This story is a further continuation of my previous story, Interview with Mom and Son. Both sexually active characters in this story are adults (50 and 26 years old, respectively at this point): there is no underage sexual activity whatsoever, express or implied. The story does contain explicit mother-son sex in the context of a loving, consensual adult relationship. It also contains some discussion of religious topics, specifically regarding Quakerism (and Judaism, in passing). And the mother is a big beautiful woman. If any of these things are likely to offend or repulse you, please go away now and save us both grief. The story begins with a bit of update on what’s going on in the characters’ lives, before we get to the sex scene, so be a little patient, OK?

As always, constructive comments are welcome.

* * *

I try to get all my comp-sci work out of the way by dinnertime. After dinner, it’s Ya-Ya time, playing games and reading stories with our daughter Yael, till we put her to bed. And after Ya-Ya’s asleep, it’s Mom-and-me time, my favourite part of the day!

It’s a warm, clear September evening, so Mom and I take our wine out on the back porch. We settle back in the wicker loveseat and hold hands as we sip our wine, watching the sunset and talking about the day, getting caught up with each other’s lives.

Yael is in first grade now, as of a couple of weeks ago. She loves her teacher, Ms. Whalen; and her best friend Anjali is in her class, so she’s happy. Ms. Whalen knows that Ya-Ya and Anjali can already read (Ya-Ya taught her), so they’re getting extra writing practice while the rest of the class does reading.

My meeting this morning with Anton (i.e. Dr Kowalski), my dissertation advisor, went very well. I’ve been developing an application that accesses government geographic databases of varying sorts, and puts together a comprehensive picture of the land that’s useful for farmers, particularly small-scale organic farmers, to give them an information edge against the agri-business dinosaurs. The broader comp-sci issue is automatic field identification: when you’re trying to put together different databases with non-matching field labels, how do you know whether to put together Field A in Database 1 with Field B in Database 2? I’ve developed statistically reliable algorithms for automatically determining whether Fields A and B contain similar kinds of information, and thus whether or not they can be merged. Anton thinks my current results are more than sufficient: I should write up what I’ve got, so I can defend in early December.

Meanwhile, Mom is struggling with Stan, her department chair: he’s a respected scholar, but he’s ineffectual as an administrator, preoccupied with unimportant minutiae while letting major tasks fall through the cracks. Unfortunately he’s got too fragile an ego to admit when he’s out of his depth. The other poli-sci faculty ought to be able to go to the dean with this problem, to encourage Stan to step aside. But the dean is the kind of guy who believes in rewarding departments where things are running smoothly, and punishing departments that are having internal problems. So the department is limping along, with Mom taking on most of the burden of catching the things that Stan is letting slip, while still managing a full teaching load and research program. It’s wearing her down. Fortunately, Stan’s term as chair ends in January. I massage Mom’s shoulders as she talks, to help her unwind. And, brushing aside her frizzy salt-and-pepper ringlets, I plant a few kisses on the back of her neck, because how can I resist this adorable woman?

Mom’s difficulties are enough to persuade me not to go into academia, I tell her. I don’t want to work for the big corporate data-miners like Google either. And certainly not for the NSA: aside from the ethical creepiness of the outfit, imagine me, in a consang relationship with my own mother, being investigated for a security clearance! I think I can make a career for myself developing software for non-profits and small businesses. Besides, Mom and I need to stay together, and the chances of us both finding academic positions in the same city are minimal. As an independent software developer, I can live where I like. Mom reluctantly agrees, letting go of her long-held expectation for me to join her in the professoriat.

As I continue kissing her neck and shoulders, I reach around to cup her soft, heavy breasts in my hands. Man, how I love them. I mean … I just really LOVE them! She notices my growing erection, giggles, and reaches back to gently rub it through my jeans. Time to take this upstairs.

