Eric groaned as consciousness forced itself upon him once more. Pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, he couldn't help but wonder how he'd ended up naked, in bed, and feeling as if he'd been force fed to a trash compactor. Not bad for his first night back home.

Of course, the sad thing was he hadn't even gone out drinking. Not that he could recall, at any rate. In fact, now that he thought about it, the only thing he remembered drinking last night was a glass of wine from that weird, stressed-out bottle his mom had produced from somewhere.

As he lay in bed, Eric recalled the funny way in which the wine had spilt, from the bottle to the glass. It had been slower, apparently thicker than any red he'd ever seen, and looked like liquid silk, dark crimson in colour, and nearly opaque. The taste had been... somewhere between spicy and sweet and something else besides, something subtle that seemed (padon the pun) on the tip of his tongue, but refused to identify itself.

Uncleaving his tongue from the roof of his mouth, Eric reflected that it tasted like something had crawled in there and died.

Had mom had any of that shit? He didn't think so. He certainly couldn't recall her having had any, just pouring that one glass for him.

Eric shook his head to clear it, and quickly regretted the action. His brain felt like a soggy sponge in a bucket, swishing around his skull in unpleasant fashion.

Mom... there had been something about mom... what was it? He knew something important had been said last night, but couldn't manage to push his memory much further past that glass of wine.

Last night was kind of weird anyway; how she kept going on with all that "special occasion" stuff, like he'd never come back from college before. Hell, she had even dressed up, wearing a slinky little black number that had come down to her knees, but was slit up the side maybe a little too far.

Then again, it wasn't as if she didn't have the legs for it. Eric recalled the multiple flashes of upper thigh he'd gotten last night, and quickly found his cock rising to the occasion, if half-heartedly.

"I must REALLY be hung over," he muttered, and rolled over, ignoring his erection, and trying to forget his mother's skirt.

It was quite a while before sleep took hold of him once more.

Eric rolled out of bed at eight in the morning; literally rolled from the matress to the floor, taking a blanket with him. Waking up from the fall, he was somewhat amazed to discover that he was more or less awake; getting up before two in the afternoon was usually an effort for him whilst on mid-term break.

Slowly, he rose from his prostrate position on the carpet, groaning quietly as his stiff limbs made themselves known. He almost walked out his bedroom door before realizing that he was still naked.

After jamming on a pair of shorts from his dresser, and last night's discarded T-shirt, he ambled out of his room, heading towards the kitchen and breakfast.

As he hungrily wolfed down a couple of slices of toast, Eric noticed that his tongue seemed numb, as if burnt. It all tasted like styrofoam to him. His nose was still in good working order, he just couldn't taste anything.

He hunched over the breakfast table in the kitchen, not enjoying his coffee, but taking solace in the caffeine. Suddenly, his mom clicked into the room, wearing one of her "power suits." Once more, Eric found himself admiring the long, firm sweep of leg showing from the the tastefully short skirt, and once more, he found his penis beginning to respond.

Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, Eric turned his attention once more to the steaming cup of java in his hand, using the other to hold his quickly rising cock down.

"You're up mighty early," his mother, Karla, commented as she opened the pantry to grab a couple of granola bars.

He found himself thinking how good her heels, despite their businesslike two-inch height, made her legs look. Quickly, he screwed his eyes shut, and replied, "yeah, well - seize the day, and all that."

"Well, have a good time, seizing it and all that," she said with a chuckle.

When he opened his eyes again, he looked her in the face. Her make up was tastefully done, as always, but her lips...

They were a crimson slash in her face, dark red and smooth like silk. Eric's mouth suddenly flooded with sensation, as he noted how like the colour of the wine her lipstick was. What would they taste like... he wondered.

"See you later, hon," with that, she stalked out of the kitchen, stooping to peck him on the cheek. She left in her wake a cloud of perfume, smelling of something somewhere between sweet and spicy and something else besides. It slipped into Eric's head, seizing hold of his brain momentarily.

When he regained control, he could hear the car pulling out of the driveway. Under his hand, his cock was iron-stiff, and precum was starting to soak through his shorts.

What the fuck?

