17 comments/ 181577 views/ 51 favorites Meeting Mother By: Moondrift I've sometimes wondered how my life would have been if I'd never tried to find my mother, but at the time I had this aching curiosity about her. I didn't see it like this at the time but I suppose being brought up in an orphanage, and lacking the sort of love that ideally you get one on one with a mother, I wanted to know why I had been deprived of that love. I was twenty one and I'd been out of the orphanage for three years; life seemed to be as good as I could expect and I was doing well in my university studies, so why I got this sudden urge to meet my mother is a bit hard to fathom. Whatever the reason, I got in touch with the authorities and was put through the bureaucratic mills. First it was a social worker contacting my mother to ask if she wanted to meet me. When she got a yes I was allowed to send her a letter through the social worker and got one back by the same route and next it was a telephone call. After that officialdom dropped out of the scene and we exchanged several telephone calls. The objective was that we should meet each other, and although we both expressed the wish to do just that, we kept on delaying it. I suppose when it came right down to it we were both scared of what we would see and how we would feel if and when we did meet. I was surprised that we both lived in the same city and we wondered if we'd seen each other in the street or in a shop, or somewhere like that. In the end it was mother, whose name was April Blake, who took the step, and we arranged to meet in a café -- neutral ground I suppose. My name is Mark Applegate but how I got the name Applegate I don't know. Perhaps it was my father's name or one they gave me at the orphanage. I decided I'd ask mother when we met what my father's name was. But then I changed my mind. It's an odd thing, but I didn't seem have any interest in my father, only my mother. * * * * * * * * I arrived early at the café and sat waiting for her at a table outside. We had not made any special arrangement, no signals, no wearing a flower or holding a newspaper, and I wondered how I would recognise her. I remember my stomach felt as if it had, not butterflies, but large birds flying around in it and my throat seemed to have got something stuck in it. She arrived about half a minute before the time arranged. She told me later that she'd arrived half an hour before time but was so nervous she couldn't sit still and had been walking around trying to compose herself. It was strange because as I saw her approaching I recognised her immediately; not physically but - how can I put it? It felt like a jolt of recognition. There was only one moment of doubt as I thought, "It's not possible she's far too young." I thought I detected reciprocal recognition in her eyes and as she afterwards told me, "I think I would have known you anywhere," and when I told her about the strange sensation I'd experienced she said, "Yes, I felt that too." She was wearing a smart black skirt and a white blouse, three buttons at the neck undone. Despite the simplicity of her outfit she looked the sort of woman who could manage to make yards of haphazardly arranged coloured silk look like the very latest fashion. She was not particularly tall, but very slender, with short chestnut hair framing a perfectly oval face. I wasn't sure what to expect at this first meeting. Would we burst into tears, fling our arms round each other saying things like, "At last I've found you?" If I'd been expecting that, then I was due to be disappointed because our greeting and what followed was quite cool if not formal. As I hesitated she came straight to me and said, "Mark...Mark Applegate? I stood up and said, "Yes...er...April Blake?" She replied, "Yes, I'm your mother; shall we sit down?" We sat and she took control of the situation immediately. "I think we should have some coffee." She called the waitress over and gave the order. We spent the next five minutes talking, of all things, about the weather and trying to surreptitiously examine each other, which from my point of view was difficult because she had the most piercing green eyes I'd ever seen, and they were focused right on me. Her chestnut hair was cut short in a rather mannish fashion but it seemed to enhance her facial profile. She had an unfashionably long nose, but straight and beautifully shaped. Her mouth was small with plump lips, her lower lip protruding very slightly. Her neck was long and graceful and her unbuttoned blouse gave a hint of her cleavage that indicated quite small breasts. She had the look of a professional woman which was later confirmed when she told me she was a lawyer. She was inclined take the initiative and I was glad of this because having been the initiator of this meeting, and having gained my original objective, I didn't really know how to proceed. There was only one burning question I had in mind, and that was why she had given me up, but I wasn't sure how to put it to her. The coffee arrived and she when she had paid for it she began by asking me about my life in the orphanage. She listened intently as I told her that it had been okay -- not a bit like a Dickensian orphanage. She went on asking questions that brought us right up to date. She seemed to be pleased that I was studying law at the university and it was then she told me she was a lawyer. She asked, "How are you managing now...I mean...financially...where do you live?" I went into a bit of detail about this, telling her that I'd taken out a government loan to be repaid once I'd graduated plus a bit I earned working evenings at the "Happy Chicken House," and I'd got a room in a boarding house. Having failed to ask what for me was the vital question it was she who brought it