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Mister Durrant's Fuck Photos

By: geronimo_appleby



Foreword:

Okay, here's quite a lengthy one I hope you enjoy. I've been there before with the discovery of old photographs showing a family member in very compromising positions, but I thought I'd offer it up again; this time with Darren finding a box full of pictures in his mother's wardrobe.

Anyway, here it is. Feedback is always welcome. Please forgive any errors in the text.

Most of all, thank you for reading.

GA -- Calpe, Spain -- 3rd of January 2016.

Prologue

Darren just happens to be facing the right way when the door cracks open. He's in bed, awake at God knows what hour, thoughts running round in circles. At first he thinks it's imagination, the product of a troubled mind -- a very troubled mind -- when his tired, scratchy eyes see a lighter sliver of dark where the door jamb should be. Unsure if he's functioning fully or not, he decides to ignore it.

But the lighter shade grows wider, a shadow moving within, a sort of flicker which makes him blink and strain harder to see.

The transition is immediate. Fully alert yet still half convinced it's all an optical illusion, a stressed brain playing tricks, Darren lies still, unable to focus his sight on anything more tangible than shadows dancing in the dead of night. However, the unmistakable click of the door snicking shut brings him all the way upright.

"What is it?" asks Darren while turning his head this way and that. He peers into the almost nothing, trying to make sense of something solid at least, his heart rate rising like a fighter plane from an aircraft carrier. He warbles a tentative, "Mum, is that you?"

Her voice comes from close by: "Shush, not so loud, you'll wake everyone up."

"Wuh-what is it?" he whispers. "What do you want?" As if he doesn't know? As if his stomach isn't sliding with worry and dread.

"To talk," she replies as the bed dips under her weight. "To ask you what you thought you were doing? And to explain a few things as well. I mean, you must be wondering..." Then, as though sensing what Darren intends, just as he extends an arm to flick the switch on the lamp, his mother adds, "Don't turn on the light. I don't want to see you." There's a pause before she finishes with, "And I don't want you to see me."

Darren brings his hand back in close, snatches it away from the switch as though he's been burned before scooting away from where his mother is perched on the edge of his bed. "Talk?" he says as the blanket of fear settles heavier.

Caught

Amelia was five minutes into the journey when she realised she'd forgotten the keys. Without them, she wouldn't be able to open the shop, which made the decision to turn around inevitable. She muttered a curse and turned the Mercedes into a side street, retracing her route home where she left the car at the kerb instead of pulling into the drive. There really wasn't time to wait for the gates to slide open, not for such a quick in-and-out. Amelia decided it would be quicker to use the small pedestrian gate. That way she could walk around the side of the house, go in through the back door, find the damned keys, and be out again in a few minutes.

"Left my keys," Amelia said to Emma as she breezed through the kitchen.

Her daughter questioned her with a look and raised eyebrows as she turned from washing a cup at the sink in the kitchen. "Oh, I wondered..." Emma replied as her mother breezed through, her voice trailing off as Amelia kept going.

Amelia knew the precise location of the wayward keys: the big handbag she'd used last time she was out, which was currently lying next to her bed. She climbed the stairs quickly, reaching the third landing by taking the steps two at a time.

She stopped just outside the open door to her bedroom.

He was obviously engrossed, too wrapped up in what he was looking at to register his mother's arrival.

And by the time Darren noticed Amelia's presence it was far too late.

Darren's bedroom

Darren isn't sure, but it sounds like his mother chuckled an instant before she replies.

"Oh, Darren. Come on," she says with a sigh. "Take a wild guess. What do you think I want to talk about?"

"I'm sorry," he moans into the dark. "I ... I don't know what I was thinking." Go away, go away, go away ... Leave me alone!). "I shouldn't have been there ... I shouldn't have done it; I'd give anything to take it all back."

Her voice is low and as dark as the night: "You're a filthy beast, a dirty little animal."

Darren is so ashamed, so dejected he wails, "I'm so sorry."

To which his mother hisses, "Will you be quiet," while getting to her feet.

Darren feels the bed heave and senses rather than sees his mother flit through the dark to the door. He's partly relieved and also oddly disappointed when he thinks she's leaving, but, rather than making an exit, his mother lingers before moving back to the bed.

"Right," she murmurs while retaking her seat. "Stop making so much noise or you'll have the whole house awake."

Darren thought to mention they were on the third floor. His sister's family are on the level below; low voices are hardly likely to wake anyone up. But, just in the moment, he doesn't have the capacity to ask any questions. Dazed and confused, he holds himself close to the wall, emotions in turmoil.

"All right, so," his mother begins, "what were you doing sneaking about in my personal business?"

One:

A few days before

It took more than a few seconds for him to realise just who it was he was seeing. Hiding Christmas presents was forgotten, the carefully wrapped gifts still in the big blue Ikea bag he'd used to cart them all upstairs. Instead, Darren sat cross-legged on the floor, the open shoe box near his shins while he gawped in stunned disbelief at the old photograph he held between a forefinger and thumb.

Darren trembled when recognition set in. "Oh Jesus," he gasped while vague, not-quite-formed questions popped into his head. How old is she? he thought in the aftermath of the cold-water shock. Nineteen? Twenty? ... And who took the picture? Mum, oh God, Mum -- what are you doing?

His insides gave this greasy little slide when he glanced down to see the box was crammed full of more of the same. There were hundreds of photos in there, and the ones he could see scattered about on the top layer all seemed to depict the same subject, the same girl. She was clothed in some, nude in others, her face all too familiar, easily recognisable regardless of the years which had past as she stared out at her son from a couple of decades ago.

Darren mind worked through the sludge. It was like thinking through glue, but he still had the capacity to notice her hairstyle and clothes -- when she had any on -- looked to be 70s in style.

He wasn't up to the mental gymnastics required for simple calculations; Darren couldn't quite manage to subtract his mother's fifty-seven years back to 1978 or '79, but that was definitely her posing nude for the pictures.

Darren dropped the first photo, then scooped out a handful, skipping them through his fingers one after the other while soaking up the detail of his own mother's ripe, voluptuous figure. "God, you're so pretty," he mumbled.

A moment later, the reality of his situation filtered through. Darren felt a tingle on the back of his neck, a feather-light touch that sent a shiver down his spine. He dropped the pictures into the box at the same time as he craned round to look back at the open bedroom door, his heart cranking up through a few gears when he realised anyone could walk past at any moment: his sister or brother or any of their brood. Not that they had any reason to be up on the top floor of the house, but Darren couldn't take the chance.

And what if his mother walked in?

Darren scrambled about when panic ballooned. He cursed when a flailing hand knocked the side of the box to spill photos over the carpet, their glossy surface spreading them like oil. He was on his knees as he scooped them up, desperate to cover his tracks and get out of his mother's room before he was caught.

"Shit, oh bollocks," he muttered, wondering if there was any kind of order to the way the pictures were stacked. The questions came at him like arrows: how often does she look in the box? Will she notice anything amiss? And, if his mother did notice, would she ask any questions?

Then, for Darren, the world stopped. He went still when he happened to glance into the box. He stared down and didn't notice the little "ack" sound that came up from the back of his throat. Time seemed to stretch as Darren watched his own fingers dip into the pile of photographs. To him it was like he was set on the ceiling, an observer looking on as the scene played out. It was as though he was watching a film.

Darren saw himself lift the picture out of the pile, gaze at it for what seemed an age, then throw a furtive look over one shoulder.

A moment later the photo went into the back pocket of his jeans.

Still out-of-body, he watched the Darren down below quickly tidied up the evidence, replacing the lid before he leaned into the wardrobe to shove the box back into its corner.

When his top half emerged, reality snapped back and he was back in the three dimensional realm. Darren became abruptly conscious of his body's response: he was sucking in breaths through his nose while his heart was a bass lub-lub bouncing around in his chest, the sound of it pulsing up into his ears while his stomach churned and the anxious need to pee pushed to the forefront of his mind. Also, alongside the fear and anxiety, on a deep, dark and somewhat disturbing level, he also awoke to the slither of some illicit and decidedly carnal emotion.

Darren paused, wondering if he should return the photograph to its hiding place, his hand going to the pocket, fingertips sliding over the glossy surface as the recollection of the image popped into his head.

Darren refused to acknowledge the emotion rising inside him as he gaped down at the picture. He denied the hot flare deep in his core, the sudden surge of arousal in that indefinable place between his balls and the pit of his stomach. Gulping down on the urge to haul out his cock -- which was fully erect and pulsing with need -- Darren let out a low, desperate moan while shoving the photo back into his pocket.

Then he scurried from her bedroom with the big blue bag of presents over his shoulder, the contraband in his jeans pocket for later perusal.

*

He yanked at himself. Unable to resist any longer. It was Christmas Eve, almost two days since he purloined the picture. He had denied the truth to himself about why he took it, but had finally succumbed. Darren looked at the image of his own mother while tugging his cock. Desire just would not be denied, no matter how illicit.

He was in the upstairs bathroom, with the door locked, the photo set on the washbasin, her picture angled towards him as the top edge rested against the splashback tiles above the sink. Darren's jeans were round his shins while the family were about their pre-Christmas business downstairs, his cock-head slippery with pre-cum as his fist worked back-and-forth, the fap-fap-fap coming up juicy and slick.

"You're so fucking lovely," Darren grunted. "His cock in your mouth..."

He groaned and winced, slack-jawed and bug-eyed, his gaze fixed on his mother's distorted face. Darren gazed at her lips, which were thin, bloodless lines compressed by the girth of the cock she had wedged between them.

It's the sheer wrongness of seeing it which tugged at his vitals. She's his mother, but Darren couldn't help but wish it was his cock stuck in her face. He gawped at the young woman, gasping at the sight of cum spattered over her cheek as she grins into the camera. And she's definitely grinning, Darren could tell. Despite having her mouth stuffed full of male gristle, the expression is there in her eyes. She might have her mouth full of a very fat dick, but his mother's amused (delighted?) smirk shines through. It was obvious the man, whomever he is, has just let go all over her breasts. His mother's round tits, so big and youthful -- so fucking firm -- are spattered with gloop while a thick, snotty rope of the stuff dangles from her chin.

"It isn't you, Mum," Darren groaned as he jacked at his length. "It can't be," he sighed, shaking his head while his gaze remained fixed on the picture. "It ... it's just too dirty to be you. I mean, you're covered in spunk..."

Darren moaned again when he recalled how full the shoebox had been. How many pictures were in there? Over what span of time were they taken? Is it just one lover she's with, or were there more? He grunted, teeth clenched as the surge rose up. He was close to his climax, so near to pumping the hot stuff out of his dick.

