A Death in the Family

There are elements of truth in this little tale. The broad outline of the deeds has been embellished for dramatic purposes. The names have been changed to protect the guilty. Enjoy! And VOTE!

*****

With their arms entwined around each other's waist, John and Carol Drake stood in the door of their Georgian waving at the last of the departing mourners. Carol's head rested on her son's arm. The tragic death of Allen, John's father and Carol's husband, hit them hard. Less than a week ago he was a seemingly healthy 50-year-old. Then, while sitting at his desk at work, he keeled over. The staff of his business called 911 but by the time the EMT arrived, it was too late.

As John closed the door, Carol slumped against him and began quietly crying. He wrapped his arms around her plump body and pulled her to him. Her head rested against his broad chest. He could feel her breasts pressing into his abdomen.

"Mom, I'll be here for you. It'll be hard but we can get through this together."

"I know, baby, but you have your own life. I'll manage."

"I took a few weeks off. Come on, lets sit down. You must be exhausted."

John guided his mother to the large mosh pit sofa in the media room. It fronted the 72" flat screen television where his father indulged his love of sports. A fully stocked wet bar sat at right angles to the wall where the TV hung. The sofa was C shaped with the middle of the C filled by a large hassock and end tables on either end.

Carol sat down on one side of the C and scooted across, resting her back on the sofa while her legs were extended in front of her on the hassock. Aware that her black knee length dress rode up to mid-thigh, she tugged ineffectually at the hem.

"John, would you fix me a drink, please! Bushmill's on the rocks"

"Mom, be careful! This is your second drink and you haven't eaten."

"I know, Johnny! I'll eat later. Now I just need a drink to relax!"

At 6' 2, 210 pounds, thirty-year-old John was built like his father. He looked down at his petite 48-year-old mother. The stress of the last few days aged her. The crow's feet at the corner of her eyes and the deep furrows at the corners of her mouth were more pronounced.

He smiled as she tugged at her hem. His mother was a modest person. However, he recalled growing up and hearing her and his father going at it in their bedroom. Belying her demure public persona, judging by her profane cursing and screams, she was a tiger in bed.

As he opened the 750-milliliter bottle of the potent Irish whiskey, the old saw came to mind. His mother was a lady in the streets and a whore in the sheets. He smiled as he added ice to two rock glasses and filled them with the alcohol.

In his teen years he had the usual sexual fixation with his mother. He ruefully shook his head as he recalled trying to peek and see her naked. He was away at college into his second relationship before he reconciled his incestuous lusting for his mother. He still found her alluring.

She gained a few pounds over the years, mostly in her behind and hips. However, they served to make her not heavier but curvier. Her breasts, he guessed she was a C cup, had a decided sag but only added to her curviness.

Carol watched her son fix their drinks. As always, she marveled that this handsome sexy young man was the issue of her womb. While his father was a rotund bear of a man, John was tall and athletic. He was an empathetic caring person. In some ways he was the antithesis of his hard driving father.

He was highly successful in his own right. He taught Business Principles in a prestigious university. Though it hurt when he graduated college and decide to live in California, she was proud that he stood up to his father. Allen wanted him to work in the company IT business.

"Thank you, baby!" She took the glass and took a deep gulp. Carol swallowed hard, daintily covered her mouth with her finger tips and then finished off the drink. She held the glass up and shook it.

"Wow! You had better take it easy! That stuff will go straight to you head."

"I hope it does! I need something to ease the pain of your father's death."

John took a sip of his drink, sat on the end table. He took his mother's glass back to the bar and refilled it. He paused. He looked at his mother. He grabbed the ice bucket and filled it. He took the ice bucket, his mother's refill and the bottle of Bushmill's back to the sofa. He handed her glass to her. Then he sat the ice bucket and bottle on the end table next to him.

"Part of dealing with lost is moving on! Socialize! Meet people! Perhaps one day finding someone to fill that hole in your life."

"What your father and I had was special! I'll never replace what we had."

He slipped off his coat and tie then kicked off his well-shined grey loafers. He sighed heavily as he sat next to her.

"Is that it," Carol said devilishly, "I thought I was going to get the full strip tease."

"Careful, Old Lady! I might do the full monty!"

