The Mom Memories Ch. 01
byalwayswantedto©

All characters are 18 years or older.

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Hi. My name is Dave. I'd like to tell you about what happened after my father had a very debilitating stroke. My mother asked if I would go through the stuff in his office when I came home from college for the summer because she didn't want to do it and Dad seemed agitated when she mentioned it to him. Of course, I assured her that I would look after it.

When I arrived home, my mother was less distraught than she had been two months earlier but she was still greatly relieved by my arrival. She was exhausted by friends, relatives and especially acquaintances she barely knew offering their sympathies about Dad's condition. She avoided all invitations to get together for coffee, dreading awkward conversations overloaded with concern about how she was managing by herself. She asked me to protect her from all that, to guard the gate since she found it difficult to say no. In her words, "I need you to look after me."

I didn't read anything into that. My mother was twenty years younger than my father but she was still twenty years older than me. I'd had an adolescent crush on her five years ago, rubbing my boner every night while dreaming of her late thirties figure as I drifted off to sleep. But now, I simply saw an exhausted woman. No, the memories of odd erotic moments didn't surface until later, when I was cleaning up my Dad's office. I found a box stuffed with letters at the back of the closet. My disinterest turned to shock as I read the correspondence he exchanged with members of a secret group, an incest group that exchanged true stories of their experiences with their moms.

There was a list of rules taped inside a flap on top of the box:

1. All stories must be true.

2. All names must be changed to protect the innocent.

3. The story must be about you and your Mother.

The first story in the first bundle was my Dad's own submission. He called himself 'Ron' but he violated the second rule by referring to my grandmother by her real name. Later, I would discover that wasn't the only rule be broke.

This was the first story in that set of files. My Dad's story.

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Hello all. Let me introduce myself. My name is Ron. Not my real name, but everything else I'm about to tell you is true. I grew up in the midwest on a farm, I suppose like a lot of you, even some of you city folk. Times were hard then, even before the depression. And there wasn't a lot of fun to be had like there was in the cities. On the farm, there was always work to do and, without a car, too many miles for us young folk to get together anyway with the little time we did have to ourselves. So we mostly socialized within our own families or our closest neighbors.

We did have a car, a Ford, but it mostly got used for just for going to church and trips to town for supplies. When I came of age, I made all the trips to town in the Ford, with my mother, and usually to church too. My father needed to stay and work the farm. He said he didn't have the time for socializing, and I may as well do the driving since I wasn't any good at fixing things or doing real work. He figured I should learn how to be good at something, and the only chance for that was if it was something I liked doing. Well, he said a piece there, he did.

My father was almost sixty then. I think he didn't come to town because he just plain didn't have any patience for people anymore. He liked being on the farm, and he liked being on his own. Most of the time during the week he was out in the fields all day anyway, and at night he was in the shop or the barn after dinner until he went to bed, never later than nine o clock.

My mother, Ellen, wasn't even forty by several years. When I look back at it, she too young to be with an old crock like my father. She was a pretty woman when she fixed herself up for church or going to town. She had long red hair that she often got me to brush for her because my father was always too busy though she once said that he used to like doing it for her.

Even at that age, my mother had laugh lines around her eyes, and when she smiled, there were up and down crinkles in her cheeks on either side of her mouth. But, like I said, she was still pretty. She and I spent a lot of time together since my father was always tinkering and I was had a thousand excuses for avoiding work in the field in favor of doing chores closer to home. Father said it was just plain easier to do things himself. I think he preferred being by himself or he would have made me come anyway.

Mother was a lonely woman, I realize now, looking back. She looked forward to church Sundays and loved going to town. After several times driving to town on my own with Mom, the excitement of driving wore off enough that I began to pay more attention to Mom. She was one of the prettiest women in our little town but she kept a polite distance from people, despite her seeming need to be near them. I know now that she was treading a careful path, making sure she didn't encourage the men or spark the jealousies of their wives who were all too aware that Father was much older than she.

Town was necessary for her sanity but it was also a social minefield. On the way to town, she was tense. In town, she was careful and controlled. On the way home, alone with me, she was at ease, sometimes even exuberant. She would chatter away, reliving her conversations with other women, and what she thought they were really thinking. I was her confidant. She would lean over closer to me to make a point, sometimes whispering when repeating some gossip or confiding her thoughts, touching my arm if it was a particularly juicy bit of news. I loved it.

I started driving more slowly on the way back to the farm, even though I loved to go fast, just to drag out our trip home. Mom never complained. I think she liked having more time away from home where there were no chores to do. That's probably why she never complained when I took our first detour, or maybe it was because it wasn't very far out of our way and it was a beautiful day.

Because I liked Mom being close, leaning in, touching me on my arm, I kept the window open and complained about not being able to hear her. At first, she just talked louder. Then, she leaned closer to me most of the time, which I enjoyed immensely. Finally, at no urging from me because it never crossed my mind, she simply moved her cloth shopping bags from between us to the door, or on the floor, and sidled up next to me. She would sit there, thigh pressed against mine, and yack almost into my ear as I drove, her arm on the seat behind my shoulders, sometimes curling around to cup my neck.

As soon as we crested the small hill coming out of town, she would shift her bags and slide over. And when we neared our property, she always moved back to her door. On the rare occasions when we passed another car, or one came up behind us, she would lean back over to her side. It was as if our closeness was a secret as well as her confidences in me. I wasn't sure why then but this really excited me. It was as if my Mom and I shared a world all to ourselves that no one should know about. Always, just before she pulled away, Mom would lean in and give me a big kiss on my cheek, sighing, "Well, we're home already." I took this as a signal that it was OK to take longer detours.

One day, I did something that started us on a road deeper into our special world. A road of touching. I started shifting gears more often, my hand thus making contact with her legs. I explained to Mom that, if we were going to take longer drives on the way home, we had to conserve gas. To do that, I explained further to my mom who knew nothing about cars, I needed to shift gears more often to maintain the best engine speed. "Oh," she replied, and went on with her conversation.

That making sense to her, I was then free to change gears, often up and down for no reason except to touch my mother's legs. She paid it no mind. It wasn't long before I managed to nudge her left knee tight against my leg when I was in second or fourth gear, close enough to the seat that she had to put her knees on either side of the long shift handle. I changed to holding the shifter on the shaft under the handle so my hand would come into more solid contact with her legs. Soon, she kept her legs open when I was in other gears because she could never tell when I was going to pull the stick back against her knees. So we would drive along, Mother chatting away with her hand around my neck and her legs open whether the shifter was forward or back.

I preferred to drive in second or fourth because then my hand was between my Mom's legs. I don't think Mom noticed the first time I shifted up to third and, instead of keeping it on the shifter, moved my hand back to rest it on the seat between her legs. I'm not sure that I recall the first time. I do remember suddenly becoming aware that my hand was there between her legs, for no reason. But she didn't seem to notice. So from then on I always moved my hand to rest on the seat between her legs. Tentatively at first, but then more naturally as if that's where my hand was supposed to be.

On one of our trips, I had trouble with the car so while she was shopping and visiting, I worked the motor. On the way home, Mother slipped over beside me as usual when I shifted into third gear after cresting the hill. She nestled into place against my thigh, opening her legs to make room for the shifter, and my hand. Keeping the car in third gear with the shifter forward, I said, "Mom. You'd better pull your dress back so it doesn't get dirty. I couldn't get all the grease off my hands."

"Oh, you'll have to get them clean before dinner. You know your father," was all she said. And then, amazingly when I look back at it now, she braced her feet to lift her weight and pulled her skirt way up so that the hem under her legs was completely on the top of the seat. When she sat back down, she pulled the hem on the top of her legs way back from where the shifter could reach, right up to her pelvis. She kept her hands there at the top of her legs, holding her dress in place for my next few shifts. I was very excited, almost in shock. I kept my hands on the shifter, afraid to put them down near her bare legs, which I had never seen before. My eyes were glued to the road.

Soon, Mom put her left arm around me in its usual position, and began using her right to accent her conversation, as usual. Gingerly, I moved my hand to rest on the seat between her legs, lightly scraping her bare legs for the first time in my life. I was ready to rocket my hand back to the shifter if she complained, but she didn't seem to even notice. But I certainly did. My cock hardened. I looked down to make sure it hadn't ripped through my pants like it felt it had. Relieved, I sidled my glance over to her legs. Clear, soft looking white legs, the sun highlighting short little blondish hairs sparsely covering her thighs. I couldn't look away, they were so beautiful.

"Watch the road, Ron!" she commanded crisply as the car wandered onto the shoulder.

But that was the only admonishment she gave. I kept my eyes on the road, but I shifted more often than usual, took a longer detour, and managed to have my hand in contact with her bare legs most of the way home.

The next week, just as Mom got into the car, I made a production of trying to rub grime off my hands. "Darn car," I complained.

"Watch your language, young man," Mom barked. When she slid over next to me, I reminded her to watch her dress. Without a word, she slid her skirt up again. I was in my glory feeling her legs all the way home.

The next week I forgot to go through my grimy hand act and was wondering how recover from that error when she slid over next to me and pulled her dress up without any prompting from me. I immediately moved my hand between her legs and started my little scrapes and rubs, my boner near breaking point all the way home.

The following week, Mom lifted her dress again, all on her own. After moving the shifter back into fourth gear, I made a dangerous move of my own. Whenever I was in second or fourth gear, back against the seat, I always kept my hand on the shifter. To be sure, I held the shaft under the knob so I could touch her legs more, but I never let go, always needing an excuse for my hand to be there. But this time, just like I did when in the forward gears, I let go of the shifter and dropped my hand behind it to the seat between Mom's legs.

This put me higher than I'd ever been, almost to her crotch, firmly in contact on both sides of my hand with the softest part of her thighs. Fearing an angry response but not being able to stop my hand from making its short journey, I was again surprised.

"I had a lovely time in town today," Mother sighed as she ran her fingers up the side of my neck. "A lovely time," she repeated as she stroked her fingers slowly up and down my neck, her pelvis seeming to push forward in the seat, or was that my imagination?

I hardly shifted at all on that trip. When I did, I quickly moved my hand back to its high position between her legs regardless of which gear the car was in. I was in bliss all the way home.

When we got home, after carrying in the supplies but before I could run out to the barn to relieve myself in private, Mom told me to stay in the kitchen. She sat down on a kitchen chair with her legs stretched out before her. I was startled when she suddenly pulled her dress up, holding the hem just below her crotch. This had never happened before. We always went out separate ways at home, never reentering our private world until the following week.

"I think you might have got some grease on my leg."

There wasn't a speck of dirt to be seen. I stared at her legs, brazenly displayed before me. She was looking at them intently as well, allowing me a better look at them than I'd ever had.

"No," she said finally, "I don't see anything. ... Maybe underneath. Could you look for me, Ronny?" she asked, lifting her knees to raise her upper legs, looking down herself at the bottom of her thighs. I stood frozen until she quietly said, "Come on honey. I can't keep my legs up forever."

Kneeling down, I inspected the underside of her legs. I could see all the way to her panties.

"Do you seen anything?" she asked.

Yes, I thought. Your beautiful legs, and your PANTIES!

Gathering my courage, I stretched my trembling hand out toward her, pointing, "Oh, there is a spot," I said, my voice cracking.

"Can you get it?" she asked, "I can't even see it."

"Sure, Mom." I tentatively touched her with my outstretched finger, high up on the bottom of her thigh. I poked at the imaginary spot of grease.

"Did you get it?" she asked.

"No, it's really on there," I replied, pulling my finger back to lick it before renewing my rubbing on her thigh near the crease where her leg met her bottom. With her permission to rub, I poked away, pulling my finger back to lick it several times.

"It's a tough one," I said as I continued rubbing, her leg now wet with my saliva.

"Rub it harder then," she commanded me in a strangely hoarse voice, which I proceeded to do. When I pulled my hand back I spat on my fingers instead of licking them and used several fingers to rub this time. I widened the area I was rubbing to cover the whole inside curve of her leg along the line of her panties. Up and down I rubbed, pressing very firmly. Her thigh was damp, I realized as I noticed a strange, pungent odor. I didn't need to pull my hand away to lick them, so I just kept rubbing her, the edge of my fingers starting to press against the side of her panties on each stroke up and down.

"Rub it harder," she gasped in a weirdly intense voice.

I obliged, quickening my pace. Then, the sound of the tractor filled the house through the open kitchen door. My mother sprang up, her face flushed, and rushed upstairs. "Go help your father," she yelled as she flew up the stairs.

Of course I didn't. I had a huge boner, absolutely huge.

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That night, Mother informed my father that she needed me to take her to church on Wednesday afternoons because she'd volunteered to help with some church service. That was news to me, she hadn't mentioned anything, at least I didn't think she had.

On Wednesday, after lunch, we pulled out of the yard. As soon as the house was behind us, Mom pulled her dress up. This had never happened before. We only touched on the way home, never on the way into town. Acting unsurprised, I simply moved my hand down between her legs. Within a mile, I was rubbing her leg in the same spot I'd done several days before. I rubbed in silence. Mom didn't talk. Soon, I moved my hand to rub in the same spot on her other leg, though there was never any 'spot' there, and so no 'reason' to rub there.

As I rubbed her thigh with my finger and thumb, the edge of my hand was scraping against her panties. Mom's breathing became quite ragged. I focused my attention on the action of my hand, pressing it more firmly against her panties.

"I don't want to go to church," Mom broke the silence, her voice broken and breathless. "Take the road up to the hill," she instructed me, indicating a spot where we often went for a picnic in the trees overlooking our fields. As I turned off the side road toward the picnic spot, I turned my hand as well, facing my palm directly at her panties. Driving along, I gripped the mound underneath her panties, firmly squeezing it, and started to rub it up and down.

By the time we parked under the trees, I was rubbing her furiously and she was pressing herself against my hand, following it up and down. I turned toward her, pulling my hand away to replace it with my left hand, putting my damp right around her shoulder, up to her head, pulling it in to my chest.

"Mom," I gasped, frigging her panties. "Touch me, touch me too," I cried.

I felt her hand, her little hand, fumbling with my pants. My cock leapt against her touch. Then my pants were unbuttoned and her hand was fishing underneath, groping for my cock. She found it, her fingers curling around my shaft. "Oh, my, Mom," I shouted as she started moving her hand up and down, jacking me off with her incredibly soft fingers, sliding them right up over the head, unlike my own action that always remained on the shaft. She pinched and twisted her fingers ever so gently, teasing my head, then down and up in full, long strokes. And then I was coming, spurting, gushing high into the air, into her lap, onto her chest and her dress, and on my shirt and pants. Her legs closed tightly around my hand, trapping it, her legs shivering as if very cold, violently cold, though I could feel they were steaming hot.

We lay there for several minutes before Mom said, "We'd better rinse these things off in the creek and dry them before going home. Come on," she said, taking her dress off, "give me your clothes."

Mom swished our clothes around in the creek and spread them out on the grass to dry in the hot afternoon sun. We lay about on the grass in our underwear, switching between the sun and the shade. Mom wasn't wearing a bra, she just wore a kind of slip thing though it was made of cotton and not the silky material we have today. It was like she was wearing a very revealing dress. Designed for wear beneath a dress, it was much shorter. While Mom dozed on the grass, I spent my time surveying her body. I was quite taken by the lack of wrinkles that were evident on her face when she smiled or frowned. Her body looked much younger.

I became especially intrigued when I noticed something which had somehow escaped my notice; her panties were spread out in the sun next to her dress. I had watched as she laid out our clothes but my attention was on her legs, exposed in her short underdress much more than I'd ever seen. I simply didn't look at the clothes on the ground. 


Now, as she lay back with her arm covering her eyes from the sun, I fixed my gaze on her midsection, trying to see through the thin cotton material, to no avail. But, always creative, I pulled up a long strand of grass and, leaning on my elbow next to her, began tracing it up and down Mom's thighs. Her only reaction was to smile. Trailing the ticklish grass stem along the seam made by her thighs where they pressed together, I eventually succeeded in parting her legs, lowering it to feather along the inside of her legs, moving her thighs even farther apart.

Tracing my homemade tickler around her kneecaps on one down stroke, I suddenly moved it quickly down behind her knee and was rewarded by a girlish giggle as she quickly jerked her legs up to avoid my ticklish intrusion. The hem of her underdress fell to the tops of her legs, staying there when she again lowered her legs, demurely closing them again. However, prim as this was, her legs were now exposed all the way to where her panties would have been. I could see the hair tufting out below the edge of the underdress.

I was so engrossed in this image, my hand had stopped moving. Catching myself, I began tracing my grass tickler along Mom's thighs to open them as I'd done earlier. Success was achieved although it seemed frustratingly slower than before. Whether my imagination or not, I still don't know to this day if Mom delayed opening her legs deliberately so as to tease me. But tease me she did. My cock had grown right through the opening in my boxers, my only attire. Eventually, her legs did part, and slowly, so slowly, I managed to tickle them apart sufficiently to expose her secret treasure. My first unhindered view of a bare pussy.

She sucked her breath in sharply when I first traced the stem of grass around the outside of her pussy lips and dragged it through her pubic hair, repeating this action over and over for several long minutes. The only reaction I observed was shorter, more rapid breathing and a sudden intake when I first trailed the grass along the crevice formed between her nether lips. Repeating this latter action caused her legs to lift up and down slightly with each stroke as she moved to keep pace as I took my turn to tease her.

Eventually, I stopped with the leafy head of the grass stem pressed into the middle of her now moist pussy. I pushed on the stem, attempting to shove it inside my new toy, but it only bent more the firmer the pressure I applied. Suddenly, it folded in half and my pinching thumb and finger collided with Mom's bare, wet pussy. I froze. She gasped. I pushed, twisting and parting my digits to align them with her vertical slit, allowing easy entry. My knuckles disappeared, about an inch of my thumb and finger becoming enveloped within her slippery kiss.

Mom's hands clutched the grass at her sides, her eyes squeezed shut. I hadn't noticed when she'd pulled her arm away from her eyes and didn't know if she'd been watching me. I was too fascinated with my engagement of her womanly charms. Her knees rose up several inches off the ground but I kept my hand firmly lodged in her quim, moving my fingers in a gently rotating motion which seemed to please her judging by her breathing and the soft moan escaping her lips. I sensed I was doing well.

I pulled my thumb out and allowed it to rest on the top of her slit while filling the vacated space with another finger. I pushed both fingers in as far as I could, twisting them inside with my thumb rocking along with them where it lay on her outside her pussy. This she seemed to really like. Keeping my fingers buried deep, I repeated this move for some time, slowing my twisting motion but gouging deeper into her. Her legs kept trying to rise higher the more I did this, so eventually I grasped her bare foot with my left hand and moved it around to my side, sliding in to place myself directly below her bottom.

Keeping my hold on her ankle, I followed it up in the air as she lifted her now freed legs. Seeing the added exposure this provided, I used my hold on her ankle to push her legs even further, going so far that I lifted her backside from the ground. This afforded tremendous access for my right hand so I inserted my two remaining fingers and began a slow in an out, twisting motion, abandoning my thumb work on her upper slit.

As I worked, her breathing continued getting harsher and harsher, her moaning louder. Enthralled, I shifted myself forward on my knees, pushing her ankle even farther ahead. She bent her knees as I shoved, bringing them to rest near her sides, lifting her pelvis and opening her legs in an almost obscene display of her wet, soaked pussy which was dripping fluid down into the crack of her upturned ass. My fingers were moving in and out of her faster now. Her breath was truly hoarse and rasping.

I settled my knees against the bottom of her thighs, holding her in her lewd upturned position. My cock, sticking out through my boxers, pressed against her ass, its head poking between the hole she used for her dirty business, and the one now fully engaged by my frantically pistoning fingers. I began thrusting my cock along this line, hunching my hips forward and back in time with the to and fro of the thrusts of my fingers.

I pressed my knees even further ahead, lifting her back right off the ground and her ass high in the air. Her thighs fell back against her chest, her knees by her head, pressed tight by my forearms as I released her ankle and pulled my fingers from her pussy. I gently inserted the fingers of both hands between her pussy lips and pulled her cunt open, revealing the wet pink slit and a gaping hole widened by my thrusting fingers. Leaning down, I enveloped her wide open pussy in my mouth, pushing my tongue into that open orifice. I sucked and wiggled my tongue in that hole as I thrust and hunched my cock against the small of her back, its tip reaching to the start of the crease between her ass cheeks. I kept it up until my spunk splashed all over her back. Then I released her, her hips and legs falling to the ground on either side of my knees as I withdrew.

I knelt there watching her. Her forearm again covered her eyes. When her breath returned sufficiently to allow speech, she whispered hoarsely, "My god, Ronny, my god!"

Standing, I removed my boxer shorts. I stood there, naked, watching her. She smiled suddenly, "You've made such a mess on my back." She twisted her body, writhing slowly against the grass to rub my mess off. When she arched her back, her breasts were thrust against the material of her underdress, bunched on her belly beneath her tits. My cock started to rise as I watched her sexy undulations. I knelt before her again. Leaning over her, I grasped her underdress and pushed it up and over her breasts, baring her tits to me for the first time in my life that I could remember. Shoving the material up to her neck, I brought my hands down to grasp a tit in each hand, squeezing and massaging them like small balloons filled with water.

I pressed my cock against her pussy, lining my shaft up with her slit, pushing it to split her lips so they partially encased my now hardened cock. I began sawing back and forth along her wet crevice. She gasped and moaned out loud, "Ohhhhhhh, that feels so good. ... Ohhhhhhh .... Don't let it go inside, Ronny," she gasped, "Promise me or I'll stop." When I kept silently shoving my prick along her crack, she repeated, "I mean it, Ronny. Promise, or I'll stop."

"I ... promise ... Mom," I gasped, barely able to speak. I pressed harder, shoving my cock along her faster and faster. "I promise, Mom, .... I promise," I repeated, shoving, shoving, shoving, squeezing her tits. It wasn't long before I released another load of spunk, this time on her belly and spraying her tits. I collapsed on her, pressing my softening cock hard against her belly. I didn't move for a long time. She traced her fingers across my shoulder, down my back and along my sides. At some point, she began to sing a lullaby as she softly stroked me.

When I finally stood up, our clothes were dry. As we dressed, I noticed our tractor working one of our fields far in the distance. Following my gaze, shading her eyes with her hand, Mom softly said, "There he is in his world, and here we are in ours."

As we approached the road from the grassy trail to the picnic spot, Mom quietly announced, "This can be our church on Wednesdays, Ronny, if you like."

"I like, Mom, I replied."

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Four long days to Sunday. I suggested a shopping trip to town on Saturday but Dad said no. On Sunday, I started feeling Mom's pussy when were barely out of the yard. My hand quickly slipped up to her belly and down into her panties so I could massage her bare pussy. Not much longer and I had three fingers buried in her cunt. I tried to drive straight to the picnic spot but she wouldn't let me.

"We can't miss church on Sundays, Ronny. Picnics are for Wednesdays."

I was so eager to head home after church that Mom became irritated with my impatience while she shopped for supplies. I wanted to head for the picnic spot as soon as possible. When we finally left town, I began groping her before we even crested the hill. Mom was not pleased. In fact, she became quite annoyed with me, pushed my hands away and moved to sit close to her own door. There was no picnic site that day.

I sulked the rest of that day and Monday but by Tuesday I had learned my lesson and was extra helpful to Mom. On Wednesday, we left for our extra 'church' visit. Mom sat by her door again. As we neared the turnoff to the picnic site, she was still there. Suitably admonished, and feeling I was still going to be punished, I slowed the car just a little, hopeful, but applied the gas again to go by the turnoff when she gave no indication that she wanted to stop. Disappointed and flustered, I drove past the turnoff.

Within a hundred yards, Mom spoke, "Let's show our faces in town, stop into the church, have an ice cream and then come home. Alright, Ronny?"

"Yes," Mom," I replied dully.

"And let's pick up some cokes for our picnic. Would you like that?"

"I sure would, Mom," I replied enthusiastically. "I sure would."

"Good. Let's hurry then, so we can have lots of time in the sun for our picnic."

I pushed the gas pedal to the floor to move that old Ford along. This was no Bonnie & Clyde V8 model. Mom still sat on her side of the car, but that was OK. The future looked bright.

Mom didn't dally in town, except when we had our ice creams. She made a brief visit to the church, making sure to say to several people on the way there and back to the general store. But she took her time sitting on the veranda of the store eating her ice cream, making an exaggerated display of licking her cone when she and I were alone. On the way home, she shifted positions to sit next to me, opened her legs and pulled her dress up, holding it in place with her hands on either side of her hips.

"I'm really in the mood for a picnic, Ronny," she sighed, closing her eyes and laying her head on my shoulder.

I moved my hand down gently -- I certainly didn't want to incur another hiatus from picnics -- and moved into place at the juncture of her thighs. SHOCK. Mom wasn't wearing any panties, and she was already moist.

"Mmmmmmmm," she purred as my fingers entered her slit and softly moved up and down. I continued my gentle ministrations of her lips, and sideways rubs with my thumb on her clit, until we turned off to the picnic site. Mom was moaning softly by that time, her eyes still closed. When I shut off the engine, she spoke, still not opening her eyes, "Go spread out the blanket and call me when you're done."

With lightning speed I spread the blanket and returned to escort Mom, offering my hand in the most gentlemanly manner I could muster. "Thank you, sir," she acknowledged my effort as she took my hand. Before she sat on the blanket, she unbuttoned her dress, slowly, while I watched. She never took her eyes off me, a slight smile on her lips the whole time. Pushing the dress off her shoulders and over her hips, she sat down immediately. She was completely naked. She held her arms up to me, beckoning. I undressed in a flash and settled on top of her between her opened legs.

Pulling me to her, she whispered, "You can do anything you want but you can't put your thing inside me. Understand?"

"Yes, Mom," I eagerly agreed, "I understand." I quickly began moving my rigid cock against her pussy mound, rutting between her wet, swollen lips.

"Wait," Mom instructed. "First, I want to feel your mouth on me, like you did before." Her hands had moved to my shoulders, pressing me down. As I succumbed to her will, she moved to grasp my head, steering my mouth until it was where she wanted it. "Yessss," I heard her moan, "That's it, do it, do it, ohhhhhhhh."

I didn't rush. I took my time. I realized this was special and would pay handsome rewards. I sucked and licked for a long time. I alternated between lapping her with my tongue and jabbing in her like a little cock. I even inserted my finger in her when I was licking up high on her slit, which she seemed to like the best. A long time later, Mom confided that I was the only one who had ever done that for her.

When she was done, while she was still gasping, I moved up and furiously humped my cock against her soaking pussy until I came. Rising to my knees as I was still shooting my spunk, I spurted come above her belly to splash some on her tits. Waddling forward, my knees on the ground straddling her tummy, I laid my cock down between her tits, pressing them together to encase my still spasming tool. My final squirts dribbled onto the base of her neck.

"What's it feel like, Mom, to have a mouth on your secret parts?" I asked, pushing my cock toward her head in little minithrusts.

She laughed, not fooled in the least by my 'innocent' question. "Oh, I don't know what it would feel like for a man. You'd like to find out, would you?"

She laughed again, then formed her lips into an exaggerated kiss, lips protruding, then widened her mouth into an open and pouting oval ring. Her eyes danced with mirth and truly sparkled when she saw my cock already lifting into its recovery. Raising up and forward on my knees I guided its tip to her mouth, pressing against her pouting lips. Gently, I moved it back and forth sideways on her lips. When she tipped her head forward and opened her lips, I pushed it gingerly inside, feeling the warmth of a wet mouth on my cock for the first time in my life.

She closed her mouth on my cock, swirling her tongue all around its head, then back and forth underneath. She moved her head back and forth, moving her mouth down over my shaft and then sucking as she withdrew. Then she lay still, moving her little hand up to loosely grip my hip, her eyes flashing a questioning expression.

Slowly, I began to move my cock in and out of her mouth, my own eyes questioning. When her eyes flashed a confirming response, I starting moving my cock faster. When I moved too fast for her, she pinched my hip. I immediately slowed. She governed my speed like that but only had to control me two or three more times. I fucked her mouth. I was glad I had already come because I wouldn't have lasted in her mouth for twenty seconds if I hadn't. As it was, it was only a few minutes before I felt the surge coming. Panicked, I pulled out as it began emerging from my cock, sure that she wouldn't want it inside her. Even though I'd come only ten minutes earlier I still squirted quite a bit of spunk on her face.

Wiping it off, she told me I could keep it in when I was in her mouth, acknowledging we would do this again. She washed her face in the creek and returned to the blanket suggesting we drink our cokes. We lay there, relaxing and sipping our cokes, chatting about life but mostly just surveying our surroundings. When she was finished, she turned onto her tummy to snooze in the sun. I did likewise.

I woke to realize I had fallen asleep. Looking over, I saw that Mom was still asleep. Admiring her naked body, my cock began to rise again. Ah, the power of youth. With my foot, I pressed her right foot away from me, opening her legs wider, then got in behind her. Lowering myself, I carefully lined up my hard cock with the crease in her ass. Gently, I pressed it between her cheeks and slowly started moving back and forth. Her body rocked slightly with my movements but she didn't wake up until I dug my cock deeper between her cheeks, its head nudging against her rear hole.

"Ronny, what are you doing?" Her voice was soft, quiet.

"I can't help it, Mom. You look so good. I need to rub you again."

"OK, honey, but not there." She reached around to grasp me with her right hand. Pulling my cock away, she redirected it to slip between her legs, right under her bum. When she felt it there, she closed her legs, trapping it in a tight grip. "There," she said, "do it there."

As I began moving again, she lifted her hips to let her hand slip underneath. On a downward plunge, I felt her hand receive my cock, her fingers keeping my cockhead pressed tightly against the underside of her crotch, reaching far enough to rub the bottom of her pussy. "Do it. Oh, Ronny, do me," she said.

Oh, and you bet I did. I really humped on her until I spilled my seed into her hand.

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I couldn't wait until Sunday. By Friday, I had a constant boner because I couldn't stop thinking about Mom. I had to avoid my father more than usual because it was so obvious. Coming downstairs for breakfast, I had to turn around and wait until he had left for the fields. When I did come down, Mom let me know he was angry that I had slept in because he needed my help. I was to walk out to the north field as soon as I'd had breakfast, and she was to make a lunch because I'd be there all day.

"Well, you can't go out there like that," she said, looking at my tenting pajamas, laughing, "You won't be able to walk."

I walked toward her, pulling my pajamas out and down, releasing my bobbing dick. I stood before her, looking helpless, pleading.

With an expression that kinda said, 'Good grief', she took it into her hand and dropped to her knees. "Alright, but I'm not doing this every day." She sucked me until I exploded in her mouth, pulling out to let a little splash on her face. "I think you like doing that," she accused me.

She was both right and wrong. I did like doing that, and after that she did suck me off every day. As she washed her face in the sink, I lifted her skirt and began lapping at her from behind. She shuffled her feet back and apart to allow my tongue better access. Soon, she was on all fours on the floor, her skirt thrown over her back, my face firmly embedded in her ass as I licked the bottom of her slit. I lifted her right off the floor, her thighs clenched around my head, stabbing my stiff tongue in her until she shuddered to a climax.

Well, that's all for now. Mom and I had a long relationship that lasted long after my father passed away. I'll tell you more about it later, but first I hope to hear back from some of you about your own memories of your moms.

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I was hard. If true, then my father had almost fucked my grandmother. Had they gone all the way? I flipped through the rest of the stories in the first bundle, looking for a continuation of my father's story. But it wasn't there. Nor was it in the next bundle. I found it on top of the the third bundle. Feverishly, I opened it and started to read.


The Mom Memories Ch. 02
byalwayswantedto©

All characters are 18 years or older.

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from Chapter 01 ...

If true, then my father had almost fucked my grandmother. Had they gone all the way? I flipped through the rest of the stories in the first bundle, looking for a continuation of my father's story. It wasn't there, nor was it in the next bundle, but I did find it on top of the third bundle. Feverishly, I opened it and started to read.

...

I just can't believe the response. I mean, I believe your stories. I just can't believe that so many of you have gone through the same kind of thing as I did with my mother. I thought I was alone, or that there would be just a handful of us. But there are so many of your stories right in front of me. For example, Frank's story. Let me circulate his story to you before I tell you more about me and my mother Ellen, as so many of you have asked.

--------------------------------

No, no, no. I wanted to find out if he'd done my grandmother. I didn't give a shit about Frank. I could remember my grandmother when she was old but I'd seen old pictures when she was younger, and quite a desirable woman. But, I started to read Frank's letter, anyway.

--------------------------------

Hi everyone. My name is Frank. I won't say my mother's name, I'll just call her Mom. My story isn't that long and maybe not that exciting, but it is what happened. My Mom and Dad always seemed to get on well and were about the same age. I was close to Mom because I was sickly as a small child. There was something wrong with my heart so I couldn't be active in sports. So I'd always been closer to Mom than Dad and she always doted on me. We spent a lot of time together.

But that all changed when I discovered girls. Or, should I say, one particular girl. I became interested in girls late, not until final year in school. I went on a few awkward dates and Mother tried to be helpful to make sure I did OK. So she would ask me about the girls and give me advice on how to deal with them. She just hated for me to be disappointed.

Then I met this girl in first year college. Mom knew something was different because I didn't want to discuss her. This really piqued her curiosity and she was relentless in trying to find out more about Donna. Now, I really did like this girl but I think the reason I wasn't so eager to discuss her with Mom was because she'd already taught me a lot and I didn't need to ask her much anymore. Things were going well; I didn't need help. And this seemed to be exactly what seemed to bother Mom. She wanted to be involved, to be in the know, for us to be confidants again.

Mom queried me when I got home. She'd corner me in the kitchen when Dad was watching TV, in the living room if he was working in the garage, or even come to my room to grill me. Somewhere along the line, I changed from avoiding Mom to feeding her a line, about how Donna was different from the other girls, more mature, sexier. I even mentioned that her figure was more womanly than the girls I'd gone out with before, how she was more confident and more casual about her dress. "Not sloppy," I assured her, just that she didn't get flustered if part of her blouse opens a bit, or her skirt rides up when we're laying around studying. And there was that one time when she was just wearing a long nightdress, because she'd forgotten I was coming over and had gotten ready for bed early.

"Well," she said, "you want to be careful, Frank. You don't want to have to get married and not finish college."

"Oh, Mother," I replied, "we're not going to go that far." And then I added, impishly, "It's just that she looks so good, Mom. It's a great feeling to be around a woman who's comfortable with you, who doesn't mind letting you enjoy seeing her."

"Oh, I see," Mom's voice trailed off and she looked away, up toward the ceiling. "I see," she said again, and wandered off.

Now, I had led Mom on a bit. Donna had been in her nightdress but she'd covered herself up with a housecoat before we started studying, and the glimpses of her legs and bosom were not intentionally provided. I just thought I'd put Mom off her questioning by providing answers that might embarrass her. But it didn't. In fact, it seemed to intrigue her even more, and something else: It made her jealous that another woman was garnering her son's attention.

I twigged to this the next day when Mom asked me again about how 'comfortable' Donna was with me, and how she showed it. This is where something evil in me sprang forth, something that made me lead Mom further down the garden path rather than admitting that I'd stretched the truth a bit.

"Well," I answered, "she shows her legs at lot. I mean, she doesn't dress in really short, slutty skirts or anything like that. But she wears night clothes when we're at her place, you know, slips and stuff that she only wears around the house. But she's not fussed about me seeing her like that. It's nice."

"Nice," Mom repeated. "And is that it, she let's you look at her legs?"

"Well, if she's wearing button up pajamas," I pushed a little further," she doesn't seem to mind if a button or two comes loose. It's nice to look at a woman, especially when she lets you. It doesn't do any harm. It's just looking."

"I see," Mom responded, "I see."

After dinner, I was sitting in the living room reading over my notes for an upcoming exam while Dad was watching a baseball game. Mom had gone upstairs after finishing the dinner dishes instead of joining us in the living room as she usually did. When she came downstairs, she had already changed for bed. She was covered in a floor length robe and wore her fluffy pink slippers. She sat down in the chair next to the couch to read a magazine.

The movement of her foot, bouncing in time to some music heard only by her, distracted me from my studying. The robe had fallen from her dancing leg, baring it to her knees but was held from parting further by the magazine Mom held in her lap. Her foot was tapping to the silent melody as well, and twisting around in a small circle.

Now, I had seen my Mom's legs before, up to her knees in any of the dresses she normally wore, and all the way up in the summer when we went swimming. But I began to pay more attention to her legs and her swirling foot than I did to my notes. I sensed that there was something strange in the air, given our conversation earlier that day and the one before. Something was very different. I could feel it, and there was something odd about the pleased smile on her face.

Suddenly, I noticed her looking at me, watching my eyes following her legs. Flustered, I went red in the face but I couldn't help looking back down at her legs, which never stopped moving.

"Studying for a big exam?"

"Uh, yeah," I managed to squawk.

"Would you like some help? I could ask you questions." She tossed her magazine aside and leaned forward, reaching out for my notebook, which I numbly handed to her. She asked me a question, to which I didn't respond.

"Come on, Frank," she urged me, stretching her leg out, scrunching her foot until her slipper fell off, poking me in the knee with her bare, pink-nailed toe.

I stumbled out an answer which I'm sure was wrong, but she went on to ask me more questions without saying anything. After each question, she poked the side of my knee with her toe, curling her foot as she drew it back a bit. The strange smile never left her face.

After a few more questions, my Dad burst in, "Come on you guys, take it upstairs. I can't hear the game."

Mom stood, "Come on then Frank," and walked off with my notes. I followed her upstairs to my room, watching her hips sway from side to side all the way up the stairs. In my room, she motioned for me to sit on my bed. She closed the door and latched it. "We don't want to be disturbed while we're studying, now do we?" she said as she walked over to the chair by my desk.

She dragged the chair closer to the bed and then sat in it, facing me, crossing her legs as she laid my notes on her knees. "Now, where were we?"

I watched her legs as she wiggled her foot while looking over my notes, until her slipper fell off. She continued twisting her foot around, drawing my attention to her feet. "Oh, yes, here we are," she said, lifting the notebook and letting her robe part a little above her knee, exposing the side of her thigh just a little. She began to ask me questions.

Every once in a while, she would lift her leg and poke at the side of the bed beside me where I sat with my back against the headboard. She would hold her leg there, the muscles tensing as she pushed at the bed and relaxing as she released the pressure on the mattress. When she pulled her leg away to cross it on the other, her robe would slip a little higher up her thigh. She would then pull her robe together to cover her legs, but not every time. I could see more and more of the side of her thigh, the curve of her leg at the bottom drawing my eyes as it dropped down in a gradual swell out to the fullness of her thighs.

The first time she left her robe open was after she'd left her foot on the bed, continuing to ask me questions, her leg on full display the whole time. When she pulled her leg back, she didn't cross it over the other one right away. Instead, she held the notebook up high, hiding her face, while her legs were openly displayed right up to the top of her thighs. She examined my notes like this for several minutes, allowing me to freely gaze at her open legs before saying, "Oh yes, here we are," and casually crossed her legs again.

I had long since raised my knees to rest my head on them, partly to improve my view of her legs and partly to hide my raging boner. When Mom heard Dad come up the stairs and enter the bathroom to get ready for bed, she stood and leaned down to give me a kiss.

"Would you like me to help you study tomorrow night too, honey?"

I tried to look into her eyes but I couldn't tear my own eyes away from the vista yielded by her parted robe as she bent over, a clear horizontal view inside her lacy, yellow nightgown revealing unencumbered, dangling breasts, nipples barely covered by the flimsy material. Mistaking my lack of response, she went on, "Well, you think about it and let me know."

She stood and, hips swaying, walked to the door where she turned and smiled sweetly before she went out.

The next day, Mom wore a white blouse and heavily pleated skirt that fell to her knees. Although conservative, I couldn't help but keep my eyes on her legs while she prepared dinner. I don't think this was lost on her and she seemed pleased. As dinner ended, just as Dad was getting up to retire to the living room, Mom asked, "Are you going over to Donna's to study tonight, dear?" As she finished her question, she brought her hand up to toy with the top button on her blouse, threading it loose after Dad left the kitchen and pushing her blouse apart a little. She gave me a funny little smile.

Although I had made arrangements to study with Donna, I changed my mind on the spot. "Uh, no. I thought ... maybe, you could help me out again, Mom."

"Oh, I'd be happy to. I like helping you, Frank."

When I started to help clear up the dishes, Mom shooed me away. "You go get ready to study," she insisted, "and I'll be right up."

I went to my room and changed into my pajamas. I couldn't sit there for another hour in my jeans like the night before, bending the hell out of my dick. I dragged the desk chair closer to the bed so her feet would stretch right onto the bed against my leg or, if she pushed her feet on the edge of the mattress, her she'd have to lift and bend her knees, which would make her skirt slide up her thighs. Then I waited. I couldn't help touching my dick and rubbing it, congratulating mysel on my cleverness, while erotic images of my mother played in my head.

When she came, she was wearing the same floor length robe. I wasn't disappointed because I was looking forward to it parting over her gorgeous legs as she stretched them from the chair to my bed. But Mom ignored the chair. She came directly over to the foot of the bed, kicked off her slippers, and sat on the end of the bed, crossing her legs yoga style. Her legs were completely covered by her robe, and there was no way it could open to show her legs while she was sitting like that.

"Hand me your notes," she commanded, stretching her hand out. I passed them over, disappointment turning to embarrassment as I shamefully realized that, in this new seating configuration, I was left with nothing to hide my still hard cock tenting my pajamas. I closed my legs together, trying to hide it. Mother didn't seem to notice as she immediately launched into a series of questions.

As our interaction turned into a real study session, quite like my real visits with Donna, my hardon subsided. Just as I was really thinking about my exam, Mom stretched, arching her back as her arms reached up toward the ceiling. "Oh, I need a break," she said, standing up. She walked in a little circle and stopped again at the end of the bed. Without saying anything, she toyed with the belt on her robe, loosening it slowly, and then pulled it completely undone. Opening the robe with her hands, she pulled it wide, holding it open for a moment, and then slipped it off her shoulders, wriggling her hips to help it fall to the floor. She stood there for another moment, clad only in her nightdress, before saying, "Are you comfortable studying with me, sweetheart?"

"Yeah, Mom. You're great to study with," I blurted out, closely examining her figure, her body hardly hidden by the thin material of her nightgown which fell short of her knees. The thin silky material clung to the side of her breasts despite the plunging, lace-lined neckline in the front, the holes in the lacy part providing tantalizing peeks at the skin underneath. She stretched again, her breasts bulging and almost parting her bodice.

"Good," she said, "because I'm very comfortable studying with you, you know."

She resumed her position on the bed, again crossing her legs, but this time they were bare, and her openness lifted the hem way up, so high I could see her panties. Instead of holding my notes in front of her, she laid them on the bed between us, leaning over to read, opening a gap in her bodice which allowed me a clear view of her bare breasts as they dangled slightly from her chest.

She asked questions slowly from then on. It was as if we both understood that studying was now peripheral to something else we were doing. As my cock hardened and bulged against my pajamas, I realized she could see it, just as I could see her panties from my similar vantage point. I didn't care. I didn't want to move lest I break the spell surrounding my bed. I kept my eyes steadily on her jiggling breasts, straining to peer down the gap in her nightgown as she leaned over, absurdly far, to read my notes.

Mom nudged the notes closer to me until the top edge pressed against the bottom of my legs. She grasped my ankles, pressing down on them to lift herself, and dragged herself forward closer to me, bringing her bent knees to rest under my legs that were stretched over hers so that my feet were planted on either side of her thighs. Her gaze fell to my tented pajamas.

"Is this how you study with Donna?"

"Yes," I lied.

"Is this how she lets you look at her?"

"Yes," I lied again, "almost."

"Almost?" Mom asked.

"She lets me touch her legs." Truth had now been left far behind.

"Like this?" Mom took my hands and laid them on the upside of her knees where they were bent, her calves tightly squeezing against the bottom of her thighs. When she drew her hands away, I started to stroke her legs along the crease between her calves and the inside of her thighs.

"Yes," I croaked out.

"Do my legs feel as nice as hers?"

"Better," I croaked again.

"Better?" she smiled.

"Yes."

She seemed pleased. "What else does she let you do?"

"She lets me look at her, up here," I nodded at her chest. Pinnochio must be turning over in his grave. Mom looked skeptical.

"She does. Honest, Mom," I lied shamelessly, holding the most innocent look I could muster on my face. I stared at her breasts intently. I let my palms fall flat against her leg, near the juncture of her thigh and her hip, my thumbs trailing down between her legs. I gently pinched her legs as I stared, as if to emphasize how important it was to see her breasts.

"You're sure she lets you do that?"

"Yes, Mom. She really does." I slid my hands deeper between her legs.

"Alright, then. But just a peek for now." She reached down, grabbed the hem of her nightie and pulled it up, slowly. It seemed to take forever to bare her belly. It took even longer to clear the bottom of her breasts, but then there they were, her hands held up in front of her face, holding her nightgown, her tits springing out toward me.

Gorgeous. Simply fantastic, beautiful tits. Her arching back stripped any sag that might be there and jutted her nipples into the air. Just as I was losing all restraint, about to plunge my mouth down onto one of those incredible globes, she yanked her nightie down.

"That's all for tonight," she gasped, her breathing rapid for some reason, matching my own. We sat facing each other, in collusion. She smiled, then laughed softly. "Maybe we're getting too comfortable with each other," she sighed, leaning her head forward.

I moved ahead myself, until we were cheek to cheek. I looked down at my hands on her thighs. My cock was very, very hard. I could tell that it had poked through the open fly in my pajamas and was bare to her sight.

"I don't think so, Mom. I think we're just right, perfectly comfortable."

Reaching up I tilted her head forward tight against my cheek so that she was facing straight down at my cock, its head straining up toward her. Neither of us spoke and there was no other acknowledgement that my bare cock was pointing up to her face. I pushed my left hand even deeper between her thighs and let my thumb slide out across the front of her panties.

To distract her from this action I immediately prompted, "Could I look one more time before I go to bed, Mom?" as if I was asking for yet another bedtime story like I always did when I was little, and she always complied. I held her head against me as once more she lifted her nightgown up and over her breasts.

"Let me look for a while, Mom," I pleaded, continuing to brush my thumb across her panties.

After a minute, I dropped my right hand down from her head, and slowly moved it toward her hanging breast. We both watched, heads together, as my hand moved closer until it cupped her right tit. Gently, I brought pressure to bear until I was squeezing her tit, massaging it. She didn't pull away. I pulled down on it, squeezing as my palm and fingers slid off, pinching her nipple and tugging it down toward the bed.

"Thanks, Mom. This is more than Donna ever let me do," I finally spoke the truth. "I want to study with you all the time."

"I'd like that, son."

"You'll always do more for me, won't you Mom?" It was a rhetorical question, the answer understood.

"Yes, baby. I'll always do the most for you, more than any girl," Mom answered anyway.

Just then we heard Dad coming down the hall. We hadn't heard him climbing the stairs. He paused outside my door, which this time Mom hadn't latched. We froze, like deer caught in headlights.

"I'm going to bed," Dad called out.

"OK dear. I'll be right there. We're almost finished," Mom answered, managing to speak in a normal voice.

I reached up to pull Mom's head further forward. I kept pulling, increasing the pressure, slowly pulling her head down toward my quivering cock.

"More, Mom, more," I pleaded, almost whining.



Dad's footsteps retreated toward the bathroom.

I pulled my other hand away from her panties to place it against the back of her head too.

"Please, Mom. More," I repeated. I heard the bathroom door close.

"More," I gasped as I felt her dry lips squeeze over the head of my cock.

"More," I said again as I my cock pushed into her mouth.

"More," I gasped louder as I pulled her head down and thrust my hips forward, my cock tasting the wet feel of her tongue as it slid under my shaft.

"More ... more ... more, " I rasped as I hunched my hips erratically, again and again, fucking my cock into her mouth.

"Mommy ..." I cried out loud a minute later, spurting my come into her mouth, holding her tighter with each spasm, each release of my spunk into her throat.

I fell back against the pillows, my hands loosely holding Mom's head on my softening cock.

She didn't look up. She kept her her face down on my cock, bathing it with her tongue until it lay limp in her mouth.

"Tomorrow, I need to start studying for my history exam," I announced.

She nodded her head, springing new life into my young cock. She squeezed it in her mouth.

"Dad's already gone to bed," I stated for good measure, trying to keep her there as my cock swelled and hardened in her mouth.

She nodded again, the action sliding her mouth over my cock. I grasped her head more tightly, thrusting gently, fucking her sweet mouth for the second time in ten minutes, for the second time in my life.

Well friends, that's it for now. I'll tell you more about me and Mom in my next letter. In the meantime, I look forward to reading your stories.

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Wow, I thought, I'd have to keep a look out for the rest of Frank's story while searching for Dad's. My own cock was bursting uncomfortably against my jeans. I was just about to loosen my pants when I was jolted out of my reverie.

"How's it going?" Mom asked, her head poking just inside the study door. I hadn't heard it open. I almost jumped out of my chair.

"Mom! You scared the hell out of me," I complained.

"Oh, sorry. I was just about to go to bed and I need help to get Dad out of his chair."

"Ok, Mom, I'll be right there."

I picked up a folder and tossed it over the letter I'd just finished reading, then fussed about like I was busy until Mom left. I needed a moment to let my excitement subside. When I left the office I was surprised to find Mom waiting by the stairs. She started up when she saw me and I fell in behind her. And that's where my eyes stayed ... on her behind.

I guess reading these letters made me think of my own Mom. As I examined my Mother's behind, I remembered her treating me to glimpses of her body over the years. A flash of cleavage here, a look up her dress there, always when my father wasn't around. In fact, she would almost always treat me when he wasn't there. Unfortunately, that was rare. My Dad worked as an insurance consultant from home, and was almost never away. I don't know if it was the letters or my Mother's still shapely ass that caused the rush of blood to my pecker, but it was definitely stirring by the time we topped the stairs and walked the length of the hall to my parents' room.

Father was waiting in his wheelchair. Mom had already changed him into his pajamas. He only needed to be transferred to the bed. Since he'd had his stroke, Dad just sat in his chair or propped up in bed, seemingly unaware of his surroundings. I immediately moved to pull Dad up, holding him by slipping my arms under his while Mom moved the chair out of the way, and then turning to sit him on the bed. I lay him on the pillows and swung his legs onto the bed. Mom pulled the covers over him and plumped the pillows to make him comfortable. Then she stood looking at him with me behind her. Dad gazed into space.

"Oh, Davy," she cried softly, stepping back into me. I curled my arms around her shoulders, grasping my own arms to hold her snugly against me. We swayed slightly back and forth as Mom stared at Dad. I realized that my arms were crossed right across her breasts. I don't believe, had I not read those letters, that I would have noticed this, or been self conscious about it. But now, I was extremely aware that my forearms bore the weight of her breasts, and could feel her nipples pressing just below the crook of my elbows.

Looking over her shoulders, I could see that Mom's robe had loosened while we were getting Dad into bed and her lapels had parted sufficiently that my arms were directly against her nightgown. Only the barest fraction of an inch of material separated my bare arms from her warm breasts. I felt myself stir down below and squeezed her tighter, mashing her tits against me.

"Not so tight, sweetie," she whispered, as if Dad shouldn't hear.

"Sorry, Mom," I replied, loosening my hold a little. "You don't need to whisper, you know."

Mom twisted her head up to speak to me, moving her breasts on my arms as she did so. "I know, but he's less agitated when its quiet, and he can see and hear, you know."

Turning back to look at him, her nipples grazed the inside of my forearms. I held my arms looser against her now so that my arms kept brushing her nipples. Perhaps to avoid my touch, she pressed back against me, contacting my groin where my cock continued to stir. My arms followed, renewing their light contact against her.

"The doctor told me that Dad's mind had regressed, kind of like in alzheimers. He said Dad would recognize you but think I was him when he was younger." I was lying, like Frank had lied about Donna.

"Really? They didn't tell me that. Which one told you that?"

"That specialist guy, the older one. I don't remember his name," I replied. "He told me in the waiting room when you were talking to the other doctors. He said it would be comforting for Dad if he saw you and me together. He didn't talk to you?" I needed time to develop this line of bullshit that was forming in my head.

"No. Are you sure he said that?"

"Yeah, he said that even if it was a little awkward that I should act like I was Dad. He said I should hug you and be intimate with you. He said it would stir Dad's memories and might help him recover a bit. Maybe."

"Oh. But I don't see how ..."

"He said Dad would think I was him, and that he was reliving memories with you. He said intimate moments make the most potent memories and were the most likely to bring him back." I knew where I was going with this now.

"But why wouldn't he have told me?" Mom asked.

"He said a mother might feel awkward asking for that kind of help from her son, even though she would certainly go along with it for her husband's sake. He said he was going to talk to you about it later but if you didn't say anything to me I should take the initiative. He said it was experimental, and the other doctors might not agree with it so we shouldn't discuss it with them."

"Well, what should we do?"

"He said to start with just hugging and stuff, then see how it goes."

"But how far ..." Mom's voice trailed off, perhaps not wanting to finish her sentence, to follow where it lead.

I jumped in, "He said to go slowly, but it was important to keep going until we got a reaction from him." I moved my arms around on her breasts, my arms tight enough that I could feel her nipples bend with my movements.

"But he doesn't react to anything," Mom protested.

"I know, Mom, but we have to try until he does." I couldn't help pressing my groin forward, becoming excited as I anticipated what might happen. "Just close your eyes, Mom. I'll just hug you and kiss your cheek. Maybe he'll remember himself kissing you."

Mom closed her eyes. I nuzzled her neck, then began brushing her cheeks with my lips and planting little kisses there. Folding my wrists around the curve of her breasts, my hands formed a case to hold them as I rocked gently into her behind. After several minutes of this, Mom opened her eyes.

"Did he do anything?" she asked, a little breathless.

"No. Be patient, Mom. It'll probably take a while. Here, take this off so it looks like you're getting ready for bed. Maybe that will jog his memory." I slipped Mom's robe off.

Mom stood there, eyes closed again. I didn't close in behind her right away. I just had to look at her, standing in just her sleeveless nightgown, her back bared in a 'V' down the middle. I moved in to retake my position, put my arms around her and nestled my groin against her rump, now covered only by the thin nightgown. I dropped my head to nuzzle her cheek, kissing her and running my lips down the side of her neck. Within minutes I was running from her cheek to her shoulder, planting little kisses all the way. I slipped my right under her arm and snaked it around under her breasts to grasp her waist. I kissed her ear. She sighed softly. I traced its outline delicately with my tongue, then dipped it inside. She sighed again. I pressed harder against her bottom.

Suddenly, she broke away, looking flustered.

"Did he do anything," she gasped, not looking at me, her face going a little red.

"No, Mom." Then, sensing that she might be reaching her limit for this kind of behavior from her son, I added, "Maybe that's enough to get him started. I think we should leave it until tomorrow. What do you think, Mom?" I wanted her to sign on to this plan, to be part of it.

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah, Mom. We have to keep it up until he reacts." I needed her commitment in case continuing became questionable later.

"Yes. Ok, tomorrow, then," she agreed, perhaps just to put it off in order to relieve her discomfort, but she had made a commitment and I was happy.

"OK. Goodnight, Mom." I gave her my typical peck on the cheek to emphasize that we were still mother and son outside of our intimate act for Dad's sake. Then I left.

I ran downstairs, back to Dad's study, to renew my search for his letters. By luck, I found one almost right away, at the top of the fourth bundle.

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Hello again all. A little more about my own mother then. As I said, after that day in the kitchen Mom did relieve me with her mouth almost every day and sometimes more often. Every Sunday and Wednesday, we had our full on naked sessions at the picnic site, after working each other up in the car. Mother would let me rub myself anywhere I wanted to, even on her behind, but she wouldn't let me get inside her, anywhere, except her mouth.

I discovered that pleasuring her with my mouth worked best for me. After that, she would let me slide up over her belly and tits to shove my hard cock into her mouth. I just loved fucking her face. If I ate her first, she almost always let me fuck her mouth and pull my cock out after the first spurt or two to drain the rest on her face. I don't know why, but that was always the best part for me.

Once, when Dad was working on the tractor out in the yard, Mom came up behind me as I stood, several feet back in the kitchen from the open doorway but still in plain view, and slipped her hand down the front of my pants. Quickly, I sprang to life as her fingers slid around my shaft, slowly jacking me to full mast, squeezing the head and rubbing her thumb on its helmet. She wouldn't let me turn toward her, or move away from the doorway out of sight. When I was fully hard, she used her other hand to push the front of my trousers down, baring my hard cock to the doorway.

She whispered as she caressed my cock. When Dad turned our way, searching for a tool on the ground, she stopped my flight response, firmly holding me in place, not missing a beat on my cock. As Dad cast about for his tool, Mother worked mine. If he looked up, he would have seen me. She whispered to me about how she wanted to feel my come, tonight, even before Dad went to bed, while he was still downstairs, on her face!

I exploded! She squeezed my cock hard, as if to make it shoot farther. Even though I was five or six feet from the door, I'm sure some shot outside. When I was done, my father forgotten as I spurt my life out, she laughed, "You'd better clean that up before your Father sees it."

