'vaccinating' His Mom

Copyright 2020 by Kethandra Wilde

Author's note: This is an entry in the 'Love The One(s) You're With' Special Contest and my first Literotica submission in a very long time. Votes, comments, and story-related emails/messages are very welcome. as always, all characters are fictional and over the age of 18. Enjoy!

"The mirror makes it look a lot bigger, doesn't it?" His mom asked, her fit body pressed close to him.

"Wha...?!" Michael cringed at how his voice cracked, like a kid caught watching his first porno. Of course her butt didn't look big; it was perfect even if he couldn't say that out loud. But how could his mother have known he was taking advantage of the huge mirror that covered one wall of her new 'tiny home,' looking over her shoulder as she held him in a long, welcoming hug, taking in the sight of that glorious backside, that perfect double bubble his roommates had been discussing only last night?

———

What with the coronavirus infections spreading, and the college requiring students to begin remote-study after spring break ended, the four roommates had decided on one final little party. There was a real possibility they wouldn't see each other until next fall. They might as well finish the last of their communal bag of pot and the partial keg of beer in their 'kegerator' was going to go bad if someone didn't drink it.

At least the sudden change to remote schooling applied to all the State Universities, so more than a few high school buddies would be home too, for spring break and beyond. That was in addition to the three who went to the local community college, and it was their shared rental house that would likely be the preferred group gathering spot. Even though he had only seen pictures, he knew his mom's new little 'empty nest' mini-house would be too cramped for both of them if he was spending much of his time there.

The marijuana smoke hung thick in the air before the conversation had turned back to the roommates' rapidly changing plans for the unexpected break from school and dorm living.

"I wish I was going home with Mikey. No disrespect, Bro, but your mom gives the best hugs."

Two heads had nodded red-eyed, grinning agreement. Knowing where this was going, Michael had sighed, stopped himself from burying his face in his hands. He had given up curtailing all but the worst of the lustful comments about his admittedly still-hot mother.

"Totally. How can any natural titties be that firm? Are you sure you suckled on those perky beauties? Those sexy little nipples?"

"Seriously, guys? That again? I was kind of too little to remember but, yes, I was supposedly breastfed."

His voice had been tight, jaw clenched. Still, it was true: she rarely wore a bra and her breasts still defied gravity in a way few teenagers could match, and he had found his own eyes drawn to her small but often obviously erect nipples too many times.

"What a shame." A head shook in mock dismay. "The things that are wasted on the young."

One roommate had been quiet so far, except to giggle. "You know, I was thinking."

"Uh oh. Dan's been thinking. That always means trouble."

"Shut up. I was just thinking that there's a downside to Ms. M's hugs."

"What? Not for this guy."

"Downside? Her hugs give me a serious upside." A hand tilted upward at an angle, hinting strongly at male arousal.

"Let me finish." Dan had gone on. "I mean, yeah, having those extra-firm wonder-melons pressing into my chest with every hug is a definite treat, but my complaint is the view: I can't see that incredible backside of hers from there."

"Ohh." Heads had nodded understanding, faces showing stoned agreement with what seemed at the time to be a profound observation. Michael wouldn't admit it, but he had to agree. His mom's hind end was just about flawless. Not too big, not too small, flaring from a slim waist at just the right angle, round cheeks curving perfectly outward in jeans or yoga pants or anything else.

"Wait!" A finger had popped up, one face suddenly smiling at a brilliant realization. "What if...what if Ms. M gave ya a nice, tight, lingering hug...with a full length mirror behind her, so you could see that glorious backside, while ya still got to feel the full, firm front side?"

"Yes!"

"Dude!"

Even Michael joined in, laughing at the hypothetical solution to a too-close-to-home problem. Fortunately, after high fives all around, the conversation moved on, away from his mother and how sexy she was.

———

"My wonderful, tiny home, silly. Doesn't the mirror make it look bigger?" She pulled back, and Michael felt a twinge of guilt that he regretted the pressure of those firm breasts against his chest easing. Then her smiling, beautiful face came into view, those huge, loving, deep brown eyes locked on his, and the loss was worth it. Her arms stayed up, around his neck, fingers stroking at the base of his skull.

