26-05-2019, 09:38 AM
I kiss my son and reply, "Ours is a wonderful life. I love you, son. Now, please -- make love to your mother again." My son growls lustfully and I can feel his still partially erect cock swell inside me. The delightfully sinful sensation of having my son's cock grow to full girth and length inside me has me in the throes of an incestuous orgasm before he even begins to thrust in and out of me again.
Again we join a choir of lovemaking as mothers and sons again begin to fuck lustfully all around us. We seem to be outside of Time itself as we make love. We are lost for what seems hours, then days -- years and centuries and eons, cocooned in our sexual desires. My son and I make love and fuck, sometimes at a snail's pace, every fraction of an inch's movement an orgasm in itself and sometimes we are like the beasts in the jungle, caught up in fierce, incestuous lust, fucking and sucking, clawing and biting.
My memories of the rest of that first night blur into a montage of erotic fulfillment. I recollect sucking Jeff's cock and feeding on his sweet semen. I remember riding him like a cowgirl, bucking up and down on his swollen saddle horn. I can envision my son taking me from behind, thrusting deep inside me as my heavy breasts swing back and forth like a drunken pendulum. I recall my son and I locked in the embrace of a sixty-nine, tongues playing across sensitive flesh, making each other cum again and again.
I remember us in a thousand different positions, embracing and surpassing the knowledge of the Kama Sutra until our bodies absolutely glow with orgasmic energy. Mostly, I can recall our final orgasm suffusing our bodies and growing in intensity until we have moved beyond this mortal plane of existence, bodies locked together in orgasmic unity becoming one with the universe. When the sheer power of my orgasm, fueled by the heavenly sensation of my womb being flooded by my son's semen, I scream and open my eyes and find that we are floating in space, surrounded by countless stars that flare in acknowledgement of our own incandescent pleasure.
Through it all, we are aware of the presence of Danteshwari, knowing that she smiles upon us. As I surrender to the power of our ultimate orgasm, I manage to whisper, "Thank you -- thank you for your gift."
I am pretty sure as I slide into unconsciousness, wrapped in a blanket of sheer, incestuous love, I hear a divine voice whisper back, "YOU ARE WELCOME, DAUGHTER."
When I awake, it is dawn. Jeff carries me in his strong arms as if I were a child. I am naked as is he. I look up into his eyes and see his love for me. We don't have to say it aloud to each other. We know it for absolute truth. I love my son. He loves me.
Other sons are carrying their mothers home alongside us. Ramita's arms are dbangd around Bimal's neck, her head against his chest. Her eyes are closed and she has a smile on her face that belongs to an angel. My heart swells with happiness for her. The village folk are emerging from their homes to greet us -- to welcome us back. They sing prayers and praise to Danteshwari for her blessings -- for the continuing fulfillment of her pact with the village.
With head held proud and high, Jeff carries me home. He takes me to his bed and gently lowers me to it. Naked, we cuddle up together and sleep. The dream is gone. In it's place are new dreams showing us our life together. When we wake, my son and I make love again. It is as wonderful as the first time -- perhaps even better. As I writhe under my son's body, his cock making me squirm and moan with incestuous pleasure, I know that each time we make love, it will be more wonderful than the time before.
==
Five years pass. In everyone's eyes, my son and I are husband and wife, our wedding rites performed by Danteshwari herself.
When Joseph came home, I demanded a divorce and he agreed. I think this land had already defeated him and he simply wanted to leave anyway. He left for America and we never saw him again.
My son and I are so happy. He works the land, the gift of farming evident in his touch. I teach to this day. And together, we raise our children. Damika, our daughter is five, conceived the night my son and I were first joined. She is joy personified. Naija thinks that she will someday take her place as the village's holy woman. Our son, Jack is three and is the apple of our eye. My belly is swollen with our third child. My heart tells me it is another daughter. I will name her after Naija, who will never admit it, but is pleased by that.
Each day we give thanks to Danteshwari for the gifts she has showered us with - our love for each other, the blessing of our children and for gifts unlooked for yet given with love. It has only been recently that I realized that I have stopped aging. Naija has explained that all the mothers blessed by the Goddess have stopped aging and that we will not resume aging until our sons have reached our age, so that we might travel the road of our lives together until the end.
