Falling for My Mum Ch. 05

This is the final part of Tom and Cat's story. Regular readers will know that this is dedicated to and written for the gorgeous CatMoore. This will, I hope stand alone, but new readers are encouraged to read the other parts. Thank you for all your comments and feedback, anything constructive is welcome.

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It was strange coming home after the idyllic holiday that we'd had where we had lived, slept and made love together. We had to return to 'normal' life -- work, home and, of course, Dad. It was easier than before, however. We were more sure about each other and our own feelings. Also Dad was away for work quite a bit over the next few months and so we had plenty of time just the two of us at home.

When we were alone we quickly fell back into the patterns of togetherness that we had established in Florida. It was wonderful having you to myself, sharing your bed, long, lazy cuddles on the sofa and the kind of intimate signs of affection that couples can share.

Life continued in this strange fashion for several months. When I look back at it now it feels like a wonderful twilight time, an in between moment in our relationship. The event that changed things again was Christmas and the return of Sara, my sister, and her boyfriend Olly. They arrived the day before Christmas Eve and it didn't take long for Sara to announce that she and Olly were engaged. Neither of us were especially surprised, they'd been going out for about a year and were obviously crazy about each other. I was really happy for her, we'd never been especially close, four years was too big a difference to have the same interests, but we'd always gotten on as long as we didn't spend too much time in each other's company.

That evening, I joined her out in the garden as she went out for a smoke before bed. She was dressed in a white jumper and tight black jeans over black boots. Her blonde hair was cropped short and parted to the side, giving her something of an impish look, a look reflected in her character.

"So little brother," she looked at me sideways between drags on her cigarette, "when are you going to shape up and shift out of home? You've been back here for nearly a year, isn't it time to get your own place again?"

I shrugged in response. "I don't know, I kind of like it at home. Dad's away a lot so it never feels too crowded. I'm able to save, not all of us are marrying a successful banker," I teased and she gave a thin smile in reply.

"Ha ha, very funny! I know you happen to like Olly, so I'm not going to take that personally. Plus, I pull in a lot myself from advertising, at least one of us had the sense to avoid the public sector!"

I laughed, acknowledging her point, before she continued. "Don't you find it a bit of a constraint on your love life though? Dad says he hasn't seen you with a girl for months, he's worried about you." This time my laugh was rather more sardonic.

"I'm surprised he's had time to notice. I've not been bringing girls home but that doesn't mean anything bad. I've been with a woman for a while now, I've just not told Dad about it. He wouldn't approve."

"But Mum knows?" She asked, picking up on my omission. I nodded. "Makes sense, you always were much closer to Mum than Dad," she went on, "but what's wrong with her? Why wouldn't Dad approve. He's pretty tolerant."

"She's older than me, and married," I told her. She frowned and drew thoughtfully on her cigarette.

"Is it serious?" She asked eventually. I nodded again.

"Yes, I love her." She raised her eyebrows at my simple frankness.

"So I guess you won't be having a plus one at the wedding then?" I smiled and shook my head.

"'Fraid not, no, though she might be there anyway," I said cryptically, living dangerously for a reason I couldn't quite put my finger on. Cara looked at me and frowned, half big-sisterly exasperation, half big-sisterly concern.

"Be careful Tom," she said, reaching out to touch my hand. "It's complicated getting involved in a marriage, lots of things can get hurt and not just you and her, so just watch yourself and your heart. Also," she added squeezing my hand tightly and digging her nails into my wrist, "anything blows up at my wedding, I fucking kill you." I think she was only half joking if that.

The conversation stuck with me that night as I lay awake in bed, knowing you were only a matter of feet away from me but, for the time being, unobtainable. I started wondering about the future, about us. I loved you, loved more than anything, but could I ever really have you all? Could you ever leave Dad? Would you, even if you had the choice? We'd never talked about the future, it was a sort of unwritten rule, we just wanted to take any chance we could to be together in the present and the future, well, that could look after itself. But now, Sara's warning began to eat into my thoughts and confidence. You'd never given a hint that you would leave Dad. I'd never asked, of course, but then why should you? How could we be together even if you divorced Dad? How long could I stay at home? Until I was 25? 30? 35? What would people say? Would I waste the best years of my life waiting for the chance to be with you, a chance that was never, could never, come? We had to talk about the future, maybe not now, but soon. If we didn't our great love would just fizzle away or, worse, turn into resentment.

