Christmas Break with Mom

I'm breathing hard and my heart's beating harder when I get out of my stepdad's heated pool.

Swimming laps is great exercise, but I can tell I'm not in the same shape I was in high school. Too many parties. Too many beers. Too many late-night trips to Taco Bell. I really need to get a gym membership, or suck it up and use the one on campus.

I dry off, pat my swimsuit until it's no longer dripping, and step into the house. My stepfather is in the kitchen. Dale. He's in his sixties, overweight, and smokes cigars like a chimney. I have no idea what my mom sees in him other than the obvious... his money. The guy is small-town rich, with more money than he could ever spend.

"Hey, Dale," I mutter, opening the fridge and retrieving a beer.

"Ah, sport, you all done with your swim?" Dale asks, glancing back at me from the sandwich he's making.

"Yeah, where's Mom?" I look past him into the living room where she normally is.

"She wasn't feeling well, so she's skipping our trip to the mall," he replies. "I'm going to have a sandwich and head on out so I can get some Christmas shopping done. Any chance you'd like to join me?"

Shopping with Dale? I'd rather gouge out an eye. Maybe both. Not that he's a bad guy. He'd decent enough as far as old men go. He just never shuts up and thinks he's entitled to give me life advice because he put a ring on my mom's hand.

"Uh, nah. I already finished my Christmas shopping," I lie.

"That's because you're not a procrastinator like I am," he chuckles. "Procrastinators never get ahead. It's always best to get right to it. Don't delay! I should take my own advice, huh?"

"Heh, yeah," I chuckle dryly.

Dale leans against the counter and eats his sandwich while he continues to ramble about the trials and tribulations of procrastination. I'm his captive audience, so I drink my beer and tune him out. This is how he is with everything. He's got a soapbox for every issue, from politics to religion to... procrastination, I guess. He probably gave TED Talks in another life.

"Procrastination... You'll never get ahead if you procrastinate, son." He finishes his useless lecture and the last bite of his sandwich at the same time.

"Yeah, you're right," I say, appeasing him so he'll shut the fuck up.

I watch as Dale leaves, roll my eyes, and head upstairs after I finish my beer. It's no wonder my mom gets migraines and needs a damn nap. That's what is always bothering her these days when she's not feeling well. I'm surprised I don't have one after listening to Dale ramble.

"Mom? You asleep?" I call out softly as I approach her bedroom.

If she's sleeping, I don't want to wake her. I just want to make sure she's okay. I gently push her bedroom door open, and my eyebrows shoot up with concern.

"Dale, you asshole," I mutter.

It's a bad migraine. She went to bed with a glass of wine, and her bottle of medicine is on the nightstand. Her doctor said to avoid alcohol entirely due to the migraines and the pills, but she swears it works.

That's not why Dale is an asshole. He's an asshole because my sweet mother is sprawled across the bed, feet hanging off, shoes still on, glasses mashed into her face by her arm. She crashed and crashed hard. He didn't even check on her. He just fucking left.

"I can't leave you like this," I sigh, walking into the room.

I remove her glasses first. Carefully. They go on the nightstand, and I screw the top onto her pill bottle. She moves her arm, adjusts, and lets out a light groan. She's out cold. No surprise, since she chased her medication with a glass of wine.

"Guess I don't have to worry about waking you up," I sigh as I begin removing her shoes.

My mom is a beautiful woman. I've never been ashamed of admitting that. All my friends at school used to say I had a hot mom. I just owned it. They were right, and it would have been blasphemy to say otherwise.

But deeper than her gorgeous body and room-igniting smile, when she wears it, is a heart that beats with nothing but love. I've always been envious of how easily she forgives. How unconditional her love is. She's my fucking hero.

"You deserve so much better than this," I murmur, putting her shoes on the floor.

Better than Dale. An old man who just wants a young, pretty wife. She's a small-town trophy wife for some asshole who's a big fish in a tiny pond. Wealthy enough to buy anything he wants around here. Even my mom's love.

Except she says she loves him with the hesitation of a wife who got cold feet before the wedding but still went through with it. Partially for me. That's the worst part. The old bastard is paying my tuition and loves to slip me a fifty with a condescending wink. Fucker. I should have taken out student loans.

I adjust my mom on the bed and gently lower her head to the pillow. I move her blonde curls out of the way and stare at her beautiful face. I've never admitted it to anyone, but I've had an enormous crush on this woman since I knew what a crush was. The kind of crush no son should have on their mother.