"Promises, Promises!" Carol kicked off her high heels and let them drop to the floor. She playfully slapped her son's arm when he raised a suggestive eyebrow. "Stop it! Besides, you don't want to see this old wrinkled body!"

John sipped his drink. It was good to see flashes of his sassy mother. As she lay her head on his shoulder, he wrapped his arm around her, his hand rested on her black nylon thigh high stockings. Nocturnal hamper diving in his teen years revealed she usually wore thigh highs. It became a fetish of his to have his girlfriends wear them during sex.

Carol took a hefty sip of her drink. She reached over her son and sat the glass on the table. She lay her head back on his chest and began crying uncontrollably. John was caught off guard. He pulled her to him and held her head against his chest. As he stroked her back, his hands slipped to the soft mound where her back ended and her behind began.

"MOM! It's going to be okay! I know you and dad had something special. But life goes on!"

With one hand, he stroked her fragrant greying hair. His other hand caressed the upper curve of her behind. He read somewhere that the touch of someone who loved them could ease the pain of grief. As his hand stroked her thigh, her dress rode up exposing the brown flesh between her thigh high stockings and the bottom of her boy shorts. He felt awkward as his hand ended up on the bare skin of her thigh.

"I know, Johnny, I know! I'm just overwhelmed by the suddenness of it all."

Carol sniffled. She buried her face in her son's chest. She inhaled his manly scent. He was her refuge. She was aware of the impropriety of her son caressing her bare thigh. However, it was comforting, reminding her of sitting on this same couch with Allen while he caressed her behind. She reached over him, only dimly aware that her breasts drug across his chest, picked up her glass and drained it.

John took her glass, added a few ice cubes and filled it to the top. He also freshened his drink. "Hey, you're not a crying drunk are you," he teased trying to cheer her up.

"No! Not usually. It's just...well...I think about what life will be without him and I get sad."

Carol took the offered glass and took another deep sip. Drinking on an empty stomach was causing her to feel a little light headed. She reached across her son and sat her glass on the end table next to him. In doing so her dress rose higher, revealing all of her black lacey panties.

John was on his third drink. He rested his hand on his mother's butt and gently massaged it. He used his free hand to freshen both of their drinks. In the process his hand moved from his mother's behind.

"Don't stop! I used to lay on your father like this while he watched football. He'd rub my ass just like you're doing now."

John squeezed her full mature behind and playfully slapped it. "Well, I'm not dad. And I shouldn't be patting your ass."

Carol sipped her drink. She smiled up at her son. "Too bad! I usually ended up giving him a blowjob to make him pay attention to me."

"MOM! You've had too much to drink. Maybe we should go to bed."

"Is that a proposition," Carol slurred, "if so, I'm ready!" Her hand grasped his thigh. She began stroking up and down.

John took another sip of his drink. He squeezed his mother's ass. Somewhere in his mind an alarm went off. He took his hand off her ass. He reached down, intended to grasp her waist and push her off him. The alcohol dulled his senses. He pushed his mother's breasts.

"Oops! Sorry about that! And no, that wasn't a proposition. What's come over you?"

Carol's hand bumped the head of her son's cock as she ran her open palm up and down his thigh. "I'm old, a widow and slightly drunk. And I'm going to miss your father's cock!"

"In order," John replied drunkenly, "you're not old! You're like fine wine, getting better with age. As far as being a widow and missing dad's cock, with an ass like this, you won't be alone long." He brought his hand down firmly, smacking her ass.

"OUCH! You're heavy handed like your father."

"Sorry! But I haven't had anything to eat either. This alcohol is going straight to my head."

She turned on her side while laying on her son's lap. She saw the bulge where his dress pants pulled tight across his thighs. In a moment of Déjà vu, she remembered the feel and taste of her husband's cock. "Unzip me!"

John grasped the zipper on the back of his mother's dress and pull it down. It stopped just above the curve of her ass. He could see the straps of her lacey bra. The matching lacey panties pulled tight across her behind. Despite himself, his inhibitions lowered by the drinks, he felt himself getting a hard on.

"Now who's doing a strip tease."

"Boy, if you saw anymore of this old body, you'd get sick to your stomach!"

John picked up the bottle and slopped more Bushmill's in the glasses. In the process some spilled on his mother's back just above her panties."

