A Taste of Incest - Spirits

"Sounds like a plan." She pulled my mouth to hers again. "A good plan. And then?"

"And then we figure out what's next. It's too early to think now. I need breakfast, coffee, a good dose of sunshine, some hot music, and a brain transplant, that's all."

"Yeah, you're not bad for a little brother. Let's get out of here."

We crept back through the remains of Patty's condo over piles of naked bodies in various states of consciousness and involvement. Some of them were rather tightly involved, all right. Some were even moving.

We peeked into Patty's bedroom. It looked like a seven-plex now; I could not tell if Patty was in there. Damn, she knew how to throw parties!

-----

"And that's how Felicia and I got together," Franz said. He took another hit from the pipe. "And I guess we'll stay together for a while." He looked down fondly at his naked big sister casually blowing him. "Yeah, for a while. It's all good. Umm, excuse me for a minute." He laid back, eyes closed. Felicia dragged a wet, sloppy climax from him. "Unh, unh, oh, oh fuck, yeah... ahhhhh..."

Sara stirred in Steve's lap and lazily looked at their host Nathan. His partner Kamala's head was in his lap. Kamala was busy. Sara turned and watched various sexual activites around the campfire. She turned back to Nathan. His eyes were open, watching her, measuring her.

"So Nate, how come we're all so wild tonight? Telling these stories and living them right out in front of everyone? Did you slip something into our food? Hey, and it's all incest all the time! Are we all a bunch of pervs? Everyone but me, I mean?" Well, me too, she thought, wriggling on her cousin's cock.

Nathan smiled. "One word: Candyland. The Candyland pot my friend Trill grows, and she's a licensed medicinal producer, it's special stuff, no shit. Like Patty's absinthe-plus, it is... potentiated. Trill calls it aphrodisiac, hypnotic, euphoric, telepathic, energetic, and transformative.

"It's also a bit of a truth serum. It's hard to tell lies when you've smoked it. It's easy to tell if someone else is lying. It makes you feel good, and horny, and energized, not dopey. And it's all natural, no gene-splicing or -modding, no added chemicals. She just knows how to get the plants to grow the right cannabinoids and terpenoids. Mmmm... ah..."

"Awesome," Sara said. "And this is medical- or consumer-grade?"

"No, you won't find Candyland in dispensaries. Trill saves it for special friends and parties. Like here, tonight. Oh, wait, Kamala's almost got me... ah, yes... unh!"

Kamala sucked Nate dry. She raised her head and smirked.

"Only one way to shut up this guy. And I have to shut him up a LOT. Woman's work is never done." She licked her lips and then licked Nate's cock again. He groaned.

Kamala sat up.

"Pass me the pipe, please. Mmmm..." She inhaled deeply and lay back. She coughed and sat up again. "I really love this Candyland stuff. Hey, is anybody asleep here?" She put her fingers to her lips and blew a piercing whistle.

Bodies in various states of undress had stopped writhing and bumping. Some were even sitting. All eyes turned on Kamala.

"Good. Now that I have your attention, it's time for my story. It's not like what you've already heard."

----- KAMALA'S TALE -----

This was before I knew Nathan. I know some of you do not know me too well, so here is some background. I was once young and stupid. (Voices of dissent and disagreement emerged from the listeners.) No, really. What's the saying? "Young girls, like butterlfies, need no reason." That was me. I was a wild young thing and my folks... well, I was just too much for them. For almost anybody.

Even for Byron. Damn, he was a beautiful boy! And I loved him, sort of, and he loved me, sort of, and we fucked freely, really, and BANG! We are sixteen and I am pregnant. In Spanish it's embarazada, very embarrased. That was me.

But I was too much for Byron. He dropped out of school and ran away. Nobody in town ever admitted hearing from him again.

My parents gave me a choice. I had three options. Abortion. Or abandonment, just go away and never bother them again. Or... arranged marriage, to Dad's younger stepbrother Ashoka, my own Uncle Ash.

It all sucked. I wanted to die. But I could not. No, I could not do anything to hurt my unborn baby. So I married Uncle Ash. It took a while to stop calling him Uncle.

Ash looked a lot like me. Not too tall, not too dark, not too ugly. Not that we looked like close kin or anything. But it's a good thing Byron was a dashing Black Irish guy. The baby looked as if Ash could have been the father, sort of. And Ash was not horribly older than me although it seemed so at the time. I was sixteen and he was twenty-eight. Way too old for me, I thought. But I really had no choice.

