SUMMARY: This is chapter two of a story about a mom and her son who unexpectedly spend the summer together after a worldwide pandemic hits the planet. This is a three-part story. If you haven't read the first part, I recommend it as it contains the back story and buildup to what occurs in chapter two. This second first part takes things even further as they explore what their newfound desires toward each other mean, ultimately leading to incestuous relations occurring in the home...
All characters in this story are 18 or older.
P.S. My stories are self-edited, so please be aware that there WILL be typos and an occasional inconsistency. Hope you enjoy it anyway! :)
WARNING: Chapters two and three contain some fetishes that may not be fit for everyone. Primarily having to do with nipple sucking and breast feeding with a lover. If either of these is not of interest to you, you should stop reading after chapter one.
DISCLAIMER: This story is a work of fiction. Any character resemblances to real life personae are strictly coincidental. Copying, re-posting, storing (whether digitally or in print form) or redistribution of this material is prohibited.
[Chapter 02]
[ch2.01 Crumbling.]
Tension was palpable the next morning when I awoke. I felt it the moment my head lifted off my pillow. What had we done? How would last night affect my relationship with my mother? Surely one of us would come to our senses and call quits to our dysfunctional adventuring. I figured it would be her.
As I dragged myself out of bed, down the hall toward the kitchen, my throat tightened up until I could barely breathe. Worry plagued me. My stomach was turning summersaults. I felt like... like we were about to break up. But I didn't want to break up with my mom. We got along so great. Especially these last few months. Would this little deviation from our normal routine change all that?
When I reached the kitchen, I discovered that my mom wasn't there. That was weird. She was always there, making breakfast in the morning. Setting out to find her, I checked the bathroom, but it was empty. Finally, I made my way to mom's bedroom. Her door was still closed. Another oddity. Frowning, I reached a hesitant hand up to her door and gave it a light knock.
I heard something thump on the floor and then my mom cursed. A few seconds later, she called to me, "I'll be right out!"
Making my way back to the kitchen, I waited. Patiently at first. After ten minutes went by, my patience started to turn to worry. By fifteen minutes, I started to freak out. What was taking her so long? My thoughts betrayed me, poking me from the inside with small criticisms that amplified my worry. What if she was in there feeling guilty about what happened? What if she was upset with me for going along with the insane idea in the first place? But worst of all, what if she came out, and our relationship was forever altered for the worse?
I heard a creak in the hallway and lifted my head, watching the doorway until she walked through it. She looked tired. Like she had been up all night crying. She saw me and halted in the threshold of the kitchen. We stared at each other for a long, quiet moment. The elephant in the room was starting to feel suffocating, making me shift nervously on my feet. I opened my mouth to say something, but she spoke right then.
"I'm sorry baby," her voice sounded raw.
I just stared at her, not sure what to say. I didn't want her to be sorry. I wasn't. But I was afraid to tell her that, because if she called me out on it, then it was over. I didn't want it to be over.
Her shoulders sagged and she nodded, as if to herself. Then she said softly, "It was inappropriate and wrong for me to... to put you in that position."
Shrugging uncomfortably, I stared at her for a minute. I wanted to tell her how I felt. To tell her... fuck it. I blurted out, "Mom, I... I liked it."
Her head lifted slowly until her eyes were staring right at mine. Yes, her eyes were definitely damp from tears. She gazed at me, as if trying to see inside of me. Her eyelids narrowed slowly. I didn't flinch. I didn't pull away. After a long thirty seconds, she blinked. Then she whispered, "Me too."
The world froze. Neither of us spoke or moved. We simply stood there, staring at each other. Something passed between us, though. Something unspoken. Something non-physical. I felt it drift out of both of us at the same time, twisting and twining together until it was a single thread that connected us together. I almost gasped as warmth filled the pit of my stomach. Then I felt a tingling sensation akin to going down a big hill on a roller-coaster.
Mom must have had the same phenomenon because we both sucked in a short breath at the same time. Our eyes were locked. Then, as if something had broken loose, we both started grinning at each other. Big, stupid grins. In that moment, I knew something had just changed between us. Possibly something that would forever alter our relationship. I didn't even try to name it. I just basked in its warmth and enjoyed it. Walls had just crumbled in both our worlds.
A desire to hold her was suddenly so strong that all I could do was spread my arms apart and wait. Moments later, she stumbled into my embrace as I wrapped my arms around her, squeezing her against my chest. She started crying again, but a good kind of cry.
[ch2.02 Alleviation.]
The next week felt like a test between me and my mom. We didn't talk about what had happened. But our newfound closeness seemed to be getting... closer. We weren't exactly being intimate together or anything like that. But our relationship just felt more personal. A lot of things went back to a quasi-normal. We dined together, hung out together, watched movies together, laughed together, and did just about everything together. But none of that included anything even remotely related to sex.
That is, until the following Friday. It was nearing the end of June. Getting closer to our birthdays. For the most part, the night wasn't much different from any other night. Mom cooked pasta with some homemade sauce. We ate in the kitchen, and then cleaned up the dishes together. Afterwards, she pulled out a fresh bottle of wine and brought it to the living room, along with two glasses.
Twenty minutes later, we were both nestled into separate ends of the couch, holding glasses filled with the dark red wine. We had the tv on, but neither of us was paying it much attention. We were chatting. About "normal" things. We talked about college, about life after college, about sports, about girls, about likes and dislikes. I made her laugh so hard one time, she almost spit her wine all over the place. All in all, it was a pleasant evening that had the slight semblance of... a date.
I started noticing mom touching her chest that night. Her boobs, more specifically. Every so often, she would reach a hand up to one of them and either squeeze it, or tug at it, or adjust it in some way. I didn't really mind, to be honest. In truth, my attention was pleasantly riveted on them. Her tits were absolutely perfect in my mind. And considering what had happened between us, I couldn't help but fantasize a little about seeing them.
At around ten o'clock, I leaned toward the coffee table and set my empty wine glass on it. The bottle was empty. We had finished the entire thing. I figured I probably had about a third of it, and mom drank the rest. She didn't appear drunk, but smiles did seem to cross her face more often than usual. And she started adjusting her boobs more frequently. I noticed at one point that I could see her nipples poking against the fabric of her shirt.
