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Family Worship

by Ahabscribe 12/15/12

Mom sipped her scotch and then looked back up at me and in a voice that was just the tiniest bit slurred, replied, "This afternoon, as Gwen Walker was leading us in our studies, Reverend Walker walked into the classroom at our church and denounced his wife as a, and I quote, 'A vile promiscuous whore engaged in terrible and incestuous intercourse whose sins would see her burning in hell with her lovers for all eternity,' unquote."

I felt my stomach roll over sickeningly and tried to take a deep breath, but was unable as my chest suddenly felt too tight. I tried to match Mom's intense gaze, but was unable to maintain it under the glare of her burning eyes. "Gwen Walker stood up in front of all the women in Bible Study and said to her husband, 'I admit it, completely and without shame. If I had to do it all over again, I would. Our son is a hundred times the lover that you are, Rodney, and I don't believe that something as wonderful as what we share is sinful or wrong. All the love I've shared with Kent and his friends has changed my life and taught me that there is much more to God's love and his plan for us all than we ever imagined. All of you should examine the lives you lead and consider taking the leap into a new and passionate world with your own sons. Some of them are magnificent lovers!'" Mom paused and her eyes seemed to engulf me as she added, "John, she was looking right at me when she said that. Why?"

I felt my face burning as if it was on fire and when I didn't answer, Mom sat up and leaned forward, her glass in her hands and despite my predicament, I couldn't help but notice how her breasts swelled and bunched together, threatening to overflow the neckline of her robe. "John, Gwen Walker admits to fucking her own son. Have you been fucking her too?"

I opened my mouth and closed it and then opened it again to finally reply, "Mom...I'm over eighteen. My sex...love life is personal."

Mom flung the now empty glass over my head to shatter against the wall, shards and sprinkles of glass falling down in a tinkling rain on the bookshelf behind me. "You live under my roof and you'll answer me, John! Are you fucking Gwen Walker?"

"Yes," I replied in a low voice, both resenting Mom demanding the answer and embarrassed at the same time.

Mom said nothing, but nodded to herself. Slowly, stiffly, she rose and fixed herself another drink, surprising me when she poured a second drink and came over and handed it to me. She towered over me for a moment and then returned to her seat, sweeping her feet underneath her before she said, "Tell me."

I tilted my head and replied, "Mom?"

"Tell me everything. I want to know how this happened." Her voice grew tight and dangerous. "I want every detail -- leave nothing out!"

There was a long minute of tension filled silence between us -- Mom never taking her eyes off me as her breasts seemed to rise and fall heavily and her face was nearly as red as mine. She could have been an avatar for beauty incarnate at that moment or an avenging angel.

I liked my lips and took a sip of the scotch, grimacing at the taste. Finally, I looked up and said, "It's a long story, Mom. It began two years ago...

#

"I would do your Mom in a fucking second, man. She is smoking hot! She's like Pam on Dallas, only..." Kent grinned at me as he took the offered joint from my hand to take a hit before he finished. "Only, she's finely aged...mature."

It felt odd to hear someone else speaking of my mother in the same manner in which I felt. "Yeah, she is incredibly foxy...and better tits than Victoria Principal," I replied.

We were sitting in my car in the city park on a Monday afternoon, under the shade of the great trees, smoking a joint after work, listening to Aerosmith and getting a nice buzz. We both worked at Friedman's Department store as summer time stockers and had gotten off work at 4:00 P.M. and decided to chill out for a bit. We had both just turned eighteen at the time, our senior year was about to start and life was good. At work, we'd both noticed the other's appreciative looks at the often sexy middle aged women that frequented the store and now a discussion of the finer points of mature women and a good buzz had led Kent to volunteer his thoughts on my Mom.

"You've seen your Mom's tits, John?" Kent said, slowly releasing a cloud of marijuana smoke.

I giggled a little and said, "A few times...peeking as she hopped out of the shower. They're awesome...with real dark circles around the nipples and Mom's nipples are so big! I checked out her bras in the hamper and Mom's a 38DD and those bad boys don't hardly sag or anything." I leaned over a little and added, "And you wouldn't believe her bush, Kent...it's massive and huge. I'd love to just rub my face in it!"

Kent snorted and leaned back against the passenger seat and laughed. "Dude...you'd fuck your Mom if you could, wouldn't you?"

