My Sister's Wedding Pt. 02

It was the day of my sister's wedding, and my mom was giving me trouble. She had reminded me what I was supposed to do. I had forgotten something important, namely the Italian meringue pie that I had promised to make as a surprise for my sister and her groom. We had a wedding cake, obviously. It was nothing like that. It was a brother and sister thing, a memory from when we were much younger and this had been the most delicious thing imaginable. So, I had to make one. I had promised myself, and more importantly in this case I had promised my mother.

Why she had chosen to stay behind I didn't know. She did some light cleaning, nothing much. Our relatives weren't slobs. Maybe she felt bad leaving me all alone. But it was nice having her here, all joy and Mad Men-inspired look, pretty curls in her dark blonde hair. She looked amazing actually. Sometimes, when I turned my head, I saw delicious heavenly blue hips and snake-smooth legs, only to be reminded that it was my mom after all. No touching! But even if she weren't my one and only mom I was drained after what my girlfriend put me through, yesterday and today. My bone was tired.

She raised a graceful hand to her temple. At first, I thought she was straightening her flat hat, pinned on, but she had a funny look on her face.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

She turned around and blushed. "Nothing," she said. "I was only daydreaming."

"Oh," I said.

"Hang on!" she said.

"What?"

"You have something there, on your cheek."

"What ..." I tried to find it with my fingers.

"A speck of Italian meringue," she said with a smile that confused me. If someone else had looked at me like that, hungrily, well ... But I was wrong to think like that. "Want me to kiss it off?" she continued. "Like I did when you were little?"

"I don't remember that," I said, and started to move around the table as she approached me. It felt weird.

"Sure I did," she said. "You would be so afraid of something sticky that I would give you a kiss and make it all better."

"You don't have to, really," I said, and kept on walking around the table. "What are you doing?" I asked. She was following me, faster now, black heels sounding off the floorboards.

"What does it look like? I'm trying to catch you, silly."

It could all have felt almost normal, playful even, if it hadn't been for the hunger in my mother's eyes, the locked-on smile. If it had been someone else, I would have known they were trying to put on an act, to fool me or something. It all felt surreally real, like a David Lynch movie.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said with a hard voice. She was panting by then. "Let me take care of it for you."

"No, please," I said with a panicky voice.

Eventually, the fifth turn around the table, I reached out for a towel and with desperate motions I rubbed it all over my face. When she grabbed me by the arm I froze, staring down at her face, coming up, and up, only to look disappointed, like I had spoiled all the fun.

We didn't say anything after that. She just chuckled and tousled my hair, with a friendly little tickle at my neck. She then left me with the pie. I just had to dollop some meringue towers to finish it off. It required a steadier hand than I had at the moment, but not too bad, was my final thought. I just had to clean the edges of the large plate and put it in the gift box. I asked my mom to help me.

"Of course, my dear," she said.

"I just have to lower it carefully now, and ..."

My mom accidently pushed the box off the table. I almost dropped the pie when she dived after it. I was standing away from the table, my hands full, when she came towards me, the box forgotten.

"Mom, what are you doing?" I asked.

"Playing."

"Playing? But, mom, I have to put this in the box. It's quite heavy."

"I'm sure you can handle it. You're so strong. How funny I didn't realize that until today."

I backed away -- she guided me, I thought -- out of the kitchen, into the hallway. It was one of the few places in the house that didn't have a spot where I could put the plate down. My back was against the front door. The hunger had returned to her eyes, that strange unmotherly smile.

"Your shoes are untied," she said.

"They are?" I asked. I couldn't see anything.

"I'll help you," she said. "Don't move now. I don't want meringue all over me."

"Sure." I gulped when she disappeared from view, raising the plate up high, almost to my chin. Only her ass and lower back was visible, her black heels as she went down on her knees.

She fiddled with my shoelaces, didn't seem to do anything.

"What is this?" she said.

"What?" I started to get worried. Had I missed anything from when my girlfriend jerked me off?

"Creases," she mumbled distractedly, and I could feel her hands going up my legs, caressing them, fondling them. Squeezing them. I heard heavy breathing, the sound of nails scratching against expensive clothing.

"Baby!" she said. "You forgot your fly. It's undone."

"It is?" I almost screamed.

"Yes," she whispered, and before I had any suspicion, I felt her fingers dragging the zip all the way down.

"Are you alright?" she asked me.

"Why, what's wrong?"

"You feel so tense, that's all."

"What are you talking about, I'm not ... Oh!"

She started to fondle my crotch. I almost dropped the pie there and then, all over my mom's squirming body. Instead, I gripped the plate harder and banged my head against the door.

"Don't do this to me," I begged my cock. It should be useless, especially to my mom, but it didn't seem to care anymore. Her hands would have felt incredible anywhere else, from anyone else. "This can't be happening?"

