This is a print version of story THE HIDING PLACE by sexualperv72 from


t was a little after my eighteenth birthday when I discovered my father's secret hiding place. It wasn't a hiding place for him as such, but a hiding place where he could stash away his secrets. It was a treasure trove of sorts, mostly of personal artifacts. There were a few cheap jewellery items, whose value was more sentimental than real. There were a few pictures of old buddies and a few letters from old cohorts. He had some cut outs from newspapers of stories that only held some meanings for him. There were also a couple of handkerchiefs with monograms that I couldn't recognize and a few stubs of tickets to a movie, a play, or a game.

Then there were the more intriguing items. He had three letters from old flames. Two letters were from the same woman, who signed only her initials at the bottom—and they didn't seem like initials my mother would have used. Third letter was from a woman whose heart my father broke for some trivial matter and she was begging him to come back. I also found three pictures, or rather pictures of three women, all young and beautiful and all most likely his REAL secrets. One of them I recognized to be my aunt, my father's older b*****r's wife. I didn't know if her picture was from before her marriage to my uncle or after.

These items held only a passing fancy for me. I wasn't really concerned about my father's past or why my mother hadn't discovered these items and burnt them, now that he was also her past. The item that held my interest was an old book, a sort of cheap imitation of the Kamasutra.

It was a really cheap book, all pictures and positions were basically cartoon drawings and paper used was the same as – if not worst than – the newsprint. My young mind saw more than a cheap book though. I saw a book that held the wonders of the world for me.

In our village of 100 households, with mostly middle-aged and elderly people farming their lives away or tending to a meagre cattle post, here at the edge of South Africa, this book became my entertainment centre.

My mother spent her mornings at our farm while my s****r tended to the small convenience store—a legacy of my father. In the afternoons, my mother took over the store while my s****r came home to prepare the evening meal. My duties were to tend to the farm and the cattle in the afternoons, which sometimes went well into the evening, what with the a****ls being unpredictable in their wanderings and my having to chase them from all over.

Our evening routine was set in stone. I would come home all tired and dirty and bath in the cold water from the borehole. My s****r would get me my dinner and then continue with her sewing. She actually made good money sewing and cleaning clothes for other families in the village, especially those whose young'uns had moved to the city ages ago. My mother would go next door to her one and only friend, Precious, and wither the night away in a carton of Chibuku, or some other drink she pilfered from the store. She had trouble waking up early the next day and that was one of the reasons why my s****r tended to the store in the mornings. My mother spent early part of the day tending to the farm, but that was only an excuse. She used that time to nurse her hangover.

I spent my evening hours fingering through the book and fantasizing about experiencing some of those positions with someone at sometime in the future. There was no one in the village that would be a possibility. Mostly there were married women or old women and none very attractive. Precious WAS a possibility, but so was the hiding I would get from my mother if she found out that I held secret desires for her friend.

The only young and attractive woman in town was my s****r and she was living in a world of her own. If you are wondering why we didn't move to the city like other young people, the answer lies in lack of relatives willing to put us up until we found something to do. My father and my mother had alienated their f****y members way before we were even born and by the time we thought of moving away from the stink hole known as our village, we really had nowhere to go.

My s****r was four years my senior and lived in a world of her own, which was constructed out of characters she found in the magazines we sold in our store and in the gossip columns of the newspaper. Actually we used to buy only one or two magazines and only one newspaper. It was a weekly newspaper and, along with the magazines, it circulated from one hand to the other until everyone had read it from end to end. The magazines and newspaper always ended up back with us where my s****r used them to copy the next outfit from or imitate a new hairdo, or even apply the makeup in one form or another. You see, my s****r was also the local beautician and the dressmaker. She also made good money from the women who wanted to look like movie stars or dress like models. My s****r saved her money in a secret place of her own. She was keeping it hidden from my mother until one day she had enough to fly the coop.

I was carefree. No school to attend and no one to answer to. My only duty was to make sure that the cattle were well-fed and the farm was cultivated when rains came. Other than that I was roaming through the savannah like a young lion, just marking my territory.

For some reason, I would always put that book back where I had found it. I knew it was my father's secret hiding place, but now it was also my hiding place. That book was now my secret and I kept it hidden in the same place. Every evening I would take it out and every morning I would put it back carefully in the same place. I not only guarded the secret, but the position of the book, with almost religious zeal.

That's why it wasn't difficult to discover that there was another reader of the book.

Someone else had also discovered the secret hiding place, and thus the secret. I felt violated.

I knew it wasn't my mother who discovered the place. It had to be my s****r. Otherwise, things wouldn't have stayed in the same place. My mother would have destroyed them.

My s****r was as careful with the book as I was. I knew that she probably looked through it in the afternoons when I was at the post. She would put it back by the time I came home. I didn't know, however, if she knew that I also read the book.

Now, the problem. Knowing that the secret was no longer just mine, knowing that the secret now belonged to both of us, and knowing that she probably looked at the very same pictures that I did and fantasized about the very same positions that I did, from the opposite point of view of course, I had found a partner to practice the positions with; albeit, only an imaginary one. The problem being that this partner was my s****r.

Let's say that I took fancy to the position where the man was standing behind the woman, who was on all fours close to the edge of the bed, my cock poised only an inch or so away from her hole, ready to enter her and make that smile on her lips even wider. In my imagination, I was that man. I was the one whose hands grabbed her waist and whose buttocks tightened as he concentrated his energies to the middle of his body, ready to thrust forward in one mighty swoop. Now, in the same pose, my s****r would be imagining herself to be that woman about to be impaled by the mighty warrior standing behind her with a penis that extended to lengths beyond human possibilities. My s****r must have smiled as wide as the woman as she anticipated the penis entering the folds of her womanhood and reaching inside her belly and tickling the base of her heart.

Now let's take the opposite point of view. What if my s****r took fancy to the position where the man was lying on his back as the woman straddled his body and lowered herself on top of his cock, engulfing that huge cock of his into the mysteries of her interior? In her imagination, she was the woman descending upon the man, swallowing his manhood into her pussy. In my imagination, I was the man, fondling her breasts as he was experiencing the joys of being immersed in a wet, warm, and wonderful orifice of pleasure.

Where I was the live man entering that cartoon woman; in my s****r's mind, she must be the live woman that the cartoon man was entering. I was entering the woman, as the man was entering my s****r. I was entering and my s****r was being entered into. I was, therefore, entering my s****r.

The arousal those thoughts gave me was just unbelievable. The guilt that came with it was equally unbelievable. I couldn't imagine myself entering my s****r without the guilt that said I am not supposed to do it with my s****r. The pleasure of entering someone like my s****r, my real s****r, seemed much stronger than some other woman, say Precious. The possibilities of having sex with a young, vibrant, and beautiful woman like my s****r were much more exciting than with a middle-aged woman like Precious. If I was going to have sex with Precious, I might as well have sex with my mother. After all they both were about the same – age and physical build wise. Another attack of guilt, and some shame, came when I imagined my mother in one of those positions.

I didn't like the guilt associated with my fantasies. I used to fantasize about experiencing those positions with someone who had no form or definition. Now I was fantasizing about someone who did have form and definition, but made me feel painfully guilty. I had to find a solution, and quick.

I went with the solution that my other head suggested. I found my fantasies to be a lot less guilt ridden by putting the head of Precious on the body of my s****r.

Now when I looked at the woman lying on her side, with her one leg raised in the air, I was the man between her scissor-cut. The leg under my butt or over my shoulder was my s****r's; the body lying on the bed was my s****r's; the pussy and the face, however, belonged to Precious. I was thus able to experience the thrill without the guilt. Even when I was sitting in a chair and she was kneeling in front of me, holding the head of my cock in her mouth, while seductively looking into my eyes; it was the body of my s****r in front of me but it was Precious' mouth swallowing my release. In the missionary position, my s****r's legs were wrapped around my waist but I was inside Precious. I touched and caressed my s****r but I fucked Precious. That was the difference that my brain created to get rid of the guilt. I could touch my s****r, but I couldn't fuck her.

