A Good Sleep

Seeing her plump nipples jutting out from her shirt was a bit much, so she put on her robe, trying to maintain her dignity. The thought made her giggle, mostly from the drink. Hadn't her dignity been shattered the night before?

At 11 o'clock, the front door closed, alerting Emma to her son's return. Her heart was pounding as she waited for him to get ready for bed, entirely forgetting her decision to sleep in her bed.

When she heard him call, she grabbed the melatonin with shaking hands and took it to him in his room. The nervous mother watched her son settle in, noting that he wasn't wearing a t-shirt in bed. Questions floated up from the lake of wine in her stomach. Was he wearing underwear? Was he hard? How big was he?

Unsure how the night was going to go, Emma doffed her robe and grabbed the thin blanket she'd had the night before for protection. For all the good it had done then.

"You don't have to use that, you can use mine," came a sleepy mumble. He lifted his blanket invitingly.

Emma didn't hesitate nearly as long as she should have. She dropped the thin blanket and slipped under his, she wondered how he was able to sleep with it in the warm room, until she remembered his bare chest. He had fewer clothes on than she did. She could probably stand it too, if she was naked. A quiver ran through her at the thought.

The bottle of wine made her sleepy, which thankfully saved her from the nonstop barrage of inappropriate thoughts, but it didn't put her to sleep for the entire night.

She woke in the dark, the sound of Gabe's even breathing nearby. As she suspected, the blanket was too warm while wearing clothing. Instead of just flipping the blanket off, she stripped. Off came the soft shirt, her breasts pillowing on her chest. Down went her panties, swirling air blowing across her wet lips. The relief was immediate, and she soon went back to sleep.

The next time she woke, she was cuddled up against a warm chest, a sheen of sweat between them wherever they touched. Her breasts were squished pleasantly against him. Gabe. Her hand rested gently on his stomach, rising and falling with his breathing. The hammer of his slow heartbeat thumped in her ear. Her mons was pressed against his hip, one leg over one of his.

Emma lay there, enjoying the feel of being next to a man again. The question floated back up. Was he wearing underwear? She moved her hand south slowly across his belly until she hit trimmed pubic hair. He was not. What did that mean? Had he been naked this entire week, and she hadn't noticed, or was this the first time?

Lost in thought, she traced a lazy spiral on his lower belly. Gabe's breathing deepened, and then on one pass near his groin she felt spongy flesh leave a trail of wetness along her hand. Gabe's heartbeat in her ear was buried by the speedy flutter of her own. Time seemed to slow, caught between moments. Knowing what she would find, but curious beyond measure, she opened her hand and felt for the hard heat of her son's penis.

As if she had done it a thousand times, her hand found his shaft and settled around it. He was thick and long, the velvety heat radiating through her palm. What was wrong with her? Why was she touching her son? Guilt fought with excitement. She knew this wasn't right, but as with the night before, her arousal was overriding her common sense.

"Mom," he muttered, rolling his head.

The word broke the spell. This was her son. She had to be better. Carefully letting him go, she rolled away, creating space and turning to face the opposite direction. Emma closed her eyes and just breathed, doing her best to calm down enough for sleep, the feel of her son's impressive organ still etched in her palm.

Sleep did come, but it was fitful. She dreamed, but lightly, knowing that she was dreaming. The peace she had felt earlier was gone.

***

Emma woke on Friday morning to an empty bed. She was covered by Gabe's blanket, but her nudity felt like a beacon nonetheless. When had he gotten up? What time was it? Where were her sleeping clothes?

Sitting up, she held the blanket to her chest and shuffled to the edge of the bed. Her pajamas were on the floor where she'd tossed them, so she dressed under the blanket. Even though she was alone, she felt ashamed being nude in her son's room.

The events of the night were swarming in her head. Cuddling with Gabe. Holding his hard penis. The comfort she'd felt sleeping next to him. Despite her guilt, she couldn't help acknowledging that it felt really good.

She went to shower, confused by her feelings. What if she hadn't touched him down there and just kept cuddling him? Sure they were nude, but nothing bad was happening. She could have just gone back to sleep, happy with the comfort, and gotten decent rest.