"OOPS! Hold on! I can't let good booze go to waste." John leaned down and licked the up the alcohol. His tongue ran along her spine and across the elastic waistband of her panties. The aroma of her fragrance wafted up to his nose. Impulsively, he kissed her pantied ass.

A tremor shook Carol's body. It started between her legs and travelled through her body. She rolled on her back. The top of her dress fell down, exposing her bra.

Carol could feel her son's hard cock pressing against the back of her head. An alarm went off in her head. They were both tired, stressed and halfway through a bottle of Irish whiskey. She knew they should stop. Later she would not understand what came over her. She knew it as not just the alcohol.

"Too bad you didn't spill it on the front," she giggled.

John's head rocked back and forth as he tried to focus. "You ain't said nothing but something to do," he said drunkenly. He picked up the bottle. He intended add a dollop to her belly. He over did it. Carol yelped as the whiskey soaked her panties.

She sat up, her behind against her son's thigh. "Damn, Johnny! You destroyed my panties."

Carol lifted her butt, hiked her dress up around her waist. She hooked her thumbs in her panties and pulled them off. Playfully, she turned and pull them over his head.

John tried to ward her off, holding his hands in front of his face. His coordination was off. His mother thrust her panties over his head with the crotch over his mouth. The acrid odor of the alcohol competed with the aromatic aroma of his mother's panties. He opened his mouth and sucked on the fragrant crotch of his mother's wet panties.

Carol turned and sat cross legged on the sofa watching her son chew on her panties. She thought it was the most erotic thing she saw in her life. She giggled at the incongruity of his eyes peering through the leg holes. She was uncaring that her neatly trimmed pussy with its greying thatch was on display. She felt a gooey wetness as she watched him munch on her panties.

"Can't let this good whiskey go to waste!" He leered at his mother through the leg holes as he sucked on the gusset of her panties.

Carol glanced down and saw her son's massive hard on. She licked lips. How many times had she and Allen played right here? She reached out and grasped his tool, flexing her fingers on its length. "How do they taste," she slurred? Her eyes were at half mast, her head moved loosely.

John pulled her panties off his head. There was a roaring in his ears as blood rushed through his veins. He ran his tongue over his lips, relishing the musky after taste. He held them out to his mother. "Taste them yourself."

Giggling, Carol reached for her panties. She over balanced, wind milled her arms and fell back on the hassock with her legs akimbo toward her son, her knees slightly bent. She held her panties to her nose.

"Not bad! The panties taste different than when I tasted myself on your father's cock." She shivered, recalling those intimate moments. She was uncaring of her unladylike posture.

"TMI, mom," John slurred.

He mentally crossed a line as he stared at his mother's glistening pussy. Later he was not sure what drove him. Perhaps, it was the end result of his teenage lust for her, a chance to realize a fantasy. The stress of the last few days of funeral preparation added to it. They were both overly tired. He scooted down on the couch and crawled between her legs.

Carol raise the upper part of her body on her elbows. She looked down at her son crawling between her legs. As active as their sex life was, her husband rarely went down on her. He was old school.

"What cha doing, baby?" A clear thought popped through the alcoholic fog. I should stop him. We're going too far.

Before she could transfer the thought to action. John tentatively licked at her engorged cunt lips. "Taste better this way," he mumbled.

His tongue sent an electric shock through Carol's body. Her hips thrust up. One hand grasped the back of her son's head and held it tight against her throbbing love hole.

"Fuck! No baby! No! We mustn't!"

She was in that nether world between inhibition lowering drunkenness and passed out drunk. Even as her hand pressed his head tighter to her spasming cunt, she was aware it was wrong to let her son lick her pussy. However, grief and alcohol pushed the societal prohibitions to the side. This incestuous shared intimacy felt good.

John ran his tongue up and down the length of her cleft, French kissing his mom's pussy. Her taste was incredible, like thick musky syrup. He drove his tongue deeper in her, lapping at the increasing flow of her pungent juices. He raised up, his mouth and face glistening with her wetness. He looked up at his mother. She looked incredibly wanton with her bra still on and her dress bunched around her waist.

"'Taste better this way," He said with a lop-sided grin.

"If I taste so good, why did you stop?"

She looked down at her son's head between her thighs. Drowned out by the copious amounts of alcohol they drank, the warning alarms in her head were much fainter.

