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Family Flavors

By: CavyConsultant



December 23

What do you do right after a funeral on the day before Christmas Eve? When your brother or son is dead in his prime? Neither Peter, his mother, nor his girlfriend knew. Wrapping presents was out. So they sat in his mother's sprawling ranch nine thousand feet up in the Rockies looking out at the mountain scenery. A massive log fire crackled in the center of the airy lounge. In the valley below six miles away lay Telluride, already half in shadow as the December sun sank behind the mountains.

Peter Kneely had not seen his mother for a long time. He had spoken to her by phone when his brother had been taken ill, but they had not actually met face to face in years. His older brother, only thirty years old, had fallen ill and died within weeks. Peter managed to see him in the hospital before the end, but almost wished he hadn't. The doctors described it as a rare idiopathic syndrome of the renal and genitourinary systems. Peter believed that to mean 'we have no clue' in doctor language.

Peter's brother had worked in the family business, a world renowned specialist chemistry consulting group. Clients included global food and beverage corporations, as well as a host of other businesses. The company was privately owned and Peter's mother, a brilliant research chemist as well as a savvy businesswoman, was now worth a fortune. Peter did not know exactly how much, but somewhere up in the hundreds of millions. 

He knew that after the death of his father ten years previously his mother and brother had become very close. His mother had never remarried, and his brother's wife had left him the previous year. Peter himself had struck out on his own in business years before, as soon as he left college. But now, after seven years of success, he had overstretched and was headed for bankruptcy. A bad year all round, really. The funeral in Telluride had been very difficult. He had given the eulogy, a task he could not avoid, which made the event even more harrowing.

He knew his mother was hurting terribly, so he decided to stay over Christmas until she got her emotional bearings. His girlfriend, Claire, had closed her art gallery in Manhattan early for the holidays to accompany him back from New York. Claire had never met Peter's Mom before, and this was hardly a pleasant occasion to do so. But, anyway, there they were.

The afternoon passed almost in silence, and as it grew dark Peter made his excuses and they both retired to their room. Peter's mother fell asleep downstairs on the sofa, looking at the embers of the fire as she grieved for her dead son.

Exhausted after the funeral and still suffering from jet lag Peter and Claire lay on the king size bed in their palatial guest room. Claire was an elfish dark beauty, slender with piercing brown eyes, and looked younger than her twenty eight years. Emotionally unaffected herself, she was trying hard to help Peter get over the day's events. But in the end they just watched some TV and fell asleep early, Peter taking some sleep aids to help. The TV spoke of a big winter storm headed for the Rockies.

Midnight Snack.

It was two am and Peter was hungry. Claire was asleep beside him. He had eaten almost nothing the previous day because of the funeral and now his jet lag had woken him up. He needed a pee and a bite to eat. He got out of bed quietly, put on a robe over his shorts and T-shirt and made his way to a kitchen at the other side of the sprawling house. He switched on a light and swung open the refrigerator door. It was stacked with food and drink, mostly in numbered plastic containers. His mother was a very systematic person. Peter opened some containers at random, hunting for a snack. He was suddenly aware of a presence behind him.

"It'd be quicker if you told me what you want, Peetie."

Peter turned to find his mother standing next to him. Peter's mother was a tall woman of fifty one, still with the foundations of a good figure, middle age spread kept at bay by a brutal Pilates regime and a personal trainer. Her hair was dark auburn (dyed of course), her eyes green, one lighter than the other. Her face was well looked after, pampered by top beauticians, dermatologists, and the best skin care products money could buy. An iron will and her scientific abilities had placed her in the top ten powerful women lists of magazines, but it was her resemblance to Sela Ward that put her on their front covers.

Peter loved his mother but he had escaped the nest as soon as he could, for good reasons. Now he was back.

"Anything. I'm hungry," he said, looking at her.

His mother was wearing a white toweling robe. It was unfastened and flapped open to show her body in a sheer satin nightie which barely concealed her breasts and belly. He could see a dark triangle between her legs through the translucent material. His mother gently pushed past him and bent over to pull out one of the lower drawers. He smelt her fragrance and old memories came flooding back. 

"Fresh berries? A little cream? You don't want anything heavy in the middle of the night."

"Fine. Thank you."

"Here. Take some for Claire. I expect she's hungry too."

His mother put a small numbered tub on a plate and handed it to him, along with two spoons. He took it and put it on the granite countertop. He hadn't had much chance to talk to her alone since he'd arrived, not that he had tried very hard.

"I'm so sorry about Paul, Mom."

Mistake. Grief transformed his mother's face, and he stepped forward to embrace her, half afraid that she would collapse with emotion. They held one another as he felt his mothers silent tears fall on his shoulder, his body pressing against her as she trembled. They stood like that for a while until the warmth of his mothers body, her breasts pressing against his chest, her belly against his groin reminded him that they were man and woman not merely mother and son. Half buried memories and images flashed before him and he let her go. She unclasped him reluctantly, gathered her emotions and feelings, packing them away. She looked at the tub of berries sitting on the countertop. A hint of a smile crossed her face as she wrapped her robe around herself, tying the cord.

"Enjoy it. See you both tomorrow. It will be a better day. A much better day. Goodnight, Peetie."

Peter made his way back to the bedroom. Claire was awake and they nibbled at the snack together before settling back down to try and sleep. It turned out Claire was hungry and she ate more than he did.

December 24

The following morning Peter woke up horny. The room grew light and he patiently waited for signs of life from Claire lying next to him. When he heard an awake sigh he rolled over to Claire and puts his arm around her gently feeling her breast and playfully thrusting at her ass under the covers. Claire was already awake, wondering what the day would bring. Now she knew. Wake-up sex. That was OK with her. She turned around and put one arm around Peter, while the other felt down and clasped his semi-erect cock under his boxers to tell him yes.

On a whim he burrowed under the sheets and went down on her. She tasted good, fresh and clean. Almost fruity. Not the normal taste, which he was well used to and did not mind. But this was better. The taste came from inside her, so good he licked it deeply, just tickling her clitoris with his face and nose.

This was better for Claire than the usual focus on her clit, which Peter usually overstimulated. In time she came and drenched his face with her juices. He stopped, reluctantly, his mind whirring.

Claire sat up smiling.

"Have you been taking lessons? If so they were worth the money, honey. Here, let me do you. Just don't come in my mouth, ok?"

Claire sat up on the side of the bed while he got out of bed and came around to her side, standing in front of her, his cock waving around in the morning light. She grasped it and engulfed it with her mouth. Claire had never been keen on giving head. She liked Peter's dick inside her pussy where it belonged, but fair was fair. All her previous boyfriends seemed to expect it. Peter put his hands on her shoulders and stared out the window at the mountain on the other side of the valley.

Claire wanted to get on with it, so she stroked his dick rapidly as her mouth and tongue worked on his glans, awaiting the moment when he withdrew to come on her hand. But as she licked him she noticed not the normal salty fleshy taste, but a much nicer one, no salt at all in fact. Not bitter, either. She pressed on wanting to taste more of it. Pretty soon Peter felt the tingling sensation that told him things were about to happen and gently squeezed Claire on the shoulder to let her know.

"I'm going to come."

But she held him in her mouth, gripping him tightly as she bobbed up and down on his cock. Peter was pleased but worried as he felt his load rise up inside his cock and spill out into her mouth. She swallowed it down to make room for more, running it around her teeth with her tongue, the odd drip escaping her lips and falling off her chin. Then she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Wow. Thanks, sweetie. I thought....." said Peter.

Claire was surprised, too. Why had she done that?

"Hey, my pleasure. I must be getting used to it. Now what?" she said.

"Let's go into town before the snow arrives."

Before they left, Peter picked up the pot of berries his Mother had given them the previous night. It was still half full. He thought long and hard, then he finished off the lot. They tasted wonderful.

A winter storm was bringing a white Christmas, and even though his mother's ranch complex had everything they could possibly need, including two kitchens full of food and drink, a whole-house generator, a maid and a chef who came in daily, it would be nice to stretch their legs around Telluride before the snow arrived. His mother's house was two miles away from the airport, situated on a high bluff overlooking the valley that held Telluride. The nearest neighbors were a mile away along the ridge.

Telluride was buzzing on Christmas Eve. Peter and Claire spent the morning walking around the town looking in the high-end shops, and watching the sky darken with snow. After lunch at Smugglers, as the first flakes started to fall, Peter turned to Claire.

"Let's go back up the mountain before the road gets slippery."

When they got back to the ranch it was mid-afternoon. The maid told them that dinner would be served at seven. Peter showed Claire his mother's library on the ground floor and lost herself in it. Peter went up to their room to take a shower. He had to know.