Ash was not a bad man. He worked hard and made good money. He was kind to me, gave me whatever I wanted if we could afford it. I learned not to want costly crazy stuff. I had never been greedy for anything except fun and love.

But fun and love were exactly what Ash could NOT give me. He never touched me, never molested me. He had no sexual interest in me. He was strictly gay.

I poured out my heart to my best friend Alysha.

"Ally, it's crazy. I'm going to be a good wife for a man who only needs a wife as cover. I'm going to give a son to a man who only needs children for decoration. I'll be a good wife and mother and I'll go nowhere. At least he supports me in taking classes, getting an education, so I won't just another, another... I don't know. What would I be?"

"You would be lonely, Kammy. Very lonely. Your son will be born when, in three months? You will be busy with the baby for years. You'll still take classes?"

"Yes, I must. I must change my dreams, but I must still dream, and study, and know how to work and be in the world. Ash needs an educated woman to run his household, and he knows it, and is totally supportive. I'll just need to work twice as hard as an ordinary housewife."

"You know I'll always be here for you. I'll help you study. I'll help with the baby when I can, but I'll be busy with school a lot. Have you asked Ash about getting outside help? Maybe a housemaid? You won't have to worry about him screwing the help, will you, HA! Unless he get a houseboy."

"No, no houseboy. Ash is quite discreet. And yes, we've talked about getting me help, a live-in housekeeper who can also help me study. Just as long as she doesn't cost too much."

Ash and I worked out the household situation. I bloated up like a balloon in my last months, of course, but Kendra the housemaid was so much help!

And Jayant was such a beautiful baby!

It was not a long labor, not too painful. Alysha was there for me, and my mother, and even Ash. My father was nowhere near. He mostly avoided me, even after the marriage. I know he was quietly ashamed of me.

Jay was a wonderful child. Yes, he had his problems, and so did I, and my emotions were not always under control, but I was very careful not to be negative on the outside, not to show anything to Ash or to the world. I sometimes felt things eating away inside me. I hid those things, mostly.

Even with Kendra helping (and she became more of a sister than an employee) I was fully occupied at home until Jay left for pre-school. Kendra and I did all the housework and she was a wizard at helping me study. I did all I could to be a good wife for Ash when he was home.

Ash was often not home. His work (he was a software consultant) took him all over the country, sometimes around the world. He never brought troubles home with him. He never brought boyfriends into our part of the house. There was a separate unit attached to the house, with its own entrance and kitchen and everything. Ash entertained there. Never too loud, never too drunk. Never disrupting home.

Home. For all the energy in it, it was a lonely home.

Once Jay started elementary school, I took classes at college. I was the same age as unmarried students so I fit right in. I made friends, many girls, some boys. Some boys wanted me even though I was married. And I wanted some boys, even though I was married. Especially since I was married to Ash.

I played with some boys. I did not feel guilty; Ash played with boys too. But I had to be extra discreet, extra careful. Even though I would have loved more children, and I know my mother and maybe my father would like more grandchildren, they were not an option. I had to strenuously avoid pregnancy.

Guys fucked my face and my ass. I tired of this after a while. I had no desire for women -- Kendra and I were sisters, not lovers -- and I would not bring men home, nor spend nights away from home.

I discovered porn tapes and sex toys and lubricants. I became my only lover.

This is the world in which I raised Jay, a world with two mothers (almost) and a rarely seen father (almost). With a birth mother who would not find outside love (almost). A rich world. The suburban American dream on steroids, with a twist.

Jay was just another American boy. He did well in school studies and school sports and after-school activities. He played football and trombone and chess and hookey when he could get away with it. He made bad friends and watched bad TV and movies when he could get away with them. But police never had to bring him home.

Kendra was his second mother until he entered middle school. She moved on then.

Ash only came home on odd occasions. He did not bother me with his personal life. But Jay seemed okay with a mostly-absent non-father.

Jay was a heartbreaker as he grew up. Girls swarmed to him. If he got any into trouble, we never knew about it. He was on his high school football team so he certainly had the opportunity. But he graduated with no paternity charges and no shotgun-carrying fathers following him.

