Three Sons Pt. 01

Three Sons (Part 1)

Kathryn M. Burke

James Wilkinson knew something would have to be done about his mother.

It wasn't that his mom, Jenny, was physically ill; but she seemed on the verge of lapsing into chronic depression. God knows she had a lot to be unhappy about. Two years ago her husband, Cal, had abruptly left the household for no reason—at least, none that his wife or his three sons could understand. James didn't think there was another woman in the picture, although there might be; and no one had heard much from Dad since his departure.

Meanwhile, Jenny had to run a household full of boys who were turning into young men. There was the eldest, James, now twenty-one, who had gotten a toehold in the construction industry but really wasn't making a lot of money. The second son, Peter (who was just a wee bit on the autism spectrum), was getting by working at a hardware store. The youngest, Daniel, had graduated from high school and turned eighteen at almost the same time; and now he was looking forw`ard to going to college. Jenny had decided that her "baby" would be given the opportunity to make a better life for himself by attending the local college, which was within walking distance from their house. But the end result was that all three boys were still at home, living in the family house that Jenny had gotten in the divorce settlement. Her own low-level job—as a receptionist at a soulless corporation downtown—didn't bring in much money either, so finances were pretty tight.

Probably the three boys, being boys, didn't contribute as much to the running of the household as they should have. So Jenny was stuck doing the dishes, washing everyone's clothes, and in general being something of a drudge whenever she wasn't at work. And it didn't help that she didn't seem to want to go on dates with men of her own age. She claimed that there were few prospects in the mid-size town in upstate New York where they lived; but going out to dinner with her own sons at the local Applebee's or Olive Garden wasn't exactly the stuff of romance.

So, over the past two years, Jenny had lapsed more and more into an attitude of beaten-down sadness and resentment. She never blamed the boys—she loved them too much, and knew they loved her—but she seemed stuck in a pattern of unchanging misery. No woman looks better frowning than smiling, and that definitely held true for Jenny Watkins.

And the crying tragedy of the whole business, in James's view, was that his mother really was a knockout.

Of course, it wasn't right that he should think of her that way. But he'd had enough experience with women—both of his own age and, in a few instances, of some who were a bit older—to know that Jenny was, or would have been, regarded as radiantly beautiful by almost any sane man. Having just turned forty, she looked at least ten years younger. She had lustrous black hair framing an oval face that, because of its melancholy air, made her look like a model for those pre-Raphaelite painters of nineteenth-century England. Although slender and petite (five foot four), she had luscious curves at bust and hips; and James, when he'd been out running errands with his mother, had noticed many males of all ages giving her the once-over as she walked by. Once James had exchanged glances with a guy in his mid-fifties who had actually licked his lips as Jenny heedlessly passed him.

But she'd look a whole lot prettier if she smiled more.

One of her few pleasures in life was listening to classical music. She'd inherited from her mother an impressive collection of classical LPs, and she always made sure to have a good turntable to play them on. So on this lazy Saturday afternoon in late August, after she'd done some work in the garden, she was sitting demurely on the sofa in the living room, listening to a Mozart piano concerto with her eyes closed and her mouth slightly open.

James (whom nobody, even his mother, ever called Jim) thought he'd never seen anything so beautiful.

He quietly sat down on the sofa next to her. Peter and Daniel had gone off somewhere, he couldn't remember where. The house seemed almost eerily empty, except for the heavenly strains of the music. It seemed Jenny didn't even notice the slight movement of the sofa as James lowered himself on it, inches from her. For a time he just watched her. He wasn't a classical music fan, but he was transported by her appearance—not just the heart-rending beauty of her face and figure, but the sense of peace and tranquility that came over her as she communed with the music.

So James bent forward and, without touching his mother, gave her a quick kiss on the mouth.

Jenny's eyes popped open in surprise and puzzlement. It took her a few seconds to realize her eldest son was sitting beside her. She smiled uncertainly at him and said, "What was that for, dear?"

All of a sudden James's heart began pounding hard in his chest. He knew that something momentous was about to happen.