* * *

Mom likes to shower before bed. I shower in izmit rus escort the morning. I suppose it would be more romantic if we could shower together, but our shower stall is a small plexiglass cubicle, and Mom’s a big beautiful woman: her ass doesn’t leave much room for anything else in there. So I brush and floss my teeth, naked, while she showers, enjoying the blurred image of her ample body through the translucent shower door — my great big sexy pink Mom-marshmallow. And as she turns toward me, I see the dark blurry patch of her pubic hair. We’ve been lovers for seven years now, but the sight of it still grabs my attention like a trout on a hook. You see, Mom doesn’t have a bush, she has the whole Amazon rainforest. It sprawls over her lower belly, extending a good way down her inner thighs, and a wispy trail leads up to her navel. From behind, it emerges from her ass furrow, like grass sprouting from an ancient sidewalk crack. And when she bends over, or lies back and opens her thighs, the pinkish-brown lips of her vulva protrude, like the dewy petals of an orchid, blossoming forth from the dense undergrowth of her pubic jungle. After my limited teenage exposure to porn starlets, all hairless Barbie-dolls, the sight of that furry wild animal between Mom’s plump legs, Cunni maternis, turned me on like Spinal Tap’s amp (i.e. up to eleven), and it still does. She was celibate during those decades when natural bushes and armpits went out of fashion, so she never bothered shaving or trimming: who was gonna see it anyway? As it turns out, I’m the one who gets to see it — and touch it, kiss it, smell it, nuzzle it, lick it — for which I feel beyond lucky. Blessed.

* * *

Blessed. That’s a word that, a few years ago, was not in my vocabulary. But now it is. Mom and I have become Quakers. You’re probably not expecting a mom-son consanguinamorous couple to turn to religion, but Quakerism is different. Mom’s best friend Rhonda is a Quaker. And she’s known from early on that we’re romantically/sexually involved; she knows we had Yael together. Rhonda’s always been very low-profile toward us about her religion, but one day Mom pressed her about how she could reconcile her Christian beliefs, which must surely include a prohibition on incest, with accepting us as a couple. Rhonda blew her away by explaining that Quakers — at least the liberal, non-programmed Quakers you find in our part of the country — don’t adhere to any religious dogma, and don’t have any sexual moral code, beyond treating a partner with love, respect, and honesty. Quakers have always had a ‘concern’ for the marginalized, and they were one of the first denominations to begin welcoming LGBT people, way back in the 1960’s. The religion isn’t about what you have to believe, it’s about practice — worshipping in silence, making group decisions by consensus, living life in accord with the ‘testimonies’ of simplicity, truth, equality and peace. The Quaker conception of God is subtle: a force for good within everyone, not some bearded alter kocker on a throne in the sky. So one day Mom attended meeting (they don’t call it ‘church’) with Rhonda. A good quarter of the members of the local meeting, it turned out, are of Jewish background, just like Mom and me. There were blintzes at the potluck after meeting!

Mom came back from that meeting bubbling with excitement, wanting me to come along the following First-Day (as old-school Quakers call Sunday). Reluctantly, I went. And despite myself, I found that I too felt at home among these sincere, unpretentious folks. Yael made a couple of instant friends in the First-Day school class. Talking it over afterwards, Mom and I glimpsed the possibility of belonging to a supportive faith community, not just being us two, with our dark secret, against the world. (Mom had stopped attending the local Reformed Jewish temple years earlier, when the rabbi made clear that there was no room in his congregation for anyone who questioned Israeli treatment of the Palestinians.)

Of course, we’d never tell any of the Quakers, besides Rhonda, about our consang relationship. Or so we thought. But when we applied for membership, and were visited by a clearness committee of three ‘seasoned’ Quakers, the atmosphere was so open and accepting, Mom looked at me and I nodded, and we told them about our love. The Quakers expressed nothing but support, joyful to have us in the meeting; but they counselled us to be reasonably discrete about our relationship within the wider meeting, since not everyone was at the same place in accepting unconventional relationships. Now Mom’s on the social justice committee, and I manage the meeting’s webpages and email list. A izmit escort dozen or so of the Quakers now know about us, quietly affirming us as a couple without outing us to the wider group. So I can spend less time feeling paranoid and isolated, and more time for things like appreciating the magnificence of Mom’s bush.

* * *

Mom turns off the shower. OK-OK, I’ve got to stop daydreaming about Mom’s bush or I’ll start drooling. Already my cock is hard as rebar. The shower door opens. Mom grabs her towel and begins drying off her salt-and-pepper Jew-fro hair, her fleshy arms, breasts, belly, thighs flopping and juddering around like toddlers in a bouncy-castle. It’s not just that her zaftig marshmallow-y body is so sexy and inviting; she’s so goddamn adorable, the brisk way she towels herself off, the intent, scrunched-up expression on her face as she does this. I’m her son, but she shares all this with me; I get to know her and love her as a complete woman. Nobody else gets to see her and know her like this, nobody but me. As I said, I’m blessed.

