Chapter 11

Mona was alone in the tent. She stared at the pack standing before her on the floor. Fifteen minutes ago, she had entered the tent with every intention of packing and preparing for the hike back.

Now she just sat there gazing at the half-finished packing job she had started. Despite her talks with Jason and Liz last night, Frank still plagued her mind. She supposed it was a normal reaction to what had happened, but it still hurt. Hurt a lot. She wished the pain would go away, but it persisted - a hollow, aching throb.

Also, there was guilt and doubt. She knew she had given her husband all she could, tried every thing to please him, to ignite the love she felt within him. But it didn't help. She felt like a failure. She knew it was wrong, but it didn't help. The ache remained.

"Damn," she muttered aloud. "Damn, damn, damn!"

Frank had caused her nothing but heartache the six months she had lived with him. And now that he was gone, walked angrily out of her life, the hurt continued. She knew it would eventually dull and fade. But right now it seemed like it would never stop. Never.

"Mother," Phil's voice came from behind her. She turned her head to see her son standing at the entrance to the tent. "Can I come in?"

"Yes," she nodded with a smile. "I was just sitting here thinking."

"About Frank?"

"Uh huh," she replied.

"I'm sorry about what happened yesterday," he said. "I'm sorry he hurt you."

"Don't be sorry, it wasn't your fault," she said. "I'm an adult, and I made a mistake. That's all there is to it."

"Still it hurts to see you like this," he said, reaching out and taking her hand.

"I know," she answered, squeezing his hand. "But I'll be all right. All I need is some time. Frank is gone now; I won't allow him to ruin the rest of my life. I promise you that."

She leaned to him and kissed his cheek. He returned the kiss, his lips pressing against her cheek near the corner of her mouth, lingering there for a moment.

"You are upset, aren't you?" she asked.

"More for you than myself," Phil replied. "I thought you and Frank were happy together."

Suddenly tears welled in her eyes as the ache returned with increased intensity. Phil moved beside her, his arms encircling her and holding her, comforting her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you," he said, his voice full of concern. "I just thought it might help to talk about it."

"It's okay. I guess I'm still a bit tender," she answered, wiping the wetness from her eyes. She looked up at him and smiled. "Really, I'll be all right. Just give me a bit of time."

Suddenly his head tilted toward hers. She knew what was coming. She had time to move away from her son, but for some reason she didn't. Instead, she sat there, letting his lips move to hers. She could feel his nervousness, his awkwardness. But she could also feel the gentle warmth of his mouth on hers. There was no insistence on his part. His lips just lightly brushed hers, remaining there. And she offered no resistance to her son. It was a tender kiss, one that reassured her. But there was something more - something that at the same time frightened and excited her.

His head eased back. Their lips parted. Her eyes rose to his, lingering there. For moments they just sat there, neither moving, neither sure of what was happening, or even if it would.

Then she lifted her hand and lovingly caressed the side of his young cheek. She smiled. He reached up and took her hand, moving it to his lips. He kissed her palm and then each of her fingers.

There was no doubt in her mind now. Phil? Her own son? Jason was one thing, and Liz another. But Phil? She shivered at the thought of taking him into her body, the thought of having her son as a lover. She wanted that, there was no denying that fact. The dampness that welled suddenly in her loins told her just how much she wanted that. But did she dare?

His eyes studied her face. He was waiting for her to make the next move, either to reject him, or accept his unspoken suggestion. Unsure of herself, she leaned forward, her lips once more pressing against his. Almost of their own accord, her lips parted, giving his tongue entrance to her mouth.

His arms tightened around her, no longer just holding her, but embracing her. She melted against her son's body, pressing close to his warmth. She trembled while his exploring tongue flicked over and under her own tongue, bringing it to life, taunting it, cajoling it. She returned his kiss, her oral digit dueling with his.

They clung to each other, as if afraid to end their kiss and end this moment before it even began. Something she didn't want to end, something she wanted more than she had realized at first.

To assure him, she took one of his hands and drew it to her chest, placing it atop one of her breasts. His fingers tightened around the bulging mound, squeezing at her through blouse and bra.

