The Mom Memories Ch. 11
byalwayswantedto©

All characters are 18 years or older.

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I came home early the next day, knowing that nobody would be home except Mary, and Dad, of course. I needed to understand what had compelled Mary to go so far with her son. After all, two days ago, even baring her breast had seemed outrageous to her. And now, she had let him put his deformed dick in her mouth. My own mother had let him unload on her face. What was there about this immature, unattractive geek that so fascinated these women? I had to find out, somehow, without revealing that I knew what had happened.

When I came home, Mary was just bringing Dad's lunch tray into the kitchen. She had just finished feeding him and would be free for a couple of hours. As Mary put the dishes in the dishwasher, I queried her about her progress with her son. She blushed furiously as soon as I mentioned Paul, then became quite agitated. Nevertheless, I pressed for more information as a co-conspirator, but she resisted. We circled around the issue until suddenly, she turned to face me and thrust herself against my chest, her arms slipping under mine and around my back.

"Oh, Dave," she cried, "I'm so ashamed. I've gone too far." Her arms tightened around me, squeezing very hard as she sobbed into my breast.

"There, there," I patted her shoulders, hugging her to me, not sure what to do.

She cried into my shoulder, mumbling words I couldn't make out. After a few minutes, she settled down, just sniffling. I pushed her back, holding her by the shoulders, "What do you mean, Mary," I asked, "too far?"

"The other night," she sniffed, "I let him see me. I pretended to be asleep, and I let him look at me, like you suggested, except I let him open my robe completely. I wasn't wearing anything but panties." She sniffled again.

"That's not too far, Mary," I assured her, then added, "Has he stopped reading his comics?"

"No. He was reading them again last night, so I went further."

"You let him see you completely nude?" I asked.

"No. I still had my nightie on."

"I don't understand," I replied, looking confused.

"I asked him to rub my back for me."

"And ..."

"I let him touch me, touch my breasts, ... under my nightie." Mary pressed herself to me again.

"That's ok, Mary. That's not so bad." I patted her back reassuringly, remembering her laying back against her son, letting him pull her nightie up, baring her tits, letting him take them in his hands, massaging them. "He probably thought you were sleeping again."

"Yes," she turned her face sideways against my chest to speak, "but I could feel him, against me, in my back. He was very excited, pushing against me, and he was so big."

There was still surprise in Mary's voice, a remnant of the astonishment she must have felt, but not just at his size, as her next comment revealed.

"It excited me, I couldn't believe it. It wasn't just because its been so long, since his father left, it was because it was his. Like you said it would be, different, like nothing else," she harkened back to my only ramblings when I was trying to gear her up.

"I got so excited, and I let him keep pushing against me, until he was finished. I'm so ashamed." She buried her face in me again.

"Has he quit reading his comics?" I asked again, trying to keep her focused, hoping to help her see that what she'd done was good for her son.

"Yes. He said he was done with them."

"Then, that's good Mary," I exclaimed. "You've made him grow up, so soon, and all it took was a little peek and a bit of rubbing. He'll turn to other girls soon. You've done him an immense favor."

"Yes, I suppose," she mused, "but there's more."

"More?" I asked.

"Yes. We talked about it after. And you're right. He said he's done with comics, he's interested in man things now."

"That's good."

"But he'll want more, or he'll go back to them."

"So let him do more of the same, but just that. After a while, he'll seek out girls that will let him go further."

"I don't know," Mary replied, unconvinced.

"Sure he will, Mary. It's working. He won't go back to comics, not now."

"I don't know if I can hold back," she interjected.

"What?" I asked.

"I don't know if I can deny him," she stated, quietly. She pulled away from me, walked to the counter and turned to face me, leaning back.

"Well, just ... just," I stammered, momentarily at a loss for words, "because it's been so long for you?" Mary didn't reply. I went on, "I can help you with that," I assured her, walking toward her, reaching out to grasp her shoulders. "I'd love to help you with that."

She smiled at me then, a welcoming smile. "I know," she said. "I don't understand it. But I know you do, I can sense that. I know you're intimate with Susan. Maybe you have a thing for older women, I don't know."

Mary smiled at me again and paused. If she'd been smoking, I think I would have felt smoke in my face. "Don't get me wrong. You're a good looking young man and I'm old enough to be your mother. I like the way you touched me the other day, and I think I'd like more. But now it's different."

"How is it different?" I asked, but Mary shook her head. "Make me understand," I said, placing my hands on her waist, letting the edge of my hands graze the sides of her breasts.

Mary was distracted, looking down and to the side. "While we were talking about it, he suddenly pulled his thing out, his cock." Mary's head shook slowly from side to side. "I stared at it. I just couldn't look away. I had the weirdest feeling, like I was compelled to look. And then I did it. He didn't make me, he didn't even ask. I reached out and touched it, closed my hand right around it. I could feel how alive it was, how intense, like nothing I've felt before."

She sobbed, then continued.

"Then I ran away, to my room. I didn't know what I'd have done if I stayed."

"That's it," I asked, you just touched it?"

"Yes," she cried, "but I couldn't stop myself. It scares me."

Mary didn't admit that she'd put her mouth on her son's cock, that she'd let him blast his semen into her throat. I was still digesting this, realizing that she wan in some state of denial, when she continued.

"I'm afraid of what I might do, and you can't help me, not like that," she said. "I can't now, it would be a betrayal. I don't want to do it with my son, but I can't be with anyone else. Not until he has me, or someone else."

Mary brushed my hands from her hips and walked past me, toward her suite.

Try as I might, I couldn't devise a plan to introduce Paul to any young women, so I could turn Mary back to me. I didn't know any young women who would even consider him. The only other woman I knew who might fuck the little prick was my own mother and I certainly didn't want to turn him that way.

It was Mom's night for dinner and theatre with her friends. I ordered pizza and retreated to my study. Looking for another letter from Kevin, I came across one from Grant, the fellow from Chapter 5 who had experienced an erotic back massage with his mom after his father's funeral.

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A week after my father's funeral, everyone had gone home and Mom and I settled into a routine. Nothing happened after the episodes that first afternoon and later in the evening, when I had inserted my finger into Mom's behind, and my cock into her mouth. The feigned 'stress sleep' worked. We didn't have to talk about it. But then nothing happened. Mom didn't ask me to rub her back for her again, and there was no way to bring that day up, at least, the special things that had happened.

We carried on, not mentioning Dad, as if he was just away for a while. It was more than five weeks later that Mom had a bad day, and began mentioning things about Dad throughout the day. Late in the afternoon, I slipped out and came home with some flowers to cheer her up. I've made a reservation for dinner, I told her, so dress up and let's go out. Mom seemed pleased to get out of the house.

I don't think she meant to, but Mom wore a cute black dress. It wasn't a funeral dress. Quite the contrary, it was one of her favorites when she and Dad would go out. Not too revealing, actually elegant and conservative, but she did look great in it. I was dressed too casually to match her but Mom didn't seem to mind. She laughed at my apology when she came downstairs, and said a woman should always be better dressed than her man. She wouldn't let me get changed.

We had a nice, relaxing dinner with a whole bottle of wine between us, but we stayed for dessert and coffee, too. It was easily ten when we got home. Mom insisted on a nightcap, just one more glass of wine. I opened a bottle and settled down on the couch with her. I turned on the TV but switched it to a soft music channel. For the first time that evening, our conversation turned to Dad again. We drank more than one glass of wine, as Mom's conversation become more personal, talking about their relationship, things my sister and I didn't know.

Mom snuggled up to me as she talked, her thigh pressed to mine, her dress only slightly higher, but not intentionally. She talked about their ups and downs over the years, how sometimes things were difficult between them, about my father's wandering eye, but how their sex life had always been good. You'd think this would be uncomfortable, hearing about your parents sex life, but it wasn't, perhaps because of the wine.

It wasn't that he was a great lover, she confided, but he was always different, trying new things. And she would let him, often adding her own twist, which she knew always drew him back to her. I couldn't help but get excited as she told me these things, feeling her hair against my cheek as she nestled against me, the weight of her breast when she turned toward me for a little laugh now and then. She didn't do anything explicitly sexual with me, or provide intimate details as she alluded to sex between them that was periodically somehow illicit.

I was hard by the time we finished that bottle of wine. And, despite all the talk, I didn't do anything except keep my arm around her shoulder, sometimes letting it fall to her waist when she pressed herself closer to me.

"I knew you miss him, Mom" I squeezed her to me, "but now I understand just how much. Thanks for letting me know." I kissed the top corner of her head. Mom didn't say anything. She just nodded her head in acknowledgement.

"You know Dad thought you should get married again. He talked to me about it. He thought you were too young to be a widow for the rest of your life."

"I know," she laughed, then sniffed, and wiped a tear from her cheek.

"She's too much woman to go to waste," I repeated, mimicking my father's voice.

Mom laughed at that, remarking on how he'd said exactly that to her. Shortly after that we finished the wine and Mom said she should get to bed. She thanked me for the flowers and the lovely evening, all of it. She turned to me and gave me a kiss on my cheek, her hand laying on my leg. "You're more than a son to me, you know. You're special, like your Dad."

She got up then, and so did I. We turned out the lights and walked upstairs. Mom turned to me before going into her room.

"I haven't been sleeping well lately," she complained, her voice frustrated. "I just can't fall asleep. I used to get like that sometimes, and Dad would rub my back for me until I fell asleep."

I nodded, not knowing what else to say, waiting for her to say goodnight.

"Would you do that for me tonight? Rub my back, just until I fall asleep?"

I nodded. "Sure, Mom."

"Just until I fall asleep. Then you can go back to your own bed."

I nodded.

"Ok. Go get ready for bed and come back. I'll be ready."

In my room, I rushed to change into some pajama bottoms. I didn't usually wear anything but put them on for my mother's sake. I waited for a few moments to let Mom get changed, then went back to her room.

She was sitting on the end of the bed, still in her dress, one leg raised over the other knee as she tugged her pantyhose off her foot. Only one bedside lamp was on. She looked very sexy in the shadows. She held her hand up as she saw me.

"Sorry, Mom," I said as I took her hand, helping her to her feet, "I thought you'd be changed by now."

"I was waiting for you," she said, turning her back to me. "Dad always did my back after we went out for dinner, and he always unzipped my dress for me. It was like a little ritual."

Mom used both hands to lift her hair, sweeping it up behind her head, baring her neckline. God she looked great, waiting for me to undo her, her hips canted to the left, accenting her curvy body.

I unhooked her dress and slowly pulled the zipper down that elegant black dress. When I reached the bottom, Mom spoke, very softly.

"Since you're not your Dad, I guess you better close your eyes until I get into bed."

She didn't wait for me to answer, or look back, and I didn't close my eyes. Her hair fell as she dropped her arms and crossed them in front of her, raising them to push brush dress off each shoulder. I drank in her bare back as the dress fell to her hips, her shoulders covered by her hair. Seconds passed before she pushed the dress off her hips, her calves somehow seeming ultra sexy as the dress first covered and then bared them as it dropped to the floor.

As I pulled my eyes up Mom's legs they rested on her matching black, lace panties. Dimly, I became aware that her hands were pulling her bra off, and my cock hardened as it remembered being ensconced between those firm, substantial globes. I almost closed my eyes as I realized that she was about to get into bed, or turn around and catch me by surprise looking at her but before I could react, her hand had tossed the bra to the floor and placed itself on her hip. Stunned, I watched as she pushed her panties, dragging them over her hips and down her thighs to her knees. There, she lifted her foot and, hooking her toe in the little lacy affair, dragged it down her calf to the floor. Placing her foot on it, she stepped forward, pulling her other foot free.

She stood still for several seconds, allowing me to taste the vision of her full, womanly ass.

"I'll let you know when I'm in bed so you can open your eyes," she whispered.

Then, she moved with slow deliberate movements onto the bed, crawling up to the pillows, pulling the covers down, and getting in, never once looking back. She lay face down.

"Ok," she said, using her left hand to pull the covers back beside her.

I clambered onto the bed and got in beside her. Mom pushed the covers down so her back was bare to her hips.

"There's some oil on the table. Dad always put a little on his hands."

"Ok, Mom," I'm sure my voice cracked

"He always started at the top," she wiggled her shoulder, "and he kept the light on until he went lower."

She didn't explain what that meant. I had to reach across her to get the little tube of oil from the bedside table. Sprinkling several drops on the fingertips of my right hand, I began. I paused to put more oil on after doing her shoulders and upper arms, at least fifteen minutes later. I spent even more time on Mom's lower back, her waist, and her sides, where her breasts bulged out. I spent a lot of time there, tracing my fingers more lightly there, but she seemed most appreciative when my fingers delved into the small of her back, before the rise up to her buttocks.

"Dad used to pool some oil there before turning out the light," she said.

Though it was very low, her voice startled me because I was so focused on trailing my fingers around her skin. I put oil where she suggested and reached over to turn out the light, making sure not to let my huge hardon scrape her back even thought it was still inside my pajamas.

"Put more on," she said, before I reached the light.

Dutifully, I added more at the base of her spine where she seemed to be so sensitive to my touch, turning my hand over and letting the oil drip into the little dish in her back until a little puddle formed, spreading it in a little circle with my finger. She spoke for the last time that night.

"Lower," she whispered.

I turned out the light.

Starting at her neck, I slid my hand down her back in a languid arc, in no rush, skirted around the side of the little puddle of oil, and dragged my fingertips over the erotic slope of Mom's left buttock, the one nearest to me, pushing the covers ahead of my hand until I reached its crest. Sliding back down, I crossed her back and did the same on the other buttock, taking time to enjoy that one as much as the first. I paused at the top but rather than returning I pushed on, shoving the covers down the backslope to Mom's thighs, pulling my hand toward me to bare her left cheek as well.

I couldn't see in the dark but the vision of her perfect behind was vivid in my mind. No blind person could have read braille as intently as I read my mother's ass, sliding my fingers and palms around and around, over and over, until every millimeter of her bottom had felt the softest, gentlest touch I could muster. I could tell by Mom's breathing that she approved.

Dipping my fingers in the pool of oil, I raised my hand from Mom's flesh and held it above where I knew her crack to be. I traced my extended fingertips above that line back to her thighs, letting drips of oil fall into the crevasse below, moving ever so slowly so I could hear her breath change as the drops hit, formed little rivulets, and ran down into her crack. I repeated this again and again, until the puddle was gone. At last, I let my fingertips touch her ass. She was slippery all the way down her crack. I brushed my fingers back and forth several times relishing the feel as they slipped past the slick inner skin of both cheeks, pausing to let my longest fingertip remember her crinkly donut.

Her legs parted a tiny bit as I pushed beyond. I pulled gently, urging her left leg toward me a little more, then pushed out to demand similar compliance from her right. Like a short domino effect, this thigh moved further than the first, providing ample room for my oily hand to cup the juncture of Mom's behind and legs in its palm. A moment later my fingers stretched out to rest on the back of her pussy. I brushed my fingers side to side and was rewarded with a sound I hadn't heard for more than five weeks -- Mom purring.

Her right leg shifted out more as I brushed, so wide that I easily rested my arm on the back of her left thigh, allowing my fingers to stretch out from that side rather than from above. I was now pushing my fingers across the surface of her lower pussy. On one backward draw, I dug my fingertips in a little and dragged her pussy open. She gasped. I held it open for several long seconds before pushing across and dragging her other pussy lip back the same way, holding it open too.

Returning, I stopped to dig in just a little more, then slid up her moist slit as she gasped a long sigh. And though she twisted her hip to cock her ass up, my path was still blocked by the mattress. Mom raised her hips as I my left hand pushed under her tummy to the rescue. Unfortunately, this made it harder for me to keep my right hand as far forward, and it slipped back. By this time, the fingers and palm of my left were skidding under her from above. I stopped my hand there and delighted in the feel of her full mound as she relaxed her weight directly upon it. For several moments thereafter I cupped her damp pussy as my fingers stroked it from the rear. Mom's faint purring raised up a notch.

I hunched myself closer to rest my head on Mom's behind, the proximity allowing my right arm greater freedom of movement. I opened my left hand to form a pincer of my thumb and index finger, placing one on the inside of each pussy lip. Slowly, I spread her open, holding her like that, waiting. I could feel the tension, feel her wondering what was coming, all the while knowing.

Still, she flinched and gasped out loud when she first felt my finger seeking the center of her open cunt, trying without success to avoid touching their walls but then drawing immediately away, chased by the throb of her velvet sheath. The further in, the harder it became to avoid these brief, feathery touches, my finger failing to hide its presence as it crept inside her. My head laying on her ass could feel Mom's tension as she fought to keep still, waiting breathlessly for the next tickle, positive it would come. Yet, each time she gasped in total surprise.

Soon, I couldn't avoid touching her tunnel walls so I dipped in as far as I could and wiggled my finger all around. I drew my finger out and slid it back in, slowly, doing more of the same. I must have repeated this thirty or forty time before adding a second finger. The whole time I kept her pussy lips spread wide open but I let them go when I added a third finger. That's when she first started to moan and when I began strumming her clit with my dormant left hand she really got going.

I didn't try jackhammering my fingers in Mom. I had read somewhere that a woman is more responsive to her lover's girth, so I concentrated at the depth of each thrust to move my hand in a small circle, working my upper knuckles against her sensitive opening. It seemed that I was right, because Mom was really getting into it. I was incredibly excited to make her feel this good. It made me feel like her lover.

I think it was by accident that my thumb first dipped into her little hole, probably seeking traction to help my volatile fingers as they swirled in the entrance to my birthplace. Mom's moaning briefly reached a new octave which is what first brought the mini invasion to my attention. But the second time was not an accident, or the third and fourth, and after that, well, I just left it in there. She was still slippery there from the oil so it had likely slipped in easily to that first knuckle. Still, my main focus was working Mom's pussy, the more so because I could tell she was close, very close. Her hips were pushing back to meet my fingers and rolling around trying to accentuate their touch as I reamed her pussy lips.

It was on one of these backward thrusts that Mom suddenly went rigid, her hips lifted an inch or two in the air, her legs snapping shut on my hand, shuddering, followed by a feverish series of frantic bucks of her hips, her pussy squeezing my fingers, my hand trapped by her bear trap legs.

"Unnnnnnnnngggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhh," she let out a long, low grunt.

Her legs continued to clutch me for another minute and then she collapsed to the bed, her muscles sagging loose, expelling a long, long sigh. She went still and didn't move. Even her pussy was dormant.

After a few minutes, I pulled my hand from under Mom's tummy. I guess she thought I was going to sneak off so we could keep up our charade. I'm sure that's why she emphasized that I should go to my own bed after she fell 'asleep'. Well, she'd given me a beautiful show when she'd dropped her dress and taken off her bra and panties, allowing me to watch. She had certainly let me enjoy touching her body, but I had paid the piper and made it worth her while. I was still hard. She had repaid me with her mouth five weeks ago after I'd done her but I couldn't see how I could manage that now the way were laying. So I just lay there, my face still on her cheeks, my fingers still just inside her, thinking, how can I get mine?

Mom lay still, patiently waiting for me to go, her breathing returning to normal. I still hadn't come up with a plan when my fingers moved. I could feel her head shake, could sense her message, 'no, time for sleep'. I wiggled my fingers again and felt her head shake in reaction so I pulled them out, but as I did, my thumb slipped up to nudge her little bud which was still open from my little guys earlier visits. She stiffened when she felt that, so I circled my thumb around her little hole without trying to push it in. Mom remained tense, but I noticed that her head didn't shake.

I raised my head from Mom's cheeks and turned to look down at her ass, though I couldn't see my thumb in the dark. I swung my left arm over Mom's back, resting my elbow on it and my hand on her right cheek. Pressing the edge of my right hand into her cheeks, I let its thumb again press on her dark hole, circling the rim once more with its tip. Mom noticeably tensed up. Pulling her right cheek away, I lowered my head as I pulled my thumb back, sliding my tongue along her crack until I found the little hole. I flicked my tongue rapidly across it, swirled it around the edge, and quickly dipped inside before pulling just as quickly out.

Mom let out a weird sound, not loud, almost a whimper. I can't describe it accurately, but it was a sound of pleasure for sure, because her hip pushed up toward my face, eager for more. I drooled into her ass and moved my thumb up to mash it into her hole, pushing in and then out. Quickly, I teased her with my tongue, flicking, swirling, poking, circling, then up and drooling a big shot of saliva into her now quivering hole. When I didn't do anything, the whimper started but it only became louder when I inserted my thumb into her, this time pushing until it was all the way in. I stopped, letting her feel it plugged inside her, then began moving it in a small circle the same way I'd started to work her pussy less than a hour before.

She didn't moan like she did when I manipulated her cunt, but every once in a while she let out a small, quiet grunt. I liked the sound of that. There was something abandoned, almost primeval in that sound. I tried hard to make her do it again, pushing my face in so I could lick all around the base of my thumb as it dug around in her ass. Soon, I was able to make her grunt several times a minute, but couldn't predict exactly when or what would actually do it. I was so fucking hard.

I scrambled from my side to my knees without interrupting my work, passing first my right and then my left knee over her leg. Mom opened her legs to make room for me. She must have known what was coming but didn't object. Still, I wasn't 100% sure, so it was with a little trepidation that I lined my cock up with her pussy, my thumb still twisting in her ass. Her legs were open and inviting. I slipped my left hand under her to lift her hip and felt her helping, rising up to meet me. GOD, she was going to let me fuck her, she was even welcoming me, almost asking me!

Leaning forward, I pushed my cock at her, trying to find her pussy, to push into her gorgeous, hot wet cunt. I was there, but I couldn't get in! What was stopping me? I shoved, and shoved. I was blocked. It was her fingers! Mom had her hand covering her pussy. I poked again, and again. I reached around, trying to pull her hand away but couldn't. I pulled my thumb out of her ass, heard her whimper, reached down to dislodge her hand. I couldn't. Why was she stopping me?

I took my cock in hand and aimed it directly at her cunt again. No way. She wasn't going to let me in. What the fuck?

I stopped still. I could feel Mom spread before me, her ass still tilted up, open, ready for me. So why wasn't she letting me? I pressed my cock against her fingers, gently, nudging. She pushed me away, just as gently, not out, but up. Up? I used my hand to guide my cock higher, directly above her pussy, to the place my thumb and just vacated, to her little hole, still slick with my saliva. I let the tip rest there. She didn't try to avoid it. After a minute of me just resting there, her ass wiggled just the slightest little bit, from a small wriggle of her hips. The tip pressed in a little more.

Another wiggle. I pushed. Wiggle, wiggle. Push, push, oh this felt good, this wasn't rejection, wiggle, wiggle, shove, shove, POP. I was in.

"Ungghhh."

That little grunt. I shoved quickly in and back, rocking her forward but keeping the head of my cock just inside her ass.

"Ungghhh."

More shoves.

"Ungghhh, ungghhh, ungghhh."

I grabbed Mom's hips and held her as I shoved completely in her, a moan escaping my own lips as I felt the tight scrape of her anal ring dragging on my shaft. Mom let out a long grunt matching my moan, all the way in. God, this was great. Incredible. My very first fuck, and it was in my Mom's ass!

I pulled her hips up higher and started steadily fucking her. She grunted each time I shoved into her. It was amazingly exciting. I got up on my feet, squatting over her ass as she raised herself right up on her knees to follow me. I really dug into her. I was making sounds like an animal as I humped her ass, gasping and grunting, my hands on her waist, keeping her head down in the mattress. I pulled out, stretched her back and pushed her flat on the bed. Straddling her thighs, I spread her cheeks open and pushed my cock in, feeling around for her hole, digging in when I found it. She wailed as I shoved in. I laid down along her body, fucking, fucking, reaching around to grab her tits for the first time in my life, squeezing as I dug my cock into her ass, frantically now, pounding, pounding, coming ... oh my god, coming and coming.

I stumbled to my room in the dark ten minutes later. I forgot my pajama bottoms in Mom's bed, but didn't want to go back for them. When I woke up the next morning, they were on my bed. Everything was as usual for the next few days, just like last time. Was it going to be another five or six weeks? After last night? I knew I couldn't last that long. Fortunately, Mom starting mentioning intimate details about her and Dad's marriage at breakfast only eight days later.

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Interesting. I hadn't been intrigued by Grant's first letter at all, but now he was on my top watch list, along with Kevin. I was keen to look for more letters from these two but I needed to install cameras in the downstairs bedrooms while no one was home. I knew that Mary would knock any minute now to ask if I could cover for her while she went to the store, as she usually did at this time if I was home and Mom wasn't, and that would be my opportunity.

So when she did, I hurried downstairs right away. Paul's room was full of computer games and shelf after shelf of comics. No surprise. But you can imagine my shock when I entered Mary's room. I didn't notice anything at first, in my rush to get the cameras installed. When I was choosing a good site for a good view of Mary's bed, though, it almost knocked me off my feet. There, on the headboard of Mary's bed, was a set of ankle straps, just like the ones I had installed on my mother's bed!

Mary had given me no idea things had gone this far. What had I missed? From the videos, there was no indication that Paul and Mary ever did anything in their rooms. How had I misread the situation so badly? Just then, I heard Mary arriving. I barely made it out of her suite undetected.

I wasn't in the mood to read letters that evening, I just couldn't get the situation off my mind. Had Mom suggested the straps?

When Mom came home that night there were flowers waiting for her upstairs in her bedroom, next to a champagne bucket and two glasses. On the bed was one of her sexiest evening dress, a shimmery, royal blue number that fell almost to her knees and left her arms and shoulders bare. It left her sides mostly open as well as it dipped down almost to her hips, yielding brief, tantalizing glimpses of her bare breasts for the man lucky enough to be sitting beside her when she leaned forward, something I noticed at the restaurant after she removed her coat. We hadn't been able to finish our evening properly the other night, I had explained in the car, so I thought we should do the whole thing over again.

Mom was quite pleased with me. She loved the way I paid her so much attention and never hurried her. We took our time eating, having appetizers meal and dessert followed by special coffees. Mom compensated me by pulling her dress up to mid thigh and allowing me quite a few glimpses at the side of her bare breast during dinner without being obvious but indicating she was well aware of the positive features of this particular dress. Despite the extent of our sexual relations, Mom knew how to work the magic of her body in concert with her womanly aura to tease and arouse, any man. Or woman, for that matter, I thought. That thought jarred me. I filed it away for later consideration, distracted by Mom leaning far forward to retrieve her purse under the table, her breast handing free. I was hard as we left the restaurant, barely aware of the admiring glances of several men as we passed, but I still noticed the envious glances from their wives as they assessed her in their own way. I wonder how many of them realized that we were mother and son, and how that might affect their own maternal relationships.

At home, I tried to put on a romantic movie but Mom insisted she wanted to relax in bed, sipping champagne, saying she'd noticed an empty bucket there. Bring the movie upstairs with the bubbly, she suggested. She didn't go upstairs ahead of me, she waited so I could follow her. I hardened even more, knowing, as she purposely moved very slowly up the steps, that she was allowing me time to think about unwrapping this special gift. And think I did. She couldn't have been wearing anything larger than a thong, I thought, as the dress tightened over her cheeks as she traversed each step, reminding me of why I loved having her from behind so much. She stopped halfway of the stairs to remove her shoes, pulling the dress high up her thighs and pausing to rub her thumb along bottom of each foot. She must be the world's most fuckable woman, I thought, remembering how my father had lived so long without really tasting the fruits she had to offer.

She moved a little more quickly after that, sensing how eager I was to get my cock into her. She really knew how to read a man. Still, she waited until I had turned from filling the champagne bucket with ice and placing the bottle before she reached up behind her neck to undo the dress. She pulled her arms free and shrugged until the little silk number slid to the floor, standing there, arms still up bent at the elbows, breasts bounding free. She put one knee on the bed, letting me see her bare, shaven pussy, uncovered by even a thong. Stiffer, stiffer. She had sat there in that expensive restaurant totally nude under that shear dress, not even wearing panties!

She crawled up onto the bed, turning to lay on her back, on top of the covers.

"Let the bubbly cool for awhile," she said, smiling knowingly at me. She turned her head to the side, reaching up to lightly touch one of the straps hanging from the headboard, "Come help me get ready for bed."

I started across the bed from where I was standing but she waved me away.

"Take your clothes off first. Stand down there," she indicated the foot of the bed, "so I can watch."

Obediently, I took my place and removed my shirt, then my pants, socks, and shorts. Standing in front of her with my pole leaping out, I was pleased when she remarked, "I see you enjoyed dinner as much as I."

Taking that as my cue, I crawled up on the bed, grasping her ankles as I kneeled in front of her, raising her feet toward the straps.

"No," she cried, pushing her feet back to the mattress. "This way first." She slipped her wrists through the straps, grasping the leather above each loop, bracing her shoulder against the headboard. "Bring it to me," she whispered, opening her mouth into a big 'O'.

I couldn't move for a few seconds before I climbed up, placed my knees on each side of her waist, then shifted higher to straddle her breasts, bringing the tip of my cock to her chin. Mom lowered her face and the head of my cock slipped into her mouth.

"Mmmmmmmm," she mumbled, her tongue sliding under my head while her lips closed behind it. Her hands left the straps and came up to grab my ass, pulling me toward her, her knees bending as her calves crossed and locked into place behind mine. She squeezed my cheeks and yanked on my ass, forcing me into her mouth, then pulled back and shoved me in again, several times, showing me what she wanted. Then she shoved me out. Turning her head to watch herself slip her hands into the straps again, she turned her face up to look at me, "Fuck my mouth."

Instinctively, I shoved forward, my cock sliding off her cheek as I missed her wide open mouth in my eagerness. Twice more I bounced off, once on the other cheek, once on her chin. Reaching down, I grasped her head firmly in my hand and used cock-eye coordination to guide myself into her mouth. As soon as I was in I started humping her face, fascinated by her bulging cheeks, moving so I could watch myself alternately stretch each side of her face. Tiring of that, I pushed further into the center of her mouth, pulling back and mumbling sorry when I gagged her, but shoving right back in again as soon as she gulped in some air.

Soon, I had a regular rhythm going, knowing I could go half a dozen shoves before I needed to let her breathe, she expelling thick, lubricating saliva onto the hardest cock I had ever wielded. Time was a series of my grunts and Mom's mmmmmm's as I shoved into her face, the headboard rattling from our efforts, followed by her gasping gulps for air and the squishy, liquid sound of my cock working her saliva back into her mouth. When I came, I kept fucking her mouth. I didn't hold still, or pull out. I blasted everything into her. Only a little squeezed out past my cock, the rest she swallowed.

She kept sucking as my spurts died off, so I kept my cock there. I never fully softened but when I was hard again, I didn't have the same desperation to shove myself in, letting her do more work sucking me, swirling her tongue around but mostly under the head, pulling out to lick my balls. Oh, the gorgeous feeling when she reached up to suck my cock back in again, closing her lips around the head and tugging back until her head pressed once more against the headboard. I pushed the rest of the way in slowly, now, relishing the feel of her wet mouth. It was on one of these journeys that I first nudged my cock against the entrance of her throat. I returned there again and again, until she pushed me right off, slid her hands out of the straps and lay crossways in front of me, laying her head back until it just tipped over the edge of the bed.

I got off the bed quickly then and shifted her farther down. Bracing my knees against the bed on either side of her shoulders, I leaned down to slip my cock into her mouth and pushed in until I could feel the tip at the entrance to her throat again. She was breathing loudly through her nose as I pushed in, watching her neck bulge with my cock's progress. Mom let me repeat that several times before pressing her hands on my thighs, pushing me out.

"Slowly," she whispered, "go real slow."

I nodded, leaning back to get my cock back into her, but she grabbed it in her hand.

"When you're ready to come, pull out. Understand?"

"Yes." I nodded for additional emphasis to show that I understood, eager to get my cock back inside her.

"And come on me." She nodded at me, demanding acknowledgement, "On my face."

I couldn't speak, I could only nod my head. I was stunned. My head continuing bobbing as she pulled my cock toward her, spit on it, and inserted it in her mouth while I was still digesting what she'd said. Come on her face? Like Paul had done? Had she gotten off on that? I remembered that after Paul left she had frigged herself. Was this a new fetish for her, something she didn't know about until it happened? What was clear was that she was into it now. She must have been thinking about it all evening, she'd led me straight to her mouth as soon as she got on the bed. Would she have kept sucking me if I had pulled out and blasted her in the face?

I had to restrain myself after that, to make sure I didn't hurt her. I was so eager to fuck her face hard, it was hard to hold back. As I fucked, I realized that Paul couldn't do this. He was too big to get into her throat, too big even for his own mom's mouth. That excited me even more. I might not be able to produce a huge puddle like his but I could treat them to feel of a cock sliding through their mouths and into their throats. I belatedly reached out to finger Mom's pussy then but I was too late, her hand was already busy there. A minute later, I pulled out, pointed my cock at Mom's face, and unloaded.

I forgot to ask Mom if Paul had said anything about the straps.

I mended that error the next morning at breakfast. Mary was just leaving with Dad's tray when I arrived in the kitchen. Mom smiled sweetly at me, her eyes dancing, as she watched Mary walk away.

"Oh, Mom, that reminds me," I said, as if Mary's presence had triggered my memory, "Do you know if Paul has ever been in our room?"

"In our room?" Mom looked surprised and, tellingly, blushed. "I don't know. There're no reason for him to be there, but the door's always open and he does help Mary with Dad sometimes. Why?

"Oh, no reason. I was just wondering."

"What's up, David. Why do you ask?"

I hadn't planned this, and her question showed that I should have thought before blurting out a question like that. If I said he's asked, she might follow up on that.

"Well, I had to check on something in the suite," I started lamely, thinking too long a pause would be suspicious, "and I noticed there were straps the bed downstairs."

"In Paul's room?" Mom looked truly surprised and I realized then that she hadn't said anything about the straps. Now I wanted to get out of this conversation right away.

"Uh, no. In Mary's room. Say, what should be have for breakfast," I ended up even more lamely.

"In Mary's room?" Mom repeated, then looked at me more closely. "What were you doing in Mary's room?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't think of anything.

"You can't go sneaking around downstairs, David," Mom admonished me, using my full given name which she usually reserved for those occasions when she wasn't pleased with me. "I know you're trying to help Mary get Paul's mind off comic books and computer games and onto girls, but invading their privacy isn't right."

God, what would she think if she knew I was recording them, and her?

"I know, Mom, I know. I was just checking the lights. I blew a breaker in the study and it put some lights out in other rooms up here so I was just checking to make sure everything was working." Finally, my mind was working again. Mom knew that the power circuits in our house were distributed across many rooms to reduce the likelihood that they would be put under full load at the same time. Still, she didn't seem fully convinced.

"I see. Well, you should still ask before you go down there. It's their home, even if it is part of our house."

Breakfast the morning after wasn't as cozy as I'd thought it would be.

As soon as I finished, I told Mom I had to study for an exam and I went to the study. After firing up the monitoring program, I casually leafed through some letters, stopping at a short one from a guy named Mark.

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My name is Mark. My story is similar to some of the ones here, at least at the beginning, but not so hot. Maybe that's because I'm just at the beginning of the story about my mom. And maybe not. So if any of you have advice for me, I'd appreciated it. You could just put a note in at the end of your own story, if that's allowed.

Anyway, here's the thing. I'm an only child. I almost had a younger brother that would have been a few years younger than me but he didn't make it. Wasn't even born. My parents didn't try to have any more children after that. Fine as far as I'm concerned. Most of the guys I know have brothers and sisters but they usually can't stand them. I like my situation. I'm spoiled, always have been, and I've never had to share anything.

Both my parents, well, my mother anyway, dote on me. We used to do a lot of outside activities as a family until a few years ago when my father became really heavy. He still likes to go out with his buddies for some beers but he doesn't go fishing much anymore. He used to curl and stuff on his own, but now he just goes to watch ball games, football or baseball, never hockey or basketball, at the local pub. Once in a while, they all get together and go to the city to watch a real game. That's the extent of the sports activities.

It's different with my Mom. Since I went to school, she started work though she doesn't have to, my Dad does make good money. Maybe because of that, Mom has always kept her appearance up, needing to look good at work. She's not a stunning looker, don't get me wrong, but she has nice shoulder length, medium brown hair, a better than average face, and quite a nice figure, though she's only a few inches over five feet. Proportion-wise, you'd have to give her body an eight or nine. She has smaller breasts but they're ample for her small frame, partly because she has a flat stomach because of all that exercise. Her legs are well muscled but not so much that they look stringy like some of the runners you see. There's still a softness about her like younger women. And when she's not mad, her voice is really soft, almost husky. She could probably make a mint on one of the sex talk lines.

So anyway, to the story. Not a lot happened really, but it's really got me to thinking. First, let me set the stage for you. We usually watch TV after dinner, sometimes during dinner if there's a good game on. Dad and I watch, and Mom usually reads a book or some magazines. She's not interested in sports, but she stays in the room, just to be with us, I guess. She only watches if there's a movie on, or some other show. She never pays attention to sports or news.

Well, Dad and I were watching an early game when Mom came home, a little late. We told Mom we'd ordered Chinese food, so she came and sat down, grabbing a magazine to leaf through while we waited for dinner to arrive.

Now, our living room has a couch, loveseat, and a lazyboy chair situated with the loveseat at one end, the couch below the big front window, and the lazyboy across from it in the corner. Next to it, is the TV, one of those large, high definition flat screens that are so great for sports, and movies. Dad always stretches out on the loveseat, his head propped on one arm, his beer on the table in front of it, so he can watch the TV. Mom almost always sits at the end of the couch near the loveseat partly so she can access the magazines stacked on the lower shelf of the table between them in the corner, and partly because the light in the corner is the best one for reading. She only sits in the lazyboy facing the window during the day and Dad, for some reason, never sits there.

Anyway, I had moved to the other end of the couch, making room for Mom to claim her favorite spot. As she settled in after grabbing a magazine, back to the arm just like Dad, she stretched her feet out and tried to dig them under my leg.

"Mom," I cried, trying to bat her feet away, "cut it out."

"Come on," Mom complained, my feet are freezing," continuing to wiggle her toes in an attempt to slide them under my thigh.

The quarterback loosed a long pass. "Mom, stop it," I said again, trying to shove her feet away, "get a blanket." The pass went incomplete as the running back missed it by a foot. "Look, you made him miss it."

"Yeah right," Mom scoffed, still digging her feet at me.

"Mom, your feet stink," I complained.

"It's not my feet, its my hose. I've been on my feet all day."

"Well they still smell," I said.

"Then let me put them under your leg."

"Mark, for christ's sake," my father yelled as the players lined up, getting ready. "Let her put her feet under your leg."

"But her feet stink," I whined.

"Carol, can't you just take your hose off?" Dad asked impatiently, his eyes intent on the TV as the play started.

Just then the bell rang. Our food was here. Mom paid the guy and I got plates. We loaded up the coffee table in front of the couch, and ate in silence as the game progressed. Mom picked up the plates and returned a moment later with a bottle of wine, two glasses, and a beer for Dad. She stuck her tongue out at me as she sat down, pouring herself a glass of wine and reaching behind her to get another magazine. She looked up at me and tentatively stretched her feet out to touch my leg. I lifted my leg and she poked them underneath. Smiling she leaned forward out and handed me the glass of wine, then over to the table to fill the other glass, sitting back with it to read her magazine.

I sipped wine and watched the game. Mom wiggled her feet a couple of times but I didn't complain since she'd brought me a glass of wine. It wasn't until the game went to commercials that I noticed that Mom had taken her pantyhose off. I was staring at her legs, realization setting in, so I guess it was a good thing her magazine blocked her view of me. I was still looking at her legs, noticing how soft her skin was, when the game started. Right after that, Mom's legs, bent at the knees, leaned toward the back of the couch, her legs still together. As my eyes followed her legs, I noticed Mom's magazine had lowered and she was watching me with a knowing smile. She pulled her left foot out and poked the side of my leg with her toe.

"Do my feet still stink?" she asked, "Huh, mister?" she prodded me again.

"Mom," I complained.

"Do you still think the bearer of your wine has stinky feet?" Mom's toe dug at me again and again.

"Mom," I replied in a exasperated tone, my hand reaching down to hold her offending foot still. She wiggled it, trying to poke my leg again, but I held it firmly in my hand.

"Huh?" Mom asked again, "huh?"

"Mom, stop."

"Carol, for christ's sake," Dad piped in.

"Ok," Mom said, "if you rub my foot for me, it's sore."

"Mom," I whined.

"Rub her goddam foot, Mark," Dad barked at me.

Mom stuck her tongue out at me. I started rubbing her foot, barely moving my hand, just dragging my thumb along her instep. Mom smiled, raised her magazine and swung her knees back up, hiding her face. I continued rubbing her foot, moving my thumb very slowly, doing the least I could. I knew I was giving in, but I wanted to make it clear that it was a small victory she'd won. I also pushed my thumb in hard a couple of times, trying to make sure she didn't enjoy it.

"Oh, that feels good," Mom said very quietly, I guess trying not to disturb Dad.

Surprised, I was about to change what I was doing when she said that when she twisted her foot, pointing her toes out along my leg so I could more easily reach the bottom of her foot. But that isn't what made me change my mind. When she turned her foot, her leg twisted as well and fell away from the other, parting her knees. I immediately noticed that I could now see between her upper legs and down the soft back of her thighs. I sipped my wine and continued to rub my thumb hard along the full length of her instep, now trying to please her.

"Mmmm," Mom responded, very softly. I looked up at Dad then, feeling guilty for some reason, acknowledging at least to myself that I was looking where my eyes had no business. Quickly, I looked back, my eye catching a slight movement of Mom's knee, moving wider still. Her other foot dug deeper under my leg as she tossed out another 'mmmmm', lowering that knee and causing her to open the other a little more to keep them even.

I could now seem Mom's panties. I could sip my wine as I rubbed her foot and gaze right down her skirt without suspiciously craning my neck. I jerked my head away, suddenly guilty. Jesus christ, Mark. You're looking at your Mom's panties. Get a grip on yourself.

But my eyes strayed back. Her panties. That's right. I'm looking right at my Mom's panties. I could feel myself stiffen, could feel a boner coming on. Jesus, I could see how her panties bulged between her legs with a cleft running down the middle, and I could see a few curly brown hairs peeking out the side of each panty leg. Oh my god. My cock throbbed in my pants.

I looked away, trying to settle myself down, raising my glass to take a sip. It was empty. I leaned forward to put my glass down. When I sat back, I noticed Mom's leg had widened considerably from my forward movement, but hadn't sprung back. I could see a little hollow on the outside of her panty leg now, leaving a little gap about a quarter of an inch. More hairs were visible now, and the panty was stretched tighter, clearly showing her pussy underneath. The thought rocketed through my head. I was looking at my Mom's pussy. Her pussy!

I yanked my eyes away again, which was a good thing because Mom suddenly dropped her magazine, looking at me with a stern look on her face.

"Don't stop," she said, pulling the magazine up again.

I hadn't realized that my thumb had stopped moving. I jerked it into action again, relieved that Mom hadn't caught me staring down at her pussy. Didn't she realize her legs were wide open? How could I not look? My head turned back again, drawn straight to her panties. Keep moving, I thought, keep rubbing. I twisted toward her slightly, reaching over to replace my left hand with my right, cupping the outside of her foot as I slid that thumb along her arch in a longer line than I could manage with my left. I moved my left hand to cup the back of her ankle, sliding my hand softly up and down her lower calf. It was quite a brazen move, but Mom liked it. Perhaps my intentions seemed innocent to her.

"Mmmmm. That's better," she purred. I was sure Dad couldn't hear, her voice was barely audible. I leaned toward her, my left arm pushing her other leg back toward the couch, opening her even wider, her skirt, stretched tight across the middle of her thighs being forced back a couple of inches. Her panties were completely open to me now. She couldn't possibly not know that I could see everything. I rubbed my hand farther up the back of her leg, over the muscled part of her calf. Jesus, Mark, get a hold of yourself, I thought. You're going to catch it.

But I couldn't help myself. A few strokes later, I ran my hand right up the back of her calf to the underside of her knee, the backs of my fingers even brushing the soft skin just above. Mom's only response was to 'mmmm' again. Every time after that, I ran my hand right up and made sure to contact her leg just above the back of her knee. It was like I was on some kind of a dangerous mission. And danger, there was. At the first sound of a commercial, Mom's legs closed together smartly, and I jerked my hand back to my side, the one caressing the back of Mom's leg falling to the couch, as Dad slowly got up and then lumbered toward the bathroom.

We stayed like that, Mom reading, me dumbly watching the commercials with my hands at my sides, until Dad returned, carrying another beer. My heart was still pounding. I guess I half expected him to confront me, 'What the hell are you doing?', or even my mother, 'What the hell are you thinking?'.

The game started again. I nudged my hand forward and let my fingers lightly circle Mom's ankle. She flinched, but didn't draw her foot away. Instead, her knees parted a couple of inches. I stroked my hand up along the tendon to the bottom of the muscle and let it slide back down. Her knees opened another inch. Twisting toward her, I reached down with my right hand to dig my thumb along the bottom of her foot once more. Another two inches. When I slid my hand right up to the back of her knee her leg opened to its former position allowing her panties to burst into view. She knew! She knew what she was doing!

I could hardly contain myself as I caressed her legs, less tentatively now, deliberately stroking her in a sensual way. When I brought my palm down the back of her calf, I stroked her with my fingers too. When the backs of my fingers brushed the underside of her thighs above her knee, I fluttered them to accent their touch. After several minutes of this, I suddenly pulled my hands away. I could see the top of Mom's head turn to look at Dad as she closed her legs. She must have thought I'd yanked my hands away because Dad was looking but, realizing he was still focused on the game and that his hand had simply reached for his beer, she opened her legs again.

I didn't put my hands on her right away, understandably being a little nervous. Two long minutes passed while I vacillated between long looks up Mom's skirt and furtive glances at Dad. My upper lip was sweating. I had turned halfway toward Mom to improve my view up her skirt. If he looked this way, I'd have to act like I was just about to say something to Mom, I thought. No, I'd pretend I was reading the back of her magazine, the part sticking up above the end of her skirt, now halfway down her thighs.

Mom's toe tapped my leg, urging me to continue the game, the one she and I were playing. I didn't respond. She dug her toe into me again. When I ignored that, she pulled her inner foot out from under my leg, where it had rested all along, and set it on my hip, digging her heel into me. Dig, dig, dig. The motion of withdrawing her foot and shoving me with it had pushed her skirt higher on that side. I shot a glance at Dad and noticed the top of Mom's head was still turned toward Dad. She was watching him too.

Her right hand, closest to the back of the couch, slid down from her magazine to rest on the outside of her leg. Her fingers stretched out just below the hem and scratched her leg. As she scratched, she pulled her hand toward her, dragging the skirt even higher up her thigh, almost to her panties on that side. I looked over at Dad and then did something I can't believe I did. I reached out with my left hand and rested my fingers on the rear hem between her legs, and then I pushed it down, down, until the heel of my hand hit the couch.

I could see everything now. The front of her panties and the part below where they widened to cover her bum. I could see her cheeks squishing out at the top of her legs and above that the start of her pussy. I don't know what I would have done if the game hadn't ended right then. I know I was thinking about touching her, and in my mind, as I lay in my bed jacking off that night, I did.

But right then, I blurted out, "So what are you reading, Mom?" as Dad harumphed in disgust at the score, his team having lost I guess, as Mom's legs snapped closed.

That was last week. I was pretty sure Mom was egging me on and that thought made me nearly pull my pecker off every night. But now I'm not so sure since nothing has happened since, no secret smiles, no requests to rub her feet, nothing. I'm afraid to say anything to her. Please let me know what you think.

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Fuck her you idiot, that was my advice for Mark. But then, maybe it wasn't so obvious from his perspective.

I had noticed some activity on the monitor near the end of Mark's story so I turned up the sound as Mary seemed to be confronting Paul about something in the living room, her hands waving back to point in the general direction of the hallway.

"What do you mean, its OK because they did it upstairs?" Mary seemed quite angry. She had obviously just had a shower, standing there in her bathrobe and a towel wrapped around her head. "You've ruined that bed. It's a mahogany headboard, and you're drilled holes in it. It's not ours. We can't afford to replace it!"

Paul looked defiant rather than sheepish like I would have expected of him just a few days ago. "It's fine, it's alright. They did it to theirs. They won't care, and anyway, they don't know about it."


"But they will when we leave." Mary was still angry, she was almost shouting.

"We're not leaving, are we." Paul was unapologetic.

Looking exasperated, Mary spread her hands, "But why did you do it?"

"I did it for us," Paul replied.

"For us?" Mary looked confused. "How .. what ..."

"I'll show you," Paul got up, "come on, Mom," he grabbed her hand and pulled Mary down the hall, she trudging reluctantly behind.

I switched to the newly installed bedroom cameras, the program automatically syncing to the time frame of the one I'd switched from. Paul came into view, still pulling Mary along. He stood proudly looking at the straps he'd installed on the headboard.

"It will bring us closer, Mom, like they are."

I could see realization dawning on Mary's face, "Like they are?" she mumbled.

"Yeah, Mom. You know how close they are. They really love each other." He put his arm around Mary's waist and pulled her against him, "Like we do now."

Mary stood there, looking a little shocked, staring at the straps.

"See," Paul pointed, "I put them on your side, just like theirs are on Mrs. H's side."

"My side? Paul ... you can't ..."

"I have to, Mom. I can't be alone with all those comics around."

"You said you didn't need them anymore."

"I don't."

"We can get rid of them."

"But not right away, Mom. Some of them are collectors. They're worth something."

"We can put them in storage then," Mary insisted.

Paul argued back, "I'm not sure I'm ready for that yet, Mom."

Mary was surprised by that, and worried.

"Let's just try it for a few days, Mom. So I can be sure. Then we can get rid of them and store the good ones. Ok?"

"Ok, Paul," Mary looked relieved, but I sensed she was still worried that Paul would revert to his juvenile obsessions. Paul had manipulated her well, she was going to let him in her bed.

"But why do we need these straps? What do you think they use them for?"

"Oh. I asked Mrs. H about them and she said they helped her sleep better," Paul answered innocently.

"They help her sleep better?" Mary asked, not so innocently since I'm sure she knew what they were for.

"Yeah. She said they held her arms up and it helped her circulation, and that made her sleep better." Paul was beaming, and lying through his teeth if Mom had told the truth, which I think she had.

"Oh," Mary said, "I see."

"Let's go watch a movie, Mom." Paul grabbed Mary's hand and tugged her out of the bedroom. Mary turned, looking uncertainly back at the straps as she was pulled out the door.

Paul sifted through a bunch of DVDs while Mary disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later, she appeared with a tray with mugs of hot chocolate and a plate of cookies on it which she set on the coffee table. She settled down at one end. Paul slid a movie in and sat next to her, right beside her. They watched the movie, sipped their hot chocolates, and ate the cookies. There were no overt acts of an even remotely sexual nature but after the last cookie was gone, Paul emptied his mug and set it down, immediately turning to his mother. He started to peel the towel from her head.

"Your hair must be dry by now, Mom."

Mary shook her hair out as Paul tossed the towel to the side. She really did look good, fresh from the shower, her healthy complexion defying any need for makeup. She brushed her hair back away from her face and over her ears, watching the TV the whole time. Paul started undoing the belt on her robe.

"Paul, we talked about that."

"I know, Mom but we don't have to go that far. I just want to look." He continued trying to undo her belt, obstructed by her hands.

"But I said it wouldn't be every night. You said you understood."

"I know, Mom, but I thought you meant I couldn't touch you every night. I didn't think you meant I couldn't look. You said we could relax down here, like adults."

"We can, but adults don't loll around barely dressed all the time."

"But this is our first night. I may as well read comics if I can't look at anything," Paul whined, turning away.

"Alright, alright," Mary barked, exasperated. She undid her belt and tossed the ends to the sides.

A sly smile crossed Paul's face but disappeared as he turned back to Mary. Surprisingly, he didn't grab her robe right away. Instead, he looked his mother over for a full minute before reaching out with both hands to grasp the lapels of her robe. Slowly he pulled them up and then out, revealing her naked breasts underneath.

"Wow, Mom. You're beautiful." Paul's breath sucked in. He was telling her the god's honest truth.

I think Mary's breasts actually swelled when he said that. Perhaps no woman can truly ignore such heartfelt admiration as her son was clearly expressing.

Paul dropped the robe to her side and ran his eyes from her belly to her neck, stopping again to ogle her breasts. Mary's nipples were stiffening, that much I noticed. Paul must have too, because he reached out and placed both hands palm down, one on each breast.

"Paul, you said you only wanted to look."

"I can't help it, Mom. Just a little, please?"

"Oh, alright, but we're not going to do what we did last night. I told you that's not going to happen again. Understand?"

"Yes, Mom," Paul answered. I'm sure he would agree to anything to keep touching her tits. Mary watched the movie as Paul rubbed his hands over and over her tits, down over her belly where her robe was still closed, and back up to her breasts, pushing them up, squeezing, just having a great time. He pushed the robe from her shoulders and she helped him, absently pulling her arms out as she watched the TV. After a while, he leaned on his side against the couch, facing Mary, continuing to caress her breasts with just his right hand, his left toying with her hair and stroking her neck. Despite herself, Mary was enjoying herself. Her breathing was shallow but rapid yet she seemed to be in control. However, her stiff nipples and the tightening tits gave her away. There was no question. Paul's calm manipulation and stroking was having an effect. Mary was getting excited.

The point came when Mary dropped her shoulder, leaning toward her son to rest her head against his shoulder. Her eyes closed. She was no longer watching the movie.

Paul continued doing exactly what he was doing, except he reached over to stroke her shoulder and neck on the other side, holding her head bent toward him. He was stroking in softer and longer strokes, with regular long and gentle squeezes of her tit, alternating each time, squishing his hand until it slipped to the nipple and tugged it out, pinched between his fingers.

Paul shifted his weight, moving back a little so Mary was leaning over more, her left hip rising as she twisted her torso toward her son. Although still regular, her breathing was now quite rapid. As she leaned over, the lower side of Mary's robe fell from her leg. Paul stretched his hand down from her breast, following her side along her waist to her hip, pushing the robe off behind her as he went. Mary was now quite naked, there were no panty straps snaking over her hips. She'd come naked straight from the shower.

I could see Paul staring at her bare pussy, covered only by a thin mat of dark brown hair. He pushed Mary upright again, squaring her back to the couch, her head rolling back, eyes still closed. When he stroked down her side and onto her leg, he slipped his hand between and pushed her left leg away, opening her, then pulled her other leg toward him. He held her open, staring at her pussy with its huge, prominent mound. So did I.

"Paul," Mary murmured.

"You said I could look," Paul whispered back, still staring at her pussy.

"Not there, not like this," Mary said. "Only when I have panties on."

"It's big like mine," Paul marveled, ignoring her. He reached out to touch her.

How Mary knew when her eyes were still closed, I'll never know, but her hand shot out and grasped his wrist before it travelled from her thigh to her pussy.

"No. Paul. No." Mary's voice was firm.

"Please, Mom," Paul wheedled.

"No," Mary replied firmly again. "If you do what I say, I'll let you look at it, and I'll touch you."

"Like last night?" Paul perked up.

"No. Just with my hand. If you cover yourself with the towel, I'll touch you.

Paul didn't move, so Mary twisted to reach behind him to grab the towel he'd taken from her head. She set his hand back on his own leg and released his wrist. Then her hand grasped the waistband of his pajamas and pulled it down, freeing his hard cock with its huge head. Paul gasped as he sprang free, and Mary's eyes glued to his abnormal cock. Though Paul wasn't looking I could see the attraction in Mary's eyes and knew then that she had told me the truth when she said she didn't think she could deny him if he really pushed her.

Mary's hand snaked around his shaft. Paul gasped loudly, his head falling back to the couch like his mother's had been a moment before. He wasn't looking at her pussy any more. Mary slid her hand up to cup his cock head, bring her other hand to complete the job. Paul was breathing very raggedly already.

"You like this, don't you baby?" Mary purred, suddenly becoming a bit of a hussy.

Paul was nodding vigorously, gasping for breath.

"Will you quit the comics if I do this for you?" Mary was swirling her hand around the top while the other stroked his shaft. "Hmmmmm? Would you like this every day?"

"Yes. Yes, yes, yes." Paul cried.

"What do you say?" Mary prompted him.

"Please .. oh please, Mom."

"No. No comics, promise?"

"No comics, I promise. I promise, Mom. No comics." Paul was gulping for air.

Mary stopped tickling Paul's cockhead, and grabbed the towel, getting ready. Her other hand jacked him faster. She leaned down, blowing hot air onto his cock. I could see her licking his tip, her tongue stretching far out to tongue his prick. Suddenly, her head jerked back and she barely got the towel over his as his hips bucked into the air, searching for her mouth.

He yelled. "Ahhhhhhhhhhhh, ahhhhhhh, ahhhhhhh, ahhhhhh, ahhhhh," as spurt after spurt racked his body.