He grinned up at his mother. He blinked his eyes several times, trying to focus. Her head seemed like it was far away. He slipped his arms under her thighs, lifted her legs to his shoulders. He Frenched kissed her dripping hole, wiggling his tongue inside her pussy. When she bucked against his head, he slapped her thigh.

"Hold still!"

"How the fuck you expect me to hold still when your tongue is in my pussy sending thrills through my body?"

Carol writhed as her son tongue fucked her. When his tongue flicked at her engorged, sensitive clit, she screamed.

"AWWWW FFFFUUUCKKKK! YOU PUSSY EATINNG MOTHERFUCKER!"

Her body quaked as she came. Her legs clamped around his head. She ignored his muffled protestations. "OHHHH SHIT! SHIIIITTT!"

John managed to pull his head from the vice like grip of his mother's thighs. He rocked back on the couch. Blearily he watched as his mother's belly heave as she gasped for air and came down. He could see a thin whitish liquid oozing from the bottom of her pussy. He reached over, picked up his glass and took a sip of his drink.

"That's how you sounded when you and dad were doing it in the bedroom," he chuckled.

Carol lay on her back staring at the ceiling. What was happening? She never had any sexual feelings for her son. Yes, she thought he was handsome and sexy but she never fantasized about anything sexual with him. Yet, a pleasurable tingling suffused her body.

She managed to turn at right angles to her son's feet on the hassock. Her dress was a wrinkled mess around her waist, the hem soaked with her juices. Her nipples were painfully hard.

"Your father was old school," she said, pointing at her drink. John slopped some whiskey from the nearly empty bottle and handed it to her. "He rarely ate me out. And for sure not like you just did." She took a long gulp from her glass.

She handed the glass to John. "Now let me show you what he liked." She fumbled with his belt.

Bleary eyed, John stared down at his mother struggling with his belt. She grinned up at him triumphantly after she solved its intricacies. She unzipped his pants, fumbled inside the opening, found his cock and pulled it out.

"You're having a lot of trouble down there, mom! You sure you know what you're doing?"

Hearing her son call her mom while she held his cock in her hand jarred Carol. For a moment she hesitated. What am I doing? She looked at the pulsing man meat in her hand. He was as least as large as his father. Maybe a little fatter. But definitely harder. Like a cat lapping cream, her tongue licked the clear liquid oozing from his slit.

"Your father said I was a great cocksucker. We would sit here on the couch while he watched television and I would suck his cock." The last word caught in her throat as reality intruded. Allen is dead! She pushed the thought away and took her son's cock in her mouth.

John hands clawed at the sofa as his mother's tongue caress his tool. He groaned as her head pushed down taking him fully in her mouth. FUCK! She's good! In his 30 years, he had many blowjobs. They ranged from fresh faced coeds trying to improve a grade to trysts with fellow teachers. There was even the husband of the Chemistry professor who loved to suck him clean after he fucked his wife. He was good! However, his mother was a pro. He could tell by the way her tongue wrapped around his girth as she slowly bobbed. His butt clenched. He knew he could not last long.

"Jesus mom! Where did you learn to suck cock like that?"

Carol pulled back still applying even pressure to her son's dick as she did. She smiled as she heard the slight pop as the head slipped through her pursed lips. She looked up at her son's face twisted in a grotesque mask of lust.

"When your father and I first got married, we experimented with swapping. For a couple of years, I sucked and fucked many cocks. And licked a few pussies." She winked at the startled look on her son's face. "Practice makes perfect!"

John's hips pumped involuntarily as Carol tongued the slit of his tool. His hand was caressing his mother's bare ass. He slid his index finger into her drenched love hole. He slowly probed, relishing the slickness and the flexing he felt.

"You and dad were swingers," he gasped. It was a startling revelation. He tried to picture his demure mother riding a cock. Somehow it played into his teenage fantasies. He would sometimes listen to the sounds of his parents having sex and wonder what they looked like. What she looked like.

She groaned as she felt her son finger fucking her. She redoubled her sucking. His cock felt incredible in her mouth. Her nose twitched as the scent of their arousal assaulted her nostrils. Reluctantly, she again took his cock from her mouth. She looked at it pulsing, the slit oozing his precum.