Incest is Magical

The woman is middle-aged. Forty-five, for those of you who can't relate to a character unless you have the exact number of times the earth has gone round the sun during their existence. She has wavy blonde hair, haunting blue eyes, and a face that most would describe as attractive, if not gorgeous. In a younger woman her looks might have been described as cute. On a woman her age, her face looks caring, friendly, even matronly. Her skin is smooth and pale, and she is always reminding herself that she needs to get a tan. She worries too much. In truth, her pale complexion completes the impression of an ordinary mom, and perhaps this is the reason I choose her.

The rest of her body helps, too. Her arms are slender and her sizeable breasts have only just begun to sag, a sight which gives her a pang every time she is naked in front of the mirror before going on one of her many fruitless dates, thought she knows she should be proud of her breasts. In her low-cut sweater and her pencil skirt -- her standard attire when she goes to the retail firm which employs her as a human resources executive, she looks particularly fetching.

Maybe this is why so many of her dates are with middle-aged men in her firm who see a forty-five year old single mom, are attracted to her looks and personable demeanor, and assume such a woman must be desperate. They are partly right, but Carol is not an easy woman to please. Perhaps one shouldn't blame her. Before a plane crash killed him seven years ago, she was married to a man who was, in all senses of the word, perfect. Handsome, intelligent and caring, her husband had met her when she was when she was twenty-three and he was twenty-seven, and the proverbial sparks had indeed flown. Within the year they were married, and the thirteen years that followed were bright and cheerful, the source of tons of happy memories, and an adorable baby boy.

She longs for the intoxicating mix of romantic bliss and satisfying companionship her marriage had afforded her, but finds that none of the men she dates can match up to Jason, her deceased spouse. Most of them are too self-absorbed for her liking; almost all are careworn and almost none have anything resembling a personality. Her easy charm wins her many people she can hang out with, but the only person whose company brings her anything resembling intimacy is her son, Peter.

At nineteen, Peter is a smart and ambitious young man who has just completed his first year at college, where he is majoring in economics. The last two weeks have been a relief for Carol -- she finally has her baby boy back with her after a whole year. Sadly, even though Peter is very close to her, much closer than most sons are to their mothers, his raging hormones seem to pull him away from his mother towards his girlfriend, with whom he has spent much of the two weeks he has been back at home.

"Mom, I'm going out." Peter bends down and kisses his mother on the cheek from behind the sofa she is curled up on. His gaze inadvertently falls on her breasts, which are visible underneath the loose blouse she is wearing, but he checks himself and averts his eyes.

"Bye, honey. Be safe." Carol turns her head and kisses him on his chin, a gesture she makes when she is feeling especially affectionate. She gazes up at her handsome son, pats his cheeks once and ruffles his hair, this last gesture evoking a wince on Peter's part as his carefully engineered hairstyle is disturbed by this display of maternal affection.

"I will. And you have fun too. You should go out on a date or something. A pretty lady like you shouldn't be sitting home watching TV."

"That's very kind of you, Pete, but your mother is an old woman now."

"No! Forty-five is not old! And anyway, what happened to that guy you went out with last weekend?"

Carol shrugged.

"That's okay. Dump 'em if you don't like 'em."

Carol smiled. "Don't flatter me so much. It makes me nervous. Makes me think you're softening me up so I'm not angry the next time you do something wild."

"Hey, it's just me and Jenny. We're two well-behaved teenagers. We're not gonna do anything wild." There is a trace of satire there that Carol chooses to ignore.

"Good. Now leave your mom alone."

"Bye. I'll be back by midnight, I promise."

As Peter exits the apartment he moved into with his mother shortly after his father's tragic death, he feels a slight pang of guilt. His mother needs his company, even though her fear of upsetting him prevents her from saying it. He resolves for the umpteenth time to spend more time with the woman who invested so much into raising him even after he was left fatherless, trying her best to shield him from the shock of losing one parent by working as hard as two parents.

Determined that her son and she would continue to enjoy the lifestyle they always had, she worked clocked sixty-hour weeks at work while attending every PTA meeting, and each of her son's debates and football matches. Moving into a smaller apartment had been prompted more by convenience and a desperate need to get away from the presence of her dead husband which lingered all through their former residence, than by economy.

