textfiles/sex/EROTICA/M/mnstrwin.txt

(1)  Disclaimer One:  This Is A Work Of Fiction; It Is Not True!

(2) Disclaimer Two:   If You Are Underage (Under The Age Of Eighteen
(18)), Or In Locations That By Law,  Preclude You From Reading Sexual
Material, You Should Stop Reading This Material Now!!

(3)  Disclaimer Three:  If You Are, Now Or Have Ever Been,  Offended
By Sex, Incest Or Any Other Subject Of A Sexual Nature, Please Avoid
This Story.  (I Would Also Suggest You Seek The Services Of A
Psychologist.)

(4)  Disclaimer Four:  This Is For Adults, And Contains Adult Oriented
Material.  If You Are Not An Adult, Either Chronologically, Mentally
Or Sexually, Please Do Not Read Any Further Or You Will Probably Be
Offended.

(5)  Disclaimer Five:  The Author Of This Story is Baron Darkside and
I retain All Copyrights. 

Writers need feedback (positive or negative) if they are to continue
to write. So, if you like the story please let me know at:

bdarkside@hotmail.com. 

I Hope That You Enjoy This Story.     


INCESTUOUS FANTASIES OF MOTHERS AND SONS
FROM THE CRYPT OF BARON daRKSIDE
Fantasy Number 63A
(The Monster Within - Part One)
A Tale of Incest by Baron DArkside


