


Home for the Holidays

by dellagordo



Category: Incest/Taboo
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2017-05-08 03:46:56
Chapters: 1
Publisher: literotica.com
Story URL: https://www.literotica.com/s/home-for-the-holidays-21
Author URL:
https://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=167578&page=submissions
Summary: A son risks a blizzard to be home with his mom for Christmas.
Erotica Tags: Big Breasts, Blowjob, Christmas, Cowgirl, Cunnilingus, Mom,
Mom/Son, Mother, Romance, Seduction
Average Rating: 4.73






        Home for the Holidays


_An Oedipus County Tale  
  
This is a work of fantasy. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely
coincidental, and the actions contained herein should not be duplicated. It's
all pretend, folks.  
  
This story has considerably more build-up than my usual tales. _  
  
*****  
  
He was six hours into a three hour trip when he hit the snowbank.  
  
Peter cursed and slammed his hands ineffectually against the steering wheel.
He looked out the windshield into the sea of white outside the car. Several
feet of snow on the ground, with more inches piling up by the minute, as the
blizzard howled through the western half of the state. He had hoped to be home
before the worst of it hit, but the weather did not cooperate with his plans.  
  
The drive had been slow going since the midway point. Too late to turn back,
Peter had decided. He had soldiered on, into the wind and snow and darkness.
It wasn't too long before he was the only car on the road, his only companions
the occasional plow that loomed out of the night and rumbled past him on the
uneven road, sending waves of snow and grit onto his ten year old Subaru.  
  
Peter assessed the situation. He checked his phone for the twelfth time,
unsurprised to see the "no signal" message. He hadn't been able to get
anything for hours now. He also hadn't seen a plow or emergency vehicle for a
while, and this far from the highway, he didn't expect to see one any time
soon. The municipal road workers would be waiting for the storm to subside
before they started digging out the town.  
  
Peter guessed he was four, maybe five miles from his mother's house. If he
could dig out the car, he should be able to make it. With a sigh, he pulled on
his gloves and wedged the door open. Peter stumbled out into the snow,
slipping immediately and crashing onto his face, covering himself from head to
toe in the white stuff. He wiped snow off his beard as he lurched upright.
_It's pretty fucking cold out_, he decided.  
  
Using his arms as shovels, he swept snow away from the wheel wells and the
front and back of the car. He climbed back into the driver's seat, shivering
and coated in snow, and tried to back up. The wheels spun. Peter swore again.  
  
Clambering through the snow once more, he popped the trunk and dug through his
camping gear to find a flashlight. With that, he examined the ground around
the car. There was ice under the wheels, under the two feet of snow all around
him. He had no traction. And wedged against the snowbank like he was, he had
no leverage or power to pull himself out, either.  
  
If there were someone else here with him to give it some gas while he pushed,
he might be able to get out of this. But he probably wouldn't have made the
attempt if he had someone else to drive with in the first place. On his own,
he was just dumb enough to take the risk. Peter shook his head. He threw the
flashlight into the trunk and was just about the slam it closed when he saw
his snowshoes peeking out from under a dufflebag.  
  
_Five miles - tops_, he thought.  
  
Ten minutes later, Peter had his mother's Christmas presents and a few other
necessities shoved into a backpack, his snowshoes strapped to his boots,
flashlight in hand, and he was hiking across the snowy landscape, heading
home.  
  
The world turned white. The wind was brutal, knifing through several layers of
clothing and straight into his bones. Moving helped, keeping his muscles and
breath warmed, but if he got himself too worked up, he was easily in danger of
having the sweat freeze on his body. Peter had to move quickly but
economically. Thank God for the snowshoes in his trunk, and thank God for a
stepfather who loved to hunt in winter. Although he was less inclined towards
charitable thoughts in his stepfather's direction of late, he had to admit,
the man had given Peter the training necessary to salvage this misbegotten
trip.  
  
But before long his thighs were numb and his legs felt like lead weights.
Peter put his head down and focused on putting one foot in front of the other.
He leaned into the wind. He punched his thighs with gloved hands, trying to
keep the circulation going, and kept having to readjust the hood of his parka
which was continually being swept off his head by the howling wind.  
  
Telephone poles kept him oriented on the road, and with the flashlight he was
able to check street signs whenever he found one, which was not often. Damn
his stepfather for buying a house in the middle of nowhere, and damn his
mother for keeping that house in the divorce.  
  
Holding the flashlight became tricky, because his fingers were becoming numb
lumps too. There was ice forming on his beard, even under his muffler. Why did
he have to go to his stepfather's place for Thanksgiving? If he had spent
Thanksgiving with his mom, he wouldn't have to see her for Christmas.  
  
_That was stupid_, Peter mentally admonished himself. Christmas was his
mother's favorite holiday. This was her first Christmas alone, and he hadn't
been home to see her in months. Spending Thanksgiving with Greg and his
girlfriend had been rough on his mom, he knew. He wanted to be there for her
for Christmas. Which is why he was dumb enough to force the drive and put
himself in this situation in the first place. He couldn't blame her. It was
his own damn fault.  
  
He started to see lights through the trees and snow. Houses, lit up for the
holidays. Warm and cozy places, away from the snow and wind. Peter briefly
thought about slogging up to some stranger's front door and begging to spend
the night. But he steeled himself. He thought of his Russian ancestors, and
forced himself to keep going. He could do this. He had made it this far. He
just needed to make it a little bit further. He was probably more than a
little mad at that point.  
  
Peter wanted to check his phone, but he was afraid that if he let go of the
flashlight, he would lose it. Also that his fingers wouldn't be able to find
the phone in his parka pocket or be able to make it work if they did. It felt
like he had been walking for an hour, and he wanted to check the time. _I
should have asked for a watch for Christmas_, he thought inanely.  
  
And then the flashlight fell upon the familiar mailbox, with the polar bear
wearing reindeer antlers that his mother always hung on it at this time of
year. It was nearly buried in the snow, just the hump of the bear's back and
antlers visible, but he knew it at a glance. With a sound that was half sigh
and half sob, Peter made his body turn up the long drive towards the house.  
  
It stood back a half mile from the road, at the end of a winding drive. He
could just make out the house itself through the dark spires of trees caked
with snow. The lights were a beacon, warm and inviting. The first floor was
lit up, but there were candles in the second floor windows, and a string of
colorful lights along the top of the porch.  
  
It took Peter ten excruciating minutes to navigate his way up the driveway,
across the yard and up onto the porch. His arms were leaden, his legs half-
frozen. He couldn't dig his keys out or even press the doorbell. He hammered
his fists against the door instead.  
  
Almost instantly the big red door, decorated with a wreath and holly, swung
open. Light spilled out onto the porch, almost blinding Peter, but he saw his
mother framed within it. His relief was a palpable thing. He lurched backward
so she could open the glass outer door.  
  
"So sorry Peter, I didn't hear the car," she was saying, but when she got a
good look at him and noticed the snowshoes she fairly screeched at him.  
  
"What are you thinking? Is this how I raised you?" Other motherly invectives
were laid upon him, but she had also reached out to grab him immediately and
pull him bodily into the house. Snow and ice fell from Peter onto the floor of
the foyer. His snowshoes scraped against the floor.  
  
His mother slammed the door against the cold and paused, taking a deep breath
as she looked at her son. Her dark eyes widened as she examined him. Then she
went to work. She bent down and disengaged his snowshoes first. Then she
pushed him backwards, deeper into the house, and began to pulling off his
backpack, coat, and shoes. Peter let her guide him. His brain was fogged and
his body was numb and he was shivering.  
  
The ice on his beard was beginning to melt, but it was thick and clumped along
his cheeks and chin. He could barely form words. "Merry Christmas," he tried
to say, but it came out as a shivering mumble. His teeth wouldn't stop
clicking together.  
  
"My God, Peter," Tanya said, shaking her head, her long brown hair pulled back
from her pale, pretty face into a ponytail. "I've been calling you for hours.
Your phone kept going to voicemail. I was worried sick. I kept hoping you went
to ground somewhere to wait out the storm."  
  
"Had to come," Peter said, or tried to say. It was hard to form words.  
  
His mother's features crumpled, as if she might cry. She put a hand against
his cheek, and the touch of her skin was so warm he groaned in appreciation.
"You're freezing," she said. "We need to get you warm." She grabbed his hand
and led him, shuffling, up the stairs to the darkened second floor.  
  
Peter let himself be pulled into the bathroom and almost flinched when his
mother flicked on the light. She scurried over to the shower and turned it on.
Testing the water, she muttered that it was too hot and adjusted it. Whirling
around, she grabbed Peter again and guided him further into the bathroom.  
  
She tugged at his sweater and managed with some difficulty to pull it off.
Next came his Oxford shirt, button by button, and the ribbed tank-top beneath.
His nearly hairless chest, smoothly muscled from long hours on the swim team,
was covered in red and yellow blotches. Tanya shivered herself, but in fear.  
  
She wrestled with his belt and the clasp of his jeans and then managed to
wrench them down his legs. Peter almost fell over, his muscles were so stiff.
The flesh of his thighs were pale and splotchy, cold as ice. Tanya fairly
ripped the thick woolen socks from his feet, desperate to make sure he didn't
have any black toes.  
  
Satisfied, she stood up, steadied her nearly naked son, clad only in a pair of
flannel boxers, and realized he was too dazed and shivering to step into the
shower on his own.  
  
Tanya didn't hesitate. She kicked off her slippers, already soaked through
themselves by the snow that had cascaded off of Peter on entry to the house.
She pulled off her red sweater and shimmied her khakis to the floor. Clad only
in bra and panties, she wrapped her warm body around his frigid one from
behind and guided him into the shower and under the warm spray of water.  
  
Peter groaned as the water hit him. Hot needles erupted across every inch of
his body. He locked up, but Tanya steadied him. She could feel her own warmth
being leeched away, sucked up by him, and held him tighter.  
  
Slowly, Peter began to come back to himself. The pain helped to wake him up
from the frost induced brain cloud. The warm softness of his mother against
his back also seemed to focus him sharply on the present.  
  
"Peter?" her voice seemed far away, even though it was just over his shoulder.
"Are you okay?"  
  
He groaned. He tried to form words, but they weren't really coming.  
  
Her arms, wrapped around his midsection, tightened, and he felt her full
breasts pressing against his back. "Your back is warmer," she said, "but it
feels like even with the water, your chest is still cold."  
  
She tugged at him. "Turn around."  
  
Peter grunted.  
  