He went into the ensuite bathroom and shut the door. He dropped his pants and looked at his cock. It looked normal enough. But he had to know. He squeezed out a palmful of Claire's hand cream and slopped it all over his dick. Then he started to pump away, thinking of whatever erotic thoughts he could conjure up. His cock was not very interested, after all it had been sucked dry by Claire only hours before. But hand cream is hand cream and eventually his dick became semi-hard. With a bit of work on his part it soon spat out a few gobs of semen onto the pale pink marble countertop. Peter looked at his cum. It looked normal. But what did it taste like?

He smelled it. He dipped a finger in it. Berries. He touched his finger to his mouth. Raspberries and cream. Top of the range. He licked his finger clean. Delicious. No wonder Claire had sucked him off.

This was his mother's work.

At the other end of the house his mother sat in front of a large flat screen connected to one of the many hidden camera lenses around the house. She watched her son finish eating all of his own semen, scraping up the last drop from the marble top. She sat on a soft chair, naked below the waist, low down with her legs spread wide and her hand half inside herself, rubbing and kneading, the juices from her pussy soaking the seat of her chair. As she watched her son lick his lips when he finished the last drop of his own cum, a powerful orgasm shook her and the secretions flowed out of her. She lifted her sopping wet hand to her mouth and licked it. She thought for a while and then made a note on a small writing pad by her side.

Christmas Eve Dinner

Dinner was set up in the large dining room, the floodlit ski runs on the opposite side of the valley just visible through the falling snow. By common consent the funeral was off limits for conversation. 

They all sipped drinks, the food had already been prepared by the chef and the table set by the maid, both of whom had left early in order to make it down the mountain before the weather closed in. Claire decided she was best placed to lead the small-talk, well aware that Peter and his mother were still shell-shocked by recent events.

"Is that Peter's father, Mrs. Kneely?" she asked as they gathered in front of the fire clutching their drinks before sitting down to eat. She was looking at a wall-mounted photo of a man in his forties dressed in a white coat standing in a laboratory.

Peter's mother walked up to the picture, looked at it, held up one hand and touched the frame.

"Yes. My husband Bill was a professor at Columbia University, an expert on endocrinology and human reproduction. He died ten years ago. Of course I was devastated, but I had to carry on. We founded the company together. I own it now. We have labs in New Jersey and Basel, with offices in ten countries. He'd be so proud."

Claire looked at Peter. He had never mentioned this. But then she had never asked, not wanting to encourage questions about her own past which she wanted to remain firmly closed. It seemed the men in Peter's family did not live long lives. Claire noticed that Peter did not look at his mother with the eyes of an affectionate, loving son. He seemed wary and tense around her with hints of other emotions she could not identify. Peter's mother continued.

"I'm playing host, tonight. The help has left for the holiday. Now what would you like to eat? Here's a menu card for both of you. The chef had to make some adjustments as he could not be here, but it's all freshly made a few hours ago."

David looked at the menu and unwelcome suspicions presented themselves in his mind.

"I'll have whatever you're having," said Peter, looking at his mother.

"I'm having the Boeuf Bourguignon. We also have Lobster Bisque and a Dungeness Crab Salad, if you prefer seafood. Look at the card."

Claire was impressed. They made polite chit chat as they sat around the table, mother and son able to use Claire's presence to avoid any serious discussion between them. Peter's mother arose and left to wheel in the heated serving trolley that the chef had left in an adjoining room. Peter was relieved to see his mother serve them both out of a single casserole dish. Claire plumped for the lobster, but he couldn't do anything about that.

"Tell me about your gallery, Claire. What sort of art do you sell?" said Peter's mother.

"Mostly work by new American artists. The gallery opens back up on the 27th. I have a show on the 28th. So I hope this snow is cleared out in a couple of days."

"We're close to the airport," said Peter. "Even if the roads and airport close a helicopter can get in. Mom's got charters that she uses in the winter. We'll get you back to New York."

Peter's mother finished her chardonnay and poured herself another from one of the open bottles on the table.

"Don't worry, my dear. If you can't make it back on time, I'll buy everything in your gallery," she said.

Peter looked embarrassed. Claire was starting to form a dislike for his mother. But the rest of the meal was tolerable even if the conversation was shallow, and Claire noted that both Peter and his mother seemed to drink quite a lot of wine. When it was time for dessert, Peter's mother spoke.

"We have fresh fruit confit. Would you both like some?"

Claire nodded. His mother dipped down under the serving trolley and brought up three china bowls, one labeled Deborah, one Peter, and one Claire.

"How sweet," said Claire, politely.

Peter stared at his. They started to eat. Claire and Peter's mother finished theirs quickly, but Peter dawdled. He ate about half of it and pushed it away.

"That was delicious. It's been a wonderful meal, Mrs. Kneely," said Claire.

"My pleasure, dear. Now, before coffee I'd like to show Peter my new lab. Do you mind, Claire? We'll only be a half hour or so. Then we can have coffee and liqueurs."

"Of course not, Mrs. Kneely. I'll just relax and watch the view."

When Peter and his mother had left, Claire stood up and walked to the massive windows. She saw that there was no longer a view. Just white blowing snow,lit up in the landscape spotlights.

In the Lab with Mother

Peter followed his mother to the other side of the complex, along corridors into a vestibule. It led to the outside. She put on a lab-coat, turned the latch and opened the door. It was freezing and the wind whipped Peter's thin clothes as they walked thirty feet along a paved, covered pathway through the blowing snow.

"Aren't you cold?" said Peter.

"Don't be a sissy."

The walkway led to a windowless annex. Peter's mother took out a key from her lab-coat pocket and unlocked a solid security door. They both rushed in shivering. She led him along a corridor into a large room. Peter looked around. It turned out to be a lab stuffed with analytical equipment. Peter saw a mass spectrometer, centrifuges, fume-hood working areas, and a host of other equipment on and around the lab benches.

"We're not zoned for this, don't tell anyone," said his mother, smiling at him.

"Hardly your biggest secret, is it Mom?"

"Be quiet. Hop onto the exam table."

"Do I have to?" said Peter, climbing onto a double-wide patient examination table.

"Yes. If you want me to treat you as a son, and not a stranger with respect to your inheritance. Now that we have eaten I need to take some body fluid samples, and then you can go. Safety is always top priority. Lie back."

Peter groaned. His mother pushed him back hooked him up with electrodes and took an ECG. then she took saliva samples.

"I'm going to need blood, semen and urine."

"Mom."

"It's for your own good"

The blood was easy. Then his Mom gave him a plastic cup.

"Good boy. Now masturbate into that."

"With you watching?"

"It's nothing I haven't seen before, Peter. I'm your mother."

Peter turned away from his mother, pulled out his cock and pumped it for five minutes. It got smaller.

"I haven't got all night Peter, Claire will be wondering where you are. Here let me help."

Standing next to the table, Peter's Mom reached over, took his dick and started to pull it about tenderly, fondling it. Peter closed his eyes and tried to think of someone else. His cock got a little larger and that was it. So his mother leaned forward and put it in her mouth. She rolled it around on her tongue like the expert that she was and it got bigger. Expertly using her hand and tongue she got it hard, then quickly inserted her longest finger up Peter's rectum and gently massaged his prostate. That did the trick. She detected the first squirt of cum in her mouth, took that greedily as her own, then quickly pulled Peter's hard spurting cock from her mouth and directed it into the cup. She got plenty for analysis. Peter opened his eyes. His Mom was licking her lips, a warm proud expression on her face.

"You taste very good, young man. Do you want me to help you with the bankruptcy?" Peter thought about that. He had expected it, but what else did his mother want? He didn't answer. Peter knew he was trapped.

"Can I go now?"

"No. I need a urine sample too, remember. Don't tell me you can't provide that. I can't help you."

"No, I can manage that. I just came so it should be easy."


Family Flavors Ch. 02



Story so far: genius scientist mom has seduced her son Peter through her ability to alter the flavor of bodily fluids. Her son's new girlfriend, Claire, who has a secret history of violence, discovers this. So Claire locks mom out of her Colorado mountain retreat at night in the teeth of a winter storm. Peter has no idea that his girlfriend has tried to kill his mom.

But is Peter's mom really dead?

This story opens six hundred miles to the west in California, the morning after the winter storm.

All of the characters really are fictional. 

Addicted to Mom: Family Flavors 2

West Hollywood, Los Angeles.

Posey Hunter-Knightly pivoted on her world-class ass and stretched out her impossibly long legs onto the Hollywood sidewalk. The rising sun caught them, turning them into slender golden beacons, striking enough to turn a passing cop's head as he cycled by. He squinted at her, trying to make out who she was. And he was a gay Hollywood cop.

Posey's driver stood to attention as he held the door, offering his hand to help her out of the Bentley. But she did not accept. Craig was a good chauffeur, but Posey didn't like being touched by anyone worth less than $100 million unless they were Makeup or Hair.

She emerged from the limo with her back ramrod straight, like the top model she was, patting down her grey silk thigh-skimming miniskirt (her own line – Posey!) and cast her long-lashed eyes around for photographers. Getting out of the car was the high risk moment. One crotch shot in the Daily Mail would ruin her day. There was no-one there. Good. That was how she had planned it. She did not want to be seen entering the offices of this particular writer/director. He had a well-deserved reputation as a goat. But he made great movies and was worth at least $100 million. So he could touch her. That was why she was there.

