The Christmas Present

From this point on things went very fast. My arousal was beyond control and so were my knees. Sucking down the rest of the wine to keep from spilling it, I made my intentions clear where I wanted to go and he lowered me quickly but awkwardly to the pile of cushions. The wine glass rolled away across the polished wood flooring even as I spread my legs and took my son inside.

"Oh, God, Paul!" I moaned plaintively. "Fuck me!"

He wanted to protest, wanted to protect his mother, but Mom was having none of it. I wrapped my legs around his waist, my ankles locking at the small of his back, and he began to thrust into me and pull back as though we'd screwed every day of our lives. My arms were around his neck and his mouth locked onto the flesh of my right shoulder. Even as I prayed that he'd leave no mark there for his father to find, I prayed that he would. I wanted his mouth on mine but I also needed to breathe, and breathing came first. In less than thirty seconds Paul tightened like a steel cable and my own orgasm peaked.

"Oh, God!" I nearly screamed. Then I said nothing as burst after burst of hot liquid blew into me. I bucked against him and felt muscles screaming in every part of my body. Ignoring them, I clamped to him even tighter, using my heels in the small of his back to jamb my loins against his thrusting cock. He orgasmed again, then a third time, and only then did his tremendous outpouring of semen begin to diminish. I continued to orgasm as I always did when totally, truly aroused; for a moment, I think I may even have passed out. Certainly the world receded into a tunneled darkness. And then, finally, blessedly, it was over.

* * *

Would I ever recover from this? Sex always left me weak and trembling afterward, but this felt like being crushed by a stream roller.

"Are you all right?" he asked anxiously.

He was still in me, slowly becoming flaccid. I was having trouble breathing, having trouble getting my breath. He cleared sweat-soaked strands of hair from my eyes and looked into them, his concern evident. "Breathe, Mom," he said.

"I'm trying to," I gasped. I had a baby elephant on my chest. I wondered fleetingly if it was pink.

He began to withdraw from me but I cried "No!" and pulled him back again. "I'm okay," I insisted. "I just need to catch my breath."

He allowed me to catch my breath, contacting me only at our loins. His hands planted either side of my shoulders supported him above me. I had no choice but to uncross my ankles and let my legs fall spread-eagle to the pillows. They were useless and cramping fiercely. Semen leaked out of me onto the pillows.. I'd have to attend to that later. I'd have to attend to many things later.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked again.

I nodded. I was easier to breath now. The baby elephant on my chest had given way to a good-sized canine. I ran my hands through my sodden hair and pulled it into a tight ponytail behind my head and held it there.

"Merry Christmas," I said softly.

He began to laugh, and I joined him, and the laughter lasted a very long time.

* * *

Twenty minutes later we sat in the corner of the divan, wrapped in a comforter, me snuggled in against his side with his left arm around my shoulders. I had my legs tucked beneath me. The only part of me visible was my left heel and my left arm and hand, which held my newly-replenished wine glass. We clinked the rims of our glasses together and we each took sips.

"You're okay with me not wearing a condom?" he asked.

"I'll live with it," I said glibly.

He looked at the billowing red and yellow fire and took another sip. "I could have gotten one," he said. "It would've taken a minute."

I told him: "What's done is done."

"What if you get pregnant?"

I looked up at him. "What if I am?" I asked.

Thankfully, that ended any further discussion of my possible pregnancy.

"I'm keeping your bra and panties," he said a short time later.

"I was sort of expecting that," I replied.

"I'm never giving them back," he clarified, grinning down at me.

"I was sort of expecting that too," I acknowledged.

We were quiet a time, just enjoying the silence. Finally, he said: "How are you with oral sex?"

"Excuse me?" I nearly choked on a sip of wine.

He swept the coverlet off himself and exposed his quite beautiful, fully erect penis.

"Paul!" I choked out. "Put that thing away."

Laughing, he did just that. Shaken, I sipped anxiously at the wine while eyeing the peaked tent of material above his lap. I wanted it, and it was the last thing I wanted. I had given my son the most intimate gift a woman could offer. I should be satisfied with that. But finally I admitted my weakness.

Without comment, I reached beneath the cover and exposed him to the fire light once again. Then, careful not to spill the wine, I bent over him and put his penis in my mouth.

"Oh, my God," he moaned.

Oh, my God, I thought.

I pleasured him as I hadn't pleasured his father in ages. Even bent over him awkwardly with a wine glass in my hand--which I took sips from occasionally for fortitude--I made sure he understood that I was making love to him with my mouth, not just fellating him. Not once did he try to guide me or keep me in place for his own gratification. He touched my head often, true, but it was only to caress my hair or move it out of the way to see better. In truth, I wanted him seeing what I did. I enjoyed his eyes observing my lips sliding up and down his shaft, sucking the head, kissing his testicles. Not once did I touch him with my hands, although he certainly enjoyed the brief moment of coldness whenever I took a sip of wine. I thought to ask if he wanted to return me to the floor and make love to me there for a second time, or lay me out on the divan and have me there, but our enjoyment was so great that I continued his oral until he exploded powerfully into my mouth. I held myself still and let his sperm erupt, and then, unbidden, swallowed it to the safety of my tummy. When I finally straightened up and swept the hair out of my face, he ogled me with an expression of pride and disbelief.

