tagIncest/TabooFamily Worship

Family Worship

byAhabscribe©

Merry Christmas, Literotica readers! Here is my Christmas present to you...maybe the single longest incest themed story I've ever posted (not however a Christmas themed story). Partially re-adapted from my old "Neighborhood Moms" series on another site years and years ago..expanded and reworked to create a good (maybe a tad blasphemous) story. I look forward to hearing your comments.

As always, this is a work of fiction and all characters within are simply figments of my over-fertile imagination. Enjoy!


*

This is a story of a mother and a son, but it is also a story within a story and that too is about a mother and a son. Over the years, I've tried to make sense and reconcile my faith with what happened. I know that society as a whole and Christians specifically find more than a little justification for vilifying us and our acts, but in the end, there was only love that was shared and I cannot see that any real harm was done. In the end there was truth and love and faith and those combine to create something magical and special...or dare I say it aloud, it -- we, created something holy.

There are many places where I could start my tale -- as I have already said, this is a story within a story. I think, perhaps, it is best to start in the Fall of 1980. It was an election year and anyone with half a brain could see that Uncle Ronnie was going to win the election. Times were tough...gas prices were high and so was unemployment. I felt myself fortunate to be a student at the local college -- still living at home while I worked towards a degree in psychology.

I was the only child of Jeffrey and Candace Hilton. Dad was an engineer with a local car parts manufacturer and spent most of his time in Detroit or at one of the Big Three's outlying factory sites. He was an absentee father and husband. I didn't much mind -- Dad was like one of the machines he designed...cold and aloof and very exacting. I think he got married and fathered a child because he was designed to. I guess he loved us in his own way, but it was a cold love...unfeeling and without depth.

Mom was the total opposite. She was devoted to Dad and me, working hard both as a breadwinner working as a paralegal and as a wife and mother. Mom was the one to make our home a generally happy place whether Dad was there or not. Dad's indifference to us both hurt her in many ways...some of her pain I recognized on a daily basis -- some of it I only began to comprehend as I matured. Mom sought solace in the Church -- a rather middle of the road Baptist Church. Mom wasn't an ardent Christian, but she enjoyed the companionship that the Women's Missionary Society offered and at least two or three times a week was helping out with the mission work and food pantry as well as the required Bible study.

Me...I was still a member of the church even though my faith wasn't nearly as strong as Mom's. Oh, I still usually attended Sunday morning services with Mom (and Dad if he was in town). I found Reverend Walker's sermons dry and humorless -- focusing more on sin than salvation, but going to services had other bonuses -- the top of the list being Mrs. Walker -- Gwen Marie Walker to be specific. The fact that her son, Kent was one of my closest friends did not detract from the thought that she ranked right up there as one of my biggest masturbatory fantasies!

I must confess right now that ever since I remember having sexual desires, I have had a thing for older ladies...what would be called a couple of decades later -- a MILF. And right at the top of my list was Gwen Walker. In her early forties at that point, she was a tall and very buxom woman with the bluest eyes and cornstalk colored hair that came down to her shoulders and did a little flip. Her native Texas twang sounded a little exotic in blah Western Ohio and only enhanced her attractiveness.

Many a Sunday for years, I had struggled with a hard-on during services while constantly glancing at that gorgeous preacher's wife. No conservative dress could hide or mute the size of her meaty breasts that swelled out from her chest -- nor could it conceal the curvy nature of her full and shapely butt. I rarely saw more of her legs than from the knees down, but I suspected that her trim ankles reflected a pair of long and shapely legs which I would again and again jerk off to imagining them spread wide for me, her hands raised up to beckon me to her.

There were others at church that I fantasized about...Mrs. Anna Torino...a sultry Italian American in her fifties, Mrs. Talbert who'd been my Sunday School teacher for most of my childhood, Ms. Grantham and Ms Dobbs who I didn't know at the time were two lesbians in a committed relationship -- not that that would have ended my fantasies about them, rather I imagine it would have increased my focus on them. Still in church, it was Gwen Walker that captured my imagination...the only real rival for her in my fantasy world being my mother.