Today was the day.  He had finally made up his mind early that morning
as he lay in bed thinking of his mother.  He had decided, now was the
time.  After school and work, he would put the plan into motion.
As he walked home from work, a gentle mist cooled his face but did
nothing to calm the burning ache in his belly.  The aromatic smell of
burning wood filled the air, hinting at the nearness of Christmas, but
he barely noticed it.  His thoughts were on his mother, Rachelle.  It
seemed that he could think of little else but her lately, except for
his own irrepressible hunger.
Shivering in the cold dampness, he reviewed his plan to exorcise the
demon that was possessing his mother.  While, at the same time, he
fought to control the flood of hormones that raged through his
bloodstream.
His mother’s depression was growing worse, it seemed.  When she wasn’t
working at the bank, she slept.  While she seemed rational when she
was awake, she spent more and more time curled up in her bed sleeping.
She was growing more and more depressed for some reason.  He could see
it in her hollow, sunken eyes.  She seemed to be haunted by something.
Something she couldn’t face.  So, she chose to escape from it in
sleep.  
Her bout with depression was forcing him to devote more and more of
his time and effort to maintaining some semblance of family life.  As
he spent more and more time cleaning, cooking, and working, he had
less and less time to seek an outlet for his overpowering need for
sexual fulfillment.  He hadn’t had sex in over three months and he was
in desperate need of relief.  
This was his state of mind.  An eighteen year old male, at the peak of
his sexual need, denied release by his mother’s helplessness.  Out of
this famine of carnal gratification came the idea.  He had dismissed
it as indecent and disgusting at first.  But the more he thought about
it, the better it sounded.  Finally, he was almost obsessed with it.
If she had been happy, none of it would have happened. He could
remember back when she had been happy, before his father had been
killed in a car accident.  Brent had been five when that tragedy had
struck.  Then, she had been happy again after Todd came along.  So
happy, she had married him.  The happiness lasted for a while, but
things slowly began to fall apart until finally, two years ago, he had
left.  Rachelle, only forty at that time had slowly drifted into a
state of walking depression.  She continued to work at the Interstate
Bank, as a teller.  But it seemed to be taking more and more of her
energy just to maintain the pretense of wellness.  It seemed as if
some evil demon was gnawing at her, consuming more and more of her
essence. Her reserves had been drawn down to a dangerous level.  Now,
when she wasn’t working, she was sleeping.  
Brent had tried everything to pull her out of the doldrums, but
nothing worked.  Then he had found the letter.  Looking for her keys
one day, he had stumbled on the crumpled letter in the bottom of her
purse.  The letter was from the bank, and gave her thirty days to
improve, or she would be fired.  That had been a week ago, and instead
of inducing her to improve, she had only slipped deeper into the
darkness of her depression.  Something drastic was called for.
Something to shock her out of her depression.  That was why he had
finally decided to take such a grave step.
Arriving at the small, two bedroom apartment they shared, Brent
slipped inside and pulled off his slicker.  Taking it into the
bathroom, he shook it out and hung it up to dry.
Opening the medicine cabinet, he took down his mother’s bottle of
sleeping pills.  Twisting the cap off, he poured two of the tiny,
white tablets out into his palm.  Then, he closed the bottle and put
it back in the cabinet.  Going back into the kitchen, he sat down at
the table and carefully ground the two tablets into a fine powder.
Finally, he removed the cork of the bottle of merlot that sat on the
table.  Slowly, he drizzled the powder down into the remaining wine.
There was only three or four glasses left in the bottle as he gently
twirled it around to mix the powder into the wine.  Finished, he set
the bottle aside and got up.  
Going to the cabinet, he set about preparing supper.  He had decided
on a pasta with a delicate red sauce, bread, and wine.  A repast that
would be light, yet filling.  Soon, there was a saucepan of red sauce
bubbling on the stove.  As it simmered, it sent fragrant spumes of
steam into the air, filling the kitchen with its savory aroma.
Getting a large pot out, he filled it with water and turned the gas on
under it.  Setting the dry pasta by it, he opened the freezer and
pulled out half of a loaf of French bread.  Popping it into the
microwave, he nuked it until it was soft and flaky.  Cutting it into
slices, he spread butter and garlic over it.  He quickly slipped it
into the oven and then set the table.  Now everything was ready.
Glancing down at his watch, he saw that it was five-thirty.  His
mother would be home in thirty minutes. More or less.
Getting a bottle of white zinfandel out of the refrigerator, he poured
himself a glass.  
The apartment had a small fireplace, but they rarely used it because
of the cost of firewood.  But tonight, he had splurged and bought a
bundle of firewood out of his wages from working at the grocery store.
Mrs. Cline had sensed that tonight was somehow special and had even
given him a discount on the wood.  There was enough wood to last for
three or four hours, more than enough time for what he had planned.
