Beyond the Borderline Bk. 02

"Fuck me hard, sweetie. Fuck your mother hard, son."

Mom's passion was incendiary; she was as aroused as I've ever seen her. Something about that other incestuous couple, combined with her already heightened pregnancy-related baseline horniness had wound her up into a cyclone of desire. Grabbing my buttocks, nails digging sharply into my skin, she urged me inwards. "Come on lover, give me ALL of that wonderful cock. I need every inch, baby!"

As I began stroking in earnest, Mom arched her back slightly and pushed her pelvis out to meet me, bracing her hands out to her sides to better thrust, her head thrown back, eyes closed and mouth open. We quickly settled into a fast, take no prisoners rhythm, cock and cunt squishing, flesh slapping loudly - a truly lusty, hard fuck with a single mutual goal - explosive orgasm as quickly as possible.

"Ahhh, that's it baby, take care of Mommy. Your cock feels so good inside me," she crooned, her baby bump pushing against my abdomen.

"Fuck, Mom, you feel so hot, so tight," I moaned.

Circling my hands around to the small of her back, I slid her forward to the very edge of the desk to increase our contact, rooting myself as deeply as I could inside her, grinding and alternately pushing myself in to the last possible millimeter, occasionally pulling all the way out of her dripping sheath, only to slam back in as hard as I could. With the first full withdrawal and slam back into her honey pot, she moaned, throwing her arms around my neck, leaning forward to bury her face in my shoulder. With each cycle of out, push, grind and out, Mom moaned loader and louder, each one followed by a low grunt as I slammed back into her depths. As I picked up the pace her moans became almost continuous and her response to my invasion becoming less coordinated and more jerky as she crept closer to her release. Very shortly, her legs came up around my waist in a fleshy vise grip and she bit my shoulder, hard, as she tried to muffle her climax.

When she flooded my prick with her juice, that sent me over the edge as well and I thrust back to her womb with a growl, crushing her ass cheeks in my grip as I pushed with all my might, as if to try to return in whole body to my point of origin.

As I shot off inside my mother lover, the feel of my semen detonated another miniorgasm for her and she shuddered and spasmed against me yet again.

As we slowly and haltingly returned from our personal nirvana, Mom linked her arms around my neck and drew me in for a long, tender kiss.

"Holy shit, Ricky," she breathed. "You better call 911. I got run over by that goddamn truck again. I don't think I can move."

"Me either," I rasped, out of breath. "That was two counties beyond intense."

Heaving a large sigh of contentment, I kissed her back. "I suppose that's to be expected when you get to fuck the sexiest woman on the planet."

"Hmmph. Almost seven months pregnant, with flat feet and swelling legs – I don't think so," Mom grumbled. It's unfortunate that you're going blind at such a young age."

"I'm entitled to my opinion and I stand by it. Pregnancy agrees with you, Mom; you absolutely glow, and when you come, you make the Mona Lisa look like Leon Spinks."

"You're demented. A sweetheart, but demented. Definitely a lost cause."

"Shut up and kiss me, momma love."

She did and I did back. After a few more minutes of bliss, we inspected the damages and straightened things up a bit.

Mom finished putting the pencil cup, stapler, scattered papers, assorted writing implements and folder organizer back into place, retrieving them from the floor, casualties of our romp. Inspecting the desktop with her hands on her hips, Mom shook her head in disgust.

"Damn. Guess I'll have to go to Staples tomorrow. Look what you did to the desk blotter, Ricky. It's soaked with cum."

"Now hold on just a minute! What I did? That looks like a joint effort to me, Miss Niagara Falls!"

"Okay, okay, I'll concede I was just a little wet myself. Tell you what – we'll go halfsies on the damages, all right?"

"Hmmph. I don't think so. It wasn't me who couldn't wait to get upstairs."

"Speaking of upstairs, I'm not through with you yet, my sexy son. It's time to take you mother to bed."

I always obey my Mom – I'm a good son, I am.

Molly was as good as her word. Within a week of the review, we were fully booked 4 weeks in advance. After the magazine article, which was so complimentary it made my ears burn, we stayed booked three months ahead. Eight months after opening, I bought out the building and tripled our capacity, including a half dozen special private dining areas. Working them into the floor plan was a big challenge, but we made it happen in the end. Those usually were booked at least 4 or 5 months in advance, but we kept one open for our best customers and for Mitch and Molly.

