Mom's Chicken Soup

This is going to be a short one, probably 2-3 chapters, so don't get hopes too high. I just had an urge to write some Helen.

***

You are awakened by a whisper gentle brush of a soft hand pulling away from your brow.

“Mmm.” You crack your sore eyes and squint against the afternoon light creeping in around the blinds to stab straight into your pupils. “Ohhh.”

“Shhhhh.” A hand strokes your cheek. “I’m here baby.” Your mother sits at the edge of your bed, her width of her hips causing her to have to have one whole buttock hovering off the mattress. Her naturally jovial features brighten into a grin when your eyes meet hers. “Hello handsome.” Her voice is as sweet and smooth as warm honey. “How are you feeling?”

You clear your throat and swallow, cringing at the pain that not so subtly reminded you of your condition. You turn and twist instinctively trying to rid yourself of the sapping weakness and the ache, but it was set in far too deep. Looking to Mom you croak weakly. “You keep coming in here. You’re going to get it too.”

“I’ll be okay.” She says. You might have pushed back but you knew that your mother would run across an active battlefield to get to you if she thought you needed her. Only an act of God could have kept your mother from your side when you were down and out. “You’re still running a temperature.”

“Mmmm.” Your brows furrow as you **** yourself to look around. Reading your mind Mom takes a fresh cup of steaming tea from your bedstand and brings it closer.

“Sit up.” She says. “Don’t want you to burn yourself.” With her free hand she helps you to sit then gives you the hot lemony smelling beverage. As you cup the drink in your hands and take a sip, savoring how the sweet tea soothed your scratchy throat, Mom piles some extra pillows she had nearby behind you so that you could recline back again. “There you go.” She fusses, arranging the blankets and pillows so they were just right. “Comfy?”

You nod.

She nods with a brave smile but nothing could mask the worry simmering inside of her. Having consumed a steady diet of cable news during the early months of the pandemic your mother was convinced that your ailment was as deadly as cancer. Thanks to your family’s already cloistered habits and limited outside contacts the disease had thus far stayed out of the Bailey home, but that all changed a couple of days ago when what you thought was just a persistent headache evolved into a full blown case off the disease.

“I told Fiona to be careful.” Mom mutters. “I told Fiona not to bring that terrible disease into our home. I told her…”

“It’s okay.” You say. “It’s not her fault.”

“She doesn’t understand.” She shakes her head in frustration. “You’re not as resilient as we are. You’re just…a boy.”

“I’m a man.” You say after another sip of the much needed tea. “I’ll get through this.”

“Of course you will! You are young and strong and healthy. Such a strong man!” She says, trying to convince herself more than anything. “You’re going to be okay baby.”

While your older sister was Mom’s favorite scapegoat in this case it turned out that it probably was Fiona who brought it into the house. When you got sick everyone got tested and, while she showed no symptoms, Fiona tested positive for the virus. Currently she was over at your Aunt Peg’s house so that data could be collected on how the disease interacted with the special Bailey genes. Though she protested vehemently your little sister Elsie was staying with your cousin Chloe until you got better. Your mother insisted that El be protected from getting it herself.

Your mom turns to a TV tray table she had set up beside her. Upon it you see a small tub of fresh water with a white face cloth floating within it, a tall glass of orange juice, and a bowl of her curative ‘never fail’ chicken soup. Little curls of steam could still be seen along the surface of the soup. Taking the cloth Mom twists out the excess water then folds it neatly.

You scooch over to give her more room for her ample bottom, which she gladly accepts. Leaning over you Mom slowly, gently, dotingly wipes your hot brow of the fever sweat. The cool, wet cloth feels like heaven against your skin. She caresses your temples one at a time before going over your forehead again. Returning the cloth to the water she refreshes it and returns to tenderly run it over your cheeks and around your chin. You lay still, watching her attend to you with such profound love glowing in her rich brown eyes that it left you humbled. To her…you were precious. Better than anybody she knew your faults and flaws yet none of that tarnished you in her eyes. You were her son. Her precious only son. You had not the shred of doubt that this wonderful woman would not hesitate even a second to lay her life down if she believed it would protect you. Helen wasn’t perfect. She was twisted and weird, bordering on insane, but she was Mom. She wipes your neck, your chest, and even your ears before refreshing the cloth one last time to lay across your forehead.

