*
I heard her up and about Sunday morning but I was in no hurry to face her. My morning erection was inspired by her raising her nightie. I imagined her in my room, standing beside the bed and lifting the white material (sans cum) to show me her naked body. Her satin panties hugging her pussy, a hint of camel toe. The word incest floated into my brain as I stroked and it had me on the verge of orgasm. Incest. Jesus. It was the first time I actually realized what we’d done was incestuous. What I’d done. I corrected myself. For she was the innocent here. It would be me going to jail for my crimes.
Foregoing breakfast I played Ps4 in bed until, hours later I heard her leave the house and being Sunday, I knew it was to exercise. Before showering, I used the time alone to feed myself and knowing I had at least an hour before she returned, stashed away some extra food in my room so as to possibly avoid seeing her at lunchtime.
I tried not to think of her as the hot water ran my body. It was totally unhealthy I knew. A boy can’t fuck his mother, a boy can’t fall in love with his mother. Yet even as I attempted to dismiss my feelings, my cock presented a rebuttal. I thought of her exercising. What pants was she wearing, I wondered? The tight pink ones she wore doing yoga? I’d indeed noticed them before. Absently looking at her ass in the kitchen as she filled a water bottle. Noting the way they hugged her crotch, that delicious bulge of a woman’s sex, almost begging to kissed. With eyes closed I took my cock in hand, picturing myself upon my knees worshiping her pussy. Nose, lips, pushed hard into her labial softness, the hard pubic bone above. It was only seconds later I found myself cumming, a wave of incestuous ecstasy mixed with anger at myself for the indiscretion. Guiltily washing away the infuriatingly sticky evidence from the shower floor, I cursed myself for facilitating the fantasy.
Half an hour later, I’d be glad I had.
*
Safely in my room, door closed, I heard her return home. Expecting the sound of her showering, I instead heard her in the kitchen. The routine was all over the place, the kettle boiling for a coffee or tea whereas that was usually after lunch. I was trying not to picture her and concentrate on my game when there came a knock at my door, closely followed by her peering through the opened space.
“Hey,” I nonchalantly acknowledged her presence before she entered proper and it forced me to look. I was wrong. Not the pink leggings, light blue. Was it possible they were in fact tighter? The white tank top housed her breasts perfectly, a similarly toned sports bra strap visible at her shoulder. But it was to her hand that my eyes were drawn.
“You ready Mister?” She held out and shook the container of skin cream that had been the catalyst for the previous night’s tryst.
“What?” I barely managed to ask, amazed she was possibly offering to repeat the therapy.
She frowned. “What do you mean? You can’t just expect to use it once. Typical male, you have to re-apply! Come on, come down to the kitchen. We should probably talk. Don’t you think?”
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