"A mother_s forbidden passion" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jenkins Mary)

CHAPTER FIVE

Bette turned away from the lewd, lascivious sight of her ex-husband's brother, and the young teenage girlfriend of her son, Tony, fucking on the floor of the cabana, and rushed past the pool into the house, running blindly, choking back the cry of anguish which threatened to burst from her throat. She entered the guest room, locked the door, and flung herself on the bed, sobbing now, unable to blot the terrible scene she had just witnessed from her confused, stricken mind.

Oh God, oh God! her tortured mind cried. It's it's too awful, too sickening Ken, how could you? How could you do this to me after after what we had last night, after what you told me this morning? You said you loved me, you said you wanted to marry me, and then and then, the first minute I'm gone, you run around like a a dog on the floor with that disgusting little bitch, Debbie Mason ooohhh, God, God, what am I going to do?

Bette buried her face in the pillow, crying brokenly now. The shattered fragments of her world, reformed and reconstructed by her homecoming to Westridge, by her acceptance and forgiveness by Tony and Ken, by Ken's professed love for her and her own growing emotional involvement with the handsome brother of her dead ex-husband, were once again sharded at her feet. Was there no hope for her future at all? Was what she had just witnessed an omen, a warning to her, that only pain and futility lay ahead of her, that she would never again know true peace and happiness? God, oh God, oh God!

The beauteous blonde mother cried bitter tears of torment for a long, timeless period; then, abruptly, as if there were suddenly no more moisture in her for tears, the crying ended and some semblence of calm returned. She slid off the bed, opened the door to the hallway, and looked out. The house was very still; Ken must still be out in the cabana with that that filthy slut, Debbie. Quickly, Bette padded down to the bathroom at the end of the hall, past Ken's and Tony's bedrooms, and washed her face and applied fresh makeup to her pain-etched face. Then, composed, she returned to the guest room, relocked the door, and lay down once more on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Grimly, she forced her mind to examine the situation with cold, careful rationality. She had to do something she couldn't just allow this wanton act that she had viewed to be forgotten, she couldn't just pretend that it had never happened. Ken had hurt her, hurt her desperately, by his carnal coupling with Debbie Mason, and Bette knew now that she could never marry him, could never make love with him or love him in any way after today. It would be difficult enough to face him again, to look into his eyes, without either crying or blurting out in rage what she had seen. And neither of those emotional reactions would solve anything. Still, what exactly could she do? There was no purpose in confronting Ken with the knowledge of his lustful endeavor with Debbie; he would either deny it boldly, or if he did admit to it, just say he was sorry, that it had been a terrible moment of weakness, and beg for her forgiveness. And the way Bette felt now, there was no capacity in her for that kind of compassionate exoneration of his sin – at least not where the two of them, and a future relationship between them, was concerned.

And yet, even with her disappointment and bitterness in Ken, Bette sensed deep down that he was not responsible for what had happened – was probably still happening – in the poolside cabana; he was just a man, weak and sexually unprincipled, like most men were. No, the blame for Ken's transgression could be laid, the lovely young mother felt sure, directly on the shoulders of that seductive little slut, Debbie Mason.

Bette felt a moment of unreasoning hatred for the lush, conscienceless teenage girl. The bitch, oh the damned dirty little bitch! Rutting on the floor with a man old enough to be her father, reveling in the feel of his penis deep inside her – and what was worse, infinitely worse, was the fact that that man was the uncle of the boy who claimed to be in love with her!

Tony, poor poor Tony, Bette thought. So trusting, so good involved with a slut like that, blinded by her beauty and her sensuality. God only knew how many other boys how many other men she was sleeping with, while Tony's love for her, blind and innocent, increased day by day. Poor Tony, oh my poor son.

The beauteous blonde mother bit her lower lip in anguish. What could she do, what could she do? She couldn't go to Tony, could she? She couldn't tell him what happened today between Debbie and his uncle, could she? He wouldn't believe her, Bette knew that; he would think she was lying for some reason, trying to split he and the young girl up for some reason of her own. And he might hate her, might twist in his adolescent mind her mother's feelings for his well-being into something much darker and much more base. And she couldn't stand to have him hate her anymore, not when she had seen the glimmering of returning love on his face last night.

