When he penetrated Claire, he thoughtlessly blurted out “warm at last” (they were indeed starting to work up a sweat), which oddly sent his mother into a short but uncontrollable fit of laughter as her own long suppressed, hormone-driven giddy passions surged. Having tensed up momentarily when her son’s phallus worked its way in, Claire eased her mind and body into the situation, she moaned and gasped with pleasure, spreading her legs as far apart as they could go. For a split second, she went completely limp so that her son could guide his thick cock in as deep as it would go. Once they became comfortable with one another, as though by instinct they found a perfect, synchronized rhythm, Claire bucking upwards as her son pumped down into her, savoring the feeling of his mother around him just as her engorged pussy lips engulfed him. For a few perfect, ecstatic minutes, it was as if every movement of their bodies was synced – they were locked in each other’s eyes, the rhythm of their hips was ideally timed and match, and even their deep breaths were synchronized as they gasped and sighed with unimaginable and almost intolerable pleasure.
For Claire, it was the first sexual encounter she had in many years, and perhaps the first satisfying coupling since the death of her husband. For Harry, after dozens of trysts with girls for whom he had no genuine affection and often little attraction, it was so exhilarating that it almost scared him. It wasn’t the fact that he was having sex with his own mother that shocked him, but that sex with his mother could be so intense and raw. Excited by the thought of a broken taboo, he reached down to the back of his mother’s thighs and propped her legs up on his shoulders, pumping deeper and harder, his face alternating between buried in her soft, ample bosoms and rising up, teeth grated in raw animal excitement.
Suddenly Claire sighed and moaned much more loudly than before, her body going tense again for a moment before she allowed herself take in the spasmic, moving waves of pleasure that radiated from her groin through the rest of her body. Collecting herself, she now half-heartedly tried to keep up with her son’s remaining intense pelvic thrusts, but she was somewhere in another plane, her eyes closed as though half in sleep. It was then that Harry found release, each throb and pulse of his cock shooting another wad of semen into Claire. Momentarily, his mind allowed the half-rational thought about the absurdity of it all, of coming inside the body where he was once nourished and from which he was born, but it didn’t matter – nothing that felt so intensely good could possibly be wrong.
Before withdrawing, Claire tightened the grip of her thighs around Harry’s hips one more time, to enjoy one last second of the connection, and then mother and son slowly uncoupled, Claire letting out a gasp as he gradually slid out. Harry gently turned his mother onto her side and pressed the front of his body onto her, spooning against her back and buttocks. In the semi-darkness of the cabin (it had one cracked, dirty window), Harry took some moments to explore his mother’s body, since the sex had happened so suddenly he almost didn’t have time to appreciate what he was getting. At 49, Claire would have been the envy of many a woman ten years younger – while never thin, she carried her weight well and was always toned and firm rather than flabby. Her breasts were soft without sagging, her buttocks and thighs were firm, thick and wide in the right places with barely a hint of cellulite.