Alex stared at the tent half hidden in the dark; slowly he turned and stared at his mother standing on the lawn beside him.
"What's this" he couldn't help but ask.
"It's a tent silly" his mother laughed.
"I got that mom" Alex turned back to the large cabin tent. ""What's it for?" he asked
"Not what sweetie" his mother stepped to the tent opening. "More who, it's for you" she smiled.
Alex tried to ignore watching his mother move in the dim light in the tight cocktail dress she wore. Her hips were swaying with every step. He stared at his mother confused.
"I don't get it, why for me?" he tried not to stare at the curve of his mothers' ass as she turned, seeing how the snug fabric clung to every curve.
"Honey, you said yourself the house is like Grand Central Station" she said softly. "I know how you value your privacy, and the party tonight is going to go half the night" she looked back at the large house lit up from every window.
Alex looked back as he heard loud laughter drift across the lawn. At least he couldn't hear the music blaring from inside he thought. His mother was right; the last two days had been a strain on his nerves.
His brother Michael was getting married in three days, and tonight was only the first of the events surrounding the 'main event.' God forbid if anyone called his brother Mike, Alex thought. Michael Buchmann was the spitting image of his father.
Michael had graduated class president. Harvard law School and then joining their fathers law firm. He had already won two cases on his own and was a rising star. When Alex had asked about the wedding, he had been shocked at his brothers' response.
"Time to mount my trophy little brother" he had said. Just like his father, he had found the perfect trophy wife and was following The Grand Plan, as it was called in the Buchmann house.
The only problem was Alex didn't fit into that plan. He had always struggled with school, and when he announced he was not going into law, but instead wanted to be an architect, he thought his father was going to shit himself.
Only his mother had stood by him, quietly diverting his father, working her magic, until everything had been smoothed out again. Oh people might call his mother a trophy wife, but Alex knew better. It was his mother who was in charge, but it seemed only he saw it. Just like this tent, she always seemed to find a solution just in the nick of time.
"Thanks mom" he said softly.
"Well come take a look" his mother smiled in the half light.
She bent and unzipped the flap on the tent. Alex could only stare as her tight dress now stretched over the globes of her ass. God her ass, he thought, as just the sight started a stirring in his groin.
Alex bent down and followed his mother into the tent just as he looked up his mother turned to face him. Still half bent forward from the low ceiling, the pose let her breasts hang down in her low front dress. Alex felt a rush of blood head straight south to his cock, as he stared down the top of his mothers' dress. Her expanse of cleavage was on full display to him.
After a moment, he felt a finger under his chin, slowly raising his head and eyes, until he met his mothers' gaze.
"My eyes are up here baby" she whispered with a sparkle in her eyes.
"Sorry mom" Alex felt his face flush with shame, he had been caught staring at her.
"Sorry for what?" his mother laughed lightly. "For staring at your mothers' tits?"
"Jesus mom" Alex gasped.
"Baby, you've stared at them before" his mother smiled. "I didn't say I minded I just wanted to talk for a moment. I can't stay long you know that."
"Yeah, I know" Alex gave a resigned sigh. "Have to be the trophy for the party right mom."
Grace Buchmann sighed, she knew how hard things had been for her youngest. Sometimes he just didn't fit the Buchmann 'mold'. She had met her husband at university in her second year. Twenty years old and two years into her commercial design degree when the dashing young Buchmann had swept her off her feet.
By the time she turned twenty-one, she was married. Their first child was born at twenty-two and their second not more than a year later. It had seemed whirlwind to her then.
Now, Grace knew better. Everything had been planned, scheduled by that dashing young man. Married with the standard two children he had entered his fathers' law practice by twenty-five. Now, at forty-seven the trophy wife and mother was watching her eldest follow the same path as his father.
But Alex was somehow different, more like her side of the family. It had been a terrible disappointment to Richard when Alex had decided against the family law practice. Richard Michael Buchmann was if anything a traditionalist.
One of those family traditions was the acquisition of the 'trophy wife'. Her mother-in-law was one, and it had taken only three years of their married life to know she was one.
At barely five foot six inches, Grace Buchmann could turn any head in a room, even now at almost fifty years old. Age had done little to her 36D breasts, they still stood proud and full in her tight cocktail dress. She knew her best was the curves of her ass when she bent slightly forward, an art she had perfected over the years. The fact it took hours a week in the gym to keep that ass, was something very few knew.
"Your father has a lot of important clients Alex" she softly replied. "As his wife I have a role to play. It helps his career, which pays our bills."
"Career, there is a lot of other things more important than a career" Alex grumbled.
Grace stepped closer to her son; she could feel the heat emanating from his body along with the tension that ran through him. Her hand rested on his broad chest, and she could feel his muscles ripple through his shirt.
Get a grip girl, she whispered to herself. This is your son for God's sake.
"Alex...look at me" Grace told her son. She waited until they locked eyes in the dim light of the tent.
"In this tent, it's just us, you and me. For once in your life, pull your big boy pants up and just say what's on your mind." She told him.
Grace stared into her sons' eyes, her eyes widening as she saw the light in his eyes growing. A light she had not seen in the eyes of a man in many years. It was a hunger, a mixture of lust and love that shone out of him.
"He doesn't deserve you" Alex grated. "He's got the most beautiful, sexiest, loving wife; and he's in there with some fake titted bimbo on his lap with a drink in his hand." He rushed out.
Grace stood stunned as the words poured out of Alex like a tidal wave. He had to have been keeping this inside for years, she realized.
"He's not only an arrogant pompous ass, just like his oldest son" Alex pushed on. "He's also a fool" he spat. "If you were my wife, I would....." Suddenly, realizing what he was saying, Alex stopped himself.
"Say it Alex" Grace whispered in a hushed voice. "Finish what you were saying. You would...what?" she stared into his eyes, her heart pounding.
"Don't ask mom" Alex choked out.
Grace's fingers curled inward, her nails digging into her son's strong pectorals. She took a deep breath, smelling the fresh cut grass, and that scent, the scent of a MAN.
"What's said in this tent stays in this tent, understood." Grace told her son. "Now finish what you were saying." She waited for his response.
"If you were my wife, I wouldn't have you hanging on my arm like some trinket." Alex stared back at his mother. She could hear the growing husk in his voice. "Oh you'd be my trophy wife, have no doubt. But I'd be mounting my trophy every damn chance I could."
Grace was beyond stunned at her sons' words. But there was more, something defined in that moment. Gone was the pretense of the child, before her stood a primal man; confident, strong, who knew what he wanted and wasn't afraid to say it. She felt the almost animal magnetism emanate from her son, sending a jolt through her body, her nipples stretching against the fabric of her dress, while a warm wetness grew between her legs.
Alex could only stare into his mothers' eyes, watching her face, as a flush began to cover her cheeks. Was she angry? Had he just overstepped the boundary he wondered.
"You're jealous." Grace whispered softly, the realization hitting home. "I'm your mother, you do realize" she could barely husk back.
Before she could even react, Alex leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. This was no mother son kiss. She felt raw passion rip through her as his mouth almost devoured her. By the time they separated, Grace was almost gasping for air, she felt the rampant hardness pressed against her belly, her breasts crushed against his broad chest.
She had melted into the kiss, reveling in the sheer desire a man was expressing for her. That it was her son had evaporated from her mind.
"Be careful mister" Grace reached up and traced a nail along his cheek. "You're playing with fire."
"Then I hope I burn alive" Alex said gruffly.
