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A Mother’s Persuasion – Chapter Two
“A Mother’s Persuasion” told the story of how Charlie and his mother became lovers and enjoyed eighteen months of riotous, deeply erotic and very illegal sex before learning that Charlie’s elder sister, Catherine, was coming back to live in the family home.
This story follows on directly and describes what happened when Catherine moved in.
As well as mother/son, mother/daughter and brother/sister incest, the story includes scenes involving anal sex and rimming. If they’re not for you, please pass by.
If you read on, I hope you enjoy the story and look forward comments and feedback.
A couple of notes on style:
I have used the UK convention for numbering the storeys of a house, so the Macintyre’s house has a ground floor, a first floor and a second, or top floor.
A couple of readers have criticised my use of single quotation marks to indicate the spoken word – one reader appeared to think I was confusing quotation marks with apostrophes. As a general rule British usage prefers single quotation marks and I stick to this convention in my writing.
My mother and I started having sex when I was twenty-five and she was fifty-six. It all began a few months after my dad moved out to go and live with his boyfriend, Trevor. Mum was lonely and missing a physical relationship, so she “persuaded” me into sleeping with her. I think it’s fair to say that I didn’t need that much persuasion.
The details, if you’re interested, are in “A Mother’s Persuasion”, which I wrote eighteen months after we’d started sleeping together. Just about the time my elder sister, Catherine, came back home to live after splitting up with her partner. I’m writing this story about a year after Catherine arrived.
Chapter two of the incestuous saga in the Macintyre household really kicked off with that phone call one Saturday morning in February while I was tidying up the garden after winter. Mum came to the kitchen door in shock and told me that Catherine had split up with her partner and was going to move back in with us.
This wasn’t good news. I mean I like my older sister very much; love her, I suppose, in a brotherly sort of way, but Mum and I shared a bed every night. We fucked most days after I got home from work, we kissed and cuddled all the time. How was that going to work with my sister living in the house?
And if you’re thinking it was selfish of me because my sister’s relationship had just broken down and she had nowhere else to go and all I could think about was the idea of not having sex with my mother about fifteen or twenty times a week, then yes, you’re dead right.
But man, the sex! It was unreal! Better by far than I’d ever experienced. Better than Mum had ever had too, according to her. We fucked and sucked and licked and kissed and we brought each other to shattering climaxes in mouths and cunts and anuses. We used toys and practised bondage and watched triple X videos. And the fact that it was my middle-aged mother made it all the more exciting, almost unbearably so. She had a couple of tricks that had me coming like an express train, but I’m getting ahead of myself.
‘When’s she moving in?’ I asked, going over to stand by her at the back door.
‘Wednesday, she said.’ My mother sounded distraught, running a hand through her thick, black hair.
For those readers who haven’t read the first part, I’ll give you a quick description of Mum and me.
My mum is Eleanor Macintyre and she’s of Italian extraction – her dad was an immigrant – and she has the glossy black hair and skin colouring of the south of Italy, on the Mediterranean coast. She’s tall, about five eight, and full-figured, although she’d lost a few pounds since we’d been lovers and her figure is now rounded and sexy; voluptuous rather than overweight. She still has broad hips, fleshy buttocks and heavy breasts, but I love them.
Facially, she’s very attractive, in a slightly wanton way. A square jaw and a wide, full-lipped mouth, big brown eyes that I call “saucy”, surmounted by thick, black eyebrows. She has nice hands, with long, strong fingers and her legs, although rather thick, are shapely and well-muscled. Best of all, she has a deep, sexy voice, which gives me a hard-on in seconds, if she’s saying the right things.
I look a bit like her, facially. Same black hair and wide mouth, same brown eyes. I’m a couple of inches taller than her but athletically built – I spend a lot of time running and working out in the gym, so I’m fit and toned and hard-muscled and this was what had first attracted my mother, from a sexual point of view, I mean.
‘I’m about done out here,’ I told her. ‘Let’s go in and talk about it.’
Mum made tea and we sat in the snug on a chintzy settee. My mum’s house is pretty big and stands in about an acre of gardens and gravel forecourt. There are several receptions downstairs and six bedrooms, most of them en-suite, şahinbey escort spread over the first and second floors. This prompted my opening remark.
