Incest Invincible Lover... (COMPLETE)

[usaiha2]

Their Invincible Love - Part. 07

 

Rohan, for the first time in his life, knows what it is meant to have a mother. The natural child Rohan is born of a motherhood at the age of nineteen, not out of his mother's womb, but inside his mother's sex. It's new to him, and sudden. So radical is the change that he feels as if he is a new being, without juvenile ego, without youthful frivolity, but with the knowledge of a new door opened to the deepest recess in his heart where a new tenderness, a new love, is entering in torrents from the heart of the sexiest, most beautiful and matter-of-fact lady of his academic and practical knowledge whom he has known to be his elder sister for the nineteen years of his past. That tenderness, that unprecedented love fills his heart. His soul recognizes her, his mother.

 

"MOTHER," Rohan declares. He hugs her not as a sister, not as a sex queen, not as an erotic witch, but simply as his mother. He feels her skin against his with hitherto unknown intimacy. He feels her breasts against his chest, her belly against his, her pubic hair against his, her pussy around his cock, and her thighs against his. These touches now have new meanings, new depths. His hand is all over her maternal back, on her gentle slopes and curves, on the fleshy moons of her golden ass, on the sides of her regal arms, on the nape of her slender neck, on the grace of her spinal carve. His cock lurches inside her sex with a convulsive rhythm to the victory of universally acclaimed original motherhood. He curses post-Ham earth, Ham, the good son of Noah, the last erotic lover to maternal sexuality. The Pharos and the Ptolemies and odd-man-out Caligula faked it, but it was loveless sex, the search for a regal heir. Only Ham's love surpasses all prehistoric incest.

 

"I am the Ham of the 21st Century," Rohan declares on the top of his voice.

 

"And I am the Suha, Noah's wife and Ham's mother, of the 21st Century," Diksha says joyfully.

 

Darkness descends on earth as black clouds covered the sky when Noah floated his Ark in the valley of Mount Ararat. "Ham, my son, Take your Suha to the farthest bunker of the Ark and make love to her," Diksha urges, crushing her breasts on her son's chest and thrusting herself onto his spearing cock. "Dodge your old father. Let him be busy with his affair with God, with every pair of living beings he has taken in the Ark. Take me, my son, take me in your Cabin, and make tender love to me until it clears."

 

Discussion of art and culture, literature and history, myth and religion has a special place in their everyday life. Diksha taught Rohan that she wanted her kid brother to live the best possible life. Literature and philosophy are the most sublime explanation of man's acquired knowledge. Rohan thus grew up being interested in these subjects since he learned to read and write. This sublime undertaking has contributed to their sexual liberty. In course of time they discovered its unlimited scope and thus inevitable place in their paradise. The evening darkness and their isolation from the outside world have created the aura in the Ark of Noah in their own house in the very part of their city. Diksha throws away her Milanese shows, descends toward earth two inches from Rohan whom the dreamy circumstance makes the Ham of the modern day. Needless to say that she has disengaged her sex from her son's for a passionate lovemaking on Noah's Ark.

 

Rohan carries Diksha in his arms. Her legs gracefully dangle from her knees. Her left hand encircles his neck. Craning her neck, she gazes constantly at her son's dreamy eyes in the semi-darkness. On her tilted-supine position, her solid breasts stand on their wide base and her nipples are pointed toward his eyes.

 

They have never been so close. Diksha's lips touch the creases at his armpits. It's a motherly kiss-like touch. But it's also an intimate sexual act. She loves the smell of her son's labor, dedicated for her depraved pleasure. She touches the cringes at his left armpit with the tip of her tongue. She laps across the cringes lovingly. The lingual petting increases her sexual hunger and she pushes her tongue across the cringes and tastes his sweat in the hair under his arm.

 

Only now she understands fully why her son likes to make love to her armpits with his tongue. It's her fetish, as much as it's his. His sex must respond to her scent the same way as her clitoris is responding to his scent. It's arousing her so serenely that she can make love to his armpits with her tongue and lips for hours. She understands that the dormant cause of this fetish is love between them, not only for their incestuous bondage, but for many commonalities they nurture together in their life, Diksha as an intellectual teacher and Rohan as a devout student. The tender sex between her legs has not stopped raining. But it rains now even the more as she drenches her son's underarm with her oral fluid while she eats his sweat and plays with his nipples.

