Mike and Helen
Copyright© 2025 by work for nothin
Chapter 13: One Bungalow, One Lake and One Love.
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 13: One Bungalow, One Lake and One Love. - Helen Price and Mike Price are a mother and son who are in an incestuous relationship. After a long relationship, Mike becomes increasingly obsessed with his mother and wants to possess her completely. Can Mike completely possess Helen, who has decide to be one of the women of a gang leader named Big Daddy?
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/Fa Ma/Ma Consensual Rape Romantic Fiction Crime War Incest Mother Son Orgy Interracial Black Male White Female Anal Sex Double Penetration Fisting Sex Toys Cat-Fighting Violence AI Generated
At next day, as the first light of dawn began to peek through the curtains, Helen stirred, rolling onto her side to look at Mike. His eyes were still closed, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath. She couldn’t help but smile, her heart swelling with love for the young man who had come to mean so much to her. With a gentle touch, she traced the contours of his face, the stubble on his cheek rough against her fingertips.
“Mike,” she whispered, her voice a soft caress. “Wake up, baby. We’re starving.”
Mike’s eyes snapped open, and he returned her smile. “Yeah, mom,” he agreed, his stomach rumbling. “Let’s go see if we can find something to eat.”
They slid out of bed, their bodies still warm from their passionate night together. Helen padded over to a dresser and opened the top drawer, revealing a collection of casual clothes. She pulled out a pair of torn jeans and a tight T-shirt that had seen better days. The fabric was soft, worn in all the right places, and she knew it would hug her curves perfectly. It was a stark contrast to the elegant lingerie she was accustomed to wearing at Big Daddy’s mansion, but here, in their private haven, she felt free to be herself.
Mike couldn’t help but watch as she stepped into the jeans, her plump ass swaying as she pulled them up over her hips. The denim hugged her curves in a way that was both innocent and sinful, leaving little to the imagination. The T-shirt followed, the material clinging to her full breasts like a second skin. The sight was intoxicating, and his cock twitched to life again at the thought of peeling those clothes back off her.
But for now, they had to focus on their stomachs. Helen took his hand, leading him out of the bedroom and into the small kitchen. The fridge was empty, a stark reminder of their hasty retreat. They had come with only the clothes on their backs and the hope of a week of freedom.
“Let’s take a walk,” she suggested, her voice filled with excitement. “We’ll find someone in the village who can help us out with some breakfast.”
Mike nodded, already dressed in a pair of boxers and a T-shirt that clung to his muscular frame. They stepped outside into the crisp morning air, the dew-kissed grass cool beneath their bare feet. The lake was like a mirror, reflecting the soft pinks and oranges of the sunrise. It was a serene scene, one that seemed a world away from the depravity of the town they had left behind.
They strolled hand in hand down the quiet lane, the gravel crunching underfoot as they made their way to the village. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, making their stomachs growl in unison. Helen’s breasts bounced gently with each step she took, the sight stirring something primal in Mike’s core.
As they approached the first cottage, an elderly woman stepped out, a basket of berries in her arms. She looked them over with a knowing smile, her eyes lingering on their entwined fingers. “Looks like lovebirds,” she cooed. “You two look like you could use a bite to eat.”
The woman, introduced as Ada McLaughlin, was a sprightly 66-year-old with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. Her hair was a wild tangle of gray curls, and her cheeks were as red as the berries she offered. She invited them into her home, which was filled with the warmth of a crackling fireplace and the sweet scent of baking bread. The walls were lined with bookshelves, their spines worn and well-loved, hinting at a life spent in the company of great stories.
As they sat at her wooden kitchen table, Ada served them a breakfast of scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and warm buttered toast. She chattered away, sharing tales of the village’s history and her late husband, a forrester named Anthony McLaughlin, whose life had been devoted to the land around them. For almost 40 years, they had lived together in this very cottage, raising a family and watching the seasons change over the tranquil lake.
Her eyes grew misty as she spoke of the love they had shared, a love that had endured through the trials of life and had remained strong even in the face of his passing. Helen listened intently, her heart swelling with a bittersweet mix of admiration and envy. She had never known a love like that, her life in the town of FDB dominated by lust and possession rather than the gentle, nurturing bond Ada described.
Mike took a bite of the toast, the warmth and flavor bringing a comfort that seemed to seep into his very soul. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt for the life he had led, the way he had used and been used by the women of the town. Yet, sitting here in this quaint cottage, surrounded by the remnants of a true love story, he felt a flicker of hope that he and Helen could find something similar.
Ada noticed their contemplative silence and chuckled, setting down her teacup. “You two have the look of folks with a heavy burden,” she said gently. “Why don’t you tell me about you?”
Helen took a deep breath, her hand still in Mike’s. “We’re the Prices,” she began, her voice steady. “I am Helen and this is my son, Mike. We’re from the city, just looking for some peace and quiet. It’s so ... boring there, you know? All the noise and the people.”
Ada’s eyes searched theirs, a knowing look that suggested she saw right through their façade. Yet she said nothing, instead nodding sagely. “Ah, yes,” she said. “The city can be a tough place. But here, we take care of each other. That’s the village way.”
After a moment of comfortable silence, Ada leaned forward, curiosity piqued. “But tell me,” she began, her gaze lingering on their joined hands. “What brings you here? A mother and son on their own, seeking peace and quiet. Did you lose someone, perhaps? A husband, maybe?”
Helen’s eyes widened slightly at the question, but she recovered quickly, giving a sad smile. “My husband passed away a few years ago,” she lied smoothly. “It’s just been Mike and me ever since.”
