Using Mom to Stay Warm by ChloeKendall

Using Mom to Stay Warm by ChloeKendall

Looking for an erotic read to heat up your night? Dive into "Using Mom to Stay Warm," a steamy adult sex story that will leave you wanting more. Get ready to get lost in this seductive tale of passion and desire.<br/> First things first – it was cold.

It was way, way too cold for Mom and me to be at the cottage in mid-November, but we were not here by choice. Circumstance forced our hand when Dad up and left to the Bahamas with his secretary a few months back, leaving Mom and me to pick up the pieces of our shattered life, with nothing but each other for comfort. It was sad, but we were already in the process of healing by the time the realization kicked in – we had to close the cottage for the winter.

Our cozy, quiet bungalow in Muskoka was not suited to handle the cold season. Water lines could burst, pests could take nest, among a slew of other things that would turn the cozy summer home into a money pit. Winter was already rearing its ugly head and showering us with more snow than we were prepared for, so time was not on our side.

We had never done it ourselves before, so it took some time and a lot of YouTube videos before we felt comfortable calling it ‘closed’. We went at it for a few days, and by the time we were done, we were saying goodbye to a very, very busy weekend.

Come Sunday night, Mom was running through the checklist with her dirty blonde hair tied up in a high bun. She was using two pens of identical make; one to check boxes off the list, and another to keep her hair in place. A couple of loose strands dangled in front of her eyes that she was too preoccupied to fix, but it gave her a small-town-librarian vibe that I found surprisingly alluring. What can I say? Mom looked damn good!

Mom had hardly aged a day since I was born. At least, that was true up until Dad left. The weight of such an ordeal was starting to show itself on her face in the form of subtle wrinkles, though the stress lines were instantly outmatched anytime a smile brought out her two deep, gorgeous dimples.

I was much taller than Mom, who stood at an adorable five-foot-nothing on a good day, so most of the chores went in my direction. We truly looked like we were from different species. I was tall and muscular with short, tousled brown hair, while Mom was a miniature blonde Barbie with some pudge to her curves. She had gained a little bit of weight after Dad left, but it only served to bring out her more dominant features.

For a woman her size–heck, any size–Mom was gifted with an incredible bosom. Her breasts had always been large, but I didn’t fully take notice until I turned 18 and began to see her as a real woman, rather than just my mother. Every day since, had come with at least one scolding from myself, “Don’t look at your Mom’s tits!” And every day, I would fail.

I could not stop myself from zoning out to the image of her boobs bouncing around under her braless t-shirt; a style she adopted more and more as she got used to Dad’s absence. Maybe it was an act of rebellion, maybe she was trying to attract a man who liked big tits, or maybe, she simply hated wearing a bra and was tired of putting on airs as age crept upon her. Whatever it was, I was happy to reap the benefits.

I often wondered if this commando style had been adopted through her entire wardrobe. Did her underwear meet the same fate that befell her bras? She did not have a bra on at the moment, so it was possible she had also chosen to forgo the security of underwear altogether. A man can dream, I suppose.

I tried not to think about it too hard, to save myself from getting a boner midway through our busy schedule, but the thought, nonetheless, burrowed into my head on more than one occasion.

Namely, when she put down her checklist and bent over to examine a cupboard for perishables. This caused her sweatpants to ride up between her legs, where they formed to her plump bottom like wallpaper. Try as I might, I could not spot the outline of anything remotely resembling underwear.

“It doesn’t sound like you’re working, honey.” Mom teased, with her head the knee-high cupboards, her voice echoing throughout the small wooden box. She was rummaging through them, looking for any food that would spoil over the winter, and I was eagerly watching her from behind.

I’m not lazy; I had a bird’s eye view down the back of her pants that revealed a healthy portion of her pudgy ass cheeks, and I could not bring myself to look away. If I could only reach my hand under her and feel them for myself, I would die a happy man.

I shook myself from the fantasy of fondling my mother’s ass. “Well, Mom, that’s because I’m–uh, supervising.”

She pulled her head out of the cupboard to glare at me. “You’ll be supervising my darn foot up your butt if you don’t friggin’ get to work!”

Darn, butt, friggin. All of these were common replacements that Mom put in place of cursing–a practice she was avidly against.

“Okay, okay,” I grumbled. “I gotta make sure the shed is secure, anyway. Might as well do that now.”

I turned to face the blizzard, but something gnawing in the back of my brain demanded to be said. “Mom?” I called to her.