"Skin to skin, it's the best way," Tanya said. She managed to maneuver him
around in the narrow confines of the shower. The warm spray now striking his
back, he dumbly opened his arms and embraced his mother. She pulled him close,
chest to chest, thighs to thighs, belly to belly. The bulk of Peter's body
largely protected her from the water, but she was getting a bit of the spray.
She hoped her clothes wouldn't be ruined, but it could hardly be helped.  
  
Gently, Tanya began to move her hands along Peter's broad shoulders. Squeezing
and rubbing, she massaged his frozen skin and muscles, urging warmth and life
into them. She worked her way down his muscular arms, unable to keep from
admiring the definition he had built up over the last ten years on various
swim teams.  
  
She rubbed his sides and kneaded his abdomen. She bent down on one knee to run
her hands up and down his raw thighs and then his calves. His boxers were
soaked and clinging to him. But at least they were warm.  
  
Tanya stood up and embraced Peter again. He was still shivering, but less
violently now. Her warm brown eyes looked into his, the same shade, and saw
recognition and growing awareness there.  
  
"Are you okay?" she asked again. She reached up to cup his bearded chin.  
  
He blinked, focusing on her. "Mom?"  
  
"Yes, Bun-Bun," she said, smiling, feeling sudden tears at the edges of her
eyes.  
  
Peter rolled his eyes. When he was two years old he used to hop around the
living room. His mother started calling him Bunny, gradually shortened to Bun
or Bun-Bun. At least she never called him that in public. He looked down
between them, seeming to notice for the first time his mother's large, bra
clad breasts pressed hard against his chest. The long dark line of cleavage
drew his eyes like a magnet. Unbidden, Peter felt a shifting between his legs.
His penis, which he thought had been sucked back up into his abdomen from the
cold, began to unfurl and expand. It didn't seem to care that the warm, plush,
wet female body against him was his mother.  
  
A pink blush spread across her chest. It took Peter's frost-fuddled brain a
long moment to realize she hadn't noticed his growing erection yet, just the
way he was staring at her breasts.  
  
"You scared me, Peter," Tanya admonished. He forced himself to meet her gaze.  
  
His mother was a tall woman, only a few inches shorter than his own six foot
frame. She was also extraordinarily beautiful, something which had
alternatingly frustrated and excited Peter, and had always made him proud. Now
it was complicating things. He had never been this close to his mother before,
or at the very least this close and this naked. Because of her bust, her
swimwear tended towards the conservative, and she never showed this much flesh
if it could be helped.  
  
"Sorry Mom," Peter forced himself to say through chattering lips and teeth. He
tried to smile. "Merry Christmas."  
  
She hugged him tighter, which just emphasized the size and softness of her
bosom. The wiring of the bra was almost painful as it pressed into his skin,
but he barely noticed. Peter found his hands at the small of her back and
resisted the urge to slide lower.  
  
"I think you're ready to raise the temperature." Tanya shifted in Peter's
arms, and for a moment, he wasn't sure he heard her correctly. Then he felt
her reach around him and adjust the shower knob. The water went from warm to
hot very quickly, almost uncomfortably so. Peter felt the needles come back.  
  
Peter leaned his head back into the spray and felt the hot water soak into his
short hair and slide down his back. As he did, though, his boxers shifted and
his thickening prick started to peek out of the flap. Before he could say
anything, his mother straightened, wrapping her arms around him again. His
hardening prick was nudged upward, trapped between her belly and his.  
  
Her eyes widened and the pink blush expanded to her cheeks.  
  
"Sorry," Peter said meekly. He should have been wilting under shame and
embarrassment, but instead the warm bare skin of his mother's smooth belly
against the bare skin of his hardening dick served only to stiffen him more.  
  
"It's okay," Tanya stammered. "Almost flattering, actually." Her own body was
responding to her son's accidental arousal. She felt a fluttering in her
stomach and a heat between her legs that was anything but maternal. The last
time she had been this close to solid maleness was five years, three months
ago. Her ex-husband had grown emotionally and physically distant long before
the divorce. And although there had been offers, Tanya hadn't felt comfortable
getting back in "the game" just yet.  
  
But here she was, in soaked bra and panties, clutching close to her the well-
muscled frame of a twenty year old athlete. Her body didn't seem to care that
the athlete's frame belonged to her son. Her nipples were hardening in the
cups of her bra. A mix of shame and arousal threatened to add moisture between
her legs that had nothing to do with the shower.  
  
"You are the prettiest mom around," Peter said with a forced laugh. "It would
be weird if this didn't happen, right?"  
  
Tanya forced a chuckle of her own. She looked anywhere but in her son's face.
"Sure," she said. On sudden impulse, she released his shoulders and reached
between them. Her long slim fingers found the silky smoothness of her son's
penis. She allowed herself a moment of appraisal, enjoying the solid feel of
him and his apparent girth, just long enough for Peter's shock to settle into
wonder, and then she deftly tucked him away behind the flap of his boxers once
more.  
  
As if emboldened by her touch, Peter heard himself ask, "What happened to
'skin to skin'?"  
  
"I think someone is feeling much better," Tanya said. She gently disengaged
herself from her son's embrace. "Finish your shower. Scrub up, get yourself
toasty warm." She turned and stepped around the curtain, choosing to ignore
the sharp intake of breath behind her as she did so.  
  
Peter felt a lump in his throat as his mother pulled away. He had gone too
far. He hoped he would be able to pass it off as momentary insanity, or a
symptom of nearly freezing to death. But as she pulled away, he had a moment
to admire her shapely form. The full bust, straining at the soaked bra and
showing the hint of hardened nipples. The smooth belly and narrow waist,
flaring out to wide hips atop long legs. And then she turned to step out of
the shower, and he saw the plump roundness of her backside. He couldn't
suppress a gasp of appreciation.  
  
From the other side of the mostly opaque curtain, he heard his mother picking
up discarded clothes. "Will you be hungry when you're done?"  
  
At the mention of food, his stomach rumbled. He hadn't realized how hungry he
was until she brought it up. "Yes," he said, raising his voice over the sound
of the water.  
  
"Okay, Bunny. I think I can find some carrots for you," she said in a teasing
tone. The bathroom door opened and shut and Peter was alone.  
  
He sagged against the wall. _That was intense_, he decided. _Intense and
inappropriate._  
  
Still, after he removed his soaked boxers and tossed them onto the bathroom
floor, he gripped his hard cock and felt astonishingly little guilt as he
recalled the gossamer touch of his mother's fingers on his hardness. He
pretended things had gone much, much further, and before long exploded against
the wall.  
  
*  
  
Tanya hurried to her room. She shivered herself. She normally kept the house
relatively warm, requiring only a sweater to remain comfortable, but she was
now padding barefoot down the hall in nothing more than a wet bra and panties.  
  
Once safely in her room, she shut the door with a click and quickly pulled off
her wet things. She stretched luxuriantly, almost but not quite embarrassed by
the hardness of the big dark pink nipples at the end of her pendulous breasts.
Self-consciously she gave each nipple a little tweak between thumb and
forefinger. She felt a corresponding twinge between her legs.  
  
She found it difficult not to think about Peter's hardness, and how good it
felt in her hand, however brief the touch had been. She shook her head. She
was really far gone if her own son's penis was getting her hot and bothered.
It had been a long time, but had it really been _that_ long?  

Tanya dragged fingers through her long damp locks and pulled the tie out of
her hair. She grabbed a brush off her dresser and, still naked, furiously
pulled at her hair. As if that would settle the warm flutter in her belly or
the empty ache between her legs. As she brushed, she looked at herself in the
mirror. She could barely recognize who she saw.  
  
As a buxom, vivacious teenager she had gotten into "trouble," but that trouble
ended up giving her Peter, so she had no regrets. Her older sister Tracy got
married around the same time, and soon she had a son of her own. Peter and
Andrew grew up together, almost as close as siblings.  
  
She met Greg when Peter was three. He was ten years older, assured, and didn't
seem to care that she had a child or that the father was not in the picture at
all. They married quickly, and for a time, it was bliss. Her body excited
Greg, and Greg's experience and skill in bed excited her. Tanya was also
reassured that Peter took to Greg as well, and the boys bonded over hiking and
fishing and eventually hunting.  
  
When Greg was promoted at work and relocated to the Midwest, Peter and Tanya
followed with him. It was hard at first. Tracy had just lost her husband
around the same time, and Tanya wanted to be there for her sister the way
Tracy had been there for her. But she also had her own family to look after,
and so she ended up here in the north end of nowhere, mistress of a drafty
farmhouse. It was only after the move that things started to fall apart.
Greg's wandering eye became apparent, as well as his taste for younger women.
Apparently Tanya had aged out of his demographic.  
  
Still, she tried gamely to make it work, and for a little while Greg met her
halfway. Tanya wanted to wait until Peter graduated college for the divorce,
but Greg didn't share her patience. A year ago he had served papers and moved
out, shacking up with a blonde that was only a little older than Peter.  
  
The only silver lining was that Peter still managed to maintain a relationship
with his dad. He had spent Thanksgiving with Greg and Greg's girlfriend, and
although that had been tough for Tanya, she took it in stride. A boy should
have a father. That was the primary reason she married Greg in the first
place. She had never really loved him, or his betrayal would have stung more.  
  
Still, her confidence in her physical charms had been shaken. She looked into
the mirror, seeing a 37 year old mother of a 20 year old athlete, wondering
where all the time had gone. Where all the weight had come from. She worked
out and watched what she ate, but the march of time just could not be halted.
Her big breasts, source of back pain and other discomforts, had bewitched men
for decades, but now they sagged on her chest. Her once thin belly pooched out
over every pair of panties she wore. The less said about her enormous ass the
better. She threaded a few fingers through her copious bush. No gray hairs yet
at least, but she definitely looked like a middle-aged cow whose best years
were long behind her.  
  
Strange to think that Peter's unconscious erection had given her a slight
boost, to think that anyone would find her attractive. That it was the last
man on earth who should find her physically attractive was a big part of that
initial heady feeling. She cupped her breasts, the nipples still hard, albeit
more from the chill in the air than any sense of arousal. That had died during
her self-examination.  
  
With a sigh, Tanya pulled on a change of clothes, starting with a utilitarian
bra and panty set, a pair of jeans, a white t-shirt, and a different red
sweater. Then she went to the kitchen to make Peter something to eat.  
  
She passed the bathroom on the way, pleased to hear the water still running.
She hoped he felt better. He was a sweet boy to rush home for the holidays. A
sweet, stupid boy, to risk so much just to be here with her. Smiling to
herself, feeling suddenly a little silly for no particular reason, she hummed
a Christmas carol as she capered down the stairs.  
  
*  
  
Clad in blue sweatpants adorned with his high school team logo and a thermal
top, Peter entered the kitchen carefully. He wasn't sure what kind of mood his
mother might be in, but he needn't have worried. She was humming to herself at
the stove and her full lips formed one of her huge smiles for him when he
stepped into the room.  
  
