Morgana's Christmas

Copyright © 2008, BarondeSade. ALL Rights Reserved.

No portion of this story may be reproduced for profit without the express written permission of the authors...

This story is a work of fiction. The characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental...

An erotic fantasy from the pen of BarondeSade and introducing a collaborating author, MorganaleFay...

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Morgana's Fantasy

Chapter One - Christmas

Byron stood leaning against the wall by the window watching his mother and listening to the murmur of voices in the room.

It was Christmas Eve and the family was gathered together, as was their tradition every year. And this was the third year since his father had left his mother! He still couldn't believe that he was gone! Why would he ever leave a woman so kind and so beautiful, he had asked himself a thousand times? He had even broached the subject with his father once, but was told it was none of his business, so he had dropped it . . .

"Looks like just about everyone is here, this year," he heard his cousin Emily say as he glanced across the room to his mother . . .

If his mother only knew what he was thinking, he told himself. If she only knew how much he wanted to take her in his arms and give her a long, deep kiss right on her lips. Right on her beautiful, soft lips! Then, throw her on the floor and make mad, passionate love to her right in front of everyone!

With those sick, twisted thoughts swirling through his head, he kept his other hand draped down in front of himself to hide the evidence of his arousal. If only there was some way to tell her just how he felt! Tell her how much he loved her and how he wanted to show his love to her. But he couldn't . . . he couldn't ever tell her because he knew that it could cause a rift between them that could never be closed again.

Morgana looked about the room, taking everything and everyone in. Each time her eyes swept the room they seemed to instinctively settle back on her son, Byron. And every time their eyes met, he would bashfully look away. Why? It was almost as if he were embarrassed to be seen looking at her. She reached for her glass of wine and smiled at the comment she heard her sister make from across the room. Her sister, Elaine was always the funny one. Morgana was always the more subdued of the two, the more quiet and cautious one, her sense of humor a little on the dark side. A perfect complement to her sister when she thought about it, which must be why they always got along so well. Byron was more like her in that way, she thought . . . a little cautious, one to always put his foot in the water before diving in . . . but once in, he would go hell bent for whatever he was after.

"Look! Even Grandma Pearl showed up this year!" Byron heard Emily say.

"That's a pleasant surprise. I thought she was ill," Byron said, looking across the room at his mother again, his eyes straying down to her breasts.

As he did, he saw her look toward him again. Blushing ever so slightly, he smiled back at her and quickly looked away, afraid that his eyes might betray his true feelings toward her.

Morgana looked towards Byron again. This time she caught it. He was looking at her breasts. She could even see the small blush of crimson that spread over his cheeks when he looked away. Could she have mistaken it? If he weren't her own son she could easily say without a doubt that she was being admired from across the room. But Byron?

She looked around quickly. Nobody else was looking. No one else seemed to have noticed the interplay of intimacy between her and Byron.

As she slowly sipped on her wine, her aunt passed by and asked her something, but Morgana couldn't exactly make out what she said so she simply smiled and nodded in her direction. Her mind was on the fact that Byron kept sneaking quick glances her way. If she were younger, and not his mother, she would . . .

But she was his mother. So what was happening? She tried to relax, to look at it differently. As if he weren't her son . . . but that was the wrong direction to go, she quickly found out as she took a deep breath and sipped her wine.

What was going on, Byron frantically wondered? Why was his mother watching him? It was almost as if she were sizing him up. But sizing him up for what, he nervously thought, glancing back over at her?

There it was again, she told herself. Another quick glance. She watched him this time. Watched the way he was standing, not exactly sure of himself, not quite confident of himself yet. But beneath it all she could picture the man he was becoming . . . much like his father. Very handsome and very desirable . . .

Desirable? Did she just say desirable? Did she think of her Byron as desirable? Morgana shuddered, but now that her mind was drifting, she couldn't stop it. For the briefest of moments she looked at his lips and imagined how soft they would feel against hers.

This is all just too crazy, Byron told himself. It was almost like his mother was flirting with him. Flirting with him, but at the same time acting calm and collected so that no one would see what was going on between them. Could it be? Could it really be happening? After all these years of dreaming and hoping and wishing . . .