The indecision swirled around in the blonde woman's brain, and still she came to no definite conclusion as to what she could do. She only knew that she had to do something, and soon, before it was too late. In Tony, now that Ken had betrayed her, Bette had to place all her hopes for salvation. If he turned on her, she would be totally destroyed – the fact was irrefutable. And unless she helped him, completely committed herself to her handsome young son, then she had nothing on which to hang the last desperate remnants of her spirit.

There was the sound of a door slamming from the rear of the house, and Bette heard Ken's slow, hesitant footsteps. They grew nearer, entering the hall, then a moment later he knocked almost fearfully on the door. "Bette?" he called, his voice trembling. "Bette, honey, are you in there?"

"Yes, I'm in here," she replied, trying to make her voice calm and toneless.

"I I saw the car in the garage, and I I knew that you'd come home. Is everything all right?"

"Just fine, Ken, thank you."

"I thought you were going to to drive around Westridge all day," he said.

"It got to be too hot after awhile, and I was more tired than I thought. So I decided to come home."

"Oh," Ken said. There was a pause, then he continued, "Well, I I'm not feeling so good, honey. I think I'll go lie down for awhile. I've got a miserable headache."

I don't wonder at that, Bette thought bitterly. "All right," she said. "Would you like me to fix supper tonight?"

"If you would. There's plenty of food in the refrigerator. But but just for you and Tony okay? I don't think I'll be hungry, feeling as lousy as I do now."

"Whatever you say, Ken."

She heard the shuffling of his steps as he continued down the hall to his own room, heard the sound of the door closing and the key turning in the lock. Then the house was still again. Bette got to her feet, opened the door, and walked quietly into the kitchen. She found a bottle of bourbon in the cabinet above the sink, and poured herself a small drink, her lovely mouth set resolutely.

Yes, she thought with grim determination, yes, I've got to commit myself fully and completely to Tony, in whatever way is necessary. It's my only hope – and where Debbie Mason is concerned, Tony's only hope too. Somehow, some way, I've got to help him, show him what Debbie really is. Somehow, some way.

The handsome teenage youth returned home shortly past five that afternoon. Bette heard the sound of his Corvette as it entered the driveway; she was in the kitchen, preparing a platter of cold cuts, sipping from a glass filled with ice, soda, and more of the bourbon. She felt faintly drunk, but not enough so that it would hamper her movements or her speech; still, she knew she shouldn't have had so much to drink, even if it did help ease the gnawing distress which filled her lovely body. It would not do for Tony to see her even a little intoxicated; he might get the wrong ideas about her.

Bette hurried into the guest room and found a package of mints in her bag. She popped several into her mouth, then looked at herself in the vanity mirror, fluffing her soft blonde hair so that it framed her beautiful face. She looked all right, she decided. She looked just fine. The young mother went out into the living room then, just in time to see Tony opening the front door with his key and entering the house.

"Hi, Tony," she greeted him warmly.

"Hi," he replied, and Bette saw that he wasn't looking at her directly, that his voice seemed cool and distant. A pang of fear and anguish clutched at her heart.

"Is is something the matter, son?" she asked.

"No, why should anything be the matter?" Tony crossed the room, still not looking at her, and entered the kitchen. A moment later he reappeared with a frosty bottle of beer in his hand and sat on the couch facing the fireplace – the same couch on which she and Ken had made love last night.

Her knees feeling weak, Bette sat on the opposite end of the couch, folding her hands in her lap, and looked with a mixture of love and despair at her handsome son. She forced a smile onto her pretty, naturally pink mouth, tried to make her voice gay and light as she said, "Well, did you have a nice day, Tony?"

"Okay, I guess."

"Where did you go?"

"Out for a drive."

"So did I. It was a beautiful day for one."

"Uh-huh."

Bette's smile faded. "Tony are you sure everything is okay? I mean, well, you're so so distant tonight."

The handsome teenage youth sighed, then seemed to square his shoulders, and his face lifted and his eyes touched his mother's. Bette saw with increasing despair that there was no light of love in them today, at least not nearly the kind of fervent acceptance which they had contained last night. Could Ken have been wrong, could Tony have seen them together last night before he entered the house, seen them making love on the very cushions on which mother and son now sat.

Tony said, "I've got a lot of things on my mind tonight Mom, that's all. I made a big decision today."

"You did?" Bette said, eager to draw him out of the shell he seemed to be in. "What kind of decision, son?"