"How are you doing, Bunny?"  
  
"Better," Peter said. "I still feel cold, but not as bad as before." He
paused, eyeing the big pot on the stove. "Is that chicken soup?"  
  
She laughed. "I had some leftover chicken in the fridge, and the rest of the
ingredients are usually close to hand. I figured you would need some of
momma's home cooking after your ordeal."  
  
"Don't make it so dramatic, Mom," Peter said with a laugh. "I just hiked five
miles through a blizzard in order to be home for Christmas on time. Y'know, no
big deal."  
  
She smiled again, eyes bright. "And don't think that I don't appreciate it.
Now, the soup is almost ready. But before you sit down, you should probably
give the police department a call and let them know where your car is."  
  
"Oh, yeah, probably." A sudden vision of a plow totaling his car appeared in
his head. "Um, where's my phone?"  
  
Tanya pointed with a long-handled spoon at the counter, and Peter hurried over
to grab it. He had voicemail, he noticed, and looked up at his mother. "How
many times did you call me?"  
  
She looked away. "Only a dozen or so. I didn't leave a message _each_ time."  
  
Peter smiled. "Oh, I don't know. I might listen to them anyway. I like hearing
your voice."  
  
Tanya looked at him sharply, brow furrowed, but when she saw that he was
sincere, her look softened. "Thank you. That's sweet of you."  
  
Peter shrugged and called the police department. Five minutes later, he was
sitting down to a big steaming bowl of his mother's homemade chicken soup.
This delicacy had sustained him through several years of swim practices, and
never failed to cheer him up or fill him up. He dug into it with gusto.  
  
Tanya sat with him while he ate. Mostly just watching. "It's nice to be able
to cook for someone besides myself," she said.  
  
"Sorry about Thanksgiving," Peter said between slurps. "I thought I owed Greg
a visit."  
  
"No, I'm glad you went. You should spend time with your father."  
  
"Stepfather."  
  
"Peter..." Tanya began, a dangerous note in her voice.  
  
"Anyway," he quickly interrupted, "the food was barely adequate. The turkey
was dry, and nobody made pirozhkis."  
  
"Is that so?" Tanya said. The tone said that she accepted his change of topic,
but was not going to forget what necessitated it. "I suppose if you're a good
boy, you might convince me to make some for you over the Christmas break.
Which reminds me, how long are you here again?"  
  
"I have to be back on campus by the 8th. We're flying down to Florida for
winter practice that Friday night."  
  
"Barely two weeks," Tanya said, unable to hide the frown.  
  
Peter just dug into his soup. He felt bad, leaving his mom alone, but what
could he do? His team needed him. His spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl.
"Is there more?"  
  
Tanya chuckled. "'Is there more?' There is plenty. Eat as much as you want."
She stood up and filled his bowl, even though she normally would have sent him
to get it himself. It was just so good to have him home, and she really
enjoyed cooking for him. He so obviously appreciated her cooking, too.  
  
Greg had always taken her culinary skill for granted. For him, it was just
something women did. But Peter knew how much she enjoyed it, and when he was
little he used to help her bake and make holiday dinners and the like.
Eventually he grew out of it, but for a while there, he was having almost as
much fun as she did shopping at the local Williams &amp; Sonoma.  
  
Peter admired his mother's shapely form while she stood at the stove, ladling
soup into his bowl. The sweater was loose, hanging on her to de-emphasize her
bosom and her narrow waist, but the jeans were pretty tight, and her ass
looked amazing in them. He quickly looked away when she turned back with the
full bowl. But the image stayed with him a good while.  
  
*  
  
Tanya wouldn't let him clean up his dishes, instead escorting him into the
living room. It was lit up with the tree and other decorations, with a liberal
spread of presents beneath. Peter noticed a box next to the tree with "his"
ornaments inside, presumably waiting for him to hang up.  
  
"Jeez, Mom, you didn't have to wait for me," he said, gesturing at the box.  
  
Tanya blinked, willing herself not to frown. "I just thought you would like to
hang them yourself."  
  
_Well, this is the season, after all,_ Peter thought to himself. "Ok," he said
out loud. "But I am a little bushed. Can it wait until tomorrow?"  
  
Another one of those dazzling smiles lit Tanya's face. "Sure," she said.
"That's a great idea, Bunny. Did you want to go to bed? It's selfish, I know,
but now that you're home, I was kind of hoping we could stay up a little and
talk." She faltered. "I've missed having you around, kid."  
  
Peter leaned over and wrapped an arm around his mother. "I've missed you too,
Mom." He liked the feel of her lush body against his, but he didn't dare go
for the full hug so soon after the scene in the shower. "But honestly, I am
wiped out. It's been a long day, and now my belly is full and I just want to
hibernate."  
  
"Of course," Tanya said, patting her son on the chest. Her hand lingered a
moment longer than it should, and she pulled it away suddenly. "Go to bed.
I'll make a big breakfast in the morning, and we can finish decorating the
tree afterward. You can tell me about your semester then."  
  
"Thanks, Mom." He went to kiss her on the cheek, but she shifted, and his lips
settled on hers. They froze for a moment, looking into one another's eyes, and
then Peter stepped back.  
  
Tanya loosed a nervous laugh. "Good night, Bun-Bun. Sweet dreams."  
  
"Good night, Mom. Love you." Peter turned to go.  
  
Tanya watched him leave, admiring the breadth of his shoulders and the way the
muscles in his backside worked beneath the fabric of his sweatpants.
Shivering, but not from cold, she wrapped her arms around her body beneath her
breasts.  
  
*  
  
Peter settled into his familiar old room and climbed under the covers, his
eyes heavy lidded and his limbs achey. He turned the light out and burrowed
under the comforter.  
  
He was exhausted. Thoroughly wiped, like he just swam a 400 meter medley in
three minutes. But sleep eluded him.  
  
Outside, the wind continued to howl. The blinds were pulled, but in his mind
he could still see the snowflakes swirling around him, blinding him, clinging
to his beard. He scratched his face, remembering the ice. Suddenly he felt
cold despite being buried under layers of blankets.  
  
He rolled over, frustrated and exhausted and uncomfortable. He just needed to
fall asleep.  
  
He heard his mother pass by in the hall, on the way to bed herself. Peter sat
up and laid his head against the cool wall. He suppressed a shiver, hugging
himself.  
  
_This is stupid_, he thought. _Beyond stupid. I'm twenty years old. I
shouldn't need..._ He sighed. He listened closely, as his mother brushed her
teeth and prepared for bed. She walked down the hall, and he heard her bedroom
door close. He waited another ten minutes, then slid out of bed, wincing as
his feet touched the floor.  
  
He saw a light on under her door and knocked lightly. "Bunny?" she said.  
  
Peter pushed the door open. She was sitting up in bed with a book, wearing
green silk pajamas and her reading glasses. Her long brown hair was tied into
a loose pile at the back of her head. "Mom," Peter said, "I can't sleep."  
  
"Oh. I'm sorry, sweetie. Do you need some warm milk or something?"  
  
Peter shook his head. "Would it be... would it be alright if I slept in here
with you?" He coughed awkwardly and shifted on his feet. "I can't get warm,
and I thought the shared body heat would, um..." He trailed off.  
  
She wore a look of motherly concern when he finally dared to look up. "Of
course, Peter." She patted the empty space beside her. With a self-conscious
grin, Peter ambled into the room and slid under the covers beside her.  
  
"Will it bother you if I have the light on to read?"  
  
"Honestly, Mom, I'm not sure I will even notice."  
  
"Ok." She reached over and ruffled his short hair. Then she leaned over to
brush her lips against his forehead. He felt a stray curl of her hair against
his brow. He saw her pajama top gape open a few inches, hinting at the
cleavage hidden behind it, even as her heavy breasts shifted under the fabric.
She sat back. "Good night, Peter. Love you."  
  
"Love you too," Peter mumbled. He rolled over, sliding deeper under the
covers, and slipped into oblivion.  
  
*   
  
Tanya read for a little while, but when her own eyes started to droop and she
realized she'd read the same sentence five times, she put the book on the
nightstand, laid her glasses beside it, and was just about to turn off the
light when her eyes fell on Peter lying beside her.  
  
Her heart melted. He was such a good boy. She didn't know what she had done to
deserve him, and she felt a sudden surge of love for him. He had forced his
way home to be here, suffering some level of trauma to the point that he
needed to sleep in mommy's bed for the first time in approximately sixteen
years. He was so cute and precious, even now, fully grown into a gorgeous
young man.  
  
She couldn't resist leaning across him and kissing the top of his head. Then
she lay down, shut off the light, and faded slowly into slumber. It was nice,
she decided, to have someone else in the bed beside her. She had just started
to get used to the emptiness at night, but as she drifted off, it occurred to
her that she could get used to this again.  
  
Tanya's sleep was deep and dreamless. At some point in the middle of the
night, she was roused to near wakefulness when Greg wrapped his arm around her
and snuggled tight against her back. She curled her own arm around his,
holding him tight to her bosom. Tanya smiled to herself and sank bank into
unconsciousness, feeling strangely elated.  
  
An hour later she suddenly snapped awake with the realization that it was not
Greg with his arm wrapped around her, but Peter. A secret, sensuous thrill ran
through her body as she realized she was holding her son's arm tightly against
her full breasts. He was sound asleep, of course, no doubt dreaming of his
latest girlfriend or something.  
  
That thought brought the further realization that there was something long and
hard pressing against her bottom. Tanya bit her lip and in the darkness
blushed fiercely. She shifted in her son's arms, suddenly aware of a heat
flaring to life in her mid-section, and the tips of her breasts finding sudden
stiffness. Peter started to move in response to her, and she froze. Slowly he
settled back down, settling against her once more, his firm hardness coming to
rest in the cleft between her buttocks.  
  
Tanya wasn't sure what to do. Her brain told her to escape Peter's hold, even
if it woke him. But her loins screamed at her to stay, to enjoy this brief
moment of illicit contact. She fought an internal battle while her bedside
clock ticked off long glowing red minutes, her body rigid in her sleeping
son's arms. And then, with a frustrated sigh, she yielded, relaxing into his
arms, subtly pushing her butt against his stiffness.  
  
Tanya slowly eased an arm free of Peter's embrace and slid it down her smooth
belly. Her hand slipped under the waistband of her pajamas. Her fingertips
skated across the front of her panties. Nostrils flaring, lower lip trapped
under her teeth, she began to gently tease herself with her fingers. She
traced the line of her labial lips beneath her panties, feeling them quickly
flush with arousal. Almost too quickly. She began a circular motion, pressing
her fingertips into her yielding flesh. She imagined Peter's penis, his cock,
flexing between her cheeks. Throbbing hungrily.  
  