Five minutes later she was up in his tennis-court sized office with panoramic views of the Hollywood Hills.

Crispin Tangerino, director of a half a dozen blockbusters, leapt up and came around his desk to greet her. He clasped her hands and gave her a kissy-kissy continental style peck on both cheeks. He had just returned from Biarritz and was in a French Mood.

"Posey, great to see you! How's Up-and-At'em?"

"His name's Jason. He's fine. I wish the press wouldn't use that nickname."

Posey put her annoyance away. She was there to sell herself. Whatever it took. And she had an idea what that was going to be.

"What brings you to my humble workshop?" said Tangerino waving a hand at his palatial office decked out with original art works by Rothko, Warhol, and Klimpt.

"I want the lead in Tomatohead," she said.

Tangerino faked amazement and surprise. Of course he knew exactly why she was there. Exactly what she wanted.

"I've already talked to Charlize."

Posey wilted. A moment of silence dragged out that Tangerino enjoyed.

"But I'm not committed yet."

Posey moved up close to him, her hand taking his. She looked into his eyes, willing him to make an offer or a request. His eyes slid down her gorgeous frame, her slender pelvic bones outlined in her silk miniskirt, her breasts small and firm as a top model's should be. He exhaled and tried to get a grip on himself.

"Very well. I'll need a screen test," he breathed. "An informal one. We can do it right here."

Posey nodded.

He clicked on his intercom. "No interruptions, Mary. I'll let you know when I'm done. Ms. Hunter-Knightly is testing for Tomatohead."

"Of course Mr. Tangerino."

Tangerino released her hand and moved away from Posey, towards the window. He couldn't possibly offer Posey the lead because she couldn't act. But, perhaps, MAYBE, a supporting role. He was thinking hard. He wanted to add her to his scorecard.

Plus he wanted to see if the new pills worked. He turned to face her.

"About the test. This story explores the limits of what is acceptable for a general release movie. You've seen Shia of course in Nympho. Hardcore is becoming mainstream and directors who are ahead of the curve will get the credit. By that I mean moi."

"Of course, Mr. Tangerino. What do you want me to do?"

"Improvise. Show me your range."

Posey walked up to Tangerino and led him back to his desk by the hand. She gently pushed him back against it, and he sat on the edge, waiting to see what Posey was going to do. Posey put her clutch bag down on the desk. Then she lifted up her minidress, pulling it up over her head, and laid it next to her bag. Tangerino, who had seen more than his fair share of the most beautiful women in the world up close, watched.  He took in her body, her breasts now revealed in her bra, her pink panties under her white pantyhose, and her five inch super-narrow stiletto heels already digging holes in the Brazilian Cherrywood floor. He was impressed.

"Would you like me to take my bra off?"

"No. You can keep it on, Posey. I have a nine o'clock meeting by the way."

"Very well, I'll make it snappy. Mr. Tangerino, today I am going to play the role of a lady who finds you sexually attractive and desperately wants to suck your cock. Bear in mind that you are middle-aged, overweight and otherwise physically unattractive. But I am an actress. I have only one request."

Tangerino nodded, impressed with Posey's preparation despite himself.

"You can cum on my face. You can cum on my breasts, my legs, belly, panties, even my hair if you must. But you can't come in my mouth. Only Jason can do that. And of course, no pussy. Are we good?"

Posey stood before him, towered above him in fact, with her hands on her hips. Her gaze bored right into him.

"Chipper. Nice to know there are boundaries. Up-and-At'em's a lucky guy."

"His name's Jason. Now, where's your cock?"

Tangerino lifted his ass off the desk, unhooked his belt, and dropped his pants. He kept his boxers on just to see what Posey would do. He valued sexual improv as a way to assess actors. So far Posey was doing well.

"Boxers. Hmm."

Posey stepped up to the director and put one hand on his shoulder while the other slipped under the waistband and found his cock. It was small and floppy. Posey, one of the most beautiful women in the world, and displayed in all her glory before him, was disappointed.

"Well. What do we have here?" she said, reminding herself that she was in a critical audition.

She knelt down in front of Tangerino, nuzzling the bulge of his manhood through his shorts with her nose. Nothing.

Tangerino suddenly remembered that while he had taken the two pills supplied to him by Peter's mother – who he knew as Deborah Kneely - he had forgotten to take his Cialis.

What an idiot.

Time was a-wasting. Posey had a meeting later too. But she had to do well. Otherwise she would have humiliated herself for nothing. If Tangerino could not get hard they'd both be embarrassed. She pulled down his shorts and Tangerino's small flaccid cock stared back at her. She leaned forward and easily took the whole thing in her mouth while looking up at Tangerino adoringly.

"That's good. I'm almost convinced," he said as she sucked on his cock.

 She teased it around inside her mouth with her tongue, willing it to get bigger. It started to show some signs of life, growing as she sucked it backwards and forwards, gently biting it with her teeth. She disgorged it.

"You can't come in my mouth, remember."

"Got it," said Tangerino, who actually had every intention of coming inside this beauty's pretty little mouth. That was the whole point. That was why he had taken Deborah Kneely's pills. He wondered if they were going to work. In any case he was going to come inside her. He couldn't wait. He just had to get hard.

He cursed himself for forgetting the Cialis.

Posey started wiggling her tongue against Tangerino's glans really quickly. Gradually Posey detected a fatter dick filling up her mouth. If she could have breathed a sigh of relief with his dick in her mouth she would have.

Tangerino felt it too, with about the same amount of relief as Posey, and even though his cock was only half-hard he knew he was going to come pretty soon. He realized that this was what scientists would call a premature ejaculation. It was also, if the pills didn't work, what Posey Hunter-Knightly would call a rotten trick.

Well, what can you do... Tangerino relaxed and prepared to enjoy it anyway. He had made his mind up. He watched her bobbing up and down as her perfect hair obscured her perfect face. He decided he was going to cum on her hair as well.

Still only half-hard, he felt his sperm rising up from his loin. Posey, wary and alert for any hint of ejaculation as she sucked away, had no idea anything was about to happen. Tangerino did not groan, did not moan, did not O God. Nuthin.

What Tangerino didn't know was that the pills Peter's mother had given him were a new and much improved product.

Tangerino knew they were supposed to make his cum taste better. But he also noticed his balls had become a little bit sore and quite swollen since he had swallowed the pills the previous day.

Posey was going to get a big surprise.

Posey had been a top model for more than ten years and that meant she was always half starving. She lived on carrots, lettuce, and boiled chicken, with a glass of dry white wine twice a week.

Without warning a flood of cum squirted into Posey's unsuspecting mouth from Tangerino's half-hard cock. She didn't know what it was. She didn't recognize it as cum. All she knew was that strawberry shortcake and fresh cream was now circling on her tongue, her palate, and yes she was already swallowing it. Automatically. It tasted fantastic.

Gathering her wits, she pulled back in surprise and saw a jet of white cum shooting out all over her chest from Tangerino's cock.

"It's not cum, Posey. It's magic food," said Tangerino desperately hoping she would engulf his cock with her Miss World mouth again.

She had not tasted anything like this since she was fifteen years old. Shaking off her doubts she seized Tangerino's cock once more, put it back in her mouth and sucked like she had never sucked before. She was not very ladylike. She slurped.

Tangerino saw the beauty half-heartedly toying with his dick change in seconds to a cock-sucking fanatic who was obviously enjoying the taste of his cum. And there was plenty of it, too. Far more than was normal. He pulled it out all sloppy, still spraying, and gobs of cum fell onto her hair, practically drenching her, but she soon grabbed it back and put it in her mouth. He had no idea how much cum he hosed into her mouth but it felt like a lot. And it all went down her throat.

Eventually, after five minutes it was over. He dried up and his cock was sore from Posey's violent sucking. His balls were shriveled. Of course, he had spilt quite a lot down her front, on her breasts and dripping down onto her panties and crotch. She looked up at him, wide-eyed, as she unconsciously scooped up the dribbles and licked her fingers.

"Your cum tastes terrific. You are naughty. How did you do that?"

She reached out to grab his cock again, but he danced away from her.

"Time to clean up and go, Posey. I'll bear you in mind for Tomatohead."

Posey flushed and started to pick up her things. She pulled her dress back on. Underneath it she was a sticky mess. Soaked. She would have to go home and wash her hair. Wash everything.

"I'll be in touch. Give my regards to Up'n At'em."

After she had gone Tangerino stared out of the window at the Hollywood Hills. He could see the Hollywood sign in the distance through the clear sunny morning air. He knew this could be bigger than Viagra, Cialis and all the others put together. This could change the nature of sex. He wanted to be a part of it. He also wanted more of those pills.

