Mom's Wedding Gown

Mark tried not to shiver as his mother leaned heavily against him, tried not to enjoy the softness of her body or the flowery smell of her hair. Tried not to get a hard on again. She looked up at him, smiling, and giggled drunkenly as he fumbled with her keys and opened the front door. "You're so sweet to help me home," she said, then lifted up on her toes to kiss his cheek dangerously close to his lips.

"Mom, you're drunk," he said, more to remind himself than her, to convince himself that she was flirtatious because of the liquor and because she was angry at Dad. "I couldn't let you drive home like this. Come on, let me get you inside."

She giggled again but let him guide her through the doorway into the spacious parlor at the front of the house. As he closed the door he couldn't help watching the sway of her ass as she staggered away from him, letting his eyes roam over her mature body appreciatively. How long had he had fantasies about her? A very long time, he reckoned, but there was a vast difference between fantasy and reality. Or so he'd always thought.

Mom had arrived at his house late that afternoon, face wet with tears, and had thrown herself into her son's arms sobbing. The story had come out of her in fits and starts, mostly because she was ashamed. It wasn't her fault Dad had cheated on her, and he'd slowly convinced her of that fact as she lay against him on his ratty sofa looking so demure and lovely in her skirt and silk blouse, rubbing her pantyhose clad legs against his, letting her son brush her graying locks away from her face streaked with mascara and smudged lipstick.

When had it changed? After her third drink? The weeping had stopped and comforting hands had become slightly exploratory. Only slightly. He wasn't brave enough to make a move on his own mother, and he wasn't sure it was something she'd want anyway. She was upset about Dad's infidelity, a woman on the rebound, and he had no right to use that for his own pleasure.

He laughed at himself. No, his mother was far too conservative to entertain fantasies of incest the way her only son did. Even drunk as she was, that was too unbelievable.

And yet there she was leaning against the doorframe making eyes at him, smiling as if she could read his thoughts. "Tell me I'm beautiful," she said.

"Of course you're beautiful, Mom," he said promptly. "I keep telling you that. You're the most beautiful woman I know. That I've ever known. Dad's a bastard for wanting anything less than perfection."

She giggled and blushed slightly. "I know it's a lie," she said, "but I love hearing you say it. I'm too old to be beautiful anymore."

"Now you're the one telling lies, Mom," he said. "I can't believe you don't realize how sexy you are."

"Sexy?" she asked, smile flickering. "You think I'm sexy?"

He swallowed hard. He hadn't meant to say that. "Uh, yeah Mom," he said, trying to think of ways to downplay his slip. "How could any man not think so?"

"But you're my son. You're not supposed to think I'm...sexy."

"I'm your son, but I'm still a man. I'm allowed to see how hot you are, I'm just not allowed to act on it."

She stared at him for a long moment, and he could almost see the wheels turning in her head. He felt heat on his face as his secret shame flushed his skin. Drunk she might be, but she wasn't stupid and she was sure to deduce her son's illicit desire. If she could bring herself to accept that such a thing was even possible. He hoped not.

"I'm, uh, going to go change. Don't leave yet, okay?" she asked.

"Sure, Mom."

She disappeared down the hallway leaving her son to sag heavily against the wall, his heart hammering. He told himself just how stupid he was to slip up not once, but twice. She was drunk, though, and there was a good chance she wouldn't remember it. Even if she did, he told himself, he could convince her she'd misunderstood and she'd believe it. What mother wanted to believe her twenty-six year old son had the hots for her? Really?

And it was strange that he did, he told himself. As a teen just learning to spank it and dream of sex, it had been natural for him to fantasize about the only woman he knew intimately. He imagined it was that way for almost all boys. As he'd grown older, Mom had moved to the background of his dreams, replaced by cheerleaders and models and starlets. When he'd finally gotten his hands on Playboys he'd almost entirely forgotten his fantasies about his mother.

Almost.

When he went away to college and began having sex, something had changed. He still lusted the girls his age, still chased them and bedded them, but he missed his mother and somehow that slowly translated into desire. After that first year, seeing her again was like a physical blow, as if he was seeing her for the very first time. Seeing her as a woman and not just his mother. He still remembered that day, the way she'd worn her raven hair swept back in a ponytail to leave her pale round face exposed and devoid of makeup. Her bright brown eyes had shone with such love for her only son.