“Yes, honey?” Her head popped out of the cupboard. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just…” I chewed the inside of my cheek. “I’m sorry this weekend wasn’t everything we thought it would be. I wanted to spend, like, one day packing up. I didn’t think I would take so long, I wanted to give you a bit of fun this weekend and I feel like I blew it.”

Mom stood at attention, her mothering instincts kicking into overdrive, as she swayed towards me. The rotation of her hips as she floated towards me was hypnotic; Mom moved like an angel. I challenged myself not to stare at the wobbling wagon she dragged behind her as her toes pitter-pattered across the carpeted floor.

“Honey, listen to me,” she began, taking hold of my hands and folding them over her clenched fist, which she then held over her beating heart.

I rarely had an opportunity to be this close to her breasts, and every impulse in my brain was screaming at me to dig in face first. “No matter where we are, no matter what we’re doing, I’m happy if I’m doing it with you.”

“Promise?” I grinned like a goofball. Nothing could beat a pep talk from Mom.

“Everything I need is right here.” Mom kissed my knuckles. “Okay? Now, go close that shed so we can get the heck out of this place!”

The worst part about winter is having to suit up just to leave the house. I donned my oversized jacket and large, clunky boots and prepared to face Mother Nature. The path I had shoveled to the door of the shed was already piling up again, so I followed my footprints from previous journeys to reduce the effort it took to trudge through the frozen wasteland.

I locked the shed and made sure it was sealed up to prevent any miscreants from taking shelter inside. It was one of the last tasks we had to do, with one exception.

“Jacob? Are you ready yet?” Mom called to me, before I got back inside.

I could barely hear her voice over the whipping winds that kicked snow in my face like cold sand. I battled through the torrential snowstorm to find Mom inside with a glass of exactly what I was hoping for — alcohol.

I shook my head like a wet dog and flung chunks of half-melted snow onto the floor.

“As if I didn’t just vacuum?” Mom gasped. “You’re so lucky you earned enough credit this weekend for me to forgive that little transgression.”

“Oh, boy. I wonder what else I can get away with,” I smirked.

Mom poured us two heaping shots of vodka. “Don’t push it, honey.”

I picked up my glass and we clinked them, downing the gasoline in one quick gulp. I know alcohol doesn’t actually keep the body warm, but it sure felt like it did.

“Ugh, yuck!” Mom grimaced. “Well, the edge has been taken way off. I can’t wait to get home and relax, but this is a darn good start.”

“Agreed. I just want to get away from all this snow!” I considered pouring myself another shot, but the idea of driving home drunk in bad weather was terrifying.

Mom practically read my mind, which was not unusual for her. “Are you sure you’re okay to drive? I’m happy to–”

“Yes, Mom.” I rolled my eyes. “I promised I’d drive home so you could sleep in the car. That’s what I’m gonna do.”

Mom scanned me up and down like she was trying to visually detect any signs of impairment, but came away satisfied with her search. “If you say so, honey.”

“I do say so.” I boasted confidently. “Now get that fat butt in the car so we can get going!”

Mom scoffed. “Excuse you, young man. I remember somebody being awfully fond of this big butt when they were little!”

She was right, and she often reminded me. I had been quite a touchy-feely kid and she, being a world-class enabler, suffered the brunt of that. As a child, I was always hugging, smooching, playing bongos on her juicy butt cheeks, and peeking up her skirt. All the not-so-normal things that mothers put up with for their sons, right? We were physically very close, and always had been, but that had to change as I got older.

It might be cute when I didn’t know any better, but that bled into adulthood in ways that became increasingly inappropriate. As far as I was concerned, I didn’t have any problem being close with her, and she seemed similarly at ease with it. The only thing keeping us apart was the obvious social stigma.

Speaking of social stigma; Dad had never been fond of our connection. He did not like how grabby and cuddly the two of us were. Whether it was jealousy, or discomfort at what other people would think, I never found out.

We grew so close, with so few boundaries between us, that the few times Mom caught me masturbating, it always ended with us laughing it off. I knew I should feel ashamed, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t excite me a little to show off to Mom how much I’d grown.

If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought that her surprise interruptions were becoming more frequent. Her impulse to hurriedly close the door and look away grew faint, and I wrestled with the little voice in my head that told me she was lingering on purpose for a longer look. The idea seemed insane to me, but all the evidence pointed me to one obvious, albeit ludicrous explanation– Mom liked my cock.