He called up the script of Tomatohead on his screen and started to make some edits. These pills meant cheaper acting talent. Maybe a bigger role for Posey. It was a whole new world.

After he was done he picked up his phone and called Deborah Kneely.


The Kneely Residence, Telluride, CO.

It was mid-morning in Deborah Kneely's Telluride mountain retreat, an oaken palace set into the steep sparsely wooded mountainside on thick pilings a mile or so from the airport. A heavy storm had just moved out, and deep drifts covered the landscape, piling up against the buildings, filling the hollows. The road down the mountain was blocked.

Looking out through the living room windows at the snowy valley laid out beneath him, Peter heard a phone ring and walked into the kitchen area. It was his mother's mobile. It was on the marble countertop and he was surprised to find it there. She always carried it with her.

He picked it up and pressed the button. Before he could say anything the caller spoke.

"Hey Debs, it's Sir Cumsalot. What a trip! I just nearly got my dick sucked clean off by Posey Hunter-Knightly. We need to talk business."

"This is Peter, Deborah's son. Who am I speaking to?"

Silence at the end of the line.

"Boy, I'm sorry Peter. It's Crispin Tangerino here. I'm an asshole. Look, I need to talk to your Mom. Do you think you could fetch her for me?"

"Of course, Mr. Tangerino. I haven't seen her yet this morning. She's probably still in her lab. She often works there overnight. I'll go fetch her. She'll call you back, OK?"

"Good boy, Peter. Sorry again. Thanks."

The line went dead.

"You're welcome, Sir Cumsalot," said Peter to the empty kitchen and went off in search of his mother.

Ten minutes later he was back. His mother was not in her lab, a separate outbuilding close by. He searched the main house room by room. His girlfriend Claire was in the bathroom washing off the results of their morning fuck. There was a bang on the bathroom door.

"I can't find Mom anywhere! Can you come out and help me search?"

"Be right there!"

The previous night, in a fit of anger at Peter's mother, she had locked her out of the house in the teeth of the winter storm. Although she had covered her tracks like an expert, and Peter's mom had not seen her, she was reconsidering the wisdom of her actions.

Claire scurried out of the bathroom naked, a slender elfish beauty who reminded Peter of Noomi Rapace. In five minutes they were bundled up and headed out the front door into a freezing cold wind.

"I checked the lab, I checked the house. Christ Almighty. Where is she?"

Claire followed him over to the three car garage set into the slope. He unlocked it and they went in looking around. All the cars were there and the snowmobile. No mom. Peter screamed in frustration as they emerged and looked around. There were deep drifts around the house and garage, but in other areas the wind had scoured the slope almost clean.

"I just lost my brother. I can't lose my Mom as well."

Peter and Claire were visiting for his brother's funeral, held earlier in the week.

As they looked around they were both thinking the same thing. Anyone under those drifts was long gone. Peter headed down to look under the house.

Claire was shocked at Peter's reaction. Just the previous evening he had angrily described the sexual coercion and abuse he had been subjected to by his mother. She thought he hated her. Now he was distraught that she might be dead? She swallowed nervously.

Instead of following him she inspected the garage from the outside. There was a big drift on one side that looked peculiar. She approached it. It was a vehicle, almost completely buried in snow. She rubbed away at the windows. They were frosted inside with frozen condensation. She heard a sound from inside the pick-up trick. She turned and yelled.

"Peter! Come here!"

Peter came running.

Half an hour later Peter's mom was tucked up in her bed while Peter tried to get a hot drink into her. She was white-faced. It wasn't going to be enough.

She had spent the night under blankets and a tarpaulin in the back seat of the Silverado. The vehicle's battery had been removed for the winter. Fortunately she had neglected to lock it back in October. When dawn came she found the doors frozen shut. Peter did not know it was even there. They carried her back into the house.

She looked up at him with wide eyes, too cold to shiver. She was hypothermic.

 "Why can't I call 911, Mom? They can Medevac you out," said Peter, half-shouting. He knew warming up a hypothermia victim was a job for the ER. His mother shook her head.

"No. They'll do blood tests. I can't have that. My body is full of secrets," she whispered.

Peter looked at Claire in despair. Claire watched, thinking hard.

"We can't put her in a hot bath. That can cause shock," she said.

"OK," said Peter. "We should take hot showers, the both of us, and get in bed with her. I know they do that sometimes. I can't think of anything else if she won't go to hospital."

Peter's mom nodded.

To save time Peter and Claire showered together in his mother's ensuite, Claire turning up the water temperature to an almost unbearable level as they both moaned and their bodies turned red with the heat. Toweling off, they returned to her bed, Peter wearing boxers and Claire bra and panties.

Peter's mom didn't look any better.

"I'll get in front and hold her, you get in behind her," said Peter.

Peter climbed in and took his mother in his arms. Her skin was cold and clammy, her core temperature was way too low. He clasped her to him, trying to get as much skin as possible in contact. She was naked. They had taken her freezing wet clothes off. Claire noticed she had a Brazilian. She was also in the best shape for a fifty year old Claire had ever seen, apart from on TV. She reminded Claire of Sela Ward.

"Thank you, Peter," whispered his mother.

Claire climbed into bed and snuggled up to her back, wrapping her arms around her front and feeling Peter's body as she did so. After a moment she leaned back and discarded her bra. It was uncomfortable and reduced heat flow. Then she resumed her grasp.

They lay there like a human chimera for a long time.

"Why did you lock me out of the house, Peter?"

Peter, who had his face buried in his mother's neck, pulled back.

"I didn't lock you out, mom. You're confused because of the cold."

"It's OK. I forgive you. It was a long night in the truck. I had time to think."

Claire, full of unease, wriggled around, pushing her pelvis a little closer to his mom's Pilates-sculpted ass and squished her own breasts against her back. She also moved one of her hands up around to mom's breast and clasped it gently. It was very cold.

"I know why you did it," continued Peter's mom. "I used you. I've been forcing you to do things. That's going to stop. No more experiments on you. Can you forgive me?"

"Sure mom. We'll talk later. How do you feel?"

"Still cold. Peter, I've been doing some research. A completely new approach. By the way, are you getting hard, Peter?"

"No."

"Really?"

Claire herself, despite being stuck to a cold clammy back, was also feeling horny. It was the strangest thing. She couldn't help but feel around in front of his mom's belly and touch Peter. My God, he was. She put her hand on his stiff cock and squeezed him through his boxers. They both heard Peter's intake of breath.

"Is he my dear? It feels like it to me."

"Um. Yes," said Claire, embarrassed but not about to be pushed around. She kept hold of her boyfriend's cock.

Peter's mom stretched and wriggled. Both Peter and Claire felt her body move against theirs and felt the same sensation. Mounting sexual desire. Inexplicable. The last thing either of them wanted. It made no sense.

With one hand grasping Peter's cock, Claire gently squeezed his mother's breast with her other hand. Why, she did not know. She felt the nipple grow and she rubbed it gently between her fingers. Peter's mother groaned softly.




Family Flavors Ch. 02



Claire felt Peter's hands move down his mother's back and grasp her buttocks. She pushed her pelvis against them instinctively. Peter felt his girlfriend's mound rubbing against his hands he as was kneading his own mother's ass. For some reason it heightened his desire.

"Why don't you take his cock out, Claire? I expect he would like that," whispered Peter's mom.

Ignoring a voice in her shouting not to obey this monster of a woman, Claire did just that. Her mounting desire was impossible to ignore. She was glad of the instruction. She twisted her hand up into Peter's boxers, grasping him directly. She pulled gently and his stiff cock came out of his boxers and lay flat against his mom's belly while Claire's hand held it there. Almost without thought, Claire began to gently rub it. As she did so, the first drops of juice started to trickle down from her own pussy onto Peter's hands and his mom's ass. The funny thing was, she was still cold. But her brain was heating up like an oil furnace mistakenly switched on in a Maryland summer.

Peter's mom clasped her hands around her son's back. Still weak from the hypothermia, but warming up slowly, she let them slide down to his ass cheeks.

"Poor Peter. You are so cold. Let me rub you."

Peter felt his mom rubbing his ass, as his girlfriend rubbed his cock against his mom's belly. Peter, just like Claire, deep down wondered what was going on. But his mounting desire took over and his decision-making center moved from his brain to his cock.

Claire had one hand on Peter's mom's breast while the other was stroking Peter's cock. Claire needed more. She let go his mom's breast, pulled her hand back and stuffed it into her own pussy cleft, seeking the relief that her inflamed desire demanded. Her pussy rewarded her with a flood of wetness which soaked Peter's hands, running down them and onto the bed.

Peter felt the warm wetness, knowing where it came from. His mom felt her ass grow wet and slippery from her son's girlfriend's pussy and it inflamed her as the chemicals she had taken the night before started to wake up her own frigid nervous system. Those chemicals had already trapped her son and his girlfriend.

"That feels nice and warm, Claire," said his mom. "You can't do Peter any good where you are so maybe you could do me just one more favor. Take his cock and push it inside me. Do that and we will be friends."