"How many men have you fucked?" Darren asked, the question coming up in a near gurgle.

He soaks up her nakedness, wondering at the texture of her skin if he was touching her body. What sort of noise did she make when the man's jizm splashed onto her tits? Did she use profanity to goad him to orgasm? Did she crank at his shaft and slurp at the big, plummy end while mumbling obscenities into his face?

"Fuck, what a body," he eventually snarled. "And just look at that bush..."

Darren's focus was set between his mother's spread thighs as she lays on her side, weight on one hip and an elbow while her legs are spread wide to show off her vulva and thick pelt of dark hair. The image was so lewd he could barely supress the sob which burst out of his chest as the heavy outrush began.

Darren groaned and then spit out the word. "Bitch," he said as the cum flicked out of his cock. "You hot, sexy bitch; you filthy old slut...

"Oh Jesus, oh fuck, just look at that cunt ... Look at those tits..."

And then, as the hot surge of desire evaporated to leave Darren shell-shocked and gasping while he stared into the mirror above the sink. Appalled with himself, the guilt rushed in to fill the void left by the outpouring of need.

"No," Darren mumbled at the slack-faced stranger looking out from the mirror. "Stop it," he breathed, horrified by what he'd done. "Never, ever again."

He surveyed the carnage, then groaned in disgust when his eyes fell on the lewd picture. Suddenly, he couldn't bear to look at it and, condemning himself for being so perverted, hauled up his jeans and shoved the photo back in his pocket. He was determined to put it back and never revisit the wardrobe. He gulped, guts twisting with guilt and anxiety as he mopped up the mess, flushing wads of toilet tissue away before slinking out of the bathroom.

*

Darren timed it so there was little risk of being caught. It was a moment or two before the evening meal was due to be served; his mother was busy in the kitchen while his sister lent a hand, with the sound of his brother's attempts to cajole the children through to the dining room came up the stairs loud and clear.

Darren had excused himself from the chaos, citing a call of nature as the reason and, ignoring the downstairs cloakroom, he took the opportunity of the distractions to hurry upstairs and sneak into her bedroom. His plan was to shove the picture back into the box and then forget it ever existed -- which seemed simple when he'd just drained himself of semen, the dark urges pouring out of him in a rush, but which suddenly became difficult to achieve when his feet crossed the threshold.

He made it to her bedroom easily enough, the sneakiness descending like an invisible cloak when Darren stepped through the door. He was back on dangerous ground, forbidden territory, once again lurking inside his mother's boudoir with no real excuse for being there.

He was trembling when he eased the shoebox from its dark corner, the slide of arousal curdling inside him. Darren's cock thickened when he saw all those photos again: Take one more, the oily voice whispered. Take two, she'll never know...

A rush of illicit excitement took hold when he pushed his hand into the stack. Despite knowing it was the wrong thing to do, he couldn't stop himself from letting his fingers burrow in, the tips picking a picture at random from the bottom of the pile. Delicious anticipation squeezed Darren's guts when, without looking at the photo he'd just snagged, he slipped it into his back pocket and then dipped in for one more.

He detoured to the bathroom for a quick scan of the prize, cock throbbing as he slid the bolt and hurriedly fished the pictures out of his jeans.

"Oh my God," gurgled Darren when he saw what he had. "Oh Jesus, Mum," he added on a sigh.

*

They were all sitting round the table when Amelia noticed him looking at her, his expression prompting her to ask, "Darren? Are you all right? Is something the matter?"

Darren blinked, startled out of his reverie. He came up out of the fugue, wondering if he'd been staring at her? He wasn't sure, but suspected he might have been.

The question went through his mind: Who are you? Then, unbidden: Is your muff still thick and dark, Mum? Are you all hairy down at your cunt?

"Uh, nuh-no, everything's fine," Darren replied out loud, fighting off the libidinous thoughts. Except for those photos ... Except for those pictures of you getting fucked from behind.

"Well, how come you're not eating?" Amelia asked, an eyebrow arched in enquiry. "You seem sort of ... distant. Are you sure you're okay?"

Darren cast a look around the table. He saw his nephew and niece shovelling in chips, too absorbed by stuffing their faces to take any notice while their mother, his sister Emma, eyed him with a similar expression of maternal concern.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Darren said after throwing a glance towards his brother. He shrugged and added, "Just wondering about Christmas and how different it is to last year."

The lie seemed to satisfy his mother, who gave a half shrug of her own. "Yes, well, at least you're rid of that abominable woman. I know a divorce can be painful, but honestly, Darren, she was--"

"Mum," Emma put in, cutting Amelia short. "Please don't start."

The fierce look from her daughter was accompanied by a roll of her eyes towards the children, the warning causing Amelia Baxter to realise it wasn't the time to berate her son for his choice in a wife. "Oh, yes, all right I'm sorry, darling," she said, eyes dropping down to the table. "Anyway," she went on a moment later while smiling at Darren. "At least you're here with us this year. Is everything okay in your room? Is it strange to back?"

Inside his head, Darren heard, What's strange is finding that stash of dirty pictures. Mum, jeez, I'd never have thought it... before he said, "Honest, Mum, everything's good. I'll look for a job and then get a place of my own."

His mother nodded. "Take your time. It's lovely having you here. There's no rush, sweetie..."

After that, the conversation turned towards Emma, a discussion about division of labour and who was doing what on Christmas Day. Darren tuned out on the chatter about peeling vegetables and the size of the turkey, his mind drifting back to the photograph of his mother on her hands and knees, a man behind her, his cock buried in the matt of her pubic bush while she was creased at the waist and smiling back at him over one shoulder.

She was loving it, absolutely delighted to be getting fucked from behind, the pleasure lighting up her face as she angled her pelvis and invited him into her body.

Darren gulped in response when lust rushed inside him. He took surreptitious look at his mother while trying to reconcile the staid, prim and apparently respectable woman with the smirking slut in the photos.


Mister Durrant's Fuck Photos



Who is he? thought Darren, wondering who the man was with his mother. And who took the pictures? Who the hell is Mister Durrant? which was a name he'd found written in faded pencil on the back of one of the photos.

Two:

1977

Amelia wore the skirt to purposely show off her legs. She knew he'd look, was certain he'd stare at the bare skin and get that hungry look on his face.

And she loved seeing that look; Amelia really enjoyed teasing the old man. She loved the way it made her feel, the way she could see through the chink in his armour of respectability. It was furtive and even a bit kinky, flaunting herself in a way she'd never have believed herself capable. Amelia had no clue exactly why she found it such fun, but after catching him perving at her legs one warm afternoon in the office she'd come over all thrilled-sexy, arriving home to find her kickers soaked through. After that episode Amelia played the occasional game, treating the old boy to her long legs or a flash down her blouse, wicked behaviour which got her all gooey inside and sometimes made her so randy she'd lock herself in the loo and rub herself off, chewing on her bottom lip to stifle the groans as she desperately rubbed at her clit or even used three fingers inside her cunny.

With no idea just what effect the brevity of her skirt and the length of her legs would have on her boss, Amelia she sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on her boots, the tops of which reached as far as her knees, the Cuban heels making that thick, chunky thunk as she strode along the pavement. Her long dark hair bounced against her shoulders as she walked to work, breasts jiggling inside her thin blouse. She made her way along the High Street, the morning sun warming her face, a couple of glances from passing motorists buoying her mood.

Amelia went past the café on the corner before hooking left along the terraced row of office doorways, stepping briskly along the frontage of an estate agent's and bookie's until she came to the door neighbouring the paper shop.

She climbed the steep stairs and moved along the uneven floor of the landing, excitement fluttering in her tummy as she approached the door to the couple of rooms that served as the solicitor's office.

"Hello, Mister Durrant," Amelia breathed, insides clenching as she watched his face when he looked up from his desk.

It was going to be a wet-kickers day, she could tell, the thick, throaty "Good morning, Amelia," he gurgled melting her sex. "You're looking lovely today," added her boss, the comment an unprecedented compliment. Mister Durrant had never before made any overt reference to Amelia's attractiveness, and the lupine expression which accompanied it sent a leaden sinker of something close to anxiety plummeting into the pit of her stomach.

"Thank you," she murmured, unable to stand looking at his face. "Uh ... is there anything particular you want me to do today?"

It was her standard question at the beginning of the day, an enquiry if her solicitor employer had any urgent correspondence to push out of the office.

His response was anything but the usual reply. Amelia felt a strange fluttering inside her when the old man's tongue slid over his lips, his gaze fixed on her legs before shifting up to her boobs. "Yes, well," he intoned, the catch in his voice triggering a shiver of anticipation through the girl. "I've been thinking about you, Amelia ... thinking about you a great deal..."

Amelia gulped, swallowing hard, her knees suddenly weak as she intuited something momentous was about to be said. "Have you?" she warbled, the atmosphere inside the office suddenly cloying. Sex, she thought. Oh God, that look on his face...

Mister Durrant nodded, snake eyes fixed on Amelia's chest. "I have," he said, once again running his tongue over his lips, his eyes going back to Amelia's legs. "And it's just an enquiry," he added, waving a nonchalant hand. "Something completely unprofessional..." He paused and glowered at Amelia over the rims of his spectacles. "Something which would compromise me completely ... If it ever got out."

"Cuh-can I sit down?" Amelia quavered.

"Of course, please do."

His eyes followed as Amelia made her unsteady way to the chair in front of his desk. Mister Durrant sat there and breathed through his nose, the sound of it oddly predatory to Amelia's ears as she sat down.

She was acutely aware he was looking at them when she crossed her legs.

"Now, Amelia..." her boss began.

Why did I wear this skirt? Amelia thought. He can see everything up to my arse.

"...I hope you realise that what I'm about to say is strictly between us..."

My face, look at my face. Get your eyes off my legs.

"...It's rather delicate and, as I said, a tad unprofessional..."

Does it involve sucking your dick, you randy old perv?

"...so the remuneration will reflect that, of course..."

You want to fuck me? Is that it? Is that what you're leading up to, Mister Durrant? Are you going to offer me money for sex?

His gaze lingered on Amelia's breasts for a moment or two. "And you're under no obligation at all. If you wish to refuse..." Mister Durrant spread his hands in an it's-up-to-you gesture as he smiled and finally looked the girl in the eyes. "All I ask is you keep it all to yourself. We'll muddle along as we have been for these past few months...

"How does that sound, my dear?"

There was quite a long pause, everyday street sounds coming up through the window while the pair stared at one another across a no-man's land of uncertainty.

Then Amelia was surprised to hear herself saying, "That depends, Mister Durrant." Her head canted to one side while she held onto his gaze. "What is it you have in mind, exactly?"