"Oh, nothing, Mom," he said with faux casualness. "I just thought you looked so pretty sitting there."

Her smile broadened—and that somehow gave James permission (in his own mind) to go farther. He took both hands and placed them on either side of his mother's face, and then pasted a long, wet kiss on her lips. At first she let out a stranged, inarticulate cry ("Mmmm!"), but after a while she seemed to relent. James had already learned that women have a kind of natural instinct to kiss back if they're kissed, even if in their conscious minds they feel the kiss isn't appropriate or allowable—as this kiss certainly wasn't!

When James finally released his mouth from Jenny's, he could see a small amount of moisture on her lips. He saw her own chest heave with emotion, and her face turn crimson with a deep blush. She looked at her son as if she'd never seen him before.

"You—you shouldn't kiss your mother like that, James," she said in a shaky voice.

With deep emotion James replied, "I don't know who I want to kiss right now more than you."

And with that, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and began showering kisses all over her face—her rubicund cheeks, her slender nose, her high forehead—and worked his way down to her neck and shoulders.

"James, you naughty boy!" she cried—but at the same time she threw her own arms around the back of his head and held on tight. Maybe that was instinctive too. Women are just made for expressing and inspiring emotion, and James had rarely felt more emotion—love, tenderness, and, yes, desire—than he felt at that moment.

James himself was a good five foot ten, and the muscles in his arms, chest, and legs were well developed. He had little difficulty placing his mother on top of himself as he reclined at full length on the sofa. She tried to push away from him, her arms extending themselves on his chest; but it was useless, and she gave way to the inevitable and buried her head in the crook of her son's neck—as if not being able to see what he was doing meant it really wasn't happening.

At this point, James realized that he was going to throw caution to the winds.

He kept kissing Jenny wherever his lips could reach, holding her tight around the waist. She endured his caresses in a resigned sort of way—until he slid a hand down her back and placed it on her bottom, over the thin print dress she was wearing.

At that point she let out a squeal of protest. "Young man, you mustn't!"

But James had crossed the Rubicon. He grabbed fistfuls of the dress and pulled it up, revealing the pink cotton panties beneath it. His hands gloried in her wondrously curved bottom—soft but firm at the same time—even as he felt it over her underwear. Then, in a quick motion, he peeled those panties down to her knees and touched her bare bottom for the first time in his life.

He waited for his mother to object to this definitive sexual gesture—but not much happened. She was continuing to squirm, but at the same time she was pressing her lips against his neck, almost like a female vampire wanting to drink his blood. Little tremors were running through her, especially in her thighs; and that's what led James to take bolder measures.

He'd had enough experience with the female of the species to learn one vital and undeniable fact:

A girl is a whole lot more pliant if you make her come.

Mom wasn't a "girl," but the principle held true for her too. So he slipped his hand between their bodies and, after only a brief hesitation, covered her sex with it.

Those squeals of hers had turned to moans, and no wonder: she was getting wetter by the second. She even parted her legs to allow him better access. In the midst of his unutterable excitement, he felt an overriding pity for the long drought his mother had gone through. At least two years without a man touching her down there, to say nothing of—

She was now clutching him frantically, actually licking his neck as he began to fondle her. A previous girlfriend had taught him a lot about how to stimulate a female, and he put all this knowledge to good use as he stroked his mother's labia up and down, stuck his fingers into her vagina, and then—as a sort of culmination—began rubbing her clitoris in a circular motion with his thumb. A series of strangled cries were coming out of Jenny's throat, largely muffled by the fact that her mouth was still attached to James's neck; but then, sooner than he expected, she let out a sharp, shrill cry as her whole body began quivering uncontrollably.

As Jenny came down from her high, she continued to bury her face in her son's neck. She'd always found it just a tad embarrassing to come in the presence of someone else, even her husband—and now, to have had this unexpected and spectacular climax in her son's presence (and, even more appallingly, caused by her son), made her dizzy and confused.

So when James asked, "Did you like that, Mom?" she just nodded frantically but said nothing.

James stroked her head gently, then slid out from under her. Standing up, he looked down at his mom, now gazing up nervously at him. He scooped her up in his arms and headed upstairs.