Like Peter, Claire was on fire. To actually put her boyfriend's cock into his own mother was an act of debauchery which would normally have disgusted her. But today, right now, it seemed perfect. She felt his mom, lying on her side, arch her back and lift her leg to allow access to her sopping crotch, as the tip of her son's cock, still grasped in Claire's hand, came close to his moms pussy.

Mom was right. Claire wasn't getting anything where she was, stuck behind his mom's back.

As she fingered herself with one hand, her other guided her boyfriend's cock into his mom's pussy, and as soon as Peter felt his cock positioned at his moms opening he gasped and shoved himself all the way up inside his mother. Claire felt his cock disappear up into her, like magic. Claire gently grasped his balls.

"Fuck me, Peter."

Peter started to thrust into his mom.

Lying on their side facing one another, Peter and his mom lacked a solid foundation for their fucking. In the heat of action, as he thrust she was pushed away, sometimes almost dislodging him. His mom's hands had moved up to his back, clasping him to her in her heat.

Claire, glued to his moms back, still on fire with desire and sensing this, let go his balls and with both hands grabbed Peter's ass, pulling him towards her and deep into his mom.

The trio, bound by sexual desire out of control, formed one pumping sex machine. Claire held onto Peter's tight butt, holding him and pulling him against his mother as he thrust into her again and again.

Claire felt her boyfriend pump faster and faster. He was about to come, and when he let out a desperate moan his back arched and she knew he was spurting his cum into his mother even as her arms were wrapped around both of them, keeping them together. He kept still, arched against her, and then slowly sank back, his cock still partly in her, still dribbling his sperm into his mom's pussy.

"That feels so warm," said his mom, digging her nails into his back as she came.

The thrusting over, Claire was still on fire even more so for being next to her boyfriend while he let loose a load of cum into his mother. She fingered herself silently, but as she did so a hand felt back and sought out her pussy. It was his mom's hand.  Two fingers inserted themselves into her cleft and Claire pulled her own hand away. Someone else's hands are always so much better. As the fingers twisted, Claire, already almost coming by her own efforts, abandoned herself to the expert fingers of her boyfriend's mother. She came like an epileptic, shaking and rattling, her whole body consumed with her fiery orgasm.

After she was done, mom's hand was withdrawn. The bed was soaked.

"I think I'm well enough to manage a bath. Perhaps you could both help me to the bedroom."


Afterwards

By midday, with Peter's mom bathed and put to bed on the mend, Peter and Claire lay on their bed looking at the ceiling in silence. They had not spoken since the event with his mom. Eventually Claire spoke.

"What just happened?"

"My mom's science. You didn't really believe me, did you?"

Claire shook her head.

"I believed you about your Mom. The abuse. But this, this is incredible. I have never been so horny. And I don't like your mother. Or three-ways for that matter."

Peter turned on his side to look at her.

"She has something new. This is not flavor. This is different. Much more powerful."

"I don't know what's going on. Peter, what are we to do? I'm lost. My gallery should be open. I've already canceled one show."

Claire owned an art gallery in New York City.

Hours later, wrapped in a blanket, Peter's mother looked tired and depressed as Claire sat down next to her on the huge sofa in the living area. Twilight approached and she could see the luminous ribbons of the floodlit ski runs on the opposite side of the valley. Peter remained in the bedroom.

"I'm very sorry about what happened earlier, Claire. I was not myself. Hypothermic. Not thinking straight."

Claire was not sure how to respond. She shrugged.

"We all did what we did willingly. I don't understand why. Now I am ashamed."

"No. Not really willingly. You see I have been testing some new drugs. On myself. As I warmed up they took effect. A new serotonin pathway my labs have discovered. Volatile, they exude from my pores, my breath, my...secretions. They've worn off now. Short half-life."

Claire stood up, apprehensive of being too close to her.

"What do you want from me?"

"Why, nothing. I want to apologize."

"I need to get back to my Art Gallery, Mrs. Kneely. I have already had to cancel my first show of the new year."

She shook her head and patted the sofa for Claire to sit back down next to her. Claire remained standing.

"Please listen to me Claire. You won't return if I let you go. I know you will dump Peter. But it wasn't his fault. Peter needs you. What happened was unfortunate. Think of it as a laboratory accident. But, Claire, I need you too."

"Mrs Kneely, you are not normal. You do bad things."

"Claire, my ambition has cost me my husband and Peter's brother. Experiments gone wrong. I am not going to endanger Peter, nor do I want him to head for the hills again. He tried to kill me and I don't blame him. He's all I've got left. Will you help me? There are so few people I can trust."

Peter's mom broke down and sobbed.

Claire watched Peter's mother weep. After a while she considered the tears genuine.

"Tell me about the business."

"Meet me in the Lab tomorrow morning. Bring Peter if you want."

But Peter was falling into a deep depression, and the following morning Claire could not get him out of bed.


Mom demonstrates her new Research

Claire sat on a stool next to the lab bench. Claire looked around at all of the lab equipment. The computers. The mass-spec. Centrifuges.

"Claire, do you know how difficult it is to run a business built around the chemistry of sex?"

"Not really, no. I own an art gallery."

Claire was trying to rationalize what happened between the three of them the day before. Maybe it really was just due to them all warming up together in bed...

Peter's mother could see that Claire did not believe her. She opened a drawer under the lab bench and pulled out a small plastic box.

"Here's an example. I have to make these myself. I can't trust my people with them."

Peter's mom rattled the box of lozenges. She opened it and offered one to Claire, who bent down and sniffed. Aromatic Cherry. They looked like the ones you take for a sore throat. Red boiled sweets. Chloraseptic.

"Take one."

"No thank you."

"Alright, then I will."

She took one and sucked it around in her mouth for a minute or so, careful to breathe through her nose. Claire watched this dangerous nutcase, wondering what was coming next. She leaned forwards, parted her lips, and breathed out directly into Claire's face, gently. All Claire noticed was the cherry breath from a sore-throat lozenge.She sniffed it.

Within fifteen seconds a powerful erotic hunger surged in her brain, travelled down her spine to her loins. She could feel her pussy awakening, her panties becoming damp. She started to tremble with desire.

Peter's mom carefully disgorged the lozenge into a tiny plastic container and put it on the bench. The she took a swig of water from a plastic bottle, rinsed her mouth out, and spat it out into the large lab sink.

"How do you feel, Claire?"

Claire hung her head, embarrassed and unbelievably horny.

"Come over here." She led Claire to an examination couch.

"Sit up on it."

Drowsy with languid thoughts of penetration and visions of fucking, Claire did as she was told.

"Although I try not to breathe in, some always gets into me. So, I know how you feel. I'm aroused myself. Here. Let me."

Claire was wearing a wool skirt and fleece over a thick shirt. She gently pushed Claire down flat onto the table and lifted up her skirt, exposing her panties. They were already wet through. She pulled the sopping panties off her. Claire knew what was happening, but made no protest. It was like her desire made her crazy. She craved relief.

Peter's mom dipped down and pushed her mouth onto Claire's pussy. Her expert tongue darted about and within seconds Claire came, writhing about and screaming, drenching her face and lab coat.

When Claire was done she stood up straight again, and wiped her face with a paper towel. She gave one to Claire.

"Now do you believe?"

Claire wiped herself dry and pulled down her skirt. She left the sopping panties on the floor.

"No more experimenting on Peter?"

"No. I promise. Or you."

"You just experimented on me."

"To prove it was real. A tiny dose. The effects vary. You seem very susceptible. Look, Claire. I know you think I'm a monster. But I'm not. I just want to take human sexuality to the next level. I can enrich people's lives. Immensely. I just have to get the bugs worked out and the dose right. I'm not going to take risks any more with safety. Except for myself. And perhaps a few others. But not you or Peter."

Claire returned from the laboratory deep in thought to find Peter stretched out on their bed just as she had left him.

"Wake up. I believe everything. You. Your mom's science. Everything."

"So now you're going back to NYC, right? Never to return. Guys who have sex with their mom are not such a great catch."

"Is that what you want?"

"No."

"Good. Then I'm staying. Man up, for heaven's sake. Want some coffee? "


The Golden Globes

After a subdued dinner that evening Claire and Peter sat down to watch the Golden Globes with Peter's mom. It was early this year. Neither was particularly interested, but his mom had persuaded them to keep her company while she watched.  It seemed a crazy way to spend the night after all they had been through, but they did it.

They all sat on the sofa together just like a regular family. The Red Carpet coverage was finished and the opening show was OK, but not as good as in some years. The camera panned around the front tables where the nominees and many famous faces were sitting.

"Is that Sir Cumsalot?" asked Peter. "I didn't think he was up for anything this year."

"He isn't," said Peter's mom. "Crispin's there as a favor to me. Along with a few of my other friends in the film business."

"Mom. What have you done? What's going to happen?"

"I don't know. Let's watch."

