Mom All I Want for Xmas Is You

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All characters portrayed are over the age of eighteen

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Flashing up-skirt peeks of her panties and down-blouse views of her cleavage and bra.

"Cheer up, Mom," he said.

Unable to contain her sadness, she looked up at him and feigned a smile.

"Merry Christmas, James," she said being brave and now giving him a wider and sincerer smile.

The sound of her sweet, feminine voice brought him back to reality from his sexual fantasy of putting his mother to bed, stripping her naked, and having sex with her naked body. Just as she'd never allow him to strip her naked, she'd never have sex with her son. Overshadowed by his embarrassment, his sexual daydream vaporized before his incestuous, horny eyes, when he remembered exposing his erect, naked cock while masturbating and cumming for his mother. Where once sexual excitement consumed him, shame consumed him now. He felt like such a pervert.

'How could I masturbate in front of my mother? How could I ejaculate my cum in front of her while confessing my incestuous lust for her,' he thought? 'What's wrong with me to do that?'

Nonetheless his embarrassment, shame, and sexual excitement, he wasn't going to allow his personal feelings ruin his mother's holiday. He had a more important job to do in changing his mother's depressed disposition from sad to happy. He wanted to give her a holiday to remember. Not knowing what may happen in the future, if he'd find someone or if she'd find someone, he needed to enjoy whatever time they had left together now.

"It's Christmas Eve. The night before Christmas. Joy to the world. Peace to all men and to all women. Merry Christmas Day, Mother," he said again.

He walked to her and leaned down to give her another peck of a kiss on the lips, the lips that he imagined parting with his tongue to kiss her deep, wet, and long. So tempted to part her full, red lips with his warm, wet tongue, he couldn't stop himself from imagining French kissing his mother. He couldn't stop himself from imagining his mother returning his kiss of sexual passion with her kiss of sexual passion. With his embarrassed shame not lasting very long, he couldn't stop himself from imagining his mother sucking his prick with those same, full lips and him cumming in her beautiful mouth.

"Merry Christmas Day, James," she said returning his peck.

There was something odd about her kiss. More than just a peck, his mother lingered her kiss as if she was thinking about something and/or was planning to do more. Maybe she was thinking of parting his lips with her tongue in the way he was thinking about parting her lips with his tongue. Maybe she was tempted to give him a long, deep, wet kiss in the way that he was tempted to give her a long, deep, wet kiss. Unable to control his incestuous thoughts for his mother, he gave her a loving smile while trying his best to hide the sexual lust that he had for her.

"As I was saying, we're both healthy and relatively happy," he said esoterically speaking as if he really believed what he was saying when he was just as sad, horny, and sexually frustrated as he imagined she was. "You have a good job and I'll be getting a good job soon. Having much to be thankful for, we have more money than the average person out there who's struggling to put food on the table," he said.

He said what he said for the benefit of himself too while trying to get her to realize her blessings and forget her bad memories of her ex-husband leaving her for his whore of an ex-girlfriend. Only, it was obvious that he needed to do more to cheer her up than just giving her a pep talk. Maybe a glass of champagne would put her more in the holiday mood.

"You're right. I know you're right," she said. "Blindsided that he'd want such a young, slutty girl over me, it's the rejection that hurts the most."

Stunned that she was still talking about his father leaving her for his ex-girlfriend, every year around the holidays, it was the same thing. Obviously, in the way that he hated his father, she still loved her ex-husband. Yet, with them both on the same page when it came to the homewrecker, Jessica, they both hated his ex-girlfriend. He wished he had never brought her home to meet his family. He wished he had never left her alone with his Dad. He wished her had never trusted them not to have sex.

Now more understanding her mood, he gave her a comforting smile. He needed to be more patient with his mother. He needed to show her that he understood why the holidays were such a difficult time for her. Yet, if she'd be willing, he'd love to make new and better mother and son memories to make her feel better. Even though it pained him to think about having sex with his mother, his sexual excitement trumped whatever other feelings he had. He'd love to give his mother incestuous sex.

"I refuse to allow Dad to ruin another holiday with his child bride, whore of a wife," he said shaking his head and laughing. "It's hard to wrap my brain around that my ex-girlfriend is now my step-mother. Good riddance. I'm glad she's gone. She was a real head case. They deserve one another."