‘Like what you see, big boy?’ Mom asks playfully, putting on her Mae West voice. I guess I’m staring. My erection is nearly flat up against my belly.

‘Judy, Judy, Judy — do you really have to ahsk?’ I answer in my Cary Grant voice. I take her in my arms: her body is warm from the shower, her hair damp. Our lips meet, we kiss open-mouthed. My cock is rubbing into Mom’s soft belly, her magnificent udders pressing against my chest, my hands roaming down to fondle her huge blubbery ass. We’re both hungry for the physical contact, but it’s not frantic hunger; there’s a serenity, a secure knowledge that I’m hers and she’s mine, my mother and lover, utterly, forever. So we can take it slow and savor it. I reach between her thighs, burying my fingers in her lush, damp pubic jungle. She whimpers and trembles as my middle finger gently slides into her slippery cleft. She’s dripping wet down there, and not from the shower. She reciprocates, taking my engorged cock in her warm grasp, stroking me sensuously.

I drop to my knees on the cold tile floor, pressing my face into that majestic bush, kissing and nuzzling it, inhaling the intoxicating fragrance of her arousal.

‘Bedtime for you, Benny-boy’, she murmurs huskily. ‘Ahhh!’ she gasps as I get a little lick in. Her taste is heavenly.

‘Aw, Mom, can’t I stay up just a few more minutes’, I whine, parodying the nightly exchange between us when I was an eight-year-old.

She chuckles. ‘C’mon sweetie, seriously, this’ll be more comfortable in bed.’

Rising to my feet, I suddenly scoop her up in my arms — she squawks in surprise — and carry her off to bed. Mom’s not petite — five foot one and about 240 pounds — but I’ve been lifting weights, so I can manage her without staggering. Giggling, she sinks down in the bed, holding her arms out to me, and I tumble in beside her, enveloped in her ocean of welcoming flesh.

We kiss again briefly, but I’ve got the taste of her on my tongue and I need more of that. Urgently. I dive down between her plush thighs, burying my face in the furry, buttery wet maternal goodness of her vulva, kissing, licking, sucking, tasting, imbibing her intoxicating nectar. O sweet Cunni maternis, you beautiful animal you! She whimpers and squeals, her hands pressing my face into her as her pelvis rocks and thrusts against my eager mouth. I rub my nose over her well-lubricated clit hood.

‘Unghff! Stop teasing me!’ she whimpers.

Never let it be said that I’m a disobedient son. I capture her deliciously stiff clit between my lips and suck firmly. Her thunder thighs clamp tightly around my head, plunging me into darkness; but I keep sucking and licking, as she rides my face to a string of back-to-back very wet orgasms, and I drink my fill of delicious fresh-squeezed Mom-juice. When her thighs at last release me, my cheeks and chin are dripping.

‘Need you — pant — inside me — pant — NOW!’ she huffs. Her cheeks and forehead are bright red, her eyes closed, her damp hair disheveled. As I climb up alongside her again, she kisses me, licking her juices from my face. I get between her spread legs; her pussy is a gooey, hairy mess, her petals gaping lewdly. I point my cockhead between them, and sink into her like a hot knife in butter.

‘FUCK YES, oh Ben, fuck me Ben! I’m so fucking wet for you!’

‘Oh Mom! God, I love you so much! You’re so delicious …’

‘Yes, just like that baby, don’t stop … don’t stop … ummf, gonna … gonna make me cum again baby. God, this is perfect. You’re perfect. You cum too, Ben. Cum for Mommy, ummmmf … my baby boy!’

‘Oh fuck yeah Mom, unnngh, CUMMING!’ kocaeli escort

‘Yeah, give it to me, gimme your hot sweet cum! Oh my baby, yeaahhhhhh!’

I kiss her deeply as the last drops of my semen splatter over her cervix. The place that I came from.

* * *

‘Whew!’ she says at last, ‘well that didn’t take us long, did it? I’m not sure what came over me — I just went off like a firecracker! You too, didn’t you? Feels like you left quite a load inside me,’ she chuckles proudly.

