A Weekend Alone

There had been a spattering of rain all the way back from the airport, but as she was parking in the driveway, the skies opened. Almost immediately there was so much water running over the windscreen that she could barely make out her own front door.

Sharon sighed, staring out through the world of running water. She'd just taken her husband to the airport, a trip more than an hour each way at this time of day. She didn't begrudge the fact that he'd been silent the entire trip, texting and emailing or whatever. He was good at his job, it came with marrying a man in his line of work.

Nor did she begrudge him the hurried peck on the cheek before jumping out of the car, she'd even let the lack of a "goodbye" go. There had been a lot of traffic after all.

What did wind her up was seeing Moira Stuart step out of a mini-cab two cars back, as Sharon checked her rearview mirror. Her husband had specifically told her that the office's lawyer wasn't going to the inspection at the Maldives property. He'd made a point of saying it, in fact. And he'd done the exact same thing when he'd gone down there two months ago. Then she'd arrived home at the same time as his-their, mini cab.

She hadn't asked who else was going on the trip, this time or last, but she assumed that Patrick would be as ham-fisted in his extra-marital affairs as he was with everything else. It was hurtful, and extremely frustrating. Patrick had long ago lost interest in having sex, just a dutiful fumble that ended too soon on birthdays and anniversaries. It made her wonder how long this sort of thing had been going on.

It's not like a divorce would be an utter tragedy. Their older son was already away at university, his younger brother would be going away this fall. On the other hand, this was a comfortable enough life.

Her weary thoughts were interrupted by a distant rumble of thunder. Sharon groaned quietly. She wasn't about to sit outside in a metal box, no matter how safe everyone claimed it was, but the rain wasn't letting up. If anything, it was getting heavier.

Sharon took a deep breath and threw the car door open and ran for the front door and she was soaked through by the time she was halfway up the walk. There was another roll of thunder, much closer this time, as she got inside. Slamming the door behind her, she leaned against it for a moment, catching her breath.

The house was dark, but Greg should have been home by now. Sharon checked her phone, but there wasn't anything from him. He was probably waiting out the storm somewhere dry. Frowning at the approaching thunder, she ran her hand through her soaked dark-blonde hair and walked through to the kitchen. Patrick kept his good whiskey hidden in the back of a cabinet and Sharon decided that her husband owed her a drink or two.

She retrieved the bottle and pulled a glass from the other cupboard and put a couple of inches of the amber liquid in it. She looked at the bottle in her hand for a moment and then took a generous mouthful before capping it. The smoky, sharp liquor burned a trail to her stomach and Sharon coughed a little before picking up her glass and standing in front of the window, watching the storm outside.

She was surprised by the sound of footsteps behind her and spun to see Greg walking through the kitchen in his underwear. He froze, looking just as surprised to see her.

"I didn't hear you come in," he said lamely.

Sharon had to smile. "Obviously."

"Uhm, so, there aren't any towels in the bathroom," he said uncomfortably.

"There are some in the dryer. I'll bring one up."

He nodded and went back to the stairs. Sharon took another sip of whiskey, admiring his body as her son went quickly back to the stairs. She'd never admit to thinking it, but Greg was the better looking of her two sons. Lithe and graceful, he'd looked more like her than his father. Luckily, he'd taken after her side of the family as well in other ways; as he retreated upstairs, she noticed his marvelous round bum, tightly encased in his white boxer-briefs. He'd always had a bit of a bubble-butt, but in the last few years it had gone from adorable to seriously sexy. Hearing the shower go on upstairs, she went back to staring out the window, lost in her thoughts...

"...Mum!"

Sharon blinked. The sound of the water had stopped, how long had she been standing here? She went through the kitchen to the laundry and retrieved a clean towel before going upstairs. The door to the bathroom was ajar, wisps of steam and the odor of men's soap escaped as she reached in blindly, offering the towel.

"Thanks!" her youngest said. "Crazy storm out there."

"It's absolutely lashing," she said. "Didn't you hear that thunder?"

"Supposed to get really bad," he answered, toweling off his hair. "I'm going to stay in tonight."

"Good, you can protect your poor old ma from the lightning."

He laughed and she noticed that she could see movement through the steam. The shower door was open and it reflected the room enough that she could make out her son toweling off his hair. She moved her head slightly, curious how much of the bath one could see reflected. That's what she told herself later, anyway. The human eye was automatically drawn to movement, it was just a biological thing. But she probably shouldn't have moved to get a better look inside. He had turned, his back was toward her. As she watched, he bent to dry his legs.

He'd always had a nice round bum and her breath caught, seeing it outside of his clothes. The pale skin of his buttocks was unblemished, and her hands flexed slightly, imagining having those smooth hemispheres in her hands. Her eyes were drawn to the heavy testicles that hung down between his thighs, covered in hair that was just a few shades darker than the hair on his head.

