Back to the Garden (6 page)

“Let me see, Mom.” His voice was hoarse and he was tugging at her blouse.

Sitting back, she worked the buttons with trembling fingers, wet with her saliva. He took his cock in his hand, stroking it as he watched her, and she couldn’t take her eyes of his shaft, how it glistened, how the skin pulled up over the head.

She peeled her blouse off her shoulders and knelt up between his legs, seeing his eyes focused on her breasts. Smiling, she unclasped the front hook, opening her bra and letting the full, rounded globes spill out against his thighs.

“Oh God,” he groaned, looking at her topless between his legs and reaching for her with his other hand.

“Do you like them?” She gasped when he found her nipple, rolling the dark, fleshy bud between his thumb and forefinger, sending a jolt through her.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, his hand moving faster on his cock as he tugged and squeezed her breast.

She snuggled up a little closer to him, wedging herself between his thighs and pressing her breasts against his hard shaft. Taking him in her hand, she slid him in between her cleavage, pressing her heavy breasts around the thick meat of him. He moaned as she started to move, using her soft flesh to create a smooth tunnel for him to slide through.

“Fuck Mommy’s tits, baby,” she whispered, watching the tip of his cock appearing every time she went down again and reaching her tongue out for it.

He groaned and began to thrust up against her, his hands covering hers as he shoved his cock between her heavy breasts. His breath was coming in short gasps, his thighs quivering, and she knew he was getting closer.

Leaning in, she slid her whole body up him, her mouth capturing his, trapping his throbbing cock between their bellies. Her pussy was aching, longing to be touched, and she stood between his legs, unsnapping her jeans and sliding them down her hips.

“Oh,” he breathed, watching her turn her back to him as she wiggled them down her ass, taking her panties with them. Then she faced him again, completely naked, and he reached for her, my God, her son reaching out for her, wanting her, she had seen that look in his eyes a thousand times but never like this...

She pressed forward, the full, dark triangle between her legs at his eye level, and he was staring at it, his hand on his cock, squeezing hard.

“Do you like it?” she murmured, putting one foot up on the arm of the sofa and using her fingers to spread her lips, showing him the promise of pink inside. He nodded, swallowing, watching her move her fingers through the soft folds of flesh, slipping through the wetness there.

“Feels so good,” she whispered as she slipped two fingers inside, her thumb moving to find her clit. The wet sound of her fingering herself filled the room and her son’s eyes were glued between her legs, his hand moving faster and faster on his cock. “Do you want to taste, baby?”

He groaned, nudging her fingers out of the way as he leaned forward, looking up at her, over the soft, rounded belly and full breasts as she watched him moving toward her center. His fingers found her first, probing between her lips, parting the thick, wiry hair and getting lost in the softness inside.

“Oh baby,” she moaned, feeling his hand moving behind her, cupping her ass as his fingers slipped in deeper, beginning to slide in and out. “Please...”

He sank his tongue between her lips then, quickly searching out and finding her clit, and she realized with a start that this was hardly the first time he had done this. His tongue was skilled, moving around the sensitive bud of flesh, making her gasp and squirm, but the hand against her ass squeezed hard, holding her tight against his mouth.

She sank her hands into his thick, dark hair, rocking and moaning against his tongue. His fingers didn’t stop, driving faster and harder into her flesh as he licked her, making soft noises in his throat as he swallowed her juices. Looking down at him, seeing his eyes, his mouth tight against her pussy, working her flesh with his tongue, was too much. She knew she was going to come, she couldn’t stop it, didn’t want to anymore—she was his.

“Oh Richie,” she moaned, using a name she hadn’t called him since he was young, grinding hard as she felt her orgasm swelling. He seemed to know it was coming, his tongue moving lightning fast between her lips, back and forth now, his fingers pistoning into her flesh, and she couldn’t resist it anymore.

She shuddered, her knees almost buckling as she came, her pussy spasming around his fingers again and again. He didn’t let her go, his hand on her ass, steadying her, his tongue sending tremoring waves of pleasure through her body as he continued to fuck her with his fingers.