"Shit, yeah! If you had a chance to fuck your Mom, wouldn't you go for it?" I replied.

Kent paused and looked forward out the windshield at some kids playing around a jungle gym. "It's what I dream every fucking night, man!"

"Have you ever seen your Mom naked, man?" I asked, imagining Kent's mother in all her naked glory.

"All the fucking time, man," he replied. Kent winked at me and added, "And I seen her fingering herself too...damn near every day!"

I felt my jaw drop in surprise. "Bullshit, man."

Kent smirked and said, "It's fucking true...man, I've even jacked off and cum while she was making herself cum...pussy juice squirting from her sweet pussy while she moaned. It was almost like we were doing it together."

I took another hit from the joint, extinguishing it with the tips of my fingers as it was now down to a small nub. As I exhaled, I again stated, "Bullshit, man! I don't believe that for a fucking second!" Kent had a reputation that was in part born out of being a preacher's kid -- a reputation that he had worked hard to uphold over his teenage years. He'd had brushes with the law over drugs and booze and wild driving and was rumored to have gotten two different girls knocked up during high school. He was a renowned and respected bullshit artist and according to Mom, had been a trial and tribulation to his father and mother...especially his father, Reverend Walker.

Despite all this, we'd been friends since the seventh grade and I never held it against him when some of his misadventure's spilled over on me and got me in trouble with my parents. Kent merely smiled at my challenge and after glancing at his watch, replied, "Well, my good man, if you'll chauffer me home, I'll show you." He licked his lips and said, "I bet you'll fucking cum in your pants if you get to see my mom naked and fingering her wet pussy."

"Dude, you are so fucking on!" I fired my beater of a Nova up and we carefully drove across town, keeping an eye out for Johnny Law until finally we drove past the Baptist church and pulled into the driveway behind the parsonage.

As we pulled up close to the house, Kent leaned over and pointed out my window. "Check that sweet ass out. Damn, even with all her clothes on, Mom makes my pecker hard!"

I turned to find Gwen Walker kneeling in front of a flower bed situated in the middle of the yard. She was wearing a sleeveless top and loose khaki shorts that came almost to her knees, her fair skinned slightly reddened by the summer sun. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a short ponytail. Her back was to us and she had no idea the impact of her slowly swaying ass had on both her son and me.

When we climbed out, Kent hollered, "Hey, Mom! Can John stay for dinner?"

Gwen Walker looked over her shoulder and smiled at us, her lovely face marred slightly by a smudge of dirt on one cheek. "Sure, we've got plenty. Your father is over at General Hospital all evening. Hiya, John. How's your mother doing?"

I nodded and then said, "Doing fine...I guess you'll see her Sunday at services."

She smiled and replied, "And you too, young man. Just because y'all are seniors doesn't mean you can skip church!"

"Yes, ma'am," I answered before Kent told her we were going upstairs to play Pong on his Atari.

We disappeared inside and when I turned to head up their back stairs, Kent grabbed me and said, "No, man...basement...now!" We quietly slipped down to the parsonage basement where our church's youth group often met for nice quiet parties. The basement had long served multiple functions -- rumpus room, guest room and storage room. There was an old but serviceable couch and loveseat in one corner along with an ancient black and white television and a fridge. Partitioned by a vinyl and fabric wall was a toilet and sink and a large shower stall. Across the basement stood a washer and dry and a canvas clothes hamper.

Kent pointed to a second set of stairs that led up to the outside exit and we started up them, getting about two thirds of the way where Kent climbed over the rail and began to carefully negotiate rafters running the length of the basement. I followed him until we were standing on a thick sheet of plywood that might have served as an additional storage space, but which was currently empty except for a few empty soda cans and a box of tissue. Kent knelt on one edge and motioned for me to join him. I looked over the edge and gasped. Below us at a slight angle was the shower stall...anyone inside it would be completely visible.

"Mom usually showers down here after she's been working in her garden and flowers," Kent said in an almost reverential tone. He pointed to an old coat rack that held several different sized bathrobes hanging on it.

"Goddamn, Kent!" I murmured. "How many times have you peeked on your mom and jacked off up here?" Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought I could smell a faint whiff of jizzum and sweat.

My friend laughed and shrugged. "I've lost count, but each time was better than the last!"

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