Her juices soaked her panties. Her fingers made squelching sounds. She hoped
she was being quiet enough not to bother Peter, but she wasn't sure she would
stop even if he did wake. Her arm shook with suppressed passion and need.
Somehow her fingers found their way under her panties, sliding through the
thick curls adorning her pubic mound, and finding her clitoris.  
  
She gritted her teeth, squeezed her eyes shut, and thought of how strong and
smooth and large Peter's cock had felt in the shower, when she had gripped it
and forced it back under his boxers. She wished she had dropped to her knees
and swallowed him whole right then and there. She moaned quietly, unable to
keep silent.  
  
Her fingers sank into her folds, slick and ready to be filled by something
thick and hard, curving them against the familiar ridges of flesh inside her.
Her toes curled. With practiced ease, her thumb found her nubbin and flicked
it mercilessly.  
  
Tanya shook and shivered, her breasts straining against Peter's arm, as she
orgasmed as quietly as she could with her son's hard cock wedged between her
buttocks. She slumped against him, breath rattling in her chest, tits heaving
like rolling tanks, sucking in deep draughts of air through her nose.  
  
Slowly Tanya opened her eyes, half expecting to find Peter awake and staring
at her, but he had slumbered through the whole thing. Maybe she didn't make as
much noise as she feared. More likely, he was still recuperating from his
long, stressful drive and hike through the blizzard.  
  
Sudden and crushing guilt overwhelmed her. The sweet boy had tried his hardest
to get home to her for Christmas, and here she was perving on him like some
horrible degenerate. She withdrew her hand gingerly from her sodden pussy,
wiped her digits ineffectually against her pajamas, and tried to fall asleep.  
  
It was easier than she would have expected. Her orgasm had taken more out of
her than she assumed. She was asleep again in moments.  
  
*  
  
Tanya woke before Peter, when the first rays of dawn filtered through the
blinds and started their slow crawl across the bedroom floor. She shut her
alarm off fifteen minutes before it would have triggered, and gently
disengaged herself from Peter's embrace. That had not flagged at all during
the night. Nor, apparently, had Peter's erection. Tanya wondered idly if he
had left a permanent mark on her ass. And then the guilt hit her again.  
  
She slipped out of the bedroom, straight into the bathroom. Within five
minutes, she had a warm shower started and she had peeled her pajamas off. She
looked at her full bush and eyed the fuzz on her legs. _Past time to shave_,
she decided.  
  
She started with her legs, making them smooth and sleek as possible. She
fluffed the soaking matt of her pubic hair and started trimming that as well.
She found herself wondering what young men preferred when it came to pubic
hair. And that led her to wonder what Peter, specifically, preferred. It was
difficult to stand in the shower and not think about him, about pressing her
body against his and wondering what might have happened if she had stayed with
him instead of fleeing.  
  
When she was done, she had a thin strip of very short hair in a line directly
north of her clit. But even that, she decided, looked like too much, and
before she knew it, she was completely shorn. She hadn't intended to go that
far, but now that she had, she decided to enjoy it. Her hand glided across her
smooth skin. Her fingers descended further, teasing her sleeping clit and
engorged pussy lips.  
  
With a start, Tanya pulled her hand away. "What am I doing?" she muttered.
Hadn't she done enough during the night? Besides, she had already been in the
shower far too long, and Peter would need hot water for his own. Quickly,
Tanya finished washing, wrapped her body and her hair in towels, and headed
for her bedroom.  

Peter lay awake in the bed. He was propped up on an elbow, reading her book,
when she entered the room. "Bathroom's free," she said lightly. She felt
awkward and uncertain for no good reason. This was her room and her son. She
shouldn't have so much trouble being normal.  
  
"About time," Peter grumbled sleepily, putting her book on the nightstand.
"What took you so long?"  
  
"I was shaving," Tanya said without thinking. The last word came out as a kind
of squeak. She cleared her throat.  
  
Peter looked at her, his face unreadable. When had that happened? She always
understand him at a glance before.  
  
He scratched at his chin. "That's a good idea," he said. He clambered out of
the bed and headed for his morning ablutions. Tanya waited until he entered
the bathroom to close her bedroom door. She wavered for a moment before
turning the lock and getting dressed.  
  
*  
  
Peter came down the stairs to the smells of breakfast. Gingerbread pancakes,
turkey bacon, scrambled eggs, wheat toast, fresh fruit, and coffee. He
grinned, admiring his mother in her red apron laying food on the table. Tanya
wore jeans and a pale blue blouse underneath. She looked up, smiling self-
consciously for some reason, and her eyes widened in shock.  
  
"Your beard!"  
  
Peter massaged his bare chin. "I was going to cut it before winter practice
anyway. Plus, it seemed like the thing to do this morning."  
  
Tanya's cheeks turned pink. "Well, I made a big breakfast, as promised."  
  
"I see that." Peter settled down at the table. He reached for the carafe of
orange juice and poured himself a glass. "This looks awesome, Mom." He looked
up. "I can't help but think I'm being fattened up to go do some manual labor,
though."  
  
"The storm is over," she said, looking out the window. It was still cloudy,
but the sun was peeking through the cover. Enough to make the world outside
glow, buried as everything was under five feet or so of snow. "There's a
service that takes care of the driveway, but I am a little worried about all
the snow on the roof. And the walkways will have to be cleared, of course."  
  
"Say no more, Mom," Peter said as he forked a pancake and dropped it on his
plate. "I will take care of it."  
  
"Thanks, Bunny." She brightened. "After that, we can decorate the tree!"  
  
"Great," Peter said weakly. His mother punched him lightly in the arm.  
  
"Cheer up, kid. It's Christmas Eve! Are you telling me that you're too old to
decorate the tree with your mother on Christmas Eve?"  
  
Peter smiled. "No, I guess not." He shoved food into his mouth. It might be
fun, he decided. He wasn't thrilled about having to go out into the cold
again, but at least he would be armed with a shovel this time. And anything
that made his mother smile was probably worth it.  
  
After Peter and Tanya had eaten their fill, Peter cleared the plates and
filled the dishwasher. Tanya tried to intervene but he shooed her away.  
  
She watched him for a few moments. "I found some presents in your bag. I set
them under the tree."  
  
"Oh, shit, thanks Mom. I had completely forgotten about them."  
  
"No problem. Nice of you to pack them for the hike. They were a little
squashed and the paper was a little soggy, but it's still nice to see you
thought of me."  
  
Peter looked at her in horror. But she started laughing. "They're fine," she
said. "That backpack of yours could survive on a glacier. Your father knows
his camping gear."  
  
"Stepfather," Peter corrected under his breath. "You had me scared there, Mom.
I was afraid your presents were ruined."  
  
She stepped up to him and kissed him on the cheek, with his hands in the sink.
"Sweet boy." She turned away, heading for the living room.  
  
Peter watched her swaying hips and shook his head. With the dishes done, he
pulled on his winter gear and clambered outside. The wind was biting, but he
worked up a good sweat digging his way to the garage. Once he had the
snowblower running and the roof rakes to hand, he really went to work. A few
hours later, he clomped back onto the porch. He looked back, noting that no
one had approached the driveway to plow it yet. There wasn't much sign of
travel on the road either, barely visible as it was through the screen of
trees in the yard. It might take a day or two for the roads to get cleared. He
worried about his abandoned car, and silently thanking his Mom for having him
call the police.  
  
Inside, Christmas music blared from the stereo, and sweet scents emanated from
the kitchen. Tanya was baking.  
  
Peter pulled his winter gear off and went to find his mother. She had
pirozhkis cooling on racks, and sugar cookies in the oven. The kitchen was a
mess of mixing bowls and spoons and ingredients.  
  
"I'm not cleaning this mess up," Peter said by way of greeting.  
  
Tanya looked over her shoulder and batted her eyelashes. "What if I ask
nicely?"  
  
Peter groaned, but his irritation was completely feigned. "I guess I would
have to."  
  
Tanya smiled. "Well don't worry, I won't ask you. You did a great job with the
yard and the roof. Do you want some hot chocolate or coffee? Can I make you
something for lunch?"  
  
"Lunch would be great. But coffee first."  
  
Tanya nodded and set to work. She turned on the Keurig, and cleaned up her
work station on the counter quickly and economically. She looked up twice,
noticing Peter watching her, and both times ducked her head, blushing. "What
are you doing?" she asked eventually. "You don't have to stand there waiting.
I'll call you when it's ready."  
  
"I'm not waiting. I'm watching." Peter took a deep breath. "I missed you, Mom.
It's just nice to be here with you."  
  
"Oh, Bunny, such a sweetheart." She lifted up her hands, dirty from baking,
and gestured at him to come close. She half wrapped her arms around him,
keeping her hands carefully clear, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Peter
responded by wrapping his arms around her tightly, pulling her close, reveling
in the feel of her heavy bra-clad breasts against his chest.  
  
They held this pose for long moments, neither one of them moving, just holding
one another close. When the Keurig signaled it was ready, Tanya found her
voice. "Ok," she said, pulling away slightly. "Pick out a flavor. I'll clean
up and make you a sandwich or something."  
  
As they parted, on impulse Peter leaned forward suddenly and pressed his lips
against hers. "Love you," he said, stepping back.  
  
Her cheeks red, but a dazzling smile lighting up her features, Tanya said,
"Love you too."  
  
*  
  
After lunch, despite Peter's diffidence, they finished decorating the tree.
Actually, Peter finished decorating the tree. Tanya sat on the couch drinking
a hot chocolate while Peter picked through the last box of ornaments and found
places for them on the tree. These were "his" ornaments, and they were mostly
kid's stuff. But he didn't mind amusing his mother, and at the very least, it
was nice to spend time with her.  
  
"So, how is the semester going?"  
  
"Good. I had some trouble with my math final, but I'm pretty sure I passed."  
  
"And is there a lady in your life?"  
  
"Mom."  
  
"I'm just asking. I don't think I've met one of your girlfriends since high
school."  
  
_That's because they're usually intimidated by you_, Peter thought. Most of
the girls he had brought home had trouble believing his mother was old enough
to be his mother, much like so many of his friends growing up had not-so
secret crushes on her.  
  
"I don't have a lot of time, between classes, practice, and community
service," Peter said.  
  
"That's too bad," Tanya said. "A young man should have a young woman in his
life. Especially such a handsome, thoughtful young man like you."  
  
