A Family Christmas
Copyright© 2017 by Oedipus Rex
Chapter 3
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 3 - A son comes home for the holidays to find his mother recovering from a stroke. He is startled by her child like behavior and lack of inhibitions. He quickly discovers the effects of the stroke have opened new vistas for all of them
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Cuckold Incest Mother Son Light Bond Spanking Anal Sex Cream Pie Masturbation Squirting BBW Big Breasts Hairy
I stared at my phone. I was more than a little upset with my father Obviously there were elements to mom’s illness he neglected to explain. As I pondered what to do, mom walked up behind me and wrapped her arms around my waist.
“Come on, Tommy! John said you were going to take care of me.”
I sat my phone on the table, pulled mom’s arms loose, and turned to face her. She was still nude. Her blue veined breasts were pendulous. Her nipples, about a third of the way up the bottom curve of her breasts, were thumb sized and hard. Given their size they were not that bad. They were like pink melons, full and extending outside the frame of her body. Their mature sag had not turned into torpedoes with the nipples pointed at the floor.
Though rotund at 5’ 6” and maybe 50 pounds heavier than she was in my teenage years, she was still my mother, the object of many teenage fantasies. At 200 pounds, there was just more of her.
“Mom, there are some things I just can’t do. Dad will be home in a few days.” I tried unsuccessfully to look in her eyes as we talked. However, my eyes kept straying, taking in her luxurious body. She reminded me of a Rubens model with her thick legs and dimpled derriere.
I watched in stunned amazement as mom’s oval face screwed into a pout. Tears ran down her cheeks. Her face turned bright red. She clenched her fists and began pumping her arms and jumping up and down, her large breasts bouncing disturbingly.
“John promised me. He promised me you would take care of me. You don’t love me.” My 50-year-old mother, the hardnosed flinty eyed businesswoman, was throwing a tantrum.
As I watched the angry red color move up her neck and face, I recalled dad’s admonition to keep her calm. I grabbed her shoulders.
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