up. "I suppose you want to know why I let you go." "Yes," I said cautiously, "I had wondered." She looked at me steadily for a few moments as if trying to assess in advance how I would respond to what she was about to say. When she spoke what she said seemed unrelated to the subject. "Tell me," she said, "are you all right?" "All right?" She seemed to hesitate before going on and then obviously trying to sound casual asked, "Any health problems; any learning difficulties, anything like that?" Taken by surprise I stammered, "H-health problems? N-no, although I did have a cold once." "No I mean serious problems," she said. "Ah, not that I know of, but if you mean intellectual disabilities I did score a hundred and twenty five on an IQ tent once." She looked relieved and went on, "I was too young." "Er...too young for what?" "To keep you." Oh, how young?" "Very young," she replied, without specifying an age. That accounted for why I'd thought she was too young to be my mother when I first saw her. Taking the plunge I asked, "Did...did you ever think about me?" So far she had behaved like an efficient professional woman in a business meeting, but for a moment she looked as if she was going break up and cry. Then clearly trying to overcome her emotions she said, "Yes, often, but particularly on your birthday." She managed a wan smile and went on, "It was strange, but on your birthday the weather was always gloomy." "Well it is in the middle of winter," I said, trying to sound cheerful. "Yes...yes," she said, "I suppose that's it. Did you ever think about me?" I would liked to have told her I'd thought about her constantly -- dreamed about her -- but it wouldn't have been true. Truthfully I said, "Not really; I suppose being in an orphanage and most of the other kids not having parents you don't think about it much. Some of the kids who did have parents told horror stories about them, and so I didn't want to know." "But you wanted to contact me?" Yes, it was about a year ago when I started to imagine who you were, what you were like and...and..." "Why I'd given you up?" "Yes." "Do I look anything like you imagined me?" I laughed and said, "Do you really want to know how I imagined you?" "As long as you don't mind telling me." "Well, I had all sorts of ideas about you. In one you was living in poverty after being deserted by the man who..." "Fathered you?" "Yes, but I had another idea. You were the daughter of an immensely wealthy family and you'd got into what people call 'trouble,' and so they made you put me into the orphanage." She managed a little laugh and said, "Well I don't belong to an immensely rich family but we weren't poor either. Both my parents were lawyers so it looks as if law runs in the family. So do I look like the way you imagined me?" "No, not really, I thought you'd be much older." She made no comment about that, but I felt confident enough to ask the question that I'd previously decided not to ask. "Applegate, was that my father's name?" "Oh no," she said, "your father's name was...was...not Applegate, they must have given you that name at the orphanage." "Yes, I suppose so," I said. I knew she had nearly told me his name but had checked herself just in time. "Now we've met," she asked, "do you want us to keep in contact?" Although her manner had been mostly brisk, as if keeping me at one pace distant, I liked her, and so I said, "Yes, I would like us to meet and talk again, if you want to." I must admit my motive for wanting to keep in contact was not entirely filial. When I learned that she was a lawyer I thought she might be able to do me a bit of good once I'd graduated. "Yes," she said slowly, "I think I would like us to keep in touch. Suppose we exchange telephone numbers; perhaps we could meet again and go out somewhere together?" We exchanged numbers and then she said, "I have to go now, work you know." I had a lot of questions I wanted to ask her but they would have to wait. "Er...what should I call you," I asked, "mother?" "No...no," she said after a few moments thought, "I don't think I've earned the title mother, so I think April will be better, don't you?" "Fine," I replied. We stood, and there was a few moments hesitation about how to say goodbye. We started to shake hands, but that turned into a kiss on the cheek. "I'm so glad we've met at last," she said, looking tearful again. "So am I," I answered. I watched her as she hurried away until her trim figure was lost among the crowd. I ordered another cup of coffee and sat thinking about our meeting. * * * * * * * * I wasn't sure if we would meet again and I decided not to take this initiative this time, I would leave it to her to make contact. She did so four days after our first meeting, telephoning in the evening. She wondered if I would like us to have dinner together in a restaurant. "Another neutral location I thought." I hesitated to say yes, especially when she mentioned The Golden Goose I knew it was way out of my financial league. She must have detected my hesitation and understood the reason because she said, "It'll be on me." That got a "Yes" from me, and so a date and time was arranged. I didn't have a car, and she made no offer to pick me up. I assumed that this meant she was still keeping that space between us. Anyway, who was I to let that stand in the way of eating at the Goose; I might get to eat well for a change. I hadn't much in the way of clothing so I wore a pair of black trousers, white shirt and a black tie I been given when I worked as a waiter for a while in an Indian restaurant. That was the best I could muster. I took the bus that went past the Goose and this time she was waiting for me. As soon as I saw her I wished I hadn't come. It was not that she was elaborately dressed; she was wearing a