We are home, my son and I. I know we will never leave. We will never want to. I am forever a daughter of India and in love with my son, married to my son, happy with a life given to me by the grace and blessing of Danteshwari.
Again we join a choir of lovemaking as mothers and sons again begin to fuck lustfully all around us. We seem to be outside of Time itself as we make love. We are lost for what seems hours, then days -- years and centuries and eons, cocooned in our sexual desires. My son and I make love and fuck, sometimes at a snail's pace, every fraction of an inch's movement an orgasm in itself and sometimes we are like the beasts in the jungle, caught up in fierce, incestuous lust, fucking and sucking, clawing and biting.
My memories of the rest of that first night blur into a montage of erotic fulfillment. I recollect sucking Jeff's cock and feeding on his sweet semen. I remember riding him like a cowgirl, bucking up and down on his swollen saddle horn. I can envision my son taking me from behind, thrusting deep inside me as my heavy breasts swing back and forth like a drunken pendulum. I recall my son and I locked in the embrace of a sixty-nine, tongues playing across sensitive flesh, making each other cum again and again.
I remember us in a thousand different positions, embracing and surpassing the knowledge of the Kama Sutra until our bodies absolutely glow with orgasmic energy. Mostly, I can recall our final orgasm suffusing our bodies and growing in intensity until we have moved beyond this mortal plane of existence, bodies locked together in orgasmic unity becoming one with the universe. When the sheer power of my orgasm, fueled by the heavenly sensation of my womb being flooded by my son's semen, I scream and open my eyes and find that we are floating in space, surrounded by countless stars that flare in acknowledgement of our own incandescent pleasure.
Through it all, we are aware of the presence of Danteshwari, knowing that she smiles upon us. As I surrender to the power of our ultimate orgasm, I manage to whisper, "Thank you -- thank you for your gift."
I am pretty sure as I slide into unconsciousness, wrapped in a blanket of sheer, incestuous love, I hear a divine voice whisper back, "YOU ARE WELCOME, DAUGHTER."
When I awake, it is dawn. Jeff carries me in his strong arms as if I were a child. I am naked as is he. I look up into his eyes and see his love for me. We don't have to say it aloud to each other. We know it for absolute truth. I love my son. He loves me.
Other sons are carrying their mothers home alongside us. Ramita's arms are dbangd around Bimal's neck, her head against his chest. Her eyes are closed and she has a smile on her face that belongs to an angel. My heart swells with happiness for her. The village folk are emerging from their homes to greet us -- to welcome us back. They sing prayers and praise to Danteshwari for her blessings -- for the continuing fulfillment of her pact with the village.
With head held proud and high, Jeff carries me home. He takes me to his bed and gently lowers me to it. Naked, we cuddle up together and sleep. The dream is gone. In it's place are new dreams showing us our life together. When we wake, my son and I make love again. It is as wonderful as the first time -- perhaps even better. As I writhe under my son's body, his cock making me squirm and moan with incestuous pleasure, I know that each time we make love, it will be more wonderful than the time before.
==
Five years pass. In everyone's eyes, my son and I are husband and wife, our wedding rites performed by Danteshwari herself.
When Joseph came home, I demanded a divorce and he agreed. I think this land had already defeated him and he simply wanted to leave anyway. He left for America and we never saw him again.
My son and I are so happy. He works the land, the gift of farming evident in his touch. I teach to this day. And together, we raise our children. Damika, our daughter is five, conceived the night my son and I were first joined. She is joy personified. Naija thinks that she will someday take her place as the village's holy woman. Our son, Jack is three and is the apple of our eye. My belly is swollen with our third child. My heart tells me it is another daughter. I will name her after Naija, who will never admit it, but is pleased by that.
Each day we give thanks to Danteshwari for the gifts she has showered us with - our love for each other, the blessing of our children and for gifts unlooked for yet given with love. It has only been recently that I realized that I have stopped aging. Naija has explained that all the mothers blessed by the Goddess have stopped aging and that we will not resume aging until our sons have reached our age, so that we might travel the road of our lives together until the end.
We are home, my son and I. I know we will never leave. We will never want to. I am forever a daughter of India and in love with my son, married to my son, happy with a life given to me by the grace and blessing of Danteshwari.
JAY MAA Danteshwari
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