We smile at each other and with a glance share the knowledge that we both carry our sons’ babies. Nearby, Mamata weeps with joy as her son comforts her. Nilaya and her oldest child are already again engaging in an incestuous dance of love, Nilaya straddling her son and pistoning up and down on his cock.
Jeff turns to me, his hand cupping my full breast lovingly. “I love you, Mother. Ours will be a wonderful life.”
I kiss my son and reply, “Ours is a wonderful life. I love you, son. Now, please — make love to your mother again.” My son growls lustfully and I can feel his still partially erect cock swell inside me. The delightfully sinful sensation of having my son’s cock grow to full girth and length inside me has me in the throes of an incestuous orgasm before he even begins to thrust in and out of me again.
Again we join a choir of lovemaking as mothers and sons again begin to fuck lustfully all around us. We seem to be outside of Time itself as we make love. We are lost for what seems hours, then days — years and centuries and eons, cocooned in our sexual desires. My son and I make love and fuck, sometimes at a snail’s pace, every fraction of an inch’s movement an orgasm in itself and sometimes we are like the beasts in the jungle, caught up in fierce, incestuous lust, fucking and sucking, clawing and biting.
My memories of the rest of that first night blur into a montage of erotic fulfillment. I recollect sucking Jeff’s cock and feeding on his sweet semen. I remember riding him like a cowgirl, bucking up and down on his swollen saddle horn. I can envision my son taking me from behind, thrusting deep inside me as my heavy breasts swing back and forth like a drunken pendulum. I recall my son and I locked in the embrace of a sixty-nine, tongues playing across sensitive flesh, making each other cum again and again.
I remember us in a thousand different positions, embracing and surpassing the knowledge of the Kama Sutra until our bodies absolutely glow with orgasmic energy. Mostly, I can recall our final orgasm suffusing our bodies and growing in intensity until we have moved beyond this mortal plane of existence, bodies locked together in orgasmic unity becoming one with the universe. When the sheer power of my orgasm, fueled by the heavenly sensation of my womb being flooded by my son’s semen, I scream and open my eyes and find that we are floating in space, surrounded by countless stars that flare in acknowledgement of our own incandescent pleasure.
Through it all, we are aware of the presence of Danteshwari, knowing that she smiles upon us. As I surrender to the power of our ultimate orgasm, I manage to whisper, “Thank you — thank you for your gift.”
I am pretty sure as I slide into unconsciousness, wrapped in a blanket of sheer, incestuous love, I hear a divine voice whisper back, “YOU ARE WELCOME, DAUGHTER.”
When I awake, it is dawn. Jeff carries me in his strong arms as if I were a child. I am naked as is he. I look up into his eyes and see his love for me. We don’t have to say it aloud to each other. We know it for absolute truth. I love my son. He loves me.