Category: Incest/Taboo Stories

Spanish Holiday

by SamScribble©

It was just after six o'clock when Marc arrived home. His mother, who was still dressed in the sleek black yoga pants and hot pink T-shirt that she had worn for her gym session, was standing in front of the microwave, watching something going around and around.

'I thought I'd make this leftover ragu Bolognese into a lasagne,' she said.

'Oh, great,' Marc said. 'Perfect.'

'How was your day?' his mother asked.

'Busy. We had the second session of that innovation seminar this afternoon. I thought we'd just be sitting there listening to a few speakers and taking a few notes, but they had us doing all sorts of stuff right from the start. And now I've got to put together an essay too.'


'No. I've got a couple of days,' Marc said. 'In fact I'll probably do it on the weekend. I need to get it in by Monday.'

'What do you want to have with the lasagne?' his mother asked.

'Oh, I don't know. A bit of rocket salad? Maybe some garlic bread?'

'OK. You can look after those. I'll just finish putting this together, and then I'll go and have a quick shower.'

When Marc's mother returned from her shower she was wearing a short dress that looked like a cross between a sun dress and a rather sexy night gown. 'What do you think?' she asked, doing a little twirl.

What Marc thought was: Wow! That's fucking hot! But, of course, that's not what an 18-year-old says to his mother. 'Very nice,' he said. 'Very nice indeed. Is it new?'

'Sort of,' his mother said. 'I bought it a couple of months ago. But I haven't really had anywhere to wear it.'

'And now you do?'

His mother smiled. 'I will do. In a couple of weeks' time.'


'I've sort of won us a holiday in Spain.'



'When you say "sort of" ....'

'Well, it'll be mainly holiday. Although we will have to do a bit of ... umm ... modelling, I suppose you could say.'

For a 40-something-year-old, Marc's mother was in remarkably good nick. She had quite long, shapely legs, and firm, slightly larger than average boobs. And she had already done a bit of modelling -- mainly for an online clothing catalogue -- so Marc wasn't entirely surprised that she was going to be doing a bit of modelling in Spain. 'You say "we",' Marc said.

'Yes. I thought that you'd enjoy a few days in Spain.'

'Oh, I would,' Marc said. 'That bit sounds fine. But I'm not sure that I'd be any good as a model. Are you sure that you wouldn't prefer to go with one of your friends? Dolly, perhaps? I wouldn't be too put out.'

'Well ... the thing is, the umm, modelling ... they need an older woman -- well, someone over 40 anyway -- and a younger man. And it's just for half a day,' Marc's mother said. 'The modelling, that is. The rest of the time we'll just be on holiday -- you know, lying around beside the pool, reading, swimming, soaking up the sun, maybe a bit of sight-seeing -- whatever really.'

'I'm still not sure that I'd really be much good as a model.'

'Well, I had to send them a couple of photographs,' his mother said. 'And it seems that the organisers think you'll be perfect.'

'Oh, well. Try anything once. So, where are we going? One of the Costas?'

'No, it's a bit inland. About an hour from Jerez. It's on an estate. A villa. Well, I say it's a villa; it's more of a small palace. I'll send you the link. You can see for yourself. It certainly looks very nice.'

Later that evening, Marc clicked on to the villa's website. The site itself was rather basic. It looked as though it was still being developed. But, from the photographs, the house did indeed appear to be something of a palace. And the surrounding gardens -- and the countryside beyond -- were quite spectacular.

Two weeks later, when Marc and his mother arrived at Jerez Airport, they were met by Miguel, who drove them the 40 minutes to the villa.

On the flight from Stanstead, Marc's mother confessed that she hadn't actually told the competition organisers that Marc was her son. 'I thought that it might be better if I just said that you were a friend,' she said. 'I wasn't quite sure how they would be with a mother and son. They might have thought that it was a bit ... well ... you know. So it's probably not a good idea to call me Mother. Maybe just call me Ginny. OK?'

'Yeah. Whatever,' Marc said. 'I'm just looking forward to some sunshine. And a break from my books.'