Taking some of the wood out of the bundle, he crumpled paper under it
and soon had a cheery little fire going in the small fireplace.  
Just about everything was ready and in place.  All he needed now was
the key player in the melodrama.  The heroine.  Walking over to the
window, Brent parted the curtain ever so slightly.  Looking out into
the growing darkness, he waited, slowly sipping on the glass of wine.
The soft drizzle still fell, giving everything a fuzzy, out of focus
surrealism.
It was curious, but their roles had somehow gotten reversed.  Standing
looking out the window, he envisaged himself as a parent waiting for
his child to return from a date.  Would she be late?  How had it gone?
Had she gotten into more trouble?  Would she be grumpy when she got
home?  Maybe something had happened to drive her out of her depressed
state.
Finally a small, diminutive figure rounded the corner.  It was his
mother.  Huddled against the cold and drizzle, she slowly made her way
up the street toward their apartment.  The way she walked, Brent knew
that nothing had changed.  She reminded him of a whipped dog, slinking
home with her tail between her legs.  She looked beaten and cowed as
she slowly trudged up the street.  A tear trickled down his cheek as
he watched her.  He loved her so much.  He would do anything to make
her happy, again.  Anything.  He couldn’t explain the feeling in his
heart.  It ached.  Seeing her so depressed was almost too much to
bear.  Finally, he wiped the tear away and turned away from the
window.  What kind of god would put her through this, he wondered as
he skulked over to the stove.  
Picking up the pasta, he dumped it into the boiling water.  Then,
putting on a fake smile, he turned and faced the door.
He heard the rattle of her keys in the lock and then the door slowly
opened.
“Oh, Brent, Baby, I am so happy to see you,” she smiled tiredly when
she saw him standing at the stove.
“I missed you, too, Mom,” he smiled back at her stepping over and
helping her out of her coat.
“What a day,” she complained, as Brent carried her soaked coat into
the shower.
“I’m sorry you had such a bad day,” he yelled as he hung her coat by
his slicker.
“God, you don’t know how wonderful it feels to be with someone who
cares about you,” she told him as he came back into the kitchen.
Before he had a chance to do anything, she took him in her arms and
gave him a long, affectionate hug.
“Thank you for being here for me,” she whispered to him, “sometimes I
think you are the only thing keeping me from going crazy.”
“Aw, Mom,” he blushed, “you know I love you.”
“Yes, I do,” she smiled, stepping back away from him.  “And I love
you, too.”
“Oh, Honey, you are such an angel,” she murmured, “you didn’t have to
fix supper.”
“Mom,” he grumbled, “you know I fix supper for you every night.  You
work hard at your job.”
“But what about your life?” she asked him tiredly, walking over to the
sink and turning on the water, “Don’t you think I want you to have a
life, too?”
“Don’t worry about me, Mom.”
As she stood at the sink washing her hands, Brent wanted to take her
in his arms and just hold her.  Tell her that everything would be
okay.  He would take care of her.  All she needed to do was get over
her depression.
“In fact, since you are so worried about my social life,” he laughed
deceitfully, “I have a planned a grand evening for us.”
“Oh,” she smiled again, turning and facing him as she dried her hands
Her face, usually pale and smooth, was flushed from her walk in the
rain.
“What kind of plans?”
“Pasta, some bread, a little wine,” he said with a flourish, pointing
to the stove.
 “And then you can sit in front of the fire while I give you a
massage.”
“Thank you.”
“If only,” she said, her voice trailing off as she gazed at him.
“If only what?” He laughed innocuously.
“If only I could find a man that was as caring and considerate as
you,” she said softly, “I would marry him in a heartbeat.”
“Why?” He asked, “when you have me.”
“Yes, but,” she trailed off again.
“But, what?”
“Nothing, I was foolish to even think it.”
“What?”
“Nothing, dear, but one day you are going to make some woman an
absolutely wonderful husband.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, and I can only wish that I could find someone as caring and
sensitive as you.”
“You will, Mom, just you wait and see.”
“Sure,” she smiled bitterly, “I am sure I will.”
“You’ll see,” he said.
“Supper will be ready when you are,” he told her walking over to the
stove and stirring the sauce.
“Give me a few minutes to catch my breath,” she sighed, turning and
looking out the window at the soft, gentle rain falling outside.
Brent stood at the stove watching her as he stirred the bubbling
sauce.
Her legs beautiful and shapely arched down below the short skirt she
wore.  Her legs were made for high heels, he thought admiring them.
While she stood only five-foot four or five in heels, her striking
legs gave one the impression she was much taller.  Long and
sculptured, they seemed to go on forever before they disappeared up
under the hem of her skirt.
As he stood appreciating the beauty of her legs, she unbuttoned her
double breasted suit jacket and stepped back away from the sink.
“I’m going to freshen up a little before supper,” she smiled, reaching
up to the tight bun of hair sitting atop her head.
“Sure,” he smiled, watching her walk across the room and listening to
the clack of her high heels on the linoleum.  His eyes quickly found
the soft swell of her breasts jutting out against the white satin
material of her blouse as she walked toward him.  He watched them