A few times, just for fun, I tried to fuck the body of Precious and put my s****r's head on it, but I couldn't look into her eyes without looking away in shame. As a side effect, I discovered that I could put my mother's head on Precious' body and feel no remorse whatsoever. But, none of those fantasies were as fulfilling as with my s****r's body and Precious' head. Soon, even Precious' head didn't matter. I could visualize my s****r's body with only a silhouette on top. This became even better because now I was really having sex with my s****r in those fantasies without involving Precious, or any other person. That silhouette could easily be my s****r and it didn't matter any longer. Soon, thereafter, whenever my s****r flashed a smile in my imagination, I was able to keep the guilt at bay.

And, then, soon thereafter, I started to see my s****r in a new light.

Knowing that she looked at the same pictures as I did and probably fantasized herself as part of the poses, like I did, I became somewhat obsessed with knowing which of the positions she fantasized about the most. Or rather, I wanted to know which position was her favourite. I wanted my fantasies to be more focused and even have more substance. The only way to get that was to know which position she focused upon the most, so I could spend more time in that position as compared to the others.

I couldn't come out and just ask her. As a matter of fact, we weren't even supposed to know that the other knew our secret. I knew she read the book as well; she also probably knew that I too read the book; but it wasn't something we could acknowledge to each other. The embarrassment would be tremendous, for whatever reason.

I had to find a subtle way of getting a hint out of her as to which position was her favourite. Of course, without having any direct—and acknowledgeable—means of communication, the task was Herculean.

While I wondered about her favourite position, I also wondered about how she fantasized, or rather who she fantasized with. Just like me, the prospects of a suitable fantasy partner were slim to none. She didn't even have an equivalent of Precious in her life. So, who did she picture in her fantasies? Who played the part of her male fantasy companion? If the first task was difficult to figure without any direct means of communication, then the second was impossible in comparison.

It was the onset of South African summer. The sun was bright and sharp. The a****ls spent most of their time sitting under the shade of our giant trees, as did I. It was during one of those lazy days that I had my epiphany.

It occurred to me that we did have a direct means of communication—the book itself.

I mean she read whatever was in the book just like I did. What if—what if—what if I were to send a very subtle and inconspicuous—almost non-existent—message through the book. If she was into the book as I was, which I vehemently hoped for, she would pick up on it. Whether she would respond to it or not, was another story; but at least I would have made a move; to what end or extent, I didn't know.

Well, I did know, sort of. It was a move towards some sort of clarification to my fantasies. I wanted to know what my partner liked the most, and then, in my fantasies, I wanted to make my partner happy by doing what my partner liked. My partner being my s****r was irrelevant. We were only talking about fantasies, not actually doing anything in the real world.

I was much more aroused by thinking about doing what she liked than by thinking of her doing what I liked. Go figure!

If we were tuned to each other, as the fantasies would have surely connected us, then she would know instantaneously what message I was sending and would respond without hesitation. On the other hand, if she didn't respond, even after she picked up on my message, then she would basically be telling me off. I really didn't want to be told off, though.

With shaking hands and an equally trembling heart, I took a pencil and drew a star next to my favourite position.

I was basically telling her what position was my favourite. I expected her to see that star and read into it as a communication of sorts. I was essentially opening the dialog by saying that this is my favourite position and hoping that she would then respond by putting a star next to her favourite position. We would, in a non-committal way, express our preferences without actually being held liable in case the other didn't like this sort of conversation.

When I picked up the book the following evening, my hands were quite literally trembling like a leaf. My breath was uncontrollable. My bl**d was rushing through my veins so fast that I heard the sound of wind in my ears. I was aroused like I had never been aroused before. My eyes were out of focus as I quickly went through all the pages looking for some sort of mark from her.

I found none. The disappoint I felt was heavy and it lifted the excitement from my brain. I went through the book again, more carefully this time and with a subdued enthusiasm. I was disappointed, to say the least; I was actually upset and felt depressed. I don't know why but I had put so much hope into getting a response from her that when none came forward, I felt very dejected, almost to the point of being miserable.

Even after looking through every page ten times, I found no hint from her. I assumed that maybe she didn't look through the book that day and that's why she didn't see it. While it lifted my spirits a little with the hope that maybe I'll see something the next evening, the disappointment loomed large in my psyche for days to come.

I checked the book again and again for next few days but no response came forth. I gave up after about a week, realizing that it probably is not a subject to be discussed between her and me. That she being older and wiser, thought better of encouraging me and simply shut me down, or told me off; either way, subject closed.

I had calmed down by the time I gave up on her communication. I went back to my fantasies, only this time, she became less prominent and I wholeheartedly started to use Precious in them, body and head. It was better, at least, because she didn't tell me off.

That's why when I looked through the book on the 10th day of putting a star next to my favourite position, I almost missed the check mark next to another position in the book.

When I realized that there was another mark in the book, my heart leapt to my throat while missing a beat at the same time. I was instantly aroused for some reason and I almost tore the pages off while flipping back to where the mark was. When my eyes rested on the mark itself and I realized that it was real after trying to wipe it off with the back of my hand, I gave a muffled scream.

My favourite position was with the woman on all fours at the edge of the bed and man standing behind her with his hands on her waist, ready to impale her. Her favourite position was with the man sitting in the middle of the bed with his legs stretched in front of him, while the woman sat in his lap with her legs around his waist and stretched in the opposite direction. His cock was inside of her and his hands were fondling her breasts, while her arms were around his neck and both were locked in a passionate kiss.

I liked a position of power while she opted for a tenderer pose of lovemaking.

I felt exhilarated, to say the least. I was thrilled to death at the response. I felt the connection become real. She was at that very moment somewhere else in the house, probably thinking of me discovering her response and visualizing my reaction to it. I tried to visualize her reaction when she must have discovered my star. I was actually prepared for her communication but she wasn't for mine. Her reaction must have been more spontaneous and her surprise must have been genuine.

I wondered about what was going through her mind after that discovery. I also wondered about why it took her so long to respond.

The only thing that was going through my mind was my s****r sitting in my lap as my hands fondled her breasts and we kissed in a never-ending, passionate kiss. I no longer allowed Precious to come into the picture. It was my s****r through and through and I was through my s****r like a knife through butter. I tried to picture how it would be if my s****r was really sitting in my lap and her naked butt was on my naked thighs, my hands were fondling her naked breasts, and—don't laugh—my naked dick was in her naked pussy.

I had opened a channel of communication and she had responded to my subtle question. Now what? I had to now continue the communication; otherwise the whole exercise was a waste. But, I had no clue as to what I was supposed to say – or do – next. I stayed awake almost the entire night thinking about my next step.

Next day when I saw my s****r, I tried to see if there was something different in her demeanour. If there was, she hid it well. Yet, I knew that she knew that I knew that we had communicated to each other about our favourite sexual positions. What that meant was beyond me? What that implied was also beyond me? I was aroused with the thoughts of knowing my s****r's favourite sexual position and my response was very intense to the fantasies of being her partner in that pose. I, however, did not want to masturbate and lose that intensity. I wanted to stay on fire all the time. also had this intense craving to reach out and touch my s****r's body.

I wanted to feel some part of her body to give some reality to my fantasy. When I looked at her the next day through my sperm filled eyes, I saw a beautiful woman with a body to die for. I wanted to touch her, kiss her, caress her, hug her, fondle her, and fuck her. I saw a woman with a beautiful butt, a butt that would feel heavenly on my naked thighs. I saw a woman with breasts that were oozing out of her blouse and crying out for my hands. I saw a woman whose body was so succulent that I had to be inside her to find the true meaning of life.

It took almost three days for me to come up with a response.

I pictured us looking at the same book together and having some sort of conversation, only through marks in the book, and not through words uttered from our mouths.

Then, my star must have said to her, "I like this position."

She must have heard me saying, "I like this position. Which position do you like?"

To which she responded by putting a mark next to her favourite position. When I saw that mark, I heard her saying, "And, I like this position."

