Mother and Son's Spiritual Matchmak

Spiritual Matchmaker for a Mother and Son

Author’s note:

Note: There is no one under 18 in this story.

Hearing the door to the garage close, I knew my mother, Emily, had arrived home. That, along with her angelic voice singing, “Wow! Something smells good, what’s you got cooking? The aroma’s so rich, my taste buds are looking.”

A grin spread across my face, and I couldn’t resist chuckling softly at her catchy, impromptu tune. The rich scent of onions and garlic lured my mother into the kitchen to investigate what culinary delight I was working on. Her melodic humming and infectious smile warmed my heart while she watched me prepare her favorite meal.

“I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” she chirped, smiling appreciatively. She knew what would be waiting for her, as I’d done this every year on this day since Dad died. It was their wedding anniversary, and it was my way of making it more bearable for her.

Three years ago, Dad passed away, leaving Mom and me alone. We mourned, without celebrating my eighteenth birthday, two weeks after his death. Watching her mental health decline, I knew I had to step up and care for her, as she had been my rock

my entire life. She was upset when I told her I wouldn’t attend the out-of-state college as planned, but attend a local trade school. After I convinced her it would work out, she relented and appeared relieved that she wouldn’t be alone. Once I completed my training, I landed a job that made me feel overjoyed about my vocational decision.

After Dad’s death, I took on more responsibility for taking care of my mother. Her needs were my top priority, so I cooked her favorite dishes, ran her errands, and provided for her every requirement. But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, I realized she needed something more – she deserved to be pampered. So I set out to spoil her, doing everything in my power to help her heal. And though it wasn’t always easy, seeing her smile made it all worth it.

“Mom, I started your bath for you. When you’re finished, I’ll have dinner ready,” I said, receiving a warm smile in return. I lustfully inspected the backs of her shapely calves while she strolled down the hall to her bedroom. Thankfully, she wore conservative skirts that concealed her beautiful legs, hidden from everyone but me.

Twenty minutes later, she returned, dressed in comfortable sweats. After placing her half-empty wine glass on the table, she sat down. “Thanks for remembering my favorite wine and shampoo. You make me feel so special.”

Once I placed the main dish onto a hot pad, I filled her glass and sat across from her. At that moment, I couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Her outlook on life had vastly

improved in the last year, and we cherished spending evenings together, just the two of us. We talked about everything and anything, reminiscing about old memories and discussing the latest news in our lives.

Upon completing our meal, I detected a melancholy look in her eyes. It was clear she was still struggling with the loss of my father, even after all this time. “I’ll clean up and bring dessert out. Make yourself comfortable on the couch for a movie,” I said, hoping to cheer her up.

Plopping down beside my widowed mother on the couch, we indulged in fresh brownies and watched one of her beloved romantic shows. After a few minutes, she leaned her weight against me, resting her head on my shoulder. Pleasant wafts of sweet fruit flooded my senses. Her silky, brunette hair tickled my neck when she laughed at the familiar scenes on the screen. My heart rate quickened while we bonded together, more intimate than our normal mother-son interactions. It was a simple moment, but one I knew was important for both of us. We remained silent, the only sounds coming from the TV.

Wrapping my arm around her, I pulled her tighter, knowing that an upcoming scene would remind her of Dad. The feeling of closeness with someone I cared about was overwhelming.

“Hey, Mom, do you remember when Dad used to do that?” I asked, nodding towards the TV.

She lifted her head, her eyes flickered toward me, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Of course, he did it on purpose, knowing we’d laugh at him,” she replied.

We spent the rest of the evening reminiscing about my father and the fond memories. It wasn’t a lighthearted conversation, but it did bring us closer, sharing our grief. As the final credits faded from the screen, my mom turned to me and gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m so grateful you spent the evening with me,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.

As our eyes met and she smiled back, a warm feeling of appreciation washed over me. In that moment of connection, I couldn’t help but feel thankful for the simple yet profound exchange of kindness and understanding between us. Sometimes, it’s the small moments that matter the most – this was one I wouldn’t forget.

Standing up, she extended her hands to help me to my feet. After a gentle embrace, she sighed, “I’m absolutely exhausted. Goodnight, Evan.”

“Night, Mom,” I replied, watching her once again disappear into her room.

