Family Weekend Ch. 05: Home Cooking

All Characters In This Story Are 18+ Years Old

*****

Francesca Taylor slid behind the wheel of her silver 2010 Mercedes C300 and settled her bottom on the soft gray leather seat as she strapped her shoulder harness across her L'il Sicily uniform shirt. She shimmied her 39DD bust until her tits were comfortably divided by the safety belt, then turned over the engine, shifted the 4Matic and moved out of the restaurant's parking lot. She had a lot to do in the next four hours.

The car was Francesca's 35th Birthday present from Johnny. Or, so she had thought at the time, which was why she had condescended to let him fuck her in the ass that night, after the kids had gone to bed. The following week she learned his waitress, Janet Rossi, was 4 months pregnant. Francesca guessed then the car was actually a confession. That fall, when she saw a photo of the one-month old infant in his christening dress and noted his distinctive widow's peak, her 'guess' was upgraded to a reasonable suspicion. Then, after hearing that Janet had named the baby "Jack," Francesca did the math. The L'il Sicily 2009 Staff Christmas Party was perfectly aligned with little Jack's August 23rd birth. Still, Francesca loved the 'Silver Bullet', as she referred to her little car, and was truly grateful to the girls at the restaurant, whether Janet, or Rhonda, or this new tart, Tammy. Let them distract Johnny. So much the better for her.

A blue Ford cut in front of the Mercedes with no signal and little room. Francesca braked suddenly, raised her right hand in a spread five-finger salute and shouted "Vaffanculo, bastardo!" The driver of the Ford promptly turned into a gas station. "PFFT!" Francesca mocked with dry spit, as she continued on in traffic. "Idiots!" Thirty minutes later, after a quick stop at the butcher for 2 pounds of cubed fresh veal, she parked the C300 in her garage bay, next to Megan's Honda, and walked into the Taylor house to start cooking. She had just enough time if she got started and there were no interruptions.

Francesca quickly set about her work, expertly chopping the carrots, celery, onion and garlic while her cast iron skillet heated on the range. When she finished she put a chunk of butter in, skating it as it melted, threw in the veal, veggies and her seasonings and left it to cook over medium low heat while she wilted her spinach in another skillet on higher heat.

Francesca stirred the veal, moved the spinach to a sieve to cool and started her besciamella. She loved cooking and mved confidently at speed through the recipe she knew so well. When the sauce was smooth she set it aside and began making the pasta. Her timing was impeccable. The veal mixture was in a bowl cooling, the pasta was resting, the sauce was waiting with the spinach and she had a half an hour to shower and get herself ready before the next steps. She looked at the kitchen clock, saw it was 4:35 and smiled. "Perfetto!" She proclaimed, grabbing a bottle of 2001 Tedeschi Soave Classico Monte Tenda from the wine rack and placing it in the refrigerator. Francesca loaded the last of the prep dishes and pans into the dishwasher, swiped a cloth over the granite counters and hurried to the master bath, pulling her green polo shirt over her head as she went.

*

Scrubbed, powdered and perfumed, Francesca sat on a straight chair in the master bedroom, smoothing her nude taupe nylons and snapping their dark tops onto her garters. She stood and made final adjustments to her suspender belt, overlaying the skimpy midnight blue string bikini panties Randy had given her for Mardi Gras, after they had decided to give up fucking for Lent. She traced her finger along her cunny's crease and smiled, fondly recalling that Tuesday when she skipped her bridge club for their tryst at the Hyatt Regency. She had worn the 'pussy pouch,' as Randy had described it, for all of ten minutes during their six hour fuckfest. Two weeks later, her 20-something stud took a full-time job, as a tennis and ski instructor, in Stowe, VT, and she had not worn the G-string since. She hoped it would inspire Wally this evening.

Stepping to her closet, Francesca selected her long, powder blue, spaghetti-strap satin negligee and pulled it over her head. It draped close to every curve, including her admittedly plump tummy. She knew she was a thick stemmed goblet, but, none of her lovers had ever complained about her 34" waist, or how she moved her 41" hips, when they were drilling her. The bias cut nightie molded itself to her butt and thighs before falling straight to the floor. Her navel was a soft indented dish in the iridescent cloth. She bobbled her breasts into the sheer lace pockets above the gown's empire waist. They sagged slightly until she firmed up the slides on the straps in back. Now, when she bounced them, her boobs' dark circles stared straight back at her in the mirror. She brushed her front and was pleased that her nipples popped up and pressed out against the lace. From another hanger Francesca retrieved a pale blue belted silk charmeuse robe with white faux-fur trim on its shawl collar and slash pockets. She slipped into two inch high heeled open-toed white mules then turned a slow circle in her mirror. The kitchen timer interrupted her inspection.