Or maybe, even, "My favourite position is this one."

Now it was my turn to respond to her comment.

If we were having a real conversation, I would probably have said, "Yes, I like that position as well."

Or, maybe, "Yes, that position is also my favourite position."

When I though more about it, my actual response was, "Yes, that position is good, but…"

Once I fine tuned my response, I now had to put it in symbols that she could comprehend.

At first I put a star next to her mark, as if saying, "I, too, like this position."

But that's not all I wanted to say. There was that "…but…" in my response as well. So I put a question mark next to the star. Thus, my response to her mark was a star with a question mark, saying, "I, too, like this position, but…"

Her response was quick this time. The following evening I saw an arrow pointing to my question mark and another question mark at the tail of that arrow. I could almost hear her say, "…but what?"

My answer to her question was a bit involved so it couldn't be conveyed with just a symbol or two. I had to qualify my answer and there was no way to do it without saying something in words. But if I wrote anything in response to her symbolized question, I would catapult our communication to another level. I didn't know what the consequences would be. So far, this could be explained as nothing more than an innocent game, although the communication was anything but a game. But, the words would weigh much more heavily than vague symbols. It was no longer a non-committal communication. I was now on the verge of insinuating something, taking on a clear sexual connotation, maybe even betraying somewhat of the turmoil that was going on inside of me. Was she, possibly, experiencing a similar turmoil, I wondered.

Under normal circumstances, I probably would have said nothing, but the high—almost toxic—levels of sperm in my bl**d stream, made me respond like this. I first drew an arrow away from her question mark and then put a number in a circle, which referred to another page in the book. On this other page, the couple was locked in a variation of the missionary position. He was buried deep within her, one hand on her breast, other around her neck, while her legs were locked around his waist, and her arms around his shoulders. Both were kissing deeply. I put a star next to this position and WROTE—yes, wrote— "deeper penetration".

There, I had gone and done it. I had said to my s****r, "I, too, like this positions, but…I like the position on page so and so because it gives deeper penetration than this one."

I had put words to my thoughts and started an open conversation about our sexual preferences when it came to a position. I didn't know how she was going to take it, or if she was to going to take offence to such openness. If she was, well, so be it. It was worth it.

Her response was equally quick. She put an arrow and a page number next to my words. When I looked at the page she had indicated, I saw her words next to a position where the man was standing with his pelvic area thrust forward, his dick fully inserted inside a woman who was seated on his cock, his hands holding her buttocks and pulling her into himself as he tried to go in as deep as possible, her body stretched backward and away from him as she hung from his neck. She had pulled her knees to her shoulders and her feet were resting on his chest. My s****r wrote, "Even deeper penetration, probably the deepest."

Well, there were no holds barred now.

When we met each other in person, we acted nonchalant. We pretended like there was nothing going on between the two of us. I stole brief glimpses of her body, of parts of her body. I even found her doing the same to me. But all that was done—supposedly—in secret. The conversation we were having was in secret, and that's how it was to remain, a secret. We could share that secret in hiding, but there was no pretence to bringing it in the open. There was no accepted protocol to have this conversation in the open, especially because it involved sexual positions and consequently sexual feelings.

It was okay to imagine, it just wasn't okay to do.

My s****r and I had exchanged views on the position that would give the deepest penetration. My sperm flowed out of my body that night in the form of a wet dream, where I achieved that penetration in my s****r. I knew that our exchange was extremely arousing for me. I didn't know, however, how she felt. I didn't know if she was aroused by our conversation—sorry, communication—or was it just academic to her without any feelings similar to mine.

I couldn't wait any longer. I had to know.

I thought of a thousand ways to phrase my question to her but none seemed acceptable without being too open and direct. Again, subtlety was the key and I had to figure a way to learn how all this affected her without making her hesitate in giving me an answer. Then it came to me. So far, I had taken the first step in our communication. What if I were to stop? Would she then take the first step on continuing our conversation?

That possibility seemed more titillating. It excited me—not that there was any room left in my excitement section—when I thought of her asking the next question.

I took up silence. I said nothing, marked nothing. I simply waited.

My silence even crept up into the real life. She noticed that and a few days later, while I was eating my dinner, she asked me, "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I am okay," I replied, "Just a little persistent headache."

As I was in bed, she came to my room with a glass of water and a packet of Grandpa headache powder. She handed both to me and said, "Here, this helps me with my headaches."

I didn't know what she meant by "her headaches". Either she had a headache similar to mine, which meant she was suffering from the same ailment, or else she had some ordinary headaches and she was just being helpful.

I stayed in my bed longer than usual the next morning. She came to my room and sat down next to me. She asked, "Are you feeling any better?"

I could feel the heat emanating from her body. She was sitting so close to me that I just wanted to reach out and touch her. I replied, "No, I feel the same."

She felt my forehead, and said, "Well, at least you don't have fever. So, nothing much to worry about."

Her hand felt soft and warm. The softness was quite refreshing. That was the first time we had come into a physical contact of some sort in a long time, and after all of our exchanges, I enjoyed it at a different level.

When I opened the book that evening, I found a little piece of paper stuck between the pages. On this piece, there was nothing accept one large question mark. It was like she was asking me what is going on. The fact that this question mark was big and bold told me that she was concerned about this end to our communication, and the resulting effects on me. Suddenly, we were catapulted to a new level, by her.

She wanted to know, "What's the matter?"

I wanted to say, "I can't take it any longer. My thoughts are running amok." I wanted to say, "These exchanges are arousing the hell out of me, yet I don't know if they have similar affect on you or not. I want to know how you are being affected because I am going crazy with these wild, sexual fantasies about you. Are you having similar fantasies about me?" I wanted to tell her that I was getting these urges to get into one of those positions with her, that I wanted her to wrap her legs around my waist and to take me in as far as physical boundaries would allow. I wanted to tell her that I wanted to fuck her and that's all I had on my mind, all the time.

By just putting that question mark, she had left the ball in my court. She actually had trapped me into revealing my feelings without divulging any of hers.

I did the only thing left open to me. I wrote the word "sl**p" on the paper and then drew a circle around it and a slash from one end of the circle to the other, in the universal symbol for no. I essentially answered her by saying, "no sl**p".

That evening she came to my room with a glass of warm milk.

All of a sudden, whether she realized it or not, she had done what I thought we couldn't do. She had brought our secret in the open. What I had communicated to her in our secret dialog, she had responded to in the open, in real life.

She said, "Here, this will help you sl**p."

I sat up in my bed and took the glass from her. It wasn't intentional, but I became aware of my pose as I sipped the warm milk. I was in her favourite position.

I don't know if she noticed as much. She just sat next to me. Part of her butt was lightly touching my calf. I started to feel real warm.

She saw the drops of sweat on my forehead and reached up and wiped them with her bare hand. She asked, "Are you sure you don't have fever? Malaria may be."

Now she was just being ridiculous, and I noted as such.

There was something happening here, that much I knew. But, the barriers were immense and it required something extraordinary to take them down.

It came with an equally ridiculous ease.

It was one hot afternoon. I couldn't stay with the a****ls and came home rather early. By the time I made it home, I was soaking wet. I took a quick bath and took refuge in the only room where we had a ceiling fan. She was already there, sitting on the floor in a yoga position, stripped to her bare minimums to keep cool.

She was wearing a thin, flimsy blouse. Her skirt was pulled above her knees to allow the most amount of air to cover her body. She was passing her time by slowly combing her hair. She wasn't really combing them to make them neat. She was just keeping herself busy to pass the time. As her arms stretched over and behind her head, her chest pushed forward like a soldier at attention. I noticed she had no bra on because it was too hot for such a constricting garment. Her nipples were protruding through the thin material and her breasts were faintly visible through the milky colour. The air from the fan was causing her blouse to shift around showing various degrees of cleavage. I don't know what made me do this, but I took a chair and placed it right behind her. I then reached and took the comb away from her. As I sat under that fan, I reached out and started to use that comb on her. I started combing her hair for her and she let me.

