How The Women Got Plastered and Patrick Got Busted

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

Chapter Ten

I ordered the casting kits online, and my mother graciously let me use her credit card. Over the next three days I got asked exactly six times if I'd ordered them.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking my mom knew I ordered them, so I should have only been asked five times. Danny asked me too. Apparently he'd been getting extra good sex, since the night the decision to use the kits had been made.

Yes ... that night.

The thing that made me crazy was that Aunt Christy didn't act any different toward me than she ever had. I still got the same hugs. Maybe they were a little closer, and a little longer than before, and then there was the way she pushed her pussy against me during the hugs. But that was it. She didn't flirt with me, or say things with innuendo in them or anything like that. I started to get the idea that, once she'd lived her fantasy, she was satisfied, and that was it.

Danny and Vanessa didn't act all weird either. They treated each other exactly the same as they always had. There was still a low level of flirting and teasing going on all the time, but that's all it was ... teasing.

That was fine for them, I suppose, but I was going nuts. I was almost seventeen. I'd just lost my virginity. Not only that, the woman I'd lost it to had begged me to make her pregnant while she was doing it, and she still came around every other day or so. I won't lie. I wanted to do it again. But she acted like I was her nephew or something! I know ... I am her nephew ... but I didn't feel like her nephew ... or something.

And it was happening with Tabby too. Every night she came in to kiss me good night. She'd never done that before. All I'd done was get a boner for her and tell her she was gorgeous, and suddenly she liked showing me her boobs, and her ass sometimes, and started kissing me on the lips! It was getting hard to think about her as a sister too.

On top of all that, my birthday was coming up, and the casting kits would be here soon, and I didn't know how that was going to play out.

I was beginning to learn that, as life goes on, you take steps, and turn corners, and choose paths, and that, once you do that, you can't turn around and go back. Life just doesn't work that way. You're stuck with the situations you get yourself into. I know it sounds like I was feeling sorry for myself, when most guys would have had a permanent smile on their faces. But the fact was, I was horny, and I knew what the "new" way of dealing with it was like, but I didn't have any way to do that.

I was full of sexual frustration.

As it turned out, I wasn't the only one who was full of sexual frustration. Of course, genius though I was ... I didn't recognize that.

The kits arrived in a big box, delivered by UPS. You'd have thought, based on the reaction by my sisters and mother, that we'd won that silly clearing house magazine prize or something.

I was actually in Cat's class when it happened. The class only met twice a week. As a summer school course it went longer each day than the usual classes did. I had decided to fill in my professor about the project after all. Surprising her didn't seem like the best idea any more, even if that's what she'd said she wanted. I told her about all the troubles I'd had with my project. She thought it was a lot funnier than I did, but she was enthusiastic about the solution the Turner women had come up with.

"That sounds so very interesting," she said. "I can't wait to see the results."

When I got home, everybody was acting froggy.

Tabby met me at the door, like she'd been waiting for me.

"They're here!" she squealed. "Remember ... I'm first!"

My mother was baking cookies. I knew she did that sometimes, with an intensity that might have made one think she had a contract with the Girl Scouts or something. When she got in the cookie making mood, she made dozens of dozens of them, usually. A lot went in the freezer, for later. What I didn't know was that she did that when she got horny.

Randi just pulled me aside, and said: "Well, I guess you get to see my boobs again, Sport."

I should have known something was up, when Mom asked me if I wanted to get started right away or not. She was talking about Tabby. She had stated more than once, in the past week, that she was going to be there, when the cast of her darling daughter's breasts was made.

Tabby suddenly had other things she just "had" to do, and she left.

That lasted until Mom took a cardboard box of cookies big enough to hold a microwave oven, and went to make deliveries to her sisters and mother. She hadn't been gone five minutes when Tabby bounced in the door from wherever she had been.

"I'm ready!" said Tabby.

"We're supposed to wait for Mom," I said.

"Oh pooh," said Tabitha carelessly. "What's the big deal?"

"The big deal is that I have to touch you," I said.

"You've seen me," said my sister. "It's not that different."

I knew better, but I was horny. You know how they say things go wrong because a guy is thinking with his little head instead of his big head? I understand that completely, now.

