra's lesbianism, her car, her possessions. She was free, she and her son with his long, stiff cock and his flying scrotum. They were woods creatures, savages. The bits of swimsuit nylon in her hand alone reminded her of another life.
The tiny bikini became heavy, drawing her down from her celestial soaring. It existed. Eventually she would have to hide her tits and cunt with it and swim back to the beach, to the car, and they would ride back to a town where incest was a sin.
She could not hear Sonny. She stopped, leaned panting against a tree.
She felt heavy now, and tired. She began retracing her steps, stealthily, guessing that he was hiding, would try to surprise her. She was no longer a forest sprite but an Indian stalking his prey, looking for dry twigs before she placed a foot.
She found him in a small, grassy glade in partial shade, gazing up the trunk of a towering tree. His cock stood like a fence post knobbed with red velvet. She walked softly toward him. He did not see her until her shadow fell across his face.
She dropped on her knees beside him, fisting his prick.
He said, "I never thought a girl could run like that."
Her legs were trembling from exertion. But the feel of his stiff, throbbing cock in her hand helped restore her, and his calling her a girl instead of a woman. Well, damnit, she would be a girl for a day, silly and frivolous, vacillating, willful, wanton. They had their nude bodies and a day of time and a forested island. If anyone came along, fuck them. Hit them with sticks and stones- He reached a hand to her tittie, cupped it and drew her toward him. Still kneeling she came over him, lowering her hanging-out breasts to his face. He licked his lips. His tongue extended, touched her nipple, then curled wetly about it. She sucked in her breath, feeling the sensitive bump heat and expand to a rigid peg. He lipped on it and tugged. The pull sent warmth fanning throughout the orb of her breast. His mouth widened, lips rolling wetly, consuming the big puff of her aureole. At last his lips formed a ring on white tit, indenting it, still drawing more into his mouth.
Kit fingered her other dangling breast, clustering her fingers on, the rosy tip and drawing off He saw that, tongued the one out of his mouth and switched, gulping tit. He sucked hard and her nipple seemed to bore right into her throat.
The feel of having her breasts sucked excited Kit to jerking her hips. She needed a come, and right now, to calm herself for all the lovemaking they would have.
She whispered, "Sonny, stop! That will drive me crazy! Let me climb on you and get an orgasm. Then we can do anything, everything."
He nodded and relinquished a tit end so turgid that it looked like one of Myra's, the aureole a cone flowing into the finger-like nipple so imperceptibly that a hand could grip it. It was almost too big, an embarrassing display of the lasciviousness within her.
She switched about, meaning to throw a across him and ride his cock.
But on seeing it she lost control. She seized it in both hands and dropped to it, her mouth yawning.
She filled her mouth with cock.
"Mother!" he cried. "What are you-doing?"
Mother.
She was not a limber young girl dancing through the woods. She was his mother.
Sucking his cock.
He was shocked. But she could not stop. The fat cockhead in her mouth squished under her suction, a velvet-skinned sponginess, compressing until she felt the rigidity within. She licked the glans, swabbed it with the flat of her tongue while the point prodded her palate. She squeezed her fist on the swank and with her other hand scooped up his balls, kneading them and massaging the iron stem, licking and sucking the beautiful head.
"But Mother-" he said.
She tore her mouth from it, crying, "Sonny, I know I shouldn't, but women do. Women like it. Do you understand? Does it feel good to you?"
"Gosh, it makes me jerk all over. But I never thought-"
"Sonny, I have to. To show how much I love you.
A lie, she thought. Her lust now was apart from love. She had always liked cocksucking and now she again gobbled the swollen head, went down, down, swallowing the tip, working her mouth on the stem of it while massaging the base and his plump nuts.
His hips began heaving, driving the bony hardness into her oral cavity, fucking into her pulling, rhythmic suction. She continued munching, sucking, kneading the splendid column of meat towering from his loins.
She gulped off the knob and gazed at the Lit of red-purple flesh, the sharply defined rim, while licking underneath. A drop of fluid oozed from the split. She puckered her lips on it, kissing it, slowly sucking it into her mouth.
She licked down one side, tracing the bulging blue vein into the ruff of his pubic hair. She lipped the delicate skin of the scrotum, then fingered a plump testicle into her mouth.
Sonny groaned loudly as she rubbed the rampant cock against her cheek, licking up the saliva-slippery stem to the head. Her mouth yawned and, she consumed it with a gulp.