Peter looked askance at his mother. She was beaming at him, legs crossed with
the top foot bouncing. He wondered what was in the hot chocolate, and whether
he was old enough to drink it. "Thanks," he said automatically. He thought for
a moment. "I do have a friend on the swim team who I mess around with from
time to time."  
  
Absolute silence. Peter looked over his shoulder. His mother was no longer
smiling, and the foot wasn't bouncing any longer. "I'm not sure I follow," she
said.  
  
"The women's swim team," Peter clarified, and almost laughed at the way his
mother relaxed.  
  
She saw his expression and blushed. "That's not what I... I mean, if you did
feel that way about boys I would be supportive, I just...uh..."  
  
"S'okay, Mom. I don't swing that way." He smiled, and decided to test the
waters. "I like boobs far too much."  
  
The color on Tanya's cheeks deepened. She cleared her throat. "So you have a
friend with benefits? Why don't you just date her?"  
  
Peter shrugged, disappointed at the minimal reaction. "I don't know. Like I
said, I'm busy. So is she. We help each other out from time to time. It's like
being in a relationship, but without any of the complications." He paused,
looking at the ornament in his hand. "Or some of the benefits."  
  
"So you do want to date her?"  
  
"Not exactly." Peter hung the ornament on the tree. "I think it would just be
nice to have someone to spend time with, to be with. To wake up next to in the
morning."  
  
Silence again. Peter looked back at his mother. Her expression was thoughtful.
She sipped her mug, noticed him looking at her, and met his eyes. "That is
something very nice to have," she said at last. Peter's heart tumbled.  
  
He turned back to the tree. "What about you, Mom? Have you started dating
yet?"  
  
"Oh God, no," Tanya said glibly, her voice suddenly stronger, as if this were
a more comfortable topic to discuss. "I've had offers, mind you. Your mother
isn't completely washed up. But I guess I'm just not ready." Tanya looked into
the bottom of her mug. "Which is weird, considering," she said softly.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing," Tanya said.  
  
"You know, Mom, Greg was an idiot for leaving you. I still don't know how he
could do it. You're beautiful, you're kind, you're funny. You are a great
catch."  
  
Tanya ducked her head. She was blushing a lot lately. But it made her feel
warm and desirable to hear her son say these sorts of things. Or to get hard
around her.  
  
"Thank you, Peter. But don't badmouth Greg. I don't want you to do that. Like
the way you keep calling him your 'stepfather.' He's more than that."  
  
Peter shook his head. "He hurt you, Mom. He left you. I'm not sure I can
forgive him for that."  
  
Tanya took a deep breath. "I have."  
  
Peter turned. "What?"  
  
Tanya cleared her throat. "I have. I had to. You have to realize, Peter, that
Greg leaving had nothing to do with him. He's a good man. He loves you very
much, and he has been a good father to you. You should give him another
chance."  
  
"Mom, what are you talking about? He went and got a girlfriend, while you two
were still married. Probably not even his first."  
  
Tears formed at the corners of Tanya's eyes. "I never loved him, Peter." She
took a deep breath. "That's not true. I grew to love him, but I was never _in
love_ with him. Seems silly, that idea, so close to 40, but it was important
to him. He sensed it. I think he always kind of knew. There's a part of me
that I kept separate from him, that I never shared with him. And it drove us
apart. It is my fault that Greg left, not his."  
  
Peter sat down next to her and hugged her closely. "Mom," he said. For a while
that was all he said. Then, "Why did you marry him in the first place?"  
  
"A boy needs a father. I believed it then, I believe it now. That's why I
don't want you to be angry with him."  
  
Peter sat still next to her. "I can't help it," he finally said.  
  
Tanya patted his knee. "Maybe when you're older, you'll understand."  
  
"I'm the same age now that you were when you married him."  
  
That brought Tanya up short. "I forget that sometimes." She looked over at him
and set her mug down. "Look, I was 20 years old, with a 3 year old son. I
didn't have a lot of prospects, then. We were living with my parents, and
using Aunt Tracy for daycare. Greg was... nice. He liked me. We had fun
together. And he didn't mind that I had a kid. He even seemed to like dating a
single mom.  
  
"Then he proposed, and I saw a life for us, a stable life. Greg is a good man,
a good provider, and as it turned out, he couldn't have kids of his own. Which
is why you don't have any siblings, by the way. But anyway, as long as you
were taken care of, I was happy. But I guess it wasn't enough for him.  
  
"So I can't really be mad at him for going. Plus, you know, he appears to have
a thing for younger women. Which I am not anymore."  
  
"Mom," Peter said, "you didn't have to do that for me. I... it was better when
it was just the two of us. I remember being happy, anyway, and things with
Greg haven't been all sunshine and roses. You didn't have to settle for him
just for me."  
  
Tanya started to cry. She reached out to grab Peter's hands. "I'm so sorry,
honey. The whole thing goes around and around in my head. Did I screw up back
then? Did I ruin my life trying to make yours as safe and perfect as possible?
Maybe that's why I want you to stay close to Greg. I don't want the last
seventeen years to be a complete waste for both of us."  
  
Peter pulled her closer to him. He could feel his own eyes misting in response
to his mother's burst of emotion. "They haven't been a waste, Mom. As long as
you and I have each other, nothing is ever a waste."  
  
Tanya started crying harder. "I'm sorry," she said again.  
  
On sudden impulse, Peter shifted, pulling his mother into his arms. He looked
into her tear streaked face and kissed her on the lips. Not a chaste kiss like
the one he gave her at breakfast, but the kiss of a man in love with a woman.
He pressed his lips firmly against hers. Her lips parted, welcoming him. Her
eyes closed and she leaned into the kiss, returning his passion with equal
fervor.  
  
For a split second, it was perfect.  
  
Then she pushed him away and shot to her feet. Without a word she rushed from
the room, hurrying up the stairs.  
  
Peter slumped against the couch.  
  
*  
  
An hour later she came back downstairs. Peter had not moved.  
  
"Oh," she said, as if surprised to see him.  
  
"Mom," Peter said, his voice was a croak. He coughed, but before he could
start again, she interrupted.  
  
"I'm not mad," she said. She sighed. "I don't know what I am. I am your mother
though, and that... that can't happen." She walked over to the couch and
placed a hand on the backrest. "But - something else I know. Today is
Christmas Eve. It is getting late. If we're going to have dinner, I need to
start cooking."  
  
She paused. Warm brown eyes found their mirror in her son's face. "Would
you... would you want to help me in the kitchen?"  
  
Peter swallowed whatever he might have said, knowing it wouldn't be enough. He
should apologize, he supposed, but he didn't feel sorry. Instead, he simply
nodded.  
  
She took his hand and pulled him to his feet and led him into the kitchen.
Lights went on. Food came out of the refrigerator and pantry. Knives flashed.
The oven came to life. The only words that passed between them were Tanya's
whispered instructions and Peter's occasional requests for clarification.  
  
When dinner was ready, Peter set the table and Tanya laid out the food. He
didn't blink when she added a wine glass to his setting, but he did frown
slightly as she poured him a liberal amount.  
  
She raised her own glass. "To us," she said. He clinked his glass against hers
and they both drank. Dinner passed quietly as well, but it was a companionable
quiet. None of the awkwardness that should be present seemed to affect them.  
  
Peter finished his glass before his mother and without asking for permission
poured both himself and his mother some more. It was his turn to raise a
glass. "Merry Christmas," he said. Tanya smiled, clinked her glass with his,
and took a healthy draught.  
  
"Any plans for the rest of your vacation?" Tanya asked.  
  
"Not really," Peter said. "I suppose it depends on how soon we can get dug
out. I thought at least one of the guys would have called me by now."  
  
And like that, they were talking again. If his mother wanted to ignore that
kiss, pretend it never happened, then Peter would do the same. But he would
keep it with him forever. His mother's were the sweetest lips he had ever
tasted.  
  
After dinner, Peter washed and Tanya dried. When the last dish clinked into
place in the washer, they took their glasses of wine into the living room.
Tanya turned off the lamps, allowing the room to be illuminated only by the
tree.  
  
Peter settled on to the couch, the scene of the crime, and his mother
surprised him by sitting next to him and leaning into him. Her back nestled
against his chest and she stretched out along the length of the sofa.  
  
Gingerly, Peter put his arm around her, settling his hand on her belly,
beneath those wonderful breasts. He could feel the heat of her body through
the thin blouse. The scent of her shampoo filtered up into his nostrils.  
  
"This is nice," she said. "Just the two of us. I'm almost glad the blizzard
hit and we couldn't get together with anyone else."  
  
"I don't know. I think I could have done without the blizzard."  
  
Tanya held her wine glass out and swirled the liquid around. "Without the
blizzard, we wouldn't have had that shower together."  
  
_Ah_. Peter wished he wasn't talking to the back of her head, but it was
possible she was only open to discussing this because she couldn't see him.
"Do you think I kissed you because of that?"  
  
Tanya sipped her wine. "The thought occurred to me," she said. Her voice was
low.  
  
"Mom. The shower was equal parts agonizing and wonderful. Just like sleeping
beside you and holding you all night. But don't think that one thing leads to
another. You are the most beautiful, wonderful, loving woman I have ever
known. I would have kissed you anyway, even without the blizzard."  
  
She sat in silence, leaning against him, breathing quietly. She sipped her
glass of wine, finishing most of what remained, and then stood up. Peter could
have held her in place, but he let her go. He felt something inside him
constrict as she turned, her beautiful face inscrutable, her eyes hooded in
the dimness of the room.  
  
"I'm going to bed," she said.  
  
Peter stared into space for long minutes. Gradually his eyes focused, finding
the Christmas tree and its bright lights. With a grunt, Peter levered himself
to his feet. He brought the wine glasses into the kitchen and set them in the
sink. He started shutting off lights and then climbed wearily up the stairs.  
  
In the hall, he saw his mother's bedroom door was closed. But a light showed
at the bottom, warming the hallway.  
  
_What does that mean?_  
  
Peter stumbled into his room and peeled off his clothes. He found the
sweatpants and thermal top he'd worn to bed the night before and put them on.
He was just about to turn the covers down when he paused, turning things over
in his mind.  
  
_I had to try, don't I? Just one more time._  
  
Peter stepped out in the hallway and lightly rapped on the door to his
mother's room. "Mom?"  
  
"Come in," she said. There was a flutter of something in her voice, something
he didn't recognize. He eased the door open.  
  
Peter froze in the doorway. His heart began to thunder in his chest.  
  
His mother knelt in the middle of her bed. Her unbound hair tumbled down her
back. A hint of blue eyeshadow lightened her eyes, and a fresh coat of red
lipstick decorated her full lips. She wore only a matching pair of black
floral print bra and panties. They emphasized the thrust of her bust, the
narrowness of her waist, and the width of her hips. Her hands rested on her
silky smooth thighs, folded beneath her. His mother's pale skin fairly glowed
in the light from the lamp.  
  