As I ran the comb through her hair, I felt her back press against my knees. It was electrifying. I hadn't expected that when I offered to comb her hair, but I welcomed the feelings. She relaxed after a short while, closed her eyes and just let me run that comb through her hair at my leisure. A few minutes passed like that with her body leaning against my legs, her legs stretched away from her and my hands playing with her hair, when suddenly we heard our mother come into the house. She jumped quickly—rather guiltily—grabbed the comb away from me and ran to another room before mom could come in and see the two of us.

I didn't think she needed to rush out like that. Even if my mother saw me combing her hair, there was nothing wrong with it. It was something silly to do, but it was not something forbidden. But the way she jumped, the way she felt guilty, and the way she dashed into another room told me a lot about what was going in her mind.

That evening when my mother went to Precious, my s****r came to my room. She was holding a comb in her hands and smiling. I took the hint and sat on the edge of my bed with my bare feet on the floor. She sat on the floor and assumed the position. The bed was slightly higher than the chair and she had to assume a kneeling position to get her head within my reach. I started combing her hair as she closed her eyes and snuggled into my legs. I could feel the taut muscles of her thighs and calves around my feet and ankles as my knees felt the side of her arms. After a while she relaxed and leaned back. The bed only allowed her to come slightly in where a little bit of my thighs rubbed against her sides.

We had progressed to level two. I was able to feel her body against parts of my body and I was able to run my fingers through her hair under the pretext of combing her hair. So far so good—but not good enough.

I wanted to feel her shoulders. I wanted to caress her back. I wanted to cup her supple breasts. But, there was no way for me to advance to that level without any hint from her, telling me that I was allowed to do that. We were teasing each other to what would be considered acceptable level of sexual contact, but anything beyond, and anything blatant had to be qualified. There was nothing I knew that could qualify that.

I guess she was thinking on the same lines and she knew a way to at least increase our contact.

The next afternoon I came home very early. I found her in the same room sitting under the fan. She was dressed in the same blouse and skirt; I guess she must have washed it for the purpose earlier in the day. As I placed my chair behind her, she turned and pushed it away. Then she motioned for me to sit behind her without any chair.

I squatted behind her. She stretched her legs, placed her hands on each side of my thighs and leaned back with her head stretched back to make it easy for me to comb her hair and her chest protruding forward as a result. My knees were touching the sides of her buttocks as I felt her soft and warm body on the inside of my thighs.

It was now or never.

I was breathing very heavily as I reached with my arms around her ribs and placed my hands on her firm breasts.

She held that pose. I slowly and carefully cupped and fondled her breasts. She only cooed a little. I felt encouraged and placed my hands under her blouse and felt her naked breasts in my palms. I was out of breath at this skin to skin contact. I could have never imagined in my life the incredible feelings that real breasts held for my eager hands. She was equally breathless as she writhed against my hands.

Her blouse came off quickly as did my shirt. She turned and stood on her knees against me as I reciprocated her pose and held her against me. Her breasts felt even better on my chest. Our hungry mouths found each other as we kissed and hugged with such a passion that we probably bruised our bodies. Our passion erupted into such a torrid scene that we were soon on the floor rolling, trying to be on top of each other.

We became so breathless that we had to break away from each other just to catch our breath. Of course, I also felt thirsty so I had to grab a drink of water. This pause was just enough to simmer us down and bring us back to earth.

We started to kiss and fondle again, gently at first, but soon we reached a fever pitch. In no time, we were soon biting and sucking each others tongues out of our mouths. We had been holding our fantasies in for so long that mere kissing was not enough. We needed a more violent way to express our emotions. We needed a violent emotional release.

Her skirt was easier to come off than my pants. By the time I was completely naked, she was on the floor with her legs parted wide and her hands outstretched to welcome me inside of her. I moved between her legs as she grabbed my cock with one hand and guided it to her pussy hole. She was wet beyond belief as I was hard like a rock and horny as hell. I made it into my s****r with the speed of a superman. I pressed myself deep inside her vagina. I buried myself in my s****r's belly as far as the physical limits would allow. Soon I started to pump away with abandon. I fucked her hard. I fucked her deep. I fucked her long. I fucked her like there was no tomorrow.

I don't know when she came or if she came. I know that it took me a while to come, even though I had expected myself to explode the minute I entered her. I was able to fuck her long enough to enjoy the sensations of her pussy rubbing against my shaft, her juices soaking my cock wet and dripping onto the floor, and her body squirming under the pressure I was exerting.

The eruption was violent. I pumped as hard and as fast as I could and when the release started, I jerked and convulsed with both pleasure and pain until I unloaded a ton of my cum inside my s****r. She held on for her dear life.

I lay on top of her, exhausted, breathless and fully spent. She caressed my back as she held me locked between her legs, trying to calm me down and bring me back to earth.

That night, and the nights that followed, became our nights. As my mother spent her time with Precious, my s****r and I experienced all the positions in the book and we even invented some of our own. Of course, we always finished the night in either my favourite position or hers.
Advantages of getting laid on a regular basis became apparent during the first week after my s****r and I started sl**ping with each other. I no longer had this turmoil inside of me just waiting to be released, because it was being released on a daily basis. I was satiated, sexually, and I was satisfied, both physically and emotionally—as was she. We both were thoroughly happy. There was a bounce in our steps, as my mother would later put it. We, all of a sudden, seemed content in this squalid place called our village. So much so that I even started getting up early in the mornings because I couldn't wait for the new day to begin.

Sex during the first few days was a bit awkward because we were just getting to know each other. We were overzealous, to say the least, and we fumbled and floundered a lot. The awe of each new discovery was accompanied by the clumsiness of not knowing our way around each other's bodies. But once the lava had fully erupted and we were able to get things out of our systems, we calmed down. Once the rush to do everything at once subsided, we started to focus on a few things at a time. Our communication in bed improved and we started doing things to each other that led to many a wonderful orgasms. We started to really enjoy each other.

We quickly got used to each other's tastes, aromas, and quirks. I found her to be extremely delicious. I enjoyed being with her in our private moments. I enjoyed holding her in my arms, feeling her breasts against my chest, and I particularly enjoyed being inside of her. There were many times when I would sit in her favourite position with my cock buried in her belly and both of us kissing and caressing each other until the wee hours of the morning. There was never a rush to climax, but once that slow simmering turned into one boiling kettle, it was from the depths of our beings. Each time I came, it was so encompassing that I couldn't imagine anything better. I felt so thoroughly and deeply moved each time that I couldn't think of any feelings more beautiful.

I couldn't believe the effects of having an orgasm had on my s****r. She was very affectionate before and during sex, but after she had her orgasms, she became a living definition of veneration. The amount of adoration she bestowed upon me was beyond belief. I loved every moment of it and I loved turning her into that special person; not only because once she reached that level, she made sure that I was in heaven, but because I loved the sounds of satisfaction that emanated from her throat and the magical way her body writhed under me as she experienced the release. Many a times she cried because the feelings overwhelmed her to tears. I held her against me even longer than usual on those occasions and the tenderness and caring poured out of our skins and went into the other's nervous system.

Unknown to the rest of the world, we were a couple and we acted like one. She was my woman, my wife, my soul mate. I was her companion, her man, her husband. We lived together as a couple and we performed our household tasks as a couple. Our mother also lived in that house—well, it was our mother's house to begin with—but she stayed out of our way most of the time because of her times spent with Precious and Chibuku. Whenever she did spend time with us, we reverted back to being her son and daughter, and behaved as such, but as soon as she was out of the way, it was time for our union, for us to express our heartfelt love and desires for each other.

My s****r liked to have sex as much as—if not more than—I did. She made sure that all of her chores were done as early as possible so that we could be with each other for maximum period of time. At first, most of that time was spent making love. However, once we overcame our hunger and things became a bit normal, and once we realized that it was real, that we were real, and that we would be with each other for as long as we chose to do so, lovemaking became a continuous activity instead of just plain fuck sessions. We started to focus on prolonging the stimulation and keeping each other aroused for as long as possible, instead of just screwing each other until we were spent.

