Mom and the kids laid in the center of the carpet on the Hobbit loft floor. Dust motes whorled in sunshine beaming in from the window behind them. The whole room smelled freshly vacuumed, dusted, laundered. Wood surfaces bore a clean lemony scent. The spot-remover that had gotten up Seay's coffee stain was maybe the one off-note, its sickly sweet scent a slight nostril-burner - bearable, but unfortunate. Seay, the one laying closest to the spot remover's lingering dampness, wondered if maybe he hadn't ought to retouch the spot with some baking soda to help remove the odor.
But Mom had other concerns. She had the Molly to contend with. She was high and getting higher, and it was all Mom could do to not let herself sink completely into the soft, squishy carpet. It was so soft and freshly cleaned. She turned her head, pressed her cheek into it. She even sniffed. It didn't smell great, but she loved it anyway.
She began to pet the carpet. She relished the fuzzy-scratchy texture. Her fingers ran up and down its plushness, stroking its fibers. She closed her eyes and petted. She imagined it was a cat. She pretended she was petting a kitty. Her pussy began to get wet.
"What are you doing, Mom?" Tracy asked, eyeing her sideways.
"Petting the carpet," Mom giggled.
"Wow, so we did a pretty good job, then, huh?"
"SOOOooo good," Mom moaned, and now she sat up all of a sudden and stretched. Her tank top's hem rode up her soft tummy. Tracy's eyes went straight for it.
Seay's eyes did, too. His mom was getting hotter. Like, hotter than normal. His gaze kept trying to crawl away from where he put it. He felt like the worst pervert, the grossest son, and yet, he couldn't simply not look. She wasn't wearing a bra. And she was fit. And she was high on Molly.
Mom caught them looking of course. She didn't even blush. She simply lowered her arms again, relaxed her posture, and looked right along with them. She held up the hem of her tank top now, and pinched up a handful of her belly fat.
"Behold," she sighed, "the ravages of time."
"Oh shut up," Tracy scoffed. "You have an absolutely perfect figure."
Mom considered the compliment a moment while she frowned at a stretch mark off to the side, above her left hip.
"Is it just me," she wondered aloud, "or do you guys kind of want to just go jump in the lake?"
"Like, right now?" Seay asked.
"Like, right now," Mom smiled at him. Gosh, he looked high. Her smile faltered just a little. Was he doing okay? She put the smile back on. It was nothing a good swim wouldn't help.
"M-my suit's in the dryer," Seay said truthfully. He had finally washed the accursed thing.
"So?" Mom shrugged. "We don't need suits. Come on, let's go!" She slid a few fingers underneath his side and tried to forklift him off the floor one-handed. All she wound up doing was tickling him.
Seay giggled boyishly and writhed to escape her reach.
"Oh, are we tickling him? I can help," Tracy yawned, sat up, and crawled over onto Seay's legs. She straddled his pelvis, caught his wrists mid-writhe, and pinned them to the floor behind his head. "Here ya' go," she smirked down at him. "Have at him."
Mom politely declined. She was a little taken aback at how casually her daughter had just mounted her son, and then rendered him helpless like that. What on earth was Tracy becoming? She had been such a silly, mischievous creature in her grade school days. But her levity had somehow taken on gravity. Magnetism, Mom supposed, was maybe what you called it, if it wasn't your own half-naked daughter you were talking about.
Tracy squiggled her butt on Seay's pelvis. Her brother's erection was trapped behind her, propped against her tailbone like a kickstand. She was wearing such soft shorts, and no underwear. Her butt cheeks parted across his pelvis. Her labia parted, too. She could feel him right there, and it made her a little nervous. A lot nervous. But it was such a yummy nervous.
Seay, for his part, could barely move. And if he could, he definitely couldn't think of anywhere he'd rather be. He had never, ever seen or felt his sister look and feel as nakedly, physically into him as she looked and felt right then. Then Mom spoke, reminding the poor drug-addled dope she was still sitting crisscross applesauce beside him. She addressed his assailant.
"You seem to be feeling better."
"Are you going to tickle him or what? I can't hold him forever!"
Seay wasn't even struggling. He was completely relaxed. That was the crazy thing. His own mother was laying here, witnessing this, and he was cool as a lakeside breeze. Well, figuratively speaking anyway. In literal terms, he was hot as balls, sweating profusely, and needed a glass of water. The humidity up here was insane. His sister's tight, love-warmed body radiated both health and literal heat, helping not at all even as it soothed him, squashed him, teased him into a state of paralytic ecstasy.
"He's too high," Mom protested compassionately. She leaned over, reached under Tracy, and gently caressed his cheek rather than tickle him. "Aren't you, big guy?"
"I don't kn-know," Seay panted. Whoa. He was panting? He hadn't even realized.
"Is your sister making you feel a little strange, sitting on you like this right now?" she asked, giving Tracy a look.