Stop it! Stop it, she screamed at herself. This is ridiculous. Maybe it wasn't completely out of the question for Byron to notice her as a woman! He was a man after all, and she had heard it said that a man thought about sex every seven seconds or so. So it would only be natural for him, but it was certainly out of the question for her to see him as a man . . . a man and not her son! Then the thought came again. A kiss? His lips against hers, softly touching . . . Her heart pounding painfully, Morgana had to turn away. Another deep breath. Could she blame the wine? No. She hadn't had but one glass. So why did her face feel hot and flushed?

Why was she blushing, Byron asked himself, taking another quick glance across the room at his mother? Then, as she looked away, he swept his eyes down her body. He could only imagine what her body looked like under her blouse and short skirt. Poring over the swell of her breasts, he wondered what they looked like. They weren't large, but they weren't tiny either. He could even make out the jut of her nipples as they thrust themselves out against the cloth. God, what would it be like to have them in his mouth once again . . .

Get hold of yourself, Morgana frantically told herself! Trying to regain some modicum of composure, she smiled at her aunt, and poured herself another glass of wine. Her hands were shaking. She felt like a schoolgirl on her first date. This was insane, she told herself. So what if Byron was looking at her? She could be grossly misinterpreting his gaze. Of course she was, she tried to tell herself. But then the demented thought came again . . . a quick vision of his face close to hers . . . their lips brushing . . . brushing, touching, she thought as a shudder of excitement jolted through her mind.

Stop it! She wanted to scream. She had to stop her mind from going any further. The thoughts that would come next, and the thoughts that would follow, were thoughts she could never allow to enter her mind. Not those kind of thoughts about her own son!

Straightening up, she admonished herself for her foolish thoughts, but found herself moving across the room towards Byron. What are you doing, she frantically asked herself? Are you trying to tempt fate? This is ridiculous! At least you could avoid temptation from across the room . . . but now!

Oh, God, Byron groaned to himself. Here she comes! Now what? Why was she coming over to where he was? Did she know? Was it a mothers intuition? Could she tell what he was thinking about her?

He was talking to his cousin. Stepping up beside them, Morgana stood near him and smiled. Byron returned the smile as their eyes met. This time she didn't look away, instead she held his gaze. She wanted so much to read his mind. She prayed he couldn't read hers. Again he nervously looked away. Again the quick flash of a blush! What was he hiding from her? Was he having the same sick thoughts she was?

There was something oddly different about this Christmas, Byron thought. He couldn't place his finger on it, but it was almost like that movie "It's a Wonderful life". Was this all really happening? Was the close intimacy between him and his mother real, or was it just a figment of his fevered imagination? Or maybe it was the wine! He had already had several glasses and was definitely feeling no pain.

His mother moved closer to him, her hip intimately brushing against his. Frantically trying to keep from reaching out and pulling her to him, he looked around the room, trying to do anything to focus his attention away from his mother.

It was almost dreamlike . . . a scene from the movie where at the end everybody was almost giddy with emotion of the moment. Everyone seemed to be tapping glasses together and toasting each other.

Now he could smell the subtle fragrance of his mothers perfume mixed with the smell of wood burning in the fireplace and all the other Christmassy smells wafting around the room. It was intoxicating, almost hallucinatory.

The room was warm, almost stuffy with all the relatives sitting and standing around as they talked. It was like he was standing in the eye of a hurricane with the emotion and passion swirling around him and his mother, yet everyone else was completely oblivious to it. Stifling a fake yawn, he wondered when the party would be over.

Then his mother pressed herself against him ever so gently. The movement was so slight, no one else could nave noticed. But to Byron, it was the same as if she had taken him in her arms and gave him the kiss he so desperately wanted.

Byron felt an almost imperceptible increase in the pressure of his mother's hip against his as he smiled dutifully at his cousin.

"Would you like some more wine?" Morgana asked, taking his glass from him.

"Uh, sure, sure, Mom," he inanely choked out, barely able to speak.