"Mom?" Peter said, absolutely stunned.  
  
She beckoned him with a curled finger. "Come in," she said again. "What do you
think?" she said, raising her arms and turning slightly. Her big breasts
jiggled enticingly in her bra.  

"You look amazing," Peter said. "But I... I'm not sure if this is real. Is
this - are you - what is this about, Mom?"  
  
Tanya smiled at her confused son. She patted the bed beside her. "Come here,
Bun-Bun."  
  
Dumbly, moving somewhat on autopilot, Peter entered the room. The door clicked
shut behind him. He approached the bed and sat down. Tanya's anatomy jiggled
again as the bed shifted underneath him. Despite his shock, Peter was already
half-hard, and too bewildered to try to hide it.  
  
Tanya noticed the tenting in her son's sweatpants and her smile widened. She
reached out and threaded her fingers through his.  
  
"I don't want to pretend any longer that I don't want this. Or that I know
that you want this too. But I want you to know, if we start this, I don't want
to be some kind of 'mother with benefits.' I want someone I can wake up next
to in the morning."  
  
Peter's heart felt like it would explode. He felt all the blood drain from his
face, rushing to another part of his body. He was suddenly dry-mouthed and
trembling.  
  
"Mom," he somehow managed to say, "that's what I want too. I think that's all
I've ever wanted."  
  
She beamed at him. "This is the part where you kiss me," she said.  
  
Peter leaned forward and his lips met hers. They were moist and warm and
yielding. They parted slightly. Peter sucked on her upper lip, relenting only
when her agile tongue pushed against him, seeking entry. He opened his mouth
and her tongue dove in, coiling around his own. Tanya moaned into his mouth.  
  
Tentatively, Peter lifted his arms and embraced his mother. Her plush body
folded against him. He felt her heavy breasts against his chest, and wished
his shirt wasn't in the way. As if on cue, Tanya tugged at the hem of his
thermal and began to pull it up his body. They broke away from their soul-
stirring kiss just long enough for Tanya to wrestle Peter's shirt off of him
and toss it to the floor. Then his arms were around her again, and they were
kissing once more. She caressed his smooth cheek with one hand while the other
roamed across his broad back, feeling his muscles as they bunched and shook
out of sheer excitement.  
  
Peter felt the bare skin of his mother's chest press against his own. He could
hardly believe he was here, in her bed, doing this with her.  
  
Tanya leaned backward and Peter followed. She landed on the bed with her son
on top of her, both of them still kissing. Peter's hands roamed all over her
body, sliding across her bra, her belly, her hips, along her smooth legs,
which she raised up and pressed against his flanks.  
  
Peter released her lips and pulled away slightly, looking his mother directly
in the eyes. "Tatyana," he said. Hearing her full name in her son's voice,
overcome with need and hunger and lust, made her shudder in response. "Mom,"
he said, and it held the same notes and made her close her eyes and thrust her
panty clad pelvis up against him. She felt his rampant hardness, contained but
not concealed, pressing into her.  
  
Her hands dove under the waistband of his sweatpants and cradled the strong
muscles of his backside momentarily, before pushing his pants down his legs.
Peter assisted, clumsily escaping from his clothes. He knelt above her, his
large cock swollen and throbbing, desperate for his mother.  
  
"Mom," Peter gasped, "I feel like I'm close already. I never dreamed this was
possible, but I have wanted it for so long. I'm not... I can't..."  
  
"Shh, baby," Tanya said, placing a hand on his heaving pectorals. "It's okay
Peter. I love you." She smiled a motherly smile. "Let me take care of you."  
  
Tanya laid him down on the bed beside her and sat up. She shuffled on her
knees towards the baseboard. Her hands caressed his chest and abdomen and
glided across his hips. She looked town at the column of flesh between his
legs. It was long and hard, thick at the base, with a great big swollen head,
dark purple and weeping. A neatly trimmed patch of hair grew at the base, and
his balls looked big and full of juice. He was beautiful and perfect, and just
looking at him made her pussy twinge. Her own fluids began to flow, soaking
into her underwear.  
  
Tanya licked her lips and slid lower, straddling her son's legs. Peter watched
her, eyes wide, mouth open. He looked so cute. She could remember him on
Christmas' past, overcome with excitement as he opened presents. He looked
like that now, like he might be overwhelmed at any moment.  
  
Tanya dipped her head. Her long hair caressed his hips before her lips touched
the crown of his cock. She gripped him by the base, her fingers just meeting
around it, and levered it up away from his belly. Looking her son in the eyes,
Tanya rubbed his length against her cheek. So smooth and strong. The pure male
scent of him. She felt him throb in her hand, and a jet of precum splattered
against her skin, hot and creamy. She licked her lips again. Then, with a
smile, she licked him.  
  
Peter groaned. Tanya's agile tongue slid along his engorged length, from base
to tip, and swirled around the head. She slurped and sucked. Precum splashed
on her tongue and she scooped it up, swallowing eagerly. Salty and sweet at
once. She shivered in anticipation. Eyes still locked, she held him, and
licked him like a cat with a saucer of milk, lapping at his cockhead with her
broad tongue, scooping up the nectar of his precum and devouring it.  
  
"Mom," Peter said with a groan, "I can't believe this is happening. I can't
believe how this feels. I love you so much."  
  
Tanya's eyes were large as she sucked the head of Peter's cock between her
full lips. His big prick throbbed with need. He was trying to hold back,
fighting hard to keep from cumming. But he was so overwhelmed. Tanya felt a
surge of motherly lust. Proud that she could do this to him, that his feelings
were so intense, and yet eager to take care of him and make him feel better.  
  
"Cum for me Peter," she said, her voice raspy with lust. "Let it out baby.
It's okay." She lashed him with her tongue. "I want to taste you." She sucked
the head of his cock into her mouth again and bobbed her head a little,
letting his throbbing, eager hardness slide further between her lips. Her
tongue undulated along the underside. The big plum head pushed against the
back of her mouth. She tightened her lips and sucked, cheeks hollowing from
the effort.  
  
Peter threw his head back, eyes squeezed shut, his arms and chest tightening
as he tried to fight his impending orgasm. She felt his hardness swelling in
her mouth, felt the frisson of muscular contraction with the fingertips
wrapped around his base, and then the thick spray of his first eruption
hitting the back of her throat. She almost choked, but old reflexes kicked in,
and she swallowed quickly, marveling at the viscous warmth as it slid down her
throat. It was like pudding.  
  
Tanya slid her lips up the length of her son's throbbing cock until only the
head was trapped between her lips. Holding his shuddering length with both
hands, she felt him pulse repeatedly. Each pulse sent another thick coating of
sperm laden semen across her tongue, which she quickly swept back into her
throat, making unconscious mewling sounds as she did. Her son's cum was
delicious; thick and creamy, warm and salty and sweet, but with a slightly
bitter aftertaste. And he came a lot. Tanya's cheeks bulged with Peter's
spend. She swallowed as quickly as she could, but each spasm followed close
behind the other. She lost count of them, focusing instead on not losing a
drop.  
  
Her throat worked repeatedly, slurping down Peter's potent cum. She heard him
moaning her name over and over, arms thrashing ineffectually as his hips made
little thrusts and his cock spat its precious load into her waiting mouth.  
  
She held him between her lips when the last spasm died down. Her mouth full of
his cum, full of his taste, his essence, she closed her eyes and savored it.
Her cum-laden tongue swirled around his sensitive cockhead before she
swallowed the last of it. Sucking lightly, she pulled the final drops from his
pisshole, determined to get every bit of it.  
  
Tanya released him. His cock slapped back against his pubis with a wet smack.
She licked her full lips, seeking any stray bits of delicious cum.  
  
Peter lay back, gasping, eyes now wide open and regarding her with new
respect. "Jesus, Mom," he said. "I don't think I have ever come like that."  
  
Tanya felt a surge of pride. She sat up, rubbing her belly. "Creamy and
delicious," she said, licking her lips again. "I know I am going to be doing
that to you a lot."  
  
Peter groaned. He looked like he was still struggling to believe this was
happening. Part of Tanya agreed with him. She should feel some kind of remorse
or guilt for going down on her own son. But she felt nothing but joy. Almost
exaltation. As if she had been waiting for this moment, what they were about
to do, most of her life.  
  
Tanya slid her way up the bed, crawling across her son's gorgeous nude body.
That his hardness had barely lessened did not escape her. She dragged her bra
clad breasts across his abdomen and chest. Her breath would smell of cum and
her mouth would taste of it, but she wanted to kiss her man. Peter did not
disappoint. He opened his mouth as her lips descended and met her kiss with
the same intensity and ferocity that she poured into it.  
  
His arms came around her and crushed her to his chest. Her breasts pushed
against them. Suddenly she wanted out of her clothes. She wanted him to see
her, in all her maternal imperfection. She knew he would adore her.  
  
But she was surprised when he shifted on the bed, rolling them over, until he
was on top of her. Still kissing her, he began to move along her body. He
licked along her jawline, kissed an earlobe. He sucked lightly on her throat,
like a teenager. He kissed her clavicle and dragged his tongue along the line
of her cleavage, so clearly delineated by the compression of her bra. He
pressed his face against her right tit and then her left, inhaling deeply both
times.  
  
She watched him, curious at what game he was playing, intrigued and enjoying
it enough not to stop him. She thought he would go for the hooks on her back
immediately, but he surprised her by moving past her bra and licking his way
across her smooth belly. He gave her little belly button a French kiss that
tickled, and then she knew what he was doing. New juices soaked her flooded
pussy in anticipation.  
  
Peter pressed his cheek against the fabric of her panties, once again inhaling
deeply. He kissed her pubis through the fabric. Tanya shuddered. But instead
of peeling off her underwear and devouring her, he slid lower. Butterfly
kisses along her right thigh. A long dragging lick from her left knee to the
top of her hip. He kissed her knees, which again tickled a little, causing her
to bend them, which brought her calves to his attention. He caressed them with
both hands and rained kisses down her ankle to the top of her foot.  
  
Tanya wiggled her toes, but before he could capture one with his mouth and
start to suck, she reached down and grabbed him by the shoulder.  
  
"No more teasing," she said, breathless. He grinned. Pleased with himself,
pleased with her reaction to him. He moved up on the bed, grasping her silky
thighs. Tanya heard another unconscious mewl escape her lips as he finally
hooked his fingers in the waistband of her soaked panties and tugged them
downward. She lifted her legs and her big, round butt, allowing him to pull
them off of her. He tossed them aside, his eyes riveted to her shaved pussy.  
  
