Mother of Love Ch. 01

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is a reupload, with some mild editing to fix grammatical errors and make it flow better. Part 2 will be up soon/is already up, I sincerely hope you all enjoy.

*****

Nostalgia flowed through me as I drove down the bumpy suburban road to my childhood home, finding familiarity in the trees lining the road like towering street lamps. I was fresh off the high of finishing my final year of university, and was looking forward to some much needed unwinding time now that exams were over.

As they passed me by, I recognized all the streets I played games on as a kid, everything from road hockey to capture the flag, and I got chills realizing how long ago that was.

"Home at last, Sean." I sighed to myself, fondly reminiscing in the memories I had of this place.

My Mom had promised to pamper me to my heart's content if I came to see her the very day I finished; she hadn't seen me in months and I knew she missed me. Donald, my Father, probably missed me too, but I'll be damned if he ever said anything about it to my face.

It's not that we weren't a loving family, my sister Lucy and I got along as well as most siblings would with their immature 18 year old sisters.

Sadly, it was my Dad's distant nature that caused him to be a transparent part of my life. All my life he had been a workhorse, even missed a few birthdays when we were kids, but our Mom was always there, nothing could keep Sophie from loving her children!

A woman as inexplicably selfless as my Mother could only ever do what was best for others. I'd met compassionate women before, but not many of them would ditch makeup for weeks at a time just so she could use the extra few minutes to make us eggs instead of cereal. But then again, none of them gave birth to me. Displaying her natural beauty never fazed Sophie, as long as her kids were happy she felt more love than she could handle.

Mom didn't need the makeup, truthfully. She looked smashing in a tight dress, my particular favourite being a knee-length little red number she'd worn to my graduation. It perfectly offset the shimmery, dirty blonde head of hair she kept neatly framed around her face in a typical "mom-style" swoop.

Just as I pulled up the driveway, my Dad was getting into his Mercedes without a care in the world. So much so that I almost went completely unnoticed as he reversed his vehicle.

"Brakes, Dad, brakes!" I called to him, stepping into the path of his rear-view window hoping I'd be noticed before he backed over me. Red lights flooded my eyes and the car came to an abrupt halt.

My Dad stepped out of the car and greeted me with a quick hug. "It's so good to see you, Son!" He was already shuffling back to his car before I had a chance to reciprocate the greeting. "Listen, I've got an important client to close this afternoon so I've gotta jet. You're gonna be around all night, right?"

"I mean, I guess so?" I exclaimed, hurt that he was leaving in such a hurry. "I didn't think you were still busy like this? All the time, that is, Mom said-."

"I know, I know, your Mother had similar complaints the other week." He scratched his head in frustration. "And the week before that, and the month before that, you know how she is."

"Uh, yeah I guess I do?" I replied mindlessly, questioning whether or not I really did know 'how my Mother was'.

He apologized and promised to make it up to me, but knowing Dad it was never gonna happen. I let him run off and grab an armful of my stuff to bring inside; mostly dirty laundry I'd been too neglectful to finish.

Unfortunately, that meant I'd whittled my way down to my last pair of clean pants, and was left with the tightest pair I owned. With all the subtlety of a forest fire, I fumbled around my crotch hoping to realign my dick so it didn't have such an obvious outline through my pants.

Inside, the house smelled just as sweet as I'd always remembered it; vanilla wafting through the halls and greeting me like an old friend at the front door, carrying over a distinct maple scent as well, leading me to believe someone was making waffles.

I shut the door and didn't even have to call out for someone to greet me; Mom's adorable bare feet patted on the hardwood as she raced around the corner, eyes lighting up when she saw I'd made it home safe.

"My baby is finally home!" She squealed like she'd just won the lottery, extending her arms for a hug from across the room. "Lucy, your brother is home!"

Seconds later Mom barrelled into me like a linebacker, hugging me in a ferociously loving grip. "I missed you too, Mom." I laughed some she breathed out a sigh of relief she felt like she had held in since I left.

"How was school? Was the drive home okay? I'm so happy you're home, do you want me to make you something to eat?" She barraged me with questions like a concerned mother naturally would.