'We're almost there,' Miguel said, as they drove through the fourth or fifth picture postcard village among orange groves and vineyards.

And then they really were there. And the villa -- palace, perhaps -- was every bit as good as the website had promised.

'This is Rosa,' Miguel said, introducing Marc and his mother (oops! Ginny) to an attractive young lady dressed in a sort of fantasy version of a traditional maid's uniform. 'Rosa will be your personal maid. Anything you need, anything you want, just ask Rosa. And I do mean anything. There are some things that she may not be able to provide; but she will probably know someone who can. Please ... enjoy your stay.'

'There are eight bedrooms,' Rosa said, as she led Marc and his mother through the large living area and on towards one of the bedroom wings. 'But I assumed that you would want adjoining rooms.' And she smiled.

'Oh, and Jose has prepared a suggested menu for your supper. If there's anything there that you don't particularly like, or to which you are allergic, please let me know. Now ... can I get you something to drink?'

'I'd love a cup of tea,' Marc's mother said.

'And señor?'

Marc looked at his watch. 'I think it's almost time for a cold beer,' he said.

'One tea ... and one beer,' Rosa said. 'Perhaps beside the pool?'

When supper was served that evening, Marc and his mother were a bit surprised by the fact that they appeared to be the only guests. 'Are we the only people staying here?' Marc's mother asked.

Rosa smiled. 'Well, Conrad will be here on Wednesday, of course. But for the rest of the time, you have the place all to yourselves.'

'Very nice,' Marc's mother said.

The following morning, Marc's mother was the first of the pair to rise.

'Is there anything in particular that you would like to do today?' Rosa asked.

'No. Not really. I think I'd be more than happy just to have a catch-up day.'

'Perhaps a swim? Some lunch? And, later, a siesta?' Rosa suggested.

'Yes. That would be perfect,' Marc's mother said.

Marc's mother had dressed for the day in a pair of loose white shorts and a silky T-shirt in two shades of blue. And, when Marc finally appeared (he was a bit slower to wake), he too was wearing white shorts with a two-tone blue top. 'God, if anyone saw us now,' Marc said, 'they'd think we were Man City supporters.'

'Well, I've got a QPR shirt somewhere,' his mother said.

Marc laughed. 'It's OK. I'm going to take my shirt off anyway. Get a bit of sun.'

'Good idea,' his mother said. 'This sun's just beautiful, isn't it?' And while Marc removed his shirt, his mother did likewise.

When Marc looked back across at his mother, he wasn't quite prepared for what he saw. He had assumed that she would be wearing a bathing suit or something under her T-shirt. But she wasn't.

Perhaps sensing Marc's surprise, his mother said: 'Well, you heard what Rosa said last night. There's just you and me.' And she smiled and winked.

'Right,' he said.

It was not that Marc was unfamiliar with female breasts, but the sight of his mother's rather voluptuous globes, out in the open, sent a small tingle through the length of his cock. And, half an hour later, when his mother removed her shorts and lay back on her sun lounger in just a pair of skimpy knickers -- knickers that accentuated her rather prominent camel toe -- he felt his cock begin to grow.

'I think I'll, umm ... go for a swim,' Marc said.

That afternoon when they went back to their rooms for a siesta, Marc stripped off and lay on his back beneath the fresh, crisp cotton sheet. He allowed his mind to recall the events of the morning. He replayed the images of his mother: the way in which her naked breasts had gently draped as she laid back on her lounger; her shapely thighs, slightly parted; the smooth, silky gusset of her knickers accentuating her slightly plump outer labia and the valley that lay between.

Even without touching his cock, Marc could feel it swelling, hardening, and pushing at the cotton sheet. Still picturing his mother, Marc took his cock in hand and felt its weight. It may have just been his imagination, but it felt bigger, harder, and heavier that it had ever felt before. He began to stroke it and stretch it, using both hands, imagining his mother looking on. Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Oh, fucking yes! And then, suddenly, he was shaking, gasping for breath, and pumping cum like a champion stallion. Not that Marc had ever actually seen a champion stallion pumping cum. But he could imagine what it might be like.

After his intensely erotic masturbation session, Marc slept for almost two hours.