Finally, he sat still. Mary pulled his head up. When he opened his eyes, she said, huskily, "I'll do this for if you quit the comics. If I catch you reading them just once, I'll never do it again."

Paul nodded as Mary stood, gloriously naked, and stretched in front of her son, arms high, tits thrust upward, buttocks taut, and thigh muscles tensed. Her athletic body was truly gorgeous. She relaxed, turned away, cocked her hip and looked over her shoulder.

"Every day," she promised, and walked slowly down the hall to her bedroom, her cheeks rocking like the ends of a teeter totter.

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I continued my search for a letter from Kevin, but came across another one from Mark.

Mark here again. I see there are new stories available but no one has commented on mine, or pm'ed me with personal advice. I wish somebody would. Anyway, it's been another week since I sent my letter, two weeks since that night on the couch. Nothing happed even though there were several games on, so it isn't just because Dad's attention is riveted on the TV when games are on. Mom hasn't asked me to rub her feet for her or even stretched them out toward me since that night. Until last night, that is.

Mom was late coming home from work again, even later than the last time. Dad and I had already ordered Chinese food as per Mom's instructions by phone but we ate when it was delivered, while it was still hot.

Mom came in, sighing, "I'm exhausted." Seeing the food on the coffee tables, she said, "You didn't wait for me? That's nice."

Dad didn't say anything, but I, mollified, jumped up to help Mom get her coat off. "Sorry, Mom. I'll warm a plate up for you," I said, trying to make up for our faux pas, hanging her coat up as she unzipped her knee length boots and kicked them off. "You go sit down."

"Thanks, sweetie," her voice softened in appreciation of my attention and apologetic manner. "My feet are killing me," she said as I dished up her empty plate which was sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch and rushed it into the kitchen to put in the microwave just as she plopped down with a loud sigh, "What a day."

When I came back, Mom was sitting with her head back on the couch, hand covering her eyes. She looked tired. "Here, Mom," I said setting her plate down in front of her and holding a full glass of red wine out.

"Oh, thank you, Mark," Mom smiled sweetly up at me, taking the wine. "You're a godsend."

I sat down a few feet from Mom and watched her while she ate. Dad just watched the game, some kind of football quarterfinal. Mom leaned back when she finished and I took her plate and empty glass to the kitchen, returning with another full glass of wine. She smiled sweetly again when she saw the wine. She put her feet up on the edge of the table when she sat back with her wine glass but, when I patted the couch beside my leg, she swiveled them over, resting her back against arm of the couch instead.

She didn't try to dig her feet under my leg, she just rested them against my thigh. I took one in each hand and, pushing a thumb into the instep of each one, began massaging her feet. Mom watched me over her bent knees, mouthing a 'thank you' as I worked. After a few minutes, she scrunched down, moving her hips closer to me and bending her knees more to make room. I didn't move farther away so she could stretch her legs out, though I had room to do so.

She was wearing a dress instead of a skirt like the last time and it fit much more loosely around her legs allowing me to see the back of her thighs, but just the outside since her knees were closed tightly together. As I worked, I twisted her feet to get better access to her soles and it wasn't lost on me that this put pressure on her legs, and she opened knees a little to relieve it. It wasn't long before I twisted her feet out a little more, winning a larger gap. Unfortunately, this dress was much longer than the skirt she'd worn before, coming down past her knees, so I couldn't see very much.

As I felt Mom relax, I started running my hands up her calves, just to the start of the muscle, like I'd done before. She didn't object. In fact, she sighed approval, so I soon continued higher, stroking my hands over her calves up to the back of her knees again. When I scratched my fingers down the back of her leg like this, I won my first quiet 'mmmmmmm'.

I was in heaven. I wanted to be sure to make her feel really good so maybe it wouldn't be so long until the next time she let me touch her. I spent a long time rubbing her legs and very subtly, I pressured her knees apart, wider and wider. At the same time, I used my thumbs on the front of her legs to push her hem higher and higher until it was resting just over her knees, tremendously improving my view of the backs of her thighs. I didn't make any attempt to touch her above her knees, despite eliciting a number of 'mmmmmm's.

I waited patiently for half-time and had moved my hands down to Mom's feet, pulling her dress down and urging her legs closed by the time Dad got up for a bathroom and beer break. He nodded approval at me when he saw me kneading her feet, Mom seemingly asleep with her head resting on the couch arm, her legs demurely closed and leaning on the back of the couch. The game started as soon as he sat down.

I didn't wait even ten seconds. I pulled Mom's knees from the couch and pushed the hem of her dress right up to her knees, holding it there with my left hand. Sliding my right hand down to her feet, I moved each one to rest farther apart, one by my hip and one almost to my knee. With her thighs together and calves spread apart, I could see all of the backs of her thighs and her panties covering the part of her bottom that was exposed to me. If Dad looked over, this wouldn't look good but I was quite confidant that he wouldn't. He hadn't before while the game was on, so why would he now?

I realized that Mom must be wondering what I was doing, since I'd moved her feet apart, pushed her dress up, but hadn't started massaging her feet or legs. It must be obvious that I was just looking up her dress, but she didn't make a sound or make any other movement. She just lay there with her legs open where I'd put them. Encouraged, I moved my hand up to her knees and, taking care to keep them covered by her dress, moved them apart too. Now, I could look right down the 'V' of her thighs to her panties, an unobstructed view. Mom was still quiet, as if waiting for something. It dawned on me that it might excite her as much to let me look as it did me for me to look. If that was true, I thought, I should take my time. After all, I was in no hurry. We were just past halftime and I was enjoying the view.

Mother fucker, I thought. Mom was wearing different panties. These ones were still cotton, light blue instead of white, but they were narrower than the other ones, leaving a wider gap between their edge and Mom's leg. Despite this, there weren't any stray hairs poking out the sides of her panty legs. She's trimmed her bush, I thought. She's made herself look prettier. For me? Just in case I did her legs again? The thought made me swell under my jeans. Examining her panties closely, I noticed that the vertical cleft in the center was more evident, at least by my memory, probably obscured by less hair. My cock throbbed as I realized she knew I'd been looking and she taken pains to make herself look good. She wants me to look, she wants to show me, her cunt. I almost came when that word popped into my head. I hadn't thought 'pussy', I'd thought 'cunt'. This was a stupid discussion to have with myself, but it's what was going through my head.

I let my right hand drop down between her legs, not touching them, until my wrist rested on my own leg, centered between her feet. Slowly, I moved my hand forward, along the surface of the cushion. I could sense Mom tensing in anticipation. She was aware that my hand was moving. I liked that feeling, that she was expecting me to touch her, that she was waiting for it. My cock was hard, I felt like I was about to come, as if I'd been jacking off for an hour.

I was almost there, nearing the juncture of her legs. Mom's calf muscles had tightened and the balls of her feet were digging into my leg. She knew I was coming and she was getting ready, she wasn't doing anything to ward me off. Did she know what I was going to do? Did I?

I stopped an inch away, watching my hand in fascination as it lay between my mother's open legs, almost touching her panties. I looked over her knees at her face. Her eyes were closed but her face wasn't relaxed as evidenced by her furrowed brow. I look at my father, then back to her face. I raised my hand up from the couch, two, four, six inches. Agonizingly slowly, my hand moved forward of its own accord, oblivious of my silent commands to move faster and at the same time, to withdraw. Ahead, ahead, ahead. My hand hovered above her panties, then down, touch, it pressed lightly on her panties, palm at the bottom, fingers together, stretched up to cover the cleft.

Mom's breath sucked in sharply, then expelled in a long, quiet sigh that made her lips purse and then pout outward. Her legs quivered and her feet shook my leg. I pressed down more firmly, holding my hand still, sensing her heat with a mild shock. I hadn't expected her to be literally hot. Mom wasn't making any move to discourage me let alone angrily shove me away. I shot a look at my father again and then back to my hand, moving it, more like scrunching my hand to bring my fingers and palm closer together, squeezing her pussy between. Stretching my hand out again, I slid in forward and back, just an inch. Then again, and again, and again. Then squeeze, squeeze.

I slid my hand further back, way back, exposing her panties to my eyes again, staring at the little furrow running between her mound. Centering my long fingertip at the bottom of that valley, I pushed my hand back up, digging a deeper path through her panties. They weren't dry like they'd been when I first touched her, they were damp, not wet, but moist. Throwing caution to the wind, I leaned down to rest my forehead on Mom's knees and inhaled deeply, filtering the musky aroma of her through my nostrils. Dragging my hand back, gouging my finger deeply in her trough, I slid it right off but quickly pressed my thumb onto her pussy, digging it between her lips, pushing her panties in, feeling it penetrate to a moister environment. I scratched the bottom of her panties with my fingers while I worked my thumb around in her almost, but not quite, getting inside her.

I moved my thumb away and, slipping my fingertips just underneath the panty at the top of her left leg, I pulled it up, away from her skin and then slid in, rubbing the backs of my fingers across her bare pussy lips. I swiveled my hand, scraping her lips up and down with my knuckles. Pulling my fingers out, I quickly pushed my thumb underneath, shoved her panty to the side, and inserted my thumb into her hole, her pussy, her cunt.

Mom groaned as her slickness welcomed my small intruder, her eyes flew open and her head jerked to look at Dad, still watching the game. My eyes darted there too and then back to her as her head swung back, her knees closing, legs trapping my hand between. 'No' she screamed silently, her face panicked, her feet trying to push me away. I didn't react except to continue wiggling my thumb inside her. 'No' she screamed again, her hands reaching under her legs to grab my wrist, forcing it away.

Mom sat up then, drawing her feet tightly to her and her dress down, but still facing me on the couch. I stared at her, breathing heavily. I'm sure my eyes were wild but the panic was leaving her face. She looked so beautiful, I wanted to kiss her.

A moment later, she got up and began clearing away the leftovers, taking them into the kitchen. I followed, but she waved me away, not looking at me, but seeming upset. I didn't force it. I went upstairs and stayed in my room for the rest of the night. I didn't sleep much. I kept smelling my hand and trying to jack off with my left. When I woke up the next morning, I'd come in my pajamas. I must have dreamed of her all night.

It was Saturday, almost noon. No school. I showered and threw on some sweat pants and a t-shirt and went downstairs, both eager to see Mom and dreading it too. She wasn't there. While I was eating breakfast, Dad told me to mow the lawn if I wanted to watch the game with him because it started at one.

"Where's Mom?" I asked.

"Shopping," he grunted.

I mowed the lawn. When Mom arrived an hour later I rushed out to unload the groceries. Dad was watching the game which had already started, but he wouldn't have helped anyway. Usually, she really appreciated the help but this time she didn't look at me and didn't come out to get more bags, leaving it all to me. I dutifully carried them all in, setting them down on the counters and the kitchen table when I ran out of room there. I started helping Mom put the food away, but she still ignored me.

"Are you going to watch the game, Mom?" I asked, almost in a little boy voice.

Mom sighed, her shoulders slumping, sagging against the counter in front of her. She set the cans down that she had been about to put away, then turned to face me. Tears were welling up in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mom. I'm sorry. I just got carried away," I sobbed, tears suddenly springing from my eyes.

Mom held her arms up and I hugged her, my arms sliding around her shoulders and then falling down her back. Mom's arms were around my shoulders, patting me, "There, there. It's OK," she assured me. "It won't happen again."

Sniffling, I whimpered, "But I like massaging your feet for you, and your legs, and I know you like it too."

"I do," Mom confided, "It does feel good. We can, if we don't get carried away. How's that? Would that be OK?"

"Yeah, Mom," I nodded my head, sniffling, pulling back to dry my eyes. I smiled as she dried her eyes too, then pulled her back to hug her again, wanting to avoid her eyes as thoughts of her open legs popped into my mind. I was intensely aware of her body against mine as I hugged her, noticing the feel of her breasts for the first time in my life. How was I going to touch her legs and control myself, I wondered? Mom gave me a big squeeze, so hard I thought her tits would make a permanent imprint on my chest.

"Away you go now." She waved me off. But I stood my ground.

"Don't you want a massage while you watch the game?" I asked.

"I'm not interested in the game."

"But you've been out shopping for hours," I persisted.

"Yes. Maybe I'll lay down upstairs and have a quiet nap."

"Are you sure you don't want a massage? Your feet must be tired."

"No. I think I'll just lay down." Mom gave me a funny look. "Behave yourself," she said, "I'm still not sure I shouldn't be mad at you." She went upstairs. I watched her walk away in her sunny housedress with its loose pleated skirt swirling around her knees, emphasizing her wonderful calves.

I watched the game for a few minutes with Dad but grew bored and wandered up to my room. As I passed my parent's room I heard Mom call me, "Mark?"

I entered to find Mom laying back, head and shoulders slightly raised on two pillows, feet drawn up. She was still wearing her shoes. She must have been tired not to have taken them off downstairs, I thought.

"Maybe a little foot massage would be nice," she said, twisting her knees to the side to look at me. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all, Mom."

She closed her eyes as I crawed up onto the bed and slipped her shoes off.

"Oh," she said, "I forgot they were still on. I hope my feet don't smell," she laughed.

I lifted a foot up and sniffed it. "Nope," I answered. Mom laughed again, as I lowered her foot to my lap and started massing it, rubbing my thumb along her instep in my usual way. She sighed, and I could feel the muscles in her leg relax.

Lulled by the faint sound of the ballgame, I concentrated on giving her a good massage then, just like I'd done the day before. Soon I was stroking her leg to the knee, scratching my way down and Mom, though she'd said we couldn't get carried away, made no protests. I guess getting carried away was further up the line, or leg, as it were. But how far? Mom was resting quietly, almost like she was sleeping. I decided to work on her other foot and leg before venturing further, just to be carry on longer in case she stopped me. I lifted that foot to my face and sniffed it too.

"Does that one smell," Mom's voice was light, amused.

"No," I replied. Suddenly, I spontaneously kissed her foot and ran my tongue along her instep. "But it tastes salty," I laughed.

Mom squealed, tugging her foot, laughing, "Stop that, it tickles."

"I'll be more careful, then," I responded, kissing her foot again. "I like salt," I said, dragging my tongue through her instep again.

Mom laughed. She didn't squeal again, or try to tug her foot away, so I continued a mix of kissing her foot, rubbing her sole with my thumb, and running my tongue over her instep. Soon, I was running my tongue over her whole foot and around her ankle. I waited for some time, to be sure Mom wasn't going to stop me, before I ran my tongue down the back of her leg to knee, and kissed and nibbled my way back to her foot.

"Mark," she whispered, "Remember what we talked about."

"I will, Mom," I answered, kissing the top of her foot, "I'll just touch your legs." I quickly ran my tongue down her calf and back again, pausing to swirl my tongue in the hollow behind her knee.

"Mark, be careful," Mom admonished me.

"I'm just doing your legs, Mom. I can do your legs, can't I? If I don't go anywhere else?"

I kissed Mom's leg again, several times, digging my thumb into her sole while waiting for her answer.

"Ok," she whispered, "you can do my legs."

"All of them?" I pushed.

"Yes," she finally whispered back after a long pause, "but don't do what you did yesterday."

"I won't, Mom. I promise."

I lifted her leg higher and kissed and nibbled her calf muscle down to her knee, swirling my tongue around and nibbling the soft skin behind her knee. Then, catching her by surprise, judging by the sound of her quick gasp for air, I kissed and nibbled my way down the inside of her thigh, pushing her dress down with my head as I moved along. Mom's hand grabbed my head as I neared her panties.

I paused. "I said I wouldn't, Mom."

I continued raining little kisses around the top of Mom's thigh, hear the edge of her panties, right down between her legs and over to the other thigh, kissing and nibbling it too, pinching her soft flesh between my lips. Her hands followed my head around but they didn't push me away. After a while, I could feel her fingers gripping me, clenching my hair. Her smell was strong, she had to be wet.

I let my hands slide her dress up the outside of her legs, pushing it above her hips. When I pulled my head back to look at her panties, my face inches away from her pussy, she actually raised herself slightly from the bed, chasing my mouth. Quickly, I pushed her dress up behind her back before she settled back again. Pulling my hands inside her legs, I pushed them wide, breathed in deep, and expelled hot air over the front of her panties.

"Oh, Mark, don't."

I could see her pussy in great detail through her panties, cut the same as the ones she wore yesterday but made of thinner material, more like Saturday go out dancing panties that girls my age wore.

I took another huge gulp of air and blew a steady stream of hot breath onto her cunt.

"Don't, Mark, don't."

I let my fingers fall inside her leg until they were aongside her pussy lips, as close as they could be without actually touching her, like I promised I wouldn't. Pressing down into her leg, I pulled may hands apart. I could see the gap between her pussy lips widen and I blew right into it. Again, and again.

"Please, don't, don't," Mom whispered.

"Don't you want me to?" I asked, blowing into her again, puffing in short bursts.

She didn't answer. I blew into her again, long and steady.

When she still said nothing, I suggested, "Just this once, Mom?"

"No," she whispered, then, "no," more quietly.

"Just once," I persisted, blowing again.

No answer.

Just once," I repeated, blowing longer, scratching my index fingers in the hollows along the edge of her panty legs. Her pussy seemed to pulsate with my scratches.

"ok."

I could barely hear her voice but that didn't matter. I pressed my face an inch closer, right onto her panties, stuck out my tongue and dragged it up between her pussy lips right up to the top, over her clit. I raised my hands up to grab the waist of her panties as her hands pulled my head tightly against her mound. I don't think I could have pulled my head back then even if I tried. Putting muscle into it, I ripped her panties, tearing them right down the middle, the material shredding away, baring her pussy to my tongue which immediately dipped into her wetness.

Mom started groaning and bucking her hips, mashing her pussy against my mouth. I held on for the ride, digging my tongue in deep and lapping her soaking, pink cunt. My hands slid under her ass, squeezing her cheeks hard, pulling her against me, trying to get my whole mouth over her pussy lips while my tongue dug away. She was bucking frantically now, urgent and wild. She yelled out when she came. I panicked for a minute, turning my head to listen as her cimax subsided, but there was no sign of Dad's lumbering weight creaking up the stairs. I turned back to lick her pussy some more, plunging my tongue in deep and then up to flick her clit to pull one last, long moan from Mom.

When she was still, I crawled up and lay between her open legs, pressing my boner against her cunt which still felt hot even through my sweatpants. I started humping against her.

"No, Mark. Don't."

"I have to, Mom," I gasped, "I have to. Just once. Just this once."

Frantically, I humped harder, trying to come before she stopped me. But she didn't try. Her arms circled my neck and pulled me toward her. Seconds later, her hips started thrusting up to meet me, like we were really fucking. It sent me over the top, and I unloaded in my pants.

I collapsed on Mom, gasping for breath. Her arms stayed around me, patting my shoulders. When I recovered, I could hear the sounds of the game wafting upstairs. Mom's voice spoke quietly, "Away you go now. We'll talk about this tomorrow afternoon when Dad's at the pub watching the big game with his friends."

I stood, looking down at her, her legs still spread, panties in tatters with the shreds clinging to the leg bands and in between her beaver, moist, swollen and glistening in the afternoon light. As I left, Mom called out, "If you see Dad, make sure you face away from him". She nodded toward me, smiling. Looking down, I saw that the entire front of my sweat pants were soaked.

I ate dinner quickly that night and went straight back to my room.

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Mary was sleeping when Paul finished his shower. At least she seemed to be sleeping. She had left the light on for him and I worried that I wouldn't be able to see despite the sophistication of the cameras I had installed. They weren't night vision cameras but were supposed to be quite good in low light situations. But if he turned off the bedside lamp, I was sure it would be too dark and I would only have an audio record of the first time he fucked his mom.

Mary may have thought she'd satisfied him so she could sleep through the night but I wasn't convinced. He was young, like me, and I just knew he was probably already to have at her. Paul was wrapped in a towel when her entered Mary's room and he walked straight to his side of the bed, dropped the towel, and slipped under the covers, naked. It was a quick glimpse, but I was sure he was already hard. Thankfully, he left the light on.

Paul turned on his side, facing his mother's back. He edged closer to her.

"Turn out the light and go to sleep," Mary said, crisply.

"I can't sleep in the dark, Mom. You know that."

Mary sighed loudly, opened the drawer of the bedside table on her side and pulled out a sleeping mask. Laying on her back, she fitted the mask over her eyes. Paul edged closer to her.

"No, son. You've had your treat for today. You have to wait until tomorrow, but only if you're a good boy."

"But, Mom."

"I said no." Mary turned onto her side, facing away from him again.

Paul, looking resigned, and settled down to sleep. And that was it.





The Mom Memories Ch. 12
byalwayswantedto©

All characters are 18 years or older.

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From Ch. 11

"I said no." Mary turned onto her side, facing away from him again.

Paul, looking resigned, settled down to sleep. And that was it.

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In the morning I reviewed the monitors. They had recorded motion-triggered episodes throughout the night but nothing interesting. I had expected Paul to try his mom first thing in the morning but Mary was up and gone before he awoke.

I found another letter from Kevin but I passed on it when I saw a long one from a new guy named Jack that had obviously been read many times. I'm glad I did.

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My name is Jack and I'd like to tell you about my mom and me. My mom and I have always been close. I guess I was a momma's boy most of my life I had a slight build and Mom was over protective of me. So I was used hanging out with Mom and being cuddled by her. But something happened when I turned 16 - I grew, fast. I guess I had a really late teenage growth spurt. By the end of Grade 11 I had grown five inches, and the following year I grew another four and really beefed up. By the time I turned 18, I was one of the better players on our rugby team.

This certainly improved my relationship with my Dad. It was my Dad who picked me up from practices and games, and though Mom seemed pleased at her husbands new interest in her son, she also seemed a little uncomfortable as if our unique bond had been weakened. That changed when Dad went away for a few days and Mom had to pick me up.

She used Dad's truck the first time, two days after he left, because she and her friend had first stopped to pick up some plants at the nursery. They had loaded up the back but Mom's friend Carrie was holding a very leafy, potted plant in her lap. As I ran up to the truck, Carrie got out and motioned for me to get in. It was a single cab pickup, so it was a little awkward for me to be in the middle with my long legs but she insisted since she would be getting out first.

Carrie was my mom's best friend and the two of them could be mistaken for sisters. They were both prettier than average with even better than average figures. Of course, I noticed this on Carrie much more than Mom. Carrie had light red hair whereas Mom's was light brown. Both wore it shoulder length in the same kind of bushy rather than long style, that is, they had thick hair, if you know what I mean. Anyway, Carrie had nice sized boobs, a thirtysomething ass, and decent legs, just like Mom. I'd known her all my life but still got a boner thinking about her at night, which I'd done off and on since I was thirteen. Truth be known, if you dreamed about fucking Carrie you'd get horny over my Mom too, they were that much alike.

So Carrie gets out and motions me into the middle. There was no arguing with her. Carrie was used to telling me what to do, having babysat years ago, so I just got in.

"That's right, put the guy with the long legs in the middle," I complained, making it look more awkward than it really was.

"Oh what a tough life, poor baby" Carrie countered. "Here," she said after I slid over next to Mom, "hold your Mom's plant while I get in."

I took the plant while Carrie got back in the truck, taking time to look at her tanned legs as she lifted first one leg and then the other, appreciating the way her skirt slid up and her legs stretched open as she struggled up onto the seat.

Carrie noticed me appreciating her legs and smiled. She'd caught me before checking her out but took it all in stride. She never seemed upset and as far as I could tell she hadn't told Mom. At least, Mom had never taken me to task over it. I tried to pass the bushy plant back to Carrie after she got her seatbelt done up but she pushed it back at me.

"You keep it," she laughed, "you need something to keep you busy." Mom laughed at that and I wondered if Carrie had indeed told her about my prying eyes, and if it was something they joked about.

Carrie pushed the plant back into my lap and held her hand against the pot, resting it on my leg, so I couldn't swing it back toward her. Mom did the same on the other side, keeping it from getting in the way of her driving. So we drove down the road on the ten mile trek to Carrie's house - we lived in the country - me holding a huge plant in my lap, and the two women resting their hands on my bare thighs just below my baggy rugby shorts.

Carrie kept her hand there to block me from swinging the plant over onto her lap. This gave me an excuse to look down at her legs. We were just playing around but there was a definite flirty overtone to our hijinks. Mom kept her hand there to block the swings as Carrie pushed the plant back at me. We had gone about a mile when Mom gripped my thigh and said, "Ok, settle down now. We're on the highway."

Carrie and I settled down while Mom drove down the curvy country road she called a highway but both women kept their hands on my legs. Carrie couldn't leave it alone and kept pinching me and nudging my thigh with hers which wasn't really fair since I had to hold the plant with both hands. A certain part of me had grown since the first touch of her hand on my leg and she eventually bumped against it. Her hand froze. I looked down in shock and then at her just as she looked at me, a smile growing on her face. When her eyes met mine, she arched her eyebrows and her smile widened before her mouth pouted out into a silent 'ohhh'.

Then she did it. She lifted her hand and moved it further up my leg, her palm skinning over my semi-stiff dick, and then she pressed in, pinning it against my thigh. I felt myself grow into her palm in small lurches, but she kept her hand pressed over me. She seemed very amused at my obvious discomfort as I looked over at Mom and then back to her.

"Are you two going to behave yourselves?" Mom asked, patting the inside of my other leg, trying to look around the plant at Carrie.

"We promise," Carrie assured her, "we'll just sit still until we get home."

So we drove on, Carrie keeping her warm hand pressed on my shorts, my hardening cock threatening to peek out the leg. That's all she did, just pressed on it. She didn't move her hand at all.

When we stopped in front of Carrie's house, she exaggerated her motions getting out of the truck, sticking her right leg right out the door while keeping her left still instead of swinging both out together. With her legs parted like that, she leaned her head back to speak to Mom, forcing me to lean forward so they could talk. Carrie's skirt had been forced very high as she opened her legs, exposing her panties to my curious eyes as she talked to Mom.

"So can you bring Jack with you the day after tomorrow so he can pick that stuff up in the truck?" Carrie asked, adding, "You know how useless Jim is, he's as bad as John," she made lighthearted disparaging references her husband and my Dad.

"Oh, Carrie," Mom answered, "you know I'm busy then."

"Oh yeah, shoot," Carrie replied, sounding disappointed.

"How about I just send him over on his own? I'm sure he wouldn't mind helping you out, would you, Jack?" Mom asked me.

I was still looking up Carrie's skirt and didn't answer.

"Jack?" Mom repeated.

Carrie smiled at me, her face taking on an exaggerated questioning expression watching me look up her skirt, but my eyes turned back to her skirt when her right hand tugged it even higher so I could see the entire front of her panties.

"Oh, no. I don't mind," I mumbled to Carrie's very broad smile.

She stepped out of the truck then but turned back to grasp the plant.

"Here," she said, pulling it out of my lap, "just hold it here until you get home."

She set the plant down in the seat next to me and shut the door. Mom drove away with me still sitting in the middle, my hand holding the plant, and my hard cock bulging proudly in my now uncovered lap with Mom's hand still holding my other leg.

We drove home in silence. I couldn't get my boner to subside, not with Mom's hand still gripping my bare leg and my mind playing Carrie's handling of it over and over in my head. Thankfully, Mom never looked down, but she didn't let go of me either. When we got home, Mom hopped out of the truck right away. Without turning to look at me, she asked me to bring the plant into the kitchen. She was nowhere to be seen by the time I got there and it was a long time later that I noticed her unloading the other plants from the back of the truck.

The next day was Sunday and it was just a practice. When Mom pulled up, I was pleased to see that Carrie was with her again. Carrie stepped out of the truck holding a plant very similar to the one I'd held the day before. She had a very big smile on her face which I barely noticed because she was wearing a very short, pleated tennis skirt.

As I clambered into the truck, Mom apologized, "I'm sorry, Jack, but Carrie insisted I get another one to match the one we bought yesterday."

She didn't seem sorry. In fact, she was laughing and didn't even seem to be upset at catching me ogling her friend's legs and short, short skirt. When I turned to take the proffered plant from Carrie's hands before she too climbed into the truck, I felt Mom's hand slide over my bare leg to take its place, a little higher than yesterday. She got underway as soon as Carrie shut the door.

Carrie also immediately slipped her hand onto my leg but let her fingers slowly scratch the inside of my leg until I reacted and then slid her hand back toward my groin until she felt my swelling member. Like the day before, she slid her hand over my shorts until it was resting right on my cock but this time she didn't just hold her hand still, she squeezed me. My hips lurched and I almost cried out.

"You guys aren't going to start fighting over the plant again, are you?" Mom asked, her own hand gripping my other thigh. I couldn't answer.

"No," Carrie said, "I think Jack's going to be a good boy today, aren't you Jack?" Carrie was smiling big time. She was really enjoying herself.

I nodded my head, into the plant leaves.

"Good," Mom said, her hand patting and then rubbing my leg.

I looked down at Carrie's skirt to find that she had opened her legs and was showing me her panties, holding her skirt in her hand up by her hip. Her smile widened in considerably enhanced amusement when she saw the look on my face. She squeezed my cock, twisted her hips, pushing her panties outward, and blew me a kiss.

I don't know how I didn't come. Carrie removed her hand but periodically brought it back to squeeze my cock. I thing she knew I would have exploded had she kept her hand there, and I also think she knew just when she could touch me again without causing an embarrassing accident. I don't think I took my eyes off her panties all the way to her house.

"Remember tomorrow," Carrie reminded Mom and I as she positioned the plant in the seat beside me. She waved to us as we drove away, my eyes looking back to admire her legs for as long as I could. When we turned back on the road, I realized that Mom's hand was still on the inside of my leg.

"She really has nice legs, doesn't she?" Mom asked as she accelerated down the road. She didn't look at me but as she reached cruising speed, her hand slid back pushing the pantleg of my shorts higher, keeping her hand on my bare skin.

Caught off guard, I replied, "Just like you, Mom. You two could be mistaken for each other except for the color of your hair."

I had meant to assert that Carrie's legs weren't any better than Mom's but I realized after saying it that I couldn't know that unless I'd been looking at Mom's too. I couldn't help but look down at Mom's legs as soon as I said that, realizing that she too was wearing a short tennis skirt. I guess they'd actually been playing tennis and Carrie hadn't worn it just to tease me.

Mom squeezed my leg then and gave it a little rub.

"It's ok, son. Carrie doesn't mind if you look at her legs. Actually, I think she likes it." She rubbed my leg again, then added, "I don't mind either."

Mom didn't clarify that statement. Did she mean she didn't mind if I looked at Carrie's legs, or that she didn't mind if I looked at hers, like I was doing now? Mom's legs were just as nice and, in fact, I could have been looking at Carrie's body for all that matter. My cock, lacking any sense of discretion, lurched and I could feel it graze the knuckles on the back of Mom's hand. My body went rigid. Holy shit.

But Mom didn't say or do anything. She just kept studying the road intently, her hand still on my leg. My cock throbbed again, clearly bumping the back of Mom's hand and she still didn't react. She was gripping the steering wheel, her body as tense as mine. I moved my eyes up from her legs to roam over her chest. She was wearing a zippered fleece, half open to reveal a sports bra type t-shirt thing that showed the top and insides of her breasts, the freckles distributed over those tanned swells seeming to sparkle in the afternoon sunlight.

She must surely be aware of my gaze but she acted as if nothing was happening, as if I wasn't obviously checking her out, and that my cock wasn't grazing the back of her hand. We drove the rest of the way home like that, in silence. By the time Mom stopped the truck, I had leaned her way so that my cock was steadily resting against her hand. She got out of the truck and disappeared as quickly as the day before without saying a word.

The next day after school, Mom yelled down the stairs just as I was leaving for Carrie's to say she was coming with me. I was quite disappointed, having worked myself all night imagining various scenarios, all of which ended with me fucking Carrie in the kitchen, the living room floor, bent over the her couch, on her bed holding her feet high and wide, and fifty other positions.

Waiting in the truck for Mom, a sullen look on my face, I perked up when Mom came into view carrying the plant we'd brought home yesterday. She was wearing a very short, tight skirt that I had never seen her wear. It must have been something she'd worn years ago. It rode very high up as she stepped into the truck and yielded a great flash of her panties as she moved over to the middle, setting the plant next to her by the door.

"I want to surprise Carrie with this," she explained her impromptu decision to come along. She patted my leg, "Let's go."

Mom left her hand on my leg as I drove away. I was wearing a pair of shorts but they were tighter on my legs than my rugby shorts. As soon as her hand touched me, I started to firm up, a process that accelerated when I looked at Mom's chest. She was wearing a white cotton blouse with the top three buttons undone and I could see right down between her breasts.

My shorts were bulging big time as we drove over to Carrie's and my boner was creeping down the pantleg on Mom's side. She hadn't moved her hand higher on my leg like she'd done the day before. Maybe that had been accidental. Like yesterday, we didn't speak. We drove like that right up to Carrie's house but before we got out, Mom did up a couple of buttons on her blouse.

"You know old Jim," she explained, sliding out my side of the truck.

I watched as Mom stepped out, holding her hand out for me to help. She didn't make any attempt to keep her skirt down as she worked her legs out of the truck, or to keep them closed. She really gave me a good look at her panties, keeping her head down so I was free to look. Was she jealous of her friend, fighting for attention? No way, I thought, but I had no explanation for her new behavior.

I couldn't tell if Carrie was pleased or not when she saw Mom. They nodded to each other as Mom walked past on her way to put the plant in the kitchen sink, Carrie stopped me in the living room and gave me a big hug, curling her arms around my neck, pressing her breasts into me, and pushing her hips against me.

She whispered huskily into my ear, "Hello, plant boy," kissed me on the cheek, and added, "Were you afraid to come on your own?"

She laughed as she pulled away and turned to join my mother. My boner, having renewed itself, kept me from joining them for a few minutes until Mom called me to help Carrie put some stuff in the truck that we were going to take to the dump for her. We finished just as Uncle Jim came home. While Mom was talking to him, Carrie pulled me into the garage, out of sight. She immediately hugged me again, pressing her body tight to mine, planting a soft kiss right on my lips.

She pulled back, still holding my shoulders, to say, "You're a big boy now, Jack. You can visit me without bringing your mother, you know."

I was feeling a little awkward, and nervous since my back was to the open garage door and I couldn't see Mom and Uncle Jim. Carrie noticed my nervousness.

"Well, you think about it," she traced her finger down my chest, then pulled it back to rest between her breasts, pouting her lips. "I'd hate to think you don't like me anymore."

"I've always liked you, Aunt Carrie," I blurted out.

She smiled at my childish outburst. "You're a man now, Jack. You can call me Carrie when we're alone."

She stepped up on her tippy toes and gave me another quick kiss on my lips, then brushed past me to join my mother and her husband. When I turned to follow, I saw that Mom was already on her way to the garage and Uncle Jim was walking toward the house.

Mom sat in the passenger side as we headed home but when we were out of sight of Carrie's house, she unbuckled her belt and slid over into the middle. Buckling up again, Mom slipped her hand between my legs.

"What were you and Carrie talking about in the garage?" she asked.

"Oh, nothing," I answered, my reddening face belying my voice.

"Come on, tell me," Mom said, her hand sliding up my leg to the hem of my shorts.

"Nothing," I answered.

"Come on," she insisted, her hand sliding over my shorts, the edge of her hand stopping just before the lump made by the end of my penis.

"Really, Mom. She was just talking about garage stuff." I could feel pins and needles on my face and knew it must be beet red.

"Tell me," Mom whispered, lifting her hand, sliding it back, positioning it over my lump, just like Carrie had done the day before, except Mom held hers aloft, not touching me. "Tell me," she whispered again.

"Mom," I wheedled, my voice drawn out, begging her to stop.

"I want to know," her low, throaty voice made my cock pulse under my shorts. "Tell me," she demanded.

Mom let her hand settle on my leg, letting it rest lightly over my bulge, almost as if her touch was accidental. I grew into her palm. Afraid. Her hand pressed down harder, curling over my hidden shaft, clearly showing she was aware of what was there.

"Were you talking about how she did this to you yesterday?"

Shocked but also delighted, I nodded. Mom squeezed me, like Carrie had, but it felt infinitely better for some reason. I don't know why.

"Did she promise to do it again?"

Mom was milking my cock now, squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing.

I shook my head.

"Tell me the truth. Did she say she'd do more?"

Squeezing harder now. I was afraid to answer. I didn't want her to freak out on Carrie and lose her best friend. More selfishly, I had to admit I was more concerned that might end my seemingly good chance to do more with Carrie.

Reading me like an open book, Mom said, "Don't worry, I won't stop you. If she wants to throw herself at you, she can. I just want to know." She moved her thumb, finding the tip of my cock under my shorts, pinching it lightly, almost making me come.

"She invited me over, by myself," I gasped, my hips jerking against Mom's hand.

"The bitch!" Mom exclaimed, "I just knew it!"

Mom slid her hand down my leg, off my cock.

"I'll be alone when I pick you up tomorrow," she barked angrily.

She pulled her hand completely away a couple miles further down the road. We drove the rest of the way home in silence. You can't trust women, I thought. She'll tell Carrie what I said and then she'll get mad too and I won't get anything. I almost started to cry.

True to her word, Mom was alone when she came to pick me up the next day after practice. She didn't look angry but she didn't speak to me as we headed out of town. I settled in for a long trip home.

A mile out of town, Mom patted the seat beside her.

"Sit here," she said, "I want to talk to you."

I was still mad about the way Mom had tricked me and I definitely didn't want to talk about Carrie in case I made it worse.

"I can hear you from here," I countered glumly.

"Please. Sit here." Mom patted the seat again.

Frowning, I reluctantly unbuckled my belt and moved next to her, doing my belt up in an exaggerated fashion to indicate that I was upset.

"Don't be mad at me, honey," Mom slipped her hand onto my leg, patting it.

"You said you wouldn't say anything," I complained.

"No. I said I wouldn't stop you," she corrected me, "but I won't say anything either."

"You won't?" my voice raised in a query.

"I won't," she said.

We drove on in silence for a minute. Mom was driving slower than usual.

"So, what attracts you so much to Aunt Carrie?" Mom asked, her voice calm and quiet.

"Mom," I drawled in a whining voice.

"I was just wondering. I mean, she's as old as me. She's not like girls your age."

"That's just it. They're not interesting. They so full of themselves, always playing silly games to make you go after them. Aunt Carrie isn't like that."

"No. And she doesn't have anything to keep her busy at home, either, like me, I guess," Mom said, surprising me with her reference to Uncle Jim which seemed contrary to her previous comment implying he was a bit of a lech. I didn't say anything to that, or the way she'd lumped Dad in.

"Well, your Aunt Carrie is just like family. You really shouldn't do anything with her that you wouldn't do with your own mother."

That statement took me by surprise. I had no idea how to respond, so I just sat still.

Mom's hand slid up my leg a moment later, right up over my shorts to where my boner had been the day before but there wasn't anything there today, her actions up to this point not being exactly encouraging. But the presence of her hand, and her strange statement, were causing a stir. Her hand kneaded my thigh.

"You won't, will you?" Mom asked.

I didn't say anything. Mom stroked her hand deeper between my legs, them rubbed her palm against me as she pulled her hand back. My cock stiffened, straightening out in my shorts under her hand. She rubbed her hand down again, rolling my hardening shaft on my leg.

"You won't, will you,? she repeated, rolling her hand back.

"No," I whispered.

"Promise?" she rolled me down.

"Promise," I answered.

"That's good. Your mom should be special."

"You are, Mom," I whispered with difficulty, my breath catching as she rolled her hand harder over and back on my cock.

"I mean it," Mom whispered, "don't you dare do anything you wouldn't do for me. I'M your mom."

"I won't, Mom. I promise," breathing quickly now.

Mom's hand suddenly slid away but quickly sprang back pushing my shorts higher, right off my now fully extended boner. Her hand slipped over my shaft, the feel of the soft skin on her palm making me gasp and my cock lurch.

"You better not," she warned me as her fingers closed around me. She held me in her grip for the next few miles home. I couldn't believe I didn't come. Mom drove up the driveway, stopped the car in front of the garage, and turned the key off with her left hand. She sat there, staring straight ahead, one hand holding her keys, the other loosely gripping my cock, her fingers curling around it. Slowly, she started moving her hand, jacking me off. Faster and faster she moved until her hand was moving very quickly. I had a hard time breathing and was moaning softly, my head down, watching her jack my cock. I exploded, my cock bursting like a volcano, spraying the dash in front of me, covering the ashtray, spurting cum on the radio. Mom opened the door after my last squirt.

"You better clean the car," she said, "your Dad will be home tomorrow. She shut the door and walked briskly into the house.

Dad was home. The best few days in my short life were now over. I couldn't see how things could continue with Dad around, especially when he would be picking me up from games and practices. Nothing happened all week. Dad picked me up from practice on Thursday and he also took me to the game on Saturday, stayed to watch, talking with other parents, and took me home. All the way, I played those blissful few days over in my head and had to hold my jersey in my lap to cover my boner.

After Church on Sunday, we went home to have lunch. When we finished, I went upstairs to change for practice and overheard Mom asking Dad if he minded if she took me to practices. "I know you like to watch the games, dear, but I want to be involved too."

"Oh. Sure, Marg, I understand," Dad answered.

My rising star subsided on the way into town however when Mom didn't invite me to sit next to her and barely spoke to me. After the game, it was the same, and she didn't pat the seat beside her a mile out of town either.

"Uncle Jim asked Dad if you could go over to help him with something," Mom said, her eyes on the road.

"Oh?" I commented.

"I'm sure your Aunt Carrie is behind it."

"Mom. You're best friends. You shouldn't be mad at her."

Mom looked thoughtful, then her face brightened and she said, "You're right. I'm being silly."

I shrugged. "A little," I said.

"She can't help it if she thinks you're handsome and has nice legs to attract you," Mom said.

"Nope," I smiled at Mom, "it's not a crime."

Laughing, Mom said, "And I bet she showed them to you, didn't she?"

"Mom, don't start."

Mom dropped her right hand down to her knee and pulled her skirt up a couple of inches.

"Did she pull her skirt up for you?"

I nodded, wondering what she was up to.

"Like this?" she asked.

Nodding, I said, "Higher."

"Like this?" Mom asked again, pulling her skirt up a couple more inches.

"Higher."

"No."

"She did."

Mom pulled her skirt higher. It was now only four inches below her crotch.

"Even higher, Mom."

"No way. She didn't."

I raised my eyes and nodded.

"Show me," Mom said, tipping her head, indicating I should come closer.

I unbuckled my belt and shifted to the middle, my excitement rising just by sliding into that favored position. I reached down toward Mom's skirt.

"Buckle up," Mom said.

Quickly, I buckled my belt, fumbling it a couple of times. Mom laughed at my clumsiness.

"Something on your mind, Jack?"

The belt finally clicked in and I reached down to grasp her skirt, holding the hem right between her legs.

"Show me, Jack." There was excitement in Mom's voice too.

I pushed her skirt up, bunching it before my hand. I kept pushing, very slowly, giving Mom the chance to stop me, not wanting to go to far, but she kept silent. I pushed until my hand was stopped by her tummy. She looked down, then raised her eyes back to the road. I slid my hand to the side of her hip and tugged the skirt up there too. Mom lifted her leg a little, allowing me to pull the skirt up. I slid my hand, following the hem, across to her other hip and tugged there. Mom lifted that leg as well. Shifting my hand back to the center, between her legs, I lifted the skirt up along her tummy, baring her panties. I leaned forward so I could look past her breasts which were heaving a little with her more rapid breathing.

"So, are my legs as nice as hers?" Mom asked, her breaking voice betraying her excitement.

"Absolutely, Mom. They're awesome."

"But Jack, you're not even looking at my legs. What are you looking at?" Mom teased.

I blushed furiously but kept my eyes on her panties, in particular, on the bulge pushing out between her legs.

"Do you like that, Jack?"

"Yes. You're awesome, Mom."

"Hmmmm, that's nice to hear. I haven't been called awesome before." Mom laughed. Her leg rose as she moved her foot from the gas to the brake, slowing the car. "Let's take the long way home," she said, turning down Curtis Road, a country lane that looped back onto the highway but took us a few miles out of our way.

As we drove away from the main road, I put my hand on her leg, on top of her thigh. Mom was concentrating on the road and gave no indication she was aware I was touching her. I started to scratch my fingers on her leg, slowly digging deeper between her thighs, sliding my fingers closer and closer to that beautiful mound of panties. Mom drove on, commenting on how beautiful the country was out here. Scratch, scratch, my fingers were itching to dive right in but I held them back. Slowly, slowly, I cautioned myself. Don't rush, don't make a mistake.

Mom tensed up and looked nervous as a car rounded the bend ahead of us but relaxed when it turned out to be nobody we knew. She expelled her breath in a big sigh. I shifted my hand right down, my fingers hitting the seat between her legs. The skirt fell over my hand, blocking my view of her panties. Mom looked down, then returned her eyes to the road. I kept my hand still, against the very soft skin of her upper thighs, my hand now touch both legs.

It was a couple minutes later that she finally spoke, "You want to touch them, don't you?"

I nodded, too excited to speak.

"Did she let you?"

I shook my head. I couldn't bring myself to lie to my Mom.

"But you want to touch mine, don't you, my panties?"

My breath sucked in.

"You like the sound of that?" Mom laughed.

I nodded. My whole body was tingling.

"But I'm your mother," Mom laughed again, "how can you want to touch your mommy's panties?"

I shrugged, my face going bright red.

Mom slowed the car, pulling over to the side and steering onto a small road blocked by a farmer's gate. She put the car in park and turned to look at me. My hand was still between her legs, so close, but not touching her panties.

"You're very naughty, Jack." I would have been upset except she didn't seem to be mad. Her eyes were sparkling and excited. She leaned her face close to mine. "How can a boy want to touch his mother's panties?" she whispered.

I didn't answer. My body was like a stone, I couldn't move.

"Well?" she asked. Still, I didn't answer or move. "Touch them then. Touch your mother's panties, you bad boy."

I felt her open her legs a little and she nudged forward bring her panties into contact with the edge of my hand along my index finger and thumb. She nudged me a second and a third time.

"Go on, touch them," she insisted, "be a bad boy if you want to." Nudge, nudge.

Finally, I pushed my hand against her panties.

"Kiss me, baby." Mom's hand came up to pull my face to hers. I pushed my fingers against her panties as her tongue slipped inside my mouth. Oh my god. Minutes later, she pulled her head back. My mouth felt like it was burning. Mom dropped her hand to grip my forearm, twisting it, turning my hand flat against her.

"Cup it, baby," she whispered, "hold it in your hand."

Mom raised her hand to my face as she turned more towards me. This time I slipped my tongue into her mouth first. My cock was raging in my pants as I cupped my hand and gripped her panties in my hand. She hadn't been referring to her panties. I was shocked. She'd asked me to hold her pussy. I rubbed her as I dug my tongue around in her mouth, thrilling to the feel of her grinding herself against my hand, the sound of her flaring nostrils in my ear. I ground my hand into her, mashing her labia with my palm. She broke the kiss, gasping for air, her hips bucking against my hand.

"Rub it," she cried, "rub it hard."

I started rubbing her panties furiously. She thrust her hips out, pushing my hand back as she slipped down the seat, slumping to her side against the door.

"Hard, hard," she yelled, her hips bucking at blazing speed, her legs suddenly clamping my hand like a vice. "Oh god, oh god, ohhhhhhhhhh," she was almost screaming. Suddenly, she slumped, her hips dropping to the seat, her legs still thrusting, jerking on my hand. Then she stopped. Her legs, relaxed, allowing my hand to be pulled away. Her eyes were closed. She stayed like that, slumped against the door, until her breathing returned to normal. My hand was damp. I sniffed it, inhaling her musky odor. Mom's eyes opened.

"Am I still awesome?"

"Totally," I answered enthusiastically.

Mom smiled, sat up and squared herself to the steering wheel, not bothering to push her dress down to cover herself. "Am I your favorite older woman?"

"You're my favorite period, Mom," I assured her.

"Well, we can't be late after every practice, you know," she said plainly as she started the car and reversed back onto the road. She didn't wait for me to answer. As she slipped the car into drive, she added, "We wouldn't want your Dad to start wondering, would we?" She laughed. "Not that he'd think his precious sports star was feeling up his wife," she turned to look at me, laughing, "you bad, bad boy." She looked down at the lump in my shorts. "You'd better do something about that when we get home." She didn't offer to do anything about it. I guess she felt she'd given me enough that day. I beat off twice in the shower when we got home. I had some great dreams that night.

I couldn't keep my mind or eyes off my mom after that. I was careful when Dad was around, which was most of the time when I was home, but the few times when there was just Mom and I, I made no bones about admiring her. She seemed to blossom under my attention. Her skin looked healthier and she just seemed happier. Even she noticed it, commenting that nobody could love a woman better than her son. It was three days after that day. We were in the laundry room and I was watching as Mom filled the washer, then measured detergent into the slide-in container.

"Doesn't Dad love you just as much?" I argued.

Mom smiled. "I said better, not more," she replied, closing the lid and pushing the buttons to start the washer. It kicked in, filling the little room with noise. Mom turned to face me, leaning back against the washer.

"You haven't mentioned Carrie," she said. "Has Dad said anything about going over to help Uncle Jim?

"I haven't even thought about her," I answered, not quite truthfully. "And no, he hasn't."

Mom smiled, seeming very pleased. My eyes ran down her body, over her ample breasts and down her legs, then back up to rest on her skirt, just below her waist. Mom watched my perusal, taking a deep breath when my eyes passed over her breasts, causing them to expand and lift.

"See anything you like, Mister?" she said in a mock hooker voice.

"Umhmmm," I nodded.

"I'm up here," she laughed.

I kept my eyes fixed on her skirt.

"Jack wants to be a bad boy, again, doesn't he?" she asked.

I nodded.

"Well, he's going to have to wait until the weekend," Mom said, pushing her hair up behind her head and striking a teasing pose.

"That's two days away, Mom," I complained. "Can't you just give naughty Jack a little look, to tide him over?"

"It's too dangerous. His Dad's right upstairs."

"But he never comes down to the laundry room. He's allergic to it."

Mom laughed out loud. "You have a point there," she said. She dropped her hands to her skirt, grasping it on the outside of her legs, lifting it a little, teasing. "I don't know, though."

"Come on, Mom," I begged, "just a little peek."

"I don't think so," she replied, but lifted her skirt up a little more anyway.

"Please, Mom. I'll be good."

"What makes you think I want you to be good?" she teased, pulling her skirt higher, now more than halfway from her knees.

"I'll be whatever you want me to." I could feel myself tingling in my jeans. I knew she was teasing me now, that she would probably let me have a look but not touch her, not while Dad was in the house.

"You really want it, don't you?" Mom's voice was suddenly hoarse, possibly reacting to my obvious need. She pulled her skirt up high enough so I could see her panties peeking out underneath. She swished the skirt from side to side. My mouth was dry, my tongue slipped out to lick my lips.

Mom smiled, "Is that true? Do you really need to see it?" I recognized the excitement in her voice. She was getting into it too.

I dropped to my knees in front of her, gambling on humor. "Yes," I gasped, feigning exaggerated sincerity," I need to pray to the panty god."

Mom laughed out loud again but her voice was still excited when she spoke, "Then pray."

"Oh, great panty god, show yourself, reveal yourself to your true believers," I grasped Mom's legs behind her knees, pulling them slightly apart.

Slowly, Mom raised her skirt higher and higher, until she was holding it by her hips, her panties fully exposed, allowing me to see far more than I had in the car that day.

I pushed my face in close, pulling her legs apart some more, sniffing her musky odor. She was excited, I could smell her dampness already. Her pussy quivered behind her panties, shaking from the washing machine as it rumbled through its load. I slid my hands up the back of her legs, my fingers stretching around the inside of her legs. Up, up, until my fingers were resting below her panty legs.

"Stop, Jack," she said, breathlessly. "You can't touch me, it's too dangerous ... your Dad," her voice trailed off as I looked up into her eyes, then back to stare at her pussy, my need obvious in my eyes. I pressed my fingers into the inside of her thighs, pressuring her legs open.

"Jack, no," Mom said, her voice barely audible above the washer, but her hands still held her skirt high on her hips, leaving herself open to me.

I think she expected me to touch her then, to move my fingers higher onto her panties, but I think I really surprised her, judging by her gasp, when I stuck my tongue way out and pressed it against her mound where it pouted out the farthest, letting it stick there, pushing into the little cleft.

"Oh, god, Jack," she cried, "ohhhhhhhh."

I pushed my tongue against her hard then and when her hands came down to grasp my head, she held me instead of pushing me away. I chewed on her, munching her pouting lips in my mouth. Mom was going wild, 'ohhhhing' and 'ahhhhing'. I spread her legs wide and pushed in, letting her legs slip onto my shoulders while I munched away. I ran my tongue hard side to side under her panties. She really seemed to love that but the best part, I think, was when I pushed my tongue up her center and dug it into her above her mound where I thought her clit would be. She went crazy, jamming her pussy against my face, finally slowing down, just shuddering on my mouth, pressing my nose flat against my face. Then she went still, pushing me away.

Mom turned as I stood. Her voice was normal again, "You may as well take those jeans off while you're down here," she said. "Come on, you can take a clean pair from the dryer. It'll save me carrying them up and down the stairs."

I shucked my jeans off. I never knew what to expect from her. I tossed my jeans on the floor in front of the dryer.

"Your shorts too," she said.

I shucked those too and tossed them down. Mom turned then, smiling, looking down at my rock hard, youthful pole aiming right at her.

"Well, well," she said, "what have we here? You're very naughty, Jack, to show that to your mother. What would your coach say, if he knew you were showing your cock to your mother? You're very bad."

I didn't say anything, afraid to break the spell of whatever game she was playing. I stood there, my cock wavering before her, not the least bit interested in dying down.

Mom suddenly stepped forward, grabbing my cock, hissing in my face, "I have to punish you Jack. I'm going to have to be rough with you." Mom started jacking my cock, slowly, but pulling hard on it, almost painfully.

"How do you like that?" she hissed, jacking me harder, faster. "You don't, do you?"

Yank, yank, yank. Mom's eyes were wild, watching herself manhandle my cock.

"Are you going to behave, now? Huh? Are you?" she yelled, forgetting her caution about Dad being right upstairs.

Mom pulled her skirt up with her free hand, baring her panties again. She pressed closer to me, jacking my cock, pulling it toward her until my tip was banging against her. She stopped and rubbed my head on her mound, then started slowly jacking me against that puffiest part of her panties. She was gasping now.

"You bad fucking boy," she hissed, repeating it over and over, yanking my cock against her panty clad pussy.

It was too much. I came, splashing my cum all over the front of her panties and up onto the skirt where she was holding it above her belly. She moaned as I released spurt after spurt, holding my cock still against her mound, quivering. I think she came.

When I was finished, Mom dropped her skirt, and turned her back to me.

"Get dressed in clean clothes and go upstairs to visit with your Dad," she said. She didn't make any move to clean herself or take her spunked clothes off. She just stood there, though I knew she was covered in my cum. I dressed and left.

"Don't you dare tell your mom," Carrie insisted, looking out the kitchen window into the backyard, watching my Dad and her husband drink a beer on the lawn as they chatted. She was holding her skirt high, showing me the back of the little panties she'd been telling me about since Dad and I arrived after my game on Saturday, supposedly to help Uncle Jim with some chores. But he'd forgotten all about it, so he and Dad decided to have a beer, leaving Aunt Carrie and I alone, just what Mom didn't want.

"She's so prudish, always has been," Carrie insisted, looking over her shoulder at me. "Do you like them?"

"Love them," I answered, the truth of it obvious in my eyes as I gazed at the delicate little triangle trying to cover at least part of her ass. Her ass really was surprisingly nice. Her cheeks were quite prominent, sticking out, but they had a really nice pear shape to them and were quite firm, something that wasn't that obvious when covered by jeans or a skirt.

"You have a really great ass, Aunt Carrie."

"You shouldn't talk like that. Anyway, you're supposed to be looking at my panties, not my ass."

"But your ass is beautiful, Aunt Carrie."

"I told you, you can call me Carrie when we're alone."

"Don't you like me calling you Auntie?" I stepped closer to her. "I kind of like it," I said.

"I don't mind," she husked, "if you like it."

"I do," I whispered in her ear, standing very close behind her, touching her panties on the outside of each cheek where they desperately tried to cover about a quarter of her supple ass.

"I didn't say you could touch me, Jack."

"I know," I whispered back, sliding my palms onto her little pears, squeezing them lightly in my hands.

"Oh, Jack. You're being very naughty."

"I know," I whispered, continuing to massage her cheeks. "Does Uncle Jim do you like this, from behind?"

"JACK!"

"Does he put his thing against your bum?"

"Of course not. He would never do that."

"He's crazy, then. You have a gorgeous ass, Auntie," I whispered in her ear, then kissed it. I used the distraction to hook my thumbs in the waistband of her panties, and tugged them down her cheeks.