A fairly petite woman, my Mother stood just above 5 feet, but her giant-sized attitude gave the impression she'd been a military commander in a past life. Her blonde hair flowed like waves down to her shoulders, tucked behind her ears to keep it away from her eyes when she didn't have it up in a red bow: her trademark.

I'll be the first to admit it, my Mother kept her body in great condition. Years and years of motherly duties had taken away from her gym time, but she still had the curves to knock a weak man to the floor, even with a body type that resembled a plump pixie more than a warrior. She was still determined to lose some more weight to hit her target, but I always insisted she didn't need to.

There was a subtle, yet undeniable chubby side to her, but then again twig thin mothers don't look like they can cook, and my Mom was a master chef. Her skin was smooth as glass, save for the tiny peach fuzz on her arms and, if I'm not mistaken, thousands of tiny goosebumps.

She reluctantly pulled away from our hug and looked up at me. "I'm really happy you're home, Sean." Her eyes were scouring my face trying to memorize every detail and see if something had changed, and I watched in awe as the dark blue circles gazed into mine. "Really, really happy."

My Mom kissed my cheek and called for Lucy one last time, ordering her to help me unpack my arsenal of clothes and what not. When she didn't get a reply back, we decided to just unpack the car ourselves rather than continue to bug my little sister.

Little is a relative term, I suppose, since she was technically an adult at 18, but she always felt little to me.

"Let me help you, sweetie." Mom urges in her sweet tome, reminding me why I used to love listening to her voice as a kid. It had a calmness about it I was drawn to, a comforting melody I loved to be serenaded by.

"Thanks, Mum." I handed her the lightest bag I had: my backpack. She insisted she carry more, but I declined since I didn't want her to get hurt carrying some of the heavier stuff.

"You know, stud, your Mother used to be quite the heavy lifter." She flexed her arms jokingly, pointing them outward from her chest like she was imitating Arnold Schwarzenegger. What she didn't know, and what I was abundantly aware of, was the mountain of cleavage she created when she pushed her boobs together.

With an adorable laugh that made the hairs on the back of my head stand up, Sophie took off for the house to bring my stuff inside.

Part of me was struck with instant regret. No boy should be staring at his mother so lustfully, but the rising erection in my pants was seeing her only as a vibrant, sexy woman whose tits I was longing to bury my face in.

My infatuation with my Mom started a few months ago when she'd gone with my Father and Lucy on a celebratory vacation. I don't remember where exactly, but it was described to me as "somewhere hot". The photos she sent me were designed to make me wish I'd been there (which I SO did), but were noticeably more revealing than the ones she'd uploaded to Facebook.

It was likely my mind playing tricks on me, but every snap she sent to me was tagged with a playfully flirty caption like, "wish you were here, stud" or "come be my captain", the latter of which she had posed beside a boat for. Nothing too unusual, Mom and I had always had playful banter like that between us. These sexier photos would be peppered in between snaps of her slurping down a bowl of noodles, unpacking her suitcase (likely upon arrival), or just posing innocently next to some tourist trap. I had a hard time separating the mature, scantily class vixen from my Mother, but seeing her in two different lights didn't bug me.

Interesting enough, the flirtier caption were hopelessly outshone by the low-cut, barely there bikini she was rocking. I still had a few of the photos saved on my phone, namely one where she was bent over knocking sand out of her flip flops. It likely wasn't intended for me, as Dad was also in the subject, like my e-mail had been added by accident.

Assuming it was a misfire, I almost deleted the picture before I fully examined it. She was in a shamefully revealing red bikini, with a classic red bow tying it behind her back. Her hair was falling all over her face as she bent over, but even the golden tangles weren't enough to block out her famously overjoyed smile, dimples and all.

What really took me by surprise was how tight fitting her bathing suit was. The red bottom was tucked like floss between her bulging pussy lips, leaving very little to the imagination. Her breasts hung down like two massive pendulums, itching to spring from her top and be set free on the world. I could see thin stretch marks on the sides of her boobs, and I knew they were being pulled down by an incredibly heavy weight.

I couldn't count the times I'd looked longingly at that photographic treasure, and now kept a crease-laden print of it in my wallet as a constant reminder. Yes, a print, a physical copy. I was really that infatuated with her.