Jay entered the local college with a full scholarship. In engineering, of course. He worked hard and played hard and was again chased by girls but he did not bring them home. He was always so polite. But he was growing distant.

I grew also. I took my degree in literature, and advanced degrees, and writing workshops and seminars. I had no intention of teaching or working in publishing. Instead, I wrote magazine articles and silly books. I could do this at home and travel when I needed but I was always the mother, the housewife (with hardly a husband), the anchor. I did not need the income because Ash was a generous provider. But it gave me a semblance of independence and autonomy.

--

Enough background. Here is the story. It is not too long.

It was a Hallowe'en night. Our neighborhood was aswarm with trick-or-treaters, same as every year, and I set out the candy and decorations, same as every year. Jay had stopped trick-or-treating when he started high school; he thought it childlike. And he never liked just handing out candy. So, this was my own activity.

It was late. The doorbell had stopped ringing. I turned off the lights and put away the last of the candy and debris.

I was tired. I was horny. I changed into a light, thin, very short robe, and I picked out some of my favorite porn videos to watch. I drank a glass of cranberry vodka -- and I was going to drink more, and lube my favorite toys, and drive myself to the best orgasms I could, as many as I could. My fingers and vibrators would do the walking and my thirty-five-year-old pussy would do the talking.

I had just switched off my bedroom lights, plopped myself on my bed, and grabbed the video remote control, when I heard a noise in the front room. What could it be? I rolled out of bed and picked up the pistol I keep in my bedstand. I peeked out my door.

"Hey Mom, you home? C'mon, be home!"

It was Jay! He wore his Count Dracula costume; quite dignified. But what was he doing here? I knew he planned to be at late late parties.

"Jay! Why are you--"

"Oh, it was a bore. It was all a bore. I couldn't take it any more."

"Just boring, is that all? Did you maybe have fights with your friends or girlfriends?"

"No, no fights. They're just all so boring. All the guys are morons. All the girls are sluts or princesses or frigid or dykes. None of them are as interesting as you." He hugged me.

What, were my ears working right? Jay never talked like this! He always said how much fun he had at school and with his friends; he never called them names and he never swore. And he said he felt confined here at home. Since he started college, he only came home to sleep, and not always then. At least he came back for meals every now and then.

"Are you drunk or high or something?" I sniffed him as he held me. "No, not that I can smell. What's got into you?"

And what was getting into me? I had been horny before Jay came home. I was even hornier now.

"They're just not, not... they're all so provincial and narrow. School, games, drugs, drinking, bullshitting. Nothing real, Mom. Not like you're real." He hugged me tighter.

I felt strange. I felt... excited. Excited by my son! Maybe it was the vodka talking.

Jay let me go and ditched his costume, piece by piece, almost like doing a male strip tease. Off came the hand-knotted bow tie, tossed over his shoulder. Off came the black suit jacket, twirled around his head and thrown aside. The braces snapped off and slingshotted into a corner. Jay subtly danced as he disrobed. Bend over to untie his shoes, then kick them across the room, and keep kicking. Reach down and discard the black socks. Untie the cummerbund and drop it to the floor.

He reached for his belt.

I opened my mouth. "Hold it right there, young man, that's about enough..." is what I intended to say. Something made me hold my tongue. My mouth stayed open. I felt myself panting like a bitch dog in heat. What was happening?

The belt slipped from its straps; Jay snapped it like a whip before tossing it aside.

He teasingly spun while unbuttoning his ruffled-lace shirt, bottom to top. Undone, he slipped it off one arm and then the other. He twirled it as he had the jacket and sent it away with the same studied nonchalance.

Jay wore no undershirt. His well-muscled athletic body, the magnet for so many cheerleaders and hormone-driven teenybopper butterflies, gleamed with a light sheen of perspiration. He stood unmoving except to twitch his muscles.

My son looked like a god. I felt my pussy flood as my eyes devoured him. Oh shit.

He lazily spun again. His hands worked at the front of his suit trousers. Pop the button. Lower the zipper. Push at the waist. Drop the trousers to the floor. Step out of them, leaving only op-art boxer shorts, thin shorts that did nothing to hide his erection. A large erection. A beautiful erection, revealed when the boxers obeyed gravity and fell to his feet. He kicked them aside. He stood naked before me.

My mouth opened wider, I know. My breath grew shallower and faster. My skin flushed. I sweated. I dripped. I flooded. I wanted nothing more than... my son.