A year and a half after startup, we opened a downtown branch, catering to the executive lunch crowd. Even though I was busier than ever, we were very happy. Perhaps the best part of our early success was that it allowed Mom to disengage from the day-to-day grind of the restaurant and to fully concentrate on building her legal practice again, also resting up in the later stages of her second pregnancy with our son, Jason. More on that later; right now I want to mention something that happened at the end of Mom's first pregnancy.

I had been making preparations in secret for some time, with Mitch and Molly as my co-conspirators. I knew the timing was close, with Mom's due date only about a week away, but I was determined to get everything done properly. In addition to the usual fees, I had to provide some significant extra inducements to find someone who would be specifically free on Mother's Day, but in the end I was successful. After some significant cajoling, Molly was able to convince Mom to come out so we could celebrate Mother's Day as a foursome. I had snuck out earlier in the week to our safety deposit box to get Mom's passport and made sure I had my "official" Canadian ID on hand, so the preparations were complete.

Molly and Mitch arrived on time to pick us up and we headed down Hastings Street, cutting across on Burrard and down to Cornwall Avenue. As we passed through Kitsilano, Mom turned to me with a questioning look. "Just where are we going, Ricky? I don't know of any restaurants out this way."

"It's a Mother's Day surprise. You'll know in just a few more minutes."

"My, my, aren't we smug and mysterious. Just remember hotshot, my back aches, my feet are swollen and I'm feeling pretty ornery," Mom growled. "You mess with me at your own peril today."

"We're going to Point Grey," I smiled, patting her knee. "I promise you will be happy when we get there."

After about 10 more minutes of driving, we pulled onto a shady, tree-lined street, stopping in front of a neat, compact, white clapboard cottage. I helped Mom out of the car, escorting her up the flagstone path of the cottage. As we walked up to the porch, Mom dug her elbow into my side.

"What's going on here, Ricky? You got some 'splainin' to...d...Oh my God." Mom clutched my arm as we arrived on the threshold. An elegant, understated brass plate etched in Spenserian script announced "Lena Ornesby, Marriage Commissioner."

"Ricky...?"

"Happy Mother's Day," I whispered, taking her hand in mine. "It's time to make an honest woman out of you."

I rang the doorbell. It was answered shortly by an elderly lady. Although slightly slowed by age, she maintained a regal bearing. Her silver hair was stylishly coiffed and she was elegantly dressed in an old-fashioned embroidered front blouse and gray wool skirt. Even though lined with the passage of many years, her face could only be described as patrician. One could tell at a glance that in her younger days, she must have been a woman of considerable grace and beauty.

"Welcome, please come in. I'm Lena Ornesby." Turning to address Molly and Mitch, she asked "Richard and Jennifer?"

"That would be us," I corrected, putting my arm around Mom's waist, pulling her close.

Our Commissioner arched an eyebrow briefly in surprise, but quickly regained her composure. "Excellent. Let's step into the parlor. It looks like we shouldn't waste any time," she added drily, glancing at Mom's abdomen.

As we stood in the sunlit parlor, surrounded by antique furniture and old paintings, Eyes wide with surprise, Mom slipped her arm around my waist and murmured in my ear. "I love you, my son. But I'm still going to absolutely kill you after this. Shame on you for sneaking up on me like that!"

"Happy Mother's Day," I whispered back, grinning evilly.

Mrs. Ornesby cleared her throat to gain our attention. Gathering her thoughts, she slipped into her official mode. "Very well. We'll take care of the bureaucratic nonsense first. Mr. Lewis, you have the marriage license? Good. I'll need to see some identification. Miss Lindermann - I see you're an American citizen. I'll need to see some additional identification besides your passport. Ah, let's see here...New Jersey driver's license and...your work visa papers. Excellent. Mr. Lewis - Canadian identification card and provincial driving license? Excellent. And your two witnesses are here? Everything appears to be in order. I think we can begin."

"Are you going to exchange rings as well as vows today?"

Mitch stepped forward, producing two small cases. "I have them here."

Turning to Mom, I took both of her hands in mine. "I think we already know what we're going to say to each other, don't we?"

I began. "Jennifer Marie, my love, my best friend, will you consent to take me, Richard Alan as your husband? I promise to stand by you through all times and trials, always faithful and always doing only that which will bring you happiness and joy, for as long as I shall live." Taking her ring from Mitch, I placed the simple, solid gold band on her finger.