That night after supper, while my father sat in the living room drinking his hot rum before going to bed, Mom sucked me in the kitchen. Several times at dinner, when Dad wasn't looking, she had made her mouth into an 'O' and then smiled. When dinner was finished, I was hard as a rock. She held me back in the kitchen, saying she wanted help with the dishes if I wasn't going to work out in the fields. My father seemed pleased with this, I suppose thinking it would embarrass me into working harder. She sucked me like a real whore. She pulled me into the larder and gave me a real wet cocksuck. She kept spitting on it, holding me by my legs instead of my cock, whispering hoarsely when she pulled her mouth off, over and over, "Come on, fuck me with it. ... fuck my mouth ... fuck my face ... come on me," on an on.

I got so excited I was jamming it into her mouth. She didn't mind. She kept egging me on until, finally, I burst onto her face. It didn't come in spurts. It more like a volcano burst. I don't think I've ever come so much in my life.

Mother became more and more sexual like that as the years went by. But she was always unpredictable. She never let me fuck her though. I never got inside her. Until Dad died, that is. Returning from the funeral, I tried to touch her. She still looked sexy to me in her black dress. I mean, I did feel weird trying to feel her up in her funeral dress, but I couldn't help it. She was angry, batting my hands away, "We've just put your father in the ground, for God's sake!"

When we got home she went upstairs to her room and I, properly admonished, made tea for us, wondering when it would be 'proper' for me to start molesting my mother again. Then she called me. "Come upstairs, Ronny. Hurry!"

I ran upstairs. Had she collapsed? Was she overcome with grief?

Bursting into her room I was greeted with a sight I'll never forget. There she was leaning over, her hands planted firmly in the middle of the bed, her black funeral dress pulled up high onto her back, her legs parted and her ass bare. "Where have you been? It's yours now. Come fuck it!"

In a second my pants were down and I was in her. In less than a minute I'd pushed her onto the bed and shoved her head down at the pillow. My first fuck was over a minute later and I collapsed on my mother's back, gasping for breath.

As I lay on her, Mom said, "He would never do me like that. He always had to be in front, on top of me, no other way, always finishing too soon."

In case that was a complaint about my early finish, I set about fucking her again. I fucked her for hours that night, until we fell asleep. I woke up, took a piss, and went back to bed. She was still sleeping, on her tummy, her legs parted. Not to be deterred, I pushed my hard cock into her and started fucking her slowly and gently. When she woke up a few minutes later, I really started into her.

And that's the way it went. That first year after Dad died, maybe two, I fucked her several times a day. On Sundays we stopped at the picnic site and just talked, read books together, or sometimes just napped in the warm sun. It was almost like a shrine to us now.

But the rest of the time, we were always touching. Turning her ass toward me almost guaranteed a good rump fuck. And it wasn't just me. She'd flash her eyes, wiggle her ass, and the chase was on.

The farm suffered. We had to hire help. That's what got me started as the insurance rep for our area. We had to be more careful with help around, but we still managed. It wasn't long before we discovered Mom's other favorite position. One morning, before I woke up, Mom discovered my piss hard, straddled me, and started having herself a nice fuck. I woke to find her leaning over me, her hips slowly grinding up and down, her pussy milking my cock. That was the typical way I woke up from then on.

But she still liked it best from behind, and so did I. It was her favorite for the many, many years I fucked her, until I married, a man of more than forty years, and brought my wife home to live on the farm. But more about that, in my next letter.

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I was too excited about the next day to search for my father's next letter, even though it hinted at Dad fucking my grandmother while my mother was around. But my thoughts were now on a real live woman, my Mom. Tomorrow, I was going to touch her. Tomorrow, I was going to get sexual with my Mom, right in front of my Dad. 





The Mom Memories Ch. 03
byalwayswantedto©

All characters are 18 years or older.

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from Chapter 02 ...

I was too excited about the next day to search for my father's next letter, even though it hinted at Dad fucking my grandmother while my mother was around. But my thoughts were now on a real live woman, my Mom. Tomorrow, I was going to touch her. Tomorrow, I was going to get sexual with my Mom, right in front of my Dad.

...

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The following morning I watched Mom prepare Dad's breakfast while I ate mine. I had risen earlier than usual and gone straight downstairs still in my pajamas, hoping to catch Mom in her nightdress, but no such luck. She was already dressed in a demure housedress that covered her to her knees. Still, I enjoyed watching her move about the kitchen while I ate, imagining what her body looked like under her dress. She did have a charming figure, that much was evident. When I finished, she pointed at the breakfast she'd prepared and asked me to take it up and feed Dad.

"But Mom," I complained, "We talked about this yesterday. The doctor thinks we should do things in front of Dad together. You should feed Dad when I'm in sight behind you."

Mom blushed a little, then agreed that we should feed Dad together. Once again, I enjoyed Mom's behind as I followed her up the stairs. Dad was still in bed. When she asked me to lift him out so she could feed him in his chair, I suggested it would be easier if she sat or kneeled beside him on the bed since it would leave room for me to stay in sight behind her. So mom kicked off her shoes and crawled up onto the bed, standing on her knees in front and to the side of Dad. After handing her his breakfast I crawled up behind her as she began to spoon the mixture of raspberry yogurt and fruit into his mouth. I placed my knees on either side of her calves and closed in behind her but not near enough to touch.

I didn't do anything for the first few minutes. Then, tentatively, I put my hands on the top of her shoulders and began a gentle massage. After a while, Mom leaned back a little. I moved to give her room and she followed, settling on my upper legs. I moved my hands down to massage her back while she continued to feed Dad, a slow process. At one point, I moved my hands to her side, sliding up toward her armpits along the side of her breasts. Mom flinched.

"Oh, gosh, look what I've done!" Awkwardly, she climbed off me, turning to crawl off the bed. "Darn, it's going to stain." She handed me the yogurt with the spoon in it. As she twisted to get her feet on the floor I could see a dollop of red yogurt spilled on her chest. Quickly, she ran into the bathroom, reaching around to unzip her dress. Much as I wanted to, I didn't follow her into the bathroom, although the thought popped instantly into my mind after seeing her unzip her dress. I remained kneeling on the bed, imagining the dress being pushed down off her body.

I heard water running, filling up the bathtub. "Damn, ... damn," I heard her cussing as the tub filled with water. After just a minute or so, the water stopped and I could hear her swishing something around in it. A moment later she emerged from the bathroom, dressed only in the slip she must have been wearing under the dress. There was a faint reddish smudge on it as well, where it lay on top of her right breast. Since she was looking down at it as she walked toward me, I was free to look over her body covered by the thin cotton slip. I could see her dark nipples pressing against the material and I could also discern the outline of her panties, which were not the large Mother kind I was pleased to see.

As she approached the bed, I held the yogurt to her in an unspoken request for her to resume her feeding. Without a word, Mom crawled up on the bed taking her previous position, but stayed up on her knees as she started feeding Dad again. I nestled myself in behind her, placed my hands on her waist, and gently pulled her back until she was again sitting on my thighs. Sliding my hands up and down her waist, I whispered close to her ear, "Don't be so jumpy, Mom." Then, "I'm going to try kissing you on the cheek and neck again, to see if Dad reacts. Keep an eye on him."

I gave her several innocent pecks on the cheek, gradually increasing the duration that my lips were pressed against her cheek, letting them pinch her skin as each kiss ended. My kisses became less innocent, more sensual, though they remained but caresses on her cheek. At the same time, I slowed the movement of my hands along her waist, allowing them to reach high enough that they brushed against the swell of her breasts. I blazed a trail of kisses from her cheek through the hollow of her neck and along her shoulder, returning on the same path with nibbling lips to kiss her cheek again. She shivered several times as I retraced this path several times. Looking down her chest as I progressed, I could see her nipples pushing out. She was getting excited and had stopped feeding Dad.

"Keep feeding him, Mom," I whispered softly in her ear as I started another trek along her shoulder, this time keeping my hands still against the sides of her breasts instead of moving them down to her waist. I let my tongue slip out of my mouth to tease her shoulder. When I encountered the strap of her slip I didn't kiss over it this time. Instead, I used my tongue to drag it over her shoulder and push it down onto her upper arm. As I retraced my path back along her bare shoulder, I pressed my right hand more firmly against her breast and pulled my left out to push the strap off that shoulder as well.

Mom didn't seem to notice that her straps were now hanging on her shoulders. In fact, she had closed her eyes and had stopped feeding Dad again. I let my lips trail up her cheek and beyond to her ear and kissed it quickly before retreating to her cheek. Before heading for her shoulder again, I returned to her ear to plant a longer kiss there. I slipped my left hand over her shoulder to gently grasp her throat, using it to pull her head back. Her neck stretched and bared, I kissed down to the hollow of her neck and around to her throat. I gently nibbled her neck under her chin on the way back, then landed a long, sucking kiss in the hollow of her throat.

Mom's hands had fallen to her lap where they loosely held the almost empty bowl of yogurt. Her slip had fallen forward a bit given the extra range allowed by her loosened shoulder straps. The tops of her breasts were bare and I could see her stiff nipples jutting out just below the edge of her slip. I molded my fingers around the swell of her right breast. I reached down and around her with my left hand to quietly remove the bowl from her hands, setting it on the bed beside us, and then shifted my hand under her arm to grasp her left tit the same way.

Kissing my way back to her ear, I whispered, "Keep your eyes closed, Mom." I let my tongue reach out to trace the circumference of her ear. "I think we should let Dad see you a bit," I whispered, "to jog his memory. Keep your eyes closed, now." I didn't want anything to jar her into stopping now. "I'm just going to raise your slip a bit, so he can see your legs a little better. Just a tiny bit, Mom."

Reluctantly, I slid my hands away from the sides of her tits, down her waist and along her thighs to grasp the hem of her slip. I started dragging it up her legs. "Keep your eyes closed," I reminded her, tugging her slip up several inches until it wouldn't come any further, held by the pressure of her legs against mine.

"Lift up a bit, Mom." As she did, I slid my hands, holding the hem of the slip, under her legs and dragged it way up so that when she dropped back down again it wasn't caught between us. Her thighs were now bare on top of mine, and her rump nestled in my lap separated from my hard cock only by her panties and my pajamas. I was very excited.

Her slip was higher than before on top of her thighs but not anything near as high as I'd pulled the back up. Reminding her to keep her eyes closed, I told her I was going to pull her slip up a little more, just the tiniest bit, so Dad could see her legs and maybe jar a memory of her. Despite my assurance, I pulled her slip right up, uncovering her panties. I couldn't actually see because my view was blocked by her breasts, but I knew they were bare to the world. Awesome!

"He's not reacting yet, Mom. Open your knees a little. Just a little," I begged her. Her legs parted, a good three or four inches. Double awesome!

What else could I do? I didn't want to waste her surprising acquiescence. What could I do? I thought hard.

"He can see you," I whispered, "and me behind you." I hoped I wasn't going too far. "He'll think I'm him. What did he do when he held you like this?" I was deathly afraid that prompting her to speak would break our spell. I waited on pins and needles for her reaction.

"I hardly ever let him. Because of Grandma," she whispered back. Because of Grandma? What did that mean? I had to find out more about that later. I pushed her further.

"But what happened when you did let him?"

"He held my breasts and ..."

I raised my hands up to grasp the sides of her breasts. Holding my breath, I slipped my fingers around to hold her tits in my hands, very gently, lest I break this spell. Still, I couldn't help parting my thumb and index finger to let her nipples slip between them.

"and then ...?"

"He'd try to push me onto my tummy."

I pictured Dad trying to fuck my Mom from behind, like I knew he did with Grandma. Is that why she wouldn't let him? Did she suspect? Did she know? My cock pulsed erratically.

I pushed my chest against her back. "You have to let him, Mom. It could bring him back."

What a shameless asshole I was. I nudged forward more. She resisted. I pressed again.

"No," she whispered.

You're going to ruin it, you dumbfuck, I chastised myself. Nevertheless, I pushed on her back again, letting my hand fall to grasp her waist, keeping it tight against me. I put my head between her shoulder blades and pushed, pressing her up with my knees. She began to yield. I pushed more.

"No," she whispered again, more quietly.

I pushed harder, lifting my hips to lift her rump. She fell forward and I used my hand to push her head down onto the pillow beside Dad. I lifted her slip and draped it on the small of her back, baring her rump except for her panties, a feast for my eyes. I moved forward to press my tented pajamas against her panties. Tentatively, I pressed against her.

"No," she said again, not whispering this time.

I pushed my cock against her anyway, firmly, and kept it pressed in.

"No," she was back to whispering again, hoarsely this time.

"There's a flicker in his eyes," I lied. "We can't stop now!" I cried.

I was too scared to thrust against her ass but I moved enough to rub myself on her. Shifting around, I tried to fit my straining cock into the crack of her ass, finding the sponginess of her pussy where it puffed out below her ass. It was warm, very warm. I was starting to wonder if I could actually fuck her when I started to come. I yanked my hips back, fearful that the feel of my wet spunk would ruin any chance of this happening again. When my hips stopped gyrating, I pulled the slip down to cover her and pressed my hand on her back until she lay flat, breathing heavily.

"It worked, Mom. I saw something in his eyes." Mom lay on the bed, breathing heavily. I looked up at Dad. Shock! He was looking right at me. A piercing look. A hard, flinty glint. Then it was gone.

When I gathered my thoughts I spoke to Mom again, though in a faltering voice, "We have to try again, Mom. It's working." I was still disconcerted by Father's look. Had it been real? I got up from the bed, thankful that Mom couldn't see the soaked front of my pajamas. She was still lying on her tummy when I left. It was all I could do not to climb between her legs and start rubbing myself on her again.

After I showered and dressed, I went downstairs. Mom was there dressed in a fresh blouse and slacks.

"Hi honey," she greeted me. "Would you like me to call you for lunch when its ready?"

We were back to our normal mom/son relationship. "Sure," I called back, heading to Dad's study. I needed to find the rest of his story.

Browsing through the fourth bundle of stories, searching for the rest of Dad's story, I came across one that I thought was by Frank so I started to read it. I had read the first page before I realized it was by 'Francis', not Frank. I continued reading anyway.

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Hi everyone. My name is Francis and this is what happened with my mother. My Mom is quite thin, always has been. She has a fairly pretty face but you wouldn't give her body a second glance because she's quite flat-chested and doesn't have much of an ass, either. But my view on this changed one very hot summer day when I was home from school, still without a summer job.

I spent my time lolling around the house. We didn't have an air conditioner and when the temperature soared, I began shedding clothes, eventually hanging around in just a pair of shorts.

"You're so lucky," Mom said that hot afternoon, wiping the sweat from her forehead with her arm, "being able to wear just shorts."

"You could do the same, Mom. I wouldn't mind," I said with a grin.

"I'm sure you wouldn't," she smiled back.

"Why don't you just wear a bathing suit then?" I suggested.

"I don't have one. You know I don't like going to the beach," she replied in a semi angry tone. Mom didn't like the beach because she was shy about being thin and flat chested. I hadn't seen her at a beach since I was really little.

"Well, just wear a bra and panties, then. It's just like a swimsuit."

"I don't think so, Mister."

"Well, roast then," I casually dismissed her problem, having suggested a solution. I returned to reading my comic book. I had started working my way through my old comic book collection since coming home.

Mom read her magazines, huffing and sighing and complaining about the heat for most of the next hour. I ignored her. Finally, she spoke directly to me again.

"It wouldn't bother you, if I did?" Mom asked.

"Did what?" I replied, not even looking up from my comic.

"Just wore a blouse and panties around the house."

I replied with exaggerated disinterest, "Nope."

Mom went upstairs. When she came back down, I pointedly refrained from looking in her direction, keeping my nose buried in my comic book. After a while, when I could feel she wasn't looking my way, I stole a few glances. She had indeed changed into just a t-shirt and panties. Now, I wouldn't have thought she would need a bra anyway but her t-shirt clung to her chest and I could see her nipples poking against the fabric. I'd never noticed this before. And her t-shirt wasn't quite long enough to cover her panties, so I could see them, too. Despite what I'd said, it certainly wasn't the same as a swimsuit. My swelling prick attested to that!

Acting as if nothing was different, she asked me if I'd like some lemonade if she made some. Nodding absently, I turned my eyes to look at her as she walked away to the kitchen. I was stunned. My mother, who didn't seem to actually have an ass, sported two great looking pear-like globes that moved erotically with each step, pushing out against her panties. How had this treasure been hidden? Her cheeks hung low, rather than sticking out. Was that it?

I got up to follow her and stood watching from the doorway as she made lemonade. Her little ass was truly divine. I would have loved to see it in more revealing panties.

Glancing over her shoulder at me, Mom said, "You're sure this won't bother you?"

"No, not at all," I assured her. I walked up behind her for a closer look at her cheeks. "It's cooler without a bra, isn't it? You don't really need one anyway, you know."

"I'm quite aware that I don't have anything up top, young man," she rebuked me.

"No, no. That's not what I meant," I quickly scrambled to redeem myself. "I only meant that you don't need one to hold things up, ... I mean ... you don't, uh ... you're not saggy like bigger women," I finished off, lamely.

"No, I guess that's a plus," she acknowledged.

"Anyway, big ones were a big thing for Dad's generation. Guys my age like smaller ones," I added, quickly feeling like I was overstepping myself again.

"Is that so?" Mom replied with skepticism.

"Yeah. Really, Mom," I assured her with enthusiasm. "Big ones are ugly."

"Oh." She smiled, then added, "I don't like wearing them anyway, you know. They're uncomfortable and you're right, I don't really need one."

"Well, you shouldn't wear one. You look good without it."

"Hmmmm," Mom responded, turning to face me. "Would guys now-a-days really like to look at small ones like mine?" she asked.

"I would!" I blurted out loud, without thinking, looking at her t-shirt. My face reddened. I started to bluster a recovery, then just stood there.

"I don't think Dad would think very highly of that," she mused and then, with a little laugh, added, "For that matter, I don't think he'd like me wandering around the house in my panties, either."

I just stood there, not knowing what to say or do.

"But what the hell," she said, "It's so hot out." She reached down and tugged her t-shirt down, the stretched material emphasizing her small breasts, and particularly her prominent nipples. "See, this is all your mother has."

I stared down at her chest. She arched her back to amplify her limited assets. Her tits were beautiful in my eyes. They were small, yes, but the normal sized nipples looked extra long on her breasts.

"They're nice," I finally choked. It was clear that I wasn't kidding, that I meant what I said.

"Oh. Well. Thank you very much, Francis." I could tell by her voice, the way her eyes glanced shyly down, that Mom was pleased despite her kidding tone. She really wasn't used to men complimenting her breasts and I could tell she liked it.

"Well, if I did take my shirt off, you wouldn't gawk at my tits all the time, would you?

"No, Mom," I tore my eyes away but they soon strayed back to her t-shirt, latching onto her nipples once again.

"Oh, for heaven's sake. I suppose I could tolerate you looking. I'm sure you'll tire of it soon enough." Mom poured two glasses of lemonade and walked toward the living room with the glasses in hand. "Come on, then."

My eyes fell to her ass as she walked. As I followed her, I noticed for the first time that I was hard. I wondered if she'd noticed the bulge in my shorts.

Mom sat on the couch and started reading her magazine. I sat next to her, not in the chair where I'd been before. I sipped my lemonade, staring at her nipples poking up from her t-shirt. Eventually she looked up, "Is that all you're going to do all day, stare at my tits?"

"Sorry, Mom. I just haven't seen you like this before."

"Well, you're the biggest fan they've ever had, that's for sure. God knows, your father certainly strains his eyes looking at other women with bigger ones," she complained. She looked down at her chest and laughed, "Well, they do seem to like your attention."

Mom turned her eyes back to her magazine, letting me carry on ogling her shirt. I let my eyes stray down to her panties, her open legs providing a great view. I could see the crevice below her mound where her pussy lips parted, pouting out against her panties.

"I thought you were fascinated with my breasts," Mom suddenly asked. Quickly jerking my head up, I could see her looking right at me, a quirky smile on her face. I went beet red. "Go read your comic now," Mom instructed me. I did, but I couldn't help but look over to check her out now and then. She didn't seem to mind. About an hour before Dad usually came home, Mom went upstairs and got dressed in her normal attire. When Dad came in, everything was prim and proper.

When I got up the next day, Mom had gone out shopping. I was sitting on the couch in my shorts reading a comic when she came in the front door about noon.

"My god, it is SO hot out there," she announced, dropping her stuff in the hallway and walking into the living room toward me. "Should we have some lemonade, sweetie?" she asked stopping in front of me.

"Sure," I started to get up.

"No stay, I'll get it," she said. But she didn't move, she just stood there. "Were you bored, honey, sitting here with nothing to look at?" she finally said, that quirky smile reappearing on her face. I could feel the blood flushing to my face. She lifted her foot and stretched it out to me. "Why don't you undo my shoe for me?"

Flustered, I undid the ankle strap and slipped the shoe off her foot. She kept it still in my hand, not pulling it away, so I rubbed the bottom of her foot, then slid my hand up the back of her calf and rubbed the muscle in her leg.

"Mmmmm, that feels good," she sighed. I did this for a minute or two before she pulled her foot away to replace it with the other. I did the same for that foot. Then she pulled it away to and just stood once more in front of me.

Without a word, she dropped her hand to the side of her skirt, cocked her hip, and pulled the zipper down. Uncocking her hip, she let the skirt fall to the floor. Her blouse fell low enough to cover her panties in front so that it looked like she was only wearing her blouse. She stood again for a full minute, just looking down at me while I gazed at her pelvis. "Come on," she finally said, "Let's go get some lemonade."

I followed her into the kitchen, not able to see her ass in just her panties because her blouse covered her backside as well. As she retrieved two large glasses from the cupboard she instructed me to fetch the lemonade from the fridge. When I came up behind her, she told me to reach around and fill the glasses. When I was done, I put the lemonade container back in the fridge and returned to stand behind her. She stood in front of our lemonades, not doing anything. There was a strange tension in the air. I felt awkward but I didn't want to leave.

"Should I take off my blouse and just wear my bra?" she broke the silence. "Would you like that, Francis?"

"Yes, Mom," I whispered.

"Then do it. Take it off for me."

I reached around and fumbled with the buttons on her blouse. I was all thumbs but Mom was very patient. Finally, I had all the buttons undone and I pulled the blouse off her shoulders and down her arms. I stood behind her, holding her blouse in my hands.

She turned to face me. I looked down, avoiding her gaze. She wasn't wearing a normal bra! I could see her tits through the see-through red material and her nipples standing up, stiff and proud.

"They really do like you looking at them, don't they?" she laughed softly, as her nipples visibly stiffened even more. "Do you like them, Francis?"

I nodded my head. "I love them, Mom."

She smiled and reached out to pick up the glasses. "Love? Well, let's go drink some lemonade to that."

As she walked away I thrilled to the discovery of her new matching red panties. They were just a tiny triangular patch that barely reached up onto her ass cheeks. I could plainly see through the material to the globes underneath, and the crack of her ass. The slowness of her pace could have been to avoid spilling the glasses of lemonade but I got the impression she also wanted me to look at her ass. My cock swelled at that thought.

We finally made it to the coffee table and Mom set the glasses down. Then she stood, and just stayed like that. I stood back a little, so I could keep admiring her ass, the narrowness of her waist and the flare of her hips.

"Do you like them?" she asked.

"What?" I feigned innocence.

"My new panties, of course." My cock stiffened at hearing her say panties. "They're the smallest, ... the coolest ... ones I could find without going to one of those thong things." I immediately pictured a thong dividing her pearish cheeks. My cock hardened even more.

"Do you like it too?" she asked.

"Like what?" I played the innocence thing again.

She was having none of it. "My ass, silly. I know you were looking at it. A woman can tell when she's being admired. Do guys your age like little asses too?"

"Yes, they do," I said, and added, "I sure do."

Mom laughed out loud. "Well, your father doesn't. He thinks its too skinny."

"He's crazy."

"You think so?"

"I sure do, Mom."

There was a pause. Nothing was said for a minute. Then Mom broke the silence.

"They're made of a special material that keeps you cool. Would you like to feel it?"

"Your panties?" I asked.

"Yes, the material. What were we just talking about?"

"Sure," I replied. I reached my hand down, cautiously stretching my finger tips out to touch the material of her panties. She pushed her ass back a little, pressing my fingers flat onto her panties and forming a cup to hold her right cheek in my palm. "Yeah," I said, "it feels silky, kind of slippery." I moved my hand around on her cheek, gently squeezing her little globe as if testing the panty material. I cupped her left cheek in my other hand and began gently kneading that globe as well.

"Don't get too naughty, Francis," Mom cautioned me. Ignoring her reproach, I continued to knead her flesh.

"You'd be even cooler in a thong, Mom."

"I doubt it, my butt's too skinny for a thong."

"No it's not. You're perfect for a thong. You'd cause accidents if you walked down the street in one."

Mom burst out laughing. "You're just trying to make me feel good. Men would laugh if they saw my skinny butt in a thong."

I leaned in over Mom's shoulder. "Trust me, Mom," I said, my voice thick, "You'd look awesome in a thong. Men would look, and they wouldn't laugh."

"Do you really think so? Do you think I'd look good in a thong?"

"Why don't you buy one tomorrow and try it on? See for yourself."

"Actually, I did," she confessed. "It's in my shopping bags," she tossed her head in the direction of the hallway.

"Go get it," I said, releasing her cheeks and patting her ass. I didn't say it like a request. Mom looked surprised, even a bit shocked, but she wasn't angry.

"No. I don't think so," she dashed my hopes.

"Well, you bought it. What are you going to do with it?"

"Oh, I'll probably just throw it away," she mused.

"No, don't do that," I protested.

"Why? Is there someone you'd like to give it to, to try it on for you?"

"No."

"Would you like me to wear it, then?" she teased.

As I started to nod my head, she went on, "For your father?" A quizzical expression formed on her face.

I shook my head no. "For you, then?" She smiled, the quizzical expression becoming more exaggerated. "You wouldn't want to see your own mother in thong?"

"Yes," I answered, my hopes rising again.

"Francis, you wicked, wicked boy," she teased me, having a laugh at my expense. I was too tense to laugh along with her and her face quickly sobered. "We'll see, then. Maybe I'll let you have a quick peek tomorrow or the next day."

She sat on the couch, and I sat on the other end, watching her. She swung her feet onto the couch, pulling her magazine up, obscuring her face and blocking my view of her see through bra. I shifted my gaze down to her legs and along her thighs to her panties. As I watched, she slowly opened her legs until I could look directly at the front of her panties. I could see through the material to her pussy underneath and the crevice dividing her pouting lips. I swear that once in a while she twisted her hips forward, accenting her pussy mound for me. She kept her legs open for me the whole time until it was near time for Dad to come home.

Finally, she dropped her magazine and said, "Let's go upstairs and change, Francis, before your father comes home."

Mom walked to the stairs, a slow sensuous walk that exaggerated the sway of her hips. My face was level with the jut of her buttocks as we slowly climbed the stairs. When we reached her room, she told me to wait there for a minute and disappeared inside. A moment later she reappeared wearing a robe loosely clutched to her chest. It splayed open under her breasts, widening as it crossed her hips, exposing a tuft of golden pubic hair. With her free hand, she held out her red bra and panties. "Here," she said, "keep these in your room for me. I don't think it would be good if your father saw them."

I whacked off more than once that night thinking about my mother and the highlights of that day, capped by the glimpse of her pubic hair and her choice for me to keep her bra and panties. I went to sleep dreaming about her wearing a thong for me.

The next day, Dad went in to the office late. He said he had a dinner meeting and would be home late, so he wasn't going in until noon. I could hardly wait for him to leave. The morning dragged on for an eternity. It was sweltering. Mom looked flushed and sweaty. I was boiling but didn't feel I could drop down to just my shorts with my Dad there. Finally, he left after a quick lunch. Mom gave him a kiss goodbye, wished him luck in his meeting, and went upstairs.

I waited impatiently for her to reappear but finally gave up and started to read my comics while sitting on the couch. I didn't hear her, but she was suddenly just standing there, barefoot in a white t-shirt which clearly showed two very stiff and long nipples poking up underneath. Her face was flushed and she was breathing in short, rapid breaths, as if excited about something. I think we'd both been tense waiting for Dad to leave, and were both a little wound up.

"When Dad left, it felt like a visitor had left," she said. "What a weird feeling."

"Yeah, I know," I replied. "It was uncomfortable, and now it's kind of like the way it should be."

"Yeah, weird," she said. She tugged down on her t-shirt, forcing it down so hard on her nipples I thought they would burst through. She arched her back and twisted from side to side. "But we're alone now," she said, coyly.

I didn't say anything. I just watched her.

"Would like to see something?" she asked, taking our little game further.

"Yes," I answered, my mouth dry.

She raised her hand behind her head, pulled on something and shook her head, her yellow blonde hair falling out about her shoulders. Then she lifted the bottom of her t-shirt up to the level of her hips, exposing a little red patch that covered her pussy.

I stared. "Mom, is that ..."

"You wanted me to wear it for you, didn't you?" she cut me off, dropping the t-shirt to hide the red patch.

I stood up and she turned away, walking to the middle of the room.

"But, I can't ..."

My voice trailed off as Mom pulled her t-shirt up with both hands at her sides. Her bare ass came into view, separated by a red strand of material that disappeared between her cheeks.

"Well, have a look, then, Mr. Impatient."

I stepped behind her. Her ass was essentially bare. I reached down to take possession of her cheeks.

"I don't think your father would approve of that, young man."

"I'm just checking the material."

Mom laughed. "Don't get too clever, Francis. I never said you could touch my bare ass."

"You didn't say I couldn't, either." Then, more submissively, "Let me, Mom. Just for a while. You look awesome, just like I said you would."

"Will you stop when I tell you? No arguments?"

"Yes, Mom. I'll stop right away." I continued kneading her cheeks, pulling them apart and squeezing them together again. Hanging my head over her shoulders, I looked at her nipples poking out her shirt. "Can I touch them too, Mom?"

Her voice was a little hoarse when she answered. "No, Francis. I don't think I can go that far."

"Please, Mom. You said they like it when I look at them. Let me touch them a little bit. I'll stop when you say," I whined, following the same path that succeeded in letting me fondle her ass.

She didn't answer. I released her cheeks and pushed my hands around to her tummy, then started sliding them up over her t-shirt toward her breasts. She watched them approach but didn't say a thing. My fingers moved over the swells of her small tits and then on to close on her long nipples. I brushed over them and back, pinched them softly through the material of her t-shirt, and tugged on them gently. Releasing, I flicked them again with my fingers, back and forth, many times like I was strumming chords on a guitar. Mom moaned. Surprisingly, I could feel them grow even more. They were already stiff and long. Groaning, I grasped them again, pinching and twisting, rolling them between my fingers, tugging. Again I released them and flicked them back and forth with my fingers, then grasped them again. Mom was moaning softly, constantly.

"You have fantastic tits," I whispered in her ear. I pushed my shorts into her cheeks.

"Oh Francis, that feels so good. It's been so long. He never touches them, anymore." She sounded as if she was about to cry.

"I'll touch them for you," I murmured in her ear. "I love touching them."

She let me continue fondling her tits. She didn't stop me until I whispered in her ear, "I want to suck them."

"No, Francis" she cried. She pulled away from me, walking back toward the couch.

I pursued her, getting my hands back on her tits.

"I can't let you do that, Francis," she protested, but she let me continue to manipulate her nipples.

I didn't mention sucking them again but I kept working her tits. After a moment I pushed her back onto the couch, sitting her down. Kneeling next to her, I pulled her feet up on either side of me and pushed her back onto the arm. Regaining my hold on her nipples, I pinched them between thumbs and forefingers. She lay back, eyes closed.

"I'm just going to look at them, Mom," I whispered. I started bunching the t-shirt up in my hands until her tits were bared to my eyes. I began kneading them, covering them with my hands, bending her nipples around in my palms. I pulled her t-shirt up and pushed it over her face, covering it. She became very excited, her breathing quick and harsh. I squeezed her little tits, forcing her long nipples to stand straight up. Leaning forward, I took one into my mouth and began to suck and swirl my tongue around it. She gasped loudly, over and over as I sucked.

"Ohhhhhhh, ohhhhhh, ohhhhhhh."

I sucked her tits, switching back and forth, pinching and flicking the nipple of the other with my fingers. I felt her legs come up and her feet cross over to rest on my back. Looking down between us, I could see her pelvis straining up, trying to come into contact with mine. She's really horny, I thought. Move now. Take her!

I pulled her up and swung her around, pushing her to the back of the couch, resting her on my upper thighs. Her shirt fell down around her neck and her eyes opened but I delicately pulled it up and over her face again, then dropped my head to suck her tits once more. When I heard her moaning, I looked again and saw her shirt moving in and out of her mouth with her rasping breath, like a speaker vibrating to deafening music. Moving my mouth back to her tits, I used my hands to push my shorts down. Keeping my mouth on her, I slipped my hands under her to grasp her ass. I found the thong and pulled it to the side over one cheek. Then I slid my hands up under the bottom of her thighs until I grasped the underside of her knees. Pushing her knees up high, I slid her up on the back of the couch, and pressed my pelvis in. Pulling my mouth off her tits, I dropped her down, guiding her until the head of my hard cock pushed against her pussy.

"No," she cried through the shirt covering her face. "No, Francis," she repeated.

My cock parted her lips.

"No," she cried again, but her body betrayed her. She moaned as my cock found little resistance from her wet pussy lips, digging into her an inch. I held her knees high and wide.

"No?" I asked.

"No," she gasped.

"No?" I asked again, pushing my cock into her another inch.

"No, oh, no, Francis." I pushed further in. "No, don't, baby, don't."

"Unnnngghhhh," she moaned as I pushed all the way in.

"Don't what, Mom?" I gasped.

"Don't fuck me," she gasped back.

"I won't, Mom," I said as I drew my cock back, and shoved it back in. "I won't fuck you," I said as I started thrusting into her.

We repeated this exchange over and over again, back and forth, "Don't fuck me" followed by "I won't" as our pace steadily increased and our moans grew ever louder. It wasn't really that long before I was really banging her and her gasps were one long continuous moan. I squirted my juice into her, my bare cock spewing my raw spunk.

I collapsed back on the couch, falling away from her as I slipped to the floor. Mom got up right away, unsteady on her feet, pulled her thong off and threw it at me.

"Don't you follow me," she barked as she turned to go upstairs.

"I won't," I said, but got up to trail her just the same.

"Don't come upstairs," she commanded as I started up the stairs behind her, mesmerized by her bare ass.

"I won't," I repeated.

"Don't you dare come into my room," she said softly, as she walked down the hallway and passed through her bedroom door.

"I won't, Mom," I guaranteed as I padded behind her to her bed.

"Don't try to fuck me again," she said as she stretched out on her tummy on the bed, lifting her ass up into the air and spreading her legs.

"I won't fuck you again, Mom," I promised as I shuffled in behind her and nosed my cock up to her pussy.

"Francis, no! Don't take me from behind," she cried.

"Never!" I gasped as I shoved my cock all the way into her cunt.

"Don't fuck me really hard, son."

"I won't, Mom" I agreed as I reached out to grasp her hair, tugged her head back and began to really shove it in her.

"D ... O ... O ... O ... N'T," she yelled as my bucking my hips slammed against her ass.

A few minutes later, as I lay spent on her back, her legs splayed wide, my still embedded cock dripping inside her, I whispered in her ear, "Don't milk me with your pussy, Mom."

"I won't, son" she said, laughing as she clutched me with her cunt, tugging my cock down into the mattress.

She squeezed even harder as I pulled my swelling cock out of her. "Don't pull out, son," she begged.

"I won't, Mom," I lied as I pulled my tool slowly out.

"Don't shove it back into me ... please don't." I slid my hardening tool into her as slowly as I possibly could. When I was fully embedded in her I kept pushing in short shoves, moving her up until her head was against the headboard. I pushed my tongue into her ear.

"Don't fuck me all afternoon, Mom," I groaned.

"Not a chance son," she laughed, her throaty voice stiffening my cock. She twisted and pulled on me with her clutching pussy. "Your Dad won't be home until late tonight," she laughed again as she splayed her arms out to her sides and began moving her hips up and down on my stiff member, fully plugged inside her from behind, between her wide open legs.

I'll let you know more about my suddenly horny mother in my next letter. Looking forward to receiving more from all of you. Until then.

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After that letter, I needed a break. When I wandered out of the study I ran into Mom who had just finished making some sandwiches and was about to call me. She had already fed Dad. An hour ago I would have been much more disappointed to miss out on a feeding session but now I was eager to return to his study to search for Dad's next letter. I found it near the bottom of the fourth bundle.

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Well friends, this is more of an epilogue than a continuation of our story. As I said at the end of my last letter, Mom and I were together for years. It wasn't until her sex drive waned and then stopped completely that I began my search for a wife, at Mother's insistence.



"You need an heir," she said.

So I found a young lass. There was no surprise in this. The older ones had long left for the city. She was quite pretty but shy. After a brief courtship, we married and I brought her to the farm. Our sex life was plain, and unexciting. There was none of the intrigue and surprise that filled liaisons with my Mom. And there was nothing taboo about it. I don't think either of us was satisfied. Despite that, she became pregnant in our first year of marriage.

Mother liked my new wife and she treated her like a daughter after David was born. They were always together. I began spending more time away, building my business. A few more years passed. One day, I noticed that they sat on the porch chatting quietly and would stop talking when I came near or make an awkward switch to some inane subject. I began to suspect that they were talking about me.

I rigged a recording device under the porch and to my horror found that my suspicions were confirmed. Mom was telling Susan all about us. She talked about our affair as a great romance, a love affair that transcended the taboo of incest. It was simply meant to be. Shockingly, she described many of our best sex encounters as proof of our love.

I tried to liven up our sex life, thinking that my mother's descriptions would lead Susan to more adventurous sex. But it didn't. She resisted when I tried to turn her over to take her from behind, and she never, ever sucked me. I would have dearly loved to blow a load into her pretty face. But I never did. Susan was pretty, but she was just plain sexless.

One day, listening to a recording of one of their conversations, I froze on hearing the phrase that would stay with me for years, and become an obsession for me.

"You'll see, Mother was saying, "when your own son grows up."

Good christ in heaven. Mother was advising my wife to be with my son? To cuckold me? I couldn't believe it.

When Mother died, we sold the farm and moved into town. When David reached his teen years, I watched him and Susan like a hawk. I configured my business so that I could work and control my agents from home. I traveled as little as possible, and almost always arranged for my family to accompany me so I could keep an eye on them.

Nevertheless, there were times when I had to leave them alone. I always tried to come home earlier than expected. I couldn't rig up video recording equipment. It was too unwieldy and expensive back then. But I did install sound recorders in our bedroom and David's room. Eventually, I rigged the living room as well. I became fanatical about it.

I did catch Susan needlessly displaying herself to David on several occasions. She let her skirt ride up, would come downstairs forgetting that she hadn't fastened her blouse or closed her robe, that sort of thing. David didn't seem to take any notice, thank god. I couldn't discuss it with Susan without owning up about recording her and Mom years ago. So I satisfied myself with keeping an eagle eye on my wife and son, feeling more and more jealous as I aged, my wife bloomed, and David grew into a strapping young man.

Let it be a warning to you guys. Keep an eye on your sons.

That's it for me. I have enjoyed all of your stories. There are so many of them. I love to retreat to my study to read them, after I've made sure Susan and David are in their respective beds.

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My god. Mom knew about Dad and Grandma, and Grandma had actually told her. He said Mom didn't like sex but I hoped he was wrong about that. Now I knew why Dad was always around. And I remembered times that Mom did let me see her. There were many times that Dad clearly didn't know about. If she didn't like sex, why did she show herself to me? She must have gotten off on it.

I knew one thing. I was going to find out. I could hardly wait for dinner time. 





The Mom Memories Ch. 04
byalwayswantedto©

All characters are 18 years or older.

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From Chapter 03

My god. Mom knew about Dad and Grandma, and Grandma had actually told her. He said Mom didn't like sex but I hoped he was wrong about that. Now I knew why Dad was always around. And I remembered times that Mom did let me see her. There were many times that Dad clearly didn't know about. If she didn't like sex, why did she show herself to me? She must have gotten off on it.

I knew one thing. I was going to find out. I could hardly wait for dinner time.

--------------------------------

I popped out of the study for a snack. Dinner wasn't for another three hours. Looking out the kitchen window, I could see Mom gardening in the back yard. She looked quite the suburban mom. She wore a straw hat to shade her from the sun, a checked blouse with a couple of buttons open at the neck because of the heat, proper shorts sufficiently conservative not to mold her ass or cling to her thighs, and of course, green leather gardening gloves so she could grasp her snips without leaving callouses in her palms (like the ones I was building up at night thinking about her, and my Dad and Grandma).

Watching her crouching down on her tanned knees, I was reminded of how she had nestled in my crotch this morning -- god, was it only this morning? -- while feeding Dad his yogurt. I felt the blood draining from my head as this image filled it, rushing down to fill my groin. As my cock grew in my shorts, Mom turned, smiled and waved as she saw me in the window. I motioned for her to come inside.

Mom rushed in the back door. "Is something wrong?" she panted.

"No, no. I was just about to have a snack and thought you'd like to join me," I said.

"Oh. Maybe just a big glass of juice and some crackers. Let me make it, dear. You sit down."

I sat down as Mom began to make us a snack, far more efficiently than I could have. As I watched her, I thought about how she knew about Dad and Grandma, how he knew that she knew, and his fear that she would entice me to cuckold him. Did she know that Dad knew that she knew? Probably not.

Why, then, did she tease Dad by exposing herself to me when she knew he'd see? True, she didn't show much, and according to Dad's letter, he thought I didn't notice. But I was aware, and had acted like I wasn't because I didn't want him to find out, partly because she showed me far more when he wasn't around than when he was.

And now, I think I knew why. She wanted me to be interested in her to spark jealousy in Dad, or payback for his relationship with Grandma, so she treated me with more than the little peeks she awarded when Dad was around, I guess thinking I'd be wound up to be looking at the goods without any provocation from her. But I twigged that it wasn't quite worthwhile when Dad was around and that, if I didn't show interest when he was, Mom would try harder to pique my interest by showing me even more when he wasn't around.

Mom had recently been showing me quite a bit of leg, peeks up her dress, and views down more than partially open blouses, right up to the day I'd left for school after the holidays last Christmas, just before Dad's stroke. That was the first time I'd actually thought that Mom might be showing herself to me on purpose. It had cranked up from the usual accidental glimpses to blatant 'accidental' showings within the ten days holiday over Christmas, more liberally exposing herself so I would be more interested when Dad was around. But now that Dad had had a stroke she was more demure.

On the other hand, she had insisted he could still see and hear, and went along with my little game to entice him from his illness by reliving vivid memories. Why, then, had she not tried to work me up before we fed him? Did she not really believe he could understand what he saw, and so it wasn't worth the effort to make him jealous?

Or, did she know about the letters? Did she know I would find and read them? Had she known what I was reading when she was standing, for who knows how long, in the study door? Was she leading me to herself through these letters, and thus a long due triumph over Dad? Did she know I would already be primed by the letters? Or did she simply want to avoid any potential escalation because she needed any taboo action to play out in front of him for her to win? Was she not interested in me, despite my Grandma's advice long ago, but just in making Dad think it was happening? So many questions. I had to find some answers.

Walking up behind her as she was slicing an apple, I put my hands on her shoulder and kissed her cheek. Mom shied away a bit, indicating some discomfort at actual touching, something I'd never attempted except in front of Dad the past couple of days. I kissed her cheek again and nuzzled my nose into her shoulder. She seemed even more uncomfortable.

"You know, Mom, you should change before we visit Dad for dinner. And maybe dress a little more relaxed while we're alone in the house."

She resisted this suggestion. "I'll change before we take Dad his dinner, Dave. But what I'm wearing is fine for the rest of the time."

"Mom, this is too important for Dad. We have to get it right. We can't afford to mess up," I urged, playing up the concerned child act.

She was silent for a moment, not replying as I stood holding her upper arms, refraining from further caresses. Finally, she spoke softly, "What are you thinking then? What do you want me to wear?"

I tried not to let my elation at her response transfer through my hands to her arms and, desperate to keep the excitement from my voice as well, I hesitated before responding. "Well, I think you should wear things that might really jog intense memories, you know, nighties and slips and things like that."

"I only dressed like that before going to bed," she argued, still resistant. She didn't point out to me that he had never really been that interested.

"I know, but we need him to see you like that all the time to increase the chance of sparking a reaction. It'll help if you wear the kind of night clothes you did when you were younger. If he's regressed, you probably look more like Grandma to him now, you know, like his own mother." I don't know why I said that, but I could feel her stiffen in my arms. She didn't say anything. I don't know if she was enjoying that irony, turning it over in her own mind, or not. But what an interesting twist. At first shocked at what had fallen out of my mouth, I now didn't regret it. See where it goes, I thought.

"Alright," she said, "I'll go up earlier and prance around in a slip, like the one I wore this morning. Would that do?" she demanded in a miffed tone.

I pushed it a little further. "I think it will take more than that, Mom. We should bring Dad downstairs to the guest room so he can sit in the kitchen or living room during the day, where he can see you more often."

That didn't sit with Mom very well, having Dad around all day, like before. But I persisted, arguing that we needed to do all we could, playing on potential guilt and shame if it became known we hadn't. In the end she relented, agreeing to move Dad downstairs the next day.

"While we're at it, Mom, I think we should try to keep in character more often."

"How do you mean?" she asked.

"Well, I think I should play Dad more, as your husband, so it seems more natural when he's watching. You know, just hugging you and smooching, like you guys probably did when you were younger," I suggested.

"But, your Dad never ...," her voice trailed off. "OK, Davy. For your Dad."

I put my arms right around her and gave her a kiss on her cheek. "That's great, Mom," I said, then swooped in for a smooch again. I dropped my hand from her upper arms down to her waist, letting them dwell on the swell of her hips. I kissed her several more times on her cheek and in the hollow of her neck, then swooped up for a quick kiss on her ear.

"OK, ok, Romeo," she protested, pushing me away and taking our snack to the table. We ate our snack, Mom chatting about some neighborhood stuff, and her friends. Uncharacteristically, Mom ate faster than I, finishing sooner. As I was still eating, her voice softened and she said in a quieter, almost conspirational tone, "I'm going upstairs to see if I have any old clothes that might jog Dad's memory. I'll call you when its time to take his dinner up." She left me to finish my snack.

I looked at my watch. Two more hours until dinner. Time for another letter. I headed for the study.

This time, though I was searching for letters from Frank, and now Francis, I didn't just pass by others when I didn't recognize the name. Francis' letter had taught me to read a little first. That's why I read the letter by Calvin when I came across it.

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Hello group. My name is Calvin. I hope my story doesn't drag on too much. It isn't as exciting as some of yours. I'm not very good at writing so I'll just get right to it.

My Mom is tall and slim, with black hair that she wears long, either just the way it is or pulled together with a scrunchie at the back of her neck. I was aware my Mom was attractive. Lot's of men looked at her, and so did other women. You know how much women look at other women, checking each other out. I knew my Mom was seen as challenging competition by other women just the way they looked at her when she couldn't see them; but I could.

But I never saw my Mom in a sexual way. Never. That is, until Mom decided to work at home, cutting hair to earn some extra money that she could spend herself. She thought it would work as a business since we lived on the edge of downtown and it would be convenient for people -- men that is, because she didn't feel she was skilled enough to cut a woman's hair. Dad was against it, and wouldn't help. So she wanted to practice on me.

After dinner, Mom kept me behind, sitting me on a kitchen chair she used as a barber's chair. I pleaded with her not to wreck my hair, to embarrass me at school. She promised to just trim it a little and started in.

I don't know exactly when, but at some point I became aware of Mom. The softness of her thigh or hip as she bumped into me while working on my hair, the press of her belly against my sides, the feel of her soft hands as she caressed my neck, snipping here and there. She probably wouldn't have be so familiar with real customers but I was her only son, after all, and she probably didn't think anything of bumping against me.

As Mom snipped away, I found myself not wanting to leave. I was enjoying the little brushes of her body and the feel of her fingers on my neck and head as she tilted it this way and that. And then she did it. She stood directly in front of me, between my outstretched legs, and leaned far over, intently eyeing my brow as she carefully trimmed above my eyes.

But my eyes found something else. A glimpse of two little treasures hanging down, just perceptible through the gap between Mother's neck and her blouse as it hung away from her body. I had a perfect view down my mother's shirt. Guiltily, I pulled my eyes away, afraid of being caught. But Mother was still intent on my brow, carefully snipping away. Despite the fact she was looking right at my forehead, I let my eyes stray down again, drinking in the fantastic sight of her dangling breasts, exposed more than I'd ever seen, even when she wore a bikini, the lacy bra covering only the very tips.

I stared and stared. I forgot all about the potential of getting caught until I was startled out of my reverie by Mom's voice, "There," she stood up and stepped back, "That looks good." She turned to pick up a hand mirror from the table. "What do you think?" she asked holding the mirror up for my inspection. I was surprised, she hadn't noticeably cut anything, but it did look better.

"That's great, Mom. You could really be a barber."

"Whoa, there," Mom laughed, "I think it will take a little more practice before I can do that," she countered. As I stood up and Mom collected her scissors and stuff, she asked me, "Do you think you could let me practice some more next week, Calvin?"

I hesitated, not because I was reluctant, not after the display I'd been privy to for the last few minutes. I was just caught off guard. But Mom seemed to think I was reluctant.

"I need more practice," she added.

The thought of her leaning over in front of me again prompted a quick reaction. "No problem, Mom," I finally answered. That night I rubbed my cock until I fell asleep, thinking about Mom's breasts, conjuring up vivid, enhanced images of her dangling breasts encased in a lacy bra that somehow now allowed me to see her nipples.

All through the week at school, I kept daydreaming in class about my Mom's breasts. I was chided several times in different classes for not paying attention. I couldn't think of anything else at school or at home for that matter. When we finished dinner each night the following week, Mom stayed behind to clean up, but shooed me out of the kitchen whenever I tried to stay and help her. When Mom finished in the kitchen, she would join Dad and I in the living room to watch TV. My hopes for another haircut were dwindling. At the end of the second sitcom almost a week later, Mom looked over at Dad.

"Are you going to let me practice on your hair tonight, dear?" My hopes diminished rapidly, dying.

"What?" my father asked, a little incredulously. Without even turning to look at her, he responded energetically, "No bloody way! Do Calvin again."

"I don't think he wants to, honey," Mom whined, "Be a sport, it's your turn."

Ignoring her, father barked, "Go help your mother, Calvin." And that was that.

I followed Mom into the kitchen, dragging a chair out while she got her scissors and brushes out and laid them on the table. "I'm sorry, Calvin, but it's a big help to me, you know."

"That's OK, Mom," I replied, "I don't mind, really." She had no idea how little I minded.

"I'll make it up to you, sweetie, I promise," she went on, "I really do appreciate it."

"No problem, Mom." I sat down, settling in to wait for her to get to the good part.

Mom started in. I was far more sensitive this time to every bump and brush, every stroke of her fingers and guidance by her hand. I could feel myself hardening, interpreting every touch as unnecessary yet intentional. After all, the lady that cut my hair never touched me so much, not so I noticed anyway.

When Mom put her scissors down without trimming my front. I was very disappointed. Afraid she wasn't going to get to the good part, the front, I asked if she had forgot to do it. My voice was a little shaky as I wasn't able to cover my concern completely.

"Oh, yes," she replied, her own voice sounding a little funny, "I just need to rest my eyes for a moment because it takes so much concentration to do the front," she added. As she stood there, facing partly away from me with her near hand resting on her hip, I could see her other hand crooked up to her chest. "I do appreciate you doing this for me, Calvin," she misinterpreted the concern in my voice, "I know its taking a long time."

"I don't mind, Mom. Really," I replied. "Take all the time you want. I like helping you."

"Really?" she asked. "You're such a sweet boy, son." She picked up her scissors and turned back to face me. "Let's get started on the front then, shall we?"

Before she leaned over, I noticed something that made my cock leap against my jeans. While turned away, Mom had loosened two of the buttons on her blouse. As she stood in front of me, holding the scissors out to her side, her blouse pulled apart in the front, exposing the swell of her breasts. Her shirt parted all the way to below her solar plexus. I had never seen Mom wear a blouse unbuttoned that far down.

"It's OK if I take my time then?" she asked, smiling sweetly at me.

"Oh, yes," I assured her, "I want you to be really careful. Take all the time you need, Mom."

She leaned over toward me, slowly. As her hair fell from her back to her sides, over her ears, her blouse began to drop away from her chest. I never looked at her eyes. I was focused on her chest. Lower, lower, lower. She was bent almost horizontal. The gap between her collar bones and her blouse was much greater than the week before. And there they were, what I'd waited all week to see, dangling before my eyes, her two breasts. But this time I could see a lot more since her blouse was far looser and something else, she was wearing a different bra. This bra was made of some silky material that let her nipples show through and it was also smaller, a half cup push up type, I guess, that showed a lot more of her tits.

I was in awe! Mom spent a lot of time bent over in front of me, much longer than the week before. I couldn't help getting really, really hard. If Mom hadn't been concentrating so hard, she could easily have seen the lump in my pants. I don't know how she couldn't have noticed me admiring her breasts. She just had to know, and she didn't give any indication that she minded. She must have been letting me see on purpose, otherwise why would she have loosened her blouse before starting on the front? This thought made me even harder.

Eventually, Mom did finish. She stood and held a mirror up for me to inspect her handiwork. I gushed my enthusiasm for her skill, the euphoria of spending nearly half an hour ogling her tits spilling over. I put the chair away and left the kitchen but returned a few seconds later to ask her if she wanted to practice again next week, or even earlier. When I re-entered the kitchen, Mom was buttoning up her blouse. She blushed when she saw me but answered that yes, she would like to practice some more on a regular basis, twice a week if I didn't mind. Blushing myself, I assured Mom that I would love to help her out, as often as she needed me. Feeling a little awkward, I left.

Several days later, Mom again asked me if I'd help her practice cutting hair again. She didn't ask Dad, probably knowing his answer and not wanting to disturb him while the game was on. We went to the kitchen and Mom made short work of trimming the top, sides and back of my hair. Then she stopped again. I could hear her fidgeting around behind me for a little longer than a few days ago. My cock began swelling in anticipation as I now understood that she was probably undoing a couple of buttons on her blouse to provide me with my reward. I hoped she would fuss around with the front for as long, or even longer since she had shortened the time she spent on the rest.

Mom finally came into view in front of me. "Are you ready for me to do the front?" she asked.

I simply nodded, afraid to trust my voice, I was so pent up. I was extremely pleased to see that the buttons were indeed undone on her blouse. There was something different, but I couldn't put my finger on what it was. Mom had an odd little smile on her face, but I didn't think that was it. Anyway, I just wanted to start looking at her tits again, so I was impatient for her to lean over and start the show. But she stood there for a moment longer, smiling that odd smile, before finally bending over.

I couldn't stop myself from craning my neck a little as she bent over, quite slowly this time. I guess that made it a little obvious what I was doing but she didn't seem to take any notice. Finally, she was bent over horizontal and her shirt dropped from her chest leaving the same substantial gap I had enjoyed so much days earler. Ah, there they were, the tops of her breasts, if anything, showing more than the last week. Could she have found an even smaller bra, my mind asked as my eyes fixed on her lovely globes.

It took a moment for the truth to penetrate my breast-numbed mind. They were bare. She wasn't wearing a bra! My mother wasn't wearing a bra. I was stunned. I could see her nipples, clutching onto the swell of her breasts as they dangled there. 

"Stay still, Calvin."

I must have been moving my head in time to the sway of my mother's tits. I held my face rigidly still, following her swinging globes with my eyes as her hand movements stimulated erotic movement below her chest. My cock was hardening by the second, I could feel it busting against my jeans. It was faster than my mind.

Mom fussed with my hair for a long time, focusing exclusively on the front. I had an unrestricted view of her gorgeous, swaying tits. Her nipples, soft when I first saw them, slowly stiffened, hardening into a substantial length. My observation period was so long that I noticed a fine detail. As her nipples stiffened, they didn't harden straight down in line with her hanging tits. No, they stiffened toward me. I imagine that, had she stood up, they would point upwards from her tits at almost a 45 degree angle. And outward a bit.

Mom straigntened up sharply when she heard Dad rustling in the living room, getting out of his chair. She turned away from the kitchen doorway, facing partly away from me as well but with her back squarely away from the kitchen doorway. I could see that she was quickly doing up her buttons. So she was definitely giving me a show on purpose! My cock turned to steel.

"You two just about done?" Dad asked, pausing in the doorway.

"Almost," Mom replied, walking to the sink, her back to Dad.

"Mom's just going to practice trimming my mustache," I blurted out.

Mom added, "That's right, dear. We'll be a little longer, honey."

"Well, I'm going to bed. Try to be quiet when you come up. And keep the TV down, Calvin," he glared at me.

After Dad left there was no motion in the kitchen for a moment or two. I took advantage of the fact that Mom wasn't right in front of me to slip my fingers under my jeans and pull my poor bent tool straight. Mom eventually came up behind me and placed her hand on my shoulder, moving it along my neck, stroking softly back and forth.

"Can I really trim your mustache, Calvin?"

"Yeah, Mom. You'll have to know how to do mustaches."