Francesca pulled a long apron from the pantry and set about rolling, cutting and filling her cannelloni. She hummed happily as she prepared the baking dish with a layer of besciamella and parmesan before carefully laying the pasta, seam side down, and finishing it with the remainder of the sauce and cheese. She turned the oven on, preheating it to 375 degrees, sighed a little sigh, pulled the Soave out of the fridge and completed the kitchen clean up. At ten past six the table was set. Home-baked ciabatta was in a basket with a dish of olive oil for her and butter for her son, who never adapted to the Italian style of eating bread. She poured herself a thimbleful of Strega, walked into the living room, and sat, satisfied, on the sofa, waiting for her 21-year old son to come home from L'il Sicily.

The "Thieving Magpie Overture" was playing on the stereo when she heard the Nissan Frontier's motor over Rossini's snare drums. Francesca stood, smoothing her robe, and walked deliberately to the foyer. Wally was closing the front door behind him when she clicked across the flagstone floor and wrapped her arms around his chest. "MMmmmm," she murmured, nuzzling the back of his neck. "I've been busy... are you hungry?" She asked, scratching her fingernails across his ribcage through his polo shirt.

"Uh, yeah, Mom," Wally answered, side-stepping from her embrace. "The house smells wonderful... and, uh, so do you!" Her fragrance suddenly dominated his senses as Francesca closed the distance between them and again hugged her son. "Do I have time to shower and change before dinner?" He asked, kissing her lightly on the mouth.

"Of course," Francesca replied. "I waited until you were here. I'll go put the cannelloni in the oven. But hurry, OK?" She pushed herself away and watched Wally head to his room.

Wally stood, in a quandary, lathering his pits under the shower spray. His mother was hot. Even in the shower his pecs still itched from where her tits had seared him through her robe and his shirt. His dick was half-hard and he had not even touched it. He had been looking forward to tonight ever since Thursday dinner when Megan and John discussed going to the cabin. Now, he did not know how to act. Or, what to wear to the table. "Shit!" He exclaimed, "Why is this so fucking complicated?"

He stepped out of the stall and decided, as he toweled off, he would wear his Colorado Buffaloes black fleece sweatpants and gold T-shirt. The university had pretty much sucked at Pac-12 football last year, but he had believed the hype for the coming 2016 season and bought the gear. "Might as well be casual" he thought to himself, "and they're brand new." Back in his room he pulled the school-branded clothes out of his dresser, cut the tags off and pulled them on, sans underwear. He pushed his bare feet into his worn leather mocs and patted his package. "Be patient, pal," he said aloud for his own benefit. "Don't rush, We've got all weekend... PACE yourself!" Wally took a deep breath and walked out to the living room.

"Hey, baby," Francesca said with a big smile as Wally stepped from the hall into the living room. She crossed from the square oak table in the breakfast alcove, where she had just lit two tapered candles. Holding out her arms, she added, "Don't you look nice! Give mama a big hug and then go open the wine... it's on the counter in the kitchen. The cannelloni's ready to go under the broiler."

Wally did not need a second invitation. He gathered his mother in his arms and compressed her fullness to his chest, with his right hand in the middle of her shoulder blades, while his left hand slid over the soft slick satin robe and caressed her ample ass. He breathed in the light spicy floral fragrance behind her ear as he tucked his chin and cheek beside hers. Her heels made her exactly match his own 5'8" height. "That's nice perfume," he said softly.

"Stop that!" Francesca laughed, slapping her son's butt smartly, but, in obvious play. "We need to EAT!" She pulled back from his embrace and marched into the kitchen to put the pasta dish under the broiler to brown the cannelloni tops.

*

"Oh my God, Mom," Wally exclaimed, sopping up the last of the besciamella on his plate with a chunk of ciabatta and popping it into his mouth, "This is... Uhn! SO good!"

Francesca smiled appreciatively over the effusive praise as she drained the last swallow of her Soave. "I'm glad you like my cooking... It makes it all worthwhile." She put down her glass and continued. "You know, you are 'The Man' this weekend," she laughed, "to quote your father, but I'm going to tell you something: He brings home the bacon but he doesn't care if I cook it."

Wally saw an opening. He pushed back his chair and stepped across the terrazzo to stand behind Francesca. He put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed their tops as he bent over and kissed her head through her springy black permanent. "I like how you cook," he said, lowering his vocal register in what he hoped was a sexy way.

