Mom's Christmas Dress


"Would you like to dance?" I belatedly asked.

"Why yes," Mom said. "How nice of you to ask."

She directed me to a CD to play and when I turned toward her, she held her glass out for me to take. The music had already started by the time I set it down. It was very slow, artsy blues. Mom held her arms out and I folded mine around her. As the song wore on, Mom pressed closer and closer, until her head was resting on my shoulder, her arms circled around my back, and her breasts pressed against my chest. We barely moved, mostly just shifting our weight from one foot to the other, and we didn't talk.

One song turned into another. We didn't stop 'dancing' between songs. On the fourth song, Mom rubbed her head against my shoulder and turned it in, pressing the other side of her face against me, huddling close under my chin. She squeezed me tighter and her hips pressed closer to mine. I had an erection but Mom didn't seem to be aware of it. I guess I wasn't as big as I thought or, at least, it wasn't as enormous as it felt. That was odd because Mom's tits fell much larger than they looked.

When the CD ended, Mom drew partly away, looked up at me, and gave me a soft kiss on my chin.

"Thank you sweetheart. I haven't danced like that in ages. It felt nice."

"I'll dance with you anytime you like, Mom."

"That's ok, you don't have to. The dress just brought back memories."

"No, I mean it, Mom."

Mom smiled. "That's sweet of you. I'm feeling a little tipsy. I think I'll go to bed."

I watched Mom walk slowly upstairs, holding one side of the dress up as high as she could. After a long while, I went to bed and spanked the monkey.


The next day was uneventful until, just before lunch, another package arrived. This time it was a small box but it was addressed to me again. I unwrapped the manila wrapping paper to reveal another meticulous example of gift wrapping. I handed it to Mom who set it under the tree.

"Let's eat lunch," she said.

Nothing happened all afternoon and Mom ignored the new parcel. I didn't catch her looking at it, not even once. After dinner, I took Dad's meal to him and stayed for several minutes to chat but was soon chased off. When I came downstairs, Mom was waiting for me. There were two drinks on the coffee table and Mom was sitting on the floor in front of the tree. I took my place beside her and she pulled the new present onto her lap as soon as I sat down. Without a word, she began to unwrap it. I noticed that she had let her hair down. I reached out and straightened a few tangles as she worked on the present.

Shoes. Satin, emerald green shoes to match the dress.

"Wait here," Mom said, getting up.

Ten minutes later, I turned at the sound of a light cough to see Mom walking slowly down the stairs, wearing the dress. I watched her all the way. I didn't look away once and she seemed comfortable with that. In fact, she seemed to expect it. Mom stopped behind me, reached down for her drink and took a long sip. Setting it down, she moved over to Dad's unused chair and sat down. She crossed one foot over the other—the dress was too tight for her to put one leg over the other—and waited, arching the toes on her upper foot and the eyebrows above one eye.

Comprehension sparked in my brain. I grabbed the shoe box and scrambled around to kneel in front of the chair. Lifting one shoe out of the box, I brought it close to her foot. Mom shook her head. What? I thought...

Mom pointed at the other shoe. Of course. I had picked the shoe for the other foot. I set the one down and picked up the other shoe. Carefully, I grasped Mom's ankle and slipped the shoe onto her foot. The feel of her skin was like a series of electric shocks. The shoe felt tight and I slid my hand higher up Mom's leg to get a better grip. My fingers wrapped around her leg just where the meat of her calf started to flesh out. I snapped the shoe home and asked her how it felt, keeping my hand wrapped around her leg.

Mom flexed her foot and my hand slipped higher up her calf, inside the dress. The shoe fit snugly but Mom continued to flex her foot and my fingers slipped around, tickling the backside of her calf. Finally, Mom was satisfied and nodded at the other shoe. I repeated my shoe-fitting regimen, being sure to slip my hand up and down the lower calf of Mom's other leg. When her foot was finally still, my fingers kept massaging her calf.

"That feels good," Mom said. "Your father used to do that for me after we danced."

I stopped, then pulled my hand away. Mom smiled, then glanced at the stereo. I grabbed the remote, started the CD, stood, and held my hand out, lifting Mom when she put hers in mine. I pulled her to the middle of the room to dance.

"Can you turn the lights down, sweetheart? This is mood music, after all."