Her eyes make contact with yours, her smile brightens the room more than sun through the window, but still you see that maternal concern stirring behind her hazelnut gaze. Lifting a spoon she dips it into the soup and pulls it close to her plump lips, which she purses to blow softly across the surface. Holding her left hand under it so that it didn’t drip on you she brings the spoon to your mouth. Obligingly you sip the salty, succulent, garlicky broth. Delicious. You’d had this soup countless times. Without exception, every single time that you or your sisters had come down with a cold or flu it was a sure bet that a fresh batch of this soup would be made from scratch. In the Bailey house it was one of the few silver linings of falling ill. You were thankful that the virus had not stolen your sense of taste as you had heard it might.

After savoring it in your mouth a moment you swallow. Mom is quick to dab your lips with a napkin she’d been holding on her lap. Another spoon follows the first, followed soon by another. You could have easily fed yourself, you weren’t that bad off, but you were hardly about to complain. Besides, if feeding you helped her feel better it was worth it. When one of her babies was sick or injured Mom suffered ten times as much, especially if it was her precious baby boy. You wanted so much to ease that tension and, even for just a moment, distract her from her worries. She did so much for you and asked for so very little. Even now that you and your sisters were all grown up she never burdened you with anything more than regular chores and trying your best in college. Even when she herself was ill she never expected nor asked for help from her children, preferring to bear the burden alone.

It touched you deeply to see your mother worry like this. If only there was something you could do for her. Even as you thought that, deep down, you knew that there was. There was one thing, one terrible, twisted, taboo thing, that you could do that would make her happier than anything…

You look at her anew, as a man naturally looks at a beautiful woman. As you slurp her special soup from the spoon that went back and forth your eyes begin to roam. Those wide, round, child-bearing hips, hips that bore you, were like those of some ancient fertility goddess. Her huge, plump ass so fat and fine that you could probably bury your whole damn dick into them and not even touch anus. She was a big woman but her thick, voluptuous body kept an alluring hourglass shape. And her tits! Holy hell her tits. Bigger, rounder, heavier than any woman you had ever seen out in the world. You used to get teased about your Mama’s big boobs but you could always see the jealousy in the other boys faces. Even in her loose blouse her bosom strained the fabric. Her face with pouting lips, big expressive eyes, and soft kindly features was that of an angel. Her long brown hair and incredible brown eyes were lovely and so very familiar as she had gifted the same shade of each to you.

And beneath that long, thick signature Bailey skirt you knew there not just shapely legs and the pussy through which you entered the world, there also lurked a monster. Both the pussy and the monster teased at your curiosity. What did that fleshy aperture through which your body squeezed look like? Did it look different from Allison’s? Though it made no sense you had some strange idea that a mom’s vagina must be different. And the monster! During the day of the big reveal you had seen your sisters’ dicks, but not hers. Sweet little Elsie was massive. Fiona was so huge it beggared belief. But among them, Helen was thicker. Thicker than El and Fiona!? Could it be true? How was that even possible? Could penises even get that big?

Perhaps it was your weakened state and fevered mind, perhaps it was the fact you’d had some time to think on the family ways, perhaps it was to make her feel happy, or perhaps you were just tired and horny, but whatever the reason, as you lay there watching your mother care for you, the final ounce of resistance drains from your will.

She pauses, perhaps sensing a change in energy come over you. Putting down the spoon she puts the back of her hand against the side of your neck.

“Are you okay sweetie?” She asks with concern. “Do you want another acetaminophen?”

You smile and shake your head. Placing your mug back on your nightstand you settle down and gaze up into her entrancing brown eyes.

She smiles back and whispers. “My boy.” She sighs softly and pats your leg. “I’ll let you get some rest.”

Holding her gaze in yours you place your hand on hers and give it a squeeze. Her smile widens and she squeezes back. You then lift her hand from your thigh…and place it back down directly onto your crotch. And there you hold it.

Her eyes widen in surprise. They dart down to look at her hand placed on the blanket squarely over your cock and balls, then slowwwwly pan back up to meet your eyes again.

“Jesse?”