Gay Erotic Stories

Chapter 30 - Mom Mary had just suggested I take Mom in the bedroom and fuck her. As Mary, Mom and I sat, the silence was so strong I could hear the tick of the clock on the wall. No one was moving. Mary had that look again, the look she gets when she is inside my mind, reading my thoughts. She was waiting on me to act as though she already knew what I would do. Mother was watching me with frightened anticipation, hands folded tightly in her lap, so tightly her knuckles were white. She was naked to the waist. Before Mary’s suggestion, I had been playing with Mom’s breasts, suckling her ring-punctured nipples, as I had in my infancy. Mom had moaned when I suckled, one hand holding me snugly to her breast, the other stroking me in rhythm to the motion of my nursing. I could smell that faint smell of a woman’s need wafting up from her, and feel the heat she generated. I could tell Mom wanted to be fucked. That did not mean she wanted me to do it. I wish I could have been in her mind right then. What was she thinking? Was she thinking of taking me, as a woman takes a man, welcoming me between her spread legs for our mutual pleasure? Once, she had spread her legs in pain to allow me to come into this world. Now, did she want to spread them again for me, this time sexually? As if she read my thoughts, a blush rose from her naked stomach to grow across her upper body, ending where her hair began. Her nipples were erect, but I did not know if that was from sexual desire, or a simple physical reaction to being suckled. Mother was only forty, just four years older than Mary. Thanks to the breast implants Dad gave her as a Christmas present, her breasts were delightful, high, firm, perfectly balanced. Her nipple rings were highly sexual to me, indicating a deep awareness by her of the most primordial relationship between the sexes and her positive desire to participate in it. She had a nice trim figure, kept that way by her diet and exercise, and a lovely bottom with shapely legs flowing to trim ankles and pretty feet. It was easy to see where my three sisters got their good looks. She had a pretty face, a lovely, warm smile. Her eyes were expressive, round. I had seen them like burnt coals when she was angry with me. And, I had seen them like soft pools showing her tenderness and comforting. She was a very attractive woman. And, she was a sexual woman. I had never noticed that before this trip, not even when Andy and I visited LA not too long ago. She seemed like a Mom then, or a biochemist. Asexual. Sitting before me now, her flesh exposed and hot, the red of the blush on her pale skin, her nipples erect and the rings glistening as they moved when she breathed, she was very much a sexual creature. I saw now what Dad and Uncle Bert and probably countless other men had seen. In my eyes, the woman, the very appealing and sensual woman, had emerged from the role of mother, which she played so well. My cock saw her, too. He was not concerned with the niceties of life, of incest or taboos or societal restrictions. He let the brain worry about those. Slowly, he hardened in my trousers. I moved to free a constriction and the cock head poked up, tenting the cloth. Mom saw it. She licked her lips in anticipation, but turned her body slightly away from me, her head turning further and downward. Her arms moved to cover her naked breasts, hiding them from me for the first time. Cathy cleared her throat, seeking attention, breaking the silence. I gave her an order just to send her away from us and she left the room. Mary had not moved as she watched the interplay between us. Almost from habit, my eyes skimmed the room looking for him. For Diablo. The devil dog. He was nowhere to be seen. Why did I want to fuck her? Was it because she was a woman, representing all of that precious gender, and like any man I wanted any woman hot, twisting and gasping under me? Was it because she was a woman special to me, a woman who played a large part in my life, a part I wished to expand by the most intimate of sharing? Was it Oedipus, leaping from my psyche to take, that which was my father’s most treasured possession? For me, that sword had still another side since my Mother was the wife of the man I called father and the lover of the man whose seed created me. Was it power? Power to control she who controlled me for such a large part of my life? I had the power, no doubt about that. A command from me would make her do anything. She would strip naked and crawl though the snows of Vail until her breasts froze if I commanded it. She would fuck every man in town, or every woman or dog or elk. I had that power over her thanks to the programming from Uncle Bert. When I was young, she had the power, power to hurt or help, to control or release, to love or hate. And, she had a power over me I would never have over her: the power to shape and form, the power to mold and create a human as they grew. I was totally dependent on that power, dependent on her. How had she exercised that power? With love. With kindness and discipline and strength and care. She had done well for me. She was not programmed to obey now. If I wished to take her by exercising my power, I would need to say those magic words, “Do you prefer sirloin or tube steak?” Un- programmed, she was just a woman, a mother, naked to the