"I didn't expect you to do that!" he croaked.

Laughing, I drank the last of my wine and accepted half of his into my glass.

"Are you complaining?" I asked.

"Fuck no!" he exclaimed, making us both break into laughter. For once, I didn't chastise his language. I returned to my previous position against his side.

For the next hour we did nothing but exchange small talk, watch the slowly dying fire and sip wine. Paul migrated to the kitchen midway through our interlude for two more bottles of wine, and we both visited the bathroom together where I peed like a racehorse, giggling like a 13-year-old as Paul emptied his distended bladder into the sink beside me.

"That is so disgusting," I told him.

"I could pee between your legs," he offered.

"No thanks," I countered.

He then wiped me clean himself, which I found to be incredibly erotic. I moved him before me and again made love to him with my mouth, this time with the added bonus of masturbating him extensively. Because I was sitting on the commode with easy access to my clitoris, I masturbated. Before swallowing, I opened my mouth wide and showed him the total worth of his deposit. I almost lost it, however, when he teased me and got me laughing uncontrollably. I got most of it down, but not before making a revolting mess of my mouth.

Back in the living room, he said to me: "I'm going to return the favor, you know."

"You are, are you?" I eyed him over the rim of my glass.

And then he described, in vivid detail how he would do it. Then I was at his mouth and French kissing him again, making my blood boil, and then I was atop him, straddling his lap, but not on him yet, being driven mad by the rubbing of him against my lower belly. We continued to French kiss with that damned wine glass clutched in my right hand, Paul taking every advantage to manipulate my breasts and my nipples, attacking my neck and my shoulders with his mouth, even experimentally slipping a finger up my rear end. That last made me moan in a most embarrassing way. Then I was on my back on the pillows again with Paul feasting between my legs. I want you to know that I've never been feasted upon with such vigor. I reached orgasm the instant he entered me and he reached orgasm only moments later. His orgasm lasted forever and mine half again as long. When he finally collapsed, it was like a building coming down to its foundation. We both panted, exhausted.

"That's it," he gasped. "Got to sleep."

Sleep was fine with me. I hadn't the strength to lift a hand off the floor. I could only lie there beneath him and let sperm leak out of me onto the pillows. He had so much sperm, but I hated wasting any of it. Had I the energy, I gladly would have licked and sucked the excess out of the cushions.

The last thing I remember before I passed out was Paul slipping his fingers up me. He told me the next morning that I had fallen asleep smiling.

* * *

If I had expected the cold light of dawn to make a difference, it did not. I awoke to a new round of lovemaking, and this time we took our wonderful time about it. He remained in me for an hour and twenty minutes of undiminished, loving sex and I showed him each of my favorite positions. To my joy, he saved his ejaculation for my favorite position, the same way he'd taken me both times during the night. Again, we slept, this time until nine o'clock when his dad called.

"Hand me my panties," I hissed, scrambling out from beneath the coverlet.

He shook his head, grinning mischievously.

"It's for your own sake," I told him. "I want you inside me, not streaming down my legs."

Grinning, he snatched my panties off the floor. I scrambled into them and then off the pillows, across the living room toward the phone, this time ducking and covering before the big bay window. I reached it on the tenth ring.

"Hello," I said, breathlessly.

"Nikki? You sound out of breath."

"I just ran upstairs to answer the phone," I huffed. I put a finger to my lips to silence Paul.

"Sure you weren't knocking around the living room with some Joe?" he joked.

I almost choked, but managed to answer in a calm voice. "I'll save that until you get home, Joe."

"That's what I'm calling about," he said, sighing. "Well, that, and to wish you a Merry Christmas, of course."

"What do you mean?"

During the night, a six inch snowfall had blanketed the neighborhood and, even as I watched through the bay window, the neighbor across the street, Mr. Henry, began shoveling his walk free of fresh powder.

"We're snowed in," he said with a sigh.

I looked at Paul. "How badly?"

"Badly as Hell. Almost three feet."

"Three feet!"

A grin, wide as the Grand Canyon spread across Paul's face. Even as I wagged my head at him, I knew a similar grin was spreading across my own. Disgusted, enthralled, relieved, I began to laugh under my breath. Paul lay back on the pillows, laughing merrily under his breath also. When I hung up I returned to him and allowed him to remove my panties before I lay down atop him.

The next three days were the most marvelous, enjoyable and erotic three days of my life.

* * *

Paul is 34 years now, married, with three children of his own. His wife is a simply wonderful girl that Paul fawns over. I think she loves Paul almost as much as I do.

Christmas morning was followed by a handful of times that were divine, but of course never matched that first coupling for intensity, sweetness or spontaneity. Nor should they have. It was the most special gift a mother and son could share; a gift always to be cherished. Now, if I can just get him to stop French kissing me every time we're together and turning me into a nutcase.

THE END