The warm water soothed her jangled emotions somewhat, so by the time she was dressing in work clothes, she'd managed to calm down. She was making too much of it all. Better to just have a relaxing end to the week and get back to normal sleep tonight. The weekend beckoned.

Emma entered the kitchen to get some breakfast, half-afraid Gabe would be there. He wasn't.

It was a welcome reprieve. Emma knew that she'd be a bit muddled and didn't need the added distraction of having to tiptoe around her emotions whenever she saw her son.

Work was slow and easy, a perfect way to let her mind wander between Gabe and not-Gabe. It was a good day. She had the mental time and space to decompress, which let some buried thoughts and emotions surface naturally. The first thing to occur to her was that despite her closeness at night with Gabe being wrong, it didn't help to beat herself up about it. Face her feelings openly, and she'd have an easier time reconciling them.

At lunch, Emma idly wondered what Gabe had thought when he woke up that morning. Did he notice she was naked? Had he seen her clothes on the floor? Did he peek? That last one brought a flush over her, so she let it go. No sense in pointless conjecture.

Instead, she pondered why she felt so relaxed when sleeping in Gabe's bed. Was it the company? Was it the sense of duty in ensuring he was sleeping properly? Was it filling a hole left from when Allan abandoned her? Whatever it was, she felt closer to Gabe this week than she had in a long time.

Emma opened her Facebook app and went to Allan's page to see if he'd posted anything else she could judge him for. There was one new update, again asking for prayers for his mission to breed his girlfriend. He didn't use those words, but that was how Emma interpreted it. What a tacky way to announce you were rawdogging someone.

It hurt, to see others planning and working towards a baby. After Gabe was born, she spent several years assuming she'd be pregnant again soon. That had worn off after a while, and they'd stopped thinking about it. When Allan left, that final whisper of hope went with him, resulting in her long dive into depression. It was focussing on the child she did have that got her through it, instead of ones she didn't.

Emma sent a prayer, but not to Allan, instead to his new broodmare. She'd need it, because if she turned up infertile, he'd kick her to the curb. Smiling at her own pettiness, Emma went back to work, one final thought surfacing that she'd been avoiding. Why was she still sleeping in her son's bed after he touched her? When would she stop?

Gabe was out again when she got home, which meant another night alone with her thoughts. She stayed away from the wine, in case it had been a contributing factor to her getting naked the night before. Gabe phoned near 11 to ask if he could stay out later, which she quickly allowed. A while later she was in bed, fighting to go to sleep alone.

***

The next morning showed Emma how much she had come to rely on her son's company in a short time, as she'd tossed and turned all night. Mind in a haze, she went about her Saturday chores.

Pulling together the household laundry, she went to grab the sheets from Gabe's bed and found him asleep. Emma paused at his door, staring at her son. He was on his back, his blanket only covering his lower half. She shivered at the sight of the broad chest she'd been cuddling only two nights ago. Her eyes drifted lower, imagining the sex organ she'd briefly fondled. Her mind went on a tangent, wondering what it looked like, before she snapped herself back to reality.

"Gabe, time to get up," she called, knowing he had to maintain his sleep schedule.

Gabe rubbed his eyes and stared blearily up at his ceiling.

"How late were you out?" Emma asked.

"Around midnight," he muttered. "I slept crappily, I just couldn't stay in a deep sleep. I even took melatonin."

An hour shouldn't make much difference in the quality of sleep. Was it her being in the bed with him? Had he gotten used to her as much as she got used to him?

"Well, we can try the normal routine tonight," she said, delicious dread filling her at the thought. "I had a crappy sleep too, but I'm trying to get stuff done around the house. We can relax for the rest of the weekend once it's done."

Gabe groaned long and loud before saying, "I'll help...I guess. Let's make it quick, I don't want to do it any more than you do."

With that, he tossed his blanket to one side, revealing...his boxers. Why was he wearing boxers now, but nothing the other night? Emma waited for him to vacate the room but didn't give him much space to get by her at the door. His warm presence washed over her, leaving her basking in his scent: a manly musk that drove deep into her brain.

The sheet was soon stripped from his mattress and carried to the laundry room. It was threadbare and pilled on the side where he slept. She didn't know why they still had it. When she picked out a new sheet for his mattress, she chose one she normally put on her bed. It was smooth and soft, just the way she liked it.

