11 comments/ 52154 views/ 67 favorites Katrina Rules By: MaryAnderson As always, all story characters are eighteen years of age or older. * * * * It was August 2005. I was set to begin my junior year at Tulane University, but the city was emptying out. I stayed, convinced that Hurricane Katrina would turn right and head for Florida; they always did. On Saturday night I went out with the guys, but the scene was dead and I got home relatively early. I learned in the months since Gabrielle dumped me that all night drunken excursions with the guys bitching about women did not leave me missing her any less, but did leave me with a blinding hangover. At the apartment there was a message from Mom asking me to come home to help get the house ready for the storm. I figured that even with my knowledge of the back roads, traffic would be a mess the next day. I decided to get up early; I set my alarm for 5:00 A.M. Mom lived in Abita Springs, a town of about 2,500 people, normally an hour's drive from school. That Sunday it took closer to three. We had never really discussed why she'd moved there, leaving the gated community in which she and Dad had lived before he passed away two years ago. When I thought about it, which was almost never, I figured it was because Abita had a slightly different feel from the rest of the conservative parish in which it was located, a bit funkier, a bit more artsy. These parts of Mom's personality had become more pronounced after Dad's death. I called Mom when ten minutes from the house; I was greeted at the door with a kiss, hug, and the smell of bacon, ham, eggs, and grits. Old fashioned, to the point, delicious. Since Dad's death Mom had taken up cooking. Her life as a bank president's wife included plenty of restaurant meals and formal entertaining with the de rigueur maids and cooks, but little actual cooking. Growing up I was more often fed on doggie bags from one of New Orleans' great restaurants - Mom's insistence of bringing home leftovers was, in her, an endearing trait - than anything cooked in our McMansion's massive kitchen. I chowed down; we had a long day ahead of us. Mom had already done much of the preparing. The generator was working and there were plentiful supplies of gasoline and water and enough food in the deep freezer to feed us for a month. After checking on the storm's progress - overnight it turned gargantuan and was aimed dead at us - we turned to the storm shutters. Their rusty hinges required plenty of oil and muscle and took most of the morning. On the roof we cleaned the gutters, nailed down a few loose shingles, and cleared away the branches that had grown close to the house. Most of the families near us had evacuated, but the Johnsons', two doors down, had stayed. They saw us working, figured they should be doing the same, and asked to borrow our ladder and saws. Nice people, but not proficient with tools; Mom and I ended up doing most of the work for them. We were wrapping up the Johnsons' roof when a car pulled up. A man and woman stepped out and shouted for Mom. Mom said they were the Mayor and Police Chief and asked me to join them after I finished cleaning up. I did. "Louis, Bev, this is my son Austin. He came home for the storm." "Looks like he came home to be put to work," Bev responded. Mom explained the reason for their visit. The city attorney had evacuated; Louis had asked if she'd provide legal advice if needed in the wake of the hurricane. "I told them sure, although I'm an intellectual property lawyer, not a municipal lawyer." The Mayor would have none of it. "Your Mom's the smartest lady I know, no disrespect to the Chief here. How long have you lived here Natalie?" "About two years." "Seems like a lot longer. She's invaluable to the community. I hope she doesn't want my job some day." We ate with the Johnsons', their way of saying thank you. Back home we turned on the television. Landfall was predicted for early morning. * * * * I'd heard stories about Betsy and Camille, but you have to witness a hurricane to comprehend its power. The wind was coming from the north and the house faced south; we spent much of the morning on the enclosed front porch, watching and listening to the storm. Howling wind really does sound like a freight train and the trees didn't blow over, they exploded; their trunks shattering under the torque imposed on them by the wind. By late morning it was over. We stepped outside and despite the fact that all I'd done was watch, I'd been so tense that my muscles were sore and my body stiff. Mom rolled her shoulders; she felt the same. Mom grabbed my hand. "Let's check on the neighbors." The street looked like a tunnel in a forest. The asphalt was completely covered in leaves, branches, and occasional tree trunks. The power lines, except, somehow, one with a big tree on it, were down. Mom noticed something that escaped me, birds were everywhere. "I wonder how they survived the storm?" The Johnsons were shaken, but intact. Billy, a college freshman, said a woman who'd recently moved into the small rental property catty-cornered from them got home late last night. We went to check on her. She was crying, shaking, near hysterical. Mom turned to me. "Austin, grab the Johnsons, bring 'em to the house. There's bread and sandwich meat in the frig. Make everyone lunch. We'll be there soon." Mom and the girl, her name was Brenda, arrived about half-an-hour later. Mom was holding her hand. She was still upset, her eyes red, but she was much better. Over lunch she explained that she was a single mother, that her one-year old daughter was with her grandmother on the other side of town, about a mile away. Brenda was also quite attractive. I noticed Billy noticing. Mom noticed both of us noticing. "Billy, why don't you escort Brenda to her Mom's house, make sure everything is okay." "Sure Ms. Laam, if," looking to his parents, "that's okay with you guys." His mother and father warned him to be safe. They took off. As they disappeared into the jungle that had recently been our street Billy's parents turned to Mom. "Are you sure he's going to be okay?" "Yes, and it will give both of them something to do. I think everybody needs a job right now." The Johnsons' were given rakes and push brooms to start clearing the streets; the chain saws and the heavy work would come later. Mom and I got out the ladder and climbed onto our house. A tree limb had punched through the roof, leaving a hole the size of my fist. "All in all, we're lucky. Easily fixed." I didn't know Mom did roof repairs. We patched the hole and climbed onto the Johnson's roof. It was fine, but from there we could see into their neighbor's back yard. A large tree limb was sitting in a picture window. We went to check. The damage was minimal, but the branch rested against on a table on which original art work was displayed. A strong wind would knock it over; the next significant rain would flood the house. "We've got to clean this up." "How?" She walked to the back door, took a screw driver from her pocket, and jimmied the door open. "Mom!" She looked back at me. "I got skills." "Yeah, I see that. Aren't there laws about this kind of thing, breaking and entering and stuff?" "Katrina Rules." "Katrina Rules?" "Yeah, Katrina Rules, after Katrina you can break the regular rules if necessary to do good." Sounded fine to me. "Okay." I cleaned up the mess; Mom studied the window. "We'll need to put some plywood over this. Bob will have some in his shed." "Who's Bob?" "He lives across the street." "Isn't that stealing?" "Bob would tell us to go right ahead and, well, Katrina Rules." We found what we needed in Bob's well-maintained shed. Mom also pointed to a chain saw hanging on the wall. "Grab that." "Katrina Rules?" "Yep." We covered the window and returned home to find the Johnson's sitting under a tree. Mom