 

"Ham, your Suha has never been so aroused in her life," Diksha says as Rohan has gently put his mother on her bed. He switches on the three dim-lights.

 

The dim-lights Diksha bought a few months after their first incestuous coitus. In the mixture of these three lights of three different colors, they find each other in a dreamland. Neither mother nor son forget that tonight their incestuous bed is Ham's chamber on Noah's Ark. The dim-lights produce a semblance of gloominess which helps them think that they are on Noah's Ark under thousand clouds and their chamber is lit with some prehistoric candles.

 

"My boy, however horny am I, be gentle to me tonight. Never forget that you are going to fuck your mother for the first time in your life knowing that she is your mother. This is the first time I am going to be fucked by my son knowing that my son knows that he is fucking his mother. Tonight is special, my boy. Cultivate it to the maximum of your ability. Touch me as if I'm a fragile flower. Think I'm an eighteen years old virgin, has never been touched by a man. Come to me, my son; kiss me as I have taught you how to kiss a teenage girl. Then make love to me. Think that you are on pilgrimage; your ultimate destination is your mother's womb."

 

Rohan forgets his aroused manhood as his mother urges him to fuck her. Diksha never speaks from her throat. She utters every syllable from inside her being. Any sensible man can fall in love with her only for the depth of her tongue. But nothing of it can be compared to the way she has just urged him to make love to her. Every word has been released from the deepest layer of her soul and every word floated like a mythical bubble from the deepest pit of the seabed.

 

Rohan's eyes are wet from the passion she has inspired in him. He's aware that he has not had a climax for long three days and his cock is not accustomed to this tortured abstention since their first incestuous fuck. But this is also not a time for animal orgasms. His mother has made it clear that tonight is for the most sublime lovemaking of their taboo life. He has decided to forgo a banal climax for their lovemaking. He has such control on him mind and body that his formerly cum-crazy cock has now receded to a semi-erect position.

 

"For you, Mother," he says holding her both feet across her toes.

 

"My life is for you, MOTHER." Rohan brings his mother's feet together.

 

Two most beautiful feminine big-toes -- slender and graceful -- of the world touch each other. He touches his mother's toenails, polished by an invisible Armani nail-polish, with the pads of his thumbs. He washes his nostrils with their humid air, breathing in deeply. His brain receives the first signal of the most challenging lovemaking of his life from the lemon-scent of his mother's big-toes. His mouth waters. His lips twitch convulsively and become wet.

 

"My sex is for you, MOM." He slips his lips along the smooth texture of his mother's big toes.

 

Diksha pushes a pillow under her head and looks at the ashen shade on her son's lush black hair. She feels like unclipping her hair, but decides to do it when he looks. Every pour of her body stands at ease at her son's attention on her big toes. Queen Sheba had not had this thrill the night 121 Pharaohnic slaves kissed her toes ordained by King Solomon.

 

'How come my boy's lips are so wet for his mother's toes,' Diksha wonders.

 

"You are my perfect son, BABY," Diksha says. Her voice is husky. "Touch the flesh under mommy's nail with your tongue. Mommy promises to reciprocate someday."

 

Rohan is enthralled by the richness of his mother's calf muscles. They are feminine, yet they have some masculine stoutness. He touches them with the same possessiveness as he does her ass and breasts. He strokes her calves and kisses the hollowness at her knees. Diksha helps him by bending her legs.

 

"Mom, I want to touch your legs when you are dressed, say, when you are in a long pleated skirt"

 

"Why son? Don't I attract you when I am naked?"

 

"I haven't said it mother. You are more graceful when you are naked. Your naked beauty is too much for me and my heart aches in love for you. Besides, I feel in full possession of you when you are naked. Sometimes, I wish you were naked in front of all the time. Thus I would never want to go outside, or look at other beautiful things of the world. When you stand facing the window and I look at your naked ass, I feel I am the luckiest guy in the world. But I want to do naughty things with you. I want to grope you in public. I want to see the color on your face when I pull on a tuft of your pubic hair, or dab a finger along your pussy-lips or just pinch your clitoris when strangers swarm around."

