Love in the Jungle

All characters represented in this work are wholly fictional, and over the age of eighteen.

All characters represented in this work are wholly fictional, and over the age of eighteen.

"Have you thought about names yet?" Bethany wasn't asking me, obviously, she was asking Abigail. At seven months pregnant, my mother was on the verge of maternity leave. A brief call to the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission having banished Roger from any untoward ideas pertaining to her employment status.

"I mean, I'd have to talk to the father..." She met my eyes across the lab. "But I was thinking aboutRiver." I could feel my heart skip a beat. It was perfect. I nodded, almost imperceptibly.

"I like it, that's gotta be one of the hot names of the season, right?" Bethany bubbled, twittering as she brushed through a box of mud-covered artifacts.

"Yes." Abigail said, still locking eyes with me as a soft smile crept over her lips. "It's very hot right now. I'm sure daddy will like it." Their conversation shifted, but I was left reeling.

I hadn't thought about what my relationship with my daughter would look like, I hadn't even fully figured out my relationship with my mother! I could feel my desires stirring as I imagined a young woman, an eighteen year old with the face of my mother, eager to take my cock inside her virgin hole. I shook it away, but was assailed, as though wraiths flitted around my head.

I could see her, clearly, legs spread as she stared down to her loins, face a mask of excitement and pleasure as my thick cockhead pushed aside her labia, slowly coating myself with her juices. I pulled back momentarily, a sticky string of incestuous fluid connecting us before it snapped.

I stared down at my daughter, and she stared back, her eyes hungry, needy. Around her throat, a dull ring glittered, a necklace like the one her mother and I wore. With an eager roar, I plunged back into her, taking her virginity all at once.

The sensation was so real, the sound of her moaning voice, the soft 'plap-plap-plap' of my cock thrusting in and out of her slit as I claimed her for my own. Almost as if she were there on the bench in front of me, prostrate for her father's sexualization.

I snapped back to the present, realizing my hand had grasped the artifact before me, roughly. My cock was hard in my pants, and I could feel it throbbing with desire. I couldn't wait to become a father.

I returned to the artifact evaluation with a vengeance. One thing at a time, focused on the now, the future can wait.

At least until she's born.

I don't mean to imply that life magically, mystically became simple and unbothered, now that I could fuck my pregnant mother bareback. We had our fair share of conflicts- particularly surrounding the decoration of River's nursery. I favored a somewhat progressive gender-neutral color scheme, whereas Abigail preferred the more traditional pink. I'm not proud to admit it, but I spent two nights on the couch before she acquiesced to yellow.

My winning argument?We needed to reuse the room for our next baby. Pregnancy hormones are a hell of a drug, but that proved to be ruinously emotion-provoking.

I suppose, it made sense- assuming more children were to come was an ever-clearer signal that I didn't intend to go anywhere. It meant that we were going to be together forever. Despite my previous insistence that that was already the case, I suppose the proof is in the pudding.

From that moment forth, I don't think she ever had to question my loyalty, which was oddly freeing.

- - -

- - -

Nine months from our first amorous tryst atop the towering pyramid deep in the Amazon, my mother birthed my daughter-sister into the world. River Abigail Waters, seven pounds, eight ounces, the product of incest. Not that the world would ever really know about that last part.

Abigail pushed her into the world, amidst contractions and feral, beautifully laborious biology. It was the purest form of familial love, to see my mother pushing our inbred daughter out into the world. It was one of the sexiest things I've ever seen in my life, and for the longest time, I didn't know why. Perhaps the beauty of my mother's moans, or the knowledge that our little girl was being born into a world whereno relationwas off limits.

In the process of birthing her daughter-grand-daughter, I saw my mother's necklace shine with a soft golden glow. I couldn't say for sure whether it was absorbing the energy of the event, or helping Abigail bring River into the world. Perhaps both, in equal measure. But once it had begun, the pain in my mother's body seemed to ease, allowing her daughter to take her first breath.

We took her home with us the next day, the herculean effort bringing her into the world had drained Abigail, but energized me- resulting in a lot of 'more or less edible' meals as I floundered with my new daughter in the kitchen.

"It still feels like a dream." My mother stood across from me, a week after birthing our child as I attempted to prepare a meal for us, the picture of matronly bliss as she pumped for River's dinner in turn. I eyed her, knowing it had been difficult for her to produce sufficient milk for our baby.

"You're the dream,mom." I grinned at her, cheesy and provocative, knowing how much she loved it. My mirth, however, was short-lived. Despite our closeness, I could still feel the pang of regret, the thought of how many years we'd wasted apart from each other, only now relevant thanks to the spiritual changes we'd undergone in the Amazon. Outside, cars honked, trees shifted in the breeze, all the nearer as we'd opened the shades for increased airflow.

"Where do you go? When you're all distant like that?" Abigail's voice was soft, inquisitive, and I realized I had been staring at her, despite my mind being elsewhere.