fetched some bottled water from the house and pulled a tub of gumbo from the freezer to defrost. Then she and I, wielding chain saws and assisted by the Johnson clan, began clearing the street. Progress was initially slow, but picked up as we were joined by a steady stream of neighbors. By the end of the day the street was open to the small downtown. Satisfied, Mom fired up the propane cooker and invited the neighborhood for gumbo. Billy and Brenda returned with her baby, somebody brought beer, local musicians arrived with guitars, banjos, and an accordion, and we partied, although Mom was pretty much my exclusive dance partner, everyone else said they were exhausted. The party broke up around 10:00, everyone pitched in to clean up. After the last guest left Mom and I sat on the porch. It was hot and sticky and we were grimy and pooped, but still too wound up to sleep. There was not an electric light for fifty miles, the array of stars magnificent. What was the last time I'd seen the Milky Way? There were also no human sounds - no cars, no televisions, no rumbling equipment. When Mom spoke it was clear she'd been thinking along the same lines as I. "Its wonderful out here and I hate to ruin it, but would you fire up the generator and hook it to the window unit in my bedroom." I did so, then returned, pausing in the porch's doorway, and took a moment to study Mom in the starlight. Mom was, had always been, beautiful, but her looks had never been flamboyant. She was small breasted and thin, some would say skinny, she would say slender, but I had watched her work all day. She was firm and muscled; she stayed in shape. It was her face that was entrancing: long and narrow, slim nose, thin lips, her dark skin and brown shoulder-length hair reflecting her Tunisian heritage. It was, however, her soft brown eyes that stood out; there was an intelligence and vibrancy there I could not define. "Hey Mom." She jumped, a bit startled. "I didn't hear you come back." "Sorry, I didn't mean to sneak up on you. I was just watching you." I sat down, took her hand in mine. "You were magnificent today." "What do you mean?" "What do I mean? I mean you took care of the neighborhood, got everybody organized and engaged, rescued Brenda, fed everyone, and fixed a couple of houses. If not for you we'd all still be sitting on our porches, drooling." She turned directly towards me, looking in my eyes. She touched my cheek. "Thank you son, but I was just one of many." "Well, I doubt the neighbors would agree." She smiled and leaned back into my body. I started to rub her shoulders. "That feels good. I'm getting old, some sore." "The bedroom should be cool enough by now. We'll grab showers, then I'll give you a back rub." "Thanks son, I'd like that." Mom took the first shower, I the second. Both navy showers, thank gosh; the last of the hot water petered out as I finished mine. I put on gym shorts; Mom was wearing a short cotton sleep shirt. "So where are you sore?" "Top of the head, soles of the feet, everything in-between." After finishing her shoulders, neck, and arms, I turned to the base of her spine, then moved up her back. Her muscles were tight, spotted with knots; I worked each one out; her low moans confirmed I was doing just fine. I slid down the bed to her feet. Her voice partially muffled by her pillow, she said, "Son you are amazing. Gabrielle teach you all this?" I placed her foot on my thigh and applied pressure to the sole. "Yeah, you learn something from dating a physical therapist for two years." "I liked Gabrielle. What happened to you two?" A painful subject I hadn't liked talking about, but it felt good to unburden myself. "Things had been rocky for months, then I got the 'it's not you, it's me' talk. Found out later she'd been seeing a doctor at the hospital. Kinda pissed me off. She'd been talking about him a lot, seemed infatuated, but when I asked about it she gave me the 'you're being insecure' speech. Turned out I was right." "How you doing with it?" "It's getting better. I even got a girl's phone number Saturday night. In retrospect I shouldn't have been surprised." "Why?" "Gabrielle has expensive taste, was always making a big deal about the sacrifice she was making dating a poor college student. Now she's got someone who can afford her." Except for Mom's low moans, we fell quiet. I reached the top of Mom's legs, was working on the inside of her thighs, close to finishing, when I noticed her shirt had ridden up her legs; I could see the bottom of her plum shaped butt. I stopped. Mom rolled her head. "Is everything okay?" "Unh, well." "Oh, I see. Wondering about touching your mother's buttocks." I wasn't, I had no intention of massaging Mom's ass, but I said, "Yep." "Hmm, well, I can see why you're hesitating, but its some sore and you've got the touch. I'm invoking Katrina Rules." "Katrina Rules?" "Yeah, Katrina Rules. During the aftermath of a major hurricane you can massage your Mom's backside." "You got it." I hadn't intended to do Mom's backside, but I seemed stuck with the assignment now. Sliding my hands under her shirt, I worked my mother's butt. I was a bit uncomfortable at first, but she clearly enjoyed it - her breathing deepened out - and she'd certainly had earned it. Her groans began to morph into something akin to soft purrs. Unlike the rest of her slender body, her butt had a little bit of extra flesh on it. I worked down to the bottom of her ass. Her legs were spread, her shirt pushed to the side, and then I saw it, her muff. I looked away, kept massaging her, moving downward, increasing the pressure, trying to decide where to stop. Then I felt it, glanced down, did a double-take; Mom was rocking her hips into the bed. The motion was tiny, but real. With Gabrielle, when I reached this point, she was always turned on, rarin' to go. Was I having the same effect on Mom? Was she aroused? I patted her ass. "Done." She rolled over, a happy lazy smile on her face. I lay down next to her and feeling emboldened, wondering how far I could go, I put my hand under her shirt, ran my fingers across her flat stomach, kissed her forehead. Her face was flush, skin warm. "Thank you son, that was wonderful. Gabrielle taught you how to touch a woman." My hand continuing stroking the skin under her shirt, I said, "Enough of my love life. How about you? Staying loyal to Dad? I don't think he'd mind if you found the right guy." "If you're asking if your Mom's too old, no; I have the usual urges and the parts all work. And yeah, if I found the right guy your Dad would smile down on it. I've dated some, but nothing special; I've been focusing on me. I was eighteen when I married your father, walking into his well-defined existence. I'm not complaining, it was a wonderful life, but I've spent the last couple of years trying to figure out what I want for my future." In the world I'd grown up, a gated subdivision stocked with well-off white folk, Mom had always been different. It's not that she defied convention. She played the role of corporate wife and was genuinely liked, as opposed to the polite tolerance that defined so many relationships. It was more like Mom understood it was a convention and then only one of many conventions. Her exploration of other worlds, of friends, art, and causes outside that which defined our community was written off as an artifact of Dad not only marrying, but falling deeply in love with a woman so much younger than himself. I ran my fingertips up her side. "Is that why you moved?" "In part. Everyone assumed the memories of the house were too painful, and that was true, but I wanted to live in a place where everyone wasn't the same. I've been considering moving back to New Orleans. It would save the commute. I wonder what it's like over there." For the readers wondering how we didn't know, those first days there