We couldn't live in stasis for ever -- we had to make a decision. I knew what I wanted, the chance to be with you, as my partner, damn it, my wife in all but name but I had to find a way to make that work. You were a practical woman and airy declarations of intent would cut no ice with you. That would be my early New Year's Resolution -- find a way to be with you.

The next day was Christmas Eve, a family day that mainly involved you preparing for the Christmas lunch, Sara attempting to help and getting in the way, and the three blokes keeping out the way, wrapping present and generally chatting idly about sport and the weather -- two subjects nearly any Englishman feels comfortable talking about. In the evening we went to Midnight Mass, as we always did. You looked stunning, of course you did, when didn't you? You were in a thick black jumper dress with vertical ribs in the fabric and a big cowled neck. Your blonde hair was down and you had long earrings which framed your subtly made-up face. Just appearing from under your big winter's coat were your legs in tan stockings and black ankle boots with gold zippers. God help me but I wanted to jump you for the whole service and, sitting next to you, my thigh gently pressed against yours, my cock was rigid. I saw the vicar's eyes light up as we knelt next to each other to receive communion, dirty old codger I thought. As is normal at British Midnight Masses, the pubs had emptied some of their clientele into the churches and, up in the gallery, some of the more rowdy members of the congregation were loudly commenting on which women coming back from the altar rail were, in their opinion, shaggable. Both you and Sara made the list but, as one of them said quite audibly, "I'd have them both together, but if I had to choose I'd go with the Mum, definitely looks like she could teach you a thing or two!" You looked up and, feeling playful, blew him a kiss as Dad sent daggers with his eyes towards them and asked the church warden to do something about them.

I felt a momentary pang of jealousy but reminded myself not to be so stupid and instead felt the pride that I was the man you had chosen to take to your bed. When we got home, we all had a drink to celebrate the start of Christmas before Dad said, "Well, I don't know about anyone else but I'm shattered and am going to bed. Are you coming Cat?" He asked you. You flashed me a look and then smiled at your husband, touching him on the arm.

"Not yet dear, you go on up. I'm still quite fresh so I wouldn't want to disturb you. I expect I'll be tired soon, though, so I'll see you later." You leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek, "Happy Christmas Richard," you said softly but without much enthusiasm.

We sat on either end of the sofa in front of the fire while Sara curled up on Olly's lap in one of the big arm chairs. We chatted and drank for a little while before it was clear that the fiancées needed to go to bed for a Christmas fuck. We wished them good night and sat alone together in the dark, lit only by the glow of the fire and the lights of the Christmas tree. We were silent for a few moments, both listening to sounds upstairs to ensure that we were alone. We had never had sex when there were others in the house, it was simply too risky, but I got the sense that tonight was different. It was Christmas, a time when couples should be together, we had both had a little too much to drink and, I could tell, were both feeling quite frisky. When we were both sure that footsteps from upstairs had ceased and we could hear the gentle squeak of Sara's bed as she and Olly moved within it, I scooted down to the sofa to you and, taking your hands in mine, pulled you into a long, sensuous kiss.

"Happy Christmas Mum," I said. You smiled at me and gave me another kiss.

"Happy Christmas my darling son," you said tenderly. You got up and walked over to the Christmas tree. Bending over and giving me a wonderful view of your arse and stocking tops in the process, you retrieved a small rectangular box, perfectly and expensively wrapped in gold and green paper with a golden bow. You handed to me with a smile. "I wanted you to have this angel, a special gift from your lover this Christmas, not to be opened in front of everyone else." I looked at the label and there in your large, feminine handwriting were the words "To the son I love, your Mother Cat xxx". The message was just on the right side of appropriate for a mother to write to her son and I smiled at your skill in conveying just what you wanted without compromising us. I got up and went to my coat in the hallway. I retrieved a smaller square box which had been expertly wrapped (by the shop girl, I hasten to add) and handed to you, kissing you on the cheek, just by the corner of your lips as I did.