simple neck to knee red sheath dress and she looked absolutely stunning. Beside her my sartorial offering looked like something from a secondhand clothing shop, if not worse. As we met she kissed me on the cheek and said, "I'm glad you could come." A waiter wearing what I've always thought of as a claw hammer evening suit conducted up to a table. I got the feeling that he was viewing me with disapproval, no doubt wondering what April was doing with a scruff bag like me. The drinks waiter arrived and she asked me, "Do you drink wine." My only drink hitherto had been an occasional beer, but trying to sound sophisticated I said yes, I did drink wine. "The '96 Arnold," she told the waiter. "Aha," I thought as the waiter almost bowed himself out of her presence, "she's a regular here." This was confirmed when the food waiter arrived and she asked him if his daughter had recovered from her virus. Our orders were given, and I confess that during the evening I ordered everything I decently could from the menu. The wine was like nectar of the gods, and relaxed by its influence I dared to ask a question I'd had in mind. I had noticed she wasn't wearing an engagement or wedding ring but that doesn't necessarily signify so I asked her, "Are you married?" After all, if she was married, that meant I had a stepfather." When she didn't answer immediately and the smile she'd been wearing went in behind a cloud, I thought I'd blown it. When she did answer she said slowly, "No, I'm not married, I was, but not now." I wanted to pursue the subject and would even liked to have asked her if she got a man in her life, but I knew that it would have really been pushing my luck, so I let it go. In any case, if -- and it was only if at that stage -- we went on meeting, I'd probably find out. I'd obviously touched on a raw nerve but she recovered and started to talk about her work and asking which branch of law I intended to follow. From this she branched out into my likes and dislikes, music, theatre, films, sport and so on. It was strange; she seemed to get the information out of me without my even noticing. When the meal came to an end, which was roughly when I couldn't eat any more, she said, "I'll drive you home." Considering it was late and the bus only ran every hour at that time of night, the lift was welcome. When we got to the boarding house she asked, "Can I come in and see your room?" I didn't exactly live in squalor but I didn't like her seeing my somewhat Spartan accommodation, but I couldn't think of an excuse to say no. When she saw the room she didn't make any comment about it, but did ask, "Do you like living here?" "It's okay," I said, adding with a grin, "After all, things can only get better after this." She made a sound like "Humph," and said, "Then I'll say goodnight, I'll give you a call." I got a kiss on the cheek and she was gone. * * * * * * * * She was as good as her word, and for the next four weeks we went out together to places I'd never been to before, like theatres and concert halls, to hear and see things I'd never seen or heard before, all at her expense. I think we got to like each other -- well, I certainly liked her and I don't mean just because she did all the paying -- but there was no real intimacy between us apart from the kiss on the cheek. I felt as if I knew quite a lot about her, but not the things that really mattered. What I mean is, the sort of things a son would normally know about his mother, but I suppose I could hardly expect that, given we hadn't known each other for twenty one years. It therefore came as a bit of a surprise when having been driven home from the theatre we sat in the car for a while and she said, "You know Mark, I've got the feeling I'd like to try and make it up to you, I mean," she laughed self consciously and went on, "be a mother to you." "Oh," was all I could muster by way of reply. "How would you like to come and live with me?" she asked quietly. I hadn't seen where she lived, but as I've said, anything would have to be an improvement on where I was. "If I did," I replied, "would we be able to get on with each other?" "I don't see why not," she said, "and frankly I don't like you living in that dump." Well she was nothing if not candid, and she went on, "We can give it a try, and I promise not to come the heavy mother. It won't be set on concrete, and if it doesn't work out, well..." she ended with a shrug. It seemed like the best offer I'd had since the day I was born, or to put it another way, I was getting the silver spoon in my mouth, not at birth, but belatedly. I accepted the offer without further discussion. We arranged for me to see the house, and when I did I could hardly believe my luck. Not that it was some huge mansion, but it was a very romantic colonial style four bedroom house set in what people call "a leafy suburb." "This is the old family home," she explained. "I inherited after my father died." "He would have been my grandfather," I said. Unusually for her April looked flustered and I asked, "What about my grandmother." "Oh, she died...died some years before my father...cancer." The subject was not pursued and I was shown my room, or rather, rooms; two of them, one to sleep in the other to study in. Luxury was piled on luxury as I was shown the en suite. No more sharing a shower alcove and toilet with a dozen other people! I had arrived in the Promised Land; I had found favour in the sight of the gods; or at least in April's sight. * * * * * * * * Once settled in, almost inevitably April and I drew closer. There was however a difficulty I was experiencing. I was living with a woman who was biologically my mother, but a woman who looked too young to be my mother. In addition, she was to say the least very attractive and inclined to be a bit