MY INHERITANCE
Chapter 30
Mom
Mary had just suggested I take Mom in the bedroom and fuck her.
As Mary, Mom and I sat, the silence was so strong I could hear the tick of the
clock on the wall. No one was moving. Mary had that look again, the look she
gets when she is inside my mind, reading my thoughts. She was waiting on me to
act as though she already knew what I would do.
Mother was watching me with frightened anticipation, hands folded tightly in her
lap, so tightly her knuckles were white. She was naked to the waist. Before
Mary's suggestion, I had been playing with Mom's breasts, suckling her ring
punctured nipples, as I had in my infancy.
Mom had moaned when I suckled, one hand holding me snugly to her breast, the
other stroking me in rhythm to the motion of my nursing. I could smell that
faint smell of a woman's need wafting up from her, and feel the heat she
generated.
I could tell Mom wanted to be fucked. That did not mean she wanted me to do it.
I wish I could have been in her mind right then. What was she thinking? Was she
thinking of taking me, as a woman takes a man, welcoming me between her spread
legs for our mutual pleasure? Once, she had spread her legs in pain to allow me
to come into this world. Now, did she want to spread them again for me, this
time sexually? As if she read my thoughts, a blush rose from her naked stomach
to grow across her upper body, ending where her hair began. Her nipples were
erect, but I did not know if that was from sexual desire, or a simple physical
reaction to being suckled.
Mother was only forty, just four years older than Mary. Thanks to the breast
implants Dad gave her as a Christmas present, her breasts were delightful, high,
firm, perfectly balanced. Her nipple rings were highly sexual to me, indicating
a deep awareness by her of the most primordial relationship between the sexes
and her positive desire to participate in it.
She had a nice trim figure, kept that way by her diet and exercise, and a lovely
bottom with shapely legs flowing to trim ankles and pretty feet. It was easy to
see where my three sisters got their good looks. She had a pretty face, a
lovely, warm smile. Her eyes were expressive, round. I had seen them like burnt
coals when she was angry with me. And, I had seen them like soft pools showing
her tenderness and comforting.
She was a very attractive woman. And, she was a sexual woman. I had never
noticed that before this trip, not even when Andy and I visited LA not too long
ago. She seemed like a Mom then, or a biochemist. Asexual. Sitting before me
now, her flesh exposed and hot, the red of the blush on her pale skin, her
nipples erect and the rings glistening as they moved when she breathed, she was
very much a sexual creature. I saw now what Dad and Uncle Bert and probably
countless other men had seen. In my eyes, the woman, the very appealing and
sensual woman, had emerged from the role of mother which she played so well.
My cock saw her, too. He was not concerned with the niceties of life, of incest
or taboos or societal restrictions. He let the brain worry about those. Slowly,
he hardened in my trousers. I moved to free a constriction and the cock head
poked up, tenting the cloth.
Mom saw it. She licked her lips in anticipation, but turned her body slightly
away from me, her head turning further and downward. Her arms moved to cover
her naked breasts, hiding them from me for the first time.
Cathy cleared her throat, seeking attention, breaking the silence. I gave her
an order just to send her away from us and she left the room. Mary had not
moved as she watched the interplay between us. Almost from habit, my eyes
skimmed the room looking for him. For Diablo. The devil dog. He was nowhere to
be seen.
Why did I want to fuck her? Was it because she was a woman, representing all of
that precious gender, and like any man I wanted any woman hot, twisting and
gasping under me? Was it because she was a woman special to me, a woman who
played a large part in my life, a part I wished to expand by the most intimate
of sharing? Was it Oedipus, leaping from my psyche to take that which was my
father's most treasured possession? For me, that sword had still another side
since my Mother was the wife of the man I called father and the lover of the man
whose seed created me.
Was it power? Power to control she who controlled me for such a large part of my
life? I had the power, no doubt about that. A command from me would make her
do anything. She would strip naked and crawl though the snows of Vail until her
breasts froze if I commanded it. She would fuck every man in town, or every
woman or dog or elk. I had that power over her thanks to the programming from
Uncle Bert.
When I was young, she had the power, power to hurt or help, to control or
release, to love or hate. And, she had a power over me I would never have over
her: the power to shape and form, the power to mold and create a human as they
grew. I was totally dependent on that power, dependent on her. How had she
exercised that power? With love. With kindness and discipline and strength and
care. She had done well for me.
She was not programmed to obey now. If I wished to take her by exercising my
power, I would need to say those magic words, "Do you prefer sirloin or tube
steak?" Unprogrammed, she was just a woman, a mother, naked to the waist before
a man who was her son. She knew, as I did, the situation was sexual and highly
charged.