Fifteen minutes later Tabby was standing in her panties, in my room, jumping around and telling me to "Hurry up!" while I tried to make sure I'd read the instructions well enough not to screw things up. It was hard to read anything, with her pink-tipped breasts right there. She was also wearing those thong panties again.

I unpacked a kit, and everything was there. I picked up the lubricant, opened it, and smeared some on my hands.

Tabby didn't show any sign of nervousness at all as I advanced on her, my hands outstretched, forming claw-like appendages on the ends of my arms. If anything, she stuck her chest out a little more.

Oh man, oh man, oh man!

Her breasts felt hot under my hands, and soft, but with an underlying firmness that made them so much fun to squeeze. I don't know if there are any professional belly cast technicians in the world, but if there are, and one of them would have been there, I'm sure it would have only taken twenty or thirty seconds to lubricate the skin on the front of her shoulders, upper chest, breasts, and stomach.

I only stopped after she started acting like she had to pee, dancing around so much that I couldn't keep my hands on her boobs.

She was breathing so hard that I had to wait, to start applying the strips of plaster-soaked cloth. Thank goodness most of that was done when our very unhappy mother walked in the room.

It was only then that I realized I must have spread lubricant on Tabby's breasts for half an hour or more.

"What are you two doing?" demanded our mother.

Thankfully, Tabby had calmed down considerably. Most of her upper body was covered, and I was putting on additional strips, building up the cast. I knew I only had a certain amount of time to work with the stuff before it started setting up, so I kept working, smoothing each strip into place with wet, plastery hands.

"I got home and you weren't here, Mommy," said Tabitha, her voice calmer than it had been since we started. "I've got stuff to do so I told him to go ahead. It goes really quick. We're almost done."

I smoothed my hand along Tabby's belly, and up across the side of her left breast.

"You knew I wanted to be here for this," said my mother, whose eyes were glued to my hands. "I should ground you both!" She blinked. "And what are you doing in just panties? And particularly those panties?!"

"Mom," moaned my sister. "I was afraid plaster would get all over my shorts, and these were just the panties I put on today. Don't be a fuddy duddy! It's just a cast. It was no big deal. I just closed my eyes and pretended he was Tim Sutton." She giggled.

"That will be enough of that!" said our mother. "That's exactly why I wanted to be here! You're too young to be having those kinds of thoughts."

Tabby rolled her eyes and said "Mom, I've been having thoughts like that since seventh grade!"

"Not about your brother!" blurted Mom.

Tabby was good, I'll give her that. "EEEWWW, Mom!"

"Well, you were so intent on having him do this ..."

"That's only because he was nice to me," said Tabby. "He'll probably go back to being a turd when this is all over."

"Don't call your brother names," Mom reacted naturally.

"Oh, all right," said my sister, sounding bored. "How long will this take to dry?" Now she sounded impatient.

I picked up the instructions. "It's cure, actually, not dry," I said, using my big head again. My big head is a little pedantic sometimes. I went on to answer her question. "I don't know," I said, poring over the instructions. I was looking at the part that was printed in Spanish, and had to search for the English version.

I guess that seeing her darling daughter's chest covered with wet plaster made Mom feel better, because she left. "Call me when you take the cast off!" she yelled, as she went down the hall.

Tabby leaned forward and kissed me, full on the lips. It was a long, wet, hot kiss, the longest one she'd ever given me.

"Don't move," I said shakily, pulling my lips away from hers. I was already hard. I don't see how Mom missed that, but she did.

"I'm so glad we did this," she sighed.

"I'm your brother," I reminded her.

"I don't care. I love you, and nothing has ever felt so good as your hands on me."

We did call Mom upstairs, when it was time to peel Tabby out of the cast. It worked perfectly. It was so cool. The outside looked really good, but the inside was incredible. Tabby inspected it so long that Mom had to tell her to cover up.

"I'm going to go take a shower," she said, instead.

I turned the cast over in my hands. "I'm really kind of glad I did Tabby first," I said, running my hands over the transition from stomach to breast. "See here? She doesn't sag down, like some of the others do, and it was easier to put the strips there. I'm glad I got some practice."