"Oh, sweetie, you try so hard to help me and your Dad won't even let me practice on him once. This is really important to me. I won't forget it." She sounded serious, intense, and really ticked at Dad, the way her voice tightened when she mentioned him.

I could hear her rustling behind me before she came around to stand once more in front of me. Her buttons were undone again! My cock starting to grow again, quickly regaining the ground it had lost with the sudden appearance of my father, but now that it was straightened, its head poked above the waistband of my jeans. Thankfully, I had pulled my shirt out to cover the fact that I was simply providing some relief to my poor bent cock.

Mom was smiling very sweetly at me. "It is very warm tonight, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I'm almost too hot in my shirt," I replied, "I had to pull it out," indicating my shirtail covering the front of my jeans.

"You can take your shirt off if you like," Mom offered.

"No, no, I'm fine," I blustered. God, I'd be in for it if I took off my shirt and she saw the top of my cock sticking out.

She was holding a fine-toothed comb in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other.

"Hold these for a minute," she said.

I took the instruments from her. Still smiling sweetly, she unbuttoned another button on her blouse. "Do you mind if I get a little more comfortable, Cal?"

"No, no, Mom. Go ahead," I was surprised at her calling me Cal. Everyone at school called me Cal, but my mom never shortened my name.

"Thanks." She raised her hands to her blouse and threaded yet another button through its slot. Her blouse was now unbuttoned so far that I could just see her sexy navel dipping in from the gentle swell of her tanned tummy. Full staff, I was up to full staff. "I really do appreciate your letting me practice, honey." Mom reserved 'honey' for Dad. I was always 'sweetie' or 'sweetheart'. Past full staff.

"I'll help anytime, for as long as you like, Mom."

Her eyes softened. She reached out and patted my cheek. "Thank you," she whispered so softly I could hardly hear, interpreting her words more from the shape of her mouth, which now caught my attention. Her lips seemed full and sexy, something I hadn't noticed before.

Taking her tools back, Mom bent over in front of me again. Down, down, down until her bare tits swayed once more in front of me. Her nipples were still hard and I realized why she had kept her back to Dad.

"It really is hot," I said, for no apparent reason other than reacting to feeling like I was burning up inside.

"Don't talk," Mom replied, turning her head toward the stairs to listen.

I enjoyed the show Mom proceeded to give me even more, excited beyond words by the knowledge that she was purposely giving me a show she knew she had to hide from Dad. Although I hadn't covered my tracks well before, I made no attempt at all to do so now. I brazenly stared down her blouse. In fact, at one point, when her blouse obscured my view, I reached up to push it aside with my fingers.

Misinterpreting my action again, Mom whispered, "Listen for your Dad, honey, if you're going to do that."

Do what? Did she think I was going to touch her? Was she saying she was OK with it?

My hand was frozen in mid air where I'd left it, holding her blouse out to ensure a clear view of her tits. Slowly, I willed it to move toward her tit. Was I sure? What if I was wrong? Like pushing a wet noodle, my wavering hand slowly made its way to her tit until I finally grasped the dangling pear in my upturned hand, her nipple resting in my palm.

"Don't make any sudden moves, honey," Mom whispered, "I do have scissors near your eyes."

There was no recrimination, no anger in her voice. I reached up to grasp her other tit. Carefully, afraid to move suddenly, I massaged her tits. She continued trimming my mustache. After a few minutes, her nipples growing in my palms, my palms bending them around in small circles, she whispered to me again.

"I'm just going to sit down to steady myself, honey," she said quietly, then adding in a whisper, "on your lap."

She moved forward, her legs widening to straddle my thighs, and sat down on me. My cock, the whole head of which was poking out above my jeans, was smothered in a soft, warm pillow as her panties encased it. Her skirt fell to the side, covering my legs as well as hers. The tip of my cock pulsed up against the very warm pussy pressing down on it, separated only by Mom's panties. My hands still gripped her bare tits under her blouse, although they had swung around so that her nipples were now accented by my thumbs and fingers that squeezed them between. I had been right, her nipples did stand up. They jutted up toward my face, which was now only two inches in front of them.

Mom dropped her hands down onto my shoulders, not trimming my hair at all, or making any pretense to. I squeezed her tits, forcing her nipples out further still. Her arm came up behind my head, tilting it forward and to the side, toward her right breast. My lips pressed against it. I was too shocked to open my mouth. She pressed harder, forcing my lips open, shoving her nipple into my mouth. She started to rock my head on her tit.

"Suck it," she whispered, "suck me, Cal."

Numbly, I started sucking my mother's tit.

"That's it," she cooed, "that's it. Suck me, suck my tits."

It felt like her nipple was growing longer and longer in my mouth. I noticed that her hips were gently rocking on my cock, back and forth, in time with my sucks on her tit. I could feel her nipple reaching almost to the back of my mouth as she forced her tit further in. She began rocking her pussy more rapidly on my cock as her breath grew increasingly ragged.

"Oh yeah, yeah, oh yeah," she kept repeating, over and over.

I couldn't move much but I tried to force my cock up against her pussy, where it was soft and damp and hot. As her words merged into one long, guttural 'yeeeaaah' and her hips reached a frantic pace, I felt my load surge up my shaft and explode onto my stomach under my shirt.

Mom's paced slowed and then stopped except for an occasional twitch. Her breathing slowly returned to a soft pant as she regained her breath. She laid her head by my shoulder and whispered, "I guess we got a little carried away, huh, sweetie?"

I nodded, my face rubbing against her cheek which was damp with sweat. She went on, "Did you like it?"

I nodded again, still unable to speak. She pulled her head back and took my face in her hands, "I'm glad" she said. She kissed me several times on my face, then briefly on my mouth, right on my lips. "Now you know how much I appreciate your support." She rocked her hips as if to emphasize her point, and smiled.

"Do you want to keep helping me?"

I nodded again. "That's great," she said. She lowered her face to mine once more, pressing her lips against mine for another kiss. After a minute, her tongue slipped between my lips into my mouth. We necked, sitting there in the kitchen, french kissing for several more minutes. Her pussy pressed on my cock and my hands began massaging her tits again. But a moment later, she stood up. "I won't be able to sleep if you do keep doing that. Wait until our next practice, honey."

Before she could turn away I blurted out, my eagnerness obvious, "When?"

Mom laughed, a low laugh. "We'll see. We'll have to wait at least a few days." She paused briefly, looking pensive, then said "I can't do more than this, you know." Looking down into my lap, she smiled and added, "But don't wear jeans next time." She turned in the doorway to give me a big smile.

Three days came and went, each one seeming longer. Mom didn't give any sign that things were different between us which was frustrating. Then, on the evening of the fourth day, I noticed Mom flashing me sympathetic smiles. Whenever Dad stuck his nose in his newspaper during commercials, she would tease me, crossing and uncrossing her legs while smiling pointedly at me, absently fiddling with the buttons on her blouse and then flashing her eyes up at me. I grew hard in my jeans.

I waited impatiently for Dad to go to bed. Finally, at long last, he got up and said to Mom, "You coming?" he asked Mom.

"No, dear. Calvin's going to help me practice again."

"You're going to go through with this then, are you?" Dad asked in a disgruntled tone.

"Yes. You know I want to," she insisted, getting her back up. Her anger made her look even more sexy to me. I tried not to let my erection show, covering my lap with a sudden interest in the TV guide.

"Alright, alright. I was just asking." Dad started up the upstairs.

"I want to wash your hair with a special shampoo before I cut it this time, Calvin," Mom said, a little louder than normal as she was ensuring that Dad could hear. "You may want to change out of your jeans in case it spills," she suggested, smiling that funny little smile again.

"Uh, sure, Mom" I answered, heading upstairs behind Dad.

"Don't be too long," she instructed, "It's getting late."

I ran up the stairs and into my room, frantically kicking off my jeans and rummaging through my drawers for a pair of pajamas with an open fly in front. Whipping downstairs, I slowed down and entered the kitchen in a casual manner. Mom was waiting beside the chair. I took my seat, expecting her to start right away, not bothered by the coming wait for the frontal work since I knew what was coming.

But she didn't start. She stepped around and stood in front of me right away. She looked down approvingly at my pajamas, or at least my lack of jeans.

"Did your father go to bed?" she asked.

"I think so," I replied, "His door was shut and the light was out."

"Are you sure?" she asked, looking out the kitchen door toward the stairs. "You need to be sure," she cautioned, turning back to look at me seriously, her eyes steady. She was tense. Why, I wondered. Was she more afraid of getting caught because she knew what we were going to do? I nodded a definite yes.

She nodded, then, slowly, she moved her hands to the top of her blouse and began to undo the buttons. My cock instantly started growing. It was one thing to see with her with a few buttons undone on her blouse but an order of magnitude better to watch her undo them in front of me. I watched eagerly, my appreciation obvious as Mom slowly bared her chest to me. She kept her eyes on me, watching me watch her, her funny smile never leaving her face.

This time, she undid all her buttons, then pulled her blouse out from under her skirt. Then, with a raise of her eyebrow, and a crook to her smile, she pulled the blouse shirt wide, baring her tits topped by stiff nipples to my adoring gaze. Seemingly pleased at my sharp intake of breath, she thrust her chest forward and from side to side, presenting her breasts in a wondrous display. She leaned forward, teasing me with the closeness of her nipples, waving them across my face, only inches away.

She laughed. "You really do appreciate your mom, don't you?"

I simply nodded, my throat too dry for speech. Mom pulled one arm out of the blouse, then the other. She stood there in front of me, naked to the waist, wearing only a pleated skirt, no nylons and barefoot. No wonder she wanted to know if Dad had gone to bed. She wouldn't be able to cover herself in time if he came downstairs. She was really on the edge.

She arched her back, twisting again in front of me, proudly displaying her tits, her nipples standing up, no jutting up, stiffly, on top of her tits. She was so fucking hot!

She leaned in and started playing around with my hair with just her bare hands. She didn't have any scissors or a comb. They were still laying on the table. She tousled my hair, leaned down and kissed me on the lips. Pulling back a bit, she pushed her tongue out and dragged it across my mouth before pushing it in. We kissed furiously. I reached up to grasp her tits, kneading them, a little roughly in my eagerness, I must admit. But she didn't seem to mind. When the kiss ended, we were both breathing hard.

She moved closer to me. "Suck them," she commanded. I dutifully complied, taking a tit into my mouth and sucking hard the way I now knew she liked. I mauled her other tit. After a few minutes, I swapped tits. Then she pulled away. She looked down at my lap.

"Look, your little man is trying to come out," she said, looking at my cock straining against my pajamas. "He's straining so hard." She laughed, a hoarse, throaty laugh. She moved closer to me, straddling my legs. Reaching down, she grasped the hem of her skirt and pulled it up a little. Bending her knees, she lowered herself, slowly, slowly, until I felt her warm pussy pressing my cock once again, bending it against my stomach. She wiggled until her pussy lips fit around my shaft, enveloping it, grasping my rod as she sunk more weight on me. She put her arms around me and kissed me, forcing her tongue deep into my mouth. A moment later, she her hips started moving, slowly rocking her pussy along the length of my cock. She felt much hotter than she had a few days before. I could feel her damp heat as her soft meat enveloped my shaft.

She whispered in my ear, "Do you like it, honey?" I nodded vigorously. "We'll skip the haircut tonight. Tonight is just for you. Would you like that?" Her whispers were excited and throaty in my ear.

"Yes, Mom, yes," I hissed back, pressing up as she rubbed herself on me.

Her throaty laugh echoed in my ear again. "Cal, you nasty boy. You want to fuck me, don't you?"

I didn't answer. Please don't stop, I screamed to myself.

"You know I can't do that, don't you?" It was a statement, not a question.

I nodded, but I couldn't stop my cock from pressing up even harder against her.

She growled softly in my ear, "It's OK, Cal. You can want to, you just can't do it." She kissed my ear, dipping her tongue inside, circling it around and then nibbling the lobe. Once more the throaty whisper penetrated my ear, "You do, don't you. You want to fuck your own mother. With your father right upstairs!"

I nodded this time, thrusting my cock up hard against her. She laughed, increasing the intensity of her fucking motions, pushing down hard, forcing my cock between her soaking pussy lips as she dragged them along its pajama clad length. On one forward shove, the gods aligned on my side, for as she pulled back, scraping along my rod, my cock popped through the fly hole in my pajamas.

On the next push forward her pussy lips split over my bare cock. She groaned as she dragged back along its length, as did I, realizing my cock was sliding through the wet canyon of her bare pussy lips. She returned and withdrew more quickly and I pushed up even harder, lifting myself and her from the chair. Our movements quickly became more frantic. We lunged at each other for the next few minutes, gasping erratically, until she came again, slumping and draping herself over me as my cock began spurting all over me and her, jerking against her pussy until I had nothing left.

I kissed her, a gentle, tender and long kiss, without putting my tongue in her mouth.

"We really got carried away this time, didn't we," she stated after I pulled my mouth off hers.

I hugged her. "I guess so," I answered, "but I liked it and I want to practice even more."

"No," she replied, "I think we've gone too far. We need to stop."

I was taken aback. "No. Mom please. I don't want to stop." My face twisted with disappointment.

"Sweetie, you have to realize this is wrong. I can't go any further, I can't even keep doing this."

"OK, Mom. We won't go so far. But we can still do some. Please, Mom."

"Well," she stood up, her skirt falling into place, "maybe, but not much. We'll talk about it tomorrow."

She smiled down at me, searching for common ground, for agreement. My eyes focused on her tits swaying before me, her nipples still quite stiff. She laughed, "Oh god. It's no use talking to you right now. I'll tell you what. Tomorrow morning, as soon as Dad's gone, bring some coffee up and we'll talk about it."

"OK," I agreed, a little sullen.

"But don't wake me if I'm sleeping," she went on.

"I won't," I said, still sullen.

Mom turned and went out.

Well friends, I won't tell you more unless you ask. I know this happened over just a few short weeks, but that's the way it was.

Maybe in another letter. Please keep sending me yours.

----------------------------

Wow. How can a guy be that lucky? His mother just goes after him and rubs herself on him. Incredible. And I have to play this game with my Mom, who knew her husband had fucked his mother for years.

"Dave," there was a soft knock on the study door, "Dave? It's time to feed your father." I opened the door. There was my own Mom, in a pale blue slip that fell to her knees, with a lacy neckline that cut down between her breasts, almost to her navel. "We need to go up in a few minutes."

Mom looked a little uncomfortable standing before me in just her slip. Walking over to her and stopping just short, I complimented her on her choice.

I didn't have it so bad, I thought, not so bad at all. I followed Mom out into the living room, admiring her legs, the flare of her hips as they peeled away from her waist, and the swell of her breast as I watched it bulge out from her side, jiggling as she walked. Her breasts were unencumbered. My cock began to swell. No, I didn't have it bad, and it was getting better.

"Is this what you had in mind to help you get into your role?" Mom asked, turning to face me. She looked stunning, her breasts prominent under the slip, their bare sides swelling into the valley cut by her low neckline.

"I can't imagine anything better, Mom. Thanks. I know you're a bit hesitant about all of this."

"I know, Davy. But I've thought it through and I know you're right. We have to try our hardest for Dad." Mom's face twisted with emotion and she stepped forward, throwing her arms around my neck. I held her, pulling her to me, crushing her tits against me. Despite the tenderness of the moment, I couldn't help dropping my hand to her lower back, and then over the swell of her cheek to cup her ass in my hand. She didn't flinch or otherwise acknowledge my touch, she only said, "Let's go upstairs now."

At her bedroom door, as she stood holding Dad's dinner, I again placed my hand on her back. "Remember, we're playing roles and we've got to make him believe." I slid my hand down to rub it across her ass. Mom nodded her head. I opened the door and we went in.

Mom took Dad's dinner immediately to the bedside table where she could easily reach it. Before she could sit at the side of the bed to feed him, I pulled her to me. "We need to let him see us like you would be just before you went to bed." I ducked my head and kissed her. She seemed flustered again. "Come on, Mom, try to get into it." I kissed her again, holding her until she responded. It wasn't long before I was able to slip my tongue between her lips for a real kiss.

Turning Mom to face Dad, I whispered, "Let him look at you. You still have the body of a thirty year old woman, Mom."

I held her upper arms and pulled them back, thrusting her breasts out. I was pleased to see that her nipples weren't soft. "Let him see your gorgeous legs," I whispered in her ear, pulling her slip up her sides until the hem was high enough to show the bottom of her panties. I let the hem drop.

"Let him think something's up tonight, Mom," I whispered in her ear, "Take off your panties."

"No, I can't," she balked.

"Yes, Mom. You have to. You don't know how it makes a man feel when he's with a woman that isn't wearing panties. She's still covered, but seems more accessible. Stir his mind with it."

"I can't, Davy."

"Yes you can. Take them off right in front of him."

I started sliding the hem of the slip up her thighs once more. Mom put her hands on mine to stop me but I kept pulling her slip up. When her panties were bared again, she relented, reaching in to pull them down her legs and step out of them. What an incredible sight to watch her pull her panties off.

"Perfect, Mom. Now, get up on the bed and feed him." Mom sat at Dad's side. "No, right up on the bed, like last time."

Mom dutifully got up on the bed, kneeled at Dad's side and started to feed him. Quietly, I pulled my shirt off, dropped my pants, laying them gently to the floor, and took off my socks. Dressed only in my boxers, I clambered up behind mom. I placed my hands on her shoulders and gently massaged her neck, slowly working down her back as she fed my father. I didn't do anything overtly sexual.

When she finished, Mom leaned forward across Dad to place the plate and utensils on the bedside table. As she did, I was treated to a look at her pantiless ass barely covered by her slip, her crack clearly visible. When she straightened up I moved forward so that her back and rump were nestled tightly against me.

"Now we need to let him see you, Mom, like you're just coming to bed. Go to bathroom, then walk back here, very sexy, and get back on the bed in front of me."

Without any hesitation this time, Mom did as I asked. She looked tremendous as she came back to bed, her long legs bare, and all the way up I knew. My cock surged watching her. She kneeled on the bed and walked herself around to place herself in front of me, then pushed back to press her ass closer to me.

I put my hands on her waist and pulled her up. "That was great, Mom. Arch your back. Show him your breasts." She did, thrusting her tits out, proudly. I reached around and cupped each tit, holding them up toward Dad. I hefted their weight, then squeezed each gently. "Any man would love these," I whispered. "Let him see more."

I pulled the lapels of Mom's low cut slip apart, out past her nipples, pulling them in to the sides of her breasts. Her tits were now bare, squeezed out between the lapels of her slip. Bringing my hands back, I brushed her nipples, watching over her shoulder as they hardened to my touch. Pinching her nipples, tugging them out, I whispered in her ear again, "Open your legs, Mom. Spread them for him."

Mom moved her knees apart. "More," I said. She pulled them wider. "More," I insisted. She opened them yet more. Reluctant to release her nipples, I quietly instructed her again, "Pull your slip up. Let him see you."

Mom began pulling her slip up her wide open legs. She did it slowly, teasingly. I don't know if she was teasing Dad, or if she knew she was teasing me. But tease she did. She didn't stop until her hands were at her waist.

"Lean over like you did yesterday." I pressed her forward and added, "We need to make it seem more real so I'm gonna press really close to you. Just go along with it." My whispers sounded over eager and desperate to me but she allowed me to pull her hips away from Dad as I pushed on her back, far enough that her head lay on his lap, facing him. "Watch to see if he reacts," I instructed.

Oh, the sight of her! Head in father's lap, ass raised toward me, covered only to the bottom of her cheeks. I moved forward to press against her, my cock rock hard under my boxers and the bare head sticking out above the waistband. I leaned over her back and reached around to play with her tits, still squeezed out through the front of her slip. I started nudging my cock against her ass, rocking her head in Dad's lap.

"Come on, Mom. Move like you're doing it." My voice was dry and hoarse.

She started fucking movements, little ones, in time with my nudges against her ass. Slowly, they became more exaggerated as I pushed harder against her. I kept my cock pressed firmly against her ass, moving with her as she shoved it back against me. It dawned on me that she would be unlikely to let me do this unless she was indeed playing out some kind of revenge against Dad. This thought made me push a little further, gambling that my guess was correct.

"If you never let him have you like this, Mom, you really have to show him now how good it would have been." My suggestion clearly moved us from reminding Dad of vivid memories to taunting him with things he wanted but never had.

Mom didn't react even though I hadn't whispered, I'd said it aloud. Had I gone to far? Tentatively, her hands left Dad's leg, where she'd been using her forearms to brace herself, and reached back to her ass. She clutched her slip and began bunching it up in her fists, pulling it up over her ass, baring it to me. Her unsupported head rocked in Dad's lap. She walked her knees a little closer to herself, raising her ass higher in the air. My cock, peeking out of my shorts, was now rubbing along the bare crack of her ass, close to her pussy.

Mom was panting hard. "Like that?"

"Yes, yes," I panted back, breathing just as hard as she was. I moved my thighs from side to side to push her legs farther apart, and angled my hips to let my protruding cock head gouge between her pussy lips. Releasing her tits, I pulled my shorts down to my knees. My cock sprung free against her ass. I pulled back to let it dive under her ass and graze her pussy as I shoved forward. I pushed in and out, teasing her pussy with my scraping rod. Mom was rocking her hips wildly, accenting the pressure of my pole on her pussy.

"Show him," she gasped, "Show him!"

"What?" I gasped back, thrusting my cock between her thighs.

"Show him ... unngghhhh .... what it's like ... unnnngghhhh ... to have me ... unnnggghhhhhh ... from behind!"

For real? I was stunned. Although not so stunned that I stopped fucking my cock between my mother's thighs, pressing along her wet pussy. Fuck her for real? I was always thinking about getting a little farther, the next step, the next feel. Suddenly, she was handing me the real deal. I was suddenly uncertain. Did I really want to do that? Did she?

"SHOW ... HIM!"

Startled by her yell, I pulled back. She stopped, holding her ass up toward me. I looked down at her quivering ass, at her beaver pouting back at me, at the moisture dripping down the inside of her thighs, her moisture, her wetness. Grasping my cock, I placed its head at her pussy lips and shoved it in an inch. Then, not hard but firm and steady, I pushed in until I could feel her ass press against my hips. I grasped her hips and started thrusting hard into her.

I looked up at my father's dead eyes, 'I'm fucking her now, from behind!' I thought, as I bucked my hips against her ass and thighs. But the only things that escaped my lips for real were short, guttural grunts. I was too busy trying to breathe as I pummeled Mom's ass. I would have thought it would be over in seconds, but to my surprise I fucked her for quite a while before I spunked her, making sure every drop squirted inside. I collapsed on her sweaty back, breathing heavily. "Did you see anything, did he react?" I gasped, trying to catch my breath.

She panted for some time before answering, "No."

"We'll have to keep trying, then," I said, elated when she immediately responded, "Yes."

"Let's not move him downstairs, Mom. Let's leave him here. It's easier."

"Yes," she agreed.

"But you should keep wearing slips around the house so every time you come up here he sees that you're dressing sexy all the time."

"To stay in character, to help us play our roles?" she asked, her breathing finally normal.

"Partly. But he should know that you're dressing like that for your me too, for your son." There. It was on the table, a big hint that I knew about Dad and Grandma, and his fear about Mom and me.

"OK, Davy. I know what we have to do up here, and I understand if you need me to dress like this to help you with that."

That wasn't exactly the answer I was hoping for; I was hoping she'd take it a little further, for her to want to wander around in slips or night clothes all the time, for my benefit, not just for this game we were playing. But that was good enough. At least for now.

Mom went on, "I'm going to stay and have a nap with Dad. Can you get your own dinner?"

"OK, Mom. I have lots more work to do in Dad's study but call me so we can say goodnight to Dad together, OK?"

Mom turned over on her back, her arm crooked above her head, her tits still pushing out between her slip. She didn't make any move to pull the slip together to cover herself, or to pull the hem down to cover her bare, damp pussy. "OK, Davy," she smiled, opened her legs and closed her eyes, "but don't be too long because I think Dad will need to go to bed early tonight."

I rushed downstairs straight to the study, skipping dinner in favor of searching for another letter by Frank or Francis to whet my appetite for this evening. Starting where I'd finished with Calvin's letter, I discovered a postscript.

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Hi group. I know I was going to tell you more about me and mom next time but I just had to open the letter before I mailed it to add this postscript. I couldn't wait.

Remember Mom asked me to bring her coffee up the next morning right after Dad left so we could talk about our situation? Well, I did. I was up early, and was coming downstairs just when Dad finished his breakfast. He was pleased to see me up.

"Well, that's a change," he grumped. "So you're going to make an effort to look for a summer job before you go to school?"

"Uh, yeah, Dad," I replied, "Like you said, the early bird gets the worm, right?"

"That's right, son." He slapped me on the back as he headed out the door, "Good luck."

I rushed to make coffee. The stupid coffee maker was so slow I thought it was broken. Eventually, I made my way upstairs carrying a mug of coffee for Mom, thinking hard about how I could convince her to let me keep looking at, touching and sucking her tits, even if she didn't rub herself on me anymore. I was careful to go in her room very quietly and though I set the mug down gently on the bedside table on Dad's side, next to an open box of rubbers, I still disturbed her. She turned over onto her tummy, clutching her pillow lengthways to her body as she rolled on top of it. As I stood watching her, waiting for her breathing to deepen, indicating sleep, before sitting on her bed, she mumbled to herself and kicked at her covers as she tried to get comfortable.

My attention was riveted on Mom's back as the sheet was dragged down by her restless feet. Down from her shoulders, to her waist and on the next kick, over her rump to the backs of her thighs. Another rustle and the sheet was only up to her mid thigh, the hem of her nightie stretched across the halfway mark of her cheeks. Half her ass was bare!

Now seeing and sucking Mom's tits was great, don't get me wrong. But you can't believe how hard my boner got when the bottom of her ass came into view. Mom was making quiet little sounds. As far as I could make out, she was dreaming. She moved her feet around again, kicking the sheet lower still. It was now across her knees and stayed there, held down by her left foot as she bent her other knee and lifted that foot higher in the bed to her side.

Now I had a clear view of her entire ass and pussy. I knelt down at the foot of the bed to improve my view. Her pussy lips, I could see from this vantage point, were parted. This I could tell even through the thick pubic covering her puffy lips, a glistening pink line clearly discernible running from the point her ass gave way to her pussy, and out of sight as it pressed against the mattress.

As I watched, Mom shifted yet again. The sheet was kicked right offer feet. She hunched her bottom up and opened her legs even wider as she bent her left knee as well. Mom was now lying on her tummy, her ass slightly lifted from the mattress, legs bent and opened wide. Her pussy was now clearly parted, marked by a wet pink slash.

I couldn't take any more. I stood, pushed my pajamas down my legs and off my feet. Grasping my engorged cock, I began to stroke myself. What would I do if she awoke and saw me? I didn't care. She looked so hot, like she was inviting me to fuck her. That thought rolled around in my head like a cannonball. What if she was asking me to have her? What if she wanted to be taken? She was the one that insisted I come up to her bedroom even if she was sleeping. And only after Dad left. She let me touch her tits, checking to make sure Dad wasn't near, and she rubbed her pussy on me, and told me not to wear jeans next time. Maybe she wanted to but couldn't cope with it. If I took her while she was 'sleeping', she could pretend we hadn't. God, I hoped I was right because if I was wrong and she told Dad ...

Gingerly, I placed my knee on the bed. Carefully I let it take my weight and then lifted my other knee onto the bed. Slowly, I moved ahead. I froze when she stirred, mumbling something unintelligible. Her legs moved apart even wider and her ass lifted higher. God, my cock was so hard! I was careful not to touch her legs, which wasn't hard, they were so wide apart.

Suddenly, her ass dropped to the mattress and her legs closed together on my knees. She was moaning into her pillow. Frantic, I lifted my knees one by one and placed them on the outside of hers as she moved to close the gap between her legs once mine were out of the way. I stayed still, panicked that she would turn and see me kneeling above her, naked, with my cock jutting out over her thighs. When she didn't move, or give any other indication that she was waking up, I walked my knees up outside her thighs and stopped.

My errant cock wobbled within an inch of her ass. It felt as if it was already touching, the feeling of being so close to her bare pussy was so intense it was almost unbearable. I lowered myself, bracing with one arm while I used the other hand to push my cock into the heart shaped juncture of her thighs under her ass.

I pushed, shoving the head of my tool between her legs, into her warm and moist flesh. My cock pushed deeper, searching for the hot slippery lips I had found the night before. Mother never made a sound. Bracing myself now with both hands at her sides, I pushed my hips down, shoving my cock deeper between her tight thighs. Her ass tilted up against my intrusion, making it easier for me to push forward.

The tip of my cock felt suddenly wet, and very hot. Ecstasy! I pushed harder an my prick slipped further ahead, wetting my shaft. Shove. Shove. Shove. I was in her, my cock was inside my Mom!

I pulled out, slowly, relishing the exquisite feel of her cunt gripping my cock. Slowly, I pushed back in, my hips and back bending to the task. Out again, then back in, still slow but faster than before. Several more times, then several more again. I was fucking her. Her ass lifted even higher giving me better and deeper access. I hunched my buttocks, digging my cock in her. Then she spoke, shocking the hell out of me.

"Take me ... take me ... unnngghhhhh!"

I began fucking wildly. There was no rhythm to my movement, I was just banging her frantically, driven by her moans and my grunts. I slammed repeatedly into the mattress, over and over, until at last I came, pushing her whole body flat to the mattress as I dug my bone into her as deep as I could, gasping and yelling, "Mommmm!"

After a few minutes, I got up, pulled on my pajamas and covered Mom with the sheet. I went to the bathroom to clean up. When I returned, Mom 'woke up' and, turning to see me, smiled and said good morning. I fetched the mug of coffee from Dad's table and handed it to her.

"Oh, you remembered to bring me coffee. How sweet." Mom gave me a huge smile. There was no mention of what we'd just done. It was as if it never happened. "Are you going to let me practice on your hair again on Monday?" she asked as she plumped her pillow and Dad's, leaning back into them while holding her coffee.

"Yeah, Mom. Sure."

"You're so generous, Cal. Come sit beside me while I drink my coffee. ... No, no ... under the covers. That's it," she cooed as I slipped in next to her. "You deserve a little reward, I think." Mom looked down at her chest, then at me. "Do you think you can play with them without spilling my coffee?"

"Oh, yeah. I'll be careful," I assured her.

"Good," she said, "Hold this." She handed me her coffee and then pulled her nightie over her head and tossed it to the floor. She was naked in bed beside me. "Go ahead, play with them if you like."

Several minutes after I started fondling her tits, she whispered, "You can kiss them, too, honey."

As I really got into sucking them, I slipped my right arm under her back and let my left hand stray down between her legs. I cupped her pussy mound, slipping my fingers along her crevice and was about to slip my fingers inside when she stopped me with her hand.

"I can't let you in there, Cal. I can feel your little man against my leg, but I can't let you go that far, honey. I'm sorry."

I stopped sucking her tit.

"All boys want to fuck their mother. It's OK for us to play a little, even talk about like I did last night, but we can't actually do it. Understand?"

I nodded.

"Keep sucking me, honey," she pulled my mouth back to her tit, her breath sucking in as my mouth enveloped her nipple once more. As I sucked her nipple I let my fingers move, ever so slightly, on her pussy. I sucked and sucked, all the while barely moving my fingers on her quim, alternating between lightly stroking up and down and gently tugging her lips apart. She never objected, even though a few minutes earlier she had stopped me and held my hand still. Her hand had now fallen away from mine. Only her breathing had changed, becoming raspier, and the quick intakes and soft little gasps more frequent. 


It wasn't due to my tit sucking. I had become negligent in this regard, simply licking her nipple, concentrating heavily on her cunt. As I pulled her lips wider, starting to dip the tips of my fingers in between, she moved her hand back to grasp mine once more. She spoke in a harsh, hoarse whisper, "Maybe its OK if you just touch me there."

Her grip loosened, and her hand fell away. I pushed my fingers inside and up into her wet cunt, wet with her juice and my spunk. Mom spilled her coffee, what was left of it, but she just let the mug roll off her onto the floor. I used my right arm across the small of her back to push her pelvis out as I dug my fingers into her. Her hips began to rock of their own accord as I fucked my fingers into her. I let my right hand slip down to her ass, my long finger nestling into the crack, pressing on her little hole, but not in. She was gasping unabashedly now, her legs opening wide, her knees bent so her heels could dig into the mattess, helping her fuck my hand in ernest. Only a moment later, her hips were bucking wildly and she was yelling, "Finger me, Cal. Finger your mother!"

Afterward, when she was still gasping for breath, she looked at me, her face flushed. "You're good at letting me get carried away, aren't you?" She smiled that crooked little smile. She looked very satisfied, still propped up on the pillows, her arms hanging limply at her sides.

"I guess so, Mom," I answered, getting up to my knees, swinging the left over her to straddle her tummy. "But you need to let me carried away, now."

I pulled my pajamas down, letting my cock spring out toward her face. To my relief, she didn't yell, didn't even look angry. She just smiled that smile, let a twinkle sparkle through her eyes, and opened her mouth wide. Her arms remained limp at her sides. I grasped my cock and pushed my hips forward moving unerringly into her gaping jaws. She clamped her mouth down, sealing her lips around my shaft, swirling her tongue around my cock's head, and then sucked hard, her cheeks caving in. She released me, quickly pulled out and then pushed back in quick succession several times, then clamped down and repeated the same action.

"Oh, god, Mom," I cried.

Her eyes sparkled. She pulled her mouth off me again. "Like that?" she asked with a big smile.

To my grateful nod, she responded, "OK, I guess you can fuck me that way, if you want. Do you, Cal?" she smiled, opening her mouth, adding, "Do you want to fuck my mouth? Come on, fuck your mother's mouth."

Several times over the next two minutes, when I pulled out, she repeated these words, "Fuck my mouth, come on, fuck your Mom's mouth."

That's all the time I lasted. I blasted what was left of my come into her throat, convulsing against her face. She laughed when I pulled out. "Did you jack off over me last night? I wouldn't have thought I could swallow it all, a young man like you. You did, didn't you? You've already blown your load this morning, haven't you?" She laughed again.

Was she kidding? Did she really not know I had just emptied myself in her cunt? No. She had to know. She was just letting me know she knew, without admitting it, while at the same time acting like she didn't know.

As I was leaving to allow her to get up and dressed, she spoke again but this time her voice was soft and sweet. "Cal, honey. I like to have a nap in the afternoon. Would you be a dear and bring me some tea after?"

"Yeah, Mom. I'll bring you some tea."

"Thanks, honey. But come in quietly, like you did this morning, and don't wake me if I'm sleeping." I nodded, and she blew me a kiss. I grinned as I skipped down the stairs. She was in for a long shag this afternoon, and a giant sperm attack.

Well group, I hope you think it was worth waiting for this postscript. I know I just couldn't wait to tell you. Mom has asked me to bring morning coffee and afternoon tea to her two or three days a week since then. One day, morning coffee lasted well over an hour and on another Mom I brought her 'tea' within ten minutes of her going up for her nap and left just minutes before Dad got home. My cock is so sore and chafed, I'm thinking about getting a skin graft.

I can kiss Mom, feel and suck her tits, finger her and even push my cock into her mouth as long as Dad isn't close enough to catch us. I just can't fuck her. At least so she has to admit it. I guess she can't engage in incest, or admit it to herself at least. I dying to have her when she's 'awake'. Just so you know, I'm working on that. By the way. Dad is happy because Mom dropped the barber thing. She told she just didn't have time for it, what with all the other things she had to do in a day. Bye for now.

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That was it. The search for more letters from Frank and Francis had to wait. I needed to find Mom and convince her to put Dad to bed early. I left the study in search of Mom, unconcerned about the obvious bulge in my pants, or that we had just finished feeding him his dinner less than an hour ago. I was geared up for a sperm attack of my own. 





The Mom Memories Ch. 05
byalwayswantedto©

All characters are 18 years or older.

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From Ch. 04

That was it. The search for more letters from Frank and Francis had to wait. I needed to find Mom and convince her to put Dad to bed early. I left the study in search of Mom, unconcerned about the obvious bulge in my pants, or that we had just finished feeding him his dinner less than an hour ago. I was geared up for a sperm attack of my own.

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I almost went straight upstairs, thinking Mom might still be having a nap with Dad, but there she was, sitting in the corner of the living room, fully clothed in a conservative white dress with a pleated skirt that fell below her knees, her legs covered by matching stockings. Immediately, I feared she had regressed, that I had made a mistake rushing down to read more letters instead of making sure she didn't react adversely when it sunk in that she had actually let me fuck her.

"Hello David," she greeted me, smiling, I imagine, at my surprised and disappointed look. "You seem a little unhappy. Don't you like my dress?"

"Well, uh, Mom, I thought we were going to be a little less, uh, formal. You know, I thought you were going to dress more casually from now on."

"This dress is casual, not fancy, but very comfortable," she protested.

"Mom, you know what I mean. We talked about it," I shot back.

"Is it the stockings? You don't like them?" She bent her knees and pulled her feet up to rest them on the coffee table in front of her, then swiveled her legs, held tightly together, from side to side, displaying her lower legs and the white stockings that covered them. "I like them. I think they make my legs look nice and yet they're very utilitarian," she said, opening her knees and examining the inside of her calves.

Opening her legs provided a view up her dress. I could now see the stockings were knee-highs that accented her bare thighs, drawing my attention to what I knew lay further up in the darkness of her skirt. My cock stirred.

"Or is it the dress?" she suggested, standing up and twirling slowly beside me, coming to rest facing me, a quizzical smile on her face. When I didn't respond she continued, "You didn't really think I was going to lounge around like we were in some olden time bawdy house, did you?" Her querying expression and smile broadened.

She stepped up close to me. "David," she used my formal name again, "what happened upstairs was a special thing for your father. You can't believe it will go on after he gets better, or for that matter, if he doesn't. You don't, do you?"

"No, I guess not," I responded, my face downcast, my voice sullen.

"You know I'm doing that for your father, and I know you're doing it for him too." She grasped my hands and pulled them around to her back so that I was holding her loosely in my arms, my hands resting lightly on her hips. She slid her own hands up my sides, under my arms. "We can kiss for a while before we go up, to get you in the mood, if you like." She raised her face up as she stretched up on her toes, pressed her body against me and kissed me lightly on the lips, nibbling them before kissing me again and teaseingmy mouth with her tongue. Soon, we were in a serious snog, our tongues trading places in each other's mouth. I pulled my mouth from hers, panting for breath. My hands had slipped up her back, holding her against me.

Mom smiled, a sweet smile. "Getting in the mood?" she asked. I nodded earnestly. She may have been dressed in an outfit suitable for church but she still was definitely all woman. She seemed pleased at my mute response.

"I thought you might want to get Dad to bed early so I rushed home after shopping for this outfit." She looked down at her dress. I nodded appreciatively, not wanting to show any disappointment in her choice.

Mom's smile grew. "I wasn't sure if you'd like the dress, but I thought you might like what was under it."

"Yeah, Mom," I agreed, "the white stockings are kind of sexy."

"Oh, you like them now, do you?" I nodded. "But that's not what I meant silly," she pulled closer to me and kissed me again. Her arms circled my neck and she stretched up to whisper in my ear, "Why don't you look? I think you might get in an even better mood if you see what's under my dress." She kissed my ear, swirling her tongue quickly around its edge before nibbling on the lobe. "Go on," she whispered, "unzip me."

I unhooked her dress and pulled the zipper down. I didn't rush. I was learning to take my time. As I neared the small of her back, I realized that she was wearing a slip underneath, but it had to be short because I hadn't noticed it while looking up her skirt. I ran my hands up and down her back, slipping under her dress at the bottom to let my fingers stretch out over the swell of her buttocks, then rubbing the sides of her breasts on the upswing. She allowed me a few moments to caress her this way.

"Take it off, David," she whispered in my ear, "take my dress off."

I slipped the dress off her shoulders, taking extra time to pull it away from her breasts, letting my eyes linger there. My hands slid over her sides and tummy as I pushed the dress down and over her hips. With a final shove, I let it fall to the floor. Stepping back, I admired my reward, the real reason she'd gone shopping.

She looked stunning, her face flushed and her hair a little messy from our necking session, clad in her white knee highs and a short, strapless slip held up only by her breasts, the material clinging to her body over her hips and ending just four inches below her groin. Her thighs looked incredibly sexy, their bareness emphasized by the knee highs below and the slip above. My eyes were drawn to their juncture. Was she wearing panties? I pulled my eyes up, along the open gap between her breasts laid bare by the low, low neckline, then from side to side as I realized she wasn't wearing a bra, as evidenced by the stubby nipples poking up under the silky white material.

"Does this help your mood, Davy?" she asked, huskily, her eyes twinkling as she arched her breasts toward me.

I pulled her to me, kissing her and then lowering my face to her bosom. She pried my head off the swell of her breasts after just a brief moment of joy. "No, Davy. Only in front of your father. Are you ready to go upstairs already?"

I nodded my head vigorously.

"Alright then," she took my hand and led me upstairs. At the door to her room, she stopped and turned to kiss me again, allowing my hands to roam over her body. "Are you ready to do what we have to do?" I nodded enthusiastically. "Can you act like you really want to?" I nodded vigorously again.

"Well, get undressed then."

Mom watched as I turfed my clothes in record time. As I pulled my underwear down, she stopped me. "Whoa, tiger, not too far. She flashed me a big smile but before I could pull my shorts back up she reached in and grasped my hardness in a light grip, sliding her soft hand up over the head and squeezing it before letting it go. "You going to pretend to fuck me with that?" She turned, opened the door and walked toward her bed where Dad lay propped up on the pillows. I followed, dressed only in my undershorts, my cock poking up above the waistband. Pretend? She was going to act like we were pretending?

Mom walked directly to Dad. "Time for lights out, Ron." She stooped slightly to give Dad a light peck on the cheek while she fussed with his covers. "Oh honey, your lips are so dry." She pulled the drawer of the night table out and rummaged around in it. "Oh dear, we don't have any chap sticks. Oh well, this will work." She pulled out a little jar of vaseline. Leaning over Dad, she put some on her finger and dabbed it on his lips. Then she started to get up on the bed beside him but stopped to look at me over her shoulder.

"You'd best get up behind me, dear."

Mom clambered up and over Dad's legs, kneeling beside him to apply more vaseline to his lips. I crawled up behind her, and placed my hands tentatively on her hips, somewhat uncertainly given the authoritative role she had assumed ever since I came out of the study. She turned to look at me when she felt my touch, glancing down at my shorts.

"It won't look real if you're wearing those," she admonished me. She turned back to Dad as I awkwardly yanked my shorts down and off. As soon as I regained my position, she turned back to look at me again. After a very brief smile, she looked down at the hard cock jutting up toward her. "That's better," she said.

She twisted half around to face me. I thought she wanted to be kissed so I readied myself to take her in my arms but she surprised me by reaching down to grasp my cock in her hand. What a feeling! Her fingers were like sinewy tendrils snaking around my prick. Her slippery hand stroked up and down several times before she turned back to face Dad, stroking his lips with the same vaseline covered fingers that had just lathered my rod. This fascinating, unpredictable woman was much more exciting than the one I'd had this afternoon. Looking down at my hardened tool, I could see the sheen of vaseline all over it.

She turned to be once more, grasping my tool, stroking it again. I watched her work. This time I could see her working a large gob of petroleum jelly all over my shaft and up to twist and swirl her little palm around the head. Try not to come, I thought. I prayed I wouldn't come too soon. Did she want to masturbate me in front of Dad? Had she refused to do that for him, with vaseline? Then why was she hiding me behind her?

Mom was gazing into my eyes when I looked up. When my eyes met hers, she spoke, "There's something that he never got to do." She paused. "I never let him ... and neither did she!"

I couldn't believe it. She hadn't mentioned her name but I knew she meant Grandma. Mom turned back to Dad and laid her head on his shoulder. Reaching back, she lifted her slip up to expose her cheeks. Her ass was bare, she wasn't wearing panties. For a few seconds, I admired this precious vision but then gave way to my rising excitement. Leaning in behind her, I pressed forward, nudging my cock against her ass, squeezing its head between her cheeks.

Mom turned her head quickly toward me. Was I mistaken? Had I gone too far?

"Put more vaseline on," she instructed me. I did as I was told, applying it liberally and tossing the jar within reach beside me in case I needed it again. This time, I used my hand to guide my cock between her cheeks, now a little slippery from the vaseline I'd rubbed on them with my human spatula. I pressed in until I could feel myself nudge against her forbidden hole. "Feel my tits," she whispered, her voice very hoarse. Only then did I realize she was still looking back at me. She turned her head back toward Dad as I reached around and grasped her breasts, filling my palms with hard nipples and soft tit, the backs of my hands pressing against my father's ribcage.

I pulled on Mom's nipples each time I pushed my cock against her dark hole. Gently, gently I tugged and pushed. I bided my time, enjoying working her tits, loving the feel of my cock's head squeezing between her cheeks as its tip began to poke inside her. After a seeming eternity, the head popped through the tight little ring, its very first journey into the darkside. Old one-eye stared into the depths of her unexplored cavern.

"Ohhhhhhhh," Mom let out a long sigh, no, a moan. Up to now she'd been silent except for the odd quiet whimper. I continued my gentle shoving.

"Ohhhhhhhh, ohhhh, ohhhh," she became more vocal with each thrust. I maintained my slow pace but I increased the length of my strokes, pushing more and more of my meat into her. And that's exactly how it felt, like I was shoving this big piece of meat into this incredibly exciting, tight, clutching cunt. But it was her ass, and the very thought almost made me come.

I released Mom's tits and straightened up, pulling my cock out of her. Smothering my steel cock with more gobs of vaseline, I quickly returned to her once forbidden entrance which was now gaping open, not the tight virgin rosebud I'd first encountered. Slipping in easily, stroking slowly at first, I increased my pace as Mom's gasps ratcheted up my excitement, and hers. Within minutes I was moving as if it was a regular fuck.

"Unnnnggghhh, unnnnggghhhh, unnnnnngggghhhh."

"Ohhhhhh, uh, uh, uh, Ohhhhhhh."

I wasn't sure if was me moaning and mom grunting, the other way around, or both. We were both panting and gasping loudly, that I knew. I was really pumping into her now, holding her by her hips as I dug my cock into her ass, rocking her against Dad's chest. I couldn't last much longer though I wished it would never end. What a fantastic feeling, the tightness, the taboo, the abandonment, the power.

We were both grunting now, my pace urgent. I tensed my cheeks each time I reached my depth in her, trying to get deeper, trying to swell my cock to fill her. Finally, I burst. I had no control. My hips were lunging erratically against her ass, digging into her, my feet urging me forward, increasing the power of my thrusts.

I fell off her, rolling over onto my back on the bed. Moments later, Mom pulled away from Dad. "My god, my god," she said, stumbling off to the bathroom. I looked over at Dad as she turned on the bathroom light.

Shock. He was looking right at me again. His lips were moving but no sound came out. What was it? 'You bastard', was that it? Yes. He knew. He was aware!

I got up and while Mom was still in the bathroom, frantically grabbed a sleeping pill from the drawer in the bedside table and shoved it down his mouth, forcing him to swallow. You had your mom, you bastard, I thought. Now I'm going to have mine and you're not going to ruin it for me. When Mom came out of the bathroom, Dad's eyes were closed. I lay naked on the bed.

"Any reaction?" she asked.

"Nope," I answered nonchalantly.

"Oh," she seemed disappointed. "I'm going to sleep then," she said, "I'm tired."

She crawled up on the bed and collapsed face down between father and me. Looking down at her slightly parted legs, covered in white stockings to above her knees, I grew hard again. I got onto my knees, nudged her legs further apart and got between them, reaching down to lift her hips up.

"God. Already?" she cried, incredulously.

I was panting already as I lined my cock up with her pussy, no foreplay. "I can't help it," I panted, "I've got to ... pretend to fuck you. Dad should see how ... uh uhhhh ... available you are."

I pushed my still slippery cock into her. She was so hot her pussy was steaming. She gasped as I shoved myself home.

"Ohhhhhhh, Davy," she cried, "It feels so real."

I quickly came up to speed, ramming into her, feeling a sudden need to really fuck her. Incredibly, we were both moaning in no time. The feel of my cock moving in her cunt was unbelievable. My mother's cunt. I was fucking it. I was fucking her, again.

When I awoke the next morning, I turned to take Mom in my arms, ready for another fuck, but she was gone. She wasn't in the bathroom or downstairs. There was a note on the table saying she would be out until after lunch, and that I was to feed Dad. I grabbed a coffee and headed for the study. The first letter I picked up was from Grant.

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Hi everyone. My name is Grant and this is the story of my mother and me. My father died at just 45 years old after a lengthy illness that took its toll on our family so it was almost a relief that he was gone. After the funeral, Mom and I returned home while my sister and her husband returned to their hotel. We were all tired and wanted a break before heading for my father's celebration of life.

I took off my shoes and laid back against the arm of the couch resting my eyes while Mom went to the kitchen to make some tea, though I suspect she was sneaking a hot rum. I looked up when I felt Mom sit down at the far end of the couch. She was still wearing her black funeral dress. She wasn't crying, but her head was in her hands.

"Are you ok, Mom," I asked, softly.

"Yes," she replied quietly, her head still in her hands. Looking up, she leaned toward me, her twisting torso pressing against my knees. She sobbed. I grasped her shoulders and pulled her through my knees to hug her. I consoled her for several minutes before she shifted her weight to lay more comfortably on top of me, her head laying on my stomach. My hands rubbed her back while I comforted her.

She made a soft, pleased sound each time my fingers tickled her neck so, without thinking anything of it, I undid the top few buttons joining the lacy part of her dress behind her neck. I brushed the lace aside and slipped my hands inside, softly tickling her neck. She purred in response. After several minutes of this, Mom spoke, "Can you do my whole back?"

I stretched my hands down over her back, digging in slightly with my fingers.

"No," Mom whispered, "inside."

I paused. "Inside?" I repeated.

"Yes," she replied, "it feels better."

I moved my hands to the top of her dress where the lace started and the zipper ended. Slowly, I pushed the zipper down my mother's back, ready to stop the instant she indicated that was far enough. I had to lean forward as the zipper neared her bottom and I could feel myself pressing into her chest. She never spoke so I continued until the zipper was all the way down, part way up the slope leading to her buttocks. Pulling my hands back as I leaned back, I slipped them inside the lace again but this time spread my fingers over her shoulder blades.

"That's better. That feels wonderful," Mom sighed.

I kept tracing my fingers lightly over Mom's shoulders. This time, she made pleased sounds each time I reached lower on her back, deeper into her dress. After a while, I was moving up and down her entire back, across her shoulder, over her bra strap, down the groove in the middle of her back to the little valley just before the rise to her buttocks, then down to her sides and up over her bra strap to her shoulders again. Her purring sounds seemed to encourage me to reach toward the swell of her cheeks and to dip into the curve of her waist, but I was afraid to go too far.

"Undo me," she said as my hands brushed over her bra strap for the fiftieth time.

"What?" I asked, not sure I'd heard her right.

"Undo me," she repeated.

I fumbled with her bra strap, twisting and pulling until she crooked her arms behind her and undid the bra herself in a quick motion that I couldn't quite follow. Immediately, her arms twisted up the other way and she pulled the shoulders of her dress down, baring her upper arms as she dragged the bra straps down too. She wiggled about until she was comfortable. When I didn't move, she wiggled again. I began moving my hands over her skin once more. She wiggled slightly once last time, as if settling in, and then emitted a long, pleased purr.

My cock grew like a balloon being blown up. It strained uncomfortably against my pants, between the breasts I could feel pressing down on my legs. I moved my hands over my mother's back in the same motions but it wasn't quite the same. Her bra was undone, and I was acutely aware of it. And that changed everything.

Did I say the same? Well, that wasn't quite true. Although I was covering the same ground, my fingers weren't lightly brushing over her skin anymore. Instead, I was touching her, if that makes any sense. I was touching my mother, and though I couldn't put my finger on it, the feel was different. My fingers rubbed on her skin, dragging on her flesh, pressing and pulling.

At some point, I expanded my reach along her waist in a sensuous sweep to the sides of her breasts which had previously been covered by her bra. Now, I slowed my probing fingers, pressing in a just a tiny bit harder where the flesh bulged out from the pressure of her weight. When I pushed my hands down her back I dug my thumbs through the furrow along her spine, all the way to the bottom of her zipper, and then probed a little further her under her dress until I could feel the beginning of another furrow. 

Mom must have been wearing skimpy panties because I couldn't feel any material. Just as I was wondering what to do next, if I dared go any further, the phone rang. Mom didn't move. I froze. The phone rang and rang. When it stopped, I started moving my hands again. Mom sighed very softly. Then the phone rang again.

Mom sighed loudly, "I guess we better get going. Everyone will be waiting for us." She sat up, swinging her legs out to the floor. "That was lovely, Grant. Thank you," she looked at me with a look of true appreciation. Her dress was hanging forward, the sleeves drooping down her arms. She twisted slightly away from me. "Can you do me up please?"

The celebration of life was quite a success, but emotionally draining afterward. Mom put my sister off from joining us at home, insisting she needed to rest, and she should come over the next day. We went our separate ways when we got home but both ended up in the kitchen, in our pajamas, making a snack. We took our food to the living room, Mom sitting in the big chair reading a book while I browsed through the channels, eventually settling on an old western movie.

I watched the movie, glancing Mom's way to admire her during the commercials, experiencing new thoughts about how attractive she was, thoughts I'd never had before. On one commercial, Mom had dropped the book into her lap and allowed her head to rest against the back of the chair. I noticed how fine her features were, how the shadows and light played on her face. I also admired the full rise of her breasts from her chest, not the least bit disguised by the thick, full length terry cloth robe covering them. Letting my eyes follow her figure down to her bare feet, I enjoyed the sight of her right leg, exposed from the knee down where the robe had fallen to the side. I turned back to the movie when it came back on, suddenly glad that Mom hadn't opened her eyes to catch me staring at her. About an hour into the movie, Mom surprised me with a soft query just as a new set of commercials started.

"Grant honey, would you mild terribly giving my back a rub like you did this afternoon?"

Startled, surprised that I had become engrossed in this old movie I'd seen a hundred times, I simply blurted out, "Huh?"

"Would you mind doing my back again?" she repeated, a bit of a pleading looking on her face.

"Oh, sure. No problem."

Mom got up out of her chair and came to sit next to me on the couch. "Lie back like you were this afternoon," she said. I lifted my legs, twisted myself around and placed my left leg behind her, leaving the right awkwardly bent with my foot still on the floor under her legs. Mom moved her hands down to her waist to loosen the belt of her robe. She turned to look at me, smiled sweetly and said, "Don't peek, OK?"

"I won't," I agreed as she turned away, but I didn't look away.

Mom tugged on the terry cloth belt, pulling the ends out far from her stomach and letting them drop to the sides of her knees. Without looking back at me she spoke quietly again, "Close your eyes, Grant."

I did. I could tell she had stood as her weight left the couch, and I heard the heavy but soft thump as her terry cloth robe hit the floor. Her weight once again pressed down on the couch. I could feel her settling in against my left leg, her head coming to rest on my stomach. As her chest pressed down on my thighs, I moved my right leg up onto the couch, squeezing her between, letting my foot fall onto the back of her left calf.

"Ok, sweetie. Go ahead please."

I opened my eyes. Mom's head lay sideways on my stomach, her arms reaching around to my sides. She was wearing a pale yellow cotton nightie that was laced up the back to her shoulder blades where it ended. It didn't have any straps. My cock leapt. I could feel it twitch up against my pajamas and press between her breasts, which seemed to be closer to me than they'd been this afternoon. Of course they were, some logical part of my brain was answering myself, she isn't wearing a bra now. My cock twitched again.

Mom didn't react except to say, "Aren't you going to start?"

"Yeah sure," I replied. I stared to massage her shoulders. Mom sighed after a minute and I began kneading her neck and shoulders with my fingers, using my thumbs to dig into the hollow of her neck on each side. After a while, she instructed me softly, "Do my back."

I slid my hands down over the cotton nightie to massage her sides along her spine. She went along with this for a moment or two, then instructed me again, "Undo me."

I hesitated only briefly this time. I moved to undo the lace ties, pulling each tied bow apart one after the other, realizing excitedly only when I reached the last two that undoing them would part the whole nightie since the ties traversed the entire garment. I could feel my cock throbbing as I pulled the final two apart, my eyes searing along her back as the material separated. Her whole unblemished back lay before my eyes, covered only by a narrow band of panties stretched across the crevasse between the swells rising up below her back. I was right. Mom's panties came barely half way up her cheeks.

I simply stared at her bum, my cock stiffening in response to this beautiful vista. I was dimly aware that Mom was adjusting herself, moving her chest to accommodate my intruder between her breasts. "Rub me," her words urged me to break free of my frozen state.

I moved my hands to her waist, thumbs toward her spine, fingers reaching around her sides, and pushed toward her hips, pressing in firmly against her soft flesh. Back and forth I rubbed, pulling my hands right back along the sides of her breasts, not shying away from pressing them as well. I worked my hands lower and lower, down the full length of her hips to her thighs. I could feel my cock moving between her breasts as I leaned further and further forward.