For supper that evening, Jose had prepared -- among other things -- a dish of bacon-wrapped quail with grapes. It was delicious.

As Marc's mother sat across the table from him dressed in a crisp white shirt and a full-length floral skirt, Marc couldn't help seeing her 'naked'. Oh, well, his cock seemed to say.

The following day dawned uncharacteristically cloudy. 'Not so nice this morning,' Rosa said, when she brought them their morning coffee and freshly-made churros. 'But it will be better later. Perhaps you would like to come with me to the market in the village. We will be back again by eleven, and the sun should have returned by then.'

The market was only small. (The village was only small.) But there was a good selection of fruit and vegetables; a rather more limited selection of local game (partridge, rabbit, and some other kind of small bird that looked a bit like pigeon); and a couple of clothing stalls. While Rosa stocked up on fruit and vegetables, Marc bought a jaunty straw hat, and his mother bought yet another hot pink T-shirt.

True to Rosa's prediction, by the time that they had returned to the villa, the sun had also returned. Marc and his mother got changed and went out to the terrace beside the pool. This time, Marc's mother didn't hesitate for a moment. Even before sitting down, she once again removed her top and her shorts. Marc also removed his shirt; and, as he lowered himself on to his lounger, he tried to discreetly rearrange his swelling cock.

'Well ... this time tomorrow,' his mother said.

'This time tomorrow?'

'The photographer will be here tomorrow. Conrad -- I think that was his name.'

Marc laughed. 'Well, you'll be fine,' he said. 'You've done it all before. But I'm still not convinced that I'm going to make a very good model.'

'I think you'll be surprised,' his mother said. 'Just remember not to call me Mother.'

'I don't think that I've called you Mother so far, have I -- Ginny?'

His mother smiled. 'Well, maybe last night when we were having supper. But I don't think Rosa was paying much attention at the time.'

Conrad arrived at the villa the following morning while Marc and his mother were still having their breakfast of orange segments, coffee, and churros. They saw Conrad's classic lime green BMW 2002ti winding its way up the hill and then disappearing around the back of the villa. Conrad himself appeared from the villa a few minutes later.

'Hola!' he said. 'You must be Ginny and Marc. I'm Conrad. And don't we have a great day for it?'

Conrad was a smallish man, probably about 50, with a beard and a full head of hair that looked as though it had been made from steel wool. He was wearing baggy pale blue linen trousers and a black T-shirt with 'Trust me!' emblazoned across the front. Exactly why one was supposed to trust him was not immediately apparent.

'Let me just go and grab some kit,' he said, 'and then I'll join you for a coffee.'

'Do you need a hand?' Marc asked.

'Umm ... yeah. That would be good. Thank you. I normally have an assistant, but, on a shoot like this ... well ... you know.'

But Marc didn't know. However he followed Conrad back through the house and out to the small BMW which was packed with those silvery aluminium cases that photographers seem to love.

'Now what do we need?' Conrad said -- to no one in particular. 'Umm ... probably not that much really -- now that I come to think about it. These two cameras. A couple of reflectors. The laptop. And ... well, that should be it.'

Marc thought that maybe the clothes they were supposed to model would also have been required. But perhaps Rosa already had those under control.

'I see that you've managed to get a bit of sun,' Conrad said when the returned to the terrace.

'Is that a problem?' Marc's mother asked.

'No, no. It's good,' Conrad said. 'Now ... can I get you both to stand up?'

Marc had only just sat down again; but he got back to his feet.

'Now ... if you could just stand together,' Conrad said.

They did.

'Yes!' Conrad said. 'Perfect!'

'Perfect?' Marc said.

'Yes. It doesn't really work as well if the chap is shorter that his ... umm ... girl. And Ginny is quite tall -- well ... for a woman of her age anyway. Right, I think I'm ready when you guys are,' Conrad said.

'I think we're ready,' Marc's mother said. 'Are you ready, Marc?'

'I think so,' he said. 'But do we need to ....' Marc made a little up and down gesture in front of his body.

'Need to?' Conrad said.

'Well ... clothes. You know.'