# # #

While sitting across from her, he hoped she'd give him another up-skirt flash of her bright white, sheer, bikini panties or a down-blouse view of her long line of sexy cleavage and her revealing, low-cut bra. If nothing more than masturbation fodder for later, he loved seeing forbidden peeks of his mother's underwear. Even with his mother feeling so glum, now thinking more about himself than about her, he didn't even feel guilty for wanting to take sexual advantage of her by seeing some part of her sexy, underwear clad body.

It was all about him imagining having incestuous sex with her. It was all about him imagining seeing his mother naked and making love to her naked body. It was all about him fingering and licking her pussy before she stroked and sucked his cock. It was all about him making love to his mother before fucking his mother hard and fast. If he couldn't have sex with his mother, seeing glimpses of her underwear to masturbate over all that he saw later, temporarily erased his horniness and eased his sexual frustration.

Still horny after his mother caught him masturbating and watched him cum while staring at his cock, not enough that he caught her masturbating too, he needed to have more sexy images of his mother to masturbate over later. If nothing more than a sexual fantasy that he'd surely masturbate over again, with him having hope beyond hope to have a sexual relationship with his mother, he imagined his mother inviting him to sleep with her. With him ensconced in his mother's bed, he imagined kissing his mother while holding her, hugging her, caressing her, cuddling her, and spooning her. He imagined touching and feeling his mother in places where he should never touch and feel his mother as she slept.

With her nightgown bunched around her waist, he imagined peeling down her covers at first light to see more of his mother's sexy and shapely body than he had ever seen before. He imagined seeing her naked ass and her blonde, trimmed pussy. With her bare breast making more of an appearance from the top of her low-cut nightgown, he imagined seeing his mother's areola and her nipple. He imagined his cock making a surprise appearance from out of his pajama pee hole. He imagined rubbing his naked up against his mother's naked ass while spooning her and holding her naked breast while she slept. Unable to stop himself, he imagined stroking himself and cumming all over his mother's naked ass.

Only, if he was sleeping in the same bed with her, he'd want to do more than just sleep. He'd want to do more than just kiss her, hold her, hug her, caress her, cuddle her, and spoon her. While hoping that she'd want to have sex with him, he'd want to have sex with her. In the forbidden way that Susan invited her son, Charlie, to sleep with her in the story, Mother Sleeps with Son on Christmas, by SusanJillParker, he hoped his mother would invite him to sleep with her too.

'How hot would that be to sleep with my mother,' he thought? 'How hot would that be to have sex with my mother?'

On the pretense of innocently kissing her, holding her, comforting her, hugging her, caressing her, cuddling her, and spooning her, he imagined touching and feeling her through the sexy nightgown that he gave her for Christmas. He hoped to make his own incestuous, love story an even better story, called Son Sleeps with Mother on Christmas. Only, nothing more than another one of his sexual fantasies, just as he knew she'd never have sex with him, he knew that she'd never invite him to sleep in the same bed with her.

Nonetheless her not inviting him to sleep in her bed, he couldn't help but to think about the sexual fantasies that he had about his mother. He imagined them being caught in an avalanche and trapped in a cabin. With their clothes soaking wet, they'd have to sleep together naked to keep warm. He thought about his mother having to take the last room in a motel, one with just a single bed. She'd have to invite him to sleep with her then. If only he could sleep in the same bed with his mother, that would be his chance to have forbidden sex with her.

Difficult for him to curb the sexual lust that he had for his mother whenever she crossed and uncrossed her legs, he stared down at what she was inadvertently or deliberately showing him of her sexy, shapely thighs. Appreciating her sexy and shapely body, he was glad that she wore more short skirts than she did pants. He was glad that she seldom wore pantyhose. He loved seeing his mother's white, bikini panties. He was filled with sexual anticipation while waiting and expecting his mother to flash him her panty clad pussy, her camel toe, and her pussy slit.