Tingling sensations of sexual heat suffused through her tit. She moaned softly at the persistent kneading of his grasp. It felt good, but it could be better - feeling his hands on her nakedness. And her hands on his.

Slipping her tongue from his mouth, she eased her head back a bit. "Let me help you."

With that, her hands went to the front of her blouse and began undoing the buttons. Her son's hand dropped from her breast as he sat there and watched her open her blouse and slip out of it. Next, her arms tucked around behind her. There were three metallic snaps as she unclasped her bra. She wiggled her shoulders a little and the white straps slid from her shoulder and down her arms. White and jiggling her breasts came free from the confining cups of the bra. Her son's eyes homed in on the tempting cones and their dark sleeping nipples.

"Touch them," she whispered, urging him to feel her body, feel his mother's body.

Both his hands rose. His fingers touched the deep brown pinnacles of her nipples. She sucked in her breath, her chest heaving. The excitement of having her son just feel those rubbery tips brought her nipples to life. Beneath the circling caress of his fingertips, she felt the fleshy buds swell, fatten. They thickened and stiffened with shivery arousal. She moaned, sighing out the pleasure of his gentle fondling. Her tits swirled with warmth. Her whole body seemed to focus its attention on those titillating fingertips.

Softly, his fingers traced around the conical shapes of her breasts. He spiraled downward, until his palms cupped the twin peaks and he squeezed with relish. She moaned while quivery thrills lashed through her body. She eased forward, pushing her tits into his hands, rubbing them against his palms.

Her own hands were far from inactive. She opened his shirt and repaid the attention he was giving her nipples and tits, then her fingers slid downward, opening his jeans and stroking the bulging thickness she found in his jockey shorts. In reaction to her intimate fondling, his head abruptly ducked to her chest. His mouth captured one of the erect tips of her breasts. His tongue whipped out and lashed at the lust-throbbing point, while his lips sucked at her flesh.

She ached. Her breasts ached with the heightening fires of need. She gripped the firm stalk of her son's cock with a fist and squeezed wantonly. Up and down her fist ran, jacking at his virile pussy-pleaser. Immediately, his mouth increased the suction of his caress.

"I think we'd better get rid of our clothes," she managed to say. "I don't think I can wait for you any longer. I want you inside me, moving."

He abandoned her breasts, mouth and hands, and looked up and smiled. Likewise, she released the hearty hold on his cock. Both of them began to peel down their jeans.

He had no more than tossed his pants aside when he moved to her naked body. She reclined on her back, opening her arms to him. But instead of mounting the bed of her body, he stretched out beside her.

His hand returned to her breasts, fondling them for a moment or two, then drifting down toward the core of her desire. Through the black patch of her pubic muff, his fingers combed. He taunted her with a tickling fingertip that ran along each side of her dampening sex slit, and he caressed the smooth interior of her womanly thighs.

Almost in an involuntary reaction, her thighs spread wider and wider, as if calling him back to the wanton gash of her snatch. Eventually, his hand returned. She groaned out in a husky voice of lust when an exploring finger pushed up into the hot channel of her cunt.

"Hot," he said, as though to himself. "You're so hot and wet."

"And ready," she added.

But he ignored her. Instead his probing finger continued its arousal, sluicing in and out of her excited pussy. He finger- fucked her. He drilled in and out of her snatch, fanning the fires of her need for him.

She writhed and bucked, her pelvis undulating in time with his quick, sharp strokes. Her own hands returned to his cock, squeezing and fondling its throbbing length. This was what she wanted, not his finger.

Her meaning was clear. He eased his entrenched digit from the humid tunnel of her lust and mounted her.

Expertly, her hands guided the turgid rail of his prick to the waiting mouth of her belly. She positioned him there, holding his shaft until his hips thrust forth, skewering his cock into her body.

Stiff and unyielding, he cut into the juicy slot of her pussy. Her back arched up sinuously, accepting the meaty fatness of his rod. She took her son into her body, welcomed every swollen inch of his incestuous sex into her cunt. She squeezed down with every ounce of strength held in her pussy muscles. She tightened herself for him, trying to make this moment as pleasurable for him as it was for her.