casual about how she dressed at home. However formal and business-like her clothes when she was out and about, at home she was relaxed -- very relaxed. She often drifted around the place wearing only panties and bra. This had me somewhat confused about how to relate to her; after all, I wasn't intended to become a monk, or I didn't think so. April also got a bit more tactile, going beyond the kiss on the cheek to an occasional hug and kiss on the lips. I wondered if this was what it meant to have a mother. Still, I had little cause for complaint. On leaving the orphanage I'd been equipped with two of everything clothing-wise. Two T-shirts, two pair of jeans, socks and underwear, these had to be washed and dried on a daily basis, but now no longer. April had taken me out on a shopping spree and now I wasn't sure how many I had of what, and I didn't even have to wash them myself, we had what April called "A daily" do that. There still lurked in my mind a question that April had initially avoided about my father. This avoidance only added to my curiosity and I knew I would have to ask it again some time. Whether when I did ask it the time was well chosen I don't think I'll ever know, but the answer I got revealed to me why April was so reluctant to answer it. * * * * * * * * It was a warm evening and we'd been sitting in the lounge, me in an armchair and April curled up on the sofa with her peignoir wrapped round her. We had been talking about what sort of a day we'd had, and as that talk drifted to a stop, I chose that as the moment to question about my father. "April, I said, "you've never told me about my father, was it really so bad?" She made a nervous movement and the peignoir fell open slightly to reveal her thighs, and this had the usual effect on me, I started to get an erection. "It was good and bad," she replied. I suppose I expected her to tell me about a vile seducer who, having got her pregnant had deserted her. "How was it good and bad?" I asked. She seemed to be looking back into the past, remembering what had happened, and it was a long time before she said, "I suppose you'll have to know or you'll go on wondering and asking, or find out some other way, and it can't hurt him now." Meeting Mother "Who...how could it hurt him?" I asked. She drew in a deep sobbing breath and said, "To put it simply, your father was my father." I was staggered and I struggled for a response. "You...you mean the man who should have been my grandfather was really my father?" "Yes," she replied, even looking a bit relieved now it was out in the open. "My God April, he raped you and made you pregnant." "No Mark," she said sharply, "it wasn't like that. I know people always think it has to be like that, but it wasn't for me. He was so gentle and loving, and I did love him, very dearly." "You mean you...you wanted him to do it?" "Yes, even before my mother died I wanted him. It took a year after her death, but one night he came to my bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed and touched my hair. Then he said, 'My beautiful girl." I knew what he wanted to do and I wanted him to do it. I even said to him, "Daddy, I love you and it's all right." "We became lovers, sleeping together. After the first time I was going to go on the pill, but it was too late; he'd made me pregnant that first time. If it got out about our relationship that would have ruined his career and so I never told anyone who the father was. When you were born they told me I was too young to bring you up, and so I signed things and they took you away. That's how it happened." "Did you hate him after that?" I asked. She looked at me uncomprehendingly for a few moments, and then said, "Hate him? Of course not, I told you I loved him and wanted him, and he was a wonderful lover. I went on the pill and was his lover until he got ill and died." Her hand went down to her genitals and rested on them as if she was remembering those times when her father had been her lover. I was trying to get my head around all this, and so while trying to find a response I sidetracked saying, "You said you'd been married, what happened?" "Oh poor Harold," she sighed, "he was such a nice man, but I just couldn't." "Couldn't?" "Couldn't give him the emotional satisfaction he needed." "You mean the experience with your father had traumatized you?" I said, remembering things I read about incest and its aftermath. "For goodness sake Mark, I've told you I loved my father, I enjoyed sex with him. There was no trauma; it was simply the case that I felt there could never be anyone to take his place. I shouldn't have married Harold, it wasn't fair to him, but I did think we could make it at the time. I tried, but he knew I was trying, and when you're making love with someone you don't want to feel they have to pretend." "And so you divorced?" She shrugged hopelessly. "Yes, he found someone who didn't have to try or pretend with him. I believe they have three children now." * * * * * * * * We both fell silent, she probably wondering if she should have told me, and I still trying to come to terms with it. Finally, for want of something better I said, "So my name is really Blake?" "Yes." "And you've never regretted the...the..." "Incest?" she supplied. "The only thing I've ever regretted is that I didn't keep you. Knowing you now I think of all the things I've missed...we've missed. Watching you grow up, doing all the birthday and Christmassy things with you, the holidays we might have had and...and...oh, it's as if there's a big black hole in my life I didn't fully realise was there until we met." "You're sorry we met?" I asked. "No...no...not sorry because after all I can see that you've grown up and there's nothing wrong with you." It sudden struck me why at our first meeting