Tony reached into his pocket, produced a tiny square box – a jeweler's box. He flipped the top open with his thumbnail, extended the box so that Bette could see inside – and there, nestled in a bed of cotton, was a pair of sparkling diamond rings, expensive rings, one an engagement band and the other a wedding band. "I'm going to get married, Mom," he said firmly. "Next week, if arrangements can be made – and if Debbie will have me so soon. But I think she will. Anyway, I'm going over to propose to her tonight."

Bette felt as if she had been kicked in the stomach. She couldn't seem to catch her breath, and faint black dots swam in back of her eyes. She thought for a minute that she was going to faint, then the feeling passed and she stared incredulously at her handsome son. "Tony you can't be serious," she stammered.

"Why not?"

"Well well, you're too young, you're only eighteen and and you said you wanted to go to college next September."

"I'll still be going to college," Tony said. "And I'm old enough to know my own mind, to know that Debbie and I are in love and that I want her to be my wife."

No, no, no, no! Bette thought despairingly. Oh God, no, Tony you can't you can't marry that cheating little bitch! I've got to stop you, somehow I've got to stop you but you won't believe me if I tell you about what I saw in the cabana this afternoon, I know you won't.

She said falteringly, "What what brought on this sudden decision? You didn't say anything about marriage last night."

"It's not a sudden decision and I didn't say anything about it because well, I wanted it to be a secret until I picked up the rings and asked Debbie. I probably shouldn't be telling you now, not until I have Deb's answer, but it doesn't make any difference I guess. I might as well tell Uncle Ken, too. Where is he? In his study?"

"No, he's lying down. He doesn't feel very well."

"Then I guess I'll wait until later tonight, or tomorrow to tell him. Don't say anything to him until I talk to him first, okay?"

"If if that's what you want."

Tony studied his mother for a moment. "How come you sound so upset? You ought to be happy for me, if you love me as much as Uncle Ken says you do."

"I do love you, Tony! I love you very, very much. It's just that I I'm so surprised. This is all so sudden."

"Yeah, sure," Tony said. He finished his beer, then got to his feet. "Guess I'll go take a quick shower and get ready for supper."

"Tony…"

"Yeah?"

"Tony, couldn't you wait for awhile? A few months at least, until you're very sure that marrying Debbie is what you really want."

"I'm very sure now," he said positively. "Very sure."

"Son suppose she's not the right kind of girl for you?"

His eyes narrowed, and he snapped defensively, "What do you mean by that?"

Bette swallowed hard. "N-nothing," she stuttered. "I… I…" She felt tears welling in her eyes, and she pressed her hands over her face, turned, and fled from the room.

Lying once again on the bed in the guest room, more tears spilling down over her cheeks, Bette felt a fresh sense of impending doom. This was the very thing she had dreaded, the turning out of her by her son and the embracing of Debbie Mason in her place. But she couldn't let Tony marry that little slut, she couldn't! She would only bring him eventual pain and misery and heart break, of that Bette had no doubt at all. She had to stop him, she had to stop him!

But how?

How?

Supper was a grim affair, eaten in silence, and the lovley blonde mother's heart skipped a beat of anguish every time she looked at her son. He ate quickly, without seeming to taste his food, while Bette picked at her portion, having no appetite at all, managing to choke down only a few mouthfuls of the delicious cold cuts she had prepared.

She was slicing a wedge of melon for him, ice-cold from the refrigerator, when the telephone rang.

Tony said, "I'll get it, it might be Debbie." He jumped up and hurried into the living room, to where the phone was. Bette busied herself at the counter with the melon, put it on a plate, and set it in Tony's place. She thought about pouring herself a drink, which she wanted desperately, then decided it wasn't such a good idea with Tony still there in the house. She compromised by opening a beer for herself. She was sipping from a tall glass when her handsome young son returned from the living room, a perplexed frown on his face.

"That was Debbie," he said. "Her grandmother's sick over in Walnut Grove, and the whole family's leaving right now. She won't be back until tomorrow evening."

Bette felt a resurgence of hope, a sense of having been reprieved for just a little while. "You didn't propose to her over the phone, did you?"

"No," Tony answered. "She was in pretty much of a hurry, and a telephone is no place for such an important thing anyway."

"Then you won't be asking her until she returns tomorrow night."

"I guess not," Tony said. He looked at his mother coldly for a moment. "I suppose that makes you happy, huh?"

"Oh, Tony!"

"Aww forget it, I'm sorry," he mumbled. He sat down at the table and began to eat the ice-cold melon she had placed there.

