Chapter 13: Them.
The bath had been a languid, steamy affair, more about touching than cleaning. They had lingered in the clawfoot tub, her back against his chest, his hands soaping the heavy swell of her breasts, the slick curve of her stomach, while she leaned her head back and sighed contentedly. Now, hours later, the afternoon sun slanted through the west-facing windows of the bedroom, painting long, molten rectangles across the disordered silk of their bed. The city’s hum was a subdued, weekend drone, a distant echo of the weekday frenzy.
Lucas lay propped against a mountain of pillows, a sketchpad balanced on his thighs, a pencil dancing in his quick, sure hand. He was capturing the play of light on the empty champagne flute on the nightstand, the crumpled velvet of her discarded dressing gown slung over a chair.The room held the quiet, spent energy of a sanctuary.
Lisa padded in from the kitchen, a bowl of fat, crimson strawberries in one hand. She was naked, of course.The concept of clothing in their private space had become abstract, theoretical. The afternoon light gilded her skin, highlighting the perfect, smooth plains of her shoulders, the outrageous sweep of her hips. Her breasts swayed with a slow, pendulous weight as she moved, the nipples a dark, enticing pink against the cream of her flesh. The neatly trimmed strip of blonde hair at the apex of her thighs was a mere suggestion, a whisper.
She set the bowl on the bed and crawled towards him, the movement a predatory slink that made his pencil still. She didn’t speak. She simply took the sketchpad from his hands, set it aside, and then settled herself between his parted legs. Her eyes, a blue that held the depth of the sky outside, locked onto his.Then they drifted down.
His cock, which had been soft against his thigh, began to stir under her gaze.It was an involuntary reaction, a primal response to her mere presence. A smile, slow and knowing, touched her lips. She leaned forward, her hair falling like a curtain, and kissed the tip as it began to swell. “There he is,” she murmured, her voice a husky vibration against his skin.
She took him into her mouth with a serene, unhuried devotion.There was no preamble, no teasing build-up. She simply enveloped him, taking him deep, her throat opening in a practiced, easy swallow. Her lips formed a perfect, tight seal around his shaft.A soft, blissful hum resonated from her chest, traveling through him.
He let his head fall back, a long, slow breath escaping him. His hands found her hair, not to guide, but to feel the silk of it against his fingers. He watched, through heavy-lidded eyes, as her head began to bob in a slow, deep rhythm. Her breasts hung down, brushing against his thighs with each movement, their fullness mesmerizing.
After a long while, she released him with a soft, wet sound and looked up, his glistening length resting against her cheek.“I was thinking,” she said, as casually as if they were discussing the weather.
“About?” His voice was thick.
“About freeuse,” she said, licking a bead of pre-cum from his tip.“How much I love it. How… normal it feels now.” She took him back in, sucking gently on the head before pulling off again to speak. “My favourite part is the middle of the night. Waking up and you’re already hard against my back.And you just… slide in.No asking.No waking me up properly. Just… possession.”
A groan rumbled in his chest.“I love that too. When you’re all soft and sleepy and tight. You just clench around me in your sleep.”
She smiled, her lips glossy.“And in the morning.Like today. You’re half-asleep, but your body knows. It knows it can have me.” She leaned down again, taking him deeper this time, her nose pressing into his pelvis. She held him there for a count of five, then released him with a gasp.“What’s your favourite?”
He threaded his fingers through her hair, gently. “The bath earlier.And… when you’re cooking. When you’re bent over the island, concentrating on chopping something, and I just come up behind you, lift that little skirt you wear, and push inside.And you don’t even stop. You just… make a little noise and keep chopping.”
She laughed, the sound muffled against his hip. “I almost cut my finger that last time. You were being particularly… enthusiastic.”
“You were particularly delicious.”
She resumed her sucking, her pace still slow, deep, and meditative. It was not a blowjob aimed at climax; it was an act of communion. Her fingers traced the thick, roping veins along his shaft, her thumb rubbing circles on the sensitive spot just beneath the head. The wet, soft sounds were the only punctuation in the quiet room.