After a while the first of the awards was up. Best Supporting Actor.  The camera zoomed in on the nervous nominees, some of whom were sucking sweets to prevent dry-mouth. They all looked anxious. The winner was announced by Ellen Murren, a distinguished English actress, and the recipient, a young American rising star, looked very unhappy. His face was beet red and the female companion sitting next to him seemed to be finding something very funny indeed. The audience clapped as the winner arose, with his hands clasped low in front of him, and made his way unsteadily to the stage. There were gasps among the closer audience members as he passed them. He made his way up the steps awkwardly to Ellen, who kissed him on the cheek, and whispered to him.

"Relax. Congratulations, Love.  Go on take it, turn around and face the audience."

There was no way out. He took the statue with both hands – it was heavy – and turned to face the audience.

Under his form-fitting dinner trousers he was sporting the biggest hard-on that most of the global audience had ever seen. He stood holding his statuette while the audience cheered and laughed for three long seconds before the TV producers got their act together and zoomed in on his face.

The English presenter, her twinkling eyes fixed on the water bottle-size bulge in his crotch, leaned forward into the microphone and said.

"Very impressive, but I'm afraid you still only get one award, dear."

Mumbling thanks, his prepared remarks forgotten, he hurried off stage to loud applause and the producers switched to adverts.

The TV now had Peter and Claire's full attention.

"Mom, what's going on?"

Deborah muted the TV.

"Listen both of you. I want my drugs to be successful. Now, I can do clinical trials which takes years and billions of dollars then MAYBE get FDA approval, OR  I can hand around a few samples at the Golden Globes and the world watches what happens. What do you think?"

"I'm thinking plan B," said Claire.

"She's a sharp one, Peter. You could learn from her."

"I can think of some downsides," said Peter, worried.

The awards came back on. It got much worse. Activities were going on at the tables. Inappropriate ones. When the network finally pulled the farcical ceremony from live coverage Peter and his mother, Claire, and the rest of the world watched the unedited proceedings uploaded by audience members in real time on YouTube and Live Leak.

It was quite entertaining.

"I didn't know Benedict was so well endowed," said Peter's mom. "That certainly is a big batch of cum," she added with professional interest.

"I don't understand the business plan. Or how you stay out of jail," said Peter, still worried.

Peter's  mom shook her head.

"I am never going to sell these drugs. We are going to trade them for power. That was our first global advert." She looked at her watch. "All the evidence will have disappeared by now. I'm off to bed. Goodnight both of you. There are cookies on the coffee table if you want some."


Mom and Peter in the night

Much later in bed Peter awoke suddenly from an erotic dream, more intense than he had ever experienced. In it assorted Golden Globe-nominated stage actresses stroked him, and sucked him only to be replaced by a smiling Claire who did the same and then, his mother, who made him come. He awoke, sure he had messed up the bed. But no. Claire was asleep beside him. He had a rock-hard cock. He looked at Claire, not wanting to wake her up.

He remembered the cookies his mom had offered before he and Claire retired to bed. He was the only one to eat any.

Peter was furious. He was going to have it out with her. She had broken her promise.

His dick was large and stiff, snagging the sheet as he got out of bed. Silently he put his dead brother's dressing gown on and set out for his mother's bedroom. It was on the other side of the house. When he got there her room was dark. It was the middle of the night. He barged straight in, banging the door shut behind him.

His mother awoke, groaned, and put on the bedside light. She saw him standing at the end of her bed.

"What do you want, Peter?"

His dressing gown flapped open, exposing his hard cock. It waggling about menacingly. He wasn't ashamed. This was her fault.

"Mom, you promised. Look at me."

His sleepy mother looked at his cock. She remained silent, but she pulled the sheets aside revealing her translucent nighty which had ridden up, as they always do. Hers was half-way up her thigh.

She watched him approach.

Peter advanced and sat down on the bed in an agitated state. She could not take her eyes off his cock, half asleep as she was.

"What am I supposed to do?" he said.

"Do whatever you want."

He shook his head, as if he was trying to rid himself of a demon. He looked down at his mother and his hand stole up her leg to the hem of her nighty. Slowly he pushed it up, further and further, until the beauty of her waxed cunt was exposed. His mom's pussy was as sleepy as she was. But like her, it was waking up. He looked at it; as he watched he could see the changes of awakening sexual desire. Slight puffing of her clitty, a little blush appearing, swelling of the lips, and a glistening of moisture appearing at the cleft.

He put out his hand and touched it. His mother flinched; she was still half asleep, still awakening.

"You planned this," he whispered.

No response.

He was so hard at the sight; his cock seemed about to explode.

"Let's get this over with," he whispered.

He pushed his moms nighty up to her chest, and knelt on the bed. Grasping her ankles, he pulled her legs vertical and opened them a tad. He felt his mom hold them there.

His mom's pussy beckoned to him.

Kneeling down between her legs he tried to put his cock at the entrance to his mom's pussy, but he was still too high. Reaching forward he picked up the pillows from under her head and shoved them under her ass, and pulled her towards him roughly.

"Peter..."

She protested softly at his violence but he paid no heed.

Now he could get his cock in position, he gripped it and pushed it into her pussy, surprised at the resistance. No matter. He withdrew it, spat on his fingers and rubbed them on his cock, then he leaned forward with his hands below her ass, supporting her, and roughly shoved himself all the way in.

"Oomph," exclaimed his mom as her son's large unexpected cock rammed right up into her. She could feel his cock distending her, all the way up, touching her cervix. He did feel rough. She wasn't wet enough. But he started to thrust anyway.

"Peter. Stop for a moment. Let my body catch up."

Breathing like a bull, he did as his mother requested, remaining still inside her, holding her legs up in the air, against his belly and chest. He could feel his cock waiting like a fat torpedo inside her, ready to explode when the time came.

It had been perhaps two minutes since he had appeared at her door.

"Let go my legs."




Family Flavors Ch. 02



He did so and his mom let her legs descend to either side of him, her legs drawn up a little, her knees bent upwards, her heels on the bed in the classic position.

"Kiss me."

"Mom..."

"Do it."

Peter leaned forward and bent down over his mother, careful to make sure his cock was still pressed up inside her as far as it could go. As he came within range his mother clasped his head gently and pulled him towards her, fixing her mouth on his and sending her tongue up into him. He responded and, as their tongues flirted, his mom's pussy flooded with wetness. He could feel it, feel her slippery juices around his cock.

She pulled back from him just long enough to speak.

"That's the difference between a mother's love and chemicals, my darling boy. Go on now. Have at me."

They latched mouths together once more and Peter thrust into his mother again and again. In only a minute he stopped kissing and buried his face in his mother's neck as he led go a load into her, while she laughed in delight as the warm spurting cum filled her pussy and oozed back out onto the bed sheets.

He lay on top of her for a while. He was too heavy, but she wasn't going to complain. She whispered in his ear.

"I like having sex with you Peter. You know that, you're my son. I love you. But I didn't do this. Not tonight. Not now. It was all you."

"But the cookie..."

"That cookie came straight from the packet. You came to my bed because you wanted to. Now go back to Claire and hope she hasn't woken up. Be nice to her. I need her, and she's the best thing that's ever happened to you."

Peter, shocked and silent, made his way back to his bedroom and climbed back in beside a sleeping Claire.


Telluride Post Office the following morning

The USPS guy took the package from Peter and put it on the scale.

"Any dangerous substances, or perishables like food, stuff like that?"

"No. Just notarized documents."

Claire had asked him to post some legal documents to her lawyer in NYC.

Peter and the postal worker sized one another up. Postal workers seem to last forever and Peter recognized the man as someone he had seen there on and off for the last twenty years. The guy recognized him, too. Peter's mom had a lot of stuff delivered to her mountain home and he remembered the now grown-up little kid who came and went over the years. Peter was the only customer in the store.

"That will be five dollars twenty, sir."

Peter handed over the cash.

"Any questions?" asked the Post guy.

"Yes. Sorry I never asked before. What is your name?"

"José. That's not what I meant, sir."

"OK, José. Here's the real question. My mother is a rich megalomaniac who manipulated me into having sex with her using experimental drugs.  I suspect my girlfriend tried to kill my Mom to protect me, but it proved her love and she still fucks me like a bunny. In fact, they both seem to love me. Any advice?"

Jose sucked his teeth and stared out of the window at the snowbanks on the sunny sidewalk, thinking.

"I get asked this type of question a lot, especially when the film festival is on."

Peter rapped his knuckles on the countertop impatiently. After a minute the man answered.

"I think you should thank your lucky stars," said Jose.

Peter nodded, picked up his change, and walked out of the post office.



Family Flavors



"Come over to the sink."

Peter got up and walked over to the sink. His mother followed with a plastic cup, a bigger one this time.

"Off you go. I'll catch it."