were no communications: no radio, no television, no cell phones. You didn't know if the town three miles down the road was still there, much less what was happening in New Orleans. I took my hand out from under her shirt, placed it on her leg, rolled it to the side so her inner thigh faced the ceiling. On it, using a fingertip, I drew a map of the region. First an oblong circle. "So here is Lake Pontchartrain." Walking two fingers across her leg, pressing my fingertip to her skin, I said, "and you moved here." My fingers took a longer step and I pressed a fingertip to her thigh, less than an inch from her sex, "and are considering moving here, so you can avoid," and tracing the route of her commute by lightly running a fingertip across her thigh directly towards her vagina, "this long drive." Mom's skin erupted into goose bumps. "I'm not sure you should touch your mother like that." "Sorry." "Don't apologize. I didn't say you did anything wrong; I said I wasn't sure. What do you think?" I kissed the side of her head. "Katrina Rules." "Yes, Katrina Rules." She took my hand in hers and rolled on to her side. I followed her; we ended up spooning. "It feels good to be held by, to sleep with a man again." I kissed the back of her head. "I'm glad I came home." "Me too." She shifted position; her ass brushed my erection. "I'm glad to see your parts work also." * * * * I woke the next morning to the smell of bacon and a gaggle of voices. Mom was in the kitchen, cooking for a dozen neighbors, suggesting we head downtown to see what was going on. A number of guests, still too shell-shocked for the experience, said they'd stay behind and clean up. We walked downtown. Power lines and their electronic gear were scattered in yards and ditches, many houses had a tree branch through their roof, and the canopy that had defined the neighborhood was denuded, most of the leaves and all but the largest branches were on the ground. The city center, not having the same tree cover, was in better shape. The people who e already there congregated around Mom, who was eyeing Russ' Hardware. It had been boarded up in anticipation of the storm. She motioned me over. "We're going to see the Mayor." The Mayor was not in, he was at the emergency operations center in nearby Covington. We went to see Bev, the police chief. Mom got to the point. "Bev, I'm sure Russ left a key to his place with you. There are a lot of supplies in there we could use to do some good around here. Can you let us in?" "Natalie, I don't have Russ' permission and he evacuated. I don't know when he'll be back." "You know he'd say it was okay. We'll inventory what we take and pass the bucket around. If we don't raise enough money, I'll pay what's missing." Bev thought about it, but not too long. "Yeah, you're right, Russ would agree, but I warn you there are fifteen witnesses here who heard you promise to pay. I'll get the key." Over the course of the day half-a-dozen work crews patched roofs, repaired windows and doors, cleared streets, and cut paths to homes buried amid broken tree limbs. By 6:00 we'd exhausted the small hardware store's supplies. Bev met us there, holding a coffee can stuffed with money. "You're off the hook Natalie. Russ made himself a tidy profit. The Café is feeding everybody tonight. It figures it might as well cook before the food goes bad." We walked the two blocks to the Café. Most of the town's remaining citizens were there. Bob Charles, the proprietor, and several volunteers were working the kitchen, rolling out waves of food. Mom volunteered to help, but Bob refused. "Natalie, you've been taking care of everybody for two days. Sit, eat, relax. That's an order." And so we did and when the musical instruments came out, we danced. Sometimes with others, mostly with each other. After the party broke up I took Mom's hand in mine and, accompanied by Billy Johnson and Brenda - the boy was smitten - walked home. I hooked up the air conditioner up to the generator; Mom took the first shower. After I'd taken mine I returned to the bedroom. Mom was on her stomach. Katrina Rules "Time for my back rub." "You starting to feel entitled?" "If I knew what those hands could do, I'd been asking years ago." I pulled her nightshirt back, exposing her shoulders, and began work. Mom took deep long breaths and cooed her appreciation. She was not as tight as yesterday; the muscles moved easily between my fingers. When I shifted position to her lower back Mom pulled the nightshirt up, exposing her fanny and most of her back. Would I be going to far if I said... "You've got a nice butt Mom." "Thank you son, so do you." No, apparently I would not be going to far. Starting at the base of her spine, I worked my way up Mom's back. Mom spread her arms, her legs drifted apart. When I worked a knot out a groan, almost animal, erupted in her solar plexus. She was leaving her body to my whim. I worked by hands up her sides, slipping them further and further under her body. She offered no resistance. How close to her tits could I go? The answer was mighty close; my fingertips grazed their sides. I moved down, did her feet, started up her legs. Her eyes were closed; her mouth open, fingers curled; she was breathing heavily. The tip of her tongue played on her lips. My hands were on the inside of her thighs, inches from her crotch, applying gentle pressure. She spread her legs further. I worked my hands up further, closing in on her sex, waiting for her to say something, to close her legs. Instead she murmured, delight evident in the voice. "Oh son, that feels so good." I leaned forward, took a whiff. Mom was turned on. I worked her butt, taking liberties I wouldn't have dreamed of yesterday. I spread her ass cheeks, exposed the cleft, ran a finger down it, then took the cheeks in my hands, kneaded them, moved lower and lower, within an inch of her sex. I intensified the pressure. Mom began rocking her hips into the bed, her groans guttural and graphic. There was no mistaking her arousal. I cupped the bottom of her ass cheeks and turned them inward, forcing her pussy lips closed. She gripped the sheet and moaned, "Uuuuunnnnnnnhhhhhhhhhhhh." My cock was throbbing. "Son, use your fingers. I need it. Katrina Rules." I reached between her legs and ran my index finger from her perineum, across the mouth of her vagina, along the length of her labia, to her clit, listening to Mom's gasps and groans, watching how she responded. After half a dozen traverses of her sex I stretched the skin above her clit, freed it from its hood, touched it with my thumb. "Uuuunnnnnnnhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh." Resting my palm on her perineum, I pressed, rubbed, and massaged her labia, making small circular motions whenever encountering an especially sensitive spot. I varied the pressure, sometimes a lot, sometimes hardly any at all. "Son, that feels so good." Her labia was a swamp of girl juice. I fingered her pussy lips, moved my middle finger inside her, up to the first joint, then to the knuckle. The walls of Mom's vagina, tight and swollen and wet, spasmed on my finger. "My god son, feels good, feels so good." Mom's mouth was open; her fists clenched; she was humping my hand. I plunged another finger inside her; finer-fucked her; Mom arched her back, her pussy walls clamped down on my fingers, her head bounced up from the bed, she yelped, "Nneeeyyaaaahhhhhhhh," and an orgasm ransacked her body. I stopped, unsure of what to do. Mom noticed my hesitation and between heavy hurried breaths said, "Keep going, keep going." Well, Mom was multi-orgasmic. "Put your fingers all the way inside me." I did; I pushed my thumb inside her. Her face still buried in her pillow. Mom raised herself up on her knees. "Feels good, feels so good, oh son, my clittie, play with my clittie, Mommy needs it bad." I slid