Mom’s Christmas Present
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My first attempt at a holiday-themed story. Although the characters also appear in my other stories, this is a stand-alone episode and requires no previous reading. Enjoy!
“Merry Christmas,” he says, as he holds my face in his hands, stroking my hair, pulsating in my mouth. I swallow in greedy little gulps, savoring the salty sweet taste, basking in the sensation of his seed gliding down my throat. There’s no purer bliss in this world than giving pleasure to the person you love and hearing their moans of ecstasy as they spasm uncontrollably. I’m so close myself, all it would take is the tiniest caress, flick, pinch or lick, and I’d explode. I shove my hand down my panties, feeling my wetness, stroking the length of my slit as I bring my finger up to…
“BZZZZZZT BZZZT!” What. “BZZZT BZZZT BZZT. The. “BZZZZT!” Hell? I open one eye and spot the traitor, vibrating on my nightstand. What time is it? I have no clue, because my son’s face is taking up the entire screen. Oh, shit! I grab the phone and slide the thingy to pick up.
“Mom?” His voice is deeper than it was the last time we spoke. Boys grow up so fast!
“Hi, sweetie. Everything okay?” Cameron’s my youngest, I can’t help being protective of him, even though he’s a college man now.
“Oh, yeah, yeah, I’m at a rest stop, about an hour out. I just wanted to check if you needed anything.”
“Do I need anything… from the rest stop? I think we’re good on Reese’s cups, but thanks for asking.” I like to tease him, and he loves it.
“Alright, alright! They have other things, too. Are you sure you don’t need, erm… Halloween-themed wrapping paper?” I hear some rummaging on his side. “Fortnite keychains? Aha! DVDs! Let’s watch a movie for Christmas. Let’s see… Sharknado V: The Sharkening…”
“Hey, the shark on the cover has a little Santa hat, it’s totally a holiday movie!” We share a good-hearted laugh and I suddenly feel a rush of emotion. I miss my boy.
“Alright, get whatever you want, and then get your butt over here and help me decorate the tree!”
“K, I just need to pick up some things and I’ll be here in like two hours. Love ya, mom!”
“Love you baby,” I say as I hang up.
I put the phone down and stretch my arms, yawning. I’m still tired. And wet, I realize, as I adjust my shorts. Hngh, that dream… I close my eyes just a few seconds to try and bring it back, picturing David’s steel-hard prick, opening my mouth reflexively. It’s been almost a year, but I can still taste him on my lips. I feel something wet and cold on my foot, and realize I’ve been drooling. I wipe my mouth and contemplate my options.
I could stay in bed for another hour, and still have time for a shower before Cameron gets here. Masturbating to the memory of my dead husband is perhaps not the best way to start off the Christmas weekend, but my other option is to take the shower now, change my pants, and hope my frustration doesn’t leak out of me all day long.
I ended up doing the reasonable thing. There’s still so much to do, I can’t just spend the whole day diddling myself. After my shower I look at myself in the mirror. I’ve still got it: full, round breasts, heavy but not sagging, with nipples that perk up when teased, a (mostly) flat stomach, my stretch marks barely visible, and not to too my own horn too much, but an ass to die for. Fleshy and curvy, the kind that makes you want to lose yourself in it.
I sigh. Not that it matters. I haven’t been touched since my husband died. David was my whole life; we’d been together since high school and he remains the only man I’ve ever been intimate with. I may be horny and lonely all the time, but not yet desperate enough to lower my standards — who could compare with the love of my life?
Still, it’s a shame to waste this body… I’m a MILF in the truest sense: I have three beautiful (adult) children, and men aren’t afraid to let me know how much they want to fuck me all the time.
I’m thinking of wearing my sweats since I’m going to be baking and prepping, but no… I can’t do that! I’m expecting company. Cameron, Alexia, and Brian will all be here tonight, and just because they’re my kids doesn’t mean I shouldn’t make an effort. I slip on a pair of black sheer lace panties and matching bra, just to feel good about myself, and then a casual but classy pair of beige slacks and a navy blouse. White would look better, but I don’t want the bra showing through.
I tie my blonde hair back in a ponytail, put on some slippers, and head down to the kitchen to start baking.
The doorbell rings as I’m elbow-deep in sticky dough. Already? I wipe my hands on my apron and rush to the door. Just from his silhouette through the frosted glass, I can tell Cameron has grown at least an inch since he left home in the fall. I let him in and jump at his neck to hug him — yes, I have to jump. At 5’7 I’m no midget, but he’s got almost half a foot on me. I resist the urge to hit him with the “my, how you’ve grown,” asyabahis yeni giriş and instead slam the door with my foot as I nudge him towards the kitchen.