Peter closed his eyes, relaxed, and waited. A minute later Peter's cock jetted a golden stream into the sink. His Mom caught a half an inch in her cup, and then just as if she was bending over to drink from a faucet leaned right down into the sink, turned her head to the side and with her hand directed Peter's piss stream directly onto the tip of her tongue which she had stuck out. The moment the stream hit her tongue she pulled it back to savor the taste. Then with a groan she turned Peter's cock and directed the stream directly into her mouth swallowing as fast as she could, although she could not keep up with it.

After a few gulps she let go his cock and arose, spluttering a bit, but her eyes were wide and her lips smiling. Peter finished pissing. She turned his face to hers and kissed him, forcing her tongue into his mouth and along with it quite a volume of his own piss which she had been holding in her mouth. Peter recoiled, but as his Mom's tongue found his and the delicious apple cinnamon spice of his flavored piss went down his own throat, he found himself surrendering to his mother's embraces.

His cock was getting bigger again and his mother sensed it. Her hand went down to his shorts and pulled out his growing dick. Gripping it she pulled him back to the examination couch and pulled open her lab coat. She had a silk blouse and slacks on underneath. Keeping hold of his cock, she used her other hand to pull down her slacks and panties, stood on tiptoe to rest her ass on the side of the examination table and guided her son's fat cock quickly into her wet inviting pussy. It all happened so quickly and smoothly that Peter did not protest, he was still running the marvelous taste of his own piss around his mouth when he felt his cock head slide up into his Mom's pussy. Then instinct took over, all the old urges returning, all the old hunger. The guilt would come later.

He stepped up into his mother on his toes, the force of his movement pushing her up onto the couch and ensuring that his cock travelled all the way into her. She could feel it pushing against her insides, feel its size gently moving her internal organs. Then he started to thrust, his mother gasping with desire as he rocketed into her. Peter's mind was in a fever, a dark place, a place where he did not want to linger. In part he sought revenge by thrusting into his Mom with brutal force, unconsciously trying to punish her for what she had made him do, what she had made him become. His mother loved him all the more for the violent explosion of this thrusting, knowing where it came from, gasping and gasping as she hung onto him with her hands now around his neck so that he did not force her right off the exam couch over the other side.

"I'm cumming," he said in anger and despair as what was left in his balls surged up and spat into his mother, mixing with her own juices as they flowed out and down her legs.

"Peter, I love you," groaned his mother as she came with all the force of a woman having forbidden sex once more with a son she thought she had lost so many years before. Peter and his mother remained in position, quivering, he supporting her as the last spasms of his cock dribbled into her. Then his cock rapidly softened and slipped out of her, leaving a trail of cum on her leg and her unbuttoned lab coat.

His mother fingered her pussy, catching the mix of semen and her own juices in a cupping motion and bringing it to her lips. She licked it off the palm of her hand.

"My best work yet. You taste like raspberries and cream, even mixed with my own secretions. Claire will be delighted."

Ignoring his mother, Peter fished around and pulled his pants back on.

"I should never have come back. Funeral or no funeral."

"Go back to Claire. Make my apologies. I have more work to do here tonight. I'll see you both in the morning."

Peter walked back to main house, shivering through the gauntlet of driving snow, deep in a depression bordering on despair.

Claire goes walkabout

Peter returned to the dining table in the main lodge and muttered to Claire about his mother being too busy to return for coffee. Then he clammed up.

Claire could see enough on the face of her boyfriend to know that something was very wrong. She did not quiz him, but made them both coffee and sat watching him while they retired to the large sofa. She sat back and thought.

Claire came from a wealthy family herself. But Claire's life had not always been wine and roses and she knew that sins can be more easily concealed in wealthy families.

When she was growing up some of her older male relatives came on to her. One in particular. But Claire was patient. When she was taken on a family canoe trip in Utah, the uncle made the mistake of taking her smile at face value. Together, alone in a canoe, he waited until they were out of site of the others to make another attempt.

When he came towards her she caught him by surprise and pushed him overboard. Then she forced him underwater with a paddle over and over until he drowned in the cold water. It was passed off by her family as an accident, despite a suspicious coroner. But her family knew. No-one touched her again after that.

Perhaps as a result of this episode, she went off the rails in her late teens; shoplifting, using drugs, and running around with local teen gangs. A spell in a young offenders institution had made her realize that she did not want that life. But she had learned much from her cellmates. She had told Peter none of this. While he sat staring out at the driving snow, she thought about what she should do. Peter's mother never reappeared, so they went to bed.

After a night in which Peter had hardly slept Claire awoke. Christmas Day dawned with more drifting snow. The road down the mountain was closed, as was the airport two miles away. By mid-morning Claire found herself alone.

Peter had gone off with his mother yet again to help in some mysterious task in another part of the building, so Claire had the opportunity to look around. She had already found the micro lens in the bathroom, a discovery which shocked and deeply angered her.

As Peter and his mother did whatever they were doing in the laboratory Claire had ample opportunity to explore the ranch. She had no qualms about looking in bedrooms, the kitchens, everywhere. If she was discovered, she was prepared to show Peter the camera in their bathroom. She was sure he did not know about it. She trusted him. Using a paper clip she picked a simple lock to a room connected to Peter's mothers bedroom. There she found the monitors for the all the home surveillance cameras. She sat down to familiarize herself with them.

Back to the Lab with Mom

"Come with me," Peter's mother had said when she found him making coffee in the kitchen for Claire and himself.

He finished making the coffee and took a mug up to Claire. Then he returned downstairs and followed his mother. They again braved the elements across to the lab. They scuttled across the slippery walkway, the snow blown off it by the howling wind, his mother urgently unlocking the door into the secure annex. Peter followed as he sank into an obedient, resentful depression, as if his mind was resetting itself to an earlier part of his life. Inside she led him to the lab. The first thing she did was turn up the thermostat in the lab.

"Sit down my darling boy."

He sat on the edge of the exam table.

"Look at me."

He looked at his mother's face. He knew that she loved him.

"I loved your father. I loved your brother. I love you. I don't want to hurt you."

Tears welled up in his mother's eyes. She wiped the tear from her left eye with her finger and held it out to him.

"Taste it."

He leaned forward and kissed the tear from her finger. It was sweet, like pure sugar water. His mother wiped away a tear from her other eye with a different finger. He leaned forward once more and kissed it. He shrank away. It was bitter, more bitter than anything he had ever tasted.

"Your choice, Peter. You can come and work for me, be my partner, learn the business. I will save you from bankruptcy. You can even keep the girl if you want."

"And if I don't?"

"You will be penniless. I will cut you out of my will. And your girlfriend's genitals will smell like rotten meat for weeks, even if she leaves tomorrow. Which seems unlikely with this storm. She will blame you. Indeed, it will be your fault."

"Can I think about it?"

Peter could tell from his mother's face that this was not the reply she wanted.

"Very well. Right now I have some more work I need your help with. I need to test the effects of yesterday's food and drink. Up on the exam table, please. I need you for a blind taste test."

"Must I?"

"If you want the antidote to your girlfriend's meal, yes."

Peter climbed up on it and lay down in the center. His mother bent over and loosely fastened some straps.

"Just to keep you in position. Stop wriggling," she said, smiling at him.

He could see the desire building in his mother's face. He knew her motives for this exam were not primarily scientific. His mother put a blindfold on him, really just an airline sleep mask. Peter sat there, trying to think and blanking out what was about to happen. He just wanted it to be over.

"Are you comfortable?"

He nodded.

"First off, a semen sample."

"You just took one yesterday."

Peter's mother ignored him. She pulled herself onto the table and knelt beside him on the soft plastic cover. She bent over and untied his shoe laces, pulling his shoes off. She let him keep his socks on. Then she reached up, undid his belt, and pulled down his zipper.

"Lift up your bottom, Peetie."

He did so and she pulled down his pants, leaving them tangled around his ankles. She looked at his white boxers, an appealing lump in his crotch. She knew her son well enough to know that arousing him would be a problem. She would have been disappointed indeed to know how differently he responded to Claire.

"I just remembered. I have to do a baseline on me," said his mother.

His mother opened her lab coat, undid her pants and slipped them off. Then she pulled down her panties and crawled up to her son's head. She raised one knee, steadying herself with her hands on the table and swung a leg over the other side of Peter, straddling him above his face, careful not to put any weight on him. She gently lowered herself until her pussy was touching Peter's face.

"Taste me and tell me what you find."

Peter stuck out his tongue and his Mom smothered him with her crotch. He could not avoid it. His tongue found her opening and went a little way in. A rich tangy flavor of orange suffused his lips. She raised herself up away from him.

"Well?"

"Strong orange flavor."

"No chocolate?"

"No, just orange."

"Thank you." She unstraddled him and made a note on a pad which she took from her lab-coat pocket. He lay still with his blindfold on.

"OK. Semen sample."

