Her son’s hug was decorous, almost formal, as he held her briefly, one big arm circling her mid-back. She felt the soft brush of his mustache and beard against her cheek as he kissed her there, almost in a perfunctory way, and then she was released. He took a step back, and she looked up at him. His face was almost crimson, and she saw fine beads of sweat on his brow. She saw his eyes raise to the stairs and then he dipped to set his bags down before rising again to his full 6’4” and stood, looking up and past her for a moment, before smiling — strained, not at all his usual care-free grin — and saying, “Hi dad.”
She turned too, and there was Daniel, slightly above them both on the fourth riser, paused. His face was just as flushed as his son’s, and for a space of moments, they stood there, all three in an odd tableau. She had time enough to wonder, fleetingly, if all of this hadn’t been a rather enormous mistake. But then she steeled herself, reached inside for her strength and need and desire — as well as what she knew Daniel himself needed — and stepped forward, reaching for her husband’s hand on the polished oak banister.
“Please Daniel … come down and give our son a proper hello,” she said, lightly enough … but her grip on his hand was firm and she tugged him, seeming to get him started walking again.
“Hi Mike,” he said, softly, and for a moment she saw his head dip, as though he couldn’t bear to look at their son. But then she saw him gather himself, and she felt her love for him stir once again as he raised his head and gave their eldest boy a real smile as he came to the last stair, then stood alongside her, also having to look up at Michael. “Good to see you, son.”
She heard Michael sigh … actually, more of a whooshing of pent-up air … and saw his smile broaden a bit, look less sickly, as he seemed to relax the set of his shoulders and lean forward a bit, before standing and giving them a real smile, this time.
“Whew. Sorry guys, I just … ” he shook his head, still a bit red in the face, and then seemed to suddenly remember something and dipped down again, grabbing the smaller paper bag, before rising and presenting it to his father.
“Sorry it’s not wrapped or anything. But do you remember my friend Patrick? Well, he went to Scotland a few weeks back and I asked him to find this for you and bring it back,” he smiled. He seemed charmingly boyish suddenly to Jenna … a son simply wanting to please his old man.
She saw that Dan’s hands were shaking a little bit as he unfurled the bag and looked inside. She heard him gasp and look up at Michael, this time with amazement, then saw him reach in and pull out a boxed bottle of liquor.
He held it with reverence, then raised his eyes again to Mike’s.
“The Convalmore,” he breathed. “But Mike … ” he swallowed, looked from his son to Jenna and back again. “Son … this is an $800 bottle of scotch,” he said, with mixed reproach and glee.
Mike, beaming but embarrassed, raised a hand and shook his head.
“We’ve had a great quarter,” he said. “And you’ve always talked about this scotch. Since Pat was going there and touring the Speyside distilleries, I thought, why not? You deserve it, pop.”
Jenna was touched to see Dan’s eyes well up a bit, and he came forward and, completely unselfconscious now, gave his son a bear hug, Mike returning the hug gladly, the two men embracing for a moment. Jenna felt much of her own trepidation and concern melt away as her men stepped away for a bit, both smiling more naturally now, Daniel giving his strapping son a manly slap on his upper arm.
“Well! I certainly will put this in a place of honor,” Dan laughed … then paused a moment. He glanced at Jenna, then back at Mike. “Um … how about if I take your bag up? You can put this on the living room bar for now,” he said, handing Mike back the boxed bottle. “We’ll break into it a little later, how’s that sound?”
“Yeah, absolutely. Whatever you want,” Mike smiled, clearly relieve and acting more natural now. He took the handsome box, then watched his dad lean to pick up his small bag and turn and climb the stairs again with it.
Jenna and Mike both seemed to sigh similar, quiet sighs of relief … and then Jenna took Mike’s hand and led him down the hallway to the living room.
Without preamble, she stood on tiptoes, pressed herself to him, slid her arms around his neck and kissed him, happily, greedily, her mouth open and warm and her tongue gently licking at his full lower lip. She felt her son’s big arms slide around her lower back as he pulled her close, his own need evident as he kissed her in return, his tongue finding hers as he pulled her, almost off her feet, up against him, their bodies meshed for a moment as they both softly groaned with pleasure and need.
She broke the kiss, gave him a smaller one, then beamed at him.
“You were perfect!” she whispered adoringly. “And that scotch … so thoughtful, honey! Did it really cost you $800?”
“A bit more, yeah, actually,” he murmured back. “I just felt, y’know … I wanted to do something nice for him. Something he’d like.” She could hear and see the concern there and, again, counted herself lucky to have raised such a kind and caring son, and to have married such a loving man.
“I know all of this is so odd, so hard to understand,” she whispered, gently, holding him to her, loving the solidity and strength of him. She could feel his thick cock through his jeans, already growing, pressed her lower belly, and she snuggled closer, feeling almost dizzy with her need. “But it’s like I told you, when I showed you our other videos,” she whispered. “This will be … like, the most amazing gift you could *ever* give him. I know that’s hard to believe, honey, but just wait. It will all be so clear soon.”
He looked down at her, and she saw her need mirrored in his eyes and face as he gazed at her. He seemed at once so much her son — loving, kind, devil-may-care — and yet so much *man* that she felt dizzy with her enmeshed motherly love and womanly desire.