“I’ve missed you so much,” I say, unzipping his jacket as I lead him through the hallway.
“It’s only been a couple of months,” he replies as he drops his bags and throws the jacket on a chair.
“Yes, but I had you for eighteen years before that, so your absence has been felt in this house, young man!” Neither of us mentions why it’s been felt that much. I know he misses his father just as much as I do. Instead, I pull him into the kitchen — which looks like a war zone, and say, “Now, have you been? Tell me everything!”
He shuffles his feet awkwardly and frowns for a split second before noticing the dough on the countertop. “Ah, same old same old, you know…” His face lights up. “Let’s bake! What are you making?”
“This is for apple pie,” I say, slapping the recalcitrant dough for good measure.
“Ooh, your special recipe, with the cinnamon?”
“Uh-huh,” I nod, “help me knead this sucker with your big, strong hands.” I hear him step up behind me, he reaches around me with both arms to knead the dough. I look at his hands work as I lean back into him, appreciating the closeness and the warmth of another person. I hope I’m not embarrassing him.
He’s quickly done with the dough — big, strong hands indeed. I wrap it up and shove it in the fridge. “Can you get the apple brandy from the top shelf?” I ask, as I rummage through the fridge for my next ingredients. “And a glass.”
“Wait, is that for drinking or for the pie?”
“For drinking, obviously. Chef’s privilege. You can have a sip too, since you helped.”
“Nah, I’ll just have some water, I’m not really in a drinking mood.” I stop and turn around to look at him, putting the bottle and glass down on the counter.
“What do you mean?” I ask, concerned.
“Nothing. Never mind. I’m just gonna go unpack,” he says, almost blushing as he walks out. I wipe my hands and take off my apron before following him into the living room.
“Wait, sweetie, what’s wrong?” I reach out to grab him as he stoops down to pick up his bag. He makes a half-hearted effort to shake me off. “Talk to me, please,” I say, my voice cracking as I fight back tears.
“Ah, it’s nothing,” he sighs. “Just some stupid bullshit.” I take his hand and lead him to the couch, patting the cushion next to me after I sit down.
“I still want to hear it, come on. Tell mommy everything.” He drops down on the couch like a sack of potatoes with an exaggerated groan.
“Ugh. Where to begin? Okay, so Jeanie dumped me,” he blurts out. Who’s Jeanie? “We met on the first day of school, we started dating a few weeks later, and then right before Christmas break, she dumps me.”
“Why?” I ask. Cameron is tall, handsome, fit… what kind of college girl wouldn’t want to date him?
“It’s, uhh…” I see his face turn red before he hides it in his hands. “It’s embarrassing, I don’t want to talk about this with my mom…”
“You know you can tell me anything and I would never think less of you, honey,” I say as I put my hand on his knee and squeeze.
“I don’t… have any… I mean, I never…” Oh, I get it. He turns his head away before blurting it out. “I’m a virgin, okay?” Yep, that makes sense now.
“Well, that’s no big deal, isn’t that what college is for? New experiences. Don’t tell me that’s why she dumped you? What a silly reason to break up with someone.”
“Yeah, I mean no… not exactly, but kind of… We said we’d take it slow, I mean, we did do other stuff sometimes, but…” I want to ask what that ‘other stuff’ was, but I probably shouldn’t put him on the spot like that. “It was always over too fast, and she didn’t like that.”
“You mean, you get… too excited?” He nods. “But that’s okay, you know? You’re young, you can… erm… ‘go’ again pretty quick, right?”
“Mom! Oh my God, I want to die right now!”
“You want to die a virgin? You’re sure about that?” I give him a playful shove on the shoulder, and I see the corner of his lip curl up in the tiniest hint of a smile. Phew!
“Yeah… she thinks it’s weird and gross for me to… go off like that. She hates it.”
“Well, she’s a silly little girl,” I say. “Most women would take it as a compliment if they made a guy come in their pants. That’s what we’re talking about, right?” He nods sheepishly. “Don’t worry too much about it,” I continue. “It’s college, there will be other girls, and some of them will be silly, but some will also be flattered by your… enthusiasm.”
He smiles weakly, then pulls me him for a hug. “Thanks, mom, you’re the best.” I stand up and bend down to kiss his forehead, then whisper in his ear.
“No, you’re the best, and one day you’ll find a girl who will realize that, and she’ll be the luckiest girl in the world.” I look into his dark green eyes, meaning every word I just said, and move to kiss him on the forehead again, but just at that asyabahis giriş moment he tilts his head up to look at me, and I get his lips instead.