Listening to the crackle of the fire in the fireplace and the murmur of voices, he watched his mother make her way across the crowded room. He hoped that no one was watching him, but he couldn't resist staring down at her delectable little rear end softly swishing back and forth under her short, clinging skirt.

Keeping his sick urges under control was becoming more and more difficult, he told himself. Maybe he ought to just tell her how he felt and see what happened. What if she felt the same way toward him but was just afraid to admit it to him, or even herself?

Then he watched her walking back toward him with two glasses of wine in her hands. He couldn't stop himself from glancing down at the soft swell of her small, jiggling breasts as they bobbled ever so delicately with each step she took.

He's watching my breasts, Morgana giddily thought as she felt her hard, swollen nipples jiggling up and down, brushing against her blouse and sending even more excitement down to her pussy.

Then she was back by his side, handing him his drink and squeezing up next to him again. Byron was almost giddy with the excitement sparking through his brain. Turning toward her ever so slightly, he intimately wrapped his arm around her waist and gently pulled her to him. It was all so strange, he thought. There was something different about the emotions flowing between them tonight. Different and exciting! He hoped that no one was noticing the sensual intimacy they were sharing.

He couldn't say exactly what was happening, but the way she was acting, it was as if they were lovers, not mother and son.

"Thank you, mother," he whispered in her ear.

"You're welcome, darling," she whispered back to him.

The way Byron was standing now, her hip was brushing against the front of his pants. Then, she discreetly pressed her hip against the growing impatience of his now rock-hard cock.

God, she had to feel it, he deliriously told himself. She had to know that I have a hard on! But why didn't she move her hip away from it? Why, it was almost like she was deliberately rubbing her hip against it.

"Now where were we," she said, turning her head toward her cousin.

Listening to the drone of their voices, he couldn't help but notice the subtle movement of her hip as it pressed against him. It was no accident. It was really happening. Growing braver, he gently but insistently ground his cock against her hip and to his surprise, he felt her push back against him.

What's happening, he dizzily asked himself? This is all just too crazy! He couldn't be imagining it! It was really happening . . .

Then, as Byron's mind reeled with the implications of what was happening between him and his mother, he saw his cousin step away from them.

"What's happening, Mother?" he whispered into her ear, trying to keep his voice low enough that no one else could hear. "What's going on?"

"I don't know . . . I don't know . . ." she whispered back at him. "I just feel so strange . . ."

"Are you—do you—uh, are you okay?" he shakily asked, feeling her hip brush against him one more time.

"Let's talk, after everyone else has gone to bed," she urgently whispered, stepping away from him. "But for now I think we'd better cool things down before someone gets the wrong idea . . ."

Wrong idea? In his fevered mind, there could be only one way to interpret what had just happened between them. It had been sexual foreplay in the purest of terms!

They continued to stand close to one another, but no longer touching as they watched the crowd slowly thin when the relatives began to go their separate ways. At last only Aunt Elaine and Uncle Tim remained. Morgana had given them her sister her room for the night and she was planning to sleep on the couch in front of the fireplace.

"Well, I suppose it's off to bed for us," Tim said, taking Elaine's hand in his. "Thanks again for letting us have your bedroom for the night."

"Don't mention it," Morgana laughed, glancing over at the brightly decorated Christmas tree sitting in the corner. "I feel like a little girl going on an adventure, sleeping down here by the fire on Christmas Eve. Maybe I'll get to see Santa when he brings the presents."

"Well, night-night!" Elaine murmured as she and her husband started for the stairs.

Byron and Morgana watched them as they slowly treaded up the stairs.

"So, Mother, what's going on?" Byron asked her the moment they were alone.

"I think I'm going to have another glass of wine, would you like one?" she asked him, stepping over to the bar with an exaggerated swing of her hips.

"Uh, yeah, sure, but . . ." he muttered, following her over to the bar.

Stepping up beside her, he slipped his arm around her tiny waist as she slowly refilled their glasses. As he did, he felt her rub her hip against him again.

"Mother!" he groaned, digging his fingers into her waist.