‘It’s a big house, Mum, Catherine’s bedroom is on the top floor. I can go to bed in my room then come to you in the night. She’ll never hear us.’
‘Absolutely not,’ she said, firmly. ‘Do you really think you and I are going to have sex while Catherine’s upstairs? Remember what we said at the beginning, Charlie. What we’re doing is illegal. Nobody must ever know! And carrying on together with your sister in the house would be playing with fire.’
‘So that’s it then,’ I said, a little petulantly.
‘I don’t like it any more than you, Charlie. Actually,’ she looked at me sharply, ‘I probably like it a lot less. You’ve got your little harem of girls at work. I’ve got nobody but you.’
‘I haven’t seen any of the girls from work for ages, Mum. You know that.’
‘Yes, I do know. Sorry. But Catherine won’t be in all the time. She’s got friends around here, she’ll go out. She’s got to find a job, for one thing. So there will be times for us, darling. We’ll just have to be ultra-careful.’
‘In the meantime,’ I said, standing up and holding out my hand, ‘I think we need to take every opportunity we can. Allow me to take you to bed, Mother.’
Mum took my hand and I pulled her up straight into an embrace and we kissed for a few seconds, mouths working, tongues exploring, my hands on Mum’s bum cheeks and hers on my shoulders, gently digging her carmine-red nails into my muscles, something which she knew I liked.
‘And what would you like to do to Mummy?’ she asked, and my gut contracted and my cock quivered because when she called herself “Mummy” during our sex play it aroused me like nothing else I’d ever experienced, and she knew that, too.
‘I’d like to put my big, hard cock in Mummy’s wet pussy,’ I told her, softly. ‘Then I’d like to put my big, hard cock in Mummy’s tight little bum hole.’
‘You are a naughty boy, aren’t you?’ she whispered and I took her hand and led her upstairs to her bedroom, the one we always used.
We undressed each other slowly and sensuously. No matter how many times we did it, I never seemed to get used to the sheer erotic pleasure of stripping my biological mother naked. I undid the buttons of her white cotton blouse, exposing her cleavage and her white brassiere. Then I undid the cuffs and pulled it out of the waistband of her grey pleated skirt and slid it off her shoulders and arms onto the floor. I spent a little time kissing her bare shoulders and she shivered as I stroked her lace-clad breasts and let my hand slide down over the little bulge of her tummy.
She took her turn next, pulling my polo shirt over my head and discarding it on the floor next to her blouse. Then she kissed my shoulders and stroked my chest and nuzzled into my armpit, inhaling the light scent of my perspiration.
Mum told me once that she liked the smell of a bit of sweat during sex so we would often go to bed without having showered since getting up in the morning. I was a bit dubious at first but I became increasingly converted by the delicious and erotic perfume of my mother’s skin, particularly in her most intimate places.
I let her kiss and stroke me while I reached around her back and found the clasp of her brassiere. I undid it with a practised flip of my fingers and she shrugged it off her shoulders, exposing her big, round breasts with their chocolate-brown areolae and upturned nipples. I resisted the impulse to suck one of them into my mouth and instead undid the buttons on the waistband of her skirt. The zip was stubborn but I got it down and let her skirt slip over her wide, nylon-clad hips to the floor.
She undid my jeans then knelt down, tugging them down my legs, pulling my socks off and slipping my jeans over my feet while I steadied myself with a hand on her shoulder.
I raised her up and knelt myself, stretching the waistband of her pantyhose, rolling the tan nylon fabric down her strong, shapely legs. Mum usually wore stocking and suspenders, seamed ones if we were going to bed, but in winter she would often wear pantyhose against the cold, and they did have the advantage of trapping her musky, tangy odours and I now pressed my face to her white satin panties and inhaled her scent deeply.
The smell of my mother’s body aroused me like almost nothing else and my cock strained uncomfortably in my boxer shorts as I stood and kissed her mouth, opening my lips, feeling hers open against me, feeling her tongue dart into my mouth, feeling her nipples against my chest, feeling her hands on my shorts, pulling the waistband over my hips and letting them fall to the ground.
Then, naked, I took my mother’s arm and pulled her onto the bed, knowing that a little bit of rough treatment made her shiver with excitement. She lay back looking at me with her big, escort şahinbey brown, saucy eyes, her full breasts falling either side of her sternum, the nipples stiff with anticipation.
