A Mother's Lust Ch. 02

My son grins and kisses me again, and it's so tempting to make love on the couch while the rest of the family is in bed or out of the house; but it's late, and we should both get to bed.

* * *

I waddle upstairs with my shirt bunched up in one hand and the other gripping the banister as I make my way back to the master bedroom. My husband still has his jeans on as he tidies up his side of the bed before getting his pajamas on.

He hears me shut the door to the bedroom behind me and smiles lovingly. Then he notices that I'm topless and his smile crinkles into a quizzical look.

"What made you want to take your shirt off?" he asks curiously.

"The fact that I have a watermelon-sized belly and don't want to feel constrained by clothes." Everyone cuts you more slack for everything when you're pregnant, although I don't know if that explanation would serve as an excuse out in public. "Besides, I'm about to go to bed."

My husband's furrowed brow indicates that he's still puzzled by my explanation, but he doesn't question me further. The fact that there are so many dots right under his nose that he just can't seem to connect is a blessing for me, but not one that I take any pleasure in.

I place my shirt in the hamper and waddle over to the head-to-toe mirror in the corner, cradling my pregnant belly in my hands as I gaze wistfully at the middle-aged woman with blonde hair draped over one shoulder. I look tired, weighed down by the burden of motherhood and secret paternity; but despite my transgressions, I couldn't be happier.

My husband appears behind me and slips his hands underneath my arms, playfully cupping my breasts with his palms. He smiles lovingly at me, and I return the smile, trying to bury any hint of sadness that might betray me.

"I love you so much," he whispers in my ear.

"I love you, too." It's all I can say in response.

* * *

My latest baby's conception in August was timed just right for my due date to fall after my son returned from his sophomore year at college. It's the middle of May, and we celebrate the fact that all of us are together as a family again. The incestuous secret at its heart no longer weighs on me quite as heavily by that point. It's like a backpack whose weight I've grown accustomed to, but still filled with explosive cargo. I just have to smile and pretend it isn't there.

With a week to go before my due date, my husband and our two daughters leave with the baby to go see his parents in the next state over. The timing is far from ideal, and a lot of discussion and negotiation went into who should go, how long they should be gone for, and whether they should go see his parents at all with another baby's arrival imminent.

I grumble outwardly about my husband leaving for a quick trip when I'm about to give birth, but inside I'm happy for the opportunity to be alone with my son for a few days. In the end, at my suggestion, it's decided that our firstborn child will stay behind to take care of me while the rest of the family visits my in-laws.

And so, with assurances that everyone will be back before my due date next week, most of the family sets off in the SUV for the three-hour drive to my parents-in-law's house, leaving me alone with my son for the first time in many months.

The first thing we do is make love in the marital bed. At nine months pregnant, doggy style is the only position we can do it in, and I relish the way my son slams his hips into my ample ass, gripping my butt with his firm hands. At one point, he leans forward and presses his chest against my back, reaching under me and fondling my breasts swollen with milk before moving down to caress my belly swollen with his child.

I don't have an orgasm that time -- how could I when I was so far along in my pregnancy? -- but he empties a huge load inside me, demonstrating just how much he loves his mother. I'm such a selfish whore, but I've made my peace with that fact, and fully intend to enjoy being a selfish whore to the extent that it doesn't threaten my marriage.

As it turns out, however, my due date was wrong by a week -- or maybe my son's semen helped to trigger labor early -- and I wake up before midnight with a familiar cramping sensation in my gut. I waddle to the bathroom connected to the master bedroom and empty my bladder as another cramp gurgles inside me.

I glance uneasily at the bathtub -- the other bathroom only has a shower cubicle -- contemplating the hours-long ordeal that awaits me. I hear footsteps on the bedroom carpet and my son peers through to check up on me. With no one else in the house, there's no reason for us not to share a bed together, and the master bedroom is far nicer than his bedroom.