"Where are we going, dear?" she asked.

"We're not done, Mom," he announced blandly.

He entered her bedroom. During their former days of prosperity, Jenny and Cal had indulged in the luxury of buying a king-size bed; but now, with Cal gone, Jenny looked pitifully small and insignificant in that big bed, like a little girl who had wandered into her parents' bedroom. James placed her gently on that bed, then began undressing.

Jenny watched him fixedly as he removed one piece of clothing after another. There wasn't much to remove, and when he finally peeled off his underwear she gasped and covered her mouth.

"My goodness," she breathed. "It's so big."

And it was: James was proud of his eight-inch member, which was now quivering with anticipation. He heard his mom mutter under her breath, "Bigger than your father's . . ."

She lay there unmoving, and James realized he'd have to take the initiative. He turned her over onto her stomach, unzipped her dress, slid it off her shoulders, and pulled it down over her feet. Now she was wearing only her bra and her panties—the panties still down at her knees, exposing her glorious bottom.

Even James, bold as he was, had to summon up some gumption to unclasp the bra and take it off. This is my mom we're talking about! He didn't see anything right away, because she remained in a prone position. He took her panties off also, and when he rolled her over onto her front, she instinctively covered her breasts and delta with her hands. But he could see enough.

Mom really was beautiful! Large, ripe breasts, surprisingly high and firm for her age, flat stomach, flaring hips (what can you expect from someone who has borne three children?), robust thighs, tapered calves, and cute little feet! But her most striking feature, barely concealed by her hand, was her amazingly thick and luxuriant bush, extending almost up to her navel and down over her sex.

He stood at the edge of the bed, near his mother's head. His cock was just at the level of her face.

"Put it in your mouth, Mom," he said.

After a wide-eyed glance at it, she obediently, almost instinctively, opened her mouth and absorbed at least the first three inches of it. James really didn't need any further stimulation; he was already rock hard. But he couldn't get enough of the image of his dear mother wrapping her lips around his organ, now taking the base of it with one hand while her head bobbed back and forth on it, her other hand reaching around and grabbing his bottom. He knew many women loved a good male butt—and he hoped he had one!

He couldn't take this for more than a few minutes. Now that he (and she) had gone this far, he knew he would have to complete the job.

Pulling his cock out of Jenny's mouth, he urged her to lie on his back while he placed his body on top of hers. At first he focused on those incredible breasts, wishing he could remember suckling them when he was a baby. How much nourishment he and his brothers must have gotten from this source! Then he slid up her body, looming over her. Staring down at her as she gazed up with a worried but excited expression on her face, he slipped into her—without even needing his hand to guide his member in.

She let out a gasp. James remembered that it had been more than two years since she'd had a man in her, so she was a little out of practice—to say nothing of the emotional shock of having her own son enter her. But the muscle memory of her body acted on its own: she raised her legs and wrapped them around his thighs as he began thrusting into her. All the while, he continued to fix his eyes on her as she did on his. Somehow both of them sensed that they had to be fully alert and conscious during this momentous event—an event that, if Jenny were honest with herself, she'd fantasized about for several years, especially during the absence of her husband.

James slowly lowered his body onto hers, kissing her all over her face—mouth, cheeks, nose, forehead, even her ears and neck. With his hands he scoured as much of her figure as he could reach—breasts, back, bottom, thighs. Now that she seemed accustomed to having him in her, he began pounding her hard, as his entire member plunged into her and his pubic hairs mingled with that dense tuft covering her groin.

It was only minutes afterward that, to his own frustration, he began sensing that telltale tingling in his testicles. Raising himself up again, he peered wide-eyed down at his mother as he shot his seed deep into her in a series of long, thick streams. They seemed never to end, and Jenny's mouth dropped as she felt them coating the walls of her vagina. At last he was finished, flopping off of her and landing hard on his back next to her.

