It took much longer this time and mother’s vagina was filled with my cum and her love fluid. She had at least three orgasms before I spurted my sperm into her, and as I filled her to overflowing the contractions of her vagina seemed to be dragging the sperm from my testes.
It seemed for the moment we were spent; the bed was stained with the melange of our fluids and the smell of sex and sweat permeated the room.
“We’d better have a shower,” mother said tremulously, but as she went to get off the bed her legs seemed to give way under her.
She smiled weakly and said, “Darling, you seem to have got me into a rathe fragile condition, but it’s been so long you see…”
Her voice trailed away and I rose from the bed and helped her to the shower; and once under the water mother seemed to revive, and now, seeing her naked for the first time I felt my own virility reviving. I took her again, her back against the wall of the shower and me supporting her as I rammed more sperm into her – God knows where I got from.
Refreshed there was no question of where we were to go. Mother was right, once we’d started there could be no stopping, and ever since I have shared her bed.
I have heard it said by some that incest is of the Devil. If that is true then the Devil had his full due that night and has done ever since.
I think that I almost sucked mother’s nipples raw, and when we were finally satiated we fell asleep, the taste and smell of mother on my lips and tongue, and with some residue of my sperm still in mother’s vagina, in her mouth and on her lips.
As I drifted off to sleep I wondered vaguely if the viewers of the film imagined that what happened between the boy and the woman had involved cunnilingus and fellatio. But that was the world of film and fantasy and I had the reality, and my reality was to last.
Reality! Yes, of course I’d impregnated mother, but then, mother admitted that it was what she had often dreamed about and she said her protest had really only been for my sake in case I didn’t want the responsibility of having a child with my mother. Perhaps that arose from her memory of being deserted by my father.
That drew a confession from me, that I’d had that dream too; a dream that love would find its fulfilment in impregnating her.
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