"What can't be happening, sweetheart?" my mom asked me as she dragged my erection from my suit pants. "Oh, my, deary, you are tense! Let me kiss it better."

Like my sister would do to the pie later on my mom nibbled at the side of my cock, letting her soft lips, a touch of tongue, linger on the side of my swollen head for a moment, before whatever patience she had ran out and she filled her face with my throbbing flesh. One of her hands grabbed my leg so hard I could feel the bruises forming.

Her sounds and mine filled the small space. Mine were gasps followed by a series of, "Oh, my god, oh, my god, oh, my god ..." The worst thing was that I couldn't stop it from feeling so fucking good, the way she took me all the way down. Even the sounds, as she choked on me a little and had to come up for air, made it as sweet as the meringue pie in front of me. The smell of it was almost sickening. Almost.

Her heels dragged against the floorboards as the tried to move her entire body closer to mine. I could feel one of her arms circle around my body, going under my shirt at the back, scratching me. Soft breasts pressed against my thighs.

I felt myself slip as I came close to an orgasm. Suddenly the entire plate seemed to slide from my hands. I stopped it, but not before one of the meringue towers broke and fell. Following it, gulping in panic, I saw it land on my mom's hand far down on the floor.

The wet sensation gave her pause.

"Be careful, sweety," she said, letting me go, but never leaving me as I felt the breath of every word on my wet cock. Her trembling lips. A small kiss. "But thank you. What do you think I should do with this then? This meringue?"

"I'm sorry," I said, because somehow, I felt bad. It was hard to think straight. A lot of things were hard, and all I wanted was for someone to loosen them up. I couldn't think about my mom just now. That would be wrong. But I wanted to feel that sweet mouth working up and down my shaft.

But her hand was good too, fingering, squishing.

"Sticky," my mom said. I could hear her smile. And I wondered what she was talking about until I realized what she was using for lubricant. "Sticky," she said again, closer this time. "Let mom kiss it all off."

Pushed against the door, a plate of meringue pie hazardously close to splashing all over my mom, each moment my mom came dangerously close to splashing my cum all over herself from the way she slithered her tongue from the back of my cock to the front. Only the little pauses at the end, when she swallowed, saved me.

Was she always this good? I asked myself, but not for long as my sweet torment went on. Her head bumped against the plate as she licked the top of my cock clean too.

"So sweet," she moaned with a puff of hot air. "Now, come for me, sweety, baby, my sweet baby."

"I can't," I protested, but whoever I was talking to wasn't listening. My mom put her sticky kissing lips to the end of my cock, and slower and tighter than my girlfriend's asshole she sucked me in until I screamed from pleasure.

I came as the meringue shuddered in my cramped grasp. Every pulse down my mom's throat was punctuated by the back of my head thumping against the door.

Knock, knock. Who's there? Me. Me, who? Meringue blowjob.

My mom cleaned my cock with delicate licks before she put it back inside my pants. Then she crawled back out. I had expected to see shame, remorse, but she was still the joyous Mad Men girl, only now with a dollop of something white at the corner of her mouth.

I nodded dumbly.

"Oh, silly me," she said, sliding her pink tongue from her juicy mouth and licking it off. She moaned and shuddered.

She didn't stop me when I went back to the kitchen, but interrupted me as I was about to lower the pie into the box.

"You're shaking!" she said. "You're so nervous. Come, let me do it."

She took the pie from me with a wink and a flirty smile, and like a mom boss she put it into the box without messing it up. She even straightened the broken tower with her finger and sucked it clean while looking deep into my eyes.

"Delicious," she said.

"Thanks, mom," I mumbled.

With that, everything was ready to go. We straightened ourselves in the mirror, side by side, my mom putting on a fresh layer of lipstick, pouting her lips as she did so. She looked younger somehow, hotter. Then we grabbed the pie and some paper bags and went to the car. Everything was completely normal now, except for a couple of sly glimpses from her. I hesitated before I got behind the steering wheel, but decided that I couldn't keep thinking about it. She was my mom after all.

We had gotten to the highway when my mom chuckled beside me.

"What?" I asked, trying to smile.

"You missed a spot," she said.

"I did?"

"Or rather, I did. Give me that."

She took my white pocket napkin, and after licking it she dabbed at something on my pants, right over my crotch. The sensation started a stir in my flesh. It was wrong, wicked, but she just smiled and looked at the red lipstick stain when she was done, twirling the napkin between her fingers. Then she gave it some fancy swirls before she stuck it in my pocket again, the red stain hidden beneath the folds.

"We want everything to be perfect today, don't we?" she asked.

"Yes, mom."

She stroked my leg, far up my thigh. I tried not to swirl into a semitruck.