"Jack, stop," she protested.

"Are they coming back in?" I asked.

"No."

"Then let me see. You showed me your panties, but I want to see your bare ass."

"No, that's too far."

"I'll tell Mom you showed me your panties," I threatened. I tugged her panties down from her cheeks, leaving them stretched across the top of her legs. "Just let me look at it," I purred, "it's so beautiful it could be a shrine."

I kicked her feet wider, parting her legs. "Wow, just awesome." I ran my hands over her ass despite my promise just to look. "That's incredible, Auntie," I whispered, sliding my hand along her crack and underneath her bum. "You have the most awesome bum in the world. Are you sure Uncle Jim doesn't touch you from behind, like this?" I slipped my hand right under her, sliding my fingers forward to rub along her bare pussy.

"Jack, Jack," she gasped, her hips jerking forward, and then back as my finger slipped into her damp groove.

"Are they coming?" I whispered.

"No. But stop. You can't," she cried, but she didn't resist as I used my left forearm on her back to press her forward, reaching down and pushing my fingers into her, right up into her wet cunt. Quickly, I jammed my hand against her, fingering her cunt rapidly, the wet squishy sound bearing witness to how horny my aunt really was.

"ohhhh, ohhh, ohh, ahh, ahhh, ahhh," she gasped, pushing her bottom out to provide better access for my supposedly unwanted touch.

"I'd take you from behind, Auntie," I whispered harshly, shoving my fingers in and out, reaming her pussy, "like this, against the counter."

"No, Jack ... don't," she moaned. I slipped my hand around lto ightly grasp her by the throat.

"Don't you want get fucked from behind?" I gasped, feeling my load surging from my balls, mentally trying to stop it before I messed my shorts. I shoved my fingers right in and held them, vibrating, until she came. I couldn't help shooting into my own pants as she did.

When we were done, Carrie stood at the counter, not even pulling her panties up. Perhaps she was in shock, realizing that she had lost control of her little game with me.

I rubbed my hand over her ass. "Awesome," I said, dipping down to rub the wet part underneath. "I need to have you," I said, "I can't wait long."

"I can't, Jack. I just can't do that."

"Think about it, Auntie," I nibbled her ear, "next time you're in bed with old Jim on top of you, and then think about me instead, behind you, hard and ready."

I left. On the way home, my jersey covering my soaked lap to hide it from Dad, I couldn't believe how confidently I had handled my aunt. I don't know where that had come from, but it had been so easy. As soon as I showed a little confidence she let me take over. Women must like a man to be decisive, I realized. It was like if the man was in control, then they weren't responsible for what happened.

I could hardly wait to get home, to see Mom, to crank our little game up another notch.

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

I paused. There was more of Jack's letter, much more. But I needed a breather. I went out for lunch. When I came back, Mom still wasn't home so I returned to the study. There was still no activity on the monitors, so I continued with Jack's letter.

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

"How was the game," Mom asked cheerily when Dad and I got home.

"Okay," I tossed back as Dad and I sat at the kitchen table.

"Okay?" Dad said, "the kid was awesome, he was the star of the game."

"That's great," Mom said. "So, did you go out to celebrate? Its almost dinner time."

"No, no," Dad replied, "we dropped in to see if Jim still needed help."

"Oh," Mom's tone became noticeably less cheery within a single syllable. "And did he?"

"No, no," Dad said, "he'd forgotten all about it. You know Jim."

"So what kept you?" Mom was fussing around in the cupboards as she talked.

"Oh, we just sat outside and had a couple of beers," Dad answered.

"To celebrate Jack's game?" Mom casually asked. I could tell she was digging for information but Dad didn't seem to see it.

"No. Just Jim and I. Jack stayed inside and visited with his Aunt Carrie."

"Oh, I see," Mom said, quietly, turning to work at the far counter, her back towards us.

Dad got up to get another beer out of the fridge. "Jack?" he held the beer up toward me. I shook my head. "Call me when dinner's ready," Dad said, walking out, "I'm gonna watch the news."

I sat alone, watching Mom, knowing she was pissed that I'd been alone with Carrie. I watched her, admiring her legs, at least from the part that was showing from her knees down. I liked the way her bottom shook as she cut vegetables up on the counter. Carrie had a dynamite ass. I had been really surprised by how awesome it looked, how sexy her protruding cheeks were when bared. Mom's ass looked to be the same, just like everything else about them. I could see her cheeks sticking out, jiggling under her pleated skirt. As my cock tingled, I was surprised that I hadn't noticed her bottom before and, despite my desperate need for a shower, I couldn't pull myself away from watching it. Having seen Carrie's magnificent butt, I could hardly wait to see Mom's.

I stood and walked to stand about five feet behind Mom, still holding my jersey in front of my shorts.

"Nothing happened, Mom," I quietly offered. "We just talked. Aunt Carrie wasn't about to do anything with Dad and Uncle Jim right outside."

Mom kept slicing and dicing for a bit but then responded, "No. I guess not. But I bet she wanted to."

"Maybe," I laughed, "She looked pretty good from behind, I have to admit."

"From behind? What are you talking about?"

"I mean she looks good in tight pants, that's all."

Mom seemed angry again. "Oh, so she was showing off her tush."

"Well its worth showing, Mom. Almost as much as yours."

"Uh huh. So you think I'll feel better if you tell me I have a nice fanny too?"

"What do you think I'm looking at?" I laughed.

Mom whirled around, the knife still in her hand. "Oh, you," she cried, her face flushing red.

I backed off. "Whoa Mom," I laughed. "I was just looking. I just wanted to make sure yours was the best."

Mom looked down at the knife in her hand and at me backing away and laughed herself. "And?"

"Definitely, Mom. You're the best."

I turned to leave for the shower.

"You'd better say that, young man," she called after me.

I whacked off in the shower, partly because I was remembering Carrie's ass, partly because I was imagining Mom's, and partly because I'd sat and talked to Mom with my shorts full of cum after fingering her best friend. Unfortunately, there was no practice tomorrow, so I didn't know how to get some alone time with Mom.

Mom had made a roast beef with yorkshire pudding and potatoes around the roast, the way I loved them. We had wine for dinner, to celebrate my great game. I helped Mom with the dishes after we had custard for dessert while Dad disappeared into the living room. Since the good china couldn't go in the dishwasher we did the whole lot by hand. I spent a lot of time behind Mom, drying dishes, and watching her behind.

"I know what you're doing back there, mister. You just remember your Dad is right around the corner," Mom gave me a quiet warning to behave myself. "I don't think he'd understand you staring at your mother's butt."

"I'd hear him coming," I defended myself.

"I don't care. Cut it out."

I put a bowl she'd just washed back into the sink.

"There's nothing wrong with that, it's clean," she complained, carefully turning it over in her hands, inspecting it closely.

"It's dirty," I said, but Mom was suspicious.

"You're just trying to make this take longer, you little brat," she accused me.

"Why would I want to take longer doing the dishes?" I asked.

"Yeah, I wonder, Mom," replied sarcastically.

I laughed at her obvious implication. "Come on, Mom. You may have a great heinie, but I don't think I'd do dishes all night just to look at it."

"Really?" Mom asked, taking a plate she'd just put in the rack and rewashing it, "So I guess it's not all that great then, maybe not as nice as Carrie's."

I leaned close to her and quietly said, "If you lift your skirt so I can see better, I could tell for sure."

Mom pushed her elbow back to shove me away. "Stop that nonsense," she whispered. "Your Dad is sitting right there in the living room."

I took a plate to dry and wandered over to the kitchen door while I dried it, peeking into the living room. I sauntered back, put the plate on the counter, and stood behind Mom, without taking another dish.

Leaning in by her ear again, I whispered, "He's sleeping. Passed right out."

"No way," Mom replied.

"Go see for yourself," I suggested. "By the way, he and Uncle Jim had more like four our five beers, so with a couple glasses of wine, he's probably done for at least a couple of hours."

I could see Mom was angry with Dad. "He knows he's not supposed to have that much alcohol, especially while he's on his medicine. Damn it. When will he ever learn?" Mom started scrubbing quite vigorously, venting her anger on a pot.

"Jeez, Mom. Did you know your little tush looks even more beautiful when it's angry?"

Some of her anger dissipated when she heard my ludicrous comment.

"Good grief. One track mind. Can't you think of anything else?" she said, exasperated.

"Not when you're in the room," I admitted, "and I think about you most of the rest of the time too. I even thought about you while I was visiting with Aunt Carrie," I added, truthfully.

"You didn't."

"I did."

Mom's scrubbing relaxed to a gentle wash, slowly rubbing the scrubber lightly over the same pot.

"Let me see it, Mom."

"What?"

"Your butt."

"No!"

"Just a little peek."

"Your Dad is right next door."

"He's sleeping, Mom," I argued. "Just let me lift your skirt for a quick peek," I pleaded, "you're wearing panties anyway."

"Jack, for god's sake."

"I didn't look at Aunt Carrie's," I lied, "because YOU'RE my Mom."

I dropped that bomb, feeding off her similar statement to me, hoping to push her jealousy buttons. Mom didn't reply, she just kept scrubbing that same pot, but more roughly now. I could see she was pissed about me mentioning Carrie, reminding her that I'd been alone with her while Dad and Uncle Jim downed several beers, and no doubt not liking the implied threat to do something with Carrie if Mom wouldn't.

I walked over to the doorway and checked on Dad and then back to Mom. "He's snoring, Mom."

She didn't acknowledge me, she just kept scrubbing that same pot.

"I'm going to take a quick peek," I said, reaching down to grasp the hem of her skirt behind her knees. Mom kept scrubbing, ignoring me. "Just a peek," I said, slowly pulling her skirt up the back of her legs, feeling a little thrill as the back of her thighs were revealed, then her panties as I lifted the skirt up and over her bottom.

I was right. Her butt was just like Carrie's, sloping out from her back in a gentle curve, like following the curve from the top of a large pear onto the bulbous part of the fruit. Her cheeks were widely separated, leaving a distinct divide between them, unlike some older women whose cheeks were mashed together. Her panties covered less than half her butt, and there was an enticing gap where they stretched across the canyon between her cheeks.

"My god, Mom. You're awesome!" I cried, stunned that her butt was even nicer than Carrie's. How did these older women hide such great asses?

"It's demeaning," Mom said, "you looking at me like that. It's gross."

"Demeaning?" I repeated incredulously. "How can it be demeaning to look at something so beautiful? You have the most gorgeous ass, Mom."

"It's just a bum, a place for doing your business. It's not beautiful."

"You're wrong, Mom. You have an incredible ass and I love the look of it." I released one hand from her skirt and moved it to rest on the bare skin of her hip above her panties. "You can't tell me that Dad doesn't spend a lot of time looking a this little wonder," I patted the side of her right cheek to make my point.

"Of course he doesn't!" Mom barked, in her anger, not realizing I was touching her bottom, having let my hand stay on the side of her cheek.

I pushed her further. "I don't believe it. You mean, he's never put you over on your tummy?" I let my fingers slide over the underside of her cheek. God, what an ass.

"Jack! Don't talk filthy like that. That's how animals do it."

"That's how women like to do it nowadays," I whispered, squeezing her right cheek, "that's what the guys at school say, anyway."

I moved my hand away and let Mom's skirt drop. She seemed to be pretty rattled and I didn't want to go too far. She seemed to breathe easier once she was covered her again.

"Are you sure Dad doesn't touch your bum?"

"Of course he doesn't."

"He's nuts then. I'd love to touch it."

"Why?" Mom seemed genuinely perplexed.

"Because it's beautiful, and it's yours, and ..." I pushed another button, "because I'd be the first, the only one you let touch it."

I watched her face, from behind her to the side, watched the flicker of her eyes as my words sunk in. I spoke again, before she thought too much about it.

"You haven't, have you?" I asked, "let anyone else?"

I put my hand on her cheek, outside her skirt, possessively, like I had a right to do so.

"No," Mom replied quietly. "You'd be the first."

"That's great," I whispered, letting my hand slide across to her other cheek, then brushing around in an oval across both. "Just me then, not even Dad."

Mom's face tilted forward, her chin hitting her chest. I continued brushing my hand across the back of her skirt, hoping to trigger a sensation she hadn't experienced before.

"Alright," she said quietly.

As soon as she said that I put both arms around her, hugging her from behind, whispering in her ear, "I love you, Mom."

"Mmhmm."

"Will you let me look again when we're by ourselves?" I asked.

"Yes," she whispered.

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

I noticed the phone was blinking. It was a message from Mom. Christ, the phone had rung and I hadn't even heard it. Mom's message said she was staying at the golf club for dinner with her friends and that she would be late, so I was to fend for myself. I looked at my watch. It was almost five. I wandered out to tell Mary that Mom wasn't coming home but I would watch over Dad.

Dad had been good today, Mary told me. He should rest now for the rest of the night, she said. I asked her how things were going with Paul. Fine, she told me. He wasn't reading comics at all anymore. She gave me a funny smile then, like we were sharing a secret, then said she had to go, Paul would be waiting for his dinner.

How could I get close to this sexy woman again, I wondered.

I made myself a quick dinner and took it back to the study. Instead of continuing with Jack's monograph, I watched the video monitors live while I ate.

Mary and Paul bustled about the kitchen making dinner, mostly in silence, but there was a new intimacy in the air. Paul touched his mom quite a bit. Nothing overtly sexual, just little touches on her shoulder, her upper arm, her hip or waist if he was nearby. The only overtly sexual touch came when she was washing vegetables in the sink and he hugged her from behind, leaning down to kiss her neck. He paused after kissing her, as if thinking about something, then leaned down to give her a much longer kiss in the nape of her neck, sliding up to kiss her ear, his hands sipping around her waist to her tummy but not high enough to caress her breasts. Before stepping away, Paul's ass pushed forward, clearly pressing his front into his mother's behind.

"Stop that," Mary slapped behind her but Paul had already stepped back out of the way.

Paul laughed. "I've been good today, Mom," he said, "very good."

"Uh huh. Well, you'll just have to wait until after dinner to have your treat."

Paul smiled, seemingly relaxed. "I know," he said, "I'm not in any hurry."

They ate dinner, taking their time, then had some dessert with some tea. After that they moved to the living room and watched TV for an hour. For some reason, I watched them the whole time. After the second show, Mary scanned the channel listings, looking disgusted, "There's nothing on, as usual," she said. "Pick out a movie, Paul."

Paul got up and rummaged through their DVD selection, making several suggestions, none of which Mary accepted, before getting a match.

"Are you sure you want to watch that?" Mary asked, "It's a chick flick."

"Sure," Paul replied, walking down the hall with it.

"Where are you going?" Mary called after him.

"To watch it in the bedroom," Paul called back.

Mary followed Paul after turning out the lights in the kitchen and living room. Paul had finished putting the movie in when she came in and was already in bed, clearly having stripped down to his shorts since his clothes were tossed on the floor by the side of the bed. He was fiddling with the remote when Mary entered.

Mary casually began taking her green nursing garb off, starting with the baggy pants. She didn't seem to pay attention to the fact that her son was watching her. She didn't hurry or make any move to cover herself. If anything, she undressed more slowly than one would have thought necessary. Perhaps this was part of Paul's treat.

She looked sexy in her top, which fell just below her behind, moving around with most of her legs showing, taking off her earrings, cocking her head first this way, then that. She disappeared into the bathroom but left the door open, the tinkling in the toilet clearly audible, followed by water running in the sink, and the toilet flushing. She reappeared still wearing her top, her face looking freshly scrubbed, and sauntered over to her dresser, opened a drawer and pulled out a clean nightshirt.

Dropping the plain white nightshirt on the end of the bed, Mary crossed her arms in front of her, reached down, and pulled her top over her head, discarding it on the floor. Facing the bed, and her son, she unhooked the front of her bra opened it wide, and slipped it off over her arms, her small tight breasts jostling between her arms. Arching her back, she stretched, her pert, bare breasts pushing out and her nipples poking toward the ceiling. Taking her time, she picked up the nightshirt, aligned it properly, and pulled it over her head, fitting it snugly into place on her shoulders before smoothing it down over her hips and legs. Turning her back to her son, she lifted the hem up to her hips, exposing her butt, and snaked her panties down and off her legs, stepping her feet out one at a time. Finally, she walked around her side of the bed, pulled the covers back and slipped in, propping pillows up behind her head so she could easily watch the TV.

"Ready?" she asked.

Paul started the movie for reply, the first time he'd taken his eyes off his mother since she'd entered the bedroom. The watched the movie for twenty minutes before Paul turned toward his mother and snuggled closer. Mary ignored his more intimate presence, even when I could see his hands moving over her legs under the covers. It wasn't until his hands moved up into her lap that Mary reacted.

"Not there, Paul." Mary moved her hands down to her lap, outside the covers, to hold Paul's still.

"Come on, Mom. Just let me feel a bit."

"No Paul. I don't have any panties on."

"You could put them back on." I could see that Paul was still trying to move his hand, and Mary was still struggling to keep it still.

"I said no."

"Just for a minute, Mom."

"No."

"Thirty seconds."

"You're being childish.

"But I'm not reading comics."

"I know."

"Ten seconds."

"Alright, ten seconds. No more."

Mary pulled her hands away. I could see Paul's hand moving in her lap, his elbow lifting under the covers, clearly trying to angle his hand between her legs and onto her pussy. Mary's face told me when he found her. Ten seconds went by while his hand fumbled under the covers. Twenty seconds, ... thirty seconds. Mary's eyes closed, her head leaning back. Forty, fifty, over a minute. Paul's hand was very busy, his face wore a satisfied grin.

Suddenly, Mary's head lifted and her hands clamped down hard. "That's enough, now."

Paul wiped the smug grin from his face, "Awww, Mom.

"That's enough for now," Mary repeated, face flushed, voice firm, but excited.

Paul moved his hand up, above the covers. It was underneath Mary's nightshirt. I watched, fascinated as Mary allowed her son to caress her tummy, his hand moving in a circle under her nightshirt from just below her breasts to the top of the bed covers. Mary's attention returned to the movie, and she seemed uninterested in what her son was doing. Paul completely ignored the TV.

It took a while, but eventually, Paul's hand began disappearing under the top of the bed covers, lower on Mary's belly. Soon, it was spending more and more of its time lower down than above and seemed to be dipping lower and lower. Mary studiously watched the TV although it seemed to be more and more difficult for her to concentrate. Finally, she pulled her knees up and admonished her son.

"Paul, stop it." Mary pushed Paul's hand off to the side. "Just watch the movie, now."

Paul stayed still, laying beside his mother, facing her, for about ten minutes, not once turning to look at the TV. Then, subtle movements indicated he was up to something. He hadn't put his hand on top of again, and her knees were still drawn up, but I could tell that he had moved his hand toward her again.

Once again, Mary's face told the tale. She seemed to almost wince, looking more than a little surprised. But other than that, she didn't react. Her attention to the movie began to wane within a few minutes and a minute later her eyes closed, her head leaning back once more. But this time, her lips parted in a silent sigh, and her knees, under the covers, separated, falling at least a foot apart. Mary began to breath more rapidly as the movement of Paul's arm became more apparent. He was clearly under her open legs, between them, and was probably touching her pussy, maybe even fingering her. I didn't know if he'd started stroking the backs of her thighs first or he'd gone directly to her quim, but I was pretty sure at this point that he was fingering her, and she was letting him.

Mary's mouth was open wide now and she was clearly reacting to a vigorous fingering, her feet digging into the bed to help her hips lift to meet her son's welcome assault. Paul got up on his left elbow to increase his leverage and began putting greater effort into a serious frigging of his Mom's pussy. I don't know if he had much finesse, but Mary was clearly enjoying herself. She was literally fucking her son's hand, digging her heels in and thrusting her ass up off the bed, moaning loudly now.

"Ugghhh, ugggghhhh, ugggghhhh, uhhh, uhhh, uggghhhh."

Paul was having a hard time keeping his hand in her. I think he was just trying to hold it in her hole while she fucked it. I think he'd given up trying to finger her. She was way past that.

Suddenly, Mary let out a loud wail, holding herself up off the bed, her hips grinding against Paul's hand, before collapsing back, falling silent, her head turning to the side on the pillows.

Paul climbed up to a sitting position, watching his Mom, almost in shock. He pulled his hand out from under the covers, intrigued by the glistening sheen that covered it as he examined it in the bedroom light. Slowly, he extricated himself from the covers, careful to keep his mother covered. I was surprised by this, thinking he would peel the covers back to reveal her naked body since he must surely have pushed her nightshirt up far enough that he'd be able to see her bare, wet pussy. But he didn't. He was careful not to disturb her as he clambered over her and straddled her torso.

Gently, Paul took Mary's arm and slowly lifted it, feeding her hand through one of the loops in the straps he'd recently attached to the headboard, pushing it through to the elbow. Carefully, he did the same with her other arm. Mary lay still, her breathing now normal but her head still turned slightly to the side, and her eyes closed. Was she too ashamed to open them? Could she not face her son, having abandoned herself to fucking his hand so wildly? I don't know, but she clearly let him arrange her in the straps she'd so actively protested just days earlier.

Paul stretched up on his knees, and pulled his shorts down, his cock with its massive, weighty head flopping down to hang in front of him, sufficiently stiff to hold a horizontal plane. Almost immediately, it began to harden and rise above that horizon. Gently, he reached down to straighten Mary's head and lift her chin. Slowly, he moved forward until his massive cockhead brushed her lips. He moved them back and forth across her lips but they didn't open. Not to be discouraged, Paul used his thumb to push Mary's chin down, inserting the narrow leading edge of his purple helmet into the inviting, moist slit.

Patiently, Paul slid his cock side to side, using his hand to guide it. Very, very gently, he pushed forward about every thirty seconds or so, shoving more of his cock into his mother's mouth. After roughly ten minutes of this very patient play, he managed to get about half of his large cock head in his mother's mouth. Mary did have a wide mouth and she wasn't straining at this point, though my mom wouldn't have been able to take much more. Paul's thumbs slid along the side of Mary's mouth, between her lips and inside, pressuring her to open even more, as if he was trying to get a dog to open its mouth to eat something it didn't really want.

Push, push, push. Paul was now trying more frequently to shove more of his cock into Mary's mouth. She seemed to be aware that her son wanted to fuck her mouth and she was trying to accommodate him. Paul was rocking steadily now, just a half inch to and fro, almost there. Shove, shove, shove.

He was in. He stopped moving, holding Mary's head, throwing his own back, releasing a long, "Ahhhhhhhhhhh."

Tipping his head forward, he resumed his mini-strokes in his mom's mouth. Though he could only get about an inch of his shaft inside, he filled her back to her throat and up to the roof of her mouth. Drool started spilling from her lips as he pulled back and I could hear her snorting through her nostrils, sucking in air. Paul continued face fucking his mother, moving faster yet carefully, aware that he could hurt her. A sloppy, gooey sound filled the air, like the sound of a copiously wet woman, as his cock slipped through her drool. Paul was becoming very excited. Mary extricated her hands from the straps and braced them against his hips, recognizing that he was close, making sure he wouldn't suddenly start driving his meat through her head.

"aaaAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Paul cried out as explosions of come ripped into Mary's face, squirting out the tiny gaps on either side of her mouth and, grossly, through her nose again before she could shove him away, receiving blast after blast in her face. Mary's eyes were closed, her face dripping with cum, when Paul pulled away to look down at her. He just stared as she lay there covered in his cream, watching it drip from her chin to her neck and slide between her breasts. He reached down, grasped her nightshirt, and ripped it open, tearing it apart so it couldn't block the stream of cum from running between her tits. Moving back, he dipped his hips and rubbed his cock from Mary's neck, down through her breasts, following his river of semen. After spreading it around, he got up and headed for the bathroom.

Mary grabbed the tatters of her nightshirt and pulled it up to wipe her face. Still plastered with his goo but able to see, she silently followed her son to the shower.

I turned back to read the rest of Jack's letter.

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The next day produced a rare event right from the get go. My father missed church. Mom was still mad at him so she had little patience for his complaints about not feeling too well. She wore an angry demeanor as we left for church, dressed in a conservative, grey tweed dress with matching jacket and white blouse. Try as I might, I couldn't see the outlines of her magnificent ass while following her to the car, and there was no flashing action as I held the door open for her.

On the way home, I suggested we take a Sunday drive since it was such a nice day. Mom agreed, being in no hurry, I think, to rush home to her husband. I headed out on a circular route that would take us through pleasant country and several small burgs on our way home, stopping at the first little place for ice cream cones. Before we got back in the car, Mom took her dress jacket off in case the ice cream dripped, laying it carefully on the back street. We were now far enough from home that we were unlikely to meet anyone we knew but, even so, I was surprised when Mom slid into the middle as we drove away.

Mom didn't say anything. She seemed to be interested in surveying the sunny countryside which suited me. I was able to glance down at her figure and enjoy the closeness of her body, her thigh touching mine, even though it was covered by a thick tweed skirt that covered her knees and offered no opportunity for me to slip my hand between her legs. So my eyes shifted elsewhere, drifting up toward her neck and face, but soon slipped lower when my brain caught up with my eyes.

It had taken a moment for me to register that Mom's white blouse, pleasantly filled out by her nicely sized breasts, seemed to fit her rather closer than usual. As I stared, it slowly dawned on me that there were no heavy lines indicating the presence of a motherly bra under the white cotton of her blouse. What the hey? Mom wasn't wearing a bra? Did she always dress this way when going to church? I racked my brain, dredging up memories of us getting ready for church. Mom usually didn't put her grey jacket on until we were about to leave, and I didn't remember ever seeing her like this, and there's no way I wouldn't have noticed her walking around in a blouse with her breasts jiggling about. Nope. This was a first.

Right way, my real brain stirred between my legs. As soon as I finished my ice cream, I casually stretched my arm around Mom's shoulders, resting my hand on the outside of her upper arm. Mom didn't say anything but she turned and smiled, snuggling in closer to me. As we drove, I brushed her arm, from her shoulder to her elbow, with my fingertips. The presence of her unencumbered breasts so close to my hand sent electric tingles up my fingers, sparking all the way to my shoulder and then splitting, traveling up to my head and down to my groin. I grew a substantial semi-stiffy.

When we drove through another small village area Mom asked if I wanted to stop and walk about for awhile, but I declined, stating that I was really enjoying just driving like this. Mom gave me a peculiarly satisfied smile before hugging her head to my shoulder, keeping it there as we drove on. With Mom twisted forward to keep her head on the front of my shoulder, I let my stroking fingers slide to the sensitive back of her upper arm. When she giggled, twisting her right side even further forward and saying that 'tickled', I slipped my fingers down to stroke along the side of her waist.

I lengthened the strokes of my fingers as we drove, managing to brush along the edge of her breasts. There was no question, she wasn't wearing a bra. I could feel the swells as her tits sagged and jostled from the lack of support. I was thrilled, and so was my cock. I became more daring, brushing the side of her breasts intentionally.

"I thought it was my rear end that so fascinated you," Mom suddenly spoke.

"What?" I responded, surprised, trying to sound innocent.

"You heard me," Mom said.

"I just tickling your arm," I protested, "and your side," I added lamely.

"Oh? Does that feel like an arm to you?"

I placed my fingers right on the heavy part of her breast, on the side, and tapped it toward me.

"You mean this arm," I answered with a laugh.

Mom laughed in response. "Yes," she said, "are you going to keep tickling my arm?"

"Absolutely," I replied, "as long as it feels good to you."

I let my fingers splay out around her breast, massaging the heavy womanly meatiness in an obviously sexual grope. I tried to shift my arm further around her to increase my grip but couldn't until she lowered her shoulder, allowing me slip my hand in to cup her tit in my fingers and palm. We drove for a mile or so before Mom straightened up, squaring her back to the seat and forcing my hand off her breast and up to her shoulder. I was disappointed but realized she was probably uncomfortable sitting scrunched down like that.

Imagine how pleased I was when my dear mother took my hand in hers and dragged it off her shoulder, pulling it down around her neck, to place it, palm down, right on her right tit.

"There," she said, patting my hand before dropping hers away, "that's better."

For the next few miles, I gently massaged Mom's right tit, feeling her nipple swell and stiffen as we drove in silence. Though I tried, I couldn't reach her left tit but I was satisfied with just the one. We even drove through the next small place with my hand in place. Mom made no move to push me away, or to cover it with her own. On the way out, Mom complained that it was really getting warm but stopped me from undoing the window.

"That was the last town before we get home, wasn't it?" she asked.

"Yup," I acknowledged.

"Can you take that old road, what is it ... Enderby Road?"

"Sure," I agreed. I was happy to take the long way, even down a windy, not very scenic road running through the middle of nowhere. I would have gone through China as long as she let me play with her tit.

As soon as I spoke, Mom's hands came up and started undoing the buttons on her blouse. I almost missed the road watching her.

"Keep your eye on the road, mister," she admonished me.

I slowed down instead, keeping my eye on her as she undid the second, and third button. I was shocked when she undid the fourth and then the fifth, right down to the waistband of her skirt. She dropped her hands into her lap, not saying anything about what she'd just done.

Tentatively, I moved my fingers over and hooked the edge of the open blouse, dragging it over to the side, just a bit. Mom didn't react, she just watched the road. Emboldened, I pulled more, far enough to expose her nipple and, when she didn't berate me, pulled it all the way over, exposing her entire breast. I was in my glory when my hand closed over her, holding her bare tit against my own skin, feeling her nipple poke into my palm, relishing in the jolt that contact sent through my entire body.

"Oh Mom, you're beautiful," I cried, "the most gorgeous woman in the world."

Mom laughed at my boyish enthusiasm. "So you like these as much as my bottom?"

"I love them. Can we stop, Mom? Just for a few minutes?"

"Alright," she laughed, seemingly enjoying my obvious excitement, "pull over up there," she pointed ahead to a flat glassy part off to the side of the road, overlooking a farmer's field.

I swung quickly in, keeping the car facing away from the road, and quickly shut it off, turning to face her.

Mom said, "Just for a few minutes. I want to get home and get Dad to do some things for me, out in the back, before supper."

"Ok, Mom," I quickly agreed, grasping her blouse and pulling it wide, seeing her heavy breasts completely for the first time in my life. I slipped both hands down to cup a tit in each hand, Mom turning toward me to help. I rubbed and squeezed them, trying to get her nipples in the hollow between my thumbs and forefingers, pinching them there. She seemed to like that quite a bit, sucking her breath in each time I did it, sighing and even moaning when I learned to keep them pinched like that for longer, and pulling them away from her tits but not letting them fall from my hands. 


Our few minutes turned into almost half an hour working her tits and nipples around in everyway I could think of, and I was kissing her, right on the mouth, with my tongue inside, for the last five or ten minutes, whispering over and over, "I love you, Mom."

My cock was rock hard and Mom was panting just as hard as I when she finally shoved her hand between my legs, gripped my cock, and said, "We have to get home," panting hard, "we can't be seen like this."

Reluctantly, but having no choice in the matter, I pulled away, started the car and headed down the road. Mom immediately started buttoning her blouse and then fixed her hair in the mirror as I drove quickly down the road. It doesn't take long to get back to the barn when you think its feeding time. Mom was sitting by the door long before we turned into our driveway.

True to her word, Mom sent Dad out to the back of our few acres to start the new garden area she'd been telling him she wanted. He headed off on the little John Deere he liked to play around with so much but not before she gave me instructions too, in front of Dad, "Jack. I need you to help me with some things around the house." Mom turned and marched upstairs, "Come on," she said.

I followed Mom up the stairs and into her bedroom. She walked over to the bedroom window overlooking the backyard, watching Dad fire up the John Deere and putt out toward the back of our property. I stood about five feet behind her, waiting for her to tell me what to do.

I guess I shouldn't have been, but I was quite shocked when Mom's hands casually lifted up to the waistband of her grey, tweed skirt, pulled it away from her back, unhooked it and slid the zipper down its eight inch length. Mom's feet agilely kicked her shoes off and she dropped the skirt down, bending her knees to help her step out of it one foot at a time. Holding the skirt to the side, Mom told me to fold it and lay it over the chair.

Numbly, I took the skirt while Mom's hands disappeared around to her front and began undoing her blouse as she kept watching my Dad slowly drive away on the little tractor. She shrugged her shoulders to help her slip the blouse off, tilting her head back to shake her hair before holding the blouse out to the side for me to take.

"Throw it on the chair," she said.

I could see her gorgeous tits bouncing a little from my vantage point behind her and to one side. Mom was naked except for a pair of panties that graced her lovely ass with similarly frugal coverage as Carrie's had. Her buttocks sloped down in the same separating sag, jutting out in a cock engorging invitation. Stunned, I stared as Mom gripped each side of her panties and pushed them over her hips, down her thighs to below her knees, then let her toes drag them over her calf and off her lifted foot, one leg at a time.

"Oh, sorry," she remarked casually, "I guess you might have wanted to do that."

My cock was diamond hard now.

"Pick my panties up and put them in your pocket," Mom said, still watching my dad.

Moving sluggishly as if I was in a dream, I bent down to grab Mom's panties, stuffing them into my right pocket as Mom stepped closer to the window and leaned forward, reaching out to put a hand on each side. Her feet were more thatn a foot apart, and her legs tensed prettily with the slight strain of holding herself from falling through the glass. Her bare ass was the most incredible thing I have ever set eyes on, including Carrie's when I had dragged her panties down below her cheeks.

"You'd better get your church clothes off if we're going to get our chores done," Mom said.

Chores? Did she think I could do chores after seeing her like this?

Nevertheless, I obediently began to undress. Slowly, at first, and then quickly as I watched Mom watching Dad trundle away, in the distance now, her legs swaying slightly, her ass moving in concert but also dipping forward slightly and rising backward, enticing, inviting. Come to me, I could imagine it saying. My pants hit the floor with a thump and I could see Mom's head turn slightly to the side, cocking her ear as she listened to my stumbling as I peeled my socks off.

"Is it what you imagined?" she asked when I was finally still, moving her ass in an exaggerated circle.

I rushed forward, dropping to my knees behind her, grasping her bare hips and pressing my face to her soft buttocks, kissing each one in turn and rubbing my cheeks against her nether ones.

"Is it as good as hers?," Mom demanded, trying to move her butt away from my face but unable to avoid the rain of kisses I showered on her cheeks.

The only answer I could muster was to moan between kisses and nibbles on those pear-shaped wonders until Mom pushed away from the window and reached down, covering my hands on her hips with hers, pulling up and tugging them around onto her breasts that, though heavy enough to sag, still sprang proudly from her chest.

"Touch me," she whispered, "play with them."

I hugged Mom to me, kneading her tits, rolling and pinching her nipples, watching my Dad, as did she, until he turned and disappeared behind some trees, not once looking back to witness my illicit molestation of his wife. Mom allowed everything, even letting me press my steel hard boner between her cheeks with the head poking out above her crack, rocking against her like we were starting to fuck. My brain screamed out in that charged silence, as we watched my Dad rolling away on his toy tractor, 'I want to fuck my Mom'.

"I want you, Jack, "Mom whispered as soon as he was gone, "to lift me onto my bed and put me on my tummy."

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"Hello?" Mom called, "hello?"

Startled, I dropped Jack's letter, pulling my hand from my dick as I leapt up from my chair. Quickly, I shut down the monitor program and rushed out to greet Mom before she came into the study.

Mom had hung up her coat but was still standing in the entrance leaning on the wall with one hand while she slipped her shoes off with the other. She'd already taken one off and she smiled as she looked up when I exited the study.

"Oh hi, dear. I hope I didn't interrupt your studying." Mom walked toward me in her white, sleeveless golfing dress, looking a little tipsy. "Don't worry, Gloria drove me home," she reassured me, "I've had a glass or two."

Mom held out her arms as she neared me. I couldn't help but be proud of this sexy looking woman who had reversed her apparent age by several years since my father had left her daily life. My boner, which had been subsiding since I had leapt from the chair, was already renewing itself when Mom threw her arms around my neck and hugged me to her gorgeously mature, womanly body, softened by a substantial amount of wine.

"I love you, son," Mom cried, kissing my face and then planting her mouth on mine, soon followed by her tongue snaking inside me. Her kiss was urgent, fired by more than the wine. "I've been thinking about you for hours," she said, pulling back to look at me, then down in surprise at where our hips were joined together. "Is that for me?" she asked in a suddenly throaty voice, pressing her pelvis into my hardness, giving it an extra rub. "How lovely of you to greet me with that."

Mom's mouth glued itself to mine again in another vigorous kiss, her tongue entwining with mine in a sensual, slippery duel. She was rubbing herself hard on me. What had made her so horny? There was a sucking sound when she pulled away, her protruding tongue sliding slowly out of my mouth.

"Take me upstairs," she rasped, "now. I need you, right away."

I wasn't about to dawdle, not after that kiss and reading Jack's letter. I picked Mom up in my arms and carried her upstairs and into our bedroom. I took her straight to the bed, setting her down, pulling away to get undressed but unable to slip away before I was once again trapped in her arms, pulling me down for another long, hot snog.

Standing up to shed my clothes, I couldn't tear my eyes away from her as she reached behind herself to unzip her dress, pulling it off her shoulders and lifting her ass to shove it over her hips and then pulling it up to her knees and down over her feet. I was naked by the time she threw her bra across the bed, leaning back into the pillows as I approached. She had raised her legs and snaked one ankle through a strap by the time I got my knee on the bed and the other was through before I could straddle her upraised ass, her eyes fixed on my wobbling, hardened cock.

"Shit," she cried aloud when she saw that she had forgotten her panties. I couldn't help but burst out laughing at her desperate frustration, even more so when she too laughed at her predicament.

"Wait," I cried, as she started to pull her panties off, scrambling to the dresser, grabbing her camera and rushing back to the bedside, lining the camera for a side shot.

"No," Mom shouted, throwing her hand out to block the shot.

"Come on, Mom. It's hilarious," I laughed, snapping pictures but finding it hard to hold the camera still. Mom dropped her hand and even put on a sexy vixen look as I continued to take pictures. I climbed up on the bed, standing to get some high shots, then kneeling for closeups. The clowning around gradually slowed as I snapped the close pictures, the snaps coming farther apart, my gazing longer as I assessed the picture, noting the dark shadow lining Mom's panties as it stretched across the crack of her ass, focusing on the damp spot spreading over her mound. Finally, I stopped snapping pictures all together dropping the camera to the bed and grabbing her panties.

Instead of pulling her panties off, I slipped my fingers inside the legs at the very bottom, between her pussy and her asshole, and poked outward hard, until my finger ripped through the flimsy cotton. Pushing through several fingers from each hand, I pulled until her panties tore apart, yanking until they were ripped from the waistband in front to the one in back, leaving only tatters hanging from her naked thighs. Picking the camera up again, I recorded this fantastically lewd depiction of my mother, trying hard to control my breathing so the picture would be good. I snapped several for good measure, with one or two showing my cock laying over her exposed crack.

Tossing the camera aside, I got up my feet, squatting over her, holding her hips and thighs to steady myself, lined my cock up, and plunged inside her. I worked my cock completely out and back in her for several strokes, in time to her grunts and mine, slowly picking up the pace, transferring my hands from her legs to the headboard as my cock began slipping deep easily, slopping noisily inside her.

I was incredibly horny. What a fuck. Slap, slap, slap. My thighs banged noisily against hers, magnified by wetness gushing from her bruised pussy. I burst on her, spewing my spunk, pulling my cock out to watch it shoot all over her cunt, some shooting past to her tummy and tits, to her neck and her face.

"Don't stop!" she cried, "don't stop."

I pushed my already softening cock back in, shoveling it into her gushy hole, holding the base in my fingers while I pushed in and out until it hardened again. Oh the wonders of youth I thought as once more I began to enjoy the fantastic feeling of pounding a hard cock into my mother's half bent form. It was a long, exhilarating, pounding fuck before my mother cried out, finally ending her long series of grunts and moans. When she was still, gasping for breath, I slid my cock out of her spunky hole and, with pictures of hers and Mary's faces alternating in my mind, full of Paul's cum, I aimed my cock down. Slowly, I jacked my cock, gazing steadily into her eyes as she watched me purposely prepare to flood her face. She waited, patiently, as only a mother could, blowing me a kiss just before I released the first gush, squeezing my cock to unload as much as I could into her waiting mouth.

I came home for lunch the next day, remembering to upload the pictures from the camera and printing a couple of good ones on 4x6 photocards while I scanned the monitor for any activity that morning. I picked up Jack's letter as I munched on a tuna sandwich.

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I guess most of you folks know how it felt to lift my mom and walk her to the bed, feeling her firm ass cheeks folding over my cock, straining to keep it there as I awkwardly moved her onto the mattress. Mom didn't help much. I don't know if it was because this was new territory and she didn't know what to do, or if she was even hornier than I and just couldn't command her muscles to move. Anyway, she was like a rag doll.

I finally got her laying in the middle of the bed, legs parted to make room for me kneeling behind her. I grabbed her hips and pulled her up on her knees, pressing forward to rub my cock, now pointing down, in her ass crack. She had raised herself up onto her hands when I pulled her up on her knees, in a dog stance, but as I rubbed my cock between her cheeks, I put my hand on her back and pushed until she collapsed onto her shoulders, turning her head to the side. I liked the feel of her better this way, with her ass high in the air. She looked like she was more under my control and my cock felt better rubbing along her wet pussy lips now that her ass was cocked higher, forcing her pussy further back. She was breathing fast.

"Do you like it when I'm behind you, Mom?"

She nodded, gasping as I rocked hard against her ass.

"This is only for me, right?" I demanded, "not Dad."

Mom nodded, her shoulders rocking forward as I lunged against her again and again, her neck bending to absorb the shock. I could feel her soaking my cock as it slid beneath her, felt the thrill shoot through me when I heard the first moan escape her lips.

I continued rocking and sliding my cock through her slippery lips until her moan was soft and continuous.

"I'm going to push you down onto your tummy now, Mom," I whispered. "On your tummy," I repeated, louder, but she still didn't acknowledge me, she was in her own world. Perfect, I thought. I slid one hand up to rest on her ass above her crack and used the other to line my cock up on her pussy, then, pressing down, I shoved myself into her.

"No, Jack don't," she gasped. "Your father's still home."

Mom grunted as I quickly banged into her a half dozen times.

"Ohh ... uggh ... unnngh ... ohhhh ... unnngghhh, ... don't ... don't."

"I don't care," I gasped, thrusting into her again.

She moaned, "Please, Jack ... stop ... don't," as I lunged into her harder and harder.

"Get down on your tummy," I urged her forward, pushing harder, "on your tummy."

Mom finally collapsed under my weight. I spread my knees outside her hips, straddling her thighs, digging my toes into the mattress. Moving my hands to her ass cheeks, I spread her wide, opening her pussy lips around my embedded cock. I lunged in as far as I could, forcing a grunt from her mouth, and mine.

"Is this bad, Mommy?" I cried, shoving my cock into her hard again. "Is this naughty enough?" I gasped again as I pulled out and then pushed myself home again, and again, and again, shoving her deep into the mattress. I sat on her like that, fucking and fucking until she cried out and I spilled my son seed inside her, grinding around until I was too soft and slipped out.

I realized Mom was crying when I collapsed on her back to hug her.

"Don't cry, Mom," I begged her, "I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself."

"I know," she whimpered, "neither could I."

"I'll need you again," I admitted, caressing her neck and shoulder with my fingers, "I can't help it."

"I know," Mom answered, her fingers reaching over her shoulder to touch mine, "neither can I."

"Then what's wrong," I pleaded, "Is it Dad?"

"No," she answered quietly, a salty tear running down her cheek. "I have to go to confession next Sunday."

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And that was the end of Jack's letter. I had to get back to school. There was no time to watch any recordings so I shut down the computer, finished my sandwich and returned my dishes to the kitchen. Paul was there drinking a glass of milk. He was listening for Dad while Mary ran to the store, he explained.

"Oh, later," I said as I set my bag down and hurriedly tossed my dishes in the sink, 'carelessly' dropping my pictures of Mom by the sink when I swung my bag back onto my shoulder, waving to him as I left, knowing he'd rinse his glass and put it in the sink when he finished his milk.

Oh Dave, I thought as I drove to school, what have you done?






The Mom Memories Ch. 13
byalwayswantedto©

All characters are 18 years or older.

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From Ch. 12

"Oh, later," I said as I set my bag down and hurriedly tossed my dishes in the sink, 'carelessly' dropping my pictures of Mom by the sink when I swung my bag back onto my shoulder, waving to him as I left, knowing he'd rinse his glass and put it in the sink when he finished his milk.

Oh Dave, I thought as I drove to school, what have you done?

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The house was mostly dark when I arrived home from my evening mid-term. I hadn't done all that well, partly because I'd spent too much time watching recordings and reading letters but mostly because I didn't feel right about leaving those pictures for Paul to find. I didn't feel good about passing on a picture of Mom, and I didn't like myself for pushing him to take his mother that way, which I was sure he would do, and equally sure she would let him.

Mom was reading in bed, waiting up for me to see how I'd done even though she wasn't feeling well. Seeing her condition, I told her I'd tell her all about it but ony after I made her some hot lemon and honey to go with the dessert I'd stopped to pick up for her in a futile attempt to alleviate my guilt. I left in just my boxer shorts even though Mom mentioned that Mary might be about since she had offered to keep an ear out for Dad when she saw Mom was sick.

I was cautious going downstairs but the kitchen was dark so I put the kettle on and prepared a mug with honey and the teapot for me. Mary scared the hell out of me when she spoke softly from the doorway.

"That's a dangerous way to dress in a house with two lonely old women lurking about."

"Jesus! Mary! You scared the hell out of me," I exclaimed, my heart pounding, trying to breathe and not laugh in concert with her obvious amusement at my fright followed by my hands trying to cover myself.

"Don't hide on my account," Mary laughed, moving toward the counter with a tray which she'd obviously just carried down from Dad's room. "Us older women don't mind good looking younger guys in their underwear."

"Sorry Mary. Mom told me you might be here but it was dark so I thought you'd already gone downstairs.

"No worries. Is that for your mom?"

I nodded.

"That's sweet. I wish Paul would be so thoughtful."

As Mary began loading the dishwasher with the dishes from the tray, I noticed she was wearing a robe that was very loosely tied, and as she moved, I was treated to short glimpses of her belly, the stretch of skin stretching up to her neck through the valley between her breasts, and her legs. She clearly wasn't wearing anything more than panties underneath that robe. A warming thought indeed.

"Are you not feeling well?" I asked.

Mary shook her head. When she finished clearing the tray, she asked me a question, seeing me set out a third mug on the counter. "Is that for me?"

"Yup. Hot lemon for my favorite ladies, and echinacea tea."

"Oh, that's so nice. Thank you."

Mary stepped close to me, putting her hand on my arm and leaned up to give me a peck on the cheek.

"That's all, for such a nice guy?"

"I wouldn't want to make you sick."

"But I've already got a sniffle," I faked sniffing my nose, "and I haven't got anything else to do but wait for the water to boil."

Mary planted two soft kisses on each cheek but I used my arms to block her from stepping away, gently prodding her toward me for a real kiss, which she allowed.

"Another," I pleaded, when we finished.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Mary said, her voice husky. She smiled at me after glancing down at my shorts. "I don't want to send an excited boy upstairs for a sick mom to handle."

I laughed in turn but kept her close. "You could come upstairs, too," I suggested.

"Oh, I'm sure Susan would love that," Mary laughed out loud, leaning back, her legs pressing against mine as my hands on her waist kept her close.

"You never know with my Mom," I joked. Mary's robe had parted when she stretched back, leaving a gap in the front all the way down. Her pale blue panties were showing through a four inch gap, drawing my eyes even though the insides of her breasts were also available for viewing through an even wider gap. I pulled her close, seeking her lips for another kiss.

"No, seriously, Dave. I don't think its a good idea," she protested, but she didn't slow her approach to my face, or turn hers away.

The kettle was boiling furiously when we broke from that long, tender kiss, each with face flushed and short of breath.

"Whew," Mary gasped as I turned to fill the teapot and then the two mugs prepared with lemon and honey while Mary placed the lid on the teapot.

"The tea has to steep," I said, leaning back on the counter.

Silently, Mary stepped sideways into my arms and up on her tippy toes, her arms encircling my neck. She pulled my head down to hers and our mouths joined in another languid kiss. I lost myself in the feel of her and was surprised when she looked down at the end of the kiss and back up, laughing softly. I was hard, but I hadn't felt it growing or even realized I was pressed against her panties. I was embarrassed. I had enjoyed our lazy kiss and didn't want to ruin that intimacy by getting a boner, but Mary wasn't bothered. She looked down at the growth trying to escape from my boxers.

"That's ok," she said, "it's kind of flattering that I can do that for a young guy like you."

I looked down too, but not at my errant steed. I was noticing the prominent front of Mary's panties, her robe having now fallen completely open.

"But I was just kissing you. I didn't mean to ...."

"Really, it's ok," Mary assured me, still gazing at my hardon.

And I had difficulty tearing my eyes away from her mound. I don't why its projection so enhanced its erotic appeal, but it did. As we each continued our separate observations, I pressed my hips forward, closing the gap between my tented boxers and Mary's swollen rise. Upon contact, we both sucked in our breath. I tilted Mary's face up to kiss her again and this time our bodies were actively glued together. My hands slipped under her robe to her waist and I relished in the feel of her skin under my fingers and the brush of her breasts across my forearms. She pressed the whole length of her legs against mine right down to our feet which were also exploring each other. We were engaged in a complete body hug. When that kiss ended, we were panting heavily, and my stiff thermometer was much more familiar with her spongy heat source. We remained pressed together.

"I want to be with you Mary," I gasped.

"But your mother," Mary panted back.

"She's losing interest in me," I replied, realizing the truth of it as I said it aloud. "I think she was mostly enamored with the forbidden thrill. She certainly wasn't doing it from a sense of motherly compassion, like you."

"Yes, my duty," Mary mumbled. "Paul is completely focused on self gratification. I might be doing him more harm that good. If I give yielding to him he won't be happy with a decent woman, but if I stop he'll go back to his comics." Mary's head collapsed forward onto my chest.

I felt an enormous guilt then, thinking of the pictures I had taken of Mom and left on the counter for Paul to find. He was probably waiting impatiently for Mary to come downstairs so he could put her legs through the straps, just like Mom's in the pictures, so he could have her as gratuitously as I had taken Mom. Except, in my case, I think Mom had somehow wanted it more than I.

"Don't do it, Mary. Stop while you can." I tried to derail Paul from the track I'd laid directly to his mother.

"I don't know if I can. He's my son. He's been my life for years and I've never denied him anything."

"Promise me, you'll try, if only for his own good."

"I'll try," Mary agreed but without conviction, her head still laying on my chest.

"Will you promise me one other thing?" I asked.

Mary pulled back to look at me, her eyes questioning, tears forming in the corners.

"Will you promise this won't be the last time we can meet like this? I like being around you, and holding you. It feels so right, so natural."

Mary's eyes sparkled as I spoke and there was something swelling and relaxing at the same time in her face, a happiness and a relief.

"You don't know how much that means to a woman," she said. "It's been so long since anyone said something like that to me." She quickly reached up to kiss me, slipping her tongue in my mouth for a short but hot kiss. Then, she pulled away, picked up her mug and walked toward her suite. "That's a promise," she tossed over her shoulder.

Slowly, I put the tea, hot lemon, and dessert on the tray and made my way upstairs. I no longer had any interest in straps of any kind. I joined Mom in bed, drinking my tea while she watched TV and sipped her hot lemon. I guess I dozed off because I was startled when Mom shook me with her hand.

"I feel so much better now, sweetheart. Come on," she urged me, one leg already pulled back with its ankle through the strap, her hand, holding a remote, extended toward the DVD player/recorder, the TV already shut off with the other remote.

"Come on, Dave," she urged again, tossing the remote down, fitting her right foot through the strap.

I looked at my mother, a new set of emotions washing over me. My disdain was short-lived, however. What young guy can look at a willing woman, legs bent back to her shoulders, pantiless, her nightgown pulled up above her breasts, tits laying on her tummy squished between her bent back thighs, nipples hard and reaching for the roof, pussy bare, open and glistening with expectation? Not me.

"Hurry," Mom complained as I rolled onto my knees, my cock already lengthening to attack strength, its head pointing unerringly at her wet cunt. "Hurry!"

It was a long fuck. I tried hard to vary my pace, shifting my cock around unexpectedly, gamely trying to force gasps and grunts from this horny, horny woman, desperate to keep her interest.

Yes, that statement about her being more interested in the taboo nature of our relationship than in me reverberated in my head. Something about it rang deep and true. Mother was interested in more than me, and it wasn't her just fooling around with Paul that unsettled me. Something else was nagging me, not quite conscious, vague but compelling. As I turned on my side to sleep, Mother disentangled herself to go to the bathroom, and that elusive thought returned, bouncing just below awareness. What was it?

Mom returned just before I dozed off again and set off two sounds that jarred the hell out of me, simple sounds that triggered unknown emotions, sounds that would eventually lead to a new understanding of my life.

Click. Clatter.

The sound of a remote shutting off a device followed by the clatter as it was tossed onto Mom's bedside table, just before she turned out the light and crawled back into bed.

But the TV was already off.

I slept fitfully that night, coming half awake several times, and the next morning I awoke with images from strange dreams still filling my mind. Usually, images like that quickly fade as you try to recall the dreams associated with them even though they were vividly experienced. But that didn't happen this time. Throughout the day, these dreams kept bursting into my head, in ever greater detail.

Strange dreams. Dreams about me and mom hanging out together, almost always in the house and usually in her bedroom. Innocent dreams that still made my whole body tingle with excitement and anticipation. Most often these dreams involved me keeping Mom company while she brushed her hair or painted her nails.

In the first dream, I was sitting on the floor watching cartoons. Mom was yelling, 'Turn it down' as the commercials, always louder, came on. I crawled forward to twist the knob and, turning back, saw Mom sitting on the couch, one knee raised with her heel tucked tight to her leg, resting on the edge of the cushion while she applied red polish to her toenails. My dreamlike self was fascinated, for reasons unknown except that it felt good watching her simple feminine movements, dipping the strange bottle cap with its little brush and dabbing it, soaked in red, delicately on her toes. I stared, mesmerized by her feet and her long, wiggly toes. Even when the cartoons started, I continued to watch my mother, my eyes now straying beyond her feet, climbing up her legs to her knees, then down her other leg stretched across onto the coffee table. 'Aren't you going to watch your cartoons?' her voice floated toward me, distant and wavy. The tingle as Mom's big smile washed over me, soft and rewarding, upon my response, 'No.'

In the second dream, I was sitting on the same couch watching TV. Somehow, I knew it was years later. Mom sat down, setting her nail paraphernalia on the coffee table, spreading a small towel on the seat beside her, closer to me than her, before turning to place her bare feet on the towel. I turned automatically, ignoring the TV to watch her every movement as she prepared her toes, first cleaning them with some solution before painstakingly applying the polish. Her dress was pulled up so she could watch her work, resting her chin on closed knees, twisting her foot this way and that as she examined each toe as it was finished, then holding her foot up for my approval. She talked softly to me the whole time but I couldn't understand a single word, just the steady purr of her voice.

Years later I lay across the end of Mom's bed, filling in a crossword puzzle book on Mom's instructions as she did her nails in similar fashion, feet on a towel. I could see much more of her legs now, young legs, beautiful legs, as I lay in front of her. But when she lay back against the pillows to do her hands I could see much, much more as she moved her feet apart, toes spread to help the paint dry without smudging. I lay my head down between entries in the crossword, my prying face hidden by Mom's skirt, my eyes free to wander up and down her thighs, roaming across her panties at will, pressing myself into my mother's mattress, the whole room full of her perfumed scent.

These longer dreams were followed by a bewildering array of snapshots. Brushing Mom's hair as she sat before her dresser in her nightgown, father not there for some reason, watching Mom's front in the mirror as she cast her eyes down, reading a novel. Bringing things into Mom's room; or just coming in answer to her call and catching her putting on or taking off a dress, walking around in just a slip; or pulling something on over her head just in time to catch a glimpse of her bare breasts; or seeing Mom bend over looking for something under her bed, asking me where it was, and me fumbling for an answer while staring at her panties revealed by her short nightie slipping up over her behind. And then there was Mom casually reading on a hot afternoon, absently undoing her blouse and toying with her lapels, pulling them apart to reveal the wondrous swells of her bare breasts, seemingly unaware of the revelation as she leaned far forward to retrieve a drink she had placed on the coffee table instead of more conveniently on the table beside her, pausing as she became suddenly interested in particular passage, calling it to my attention and reading aloud, pointing so I could lean toward her and follow along, my eyes glued to her swaying tits, never her book.