"Oh. Yeah, Mom. It really does make it look a lot more spacious." At least he wasn't caught; she hadn't asked if her butt looked bigger in the mirror after all.

The tiny house - a newly popular trend in architecture - was her new pride and joy. Always independent, and skilled with her hands, she had decided to build the compact, modern marvel herself, on an acre of land she had bought years before. It was a simple, square studio, no separate rooms, with an amazing amount of living capacity built into its very limited square footage. She had used a contractor to pour foundation early last summer, then had done the rest of it herself with the exception of hiring a crane to place the heavy modular wall and roof panels.

She turned, easing in close beside him, her arm slipping around his waist. He wrapped his bigger arms around her, pulling her close to his side. She grinned at their reflection, both of them looking toward the mirror, then she turned to kiss his cheek. "We look good together, sweetheart. I'm so glad you're home, safe. I missed you."

Michael though they did indeed look good together. She was gorgeous and somehow felt made to be close beside him, held there in the crook of his arm. He couldn't help noticing the twin shadows of her nipples poking at the thin material of her simple t-shirt.

"I missed you too, Mom. And, yeah, we do look, uh, good together."

She kissed him again. "My handsome man."

He pulled her back in front of him, into another hug. She squealed, laughing. "My wonderful, talented mother. This place is amazing. Not very many people can say they built their own house, by their own hand. I'm proud of you."

Her eyes looked up at his, near teary. "Thank you."

Then her face was tucked under his jaw, almost shy. His eyes, freed from hers, took the opportunity to again look at her bottom in the mirror behind her. His imagination, perhaps still fueled by last night's conversation, decided to show him an image of his own hands sliding down from her back to grasp each one of those sweet round cheeks in her snug jeans and pull her lower body tight to his own.

He shook his head, scolding himself for the thought, and pushed back. "So, uh, where do we - err - you, uh, I sleep? I don't see a b...any beds."

He cringed at the image his word choice brought up: the two in a bed together.

She laughed, a sweet, soothing sound, and took his hand. "Let me give you the deluxe tour. That's part of the whole tiny home idea: everything has more than one function and almost everything can be stored away when not in use."

The tour didn't take long, but his pride in her ingenuity and skill only increased as she showed off the carefully thought-out construction details.

It turned out that the main bed, hers, was a 'Murphy' style one, swinging down out of a wall when needed. The larger of the two couches that comprised the living room section of the open space folded out, providing a guest bed that would be his.

There wouldn't be much privacy, but the two of them had always been close. It wasn't until the following day that modesty and privacy began to be an issue.

She had shown him how to unfold the couch. He had almost avoided noticing the way her cleavage hung exposed when she pulled fresh laundered sheets onto the couch's mattress for him. After the drive, and the previous night's partying, he was ready to turn in early.

He awoke to kitchen sounds and coffee smells, releasing a sleepy, content groan. That must have been the signal his mom was waiting for, because she pounced on the foldout bed, her body trapping his limbs under the covers.

"Good morning, my sleepy man." Her legs straddled his waist and her firm breasts pressed down on his chest as she buried her face into his neck. Even though her soft hair tickled at his face, he till noticed as her delightful scent filled his nostrils. Still groggy, he pushed his nose up deeper into the silky mass of hair and inhaled.

"Mmm." She responded with a satisfied sound, trailing off into a soft giggle. That was followed by a series of kisses along his jawline, ending just short of the corner of his mouth. She pushed herself up, squatting above his waist, grinning down. "I'm surprised you could stand to smell me; I haven't showered yet."

"Sorry, Mom. Your hair just smelled really good. I'm thinking I probably don't have the freshest of odors myself, after the drive yesterday." With her weight only over his waist now he pulled an arm free, sniffed at his own armpit, making a face at the result. He was awake enough now to notice the intimacy of her position and to be thankful that he hadn't woken with morning wood. If he had, it would have been pressing up hard between her thighs now. He made a point of not focusing on the obvious nipples pushing out above him.

She rolled off of him, to stand alongside the bed. "Take a shower then. I'll make us breakfast."

As he reached for his pants he noticed the soft, thin pajama shorts she wore. They weren't tight, but still clung to her curves in an enticing way, above long, smooth legs. He saw no hint of any party lines under them.