"Do you like it?" Tanya asked hesitatingly.  
  
"Your pussy is gorgeous, Mom. The prettiest I have ever seen. I didn't expect
you to be hairless. I usually, um, prefer a little bit, but this looks so
hot."  
  
Tanya heard herself say, "I was trying to trim it. For you. Like a college
girl, I guess. I got a little carried away."  
  
Peter looked up at her, eyes wide. "For me?"  
  
She nodded. "I didn't think we would get this far," she said. "I wasn't sure
if... but when I did it, I was thinking of you."  
  
His face broke into a huge grin, one of those smiles she used to see on
Christmas morning when he got exactly what he asked for from Santa. It made
her heart swell in her chest and she found it hard to breathe.  
  
One his knuckles, Peter climbed across her and kissed her. She felt his big
cock, hard as diamond, glide across her shorn pubis, leaving a sticky trail.
Her pussy lips spasmed. She was ready for him, so ready. She wanted her tall,
handsome, lovely son inside her. But she was relieved when he pulled away,
still grinning, and dropped down between her legs.  
  
His strong hands gripped her sleek thighs and pushed them apart. Her son
lowered his head. She felt his breath upon her sensitive skin. Then his lips
against her lips, his tongue extended, burrowing into her, licking and
twisting and swirling. He kissed her pussy as he had kissed her lips, with
passion and love and just the right amount of force.  
  
He licked up the length of her opening, slurping up her copious fluids with a
satisfied smack of his lips. He teased the little button of her clit with the
tip of his tongue. Tanya cupped her right tit, and with her left hand reached
down to push against the back of Peter's head.  
  
Her thighs settled on his broad shoulders. Her calves across his back, her
feet dangling in space, toes curling as her orgasm fast approached.  
  
Her son devoured her. He had more enthusiasm than technique, but that balance
was more than enough for Tanya. He sucked and licked and nibbled. He pursed
his lips and suckled on her clit for a few seconds before nipping at it with
his teeth, very lightly. His tongue drilled into her recesses, parting her
pink folds and curling against the roof of her pussy, dancing along the ridges
of flesh half-hidden inside her. He hummed as he worked, causing her body to
shiver in reaction.  
  
Tanya gripped the back of Peter's closely shorn head with a claw-like hand,
too far gone to even be afraid her nails might leave marks. Her other hand
gripped her breast and squeezed. She wanted to rip the bra off and tease her
nipples, but she didn't have enough coordination.  
  
When it arrived, her climax slammed into her like a wave assaulting the shore.
It washed over her, inundated her, overwhelmed her. She loosed a wordless cry
and pushed her hips up into Peter's face, just as he fastened his lips around
her sensitive clit and suckled. Her legs pressed down against his back, her
heels beating a tattoo along it.  
  
Peter didn't halt his ministrations. Just as her climax began to flag, it
started cresting again. Tanya threw her head back into the pillow, her throat
constricted, and she shouted her joy to the room. Somehow she formed a
coherent word, her son's name. "Peter, Peter, Peter," she chanted, almost
rhythmically, as she orgasmed a second and a third time on his inexhaustible
tongue. Or perhaps it was one long orgasm, drawn out, and stretching her taut
as a rubber band.  
  
Over five years of solo lovemaking had left her unprepared. She had almost
forgotten what it was like when someone else was in the driver's seat, and
Greg, for all his inventiveness and skill, had never made her feel this
fulfilled, this loved, this sated.  
  
Tanya sagged back against the bed, dark locks plastered to her forehead, her
chest flushed and heaving. Peter sat up between her legs, licking his lips.  
  
"I could get used to this," he said lightly. "I'm not picking hairs from my
teeth."  
  
"You... could... get... used to... this?" Tanya managed to gasp. She reached
down for her son, feeling a pleasant ache in her arms that came from tensing
her muscles too much.  
  
Grinning, Peter slid upward across his mother's supine form. His powerful cock
lay across her bare pubis once more, leaking precoital fluid onto her pale
skin. He kissed her and she tasted herself on his lips.  
  
"That was tremendous," Tanya said. Peter beamed, proud to have brought so much
pleasure to his mother. "But I think I want that big cock of yours inside me.
Do you?"  
  
"Jesus, Mom, more than anything."  
  
A sudden thought occurred to them both, as they looked down between them and
saw his cock lying across her belly.  
  
"Do I need-?"  
  
"Do you have-?"  
  
They spoke in unison. Then paused, laughing, until with a motherly look, Tanya
indicated she had the floor. "Do you have any condoms?"  
  
Peter frowned. "In the car," he said. "I left almost everything there." If he
had looked like a child on Christmas morning before, he now looked like
someone who had found nothing but coal in his stocking.  
  
Tanya reached up and caressed her son's cheek. "Okay. Well, we will have to be
careful, then. I'm not on anything. You can't cum in me."  
  
Peter swallowed. "Mom, we don't... have to... tonight. It's okay." She was so
proud of him in that moment, because he was clearly stricken by the thought of
not making love to his mother, but he was also putting aside his needs for
hers.  
  
He just didn't understand what her needs actually were. She pulled his face
down to kiss him again. "That's very sweet of you, Bun-Bun," she said, "but I
kind of need you to fuck me. We are not leaving either of us hanging like
this."  
  
Tanya reached down between them to grip his hardness, which pulsed in the palm
of her hand. "This is going inside me. _You_ are going inside me. We just need
to be careful."  
  
Peter nodded. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes wide. He shivered a little.
"I'm going to fuck you," he said, his voice little more than a whisper.  
  
Tanya nodded. She placed little kisses on his lips and cheeks and chin. "Oh
yes, Peter, you are. But." She slid her hands to his flanks and nudged him,
rolling him over so they were side to side. "First, I am going to fuck you."
She sat up, threw a leg over him, and sat across his legs.  
  
"You just let me know when you're ready to cum," she said, reaching down to
grip him with both hands. Her left cupped his full balls, heavy with seed, and
her right slid along his shaft, squeezing out a dollop of precum that dripped
onto his abdomen.  
  
Peter grabbed her by the hips and shifted his own, lifting his mother into the
air. "Whatever you say, Mom."  
  
"Don't be fresh, young man. You're not too old to ground, you know."  
  
"Stuck at home with you is not a punishment, Mom."  
  
"Mmm," she purred. "Consider yourself grounded, then. No television, no video
games, restricted phone use. In fact, you are confined to bed for the duration
of your vacation."  
  
Peter grinned and lifted his hips once more. Tanya braced herself with both
hands on his chest and shook her head. Her long hair swirled around her.  
  
"Sounds good, Mom," Peter said. "I think someone here is still a little
overdressed, though."  
  
Tanya looked down at her bra-encased tits and raised an eyebrow in Peter's
direction. "Oh? Did you want me to take this off? Did you want to see your
mother's big titties?"  
  
Peter groaned. He could hardly believe his mother was talking like this. Then
again, she had also given him the best blowjob of his short life, so language
was hardly the most shocking thing about this Christmas Eve.  
  
"Okay, then," Tanya said. "Are you ready, Bun-Bun?" She reached behind her to
fiddle with the hooks.  
  
Peter nodded. "I've been ready since puberty, Mom."  
  
Tanya paused. "Really? How long have you... thought about us like this?"  
  
"I don't think I have ever not thought about this. When I was little, I wanted
to marry you. When I got older, and understood what that meant, I still wanted
it. I wanted to be here in this bed with you, loving you." He swallowed.
"Inside you. Fucking you."  
  
Tanya looked down at her son wonderingly. On some level, perhaps, she had
known. Maybe that was why she had kept her emotional distance from Greg. Some
part of her had been waiting for this moment as well. Something hidden, deep
and dark inside her, something triggered just the day before, but no less
powerful than her son's hunger. She realized that her need for him was more
than physical, more than carnal, more than maternal.  

She unhooked her bra and let the straps start to fall down her shoulders. She
caught the cups before the garment fell away completely.  
  
Peter's monologue hid another question in it, one that Tanya let settle into
the back of her mind, but primarily served to further inflame the heat between
her legs. The primal need to have him inside her, mating with her, fucking
her. She threw the bra aside.  
  
Peter gasped. He looked up in adoration at his mother's huge breasts. He
always knew she was well endowed, and thought he was prepared for their
absolute perfection, but he was not. Large, oblong, ghostly pale, they hung
low on her chest due more to sheer weight that anything else. But they were
perfectly formed, the right one slightly larger than the left, each one capped
by a massive pink areola and a hardened nipple almost as thick around as the
last digit on Peter's little finger.  
  
His mouth actually began to drool as he looked up at his mother's breasts.
They rose and fell as she breathed deeply, swaying enticingly on her chest,
almost beckoning him.  
  
With an animal moan of pure lust, Peter reached up and placed both hands one
either side of Tanya's breasts. Gently he squeezed them together, mimicking
the support of her bra, creating a line of cleavage between them, and making
her nipples puff out even more prominently.  
  
Tanya sighed in delight. Her son's hands on her tits made her feel even more
wild and sexy than before. She had irrationally worried that he would not be
happy with them, that they sagged too much, or her nipples were too big, but
the wide eyed look of pure delight and arousal that Peter wore put all her
fears to rest. She put her hands over his and held them, pressing his palms
and fingers into her smooth, soft skin. He looked up finally, into her eyes,
and smiled.  
  
"Magnificent," he breathed. His fingers closed over her breasts, caressing and
squeezing them, feeling their heft and size. Peter marveled, even as his hips
rose and fell, lifting his mother up and down slightly.  
  
Tanya leaned down, her breasts falling away from her chest and swinging over
Peter's face. Holding them in both hands, he kissed each nipple, sucking
lightly, and dragged his tongue around the circumference of each areola. He
pressed his face between them and inhaled her scent. His cock jumped and
squirted precum onto his belly.  
  
Tanya reached between them and grasped her son's hardness with both hands.
Once more she levered him upright, pointing straight, and this time she lifted
her hips a little bit. She aimed his bulbous cockhead at the entrance of her
pussy and slowly settled down.  
  
Each of them were so completely lubricated that his big cockhead slid between
her lips effortlessly. Both froze, gasping, as a shiver of ecstasy passed
through them both simultaneously. Peter released her breasts and found her
lips. He kissed her passionately as Tanya began to inch her hips downward,
swallowing her son, feeling his thick powerful cock glide through her inner
folds, driving inexorably into her very core.  
  
Heat and moisture enveloped Peter. He found it hard to breathe. His mind
focused on the sensations of his cock sliding into his mother's soaking wet
pussy. He had never had unprotected sex before, never plunged without a condom
into a woman. He wasn't sure he'd ever accept that limitation again. This was
almost too much pleasure, too much sensation.  
  