Slowly, I let my hands move higher up her sides toward her center onto the sides of her cheeks. Soon my hands were traveling from her shoulders down into the sway of her back and up onto the top of her ass. I was rubbing my Mom's bare ass, pushing her panties down a bit as I slid my hands up and down her cheeks. Dare I do more? I stroked and rubbed, fearing to go further, not willing to risk what I had. But inevitably, I couldn't resist trying for more. I moved my stroking fingers, a few millimeters at a time, edging them closer to the crack between her wondrous globes until finally they met. I let the index fingers of each hand dip in and slide up and down her forbidden furrow to the point where the tops of her panties stretched across her cheeks, and even poked underneath a ways. On the upstroke, I pulled outward on her cheeks, dragging them apart.

When Mom moved, I froze. Her head lifted groggily as if just waking from a little doze. I was in for it now! I waited for the sharp rebuke. But ... nothing. Mom pulled herself higher up on the couch and settled her head down on my chest, wiggling about until I felt my cock once again surrounded by her breasts but now firmly ensconced between their heaviest part.

But that wasn't the best part. Oh no. When she had lifted herself, my cock had poked out through my pajama fly. How did I know this? Because when she dropped herself down, covering me again with her breasts, I could feel warm, bare skin. Yes! My mother's nightie had a low neckline which must be why she'd told me to close my eyes. My cock was now wedged between my mom's bare tits.

Oh, and there was still an even better part. My hands had stayed on Mom's ass as she shifted herself higher. I now noticed that my arms, previously stretched as far as they could to reach her ass, were now bent at the elbow and I could easily reach all the way to the bottom of her cheeks and beyond.

Mom sighed and wigged, as if urging me to continue my 'back rub'. My cock digging even deeper between her tits, I ran my fingers up and down Mom's ass once more but now, since I could easily reach without straining, I slid my hand over her panties to stroke the flesh bulging out below her panties. It wasn't long before I was again pulling her cheeks apart, but this time not so tentatively. Soon, I simply pulled her right cheek to the side with my left hand and used my more deft right to slide deeper through her crack the entire length from the small of her back to the bottom of her ass, pushing her panties off her cheeks until they stretched across the backs of her thighs. Rather than objecting, Mom sighed and purred as my fingers traced their path, my fingers sufficiently deep between her cheeks to strum across her back door.

Risking everything ... or so I thought, really, at this point what was I risking? ... I pulled my hand back to my mouth and drenched it in saliva, drooling on my fingers. Placing them back in her anal furrow, I rubbed my slippery digits up and down, wetting her cheeks, pausing for effect on her crinkly rosebud. Her sharp intake of breath followed by series of small gasps encouraged me to once again drool on my fingers ... I didn't put them in my mouth this time ... and return them to spread the slippery mucous about her little hole and further down between the fleshier part of her cheeks.

I could feel her breathing quicken against my chest. Her whole body tensed up and froze as I dipped the tip of my big finger into her little bud. I held it there ... not pushing, not pressing ... just holding it against her nether hole. Slowly, her tension eased. As she relaxed, her little rosette opened to welcome my fingertip. I could barely sense the upward movement of her pelvis as she lifted her ass up toward her invited guest. Two almost imperceptible repeats of this wanton movement did the trick and my finger slipped through the gate but only far enough to cover the fingernail as if awaiting a full invitation before stepping completely through the door.

"ohhhHHHHH." Now that was a definite shove, no imperceptible movement there. "Uhhhhh, unnnhhhh." Nope. Those next two upward butt movements was a definite 'COME ON IN.' Such wanton behavior from my mother was startling, and tremendously exciting. My long middle finger was now embedded to the second knuckle. I had forgotten my cock nestled between Mom's bare tits I was so fascinated with her ass, this being the first time I had ever played with a woman's ass.

I started to work my finger in and out, out to scoop up excess saliva left on her cheeks and then back in. Soon I was slipping easily in and out. Further and further I pushed until the full length of my finger was digging into Mom's taboo hole. She really seemed to like it. She was oohing and ahhing, catching her breath and panting, even moaning a little. Did Mom and Dad do it this way? My stiff cock hardened even more as I pictured my father fucking my mom in the ass as I slept in the next room.

I pulled my finger out to a dismayed sound from Mom when it didn't immediately re-enter, followed by a surprised gasp when I slid my finger along her peritoneum, pushing her panties further down her thighs to make room, and plunged it deep into her very wet pussy. I jammed it in and out of her a dozen times in quick succession, then quickly back up and into her ass again. This prompted a clearly audible grunt, followed by a long moan as I pushed my finger slowly in and out at full length.

Running my hand back to her pussy, I pushed two fingers into her, slowly, gently, letting her feel and appreciate the width and fullness of this new invasion. I took a full minute to get my fingers in. Moving my left hand in to her ass, I pushed its index finger into her now loosened little hole, pressing steadily until it was in to the second knuckle. Holding it there, I began to shake my right hand, vibrating the three fingers ensconced in her twat until I was shaking her pussy at almost vibrator speed. She was now moaning softly, constantly, working her pelvis, pushing up on the finger in her ass and down on the ones in her pussy. I continued shaking my hand and wiggling my fingers until I felt the warm gush of her fluid spilling out, and a final long, gasping exhalation.

Mom sagged against me. I pulled my fingers out of her pussy, then slowly pushed the three fingers between my thumb and baby finger into her cunt. Her body tensed as they shoved their way in. When her soft pussy lips met my hand, I began twisting it back and forth. Within a minute, she shuddered to a second orgasm. I brought my hands up and began massaging her shoulders gently.

When Mom finished shaking, I moved my hips, sliding my cock between her tits. She didn't react in any way. She just lay there letting me fuck her tits. I stopped massaging her shoulders and began pressing down, encouraging her to go lower. Suddenly, she lifted slightly and shifted down. I moved my hands up to hold her head, turning it to face my abdomen, and pushed down. On one upswing through her tits, my cock popped into her and I immediately began hunching my hips faster and faster. I couldn't hold back, feverishly fucking my cock into her mouth. I tried jamming it higher but was blocked by thickness of her tits. Still, I tried to get farther and farther into her mouth. I could hear myself gasping for breath. Louder and louder. I was running out of air. And then I burst, spurting and spurting into her mouth. Her mouth slid down my entire shaft, my cock bumping against her throat as she allowed me all the way in. She let me stay like that until my cock softened, one of the most exquisite sensations I have ever felt.

We lay there recovering our breath, not speaking, for several minutes. It dawned on me that Mom, just like me, wasn't sure what to do now. I think were both in a quandary about how to deal with each other now that the passion of the moment had passed. Mom was breathing regularly now, almost as if she was napping. This thought sparked a solution in my mind for how we could extract ourselves from this situation. Mom couldn't pretend to be asleep, she was on top of me, almost undressed with her panties pushed down. But what if I pretended to be asleep. Surely not believable but at least we could avoid confronting the facts and facing each other.

I began to breathe regularly and deeply letting my right hand fall off her shoulder to hang in front of the couch. After a few minutes Mom stirred, either believing my act or at least realizing the opportunity to get up and leave unobserved. After she stood I heard her pull up her panties and pick up her terry cloth robe. A minute later, she spoke to herself out loud, "Oh, look at him, so cute, just like when he was little. He must be so stressed to sleep in the middle of the afternoon." And so she set the stage to cover our actions. Would there be more acts?

I sensed Mom lean over me and felt her lips on my forward in a familiar motherly caress. Then, uncharacteristically, she kissed me gently on the lips and whispered, "Sleep well, you're the man of the house now." She kissed me again, sliding her tongue between and across my lips. And then she was gone.

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Oh Grant, I surely wanted to read more about your Mom. It was too early for Mom to be home yet so I started flipping through the letters before realizing that I had forgotten to feed Dad. Mom would be pissed. I ran out to the kitchen, sliced up some fruit and dumped it in a bowl of yogurt, and hurried upstairs. As I fed him, I scrutinized Dad's face for any indication of awareness like he'd shown the night before, but there was no sign. I was sure I hadn't been mistaken the night before. Perhaps he needed the heat of the moment firing his anger to let him react. Oddly, I guess my initial ruse to get Mom to let me touch her was actually working. But I certainly didn't want it to get in my way. With this in mind, I crushed a single sleeping tablet into the yogurt. Mom would be home in a couple of hours and I didn't want him ruining my fun, no matter how remote the possibility.

I left the dishes on the bedside table so Mom would know I hadn't forgotten to look after Dad and returned to the study to continue my search through the letters.

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Hi everyone. Frank here. First, thanks for all the letters. I can't tell you how much I look forward to receiving your letters. They were so interesting that I doubt you remember my story. My mom had offered to help me study for exams, something she'd never done before. I think she really did it to keep me away from Donna, a girl a little older than me who I had deceived my mother into thinking was interested in me sexually. This led to Mom flirting with me, teasing me with her legs, allowing me to look down her blouse and even touch her breasts and her panties, culminating in her taking my cock into her mouth in my room while we were supposedly studying.

I'm not sure whether Mom had got carried away with the taboo excitement of being sexual with her son, especially when my father was so close by, or if she was willing to do whatever to keep me away from a woman she thought would lead me astray before finishing college. It didn't matter to me, as long as she let me touch her and put my cock in her mouth again. I wanted her all the time now. I couldn't look at her without getting a hard on.

Like the very next day at breakfast. Dad read the newspaper, as usual, while Mom bustled around the kitchen. That left me free to constantly follow Mom's every move. She wasn't dressed any differently than normal but I could still see her legs, her slender bare arms, and the hints of her breast moving under her dress. Mom did seem to pay more attention to me. She smiled at me every time she brought something to the table and would glance my way when she stretched up to get something from a cupboard, pulling her dress tightly against her body, knelt down to retrieve an item from a lower cupboard, allowing her housedress to ride up on her thigh, or bent over to reach into a bottom drawer. Or was it just my imagination?

She finally joined us at the table. Dad, having long finished eating, had buried his nose in the paper. Mom noticed that I had waited to eat with her, something I hadn't done before. She seemed very pleased, rewarding me with an extra sparkly-eyed smile and a pat on my knee.

"Thank you, dear. That's so nice of you."

"What?" father asked, without lowering his paper.

"Nothing dear. I was talking to Frank," Mom answered, trying to speak and swallow her cereal at the same time, some milk spilling out and dribbling down her chin. She pushed her chin out so the milk wouldn't drip on her dress.

Instinctively, I reached out and caught the little rivulet of milk before it fell, dragging it back up my mother's chin with my finger and returning it to my her lips. Mom gave me an appreciative look. And then I did it ... I pushed my luck. Looking into her eyes, I deliberately poked my finger through her lips into her mouth. She didn't do anything except glance at my father, without turning her face away or moving her head. When her eyes returned to mine, I pushed my finger right in, feeling it slide along her tongue. She let me do it and didn't glance away again. When she started to gag a bit I quickly pulled my finger back. Mom closed her mouth around it, her cheeks caving in as she sucked it briefly, before releasing it to form a smile. As I pulled my hand away, Mom spoke again, "Thank you, dear. That was nice of you too."

"What?" my father asked again, not really paying attention. No one answered him.

When we were leaving, Mom asked if I wanted her to help me study again, because if I did, she would skip her girls night out. I protested that she shouldn't do that but she insisted, saying that she and Dad thought my school work had always been a high priority for them. As we walked away, Mom called me back, "Come here, Frank. You've got some breakfast on your mouth, dear."

Mom wiped the corner of my mouth as Dad continued on to the car, then slipped her finger into my mouth, a curious smile on her pouting lips, then stretched up on her toes and replaced her finger with a quick kiss on my own lips.

"Don't go to Donna's, I'll help you study tonight."

She watched us as we backed down the driveway and waved as we drove away. On the way to school, Dad offered to speak to Mom if I would be better studying on my own or with other students, but I assured him that studying with Mom was actually way better than with other students because she didn't assume aything and asked all sorts of things that other student's wouldn't, so I really had to know my stuff.

"Ok, well that's great, son."

I couldn't concentrate at all that day. I thought about Mom all day long and couldn't wait to get home. I really wanted to skip my evening class but couldn't think of a way to justify it, and was afraid to jeopardize anything with Mom because I knew she actually meant it when she said my schooling was a high priority for her.

When I finally got home, Mom had waited to eat with me. We sat together in the kitchen, kitty corner rather than at each end of the table, while Dad watched a game on TV. A couple of times during our meal, we each made a production of wiping some allegedly spied food from the other's mouth, followed by almost secretive smiles. Mom asked me about the course I was studying for. After my monologue that lasted to the end of our meal, interrupted by only a few leading questions from Mom, she leaned toward me across the corner of the table and thanked me for my exposition, remarking how interesting the course was and how infective my enthusiasm was, all emphasized by the brush of her knee against mine which was what I really noticed.

Mom got up, placed her hand on my shoulder, and said, "You go up and get ready to study. I'll be up in a few minutes." She walked into the living to speak to Dad. When I passed through on my way upstairs, she was saying, "... so let me know if you want anything because I'm going to help Frank study for his history exam, and we can't have any interruptions once we start." I couldn't hear Dad's response but as I topped the stairs I heard Mom reply, "Ok. Is that all, because I'm not coming back down." I carried on to my room, my boner already starting.

In my room I stripped down to my boxer shorts and slipped into my housecoat, leaving the belt undone, spread my notes around on the bed, and waited for Mom. I tried not to rub my cock while I waited but couldn't help doing it a few times. It was at least fifteen minutes before Mom came in. She was wearing a silky, three quarter length kimono that covered nearly all of her but also clung to her figure, hinting at the delights underneath. To my disappointment, she didn't climb up on the bed as I had expected, as she'd done the last time. Instead, she pulled the chair near the bed and sat down, just as she'd done the first time we had studied. "Hand me your notes," she said in a firm, authoritative voice.

She glanced through my notes for several minutes and then started asking me questions. Half an hour later my dick was soft. Mom was actually serious about helping me study. After an hour, I complained that I needed a break. She seemed reluctant until I remarked that Donna wasn't such a hard task master. I thought that would make her angry, but it didn't. She just smiled and shifted her feet on the edge of the mattress, allowing her kimono to slip off her legs below her knees. I looked at her legs appreciatively, and didn't try to hide it.

"Speaking of Donna," she said, "I found a package of condoms in your drawer here today." She indicated my bedside table with a nod of her head. "Is she offering you something new to study with her?"

I was stunned. As far as I knew, Mom had never looked through my things. And since that package of rubbers had been there for almost a year, this must be a new thing for her if she'd just found them. Cagily, I replied, "I don't think it would be right for me to talk about that. You shouldn't be going through my drawers, anyway."

Mom ignored that. "I just want you to be aware of what you're doing. You should be careful, you don't want to make that girl pregnant. Those things aren't foolproof, you know."

"Mom, we talked about that before."

"Well anyway, I thought you liked studying with me. Don't you like studying with me?"

"Yeah Mom. At least I did before you started working me so hard."

"Just be patient, honey. I'll only quiz you for a little while longer." She stretched her right foot out to press it against my leg, twisting her foot to rub her sole on my thigh. "There's usually a reason for everything you know."

Mom had just started asking me questions again when we heard Dad coming up the stairs. Mom casually withdrew both feet from the bed, set them on the floor, and adjusted her kimono to cover her legs. There was a brief knock at my door and my father's head popped in.

"How's it going?" Dad asked, his eyes flitting between us, taking in our studious scene.

Mom finished asking her question then pointedly turned to Dad, "I said we shouldn't be interrupted. We're in the swing of things here."

"Oh, sorry." Dad mumbled apologetically. "I'm off to bed and I couldn't remember if Frank needed a ride tomorrow morning."

"Uh, no Dad," I replied, "I don't have any classes until 1:30 tomorrow."

"Oh, Ok son. Then I'll see you tomorrow night." Turning to Mom, he said, "See you in the morning, honey."

Mom nodded as Dad shut the door, repeating the question she had just asked me. As the sound of Dad's footsteps dwindled away, Mom replaced her feet on the bed, one reaching forward to rub my leg again. The kimono, seemingly of its own volition, fell away from her legs, but this time to well above her knee. Several more questions were directed my way, but the sight of Mom's legs robbed me of my concentration and my answers were faltering at best.

"Ok, mister. You need to buck up." Mom stood and crawled up onto the bed, straddling my legs and squatting on my knees. Her kimono was pulled apart, exposing her legs high on her thighs. My eyes stuck there.

"I guess I'll have to treat you like a little kid. If you answer correct three times in a row, you get a treat. One." And she asked the first question. After answering the third question correctly, Mom smiled, lifted herself and walked forward a few inches on her knees, settling her bum down on my thighs. "Ok, sweetie," she smiled, "Undo my belt for me."

Excitement coursed through me. I reached for her kimono belt and tugged on it. I didn't rip it open. I pulled slowly, wringing every bit I could out of the moment, like I was enjoying opening my present just as much as the present itself. Almost.

Mom smiled knowingly at me as I worked on her belt. "So, you've learned to savor what you work so hard for, have you?" She rocked her hips side to side, twisting her waist. I just kept at my task. Finally, the belt was undone. I started to pull her robe apart but she stopped me.

"Uh uh, three more questions, buddy."

Three more questions and I was reaching for her kimono again.

"Just one side," she said, blocking one hand.

I pulled her kimono to the side, revealing her torso, her almost flat belly, and her left breast covered by a pink, lacy bra.

The questions started again. I urged her to ask faster but she just smile and kept to the same pace. Once more my hand reached for her kimono, pulling the other half to the side. Now her bra-clad breasts were open to my eyes, as was all of her tummy, but the kimono was still closed over her pelvis.

Three more questions, not one wrong answer. My attention was certainly focused now. I used both hands to pull her kimono apart, revealing a matching set of pink panties. They were just a hammock held up by two strings reaching around her waist, the hammock itself covering her pussy and disappearing into the juncture of her thighs. No hair spilled out the sides despite its tiny size. The material was so thin, I could make out the lines of her pussy lips underneath.

"Do you like them?" she whispered.

I nodded, intensely. She asked three more questions, more quickly now. I reached up to undo her bra but she shook her head, and pulled my hands to her breasts outside the bra. I cupped her breasts, squeezed and kneaded them in my palms. When she started to ask me questions again, I shook my head. She relented, allowing me to fondle her breast for a few minutes more. Then came the questions. Again the perfect score.

I slid my hands down and deftly undid the bra. She didn't try to stop me. Her tits sprang out. As I grasped them in my hands, she shrugged her kimono off her shoulders and took her bra completely off. She arched her back as I fondled her tits, my thumb circling her nipples and squeezing them into the crook of my hands. She shifted forward, her crotch now almost touching mine. The questions came even faster now. I blew the third one.

Mom started over. I complained, "Mom, forget the questions."

"No. You have to answer," she insisted.

I blew the second question. Mom hadn't stopped me from touching her, my hands still held her tits.

"Frank!" Mom panted, "Is this all you want. Don't you want more?"

"Yes, yes," I cried.

"Then concentrate," she whispered harshly.

I mustered all my cognitive strength to answer three more.

"Finally," Mom smiled, her breathing quickened.

I continued squeezing her tits, manipulating her nipples, stretching them out, pushing them in, twisting them. I wasn't sure what my next reward would be. I wasn't sure what to do but Mom answered for me. She reached down to pull my housecoat apart, spreading it until my chest was bare all the way to my boxers and beyond. Looking down at my obvious erection, barely contained by my shorts, she laughed, a soft guttural sound.

"Oh. Someone's been studying very hard indeed."

Was she going to take it in her mouth again? She was. I could tell she was excited too. She was going to do it! Mom suddenly shifted forward, sitting right on top of my shorts, covering my hard dick. It was so warm and soft. She was rocking slightly to and fro.

"Does she do this for you? Hmmm? Does she?" Her hips were rocking.

I was just about to say, 'No, You're the best' when she looked over at the night table.

"She's going to let you fuck her, isn't she?" Her tempo increased

I didn't say anything. I didn't nod, but I didn't say no either, despite the truth of it. All I could think about was her pussy rubbing on my cock.

"But only through a piece of rubber." She reached over and pulled the drawer open, fumbling around inside. I thought she was going to take the rubbers away but her hand held my scissors instead. She swept my arms away from her tits and thrust the scissors in my hand. "Take them."

Dropping her hands to her side, she grasped the panty strings running over her hips. "Cut them," she commanded.

Shocked, I nevertheless cut the string on each side of her panties, confused, uncertain of what this was all about. She started rocking again. Looking into my eyes, she whispered, "You can pull my panties out if you want."

I reached down to grasp the patch of pink material she was calling panties.

She grasped my hand, stopping dead still. "But only if you leave those rubbers in your drawer and promise me you won't do anything with her."

There it was. She thought she was putting me in a real quandary. Without hesitation, I gasped, "I promise Mom." I tugged on her panties, trying to pull them out. "I promise, Mom."

I pulled harder. I could feel her lift her weight just before they broke free. I was holding her panties in one hand, looking down at her bare pussy, a tuft of hair atop her mound and a bare cleft below.

Mom reached down to manipulate my boxer shorts. My cock soon poked its head through the fly. Mom slid forward, directing her pussy onto my cock, pushing it flat on my stomach. She let her weight fall against it. She leaned into kiss me, a long soft kiss on my lips. Pulling back, she whispered, "Bareback is best, baby." She kissed me again, slipping her tongue inside before pulling away again. "And no girl out there is going to let you do that." She kissed me again, this time flooding my mouth with her swirling tongue. "You have to come home for bare pussy. Remember that."

Mom started fucking her wet pussy back and forth along my hard cock, bathing it in her juice. Mom didn't know it, but my cock had never been christened with cunt juice. This was its first bath. A moan escaped my lips.

"Oh yeah, baby likes that, doesn't he?" She rubbed harder. I nodded, my face red, panting, moaning.

"That's it. Fuck up against me." She was panting just as hard as me now. "Rub my wet pussy." She was gasping, we were gasping. "With your hard cock!"

On that, she suddenly burst into really rapid fuck movements, her hips churning. I matched her pace, trying to thrust my cock into her cunt but she kept it flat on my stomach, not letting me dip it down far enough to gain entrance. Her head fell back as she arched her back. "Oh, God!" she cried, not whispering, as her pussy began clenching my cock. That did it. I began spilling my spunk all over my stomach. I could feel myself getting even wetter as she came.

Mom collapsed forward against my chest. I held her for quite a while until she raised her head and latched her mouth on mine, her tongue instantly invading my mouth, digging around, retreating and attacking, a very long, hot kiss.

"Remember your promise," she reminded me when the kiss broke. "Remember yours," I fired back. She pulled her kimono back on, picked up her torn panties, and climbed off the bed. Smiling at me, she dropped the panties into my open drawer, "I will," she said calmly, then turned and walked out of my room to join my father in her bed.

-------------------------------------

What timing. Just as I finished reading Frank's letter, having just pulled my cock out and stroked it a few times, I heard Mom come in the door. I had just jammed it back in my pants when her head poked in the door to let me know she was home. I straightened myself and followed her, my cock now more ready than ever. She was in the kitchen, putting groceries away. But that wasn't what caught my attention.

She was wearing a white, cotton summer dress, sleeveless, with a loose skirt falling about her legs almost to her knees. The material was so loose you could see her legs through it with the sun shining through the kitchen window, and her white cotton panties. Running my eyes up her body, I was sure from her movements that she wasn't wearing a bra. I walked up close beside her. She wasn't. I couldn't believe it. My mother had worn a dress outside without a bra!

"Oh, I see you like my dress. I tried pick out something you'd like. I think I caused quite a stir when I wore it out of the store." I could imagine. You could clearly see, with this material, that she wasn't wearing a bra.

"I like it very much," I replied, "except ..." I paused, not sure how to talk about her going braless in public.

"Oh, I forgot, now that I'm home." She reached down, slipped her hands under her dress, pulled her panties down, and stepped out of them, tossing them carelessly to the floor. She returned her hands to the sink, washing the vegetables she'd just bought. I stepped around behind her. Just as with her top, I could clearly see that her bottom was bare, the crack between her cheeks clearly visible. Her ass wiggled excitingly as her hands cleaned the vegetables. I lined myself up and pressed my cock against her ass, pushing it between her cheeks, reaching around to cup her bare breasts through her dress. She pushed herself back against my cock, but not for more.

"I don't like that," she said.

Pushed apart from her, I was taken aback. My hands still held her tits. She hadn't pushed my hands away.

"But, last night ... upstairs ..."

"I don't care about upstairs. I don't know about ... upstairs!" She seemed angry.

I didn't reply, not knowing what to do, afraid that I might ruin things by saying the wrong thing.

Her voice softened. "You can pretend to do other things," she continued, "just not that ... it's dirty."

"Oh that," I said, just now understanding, "I wasn't going to do that, I'm not interested in that," I lied, knowing full well I'd dearly love to have her ass again. "Oh no, I was just thinking about the other thing, but just from this way," I pressed myself back against her ass.

"Oh, I see," she said.

I dug my cock back between her cheeks again, "I just thought we should practice some more before pretending in front of Dad."

"Oh, alright then."

"Just keep doing the vegetables as if you're making dinner for Dad," I whispered in her ear. Her nipples were hard now and her breathing more rapid. I dropped my hands to her skirt, pulling it up to bare her ass. I tucked it around to her front, pinching it between her stomach and the counter. "You have a lovely bottom you know, honey," I said, speaking now as if I was Dad years ago. "It's the best one in town, did you know that?"

"It is?"

"Oh yes." I ran my hand across her fanny, dipping down to cup her cheeks, hefting the weight of each one. I pushed my shorts down with my other hand, freeing my cock. "You simply have the most marvelous bum." I played my hand along the bottom of her cheeks, slipping in between her legs to quickly run my fingers along the bottom of her pussy, before lifting both hands to repossess her tits.

"Push it out a little, honey," I whispered in her ear, "push your sweet buns back to me." She thrust her ass back at me.

"Step back," I whispered, pressing her legs apart with my knees as she complied. "Don't stop. Keep doing the vegetables," I commanded quietly as I lined my cock up, its head bumping along her bottom as her hands starting busying themselves in the sink again. "Bend your back," I whispered, thrusting my cock between her pussy lips as she arched her back, lowering her head to rest on her hands which, ignoring my instructions, she'd used to grab the narrow expanse of counter in front of the sink, getting ready to get fucked.

I pushed my cock just inside her lips, wetting its head. "I love pretending to fuck you," I whispered, "but we've got to pretend that we're not pretending, to make it more real." I went on, "Put your soul into it, Mom. Fuck me ... fuck Dad ... like its real. From now on ... fuck Ron ... like you really love it."

I kept my cock still in her, not trying to push further in, although it was twitching in her pussy. I could feel myself getting wetter from her juices.

"Don't you just love fucking me," I asked, adding for emphasis, "just after I've come home? Come on, pull my cock inside you."

There was a pause and then she pushed back on me, trying to impale herself. I drew back. "No, pull me in. Pull my cock in. You love the feel of it, you're desperate for it to fill you."

Another pause as my whispers sunk in. Then I felt it. Her cunt, clinging, clutching, like a hundred little fingers, pulling, tugging, pressing and releasing like a snake digesting its catch. I resisted, the pressure increased. Her head dropped right in the sink. I squeezed her tits, pinching her nipples. She raised up on tippy toes and really pulled on my cock head. I pushed it in an inch.

"Unnnnggghhhh ... Ohhhhhhh ... fuck me ... fuck me."

I slipped in another inch. "Only if you really want me to."

"Ohhhhhh, ohhhhhh ... please," she whispered.

I don't know why I did it, I can't explain it. I just did. I reached in to the sink and grabbed a smallish tomato and pressed it to her lips. Her mouth opened and I pushed it in. She held it there, half in and half out of her mouth. Grasping her hips and pulling her up so she was right on the very tips of her toes, I pushed my cock all the way in. 

"Say please," I gasped, then, "Keep saying it."

Mom began saying something. I couldn't tell what it was with the tomato in her mouth but I just knew she was saying please, over and over again as I fucked her, never letting her feet fall flat to the floor. I fucked into her in long, slow strokes. Every once in a while saying, "Keep saying it," although there was no need, she was moaning constantly into the tomato.

I couldn't maintain my slow pace, quickly increasing the tempo until I was slamming furiously into her backside, hammering her cheeks, jamming my cock as far into her pussy as I could. Her mouth clamped down on the tomato, squishing it in her mouth. I reached down to grab her hair, gently pulling her head back and twisting her to face the sink so the tomato juice would drip into the sink. Despite the intensity of it, I fucked her hard like that for another two full minutes before flooding her cunt with my spunk, reveling in the flood of her own juices as they washed over me.

Pulling my cock out of ehr, I picked up my shorts where they'd fallen to the floor and walked naked upstairs to have a shower. I didn't know what would happen in my Dad's room, and I didn't care. I knew I was going to have my mother again before we went there. I wanted to see the look on her face when I pushed my cock into her.

I took a long shower. Wrapping a towel around my waist I exited the bathroom to see my mother leave her room. She was wearing a white blouse and a black, pleated skirt. The pantyhose made her legs whisper as she advanced to the stairs.

"Mom" I called. She stopped before taking her first step downstairs, her hand on the banister. She took a step, placing her flat heeled pump on the first step.

"Mom!" I called again. She turned to look at me.

"I'm just going out for a while," she explained.

"No."

"No?"

"No," I repeated quietly. "Come here."

Mom slowly walked toward me. She was oddly sexy in her conservative white and black outfit, almost nunnish. I walked forward, meeting her in front of her open bedroom door, noting Dad sitting up on their bed from the corner of my eye.

I looked down at Mom, placing a finger under her chin to lift her face up to mine. "I want you to stay home with me for a while longer," I said. Her eyes strayed back to face my chest, her face falling with them.

"But Davy, I need to get out."

"Call me Ron." My voice was loud and firm.

"Ron," she copied me quietly, her hands sliding up to hold the outside of my arm, her thumbs tracing the top of my biceps as her fingers brushed the corded muscle on the sides. "I just need to go out for awhile."

Ignoring her statement, I went on, "I want to show you something," I said quietly now, "about how lovely you are, about why other men want you so much."

She said nothing. She just continued to caress my arms. I reached around her arms to start unbuttoning her delicate white blouse. "You know men want you, don't you?" I asked as the swells of her breasts came into view, the rest covered by her bra. She nodded. "Do you know why?" I asked, as I undid the last button and pulled her blouse apart. She shook her head. I found the zipper of her skirt and dragged it down, then pushed her skirt over her hips, letting it fall to the floor. Quickly, I moved up to remove her bra and tossed them through the open door toward my father.

"I'm going to show you."

Putting my arms around her, I whispered, "You want me to show you, don't you?"

She nodded.

"Say yes if you really mean it."

"Yes," very quietly.

We walked, arms around each other, to my room. Inside, I told her to take off her pantyhose and sit on my bed. Picking up on the spirit of things, Mom walked slowly, exaggerating her hips movments, to the bed, pushed her pantyhose over her hips and ass to her thighs while gyrating her buttocks in a slow roll before turning to face me as she sat on the end of the bed.

"Show me your legs."

Mom pushed the panty hose down her thighs and over her knees. Then she peeled the hose down each leg, raising each foot in the air until the hose fell off her feet. When she finished, she crossed her legs and folded her hands on her thighs. Waiting.

"Sit back on the pillows."

Mom used her hands to backpedal to the pillows propped up against the headboard, naked except for her panties. Leaning back, she smiled and enigmatic smile, her knees bent and parted about a foot. Her toes curled up in anticipation of the next instruction.

I let my towel drop to the floor. My cock lurched as I walked slowly toward her, leaving the door wide open.

"It's your legs, Susan," I revealed as I settled in between her feet.

She was only momentarily disconcerted by my use of her first name. "My legs?"

"Yes, your legs. I know you know you have nice legs, but you don't know the best part, because you can't see it," I explained. "Lots of women have nice legs but very few, almost none, have absolutely no dimples on the backs of their thighs, especially at your age. You have the legs of a 24 year old woman."

My flattery was obviously well taken. "Look," I said, grasping her left foot and lifting her leg, bending the knee to force her thigh back to her chest. "Hold your knee back, and look," I instructed.

Mom grabbed her knee, pulling her leg back even further and straining her eyes to look at the back of her thigh. I let my eyes wander down to her pussy, superbly outlined by her panties stretched across it so tightly. I picked up her other foot and pushed that leg back too.

"They're both perfect. Hold them both back." As she pulled that leg back too, I slipped my knee under her ass as it lifted from the bed. I ran my hands up and down her thighs, letting them come to rest on her pussy. "Feel them," I said, "feel for yourself."

As Mom brushed her fingers back and forth on her legs, I grasped the waist of her panties and pulled them up over her ass. "Let's get rid of these," I said, pulling them up her thighs and calves, over her feet, and off. Her legs were now together, straight, held back against her tits, with her toes pointing to the wall behind the headboard. Her pussy was very exposed, even though her legs were closed. "So beautiful," I whispered, pulling her feet over to rest on my left shoulder, leaning forward to press her legs even tighter against her tits.

Her eyes were closed. "Now you know why I need you to keep your legs way back like this." She nodded.

I grabbed my cock and placed it at her entrance, pushing in slowly as I held her legs. Relentlessly, I shoved until I was completely in her. Placing a foot on each shoulder, I leaned forward, pushing her knees right into her shoulder, then off beside her on the bed. She was breathing very heavily, perhaps because it was difficult for her to breathe in this position, or maybe partly because my cock was very deep in her.

I pushed even further, raising my knees from the bed, using my toes to keep myself braced and letting my full weight push my cock in. And then I started, a whole body fuck, driving my cock deep into her cunt on every powerful thrust. I pounded into her like this until the exertion was too much for me. Her breathing was so harsh, I'm sure it could be heard across the hall. I pulled her knees together above her tits, straddled her hips with my knees, and began fucking her in earnest once more. I really lunged into her, pushing her back toward the headboard. When it was in reach, I slipped my hands under her knees and grasped the headboard, fucking her like that for a few minutes.

Pulling her down the bed by her feet, I twisted her legs until she rolled over. Walking up over her on my knees, I put my hands on her cheeks and spread them wide. Leaning over, I let my spit drool down onto her hole and then rubbed my cock on it.

"No, no, not there," she cried.

"Ok, just in front of Dad then," I panted.

She didn't answer. I slid my cock back to plunge it into her pussy as she raised her ass up to me. The promise of having her ass again cranked me up. I rammed into her until I came. I don't know why that excited me so much. I hoped it wasn't because she didn't want me to.

As much as I was hoping to have her ass that night, we didn't have sex for several days. I was worn out. But I did read some more letters. That was becoming something of an addiction. What would happen when I ran out? 





The Mom Memories Ch. 06
byalwayswantedto©

All characters are 18 years or older.

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From Ch. 05

"No, no, not there," she cried.

"Ok, just in front of Dad then," I panted.

She didn't answer. I slid my cock back to plunge it into her pussy as she raised her ass up to me. The promise of having her ass again cranked me up. I rammed into her until I came. I don't know why that excited me so much. I hoped it wasn't because she didn't want me to.

As much as I was hoping to have her ass that night, we didn't have sex for several days. I was worn out. But I did read some more letters. That was becoming something of an addiction. What would happen when I ran out?

------------------------------------------

That wouldn't be a worry for a while anyway since there were a lot more bundles of letters in the box that I hadn't looked through. I began reading through them, one by one, instead of skimming through looking for particular names. I even went back to read some of the ones I'd passed over. One of the first of these was from Colin.

------------------------------------------

Hi. Colin here. So I'm going to tell you about my Mom and I. She was quite a bit younger than my Dad, being his second wife. He had two kids with his first wife. They divorced because of his affair with my Mom. I wasn't supposed to know that but my older half sister told me about it. Mom was eighteen years younger than Dad. She was forty-three now and still working though my Dad had retired at sixty. He spent more and more time away fishing with his buddies in their campers.

Mom had short, brown hair with a pretty face. She was slender but not muscular since she never exercised, at least, not that I'd ever seen. Her arms were soft and white, with a few freckles sprinkled about, like her face. Her legs, as I found out, were quite nice. Not like the sculptured stems you seen in magazines, or on some of the more buff girls at school, but nicely shaped even so.

This I discovered when Mom dug out some old dresses she hadn't worn for years. Dad had buggered off a few days earlier on yet another camping trip with his friends as soon the warm weather hit. A few days later, in the heat, Mom complained about not having anything to wear, and the prices of clothes these days. With Dad being retired, we were OK but not as pat as we had been, which is why Mom still worked.

Anyway, I came home from school to find her sitting on a lawn chair in a sundress that was shorter than her normal dresses, riding several inches above the knee. This was the first time I noticed her thighs, which were normally covered but were now exposed half way up because of the way she was sitting. I particularly noted how the fleshy part underneath her leg bulged out.

"Hey Mom," I greeted her as I walked through the screen door into the backyard.

"Hiya," she answered, continuing to read her magazine.

"New dress?" I queried.

"Oh," she put her magazine down, "just something I pulled out of storage. I've got boxes of these in the attic."

"Well, it's a good thing you're working on your tan, because you'll have white parts showing for awhile," I remarked, still focusing on the fleshy part of her thighs I hadn't seen before.

"Don't worry, you brat," she laughed, lowering her magazine, "I won't embarass you. I'll only wear them around the house."

I couldn't help notice that the sundress was cut lower in front. Not plunging. It was a square cut but it showed the tops of Mom's small breasts which were very white of course. Mom noticed my gaze and followed it down to look at herself.

"I'll get tanned soon enough so you won't hurt your eyes, smarty pants," she laughed again. "Why don't you make dinner tonight so I can work on my tan?"

She was quite pleased when I agreed to this. Over dinner, I asked her about the boxes of clothes she'd discovered. Evidently they were just old clothes she used to wear and had kept. She intended wearing a new outfit everyday, just for the fun of it, and to stretch her wardrobe out which was in dire need of expansion. Long after dinner, while I was watching a movie, Mom wandered up the hall from her bedroom wearing a strange outfit.

"What do you think of this?" she asked, smiling and doing a slow twirl in front of the TV. She was wearing a lime green pantsuit, or more of a one piece jumpsuit. It had a hole over her tummy, swept in a cross over her breasts behind and around her neck, leaving her entire back bare. "Isn't it wild? Can you believe we used to wear things like this?"

She struck various poses, laughing, then plopped down on the couch beside me after I agreed it looked pretty weird.

"What are you watching?" she asked, suddenly ignoring her costume. I told her what had happened and she settled in to watch it with me.

During one set of commercials, when Mom got up to make some hot chocolate, I paid a little closer attention to her outfit. As she stood and walked away, I noticed that her butt seemed more clearly defined. This observation floated in my mind without me really grasping it while I listened to her in the kitchen. Then it dawned on me. She wasn't wearing anything underneath. There were no discernible panty lines, no tightening and battening down of carelessly moving parts. I had actually seen the independent action of each cheek as she walked away. I felt a familar stirring, although one that had never been associated with my mother.

"It's on," I called as the movie started. I glanced up from the movie as she walked slowly back in the room, treading carefully so as not to spill either of the two large mugs she was carrying. Since she was looking down, keeping a careful eye on her payload, I had the opportunity to scrutinize her closely. I couldn't see any pantyline from the front either and though I couldn't see her belly because of the mugs, I could see the nipples of her breasts which were never visible. She couldn't be wearing a bra. Of course not, dimwit, I thought. Her back was bare.

"Here, sweetie," she handed me one of the mugs and carefully sat down beside me again, but a little closer. We watched the movie while we sipped our hot chocolates. Mom drank hers faster than I since I was either sneaking glances at her, or thinking about her instead of the movie. When she leaned forward to set her cup on the coffee table the front of her outfit, held to her only by the loop around her neck, gapped forward allowing a peak at the sides of her breasts. There was no doubt about it, she wasn't wearing a bra and there wasn't anything built into it to hold her breasts from falling against the thin material.

When the next set of commercials started, Mom commented on how well the hot chocolate had 'Hit the spot' and asked me if I wanted more.

"No," I replied, and quickly added, "Here, have mine. I don't really want it," to dissuade her leaving. I wanted her to stay next to me.

"Are you sure," she asked, settling back down.

"Absolutely," I assured her, handing the mug to her.

"No, leave it there," she said, indicating that I should leave it on the end table. Disappointed, I set it back down. Now there was no reason for her to lean forward, no opportunity for me to glimpse the side of her bare tit through the gap in her suit.

"Oh, I'm so stiff," she groaned as soon as she sat down, stretching her arms up and leaning forward until her hands rested on the edge of the table, then pushing them further into the middle.

Wonderful. Her outfit gapped wider than it had when she had reached for her mug. I could now see more than just the side of her tit, I could see the top sloping down almost to where her nipple must be. I could feel my cock swell. Unconsciously, as she started to pull back, I stretched my hand out to rest it on her back, blocking her retreat. Belatedly realizing the how blatant my action was, I moved my hand across her shoulders, brushing my fingers lightly across her back. She instantly relaxed, leaning forward again.

"Oh, that feel's good," she sighed. Encouraged and relieved that my action wasn't seen for what it was, I continued, tickling her upper back with my fingertips. She shuddered and shivered as if I was touching very sensitive parts though I was just tracing her shoulder blades. "Oh, that's lovely," she cried softly.

"Your father used to do this for me," she mentioned a moment later, "for ages, a long time ago."

"Don't stop," she added as I paused, digesting this hint of intimacy between her and my father, something I couldn't remember witnessing. I continued tickling her back as the movie started. She didn't look up to watch. I brought my other hand into play and let my brushing fingers caress more than tickle.

When the commercials started again, Mom leaned back, collapsing against the couch, and me, nestling against my side. "Oh god that felt great," she sighed. "Thank you."

"Anytime," I answered.

She looked up and smiled. "Can I have some of your hot chocolate now?"

I picked up the mug and handed it to her.

"No, you do it. My arms are too relaxed."

I held the cup gingerly to her lips. Not because it was hot -- it was surely cold by now -- but because I was suddenly nervous for some reason. She opened her lips and I tipped some in, careful not to spill. I tipped it several more times until she shook her head slightly and then I set it back down. As I twisted back toward her, she asked, "Will you do my back some more?"

"Sure," I replied, like it was no big deal. Mom stretched her feet out on the couch and, turning on her stomach, lay her head in my lap. Oh no! She was sure to feel my bulging crotch. Not to brag, but how could she not notice laying right on it? What would she think of me?

"Go ahead, sweetheart," came the quiet response, "don't wait for the movie."

I started again, using my left hand to lightly brush across her shoulders. As the movie progressed, I again brought my other hand into play, moving my left lower on her back to make room. Mom didn't make a sound except for the odd sharp intake of breath as I struck a sensitive part, which seemed to be a different spot every time. Soon I was straying farther and farther, dipping into her sides, running my fingers along her waist up to the sides of her breasts, eventually letting them press her flesh where it squished against the couch.

"Dad use to get frisky like that."

Her voice startled me. I stopped, my hands freezing to her skin. "Don't stop," she instructed. I continued, slowly regaining my 'frisky' ground as I realized she wasn't mad. I caressed her right through the next set of commercials. Suddenly, she raised her head. "What's up with the movie?" she asked, but not seeming to expect an answer. Her body shifted as she craned to see the TV and when she settled back down her head was farther up my lap, squarely over my cock which was definitely hard.

The shift caused her to lay more on her side now, allowing deeper access to her left side. I began stroking her as soon as she lay her head back in my lap along the line of my previous boundary and even straying beyond now that I had access. Except now there was no physical restraint. I could have slipped my hand right in and taken actual possession of her breast. I wasn't sure how far I could go, so I proceeded cautiously. But I did venture further. I moved my right hand up to pull her hair back and caress the top of her shoulder, sliding down into the hollow of her neck. I let my fingers stray down the front of her shoulder under the material of her outfit. My left hand moved up and down her side, slowly, but only along the side of her breast, my fingers rubbing over her swelling flesh.

Mom never gave any sign that I was doing anything wrong so I continued stroking the side of her breast until the movie ended while the fingers of my right hand stretched down from her shoulder to reach onto the swell at the top of her breast. When the movie ended, she pushed herself up and kissed me on my cheek.

"A little frisky, like your Dad used to be, aren't you?" she remarked, and then kissed my cheek a few more times, her lips seeming to stick a longer each time. "That was nice, honey. Thank you. Now it's time for bed."

As she stood, I blurted out, "I'll tickle your back for you again, Mom."

"Really?" she asked in a surprised tone of voice. "Be careful, I'll want you to do it every night."

"I don't mind," I rushed my assurance.

Mom just smiled, not her usual kind of smile. There was something different about it. I watched her walk away, marveling at the distinctive pout each cheek made as her feet took turns hitting the floor. I hoped every outfit was like that one.

That night I wanked myself silly. Drifting off to sleep, I wondered about what had transpired. Mom had almost let me cop a feel, and made no bones about it. Amazing!

The next day, Mom wore an almost schoolgirl looking outfit -- a simple white blouse with a plaid, kilt type skirt. The skirt showed her legs well enough, almost to mid-thigh level, but the blouse was a thick, cotton starchy looking affair. Not revealing at all. My disappointment was quickly supplanted by interest in the views the kilt offered when the it split to reveal her upper legs. And though the thick plaid material didn't reveal the contours of her behind, my memory of the distinctive features of those supple globes was sufficiently fresh from the evening before to trigger my imagination each time I had the opportunity to ogle her when she was walking away from me.

So I accepted what I was offered and enjoyed watching her throughout the day. I hoped the opportunity would arise to 'tickle' her back again, and that she would change into a more revealing and accessible outfit like she had the night before. But I was disappointed. Mom didn't change and, though she joined me to watch TV after dinner, she didn't ask me to tickle her back, or give any indication that she wanted me to.

Scanning the online channel guide just before nine o' clock when she seemed restless and about to head for bed, I selected a chick flick I knew she'd like rather than one of the available actioners. Seeing my selection, Mom seemed to settle in to stay.

"I'll watch that with you," she said. "Would you like me to make some hot chocolate?"

"Sure Mom," I answered appreciatively, and then, as if trading favors, offered in return, "I could tickle your back for you if you like."

"Oh, that would be nice. But you don't have to. I know it was a long time last night. Are you sure?"

"Yeah Mom. I don't mind at all. It's actually kind of relaxing."

"Great."

By the time the movie started, Mom had returned with two mugs of hot chocolate and sat next to me on the couch. We sipped our cocoas through the first act, Mom intent on the movie while I was intent on the pressure of her thigh against mine. She rested her right arm on the couch behind me and absently toyed with my hair, like she did when I was little. When she finished her hot chocolate, I offered her mine, placing it to her lips for a sip. I didn't drink any more but kept raising it to her mouth. I toyed with the notion of spilling some on her starchy white blouse so she might change it but chickened out in case it made her angry.

When the mug was empty, I set it down and wiped the traces of chocolate from the corners of her mouth with my fingers. She continued to watch the movie, not reacting at all, as if it was the most natural thing for me to do that, rub my fingers on her lips. She may not have noticed but it was quite arousing for me.

At the top of the hour, as the long set of commercials set it, Mom kissed me on the cheek, stroking my neck on the other side with her fingers and whispered, "So, are you going to tickle my back for me?" I nodded, not trusting my voice to speak.

Mom positioned herself as before, laying on her tummy with her head in my lap facing the TV. I started to run my fingers across her shoulders outside her blouse. After a couple of minutes, still in the commercials, Mom reached back to tug her blouse out of her skirt. Since it was so tight around her waist, she had to undo some kind of snap to loosen her skirt to allow the blouse to come out. She pulled the blouse half way up her back exposing the groove running along its center.

As the movie started again, I slid my hand left hand under the blouse to tickle her shoulders, pulling her shirt higher to make room. I quickly discovered, to my disappointment, that she was wearing a bra. Not a sexy, lacy thing but a normal, thick white thing. Still, I was able to touch her, running my fingers over her warm flesh. I concentrated on giving her a real nice, long back tickle right through the next set of commercials.

When the longer set of commercials started at the bottom of the hour, Mom rose up. Finished already? Oh well, it was nice anyway and I guessed my effort would open the way to another opportunity when she was wearing something sexier.

"Colin?" she asked, "Would you mind changing into your pajamas? Your jeans are hurting my face." She raised her fingers to her cheek, indicating a red mark where my jeans had been rubbing.

"Oh, sorry Mom." I ran upstairs to put my pajamas on in record time. On the way back, it occurred to me that she could have just grabbed a pillow. My cock swelled at the thought that she hadn't availed herself of this simple solution. Why? Then I began to panic as I realized that my erection wouldn't be so easy to hide in my pajamas. I stopped at the entrance to the living room. Did I have something else to put on? No. She had asked me to put on my pajamas and I'd already changed and was in the room. How could I leave? She was laying there, waiting, the movie already started.

I thought about that time I'd had so much too drink that I barfed outside the pub, trying to get my erection to subside.

"Colin? Come on, the movie's started," Mom glanced at me before turning her eyes back to the TV.

I moved in slow motion toward her. I could hear my feet padding on the soft carpet as I walked toward her. She lifted up to let me slip into position and then lay her head on my lap as soon as I sat down. My cock, damn the thing, lurched up as soon as I felt her head hit my thighs. She reached back to flip the blouse up on her back again, indicating that I should continue where I'd left off.

As I slid my hand under her shirt, I noticed that it was looser, very loose, actually. My cock twitched again as I realized that she must have unbuttoned her blouse to give my hands more room. Maybe she would turn on her side again, like she had the night before, allowing me to peek inside her open shirt at her breasts, even if they were covered by her bra.

Looking down at my hands, I noticed that the waist of her skirt was lower too, showing the flesh rising up to her buttocks and the beginning of the crevice between her cheeks. I let my hand stray down to the waistband of her skirt, trailing my fingers along its edge, over one globe and down into the crack and up onto the other.

"Mmmmmm," Mom sighed.

Twitch, twitch. I made this exciting new trail part of my regular path for the next few minutes. Mom didn't make any other audible sounds, but I could tell she liked it by the way her skin responded to my touch as I passed over it. I began dipping lower into her waist and rubbing her flesh, dragging my fingertips up over the swell of her hips and onto the border of her buttocks, pressing her flesh. I pulled her blouse up and brought my right hand into action, tickling her upper back and shoulders.

It was a measure of how fascinated I was with running my fingers over the top of her buttocks, dipping into the start of her ass crack, that I must have circled her upper back and shoulders a dozen times before I realized that Mom was no longer wearing a bra. Holy Christ! 

Dumbly, I stared at her back, my hands suddenly frozen, the left stuck at the part between her cheeks. Mom wriggled. I jerked into motion again slowly widening the circles of my left hand until my fingers were brushing along the side of her breast. I looked at her for signs of a negative reaction and was surprised to see that her eyes were closed. She wasn't even watching the movie.

I kept brushing along her breast, slowing my stroke to pull at the soft flesh there, trying to bring more of it out, perhaps subconsciously encouraging her to turn more on her side like the night before so I could touch more of her tit. But she didn't move. She didn't object to my fingers spending more time by her breast, or even pulling at it, but she didn't move to make my access easier.

When the commercials started, and her eyes remained closed, I pulled the blouse up to the top of her shoulders, moving her bent left arm higher to allow it, and laid her shirt tail over her head, covering her face. I waited for a reaction. There was none. My cock twitched. I was getting very hard. The only thing keeping it between my thighs was Mom's head. She had to feel it, to be aware of how aroused I was.

I moved my left hand to the top of her buttock and let my finger lay in the top of her crack. Nothing. I moved it up to the side of her breast where more of her tit was now available because her arm had been pried away from her body. I let my hand take in all the breast flesh available and then probed further with my fingers, blatantly trying to feel her tit. No reaction. I began to massage her breast, ever pulling on it, trying to get more of it out into my hand.

I wasn't tickling her back now. This was obvious. I was fondling her breast. I slipped my hand down to her behind again and pushed my fingers into the furrow between her cheeks, under the waistband of her skirt, even pushing it lower, until they were firmly embedded between the fleshy part of her ass, very near her hole. If I could do this, what else?

I pulled on her shoulder with my right hand, lifting her torso toward me. Mom shifted her weight toward me, as she'd done the night before, increasing the access to her breast. The commercials ended at that moment. I pulled the blouse down off her face a bit so Mom could see if she opened her eyes. She didn't, but she turned her face up in line with her body, allowing my cock to rise from between my thighs. Gently, I pressed her face back against my thighs, and my throbbing cock. She submitted to my pressure. I kept my hand on her cheek for a moment, and she actually turned her face into my thighs, the corner of her mouth grazing my shaft. My cock lengthened in response to the heat of her breath.

Since she hadn't opened her eyes to watch the movie, I pulled the blouse over to cover her face once more, then gently pressed her against my twitching cock. Her head turned into my thigh, her lips pressing against my swollen, pajama-covered member. Returning my left hand to her breast, I reached further in and enveloped her small tit completely in my hand. I just held it, reveling in the feel of her nipple poking into my palm. I couldn't help subtly pushing my cock up against her face, against her mouth, feeling it press between her lips.

I didn't knead her tit. I didn't squeeze it, or try to pull on her nipple. I just held it. I was afraid to break whatever spell we were under, terrified of ruining this blissful moment. So I just held her wondrous tit in my hand, and pressed my cock against her face. Looking down at her skirt, I reached down to grasp and undo the pin holding the kilt together along her legs. Sliding it out of the material, I pulled it apart to expose her ass, covered now only by her panties, a three inch band stretched across her cheeks. I let my hand lay on her ass and softly brushed my fingers back and forth.

Returning to her breast, I held it until the movie ended fifteen minutes later. Mom let the commercials play out and the next movie start before she stirred. I pulled her blouse down to cover her back and tugged her skirt over her ass. Then she surprised me. She turned completely around to face toward me, on her side but leaning over a little toward her tummy. My cock sprang up when she lifted her head to turn around but when she set her head down in my lap again she pressed it back into place. It was an incredible, silent acknowledgement that she was aware of my excited state.

"Did Dad ever tickle your back until you fell asleep?" I asked her, whispering for some reason.

"No," she whispered back.

"Would you like me to?"

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" I asked, confused that she seemed to be settling in with her head laying on my engorged cock but indicating that the 'tickling' session was over until tomorrow.

"Yes. Keep tickling me. You've been a good boy. A little frisky, but you haven't gone too far." She wiggled her body to settle in, and her head as well, which my cock greatly appreciated.

Hadn't gone too far? She was OK with what I'd done and thought that I hadn't gone too far? I could feel my cock twitching wildly. What were my limits? Clearly farther, but how much?

Mom's eyes were closed again. I reached down to pull up her blouse up her back but stopped, instead grasping her sleeve and pulling it off her right arm. Then I pulled the blouse up and draped it over her head. Her whole back and side were now exposed. Her skirt had fallen away from her ass as she had twisted herself around, so her cheeks were clearly open for my appreciation. Looking down, I could see her breast hanging down, completely accessible to me. I began brushing the fingertips of my right hand lightly across her back and reached down to take her tit into my left.

I didn't just hold her tit this time. As I played my fingers across her back, I gently squeezed and kneaded her tit, pulling on it, letting my fingers slide out to pinch and tug on her nipple. She didn't object. I could feel and hear her breathing quicken, but that was it. Rather than being terrified of ruining things, I was now intent on finding out how far I could go. But I realized that I couldn't leap too far, too fast. A jarring, desperate move would surely puncture this magical world.

Periodically, I left her tit and strayed down to fondle her ass. But this time I didn't just brush my fingers across her ass, I cupped her cheeks, though not roughly, and let my fingers trail up and down her crack, even digging in gently several times. I kept returning to her tit to play with it for longer periods and always, always, I kept tickling her upper back, shoulders, and neck with my right hand.

Eventually, it dawned on me to run my fingers over her tummy, that soft, pouting bulge above the gentle slope leading down to the secret place still covered by her skirt. I played my fingers all around her navel, tickling her tummy along the loosened waistband of her skirt. I wasn't denied. There was no sound, no tensing muscles, just the quiet sound of her breathing.

Cleverly, when I ran my fingers down to play with her ass, I dragged the waistband of her skirt lower to pull it down in front as well. This worked for a bit but I had to resort to pulling it down on her hips as well, potentially giving away my true intention, but I risked it anyway. Again, no objection. Reaching around to her tummy I was rewarded with greater access, the skirt having pulled down sufficiently far for me to feel the top of her panties. I could see that more of her panties were visible. I could see her mound pressing out. I couldn't believe that my cock could get even harder, but it did.

Mom's skirt had now reached the point where it would shift down on its own without having to push it. The barest nudge on the waistband now revealed more of Mom's panties. Soon the waistband was off her hips, almost down to the juncture of her thighs, revealing her panty covered pussy. I let my fingers 'tickle' across the top of her panties for the first time, even though I was convinced that this was my barrier, that this would break the spell, at least for this night.

But still she didn't object. She did nothing. I was stunned. Cautiously, I stroked my fingers, very lightly, back and forth across her panties, lower and lower, until I was brushing her pussy, strumming my fingers across her puffy lips. Finally, I just stopped and cupped her pussy, dipping my long finger into the cleft along its damp length. Slowly, I pressed my finger into her, and began moving it up and down the tiniest amount, increasing the length of its stroke at a glacial pace. My finger became wet as she, barely noticeable, pushed back, forcing her pussy lips further around my wiggling finger.

