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Seven Fateful Nights

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All characters involved in sexual acts are over 18 years old.


Maybe some taboos just happen, suddenly, impulsively. For me and my mother, it took seven days and nights before anything erotic took place. Here’s the complete story.

I’m Rowan, six feet tall, heavy-built, moderately athletic and on the good-looking side of plain. These events began when I left the Navy aged 26.

My mum is Alison, 22 years older than me, five feet four, slim, medium build, medium-length light brown hair, medium-sized breasts, slightly large hips and a round bottom.

All in all, we’re both pretty average to look at. We lived together then while I looked for work, in her small two-bedroom house on the edge of suburbia. We have houses behind us all the way to the city, but in front of us is a little creek, a flood plain with a horse agistment business on it, then woods all the way to the mountains.

At the end of last autumn, the hot water system in the roof began to leak. We discovered it after overnighting with mum’s sister. We still had hot water for showers, but her mattress was ruined. She got into an argument with the insurers over some technicality, her lawyer was sure they should pay and it took ages to resolve.

For the first week, though, mum still expected a new bed, a new hot water system and repairs for the water damage. So as a temporary measure, she shared my bed. It’s king sized, so plenty of room.

The first night.

It was weird, of course. Mum showered, put on a thigh-length cotton nightdress and fussed with her hair, I showered and put on my winter pjs. We made little shy, embarrassed jokes before we got into bed. She kissed me goodnight, and rolled over to face away from me. Eventually she drifted off to sleep and I heard her breathing deepen. At some point, while I was asleep too, she rolled back towards me and hooked a thigh over mine. I woke with a start, then realised it was her. I could feel her warmth, and despite the weirdness it wasn’t so bad. I let her sleep on.

As daylight broke, I was awake early as usual. Mum was on her back, head facing away, and the blankets were scrunched down near her tummy. Even laying down, I noticed her breasts were still pronounced and firm. I watched them rise and fall in her peaceful slumber.

It was a little chilly in the dawn, and it had an effect on mum. Her nipples poked at the fabric of her nightdress. I smiled. She was my mother, but she was also a real woman. I pulled the covers over her and she snuggled into them. I lay there with morning wood, wishing I hadn’t covered her up so quickly. I had to admit to myself, I wanted to see more.

The second night.

Much the same as the first. And the dawn was much the same, too, only this time I left her upper half uncovered longer and gazed at her erect nipples. Eventually she rolled away. This time I was looking at her rounded bum, and the way the fabric of her nightdress clung between her butt cheeks. I reached for the hem and lifted it slightly. Mum moved a little, and I lost my nerve. But during the next day, I was in a constant state of near-erection.

The third night.

There was a storm, plenty of loud cracks of thunder and sheet lightning. As it approached, the cracks of thunder were so loud as to make mum jump. She snuggled in to me, saying: “Oh I hate this kind of storm.” She jumped at another crack, followed by a long roll of thunder that went on for some time. She actually shivered. I pulled her to me and we spooned. She giggled a little: “Oh, my strong baby boy. Protecting your mother. Ah! Gee that one was loud!”

“I got ya, mum. We’re safe and sound.”

“Mmm, this is nice. I’m sure the storm will pass soon.”

If it didn’t, I was not going to complain. I hadn’t spooned a woman in a while, this was pleasant, even if it was my own mother.

The storm moved away slowly, but mum didn’t. She held my arm up to her chest. She wasn’t asleep, just very cozy. But I had to push my rear end back to make sure I didn’t make contact too low down. Even so, I thought I could feel mum’s butt crack against my stomach. I tried not to think how close my penis was to her vagina, nor that if I moved my hand just inches, I would be cupping her breast.

After a fitful sleep, I awoke to find her snuggled towards me with her head on my shoulder. I looked down. The top of her nighty was open slightly and plump flesh spilled over it. No erect nipple this time, but I guessed it was no more than an inch out of sight. I watched that smooth flesh rise and fall with her breathing, and for the first time the male curse joined us in bed. I got an erection.

Not one of those rock-hard, morning boners that are easy to wank to a finish, more like a general stiffness that tingles. I felt my cheeks flush. I was in bed with my mother with a hardon. It wasn’t because of the contact, it was just because of the morning. But that didn’t make it any less embarrassing if she woke up.