"Mmmmm," Francesca murmured, "and I like the way you rub my shoulders." She rolled her muscles, like a wave under his moving fingers, from her left shoulder point to her right. Wally's eyes were directly above her forehead and his dick fattened as he watched the shimmering swell of her breasts rising and falling under her reflective silk robe.

Wally's hands automatically, quite naturally, slid down beside and then under his mother's boobs. She felt her pussy contract involuntarily as her son's hands simultaneously rubbed the sensitive outsides of her breasts and the soft insides of her bare upper arms before they lifted her heavy tits and pushed them flat against her chest. "Hhhnnnnn," She sighed, deflating her lungs and raising her hands up to Wally's ears. She rubbed the top his shells and suggested, "Let's go sit on the couch, huh?"

Wally stepped back as Francesca pushed her chair from the table and stood. She held out her right hand to curled her finger tips around Wally's left wrist, using it like a leash to lead him to the big four-cushion reverse camelback couch beside Johnny's wet bar and stereo system. She kicked off her mules and reclined on the two deep brown velvet center cushions, taking full advantage of the couch's nine-foot length to stretch her arms up and extend her arching feet. Wally stared down at her elongated voluptuous body. She looked, to him, like a blue angel. Francesca patted the cushion by her hip. "Sit." Her voice was quiet, but held a gentle command, nonetheless. "Tell mama what you see... and what you like."

Wally sucked in a deep breath and perched on the edge of the sofa midway between Francesca's knees and the top of her thighs. He reached out his left hand and laid it on her right breast, feeling her stiff nipple stab the center of his palm as she inhaled. He closed his hand and moved it in a circle, pushing her boob in its lace, under the satin. "I see YOU and I like THAT..." he began, huskily, "And when I touch you, I want to see more and do more."

"Hhhhnnn," Francesca moaned, "Go... on."

Wally continued massaging Francesca's mound and tugged her robe's belt tie with his right hand, loosening the bow and pulling the sash free. He leaned over his mother and kissed her warmly, increasing the pressure of his left hand and opening the furry shawl collar from her waist to her throat. She pushed her tongue between his lips and lowered her arms. Her right hand held the back of his head as she mangled his mouth fervidly. Her left hand drug along his spine and dove beneath the elastic waist of his fleece pants. "Aaaahhhhnnn" she cried into the back of Wally's throat as she discovered his naked ass and dug her nails into his flesh.

"Uuunnhh!" Wally groaned, around Francesca's tongue, wondering if she had drawn blood from his butt, yet flexing his cheeks and pushing back against her harsh hand for more. He found her left nipple with his right hand and pinched it hard, through the lace, between his thumb and middle finger. Quickly releasing it, he spread his splayed hand over her whole tit and pulled it up, as if he was stretching taffy.

"NNNNYaahahhh!" Francesca squirmed with agonized pleasure as the initial sharp pain sent stronger, and longer, ecstatic messages through her entire neural network. Her stomach flipped and her cunt flooded. She pushed Wally's face up and hissed "Oh! Fuck me! FUCK me! NOW, SON!"

For all his self-talk and resolve, Wally was still a 21-year old man with limited sexual experience. His hard ready cock was aching and he nearly came in his sweats when he heard his mother beg. He stood from the sofa and shot his pants down, feverishly kicking his left foot free from the fleece. Francesca threw her robe wide open and clawed her negligee's hem up above her hips. Wally climbed over her, his right leg sheathed in his black sweats, and gaped in amazement at the tiny shiny dark blue triangle barely containing the short, bulging pussy lips below his mother's thick curly bush. He had never, in all his MILF porn searches, seen such miniscule underwear so gallantly failing to conceal such a beautiful, fat, hairy, pink conch.

"WAAAALLY!" Francesca screamed, "Put it IN! For GOD'S SAKE! I NEEEEED it!"

He shook his head, scooped the little slingshot patch to the side with his left hand and directed his rigid prong toward the bedewed, quivering quim. Francesca threw her right leg high up over the center dip in the couch back. Wally hunched and lunged, driving off the strength of his outstretched right leg, pushing his foot against the floor, guiding his cock with his right hand. "Uuuhhhnn!" He grunted, as his eight inches slid into her primed channel, burying itself to his nuts. He fell forward and braced himself on the sofa arm as his hips humped up another inch. "HUUUUHHHN!" He exhaled loudly. His chest heaved against his mother's soft mountains.