"Are you calling me a saggy old woman?" asked my mother, her voice tight.

I looked at her.

"Of course not. It's just a technical issue I hadn't thought about. Now I have. I thought about having everybody lie down, but that won't work, because the breasts would slide to the sides."

"You are calling me a saggy old woman!" She sounded upset.

"You don't have saggy breasts," I said, still intent on my examination of Tabby's cast. I was fascinated how I could see detail in the area of the nipples that I couldn't see on the real, live girl. "I love your breasts," I said, on autopilot.

"Oh," she said, a little breathlessly. "So ... are you ... um ... planning on ... helping me too?"

I nodded, my mind only half on what she was saying. I could see that there were places where the edges of the cloth would show on a cast made from the mold. There might have to be some smoothing of the busts, when they were made.

"I suppose it would be easier if there were two people working on it," she said.

I was excited at the success of Tabby's cast, and looked up.

"You want to do it now?"

Her eyes fluttered a little. "Let's wait a bit," she said. "I need to clean up the kitchen."

Somehow, cleaning up the kitchen lasted until Randi, who was also going to summer school, was taking three classes, and had been studying the whole time I was fondling Tabby's breasts, left for class. It lasted until Tabby announced that she was going to Mandy's house.

"Don't you dare tell Mandy about the cast!" called out my mother, as Tabby went out the door.

Then my mother washed her hands, wiped them, and with a shaky, breathless kind of voice said: "Okay, I'm ready."

I had been worked up by all this before the casts got there. Working on Tabby had only increased my level of ... excitement. Thinking about doing my mother's cast ratcheted things up even more. She wasn't the only one with an elevated respiration rate. Tabby and I had made the cast in my bedroom. The last time I'd seen my mother's breasts was in her bedroom. I went to her bedroom, and she followed me. I unpacked another kit.

"What should I do?" she asked, sounding very meek. It reminded me of Aunt Christy, which may be why I spoke in such a commanding tone.

"Take your blouse and pants off," I said.

"My pants too?"

"We're working with plaster here," I said, very businesslike.

I watched her take her clothes off. She watched me ... watching her ... taking her clothes off. She looked at my crotch.

"Don't feel bad, honey," she breathed, as she saw my lump.

"I'm kind of used to it, by now," I said.

She giggled, half hysterically, and stood there in her bra and panties. Her panties puffed out, like Tabby's.

"Your bra too," I said, licking my lips.

"Yes, of course," she said. Her arm disappeared and her bra went slack. She did that beautiful shrug and there they were again.

Giving her instructions seemed to be getting positive results. I knew, from the night with Aunt Christy, that some "commands" would be resisted, so I tried to proceed carefully.

I know you're thinking I was acting like some kind of predator. That wasn't it at all. I just loved her, and her breasts, and I wanted to touch them. Touching Tabby's had been fantastic.

"With Tabby, it worked better when I spread on the lubricant," I said, trying to make myself sound credible. I looked at her sideways, to see if she was buying it.

Her breathing rate increased immediately. Her nipples, which had been fairly flat, got un-flat before my eyes. I remembered sucking on Christy's, which was mind-blowing. Mom's nipples were even bigger, and my mouth watered. I knew, though, that there was no chance of that. At the same time, I really wanted those nipples nice and stiff when I applied the plaster.

"Should I sit down?" she asked.

The only place to sit was her bed, and that made my prick jump all over the place.

"No," I said, a little quickly. More seemed to be called for, if I was to continue the illusion that I was only doing this for my project. "I want the skin on your abdomen to be as smooth as possible." I thought I recovered pretty well.

Working on Tabby from the front had been fun, both visually and physically, but it was awkward, because my wrists didn't bend right to put my hands on her, both high and low. I'd ended up standing beside her, but then I could only reach one side at a time. Well, actually, I could only use one hand at a time, if I stood beside her, and I really liked having both of my hands full of soft boobs. With Mom, I wanted to start with her breasts, but thought that might be rushing things. So I started on her shoulders and upper chest, which was fine, standing in front of her. Her eyes looked at my face, as I slid my hands all over her shoulders, and the skin above her breasts.