"That asshole doesn't appreciate what he has," I say, my eyes moving from her face to her breasts.

I can't remember sucking on her tits when I was a baby, but I sure wish I could. I bet they were even bigger, filled with milk for me to drink. They're not perfectly firm. Not like the teeny-boppers at college. But they're still incredible. I was eighteen the last time I saw them. She had just stepped out of the shower and didn't know I was home. I barely got a glimpse before she wrapped herself in a towel. Shamefully, I jacked off to that sight dozens of times that year.

"You don't want to sleep in this t-shirt... you definitely don't want to sleep in your jeans." I suck in a breath as I glance at her nightgown, hanging on a hook in the open closet. "I'll help you get more comfortable."

I'm crossing a line now. I know that. Removing her glasses. Taking off her shoes. Tucking her into bed. That's acceptable enough. This isn't, but she will not wake up. She'll rest a lot better if she's comfortable. I remember how much it sucks waking up after falling asleep in your clothes. It never feels like a good rest.

I tug her shirt up slowly, exposing inch after inch of her midsection. No girl at college has a body that tells a story like my mom's does. The stretch marks on her stomach. They're not vivid, but there's a faint discoloration if you know where to look. Those are because of me. I was a big boy when I was born. Still am, where it counts.

I carefully peel her shirt off, leaving her bra exposed. It's a simple black bra. One she's had for years. Longer than Dale has been in her life. There's a small scar under her left breast. Another story I know. A quick surgery to remove a mole that was concerning. I trace the mark, the indentation as beautiful as the rest of her.

"Dale wanted you to get this fixed. Another surgery so you wouldn't have a scar," I sigh. "But it's part of who you are... he just doesn't appreciate that."

My mom shifts, and I pull my hand away until she settles into the pillow. Once she starts moving, I slide my hands around her back. My heart thuds in my chest. The blood rushes past my ears. But I can't resist. I unsnap her bra and slowly remove it, gasping when I see her wonderful tits.

34DD. I know that because I bought her a bra one year for her birthday. Paid to have it fitted and everything. She only wears that bra on special occasions. Her breasts may not be perfectly perky and solidly firm, but they're natural. Not like some of the girls at college who got boob jobs before they were out of high school. My mom's tits put those to shame. Her nipples are on the bigger side, and one is a little higher than the left, but that's just part of who she is.

"Damn," I whisper, getting an eyeful that makes my dick tent my swim trunks.

My hand moves down her stomach, traces a stretch mark, and settles on the front of her jeans. I'd have a hard time arguing that I'm just getting her ready for bed. I've already crossed that line. I might as well cross another one. Dale will be gone for a while. My mom won't wake up.

I unfasten her jeans and gently work them down her hips. Mom jeans. They don't do her ass or her legs justice. Her waist isn't razor thin like the housewives at the country club who get liposuction every time they notice an extra pound on the scale. There are a few wrinkles and sags. But her legs. God, her legs are incredibly smooth. Long. More toned than the rest of her. I drag my fingers against them as I remove her jeans.

"Sorry Mom. I know this is so fucking wrong," I murmur, tossing her jeans to the side.

One hand caresses her left thigh. The other teases the front of my tented swim trunks. I've never done anything like this. I've thought about it, but couldn't bring myself to go through with it. Molesting my own mother. I should be ashamed. Moreso than I am. I just can't help myself.

"You don't need panties," I whisper, my hand sliding to the waistband. "Not for a nap..."

I suck in a deep breath before I begin pulling her panties down. They hang on the curve of her ass, and a groan makes me freeze.

"Dale, I'm... not tonight," she whines, squirming and pushing at the hand wrapped around her panties.

She succumbs to her slumber again, her hand falling away. Dale? No, that asshole doesn't deserve any of this. My mom deserves better than a fat man who probably doesn't even have enough stamina to make her cum. Can't get his dick up without a blue pill. I can. I'm so hard it hurts, and I haven't even pulled her panties off. Yet.

I slide the fabric down her hips, then it's easy to get them off. I toss them on the floor beside her jeans. She's perfectly smooth from the waist down. Not a single hair. Dale probably made her do that. She used to have a bush. I saw that the last time I saw her tits.

"You're a woman. Not some little girl," I sigh, swallowing hard as I ease her legs apart so I can get a better look at her hairless mound. "Fuck..."