Increasingly, there was the dampening presence of my father placing a figurative straight jacket on my mother's close relationship with me. So often she was stiff and reserved when he was around but sweet and close when he left. She would reveal herself to me in some 'accidental' way, more and more frequently, just before father arrived, and often she seemed to allow him to catch her but not quite showing as much as she had actually revealed to me. My father yelling after I had gone. Mom would find some excuse to pull her skirt up when father was in the room but later, when he was no longer there, she would simply pull her dress up, displaying herself without any need for justification.

On Sunday drives, Mom would insist on sitting in the back, placing the picnic basket on the seat beside her and sitting directly behind Dad so she could see me past the headrest. She would beckon, urging me closer so she could hear, pulling her skirt high on her legs as she leaned toward me, creating competition with her blouse, unbuttoned after getting into the car. She would engage me in conversation to keep my attention, though there was no need to convince me to focus on her. She would do girlish things, suddenly giggling at something I said, pulling one knee high and back toward herself, grasping it in her hand and laying her head upon it, leaving me free to troll her open thighs and paint my eyes over her panties, stretched tight over the bulging womanhood squeezed between her legs.

One argument after returning late from such a picnic was particularly loud. I had gone to bed early, aware that my father was particularly agitated. There was the general rumble of his voice with the odd interjection from Mom. The words all tumbled together but for one stark sentence that suddenly burst forth like fireworks, vivid against a grey background, "I'm going to fuck him, just like your mother said, and there's nothing you can do to stop it, you motherfucker!"

I realized these were memories and not dreams. Memories of my mother getting back for all the years she suffered through the humiliation of my father fucking my grandmother while they lived in her house, her need for revenge becoming stronger every year. But why had I repressed them and especially that so specific warning from Mom, until now?

I didn't think more about those sounds that had triggered my dreams, the click and clatter, until we were eating supper. I didn't do my cleanup job after dinner or join Mom in the living room. Instead, I went upstairs, going directly to the remote mother had so strangely operated the night before. A suspicion had formed in my mind. Clicking the remot on, I wandered into my father's room, my old one, to find him sitting up in bed, staring vacantly at the small portable TV placed conveniently on a swivel stand anchored to the foot of his special bed. I walked to his side and turned to see what was on TV. There, still shocking even though it confirmed my suspicion, was a live view of my mother's bed. Quickly, I walked back and clicked the power off on the remote, leaving it on the bedside table before returning to my father's side. The TV was now showing a popular sitcom.

Stunned, I returned to our bedroom. Mom was sending a live feed so Dad could -- no, had to -- watch us fuck. Watch his son fuck his wife. What had he thought when I plowed my cock into her mouth, her hands held by the straps, or pounded her pussy with her ass cocked up in the air, ankles similarly entwined? Thankfully, he probably could only see my back, my ass rhythmically slapping down onto her thighs. But wait. I picked up the remote, turned it on and pressed one of the function keys. Quickly running back to my former room, I confirmed my second suspicion. The TV now displayed Mom's bed from the side. Several more trips running back and forth revealed that the function key cycled through six camera positions. Mother really knew how to fuck a guy, I thought. Hexa-retribution.

"What were you doing up there, running all around?" Mom asked when I finally came downstairs. She had already sipped her way through half a bottle of red wine and her robe was parted to display her cleavage and lovely legs. I could tell she was going to want it again tonight. How could I resist? She was good looking and she knew how to tease. I knew that I'd have a stiff cock an hour before we went upstairs and would be champing at the bit to get into her. My problem was definitely keeping her interested, not the other way around.

True to form, Mother had teased me into a sufficiently eager state by the time we finished watching a movie from our collection of DVDs. She used the same techniques in my dream memories, a flash of tit here, increasingly longer and greater displays of her legs, her hand touching my arm, fleeting at first, then longer and more often until she steadily held my forearm or leg, squeezing them in reaction to some action on the screen. She was marvelously seductive. Even sending me in to clean up the kitchen before joining her in bed was calculated to increase my desire, keeping me talking as she sashayed up the steps, knowing I was watching her delightful behind which seemed to have an extra swagger tonight.

Mom was back downstairs within five minutes, sauntering into the kitchen carrying her wine glass from the living room, picking up another bottle and blowing a kiss my way. She was wearing an old cotton nightie, very pale yellow, worn thin with age. She must have found it on the bottom of a drawer. Its threadbare coverage made her look even sexier, hardly classifying as a covering since you could see her skin underneath. Her ass was simply accentuated in every way, the material molding to her cheeks. She looked back just as my head turned to caress her cheeks with my eyes as I bent over the open dishwasher door, pouring soap into the container. She smiled over her shoulder, patting her butt, wine glass held by its stem between her fingers, "Don't be long," she husked.

I stuffed in a few more dishes, hurriedly shut the door and fumbled with the buttons, finally succeeding in starting the wash cycle. Rushing up the stairs, I realized she was probably going to turn the cameras on to goad Dad, in the longshot chance he knew what was happening. Remembering how he had startled me with his disconcerting gaze so long ago, I realized he may indeed know. I'll find the remote and shut it off, I thought. I won't subject him this torture.

When I entered the bedroom, Mom was lying on her tummy in the middle of the bed on top of the covers propped up on her elbows. I stopped. She turned to look at me, sipping from an almost full glass of wine. Her legs were spread wide open with her feet pointing toward the corners of the bed. A soft, white braided rope circled each ankle and trailed loosely to the edge of the bed, disappearing over the corners to the floor. She still wore the threadbare nightie but it no longer reached to mid-thigh, she had pulled it up to her hips, haunches exposed, ass naked.

"Remember this?" Mom asked in the same husky voice she used downstairs.

I nodded.

"You were kind to me last night," she continued, "tonight its your turn."

I didn't say anything, or move either.

"Take all your clothes off and leave them there," she said, pausing to take a sip, "then come her and massage me for a while," the last phrase coming out in a hoarse whisper. She turned to face forward as she finished speaking, and raised her haunches showing me exactly where she wanted to be rubbed.

I dropped my clothes to the floor. It wasn't long before I was naked as a jaybird. Strangely, as I approached the bed, my pole wobbling awkwardly before me, I actually thought to look for the remote, still thinking to spare my invalid father this vicarious abuse, but it was nowhere to be seen. Only when I mounted the bed behind my mother did I spy the tube of lubricant laying between her legs, pointing right at the crevice between her shaved pussy lips mashed against the covers.

Mom turned back to look me in the eye again, raising her ass from the bed, accenting the rise from the small of her back up the slope of her buttocks to the crests of her cheeks. She twisted her ass forward and back, presenting the full arc of her crack.

"Massage it for me, baby," Mom whispered loudly, her eyes dropping to my hard cock. "You won't regret it."

I picked up the tube, already open and ready to use, and squeezed the slippery goo out, a little cone on each cheek, and then a trail down the middle of her crack, stem to stern. As my fingers spread over her butt, and carved their way down through her split, Mom cooed her appreciation.

"Ohhhhhh, it's been so long since you've done that." Her head was twisted around again. She watched me as I caressed her lovely ass, working the slippery stuff all around, only turning away for a quick sip of wine before turning back to watch, blowing me a kiss every time I looked up into her eyes which held mine steadily until I looked away. Every once in awhile, she would arch her back, thrusting her anal opening up toward me.

"Oh yeah, like that," she would purr.

Soon, she finished her wine and tossed the glass off the side of the bed, laying forward onto her tits, her hands stretching out to clutch the covers as I circled her softened butt and pushed my finger just inside for the first time.

"Oh yeah, baby," she rasped, "do you remember fucking it?" She moved it then, in a little circle on my partly embedded finger.

"Take your time, baby," she whispered, anticipating my urge to shove my cock inside her as I pushed my finger all the way in. "Work it open so it's wide for you."

Minutes later, with two fingers inside, she started making the little noises, whimpers and moans, she knew would drive me nuts. But each time I pulled my fingers out to bring my cock near, she urged to continue with my fingers, twisting her butt away.

"Open me up more for you, baby. Make me bigger, for your cock. Ohhhhhh, yeah, unnghhh, yeah."

She kept teasing me like that until finally, when her hole was big enough that I could see inside, I moved up, straddled her open legs, pressed down on the small of her back to hold her still, aimed my cock at her entrance and shoved it inside.

"Oh Dave, fuck it, fuck it for me. Fuck me with your cock," she wailed out loud. "Fuck my ass," she grunted as I pushed all the way in.

Her grunts and moans drove me to distraction as I worked in and out of her ass. God how I loved being in her this way. She really knew how to maximize the value of a treat. I would have let people slice my arms off for five minutes of this. It's amazing how the sounds a woman makes in reaction to something you do is just as exciting as the feel of her, sometimes even more so. I'm sure that some of my mother's soft sounds were not all involuntary but they seemed to be completely prompted by my actions. She wasn't loud and phony, like so many porno videos. It was probably the softness and unexpected occurrence, even just a sudden sharp intake of breath, that make it so real and exhilarating. My mother knew that fucking wasn't just working my cock, it was about working my mind, and she'd been doing that for hours.

Is it any wonder that after I exploded, unloading my cum inside her bum, that I kept thrusting, kept humping her butt. I didn't care if my father had to watch me pummel her behind, had to see me grind my cock in her, lifting her head, demanding that she beg me for it, that she plead for me to unload in her again.

And she did. My wonderful, sexy mother did. She begged me, pleaded, moaned and thrust her ass back for more of my cock, beseeching me to spray my jism all over her bottom. Can I to that, I thought, in the eyes of my father? Yes, I thought, I can, and did. I pulled out and covered her slippery cheeks with my goo, yelling, "Muuuummmm!"

Mom was still in bed the next morning, waiting for me to wake up. I felt as if I'd just woken from an erotic dream, of legs, soft eyes and smiles, and painted toes. Mom was watching me with those soft eyes, and that soft smile, kissing my lips.

"It's about time lazybones," she whispered, just as I realized I was very horny, and very hard, stiff to the point of breaking, because my mother, my dear sexy mother, was pulling on my dick, and she must have been doing it for some time, because I was about to burst.

She ducked under the covers and I instantly felt her warm, wet mouth envelop my sensitive, tingling cock. One, two, three, four seconds, then whump, whump, whump, my cock detonated in her mouth as I convulsed over her head. She pulled up when I stopped, licked her lips and laughed, a bright tinkly laugh.

"I love it," she said, "when you look after me when I'm sick. I just love it."

Mom jumped out of bed then and headed for the shower.

I love it too, I thought.

I felt guilty that morning, remembering what I'd told Mary, that my mother was losing interest in me and had probably always been more interested in the illicit nature of our relationship than me specifically. But as the morning wore on and I remembered the remotely controlled video feed to Dad's TV, and my strange dream memories, the more my guilt melted away. My mother had a strange need, and I don't think I or any single person could fill it for long.

I took my lunch in the study and found a catch-up from Kevin (Chapter 10).

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

Hello. Kevin here again with more about my mother and I, and my brother Matt. I was eager to keep the pressure on my mom after that beautiful afternoon in the country when I caressed her legs for so long, lulling her into acquiescence, allowing me to touch all around her panties, finally surprising her by covering her mound with my mouth. I'd humped against her after that, in my shorts. Strangely, she hadn't been overly upset about either of those two events. Flustered, yes, but still talking to me. That changed when I pulled her hand onto my cock. She'd run to the car then and remained quiet and distant all the way home.

So the very next day, I made sure to help her do the dishes, though I normally only helped on the weekend. But she wouldn't allow me my usual brushes against her skirt or my hand on her waist. Nothing, nada. She was cold.

That went on all week, until Friday, when I arrived home early, armed with calendars and brochures for various colleges and universities, all far from home except the two local ones. I spread them out on the coffee table and sat in the middle of the couch, browsing through them. Eventually Mom's curiousity drew her over to see what was so interesting. She sat next to me and asked why I was looking at colleges so far away.

"They have good reputations, Mom."

"What about these?" she pointed to the local schools.

"Oh," I said dismissively, "I just got those for comparison. I'm not really interested in them."

"Oh," Mom replied in a small voice.

A minute later, she picked up one of the local brochures.

"This seems to be a good school. It doesn't look any different from the others."

"It's not the same, Mom."

"Why?"

"Well, it's too close to home. You have to live too, you know, enjoy yourself, not just study."

"You can enjoy yourself at home."

"No, Mom. I mean really enjoy yourself. You know, things you can't do when you're living at home."

Mom dropped the brochure in front of me. I pushed it away and continued browsing through the calendar of a distant university. Mom picked up the calendar for the local school, leafing through its pages. She set it down on top of the one I was looking at.

"This one looks interesting," she said.

"Mom," I complained, pushing it away, "I'm looking at this one."

Mom pushed it back, "Let's just look at it for a minute," she suggested, resting her free hand on my knee.

Relenting, I skimmed over the page and even turned to the next one. When I did, Mom's hand slipped from the top of my knee to the inside of my leg, though she seemed intent on reading the calendar. I waited a minute, pretending to read, before turning to the next page. As soon as I did, Mom's hand slid further up my leg, to the part where my thigh muscles thickened. Her hand was now pressed between both legs. Her thumb moved up and down, stroking my thigh as I 'read' the next two pages. I became conscious of Mom's own legs, pressed tightly to mine. She was wearing a one piece housedress that buttoned down the front, large buttons about an inch across that ran from her collarbone to the hem, just below her knees. It wasn't a dress to show off her body, typical of her wardrobe.

"I don't know, Mom. It wouldn't be much fun. It would be just like another year of high school," I complained.

"Oh, I don't know," she said, "it might not be that bad, spending one more year at home." Mom reached behind her head and pulled her scrunchie off, shaking her hair loose. She smiled at me, saying, "Why don't you try it for a year, and see." Mom squeezed her hand back between my legs and leaned forward to look at the calendar again.

I pulled a few strands of her hair out, straightening them along her shoulders before leaning forward myself, feeling my swelling groin slide nearer to her hand as I did. I left my hand on Mom's back, just below her hair. "I don't know, Mom. I think it would be more of the same old, same old if I stayed here."

"Not all the same old is bad, is it?"

I didn't answer.

"You like some of the things you can do at home don't you, or nearby?" she added as an afterthought.

"Sure. Some things," I admitted, turning the page and moving my hand to rest on Mom's knees. We didn't say anything as we read the calendar, but only seconds after turning the page, I began toying with the bottom button on Mom's dress. "It's your turn to turn the page," I said.

When Mom leaned over to turn the page, I slipped the button through its hole and took possession of the next button. Mom didn't seem to notice. We perused the topics for a moment before Mom said, "Your turn."

"Can you do it for me, Mom?"

"Sure." I slipped the next one through as Mom leaned forward to turn the page without me having to ask. I slid my arm down behind her back and reached around to hold her waist. I took hold of the third button as Mom flipped the page and undid it hallf way through the page. Mom flipped the page before I could undo the fourth but I did it as soon as she straightened up anyway. Her dress was now undone up to the 'V' in her legs, that heavenly juncture, and I would have been able to gaze at her panties except Mom dragged the calendar back onto her lap, holding it there for us to read.

Undeterred, I kept my hand under the book, dropping it between her legs, spreading my fingers out to caress familiar territory.

"You have a beautiful touch, Kevin, but we should wait for Sunday, don't you think? Your Dad will be home from work in less than an hour."

"No, I don't think so Mom," I replied, continuing to brush my fingers over her thighs. "If I'm going to stay here for college, I have to have more fun than just on Sundays, don't you think?"

"I ... I guess so." Mom seemed a bit flustered by my precocious response.

"You looked flushed, Mom," I observed. "Are you too warm?"

Mom nodded, thankful I think for the diversion.

"Here," I said, pulling my hand away, Mom's face immediately expressing relief, "let me loosen your dress around your neck."

I began to undo Mom's top button, suggesting she turn the page to keep her mind on something else.

"Why don't you turn to the next page, Mom?"

Mom dutifully flipped to the next page as I finished that button and moved on to the next. When my fingers took on the third button, Mom let out an exasperated sigh, leaning back against the couch, pinning my arm behind her and pulling her dress away from the invasive fingers of my left hand.

"Kevin," she said firmly, "your Dad will be home in forty-five minutes. Now, behave yourself."

"Mom, if I stay here for college, I won't have classes all day long. There will be afternoons when I'll be home." I let that sink in before going on. "So I'll want to play, even though it isn't Sunday." I waited, expectantly. Mom nodded her understanding. "So I have at least half an hour to see what it would be like to enjoy myself, if I stay home for college next year. Right?"

Mom nodded. I took possession of the third button again and quickly slipped it out, then moved directly to the fourth. This button was the gold, for it would open Mom's dress to just below her breasts, revealing the gorgeous swells of her tits. I slowed my pace undoing this button, watching Mom's face the whole time, working by feel, not even looking to see the result until I'd finished. I loved the tension as I worked, and the resigned patience in Mom's eyes as she tolerated my fumbling.

I was disappointed when I finally looked down to admire my handiwork to discover a heavy white bra. Mom laughed out loud when she saw the hurt look that must have crossed my face.

"Don't cry," she laughed.

Now it was my turn to be flustered. Upset, I undid the next button. Mom's dress was now held together by only one button.

"Will you undo that for me?" I asked, indicating her bra.

"Nope, it's your show," she insisted.

It didn't take me as long as I thought to open that thick casing to reveal the soft treasures underneath. She really did have nice, ample and mature tits, but her nipples weren't hard. Mom wasn't excited, probably because of my pressure and the stress of worrying about my father's arrival. I realized then that I should never push her, I should always find a way to pull her in.

"You still have half an hour, easily," she said. "What are you going to do," she mocked, "stare at them for thirty minutes?"

Undeterred, I answered immediately, honestly. "I could, Mom. You don't understand. I could look at you for hours. I'm not Matt. I'm not looking for a quick feel. I love you, everything about you."

I slid my cupped fingers under Mom's tits, gently, taking her weight, lifting them from her slouched tummy.

"If you just wore an old dress, like this, even with a thick sweater over top, but let me know that you weren't wearing a bra, or panties, then that would be enough. For you to do something sexy like that, just for me, that's what I call fun. And I'd enjoy that so much, I'd never leave home."

Tears welled up in Mom's eyes. Actual tears. She pulled me to her, hugging my head to her breasts.

"Oh Kevin," she cried, "I love you so."

When she released the pressure on my head, I pulled away just enough to slip my mouth over her nipple, sucking it in. I didn't bite, or pinch and tug her other one with my hand. I just sucked and sucked, moving over to take the other after a few minutes, only then manipulating the now wet one with my fingers, but gently, very gently. I moved back and forth every few minutes, from one nipple to the other, sucking and gently squeezing her tits. She was excited now, I could tell from her hard nips and the rapid rise and fall of her tummy. I was aching to grasp her panties in my hand but I didn't want to go too far.

When I pulled my head away, I was surprised how much her tits had firmed up and how long, stiff and swollen her wet nipples really were. I had really done a job on them. I kissed her.

"I'd better do up your dress now. Dad should be here any minute."

"He's usually late on Mondays," Mom answered, her hands slipping around my face. "Kiss them some more, baby."

"No Mom. It's too dangerous." Mom laughed at our sudden switch in roles, but she allowed me to start buttoning her dress, doing her bra up herself. When I moved down to do up the buttons in her lap, Mom opened her legs, showing me her panties. They were dampish in front and a musky odor wafted up to infiltrate my nostrils. It was very exciting for her to do that, that simple sexual act.

"Thank you," I said.

"You're welcome," Mom answered, knowing full well what I was talking about. I knew then we had reached an understanding.

"It feels weird to have you look at me like that," she whispered.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" I asked.

"No," she said, "not in the least." She watched me, looking at her panties, examining the soft rise from her tummy and fall between her legs, stained by a dark, damp cleft down the middle. "I'm intrigued," she said, "by your fascination." She paused, then added, "I like it." She moved then, bulging her panties up toward me, laughing quietly at her own joke.

Just then, we heard Dad's car coming up the gravel drive. I jumped up, nervous.

"You'd best go up to your room and do your homework," Mom said, buttoning her skirt as she calmly walked to the kitchen.

Dad was pleased to hear that I wanted to attend college in town, saving him big bucks. He told me he was very relieved that I was staying, what with Matt leaving and all, and he was proud that I was so thoughtful, so considerate of Mom. "She wouldn't say anything, you know. But I know she's just ecstatic that you're not leaving."

Mom wouldn't let me help clean up the kitchen after dinner again, and she disappeared upstairs for an hour afterwards. I could hear the bath running and couldn't stop myself imagining her getting in the tub, soaping her body, rinsing off by dribbling water over her thrusting tits with a large sponge. She was wearing her bathrobe when she came downstairs, like that time she'd let me see her legs, but this time she just sat demurely at the other end of the couch reading a book while Dad watched CSI. During the middle set of commercials, as usual, Dad bolted upstairs to use the bathroom.

Mom continued reading but reached down to scratch her left knee. Whatever was bothering her must have been quite itchy because she slipped her hand under the folds of her robe to scratch her bare skin on top of her leg but soon moved it to the outside of her leg. Though she continued to read, Mom also kept scratching her leg, slowly moving her hand higher and higher until she was almost scratching her hip. As her hand had moved up, she had pulled her robe open with it, exposing her left leg as she went. Frustrated, she dropped her book, loosened the belt on her robe, and pulled it from her leg entirely, scratching furiously on her bare hip. My eyes, closing following the entire path of Mom's scratching fingers, quickly noticed the absence of any panties covering her hips. I had just shifted my eyes to the tops of her thighs, barely glimpsing a tuft of light brown hair peeking out between her legs, when the toilet flushed upstairs and Mom snapped her robe closed, arranged it to cover her legs once more, and secured the belt.

Dad returned to watch the second half of CSI and Mom continued reading her book. Part way through the second half, Mom suddenly looked up from her book, catching me still looking at her, and smiled, configuring her face into a knowing expression, as if she and I were sharing a private communication.

There was another episode of CSI on after that. Mom offered to make hot chocolates just before it started and called me into the kitchen as soon as the episode proper began. Entering the kitchen, I knew I would never leave home until Dad kicked me out. Thank god for Matt.

Mom was leaning against the far counter, her robe unbelted, and displaying a narrow, two inch gap down the entire front. I couldn't see her breasts but I could see that the was braless since her skin was visible right through the middle. I could also confirm that she was indeed not wearing panties as my attention slid down to the area sloping down from her tummy to a small, brown quilt of hair. I walked toward her.

Just before I reached her, Mom whispered, "Is there something you wanted?"

"You called me, Mom," I whispered back, my eyes looking down past the swell of her tummy.

She ignored my response. "To see perhaps?" she asked, then added, "Or touch?"

My eyes remained on her patch of hair but I said nothing. Tentatively, I stretched out my hand. I felt like I was standing inside a seashell, there was that much noise swirling around in my head. It must have been my heart pounding and the sound of my own blood rushing to my head, and probably to my rising cock as it sucked in most of my spare blood. I extended my fingers, pointing them down and cupping my hand toward her.

"I didn't say you could," she whispered.

It was my turn to ignore her. I slipped my hand between her legs until her pussy hair tickled my skin, then pressed my long middle finger into her cleft, slipping the others over her lips to bracket the treasure between. I was in heaven.

Mom swung her arms around me to cover us both with her robe.

"There's all sorts of fun things you can do at home," she whispered, kissing me on my lips and nudging her pussy against my fingers.

When our kiss ended upon the sound of the next commercial I was rock hard and my fingers were wet. Mom pushed me away and wrapped her robe around herself, cinching it tight. It seemed strange that she could turn so quickly to the domestic task of measuring chocolate powder into mugs.

"Pour the water, "she ordered, "and warm them in the microwave."

She was muttering something to herself about going too far but I couldn't tell for sure. The mugs were hot when Mom took them in to Dad. The rest of the show was a blur. I couldn't believe what had happened, playing it over in my head, thrilled and stunned by Mom's behavior but worried about her muttering about going too far.

Mom went upstairs to bed with Dad after the show was over, ending my fantasy about continuing our kitchen episode. I sat by myself fantasizing about Mom coming back downstairs after Dad fell asleep, or to my room late in the night. The images were so vivid in my head I started touching myself and almost didn't hear Mom whispering from the head of the stairs for me to come say goodnight. She backed away as I climbed the stairs, retreating down the hall until she stood outside her room. I could hear the water running in the ensuite as Dad brushed his teeth but my eyes stayed on Mom as she raised her arms for a hug. As I neared, she let her robe fall open. She was still naked, her secret hair tufting out in disarray, perhaps from my previous handiwork. Mom guided my hand down and I quickly cupped her, as before, but this time my long finger slipped between already wet lips. She laughed when she felt my surprise, and quickly kissed me on the mouth, her tongue dipping inside mine for a few fleeting seconds before she pulled away.

"Think about that mister and staying home next year," she whispered excitedly. "Sweet dreams." She laughed and turned into her bedroom just as the water stopped running, closing the door behind her.

I thought about her alright, most of the night, awkwardly jacking off with my left hand while I sniffed my golden fingers.

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

It looked like Kevin was getting close to nailing his Mom. Playing upon his mother's fear of him leaving like his brother had certainly seemed to have pushed her over the edge but I thought there must be something more at play for her to so willingly tease him. Maybe Kevin's revelation about how exciting it would be if she purposely dressed without bra or panties had triggered feelings of illicit pleasure within his mom. The fact that she did this in the house, when his dad was home, suggested his mom might be feeding her own excitement derived from the fear of getting caught.

Searching ahead, I found a letter from Mark (Chapter 11) who had been even closer to having his Mom. He was the guy with the beer belly dad who was commandeered into massaging his mother's feet and had parlayed that into a tongue fest on her nether lips, followed by a vigorous rubbing. Last we heard, his mom wanted to have a talk while his father was watching the big game with his friends at the pub.

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

Today was big game day. Dad's friend Brad was supposed to pick him up on the way to the pub but he was late and the game was five minutes in when he arrived. Dad refused to leave until half time so they wouldn't miss anything. I was pissed. Mom had promised to have a "talk" while Dad was at the pub and, despite the implication that a lecture about going too far was coming, I was sure I could get Mom joking around and could then start feeling her legs again. And who knows where then? She was the one that had started the ball rolling. I had just kicked it into a new court. In my youthful view, once a girl let you touch her pussy, it was yours forever. So you can imagine how pissed I was that Brad was late.

"You're not watching the game with us, kid?" Brad was visibly shocked as he sat down, staring at my back as I stomped up the stairs. "What's up with the kid?" he asked Dad, looking genuinely concerned and perplexed. Dad just waved his hand, eyes on the TV. He asked Mom when she came in from the kitchen, bringing him and Dad a couple of beers each.

"I don't know, Brad. He's been out of sorts lately." Mom set the beers down on the table. "You know where the fridge is if you need more. I'm going up to talk to Mark."

I beat a hasty retreat from the top of the stairs where I'd been watching to see if Mom was coming or staying to play host. I heard her pad softly down the hallway toward my room, heard her knock and quietly call my name several times before opening the door and closing it. I heard her repeat this at the bathroom door before opening it to discover I wasn't there either.

"Oh there you are," feigning surprise upon finding me in her room, closing the door softly behind her, shutting out the din of the game and my father and Brad's even louder commentary. "I see you made yourself comfortable," Mom added in reference to finding me stretched out on her bed, still dressed in the sweatpants and t-shirt I'd put on that morning. I simply nodded, smiling despite my grumpy exit from downstairs.

"Over your snit?" she smiled, walking toward me, waiting until I nodded again before climbing onto the bed and crawling up to sit back on the pillows next to me.

"You aren't staying downstairs to play host?" I asked.

"No," she replied, "I thought I'd let Brad keep his eyes on the game for once."

"Well, Mom. You have to admit he doesn't have much at home to look at, like Dad does."

"Mark. That's not nice. Martha is your friend's mother." Mom's rebuke was belied by her face which seemed pleased by my words. "Anyway, I don't recall you being interested, until I asked you to massage my feet." Mom pulled her knees up and rubbed her feet together. "And you didn't seem to be able to stay focused on that little job."

It was my turn to smile. "I couldn't help it, Mom. You have really great legs, and your skin is so soft."

"Stop, Mark. That's what I wanted to talk to you about."

"I know, Mom," I cut her off, "that's why I came upstairs." I turned onto my side, facing her, and slipped my right hand down to grasp her foot, my palm covering her arch, fingers reaching around to her instep. "I knew you'd want to have a private talk after they left for the pub."

"Actually, I thought we could ..."

"so we wouldn't be disturbed." I started to knead Mom's foot, bringing my left hand down to bracket her ankle from behind between thumb and fingers, squeezing and releasing, sliding up and down her Achilles tendon. Mom's hand came down to gently finger the back of my neck and twiddle the hair on the back of my head as I continued to work on her foot.

"Mark," she complained gently when my hand first slid up the back of her calf.

"We can't talk until they're gone, Mom." I kept sliding my hand up and down her leg. "We may as well relax, doing something we both like," my voice was soft, cajoling. Mom didn't answer, so I kept rubbing her leg. After a few minutes, when I could hear her breathing steadily, I held her foot and leg, my hand flat on her calf under the knee, and dragged her down the bed until her head was flat on the pillow. Pressing with that hand the other way, now against her thigh, I pushed her foot and drove her knee toward her shoulder, holding her leg tight to her chest as I released her foot and slid my hand up the back of her thigh.

"Mark, what are you doing?"

"Just tickling your leg, Mom, until they leave, that's all," I whispered.

"But I don't think ..."

"Just until they leave, Mom. Then we can talk without being interrupted."

Mom relaxed, allowing me to continue sliding my fingers up and down her thigh for several more minutes. She didn't protest until she felt me getting up onto my knees.

"What are you doing, Mark?"

Raised up, I could see that Mom didn't even open her eyes.

"I can't reach your other leg, Mom. I'm just getting up so I can tickle your other leg, too."

I lifted Mom's other foot as I positioned myself below her, bringing both feet down to rest on my thighs, putting a hand on the back of each of her thighs to continue my massage.

"Just relax," I soothed, "until they're gone."

Again, Mom let me continue stroking her legs. Waiting a few minutes for her tension to subside, I lifted her feet to rest them against my shoulders and shifted forward. Her pleated skirt fell from her knees to her chest, baring her legs completely, exposing the panties that covered the pleasure spot I had enjoyed so much the day before. My hands stroked closer to her panties as I leaned forward to roll her hips up and I couldn't help pressing my fingers in as I slid them off to either side, spreading her flesh and emphasizing the long puffy crest pushing up against her panties.

"Mark, I really think we should talk now."

"Not while they're still here, Mom. I can't."

"But I really think ..."

I picked up the hem of Mom's plaid skirt and pulled it up over her head, gently laying the material on her face, muffling her words.

"Talk later," I laughed, "after they're gone."

Making light of it worked, she fell silent. I returned to fondling her thighs. Soon, I was running my hands down, outside her legs to her hips, then gradually over her buttocks but careful to stay on her cheeks, avoiding her crack. I was surprised when she let me do this without comment, or any movement to indicate disapproval.

It was just after this that I became aware of the halftime music. Dad and Brad would be leaving now. Would Dad come up to say goodbye to Mom? Panic welled up inside me and I almost leapt from the bed but then a sobering thought consoled me. Dad wouldn't make an unnecessary trip up the stairs. I was sure he'd just leave, or continue watching the game.

Mom didn't seem to be aware the halftime show had stared. It was just after this, as I was looking down at her, trying to see if she knew Dad might be leaving, when my stroking fingers first caught the waistband of her panties, dragging them up toward me from her hips, quite by accident. Mom didn't react.

The next time was on purpose. I dragged her panties off a little more, and again a few strokes later. It took the whole halftime show but eventually I had Mom's panties below -- or from my perspective, above -- her buttocks, betraying her dark little hole and just the briefest hint of the pussy still hidden above. Amazing. Until that moment, I don't think my mother's asshole had ever crossed my mind, but there it was, a tiny crinkled donut around a small open oval. Spotlessly clean. I spread her cheeks, opening that tiny orifice into a small circle.

She spoke then but I couldn't hear her. I leaned forward to listen, seeing her lips moving under the skirt that profiled her face below, but I still couldn't understand what she was saying.

"Shhhhh, Mom. They're still here."

I thought she answered that we had to talk, but I couldn't be sure.

"When they're gone, Mom. We'll talk when they're gone," I assured her. "Now, be quiet, before Dad comes upstairs," I warned, the thought momentarily alarming me until I assured myself that he was gone.

I slipped her panties up a little higher until the waistband was halfway across her pussy. Readying myself to plant my mouth on her, I paused to push my sweatpants down, freeing my raging boner. I didn't want to mess them up like I did yesterday, and after licking her puss, she wouldn't notice until too late that I was rubbing my bare cock against her. I shifted my knees closer to grip Mom's hips and curled my hands and forearms around the backs of her thighs, making sure she couldn't get away easily if she reacted against my first embrace.

I stared at her panties, half covering her pussy. I pried with my hands, opening her little asshole as I leaned forward, extending my tongue, dipping into her spread crack, across her hole and up to her pussy, my nose shoving her panties out of the way as my slippery, wet reptile plowed between her lips, delving deep, thrusting into her surprised cunt as far as it could.

"Ohhhhh, GOD, MARK!" Mom yelled. "Mark, Mark, Mark," she kept yelling as I dug my tongue in her, not pulling out, shaking my head violently side to side as I ploughed her depths.

"Quiet, Mom," I whispered harshly when I finally pulled my face back, "shut up or they'll come upstairs."

I didn't wait for an answer. Instead, I pulled her cuntlips apart with my fingers and dropped my tongue into the wet pink canyon that yawed before me, lapping quickly to her muted moans. Several minutes later I pulled back.

"Hold your feet," I said, and was pleased to see her hands come up to grasp her ankles, freeing mine to touch her more delicately while I considered what to do next. I knew she wouldn't stop me now. I don't think my father had eaten her for a long, long time, if ever, and she wasn't about to miss out. She truly loved it. Her pussy was throbbing in anticipation of my tongue's next move.

I moved my fingers around her pussy, heightening her tension, tickling the nub above with the index finger of my left hand as I moved the index of my right slowly down her slit and below, to her little hole, lightly pressing in there.

"Oh, god," she whimpered, the skirt moving where her mouth was.

"What's this?" I whispered, tipping my fingernail in before touching my tongue to the bottom of her pussy, working my way up in side to side flicks interrupted by the odd flick into her slit. "What's this?" I repeated several more times until my tongue was playing around my finger at the top of her pussy while the other's fingernail was buried, wiggling in that little hole while I stimulated her above.

Mom's breath was rasping through her skirt a few minutes later. By that time, I was watching two fingers of my left hand slip in and out of her pussy while I wiggled my fully buried index finger in her ass. On a sudden urge, I pulled both hands away, dragged my tongue across both holes, and pushed forward as I straightened up, reading my cock for a plunge into her soaking slipperiness.

Mom abruptly let go of her legs and yanked her skirt down from her face, planting her feet on the bed beside me.

"NO."

I froze, my cock in hand, still poised above her pussy.

"No," Mom repeated, a firm yet desperate look on her face. "If you finish, I'll suck you."

"What?" I replied, stunned.

"I'll suck you, if you finish what you were doing."

We stared at each other for long seconds before I slowly lowered my head to her pussy, Mom raising and opening her legs to help, hands sliding around the back of my head, pulling me toward the pussy I'm sure she was set to deny me in our special talk.

I didn't rush. Mom wouldn't let me anyway. She was intent on making it last, pushing me away several times before she couldn't and pulled me in, her grip nearly breaking my neck as she tried to pull my mouth right inside her. She came hard. It took several minutes for her to quit shaking and quivering, experiencing two revival episodes.

I don't think Dad ever made her come like that. I don't think anyone had. She looked like a truly pleased woman as she watched me, a satisfied smile on her face, crawl over her hips, past her stomach, to straddle her chest. She shifted higher up on the pillow then, knowing what was coming, her eyes on my cock as it wavered before her mouth. I grasped the side of her head.

"You won't have to suck much, Mom," I moaned, pressing the tip to her lips.

"I know," Mom whispered, finishing with open lips on that 'oh' sound, letting me slide my cock inside her in one full thrust. Then I was at it, fucking her mouth. I know she said she would suck me, but I wanted to fuck her mouth, fuck her face, and she knew it. I felt her hands come up to grip my ass as my thrusts shortened, quickened, grew more desperate as I hunched over her head, moaning as I my cock scraped by her lips, felt the wet heat of her always moving tongue, then grunting with each spurt. 


When I finally pulled my softening cock out of Mom's mouth, expecting to see a mess all over her face, I was surprised to her soft complexion unmarked, the only evidence of my attack the end of a big swallow followed by Mom's smile.

"Oh, Mom," I gasped, dropping onto her chest, wrapping my arms around her.

"It's ok," she patted my back, "it's ok."

Mom continued to console me for a few more minutes, then said, "I guess we have to recognize that we've crossed a line, and we'll do it again, it's inevitable. There's no use fighting it." She paused for a minute, then added, "You like being with me don't you?" I nodded. "But there's a line I'll never cross, you understand that too, don't you?"

I shook my head against her chest.

"Yes, Mark. There is a line."

I shook my head again, making sure to rub my cheeks across her tits. Mom laughed, pushing my head up, making me look at her.

"You brat. There is a line, and I won't cross it with you. Say you understand or I won't do this with you again."

I shook my head again, dipped down to kiss her breast, then said, "I love touching your legs, Mom, and I love kissing you places even more."

Mom looked at me closely, assessing me, then laughed again. "You really are a brat."

I laughed back. "I know."

"Well, I won't let you."

"And I'll try."

Another pause.

"Go get me a beer. I need one."

I put my sweatpants back on and headed downstairs, realizing then that Mom knew all along that Dad and Brad had left at halftime and that we were alone.

Can you guess how shocked I was coming down the stairs to see Dad and Brad still watching the game?

"Coming down to the pub with us, son?" Dad asked as I reached the bottom of the stairs, "We're heading down as soon as the game's over."

"No," I choked out, darting into the kitchen, "I've got to talk to Mom."

"Grab us a couple more beers," Brad yelled.

When I came out with two beers for them and two for me and Mom, I explained that wished I could go but I had to talk to Mom.

"Hey, we understand women," Brad guffawed. "Go take care of your mom, kid."

"Yeah," Dad laughed along with his friend, "take care of Mom."

That's exactly what I intend to do, I thought as I climbed the stairs for the second time that day, but not the way you think. I closed the door firmly behind me before walking to the bed. Mom watched me as she lay propped up on one elbow.

"They were downstairs the whole time?" she seemed genuinely surprised.

I handed her a beer, already opened. "Yup," I answered. "They're off to the pub after the game, said I should take care of you."

"Oh," she laughed, rolling onto her tummy, propped up on both elbows now, looking sideways at me as I lay down beside her on my left elbow, beer held in my right, eyes sliding down her back, over her red plaid skirt, and along her legs to her bare feet. "So, are you?" she asked.

"Am I what?" not really paying attention to what she was saying.

"Going to take care of me?" She turned her head, taking a small sip, watching me appreciate her form.

"After they're gone," I replied.

"What am I supposed to do until then?" Mom asked in a sexy, husky voice, shifting her feet apart to open her legs.

I took a drink too, a long one, and passed my beer to my left hand when I finished. I trailed my free hand down her back and up the rise of her buttocks, letting it rest on her soft flesh, fingers finding the groove under the plaid material. Gently, I moved my hand in a small circle, searching for the telltale ridge of her panties but finding no sign.

"Sip your beer," I suggested, "it's gotta last."

My brow furrowed as my hand moved, widening the arc of its search. Mom's knees bent as she drew her legs up to allow them to open wider.

"But you're not sipping yours."

I retrieved my hand to take my beer, took another big slug, and switched hands again, returning to fondle Mom's rump.

"I have other things to do," I argued, "you don't."

"Oh," Mom said in a teasing tone, "so I'm supposed to just lay her while you do your big important things." She lifted her hips, pressing her rump against my circling palm, settling down with legs open just a little wider yet.

"That's the picture," I responded, teasing her back, "your job is to just lay there and enjoy yourself."

I was now convinced that Mom was naked under the skirt but, looking around, I couldn't see her panties anywhere and it didn't make sense that she would toss them after laying down the law about not crossing the line.

I switched hands again, downed the rest of my beer, and tossed the empty to the floor. Mom sipped her beer as I did, looking very amused, even laughing at my eagerness to return my hand to renew my search.

"Lost something?" she asked, her eyes twinkling.

"No, no," I returned, my hand dipping down, pushing her skirt between her legs, finally encountering her panties, stretched across the bottom of her buttocks, leaving her cheeks bare above. She hadn't tossed them, she simply hadn't pulled them back up. I could feel myself lengthening as I realized she was open to play, even though she knew Dad and Brad were still downstairs watching the game.

Mom reached over to set her bottle down on the bedside table, then settled down in the pillows, hands folded below on her chest, elbows by her sides. Her legs straightened but remained parted. I started pulling her skirt up, bunching it in my hand on her behind, then pulling it higher to pile it on her back, leaving her ass bare before me, her panties stretched tight across the backs of her thighs.

"Make sure you pull my skirt down if you hear your Dad coming," Mom instructed.

I laid my hand across her cheeks, then slid my palm down, cupping her left cheek, sneaking my fingers between her panties and her ass, fingertip brushing across the bottom of her pussy. Pushing my hand forward, I slid it back up, fingertips trailing up her crack, stopping when my palm was once more resting on the crest of her left buttock, fingers poking in, wedged between her cheeks. I wiggled my fingers, searching for the crinkly button with my longest finger.

"Haven't you had enough for today?" Mom whispered, laying with her face toward me.

"No, not nearly," I whispered back, hoarsely.

"I'm serious about the line, Mark."

I leaned forward, placed my left hand on Mom's right cheek and pressed it outward, opening her crack, revealing the little donut hidden there. I drooled some spit directly on target and quickly moved my long fingertip on top to spread it around.

"Why do you like that so much?" Mom asked, apparently not bothered by my attention there.

"I don't know," I answered honestly, "I just do."

"You can play there all you want but it won't get you in where you want to go," Mom warned.

"I don't mind. Can I play around until they leave?" I continued circling my fingertip, dripping another dollup of saliva in to smooth its ride.

"It's neither here nor there as far as I'm concerned," Mom commented nonchalantly.

I surmised from her answer that this didn't do much for Mom, but from what I'd seen in porno movies by so-called ass masters, that could change if you took your time. I resolved to do just that. Play with her ass while stroking all around her pussy, building up a groundswell of horniness.

After a few more minutes went by, I suggested, "Can I lay on top of you? It wouldn't be crossing the line when you're facing away like this."

I was looking for confirmation, or at least no objection. Mom didn't say anything so I just kept sliding my left hand around her bottom while I continued working my finger around her little hole.

"Mom?"

"If you keep your pants on."

"But I'd pull them up quick if I heard Dad coming." I argued.

"No."

"After? Can I do it after they leave?"

"We'll see," Mom's delayed response finally came.

I pulled my finger out and replaced it with my thumb, allowing my fingers to trail down her crack to her pussy slit. As I rubbed her crinkly with my thumb, I let my fingers brush back and forth across her pussy lips. I knew I was getting somewhere when her tummy suddenly pushed into the bed, cocking her ass up so more of her pussy could twist toward me.

As I twiddled her pussy lips I managed to work the first part of my thumb inside her ass. Mom's reactions belied her nonchalance about her ass since I seemed to be getting more reaction to my thumbwork than my manipulations of her pussy, but I had a sense she wouldn't admit it.

"I think they're going now, Mom," I whispered, pretending to hear something.

During the distraction, I slipped my left hand under her tummy and moved it down until I could slip my fingers between her pussy lips from above. Mom moaned, turning her face into the pillow. I was sure I had her now, but I was even more tense now, afraid to screw things up.

Her ass lifted, whether from my fingering underneath or new appreciation for my asswork, I don't know. I slipped the long finger of my left hand fully inside her pussy and replaced my thumb with the long finger of my right, along with all the drool I could muster. Within a dozen thrusts, I accompanied both long fingers with both index fingers, now working two fingers in each hole.

Mom's hips were hunching now, her ass lifting up to meet my fingers in her rear and then forward into the mattress to shove the others as far inside her as she could. She was definitely moaning, a constant low hum modulating in tone.

I wouldn't have heard Dad now if he had walked in the bedroom door. I began nibbling Mom's ass and covering her cheeks with love bites. I don't know why I started doing this but Mom seemed to really like it, judging from the sounds she was making.

I don't know when, but there as a point when I realized Mom had raised her hips, my fingers following, and was holding her ass up to let my rear fingers more easily push in and out of her. She was definitely loving the ass stuff now, her body couldn't lie. I started to work her ass more, using my pussy fingers to just hold her in place. I was kneeling beside her now, providing greater leverage for my assault on her behind, leaning in to drool more saliva down her ass crack as needed.

I expected her to panic when I shifted to kneel behind her but she didn't. Maybe she wasn't aware of my move, I don't know. Using my left hand, I pushed my sweatpants down off my ass, swinging my arm around to lift them off my dick which was stabbing straight up. Grasping my tool, I spit on it for good measure, pulled my fingers out of Mom to a desperate sounding 'ohhhh', lined it up and nudged it against her now yawning hole. My cock head slipped almost completely inside her, requiring only a slight push to pop the rest in.

"Ohhhhhhhhhuuuhhhhhhhhh," Mom moaned loudly.

"Unnnnggghhhhhhhh," she cried as I pushed all the way in, slowly, until my legs met hers.

I hoped to god my Dad had really left because there was no way in hell I could pull out now.

Out, I dragged my cock back, then the slow shove back in again.

"Ohhhhhhhhhuuuhhhhhhhhh," she moaned as I pulled out, and "Unnnnggghhhhhhhh," she grunted as I pushed back in. Over and over and over.

My hands were gripping the fleshiest part of her hips, holding her as I dragged my cock out and pulling her back as I drove it forward. I was getting carried away by the anarchy of her moans, pushing and pulling faster and faster as my cock slid through her forbidden ring, abandoning my movements to simple reactions to her sounds.

"Yeah," I grunted, "do you like that? Huh?"

I repeated that every thirty seconds or so, each time I put a little more ummphh into a thrust, making a point, ecstatic in the thrill of fucking her ass. I leaned heavily into her, collapsing her flat onto the bed, digging my cock in, pulling her head up to gasp in her ear.

"Do you like it? ... In your ass? ... Do you? ... Huh?"

My toes were digging in the mattress as I tried to leverage my cock farther and farther into her and, finally, to just hold myself in as I discharged jet after jet of searing hot cum between her cheeks, gasping my heart out.

We lay still.

I raised myself up on my knees, pulling my cock out, still quite hard, white goo dripping down in a long string to her open hole, filled with the same stuff. Fascinated, I spread her cheeks and pushed my cock back in, just inside, before pulling out again. Mom moaned, a desperate, needy moan. She hadn't come, she needed more. My cock hardened. I pushed in an out again, pausing to enjoy the sound I pulled from her throat and the pop of her asshole as it released my cock.

In, out, pause ... back in.

Gosh, how she seemed to love this slow ass fuck, like a steam train slowly gaining speed as it leaves the station, chug ... chug ... chug.

In and out faster now, but pausing for the same time to listen to the obligatory moan and sucking sound as my cock popped out of her ass. Back in but not far, getting a grunt now on the poke inside. Lovely, lovely. Cock fully hard again, messy with my own cum lubricating her ass, Mom lifting it up trying to get it inside her sooner.

Staying still now as Mom fucked her own ass on my cock, thrusting back, keeping herself impaled on my little pole, obviously loving it, loving my cock in her ass. She was really going now, leaping up from the mattress, shoving herself frantically back as she neared her orgasm, finally reaching it, yelling out loud, pushing with her arms to hold herself against my hips, wriggling her ass all over, reaming herself with my hardness. I pulled back when she collapsed on the bed, holding my cock tip just at her entrance, rubbing it back and forth across her hole until I came again, releasing a steady flow of white cream, filling her little hole and her crack.

Laying heavily on her back I whispered in her ear, "That's a new line Mom, there's no going back."

Mom was silent. There was no other response except for her heavy breathing. My cock lay embedded in the crack of her sticky bum. I was in no hurry to move.

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It was almost supper time. I was still having second thoughts about those photographs of Mom with her legs in the straps that I'd left for Paul to find. Now that I had renewed my chances with Mary, I didn't want him talk her into doing that for him. I wished to hell I hadn't left those damn pictures. Mary was just about to leave with Dad's tray when I entered the kitchen.

"Oh, hi beautiful," I greeted her, walking up behind to kiss her on the cheek as she completed her final preparation of Dad's dinner. "I'm glad I caught up with you, I wanted to ask you something." I slipped my hand around her waist, wanting to keep our recently renewed intimacy alive.

Mary flashed me a wonderful, welcoming smile. "Ask away," she said.

"I was hoping you'd let me take you out, for dinner or a movie, or, even better, both." I stood back, watching the surprise spread over Mary's face, almost shock.

"But, we can't," she stammered, "I'm so much older than you, it would look weird."

"No it wouldn't," I protested, "you look so young, it wouldn't look odd at all."

"But, I work for your Mom."

"Say yes, Mary. I want to take you out, on a date. I want to be out with you as a woman, away from here."

"I can't Dave."

"Yes you can. It won't interfere with what you're doing with Pau. I just want to talk over a nice dinner, to sit next to you at a movie, or a play if you like."

"I don't know."

"I do. Say yes. Just say yes."

Mary abruptly turned to face me square on, her face pink and flushed, happy, somehow making her look more womanly than I'd ever seen her. "Yes," she said, laughing, "yes."

I hugged her, pulled back, quickly kissed her on her lips, hugged her again, and then pulled back to engage her in a long, passionate kiss. I didn't try to touch her sexually at all. That kiss was enough, it was all I wanted.

"When?" I asked.

"This weekend," she answered. "we'll be free this weekend."

"Three more days. I don't know if I can wait. Where should we go?"

"Surprise me, Dave. And remember," she added, picking up the tray and walking away, "no matter what you decide, you can't disappoint me."

Mother called not long after that to say she'd be late again. I went out for a burger and returned to read more letters. My school work was starting to suffer but I just couldn't stay away from these letters, especially when I was about to spend a lonely night. I was glad to find an update from Jack (Chapter 12), that lucky school kid who had successfully played off the rivalry between his mom and her friend Carrie to freely feel them both up and to actually bang his mother. And right after that, she cried, realizing she had to go to confession the next Sunday. In less than a week, the priest would know she'd let her son fuck her, that she had actually encouraged him. It would be the end of her and Jack's world.

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Hello group. I have been a nervous wreck ever since I was brought crashing down from the highest point in my entire life, from vigorously fucking my Mom from behind, by my mother's words, "I have to go to confession next Sunday."

Strange ideas ran through my mind for two days. I could kidnap Mom and run away with her. I could commit suicide, or kill Mom, or both of us. None of these ideas, you can imagine, were satisfactory. Could Carrie help? She was Mom's best friend. If Mom would listen to anyone, it would be Carrie. Could Carrie convince Mom not to go to confession, or at least leave some significant details out? Could she convince Mom that she hadn't committed a sin?

Maybe. I resolved to try to enlist Carrie's help, and the best way to do it, I figured, would be to ensure that Mom's confession would involve her demise as well. She may as well be motivated I thought. I needed to get them together again.

Another strange thought struck me. One that I kind of liked. It seemed to me that if life was to end on Sunday, I might as well try to fuck Mom as much as I could until then. What would it matter if she got mad? But first, I would try to reason with her. After all, she seemed to really like getting it from behind. My Dad, I'm sure, had never treated her to anything but the stock, church sanctioned, missionary position. I decided to approach Mom with my thoughts that night and cursed myself with wasting a whole day and a half stressing out instead of shagging my Mom.

After dinner I helped Mom with the dishes but wasn't able to explain my ideas to her, partly because she didn't seem to want to listen, and partly because Dad kept wandering through the kitchen. I did manage to refresh the memory of our interlude in her room that Sunday afternoon and I could tell it excited her. After the dishes, Mom sat next to Dad on the couch and watched TV for half an hour, then got up to do laundry. I followed her downstairs a few minutes later.

I got ideas, I can tell you, watching her pull clothes from the washer and bend over to stuff them into the dryer. She hardly seemed interested in what I had to say, but her face and neck seemed flushed after talking about how nice it was to do it, and how she probably wouldn't ever have a chance to do it that way ever again after next Sunday. But she might have been just agitated, because she seemed to be getting cross, jamming clothes harder and harder into the dryer, and after starting the dryer, folding the warm clothes she'd just retrieved quickly rather than slowly and neatly in her usual fashion.

She seemed so agitated that I finally pinned her arms to her sides from behind and held her still until she leaned forward to place her elbows on the folding counter, hanging her head down.

"What is it you want, Jack? What do you want me to do? I have to confess. I have to." 

Mom was very stressed. I tried to soothe her with my voice.

"I know, Mom. I'm not arguing that. But you can't confess until Sunday, and you can only pay the price once, don't you see?"

"No. I don't see."

"On Sunday, you have to pay the price for all the unconfessed sins that came before, right?"

"Yes."

"All of them at once, right?"

"Yes."

I slid my hands from her shoulders down her arms to hold her wrists, stepping close behind her, my jeans brushing her dress.

"From this moment right up to Sunday, right?"

"Yes."

I bumped myself into her behind, holding her wrists tight. My cock was already hard, bent into an uncomfortable bulge in my jeans that I pressed against against the softness of those gorgeous pear-like cheeks.

"The punishment is the same for what you've done, isn't it?" I ground myself into her.

"Yes."

I humped into her bottom several times.

"It doesn't matter how many times you commit the same sin, it can't get worse."

"That's right."

I hunched her butt, pushing her against the counter, spreading her legs by pressing her knees out with mine, grinding against her butt.

"Oh god, Jack. Stop it. I know what you're trying to do. It's not right."

Mom's voice went up and down in cadence in response to my thrusts against her behind. I was continually thrusting my bulge into her bum now.

"That's just it Mom. It's not right, right up to Sunday morning." Bump, bump, bump.

"Jack, no. Stop it."

"If you want me to stop, call him. Call Dad, Mom, if you want me to stop."

Mom fell silent, her head rocking forward as I continued to hump against her ass. I realized she wasn't going to call out, wasn't going to stop me.

"Remember, Mom? When I put you on your tummy?" I whispered.

"Jack, please stop."

I stopped.

I unbuckled my jeans and pushed them down to my knees, with my underwear, my cock springing forth like a weapon.

Mom stood still, leaning on her elbows, legs spread about two feet apart. Her breathing was uneven, even ragged. She sucked her breath in and held it when my hands grasped her hips and pulled her back a step, then pushed her back forward, forcing her to lean against the counter at a sharper angle. Immediately, my hands dropped to her hem and pulled her dress up over her hips, bunching around her waist and stuffing it between her tummy and the edge of the counter.

I marveled at the beauty of her ass, her panties only partly covering her prominent cheeks protruding, jutting, at a slightly outward angle away from her hips. Almost reluctantly, I tugged them down her thighs to her knees.

"Lift," I instructed.

Mom bent her knee to lift her foot, allowing me to pull the panty off, then repeated without instruction with the other foot. She replaced her feet in their spread position, and stood waiting.

I ran my right palm over my mouth, licking it and my fingers, then cupped her pussy from behind, rubbing my saliva over her cunt lips. I didn't wait, I pushed my cock forward until the tip hit her wetness and quickly shoved the head inside.

"Oh, god, Jack, oh god."

"That's right, Mom. Tell him how good it feels. Tell him how right it is."

I shoved in, all the way. I couldn't wait. I started fucking her hard right away, rocking her like a rag doll over the counter. She became very wet almost immediately and our fucking generating a loud slap, slap, slap racket that was thankfully covered by noise of the washer and dryer. Mom was grunting with every thrust. I don't know if it was from my frenetic pace or if she was really getting off on my cock slamming into her from behind. A little of both, I guess. It didn't matter, I loved it!

Spurt, spurt, spurt. I slowed down to grinding hunches as I empied my sperm into her, finally coming to a stop. Mom leaned right over onto the counter.

"Right until Sunday, Mom. I'm going to fuck you every chance I get."

I pulled my cock out and watched my semen trickle down the inside of her right thigh. God she looked hot, her hair wild, her legs tremblling, my cum dribbling down. I grabbed a bunch of stacked towels and threw them onto the laundry room floor, followed by a couple of sheets, then dragged Mom upright and gently laid her down on her back. Without delay, I kneeled between her legs, pushed them high and braced against my shoulders, feet on either side of my head, then leaned far forward, bending her almost double.

I aimed my cock and slipped it into her wet hole again, and used my hand to help shove it deeper. Grabbing a tit in each hand, I squeezed each firmly, the long distended nipples poking out through thumb and fingers. Then I started, another vigorous, strenous fuck. It wasn't long before our skin was slapping together loudly again but it was Mom's strained breathing that almost overwhelmed the sound of the machines. I fucked her hard, as hard as I could. She couldn't move on her own, she could only take what I gave. But when we were close again, near her second orgasm in half an hour, she craned her neck up and bit me on my chest. I don't know if it was the pain or the timing, but my cum burst up my rod and through my head, a geyser that took half a minute to empty into her shrine, her holy cunt.