I turned all the lights off. Only the light from the kitchen and the Christmas tree lit the room. Mom pressed against me as soon as I returned. Something of my own was pressing against her before the first song ended. I couldn't help it. Her soft and gentle movements couldn't be ignored. On the third song, my hands slipped down her back onto her the rise to her buttocks.

"Sorry, Mom," I whispered quietly, trying not to intrude on the mood enveloping the room. I pulled my hands back up to Mom's waist.

"S'alright," Mom murmured. "It's just dancing."

A minute later, my hands slipped again, though not entirely by accident this time. I was about to pull them back when Mom snuggled closer and worked her nose into the crook of my neck. I kept my hands in place, resting on top of her buttocks, and even managed to press her closer a few times. Near the end of the last song, I allowed my fingers to drape over the rounded edge of her twin slopes, stretching out in a feathery caress across Mom's butt. When Mom snuggled even closer, I couldn't resist kissing her temple and then the corner of her closed eye. Mom answered my hug with a squeeze of her own.

When the CD ended, Mom turned away and sat down in Dad's chair. I kneeled before her to slip her shoes off, one by one, in no rush.

"Play the CD again," Mom said.

I started it and turned back to see Mom stretching her feet out. I slipped my hands under them and up the back of her ankles, then onto her calves. I started my massage and Mom leaned back, closing her eyes and murmuring something about how soothing the music was. I caressed Mom's feet and legs for a long time before summoning enough courage to venture higher up her legs. It was all I could do to reach the back of her knees. Up to that point, Mom seemed to be sleeping but she giggled like a schoolgirl when my fingertips traced small ovals in the tender skin there. Startled, my face reddened as I looked up to see Mom gazing at me with soft eyes and realized that my secret caresses had not been so secret after all.

"That was very nice, Ryan. It was very thoughtful of you."

I nodded, feeling guilty but elated that I'd been caught with my hand in the cookie jar and wasn't being punished.

"Time for bed," Mom yawned.

I watched her climb the stairs. All the way.


The next day no package arrived. Mom wasn't surprised and, unlike me, didn't seem to be disappointed. I asked if I could use the car and left alone, despite Mom asking me if I'd like company. I went to the mall and found myself in a ladies store looking for a gift to give Mom. I must have looked overwhelmed because an attractive woman in her late thirties spoke to me.

"Looking for something for your wife?"

I started to say no, then changed my mind a nodded.

"Pretty late," she admonished me. "I'll bet my husband is out looking too." She laughed. "Would you like some help?"

I nodded vigorously and she laughed again.

"Come on," she said. "I'll help you pick some things out that will keep you out of the doghouse."

Later that afternoon, I was sitting in the kitchen with Mom, talking about my time away when the doorbell rang. I leapt to my feet but Mom, who was sitting closer, said, "I'll get it."

Mom was very surprised to see a delivery man with a package. It was addressed to me, like the others. Mom brought it to the kitchen and put it on the table and regarded it skeptically before opening it to reveal another present. This one wasn't quite so professionally wrapped.

"Open it, Mom."

"No, let's leave it until after dinner like the others."

"But I'm taking you out for dinner and we probably won't be home until late."

"What do you mean, you're taking me out for dinner?"

"I made a reservation at Pedro's. It's a surprise."

"It certainly is. What time?"


"Oh my gosh. I barely have time to make your father's dinner and get ready," Mom cried. Dad never went out.

"I'll make Dad's dinner. He barely pays attention to what he eats, anyway. Open it."

"After dinner."

"No, now. Whoever your secret admirer is, I'll bet they bought something to go with the dress. Expensive perfume, or maybe even jewelry."

"I doubt that," Mom laughed.

"Quick Mom. Open it so you can wear it with your dress at dinner."

"You want me to wear that dress to dinner? It's so formal."

"I insist," I said, pushing the present toward Mom on the table.

Mom opened the gift and gasped. It was a set of very sexy, pale green lingerie that matched the tone of the dress perfectly. Mom picked up one of the sheer, shimmery green thigh-high stockings, then put it down and held up a contraption the woman at the store had explained to me as something that would hold the stockings up. There was a matching pair of skimpy panties to finish the set.

"I can't wear these."

"Why not. Nobody will see them, they'll be under your dress."

"I don't know...,"

"Hurry, Mom. We'll be late."