She sighed. "Feels good," she said, a little timidly.

"Kind of like a massage," I suggested. She nodded.

I squirted more stuff on my left hand and rubbed both hands together. I went around behind her.

"Lift your arms, please," I said, as professionally as I could.

She did, and I reached around under them, starting on her stomach.

She hissed, and leaned back against me. I stroked her abdomen, my hands going in circles to cover her well. I wasn't aware there are millions of nerves there, associated with her ovaries, which are connected to her other sexual organs which were currently protected by her panties. I pulled my hands around to do her sides and armpits. She raised her arms without having to be told to.

I took the time to squirt more of the lubricant on my hands and reached around her to finally slide both hands onto her breasts. I cupped them and lifted them slightly. They were heavier than I thought they'd be, and more malleable too. My hands slipped up and over them, and she tried, unsuccessfully to stifle a moan. I felt her nipples bend as my hands smoothed upwards and slid over them. I did circles with my hands then too, all around each breast, loving the feeling of her nipples resisting, and then bending and pushing into her breast flesh.

She leaned against me hard, and her arms lowered, almost trapping my forearms. I kept rubbing. Her butt pressed into my erection, but by then I didn't care any more. I was in love. Hands full of breasts just can't be beat.

"Ohhhhh baby," she moaned. "How long do you have to do this?"

"I just need to make sure everything is covered," I whispered into her ear.

Her head leaned back, ever so slowly, to rest on my shoulder.

"Please hurry," she panted. "I don't think I can take this much longer."

"Am I hurting you?" I asked.

"Oh mercy no," she gasped. "You're making me have terrible thoughts, Pat."

Her ass ground against my prick.

I couldn't go on forever, so I finally stopped. I wiped my hands on a towel and started getting the strips ready. She was breathing too hard to start, anyway.

"Did you do that to Tabby?" she asked breathlessly.

"She's smaller," I said, hedging a little. "It didn't take as long. I barely had to touch her."

"Thank goodness," she sighed.

Doing her cast was very different than doing Tabby. Tabby's ribcage transitioned into breast in a mellow curve, but Mom's breasts would have held a pencil solidly. I had to lift them, to get the strips in the right place. At one point she looked down and said "It looks like I'm wearing a bustier."

"What's that?" I asked.

It was the wrong thing to say. It reminded her that I was a kid.

"Never mind," she said, drawing in a deep breath.

"Don't do that!" I scolded. "It stretches the cloth!"

"Sorry," she said.

Just like that I was back in charge. I didn't even know I'd almost blown it.

Finally I started working on the rest of the breasts themselves. That was harder too, because there was so much curvature. When I got to the nipples, they were nice and erect. I squeezed the wet cloth, carefully molding it around each fat teat.

"Uhhhhhh" she groaned, blowing out air.

"Would you stop that?" I said, squeezing more, to make up for the movement.

"I can't help it," she moaned. "You don't know what you're doing to me!"

"Just stand still," I said.

She bit her lip and closed her eyes. I got both nipples the way I wanted them. They stuck out, even through the cloth. It was going to look so hot.

Once I got to her upper chest and shoulders, she relaxed a lot, and calmed down.

Then it was time to wait.

When the cast had cured enough to take the stress, I got a chair and let her sit, erectly, in it. We talked as she sat and waited for the cast to finish curing. She looked down and said she still felt naked, because the cast was so detailed.

I wanted to get as much detail as possible," I said. "I think detail will be the key to getting the men's real vote."

"At least you're not touching me any more," she sighed.

"Was it that horrible?" I asked.

"You know it wasn't horrible at all," said my mother. "You have no idea how close I came to losing control."

"What could you have done?" I laughed. "You might be my mother, but I think I can take you."

She looked injured. "It's not funny! You don't know what I was feeling!"

"Mom," I said, patiently. "I'm still as hard as a rock."

"Oh!" she yipped. She looked at my crotch. Some mother part of her brain took over. "You got plaster all over your shorts and shirt. I hope it washes out."

I took my shirt off and dropped it on the floor. Then I took off my shorts.

"What are you doing, Pat?" asked my mother, her voice tense.

"I'm going to put them in the wash," I said. "I thought that's what you wanted."