jiggle softly with each step as she held her arms up working to loosen
the tight nest of tawny gold perched atop her head.
Like a cat, small and slinky, she past him.  As she did, his eyes
dipped down to the pleasing swell of her hips.  Full and rounded, her
hips swayed gently from side to side.  She filled out her skirt
beautifully, he lecherously thought to himself.
Turning his attention back to the twisting, churning pasta, he watched
it for several moments. It reminded him of his state of mind.
Flustered, he wondered if he should go on.  Was he going crazy?  Maybe
he was the one with the real problem, not her.  But he knew inside,
the predicament they were in involved both of them.  He had to do
something to stop the death spiral he and his mother were caught up
in.  Something had to be done.
Stirring the sauce, he wondered.  Was there another way?  Another way
to solve their dilemma?  She sounded so lonely.  But her definition of
lonely might be different from his.  To him, lonely meant the absence
of sharing sex with someone.  Probably from the female side, it meant
the lack of someone to talk to, to share things with, just to be with
someone.  But, he was there for her.  He was there for her to talk to,
share things with and be with, so there had to be more to her
loneliness.  Maybe she needed the intimacy of another kind of love, a
different love than the one they now shared.  A truly intimacy that
came only when two people shared everything.  Even their bodies.  He
and his mother loved each other.  About this, there was no doubt.  But
could they share this final bond?  Would it fuse their souls into a
marriage of love, or would it tear them apart? He had always felt
their love could transcend any adversity, but he was dangerously
putting it to the ultimate challenge.
“I’m back,” he heard her say.
Startled out of his reverie, he turned and saw her standing by the
table.  She had taken off her suit jacket and her heels.  Her long,
flaxen hair now cascaded down over her shoulders like a dark, tawny
waterfall.  She looked like a little child standing there.  Lost and
forlorn.
“Feels good to let my hair down,” she smiled.
“Looks good, too,” he complemented her.  “Have a seat and I’ll serve
you.”
“You are such a darling,” she smiled, sitting down and pouring herself
a glass of the tainted wine.  “Whatever would I do without you?”
“Maybe you’ll never have to find out,” he said almost under his
breath, knowing that the inference might be too obvious.
“Promises, promises,” she sighed, quickly gulping down the glass of
wine.
Brent felt a finger of fright tickle his belly as he watched her
refill her glass.  What if she fell asleep at the table?
“Uh, Mom, take it easy on the wine or you won’t enjoy supper.”
“Okay,” she murmured.
He quickly set her plate of pasta in front of her.  Looking down at
the plate of pasta with little tufts of steam rising from it, she
smiled.  
Happy to see she was pleased, Brent quickly fixed his own plate and
sat down with her.
“Aren’t you hungry?” He asked as he watched her daintily pick at her
dish.
“I’m sorry, Hon,” she murmured softly, “I’m just not hungry.”
“That’s okay,” he told her, refilling her glass with wine.
“Why don’t you go in and enjoy the fire while I clean up,” he smiled.
“You are a darling,” she sighed, slowly getting up and tiredly padding
out of the kitchen in her stocking feet.
He quickly cleared the table and stuffed the leftovers into the
refrigerator.  Picking up the almost empty bottle of merlot, he joined
his mother in the living room.
“Oh, My, Baby is here,” she smiled sleepily as he sat down beside her
on the couch.
“Are you okay?”
“Just a little sleepy, is all.”
“Well, why don’t you just relax and I’ll rub your feet.”
“Love to.”
He gently lifted her feet up into his lap.  He began to gently rub and
massage her small, soft feet as she stared longingly into the fire.
Listening to the faint crackle and pop of the wood in the fireplace,
he reveled in the feel of his fingers gliding over the soft silkiness
of her hose.
“Here, Mom, finish the last of the wine,” he told her as she took the
last sip from her glass.
“Kay,” she agreed.
Tipping the bottle up, he emptied it into her glass.
“Tates good,” she cooed tipsily.
Slowly rubbing her feet, Brent felt the muscles in her legs slowly
relaxing.
“Don’t spill the wine,” he warned her as he saw her head begin to nod.
“Won’t.”
“Drink it all up, Mom,” he urged her, seeing her head nod a second
time.
“Huh, uh, okay,” she mumbled sleepily, turning the glass up and
draining it.
Most of the wine went into her mouth, but some of it spilled out and
dripped down her chin onto her white satin blouse.  
“Whoops,” she laughed drunkenly.
“Give me the glass, Mom,” he told her, reaching over and taking it
from her.
“Tank ya,” she garbled.
“Its okay, just relax and enjoy, Mom,”
“Kay.”
Brent gently rubbed her feet for several minutes.
“So Lonely,” he heard her mumble as her chin slowly nodded down onto
her chest.
“Mom,” he said, “can you hear me?”
There was no response from her.
“Mom, can you hear me?” he said, louder, gently shaking her shoulder.
There was still no response from her.
“MOM, CAN YOU HEAR ME?
Nothing.
Slowly, he moved his hand up her leg.  Over the slight knob of her
ankle. Nothing.  Up the tapered swell of her calf.  Still no movement
from her.  His fingers delicately skimmed over her knee, but still she
didn’t move.
Then he tickled the sole of her foot with his other hand.  She was
always ticklish there, but now it had no effect.  She was definitely
out of it.