She was a bit shorter than him and the welcoming hug had been a bit awkward as she vanished into his wide embrace, nestling against him so perfectly that he wanted to just pick her up and run away with her. Mom had thrown her arms around him tightly, squealing in delight at his return, extolling how he'd grown into such a young man in only a year, all while her son became exquisitely aware of her softness, her roundness, the feel of her hips against his and the press of her breasts into his chest. If only she'd worn something other than tight jeans and a t-shirt, if she'd had on shoes instead of sandals so he couldn't have seen her cute feet and pink-painted toenails, if only he hadn't seen her in that moment as being just as cute and adorable and as desirable as any of the college girls he'd lusted after.

He got a hard on, and she noticed. There was a flicker of surprise in her eyes as he blushed and they both realized the other was fully aware of the situation. Then she had to step away so Dad could shake his hand and pound his back. When Mark looked again at his mother she was luckily looking away, and he saw that her nipples were hard.

That had been it for him. A summer at home was torture. She kept her distance, dressed modestly, and nothing changed in their relationship. The next summer she was happy again to see her son and again he boned when they hugged, but that time she hadn't pulled away so quickly, and the second summer she wore shorts more, spent more time with her son. And the next summer was even better. Graduation put a damper on what he'd hoped would blossom into an incestuous love affair. He went to work, moved away, and that had been that.

Until now. In the five years since he'd finished college he had done well for himself, too busy working to date much, too busy lusting his mother to lust anyone else. At least there hadn't been many women to complain that he spent too much time with his mother. No one to ridicule him for being a momma's boy. Mom had enjoyed the companionship too, he believed. She had plenty of girlfriends, of course, but she always had time for her son. And instead of getting over his sinful crush on her, it had only gotten worse. No matter how he tried to convince himself that he wasn't in love with her, that he didn't really want to ruin their close relationship by fucking her, he knew the opposite was true.

She'd been gone over fifteen minutes and Mark snapped back from his reverie with a start. "Mom?" he called. "Are you okay?"

"I'm in my bedroom," she called back. "Come here a minute, will you?"

Swallowing nervously, Mark made his way down the hall to his mother's open bedroom door. What he saw made his chest tighten. Mom stood in front of her full length mirror admiring herself, turning this way and that, and when she noticed Mark she turned to him beaming. "See?" she announced triumphantly. "I'm still the same size I was when I got married."

"Yeah," Mark said with a dry mouth. His mother was in her wedding dress, the same silky ensemble he'd only seen before in photos, and she looked stunning. It was a bit old-fashioned with large, puffy shoulders and a wide skirt, and while the bodice pushed her small breasts up into a respectable display the cleavage was hidden behind a gauzy covering thick with lace. Long sleeves ended with little straps that ran through her fingers to keep the cuffs down. Her feet were hidden beneath billowing folds. The dress hugged her round hips, squeezing her into an hourglass shape, and as Mark stared at her he felt a stirring in his pants.

"My god," he mumbled. "Mom, you look incredible."

"Really?" she asked, her face scrunching up adorably. "You don't think it's weird that I wanted to put on my wedding gown? I thought it might be weird."

"No, Mom. Not weird at all." He stepped into the room, aching to reach for her. "Maybe you should let Dad see you like this. Remind him that he married such a beautiful woman."

"Fuck him," Mom said, surprising him with the use of foul language. "He's a cheating bastard and I don't want him anymore. I want..." She faltered, her eyes glazing as she stared into the distance momentarily. Her focus snapped back on him and she looked away quickly. Mark felt his heart pound in his chest. He felt light headed.

She turned to look into the mirror. "How can you think I'm pretty?" she asked.

Mark moved to stand behind her and tentatively put his hands on her upper arms, gazing over her shoulder into her reflection. "How could I not?" he countered.

"I mean, I'm your mother. Are you attracted to me, Mark?"

He swallowed hard. "Yes," he said, admitting it. He watched her closely for a reaction but there didn't seem to be one. She stared distantly at herself a moment longer then pulled away.

She began opening drawers on her dresser. "I didn't love your father when we got married," she told him. "My best friend had gotten married and I was jealous. I goaded your father into proposing. And I got pregnant right away with you." She pulled a wad of white material from a drawer. She closed the drawer and walked toward the bed. "I think I came to love him over the years, but not the way he wanted. Not the way I wanted, either."

"You've told me this before," Mark said, watching her. She sat down and shook the wad, and it became a pair of sheer white stockings.