When Gabe had gotten himself sorted for the day, he joined her in taking care of the house. There really wasn't that much to do, and between the two of them the chores were done quickly. When they had finished, Emma went back to the couch, determined to get as much waking rest as possible.

Gabe joined her, sitting in the lone comfy chair he usually inhabited when they watched TV together. Somehow he managed to turn sideways in it, putting one leg up on the arm.

"I don't know how you do that," Emma said, smiling. "You're much too big for that chair, even sitting in it normally. We should replace it."

"Nah, I'm good with it," he replied, flicking through the shows on offer.

"Well, if it gets too uncomfortable, there's lots of room on the couch."

"Not with you on it," he retorted with a smile.

"What?" she scoffed, mock offended. "I'll have you know I take up very little room. Come see, if you don't believe me."

Gone were the thoughts of the shameful activities during the night, Emma was back to interacting with the man she loved: her son. She lay down against the back cushions, patting in front of her.

With an exaggerated sigh, Gabe tumbled out of his chair and walked to the couch. When he lay down in front of her, Emma laughed at her error. Her little boy was no more. The time where she was the big spoon had passed, and she was just staring at a wall of flesh.

"Let's swap," she giggled, sitting up.

Gabe pushed himself to the back of the couch and she lay in his spot. This felt much more natural. Emma was able to snuggle into him, his presence and warmth soothing her. They picked a TV show, settling in for a long marathon. Within ten minutes she was asleep.

When she woke, it took her a few minutes to take in the situation. The TV was auto-playing one of the episodes of their show, but she wasn't sure how long she'd been out. She could hear Gabe's even breathing behind her, the same rhythm she knew from the last week of sleeping together. Her brain threatened to take that thought and run with it, but was sidetracked by the feel of his arm over her middle.

He was lightly holding her, his hand loosely touching her belly - under her shirt. She could feel his warm palm cupping her there, the sensation comforting and intimate. She closed her eyes again, sinking deep into the connection she was feeling while pressed so closely to him.

When his hand moved, she didn't register it right away. His touch was light, not quite a tickle, more like a caress. Was this what woke her up? Emma lay still, all focus now on the hand moving on her bare skin. Her heart started to pound as he moved up, getting closer to her breasts. She'd not bothered with a bra this morning, too lazy to wear one, and she felt her vulnerability. Her nipples contracted in anticipation.

Just before Emma had to make the decision to stop his hand, he stopped and moved down her stomach. Her breathing hitched at the close call, and her belly fluttered at the feel of him moving down. He was now approaching the waist of her sweatpants.

Emma could feel herself reacting. This was an activity she associated with lovers in her past; the light foreplay that got her revved up for making love. Her son shouldn't be doing it, but for some reason she did not stop him. He'd probably stop short before reversing direction again, and she was enjoying it.

She was drinking up the feel of his hand on her belly, heading south, south, until his hands dipped under her waistband. His fingers brushed across her mons briefly. It felt good, really good, so she let it go. It was fine.

Back up he went, warming her skin, lightning tingles following in his wake. His strokes were confident and comforting. When his thumb brushed the bottom of her breast, her breathing hitched again. He went no further, reversing direction. It was a delicious tease.

Down again, to her waistband, dipping deeper than before, dangerously close to her slit, pausing before heading back up. Emma was breathing deeper, each pass from tit to trim causing a quiver and a quake. She could feel her pussy prepping, moistening for penetration, and she squeezed her legs together, feeling the echoing ache in her clit. If he was her husband, she'd have pushed his hand south already, insisting on his touch...as she'd done a few nights ago.

When his hand stopped, Emma figured he was done with his light petting. He wasn't. His hand gripped her hip bone, pulling her back into him, giving him the leverage to push his groin into her butt. She felt it, and the room spun on its axis. He was so hard.

It was such a small mistake. An instinctual reaction to his thrust. She pushed back with her butt, just like she would do with Allan, just the smallest amount. It was enough. He shoved himself into her cheeks again, his rod splitting her open through her sweats. The push on her rosebud caused a whiff of air to escape her open mouth, a mini-gasp that had a touch of sound behind it.