Finally, Mom began to make some sounds. Her breathing had quickened to short and rapid, wheezing breaths that matched my own erratic gasps. She was 'ohhhhing' and 'ahhhhing', though quietly. I increased the tempo of my fingering, in response, not by my own volition. Only a moment later, she tensed up incredibly tight, then went into a long spasm, and finally shuddered to stillness.

I didn't move. Even my right hand on her back was stilled. My hand still cupped her pussy under her panties, but it didn't move.

Then, Mom's head moved back, still covered by her blouse. My rock hard cock popped up through my pajamas. Mom's head moved forward again. Then, the most awesome thing. My cock was enveloped by Mom's warm, wet mouth, sliding way in as her head continued moving until I felt my tip hit the back of her mouth. My Mom was sucking my cock! I could hear wet, squishy sounds Back and forth she moved a dozen times until once, when my tip blunted against her, she kept pressing her head forward until I could feel my cock shove further into her mouth, her throat. I was in my Mom's throat. My Mom was deep throating me!

I shoved my hips up and forward. I couldn't help it. A pent up geyser was coming. My hips bucked with each spurt. I held Mom's head with both hands, rocking my cock into her mouth. Even over my own gasps, I could hear her breathing loudly through her nose. I must have instantly manufactured more come at that sound as I squirted several more times after that.

Mom stayed still until I subsided, until I was soft. I pulled her skirt up to her waist and deployed it around to cover her, then pulled her blouse down and pressed it down to cover her chest. Mom looked up at me, then moved herself up to sit facing me. She kissed me three times on my cheek, her hands stroking my face and hair.

"I think you got a little too frisky, Colin, but it's my fault for letting you go too far," she whispered. I said nothing, still too stunned to speak. She kissed me lightly on my lips, hers just brushing mine, teasingly.

"Would you like to tickle me to sleep tomorrow night," she asked, still in a whisper though we were the only ones in the house and Dad must be hundreds of miles away by now, "even if I don't let you get so frisky?"

I nodded.

"Good," she smiled. She kissed me on the mouth, letting her tongue slide along the length of my closed lips. Just as I belatedly opened them, she broke the kiss and bounced away, holding her blouse closed with one hand and her skirt with the other as she quickly walked away and up the stairs.

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Unfortunately, Mom wasn't home yet so I couldn't relieve the larger boner I'd grown reading Colin's letter. I moved on to the next letter which was from Calvin, whose last letter had described how the sexy haircuts has led to sex while she was 'sleeping'. But not satisfied with banging his Mom while she 'slept' he wanted to have her while she was awake and had to acknowledge what was going on. My own relationship with Mom had progressed to the state where I understood Calvin's need to push his Mom even further. Eagerly, I sunk into his letter.

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Though Mom had made Dad happy by abandoning notions of a home barber shop, I asked Mom to continue cutting my hair because she did such a great job. So once again I was in the kitchen after dinner getting my hair cut while Dad watched a game in the living room. I had waited until later before asking Mom to cut my hair, hoping Dad would be hitting the sack soon after. But the game turned into a long battle with several periods of overtime.

By that time, I had been fondling Mom's tits for quite some time. Her nipples, fully engorged, were sticking out proudly from her tits. We were both wearing robes, she with just panties underneath and I with just my boxer shorts. I pulled her closer to me, forcing her to straddle my knees, so I could run my hands up and down her sides through her still belted robe, over her ass and down her flanks. She kept whispering for me to stop it but she never backed away.

Eventually, I slipped my hand to her inner thighs and started stroking up and down from her knee to her panties, gradually shortening my strokes until I was just rubbing the softest skin within four inches of her pussy. Without warning, I suddenly cupped my right hand and pressed it against her pussy, holding it there. Mom stopped dead still, her hands falling to grip my shoulders. She didn't move.

Encouraged, I squeezed my hand, scrunching her pussy several times. I slipped my thumb up to rest it against the top of her mound and began sliding it lightly side to side as I milked her pussy with my palm. As her pussy became damp, I pressed my fingers into her panties, dipping the material between her lips, spreading them under the material. I started to move my fingers back and forth in a small oval, rubbing her increasingly wet pussy.

I could tell she was looking down, watching me rub her. Knowing this, I reached down with my left hand to fish my hard pole out of my boxers.

"Calvin," she whispered, her breathing ragged, "I can't rub you with it sticking up like that."

"Yes you can," I disagreed, reaching up with my now free left hand to pull at her panties. She wriggled her pelvis to block my attempts to pull her panties down, rewarding my thrusting fingers with welcome pussy action. She seemed to momentarily forget her efforts to block me as her thighs clenched around my shoving hand. During the foray, I managed to pull her panties off her ass to rest below her cheeks. With my thumb, I dragged the front waistband of her panties down, pulling it off her pussy.

Just then, we heard Dad yell, "What a game! I need a beer."

Mom suddenly sat on my legs, leaning forward to let her robed body cover my partially open robe and my fully extended cock just as Dad burst through the kitchen doorway heading for the fridge. He glanced our way, "What an incredible game."

As he opened the fridge in search of a beer he continued with a description of what was going on. When he pulled his head out, twisting the cap off his prize and tossing it at the sink, Mom rebuked me, "Stay still, Calvin. I don't want to poke your eye out!" She pushed my head to the side with one hand as she clipped at my eyebrows with the scissors which had remained in her hand the whole time.

Dad continued with his description, watching Mom work on me as she sat on my legs. "Stay still!" she repeated.

I don't know if her command was to convince Dad that we were in this compromising position because we were in the middle of a potentially dangerous hair operation, or if she was referring to the lunging efforts of my bare, hard cock which was, hidden by her robe and mine, pressed to her bare pussy lips, and trying valiantly to push inside. I moved my head, causing Mom to pull back with the scissors, facilitating the interpretation that we were in the midst of a delicate situation, which we were, but I did it more to cover some little hip movements in aid of my cock's endeavors.

Mom couldn't close her legs to keep my eager member away. Nor could she stand up with her panties below her cheeks and pulled down from her pussy in case her belted but loosened robe fell open revealing this inexplicable predicament. She had to stay the way she was until Dad left. But he'd just fetched his beer and the overtime interlude had just started. How long were they? Ten minutes? Twenty?

"Bob," Mom spoke sharply, "I'm trying to concentrate here. Go watch your game."

Interrupted, Dad nevertheless responded apologetically, "Oh, I'm sorry," and began to move away, but I stopped him.

"No wait, Dad. Tell me about the game," I pleaded. Dad leaned back into the counter, pleased, took a swig and began talking excitedly about the game again. Mom's eyes shot daggers at me. And I, I used the opportunity to slip my left hand through the hole in my robe pocket to push my erect cock forward toward my Mom, pressing it firmly against her open, bare and wet pussy. Looking out the corner of my eye, I could see Dad wasn't really watching us anymore, he was too excited about relating the actions of the game. I allowed my hips to rock up and down the barest amount -- hardly discernible without direct scrutiny, or so I hoped -- rubbing my cock through my mother's soaking pussy lips.

After a couple minutes of this action from which Mom couldn't retreat, she gave up trying. She didn't rock her hips back at me, but she quit trying to pull away, allowing me to freely rub my cock up and down her soaking trench. As the sounds of the game started anew, Dad moved past us to stand in the doorway. With his back to us, I quickly pulled my hips back drawing my cock away from Mom, pressed my hard, hard cock painfully forward and shoved it back toward her, embedding it a full inch in her open pussy.

Mom groaned just after Dad disappeared into the living room to once again watch the game, and I shoved my cock home, slowly sliding in to the hilt. Sliding my right hand around her waist, I used my left to pull her belt undone and part her robe. Pressing my hand on her belly, I pushed until she fell back, hooking her feet around the rear legs of my chair to brace herself and allowing her head and hair to dangle toward the floor. As the sounds of the game increased in intensity, I shoved my cock vigorously into my mother's cunt. Squish, squish, squish. God she was wet, and I was unbelievably hard. Suddenly I was gushing in her, my hips grinding, squirt, squirt, ... squirt.

We were still. My cock was fully embedded and still pulsing in Mom's pussy. Her throat was fully extended as her head reached back to lightly rest on the floor, her hair in disarray on the tiles. I couldn't see her face. Her belly was heaving in reaction to her rapid and heavy breaths. My cock still hard, I started moving again, slowly fucking her. She shook her head. "No, no," her hands waving in a negative signal. But I kept thrusting, slow but relentless. Her protestations stopped. Her pussy squeezed and clenched my cock as it bulged into her.

I lifted my weight from the chair and pushed it back, gently holding her until her hips rested on the floor. Holding her legs up, I placed one ankle on each side of my head and lowered myself on her, pressing her legs high toward her shoulders, jacknifing her body against the floor. Straddling her haunches with my cock fully shoved up her cunt, I started banging her hard. Not fast, but hard shoves, slamming into her, thrusting as hard as I could. Bam ... bam ... bam. The expression on her face, which I could now see, was intense. I grasped a tit in each hand and squeezed tightly, not gently. Bam ... bam ... bam. The loudness of the TV surely covered our illicit sounds.

Mom lifted her hands to my shoulders. "Uhhh ... uhhh ... unnnghhh," she moaned as I fucked her across the floor. I could already picture the look on her face as her head reached the bottom of the cupboards, anticipating with relish her blocked retreat from my hammering cock. If I could only reach it before I came again. I could feel another load of sperm ready tp blast again into her cum soaked pussy. Where were those cupboards?

"What the hell? ... What the FUCK! ... WHAT THE FUCK!!!"

That sound, that anger penetrated my head. Mom was oblivious, her eyes screwed tightly shut as if to keep the intensity of her orgasm inside. Groggily, the spunk already rushing out my shaft, I looked toward the source of the sound, finding my father's outraged face, realizing that I'd banged my mother across the kitchen floor, through the doorway and into the living room just as I gushed another load into my mother's cheating cunt.

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Holy mother. I guess that was the end of Calvin's maternal pussy. Where was my own mom? Standing with difficulty, my boner the culprit, I went in search of my own satisfaction. Finding Mom still not home, I engaged in a home improvement project in her bedroom. And then I waited. Fed Dad, unresponsive as usual. Waited. And waited. Then went to the study for another fix.

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Hi everyone. Francis here again. Refresher time. My Mom is a quite pretty, thin woman with really small tits (but great nipples) and a skinny ass. You may recall that, during our heat wave this past summer, Mom walked around the house in just a shirt without a bra, and then even no shirt, just her panties. She eventually let me play with her tits and even suck them. But when I pulled her t-shirt over her head I hit paydirt. She got very, very excited with her face covered and I quickly took advantage, plugging her right there on the couch. That was followed up by a great fuck session when I followed her upstairs even though she told me not to. As promised, this is what happened after that.

As I guess is fairly common, at least according to many of the letters circulated amongst this group, Mom had second thoughts about what we did. She acted like it hadn't even happened and started wearing clothes around the house again, even though it was still really hot. I thought this would wane, given the heat, but she insisted on being fully dressed. When I commented about the heat and how much more comfortable she'd be if she lost her blouse, or her pants, or her skirt on different occasions, she invariably got angry with me. So I quit trying.

Then one day I had an idea and brought a peace offering home for her. A present.

"But what is it?" she asked, turning the package over and over.

"Open it and see," I said.

"You shouldn't be wasting your money on presents for me," she complained. "You should be saving for school."

"Mom, come on. Open it," I insisted.

"Alright," she sounded put out but looked pleased nonetheless.

In that motherly fashion, she slowly opened the package being careful not to tear the paper. After folding the fancy wrapping paper, she opened the clothing box within to reveal an elegant pair of shimmering silk pajamas with a matching robe.

"Oh my," she exclaimed, very surprised and pleased, "it's beautiful. But this must be so expensive," she complained a moment later. "Francis, you really shouldn't have. You must take it back."

"No way, Mom. You've been dying in this heat. This outfit will keep you cool, and it's very proper, even demure."

Mom nodded her agreement as she surveyed the buttons that ran all the way up the front of the top, the pants that would run half way down her calves, and the thicker coat that would cover the whole thing down to the middle of her thighs as an extra protective layer from prying eyes without adding much of an insulating effect because of the silky material.

"Francis, you really shouldn't have."

"Go try it on Mom."

"But I can't keep it. It isn't right."

"Just try it on," I insisted, pushing her toward the stairs.

Finally, the woman in her took over. She gave in and took the outfit upstairs. A few minutes later, she reappeared at the top of the stairs and made a graceful entrance, in a slow and elegant descent. She really did look truly beautiful in this outfit, surpassing my expectations by quite a measure.

I took her hand at the bottom of the stairs, leading her a few steps and then twirling her around, holding her hand high above her head. She laughed and primped, obviously pleased with the look and feel of the pajama set.

"Can I really keep it?" she asked, changing her mind.

"Of course. You'd hurt my feelings if you didn't."

"It feels so good, so cool and flattering. Does it look OK?" she asked, suddenly insecure.

"You look gorgeous in it Mom," I assured her, the honesty in my eyes instantly reassuring her. She danced away to the kitchen.

"Come on," she tinkled, I'll make us some margaritas to celebrate.

I followed her to the kitchen where she started to make our drinks.

"It's very conservative, Mom," I commented as I eyed her from behind, "but I imagine it would be quite racy without the jacket, even buttoned up to your neck."

"Oh, I think so," she agreed innocently, "it really clings to you. You just couldn't wear it without the jacket.

Mom finished making the margaritas and we went outside to sit in the shade and drink them. We drank two more apiece, with me offering to make both, an offer she gladly accepted in the heat. When we finished those, I insisted she make the next batch but she claimed she couldn't drink anymore since she was already too tipsy. But I insisted, arguing that I had made two to her one and she owed me. I followed her into the kitchen to watch her make the drinks.

"Why don't you take the jacket off Mom?"

"No, I don't think so," her voice slurring a little.

"Come on Mom," I whined, "just let me see what it looks like."

"It really is too racy, Francis. I don't think I'd feel comfortable."

"But it buttons right up to your neck, Mom, for heavens sake."

"Yes, but it really is clingy, it's very revealing, and you know you get carried away, you don't just look."

"But you can drape the scarf over your shoulders. It will cover you just as much as the jacket and be even cooler."

"The scarf," she asked, "what scarf?

"You didn't see it?" I replied, "I'll go get it."

I ran into the living room and grabbed the scarf from behind a pillow where I'd hidden it earlier that day and returned to the kitchen carrying the long scarf of the same shimmering green material. Mom looked at it with approval after seeing that it possessed the same opaque qualities as the rest of the outfit. She slipped the jacket off, being careful to keep her chest facing away from me. I swapped the scarf for the jacket and carefully hung it over the back of a chair. When I turned to face her, Mom had draped the scarf over her neck. I imagine she had placed it strategically to cover her breasts, or nipples to be more accurate in her case.

From behind, I could see every trace of her hips, the cup of her ass below each cheek, and the line between them. Not that I could see through the material. It just clung to her flesh as she had said, like the lady in the shop had assured me when I asked for something very sexy for my girlfriend that would still make her feel as if she was dressed demurely. That saleswoman knew her stuff. Any woman would look hotter in this thing that she would naked.

I walked up behind Mom and stood very close to her while she finished up our drinks. "Are you really not going to let me see you in just the pajama part?"

"No Francis."

"Just a peek, Mom. I'll be good."

"Just a peek?" she asked. "You promise you'll be good."

"I will, Mom. But not too quick. Be fair."

"Alright. But just a peek and then we'll finish our drinks outside."

Mom turned around, leaning against the counter, her hands holding the ends of the scarf. She was looking up at me for confirmation. I nodded. She cast her eyes down, her hands pulling the scarf tight as she did, stretching across her chest, outlining her little bumps and the long nipples poking up from their shallow rise. She pulled the scarf quickly away to each side and then back just as fast.

"No fair, Mom. That wasn't fair," I complained.

Mom laughed. "Ok, ok, I couldn't resist a little tease." She stopped laughing, then with a serious look on her face, she slowly pulled the scarf apart again. This time, she gave me plenty of time to check out her chest, my eyes of course focusing on her nipples. I could swear they grew as I watched. I could hardly contain my excitement knowing she was getting excited too, despite her stance that she wasn't interested in going down that path again. Her nipples had definitely hardened.

When she looked like she was about to close the scarf, I beat her to the punch, turning away. "Thanks Mom, I really appreciate you letting me see."

I grabbed both our drinks and led the way out to the patio, smiling to myself at how well I had handled that.

After we sipped our way through the drinks, I offered to make one final set. I stood up and retrieved my glass. Mom was clearly at the limit of her alcohol consumption, and looked like she might nod off.

"Did you really want another one, Mom?" She shook her head. "Ok, I'll just put the glasses away. Hey, you know what else you can use the scarf for, Mom?"

She didn't respond at first, just laying there with her eyes closed, then quietly, "What?"

"A sunscreen," I answered, "You can drape it over your face and hardly know it's there." I retrieved her glass and passed it to my other hand which was already holding my glass. With my free hand, I grasped the end of the scarf and tugged it from behind her neck as she lay on the lounge. Quickly, I draped it over her face. "Try it while I put these away."

I hated to leave, wanting instead to watch her nipples, now bereft of the scarf and covered only by the pajamas, rise and fall with her breathing. I hurried back but approached stealthily to conceal my return. I stood watching her breasts and the way her breath moved the scarf as it lay over her face, triggering the memory of her rapid excitement when I first covered her face. My cock stirred.

Quietly, I moved forward, kneeling at her side. I pressed the scarf back on each side of her head, stretching it across her face. Moving my hands to her face, I gently pressed the scarf around her face with my cupped fingers whispering, "It's neat how the scarf accents your features." Mom didn't react except her breathing quickened. I circled her mouth, running my finger around the outline of her lips, toward the inside, finally dipping in a little as her lips parted, poking the scarf in a bit. "Keep it on for a few minutes," I continued whispering as I wound the scarf behind her head, crossing it and pulling it tight in a knot. Mom was definitely breathing faster.

I moved my eyes down to her breasts and followed with my hands. Pressing the material to her sides, I again whispered, "This material is very flattering, Mom." Her nipples were jutting from her chest. "It really accents your features. Definitely very flattering."

I pinched the pajamas on each side and moved it up and down on her chest, teasing her nipples as it brushed over them. I kept doing this, without rebuke, for several minutes. Moms was breathing in short, rapid gasps.

"I think you've had too much to drink, Mom. I'm going to take you upstairs so you can have a nap before Dad gets home." I slid my hand under her and picked her up. She circled her arms around my neck and pressed her face into my chest.

Upstairs, I lay her on the bed. She waited, her breathing still indicating that she was excited by this blindfold scenario. I let her wait for a full minute before moving my hands to press the material to her sides, deliciously outlining her tits. Once again I moved the material along her sides to brush it back and forth over her nipples. After a few minutes of this, I let go of the material to take possession of her tits. I pinched her nipples between my thumbs and forefingers, rolling and pulling them away form her. She gasped audibly. Moving my hands to her buttons, I slowly I undid each one, without a sound from Mom except for her breathing. I pulled the pajamas apart just enough to expose her breasts. Again, I let her wait as I stared at her delicious tits with such incredibly hard and long nipples. I wondered if she knew how gorgeous her tiny tits really were.

I moved my hands down her legs, pushing them apart, then slid in over the inside of her thighs until I cupped my hands around her pussy. Pushing her legs even further apart, I pressed the pajamas tight to her thighs, stretching the thin material across her pussy to highlight her mound.

"Look at that," I whispered. I formed my hands like a viewfinder and pressed in harder to accentuate her pussy even more. Pulling my hands away, I stood up straight and let her wait again. As she lay there, her legs closed but I pushed them apart again. I tugged her pajamas down, overcoming the resistance at her hips and moving on until they were very low, stretching across her pubic area just over her pussy with her hair tufting out above the waistband. She gasped again. I had surprised her. I'm sure she thought I would return to her.

Minutes later, I grasped the bottom of her pajama legs and pulled, tugging them off her pelvis and down her legs. She wasn't wearing anything underneath and tried to close her legs but I pushed them apart yet again. Wait. Wait with your face covered, I thought, wait for it.

Her breathing had slowed and softened but she drew in a sharp breath when she heard me slowly drag my zipper down. I undressed, in no hurry -- with the scarf acting as a blindfold, I somehow knew I didn't need to rush. I made a point of letting her hear my clothes rustle as I pealed them off and dropped them to the floor. When I at last threw my shorts down hard I surprised her again by not waiting. Quickly I crawled on my knees between her legs, slipping my hands behind her knees and pushing her thighs back, raising her ass and pussy toward my advancing cock. I nosed up and shoved in right away, pushing until I was fully inside her.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," she squealed.

Impatiently, I began fucking her hard. I didn't pause, I didn't stop, I just hammered into her.

"Unnngghhh, unnnnggghhhh, unnnnngggghhhh."

Slap, slap, slap, slap ... steady and fast my thighs slapped against her upturned buttocks. Not faster, not slower, just a steady furious fuck.

"Ugh, ugh, ugh," I repeated, over and over.

I kept it up until I exploded in her. I let her legs fall to my sides and lay there with my cock still in her. She lay still except for a periodic jerk of her hips and pull on my cock as it lost its rigidity. I slipped out of her and rose to go clean myself in my parents ensuite.

When I returned, Mom had rolled over onto her tummy, still naked. I imagine she was waiting for me to go before removing the blindfold. As I approached the bed, the sight of her ass, her legs tight together with her right foot crossed over her left leg near the ankle, fired me up again. Kneeling on the bed, my cock was already stiffening. Delicately, I lifted her right leg and pulled it to the side, gently urging her legs apart. She complied, opening a narrow gorge up to her ass.

I waddled forward until my knees were straddling her thighs. Leaning over, I lowered my pelvis until my cock dipped between her thighs, not touching. Slowly, I moved my dangling cock ahead until it bumped against her, below her ass, right at the apex of her thighs, the head touching her pussy.

"Ohhhh."

I rubbed it up and down her slit, trying without success to move it inside.

"ohhhhhhh."

"Lift up, baby," I whispered, "Lift it for me."

Mom lifted her hips up a couple of inches. My cockhead slipped in an inch.

"ohhhhhhhhhh."

Back and forth I urged my hardening member but the angle wasn't sufficient for me to go deeper.

"Come on, baby, lift it," I pleaded, "let me come in."

Up another couple of inches. I slipped in another inch or so.

"ohhhhhh, ohhhhh, ohhhhh."

I slid back and forth, pushing to gain further entry.

"ohhhhhh, ohhhhh, ohhhhhh."

Then I pushed in one long, slow shove, lifting her several inches on my own.

"Unnnnngggghhhhhhhh."

"That's it, that's it," I cried. When I was fully in her, I squeezed my knees together, forcing hers between and her pussy tight on my embedded cock. Slipping my hands down her waist toward her head which still lay on the bed, I took hold of the scarf. Withdrawing, I tugged on the scarf, pulling her head up from the bed until her face rested on her chin. I pulled my cock right out, paused, and then slipped in back in a long slow push. I repeated this for a couple of minutes, resisting the urge to begin slamming into her again. I was rewarded with a low moan which began building as I maintained my slow, deliberate fuck. As she became more audible and her moans lengthened, I spoke again, no longer whispering, "No one fucks you like this. Only I fuck you like this."

She moaned louder.

"Isn't that right?" I bulged my cock into her on that thrust. She moaned even louder.

"Right?" I insisted, "Right?"

"Yes," her voice was halting, then in time with my thrusts, "yes ... yes ... yes."

I kept it up, every few thrusts I shoved in harder, forcing a grunt. I was able to last this time until she finally came. I pushed her flat on the bed, digging my cock in her as she shuddered against the mattress, pushing her pussy even further into the bed on her own. When she was finally still, I slid out, quietly picked up all my clothes, and left.

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I was so horny. Leaving the study, I checked the driveway and saw that Mom's car was there. She'd come in without my noticing. She wasn't in the kitchen but there were bags of new groceries sitting on the table and the counter, and some new dishes on the counter. She must have made Dad his lunch and taken it up. I followed, finding her spoon feeding Dad as she knelt, sitting back on her ankles beside him on the bed. She was wearing a simple cotton housedress with a loose pleated skirt that draped over her legs. I didn't mention that I'd already fed him when I completed my little home improvement project.

"Hey Mom, what' up." I greeted her casually although it was hard to disguise my pent up desire.

"Oh, nothing," she replied, "I was just shopping."

"Oh," I carried on the casual act as I climbed up on the bed beside her, "Did you get any new outfits?"

"No, just groceries," she answered, spooning more yogurt and fruit into Dad's mouth, her eyes shifting to the left toward my home handiwork. She tried feeding Dad some more but gave up, leaning forward to set the bowl down on the bedside table. Leaning back to rest on her haunches, she looked directly at my project and asked, "What is that?"

"What," I answered innocently."

"Don't give me that. You've ruined a mahogany headboard."

"It was necessary. For Dad."

"For your father?" she asked, clearly dubious.

"Yes," I answered simply.

"How can that help your father? Is it to hold him up? He can't have his arms back like that."

"No, you don't understand. I'll show you how it works."

I pressed her shoulder to get her to turn her back to the headboard, then pulled her legs to bring her down to the bed on her back, slipping the pillow out so her head was directly on the sheet. Her dress had ridden up on her thighs as I dragged her down.

"I don't see how ..."

"Just wait."

I grasped Mom's right ankle and lifted it up, pushing her leg back until I could slip her small foot through one of the loops I'd attached to the top of the headboard, and then cinched it tight.

"What do you think ..."

Quickly, I grasped her left ankle and pushed that foot up and through the other loop, cinching that tight too. She was now laying with her thighs bent along her sides and her calves parallel with the headboard, both feet firmly held against it. Her ass was lifted uncomfortably up off the bed so I slipped the pillow underneath her hips. 


ch 6 - page 4 not archived






The Mom Memories Ch. 07
byalwayswantedto©

All characters are 18 years or older.

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From Ch. 06

"Do you want to wait for the morning?" I asked.

"No," she whispered, as she swung her leg over me. She didn't waste a second before her cunt found and enveloped my cock, taking my swollen member deep inside her. Straightening herself, she sat above me, dimly discernible in the night.

"Now you're in for a pounding," she said.

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Mom was true to her word. She really worked me over that night. From the next day on, I assumed the role of my father, living with Mom as if I was her husband. Within weeks, Mom had finalized arrangements for her to assume power of attorney for Dad's affairs. She now had full financial control of our lives.

Mom never denied me sex at night and often initiated it. One night she mentioned several times that she was going to bed early and kept asking if I was coming. I ignored her, not picking up on her signals, and watched a favorite movie before hitting the sack myself. When I entered the bedroom, expecting her by then to be dead asleep, I found her laying on the bed, the covers stripped and heaped on the floor, her ankles firmly tied to the headboard, her eyes wild and her fingers wet from playing with herself.

Within two seconds my cock sprang to full mast but I resisted my first impulse which was to leap on the bed and impale her with my spear. Instead, I savored the taste of this treat for over half an hour. I sauntered to the end of the bed and, without a word, slowly stripped completely naked in front of her. You should have seen how her eyes clung to my cock as soon as it sprang free. She was sooooo ready.

I crawled up on the bed on my knees and worked my way toward her. She closed her eyes in anticipation of the first hard thrust but I simply pressed my elongated tool down to rest on her pussy, along her wet lips, gently sawing it back and forth in a leisurely fashion, prompting a low moan from her throat. When I lifted it away and didn't immediately shove it in, she opened her eyes.

"I better go brush my teeth, Mom. I'll be right back."

She looked shocked as I climbed off the bed. I took my time brushing my teeth and was thrilled to see the desperate look on her face when I re-entered the bedroom. I doubt she'd taken her eyes from the doorway the whole time I was gone.

Resuming my place, I continued to tease her with my cock, pulling it away frequently, sometime replaced with my fingers, sometimes with my mouth, but more often with nothing at all, leaving her cunt clutching at the air. It was fascinating to watch it grasping for satisfaction.

Of course, I worked her tits over as well. But my moment of inspiration arrived after I returned from another teasing excursion to the bathroom, this time to floss my teeth. With me, I brought a face cloth soaked in hot, soapy water and a towel. After sinking my tongue in her pussy for a few minutes, I pulled out and washed her ass inside and out with the face cloth, dried her off and then sunk my tongue in her cunt once more.

After several minutes of this, I pulled out and slipped down to tease her with tongue swirls around her pucker, teasing the crinkly knot with little jabs from the tip of my tongue. I returned frequently to lap and poke her cunt but I spent most of my time teasing her asshole, more and more often dipping my tongue into for a little swirl on the inside of her anal ring. She was moaning constantly now, her eyes closed tight, her face screwed up in an ecstatic expression. When I finally plunged my entire tongue deep in her ass and worked it furiously inside her, she came violently, her whole pelvis shaking wildly her legs rattling the headboard as her feet tried to pull out of her bindings.

While she was still shaking to the throes of her passion, I crouched above her and plunged deep into her pussy, abandoning myself to a wild, pounding fuck until she came again. I only noticed because of the way her cunt erratically squeezed my cock as I unloaded my sperm into her. I came so hard I was sure it would overfill her and gush out, but of course that was just a feeling.

After cleaning myself in the bathroom I returned to find Mom still laying with her ankles tied back to the headboard. Slipping into bed, she asked, "Can I get loose now?"

Surprised by the question, I simply said, "Yes, mother."

Mom used her hands to slip her ankles out of the straps and disappeared into the bathroom. Within seconds I heard the shower start. How my father missed out on a lifetime of sex with this incredible woman was beyond me. I didn't know it yet but I was just starting on my own road to discovery. I would learn that a woman doesn't just show you her mysteries, you have to seek them out on your own before she considers you worthy.

To amuse myself the next day -- Mom didn't often allow sex during the day -- I made myself a large drink and settled into the study for some recreational reading, something I'd been too busy to do over the past few weeks. There, I found the letter from Lorne.

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How intriguing to discover this group. I hope the story about my mother and I is sufficiently interesting that you vote to allow me in, and to share your stories with me.

My story is a little different from all of yours in that I was adopted, as fact I didn't discover until I turned eighteen. Evidently my Mom and Dad had taken me in when I was a baby. My real Mom had been a drug addict, and the sister of my Mom, Ann. Now, don't get me wrong. 'Mom' had always treated me as her own, spoiling me rotten. But my Dad and I had never been close, and now I know why. He was a little older than Mom and probably didn't want her junkie sister's kid but he did take me in and gave me his name.

I don't really know how to feel about it. It didn't really bother me, but for some reason I let on to my mother that it did, probably because whenever she was worried about me, or felt bad because I was in heck with my Dad, she would let me do whatever I wanted when he wasn't around. I'd always been a bit of a brat and I think that's how it started. It just got a little carried away, that's all.

Anyway, one night when I came home late, a little drunk because I'd been drinking at a friend's house, Mom was waiting to give me heck. Dad had gone to bed hours ago but Mom was waiting up in her bed clothes.

"Where have you been?" she demanded when I sneaked quietly in through the back door. She was standing by the fridge, in the dark.

"Mom! You scared the shit out of me," I blurted out, my voice slurring a bit.

"Don't swear, and keep your voice down. Your father's sleeping."

"Alright, don't have a cow," I slurred again.

"You've been drinking again!" she accused me.

"No, I haven't," my voice turned defensive.

"Don't lie to me. I told you about drinking and drugs."

"Yah, yah."

"You don't understand," she cried, her voice loud despite telling me to keep mine down. "You don't know how easy it is to get in deeper." She took a step toward me. "You've been drinking since school finished. Why? Have you done any drugs? Have you?

"You know why I've been drinking."

Now, I have no idea why I said that, it just came out.

"What? What do you mean, I know why?"

"You do. You and Dad. You both know."

"What are you talking about?"

I looked at her, swaying on my feet, and slurred, "Because I'm adopted."

Mom stepped back until she backed into the kitchen table, sitting down on its edge.

"I'm not yours," I twisted the knife, "so what do you really care?" With complete, drunken disregard for the knife I'd stuck into this woman who had coddled me all my life, I shuffled past my stunned mother and went to bed. She let me pass, staring at the floor where I'd been standing, too shocked to move.

When I woke up the next morning, the kitchen confrontation came back to me. Christ! Why had I let on that I knew? My mother would feel bad. And I did too, saying that to her. Maybe she'd be mad. Before I could get up, Mom knocked on the door. I didn't answer but she came in anyway. I pretended to be asleep. She sat on the bed next to me, stroking my shoulder and patting my head.

"Wake up honey, your Dad's waiting."

I was really hung over. The last thing I wanted to do was ride in the car with my father. He'd figure it out and give me shit.

"I don't feel well," I groaned.

"Ok," she said. "I'll tell Dad you're sick and then we'll talk about last night."

She was back two minutes after I heard Dad drive away. When she entered my room, for some strange reason I continued with the same adopted gambit I'd started the night before.

"You don't really love me. I'm just adopted." I turned over and covered my head.

I won't go through all the sordid details of my whining and my Mom's consoling assurances that both she and Dad had always loved me as their own. Suffice it to say that we ended up hugging and heading to the kitchen with a promise for my favorite breakfast, the little brat inside me firmly in control.

Now, I'd have to say that if I hadn't found out that I was adopted the next bit would surely never have happened. As I followed Mom down the hall and downstairs, I noticed her figure, fully covered though it was by her bed robe. I had never looked at her as a woman before but it occurred to me that she wasn't actually my real Mom, and she was good looking. It dawned on me that I had never been alone in a house with any woman dressed in her bed clothes, except her.

I felt a tingle when she lifted her robe as she started down the steps. Just the glimpse of her ankle and foot was suddenly interesting. I found myself watching her slim figure as I sipped coffee. While she was standing at the stove, I stepped up close behind her and gave her a hug.

"Thanks, sweetie," she said softly, feeling that the crisis was over.

I pulled the hair away from her neck and leaned down to kiss her in the hollow of her neck. She seemed a little flustered, so I repeated the kiss and then planted a couple on her cheek, lingering with the last one.

"That's nice, sweetheart," she said, her voice cracking a bit as her face flushed red, "but it's not the way you usually kiss me."

Still holding her shoulders, I whispered in her ear as if what I was saying was our secret, "But you're not really my Mom, so I should kiss you a little differently now."

Now she really looked upset and confused. She didn't do anything, she just kept fussing with the food on the stove. I leaned down and kissed her again in the nape of her neck.

"Don't kiss me like that."

"Why? You're a very good looking woman."

"I'm your Mom, not just some woman."

I leaned in to kiss her but she cringed away. "If you were my real Mom, you'd let me," I said.

"What are you talking about? I've been your mother all your life." Her voice was angry now.

"You know. The whole Oedipal thing. I didn't know you weren't my real Mom so I've had a thing for you since I started noticing girls, like most of my friends did for their moms."

"What?" Mom was truly taken aback.

"Come on, Mom. You know teenage boys get a thing on for their moms. All my friends did and I did too. Except they tried things and I was always afraid to. I didn't know why but now I do."

I kissed her neck again. She didn't pull away.

"Tried things? What things?" she asked, concern showing on her face.

"You know, kissing them and feeling them up."

"Your friends felt up their moms?" she asked, her voice sounding incredulous. I kissed her neck again, a longer kiss this time. I let my hands slip down to hold her waist.

"Yes," I whispered, kissing her cheek.

"I can't believe that. What happened?"

"They let them because they were moms." I moved my lips down to kiss her neck again and pulled her back toward me. Seeming quite rattled, Mom let me kiss her again.

"And this still goes on?"

"For some of them, yes. Others have moved on. Its just a phase mothers help their sons through."

Mom was clearly thinking, not paying attention to what I was doing. I was almost munching in the nape of her neck, squeezing my lips on her collar bone. I let my left hand move up her waist and around to her front a little while my right tugged her back tighter against me.

"Did they tease you because you couldn't?" Her voice sounded concerned that her son had gone without something others had. She didn't question my bullshit about my friends being able to feel up their Moms.

"No. I didn't let on. I acted like I was doing the same, that you let me too."

"Oh." Her answer was quiet. I pulled her rump against me but she didn't seem to notice. I guess she was digesting the idea that I had told my friends that I was feeling her up, but then they were saying that they were doing the same. It didn't seem to strike her that maybe we were all bullshitting.

"And some of them are still doing this?"

"Yes." I continued my kisses on her cheek and her neck. "Some are just kissing and touching, some are way past that, and some have moved on to younger women." I was really getting a handle on this on-the-fly story telling.

"So, they're just kind of showing the way, their Moms? Like teaching?"

"That's right, Mom," I planted a small kiss right on her ear, "except its more like letting them learn by doing, rather than teaching. You know, letting them try things without having some teenage girl freak out on them if they do something wrong." I let my left hand slide up two inches to nudge the bottom of her breast, taking up some of its weight. I kissed her ear again.

"So your friends think I'm helping you too?"

"That's right, Mom." I purposely emphasized 'Mom'.

Mom leaned forward and turned the stove off. "So what have you told them?"

I could feel myself stiffen at her acceptance, and of course, at the way her bum pressed harder against me when she leaned into the stove.

"You haven't said you were way up there like some of them, have you?"

"No, no. I just said you let me kiss you and feel you up a bit, and uh ..."

"And what?"

"Uh ... I said you've been letting me see you lately."

"Lorne!"

"Well, Mom. They're all way past that. They've been able to do that for a long time. And now they want me to prove it."

"Prove it?" her eyes opened wide. "You mean, pictures?"

"No, no," I quickly tried to head off her apprehension. "They just want me to be able to describe it realistically, like I could if I'd really seen you."

"Oh." She seemed to settle down at that.

Always one to push the envelope, I added, "But some have pictures." I felt her tense in my hands. "But without faces. You couldn't recognize them." She relaxed again.

"Oh." A long pause followed during which I kissed her neck again and pushed my left hand up into her breast. "I'd have to think about that," she said.

"What?" I asked, opening my hand to form it into a cup.

"Pictures," she said quietly. I pressed my open palm against her breast and squeezed her back to me.

"You could think about it while you let me kiss you, Mom. I've never kissed a girl while we were laying down, even at a party." I turned her away from the stove, toward the kitchen doorway.

"But don't you want to have your breakfast first?"

"No, I'm not hungry anymore."

I was starving actually but she seemed pliant and I didn't want to take any chance that would change her mind, like I'm sure she would if she stopped to think about it. I steered her upstairs and down the hallway. She walked woodenly, as if unsure of it all, but she turned into her room and headed for her bed.

"Are you sure that their moms let them do more than just kiss?" she asked as she sat on the edge of her bed.

"Definitely, Mom. I'm the real novice at parties, it's almost a joke." I pulled her slippers off and tugged on the belt of her robe. "We can't kiss with this big terry cloth robe on."

She let me tug the sleeves off her arms and push the robe offer her shoulders. She seemed to be still thinking about how much the other moms were doing. I was pleasantly surprised to see that she wasn't wearing button up flannel pajamas. She was wearing a three quarter length nightie made of some thin cotton material with a lace bodice that looked like a dress slip. It wasn't a real sexy item but she looked nice in it and I could tell she didn't have a bra under it.

To comfort her, I said, "Just let me practice kissing you, Mom."

I pushed her back on the bed. She lifted her hips and shifted her weight into the middle of the bed, actually slipping under the covers. I slipped in beside her, quickly taking her into my arms. Pausing briefly, I kissed her several times on each cheek, a couple of times on her forehead, and then her nose. I laughed at that, and she smiled back.

"See. It's just natural. A Mom helping her son." I emphasized 'Mom' again and smiled, kissed her on the nose again and then quickly took possession of her lips. I didn't kiss her hard and long. I kissed her many times with small kisses but worked up to longer and longer ones. After five or ten minutes had passed we were engaging in long, intense kisses and I was pressing my body against hers, full length.

During a pause, I complained that I was too hot and needed to take my robe off too. As I stripped it off, Mom asked, "How long do they practice for?"

"Oh, at least an hour at a time," I made up some data for her, "usually twice a day." Thankfully my face was turned away dropping my robe to the floor.

"An hour. Twice a day." Mom seemed incredulous. She hadn't noticed that I was only wearing my underwear now.

"Sometimes more," I added, taking her in my arms once more and regaining possession of her mouth. After another five minutes, I started slipping my tongue between her lips. I had been planning this for several minutes, expecting resistance, but there was none. We continued as if it was a natural progression. I loved having my tongue in her mouth and the feeling of hers in mine was exquisite.

I had my arms right around her back now, and hers were around my neck and shoulders. I had been rolling side to side as I kissed her and had managed to get her legs open. My cock had actually pressed against her pussy once or twice. I kept trying to nudge her softness there but she twisted her pelvis away as soon as she noticed but I could tell it excited her by the way it throbbed before she turned away. I was sorely temped to rub up and down, as if I was actually fucking her, but was afraid of going too far. As it was, it was after one of these presses that she pushed me away.

"That's enough for today," she said, panting. "Whew, I haven't kissed like that for a long time."

I realized that I would have to stop when she said. I somehow knew that if I tried to force her, she'd quit for good. But that didn't stop me from trying to be a little naughty, to get a little more for quitting nicely like a good boy.

"Ok Mom. But let me see a little then."

"What?" she asked, still trying to catch her breath.

"Show me. All the other guys have seen. Just let me see your tits."

"Lorne. Don't talk like that."

"Well it seems funny to call them breasts." I tugged the front of her nightie.

Mom looked torn. She didn't really want to do it.

"Please Mom. I'm way behind all the other guys."

"No. I don't care what the other boys are allowed to do."

I was only momentarily crushed because I'd been here many times growing up. This ploy always worked. If I said other boys were allowed to do something, or had some new coveted toy, she always caved in the end. I put on the expression and mannerism that I had always used in these situations. I could see evidence in Mom's face of the strings pulling at her heart.

"I'll think about it. Maybe later this week, ... but we're not doing this every day for an hour, let alone twice a day, so don't get your hopes up," she said.


"I won't," I promised but nevertheless stared at her breasts, especially her nipples which had stiffened considerably during our necking session and were poking proudly through her nightie.

Mom noticed my look of awe and crossed her arms over her breasts, hiding her treasures from me. But she didn't seem angry about my adulation.

"Now run along and get your own breakfast."

I don't think I've ever felt less like eating in my whole life than at that moment. Well that's it so far. I'll write in soon to keep you posted.

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I fished through the rest of that bundle hoping that Lorne had written in soon since he had expected further action within days. I found his next letter near the end of the bundle.

------------------------------------

Hello everyone. I haven't heard back from you about my first letter yet but I have more to report so thought I'd send another letter right away. I know that I was being a creep leading my mother on like this but I couldn't turn down the chance to fool around with her, now could I? Would you? Please keep that in mind when you're reading my letters.

Anyway. Here's what happened next.

True to her word, Mom wasn't about to let me make out with her every day, let alone twice a day, as she put it. In fact, several days went by without any opportunity for me to be alone with her. I tried acting sick but it didn't work. I always had to get up and get a ride with Dad to my stupid summer job. I began to think that she hadn't bought my story about almost everyone else getting to fool around with their moms. When you really think about it, who would buy that, even if they thought it was something people would keep private.

On the third night, I took every opportunity when Mom and Dad were in different rooms to join Mom and give her a kiss or a hug, and when they were together I made a point of watching her and smiling at her. At first, Mom seemed pleased with the attention but then she got annoyed, casting furtive glances at Dad to see if he was also aware of the extra attention I was directing at her.

Late in the evening, I followed Mom into the kitchen and hung about while she made a snack for her and Dad. My attempt to kiss her was angrily rebuffed.

"Stop it, Lorne," she whispered curtly.

"Just as I thought," I grumbled. "The guys were right."

"What do you mean by that?" she whispered sternly.

"It's just like the guys said."

"What guys? What did they say?"

"I told them I found out I was adopted and they said that explained why I never got to go as far as they did." I turned to sulk away.

"Wait. Wait, dammit!" Mom managed to sound like she was shouting but she was still whispering. "Come back here," she hissed, pointing to the floor in front of her, like when I was little and she was really mad.

I skulked back to stand in front of her.

"I've been your mother all your life since you were only a month old. Don't you tell me that I don't love you! And don't you let those guys say that either, you hear me?"

"Yes Mom," I shuffled my feet. "I won't. ... I'm sorry."

Again, I turned away, my head hung low. But Mom grabbed me, put her arms around me, and hugged me to her. I could feel her breasts pressing into my back, her head leaning on my shoulder. She released me and spun me around. Smiling up at me, she patted my shoulders and upper arms and whispered confidentially, "Why don't you go up to bed in a few minutes but tell me you don't feel well before you go up."

"I don't feel well?" I repeated, looking at her, confused.

"Not here," she said. In the living room, in front of Dad. Tell me then."

"Oh," I said, still not on the same page as her.

"I don't think you're going to be well enough to go to work tomorrow morning," she whispered, smiling, and then standing up on her toes and giving me a short kiss on my lips. She spun around. "Run along, now."

Duh. I finally got it. It was hard to look depressed and sick in front of Dad because I was now elated. I hung around, drinking the hot chocolate and eating the cookies Mom brought out for us before doing the world's worst acting job of having sudden stomach pains. Dad seemed to buy it but when I turned back to look before climbing the stairs, he had already focused back on the TV and Mom rolled her eyes at me. How was it that I was managing to fool her?

I half hoped she would come to check on me before going to bed herself. I listened closely as my parents readied themselves for bed an hour after I had retired. The house went still. They were going to sleep. I was about to fall off myself when the hall light went on. Looking at the light shining under my door, I heard mom half whisper to Dad, "I'm just going to check on him. I'm sure he's OK and sleeping."

My door opened very quietly, and was pushed almost closed, the hall light flooding a wedge into my room across the end of my bed. I felt Mom's weight ease onto my bed and her hand gently touch my head.

"How are you feeling, sweetie?" she asked, as if she really did believe that I was ill.

I opened my eyes. She was smiling and her eyes looked truly concerned as she brushed the hair away from my face. She was wearing just her nightie. No robe. And the nightie was shorter than the three quarter length thing she'd worn a few days ago. This one was above her knees. Her eyes followed mine.

"Oh, so you have more than just a breast fetish, do you?" She laughed, enjoying herself at my expense as my face flushed.

Her right hand dropped to her knee and then slowly pulled her nightie up to just above her mid thigh. She lifted herself as she did so, allowing the nightie to ride up under her leg as well. I think she watched me as she bared her legs but I'm not sure because my eyes were fixed on the hem of that nightie as it traveled higher. When she stopped I could see her thighs up to where they thickened and the flesh squeezed together.

"There's more to a woman than breasts, you know," Mom said in the same amused tone, leaning in to kiss me on my forehead, "much more." Then she added, "We're a little complicated for you men, even when you get older. It's no wonder you need help at this age." Noting my gaze, she queried me again, this time wanting a response, "You want to see further up, don't you?"

I nodded.

She leaned in to kiss me again, this time on my mouth. I watched her breasts when she straightened up, jostling unrestrained and uninhibited under her nightie. I wished she'd left the door open wider to allow more light. She just sat there, watching me watch her breasts. She laughed that laugh again as my eyes slid down to her legs once more.

"Ah, so you're a leg man," she whispered. "I'm learning new things about my boy." Again she laughed, almost a low growl, a laugh I hadn't heard before.

She sat still, letting me look, watching my eyes slide over her thighs, falling into the crease between and peeking into the darkness under the hem. Finally, she said, "I'd better go now. I was just checking so I could report that you really are sick."

She leaned in and kissed me softly on the mouth again. When she straightened up, I sat up as well, reaching to take her in my arms. She pulled back, but didn't get up.

"No, I have to get to bed."

"Just one kiss," I demanded.

"No, your Dad's waiting for me." Still she just sat there.

"A goodnight kiss," I insisted, leaning forward to put my arm around her, pulling her head to mine, bringing her mouth to me. Within seconds, my tongue was in her mouth. Minutes passed. It was a long kiss which ended with her leaning back over my legs, my left hand pressed against her side, her right breast resting on my wrist as it curled around her abdomen. We were both breathing quickly. Her eyes were sparkling as she got up, watching me as I leaned back to make way for her.

She stood, brushed her nightie down over her legs and started to the door.

"Mom," I whispered when she was halfway there. She stopped and turned, looking at me, not saying anything. She looked gorgeous, still out of breath, her hair mussed up.

"Would you leave your slippers here so I can watch you walk away in your bare feet?"

Mom didn't answer. She stood there for about 15 seconds and then silently walked back to stand in front of me at the side of my bed. I could hear her shuffling her slippers off her feet, kicking them under the bed. Without a word, she turned and walked, more slowly now, toward the door. Her fingers grasped her nightie on each side and pulled it up until the hem was at mid thigh, like she'd done on the bed. I watched until she finally disappeared. Seconds later, the hall went dark.

You'd think I would have had trouble falling asleep, wouldn't you? But I didn't. I started thinking about her legs, her thighs, and her question when she saw where I was looking, 'You want to see further up, don't you?' It seemed that I'd just thought about that and then I was waking up, with the same thought in my mind. I could hear my parents voices downstairs. The clock showed that I was already late, even if I got up now. Mom must have convinced Dad that I was truly sick. The voices stopped. I didn't hear Dad drive away, so I stayed in bed. I could hear the radio playing.

Time passed. I was impatient but I wasn't sure whether Dad was still downstairs for some reason and if I went to see and he was still there I'd probably end up going to work. Finally, I heard someone coming upstairs. I put on my sick look in case it was Dad.

The door pushed open and Mom entered, carrying a tray with my breakfast. Toast and eggs, sliced up apple, juice and a coffee. I sat up in bed, shedding my sickly demeanor as Mom set the tray on my legs. She was wearing her robe so I couldn't see how she was dressed. She was barefoot, I noticed. I wondered if she'd done that for me. She had several pairs of slippers, and she didn't try to retrieve the ones she'd kicked under my bed.

"Call me when you're done," she said. "Don't get up. I'll come." She whisked out of the room.

I settled in to eat. I was hungry. I had just leaned back to enjoy my coffee, having set the tray on the bed, when Mom returned. She was still wearing her robe, tightly wrapped around her and belted. She picked the tray up and left again, cheerily tossing out, "I'll be right back."

And she was. She must have dropped the tray off in the kitchen and come right back. She bounced up and sat on my bed where the tray had been, tucking her legs in and leaning on one hand, her head cocked to one side as she looked at me. I finished my coffee, set it on the bed table, and turned, expecting to start our morning session. But Mom just looked at me.

"You know," she said, "it's hard for a woman to be in the right mood in the morning. We always have so many things to do, and we start thinking about them right away."

What? She was reneging? That wasn't fair! I had to do something. Take charge.

She was talking again.

"... so men don't understand, women aren't simple like them. You can't turn them on by flipping a switch, like you can with men. And we can't do it FOR you either, you have to help."

There was a long pause.

"Men who figure that out get a lot further with women, I can tell you that."

Another pause.

"Has Dad figured that out?" I asked, not being able to think of anything else to say.

"We're not talking about Dad."

This was frustrating. I wanted to neck and feel her up. What happened to the flirty mom that had been in my room last night?

Mom was toying with the lapels of her robe. Not loosening them. She looked up at me with a 'Well?' kind of expression on her face. What could I do? I could try looking helpless and depressed like I had in the kitchen but I had a feeling that a little boy act would be exactly the wrong thing to do. I could look at her breasts and legs like last night but they were all covered up. I looked anyway but could immediately tell that wasn't going to work either. She was looking restless. I was panicking. She was going to leave!

Desperate, my thoughts galloped through last night again. What had I done that might have put her in a mood? Kissed her? No, she was talking about getting her in the mood for that so that wasn't it. What? ... I had it. I almost smiled but kept my smug face turned inward to myself.

"Yeah, I can see what you mean, Mom. That's why women are so interesting, and challenging."

Mom just nodded, waiting.

"Say Mom, do you still have those fluffy slippers?"

Mom looked at me, a little surprised I think. "Yes," she answered, unsure of what I was getting at.

"Do you think you could put them on for me?"

She nodded, slowly, then quickening, perhaps understanding now. "Sure."

Mom got up and made her way to the door. She walked slowly, like she had last night. I watched her until she disappeared again.

It was several minutes before she returned. When she appeared, she wasn't wearing the slippers, or any others for that matter. She was barefoot and walking far more slowly than when she'd left, giving me lots of time to watch her. Her robe was gone.

The nightie wasn't a three quarter length job, nor was it a knee length thing. It only came to just over halfway to her knees. There was lots of leg there to see. She knew I liked her legs. She paused just inside the door. She made no mention about her missing robe when she spoke, "I couldn't find them," she explained, took a couple more steps, stopped, and said, "You know, I think this nightie looks better without slippers anyway, don't you?"

She picked her hem up on the sides with fingers, like she'd done last night, but this time she was starting where she'd ended. The hem rose until it couldn't have been more than two inches below her private parts. She held it there, letting me have all the time I needed to admire the legs she knew I liked so much.

"Yesss," I drawled. "Yesss ... I think you're right, Mom."

"Turn ...," I blurted when it looked like she was ready to drop the hem, "turn around."

She kept the nightie high on her legs as she spun slowly around. One, two, three full turns. The nightie just covered her bottom in the back. When she started to walk toward me, I tossed out another instruction, "Keep it up high."

She did. She held it all the way to the bed and even held it up as she climbed up on the bed. She straddled my legs and sat on them. I noticed that her panties were a matching silky material of the same color before she finally dropped the hem lower onto her legs.

I was still propped up on the pillows in an almost sitting up position. She leaned forward and gave me a quick kiss on my lips.

"What should we do today?" She smiled, leaned in for another quick kiss, and sat back on her haunches, on my legs, her knees outside mine. She was back to that perky, playful woman I'd met last night. She was beautiful. My cock swelled, but I don't think she could tell through the covers.

"Well ... we could just kiss some more, like we did the other day."

"Ah, you're learning," Mom looked pleased, like her 'teaching' was paying off. "A woman doesn't like to go faster than she wants to. You're going to learn more than those other boys, even if you don't get to see or do as much as they do."

That was disappointing. I wanted to see and feel her, not learn about women, but I didn't let it show. "And maybe how to hold a woman, properly, so she won't freak out."

Mom paused, then seemed to relax. "Uh huh. OK." She leaned forward to kiss me. "Put your arms around me, low down, but don't put your hands on my bum," she instructed.

I did as she asked. She continued kissing me. We kissed for several minutes. I moved my hands up and down her back, stroking the sides of her waist, but never tried to move them over her ass or down to feel the sides of her breasts. And I didn't try to slip my tongue in her mouth, but I gladly accepted hers when she finally pushed it into mine.

The next little while was filled with fairly intense mouth work, with Mom taking it to higher levels each time. When our mouths finally pulled apart, we were both gasping for breath. Mom's legs had stretched out so that instead of kneeling over my torso, she was laying over me with her legs splayed on either side of mine, her groin pressed against mine through the blankets.

"Whew," Mom gasped, "you're certainly getting better."

"And it's only been fifteen minutes," I answered.

"We're not timing ourselves, remember?" Mom verbally spanked me. "Anyway, you should never get cocky with a woman about how well you're doing. It's better not to even talk about it."

"Sorry Mom. I just got carried away, it felt so good."

Mom looked pleased. "Yes ... well, it felt good to me too."

"We're not finished yet, are we Mom?" I pleaded again.

"No, I guess not." Mom lowered her face to mine.

"Wait," I cried, "I'm really hot. Can I take my covers off?" I began tugging at my blankets. Mom started to get up but I stopped her. "No. Just lift up a bit. ... I can pull them out." I didn't want her to get off me, she felt so good laying on me, even through the covers.

"OK," I said as soon as I pulled and kicked the sheet and blanket to the side, pulling up as well as out to the side. My hands pressed on her back, pulling her back down on me. My lips took possession of hers right away. I didn't move when I felt her body on mine, not wanting to call attention to the fact that she was only wearing a short nightie, and I just my undershorts. Her legs were still splayed over mine, and her groin pressed against mine. My hardon must be evident to her now, especially since my upward action with the covers had pulled her nightie up to her stomach. I could feel her bare tummy pressed tight to part of mine and knew that only her panties were pressed against my shorts.

I let my hands press in on the middle of her back and pressed my arms tight to her sides. As I kissed her, I pulled her waist tighter to me, moving my hands up and down with the result that her pelvis moved the same way against mine. And her breasts. I could feel her nipples poking into my chest. I contented myself with this new level and once again waited for her to intensify our kissing.

I wasn't disappointed. Her mouth was hot on mine as she worked herself up more and more. Soon she was writhing on me, just slightly and very slowly, but writhing nonetheless. I was loathe to break our kiss, despite my need for air as breathing through my nose failed more and more to fill my body's needs. I could tell that her nightie had risen until it was piled across the small of her back, confirmed by my hands realizing that there was bare skin below the material. Her ass was bare! If only I could see it.

Finally, I could last no longer and pulled my mouth away, inhaling loudly, gasping great gulps of air, wanting to renew our kiss before she realized her exposed state and shut me down for the day. Mom was gasping for air too but her breathing recovered before mine.

"Lorne." Mom whispered into my neck, her head resting on my shoulder. The skin on her face was damp with sweat.

"Yes, Mom." I knew I was done even though she hadn't moved to break our body long caress.

"When you do get a girl to a point where ... you know ... you should always cover her up, so she feels safe and not exposed."