She reached over to the side table and picked up a small vibrator. She switched it on and gently touched it against the bulge in Peter's shorts. The bulge started to get bigger, and she stroked it with her other hand as she worked on him. After a minute, she switched off the vibrator and pulled down his shorts. His cock sprang into view, quite hard but not as hard as she wanted it. She dipped down and took it in her mouth. She could taste a hint of what she was expecting already, but of course much more was lurking in Peter's balls, waiting to explode into her mouth. But not yet.

Now he was hard she climbed upon him again, straddling him lower down and with her hand guided his stiff cock into her waiting pussy, already dripping with fruity anticipation. Slowly she sat down on him, delighting once more as her son's cock pierced her and she half came just as he entered her. Then she lay forward on top of him, wriggling, with one hand on his cock's base to make sure he remained deeply inside her.

Peter lay there silently, unable to see, determined not to move, determined not to surrender his dignity. But he could not help it. He started to thrust, ever so slowly at first, his hands slipping down to his Mom's waist and grabbing it to make sure the resistance was there as he thrust inside her from his prone position. His mother knew how much Peter did not want to be her slave, and exulted as she felt him abandon his self-discipline to become an active participant in their fuck.

Peter got faster and his mother was thrown around on top of him as he pistoned into her, all restraint now gone. She was almost lost in delight, but she had to keep her head.

"Don't come in me, Peetie. Tell me when you are about to. It's very important," she said, breathlessly as the air was shoved out of her by her son's powerful thrusts.

A moment later he knew he was close.

"Now," he said through gritted teeth, his emotions running riot inside his fevered brain.

His mother pulled herself upwards, off him, and his sloppy hard cock emerged from her pussy. She backed up quickly on her hands and knees, still facing him. She took hold of his cock and shoved it in her mouth straight away, afraid that he would come outside her, all over the examination table. If that happened the experiment would be lost, but she was in time. As her mouth closed over his glans she could taste her own pussy juice which coated it, a rich orange fruit with perhaps a hint of mango. She ran her tongue around him and pumped his slippery shaft with her hand.

"I'm coming," he groaned.

She could feel the semen rise up his shaft, feel his glans swell, and then it was right there, jetting into her mouth. She let in a load, resisting the urge to swallow it down, using her tongue to mix it with what was already there. He was still cumming. Too much. She pulled his cock out of her mouth and the rest of his load squirted onto her face and neck, then ran down onto her bra. She ran her tongue around inside her mouth and knew she had made another leap forward. She moved up to where Peter was still lying, blindfolded, gasping as he recovered from his violent thrusting and orgasm.

His mother couldn't talk with her mouth full, so she gently inserted a slippery finger between his lips and he opened his mouth a little in reflex. Holding her head directly above his, Peter's mother opened her mouth and a long string of his own cum mixed with her own juices that had coated his cock dropped in slow motion into Peter's half open mouth.

The first he knew of it was when a thick fluid with a powerful taste of chocolate and orange entered his mouth. It was like a fine chocolate crème dessert in a top restaurant. He could not help but swallow it down as his mouth watered for more. His mother, seeing his reaction, bent down to his face and kissed him on the lips, her mouth opened in a French kiss as her tongue tangled with his and their mouths became a single orange and white chocolate flavor sensation. She swallowed some herself, but of course as his mother she let him have most of it.

Five minutes later Peter had recovered. His mother looked at him, sitting on the edge of the exam table, still in her lab-coat with no panties, swinging her legs.

"Well? What's your answer?"

"Very well. I'll join you," said Peter, full of self-loathing. "Now give me the antidote and let me get back to Claire."

His mother laughed. She slipped off the table, went over to a large refrigerator, and pulled open the door. She picked out a small plastic tub.

"Make sure she eats it today. Otherwise..."

He snatched it from her, grabbed his clothes and fled out into the freezing cold.

Endgame

Claire spent two hours in Peter's mother's security room, learning the systems, watching the screens. The one thing she wasn't worried about was being interrupted. The cameras did not seem to extend into the lab annex, but they had good coverage of the interior of the main house and the grounds. Drifting snow had transformed the property and Claire realized that her chances of making it back to NYC were slim, helicopter or no helicopter. That did not improve her mood. She watched Peter emerge from the annex and started to pack up, concealing her activities. Then she went down to greet him. They sat in the main room staring out at the snow and wind.

"I'm not going to make it back for my showing, am I?"

"I have a snack for you," said Peter, waving the tub at her.

Now, Claire had no real idea of what was going on, and certainly did not know that her boyfriend's family had developed technologies to alter the flavor of almost any bodily fluid. But she did know that Peter was being abused by his mother. That much was obvious.

"Peter, what's going on? I'm not hungry."

Peter was on the verge of breaking down.

"Please, please eat this. I can't explain," he said, his voice breaking.

"I'll only eat it if you tell me exactly what is going on."

He nodded. Claire looked at him hard, then took the tub and opened it. Vanilla pudding. She tasted it. Very nice. She ate it.

Peter collapsed on the sofa in relief.

"Now tell me everything."

So he did. She was silent, thinking, for a long time. Then she spoke.

"What happened to your brother? And your father?"

"I think they died accidentally, as a result of testing the flavor compounds. I'm sure it was the last thing my mother intended. Of course, the FDA knows nothing about any of this."

"I need to think, Peter."

She sat on the sofa quietly, considering things. Peter could see his relationship with Claire dying in front of his eyes. But he didn't really know his girlfriend very well.

When Peter's mother reappeared in the early evening, Claire made some excuses and left. It took her half an hour to accomplish her tasks, then she rejoined Peter and his mother in the main living room, set twenty feet above the sloping mountainside. Peter's mother was affable and jolly. Peter was nervously watching Claire. He marveled at her ability to absorb what he had told her without outrage. Perhaps she didn't believe him.

After an early evening snack Peter's mother announced that she had some work to do. When she left for her lab, Claire followed her, careful not to be observed. She followed Peter's mother through the house to the back room connected to the outside. Claire watched from the corridor as Peter's mother shed her jacket and put on her lab-coat, jangling the keys in her pocket to make sure they were there. Then she opened the door to the outside and scurried out into the snow and wind, pulling the door shut behind her. Claire rushed into the room and watched through the thick security glass in the door.

Thirty feet away Peter's mother fumbled with her key, trying to get it into the lock of the lab annex door. She tried and tried, but after two minutes in the bitterly cold wind she gave up. The reason the key would not work was because Claire had found it in the lab coat pocket and had bent it by five degrees, not enough to notice, but enough to render it useless. Claire drew back from the window to avoid being seen. She used a cloth in her pocket to drop the latch and lock the exterior door. When Peter's mother turned the knob and found it locked she let out a stream of curses and started banging on it. Claire left her to it.

Claire ran back through the house and up into Peter's mother's bedroom. She picked the lock to the side room and sat down in front of the security camera monitor screen. The garage doors were all locked, as were all the entrances to the house. Set into a steep slope most of the house was inaccessible from the ground, being set atop thick wooden pilings.




Family Flavors



She watched Peter's mother give up on the door and move laboriously in deep snow to the parking circle at the rear where the main entrance was. She saw her ring the bell on the thick wooden doors. Nothing rang in the house because Claire had temporarily disabled the electric door-chime. Peter's mother tried the three car garage, no luck. Almost obscured by snow with fifteen minutes elapsed Claire saw her head down the slope to the front of the house. She seemed to be yelling, although the security cameras did not have sound capability.

Claire leapt up and ran down to the main room where Peter was half-reading a magazine.

"Can I have some music?" she said.

"Sure."

Claire went to the sideboard music center and flung on the first thing she could find, some old rock music from the eighties. Perfect. She turned up the volume and started to dance around.

"What's gotten into you?" shouted Peter.

"Come on," she pulled him up and made him dance with her, although he was not remotely in the mood for dancing. After forty minutes of cavorting around she let him sit. She turned off the music, ready to switch it up again if she heard anything. All she could hear was the howling wind around the house. The snow had slackened a little.

"Let's go to bed. We can watch TV up there."

"OK. My mother's probably going to be in her lab all evening."

"You go ahead. I'll follow you up."

Peter didn't want to argue with her, so he did as he was told. After he had gone Claire ran up to his mother's bedroom and checked the cameras. The house was still secure. There were lumps and humps sticking out of the drifting snow everywhere. Any one of them could be Peter's mother. She hoped so. The outside wind chill temperature was zero degrees Fahrenheit. Then she wiped the tapes, wiped the keypad and surfaces with a cloth, locked the door behind her, and descended to the huge entrance hall. She reconnected the door chime. If by any chance the woman had not died, it could not be traced to her. Peter didn't know, must never know.

She found Peter already in bed sitting up. He watched her. He had no idea what to expect from her.

"I might grow to like your mother," said Claire, as she undressed, put on a robe, and came to him. She sat down next to him on his side of the bed and felt around under the covers. She grasped him and softly stroked his cock. He was surprised and pleased, and he grew harder. She pulled down the covers and looked at his growing manhood.

"What flavor is he today?'

"White chocolate."

'Mmm. My favorite," she said, bending over.