Yes, you heard me correctly. It was Mom who'd given birth to my MILF tendencies when I was a teenager and why not? Mom was and is the most beautiful woman I know. Long, luxurious mahogany colored hair, a lean, yet voluptuous body with large breasts you just want to reach out and squeeze -- a narrow waist, toned hips and legs that seemed to go on forever. In my rather prejudiced opinion, there wasn't an inch of her five foot, ten inch frame that wasn't perfect. Mom was the first woman I masturbated over and would be the subject of my fantasies for the rest of my life.

But, Gwen Walker would be a close second. Mature women...YUM!

Anyway, back to the story... It was a Thursday in October in the Fall of 1980, late afternoon and I was studying in the living room, Springsteen's "The River" on the stereo and my psych notes spread out all around me, prepping for a mid-term when Mom came into the house, apparently in a hurry as the front door banged against the doorstop when she flung it open, throwing her purse and jacket into an empty chair as she crossed the room to the small bar she and Dad maintained (despite being church goers, my parents were not teetotalers). Mom was dressed in a pantsuit which stretched nicely across her backside and I added a mental snapshot of her lovely ass to the thousands already residing in my mind as she bent over and retrieved a bottle of bourbon and poured herself a stiff drink.

She turned abruptly in mid-drink to catch me ogling her. As she narrowed her eyes at me, I tried to cover my staring by voicing in a concerned tone, "Mom, is everything alright?"

Mom started to speak and then paused, looking at me oddly...almost as if she was just meeting me for the first time. She opened her mouth and said in a soft and strained voice, "No...I...I don't know. I was wondering...what you...I." She stopped and shook her head, several emotions playing across her lovely face. "I cannot discuss this right now, John. I need a while to...sort things out."

She poured herself another drink and picked it up and continued. "I'm going upstairs and taking a bath. We need to talk...later. Don't go out." That last was said in what I knew from long experience was her "Do not fuck with me" voice.

I nodded and said, "Okay...I need to study anyway." I watched her cross the room, still ogling her fine body, admiring the way her silk blouse pulled tight against her breast in profile when she turned back when I said, "Am I in some sort of trouble?"

Mom started to say something, but shook her head instead and marched out of the room. I listened to her high heels on the stairs and then a moment later, her door opening and slamming shut. I found it difficult to study after that, wondering what I might have done to have upset her so. I ran through the usual list. I was pretty sure she hadn't found my small stash of marijuana hidden the hollow of my old Nova's steering wheel. I hadn't been in trouble with the law since I'd got caught doing '85' in a '45' miles an hour zone my senior year in high school and my grades at the university while not spectacular, were at least respectable. I thought about it for a long while before it occurred to me that it was Thursday and that she would have come home from her Women's Bible Study class. A knot of dreadful cold announced its presence in the pit of my stomach and I wondered if my greatest secret had come out.

Two hours passed and the sun was low on the horizon as I put aside my notes and textbook and turned on the television, sitting in the gloom without any lights on and hearing all the fallout from the failed rescue mission in Iran and how with it, any last chance for Carter to be re-elected was out the window.

"John, turn off the TV please. We need to talk." I looked up to see Mom standing in the doorway, the glow from the television giving her a ghostly and supernatural beauty. Mom was wearing a long, cream colored silk gown with a delightfully deep V-cut neckline, drawing attention to the upper and inward portions of her large and prominent breasts. She walked barefoot across the room and turned on a small lamp beside the sofa before moving to the bar and pouring another scotch. She returned to the sofa and sat down, crossing her legs and in the process, offering up a brief glimpse of her curvaceous leg from her ankle to her thigh through a slit in the gown.

Mom looked at me sitting across from her and sighed. I shifted nervously in Dad's recliner and repeated what I had asked earlier, "Mom, am I in some sort of trouble?"

Mom hesitated in answering me, her eyes never leaving mine...those deep brown orbs appearing a little fiery to me. Mom appeared to be pissed and upset and confused. A new possibility suddenly occurred to me and I said in a rush, "Is it Dad? Is there a problem with you and Dad?" All through junior high and high school, I had suspected that Mom and Dad's marriage was on the rocks...that Dad's cold, distant nature had extinguished whatever passion they might have once had.

