My first attempt at a holiday-themed story. Although the characters also appear in my other stories, this is a stand-alone episode and requires no previous reading. Enjoy!
*
"Merry Christmas," he says, as he holds my face in his hands, stroking my hair, pulsating in my mouth. I swallow in greedy little gulps, savoring the salty sweet taste, basking in the sensation of his seed gliding down my throat. There's no purer bliss in this world than giving pleasure to the person you love and hearing their moans of ecstasy as they spasm uncontrollably. I'm so close myself, all it would take is the tiniest caress, flick, pinch or lick, and I'd explode. I shove my hand down my panties, feeling my wetness, stroking the length of my slit as I bring my finger up to...
"BZZZZZZT BZZZT!" What. "BZZZT BZZZT BZZT. The. "BZZZZT!" Hell? I open one eye and spot the traitor, vibrating on my nightstand. What time is it? I have no clue, because my son's face is taking up the entire screen. Oh, shit! I grab the phone and slide the thingy to pick up.
"Mom?" His voice is deeper than it was the last time we spoke. Boys grow up so fast!
"Hi, sweetie. Everything okay?" Cameron's my youngest, I can't help being protective of him, even though he's a college man now.
"Oh, yeah, yeah, I'm at a rest stop, about an hour out. I just wanted to check if you needed anything."
"Do I need anything... from the rest stop? I think we're good on Reese's cups, but thanks for asking." I like to tease him, and he loves it.
"Alright, alright! They have other things, too. Are you sure you don't need, erm... Halloween-themed wrapping paper?" I hear some rummaging on his side. "Fortnite keychains? Aha! DVDs! Let's watch a movie for Christmas. Let's see... Sharknado V: The Sharkening..."
"Ooh, festive!"
"Hey, the shark on the cover has a little Santa hat, it's totally a holiday movie!" We share a good-hearted laugh and I suddenly feel a rush of emotion. I miss my boy.
"Alright, get whatever you want, and then get your butt over here and help me decorate the tree!"
"K, I just need to pick up some things and I'll be here in like two hours. Love ya, mom!"
"Love you baby," I say as I hang up.
I put the phone down and stretch my arms, yawning. I'm still tired. And wet, I realize, as I adjust my shorts. Hngh, that dream... I close my eyes just a few seconds to try and bring it back, picturing David's steel-hard prick, opening my mouth reflexively. It's been almost a year, but I can still taste him on my lips. I feel something wet and cold on my foot, and realize I've been drooling. I wipe my mouth and contemplate my options.
I could stay in bed for another hour, and still have time for a shower before Cameron gets here. Masturbating to the memory of my dead husband is perhaps not the
best
way to start off the Christmas weekend, but my other option is to take the shower now, change my pants, and hope my frustration doesn't leak out of me all day long.
***
I ended up doing the reasonable thing. There's still so much to do, I can't just spend the whole day diddling myself. After my shower I look at myself in the mirror. I've still got it: full, round breasts, heavy but not sagging, with nipples that perk up when teased, a (mostly) flat stomach, my stretch marks barely visible, and not to too my own horn too much, but an ass to die for. Fleshy and curvy, the kind that makes you want to lose yourself in it.
I sigh. Not that it matters. I haven't been touched since my husband died. David was my whole life; we'd been together since high school and he remains the only man I've ever been intimate with. I may be horny and lonely all the time, but not yet desperate enough to lower my standards -- who could compare with the love of my life?
Still, it's a shame to waste this body... I'm a MILF in the truest sense: I have three beautiful (adult) children, and men aren't afraid to let me know how much they want to fuck me all the time.
I'm thinking of wearing my sweats since I'm going to be baking and prepping, but no... I can't do that! I'm expecting company. Cameron, Alexia, and Brian will all be here tonight, and just because they're my kids doesn't mean I shouldn't make an effort. I slip on a pair of black sheer lace panties and matching bra, just to feel good about myself, and then a casual but classy pair of beige slacks and a navy blouse. White would look better, but I don't want the bra showing through.
I tie my blonde hair back in a ponytail, put on some slippers, and head down to the kitchen to start baking.
***
The doorbell rings as I'm elbow-deep in sticky dough. Already? I wipe my hands on my apron and rush to the door. Just from his silhouette through the frosted glass, I can tell Cameron has grown at least an inch since he left home in the fall. I let him in and jump at his neck to hug him -- yes, I have to jump. At 5'7 I'm no midget, but he's got almost half a foot on me. I resist the urge to hit him with the "my, how you've grown," and instead slam the door with my foot as I nudge him towards the kitchen.
"I've missed you so much," I say, unzipping his jacket as I lead him through the hallway.
"It's only been a couple of months," he replies as he drops his bags and throws the jacket on a chair.
"Yes, but I had you for eighteen years before that, so your absence has been felt in this house, young man!" Neither of us mentions
why
it's been felt that much. I know he misses his father just as much as I do. Instead, I pull him into the kitchen -- which looks like a war zone, and say, "Now, have you been? Tell me everything!"
He shuffles his feet awkwardly and frowns for a split second before noticing the dough on the countertop. "Ah, same old same old, you know..." His face lights up. "Let's bake! What are you making?"
"This is for apple pie," I say, slapping the recalcitrant dough for good measure.
"Ooh, your special recipe, with the cinnamon?"
"Uh-huh," I nod, "help me knead this sucker with your big, strong hands." I hear him step up behind me, he reaches around me with both arms to knead the dough. I look at his hands work as I lean back into him, appreciating the closeness and the warmth of another person. I hope I'm not embarrassing him.
He's quickly done with the dough -- big, strong hands indeed. I wrap it up and shove it in the fridge. "Can you get the apple brandy from the top shelf?" I ask, as I rummage through the fridge for my next ingredients. "And a glass."
"Wait, is that for drinking or for the pie?"
"For drinking, obviously. Chef's privilege. You can have a sip too, since you helped."
"Nah, I'll just have some water, I'm not really in a drinking mood." I stop and turn around to look at him, putting the bottle and glass down on the counter.
"What do you mean?" I ask, concerned.
"Nothing. Never mind. I'm just gonna go unpack," he says, almost blushing as he walks out. I wipe my hands and take off my apron before following him into the living room.