Well, I'd only got a little farther today but it seemed like a lot more. One step at a time, I thought, as my hands started to tug her nightie down.

"Pull the sheet over me," Mom whispered.

"What?" My hands froze.

"The sheet, Lorne. Cover me with the sheet."

Slowly, my hands slipped off her back, the right seeking the sheet to my side.

"Come on, cover me, make me feel safe." She kissed me several times on my face as she whispered to me.

Mom must think I was stalling to keep her exposed but I was just stunned that she was going to let this continue, knowing her backside was bare. It took me at least a full minute to cover her, my hands fumbling around to get the sheet over her back and legs. But the job was finally done and I returned my hands to their former position in the small of her back. Mom started kissing me again, light kisses on my lips, without any tongue play. I rubbed her back in small strokes, happy to be where I was.

"Lorne."

"Yes, Mom."

"When a girl opens herself to you, you should show your appreciation."

Again, she was leaving me behind. I pulled her tighter and lifted my head to kiss her, trying to slip my tongue into her mouth, but she blocked its entrance. Pulling her lips away but keeping her face close so I couldn't see her eyes, she whispered hoarsely in my ear, "Touch me."

I hesitated.

"Touch me," she whispered again, then lifted her face and planted her lips on mine, her tongue slipping between.

I moved my hands slowly, tentatively, up onto the swell of her buttocks. Her tongue moved faster in my mouth. My fingers crested her cheeks and slipped down the rear slope to the backs of her thighs. Deep into my mouth her tongue plunged. I reached the crease between bum and legs and dug my fingers between her thighs, stretching until they met, then sliding them together back up the divide that separated them, squeezing the flesh underneath. Mom's groin pressed harder into mine as my fingers travelled that delightful, narrow canyon.

"Mmmmmmmmm," she sighed into my mouth.

I pressed my cock up, once, twice, three times.

Mom broke the kiss as my fingers reached the top of her crack. "You like that, don't you?"

I nodded.

"Keep touching me," her soft voice caressed my ear. This time she just lay on me as my hands and fingers loved her ass. She moaned as I dug between her thighs and pressed the sides of my index fingers against her, under her bottom, before sliding them up, deeper between her bottomly crevasse. Again, she pressed her pussy down on my cock, shoving it hard against my stomach under my shorts. But this time, she ground it around, side to side and up and down.

"Keep touching me," she commanded, her breath ragged.

My fingers dragged more slowly down and back. Her groin ground harder against me, and her tits too. This time her pussy moved up and down and around more rapidly.

"Oh, Lorny," she groaned in my ear, a name she hadn't used since I was little.

I was caught off guard. It roared up my shaft, bursting from the head, shooting into my shorts, soaking them. Frantically, I humped against her panties. She didn't pull away. She kept grinding until I was still, laying there, panting, my hands slipping from her back.

She got up. "I think that's enough for now." She walked away. I turned to watch her, her bare feet padding softly on the floor. She wasn't in a hurry and though she didn't look back, I could tell she knew I was watching. She exuded sex appeal.

------------------------------------------

I started searching right away for another letter from Lorne. I didn't hear Mom knock and was startled by her voice as she leaned in the opened door.

"Dave, come out to meet Mary and her son Paul." She ducked back through the door without further explanation.

In the hall entrance stood an attractive woman of average proportions and a boy. It turned out he was about my age but he looked much younger.

"Dave, I'd like you to meet Mary and her son Paul." Mom indicated the mother and son with a sweep of her hand. "Mary is a nurse and she's going to help us look after Dad part-time in exchange for living in the suite." Mom turned away. "Come on, Mary, I'll show you where everything is while Paul puts some of your things in the suite."

I was dismissed. Just like Dad, Mom made decisions affecting our lives without any consultation. I returned to Dad's study and starting searching for another letter from Lorne, forgetting my rule to read every one, until I encountered an update from Frank.

I told you about Frank in Chapters 2 and 5. You may recall that Frank's mom was helping him study in his room. Her real goal was to keep Frank away from Donna, a girl whom Frank has mislead his mom into believing was allowing him sexual privileges. Things became quite heated in their last study session where she allowed Frank to remove her panties, whereupon she pinned his cock to his stomach with her bare pussy and rubbed both of them to orgasm. She left her torn panties with him that night, promising him more bareback which she assured him no girl his age would give him.

I won't bore you with all the details, but Frank's idea of bareback, actually fucking her without a condom, didn't match his mother's. Bareback to her meant a repeat of their last tryst with her rubbing her soaking pussy on his uncovered cock. Not that this was bad. His mom made a habit of visiting his room and bringing both of them off. She sometimes allowed him to fondle her tits as she mashed her pussy around on his stiff rod until he shot his wad onto his own stomach.

But she wouldn't relinquish control. She always remained on top. His efforts to convince her to switch failed, as did his attempts to wrestle her onto her back. She invariably freed herself or blocked his goal with crossed legs, and she always punished him by leaving and not returning for the rest of that week. Frank fell into line despite his craving to lodge his pole inside his mom, something he couldn't do with her firmly in control on top of him.

When his mother last walked out on him, Frank decided to return to his original strategy, holding out the threat of Donna. He waited out his mother's absence for the rest of the week and then followed that by coming home late every night the following week, insisting he was 'studying' on his own at school, but making it clear he wasn't being entirely honest.

Finally, he stayed home one night but he avoided his mom, choosing instead to watch a game with his Dad. He declined his mom's offer for help studying, saying he was studied out. His mother left in a huff for the kitchen to start baking, something she often did when she was angry or needed to think about things. Frank still wasn't sure how to get her to let him be on top so he was simply delaying until he could figure out how to do it. He didn't want to blow it after going without for two weeks and he was sure if they were alone in his room, he wouldn't be able to resist her damp charms.

But his father, of all people, forced his hand. Knowing all too well about his wife's habit of baking at night when she was angry, he prodded Frank to go into the kitchen to right whatever was wrong. When Frank insisted he didn't know what was wrong, his father said that was beside the point and told him to go hang out with her until she 'softened', which he said was inevitable.

In Frank's words:

So I joined my mother in the kitchen. She was preparing dough and placing it on cookie sheets on the counter, ready to put into the oven which was warming. My anger dissipated as I gazed at her figure from her shoulder length red hair, down her slight shoulders to the ass I had held so familiarly so often, down her knee length skirt to her bare, tanned legs and feet inserted into pink slippers.

God, I wanted to feel her on me. I walked slowly, quietly toward her. I'll apologize, I thought, let her take control, if she'll just start rubbing herself on me again. She heard me a step away. She didn't pause but her head turned a fraction of an inch. I placed my hands on her shoulders and kissed her gently, softly, on her cheek.

"I'm sorry, Mom," I whispered into her ear before kissing that too. She was stiff in my arms.

"You should be." Her voice was harsh. "Where were you all week?"

"I told you," I defended myself, "I was studying." I pulled her hair aside and kissed her neck, hoping to distract her.

"With that slut?"

"A couple of times," I lied, "but we didn't do anything, we just studied."

"Oh, sure," Mom replied sarcastically.

"We didn't," I insisted. Mom looked unconvinced. I shifted gears. "She wanted to, she promised to go all the way. I was tempted," I pulled myself tighter behind her, "and we played around but when she opened her legs, I just couldn't." I let my hands slide down her shoulders and slipped them inside her arms to rest on her waist just above her hips.

"Oh," Mom prompted disbelievingly, "and why couldn't you?"

I paused for effect, then answered, "Because it wasn't you. I just went soft. It was embarrassing." I pressed myself into her so she could feel that I didn't have that problem with her. I pulled her tight against me. "It was awful," I cried, latching my lips onto her neck, hoping her motherly instincts would make her feel sorry for me.

I could feel her relax in my arms, the tension flowing out of her. She let me kiss and suck on the nape of her neck, as if she knew the kitchen was our private domain for some period of time.

"Poor baby," she said. Her hands had stopped working the dough. She just stood there letting me press her to the counter, kissing her neck. I couldn't help taking advantage. I hunched my cock into her skirt. She let me do this too, simply drawing her arms back so she could grip the edge of the counter with her hands. I humped harder against her ass, pausing to thrust upward at the depth of each shove.

"I missed you so much, Mom."

"Poor baby," she repeated, pushing her ass out to meet my shoves.

I slipped my hands around and up to cup her breasts. "I need you to study with me." I thrust hard into her and squeezed her tits, biting her neck, grinding her ass against the counter.

"Is it so important for you, to be on top?" Her breathing had quickened.

"Not if you really don't want me to, Mom," I answered, lying through my teeth.

"But you want to, don't you?"

"Yes!" My whisper was hoarse and intense. I ground my cock into her for added emphasis, like I couldn't help it at the thought of being on her.

"Ok," she whispered for the first time, "but only if I'm on my tummy. We can't face each other. It's too dangerous. We can't have an accident ... you know ... you can't come inside me. It's wrong."

"Ok, Mom," I agreed, elated. I'd won!

"Promise you won't try to get inside me."

I didn't respond. Instead, groaned in her ear like I was beside myself, "Oh, Mom."

I let my hands fall away from her tits, along her waist and over her hips. Grasping the sides of her skirt, I slowly pulled it up. I reached her hips before she reacted.

"No, ... not here." She placed her hands on mine, trying to slow them.

"I just want to feel you for a minute," I gasped into her ear, continuing to raise her skirt.

"You can't," her voice was panicked, "your father is just around the corner." Her hands tried to push mine down more strenuously but I had reached her waist.

"He won't come in. He sent me in to apologize for whatever I'd done, because you were baking."

Again, I felt her tension drain away. She actually laughed.

"He'll wait until we come out," I added for assurance, looking down at her butt. The waist of her panties drew a line around her hips only halfway up her buttocks. The edges traced the perimeter of a triangular that covered less and less of her cheeks until they met in an apex that disappeared between the tops of her legs. I slipped my hands out from under hers but the skirt didn't fall. Her hands kept it up. As quietly as I could, I undid my belt and unbuttoned my jeans, pushing them down without unzipping the noisy zipper. I pushed my undershorts down with my jeans.

Mom didn't seem to realize what I was doing. I pressed my knees into the backs of hers, pinning her to the counter once more. Using my fingers, I traced the outline of her cheeks from under her legs up the sides to the top of her hips. I let my index fingers follow the line of her panties down the triangle of her legs and then back up, this time pulling the panties into her crack. Holding her panties up to keep the material between her cheeks, I moved forward and dipped my bare, hard cock into her crease.

"No ... oh no," she cried, trying to pull away to no avail as my cock followed her ass. "Stop ... don't ... not here!" she hissed.

"Will you come upstairs? Will you let me do this tonight? ... I need you, Mom. I can't wait." I shoved my cock up and down.

"Yes ... yes," she gasped, "in a few minutes."

"Promise?" I pushed.

"Promise," she answered.

"Ok, but I'm taking these." I pushed her panties down to her knees before she could do anything to stop me. Her legs moved apart to stop them going any further. "Let them fall," I whispered. When she didn't, I pushed my cock between her bare cheeks and rubbed it up and down. She moved her legs together, allowing her panties to drop to her ankles. I kneeled and gently raised each foot to slide the panties off. When I stood, her skirt was back in place, covering her charms.

"Don't be long, Mom." I did up my jeans and stuffed her panties my pocket. Leaving the kitchen, I paused to wave to Dad. To his querying look, I gave a thumbs up. He smiled and winked. I was only halfway up the stairs when I heard Mom tell Dad she was going to help me study. I waited, holding the door open until she passed me and went straight to my bed, laying down on her tummy. I closed the door but didn't latch it.

Approaching the bed, I dropped my jeans and undershorts before pulling my shirt over my head and tossing it to the floor. I bent over Mom, unzipping her skirt and tugging it off. She stayed on her tummy, her face pressed into my pillow. I turned her onto her side so I could unbutton her blouse. She kept her face turned down but allowed me to remove first her shirt and then her bra. She was completely naked. I crawled up on the bed. She turned onto her tummy again and closed her legs.

"You're so beautiful," I whispered, running my hands up the back of her calves and thighs, and onto her ass. I squeezed her cheeks between the thumb and index finger of each hand.

I searched in my night table drawer until I found the cream I used for masturbating. I did this every night and needed the lubricant to stop my cock from chafing. Wiping a liberal amount on my cock, I leaned forward onto my arms, my cock hanging over her ass. Slowly, I dipped my hips until my cock made contact with the back of her legs. Poking it into the furrow between her thighs, I shoved it along, the head skittering forward until it hit her buttocks. I shoved harder, pushing it between her cheeks. Aided by the cream, my cock moved easily through her ass crack.

Mom didn't make a sound the whole time I slid back and forth in the crease between her cheeks but when I pulled back and plunged it between her thighs, just under her pussy, she moaned out loud. She moistened quickly and after just a few shoves the inside of her thighs were slick. I could tell she really liked this. Each time I pushed in she let out a little "ohhhh" as my cock made contact with her pussy lips.

I was able to angle my cock so I could guide the head between her lips. Soon, her ass was lifting a little as I drew back, trying to keep in contact, and her legs opened a little to give me better access. Her "ohhh's" were more frequent now. Though she lifted her ass as I withdrew, she hunched it forward when I thrust back, preventing me from pushing into her. But she wasn't quick enough every time and I was able to push the small part of my cock's head into her a little. She interrupted her "ohhh's" with a "don't" whenever I did this but it didn't sound that convincing since she didn't do anything to make it harder for me. In fact, she seemed to forget to hunch forward more often.

Then on one backstroke I pulled back completely out of contact. Mom kept her ass lifted up, waiting for me to slide my cock back along her pussy. Instead, I grasped my cock in my hand, pressed its head part way into her slit, and slid it along her length and back, slowly, three or four times.

"Ohhhuuhhhahhhhh," she repeated each time.

I paused, ecstatic at her wanton sound, knowing she was lost in the feel of my cock on her pussy. It was very empowering. I dragged my tip through her again.

"D-o-o-o-o-n't," she moaned softly, "don't ... don't ... don't."

She kept pulling her pelvis forward, twisting her pussy away from me, making it hard for me to renew that contact.

"I won't put it in, Mom," I gasped, "I won't." I was panting. So was she. "Please ... lift up ... please."

She lay under me, breathing raggedly. When I saw her ass lifting again, I almost came. She cocked it up higher than before and waited for me to drag my slick stick through her again. Instantly, I obliged. She wasn't moaning anymore but her raspy breathing was even louder. Without intention, my cockhead poked further and further into her as I rubbed it back and forth until, finally, it popped completely in. I paused in shock as I realized that the head of my cock was firmly lodged inside her cunt. There was a magical moment where I was holding my cock just in her and she was twisting her ass up to make it easier for me. Then it ended.

"Oh, Frankie, nO." Her ass plunged to the mattress. There was a squishy plop as my cock popped out, instantly experiencing pangs of loss as it separated from the first cunt it had ever felt. MORE ... it needed more.

Mom was whimpering. Was she crying? I couldn't tell. I whispered to console her.

"Ok Mom. We'll do it a different way. It'll be ok."

I pulled her onto her side. I kneed her thighs until she pulled her legs up, together, until she was almost in a fetal position. I bumped her top leg, pushing it forward, opening her legs to provide room for my cock to slide between her legs, holding her hip until my cock was pressed against the bottom of her pussy. She was very wet.

Immediately, I began to move my cock back and forth. I reached down to grab her tit, squeezing it until her nipple stiffened and poked out between the circle of my thumb and index finger. Increasing the speed of my thrusts, I changed hands, using my left to hold her just released right tit. I moved my free hand down to grasp the front of her thigh. Within moments, I was brushing her pussy lips side to side with my fingers as my cock thrust through her legs. Holding it as hard against her as I could, I sawed it back and forth.

Changing my angle so I could dig between her pussy lips again, I moved my fingers up to pinch her clit. She was now very, very, wet. She was moaning into the pillow. Angling more, I dug into her cunt. She started to turn her head up from the pillow but I moved my hand from her tit to keep it pressed in. I started to push into her.

"No ... Frank ... don't". She tried to turn her face up but I kept it pushed down. I shoved further in until all but the wide part of my cock head was in her.

"No ... please, Frank ... don't."

I leaned right over her until my lips were close to her ear. "I need to, Mom."

"No," she hissed, "we can't."

An evil feeling welled up in me. I wanted to possess her. "Don't make me go to Donna."

Mom didn't answer. I felt the tension flowing out of her, could sense resignation, and then, amazingly, her pussy lips softened, loosening.

Slowly, I pushed my cock all the way into her. I pulled out and shoved hard back in.

As if changing her mind, she suddenly cried, "Don't ... don't."

Again I pulled out and shoved in, forcefully, bouncing her whole body forward on the bed.

"Stop ... Frank ... don't."

I pulled out and shoved in, five or six times, and stopped.

"Don't, Frank, ... please don't."

She didn't say stop this time. I fucked into her a dozen times more.

"don't ... don't .... don't." Her voice was soft now, quiet.

I began a steady fuck. She kept moaning softly, "don't." I kept fucking her, holding her head, squeezing her tit again, then finally sticking my fingers in her mouth to stop her constant "don'ts" even though I was enjoying the sound of it. For some reason, she really started moaning when I put my fingers in her mouth. I started banging her really hard then, fast and furious, I couldn't hold back anymore. I clutched her head, desperately, as I emptied myself in her, spasming against her soft backside. 

When we had regained our breath, I whispered to her, "Thanks for letting me rub like that, Mom. It was real special."

She didn't respond at first but finally answered, "You really like it that way?"

"Yes," I responded enthusiastically. "I love it. And you're the only one that can do it like that," I assured her.

"Ok," she said, "then that's the way we'll do it."

We never acknowledged that I'd actually fucked her. From then on, we always started with me rubbing my cock through her legs but I was always fucked her in the doggy position or on her side. I found that I liked the feel of holding her head as I fucked her. Though we fucked every time, we always called it rubbing.

Only one thing bothered me. The door was open about six inches. I was sure I had closed it.

About a week later, Mom started a silly argument with me about nothing and then stomped her into the kitchen. Moments later, she started banging cookie sheets around. Dad nodded at me to go 'make up' with my Mom. When I entered the kitchen, Mom hadn't even got any baking stuff out. She only had a couple of cookie sheets out, one warming in the oven and the other laying on top of the burners on the stove.

She was just standing there. She smiled when she heard me come into the kitchen and then turned to face the stove again. Realizing that the 'argument' had been fake, and that Dad would not bother us until we had 'made up', I strode directly to her. Standing behind her, I opened my pants and pushed on her back until her head came to rest on the cookie sheet. I grasped her head with my left hand and slipped two fingers from my right into her mouth as I brought my cock to bear against her skirt. Mom raised her skirt until my cock flopped down and poked at her ass. She wasn't wearing any panties.

Reaching behind to grasp my cock in her hand, she guided it to her pussy. I gave her a bloody good rubbing that time, her head sliding around on the cookie sheet despite my tight grip. At one point, I felt a sudden dread as I sensed someone watching. Panicked, I jerked my head to the kitchen doorway, but it was empty. Desire overwhelming my fear, soon renewed my slow thrusts, lifting Mom up onto her toes as I shoved my cock in as deep as I could. It was so erotic, I squirted into her a lot. When I pulled out, she stayed bent over with her head on the cookie sheet while I pulled up and fastened my pants. Her skirt fell back into place but a dribble of come ran down the inside of her left leg.

She followed me upstairs, telling Dad we were going to study again. She lay on her tummy but I crawled around to her head and turned her over. As soon as she was on her back, I straddled her face, tilted her head back toward me, and pushed my cock into her mouth. That's when I really found out how much she liked to have her mouth filled. I got so carried away holding her head while I slid my cock into her throat, I didn't realize I had forgotten to close the door.

Again, I felt that creepy feeling that I was being watched. I looked up, my cock fully plugged in Mom's mouth, to find Dad standing in the doorway. I froze. He smiled and nodded. I was too scared to react. Nodding, as if pointing, he made a ring of the thumb and index finger of his left hand and poked the index finger of his right back and forth through it. He kept nodding, looking at Mom's open legs.

Slowly, I leaned forward and pulled Mom's skirt up, exposing her bare cunt. Holding her legs open, looking at Dad still thrusting his finger in and out of his hand, I plunged two fingers into Mom's pussy. She moaned loudly around the cock in her mouth and began sucking it hard. I began to really work my fingers in her. Dad smiled, turned, and sauntered out of sight toward his bedroom. Mom's hips were lunging up on my fingers, her mouth gripping my cock with incredible suction. As my seed began to pour into my mother's throat, I realized that my father knew his wife very well.

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Dave here. Sorry I haven't kept you updated for a while. I was very busy studying for exams. We have settled quite well into our new life with Mary and her son. Paul is much more juvenile that I had first thought. Though only a couple of years younger than me, he is emotionally much younger, spending his time playing computer games and reading comic books.

I have become quite friendly with Mary and we have talked about Paul a lot. She asked me if I could help her get Paul to grow up. She had tried everything she could think of without success. I told her there wasn't anything I could do but there was something she could do, and I could help her with that if she really wanted to help her son.

Mary was aware of my relationship with Mom though she tried not to let on that she knew. Paul was too naive to understand what was right in front of him, but Mary clearly knew. I also knew it embarrassed Mom once in a while when I touched her in front of Mary, though she allowed it. Once, we emerged from our bedroom after a rare afternooner and Mary was in the hall on her way to Dad's room. Both women went red in the face.

So I was aware that Mary knew what I was hinting at when I suggested there was something more she could do, and that I could help her in that direction. But she couldn't bring herself to discuss it and the conversation changed. But she brought it up again several days later when we were sitting around the kitchen table having an afternoon coffee while my father napped.

"Paulie, ... he's ...", her face was struggling, "you know I know about you and you mother," she blurted out. "I would never say anything to anyone," she assured me, "and I know you were ... I could never ... do that."

I took her hand in both of mine, patting it. "You don't have to ... you know, go all the way. But if you go a little way, you could change his focus. It will work, Mary, I know it will."

"But ... how can you ... how can he want his mother?" she asked awkwardly, flustered.

"It's very special. Susan is my mother, but she's a woman too. She's irresistible."

"But, ... I don't have that ... glamour, your mother has."

"Yes, you do. You're a very attractive woman, Mary, believe me. You have a great figure, a nice lithe body, and you're very pretty. Your hair, short like you wear it, is kind of exotic. I know you wear it that way for efficiency, but it's still sexy." I let my comments sink in, sipping my coffee as I watched her.

"No, it won't work. Paulie has never even looked at a girl, let alone his mother."

"Believe me. He'll be very interested, and you can use that to make him grow up. I can nudge him in the right direction. You just have to let him ... do stuff, once he's started. Don't scare him off. Make like it's natural."

"Do what stuff?"

"Just let him look at you, maybe touch you a bit, kiss you like a girl, not his mother."

"That's all?"

"Yeah. You can encourage him, entice him with your body, your voice, the softness of your skin. Let yourself be a woman around him. I guarantee he'll react. Even watching a woman's feet can be erotic for a man. Do simple things, but things that he knows are special and secrets between him and you."

I could see her thinking, already buying into the plan. It made my cock swell knowing this mother was thinking about seducing her son, at least to some extent, and that I could be part of it. I glanced over her body, her small breasts and narrow waist, her hips flaring a little wider than they should and her ass that stuck out a little prominently though it wasn't that big. My cock stiffened. I wanted to fuck her, right there in the kitchen.

I smiled at her, "I could help you choose some things to wear that might help." She ignored my suggestion.

"I just don't know how to get started. Paul is so into his comics and games. He's like a little kid, not an eighteen year old."

"Don't worry," I assured her, "I'll get him started."

"How?" she asked.

"Leave it to me," I said.

"You won't say anything to him?" her eyes widened.

"No, no. Trust me."

I didn't waste any time. Mary and Paul joined us for dinner often, and sometimes watched a movie on our very large high definition screen. I made a point over the next week to touch Mom more often when Paul was around. Little pats here and there and a few more kisses. Mom didn't even seem to be aware, nor did Paul, but Mary was. If anything, I think I was getting Mary more intrigued, and that should help her with Paul, I reasoned. I began touching Mom more intimately, and kissing her, more often when I knew Mary was around, and I could sense that it was having an effect on her.

Then one night, after we had finished a dinner that Mom had cooked, I rose from my seat, went around Mary sitting to my right to stand behind Mom and leaned down to hug her. I kissed her and thanked her for a wonderful dinner. Mom stretched her right arm up to lightly clasp my head as I nuzzled her cheek. I kissed her again after she responded, and let my right hand, on Paul's side of the table, slide down to cup the side of Mom's breast.

Mom froze. Mary looked like a statue. Paul seemed oblivious, his eyes focused on the comic book laying on the table to the left of his plate, pointed toward Mom. I finished my long kiss on Mom's cheek and moved to her ear, all the while cupping her breast. Mom's face reddened, but she didn't stop me, even when I poked the tip of my tongue onto her ear and traced its outline. I returned to my seat amid an awkward silence, the women sitting still and Paul staring at his comic.

Suddenly, Mom burst up, "Well, let's see what we have for dessert." Mary quickly stood and rushed to the fridge, her back to the table, "Ice cream," she suggested loudly, "how about ice cream?"

Paul was still staring at his comic.

What was that all about?" Mom demanded as we were getting ready for bed.

"What was what all about?" I replied.

"You know what I'm talking about. Touching me in front of Mary and Paul."

"Oh, that. I'm just helping Mary out."

"Helping Mary out. What do you mean?" The pitch of Mom's voice rose with every word.

"She asked me to. She's not blind. She's aware that you and I have a special arrangement. She's curious about how it began, so I told her it was to help Dad."

"Why did you tell her anything? It's none of her business." She was getting quite angry. "I'll get someone else to look after Dad. How embarrassing. How could you?"

"Mom relax. There's nothing to get embarrassed about. Mary is very impressed by our relationship and is curious to know if it something like that could help Paul," I stretched the truth considerably.

"Help Paul?" Mom asked, confused. "What's wrong with Paul? Is he sick? How ..."

"Mom, mom. He's not sick. He's very immature. You can see that."

"Yes, well ..."

"He needs something to make him grow up. He needs to focus on something other than computer games and comic books. Mary is very worried about him."

"So you thought feeling me up would distract him? I'M to be his new fascination? You have another thing coming, young man." Mom's voice was rising again as she sat up stiffly in bed.

"Mom, settle down" I cried, exasperated, flailing my arms. "I'm just trying to get Paul interested in his own Mom. I'm trying to trigger a new relationship with his own mom, something more interesting that will leave his toys behind."

"You think Mary wants to ..."

"No, Mom. I just suggested that women would be far more interesting to Paul than computers and toys and that if she could get him interested, he would start noticing girls. She's nervous about it but willing to try if it will help her son."

"But why involve me?"

"I can't very well touch Mary, now can I? And even so, that could push him away from her." Mom nodded. "I thought it would be best to nudge him with a few examples." Mom was still nodding, so I went for it. "Will you help?" Mom stopped, then nodded again.

"Just a little," she said, "to get him started. That's all."

"That's great, Mom. Thanks."

"You tell Mary. I don't want to talk about it with her, but I want her know I'm only going along with it to help Paul."

"Ok, Mom."

"But I don't think it will work," she added. "He didn't even notice."

"Sure he did," I replied. "You know what a fast reader he is, don't you?"

"Yes," Mom answered, clearly not sure what that had to do with anything.

"Did you see him, when I kissed you?"

"Yes. He completely ignored it."

"No, Mom," I corrected her. "His eyes were on the top of the comic book but his attention was on my hand on your breast." I paused for emphasis "He didn't turn the page once."

I could see in Mom's eyes that I was right. Paul had taken the first nibble.

I was just as convincing with Mary. I got get her to acknowledge that Paul had noticed me touching Mom's tit and that she had to be open to him approaching her with the same action but it might take some encouragement on her part. I asked her dress more intimately when they were alone in their apartment. If nothing happened, we might have to expose him to a few more incidents with Mom and I.

After a week of letting Paul see her in just her pajamas, and once in just a skirt and bra, nothing happened. Paul definitely watched his Mom, but he didn't try to kiss her or touch her despite the display or her hugging him more often. He simply returned to his computer or comics after the show was over.

The next week we ate dinner together and Mom cooked again. When Mary rose to get the dessert she had prepared, I rose to once more stand behind Mom and asked her to close her eyes. As I bent over Mom, I saw Paul turn to look, unrestricted by his own mom's absence at the table, my ducked head, and Mom's closed eyes. I cupped a breast in each hand as I thanked Mom for such a lovely dinner. I made sure my tongue was visible on her ear. I could feel myself harden. Mom didn't freeze up. She acted as if everything was natural, as did Mary when she set the dessert on the table while I was still cupping Mom's breasts. Paul didn't look away until I let go of Mom's tits and stood up.

After dessert, I suggested that Paul should thank him Mom. When he didn't move, I stood behind Mary. Both she and Mom were tense, but neither moved. I grasped her by her shoulders. "Well," I said, "you're not my Mom, so a kiss will have to do." I leaned down to give Mary a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks for dessert, Mary," I said, and looked at Paul.

Paul mumbled, "Yeah, thanks Mom," and lowered his head.

Not to be deterred, I announced that I had to analyze a movie with a group for a class and report their opinions. Would they all watch it with me after the dishes were done? Sure, they all agreed. "Great," I thanked them. "Some of us are supposed to watch it in normal day clothes, and some while wearing pajamas. We're in the pajama group," I announced.

I don't think even Mom realized that this was all bullshit. I think she thought it was for a real class, until almost halfway through the movie where a Mom has hurt her leg and has to have her college age son help her get around and wash herself and stuff while she's in a full leg cast. He's not happy when he has to delay entering medical school but becomes absorbed with his Mom when she starts asking him to apply lotion around the top edge of her cast, near her private parts, to ease her chafing skin.

By then, we were all intent on the movie as it played out on our large high definition screen. I had dimmed the lights and arranged the seating so that Mary was on the end of one couch with Paul next to her, and I was on the far end of the other couch with Mom leaning against me with her legs tucked up on the couch beside her. I paused the movie a couple of times to make a comment or two but they all complained, insisting we should just watch it first.

But I achieved my goal of having Paul look our way and noticing that my arm was around Mom, and my hand was on her breast. I could feel him glance our way several times and made sure that my hand was gripping Mom's tit each time. Mary, bless her soul, was on cue and pulled Paul against her, resting his head on her own robe-covered breasts.

When the leg-oiling scene came on, I slipped Mom's robe apart and placed my hand directly on her nightie. After the scene ended, and the movie carried on, Paul slipped his eyes over to watch Mom and I. As soon as he did, I began to massage Mom's tit. Mom kept her eyes fixed on the screen but Mary, above and behind Paul so he couldn't see her with his head resting on her chest, watched me fondle Mom too. She seemed to be as mesmerized as her son.

To make it easier for Mom to stay focused on the screen, I pulled her across my lap to let her lay her head on the arm of the couch. I parted her robe and fondled both her tits as I played with her hair, moving my left hand from one to the other until the movie was over. I, too, focused on the screen so our little scene could play out for Paul's benefit and, I curiously found myself hoping, Mary's too. As I rubbed my palms across Mom's nipples, I found myself wondering how Mary's smaller fare would feel, and what she was wearing under the full length robe so tightly wrapped around her body. Could Paul feel her tits pressed against her head?

When the movie was over, I dimmed the lights even further, explaining that people would more openly discuss ideas in a dark room. The room was sufficiently dark that we couldn't see each other. I turned Mom more onto her back and loosened the belt on her robe, parting it to expose her nightie and her legs all the way down, if the lights were on. I let my hand play up and down her body, from her breasts to her thighs, as we began to discuss the movie. Paul didn't comment at first, but soon began to offer comments without direct prodding.

Slowly, our eyes became accustomed to the low light. At first, I could just make out the shapes of Mary and Paul on the other couch but could easily see my hand moving up and down Mom's body. Then I could dimly make out Paul's head against Mary's chest. Mary had turned her back to the couch, as I had turned Mom. Paul's head was now laying right on top of her chest, but he raised it often to look our way. I'm sure he could see Mom's more exposed body.

On one occasion as Paul lifted his head to watch us, I could see arms moving. I don't know if they were Mary's or Paul's but they managed to loosen Mary's robe and push it apart. Then Paul's head lay down again but I could see his head straining to look our way. To encourage him, I twisted Mom a little on her side with her back to the couch and urged Mom's thighs apart. She resisted but eventually gave in to my insistent hand. I pulled her knee up, opening her wide, exposing her silky panties to Paul's view. Bending down, I kissed Mom full on the mouth.

After that, I ended the session, turning the lights up only after Mary and Mom could re-secure their robes. I announced that I had several more movies to do in the project and would appreciate their help in the weeks to come. They all agreed enthusiastically to help, Paul most of all, and we went to our respective beds. I was eager to talk to Mary about Paul's reaction but knew Mom's as soon as we got upstairs.

Mom walked straight to the bed and stopped, removing her robe and letting it fall to the floor. I discarded my pajamas and walked her up onto the bed, on her knees. Keeping her upright by holding her arms by the elbows behind her, I entered her immediately. She was very wet. I thrust urgently into her from behind until we both reached a quick orgasm. Mom leaned back against me, her head lolling back and forth across my chest.

"Oh, God," she cried. "I can't believe how hot it made me when you opened my legs like that. I could feel his eyes on me. It was almost like they were poking inside me." 

She gasped as she said this. I pushed her onto the bed and fed my softening cock into her.

"Yes," she moaned, "fuck me some more."

After a few more shoves, I hardened up and quickened my pace. I could hardly wait to talk to Mary. 


The Mom Memories Ch. 08
byalwayswantedto©

All characters are 18 years or older.

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From Ch. 07

After a few more shoves, I hardened up and quickened my pace. I could hardly wait to talk to Mary.

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I woke up at four in the morning and couldn't get back to sleep, so I ended up in my (formerly Dad's) study looking for interesting letters to read. Searching the back of the big bottom drawer, I noticed it didn't go back nearly as far as it could, resulting in my discovery of a secret compartment in Dad's desk large enough to hold several more bundles of letters. There was also a small envelope holding what appeared to be a locker key which I pocketed.

The first bundle contained several updates from some of my favorite letter writers including one from Calvin, whom I told you about in Chapters 4 and 6. Calvin was the guy whose mother teased him during home haircuts. The last time we heard from him, he got completely carried away while banging his Mom on the kitchen floor, and eventually rocked her through the kitchen doorway into the living room, right in front of his father. Not a good move. Since I hadn't found another letter from Calvin, I thought he had been kicked out of the house. But apparently not.

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Hello everyone. I know my last letter ended on a traumatic note with my father screaming at me as my Mom and I, oblivious to the world in our ecstasy, fucked our way into the living room while he was watching a game on TV. I can easily see how you might think that my subsequent silence indicated that I had been kicked out of the house, and indeed, I expected at least that. But after his initial reaction, my father simply withdrew into himself. He kept drinking beer and watching games on TV as usual but ignored Mom and I completely.

Nevertheless, the haircuts were over, and everything associated with them, ended. My Mom's doing. But other than that, Mom and I lived like we always had before the sex started. This went on for months. Various times I tried to renew my relationship with Mom when Dad wasn't home but was always rebuffed. I even tried when Dad was home but in other rooms thinking maybe she got off on the fear of discovery, but was rejected again.

One evening we were sitting in the living room, Dad watching a game, and Mom and I reading. We happened to be sitting on the couch flipping pages in a magazine when my attention was caught by Mom's bare legs still shining from whatever she put on after she shaved her legs. Her loose skirt had just ridden up her left thigh after she changed to a more comfortable position. Try as I might, I couldn't keep my attention away from Mom's legs. All the memories of her body and our intimate encounters kept flooding my mind. I tried to get her to go to the kitchen on several excuses -- snacks, drinks, making sandwiches for lunch the next day, anything I could think of -- without success.

Mom had twigged to my interest by the second suggestion and, noticing her skirt, pushed it back down. A moment later, I pushed it back up her leg with my stocking feet whereupon she again smoothed it back in place. This to and fro was repeated several more times until she gave up, looking very annoyed with me but I guess not wishing to attract Dad's attention. Removing my socks, I placed my bare foot behind her knee and began flicking the back of her thigh with my toes. I think the only reason Mom didn't get up and leave is that she didn't want deal with me alone if I followed her.

Despite her dagger-eyed, recriminating glances, I kept scratching at her leg with my toes. And, despite her anger, I could tell it was triggering memories of our good times for her as well. The longer I stroked her thigh with my toes, the more agitated she became.

Finally, feigning interest in what she was reading, I slid over and sat next to her. She pulled her legs down to the floor but I slipped my arm behind her back and around her waist to keep her from moving. I don't think that was necessary because she didn't seem eager to leave Dad's circle of protection. I tried to hold her book to look at it but she pulled it away. Dad pointedly paid no attention to us.

"Come on, Mom," I badgered, "let me see. I won't keep it." I tried to grab her book again.

"No," she countered, holding the book away from me, "go read your own and leave me alone."

After a few minutes of this, I realized that Dad wasn't going to interfere, so I became bolder. Dropping my hand to Mom's lap, I rubbed her lower belly through her skirt and then slid my hand along the crease between her legs to the hem of her skirt. Returning my hand, I tried to tug her skirt higher up her legs, with some success. I kept badgering her to let me see her book to cover my actions because I knew I was skirting disaster if Dad looked over and saw what I was doing. I couldn't help myself, the danger made my hold body tingle. But Dad never even glanced our way, not even a flicker of his eyes, which were firmly fixed on the TV.

I let my hand stray above the waist of Mom's skirt, sliding up her blouse to pat her tummy below her breasts. I held her firmly around the waist with my right arm as I brushed her breast on the side away from Dad with the back of my hand. Mom went rigid, but there was still no reaction from Dad. As the game went into commercials, I backed off but when he didn't change his demeanor, watching the commercials just as intently as the game, I let my hand furtively return to cup the bottom swell of her breast. Mom was like a deer caught in headlights, sitting like a statue. Throughout the commercials, I gently squeezed and even rubbed her tit through her blouse and bra. Even so heavily ensconced, I could feel her flesh tightening.

When the game returned, I discreetly started undoing Mom's blouse. The commentators yacked on as I carefully revealed Mom's bra for the first time in months. After a short pause to relish the moment, I twisted the bra undone and slipped my hand inside to grasp her bare tit. Her whole body went even more rigid and my cock stiffened when I felt her hard nipple poke into my palm. I tried to kiss her neck but she twisted away. Amazingly, she didn't make any attempt to stop me from caressing her breast.

Keeping my hand on her tit, I pulled my other arm from behind her back and slid that hand under her legs. Grasping the hem of her skirt, I pulled until I had dragged it up behind her, tugging it all the way to her waist. Quickly, I slid my hand back underneath, pushing along the outside her panties, until my fingers were reaching between her legs from behind. I danced my fingertips around, massaging her pussy through her panties to the next set of commercials and beyond. Dad continued to ignore us.

When the game started again, I pulled Mom's hip up and cocked her ass sideways toward me, pulling my hand away from her tit to join its brother under her thighs. Prying her flesh apart, I slipped my fingers inside the panty leg and dipped into her pussy. She was wet and slick.

No longer concerned about what Dad was doing, I concentrated on pushing my fingers in and out of Mom's pussy using the other hand to open her wide. Soon she was slightly rocking and clutching at my invading fingers and a faint squishy sound matched her movements.

Suddenly, I guess Mom could take no more and she jumped up from the couch. Unsteadily, she walked across the room, her skirt noticeably disheveled as she headed up the stairs. I leapt up to follow, too far gone to be concerned about Dad's reaction but no booming voice or angry footsteps followed me. Mom was just entering her room as I topped the stairs and the door was almost closed by the time I reached it. She halfheartedly tried to push it closed but quickly gave up at the first sign of resistance and stumbled toward the bed. I followed, catching up to her before she could lay down.

I pulled her skirt up over her hips and shoved my jeans down over mine. Freeing my cock from my shorts, I yanked her panties down to her knees. Without any finesse, I pushed on her back until she leaned forward onto the bed. Lining myself up, I entered her and starting thrusting into her right away. Through the thunderous ocean-like sound rocking around in my head, I could distinctly hear her rasping breath and grunting against the backdrop of baseball sounds drifting in the open door as I lunged into her again and again, my calves and thighs straining with the effort.

When I came, I collapsed, gasping, onto her back. Catching my breath moments later, the realization of what we'd done crashed down on me. Stunned that I was still alive, yet alone unmolested, my cock began to harden again. Moving my hands up to grip her tits, I slowly began to work my still starved cock into my Mom. Months of nothing but my hand had taken its toll. I needed to have her again, right away.

Mom lay there, letting me have my way with her, lifting her ass up to help me only at the end. After finishing, I retreated to my room. Mom and I didn't say a single word to each other. I later learned that she showered, changed into her pajamas, and simply read a book, waiting for Dad to join her. I heard him come to bed after the game ended, expecting him to pay me an unpleasant visit, but he didn't. Less than an hour later, I welcomed Mom to my bed. We made love for two hours, slowly and tenderly, whispering about how we'd missed each other and vowing to never be apart again.

Mom and I continue to have sex. Dad never pays attention. We don't flaunt ourselves but it does excite Mom more if I initiate things when Dad is close by. If I don't, she'll often lift the back of her skirt while sitting on the couch, flashing her backside at me, covered by panties or not. She gives me a much wilder fuck if I first play this game with her in Dad's presence.

Once, we went too far with our foreplay and I actually slowly fucked Mom on the couch under a blanket while he watched a game. Dad hasn't had sexual relations with Mom since that fateful night when I banged her through the kitchen doorway. It's weird, but that's how things have turned out, and I'm not complaining. So this is my last letter, friends. I'm enjoying my new life, fucking my Mom every day.

------------------------------------------

Calvin's letter was short enough that it was still only five in the morning. Flipping through the letters, ignoring my 'read every one' rule, I searched for a familiar name so I wouldn't waste time on a potentially boring story with only an hour until Mary got up. I was rewarded with a letter from Francis, whom I told you about in Chapters 3 and 6. Francis' mother was thin with small tits and long nipples. She enjoyed teasing Francis but lost control of the situation when he flipped her t-shirt over her head, covering her face. Both she and Francis were surprised by how wildly excited she became. Francis had taken immediate advantage and fucked her on the couch. Later, he was won a reprise when he bought her a sexy set of silky pajamas with a matching scarf. Tying the scarf around his Mother's eyes allowed Francis to have his sexy Mom from behind, again and again. This is what Francis had to say in his next letter.

So, I didn't have an opportunity to have Mom for some time after our 'pajama' affair. Not that Mom ignored me. Quite contrary, she seemed to take every opportunity to tease me. She wore blouses undone down to her navel when Dad wasn't around, allowing me to glimpse her small tits. If Dad was around, she would stretch when he wasn't looking, thrusting her nipples against the material of her blouse. She seemed to revel in such teasing but she didn't make herself available for more.

Weeks went by like this. Then one day at dinner, Dad announced that he was leaving for several days on a business trip and was catching a flight later that night. If I took him to the airport, I could use his car, as long as I picked him up as well.

"Oh Tom," Mother sighed, "do you have to go away for so long? You know I don't sleep well when you're gone."

"Come on, now," Dad consoled her, "you know you're perfectly safe with Francis around. He's more than capable of looking after you."

"I'm sure he is," Mom smiled sweetly at me, "but I need something a little extra when you're away."

"You're not taking pills again, are you?" Dad asked, his voice worried.

"No, no. But I got something to help me sleep, just the same."

"What?"

"A sleeping mask."

"Oh. Do you think that will work?" Dad asked, not convinced because Mom had complained about insomnia for years.

"Oh, I think it will be very effective," Mom replied, turning to look at me. "What do you think, Francis?"

I blushed furiously. "I guess so."

"Well, I hope so," Dad said, giving me an odd look. Standing, he went on, "I'd better get going. Come on, Francis."

"Don't you want to see the pajamas it comes with?" Mom complained.

"I don't have time, honey. Wait until I get back."

"That will be too late," Mom whined, "they'll be old by then."

"Well, show them to Francis. Then he can buy another pair and you can show them to me when I get back. Can you do that, Francis?"

"Sure Dad." I smiled at Dad and then at Mom.

"Ok, honey?" Dad asked Mom, picking up his suitcase at the door and pulling on his coat.

"Alright. I'm sure Francis has the same taste as you." Mom smiled broadly at me. Dad gave her a peck on the cheek and turned to go out the door. Mom held the mask up to her face and blew me a kiss. "Hurry back," she said.

Fortunately, Dad was worried about being late so I was able to drive fast to the airport. On the way back, I wasn't very safe. I burst into the house, to find it dimly lit by candles placed on various tables in the living room and in the kitchen.

"Pour us some wine, Francis," Mom's voice drifted down the stairs.

By the time I had poured the wine, Mom was standing at the bottom of the stairs. She wore a long, filmy, almost transparent green robe. Underneath, I could see an undergarment of the same material draped from her shoulders, falling sleeveless almost to her knees. Suspended around her neck she wore the mask she had displayed earlier. It rested on her breasts, covering them. Otherwise, I would have been able to make out the bare shape of her tits despite being covered by two layers of the filmy material of her 'pajamas'.

Mom took a glass of wine from my hand as she walked past me into the living room. "Put some mood music on, Francis."

Her movements were elegant and incredibly sexy despite her very slight frame and too thin legs. When I moved to take her into my arms, she pushed me away. "Go upstairs and put on one of Dad's suits."

When I returned, dressed to the hilt in Dad's most expensive suit -- shirt, tie, jacket and even shoes -- Mom was still standing next to the stereo. Except for an almost empty glass of wine, nothing had changed. Without her asking, I grabbed the bottle and refilled her glass as she held her hand out to me, the filmy robe hanging from her slender arm.

"Thank you, sweetie," she purred.

She turned her back to me.

"What do you think?"

I took time to run my eyes over her before answering. I wanted her to know that I was truly appreciative. "Awesome, Mom."

"Thank you, sir." She turned back to face me. "And what about this side?" she asked.

Again, I took my time appraising her form, running my eyes up and down as she watched. "Double awesome, Mom. Dad will be pleased."

She looked at me oddly, then smiled. Arching her back, she thrust her breasts up. "Dance with me?"

In response, I moved forward to take her into my arms. We danced for several songs. I didn't try to touch her inappropriately. I treated her as if we were on a public ballroom dance floor, thankful for the lessons she had insisted I take with her since my father had refused. At the end of the last dance, she rose up on tippy toes to kiss me, her breasts pointing into my chest. "Let's take a break for awhile," she whispered, though we were definitely alone.

We simply stood there, Mom chatting inanely about normal house stuff, while we finished our wine. As she talked, I swept my eyes up and down her body. Mom didn't seem to mind. If anything, she seemed pleased by my rapt attentions. After she swallowed the last drop, she whispered, "Put on something softer, for slow dancing."

When I turned to take her once more into my arms, she had tossed the robe onto the couch. She stood there with only the nightie covering her, her body showing through. Though the mask still covered her breasts, I could see that the panties were a simple wrap of the same material running over her hips and down between her legs. Mom raised her arms and her eyebrows as she saw where my gaze had fallen.

I danced with her just as I had before, without groping or unnecessary touching. Just dancing. After the first song, Mom peeled the suit jacket off my shoulders. After the second, she loosened my tie and pulled it through the collar and off at the end of the third song. By the middle of the fourth, enough buttons were undone to show the hair on my chest. I kicked off my shoes. In between the fifth and sixth songs, I lifted the mask from Mom's chest and adjusted it to fit snugly on her head. Mom kissed my chest during that dance. When it ended, I slid my hands down her back, below and under the hem of her transparent nightie, and up onto her ass.

I had noticed while dancing that the material of Mom's panties met in the back and was snapped together. Pulling the snap apart, I snaked the material through her legs, pulling it away in my hands. Mom gasped into my chest as the seventh song started. Barely moving to the music, I pulled her hands together behind her back and used her panties to tie them together. Mom's breathing was getting shorter and quicker as the song played on.

I pulled away, leaving her in the middle of the room, swaying to the music, tied and blindfolded.

Picking up her discarded robe, I stepped near. Slowly, I wrapped her robe around and around her head, finally tucking the end in, and stepped away. I undressed, saying nothing, but letting her hear the clothes being dragged from my body and dropped to the floor. I undressed completely and approached her from behind, though I could tell she still thought I was in front of her.

My cock sprung from my body at a proud angle, jutting ahead of me. I guided it carefully into her soft hands, bound behind her, threading it between her fingers. Grasping her hair, I lowered my lips to kiss the nape of her neck, pushing myself through her fingers. I whispered in her ear.

"Do you remember where it likes to go?"

She drew her breath in sharply, but remained silent.

I pulled back and thrust slowly through her fingers again.

"Help it," I whispered, hoarsely. "Help it find the place it loves."

A few more shoves and Mom's hands reacted, pulling me forward, nosing my cock down, between her cheeks, below her ass and into the dark, damp triangle. I thrust ahead, she bent forward, stumbling toward the window. I turned her, guiding her, past the coffee table, until her knees hit the couch. She crawled onto it, slowly, holding my member against her soft butt. She braced her knees wide apart, and leaned forward until her face lay against the wall, all the while holding my cock at the entrance to her pussy.

"Do you like it there," I asked.

"Yes," she moaned.

"Do you want it inside?"

"Yessss," she moaned again.

"Then pull it in."

Mom pulled, but I resisted, letting her just get the tip into her. I kissed her between her shoulder blades, sucking on her skin. Pulling up to nibble the nape of her neck, I whispered harshly, "Come on, pull it in."

Mom pulled harder but I pulled back almost as hard. Our tug of war continued until she managed to get the head in. I slipped my hands under her arms and underneath her nightie to cup her little tits, pinching her long, hard nipples, squeezing and stretching them forward into the couch.


"Ohhhhhhh, God," Mom groaned.

"If you really want it, pull it in." I pinched her nipples harder, tugging them out even more.

"ohhhhh, god ... ohhhhh, God." She pulled on my cock.

"Come on," I urged, "Pull it in ... suck it into your pussy."

Mom yanked on me, shoving a couple of inches in until her hands got in the way. Yanking her arms up, forcing her head harder onto the couch, I thrust up hard the rest of the way into her, lifting her knees right off the couch. With her legs splayed widely across the back of the couch, I began fucking her in earnest, holding her up by her arms tied behind her back.

As she moaned and grunted, I talked. "Do you love fucking me? ... Who fucks you the best?"

I don't know if I was insecure, wanting confirmation that she wanted me more than Dad, or what. I just kept rattling out these stupid comments, not expecting an answer and never getting one.

Mom just let me work on her, urging me on with her 'ohhhs' and 'ahhhs' and groans and moans. By the end, just before I burst in her, her feet were stretched out so far her toes were dug into the arms on each side of the couch, and my thrusts were sliding her head up the wall. It was incredibly intense.

After we were done, we went upstairs. I followed Mom into her and Dad's bed, getting in on Dad's side. Mom turned on her side away from me to sleep. I nestled in behind her, lifted the nightie which she was still wearing, and pushed my cock between her legs. She pulled away and twisted forward to evade my eager rod. Stymied, I noticed the sleeping mask was still hanging around her neck, so I pulled it up and fitted it on her face.

Though she may have thought I had given in and was just helping her get ready for a good night's sleep, she didn't object when I started poking my cock into her again. Instead, she just leaned forward to give me better access. I slipped my cock inside her and fucked her until I came. I loved the feel of her this way, calmly fucking her, relishing in the slick feel of her as my cock moved back and forth until I couldn't hold back and twisted her onto her tummy for the final intense hump. There was a repeat the following morning when I entered her before she could remove the mask.

At breakfast, there was a knock on the door. It was a delivery man with a courier package for Mom from Dad. She had to sign for it so I asked the man to wait just inside the door while I went to the kitchen to explained to Mom that she had to sign for a package. I slipped the sleeping mask, which she was still wearing around her neck, onto her face. Pulling her up by the hand, I led her to the front door. Mom didn't know the man was inside until she was very close. I could feel her stiffen and balk as she heard his breathing, and the rustle of his coat as he handed me the clipboard.

"Sign here," he said. Ignoring me, he ogled Mom, dressed only in her almost see through nightie.

"We can't sign until we see if the contents are OK," I said.

"You're just signing to acknowledge receipt," the man responded, not even looking at me, his eyes running up and down Mom's body. "You can make a claim of there's anything wrong."

"We'd like to be sure," I insisted.

He turned to me to argue, then said, "Ah sure, sure. Go ahead, open it. I'll wait." He was in no hurry, now realizing he could ogle Mom while I fiddled with the package. I handed the clipboard back to him.

"It's a present from Dad, Mom."

The man glanced at me, his eyes widening.

I ripped the package open. Mom stood there, trembling, her face red.

It was another nightie, quite similar to the one Mom was wearing. I told Mom.

"We want to try it on to make sure it fits."

"Sure, sure," the man replied.

"They're beautiful, Mom. Just like these but bright blue." I placed my hand on her shoulder and dragged her nightie off, over her arm, and then did the other side. The nightie was stretched to Mom's outer arms, tightly across her breasts. Her nipples strained upward against the taut material.

The man's mouth dropped open.

I pressed Mom's arms together and pulled the material forward off her tits, letting it fall around her waist. I pushed it over her hips and let it drop to the floor, leaving Mom standing there in just her panties. Stooping to pick up her new nightie, I pulled it down over her head, slipped her arms through, and draped it over her body.

"Well, that part fits," I commented drily. "Let's try the panties."

Mom visibly tensed, but didn't move. Stepping behind her, I reached under the nightie to grasp her panties on each side and tugged them down her thighs, her calves, and off her feet, one at a time. Picking up the new panties, I slipped them over her feet and pulled them up, slowly, snugging them over her cheeks and pulling the sides up onto her hips. Putting my arms around her, I cupped her tits.

"What do you think?" I asked, "Isn't my Mom beautiful?"

It took a moment, but eventually the man responded, "You're a very lucky young man."

"Let her sign now," I said.

He held out the clipboard and guided Mom's hand to the right position but the man didn't notice, his eyes were still on her tits.

"Thanks for your patience," I said. As he opened the door to leave, I whispered to Mom but loud enough so he could still hear, "Let's start enjoying Dad's present right away."

I locked the door after he left and steered Mom to the couch. I almost had to carry her, her legs were so wobbly.

As soon as we reached the couch, she immediately stretched her feet out to the arms and placed the side of her head against the wall. I pulled the panties to the side and shoved myself inside her. It didn't take long, for either of us.

------------------------------------------

I was ready to unload myself. I had been absently fondling myself while reading. I heard noises from the kitchen -- Mary, rustling about making breakfast for Dad and lunch for Paul. I rushed out to join her, hoping to hear about what happened before Paul joined her upstairs.

Mary was buttering bread on the counter when I came in, alone. She was wearing the casual nurse garb she favored when working with Dad, a plain green cotton blouse and pajama type pants. Though it was baggy and shapeless, I liked it because you knew it was mostly woman underneath. My eagerness to hear about the night before was joined by another eagerness below my belt.

"Mary," I whispered, "How did it go?"

Mary jumped, startled by my unexpected presence. I had never been in the kitchen this early before.

"Jesus ... Dave, you scared the hell out of me!" she exclaimed, turning back to butter the sandwich bread.

"What happened?" I queried again. "Did it work?"

Mary's neck reddened, but she didn't say anything. I stepped forward until I was standing behind and to one side of her. "Come on, Mary. Tell me," I urged, a fellow conspirator.

Still, she was silent. I asked her a direct question.

"Did he touch you?"

No answer.

"I saw him open your robe," I ventured.

"No," she continued to look down, watching herself butter the bread, "I did that."

"You opened your robe for him?" I asked, a bit shocked by her initiative.

A pause. She stopped buttering. "Yes," she said, barely audible. "You opened Susan's," she retorted.

"That's right," I responded, "I did," my tone demanding more.

"So I did the same for him."

"Did he touch you, like I touched Mom?"

Another pause. "No." Followed by a longer pause.

"... so ...," I prompted, pulling for more.

"I hugged him to me ... on my breasts."

"Were they bare?"

"God no. I had my nightie on." Her tone was indignant.

"Oh," I responded, disappointment in my voice.

As if defending herself, Mary added, "It wasn't like I had a bra on or anything. I was ... loose underneath," she stammered.

I could tell this was hard for her. "That's good, Mary, that's good," I assured her, placing my hand on her shoulder, squeezing her gently, comfortingly. She eased a bit. Her hands started buttering the bread again.

"It was good for you to do that. I'm sure it comforted him, for you to let him be close to your breasts, like when he could see Mom was doing for me."

"Maybe ... I hope so." She paused to make the sign of the cross on her chest.

"Mary, we've been through this. He needs to be close to you, but in different way. It worked for me and Mom," I added, wrongfully implying my relationship with Mom had started the same way.

"I know," she said, her voice now very quiet.

I squeezed her neck again and pulled her head to mine, hugging her. I let my side press against hers, hip to hip, leg to leg.

"Do you think he could feel them?"

"What?"

"Your breasts. Could he feel them?"

"I guess so," she answered awkwardly, "his head was right on them."

"Could he feel your nipples?" I pressed.

"Dave!"

"Could he?"

"I ... I don't know."

" He turned to watch us, I could tell. His face must have been on them. Could you feel his face on you?"

"Yes. I guess so. On one."

