Incest/Taboo Mom's Christmas Dress

"You don't really think I'm going to let you fuck me, do you? My own son?"

"Yes," I replied. "I do."

"Oh," Mom said. "Well, if you put it that way." She opened her legs wider.

I slipped my head inside, then shoved my cock all the way inside, pushing her grasping walls apart. When I was all the way in, Mom twisted her pelvis. I would have slipped out if I hadn't been fast enough to catch her move.

"That's right, baby. Dance with me," she husked in my ear.

Mom began moving her hips erratically and I clung to her, desperate to stay inside. She felt so incredible. She was moving constantly, even inside. Grasping and clutching, letting go, grabbing again. What an amazing fuck. Actually, it was writhing more than fucking. Our whole bodies were entwined, hands, arms, legs and feet, even our heads sparred. And all the while, despite all the side play, the center was always my cock in her pussy, cock and cunt, straining, slipping, yielding, sliding, fucking.

It seemed like it would never end, but it did. We were soaked with the sweat of our exertions. I arched my back in a final thrust, then tried to pull out at the last minute but Mom wrapped her heels around me and held me in until the last drop had spilled inside her.

"Mom," I gasped when I could. "You could get pregnant."

"No, I can't," Mom assured me. "And I don't want to anyway. One son is enough for me."

I hadn't even fully regained my breath before I slipped my semi-hard cock back inside her. She was completely different that time. There was no writhing play, no attack and retreat. Mom let me do what I wanted with her. I positioned her this way and that. She was passive as I fucked her, except for her teasing eyes and smiling mouth. She urged me on with her expressions, but was otherwise placid. I finished with her hips curled high off the bed as I hunched over her, pounding down, her legs dangling down beside her head, her eyes and mouth urging me on, harder, harder. I didn't try to pull out this time. I filled her until my juice squeezed out around my girth. Then I fell on my back beside her.

We didn't speak. I was just dozing off when Mom's slender fingers grasped my cock and began manipulating it, stroking lazily up and down until it regained some of its rigor. Then her fingers swirled around the tip, squeezing, pressing, teasing. I was about to roll over onto her again when she lifted herself from the bed and straddled me, quickly rising up and settling her pussy down on my pole. Snug in a glove. I put my hands behind my head and tried as best I could to mimic the teasing expressions she had used on me. It was futile. Mom was in control. This was her fuck.

I think I woke a couple of times in the night but wasn't really conscious. Once, I thought Mom had gotten up to use the bathroom and was being rather noisy getting back into bed, rustling about unnecessarily. The other time, I think I was just dreaming and woke myself up. In my dream, Mom had decided to wake me with a special treat. She had fished my soft cock out of my pajamas and sucked it into her mouth. I didn't wake up until my seed was spilling down her throat. Mom quickly exited from under the covers to kiss me good morning, promising in a throaty whisper to wake me like that every morning from now on. It had to be a dream, it was pitch black in the room; nowhere near morning. But my cock was almost hard, slick and wet. Dreams can seem so real.

When I did wake up in the morning, I was lying on my side facing Mom. She was lying on her back, her hair spread out on the pillow, as if it had been arranged. She was the picture perfect, sexy Madonna. I didn't wake her. I was content to contemplate this vision and the strange new world that had opened before me.

I thought about my father and fear flickered through my chest but was quickly replaced by guilt as I realized he wasn't likely to suddenly arrive in Mom's bedroom unannounced. The guilt drained away almost as quickly. Dad hadn't been much of a husband to Mom for the past few years, by his own admission. He had relinquished all his claims to this sexy, intriguing woman; a fireball in bed and an accomplished master of the sexual tease. I don't know which I enjoyed more.

The rise and fall of Mom's chest under the covers answered that question for me and I reached out to pull the covers away to expose her tits to the morning light.

"Ahem."

Startled, I whirled around, nearly twisting my neck off my shoulders. Dad was sitting behind me, on my side of the bed, his wheelchair so close that his knees almost touched the mattress.

"Dad!"

I started to get up but he motioned for me to stay still. When I started to speak, he indicated with a finger across my lips that I should remain silent.

"I see you made good use of the dress."

"Dad, I..."

"Merry Christmas, son."

"What?"