My son moved to me gradually, ever so slowly. He took my arms and drew me to him. His hands reached to the cord holding my thin robe shut and untied it. He held the lapels of my thin robe and pulled it from me. I stood naked before him.

"I love you, Mom," he said, and held my head in his hands, and kissed me.

Jay took me in his arms. I collapsed into him. His erection pressed into my groin. I felt the heat, the strength, the steel in him. I felt the weakness in me. I puddled.

Jay picked me up and carried me like a child. I had no idea he was this strong! He gently laid me on my bed and lay beside me. He hands stroked my body -- my legs and hips and belly and breasts and shoulder and arms and back to my breasts. He put his mouth to my nipple and suckled. Oh god! Oh joy! Oh oh... And then my other nipple, while his fingers softly rolled the first. Oh fuck!

My almost-adult son worshipped my breasts for an eternity before he moved between my legs and spread them. He kissed my mouth and stroked my inner thighs. He crouched over me and aimed his erection at my soggy vagina and entered me.

I thought I would be disappointed at the lack of oral stimulation. I'd had enough sort-of-competent lovers in my youth, and seen enough ordinary porn videos, and read (and written!) enough erotic fiction to know the routine. I expected his tongue in my pussy and his cock in my mouth, maybe at the same time. I thought he was rushing into copulation.

I was wrong. I was not disappointed. His cock slid into me like a magic wand. His glans caressed my labia and said hello to my inner muscles and did not quite tickle my cervix. His cock radiated heat and strength and need and determination and love. His cock filled me as I had not been filled since he left my womb.

He stroked long and slow. Every stroke was a miracle. He sped up and worked me like a pleasure machine. Every stroke was a short blast of joy. He paused to change angles, pulling my legs up, moving so his shaft brushed my super-sensitive clitoris continuously. Every stroke was an explosion of rapture. He sped up again and pounded me, pistoning in and out of me, relentless, irresistable. Every stroke... merged together, into a never-ending bolt of ecstatic electricity.

And he talked to me.

"THIS is what's real, Mom! THIS is what's true! THIS is why I love you! THIS! And THIS! And..." His words degenerated into animal grunts, and then a howling.

I heard screaming. My foggy mind wondered, who could that be? It was me.

I have climaxed before, many times before, in the last two decades. I had never cum like THIS before! So burning! So enveloping! So long! An infinite orgasm!

Jay slowed but did not stop. My breathing decelerated from hyperventilation to mere uncontrolled gasping. I cooled, but quickly heated again when he resumed pumping harder, faster, more intently.

And his voice resumed. "THIS! And THIS! And THIS! I love you, Mom! THIS! And..." My repeated screams masked his words.

I do not know how long he kept at me. He moved my legs again, first atop his shoulders, then flexed at the knees and pressed against his chest so I was bent nearly double. He pounded again. My cunt exploded again. I screamed again, again...

Stopping was almost a relief. The relief was brief.

My son pulled his penis from my vagina, from the vagina that had delivered him to this world, half my lifetime ago. I flopped limply. But then he flipped me over and raised me onto my knees with my butt up, what they call doggy posture, and entered me again. He leaned over me and kissed my neck and held my breasts and whispered in my ear, words I understood but cannot repeat.

And he pounded me. Oh fuck, he pounded me! He fucked me like a dog, like an animal, like the human animal I was and am. While he lovingly and brutally assaulted me from behind, I twiddled my clit. I came and came and came.

Jay was relentless. He held my hips firmly to steady me and provide a ready target for his attack. My buttocks were his punching bag. His thighs pounding against me were his gloved fists. And his ramrod cock -- was a god.

We know of many gods, gods good or bad or indifferent or playful or crafty or stupid or insane or transparent. We know of gods that create and/or destroy and/or do not give a shit. And some gods fuck. My son's cock was a fucking god.

This god had delivered pleasure but nothing else, not yet. My son had not cum.

Jay turned over me again, and nestled between my thighs, and entered me, and pushed my legs up, and machinegunned me into another continuous orgasm train. I screamed into his body. My face was against his chest. His left nipple was at my mouth. I sucked on him, and bit.

And he came.

I had felt semen in my pussy long ago in the months before Jay was born. Those splashes of semen were the cause of his existence. Semen in my pussy felt good -- I can remember that, even though it has been so long.