‘Yeah, I came pretty hard. Well, whaddya expect when you call me ‘baby boy’ while we’re fucking, Mom — you know that gets me all revved up! Though … well, I was more in the mood for some deep soulful lovemaking tonight. With lots of attention paid to that magnificent ass of yours.’

‘Aw, sweetie! Well, the good news is that you’re a healthy young man and you’ll be hard again in five minutes, if not sooner. I could use some soulful lovemaking tonight too.’

‘Really? I didn’t wear you out? You came like four times, didn’t you Mom?

‘I can go for some more, if we’re slow and gentle about it. Let me use my mouth to get you hard again, ‘kay sweetie? I kinda wanted to taste you anyway.’

‘Mmm, anytime Mom. Aah, God Mom, your mouth feels soooo good.’

She’s getting into it, her head bobbing up and down on me energetically.

‘There, see? Hard again for your Mommy already! Do I know my baby boy, or what?’

‘Yup, you know me, Mom. Can I, um, nurse on you for a while?’

‘You most certainly can, young man. I’m pretty full of milk. Oooh, you do that so sweetly. Mmm.’

Mom breastfed Ya-Ya until she started kindergarten. But since then I’ve kept Mom in milk with our evening and morning nursing sessions. Sometimes it’s just a time of deep emotional closeness between us. Her milk is sweet; the sucking comforts me and relaxes her. But tonight, the breastfeeding has more of a sexual foreplay character: she’s stroking my erection lightly while I nurse, keeping me at a slow boil.

She begins: ‘I remember, mmm, I brought you along to a meeting once with one of my professors, Dr. Chiswell, when you were, ahh, about two — you were talking by then, though you hadn’t weaned yourself yet –‘

‘Worst decision of my life, weaning. How could I have voluntarily given up these lovely jubblies?’

‘Can I finish my story please? Yesss, keep sucking. So, mmm, I was meeting Dr. Chiswell in his office, going over some material for a course I was TAing for him. Aaah, here, the other jubbly wants some attention now. So, you were, mmmm, occupying yourself on the floor, aahhh, beside my chair with some board books or something while Chiswell and I talked. He was British, mmmm, a bit of an Oxford don type, or he liked to cultivate that image, though his degree, aahh, was actually from University of Reading. Total fuddy-duddy, probably thought women shouldn’t, mmmmm, be allowed in university, and he certainly wouldn’t have been comfortable with a female grad student breastfeeding her kid in front of him, mmmm. Anyway, twenty minutes or so into the meeting, aaaah, you decided you were hungry, and stood up and started nuzzling my chest. Suck a little harder baby, yeah, just like that. So, I tried to quietly tell you ‘not now sweetie’. But, ‘Mama-miwk!’ you pleaded in this pitiful voice, and my milk ducts totally responded: the front of my blouse was instantly soaked! Chiswell nearly had a heart attack,’ she laughs.

‘And what happened then?’

‘Did I tell you to stop sucking, young man? That’s better. Aaah. Well, Chiswell threw me out of his office in high dudgeon and had the department chair assign him a new TA. But it, mmmm, worked out in my favor. I got assigned to RA instead for Parvati, y’know, Dr, Chakraborti, and that led to her becoming my advisor, and me finding my dissertation topic.’

‘Mmm, so now that you’re breastfeeding me again, maybe I should come along to your faculty meetings and ask for mama-milk?’

Her peal of laughter is rich and uninhibited. ‘Oh I wish we could sweetie, just to see the look on Stan’s face. OK, enough with the titties, sweetie: you’ve pretty much emptied them for tonight. I recall you promising me some soulful lovemaking.’

‘And I recall you promising *me* that.’

‘Well, always keep your promises young man. That’s what I always say.’

‘With me paying special attention to your ass.’

‘My *magnificent* ass, I think you said.’

‘Your *inexpressibly* magnificent ass.’

‘Hmm, and just how are you gonna pay this attention?’

‘Roll over and I’ll show you, Mom.’

As I nuzzle down into the deep fur-lined abyss between Mom’s enormous pillowy ass cheeks, kissing and licking at her sexy anus, my face enveloped in warmth and softness, hearing her whimper and feeling her shudder with pleasure, I think once again: yes indeed, I am truly blessed.

* * *

Constructive comments welcome.