"Did it make you feel closer to him, like when he was a baby?"

"I guess."

"Did you push against him?"

"No!"

"You should have, Mary," I admonished, "You should have offered, like you would have when he was a baby, to comfort him. You should have just pressed against him a bit, to let him know it was alright."

She had stopped buttering the bread again. I turned her to face me.

"Did he try anything last night?"

"No."

"You should have encouraged him," I said, pulling her to me in a hug.

Mary nodded her head against my shoulder, "I guess."

I could feel her against me. She couldn't have been wearing much under her blouse. If Paul's head was on these with just a nightie covering them, then he definitely felt her nipples. I pressed my hand into her back.

"You should have pressed back, just a little." I pushed on her shoulder blade. She responded by pressing against me slightly. "Try it."

She arched her back, jutting her tits against me. It was great. I pressed my hand in, keeping her breasts tight to my chest.

"There. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"No."

"You wanted to, didn't you? To comfort him. You can tell me, Mary. You know I know."

"Yes." Her voice was very quiet, as if she was ashamed.

"It's because you love your son. It's natural, Mary. It's because you want to comfort him."

"I do," she whispered, intensely.

"Then do it for him. No more doubts. He may be confused at first, but he'll love you for it. He'll love that you'll do that for him." I moved my hand in a big circle on her back, keeping the pressure on, rolling her breasts around on my chest. "He'll love it, trust me."

I stepped back and looked her in the eyes. "Find a way to let him be close. Stay focused. Remember why you're doing it."

I left. Later that day, while Paul was at school, Mom was out, and Mary was upstairs looking after Dad, I placed a few wireless cameras around, including in Mary and Paul's suite. I know it was wrong, but I had to know. I rationalized my behavior by telling myself I needed to know what was going on so I could provide better tips, but my cock knew better.

At the end of the day, after Mary reviewed the day with Dad for Mom, I managed to catch Mary on her way through the kitchen before she went downstairs to her suite for the evening. As she started to pass me, leaning back against the counter by the door, she smiled. I reached out to block her path with my open hand, flat against her stomach.

"Mary," I whispered, "You can't go down like that."

"Like what?" she asked, whispering back, like were both in on a secret plan.

"Like this." I brushed my fingers across the of her blouse, buttoned right up to her neck. "Loosen up, undo a couple of buttons."

Mary's face flushed.

"Come on," I insisted, "a button or two for him."

She simply stood there, face reddening, so I used both hands to undo the top button on her blouse.

"Now you do one for him," I urged.

Without a word or a nod, she raised her hands and slipped another button out. I rearranged the lapels of her blouse.

"That's better," I said, "Now he'll see a mother, ... and a woman. I guarantee he'll be more interested."

She looked great, standing there, her breasts noticeably rising and falling.

"Go make him grow up."

Mary walked past me. As soon as the door closed behind her I rushed into my study and activated the monitoring program.

I missed her entrance. She was already in the kitchen, making dinner. Paul came in, sat down at the table, and began reading the comic he'd brought with him. He didn't pay any attention to her, even when she set a plate down in front of him, simply sliding his comic aside as she put it down. But when she brought the cutlery, she fussed about getting it lined up, reaching between his arms holding the comic book to the side.

I could see his head turn up, an annoyed look on his face which quickly changed to a blank stare. I could only see Mary's back so I don't know what Paul was looking at, but I could guess. Mary took a much longer time getting the cutlery straight around Paul's plate than her own and when she turned back to approach the counter, Paul's eyes followed her. I couldn't see very well, but it seemed to me that Mary may have undone another button on her blouse, at least as evidenced by the deep wedge of skin cutting through the olive green blouse.

It's amazing how a woman with a short haircut can change from curt to exotic by simply undoing a few buttons on a blouse. Something had surely changed in Paul's mind. The comic book lay on the table, ignored. I could see Paul's eyes flick up and down as they perused his mother's figure, their intensity signaling the discovery of something surprising, and new.

Mary returned to fill glasses with milk. Hers was poured quickly but Paul's was filled quite slowly as she leaned forward, reaching from behind her pushed in chair. Again, his eyes followed Mary back. In fact, his eyes hadn't left his mother since she had placed the cutlery in front of him. When the food was ready, Mary brought each individual dish and carefully served it on Paul's plate, one at a time. When that was done, she took her own plate and filled it from the stove, all at once.

After dinner, Paul offered to help clean up. I sensed that this was a rare if not unique occurrence. When the table and counters were cleared and the dishwasher loaded, Mary turned to thank Paul, opening her arms for a hug. I could see his eyes stray down from her face as she closed her arms around him. Mary gave him a good, long hug and, from my vantage point, I could see her put her back into it.

Nothing happened for quite a while after that. They retired to the living room and watched TV. Paul read his comic book but often looked up to look at his mom, his eyes sometimes lingering on her for quite some time. At the end of one show, Mary rose and disappeared down the hall toward the bedrooms. I hadn't placed any cameras there so didn't know what she was doing or if she would come back. When she returned, she was wearing pajamas, a blouse with large buttons and leg hugging pants that ended just below the knee. She had nice legs.

It was hard to see but I'm certain Mary wasn't wearing anything under her blouse. Paul certainly paid close attention as she returned to sit on the couch, tucking her feet up under her legs. His eyes seemed to be directed at her chest and upon examination, I could see why. Mary's blouse was gapping open to below her breasts. From his vantage point to the side, Paul must have been able to see most of the side of her right breast at times. While Mary watched TV, Paul watched her, never once taking his eyes away except during commercials. Mary seemed oblivious.

When the show ended, Mary got up and made tea. When she returned, she set two cups and a pot down in front of her on the coffee table. As she sat down, I could see her blouse was undone almost all the way to her pajama pants. The show started and so did Paul's vigil. At the first commercial break, Mary leaned forward to pour two cups of tea. She patted the couch beside her before picking up a cup. Paul sidled over to her side and did the same. Mary sipped her tea as she watched the show and Paul watched her as he sipped his. Clearly, he could now see better down her blatantly open blouse.

When Mary leaned forward to refill her cup, her blouse seemed to open more, widening at the point where it was tucked into her pajama bottoms. I don't know if this was from the natural pull of the material when she leaned over, or whether she was helping it along. But the effect was dramatic. I could see from the camera view, that her breasts were sometimes fully half visible and I'm sure that from Paul's vantage point he could see much more, probably enjoying the full rising slope out to their tips.

During the next set of commercials, Paul didn't look away. He engaged his mother in conversation. I'm not sure what was said, but at one point Mary seemed to be saying 'thank you' and turned to hug her son after putting her cup down. When the hug was over, the show had started again, and they turned back to watch it.

Mary's loose pajama top had been tugged down over one shoulder, something Paul clearly noticed right away. I could see him say something and Mary's lips moved briefly in response. Paul reached up to touch her blouse but on the shoulder that remained covered. Slowly, he pulled on it until it too was uncovered, baring both of Mary's lovely shoulders and the upper part of her breasts. Mary's eyes were fixed on the TV but Paul's, and mine, were diving between her breasts whose swells were fully exposed. I could see Mary's tummy and navel.

Paul never looked at the TV after that, not even once. He spent the entire time ogling his mother's chest. At the end of the show, Mary made a big show of stretching, arching her back and thrusting her chest out. She then turned to hug her son, giving him a kiss on each cheek and then on his mouth. He seemed surprised by this, so I assumed it was a first. After that, Mary rose and disappeared down the hallway toward the bedrooms. Paul remained for some time, staring down the hall before he too disappeared.

The comic book remained discarded on the couch at the end were Paul had first been sitting.

I had early classes the next day so I couldn't ask Mary about the evening. In case I missed anything, I set the cameras in Mary's suite and our kitchen to be activated whenever someone was there. During a break at school, I logged in to see if anything had happened. Nothing was going on, but there was an interesting segment recorded in our kitchen between Paul and my mom.

Paul, his mom and mine were having a coffee together in our kitchen. Mary got up and left, taking my father's breakfast tray with her. After a couple of minutes of polite chit chat, Paul suddenly directed a probing question to Mom.

"Can I ask you something personal, Mrs. H?" This is what Paul called Mom.

"Sure," Mom replied.

"It's confidential. You won't tell Mom I asked, will you?"

"No Paul," she assured him, "You can talk to me. Just think of me as another mom."

"I'd like that," Paul said. "Anyway," he continued, "I know you and Dave are really close, ... really close," he emphasized, "and I think I'd like to be like that with Mom, but I don't know how." He hung his head down, not meeting Mom's eyes. "But I'd like to," he mumbled.

Mom reached out, placing her fingers under Paul's chin, raising his head up so she could look into his eyes.

"Are you sure, Paul? You know Dave and I are very close. Do you feel that way about your Mom?"

"Yes."

"Is it just because it's your Mom? Because it's ... not allowed?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"I don't think so."

"Do you think she feel's that way about you?"


"I don't know."

"So you need to find a way to tell her." Mom got up and took her cup to the sink, rinsing it out before turning back to face Paul, who was still sitting at the table. It seemed so easy, when both Mom and I knew Mary was trying to encourage Paul, but I could see on Mom's face she was realizing that of course things appeared more challenging to Paul. Her expression made me realize that she knew she had to 'advise' Paul in a way that didn't give away the game.

"Come here, Paul," Mom gestured to him.

Paul went to Mom, carrying his cup.

"Put your cup in the sink."

Paul had to reach around Mom to get to the sink. Carefully, he placed his cup in the sink. As he did, Mom put her arms around him, holding him loosely in front of her. Paul looked nervously behind him.

"Don't worry. Your mom will be with Mr. H for awhile." Mom shifted her hands up and down Paul's sides, then rested them on his hips. "Now. How do you think you can go about letting your Mom know you like her in a special way, like Dave and I?"

"I don't know."

"You don't?" Mom asked, peering up into his eyes with a little disbelief. "Do you really not know, or are you just afraid?"

Paul squirmed, but didn't try to break free. "She might not like it. She might get really mad."

"But what if she doesn't get mad? What if she likes it?"

Paul ignored Mom's question, instead answering his own. "If she doesn't like it, she'll hate me."

Mom tried a different tack. "Well, you can do it in a way that it could have been an accident, if she gets mad."

"Really?" Paul asked, his interest aroused.

"Sure," Mom replied. "You hug your mom, don't you?"

"Yeah," Paul mumbled.

Mom demanded, "Put your arms around me. Show me how you hug her."

Paul put his arms loosely around Mom's shoulders, giving her a quick hug, squeezing his face lightly against her cheek and quickly pulling away.

"No, no, no," Mom rebuked him. "You can do better than that, now, can't you?"

Paul nodded, clearly not knowing what she meant.

"Come on, put your arms under mine." Mom raised her arms slightly, opening a gap between her arms and her sides. "Come on, I won't bite you." Paul slipped his arms in and Mom dropped hers, pinning his to her side.

"There, isn't that better than my shoulders?" Mom asked, putting her own hands up onto Paul's chest.

Paul didn't answer, he just stood close to Mom, his hands holding her sides under her arms.

"Squeeze me, honey," Mom said, "the way you want to hug your mom."

I could see Mom's arms tighten to her sides, pressing Paul's hands against herself. Mom slipped her hands around to Paul's back, pressing him closer.

"Put your cheek against mine, and don't pull away."

"That's it. Now, as if it's an accident, slip your arms out a bit, slowly, so your hands are by my breasts." Paul didn't move. "Go ahead, Paul. I'm not your Mom. I won't get mad."

Paul's arms drew back until his hands were cupping the sides of Mom's breasts.

"Tighter, Paul. ... That's right. ... Now, isn't that nice? Do you like that?"

"Yes," he mumbled, but there was excitement in his mumble.

"Wouldn't you like to do that to your Mom?"

"Yessss," Paul hissed.

"That's right," Mom said moment later. "A little initiative is good," in response to Paul's obvious squeezing of her breasts. "That shows me you like me, that I'm attractive to you. And something else does, too," Mom laughed pushing him away.

"There," she said. "You can pretend that was an accident if she gets mad, but if she doesn't, you just squeeze her a bit like that, and then pull away. But next time, make sure you touch her like that again, and every time you hug her from then on, so she knows you still like her." Paul nodded. "And you can do it for longer each time, too."

Paul nodded again, looking down at Mom's breasts, clearly wanting to do hug her again. I was feeling a little jealous now, though I knew Mom was just trying to help out, like I'd asked her to. Mom smiled at Paul.

"Do you think you have the hang of it now?"

Paul looked unsure.

"You want to try it again?" Mom smiled, knowing he dearly wanted to. "Come on," she said, "one more time before your mother comes down."

She held her arms up. Paul immediately stepped forward, putting his hands directly on the sides of her breasts.

"No, no. Hug me first and then slip your hands back. It's important to let me pretend I'm not just letting you touch me." I was beginning to wonder if Mom had played me.

Paul stepped right back, and did the whole thing over, quickly sliding his hands back to grasp her breasts. Mom smiled over his shoulder, amused at his clumsiness, her smile turning to an 'oh' as his hips pressed against her. When she pushed him away a few minutes later, her breathing had quickened.

"You really are a big boy, Paul. I'm sure your mom won't object to you hugging her."

Paul nodded dumbly. I could tell he just wanted to hug my mother again.

"Do you kiss your mom?" Mom suddenly asked, a mischievous look dancing in her eyes.

Paul nodded.

"I don't mean little pecks. On the mouth?"

Paul shuffled his feet. "Last night ..."

"Moms like to be kissed," Mom stated. "Come on, show me how you'd kiss your mom." She pulled Paul to her, pulling his mouth down onto hers. A minute later, her hands grabbed his and pulled them to her tits, not on the sides, but right on them. Godammit! I had been getting hard watching them but now I was getting mad. She didn't have to go this far.

Mom was out of breath when the kiss ended but she managed to ask Paul if he wanted to practice more before trying to kiss his own Mom. Her exact words were, "Would you like to try that again, big boy, before chancing it with your Mom?"

Paul nodded, this time enthusiastically.

"Yes," Mom looked down at the front of Paul's pants, "I can see you want to," she laughed. "But it's our secret, OK? You can't tell anyone. If you promise me that, I'll let you practice, big boy," she repeated this maddening reference to him.

"Mom let me see her last night," Paul blurted, "a little."

"Oh?" Mom looked surprised.

Paul went on, "She let me see her shoulders. She opened her pajamas so I could see her shoulders." He ran his hands above Mom's shoulders, indicating how Mary had opened her top.

"Oh." Mom and Paul suddenly looked toward the kitchen door. They must have heard Mary coming down. Mom pushed herself away from the counter, walking toward the doorway. "We'll see what we can do, tiger."

I didn't know what to feel. I was excited by this exchange, but jealous and angry too. I wanted to reassert my 'ownership' of Mom, and to do something intimate with Mary just to 'get back' at Paul. I wasn't in a good mood when I got home that night and my mood didn't improve when I found Mary alone. Apparently, they had decided to order Chinese food and Paul had gone to pick it up, accompanied by Mom who insisted on tagging along to pay for it. My imagination was full of what could be going on and I queried Mary about how long they'd been gone. They'd just left, she told me. What was the matter?

"Nothing," I assured her. "I just wanted to have a few moments to talk about how things went with Paul."

"Oh," she replied, and went on to tell me about the night before.

"You know, Mary, I'm not sure you should let him touch you too soon. I think it would be better if you just let him look for awhile." I wanted to exact a little revenge, here. I suddenly thought things shouldn't be too easy for Paul.

"I don't know if I was going to let him touch me anyway," Mary assured me, "but you think I should show him more?"

"I don't know. What did you show him?" I asked, innocently. She started to tell me, but I insisted I couldn't tell how much it meant to Paul unless she showed me.

"We have time, before they get back." I was now more interested in Mary's revelation than in what could be going on in the car.

Reluctantly, Mary undid the buttons on her blouse, explaining there were only a few on her pajama top while she did. I have no idea what difference that made, and I don't know if she did either. But it didn't matter, because she kept undoing her buttons until she reached the waistband of her pants.

"Did he like that?" I asked.

"Yes," she replied, her breath quickening at the memory of her son's attention.

"Did you show yourself to him?" I asked.

"No."

"You didn't open your blouse for him to see?"

"I hugged him, and it fell off my shoulders."

She didn't admit that she let him pull her blouse off one shoulder. I guess, she was still having a hard time with this.

"Like this," I asked, brushing the blouse off, baring her shoulders and chest down to the tops of her breasts where the material was caught. I had lucked out. Evidently, Mary didn't wear a bra while working in the house. The swells of her breasts were open to my view unhindered by the cross member of a bra.

"Is this what you showed him?"

"Yes," she answered, her voice low.

"Good. That was brave of you, Mary."

"Thank you," she said even more quietly.

I took hold of each edge of her blouse, below her breasts. "Were you brave enough to show him this?" I asked, pulling her shirt apart, baring her tits, her nipples struggling to keep their hold on the cotton as it scraped over them.

"No," she admitted, not trying to keep herself covered, casting her eyes down to the floor.

"Good," I praised her. "He wouldn't be able to hold back if he saw these like this. And that would be too soon."

She nodded, as if understanding my meaning.

"Let him touch you, but not too far, too fast. Tease him as long as you can so you can control him. And if he starts playing his computer games, or reading comic books, cut him off and let him know why. You have to break him of that habit."

I raised my hands, brushing her breasts with the backs of my fingers. How could I get her let me have her? She was so sexy standing before me, letting me, barely older than her son, be an authority.

"Soon, he's going to want these," I brushed her breasts again, this time letting my fingers graze her nipples, stiff, proud and excited, not flaccid and oblivious. Whether it was this situation or the memory of her son mesmerized by her breasts, or both, she was clearly excited. I let my fingers brush more firmly against her on the down stroke, firmly flicking her nipples like I was turning off a pair of light switches. My cock twitched as I watched them spring back.

Just then, car lights swept across the windows. Paul and Mom were back. Mary turned away, flustered and feverishly buttoning her blouse. I pictured myself behind her, gently tugging her hair as I fitted myself to her. God! I wanted her.

We sat in the living room for our feast, so there was no opportunity to openly caress Mom. I wasn't really in the mood to put on a show for Paul anyway, and truth be known, I kind of wanted to touch Mary. We watched a movie while we ate -- not one of my study movies, I hadn't found anything else to show yet. Our seating arrangements changed through the movie as we sampled different dishes, from our original arrangement of Mom and I on one couch and Mary and Paul on another, to all of us squeezed onto the larger couch.

I managed to briefly put my hand on Mary's knee and press my thigh to hers several times unnoticed by the others, except Mary. I took it as a good sign that she seemed sensitive to my touch, glancing at the others to make sure they weren't looking. I was a little concerned when Paul was in the kitchen helping Mom get drinks. They seemed to be there for a while and there were one or two noticeable quiet parts. Given what I'd seen this afternoon, I imagine Paul was copping a feel and Mom was letting him. I tried to ignore it, taking advantage of their absence to offer 'advice' to Mary, mentioning that Paul would eventually try to touch her legs, and she should consider letting him. I demonstrated by sliding my hand between her thighs as I whispered to her, like we were conspirators.

The whole evening was like being at a high school party with your girlfriend but trying to flirt or sneak some time with the other girls there. When the movie was over, Mary professed to be tired and needing an early night. Mom claimed the same and after they left she went upstairs. I said I wasn't tired and went to my study as soon as Mom was out of sight. I moved right away to watch the cameras downstairs.

Paul was sitting on the couch, in the middle, not the end. He had changed into his pajamas and appeared to be waiting. As soon as that thought crossed my mind, Mary walked into view. She was dressed in an old, worn, plain cloth bathrobe. As she turned to sit, I could see the robe was tightly belted and the lapels were closed tight high up close to her neck. Strangely, this pleased me though at another level I wanted to see her open her robe.

Paul's "Thanks for watching with me," answered my next thought 'I thought she was tired'. "I know you're tired, Mom."

"That's Ok, Paul. I'm relaxed when I'm with you, but wake me if I doze off, don't let me sleep on the couch."

"Ok Mom."

Paul raised his hand, which I now noticed was holding a remote, and pointed it at the TV. As he tossed it aside, they both turned their faces toward the TV. A moment later, however, Paul's gaze turned back to his mom, and the bumps pushing the old cloth up from her chest. If Mary noticed his stare, she didn't let on.

After a while her feet, stretched out onto the coffee table, began to fidget about. Although this distracted me, it didn't seem to catch Paul's attention at all. Until, that is, one foot pushed the slipper off the other, letting it fall to the floor, and then the favor was reversed. As each foot took turns rubbing the other, the robe fell off Mary's lower legs, exposing her crossed calves. Eventually, a 'V' opened higher up her legs, far above her knees.

Paul's eyes fell from his mother's chest to her legs, and down to her squirming feet. Mary casually pulled her robe together, closing the gap on her thighs and leaning forward to pull the robe back onto her lower legs. A moment later, the robe fell away from her calves again. She repeated this several more time before giving up.

Leaning forward had loosened the belt on her robe, allowing the lapels to part a little to reveal a narrow line of flesh down the center of her chest. She was by no means exposed like she'd been the night before, but the revelation certainly recaptured Paul's attention, and mine. My cock stirred at the memory of her bare breasts hours earlier, and the snappiness of her nipples.

"Do you mind if I turn the light down a little?" she asked Paul. He shook his head.

Mary twisted to reach the lamp switch, turning it down one level. When she turned back to nestle into the couch again, I could see that her belt had loosened markedly from the twisting of her body. The lapels were drawn further apart, and the robe slid higher up her body, opening a small gap above her shoulders. Despite the dimmer light, I was sure I could make out her nipples poking into the thin cotton robe. Mary's eyes fluttered closed and open several times through the next few minutes.

Out of the blue, Mary quietly stated that she thought Paul was growing up a lot lately and it made her feel more comfortable to have a grown son around, one that was leaving comics behind. I thought the comment was a little obvious but Paul didn't seem to react. Mary closed her eyes.

"You can turn the light down a little more if you want Mom," Paul graciously offered.

"Would you mind?" Mary asked.

"I can't reach," Paul answered, not a hundred percent honestly. He must have noticed that her robe loosened after turning down the light.

Mary twisted around to reach for the lamp again, this time holding her body aloft from the couch for longer as she seemed to have difficulty finding the control. She turned back again after dimming the light to its lowest setting. She seemed unaware that her robe had parted widely from her chest to her waist, and that the belt was basically undone. The robe was so loose, I could clearly see her navel and the top of her panties, the low rider kind. My cock hardened quickly knowing she wore only panties under her robe.

The robe was now quite loose around Mary's shoulders but she didn't seem to notice. Nor did she object when Paul reached over to push the robe off her shoulders like he'd done the night before. She only squirmed lower in the couch and closed her eyes again allowing the robe to open wider exposing more of her panties. Paul ran his eyes up and down Mary's body taking time to watch the sensual rubbing of her feet, the sexy curl of her toes and arch of her insteps.

After a while, perhaps having worked up his courage, Paul gingerly picked up ends of the robe's belt and dopped them to Mary's sides. Carefully, he placed the tip of his finger at the edge of the robe near him by her navel and pulled it very slowly until it was poised to fall off her hip. He repeated this on the other side, pushing it away. Mary's panties were now almost fully exposed.

One thing struck me immediately, although this was probably lost on Paul who was likely looking at the first nearly nude woman he'd ever seen. Mary's mound was very prominent. It rose up from her pelvis like a huge bulb on her slender frame. I wanted to envelop it, forcing her to buck her hips against my mouth. But Paul didn't give it so much as a second look. He was focused on her chest.

Moving his fingers higher, he parted her robe until her breasts were fully exposed. Her springy nipples were harder than this afternoon, stabbing up into the dim light of the room, dancing on her chest as she breathed. I realized this was a pretty woman with a very exciting body who had probably not had sex in quite some time. Seeing her expose herself to her son, on my suggestion, made me want to run downstairs, throw Paul to the side, and take her. As this thought shot through my mind and down to my dick, Mary uncrossed her legs, setting her feet fully a foot apart. From the vantage point of my camera, I could now see her panties all the way around from the height of her mound down through the crease between her legs. My hips twitched involuntarily as I tried to make out the contours of her pussy. Man, oh man.

Paul seemed afraid to touch her. He was leaning so close to her I thought he was smelling her but then I realized he was blowing. He was leaning very close to her breasts and blowing softly on her nipples which were now very stiff indeed. I was amazed that Mary was allowing this, she who was so worried about going too far. But he blew on her for a long time and she didn't make a move to stop him until he suddenly blew a line down her belly, past her navel and onto her panties. At that point, she suddenly grabbed his head in both hands.

"Lie down and watch the movie, sweetheart."

She pulled his head up and lay it sideways across her chest, directly on her bare breasts. Awkwardly, Paul stretched his slender frame out on the couch, laying on his side. As he did so, I understood my mother's repeated reference to him as 'big boy' despite his small stature. Paul was sporting an enormous lump under his pajama bottoms.

Mary held Paul's head to her chest but he managed to pull back so he was resting on her right shoulder so he could continue blowing on her nipple. Mary apparently didn't object to this restricted behavior and Paul continued to blow for a long time while Mary lay there quietly, eyes close, very still. Then, all of a sudden, her feet crossed again and the muscles in her thighs tightened. She seemed to be having a huge charlie horse, her legs vibrating as if she was having a seizure. My concern gave way to the realization that I was witnessing Mary having her first orgasm with her son. 


When her legs relaxed, Mary pushed Paul's head aside and sat up, pulling her robe about her.

"My leg is all pins and needles, I must have fallen asleep on it. I'd better get to bed if I'm going to doze off like that," she said, smiling sheepishly at Paul. She tied the belt around her robe and looked like she was going to sit up when she suddenly grasped Paul's head in both hands and kissed him on his cheek, and then again on his mouth.

"Thank you, baby, for looking after me while I was sleeping."

Then she got up and walked away, toward the bedrooms. Paul watched her pad away on her bare feet, nursing his huge hardon. Then, he too got up and left, leaving the dim light on and me wondering if they were going to separate beds.

------------------------------------------

I couldn't go upstairs thinking about Mary. I'd end up waking Mom and she wouldn't be happy. I'd been downstairs so long she was sure to be deeply asleep by now. So I searched for another letter to read, and found one from Colin. In Chapter 6, I told you about Colin's mother allowing him to 'tickle' her back, even letting him get frisky. In his last letter, his mom has promised to let him tickle her to sleep while her husband was still away camping with his buddies, but let him know she wouldn't let him get so frisky again.

The next day, Mom wore one of Dad's thick workshirts and sweat pants. I could hardly tell, with her slight figure, that there was a woman under there. But, trust me, my imagination filled in for me through the day. After supper, Mom sent me to the store to get some movies for us to watch. When I returned, she was dressed in a black suit. She had on a long, full length, form fitting black dress and a black jacket. Very elegant, but very conservative as well.

We sat and watched an entire movie, her sipping her wine, and she didn't even take the jacket off, let alone offer to lay across my lap for a nice 'tickle'. I did get to see her leg, at least the part that showed through the slit up the side. But not too far. This was a conservative suit fit for a funeral, so the slit only went to just above her knee.

I actually tried to get out of watching a second chick flick but Mom insisted. After it started, Mom paused the movie and stood up.

"Could you take my jacket off and hang it up for me, Colin?"

"Sure Mom." I stood, not enthusiastically, to remove her jacket for her. She unbuttoned the jacket and opened it to reveal a dress that reached right to her neck. As I pulled a sleeve down her arm I realized her dress must be sleeveless since her arm was bare. She turned as I pulled the sleeve off, her back to me, so I could slide the jacket off her other arm. As she turned, her back was revealed. Numbly, I realized the back of her dress was completely open. Her back was bared from shoulder to a blunted 'V' that reached to the crest of her behind providing an unrestricted view of her unblemished back. I pulled the jacket off her other arm as she turned once again to face me.

"Hang it up carefully, sweetie. I don't want it to get creased."

When I returned from hanging the jacket up in the hall closet, Mom was waiting for me, smiling.

"Do you like my 'funeral' dress?"

She spun slowly around, letting me gaze once more on the daring dip from her shoulders through the shallow valley at the base of her spine and up the sweeping rise onto her buttocks. She paused when her back was directly facing me, arched to emphasize the curve of her spine and the outline of her bottom as it pushed against the fine material of her elegant gown. My mother, I realized, was a woman who knew how maximize enjoyment for her audience and perhaps even thrived on delivering such satisfaction.

Facing me again, she stood with her hip cocked slightly to one side to highlight the slenderness of her waist and curve of her hips. After a long moment in which I simply stood there as well, I'm sure with my mouth open, she broke the silence.

"Dance with me before you tickle my back."

She held up her arms, beckoning me toward her delicious figure. I shuffled toward her, slipping my arms around her waist and onto her back as we began a slow dance with her arms resting lightly on my shoulders.

"There's no music," I said, on my second turn, "should I put some music on?"

"We don't need music, sweetie, just move with me," she answered, her hands tightening on my shoulders.

As we moved silently around the living room, I became increasingly comfortable, adapting my movements to hers, melding with her body as our limbs flowed in unison. When we 'one', Mom turned her face up into my neck and whispered, "Tickle my back while we dance."

I moved my hands over her skin, up to her shoulders, around in circles, and down her sides.

"Fingertips," she instructed.

I obeyed, arching my hands so my palms were raised, skittering across her sensitive flesh with just the tips of all ten digits. I concentrated on giving her the best back tickle she'd ever had. When I managed to apply the lightest of feather touches, she squirmed, pressing her front to me. It was such a reward to feel her breasts against me, or the warm surge of her pelvis, but the greatest reward was the primeval sound emitting from her throat followed by a more delicate, "that's nice" or "that's lovely" or best, simply, "ohhhhh".

Not that I minded feeling her body suddenly pulse against me. Although I knew as soon as she took off her jacket, I could tell from the press of her body that there was no bra encumbering her breasts and, looking over her shoulder down her back, I couldn't see any hint of panties either. And I looked hard.

She surprised me when she first raised her lips to kiss my neck. The first was very brief but those that followed were longer, sustained attachments of her moist lips to the sensitive skin under my chin and along my throat.

"Mmmmmm," she murmured, "you're so good at this I might have to reward you with a little friskiness."

I couldn't help the reactionary throb in my groin on hearing that. As if in response, she added, "But not as frisky as last night," before planting a long, sucking kiss in the hollow of my neck. When she finished, she whispered, "It's time for you to tickle me to sleep, young sir."

I swept her up in my arms and headed for the stairs. She gasped, and then giggled.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, looking at the couch and waving her arm in that direction. "The movie ..."

"No more chick flicks. We're off to my tickling lair," I announced as I took the first step up the stairs.

"But I can't fall asleep in your lair," she protested.

"And you can't fall asleep on the couch, either."

I entered her room and carried her to her bed. Gently, I set her down on her feet but she protested, "No no, I can't stand anymore."

"But your dress, Mom. You don't want it to get wrinkled."

"No, but I think it would be a little too frisky to remove my dress in front of you, and I can't wait for you to start tickling me again. So lay me down."

I picked Mom up and set her down on her bed. She rolled onto her tummy, ready for me to tickle her back. I had hoped she would remove her dress and get under the covers, allowing me to peel them back to tickle her back while she maybe really fell asleep, but no such luck. Oh, well.

I walked back to the door and dimmed the lights, kicked off my shoes and returned to the bed. Mom raised her feet up and wiggled them as I approached, "Shoes."

I removed her low-healed black shoes, undoing the thin leather straps that wound around her ankles and part way up her calves. I didn't hurry, taking the time to caress her legs after the shoes were off, using my fingertips to trace her muscle line up to the hollow behind her knees several times before laying her feet gently back on the bed.

"Some woman is going to be very lucky one day," she remarked.

"I hope I can make you feel like that, Mom."

"I already do," she said.

When I started to climb onto the bed, she cried, "No way, Mister. Not on my bed with those dirty jeans."

"Oh, sorry Mom. I'll go get changed."

"No. Just take them off."

I was stupefied. She wanted me to undress. But if I was just in my shorts, and she did look, how could I hide my hardon? I stood, stuck in my quandary until she prompted, "Come on, I'm not going to look. Just keep your shorts on." She wriggled on the bed, "Hurry."

Quickly I dropped my jeans and kicked them off, followed by my socks and then my shirt. I clambered up on the bed, took a few breaths, and ran my fingers up her back. For the next twenty minutes, I did my level best to regain the reactions I had experienced while dancing with her. I wished I was still dancing with her. I missed the feel of her reacting against me. As my arms tired, I lay down beside her, caressing her back and sides with one hand at a time, switching sides about every five minutes. She seemed to be in a trance except for her sudden twitches in response to a particular touch, which I could neither predict nor reproduce regularly. I traced my fingers slowly along the sides of her breasts, as I had before, but couldn't think of a way to pull her up onto her side so I could get better access to her breasts like I'd done when she was laying across my lap.

"You should have got under the covers if you were going to go to sleep," I whispered, the first words spoken since I started tickling her back. I was hoping to prompt her into removing her dress to get into bed.

"There's time for sleep later," she laughed. "I warned you. You'll have to work hard to make me fall asleep."

So this was just a warm up? She was planning on getting into bed? Maybe she's let me continue tickling her after she changed into a nightie, maybe while I was in the can or something. She'd surprised me before.

"I'll just undo your dress then, if you're going to bed." I reached up to undo the snap on the material at the back of her neck, the only part of her dress evident until the dress reappeared to cover her behind.

"Colin, don't get frisky."

"Oops, too late," I laughed, undoing the snap and laying the ends to each side of her neck.

"You brat," she laughed in return.

I started tickling her all around her neck, taking extra special care to reward her for allowing me to undo her dress. It may not have shown me more of her body but it was huge for me psychologically. While I was leaning close to her shoulder blades, concentrating on her neck, I suddenly kissed her back. Startled by my impromptu action, I covered up by raining a number of 'butterfly' kisses across her upper back. Mom used to give me butterfly kisses when I was little, placing her eye close to me and fluttering her eyelashes. I loved it and so, apparently, did Mom.

"Oh, that feels wonderful."

Music to my ears. I ran my fluttering lashes all over her back, along her waist and even along the edge of her dress above her bum. Mom clearly loved it. I began brushing my lips on her skin as well and tracing the tip of my tongue behind the path blazed by my eyes. I even traveled down her upper arm. This was also a hit and I included this in my path.

On one pass at the top of her neck, I reached up to grasp the opened ends of the dress collar, stretching them out on the bed beside her neck, and then pulling them under her arms. Mom didn't seem to notice this despite the fact that I had to feed the ends under each arm to pull them through. On the next pass, I grabbed the ends again and tugged them downward as I traced a fluttering, kissing line down her spine. Working around in a circle on her back, I could see that I had pulled the ends down to her waist, meaning the bodice of her dress must be at least part way pulled off her breasts, though I couldn't see since she was laying on her tummy.

I began tickling, fluttering and kissing the small of her back and toward the rising swell of her buttocks. I repositioned myself from her side to straddle her legs, allowing my chest to rest on her bum as I worked. All the while, I kept steady downward pressure on the neck straps. When I was done, the straps were beside her hips, and the bodice must be under her tummy, leaving her breasts completely uncovered. I moved back up to caress her long neglected neck and shoulders.

"Was it worth it?" she whispered.

"What?"

"Pulling my dress down."

I was caught! I thought she hadn't noticed, that she was too carried away. Was she going to make me stop? No. She didn't seem angry. She seemed more amused than anything.

To my silence, she said, "You can't see anything, anyway."

"I know." I paused, not sure what to say, then added, "But it was worth it."

By her reaction, I guess that was the right thing to say.

"Just to see what you could get away with?"

"No Mom. I just want to do the best job I can."

"Uh huh. You know, for future reference, you shouldn't try to undress a woman without kissing her first."

"I thought kissing would be too frisky." I was glad to change the subject.

"Maybe, but undressing without kissing is just plain rude." Mom lifted her right shoulder up and twisted her face up toward me, smiled, and closed her eyes. "Now give me a quick kiss to make amends."

With her eyes closed, I chanced a prolonged look down her now exposed chest, marveling at how sexy her tit looked dangling in the air above the bed, its nipple long and hard. I guess she was enjoying my ministrations in more ways than one.

"Come on, kiss me. You can sneak looks later." I couldn't fool my mom, even with her eyes closed. I kissed her, my mind swirling with the implied acceptance in her statement.

It wasn't a long kiss but it was a proper one. She pushed her tongue into my mouth and accepted mine when I thrust back into hers. All too soon, she flopped back onto the bed. I could feel my boner almost breaking with the pressure against my shorts. As I resumed tickling her, I used my free hand to straighten it so it was poking out the top of my shorts instead of painfully trying to poke out the bottom.

I spent the next fifteen minutes doing the best job I could on Mom's back. Every second minute, I leaned awkwardly over her shoulder to give her a kiss, each time exchanging tongues. I think Mom liked kissing because she never broke the kiss first.

The end of that time period was marked by a foray along the edge of the dress just above her bum. I held her hips while I tried to slide the dress down to free new skin to caress. I was elated when it slipped down her hips an inch baring enough to show the very top of her crack. I was further elated when no reprimand about getting too frisky followed, not even a curt 'Colin'.

Encouraged, I slipped her dress down another inch, eyes fluttering, fingers tickling, and lips caressing across the top of her butt and around the curve of her hips. Soon, I had the dress near the crest of her buttocks but at this point my fear of a stop action command forced me back to the small of her back where I brushed my lips across the small blonde hairs standing up from her skin. Clearly, this was a hit as Mom's legs moved about, bending at the knees and slowly stretching out again, again and again as I circled my face along her waist, up across the rise of her butt, and back into the hollow of her back.

While skittering across her butt, I noticed something about her long black dress. It was made of stretchy material. Mom was able to bend her knees despite how tightly the dress hugged her figure. The writhing of her legs had forced the hem higher and higher and as I watched her bend her knees again, it rode above her knees. A horny thought immediately flooded my mind. Instead of trying to pull the dress down over Mom's prominent cheeks, I could work with her moving legs and push it up her thighs.

The next time she bent her knees, I placed my own knee between hers so she couldn't close her legs when she straightened them and when she bent her legs open again, I shifted my knee closer to her open leg. After several iterations of this, her legs were wide open most of the time, and the dress was riding very high on her thighs. I made my next move.

"I'm going to tickle your legs for a while Mom," I whispered.

I repositioned myself directly behind her, kneeling on both knees between her parted legs. I stopped for a moment to admire her open thighs before caressing them with long, loving, feathery strokes down to the backs of her calves. Steadily, I raised my end point until I was only stroking the inside of her thighs, from knee to butt, reaching under her dress to reach the crease at the top of her legs on each side, near her pussy.

Mom didn't react at all. She simply lay there breathing regularly. On each stroke up near forbidden skin I pressed her legs outward, pushing her dress ever higher. Her legs were now splayed wide open, her feet pointing out with the insteps flat on the mattress.

"Tense your legs, Mom," I whispered softly. "It will make the tickling more intense."

Mom complied silently. I could feel her muscles tense under my fingers. As she went rigid, I lifted her, pushing my knees under her thighs.

"Use your toes to hold yourself up," I commanded in my soft, whispering voice.

"Stand on your toes," I repeated.

Mom turned her toes straight down and dug them into the mattress. I lowered my lifting hands, setting her down on the tops of my thighs. I returned my fingertips to her back and renewed my attack there. As I leaned forward to reach her shoulders, my shorts, the tip of my cock preceding, pressed against her bum, still partly covered by the dress. Again, there was no reaction. I moved my hands up and down her back, leaning forward often to brush my lips on her skin, thrilling at the touch of my knob against her thinly covered bottom.

Suddenly, I straightened up and slid my hands up and down her legs once more but after a few strokes I accomplished my real intention -- I slid my shorts down to my knees. Once more I leaned forward to caress her back, allowing my now completely free and naked cock to press against her dress. To my delight, as I slid my hands along her sides, I was able to reach underneath because her raised pelvis was resting on my thighs. I pushed my hands under onto her tummy and slid them up, running them along the side of her breasts.

"Mmmmm," Mom purred, "I wondered when you were going to get frisky."

"Haven't I done a good job?" I whispered back. "Shouldn't I be allowed a little friskiness?"

"Yes you have. A wee bit then," she answered.

I didn't waste any time. I leaned forward right then to kiss her, slipping my hands under to cup her tits in my palms, squeezing gently. I don't think she noticed my cock poking harder against her butt, hard enough that it slid under her, between her legs. I tried to kiss her for as long as I could so I could keep feeling her tits and pressing my cock between her legs. She must have been aware of its presence, but she didn't object.

When I broke the kiss, I gulped in more air and promptly engaged her in another long kiss. After that, I pulled back, straightening up to rest my hands on her hips.

"Thanks Mom, that was awesome."

Mom didn't answer. She simply buried her head further into the bed and wiggled her back, waiting for me to start tickling again.

I slid my hands underneath her legs once more, along her thighs until I reached the inside of her pelvis on either side of her most secret place, my hands palms up. I pressed up, lifting her slightly, pulled her back higher on my thighs and lowered her again. My cock still rested between her legs but now it was further in, still with no objection.

I looked down at Mom's beautiful back, her dress piled up on her raised ass and her head buried in the mattress, her legs splayed out widely on the bed. Dropping my hands to her hips, I slid her dress up and over her bum, pushing it into a pile on her lower back. Before skittering my hands across her bottom, I admired the shape of her cheeks, standing up prominently, dented in the sides like an older style corvette. 

I loved the look of her ass. I couldn't help leaning down to kiss each cheek, and then run the tip of my tongue along her crack from the bottom to the top and down into the hollow of her back.

"Colin," she whispered, barely audible, her voice muffled by the mattress.

Time to back off. I stroked her legs again. Her entire ass was now bare before me, and she was laying on my bare cock, even though her dress, pinched between, still separated us. I felt her relax as the 'dangerous' moment passed.

"Come on, Mom," I whispered, my throat dry, trying to keep her mind off my actions, "stay up on your toes. It's better for tickling."

Mom's legs stiffened again as her toes dug into the mattress, complying with my request. I stroked her legs for a few moments more and then leaned forward, running my hands along her waist again before dipping them under to grasp her tits. This time I pinched her nipples and stretched them toward the mattress. They were already very hard and long. I pressed my mouth to Mom's and pushed my tongue inside for the longest kiss of the night, kneading her tits the whole time. The other thing I did was to move my cock just the slightest bit, back and forth. I tried hard to find that point where I could rub it against her but not so much that she would have to react.

I guess I found the right spot because when the kiss ended, she didn't say anything as I lay there except, "I thought you were supposed to be tickling me."

Dutifully, I rose up and began tickling her shoulders once more, but it was only a moment before my hands again found themselves on her ass. I openly squeezed and rubbed her cheeks, kneading them like dough. I let my thumbs slide down the inside, poking underneath to rub the bottom of her pussy lips.

"Colin."

I pulled my hands out and slipped them around to the outside of her hips, safe territory. She relaxed again. When I slid my hands up on their journey along her sides to her tits, my allowed area of friskiness, I held onto the hem of her dress. I don't think Mom noticed the dress sliding up her front, tugging itself free from the pinch hold between her tummy and my cock. But I did. As I grasped her tits and pinched her nipples, my cock sent shock waves to my brain in reaction to the warm moist skin it was now in direct contact with. Mom's pussy lips were right on my very hard, bare cock.

Immediately, I launched into a long kiss but my mind wasn't on her mouth or her exquisitely elongated nipples, it was on the slippery feel of her pussy as I repeated the illicit, almost subliminal rubbing of my cock along its length. How could she not feel it? She must. She must be letting me. I couldn't help rubbing harder at that thought and then screaming at myself, 'Don't ruin it!'

Finally, I could kiss her no longer. I gulped in air, gasping, excited beyond belief.

"Colin." Mom's voice was only audible because I was only an inch away from her mouth. It sounded almost desperate, a cry in the dark.

At that moment, still gripping her tits, unconsciously rolling and tugging her nipples, I pulled my rigid, rigid cock back and pushed it forward, forcing its head into her pussy. As she gasped loudly, I cried, inanely, "On your toes, Mom ... on your toes," and pushed my cock all the way in.

She moaned the whole time I was shoving it in. It couldn't have been long but it seemed like forever. The warm, wet feel of my shaft running along that slippery, yet clinging channel. I'll never forget it, or the sound of her as I pushed home for the first time.

"Push back, push back," I yelled, urging her to resist, seeing her shove her hands against the headboard.

I pulled back, her body following as she shoved against the headboard, her cunt still enveloping me. Forward I lunged, her breath expelling with the force of my own shove. Back and forth we fought, no more talking, breathing heavily, raggedly, moaning and grunting. I was surprised how long I lasted. I never wanted to stop. It was wonderful. She was wonderful, the feel of her, thrilling. But finally, I found myself bursting, emptying, falling on her, forcing her flat on the mattress, gasping on her back.

As I recovered my breath, I kissed her. Many kisses.

"I love you, Mom, I love you."

"I love you too, honey."

Stupidly, I replied, "You're not asleep?"

"Are you kidding?" she answered.

"Does this mean I have to keep tickling?"

"Of course," she laughed.

My cock, still buried deep inside her, began to harden.

"Did I tell you I love you, Mom?"

"Yessss," she whispered, "but I want you to show me again."

"One more tickle from behind, and then I'll do the front, OK?"

"Ok."

"Will you let me sneak a peak then?" I laughed in her ear, "or will that be too frisky?"

"Brat," she said, followed by a little moan as I ground my cock deep into her, rolling it from side to side. "Stop talking now ... just fuck me ... that's it baby ... ohhhhhh ... fuck me ... unngghhh ... fuck me you little brat."

I just had to get my Dad to go camping even more.

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I wanked myself for the first time in ages after reading Colin's letter. I made sure the cameras would record before going to bed, in case I slept in. I didn't want to miss anything.






The Mom Memories Ch. 10
byalwayswantedto©

All characters are 18 years or older.

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From Ch. 09

"Did you hear Paul calling me?" she asked.

"Yes, Mary. I think he's waiting for you downstairs. ... He said he wanted to be alone with you."

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Mom insisted on going out for dinner that night so I couldn't watch the action live. All through dinner, I worried that I would miss Paul's first time with his mom because I hadn't had an opportunity to slip downstairs to add cameras in Paul and Mary's bedrooms. Mom noticed that my thoughts were elsewhere and was annoyed at my lack of attention to her. I couldn't very well tell her that it was hard for me to warm up to her when three hours earlier she'd let Paul cover her face in his juvenile semen. So we had nice dinner in a romantic restaurant like two people who had been married for years.

I realized I was being a little ridiculous. I had convinced Mom to encourage Paul so he might transfer his behavior to Mary, so I could watch. It was disingenuous of me to expect her to do that without having any fun herself, and there was no question that Paul likely wouldn't be brave enough to do anything with his mother, other than look, if it wasn't for Mom. Face it, I thought, it was pretty hot watching Mom let him try to get that big cockhead of his into her mouth. I should be appreciating her efforts and trying to support her more.

I certainly didn't want to lose Mom over Mary and Paul. Looking across the table made my heart skip a beat as I realized how elegantly beautiful she was, especially with the candlelight flickering over her face and bare neck and shoulders, despite the rather grim look on her face. I resolved to change that look by the time we had finished dessert.

When we arrived home, there was a note from Mary. Apparently, Dad had been restless and she had been up and down looking after him until after ten. He was settled down now but she was exhausted and asked that Mom look after him tomorrow morning so she could sleep in. Mom felt sorry for Mary -- she expected something to happen tonight but didn't know I also knew that -- but I only felt relief that Dad had been such a bother since I was now sure that I hadn't missed anything.

However, there was a downside. Our dinner had turned into a fun and romantic evening with a good chance for a very satisfying evening upstairs. But Mom now felt a little tired from all the wine, rather than perky and adventurous as she'd been right up to reading the note, and now wanted to get a good night's sleep if she was going to be dealing with Dad all morning. So I was left high and dry.

When Mom headed upstairs for bed, I stayed downstairs to see if there were any good movies on, but soon found myself in the study, browsing through letters and reviewing the monitors to make sure I had indeed not missed any action. The recordings showed Mary and Paul in the kitchen, Paul making soup and sandwiches. Evidently he had offered to make dinner, and the only other thing he could make was kraft dinner but Mary looked very pleased by his efforts. They chatted while they waited but were interrupted by a call, evidently from my Mom who asked Mary to keep an ear out for Dad while we went to dinner. Mary looked tired when she put the phone down; she must have had a hard day. They ate their dinner quickly.

Not long after, Mary went into the living room to listen to the handheld monitor. Both she and Paul left to go upstairs. I guess Dad had started getting restless right away. While they were gone, I sifted through the letters and picked one up from a guy named Kevin.

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My name if Kevin and my mom's name is Margaret. We're a fairly typical family except that my older brother left home a few years ago and we haven't heard from him since. Matt was the outgoing one. He was pretty good at school but excelled at sports and was very popular, with the girls and guys, almost making captain of the football team. Me, I'm the bookish one. In the last year, my mother has become quite withdrawn, going to church at least twice a week until recently. We used to go only on Sundays, but since my brother left Mom became even more religious than before. My father is the same, except he seems to keep to himself more, spending most of his time at home out in his workshop or downstairs in the rumpus room listening to his old music or watching old movies.

Matt and my mother were close. He used to tease her a lot, about being so straight-laced, prim and proper. He tried to get her to let her hair down, literally, instead of wearing it in a bun all the time. Mom had thick brown shoulder length hair with deep red highlights, very sexy if it wasn't on an uptight, religious church woman. But Mom would only loosen her hair after extended harassment from Matt, and then only in the house, never outside, and only when no one else was around, especially Dad. I only saw her like that twice when they didn't realize I was home.

I still remember that first time. I came upstairs into the kitchen and heard their voices in the living room. For some reason, though I was on my way up to my room, I didn't just walk into the hallway and head up the stairs. I stopped in the kitchen, listening to them, creeping quietly up to the doorway to hear better, and peeking around the jamb.

"There," Mom was saying, "I don't know why you like this so much." Mom's hands were dropping from her shoulders just as she began shaking her head, her hair snapping out and swirling in the air, tossing out the kinks.

"Because your hair is so beautiful, Mom," Matt said, reaching out to take a handful in each hand when her locks settled to her shoulders, his fingers closing in to feel it as it slid through his hands. "Turn around," he said quietly, his hands pressuring her shoulders into a spin. He stopped her when she was halfway around, his fingers tugging through her hair to the end, then back up to fill themselves again at the sides of her head.

Mom's eyes closed as her head lifted to the pull of Matt's hands through her hair. Matt watched as his hands pulled through her hair, lifting them to do it again, but his eyes moved past the end of Mom's hair to the small of her back and then over the rise to her rear end. That was what drew my attention, this hint of illicit lust. This wasn't a girl at school. I'd seen Matt eyeing up most of the girls there. This was our Mom! I wasn't angry, I was simply confused. Why was Matt checking our Mom's ass? Aside from being our Mom, she was old, past forty. And she was dressed in her typical fair, long dress made of thick material that covered her from her neck to almost her ankles.

There was something odd about that look and the way he touched her hair, even the expression on Mom's face as if she really enjoyed the feel of Matt's fingers running through her hair. I tried to retreat then, feeling like an intruder, an observer of a moment not meant to be witnessed. But my elbow bumped a bowl sitting on the counter near the door as I backed away so I went to the fridge to get a glass of milk. When I passed through the living room on my way upstairs, glass in hand, Matt was sitting on the couch fumbling with the remote and Mom was in her chair, hair tied up in her usual bun.

The second time, I had come home from school early, surprised to see Matt's car already in the driveway. I entered the house quietly, thinking I might find Matt playing with Mom's hair in the living room again, but the house seemed to be empty. Then I heard the faint sound of muted voices downstairs. Quietly, I snuck down the stairs and along the hallway, stopping short of the rumpus room in the relative darkness of the hallway. Peeking around the door jamb, I saw Matt and Mom at the far end of the rumpus room, he playing with her hair again. Unlike the first time, I wasn't confused. There as an implicit erotic aura surrounding them and my groin stirred in recognition even before my brain processed the information impinging upon my eyes.

Mom was wearing a dress. Yes, of course. She always wore dresses, never pants. But she was wearing a dress you'd see on other women about town, not on my mother or most of the ones that attended our church. This dress was above Mom's knees, had no sleeves, leaving her arms bare, even dipped down over her breasts before reaching the buttons that ran down the front, rather than a zipper on the back. Mom didn't own a dress like that. At least, I had never seen her wear one.

Matt's hands slid through Mom's hair to her shoulders and onto the outside of her arms, holding her there. His head nestled beside hers and he was whispering to her as they both looked at the wall, I presume at the full length mirror I knew to be there. There was an odd sparkle in Mom's eyes as they looked out from her face which looked small embedded in the rich auburn surround of her rumpled hair. She seemed enthralled by what she was looking at.

"You see," Matt was saying, "I was right. You're beautiful."

I could see that. Mom looked like another woman. She could see it too, and I could see it fascinated her as much as Matt.

Matt's hand slid down her arm, slowly, caressingly, possessively. He lifted her hand, holding her arm by her slender wrist.

"Look how it shows your figure, like it's part of you, shouting at the world, here's a real woman!"

Mom's face broke out in a smile when he said that and she didn't object, or even seem to notice, when Matt's other hand slipped down inside Mom's other arm, sliding over her waist until his hand rested just above her hip, squeezing her flesh.

"This isn't a woman to hide." Matt's other hand loosened its hold on Mom's wrist, letting it fall against her other hip. He swung her torso in a tiny circle, his face nuzzling closer to her head. "You can't hide this kind of beauty with frumpy dresses."

Matt's face turned inward to kiss Mom on her jawbone. I remember going rigid, expecting her to swing angrily around to slap him. Instead, Mom raised her arm up to place her hand on the side of Matt's head, pressing him to her. His hands slipped down her hips and around the front. I could see him pulling her back into him and his own body pushing forward into her rear. Her face turned toward him then and he kissed her. Not like we kissed her goodbye before going to school. Mouth on mouth, for a long time.

My brother pulled Mom against him the whole time he kissed her. I could see his hips pushing forward and back, grinding against her behind just like his mouth was grinding on hers. Mom pulled away from his when the kiss ended, gasping for breath.

"No, Matt, stop."

Matt caught her in his arms, stopping her from getting away. "You promised .. you said if you liked the dress, you'd let me kiss you. And you like it. I can see you do," Matt insisted.

"But not like that," Mom was still struggling to catch her breath. "We can't kiss like that!"

Mom was pulling away from Matt but not so hard he couldn't hold her. He used his arms to smooth hers down her side and turned her to face him, moving close and taking her lips in his once more. As they kissed, Mom's hands came up, slowly, until she was again holding his face in hers. Matt's hands moved around her back and down, over her hips to hold her buttocks, pulling her to his own thrusting hips. Mom's hands slid past his face until her elbows crooked around his head, her body plastering itself to Matt's front, her hips moving in closer even than his hands were pulling.

The kiss ended but they broke apart only long enough to gulp in air and breath each other's name, before locking into another intense kiss. Matt walked Mom backward to the wall, holding her there with his body. When the kiss ended, he moved his hands up to the buttons on the front of her dress.

"No, Matt. I said I'd kiss you, that's all."

"Mom, even in your day, a girl would let her guy have a little feel when they were necking."

"No, I can't, Matt, please stop," Mom struggled to stop him as she complained. But Matt managed to undo a button anyway. He stopped then and Mom ceased struggling. Matt's head moved forward, his lips capturing Mom's again in another long kiss. Seconds later, Mom's hands returned to wrap around Matt's head, pulling him to her. And Matt's hands returned to Mom's dress, fumbling to get her buttons undone the whole time he kissed her.

"Oh, Matt, Mattie," Mom cried when the kiss ended, her dress undone to her tummy, which heaved as she recovered her breath.

Matt stared down her front. "Mom, you're awesome, just awesome." His hands slipped under her dress and I could tell he was holding her tits. The way the muscles in his forearms moved, I knew he was kneading them with his fingers.

Mom didn't fight him, she simply leaned back against the wall and let Matt play with her breasts, her hands loosely clasped behind his neck. I even saw her arch her back, I guess in response to something he was doing underneath her dress that I couldn't see. I had a boner by this time and I was wishing that he'd take her dress off so I could see her tits too. But he didn't try to. Mom was smiling at him as he continued fondling her and she kept smiling when his right hand dropped away from her breast to slide over her hip, behind her leg to her knee. She was still smiling when Matt pulled her knee up and pushed her calf behind him, pushing himself, and her in front of him, hard against the wall.

Matt started rubbing himself up and down against Mom, sliding her bum against the wall.

"No, Matt, stop!" Mom ordered, but she didn't do anything to inhibit his movements, and nothing was keeping her leg up around his hip. Matt ignored her, increasing the pace of his thrusts against her.

"Mattie, ... no, no." Mom was saying she wanted him stop, but her arms seemed to tighten around his neck.

I could hear Matt's breathing getting very loud. His hand slipped down to grasp Mom's raised leg just below her bum at the top of her thigh. Mom's other foot suddenly appeared behind him on his other side. I guess he was lifting that leg as well. Mom was only held up by the pressure of Matt's body against the wall.

Matt's hips were really moving now. He was shoving Mom up and down the wall with great vigor, and gasping loudly from the effort. Mom was gasping too, and she continued imploring him to stop, but her clutching feet were pulling him tight to the apex of her wide open legs.