Oh my. Are those bigger than Patrick's?

Suddenly ashamed of herself, Sharon went back to her room to find something dry to wear. She opened her dresser drawer to retrieve some flannel pajamas but froze as she saw the reflection of Greg emerging from the bathroom in her dressing table mirror. He was wearing the same style of tight boxer-briefs, in a light gray this time. He didn't notice her watching from the dark bedroom and adjusted the sizable package between his legs before turning to go into his room. Her nipples were exquisitely hard as she watched, nearly panting. Her imagination was treacherous just now, but Greg's bulge looked bigger than his father's as well.

Just stop it, that's your son, not some piece of meat!

But some part of her mind wouldn't be deterred. Instead of a sweatshirt, she put on a gauzy nightshirt and the matching short pants, but frowned when she looked at her reflection. She took the shorts back off, and stripped off the bikini knickers before replacing the gauzy shorts. After another look at herself, Sharon nodded. She brushed her hair out and was dabbing perfume behind her ears before she realized what she was doing. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying again to chase her lusty thoughts away, deliberately picking out her every-day dressing gown. The thicker flannel would conceal the lingerie at least.

Sharon went to the kitchen and poured another drink. Seeing her, Greg raised his eyebrows, it was rare for her to drink more than an occasional glass of wine in front of the boys.

"Isn't that da's special bottle?"

"Yes, it is. Would you like some?"

He nodded and she put a couple of inches in a glass for her son as well.

"Are we having an occasion?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Why not? Slainte."

He held up his glass. "Slainte. Want to watch a movie?"

They went into the lounge and sat down on the couch together. Greg got the remote and they scrolled the movies available.

"Body of Evidence," Sharon said. "I think you'll like that one."

"Madonna?" he asked doubtfully.

"From her younger days, you'll see."

They watched the film and she noticed him squirm during the first sex scene. The bulge in his pants was more pronounced and when he thought she wasn't looking, he surreptitiously adjusted his cock. It happened each time an actresses clothes came off and Sharon thought that he must have been uncomfortable. She wanted to suggest he put something more comfortable on, but she knew that mentioning anything about his erection would embarrass him terribly. And the thought that he was touching his cock on the other end of the couch was very exciting for her.

The bulge in his tight jeans was definitely larger now, and not noticing her watching, Greg quickly cupped it, rearranging his cock to make things more comfortable. She was half tempted to suggest slightly larger jeans, but that would just make him self-conscious and probably ruin her little show.

She took their glasses back to the kitchen and looked at the half-full bottle of Green Spot...her husbands whiskey.

But what was Patrick doing right now? If they'd landed, he was probably already in a hotel bed with Moira. What did that plump redhead have that she didn't?

Sharon caught sight of her petite frame in the dark kitchen window. Moira's tits were bigger, that was one thing. And a thick bum. Sharon had neither, but she still fit her wedding dress. She doubted Moira could say the same. And her breasts didn't sag, she hardly needed a bra, even after two children. She doubted the Scottish bimbo could say the same thing.

There was the old saw; familiarity bred contempt. Was that Patrick's attraction to her? Just a bit of strange?

"Movie is starting, mum," Greg warned from the lounge.

New house rule. If one's husband was in bed with some tart in another country, it was perfectly acceptable to drink any, or all, of their poitin.

"Coming, dear."

She poured them each another few fingers and went to join her son on the couch. As she took their drinks through, Sharon decided that she was much too warm. She left her dressing gown hanging on the back of a chair and handed Greg his glass. As he saw her semi-transparent pajamas his eyes widened and he looked away, face flushed.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He nodded quickly, looking away. Sharon smiled to herself as she sat at the other end of the couch. She didn't have long red hair or a D-cup, but she could still make an eighteen-year-old blush.

The next movie on the channel was Basic Instinct with Sharon Stone, another movie that Greg had never seen before. Again, Sharon wanted to warn him, but her son was so shy about anything remotely connected to sexuality that she held her tongue.

She was halfway through her whiskey when Sharon began to wonder if she'd had too much. The room was far warmer than normal and the sidelong looks Greg were giving her were making her hornier and hornier.

Control yourself. He's still your son, the responsible part of her mind demanded.

They were so close, it would be awful to ruin that. But who better to teach a sensitive young man about the opposite sex? Some teenaged slut that he hardly knew, or the one woman who'd known him all his life? In fact, it might bring them even closer together.

Almost without realizing it, Sharon sat so that her nipples were plainly visible through her top. Between the sex in the movie, and Sharon's body, Greg wasn't sure to look. She pretended to be absorbed in the movie, unaware of the looks he was giving her. Looks that were doing wonderfully naughty things to her.