"Just- you know, thinking." My eyes wandered up and down her body. Only a week post-partum, she still retained her pregnancy weight, but it made her look joyous, more vital, in my opinion. Full curves and smooth, soft skin, a testament to the power of pregnancy to change the human body.

"Thinking about anything in particular? Something you'd like to share with the class?" Her tone was gentle, her wit sharp as ever, lightly cutting but without any real intent.

"I was thinking about the years you spent alone- or rather, without me." I pursed my lips, averting my eyes again, thinking about her loneliness bringing a sense of malaise to my otherwise idealized world. "Just, regretting, you know?" Her laughter pealed through our home, and I returned my gaze to her, the pump shaking with her hand as she cocked her eyebrow at me.

"Do you think I would've been open to it if we hadn't worn these collars?" She asked. I shrugged in response.

"Would that be such a crazy idea?" I asked, in mock-distress, knowing the answer before she responded.

"Yes." Her response brought me up short, frank and flat, her eyes glittering despite it. "It would've been crazy, hell itiscrazy." She gestured at the home around us. "It's all crazy, but it's worth it to finally behappy." A smile returned to her face, nurturing and relaxed. "But I wouldn't have it any other way." I felt my heart jump with love, with affection, and despite myself, with arousal.

"Keep talking like that and I'm about to give you another baby..." Her eyes flicked down to my pelvis for a moment.

"You're just horny because you haven't gotten any in a week." She blushed, pink and flattered. Despite my penchant for speech, I craved her body in a way I couldn't quite put into words, even as I failed at stir-frying, my organ responded to her teasing, the accuracy of her words doing nothing to ablate my cravings.

"Maybe I am, but you heard Madame Zuma, we need to keep building our family." I let the implication hang in the air for a moment of contemplation, a most indecent proposal to give to your mother.

"How many more do you want?" Her voice was soft, shaking slightly- perhaps excitement? I sidled around the kitchen island positioning myself behind her, as though we were back in the lab, rather than pumping breast milk in our kitchen. I kissed her neck gently, slowly moving up her neck, my tongue darting to mark my territory on her skin before nipping her earlobe ever-so-gently. My hands found her abdomen, clasping over her womb, where until recently our child had slept.

"I want them all." I felt her grinding back against me, causing my erection to grow, firm and pulsing through the layers of fabric separating us.

"I want them all, too." She gasped, and I pulled her back against me as the soft, mechanical whir of the pump continued to pull milk from her breasts.

Clank! Clank!

A pair of clattering reports interrupted us as the necklaces fell from our necks to the floor, causing us to both jump in surprise.

"What the fuck?!" Abigail exclaimed, then immediately covered her mouth, conscious of the sleeping River in the next room (despite her inability to understand such an exclamation). I was about to make a similar sound, when a gust hit us both from the open window.

Suddenly, leaves and other detritus were spinning like a cyclone in the center of the room, drifting this way and that before coalescing, a dream-like visage materializing in our home.

"What- who are you?!" I gasped, the air practically ripped from my lungs by the sudden change in pressure. I needn't have really asked, but it felt like the right thing to say in the moment.

FOR COMPLIANCE, I GIVE LIFE, THAT YOU MAY LOVE FOREVER.I could feel energy humming through my very bones- the incorporeal figure extended what would be its arm, pointing towards my mother, who quailed into my arms, causing me to grip her tightly.

In shock, I watched as she began to change. Wrinkles, already softened by her pregnancy hormones, became smoother. Years and pounds rolled from her frame, turning the clock backwards for her. She was no longer an aged professor, but instead a forty-something mother again, like she had been when I was a child, full and in her prime. Her face flushed, like she had been on her original wedding day to my father. Her chest heaved with exertion, and the milk became heavy, easily squirting from her breast where before she had struggled, the skin perky and taught.

FOR LOVE, I GIVE CONCEALMENT, THAT NONE WILL QUESTION YOUR FAMILY.It extended its hand again- while I didn't feel anything change that time, I realized later what it had done. Questions regarding my mother's pregnancy, and particularly the nature of the father of her child, dried up. Nobody at work would even comment on her suddenly-youthful figure, even when she returned to her department. In essence, it had given us a cloak of secrecy, from which we could continue our incestuous cravings.

"T-Thank you!" My mother's voice was choked, breathless, as though it was the first time she'd ever used it. The creature, or goddess, or spirit, whatever it was, inclined what would be its head, then (as abruptly as it had arrived) vanished, leaving behind a small pile of leaves and swirling motes of dust, in addition to the marriage collars.

I stared at my mother.

She stared back.

My hand ran over her face, the youthful visage, perhaps five years (or maybe closer to eight) younger than she had been, maybe even more. Tears of joy ran down her cheeks, and she smiled at me.

"So maybe we order pizza tonight?" I cast around at the soiled surfaces of the kitchen, complete with the abandoned stir fry endeavor.

"We can, but first we're going to have sex." Her tone was bright, excited with newfound energy. "The fountain of youth is your cock, but only when it's pumping incest sperm into me!" I was bowled over as my mother jumped into my arms, locking her legs behind me as the breast pump continued to extract.