"Skin to skin, it's the best way," Peter whispered into his mother's ear, just
as she settled on to him completely, and her clit flattened against his pubis.
The physical, psychological, and emotional impacts took their full toll at
that moment, and Tanya climaxed immediately. Her pussy clamped down hard
around her son's invading cock, as an explosion of light went off in her head
and pelvis and her body shook upon him. Her heavy tits swayed against his
chest, her thighs convulsed against his hips, her hands tightened claw-like on
his shoulders. And she howled in ecstasy.  
  
"Peeeeteerrrrr," she moaned, unable to contain herself. He held her, marveling
at the lushness and fullness of her body, her soft yielding form going rigid
in his arms as her climax tore through her.  
  
Peter flexed his cock inside her, which made her howl some more, and then with
a grin, he gripped her child-bearing hips and began to raise his own upward
once again, driving into her spasming pussy. Tanya shook like a ragdoll atop
him, but her hips quickly found the rhythm and responded in kind, fucking back
to him as he fucked into her.  
  
She felt full. Pleasantly full. _Perfectly_ full, for the first time in
perhaps ever. Sex with Greg had never been like this, had never been driven by
the same insatiable need. Peter's cock fit her so divinely, as if he was made
for her. Not too big, certainly not small, with just a slight curve that made
his cockhead drag along her G-spot as it drove into her. She wasn't sure she
would ever stop coming. She wasn't sure she wanted it to stop.  
  
Tanya's long hair fell across Peter's face. He felt her sweat drip onto his
own moistened brow. He grinned up at her, enjoying the glassy look of lust in
her eyes. More than anything, his mother deserved to be happy, deserved to
enjoy the physical pleasure she had been denied for so long. He was just proud
to be the one privileged to deliver it. He wanted to make her come and come
and come again, to enjoy this too much to ever give it up. Because he knew he
could never give her up.  
  
Still, in his heart of hearts, he had the fantasy of a six year old boy: to
marry his mother, whom he loved above all.  
  
But that was for later. Now he needed to give her the fucking of a lifetime.
He just hoped he could hold on long enough. The blowjob had blunted his need
for release, but he knew he couldn't last too much longer. He was inside his
mother, bare flesh against bare flesh, driving his steely cock into her
depths, realizing a dream that he had no business dreaming.  
  
"Mom," Peter moaned into her throat. "You have to - I'm getting close, I'm
going to-"  
  
Tanya slammed her hips into Peter's one last time and then slid off of him,
leaving his cock standing upright, slick with their combined juices, throbbing
hungrily. Her pussy felt empty, deprived. How she wished she could let him
finish inside her.  
  
Moving with lust-driven speed, Tanya rolled off of Peter and slid down the
bed. She gripped the slickened base of Peter's cock with one hand and wrapped
her full lips around the head, just as he cried out and climaxed again. Thick
wads of sperm-rich semen jetted from his cockhead, coating her tonsils,
painting her mouth white.  
  
Tanya nearly choked, this time out of surprise. His second orgasm was just as
thick and heavy as the first. She almost let him go to spray wildly, but she
was determined to swallow every drop. Gamely she held on to his bucking,
throbbing prick as it shot load after load into her mouth. She swallowed as
quickly as she could, but her cheeks still swelled up as she fought to contain
her son's jism. She slurped and sucked, moaning involuntarily with eyes closed
and nostrils flaring as he emptied himself into her mouth for a second time.  
  
"Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom," Peter gasped with each flex of his mighty cock, as
another thick rope of sperm sprayed from his cockhead and down her throat.  
  
He fell back, aftershocks shivering through his powerful frame, his cock still
hard in Tanya's hands. The last few spurts splattered across her tongue. She
swallowed, proceeding to lick her juices off his still-rampant tool.  
  
"You're going to spoil me," Tanya said, marveling at his stamina.  
  
"I can't help it, Mom," Peter said, reaching out to grasp her hand. "You're
the only woman who has ever done this to me." He sat up, hard dick bouncing
between his legs, and pulled his mother to him, crushing her to his chest. He
kissed her, passionately, fervently, ardently.  
  
"I've lost track of how many times you've made me come," Tanya admitted.  
  
"Let's go for a few more, then, what do you say?" Peter suggested with a
salacious smile. He gently maneuvered her onto her back and nudged her legs
apart with his knees.  
  
This was a dangerous position, Tanya well knew. But she trusted Peter. Trusted
him as she had never trusted another man, or ever would. She smiled up at him
and reached out to embrace him as he slid between her legs. His long, thick
cock slid across her belly.  
  
His hips sawed back. He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her, just as his
cockhead nudged against her pussy lips. He slid in easily. Just like that, she
was full of Peter's cock again. With his mouth locked on hers, her upper lip
captured between his lips, he began to savagely fuck her. He slammed into her,
again and again. Deeper and deeper, driving into her.  
  
His energy invigorated her. She could hardly believe he had this much in
reserve, after ejaculating rivers of cum into her mouth twice in less than an
hour. Tanya marveled at her son's stamina with a mixture of lust and pride. He
felt so good inside her, so natural, sounding her depths, his thick cock a
perfect fit for her matronly pussy.  
  
Peter reached down to grip his mother's thighs and spread her legs further.
She arched her back, pulling out of his kiss, and proved how flexible she
still was. She folded her legs back and back until her knees were pressed
against her tits and hooked her calves on Peter's broad shoulders. She reached
backward to hold the headboard as Peter really began to fuck into her now.  
  
He pummeled her with his cock. So many delicious feelings washed over her.
Tanya felt as if every single nerve ending she possessed was alive and
electrified. Her body shook with each impact as Peter slammed into her,
grunting with the effort, his arms straining and sweat flying from his head.  
  
She felt her crest begin to rise once more. Reaching between them, she found
her clit and teased it with her fingertips. Her pussy clamped down hard on
Peter's pistoning prick as she shivered and shook, nearly overcome by another
toe-curling orgasm.  
  
Through gritted teeth and tears of lust and joy, Tanya managed to say, "Love
you, Peter."  
  
"Love you, Mom," Peter said, voice straining, and then with a groan he pulled
out of her spasming pussy, leaving her bereft once more.  
  
Tanya dropped her legs, splitting them wide, suddenly inspired to do something
deliciously naughty. "On my tits, baby!" she cried. "Cum on your mother's
tits!"  
  
Peter scrambled into position on the bed, half straddling Tanya, he grabbed
his engorged cock and aimed it towards his mother as she sat up, cupping her
huge breasts and looking adoringly at the thick hardness before her. The small
eye winked, and a thick rope of pearly white jism spiraled from the opening,
directly onto Tanya's upraised tits.  
  
She watched, fascinated, as Peter crouched over her, moaning as his cock
throbbed and bucked in his hand, emptying his balls on her chest. Thick sprays
of sperm-laden semen splattered across her pale flesh, coating her in a fine
layer of pearly white. A lake formed on her upper chest, while trails of the
pudding-like substance dripped down each breast and pooled on her nipples. She
counted to twelve as each beat of Peter's heart sent another impossibly potent
rope of cum to splatter onto her. At thirteen, the last few drops fell upon
her decorated chest, splashing obscenely.  
  
Peter huffed, stood over her, admiring his handiwork. "Jesus, Mom, you look
gorgeous. You look frosted with cum." He breathed heavily. "I didn't know I
had it in me."  
  
With a wicked gleam in her eye, Tanya reached out to grip her son's slowly
softening phallus. She pulled him down closer and dragged the angry purple
head through her sodden cleavage, until it was coated with his cum. Then she
brought it to her lips and slurped every drop away.  
  
Tanya licked her lips. She looked at the sea of semen on her chest, and
thought about what her son had said earlier. And that she was only 37. But
again, that could wait. She scooped up a fingerful of cum and fed it to
herself.  
  
"As soon as the roads clear," she said, using her other hand to clean her
nipple, "I am seeing a doctor. Birth control pills, IUD, whatever." She sucked
her cum laden finger between her full lips, shuddering at the sweet, salty
tang of her son's cum. "As soon as possible, I want to feel that gorgeous cock
of yours firing off inside me instead of on me."  
  
Peter collapsed on her side, watching her feed on his jism. "I can't wait,"
Peter said. "In the meantime, though, this looks pretty damn hot."  
  
Tanya turned bright pink, even after everything that had happened, with two
fingers in her mouth and her other hand cupping a breast, scooping up more
cum. She hadn't even realized what she was doing. Her actions had been
completely automatic. "You don't think this is a bit slutty?" she said,
removing her fingers from her mouth.  
  
"Of course it is," Peter said, reaching out to trail a few fingers through her
cleavage. He lifted them up to her lips, and she licked his cum from them.
"That's what makes it so hot."  
  
She smiled self-consciously, kissed his fingertips, and shifted in the bed.
"I'm glad you like it. But right now I'm feeling a little embarrassed. I think
I'll go clean up."  
  
Peter sat back, slightly chagrinned. "You don't have to, Mom. You look
beautiful. Honest."  
  
Tanya's answering smile was less hesitant than the last. "Thank you, Bub-Bun.
But I'm still going to go clean up."  
  
"Okay," he said. He settled back on the bed, naked and gorgeous, his cock
already starting to wake up.  
  
Tanya shook her head as she slid on to the floor. The resiliency of youth. She
was looking forward to testing that to the fullest. She looked back once, over
her shoulder, seeing him watching her with a look of utter admiration and
adoration, and it made her giggle like a schoolgirl and scurry to the
bathroom.  
  
Tanya found a towel and wipe her chest down, then used a washcloth and some
soap to clean herself up. She looked at herself in the mirror, noting the
smudged mascara and lipstick, the lovebites everywhere, the puffiness of her
nipples and the redness around her pussy. But she was also glowing, with the
vitality of a woman who had been well fucked. She smiled at her reflection for
the first time in years. Her son loved her, loved her body, loved to make love
to her.  
  
Heart swelling with emotion, Tanya hurried back to the bedroom, striking a
dramatic and hopefully sexy pose in the doorway.  
  
Only to find Peter sound asleep.  
  
Tanya chuckled ruefully to herself. "Resiliency of youth, indeed," she
muttered under her breath. He looked so young and peaceful lying in her bed,
the covers pulled up to his waist, arms flung out along her side. She padded
naked to the bed and slid under the covers, nuzzling her lush, long body
against her son's hard, muscular one. She felt him stir slightly, one arm
wrapping itself around her possessively.  
  
Tanya kissed her son on the cheek. "Merry Christmas, Peter," she whispered.
She turned out the light.




End file.