Conrad smiled. 'Well, let's start with what you're wearing, shall we?' he said. And he took a camera from one of the silvery suitcases and peered through the viewfinder. 'Yes. Nice,' he said. 'Yes. Perhaps if we could have you looking at each other. Yes. Perfect.' And, suddenly, there was a flurry of clicking.

'Now maybe lose the top, Marc,' Conrad said.

'This one?'


Marc took off his T-shirt and tossed it on the table.

'Very nice. Gosh, you're a well-built chap, aren't you?' Conrad said. And then he looked at Marc's mother. 'But I guess you're not complaining.' And he sort of laughed.

Ginny just smiled.

There was another flurry of clicks and then Conrad said: 'And now you too, Ginny.'

Ginny peeled off her top and thrust out her naked boobs.

'Nice,' Conrad said. 'Yes. Very nice. Maybe just give your nipples a bit of a rub. Maybe get them to stand out a bit.'

Marc's mother gave her nipples a gentle circular rub. 'OK?'

'Perfect,' Conrad said. 'OK. Now let's have you both together.'

Marc moved slightly closer to his mother.

'No, no. Together!' Conrad said. 'Together! I don't just mean in the same county.'

Marc moved closer.

There was a further flurry of clicking. 'Yes. Much better,' Conrad said. 'Now ... let's see what we've got.' And he started doing something with the buttons on the camera and peering at the screen on the back. 'Yes. Nice,' he said. 'Very nice. Very nice indeed.'

'OK,' he said. 'Let's lose the shorts.'

Marc turned to his mother. 'But I'm not wearing any ... umm.'

'That's all right, darling,' his mother said. 'Neither am I.' And she dropped her shorts.

'So ...?'

'Yes. Just take them off,' Marc's mother said.

And so he did.

'Nice,' Conrad said. 'In fact ... double nice. That's a very impressive wanger,' he said, looking at Marc. 'And you're a lucky woman,' he added, looking at Marc's mother.

'I am,' Marc's mother said.

'Perhaps if you bend over and put your hands on the table,' Conrad said. 'And spread your legs a little. And Marc ... if you could just stand behind Ginny -- you know, as if you are about to enter her.'

Marc's mother bent over and spread her legs. 'Like this?'

'Perfect,' Conrad said. 'Yes, perfect.'

It hadn't been Marc's intention to take his cock in hand but, looking at his mother's arse, her buttocks parted just enough to reveal her puckered arsehole, her slightly aroused and glistening vulva peeping out from beneath the inviting cheeks, he suddenly had no option.

'Oh, yes,' Conrad said. 'Brilliant. Just brilliant. Maybe give it a tug.'

And there was yet another flurry of shutter clicking.

'And now in you go,' Conrad said. 'Although not too quickly. Just ... let it happen. Just let the head of your cock nuzzle its way into Ginny's wonderful slippery tunnel.'

Marc's mother helpfully reached back and spread her beautiful cunt lips.

'Yes ... perfect,' Conrad said, going in for a close up.

Marc pressed on, burying his seven-inch cock into his mother's slippery cunt.

'Oh, yes,' his mother said. 'Yes, yes, yes.'

For the next five or six minutes, Marc just did what came naturally -- while Conrad clicked away. And then it was all too much.

'Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,' Marc said. 'Yes, Mother. Yes. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.'

'Nice touch,' Conrad said when they had all recovered from the moment. 'You know ... calling Ginny Mother. Nice touch. I'm sure there are plenty of young men who would have liked to have fucked their mothers. Pity we weren't making a sound track to go with these snaps.' And he smiled. 'OK, Rosa,' he said. 'Ready when you are.'

And Rosa, who it seems had been quietly watching the whole performance from just inside the villa, appeared with a bowl of warm water and a couple of small towels.

'Right. Let's get Marc's cock cleaned up, fluffed up, and ready for the next shots,' Conrad said.

Written by: SamScribble

Please Rate This Submission:

Story Tags: mother son incest, mother son sex, holiday, spain, photo shoot, mother, milf, son, 18-year-old, older woman

Category: Incest/Taboo Stories