I can't bring myself to touch it, even though I'm dying to. I rub the front of my swim trunks for a few minutes while I stare at my mom's gorgeous body. Then I get more daring. I shove my trunks down enough to pull my dick out and stroke the bare skin.

"Mmm, fuck. Fuck, yeah," I moan.

I don't touch her pussy, but I move my free hand along her legs. Then her abdomen. Then I'm brave enough to squeeze a tit and circle her nipple with my finger. It hardens against my skin.

"Oh..." my mom murmurs, her back arching slightly.

I pull my hand away and yank up my swim trunks. My heart beats so hard I'm dizzy. But she still doesn't wake up. She settles again, and I wait for a few minutes before I resume my touching and stroking.

"You're so fucking hot. So much hotter than those girls at school," I whisper, squeezing a tit while I rub my dick. "Dale's not good enough for you. He's a fat old bastard who should be in a retirement home. I'd treat you right... I'd fucking worship you."

My cock tightens, and my balls ache. I'm getting dangerously close. Just a few more strokes, and then I have to retreat. I'll finish myself in the shower. Watch my jizz go down the drain, like I have so many times before after a dirty mom fantasy. But I'm going to cum hard. Harder than ever. I can already feel it.

"Fuck, fuck," I mutter, my eyes closing. "Just a little more, then I'll go."

I stroke myself shamelessly, feeling the pressure build. Suddenly, my mom jerks away from me. I open my eyes just in time to see a horrified look on her face. Dazed from the wine and the medicine, but genuinely dismayed.

"Robbie!? What the!?" she screams.

But it's too late. I should have stopped before I was this close. I try to pull my hand away from my dick, but I'm already cumming. Hot fluid shoots out of my cockhead, and she slides further away, one arm covering her tits, the other covering her hairless mound. My cum lands right where her breasts were moments before.

"Mom! I'm sorry!" I cry out, shame and remorse consuming me as jizz twitches out of my dick and splatters all over the bed. "Fuck... fuck... I'm... I'M SORRY!"

I've never seen my mom look so horrified. Never felt so much damn shame. I just got caught jacking off to my own mother. Caught stripping her naked so I could.

My life is over. I mutter a few more apologies, and tears well up in my eyes before I bolt from her bedroom. I don't stop running until I'm in my room with the door shut. Even that isn't good enough. What if she tells Dale? What if... what if she calls the cops? Oh, fuck, I could go to jail. I'm pretty sure that what I just did is a crime.

Tears of shame and regret stream down my face as I open my closet door and grab a duffel bag. I can't go back to college. If she tells Dale, he won't be paying my tuition anymore. She probably won't even let him. She probably doesn't want to see me again or to have anything to do with me. Why did I act like some horny pervert? She's my mom!

"Damn it, damn it, I'm so, so sorry," I cry, shoving clothes into my bag.

Being sorry isn't enough. Not this time. My mom will never forgive me. I probably traumatized her. She woke up disoriented and caught her son touching her. Touching her while he masturbated. It'll only take her a few minutes to realize I stripped her naked first.

I don't know where I'll go. Anywhere but here. I'll crash at a friend's house. Find a job. Move to the other side of the goddamn world. I'll never outrun the shame, but I'd rather live with it than ever see that look on my mom's face again. That horror. That betrayal. I bet she wishes I was never born. Wishes she didn't carry a pervert in her stomach for nine months.

Before I can finish gathering enough clothes to run away, I hear my door opening. I freeze. I'm not sure which would be worse... Dale or my mom. If Dale knows, I'm fucked. I'll have to kick the old man's ass. Then, I really will be going to jail.

"Robbie, what are you doing?" my mother asks, a layer of disappointment and confusion in her voice.

"I'm sorry, Mom. I'm so fucking sorry," I mumble, not even turning around to face her. "I'll leave... I'll just go. I didn't mean... I..."

"Turn around, Robbie. And stop mumbling," she scolds firmly. "I can't understand a damn thing you say when you mumble like that."

I swallow what little saliva is in my throat and awkwardly turn around. I'm still wearing my swim trunks. There's spunk smeared across the front. More evidence of my shame. My mom has put on her gown. It's more revealing than what she'd normally walk around the house in, but I refuse to look. Not after what I did.

"Robbie, Robbie, Robbie," she sighs, shaking her head. "What am I going to do with you, hmm?"