The bathroom was small but elegantly efficient and the shower had plenty of water pressure. The first thing he noticed when he turned off the flow from the large shower head was the sound of rain beating on the skylight overhead.

Toweled and dressed, he found his mother just finishing plating their breakfast, while leaning over her tablet computer. He tensed, immediately noticing her worried look.

"What's wrong, pretty lady?" The compliment earned him a too-brief smile.

"The governor just announced a shelter-in-place order."

He made a face. "Meaning what?"

"Meaning all non-essential workers stay home; no unnecessary travel or gatherings. We're supposed to maintain 'social distance' from others not in our household."

"Jesus. This is serious. For how long?" There went any plans for the party house with friends in town. He stepped close to her to look at the screen. She leaned against him, as though for reassurance.

"Doesn't say, just that it 'could be' weeks or more." She smiled, shrugging. "I guess you're going to get to spend a lot of time with your old mom this break."

He snuggled an arm around her waist. "'Old' you're not, Mom."

He looked outside the window at the rain. "Probably not going outside this morning either. It's just the two of us and the tiny, tiny house."

———

For once the weather report was accurate: the rain was steady, giving no signs of letting up for days.

After a day of talking, catching up, and going into too much detail about intricacies of the tiny house's construction, she broke out a board game in the evening. Her habit of bouncing, excited at every roll of the dice drove Michael to distraction. Well, not the bouncing motion itself, but what it did to her braless breasts, moving freely under a thin shirt, nipples painfully obvious.

The next morning, still rainy, his mother started a puzzle. It was worse than the game. First she found repeated opportunities to stand up, lean forward, studying the mass of pieces. Her outfit had also shrunk. Loose pajama shorts had been exchanged for snug, fitted underwear. Booty shorts. And, yes, they did an admirably job showing off her frequently bent-over booty. She continually seemed to find pieces that fit in the middle of the table or on his side. Pieces that necessitated her leaning his way, or reversed, leaning directly away from him. Both views were tortuous.

Michael knew he shouldn't stare down her top but his eyes and body had wills of their own. Her shirt - sleeveless today - would hang low, revealing the shadowy but absolutely clear view between those perfect, firm breasts, made even fuller and rounder by gravity. He found himself eager, trying to steal a glimpse of raised, darker tan skin with a hint a rosy red that defined her perfect nipples. He was rewarded more than once. Then his guilt punished him for enjoying the forbidden reward.

At night they began watching movies. He couldn't remember her snuggling quite so much against him in the past. One bare leg was almost always stretched out, over his own. The second night she yawned, stretched, and curled close, her head in his lap, her cheek rubbing dangerously close to his groin, her hands clinging to his thigh, supporting her head. He barely watched the first movie, his attention downward, bouncing from a breast barely contained by a dislodged top to an abundance of smooth, round bottom exposed by similarly disarrayed shorts.

In the middle of the night his eyes shot open, alert, barely succeeding at stopping his hand from stroking his throbbing erection. She was too close, only feet away. She would have to hear him if he got himself off. But the pressure deep in his gut, in his balls, was nearly impossible to ignore.

Day three. More rain. Reading became vitally important, but not to help the time pass. The booty shorts had become exchanged for thinner, slimmer, high cut panties. The sleeveless shirt was almost gossamer material, maybe silk, the sleeve holes cut low enough to flaunt full curves of the sides of her breasts, the inadequately named 'side boob.' He sometimes thought he could detect the color of her nipples through the silky material, not just their continued, shadowy rises.

He chose a series of hardback books, the larger the better. The topic didn't matter. He needed them to provide coverage, to hide the repeated, prolonged hard-ons that were plaguing him more than he could remember since his earliest teens. He couldn't let his mother know how turned on her son was, couldn't let her see. Not when the only possible reason to be so aroused was his gorgeous, sexy mother herself.

It was early afternoon when she looked up from her tablet, while he still tried to read. The news had become too much of a fascination. "More people are testing positive. A lot more. I sure hope we can find a vaccine soon."

"A vaccine? Sure. But won't that take months and months of testing?" He asked.