"I said, Merry Christmas. I wanted to leave you something but after I'm gone, Mom will need all the money we have. It bothered me quite a bit until I realized that money didn't mean much anyway. Even if I had a lot, it wouldn't be the most important thing I have. I thought about the good things in my life, all the memories with your mother, and that made me remember the dress and what it meant to us. I wished I could live long enough to see something like that happen for you. And then this plan began to coalesce in my mind, a plan to set the stage where you and your mother could give each other the most important thing each of you has—each other, that is, over and above what you have already given. That's my present to you son, to put the seeds in place for it to happen. The rest of the gift, which I see you have received, is from your mother. When she wakes up, tell her you have my blessing."

I was speechless. Dad wasn't a man of many words and he had really said a mouthful. He started to turn his chair away.

"I'm awake, Jeff," Mom's soft voice pulled Dad back. I turned back to look at Mom. She was gazing at Dad, her eyes full of tears. "I love you," she cried.

"Shhhh, no tears now. There's no reason to be sad. This a happy thing."

"I'm not sad," Mom sobbed, belying her words. "I'm just so happy and it's all because of you. I knew you were behind the dress. I felt it in my heart, that this is what you wanted."

"It is," Dad agreed. "But it's not all my doing, or yours. It seems that our son added a little of his own to the mix," he laughed, "and a little something extra to stir the brew which, if my memory serves me right, is probably aching to be taken care of right about now. I'm going to go downstairs and make us all my old time Christmas breakfast."

I looked at Mom who had got up on one elbow to talk to Dad, causing the covers to fall from her shoulders. Mom was wrapped in ribbon again, a green one this time. I tugged the covers, pulling them off Mom's breasts.

"Uh, Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Maybe you should make that brunch." I indicated Mom's tits poking through the ribbon cage, nipples already standing to attention.

Dad laughed. "I thought you already unwrapped that present."

I pulled the covers all the way down until only Mom's feet and ankles were covered. Now I knew what all the rustling had been about.

"I thought so too," I said, not looking forward to the effort required to unravel my prize, and then again relishing it, as attested by my stiffening cock.

"It's not the same present," Mom huffed, turning away from us, onto her stomach. "There's more than one way to unwrap some gifts, the extra special ones."

I looked at the seemingly miles of green ribbon, wrapped around Mom's torso and snaking around and around her arms and legs. Sitting squarely on Mom's behind, just below her cheeks in the triangle formed with the back of her thighs, was the fancy bow that had adorned the box for the dress. As I watched, Mom's ass lifted an inch from the mattress as if in anticipation.

"You better get started, son."

I was already starting to pull the ribbon from Mom's body.

Dad turned as he was passing through the door.

"I'll go make lunch."
​

------------------------------------​

That afternoon, I remembered what Dad had first said that morning, about wanting to leave something for me. I queried him about his health but he assured me that he was in fairly good shape and that nothing ominous was imminent. He was right. Dad lasted three more years and seemed in better health for most of that time than he had been for the previous two. He seemed to thrive on the new relationship between Mom and I, relishing in the sexual banter that preceeded an evening of sex, often starting early in the afternoon. Sometimes this led to an afternooner, and there were very few days without some kind of teasing. Mom and I looked at it as our gift back to Dad.

One day, Mom and I woke up to find Dad sitting near the bed, something he hadn't done since that Christmas morning. In fact, Dad never watched us once something actually started and the few times we got carried away and initiated something in front of him, he quietly slipped away. He wasn't a voyeur. I'm sure that Dad had watched us that night so long ago when I found the tracks of his chair in the rug, but only to check the progress of his plan.

"Do you mind if I watch you make love this morning?" he asked.

"Of course not," Mom replied immediately, not waiting for my answer.

Dad looked at me and I assured him that it was fine by me too. But I was very self conscious. Mom, bless her soul, soon made me forget Dad's presence. She was especially erotic that morning, even growling in my ear, urging me to fuck her. If you were writhing on top of a woman like her, so ernest in her effort to please, you wouldn't be conscious of anything else either.

When we finished, quite some time later, sweating and exhausted, I flopped onto my back and looked to see if Dad was still there, and if so, if he was satisfied with the gift he had initiated and whose growth he had so carefully cultivated.

Dad was still watching, but with unseeing eyes. Sometime during our lovemaking, he had passed away.

Mom wasn't surprised at all; I think she had known the minute Dad asked. Now, when we make love, we like to think that Dad is right there in the room with us, each of us giving the best we have to each other.​