A Family Christmas
Copyright© 2017 by Oedipus Rex
Chapter 7
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 7 - 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 was Tom again. I detected a subtle change in her demeaner. She stood a little straighter. That calm confident gaze replaced the soft doe eyed look. She stood with her legs slightly spread and one hand casually on one hip. This was mom, the executive, used to being in charge. She seemed unaware that she was naked and that I was partially clothed with my semi hard cock hanging through the slit of my underwear.
“Okay mom,” I said quietly as she turned, entered the bathroom, and closed the door behind her.
I slipped on my jeans and started down the hall. I could use a shower myself. However, I decided to wait until I had the tree set up.
In the kitchen, I slipped on my coat and walked downstairs into the media room. I could see the tree on the patio through the sliding glass doors.
Dad had trimmed the bottom of the tree. I carried it inside, laid it on its side and attached the tree stand. Then I set up and leveled it. I worked up a sweat and needed a shower even more.
I heard footfalls as mom came down the stairs. She wore a mid-calf yellow terry cloth robe with matching turban towel on her hair and fur trimmed mules.
“That looks good, son. AFTER, you shower,” she said pointedly, “We’ll eat and decorate the tree.”
After my shower, I went back downstairs wearing loose fitting grey jersey shorts and matching t-shirt and my flip flops. Mom was sitting in the kitchen. Her robe was open at the neck forming a vee the extended over her breasts, barely covering her nipples exposing half circles of her areola.
A plate of cold ham sandwiches and a dish of potato salad sat on the table along with a chilled bottle of pinot noir
“Mom, are you allowed to drink.”
“No,” she said flatly, “however the cat, your father, is away and this mouse is going to play.”
I detected a subtle undertone. She made no mention of what happen in her bedroom. Her demeanor suggested that she was unaware of it.
“Mom, dad asked me to take care of you while he is gone. I take that charge seriously. If you shouldn’t drink, you won’t.”
She eyed me across the kitchen table. “So far, you have taken good care of me!”
I felt the heat in my face as I blushed
“I’ll make a deal with you. One large glass of wine and you finish the rest.”
I agreed. We ate the sandwiches and drank the wine. The Irish whiskey and the bottle of wine had me buzzing. The conversation was about school, my pending graduation, the excellent financial state of the business and her illness.
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