Tending to My Fat Mom

She accepted the attention gladly, this time. All of the awkwardness and modesty and, well, inhibitions of that first time seemed to be behind us.

When I finished with her body she said, "I am starved."

I grinned and said, "well, you did use quite a bit of energy. Shall I get donuts?"

She giggled at that and said, "no, I think I'll cook something."

I enjoyed watching her move as she did that rolling thing, rolling onto her back and then her side, and a second time to gain momentum before she swung her legs over the side of the bed. I got up myself and moved around to help her stand. When she reached for a robe I slapped her hand and said, "nuh-uh. I like you naked."

"Oh God," she sort of moaned, but she was smiling.

I enjoyed watching her move. There was that sort of rolling gait of the truly fat, arms held away from her body, the rolls of fat not allowing them to hang straight.

In the kitchen, though, in her domain where she knew where things went, she was oddly graceful. I enjoyed watching her as she moved around, getting a pan from the cabinet and then eggs from the refrigerator. She set the old glass coffee pot (I think it's called Pyrex) on the stove and turned on the burner while she carefully measured coffee into the stainless steel basket.

I couldn't look away. I was hungry too, but I would have passed on breakfast to get her back into bed. I managed to settle for watching, something I thought was an almost superhuman example of self-control, as she prepared a big breakfast. She mixed a half-dozen eggs with a splash of milk, slipped on an apron, one of those old-fashioned things that slipped over her head and tied at her waist ("bacon pops," she said as she tied it, her arms looking almost double-jointed as she managed to reach to the middle of her back to do that), and started a dozen strips of bacon frying in a pan. She poured two big glasses of orange juice and two cups of coffee and set them on the table, side by side, before pulling off a couple of paper towels and setting a single fork and butter knife on the paper towels serving as a napkin.

She set two plates on the table, heaping with scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. Then she took off the apron, hung it on the little hook on the side of the cabinet, and sat beside me.

"We've broken serious taboos," she said, smiling at me in a strange way, "now indulge my fantasy."

"What's that?" I asked.

She smiled and this was a smile of pure happiness.

"Feed me," she said.

I held her eyes for a moment and then smiled back as I loaded the fork with a healthy bite of eggs.

She closed her eyes, opened her mouth, and almost glowed with anticipation.

And I smelled her excitement, her pheromone-laden womanscent suddenly filling the room.

And I found it exciting in turn. I watched her face as I wiped her lips and then kissed them lightly.

In that instant, she was truly beautiful.

This was different from feeding her donuts before. That had been a quickie under the bleachers. This was a honeymoon, taking my time, bringing her along slowly and gently.

I almost neglected to eat, myself, I was so captivated with feeding her. This was an intimacy beyond what we had shared last night. Offering the fulfillment of her fantasy, seeing its effect on her face, brushing her hair back, and wiping her lips, were all acts, in some way, beyond mere sex.

I fed her all of her breakfast and about half of mine before wiping her lips and telling her to relax while I cleaned up.

I could feel her eyes on me, and I put a little extra wiggle in my ass as I did dishes and cleaned countertops.

When I hung up the dish towel and turned to face her, my erection pointing straight up my body, she smiled and crooked her finger, beckoning me. I went to her and she touched where I was hard, her eyes fixed on it.

Then she looked up at me and said, "thank you."

"For?" I asked.

"For paying your fat mother a wonderful compliment," she said. Then she giggled, bent forward and kissed the tip of my hard dick, and did the two-rocking-thing to stand.

I walked with her, up the stairs, waiting as she stopped every third step to catch her breath, to our bedroom. It struck me that I was thinking of it as "our bedroom" now. I had another epiphany then. I liked the idea that less muscle meant more softness and it was the wonderful warm softness that had me bewitched.

I had an image flash through my mind of her so heavy, and so lacking in muscle tone, she would be helpless, reliant on me for everything. And I knew, deep down, on some visceral level far below any thinking, that was where this was all headed.

And I liked it.

So I helped her to recline in the bed, propped into a half-sitting position, her perfect roundness making me think of those fertility goddess statues that were found by archeologists from time to time. A small head, large breasts, immense pregnant belly, and thick, undefined arms and legs. I liked the image.

"Ready for a snack?" I asked and she giggled.

"Jesus, Davey, you JUST fed me," she said.

"Well, then," I said, "I'll take care of your skin."

I got the pump bottle of her fancy skin lotion and started at her chin and began rubbing the lotion into her skin. I'm not sure who enjoyed it more. I loved the feeling of her warm softness under my fingers. She evidently loved the feeling of my hands on her skin the way her eyes closed and she made those soft sounds of excitement I learned to love so much.