I also became clear-headed.

I no longer spent time thinking about having sex and fantasizing about Precious, my s****r, or even my mother. I no longer longed to practice those positions from my dad's secret book with someone. I was actually doing it with my s****r and I was getting my fill. Before I used to sit around the farm and do nothing. The sperm in my body that ached to be released used to incapacitate me to the point of zero productivity. Now that that sperm was flowing out of me on a regular basis, I was no longer incapacitated during the day. My brain started to focus on other things that mattered in life. The most amazing part was that after draining my energies into her, I actually felt more vigorous. So much so that I became very industrious.

I actually started to think of my life—where it was headed, how it could be improved, and how she and I could have a better future.

Unfortunately the village didn't provide any opportunities for improving our future and we didn't have the resources to move to a place that did. I was caught between wanting to do a lot and not having anything to do. I was ready to journey but had no destination. She and I discussed the matter quite seriously, but in the end, we came up with nothing. Our lot was to continue our daily life as it was, without changing the status quo. Still, I wasn't depressed the way I previously used to be after a similar realization. She was there and I found her to be very uplifting in those newfound positions.

I started to get ready with her in the mornings and as she left for the convenience store, I went to the farm. Originally the idea was to finish tending to the a****ls early and come home early. This way she and I could spend even more time together; the bonus being that I would start my day with her and end it within her. As a side effect, my mother saw me spending more time at the farm so she decided to stop going there as she used to. She started nursing her hangovers at home while I was f***ed to do what she used to do or what was required to be done.

Once I started to do farm related chores, I became aware of our farm. As silly as that sounds, it is the truth. Up until I had to dig my first ditch to drain the rainwater away from our would-be crops, I didn't really pay attention to what we had. Before I used to see miles of grass and thorn bushes as far as the eyes could see, but once I started to worry about the coming rainy season and how—nay, where—I was going to plant enough corn to sustain us through the coming year, I realized that there was actually earth underneath the grass and around the bushes; earth that could grow things, different things, not just corn. My s****r always battled to get fresh vegetables to sell in the store; heck, I could become her supplier. I could even plant fruit trees and sell the fruit once it ripened. There was a link between the store and this earth and consequently between my s****r and me. She and I both could work together for a better future—and we could do it independent of each other. I could provide her with whatever she needed to sell and she could sell all that I would provide. I'll make my profit from the store and she could make her profit from her customers, who were always bitching and moaning about lack of fresh vegetables, fresh fruit, fresh milk, and fresh meat. Heck, this land also had our herd grazing on it; in a way, it could also provide that fresh milk and fresh meat they wanted. I could grow a larger, much larger herd. Not just cows, but sheep and goats and chickens. Shit, I could even start supplying stuff to other villages around us and may be even take it to the nearest cities.

To say that I became excited at my fantasies of a better future would be an understatement. I was excited beyond belief. I was actually aroused at the thoughts of making something out of my life. There was a purpose growing in my brain and the exhilaration it gave me even surpassed the exhilaration of having sex with the sweetest and most delicious woman on this earth. That night, as I held my s****r in my arms, my body and mind were in two different places. For once, I wasn't eager to enter her body; rather I chose to pick her brain; for a while at least, until my euphoria from the daydreaming eventually transferred to my penis, which I then started to transfer into her with slow and steady strokes at first, and with wild and stormy thrusts afterwards as we delved deeper into each other. By the time I finished expending my excitement, she had also caught the bug. She reciprocated my thrusts with equal vigour.

The following day, I borrowed a notebook and a couple of pens from the store against future credit from the farm and started to make serious plans.

First I explored every corner of the farm to find out how much land we really did have and what kind of shape it was in. I was pleasantly surprised to find that there was enough land to not only grow things the way I wanted, but to host a larger herd of cows and other a****ls that I wanted to raise. To my dismay, though, most of it was heavily covered with grass, weeds, and thorn bushes. There were, however, a few shallow patches with mostly grass and a few trees s**ttered here and there. Given enough time and plenty of hard work, I could clear those and get them ready for cultivation before the rains started. Time I had; hard work I was willing to do; rain, however, was unpredictable.

People in this part of the world normally farm around rains. When the rains come, they put the seed into the ground and wait for more rains to water it and to water subsequent plants that grow out of it. There is no other way of irrigating the land and if the rains decide not to show, well, the seed and all the little plants that initially start growing, just die a sad death. The plants that do grow and do survive until the crop can be harvested are poorly maintained. More weed makes it to the end than the useful crop, which in most cases is corn. Whatever corn that comes out of the crop is used to make maeli meal, which in most cases lasts only a few months and people have to find other means of sustenance for the rest of the year. The fact that most people have no manpower to even prepare the land properly, or to seed it thoroughly, only makes the situation worst. Once in a while someone rents a tractor and people plough the fields properly before the rains, but the umpteenth year of draught has nicely put an end to even that. People basically live off of their sons and daughters that have escaped the village or relatives that take pity and send some money or flour their way.

My f****y usually survives at the strength of our convenience store. People buy their milk, groceries, and petrol from us. We even sell clothing and hardware items, but there isn't much need for things of that sort. As far as farming was concerned, my mother couldn't do it even if she wanted to, and I couldn't recall the last time anyone had put some seed into the ground at our farm. My interest in the past had been limited to herding the a****ls, but now that I was thinking of growing crops out of the land, I couldn't get past the problem of irrigation. I didn't want to spend all that time and energy, only to see the crops turn to dust because we had no rains coming our way.

One part of our farm, a little higher place than the rest, had an island of Syringa trees. These trees formed a circular boundary around a fairly large open area. There were some thorn trees mixed in, that usually provided a breeding area for the weaver birds. On one side of that island was a run down barn-like structure that my grandfather or his father had built so many eons ago. My father used to loaf around in that structure during the days when he pretended to work at the farm, and recently it was my mother's hangout, or shall I say, hangover-out. I usually spent my time on that tree island and avoided the structure. Now, facing a dilemma that could easily crush my dreams of doing something useful, I decided to explore what was inside that large shed, hoping and praying that I would come across something useful that would allow me to make something out of the farm. The least I expected was a plough of some sorts, and some other farming tools; something to shear the grass with, something to uproot the bushes with, a shovel, a pick, an axe, anything.

I found some rusted tools with broken handles, some fencing material, a few bricks and a couple of bags of cement that through the years had solidified beyond use. There were a few shells of ploughs and one donkey cart that had seen its heyday many years ago. All these items either required a lot of repair work before I could do anything useful with them or were beyond my knowledge of how to repair them. Because they were all mixed up, I decided to take them out one by one and salvage whatever I could before giving up on the whole endeavour.

It took me a week and a half, but I managed to sort things out. I cleaned out the whole barn, repaired whatever I could, and filled all the holes that needed to be filled. I took all useful items to the tree island and threw away what I thought was beyond redemption. When I was done, I had a nice barn area available to me, I had tools with new handles, and sharpened to almost their original sharpness, I had a donkey cart that needed only new wheels, and three ploughs that needed new heads.

The best item that I discovered while cleaning up was a diesel driven generator that only had one belt missing, but otherwise was in good condition. A gift from my father, I assumed, from his endless nights of gambling and probably the only things he didn't want to gamble away because it would have put an end to the very act of gambling.

That generator gave me an idea that could solve my irrigation problem.

We had a borehole at home that provided enough water to bathe in and to use it for various household usages, including watering our flowerbeds and small trees around the yard and feeding the toilets that flushed into the septic tank. That borehole required electricity to run, but there was no way to get electricity to our farm without paying a huge sum of money that we didn't have. This generator could power a similar, or bigger, borehole. Maybe, just maybe, I thought with held breath, that's why my father acquired the generator in the first place to power a borehole that he probably wanted to put in this land. The thought started to take shape in my head as I imagined my father lying on that foldaway bed I had found as he daydreamt of better days, just like me, with his companion carton of Chibuku or a bottle of some other poison. It was ironic that the very reason that had split my parents up, was then adopted by my mother so wholly. If I could only setup a nice little borehole to supplement the rain water, I would have a good chance of succeeding in my plans. I even discovered an area, where I could, with a little work, trap the rain water and use it to irrigate some additional land.