Once I finished cleaning the kitchen, I raced to my room, stripped off my clothes, flopped into bed, and began another tradition – stroking my rock-hard prick. After each snuggling session, my cock would demand a rough and intense workout.

When I closed my eyelids and visions of Mom’s beaming face leered before me, my hand wrapped around my turgid pole. Her wide, brown eyes were the same color as her hair and reflected the love I hoped she held for me. High cheekbones and a cute button nose complemented her sexy smile.

Visualizing her arms pulling our nude bodies together, my fantasy continued, feeling her full breasts squashed against my chest. “Fuck me,” she pleaded, guiding my prick to her sex. I furiously stroked my shaft, slick with copious amounts of pre- cum. My mind reeled with excitement, upon hearing my mother’s encouraging voice while we fucked. Suddenly, another voice commanded, “Pound your mother’s horny pussy, Evan. Faster! Harder!”

It took me a moment before I recognized my grandmother’s voice. The rate of my pumping increased while her voice narrated through our coupling. I chalked it up to my sleepy, semi- conscious state and recalled my childhood fantasies of mating with my grandmother. She was as pretty as Mom, but I ceased masturbating about her when she died four years prior to Dad.

After another ten minutes of sexual bliss, Dahlia, my grandmother, yelled, “Fill her pussy full of cum. She wants her son to fuck her to completion. Satisfy your mother the way she desires.” My cock exploded, covering my stomach and chest with globs of thick, sticky cum. I pumped out more volume than I had in a long time. After I drained myself, I relaxed and fell asleep without bothering to clean up.

*****

Awakening refreshed, I recalled the previous night’s erotic episode and noticed that I had covered myself at some point, keeping me warm and comfortable. My hand explored for signs of my activity and discovered the sheets crusty with my dried semen. I sighed, contemplating how to deal with my soiled linen. After showering, I stripped the bed, gathered my dirty clothes, and hauled them to the washing machine.

It was nearing eight, and I knew Mom would soon be up. With the coffee started, I prepared Mom’s favorite breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast. Just as I set her plate of food on the table, I heard her door open and close. Saturday was our leisure day, so Mom wearing her robe wasn’t out of the ordinary. She smiled wide and greeted me, “Good morning, Evan. Breakfast smells wonderful.”

“Thanks, Mom. You look fantastic this morning. Did you sleep well?” I inquired, noticing a sparkle in her eye that hinted at a restful night.

“I’m a bit of a lightweight wine drinker, so it doesn’t take much to knock me out. I had a great time with you last night. Although,” she teased, a mischievous grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “It looks like you’ve been a bit naughty,” she added.

When her head nodded toward the laundry room, my face turned beet red. She had to have seen plenty of my cum-stained clothes and sheets before. “Did Mom suspect she was the focus of my fantasies?” I asked myself.

Before I could respond, she continued, “First, you’re doing laundry, and now you’re treating me to my favorite breakfast. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were begging for forgiveness.” She chuckled and grinned wide, easing my discomfort.

“You did say you wanted to go out shopping today, didn’t you?” I asked, relieved that she wasn’t referring to my handjob the previous night. “I thought I’d get a jump on the chores so we can spend more time together at the mall.”

“Absolutely right! I completely forgot,” Mom acknowledged, her gratitude apparent. “You have no idea how much I appreciate you reminding me. But now comes the fun part – I get to burden you with a pile of packages. But don’t fret, dear. I’ll make it up to you by treating you to a delicious lunch afterward.”

The gap in her robe widened from her giggling, revealing the top edge of her light-blue bra. I wondered if she slept with a bra or put one on after she got up. Feeling blood flow to my cock while I envisioned Mom’s bare breasts, I quickly changed topics to the day’s agenda.

Mom lived up to her promise, burdening me with multiple purchases while we strolled through the expansive mall. After

stowing everything in the trunk, we ended the day at a nice restaurant. I was glad to see Mom’s cheerful face while she enjoyed our outing. We decided to finish the evening by watching another movie on the couch.

Mom switched attire from sweats to a robe, revealing several inches of smooth skin above her knees. When she leaned into me, I wrapped my arm around her, pulling her closer. Partway through the show, Mom lifted her head and pronounced, “Evan, I know what you did last night. We need to talk.”