 

A sly grin spread along Diksha's curved lips. She memorizes her son's wishes. She wants to do something for him this moment. But she also has some stern feel in her heart.

 

"You are growing, my son," she says. "Perhaps faster than I want."

 

Diksha's admonition takes Rohan aback.

 

 

She is a respectable lady, he thinks. He regrets hurting her sense of decency. How many mothers allow their sons to love them the way she allows her? His hands mechanically withdraw from her body. He drops his eyes in embarrassment and they fall on the glow of her youthfully heavy thighs.

 

No charm on earth or paradise can be compared to what Diksha's two confident thighs can spell. They are like two horizontal columns of sand dunes that have been burned and smoothened by sunlight and hot air over last six millenniums since the cavemen engraved the crying cow in the cave in Sahara. The long shiny dunes meet at a Saharan oasis, her Garden of Eden, which has its own spring to quench the centuries old thirst of a man. The Garden looks to have been ravaged by a whirlwind. Diksha's cum-matted pubic hair, half-swollen clitoris, and obscenely peeking cunt-lips inspire passion in Rohan's heart as a post-hurricane American village does compassion in its Sherriff. His lips twitch and his tongue reels to re-plant every tree in her pubic garden, to clear every bit of debris here and there, and to heal all physical and psychological wounds in her netherlands.

 

His eyes hover on the Garden, and strays onto her thighs. They are glowing in the dim lights as sand dunes do in a full-moon night of August.

 

What if she covers them this moment and forever, Rohan think of Diksha's thighs? What if she asks him not to touch her again and decides to climb the bed of the president of the republic? He cannot go out on the street tomorrow morning and cry that his mother, or sister as she is known to the outside world, let him fuck her until yesterday and suddenly imposed a ban which he cannot endure. Rohan's frustration can be measured by only the depth of his love for his mother.

 

Diksha watches Rohan like a hawk and doesn't miss a moment of it. She wants him as a man, a virile and strong man who would possess her mind and body. But she doesn't want to lose the son she has needed to have nineteen years. Now that she has seen how much she is able to embarrass and humiliate him with only one single statement, she knows for sure that she will never lose him as her son. Her thighs, whatever graceful they are, are just two thighs of a 35 years old woman. Yet, how lustfully he admires them.

 

"I'm sorry, baby," she says. She splays her right leg and throws it on his other side and Rohan finds himself between her legs. This way, being open to her son between her legs, she feels more naked, more wicked, and sexier. Stooping a little toward him, she holds his hands in hers and put them on her inner thighs. She presses his palms on her flesh until she feels his fingers mark on her skin. As she feels from his touch that he has regained his confidence, she releases his hands.

 

"I didn't mean to hurt you, son," she says, without faking emotion.

 

Rohan will never forget the graceful movement of his mother's left leg when she threw it on his left side. It was supposed to be a vulgar act but she has performed a piece of sublime art. He kneads the softer parts of her inner thighs looking at her pointed breasts.

 

Diksha touches his chin, makes him look at her eyes. She stares at his eyes for several pregnant moments. She then roared with an indulgent laughter.

 

The laughter is the categorical proof of Diksha's devilish capacity to arouse her son. She holds his neglected cock in her right hand. "I love to hold my baby's fish when it is semi-erect. It fills mommy's fist perfectly. But what I like most is its throbs against my palm as it keeps growing. You don't know, my son, how it is to be aware every second of it that it is getting harder for me, because I'm naked in front of you."

 

"Do you want to see for yourself how the growing of your cock excites mother's pussy?" Her voice is motherly. Without waiting for his answer, she grabs his right hand with her free hand. She gathers all his fingers in her grip except his index finger which becomes a pointer. She presses the pad of his index finger on the hood of her growing clitoris.

 

"You can do some naughty things to mother when she is naked also," Diksha says.

 

Rohan's alert sense doesn't miss the touch of soft hairs around her clitoris.

 

"The arousal of mommy's love bud is synchronized with baby's fish," she says.

 

 

....