Suddenly, Matt let out a great bellow, "AAAAAHHHHHHHH, Ahhhh, ahhhhh."

His hips stopped, legs straining mightily to almost push Mom through the wall, interrupted by sudden surges of even greater strength. Not until he was long still did Mom's legs loosen their hold and slide down to the floor. Gently, she pushed him away, her hands going to her dress, starting to button them as she slipped out sideways, toward me. Thank god she was looking at Matt.

"That was a mistake, Matt. It won't happen again."

"But I love you, Mom," he turned toward her, looking somewhat ridiculous as he exposed the front of his come-soaked jeans.

"I love you, too. But that was a sin before God. It won't happen again, and that's all there is to it."

I pulled back then, hiding in the furnace room as Mom passed by, followed by Matt a moment later.

That's the last time I saw them together, although I did hear them arguing when I came home early again to see if I could catch them again. Matt's car was there but all I heard when I came in was yelling, and Matt stomping upstairs. I fled to my room. Moments later, I heard him pull out of the driveway and when I crept out of my room to peek downstairs, I saw Mom standing in the living room, looking out the front window, sobbing. Two days later, Matt left.

So it's been a little over a year now. Dad has no idea why Matt left but he stopped to visit one of our distant relatives a few states away so we know nothing ill became of him. Mom and I have a pretty good idea, but only I know that we both know. Mom seems to have pulled back from the religion thing recently, perhaps not finding the solace there she's seeking. I've tried to comfort her, but I'm not Matt and don't have his personality. Don't think it didn't cross my mind to try to fill his shoes, but I know I don't have that easy banter with people the way he does. I think, deep down, I knew better than to try to be Matt.

I came home from school one day, at the regular time, to find Mom in Matt's room. The time must have slipped by her. I hadn't seen her there before, though she may have gone there often when nobody was home. She was sitting on Matt's bed, the dress she's worn the last time I'd seen them together draped over her lap, her hand absently stroking it.

She jumped when she saw me, clearly not expecting me to be home yet.

"Oh, sorry Mom. I didn't mean to scare you," I apologized for startling her. She seemed flustered, even after recovering from her surprise, trying to gather the dress behind her. I realized she felt guilty, though there was no way she could have known I knew the significance of the dress. She stopped trying to hide the dress after my eyes fell on it, fidgeting with it in her lap. "I just found myself here. I miss him so much," Mom said, feeling the need to explain herself, I guess.

"I miss Matt too, Mom," I replied. Then, I blurted out, "He liked you in that dress."

I don't know why I said that, giving myself away like that. How was I going to explain knowing about the dress?

"What?" Mom asked, her face going red, "What dress?" Her hands almost seemed to be trying to shove the dress between her legs, through the clothes she was wearing and out of sight.

"That one," I pointed, "The one he got for you."

I could believe my own pizzazz, brazening this out like this. Where was I going? My mind was frantically trying to catch up with my mouth.

"Got for me?" Mom looked confused. "What do you mean, got for me?"

I made good my escape then. "We're brothers, Mom. We talk." I turned and scurried to my room, leaving Mom with a shocked look on her face.

There was a knock on my door a few minutes later. "Can I come in?" Mom asked.

I didn't answer. Mom pushed my door open and came in. I kept my nose in the comic book I was pretending to read.

"What makes you think your brother got this dress for me?" Mom held the dress up in her hand.

I glanced over at the dress. "Because he told me he did. He showed it to me," I lied. I still wasn't sure what I was up to, I was playing this entirely by ear, not even knowing where I wanted to go.

"What did he tell you?" I could see fear in my mother's face.

"He said you looked good in it and that you liked wearing it," I casually tossed out, flipping the page of the comic I definitely wasn't reading.

Mom looked even more shocked. She didn't say anything for a minute, then explained, "Matt did buy this dress because he said Dad never buys me anything, 'modern', but I never did put it on." She turned and spoke to me over her shoulder as she walked away, "That's just nonsense, what he told you."

That night, I made a point of sitting in the kitchen while Mom prepared dinner. I was reading a comic book but I made it obvious that I was looking her over. When she got everything on the stove and the oven set to cook for a while, she came and sat down kitty-corner at the table next to me.

"What's going on?" she demanded.

"What?" I asked innocently, "I'm just reading a comic."

"You know very well what I'm talking about. I can't get a spoon out the drawer without you watching every move I make. I can feel your eyes on me when I'm getting something out of the cupboard or looking in the fridge. What's the matter with you?" Her voice was intense, angry, but subdued as well, lowered to limit its range to inside the kitchen.


"I just can't help thinking about what Matt said. He said you looked fantastic in that dress. He said 'You won't believe how great Mom looks'." I held her gaze.

"Kevin, I didn't wear that dress, I don't know why Matt told you that," Mom's voice was almost pleading. I let my eyes drop from her face to run over her chest, unhurriedly, then down her left side to the hip and leg nearest me. Mom's mouth opened in shock as she watched my lecherous gaze caress her body.

"Kevin! ... Stop that! ... Look at me." Mom reached out with her left hand and pulled my chin up to level my face. "I don't know why Matt told you that, but it's not true. Now just get it out of your head and behave yourself." She pushed the chair back and stood up, angrily turning away. Halfway to the stove, she suddenly whirled her head back my way, catching my eyes on her behind. She huffed as she carried on, and continued making dinner as normal, except she tossed utensils about more aggressively than seemed warranted. She didn't try to catch me again, but I think she knew I was watching her even more closely than before.

I behaved myself during dinner but when it was just Mom and I in the kitchen again, I resumed my close observations. Usually, Matt and I did the dishes after dinner but since he had left, Mom washed and I dried. Every time I picked a dish from the rack I would step back to dry it, eyeing mom's figure up and down, imagining her in that dress that showed her legs above the knee and even higher, like it did when Matt pulled her foot up behind him. I became hard putting myself in his place. I started brushing by Mom every time I put a dish away.

"Please stop, Kevin" Mom sighed when we were nearing the end, working on the pots. "Why are you doing this?"

I know you put that dress on, Mom. Matt told me. He said you looked like a movie star."

"A movie star?" Mom couldn't help but laugh out loud, "me?"

"Yeah," I lied, "he said you let him undo your hair and you looked like that actress in 'Fatal Attraction', the one that played the jilted wife, Ann Archer."

"I don't look anything like Ann Archer."

"Matt said you did in that dress, with your hair down. He said you were even sexier than her."

"That's nonsense."

"You have the same hair as her, Mom, and your voice is real soft, like hers."

"So we have the same voice and hair. Big deal."

"That's what I said, Mom," I put a pot away and stood very close behind her, waiting for her to wash the next one, letting my jeans just contact the back of her dress, "but Matt said you were real sexy in that dress. He said I'd have to see it to believe it."

Mom looked wistful for a moment, perhaps thinking of a shared moment with Matt when she'd first put that dress on for him. Suddenly she looked down and began furiously scrubbing a pot, oblivious to the effect her shaking butt was transmitting through to my jeans as she scrubbed. I was at full mast when she stopped again.

"I'm not putting that dress on just so you can see if I look sexy. I'm your mother, not an actress, not a mannequin you put dresses on and gawk at." She yanked the pot out of the sink and banged it down in the rack. She pulled the plug in the sink and stomped out of the kitchen, her hands dripping suds across the floor.

I finished up and joined my parents in the living room. Mom became further annoyed with me several times that evening, catching my eyes on her legs and stocking feet. I really couldn't help it. When she crossed her legs, hanging one foot over her knee, the image of her leg crossed behind Matt's hip leapt into my mind. She noticed and stretched her legs out, still crossed, but that only tightened the muscles of her calf prettily. She glanced quickly toward Dad, who was oblivious, then back at me, 'Stop it' she mouthed.

But I didn't. I let my eyes run up her legs, over hips, to her chest, and stopped there, replaying the scene with Matt kissing Mom as he unbuttoned her dress and unfettered her tits. When I 'came to' Mom was getting up, seemingly angry, saying she was going to bed early. Dad barely acknowledged her.

The next night was a replay. I watched Mom the entire time she made dinner. She didn't admonish me or even talk to me. When we washed the dishes, I continued brushing against her and started to put my hand on her hip or waist every time I reached around her to put a dish away. She didn't stop me, or even rebuke me, but she became more angry and aggressive washing the dishes, banging them about more. She hurried through, finishing the dishes quickly but leaving them less clean than her normal standard. I rewashed a few dishes after she left before joining my parents again in the living room where I continued my admiration of her legs and breasts.

By the end of the week, Mom wasn't hurrying through the dishes, but she wasn't dragging it out either. She just went about her business as usual, ignoring my apt attention. I almost always had my hand on her hip or up along her waist when I wasn't actively drying a dish. In fact, I had made it a habit to grasp her waist when I passed by her if Dad wasn't around, usually giving her a quick kiss on her cheek, and sometimes on her neck. She just seemed to bear with it, pausing to let me finish but not reacting against it or for it, except that is if Dad was very near and sounded like he was coming our way. Then, her hand would press against my abdomen or chest to gently urge me away, or she would try to turn away early. The thing that excited me about those times was that her breath would quicken.

On Saturday night, we faced more dishes because we'd had our usual roast beef dinner. There was no hurry because Dad very rarely took Mom out. As we worked our way through the mound of dishes, I continued my usual brushes across Mom's backside but stepped up my waist holding to give her side a slight squeeze and, while drying a dish behind her, leaning in to kiss her neck. We didn't speak while we did the dishes, Mom concentrating on ignoring me, waiting me out I suppose, and I on enjoying myself, wondering how far I could push things. I was surprised, then, when she spoke.

"Kevin," she spoke softly, "if I let you see my legs, will you stop this nonsense?"

I finished drying the dish in my hand. "What nonsense?"

"You know. If I put a robe on tonight and show you my legs, after Dad goes upstairs, will you leave me alone? After all, you said you wanted me to wear the dress because it showed my legs."

"I don't know, Mom. Matt got to see you in that dress, and with your hair down. Wearing a bathrobe isn't the same."

Mom paused, her head turned to the side, thinking. "I can't wear that dress in this house," she blurted out, "I just can't."

Recognizing that this might be a painful memory for her, I relented. A little. "Will you go for a drive with me then, tomorrow?"

"Where?"

"Anywhere," I replied, "just out in the country."

"Ok," she seemed pleased at the opportunity to get away.

"And will you wear the dress once we're away?"

Mom frowned, but her frown slowly dissipated. "Alright," she said, "I'll wear the dress while we're out on our drive." She smiled and turned back to washing the dishes.

I had placed both hands on her waist while we were talking. I leaned in now to whisper, "And you'll wear your hair loose?" I asked, letting my breath blow past her ear and sliding my hands just a little higher so they were at the sides of her breasts.

She drew her breath in before answering, "Yes."

"Thanks, Mom." I turned my mouth down to connect with her neck, kissing the muscle cord running across to her shoulder, pressing myself into her behind just a touch more and squeezing my hands in tighter, against the side of her breasts. "Thank you," I repeated.

I was surprised when I entered the living room to see that Mom wasn't there with Dad. I sat down in the chair in the opposite corner from Dad and picked up a magazine from the side table, flipping through it while I thought of the concession I'd won, about what a great day tomorrow would be. I was surprised again to see Mom coming down the stairs, already dressed for bed in her bathrobe. She never did this and, given her commitment to wear the dress for me, I had thought the bathrobe and leg show were out. Was she going to give me a preview anyway?

My eyes never left her as she approached the couch and sat down at the end near me. She rummaged through the pile of magazines and picked one up to read. Dad didn't pay any attention. Fifteen minutes or more went by without anything happening. Mom changed her position a couple of times but she didn't loosen her robe at all, keeping herself covered from neck to ankle, with her feet covered by fluffy slippers.

Then, Dad's favorite show came on, CSI, and his eyes were glued to the set. Within minutes, Mom changed her position, re-crossing her legs again but this time, she didn't reach down to tug the robe firmly into place around her ankles. The robe lifted about six inches up to rest halfway to her knee but, more alluringly, it split to show the inside of her calf, on my side, all the way to her knee.

Mom extended her foot, letting the heel flop down, the sole marking a 45 degree angle away from the bottom of her toes. As I watched, she began tapping her foot to some silent tune. I ran my eyes up her legs, leaving her foot with difficulty, past the magazine in her lap and climbing her torso to glance at her face. She was smiling. I gazed intensely at her, demanding her attention, but she never looked my way.

Running my eyes down her legs I found even more showing as her robe seemed to have split even wider. Her foot was still tapping to the same tune and, as I watched, she curled her toes and let the slipper fall to the floor. Her toes stretched out and then spread wide. Relaxing, her foot arched, bending her instep into a tight curl and stretched out, toes spreading wide again. Mom repeated this languid stretching over and over. Gradually, I noticed how the muscles tightened and released in her leg as her foot played, how it made her calf look hard and muscular and then suddenly soft and yielding.

The sound of the show intensified as it neared the half-time commercial set, setting up the hook to keep viewers riveted so they wouldn't change channels. At that moment, Mom's hand slid off the top of her magazine to pinch the robe where it lay on her thigh. As Dad leaned forward toward the TV, Mom's delicate hand lifted her robe, re-arranging it on her legs, but pulled sufficiently high that I could see the tops of her thighs, at least a foot above her knees. The skin there looked incredibly soft and enticing. Her hand paused, holding the robe open, clearly letting me see. As the show reached its mid-point climax and the commercial started, the robe closed again, Mom's hand smoothing it down her leg, all the way to the ankle.

"That is such a great show," Dad exclaimed, getting up, "this is a really good one." He headed quickly upstairs for a bathroom break.

I sat there, staring at Mom, my mouth open, I'm sure. She had an enigmatic smile on her face, but seemed engrossed in her reading. By the time I realized this was a great opportunity to see more of her legs while Dad was upstairs, the toilet flushed and I could hear him tromping down the stairs. He resumed his position without saying anything more and quickly became engrossed as soon as the show started again.

I waited for Mom to renew her leg show, expecting a full half hour of tantalizing display. But she made no move to continue. I was noticeably fidgeting, becoming quite antsy actually, trying to indicate my great desire to see more of her legs. Her hands moved, but not down to pull on her robe. Instead they moved up behind her head, fussing with her hair.

My disappointment gave way to a thrilling bolt that shot from my eyes through to my hardening cock as she shook her head and the first pile of deep auburn hair tumbled out over her shoulders. She gave it another light shake, and then another. Then she shook her head hard, side to side, throwing her hair into a violent swirl, finally settling down around her face which was now pointed directly at me. She was smiling, that same enigmatic smile, her soft lips barely turned up. Then she looked away, picked up her magazine and began to read.

As I stared, cock hard, mouth open, Mom's hand slid across the magazine laying on her thigh, and on past to her knee. Her fingers slowly tapped her knee, then sped up to a light drumming that continued while the tension on TV grew. Mom pulled her right leg up from where it lay crossed on top of her left, slowly pulling her right foot up to her left knee and finally resting it there, her hand holding her robe in place. From Dad's side, she was completely covered, the robe stretched across her leg, but I could see the whole inside of her right leg, right up to where her panties would be if they weren't covered by her robe and the magazine.

My eyes were captivated by her bare leg and I wouldn't have thought it possible for them to look closer without burning her skin until she did a very simple thing, she arched her foot. Like before, this tensed the muscles in her calf, turning her soft looking skin into cordoned contours of shadow and light. I wasn't so focused on her lower leg to miss the tensing of her upper thigh, especially on the inside running up to her loins. Mom kept reading her magazine, she never looked at me but the whole time she flexed the muscles in her right leg, intensifying its dazzling effect on me. As CSI neared its conclusion, she collapsed her leg, stretching it out over the other, her robe demurely arranged by the time the commercials started.

Dad got up to go to bed after that and Mom followed, to my great disappointment. She didn't look back as she followed Dad up the stairs but she shook her hair, tosing it wildly over her shoulders. Dad hadn't even noticed that Mom's hair was loose.

The next day at breakfast Mom announced that I was going to take her out for a drive, and would he like to come? I almost choked on my eggs. Oh yeah, that would be a lot of fun. Given her actions last night, I had laid awake, hard, most of the night, my mind imagining over and over what could happen the next day. But Dad declined, which I'm sure Mom knew he would. When Dad headed out to the garage to get the rider mower fired up, Mom packed a picnic and we left shortly after. Mom wore a long coat with her typical kerchief covering her hair, tied back as usual in a tight bun.

It was a brilliant, sunny day, perfect for a drive. I headed for the country, toward some small, windy roads, still paved but seldom traveled. I rolled the windows down in my four door hardtop, the car my father had given me so much grief for buying because I could have gotten a sedan for much less. The wind blew by but it wasn't cold, it was such a beautiful summer day.

It wasn't until we were miles from town, turning off on the three digit country roadway that Mom pulled her kerchief from her head with her left hand. Reaching up, she pulled her bun apart and shook her head, tossing her hair out, fluffing it up with her hands and pulling it out through her fingers. I loved the look of her and watched her while she modernized her look, only glancing at the road as we drove along.

We had only driven a few miles before we ran into a little town. I had never been here before, having never strayed from the larger roads but it wasn't hard to find our way through. The downtown was only about two blocks long and we were almost out the other side when Mom implored me to stop at a Dairy Queen. We pulled in. There was no drive in window so I went inside to get a banana split, Mom's request. When I returned, Mom was sitting in the dress, her coat thrown across the back seat.

"Let's find somewhere nice to eat this," she said as I handed our splits to her. I couldn't help looking at her legs as I drove, though the dress came down almost to her knees. Mom's arms were also bare, something I hadn't seen since that afternoon with Matt. All in all, she was sporting more womanly skin that I'd ever seen on her.

I pulled off on a small, grassy/dirt road winding off to the right, probably toward a few small farms, turning off at the top of a small rise that afforded a view over the green fields. As soon as we stopped, Mom opened the door and got out, walking toward the edge looking back the way we'd come. "Bring a blanket," she yelled back, "I put one in the basket."

I retrieved the blanket and caught up to her, standing there looking over the field. I admired her legs as I spread the blanket. Mom sat down, tucking her legs to her side, handing a banana split to me, and digging plastic spoons and napkins out of the bag. We ate our splits in silence. I finished way before Mom and watched as she ate hers, delicately inserting small spoonfuls of ice cream into her mouth, licking any extra from her lips that didn't make it all the way in. I beat her near the end, reaching out quickly with my finger to wipe some chocolate from her upper lip. She smiled at me and didn't seem upset when I pulled it back to lick the chocolate off. She just turned her head sideways again, showing me the profile of her face. She really was quite attractive. She had a lot of sex appeal with her hair flowing free.

When she finished, Mom carefully put the spoons, the plastic dishes and our napkins into the bag. "Shall we go?" she asked.

"Let's stay her for a while longer," I responded. In answer, she stretched her legs out in front of her and leaned back, bracing herself on her hands. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes, allowing her hair to fall free behind her back. She used her feet to push her shoes off her feet, bending her knees and pulling them toward her, causing her dress to slide up her thighs, closer to her pelvis than her knees. My mouth was dry as I ran my eyes up and down her legs. I was surprised when I noticed her watching me.

"Matt was right, Mom. You look fantastic. Thanks for letting me see you in this dress." My eyes strayed back to her legs, following the curve of her calves down to her ankles.

"That's ok, Kevin. Fair is fair."

"So you admit wearing the dress for Matt."

"Yes," mom replied softly, "but I think you like me in it even more that he did." Her knees widened a little as she said that, forcing the dress a little farther up her thigh. I don't know if she knew, but from my vantage point, I could see most of the backs of her thighs, though not all the way to her panties. Still, it was very sexy and I could feel myself hardening in my jeans. "Perhaps you're more of a leg man than your brother," Mom added, moving her knees just slightly wider again.

"Perhaps," I mumbled in response, loving her legs with my eyes. We sat there for a few minutes, Mom quietly allowing me to look all I wanted, moving her legs side to side in unison, or apart and together again, once stretching her right foot up in the air, tensing her muscles and twisting her leg before bringing it back.

"You're more relaxed than Matt. That's nice. Oh, you've been pretty persistent up to now, a real pain in the butt, but now that you're here, you seem content to take your time. That's attractive in a man. Rare, but attractive."

I looked up at Mom. She was smiling at me. I smiled back. We were very relaxed with each other.

"Do I have a time limit, Mom?"

"No, sweetie. You don't. I'm yours all day."

"And after?"

"You can't keep doing what you're doing. Your Dad will notice."

"What if he doesn't?" I reached out to touch Mom's leg. She watched as I traced my fingers up and down her leg, from her ankle to her knee.

"Let's not think about that," she replied, continuing to watch me stroke her leg.

I stroked her leg in silence for a few minutes.


"So, you'll let me do what Matt got to do?"

Mom seemed surprised. "I'm letting you see me in this dress." She seemed suddenly nervous. "What do you think Matt got to do?"

I looked at her, my love showing in my eyes, I'm sure. "Can I touch your hair? Matt said you let him touch your hair."

Mom visibly relaxed. She shifted her hands behind her, her upper body moving enticingly as she did. "Sure, you can touch my hair, Kevin."

I shifted closer to Mom then, moving up beside her, letting my hand slide up her leg with my fingers dangling on the inside.

"Can I touch your legs for a while longer?"

"Sure," Mom smiled, "Like I said, we have all day and I like that you take you time."

"Thanks, Mom." I trailed my fingers down the back of her calf, my hand reaching around the inside of her leg to do so.

Mom closed her eyes, her head tipping back again, "Uh huh," she said, as she lowered herself onto her elbows instead of her hands.

I caressed Mom's leg for some time, tickling up and down, trying to be gentle yet stroking her as sensually as I could. Mom looked really relaxed. As I neared her knee, coming over the thick part of her calf, I arched my hand so it scraped against her thigh. She tensed the first time I did this but relaxed as I continued to her knee and journeyed back down to her ankle. I didn't scrape her again until the fifth time after that and the third time after that. She only tensed up the first and second times. Soon, I was regularly scraping along the back of her thigh, managing to hit sooner by arching my hand awkwardly so I could touch her higher up her leg. I was also arcing my fingers around the hollow behind her knee and I think I was on my third time down the back of her thigh with my fingers before she noticed. I caressed the outer part of her thigh and moved my fingers inward, toward her center, for the return journey. I heard a sudden intake of Mom's breath, and that, I think, is when she first noticed that I had strayed from her calf to her thigh.

"I think you should try my hair now, sweetie."

The tone of her voice didn't seem to leave room for choice but I tried anyway. "Just a few more times, Mom."

"Three more," she replied, "just three."

I tried to strain my fingers closer to the inside each time I reached the furthest point up her thigh. She smiled, amused by my attempts, but kept her eyes closed. She must have enjoyed what I was doing because I was on my ninth stroke when she shifted her leg downward, signaling that my leg time was over.

I shifted to a position kneeling behind Mom as she moved back up to brace herself on her hands again. I slipped my fingers into her hair, pulling gently lest I hurt her by catching a snag.

"You're so much more thoughtful than your brother," Mom said.

I began stroking my fingers through Mom's hair, concentrating on giving her a relaxing head massage. A long while later she slumped back against me, her back laying on my thighs, tipping her face up to me as I massaged her temples and her jaw.

"Oh, god that feels so nice, Kevin."

"Just relax and enjoy yourself, Mom," I whispered.

I continued massaging her face and head, running my fingers through her hair as well. After a while, I reached forward to slip my fingers behind each knee, pulling them closer to me. Mom shifted her feet closer to her bottom to help. I slid the fingers of each hand in a slow caress down the back of each thigh. I could feel her legs tense, but she didn't stop me. I pulled back up just as slowly and ran my fingers down again.

As I pulled back up, Mom spoke softly, "You really do like my legs, don't you Kevin?"

"Yes, Mom." My voice was dry and cracked. My nerves were tingling, I was so nervous.

"Ok," she whispered.

I continued caressing her thighs, looking down to watch her face in my lap. She seemed serene, her eyes closed. Some time into this, I closed my wrists to the sides of her legs, pinching her dress and dragging it on the down stroke, right to the top of her legs. I could see her panties now. I looked down at Mom's face. She was smiling, that same enigmatic expression she's worn the night before. I stroked my fingers down her thighs, staring at her panties and the faint outline of her womanhood laying underneath.

As I brought my hands back up, her knees suddenly parted wide, forcing a small gap at the side of her panties by the hollows of her legs.

"Do the insides now, Kevin," Mom whispered.

I was stunned by this unexpected encouragement. My breath short, I slid my fingers over her knees and started down. Oh, the skin was so much softer here. My fingers trembled as they rose over the wide part of her inner thigh on the final approach toward her panties. I could hardly breathe. I stopped, afraid to go closer, returning to her knees. Several more times I traced my fingers down but was unable to move lower.

"Closer," Mom whispered.

But I retreated again. When I reached my turning point again, her legs moved wider apart.

"Closer," she whispered.

I pushed past my barrier, but only half an inch. Again, into the breach, and past again. My breathing was ragged, Mom's was simply quicker. Down I went, to the barrier and beyond again, just another half an inch. Again, again, again. I was there! My fingers were right beside her panties.

I forgot to pull back. I sat there, leaning far over Mom's head, close, watching my fingers on her inner thighs, beside her panties. Without comprehending, I watched as my finger, of their own accord, stretched open to form a semicircle between each thumb and the fingers of each hand. They slipped around, making an arc around the edge of her panties.

"I think that's enough for now, Kevin. We should be going." I looked down at Mom, she hadn't opened her eyes.

"Just a little longer, Mom."

"No," she said, pushing herself up and closing her legs. She turned and gave me a quick kiss on my lips. "Women will find it hard to say no to you, you have a way about you." Mom stood up, brushing her dress free of grass, "Come on, let's find another spot, maybe back in the trees a bit out of the sun, for our picnic." Mom headed toward the car, leaving me to pick up the blanket.

We drove about for more than an hour, taking our time, down little roads and then back out again, admiring small cottages and big old farmhouses we saw along the way. We didn't talk about what had just happened, and I didn't ogle Mom's legs. Mom loosened her seatbelt and tucked her legs up beside herself. I told her she should keep her belt on but she ignored me, squiggling around to get comfortable, pulling her dress up a bit to show her legs.

"You seem to have gone off my legs, sir."

"I don't think so, Mom," I smiled casually, glancing down at her.

"Well, if you're so worried about the seatbelt, pull off up there. We can walk over to the other side of that little hill over there for our lunch."

I pulled off and we carefully climbed over the barb wire fence. I loved the carefree look of Mom as she walked briskly up the little hill. It was a good spot. We were alone on the other side, invisible from the road. We sat down and had our lunch. I was surprised to find that Mom had brought a bottle of red wine. We lay back on the blanket, sipping our wine and enjoying the scenery. Mom, the hills, me, her legs as she lay on her side facing me.

Mom noticed me looking at her legs again and she quietly dropped her hand to the side of her leg and began tugging her dress up, and inch or two at a time, every few minutes, teasing me. When the dress couldn't go any further, she lifted her hips and tugged it hard, bringing the hem right up to her hip. It dropped across her front just below her groin, allowing me the full vision of her legs, but not her panties.

"Not so interested in the seat belt, now?" Mom laughed, following my gaze down to her exposed thighs.

"No," I answered, my voice a little hoarse, but not from the wine. I reached down, tentatively, to touch her thigh. She recognized that I was silently asking permission as I paused before making contact. When she said nothing, I slipped my fingers between her legs, just below the hem. I gazed into her eyes, softly regarding my face, left hand between her legs, right hand on the blanket holding my glass of wine, next to hers doing the same.

"You've trapped yourself," Mom laughed. "You're won't be able to move your hand when it's squeezed in there."

I wiggled my fingers, proving her point. I returned her laugh, "Oh well, it's not so bad here."

Mom laughed out loud at that.

"Of course, if you opened your legs for me ..."

Mom looked aghast, then smiled widely, "Opened my legs for you? Now, that's forward, young man."

Nevertheless, her top leg lifted leaving a small gap between her legs. I began moving my fingers in a small oval from there to almost touching her panties with the side of my index finger. We gazed at each other for several minutes while I did that, our breathing becoming more rapid with each minute. Mom raised her glass and sipped her wine.

"Don't like the wine?" she asked, that little smile taking over her mouth again.

She knew I couldn't drink without removing my hand, since I was propping my weight up on the elbow of the hand holding my wine. She laughed at my expense again and lifted her glass to my lips, letting me take a small sip before returning it to her own mouth. I had paused when she held the glass to my lips, holding my hand still right below her panties, the edge of my index finger actually touching them. When she finished taking her sip, I asked for another and stopped there again, this time pressing slightly harder as I leaned toward her glass.

And then, I almost blew it.

As she took another sip, I asked, "Are you going to let me do everything Matt did?"

She went rigid, pulling the glass form her lips.

"What did he tell you?"

I didn't respond verbally, realizing I'd said something dreadfully wrong, and not wanting to make it worse, but I couldn't help looking at her breasts.

"Oh," she said. "He told you I showed them to him?"

"He uh said you uh let him touch them."

"Let him touch them. He said that?" her voice was a little angry now in an incredulous tone as she looked straight ahead. She turned to face me directly, "Is that what you want? To do what Matt did? Tit for tat?"

I looked at Mom, a little shell shocked, fear, I'm sure, showing on my face. "No, Mom, no." I shook my head emphatically, "No."

Mom looked at me, steadily, then pulled back, drank the rest of her wine, and tossed the glass in the grass to the side of the blanket.

"Let's not have any more talk about Matt, then," she said. She twisted onto her back, pulling her legs from my hand, putting her arm over her eyes to shade them from the sun. "Finish your wine," she said, "and then let me rest against your knees so you can do my legs again. I liked it when you did that, it's your specialty, I think."

I tossed my wine off in one swig and moved behind her, incredibly relieved that the crisis had passed. I swore to never mention my brother's name again. I placed my hands under her shoulders and shuffled my knees under her back as she raised herself up. While I played with her hair, Mom bent her knees, tucking her feet very close to her bottom, allowing her dress to fall down her thighs again. I reached forward to caress her legs.

This time I stroked all of her legs, repeatedly, from foot to thigh, again and again, stroking softly for a long time. Our breathing was quite irregular. Mom stopped me by reaching up to grasp my wrists in her hands.

"Let me catch my breath for a few minutes," she gasped.

I thought that was it. She lay on my knees, eyes closed, regaining her normal breathing pattern. Then her hand slipped off my wrists, her elbows falling to her side, her hands resting on her chest. She lay still but her breathing was still heavy enough to make her breasts push her hands up and down, something that immediately captured my attention.

Then ... her fingers moved, she undid the top button of her dress, then stopped.

"Do you mind, Kevin?" she whispered, "It's so hot in the sun."

It took a moment for me to jerk myself into action. My fingers fumbled with the next button but I finally managed to get it undone in only three times as long as it had taken her. I stopped, unsure of whether I was to simply loosen her dress or had been given permission to see her breasts.

"I'll tell you when to stop," Mom whispered.

I continued with the next button and, hesitantly, the next. Though the dress still covered her, it was sufficiently undone that I could tell there wasn't a bra underneath. My boner was bending in my jeans big time. I realized I had stopped on this discovery but Mom hadn't said to, so I started on the next button, making sure during my fumbling to accidently spread the lapels of her open dress. I proceeded to the next button and did that one with some semblance of efficiency. It was the last one.

I leaned over her, uncertain and eager. I dearly wanted to plunge my hands inside that dress but remembered Mom's appreciation of the way I took my time. I'm sure Matt would have reached in and grabbed a handful of tit, and that is probably what she expected me to do. Instead, I carefully pulled her dress apart until the edge of the dress was just hiding her nipples. Her chest was pulsing with her quickening breath. I nudged the material over a little more, just exposing both nipples, which now stood up past the thick material of her dress.

Gingerly, I inserted my hands under the dress above her breasts, palms flat, and slid them down and outward, cupping the side of each globe. Letting my fingers slide further around and underneath, I pulled each breast up toward me, sliding my thumbs down at the same time. The parts of my hands met on her nipples, fingers from the bottom, thumbs on top. I pinched gently, and pulled. I loved the sharp and deep intake of breath that resulted as I pinched her tits.

"Awesome, Mom. Just awesome."

"Shhhhh, Kevin." There was a break in her speech as I rolled her nipples. "It's late. You only have a few minutes, and then we have to go."

It was half an hour later that Mom finally buttoned her dress. On the way home, she said, "Now I want you to stop this nonsense at home before you get us both into big trouble, do you hear me?"

"Yes, Mom," I answered, sulking a bit.

"Don't sulk," Mom cut in, "I let you do more than Matt. I had a bra on when I let him, so you're way ahead."

That perked me up. I saw Matt undo her dress and take hold of her, but I didn't know she was wearing a bra. The very fact she didn't wear a bra with me was encouraging.

"So you want me to behave myself now?" I asked.

"Yes."

"At home?"

"Yes," she confirmed, a suspicious questioning tone apparent in her voice.

"So will you go for a drive with me next week, Mom?"

Mom laughed when she looked at me, and slapped me playfully on the shoulder. "You brat."

"Well?"

"I guess you did make my legs feel nice. Maybe. If you behave yourself."

I looked down at Mom's legs, since she'd mentioned them. She noted my line of sight, and made a comment about not being used to tight dresses. Then she lifted herself and pulled the dress way up her legs. I reached over past the stick shift to her seat and rested my hand on the inside of her left leg. A moment later, sure of her acceptance, I pulled it toward me. Most of the way home, she let me run my fingers up and down the inside of her thigh.

------------------------------------------

I would have carried on with Kevin's letter but I noticed some action on the monitor recordings. Quickly, I retraced the video back to where Mary and Paul came back into their suite. They both disappeared down the hallway to their rooms. Damn, I thought. Out of sight. But, Paul returned a few minutes later in his bathrobe and sat down on the couch, and Mary joined him half an hour after that, clearly having had a shower. She was dressed in a robe and was drying her hair with a towel.

Mary watched TV while Paul read a comic. Mary glanced disapprovingly several times at Paul and his comic book and asked him to watch the movie with her, but Paul declined. After the third time, Mary got up to go into the kitchen, returning with a large glass of juice for each of them. Paul suddenly paid rapt attention to his mother. She had removed her robe, presumably leaving it in the kitchen. She made no mention of the fact that she was now wearing just a thigh length cotton nightie. I could tell through the cameras that she wasn't wearing a bra, so I'm sure Paul could.

Mary sat down and continued watching the movie. Paul sat with the comic in his lap and his head turned toward Mary, blatantly watching his mother. Mary's demeanor indicated she thought everything was normal. Every minute or so, she would take a sip of juice, but she didn't look at Paul, affording him the opportunity of uninterrupted viewing. Mary even stretched a couple of times.

Perhaps thinking that she couldn't just sit there and let Paul ogle her all night, Mary asked him if he'd give her a shoulder rub. He agreed and swung his legs up on the couch, patting the seat between his legs. Mary slid over, situating herself in front of him, and he began massaging her shoulders.

Paul must have been adept at this because Mary seemed truly relaxed after about five minutes and leaned back against her son, resting her head on his shoulder as he began go massage her sides. He had to be rubbing past the sides of her breasts but Mary seemed content. Her eyes were closed so I don't think she noticed when Paul began to discreetly edge Mary's nightie up as his hands pulled up her sides. When Mary had sat between his legs, her nightie must have slid high enough to be clear of her bottom as she raised her knees to push herself back, because Paul was able to get her nightie up above her hips. Mary's small bikini panties were completely showing, and even a couple of inches of lower tummy above that. Again, I noticed the prominence of her mound.

"Paul," Mary suddenly spoke, startling both Paul and myself, "could you undo your robe? The belt is poking into my back." She didn't raise her head or open her eyes.

Paul slipped his hands behind Mary and fumbled around for a minute. Mary arched her back to give him space, which was a nice treat as her breasts pushed up against her nightie. Paul pulled his robe open, not just the belt, but the robe as well. He must be sitting with just his shorts between he and his mother. Mary relaxed, sinking back against her son. Paul began rubbing her sides again. Mary seemed almost asleep on him.

I noticed that Paul was a little more daring now. He must be thinking that he was about to have another show from his mother, she couldn't really be sleeping, and he seemed to letting his hands press harder against her sides when he was next to her breasts. If so, his thoughts were confirmed when Mary spoke again.

"Paul, are you sure you undid your belt?"

"Yeah, Mom." Paul looked almost annoyed, I imagine because he wanted her to pretend to doze off so he could feel free to look and touch her more openly.

"But it's still poking in my back. Make sure, ok?"

Mary arched her back again and Paul fumbled behind her. I couldn't see what he was doing but my guess was he was pulling his dick out of his shorts.

Mary leaned back again when he assured her the belt was gone. I could tell from her expression something was still pressing into her back, followed by a shocked expression and reddening of her face. But she didn't complain when Paul started rubbing her again and she soon began breathing deeply and regularly, Paul's signal to play.

It wasn't long before Paul had worked Mary's nightie right up to bunch below her breasts. This nightie was one piece so he couldn't undo it like her robe. It looked like he was going to try to pull it right over her breasts, a pretty gutsy move. I was just thinking, no way, when he did exactly that. He just pulled it over her tits, lay it on her neck, and stared at her tits for a while. Mary didn't react. Paul watched her tits rise and fall as she breathed heavily but regularly for some time. Then he passed his threshold for action and his hands slipped up from her sides to hold her breasts.


He didn't move at first. He just held her tits, his palms resting flat on top of them, but eventually he started to squeeze, just a little, kneading her tits like he was squeezing a pair of small lemons. Squeeze, release. Squeeze, release. Squeeze, release.

Mary let him continue. He didn't play with her nipples, he just kneaded her tits. I could see Mary's tummy pulsing which was odd until I realized Paul was pushing himself into her back. Good god, I thought, my own cock surging, she was letting him dry hump her back. Her tummy was pushing up now as Paul strengthened his thrusts behind his mother and quickened his pace. Mary's eyes opened with a frantic look. I think things had got out of hand and she didn't know what to do. She was looking about wildly but I she guess couldn't think of anything to do but ride it out. She closed her eyes as Paul cranked into the final stretch.

It wasn't long but there was no way she could pretend to have slept through that ride. She was bouncing on top of him at the very end. He ground himself into her back as he slowed down and finally stopped. His hand fell from her tits. Mary reached up and dragged her nightie down to cover herself, awkwardly climbed off her son, and disappeared down the hallway. I heard the shower start.

Paul lay there, gasping for breath, his big cock laying flat on his stomach. He struggled up and put his robe on, pulling it closed over his cum-stained stomach. He just sat there, looking a little stunned at what he'd done.

Mary appeared a moment later wearing another robe. She looked at the monitor.

"I'm going up to check on Mr. H," she said, sounding a little angry. "Go get a shower." And she was gone.

I turned back to Kevin's letter.

------------------------------------------

I was true to my word. I didn't bother Mom for at least four days. I have to admit, though, that it was awfully hard, especially later in the week when our Sunday drive was so close. Standing behind her doing the dishes for four days without trying to give her a kiss, put my hand on her waist, or brush against her behind, was murder. But on Friday night, I got a reprieve.

"You've been awfully good all week, mister," Mom said as soon as we started the dishes.

"I've tried hard, Mom. Are you going to come for a drive?" I asked, a little desperate.

"I haven't made up my mind yet," she replied.

"Mom," I complained.

"You've been good, it's true. But I have to say, you've been pretty boring all week."

I took a cup and dried it, looking at her as she scrubbed another. What was she saying? Did she want me to fool around? If I did, and I was wrong, she surely wouldn't come for a drive. What to do?

I finished the cup and put it away. As I passed behind her, I leaned in and gave her a kiss on her cheek.

"Sorry, Mom."

"That's ok."

I picked up the next dish, dried it, and put it away also. Then I stood behind her as she washed the next one. I kissed her cheek, and then her neck as she worked. She just smiled, so I kissed her again, letting my lips linger on her face. She finished the dish and started another. I didn't move to pick it up. Instead, I put my hands on her waist, and whispered, "Can we go to the same spot?"

"Don't you like to try new places?" she asked.

"I kind of like familiar ground," I replied, rubbing my hands up her waist, feeling the swell of her breasts.

"Do you now?"

"Yes. When you have the best ground, why go anywhere else?"

"Men always like to explore," Mom replied.

"True. But some discover new things on old ground," I whispered, leaning in against her. She felt softer tonight, different somehow. I pushed my hands forward a little so my fingers touched the sides of her breasts instead of her waist.

"So I'm old now, am I?" Mom teased, finishing another dish and putting it in the rack.

I pressed in harder and let my fingers slide under her breasts. "An old woman wouldn't feel like this."

Mom seemed pleased by my comment but she pushed me back and spread her arms to force my hands away from her. "You're falling behind. Let's get these dishes done now."

That was it for that night. Saturday, I had to work. Dinner was done and the dishes too by the time I got home, even though I rushed to get there. I was up early Sunday. It was a beautiful day. Mom made a great breakfast but wouldn't let me help with the dishes. She sent me out to help Dad in the yard. I was angry, thinking she'd drawn me in Friday night and was now canceling the drive. But when I got back in the house, she was waiting, dressed in her long coat and holding a picnic basket.

"Are you ready?" she asked, a little smirk on her face.

She asked me to stop as soon as we left town so she could take her coat off. She was wearing the same dress and she let the hem ride up as she got back into the car. I didn't stop at the Dairy Queen, I sped right past. Mom didn't protest, she simply reached across and laid her hand on my leg. "We're not in a hurry, Kevin," she said.

It was an hour before we arrived at our afternoon spot.

Quickly, I spread the blanket and we sat down to have our lunch and wine. I relaxed as we ate. I was filled with anticipation, but I somehow knew she would let me do what we'd done the week before. She teased me, but she wasn't mean. I enjoyed looking at her, her hair moving in the slight breeze. She had an easy manner when she was with me out here, I noticed, she was different. We took our time drinking our wine. Mom finished hers first and asked me if I was going to massage her like I had last week. "Of course," I assured her, sipping my wine.

"Don't hurry, take your time," she said as she got up on her knees, legs tucked underneath, lifted her fingers to her dress and began slowly undoing the buttons. She did all of them as I watched, moving at the same deliberate pace.

I finished my wine and tossed the glass aside, moving to kneel behind her and squat on my haunches, making a place for her to rest on my thighs, like she had before. Her hands reached down to grasp the hem of her dress and she tugged it up high on her legs as she wiggled herself back closer to me. I thought she was about to sit down and lean against my legs but she paused for a moment, then she started shrugging her shoulders, like something was bothering her.

Her dress slipped off one shoulder and then the other. I could see that she had pushed it off with her hands. She looked back at me then and smiled, then sat down and leaned back. There she lay, on my legs before me, her dress pushed down to her waist and her breasts bare and thrusting up toward me. God, this woman was exciting.

"I love the feel of your hands, Kevin. Love me with them," she whispered, closing her eyes.

I reached down to take a breast in each hand, testing their softness, rubbing my thumb down to meet my palm, nipple squeezed between. I pulled her nipples up about an inch and gently shook her tits. I let them drop, them pushed them flat with my palms and rolled her nipples around for several minutes, followed by an extended period of pinching and tugging her nipples.

Reluctantly, I moved to caress her legs. I repeated, as close as I could remember, the same sequence of stroking caresses I had done the previous week. I took a long time stroking her thighs until I reached the same point as the week before, my fingers spread around the edge of her panties. I think she'd been close to letting me touch her then, but she'd stopped me, enticing me away with the hint of her breasts. But she'd let me start with her breasts today.

"Touch my breasts again," she whispered.

"I'm almost finished your legs, Mom."

"Ok," she whispered back, "but just a bit longer."

I squeezed my hands together, just the slightest bit, pushing against her panties, shoving her womanhood up. Mom's breath sucked in hard. She seemed about to speak, to stop me. I flicked my thumbs down, brushing them over her panties, over her mound.

"Ohhhohhhohhh." Mom's hips moved, twisting her panties up against my thumbs. I don't think she could help it. I brushed my thumbs back and forth, pressing more firmly as I rubbed them along her pussy lips. I could feel they were damp even through the panties.

"Ohhhhh, ohhhhhhh, ohhhhh," Mom sighed and purred, music to my ears. I was proud that I could make her feel like this. Her eyes fluttered and she seemed about to speak again. I moved the fingers of my right hand into the center of her panties, on the lower side, and pushed, the tips of my middle three fingers making a hollow, between her lips. I began moving them in a circle, pressing in and out as I worked them around.

She was gone. Her hips began generating little thrusts, pushing her up against me. Her eyes were now screwed tightly shut, her face no longer serene.

I slipped the fingers of my top hand under the elastic of her panties, finding her groove and laying my long finger in it. I pressed down with my finger and released, then again and again, at a steady pace. Her hips were really straining now, pushing her pelvis against my hands. I slipped my lower fingers under the leg of her panties and pushed them inside, gratified by the wet, squishy sound as they slid in. Her hips began bucking furiously, there was no need to move my fingers, I just held them still while she did all the work. She was moaning. She seemed very close. A tremendous urge struck me. I leaned way over and covered her damp, panty covered mound with my mouth, pulling my upper fingers back to make room for my tongue, pushing it into the top of her panties.

Mom shuddered, lifting her ass off the ground, legs straining, heels dug into the blanket. Her whole body quivered as her pussy shoved frantically into my face. Between gasps she was wailing. She collapsed to the ground, my face landing half a second later cushioned by her panties and the puffy lips underneath. I took one last munch and was rewarded by a long, throbbing shove into against my face.

I don't think Mom knew what to do after that. She lay still, breathing very hard. My face was still on her panties but she didn't try to push me away. I realized that Mom didn't know how to handle letting herself get that carried away, but I didn't have a clue how to proceed either. I was very horny, so I just kept touching her. I was still kneeling with her head laying on my legs. I twisted my hips against her head, repeatedly pressing the bulge in my jeans into her hair. I moved my lips against her panties and slid my hands back to squeeze her tits. There was no way she could miss the point that I hadn't had mine.

Mom put her hands on my head and tried to move it away from her pussy, but I held steady, continuing to work my lips on her panties. Her hands dropped away. It crossed my mind that my father had probably not put his mouth on her for a long time, if ever. Anyway, it didn't seem that she wanted to stop me all that bad. I shifted my knees back and opened my legs, letting Mom's head drop to the blanket. Dropping my hands from Mom's breasts to brace myself, I stretched my legs out to help hold my weight and lowered my hips until the front of my jeans pressed lightly against Mom's mouth.

I don't think I could have been more obvious but Mom didn't take the hint to unzip me. I was so horny, I almost came anyway. I rubbed myself sideways across her face for emphasis but she only turned her head, facing away from my desperate knob. I needed to do something, I was so horny I thought I would die. Lifting off her and twisting around, I laid down between her legs, lowering myself until I felt my jeans contact her mound.

"No, Kevin, no," she cried, her hands grasping my hips and trying to push me away.

"Yes," I gasped, "I'm so horny, I have to do something."

"I can't, I can't," she pleaded, struggling desperately to push me away, without success as my bulge pressed into her.

"I can't help it," I panted. "You let Matt rub you," I accused her. "I need to too."

Her hands relaxed. Unrestrained, I humped against her.

"Yes," she acknowledged, "and he ran away when I refused to do it again."

"I won't run away, Mom," I promised, "Just let me rub you like Matt did."

When her hands slid up over my shoulders, I knew I'd won.

"Ok, Kevin. I'll let you do what Matt did, and then that's it." She patted me on my back with both hands, giving me the signal to go ahead.

Reaching under, I undid my belt and pushed my jeans down over my throbbing cock. Released from the constraining power of my jeans, my dick straightened out against the mild strength of my jockey shorts.

"No!" Mom cried. "Keep your jeans on, like Matt."

"I'm still wearing my shorts," I wailed back, pressing down on her, delighting in the greater warmth from this closer connection.

"No, Matt wore his jeans," cried, less emphatically.

"It's too late," I gasped, rubbing my boner up and down on her pussy, humping against her like I was really fucking her.

In the time before she replied, I had rubbed my stiff cock through her a dozen times.

"It's not the same," she panted, "it's not fair."

I rolled sideways into her as I rubbed up and down. She moaned and raised her legs, her knees reaching almost to my shoulders. I rubbed her really fast, then slowed down to a slow grind. She shoved her pussy up to meet me.

"Why is it so hard to say no to you?" she panted, then let out a long, slow, "ohhhhhhhhhh, Kevin."

I became less desperate when I heard that. I concentrated on giving her the best rubbing, or fake fuck, I could manage. I changed my pace and pressure frequently and staved off coming until she did too. I kissed her when we finished, a long, languid tongue exchange.

When that was done, I whispered in her ear, "I'll never go away, Mom. I'll never leave you alone."

"I know, Kevin," she whispered back, "that's what I'm afraid of."

She watched me as she cleaned herself with a towel from the picnic basket. I took off my jeans, slipped off my shorts, cleaned myself with the dry back, and tossed them away. Buttoning her dress, still sitting on the blanket, she kept her eyes on me as I stepped back into my jeans. Instead of pulling them all the way up, I turned toward her, my cock sticking straight out.

"Are you boasting that you're bigger than the rest of the men in the family?" she laughed.

"Am I?" I asked.

Her response was to let her eyes twinkle as she held her hand out for me to help her up. I pulled her up but held onto her hand, moving it down to my cock. She pulled back when she realized what I was trying to do.

"Come on, Mom. It won't bite." I pulled her hand nearer, looking down to watch.

"No, I can't," she said, "I mustn't." She wasn't tugging her hand any harder, despite the extra pressure I'd brought to bear to get it closer to me. Her eyes, like mine, were on my cock and her hand.

I twisted my cock to nudge against the fingers of my hand and hers.

"Touch it, Margaret," I suggested softly. I don't know why I used her first name.

She groaned and stopped trying to pull her hand away. I loosened my hold and saw her fingers open within my hand. I pushed my shaft in, nestling it against her palm. Her fingers closed over me. Her fingers were so soft and gentle, like little vines snaking around my cock. I started to harden immediately. She gasped, yanked her hand away, and ran toward the car. Calmly, I gathered all our things and followed her. She didn't let me stroke her leg on the way home this time. She was quiet, lost in her thoughts all the way. So was I.

------------------------------------------

Mary was gone at least half an hour. By the time she returned, Paul was sitting on the couch, wearing the same robe, reading a comic and drinking a coke. Mary sat down on the couch beside him, rather than at the far end.

"Put that comic down, you're not a little boy anymore."

"Oh, sorry Mom." Paul closed the comic, holding it in his lap. He did look like a little boy about the get heck for something he'd done, and knowing he had to sit through it.

Mary's tone softened as she looked at him. "Look," she said, "we have to talk." She reached out to pat his hand with her left and tugged on the comic with her right. Reluctantly, his grip loosened sufficiently for her to pull it away and toss it behind her on the couch. Paul looked even more lost without his comic to hang on to for support.

"Look," Mary started again, her gaze still where the comic had lain, but she was distracted when she saw the large lump in her son's lap. Her face flushed as she remembered it pushing into her back.

"Look," she started again, looking at Paul's face, "I know things have been a little crazy around her the last little while, that I ... uh ... have been a little different."

Paul nodded slowly. He seem confused, probably expecting to just get shit.

"You're old enough to be a man, now. Too old for comic books." Mary nodded her head to the side, back toward the comic book. "And I ... uh ... just thought we could ... could relax in our home, like two adults. You understand?"

Paul nodded again, his head moving faster.

Mary continued, "I wasn't wrong, was I? You're not a boy anymore, are you?"

Paul shook his head emphatically.

"Good," Mary said, "because when I saw you reading a comic book, I thought I was wrong."

Paul finally spoke, "No Mom. I just picked it up 'cause it was there. I wasn't really reading it," he lied.

Mary took his hands, still lying in his lap, into hers and looked him in the eye, "So we can get rid of them? Right?"

Paul looked very unsure. Mary's head nodded once, seeking his agreement, and her hands seemed to grip his more tightly. Paul's eyes glanced down from Mary's face to her chest, then quickly back again. He nodded.

"Right?" Mary prodded.

"Right Mom. I don't need them anymore."

"That's good, son. I'm glad to hear that you can leave little boy things behind." Mary leaned forward to kiss Paul on the cheek. As she did, she pressed her hands, and his enclosed in her clasp, into his lap. She pulled back a few inches, her eyes searching his face, then leaned in and kissed him softly on the mouth, lingering for a half a minute.

"You're a man now, Paul," she spoke as she pulled away. "So I can relax around the house, the way I have been lately, like I couldn't when you were a boy. Can't I?" It was a demand more than a question.

Paul nodded, looking encouraged. Mary pulled her hands away, leaving his in his lap, laying on either side of the large lump under his robe. Mary glanced down, then went on, "And we can ... relax together, as long as it doesn't go too far." Mary nodded her head once, her eyes seeking agreement once more.

Paul nodded, then, after looking into her eyes, said, "Right," in a solemn voice.

"Because I'm your Mom, and there's some things you can only do with other women."

Paul nodded again. Mary leaned in and hugged him, pulling back to kiss him on the mouth again, a little longer this time. When she pulled back, Mary looked down at the swelling mass under Paul's robe, now bracketed by her hands as well as his.

"Like pushing that against me," Mary canted her head down, "at least, all the way like you did tonight."

Paul shook his head in agreement, embarassed.

"That's for other women."

Paul didn't nod in agreement this time. Instead, he said, "I understand, Mom. But I can't do anything with other girls because they think I'm deformed."

"Deformed?" Mary asked, her voice rising. "Deformed?" she repeated, indignant.

"Yeah," Paul responded, "you know, you felt it."

"You're not deformed," Mary insisted angrily.

"It's got a really big head," Paul insisted back, "they said it was ugly, they said it's deformed."

"Who said?" Mary demanded.

"Some girls at a party."

"Well they're wrong. There's nothing wrong with you."

"There is, Mom," Paul said quietly, "look." And Paul pulled his robe apart, pushing Mary's hands aside as he did.

Paul's semi hard cock sprang free. A normal, healthy six inch dick, the shaft a little thicker than usual, but otherwise normal, except the large head, which was easily more than three, almost four inches across in any direction.

Shocked, Mary stared at her son's bare cock, a little slow to realize he hadn't put on shorts after his shower. Long seconds dragged by.

"You're not deformed," Mary finally whispered.

"Yes, Mom, the top is way too big."

"No. Some women would like that," Mary replied, still staring at her son's cock. Was she imagining what it would be like to feel that massive head trying to bludgeon its way inside her? Or, was she simply marveling that her son was a match in his way to her own prominence?

"Really? One girl told me it was ok, just big. Too big for her, she said." Paul, noticing that his mother was entranced, pushed her hand toward his cock, lifting it with his until her palm pressed against his enlarged head. "She said she could hardly hold it," he whispered.

I was amazed. Mary's hand closed over her son's cock, but she was unable to close her fingers around it. I couldn't believe this. Mary, who thought it would be going too far to flash her boobs a few days ago.

Paul continued, still whispering, "She had to use both hands." He nudged Mary's other hand up until it too circled his cockhead. Mary's hands were held as if she was trying to cup water in her palms but instead they surrounded the head of Paul's cock like a planter holding a large flower.

Seeing that Mary was still enthralled, Paul continued, "I asked her where I could find a girl that wouldn't think it was too big." Paul pushed his cock up and down, once, through Mary's hand without any reaction from her. "She said, only a mother would kiss something like that, and only if she had a smile as big as Cameron Diaz."

Paul twisted his hips toward Mary, his knees pushing her farther down the couch so that she had to lean forward, her arms outstretched, to keep holding him. He nudged her again and she shifted her own hips to slide farther back. Paul lifted his hands, sliding up Mary's arms, outside her robe, to her shoulder and over to rest against her neck.

"Like your smile, Mom," Paul's voice lulled, his hand stretching behind Mary's neck and tilting her head forward. His other hand slipped over her head and pulled it down. "Everyone says you look like Cameron Diaz with dark hair." Mary nodded, the first indication she was conscious since she'd touched his cock. Her thumbs brushed across it's wide tip as if prepping it.

The final tug and Mary's lips contacted her son's most notable feature. I expected her to jerk back, startled from her strange trance but she didn't. Instead, her mouth stretched, stretched wide, and as I watched, Paul's cock disappeared slowly into her mouth.

He was smart enough not to try shoving it into her. He waited while she worked her mouth until the entire head was inside. Mary's jaws were at an incredible angle. I was reminded of a snake trying to swallow a much larger animal.

Then Paul did something I'll never forget. Holding his mother's head, he gently twisted it sideways and then back. A few times more and he let go. Mary continued twisting her head on his cock.

"Only my mother would do this, she said." Paul whispered.

A minute later, it happened, as with my mother. Mary had no idea of the load that was coming or she would have pulled back. Paul suddenly arched his back, exploding into Mary's mouth. Mary's cheeks suddenly puffed out and her throat thickened, pulsing as she struggled to swallow the gush of cream forcing its way into her. Some spilled out of her mouth, flowing down Paul's shaft, but even that wasn't enough. By the time she managed to pull herself off his cock, come was flowing from her nostrils. And still, she took two major splashes in her face.

Mary stood, her hands splayed to her sides, cum frothing from nose and mouth, then ran down the hallway out of sight. 





