"I don't know," Seay panted.
"Him?" Tracy said. "How do you think I feel?" She wagged her hindquarters for emphasis, and drew Mom's gaze - unwittingly, if you could please believe that - to her son's boner, upright inside his shorts, trapped against his sister's rear end. There was no mistaking the precise shape and thickness. All Moms have a built-in "nope" response to wondering about their children's genitals. As human as it is to wonder about one another's genitals, there are strong evolutionary forces at work in keeping parents from lusting after their own offspring. And yet ...
"Oh, I see," Mom murmured, deliberately suppressing a feeling that normally took no such effort.
"She seeeees," Tracy teased, whispering breathily on purpose to sound like a porn star.
Seay should have felt embarrassed. He should have felt attacked. He should have felt despair at what-all Mom must be inferring from the things happening right in front of her.
But instead, he saw the look on Mom's face. She wasn't distraught. There wasn't a single knit in her brow. Instead, she simply raised an eyebrow at him. She was curious.
"Are you feeling ready to tell me now?" Mom said gently.
Tracy tensed. She un-humped her brother. She sat up and let go of his wrists. She looked - peacefully, but passionately - at Mom. She shook her head no.
"Tell you?" Seay echoed dumbly. He sat up on his elbows. He shook his head to try and re-right his thoughts. He looked around. Here was Tracy, straddling him. She looked (and felt) like the loveliest girl he'd ever known. There was Mom, laying partway down beside him now, ignoring her daughter, and resting her head on her fist.
Presently, Mom winked at Seay, who very softly said hello in reply.
"Seay, don't fall for her mind games. You're high. She's trying to take advantage of you."
"Don't say that," Mom frowned up at Tracy. "And get off him. You're just making it harder for him to think."
"Ew, don't make it my fault," Tracy giggled, and now she stretched and cracked her back and shoulders as she spoke. "I'm just trying to help you tickle him. It's my sworn duty as his sister."
"I'm not going to tickle him."
"So you want me to move."
"Would you be so kind?"
"Ugh," Tracy huffed. She lifted one leg and spun in place, drilling her tailbone into Seay's gut and making him whoop with discomfort. Then she bounced off of him, forward onto all fours, and crawled over to the ladder. "I'm getting my suit out of the wash. You guys, don't start making out or anything while I'm gone."
When the joke didn't land, Tracy rolled her eyes and descended the ladder.
Mom lay gazing fondly at her son on the floor. The morning sunlight glowed cozily around her. It did sort of look like she might start kissing him. Indeed, this silly thought slipped right through Seay's defenses undeterred, and before he realized it he was feeling things about the prospect of a deep, serious kiss with his mother. And now the prettiness of Mom's lips was distracting him.
But gosh, how he loved her. She was just beautiful. He remembered, this was how it had always been. How had he ever forgotten? How had he let himself grow indifferent to the full extent of his own mother's loveliness?
"Whatcha thinking?" Mom asked.
Seay smiled. No anxiety response? He outright laughed. He wanted to touch her, but didn't.
"Oh, am I being funny?" Mom grinned.
Seay just sighed and blushed and gazed fondly at her.
"What?" Mom frowned. "Do I have something on my face?"
"No," Seay sighed. "Stop asking me questions. I just like looking at you."
"AwwwwwwWWWW!" Mom melted at this remark. She removed her chin from her fist so she could grab his squishable little face in both hands and smooch him, fat and wet, on the forehead. He was sweaty. He tasted sort of rank. But she was madly in love with this boy, and she could drink a whole gallon of his stinky sweat right now.
Seay was a little startled by the cheek-grabbing and the head-smooching. But here, out of nowhere, was an unexpected glimpse into Mom's tank top.
She was still braless. There they were. Her tits. Looking so... cuddly, and soft, and... wow.
He was feeling things. Soft, warm things. His brain was melting like chocolate. He could smell Mom's body odor. It was a little funky. But it was also soft and warm.
Mom took a deep, unself-conscious sniff of her son's hair. He'd been sweating all morning. Each whiff was dizzying in its supposed unpleasantness. But this was her Seay. She couldn't get enough of him, of the itch he alone could scratch in her olfactory centers. She could get somewhat drunk on it.
"Hey," she said, and her lips were right against his ear now. But soft and sweet, like a mother's.
Seay gasped, and gulped. His cock was vibing so hard with this new closeness and its okayness. He was finding something with Mom. Something he hadn't realized until just this very moment they had both been longing for. His pulse skyrocketed. But no clanging, falling piano of anxiety followed after. No lemon-yellow burning in his gut's shame-centers. Just surprise, and wonder, and ... more love than he'd understood himself capable. Boner-vibing love.
"Mom," he managed to whisper.
"You can tell me what you did with her. I love you to the moon and back. I promise it will be okay. Just open up, and let me in."
