Go down on her

Evie Oliver, my own mother, was writhing against me in the midst of a passionate incestuous kiss, pulling her useless clothes off at the same time. I imitated her, the act of stripping off distracting me from the nagging unease of the situation. It did not help when Mother, free of all her coverings and totally naked, flopped onto the couch and spread her legs wide open for me, smiling. Her want was clear.

I knew, or thought I knew, that I was now immune to the psychedelic agent present in the bodies of my apparently unknowing enemies. It was not the fear of getting lost in the moment and potentially giving myself away that made my knees wobble as I descended upon the junction of her thighs. It was the very idea of doing such an act to the woman who had birthed me. Now inches from my face was the cleanly trimmed pussy of a still young and fresh looking lady, only it was made of the same fibres and blood as those that constituted my physical being. It was not unlike if I was about to have sex with myself. Yet I could not back out.

Preoccupied as such I was unprepared for what followed. Hell bent on placating Mother, making her come as quickly as possible that I be soon released, I launched a veritable **** on her, diving into her cunt tongue first, reaching deep inside, then sliding up toward her clit to bathe it in the wetness harvested from her arousal. I was already aroused, in spite of myself, yet my cock hardened further; I thought the damn thing would burst from this level of engorgement. At the same time I was aware of a rippling sensation right across my body, much like what occurs in orgasm but diffused across the whole surface of my skin, pricking my hair up as it reached my crown. It was almost too much, and I was sure if I felt this while standing up I might simply faint. Even as I continued to gently chew on Mother, and the feeling intensified gradually, I couldn’t decide whether it was painful or pleasurable.

Mother put an end to my questioning thoughts a quivering mess of orgasmic flesh, smothering me with her ecstasy. At that I was overwhelmed, reaching the culmination of the infernal cycle of rippling phantom nerve signals across my being. I briefly entered a secondary state, no conscious thinking, no will but the will to pursue pleasure. She pulled me by my face, pulling my chin up towards her to look me in the eye. I gladly accepted the call and rose to meet her face, but by the time our lips met the high was draining from me again, and the odd taste in her mouth sticking out to me again, reminding me of everything. I closed my eyes and let myself coast down, didn’t flinch when she guided my cock into her, opting to temporarily push aside the knowledge of who she was to me. There was nothing in the raw sensation itself to betray the nature of the act.

So I fucked Mother on the couch, letting myself fall into her arms and my weight rest partly on her body, that each plunge between her legs made friction of her soft skin on mine. Like this I couldn’t even see her face, only feel her, feel her as no more than the woman making love to me. Finally I came, grunting, pushing, as both of us acted to squeeze closer together, she pulling me deeper in with her legs closed around my buttocks. In that moment I truly forgot, and almost regretted regaining cognizance of the situation as I rode down the wave, still in her arms.

“Thank you Frankie. I needed that, nothing quite like coming home from work to a good fucking purge. I hope I can rely on you to provide for a while?”

I was long answering the question for myself, but in the end, it was clear. There was no way I was going to tolerate coming home every day wondering if one of my relatives was going to ask me to pleasure them because they couldn’t get any during their work hours. I couldn’t stomach it morally, no matter how much I was able to block out during the experience. I had to find a solution, to escape, and soon. For now I pretended to take a pot shot at her.

“Find yourself a man, Mum. There’s plenty, and you know there’s one somewhere who’ll take your pussy as it comes.” I spoke as if she were asking me to clean all the dishes. She often foisted excess chores on Julie, so there were plenty of moments where my adoptive sister had occasion to rant about being the bloody housemaid whenever Mother came lazing around. My imitation seemed to have the desired effect.

“Well,” she chuckled, “I’ll free you just as soon as I get the one who won’t moan about my patch. He must be in this town somewhere... but why rush? Won’t you miss being able to please Mommy’s little pussy?”

“I’m sure I’ll have time to explore Mommy’s pussy in depth before his shortcoming emergence.” I said.

After a little while in what somehow became a plain motherly embrace I was able to leave the living room with my clothes under my arm and retreat to my own. It was all I could do not to run up the stairs and slam the doors. That would be just a tad conspicuous.

It was early afternoon, but I could not conceive of any reason that I would venture outside again, so instead of getting clothed properly again I slipped into my evening wear. In any case it was winter, so the sun being high in the sky meant jack shit to how much light there was in the day. I decided I didn’t want to reuse my clothes at all any time soon, seeing as they likely had been dirtied by various bodily fluids by now, and set about folding them up to be chucked in the wash. In so doing I absently caused my phone to fall out of a breast pocket and go tumbling to the floor. It hit the carpet and stopped screen up, just in time to light up and vibrate to signal a new arriving text message.

I threw away the bundle of cloth in my hands and picked up the device. The message was from an unknown number, and there was a pop-up asking whether to accept the message or block the user. I chose to view the message.

Hi. We bumped into each other around lunch. I got your number from some guy you did a school project with ages ago. Can I call you, now preferably?

She was the girl who had a locker adjacent to mine. I couldn’t remember anything memorable in her demeanour today – but then the bulk of what I remembered was to do with her breasts. They outsized Carmen’s generously. I considered ignoring her. If she wanted anything to do with me, especially anything sexual, it could await the morrow, when I had recovered a little energy and the will to live required to act convincingly as my new self.

I had accepted the message, though. She would be able to see that. If I did ignore her, and she confronted me, I would have to make up a cover story to explain the lack of response. A more complicated one than that I don’t answer unknown numbers on principle, for instance. Besides, the content of the message intrigued me. If she wanted sex, why would she go to the trouble of finding my number? Why wouldn’t she just take the first guy who caught her fancy and was readily available? And if she did want me specifically, she could either have patiently waited the next day, or even better, announced her intentions in her introductory text. In any case, even if she didn’t have more spicy intentions, I could readily make up excuses to explain unavailability. I wasn’t employed at the moment, but I had only ceased work at the library last week. It wouldn’t be much of a stretch...

Hi. Go ahead when you’re ready.

The phone rang almost immediately.

“Hello Frank,” said a girl’s voice, “my name’s Laura.”

“Hello, Laura.”

“Carmencita told me about you earlier. She had a lot to say.”

I flinched at the name, and then revelled in the freedom to do pull a face. Over the phone at least part of me didn’t have to pretend.

“You know Carmen?” I asked.

“Oh yes. We’ve been amicable for a good four or five years now. In fact,” she laughed, “I pointed out you were smitten with her. Saw you coming a mile off.”

I did my best to laugh along with her. I wouldn’t have taken offence anyway; when rational, my feelings for Carmen were behind me and gladly laughable, but I was still on my guard. I was still performing, and waiting to be told how I was going to have to perform next.

“So what did you want to talk about, Laura?”

“I want to talk about everything, everything since this morning, a quarter of an hour or so before class.”

She paused, long enough that I was unambiguously afraid when she continued.

“I thought you might not be brainwashed when you didn’t apology-fuck me in the locker room. You had time, and you clearly liked my tits, yet you walked away. When Carmen told me how ‘sleepy’ you were when she offered to fuck you I put the dots together.”