a hand across her stomach, pulled the skin taut above her clit, rolled it between my index and middle fingers. Mom gasped. I jiggered my thumb; Mom worked the muscles of her vagina, squeezing tight. Her moans were primal. She reached between her legs and covered my hand with her own, pressing it to her sex; air was exploding from her lungs. I pressed her clit, rolled it hard against her body ,and she came, "Eeeeyaaaannnnhhhhhhhh." Her knees slid backwards, her backside descended to the mattress. She lay there, taking deep long breaths, wallowing in the aftermath of her orgasm. I started to pull my hand away from her vagina, but she said, "No, I like the way it feels against me." I lay next to Mom, my body pressed to hers, my hand on her sex. . After a few minutes she picked her head off her pillow, kissed my cheek, and in a sleepy voice said, "Okay, let's do that again, nice and slow." Who was I to argue? I pushed my thumb back inside her; Mom's vagina squeezed it, let it go. She brought her legs together, trapping my hand against her body. I worked her clit with my index finger, fucked her with my thumb, steadily increasing the pace and force of my movements. She wheezed and groaned; the contractions of her cunt muscles grew stronger and stronger. She balled her fists. "Ennh, eennnhhhhh, eeeennnnhhhhhhh, eeeeennnnnhhhhhhhh." Mom's hips began a series of short sudden jerks. I pushed my hand hard against her, pinned her to the mattress, attacked her clit, twisted my thumb inside her. Her cunt muscles spasmed in random powerful waves. "Eeeeeeeennh, eeeeeeeeeeeeeeennnhhhhh, eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeennnnhhhhhhh, eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeennnnnnnnnhhhhhhhhhhhhhh." She raised herself on her hands and shoved her hips and rump into my thumb. I held her in place, then twisted my hand against her sex. She seemed entirely focused on the sensations, her jaw locked, and she came, yelling in animal fury, then sank down to the bed, turned on her side. There was a blissful smile on her face. I lay my arm across her body, crossed her ankle with my own. She kissed my nose, my lips, sweet short happy affectionate pecks. "That was amazing son." "Yeah. Never imagined I'd be playing with my mother's pussy." She walked her hand down my body, placed the palm of her hand on my penis. It immediately stiffened. "Well, Katrina Rules are a two way street and let it never be said I left my son with blue balls." She pivoted her hand inside my gym shorts. As she squeezed my cock, I rolled onto my back, raised my knees to my chest, pulled off the shorts, tossed them to the floor. Grasping my shaft, Mom shimmied down the bed. "Nice dick son. Where's the lotion?" I handed her the massage oil. She unsnapped the lid, sprinkled the liquid in her palm, reached for my cock, wrapped her fingers around it, and then Mom took her time and explored my manhood. One hand twisted on the shaft, the other gyrated on the crown; her thumb explored the sensitive flesh below the head. She released the shaft and toyed with my scrotum, she stroked my chest and the inside of my thighs. Mom's touch was beguiling and I was happily lying on my back, wallowing in the delightful gift of Mom's talented hands. "Spread your legs." When I did Mom sat between them, squeezed more lotion onto her hands, took hold of my dick. "How does it feel son? Does your mother know how to give a hand job?" I started pumping my dick in her hand; she squeezed harder and jerked faster; her other hand caressed my balls. Its middle finger worked my perineum. I was breathing in short gulps. "Do you think your Mom is nasty? Is that what you're thinking, my nasty Mommy is jerking me off?" My balls tightened, grunts replaced breaths. Leaning forward, she took my cock in both hands, twisted one around the base, captured the head with the other. Her tone became earthy. "Not the innocent Mommy you thought I was, but a dirty Mommy, a vulgar obscene Mommy, a Mom who loves her baby boy's man-sized cock, come for me son, come on your Mommy's hands." Cum exploded from my cock. I hadn't masturbated in days; the spray was copious, landing on Mom's cheeks and chin, her chest, her breasts, sheets of it slid down her skin. I stared, mesmerized by the sight of my mother covered in cum. She ran a finger down her face, through the goo, sucked some off her finger, smiled, a sweet loving compassionate smile, the sex-happy vixen of a few seconds ago already fading away. "I'll get a towel, clean us up." She went to the bathroom, ran the water, returned, wiped me down, dried me off, returned to the bathroom, reappearing, to my disappointment, in pyjamas. I pulled my gym shorts back on and rolled towards her, laying an arm over her. She kissed my nose. "We should probably keep the full extent of Katrina Rules to ourselves. The public wouldn't understand. Y'know, technical legal stuff." I kissed her forehead. "The secret is safe with me." * * * * When I woke the next morning I heard voices in the front yard. Mom was talking to Bev. Donning a tee-shirt and sandals, I joined them. Mom explained. "Bev's learned that my firm's Baton Rouge office has stockpiled necessities for displaced employees and is using its connection with CVS, it's a big client, to make medicine available. She's got a list of prescriptions that people in town need, who knows when the local pharmacy will re-open. She asked me to drive to Baton Rouge - the road is open - to pick up supplies and medicine. I told her sure. Wanna come?" We headed west, the amount of destruction steadily decreased. As we closed in on Baton Rouge our cell phones beeped back to life. We called out-of-state friends, told them we were fine, asked them to pass the word. At the firm's Baton Rouge office Mom was treated like a conquering hero, the affection for her palatable. We were taken out for lunch and offered several places to stay. While a hot shower sounded mighty good to me, Mom was clear: we needed to get back. After lunch the partner in charge of the CVS account reported the medicine was ready and with our truck packed to the gills: food, water, propane, batteries, flashlights, etc., we headed for the drug store. Mom went inside; I pulled into a line several blocks long to buy gas. Forty-five minutes later, as I was pumping fuel, Mom approached, carrying several bundles. "What took so long?" "Lawyer stuff, I had to sign a ton of forms. CVS is protecting itself; its generally against the rules for one person to pick up dozens of prescriptions for others." I hadn't thought about it; it made sense. She looked both ways and kissed me. No tongue, but it was not a mother-son kiss. "I'm glad you came back home." "Me too Mom." The drive back took about an hour. Most of the people needing medicine met us at the police station. Mom and Bev delivered what was left. When done we unloaded the truck with the help of several people milling around downtown. Bev invited everyone back to the station, where she fired up her grill. "The stuffed pork chops just finished defrosting, might as well eat 'em." * * * * After my shower I emerged from the bathroom to find Mom face down on the bed, wearing one of my tee-shirts, waiting for her back rub. I teased. "I'm not sure you deserve one. There was minimal heavy lifting today." "Well buster, if you are going to talk like that, I may just have to send you to your room where there is, I'll remind you, no air conditioning." It was south Louisiana in August, the poster-child of hot and sticky; a back rub was a small price to pay. I lit some candles, crawled on to the bed and, as I coated my hands with the massage oil, Mom pulled the tee shirt over her ass, to the small of her back, and spread her legs. After last night I wasn't sure how far I could go, but I was willing to find out. Gabrielle had taught me the