Slowly, Brent eased out from under her feet, easing them back down
onto the couch.  Picking up his glass of wine, he took a sip as he
walked over to the window.  Looking out, he saw that the mist had
given way to fog.  He could scarcely see across the street now.  The
whole world seemed to be was closing in on him.  Standing there,
looking out into the blurred night, he wondered if it was an omen.
Everything in his life now seemed fuzzy and out of focus.  What was he
doing?  He knew that he was about to do something from which he
couldn’t recant.  Once he had stepped over that line, he was doomed to
the fate he had chosen.  No one could ever expunge the act from his
past.  The fever in his mind was burning out of control and the fire
in his loin raged higher and higher.
Tossing the last swallow wine down, he turned and looked at his mother
sprawled out on the couch.
In his eyes, she was the most beautiful woman in the world.
In sleep, her cherubic face didn’t show the lines of stress that were
there when she was awake.  Now she seemed at peace with her world.    
His feet felt like they were nailed to the floor. Straining, he was
finally able to take a step back toward the couch.  Now it seemed as
if his feet were mired in cement as he slowly trudged to the couch.
Stopping, he paused to let his conscience present its final argument.
But the verdict was already in and he slowly reached down and gently
lifted his mother into his arms.  She seemed as light as a feather as
he held her in his arms.  She didn’t move as he carried her into his
bedroom.
Bending down, he let her slip from his arms onto the bed.  Looking
down at her, he realized that the demon inside his head had lied to
him.  His concern about his mother’s condition had only been a ruse.
Now the only thing that mattered was the gratification of the monster
down below his waist.  
He had watched his mother spiral deeper down into her depression every
day.  As he had, it had called for him to expend more and more energy
to protect her from the outside world and herself.  He had gotten
caught up in the whorl of emotions that swirled around them like some
evil, consuming tornado.  The more depressed she became, the more
dominant he had become.  With dominance came power.  Now, he, as her
protector, he found himself unable to save her from his own
indecencies.  The tornadic chaos of love and desire had drawn him into
its fatal influence.  Now he knew he had no power to stop his headlong
rush from maternal love down the path to the forbidden love, the
illicit love, the Incestual love of a boy for his mother.  He had to
extinguish the fires that burned in his groin no matter what the
consequences.  Even if it drove his mother insane in the process.  
Tears ran down his cheeks as he slowly began to unbutton her blouse.
With fingers numbed by desire, he fumbled and struggled with each
button.  One by one, the buttons slipped out of their button holes,
until at last, her blouse was unbuttoned.
He stopped and wiped the tears from his cheek.
Then, breathlessly he deliberately spread the white satin blouse open.
Below it, a frilly, lace brassiere covered her breasts.  Her breasts,
soft and white were girdled inside a lacy white demi-bra.  The
brassiere cradled the base of her breasts, forcing the soft, pliant
flesh up and together.  The flowery design on the bra stopped just
above her areola, leaving the sloping swell of the top of her breasts
bare.  Running his eyes over her brassiere, he saw that the closure of
her brassiere was in the front, between her breasts and covered with a
tiny, ribbon bowtie.  
Like a child on Christmas morning, he tentatively fingered the clasp.
With bated breath, he slowly eased the clasp open.  As he did, the bra
sprang apart.  Tremulously, he lifted the halves of lace and
embroidery and lifted them away from her breasts.
Her breasts were beautiful.  It was difficult to tell their actual
size because she was lying on her back, but it wouldn’t have mattered
what size they were.  He just sat there letting his eyes roam over
them, drinking in their beauty.  From the rising slope of the top down
to the soft, swollen bulge of flesh below.  They weren’t large and age
had stolen most of their jut, but they were still beautiful in his
eyes.  The dainty areola was a pretty pink, almost a shocking pink in
comparison to the dusky darkness of most women her age, he thought.
At least in all of the pictures he had seen of older women, they had
dark cups of flesh surrounding their nipples.  And her nipples were
small, round pink little pearls of flesh.  With a trembling finger, he
gently touched one delicate fleshy pea.  It was soft and springy to
the touch and sent sparks of excitement tingling through his finger. 
He gently cupped both of her breasts, reveling in their soft
resiliency.  The indecent excitement of fondling his mother’s
beautiful breasts was sending shock waves through his painfully
throbbing cock.  
Standing up and backing away from the bed, he quickly stripped his
shirt off.  Then he fumbled with his belt buckle.  It seemed to take
forever to get it unbuckled.  With fingers deadened by excitement, he
frantically unsnapped his pants and jerked the zipper down.  Hooking
his thumbs under his pants, he furiously shoved his pants and shorts
down, freeing his rigid cock.  It sprang forward in all of its glory.
A full, hard seven inches of granite maleness, ripe and charged with
impatience.  
Afraid to touch it for fear it would explode in his hand, he hastily
kicked his pants and short off and then toed his shoes and socks off.