Bette stood watching him for a time, her brain whirling as she tried to conjure up a plan, some method of proving to Tony what a slut Debbie was, of winning his once-again-cooled love for herself so that she would have a chance for future peace and happiness. But still she could think of nothing, and she knew she was trying too hard, that her confused mind was not functioning as well as it should. She had to calm herself, think, think because now, perhaps irrationally, she had the premonition that everything might turn out all right, might turn out happily for her and Tony if only she could hit upon the proper plan.

Stretched out on the bed in his darkened bedroom, Ken lay with his hands clasped behind his head and stared at nothing while his thoughts jumbled together in his mind. He felt miserable, sick at his very soul, ashamed and repentant, at what he had done that afternoon with the wanton black-haired Debbie Mason – the sudden and consuming weakness, the fiery lust, which had led him to lick the teenage bitch's pussy and then to drive his long, hard cock up into her tight belly, panting like a dog there on the cabana floor.

Christ, what was the matter with him, to have lost control like that? He had always been a fairly moral man, had always been able to check his surging passions before and now, all of a sudden, he was putty in the grip of a hot-blooded little slut like Debbie Mason. And what made it even more terrible, even more inexplicable, was his newfound and powerful love for Bette lonely, confused, desperate Bette, who needed love and kindness and happiness in the worst way, who was open and receptive to him and his love, who had those beautiful shared moments of sheer ecstacy with him on the living room couch last night. If she ever found out it would crush her God, there was no telling what she might do then!

But she must never find out, Ken thought. Never! He had to protect her from the knowledge of his affair with the voluptuous young girlfriend of his nephew, had to bury this afternoon in the caverns of his own mind as if it had never taken place. And above all, he had to make sure that nothing like the episode with Debbie ever took place again had to put a tight reign on his emotions, so that all of his love – all of his sexual desires – were channeled toward Bette, the woman he now loved.

Even so, the guilt-ridden uncle knew that something had to be done about Debbie Mason that while he could live with his own guilt at having succumbed to her charms, he could not live with himself if he allowed her to work her wicked spell on Tony. He was inordinately fond of his nephew, and the thought that Tony was becoming deeply and emotionally involved with a slut like Debbie was painful. Suppose he fell so deeply in love with her that he wanted to marry her – Christ, Ken couldn't let that happen, the youth had to somehow be shown what Debbie really was.

Yet – how could he do that without admitting his own guilt, something that he didn't dare do?

God, God, why did life have to be so complicated. Why couldn't things be simple, and good why couldn't the three of them – he and Bette and Tony – live together in peace and harmony and happiness and love?

Someday, someday they could.

Midnight.

Unable to sleep, Bette lay in her light, short summer nightgown, searching her mind again and again – as she had all that evening – for some answer to her quandary. And still a plan of action evaded her. She did not have anymore idea now what to do than she had earlier, did not know how to save Tony from the clutches of that bitch Debbie and from his own foolish actions, did not know how to make him love her, his mother, as deeply as she had discovered that she loved him.

Bette looked at the clock on the bedside table – saw the time. God, is that all it is? she thought. It's been an interminable day, a horrible day seeing Ken and Debbie in the cabana hearing Tony announce his plans to marry Debbie next week, looking at the rings he had bought for her the hours of silence after supper, while Tony watched television and she sat alone with her own thoughts.

The lovely blonde mother sighed piteously, then swung her feet over the side of the bed. She had to use the bathroom, and she needed a drink of water as well to soothe her parched throat, dry from all the thinking she had done. Opening the door to the hall, she walked softly through the dark, silent house to the bathroom, performed her duty, drank her glass of water, then sighed again and started back to the guest room.

As she passed Tony's room, Bette saw that the door was slightly ajar. She stopped, looking at it, and she felt in that moment a deep, motherly need to look at her son, to see him sleeping – a sight she had not been privileged to witness since since she had gone away. Her heart throbbed painfully in her beautiful breast as Bette tip-toed forward, pushed open the door, and peeped into Tony's room.

Her son lay quietly in his bed, covered by just a sheet which he had kicked down in his sleep, and his muscled, youthful chest rose and fell steadily with his breathing. A pale wash of moonlight flooded in through the window next to the bed, illuminating the handsome youth as he lay there, and Bette could see him clearly; love and deep pride flowed along her spine, clutched at her throat as she watched her son sleeping. He was so handsome, so masculine, so wonderful.