she had asked me about my health and mental well being; because I was the child of an incestuous relationship she'd thought I might be defective in some way. I smiled at her and asked, "Have I grown up satisfactorily?" "Yes," she replied, "and your so like my...your father." She started to cry and I didn't know what to do and what I did, I suppose, was pretty inept. I said, "Well, we've got a lot of catching up to do." That made her cry even more and she sobbed, "How can we catch up, it's not possible, you can't call back lost years." "No," I said, "but we can make the most of the time we've got." "Yes," she said, "but I can't have you as a baby, and a child and a teenager." "No," I replied, "but you can have me as an adult and I think I've grown to love you." She stopped crying and taking some tissues from a box on the table beside the sofa she wiped her tears and blew her nose. She looked at me quizzically for a few moments and then said, "Do you mean that?" "What?" "That you love me?" What could I say? "Yes, of course," I replied. "Why...why do you love me?" That had me floundering. I don't think I'd ever told anyone I loved them before, and if I'd thought about it at all I suppose I'd assumed you didn't need to explain why. Should I tell April that I loved her because she was so attractive, that I wanted to fuck her; that I dreamed and fantasised about being her lover? No, that wasn't love, it was lust, although I suspect that a lot of people think its love, but I wanted to reach out beyond that, but didn't know how, I suppose because I'd never had any practice at it. You might get a lot of things in an orphanage but you don't get a great deal of practice with loving. I said rather lamely, "I suppose I love you because you're my mother and you've been...er...very generous." She was looking at me now rather like a cat watching a mouse and making up its mind if it was lunchtime. "Do you think I love you, Mark?" she asked. Now I didn't feel so much like a mouse as newcomer in a strange city without a street map, not knowing which way to go. I think April understood my dilemma so she said, "Just tell me what you really think Mark no matter what it is." I could see my answer was important to her and I could also see that our relationship was at a pivotal point. I could see that we were two people in need of love, but also two people in an ambiguous relationship. A mother and son who had known nothing of each other for more than twenty years, and we were struggling to find a basis on which we could relate to each other. Taking the plunge I said, "Yes, I think you do love me." "You know, Mark," she said quietly, "we haven't hugged or kissed properly since we first met." Was that an invitation to do just that now? I wondered. "I...er...didn't know if you'd like me to do that sort of thing," I said cautiously. She extended her arms to me and said, "Why don't you come over here and find out." Wondering where this was heading I went to her and sat beside her. She put her arms round my neck and kissed me. I wasn't sure what a mother's kiss should feel like, but I got the distinct impression that this didn't feel like one. She began to stroke my chest with her hand and then kissed me again, and this time I was sure the kiss wasn't motherly. "You know Mark," she whispered, her lips very close to my ear, "My father and I had the best of both worlds." "Did you...er...what worlds?" "Father and daughter and at the same time lovers. Can you think of anything more beautiful?" I actually could think of something if not more beautiful then at least as good, but I wasn't about to say what it was. "It must have been very...er...satisfying," I said somewhat shakily. The erection I'd had for the last half hour had taken on a particularly insistent and throbbing reality. "It was very satisfying," she said. "Even though it was incest?" "I sometimes think that an incestuous relationship is the best of all," she replied, especially when it's an act of love, what do you think?" That left me floundering again for a few moments. How do you answer a question like that if you haven't had an incestuous relationship? I pointed this out to her and she said, "I think you'd like to have an incestuous relationship, wouldn't you?" she asked, laying a hand on my thigh. "W-would I," I stammered. "That lump in your trousers tells me you would, Mark. Why don't you kiss me?" she whispered. I leaned into her and kissed her rather tentatively. It quickly became something more than tentative because when we broke from the kiss we looked at each other and then kissed again and again and again. I felt her hand undoing the belt at my waist and then pulling down the zip of my pants. She pulled up my shirt and began kissing my stomach, working her way down until she reached my penis. She murmured something about, "It's been a long time," and kissed its head. She ran a finger delicately over it making me groan as the nerves sent their messages. "I think," she said, looking up at me, "mother and son as lovers could be as exquisite as father and daughter, don't you?" Before I could answer she had the head of my penis in her mouth and began to suck it. I thought I'd found my way into Shangri-la. She stopped sucking and looking up at me said, "I think it would be a good idea if we undressed." She stood and let her negligee fall to the floor. Her body was superb but before I could take it in fully she said, "Well come along, stand up, it's your turn." I was trembling so much I had difficulty in stripping off, so she had to come to my aid. When I was naked she pulled herself close to me, her small but nicely-rounded breasts pressed against my chest. "Sit down" she said, giving me a little shove so that I plumped down on the sofa. She sat astride me and said, "A