Shivering with urgency, he leaned down and slipped one hand under his
mother’s back.  Gently lifting her upper torso, he quickly peeled her
blouse and brassiere of one shoulder and then the other.  As he
lowered her back to the bed, he watched her soft breasts wiggle and
undulate sexily, flicking the little ball nipple back and forth lazily
as it did.
The monster below was growing more and more impatient as he fumbled
with the catch of her short, clinging skirt.  It took several moments,
but it finally popped open.  Anxiously, he inched her dress down her
beautifully tapered legs.  Down her soft, creamy thighs, over her
lovely rounded knees, down over the swell of her calves, past the
taper of her pretty ankles and finally over her small, dainty feet.
Dropping it to the floor, he could now see the triangle of golden
curls matted down at the base of her stomach underneath the sheer,
silkiness of her panty hose.  Another blast of fiery fervor scorched
his cock and balls and he ogled the forbidden valley of her womanhood.
Now only one last barrier lay between him and the object of his
desire, he thought as he gently eased his fingers under the tight,
cleaving waistband of her pantyhose.  Ever so delicately, he peeled
the clinging, silky hose down off the tumescence of her belly.  Softly
rounded by age and lack of exercise, her belly quivered and jiggled
slightly as he slipped the hose down around her hips.  Now the patch
of soft, golden curls covering her womanhood was bared.  Shivering at
the erotic gravity of the moment, he pulled the stretchy, clingy nylon
lower and lower until at last, he slipped the shriveled expanse of
nylon off over her feet.
Dropping her hose, he leaned back.  She was naked.  His mother was
lying before him completely unclothed.  Nude.  Stripped.  Defenseless
and vulnerable.  Gulping loudly, trying to swallow the lump in his
throat, he stared down at her.  Her beauty was even more radiant now
that it was openly displayed.  It almost took his breath away.
Gently, he reached down and lovingly caressed her soft, downy thigh.
Her skin was soft and warm to the touch.  His cock was bobbing up and
down dangerously as he slowly slid his hands down between her shapely
legs.
Another shiver of expectancy shook his body as he deliberately began
easing her legs apart.  Inch by inch, he spread them wider and wider
as he gazed down at the spectacle unfolding before his eyes.  At
first, the fold of soft, pink flesh nestled in the center of the
forest of soft, golden hairs was just a long, fold of pink flesh.
Then as her legs slowly parted, the fleshy gash between her legs began
to open.  Like a beautiful pink rose blossom, her womanhood slowly
unfolded itself revealing the delicate softness inside the thick,
bloated lips encircling it.  
Brent could only stare at the exquisite gorge of delicate, pink flesh
glistening in the soft light of the room.  His mouth went dry and his
heart began to pound so furiously, he thought it would burst from his
chest at any moment.  Or, it would just stop working.  Never, had he
felt such erotic desire.  Now the beautiful fleshy wound of her vagina
gaped open, fully unfurled for his scrutiny.  Mindlessly, he felt
himself being drawn down toward it by some irresistible attraction.
He was powerless to resist its captivating enticement.
Crawling up on the bed, he never took his eyes off the delicate, pink
chasm of flesh between her legs.  Slowly, he knelt down between her
soft, inner thighs.  Now his face was only inches from the very core
of her womanhood.  Inhaling deeply through his nose, he groveled in
the heavy musk of her sex as it floated up from her exposed
femininity.  Another shudder of perversity ran through his body as he
gradually inched closer and closer to the hot, glistening gate to her
forbidden sanctuary.  Now he could feel the hot, damp heat radiating
from it as he opened his mouth.  Tentatively, he gently ran his tongue
over the soft, limp lips of her womanhood for several seconds.  Then,
he inched his tongue higher, tenderly probing the soft, fleshy cave
that concealed her clitoris.  Then he felt an almost imperceptible
shiver of her hips as the tip of his tongue found the hard little knot
of her clitoris.
A shock shot through his body as he jerked his head up away from her
crotch.  Looking up at her face, he could detect no difference in her
appearance.  She still lay with her mouth open slightly, softly
wheezing as she slept.
Relieved, he slowly lowered his mouth back down to the fleshy gash of
her vagina, exulting in the raw aroma of her sex.
Ablaze with desire, he pushed his face down into the hot, wetness of