The following morning

"I don't know if I can," Amelia said through the door. "Mister Durrant ... I'm suh-sorry, I duh-don't think I can do it."

"If you don't want to," came his reply, "I understand, Amelia. "We'll just go back to how it was. Forget I ever asked."

And forget about the money, Amelia thought. Ten pounds a week.

"An hour?" she called through the wood panel of the door that separated the archive room from his office. "That's all -- two days a week?"

"That's correct," she heard her boss say. "Twice a week, an hour at a time."

"No touching?"

His sigh reached her. Amelia could just picture him shaking his head. "We discussed this, Amelia..."

"All right," the girl called through after a pause. "But I'm so nervous."

"It'll be fine," Mister Durrant cooed. "I ... I'll just ignore you at first. Come through when you're ready. Pretend it's a normal morning. You'll soon get used to it."

Amelia had her doubts about that, parading around in the nude at work was anything but normal.

She sucked in several deep breaths and then swallowed hard. "Oh God," Amelia muttered, her hand going to the doorknob.

"Is there anything particular you want me to do today?" asked the girl, face burning as she stood in front of her boss.

"Uhm, a cup of tea would be lovely," he managed to reply, the catch in his voice the only indication he was affected.

"Of course," Amelia said, putting her oddly prissy and somewhat formal tone down to stress of her situation.

Then, naked except for the high heeled shoes her employer had specified, Amelia turned to comply, keenly aware he would be staring at the bare cheeks of her arse.

As time goes on

She was surprised at the prescient accuracy of Mister Durant's words, the, You'll soon get used to it, coming more easily than the girl could ever have envisioned. The two hours a week quickly became three; Amelia breezing around in the buff without a care in the world. In fact, she got so used to being naked at work she could have kept it as a permanent deal, although she never became quite so blasé she didn't get turned on every time.

For his part, Mister Durrant was as good as his word. Never once did he try anything on; he made no attempt to grab a quick feel, kept his hands to himself despite his eyes roaming all over Amelia's body.

Then, one afternoon in early September, unable to look the girl in the eyes, Mister Durrant came out with another offer.

"You know," he began, stare fixed on the ceiling as he leaned back in his chair. "Amelia, dear ... well, it's like this..."

*

When he fished it out, she was impressed. She thought it was gorgeous: the length intimidating, its girth considerable. Amelia gasped, insides melting when she saw the thick veiny shaft and great purple end. Something rose in her throat, an emotion Amelia didn't recognise at the time but with which she would become very intimate as the next days and weeks went by.

"Come closer, my dear," he said, the words coming out treacly and thick. "That's good," added Mister Durrant, his stare going from the girl's face to her breasts and down to her bush. "You've such a thick mott. And absolutely exquisite breasts. You're divine," he told her while slowly fisting his length. "Have you ever watched a man masturbate before?"

Her reply stuck to the roof of her mouth. She couldn't take her eyes off it, the sight of him stroking that lovely example of male virility prompting a hot rush down between her legs. It held her rapt as she dimly thought to herself, I'm so bloody wet ... He's going to smell my twat. "Not like this," Amelia croaked before shrugging and adding, "Just a boyfriend I had. He'd do it a bit before we ... you know..."

He smirked and just kept on stroking, his tone low and narcotic while using both hands on his cock. "What do you think about me doing it now? In front of you, Amelia. How do you feel? Do you like it?" he purred, his face going slack as he gaped at her body.

Amelia gulped when he jacked at it faster, her insides doing somersaults while her clit pulsed with a life of its own. "Yes, Mister Durrant," mumbled the girl.

"Do something for me, my dear." His eyes flicked to the door. "Would you mind popping along to the lavatory, sweet girl? I'm going to need the hand towel that's next to the basin." Mister Durrant gave her a grin. "Otherwise I might ruin my suit." His voice followed when Amelia turned and walked away to comply. "You've got a wonderful arse on you, girl! And such lovely legs. You better hurry, my sweet," Amelia heard just as she grabbed for the towel. "I think an explosion is inevitable. There's going to be such a godawful mess!"

*

He'd been right, the mess was incredible.

Amelia relived the eruption while sitting on the toilet, fingers sloshing around through her vulva, her bush matted with lust. She fingered her bean and fucked two stiff fingers into her opening while recalling the grunting, teeth-clenched spectacle of Mister Durant's outpouring of cum.

She'd passed him the towel, which he then hurriedly spread over his middle, one hand working his cock as Mister Durrant laid out the spunk cloth as well as he could given the rushed circumstances.

"Turn around," the man groaned, spinning a forefinger. "All the way, Amelia; I want to see your arse. And back around," he moaned after a second or two. "Let me look at your tits..."

The need to touch herself was a heavy drag way down deep while the girl gazed at Mister Durrant getting himself closer and closer. An insane and very reckless image popped into her head as she looked at his face and saw lust in the man's eyes: she could be across the room in a couple of seconds, straddling his thighs while splaying her labia before sinking down on that length, his girth splitting her open.

His age didn't matter anymore. For Amelia it was all about the man's cock.

I could fuck it ... I could just climb aboard and ride him 'til I came...

Then another voice inside her head chimed in with: Oh yeah, and get yourself right up the stick. No johnnie, no pill; there's no way you could get off it before he filled you with spunk...

But, just for a moment, the thought of his seed pumping inside her vulnerable body sent a ripple down Amelia's spine.

"Fuck, Amelia, you're so bloody lovely," Mister Durrant hissed, the words bursting the girl's bubble of thought.

It was the first time she'd heard him utter the word, the shock of hearing him swear oddly exaggerated considering their circumstances. Amelia giggled in response, wondering how him using the fuck-word could be any more shocking than watching him wank off.

"I'd love to put this inside you," the man added on a low moan. "I'd love to fuck your tight little twot..."

After that he'd snorted and gone wall-eyed, grunts and groans coming out while he gritted his teeth and scuffed his heels against the carpet so much his chair shunted back two or three feet towards the window.

Amelia sat on the toilet, thighs wide, her hand moving quickly as she teased herself to a climax, her mind's eye filled with the geyser of gloopy fluid which had burst out of her boss.

She mewled and moaned as the spasms took hold, the memory of the viscous rain he'd poured all over himself too much to cope with.

Her orgasm boiled, delight bursting out in a series of sobs, the pleasure incredible. The girl squealed and gasped, her mind going blank until she eventually cooled into a knock-kneed and trembling post-orgasmic mess, almost slumped on the toilet as she sucked air into her lungs.

"Oh-Jesus-fuck," Amelia blasphemed while blinking around at the tawdry surroundings as though she'd just woken from a deep sleep. "What the hell has happened to you?" she gasped to herself, a question she would turn over and over inside her head during the fitful nights that would follow.

Amelia would wonder at how it had all happened, how she'd allowed herself to be coerced into doing what she had -- although deep down she'd know that word was a lie. Later on the girl would find the wherewithal to admit she was drawn to the darkly illicit, that Mister Durrant was only a catalyst and she'd been more than willing to go along with his pervy little game once she got over the initial reticence. But, for several troubled nights, Amelia would ponder her fall from innocence; she would question herself over and over and over without asking the only really relevant question: How far would she actually go?

Three:

Touching

"Mister Durrant," Amelia gasped. "Cuh-can I touch it?" They were at it again. She was watching him masturbate, desires rising up inside her. Amelia couldn't quite believe she'd just said it; the girl actually thought it had been inside her head until she looked down to where his hand had gone still.

His face was all slack when he gurgled, "My cock?" the feral expression sending a quick ripple of desire through the girl.

She chewed on her lower lip while a washing machine of emotions jumbled and surged in her guts: It won't stop there. You know it. If you touch his dick he'll want to touch you.

...And who says I don't want him to touch me?

But he's so old. He's fifty ... It's disgusting.

...No it isn't; he's got a beautiful cock.

If you touch him you'll end up sucking it ... and worse!

...No, I won't let him fuck me.

A dark snigger before: Oh yes you will; you'll end up sitting on his dick until you get a belly full of spunk.

...Oh, God, shut up, that only turns me on more.

His hand moved again, slowly at first, his fist moving over all of his length while Mister Durrant held Amelia's gaze with a hot stare of his own. "You want to touch this, my dear?"

The argument ended, the internal to-and-fro ceasing as Amelia nodded and whispered, "Yes please."

"Come on, then," gurgled Mister Durrant, waggling the thing. "See if you can make it spit."

The sheer filthiness of the suggestion was enough to bring a low groan from Amelia, her insides clenching with the urge to sink down onto her employer's erection.

"That's an awful thing to say," Amelia responded, the explosion of warmth down below belying her words.

Mister Durrant obviously picked up her true meaning, divining Amelia's sentiments from her tone before he replied with, "Sometimes crudeness is entirely appropriate. Here," he continued, thrusting up with his hips. "Wank it."

Amelia moved in close, her hand going to his cock while Mister Durrant slipped an arm round her waist.

He hugged her in closer, fingers kneading the flesh of one buttock while the girl's fingers encircled his girth for the first time.

"Oh God, it's so hard," Amelia murmured, excitement swelling inside her. "Am I doing it properly?" she asked. "Is this good?"

"You have no fucking idea," groaned Mister Durrant. "It's perfect, so bloody lovely. Fuck, Amelia, I can't begin to tell you how wonderful it feels to have you doing that to me. And your body..."

She let him do it. When her boss turned his head, his lips finding one nipple, his hands coming up to her breasts, she allowed him free rein on her tits.

"Wank it," the man grunted, fucking into her fist. "Oh fuck, oh-dear-fucking-God, pull it, you sweet, lovely girl. Tug on my cock."

"Mister Durrant," Amelia said, her breath coming in hard and fast, her eyes set on his dick. "You can touch me, too -- if you like. My cunny," she whimpered, face flaring hot with embarrassment when she uttered the coy word, not quite able to use the word cunt.

"I want to taste your honey," groaned Mister Durrant, his fingers finding her core. "You're soaking," he gasped. "Bloody hell, Amelia, it's like you're pissing yourself."

"Play with me," Amelia growled in response, squirming against the man's expeditionary digits. A sudden surge of lust brought out the beast, her burgeoning urges turning Amelia from demure compliance to actively making demands of her own. "Fuck my twat with your fingers, Mister Durrant," she mewled, somehow knowing her next sentence might be the beginning of the end. Without really knowing where the words came from -- maybe she'd heard or read it somewhere? -- Amelia pouted and lisped, "I'm such a naughty girl, Daddy ... Look at me now, wanking your big fucking cock ... Isn't that just too wicked for words? Good girls don't do this, do they?"