"AAHHHhhhh, eeeeyyESSS! HONEEE!" Francesca yelled, again pinching his buttocks and bouncing her ass up and down on the seat cushions while she constricted her cunt muscles. She had been so wound up all day she needed minimal stimulation to reach her crisis. "Nyah! Nyah! Nyahhhhh!" She panted, and then gasped, as the dam broke.

Wally lasted longer than he had their first time, but was only moments behind his mother. "HAHHHH!" He exclaimed with a half-snort half-belch. Francesca had caught his dick at the top of a thrust and held him in a vise. He did not know what she was doing or how, but his fellow was being pulled back and forth with little tugs across a washboard as he ejaculated his wad in machine gun bursts.

Moments later Francesca relinquished her holds. She raised her hands to Wally's head and brought it to her face. She kissed him sweetly while her pussy relaxed around his penis, content to let him lay quiet inside her. "Nice, baby," she said hoarsely, between kisses. "Even nicer than before... You... we... are getting... to know each other... aren't we"

Wally was emotionally and physically worn out from their incredibly fast and powerful explosions. He lay limp across Francesca, passively enjoying the tickling sensation of his dick shrinking and retreating from her twat while she pecked lightly on his lips. He understood and agreed with her foggy words but had no ability or desire to speak.

*

The mantle clock above the fireplace chimed ten times. Wally raised his head from the sofa. He was alone in the dark living room. There were noises in the kitchen, which as he became more alert, distinguished themselves. Francesca was humming an opera aria he recognized but could not name. There were periodic openings and closings of cupboards. He rolled off the couch, pushed his left leg into the gold lettered leg of his fleece sweat pants, and walked toward the light.

"Oh, hey, baby," Francesca said, beaming at her son. "I was just coming in to wake you... it's bedtime!" She laughed at the incongruity as she walked across the tiles, met Wally and kissed him. "How's my MAN?" She asked, sneaking a grope of his package.

"I'm sorry, Mom," Wally began, chagrined. "I didn't mean to crap out on you..."

"Al contrario, il mio amante" Francesca interrupted, stroking Wally's face softly with her right palm and gently running her thumb over his lips to silence him. "You were both a gentleman and a STUD. I left you to rest while I cleared the table." She pulled him against her body and held him close while she whispered in his ear, "Now, take me to bed and fuck me slow."

In the master bedroom Wally stood by while his mother turned the bedding down. She removed her robe and hung it in the closet, then turned to him. "You like my lingerie, baby, can you help me put it away?" Francesca walked to Wally and stood as a blue statue before him. Her eyes sparkled and her face smiled inviting him to begin.

Wally studied his mother's full mature breasts, unsuccessfully hiding their charms behind the sheer bodice of the shiny opaque fabric below the high bust line. Her excited nipples stood in bas-relief, her swelling contours stressed the structural integrity of the narrow straps and thin lace. He licked his lips and dropped the straps over Francesca's shoulders, rolling them down her upper arms. Her tits rose like suns as their shielding pockets fell away. She raised her elbows and freed her arms from the strings.

He knelt in front of her and kissed the satin depression revealing the location of her belly button. The powder blue fabric darkened beneath his wet tongue as he pushed it deep into her navel. He slowly sawed the negligee down, around his face, then below her waist, finally pushing it into pool at her feet.

Francesca stepped out of the gown and back, standing naked, but for mules, hose, suspenders and G-string. Wally walked forward on his knees and put his hands under her rear garter straps, holding her hams as he pushed his nose onto the dark blue pussy pouch between his mother's legs. He breathed in deep the fresh sex-scent and the residual strong aroma of her juices, his cum and their sweat. He seized the thin triangle with his lips and pulled it into his mouth, savoring its tangy pungent flavors.

Francesca trembled, nibbling her lip as her boy nosed her pussy while he sucked her creamy G-string. "Uuhhhnnn!" She whimpered through clenched teeth as his hands rubbed over her buttocks, rose beneath her suspender belt and pulled it below her hips. When it was level with her panties, Wally hooked those with his fingers and pulled the works to the floor as a unit, peeling the inverted tops of her stockings, doubled up, over her thighs to her knees. He quickly pushed his hands back up the outside of her legs and grasped her bottom, pulling her forward as his tongue drove into her os and his nose slid along her slit. ""Nnnnaaahhh, eeeyyeesss!" She cried, violating her resolve to stand immobile and passive. She danced up and down, with her legs beside his head. "Oh, GOD, WALLY!, YESSS!" She exclaimed, closing her hands on his ears and temples, pulling his face against her pussy as she came a torrent.