Being in person, now, was sending my heart into overdrive and my pulse quickened whenever she came near me. It wasn't a nervous sort of feeling, more like a giddy excitement brought on by the incessant picturing of her naked body I couldn't seem to shake.

All the fantasizing about seeing Mom in person made me want to see her picture again. I didn't care if I was inside her house, desire is desire, folks.

I put down the hamper full of clothes and stretched my back, popping a thousand joints up my spine like champagne bubbles up a flute. My wallet was in my hand in a flash, and my eyes greedily absorbed every detail of the photograph like I had so many times.

Lucy came charging down the stairs with no warning and forced me to scramble to get the picture back in my wallet, which I managed with only seconds to spare. I couldn't fit it in all the way, but as long as it was in my pocket she couldn't see the corner sticking out.

"What's that?" She reached for my wallet, of all things, using my full hands as an advantage.

"It's a big load of fuck off, that's what." I snapped, kicking at her blindly under the hamper held in my arms. She flipped me off and walked away, not noticing that my wallet fell out of my back pocket, landing with a thwack on the hardwood floor. "Shit, I'll get you later you little ninja." I cursed at it.

I kicked it off to the side hoping nobody would see it and carried my clothes upstairs. I passed Mom on the stairs and could've sworn I caught her eyes drifting to the bulge in my pants. My face ran hot with the thought of Mom making eye contact with the embarrassing protrusion in these stupidly tight pants.

She saw me looking and quickly averted her gaze, smiling cheekily like she hadn't actually noticed me coming up. "Oh, uh, hi honey. I put your backpack on your bed."

"Thanks, mom."

As she descended the stairs, she was humming a charming little tune like a picture perfect Snow White. I imagined a crown of cartoon birds fluttering around her head as she sung, equally entrance as I was at the siren song of this beautiful creature.

I got to the top of the stairs and my mind clear as a summer day, when suddenly Mom's humming stopped. Thinking nothing of it, I went and dropped my hamper on the bed. When I turned around, expecting an empty doorway, I was shocked to see Mom standing with my black wallet in her hand.

I wish I could say a thousand thoughts ran through my head, but truthfully they were all so muddled I couldn't force out a single one. With a deep breath, my nerves settled enough to squeak out; "Did you...open it, Mom?"

"I didn't have to, it was halfway sticking out." We both knew exactly what she was referring to. She scanned my face for a hint to react to, but I couldn't look anywhere but the floor.

"I'm sorry, Mom." My eyes wouldn't dare stray towards her. "I forgot it was in there."

"No, you didn't. It's been folded and refolded dozens of times, there's no way you'd forget. How often do you look at it?" Her voice grew stern, scolding me like a child.

"I...I guess pretty often. Once every couple weeks." I lied, and she called me out with an unconvinced cough. "Fine, you got me, it's more like couple times a day."

Sophie recoiled, losing her train of thought for a moment. "That often? Really?" I perked up at the hint of intrigue in her voice.

"I know I shouldn't, but I can't help it when you just look so..." I twiddled my thumbs in circles like it would help me rewind time a few precious moments.

"So...what, baby?" Her melodic voice cooed like a harp. The use of a pet name caught my ear and I looked at her for the first time since she walked in. Her cheeks were flushed a brilliant shade of pink, and she used the tone she always used to when she wanted something coaxed out of me.

"I guess the word is...I dunno. Sexy, Mom." My whole body shook like a tremor when I said that, and I instantly regretted being so forward. Mom didn't expect it either; she was visibly ruffled and had to take a moment to catch her breath.

My tongue was grafted to the roof of my mouth. I wanted to correct myself a hundred times over but it wouldn't make it better.

I wasn't able read my Mom the way I usually can. Her face was like stone, eyes distantly focusing on something miles behind me. For a second it became questionable whether or not she was even breathing, but her soft purring told me she was at least conscious.

Like a concerned son, I was still looking at her chest to see if she was breathing, perhaps for a bit longer than I should have.

"Sean, for Christ's sake look at my eyes." Mom stomped her foot angrily, using the loud outburst to cover her excessive blushing. "Okay, in light of this new...information, I'm going to have to think about...a lot." She turned to leave the room, unable to look at me any longer.

I didn't know what to say, but something in my brain told me that I shouldn't let her leave like this. Ignoring the fear that was collecting like mud in my gut, I stood up and fought to steady my quaking legs.