pity I haven't any milk to give you, but you can suck my nipples." With that she pressed a nipple to my lips. I took it into my mouth and suckled her. "Does that taste like a mother?" she asked. I didn't answer because I was busy tasting that peculiarly sweet flavor of the female nipple, although I did silently agree, she did taste like a mother. She was doing something with my penis and then it was slowly slipping into a warm, wet, satin smooth milieu, clinging to my length and sucking me in. I thought she was trying to swallow me completely. I had to stop sucking her nipple as she began to ride my penis, slowly at first but with increasing pace. She was looking at me as she moved and kissing me intermittently and she was making faint murmuring sounds, "Mmm...mmm...mmm..." Suddenly she cried out, "Oh my God..." and arching her back she began to pound frantically up and down in me crying out, "Come in me...come in me...I need it...come...come..." I'd been struggling to hold back my orgasm but her invitation ended that. Sperm rushed up my length and burst into her. She must have felt it because she gave a long wailing cry, "Ooooowaaaa..." I pounded my seed into her until I'd emptied myself. Her movements had slowed and she was breathing heavily and gasping, "I love you...I love you...I need you..." until her cries faded and her movements ceased. Her hands were fluttering over my body and face and she said, "Welcome home my darling." I made a half humorous response, "I think I'll stay home in future." She smiled at me and said, "I don't think you'll need your bedroom in future, you belong to me now." I knew then that I had the best of both worlds, a mother and a lover. "I won't let them take the baby away this time," she said. Well, in novels it's all about sex, but in real life it's about babies. Meeting Mother's Standards Her father Henry's cock pulsed in her slight hand, his trousers drawn apart, his briefs pulled down as they sat side by side on the couch. She gently moved her fingers up, then down, and listened to him sigh. How had it come to this? Never in her wildest dreams had she ever imagined that she would be alone with her father, ready to offer the comfort that only a woman can. Her mother Shirley had died suddenly, and it had been a big shock to them all. Unforeseen death can be heartbreaking, so many deeds left undone, words left unspoken, wounds left open. And so it had been for Miriam. Whilst always close to her father, her relationship with her mother had been one of competition and confrontation. Her mother had always had to be better than her -- at everything. She had boasted that the success of her long marriage had been based on knowing "how to keep a man happy", and that Miriam's divorce had been down to her "deficiencies" in that area. She visited regularly, but it had been on the first anniversary of her mother's death that she had called round specially. Henry had complimented her on her white blouse and floral print dress, then lamented the loss of Shirley both emotionally and physically. As she had embraced him to comfort him, some greater force had seemed to overwhelm them to take them where they were. "Do you like that, Pa?" she whispered, her fingers swirling more firmly. Henry could only moan as the touch that only a woman has, sent him into ecstasy. His daughter was forty years old now, a mature, but sensuous woman. Tentatively he stretched out his right hand and cupped Miriam's breast. Her low moan encouraged him as his fingers deftly moved to unbutton her blouse, he might be sixty five years old, but some things you never forget. Carefully he slipped the blouse off her shoulders. Her breasts gently rose and fell with her breathing, enclosed by a crisp white bra, the fine lace trim caressing her bosom , the spaghetti straps taut with their weight. "It's ok, Pa, you can take it off too." In an instant his mood changed as he swooped to unclasp her bra allowing her breasts to cascade out, they were the much firmer and fuller breasts of a woman 23 years younger than he had been used to, and he ravenously sank his mouth onto one of her nipples .Miriam threw back her head and drew up one of her legs in the moment, causing the hem of her skirt to slip up to her crotch. The sight of the matching white lacy panties was too much for Henry, and he drove his hand first along the outside of her thighs pushing up her skirt, and then across to her crotch, slipping the skimpy material aside to uncover his daughter's sex. "You're as wet as a horse's nostril," drooled Henry. Miriam recoiled in shock at this crude remark, but reflected that he was right as his probing fingers prised apart her moist pussy lips. "I want to make it good for you," she whispered , "like Momma used to." She now stretched across and unbuttoned his shirt, tugging it, and then his trousers and underwear off. Then she slipped to the floor and knelt in front of him. His cock wobbled in front of her face, her breasts swayed pendulously, her skirt formed a pretty pool of colour around her thighs. "Did Mom suck cock?" she enquired innocently as she held him in her hands her tongue sliding along her lips suggestively. "Yes, but only on special occasions." "Good, this is a special occasion, let's see if I can improve on what Momma did." Miriam hesitated for a moment, the man who had brought her up, looked after her and had been a mentor to her had his legs apart as she hovered over his pre cum coated cock. She hesitated no longer and sank her soft lips around his aching member. The glans flared up as her soft mouth pushed past and her tongue danced across the surface. Her doe like eyes looked up as she began a gentle rocking motion with her mouth., and she began touching his balls. "Is this alright for you Pa? Is it like