After doing all four of her chins I did her arms. The softness, especially those big soft pads at the backs of her upper arms, hanging like separate things, was so damn sexy that I was instantly erect again. The roll of fat that was her breast was tipped with a very hard nipple. That second roll, bigger but not as big as her belly apron, was next and I kept rubbing until the lotion was fully rubbed in. The deep crease of her navel, dividing that final roll into two beautiful hemispheres of fat-filled skin, got special attention.

I did her entire body that way, feeling and hearing and smelling her growing excitement. By the time I finished we were both so damn aroused I wouldn't have wanted to be the one who tried to keep us apart.

I set aside the pump bottle and started kissing her, soft kisses by the dozens, covering her face, nuzzling the softness of her chins and throat, kissing and sucking softly at the softness of her arms.

Once again I wanted to be absorbed into her.

I moved around until my knees were between her thighs and settled onto her, making her take my weight as I kissed her face. Wanting to feel that warm flesh surround me as I kissed and whispered, "I love you."

But gravity, in this case, was not my friend. Rather than surrounding me, absorbing me, gravity pulled her belly to the side.

I rolled off of her, feeling frustrated.

"What's the matter, Davey?" she asked, and I thought I heard a hint of desperation in her voice.

"Oh, God," I said, and was surprised by how embarrassed, no, that's not the right word, by how awkward, no, that's not it either.

I was surprised by how sheepish I felt.

"What, honey?" she asked again, "you're scaring me."

I took a deep breath, partly stalling, partly getting my thoughts in order.

"What?" she asked again, her hands on my cheeks, her eyes big now.

"I pictured," I started and stopped to organize my thoughts again. All of this thinking had me going soft.

"What?" she asked for the third time. "I won't say 'no' to you."

"In my mind's eye," I said, speaking slowly, forming the thoughts as I went along, having trouble articulating what I was feeling, "when I was on top," and I lifted myself a little so I could focus on her eyes, "I would sort of," and I paused, kissed her, liking the kiss but needing a moment to get the next sentence clear in my mind, "well, I would sort of sink into you," I finished in a rush.

"But?" she asked, the question mark clear in her voice.

"But, now I see that it doesn't work that way," I said, pushing myself up more until I was on my knees. reached down where the soft fat of her belly sort of spread out, and lifted it.

Her eyes held mine and I was fascinated as a smile slowly spread.

"I see," and there was a subtle change in her voice too.

It was my turn to say, "what?"

She giggled and actually blushed.

"What?" I asked for the second time.

"I have my own fantasies, honey," she said.

"And?" I asked.

"Let me get on top," she said, "and I'll show you."

I swung a leg over her big thigh, rolled around so I was beside her, and laid beside her. I watched as she grunted and rolled onto her side, rolled back, did it again, and then a third time, gaining momentum and finally getting up onto all fours and then pushing herself up so she sat back on her feet in that way only a woman can be comfortable doing.

She was smiling. No, she was grinning.

She patted the mattress in the middle, and said, "scoot over, honey."

So I scooted over, getting myself more or less in the middle of the mattress.

She doubled a pillow, said, "lift your head," and put the doubled pillow behind my head, supporting me so I could see down our bodies when I relaxed.

She was ponderous but at the same time oddly supple, reminding me of that scene from Walt Disney's Fantasia where the hippos are dancing, as she moved, her huge thighs pinning mine together as she moved forward until her knees were at my waist.

She bent forward, slowly, her arms straight, her hand a little above my head on the pillow, her belly pressing on mine, warm and soft and inviting.

"Like this?" she asked, her voice thick now with her own excitement, as she slowly lowered herself onto me.

As I watched, her gargantuan belly, began surrounding me. I watched as every cellulite dimple and every little pimple disappeared under her spreading mass.

I came instantly hard. I literally SPRANG erect.

"Oh, you naughty boy," she whispered into my ear, "you DO like my little fantasy, don't you?"

"Yes," I managed, it was hard to speak the way she was covering my face with kisses.

I could feel the weight increasing as she slowly relaxed, and watched as more and more of my body disappeared into hers.

"Yes," I said again, as her fingers, fat and soft but strong too, interlaced with mine, pulling my arms up over my head.

"Do you want me to stop?" she asked, breathing directly into my ear with the question.

"No," I managed although it was getting hard to breathe.

"Do you trust me?" she asked, that same thick voice in my ear as her tongue lightly traced the shell of it.

"Yes," I whispered, no breath for more volume.

I felt the final relaxation of her body. I wanted to say, "I love you," but I had no breath.

The only sound in the room was her breathing as I started to get light-headed from lack of oxygen.

I couldn't expel my breath and felt the way my body was starting to feel that desperation, the same sensation as when you were a kid and wanted to see how long you could hold your breath.

She didn't move and I tried to get my hands free, to push her away enough for a breath, but she had all of the leverage and I couldn't.

I was helpless to stop my body from panicking from oxygen starvation. My legs kicked weakly, and my back tried to arch against her.

I felt her cum, thick and hot, soaking my belly, and heard her sharp gasp, just as I passed out.