Mister Durrant blinked up into her face, his jaw going slack before he let out a low moan. His eyes rolled while his pink tongue slipped over his lips. "Dear God, Amelia," he blurted, then jetted a long burst of jizm high in the air.

Amelia yelped when the first spurt flicked over her breast. "You're coming!" she yipped in a completely unnecessary announcement.

"Keep going," groaned Mister Durrant, hips working as he fucked into the girl's stationary fist. "Don't stop ... Wank it all out."

Four:

Fucking Mister Durrant

The next step is inevitable. In her lucid times, Amelia fought it, but, in the end she just couldn't stop herself from sitting on her boss's desk, spreading her legs, parting the meaty folds of her labia, and inviting him to, "Put it in..."

She nodded and pointed at his cock. "Fuck me, Mister Durrant."

"Jesus, Amelia -- do you honestly mean it?"

Squirming while fingering the taut nub of her very aroused clit, Amelia gasped, "Yes, Mister Durrant; I'm so bloody randy."

He cranked his length and, looking slightly ridiculous with his trousers shucked to his shins, penguin-walked around his desk.

"Can we kiss?" the man mumbled, still working his shaft while staring at Amelia's scarlet slit through the dense matted hair down between her legs.

"Anything you want," she moaned in reply.

Mister Durrant gulped, a hand gliding over the silky smooth skin of the girl's inner thigh. He stroked one of her breasts, then fondled its twin, slowly nodding while gurgling, "Are you on the pill?" he asked.




Mister Durrant's Fuck Photos



"No," came her choked reply.

"All right. Yes. Okay. Hang on one moment," continued the man. He leaned over the desk, reaching for the far side, fingers groping for the handle of one of its drawers.

Amelia swivelled at the waist, breasts rolling. "What are you doing?"

"Protection," he told her. "Don't want you getting up the duff."

"Oh God, just hurry up," Amelia squeaked, mindless to the risks, not caring if he fucked a baby inside her.

Mister Durrant muttered a curse, agitation making him fumble with the rolled latex sheath. His fingers worked down at his root while Amelia, committed to her sin and raring to go, diddled her clit and urged him on with short, urgent gasps.

"I'm going to fuck you, my dear girl," groaned Mister Durrant as he presented the teat of the condom to Amelia's body.

Beyond any social niceties, well past the point of decorum, Amelia shifted her rump, moaning at him to stop fucking about. "Put it in, give it to me," the girl groaned. "Please, just hurry up and fuck me, Mister Durrant."

"You're beautiful," he breathed while giving a short thrust.

Mister Durrant held the girl's gaze, half his length sliding inside her. "Oh yes," grunted Amelia, eyes rolling, her hands going up to his shoulders. "It's gorgeous," she added, chin on her chest so she could watch her body accepting his cock. "All the way in, Daddy," she said, her glazed eyes moving up to his face.

Mister Durrant let out a sob of delight, his balls nudging the crease of Amelia's arse. He groaned out, "Baby-girl," the word 'girl' coming out stretched as he started to move, his hands full of her breasts. "My sweet little darling, you're so bloody tight."

Amelia chuckled, thrilled at the feelings inside her. He was so thick and so fucking hard! "That's because you're so big for me, Daddy," she cooed. "My little cunny isn't used to such a lovely big thing."

"It's a sweet little twot," said Mister Durrant in his peculiar colloquial twist. "A hot, wet and absolutely divine cunt."

After muttering the profanities, he ducked in low to kiss the girl's lips, her eager tongue quick to find his while the pair rutted and gasped into one another's open mouths.

"I'm going to taste you," growled Mister Durrant, intent glittering bright in his eyes.

Amelia let out a yelp of surprise when he pulled out and went down on his haunches, hands grabbing her ankle and opposite thigh so he could hold her high and wide, her sex at his mercy.

The girl's initial cry tapered off to a groan when Mister Durrant got to work with his mouth. She babbled and gasped and made a bit of a fuss while he went at her, moaning with delight when he popped upright once again, his dick filling her up.

"That was so dirty," Amelia muttered, eyes bright with desire after a long, tongue-swirling kiss from her lover. "Nobody has ever licked me down there before." She thought his look was so feral, primal intent coming up from his soul when the man stared into her eyes.

"You poor neglected thing," growled Mister Durrant. "But don't you fret, my sweet little thing. This is only the start, Amelia. If you're willing, there's a lot more to explore."

After that he set out fucking into Amelia with such robust vehemence that work papers and an angle poise lamp ended up scattered all over the floor. Mister Durrant went at Amelia's body, both of them gasping and moaning, hands clasping at skin, their passion so heated her shoes waggled and waved and the desk rocked like a small boat in a hurricane.

The girl held on tight, shunting her backside forward at times so she could meet him on the instroke, the wails of delight bursting forth as he fucked her into an orgasm.

Amelia came once as they fucked, her lover coaxing another blistering climax out of her with his fingers and tongue before he slid back inside, dumping his all into the condom while babbling on about how gorgeous he thought Amelia was.

"I want to do it," Amelia said when it was all over. She was sprawled on the two-seater chesterfield sofa which was set along a side wall of the office. Totally immodest about being naked in front of Mister Durrant -- after all, he'd explored her intimate places with his mouth and his fingers and that truly wonderful cock -- she looked at him and added, "What you said about me being willing to explore..."

From his chair behind the desk, the detritus of battle strewn about on the floor, Mister Durrant grinned. His cock lay over his shirt front, the johnnie-bag still tight around him, its teat heavy with cum. "Well, we'll have to get you sorted out, shan't we, girl?" He grimaced in distaste and glanced at his lap. "I can't be mucking about with these horrible sheaths. We'll get you properly protected so we can have some wonderful times together."

Elizabeth Durrant

"Your house?" Amelia said. She gaped at him. "Where's your wife going to be?"

She noticed his eyes slide away from her face, his expression going sly when he said, "Elizabeth will be there, too."

It was just over a month since Mister Durrant had fucked the girl on his desk, the office the scene of more of the same ever since. His desk, the chesterfield sofa, and even the floor had supported the lovers while they'd been hard at it, now he was suggesting a more comfortable venue.

Amelia boggled. "In the house? And your wife will be at home?"

"In the bedroom, or wherever else we happen to be."

"With us?" she said in a tone heavy with her obvious incredulity.

"Intimately," he said with a nod.

Not able to believe what she was hearing, appalled at the suggestion, Amelia asked, "She's going to watch us ... She's going to see us together?"

Mister Durrant sighed. "Elizabeth will be part of it, dear girl. I expect she'll be down there with you, sucking my cock." He watched her face for a reaction, his choice of crudity intentional. "I also expect she'll suck your cunt off me after we've fucked.

"And, I was rather hoping you could do the same? I thought you might enjoy the filthiness of it, Amelia. That sort of thing seems to turn you on," added Mister Durrant with a nonchalant air. "Wouldn't that excite you, my sweet? Perhaps Elizabeth could give you a bit of a lick while I get at her from behind?

"I think watching you two girls kissing would be rather arousing..."

"Oh Jesus," Amelia gasped, stunned yet still feeling a dribble of need slide from her opening. "I ... I don't know," she went on. "Your wife? Me and her together? I'm not a lesbian, Mister Durrant ... I don't know about all this. It's a bit kinky."

"Just come to the house," he cajoled. "We'll see how it goes."

*

Elizabeth Durrant, Amelia decided at first sight, was a very attractive lady.

Forty? the girl thought while taking in the bright smile, long chestnut hair and twinkling green eyes. Despite being scared half to death she could still recognise the older woman's allure.

"Amelia," Elizabeth purred as she stepped back a pace to open the door fully. "Welcome, so lovely to meet you. God, Bernie," she added, "she's as divine as you said. "My, my," the woman continued, lower lip jutting in appreciation as she let her gaze move over the contours of Amelia's body. Then, in a comment so forthright it shocked Amelia to hear it, Elizabeth smirked and said, "Watching you fuck is going to be such a thrill."

Amelia found herself being led into the house by the hand, with Elizabeth talking as they move deeper inside, Mister Durrant following behind after closing the door.

It was a big place, fully detached and in its own grounds. On the way in with Mister Durrant, Amelia had managed to notice a garden which could have passed for a small park, a long driveway up to the front door, with a high privet hedge for privacy enclosing them in. Inside, a long corridor ran for some distance, doors leading off left and right, a wide staircase at the far end.

Amelia had time to think, Are we going to the bedroom? before she found herself in a high-ceilinged sitting-cum-living room, its volume typical of the house's original Victorian design.

"Can we offer you a drink?" Elizabeth asked while gesturing with the sweep of one hand towards a sofa the size of boat. "Won't you sit down," she suggested. "Get comfy, sweetheart. Make yourself at home."

Amelia gulped, awed and trembling, more nervous than she could ever recall being in her life now she was there in the house. "A glass of water would be nice," she warbled, mind cleaved in two parts. The whole scene was very surreal; she couldn't believe she was sitting there with such an apparently normal couple while, lurking in the background, lying in wait was the potential for sordid sexual acts. Amelia found it difficult to reconcile the cosy domesticity -- and Elizabeth's elegance politeness -- with what had been discussed.

Is she really happy about me fucking her husband? Will she actually watch? Is it going to be like Mister Durrant said?

Amelia saw an image inside her head. She looked at Elizabeth, studying the woman while picturing them both on the settee, Mister Durrant's hard-on in Elizabeth's fist as she first ducked in to suck on the cock-head, eyes gleaming when she came back up and offered it to Amelia.

Amelia's throat worked as she swallowed down hard, the scene shifting to a naked Elizabeth riding Mister Durrant's length. In her mind's eye, she watched the woman's buttocks ripple and shiver, the man's fingers digging into the flesh while Elizabeth moaned and sighed and shoved her large breasts into his face.

In real life, Elizabeth said, "A glass of water for our guest, Bernie. Then take your clothes off, there's a good lad."

"You're eager," said Mister Durrant as he smirked at Elizabeth from beneath the twin arches of raised eyebrows.

Elizabeth chuckled and said, "I've been waiting all day." She threw a glance at Amelia while adding, "And she's better than I hoped. So pretty, so fresh..."

To Amelia, Mister Durrant said, "I think she likes you, sweet girl," then left to fetch the drinks as he'd been told.

During his temporary absence, Elizabeth sat down next to Amelia, a hand going to the girl's thigh. "Now," she cooed, squeezing a little, "why don't we think about getting out of these clothes? I'm dying to see you all lovely and bare."

"Already?" Amelia squeaked in response. "But--"

Whatever she had to say was left unsaid. Instead, Amelia sighed and let out a low moan, Elizabeth's hand already under the hem of her skirt, the woman's fingers finding the heat between her legs.