Ada nodded in understanding, patting her hand gently. “I’m sorry for your loss, dear,” she said. “But you’re still a young woman. You shouldn’t spend the rest of your days alone. You’re so beautiful, with such a lovely figure.” Her eyes raked over Helen’s curves appreciatively. “I’m sure you could find another man to take care of you, and that fine son of yours, if you set your mind to it.”
Mike felt a sudden jolt of possessiveness, his hand tightening around Helen’s. “Mom’s not looking for anyone,” he said quickly, his voice firm. “We’re just here to enjoy our time together.”
Ada chuckled, her eyes twinkling. “Oh, I see,” she said, winking at Helen. “Well, you’re both welcome to stay as long as you like. But remember, dear, a village like this can be surprising. You never know who or what you might find around the next corner.”
They finished their meal, the warmth of the food filling their bellies and the warmth of Ada’s hospitality filling their hearts. As they stood to leave, she handed them a basket brimming with supplies for the week. “Here,” she said, her voice firm. “Take this. It’s the least I can do for two souls in need of refuge.”
The weight of the basket was surprising, and Mike took it with a grateful nod. “Thank you, Mrs. McLaughlin,” he said, the respect in his tone genuine. “You’ve been incredibly kind.”
Ada waved them off, her smile warm and knowing. “You just take care of each other,” she called after them as they left the cottage. “That’s all that matters in the end.”
Their stomachs full, Mike and Helen continued their stroll, the basket of supplies swinging gently between them. They talked of their plans for the week, the excitement in their voices growing with each step. They would explore the surrounding woods, swim in the lake, and maybe even rent a boat. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, they had no responsibilities, no expectations, no one to answer to but themselves.
As they made their way back to the bungalow, the sun had fully risen, casting a golden hue over the lake. The water was calm, not a ripple to be seen, as if it too were holding its breath in anticipation of their future together. They couldn’t ignore the tension that still hovered around them, the knowledge that their time was borrowed and their enemies were not far. But for now, they pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on the present and the promise of their newfound freedom.
Mike’s eyes fell upon an old fishing rod leaning against a tree, a relic from a past life forgotten. With a spark of excitement, he grabbed it and tested its weight. It was well-worn but sturdy, and he knew it would serve them well. Helen watched him, a small smile playing on her lips, as he marched down to the lake’s edge, casting the line with a grace that suggested a hidden talent.
The lake was tranquil, a perfect mirror reflecting the bright blue sky and the greenery surrounding it. The only disturbance was the occasional splash as Mike cast his line, the lure dancing on the surface before disappearing beneath the water. Helen, in the meantime, had taken it upon herself to prepare a simple yet delicious meal. She had found a recipe book in the cottage and decided on a rustic feast of roasted vegetables and a freshly baked apple tart.
Her movements in the kitchen were a dance of efficiency, chopping and slicing with the ease of someone who had done this countless times before. The scent of garlic and rosemary filled the cabin. She hummed a tune that Mike didn’t recognize but found oddly comforting.
Mike sat at the wooden picnic table outside, watching the lake’s surface. The fish had been biting all morning, and the stringer was now a promising collection of rainbow trout. He felt a strange sense of accomplishment, as if he had done something truly significant. In the town of FDB, his worth had been measured in the number of hotwives he had slept with, but here, with Helen, it was about survival and connection.
As he cast his line again, he noticed a shadow flit across the water’s surface. Glancing up, his eyes followed the movement, and he spotted a drone hovering in the distance. His heart skipped a beat, his hand tightening on the fishing rod. But then, something pulled at his line, the rod bending with the weight of a particularly feisty fish.
Mike’s eyes widened, his focus shifting from the drone to the fight in front of him. He had to give it his all, his biceps flexing as he reeled in the line, hand over hand. The salmon fought fiercely, leaping out of the water, its scales flashing in the sun. After what felt like an eternity, the fish tired and Mike was able to pull it onto the shore, its gills gasping for air.
It was a beauty, the biggest he’d ever seen, its body a deep, gleaming red with black spots scattered across its back. He couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride as he cradled it in his arms, the weight of it a testament to his newfound strength and determination. With a grin, he turned and headed back to the bungalow, the drone’s presence forgotten for the moment.
“Mom!” he called out, bursting through the door, his bare chest glistening with sweat. “Check this out!”
Helen looked up from her recipe book, her eyes widening at the sight of the massive salmon Mike held aloft. “Oh my God,” she exclaimed, setting aside her apron and rushing over to inspect the catch. “That’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen!”
Her hand reached out to touch the fish’s sleek scales, her eyes filled with admiration. “You did good, baby,” she murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. The scent of lake water and earth clung to him, mixing with his natural musk in a way that was uniquely Mike. “Tonight,” she promised, her voice low and sultry. “You get the finest piece of mommy’s love for dinner.”
The promise of a passionate reward made Mike’s cock stir in his pants. He had never felt so alive, so needed. In the town of FDB, he had been a mere plaything, a pawn in Big Daddy’s games. But here, with Helen, he was a man. A man who could provide and protect, a man who could conquer the wilderness and satisfy his woman.
They worked together to clean the fish, their hands slippery with scales and blood. Helen’s breasts swayed as she bent over the sink, her tight T-shirt riding up to expose the smooth, pale skin of her lower back. Mike couldn’t resist the temptation, his hands finding their way to her hips, pulling her against him. She giggled, arching her back to press her ass into his growing erection.
Mike’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he had an idea. He set the cleaned salmon aside and reached for the hem of Helen’s jeans. “Mom, can you take off your clothes for me?” he ordered playfully, his voice thick with desire. “Let’s see if you can handle some real wildlife.”
Helen raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. “What do you have in mind, young nasty?” she teased, playing along.
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