Eric stood over the toilet, trying to force urine out of his still semi-hard penis, and feeling not a little ashamed. It was a dirty kind of a feeling, knowing he'd had a stiffie, watching Mom's legs. Maybe a shower would do him some good. At least the hot water might work out some of the kinks he still felt in his arms and legs.

Whilst looking down into the porcelain bowl, something caught his eye, lying on the floor, next to the wastebasket. It appeared to be a tissue that hadn't quite made it all the way into the garbage. One one side was a vermillion crescent of lipstick, presumably his mom's.

Eric shook the last of the piss from his dick, still staring down at the tissue, remembering how his mother's lips had looked before she left. Like silk...

Bending down, he picked up the tissue, intending to toss it into the basket. He paused a moment, remembering how that wine had tasted last night... the way his tongue tingled... Eric suddenly found his mouth watering. On a whim, he took a sniff of the stained tissue, not really certain of what he was sniffing for. Nothing. Then, for reasons he would never be able to satisfactorily explain, he took a quick lick; his mouth exploded in sensation, where once there had been only numbness. Somewhere between sweet and spicy and something else besides...

Quickly realising what the hell he was doing, Eric dropped the tissue into the toilet and flushed it. With a sigh, he stepped into the shower, another erection preceding his entry.

Supper was a wierd event.

Eric found himself sitting next to his mother, feeling guilty and staring down into his food, trying to forget the way his dick was reacting to her perfume. At least she didn't seem to notice, going on at length about something or other. Maybe it was another lecture on fidelity. He'd had to sit through a few of them growing up, especially after his mom found out that he was dating one girl or another. She usually managed to make him feel bad enough about his dad that HIS relationships went to shit not long after.

Eric played with his food whilst she droned on. He had no appetite. He had hoped that after the "event" in the bathroom this morning, his tongue would have woken up, but to no avail. Ashes filled the stomach, but who wanted to eat them?

That's about when he noticed that his mom had stopped talking. Briefly, he looked up. Had she asked him something? Who knew? Best to change the subject.

"Erm, mom..." he started, scratching the back of his head.

"Yes?" At least she'd removed that damned lipstick; Eric didn't think he could have looked her in the face, otherwise.

"That wine we had last night..."

"You had, you mean." she smiled impishly; Eric had never noticed how cute the freckles on her nose were, before. "You kept asking for more, I never had a chance to take a sip."

"Yeah," he felt himself blush. "Um, what the hell was that stuff?"

"Your Aunt Cheryl sent it to me last Christmas for a gift. She brews it herself, I think." Karla smiled prettily again.

"Aunt Cheryl? I don't..."

"Oh, that's right, you probably don't remember her. She's not really your Aunt: she was a very good friend of mine in college. Cheryl used to visit quite alot, before" her tone sunk to the dangerous depths it always did when Eric's mother remembered her time with his father. "You used to run to her every time she came over, shouting 'Aunty Cheryl,' and cling to her leg until she left." Karla looked him right in the eye. "It made me kind of jealous, to tell the truth." She pushed herself away from the table. "Clean up the dishes when you're done, Eric. I'm too tired to bother with them." As she walked away, he watched her go, wearing a pair of skintight, beige capri pants. If he squinted, it almost looked as if she were wearing nothing at all, presenting her shapely little behind to him as she went.

Eric stopped squinting, sighed, and set about clearing the table. At least mid-term break only lasted a week. He wasn't sure how long he could live like this.

The following morning, Eric once again found himself awake well before anybody on vacation ought to be. He shuffled into the kitchen, and attempted to wolf down his breakfast before his mother noticed that he was even up. The last thing he wanted was a repeat of yesterday morning.

He had nearly finished pouring the last of his orange juice down his throat when Karla stalked into the kitchen. Hearing her klick her way into the room, he very nearly choked on the juice, managing to force not a small amount up into his nose.

Eyesonflooreyesonflooreyesonfloor he thought to himself. If he didn't look at her, maybe he wouldn't get a hard-on, and maybe he could make it through the day without feeling like a pervert.

"Ooooh," she mocked, "bright and early two days in a row! Is this going to become a habit?" Eric mumbled something in response.