difference between a therapeutic and sensual massage; this one favored the latter. I focused on a few areas: shoulders, calves, thighs. When I found a knot I'd work it out, but in contrast to the last two nights there was more compression and more stroking, at times long and firm, at times I lightly dragged my fingertips across her skin. "My butt, do my butt." I kneaded her ass as if it was dough; Mom's moans were deep and unabashedly sexual. I spread her ass cheeks, oiled a finger, ran it along her cleft to her anus, rubbed the opening with the flat of a finger. Between heavy breaths Mom said, "Oh god son, that feels so good." Was she offering herself to me? Trying to sound confident I said, "Katrina Rules." "Oh god yes, Katrina Rules." Starting above her clit, I ran a finger down the length of her sex, caught her juice, smeared it along her butt crack. She pressed her hips to the bed. "Mmmmm, feels nice, do it again." I did, several times. She raised her bottom. I inserted a finger in her pussy. She pushed against it. I rocked it back and forth within her. Turning her head towards me, she brushed the hair from her face "You have magic hands." I rolled her onto her back, sidled up next to her. We were inches apart, looking into each other's eyes. Her finger moved over my lips, traced their shape, explored the contours of my nose. I reached under her shirt, cupped her small breasts. She pressed her thigh to my erection. "This is nice." I said, "Yes." She winked, smiled sweetly, said, "Katrina Rules," and brought her lips to my mouth. My heart skidded to a halt at the soft brush of her lips on mine. She placed her hand on the back of my neck, held me. When she lowered her head to her pillow, I followed it down. Her tongue slipped from her mouth, stroked my lips. I hadn't been sure. Was last night an outlier? Two people in extraordinary circumstances with nowhere else to turn But now I was blushing, my face red, burning with emotion. I wanted my mother. She tilted her head. I touched her tongue with the tip of my own, ran my fingers through her hair, coaxing her to deepen and prolong the kiss. Her fingers slid into my hair, held me to her. Her tongue was inside my mouth, mine followed hers back into her mouth. They played with each other, slowly and carefully, exploring and learning. They danced together, glided, stroked, tasted. When our mouths finally separated, our eyes locked together; we were processing what was happening. Then Mom took hold of her tee shirt and, as I leaned back, pulled it over her head. She was naked. I scanned her body, lowered my head, nuzzled her neck, worked my way up to her ear, kissed it, whispered, "You're beautiful." I kissed her mouth, straddled her, licked one breast, then the other. I held one in each hand, moved my mouth back and forth, feasted on each, in slow hard licks with the flat of my tongue. Mom's breasts were sensitive; her undulating body signaled her delight. I slid down her body, my mouth hovered over her vagina. Yesterday I'd found my mother's scent intoxicating. Now it was stronger, more earthy. My mother was deeply aroused. "I'm going to eat your pussy." She spread her legs. A sheen of juice, running half-way to her knees, sparkled on her inner thighs. Her clitoris, long and slender, peeked from its hood. Her pussy lips had opened up. They were beautiful. "Please, my darling son, please, its been a long time," I licked her vagina, then up her labia. I'm not sure what ambrosia is, but I'm pretty sure it tastes like this. I lay my open palm on her belly, she was breathing in a deep steady pattern, and made several laps around the perimeter of her vagina, kissing, licking, sucking her pussy lips. I pulled them into my mouth, rolled them between my lips. I licked the face of her pussy, then sank my tongue inside. "Ooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh." I turned to the labial lips, sucked one, then the other. They were rosy pink in color and wet with lubricant. I took them in my mouth, tugged. I pushed my tongue into her vagina, savoring the liquid bubbling within her. Mom was rolling her hips in movements akin to a belly dancer. "Oh son, your tongue, feels so nice." I drank heavily of her flow and, temporarily satiated, moved up, my squiggling squirming tongue working the furrow of her labia. The tip of my tongue danced in tight circles around her clit, then flicked it from side to side. I took my time, varied my approaches. I dragged my tongue, first the soft bottom, then the rough top, over her clit. I sucked her clit into my mouth, rolled it between my lips, ran the tip of my tongue across it. Mom's left hand cradled my head; her right hand caressed her torso, kneaded her breasts, touched her lips. The undulations of her belly became more pronounced; she moaned, releasing tension with each staccato rhythm. I picked up the pace, slapped her clit with my tongue. Propping herself up on her elbows, she raised her head. Her dark eyes smoldered with desire. She was breathing heavily, gulping down air. The tip of her tongue sat on her bottom lip. She nodded and I attacked her clittie, held it between my lips, battered it with my tongue. The rolls of her belly grew stronger. Her moans were guttural, tension and need echoed through the room. I assaulted her clit. Mom's head flopped back, her hips jerked upwards, her arms flailed in the air. Noise exploded from her solar plexus; pussy juice poured from her; she was coming. As she did her body went rigid and she pressed her thighs together, trapping my head. I sucked on her vagina, helping her coast back down, then moved up the bed, propped my head on my elbow, studied her happy face. She looked at me through lazy contented eyes, she touched my mouth; a finger tip glided through the pussy juice that covered my face. She kissed my lips. "That was wonderful son." I lay down and she rested her head on my shoulder. I kissed her forehead, stroked her hair and face. After several minutes, some semblance of vigor returning, she reached down, felt my half-stiff dick through my gym shots. "Why don't you take those off." While I rolled on my back to do so she reached for the drawer in her bedside table; her movements were slow and shaky; she was having no success. Finally, she fell back, laughing. "It appears you wore your Mama out. Hand me the bag in that drawer." I did so. She held it above her chest; a small box of condoms fell out, landing between her breasts. She struggled to open it, her fingers still clumsy and uncoordinated. She handed the box to me. "Would you do the honors." I was going to fuck my mother. I was rigid. She answered the unasked question. "At the drug store, while you were pumping gas. I paid for them separately. They won't be on the bill I turn in for reimbursement." I opened the top of the box, pulled out a condom, tore off the foil top. "Stop, I want to do the rest." I handed her the condom; Mom struggled to the sitting position, kissed my mouth, told me she loved me, stroked my hard cock, squeezed the condom from the pouch, fitted it to my cock, rolled it down. She settled onto her back and spread her legs. "Son, no one's been up there since your father. I use a vibrator, not a dildo. So not to hard, especially at first. I'll need time to adjust. You're bigger then your Dad." I was about to fuck my mother. It's not that I didn't want to, it's not that I had any doubts, but it was still fricking enormous. I didn't want to rush it. I knelt between her legs, ran my cock up and down her slit. She was soaking wet. She squirmed and moaned, then said, "Son, that feels wonderful, but I want you inside me. I'm ready." I placed my cock at the entrance of her vagina, she wiggled her hips. I slipped inside, just the head; I straddled her body, rocked my hips forward, moved another couple of inches into her. She grimaced. "I