"I'm not sure it's a good idea for me to be around you in just your underwear," said my mother, staring at the diagonal line, making a bulge in my jockeys.

"It's okay, Mom," I said, suppressing a grin. "It's normal to feel that way. You're just feeling normal things, and don't have to be embarrassed." I couldn't hide my grin any more.

"Oh ... you!" she yipped, and waved an arm at me. "Oops!" she said, looking down at the cast. "I think I moved it. It feels looser all of a sudden."

I went over and knocked on the case with my knuckles. It was hard. I checked the edge, by her shoulder. It felt done. I gave it a gentle tug.

Her breasts didn't want to let go. I had her lie back on the bed. I had to crawl up and half sit on her thighs, so I could lean over and pull the cast down toward her feet, a little, and up off her body at the same time. It finally came loose. I crawled off of her and sat on the edge of the bed, beside her, looking inside. It was beautiful. Her leg bumped into me.

"Move, so I can get up. I'm all icky," she said.

"You just lie right there," I said. "I'll go get you a washcloth."

When I got back, she was still lying there, and looked nervous again.

"I can do it," she said, reaching for the washcloth.

"I got you all messy," I said. "I'll do it."

I ran the washcloth over her shoulders and she closed her eyes.

"They're so beautiful," I murmured, staring at her breasts.

I cleaned her belly next, and her legs moved. She bent her knees and then straightened them, and her arms went up above her head. As I started upward, she bit her lower lip between her teeth.

"Ahhhhhh," she moaned, as the rough cloth covered one breast. I could feel the nipple bend through the cloth.

"You're so beautiful," I whispered.

I couldn't help it. I remembered the sounds Aunt Christy made when I sucked her nipples. Mom's were bigger, and I knew they were sensitive, so I knew it would make her feel good. Plus, I just wanted to suck on those long rubbery things. Maybe it was from when I was a baby ... some dim memory of those breasts giving me life.

I leaned over and sucked on the one I'd just cleaned.

She screamed.

It was a primal, hoarse kind of scream ... not a word, or phrase ... just an outpouring of something that had been pent up inside her for a long time ... maybe years. I was to find out how iron-willed the Turner women were, if only because they kept such control of their passions, and all the Turner women, as it turned out, were very passionate.

I swiped at the other breast with the cloth, still sucking and switched to that nipple. She thrashed, and her scream became long moaning cries. I wanted to climb on top of her so bad I actually ached, and leaked into my jockeys.

But something in me knew that wouldn't work. Not yet, anyway. I knew she was letting herself feel what she was feeling. Her hands came to my head, but didn't push. They just gripped, and I could feel the tension in her being transmitted through them. I knew I was involved too, of course, and the pride that I felt, just from making her feel so good, swelled in me. I wanted her to have an orgasm. I think I needed her to have one worse than I wanted to have my own.

I bit a nipple, not too hard, but enough that I knew she'd know it was my teeth on it, and, while she was arching in reaction to that, I pushed my hand down her belly, into her panties, through a luxuriant growth of hair that my fingers tangled in, and to wet pussy lips. I didn't give her time to react to that and stop me. I knew she would, if given the chance to think about it at all. Instead, I slid my middle finger into her as deeply as I could. Then I pulled with that finger, and used my palm to crush where I hoped her clit was. I whipped my hand back and forth to rub her clit fast.

Her knees jerked up and flopped open as her heels dug into the bed and her butt came off the covers. She arched so hard that her loins, and my hand, had to be two feet off the bed.

She screamed again, an agonized wail that went with her pussy suddenly clamping down on my finger. She held that rigid posture for another five or six seconds, and then went limp, falling back to the bed, her legs akimbo.

Then she bawled.

I was horrified. I'd wanted just to make her feel good. I wasn't stupid. I knew she hadn't done anything like this in years. But her sobs pierced me to my very core.

I climbed halfway on the bed and moved my face to hers. Her eyes were still closed tightly.

"Don't cry, Mom," I moaned. Her mouth was partly open, and I kissed her lower lip. "I'm sorry!" I moaned. "I just wanted you to feel good ... honest. Oh please don't cry. I won't ever do it again. I promise!"