She did not speak. She waited. The waiting itself indicated the base of our
relationship at that very instance. She did not take control as a mother might
well have done. She did not leap and flee as a woman would in a sexual situation
she found unacceptable. She did not bill and coo to speed our coupling. She
waited. She waited for me to make a decision as a woman would wait for a man.
I saw a movement from the corner of my eye. The devil dog had entered the room.
He circled behind the chair Mary was in and crossed in front of Mom as she sat
on the couch. He came to me, his giant head higher from the floor than mine. His
expression was neutral as he lay down and put his head across my foot.
What would I do? What would you have done?
I watched as Mom self-consciously wiped away a rivulet of sweat drifting down
between her breasts with a long red-tipped finger. We all waited in silence
until she could stand it no more. She looked at me with a pleading gaze,
silently asking me to decide and remove the crushing anticipation from us all.
"Mom, do you want me to make love to you?"
"Yes, I do, Davy."
She shivered. I could see the goose bumps across her arms and on the high part
of her chest between neck and breasts. Her smile, so tender and loving, flashed
at me, gone in an instant, replaced by a questioning, undecided and pleading
look.
"You know I would come to you if you asked, Davy."
Her hands separated, their color quickly changing from white to red as
circulation returned. Her arms unfolded, leaving her breasts exposed to my sight
again. She turned slightly, returning to the position she had originally which
was facing me.
"But, please, don't ask. I do not think we should. Somehow, it would not seem
right."
She gave a quick, wan, smile and looked away. Her arms tensed and relaxed. She
straightened her back to ease her tension. Subconsciously I presume, the
straightening arched her back, moving her breasts towards me, making them shimmy
and the light sparkle from the rings in a sensual twinkle. Now, her eyes locked
onto mine, bright lasers holding me.
"It is your decision. I will happily do whatever you wish." Hers was a woman's
voice to a man, without hint of a mother's natural command presence.
I was sorely confused, as my cock and several parts of my brain warred in
desperate silence in me. I was as confused as she was, but my confusion was
evident only to me. Her confusion was shouted by the juxtaposition of her words
and body language, the former saying no, the latter pleading yes.
Diablo, my now continual companion, raised his head slowly, to look at her. I
could see his eyes taking her in, measuring her, appraising her. It was the look
all you men have given countless women, the look all you women have received
countless times as a man decides whether to approach you. Then, he turned to me.
His lip twitched in the start of a smile. Mary was still, her face neutral, her
eyes passive, as she watched us and absorbed all she saw.
"I want you, too, Mom."
Emotions flashed across her face like laser beams at a light show: happiness,
sorrow, lust, fear, need, apprehension, in rapid succession until she looked
away. Her right hand went to her hair, fluffing and straightening it. She sighed
audibly.
"But, I agree we should not. We should be Mom and Son. I think that is best for
us."
She looked at me as if she did not understand. Incomprehension slowly morphed to
a loving smile as the tension blew away like dust in a high wind, gone to the
great relief of all. We stood simultaneously, hugging each other. I felt her
hand stroking my head as she had done countless times and the Mother's kiss of
closed lips pressed against my cheek. I also felt her breasts crushed hotly
against my chest but that was of no importance now.
We whispered our love and she turned to go to where she belonged, to her room,
to my father, Charles.
"Mom," I called after her. She stopped and turned, a warm smile on her face.
"Yes, honey?"
"Please send Betty into my room. Tell her to get in bed and I will be there
shortly."
"Do you want Abby, too?"
"No, thanks. Just Betty for now."
"Good night, baby. I love you."
"Good night, Mom. I love you, too," I called after her as she walked down the
hall.
When I turned to Mary, the devil dog was laying beside her chair but she was
unaware of his presence.
"Bert would be proud of you, Davy. He might have done it differently, but he
would be proud of the way you did it."
"Damn right, he would have done it differently. He would have fucked her eyes
out!"
"I don't think so," she replied.
It suddenly occurred to me that Uncle Bert had a father and mother, the same
parents as Charles and all the other Wilson brothers. Like a bolt, a picture of
Uncle Bert fucking Grandma flashed through my head. She was as she was when I
last saw her shortly before her death, with straggly and thinning gray-blue hair
and her teeth out. It was a picture I did not want to think about, and I was
glad I did not know that answer. Still, I wondered.
"Well, what do you want me to do now?"
Cathy, looking sullen, stood in the doorway.
"Cathy, baby, let's have a little talk."
I took her hand, leading her towards the basement. Mary followed after me and
that damn dog went back to from wherever he came.
To be continued . . .
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