With her swimming and still playing tennis every week, proud of her legs, she had the legs of a dancer. She could dance for him any day, as long as she was dancing around a pole while removing her clothes. How hot would that be to have a mother who was a stripper? If his mother stripped off her clothes while dancing, he'd be sticking more than just dollar bills in her G-string. If only his mother was a whore of a stripper, with her having no reservation of removing her clothes, even in front of her son, he'd be getting sexually lucky with her every day.

# # #

With blue her favorite color, she was wearing his favorite, short skirt, the navy blue one that parted at the bottom even when completely buttoned. Even when her skirt was completely buttoned, when she sat with her knees cemented together, he could still see a triangular patch of her panties above her thighs. As if her white panties were the light of a lighthouse in a dense fog, the flash of her panties continually caught his focused attention.

Even when her skirt was completely buttoned, when she stood and leaned forward, as if sexually teasing him, he could still see her panties peeking out at him in between her buttonholes. Calling this skirt her panty flashing skirt, his favorite skirt, this skirt gave him the best chance of seeing continuous flashes of her panties. He wondered if his mother knew that he had a continuous view of her panties every time she wore this skirt. Perhaps with her making her sexual move while waiting for him to make his incestuous move, he wondered if his mother accidentally or deliberately flashed him her panties.

'Peek-a-boo,' he thought whenever seeing a flash of her white panties. 'Peek-a-boo,' he thought while wishing he had the nerve to reach his finger in between her open button holes and finger her pussy through her exposed panties. 'Peek-a-boo,' he imagined saying while fingering his mother's panty clad cunt.

'How hot would that be to finger my mother's pussy through her panties,' he thought? 'How hot would that be to masturbate my mother in the way that she watched me masturbate myself while she masturbated herself?'

Even with her knees tightly cemented together, there was still a triangular opening above the top of her shapely thighs. Unless she crossed her legs, she gave him a continual view of her panty clad crotch. As much as he loved seeing flashes of his mother's panties, imagining fingering her pussy through her bright, white panties, he loved seeing her panty clad crotch even more. He loved seeing quick glimpses of her camel toe, her pussy slit, and the darker shadow that her blonde, trimmed, pubic hair made through her sheer panties.

No doubt, imagining more than he was seeing while undressing her with his eyes, even though he had never seen her naked, he had a good sense of what his mother looked like without her clothes. With all the up-skirt peeks of her panties and down-blouse views of her cleavage and bra, he had a good sense of what his mother looked like in her panties and bra. Still, even though he was able to imagine more than he was seeing whenever undressing her with his eyes, he'd love to see his mother in her bra and panties, topless, and naked.

Every time she wore this skirt, she rewarded him with white, attention grabbing, flashes of her panties. Every time she wore this skirt, he wanted to finger her panty clad pussy. Every time she wore this skirt, he wanted to lick his mother's cunt through her panties. Every time she flashed him her panties, whether wearing this skirt or another skirt, she made him so horny. Every time she wore this skirt, he imagined her wearing this skirt in public and rewarding other men with flashes of her panties too.

'How hot would that be to see my mother exposing herself to other men,' he thought? 'How hot would that be to see the sexually excited looks on men's faces while seeing flashes of my mother's panties?'

Whether she was sitting or standing, he wondered if she knew he could see her panties. Every time she flashed him her panties, he wanted to finger and lick her pussy through her panties. Being that she flashed him her panties so very much, wondering if she was teasing him, he wondered if she deliberately or accidentally flashed him her panties. Like mother like son, he wondered if his mother was an incestuous exhibitionist in the way that he was an incestuous voyeur. In the way that she continually flashed him her panties, he'd love to flash his mother his naked cock again.

'How hot would that be if my mother was purposely flashing me bits and pieces of her underwear clad body? How hot would that be if I dared walk around my mother naked? How hot would that be if she stared at my naked, erect prick in the way that I continually stared at her panty clad pussy. How hot would that be if my mother sexually wanted me as much as I incestuously wanted her,' he thought?

He wished his mother was his sexy slut. He wished his mother was his incestuous whore. He wished his mother sexually wanted him in the way he incestuously wanted her. He wished his mother would put the sexual moves on him in the way that he'd love to put the incestuous moves on her. He'd love nothing more than to have sex with his mother. Only a mother having sex with her son was just as forbidden, nasty, and illegal as a son having sex with his mother. Other than in his sexual fantasies while masturbating himself, he knew that he'd never have sex with his mother.