Still in a state of shock over my well-sprung surprise, Mom was clearly overwhelmed. Tears running down her face, lips slightly quivering, she spoke her part, recalling her original private vows as clearly as I did mine. "Oh, Ricky, my love...I take you as my beloved husband, also promising faith, joy and happiness for all our lives. I will always be at your side, in the best of times and the worst of times. I will never leave you, as long as I shall live." She placed the companion ring on my finger, hands slightly trembling as she did so.

Mrs. Ornesby spoke again. "That was quite moving. Short, but heartfelt and sweet. I can tell you will uphold those vows." Pausing to revert to her Official Persona, she pronounced "Very well. By the powers and responsibilities vested in me by the Government of the Province of British Columbia, it is my duty and pleasure to now pronounce you man and wife. Congratulations - you may kiss the bride."

Oh boy, did I kiss my bride. Mom just melted in my arms and our kiss went on for a good minute, with much tongue tangling and more than one moan from each of us. I think we scandalized Mrs. Ornesby just a little bit. Finally we stepped back from one another to regain our breaths. I gazed at my new wife adoringly and she returned my look in spades.

I pulled her back to me for a second, gentle kiss on the lips, gazing into her beautiful blue eyes. As the kiss continued, Mom's eyes widened slightly and she broke away, whispering "Oh shit." I felt dampness on my pants leg and looked down to see fluid running down the inside of both of Mom's thighs, dampening the rug beneath our feet. Her water had broken.

Turning to Mrs. Ornesby, I began to apologize, but her attention was directed at Mom's feet. She was speechless for a moment and then managed to muster a faint "Oh my goodness."

"I'm terribly sorry, but we need to leave right now. Please send me a bill for the carpet cleaning," I added as we hustled Mom out the door.

As we semi-ran down the sidewalk, I glanced back over my shoulder. Mrs. Ornesby was standing on the threshold. Shaking her head as she closed the door, I heard her clipped Oxonian accent one last time.

"Well, I'll be fucked."

As we got into Mitch and Molly's car, I hit the speed dial on my cell phone. I spoke with our OB's answering service and began a nervous wait for the call back. Within a few minutes, she returned the call, directing us to St. Paul's.

I was in a state of maximum stress as we made our way to the hospital. Mom was calm and serene, holding my hand. "Don't worry darling, everything's going to be fine. It's not as though I haven't been down this road before."

I was very glad at least one of us was holding it together. To be very honest, I was so anxious during the whole process, I can barely remember any of the details leading up to the delivery, a typical new father reaction, I suppose.

One thing I do recall clearly though, is filling out Mom's admission paperwork and checking the "married" box under marital status. It seems silly how important that little detail was, the result of a simple 5-minute civil ceremony. Mom and I said our most important vows to each other 9 months earlier, and yet I was very, very happy that we had done the deed, so to speak. I guess it was my way of saying "I love my Mother" to the whole world, even if it was done obliquely and indirectly.

Mom's labor was mercifully short, only lasting about an hour. Except for a couple times when she called me a 'bad motherfucker,' to the amusement of the labor and delivery team, it was blessedly uneventful. I'm sure they attributed Mom's remarks to the stresses of childbirth. Deirdre Lynn made her way into our lives at about 2:36 pm, followed by her sister, Anna Marie about five minutes later, each as beautiful as their mom. Of course, both were actually red, wrinkled and squalling lumps of vulnerable protoplasm, but they were also the love I had for my mother, made flesh.

Our daughters were whisked off to the newborn nursery all too quickly while the team got Mom cleaned up and comfortable. I gave her a tender kiss and I excused myself and headed to the nursery to see our daughters. As I stood in the viewing window, looking at the new lives I was responsible for, all of a sudden it hit me like a meteor strike.

It's not too much of a stretch to come to the realization that you can be a good husband to someone, but when you first fully comprehend the responsibilities of being a father, it makes you weak in the knees. The sheer open-endedness of everything is enough to make you shit your pants. So, I ended up doing something I had rarely thought about in the past. I went to the hospital chapel and offered up a heartfelt prayer of thanks for my many blessings and a plea for strength and wisdom.

After some flailing around with the hospital admissions folks, I found Mom's room. She was propped up in bed, Deirdre in the crook of her right arm, Anna on the left. She looked a bit wan and fatigued, but radiantly happy as well. I sat on the edge of the bed and kissed all three of my ladies. Brushing Mom's hair back over her ears, I choked up a little. "They're as gorgeous as their mother. You done really, really good, Mom."