I chuckle softly, a peck on the lips is no big deal. Well, it shouldn’t be. But then, I feel his hand cupping the back of my neck and he pulls me in close to kiss me again. Not a quick, accidental peck, but a determined kiss, the tip of his tongue darting at my lips. I kiss him back but keep my lips closed.
“Mom…” he moans, nipping at my bottom lip. I don’t want to embarrass him, but surely kissing like this isn’t appropriate. Is it? At the same time, I feel myself getting warmer in my center, and suddenly I want it. I want to kiss my son. His tongue is at my lips again, and this time I open to him, I let his tongue in my mouth and meet him with my own. It’s been so long since I’ve been kissed, and I love my boy so much, it feels right.
But it’s wrong. I break the kiss and pull back. “Oh, honey…” He tries to pull me back in but I stand firm. “Honey, you can’t kiss me like this,” I say weakly.
“Why not? It feels right, doesn’t it?” It does, but…
“That’s not the point, it’s just… it’s not appropriate. Save that kiss for your lucky girl.”
“But you’re my lucky girl, mom. I love you so much,” he pleads.
“And I love you more than anything in the world,” I say sincerely, “but I can’t let you kiss me like that, you understand, right?” He sighs, but he does understand, I know. “Go unpack, and I’ll finish up in the kitchen so we can have dinner when Lex and Brian get here, okay?”
He nods and picks up his bags as I head back to my ‘workstation’. After I hear him walk up the stairs, I collapse on a chair and let out a deep sigh/moan. What the hell was that kiss? Where did that come from? And why did I like it so much? I don’t even need to put my hand in my pants to know I’ve soaked through my panties. My son? What’s wrong with me? But I know why. I saw it as soon as he came through the door, how much he looks like his father at his age. I hope I set him straight, because if he decides to make a move on me, I don’t know that I’d be able to resist.
“Brian’s here!” comes the shout from the hallway. I’m juggling the pre-preparations for four different dishes I’ll be serving at tomorrow’s feast, one hand full of meat, the other coated in flour. I’m still looking for an exit strategy when Brian pokes his head through the kitchen doorway. My eldest boy is ruggedly handsome, with a retro style that makes him look kind of like a punk-rock singer from two decades ago.
“Hey, mom! Need any help in here?” The kitchen looks like a war zone and I’m clearly in over my head, bitten off more than I can chew, but I just smile and kiss him on the cheeks (no hug ’cause my hands are a mess).
“I’m fine, baby. Get some rest, you’ve had a long drive.” It’s at least ten hours from here to Boston, he must be exhausted.
“I wish, but I gotta finish up this paper if I want to chill this weekend. I’ll be back down for dinner — it smells delicious in here!”
I wash my hands and take the potatoes off the heat — time to get mashing. That’ll be a nice forearm workout with the masher.
“Let me help with that,” says Cameron as he walks over and plucks the masher from my hand. I almost protest out of principle, but it’s silly: he’ll get it done much faster. Instead, I just lean over the counter to watch him work. He makes quick work of the potatoes, then asks what’s next. I give them a pinch of salt and a twist of ground pepper, sprinkle some chopped parsley on top, and that’s pretty much it.
“You know how to fold puff pastry, right?” I ask, as I hand him the rolling pin. I know he knows, because we’ve done it before.
“Of course I do, what’s it for?”
“That’s a surprise, young man! It’s something you’ll love, is all I’m going to say.”
“That goes without saying,” he says, walking up behind me. “I love everything you make,” he continues, wrapping his arms around me. “I love everything about you,” he whispers in my ear. I can’t help but let out a deep sigh, as I feel myself reacting to his words. I lean back into him as he kisses my neck. His voice is so much deeper than it used to be, it’s messing with my head. I know he’s not David, but…
He’s got his hands under my apron now, under my blouse, stroking my stomach. His skin on mine feels scorching hot. I turn my face towards his as he moves his hands up, the back of his knuckles grazing the underside of my breasts. I want to tell him to stop, but all that comes out of my mouth is a gasp and a moan, and then he’s on my lips, his tongue in my mouth, and my resolve shatters. I turn around and take his face in my hands as I kiss him hungrily, completely forgetting who I am and where I am. I feel him lifting me up, setting me down on the countertop.
I wrap my legs around his body and pull him in closer, feeling his hardness pressing against the heat between my legs. I’m so completely lost in love and lust for my son that I know, asyabahis güvenilirmi in this moment, if he tried to bend me over the countertop and fuck me, I would let him.