“So what now?” he murmured, then loosened his hold on her, and stepped back to admire her outfit. “Wow,” he grinned, looking her up and down. He placed a hand on his mother’s hip, then slid it around, his big fingers and palm cupping, then gripping, her full ass cheek, squeezing. “You look amazing, mom,” he smiled.
“So do you baby,” she smiled back, then pushed him gently backward. “Take off your clothes. Then sit on the couch. Right here, at the end, so the coffee table isn’t in the way. In fact … ” She turned and looked over the furniture and spacing. “Move the coffee table over there,” she murmured, pointing toward the fireplace and the gap between two matching overstuffed chairs. “I think Act 1 should be right here.”
Clearly aroused now, and also knowing he had to do as she’d suggested — namely, trust her — Michael easily slid the heavy coffee table aside, baring an expanse of thick-pile rug in front of the couch.
Meanwhile, she took a throw from a decorative basket and spread it on the couch, then motioned toward it while leaning closer to the hallway, listening.
“Hurry honey … I want things just so when your dad comes down!” she urged in a louder whisper.
He stripped off his polo shirt and tossed it onto one of the matching chairs, baring his broad, almost hairless chest, well-muscled, his bunched shoulders and wide lats a testament to his many years on club and school swim teams. He kicked off both loafers and, barefoot, undid his belt and shucked his jeans. His mother couldn’t help watching as he thumbed his boxer briefs down and off, his thick cock springing loose to dangle, semi-erect, as he leaned and grabbed his other clothes and tossed them, too.
“My baby,” she cooed, and came to him, heart pounding. They reached for each other and pulled each other close again, their kissing hungrier now, but she could feel the tenseness in him, and his heart pounding wildly against her chest.
She broke the wet kiss and again pushed him, backward toward the couch.
“Sit. Spread your legs. Hurry, honey, I can hear him coming.”
He backed up, sat, clearly nerved up, his head swiveling toward the doorway.
“No … look only at me, never at him. Not until I tell you!” she whispered urgently, walking to him … then getting to her knees almost primly, snuggling closer, her skirt riding up temporarily to give him a heart-stopping view of the black tops her stockings and the garter belts and clasps holding them up. “We’ll be able to take more time later, do it right … for now, just trust me!” she urged again …. then reached for her son’s heavy phallus, took a breath, and, leaning forward, took it in her mouth and began to suck, almost urgently, as she heard Michael draw in a breath that was half-groan.
They both heard Daniel’s tread on the stairs again, and both tensed … but Jenna didn’t break her pace, head bobbing smoothly, lips gripping her son’s cock, which, even half-erect, was impressive. His hand was in her hair now, and neither turned as they heard Daniel enter the room … then heard his quick gasp and his steps falter to a stop.
Michael tried hard to keep his promise, watching only his sexy mom as she grasped his now-almost-fully-erect phallus and used her expert lips and tongue on his first two or three inches, marveling yet again at her skill and sultriness. And he watched as she slowed to a pause, parting her lips to let the gleaming head of his cock free, then saw her take a breath and turn toward her husband, his father. Her lips gleaming, not bothering to wipe away the silvery strand of saliva from her lower lip. And now Michael found himself unable to stop his own head from turning, if only slightly, until his father was just visible. Standing there, a foot inside the room, clearly able to see his tall, muscular son, naked now and legs splayed, and his lovely, comparatively petite wife, on her knees, skirt riding up her thighs to reveal her sexy garters, their son’s cock in her hand, smiling at Daniel now.
“My love … come in,” Jenna purred, smiling. “Sit in that chair, there,” she nodded, indicating the chair closest to them, an antique high-backed wingback that she’d had recovered just a few years before. She waited, watching Daniel, even as Michael pretended not to … and they both saw him take a tentative step, then another, toward the chair she’d indicated.
Michael forced his eyes back to his mother, though he could see his father’s legs and lower body well enough now as Daniel sat in the chair.
“I was just welcoming Michael home, honey,” she said softly to her husband, and began gently stroking Michael’s cock as she faced her husband, her other hand resting on her son’s muscular thigh. “It’s so special that he’s here … that we can finally share this part of our life with him. Isn’t it, Daniel?”
Michael wasn’t sure what he expected … part of him, a rather large part, still had a difficult time believing any of this was happening. Maybe a nod or a grunt of acknowledgement. Or worse, a tirade, a display of his dad’s rare but legendary temper.
So his shock was real when he heard his father meekly answer: “Yes, mistress.”
The answer satisfied his mom, though, clearly … she turned her attention back toward Michael and gave him a smile of such wanton lust and desire that he felt himself stiffen in her hand from her expression alone.
“Mmm … so glad you agree, dear,” she murmured. “Now watch us together. And you tell me if this isn’t the *best* present I’ve ever given you,” she whispered, loud enough for her husband to hear, before letting out a soft moan of joy and taking her son’s thick cock back in her mouth and beginning to bob up and down on it again, her need clearly taking hold of her.
“Jesus … mom … that feels amazing,” Michael groaned helplessly … and let his head lean back against the couch, eyes slipping closed, partly in enjoyment — and partly not to have to look at his father while his mother resumed sucking his cock so expertly.
*********
*There will be more, I’m sure. Enjoying writing this too much to stop. Let me know if you’re enjoying it too! :)*
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/ipmsi8/a_mothers_lust_part_4_cuck_fdom_mmf_inc
Out Fucking Standing!! Can’t wait for the next chapter!
Can’t wait to read all juicy details