"Mom? Are you OK?" The look of concern on his face tells me that his future wife will be a very lucky woman. I don't need to respond as it slowly dawns on him that the time has arrived early. "I'll...shall I call dad?"

"It's midnight," I point out as I try to focus on my breathing. "He can wait until the morning."

"But...I mean..." the gravity of the situation and his responsibility in it make his gorgeous blue eyes widen. Good. He's starting to realize what it'll take to be a good husband and father. "You'll have given birth by the morning."

"Then you'd better get yourself a cup of midnight coffee, sweetheart." I want to be loving but firm with him on this. "Because neither of us is getting any sleep until this baby is out of me."

My son gulps, swallowing the weight of responsibility within himself. He gives me a silent nod of acknowledgement, and then he disappears to get dressed and be ready. Fortunately, we did discuss in advance what's needed for the birth, so he knows what to fetch.

I smile to myself as I contemplate the night to come. To assuage the guilt of our filthy secret, I've tried to convince myself that I'm training him to be a good man, a good husband, and a good father. How to please a woman in bed. How to take care of her needs. How to be the best man he can be for the sake of the mother of his future children -- without any further inbreeding.

Supporting his mother -- the mother of two of his children -- during labor and after delivery will be an excellent baptism by fire for him. I'll also feel less guilty having him support me during this birth than if it were my husband.

* * *

By five in the morning, the baby has transitioned into my birth canal, and the pushing phase of labor has well and truly begun. I'm on my knees in the bathtub, leaning forward as I try to stay steady, submerged up to my milk-filled breasts as another contraction roils my guts and sends ripples through the bathwater.

My son is right there in front of me, leaning back against the far end of the tub while his arms are outstretched to support me. After bringing the necessary supplies, I insist that he get naked and join me in the bathtub. My hands extend over his shoulders to grip the handles behind him so that I'm leaning over him with my pregnant belly brushing up against his six-pack.

I'm breathing deeply and slowly, trying to work with the contractions as my body asserts that it has a mind of its own. Each contraction feels like my guts bunching together and driving the force downwards, but since this is my fifth time doing this, the pain is no longer pain. It feels like intense sensations concentrated in my womb and vagina.

I wonder if it's possible to have an orgasm during childbirth. I've never read or heard about it happening, but with a big fleshy mass stretching my vagina wide, it's theoretically possible.

That idea is quickly quashed as another wave of muscular movement builds inside me, and the sensation is definitely not the orgasmic kind. I inhale deeply and push with the contraction, the sound of maternal exertion escaping my lips in the form of an extended alto moan.

My son has been quiet this whole time, a silent rock of strength for me to lean on, supporting and caressing me gently to keep me calm. He massages my breasts and teases my nipples with the utmost care to give me a bit of pleasure to offset the pain.

I like that, and in between contractions, our mouths connect. His lips are soft against mine and his tongue only tentatively explores my mouth. Our kissing is sensual but also restrained. This isn't foreplay for sex, it's a silent sign of the love that's grown between us. It's hard to believe this all started when I caught him masturbating while watching me in the other bathroom.

I sense another contraction arriving, and I break off the kiss and prepare to push again. I can feel my labia straining against the mass of the baby's head. The warm water and four previous vaginal births have made my pussy strong and supple, able to accommodate the strain of new life squeezing out into the world. It also dulls the searing pain of the ring of fire.

I adjust my position until I'm squatting in the tub on my haunches, ready to give birth to the baby upright. A look of concern flashes across my son's face, but our blue-eyed gazes connect, and my expression reassures him that I know what I'm doing.

I knew what I was doing when I pushed him into the world just shy of my nineteenth birthday. I knew what I was doing when I pushed each of his two sisters into the world. I knew what I was doing when I pushed the first of our babies out into the world. I'm only getting better with practice, and there'll be at least two more after this one.

Having thought all of that, the birth has taken a lot out of me already, and I'm glad that there can't be many more pushes needed before the baby is out. The contraction arrives, and I take a deep breath and push hard, riding the wave of contractions roiling down through my vagina, and causing the baby to slide far enough down that the head pops out between my labia.

