Farms and Fucking
As this story comes to commence, my brother had been doin’ the nasty with my mama for a couple of years. Now, I know in a lot of circles, that this kind of activity is frowned upon in the extreme and extended periods of jail-time are meted out to the practitioners. But I believe it is incumbent upon those who would condemn such societal outliers to weigh all circumstances before striking the gavel of justice down upon them. Fer instance, we reside on a farm in the middle of goddamn nowhere. Out here in the boonies, as they are so quaintly referred, all we’ve got for collective intercourse besides our immediate relations are chickens and a very misanthropic goat. Our mother had suffered from loneliness somethin’ terrible after dad passed and she had taken to tippling on the weekends. She was never a mean drunk but sometimes she would get a little sad.
Johnny says that one night after everyone had gone to sleep (everyone being me); she stole into his room and found purchase on the edge of his bed. He reported that she had had “a few” but she wasn’t completely shitfaced or nothin’. Just as I have previously alluded, a little sad. So, mom’s parked there on the mattress and ramblin’ on about missin’ dad for a couple of minutes and then she shivers. Makes a real big show out of it. She informs Johnny that, cause she’s only wearin’ that little nightie thing of hers, the algid night air was causing her discomfort. Asks him if she could the avail herself of his covers to get warm.
Well, Johnny thinks this’d be fine. Why wouldn’t he? He loves our mom and theorized that she was just needin’ someone to talk at for a little bit until the liquor took its full effect. Now that bein’ said, John does not have a big bed and once she was under the sheets with him, things were a mite snug, if you get my drift.
“Ooh, you’re nice and toasty,” she cooed and wrapped him up in her arms. Then, for goodness sakes, she starts kissin’ his forehead and cheeks and tellin’ him what a great son he is and how she couldn’t have made it this far without his aid and dedication. Johnny’s listnin’ and all, but mom’s nice-sized titties are pressin’ up against his bare chest and her legs are immodestly rubbin’ against his thighs. Well, even if it is your mother, Johnny is a man and all and they got not choice but to respond to that kind of stimuli other than as nature dictates. Within almost no time at all, he’s sportin’ a boner that he is in no way proud of. Try as he might to keep the potentially offensive apparatus from embarrassing discovery, as I said it was a small bed, mom can’t help but feel it pressin’ against her thigh – an bein’ a woman, is no stranger to such awkward happenstance. Quizzically, rather than slap her horny offspring into the middle of next week, she espouses utmost sympathy for his inappropriate condition of arousal.
Johnny, of course, practically pollutes the mattress when he knows that she knows. Right upon this unfortunate juncture, he’s wishin’ to heck that he had taken previous steps to lesson his chances of this kind of an inflationary eventuality.
Rampant amounts of self-abuse come part and parcel with the inescapable isolation of the farmin’ lifestyle. I myself, regularly stick my fingers down between my lady lips of an evening and whip ‘em around like I was scramblin’ eggs. Alas and alack, on the night in question and not expecting a provocative familial visitation, Johnny drifted off to his slumbers readin’ comic books instead of whacking out a palm full (not that at 17, his nards wouldn’t have been up to a second go-round right quick).
“Now, there’s no need to be ashamed of this,” mama reassured him, wrappin’ her soft warm hand around the remarkably rigid shaft of Johnny’s doowanger. “You’re of an age when ‘those’ kind of needs do afflict us.” By this point in her compassionate disquisition, she’s rubbin’ up and down on it in such a fashion that it ain’t got a snowball’s chance of returnin’ to its original flaccidity.
John was understandably at a loss to construe what the correct procedure goin’ forth would be under these unforeseen circumstances, so he just kinda lay there in a bein’-jacked-off-by-your-mother quiescence. He said it did feel quite nice, despite the one large and unsavory aspect to his gettin’ diddled.
“You see, not only is there nothing wrong with having these sort of feelings,” continued mom. “It’s important, especially for a growing man, to relieve himself of that fluidy buildup, should it occur in excess.”
Johnny nodded his head nervously.
“Here, let mama take a look.”
The next thing my dear brother knew, she’d peeled back the sheet back from his unappareled loins and was surveyin’ his most privates, giving his nards the visual once over.
“Hmm,” she worriedly made comment. “These do look a mite swollen.”
