Chapter 13

Helen dropped a fresh ice cube into the glass and took a hefty swallow. It was her third drink since supper and she was feeling no pain. Two weeks had passed since her afternoon at the motel with Tom Henderson and she was in need. She hadn't fucked with Dan, either, and the itch was growing. She took another swallow of the whiskey.

Peter came into the kitchen, a sweater over his arm. He looked so male, so manly, especially at this moment.

"Are you going out?" she asked.

"Yeah, got a date," he answered. He didn't mention that it was at Joan Wagner's house. He had banged her every day for the past two weeks.

He looked lustfully at his mother. Her skirt was shorter than she usually wore, and her blouse was long-sleeved and loose, hanging out of her skirt. It couldn't quite hide her bountiful tits, though. He knew she was a little drunk. He walked over and put one arm around her and kissed her on the mouth, his tongue teasing for an instant on her lips.

"You mustn't kiss your mother like that," she said softly.

"Why? I like to kiss my mother like that," he said.

He kissed her again, harder, this time letting his tongue glide into her mouth. She sucked it, pressing herself against her son. He could feel her big tits against his chest, all soft and loose. She wasn't wearing a bra. She never used to go without a bra.

Peter sensed that she was receptive from the first kiss: actually before that, from the moment he had entered the room. It was the first time since they had fucked. Until this moment she had rebuffed him, nagged him, made sure that he kept his distance. She was responding now, hungrily devouring him, and he felt the heat in his guts, the fire in his growing prick.

He held the kiss, sliding his hands down until he was cupping both generous cheeks, pulling her mound tight against his hard-on.

"Oh, Peter, Peter," she moaned, not wanting to respond, but unable to stop.

"What time is Dad getting home?" he asked.

"He said it would be around ten." She pressed her mouth to his again.

Peter had her skirt hiked up. He clutched at her bare ass, then let one hand slide down the deep cleft to the hairy nest between her thighs. Her slit was already wet.

"You're not wearing pants, either," he said.

Her answer was her tongue going deep in his mouth. She wore no underwear. She liked the feeling of freedom it gave her. She knew she couldn't resist her son now; she wanted his cock.

She groped at his fly and somehow got the zipper open. Her fingers slid into the opening and rolled around his hard cock, squeezed it, then pulled it out of his pants.

"Oh, Peter darling, I've wanted this so much. Ever since..."

"I've wanted you, too, Mother."

He was sliding his fingers back and forth the length of her crack. It was soppy now, slick and eager for his prick.

"Here," she gasped, spreading her legs and pushing his hand away. "I want it between my legs for a minute, feel it against my cunt, maybe put it in a little, just the head--for a minute or two." She pressed his cock between her thighs, pushing it up hard against her cunt, then worked it back and forth along the wet slit until the fat head was nudged between the lips. "Let me feel it there for a minute. God, I've wanted it so much; it feels so good. Move it just a little inside my pussy, honey, and then we'll go upstairs to bed and we'll fuck... Oh, Jesus, will we fuck."

Peter pushed with his hips while Helen held his cock in place. He was hot and breathing hard; she was livid with lust, almost to the point of spending. It felt so good there just inside the mouth of her cunt, rubbing at the thick lips, sliding against the horny clit. She bowed her legs at the knees in an effort to get just a little more.

And then they heard the front door open, heard a man's voice.

"Oh, my God, your father is home!" Helen cried. She pushed him away, brushed her skirt quickly down. "Go, go... get the hell out of here!"

"Mom, I'm so hot. I wantta fuck!" Peter screamed.

She had the back door open and pushed him out, his cock still dangling from the front of his pants. "Tomorrow, tomorrow," she said quickly. "Stay home from school. We'll spend the whole day in bed together. Go now, go on your date." She slammed the door closed, her heart pounding.

Helen picked up the glass from the counter and drained it, then smoothed her skirt again and left the kitchen. Linda was just coming in the front room, Bill close behind.

"Hi, Mother. We're back. The honeymoon is over." She giggled.

"I--I didn't expect you kids until tomorrow," she said, her face flushed, a nerve twitching in the side of her neck.

Linda ran to her mother and gave her a peck on the cheek. "We decided to drive on in tonight, sleep all day tomorrow. Give your mama-in-law a kiss, William."

Bill came over and gave her a smooch on the cheek. "Hello, Mother Helen," he said. He looked tired.

"You look tired, William. Sit down, both of you; I'll fix you a drink, help you relax."

"God, I think I can use it," Bill said, falling heavily into a big chair.

Helen returned with the drinks and sat beside Linda on the couch. Bill drank his too fast. Helen went to get him another. She returned again and sat carelessly, revealing too much leg. Bill had difficulty keeping his eyes from creeping up the shadowy canyon between her thighs. He knew the rewards waiting at the end of the canyon, he'd had ample instruction the past two weeks. Linda had fucked his brains out.

Linda babbled steadily about their trip while they drank. Halfway through his third, Bill suddenly turned very white.

"I--I think I'm going to be sick!" he cried. He jumped to his feet and rushed for the toilet.

"He still can't hold his liquor," Linda said, shaking her head. "The poor dear is worn out, too." She giggled, feeling the good effect of her third drink.

They could hear Bill vomiting. He finally returned, pale and shaking. "I'd better lie down," he said weakly.

"Go up to my room, honey. It's the first door past the potty," Linda told him.

"Don't you think you'd better go with him?" Helen said.

"No. He'll be fine. He does it every time he has more than one drink." She laughed wildly. "You'd think a grown man could hold more than a couple of stiff drinks, but the poor baby is worn out. I fucked him silly."

"Linda, that's no way to talk."

"Don't act the prude with me, Mom. You've been sitting there giving him a good look at your fat legs. And that loose blouse can't hide that you're not wearing a bra. Your nipples stand out like marbles."

"That isn't true. I didn't," Helen cried, indignantly. She blushed a deep red, tugged at her too-short skirt.

"It's too late for that, Mom. You shouldn't wear such short skirts; your hips are too wide." She laughed again, hilariously. "Don't get mad, I'm kidding. Let's have another round."

Linda did the honors this time, and sat facing her mother.

"You know, I think you're a little drunk," Linda said, sipping from her glass, her eyes teasing over the rim. "You must have been at the sauce before we got here."

"Do you think he's all right, Linda? William, I mean."

"Yeah. He's fine. Quit worrying about him."

"I think you'd better go up and check."

"No way, Mama. I'm sitting here enjoying my booze."

They sat in silence for several minutes, then Helen put her glass on the coffee table. It was empty. "Well, I'm going up and see if he's all right," Helen said.

"Suit yourself, Mom."

Helen got to her feet, self-consciously tugging her skirt down, and left the room. She went quickly up the stairs, staggering slightly, down the hall, and quietly opened the door. The room was dark, but she could hear William's heavy breathing.

"Are you all right, William?" she said softly.

"Huh, what... yes," he mumbled.

She stepped into the dark room. "You sure?"

"Yes, yes, I feel much better. Thank you for asking."

Helen crossed the dark room and sat on the edge of the bed. She put her hand on his forehead. "You don't have any fever," she said.