But Peter is nineteen, and he has needs. Jenny is a girl he met shortly before leaving for college, and they decided to continue their relationship even though they knew they would be a thousand miles away from each other in their respective colleges. Now that he is home, a single hour spent not having sex with this beautiful, witty girl is an hour wasted. His thoughts of his mother are replaced with thoughts of a more lascivious nature as he heads for his girlfriend's house, where she is to be alone for the whole of next month, owing to her asshole parents deciding to take a second honeymoon at about the same time their daughter came home from college for the first time.

Her parents' callousness irks Jenny, and Peter is vocal in voicing his agreement while inwardly feeling intensely grateful to his girlfriends' parents for their absence. It is thanks to them that he has an empty house and a lonely girlfriend at his disposal, and he has been making the most of his little windfall.

Jenny hugs him at her door, her pert breasts pressing against his, and kisses him lightly on the lips. Peter can feel her nipples through her t-shirt. Jenny is wearing no bra, usually a sign that she is eager for sex. At five feet seven inches, Jenny is only a couple of inches taller than him, and her lithe and slender body complements her slightly oval face.

Peter takes her full lips between his, and gently places his hands on one of her pert breasts. A sudden urgency takes hold of his body, and he grabs hold of her face, and smashes his lips against hers, as if in an effort to glue their faces together.

At this point I should probably introduce myself. I am not a person, and I don't have a name. If you want, you can simply call me Narrator. But even that wouldn't be strictly accurate, because I am more than a mere narrator. Neither quite material nor quite spiritual, I am nevertheless very much a part of your world. When I want to be, that is. I am not an entity you can say hello to or shake hands with, nor will you ever awake from a dream because of me, startled at the revelation you have just experienced. I am wherever I want to be, whenever I want to be, and I can certainly have an influence on humans. I can be your unexpected surge of anger at a pregnant lady who cuts in line, and I can be the part of you that decides to risk your life to save a baby from a burning building.

However, I seldom choose to be any of these things, preoccupied as I am with matters closer to the pelvis. Usually I guide people -- possess them, if you will, while concealing the fact of the intrusion from them. As a result, when Peter starts making out with his girlfriend without the usual preliminaries, he is surprised, but still under the illusion that he was in control of his actions. As for that pretty girlfriend of his, she finds herself turned on by his sudden ardor -- I forgot to tell you, but I can 'control' more than one person at a time.

Boy and girl move rapidly toward her bedroom, avoiding empty beer bottles and almost knocking over a vase in the process. Peter pushes her onto the bed, impatiently sweeping aside some books and Jenny's iPod, which falls to the floor and cracks its screen, eliciting a feeble sound of protest from its owner, but Peter is in no mood for conversation. In a matter of seconds, he is fully naked, and his girlfriend is staring lustfully at his athletic form, admiring the V formed by his torso and his strong legs and calves, and licking her lips at the sight of his fully erect penis.

Ordinarily, Jenny would have felt alarm at the events of the past minute or so. She is the usually the kind of girl who likes to take it slow, with special emphasis on the foreplay. But all she can feel right now is animal lust, and all of her mind is shot through with one desire -- to have Peter inside her, on top of her, and all over her body. She takes off her jeans and panties and sends them flying across the room before Peter comes over and rips off her t-shirt.

They are now both naked, and assault each other with a ferocity that only I can inspire in two human beings. Their kisses are a disorganized mashing together of two mouths, each of which appears to be engaged in an attempt to bite off the other's tongue and end the battle with blood, their caresses are really savage clawing motions, and leave real scratches. When Peter turns his attention to his neck, instead of showering it with his usual soft kisses, he bites it, almost drawing blood, causing Jenny to scream and scratch his back.

Peter moves to her vulva now, and roughly forces open its lips to stick a finger inside and thrust it as far as it can go. Her vagina is thoroughly wet by now, and he brings his tongue to it to taste her juices. Jenny reacts by involuntarily drawing up her legs and closing them around his head and squeezing.