“Mom…” he pants in my ear, and I’m now gushing in what’s left of my panties just at the sound of his voice.
“Baby?” I moan, knowing I’ll do whatever he wants.
“I want you,” he whispers, grinding against me. If I’m feeling what I think I’m feeling, he’s gotta be a good eight inches…
I want to make sure, so I cross the Rubicon, and put my hand between his legs, feeling his hard shaft through his jeans. I stroke the length of it all the way up, and yes it is in fact a good eight inches. He starts panting faster, moaning, “Mom, stop, I don’t wan’t to…”
I jerk my hand away like I touched a hot plate. Did I misread the situation?
“Oh my God, baby, I’m so sorry, I thought-“
“No mom, it’s okay, I just… I don’t wanna cum in my pants… again,” he says, his face beet-red. And then, I realize what I have to do. No, what I want to do.
“Don’t worry baby,” I say as I stroke his chest. “Let mommy take care of you.”
I squat down on my haunches, looking up at my son as I unzip his pants.
“Mom?” he gasps.
I pull down his jeans, his hard cock straining against his boxers, with a very obvious wet spot. I reach up and cradle his balls through his underwear, feeling their weight, salivating at the thought of all the cum they contain.
I slowly peel off his boxers, my son’s cock standing straight and proud, so close to my face I can smell it. I open my mouth and stick out my tongue, looking up to make eye contact with my boy, feeling my thighs getting wet, my own arousal leaking through my panties, my heart thumping in my chest as I bend forward to take my son’s cock in my-
“Merry Christmas, bitches!” The kitchen door slams open. Alexia?! Already? I stumble backward and slip on the floor, reaching up behind me for something, anything on the countertop. I bring some bowls crashing down on the floor around me and notice with relief that Cameron has pulled his pants back up before his sister walked around the island to find us.
“Did I scare you? Sorry!” says Alexia as she helps me up. As she does so, I notice Cameron’s fly is still unzipped and his tip is poking out the top of his pants. I pull her in for a hug and motion at him to make himself decent.
“I’m so glad you could make it, honey!” I squeal, and don’t even have to fake the excitement — Alexia is my only daughter. “I’ve missed you so much!”
“Okay, mom…” she groans, rolling her eyes.
“Get over here, you’re not too cool to hug your mother!” I say as I squeeze her, trying to give Cameron time to put his affairs in order.
“Ugh, whatever. I need a shower,” she says, but not before giving me a kiss on the cheek.
“Don’t take too long, dinner’s almost ready!”
There’s a heavy awkwardness in the air between Cameron and me after she leaves. I glance at his crotch and it’s clear that little episode took the wind out of his sails. He makes a sheepish face.
“Sorry, mom, I-“
“You have nothing to be sorry about,” I cut him off with a quick peck on the lips. “Go get ready for dinner, we’ll talk later.”
Dinner is an unmitigated success. Even though my three children are going down different paths, they all came together tonight to enjoy a hearty home-cooked meal (roast duck and potatoes, cooked in the duck fat — tasty but not decadent, saving the more outrageous dishes for Christmas dinner tomorrow).
Cameron and I are sitting across from Brian and Alexia, no one having dared claim the seat at the head of the table. As I lick the duck fat off the back of my fork, I feel pressure on my thigh. Hmmm. Looks like my boy is enjoying more than just my home-cooked meal. The voice in my head should be screaming how wrong this is, but it’s not much more than background noise at this point.
I spread my knees under the table, giving him better access, and I feel his hand run up the inside of my thigh, his finger grazing the edge of my panties. I pour myself some wine, nodding along as Alexia tells us… something about something, I don’t really hear it… I don’t really hear anything… I focus on the sensation between my legs, Cameron’s finger pressing on my clitoris, pushing my panties to the side… I feel his skin on my lips, and-
“Who wants some apple pie?” I blurt out as I almost jump out of my seat. Giving in to my son’s advances is something I might be able to live with, but certainly not at the dinner table.
“We’ve got apple pie?” asks Brian.
“I thought it was for tomorrow?” says Cameron.
“I’m making a bûche and cookies for tomorrow,” I say, before popping in the kitchen to grab the dessert and readjust my underwear.
“What the hell is a bush?” I hear Brian ask from the dining room.
“French Christmas cake,” says Alexia.
“French?” asks Brian, outraged.
He’s about to grumble something when I cut the debate short by bringing out the apple pie, filling the room with the sweet scent of cinnamon. After the customary cheers for the chef, they waste no time demolishing the dessert. I can’t eat another bite, but seeing them enjoy my food is even better than eating it myself.
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