Their movie was near the end when there was an especially loud clap of thunder, followed by the power going out. They waited for a few seconds but there wasn't even a flicker. Greg went to go look out the window.

"The whole street is out," he reported.

"I'll get a torch," Sharon said, swaying slightly as she stood up.

"It's okay," Greg said. "I'm going to get to bed."

"Then I'll head up with you."

He led the way up the stairs, lighting their way with the glow of his phone. Before she could say any more than 'goodnight', he'd gone into his room. She felt her way to her bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed.

Between the movies and the impressive bulge in her son's pants, she needed some relief. But some remnant of propriety didn't want him to hear the tell-tale noises of his mother getting off. She'd use the noise of the shower to cover the sound.

Sharon walked back down the hall and, unable to help herself, she stopped outside of Greg's door and listened carefully. There was a quiet grunt and then the unmistakable rhythmic sounds of his hand stroking his cock. Suddenly Sharon was so horny she couldn't think. She had to see his cock, find out just exactly he was constantly teasing everyone with.

She noiselessly pushed his door open and went into the room. Greg's bed was in the corner of the room and she could see him in the dim light of the hallway. He was on his back in the middle of it, legs spread wide.

He had his eyed shut and she wondered who occupied his mind's eye. Noiselessly, she went to stand beside the bed, mesmerized by the cock held in his pumping fist. It wasn't just his bollocks that were larger than Patrick's. His cock was massive. She stared it, standing up proudly from the curls of golden hair.

She didn't know if she'd made some noise, a small moan perhaps, or if he somehow sensed her eyes on his body. Either way, Greg had opened his eyes and was staring at her, looking a little panicked. She started to apologise but then the whole strange evening seemed to take control of her voice.

"Shh, it's okay," she whispered, kneeling beside the bed. "Mummy just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Uhm, I was just..."

"I know, baby, I saw what those movies did to you. I got pretty turned on too."

He looked nearly as astonished as before. "Really?"

She pushed the crotch of her shorts aside and ran her finger over her cunt lips and held it up for him. At any other time, she would have laughed at the look on his face. She smiled at the look on his face and licked the wetness off her finger.

"Let me see that," she said softly, putting her hand over the one he had on his cock.

He pulled his hand back and she felt the heavy weight of him against her palm for the first time. She was entranced all over again to see her own small hand on her sons velvet-skinned erection.

She looked from his beautiful cock back to his face, suddenly afraid of the expression she'd see. He was still surprised but there wasn't any fear or disgust. In fact, he looked as excited as she was.

She bent forward slowly, giving him the chance to refuse. Instead, he lifted his hips, at least as eager as she was to get his cock between her lips. She exhaled her hot breath over his cock and it lurched in her hand.

Sharon kept her eyes on locked on his as she began to lick the head of his cock. Greg was breathing hard, unable to look away from her eyes until she lowered her head, engulfing his shaft in her hot mouth. He made a strangled noise and she began to gently suck. His hips were jerking as if he was fighting the need to grab her head and bury his cock in her mouth. Excited by the thought, she took his hands, putting them on her head. Her son understood, but she could tell he was still holding back, merely urging her head, instead of shoving it like she wanted him to do.

"Stop, I'm gonna..." he gasped, trying to push her away.

Sharon shook her head. "Do it, baby. I want you to cum in mummy's mouth."

He groaned, fingers wrapping tighter in her hair as she took him back in her mouth. She began bobbing her head faster on his cock, swirling her tongue over the sensitive head. When it began to swell in her mouth, Sharon took a deep breath and pushed her head down until her son's cock slipped into her throat. His hands were strong now, holding her in place and she gulped, massaging his prick with her throat. Greg's entire body was rigid, as those big plums pumped cum into her. Sharon moaned, nearly orgasming without even a touch.

She let his cock fall from her mouth, knowing that his cock would be extremely sensitive after such a large orgasm. Her son lay flat on his back gasping and Sharon stayed where she was, caressing his stomach. When his breathing began to slow, she licked along the length of his shaft, squeezing his large balls gently. Sharon began to mouth his cock, kissing and licking the half-hard organ. It lurched, quickly hardening again.

Sharon let him slip out of her mouth and began to crawl up his body, dragging her nipples over his skin. "Ready for more?"

He nodded, already breathing harder.

Sharon rubbed the head of his cock against her wet lips and sat back on his cock, filling her wet cunt. Much bigger than his father, Sharon realized, thrusting her hips back and forth in tiny motions to get her drooling cunt used to the size.

"Do you like that?" she asked.

"Oh fuck yes," he gasped.

"Do me a little favor, darling," she whispered, leaning forward and putting her hands on his chest. "When you cum in me, call me mummy."