I discussed with my s****r what I wanted to do and she wholeheartedly approved. She even told me that she had a small sum of cash in case I needed an injection into my ventures. After all, if things worked out the way I was planning, it was going to be good for both of us. I didn't want to use her money, though, so I made my own plans. I looked to my own cash cow, well, more like cash cows, to fund my purchases. I started to sell the herd one a****l at a time as I needed the money. I didn't get as much for them as a seasoned farmer would have gotten, but I was learning and that was the price I had to pay for my knowledge.

I first mended the fence and moved on to buying a new plough, fixing the cart, buying a donkey to pull both, getting the generator fixed and putting in a reasonable sized borehole. I even put up a fence around the trees to keep the herd in close range. Just that act alone gave me a few hours of extra time that I could spend on farming.

I cleared the bushes and grass, ploughed the land that I had cleared, and prepared it for planting. There was plenty of fertilizer now that the a****ls were confined to a smaller, more manageable area. The borehole worked its magic and when the first rains came, I already had a nice field of corn growing in one part of the farm, with additional fields ready to be seeded. My s****r came to see the fruit of my hard work and was quite excited from seeing the results.

But, no one, and I mean no one was more excited than my mother when she laid her eyes on that lush, green, mouth-watering field of corn. I had even started growing small patches of vegetables and spices that my s****r and I planned to sell at the store, not to mention various fruit, flower, and other trees that we could use to make additional money.

When the rains came, my mother came to the farm to do what she normally did in the past. I knew she was coming, so instead of working hard as it had become my routine, I just sat around lazily, waiting for her. She noticed the changes immediately, but didn't comment on anything. She didn't know that the herd was smaller now because I had let the a****ls loose so they could feed in areas away from the crop that I was growing. After she finished giving me a tongue lashing for just sitting around like a lug, I took her to the area where the corn was in full bloom.

Her eyes popped out of their sockets. I had more crop growing than she had ever managed to plant in recent memory and I had a lot of land still left to be seeded. She was very excited as she repeated, "I can't believe my eyes", over and over. She screamed when she saw the borehole providing a small, but steady stream of water.

She rushed me and gave me this one giant hug, as she said, "Finally, a man with brains in my f****y."

She then rushed through the field, feeling the leaves, touching the stalks, basically revelling in her excitement. When she came back, she gave me another hug and kissed me hard. She said, "Son, I have been praying for a man to come and make something out of this land. I didn't know that I actually had to give birth to such a man before I would see the day my dream is realized."

I was overwhelmed, to say the least. I had been working hard and the progress that she saw during her visit had come steadily for me, so it didn't have the same impact, or rather I had taken it for granted. But to her, the transformation of the land was miraculous. Not only that, but the rains had just started and together we could double, even triple, the amount of corn we could grow compared to the one that was already growing.

She hugged me repeatedly as I showed her around and introduced her to my plan. She was a bit upset when I showed her the remaining cows, but she perked up when she saw the donkey, the cart, the plough, and all the other tools that I had accumulated. She kissed me hard again when she saw the transformation of the rundown shed into a nice and cosy barn. Her foldaway bed that she used to nurse her hangovers upon was nicely tucked away in a corner and ready to be used if she so desired. I had established a clean area around it for her, or for me for that matter, and I had put a few personal amenities to establish a place to stay for an extended period of time, in case the rains came down hard and I had to spend time at the farm to keep an eye on the herd.

She pulled the bed to the centre of that area, unfolded it and sat facing the window. She asked me to come and sit with her, and when I did, she put her arm around me and leaned her head on my shoulder as she gazed out with her excitement fully showing in her face. When I looked at her and felt the strength with which she was squeezing me, something dawned on me. It occurred to me that my mother was going through the realization that her boy had grown and become a man. It also occurred to me that I had two, not one, women in my life.My mother's excitement stayed with her as she helped me gather the a****ls and put them into their area. It stayed with her as we worked together on the farm for the rest of the day and it was with her when we put everything in order and prepared to leave the farm for the evening. It was with her even when we came home. My s****r was surprised to see me walking in with my mother, who was unbelievably giddy, and she was even more surprised when my mother passed up on going to Precious and stayed with us, talking, chattering, telling my s****r about the miracle I had performed, and how proud she was of me. We impatiently waited for her to fall asl**p and when she did, I took my s****r with more passion and excitement than usual. My s****r was really surprised at that and I told her simply that mom's excitement had rubbed off on me and had transformed me into a more energetic person. She appreciated it and even joked that the next morning she'll thank mom for the pleasure she was receiving. She was happy to see mom in such high spirits, after almost a decade of gloom.

I was more energetic, or more passionate, for another reason. When I kissed my s****r, I still had the feelings of my mother's kisses on my lips. My mom didn't realize it in her enthusiasm that she was kissing me full on the mouth. While she was yelling and screaming to vocalize her excitement, her mouth did open enough to make it a wet kiss. I had tasted her saliva, not to mention that I had also felt her breasts on my arms and on my chest. So far I had been only with one woman, that being my s****r, so I didn't know how it would affect me if another woman came into some sort of intimate contact with me. From being in a semi-intimate contact with my mother, I knew that the affect was exhilarating.

I was aroused by my mother's hugs and kisses and I spent that arousal on my s****r. My mother had, unknowingly, contributed to a more passionate lovemaking between my s****r and I. I found that to be fascinating, and also I found that to be the one thing I couldn't share with my s****r. I was awake way after she had fallen asl**p and I kept thinking about my mother's hugs and kisses even after I had depleted myself so thoroughly inside my s****r. I was perplexed at the way I felt aroused by my mother and how it had made me feel even strongly towards—and for—my s****r.

I couldn't help but wonder about the differences in the two bodies. My mom had a stronger and bigger build than my s****r and her breasts were larger and softer, her hips were wider and her waist was thicker. In all proportions, my s****r was petite compared to my mom and that made a big difference in the feelings I received from each. There were similarities, but there were also huge differences. It wasn't that I wanted my mom more than my s****r, or that I wanted her at all. There were no thoughts of actually having sex with her. It was just that the feel of her breasts had made me warm all over and that warmth had transferred to my loins in ways that it had never done before. Even though it was her hugs and kisses that made me feel horny, for lack of a better word, I wasn't horny after her. I still wanted my s****r, and only her. There was one flash where I wondered for a second about my mother's excitement. She was so jumpy, passionate, and expressive when she was excited over the farm, I wondered how she would be if she was excited the other way. Would she be as jumpy, passionate, and expressive if she was sexually excited? Once that thought flashed in mind, I quickly looked at my s****r sl**ping next to me and I felt guilty as if she knew what I was thinking and I wasn't supposed to be thinking things like that because of her being my woman. I felt like I had to reassure her of my loyalty.

My s****r was really surprised when I woke her up and fucked her again with abandon. There was a look of apprehension on her face that I didn't understand, but then I didn't care. I was making a point and for the first time in our relationship, I wanted to fuck her more for myself than for her and as soon as I came, I was finished. I could feel in her body language that she was puzzled, but I had to get some sl**p before starting the next day.

To my utter surprise, my mother joined me the next day soon after I reached the farm and started working with me to cultivate and seed the land, feed the a****ls, and water the crops already in bloom. I had never seen my mother work as hard as she did that day, or during the days that were to follow.

As we sat relaxing on one small hill, looking down at the work we had finished for that day, she patted my arm and said, "Son, I want to congratulate you at turning this land, and hopefully this f****y, around."

"You are welcome, mom," I said, as I hoped for her to hug or kiss the way she had done the previous day. She held herself in check that day.