Mama petted and stroked his nutsack like it was the head of our beloved hamster and sensations of frowned upon pleasure rose up within him.
“Yes, I’d say that the safest thing to do would be to get some of that backlog out of there.”
Mom pried back John’s foreskin and gave the end of his nubbins a long and tender kiss, while continuing to massage the remainder of his device in a most pleasing manner. From this point on I am told, she did dine upon him with upmost carnal intent. Johnny had never in his days been the recipient of oral love before and our mother’s utter consumption of his young and inexperienced pie-stirrer was a true revelation. Amatory feelings of pure and transcendent joy abounded from where she did suck. His eyes rolled back in his cranium and he was unable to form thought. The sight of his mother’s head bobbing up and down on his long and pink one drove him well beyond the possibility of self-restraint. Johnny said he felt a tug in his gonads (that was not from my mom) as great lashings of his seed rose up and filled my mother’s suctionizing maw with its sticky cream. Upon receiving the first squirt of his semen, she drew back on the intensity of her head thrusts but continued to milk his manhood as her first born bucked and spasmed like a Tasered hippie. When the foul deed had been fully consummated, mom cleaned up any spillage that might have occurred by thoroughly licking his lower abdomen and scrotum.
Alas, there was more to this squalid tale. Before she left him to his sleep that eve, she kissed him full on the mouth and with a lively probing tongue. Mother pulled her face back from his and informed said youngin’ that if Johnny did all his chores the next day, there might be another analogous advent in his near future and then left him to ponder.
Whether he wished to enter into a regular incestuous relationship with his nearest and dearest, he was not sure. Conflicting trains of thought collided continually within him like Amtrak engines, as he cleaned out the chickens and painted our aged barn. Regrettably, whenever his resolve was at its strongest to rebuff future inapt proposals and entreaties, the memory of that spectacular hummer from our mommer came back around and chopped it off at the knees.
So, as the moon did rise, in she did creep and was welcomed heartily between the unseemly sheets of iniquity. That secondary night, there was far less pretense to conversation upfront and a sharp increase in soul kissing right off the get-go. Her nightie hit the floor before she did alight upon his mattress. Fondlings and caressings of each other’s privates were ardently pursued. Johnny had never touched a female welcome mat before and its squishy wetness did surprise him. I have no any idea how he envisioned we ladies could facilitate the company on their ding dongs without a dollop of vaginal lubrication – but men tend to be very shallow thinkers as regarding the needs of a woman during sexual congress.
She allowed each and all of his exploratory endeavors with typical motherly kindness. Nipples were crudely cosseted and then sucked upon (Mama has a divine set of chest cherubs) and unschooled attempts at fingering were not turned away. Meanwhile, she was stroking his cock and massaging his balls in a light and agreeable manner but without enough vim and vigor to empty his barrel.
At one point, mama rolled Johnny onto his back with a maneuver right out of a wrestling manual (wrestling and intercourse are akin disciplines, when you think about it) and boldly straddled his thighs.
“Now just lie there baby, and let mama handle everything.”
She grabbed a hold of his pant appendage and rubbed it upon her pussy lips with the purpose to excite. Johnny said that this was yet another revelation. Banging his own joint about hither and thither had been very enjoyable pursuit but getting’ to scrape the end of his knob-monster up and down her honey-coated vulva made all other pleasures of the flesh about as appealing as wipin’ your ass with a handful of turkey beaks. He now found himself at the very gateway to his mother’s fuck hole and no amount of universal disgust and rebuke was going to keep him from entering her slippery cave of ultimate hedonistic satiation.
Johnny confesses that he almost bit his tongue off as the nobbily bit to his man-plank gained ingress to her insides. At first, he encountered some token resistance at the aperture but then it sort of plopped right on in there. Mom let out a gasp as her depths were initially plumbed but then slowly impaled herself upon the full seven inches that he did possess. As John sank deeper and deeper into his mother’s vaginal canal, the temptation to blow a load reportedly increased exponentially. To further add to his volcanic instability, he had his mama’s righteous knockers a-danglin’ down in his face and her nipples were ripe and ready for the tastin’. The task before him would not be an easy one, but he occupied his thoughts with sporting events and varieties of migrating birds as mama ground her growler back and forth over his not-insubstantial shaft. Presently, she began to moan and sigh with erogenous abandon as the head of his Sloppy Joy rubbed acquainted itself with her cervix. Again, extended periods of habitual masturbation can be a palliative proposition for the physically lonely, but a good hard one stuffed up your hoo-haw can outshine a celestial choir covered in bacon.
