Mommy's Bosom - Sex Stories

Mommy's Bosom

It had been about two months since Dad left with his new girlfriend to start their new life, which didn't include me. His new girlfriend was pregnant, and she was concerned that my presence in his life would divide his attention from the new baby.

During the last fight my parents had, he told her she was a fat pig, and that's why he couldn't love her anymore. He just wanted his last words to her to destroy any self-esteem she had remaining. He was a bastard, plain and simple, and I now hated him for what he'd done to our family.

Mom was far from fat. Yes, she was a little thick, but no different than the plus-sized model Ashley. What's her name? Sure, she had thick thighs and a round butt. There wasn't a spec of cellulite on her. She had gorgeous curves. Her large breasts and thin waist only accentuated her luscious ass. I loved the way it jiggles when she walks.

Over the last two months, I listened to my Mother weep every night. As her frustration over the situation built, her self-esteem shrank. It dawned on me that the impending birth of Dad's new demon spawn, as Mom calls it, was weighing heavily on her. After I was born, her doctor told her she couldn't have any more children. She confessed to me that may be the reason for his infidelity. I didn't believe that for a second. Dad was just a cheater.

Mom was a wreck by the third month. She was having trouble sleeping and started drinking heavily each night. It was disconcerting to watch her decline to the ...

... sullen woman that she is today. I wanted to help her, wanted to pull her out of this tailspin that she was in. Nightly, she would sit on the sofa in her bath or nightgown, with a bottle of wine next to her on the end table. She'd given up using a wine glass a month ago. Now she'd grab it by the neck and tip it back, glugging wine by the mouth full. By the time the bottle was half empty, she'd be weepy and start crying on my shoulder.

Another month went by, and Mom was getting worse. She'd stay up drinking til she couldn't keep her eyes open. I'd have to help Mom to bed so she wouldn't sleep on the sofa. Her large breasts pressed against me as I led her to her room, and they would jiggle around when she flopped onto the bed. This particular night, Mom was halfway through another bottle. She had laid her head on my lap, blankly watching the TV with little to no interest.

"You've been a real help to me since Dad left. Thank you for that," she said, shifting onto her back to look up at me.

"Is there anything you need or that I can do for you? I realize that you are going through this divorce, too."

I slid my hand over her shoulder and into her robe, cupping her breast.

"Can I touch your boobs?" I asked tentatively.

"Why would you want to touch them?" she scoffed. "They're just bags of fat, like your Dad said."

"No, they're not. They're beautiful, like you, Mom. It might comfort you feeling the touch of a man's hands," I said, trying to sound convincing.

Mom ...