For two or three minutes she kept her legs hooked around my neck and I gouged my cock into her every twenty seconds or so, reacting to spasms, jerking dregs of cum into her. At last, I stood, looking down at her on the floor, limbs akilter, seemingly exhausted.

"I don't know if I can take this until Sunday," she gasped, turning onto her side, breasts heaving and tummy, exposed because her dress was still pulled up way over her hips, pulsing with every gulp for air. As I watched, her hips twisted slightly forward, gracing my eyes with her ass once more, her beautiful cheeks creasing against the back of her thighs, a shadowy triangle forming where her thighs met.

Mom turned to look up at me, panting above her, her features configuring into surprise as she recognized the lust returning to my young face.

"No. Jack, you can't be serious," her words echoed her countenance.

"What?" I said, leaning down to grasp her ankle, pulling up to prevent her from completing the motion she initiatated as she tried to twist onto her back.

"No, Jack. It's not possible."

Mom tried to get onto her back, but her eyes were on my cock, lurching as it stiffened before her.

"What?" I asked again, grabbing her other ankle, pulling it up too, twisting her legs, turning her over onto her tummy.

"It's not natural."

Mom tried to raise herself on her hands so I shifted down, slipping her legs through my curled arms to her knees, holding her up like she used to do to me when I was little, playing wheelbarrow.

"Jack, don't."

My cock tingled as it bounced to full hardness. Impossible? Give me a break, I thought, gazing down as her ass, her parted legs, her pussy, wet and used, open, pink and ready. How could I not be hard again? Show me one eighteen year old who wouldn't have a raging boner looking at this.

"Feel it Mom," I panted, slipping my knob inside her, "its not natural." I grunted as I shoved my cock into her, feeling every millimeter of her soaking, gripping glove. "Holy fuck," I cried.

"Holy fuck," I grunted, again and again, crouched with knees bent, holding Mom's thighs splayed about my hips as I plunged my cock into her over and over.

"Holy fuck," I cried when I noticed Mom bend her knees, bringing her feet into view beside me, stretching her pussy to enhance the feel of my cock digging into her cunt, her toes curled right over. My hips started jackhammering at a furious pace. "Fuck ... fuck ... fuck," until I burst into her a third time, heard her wail through another orgasm, felt her spasm on my cock, lunging, slower now, stopping, slipping out of her, finally soft.

Gently, I lowered her knees to the ground. Hovering over her, I whispered, voice hoarse and ragged, "Not natural? That's what God's love should feel like."

As I stumbled upstairs, yanking my jeans up and cinching my belt, her words and mine played over in my head.

"It's not natural" ... "Holy fuck" ... "God's love"

That's it, I thought. That's the key. I could hardly wait to get to school tomorrow. To see my art teacher, the one with the tatoos.

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What was this all about? What was he up to? I couldn't find another letter from Jack, at least in my hurried search. I decided to try again after I settled down. Mom wasn't home yet so I reviewed the evening monitors for activity. I wished I hadn't. I found what Mary had meant by, "We'll be free by the weekend."




The Mom Memories Ch. 14
byalwayswantedto©

All characters are 18 years or older.

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From Ch. 13

From Jack's story:

That's it, I thought. That's the key. I could hardly wait to get to school tomorrow. To see my art teacher, the one with the tattoos.

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What was this all about? What was he up to? I couldn't find another letter from Jack, at least in my hurried search. I decided to try again after I settled down. Mom wasn't home yet so I reviewed the evening monitors for activity. I wished I hadn't. I found what Mary had meant by, "We'll be free by the weekend."

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Mary was already sitting up in bed watching TV. The toilet flushed and Paul came into view.

"You haven't started, have you?" he asked his mom, unbuckling the belt on his trousers.

"No." Mary waved the remote at him keeping her eyes on the TV as Paul slipped his pants off and tossed them on a chair. It wasn't until Paul turned sideways to look at the TV that Mary's eyes glanced his way, straight at his midsection and the prominent bulge evident there even though his shirt covered his undershorts. Her gaze jerked back to the TV when Paul turned toward her.

"You may as well start, Mom," he said, turning back to the TV, fingers busy undoing the buttons on his shirt.

Mary watched what she was doing as she manipulated the remote. Paul finished unbuttoning his shirt but continued watching the TV as the previews began for upcoming movies. He removed his shirt slowly, his attention captured by a preview of the new Spiderman movie. When his undershorts were uncovered, Mary's eyes strayed to her son's large bulge, her true feelings betrayed by the desire in her eyes. Mary may have been compelled to help her son, and she may not have done it if not prodded by me, but it was clear that it was no longer an entirely dutiful experience for her, even if she couldn't admit that to herself.

Paul wasn't interested in the next preview and turned to get into bed. Anticipating this, Mary had refocused her eyes on the TV. She started the movie and dropped the remote on the bed. Paul slipped under the covers, turning on his side to face his mom with his head on the pillow rather than propped up to watch the movie like Mary.

Paul made no pretense of being interested in the movie, he completely ignored it and Mary made no comment about him not watching it. He simply lay on his side, staring at Mary's breasts under the nightie, perhaps marveling at their still youthful rise from her chest, or maybe he was thinking about something more lewd like the way he had ripped her nightdress the night before to watch his semen trickle between her tits to her belly.

Whatever he was thinking, it wasn't long before there were signs of movement under the blanket. Unlike the night before when I could see his hands moving under the covers over his mom's legs, the evidence was indirect. Mary's legs appeared to be moving in response to Paul trying to push her knees up and seconds later this was confirmed as Mary lifted her knees under the covers. Mary complied with just a faintly annoyed expression but she spoke a moment later when her knees began to wobble. Evidently, Paul was trying to open her legs and she was resisting.

"Paul."

No response.

"Paul," Mary repeated. "I'm trying to watch the movie."

"I know. I'm just trying to help you see better," Paul replied, ignoring the fact that he had pushed her legs up in the way in the first place. Nevertheless, Mary's knees spread apart as she stopped resisting his pressure and quietly resumed watching the movie.

Like the night before, Mary's face signaled the touch of Paul's hand. Instead of starting by stroking her legs and working his way up, he went straight for the prize. Mary sucked her breath in sharply and began breathing in sharp little gasps. She must have been primed, whether from watching his cock bulge in his shorts or from thinking about what was going to happen, but the speed with which Paul had managed to get her breathing so quickly indicated that she'd been more than ready for his touch. Her head lolled against the headboard and she closed her eyes.

Paul rose up on one elbow, watching her tits heave on her chest as her ribcage emptied and filled. His eyes moved down to her crotch, which I couldn't see because of the blankets stretched across her knees. Clearly, Paul wanted to see more too, to watch what his hand was doing, because he slowly peeled the covers back, baring his mother's legs. Her feet were planted wide apart, knees up and open wide, and her nightie had fallen to her hips, exposing her pussy. His mother had gone to bed without panties.

Mary opened her eyes and lifted her head to look at her son. She looked very horny, her eyes desperate and her breathing erratic. Paul's hand moved to regain possession of her pussy, his fingers twiddling from side to side, teasing her lips, fingertips dipping inside the wet slit between. Mary must have started lubricating before he even touched her to be this wet so fast. Paul's eyes traveled up his mom's belly, over her heaving breasts, to engage her eyes. Mary stared back, her head seeming to nod, almost imperceptibly, signaling what?

Eyes steadily on his mother, Paul moved his hand up to brush his fingers all around Mary's mound.

"You're so big here, Mom, like me," he said.

Mary nodded silently, too busy trying to breathe to talk.

Paul bunched his fingers together and pushed them inside, whispering something I couldn't hear. Mary squirmed, wiggling side to side, lowering herself in the bed, sliding off the pillows propped behind her back. When she was laying almost flat, Paul whispered again. Mary's feet left the bed as she brought her knees back to her shoulders, and then to her sides as Paul whispered again, lewdly opening herself to his eyes, and mine. He continued to whisper softly to her as he worked his fingers inside her, barely moving them in and out, mostly twisting them back and forth.

Mary was nodding her head constantly, her eyes closed, but she suddenly shook her head no to something her son was now suggesting. She kept shaking her head slowly and he kept fingering her for a minute or two, and then, Mary's head stopped shaking and she stretched her foot back, trying to reach behind her head. Paul got up to his knees and, keeping his finger inside hers, put his left hand under her back and lifted her hips off the bed, enabling Mary's feet to reach the headboard. Mary's foot was searching, scraping along the headboard. Paul shifted his knees to keep her bum in its raised position and used his now free left hand to guide Mary's foot to the leather loop on the headboard. She helped Paul, scrunching her foot so it could more easily fit through the loop.

Damn, I thought. She's going to do it for him.

Paul quickly moved to get her other ankle secured. I switched to the overhead camera so I could see Mary in her spread out glory. God. It may be lewd, but she looked fantastic spread out like that, ass twisted up off the bed, legs wide open, pussy soaked and full of her son's fingers.

Paul worked away with his fingers, twisting, twisting, twisting. Sometimes he rubbed her clit with the thumb of his left hand and several times he pulled his hands away altogether, just as it seemed that Mary was about to come. Her eyes fluttered open then but she never said anything. Nevertheless, the look in her eyes betrayed her need to come and when his fingers returned, her eyes would close and the expression on her face indicated a more fervent effort to climb the ramp of desire to fruition before he next left her pussy hollow and pulsing its need to be filled again. Each time his fingers returned, Paul worked them further in, twisting his knuckles slowly back and forth, making it easier for Mary to reach nirvana.

It suddenly dawned on me what Paul was doing. He was preparing her, opening her so his humongous cock head could slip inside her easily, quickly, so she couldn't block him. Did Mary know? Did she know her son was getting ready to fuck her? Was she trying to come first, or did she want him, despite what she'd said to me?

When the moment came, reason wouldn't have anything to do with it, that much was certain. Mary was moaning and moaning as her son almost fisted her, though gently, slowly working all of his fingers in her, pulling out now and then to check how open she was. I could tell the moment was near because he suddenly pushed his undershorts down to his knees. I was sure the next time he pulled his fingers out they would be replaced by his cock before Mary could open her eyes. Would she care?

Paul leaned forward and, despite how soaked Mary's pussy was, he drooled on it. Quickly, he pulled his fingers out, grasped his cock, and pressed it against his mom's gaping hole. Mary's eyes flew open, looking first at her son and then down to her pussy, watching him push the rest of his cock inside her. Her mouth was open and stayed open even after the massive head disappeared. Paul shifted up from his knees to squat on his feet, straddling Mary's haunches, grabbing the headboard with both hands to steady himself. As Mary looked up at him, Paul began to fuck her, slowly at first but steadily increasing his pace until the room was filled with the wet sound of his legs slapping against hers.

Mary's mouth was open in a silent scream, a scream of ecstasy judging by the enraptured look on her face. She loved it. I don't know where Paul got his control from but several times he suddenly stopped, staying still for a least a minute before resuming, sometimes starting over again with a slow grinding fuck, sometimes fucking his mom hard. It wasn't clear whether he stopped to prevent himself from coming or his mother, or both. But eventually, he didn't stop, gasping loudly, somehow knowing he had to pull out, that he couldn't pump his enormous load into his mom, that it needed somewhere to go. Mary was already soaked in her own fluid but Paul absolutely deluged her, pumping so much onto the backs of her legs, her pussy and ass, and her stomach and tits, that it looked like a fire truck had doused her with foam.

I watched to see Mary's reaction to Paul's surprise attack, but there was none. Mary disentangled herself from the leather straps after Paul rolled off her and simply disappeared from camera view, the shower starting up right away. Paul quietly stripped the bed and replaced the sheets and pillow cases, pulling the covers up and setting the movie back to its start. He left for the shower when his mother appeared, still silent, drying herself with a large towel, smiling at her son as they passed. She crawled between the sheets, completely nude, and plumped the pillows before starting the movie, not waiting, realizing her son wasn't the least bit interested in it.

Paul returned from the shower a moment later, also completely naked. Mary watched him approach and climb into bed, her eyes on his unique cock. I couldn't read her expression but her eyes never left his cock until it was covered by the blankets. Mary turned back to the movie and Paul went to sleep.

I fell asleep before Mom got home. I awoke just as she finished dressing and came over to kiss me good morning, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Mom said, kissing me on the forehead, then quickly on my lips. "Say, do you think Paul has finally got to Mary?" she asked. "Maybe introduced her to these," she laughed, eyes twinkling as her hand flipped one of our leather straps.

"I don't know," I replied, still not fully awake. "Why?"

"Well, I was up very early and I heard some strange sounds from downstairs while I was having my coffee."

I perked up at that.

Mom laughed again, "That got you interested, didn't it? Is there a little voyeur in my boy?"

My panic was short-lived as I realized that Mom couldn't possibly know about the cameras.

"I don't know what he was doing to her," she went on, "but the sounds were almost inhuman. She loved it though, whatever it was, for a long time. Lucky girl."

Mom's eyes gazed off into space, perhaps imagining what Paul had done to his mother, putting herself in Mary's place.

"Well, gotta go." Mom kissed me and left.

I hurried downstairs, grabbed a coffee and some toast and rushed to the study.

I reviewed the recordings for the past few hours, picking up Mary and Paul as the morning light filtered through their bedroom window. Paul woke first. He watched his mother sleeping for a few minutes as she lay facing away from him on her tummy, her upper back exposed. Timidly, his fingers pinched the covers and drew them down to her hips. He paused to admire the curve of her spine but only for a few seconds before drawing the covers down to reveal her buttocks. His eyes rested longer on her cheeks, long enough for his tongue to peek between his lips. Down he tugged the covers further yet, to mid thigh, revealing Mary's open legs and her pussy bulging out below the crease that divided her ass. He lifted the covers then, drawing them completely off, careful not to wake his mother, exposing both of them in their naked state.

Gingerly, Paul changed his position so he was laying between Mary's legs. He crept up, and very carefully, worked his fingers under his mom's pussy, stretching his thumb up to brush her pouting lips. Mary's ass moved then. Though still asleep she was still able to react to the tingling sensation of Paul's gentle touch. He lowered his head and I could tell he was licking her ass. After a few minutes, he raised his head to look. Mary's pussy was already starting to glisten and her ass was wet between the lower part of her cheeks where Paul had been tonguing her. He placed his left elbow outside her hip and used that hand to grasp her cheek, pulling it apart before dipping his head down once more.

Mary moved slightly every minute or so but it was clear she was still asleep. It was her body that was reacting, not her mind, though she might have been experiencing some wonderful dreams. Paul paused each time she moved, waiting until her breathing resumed before lowering his head to lap her ass again. Clearly, he wanted her to be incredibly horny when she finally woke up.

After several movements, Mary's legs were wide open as she unconsciously accommodated her son's ministrations. It even seemed that her ass had lifted a bit to provide better access for the exploring tongue snaking into her dark little hole. Her breathing was deeper. Paul managed to work on her for a long time before she showed the first definite sign of being awake. Her hands clenched, bunching the sheets in her fists, before she spoke.

"God, what are you doing to me?" she gasped.

"Morning, Mom. I'm having a special breakfast."

Paul's head dipped again to lap his mother's ass. I could see the muscles on the back of his right arm moving as he worked his fingers in her pussy.

"God, oh god," Mary cried.

Paul lifted his head again. I could see Mary's ass lifting, trying to follow.

"Do you like it Mom?"

"Yes. God, yes," Mary gasped. "I never ... no one's ever ..."

Paul's head dropped into her ass again but the movement was different this time. His head dug in deep and then shook.

Mary's reaction was startling. She gasped loudly, "Oh my god, unngggghhhh, oh god, oh god, unnnnhhhh."

Paul kept digging and shaking his head. He must have plunged his tongue deep into her ass. Mary began to wail as Paul's head continued shaking, periodically bursting out a few words, "I never ... don't stop ... god ... that's incredible ... do it, do it ... unnghhhh."

When Paul finally pulled his head away, spreading Mary's cheeks apart so he see the results of his tongue lashing, I could see Mary's asshole, larger than a quarter, opening and closing a little as her ass still moved up and down, responding to the tongue that was no longer there. I couldn't help it. A squirt escaped my cock, wetting my pants before I could stop it. She looked so erotic with her ass pulsing like that.

"Paul, you can't ... you're too big ...," Mary gasped.

"I know, Mom, I know. Trust me. I wouldn't hurt you."

"I know son." Mary sounded like she was about to say more but Paul flicked his tongue across her gaping asshole several times, before plunging it back in. The moaning wail started again.

After a while, Paul began teasing Mary's ass higher and higher until she was up on her knees. He pulled his face away then and replaced his tongue with his thumb, nudging his huge cock head against her pussy.

"Slowly, son. Go slow," Mary gasped, clearly not adverse to her son fucking her again.

"I will Mom. I'm sorry I'm so big," Paul replied, still pushing at her pussy with his cock.

"Don't be sorry, son. You feel wonderful inside me."

"You don't mind?"

"Mind? Are you kidding? Last night was incredible. Nobody else could do that for me, make me feel like that. Nobody."

A look of pure joy crossed Paul's face but a pain ran through my chest as I realized the simple truth of Mary's words. Everything had changed as soon as he had pushed his cock into her. I could see it in her face last night and I could hear it in her voice this morning. She would always want her son's cock.

"Put it in me." Mary spread her legs wider, moving her ass, trying to help him get in her. "Go ahead, son. I can take it."

Paul hunched his ass forward, trying to shove more of his cock inside his mom.

"Come on, son, give it to me." Mary urged him on.

Paul pushed harder. Mary braced herself, pushing pack.

"Oh, god," she grunted, "fuck me, come on, I need you inside me."

Paul was pushing hard now. I could see a grimace on Mary's face as she strained to take him. Her face relaxed as Paul popped in, filling her cunt, forcing a loud grunt and long moan from his mother's lips.

"Fuck me, Paul," she whispered almost immediately, "fuck me."

Mary collapsed to the bed, pulling her son with her, his cock firmly lodged inside. Obediently, he started bucking his hips into her ass. "Don't pull out when you come, honey. Stay deep so it has room to squish out."

"I will," Paul gasped, pounding his Mom's pussy faster and faster, his thumb still plugged in her ass.

Paul stopped again just before I thought he was about to come, waited for a minute, then started again. He repeated this again and again. Mary was wild. She was moaning and grunting all the time. She hadn't spoken an intelligible word for almost half an hour. Finally, like last night, there came a time when Paul didn't stop but kept moving faster. Suddenly, he plunged down, holding Mary's ass deep into the mattress, forcing his cock in as far as he could, as per his mother's instructions, leaving room around for his fluids to seep out of her pussy. Mary's ass bucked about wildly, responding to the throes of her own orgasm. Soon they lay still.

Paul turned her after a few minutes, keeping her impaled on his cock as he turned over onto is back. Mary lay on top of him, back on his chest, legs splayed wide. Paul began to knead her tits as his mother regained her breath. It was quite a while until his left hand moved down to cup her pussy, gently massaging it in a rolling rub. Soon, his right hand slipped off his mom's tit down to her torso, sliding around her hip and disappearing under her ass. Mary's face told the story, tightening up in surprise as Paul's finger slipped inside her ass. A minute later, he started to fuck her again.

This one didn't last as long because Paul didn't stop; he just kept fucking until they both came again. I could see his spunk squeeze out of her pussy and drip down both of their legs in a big sticky mess. Still, she lay on him for a long time before sitting up and carefully pulling herself off his cock before heading for the shower.

I sat for a while the monitors continued to play, responding to Paul's movements. Where did he get his sexual confidence and knowledge, seemingly so far beyond his mother's, a woman almost twenty years his senior? As a young fellow just a few years older, I knew the answer to that. The internet. We had so much more available for us to learn not just viable techniques but also exotic preferences and even fringe tastes, especially my own gender, the more avid consumers of online porn. We may lack actual experience but we arrived at game time so well equipped that it wasn't surprising for an older woman to succumb to our selfish initiatives, especially when they were likely entering their own more sexually adventurous years. Add to that possibly years of boredom and same-old, same-old with a sexual partner stuck in the morays of twenty to thirty years past, well, let's just say that a young guy was rarely so lucky as to stumble into a situation with a woman willing to try new things -- with enthusiasm.

The thought was depressing. I couldn't study, so I started browsing through the letters.

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

My father's name is Bill and mine is William. That's right, William. Rather than being Bill junior, I insisted on William after turning thirteen. Before that everyone called me Billy. I think the choice made me grow up with more poise and maturity than most of my peers. After the teasing in that first year, being referred to as William just demanded more deference somehow and I learned to carry a certain quiet authority in my mannerisms.

My mother's name is Linda. Bill and Linda were a popular couple in their younger days, hosting a lot of parties when my sister and I were growing up. But eventually the parties declined in frequency, attracted fewer new people, and slowly petered out. Still, it was a few years before my sister managed to turn the large party room in the basement into her private domain. The shift was more rapid for me, over my sister's objections, when she left for college. The only compromise I had to make was to store some of her stuff off to one end of the room but that wasn't such a big deal. After she left, I threw a tarp over it and painted it with a can of black spray paint, the dominant color in my new decor.

Dad was nearing the end of his career but rather than winding down that meant he was required to handle increasingly important issues for his company. He was away a lot but was well compensated, allowing my mother to retire, even though she fourteen years his junior at only 46 years old (Mom was my father's second marriage, he her first). My father did slow down on the home front. His work was taxing and he simply didn't have the energy to expend when he was home. He had always been a workaholic, so it just wasn't in his nature to lower his commitment to work near the end of his career; he needed to go out with at least one more achievement under his belt.

That left Mom alone while Dad was traveling, or even when he was home. She had long ago stopped accompanying Dad on his business trips since he worked even more on his trips than he did at home. When she had gone she was just bored and alone in strange cities, or stuck with another corporate wife who felt equally saddled. It was worse for Mom after my sister left, because that's who she talked with when Dad was gone. Most of her friends were still working hard on their careers. Mom had never really been a career woman, being happy to leave work while my sister and I were growing up, and reluctant to return when we started school. Still, Mom was bored after quitting work.

She started coming down to visit me in the dungeon I had transformed my sister's room into, or had ruined according to my sister. I have to say, I considered it quite an annoyance at first, but I realized that Mom was going through a difficult period of her life. She had only been 'retired' about four months, long enough to be bored silly but not sufficient to have adopted new interests. So Mom would wander downstairs to visit me almost any time day or night. She had a hard time sleeping now and knew I was a night owl, so she would often knock quite late at night if dim light showed under the door, and eventually she tapped a warning knock and then walked right in.

Now, I know you're thinking she caught me masturbating, but that didn't happen. Mom just became comfortable wandering in to hang out with me, and I with her being there. In a way it was cool. Mom and I got to know each other quite well, for her to be comfortable laying on my bed, or in the old chair, sometime without even talking, me playing a computer game and her reading. She just liked being near someone and I grew to prefer having her around to being alone.

Of course, when Mom visited me later at night, she was usually wearing her nightgown, robe and slippers rather than her typical day fare, blouse and slacks or skirt. I didn't really pay any attention to this at first until the thought crossed my mind one evening when Mom came down to visit even though Dad had just arrived home. Mom and Dad never got 'together' at night. Now, I know they used to because I had heard them when I was younger and my sister mentioned how noisy they were after she first moved downstairs. Their room was right above this one and unmistakable sounds floated down the heat vents but my sister only let me sneak down to listen once.

When that memory resurfaced in my mind, I couldn't help thinking about it more an more. They weren't doing it anymore? Yeah, my Dad was getting old, seemingly stressed all the time, and distracted, but my Mom looked younger than her age by a few years. She couldn't have lost interest in sex yet, I thought, not looking like she did. I mean, she wasn't a raving beauty but she was at least as good looking as Julianne Moore. Still, I was positive that my mom wasn't involved with anybody, and wouldn't be. She was just going through a difficult time. I felt a tremendous softness toward her.

Of course, that didn't stop me from appreciating her form. After all, I was eighteen. As my eyes roamed over her, laying across the end of my bed reading a pocket book, I found myself wishing it was during the day when she would have been wearing a skirt that would show her legs better. I tried to remember the shape of her legs but I had no memories stored there for reference; I simply hadn't logged that kind of information about my mother.

Feigning interest in my laptop (I was keeping up with friends on facebook) I allowed my eyes glance furtively at Mom's upper body, since her legs were wrapped in her full length robe. I had better fortune here, because her robe had worked loose and opened enough for me to see her nightdress underneath. I wished I could see her in just that nightdress. It was a shimmery looking blue material, edged in a white lace border about an inch thick. I could see skin through the tiny holes in the lace, the skin on her breasts. That was the second time in my life that I felt my cock stir in response to my mom.

I felt this horrible guilt but at the same time a thrill shot through me, spreading from the tip of my cock and through my loins. My eyes traveled a couple of inches higher, over the curve of her breasts, swelling above the 'neckline' of her nightdress because of the pressure on them from the way she was laying. A few more inches and -- christ, her eyes were looking right at me. I blushed, too stunned to look away, my muscles incapable of responding and my brain similarly incapacitated.

Mom smiled, "Would you like it if I made us some hot chocolate?"

I nodded, at least I tried to, my neck muscles still resisting commands. Mom flipped her book over on the bed to save her place and slipped off the bed. The goofiest thought crossed through my mind, about how she would lecture me about how that wasn't good for the binding when I did that with my own books. When I finally managed to operate my head again, she was by the door.

"It's freezing in here," she commented, turning the dial on the thermostat before disappearing into the night.

What the fuck was going on with me? I had just got caught looking at my mother's cleavage. She had to know what I was looking at. How bloody embarrassing. Jesus! How could I face her. I should just pretend I was tired and fell asleep, I thought. I closed my laptop and put it on the bedside table, slipped out of my t-shirt and jeans and under the covers, and closed my eyes. A moment later I sat up. This is stupid, I thought. She knows I'm a night owl. She'll know something's wrong. I should just brazen it out, act as if nothing happened. That's it. I was just about to get out of bed and back into my jeans when Mom appeared through the door again, carrying a tray with two huge mugs of hot chocolate, some cookies and cheese.

"Hey, lazybones. What are you doing in bed already?"

"Oh, uh, I was feeling kind of tired."

"Tired? Really? I was about to see if you want to watch that new movie, the one you downloaded on your laptop. You're not really tired are you?"

Mom set the tray down on the table on the other side of my bed, picked up one of the mugs and handed it to me, then passed me the plate with the cookies on it.

"Come on," she said, "watch a movie with me."

"Ok, Mom."

I was so relieved that my transgression seemed to be history. I set the plate of cookies beside me and turned to set my mug down and pick up my laptop. My nervous returned with a bang when I turned back, placing the laptop on my lap. Mom was standing on the other side of the bed removing her robe. I quickly turned my face to my laptop, concentrating on firing it up, but my attention strained toward my peripheral vision, trying to see without looking. I felt more than saw her pull the covers back and slip into bed beside me, plump up the pillow to make herself comfortable before pulling the covers up and over her breasts, but not before I had a fleeting glimpse of bouncing mammaries. I was distinctly aware that she was dressed only in her nightdress, laying only a foot away from me.

Mom watched as I started the movie, then turned to get her own mug and the other plate with the chunks of cheese, setting it beside the cookie plate between us. We watched the movie for quite awhile but I was very tense and couldn't tell you what happened. Slowly, I began to relax.

"Drink your hot chocolate before hit gets cold, honey," Mom's voice broke through to me.

Looking down, I realized I was still holding an almost full mug and Mom's was half gone. I immediately raised it to my lips and took a big gulp.

Mom picked up a cookie and handed it to me but I couldn't take it, holding the mug and the laptop still on my lap so she held the cookie to my lips and pressed it in so I could take a bite.

"It's been a long time since I had to feed you," she laughed, holding the cookie a few inches away, waiting for me to finish chewing.

You might have thought her closeness would have made me even more nervous but it seemed to have the opposite effect. The familiarity relaxed me. I opened my mouth in feigned exaggeration, like Malcom McDowall in 'A Clockwork Orange' which Mom and I had watched a couple of weeks earlier upstairs.

Mom laughed, realizing the joke, and slipped the cookie in as per my silent demand. I chewed in an exaggerated fashion, took a sip of hot chocolate, and opened my mouth wide for more. We played that silly game until the cookie was gone.

"More?" Mom asked, holding the plate up to me.

I shook my head and she turned to set the plate down on the opposite table. I couldn't help turning to look at her back. The nightdress dipped down lower in the back than it did in the front, showing Mom's unblemished skin and a sexy groove running up the middle, tracing her spine. I felt myself stir again.

Mom picked up the cheese plate and set it on her lap, shifting closer to me, her legs almost touching mine. She picked up a finger of cheddar and nibbled on it until it was gone while we resumed watching the movie. She picked up another piece of cheddar and nibbled it, then turned to place it on my lips. I took a little bite, not renewing the cookie game. Mom held her hand a few inches away, watching the screen, waiting. As soon as I finished chewing, she offered the cheese again, not even looking at me.

As I chewed, she took a small bit herself, and held it in front of her. I looked down while she was intent on the movie because I suddenly realized the covers had been laying in her lap since she had started feeding me the cookie so her arm could move. Though her arm now covered most of her breasts, parts were still visible. I admired their round, yet still curvy shape, and the way that even the tiniest movement cause them to jiggle, and how wonderfully erotic that was. Perhaps noticing my attention, Mom raised the cheese to my lips again and I took another small bite. She returned it to take another nibble herself, never taking her eyes off the movie and I, for my part, glanced discreetly at her breasts.

I shifted my position, feigning discomfort just to shake the bed, and her breasts. I opened my mouth for another bite and Mom dutifully raised the cheese to my lips. I engulfed the whole thing in my mouth, including the tips of her fingers.

"Hey," she cried, laughing, "I guess I better feed you more often."

I watched as she picked up the last piece of cheese, enjoying the brief absence of her covering arm from the front of her breasts, allowing me an uninterrupted view of her cleavage, for the first time seeing how low the neckline of her nightdress actually plunged between those sexy pieces of human tissue. We shared a few small bites, as before. I'm sure I was enjoying it far more than Mom since she seemed oblivious to the tantalizing sexual overtones encompassing that mini meal. When the piece was short, though, Mom placed it to my lips gingerly. I gulped it in and her fingers too, closing my lips over them to tug the cheese away.

"Hey," she cried again, "you little bugger," laughing at my prank.

Mom pulled her fingers out, slowly, and wiped them on the covers before returning to watch the movie. The way her breasts had moved when she laughed was intoxicating. They sagged enough to stretch down to her belly but had sufficient body not to get lost in her robe. As the movie progressed, Mom removed the plate from her lap and moved closer to me, twisting toward me to lay more on her right leg and laying her head on my left shoulder and chest. She wiggled about trying to find a comfortable position and this parted her nightdress, just enough that I could see the skin diving between her breasts, especially on the side of the one bulging out from being squished against my chest. Mom stretched her arm under my back, and laid her other hand on my stomach, completing her search for comfort.

Unfortunately, placing her arm on my stomach twisted Mom more toward me, blocking my view of her breasts. But the warmth of her body next to me separated only by that thin material more than compensated for this loss. I put my own arm on her shoulder and eventually began stroking it up to the side of her neck, and toying with her hair.

"Mmmmmm," Mom hugged me. When the pressure of her arm released, her right breast slipped down to my side, her left taking its place laying on my chest. I continued toying with her hair and stroking her neck, hoping for more things to happen. What, I don't know, but we finished the movie like that. The only other thing that happened was the touch of Mom's feet on mine as she tried to warm them. I didn't find this particularly erotic until she curled her left insole around my leg and started sliding it slowly up and down. The movie ended shortly that, which is probably good because my erection was making it difficult to hold the computer steady and I was afraid Mom would be angry if she knew what lay underneath.

I was sorry to see Mom turn away and slip out from under the covers. I watched her get out of bed and turn to pick up her robe, raising it so she could slip her hands through the sleeves. I was elated when she paused then lowered it, folding it over her forearm, holding it in front of her, below her breasts.

"Do you have other movies on there?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Show me what you've got in your movie folder," she said, putting her knee up to lean it on the bed.

I was evasive in my response, "We can play any DVD in here."

"I want to watch one of your movies," she insisted.

I opened the folder, hoping I didn't have anything too embarrassing there. I couldn't remember because it had been a long time since I'd downloaded a movie, other than the one we'd just watched.

Mom crawled across the bed as I opened the folder, turning the laptop slightly so she could see it better. Still, she had to lean forward to see, affording me a tremendous view of her breasts, jutting against her nightdress as their weight fell forward. I completely forgot to look at the list of movie files, my attention was riveted on her chest, and the two nipples stabbing through her nightdress.

I could almost feel the blood draining from my head in a rush to fill my cock. I felt faint. I finally realized that her nightdress sported a large gap because of her forward leaning position and I could see her left tit hanging off her chest, the smooth curve of the bottom as it protruded sending an electric tingle ripping through me.

"Oh, there's lots. What's this one about?" she asked, pointing at the screen.

"That's ... oh, that's ... uh ...," I stammered, starting to blush.

"Probably something you don't want to watch with your mother, right?" Mom laughed at me.

"Well, uh ...,"

"That's ok. Don't blush." Mom leaned over to kiss me on the cheek. "We'll just pick another one for tomorrow, but don't delete it, don't delete any of them. Promise?"

"I promise."

Mom tousled my hair and gave me another kiss on my cheek. Then she crawled off the bed, but off the end rather than the side. I had a nice long look at her bum, and a last look at her breasts as they stretched up against the material when she pulled her robe on.

"Nighty night," Mom said, like she used to when she tucked me in so long ago.

I dreamt a lot that night and the next day dragged on forever at school. I rushed home hoping to learn that Dad was off on another business trip, but no such luck. I hung around in my room, hoping Mom would come downstairs but she didn't so I went upstairs to watch some TV with her and Dad. After the movie and the late news, Mom and Dad went to bed. Sulking, I dragged my ass downstairs and went to bed. I couldn't help fiddling with myself and turned the light back on, dragging my laptop over to watch that movie Mom had picked out.

Christ, most of the movie were porn movies. Only a few were action flicks, some war movies and westerns. I was just thinking about deleting some of them, and was trying to remember which one she had picked out just in case she remembered, when I noticed her out of the corner of my eye, silently padding on bare feet toward me. She was carrying a bottle of wine and one glass.

"Are you picking out a movie?" she asked as she neared the bed, stooping over to set bottle and glass on the bedside table by me. She looked at the screen, still bent over, and opened her robe, preparing to peel it off her shoulders. She had on a nightie this time rather than a nightdress and it only covered her to her knees, showing her nice legs. It sported a diving neckline as well and I wondered if all Mom's night clothes were like that, or did she wear them for my father, at least in the old days? It had the same lace border and I could see her skin beneath the material proper, it was so thin, especially the dark spots surrounding her nipples.


"Isn't it pretty," she asked.

I was stunned. I had been staring, not realizing she had stopped looking at the screen.

"It used to be one of Dad's favorites," she said.

Mom pulled the robe from her shoulders, slipped it off her arms and turned to throw it on the chair behind her. When she turned back, she pinched the hem mid-way down her thighs and pulled the material a couple of inches from her legs, then curtsied, legs held together demurely. It was stunning. Aside from being shorter, the neckline was actually cut much deeper.

"Fun, isn't it?" her voice tinkled.

I watched closely as she bent to pour herself a glass of wine, enjoying the show.

"You can share with me, can't you?" she asked. "I don't think Dad would appreciate me encouraging you to drink. For such a partier," she added, "he's sure become a stick-in-the-mud."

Mom waltzed around the end of the bed, and slid under the covers, and immediately cozied up to sit beside me, fluffing pillows to prop up behind her.

"Pass me the wine before you start."

I passed her the wine and asked her which movie.

"You pick," she replied, sipping her wine.

I chose 'Unforgiven' and started it.

"Can you pour me another glass, honey?" Mom asked, just as Clint and Morgan caught up to the kid.

I poured the glass and handed it to her.

"Have some," she said. "I insist."

I took a drink.

"More," she said, "you have to catch up to me."

I downed the glass and turned to refill it.

"Oooohhhh, what a man," Mom teased, laughing.

After taking the glass, she said, "Let's watch something else."

I killed the movie. "Which one," I asked, nodding at the list.

"That one," she pointed, selecting the one she'd teased me about last night.

"Mom," I complained.

"Oh, come on. You're grown up now. Don't be a stick-in-the-mud like your Dad. Ooops," she cried, covering her mouth with her free hand, "I shouldn't talk so loud."

"Is Dad still awake?" I asked.

"I don't think so. Still we'd better be quiet. Start the movie."

It was a porn movie. It was pretty graphic right from the start, so I stopped it after a couple of minutes, feeling very awkward.

"Pretty gross, wasn't it," Mom said, though she didn't seem to be put out with me. "I guess you can't really tell until you download them, can you?"

I shook my head.

"Let's try one of these," she pointed to a couple of titles. "They've got older women in them, don't they?"

I nodded.

"That's what Mature and MILF mean, isn't it?"

I nodded again.

"See, your Mom isn't a dinosaur."

Mom held the wine glass to my lips. I took a sip and another when she held it there.

"No, wait. What's in this folder?"

Now, I didn't want to look in that folder, but I was stuck. I opened the folder titled 'ms'.

There were a dozen movies in the folder and it was immediately clear they were mom and son videos. They were all amateur. I hadn't watched them for probably a couple of years. I tried not to look at Mom but she wasn't looking at me. She seemed fascinated with the titles.

"This one," she said. "Play this one."

As I opened the file, Mom leaned across me, stretching to grab the wine bottle from the side table. Her breasts scraped on my chest, reminding me how little she was wearing. She placed the glass to my lips again. I took a big gulp, draining half the glass. Mom laughed, perhaps a little nervously, and drained the rest. She leaned forward to fill it again, pausing to let me have another sip. I took another large gulp, though not half the glass, and she sat back in the pillows to watch the movie which had now started.

It was clearly amateur quality. It just showed an older woman and a very young guy, my age, moving about in a kitchen aimlessly. However, whenever they passed near, he would touch her, her shoulder, her waist, her ass, the side of her tits.

"Wow," Mom said. "She really is old enough to be his mother. I thought she would be just an actress acting older, but they look real."

I simply nodded, too freaked out to speak. Mom sipped her wine, watching as the young guy started to kiss the older woman, his mother I suppose, on her cheek, then her neck, finally pulling her around for a long bout of french kissing. Belatedly, the mother and son looked toward the kitchen door, implying someone was there they had to worry about, but that didn't stop him from working her back until she was pressed against the counter.

Mom drained her glass and handed it to me. I filled it and handed it back as she sat staring at the screen. She waved it off, so I drank it and put the glass down. The guy had her turtle neck pulled up to bare a large set of tits and was squeezing and rubbing them as he kissed her, once in a while leaning down to take one into his mouth.

I worked myself back in the pillows, scrunching down in the bed. As if on cue, Mom slid down and turned toward me into the position she had so enjoyably assumed last night with her arm behind my back. Her head was laying higher on my shoulder and she had it turned down more to face the screen.

I curled my hand around to stroke her shoulder just as the guy dropped to his knees in front of his mother, turned to look at the kitchen doorway again, then flipped her skirt up and dove underneath. Mom's arm tensed behind my back and she slid her other hand up to rest my stomach, as she had the night before. We watched the guy's head move underneath the woman's knee length skirt, not needing any explanation of what he was doing. The woman's head was lolling back in ecstasy, her eyes closed, her hands on his head holding him in place.

Mom's foot slid on top of my calf and then completely over, her heel pulling against my leg. I felt her press against my hip. Her heat was incredible, even through her panties. I could feel Mom's breathing increasing through the pressure of her breasts on my chest. I lengthened the stroke of my hand on her shoulder, pressing in to flick my fingers lightly up her neck and around to her throat, then back along her shoulder, dipping into the hollow below her clavicle, before sliding down her arm, dragging my fingers up the sensitive backside.

I did this the whole four minutes the guy was licking his mother but I didn't make my biggest move until he reappeared, stood, turned the woman around and pushed her forward over the counter, shoved his pants down, bent his knees, and straightened up in a bold surge between his mother's open legs. He started moving into her vigorously, right away.

On the outward stroke, I dragged the shoulder of Mom's nightie out, and down over her arm, pushing it to her elbow. Mom didn't seem to know what I'd done. She was mesmerized by the action on the screen. On each stroke down Mom's arm, I stretched my fingers out, trying to drag the front of the nightie down to expose more of her breast. As it was, the nightie was now barely covering her left tit, its edge hanging just above her nipple.

Mom pressed harder against my hip as the speaker relayed the sound of the man's pelvis slapping against the backside of the woman, now leaning flat on the counter as his paced quickened to cum mode. It wouldn't be long now. What would Mom do when it finished, and she realized I'd pushed her nightie off her shoulder trying to bare her breast?

Both the man and the woman began to moan loudly. Here it comes, I thought. He had slowed but was bursting into her with long, hard lunges. Suddenly, his legs straightened, the muscles tensing with strain as he bulged his cock into her as deep as he could, lifting her feet right off the floor. He slumped against her, jerking into her every few seconds until they were finally still. Then they both fixed their clothes and began doing things in different parts of the kitchen, just before an older man with silver hair entered the room, speaking cheerily, both of them replying in the same way.

"Wow," Mom said. "That was something."

"Sorry, Mom."

"Sorry? Don't be sorry, that was great. Is there more?" she asked, just as another scene started up with a different older woman and younger man.

"You don't have to watch this, Mom."

"I want to. It's more interesting than that other one."

Mom settled into the watch the next scene. The ramp up was much longer than the first, pull you in scene. The glances, flashes, voyeurism, touches and kisses were much more subtle, taking place in a number of places and over a longer period of screen life. It was much more realistic. I tried my darnedest to slip that nightie off her tit but couldn't manage it. I must have been glued on there. Just as it was about to get into the more explicit sexual activities, Mom turned her face up to me.

"Can you start this one over, honey?"

I nodded and restarted the scene. Mom kissed my cheek, then rested her head on my shoulder, watching me. Abruptly, she leaned forward and kissed me on my ear.

"Thank you, sweetie," she whispered, and kissed me again. "I'm so glad you can be this comfortable with me, to share this with me." She kissed my ear again but this time it felt like she dipped her tongue in after finishing her kiss, just barely. It was very arousing. She turned back to the movie.

She watched the preliminary build up with the same intensity as she had the first time. Her pelvis was warm on my hip and I imagined that it felt damp, not just hot. I tickled her arm, neck and shoulder the whole time but I gave up on trying to get the nightie off her breast.

Just as the sex part was about to begin, Mom spoke, "Here comes the action."

She lifted her head from my shoulder and curled her hand up to pinch her nightie between her fingers. Well, I couldn't get it off anyway I thought. At least she's pretending it's an accident and not giving me what for. She pulled the nightie, flapping it back and forth, breaking its clinging hold on her body to let cooler air in. I peeked when the nightie was lifted away from her breast, momentarily glimpsing it in its bare state. Mom let it rest after a couple of dozen flaps.

"Whew, this stuff is making me warm."

Mom sank back to rest on my chest and I resumed stroking her arm, shoulder and neck. Thankfully, and to my surprise, she hadn't pulled the nightie back onto her shoulder. While Mom concentrated on the movie, I was more interested in caressing her. I diverted my gaze to enjoy her charms since they might be covered up the next time she rearranged her nightie. The surprise I found there caused me to lurch against the laptop as my guy reacted before my brain could finish processing the information impinging on my retinas.

I hadn't tried to snag Mom's nightie but it had fallen slightly, enough for me to see the top part of her nipple. The material around the nipple was loose, not tight like it had been when I was trying to dislodge it. Mom must have loosened it when she was flapping it around. Craning my neck so I could look over Mom's head, I saw that the sleeve of the nightie had slipped down to the underside of her elbow. Maybe I could move it down her forearm. If so, it would loosen on the front and might even slip down her enough to show her whole nipple.

I stroked a few times the entire length from Mom's neck to her elbow, then returned just up to her shoulder, focusing between there and her elbow, my fingers caressing the back of her arm which I considered to be a sensual area. Cautiously, I slid my hand past her elbow a couple of inches, enough to push the sleeve down her forearm another inch. Mom was still fascinated by the movie and didn't give any indication that she was paying attention to what I was doing. The sex on the screen was getting pretty intense but I was far more excited about Mom than the movie.

I managed to push the nightie along another inch but I couldn't reach farther than that. The nightie hadn't loosened any more around her breast, showing the same amount of nipple. Why didn't it just fall off? I was getting frustrated.

Then I had a brilliant idea: pull her arm back. Immediately, I slipped my hand down to cup her elbow and hugged Mom to me.

"Enjoying the movie?"

"Yes," Mom whispered, her voice low and excited.

Hearing her like that made me even more excited. I released the upward pressure on her elbow, loosening my hug, but managed to pull back on her arm. I craned my neck to see. It had moved! The nightie was now a third of the way down her forearm.

I pulled Mom's elbow up again, kissing the top of her head as I hugged her, "I love you, Mom."

"I love you too, sweetie," Mom replied kind of automatically, her attention still riveted on the laptop.

That was ok by me. I let her elbow fall and tried to pull her arm back even farther this time. Stretching to see over her head, I was delighted to find the nightie down to her wrist. Leaning the other way to check her front, I was disappointed to see no further progress there. What to do?

The second scene ended with a huge cum followed by intimate cuddling by mother and son. I thought they were going to start right way again since the mom kept playing with his largish dick but then it faded out. I grasped Mom's forearm to discourage her from moving it back onto my stomach but there was no need. She seemed content to wait patiently for the next scene to start. Maybe she was more than happy for us to be lost in our own thoughts in this situation.

The new couple was a very attractive boy about my age and a similarly hot mom. I could physically feel Mom's concentration. She really seemed to like the slow build up, the first awareness by both mother and son followed by each one intentionally flirting but not acknowledging what was really going on. In this scene, the first overtly sexual act happened when the mom, sitting in her robe at the kitchen table reading a magazine and sipping coffee, asked her sleepy son who had just entered to pour her more coffee. She was holding the cup out for him to take it but he brought the coffee pot over to her.

She set the cup down while he poured the coffee slowly into the cup, glancing up to flash him a brief smile of thanks before looking down again at her magazine. But a look of shock crossed her face for an instant, and you could see her look down to check herself before her eyes moved on to the magazine. Her son's attention hadn't been on the coffee, he was looking down her front, exposed by her open robe and deep cut, sexy nightie.

Of course, this happened slower than one might have expected in real life to make sure the audience caught on to the mom's quandary. The next move was clever. Although she had been drinking her coffee black, the mom asked her son to put some cream in for her, without raising her eyes. When the son turned to replace the coffee pot and get some cream from the fridge, which you could hear opening and closing, the mother slipped her non-coffee hand up and quickly pulled her nightie off and to the side of her right breast, and then slid her coffee hand over to cover the top of the cup. The son returned and immediately noticed her bare breast, indicated by a focus on his face followed by a close-up of her fine feminine specimen. He stood there, waiting to pour the cream but not saying anything, just staring at his mother's breast. Eventually, she removed her hand to allow him to pour the cream, but not until further close-ups showed how rigid her nipple had become. When the son left shortly after without having any breakfast, presumably to go wank himself as he clearly needed to -- they showed something large trying to poke through the front of his pajamas, and his mother noticing it as he walked by -- the mom engaged in behaviors clearly indicating that she was shocked by her own actions.

It wasn't lost on me that movie-mom had just bared her breast for her son by pulling her nightie off her breast, something I had been trying to do for half an hour, at least. Perhaps spurred into action by this, I slid Mom's arm right back out of the nightie and pulled her hand up to kiss it.

"I love you, Mom."

"So do I dear," Mom's reply was as distracted as the last time I'd told her that a few minutes ago, her attention on the breakfast scene presumably the next morning.

This time the son picked up his mom's cup as he walked by, filled it and added cream, then returned to set it down in front of her, asking if she minded if he read along because it looked interesting. The mom hadn't moved her nightie aside to bare her breast. The deed was already done. The mom nodded and the son stood ogling her dangling tit. He sat down after a while, continuing to stare at her, enjoying the sideways angle with its better appreciation of how much his mother's tit stuck out.

Carefully, I set Mom's hand down, moving it back into its original position resting on my stomach before I had slipped it out of her nightie. I tried to scrape the nightie forward in an attempt to dislodge it from her breast -- yes, the stubborn thing still clung there -- but without success. Nevertheless, Mom's hand was free of the nightie on her left side and, who knows, when she got up she might not realize it and I would see her tit hang out just like in the movie.

Then the son in the movie did something that is one of the reasons I'll never forget that movie. He put his finger on the magazine, tracing along as if he was reading, moving his finger slowly to the bottom of the page nearest him. His mother was supposedly reading the other page though the audience realized she was just looking the other way to let her son ogle her tit. But the bottom of the magazine had been pushed to the edge of the table, and her robe blocked the bottom few lines of text on the son's page. When his finger traced down as far as he could see, he used that excuse to pull the lapel of her robe out of the way but his fingers caught the nightie as well and dragged it off her one covered breast. Close-ups showed both the mom and the son being aware that this was happening, but neither acted like they knew.

The son returned his finger to the page to resume tracing the text. A roof shot camera angle showed his finger approach the bottom of the page where it contacted the mother's bare breast, and stopped. A long moment followed, the camera remaining on the shot, before you could see the son's hand flip over so his knuckles lay flat on the magazine and then slide under his mother's tit, his fingers curling up to close on it. The mom continued reading as if nothing was happening.

My courage once again buttressed by the make believe world, I moved my hand to Mom's upper arm, sliding it up and down, fingers curled around her biceps, gently squeezing and following the curve of her muscle. I changed to an open-handed rub, stretching my fingers out and, seemingly by accident, allowed my fingertips to catch Mom's nightie and knock it off her breast. I was ecstatic watching it fall from the height of her nipple to the floor of her tummy below. Her whole tit was bare to me now, just like in the movie, and, as in the movie, Mom acted like nothing had happened at all. The elation in my mind was only surpassed by the tingle that was running up and down my sperm tube, jolting it into a spear under the laptop instead of a longbow.

On the screen, the fingers began to slowly knead the mom's breast. It was hard to tell at first if there really was movement, but intense scrutiny confirmed it. Soon, there was no mistaking it. He was fondling her tit and she was letting him as if it wasn't happening though clearly she knew. How could I do that? How could I possibly get away with it? Mom would know. It wasn't reasonable to think that a movie could be replayed in real life. Or could it?

Of course Mom would know, but did that mean she had to acknowledge it? Couldn't she pretend it wasn't happening just like in the movie? She'd let me push her nightie to bare her tit and hadn't reacted at all. Did I really think she didn't know? Come on, you chickenshit, I thought, she put her tongue in your ear. You can feel her pussy on your leg, and it's hot. She wants you to do it but she can't let you know, and maybe she can't admit it if you do, but she'll let you.


It all made sense. I could do it. But I was scared. I don't think I'd been more scared to do something in all my life. I was still thinking about this and wondering how I would do it, just grab her? Then, without volition, my hand just slid forward off her arm and onto her tummy, surprising me. My hand wasn't on her bare skin, it lay on the nightie I had just pushed off her breast. I was almost in shock at what I had done and suddenly felt that I must explain myself.

"Mom," I whispered, my voice cracking.

"Shhhhh," Mom whispered, her eyes intent on the now active breast massage on the screen.

"I ..."

"Shhhhhh," Mom leaned forward, peering even more intently at the screen.

But the bottom of her breast now brushed the edge of my hand, right at the crux of my thumb and fingers. Again, without thinking about what I was doing, without intending to act, I simply turned my hand to cup Mom's breast.

I had my answer. Mom didn't react at all. Her breath seemed to quicken and her hips pressed harder against my leg, but only for a few seconds. I was holding her breast and Mom was acting like we were just watching a movie. It was like I was suspended in a slice of time, Mom watching the video and me just holding her tit.

Then, as if regaining the ability to act, like Tom Hanks recovering from nearby explosions in Saving Private Ryan, I started to massage Mom's breast just like in the movie. I began the way the son had started, so you could almost not tell anything was happening, but I knew. I'm not sure if Mom did but I knew she would in a minute. I lagged behind the movie.

By the time the son moved his fingers up to pinch and flick his mother's nipple, even stroke its extended length, it was clear that I was manipulating Mom's breast, my fingers clutching its sides to pull it into my palm, then squeezing so I could watch her nipple push out, releasing, and starting over.

Mom loosed a small gasp, whether in reaction to my now over massage, or because the son was now pinching the mom's nipple between thumb and forefinger and stretching it up and out over the kitchen table. Or maybe she was gasping in response to a future event because she knew, as did I, that in less than a minute my fingers would seek out her nipple and within two it too would be pinched and tugged like that. My cock straightened again under the laptop and at the same time I felt Mom press herself harder against my leg.

Like a self fulfilling prophecy, my fingers gradually slipped up to bracket Mom's nipple, once or twice, then more often, finally staying to tweak it, sometimes pulling away only to flick by it, bending it over and letting it spring back. I wanted to take it into my mouth. Why didn't that kid start sucking his mom's tit? Could I get away with that? Would she let me go that far? No way. She couldn't pretend that wasn't happening.

Mom's panties suddenly mashed against my leg. I jerked my eyes up to the screen. He had turned his mom toward him a little, sacrificing pretense, and had taken both tits into his hands. His eyes were on her legs and the panties peeking out below her nightie. Keeping up his manipulation of her breasts, the son pushed his knee between his mother's legs and moved the left one out, opening her legs and her panties to his eyes.

I took that moment to grasp Mom's nipple firmly and tug it away, squeezing it in a rolling action between thumb and forefinger just like the guy in the movie had done. He had dropped one hand to quickly flip her nightie up to her hips and returned to massage both breasts, his eyes, and the close-ups, now on his mom's panties.

Mom's head suddenly swung up and she kissed me, missing my cheek where I think she intended to kiss me and hitting my jawbone, then quickly shifting up to kiss my ear, her tongue swirling inside. Just as quickly, she turned back to watch the movie.

She had leaned into me to turn her head up, pulling her breast away from my hand, but she hadn't twisted back to her original position and I now couldn't get hold of her tit since it was pressed against my chest. Without pausing or thinking, perhaps because of my desperate need to regain possession of the breast I had worked so hard to hold, I simply released the laptop and slid that hand between our chests and gripped her tit firmly, as if to stop it from slipping away again. Again, there was no acknowledgement that I was doing anything wrong, and certainly no argument. I just renewed my breast massage with a fresh hand.

The laptop was rocking precariously on my boner and definitely would have fallen off my lap but Mom quickly moved her hand to grab it, holding it steady so she could watch, just in time to see the son drop his right hand from his mother's tit and let it fall to the kitchen chair between her legs, palm up. The camera zoomed in to show his hand laying like a large penis pointing to the apex of his mom's legs. The fingers twitched. Was that Mom that groaned, or the mom on the video?

Mesmerized myself, I didn't really pay attention as my left hand, now free, moved down Mom's back, outside her nightie but under the cover, down along her spine to the small of her back, pressing her in toward my leg. The hand in the video spread its fingers which were close enough that their tips grazed the inside of his mom's thighs, on that softest part right at the edge of her panties.

It was Mom. At least both. Stronger than a soft moan, more of a groan.

I pulled Mom's nightie up, bunching it in that hollow at the base of her spine and then let my own fingers splay out, stretching down from where my palm rested at the top of her buttock, searching and finding the edge of her panties, in the back not the front, and at the top, not the bottom; well, so to speak.

I couldn't afford to keep lagging much behind the video. When the screen fingers closed together and the hand moved forward, touching and then sliding under the panties, I pushed mine down too, finding the gap between the waistband of the panties and the groove in Mom's ass, half way down her cheeks.

As Mom groaned along with the moans of the mom on the video, in time to the son's hand moving back and forth under the panties, I pried Mom's panties over her cheeks, pushing the waistband down to stretch across the bottom of her ass. I gently fondled her bare cheeks, sliding my hands around, and pressing her against me.

Belatedly thinking about her tit, I realized that I now simply held her nipple in a gentle squeeze between thumb and finger, alternating between slowly tugging it back and forth and rolling it between my pincers.

Mom was breathing very quickly now and regularly pulsing her hips against my leg. She was moaning softly in time with the woman on the video who was now groaning and rubbing herself on her son's hand, rocking hard enough that I could hear the chair legs scraping against the floor. The camera was switching between her sex consumed face to her son's hand vigorously frigging her shimmery green panties. It wasn't going to be long now, I thought.

That thought had barely bubbled up in my consciousness when the mother came loudly on the screen, her hand finally directly acknowledging her son as she grasped his and held it hard to her pussy, her hips bucking furiously against it. At the same time Mom, though silently, began lunging against my leg and I could feel a sudden extra dampness as the muscles in her whole body went rigid, releasing after thirty seconds or so in a long gasp.

