Arguments were surreal. They’d endured a few blowouts. Not too many, they were happily compatible most of the time, but there had been a few rows. After a particularly intense falling out – which had led to some blisteringly hot make-up sex – Annie had raised the issue with him.
“I know it’s weird, baby.” She had said to him, as she rested her cheek on his chest, their bodies still glistening with fuck-sweat. “We’re going to have to adapt. I’ve got to learn to relate to you as my partner, not just as my son. I can’t expect you to defer to me, just because that’s what you’ve done since you were a kid. And I can’t just pull rank every time, just because I’m your mom.”
“Do you want me to call you Annie, from now on? Would that make it easier, if we pretend I’m not your son?”
“No, no, no. God no. I am your mother. I never want you to forget that. When you’re inside me, when you’re buried deep inside me, I want you to know exactly who I am. I want you to know whose cunt it is your fucking.”
“Or ass.”
“Yeah, or ass. Or mouth. Whenever we have sex, I want you to tell yourself, this is my mother, I’m fucking. The same way I always tell myself, this is my son. The fact it’s incest, the fact we’re committing incest together, mother and son, only makes it about a million times hotter. Don’t you think?”
“Fuck, yeah.” He replied, with a grin.
She reached down between her legs, and slipped a couple of fingers inside herself. She brought them out and waved them slowly in front of his face. They were sticky, covered in her juices and his seminal fluid.
“That’s your cum, baby. That’s my little baby boy’s cum, and you blasted it all inside me. Your mother. I can feel it trickling out of my cunt right now, rolling past my lips, onto my leg.”
“We’re a couple of sick mother-fuckers aren’t we?”
“Well, technically the only mother-fucker is you. But we are both sick. And isn’t it wonderful? But I don’t want to forget the point I was making. Yes, I’m your mother, but I’m also your girlfriend, your partner. You’re my man, and we have to remember that.”
“Does that mean you’re my woman?”
“I’ve been yours since the moment you were born. Not sexually, of course, but in every other way. You stole my heart from the beginning, it was only a matter of when you’d have me like this. I belong to you, heart and soul. You own me.”
“I like the sound of that. You’re not just my woman, or my mother, you’re my sweetheart.”
“Oh baby, don’t you know it.”
Now, back at the house, and Greg’s sweetheart was getting ready for her date. She’d put on a pair of stockings – he loved her in nylons, preferably black – and a bra. No panties. Greg preferred it when she didn’t wear any, and Annie tended to defer to whatever he liked. Then she pulled on a shortish green dress, that complemented her dark red hair, and touched up her makeup.
She wandered out of the room and headed towards the stairs, passing what had been Kim’s bedroom.
But was now the nursery.
The door was open, and she peered inside. Ray and Kim were stood together. He had his arm round his daughter’s shoulder, and the two of them were looking down at the contents of the cot in front of them. Annie quietly strolled in and joined them. She didn’t need any excuse to spend time looking at her new grandchildren.
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