Mom sipped her scotch and then looked back up at me and in a voice that was just the tiniest bit slurred, replied, "This afternoon, as Gwen Walker was leading us in our studies, Reverend Walker walked into the classroom at our church and denounced his wife as a, and I quote, 'A vile promiscuous whore engaged in terrible and incestuous intercourse whose sins would see her burning in hell with her lovers for all eternity,' unquote."

I felt my stomach roll over sickeningly and tried to take a deep breath, but was unable as my chest suddenly felt too tight. I tried to match Mom's intense gaze, but was unable to maintain it under the glare of her burning eyes. "Gwen Walker stood up in front of all the women in Bible Study and said to her husband, 'I admit it, completely and without shame. If I had to do it all over again, I would. Our son is a hundred times the lover that you are, Rodney, and I don't believe that something as wonderful as what we share is sinful or wrong. All the love I've shared with Kent and his friends has changed my life and taught me that there is much more to God's love and his plan for us all than we ever imagined. All of you should examine the lives you lead and consider taking the leap into a new and passionate world with your own sons. Some of them are magnificent lovers!'" Mom paused and her eyes seemed to engulf me as she added, "John, she was looking right at me when she said that. Why?"

I felt my face burning as if it was on fire and when I didn't answer, Mom sat up and leaned forward, her glass in her hands and despite my predicament, I couldn't help but notice how her breasts swelled and bunched together, threatening to overflow the neckline of her robe. "John, Gwen Walker admits to fucking her own son. Have you been fucking her too?"

I opened my mouth and closed it and then opened it again to finally reply, "Mom...I'm over eighteen. My sex...love life is personal."

Mom flung the now empty glass over my head to shatter against the wall, shards and sprinkles of glass falling down in a tinkling rain on the bookshelf behind me. "You live under my roof and you'll answer me, John! Are you fucking Gwen Walker?"

"Yes," I replied in a low voice, both resenting Mom demanding the answer and embarrassed at the same time.

Mom said nothing, but nodded to herself. Slowly, stiffly, she rose and fixed herself another drink, surprising me when she poured a second drink and came over and handed it to me. She towered over me for a moment and then returned to her seat, sweeping her feet underneath her before she said, "Tell me."

I tilted my head and replied, "Mom?"

"Tell me everything. I want to know how this happened." Her voice grew tight and dangerous. "I want every detail -- leave nothing out!"

There was a long minute of tension filled silence between us -- Mom never taking her eyes off me as her breasts seemed to rise and fall heavily and her face was nearly as red as mine. She could have been an avatar for beauty incarnate at that moment or an avenging angel.

I liked my lips and took a sip of the scotch, grimacing at the taste. Finally, I looked up and said, "It's a long story, Mom. It began two years ago...

#

"I would do your Mom in a fucking second, man. She is smoking hot! She's like Pam on Dallas, only..." Kent grinned at me as he took the offered joint from my hand to take a hit before he finished. "Only, she's finely aged...mature."

It felt odd to hear someone else speaking of my mother in the same manner in which I felt. "Yeah, she is incredibly foxy...and better tits than Victoria Principal," I replied.

We were sitting in my car in the city park on a Monday afternoon, under the shade of the great trees, smoking a joint after work, listening to Aerosmith and getting a nice buzz. We both worked at Friedman's Department store as summer time stockers and had gotten off work at 4:00 P.M. and decided to chill out for a bit. We had both just turned eighteen at the time, our senior year was about to start and life was good. At work, we'd both noticed the other's appreciative looks at the often sexy middle aged women that frequented the store and now a discussion of the finer points of mature women and a good buzz had led Kent to volunteer his thoughts on my Mom.

"You've seen your Mom's tits, John?" Kent said, slowly releasing a cloud of marijuana smoke.

I giggled a little and said, "A few times...peeking as she hopped out of the shower. They're awesome...with real dark circles around the nipples and Mom's nipples are so big! I checked out her bras in the hamper and Mom's a 38DD and those bad boys don't hardly sag or anything." I leaned over a little and added, "And you wouldn't believe her bush, Kent...it's massive and huge. I'd love to just rub my face in it!"

Kent snorted and leaned back against the passenger seat and laughed. "Dude...you'd fuck your Mom if you could, wouldn't you?"

"Shit, yeah! If you had a chance to fuck your Mom, wouldn't you go for it?" I replied.