I thought about work, getting the backroom casting porno car serviced, the insurance company… it might have worked except mum groaned, stretched, and smacked her lips in a doze as she snuggled closer and bent one leg up my thigh. The middle of her thigh was over my balls, and she unwittingly caused a tent of bedclothes which put pressure and fiction on my cock. It responded and got fully hard. Without thinking, I put my arm over her shoulder and rested my hand on her side.

Fully awake now, I wrestled with two conflicting thoughts. One part of me wished I hadn’t put my hand there. It was uncomfortably close to the curve of her breast. The other part of me – the part with a hotline to my dick – practically dared me to feel her up. In the end, I moved my hand.

In time, she woke up. She smiled and apologised for, as she put it, ‘clambering all over’ me, and stretched luxuriously before getting up to go to the bathroom.

I pretended to try to sleep in to avoid having to stand up while my cock stood out, as it were. After a while, the morning began.

The fourth day.

After the last might’s storm, the morning air was humid and the day was unusually warm for the time of year. Mum wore a cotton house dress, yellow with pink and purple flowers. Maybe it was last years and she’d put on a couple of pounds, maybe it was just too small. It showed plenty of cleavage and her breasts threatened to spill out whenever she energetically cleaned or polished anything. I’d been trying to do job applications but couldn’t take my eyes off her for minutes at a time.

If it wasn’t cleavage, it was plump flesh straining at the cotton. If not that, it was a wobbling bum or a glimpse of upper thigh.

In the afternoon, she busied herself in her bedroom. She called to me.

“I’m going to donate some of these clothes. Help me decide what to keep.”

“Like I know anything about womens’ clothes.”

“Oh don’t cop out. Here, the blue one. Keep or not?”

“Er, keep, I guess.”

“OK. What about this? I think it’s too racy.”

It was what women used to call their ‘little black number’. It looked slinky, short.

“I dunno. How does it feel when you wear it?”

“It might not even fit me.”

“Well try it on!”

“OK. Turn around.”

I did. I faced the window. It was a good move. I could see my mother’s reflection, ghostlike and unclear, but I heard her clothes ‘shush’ over her skin and I could see the reflection of her in her pink underwear. She had a slight paunch, tits like I’d dreamed of, and strong, lean thighs.

Soon she was wriggling into the dress. As she pulled the straps over her shoulders, I forgot to wait until she told me to turn around. I saw the look of question on her face as she said: “I didn’t say… How did…? Oh. You saw me in the window.”

“Sorry. By the time I realised I could see it was too late, and I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

“I’m not embarrassed. How do I look?”

“Sexy. Stunning sexy.”

“Oooh, might be a bit too honest from my own son!”

“It’s true. That dress hugs you so well and shows just enough thigh. Wear it when you want to get laid!”

“Hah! Fat chance! I was right though, it’s too racy, right?”

“Your call, mum. I like it.”

“Maybe pile, then. OK. The long navy one next.”

I didn’t turn away as she wriggled out of the black number. And she didn’t bother to ask. Maybe she saw me blush, because she said: “Oh. Don’t worry, Rowan. You saw it before anyway.”

As she stepped out of the dress, she bent slightly and I got a view down her cleavage as her tits struggled for room. She saw me looking. I was sure she had. But did she really linger, just for a few moments?

I helped her into the long navy dress with the split thigh.

“You must have lost weight, mum. I think this one’s too big.”

“Yeah, loose at the top. I wouldn’t wear a bra with this.”

“Really? I reckon if you bent over…” She did, and looked at me: “Yeah. Too big. Without a bra I’d see your ni… I mean, everything.”

“OK. Help me out of it.”

As I did, her panties clung to it and exposed half of one buttock. I was surprised to see how firm it was, no sag, and no lines. She corrected her attire. There were more dresses, more flashes, a little more embarrassment for me. The one that took things to a new level, at least foe me, was a short, tight skirt.

“OK, last one. The only thing I want to know about this one is whether you can see my ass.”

She bent over, practically in my face as I sat on her dresser chair. I gulped. My mother bent over in front of me after I’d watched her changed clothes a dozen times, and this time I just stared. At her bum, the crease under it. Which I knew was her pussy. My mind barely registered the fact: I was looking between my own mother’s legs.

I managed to stammer: “Yeah. Way too short.”

She didn’t stand up straight despite bangbros porno the judgement being passed: “Can you see?”