thought it looked big, but it's huge. Hold still, give me a moment." Then, after a few Lamaze breaths she said, "Okay, that's better, I'm ready, take your time, please." I said, not sure if I meant it, "Mom, we don't have to do this, I don't want to hurt you." Katrina Rules She opened her eyes, blew me a kiss "That's sweet of you son, but maybe I haven't been clear. I want to make love to you. It's just that my eyes are bigger than my pussy, but I'm sure she'll come around." I started with gentle little stabs, just an inch or two, enough to move deeper inside. "Oh yes, son, that's it, nice and easy." I lowered my body to hers. She cupped my ass cheeks and with subtle pressure let me know when to push harder, go deeper. Soon, inexplorably, I was all the way inside; my dick was buried in my mother's cunt, filling the place I'd come from. She held me tight, kissed me. I kissed her nose. She laughed. "This feels good, it's been way too long since I've been fucked." I curled at the waist, licked Mom's breasts, nibbled her nipples. She moaned, stroked my hair. Stretching my jaw, I took most of her small breasts into my mouth. My hands explored her body, caressed her shoulders and thighs, ran up her sides, tickled her ribs. She giggled, tried to slap my hands away, but soon surrendered and I touched and caressed wherever whatever I pleased. She rocked her hips against me, her motion growing stronger. With a sensual moan she grabbed my head, pulled it from her breast, and locked her mouth to mine in a kiss of fierce passion. I started fucking her in short slow strokes. As our bodies adjusted I increased the length of each thrust until the full length of my cock was sliding in and out of her. Our kisses ended; our focus turned to my hard rod and her soft pussy. I pushed myself deeper and deeper into her. Mom quivered in excitement and pleasure; her head rocked back; her breathing grew stronger. I kept going, increasing my speed. Mom dug her fingers into my back. I lowered myself, laying on top of her and nestled my head to hers. Her purrs of delight signaled exactly how her body was responding to our love making. We fucked like long acquainted lovers. Mom's breathing became rapid and irregular; her heart pounded in her chest. I slid forward, rolling her clitoris between our pubic bones. "Oh wow, fuck, ooooooo my golly, harder, harder son." I followed orders. She pushed her hips into me; her short nails dug deeper into my back. Her cunt was tight and warm; she wailed in delight. "Ennh, ennh, eennnhhhhh, eeennnnhhhhh." Her head flopped back; she moaned in hard short bursts, tension filing her voice. Her hands slid up my back to my shoulders; her jaw locked; she pulled herself into me, jerked, and came. "Hhhhnnnnnnnnnnyyyuuuunnnnhhhhhhhhhhhhh." Then, in a shaky voice, said, "Stop, I need you to stop, stop." I did, resting my cock in her tight wet hole. Her arms loosened on my back. She kissed the side of my head and pushed hair away from her sweaty face. The she smiled and in a voice bright and alive said, "You know what just happened?" "You came?" "I came while being fucked by my son. Do you think I'm a unfit mother, a dirty mother?" "No." "You sure, not a little bit?" I kissed her. "Okay, a little bit bad." We were quiet for awhile, enjoying the warmth of each other's bodies. "I love you son." "I love you too Mom." She twitched her vaginal muscles. "You're still hard?" "Yeah." "You didn't come?" "No." She took my hand in hers, studied it for a second, looked in my eyes. "My son is quite the stud." She kissed a fingertip, took the finger into her mouth, sucked on it. "Ready for another round." "Yes, mother." Lifting myself up on my arms, I pulled back, pushed into her, sliding to the bottom of her pussy in a single stroke. Her breasts swayed; pleasure shone on her face. I increased the speed and strength of my movements, quickly passing the pace of our first fuck. Mom hooked her right leg over my calf. It was clear, her pussy had fully adjusted to the incestuous invasion. "Fuck me son, hard. I want you to come inside me." Mom started coming, one orgasm after another, surfing the top of a wave; a continuous string of happy murmurs flowed from her solar plexus. My breathing quickened; my climax was building. Mom wrapped her legs around my waist and her arms around my upper back, pulling me into her. Her pussy canal shivered in anticipation of each thrust. I decided to slow it down, transitioning to a slower grinding motion, rolling my pubic bone over her clit. Mom, jaw clenched, adjusted her movements to mine, slid her clit over the base of my cock, skipping from orgasm to orgasm as we fucked on and on. Her hands were on my butt, helping guide my movements; her breathing came in ragged bursts of anguished need. "My god, you're so good. Don't stop, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me." I picked up speed, drilling deep into her. Mom matched me. I tried to hold on, to stall my orgasm, but Mom's hips began an involuntarily wiggle, my cock swirled around inside her. She pulled my mouth to hers, gave me a sloppy kiss, then let go and twisted the sheets in her hands as an orgasm consumed her body. "Ooooohhhhh, mmmmmm, ohhhhhh, aaahhhhh, fucckkkk yesssss!" I slowed a second, but Mom grabbed my ass and urged me on. I kept going, her vagina enveloped my cock. I quickened the pace, penetrating ever deeper. Mom squealed, "Oohh... oohh... oohh... oohh... oohh... oohh... mmph... mmph... mmph," and we fucked faster and faster. Slurping sounds from my thrusting cock filled the room; Mom moaned in uninhibited lust. I was fucking her like a pile driver, my balls slapped against her. Mom rocked her hips into me, meeting each penetration with a grunt, "Ugghh, Ugghh, Ugghh, Ugghh, Ohh, Ohh, Ohh, Ohh," and push of her own. Our hips banged into each other. I leaned up for better leverage, gave her longer strokes. Mom's pitch grew ever higher. She clawed my back, wrapped her legs around me; her hips undulated, rolled against mine; she mashed her clitoris into me. "OOOOHHHH!! OOOOOHHHH!! OOOOHHHHH!!" I couldn't take much more, my balls were boiling. Mom was writhing against me. "Gonna come Mom, ready." She screamed, as if possessed, "OOOOOHHHH!! YEEESSS!! OHHHH YESSSS!! OHHHHH YESSSS!! OHHH YESSS!!" I jerked, grunted, shot my load into her warm wet depths. Mom came unglued, possessed by the detonation in her groins. "OOHHH! OOHHH! UGGGHH! YESS! FUCK ME! OH GOD FORGIVE ME! I LOVE IT! AAAGGHH! OOOOHHHH!" Her hips rocked wildly, her body shook; her scream was so fierce I was glad the next door neighbors had evacuated. I continued to pound her pussy, fire gobs of cum into her. She dug her fingers into my back; her cunt muscles clamped down on my prick; I unleashed a final burst of semen, flooding her womb; I rolled off her, sucking in desperate deep breaths. She leaned her body against mine. I kissed her mouth, her neck. Mom stroked my hair. "Such a good boy. So big and strong." We were spent; we held each other. My body, like hers, was coated with sweat. I kissed her. She tasted of salt. "That was amazing." "Mmm hmm," she sighed in happy agreement We lay motionless, tried to catch our breath. Occasionally I'd reach over, toy with her breast, touch her face. She cooed softly in my ear. Finally I staggered to the bathroom, peeled off the remnants of the condom, at some point we'd shredded it, returned to our bed. Mom rested her head on my chest, kissed my nipple. I stroked her hair. "Can't say I liked Katrina, but I do like Katrina Rules." "Me too," she replied. I figured I better tell her. "How would you feel about more children?" "I always wanted more. Something you need to tell me?" "By the time I took it off there wasn't much condom left." * * * * Mom had insisted on going to the doctors by herself. I was waiting for her on the porch; when she