She was still.

And so was I. I released her nipple and pulled my hand back and grabbed the laptop again, knowing my tit massaging was over. My other hand was laying awkwardly on top of her bare cheeks. I didn't know how to move it without calling attention to it so I just left it there.

The mom on the video was gazing lovingly at her son. She reached forward to grab the waistband of his pajamas, pulling it away from his tummy, her other hand slipping down over his shaft, tugging it free and toward her. Slowly, she began to jack him, working his cock into a rigid pole. Her hand would pause at the top to twist her palm around on his head before sliding down his cock. On one upward stroke, she turned her hand up in a cup and spit in it twice before turning it back down to work her saliva around on his head, and then down his long, stiff cock.

Mom was watching this as intently as she'd watched the rest of the video, and I was paying more attention to it than any other part. Her breathing had returned almost to normal, but was still quicker than usual. Then she did an incredibly erotic thing.

Mom pulled her left hand from under her chest and spit into her palm, twice.

Her hand withdrew then but I felt it a moment later, under the covers, grazing down the outside of my leg, slipping up over the top of my thigh and then moving higher, under the laptop, under the covers, on top of my boxer shorts. Her small, soft hand found my rigid stick, pointing down under the laptop and slid up its length, fingers scraping up both sides until she was at my root, folding her fingers around me in a tight grip. Slowly, she started tugging me down, as I had worked her nipple. I sprang out between the fly of my boxers, and almost came when I felt Mom's warm touch, the bare skin of her palm, slick with her spit. Mom watched the woman jack her son on the video, her head laying on my chest, all the while slowly jacking my cock, holding it pointing down to minimize the movement of the laptop so she could watch the woman there do the same thing to her son.

I was surprised how long I lasted. Maybe it was my Mom's expertise, keeping me from coming until it happened on the video. Whatever, that's what happened. The son on the laptop suddenly spurted all over his mom's tits, belly, panties and legs. That may have been what finally made me shoot but I think it was something my own mom did, maybe the light pinching and rubbing just under my head. Anyway, all of a sudden, I was sperming all down my legs.

"Are you going to join me again for breakfast tomorrow," the movie mom asked, smiling sweetly at her son.

"I can hardly wait," he replied, smiling back.

Mom, still laying on my chest, paraphrased her video counterpart, "Are we going to watch more movies tomorrow night?"

"I can hardly wait," I replied.

Mom turned her head up toward me, kissed my cheek, then swirled her warm, wet tongue in my ear.

"Neither can I," she whispered.

Mom sat up when I closed the laptop and turned to put it on the table. When I turned back, she was already stepping off the bed. She walked straight to the chair to retrieve her robe on and leaned forward to pick it up, her dangling breast creating a magic silhouette for a brief moment. Holding her robe in her hand, one shoulder still free of her nightie, Mom walked toward the door and was gone, leaving me to wonder if all of that had really happened.

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Mary was sitting up in bed reading, waiting for Paul, I guess. I had been so wrapped up in William's letter I hadn't noticed Paul leave or her return from the shower. Something was different but I couldn't put my finger on it. Paul wandered in as I was still scrutinizing the screen trying to figure out what my unconscious mind had notice that I couldn't see. Something about Mary?

Paul was drying his hair with a towel that was still long enough to cover his front. He smiled at his mom sitting on the bed, the smile of a man very satisfied with his life. Suddenly, his hand stopped in mid-rub on his scalp and the smile disappeared. He took three steps closer to the bed, looking at his mother, or rather past her.

"Mom."

Mary continued reading, ignoring him.

"Mom," Paul said, his tone more urgent.

He was about to speak again when Mary replied. "I know."

"The straps ...," Paul started to comment about the straps that were missing from the headboard but was again cut off by his mother.

"I know, Paul," Mary responded curtly. "We won't be needing those anymore," she continued reading her book as she spoke.

"Mom. I'm trying to be more responsible like you want me to, but it's still hard." Paul paused, then played his card which had worked so well up to now, "I just hope I slide back, that's all."

Mary looked up at her son, her eyes steady, "I know you're trying, Paul, and I don't want you to slide back either. That's why you're going to get rid of your comics tomorrow. You can sell them or give them away, I don't care which, but I want them gone tomorrow. Those straps are a toy, too, and we don't have room for any of that in this house anymore." The tone of Mary's voice left little room for argument.

"But I ...,"

"No buts. You're grown up enough now."

"Are you saying you won't ...,"

"No. But not everyday, only once in a while. I'm your mother, and I love you. We'll have a special relationship all our lives but it's time for you to move on. You have nothing to worry about. Lots of young women would be pleased with you in bed." Mary couldn't help glancing down at her son's large knob. "They might be antsy at first because that's quite a piece of equipment but you're gentle, and now that you've had a little experience, you'll have the confidence to get them to trust you."

Mary smiled, her tone shifting to a consoling one.

"Now, come to bed." Mary patted the bed beside her. "Tomorrow you can get rid of those comics and start looking for some lucky young woman to please with that thing."

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I was elated. Mary was turning off the tap and I was sure it was partly to do with me.

My elation lasted until the next morning.

I was up early, hoping to have some time with Mary before she started looking after my dad. She was already in the kitchen finishing her morning coffee, making Dad's breakfast and preparing his daily medicine when I arrived. We chatted cheerfully for about twenty minutes while I ate and had coffee. She looked beautiful even though she wore no makeup. Her complexion was fresh, her cheeks so rosy she could have just finished a half marathon. We didn't talk about sex, or Paul. I was patient. From what I'd seen last night, I just had to give her some time but I did confirm our date for Saturday.

Mary left the kitchen when we heard Mom coming downstairs. They exchanged friendly greetings as they passed each other. Mom was in a hurry, as usual, drinking her organic juice and a bowl of mixed fruit before rushing out the door with a coffee to go. Ahhhh, the harried life of a devoted golfer.

Left alone, I decided to read one letter before leaving for school. In the study, I started the monitor program, thinking I would review the bit last night when Mary laid down the law for Paul but evidently there'd been some interesting activity early the next morning.

I just caught Mary's back as she left the bedroom in her knee length cotton nightgown. Paul exited the bathroom in his shorts, turned to watch his mother walk away, then opened the bedside table drawer, retrieving a tube. Holding the waistband of his shorts, he fished out his bizarre cock and covered the head liberally with lubricating cream from the tube, let his shorts snap back and tossed the tube back in the drawer, then followed his mom to the kitchen.

Mary turned her head slightly when she heard her son come in. I was surprised to see how pale her face looked in contrast to the visage I'd enjoyed at breakfast just fifteen minutes ago. Maybe she had gone for a run.

"I'm just making you some sandwiches for lunch," Mary said. "Why don't you get us some coffee?"

"Sure, Mom," Paul answered, walking up to stand behind his mom.

"So we're still on the same page?" Mary asked.

"Absolutely, Mom. I'm getting rid of the comics today. There's just one thing," Paul added, stepping up immediately behind Mary, placing his hands on her hips, and leaning his head over her shoulder. "I'm just wondering why you don't want to be with me anymore."

Mary tried to turn around, but Paul held her in place so she leaned back against his chest instead. Paul kept his feet back so his mom didn't come into contact with the bulge in front of his shorts. Mary reached over her shoulder to caress his cheek with one hand.

"Oh, honey. It's not that. It's just that I can't do this every day."

Paul nuzzled his cheek against Mary's. "But Mom, I love you."

"And I love you too, honey, but eventually we'll have to stop altogether when you find someone. You understand, don't you?"

"I guess so." Paul let his hands slide up Mary's side along her waist, then down past her hips and back to her waist, pulling her nightgown up several inches. "But, it will be harder for me to be cool with a girl if I'm all worked up, you know, from not being close to you."

"I know, dear," Mary said, patting his cheek again. "So, maybe we could be together once a week or so."

"Ok, Mom." Paul was agreeable. He slid his hands down and up again, caressing her sides, bringing the nightdress up yet higher. Mary seemed unaware that her upper legs were being revealed, her head leaning back, close to Paul's nuzzling face. "But I'm young, Mom. I'm not sure once a week will work for me."

"Oh, Paul. How about every four or five days then?"

"Every three days?" Paul bargained back. His hands slid down and back.

"Ok, but just for a little while and then only once a week."

"And maybe an extra, once in a while?" Paul ran his hands down and up Mary's side again, bringing her nightgown up so high it just covered her behind.

"Maybe," Mary replied without commitment.

"Like right now?"

"You must be kidding," Mary was surprised. "I have finish to these sandwiches to start work and start work."

"Ah, Mom. Just let me look at you, then, while you finish." Paul pulled Mary's the nightgown the rest of the way up to her hips, baring her bottom.

"No, Paul. I've got work to do."

"You can work on your sandwiches, I'm not stopping you."

"Paul, this is childish."

"Please Mom. Just let me look." Paul's voice sounded desperate.

"Oh, for goodness sakes. Go ahead and look then."

Mary's voice hinted at her frustration with him as did her sharp movements as she resumed making Paul's lunch. Paul watched his mother's behind jiggling to her angry movements.

"It's not childish, Mom."

"Oh, and what's not childish about it?" Mary angrily spread butter roughly on the bread.

Paul smiled, clearly enjoying the extra activation of his mom's behind. He said something else that I couldn't hear but it obviously agitated Mary even more and Paul's smile grew. He was playing her.

"It isn't childish to watch a woman's behind, Mom, especially if she's got one as nice as yours. Like it or not, I'm acting like a man now, like you said I should."

Mary couldn't have much argument to that and her body posture showed it, the tension leaving as her son's logic sunk in.

"You don't know how good you look, Mom. You probably don't know how it makes a man feel to look at an ass like yours." Paul withdrew one hand and once again fished his cock out, swirling his hand around its tip, making sure the lubricant was spread evenly around the bulbous head. He pushed his shorts down to his thighs and returned his hand to Mary's hip. What was he intending?

"I know how you made me feel," Paul whispered. "I wish you knew how that felt, that you could have been in my mind when I looked at you last night," he paused, "face down on the bed with your legs open and your bum raised, before ..."

"Paul," Mary cried, "you shouldn't talk about to me like that. I'm your mother!"

Mary was upset, her hands now gripping the counter, but nevertheless her voice was rife with excitement.

"I know Mom. You're my mother. You have a gorgeous ass, and last night you pushed it up to me, just before ..."


"Paul!"

"just before I came inside you from behind."

Mary gasped, and Paul made his move. Bending his knees, he moved forward between Mary's legs and then straightened. Mary's mouth flew open, as if the doctor had just told her to say 'Ahhhh' for as long as she could. Paul only moved for a few seconds, and then stopped. He was in.

He barely moved, letting her acclimatize to the size of his bulbous cock, holding her hips so she couldn't pull off, though that probably wasn't easy with a cock like his. But Mary didn't even try. Her mouth closed from its round 'O' but not completely, and I could see her expelling her breath in a long 'eewuuwww' before sucking it back in.

"I feel different, don't I Mom?" Paul somehow knew his mom was past arguing the fete accompli of his entry.

Mary nodded, apparently incapable of speech, or just not wanting to talk.

"No one else feels like this, do they?"

Mary shook her head.

"See Mom. We're made for each other. You feel exquisite, especially this way. Please don't ever stop me from doing you like this."

Paul's hips started moving in small pulses, Mary's mouth opening with each small thrust. Paul looked at the counter. Was he going to push her onto the counter, shove her tits onto the butter covered bread?

He turned his head, swinging his gaze around the kitchen to his left, eyes lighting on the kitchen table. Would he bend her over there? No. He looked down at the floor. No. His head swung to the right. Just the stove and the fridge. He centered his head, initiated a series of rapid shoves that made Mary's head flop around then stopped, slid his hands under her nightgown and up to grab her tits, ran another series of quick thrusts, then turned to the right, half carrying his mom ahead of him, impaled on his cock.

He shuffled Mary toward the stove, his knees slightly bent so she could keep her feet on the floor to help. As he passed the fridge he turned suddenly and pushed her against its door, pushing her arms up until she closed her fingers over the top edge of the door. He reached around her arms then to grasp the top of the fridge on either side, his arms spread wide, and straightened his legs until Mary's feet left the floor except for her toes which dangled down, barely scraping the tile.

Paul quickly lunged up on his tip toes, his leg muscles cording with the strain. He quickly repeated this, panting loudly along with his mother's moans, thigh, arm and calf muscles rippling, buttocks tensing tight and then relaxing until the next lurch. The fridge started to rock as he bashed his mom's pussy and tits against the door, bam, bam, bam.

I thought Mary was trying to pull herself up on the door, away from his brash invasion but on closer inspection I could see she was actually pushing herself down, trying to follow his cock as it withdrew before the next onslaught.

She loved it. I could see it. She loved her son's cock.

There was a constant stream of, "ohhhhh, unnnngghh, ohhhhhh, unnnngghhh, oohhhhhh, unnnggghhh," as Paul hammered her again and again. Not really fast, just steady, hard thrusts. Bam, bam, bam.

On and on. Mary getting louder and louder, her own face red with exertion. And then, suddenly, Paul stopped, cold. Mary was shaking on him, her legs quivering. Paul's knees bent as he pulled himself out. POP, and he stepped back, his cock dangling before him, wet. Thick, white cum ran down the inside of Mary's thighs, already almost to her knees, pushing beyond within seconds as more oozed from between her legs.

Watching it, Paul suddenly stepped forward, turned his mom's head sideways and clamped his mouth on hers for a long kiss. Then he stepped away, turned, and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Mary still panting and hanging on to the top of the fridge door.

It was over.

I felt empty. School was out for today, I wouldn't be able to concentrate. I needed something that would take my mind off this. A letter. Not one from William. Too mild. I needed something with the promise of a good hard mother fuck. Something from Kevin? Maybe. Jack? Sure. Or Mark.

I searched but didn't find one by these guys and ended up reading a letter from a new guy named Craig.

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Hi group. I'm Craig, and my mom's name is Myra. Before I start telling you about us, let me give you a bit of background. My Dad and Mom have been together for 26 years, three years of dating with my father trying to convince Mom to marry him, followed by 23 years of marriage. I'm twenty. My mother stopped working just before I was born and never went back. They met while both worked at medical supply company, he in management and she in sales. Dad now runs one of the regional divisions. Looking at my mom, you immediately get the sense that she was a 'looker'.

My parents seem to operate in separate worlds and pass by each other cordially but as if they're living in different dimensions. I have always been closer to my mom, partly because his career has always been my dad's abiding interest. I went to work there one summer, against my wishes and I think Dad's too. I discovered that my dad still has a taste for lookers and has no end of attractive and ambitions young women, especially in sales, willing to provide the fruit. Dad didn't try to argue me out of quitting after only one month and agree to fund me as if I was working to stay home and write, upon my mother's insistence.

So I spent my summers at home, writing whatever I felt like, and hanging out with Mom. Although she never mentioned it, I think Mom knew about Dad's extracurricular activities and was hurt by it. Very attractive women generally find this kind of thing harder to handle but Mom didn't seem to care, and was more interested in ensuring that her life unfolded the way she wished it to.

Anyway, after that first summer, Mom asked me to accompany her to Miami Beach to visit her elderly parents over the Xmas holidays. Now, I would have much rather stayed home but felt that I owed Mom and I also didn't want to chance an embarassing encounter at home with my Dad and a 'guest' and becoming mired in a quandary of whether to keep it a secret or not. So I left the cold at home for the sunny heat of Miami Beach but with the dread of living for several weeks in my grandparents stifling apartment and hearing stories of my toddler years, and my mother's, for the fiftieth time.

As soon as we got on the plane, Mom seemed different, starting with the summery dress she unveiled when she stuffed her coat in the overhead compartment. I noticed the glances of several male passengers as she struggled to remove her coat and how they lingered when she reached up to access the overhead, but she seemed oblivious. She was in a mood to chat so I put my book into the seat pouch and waited for her to tire. She didn't, and was still yakking away when we picked up the rental car.

Instead of going straight to her parent's place, Mom stopped for a late lunch and a drink. I was surprised because her parent's would know what time the plane was due and how long it should take to drive to their place. Ten minutes late would require explanations for the delay but Mom insisted on stopping. And that's exactly what happened.

The afternoon and evening were painful. Nan insisted that I sleep on the couch which was a further pain since they were up by six in the morning. While Mom got to sleep in, I had to listen to gossip about the other tenants they'd known for thirty years or more and had been having the same beefs about for all that time, if my memory served me correctly.

The day passed slowly but fortunately, I was able to read most of the time after Mom woke up. Gran insisted we go out for dinner which was four in the afternoon, since he wanted to be home for the news and then bed by eight. At dinner, Mom insisted that they bring a cot from their storage room for me to sleep on in her room. Thank you, thank you, I signaled Mom, knowing I too could sleep in the next morning. Mom and I spent the evening watching a movie after her parents went to bed. It was a very nice time, Mom and I whispering during commercials in the darkened living room so as not to disturb Nan and Gran.

After the movie, Mom told me to get changed and into bed and then she would come and do the same. The cot was across the wall at the end of the bed, and I faced it when Mom came in to get undressed but she started talking to me as soon as she came in, complaining she couldn't hear me when I responded to her as she wandered in and out of the ensuite.

"Turn around, Craig. I can't hear you."

So I did. Mom was still dressed, walking slowly out of the bathroom, her head cocked to one side as she removed her earing. I was struck by the youthfulness of her figure, shilhouetted against the light of the bathroom light behind her. There is something intrinsically feminine about a woman removing her paraphernalia that creates a numb feeling in your chest if not an erotic sensation elsewhere in your body. I experienced that feeling watching Mom saunter out, dropping her earing on the table beside the bed before she sat on the edge of the mattress. She cocked her head the other way to remove the other earing and placed it beside the other.

Still chatting to me she stood, quickly pulled her dress up to the top of her legs and deftly slipped her hands up underneath and then down, in one motion sitting as she brought her pantyhose down to her knees in a well practised movement. Continuing to talk, Mom raised each foot in turn, pushing her hose down her leg and off her feet. It was a delicious thing to watch and the practiced efficiency couldn't erase the feminity of the moment and the realization that this wasn't just my mother but an attractive, and assured woman. I felt blessed to experience my mother in this casually intimate fashion.

With the pantyhose caught on the end of her toe, Mom swung her leg to the end of the bed near me and let it fall to the floor. She glanced up and our eyes met, mine spellbound and her sparkling with mischievousness.

"Nan used to harp at me all the time when I lived at home, 'How can you live with stuff all over the floor', it really used to bug her," Mom laughed.

I laughed too, hopefully convincing Mom that it was the discarding of her clothes on the floor that I was looking at, and not her beautifully curved legs.

Mom stood and reached behind to to unzip her dress. After a feeble attempt to undo the hook behind her neck, something I'm sure she managed to do all the time, she backed up to the cot and kneeled down in front of me.

"Can you unhook me, dear?"

I sat up in the cot, released the little hook and waited, catching her by the outside of her shoulders when she wobbled on her feet.

"Unzip me please."

Holding onto her left shoulder, I grasped the zipper and pulled it slowly down, past the back of her bra, following her spine to the small of her back.

"Thanks sweetie," Mom said in a soft voice as she struggled to her feet. As she walked toward the bed, she paused, slipped the dress off one shoulder and then the other before allowing it to fall, stooping and holding the dress in one hand at knee height. Each buttock was independently emphasized as she stepped out of the dress and then tossed it to sprawl carelessly on the chair near by window.

Mom turned her head sideways with a smirk on her face, as if to say 'Take that' to Nana, but she didn't turn far enough to make eye contact with me before moving slowly forward wearing just her slip. She paused again in the doorway and lifted the slip to remove her panties, sliding them down to her knees and then leaning against the door jamb while she pulled each foot out. The panties were simply dropped on the floor beside the door.

Mom stepped through the door to the sink and bent over to brush her teeth, stretching the slip tight across her buttocks so I could see the outline of her cheeks and the dark line between them. I saw her face in the mirror as she bent down, her eyes briefly making contact with mine and I blushed, realizing she knew I that had been watching her and that I was watching her now. Nevertheless, I couldn't look away, noting how her bottom moved and bulged as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other several times.

When she finished doing her teeth, Mom started talking again which at least gave me an excuse to be looking at her as she sauntered back into the room, looking gorgeous silhouetted against the bathroom light behind her. I tried not to let my eyes roam over her body but I'm not sure how successful I was with that. Not very, probably. Mom stopped by her bed and turned back the covers while she chatted away. I was happy just to listen, nodding and looking at her.

After a minute, Mom paused and said, "Can you cover your eyes for a minute, honey? I forgot to take my bra off. Just put your hand over your eyes," she added as I began to turn around.

Covering my eyes with my hand, I managed to peek through my fingers, watching Mom slide the straps of the slip off her shoulders and push it down past her bra. My hand was shaking as she unsnapped the bra and pulled it off, her medium sized breasts first flopping down and then bouncing back, slowly settling into a nice prominent jut from her chest. It must have felt good to be free because Mom sighed and stretched, arching her back in a long bend that emphasized the quality of her tits. Relaxing, she reached down for the straps to pull her slip back into place.

I immediately opened my eyes, catching her with one breast still free for a brief few seconds as she turned back toward me to pull the strap up on that side.

"Oops," Mom laughed. "Too soon, I guess."

"Sorry Mom," I apologized.

"Oh, don't worry about it," she said, walking over to me and bending down to me goodnight, her breasts falling against the front of her slip, nipples pressing strongly into the silky fabric.

Mom walked back to turn off the bathroom before getting into bed. She continued to chat for a long time before finally going to sleep.

I tried to wake up early so I could watch Mom get dressed but when I opened my eyes, I was alone. I got dress and wandered out to find Nana and Mom having breakfast, both fully dressed. Gramps was already out for his walk.

We hung around until after lunch and then Mom said she was taking me shopping. When we got in the elevator, Mom punched the button for the floor just below us. When the door opened and closed, she flicked the switch to shut if off.

"Here, hold this," she said, handing me her purse and started undoing the buttons on her blouse. Shocked, I blushed and turned away. Mom explained as she undid the bottom few buttons on her blouse. "I can't wear a bra around all day in this heat, but you know Nana."

She pulled her blouse open and undid her bra, then awkwardly twisted and pulled until she was able to extract the bra. Though I had turned sideways, I still managed to get a glimpse of her tits, especially after she held her bra out for me to take, allowing me to turn a little more toward her. By the time she buttoned up the final few buttons, two few than she'd undone, I was almost facing her square on. Silently, I handed her the bra and she stuffed it into her purse before turning the elevator back on.

Of course, you know where my attention was for the entire afternoon. Mom dragged me shopping and tried on lots of clothes, inviting me to pay close attention to how well each dress, skirt, or blouse fit, a task I felt obliged to do with some degree of enthusiasm. By the time we went back to Nana and Gramp's, the blood was flowing easily through my veins. I had spent ours ogling my mom, at her request.

There was a large group of old folks in the lobby and a bunch of them decided to get in the elevator with us. We were pressed to the back, both of us holding bags of Mom's finds from the afternoon. I had gone to the middle, holding bags on both sides, and Mom stepped in right in front of me, moving back as more people crowded in until she was pressed tight against me.

We must have stood like that for a full minute before someone remembered to push the buttons. Having been primed by the afternoon's observation activities, it didn't take long for me to react to the soft feminine pressure from my mother's bottom. There wasn't anything I could do except hope for lots of raisins to get off on the first stop so Mom could step ahead and put some space between us.

Of course, only one or two got off on each floor, and we had to repeat the process of forgetting to start the elevator on its way at each stop. I was sporting a noticeable boner by the time the third group left. Though there were now four fewer people in the elevator, Mom hadn't given me anymore room. There were only two old ducks left by the time our floor was the next stop. Of course, they then reconized Mom and a little chat ensued. I thought I was done when Mom waved her hands as she talked, moving her butt around on my front. It was lovely and agonizing at the same time. I didn't ever want it to stop at the same time my mind was screaming for her to get her ass off my dick before I soaked us both.

Finally, I said in desparation, "Mom."

"Oh sorry, dear," Mom looked back at me. "I guess we'd better get going." She then leaned forward, not stepped mind you but leaned forward, to push the button for our floor, her ass digging against my inflamed member. When the door opened, I squeezed out from behind Mom and shuffled quickly down to Nana and Gramp's place, knocking on the door as Mom finally exited the elevator, still chatting to the two old ladies.

"Sorry honey," Mom apologized as she hurried to catch up to me. "They can really get going, can't they?" Then, looking concerned, she asked, "Did you need to go to the bathroom?"

As soon as we got in the door, I remembered that Mom wasn't wearing a bra and held up my bags to block Nana's view of Mom, commenting that Mom really had to go. Mom realized and I really earned some brownie points keeping my grandparents busy while she scooted into the guest bedroom to 'fix' herself. I wished I could have been there to watch.

I won't bore you with details of dinner and the early evening. Suffice it to say that, despite the long afternoon of watching Mom, I hadn't tired of it and helped myself to several eyefuls as Mom showed off her new purchases. After my grandparents went to bed, I settled in to watch some TV but Mom suggested we retire to 'our' room to read and chat about what to do the next day. I couldn't help running my eyes up and down her body as she walked in front of me.

As soon as I closed the door behind me, Mom started undoing the dress she had last put on to show Nana. I sat down on the cot and watched her, forgetting myself and just being used to doing that all afternoon. I guess it seemed natural to Mom too because she continued to undress in front of me, casually removing her dress and pantyhose, talking about this and that, not minding that I wasn't contributing anything more than the odd nod here and there.

Then an amazing thing happened. Mom went into the bathroom and wandered back in almost immediately, carrying some skin cream with her. But here's the thing. She slipped the shoulder straps of her slip off her shoulders, like the night before, but without first asking me to cover my eyes. As if it was perfectly normal, as if she were standing in front of Dad, she pulled her slip down to her waist and unsnapped her bra, pulled it off her breasts and slipped it her arms out of it, and tossed it on the floor behind her. For a moment, she simply stood in front of me, slip dangling from her waist, breasts jutting out proudly straight at me. Without any acknowledgement that this was inappropriate or a mistake, she turned sideways to face more than halfway away from me, arched her back and stretched so I could see the her right breast lift from her chest, and sighed, just as she had last night. 

Mother fucker.

Slowly straightening up, Mom lifted the slip back into place but before turning around, she grasped its hem and wiggled her hips, pulling it up to mid-thigh, slipped her hands underneath, and pulled her panties down, bending over so she could step out of them. They too were dropped on the floor. Mom was now naked under the slip, and my cock was even harder than it had been in the elevator, especially now that that memory popped into my head. The way her cheeks moved unencumbered under that slip. Fantastic!

I quickly undressed and slipped under the covers in the cot when Mom went in to brush her teeth. When Mom returned and saw me waiting, she spoke, "No no, Craig, come sleep here with me. There's lots of room so you don't have to sleep on that awful cot. Just ruffle the covers so Nana thinks you slept there."

I balked. "Come, come," she hustled me, turning to get into bed herself, probably thinking I was too shy to let her see me in my boxer shorts. Which I was, with my boner sticking up through the waistband.

I rushed to the other side, pulled the covers back and backed in turning to lay face down to hide my erection. Mom plumped her pillows up and sat back to read a book.

"Aren't you going to read?" she asked, seing me laying face down on the bed.

"No, I'm kind of tired," I answered.

"Tuckered you out, did I?"

"Yes," I replied as Mom began to read, my eyes resting on her slip covered tits and nipples. Please don't pull up the covers, I thought. I fell asleep.

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Note from author: I'm re-issuing the more popular segments in this series as single stories so they can be read conveniently without having to search through multiple chapters. Let me know if you think that's a good idea.





The Mom Memories Ch. 15
byalwayswantedto©

All characters are 18 years or older.

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I have to admit I'm depressed. I now knew that Mom was not the simple victim of my father's clandestine affair with my grandmother, that she could be devious, and that she had desires of her own that could be considered wild if not beyond the pale. Even when I thought I was in control, I had been played yet I still wanted to have edgy sex with Mom, I just lacked confidence that I could meet her expections.

On the other hand, I felt I was falling in love with Mary as a person and wanted a relationship with her outside of sex, and wanted sexual interactions with her that were more caring and romantic. But though I believed this feeling was reciprocated on her part, I also knew she couldn't deny her son and, after the morning's episode against the fridge, I knew she would spread for his cock any time he wanted it, that she may even come to crave it.

I withdrew into the stories, looking for more letters, especially from William, Craig, Mark, Jack and Kevin. The first one I found was an update from Craig (Chapter 14).

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Hello group. Craig here, carrying on with my story, about me and my Mom, Myra.

I woke to sunlight streaming in the window through the venetion blinds and the sound of a radio drifted through the half ajar bedroom door. That was Mom's voice singing along and I could tell that Nana and Gramps weren't home simply by the relative modernity of the music that was playing. It was almost ten o' clock so I was about to get up but stopped when Mom's singing started getting louder, indicating she was coming this way. I didn't want to get caught half out of bed with my morning hard pushing my shorts out, so I stayed put.

"Morning," Mom cheerfully sang out, brushing past the door with a tray full of juice, eggs and toast, walking toward me. "Sit up," she said, leaning over to set the tray down. There was even coffee, and slices of apple and oranges.

"Wow Mom. Thanks."

"You think I'm not going to look after you just because we're away? Anyway, I have a favor to ask later."

Mom walked around the bed unbelting her robe as she went.

"We're on our own until supper. Nana and Gramps are out for the day. So eat your breakfast and think about what we should do."

My eyes had been following Mom and I stopped chewing the piece of toast lodged in my mouth when she opened her robe and slipped it off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. She was still dressed in the slip she'd worn to bed last night, clearly braless and probably without panties. Instinctively, I used both hands to steady the tray in my lap which was suddenly in danger of rocking off to one side, leaving the toast to hang precariously from my mouth.

Mom crawled onto the bed, providing me with a wonderful view down the bodice of her slip as she paused to puff up the pillows on her side before twisting around to sit back against them on top of the covers with her knees drawn up.

"Any bright ideas?" she asked as she reached to pick up the jar of skin cream.

I grasped the toast with one hand and began chewing as Mom dipped her fingers into the jar and started spreading the cream on her leg, rubbing it into her calf muscles with long strokes that stretched right down over the top of her foot to her toes.

"Can you turn the TV on?" she asked.

I grabbed the remote and turned the TV on without taking my eyes off her, thumbing the channel listing on.

"Next page," Mom said after seeing nothing interesting in the first screen of listings.

She had moved on to her other leg. After paging through all the listings and then back, Mom finally selected a show to watch and finished that leg. I thought she might move on to her upper legs next and my midsection was already anticipating seeing her pull her slip higher so she could rub the cream on but she didn't. Instead, she began applying the cream to her arm, holding it out while she ran her hand up and down its length, twisting to make sure she was getting good coverage.

"Eat your eggs before they get cold," Mom chided me.

I busied myself with my meal, feeling as if I'd just been caught with my hand in the cookie jar, but soon turned my attention back to Mom. It was arousing watching her slowly massage her arm, especially the far one since I could watch her breast move under her outstretched arm, the slip pulling tightly against it to accent its outline. When she changed arms, looking in my direction again, I turned to finish my breakfast so she didn't catch me staring.

The show had changed by the time Mom finished her arms, shoulders and her neck and she seemed to be quite interested in the women's talk show that came on. I set the tray down on the floor and sat back to drink my coffee. Mom, intent on the show, scooped up some more cream and absently tugged on her slip which, because her knees were still up, fell high on her thighs. Almost as an after thought, she tucked the slip between her legs, perhaps being aware at some level that she wasn't wearing panties, but I think it seemed to be an unconscious action.

Mom started to apply the cream much more slowly, her attention riveted on the discussion between several of the women on TV. My attention, on the other hand, was on the way her hand moved over her soft upper thighs. She slid her feet down the bed so that her knees lowered about a foot or so but didn't lay flat on the bed but were still slightly bent and open so she could easily move her cream covered hand between her legs. After watched this for several minutes and her preoccupation with the talk show, I made a quiet suggestion.

"Would you like me to do that for you Mom?"

"What? ..." Mom was distracted, still watching the TV but starting to turn her head toward me. I stiffened, thinking I had made a boo boo until she said, "Oh, would you?"

"Sure," I answered, taking the cream and dipping my fingers into the jar.

"Your father used to do this for me, you know," her head was already returning to the TV. "He used to do lots of things," she mumbled. I applied the first stroke of cream on the top of her thigh, near her knee. "You don't mind?" she asked.

"No," I replied quietly, pushing my cream covered hand toward her hip, fingers trailing down the inside of her leg.

I hope this is an hour long show, I thought as I resupplied my hand and languidly applying the cream. Several minutes later, the show went to commercials. I was about to retreat to the more neutral territory of her knee while the commercials were on when Mom closed her eyes and sank back in the pillows, so I continued pushing higher, and lower, into softer and softer turf. I didn't try to touch sacred ground but I certainly came close.

When the commercials ended, Mom opened her eyes and resumed her intent consumption. I changed legs and began working my way from that knee toward the enchanted forest again. I could see the faint outline of my mother's bush under the material she had tucked between her legs and she definitely wasn't wearing panties.

I was creaming near the chapel when the commercials started again and yes, it was an hour long show. Mom closed her eyes and relaxed into the pillows, allowing me to continue applying the cream. She didn't make a fuss about me overworking that same upper area, switching back and forth from thigh to thigh. She seemed to be simply enjoying the rest. My fingers were stretching down between her legs perilously close to a taboo scraping when the show started again.

Mom didn't open her eyes.

"Mom," I whispered. "Your show's on."

I whispered again when she didn't respond. She opened her eyes, startling me even though I'd been calling her. My hand froze, holding the inside of her thigh, and again I felt caught with my hand in the cookie jar.

"You know, I think I'm just going to have a little nap. I was up so early with Nana and Gramps." Mom's eyes closed again.

I looked down at my hand, reluctant to let go, wanting to continue touching her, to keep this newfound intimacy.

"Would you like me to do your back?" I asked.

Mom didn't answer. Instead, she sat up and turned away, my hand slipping off her leg, until her back faced me. Still not answering, she raised her hands to brush the slip's straps off both shoulders, then awkwardly pulled her arms out. I was stunned and fascinated as she pushed the slip down to her waist. I couldn't see her breasts but knew they were bare, hanging freely in front of her.

She twisted then, stretching her legs out and turning face down onto the bed. I only caught a glimpse of her tits as they dangled under her body before she lowered herself and hid them from my sight. Tentatively, since she hadn't actually said yes to my request, I put some cream on her shoulder.

"Mmmmmm,"

I moved my hand in a circle on her shoulder before trailing my fingers down her spine to the small of her back.

"Mmmmmmm,"

I guess I had my answer.

As I began applying more liberal quantities of the skin cream, working all over her back and up her sides, Mom whispered, "Your Dad used to get quite naughty when he did this," she paused, then added, "but that was a long time ago."

She didn't speak again. I massaged and massaged the cream into her back until she was breathing deeply and regularly. I changed then from doing her back to stroking all around the edges. Along the top of the slip where it lay across her buttocks, down along her sides, along the swell of her breasts where they squished out from between her chest and the mattress, up and down her spine and then over to the other side. I pushed the slip up the slope to rest on the rise of her buttocks and paused once in a while to marvel at how sexy she looked, the beauty of her glistening contours.

I wasn't sure what else I could do. Though I was sure Mom was asleep, there was no way I could squeeze my hands between the mattress and her breasts though I dearly wanted to touch her tits. Stretching my hand over her back, I grasped her far hip and gently but steadily exerted pressure, lifting up and toward me. Slowly, slowly, her hip began to rise, then suddenly she twisted onto her side, back toward me, moving about until she settled into a comfortable position with her knees bent and slightly in front of her.

I leaned over her to look at her breasts, now hanging free. I could see all of them. Her bare tits. After waiting a few minutes for her breathing to settle down, I cautionsly brushed my fingers up her side and over the swell of her tits on the upper side. I was elated when she didn't react. Scooping up a copious quantity of the cream, I returned my hand to the meaty swell of her tit and mushed it down over the underside, cupping the full weight of her breast and spreading the cream up and over, my palm dragging over her nipple, bending it flat, pressing in to squeeze the cream all around it.

I stopped, my hand gripping her tit. Had her breathing changed? No. A thrill swept through me again and I started spreading the cream down to the other tit. Soon, I was fondling both tits, almost mauling them in my excitement but eventually backed off and began a more sensitive massage and manipulation of her nipples. These began to fascinate me and I spent a lot of time rubbing them, twisting my slippery fingers all around them, pushing them in, bending them, pulling them out.

I realized after a while that my boner was poking into Mom's backside. Looking down, I could see it tenting out from my shorts. My legs were still under the covers but my pelvis was above. Deliberately, I aimed my tented shorts at her ass and shifted forward, my boner poking into the fleshy part of her ass. I experimented with poking it in and out there but suddenly lost control as an incredible feeling burst through me, jabbing my cotton covered boner between her cheeks, holding her hip to bring her tighter against me.

"Ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh, ahhhhhhhhh."

I jerked against her, then quickly pulled back in a panic as I realized I couldn't come against her or she'd know. When my contractions finished, I pulled Mom's slip higher on her hips and quietly snuck off the bed into the bathroom where I cleaned myself up and rinsed my shorts out before throwing them in the laundry. Grabbing another pair of shorts, I returned to bed, clicked off the TV, and lay down facing away from her, hoping to convince Mom that I too had fallen asleep. Though I had just woken up an hour earlier, I did.

My eyes popped open and looked frantically around. Something had woken me up. I strained to hear, listening for telltale sounds in case Nana or Gramps were home. Nope. The only sound I could hear was the radio Mom had left on.

Mom. I looked down. I was still laying on my right side. Her arm was draped over my waist, underneath my own arm, but her hand, her hand was resting limply on the bed, right in front of my jockey shorts. Then the thing that undoubtedly woke me up happened again. Mom's delicate hand moved and cupped my jockeys, palm and fingers cupping my already hard cock down its full length. I was just getting used to the exquisite sensations imparted by her hand when it dropped away again to lay limply on the mattress.

My eyes hurt, I was watching her hand so intently. Move, I thought. Move. Suddenly, it did just that, cupping me like before, my cock lurching against her hand though it was constrained by the tight jockeys. Was she dreaming? Did she think her arm was around Dad? Dare I push my jockeys down so I could feel her hand on my bare cock? Her hand dropped away again.

Mom! Stop!

No. Don't stop. I mean, stop taking your hand away.

Please touch me again. Please hold it.

Ahhhh glory. Yes, that's good. Don't let go.

I pushed myself against her hand, daring to move my hips just the slightest bit to extract all the exquisiteness I could pull from her touch, rubbing a minute stroke in her palm. Oh, God.

Oh no. Her hand had loosened. It didn't just drop away like before, but I could feel it loosening. Please don't take it away. Oh, oh, oh, God. Oh God. Yes.

My cock was still loosely cupped by Mom's palm but her fingers had curled away and now her fingernails were scratching their way up my shaft. She was under the tip now, scratching so softly back and forth with two or three fingernails, constantly. God. I was going to come again. I couldn't stop it.

It's coming. Ahhhhhhhhhhh. Spurt, spurt, spurt. Jesus. So good.

Mom's hand fell away. The front of my jockeys were soaked but the tight waistband had stopped my spunk from escaping. As I lay there, wondering what to do, Mom's arm slid away, dragging her wonderful soft hand and fingers with it. I turned to look behind me a moment later. She was laying on her back, beautiful breasts uncovered, rising and falling with her even breathing. I escaped once more to the bathroom to clean myself. I had to sneak back in naked to get another pair of shorts, boxers this time. Carefully, I slid under the covers and pretended to be asleep. Mere minutes later, Mom woke up.

My head was twisted down toward my feet but actually I watched through slitted eyes as Mom sat up, her tits jiggling to a standstill, looking gorgeous through the mirror at the end of the bed. She stretched, arching her back, her sexy thick nipples pointing at the roof. Her arms fell to her sides as she relaxed. She turned to look at me then at herself, at her bare chest. I could see her examine herself, then her arm, lifting and crossing it in front of her, comparing it to her chest, turning her head to look at me then back at her chest and arm, both glistening in the early afternoon light. She smiled.

Mom snaked her arms through the slip's straps and pulled it up over her breasts. Smiling to herself again, she grabbed my shoulder and shook me.

"Wake up. Come on lazybones. Wake up."

I 'woke' slowly, feigning revival from a deep slumber.

"Come on, let's go out." Mom was off the bed and walking around toward the bathroom. "Get dressed while I get a shower."

We had a great afternoon. We spent time wandering through some malls, shopping. One of Mom's favorite things, but I didn't complain, not once. Mom seemed so happy about that, mentioning it several times. "Smart men should be rewarded," she laughed. "I don't know why men are so stupid, complaining all the time. If they just shut up and acted as if they like it a bit instead of ruining it, it would work out so much better for them. Don't you think?"

I wholeheartedly agreed. A no brainer.

Mom shut off the elevator again on the way home to Nana and Gramp's apartment. She asked me to turn away while she put on the bra she had brought along in her big leather bag. But when she had her blouse open she said, "Here, hold this." She pulled on my arm and handed me her bag while she dug around in various pocket trying to find the bra. Now partly facing her, I couldn't help looking down at her swaying tits. "Having fun?" Mom asked, finding the bra and starting to pull it out of the bag.

I went beet red and turned away, holding her bag to my chest.

"It's OK Craig, I was just kidding. Here hold this."

I turned back to her to take the bra while she took her blouse completely off. Her tits were swaying chaotically all around as she pulled her arms out of the sleeves.

"Perks of being a helpful shopper," she laughed, "but don't let your Dad in on it. He's too old to learn new tricks anyway," Mom laughed again, taking the bra and deftly fixing it to hold her treasures.

"So your mother can shock you, can she? What's the matter?" she went on, "Cat got your tongue?"

Mom gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, switched the elevator back on, and started tucking the blouse into the waist of her long black skirt. She turned her sparkling eyes up to me when she finished, just before the elevator stopped, "So, are you going to come shopping with me again?"

I nodded enthusiastically, "Yeah Mom."

Mom laughed at my response. "Well," she said, "perhaps next time my little reward won't be so dull next time."

I was pondering her words, wondering what she meant when she laughed again just as the door opened, "I was positively glistening this morning, but I guess the shower washed all my shine away."

My face was reddening again but Mom didn't see it, she was walking briskly down the hall.

Dinner was the same as the night before. It was nice to visit with Nana and Gramps but I was relieved when they retired shortly after the evening news. The day had tired them out and the brief time with them, having to be so stiff and proper, had tired Mom and I out. We continued watching the TV for a while but thankfully, Mom suggested an end to that.

We were both sitting on the couch where we were when Nana and Gramps left. Mom abruptly swung her feet up and dropped them on my legs.

"Should we watch TV in our own little world, sport?"

I turned my head to smile at my mother, "Yeah Mom."

"I'll get something to drink and some snacks, turn the TV on and get into bed so I don't have to avert my eyes later," she laughed, bouncing to her feet and heading to the kitchen.

I rushed into the bedroom, doffed shirt, pants and socks and crawled under the covers, sat up against the pillows, and waited for Mom who arrived just a moment later with a bottle of wine and some of Nana's home baked cookies. She dropped the wine, glasses and cookies on the table beside me, then walked to the door, closed it firmly but softly, and stood by the end of the bed.

"You didn't turn on the TV," she said.

I turned to get the remote which had fallen to the floor. Leaning way over to retrieve it I strained to pull myself back up and turned to turn on the TV.

Mom was standing there, sideways to me, looking out the window, unbuttoning her blouse. When she reached her skirt, Mom pulled the blouse up and continued undoing the buttons. She turned her head to watch the TV but kept her body facing the window, straight sideways to me. My cock rose when Mom began pulling her arms out of the blouse. She tossed it to the floor when her arms were free, then immediately moved to remove her bra. This did this slowly as well, though I knew it was something she could do with amazing efficiency. The bra hit the floor as well.


Her breasts sloped down and out, ending in beautiful round, beefy globes, not the pointy kind of tits I disliked, and capped by those thick, stiff nipples pointing slightly upward above the bulk of her swelling orbs. Fuck she had great tits.

Reticent to disturb this beautiful moment, I was surprised to hear my own voice.

"Is this for being such a supportive shopper?"

"Yes," Mom answered, not turning to look at me.

"Can we go shopping tomorrow?"

Mom laughed but still watched the TV. "If you like," she said.

"I like," I answered.

Mom turned to face me then and walked toward me on my side of the bed, reaching behind to find the zipper of her skirt. Her tits thrust forward as her arms stretched behind her back.

"And I like the way you accept things. It's so much easier when things are natural." Mom forward to kiss my forehead. "And it will make things more comfortable in our own little world here."

"I hope so. I like it when you're 'natural'," I said, emphasizing the last word.

"Don't be bratty, Craig." Mom turned around then, surprising me when I saw up close how much her tits jutted out from her chest. "Unzip me," she said over her shoulder.

My fingers belied my calm voice as they fumbled with the little zipper on the back of Mom's skirt but I finally managed to pull it down its eight inch length. Mom wiggled her hips, pushing the skirt down her legs, making it look like much more of a struggle than it was, wiggling her bum no more than a foot from my face. She turned to face me again, naked except for her panties.

"Are you going to put some cream on me again, naughty boy? My skin gets so dry here."

"Sure Mom." Was she inviting me to be naughty again?

She returned a minute later with two new jars of skin cream in her hand, setting them down on the crowded table beside me. She was covered now in a nightie that fell to mid-thigh level but was cut low front and back. Mom carried on to the end of the bed and sat down, facing the TV.

"Come and do my back," she said.

I grabbed a jar and scrambled out from under the covers, crawling to kneel behind her on the bed.

"Why did you put this on?" I asked, applying a little cream to her right shoulder and spreading it down her arm.

"Letting my son have a little peek is one thing, parading around in front of him is quite another," she said.

I continued rubbing the cream into her arm, changing to the other when I finished.

"You can pull my nightie off my shoulders when my arms are done," she whispered. "If you want to."

Quickly, I finished her arm, then slowly pushed the shoulders of her nightie, each a wider swath of material than the thin straps on her slip, off and onto her arms. I waited to be sure there was no disapproval before grabbing the sides and tugging the nightie down to her waist, looking over her shoulder as her breasts were bared.

"Peeking is more fun, isn't it?" Mom teased.

"I'm not too sure about that," I bantered back.

Mom leaned forward, pulling her breasts out of my sight. "Do my back, brat."

I concentrated on working the cream into Mom's back, slowly working out toward the extremities like I had the night before. And, like last night, my rubs slowly turned into strokes and my strokes eventually turned into caresses. Mom suddenly sat up and leaned back against me.

"Do you want to do my front?"

"Your front?" I repeated, dumbly.

"Yes," she purred, "like last night."

"Last night?" I repeated innocently.

"Yes. Is it easier if you think I'm asleep?"

I was flabbergasted. She hadn't been sleeping? But, how long ... did she know I'd come rubbing myself against her butt?

"Yes, asleep. I could tell my breasts had cream on them this morning, you know. It could only have happened last night after I fell asleep, so someone must have been naughty, maybe someone who thought he should take his Dad's place since he can't be here."

I turned this over in my mind. I was caught, but only so far.

"So you really owed me a nice long day of shopping, didn't you?"

"Yeah," I admitted. "Sorry, Mom I just couldn't help it."

"I'm not mad," Mom said, "I'm just saying, you really owed me a day of shopping."

I thought about that. She wasn't mad? She probably would be if she knew all of it. But what about her hand on me in the morning? She must have some needs that Dad wasn't meeting. What had she said, 'but that was a long time ago' or something like that.

"I'm taking you shopping again tomorrow," I ventured.

Mom laughed. "Yes, I know. Are you looking for a little advance?"

"Yeah."

"Why don't you scoot back then so I can lean against you and stretch my legs out?"

Mom stood and I shuffled back until I was nestled in the pillows again, on top of the covers this time, with my legs apart to make room for her to sit. Mom walked toward me, very slowly, her tits swaying side to side with just a little up and down bounce, holding her nightie in front with one hand just above her secret apart, but low enough that her navel wasn't blocked from my view. Women's navels are so erotic it's a wonder we don't try to put our cocks into them.

Thinking about that made me aware that my own cock was rock hard and pushing up against my boxers. My legs were open waiting for Mom, so it was plain to see, but I couldn't close my legs. I didn't look down, hoping Mom wouldn't notice. She was smiling, looking into my eyes as I watched her breasts and her belly. She put her knee up on the bed, opening her legs. God I was hard. There's something about seeing a woman's legs part that sends tingles up and down a man's cock.

Mom turned over and sat down in front of me, leaned back against me, wriggled about to get comfortable, and then laid her head on the front of my left shoulder.

"OK," she said, "you don't have to worry about waking me this time."

I took the jar and set it on Mom's tummy, then scooped some onto the fingers of both hands.

"Oh, two hands," Mom marveled.

"Are you sure, Mom?"

"Go ahead, don't be shy. Show me how naughty you were with your sleeping mother." Mom's voice sounded strained, excited.

I placed a hand beneath each tit, pressing the cream against the bottom of each globe. I wasn't going to be shy. I was going to get right to it. I pulled my hand toward me, lifting her tits, then slid them up and over onto her nipples, grinding the cream in, twisting my palms onto nipples, bending them around in a circle, then squeezing my fingers in until I had a nipple between each thumb and forefinger, squeezing her globes and pinching her nipples at the same time.

"Ohhhhhhhh, goddd," Mom gasped.

I tugged and tugged on her nipples, and squeezed and released her tits several times.

"Ohhhhh, god, Craig."

"Too naughty, Mom?" I asked, but not letting up on her tits.

"No, its ok. You just surprised me ... I had no idea you'd ... been quite so ... such a bad boy."

"Keep in mind that," I paused to catch my breath, "tomorrow I'm going to be the best shopping buddy you've ever had." I gasped, short of breath again.

"You promise?" Mom was down to just a few words too, her breath coming in short pants.

"Yeah."

"Go ahead then, for a little longer."

"Why don't you just go to sleep?" Mom's tits were really slippery with the cream now. I kneaded them continuously.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I can't let you get too naughty."

"I'll just do this, Mom. Just go to sleep." I slowed my kneading down to a gentle massage and kept that up for several minutes.

"Go to sleep," I whispered, cajoling. "We've got a big day of shopping tomorrow, you need to rest."

I kept up my gentle massage, moving off her tits to run my hands down her sides, up to her face to rub the tension from her brow, over her shoulders and onto her breasts again. Soft, gentle, slow. I whispered to her, suggesting she go to sleep, that she was so tire, that she should think about being on a picnic laying on a blanket by a bubbling brook, with Dad and I nearby. It took a long time but Mom finally began breathing in that slow, regular way that I identified with sleep. I kept whispering and doing my gentle massage of her upper body for another five minutes or so before picking up the jar from her belly and dumping a big was of cream onto her tummy.

I set the open jar on the table beside me and turned off the lamp so the room was lit only by the light from the bathroom. Gently I set my hands down on Mom's hips, beside the large gob of cream I had piled below her navel. After thirty seconds or so, I slowly moved my hands to the center, collecting some cream onto each set of fingers and then pushing them lower on her tummy, toward the top of the pushed down nightie. I paused just above, then ventured underneath.

I could feel the fringe of her pubic hair. My cock lurched against her back on that first touch. This was so forbidden. God, the intensity of feeling tearing through my whole body, and my mind. My fingers must be near the top of her panties to encounter pubic hair already. I pushed lower, sliding outward to follow the crease between her tummy and her hips. Her pubic hair bristled against the edge of both of my index fingers. Her breathing changed. I stopped.

A moment later I pushed down further, still feeling her hair. She must have one of those little triangle panties on for her pubic to be still uncovered. Incredibly slowly, I moved my hands toward each other, closing in on her panties. More hair. Any second now I would feel the smooth material of her panties and that would be my first touch of her pussy, separated only by the thinnest barrier.

Hair, more hair, dampness. My fingers collided. My brain numbly made sense of this unexpected collision. She wasn't wearing panties. My fingers were on my Mom's bare pussy! Lurch, lurch. My cock throbbed againt her back.

I didn't know what to do. My hands were frozen in place on her hairy mound. Oh my God.

I pulled back leaving just the fingertips of each hand resting together, realizing that they were settling into a groove. Her slit! My fingers were sinking between Mom's pussy lips!

Careful. I couldn't ruin this, couldn't let it stop now. Not now. I wiggled my fingertips, barely moving, trying to work her lips open, desperate not to wake her. It almost killed me but I took my time, gradually getting her hair separated to the appropriate side so it wouldn't catch, working her lips slowly apart, the increasing moistness the best guide on my progress. Soon, my fingertips were poking down into a wet crevasse, a widening canyon that I was now able to slide my finger up and down, not just pulling apart. The wetness increased rapidly after I started doing that.

Oh, yes. Mom might be sleeping but she was enjoying this. I bet my Dad hadn't taken the time to tease her like this for many years. I used my left hand to pull that lip to the side and dug in further with my right, sliding two fingertips up and down, up and down, the full length of her slit, up and over her clit, circling and rubbing that little nub around, the same way I'd bent her nipple around on her tit.

God, I loved her pussy. The warm, wet feel of it was intoxicating. I wormed my finger into her. She was so wet, so very, very wet. I couldn't help it, I turned down to look at Mom's face laying on my chest, and kissed her, softly, on her lips. I fingered her for a while longer, working my finger into her, feeling it slip around in her soaking gash, finding the hole, and pushed my finger into her cunt.

Mom wasn't making any sounds except what could be mistaken almost like a soft humming. I positioned my longest finger near the hole and turned my face down to kiss Mom again, engaging her lips in another soft kiss. I slipped my tongue against her lips, pressing until her resistance relented and she allowed my tongue inside, just a little. Pushing in with my tongue, I slowly pushed my long finger inside her cunt, all the way until both appendages were embedded in their warm, wet targets. I swirled my tongue around in Mom's mouth, around her tongue, in a soft, gentle suck, matching my tongue with a partnered, wiggly finger. I could feel the hum rise to a low moan.

I broke the kiss only to gulp in more air, not withdrawing my finger, keeping it firmly plugged inside her. I started to tease her clit with my other hand as I snaked my tongue back into her mouth. I kept kissing her, teasing her clit, fingering her cunt, until finally, her hips began to buck, thrusting her pelvis hard against my mercilessly teasing fingers.

She came silently. Nothing louder than that enhanced humming, but her pussy was shoving hard, and then suddenly relaxed. She was still.

I withdrew my fingers. Awkwardly, I yanked the covers down beside me with my left hand. I rolled Mom over on her side and then onto her tummy, adjusting a pillow underneath her head to make her comfortable. I didn't pull the covers over her. Instead I looked at her ass, covered by the nightie. Gently, I prodded her legs, pushing them apart until they were separated about twenty degrees or so. Again, I turned my attention to her ass.

I slipped out of bed and took my boxers off. I hadn't come but they were soaked in my precum fluid. I got back into bed, ready to go to sleep but Mom's parted legs and barely covered bottom stopped me from pulling the covers up. I dropped them and moved my hands to her nightie, pushing it higher on her hips, up and over her buttocks. I paused to enjoy the sight of her bare ass, the nightie piled on her back. Mom was breathing regularly.

I turned to grab the jar of skin cream and dipped my fingers in it once more, then put my hand on Mom's right cheek and started to rub it into her bum. I grabbed some more and flung it onto her ass, snapping my fingers to make it fly off, filled them and snapped it onto her ass again. I tossed the jar aside.

"We're really going to have the best day shopping tomorrow, Mom," I whispered, rubbing the cream into her cheeks with both hands.

Mom seemed to murmur.

"Shopping," I whispered, "all day long."

I slowed down, gently massaging her cheeks, deftly running my cream covered fingers all around, along and in the crack between her cheeks, under each buttock, back down and between her legs, rubbing my fingers along the back of the slit I had so recently cherished.

The humming started.

I positioned myself between Mom's parted legs, lowering myself until my cock was aligned with the crack between her cheeks. Gently, I pushed my rod into and along her ass, slipping back and forth through her slippery, creamy cheeks.

"Oh, Mom," I cried, "I want to go shopping."

I was having trouble breathing. I wanted to slam into her but I restrained myself with enormous difficulty, my cock gouging into her assb, through her gorgeous cheeks.

"Oh, Mom," I repeated, "I love shopping with you."

I burst forth then, flooding her creamy ass in my own lotion, rubbing, rubbing until no more was left. I rolled off to the side, intending to rest for a moment before getting up to clean myself, and her, but I fell asleep.

As it turned out, we didn't shop all day. We spent the morning with Nana and Gramps and then went shopping all afternoon. Mom really made up for the time she lost in the morning and I was absolutely bagged when we got home. Not that the whole day was unpleasant. Quite the contrary. Mom tried on piles of clothes and shoes. We couldn't go past a clothes store, shoe store, purse store, bath products store, or, well, pretty much any store.