Her hands were still on my head, and her eyes snapped open.

Her hands pulled my head toward her face, and she kissed me on the lips. As hard as her hands were gripping my head, that kiss was surprisingly gentle. Then she pushed me back.

"I'm not mad at you, baby," she said in a soft pant. "You did make me feel good. It's just been so long. I shouldn't have let you touch me. I knew I'd lose control if I wasn't careful."

"You're not mad?" I moaned, thankfully.

"I love you, baby," she murmured. "We shouldn't do things like this, but I love you so much. Don't ever think I don't love you."

"I love you too," I moaned. "I couldn't help it either. I had to touch you."

She kissed me again, and it turned into a make out session. Slowly, so slowly that I wasn't even aware it was happening, I got further and further onto the bed. First I lay against her, as our tongues started dueling. Then, somehow, I ended up on top of her, my boner pressing through my underwear, and hers, into the pussy I had just made have an orgasm.

She finally stopped kissing me.

"We can't do that, baby," she moaned softly. "I want to, but that's going too far."

"I want to, too," I husked into her mouth, kissing her again.

"No, baby, we can't," she moaned.

"I want to, really bad," I moaned back.

"Paaaaaat" she groaned. "I can't resist you when you're like this. You have to stop!"

"Okay, okay, I moaned." I ground my prick into her pussy. "Could you maybe touch me?"

I think, to her, she saw that as a way out of what was rapidly turning into a situation she wanted as much as I did, on one level, but didn't want, on a higher one. She was ... enthusiastic ... in her response.

She wiggled out from under me and manhandled me onto my back with strength that still surprises me. She didn't rip my jockeys, as she pulled them down, but she scraped some skin off my backside.

Apparently touching me wasn't enough. Not with her hand, anyway. She did that, cooing at my penis, telling it how strong and handsome it was.

Aunt Christy had used her mouth to make sure I didn't waste my sperm on the bed. Then she didn't want to waste it in her mouth. She hadn't actually given me a blow job, per sey. Strictly speaking, I'd never had a whole blow job.

My mother rectified that situation.

She'd obviously done this before, because she was very good at it. I came within a minute.

She sucked as her mouth pulled off my prick. She looked at me and opened her mouth, which was full of creamy white stuff. Then she closed her mouth and swallowed.

"So soon?" she said, her voice pouty, but a twinkle in her eye.

I was gasping for breath, and felt limp.

Now that I was limp, she didn't mind lying with me, and cuddling. I wasn't dangerous any more. She talked softly, mostly about how we shouldn't do this again, but how wonderful it had made her feel. She had missed this kind of closeness with a man, and she knew it.

"I've always wanted to try something," I said, telling a little white lie.

"What's that?" she asked, nuzzling my cheek.

"What you did to me," I said, "except it would be me doing it."

She must have been feeling very safe, because she simply skinned her panties down, lay back down, and spread her legs. That renewed the danger, but I hid it from her as I got into position.

Christy had guided me, to give her pleasure, but to be honest, it was all kind of fuzzy in my mind. Everything was fuzzy in my mind, as I stared at my mother's pussy. She had a big, fuzzy bush of hair above her pussy lips. Those lips looked completely different. They were loose and floppy, but thick at the same time. She smelled like Aunt Vanessa had, when I first smelled turned-on pussy, only stronger.

I let her teach me how to do this again, just loving the feel of her slippery sex on my lips and tongue. She groaned through an orgasm, but didn't make me stop, so I kept going, and she wiggled and whined through another one. She said: "That's enough, baby," and I crawled up to suck at her nipples again. I knew my prick was right there, at her pussy. While I licked them, those lips had opened up, to lay flat beside the hole they were supposed to protect, glued there by her sticky juice. I felt the overpowering urge to slide my penis into her. Instead, I reached down and laid the bottom of it across her opening. I laid down and started rubbing the bottom of my prick across her opening, along her clit and through that thick growth of hair.

I wanted a kiss, but what I got was wide, round, almost terrified eyes, and a woman holding her breath as she felt hard prick rubbing along her clit, and balls rubbing her pussy lips, where my tongue had been only a few seconds before.