Watchin’ mom get closer and closer to concupiscent release quickly yanked Johnny’s mind back from visualizing Sandhill Cranes dining by a river and returned it to the acrobatic activities at hand. The years of intimate deprivation suffered by our surviving parent sent a cummy pulse-wave shooting up from her clit stump and right out the top of her head. She let out a scream that woke up the cows. Johnny grabbed a hold of mama’s tight little ass cheeks as his penis turned into a glowing golden bolt of lightning (his words) and blasted enormous globs of sperm deep into her uterus. Eventually, mama collapsed on top of him in a post-orgasmic heap and they spent the rest of the night kissin’ and fondling each other. In the morning, she let him spend a good half hour down between her legs exploring and touchin’ the various parts of her pudding cup. Then he ate her out as best as he was able.
She now only drops by on weekends (all that continual coitus was effecting their ability to function about the farm) but on those agreed upon days, the sucking, fucking and licking that does go on is a true testament to the stamina of the human body.
Of course, with all the squelchin’ and bangin’ noises of sexual shenanigans goin’ on, it was not long before I was awakened and brought to Johnny’s door. And I will admit that the sight of my two closest relatives with limbs entangled and genitals joined caused unholy stirrin’s within my own puffed-up organ of sin. At the time, I was a mere 17 and a virgin to all but my extended ring finger. Many a night I would stand naked in that doorway, scouring my vulva for specific excitements explicitly forbidden by the church. I’m pretty sure they knew that I was present but they let me carry on with my business anyway, for who were they to judge?
It was around the time of my 18th birthday that life’s highway came upon an unexpected intersection. I was down by the lake absent-mindedly diddlin’ myself. Not bangin’ away, in earnest need of bestial fulfillment, you understand. Just busying up my hands while I sat and took in the scenery. Playing with my plump and meaty lips and sliding my fingertip casually up and down within my slippery slit to pass the time. Similar to the way boys flip around their penises and nuts like they’s a handful of marbles or loose coins. It’s a very pleasant sort of feeling and it fosters a certain sense of well-being within. So engrossed was I with the visuals and the texturals, that I failed to hear my brother approaching upon my berth of repose.
“Hey there,” he half-coughs, to save me further caught-wankin’ embarrassment.
I pulled down the long t-shirt I was wearin’ to cover up my girlie feeding trough and continued to gaze out upon the tranquil waters. Johnny seated himself next to me. He seemed to have a matter of consequential weight upon his mind. I wondered how much of a view he got of me rubbing my dumpling but that wasn’t it. Well sorta, it was.
“I suppose you know that I’ve been fuckin’ mama,” he casually uttered, likewise centering his attention on the bucolic splendor before us.
“I had surmised that might be the case,” I calmly responded, though I had butterflies the size of corn-eatin’ crows fluttering about my insides. Quite the conversation starter! What the heck was he going to reveal to me next?
“The thing is, she needs me here to help run the place and I’ve come to quite enjoy our messin’ around with one another. It helps relieve the tensions of a young man who is otherwise deprived of a more suitable outlet.”
“You’ll have to look long and hard to find any condemnation comin’ from me Johnny.
Life is all about makin’ do.”
“The thing is, I don’t want you to.”
“What’s your particular meanin’?”
“You should go away to college and meet some fella. There’s enough money for one of us to go and you got brains in there that I can’t even imagine. The sad alternative is gettin’ stuck here like me and turnin’ to immediate family members for intimate company.”
“I really do like you, you know.”
I leaned over and kissed him full on the mouth. I had never felt the presence of a boys’ tongue upon mine before and it was something I immediately cared to repeat. Consequently, we sat and traded slobber like boyfriend and girlfriend by the lake for the ensuing half an hour. Nothin’ too unseemly (despite the obvious). It was just warm feelin’s being expressed betwixt Johnny and myself by tastin’ each other’s tonsils. He didn’t even try to grab a hold of the milk maids. Not that his hands would have found me at all indignant or inhospitable, if they had attempted to alight. I had half considered makin’ a play to free up his lick stick while we were orally cavorting but eventually chickened out.