The shoe stores were OK because I got to sit down while Mom tried on their entire stock, or so it seemed. One of the highlights was watching Mom tease this one young guy about my age. She kept letting her skirt slide up and accidentally opening her legs, that kind of stuff. After sending the poor, red-faced guy off to fetch yet another pair of shoes, she would smile at me and wink as if we were in collusion. I have to admit, it was kind of exciting watching her play the sexual tease. As I bore witness I knew she was teasing me as much as him, and that I was just as much a target as she exerted the power of a sexy woman.

For the last fifteen minutes of this charade, another woman and her son were shopping in the store and both noticed what Mom was doing, although neither pointed it out to the other. I couldn't help getting involved in raising their shock level. When we were standing at the counter while Mom was paying the bill, I slipped my hand around her waist to give her a squeeze and then slid my hand down to pat her bottom before sauntering out into the mall to wait for her. I could see their shocked faces in one of the display mirrors as I left.

Another highlight was in the clothes stores. Mom tried on all sorts of outfits and some of them were great. She asked my advice about everything she tried on and I'm sure she tried some of them just to tease me and play shock jock with the young salesgirls. She succeeded in making some of them quite uncomfortable, especially in the store where she insisted that I advise her on her lingerie selections. I was embarrassed too but at least I was interested in what was underneath the silk and lace.

We crossed paths with the shoe store couple when we left that store and I again slipped my arm around Mom's waist as we walked past them. I couldn't verify it by looking in store windows but I was sure they were both watching us.

Now, guess who we encountered coming home? That's right. As we were getting out of our cab another one pulled up behind us with the shoe store couple. Evidently they were visiting parents/grandparents too and we shared the elevator for the first nine floors. Mom started chatting to the lady, unaware of our previous sightings. I couldn't resist slipping my arm around her waist again while she was talking. It was an act everyone in the elevator was acutely aware of but didn't acknowledge. Just as the door was closing I gave Mom a quick peck on the lips and though she didn't see it, the other mom and son caught my act out of the corner of their eyes.

"What was that about, you brat?" Mom slapped my shoulder playfully. "You're terrible. What will they think?"

I laughed heartily. "I know what the guy will think," I said. "He'll think, I wish my Mom was that hot."

"Well, I doubt that but that woman is certainly going to wonder what's wrong with me."

"I don't know. She seemed pretty interested, right from the first time they saw us in the last mall."

"They saw us in the mall?" Mom was surprised. "Where?"

"In the shoe store and then later coming out of that underwear place."

"Oh, my god. She'll think I'm terrible."

"Or she might want to copy you."

I swooped in and kissed Mom on the lips, taking her by complete surprise. She didn't back away, she just stood there and let me kiss her.

"Craig ... whew ... its a good thing they didn't see that ..."

I kissed Mom again, this time putting my arms around her back and kissing her longer.

We pulled apart a couple of inches. Mom put her hand flat on my chest, pulling her head back more to look at me, staring at my mouth and not my eyes.

"What's come over you?"

"You," I replied, taking her lips again in a yet longer and much more active snog.

"We can't ..."

"Ok," I interrupted her. "I'll wait until we get into our little world. I picked up the bags I had dropped and pushed the button for our floor. Mom picked up her bags as the elevator started to move.

Nana had dinner ready shortly after we came in so we ate before Mom showed Nana and Gramps what she had bought, leaving out about a third of her purchases. I can imagine what the would have said if they saw the one dress in particular. They wouldn't have said much about the underwear because they would think that only Mom and Dad would see her in it but would have freaked if they knew she had let me see her in some of it. 


As usual, Nana and Gramps sat down to watch the news after dinner. Mom said she was really tired after shopping all day and was going to bed early to read her novel. I stayed because Nana would have stopped me anyway until she thought Mom was in her pajamas and in bed. If she knew I was sleeping in bed with Mom and not the cot, well ...

My grandparents went to bed after the news but I stayed up for a bit though I was eager to join Mom. I thought it would look better that way. I waited fifteen minutes until I was sure they wouldn't get up again.

Mom was in bed, eyes closed. I was disappointed to have missed her getting undressed. I had hoped she would wait to maybe give me a private fashion show. Quietly, I stripped down to my boxers and slipped under the covers, leaving the bathroom light on again so I could see a little. I laid on my back next to Mom but soon became restless. I wasn't tired.

I turned on my side and got up on my elbow, looking down at Mom's pretty face. Leaning forward, I gently pressed my lips to hers, giving her a series of soft kisses on her lips, cheek, closed eyes, and her forehead.

Mom didn't react though I didn't think she was sleeping. I kissed the side of her neck and pulled the covers down a little so I could plant a few kisses on her shoulder. I used the excuse of kissing her arm to pull the cover down far enough to uncover her chest. Mom was wearing the new silk-like nightie she had bought this afternoon after shocking the salesgirl who saw her exit the dressing room to model it for me. It was cut very low in front, exposing the sides of her breast. Her nipples poked up from underneath. I stared at them. I wanted to arouse her to make those little peaks stand up higher. And I wanted an excuse to touch them.

I began whispering like I had last night but this time as if I was talking to myself about our day in the mall, about the woman and her son and how they had both watched Mom teasing the shoe boy, about the shocked look on their faces when I had slipped my arm around waist, about letting me watch her while she tried on underwear, and about seeing me kiss her in the elevator. I leaned down then to kiss Mom on the lips, a long soft, gentle kiss. When I finished, I slid the tip of my tongue sideways between her lips, back and forth, barely inside.

I turned down to look at her nipples. I couldn't tell if I'd had any effect on them. Whispering again, I carried on about the other woman and her son.

"I bet he found a way to be get his mom alone when they got into his grandparents' apartment. I'm sure he stepped up behind her and kissed her neck." I ran my lips along the top of Mom's shoulder. "Can you imagine her shock, thoughts of you crossing her mind as her son turned her head to face him, taking her lips with his, kissing her, sliding his tongue into her mouth. I know he would be thinking of you, the way you showed your legs to that shoe salesman, pulling up the hem of your dress just that little bit, turning your feet to look at the shoes, making sure your legs opened a little more with each twist."

I kissed Mom again.

"When he turned her to kiss her again, his hand would have brushed along the side of her breast, their first sexual caress. Can you imagine how electric that first touch felt to her?" I cupped my palm and slowly slid my hand and fingers down the side of Mom's breast. "The first time her son had ever touched her tits. It was all she could think of while he was kissing her. Would he have the courage to take it into his hand, to possess it?" I slipped my hand under Mom's tit and cupped it, squeezing its bulk, sliding my thumb across her nipple.

"When he finished that first kiss, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed her son, mouth open, accepting his deeply probing tongue, pressing her breasts hard against his chest, wishing she hadn't worn a bra so her son could feel her hardening nipples." I kissed Mom again and slipped my hand under the nightie to caress her other tit, softly sliding my fingers all around before lighting squeezing her breast just as I finished the kiss.

"She was wondering what it would feel like to have his lips on her breasts, to push her tit into his mouth, wondering if that woman in the elevator, you Mom, let her son kiss her and suck her tits. Then her mother called out that dinner was ready. She had a hard time pulling herself away from her son, and an even harder time keeping him at bay. She walked to the door, thank god it was closed and that her mother hadn't walked in. She straightened her clothes and fixed her hair, cleared her throat, and walked out, telling her mother how hungry she was."

I looked down at Mom's breasts. Her nipples were standing up proudly. The one I was touching but also the other one. I think Mom liked me talking about that other mother and her son. I think it was driving a pleasant dream in her head, an erotic one.

It was certainly exciting me. I was hard as a rock. I wanted to get against her, to rub myself on her ass like I had when she'd let me rub cream all over her. Going to the bathroom and jacking off wasn't going to do it for me. I had to get her turned over.

"Gosh," I said aloud, "Mom went to sleep without putting cream on. Her skin will be all dried out by morning. I'd better put a little on her." I know it was an obvious ploy but I couldn't think of anything else.

I grabbed the jar of skin cream off the table, dabbed a little on my fingers and spread it on her shoulders, got some more and spread it down the arm nearest me, pushing the covers down as I went, doing the same when I leaned over to do the other arm.

"I better do her legs too," I said, explaining why I was about to take the covers completely off, still speaking as if she was asleep.

I began rubbing the cream on her feet, taking the time to do the whole foot, sole, instep, and toes. While I felt eager to get up her hidden treasure I took my time, enjoying the feel of her legs and the way they looked covered in a sheen once the cream was applied. It was especially exciting to do her thighs, knowing that this was the point where she would wake up and stop me if she wanted to, feeling a thrill sweep over me each time I pushed her nightie higher or pressured her legs to open a little more. She lay quietly, letting me do both thighs right up to her panties. I could feel the heat emanating from her, partly because I had leaned down and my face was less than a foot away. I could smell her.

"I better not forget to do her back," I said, rolling her over a few seconds later, making sure I managed to push her nightie up to her waist. I paused to admire her again, having immensely enjoyed the feeling of manipulating this perfectly malleable woman. The small panties stretched tightly across her buttocks, the crease between her cheeks stretching above and belied by a dark shadow under the material below. Leaning forward, I grasped the hem of the nightie and pushed it up her back, past her shoulders. Reaching underneath, I dragged it above her breast to her neck. Returning to her shoulders, I spread the nightie up, covering Mom's head hoping to separate her, to make her feel she was divorced from what happened outside, not responsible for it.

"Oh," I said, as if making a fresh discovery. "These panties are made of the same fancy material. They must go with the nightie. I better not get cream on them."

I started pulling Mom's panties down. Just a little at first so I could quit if she made a move to stop me. I wanted to be able to continue if she was wearing her panties. I mean, she looked great anyway. But Mom didn't move, even though it didn't make sense for me to remove her panties to do her back. I pulled those flimsy things down her hips and slowly worked them over her legs. Man, that was a thrill.

I was about to start her back but stopped. I pulled my boxers down and threw them aside, my cock flailing around in front of me. I spread a little cream on her lower back and began working it in. Several minutes later, as I was doing just below her shoulders, I kissed the back of her neck and started whispering again.

"It was hours before they were alone again. She stayed away from her son, hiding in the bathroom for a long time, hoping he would be sleeping when she came to bed. But he wasn't. She didn't want him to touch her. She was afraid she wouldn't be able to stop herself. God, it had made her feel so alive when he kissed her, heat spreading through her loins. That was the most intense feeling she had ever felt from being kissed. It was all she could do to break away when her mother had called. What if he'd touched her? Could she stop?"

I was straddling Mom's thighs as I worked on her back. When I leaned forward to kiss her neck, I could feel the tip of my cock graze her cheeks.

"He was waiting, wanting to talk, wanting to kiss her again, but she kept him away, telling him to go to sleep. She refused his request for a kiss goodnight, saying that they couldn't kiss anymore. She turned onto her tummy to hide her breasts, covered only by her nightie. She wondered why she hadn't left her bra on as she drifted off to sleep."

I sat back on Mom's thighs, scooped up some more cream and began applying it to her cheeks, pushing it between with my thumb. I wondered what she was thinking. Was she dreaming about that woman, laying in bed, wanting her son to touch her but not capable of allowing it? I smiled as I worked the cream between her cheeks, larding on copious amounts, knowing I was going to rub my cock through this shiny valley. Was she thinking, 'But I let my son touch me?' That thought made me quit what I was doing and return to carry on the story. I hadn't meant to leave her wondering if she was doing something wrong. How stupid of me.

"She woke with a start, her eyes fluttering open. There were hands on her, her son's hands. She could feel him, kneeling behind her, between her open legs. He was caressing her bare back, running his hands from her shoulders to her bottom. Her nightie was around her neck. He's pushed it up but she knew it still covered her breasts. She could feel his lips nibbling across the small of her back, up onto the rise of her buttocks to her cheeks, kissing them. My god. Her panties were gone! He'd taken her panties off. How long had this been going on?"

I moved back and put one knee between Mom's slightly parted legs, pushed them wider and placed my other knee inside so I was kneeling between her legs the same way as the son in my story which I continued.

"Jesus, she thought, I don't have any panties on and my legs are wide open. She was about to close her legs but realized she couldn't because he was sitting in the way. Then she thought, he'd know I'm awake if I tried to close my legs. Oh, how awful. Am I going to let him do this? Am I going to pretend to be asleep?"

I leaned closer to Mom, allowing my cock to rest on her ass.

"Her son's hands slid up her side, reaching underneath, sliding under her breasts, kneading them, pinching and pulling her nipples. God, it would be so awkward to wake up now, she thought. I'll let him have his feel. He'll have to quit soon, he must have been doing this for quite a while if he managed to get my panties off without waking me up."

I leaned down right over Mom, holding myself up with my elbows, and slipped my hands underneath her to massage her tits, whispering in her ear.

"His hands feel so good on my tits, so much better than the way Bob mauls them. He's so gentle, so loving. She almost groaned aloud as her son pulled her nipples, rolling them between his fingers. I'll just let him play. It would embarrass him too much if I wake up now, she reasoned. How could we look at each other. No, it's better if I just let him play. Ohhhh, that feels marvelous. She couldn't help digging her face into the pillow as her son continued stretching and rolling her nipples. Then she felt it, his hardness pushing down on her ass, pressing between her cheeks."

I pulled my cock back to rest in the crease between Mom's cheeks and began slowly sliding along the wedge in her cheeks.

"Oh no. I can't. I can't let him do that. He was pushing his cock against her soft bottom now. It was almost as if he didn't know what to do, like he was trying to push in the wrong place because he wasn't sliding his shaft through her cheeks as much as trying to nudge it into her."

Mom was breathing heavily now so I knew my storytelling was getting to her. I was working on her nipples just like in the story and now, as in the story, I let the tip of my cock slip down and started nudging it against her ass.

"It felt so good to her, her son pushing his cock at her. She lifted her ass a little, not enough for him to get inside her but enough that his stiff dick slipped down below her pussy, the next shove pushing it between the bed and her pussy. Oh, oh, that felt so fine, slipping along her lips. She couldn't help but grind herself down on him, lifting to let him drag himself out only to trap his cock again when he shoved it back in. He was heavier on her back now, gasping, beside himself with the incredible feeling of sliding his cock along her pussy, trying to angle it up so he could get inside."

I pulled back far enough for my own cock to drop to the mattress and shoved it forward, under Mom's pussy and started fucking between her pussy and the sheets, following the story. On the fourth slide in, Mom pushed down, pressing her pussy on my cock. Ahhh, great. Just like in the story. I scrunched my hips in and out a dozen more times before beginning to talk again, loving the pleasure of her pussy clamping down on me each time.

"She knew he was going to come soon. He was so young, it couldn't be much longer. God, she was near herself. This was so bad, so bad. She was letting her son rub his bare cock on her pussy, with her parents in the next room, in their home. What was she doing? God it felt good, she couldn't stop. Oh god. If he comes, he'll stain the sheets. Her mom will find out, she always does the laundry. She'll find out. She was panicking now. He couldn't come, they'd be caught. How can I stop him? I can't. Oh god, he's shoving faster. He's going to come."

"It was just natural. She rolled her hips and twisted her ass up, opening herself to him. He kept sliding underneath for a few more pushes but then he pulled back far enough for his cock to lift and he pushed it into her slippery lips. She lifted more to accommodate him, feeling him slip inside her. He stopped for a few seconds just inside, probably shocked that he was in his mothers cunt, then quickly slammed all the way in, bucking his hips furiously, fucking her, fucking his mom, his first time inside a woman."

I angled my own cock up as much as I could, putting pressure against Mom's pussy. Would it work? Would she duplicate the mom in the story again. I pressed up, managing only to gouge between her wet lips. Come on, Mom, we can't make a mess either. But Mom didn't change the deployment of her pussy. I whispered again.

"Thank god he's in. Now we won't get caught. And he feels so good. Oh yes, push it in me."

More strokes. Come on Mom. Let me. Then it happened. One stroke I was trying to lift up into her pussy, the next, when I shoved forward it pushed inside her hot, wet slit and I felt her soaking walls close over me like a tight glove. I didn't stop like the son in my story, I kept pushing in, inexorably, until I was all the way. I stopped then, jubilant, ecstasy overwhelming me. Ahhhhhhhh.

Out, I dragged my cock out as slowly as I could manage, stopping with the head of my cock just outside her pussy, then started shoving it back in again just as slowly until I was once again buried to the hilt, squishing her ass cheeks as I pressed in hard. I could feel her gripping me, squeezing and pulling. Mother. God. I was in her cunt, it was so beautiful. Fucking her, fucking her, moving faster now, up to a good steady fucking.

She was moaning into the pillow now. I was still hanging on to her nipples. There was no talking now. I was concentrating on fucking her, delighting in the feel of her ass as I dug inside her pussy, grinding it down into the mattress. I began whispering again but I wasn't telling the story, or was I?

"Fucking mom," I whispered, springing down onto her cheeks. "Fucking you," I gasped, grinding my cock around in a circle when I was down to my root. "The best fuck in the world," I cried, the first blast bursting inside her. "Fuck," I whispered with each subsequent squirt.

I lay on Mom for quite a while. She didn't move or make a sound, continuing to be asleep. I knew she wasn't but was happy to go along with it. I was also happy to get hard again. I pulled out, as if I was quitting, then quickly shoved back in, triggering an audible moan. I started fucking her again, loving it when she began moving her hips to meet my thrusts. It was a longer fuck with a much more intense come, though not as copious.

The bed was empty the next morning. I dressed and wandered out to the kitchen where Mom and Nana were talking over a cup of coffee, both still dressed in their bathrobes.

"Morning, sleepyhead," they both chimed in at the same time, then burst out laughing at themselves.

"You're all cheery this morning," I said.

Nana looked very pleased. "Yes," she said. "Your mother is staying on for another week or so."

I spun around to look at them. Both were smiling at each other, Mom turning to smile at me, taking a sip from her coffee, her eyes looking directly into mine.

"You don't mind, do you?" Nana asked. "Staying longer with us old folks?"

"No," I smiled back. "Not at all. It's very relaxing here. I sleep like a log here, it's so quiet."

"Well, I'd better go get dressed, it's past eight o' clock already," Nana said.

Mom stood too, taking her cup and Nana's to the sink. She turned around to look at me.

"Do you really not mind, sweetie? I could get you a flight home if you want."

I stepped close to Mom, putting my hand on her shoulder, looking down, noticing that she wasn't wearing anything under her robe which had loosened sufficiently for me to just see the bare sides of her tits, the ones I'd held so long last night.

"I'd rather stay here with you, Mom."

Mom saw where I was looking.

"Don't be a brat, Craig."

"Ok Mom. Not until we see that lady and her son again."

"Brat," she spoke over her shoulder as she walked out of the kitchen. I watched her walk away, enjoying the sway of her body, the line of her robe as her hips and legs pressed against one side and then the other. I could hardly wait to go to bed again. I called out to her just before she entered the bedroom.

"Do you want to go shopping again, Mom?"

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After a snack I returned to the study to continue my search for other updates and found one from Kevin (Chapters 10 and 13) . As you may recall, Kevin's straight-laced Mom wanted Kevin to stay home for college and not leave like his brother Matt. Kevin had managed to extract some extra-curricular home activities by playing on his mom's fear that he might leave like Matt.

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Hi all. Kevin here.

Mom wasn't about to do much until I committed to staying home, meaning I applied and I didn't accept anywhere unless I was turned down at the local college. Oh, she kept me interested. Every three days or so she'd wait for me in the hallway while Dad was getting ready for bed but after a few weeks I got tired of a just little stinkfinger every two or three nights. I wanted the excitement of those first couple of weeks, the country drives after church, stroking her legs, putting my mouth on her pussy. She was keeping me interested by doling out a secretive smile, a quick touch, a flash of thigh, a brush of her breast and, the big treat, two minutes to finger her every second or third night. I wanted more, I wanted everything.


I whispered my unhappiness one night while working a couple of fingers in her pussy, a very wet pussy. The only other sound in the hallway other than my whispering was the sound of Dad having a shower in their ensuite, Mom's heavy breathing, and the squishy sound of my fingers working in her. That is one thing that had happened. Mom had gone from this reluctant, very straight and prim mother to a woman meeting her son in a dark hallway for a few clandestine minutes, her pussy already soaking from anticipation. I knew she was ready for more.

"Just wait," she panted. "You'll hear from the college any day now. Just accept their offer and your Dad and I will be very pleased. Especially me," she panted in my ear, adding an extra grind on my fingers.

She wouldn't do anything more until I was committed. I wonder if that's why Matt left, because he was trying to get her without giving anything away, and gave up. But I wasn't Matt and it frustrated me that she might be treating me as if I was. "Maybe I'll just forget college and go find myself, like Matt."

I regretted that instantly but in my frustration, it just popped out. The reaction was predictable. Mom pulled herself off me and stepped back.

"You do that," she hissed, "and just see what happens. You'll never, I mean never, get what your brother wanted, what you're so close to."

She was angry and hurt, and scared. So was I. I immediately held up my hands, apologetically, moving toward her, "Mom, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Please."

Mom came back toward me and we wrapped ourselves in each other's arms.

"I'm sorry," we both whispered, several times, peppering each other with little kisses on lips and cheeks.

"Please don't leave me," Mom pleaded.

"I won't, I won't," I sobbed back.

"Just a few days. I promise you won't be sorry."

"Ok Mom. I'll wait." I couldn't help sensing an advantage, and pushing it.

"But I'm not Dad. I'm not interested in once a week, same old, same old."

Mom nodded her understanding.

"And I'm not Matt either. You're not just another notch, like one of his girlfriends. I want you, totally, completely."

Mom nodded, more uncertainly, taken aback by my intensity. I kissed her full on her lips, a rabid kiss, and she was breathing harder when we pulled apart than she had with my fingers plugged inside her. Her eyes were a little wild, kind of stunned, as she backed away, legs unsteady, and turned into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

For the next few days Mom and avoided each other when we could and there was a strange tension in the air when we couldn't, one that we were both aware of but Dad wasn't.

On Friday, Mom called me into the kitchen as soon as I came in the door. She was sitting at one end of the table, the chair at the other pulled out with a pen laying on top of a form. There was a letter beside it, my acceptance letter for the local college. Mom stood as I entered, waving her arm at the table. She was tense and clearly worked up.

"You have a decision to make," she said.

I read the letter and saw that the pen was pointing right at the line for my signature. I looked up at Mom.

"So do you," I replied.

I walked over to stand close to her, lifting my hand to caress the side of her face, kissing her softly on the lips, pulling away and letting my thumb push into her mouth in a clear sexual suggestion.

"Are you sure you want me to stay?" My whole body was tingling. This was it, and I couldn't keep the restrained excitement from my voice.

"Yes, I think so." Her voice was uncertain, either from my surprising oral thrust or maybe from sensing the restrained fervor in my voice.

"No, Mom. You can't think so. This a real commitment, there's no turning back," I spoke harshly.

"It's already too late for that," she said.

"Then tell me you want me to sign," I made my meaning clear, running my eyes down over her breasts and belly to the spot she offered every few days, then back to hold her eyes steady.

Although she still looked nervous, Mom said, "Please sign, Kevin. You belong here with me."

Mom's body relaxed as she finished speaking and we were standing so close that when her hip thrust forward as one knee bent slightly, her thigh pressed against mine and sent a jolt through me. I turned away, leaned over the table and signed the paper. When I stood, Mom was waiting to put her arms around me. She pressed herself close, the entire length of her body, hugging me and kissing my cheek and the side of my neck, thanking me, then kissing me fully on my mouth. The gravel crunching under Dad's tires as he pulled into the driveway pulled us apart.

"It's Dad's poker night," she said.

"Oh no. All those guys are coming here?"

"No, it's at Ben's place."

"So, are you joining the other wives?" The women usually got together when the men had their poker nights.

"No," Mom said, smiling. "I told Sally I was feeling out of sorts today and probably wouldn't make it."

Mom's smile widened as she saw relief and pleasure wash over my face just as Dad burst through the door.

Dad was wildly happy that I was staying home, said he'd better get lucky and make some extra money tonight. Mom told him she'd said she wasn't joining the girls because she wasn't feeling well but really she wanted to stay home with me tonight and make my favorite dessert. Dad embraced me and shook my hand vigorously, telling me how proud he was, before leaving for his poker game.

"You've made your Mom so happy with this decision, son. I imagine you can expect lots of your favorite desserts this year," he laughed, waving his hand as he walked toward his truck.

Coming back into the house, Mom said she would clean up later, that we should have a celebration drink, but first she wanted to freshen up. I said I'd make us a couple of special drinks in the rumpus room.

Mom arrived downstairs less than ten minutes later wearing a dress that showed off her wonderful legs. It was a simple dress made of a heavy royal blue material that matched her eyes. The dress wasn't cut low but the lapels crossed in front to join at the waist. I imagine if you were sitting to the side when she leaned forward, it would provide tantalizing glimpses of her breasts underneath. Though the material was thick, I could see movement underneath as she walked toward me and I knew she wasn't wearing a bra. The dress was elegant more than sexy. It was sexy because of the way her body filled it.

I also noticed the shiny sheen on her legs though she wasn't wearing pantyhose. Mom had shaved and oiled her legs. She hadn't had time since dinner so she must have done it this afternoon before Dad or I got home. Knowing her powers of anticipation, my own excitement cranked up a notch.

"Thank you," she said as she took the stiff drink I had prepared, immediately taking a big sip.

"Kevin, are you trying to get me drunk?" she asked. "We're in no hurry."

"I know you don't really drink, Mom, but I thought we should take the edge off, just to relax a bit."

"I see," she said, taking another sip. "I thought you might choose this room," turning around to survey the rumpus room, staring at the wall for a moment where I'd first seen Matt press into her, holding her knee up while he rubbed himself on her panties. She was blushing when she turned back to look at me, raising the glass to her lips and draining it. I handed her my drink which was even stiffer.

"Hold this," I instructed. I turned to make a couple more, another for her, and one more for me.

"Mmmmm," she murmurred, "it's strong but good. What is it?"

"It's a black russian," I answered

I turned back with two more drinks to find that Mom had finished my drink too. I guess she wanted to show me she was game to be on the edge too. She took traded one of the new drinks for her empty glass, raised it up to click mine and downed it. Three black russians in five minutes. She swayed on her feet. I took the glass from her hand and finished my drink, setting the empty glasses down behind me.

"Would you like to stand against the wall over there?" Mom waved her hand in the general direction behind her.

"No."

"You might find a surprise waiting for you."

"I'd rather find it here." I walked over to the old couch and sat down in the middle, stretching my feet out in front of me."

Mom followed, standing in front of me, hand on one hip. She reached behind her neck to unhook her dress.

"Don't," I said.

Mom looked confused, dropping her hands to her sides. A few seconds later she smiled, grasped the sides of her dress and raised it slowly up her legs.

"No."

Mom dropped the dress, looking unhappy for a moment, then smiling as she leaned forward, reaching for my belt.

I pushed her hands away.

Mom straightened, now looking perplexed and unsure of herself.

"I like bare feet," I said.

Mom kicked raised her feet, one at a time, and slipped her fancy high heels off, dropping each to the floor with a small thud. She stood, smiling nervously at me, unsure about what the game I was playing but willing to go along.

I laid back on the couch, my head leaning back.

"You're a very beautiful woman, Mom."

She smiled at that, confidence returning to her face.

"Do you remember our drives in the country after church, Mom?"

She nodded, smiling more broadly.

"Do you remember something that you really seemed to like?"

Mom nodded, her smile still on her face.

"Do you remember this?" I stuck my tongue out of my mouth, wiggling my tongue.

Mom looked shocked at my lewd gesture, but she nodded slowly, her eyes staying on my vulgar display.

"Did you like it?"

Mom nodded again.

"Then come and get it." I stuck my tongue slightly out one side of my mouth, head back on the couch.

Mom didn't move for a second, then stepped up onto the couch, her hands now raising her skirt up to her hips. She paused, looking down at me as if for confirmation, but I simply stared back with as blank a look as I could manage. She lowered her dress over my face and I soon felt her slippery wet pussy on my mouth. It appears her surprise and mine were perfectly matched.

Mom moved her pussy around, searching for my extended tongue. I held still, letting her position herself where she wanted and move herself around the way she liked. She was very excited and was soon rubbing herself all over my mouth and face, bathing me in her juice. It was probably a record for her, rubbing herself furiously on my mouth, her hips in a frenzy, bucking into my face, forcing it into the couch, driving herself into a very intense orgasm judging by the sound and the strength with which her thighs clenched my head.

Mom collapsed down onto my lap, knees straddling me. She was gasping for breath, her face red, eyes still registering the shock at her own actions. Seeing how much she had creamed my face, she began to wipe it with her hands, then softly licked my cheeks and mouth, the sides of my nose, and my chin.

"I'm so sorry, baby," she whispered.

"I'm not," I answered. "Did it feel great, for me give myself like that?" I asked.

"Yes baby," Mom replied, still trying to catch her breath.

"That's what I want. I want you to do that for me too."

Mom nodded. "Alright baby," she whispered. "I'll do anything for you."

Without a word, I lifted one knee and slid out from under her.

"Stay," I said when Mom started to turn.

She remained on her knees on the couch, sitting back on her calves. I stood behind her and slowly removed my shirt, then my pants, and finally my jockey shorts and socks. I was naked. Mom was dutifully staring straight ahead at the top of the couch and the wall a foot behind it. I placed my hands on her hips, urging her up and forward until she rested her hands and elbows on the back of the couch. I lifted her blue dress up and held it on her back, baring her backside. I could see her juices still glistening down the inside of her thighs.

Bending my knees, I lined up my wobbling prick and leaned forward until it nudged against her pussy and pushed in, just getting the head inside to give her a few seconds to get used to my presence before shoving up to the hilt. I sucked my breath in sharply as the feel of her zipped up to my brain, matching her own surprised groan.

"Here we go," I said as I withdrew and immediately thrust back in, starting a steady rhythm, my legs soon making a slapping sound against the back of her thighs each time we connected. I kept increasing speed until Mom was rocking forward, head bobbing, grunting with each full thrust. Abruptly, I slowed to a crawl, pushing in and pulling out in long strokes, holding and swinging her hips in a circle as I dug myself into her.

It was only then the full realization that I was fucking my mom really hit me. It hadn't really been obvious that we would fuck right away. I had actually thought I was in for a night of seduction that would hopefully culminate in sex but after eating her something in me just assumed control. It was almost like I was waking up to find myself with my cock buried deep inside Mom without really knowing how I got there, like dreaming of waking up in a candy factory when I was a kid.

I pushed Mom forward against the couch, put my own knees outside of hers, and started rogering her from behind again. She laid her head on the couch as I again worked us up to a really good hard, fast fuck. Again, she groaned at the top of each slam. As I neared orgasm I slowed to a stop and stepped off the couch, pulling her back with me until she too was standing, bent in front of me. I pushed down on her back, forcing her head and shoulders onto the seat cushion, then shoved forward until she was wedged in where the cushion and seatback met. Again I ratcheted up my attack over a couple of minutes until I was pounding into her. Her groans grew louder and louder with each thrust until they blended into one long moan.

I stopped, before I came. Leaning over Mom, I pulled her hair up and smoothed it together, one hand on each side of her head, until I had it laying in a pony tail along the middle of her back. My cock was deep inside her, not pulling in and out, but working around in a small circle. Holding her hair, I pulled her off the couch until her shoulders were above horizontal and continued to pull her hair gently until her face lifted toward the wall. Slowly, my rogering circles grew stronger until I was again thrusting in and out, fucking my gorgeous mother hard from behind, knees bent and aligned with hers.

Soon I was rocking so hard into her that she stumbed forward to embed her head and shoulders into the couch once more. Following, I stepped up onto the seat of the couch, grasping the back for support, and pounded down into her upraised ass. This had long since become the most incredible fuck I had ever had and I was grunting and moaning just as loudly as her.

I tried to stop, to slow down so I could last for another ride but I rode her past that crucial turning point when I knew I would come anyway, so I kept pounding into her until I was blasting my seed into her, yelling, draining myself, emotions and cock, until I was empty.

I pulled out and Mom slid along the couch to collapse along its length. Gasping, I laid myself down alongside her, enveloping her in my arms, panting and hugging this gorgeous woman, my new lover.

So that brings me up to date. By the way, what has happened about William's suggestion about sending in some videos of our moms?

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Videos? I hadn't seen any videos. There werent even that many letters left, at least not long ones. There were a whole bunch of short ones but I hadn't come across an update from Jack, or Mark, or William.

The key. I had to find out what the key fit and where. There must be more letters, and maybe videos? My cock rose at that thought. To actually see what some of these mothers looked like. Man.





The Mom Memories Ch. 16
byalwayswantedto©

All characters are 18 years or older.

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From Chapter 15.

Videos? I hadn't seen any videos. There weren't even that many letters left, at least not long ones. There were a whole bunch of short ones but I hadn't come across an update from Jack, or Mark, or William.

The key. I had to find out what the key fit and where. There must be more letters, and maybe videos? My cock rose at that thought. To actually see what some of these mothers looked like. Man.

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Fantastic. The locksmith identified the key as one belonging to a local storage warehouse in a nearby town. All I had to do was show up and request access to the storage locker associated with the key. On the weekend, I would fetch the letters and see if there were actually any videos. Pleased, I started browsing through the letters that I hadn't yet read.

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My name is Evan and I'd like to tell you about my Mom, Edith, and what happened in my last year of high school. I was hanging out with some friends and we stopped at a local mall to pick up some beers on the way over to my friend Jim's place. I stayed in the car in the parking lot while he and Gary went in to score some booze. Gazing around while listening to some tunes I spotted my mother walking towards me. She was walking slowly with an uncharacteristic exaggeration to her walk, kind of like an old time movie star making sure her admirers could enjoy the roll of her hips and the highlights of her leg muscles accented by her high heels.

I slunk down in the front seat as Mom approached, hoping not to be seen in case she clued in to why I was there, which she would certainly do if she stayed long enough for Jim and Gary to arrive carrying armloads of beer. I swore out loud when she stopped and opened the trunk of her car directly in front of me, which I now recognized. She turned to look back the way she had come, smiling and speaking to the store employee following her with several bags of groceries clutched in his arms.

As man set the bags in the trunk, Mom touched him on his shoulder and then his forearm, chatting merrily to him after he closed the trunk and she slowly made her way around the side of the car to the driver's door. Since there was no car parked next to Mom's car, the man opened the door wide for her to get in. With a final touch on his forearm, Mom sat in the car, turned her face forward, and swung her legs inside. Even at a distance I could see that the man took advantage of her averted gaze to look down at her legs, probably with a good view up her skirt. It seemed to take a long time for Mom to get her legs inside the car and even then the man appeared reluctant to close the door. He leaned down to talk through Mom's open window for a few a minute or so before she started the car, backed out and drove away.

I sat up slowly and, with a weird feeling, alternated between looking at the man's retreating back and Mom's receding car. Mom had flirted outrageously with this man and I had the sense this wasn't their first time. I couldn't blame the guy for looking at Mom's legs. Why wouldn't he? But Mom had gone out of her way to let him look. Way out of her way. I was shocked.

I told Jim and Gary I suddenly wasn't feeling well and went home instead of partying at Jim's place. Mom was in the kitchen putting stuff away and starting to get dinner ready. She was still wearing the same dress but the heels were gone. I sat in a kitchen chair and watched her, unable for the first time in my life to keep my eyes off her stockinged legs, listening to her chatter and the whisper of her nylons as she moved around the kitchen.

Suddenly, I blurted out, "That guy really likes your legs."

Mom swung around to face me, looking flabbergasted. "What?" she cried.

"Your legs," I mumbled. "That guy was staring at your legs all the way to your car."

"What are you talking about?"

"I saw you, at the grocery store. The guy that carried your bags. He was staring at your legs."

"Where were you? What were you doing there?" Mom looked taken aback as she tossed these questions out.

"I was sitting in Jim's car, right behind yours."

Mom's face went kind of red and her voice rose an octave.

"Doing what? Spying on me?"

"No. Jim and Gary wanted to party and I was waiting for them to get some booze." I don't know why I admitted that. Maybe I wanted to show we were both guilty of something.

"Evan, you shouldn't be ..."

"I'm here," I cut her off. "I didn't go."

"Right," Mom said, looking awkwardly away.

"Anyway, he really liked your legs," I repeated, looking down at Mom's legs and getting back on track.

"Oh, Ben. He's harmless," Mom casually dismissed the whole thing. "He carries my bags out for me all the time," Mom paused, then continued, "so, you know," her voice trailed off.

"Oh," I answered quietly.

Our conversation ended there. Mom returned to her work and I continued watching her, my eyes eventually straying up from her legs to admire her rear end and the narrowness of her waist. She worked as if I wasn't there but somehow I knew she was cognizant of the close attention I was paying to her. It was strange. There was something different between us now though it couldn't be seen. She seemed to pause longer between movements and she kept stretching one foot behind to steady herself by pushing her toes against the floor and tensing her calf muscles, perhaps a little more than necessary. Anyway, once everything was set on the stove, Mom walked over to stand beside me.

"Can you watch the stove while I get out of this dress?" she smiled, laying her soft fingers down on my forearm.

"Sure," I agreed, my eyes following her out as she walked slowly away in the same exaggerated stroll I had witnessed this afternoon. Although it hadn't earlier, my cock now reacted as I watched the sway of my mother's hips. She returned only a few minutes later wearing a nondescript housedress, without hose, and her slippers, just as I heard the crunch of Dad's tires in the driveway. Mom stopped and put her hand on my arm again.

"I don't think you should mention anything about the parking lot, Evan. I don't think Dad would like the idea of you getting booze."

"Mums the word," I agreed.

Mom looked relieved. Despite what she'd said, we both knew that she was really asking me not to say anything about her and Ben. Though I hadn't said anything, she knew I had probably seen her let Ben look up her skirt as she got into the car.

The rest of the evening was uneventful. Mom went into the kitchen when I got up to go to bed and asked me to bring any dishes in the living room into the kitchen, which I did. After putting them on the counter beside the sink, I turned to walk away but Mom caught my arm.

"Give your mother a kiss goodnight," she said.

I gave her a peck on her cheek and she followed that by planting a longer and softer kiss on the side of my cheek, stretching up on her toes to reach, an action that caused her breasts to brush lightly across my chest.

"Sweet dreams," she whispered.

Mom hadn't kissed me goodnight for years.

The next morning, just before I ran out the door to meet Jim who was picking me up on the way to school, as usual, Mom asked me if I could meet her at the mall after school to help her home with some groceries. This was also new. Mom had never asked me to do that before.

Mom was waiting for me in front of the grocery store after school. She was wearing the same dress she's worn the day before but without pantyhose, just bare legs, and sandals instead of heels. I followed her around with a cart as she picked things up, making sure to stay behind so I could look at her legs. I never offered to help when she had to reach up to get things though most of the things she needed were on the top or bottom shelves. Mom never let on that I was watching but I'm sure she knew.

Ben seemed disappointed to see me. I trailed behind Mom on the way to the car, which she had parked at the far end of the parking lot. She strolled along in the same fashion she had used to tease Ben which surprised me. It was one thing to let me look but another to so openly encourage it. After I dumped the bags in the trunk, Mom handed me the keys and asked me to open the door for her as she walked around to the passenger side. I was really stunned when she treated me to a long look up her skirt, looking away just as she had with Ben so I was free to peek. She wasn't wearing pantyhose. Somehow I knew that Ben hadn't been gifted with such a direct look at her panties. Her son's reward for carrying the groceries was special.

At home, Mom asked me to stay in the kitchen to keep her company, giving me an excuse to watch her. She had kicked off her sandals as she entered the house and was padding around the kitchen in bare feet. She asked me several times to help her put things away in the upper cupboards but she first stretched up on her toes and waited for me to grab whatever she was holding and take it the last few inches, allowing me to brush my body against the back of hers. It was a silly way to do this but we acted like it was completely rational.

Finally, like the day before, everything was put away and dinner was on the stove. Mom again walked over to where I was sitting but this time she raised her foot up and put the ball of her foot on the edge of my chair between my legs.

"Look at all the scratches I got on my ankles from gardening this afternoon," she said, twisting her leg to show me. "I don't know why Ben likes to look at these old legs."

"Hmmmm, yes," I said, placing my hand so I could circle her ankle loosely with my fingers. "Pretty scuffed up," I agreed, stroking my hand up her leg and then down, trailing my fingers lightly over her skin.

"Brat," Mom laughed. "They're not that bad."

"No, you're right," I agreed, running my back up her ankle and continuing along the back of her calf to her knee. "They are kinda nice." I let my fingers stretch out to scratch the underside of her thigh just above her knee.

"Thank you, sir. Well, I better get out of this dress." Mom pulled her foot back and left the kitchen. "Watch the stove," she called over her shoulder.

Once again, Dad just pulled into the driveway when Mom returned. She walked straight over to me and reminded me to sure to give her a kiss goodnight before going to bed.

That night, I collected the glasses from the living room without being asked and deposited them in the dishwasher. Mom was waiting when I turned around. I leaned down to kiss her cheek and waited for her to plant her softer kiss on mine, which she did. But then she surprised me with a quick kiss right on my lips before turning quickly away and walking out of the kitchen.

Mom wasn't in the living room when I finally roused myself to leave. She must have gone upstairs. I went upstairs, used the bathroom and got into bed. Thinking about the day, caressing Mom's foot and watching her all afternoon at the store and at home, my hand strayed down to first hold and then lazily stroke my cock.

I was startled when my door suddenly opened and Mom walked unannounced into my room. I jerked my hand off myself as she walked up to my bed. Her body was outlined underneath the floor length cotton nightgown she was wearing as she stood in my darkened room, the light from the hallway streaming in through the doorway behind her.

"Oh Evan, I forgot. Would you mind coming home early tomorrow?" she asked, a little short of breath. She didn't explain why and I didn't ask.

"Sure Mom."

She sat down beside me on the bed, seemingly nervous.

"I'd just like you to help me with some things."

"Whatever. I'll be here," I assured her.

Mom visibly relaxed, smiled, and looked away but her eyes raked past my waist and the telltale lump below. Quickly, she looked away and started to get up.

"I really do think you have nice legs," I blurted out, feeling the need to say anything to divert her attention yet still while placing my hands on her knees to keep her from leaving.

She settled back onto the bed. "Really?" she asked.

"Yeah, Mom. I was just kidding before. You really do have nice legs."

I pulled on the nightgown, lifting it a few inches. Mom took the hint and pulled the gown up over her knees, baring her legs down to her feet, leaning over to examine them critically.

"You're just being nice."

I took advantage to push her nightgown even higher on her legs, a little more than halfway up her thighs. It was a brazen move but Mom just watched me and smiled. I pushed the bunched up gown a little further.

"Actually, you have gorgeous legs," I said as I struggled to a sitting position. "All the guys say so."

As Mom digested my words, I slid my left hand underneath the gown on the outside of her thigh near the top of her leg.

"Really?" she asked, a twitch of her eye betraying her awareness of my hand. "No, they don't. You're just putting me on."

"No really," I insisted, letting my hand move slightly, tickling the side of her leg under the gown. I kissed her cheek. "I heard them talking once when they didn't realize I there." I kissed her cheek again but closer to the corner of her mouth.

"No way," she repeated, kissing my cheek in return.

"I'm not kidding. Your legs are wasted on old guys like Ben."

I let my fingers stroke the side of her leg again, adjusted my head and kissed her lightly on her lips.

"You're just stringing me along," she said. Her breathing quickened.

"I'm not, Mom," I answered, moving my mouth forward to reconnect with hers. As my lips brushed hers I moved my free hand up to play with Mom's hair at the base of her neck while stroking the other up her leg and over the outside of her hip to her bare waist. We were both breathing faster when my feathery light kiss ended.

"Yeah. You should let them see your legs," I said, emphasizing 'them'.

Mom laughed softly. "I don't think their mothers would think highly of that."

"Instead of Ben," I continued, ignoring her protest.

"Let's not talk about Ben," Mom tensed up. "Your father wouldn't understand it."

"Ok. We won't talk about stuff like that around Dad," I agreed, moving in and kissing Mom again. Though no tongues were exchanged, it was a sexier kiss and I was getting hard. My hand slipped behind Mom's back to stroke the hollow at the base of her spine and even ventured a little below onto the initial swell of her buttocks. There was a slight awkwardness when the kiss ended and I retrieved my hand from under Mom's gown. She walked away in silence. I wished her goodnight but she closed the door softly behind her without responding.

I was home early the next day but was disappointed to see Mom in her normal housedress which didn't show nearly as much of her legs. Mom got straight to the point.

"Just to be clear, I want you to know that there isn't anything going on between Ben and I, or anyone else for that matter. I just prefer that Dad doesn't know about it. He'd make a big deal out of just a little harmless flirting to thank Ben for helping me."

I nodded but didn't say anything. Mom looked increasingly uncomfortable.

"Your father just wouldn't understand.

"I know Mom. I won't say anything," I assured her.

"Good boy." Mom came over and gave me a hug, and then kissed my cheek. I held her by the shoulders and kissed her on her lips, like I'd done the night before. She resisted a bit but then relaxed and let me kiss her. I spun her in a circle when we finished the kiss.

"You really are worth looking at, Mom."

She protested but smiled and let me kiss her again.

"But I think you should cool it with Ben, Mom." She agreed and let me kiss her one last time.

The next day, I asked Jim to come into the house instead of just dropping me off. Mom was home and dressed in one of her house dresses. While Jim used the bathroom I asked Mom if she would put on the Ben dress to see if Jim started looking at her legs, to prove the point I'd made the other day. She argued but capitulated to my persistence and perhaps partly in fear that I'd mention the Ben incident in front of Dad. I offered Jim a beer to keep him around until Mom returned, telling him that Mom now let me have beer at home if Dad wasn't around. It was a lie, of course.

As I expected, Jim didn't take his eyes off Mom when she came down the stairs. I explained to Mom that I had told Jim she let me have a beer or two at home if Dad wasn't around.

"That's right," Mom said, grabbing a beer for herself. "Things are a little more relaxed when it's just Evan and I at home."

As we drank our beer I could see Mom start to enjoy Jim's covert glances. She was a natural physical flirt and provided him with lots of opportunities to ogle her when he thought she, and I, were unaware. She struck a variety of poses that accented her legs and revealed even more with seemingly accidental carelessness with her dress, all for Jim's benefit. Toward the end, when I knew Dad would soon be home, I pushed the envelope a little.

"Hey, Jim. I was telling Mom she has really great legs but she won't believe me. She does, doesn't she?"

Both Jim and Mom suddenly looked awkward.

"No really," I said, stepping up behind Mom, "she has awesome legs, doesn't she?"

Jim looked at Mom's legs and Mom looked even more embarrassed. "Evan, I don't think Jim ..."

"Yeah, you do, Mrs Anderson," Jim said.

I stepped behind Mom and placed my hands on her hips, sliding them down the outside of her legs. Jim's eyes were riveted on my hands as they slid down Mom's legs. Mom stood rigidly still.

"Look, Jim."

My fingers scratched at Mom's dress, gathering up enough material for me to hold. Slowly, I pulled her dress up a few inches until the hem was just above the part where a woman's leg thickens.

"What do you think?" I asked my friend.

Jim didn't say anything. His face was blank and I could easily imagine him drooling if I pulled Mom's dress higher. Mom turned her head to the side away from his gaze but she didn't try to stop me, move away, or push the dress down. I slid the hem an inch higher.

"Aren't they awesome?"

"Yeah," Jim finally gasped, staring as he gulped for breath.

I let Mom's dress fall and said we'd better finish our beer before Dad got home. Both Mom and Jim seemed thankful to be released. Dad walked in the house as I walked Jim out to his car. Before he drove away, Jim must have mentioned Mom's legs five times. I told him if he kept it quiet, I might let him look some more. Oh yeah. I told him to bring some beer around for me once in a while. What the hell.

Back inside the house, I found Dad already watching the news. Mom was nowhere to be seen. Walking to my room I spied her through her open bedroom door standing in front of the full length mirror, still wearing the dress, admiring her legs. With a quick look over my shoulder I entered my parents bedroom and quietly approached my mom. She didn't look my way but spoke as I neared her.

"He really did like my legs, didn't he?" She raised her dress up, as I had not thirty minutes earlier.

"He was like a deer caught in headlights," I said, stepping behind her and looking over her shoulder to admire her legs myself. "I told you," I whispered, nuzzling the side of her head, placing my hands on her waist.

Mom laughed. "He really was, wasn't he?" Her voice still possessed the breathy excitement she had exuded in the kitchen.

"Of course," I whispered into her ear. "So would Gary."

"No, not shy little Gary," Mom disagreed, still looking at her own legs. I gathered her dress in my hands and began pulling it higher.

"He would if he could see these," I whispered, exposing more of her legs.

Mom was quiet but she trembled as I slid the dress higher up her legs, passing the halfway mark.


With my mouth right next to her ear, I whispered, "Imagine Gary's face if he could see you right now."

Mom gasped as soon as I said it. Gary had always been Mom's favorite of all my friends. Innocent, baby-faced little Gary was put down at his own home but was always a target for sympathy in mine.

"Gary deserves a more than Jim, doesn't he Mom?"

I said it as a statement more than a question. I kept pulling the dress higher, higher, waiting for Mom to protest, to push it down her thighs. But she didn't. Her panties peeked out under the hem. A little higher. Now her mound was exposed, a slight crease running down the middle. I stopped. We both stared at her panties, at the prominent bulge and mysterious crease. I couldn't help pressing into Mom from behind, pushing her panties forward. Mom's hands finally grabbed the dress and tried to tug it down but I held it up, kept her panties exposed. Mom tugged harder.

"Gary should see. I want you to show him."

"No, Evan. I can't do that."

"Yes you can," I hissed. "He's my best friend."

"No Evan." Mom managed to pull her dress down enough to cover her panties.

I let her dress fall but kept my hands on her waist. Softening my voice, I whispered, "I really don't think Dad will understand about Ben. Do you?"

There was a long pause.

"No."

I almost couldn't hear her. I kissed Mom's cheek and left.

The next day was Friday. Mom was surprised when I didn't get home until after Dad and left right after dinner to hang out with the guys. I didn't get home until after midnight. On Saturday, I didn't get up until almost noon. Mom came from gardening just as I was finishing breakfast.

"What are you up to?" she asked. "Watching the big game with Dad?" referring to the football game that was about to start. Dad was already watching the pre-game show.

"No, we're playing a new online game," I explained after dinner. "Gary's bring it over," I said just before the doorbell rang. "That's probably him now."

Gary came in and said hi to Dad and Mom who didn't greet him in the typically warm fashion she usually did. I shrugged in response to his quizzical look and led him up to my room. We were playing for almost an hour before Mom slipped through my door and quietly stood behind our two chairs, cloistered in front of the computer. Gary was playing while I watched, waiting for my turn.

I noted with approval that Mom had changed from her gardening clothes into the Ben dress. I ran my eyes up and down her legs while Mom watched the screen. I almost didn't want to take my turn but rolled my chair in closer as Gary pulled his back to make room. Mom leaned in for a closer look at the screen as I started to play. I was aware that Gary had pushed back farther to make room for her, far enough that he would was sitting slightly behind and to one side of Mom, affording a wonderful view of the back of her legs and behind as she leaned in beside me. I was barely managing to stay alive on screen.

Incredibly, I began to do better and got lost in the game again, no doubt helped by Mom's rooting and encouraging moves, her body pressing in and arching against the desk whenever I made a good move or had a close call. I was only dimly aware of how good that must have looked to Gary from his rear vantage point, seeing her legs stretch and buttocks tense up. Mom draped her hand over my shoulder and leaned down to briefly hug me during a pause in the game. I bathed in her fragrance and the soft press of her breast against my shoulder, feeling empty when it disconnected but relieved when her hip replaced the warmth of contact.

Mom joined in our sounds of triumph as I continued to outmaneuver my opponents, leaning down to kiss me when I survived a second round and letting her breast rest on my shoulder a little longer. I stretched my hand around her hips to hug her to me as she straightened up before quickly withdrawing as the game raged into action again.

I died halfway through that round and Gary moved in to take my place. As he readied himself for the start, Mom dropped her hand onto his shoulder and twirled the hair at the base of his neck, leaning in with him as he engaged the game, her arm now stretching across both shoulders. How wonderful she looked leaning over like that, her buttocks tensed and straining against the dress, jiggling with every slight movement, each cheer for Gary's success. Like mine, Gary's game improved with Mom's support and when he survived the first round he received the same hug and kiss on the cheek as had I, and the complementary breast rest.

I stood to watch the next round, resting my hand on Mom's waist and pressing her hip toward Gary's shoulder. Again, he triumphed and was rewarded with a hug and kiss, and longer press of warm breast. Mom's behind pressed back into me when she leaned down to hug Gary and I put my free hand on her waist on Gary's side. I couldn't help holding her back against me, delighting in the warmth and softness of her behind.

When Mom stood to allow Gary room to play, I snuggled close behind her, keeping my hands on her waist as I looked over her shoulder at the screen but pushing them around to hold her belly as we watched, swaying her over to lean against Gary. I was keenly aware that the bottom of her breasts brushed my hands as she moved in response to Gary's wins and close calls on the screen. Gary didn't survive the second round either and it was my turn again.

We played several more rounds like this. Gary followed my lead and stood behind Mom and, judging from the flush of his face, benefited from the same treats that had been awarded to me. When Gary died a few rounds later, he was disappointed to see Mom walk away to sit on the bed just as it was his turn to put his arms around her, and I didn't play nearly as well without her close support. I was aware that Gary was barely watching me. Instead he was looking at Mom as she sat on the bed, looking on from afar. Just as I died, she spoke.

"Whew, I don't know how you guys can take that excitement. It wears me out." Mom swung her legs up onto my bed and laid back onto the pillows, her bent knees allowing her dress to slide down her thighs almost to her hips, baring her legs down to her sandals. Crossing one knee over the other, Mom dangled her foot up and down, trying to slip her sandal off. Succeeding at last, she switched legs and repeated with the other foot. It took a lot longer for this shoe to fall despite the intense scrutiny and wishing of both Gary and I. Not until that shoe fell did I realize that the game had already started and I had been killed early in the round.

I stood and walked over to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Are you alright, Mom?" I asked, concerned. She was laying on her back with her eyes closed.

"Oh sure," she replied. "My legs just got a little tired watching you guys play. I can't believe how tense I got just watching you. These old legs are a little sore from straining so much."

I reached back to run my left hand up the inside of her leg, from her ankle to her knee.

"Oh, that feels good," Mom said.

"Would you like us to massage your legs?" I offered. "It might relax your muscles."

I continued stroking her calf muscle as Mom nodded her head and jerked my head to send Gary around to the other side of the bed. He sat down and very tentatively began stroking her other leg. When she smiled at his touch, we both shifted our weight to better sitting positions without breaking contact with Mom's legs. Mom's smile stayed on her face but she otherwise didn't react as Gary and I stroked and stroked her legs. We stroked her legs for so long, her smile faded and I thought she had actually fallen asleep.

It was Gary who made the first move above her knee. Mom's smile returned and slowly faded again as we stroked and scratched and tickled all around her thighs, from the muscular and weathered tops and sides to the incredibly soft bottoms and insides. Their warmth grew the higher we ventured and again it was Gary who calmly flipped her dress onto her pelvis so we could see what we were doing on all of her legs.

We could see the bottom of her panties. I could see her mound and the cleft running down the middle much better than I could when I had bared them a few days before. By pressing my fingers in harder on the inside of her thigh before dragging them back, I could make that mound move. I was first one to try this but Gary followed suit right away.

We were resting our armpits on Mom's bent knees, each running a hand up and down the inside of a thigh and one on the outside and up the underneath of her legs, stretching our fingers so close to her we were almost touching her panties.

The flush of the upstairs toilet jarred me and I jerked my head in panic toward my bedroom door, relieved beyond comprehension when I saw that Mom had closed my door. I could hear Dad's heavy footsteps as he rushed down the hallway back downstairs, presumably wanting to miss as little as possible of the football game.

I looked back at Mom. Her eyes had fluttered open but only halfway. They closed my eyes rested on her face. I waited only a minute before I scored another first over Gary. I let my fingers briefly brush Mom's pale yellow panties. Not to be outdone, Gary followed suit as Mom didn't react.

Every nerve in my body was zinging and my muscles were tensed to the breaking point. Again, I brushed up to the base of that fantastic mound, allowing one finger to stretch up to flutter across its front. There was a sharp intake of breath but no other reaction. Soon, every stroke Gary and I applied involved a brush or press on Mom's panties which seemed to be getting warmer and were definitely damp.