"Patience, Byron . . ." she murmured, reaching down and pushing his hand away from her waist.

"But, Mother, what?" he muttered, disappointment written all over his face.

"I'm going to change into my nightgown," she told him, stepping over to the couch and picking up the flannel nightgown that lay atop the blankets she had placed there before.

With her gown draped over her arm, she slowly strolled over to the bathroom, rolling her hips provocatively as she did. Stepping inside the bathroom, she saw that the door to Byron's room was open. Stepping over she quietly closed it.

Setting her glass on the vanity, she heard the door to Byron's room open and close. Smiling to herself, she quickly unbuttoned her blouse and peeled it back over her shoulders. Her breasts were small enough, she didn't wear a bra most of the time and as she looked into the mirror, she could see her big, purple nipples were swollen and jutting out into the air like two plump berries, ripe and ready for plucking. They were so hard and swollen, they ached! Ached for the touch of his fingers! Ached for the touch of his lips on them as they had done once upon at time so long ago.

Reaching down, she fumbled with the button on the waistband of her short skirt for a moment before she finally freed it. Quickly finding the zipper that ran down her rounded hip, she ran it down its track. Then she pushed her skirt down over her shapely hips and let it go slithering to the floor. Looking down at her sheer, pink panties, she saw that they were wetly clinging to her sopping pussy. She couldn't remember the last time she had been so wet, she told herself, leaning down and pushing her drenched panties down her off her pussy.

Standing back up, she saw that the full, dark triangle of curls between her legs was wetly matted to the Y of her belly. As she stood looking down at herself, she couldn't resist the temptation to run a finger down to her jutting clit. But it was so hard, so sensitive, she could barely stand to touch it.

Jerking her hand away from it, she reached down and jerked her soaked panties back over her pussy. Lifting her nightgown up over her head, she ran her hands inside it and let it go slithering down her body.

A few quick smooths with her hands as she took one last look in the mirror and she was ready to rejoin Byron. The jut of her swollen nipples were plain to see as they thrust themselves out against the flannel material of her gown. Reaching up, she ran her finger over one of the juts and felt a spark of excitement tickle down to her achingly empty pussy.

Just then, she heard the door to Byron's room open and close again.

Picking up her drink and clothes, she took a couple of sips, then stepped over and pushed the door open. Taking a deep, cleansing breath to clear her head, she stepped out into the room and saw that Byron was sitting on the couch once again.

Silently padding over to the couch on her bare feet, she stepped around in front of Byron.

"Mother," he muttered, jumping. "I didn't hear you come out!"

He had changed into a pair of pajamas. And his arousal was plainly evident as the big bulge of his hard cock was tenting his pajamas.

"Come . . ." she told him, tossing her clothes down on the couch and taking his hand in hers. "Let's go where we can talk in privacy . . ."

Everything had a magical, dreamlike quality about it, Morgana thought to herself, feeling his sweaty hand in hers. It wasn't really happening! She was just dreaming it. And since it was a dream, she could do anything she wanted without worrying about the consequences!

Silently, they stepped down to his bedroom and quickly went inside. Closing the door behind them, Morgana walked over to his bed and set her glass down on his nightstand.

"You asked what's going on," she murmured, sitting down on the edge of his bed. "I'm not even sure myself. I'm afraid I can't explain it because I don't know myself."

"What do you mean?" he asked her, shuffling across the room toward the bed.

"It's all so scary and confusing," she mumbled as he sat down beside her. "I have so much I want to tell you—to show you—to give you! But I am so afraid!"

"Afraid? Afraid of what?" he asked her, feeling her hand on his thigh.

"Afraid of what you'll think of me," she murmured, giving his thigh an intimate squeeze.

"What? What do you mean?" he asked, his brain reeling with the chaotic possibilities swirling through it.

"You—you know how much I love you!" she told him as tears began to stream down her cheeks.

"Yes, Mother, yes! And I love you, too! So much! But that's not something to cry about," he told her, reaching up and gently wiping away her tears away with the tips of his trembling fingers. "It's something to celebrate. Celebrate knowing that we have each other, have each other to share that love with!"