pulled up I opened her car door. She looked like she had cried a bit on the way home. I offered her my hand, walked with her into the house. She sat on our love seat and I fixed a cup of her favorite tea. I put my arm around her and she snuggled up to me. After a few minutes she said, "It's official, I'm pregnant." I kissed the top of her head. She asked me whether I was sure about this, about the commitment. I told her the truth. "I'm a little sacred, but I'm sure. As to the commitment, it's already made; it ain't going nowhere." "I love you son." "I love you Mom." * * * * In the wake of the storm people whose homes had been destroyed in New Orleans and adjoining towns poured into our community; property prices sky-rocketed. Mom sold the house to an oil executive who'd evacuated to Houston. Because his children had already enrolled in school there we'd be able to stay through the following summer. Mom, betting on New Orleans' comeback, purchased adjoining properties in the Marigny. Tulane did not reopen until January, and then with a reduced faculty and class schedule. With the help of some of Mom's contractor friends and the innumerable church groups that poured into New Orleans. much of my time was spent renovating the properties. By the time the oil executive returned, our home was ready for occupation. We moved into it a month after our daughter, Katrina Rae, was born. Two years later I finished at Tulane and took a job at a graphic arts firm. A few months later Mom left the big law firm and opened an office in the now-finished building next to our home. She focused her practice on New Orleans' burgeoning arts scene, providing services to young artists unable to afford big firm rates. We had also decided to have another child. Four years later two friends and I went out on our own, which is why on this Friday afternoon no one complained when I left the office at 3:00 P.M. to pick up my nine year old daughter and the five year old twins, Brandon and Ruth, from school. When I got home the kids galloped out of the car, eager to see Mom's paralegal, whom they'd dubbed Uncle Charlie. I followed them into the house, noted Mom's door was closed. Charlie, kids crawling all over him, explained. "She's in there with Amiri, finalizing the settlement." A barely altered scene from one of Amiri's recent plays had shown up in the midst of a recent Hollywood success. Mom had milked all the publicity she could out of the faux pas, then negotiated a handsome monetary settlement. Amiri was suddenly in demand. Mom had become what she had intended to become, a nursemaid to New Orleans post-Katrina arts renaissance. An expert in intellectual property, she advised the city's struggling, up and coming, and newly successful artists without worrying about time sheets and hourly rates. Don't feel sorry for us; we lived well. Dad's sizeable estate, the money Mom made before her career change, the sale of the house in Abita, and the steady stream of referrals from big firms when they had a conflict of interest, along with my own moderate success, guaranteed that. Mom's door opened. The kids peeled off Uncle Charlie, heading for Uncle Amiri. He scooped them up. Mom said, "Okay gang, you're bags are in the back. Go get 'em." As the kids scurried off, Mom turned to Amiri, "I appreciate your help." Amiri was keeping the kids overnight, taking them to a rehearsal of his latest play, then to the loft apartment he shared with his girlfriend in Mid-City. "After everything you've done for me Natalie, it's nothing. Congratulations by the way, and say hello to the President." Oh, I guess I left that out. It was the tenth anniversary of Hurricane Katrina. President Obama was in town, set to make a speech the next day. Tonight he was to be the guest of the Mayor's at an event at Gallier Hall honoring the Unsung Heroes of Katrina. Among them was Mom. I stepped forward, put my arm around her shoulder, kissed the side of her head, lay a hand on a very pregnant belly. The first two had been planned, this one an accident. "Yes, congratulations." The kids left with Amiri, we said good night to Charlie, adjourned to our home next door. I donned my tuxedo; my eight month pregnant mother was stunning in a full length red gown. At Gallier Hall we mingled, ate superb hor's d-oeuvres, skipped the alcohol, heard some very nice things said about Mom, shook the president's hand, met the first lady, chatted with the mayor. After staying the appropriate amount of time, we left. At home I opened her car door and offered her my hand to help her out. She was moving gingerly. "You okay?" "Lower back's stiff." Inside she lay on her side and I massaged her back, working out the kinks and knots, loosening the taut muscles. After thirty minutes she thanked me. I stood, helped her up, held her from behind, kissed her neck, rubbed my hands over her belly. I undid the clasp behind her neck; her gown fell open to her waist. I unhooked her bra. "Y'now the kid are gone, we should take advantage..." She turned in my arms, a look of happy exasperation on her face. "You find me attractive, all fat like this." "Fat? I see no fat." I covered a breast with a hand, squeezed; I felt a drop of milk. "Plus, your tits are never going to be this big again." "Men." She leaned against me. I hummed a tune. We swayed back and forth, our arms around each other. "It was ten years ago tomorrow when Katrina hit," I whispered. "Yes, I remember. That was the first time you massaged my back." "And ten years ago Monday I slipped a finger inside you." "I remember that too." "And ten years ago Tuesday I entered you." "That was unforgettable." She looked up at me. We kissed, a peck, a couple more pecks, then mostly lips. She tasted slightly of caviar. I explored her mouth with my tongue, slowly and gently and for what seemed a long long time. I tugged off my tie, undid the buttons of my dress shirt, tossed them aside, covered her mouth with mine, pulled her tight, moved to her neck, ran my lips up it, ending at her ear. I took my time; Mom's ears were very sensitive. I stepped back and for the ten-thousandth time looked over my mother's body. She still took my breath away. Growling in need, taking her hand in mine, I stepped back and sat on the arm of a chair. She stood before me, breathing heavily, her eyes clouded with lust, her pregnant belly resting against my legs, her breasts level with my face. Her areolas were brown, the nipples rock hard. I kissed the top of her tits. "May I?" I asked. "Be careful, they're full of milk." I massaged her breasts, leaned forward, kissed a nipple, rolled her areolas between my thumbs and index fingers. A drop of mild leaked from her left breast. I lowered my face, took the nipple into my mouth, sucked lightly. A few more drops spilled into my mouth. I took her other breast in my hand, massaged it. Mom made little mewing noises, her breathing became more rapid; I slipped a leg between hers, pressed it to her pussy. I took the other nipple in my mouth and was rewarded with another squirt of milk. I suckled gently; Mom's hands went to the back of my head, holding me to her chest. She dragged her sex on my leg, making short staccato moans, each one releasing a bit of the tension building within her. "Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh." She undid my belt, pulled my pants past me knees, and lowered her body to my leg. When I fully supported her weight, she slid her pussy on my thigh. I put my hands on her waist I, supported her; her moans grew ever more intense. Then, unexpectedly, her arms jerked, her forearms pressed to the side of my head, she gasped, she came. I let her breast slip from my mouth, looked into her happy smiling face. "I think its time we moved to the bedroom." Holding my pants around my waist with one hand, Mom's hand with the other, I led her down the