Momma used to do?" "Miriam, baby, it's like nothing I've experienced on this earth," he stuttered as his hands dipped forwards to grasp his daughter's heaving breasts. The nipples were stiff as he rolled his thumbs across them. He was transfixed as he saw the long dark hair of this beautiful woman, his daughter sink her head onto his aching crotch. He knew that this was wrong, very wrong, But he also knew that he had needs which had not been satisfied for some time and as he relaxed into a sexually induced bliss, it wasn't his daughter there, it was his wife, and it was as if it were twenty years ago. And he knew what he had to do. He placed his hands under her chin and lifted her luscious lips off his cock. "Lie down now baby, you know what your Pa has to do. Come on now, hitch up your skirt, and let's get these panties down, Daddy's gonna fuck ya." Miriam dutifully obeyed. She too knew that this was wrong. Very wrong. But she had spent her entire life trying to please her Pa. And was this not the ultimate way to do so? And as for her mother, was this not the ultimate way to prove that she was as good as, if not better than her? Everything seemed to freeze for a moment, her Pa crouched over her, her breasts tingling from his warm breath, her legs spread eagled as his erect cock hesitated at the entrance to her expectant pussy -- then he slid in. "Oh Pa, that feels soooo good, Miriam's gonna make it good for you" "Oh, baby, take it, that's it take Pa's cock, go on, grind your pussy against me, come on move baby, that's it move you bitch, take it all, feel your Pa's balls slapping your tiny little ass, take that big cock, take every inch of it, oooooooooohhh, Shirley........" And with that he slumped on her, exhausted. Miriam relaxed, her mind in a whirl. She hadn't cum, but she had experienced the most sensual fuck of her life, and at last, she had matched up to her mother. To be continued... Meeting Mother's Standards Ch. 02 When her father suggested they take a weekend trip and stay the night, Miriam had a good idea what was likely to happen. Their first union had been a shock, but a pleasant one. And like a persistent itch she knew that this one would have to be rubbed again. At Reception the inevitability of what was to follow came to pass. There was only one room left, a double, and although it was expensive they could take it or leave it because demand was high this weekend, and the Manager was sure that, "Sir and his wife," would find it very comfortable. Henry turned and winked at her as he signed them in. Although his wife Shirley's death had hit him hard at first, he had put his life back together again, his previous carnal encounter with his daughter a dark, but exquisite secret. Casually dressed, and looking ten years younger than his actual age, Henry sauntered along the corridor carrying their two bags, eager to see what the evening would bring. He had booked a play and a meal and hoped that the combination would cajole his beautiful daughter into a repeat performance of their previous escapades. The room was sumptuous, a four poster bed, lavish drapes and imitation Period furniture. They unpacked uneasily, each knowing what was going to happen instinctively, but the deed to come was unspoken. Or perhaps it was unspeakable? "Your mother used to love places like this" muttered Henry nervously as they unpacked. Miriam retired to the bathroom for a shower and to get ready for the evening as he relaxed on the bed. She had not undressed in the room and had taken a change of clothes in with her. Maybe he had misread the situation? Maybe this was simply going to be a father and daughter trip. After a few minutes he heard Miriam turn the shower jets on, and heard the sounds of her stepping in. He closed his eyes. Just a few feet from him his daughter was naked. Soapy water would be cascading around her breasts as she washed herself, and little drips of water would be drip -- dropping from the fine hairs of her neatly trimmed pussy. The sound of rushing water stopped, and after a while he could hear her moving around again, then, without warning the bathroom door swung open. " I forgot my bra," she explained as she moved towards her suitcase to make good her mistake. Henry sat on the edge of the bed dumbstruck at the sight before him. She stood before him wearing only a pair of black lacy bikini briefs, her smooth skin carrying the pinky hue of hot showering. Her hair, normally worn up, was down, the long strands sitting on her full breasts. "Oh Miriam," he sighed as he reached down to his belt and unclipped and unfastened his trousers, the engorged head of his penis poking out. "Oh Daddy," came the soft response as Miriam sank to her knees and took his manhood in her soft little hands. She marvelled at it's vibrant power as she began to stroke it. Henry tipped his head back, his head swimming with pleasure. Miriam reached over to her toiletry bag and found a small bottle of hand cream which she carefully applied to her fathers cock, then assiduously she rubbed it in. Henry regained his senses to see his little girl keenly applying herself to slicking every inch . She loved wanking men's cocks, it was one of the few things that her ex husband used to say she excelled at. It was the feeling of power and control, knowing that your touch could cause so much pleasure. Her fingers swirled around its entirety, tickling his balls, pulling his foreskin tight, tantalising his purple helmet. "Your titties" moaned Henry, "slick your titties like Momma used to." Miriam reached for the hand lotion then held it upside down above her cleavage, then squeezed. The viscous fluid splattered around her breasts with a concentrated little stream flowing, then disappearing, between her twin orbs. Tenderly, she reached for her