As if sub-consciously aware of her eyes on him, Tony stirred on the bed, moaning softly in his sleep, rolling full onto his back. His feet kicked convulsively at the sheet covering him, and the white bedclothes rustled as the covering drifted down, down over his abdomen and over his thighs to puddle around his knees.

And Bette was suddenly looking right at her son's penis.

An involuntary gasp strangled in the lovely blonde mother's throat, but Tony didn't stir anymore on the bed. He lay peacefully, his face in repose once again, his legs parted slightly to expose the full sight of his manhood to his mother's widening eyes. His cock, flaccid, lay largely nestled in the thick hummock of his balls, the head huge and red, the glans opening seemingly immense to the staring mother.

Bette couldn't take her eyes off the limp, sleeping penis of this youth she loved so much. It's it's so big! she thought in awe. It's as big as David's ever was, as big as Ken's but he was such a little boy, I can remember giving him baths when he was younger and his penis was so little, a little boy's penis and now now he's a man.

Bette felt a sudden dryness in her mouth and throat as she stared at the naked, powerful form of her son, at the size of his limply lying young cock. She knew she should turn away, return to the guest room do anything but stand here staring so boldly at her son's penis and testicles. But she could only stand immobile, moistening her pink lips, and in her mind she once again, unwittingly, began to relive the scene between Ken and herself the night before Ken's hard, thick penis deep inside her belly, the sensations his driving weapon caused in her her spiraling delight, the moment of her orgasm with that huge penis inside her a penis like Tony's Tony's penis, giving so much pleasure that a woman would have to cry out her delight to him over and over and over again.

A deep, hot tingling sensation began in Bette's stomach, and the lovely young mother could feel the tightness of her pussy begin to flower wide with beginning droplets of secretion. Her nipples hardened almost achingly beneath her nightgown, and her breathing began to become ragged and excited. Her eyes feasted on her son's softly reclining length, envisioning it hard now, hard as Ken's had been last night, and as her fantasies became more vivid, bolder, the fiery burning of passion increased proportionately in her loins and breasts and belly.

She began perspiring, and her mind churned with desire. She had the wild, crazy thought of going to Tony, her son, touching his penis, making it hard so that she could see the full size of it. Then she shook her head sharply, trying to rid herself of the lewd idea. What was the matter with her, for God's sake? That was her son there, her son! She couldn't think of her own son like that, think about his penis, his big penis, his big hard cock.

The fire of sexual deprivation was raging nearly out of control inside the lovely mother now, the fire which Ken had once again stirred into hot flames the night before, stirred and set to raging and demanding more fuel. It was fed now by her licentious thoughts, by the sight of her own son's naked penis. She had to have release, she had to! She was trembling so hard she thought she was going to fall down, and she had to do something.

Stifling a small cry, Bette rushed out of her son's room and up the hall to the guest room. Then she lay down on the bed, gasping, and in her mind was locked the burning image of Tony's cock, flaccid and yes, hard, rock-hard, as big as she imagined it would be in full erection her son's huge, pleasure-giving penis.

It suddenly seemed as hot as an oven in the guest room, and Bette pulled her nightgown over her head, lay there completely nude with her firm, rich breasts rising and falling erratically, the image of her son's cock vividly real in her mind. Almost involuntarily then, staring down at her taut breasts, soft-fleshed globes like twin roseate mountain peaks, feeling the churning fire in her wet, hot pussy, Bette moved one hand down and touched her right, desire-swollen tit, touched its nipple, and then pulled her hand back quickly. The contact of her own fingers had intensified the steady aching in her cunt, and her entire being quivered with sexual arousal. She ran her tongue over her lips several times, trying to dispel the arid, cottony taste there, thinking about Tony's penis, Tony's huge penis.

No, no, it's wrong to think about your own son that way! A small part of her mind cried. He's your son, your own flesh and blood for God's sake, you can't have sexual thoughts about the boy that you love, that came into this world from your own womb!

But her inflamed body paid no attention, and the image of her son's cock remained just as vivid, just as exciting, in her mind. As if it was a separate entity, then, Bette's right hand drifted down once again and began to massage her breast, slowly, rhythmically, avoiding the nipple at first, cupping the creamy naked globe in her fingers, kneading the translucent flesh and causing whirlpools of passion to seethe within her lovely body. She spread her legs wide, convulsively, her breathing ragged now, and then she touched the nipple of her breast with her thumb, felt it diamond hard. She rolled the ball of her thumb back and forth across the erect crest, intensifying further the rising crescendo of sexual frenzy within her.