My son gasps as he witnesses our latest child's head appear between my thighs, below my big blonde bush. My calves and ankles are already beginning to burn from the effort of squatting down this low, but I have to wait another minute before I can push the baby all the way out.

I grip the bathtub handles for support and squeeze hard. I can't risk falling over while trying to catch the baby, so I trust my son to be the one to do the honors, just like last time. The fateful contraction arrives, and his hands are ready beneath me, even as he tries not to slide all the way underneath me. I take a deep breath and push hard.

I'll never get tired of the exquisite feeling of a baby sliding out of my vagina, and I moan in a loud mixture of exertion and ecstasy as my fifth-born child slips out into my firstborn's waiting hands. He quickly pulls the baby up above the water while I collapse backwards into the water.

The impact sends up a little tsunami that splashes over the edge of the tub. Neither of us has the time to worry about the bathroom floor getting wet as my son moves quickly towards me and places our newborn baby on my chest.

My body is a surging hormonal storm as I cry with ecstatic relief, clutching the precious bundle against my bare breast and giving the back a few gentle taps until I hear the infant's cries. I'm already crying with joy as check between the baby's legs.

"It's a girl!" I announce through my tears. "We have a daughter!"

We've long since passed the weirdness and wrongness of me saying such a thing to my own son, and he maneuvers into position next to me while tears of joy form in his own eyes. The bathtub isn't quite big enough for us to cuddle comfortably, but we make it work and snuggle together, admiring the new life that we helped to bring into the world.

At length, he reaches over the edge of the tub and retrieves a small towel from the rack, using it to help me wrap the baby before returning to his place beside me. Our little girl is still crying, but I rock her gently to soothe her, and before long she's sleeping calmly.

It's the longest time before either of us says anything.

"You did great." I turn to my son and smile with tears of happiness still brimming in my eyes.

"So did you," he replies with a joyful smile.

We have to stifle our laughter in case it wakes our baby daughter. "I've done this before," I remind him, "but this is only your second time catching a baby, and it's your first time doing it alone. I'm so incredibly proud of you. Not just for this, but especially this."

There's more silence as the first rays of dawn peek through the frosted glass of the bathroom window. The clock on the wall tells us that it's nearly eight in the morning, so I must have been in labor for just over seven hours.

"I think it might be time to phone dad and break the news." My son announces as he prepares to get out of the tub. "I can't imagine what his reaction will be."

A flash of fright passes across my heart.

"You're not seriously gonna tell him that...I mean..." I was terrified that he was about to spill our terrible incestuous secret to the one man who would be most betrayed by it.

My son stares at me dumbfounded as it occurs to me that he was about to call his father to tell him about the baby's birth, not its paternity. He realizes the confusion and we have to stifle another round of laughter. I'm too exhausted to think clearly.

"You should know I would never reveal that." He's right, I should know better. "Especially if we're going to have two more after this." There's a twinkle in his eye and a mischievous smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Maybe we'll have a fifth one after I graduate."

He stands up and gets out of the tub, grabbing a towel and drying himself off. I ogle his naked body shamelessly, admiring the gorgeous, masculine contours of his powerfully muscular body, and especially his taut ass as he leaves the bathroom. I'm so proud of that sexy young man, and I'm obscenely proud of the fact that that sexy young man emerged from my vagina.

Speaking of things emerging from vaginas, I feel another gurgle in my gut. The placenta is still on the way, and I wonder if I can manage to push out the afterbirth with an infant in my arms.

Sure, I can manage that. And I know that I'll manage fine as a mother of seven or eight children. My beautiful diamond wedding ring has been on my finger this whole time, and I keep having to remind myself what an awful secret this is to have at the heart of an otherwise blessedly happy marriage. Keeping this secret from my darling husband is the hardest part of all.

It's a secret I'll have to take to my grave, but it's a price I couldn't be happier to pay.

THE END