All characters in this story are over 18 years of age.
It began in grief. After her husband William's funeral, Nancy was sobbing hard in her son's arms. Tom felt the loss of his father deeply too, but he held his mother close and tight, hoping his love and strength would help her. She was elegant in her long black dress and shiny high-heel shoes, but her makeup was long since ruined and her eyes were red and puffy from crying. After some time, she peeled herself away from her son and went to tidy herself up. She stripped off her makeup, showered, and put on simple track pants and windcheater top. Dressed like that she was plain and normal, and at that time it was all she wanted to be. She needed to get away from being the grief-stricken widow.
By the middle of the evening, they were both more composed and had been able to share a few funny memories. Nancy's tears were just below the surface, but Tom helped her through.
"Tom, I'm tired. I'm going to bed. Will you lay with me a while?"
"Sure mum. Of course."
She was beneath the covers; Tom was on top. They chatted some more for maybe an hour, until Tom said he was getting cold and was going to bed.
"Oh, honey. A little longer? Please?"
"I really am cold, mum."
"Take off your jeans and get in with me. Until I fall asleep. OK?"
He could not refuse her. She snuggled against him, head on his shoulder, and quickly warmed him up.
While they were remembering their lost husband and father, Nancy told Tom how much alike they were in features and stature. She stroked his cheek and kissed it warmly, then again. She looked at his face, idly stroked his chest, touched a nipple. Emotions bubbled in a broth of confused desire. She continued stroking his chest and stomach, so lightly that he flinched under her fingers. He began stroking her shoulder with the hand that was around her. Then her upper arm, and her neck and cheek.
It was as if their grief had put a flame under a pot. As it simmered and boiled, the gentle caresses increased in desire, fingers explored flesh a little more, and the gentle touching stoked their deepened breathing. Right then, in that moment, each needed the other, and nobody else.
Nancy kissed her son's cheek again, but it was no chaste kiss. This was a woman planting angel kisses on a man's face. Tom sensed something, hoped for something, and was going to let the flame stoke the boiling pot some more. It was not exploitation for either of them. Neither took advantage of the other's grief and loss. But both, silently, agreed they needed each other, totally, this night.
Tom's stroking hand slipped past Nancy's elbow and rested briefly on her waist. He rubbed there gently, waiting and hoping for a sign. Nancy's lips gave it to him. She angel-kissed his cheek again, her lips lingered there and Tom could feel her breath, deeper than before.
Tom's hand stroked up his mother's nightgown, between her waist and her arm, and rested on her breast. Nancy gasped. Under his palm Tom felt her nipple stiffen and he rubbed it gently. Nancy's hand slid gently down his stomach, making his muscles shiver in anticipation. In the dark, there was only the sound of their deep breathing and the swish of their hands on each other.
Tom wanted more. He reached for the strap on her shoulder, pulled it down her arm. Nancy wriggled her arm into the gap and bared her breast for him to caress her again, this time on her bare flesh. Her hand held his there briefly, to tell him it was OK, then resumed its own journey.
At this point it was a comforting caress for them both. And so it stayed for a few minutes, but the flame under their lust grew stronger and Nancy took the next step. On its downward path, her hand stopped at her son's waistband. Two fingers pressed his flesh to make a tunnel, through which her hand passed. Mother and son gasped aloud as her hand encircled his thick shaft, his arousal plain to her now, pulsing there in her gentle hand.
Slowly she masturbated her son. Tom took a few seconds to comprehend, then tried to protest. Bringing herself above him now, Nancy's mouth on his stifled his words, while she wetly kissed him and continued her stroking.
Tom breathed heavily into his mother's mouth. Her squeezing and stroking were expert, agonisingly erotic. He kissed her back.
In his excitement, Tom's hand left Nancy's breast. She sat upright, pushed the covers out of the way, and pulled her nightgown over her head. Tom reached for her, but she lay backwards, away from him, beckoning to him.
Tom got out of the bed, stripped quickly, then pulled the covers behind him as he lay beside her. He placed his hand on her stomach and immediately sought out her pussy. Nancy opened her legs for her son's hand, then threw her head back in a long moan when he touched her wetness with his fingers and moaned through a sharp intake of breath when those fingers curled up inside her. She was wet, ready, open for him.
Tom was impatient now; she sensed it and urged him on top of her. Reaching between her legs, she guided her son's cock just inside her open pussy lips, and as it slid easily into her wet tunnel, Tom groaned throatily. Nancy took quick, urgent breaths. The invader inside her was larger than she'd known, and it had been so long since...
For his part, Tom felt the impossible tightness of a wet pussy for the first time. He was curious how something so tight can be so slippery. But he really didn't know what to do. His mother's hips showed him the pace, and then they were fucking, truly fucking.
Nancy's breasts heaved and bounced in her desire and in response to her son's strong thrusts. She tried to open her legs wider, to get him in deeper, and was rewarded with the feel of his balls slapping her anus. She began guttural moans, short breaths, stifled grunts.
She guffed and whispered against his mouth: "Oh fuck, Tom. Oh. Oh! Oh! Just there. Yes, just there! Oh Tom!"
Suddenly the delicious feeling of his first pussy was replaced with the certain knowledge that the boiling ejaculation within him was going to explode.
"Mum. Mum! I'm gonna..."
"It's OK honey. Oh! Oh! It's OK!"
Just as Tom lost control, Nancy's face screwed up and she strained her neck towards him. Grabbing her son's buttocks, she tried to push him hard inside her as a crescendo washed over her, moaning and squeaking out an intense orgasm that spurred Tom to his own jetting, grunting release. Time after time Tom's cock spewed ropes of hot cum into his mother, she met his force, and as she felt her son's semen splashing inside her she flicked into another orgasm.
Time raced and minds fogged over in fire-work pink brains that knew of no existence than the spurting of cock in pussy. The rest of the universe ceased to exist -- only that fact remained. Ten seconds after Tom's balls were empty, still his cock twitched and jerked involuntarily in its velvety glove, as if to eject semen that didn't even exist.