The beauteous blonde mother arched her back, raising her hips off the bed, spreading wide the hot, wet slit of her pussy. Still she massaged her now wildly trembling breast, teasing the nipple, pinching it between thumb and forefinger until it throbbed like a thing alive.

Tony's cock, my son's cock.

Bette could stand it no longer. Her other hand dipped down, down, between her widespread thighs, gentling her middle finger into the warm wetness of her eager, fiery hot slit. The feeling generated by the touch of her own finger on her wet genitalia caused Bette to moan silently with rapture. She manipulated the softly hair-lined inner lips until she could feel them swelling with the rush of blood, and her clitoris was rigid and tingling. Her middle finger came in contact with the trembling hot bud, and she began to gasp with total abandoned delight.

Oh Tony, my darling Tony ooohhhhh!

Her finger began to rub faster and faster across the sensitive tip of her clit, and the lovely young mother blanked her mind of all thoughts save for her son's huge penis and the delicious ecstatic sensations flowing through her flesh. Her hips flailed frantically at the bedclothes as wave after maddening wave of wild ecstacy soared through her, and she could feel her climax building, building within her. Her left hand squeezed her breast, hard, released it, squeezed it harder, manipulating the nipple, rolling it with maddening delight under the ball of her thumb as the heat spiraled higher and higher and her mind chanted almost hypnotically as her finger flashed with ever-increasing strokes over her hot, wet clitoris, I'm going to cum going to cum I'm going to cum.

And then she came!

"Ooooohhhhh!" she cried out in a low gasping whimper, and her body seemed to shake as if with some incredible inner vibration. Her finger continued to rub hard across her clitoris, even as the intense bursting waves of release seared to every nerve in her beautiful body, and her left hand continued to convulsively squeeze her plaint young breast. Her climax seemed to last for a wonderful, rapturous eternity, her hotly seeping pussy walls secreting warm thick liquid softly onto the sheet beneath her, painting her rapidly moving finger with orgiastic fluid – and as her cum began to ebb, she moaned again and again with delight at the feelings which had seized control of her body. Then, finally, it was completely over and she sagged back on the bed, her hair fanning on the pillow like a silken screen around her head, and she felt weak and drained and tingling with delicious satiation.

She lay there, and slowly the image of Tony's penis faded from her mind and she waited for the guilt, the shame, which was sure to follow her fingering herself into orgasm her desperate, organistic release while thinking about her own teenage son's testicles and penis, her own sweet flesh and blood. And yet, the guilt and the shame never came. Instead, in a sudden flash of inspiration, the answer to everything rushed into her mind. With a tingle of excitement, Bette knew that it was just that – the answer – and she knew exactly what she had to do.

Determination filled her now, determination and something else, something deeper and far more base an emotion. She had to save her son from that scheming little bitch Debbie Mason, and there were two sure ways of doing that; combined, they would destroy his love for the black-haired young slut forever, channel it elsewhere, channel it where Bette so desperately wanted it; all for her. There was a terrible risk involved in her plan, the risk of losing Tony completely and irrevocably if she failed in her mission, and yet – if he married Debbie, moved away, she would be losing him anyway. The risk was worth it, well worth it. And if she succeeded, the bliss and love and happiness that she needed would be hers, would be all hers.

She had to take the chance, she had to, there was simply no other way.

She had to prove to Tony, confront his very eyes with unmistakable and undeniable proof, what a slut Debbie really was.

After first making love to him herself!

The idea of sexual relationship with her son, that handsome youth she had discovered she loved so desperately the past two days, was at once appalling and terribly, wickedly exciting. She knew she wanted him, that she loved him desperately her just completed finger-fucking of herself while thinking of his hard young penis was concrete evidence of that deep-rooted feeling and making physical love to him would forever cement the bond between them, would make them as close as was possible for a mother and son to be, tie them so tightly that no one would ever be able to break the bond, not even themselves.

As much as the idea frightened her, repelled her, entranced and excited her, Bette knew that she was going to go through with it. She had to save Tony, save herself, and she had to show her young son how much she really loved him. Those were the only things that mattered, really mattered. And she had to do it soon, tomorrow, before he had the chance to propose to Debbie.

The beauteous young mother lay in the darkness, thinking, planning, and as she did so her pussy once again began to secrete tiny wet droplets of desire at the salacious, enticing thought of possessing her son completely and totally, for her very own.