That was it for that project. But my brain had switched into a new place. I was horny for my mum.

The fourth night.

Mum went to bed early. By the time I retired, she was sprawled across the middle of the bed with the covers wrapped around her. I decided to leave her there and sleep on the couch, but there was only one blanket left and it was cold. I gave up and went back to my bed.

Mum was on her back. I eased the covers from under her, making sure not to wake her, and managed to free one edge of them. As I peeled it back, I saw she had one leg crooked high. In the dim moonlight I also saw that the hem of her nighty was way up, and I saw her white panties and the outline of her labia. I couldn’t look for long – I was cold and she would soon be too. I eased her leg over and climbed in beside her, pulling the covers over me.

She was very warm, and I soon warmed up too. I fell asleep.

The early morning was a repeat of the first two on this journey – namely I spent the early minutes looking at my mum’s breasts as they threatened to spill from her nighty, and occasionally I got a good view of the shape of her erect nipples. This time I got up first – I didn’t need another morning boner because, I figured, I couldn’t hide it from her forever.

The fifth day.

Another warm day, but drier than yesterday. I did some work around the yard and soon had a sweat. Mum brought me a cool drink and sat on the old tree stump while I drank it, sitting in front of her on the grass. The neighbours were arguing loudly. Mum looked over her shoulder and her thighs parted slightly. My eyes went there as if drawn by magnets. I got a glimpse of a triangle of white fabric.

Later I was piling branches I’d cut from the trees out back and managed to trip. I wrenched a muscle in my left thigh and scraped the shin.

As always, mum tended her son’s wound. She put some lotion or other on my thigh and massaged me gently. I was laying on the sunbed, she was crouched beside me. It was no use now, I couldn’t help look. I could see down to her breasts and occasionally a nipple. The inevitable happened. My cock stiffened in my shorts. If she saw it she pretended not to. If. Who was I kidding?

The fifth night.

I watched a raunchy movie on cable while mum read a magazine in the kitchen. In one particularly intense scene, the noises of the actors feigning frantic sex brought her into the room to watch, and she said: “Oh my! Those two are really going at it! I’m not really sure if I’ll be safe tonight if your blood gets pumping from that kind of visual bombardment!”

She was teasing, but if only she knew.

Maybe I should have gone to the bathroom and jerked off the head of steam I’d built up. Or maybe, just maybe, I didn’t on purpose. In any case, that night my dreams were full of mixed images. The body under me, to whom I dreamed of making love, was that of the young woman in the movie, but her face was never clear. In the way that dreams have, I knew who the woman was. I didn’t need to see her face, but I knew it was my mother.

The sixth day.

During the next day I wrestled with the realisation that, for the first time ever, I’d had an erotic dream in which my own mother was the star. I put it down to the fact that we’d shared a bed for the last few nights, and the constant glimpses I was getting. But lurking behind the logic was a darker fact. She turned me on.

Up until now she did nothing overt to bring this new desire about. Hell, apart from sleeping and just having a warm body in my bed, she wasn’t even involved in it. So this night was a turning point in some ways.

As is common at that time of the year, Autumn likes to pretend it’s summer again, if only for a few days and nights. During the last few days it had been very warm, but the wind went northerly at sundown on this night and blew the hot air of the desert our way. So the night was going to stay warm.

Mum wore a twin set to bed – sort of a v-neck cotton t-shirt and matching shorts. I wore my boxers. The bed was still covered for the cold, so we had too many blankets. Both of us tossed and turned and finally got to sleep under just a sheet and one blanket.

During the night we stayed apart, not wanting each other’s body heat, but in the morning the pre-dawn chill made us snuggle unconsciously. On its own that wasn’t remarkable, but until now I’d had full-length pyjamas and mum had a thick nighty. But this early morning we had far less fabric between us. Perhaps worse, my morning boner poked out of my boxers and I awoke with a start when I realised it was in contact with mum’s buttock. I had no idea if she knew.

I edged backwards to break the contact but in her doze she followed me with her butt. Now my cockhead nestled where it shouldn’t be. There’s no way to sugar coat it. If not for her thin beurette tour porno cotton shorts the end of my cock would have been in contact with her labia. My mother’s labia.

I gulped. Yes, I could have backed off more, turned onto my back, any number of avoidance manoeuvres. But I didn’t for maybe two or three minutes. The truth is, in an insane moment, I just wanted to push and feel it inside her.