Needless to say, I didn't need much convincing.

The house needed a good vacuum though.

That was the first night of many we spent together working on our second child. It took us a little longer than River, but I don't think either of us were complaining as we explored the depths and peaks of pleasure. Intense nights of frantic copulation, interspersed with one of us jumping to our feet to take care of our infant, only to return to bed and instantly rejoin the confluence of our bodies.

Small wonder that, barely a year and a half later, we were back in that same maternity ward. My mother did not wear her collar, but kept it clenched in her hand, letting the warm glow diffuse throughout the room over the course of her laborious work.

Evelyn Ann Waters was also born of incest, joining her sister in the dubious honor of becoming part of our inbreeding clan. Another crib joined the nursery, and my mom lost another few years, crows feet receding from her eyes, giving her back another bright spark of youthful vigor.

This was an Abigail I had only the dimmest recollection of meeting, of whom I'd seen more in blurry pictures than I had true memories. Her skin was tight, perhaps late thirties, and her mind was coiled like a bright, boisterous spring. She bounced our children on her hips, full of light and energy.

It was like I fell in love with her all over again.

- - -

- - -

"Do we go again?" I queried, perhaps a month after Evelyn first opened her eyes, bright and excited to join her sister in their childhood. My mother chewed on her lip.

"I mean, it's not like we're going to start using condoms..." She began. She was right, I made a face at the idea. I'd never had sex with my mother using protection, it's not like I was intending to start anytime soon.

"Maybe things will slow down? I mean, your body is younger, but did that give you more eggs?" My voice was hesitant, uncertain. We were fully within uncharted waters. Abigail brushed her hair from her eyes- it was no longer greying, the ends were no longer split. It shimmered in the late afternoon sun as she considered the conundrum before us.

"It's not like I'm going to gettoo young, right?" She cast about, as if expecting some spirit to join us at the dinner table. Honestly, not the oddest thought to ever have, based on our track record.

"I don't think so..." I trailed off. The idea of my mother reaching my own age, or even younger, down into her teens, was something I'd never considered a possibility. Despite myself, I felt my cock throb at the idea of fucking a version of Abigail my own age.

"It's not like it's something we're going to have to worry about for a few more." My mother raised a suggestive eyebrow in my direction. "Maybe we just start trying, and see what happens?" I could hear the hunger in her voice, and see the insatiable desire in her eyes. She was still years my senior, over a decade, perhaps approaching two.

"We don't want to run out of space in the nursery-" I began, but she interrupted me by flying from her seat, her panties already off as she dashed into my arms. Our laughter coalesced into moans of pleasure as we began to remake the same mistakes of the past, unable or unwilling to consider a world where the two of us were not the self-assured center of it.

- - -

- - -

The goddess was good to her word. In many ways, but most particularly in that of concealment. Abigail's coworkers barely batted an eye at her third maternity leave, three years and thousands of orgasms later.

Hailey Petunia Waters was our third incest child- the third fulfillment of the pact we'd unknowingly entered into that one fateful day in the rainforest.

My mother was only physically a decade or so my senior, similar to how she'd been when she first began her doctorate in her late twenties. She was foxy, flexible, possessing a dirty mind and refined tastes in whiskey. She reminded me of a nineteen-fifties heiress, or a dark academic seductress with blood-red lipstick and a penchant for the extreme. This was the first version of my mother who seemed alien to me- engaged with desires I had never seen before.

She was pepper, gunpowder and a match, the sensation of burning your eyes by staring at the sun for too long. If I hadn't already decided to love her forever, I would've the moment I saw her cradling Evelyn on one hip, Hailey latched to her breast, grading a midterm paper with pencils stuck up in the familiar high bun of her hair.

This was a woman with whom I would continue to inbreed- this was a woman who could not be stopped. My mother, Abigail Waters, was chosen by the goddess to carry her legacy, and my seed. Spirit or circumstance, I wasn't about to complain.

We still keep our necklaces on the nightstands. They sit in dull observation as our family grows, and we continue to inbreed, as frantically as the first time. Perhaps they are truly inert, perhaps not. They barely react when you put them on, and seemingly don't provide us with any of the nourishing energy which bore us through the first days of our relationship.

Abigail thinks they're empty, spent. She lets our daughters play with them as though they're toys, but I know the truth.

Years later, I watched River put the collar around her neck, giggling as the cold stone touched her skin. Evelyn had wandered away, searching for Abigail and Hailey, leaving the two of us alone.

I brought the corresponding circlet to my throat, my eyes locked to my daughter's. For an instant, I held it there, staring at her, drinking in her body. Her eyes flashed with desire, with understanding I'd so long kept from her.

I felt the stone twitch in my hands, before I ripped it away, gasping.

It wasn't time yet.

Not until she looked the same as my vision.

Until then, I was content. Content to be a father. Content to love my wife. Content to teach them the ways of the world, as befitted a servant of the goddess.