A small tear ran down Mom's cheek. "If they're beautiful, it's because of what we have between us, son. I can only think of one time in my entire life when I've been so happy."

I grinned at Mom. "The two sort of go together, don't they?"

Our nurse showed up to return the girls to the nursery. After she departed, I sat on the bed next to Mom, holding her in my arms, sharing tender kisses. Reaching for her left hand, I pulled the wedding ring from her finger and then removed mine. Mom looked at me questioningly. I put both rings in her palm and gestured for her to look inside each one. My inscription was "Loving Son." Hers was "Beloved Mother."

Mom shed a few more tears and squeezed my hand. She slipped my ring back on and I did the same. "Thank you, Ricky. Thank you for everything today, my wonderful husband-son."

"You're welcome, wife-mom." I held her for a while, stroking her hair and cheeks, until she fell asleep, a small smile on her lips.

In May, when we were blessed with Deirdre Lynn and Anna Marie, our lives were forever changed and enriched. Eighteen months later, Jason Michael was born, followed not quite two years later by Emily Jeanne. Carrying little Emmy was very tough on Mom, requiring her to be on bed rest the last two months of her pregnancy.

Seeing Mom struggle through her third trimester had me feeling a bit guilty for my part in the proceedings and I offered to get cut to simplify things in the future, but Mom wasn't having any of it.

"Ricky, I don't want you to burn any bridges. You're still young. What if something happened to me? Suppose you remarried and wanted more children? I don't want you to lose that possibility."

"That's a bunch of bull, Mom," I retorted. "First, I don't want any more kids, under any circumstance, especially with anyone else, period. Second, if anything happened to you, I don't think I'd get over it in the way you're thinking. There's not a single girl in the world who can compare to you, Mom. You 'ruined' me a long time ago for all other women. It wouldn't be the same and anyone I theoretically would be with would always be compared to you, to everyone's loss. That just ain't gonna happen."

"It's this simple, Mom, you're it for me," I said, taking her hand and kissing it.

"You still say the nicest things to your mother, Ricky."

"Tell you what, hot chick, we'll compromise. We'll both do some snipping and clipping after you deliver. That way we'll be double sure. How's that?"

"I'm still not sure that you should do this, Ricky."

"What are you worried about, Mom? Is there anything else you're not telling me, pretty lady?"

Smiling slightly and shaking her head, Mom said, "No, sweetheart, just being a worrywart mother, I guess."

"Are you worried I'll taste different if I do this?" I asked slyly.

"Ricky! You are so bad!" Mom exclaimed, blushing furiously. "That is most definitely NOT what I'm worried about. You almost always taste yummy," she added with a smile.

"Almost always?" I retorted, pretending to be hurt.

"Well, there was that time last April when I did you in the meat locker downstairs. I seem to recall that you had eaten a lot of fresh asparagus that day. That wasn't quite as nice as usual. Other than that, I have no complaints."

"I really don't care for asparagus all that much anyway. I can live without it."

"Such a sacrifice!"

"Anything for my Queen."

Up to the point of Emily's delivery, our lives had been nearly idyllic, filled with professional success, wonderful children and an abiding romance, which left us feeling lucky every day. Day to day existence was pleasantly routine, filled with the normal events of any other marriage, including the barely contained chaos that comes with raising small children.

Life took an abrupt 180-degree turn when we greeted Emmy into our family. As Mom was delivering, the atmosphere in the birthing suite was different, strained and tense. During delivery, Emmy's vital signs were worrisomely weak. The delivery team spoke in hushed tones with one another, no one looking us in the eye as things progressed. Just as the baby was crowning, the obstetrician turned to me and said, "I don't like the look of this." She then spoke to the team, "Get the neonatologist on call and contact the NICU, we're going to need a bed STAT."

Following the delivery, the contrast with our previous babies couldn't have been more stark. The brief view of the limp form with weak cries and bluish-gray skin was totally outside my comprehension. Emmy was whisked to a procedure table at the side of the room and the air began to fill with terrifying, incomprehensible jargon. "Apgars are only 3-4 out of 8." "Spontaneous respirations, very weak." "Tachypnea, cyanosis and bradycardia, breath sounds poor." "Need to intubate now. We'll need a STAT echo in the NICU. Who's on call for Cardiology today?" Within 5 minutes, our newest child had disappeared into the intensive care unit and what should have been a joyous day turned into a waking nightmare.