I didn’t push, but I shivered gently even at the thought of it. The insanity passed, and I rolled onto my back, eased out of bed, and went to the bathroom. I knew before I got there what I would do, and I did it quickly. I masturbated and shot my load into a tissue.

It was still nearly dark, and I went back to bed. I drifted back to sleep and didn’t notice when mum got up, then we had another normal day.

The seventh day.

She was out most of the day. I masturbated once more, the remembered image of her nipple and the crease of her pussy in panties spurring me on.

The seventh night.

Cool, but not really cold, this night had that electric atmosphere you get before a lightning storm. My mum used to say the seasons needed storms to break the old weather patterns. I tried to be gallant: “Will you be OK in the storm, mum?”

“In your strong arms, I will. Promise to hold me?”

“Of course.”

“Rowan, are you weirded out having me in your bed?”

“Um, no. At first I thought I would be, but I’m not. You?”

“Oh, I got used to it really quickly. It’s kinda nice, having someone to snuggle up to after all these years.”


“Um, baby? Even if there’s no thunder, will you spoon me? I mean, if it’s not too weird to ask.”

It felt like it was, but I stammered back that it would be OK. Thinking back, the thing that was different about ‘snuggling’ that night was that there was no thunderclap to drive her close to me, and unlike some of the contact that had aroused me, this time my mother was wide awake.

As she pressed back at me, she said: “Let me know if you get, y’know, uncomfortable. I’d understand.”

I already was, if by ‘uncomfortable’ she meant ‘erect’. As my cock filled with blood, it got pressed between her buttock and the mattress. I felt like my face must have gone bright red, especially when it twitched involuntarily. But I didn’t move. She must have felt it. And she said and did nothing about it. So I left it there.

If my erection went unnoticed, I felt sure my hammering heart would betray me.

Mum pretended to be dozing off. I know she was pretending because her breathing was still shallow, normal. I eased my hips back, breaking the contact between my erection and her buttock. My heart pumped fast at what I was about to do. I took my shaft in my hand and slowly, deliberately pressed my cock towards her until I felt the space between her butt cheeks. Pressing forwards, it dipped down and I knew when it hit the outside of her pussy. The warmth there was degrees above the rest of her flesh, and I felt it give, slightly, but surely.

Still my mother stayed still and silent. The feeling on my cock was electric, tantalising. For any other pussy in the world I would have removed her clothes and taken her. But you don’t stick your cock in your mother’s pussy just like that, even if you know she knows what you’re doing, can feel it.

Like a sneak in the night, I pressed, released, pressed. The friction against the inside of my pyjamas was uncomfortable. I thought I heard her gasp as I broke contact again. I pulled my pjs back over my backside, then over my hardon, and brazenly put it back against her.

This time I gasped aloud. The fabric I’d had over my cockhead prevented me from feeling the full heat of my mother’s vagina, and now I felt the slickness of it too. I pressed. I could not know exactly, but it felt like I pressed an inch of her pyjama bottoms up inside her pussy. She wasn’t moving, but I was certain she was awake.

But I lost my nerve. I eased away, replaced my pyjamas, and rolled over. Mum did nothing, and said nothing, not then or all the next day. But we’d crossed a line, or at least I had. I began to wonder, with a sick feeling in my gut, whether she had in fact been awake. The dread grew when the day went entirely normally. No embarrassing silences, no verbal hints at what had happened.

The eighth night.

And then it was bedtime. I was practically sweating with trepidation as I climbed in. Mum came in later, I felt her get into bed but was trying to ignore the fact of her presence and its effect on my groin. We were butt to butt. Mum wiggled hers and giggled: “No cuddle tonight, baby?”

“Oh. Um. I’m a bit tired.”

“Oh, I see. It’s OK. If you want to cuddle at any time though, just go ahead.”

What the hell did that mean? It had to be nothing at all, right? – just a normal motherly invitation to her son for an innocent cuddle? Or…

I lay there immobile for quite a while. Mum got up, went to the kitchen and had a glass of water or something. She never did that, as far as I knew. Was she just telling me she was still awake? Maybe she was flustered or something.

Oh hell. I had to be imagining this. I rolled to face inwards on the bed, way over on my own side. Maybe she’d spoon up, maybe she wouldn’t.

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