Movement II: Andante Moderato

I knelt between my mother's outstretched legs, the scent of her arousal and the heat of her sex an irresistible lure my overloaded senses. I swept my eyes over the sight, appreciating her body for the work of art it was, before lowering my head to her, licking slowly up her labia as though she were a soft-serve ice cream. Reaching her apex, I darted about with my tongue, flickering it across her sensitive clitoris. She gasped, and husked "Oh, honey, we can't do this..." But even as I pulled away, her hips bucked, belying her words. Again, I knew, I would have to move slowly, carefully, make her comfortable with herself and this situation, before I could proceed.

"Why?" I whispered, my voice thick with desire. "Why should we stop, mom?"

"It's ... it's just not right. It's so wrong, sweetheart."

I bit my lip, trying to think through the haze of need engulfing me. "If it's so wrong, why were you coming on my fingers just now? It felt right to me, to be bringing you such pleasure..." I trailed off, awaiting her reaction.

"We shouldn't have done that," she whimpered. "I shouldn't have let you. It was wrong of me."

I regarded her sceptically, watching the rosy tint of her orgasm slowly fading from her chest. "I wanted it, mom. It's not your fault. And I still want it, want you." She blushed at the vehemence, the need I put into that last word. But still, she was not convinced.

"Oh, my, honey- you should want a girl more your age. Not your mom. And you shouldn't say things like that to me."

"Why not?" I asked. "It's the truth. And why should I want one of them? They have no minds, no curves, they just try to be who they think they should be instead of who they are, like you. And they aren't you, mom. I only want- only need- you."

"But it's wrong," she whispered, resolve wavering in the face of my obvious desire.

"You keep saying that, mom, but just saying it won't make it true."

"I've seen those girls. They're much better-looking than I am. And ... and we still shouldn't be doing this."

"Nonsense, mom. You look amazing. Sexy for any age. Hell," I went on, warming to the subject, "other women must be so jealous of your figure." I tried to lean back in, to nuzzle at her once more, but she gasped as I moved, tried to push me away and close her legs. I allowed her to push me away slightly, but my position impeded her efforts to hide herself away; as I leaned back, my tank top rode up, slid down my jutting length- again escaped from the fly of my boxer shorts- and revealed my rampant hardness to my mother.

She gasped, stunned at the sight of my throbbing member. "If it's so wrong, mom, how could I ever react to you like this?" Her eyes were wide as I leaned back in, but this time she made no attempt to fight me off. I ran my tongue up her cleft, pulling away slightly after each stroke so I would not have to slide my tongue down her, licking her again and again, savouring the feel of her, the taste of her wetness.

She began to relax, tension ebbing slowly from her thighs. I added my lips to the fray, dragging my upper lip downwards as I licked up, trailing my lower lip up behind my tongue to collect her flowing juices. I leant back, needing to catch my breath- and more than that, needing to pull away before I went mad with need. Slowly, slowly, that was the key as I well knew; she had to feel desirable, not as though she were some interchangeable woman who was simply filling in until or unless I got a better offer.

"I can't believe you worry about your looks, mom. Other women? Hah! Candles against the sun. You're so much more radiant than they could ever hope to be." She blinked slowly, a wistful look in her eyes even as a slow smile spread over her face. Mentally I shook my head; how could she ever doubt her beauty? But that would be a question for another time, and now I bent back down to her.

This time, I fastened my mouth over her mons, her pubic hair tickling my nose. I sucked gently at her, drawing her clitoris into my mouth, suckling at it the way I had her nipples. She gasped, her weight fully on the bed now. She ran her fingers through my hair, whispered her last protest.

"Oh, baby, she murmured. We can't ... we shouldn't..."

I moved slightly away. It had been the same before, when only my hands were on her; a last, little push, a final get-out clause, and then I would be free to pleasure her. For that, ultimately, was what I wanted; to hear her cries and moans, feel her body quake as she climaxed. There was a reason I had used my fingers, my tongue instead of attempting to simply ravish her; if she allowed me to go further, I would, but until then...

"It's ... OK, mom," I lied. "If you don't want me to, I'll stop." But her hands didn't push at me; instead, her fingers tangled in my curls, and heart hammering at a breakneck pace, I leaned back in, alternating between suckling at her clitoris and laving at her delicately-flowering lips. I bought my hands up, stroking the outside of her thighs gently, then down to the skin behind her knees. I had heard once that it was an erogenous zone for many women; if it was true, I wanted to bring my mother pleasure with it, and if it was false- well, what did I have to lose?