"You saucy minx," Elizabeth said with a chuckle. "You're soaking."

*

Her awakening was better than Mister Durrant had suggested. Amelia's introduction into the couple's debauched world opened her eyes. She quickly shrugged off her reluctance, fully immersing herself in the pool of depravity. Elizabeth, in Amelia's opinion, was gorgeous. Even at forty her figure was divine, the biggest surprise being the older woman's depilated vulva, a quirk which Amelia thought was so decadent.

"It just feels so naughty being bare down there," Elizabeth said with a chuckle and a roll of her eyes. "And Bernie loves it -- don't you, my dear?" she said to the man as he stroked his long cock, his eyes on both of his ladies.

"I like Amelia's bush, too," he said with a smirk. "You complement one another," he added, thrusting his chin at the girl. "Now, Amelia," he growled, fisting his dick. "Come here, sweetie; come and suck Daddy's cock."

"Is it all right?" Amelia asked, a wary eye set on Elizabeth.

"Everything is perfect," the woman replied as she leaned back in the sofa, legs going wide. "Go on, darling, give to poor man a nice little suck. Play with him, get him excited."

Amelia rose to her feet and, knock-kneed and trembling, very conscious of her nakedness in front of Elizabeth, stammered, "You're sure you don't mind?"

Elizabeth laughed and split the tacky folds between her legs with the tips of her fingers. "Suck him and fuck him," she mumbled, face going slack with her pleasure. "Be as naughty as you want, it's all good for me. I'd love to watch your beautiful face as you fuck. Go on, my lovely, do your worst, the filthier the better as far as I'm concerned."

So Amelia pushed Elizabeth's presence to the back of her mind, even sliding the tip of a finger over her nub as she walked over to Mister Durrant.

She posed for a few seconds, fists on her hips, revelling in the sight of him gazing enraptured, his focus going from her face to her breasts and on down to where she was desperately oiling between her legs.

"Hello, Daddy," the girl purred. "Is there anything in particular you want me to do today?"

Mister Durrant laughed, the delighted blurt coming up out of him when he heard her workday refrain. "Why yes, Amelia, there is," he said with a grin, waving his cock at her while casting a wink to Elizabeth. "Suck this and then climb aboard. I'm just in the mood for your tight little twot."

Minutes later, following a slurping exhibition where she laid it on thick for the benefit of the voyeur, Amelia moaned and sank down on the length of male gristle Mister Durrant held upright for her convenience, taking him inside her body down to his balls before she curled in to kiss his mouth.

Meanwhile, from her place on the sofa, Elizabeth moved two fingers in and out of her sex, her thumb working her clit. "Gorgeous," she gasped, eyes fixed on the sight of the girl's body accommodating the man's considerable girth. "That's it, Bernie," she winced, "make that little tart moan."

*

Amelia lost herself in the pleasure of it. She worked her hips up and down, sometimes moving up slowly, savouring the slick glide of Mister Durrant's shaft, holding him inside at the top of the stroke while gazing down into his face. Then, as the mood took her, she bounced on it hard and fast, grinding down onto the man while holding his head tight to her chest.

"God yes," Amelia moaned, kissing the top of his head. "Yes-yes-yes, that's so fucking nice! Daddy, I love your big cock." She threw a heavy-lidded look towards Elizabeth, the devilment rising up as she mumbled, "I'm fucking him ... Can you see it going in?"

"Oh, sweetie," Elizabeth drawled, "I can see everything."

Amelia moaned and focussed her attention upon Mister Durrant and what he was doing inside her. A short while later, as she gasped and moaned and enjoyed the sensations, Amelia became aware of Elizabeth's presence alongside her.

"Look at me," urged the woman while laying a hand on the girl's shoulder. "Let me see your face. I want to watch."

"What are we doing?" Amelia babbled, shaking her head while staring into Elizabeth's face.

"Enjoying ourselves," Elizabeth replied, amending the statement with a chuckle. "Well, it looks like you're having a good time of it. And so is he. Good God, Bernie," Elizabeth said. "What a fuss you're making."

Mister Durrant managed to open his eyes, the snorts and moans stopping abruptly. "It's always like this with Amelia," he groaned. "Look at her, Lizzy -- isn't she superb?"

Elizabeth's head canted to one side as she pouted and considered his words. "She's fucking divine, Bernie. Amelia, dear," whispered Elizabeth, tilting Amelia's face to hers with the tip of a forefinger beneath the girl's chin.

"Mmm?" came the hazy reply. Then Amelia's eyes went wide, her hips never quite still as Elizabeth kissed her.

"I-uh-I've never done that before," Amelia breathed when Elizabeth finally pulled away.

She began to fuck Mister Durrant with more urgency, her libido revving up after feeling Elizabeth's tongue dancing with hers. "I don't know if I like it," Amelia sighed. Then, on a long groan, as she rode Mister Durrant, Amelia said, "Elizabeth, please, kiss me again."

Elizabeth's eyes shone when she smiled down at the man trying mightily to hold onto his jizm. "Bernie," she cooed, "you've found us a treasure."

"I can't take much more," Mister Durrant said through a portcullis of teeth while Elizabeth's tongue slid into Amelia's mouth. He grimaced and swallowed heavily, wall-eyed and close to flooding Amelia with cum, panting and gasping a warning. "If she doesn't stop, I'll let it all go. I can't help myself, Lizzy..."

"Not yet! Stop!" Elizabeth cried, hauling Amelia's arm so she all but fell off Mister Durrant's cock.

"But I don't want to," Amelia gasped, blinking.

She was shocked and surprised to be so physically dragged off her lover's hard length. "It feels so good ... Put it back in," she hissed at the man.

Amelia rubbed hard at her sex, fingers working her clit as she tried to maintain the pleasure, but Elizabeth stepped in and went down on her knees, forcibly shifting the girl around to her liking. "In a little while," she said to Amelia. "Open your legs wider, my sweet. That's it, baby," Elizabeth purred when Amelia complied. "Has Bernie sucked your hot little quim 'til you've come?"

"Oh God," moaned Amelia, which was no answer at all. She squirmed and boggled at Elizabeth, the woman parting the hair and tacky folds with her fingers. "Oh fuck, oh my God..."

"Brace yourself, dear," Elizabeth said on a quick little laugh. "I'm just going to have a little taste of this peach..."

*

Seeing Mister Durrant's cock entering Elizabeth affected Amelia on a profound level. It was such an intimate thing to witness -- so private, so personal. She felt guilty for being there, an interloper, a dirty little voyeur on the couple's expression of love.

And it was definitely love she was seeing, absolutely no doubt. Regardless of their twisted relationship -- the sex in the office, Amelia's presence, and Elizabeth's bi-sexuality -- it was obvious they were deeply in love as the woman gazed at her man and offered her body, her flesh stretched tight while he fed himself in.

"Amelia, darling..." Elizabeth croaked, her voice calling the girl's attention up from where she'd been gawping at their conjunction. "Kiss me, my sweet."

Moving through what felt like a dream, Amelia responded to Elizabeth's outstretched arm, taking hold of the other woman's fingers, allowing herself to be drawn down into the intimate bubble, an active partner in the physical act.

Elizabeth moaned as they kissed, the sound taking Amelia's fingers down between her own legs.

"Just one little climax," Elizabeth said, holding Amelia's eyes with her glazed stare. "Then you can have him again," she breathed to the girl. "Come on, Bernie," Elizabeth then growled, bucking up hard while tightening he grip on Amelia's fingers. "Fuck me, my love. Give me it all. Use that cock like a battering ram. Pound my cunt with your strength."

"Oh Jesus," Amelia sighed, thrilled by Elizabeth's tone and crude words. She tickled her clit, teasing the bud until she sobbed with the pleasure, moving in on occasion to kiss Elizabeth's mouth, the hand she'd wrenched from the older woman's grip moving over Mister Durrant's back and his buttocks, those cheeks bunching and flexing as he went at Elizabeth with vigorous thrusts.

It went on for some minutes, the couple rutting towards frenzy, their gasps and cries of delight goading Amelia to boldness. As her passion flared hotter and she diddled her sex, Amelia squeezed at Elizabeth's breasts, sucking each thick, rubbery teat before moving up for yet another go at her tongue.

Eventually, it happened. Elizabeth got there. She let out a great cry, arching her back as she shunted her hips up off the sofa, an arm encircling Mister Durrant's neck so she could pull him for a kiss.

"Fuck me through it," Elizabeth snarled, her forehead pressed tight against his, their eyes locked in combat, Elizabeth straining towards her release. "Don't stop, keep going," she gasped, hips working hard. "Don't you dare stop, I'm so fucking close ... Oh yes, oh Bernie, it's coming! Fuck me, my darling; I'm there."




Mister Durrant's Fuck Photos



Amelia looked on, knelt alongside the couple on the settee, a hand still quick at her sex. She was awed by the sight of Elizabeth's climax, the thrill coming at her when the woman turned her slack-muscled face towards her and gurgled, "I'm coming, Amelia. Oh Jesus, my lovely ... I'm coming..."

The woman's expression would never fade from Amelia's mind's eye. It was a look of absolute submission, of Elizabeth surrendering to the orgasm that took her into a writhing, juddering place where coherent thought was impossible. Elizabeth moaned and mewled, thighs shivering nerveless while she clawed at Mister Durrant's back, her cries and sobs reverberating around the high ceiling.

"Suck it," Amelia heard, the voice vague and distant. She started at the touch on her shoulder, blinking at Mister Durrant as he sat on the sofa with his cock in one hand. "Lick her off it," he growled. "Taste her cunt on my cock."

His expression matched his dark tone and the filth of his words. Amelia shivered with a mix of trepidation and delight when she looked at her boss and saw the dangerous glint in his eyes.

"Suck it," he insisted, wanking its length for a few strokes. "Then I'm going to nail your twot to the seat. It's your turn again, Amelia, my dear."

*

The affair with Elizabeth and Mister Durrant went on for two years. Amelia quickly adapted to her new and unusual lifestyle, revelling in the debauchery and, later on, posing for pictures her son would one day find stashed at the back of a wardrobe.

There were more surprises in store for the girl: the occasional inclusion of more people into the mix, with Amelia eventually meeting the man who would become her husband, Ray Baxter, at one of the couple's sexy soirees.

Meeting Ray came after a shocking revelation, a secret Elizabeth set loose which would alter Amelia's perceptions for ever, one that would eventually influence her actions during the day after a Christmas long in the future, at a time when Amelia is fifty-seven years old and she catches her son at her wardrobe door.

Five:

Amelia's personal business

What were you doing sneaking about in my personal business?