her vagina.  Rubbing his face in her sex, he lapped at her wet
sweetness.  Round and round, he ground his face into her pussy never
wanting to stop.  Finally, to catch his breath, he lifted his face up
from the hot wetness of her womanhood.  He could feel the warm
stickiness of her wetness coating his face from his chin up to his
nose.
His very psyche was reeking of her sex as he rose to his hands and
knees above her.  Looking down, he saw his thick, heavy cock bounce up
and down malignantly above the wet, waiting opening of his mother’s
vagina.
The final moments crept by.  The time was at hand.  He could feel the
passion coursing through him as he prepared to desecrate the temple of
his creation.  Reaching down, he delicately wrapped his hand around
the barrel of his loaded gun.  His emotions were running unbridled and
he could already feel the precursory tickle of an imminent upheaval in
his scrotum.  Crazily, he slowly forced his unrelenting hardness down
toward the waiting grave of his innocence.
Then he felt the great swollen head of his cock touch the soft, limp
folds of flesh surrounding her pussy.  Ever so gently, he drug the
head of his cock up and down the slippery furrow of her sex.  
All thoughts of bringing her out of her depression were now gone.
Only one thing mattered.  His own liberation from the spell cast by
the monster he held in his hand.  It had to gorge itself on her flesh,
the flesh of his own mother to satiate its disgusting craving.
The head of his cock was soon coated with the warm juices of her
womanhood.  He was ready as she unwittingly waited to accept him in
unholy matrimony.  Slowly, gently he began the consummation of their
incestuous marriage as he slipped the hot, throbbing, head of his
penis down into her flaming, burning ring of fire. The soft, clinging
heat of her vagina slowly enveloped his hard, thrusting maleness as he
gently, lovingly eased it down into her inch by painful inch.  
Looking down into her face, he could see no hint of consciousness.
She continued to sleep the sleep of the dead.
Calling on the last vestiges of his will power, he fought to contain
the growing  urgency in his balls.  The writhing, bubbling reservoir
of semen was threatening to boil over at any second as he continued to
ease his cock down into her.  He had never felt such passion.  It was
as if his whole body was sliding down into her tight, sucking cunt.
While the depraved excitement coursing through his body magnified his
cock to the size of King Kong’s huge cock, his mother’s vagina became
a bottomless pit of hot, simmering meat.  Deeper and deeper into the
forbidden depths of her pussy and depravity knifed his cock.  The
battle to control his eruption was growing futile.  It was like trying
to hold back a tidal wave of frothing, boiling manlava.  
Then his heavy, full balls touched the soft valley of her upturned
buttocks.  As they did, he felt his belly grind down onto her soft,
yielding belly.  He was totally immersed inside her holiest of holies.
They were one.  He was completely buried inside the churning, burning
garden of his creator.  He was inside his mother.
It came boiling out of his loin like an eruption of flesh-eating lava.
It tore through his cock, blistering the delicate tissue inside as it
gushed forth.
“GGGGAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWDDDDDDDD!” he screamed as a gigantic geyser of
white-hot semen spurted out of his convulsing penis into the tight,
clutching confines of her vagina.  Then he felt a ripple of movement
course through her cunt as her autonomic nervous system fired off.
Staring down at her face, he didn’t see any hint of consciousness as
his cock bucked and sent a second gusher of frothy cum spewing out
into her.  As the walls of her vagina were bathed with the
incandescent heat of his semen, her cunt clutched at him, milking him.
Even unconscious, her sexuality exhibited itself through the
involuntary embrace of her cunt on his penis.  The past, present, and
future poured out of his jerking, spurting penis.  Life ceased to
exist.  He was one, giant, spouting, exploding penis spilling out its
deadly seed onto the fleshy garden that had once nourished him.  There
would be no need for further life, if he could impregnate her in this
one, glorified blast of unbridled passion.  Recreated within his
mother’s womb, he could want for no more.  He must empty himself into
the fiery recesses of his creator.  Fill her fertile loins with his
seed laden milt.  Then as he his cannon recoiled and fired its last
broadside into her, he felt the overflow gush out of her.  It spewed
out, running down and coating his dangling balls with his own hot goo.