Remarkably, both have managed to keep the volume down -- I wouldn't want to wake up their neighbors, or waste my energy inflicting selective deafness. A minute later Jenny is sitting upright with her mouth open around Peter's cock, who shoves it in and out of her throat. Jenny keeps fingering herself, readying her pussy for her boyfriend's cock. Peter is pulling on her dark hair and squeezing the flesh of her upper body.

He tugs hard at her hair to signal that he wants to fuck her now, and Jenny is prompt in her obedience. As Peter's cock is plowing her cunt, her face is contorted in indescribable ecstasy, and all she can think of is what a magnificent cock Peter has, and how good his face looks so close to hers, morphed as it is into a mask of pure pleasure, and when she senses she is approaching her climax, she plays with his buttocks, encouraging him to cum inside her. She faintly registers that he hasn't used a condom, but this only increases her excitement instead of alarming her, especially as she's on birth control and is pretty sure Peter doesn't have an STD.

Peter has reached the point of no return, and this is when I decide to have fun. Instead of his girlfriend's flushed face, all Peter sees is his mother's sweet face as she was kissing him on the cheek, her tear-stricken face as she hugged him for comfort after they had lost his father, an almost-forgotten memory of her naked body he had once glimpsed as a boy and felt infinitely embarrassed for, but Peter is helpless. It is though a bucket of ice has been poured over his pleasure, but there is no way he can stop the inevitable. He tries to pull out of Jenny's cunt, but she has his ass firmly in her grip, so all he can do is let out a moan of anguish, which Jenny takes for unbearable pleasure, and collapses on top of his girlfriend, his eyes moist.

At this point I withdraw my influence, leaving behind a somewhat confused, but extremely satisfied girl, and a very disturbed boy. What happens after this is boring and somewhat predictable, though very touching, I'm sure. Jenny is a little embarrassed at what just happened, and concerned at Peter's distraught state. She comforts him with words like, "Hey, baby? What's wrong?" and "Are you OK?" and Peter reassures her that's everything's all right, he really doesn't know what happened, though he has been missing his father lately. This last fabrication earns him a hug from Jenny, and a blowjob that does wonders to lift his spirits.

Later, after they are both dressed in t-shirts and underwear and are sitting on her sofa sprawled in front of a TV, beer in hand, Jenny says, "So, how's your mom?"

"She's good," is the laconic response, and nearly has Peter choking on his beer.

"You know, she's a beautiful woman. Is she dating anyone?"

"Not right now. But yeah, she's beautiful all right," is Peter's slightly nervous response.

To relieve the tight knot in his stomach, he makes a joke, adding, "Are you interested?"

"Thanks. But I like her son better." Jenny comes closer to him and nuzzles his neck, tracing the contour of his face with the tip of a finger.

Peter empties his mind of the guilt and unpleasantness of the sexualized images of his mother, and allows himself to be swept up in his girlfriend's sexual advances, as the sensual touch of her lips moves downwards along his face and to his neck, which she teases softly with her tongue and her breath. He puts his arms around Jenny and seats her on his lap so that her feet are off the ground and she has to hold on to his strong shoulders for balance while she continues to kiss him all over.

He pulls her face level with his and kisses her full on the lips. This time I am not interfering with either of them, just watching, so the kiss lacks the animal brutality of half an hour ago, and has more of the familiar romantic warmth that our couple is accustomed to.

They help each other off with their shirts so they are both topless, and savor the feel of each other's warm chests as they snuggle. Peter takes one of her pert breasts, much smaller than his mother's -- damn, why is he still thinking of his mother! No worry, the image is gone -- and licks the hard nipple, while kneading the other breast with his hand. Jenny lets out a soft moan, and her arousal reaches her pussy, moistening it, readying it for the penetration that will soon follow.

Jenny abruptly climbs down from Peter's lap to take off her panties, and helps him off with his underwear. Again dispensing with a condom, she climbs back up, and with Peter's help, gently lowers her slit onto his stiff cock. Her mouth opens into a little O at the moment the head of his penis makes contact with her warm entrance, and Peter produces an involuntary grunt, and supports her weight by holding her like a baby at her sides as she comes down to envelop his cock inside her until she is almost sitting on his balls.