Panting, she pushed his head back, looking down and seeing her juices all over his cheeks and chin, and she smiled, leaning over to kiss him, tasting herself in his mouth. She felt his cock against her thigh as she pressed between his, the tip wet with pre-cum, and she pushed him back as she straddled him on the sofa.

“Mom,” he gasped as she reached between them, tugging at his shaft, aiming him. She shook her head, kissing him into silence. Whatever second thoughts he was having, whatever doubts and fears she might have had, were simply being melted away in the heat between them.

“I want to fuck you,” she whispered, kissing his cheeks, his chin, rubbing the head of his cock between her swollen pussy lips.

He groaned, thrusting up towards her, his cock finding her opening, his hands going immediately to her hips. They both gasped when she was sitting fully impaled on his cock, their eyes meeting, their bodies slick and trembling together. Leila thought her heart would stop, seeing the pleasure bordering on pain in her son’s face, and then he began to move inside of her.

There was no thinking then—there was only the sweet, delicious friction between them building up as they rocked together. She leaned in to him, kissing his cheek, his ear, his neck, tasting the salt of his sweat, biting at his shoulder when he dug his fingers into her ass. He guided her, pulling her pussy down hard into his groin as he thrust up deep inside of her.

“Do you like that?” she whispered into his ear as she squeezed her muscles around him. He hissed and gripped her ass, rolling her around on his cock.

“Yeah,” he panted, his belly hard and tight against her softness. “I love it.”

“Tell me,” she murmured, rolling her hips, now, too, feeling her clit rubbing against his shaft. “Tell me you love fucking your mother’s pussy.”

“Oh God,” he growled, driving himself up into her now, slamming her down onto his cock. “I love fucking you, Mom!”

The sound of the words gave an immediate edge to her pleasure and she clutched him, working for it, grinding her hips as he fucked her.

“You’re going to make me come again, Richie,” she whispered into his ear, holding him tight.

“Ohhh fuck!” he groaned, and she felt his whole body strung and quivering with it, like a bow pulled tight and waiting, and then letting go, an arrow seeking its mark.

“Yes,” she purred, rocking and rolling against his groin, feeling his cock beginning to flood her with thick, hot bursts of him. “Come in Mommy’s pussy, baby.”

He was lost in it, his head going back, his eyes closing, and she let herself go, too, following him over that delicious edge, her own eyes fluttering closed as she came all over his cock, her pussy fluttering around him, milking the last bit of his cum.

Panting, Leila slowly slid off his lap, reaching for the blanket and covering them both. His breath came in fast hitching sighs that started to slow as they both relaxed.

The slick wetness between her thighs was more than enough of a reminder to her of what they had done.

On the screen, Clarence was finally getting his wings, and she felt like she had, too.

“Are you ok?” he whispered, putting his arm around her shoulder and pulling her close. His eyes were concerned, loving, and she smiled, feeling tears welling.

“Yes,” she answered, snuggling up, watching Zsu Zsu ringing the bell. “Are you?”

“Yeah.” He kissed her forehead and breathed her in again.

“You know something, baby?” Leila murmured, finding his hand and clasping it. “I don’t want the moon...I just want you.”

There were no mirrors in the house, but with night coming on in the lamplight, Lily could see her reflection in her bedroom window, enough to straighten and tuck and smooth her costume into submission. No makeup, she didn’t dare hide it anywhere in the house for fear of getting caught, although she might stop by Amy’s if there was time.

She glanced at her bedside clock. It was an old one, with a second hand, because of course nothing digital was allowed in the house, and certainly nothing with a radio.
At least it’s not a sundial.
She smiled a little wryly at that. She bit her lips and pinched her cheeks for color, a trick she’d learned years ago from a girl in Sunday school.

She flipped her red hood up over her hair. It had never been cut and hung in dark waves down past her bottom. Usually it was braided or pulled back tightly and put up into a thick, complex kind of chignon her mother had taught her to configure when she was about thirteen.

That was the year before her mother had succumbed to metastasized breast-to-bone cancer, and there was such urgency in her teaching Lily hadn’t really understood at the time. It had taken countless tearful tries for her to learn it, and she remembered how her arms ached and trembled after each hour-long session from the effort, but now, five years later, she could manage it in under ten minutes.