"Sooo... what are your plans for the day? More siezeing?" She ruffled his hair playfully.

"Uhhhh - yeah. I thought I'd look up some of the guys." Keeping his gaze firmly attached to the floor, he saw her walk by out of the corner of his eye, and said a silent prayer of thanks that at least she was wearing pants today. No leg show, no stiffie in his shorts.

"Well, if you're not too busy, maybe you can do a little something for me, hey?" She was standing beside him now. Staring at the floor, he noticed that today his mom was wearing a pair of sandals on her feet, black, and high-heeled. Peeking out from the hem of her pants were her cute little toes, crossed at the top by a narrow black strap. The nails were painted that same deep, bottomless red that captured his eyes, and made him wonder briefly what they tasted like.

"Yeah, sure, whatever. Aren't you late for work?" He shut his eyes tight, rubbing them with the heels of his hands, as if trying to wake up. Down below, his penis was starting to awaken.

"Oh, you're right!" She ruffled his hair again. "I've gotta go, hon. See you later this evening." With that, she klicked hurriedly away.

Eric breathed a sigh of relief, and sat back in the chair. His cock stood straight up out of his crotch like a tentpole. Holy fuck... what the hell was he gonna do for the rest of the week...

"Oh, Eric," his mom called from the front porch, "I almost forgot: could you fix up the spare room sometime today? We're having someone over."

He groaned silently. What had he done to deserve this? He didn't need strangers running around the house right now.

"Who?" His voice sounded strangled.

"Your Aunty Cheryl's coming to stay for the rest of the week." The front door slammed shut.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck...

Eric reclined on his bed, hand flying over the surface of his cock, the springs squeaking and his palm making wet little noises as he wanked. He was getting sick and tired of walking around all day with a fucking hard on; so, after dusting and vacuuming and replacing the sheets in the guest room for whats-her-name, he decided to take the most obvious course of action available to him.

One of his old Playboys lay open in front of him, ostensibly the object of his frantic wank session. The blonde in the centerfold lay prostrate, eyes closed, running an ice cube over her plump nipples. It hadn't worked for Eric. Closing his eyes, he tried one of his favourite fantasies with that pretty little pop diva, the one who'd had the tit-job. He'd just flipped that little plaid skirt up over her ass, and was about to give it to her, when she looked back at him over her shoulder.

Auburn hair, hazel eyes, impish smile: his mom was staring back at him. In desperation, he switched fantasies; his hot biology teacher who always wore the short skirts, that little Russian tennis player with the great ass, that sultry English actress who played the devil in that movie...

His mom, his mom, his mom. No matter how he changed the fantasy, no matter whose face he attached to what body, it always turned out to be his mom. Try as he might, Eric always found himself wanking over his mother.

"Ah, Fuck it," he said after forty-five minutes of desperate masturbation; his hand was starting to cramp up, and sweat was streaming down his face.

"What a good boy," she mouthed in his fantasy, and spread her legs wide for him. His masturbation reached a fever pitch; precum covered his cock in a thick slime; his hand was dripping with it. This was it. He was finally going to get off. He...

The doorbell rang.

"FUCK!" He shouted in frustration. Screw it, he thought, I'm getting off NOW.

The doorbell rang again, twice this time.

In his mind, his mom clutched his body close, groaning and panting and whispering something into his ear.

Whomever it was rapped sharply on the door. Eric forced himself to stop. What if it was his mom? What if it was Cheryl?

Muttering and cursing under his breath, Eric quickly wiped the precum from his hand and cock with his discarded underwear, and jammed his jeans on. He was just sliding his T-shirt over his head as the person at the door rang and knocked at the same time.

Storming to the door, he turned the knob, and yanked it open.

"Eric? Is that you?" The woman on the other side asked innocently. He had to consciously stop his jaw from dropping. She stood a couple of inches above his own five-seven, and wore a black pantsuit much like his mom's, with a soft blue shirt underneath the jacket. The shirt was open by several buttons, offering a fair expanse of golden, creamy skin and the upper quarters of what appeared to be a pair of fair-sized breasts. Her waist was slender, flowing down into slim hips and long, long, legs.