Their lovemaking is tender and considerate, and lasts a good fifteen minutes. I watch amused at their slightly comical attempts at dirty talk, which seem incongruous with the otherwise soft and romantic nature of their coupling. As they both reach their peaks, Jenny brings her face down to her lover's, covering his face with her dark hair that has fallen forward in a sort of protective canopy around him, and they kiss deeply while Jenny rides him harder and faster.

Once Peter has ejaculated, which happens simultaneously with Jenny's intense orgasm, they get dressed, hang out at a bar with a couple of mutual friends before Peter remembers his promise to his mother, tells Jenny and their friends that he has to be going, and drives home alone.

***

It is not even midnight yet, but there is no familiar glow emanating from the living room window. It is unusual for his mother to be asleep so early, and she could be awake in bed reading one of the romance novels she so adores, but Peter decides not to risk disturbing her. Using his key, he opens the front door and tiptoes to his bedroom. His mother's bedroom is dark, save for the reading lamp, and the door is almost shut. Applauding himself on his considerateness, he cracks the door open a little to check on his mother.

She is sprawled on the bed in a robe, an open novel lying face down next to her. She must have fallen asleep reading. Peter smiles. He thinks of walking over and turning off the reading lamp, but decides against it. He retires to his room, strips naked, and slides under the covers.

Two hours later, Peter is sound asleep in the deathly quiet of the house, interrupted infrequently by the faint, distant sound of traffic. This is when I decide to have fun. Peter's eyelids abruptly open, fixing his unseeing stare upon the ceiling. His back straightens unnaturally, as if it is not Peter himself who is responsible for his movements, which is exactly right. As far as Peter is concerned, he is well into one of the erotic dreams he often has featuring Jenny and a few hot chicks from college.

His feet wordlessly touch the ground, and he moves gradually, steadily towards his door. The door opens and closes. Shortly afterwards, he is inside Carol's room. His mother's room. The glow of her bedroom lamp makes her face look even more pale than normal, though of course Peter doesn't see this. His hand reaches out, casts aside her bed sheet, and gently tugs on her nightgown, undoing it leave her breasts and pubic mound in plain view.

His hand reaches out to hers and lifts it to his penis, which has begun to stir. Placing his fingers over hers, he closes her hand around his organ, and starts moving it to and fro along the length of his penis. A drop of warm juice oozes out from the head, and smears itself across her hand. Some part of Carol's brain registers this, and her eyelids flutter for a moment, and then close again. The tempo of her hand's motions has increased, and if I keep this up, Peter should come in his mother's hand soon.

But I have bigger things in mind for these two.

Peter climbs on the bed, planting his knees on either side of his mother. He does this roughly, and this wakes Carol. Her eyelids open, register her naked son on top of her, looking strangely listless -- vague thoughts of drugs and hallucinations pass through her concerned mother's mind -- before being replaced by a primeval sense of desperation and defeat when she discovers that she cannot move. She tries screaming and saying something to her son, but nothing comes out of her mouth. It is as though she has no vocal cords. She can breathe, but it seems none of her limbs can move.

Terror grips her. What the fuck is happening to me, she thinks. She concentrates all of her energy and succeeds in moving her head slightly. Ooh, this woman is strong.

I strike back with a vengeance, and now her whole body feels as though it is trapped in a block of steel. She looks up, every inch of her trying to scream in desperation, trying to appeal for help to her son.

But her son doesn't look like he's in an especially helpful mood. His mouth is twisted into a diabolic grin. It is a grin she remembers from the times when he was a rebellious child, trying to defy parental authority by doing something especially forbidden. Yeah, I'm good. I actually dug into the guy's memories, to make the experience as authentic as possible for his mommy.

His hands close around both of her large mounds, squeezing hard. It is not the touch of a lover; it is the frenzied cruelty of a rapist who wants to inflict as much terror as possible on his victim. His teeth have her lips in her grip, drawing a tiny drop of blood, and his tongue forces her mouth open and ransacks the inside of her mouth.

Peter's mouth comes down on his mother's breasts, takes her nipple inside, and bites. For a second Carol is afraid her nipple is about to be bitten off, but she needn't have bothered. I don't want to disfigure my victims. Evil as I may seem, I really have their best interests at heart, as you will see...