The downside of my mother working at the farm was that she didn't have the time to relieve my s****r from the store and we had no dinner waiting for us that evening. My mother quickly took a bath in the water from the house borehole and made supper for all of us. That was another surprise for my s****r, who had given up on mother taking any interest in household chores. My mom was tired from a hard days work and fell asl**p quickly. I told my s****r that there was another person who must have been really surprised at the transformation my mother had gone through: Precious. She must be wondering that my mother was probably sick or something as she didn't visit her now for two days in a row.

My s****r and I made love with a rather subdued mood. She was feeling upset at the extra time she had to spend in the store and the less time that we had together. As I held her, I firmly told her that I didn't like her to be feeling that way. This was another change that we just had to get used to and adjust ourselves accordingly. She apparently followed my command as her kisses became more enthusiastic after that. By the time she fell asl**p, she was feeling herself again.

My mother woke up earlier than all of us the next morning and knocked on my door to wake me up. My s****r was curled up next to me in my bed. I panicked thinking that my mother was coming inside and she was going to catch us red-handed. I shook my s****r awake and told her to rush out as soon as the coast was clear. We escaped that day and I told her that we had to be more careful in the future. Yet another adjustment we had to make in our normal routine.

About a week later, as we sat on the same hill, admiring our handiwork, I decided to put my arm around my mom. She put her head on my shoulder and I squeezed hers as a sign of my appreciation for her help with the farm. It was not the same hug that I wanted to experience again, but it was better than nothing.

I didn't realize it then, but that small gesture from me opened my mother up to becoming a bit more affectionate towards me, a bit more touchy-feely than in the past. It almost became a ritual with us that at the end of each day we would sit next to each other, her head on my shoulder, my arm around her shoulders, and a caress here and a squeeze there. At times she even put her arm around my waist for added support.

My s****r and I didn't have as many opportunities available to us for being together where we could make love as much as we wanted. We had to settle for quickies, which usually meant that I would go in and come quickly, while she didn't quite get a chance to finish. At times, we just kissed and cuddled and didn't even get started with love making because we had to go to sl**p so we could wake up on time the next day.

Our relationship started to suffer as a result.

It was very unfulfilling to have only hurried intimacy. We couldn't say all that we wanted to say or do all that we wanted to do. I couldn't share with her the details of my day or report to her the progress I was making in as much detail as I used to. Our lovemaking had less and less foreplay and therefore less and less affection. Well, the affection was still there, it only felt like it was less because we could not have each other as thoroughly as we used to. In this case, reduced quantity also lessened the quality. I could see in her face and in her body the disappointment and even anger over this reduction in our time together. Because it wasn't really my fault, I didn't take it kindly to her disappointment. It wasn't for lack of wanting that we weren't together as much and as often as before; as a matter of fact I wanted her a lot more now than I did before. It was just that there wasn't any time available to show her how much I really wanted her. I also didn't like the fact that I was working so hard to make a better future and she was turning our lack of time into a void between the two of us. But, a void we had that seemed to be growing wider almost daily.

It took a while before I realized that I was actually filling that void by channelling my energies into becoming a bit more adventurous with my mother. I was spending less time with my s****r but I was never alone. If I didn't have her around me, I at least had my mother around me. If one woman in my life was becoming distant, the other was always within reach. I used to look at my s****r's body with admiration. I soon found myself looking at my mother's body and the admiration just transferred to her. I actually found her to be quite sexy and attractive. Funny, she had always been there, but I never quite saw her the way I was starting to see her now. Even when I used to fantasize about the positions, I still never saw her to be as voluptuous and tantalizing as she seemed now. u*********sly, I replaced my s****r in my thoughts with my mother. Soon, whenever my s****r and I got together, I actually felt guilty because I felt this strange and odd sense of loyalty to my partner, my mother. Needless to say, even those encounters soon disappeared. I was lost. The woman I had, went away, and the woman that was around, wasn't really mine to be had.

It was one of those depressing and lonely days when I stood on that hill looking at the corn that was now loaded with corn ears and felt a little pain at the thought that my s****r and I couldn't even rejoice together at the fruition of our crop. I longed for those days when she and I enjoyed our sexual life to the fullest. Suddenly I felt an arm wrap around my waist as my mother pressed her side into me and said, "Look at all that, son. The fruits of your labour."

I unfolded my hands from my chest and wrapped my left arm around her shoulders. I could feel her press into me a little more in response to my gesture. Her right breast was on my ribcage. The softness was a welcome feeling and I said to her, "The fruits of OUR labour mom."

She was a bit awkward in her stance so she turned a little towards me. She actually hugged me, gently, ever so gently. Her both breasts were now touching my side. I held her tenderly as she just gazed down on the green fields. She must have known that I was down, but she was smart enough to keep quiet and just stood with me like that for a long while, until I decided to move. She showed such maturity and tenderness that I was moved.

Once we made such a contact, it became easier to make the same contact the next time. I would just stand every evening, a bit depressed, and she would put her arm around my waist. I would then wrap my arm around her shoulders, to which she would reply by moving into me and pressing herself into my side. After a week or so, we became so used to it that it became a routine. We settled into the routine so much that when I decided to be a little more aggressive by putting my arm around her waist and pulling her in front of me, she moved in front of me. I then put my other arm around her waist from the other side, locked my hands together and held her like that. She placed her hands on my hands and arched her back a little so her shoulders leaned against my chest. The rest of her body was away from me. I held her like that, with my hands on her belly, for about a minute and then released her, saying that we better go, it was getting dark.

Whether she knew it or not, whether she realized it or not, I had actually made an advance on her and she had acquiesced.

I made the same advance every day for many days after that with the same results. I held her with my arms around her waist, my hands locked and resting on her belly, her back arched a little and her shoulders pressed into my chest. Her head would normally rest on my left shoulder and I could feel her long hair on my cheeks, but that contact was also fairly casual.

Slowly and steadily, the distance between her back and my front started to decrease, until one day I could hold her in my arms with my front touching her back, sometimes even her butt softly touching my thighs.

My mom and I worked side by side to tend to the a****ls, to weed the crops, to spread the manure, to water the fields, to guide the rain water where it needed to go, and to basically run the farm from edge to edge. We even helped each other deliver our first calf as the herd started to grow back and milk the cow as the mother started to feed the baby less and less. The milk was only enough for us, so we didn't think of selling it.

She and I were now working like a couple. She was my woman and I was her man, at least in my mind. We tended to each other's injuries as farming life is harsh enough to bring a few. We even helped relieve the pain out of each other's muscles by massaging them whenever necessary. All that of course, increased our intimacy to such a point that if once in a while we made a contact that would otherwise be considered inappropriate, we just ignored it and went on with our work.

I didn't realize how free we had become until one day as I went into the field where the corn stalks were now drying out and the corn crop was coming to full maturity, almost ready for harvesting, I decided to lie in the middle of the field to basically revel in the feelings of success. She followed me there after I had disappeared for a long while and took a place next to me in the field. We lay there side by side for a long time, discussing our plans for harvesting, for storing, and for selling the crop. We must have been there on the ground for a good couple of hours and in that time our tossing and turning thoroughly messed our clothes and hair in the back. Once we decided to get up and do other things and she saw the way my back was covered in dust and dry leaves, she started to clear it off. She took quite a while to remove all traces from my hair, shirt, and jeans. It involved rubbing my buttocks off as well which she did without slightest of hesitation. Her hands on my ass felt quite nice and I felt some movement in my briefs. Once she was done, she turned her back to me and said, "Now, your turn. Make sure you do a nice job. I don't want anyone to think that we were busy with each other in the field."

That comment, made so innocently and without any thought to its implications, made my heart jump. First of all it brought to my mind the image of my mother on the floor of that field and me on top of her, messing up her back and hair, so to speak. I pictured myself pumping into my mother hard as her body slid around or thrashed around in response to my thrusts. Those thoughts sent currents to my already moving penis and I felt it harden quickly. More currents followed as my hands worked on her back, her hair, her legs, and eventually her ass. My hands were literally trembling as I rubbed her soft buttocks and removed traces of dust from them. I enjoyed the feel of her behind and I took advantage of the situation by caressing, instead of rubbing, the area between her cheeks. I had to kneel down to get myself low enough to see what I had to remove. In a way, it was good because I could conceal my erection between my thighs. But when she found me spending so much care on her butt, she looked over her shoulder to see what I was doing. I quickly finished the task and when I was done, she turned around and offered me her hand to help me get up. I didn't want to because I was hosting such a massive hard-on, but I had to because I had no reason to stay down. She may or may not have seen my erection but she realized there was a lot of dust on my knees. She bent down to dust them off and in doing so, brought her head on level with my erection. Once she was done and she looked up towards me to give me a nice smile, her smile froze on her lips as her eyes focused on the contours of my rock hard cock throbbing through the thick material of my jeans.