It's a good question: to the point, direct, and succinct. As far as questions went, thinks Darren, they didn't come much tougher.

How does he feel in that moment? How does he feel there in the dark with her weight on the bed, her tone an accusation?

He goes back to that awful moment he sensed her behind him, the box and its contents on the floor in front of him. It had been a hideous shock to see her standing there looking at him, one of those times when an earthquake or some other natural disaster would have been welcome, anything other than being caught as he had been.

Mother and son had stared at each other, both too stunned by what they were seeing to do anything other than gawp in utter disbelief.

"Darren?" Amelia had said, breaking the spell, her voice triggering his flight.

Darren had pushed up off the floor and been past her before Amelia could even think to stop him, her son brushing past as he fled.

So now it's the moment of truth. With a sinking heart and the dread settling over him, Darren knows the confrontation is imminent.

Her voice makes him jump. "Well?" says his mother. "I'm waiting."

Darren is a few weeks shy of his thirtieth birthday, yet, with his mother's question filling the air between them -- the darkness exacerbating the effect -- he feels two decades younger. He's been caught doing something despicable (Thank God he'd only been looking at the pictures and not chugging his cock), invading his mother's privacy, snooping about in what she so rightly called her personal business.

With the retrograde feeling still on him, Darren replies with a halting and croaky-voiced, "I don't know ... I ... I was just hiding presents for the kids a few days ago...

"I-uh-I was in your room ... and I found the box in the wardrobe...

"Oh shit, Mum," Darren groans, so full of regret and remorse, "I didn't mean to pry, it wasn't intentional, buh-but, wuh-well, I found...

"...I found thuh-those photos in there."

Silence, until he couldn't stand any more. "Mum?"

More silence followed, long seconds of interminable quiet before she came back with an almost inaudible, "What do you think, Darren? About those pictures, I mean. I was very young, you know," his mother says in a rush. "Shit," Darren hears her say on a long sigh, the bed dipping as his mother shifts her position. "This is so awkward, but I have to clear the air; we have to talk about this..."

"It doesn't matter," he says, wishing her gone. "Like you said, you were young--"

"It was all before your father--"

"Mum, please, I don't want to know, really."

Something slides inside Darren when her voice comes out of the dark, some clandestine emotion -- a low snicker from a deep pool of depravity, something primal stirring within him.

"But," his mother insists, "what do you think? How do you feel?"

Darren senses there's something more to follow when his mother goes quiet. He intuits she has more on her mind, holding his voice while knowing his silence will draw more out.

"Did you like what you saw in those pictures?" she eventually asks. "Did you think I was beautiful?"

The single word sounds inside his head. That sneaky voice snickers and croons Yes, while Darren's tongue melds to the roof of his mouth. There is no way he can tell her the truth.

Her next sentence sends a ripple of anxiety bubbling through Darren. A great lump of something close to fear -- not quite, but a cousin to the emotion at least -- ballooning inside him, a nugget of murky arousal lodged like a pit in a peach in his centre. "I think you liked your old mum when she was twenty," Amelia said. "You had this look on your face when I saw you looking at those pictures."

Amelia tells

Despite her son's protests, Amelia tells him. She condenses some elements and edits out others, but the bare bones remain, enough of the skeleton she's kept hidden in the cupboard.

He interrupts his mother on several occasions, appalled yet morbidly fascinated as the shocks keep on coming.

"I met your father through Mister Durrant and Elizabeth," Amelia tells Darren after she's told him the bare bones of the story. "We met and fell in love. It was a difficult situation for us at first, very complicated for reasons I don't have time for now, but I'm sure you can figure enough of it out. Anyway, we married and moved here from Yorkshire because of your father's career. It was a bit of an effort to keep going up to see them, Mister Durrant and Elizabeth, I mean. But, well, eventually your father and I continued the lifestyle with new friends of our own. Of course you know all about him trading me in for a younger model..." Amelia let out a brittle little laugh, pausing before saying, "...I think I got too old for him. He always did have an eye for girls in their twenties..."

Darren groans at the news his parents were swingers, the revelations coming in too fast for him to cope with. "Mum, you don't have to," he sighs.

Her reply is quick and a little vehement. "No, Darren, I want you to know. I understand it might be difficult for you to hear, and more than a little embarrassing, but I believe it's for the best in the long run."

It occurs to Darren to ask: "And Emma? Are you going to tell her?"

His mother shifts on the bed. "Good God no!" Amelia gasps. "What on earth for? I don't see the need. She didn't go snooping about. She doesn't know anything about it. You're the little sneak, Darren, that's why you and I are having this talk now. No, Emma doesn't need to know, and I think it should stay that way. This will have to be our little secret."

The illicit thrill shivers through Darren again when he hears his mother whisper, "Our dirty little secret, Darren."

"Mum, please," he gurgles, shocked by the power and strength of a sudden erection.

He hears her chuckle, the sound of it dragging his sense of morality into the depths.

"Darling," Amelia purrs, "there's something else I have to tell you."

Six:

Mister Durrant's dirty little secret

Darren hears what his mother tells him, but can't believe it at first. "His sister?" he gasps. "Elizabeth is Mister Durrant's sister?" There's a pause while Amelia remains silent; then Darren goes on with an incredulous, "But you said they were together ... You said she was his wife."

"That's what I thought. That's how they lived."

"But," Darren splutters."

"Yes," says his mother.

"That means..."

She finishes it for him: "Incest?"

The word affects Darren like a near physical blow. For the moment he's grateful it's so dark in his room. If it wasn't, his mother would see his face burning with shame: Wasn't he at least part guilty of exactly the same sin? Okay, nothing had physically happened between them, he'd never touched his mother with any carnal intent, but the thought had been there as he'd tugged his cock and gazed enraptured at her lush, youthful body in Mister Durrant's fuck photos.

"Mum, don't say that," he moans while squeezing his cock.

"It was Elizabeth who let the cat out of the bag," Amelia says in reply, apparently ignoring his plea. "We'd been on the wine, Mister Durrant was somewhere else in the house; it was just the two of us in bed."

"I don't want to know," Darren puts in, meaning exactly the opposite. Truth be told, he's enthralled, massaging his length while his mother continues, regardless.

Amelia says, "I asked Elizabeth about how she could bear to see her husband with other women; she just laughed and said, 'Bernie isn't my husband, you silly girl. He's my brother.'"

He's stunned, slack-jawed and boggling at the vague shadow he dimly perceives as his mother. Darren feels the cold water shock at her words. He struggles to make sense of it all and then gasps, "Oh God, Mum ... What did you do?" 

There's a low sigh before she replies with, "I was shocked, absolutely rocked to my core. It's all a bit vague -- what with all the time that's passed and how I was feeling at the time. But, basically, I got dressed and ran away."

Unable to stop himself from doing so, Darren asks, "What happened next? You said you met Dad because of them ... You must have gone back."

"I did. I stayed away a week, or something like it, then went to see Mister Durrant at the office."

Darren's fingers are still wrapped round his cock, yet his fist remains unmoving while he blurts out a decidedly over eager, "And what did he say?"

"He was relieved to see me. He said he hoped I could keep it to myself. Poor Mister Durrant was almost in tears, scared witless I'd bad-mouth him and Elizabeth all overt own. He was carrying on and winding himself into a right old state about his work and reputation ... and the legal implications...

"...Anyway, Darren, to cut a long story short, after I did a lot of thinking, well, we started it all up again."

"Thu-the sex?" Darren asks, almost choked with the need to tug at his cock in a more vigorous fashion. "You slept with them again?"

Her confession comes out as a whispered, "Yes. I couldn't help myself. I know it sounds wicked, but knowing the truth made me want to be with them more."

Lust boils inside Darren, his mind filling with images. Some of it he's seen in the photos while other lewd impressions sweep in on the raft of his fevered imagination. His hand starts to work, slowly at first, Darren isn't so far gone as to forget his mother's presence, he has enough mental capacity remaining to realise he's taking a risk, but his body won't be denied.

"Mum, that's so ... so..." Darren begins, his voice little more than a croak.

"Wicked, depraved, so utterly filthy?" his mother suggests with what seems to be an amused air.

Air hisses from Darren's nose as he stifles a groan. He's gritting his teeth and trying to hold it all in. "She's his sister," he mumbles.

"Darren?" she says in a murmur. "What are you doing?"

That stops him cold. His fist ceases its cranking. Darren gulps and shifts his rump against the bed, shoving himself away from his mother, dread a lump in the pit of his stomach.

"Nuh-nothing," squeaks Darren. "Nuh-nothing at all."

In the silence which follows, Darren feels his jack-hammer heart beating away. His brain works quickly, actions and outcomes flashing across his consciousness while he wonders what his mother's reaction might be if he simply told her the truth. He's torn between his body's desperate need for release, close to the recklessness that would alter his life forever. Part of him thinks that because she's experienced incest before -- albeit as a third party participant -- she might be just waiting for him to make a move or give some sort of signal at least.

But, equally, he's very aware of an alternative result: being engaged on the periphery of an incestuous liaison is quite some way from being physically intimate with her own son. Darren is desperately afraid any advances he makes will be vehemently rebuffed, that his mother would be appalled and subsequently lose any respect for her first-born.

The struggle continues inside him -- all it would take is to reach out a hand and find her in the dark. He could touch her skin and enjoy the silky smooth texture of his own mother's body while pulling her close for a kiss.

Desire flares in a white hot explosion, the urge to lunge in and grab her bubbles up from the darkest places inside him. He thinks about squeezing her tits while their tongues wriggle and slide, her hand finding his cock...

Darren imagines his mother wanking his length. He can almost hear her murmuring encouragement while she milks him of all the pent up emotion, ejaculate bursting out in an indiscriminate outpouring of cum.

"All over your tits," Darren growls as the urges overwhelm his reluctance.

He's just about to make a grab for his mother, just levering upright and twisting to one side so he can pull her body close when the bed shifts and the amorphous form of her rises up from the mattress.

"I think I've probably said too much," Darren hears as he finds nothing but space where his mother was sitting only a second before. "I'm sorry, I don't know what I was thinking telling you all that."

"No, Mum," Darren gurgles, sensing her turning away. "You don't have to go. Please," he calls into the darkness, throwing the quilt to one side.

But he's too late, the door is already opening. Then Darren sees her slip into the hall.

He stands there, wondering if he dare go after his mother. Darren gets as far the door before he remembers he's naked and his sister's family are asleep in the house. Yes, they might be on the floor below, but if there's any commotion Adam will no doubt be sent to investigate. Darren cools, the insanity lifting by the time he's fumbled around for the light switch and found his jeans. Darren's ardour fades quickly, the old and by now familiar confusion returning along with the guilt. He slumps onto the bed and curls forward with his elbows on his knees, forehead in his hands and despair in his heart.