# # #

As if the couch was complicit in helping her flash him her panties, whenever she sat on the couch in this skirt, with her hips set lower than her knees, her hem climbed to the middle of her shapely thighs. His favorite view to see, as if she was a stripper or a dancer, she always showed him a lot of her gorgeous legs. She made him wish he could slide a slow, purposeful hand up her short skirt. She made him wish he could touch, feel, and lick his mother's legs before licking her higher and licking her pussy through her panties. He'd like to make her wet enough and hot enough for her to want him to remove her panties.

'How hot would that be to touch and finger my mother where I'm not allowed to touch and finger my mother,' he thought? 'How hot would that be to lick my mother where I'm not allowed to lick my mother?'

As much as he loved her big breasts and her shapely buttocks, he loved her shapely legs too. Nothing more than a sexual fantasy, he wished he could move his hand all the way up her short skirt and in-between her legs to nirvana. He wished he could finger his mother through her panties while kissing her. He wished he could push her panties aside with his index finger and rub his mother's clit while finger fucking her pussy with his long, stiff middle finger.

Earlier, before flashing him her panties, from the panty line that he saw when she was leaning at the waist to stoke the fire, he knew she was wearing panties, just panties. 'Praise the Lord,' he was glad that she wasn't wearing pantyhose. Unless she was wearing nude, sheer pantyhose without panties that showed her pubic hair, pantyhose prevented her from flashing him her panties. He hated pantyhose. Matter of fact, he more enjoyed seeing his mother's panties in up-skirt flashes than he enjoyed seeing her naked pussy in up-nightgown flashes. Oddly enough, her panties sexually aroused him more than her naked pussy.

He had a much better chance of her flashing him her panties when she wasn't wearing pantyhose. Someone should flog and then strangle the gay, fashion designer who invented pantyhose with a pair of knotted pantyhose. If he's not wearing them already, someone should force him to wear pantyhose. He was glad his mother would rather put tanning lotion on her legs than to wear pantyhose in the winter. If it was too cold, she'd just wear pants. Yet, fortunately for him, whenever she was in the house, she almost always wore a short skirt with bright, white panties beneath.

'Pantyhose? What in the Hell were you thinking? What in the Hell is wrong with you? Are you nuts? Are you insane? Have you utterly lost your mind? Unless she's an older woman with varicose veins, putting pantyhose on shapely legs to cover a panty clad pussy is sacrilegiously un-American,' he imagined saying to the inventor of pantyhose. 'Shame on you! Shame on you! Take that and that,' he imagined horny, American men flogging gay, fashion designers with knotted pantyhose before hanging them from a Calvin Klein window display.

In violation of the Mile-High Club, there should be a law that woman cannot board a plane while wearing pantyhose. Subject to being searched, TSA agents, preferably male TSA agents should be allowed to do random inspections, lifting ladies' short skirts to make sure that they're not wearing pantyhose. Not taking just their word, it must be up to the women to prove that they are not wearing pantyhose but are wearing just panties or panties with a garter belt and stockings.

"Sorry, Miss," James imagined a TSA agent saying. "Unless your 50-50, 50-years-old and 50-pounds overweight, you must remove your pantyhose before boarding the plane. Pantyhose offends too many horny men who live and breathe in hopes of seeing your panties."

He imagined women reaching beneath their short skirts to remove their pantyhose right there in pubic.

"Sorry, sorry," he imagined women voicing their apologies to men who live and die to see flashes of panty clad pussies. "I'll remove them right now...while you watch."

# # #

Hopefully losing her inhibitions while drinking, he hoped that if his mother drank enough champagne that she'd forget where she was, who she was with, and would part her knees more with her inebriated morals, lessened modesty, and relaxed sexual inhibitions. Giving him more to masturbate over later, he'd love nothing more than to see a constant and continual, up-skirt view of his mother's bright white, bikini, panty clad crotch. Giving him plenty to masturbate over later, he hoped that she'd lean over him to give him a continual down blouse view of the tops of her breasts, her long, sexy line of cleavage, and her low-cut bra.