I could see her face turn white as she turned away from me in a hurry. She moved out of the field and then away from me rather quickly. I couldn't tell if she was flustered, but I did notice her averting her eyes away from me whenever I came around to wherever she was busy. The proof that something was different about her came when she didn't even come to the hill that evening for our usual surveying of the fields.

As a matter of fact, our surveying stopped completely. We worked together, but there was certainly something different in our, or rather her, attitude. I couldn't understand the reason; after all, she must have known I have a penis. Why did my erection make such a big difference in her behaviour?

It took for a heavy down pour to get me the answer to that question. As is customary, once in a while, the sky breaks loose and we get bombarded by rains so heavy that one can't move around. It was one such rain and we both got caught in it. By the time she and I finished moving the a****ls to safety and made it to our barn, we were completely drenched and our clothes were full of mud and cow dung. We had no choice but to take them off, wash them in the rain, and dry them by the fire that I quickly built from the firewood I had stocked up for just such an occasion. I had grabbed some corn from the field to roast so we had something to eat.

She covered herself in the blanket from her foldaway bed, as I used the bed sheet to cover myself. As I dried the clothes and prepared the corn, I saw her move to the window and peer outside. She stood their looking out for quite a long time. There was something in her demeanour that told me that she wasn't just looking outside but was looking far away towards another time. I brought the corn to her and stood behind her trying to see whatever she was seeing. We stood there for a while, quietly, nibbling on the corn, when after a long time she broke the silence. She mumbled, "I love this kind of rain."

I couldn't understand her reasons, because the rain was basically wreaking havoc and flooding our fields.

She spoke again, softly, "The way it is pouring down, we are practically cut off from the rest of the world. It is so peaceful, knowing that you are all alone; no one can come to disturb you, or to know what you are up to. It is just you and no one else."

She was talking more to herself than to me because her sentences did not include a reference to me.

"I have always wanted to be in a thunderstorm like this one. I have always wished for such storm to last a few days so I can enjoy the aloneness it brings. Imagine no one knows where you are or what has happened to you. Complete anonymity for the duration of this storm."

I just listened and I tried to think what she was saying. True, we were cut off from the world, but the world was only a few kilometres away. I mean, if someone wanted to find us, he or she could.

With that, my s****r came to mind. She knew that whenever a storm like this comes, we usually stay put, so I wasn't worried that she would be worried. But, I thought of her alone in the house and really lonely. A sudden pain came from my heart and spread through my body.My mother was quiet and looking out as before, with complete concentration. She didn't notice my arms reaching around her waist until I had closed them around her and locked them on her belly, liked I used to on that hill outside. She leaned back into me and I held her against me like that for a while. She was still wrapped in that blanket.

The deafening silence of the deafening storm, if one can imagine such, transported us to another place altogether. I held her in my arms as we stood there enjoying being so cut off from the world, just the two of us, alone, together, with each other. She was my mother and I was her son, but that was in our barn. In this new place, it wasn't a son holding his mother; it was a young man holding his partner. She was a woman with romantic thoughts of a storm lashing outside; I was a man with a storm pouring on his inside. The fire had died down a long time ago and the lightening had subsided to negligible strikes. We were standing in the dark with our bodies pressed together on either side of the blanket.

It was automatic as I put my left hand around her front and placed it on her right shoulder. Then gently, ever so gently, I turned her around to face me.

It was also automatic that when she turned, the blanket slipped off of her and fell on the floor next to the sheet that had already slipped off of me.

I held her hands and brought them to my shoulders. She placed them around my neck as my arms slipped around her waist and she melted into me.

I held her against me like that for what seemed like hours. Her big breasts firmly pressed into my big chest, our bellies lined against each other muscle to muscle, our pubic hair getting tangled, and my erect penis firmly pressed between her thighs.

As she put her hands into my hair and held them hard, I lowered mine to her buttocks and started to caress her behind. She raised herself a little higher so I could reach a little lower as she brought her mouth closer to mine. First our lips met, then our lips entangled, then our tongues met, and then our tongues entwined. That kiss was a beautiful kiss. The experience I had gained and the experience she possessed, culminated in a kiss for the ages. It was sweet, it was delicious, and above all it was intoxicating. I mean literally intoxicating. I felt myself getting high on my mother's kisses.

Once she had her fill and she paused to take a break from our smooching, I moved lower and held my face between her breasts. They were huge and extremely soft. I kissed them all over and I took those nourishing nipples of hers in my mouth one by one as I sucked on them hard while squeezing each breast in both of my hands. Her hands were running all over my body as she tried to hold her chest in my face. I proceeded down to her stomach, pubes and then found my way down to the source of that other nourishing nectar of hers. I had to kneel in front of her so I could properly place my tongue on her clit. As her soft knob came in contact with my soft appendage, she grabbed my head in both of her hands, held my hair tightly, and started to thrust her pussy onto my mouth. I placed my lower teeth behind my tongue as I tried to give it more f***e so that each thrust resulted in a lot of pressure on her clit. She was grunting with each thrust as I held my pose without hurting my tongue. He grunts became louder and louder until she just couldn't take it any longer and dragged me to the foldaway bed. She fell on it backwards and quickly positioned herself on the bed while dragging me between her legs. She didn't let go of my hair until I was positioned cock to pussy and then she reached between us, grabbed my dick in her hand, and pushed it into her cunt. She had a storm of her own pouring inside her because she was wetter than the fields outside and my donkey of an erection ploughed through that mother earth almost the instant it touched her lips. She then grabbed my buttocks and started to help me plunge in and out of her as her sounds came from deep within her to tell me how close she was to overflowing the dam.

When she came, she came hard. She was actually thrusting upward, lifting me high into the air as her inside walls gave way, and her orgasm flowed onto my shaft. Her orgasm was much stronger than any of my s****r's had ever been and it also lasted longer. In another change from my s****r, she actually came before I did and once she was calm and cool, I actually enjoyed fucking my mother because I paced myself to my body's signals and not hers. When I did come, eventually, she wrapped her legs around my hips, and squeezed her pussy muscles to milk every drop out of me and into her. She held me inside of her much longer than I had ever spent in my s****r after coming inside her. Again, my mother's experience came to benefit me because this session wasn't me fucking my woman, my woman was actually fucking me and I liked being fucked. My s****r let me do her, while my mother was doing me.

She also knew how to revive me much more quickly than my s****r. So, within much shorter period than I was used to, I was hard again. In another reversal of things, she mounted me and soon I was being fucked again.

That night was a night of discoveries for me. I found out that my mother's behaviour had changed because that look on my erection had transformed me in her eyes into a virile bull who was ready to mount his own mother and the analogy was very exciting for her, only the act required special circumstances. She knew she wanted me from the moment she laid her eyes on the ridge pushing through my jeans. I was the first healthy cock she had seen in a long while and she couldn't help but want it, and want it bad she did, so bad that she had to stay away from me to contain herself. I also found out that my mother loved the taste of my pre-cum. She enjoyed drinking from the source and when the source was exhausted, she replenished it again with her own juices. She also knew how to give head properly. She showed me how mind blowing a good blow job can be. The other thing I found out about her was that she liked to be in charge and that made it easy for me. I didn't have to guess what stage she was at. She took herself to every stage and she made sure that she got what she wanted out of our intercourse, while dishing plenty out for me as well. Of course, then there was the discovery of a big pussy versus a tight one. That one, I am still debating to this day.

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