‘What did you say you’re going to do to your mummy?’ she asked, softly.
‘I’m going to fuck you,’ I told her. ‘Take your knickers off and open your legs. Wide!’
She obeyed, a little smile on her face, and I knelt between her big thighs and entered her sopping, slippery, hairy cunt in one long, practised stroke. In the eighteen months that my mother and I had been lovers I had learned a lot about what she liked in bed and this urgent, thrusting entry, without much foreplay was what she mostly wanted. Now she gasped and hooked her calves over mine and rode with me, meeting my strokes with flicks of her hips.
The sensation was incredible, as always. Or should I say sensations because it wasn’t just the feeling of my penis deep in her vagina, it was the sight of her, my mother, urging me on underneath me, her tits wobbling as I slammed into her, her mouth half open, her eyes shut, breathing in short, fast gasps. And there was her smell: rich and musky, a mix of her perfume and her own bodily fluids and secretions.
I kissed her as I fucked her and squeezed her tits, sucking the nipples into my mouth and biting them until she squealed with pleasure and pain.
As I felt my orgasm build I withdrew and buried my face in her hairy, liquid snatch, sucking and licking, smelling and tasting, using my fingers in her cunt and anus, sucking on her big juicy clit and rasping my tongue over it. Mum writhed and squealed and clamped my head in her thighs as she came, pressing my head into her loins with her hands and crying out with pleasure.
‘Bend your legs over,’ I ordered her when the tempest had subsided.
Mum knew what was coming now. Obediently she clasped the backs of her thighs and bent her legs over until her knees almost brushed her chin, compressing her tummy into a couple of little rolls of fat and exposing her hairy cunt and arsehole to me in all their glory. I took the tube of gel from the bedside table and, squeezing a generous dollop onto my fingers, worked the slimy goo into my mother’s anus, pushing gently past the sphincter, coating her rectal walls as far as my fingers would reach. I finished by lubing my cock, which was already coated with Mum’s juices and was rigid and purple-headed, the veins prominent in the shaft.
I knelt down again and pressed my glans to her anus and pushed gently. Mum and I were old hands at anal sex now and she was relaxed and I knew how hard to push and my cock went in easily, the sight of it disappearing into her anus giving me the usual gut-churning thrill. Then I was fucking her. Fucking my mother Eleanor’s arse, with long, almost languid strokes, coming out almost the whole way and sliding back into the lubricated, softly enveloping depths. And while I did this my mother released one of her legs and slid her hand down to her loins, seeking her clit with a long middle finger.
However much we did this, the novelty, the all-consuming eroticism of the act, could never wear off. I had to go slowly because if I didn’t I would come too soon. I needed to keep fucking her until my mother’s middle finger, with its painted nail, had brought her to a second and even more powerful orgasm, making her cry out and shake her head from side to side in wild abandon.
This act never failed to trigger my orgasm and now I felt it swell and envelop me in a vast bubble of pleasure as my hot seed erupted from my cock and I pumped it into my mother’s willing anus, crying out that I loved her as I ejaculated.
As always we were a bit shell-shocked afterwards by the physical and emotional feel of the act. Today there was an added emotion, a touch of sadness, of loss. There wouldn’t be very many more of these couplings before Catherine arrived and then, who knew?
As it was, we spent just about every available hour before Wednesday fucking like rabbits. I wanted to have Mum on Wednesday afternoon, arguing that Catherine wouldn’t arrive until the evening, but she refused.
‘It’ll be alright, Charlie,’ she said, hugging me. ‘There’ll be time for us, don’t worry darling.’
Catherine arrived at just after six, in her big, battered Volvo estate, crammed with suitcases and dustbin bags, and I realised, suddenly, that these were probably her life’s possessions and the reality of her break-up came home to me and I felt mean that I’d whinged about not having sex while she was here.
We got her unloaded and all the cases and bags up to her room by half past eight and then we cracked a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and sat around the kitchen table, talking quietly.
‘Thanks for taking me back at such short notice,’ said Catherine. ‘I really hadn’t got anywhere else to go.’
I looked across the table at my sister, older than me by şahinbey escort bayan more than six years. She definitely took after her father. She was almost as tall as me but where my hair was black, hers was light brown with artificial highlights. She wore it collar-length with the ends curling under her chin.