Tonight she felt very exposed with her hair down and was grateful for the costume’s hood. The skirt felt too short, although she’d actually added three inches to the pattern. The lace-edged red-checked gingham didn’t quite meet the white stockings she wore, which left her knees exposed. The air on her thighs felt coolly wicked and the unexpected moistness between them made her flush. Her heart beat fast and hard, and she didn’t know if it was from the excitement of going to the Halloween dance with Luke, or from her own defiance and a deep-seated fear of getting caught.

It was probably both.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, sending up a little prayer.

Please God, let this night go well, please let him like me and please don’t let Adam find out.

All she wanted was a little taste of normal, one brief moment out of exile, just one carefree night of being with all the beautiful people. She heard Adam’s voice in her head quoting scripture: “The wicked shall die for his guilt!” and she moved back from the window as if he were really there and could see her.

Oh what he would say, what he would do!

Her heart raced even faster at the thought, and she pressed her wet palms against her skirt to cool them.

“He’s gone, Lily, he won’t be home until tomorrow,” she whispered reassuringly to herself.

She was supposed to be at church tonight, helping with the prayer circle, and she had
Jude the Obscure, Lolita, Catcher in the Rye
and the first of the Harry Potter books sitting on her bureau, all waiting to be set to flame at the finale of the church’s evening—

the annual book burning.

She’d read them all, down at her sewing table in the basement, running the foot pedal now and again with no thread, so Adam wouldn’t suspect.
Lolita
in particular had given her a thrill and she’d found her hand sneaking up under her skirts, probing the wet crevice in her white cotton panties and rubbing there until she was panting and breathless and then, oh then...

Lily squeezed her legs together at the memory, feeling both ashamed and an urgent longing to do it again, right now, this very moment, especially with so little material between her and the promised land. She resisted the urge, but enjoyed the aching pressure of her inner thighs coming together.

She’d been to a church service on every Halloween night since she could remember. No candy or trick or treating or costumes or parties for her. She knew other churches held carnivals and fall festivals and had bonfires on Halloween, but Adam wouldn’t hear of it.

Instead, their church was praying tonight for the souls of those celebrating on what Adam insisted on calling by its old pagan name: “All Hallowed’s Eve.” She sometimes took a little consolation in the fact that they had a bonfire of their own, of sorts, every Halloween. It had only been the last four or five years that she’d actually started to read the books Adam would collect for the book burning.

This year, he’d actually left
Lolita
sitting on her bureau, and had given her a long lecture about it, how heinous, how perverse it was. As if she could possibly resist reading it after that? She’d thought it might be a test, him leaving it right there, speaking of it, walking away, but he’d never mentioned it again.

Adam always preached Halloween as the most dangerous of all the holidays, a night when the veil between worlds was thin, when the devil took every possible opportunity to tempt man to evil doings. She knew exactly how he would feel about what she was doing. To celebrate on a night like tonight, to perform pagan rituals and call them by another name? Oh, no.

She could hear him, “Lily, don’t you understand, it’s all just an exercise in self-deception? An entire society professing to be Christian who celebrate this day of the occult by dressing up and passing out candy? It’s heathen and profane! Paul told us, ‘If it looks like evil, stay away from it!’”

She could see his dark eyes flashing, his earnest mouth and flushed cheeks. She took another trembling breath.
God please forgive me this one transgression
, she thought.
Just this one.

She nervously smoothed her skirt again and straightened the laced bodice. The tops of her breasts felt too exposed, and her own breath on them made her break out in gooseflesh. She’d almost chosen a witch costume and had hungrily fingered the black satin in the fabric store, but had decided on this because she could explain away red checked gingham and even the red hooded cape, if she had to.

She worked on it in the basement, and she often made things for others, too, for spending money, so Adam didn’t bother her about it. She’d prayed she would get away with that little gamble, and she had. It had made her bolder, and she had purchased a pair of red panties in a store in the mall—it was redolent with the smell of sachet. All of her undergarments were always plain white cotton and purchased at Target. She’d never had anything like these, silky and delicate and sheer. They went on like a whisper, like the telling of a deep, dark secret that breathed heat into her limbs.