He gagged and retched as the salt water washed over him and entered his open mouth. Crab like, she scooted backward on her arms and legs . He expertly undid her tightly laced whalebone corset. Her substantial chest heaved as she took big gulps of air.As he attempted to sit up, a shooting pain in his leg caused him to wince and groan. It probably happened in those last frenetic moments when he clung to his mother and daughter as the sea engulfed them. His heart surged as he recognized the long blond hair of his 20 year old daughter. She struggled to her feet and took a few stumbling steps trying to put distance between her and the gruesome scene. A mournful groan drew her attention back to the seemingly lifeless bodies. Cynthia recognized the iron grey hair of her grandmother. She raised a hand over her head, waving it back and forth. Grandmamma is alive." Weak from her ordeal, she tried to walk toward her grandmother. Cynthia sank to her knees and crawled the few yards to where her grandmother lay. She struggled to her feet, brushing the undergarment down to its full mid thigh length. As with most virgins of the Victorian era of the 1860's, she expected her husband to be the first man to see her nude body. Her eyes fluttered open as her son tenderly stroked her arm.This is a fragment of a much longer story I discarded. I reread it, dressed it up some and decided to publish it. The situation is the classic stranded on a desert island. She had clung to her father's strong arms until a wave ripped her from his grasp.
He spun on his heels and walked back to where the wreckage of the brigantine was washing up on the shore.
He resisted the urge to adjust his rigid cock until he was well down the beach.
And those attracted by her father's wealth but salivating at her chest size. In the distance, he could see the dark roiling storm clouds.
He knew in these climes storms usually hit in waves. However, when he was home he regaled her with tales of exotic places while she sat on his knee.
Mother and son never made a conscious decision to take their relationship to the next level.
There progression to having sex was organic, growing from years of shared intimacy.
They appeared lifeless, their macabre motion caused by the breaking of the waves. They continued to be an embarrassment when she reached the age of her majority and entertained suitors. Those repulsed by her breasts but lured by her father's wealth. "We must get Anna to the shelter of yonder trees," Barton croaked, "she needs to be out of this brutal sun." Barton scanned the sky.
Her body ached from the pounding it took in her frenzied swim to safety.
She never remarried nor took another man to her bed. However, they soon realized that her devotion to her son was total, allowing room for no other man. Anna, desperate to console her despondent son, let him sleep with her when he was distressed. At some point, he began having nocturnal emissions.
Over time, he stopped going to his room and slept nightly with her. Annabelle was progressive for a woman of the Victorian era.
Annabelle, 56 years old, lifted her upper body on her elbows and surveyed her surroundings.