"We were obviously thinking alike Mum," I said with a grin as your eyes flicked down to read the label. Considerably less discreetly than you, I had written "Darling Cat Mum, Happy Christmas my love, yours always, Tom xxx" You half frowned, half smiled and touched the end of my nse with your nail.

"Bad boy, what if someone had found it?" You said, throwing the offending label onto the fire, and proceeding to open the present. Your eyes lit up in the glow of the fire as you saw what lay beneath the wrapping. I had bought you a pair of diamond stud earrings set in white gold from Cartier with my Christmas bonus. "Oh angel, they're gorgeous, thank you," you said, wrapping your arms around my neck and sliding on thigh between my legs, moulding your body into me. God, I was hard again, still, after all these months, you just had to touch me, be near me even, to make me as hard as rock. You kissed me deeply, our tongues playing with each other urgently, the silence of the room pierced by the crackle of the fire, the low hum of the Christmas lights, the rustle of our clothes against each other and the sounds of our kissing.

You pulled away and removed your earrings to replace them with the studs. "Don't worry," you said in answer to my unvoiced question, "your father will never notice and I'll just tell him that he bought them years ago. Now, you open yours," you encouraged. My fingers trembled slightly with the excitement of having held you in them moments ago and it took me a while to open the package. Inside was a classy Omega watch with a leather strap which must have cost you quite the pretty penny. "Try to look happy when you open your book tomorrow," you grinned, hinting as my 'normal' present to come. "Happy Christmas lover," you told me and we kissed again as I murmured my thanks into your lips and neck.

We were standing on a thick sheepskin rug close to the fire, the warmth of which was bathing our legs as we stood there, luxuriating in the glorious act of a lover's kiss. My hands ran up and down your back, feeling the ribbed material under my fingertips and the heat of your body beneath. I squeezed your arse in my hands, feeling it, adoring it, my cock feeling like it wanted to burst through my trousers in order to get at you. My hands slid around your waist, which was encircled by a shiny leather belt and to the big buckle. I half expected you to stop me, for your common sense to prevail, but you didn't, you offered no resistance as I unhooked the belt and tossed it casually to the floor, listening to the tap of metal on metal as the tongue hit the buckle. Your hands were at my belt, mirroring my movements and with a hiss as the leather moved around my waist it too was gone and on the floor. I kicked off my shoes and felt your palm against my hardon and then at my buttons. Down went my trousers and I kicked them away, back towards the sofa.

I reached for the hem of your dress and you raised your arms to allow me to peel the dress up your body and over your head. Underneath you were wearing a lacy cherry-red teddy that matched your lip stick and nail varnish and from which attached your tan stockings. Your breasts almost spilled out of the demi cups and you looked so incredibly wanton with your blonde hair spilling down over your shoulders. In the glow of the firelight and the twinkling of the Christmas lights, I drank in your beauty. Your summer tan had faded to winter's alabaster dotted sporadically with the beautiful tiny moles I loved so much. Toned but feminine in all the right places you were all my Christmases come at once. You pouted at me and squeezed your breasts together with your elbows.

"What do you think of my Mrs Claus outfit?" you teased. I gave a low growl in response and you giggled as I pulled you into another clinch and slowly pushed you down into the deep shag of the sheepskin. You arched your back, pushing your breasts into my chest as I held you firmly in my arms our lips still kissing, almost as if we feared to break that contact -- we had to kiss, had to touch. "My boy, my darling boy," you murmured into my ear as you grasped my cock. My fingers fumbled for a moment at the poppers of your teddy before they came away and your pussy came into view below me. You had allowed your hair to grow a little down there and had a trimmed patch of light blonde hairs there that just looked so gorgeous in the glow of the fire.