"I guess you're right. Silly me. I just...I can't help feeling like there is something I could do, we could do, maybe together, to help get us through this." She paused. "Honey?"

"Yes, beautiful?" He hadn't intended to say that out loud, as often as he found himself thinking of her that way, but it was worth it seeing the stress and worry on his mother's face disappear, replaced by a wide, delighted smile.

"Ahh!" She was on her feet in an instant, in his lap in an instant more. "My handsome, big strong man called me 'beautiful.'"

Her eyes were bright. Michael found his arms wrapped around her barely-clothed body, snugging her close to him. Because of her angle, one arm ended up at a diagonal, filling the space between her breasts. Her hands clasped there over her heart, hugging his arm close, surrounding him with the warm pressure of firm, feminine, and forbidden flesh.

"Uh. Mom? As much as I enjoy a beautiful woman in my lap," After the initial results, he couldn't resist using the compliment a second time. "Weren't you going to ask me something?"

"I was indeed, smart man. I'm bored. I need a break from the news. And this constant rain is starting to...irk me. So I was going to ask you if you'd like to join your mother in a drink - or two - if she cracked open the bottle of vodka she has stashed in the freezer. And..."

She paused, chewing her lower lip as though in indecision, then went on. "If maybe my son wouldn't think too poorly of his mom if she broke out a joint your Aunt Sunny gave me a while ago."

He actually gasped. He had never considered the possibility of his mom smoking pot, though Aunt Sunny's part in it didn't surprise him. Mom's younger sister had always been the most reliably counter-cultural member of the extended family.

"What? It's not that bad, is it?" She looked so worried it was almost comical.

He pulled her closer, reassuring. "No, Mom. It's not bad at all. This seems like a perfect time to indulge a bit."

Her smile was shy. "Thanks. Sunny did say it was 'for a rainy day.'"

They both laughed at that while he helped her up off his lap. His eyes followed the motion of her panties as she strode away, bending over when she reached the column of drawers that were built into the wall next to her Murphy bed. She rustled through the lowest drawer with one hand, causing Michael to bite down on his own lower lip when the other hand slipped behind to her tug the panties out from between her almost entirely exposed cheeks. If any other girl put on a show like that in front of him, he would assume it was the most obvious, suggestive of flirtations. Considering this was his mom, he chalked it up to just how confident, how comfortable she was with her son.

"Ah hah." She straightened up, brandishing a fairly thin joint, the white paper twisted tight at each end, and a disposable lighter. "Rainy day, here we come!"

———

An hour or a little more later, after a dizzyingly varied conversation punctuated by a couple of spontaneous dance moves, several bursts of sustained giggling, and one demonstration of a yoga position Michael knew his own body could never perform without major injury, she began to slow down. The yoga move in particular had almost forced a lustful, highly inappropriate groan out of him.

Ice melted in the bottom of her twice-filled, twice-emptied glass. A bit less than half the joint remained unsmoked in a soup bowl that passed for an ashtray.

Standing directly in front of her seated son, she paused, looking thoughtful.

"What is it, Stoner?" He teased her.

She pouted, stomped one bare foot. "I'm not a stoner."

"True. It's obvious you don't smoke the herb very often, Mom. But it's sure entertaining to see you cut loose." He meant it. Sometimes she worried too much. "But you were thinking something just now. What was it?"

"Well..." The foot she had stomped now twisted on the floor, nervous. He avoided looking straight ahead, where her panties displayed the cotton-covered small rises and dips of her most intimate areas.

Then she moved closer, closer, dropping down until she was kneeling on the couch, straddling his thighs. Now he looked up, away from the breasts and nipples that had replaced the earlier straight-ahead view. His mother looked down at him, one hand on his shoulder, the other playing with the hair at the base of his neck.

"Would you...would you tell your mother she's beautiful again?" Her eyes shifted between his, nervous, pleading for reassurance.

His hands found her waist. It felt good to hold her, too good, but he wanted to make sure she didn't lower herself onto his lap. Buzzed himself, with her this close and wearing what she was, he could feel himself growing aroused. He couldn't allow her to feel that.

"Mom. You are. Gorgeous."

"Yes? Go on."

"Beautiful."

"More please." The nervousness was gone, a playful smile warming her face now.