hall. While she took a pit stop, I disrobed and lit some candles, Mom, standing in the doorway, watched. I walked over, kissed her, ran a fingertip along the side of her breast. It swayed with my touch. "You are simply stunning." "Thank you son." She ran a finger down the muscles of my arm and across my pecs. "I love your body." She sat on the side of the bed, leaning back on her hands. I knelt on the floor, spread her legs. During her pregnancies she had a slightly different scent, but the intense odor of her arousal remained unmistakable. Mom was excited, her body thrumming with carnal desire. I brought my face closer, breathed in deeply, inhaling her musky scent. I blew a stream of air onto her clit, held my mouth just above her sex, took another whiff. I love the smell of my mother's pussy; I love eating her pussy. I ran my tongue over the smooth vaginal lips, up her labia, over her throbbing clit, nuzzled my nose in her pubic hair, repeated the journey; the pressure of my tongue growing more insistent. Mom trembled, slumped onto her back, drawing closer and closer to a climax. I spread her pussy lips with my fingers, sucked her erect clit into my mouth, whipped it with my tongue: over and over, nonstop, relentless; the way she liked it. She came, bucking on the bed, her full belly shaking. I inserted two fingers into her cunt, it was still spasming. When I found her g-spot she arched her back; sucked in her breath. Keeping the pressure constant, I picked up speed, pushing and pulling my fingers over the magic place inside her. Mom writhed on my hand. "Ohh... uhh... uhh..." I rested my forehead on her pregnant belly. Her odor was pungent, stronger than normal, intoxicating. Pulling the fingers from her vagina to masturbate her clit, I pushed my tongue past her pussy lips and explored inside, taking the time to appreciate the tastes, the textures, the aroma and wetness of my mother's vagina. Her moans grew ever more intense. She reached around her swollen stomach, held my head to her, started rocking her hips, and came, closing her legs on my head. After her pulse slowed, I stood, took her hand, helped her to a sitting position. Drops of milk leaked from her breasts, flowing in separate rivulets down the side. I bent at the waist and kissed her perfect lips. She kissed me back. "I want you inside me." "I'd like that, but I'm guessing you should be on top." I lay down, helped Mom get in position, took hold of my erection, placed it at the entrance to her body. Mom was ready, eager. She wriggled her hips, lowered herself. The cockhead slipped to the side, we tried again, same result. On the third try I was inside, working my cock into her tight squeezing cunt. It felt excruciatingly good. Eyes shut, hair spilling over her shoulders, head bent slightly forward, she was entirely focused on our conjoined bodies. She took a long breath, blew the air back out between parted lips. She was beautiful and sexy and I was in awe of her. She lifted her head, opened her eyes, looked ahead with a vacant stare, and said, "So good, so fucking good." Then she looked at me. "I love you son, love you so." I placed two hands on her pregnant belly, smiled broadly. "Love you too Mom." Starting with slow short motions, I filled her with my cock. Mom rocked back and forth; I increased the length of my strokes, moving deeper inside her. Mom ground her hips into me, grunting, "Uhh, Uhhh, Uhhhh, Uhhhh," each time I bottomed out in her. Her grunts became louder, more intense, running into each other until, shaking and bucking, she came. Milk leaked from her breasts; cunt cream was flowing down my thighs. She laid her hand on my chest. "My back's still a little sore. Would you mind, from behind?" That was not going to be a problem. "No ma'am." "Don't ma'am me." "Yes ma'am." Mom rolled off me, lay by my side. I ran my hands through her hair. We nuzzled, snuggled, smiled. I licked her neck, nibbled on an ear lobe, kissed down her chest. I made love to her breasts, licking slowly up the sides, flicking a nipple. Her breasts were swollen with milk. Whenever some leaked out I licked it up, sweet and watery. I caught a nipple in my mouth, squeezed her breast, drank some more. Katrina Rules Mom massaged my scalp. I released her breast. "You loved it as a baby too." "Didn't know I was just practicing, did you?" She smiled, a beatific smile, "No." She traced the outlines of my mouth, my nose, ears, chin, and cheeks with the pads of her index and middle fingers. She leaned in, kissed the spots her fingers had just traveled, then rolled me onto my back, moved her full form against me, caught my lower lip with her lips, released it, only to catch it again with her teeth and gently nibble on my flesh. She placed a hand on my forehead, moved my head to the side, kissed me. She explored my neck and ear with nibbles and kisses. She dragged her short nails over my skin, then ran her open palm on my arms, inner thighs, cheeks, ears, neck. She took hold of my penis. "He feels ready." "Been ready," I said. Mom got on all fours, I slipped three pillows under her belly for support, took my place behind her, ran my hands up her flanks, reached for her breasts; they were dripping milk in a steady stream. I skedaddled to the hall closet, returning with towels to place on the bed to catch the flow from her breasts. I got behind her, stroked her sex with my fingers. She pushed her pussy against my hand, purred. I entered her. When all the way inside I took a second and thanked the cosmos. The world had been so good to me. My life was comfortable and interesting, I had three children with a fourth soon to arrive, and somehow this woman, the most beautiful, the smartest, the most extraordinary person I'd ever know, was both my mother and my lover. "I love you Mom." She read my mood in the tone of my voice. "You're not about to go all sentimental on me, are you?" "I was thinking about it." "Okay, but later, right now fuck me. Your mother's hot-to-trot." As I said, the woman of my dreams. I pulled back, pushed in, quickly picked up the pace. Mom grunted and everything jiggled, her breasts and belly swayed forward. I thrust into her; she rocked into me. She began sighing deep and long, then she came, her body jerked and shook, a gush of juice flowed around my cock, leaked down her thighs. Her face pressed to a pillow, she grunted and said, "Fuck me son, hard." I thrust deeply into her. She pushed back; we were one, rushing towards the same goal. I made short, hard strokes in and out of mother's cunt. My cock ignited waves of small intense orgasms deep within her. I snaked my hand between her pregnant belly and thigh to her clit. Mom cried out in pleasure, wiggled and grounded her hips on my cock; I matched my thrusts to her's. I covered a breast with my hand. The surface was warm and damp; milk leaked into my palm. "Oh, so, oh son, oh son, YYYYEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSS!!." Mom, who had been seamlessly flowing through a series of small orgasms, screeched as she was consumed by a final hard earthquake of a climax. Her toes curled, her eyes fluttered open, then rolled back into her head; she bucked. I grabbed her hips, steadied her, and balls painfully tight, began fucking her in a corkscrew motion. Mom's cunt was wet and tight and perfect. My stomach muscles tensed; I was rushing towards a mind bending orgasm. I rocked back, pulling her with me, and all the tension inside me released in one heavenly burst. I came, spewing my seed inside her, unloading stream after stream of semen. I slumped against her body, unable to move, my body tingling, my cock softening within her. Finally I pulled out; our mixed juices dripped out of her. I lay down, took her hands in mine, kissed them. She lay her head on my shoulder. We both fell into a well-deserved sex-induced sleep.