They were both huffing and puffing from exertion and excitement, staring at the ceiling and trying to come to terms with what had just happened. Jenny now felt another acute bout of embarrassment, and she slipped under the sheets to cover herself. James did the same—but only so he could take hold of his mother and place her on top of himself. He knew many women liked post-coital cuddling, and he was particularly keen on satisfying this particular partner.

But Jenny fell into a fit of mild brooding, saying, "You—you really oughtn't to have done that, dear. It was very, very naughty."

"Mom," James said with a sudden access of worldly wisdom, "I think it's something you needed. I just wanted to make you happy. Because"—and here he choked up with emotion—"I love you, Mom."

She looked down at him, and he saw that her eyes were filled with tears. She kissed him on the mouth. "I love you too, dear. But—"

James had been massaging Jenny's bottom, at times sliding a hand between their bodies to brush against her sex. He had an intense desire to feel his come oozing out of her, and when his fingers were bedwered with their mingled juices it gave him quite a kick. So much so that he started getting hard again.

It didn't hurt that Jenny—again seeming to act instinctively, without conscious awareness of her actions—had been sliding her fingers back and forth over his cock, sometimes cupping his balls with her hand the way she used to like doing with her husband. A man's testicles exercised an incredible fascination with her, and she took some pride in how her eldest son had developed a large set of cojones to match his impressive organ.

And yet she looked at him reproachfully. "You don't really to do it again so soon, do you, dear?"

"I do, Mom," he replied.

She heaved a sigh. "I'm already feeling a little sore down there."

"I'm sorry about that." He continued to massage her bottom—and in doing so he was struck by an idea. "Can I ask you something?"

"What?"

"Could I . . . could I go in back here?"

It took her a while to figure out what he meant; and when the truth dawned on her, she had a quick intake of breath.

"You—you've done that before?" she said.

"Yeah, once or twice."

"And you like it?"

"I sure do. Do you like it?"

Jenny didn't answer immediately. James could well understand his mother's reluctance to let her son into that very tight and very private spot, even after what they'd already done. But then, to his amazement, she said in an almost inaudible voice: "Yes."

"You do?"

"Yes."

"Did Daddy—"

"Yes. Quite a lot."

"So . . . you like it?"

"I guess I do." After a pause: "We'll need some lube."

"I know, Mom."

James pushed Jenny aside and leaped off the bed, heading for the bathroom. He snatched up some hand lotion that he figured would serve the purpose.

He'd already squeezed some on his fingers when his mother, looking at him in alarm, said, "You're going to put it on me?" She seemed more upset about his fingers going into that area than his cock.

"Sure, Mom. It's easier for me to reach."

With a resigned sigh she rolled over onto her stomach, burying her face in a pillow as if to conceal from herself what her son was about to do. But she could hardly avoid feeling the cold, wet stuff on her anus as her son's fingers coated it inside and out. Wiping his hands on some Kleenex, he got on top of her.

He wouldn't have minded his mother getting on hands and knees, but he got an inkling that she didn't like that position. In any case, it would have exposed her too much to his gaze. So, much as he would have liked to have watched his cock as it entered his mom's butt, he was content to have it slide in (with some help from a guiding hand) as he covered her whole frame with his.

Jenny's eyes widened and her jaw dropped as she remembered the familiar sensation of having a male organ enter her back there. She was very much out of practice in this procedure, and she felt the same sort of discomfort she had experienced when a college boy (not her future husband) had introduced her to it. But even though she felt a certain embarrassment, even mortification, that she actually enjoyed this act (she remembered an outraged girl friend saying, "You like that? Yuk!"), she couldn't help it!

So now, as her son's back-door entry induced a flood of memories of every time she had allowed her bottom to be invaded by a man, she fell into a kind of dreamy passivity as James wrapped his arms around her chest and seized her breasts with both hands. That was something pretty hard to do in the doggie-style position, that's for sure! He felt he had totally possessed his mother, especially when he later slid one hand down to her sex while the other clutched both breasts. He kissed her neck, the back of her head, and wherever else his mouth could reach as he continued pummeling her bottom. And he could tell that his manipulation of her labia and clitoris was having an effect: she was breathing hard, and her whole body was starting to quiver in anticipation of her own culmination.