Christmas with MombyAhabscribe©
Mom raised an eyebrow and then used a finger to scoop some of my seed off her chin. Mom licked my cum off here finger and then leaned in, saying, "I always taught you to share!" and kissed me, smearing my own semen against my lips and face. We fell back into the bed, laughing and kissing until we were out of breath.
Finally, I said, "I wish we could do this every Christmas, Mom."
Mom purred happily and replied, "Sounds wonderful to me. I'll see what I can do." We curled up together and Mom began to softly snore. I held her for what seemed hours in my arms, looking down at the most beautiful woman I have ever known, marveling that this voluptuous, black haired woman, my mother was now my lover. Mom was smiling in her sleep, an angelic smile of one who is perfectly content. Finally, I drifted off to sleep as well.
I woke to the smells of breakfast and Christmas dinner cooking. Mom was up, singing to herself as she cooked, wearing my sweatshirt and no longer worried about showing off her meaty ass or her lovely, furry pussy.
Mom gave me a cock hardening kiss as she served me breakfast, her hand stroking my penis as she watched me eat. I helped her get the ham into the oven and then she said, she needed something in her oven as well and we retired to the bed for a sweet bout of lovemaking.
Our Christmas Day passed by too quickly, our time divided by eating, talking and making love. Mom and I couldn't seem to keep our hands off each other. Even when my cock reached its temporary limits, I couldn't leave her alone, taking my sweet time in eating Mom's pussy, rendering her into a babbling, sobbing mass of orgasming woman.
And we talked -- oh, how we talked! Things that had long been in our hearts were finally said that Christmas Day. Mom confessed that she had long harbored intense feelings for me -- "Not just lust, John, although I dreamed of your cock so many times," Mom said, "But, just knowing that I was in love with you, but thinking it was just a phase for you was so terrible. I knew you were infatuated with me, but I thought it was a phase you'd pass through and then move on. I've expected and feared for years that some girl would steal you away from me. I know it would be the right thing, but I knew it would break my heart!"
"No one's going to steal me away, Mom. I'm your's heart and soul." I said in return, hugging her tightly. I confessed to her that I think I had been in love with her since I was a young teenager. "I was helping you plant flowers one day and I looked up from working a flower bed and you were maybe ten feet away, kneeling. You were dressed in old cut-off jean shorts and a skimpy halter top, that old green one with the bandana pattern, you remember? I looked up and you were looking at me and there was something about the way you were smiling at me. Your cheeks were dirt stained and you had your hair pulled back in pigtails and I felt my heart just swell. I could barely breathe, you looked so beautiful and happy and your smile did something to me, Mom. Since that day, I think I've been head over heels in love with you."
I felt myself becoming choked up. "I guess I always have wanted this to happen, but I never really thought it would." I stroked Mom's face and said, "I'm the luckiest son in the world!"
Mom did tear up then and leaned into me, kissing me after whispering, "I love you so much, John!"
Our talk took us down many different paths. Mom discussed how unhappy she had been all the years, her lustful needs suppressed in a loveless marriage. Mom aroused herself as she talked about her desires and fantasies over the years, aching to be a part of the sexually free movements of the nineteen sixties and seventies. "There's a part of me, son, a sluttish, nymphomaniac side of me that has dreamed of becoming unleashed to satisfy all my naughty desires, to becoming besotted with sex, to celebrate my sexuality in front of the whole world." There was a hungry tone in Mom's voice, a quiet intensity that was both daunting and arousing. I wanted to see that side of Mom unleashed.
Mom also piqued my curiosity as we discussed the incestuous nature of our relationship. We both agreed that the knowledge that we were mother and son was a very special and maybe essential ingredient to our relationship. I told Mom I couldn't imagine loving anyone. "Who loves a son as much as his mother?" I said.
Mom nodded thoughtfully and replied, "Well, maybe we do come by it naturally. Incest runs in our family." That got my attention and I asked Mom what she meant, but she just smiled and said she wasn't ready to talk about that yet. "Someday soon, John, but let your mother have a few secrets a few months longer." Nothing I could say could make her elaborate on that, but now I was definitely intrigued.
Our Christmas ended with Mom and me lying on a thick quilt in front of the Christmas tree, naked as the day we were born, using each other to keep warm. There, illuminated by the blinking lights, I made love to my mother again. We were both weary and a little sore, but this was a sweet, slow expression of our incestuous love that seemed to carry us into a dream world where Christmas seemed to go on and on as we treasured and enjoyed the ultimate Christmas gift of each other's love. For what seemed a joyous eternity, I thrust my hard, aching cock into Mom's slick, burning pussy, my eyes focusing on Mom's face as I kept her on the edge of orgasm, her mouth open as she panted, her eyes reflecting her desire, love and pleasure, and then biting her lower lip as finally our passion crested and once more I gave Mom a thick load of my seed, triggering her own incestuous orgasm.
That wonderful moment also seemed to be suspended in time and even now, twenty years later, I remember that moment, our sweaty bodies cemented together, Mom's bountiful tits bouncing and rolling as she shook with orgasmic delight, her low crying of my name, Mom's arms and legs locked around my body, demanding a tighter, even more intimate embrace as her womb massaged and milked my cock of my semen.
We fell asleep there, under the Christmas tree, Mom curled up against me, holding on to me tightly as if I was a Christmas miracle that would fade away come morning.
Come the morning, we were still there, still in a lover's embrace. Christmas Day was over, but the love that had found bloom on that holiest of days was not about to fade, but was destined to be eternal, growing not fading as time has passed. Mom and I are still lovers, husband and wife in all ways that matter.
We knew the snows would melt or be cleared, that Christmas would soon be a memory, but we also knew that snows would come again, that Christmas would return as it always will. This was simply our beginning and there is so much more to tell...