"I know," she said. "But I've never told you...Mark, I'm so confused. I've only ever loved one man in my entire life." She looked into his eyes and he suddenly realized just who that one man was. He thought his heart would explode. She held out the stockings shyly. "Help me get these on?" she asked.

His hand was trembling as he took the stockings from her hands. She leaned back on the bed, resting on her elbows, and held one leg into the air. The folds of the gown fell back to expose her pale skin, her smooth leg shining in the bedroom light. Mark stared at her for a moment, hardly daring to believe he wasn't dreaming. Still unable to convince himself that she was offering herself to him, or that she had revealed her secret to him.

The only man she had ever loved?

He rolled up one stocking and put the tip over her toes, sliding it up and up, covering her ankle, her calf, her knee. She tugged the gown and her thigh was exposed. Mark slid the stocking up until his hands passed beneath the hem of the dress, into the shadows of her crotch. He could feel heat there, and he wanted to badly to let his hands continue, to find her crotch and touch her there.

Instead he pulled back and rolled up the other stocking. Mom lowered the nylon clad leg and lifted the other, staring intently at him the whole time. "I love you, Mom," he said as he placed the stocking over her bare toes.

"I love you too, Son," she replied in a husky voice.

As he rolled the stocking up her leg, she lifted it, making him come closer to continue. He felt her toes on his knee. They wiggled playfully and crawled up to his thigh. The dress fell back exposing her white cotton panties. He caught a whiff of her pussy, the sexy smell of arousal, and he could see that the cotton was damp and a few pubic hairs were peeking out of the leg openings. He unrolled the stocking over her knee, down to her thigh, and his mother's toes found his crotch. She displayed a strained smile, chewing her bottom lip as she squeezed his aching bulge with her toes.

Mark finished unrolling the stocking and let his hands caress his mother's inner thigh, relishing the silky feel of her skin. "Is this okay?" she asked, voice nearly a whisper as her toes continued to massage his cock through his jeans.

"Mom," was all he could say, face contorted with emotion. His fingers found her moist crotch finally and it was her turn to gasp, to shiver, to stare at him in amazement. Her toes squeezed harder and he put his other hand on top of her foot, pressing it firmly to him, forcing his bulge against the sole of her foot.

His fingers tugged aside the crotch of her panties and touched the wet lips beyond. He thought he might cream in his pants. He was touching her, touching his own mother's pussy! Her eyes fluttered half closed and she moaned. Her foot brushed his cheek and he instinctively turned his head and opened his mouth. When he closed his lips over her nylon encased toes, her eyes flew open, her mouth dropped, and she made a strangled sound that set his nerves aflame.

"Oooohhh," she groaned. "How...how did you know?"

He licked the sole of her foot. "How did I know what?"

She shivered and moaned again. "How did you know...I love that? Oh, shit!"

He laughed. His tongue caressed the top of her foot as his fingers found her erect clit. He sucked her toes again then pushed a finger inside her. She arched her back and cried out, "Oh, Baby, my sweet Baby!"

He was consumed by his lust then. He fumbled open his fly with one hand, managing to get his cock out somehow. Her foot began to caress the length of his shaft. She craned her neck to see past the billowing folds of her dress, to see her son's hard cock. Pulling her foot away from his lips she put it with her other foot on his crotch. It was his turn to groan loudly then as she closed her feet on either side of his cock and began to stroke him.

"Do you like that, Baby?" she cooed. "Does my little boy like Mommy giving him a footjob?"

"Momma!" he sobbed, holding her ankles as he began to thrust his cock between her feet. The nylon was like heaven on his hot flesh. She suddenly thrust her hand to her crotch and frantically rubbed herself, groaning. Her hand dug into her panties and he heard a wet sound as she finger-fucked herself right in front of him.

"Are you going to cum, Baby?" she asked, watching his cock eagerly.

"I want to fuck you, Momma," he said, panting. "Please. Let me fuck you."

"Oh, Baby, my darling son. Of course you can fuck Mommy." And she spread her legs wide, drawing them back lewdly, openly inviting him. She smiled wickedly. Trembling, he moved closer to kneel on the edge of the bed. She pulled aside her panties and revealed a shining pink gash, her pussy splayed open and ready for him. It was, he reflected, the sexiest pussy he'd ever seen. He moved closer until he could touch her wet lips with the head of his cock, both of them moaning at the first contact. He pushed the head into her folds, rubbing it up through her slit and over her nubbin, then back down, lodging it at her opening.

