She guided my hand towards the dense forest protecting her vagina, and my fingers penetrated this strange cavern; all my too small hand, engulfed there among the stalactites made of mucous membranes, and these strange filaments of thick liquids I discovered for the very first time.
Then, after her orgasm and before the extinction of the spasms of her body, slowly, with precise gestures, she deposited her head on my bust, she rested there for a moment. Then her lips touched my flesh, I shivered of pleasure or anguish, an indefinable reflex I had never felt before. Her lips opened onto her tongue, she slowly slipped on my body, splashing over it sweet-smelling and almost palpable saliva, her fingers preceding her mouth gently seized my genital apparatus that showed signs of growth, never experimented before.
For a subliminal moment, I felt the skillful gestures of her fingers, her mouth skiming my penis, to finally engulfed over it, and in rhythmical movements of an extreme sensitivity, she extracted from me, the pleasure, the ecstasy, this sort of feeling never experienced before. It was undoubtedly that, what the priest called in its Sunday sermons, Paradise.
It happened suddenly, my penis exploded into her mouth, in a burst of generous sticky liquids; at the same moment, a cry came out of my belly, a plaintive shout, an immense groan that resounded on the walls of my room, then I calmed down after a long moment of ejaculation.
I felt like a presence in the room. A certain gleam bored through the cloth that covered my face, somebody approached and the distress of the night did not allow me to think it could be somebody else then my mistress.
I stopped moving, trying to erase myself in front of this phantom of the night. My bed cloth was suddenly raised.
There she was, in front of me, my mother, beautiful as I had never seen a mother. She looked at me fixedly, with an air of tenderness and she slipped at my sides to border me. I could seize all the delicacy of a mother, to drive out the anguish and the nightmares of a son full of imagination. I did not dare to move, not to reveal the wet secrecy that furnished my bed.
She discovered the secrecy.
- "These are no nightmares my son is making, but pretty dreams." She said.