Mom picked up the box up and hesitantly walked upstairs. I set about making Dad a basic, man's dinner.

The restaurant was fancier than I had expected. Mom was maybe slightly overdressed and I, significantly under. All the way there in the car I couldn't stop thinking about what Mom was wearing under the dress. Had she put the sexy stuff on? We were shown to one of the semi-circular booths overlooking the harbor. The meal was fantastic and, contrary to my expectation, was more than ample. Mom ordered a sampling plate for two for dessert, and fancy coffees. She explained to the waiter that she and her 'date' —to which the waiter winked and smiled expansively, figuring me for her son—were going to share everything. After he left, Mom excused herself and I watched her swaying body all the way to the restrooms, my mind flickering from the very real movement of the dress to fantastic images of what she would look like dressed only in those underthings.

The dessert arrived while Mom was gone. There were half a dozen interesting creations that were so intriguing that I failed to see Mom until she was halfway to our table. I was stunned. The corner of her dress that had been buttoned in front of her left shoulder had been undone and was now fastened just above Mom's right hip. I remembered thinking it odd to find a button there while we were dancing and figured it must be there to hold a belt and that the one on the other side was just missing.

At first glance, it seemed that Mom's entire front was visible but there was a semi-transparent green material, surprisingly close to the color of the lingerie I had purchased that afternoon, covering the large open 'V' that would otherwise expose her cleavage. Mom's smile widened as she saw my reaction.

"What's for dessert?" she asked, sitting down beside me instead of on the other side of the booth where she had been, pushing me over with her thigh.

Mom busied herself selecting a dessert to try first and I spent the time freely examining the swelling sides of her breasts, barely visible under the shimmery green veil. My eyes were cast down when she surprised me by turning toward me with a dessert fork, offering a delicious morsel. We finished the entire plate that way, Mom alternating between me and herself, feeding us both. She didn't seem to be upset when she caught me looking at her breasts. In fact, her thigh seemed to pressed more firmly against mine when she turned to feed me. If it had been up to me, I would have ordered another dessert. I might have even suggested it, but, sooner than I wished, we were on our way home.

At home, Mom made some tea and asked me to take it up to Dad. When I returned, the lights had been turned down and Mom was waiting in the living room. She waved her hand toward the coffee table where an open bottle of red merlot and two glasses waited, backed by a bouquet of red roses. It was my turn to be surprised.

"You really shouldn't have, Ryan. It's too much."

I was about to deny any knowledge of the flowers or the wine when a little voice inside my head said, Just go with the flow. Take the credit.

I shrugged and moved toward Mom, who raised her arms to hug me. My eyes strayed down her chest. I just couldn't help it. After the hug, Mom stepped back, picked up the remote and started the CD. To my disappointment, the music was fast. I didn't want to really dance, I wanted to feel that body against me. Mom's hips were rocking and she was smiling.

"You can't dance to this in that dress, Mom," I said, my hopes resurging, confident she'd agree and revert to the slow music I had enjoyed so much last night.

"This is an amazing dress, wouldn't you agree?"

"It certainly is. Awesome, but it does have its limits."

Mom bent to her side, her fingers searching for something behind her knees. The twist of her body made her breasts arch, revealing the press of a perfectly formed tit against the sheer veil. I failed to see what she was doing with the dress until her hand passed in front, unzipping the dress above her knees. There was a seam there I could only now discern. Mom's hand passed around behind her knees again and a large chunk of the dress fell to her feet. Mom stepped out of it and kicked it to the side. Lifting her foot, she slipped her shoe off, then repeated with the other foot.

"Come on," she laughed, getting into the music.

Mom and I danced the rest of that CD and then she changed it and we danced to that one too. Between songs, we drank the wine. The music on the third CD was slower but still not meant for close dancing. With only two songs left, Mom put her arms on my shoulders and pulled me close. Finally, a slow one.

One thing the shimmery, semi-transparent veil couldn't conceal was the feel of Mom's breasts. Without the thickness of the dress intervening, I could feel their shape much better, and their warmth. Mom snuggled close and I immediately moved my hands to her hips, and shortly after, onto the upper slopes of her behind. Mom allowed them to rest there but when I stretched my fingers out to fondle more she gently grasped my hands and pulled them higher. A few seconds later, I allowed my hands to fall again. They were allowed to settle but when I stretched my fingers, they were pulled up again. I laughed softly and was answered in kind. I let my hands fall again but kept my fingers from stretching out onto Mom's cheeks.