"No, Pat," she whispered.

"I won't go in," I moaned. "It just feels so good to rub."

"Ohhhh baby," she whined, her hips lurching, and her knees pressing against my thighs. "I don't know ... [her loins jerked up against me] ... if that's ... [Her pelvis did a little circling thing] ... a good ... [her hips lifted her butt off the bed]... idea." she gasped.

"Just some rubbing," I moaned. I put my lips on hers, to keep her from telling me to stop.

Rubbing was fine for me. I was having a great time. Her kisses got more and more emotional, and more and more wild, and I rubbed for all I was worth. I had just cum, so the urge wasn't there to do it again just yet, but the rubbing felt fabulous.

Rubbing, however, was not enough for her. I might be a genius, but I didn't have the experience to project how she might feel, or react. I had no idea I was 'seducing' the fuck out of my mother. Right in the middle of a kiss, her hand forced its way between our slippery bodies, and grasped my prick. I honestly thought she was going to jerk me off, so I raised up a little, to give her room. Instead, her hand directed my prick to where I had wanted to put it. My next rubbing shove took care of the rest.

Just like that, I was balls deep in my mother's hot, sucking, and amazingly tight pussy.

Her hands came back to my head, and suddenly she was the one keeping me from saying anything. Not that I would have. I gave up all pretense, and started fucking my mother for all I was worth.

If I hadn't just cum ten minutes before, I'd have experienced what is politely called "premature ejaculation". But I had cum, and I knew that something was happening that would bring more tears when it was all over, and part of me knew that they wouldn't be happy ones, this time. I think that was what drove me to make sure that, since this was likely to be the only time this ever happened, and the last time she ever let me get near her, that she'd also have at least one good orgasm to remember.

That orgasm was moaned into my mouth. Her hands kept me going and I learned about multiple orgasms. Her second was expelled in whines and grunts as she flopped her head from side to side, her eyes tightly closed. Her third orgasm, which took longer, arrived while she was staring straight into my eyes as I bucked on top of her. Oddly, she wasn't breathing nearly as hard as she had been when I licked her, and not nearly as hard as I was.

"I love you so much," she whispered, as I saw the orgasm start to wash over her. Tears came into her eyes, and she blinked. "You have no idea how much I love you," she whined, as that orgasm took hold and shook her body.

I also knew I'd only get one chance to spurt in her ... so I did. I wasn't thinking about the consequences. She was my mother, and all her children were mostly grown. She hadn't had any babies in over a decade, so thinking of her as being pregnant was completely foreign.

I just did what came naturally, which, when she was in the middle of that third orgasm, was to drive in as hard as I could and hold it there, while my penis spat streams of thick spunk into her womb.

The aftermath, as it turned out, wasn't nearly as frantic, or tear-filled as I had thought it would be. It had happened, and it couldn't be undone. My mother wasn't the kind to cry over spilled milk, even if it was man milk, and it had been spilled in her womb. She later told me that she knew quite well what the consequences could be, and that she knew I wouldn't have the self control to pull out. In that moment, she accepted my offering, and she knew that, as I lay panting on top of her body.

She did swear to herself that this would be the only time. She swore to herself that she'd never let me touch her again. That was because she knew, at that moment, that if I asked to do this again, she'd be even more eager to do it than I was.

All that was mixed with the inevitable guilt she felt. It was so much to think about that she just felt tired. We cuddled for a few minutes, and she kissed me a dozen times, while her mind roiled. Then she pushed me off of her.

She reached, sealing my sperm in her pussy with her fingers pressed to her sex.

"I love you, Pat," she said quietly. "I should take a shower, but I'm too tired. I think I'm going to take a nap."

I got up. Her cast lay on the floor, by the bed, facing upwards. My clothes were nearby.

I didn't understand the significance of the fact that she stayed in bed, instead of going to the bathroom, to let my sperm drain out of her. I didn't know that, after I left, she licked my spunk off the fingers that had been holding the rest of it in her. I didn't know that she was mid-cycle. I didn't know that, as she drifted off to sleep, she was very aware of the feel of my sperm in her defenseless pussy. I didn't know that, when she finally fell asleep, she was smiling.

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