PREFACE
The following is a "true story of my imagination" and is based on an incredible MILF I met recently at a wedding. This woman was unbelievably hot and had every man (and woman) at the wedding reception staring at her! She was there with her husband and son. Her husband seemed more interested in discussing politics and world affairs than in his wife. And her son seemed more interested in his mom than in anything else! The woman herself was in her mid-forties, with a beautiful face, an incredible body and huge tits. She was exactly as described below. Maybe it was my crazy mind moving in overdrive, but I swore that each time she danced with her son, there was a flirtatious twinkle in her eye, and a boner in his pants. At least, it served as great inspiration for this fantasy, which I decided to tell from the son's point of view. And a shout out to Lime for taking time to read over the story and helping to improve it! Enjoy!
* * * * *
I remember precisely the moment when the notion to fuck my mother occurred to me. I was hanging out with my best friend, Tom, at the student union center. We had just finished our sociology class, and he was telling me about this news story he had heard of a mother and son who were fighting an incest charge. Apparently, they were happy together and didn't believe society or the law had any say in their life together.
The story made me realize that there are some people who believe that incest, when consensual and between adults, may be okay. I wondered how my Mother thought about it? After years of beating off in her panties, I decided to found out. And so, I began to formulate my plan. I decided the best approach to seduce her would be when she was vulnerable, meaning drunk. And, the only time she really drank heavily was at functions, like weddings and such. Luckily, we had a wedding coming up across the state, and like we'd done before, my father, mother and I would be reserving hotel rooms for the night. My plan was simple, really. Since my father usually drank way too much at events like this, I figured; I would play the polite son and help him back to the room so that she could continue to have fun. This would help me put my plan into action while at the same time make her think I was a great son. Not that my mom needed convincing of that. Even in my apathy toward school, work and life in general, she made an effort to see the positive things about me. Oh how I ached to show her what a great son I was by sinking my nine-inch cock into her! But I digress. As far as my plan went, I figured instead of putting him in their room, I could simply toss him in my room. Fortunately our rooms were in the same hotel where the reception was held, so it was just a matter of going up to our floors, and we were there. I would then sneak back into their hotel room, crawl into their bed and wait for her, pretending to be Dad. It was perfect, I thought!
And so, the weekend of the event finally arrived. After a short delay with our flight, we arrived at the hotel Friday evening and checked into our rooms. Mine was a single, smoking room with a king size bed. Theirs was a suite just across from mine. After a great dinner at the hotel restaurant and a drink at the lounge, the three of us retired for the big event the next day.
On Saturday we attended the wedding ceremony. It was a beautiful affair, and my mother looked absolutely angelic in her cream-colored dress and matching ribbon holding up her hair. My father was dressed in his typical black suit and tie, the same outfit he usually wore to work, weddings, funerals; you name it. He had also insisted I put on a suit for the ceremony, but as soon as we returned to the hotel rooms to freshen up before the reception, I changed. Ready to go, I made my way to my parent's room to check in.
Upon entering, my cock nearly blew its load at the sight of my mother. She had changed into a slinky, sequined red dress and matching pumps. Her dark brown hair now tumbled down to her shoulders and framed her beautiful face. Some light eye shadow and liner only served to enhance her dark, smoky eyes. And her lips were full and luscious below her small nose and high cheekbones. Most women went through series of plastic surgeries to get what my mother had naturally, as a result of a German father and Italian mother. But as beautiful as my mother's face was, her pendulous, D-cup tits were beyond description! They seemed to beg release in the form fitting dress, and the cleavage was substantial enough to give any guy an instant hard-on. I wasn't sure if she had a bra on or not cause her tits jiggled as she walked, only adding to the torture.
My father was still in his black suit but had decided to change his tie. All he needed was one glance at me through the mirror, and he was on my ass.
"Is that what you're wearing?" he asked. Without waiting for a response, he yelled to my mother, all the while continuing to fix his tie in the mirror. "Cees," he said referring to my mother, whose name was Cecilia. "do you see what your son is wearing?" he added.
My mother rushed to me from their bedroom, as if to save me from the big bad wolf. "Jake, leave him alone. Kids now-a-days don't dress up anymore," she said reaching over and adjusting the collar of my blue polo shirt. Standing in the suite's living room with her, I noticed that her tits were only inches from my face, and I couldn't resist glancing down at them. "You like my necklace?" she whispered. Her question interrupted my thoughts as I looked up at her and wondering if Dad had heard her in the next room? She was staring at me and smiling. Flustered, I glanced down at her necklace to find a sparkling, red teardrop pendant that hung low enough to settle into the crease of her glistening cleavage. I looked back at her and smiled a little smile.
"Yeah," was all I could muster.
"Jesus, Cees," my father cut in, "at least make him tuck that shirt in," he added obviously annoyed at my mom for coming to my defense.
"He looks fine," my mother said once again as she winked and returned to her make-up. Finished with his tie, my father turned and stared at me once again.
"A polo shirt, kakis and tennis shoes," he said disgustedly. "Jesus. When I was your age, I was always in a suit and tie, just as you see me now," he added and walked into the bathroom. I glanced one last time at my mother before leaving their room. She was applying lip liner to her already pouty, beautiful lips. The thought of getting back at my father by fucking his wife sent pre-come oozing from my cock. I had a strong desire to masturbate, but I held off, saving the delivery, instead, for mom.
As we entered the reception hall, all eyes turned to stare at mom. The expression of desire on every man's face was priceless, as was the look of envy in every woman. We found some seats near friends of mom and dad, and as always, I was immediately bored stiff. There were a few hot women, but none could hold a candle to my mother. Like every man at our table, my eyes kept returning to her cleavage. Her tits, at times, seemed ready to pop out, and every man seemed to be holding their breath anxiously awaiting the moment. Every man, that is, except for my father. He immediately started downing highballs and talking about the state of world affairs, particularly the world economy. As Chief Financial officer of a shipbuilding company, I guess you could say finance was his life. And in a way, I should be grateful to the bastard and his company for it was while he was based in Italy, at the company's headquarters, that he met my mom.
She was a young, beautiful woman that sparked memories of Sophia Loren, from what my Father has said. I had no idea who Sophia Loren was until I did a search on the web. My mother was far-and-away sexier, in my opinion! Her rather sheltered life didn't help her see through my father, and so at twenty-two, she married him. A year later, I arrived. And now, nineteen years later, she was even more attractive than ever, and my father, at fifty-seven, seemed less and less interested in mom and more interested in his work. At least, his money kept us living a very good life. So, yes, I suppose I am grateful to the son of a bitch.