That night, Johnny really gave mom a massive sperm spacklin’. He banged her about something wicked. I was kinda hopin’ that he was thinkin’ about me and our little smooch-fest as he was ridin’ roughshod over her genitalia. She must have cum about seven or eight times. A pretty goodly number for a woman her age. Subsequently, they both looked like they’d spent the night draggin’ a dead mule to market, as we enjoyed our morning coffee. I won’t embarrass myself by tryin’ to pretend I wasn’t a tad lugubrious over havin’ to wank my own joy pond to sleep while mama was getting hers prodded silly by my sweet sibling.
“I think I want to go away to college in the fall,” I announced over our respective bowls of Frosted Mini Wheats. “Possibly, to pursue an education in Computer and Information Science.”
My mother shrugged, “Well, you’ve always been the brainy one, child. Seems like you should make use of it to your advantage.”
And that was pretty well it (We’re not really slaves to formality in my family.). I was headed to the University of Michigan, come September. We finished our sugar-coated pockets of whole grain cereal and proceeded about our daily chores. About noon-time, I ran into Johnny in the barn and immediately went about trying to suck his face off the front of his skull. I initially stayed clear of his man wand cause I knew that it was going to be in a tender state until at least nightfall. His hands were invited to explore my chest decorations though, and that was absolutely goose-bump raising.
“I’m really going to miss you around here,” John shyly admitted. He had his hand up under my bra at the time, so I don’t quite get why he was bein’ so bashful.
I unzipped the front of my jeans and assured him that I would find his lack of propinquity truly heartbreaking. Then I stuck my tongue into his mouth and plunged his hand down the front of my Levis. Lordy! Now, I’m a real fan of salad surfing but having my brother do it for me almost buckled my knees. This guttural noise jumped out of me that had Johnny worried that he’s snapped something off. I grabbed a hold of his wrist to prevent his hand vacating the premises and instructed him to continue on a pace.
Shamefully, I came in about a minute flat. The feel of his fingers rubbin’ up and down on my lips, with his other hand still firmly applied to my mammaries, sent a cum rocket shooting up from my cunt and exploding about my abdomen. Before you could say, “Motherfucker!” (which I practically screamed) I was down in the hay and dirt spasming to heck like an epileptic chicken. My hands were between my legs, tryin’ to keep my undulating custard machine from bursting into flames. I had never experienced a snatch-whacker like that in all my born days. My jeans were soaked in girlie goo. Johnny got down beside me, cause he supposed I might be in some distress. I grabbed onto him and sucked all my hoo-haw honey off his fingers and then kissed him again with slippery lips. After that day in the barn, I spread ‘em for my brother every chance that I got. Poor guy, he had my mother to satisfy at night and me demanding his physical attentions in the barn and down by the lake and in the back seat of mama’s car and…well, you get the picture. I’m sure by the time September rolled around; it was a more than slight relief to be rid of one of his sirin’ obligations.
I have a boyfriend now, and he’s just a hunk of a fella. Handsome as a box of puppies and indefatigable in the boudoir – if you can call a cramped dorm room a “boudoir”. Luckily, I was as ready as heck to jump into the whole suckin’ and fuckin’ aspect of college life, thanks to my lovely bro and his ever accommodatin’ pant appendage. The first time I took it up the poop door, I thought I might have to be put down but now it’s one of the real joys of academic life. I use it primarily as a reward for finishing a paper or doing well on an exam. Sittin’ there for three hours decipherin’ code and shit is sure a lot easier when you know you’re a short while away from taking a big load of man spackle up your ass (Danny’s emissions of passion have been known to fill and egg cup).
Whenever I go back to the farm for holidays and such-like, I’m on Johnny like ketchup on a hotdog. Getting’ his cock in my mouth says “home” to me as much as the smell of mama’s Sunday casserole.
Now, some might feel that I am somewhat free with the grantin’ of my sexual favors (on account of my lady parts not being the exclusive purview of my beau, Danny), but that is simply not the case. I mean, it ain’t cheatin’, if it’s family, right?
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