Daddy's cock then leaned forward and sank it in. A froth started to build up as she rubbed herself around his cock as it submerged, then reappeared from its luxurious hiding place. Henry increased his pace, and his balls slapped around her smooth stomach. She looked up at him with the adoration that only a daughter can give her father. "Do you like that Daddy? Do you like fucking your little girl's titties?" With that Henry intensified his stroke still further, his helmet now appearing only inches from her lips. Instinctively, she extended her tongue and started lapping at his throbbing, glistening, meat. Teasing and tormenting, lashing at his glans as it danced in front of her mouth before disappearing into her bosom. He knew he could not last much longer, his balls swelled and with another lash of his daughters tongue he exploded all over her face. "Go on, take it" he growled " take every last drop over your face, you're Daddy's little slut now." Miriam was a little shocked, she had never heard her Daddy talk like that. But as she grabbed a tissue and wiped the still warm spunk from her lips, cheeks, eyes, nose and forehead she realised that he was right. She was Daddy's little slut now. However there was no more time to take it further as their theatre and meal beckoned. Hurriedly they dressed and made their way out. As they entered the auditorium Henry marvelled at his daughter's fine figure. Her high heels showed off her slim legs as they disappeared into her black pencil skirt. Her pink top and jacket were just right, feminine, but restrained. She looked every inch the conservative socialite, instead of the slut that sucked cock, gave hand jobs and tit wanks ,and loved facials of steaming, streaming hot spunk. In the restaurant they paid scant attention to the fine menu. Miriam spent the entire meal teasing. First she unbuttoned her top enough for her Daddy to see her milky cleavage with the lace embroidery on the top of the cups clearly visible as she leaned forward. Henry was sure he could detect the traces of spunk stains on her face. Then she kicked off one of her heels and ran her stockinged foot up the inside of his leg until her toes found his crotch. His cock was rock hard. Unsurprisingly, they decided to skip desert to finish off what had been brewing all day. Upon returning to their hotel bedroom Henry grabbed Miriam and kissed her passionately, a kiss which she willingly returned. Grappling with each other, they partially undressed before slumping onto the edge of bed, Henry on top of Miriam's back. He reached down to unclasp her skirt, she shimmied her hips to allow it to glide down to the floor. After sinking to his knees and casting aside her panties he was faced with the most beautiful, erotic sight he had ever seen. Her pussy was just inches from his face, the inner labia glistening. He sank his mouth and tongue down onto this helpless prey with the vigour and determination of a wild animal. Her salty juices rolled around his tongue as he probed and lapped . Wanton desire was overwhelming him as he stood up to strip naked before he satisfied his straining cock. But Miriam had a surprise for him. "Daddy" she whispered, " could you do something very special for me? Could you fuck my ass? I know it sounds dirty but I've always wanted to have my pretty little ass fucked and I know that you will be gentle with me." Henry smiled; "that's something that your mother would never do, but if it's what my little baby wants then let's do it. That's what real sluts want isn't it? Eight inches of hot man meat stuffed up their ass as they finger their little clitty's, wanting to explode? And after all, you are now Daddy's little slut, so I should take you like one." He reached for the hand lotion on the dresser which earlier had slicked his daughters breasts, now he squirted the liquid in and around her tight little hole before greasing his bulging cock. To start with he just let it rest between her cheeks, sat against the entrance, the calm before the storm. Then he grabbed her hips and pushed forwards just enough so the tight sphincter gripped at his helmet."Come to Daddy" he purred. The pressure on her asshole increased. Miriam couldn't believe the situation she was in, naked apart from her stockings and heels, kneeling on the floor but her body pressed flat into the bed, her breasts flattened underneath her with her Daddy about to fuck her ass! Tight, spread, and willing, she pushed back onto his monstrous shaft, she felt her ass expanding and expanding as the struggled to take it, and as she struggled she could feel her Daddy's cock grow with excitement.Then she felt the slap of his balls against her pussy lips and knew that he was fully in. "Fuck me, just fuck me Daddy, fuck me till I come all over your big cock. Fuck my ass , fuck me like the dirty little slutty whore I am" Henry needed no further encouragement, he withdrew half his length then slammed back in again, then again, then again. With each thrust, Miriam let out a low moan, of acceptance ,of gratitude, of submission, of pleasure. He quickened his pace, simultaneously she reached a hand behind and between her legs to frig her clit, he knew that it would not be long now. "Go on you little whore, frig, your pussy, frig that clit, can you feel my cock in that passage so close by? Can you feel Daddy battering that tender little ass of yours?" With that, and a Neanderthal grunt, Henry pumped wad after wad of spunk into his helpless, but grateful, daughter's ass as she convulsed with her own orgasm which had been brought to bursting point. Exhausted they lay motionless for what seemed an eternity. "How did I do Daddy? Did his little girl do good?" "Baby did fine" murmured Henry as he struggled to come to terms with what he had just done.