"That was a lovely dinner. Thanks, Ryan."

"Thank you, Mom. I really enjoyed it."

"Especially the dessert."

I stretched the fingers of one hand out onto Mom's right cheek.

"Yes, especially the dessert."

We moved slowly. I kept my fingers still, but in place. They were allowed to stay. The song ended but we kept moving. I was hard and knew Mom had to be aware of my state.

"That was a very nice touch," Mom murmured, nodding toward the coffee table.

"The wine?" I asked.

"Yes, the wine," Mom said.

The music started playing the last, slowest and longest song.

"And the flowers," I said.

I stretched the fingers of my hand over Mom's left cheek.

"Especially the flowers," Mom whispered.

Mom turned her face inward and nuzzled my neck. As we moved slowly to the music, I tentatively moved my fingers over her cheeks. Emboldened by her acceptance, I pulled her closer, cupping her ass and pressing her against my hard cock. Mom's lips alternated between nibbling and kissing my neck. I wanted to pull back and kiss her and I dearly wanted to grind my cock into her, but I was afraid; afraid that if I moved too fast, I would lose her compliance.

The music eventually ended but we kept moving, gently swaying and softly rubbing our bodies together.

"It's late. I should get to bed," Mom whispered.

"Don't you want to dance some more?"

I desperately did not want this to end despite the fact that I was near coming in my pants.

"No. It's late. I should go to bed."

Mom began pulling away. My mind scrambled. Think of something, you idiot. Don't let her get away!

"I'll do your feet before you go."

"No. That's nice of you, Ryan, but I really should go."

Something in Mom's voice told me she wasn't all that sure herself. I persisted.

"Mom. Your muscles will tighten up if you go to bed like this. Let me fix it for you."

I pulled Mom toward Dad's chair. She resisted, but came, half stumbling.

"No," she murmured.

I ignored her, turning her around and pushing her back into the chair, lowering her gently. Mom sank back into the chair and raised her foot.

"No," she whispered.

I held her foot in two hands, one massaging her instep and the other rubbing beneath the balls of her foot with a thumb while the fingers massaged her toes.

"No," Mom whispered, closing her eyes.

I rubbed Mom's foot for several minutes, then switched to the other foot. I moved back and forth between her feet, slowly working my way higher up her legs until I was stroking and massaging from her heel to her knee. I shifted closer to her so I could massage her calves better, and in so doing, I pushed her knees up and the skirt of her dress slid halfway down her thighs, baring the skin above her stockings.

I stared. The stockings really emphasized the tenderness of her skin and my mind leapt to the pale green panties that I suspected lay above, hidden in the darkness of Mom's skirt. My hands moved. I tried to stop them. Too far, too far. But they moved under their own control. My fingers reached the top of the stockings and started undoing the delicate clasps that held them from falling down; the lady in the store had shown me how they worked. Mom stirred but didn't open her eyes.

"What are you doing?" she whispered.

"'Just taking your stockings off so I can massage your feet properly."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Ryan."

"Why?" I asked, immediately rebuking myself for begging a response.

But Mom didn't answer. Slowly, and carefully, to cause as little disturbance as I could, I released each clasp. I wished I could follow the delicate straps to their source but knew that would ruin everything. Gently, I tugged Mom's stockings down her legs, carefully working the material over each knee and off each foot. As soon as I was done, I began massaging Mom's feet, repeating the slow pattern I had employed earlier until I was working Mom's upper calves.

I had pushed Mom's legs higher and further apart. My eyes weren't on my work but were peeking up Mom's skirt. Her legs, now wider apart, had forced the skirt higher and I could see a hint of panties. My cock was super hard. I raised my hands and started caressing the inside of Mom's knees, then ventured higher, lightly scratching up the first few inches on the inside of her thighs. Mom's knees widened in response and her panties suddenly came vividly into view, the penetrating light revealing contours previously been hidden by darkness.

The front of the panties now bulged toward me. They were so delicate I could see the press of Mom's pubic hair and a dark vertical slit between parallel protuberances. I could feel her heat. I could smell her. It was too much; I started coming in my pants, hips thrusting uncontrollably. When I was done, I sank back on my feet. Mom opened her eyes and looked at me.

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