"Dad doesn't deserve you, only an idiot would put his job before a woman like you." I swallowed dryly, forcing a sandpaper tongue against the roof of my mouth.

"Your Father loves me, I know that, but he gives us this amazing lifestyle and the price for that is working every day. And, for the most part, nights and weekends as well." She insisted, brushing her hair over her ear. "It's not as easy as you think."

"Really? Because I think sitting in a cubicle all day knowing I have a woman like you at home would be 'not as easy as I think'. The difference is; I wouldn't give up on the wrong one."

"Well, if that's how you feel, then maybe the right one won't give up on you." Her eyes sparkled so bright they almost blinded me, but I wouldn't have been mad if her poorly withheld grin had been the last thing I ever saw.

My head was going in circles trying to decide what she said, deciding who had more reason to be on edge right now. I was so wrapped up in thought I couldn't remember why she'd come in my room in the first place.

A split second idea flashed across her face and, as if on pure impulse, she threw the photo like a playing card onto my bed. "Don't let me find that out again, young man." With one more foot stomp for good measure, she disappeared from the doorway.

"Lunch is in 15, okay?" She called up to me, likely heading down to make a couple grilled cheeses with tomato soup.

As soon as she left I quickly grabbed it up and made sure it wasn't bent or ripped. I was looking at the photograph with fresh eyes now; I'd always had pangs of guilt whenever I opened it, but knowing Mom didn't mind was like opening the floodgates. I had expected her to rip it up in front of me, burn it, and throw the ashes to the four corners of the world.

The haywire collection of thoughts and possibilities in my brain was hectic enough to sidetrack me from the grumbling sounds emitting from my stomach. I couldn't even think about lunch, everything I tried to imagine eventually gave way to the vivid, eye popping sight of Mom's picture.

True, I had seen it hundreds of times, but now that I had the suspicion Mom wanted me to see it, I convinced myself I was doing her a favour by ditching lunch for a short masturbation session in celebration.

I knew lunch was in 15 minutes, meaning I had roughly another 14 and a half to admire my mother's body in the most primal way I could imagine

So with that being said, a little privacy, please?

***

Odors of melted cheese wafted through the air mingling perfectly with the tomato soup, practically dragging me down the stairs towards it.

"Holy shit, Mom, it smells amazing down here." I exclaimed, approaching the soup and dipping my pinky in one of the bowls.

Mom spun on her heels and gave me a swat on the shoulder. "I don't wanna have some mouthy teenager around my house all summer. Got it?"

"I'm not a teenager! I'm a grown ass man!" I shot back, sucking soup off my finger and letting the saltiness bounce around my taste buds before going in for another scoop.

"Mmhmm, sure you are sweetie." Mom grabbed me by the wrist before I could taste my second sample and quickly dipped her head to suck the soup off before I could. "Damn, I'm such a good cook. Now, stop eating that or there won't be any left."

I offered to help set the table, but saw it was already done for the two of us. Before I could ask, Mom filled me in while she washed the plates she had used to prep lunch. "Lucy already ate about an hour ago, she's not gonna join us."

"And Dad?" I regretted asking right away.

Mom stopped cleaning her dishes and stood statuesque over the sink, clutching the plate in a death grip. "He doesn't do that very often, or at all, anymore. He doesn't think it's as 'efficient' when he could be out with clients instead, drumming up business for the firm."

"I shouldn't have asked, I just remembered he used to come home for lunch sometimes." I grumbled, finding no comfort in explaining myself. "I'm sorry."

It looked as though Mom was sincerely offended; she wouldn't even give me the courtesy of facing me. When I stepped closer I saw she wasn't angry with me, rather, she was crying. A tiny drop of water fell from her miraculous blue eyes, staining her shirt where it fell. She wiped away a following drop and apologized, but I locked her tightly in my arms so she knew she didn't have to.

I rocked us back and forth, rubbing the small of my Mother's back with an open hand. I wanted to say something, but no words felt like they would fit. Her palm was resting against my chest, letting her fingernails trace along the neck of my shirt.

After a few minutes I noticed the subtle sobbing had stopped, in fact Mom's eyes were now completely closed and she was purring softly the more she stroked my chest.