Tears roll down my cheeks. I feel like a kid who just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. No, not a cookie jar. That wouldn't fill me with this much dread or shame. I feel like a grown-ass-man who just got caught touching his mother. Jacking off to her. Almost ejaculating all over the tits that fed me when I was a baby.

"I... I didn't mean to. Oh god, I'm so ashamed," I blubber. "I swear I was just going to make sure you were comfortable... then... then I..."

"You've been wanting to do that for a while, haven't you?" she asks. "See your mother naked? Touch me like that?"

"What? No!" I lie.

"I can tell when you're lying, Robbie," she sighs. "You're also not as clever as you think. I thought you were just into older women or something when I saw all that Mommy porn on your computer."

"You... you went through my computer?!?" My eyes get tall.

"Not intentionally. I had to use your laptop to pay a credit card bill one day when my phone wasn't working. You didn't... close out your browser," she says, shaking her head. "I probably should have addressed it then, rather than letting it go. I would have if I'd known it was going to lead to something like this."

More tears roll down my cheeks. This is worse than I thought. My mom has seen what kind of porn I watch? I don't know what was on the screen that day, but I have a pretty good idea. Nothing a boy would want his mom to see, that's for damn sure.

"I'll... I'll just go. Please... if you love me... or ever loved me... don't tell anyone. Please?" I beg, trembling so much I'm afraid I might pass out. "You... you won't ever see me again if just do that. I promise."

"I'll never breathe a word about this to anyone, Robbie," she sighs. "You're still my son, even if you are a little pervert, and you're not going anywhere. Put your stuff away. Then you need to come clean up the mess you made."

My mom turns and leaves my bedroom without another word. I stand rooted to the spot I'm in, tears still streaming down my face. I'm grateful, but confused. I thought for sure I'd be disowned, kicked out, and never spoken of again. Like Dale's black sheep of a daughter. He took her pictures down when he kicked her out. My mom's more forgiving than that fat bastard. She really is an angel.

I slowly put my things away. I feel like a scumbag. Worse than a scumbag. Scumbags have more sense than I do. They don't strip their mother naked and touch her. They don't jack off to her. I bet the hottest place in hell is reserved for people like me. They'll probably put Dale right beside me, so he can lecture me for all eternity.

After my clothes are back in my dresser and my duffel bag is in the closet, I trudge down the hallway towards my mother's room. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to look her in the eye again. I'll never live this down. I'll regret it every day of my life.

When I step into my mom's bedroom, she's sitting at the foot of the bed, away from the jizz drying on the sheets. Wads of my shameful release. Thick ropes that haven't soaked in yet.

"I'll... I'll get a rag," I mutter, my face burning.

"No. I watched a few of those videos you had up," my mom says. "Morbid curiosity, I guess. You can clean the sheets with your tongue, naughty boy."

My eyes bulge and my mouth dries out. I can't say that's a fantasy, but there were a few videos where the guys were forced to eat their own cum after jizzing. I'm not really submissive. Not like that. I just liked the mom fantasy, and there were more Mommy-Dom videos available than mom-fucking ones.

"Mom, that's gross," I groan. "Please..."

"Don't argue with me, young man," she snaps back with more authority than I've ever heard in her voice. "You made the mess, so clean it up."

"Can't we just change the sheets?" I ask, groaning louder.

"Of course we're going to change the sheets," she replies. "But you're still going to lick them clean first. Since you are still arguing with me, you're going to get a spanking before we change them, too."

"A spanking!? Mom! No..." I shake my head.

"The more you argue, the worse it's going to be." She points to the sheets. "Clean them. Now."

Despite my trepidation, a dark thrill shoots through me and makes my limp dick shudder in my swim trunks. I've watched a few videos of guys my age getting spanked by their Mommy-Dom. I'm sure there were a few videos like that pulled up. But I've never actually gotten one. I'm not sure it's something I would enjoy. It was just a fantasy running wild in my dopamine filled mind, gooning to whatever kept my dick hard.

But why is my mom doing this? I can't keep arguing with her. I'm not getting thrown out. Not getting disowned. If she wants to humiliate me, then I just have to accept it. I certainly deserve it after what I did.

I walk over to the bed and groan as I lean forward. My mom lights a cigarette and watches me closely, which only adds to my degradation. She only smokes when she's angry. She's definitely doing this to teach me a lesson, and my only choice is to learn it. My tongue escapes my mouth, but I pull it back in, and groan loudly before extending it again.