Before her instinctual responses could spur him onto greater acts of incest, she 'woke up', stretching her arms in front of her. To her surprise, Gabe didn't move his hand until she rolled forward, off the couch. She looked back at him, her mouth dropping open when it was obvious he was asleep. Without thought, her eyes flicked to his groin, where the impressive bulge poking her butt was still showing. She had to fight the urge to touch it.

Dismissing her interest, she stood up and said to him, "Hey, wake up. You're going to ruin your sleep tonight."

He didn't wake until she shook his shoulder a few times. He really was asleep! Once he'd roused, she stood up and reached for her phone. They'd been asleep for three hours, past lunch. Unsurprising, knowing how much she needed it, but she still felt like she'd cheated herself of a day off.

Sighing, she said, "I'm hungry, do you want me to make you a sandwich?"

"Yeah, please, I have to, um, go number one."

Not too much later, Gabe joined her, looking cheerful. He greeted her with a kiss on the cheek and asked what he could do to help. Emma resisted telling him to finish what he'd started on the couch, instead handing him a block of cheese and a knife.

When they were done eating, Emma felt more like herself. The long nap had rejuvenated her and put her in a good mood, despite the alarmingly sensual end to it. Done with TV, she grabbed her book and sat back on the couch where she'd recently had her son's hand all over her. Sitting cross-legged, she could still feel the warmth in her groin that had built from his touch.

Gabe went to his room, saying he wanted to study, but promising to be ready for bed at 11pm.

Emma knew she was going to sleep in Gabe's bed again. That wasn't even a question. The question was, how? Go back to the thin blanket? Use Gabe's blanket? She'd been too warm the last time, it wouldn't be comfortable...unless she went nude.

A flush covered her face and chest at the flashback of snuggling her naked body against his. The warmth in her pussy built back up a smidgeon.

11pm arrived. Sure that she needed to get some decent sleep, but unwilling to sleep with her son naked again, Emma brought the thin blanket with her. Gabe eyed it but didn't comment.

Back in her spot on top of his blanket, wearing pajamas and a blanket, Emma lay down for a good eight hours of sleep, happy to have her sleep partner next to her again.

Thankfully, she didn't dream, not that she could recall later anyway. She did her best to keep her sleeping arrangement going, but eventually the heat became too great. The blanket went first, tossed off the bed. Next she shoved Gabe's blanket out from under her, and snuggled into the soft sheet. When she woke up with his blanket on top of her, she stripped her top off, freeing her breasts. After a brief hesitation, she pushed her bottoms down as well. Her brain wasn't on where she was, just her comfort and this was comfortable. Sleep came.

The next time Emma woke, she found herself in the same position as on the couch: a solid body behind her, a hand on her stomach. She came fully awake as his hand traversed up her torso, drawing the same path as earlier. She prepared for a reversal in direction, so was surprised when he kept going, his warm hand casually finding her breast and cupping it.

Breath hitch. Her breasts, no small package, managed to overfill even his large hand. He rolled his palm around her globe, running his rough skin over her sensitive nipple, which grew, engorged with blood. Each subsequent stroke made her shiver with lust. A plan was forming in her head to stop him when Gabe abandoned her breast and ran his hand down her torso.

It had been so long since anyone had touched her bare chest, or run his hands over her body. As she was recovering from the shock of him on her tit, his hand reached her hip, smoothing across her skin to her mons, where his fingers tangled through her pubes. Emma was breathing harder now, heart in her throat wondering how far he might go. She trembled each time his hand caressed her, so close to her weeping slit.

It was at that point she felt a hard bar split her rear, as he thrust gently into her. She felt her body warm wherever he touched her, a rash of desire that caused her to moan and push back, as on the couch. She couldn't help it, she was in heat and needed to be fucked; to be mounted, impaled on a hard cock, made to come until she was hoarse from screaming. But this was her son, and she had to control herself.

Frozen between her desires and her boundaries, Emma was shocked again when Gabe grabbed her thigh and lifted it, exposing her dripping pussy to the dark bedroom.

Mouth open to say something, anything, her words were cut off when Gabe shifted and thrust his cock between her open legs, splitting her labia. The words became an exhalation. "Ohhhhhhh," she breathed, as her son's cock ran the length of her vulva and hit her clit.

This was wrong, so so wrong. He needed to stop, but what could she do? If she spoke, he might stop...wait, did she want him to stop, or keep going?