He reached down, cupping the weight of one breast, lifting it to his mouth. He took the nipple between his lips, sucking gently, then with more pressure.She moaned around his cock, the vibration thrilling through him. He lavished attention on one, then the other, tasting the clean, warm salt of her skin. They existed in this feedback loop of pleasure, giving and receiving in a silent, perfect exchange.
When his cock was fully erect, a rigid, throbbing column against her face, she pulled off completely and crawled up his body to kiss his mouth.He could taste himself on her tongue, a musky, intimate flavor. “What’s the kinkiest thing we’ve done, do you think?” she whispered against his lips.He considered, his hands roaming the spectacular landscape of her back. “The balcony in Paris.The risk of it.”
She shook her head, nuzzling his neck.“No. That was romantic.Kinky is… the time with the silk ties. When you bound my hands to the headboard and fucked my ass for what felt like hours. And you wouldn’t let me cum until you said I could.”
“You came so hard you cried.”
“I did,” she admitted, a blush spreading over her chest.“And you licked the tears. That was kinky.”
He rolled then, effortlessly, pinning her beneath him. He kissed her deeply, his hard length pressing against her stomach. “You’re the kinkiest thing I’ve ever known,” he said. “This beautiful, sophisticated woman who secretly wants her son to use her holes whenever, however he wants.”
Her breath hitched.“Yes. That’s it exactly.” She spread her legs, her hand reaching between them to find her own wetness, then guiding him. But not to her cunt. Her fingers slipped lower, through the slick folds, to the tighter, smaller aperture behind.She positioned him there, at the clenching entrance to her ass.
He needed no further invitation.He pushed forward, the broad head of his cock applying insistent pressure. She gasped, her back arching, as he began the slow, inexorable invasion. It was always so tight, a burning, glorious stretch that made her eyes water. He sank into her by millimeters, watching her face, watching the play of pleasure and surrender.
When he was fully sheathed, buried to the hilt in that incredible, clasping heat, he stilled. He was spooning her, his chest against her back, one hand cupping her breast, the other hooked under her thigh, hiking her leg up to open her further to him.
“You’re so deep,” she whispered, rocking her hips back minutely to take him even deeper.“Always. For you.” He began to move, a slow, grinding withdrawal and thrust. The angle was perfect, each stroke rubbing his length against the inner, sensitive walls of her rectum. A lazy, profound pleasure began to build, a slow burn rather than a wildfire.
“Tell me a new idea,” he murmured into her ear, his voice a low rumble. “Something you’ve thought about.”
She was quiet for a few strokes, her breaths synchronizing with his movements. “I want…” she started, then hesitated.“I want you to take pictures of me.Not just… beautiful portraits.Dirty pictures. Of me like this.With you inside me.Close-ups. Where anyone can see what we’re doing.”
He paused, surprised, then pressed a kiss to her shoulder.“Yeah?”
“Yes. I want a record of it.Of how much I love it. Of how you look when you’re fucking me.Your face. I want to see it later, when you’re not here.”
The idea stirred something in him, a possessive, artistic fervor. “I’d need the right light.My good camera. Not just a phone.”
“I know,” she said, pushing back against him.“Do it properly. Make art of your slutty mother.”
He groaned and started moving again, a slightly faster pace now. “That’s… incredibly hot, Mum.”
“I thought you’d like it.” She reached back, her hand tangling in his hair.“Your turn. A new idea for me.”
He thought, his thrusts becoming more purposeful.“I want to take you out.To a fancy dinner. You in some incredible, tight dress.No underwear. And I want to know, the entire time, that you’re wet for me.That under the table, I could reach over and slip my fingers inside you. And later, in the taxi home, I want to push that dress up and fuck you right there. Maybe come all over that expensive silk.”
She whimpered, her inner muscles fluttering around him. “God, yes.Which hole?In the taxi.”
“Your choice.”
“My ass. Always my ass. Fill it up so I have to sit on your mess all the way home.”
Their dirty talk was escalating in tandem with their movements. The slow spooning had evolved into something more urgent, more driven. His hips were snapping against the full rounds of her buttocks now, the impact a firm, regular slap. The room was filled with the sounds of their fucking: the wet, rhythmic squelch, their ragged breaths, the soft creak of the bed.
“I love your filthy mouth,” he grunted, his hand tightening on her breast, pinching the nipple.