Then the room grew dark and he felt himself being pulled down.  His
whole body was being sucked down into his mother’s hot, whorling hole.
Suddenly, he was immersed in darkness.  For a moment, he had no
feeling.  Then he found himself swimming in a great pool of sex.
Flicking his long reptilian tail, he swam and searched the dark waters
for her signal.  Suddenly, he became aware of the others.  Hundreds,
thousands, millions of them, just like him.  All searching for the one
Her.  But, he had to be the one to impale her.  The one to drive his
barbed manhood deep into the ovarian core of her essence and join with
her to create anew.  Then he sensed it. At first only a faint whiff of
her acquiescence.  Whipping his tail angrily, he searched the seas for
the musky trail of her cry to him.  Then it came to him, stronger and
more powerful.  Like a siren song, it drew him to her.  Closer and
closer.  Then he saw her...
With a start, Brent awoke.  He was sweating profusely.  He was still
atop his mother with her warm, softness cushioning his body.  He
realized that they were no longer one, though.  His cock, shriveled
and shrunken had slipped out of her and now limply hung down between
her soft, smooth thighs.  Grunting, he rolled off her.  There was no
indication that she was alive except for the steady, even rise and
fall of her chest.
Reaching out, he gently shook her shoulder, watching her small, soft
breasts quiver like bowls of pink Jell-O.  She didn’t move.
Rolling over, he sat up.  Looking at his watch, he saw that it was
four o’clock.  Getting up, he padded into the bathroom.  Standing at
the commode, he aimed his flaccid prick down at the round hole and
began to pee.  In the quiet stillness of the apartment, the sound of
his urine splashing into the water was almost deafening.  
Finished, he headed back toward his bedroom, stopping to look out a
window.  The fog was even thicker than it was earlier.  Not
surprising, no one was stirring in the early morning stillness.
Looking out into the living room, he saw that the fire was gone in the
fireplace leaving only a few glowing coals.  Then he saw their clothes
strown all over the couch and floor.  He quickly gathered them up and
folded his mother’s.  Taking them to her room, he laid them down on
her dresser.
Returning to his bedroom, he saw that his mother still hadn’t moved.
She still lay on her back with her legs spread wide apart as if
waiting for the return of her lover.  His eyes were immediately drawn
down to the great, gaping wound between her legs.  He felt another
tickle of excitement sparkle through his penis.  Crawling up on the
bed, he sat down between her outstretched legs.  He could feel his
maleness slowly growing hard as he stared down at the weeping gash of
soft, pink flesh dissecting softness of her underbelly.  
The earlier violation of her sanctity had only heightened his need for
her.  He was now totally and hopelessly addicted to the elation of
pleasure and power he had experienced.  Salivating at the thought of
possessing her a second time, he slowly stroked himself to hardness.  
Hard and ripe once again, he scrambled up to his hands and knees.
Quickly shuffling up between the soft whiteness of her long legs, he
took hold of his jutting malignancy and guided it down to the drooling
opening of her sex.  Shivering with a flush of pleasure, he eagerly
slid his rigid manhood down into her hot wetness.  
Thrusting into her, he drove himself into her all the way to the hilt.
Once buried inside of her, he held himself motionless, deep inside the
simmering, steamy core of her femininity.  The aphrodisiac of power
was driving him mad with passion as he willfully imposed his will on
her once again  She was completely defenseless against his attack.
Leering to himself, he slowly began to slide his cock in and out of
her vulnerability.  Locking his elbows, he hovered above her, rocking
his hips back and forth, fucking her with long, deep strokes.  Driving
himself all the way up to the hilt with every powerful thrust, he
gloried in the soft heat of her clutching, clinging cunt.
In and out, in and out, he plowed her fertile garden with his staff
feeling the growing tension inside his swinging testicles as they
slapped against her soft, warm buttocks.  The bed rocked wildly under
them as he roughly fucked her.
It was almost too much to fathom.  He was fucking his mother for the
second time.  But as he did, down deep inside, he felt guilt begin to
eat at him.  Still it didn’t stop him from pounding his cock into her
again and again.  Slowly the crescendo of excitement grew and he felt
the pre-ejaculatory tickle emanating from his swinging balls.  Panting
and gasping for breath, he fucked her harder and harder.  Her body was
sloshing back and forth like dead meat under his attack.
He clawed his way closer and closer to the summit until at last he
growled out in exultation.
“FUUUKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!”, he groaned as his hips lurched forward
driving his spurting cock deep inside of her.
Once again, her sacred temple was filled with his thick potency as his
prick jerked and spewed out thick, gummy gobs of cum into her.  Time
after time, it lurched and spit out its lethal load into her.  As
before, she was soon overflowing with his glutinous virility.  Even
then, his cock continued to hammer away at her. 
 Finally, his cock shuddered and stopped firing off inside her.  
Within seconds, he felt his cock begin to shrivel and shrink back down
the drenched channel of her womanhood.  He had filled her delightful
chamber for the second time.
Shamefully, he slowly pulled his cock out of her and rolled away from
her.  What kind of monster fucks his mother while she is drugged, he
asked himself.  In the cold, glare of post-coital apathy, he knew he
had committed a grievous sin.  He had committed the evilest of evils.
He had desecrated his own birthplace.  He had planted  his own
poisonous seeds in the forbidden garden.  He had eaten of the
forbidden fruit and was now filled with shame and disgust.  
Tears swelled from his eyes as he began to cry.  His sobs shook the
bed as he cried out his pain and disgrace.  Still his mother slept as
he cried himself to sleep beside her.
He awoke with a start.  As he slowly opened his eyes, he saw that his
room was filled with soft, hazy light.  The fog must still be hanging
on, he thought dully.  Stretching, his hand brushed up against warmth.
What? Then he remembered.  Oh, God.  He had really done it.  He had
fucked his mother.  No, he had raped her.  It had been the same as
rape.  She had been powerless to stop him.  Now he would have to pay
for his heinous crime.  Slowly, he turned his head toward her.  
Her iridescent blue eyes stared at him with glassy-eyed incredulity.
“What have you done?” she whispered, her voice quavering as her
beautiful face twisted in anguish...

The End of Part One...

Hope that you enjoyed the first part...More to follow...

The Baron...( ; - { )