"Ah fuck," Darren groans, wishing he'd never thought to hide the presents in his mother's wardrobe in the first place. Why hadn't he just stashed them under his own bed, or even kept them in the boot of his car? In fact, just about anywhere else would have been good enough. So just why had he decided his mother's bedroom would be the best place?

There are no answers forthcoming when Darren asks himself: "And why did you have to look inside that fucking box? Why did you have to keep going back for more? Idiot," he snaps, wondering how he's going to find the wherewithal to get through Christmas with Emma and the others in the house.

How was he going to keep up appearances in front of his sister and Adam?

How was he meant to stay sane?

Seven:

The gift

It isn't easy, but Darren gets through it. He follows his mother's lead and does his utmost to behave as normal as possible, his eyes constantly watching Amelia for any outward sign she's concerned.

There are no more nocturnal visits, which paradoxically pleases and disappoints Darren in equal measure, his nights filled with surreal dreams and masturbatory fantasies featuring his mother while the days are consumed by guilt and anguish and repressed desire. He's surprised when Christmas Day arrives, the attendant fuss over exchanging gifts and excited children, along with the drama of preparing the dinner, offering at least a little by way of distraction.

Then, abruptly, although their departure was always planned that way, the house feels huge when Darren finds himself alone with his mother, Adam's job calling that branch of the family back to their own house down on the south coast.

"Mum, can we talk?" Darren asks after swallowing three cans of beer left over from the prolonged seasonal celebrations.

Her response surprises him. Darren is taken aback, almost hurt by his mother's cool and somewhat aloof reply of, "I don't think there anything much to discuss. If you're talking about the photographs, Darren, then I have nothing to say." After which she leaves him staring at the door through which she's just walked.

Darren sits in the kitchen for a couple of minutes, the beer forgotten on the table while he stares off at nothing, his mind a blank screen. He suddenly blinks and sits up, back straightening from where he's been hunched over, draining the can before posting it into the bin.

After pissing a long stream into the bowl in the downstairs cloakroom, Darren makes his way upstairs, a jolt of something strange hitching his chest when he sees the gift-wrapped box on the end of his bed.

A bubble of furtive emotion swells his insides when he reads the accompanying card: I thought you might want to keep these. You seemed to enjoy looking. Merry Christmas, my darling. With all my love, Mum. xxx

Darren spins round when he hears, "Aren't you going to open it?"

She's leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded beneath her breasts. Amelia grins and thrusts her chin towards the gaily wrapped bomb. "Well?" she adds, eyebrows arched in enquiry.

His eyes go from his mother to the box, a void opening up in his guts, excitement at the thought of its contents a yawing ache in Darren's core.

He stammers, "I-uh-I don't understand," his mother's smirk disturbing Darren on some vaguely visceral level.

Amelia shrugs away from the door. "I thought about burning them. I mean," she adds while lifting one shoulder, "what would I do with them?"

Darren has no answer. He just stares at his mother and silently questions her motives.

"Like I wrote in the card, you seemed to enjoy looking," Amelia continues.

It's like she's flirting with him, teasing her own son. Darren finds his voice, albeit creaky. He sucks in a deep breath and manages to croak, "But don't you think it's a bit weird?" He gestures towards the box with a weak flap of one hand. "You're my mum ... Those pictures..."

"And the man with me in those pictures was carrying on with his sister." Amelia points to the box and takes a pace into the room. She halts just inside, refolds her arms, and cants her head to one side, staring at Darren as though examining his thoughts.

Amelia says, "So you getting a thrill out of seeing them isn't too difficult for me to grasp."

"Mum, why are you saying that?" Darren replies, knowing the answer yet too afraid to act in case he's still got it wrong. He wants to go to his mother; he feels physically drawn to her in a way he can't admit to. The notion is there, dancing around at the edge of his psyche. He's more than half-way sure she wants him to act, that his mother is willing him to claim her as his, but years of social conditioning and innate morality keep his bottom stuck to the bed. Instead of swooping in to take his mother into his arms, Darren just sits there, immobile.




Mister Durrant's Fuck Photos



"Open your present," Amelia murmurs, her tone low and narcotic.

Darren stares at his mother, long seconds going by while his brain tries to work out what to do next.

"Go on," she urges with a gentle thrust of her chin.

His stomach turns somersaults as Darren fumbles with the packaging. Eventually, losing patience, he rips at the wrapping, pulling it away from the box before throwing it onto the floor in a loose bundle. He pauses, hesitating before he lifts up the lid, his cock a pulsing, tumescent ache pressing inside his jeans.

He's aware he's breathing through his mouth, slack jaw almost touching his chest as he gawps down at the treasure.

"I love this one," Amelia says, surprising her son by her close proximity.

Darren blinks at her as she settles alongside him, her fingers plucking a photograph from the top of the pile.

She sighs and shows him the picture. "God, I miss this," Amelia breathes.

The rush of heat rolls over Darren in a tide of yearning. His throat works again as he gulps, his eyes locked on the scene: his mother laid on her back, legs wide while Mister Durrant's cock is buried inside her up to his balls. In the photo she's holding the man's shoulders as he hovers over her torso on straight arms, her fingers digging into muscle and bone as she looks up past him, her glazed eyes seemingly fixed on her son when, in reality all those years ago, she must have been looking straight at the lens while Elizabeth captured the moment. His beautiful mother's face is a near grimace of agonised delight, her expression conveying exactly how good it is to have Mister Durrant's length buried in her body.

Darren can't find any words to respond. He just gazes and lets out a tiny moan of what could be mistaken for despair, still too bound by convention to make any kind of move.

"That man opened my eyes to how good sex can be. Elizabeth, too," Amelia adds on a sigh. "I've always loved doing it," she confesses to her son, her eyes catching his focus. "Your father ... Jesus," she breathes while rolling her eyes. "That man knows how to make a woman feel good. It's a pity he couldn't resist the temptation of younger boobs and a tight body," Amelia goes on. "But I shouldn't have been too surprised, that's why he was attracted to me in the first place."

"You're beautiful, Mum," Darren is surprised to find himself saying.

Amelia smiles and places a hand on his knee. "Thank you," she murmurs. "It means a lot when I hear you say it."

Her touch galvanises Darren. He flinches and turns his head to look right into her face. "It's true. In those photos, you're gorgeous ... And you still are," he ends on a croak.

"I miss sex," Amelia says, apparently at random. "I haven't done anything since you moved back in. I've had a few boyfriends once I got over your father leaving, but I didn't like to go gallivanting around when your marriage dissolved..."

Darren's eyelids blink like Bardic lamps as he stammers, "I ... I-uh-don't know what you want me to say." He senses they're on the verge of something momentous. There's an inkling, an instinct telling him now is his moment. The way she's looking at him; her fingers squeezing his thigh; her scent and the heat coming off her.

"Oh, Darren," Amelia says, her whisper almost inaudible. "You do know, darling. Or at least I suspect that you do. I think you know what I want," adds his mother, hand slipping just that little bit higher. I don't think I can't make it any more obvious ... But," she says, her breath a soft breeze over his face because she's so close, "you have to tell me."

*

It twists and coils in his guts. Darren can feel his cock pulsing; he thinks how beautiful it would be if he just fished it out and started tugging.

"Mum," he gurgles while taking the photo out of her fingers. "I want to do this with you." Darren holds up the picture, and says, "I want to be him."

The emotional release is so forceful, a rush of blood which would have sent Darren staggering if he'd been standing.

Then his mother offers him a gentle smile and says, "Darling, you only had to ask. I've been waiting for days."

He can't speak. Darren can barely breathe when he hears her say it.

Amelia chuckles and says, "Oh, Darren, I thought you were going to come to me the other night. When we had our little chat." She shakes her head and sets pitying eyes on her son. "You should have followed me to my room. You would have found me doing unspeakable things with one of my handy little toys."

Darren feels her fingers massaging his thigh.

"You were wanking when I was there, weren't you?" Amelia coos, shifting closer to Darren so her hip is pressed against his.

He nods and closes his eyes, swallowing hard as the euphoria surges. He knows it's going to happen. It's a certainty -- he's going to experience his mother, he's going to touch her and kiss her and play with those tits.

Oh God, they're going to fuck!

"Do it again now," Amelia whispers while tossing the picture onto the bed. She presses her palm to the ridge in his jeans. "Show me, my darling. I want to watch."

Darren and Amelia become lovers

She insists that he's naked while Darren is in more of a mood to just shuck down his jeans and yank on his meat

But his mother shakes her head and tells him to have more patience, that he has to be nude. "It'll be so much better than rushing, my sweet lovely boy. I know you're eager, and trust me, I'm so fucking horny...

"But," Amelia goes on, recovering her composure, "we need to be disciplined. I promise you it's better that way."

Darren is on his feet and toeing his training shoes off the backs of his heels while he gasps, "What happens after this, Mum?"

He shrugs and looks down at his mother, who's still sitting on the edge of the bed. "What do we do afterwards?"

Amelia stands and moves close to her son. She grins into his face, her fingers replacing his at the fastening to his jeans. "Don't think about any of that now," Amelia purrs.

Darren gasps again, mouth falling open as he looks to where she's working the button undone.

Amelia kisses her son's cheek, her lips just brushing his skin as she whispers, "Let me help you with this."

Then Darren's reality drifts when his mother's grip closes around his girth for the first time. He mumbles, "Oh God," his face tilting up from where he's been gawking at the unbelievable sight of her fist working his length. "It's really you doing it."

His mother's eyes gleam when she smiles into his face. "It's me, darling," she croons. "We're going to have fun."

Darren can only groan into his mother's open mouth when she kisses him like the lover she's going to be. At first he's too surprised by the intimate act to respond, the shock wearing off quickly as his libido burns hotter and faster.

"Isn't this naughty?" Amelia asks as she jacks her son's cock with vigorous strokes. She rolls her eyes in appreciation, glancing down at the size of him before moving in for another kiss.

"Mum, it's fantastic," croaks Darren, his pelvis moving so he can fuck into her fist. "When I saw you in those pictures..." He pauses while letting out a low groan of absolute pleasure, eyelids fluttering in response to the bliss. "I've been imagining this," Darren confides. "I've been thinking about doing all this with you."

Amelia lets go and takes a pace back. "Well, now it's for real," she says with a nod at her son's erection, the length of him waggling and swinging. "But before you get carried away, I want you naked. It's time to get serious, Darren. No more messing around."

"But, Mum, I'm so--" Darren begins, moving in towards her while he wanks at his cock.