"That's it, Mark," she encouraged. "Put it in me. Put your cock in Mommy's pussy, Baby."

Mark thought he was going to pass out. He pushed forward and felt his mother's pussy swallow an inch of his cock. If he closed his eyes he could believe he was sliding into a woman twenty years younger, but he didn't want to close his eyes. He stared at his mother, at her heaving chest and her face twisted with passion. He soaked in the vision of her form held snugly in that vivid white wedding gown, of her legs in those stockings, the sight of her pussy spreading around his fat cock. He pulled back, thrust in harder, sinking half his length into her body. She cried out loudly and reached out with both hands to clutch fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him to her almost violently.

He leaned over her body as her feet slipped to his hips and then around him. He grasped her hips as his lips hungrily sought hers. She squeezed him with her legs and locked her ankles together behind him. Her mouth opened to accept his tongue. He could taste a hint of whisky in her mouth, but not as much as he'd expected. She wasn't as drunk as she'd seemed. Groaning, holding her hips, he drove the rest of his cock into her. She screamed. He felt a sharp pain in his shoulders as she dug her fingernails into him, but that didn't matter. He was inside her, fucking his own mother.

"I love you, Momma," he growled into her ear. He pulled back and plunged into her again. She squeezed him with her legs and whimpered. "I'm fucking you, Momma," he said.

"Yes, yes you are Baby," she sobbed. "Fuck Momma, Mark. Fuck Momma. Fuck me, my darling!" There was wetness on her face, tears of sheer joy. She pushed on his shoulders until she could see his face, so she could look into her son's eyes. "I love you," she said with ferocious intensity.

"Momma!" he grunted and thrust into her again and again.

"Are you gonna cum, Baby?" she asked.

"Yes, Momma!"

"Oh, god, cum inside me, Mark. Cum inside me." She gasped and went stiff as orgasm shocked through her. She screamed loudly. He felt her pussy clamp down on his cock, and just as suddenly he felt his own orgasm arrive. It pounded its way out of his body, surging through him like a freight train, splashing hot wetness into his mother's heaving body. She could feel his cock as it swelled, as it pulsed inside her, as his incestuous seed filled her, and knowing that she was unprotected, that she was still young enough to conceive and could, at that moment, be getting knocked up by her own offspring only served to intensify the orgasm that devoured her.

It felt as though it lasted several long minutes, though each knew it was much shorter than that. He sagged over her, cock buried in her still spasming body, his lips murmuring soft promises against her wet cheek as her hands caressed his back up and down and her feet did the same to the backs of his legs.

"Momma," he groaned gently. "I can't believe...that was the best I've ever had."

"Me too, Mark," she assured him. "The best ever."

"You're not really drunk, are you?"

She laughed. "No, Mark. Not anymore. You didn't take advantage of me, if that was your worry."

"You...wanted this?"

"Didn't you?"

He kissed her again. Hard. When they came up for air she was smiling, laughing again. "Oh, Mark," she cooed. "This is so wonderful."

"It's incest," he said.

She sobered momentarily. "I know," she said. "Does that bother you?"

He made his still-hard cock flex inside her. She laughed and said, "I guess not!"

Mark thrust into her again making a wet squishing sound in her cunt. His fingers found the waistband of her panties and began to pull them down. Wrinkling her brow in surprise, his mother lifted her hips and let him. He had to pull out of her to get them past his cock, and she winced when his fat dick left her. He was so much bigger than his father, bigger in fact than any lover she'd ever had. He peeled the panties down her legs and off her feet before tossing them aside. Then, grasping her legs behind her knees, he pushed her legs apart to gaze at her freshly fucked pussy.

His cum was already oozing out of her. She felt it dripping over her ass and hoped it would soak into her gown. That made the gown a double-keepsake. When he stood she got her first real view of his cock, standing naked and proud from its nest of black pubes. He was, incredibly, still rock hard, and a bit of cum dripped from the tip obscenely. She felt sated, but looking at her son's rampant organ sent a twinge of new desire twittering through her. She wanted to hold his cock, to stroke it, feel her juices sliming him. She wasn't expecting him to lower his head between her thighs and cried out a warning as he did so, thinking that he, like her husband, his father, would be averse to having his face so close to a load of sperm.