Catherine was extremely slender. Not skinny but willowy, with small breasts and slim hips; almost the reverse of her mother. Facially she looked like dad, too: narrow-faced, with thin lips and a straight, rather pointed nose below violet-blue eyes. Actually her eyes were one of her best features; they crinkled up when she smiled and made her look quite pretty. Otherwise, it was easy to dismiss her as rather plain.
As I said in Chapter One of this story, I’d never fancied my mother when I was younger, but I’d had some fantasises about my sister, for sure, mostly arising from an incident that happened in Catherine’s first year at university. She’d come home for the weekend and brought a friend, a girl called Gemma or Emma, I forget which. On the Saturday afternoon I’d blundered rather rudely into her bedroom without knocking, in my usual fashion, to ask to borrow five pounds so that I could go ten-pin bowling with my mates.
I was taken by surprise to find the pair of them naked on the bed, my sister’s face between Gemma’s (or Emma’s) thighs. They both screamed and covered themselves up and I fled the room in confusion.
Later, Catherine sought me out and gave me twenty pounds on the express understanding that I did not repeat what I’d seen to anybody, including my mates. Especially my mates, in fact.
So I’d been mildly surprised when Catherine started dating men after university, eventually moving to the Northeast where she met Daniel a few years later and moved in with him in his house in Gateshead. And therein lay the problem: she owned no part of the house so when the split came Catherine was left with nothing much more than her clothes.
‘I’m sorry it hasn’t worked out with Daniel,’ said Mum, sympathetically, taking a sip of her wine. ‘And of course you’re welcome here anytime and for as long as you need.’
I glanced at my mother as she said this and Catherine noticed and gave me a look.
That first night with Catherine in the house was hard for me, and for Mum too, I imagine. My sister went up to her room about ten o’clock, saying she was exhausted, leaving Mum and me looking at each other across the kitchen table. We gave her ten minutes then we had a hug and a kiss but when I tried to take it further Mum pushed me away.
‘Remember what we agreed, Charlie.’
So I went to bed alone that night for the first time in almost two years and I wanked myself to a solitary orgasm while I recalled the past eighteen months of incestuous debauchery with my middle-aged mother. The memories were very hot but it wasn’t the same as the real thing.
And, sadly, masturbation was all that I had as the days turned into weeks and Catherine showed no signs of leaving the house for more than half an hour at a time. She didn’t appear to be making any effort to see her old friends or to get a job. All she did was go out to the local newsagent and buy a paper, which she read in the kitchen or the sitting room. It was a big house but it wasn’t that big that Mum and I could disappear for a few hours. The situation was getting intolerable.
‘She doesn’t do anything or go anywhere,’ I complained to Mum one Sunday afternoon when Catherine had gone up to her room for a few minutes.
‘I expect she’s depressed by what’s happened,’ said Mum, placatingly.
‘She’s not the only one,’ I retorted.
‘No,’ said Mum, sadly. ‘I’m missing you terribly.’
‘Are you masturbating?’ I teased her.
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Every night. At least once.’
About a fortnight later – it was a Saturday – Catherine had a small win on the National Lottery, so she went out and bought a couple of bottles of wine; there was plenty in the house but I imagine my sister was keen to be seen to be contributing.
Over the course of the evening Mum and I had a glass each and Catherine had the remaining bottle and a half. Then she helped herself to a brandy from the sideboard. As a result of this she became very drunk and Mum and I had to help her up to her bedroom. Mum went in with her and helped her to undress and get into bed. We met in the kitchen five minutes later. Mum had a slight frown on her face.
‘She’s out for the count. I’ve never seen her in such a state,’ she began. ‘So I’m wondering if we shouldn’t take this as an opportunity. I know I said we mustn’t, with Catherine in the house, but I’d be very surprised if she surfaced before lunchtime tomorrow. What do you think?’
‘God, yes,’ I replied with feeling and Mum smiled, her big saucy eyes glinting.
‘Ok, suppose we go to bed and leave it a couple of hours, just in case Catherine decides to get up and be sick or something, and then you come to my room.’
I lay in bed until the bedside clock said one o’clock and then I slipped out, put my dressing gown on and opened my bedroom door a crack and peeped out, like some sort of movie spy or villain. There was enough moonlight coming in through the landing window to see that it was empty and the house was silent.
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