You wrapped those long legs of yours around me and I felt the sensual nylon against my skin under my shirt and you used your strength to pull me towards you. Your hand pulled my cock into you, back home and I felt the slick warmth of your pussy envelop me, bathing me in your juices, an incestuous baptism for my cock. "Oh Jeez Mum, you feel so amazing, so good inside you, God I love you so much," I whispered half delirious with wine and lust. You showered my face with kisses, your hands in my hair, your own fine blonde hair splayed out behind you on the white rug. We quickly established a strong rhythm to our love making and the feelings shooting through me were so intense, your pussy muscles controlling my thrusts, your eyes half shut, each of us almost in a trance as we gave ourselves completely to each other in front of the crackling fire, the heat from it and from each other surrounding and infusing us. I don't think either of us appreciated the enormity of making love with our family just upstairs and what the consequences might be if we were caught taking this huge risk, we just wanted, needed to be together, to couple, to share the joy of Christmas with the person we loved most in the world. We had to make so many compromises in our relationship but, unconsciously, we had decided that tonight wasn't going to involve compromise, it was just two lovers being lovers.

"Oh Tommy," you moaned into my mouth as your orgasm approached, "you're going to make me cum, you know that? Your mummy's going to come all around your beautiful cock -- you'll cum too right?" you asked, looking into my eyes, taking my face in your hands, compelling me. I nodded.

"Yes Mum, yes Cat, I'll cum with you Mummy, cum together," I gasped. You smiled and kissed me again, your tongue thrusting deep into my mouth with joy as your body began to shake with the orgasm and I saw your chest flush and your eyes widen.

"Cumming," you groaned, "oh fuck cumming Tom, your Mummy's cumming, cum with me...you promised...ahhh!" I obeyed, feeling my own orgasm rip through me, several days' worth of pent up cum pouring into your eager pussy, whose muscles milked me for all I was worth. We both had to supress our cries, which we did by kissing deeply and moaning into each other's bodies. I felt you bite my shoulder a little. As our orgasm subsided, we lay there together, still connected, breathing in time with each other, the Christmas lights blinking in the darkness and the light from the fire flickering over our naked, entwined and sated bodies. It was a Christmas I would never forget.

* * * * *

Christmas passed off without further incident. We didn't find another opportunity to make love but we didn't need to, the warm memories of sex by the fire and in front of the Christmas Tree was enough to sustain us. Sara and Olly left on the day after Boxing Day, the wedding having been fixed for early March in London. Dad did not stay much longer. He went back to work the same day and, that evening, told us that he had to fly to New York again on 30th, where he would be for a week over New Year. By this time you were resigned to it and barely even pretended to be disappointed that he would miss the New Year celebrations. While we were out walking the dogs the next day, I suggested to you that we should take advantage of Dad's absence and see in the New year in London, watching the fireworks on the Thames. You looked a bit sceptical to start with but I managed to persuade you to venture out on a cold December's night to have some fun with your son in the big city. Obviously we didn't tell Dad about it and it was a nice little secret for us to have over the next couple of days, planning what to do and where to go.

Dad left on the 30th and we spent the rest of that day and night together as a couple again, making up for lost time as it were. We were too late to buy a ticket for the fireworks and it wasn't worth it anyway, it meant standing by the river in freezing temperatures from 7.30 until well after midnight. Instead, I had booked us a meal at a Vietnamese restaurant in Soho and then planned for us to wander down to Trafalgar Square and make sure we got a view of Big Ben for midnight.

Unlike in the movies where it always seems to be snowing in London around Christmas and New Year, it hardly ever snows in London, a couple of days a year at most, and this was no exception. It was cold and clear but no chance of snow. You had decided to go sexy casual. You were dressed all in black, a low cut lacy top, black cotton cardigan and black wet-look ankle length leggings on top of a pair of see-through platform heels. Your long blonde hair had been straightened to within an inch of its life and you had on the earrings I'd bought you for Christmas. You had a thick fur coat on top and a Russian fur hat, from which your hair emerged in the most delightful way.

We had driven to one of the car parks on the edge of the centre of London and then caught a cab into Soho. London was bustling and alive with lights and people and it was glorious to be in all that mass of humanity with you. To walk past people, my arms around you, to watch their admiring glances at the gorgeous older woman on my arm and know what they couldn't know, couldn't possibly guess, that she -- you -- were my mother as well as my lover and had given every inch of your body to me.