waist before a man who was her son. She knew, as I did, the situation was sexual and highly charged. She did not speak. She waited. The waiting itself indicated the base of our relationship at that very instance. She did not take control as a mother might well have done. She did not leap and flee as a woman would in a sexual situation she found unacceptable. She did not bill and coo to speed our coupling. She waited. She waited for me to make a decision as a woman would wait for a man. I saw a movement from the corner of my eye. The devil dog had entered the room. He circled behind the chair Mary was in and crossed in front of Mom as she sat on the couch. He came to me, his giant head higher from the floor than mine. His expression was neutral as he lay down and put his head across my foot. What would I do? What would you have done? I watched as Mom self-consciously wiped away a rivulet of sweat drifting down between her breasts with a long red-tipped finger. We all waited in silence until she could stand it no more. She looked at me with a pleading gaze, silently asking me to decide and remove the crushing anticipation from us all. “Mom, do you want me to make love to you?” “Yes, I do, Davy.” She shivered. I could see the goose bumps across her arms and on the high part of her chest between neck and breasts. Her smile, so tender and loving, flashed at me, gone in an instant, replaced by a questioning, undecided and pleading look. “You know I would come to you if you asked, Davy.” Her hands separated, their color quickly changing from white to red as circulation returned. Her arms unfolded, leaving her breasts exposed to my sight again. She turned slightly, returning to the position she had originally which was facing me. “But, please, don’t ask. I do not think we should. Somehow, it would not seem right.” She gave a quick, wan, smile and looked away. Her arms tensed and relaxed. She straightened her back to ease her tension. Subconsciously I presume, the straightening arched her back, moving her breasts towards me, making them shimmy and the light sparkle from the rings in a sensual twinkle. Now, her eyes locked onto mine, bright lasers holding me. “It is your decision. I will happily do whatever you wish.” Here was a woman’s voice to a man, without hint of a mother’s natural command presence. I was sorely confused, as my cock and several parts of my brain warred in desperate silence in me. I was as confused as she was, but my confusion was evident only to me. Her confusion was shouted by the juxtaposition of her words and body language, the former saying no, the latter pleading yes. Diablo, my now continual companion raised his head slowly, to look at her. I could see his eyes taking her in, measuring her, appraising her. It was the look all you men have given countless women, the look all you women have received countless times as a man decides whether to approach you. Then, he turned to me. His lip twitched in the start of a smile. Mary was still, her face neutral, her eyes passive, as she watched us and absorbed all she saw. “I want you, too, Mom.” Emotions flashed across her face like laser beams at a light show: happiness, sorrow, lust, fear, need, apprehension, in rapid succession until she looked away. Her right hand went to her hair, fluffing and straightening it. She sighed audibly. “But, I agree we should not. We should be Mom and Son. I think that is best for us.” She looked at me as if she did not understand. Incomprehension slowly morphed to a loving smile as the tension blew away like dust in a high wind, gone to the great relief of all. We stood simultaneously, hugging each other. I felt her hand stroking my head as she had done countless times and the Mother’s kiss of closed lips pressed against my cheek. I also felt her breasts crushed hotly against my chest but that was of no importance now. We whispered our love and she turned to go to where she belonged, to her room, to my father, Charles. “Mom,” I called after her. She stopped and turned, a warm smile on her face. “Yes, honey?” “Please send Betty into my room. Tell her to get in bed and I will be there shortly.” “Do you want Abby, too?” ”No, thanks. Just Betty for now.” “Good night, baby. I love you.” “Good night, Mom. I love you, too,” I called after her as she walked down the hall. When I turned to Mary, the devil dog was laying beside her chair but she was unaware of his presence. “Bert would be proud of you, Davy. He might have done it differently, but he would be proud of the way you did it.” “Damn right, he would have done it differently. He would have fucked her eyes out!” “I don’t think so,” she replied. It suddenly occurred to me that Uncle Bert had a father and mother, the same parents as Charles and all the other Wilson brothers. Like a bolt, a picture of Uncle Bert fucking Grandma flashed through my head. She was as she was when I last saw her shortly before her death, with straggly and thinning gray-blue hair and her teeth out. It was a picture I did not want to think about, and I was glad I did not know that answer. Still, I wondered. “Well, what do you want me to do now?” Cathy, looking sullen, stood in the doorway. “Cathy, baby, let’s have a little talk.” I took her hand, leading her towards the basement. Mary followed after me and that damn dog went back to from wherever he came.