Mourning - a Mother and Son Tale

It was two days after the funeral that Mom had her worst breakdown. Nobody expected Dad to die, though many of us had long wished he would. He was a mean drunkard who had regularly beat us as kids, although Mom worshiped him. So when he died, she was the only one who took it hard.

"She's not going to make it," Carla was saying to me in the kitchen when Mom walked in, shuffling in her stocking feet, hair a mess, still in her black dress. We fell silent and watched her wander to the fridge, to the sink, then back out the door.

"Yeah," I agreed. "What are we going to do about it?"

"Not we. You."

I stared at my younger sister, she stared back. I sighed. We both knew it had to be this way. Mom and Carla hadn't gotten along since we were kids. Now, in this weird state, Mom would doubly not listen to what her twenty-year-old daughter had to say. It had to be me.

So I found myself following Mom through the house until we reached the parlor. The room she never wanted anyone to enter. The carpet was soft, the lighting dim. I almost didn't see Mom standing by the window looking out at the lawn. She twitched when I put my hand on her shoulder.

"Oh, Peter," she said, turning to me with a smile. "I didn't hear you. You gave me quite a fright."

"No, Mom, not Peter," I said. Peter was my Dad's name. "It's me. Mark. Your son."

"Mark?" she said, voice wavering. The look of confusion in her eyes almost made me want to weep. Mom was once a good looking woman, back in her youth. Before Dad. Now she looked tired. Not old, not really. Not like she was actually pushing fifty. She'd stopped dying her hair, and it was white now, and she'd gained weight, but she kept out of the sun and her olive colored skin was almost wrinkle free. It was her eyes that always got me, though. Still bright blue and beautiful. It was her eyes that had my attention when she reached up to caress my face, smiling serenely. "You look so like your father. So handsome. My lovely boy."

She moved closer. I opened my arms to accept her and embraced her snugly, pressing her face into my neck with a sigh. "I love you," she murmured.

"I love you too," I replied, a little lost. I wondered what Carla was doing, if she was making some more coffee. If...

Mom turned her face up toward mine and sighed. "Peter," she murmured. Then she kissed me. Not a motherly kiss, but one that lingered and became heated, with soft tender lips and the heady smell of perfume and thick makeup. God help me, for some reason I responded, tightening my hold on her, my cock swelling in my pants. Her hold on me drew tighter and her mouth opened. I'd never even guessed Mom would be a tongue kisser, but she was very good at it. She moaned into my mouth as our tongues danced together.

She finally drew away with a breathless sigh. My head was spinning. This was my mother! What the fuck was I doing? I looked back through the doorway, worried about Carla catching me, catching us. Mom lifted my hand and put it on her breast. "Oh, Peter," she sighed. "Touch me, my darling."

I squeezed her tit, feeling her nipple hardening quickly in my palm. How many times as a teen had I fantasized about her? And now here she was, doing this. Sure, she thought I was her dead husband. Yes this was wrong. I pulled her too me anyway and kissed her again, and Mom returned the kiss with a passion I'd never have expected. "Peter," she groaned.

"Yes," I answered, lost.

"Peter. Fuck me, Peter. I want you inside me."

I almost choked. I'd never heard Mom curse before. Now she was begging...

"Fuck me, Peter," she repeated, tugging at me. I offered no resistance at all. She led me to the sofa anxiously, eagerly. I stopped worrying about Carla. Let her catch me. I had to do this. I had to. Mom lay back on the sofa, hiking her dress up to her waist as she did so and revealing black pantyhose with panties beneath. She held her arms out for me. "Take me, Peter," she said.

Groaning, I fumbled with my pants. Mom sat forward to help and deftly freed my cock. Her hands were cool on my shaft. She opened her mouth and I almost fainted as she took me inside. Soft, moist, hot, her tongue eager but not very talented. It didn't matter. It was Mom! I pulled away from her before I could cum. She had drool on her chin, gasping, calling Dad's name in a whisper. I shoved her back, crazed now. Mom complied by scrambling with her dress again, shoving her hose down. I almost hurt myself getting my pants down.

Mom moaned as she lifted her legs into the air. I got my first look at her pussy by the light spilling in from the hall. She was completely shaved and glistening with wetness. Her labia were splayed with arousal, and the odor was heady. I hooked my hands behind her knees to hold her legs up and lowered my face to taste her. "Peter!" she hissed, almost too loudly. I could tell it was a sound of surprised. Evidently Dad wasn't much for muffdiving. Mom quivered and moaned as I raked my tongue through her treasure. Her flavor was different from any I'd ever had before, indescribable. She didn't taste like a woman who'd had sex in a very long time. Clean, pure, delicious.

Mom came like a cannon, silently and gushing. Thick mucousy cum filled my mouth and flowed down my throat. She was still spasming when I rose and positioned myself at her entrance. Her hands clutched at me as I pushed inside, stretching her. Yes, Mom had a tight pussy, further proof that Dad hadn't serviced his wife in a long time. Mom really did need it. I wasn't abusing or taking advantage of her. I was giving my poor grieving mother the comfort she desperately needed.

I drove in and out of her like a madman. Mom moaned loudly and slapped a hand over her mouth. She was trained to be quiet. Interesting. She came again while I was fucking her. Her pussy clamped down so tightly I couldn't move. And while her cunt was milking my cock I began to cum, filling my mother's body with my incestuous seed. We both went slack about the same time, sagging in complete release.

Carla's voice was distant, calling to me from the kitchen. "Mark? Coffee's ready."

"I'll be right there," I yelled back. Below me Mom was moaning, writhing, rubbing her hands all in the cum spilling from her freshly fucked hole. I left her there like that, my cum and her juices staining the sofa beneath her. I tugged my pants back up and staggered from the room, mind spinning and unable to think straight. I'd just fucked my own mother. I'd done it. I'd fucked her.

Nothing was ever going to be the same again.