"No, Darren," she snaps, hands going up as though warding off an attack. Darren's chest comes into contact with her upraised palms and she pushes him away. "I said, I wanted you naked ... So get away from me and just do as you're told. You'll be no use to me as you are. If I let you do anything you'll ruin it by coming. I'll do it all with you, darling ... I'll take you in my mouth; we can fuck or make love, whatever you want. You can come on my breasts if you want to; I'll let you pour your love inside me as well, but you must do as I say."

Darren boggles at his mother as she tells him about all of the things they can do together. He shakes his head from side-to-side in utter disbelief, stunned by the images her words put into his head. "Oh, Mum, Jesus," he breathes, eyes staying fixed on her face. "I want to do everything. I want to do it so bad."

Amelia nods, her head tilting towards one shoulder, one arm still up to ensure Darren keeps his distance while she says, "All right. So take off your clothes."

Darren blurts out an urgent, "Mum!" when he sees his mother turning away.

"Get undressed and then come to my room," she calls back over one shoulder. "And don't you dare follow me without taking off all those clothes -- even your socks!" she adds with a laugh. "I'll be waiting for you."

*

He does as he's told. Despite being desperate to get at his mother, Darren strips out of his clothes before dashing out of his room. His insides churn with delicious anticipation as he hurries along the corridor towards his mother's bedroom door and, when he gets there, he halts, catching her in a perfect moment just as she's unclasping her bra.

"There you are, darling," Amelia says with a smile while turning to face her son.

Darren gawps in wide-eyed fascination, his mother's breasts are there in the flesh, their sway strangely hypnotic. He focuses his attention upon those twin orbs, his hand going to his dick.

"I'm not quite the same as I was in those pictures," Amelia offers while watching his face. "But I don't think I've worn too badly; I've looked after myself quite well."

The words are a log jam behind Darren's teeth. Lust swells inside him, the great bubble clogging his throat so what he does manage to put out there is a clotted and half-strangled, "You're beautiful, Mum."

Amelia nods and pulls a face as if to say, Yes, well, I am what I am then she shrugs and invites her son into the room with a curl of one arm and a jerk of her head. "You're quite the hottie yourself. You're a good-looking man, Darren," she tells him. "And you've got a wonderful cock."

Darren looks down at the appendage in question, his hand working slowly when his attention returns to his mother's ripe, voluptuous body. "Is this really happening?" he asks.

Amelia nods with some enthusiasm. "Oh yes indeed," she replies, beckoning a second time. "Come in, lie down on the bed. What I want to do first is watch you. Let's get rid of all your frustration. Show me, my darling. Don't be shy. Let me watch you. Pull that thing until you come." She looks at her son, a sly smirk on her lips as she tells him, "Then we can really get started.

"You've shaved your bush," Darren says as he advances.

"There's a little bit left," his mother replies, chin going onto her chest while she thrusts her hips forward. "I keep it this way now -- don't you like it?"

His mother's eyes come up to confront him as Darren gapes at the sight of her calmly splaying the meaty folds of her labia. "I love it," he gurgles when his mother gasps after slipping the tip of one finger over the swollen nub of her clit.

"I want you to lick it," she moans, the words coming out treacly. "Later, when you've shown me the hot stuff..." Her eyes gleam with devilment, the smirk back on her face as she purposely adds a lewd, "When you've wanked your big cock and shown me what a man you are, after that I want you to suck my cunny."

A moment later, Darren finds himself lying on his mother's bed with her laid alongside. He moans when she reaches for him, her fingers closing around his swollen length while she mumbles, "Actually, let me do it for you. You just lie there, my lovely sweet boy. Let mummy milk your balls dry."

*

Darren lets it all go when his mother pulls back from a very lengthy kiss. She's been jacking his cock, her tongue in his mouth while he grunts and moans, her smooth skin a thrill under his palms as he caresses every part of her he can reach.

Amelia eases back to look her son right in the eye. "I love kissing," she tells him, their foreheads touching while Amelia soaks up her son's soul through his eyes. "I loved it when I kissed Mister Durrant as he pumped his seed into me. It was so bloody sexy. What I especially loved was going from him to his sister. The contrast between a man and woman made me wild. I used to slide his spunk over my cunny, all over my clit. Oh God, Darren," Amelia adds on a croon. "I used to come and come and come that way."

Darren stared at his mother, the pleasure pulsing through his dick as the surge bubbled up. "That's so hot," he manages to mumble, then blurts out a warning.

He gets as far as, "Mum, I'm--" before the first burst of cum flicks from the slitted eye, the second rush following on in what could almost be a single continuous outpouring of goo.

"Yes!" Amelia cries, shifting up onto one elbow so she can watch the ejaculate spit forth. "My darling boy, yes! That's wonderful, baby. Oh God, Darren, my sweet, let it all go!"

Darren snorts and sobs and fucks up into Amelia's fist, her hand cranking away until her son eventually slumps back into the bed.

"Look at the mess," Amelia says with a grin as she holds her hand up for Darren to see. "You've come everywhere."

"Mum, oh fuck, what are you doing?"

Darren boggles at his mother's lips pursed tight over his cock-head. It just cannot be true, there's no way he's actually watching his own mother sucking his cock.

But she is. Amelia slurps and licks at the gloop oozing out of her son. She cranks at him a little bit more, tongue lapping at the tiny squirt of jizm she's coaxed from him, her tongue scooping up more of the stuff while she holds his gaze tight with her own.

"My turn now," Amelia says after grinning at Darren. She teases him by smacking the keel of his dick against the flat of her outstretched tongue, then winks and rolls over onto all fours, going up on straight arms, tilting her pelvis to present her pussy to Darren. Amelia purrs, "Lick me this way. Hold me wide open and suck my clit, baby. Make me feel good before we make love. See if you can get me to come."

* 

Darren is mesmerised by the shape of his mother's body. He gapes at the curve of her spine and the swell of her buttocks. He moves closer behind her, eyes on his mother's dangling labia, the lips all swollen and tacky with need.

Amelia cranes round further to watch him approach, one hand going to her bottom where she pulls herself open with the tips of her fingers.

He moans when her pussy gapes, his mother's scarlet core glistening while the dark smudge of her sphincter winks from its hiding place. Her breasts swing when she moves, nipples thick and erect, the elongated tips an obvious sign of Amelia's arousal.

"Cuh-can I just put it in?" Darren mumbles, his eyes taking in every curve, feasting on the feminine shape of his own mother's nudity. He cranks his cock, the image of her searing itself on his memory. This is better than any old photos. This beautiful woman tempting him with her eyes and her body is the woman who birthed him. Darren has a glimmer of conscience that he has no right to see his mother as she is -- naked and wonderful -- but there's no way he's going to deny himself the pleasure of knowing her physically. He wants to lick her all over, to taste the essence down at her sex. Darren wants to kiss her mouth and sink into that pussy up to his balls. He wants to fuck into her body while leaning low over her back, her breasts in his palms as her moans and gasps spur him on.

"Oh dear," Amelia says with a pout and an insincere expression of pity. "Is my son all wound up and hot for his mum? What is it, baby?" she purrs while smearing her arousal over the puckered ring of her anus. "Do you want to give me that lovely thick cock? Do you want to fuck me?" Amelia breathes, two fingers sliding into her pink opening.

"Yeah," Darren groans while tugging his dick. He winces before his cheeks balloon, air coming out in a long, sibilant hiss. "That's exactly right, Mum. I want to fuck you."

Darren grimaces, his hand moving faster, the urge to plunge into her body coming up from inside. Lewd in his desperation to get at her, Darren forces the words through gritted teeth, his lust-fevered eyes set on where Amelia is working those digits into her body. "I want to put this into you. I want to smash your pussy."

Amelia's eyes go wide at this vehement outburst. Her eyebrows are up near the ceiling while she stares at her son for ten seconds at least.

"You filthy beast," says Amelia, a grin splitting her face. "That sounds wonderful, darling -- and I want you to give that a try..."

She smacks the flat of one palm against one buttock, kneading the flesh as it suffuses with pink.

"...But that's for later," she tells Darren. "After you've licked me. Later on, baby, I promise. Give me what I want first and then you can do your worst with that cock."

Amelia holds up a hand when it seems Darren is going to ignore what she's said. He's still working his length with one hand, a hungry, feral look on his face while he knee-walks over the bed.

"Lick me," she snarls, a hand on his chest.

A stand-off ensues, both of them staring in a silent struggle for dominance.

"If you don't do as you're told," Amelia growls, "you can get out of my room. You can forget fucking me, Darren."

"Please," he whimpers, eyes pleading.

But Amelia is adamant. She won't be moved. "Come here," she murmurs, raising an arm so she can beckon her son to her with one crooked forefinger. "Kiss me first, then get back there and kiss my cunt."

*

The feeling of unreality returns when Darren touches her buttocks. He's behind his mother, his fingers on such an intimate place he's floating on a sea of surreal experience.

He splays her with his thumbs, the labia peeling apart to reveal her intimate places again.

As he shuffles in on his knees, getting comfortable while leaning in close, in the seconds before his tongue touches her body and he tastes her essence for the first time, Darren is sure this moment will be forever lodged in his head. He will never forget the way her skin felt under his fingers or the sound of her low chuckle before she gasps and groans mumbling about his breath wafting over her sex.

Then Darren is at her, the beast set loose as he probes and slurps and sucks at his mother's desire, labia and clit slippery while he goes wild with his tongue.

"Use your fingers," Amelia squeals, "Fuck me with your fingers, my sweet darling boy. Curl them inside me. Rub my cunt. Do everything, babe. Do it all."

It goes on for several minutes. Darren trawls up every technique in his repertoire as he goads his mother into a writhing, sobbing out-letting of pleasure.

"Dirty boy," Amelia mumbles when she feels her son's tongue probe at her sphincter. "Licking me there is so wicked, but it feels fucking divine!" She urges him deeper, to wriggle his tongue into her muddy-hole as she calls it, to rub at her clit and do unspeakably rude things to her body.

"I need to come," Amelia screams, pushing Darren away as she rolls onto her back. She spreads her legs and begins to finger her clit, rubbing her bean while mauling her breasts with her spare hand. Darren's mother groans, "Just let me wank it. I'll get myself there quicker this way." She eyes her son's length while going at her sex with desperate urgency, lower lip between her teeth as Amelia whines out her delight. "I want you to fuck me," she gasps. Her climax is rushing at her, a speck in the distance which is suddenly upon her. "In a moment, when I've come," gasps the woman, the judders beginning. "Oh God, yes! That's so bloody lovely ... Darren, my darling, come here and kiss me through this--"