Kent paused and looked forward out the windshield at some kids playing around a jungle gym. "It's what I dream every fucking night, man!"

"Have you ever seen your Mom naked, man?" I asked, imagining Kent's mother in all her naked glory.

"All the fucking time, man," he replied. Kent winked at me and added, "And I seen her fingering herself too...damn near every day!"

I felt my jaw drop in surprise. "Bullshit, man."

Kent smirked and said, "It's fucking true...man, I've even jacked off and cum while she was making herself cum...pussy juice squirting from her sweet pussy while she moaned. It was almost like we were doing it together."

I took another hit from the joint, extinguishing it with the tips of my fingers as it was now down to a small nub. As I exhaled, I again stated, "Bullshit, man! I don't believe that for a fucking second!" Kent had a reputation that was in part born out of being a preacher's kid -- a reputation that he had worked hard to uphold over his teenage years. He'd had brushes with the law over drugs and booze and wild driving and was rumored to have gotten two different girls knocked up during high school. He was a renowned and respected bullshit artist and according to Mom, had been a trial and tribulation to his father and mother...especially his father, Reverend Walker.

Despite all this, we'd been friends since the seventh grade and I never held it against him when some of his misadventure's spilled over on me and got me in trouble with my parents. Kent merely smiled at my challenge and after glancing at his watch, replied, "Well, my good man, if you'll chauffer me home, I'll show you." He licked his lips and said, "I bet you'll fucking cum in your pants if you get to see my mom naked and fingering her wet pussy."

"Dude, you are so fucking on!" I fired my beater of a Nova up and we carefully drove across town, keeping an eye out for Johnny Law until finally we drove past the Baptist church and pulled into the driveway behind the parsonage.

As we pulled up close to the house, Kent leaned over and pointed out my window. "Check that sweet ass out. Damn, even with all her clothes on, Mom makes my pecker hard!"

I turned to find Gwen Walker kneeling in front of a flower bed situated in the middle of the yard. She was wearing a sleeveless top and loose khaki shorts that came almost to her knees, her fair skinned slightly reddened by the summer sun. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a short ponytail. Her back was to us and she had no idea the impact of her slowly swaying ass had on both her son and me.

When we climbed out, Kent hollered, "Hey, Mom! Can John stay for dinner?"

Gwen Walker looked over her shoulder and smiled at us, her lovely face marred slightly by a smudge of dirt on one cheek. "Sure, we've got plenty. Your father is over at General Hospital all evening. Hiya, John. How's your mother doing?"

I nodded and then said, "Doing fine...I guess you'll see her Sunday at services."

She smiled and replied, "And you too, young man. Just because y'all are seniors doesn't mean you can skip church!"

"Yes, ma'am," I answered before Kent told her we were going upstairs to play Pong on his Atari.

We disappeared inside and when I turned to head up their back stairs, Kent grabbed me and said, "No, man...basement...now!" We quietly slipped down to the parsonage basement where our church's youth group often met for nice quiet parties. The basement had long served multiple functions -- rumpus room, guest room and storage room. There was an old but serviceable couch and loveseat in one corner along with an ancient black and white television and a fridge. Partitioned by a vinyl and fabric wall was a toilet and sink and a large shower stall. Across the basement stood a washer and dry and a canvas clothes hamper.

Kent pointed to a second set of stairs that led up to the outside exit and we started up them, getting about two thirds of the way where Kent climbed over the rail and began to carefully negotiate rafters running the length of the basement. I followed him until we were standing on a thick sheet of plywood that might have served as an additional storage space, but which was currently empty except for a few empty soda cans and a box of tissue. Kent knelt on one edge and motioned for me to join him. I looked over the edge and gasped. Below us at a slight angle was the shower stall...anyone inside it would be completely visible.

"Mom usually showers down here after she's been working in her garden and flowers," Kent said in an almost reverential tone. He pointed to an old coat rack that held several different sized bathrobes hanging on it.

"Goddamn, Kent!" I murmured. "How many times have you peeked on your mom and jacked off up here?" Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought I could smell a faint whiff of jizzum and sweat.

My friend laughed and shrugged. "I've lost count, but each time was better than the last!"

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byAhabscribe© 21 comments/ 146581 views/ 74 favorites

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