“I love your filthy cock in my filthy ass,” she shot back, her voice trembling with the force of his thrusts.“Give it to me.Use it. It’s yours.”
“It is mine.” His words were punctuated by deep drives.“This ass is mine. These tits are mine.This cunt is mine.”
“All yours! Oh, fuck, Lucas… right there… don’t stop!”
He was a machine, a piston of flesh and need, burying himself in her again and again. The pleasure coiled tight in his core, a spring wound to its breaking point. He could feel the familiar, swelling pressure in his balls, the electrical tingling up his spine.“Gonna cum, Mum,” he warned, his rhythm becoming erratic, brutal.
“Do it!Flood me! I want to feel it!”
With a final, savage thrust, he buried himself as deep as he could go and let go.It was, as always, catastrophic. The first spurt was a violent eruption, a hot, liquid jet that seemed to have no end. He cried out, his body locking around her, every muscle rigid.And it kept coming. Pulse after thick, ropey pulse fired deep into her bowels, a seemingly impossible volume. He grunted with each contraction, a series of primal, guttural sounds. It felt endless, a torrent of possession, marking her internally in the most profound way possible. The orgasm wasn’t a peak but a sustained plateau of utter release, draining him.
Beneath him, she was convulsing, her own climax triggered by the violent, internal flooding. She screamed into the pillow, her body clenching rhythmically around his still-pulsing cock, milking him for every last drop.
Finally, it subsided.The last few spurts were weaker, but still distinct. He collapsed against her back, spent, drenched in sweat, his cock still twitching inside her. They lay joined, panting, the air thick with sex and sweat and spent passion.
For a full minute, there was only the sound of their breathing slowing.He was still hard. Remarkably, unyieldingly hard. The aftershocks of his climax had faded, but the base level of arousal she sparked in him never truly died.
He stirred, shifting slightly, and felt the copious, warm seep of his semen around his shaft where he remained buried. She felt it too and sighed, a deep, contented sound.“You are a miracle,” she mumbled into the pillow.
He chuckled, a low, tired sound. He began to move again, a slow, sensuous slide in the slippery mess he’d made. “It’s not over.”
“Mmm.Apparently not.” She pressed back against him, encouraging his renewed, lazy strokes. “You were saying?About new ideas.”
His mind, fogged with pleasure, drifted back to their conversation. “The pictures.I want to do that.Soon. Maybe tomorrow, with the morning light.”
“I’d like that.”
“And the dinner.This week.Le Bernardin. I’ll get a reservation.”
She turned her head to look at him, her cheek against the pillow. “You’re serious.”
“Deadly.” He thrust a little deeper, making her gasp. “I want to see you in a dress so tight everyone in the room imagines what’s underneath.And only I’ll know. And only I’ll get to ruin it.”
Her eyes darkened with renewed lust.“Keep talking.”
“I want to order for you. Watch you eat while I describe what I’m going to do to you in the cab. I might even make you use your fingers under the table. Get yourself ready for me.”
“You’re a devil.”
“Your devil.” He increased his pace slightly, the wet sounds returning. They were fucking in his own cum now, a filthy, beautiful intimacy. “And after… when we’re home… I’m going to fuck you in front of the windows.All the lights on. Let the whole city see who you belong to.”
She was whimpering again, her body responding eagerly despite the recent, massive climax.“Yes.More ideas. Give me more.”
He leaned close, his lips brushing her ear, his voice dropping to a whisper as he continued to move inside her, slowly, deliberately, setting a rhythm that was both a promise and a threat. “I’ve been thinking about getting a toy.Something for you to use on yourself when I’m not here. So you can think of me.But I’d control it.From my phone. I could be across the city, in a meeting, and make you come.”
Her breath caught.“Yes. Oh, God, yes.”
“And I want to watch you with it. Just you, coming for me, because I told you to.” He punctuated the thought with a sharp, deep thrust. “You’d do that for me, wouldn’t you, Mum?”
“Anything,” she breathed, her voice cracking. “Anything for you.”
The afternoon light began to deepen into gold, as he kept his word.He didn’t stop. He fucked her with a relentless, possessive stamina, their conversation weaving a tapestry of depraved fantasy around the steady, physical fact of their union.