We shifted our weight again so we could hold Mom's legs at a higher and wider angle. Her legs thighs were now at almost a right angle from her body and held wide over each of our own thighs. Hair strayed out through he resulting gap at the sides of her panties. It was Gary that took the triumph of placing his fingers on Mom's panties and leaving them there, pressing lightly in a tiny circular movement. There was a longer intake of breath, matched only when a minute later I found room for my own fingers above Gary's, sliding their tips up that mysterious groove to make my own little circle around the little bump I found there.

Mesmerized, Gary and I kept applying our tiny finger movements, both scared to make any move that might jeopardize the gains we had made. But Mom didn't seem predisposed to cancel our success. Her breathing was becoming rapid and short and her hips began to move below our fingers, gyrating around and pressing up erratically against our probing, rubbing fingers.

This was the best game either of us had ever played. We glanced at each other, ecstatic and enthralled. Mom's hips were bumping up against us now and we had to press harder just to keep our hands in place. She was making sounds. Sounds I had never heard her make before. It was tremendously exciting. My own breath was becoming short and I realized I had a huge boner that was uncomfortably constrained inside my jeans. I was close to coming and I hadn't even touched myself.

Thrusting. Mom was thrusting herself off the bed now. That was the only way to describe it. There was no pretense. She was shoving herself against our hands. Gary had cupped his hand over her panties and I was rubbing the flat of my fingers against the top of her mound.

"Oh, god, oh god, oh god," Mom gasped as she moaned and dug her heels in to the bed, her hips frantically shoving, her thighs clenching. "Oh, yeah ... yeah ... yeah." One final, long thrust pushing our hands high and she collapsed back to the bed, followed by a long, long sigh.

Her eyes opened.

"Pull my dress down, sweeties," she said in a strangely soft, husky voice. There was no embarrassment. It was just a simple request, simply stated.

Awkwardly, somewhat mortified, we pulled her dress down and straightened Mom's legs. Mom took our hands in hers.

"Did you like that game?" she asked, her eyes now sparkling.

We both nodded dumbly.

Mom pulled each of us down in turn for a quick kiss, mouth to mouth. She sat up and swung her legs to the floor after I stood out of her way.

"There won't be any more talk about Ben now, will there?" she whispered just loudly enough for me to hear.

I shook my head.

She turned at the door to smile back at our stunned faces, holding her index finger vertically across her lips in the universal shushing signal. And then she was gone.

Gary and I turned to look at each other, the blank look on both our faces attesting to the shock both of us felt, Gary more so since for him this had come completely out of the blue. There was something strange about Gary. Looking down, I noticed a wet spot staining one side of his jeans. His head followed my gaze down and then he looked over to my jeans where I was just noticing a similar stain on my own jeans. We burst out laughing, commemorating this incredible moment which I knew neither of us would ever forget.

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

That was interesting. Were there other new ones I passed by? I shuffled through the pile of letters that I had sifted through before, and discovered an update from Kevin since I last mentioned him in Chapter 15.

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

Kevin here for another update about my Mom. I am one who can truly look back at my first term in college and say it was the most fantastic time of my life. Mother was true to her word. If father wasn't around, she made herself available to me. She was a very generous woman and did anything I wanted, as I had asked.

She never offered, but she never refused once I initiated an action. Oh, she liked to act as if I was an annoyance, intruding on her busy day, but she would eventually get into it with me. I soon learned that Mom needed to resist me at first. She needed time to transform into the role she had set for herself, the fallen mother who would do anything to keep her last son nearby.

In fact, Mom loved to fuck but she needed to hide her passion under the guise that she was losing herself in the promise she had made to please me. However, a month of sex all over our home was enough to show even an exuberant teen that he was with a woman who was more than willing. The wilder my demands, the more accepting and excited she was, even offering herself in lewder positions than requested, seemingly lost in delirious pleasure.

She absolutely loved it from behind. When I arrived home from school, typically horny, with little more than an hour before Dad came home, Mom would be less resistant to my advances than she was on weekends and it wouldn't be long before she would run downstairs to bury her head in the couch pillows, ass raised up so I had to stand to take her the same way we had first coupled.

We did it other ways but they were mostly some variation of behind sex. On her side, on her knees, bent over with head and hands dangling to the floor, or flat on her tummy. One time, in that position, she reached behind to spread her cheeks for me, opening her wet pink slit but also drawing attention to her little brown hole. Sensing an invitation, I immediately knelt, straddled her ass and spit on my cock, lowering myself so I could insert my tip in her bottom.

The way she scrunched her ass away from my strange, unexpected attack surprised me and showed how wrong I was, but she pushed back a few seconds later and suffered my pokes and shoves until I managed to get my head inside her. I had taken only a few strokes and wasn't even all the way in when I came. I lay for several minutes gasping for breath on her back. It didn't seem to do anything for Mom, so I didn't try that again.

A week later, on a Saturday when Dad was away for the afternoon, Mom came into my room while I was browsing around on the web.

"Would you like to see something?" she asked.

"What?" I replied, not really paying attention.

"Just something I found. You might be interested."

I knew Mom had been poking around on the internet and it finally clicked that she must be finding some of her new ideas on the web. So let her take over the mouse and push my hands aside on the keyboard. A few keystrokes and clicks later and Mom was navigating through an amateur video website. She found what she wanted, clicked, knelt down on the floor beside my chair while we waited for the video to load.

There was a woman standing in the middle of what looked like a typical teenage boy's bedroom with a single bed behind her. The woman, who looked old enough to be the mother of a teenage boy, finished unbuttoning her blouse, stripped it from her arms and let it fall to the floor. Immediately, she removed her bra and treated it to the same fate. Next came the skirt. She cocked her hip as she unzipped the side and let the pleated affair drop to the floor, staggering backward until she fell to her knees and leaned back against the edge of the bed, knees open to show the narrow band of her panties splitting into two arcs rising up and over her hips before disappearing from sight. She waited, lips moist and mouth partly open, tits sagging on her chest with nipples hard and stabbing out. One hand strayed between her legs and cupped her pantied pussy. She rubbed it slowly, waiting.

Mom pressed her head against my side, her hands slipping between my thighs and up to cup my scrotum, stroking slowly in time with the woman on the screen.

A male swaggered into the picture, on the right from behind the camera POV, stopping in front of the woman but to the side so our view of her wasn't blocked. He was muscular with a broad back, slim hips and thick thighs. His whole body screamed youth. The woman's eyes slid from his eyes to his hips, fixed on the tumescent stick that periodically swayed partially into view.

Mom's fingers adeptly loosened my belt and zipped my jeans down, pushing them apart, grasping the straining lump under my jockey shorts. Screen boy stepped closer, his tool wagging in a wider arc. The woman reached up to grasp it, steadying it in front of her mouth which seemed to be open a little wider now. The young man batted her hands away, and again when she tried to grasp him again. Mom fished my cock from under my shorts and held it in her fist.

Screen boy moved suddenly forward, jabbing his cock into the woman's mouth, pulled out, and then rammed it in again almost a dozen times in quick succession, her head bouncing back with each jab until he withdrew, holding his weapon about an inch away from her lips, as strand of saliva the only connection remaining between her mouth and his cock. Mom's fist moved up to squeeze grip my head tightly and then slowly squeezed down my shaft.

Plunk! Screen boy suddenly drove his cock fully into the woman's mouth and held it there, her jaws opening wide as she struggled to accommodate him, his buttocks pulsing as tried to fuck her even as he held his cock fully plugged into her mouth. Her hands were batted away again but he yanked his hips back just as she seemed about to pass out from lack of air. She gasped again and again, gulping in air while simultaneously drooling saliva from the corner of her mouth. As her breathing returned to normal, she glanced up at him, waiting, not trying to move away. Mom's cock squeezed the tip of my cock hard, released, and then teased the underside with the softest rub of her thumb.

Bang! He was in her again, thrusting, thrusting, holding her head with both hands, fucking her face in short jabs. He was in her longer this time and her gasp was explosive when he finally released her head, allowing a more copious stream of saliva to escape her lips. Her respite was shorter and the thrusts longer and harder for the next four attacks, their breathing louder and more ragged. On the final exit, his cock blasted his gift, into her mouth, then covering her nose and cheeks, one eye and her forehead. After the last squirt, screen boy fell to his knees, straddling the woman's legs, kissing her mouth and cleaning her face of his dripping mess.


The clip ended and an ad was displayed.

Mom stood, backing away several feet before her hands reached up to undo the buttons on her blouse. She wasn't wearing a bra so her hands moved directly down to undo and remove her slacks. Her eyes were bright and intense, gripping mine. I noticed her breasts were larger than screen woman's but not as saggy. Her nipples were stiffer than I'd ever seen them.

I stood as she pushed her pants down her legs and shook my jeans off at the same time that she stepped out of hers. My shorts were gone though Mom was still wearing her panties. She backed away as I started undoing my shirt, falling to her knees and leaning back against my bed just as the woman had done. Her hand absently strayed down to stroke the front of her panties.

My shirt gone, I stepped forward, only barely conscious that my weapon was far more timid than screen boy's but it did manage to sway as I stalked toward Mom. Almost dutifully, she reached up to grasp my tool but, on cue, I smacked her hands away, and again when she repeated her futile defense.

I stood with my cock just before her mouth for much longer than screen woman's tormentor, or lover, or son. The tension was high, and so was I, barely able to contain myself with my knowing tease. We both knew what was coming, but still I delayed. I grasped a handful of hair on top of Mom's hair, adding in my own personal twist. I waited several heartbeats past where she and even I expected me to thrust into her mouth.

I was in. Jab, jab, jab. Quick thrust, fuck, fuck, fuck in her sweet wet hole. God, I was almost coming already. She was panting, drool streaming down from her mouth already. Her hand was inside her panties, moving quickly up and down. Jam, jam, jam. I was back in her mouth. Deeper, pushing hard. I could feel myself starting. Quickly, I grabbed her head and held myself in tight, not concerned with whether or not she could breathe.

Owwwwww! Jesus!

Mom was squeezing my balls hard. My cum blast halted dead in its tracks. I guess I was too rough. Mom looked up at me, panting and drooling when I pulled my bludgeoned cock out of her mouth.

"You've got to last," she gasped, reaching out to grasp the back of my thighs, pulling me forward and back into her mouth, her hands forcing me into a series of small lunges until I was once again fully embedded. I gripped her head and starting fucking her face again.

Over and over we did it. Many more times than our screen mentors. My cock was gooey with her spit and her face was slick from those times I missed her mouth and slid over her cheeks or under her chin. I was able to stay deep in her mouth for quite a while now, as she had somehow figured out how to breathe even when I was plugged to the hilt. It was me that was pulling out for a respite now. The room was full of our gasps and the loud wet squishy sound of my cock abusing her mouth but more frequently now, Mom blocked my attempt to pull out by throwing her hands around my ass and keeping me in. Unable to get out, I finally reached the tipping point and launched into a violent series of hard thrusts, culminating in a gushing geyser of sticky fluid that spewed down her throat.

I didn't come on Mom's face. Not that I didn't want to, or tried not to, or even thought of it. Mom just held me inside until I was empty. She pulled off my cock, looked up coquettishly, and returned her pouting lips in an excruciating ecstatic final suck all around my cock's head.

"There," she said. "You still have something to look forward to."

She laughed then, stood, stooped to pick up her clothes, and walked out holding them under her arm, naked as a jailbird. Hopefully, Dad hadn't returned while we were oblivious to the universe.

I was stunned. I had thought I was in control, taking her to places she, and I, had never been.

A week later Mom demonstrated her power again. I had been inside her for a while, from behind as usual. We were in a slow part of our fuck, she resting her head on her arms, ass raised up to meet my slow strokes as I kneeled on the couch behind her and kept an eye on the distant highway for the approach of Dad's truck. She reached behind her ass and grabbed my shaft as I pulled out, shifting herself ahead so I fell out of her very wet pussy.

She rubbed my cock around the outside of her wet slit and twisted her face around to look back at me with an odd smile. She pulled me forward but twisted my cock up so it slipped up over her ass. She pulled it back down but stopped when the head was right on her crinkly little hole. She smiled again and tugged, trying to press it in. Belatedly realizing what she wanted, I shook my head, knowing she hadn't found pleasure in it last time, that she was doing it only for me.

Mom nodded, and pulled me again, mashing the tip of my cock against her small hole. I tried to pull back but she insisted, cocking her hips to sweeten her invitation with the most erotic, slushy rub. Still, I tried to pull away. At least, in my mind I did. I intended to, but my cock never broke contact with her ass. Almost helpless, I looked down at my mother's upturned face.

"Do it," she whispered, tugging me harder. Her breath was coming in gasps, her tummy heaving with the effort to breath. "Make me," she gasped.

She grunted as my head slipped in. I paused, still a little shocked, then started pushing against her tightness.

"Ugggghhhhh," she groaned.

I tightened my grip on her waist just above her hips and pulled her back against my invading cock, shoving forward. If that's what you want, you're going to get.

"Unngghhh," she moaned. "Unnngggh, unnnngghh, unnnggghhhh."

I was all the way in her now. My cock felt a mile long, gripped tightly as if it was in a biting dragon's mouth that was trying to snip it off at the root. I rocked forward, pressing my thighs against hers, mashing my hips against her cheeks. Shove, shove, shove.

"Euuuuuhhhhhhaaaahhh," a long, primeval moan escaped her lips. I gripped her harder, shoving further.

"Yeah," I gasped, again and again to matching moans. Slowly, I increased my pace, building and building, expecting to blast at any moment, but it didn't come and I slowed down until I was barely moving, pushing just to keep hearing the soft moans she made in response. I enjoyed the more guttural groans even more once I started thrusting harder again. Several times I repeated this and found that she seemed wilder after I slowed almost to a stop each time. I realized that my continued rooting in her was spreading a throbbing glow through her pelvis, raising the base level of her pussy's excitement. I kept it up as long as I could until finally, I couldn't slow down, I had to keep thrusting, harder and harder until I did blast my cum in her, pulling out to finish spilling on her quivering cheeks.

What an incredible woman. How could I have ever considered leaving?

Ten days later Matt returned for Christmas.

At first Mom was ecstatic, overwhelmed. But she quickly drew back as her hurt flooded back. But love is the great forgiver and within little more than a day Mom slowly began welcoming Matt back into her arms. Her motherly arms that is. There was no hint of anything more and I certainly didn't let on that there was anything going on between us.

Mom invited all our nearby relatives and for Christmas dinner and went all out. It was a huge success. Several times, Mom and the other women came out of the kitchen to join the rest of us cramming in the living and dining rooms. Each time, she went over to Matt and put her arm around his shoulder as he sat there. Each time, Matt offered her his chair but she insisted she was there for only a few minutes and had to get back to watch dinner.

But on one occasion, after refusing his offer, she sat on his lap. No one paid any mind, except me. I watched closely and was probably the only one to see Matt suddenly seem uncomfortable, saw him glance quickly around to see if anyone was looking at them, saw him relax as he realized nobody was, except me who he couldn't see behind him. I watched as Mom's arm circled tighter around his neck and shoulders, watched as she seemed to squirm for a more comfortable position, watched as Mom hugged Matt's head to her and wiggled some more. I noticed how Matt quickly picked up his drink and held it over his lap after Mom got up to return to the kitchen.

Moments later, Mom was back. She sat straight down on Matt's lap and didn't join in the animated conversation buzzing around, content to simply sit and watch, like Matt. The squirming started almost right away. Jealousy flooded through me as I watched her fingers toying with my brother's hair while she rocked her hips in tiny movements, working her cheeks around on his cock which I'm sure was poking up hard against her.

The wanton bitch! Right in front of everybody. She leaned down to whisper something. Was she talking dirty? Telling him to push up more, telling him to keep it hard for her, until later? Matt slipped his arm up and curled it loosely around her waist, and affectionate hold between mother and son except he seemed to be pressing down on her hip, pulling her to him.

Matt followed Mom when she got up this time. Neither of them looked my way as they passed by me. I followed a minute later, entering the kitchen to find it empty. I walked over to the stairs down to the basement, descending the steps quietly and continuing down the hall to the rumpus room where my covert listening had started it all so long ago.

"I've missed you so much son." The sound of kisses and smooching drifted out of the doorway along with the rustling of clothes.

"No, wait. Stop."

More kisses.

"I've missed you too, Mom. I'm so sorry I left like that."

Kiss, kiss.

"No, don't Matt. We can't."

"I just need to feel you. Just for a minute. You were driving me crazy, sitting on me like that."

More rustling clothes, and louder breathing. Kissing.

"Matt, really. We can't."

"Just for a minute. Just let me feel it against you."

"Oh, Mattie. This is crazy, it's so dangerous. There's too many people."

"We're all alone down here." More kissing, the sound of a zipper.

"Please. Matt. Wait until later. I'll come down here after everyone's asleep."

"Ok, mom." The sound of resignation. "Turn around for a minute. Just let me feel it against your bare skin."

"No, Matt."

"Please, Mom. Just a touch."

"Oh Matt. Alright but just a quick touch."

There was a bang on the wall. Mom's hand's? Matt's breathing quickened audibly.

"Oh, Mom."

"Matt don't. Leave my panties on."

"I just want to touch it to your bare skin."

"Oh, Matt. Be quick then."

More harsh breathing from Matt. More banging, hands sliding on the wall.

"Matt don't. You said you wouldn't."

"I can't help it," Matt hissed. "You teased me. I need to."

"Oh Jesus, Matt. Hurry." Mom's voice was now excited, panting.

The rustling suddenly ramped up. They were fucking. He had her against the wall and was fucking her from behind. They were grunting and gasping. It was definitely a quickie. They groaned each other's names again and again until they moaned their final release.

"I still want you tonight," Matt said over the rustle of their clothes.

"Alright," Mom answered. "After everyone's gone or asleep."

I retreated down he hallway and quickly went upstairs.

It was well after midnight when I returned. There was no need to be quiet. They couldn't possibly have heard me coming over their heavy breathing. They were naked on the floor. Matt on his back resting his head on his crossed arms, Mom straddling his hips, slowly working his cock embedded deep inside her, her body glistening with sweat in the dim light of the single table lamp.

Matt looked shocked when he noticed me standing about five feet behind Mom, watching them fuck. He tried to hold her still, to push her off. Mom turned to look at me. She smiled and turned back to Matt, resuming the movements of her hips on her oldest son.

"It's alright," she whispered, her hands pressing Matt's shoulders back to the floor as I pushed my pajama bottoms down, freeing my rock hard cock. As I lowered myself behind Mom she leaned forward and kissed Matt hard, raising her ass toward me without dislodging my brother. Carefully, I aimed my cock at the treat she had so recently offered and pushed. It was awkward but within minutes I was plugged to the hilt inside her, in tune with both of them, feeling him fuck her and knowing he could sense me doing the same. We were together again, we were one.

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Satisfied, I added Kevin's letter to my save pile and turned my attention to the monitors. What the hell was this? I backed it up and played it again.

Paul was following his mother down the hall to my father's room, carring a large tray. Mary's head turned to look at Mom's door as she passed. They both disappeared into Dad's room but Paul emerged a moment later but instead of retracing his steps to the stairway he opened the door to my mother's room, entered, and closed it behind him.

Switching monitors, I picked Paul up just inside the door, following him as he walked through the larger room toward my mother's bed. I was shocked to see Mom on the bed. She was laying with her legs splayed apart, thighs cranked back almost to her breast with her ankles tight on top of them, tied together which what appeared to be silk scarves. She was naked. A long vibrator was laying on her bare pussy and I could hear it buzzing. Paul picked it up and handed laid it in Mom's grasping fingers. It seems her hands were similiarly wrapped tightly to her ankles with more scarves. She moaned loudly when she regained control of the vibrator. Paul sat on the bed and watched as she moved it around on her pussy as best she could.

How long had this been going on? Mom was squirming, hunching her hips up, bumpng her glistening slit against the white vibrator while Paul calmly watched. Suddenly, he slapped her ass. Once, twice, three quick slaps. Mom moaned loudly while Paul resumed his quiet observation. When Mom dropped the vibrator he calmly retrieved it and fit it into her clutching fingers.

I stopped the video. I needed to see it from the beginning. How long had this been going on?





The Mom Memories Ch. 17
byalwayswantedto©

All characters are 18 years or older.

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I reviewed the video for the whole morning. It started with Mary walking down the hallway with my mother, presumably after finishing their morning coffee together. Mom entered her room while Mary walked on and walked into my old room, now occupied by my father. Almost as soon as Mary disappeared, Paul appeared and quickly slipped down the hall and into Mom's room.

She was waiting for him, holding her arms out as he now leisurely sauntered toward her, bending into her embrace for a long morning kiss. It seemed familiar, like the scene had been played before. As Paul continued to kiss my mother, she pulled her knee back until her foot was dangling just over her thigh, near her butt, and draped a silk scarf over her lover's shoulder. Paul slowly wound the scarf around her thigh and her ankle, wrapping it in a figure eight several times before he tied it, securing her foot firmly to her thigh.

They kissed again. A long, slow kiss. Afterward, Mom pulled her other knee back and Paul a similar scarf, laying on the bed, to similarly secure her other foot to her remaining thigh. Again they kissed but this time Paul fondled Mom's bare pussy, continually rubbing and stroking. She was glistening when their kiss finally ended.

Gently, Paul lifted Mom's hand and laid it near her tied ankle. Mom held it there while he searched for another scarf on the bed. A minute later her hand was bound too. Another long kiss and contemporary manipulation of Mother's slit. When the kiss ended, Mom's free hand was tied to her leg in the same fashion. She was now laying with her knees pulled far back, ankles tied down to the back of her thighs, and wrists ties to her ankles. Her pussy was, bare, shaved, open and wet and her eyes sparkled with anticipation.

Paul got up and left.

Fifteen minutes passed before he returned. Amazingly, Mom's pussy was visibly soaked. Her eyes were still sparkling but the message they conveyed was more need than anticipation. She was breathing quickly.

Paul calmly walked over and sat next to her on the bed. For several minutes he did nothing. Then he rested his hand lightly on her left, upturned buttock and began moving it is a slow circle, then stretching up to stroke the back of her thigh all the way to her knee. Eventually, he crossed, past Mom's pouting pussy, to caress her other thigh. Before he got up he quickly inserted his fingers into her wet hole, and then he was gone again.

His return was longer in coming this time and Mom was panting, her eyes desperate. He walked quickly to the bed, picked up a feather and held it high for Mom to see, before lowering it toward her waiting, quivering genitals.

Smack! Mom gasped aloud. Paul had dropped the feather and spanked her exposed butt cheek. Smack! Smack! He repeated his open hand slaps. Mom's gasps were similarly repeated.

Now the feather stroked over her pulsing pussy, tenderly, caressing, loving. Up her thighs, first one and then the other, then over her begging lips, her wet lips.

"Ohhhhhh, you do that so well."

"Shhhhhhh, now. Just enjoy it. Don't talk or you're ruin it."

The feather traveled up and down Mom's thighs and between to caress her breasts, her stiff nipples, and then on to slip across her mouth before playing over the rest of her face before retracing its path down to her throbbing sex.

Paul picked up the long white cylinder I had seen earlier. Suddenly, it began buzzing. He lowered it between her legs, almost to her pussy before flicking it sideways against the inside of her thigh where he let it throb against her leg. Up, he lifted the vibrator so Mom could see it clearly and then down again only to once more teasingly bump against her other leg. Carefully, he set the vibrator down, below Mom's upturned ass, almost touching her. He got up and walked out.

Paul appeared in the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. Mary appeared from Dad's room and glanced at Mom's closed door, a slight frown crossing her face. She must have heard the vibrator. She joined her son in the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee, drinking while preparing some medicine destined for my father, chatting to Paul. Paul waited for several minutes after Mary left, quietly finishing his coffee as he read the morning paper.

Mom was beside herself when he came in. She had be trying to get to the vibrator but only succeeded in settling her tailbone on its tip which must have exacerbated her need without proving much fulfillment.

Paul sat down and pulled the vibrator away.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Then the loving touch. Gentle, loving, caressing. He bent over to rain light kisses on the back of her thighs, nibbling, coming close to her craving pussy but never touching it. Again, he trailed the feather up and down her thighs, over her tits, all around her face and then down and over her pussy, again and again.

He held his hand up as if he was about to slap her ass again, swooped down, slowing at the last moment to push his fingers inside, pushing far into her and then shaking and vibrating his hand, almost lifting Mom off the bed. She was moaning now, trying to lift herself from the bed, to impale herself further on his invasive hand, goading him, almost begging to be reamed even more.

Paul kept working his fingers inside her. Twisting and thrusting, way in. Was he preparing her for his large, bulbous cock? Just when he almost had his whole hand inside, he suddenly pulled out. Mom lay gasping, waiting, as if she'd expected it. The vibrator returned but this time brought electric ecstasy directly to Mom's quivering quim. Deftly, he played my mother like he knew exactly how and when to move the shivering stick to extract the maximum appreciation from her longing body. But before she could come, he pulled it away and shut it off.

He watched as her craving subsided, as her quivering thighs relaxed. Buzzzzz, the vibrator came back to life. Gently, he laid the buzzing love stick directly on Mom's pussy, lining it up to lay between her nether lips, passing the handle into her hand, waiting until she had it firmly in her fingers. Again, he got up and left.

Downstairs, Paul had lunch with his mother. He ate a sandwich while she had a salad. They both drank another cup of coffee before Mary prepared a tray with lunch and more pills for my Dad. Paul carried the tray upstairs, Mary again glancing at my mother's door. Paul was saying something about heading off to school but when he exited Dad's room he went straight into Mom's room.

Inside, he disrobed. Completely. His odd-shaped cock wobbled between his legs as he walked toward my mother, in the desperate throes of who knows how many orgasms. She watched at him all the way. Or rather, she stared at his weird cock, too weak to hold up its enormous head. As Paul placed his knees on the bed, Mom dropped the vibrator and tried to twist herself toward him. She needed to be fucked.

Paul grasped her feet and turned her up and toward him, immediately pushing the massive head of his deformed cock against her soaked and raw pussy. He pushed. Even after this much preparation, there was resistance, like the first push into a woman's ass. He persisted, pushing steadily, gaining slowly, until the head disappeared into her cunt. Mom's mouth was wide open, her head bobbing with the effort to accommodate him.

She looked delirious as he started to fuck her. Not hard, not fast. Just slow and steady, untying the scarves as he rocked into her, increasing his pace. When she was finally free, he lifted her ankles high in the air and slid his hands down the outside of her legs until he was gripping her thighs just above her butt. Mom locked her ankles around his neck.

"Fuck me," she whispered intensely. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me."

Her words seemed to drive him as he thrust harder with every expletive demand.

It became frenetic until they were frantically moaning and groaning with every thrust. It wasn't long before they were in a desperate clutch, exchanging fluids, pushing and rubbing hard against each other. When he pulled out he was still dripping even though his cream oozed out of her full pussy. He trailed up her torso, dripping over her tummy and onto her tits.

"I can't believe how much you cum," Mom said. "It's unbelievable."

She looked up at him as he squeezed the last drops onto her neck.

"Call her in. Show your mommy how much her son can cum." She laughed out loud.

Paul walked away from her without saying a word, picked up his clothes and dressed in silence. He took his time and when he finished, he walked out.

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I felt like I'd seen too much of my mother, that I no longer wanted her. I took a break.

Later in the day, I visited the locker and retrieved several boxes filled mostly with letters but there were also some old VHS tapes. I couldn't watch them until I found an old VHS player but I did begin searching through the letters. I was thrilled to see letters from Grant, Jack, Mark, Craig, William and Evan. I picked up the one from Grant whom I told you about in Chapters 5 and 11.

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Mom was cooking something on the stove. I'm not sure what and I didn't look as I shuffled past to the coffee pot, mumbling "morning," not yet quite awake. The past week had been uneventful and I was resigned to waiting at least a few weeks before having another chance at her. I added milk, spilling some on the counter and walked over to sit at the table before getting something to eat. As I sipped my coffee, my eyes wandered to my mother, to her big fluffy slippers, up her bare calves and to her behind, or at least what I could see of it covered as it was by her thick terry cloth housecoat. Still, it moved interestingly as she slowly stirred the pot on the stove. My ears perked when she began talking about Dad.

"Come over and keep me company while I cook this," she said.

Grumbling, I got up and scuffed my way over, leaning against the fridge and drinking my coffee while she continued to talk. She was talking about the time she finally managed to still Dad's wandering eye.

"... and that was it," she said. "One day I just happened to wear a pair of slacks that was too tight around my butt. Well, your father was beside himself. All the way home he was on about how he had sat on the bench in the middle of the mall and watched guy after guy staring at my butt when their wives weren't looking. Even the young shop boys looked he said."

Mom stopped stirring and laughed, looking up and away as if watching a recording of the scene from long ago. She stared to stir again and continued, "It was a good thing you and your sister weren't home. He was in such a rush, he bumped into me on the way up the stairs and I dropped all my bags but instead of helping, he started pulling my pants down. By the time I crawled to the top he had them off and he was on me."

Mom fell silent but she continued to stir.

"That was the first time," she said in a lowered voice. There was a long pause while she continued to stir silently.

Sensing that she might be getting into a mood, I gently prodded.

"The first time ..."

She didn't respond and I was about to nudge her again when she whispered, "He took me from behind."

I almost dropped my cup. Recovering, I quickly finished my coffee and walked past Mom to set it on the counter, returning to stand behind her, the blood already rushing to my genitals.

Mom's spoke again, her voice resuming its normal tone. "It was a regular thing after that, shopping at malls all over town, even other places, just so Dad could follow and watch men look at my butt. I had to wear pants that emphasized my ass, especially anything that would divide my cheeks no matter how uncomfortable. But he didn't have eyes for other women, so I put up with it."

Mom kept stirring, adding some spices to the pot now and then.

"And then one day, he didn't want to go out anymore. He always found a way to pat me on the ass when you kids weren't looking, or he'd get you to go out and play so he could play with my bottom, especially while I was cooking, like this."

"Really?" I asked, stepping closer so my pajamas brushed lightly against Mom's terry cloth robe, placing my hands on her hips.

"Yeah. I'd fetch something that I had to bend over to get and the next thing you'd know, he'd be right behind me." Mom laughed softly. "Sometimes I teased him terribly." She pushed her bum back, bumping me lightly on the front of my pajamas. "Like that," she laughed louder. "It never failed."

Mom's voice lowered again. "But then he started getting fixated. He wanted me to walk around in my panties when you kids weren't home. And then he wanted me to just wear an apron. As soon as you were out of the house on the weekends, I had to put on the apron and pretend I was cooking while he stared at my bare butt and touched it until he got really worked up and I'd run upstairs and he'd try to catch me like that first time."

Mom stirred for a few more minutes without saying anything. This time I was afraid to disturb her reverie lest I derail her from the path I hoped she was following. I had managed to pull her back a bit to nestle against my pajamas but I didn't dare push in case I interrupted her train of thought. Please go on, I thought.

With a tiny extra push, almost a rub, Mom began speaking softly.

"Then, one day, he started doing strange things. He'd been hugging me, you know, standing behind me, kissing my neck and stroking my back. Oh he did that so nicely, you know, running his fingers up and down my back." She paused. "Gosh, it's hot in here." She began to fidget.

No, don't stop, my inner voice was shrill. Please don't quit.

"I think I'm getting a flash. I'm so hot." She was wriggling around now. "Baby, help me get my robe off."

Quickly, I reached around and undid the belt on Mom's robe and pulled it from her shoulders, pausing to let her get each arm out, one at a time so she could keep stirring the pot. After draping it over a kitchen chair, I turned back to see Mom stirring the stove, dressed only in a thigh-length nightie cut in a deep U shape that bared her back. The material was so thin I could see a long shadow defining the divide between her cheeks. My boner stiffened markedly. Why wouldn't Dad be fixated on her butt? I stood behind her but made sure my eager member didn't touch her bottom.

"Thanks sweetie."

Mom continued to stir but was silent for a long time. I kept myself busy staring at the smooth womanly skin of her back, the swell of her buttocks, and the bulge of her breasts at her side. At some point, I began stroking her back, lightly dragging the fingers of both hands up and down, following the edge of her nightie from her shoulders until they met at the base of her spine. Over and over, as soft as I could manage. When she still didn't speak, I couldn't help prompting her.

"So, Dad was doing strange things?"

"Yes," she said quietly, staring into the pot.

"Like what?" I matched her quiet tone.

"Well, he put his fingers on my butt. He was always patting it, but this time he slipped his fingers between, you know, like, between my cheeks."

Mom shuddered.

"It felt so weird," she whispered.

I hazarded a touch on Mom's bottom, thrilling to the free feel of her loose cheeks.

"No," she said. My hand froze.

"He was always doing that. It was right in there, you know, in between."

I moved my hand toward the middle of Mom's ass, lining its edge up with her crack.

"Yeah, like that," she said. "Except, since it was your Dad, and I was only wearing an apron, he pushed his fingers right into my bare ass."

"Oh," I said, not sure what to say or do.

"And then he did it," Mom said.

"What?" I whispered.

There was a long pause. I let the edge of my fingers push deeper between her cheeks, pinching her nightie in.

"He spit on me," Mom whispered.

"He spit on you?" I was incredulous. I couldn't imagine my father treating my mother badly. I knew he loved her.

"Yes. It shocked me, but before I could react he did it again. But this time, it was more like a dribble. I could his spit running down my back. He spit again, a wetter one, and it pushed the rest faster down my into my bum, running into my crack like a little river. He grabbed my cheeks, one in each hand, and pulled them apart with his thumbs, I guess to let his spit get right in there. I could feel it oozing through my crack. Then he spit again, almost gobbing, right at the top of my ass. It ran slower, like hot toffee, flowing like hot lava into my ass."

Mom stopped. She was panting, gasping for air. I was having difficulty breathing myself. I pulled her nightie up to her waist and held it there, staring at her bare ass. She was oblivious.

"Then he ... oh god ... when it dripped down, he smeared it all around with his thumbs. It was so strange. Nobody had ever touched me there. It felt weird, but good, and that shocked me. And just then, he pushed one of his thumbs inside. I don't which one, but he poked it right inside my bum." Mom followed up with a few short gasps, each followed by a quick intake of air.

I leaned down, put my mouth near the top of Mom's ass and went for broke. I squeezed out a large stream of saliva, opening her cheeks to let it drool down her crack. As it neared her little hole I moved my right hand below, stopping the flow with my fingers, forcing it to pool around her crinkly brown door. I could hear her panting quicken. Was she thinking of Dad that day or reacting to me?

I drooled out another mouthful of saliva, moved my mouth lower and used my tongue to urge the goo along. Was that moan for me? No matter. She was ready. I slid my finger inside and quickly moved it back and forth as I discovered how easily it slipped through her dark little entrance. A second finger followed. I shoved them both in and out several times. She's getting fucked right here, I thought, desperately trying to pull my pajamas down with one hand. Mom must have realized what I was doing because she suddenly lurched forward off my impaling fingers and stumbled out of the kitchen, catching me completely off guard.

"No, the children. They'll be home soon."

What? The children? What the fuck was she talking about.

I stumbled after her, dragging my pajamas off as I went. Mom was halfway up the stairs by the time I passed through the doorway, discarding my pajamas on the floor. I caught her near the top but she struggled up to the landing before I pushed her onto the carpet, kneeing her legs apart and pushing my cock against her butt.

"No! The children."

"Fuck the kids," I yelled, my cock nudging against her slick anus. I pushed and the head popped inside.

"Uggggh," Mom responded.

I pushed, forcing myself in, slowly widening her.

"Ohhhhhhhhh," Mom moaned, and then, "ugghh, unnghhhh, unnggghh," as I stared pumping into her ass, nudging her along the hallway.

We reached her bedroom doorway by the time we came. She fell flat to the floor and I collapsed on her. A few minutes later, she pulled herself ahead away from me and stumbled over to the her bed, falling face first onto the mattress. I struggled up and followed her, cum dripping from my half hard cock.

I scrabbled up onto the bed and straddled her thighs. Spreading her cheeks with my hands I stared at her asshole, my cum oozing out. My cock stiffened so fast I thought it would snap. Guided it down into the pool of white goo, I pushed in, relishing in the loud grunt from my mother's lips that my effort produced.

"Oh, god. I love it," she cried as I started our second ass fuck that morning, a long one with lots of moaning and grunting. It exhausted us. I'm surprised we even heard my sister coming in the door with her kids. I ran to my room.


Mom was downstairs in a dress when I arrived, also fully dressed. My sister Wendy was chiding Mom about leaving laundry layout around. My pajamas had been picked up and placed on top of Mom's housecoat, still draped over the chair. My sister and her kids stayed for lunch, long enough to fulfill her duty visit before she drove home in the next town. I managed to pat Mom's ass several times without getting caught. Mom seemed shocked and then angry at first but warmed up and seemed to be enjoying the game by the time Wendy was ready to go.

As soon as my sister and her kids were out the door, I pinned Mom up against it, holding her there with my body while my hands reached around to grope her tits. Mom was looking through one of the long vertical window slits in the door as her daughter leaned in the back seat on the far side of the car to strap one kid into their car seats. As she shut the door and walked around to do the other kid, I dropped my hands to my jeans and undid my belt. As my sister leaned in to do her daughter, her behind facing us, I lifted Mom's dress and pushed myself against her, ready to rub myself against her panties until my sister was gone.

I was surprised when my cock mashed against Mom's bare ass. She wasn't wearing panties. Well, I guess she hadn't had time to put any on. Watching my sister's well-defined behind as I rubbed Mom's, my cock hardened to pure steel.

"Look at that," I whispered. "Like mother, like daughter."

"You keep your eyes to yourself," Mom reprimanded me.

"Do you think Don does her like this?"

"Stop it, Grant."

"No, I don't think so," I went on. "He's too much of a wuss."

"He is a wuss," Mom agreed as my cock slipped between her thighs and I slid my hands up inside her dress to take her bare tits into my hands.

Wendy finished strapping my niece in and closed the back door, turned to wave at the house, and got into her car.

"I hope she doesn't get frustrated and start looking around," I whispered, sliding back and forth between Mom's legs as my sister began backing down the drive, smiling and waving at the door where she could probably see Mom.

"No," Mom said. "We don't want her to stray."

My sister had backed onto the street and her car started moving forward.

"We should keep her busy in the family," I whispered, pushing into Mom's pussy for the first time in my life. She was surprisingly tight but I managed to get the door rattling before Wendy's car disappeared. I didn't let her off the door until I was finished. She seemed to like it. She loved it the rest of the afternoon, too.

We were graced with several visits from my sister after that. Almost every weekend. I had been visiting Mom's bed every night so it wasn't too much of an interruption except that it stopped me from having her during the day on the weekends. Still, I looked forward to her visits because I couldn't get the thought of her behind out of my mind since I first mentioned it to Mom.

I was so keen on looking at my older sister, who I had fought with like cats and dogs for years, that Mom had to ask me to leave so she could talk to her. She suspected that her daughter was trying to tell her something and needed time alone to work herself up to it. That week, Mom confided in me.

I guess Don wasn't satisfying her too well and she was getting bored and antsy. She was at that age, almost thirty and married six years, where she wanted some excitement and Don wasn't it. Mom was terrified Wendy was going to have an affair. I guess one of her and Don's friends was flirting with her when his wife and Don weren't around. And Mom thought Wendy was weakening. Evidently, this guy had got Wendy into online chatting with him during the day and late at night and had sent pictures of himself to her and pointed her to a website with video clips of sex that was more exciting than the not even weekly missionary position excursions she engaged in with her husband. Mom thought that confiding in her was a desperate attempt to stop herself because she was about to give in.

On Saturday, Wendy arrived for another visit. Mom was petrified that she was about to reveal a tryst with their adventurous friend and that two marriages were now in jeopardy. Just a matter of time. I took the kids out for the afternoon so Mom and Wendy could talk. As it turned out, nothing had yet happened but they were closer than ever. Evidently, Wendy's trips were more to avoid the inevitable than to seek counseling from her mother. Mom thought Wendy might not visit the following week, and was desperate to do something.

Wendy wanted to leave right after supper but Mom insisted she and the kids stay, promising the kids that I would take them to the local fair the next day. After that, it was impossible for Wendy to get the kids to go home. Mom insisted that Wendy have a relaxing bath after supper. She came downstairs in the velour robe Mom had laid out for her. Mom insisted the kids go to bed early and shooed them upstairs with a promise to come up to read them fairytales from her big book, the one with the scary stories unlike the safe vanilla ones offered up these days. Wendy usually hated for Mom to read these stories to her kids but she didn't complain tonight.

As soon as the kids went upstairs Mom dragged out her large exercise pad and covered it with white towels. She lit the gas fireplace, turned out the lights, and pulled a surprised Wendy onto the mat, instructing her to lay face down and relax. Mom went into the kitchen and returned with a large metal mixing bowl filled with warm oil. Now I began to get an idea about why she had insisted earlier that change into my robe while Wendy was in the bath.

"You need to relax dear. Now, I'm going to go upstairs and look after the children until they're asleep and you're going to lay her and enjoy a massage from your brother. He's been taking a special course in relaxation therapy and it's done me wonders since Dad passed."

This was pure malarkey. I hadn't taken any course in relaxation therapy and didn't know the first thing about how to do a massage. Wendy began to protest but Mom insisted she wouldn't take no for an answer from either of us. She turned to me.

"Now you do the best job you can for your sister. God knows, you owe it to her for all the years you were nasty to her." Facing Wendy, Mom said, "Just let Grant do his thing. He has a real talent, and you need it."

Capitulating, Wendy laid her head down in her crooked arms and waited. Mom smiled at me, a knowing smile, capped by a slight twist of her face and a concerned look that kind of said, "She's in your hands. Save her."

As Mom padded away and up the stairs, Wendy asked, "So can are you really learning how to do massage and practicing on Mom?"

Picking up from Mom, I answered, "I was the top student and the instructor said I was a natural, the best she'd ever had. You can see how much it helped Mom, I can do the same for you."

I smiled to myself when I said that. If only.

Wendy sighed and said, "I'm all yours."

That was an exciting thought but I didn't dwell on it. I squatted on the floor and moved the large bowl of hot oil down beside my sister's feet, picked up a foot, dipped my fingers into the oil and rubbed some onto her sole. Though I took my time, it was only a few minutes later that I set Wendy's foot down and picked up the other.

"Mmmmm, that does feel nice," my sister murmurred.

"Try not to talk. Just feel," I replied. I was playing this by ear but it seemed that Wendy was impressed with my fake massaging of her foot. I didn't want her to talk because that would keep reminding me that I was her brother. I wanted her to drift off, to lose herself in feeling. I had been presented with a wonderful opportunity to touch up my married sister's body and I wanted to make the most of it. "Shhhhh," I tried to soften my instructions.

With a single index finger, I repeated the sensuous stroking that worked so successfully on the other foot. I lightly traced the bottom of her sole, over her instep and around her angle, down each side of her Achilles and back up to her arch and then down to her toes, slowly inserting my finger between each toe and dragging it through. I stopped several times to dip my finger in the oil, keeping her foot slick and warm.

I was acutely aware of her other foot laying across my folded knee. I had shifted closer to her to make sure it dangled across and outside of my thigh. I didn't want her coming into contact with my boner and stopping the show. I set her foot down and picked the first one up again. I tickled my finger across the base of her toes above the balls of her foot and then traced a line along her sole with a detour into her instep, over her heel and then down the back of her calf to the hollow behind her knee where I circled several times.

"Ohhh, that's wonderful," she sighed.

"Shhhhhh," I admonished in a very soft voice.

Dipping several fingers into the bowl, I spread oil liberally over the muscles in her lower leg. I took my time stroking, squeezing, scratching and tickling her leg and foot, and then did the same with her other leg. She was definitely relaxed when I finished.

I took her hand and gently massed it the same way I had done her foot. Whispering that it was time to do her arms, I gently tugged on her sleeve until she shifted her weight and helped me slide the sleeve of the robe off her arm, leaving one shoulder half uncovered. Again, I took my time working on her arm, from fingertips to shoulder, working my finger between hers, tracing through her palm and over the back of her hand, swirling a curving trace around her forearm, behind her elbow and along the delicate skin of her upper arm. The other arm was a similar treatise and both shoulders were bare when I was done.

Kneeling behind her again, I shifted her knees slightly apart as I whispered that it was now time to finish her legs. As delicately as I could, I folded the robe up to the middle of her thighs and began spreading the oil above her knees, on the backs of her legs. After a while, I folded the robe again, onto her bottom, leaving her legs mostly bare but not yet exposing her buttocks. I spent a lot of time stroking her legs, making sure to lift her knees so I could spread oil on the front of her thighs too. Then I moved to her back.

I folded the robe down from her shoulder the same way I had folded it up her legs. The first fold I laid across the small of her back, exposing only her upper back, but to do so, I tugged the robe out from underneath. Without a sound, Wendy lifted her weight to let me slip the material from under her chest. When she laid back down she kept her arms tight to her sides but a few minutes later, as she luxuriated in my back massage, she curled her arms above her head. Now the sides of her breasts squished out from the sides of her ribcage. Oh, how that sight sent a tickle from my balls to my tip.

A few minutes later, I folded the robe once more. Now it lay in a band across her bottom and the sway of her back, centered on the groove rising up to her buttocks, caressed my eyes. Using both hands, I dripped oil until it pooled in the small of her back and then spread it around with my trembling hand in widening circles until my fingers dipped over the edge of her waist and fluttered up the rising swell of her hips and across, approaching but not touching her still covered buttocks. I vacillated between light, feathery stroking and kneading her flesh, pushing down and up her back, forcing her tummy and chest down to the floor, rubging her against the towels underneath. Reluctantly, I eventually stopped and moved to kneel above her head. I whispered again, very softly.

"Now I'm going to push the tension down your back to your center. Let it flow, don't resist."

Wendy didn't respond. She could have been sleeping except for her breathing which signaled how much she was enjoying the massage. I started pressing down on her shoulders with flat palms, squeezing toward her waist. I kept this up for several minutes until I was brushing along her sides, over the bulging swells of her squashed breasts, down her waist and along the outside of her hips under her robe, her bare hips. For the first time, I realized that my sister wasn't even wearing panties. My cock strained against my gaunchies under my robe. Moving onto the center of her back, I pushed into the hollow and up the rise to her buttocks, stretching my fingers a couple of inches under the robe again.

I leaned back because my robe had loosened and was threatening to drag on her back. As I started to cinch it tight, I changed my mind and instead removed it completely. Since her eyes had remained closed, I thought, what the hell.

I whispered, "This is the hardest part. I'm going to pull the tension up from your legs. Keep your eyes closed. It will help you concentrate."

I set the bowl beside Wendy's hips, dipped my fingers in and dripped oil onto the back of her thighs, repeating until her legs were slippery with oil. Leaning further forward, I grasped each leg just above the knee and pulled toward me, squeezing her flesh between my widely stretched thumbs and fingers. Again and again I stroked, leaning forward and pulling back with my whole body.

On each pull, I pushed the bunched up robe higher. Soon, I was able to push it above the crest of her buttocks and down the slope until it was stretched across the small of her back. My hands were now dragging oil up and over her bottom, pressing her cheeks down as they passed. If my sister was aware that I was running my oily hands all over her slippery ass, she didn't let on or complain.

As I realized what I was getting away with, I became more liberal with my touch, switching from massage to caress. I was no longer kneading and squeezing but stroking, pulling her cheeks apart to reveal what her secret crease had been hiding, enjoying the meaty resistance of her flesh. Applying yet more oil, I dipped my fingers between her legs and dragged them through her cheeks, right over that dark little spot my mother enjoyed so much.

Wendy pulled away on that first stroke but didn't otherwise object. On the next stroke, her butt lifted the tiniest amount toward my advancing fingers, increasing their access and allowing them to remain in contact for the briefest extension. It was a telling sign and a few strokes later I allowed them to pause for a little circle before continuing on their way. Like mother, like daughter. I don't know if my sister knew it or would admit it but her asshole definitely liked being touched. Soon I was circling on every stroke, oiling her rim, even venturing brief dips, tiny probes into what I now hoped the future held.

And then I had my accident. I stretched down to grasp her calves at the bottom of her muscles, intending to launch a long, sensuous pull all the way up her legs before trying a more obvious poke into her hole. But I had to lean forward so far that my gaunchies contacted Wendy's face, pressing into her cheek as her head lay to one side. I froze, my body rigid, my swollen gaunchies pressing at the side of my sister's mouth. I pulled my hips up, still clutching her lower legs just above her ankles. She didn't move.

Slowly, I pulled up her legs to her ass but didn't try the probe. Instead, I stretched down to grasp her lower legs again. Pausing, I lowered my hips until my bulging gaunchies pressed into her cheek again. No reaction. This time, as I pulled my hands up I tried to keep my gaunchees pressed against my sister's face. Since no objection was raised, on the next few strokes I tried to keep my gaunchies pressed on her face with mixed success.

I lowered myself to rest on my elbows so I could more easily brush my gaunchies against Wendy's cheek. My cock had hardened so much it was straining the confines of my underwear and the tip was trying to escape through the gap on the left side. I dipped my right hand into the bowl and began to stroke between Wendy's cheeks but this time, after circling her little hole, I stayed there.

I circled and circled, slowly increasing the pressure, pushing in until suddenly, my finger inserted until my fingernail was covered. Without pushing further I wiggled my finger in a little circle. I was fingering my sister's ass! Unbelievable.

My cock grew enough to escape through the gap between my leg and my gaunchies. I looked down at my knees stretched wide apart over my sister's head and the white bulge of my underwear almost touching her face, the head of my cock sticking out the side. Fascinated, I lowered myself slowly down, down until the head of my cock grazed my sister's face and then down a little more to put to dent her cheek. Amazingly, after a few seconds Wendy's head turned slightly, up, toward me. The corner of her mouth dragged across my throbbing cock and past, leaving me poised in front of her open cavity. She waited. With great trepidation, unsure if this was an invitation, I lowered the head of my cock into my married sister's open mouth. Her lips closed over me.

I groaned. She moaned. I pushed my finger deeper, deeper, deeper, until it was all the way in and began wiggling it around, then pulled it in a out. I looked back to watch my cock struggling to get further into my beautiful sister's mouth. Her hand moved, fingers slipping into the gaunchie gap, pulling and freeing my cock, letting more of it slip into her. My gorgeous sister tilted her head and pulled, filling her mouth with my cock. I pushed, and pushed and pushed.

A minute later, on the verge of coming, I pulled out.

Scrambling around, I kneeled behind her, pushed my gauncies down to my knees, dipped my hand in the bowl and cupped a liberal amount of oil all over my cock which seemed ready to explode. Wasting no time, I pushed down and lined it up with the nickel sized hole and struggled to push it in.

Oh, god, the moans. You wouldn't believe the way she moaned. As soon as I started shoving it in. She loved it. I thought my mother liked getting fucked in the ass but my sister was made for it. I knew on the third stroke, when I was able to get fully inside her, that my sister would never deny me, that I would have a woman's ass for the rest of my life.

I leaned over her head and grabbed her wrists, resting my face in the crook of her shoulder.

"I love you," I whispered.

"I know," she whispered back.

I slipped my hands back to tilt her head up, gently stoking her throat.

"I love you," I repeated.

"Then show me," she said hoarsely

I did my level best.

When I finished and we were gasping for breath, we noticed Mom sitting on the couch. We hadn't seen her come in. I was was surprised at Wendy's muted reaction.

"The kids are sleeping," Mom said. Wendy nodded.

"Do you feel better?" Mom asked. Wendy nodded again.

"Let's go upstairs to my bed. I need him now."

Mom and I went at it while Wendy had a shower. She joined us just as I rolled off Mom.

"You have to get up and to go your own bed before the kids get up," Mom warned.

Wendy nodded, looking at my long, flaccid cock lolling around on my stomach.

Seeing where her daughter was looking, Mom laughed and said, "Don't worry. Knowing him, you'll wake up with it in you before dawn."

I did wake before dawn. My cock was embedded in a warm, wet mouth. My sister's mouth. She finished what she'd started the night before and kept sucking long enough to get me to half mast again. Then she quickly kissed me and lay between Mom and I with her face on the mattress, ass in the air.

"Fuck me," was all she said.

As it turned out, Mom took the kids to the fair so my sister and I could fuck our brains out the next afternoon. Wendy left late, and she was back every weekend for the next few months.

We didn't manage to save Wendy's marriage. She didn't have an affair with that guy, or anyone else, but she and Don were divorced within the year. All Wendy's doing. Nobody thought anything of it when she moved back home to stay with her mother. 


And brother.

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It looked like Grant's story was done. I was ready for a new story now so I picked up one from a new guy named Gerry that Dad had marked with a yellow sticky note that Dad had drawn a star on. Something he thought was special, I guess.

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It looked like Grant's story was done. I was ready for a new story now so I picked up one from a new guy named Gerry that Dad had marked with a yellow sticky note that Dad had drawn a star on. Something he thought was special, I guess.

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I sent this letter after hearing about your group even though it's about my Aunt Janice. Aunt Janice is my Mom's younger sister by about five years but you can definitely tell they're sisters. Janice has darker hair than my Mom's lighter red, almost blonde color but they're quite similar other than that. Both women are pretty and have slim figures that are well endowed for their frames which makes their waists seem narrower than they really are.

Aunt Janice lived alone with her son. Mervin was slow and men just didn't want to be tied up with him even though she would make some guy really happy, at least that's what I overheard my mom once say to my Dad. Mom went on to say that her sister had given up on men, considering them more trouble than they were worth, and certainly not worth the disruption they caused in her and Mervin's life. So my Aunt and my cousin lived alone in the city.

Mervin was different. He was quite slow, always had been, but he was also very good natured and happy. He was a nice kid to be around but he had some odd behaviors which we tolerated as family but Aunt Janice's men friends couldn't handle it, just Mervin's father who had run off so many years ago.

I always liked it when Aunt Janice came out from the city to visit us but I wasn't all that thrilled when Mom suggested I stay with her while I went to college instead of commuting fifty miles a day. It would save gas money, be cheaper than living in the dorms, and help Aunt Janice out, Mom said. I couldn't really argue. Mom's mind was made up.

So I ended up staying with Aunt Janice and Mervin in the big old house that Mom and she had grown up in. It was one thing to visit, another to live together. I wasn't happy. That is, until I discovered that several nights a week Aunt Janice changed into turtle neck shirts in the evening, with nothing underneath.

The best part came when I found out why Aunt Janice, or just Janice as she now insisted I call her, preferred this kind of clothing. I had started to fantasize that she was flirting with me since she didn't dress like that when she was out during the day. I remembered Mom saying it wasn't healthy her shunning men for so long. Maybe she was lonely, and being in close proximity to someone more manly than Mervin was affecting her. But alas, my nigh time fantasies were just that, dreams.

We had been watching Mervin's favorite show on TV after a nice roast chicken dinner, with mashed potatoes and mashed turnips and carrots, a favorite of mine. Mervin was ready for bed, dressed in his pajamas, which he had to do or he couldn't watch his show. I had put on pajamas too at Aunt Janice's request so Mervin wouldn't make a fuss. During the last half hour of the show, Mervin shocked me by turning to his Mom as soon as the commercials started and touching her breasts.

Though stunned, at first I stared as he playfully poked at her loose breasts, but then I became embarrassed and looked away when Aunt Janice's face reddened as she pushed Mervin's hands away.

"Mervin," she whispered, "we talked about this. Now stop it."

Mervin laughed and batted at her ample breasts, giggling when they jostled about. He was focused on a new toy and I knew Aunt Janice's protests were futile, as I'm sure she did too. Nevertheless, she kept trying to keep her son at bay.

"Mervin. It's not polite to play this game in front of guests." Aunt Janice whispered intensely but quietly and directly to Mervin, reminding her son of a pact they had made but also trying to keep it between themselves. But I overheard.

Mervin's pestering stopped as soon as his show started again and he showed no further interest in his mother's assets. But I did. I couldn't help looking out the corner of my eye at Aunt Janice sitting on the couch between us. Looking at her chest, that is. I tried to be circumspect but I think my aunt was aware of my attention. The two of us sat in uncomfortable silence while Mervin enjoyed his show.

During the next set of commercials, Mervin renewed his game. This time, I kept my eyes averted, which may have contributed to Aunt Janice's new tactic of silently suffering through his antics instead of fighting him off. Perhaps she figured this would draw less attention or he would lose interest. It was partially successful. Mervin giggled less but he still played with his mom's breasts, in a childish fashion, until his show started.

I couldn't help but notice, through sneaking peeks as we watched the TV, that Mervin may have been playing a childish game but Aunt Janice had reacted. Her chest was rising and falling more rapidly, possibly due to her displeasure about her son putting us in such an awkward situation, but the two now prominent points poking through her turtleneck suggested another explanation.

The implications turned over in my mind until Mervin's show ended and he began complaining about having to go to bed but Aunt Janice soon had him on his way with a promise to come upstairs and tuck him in. So after a quick hug for me, Mervin bounded up the stairs.

Aunt Janice turned sheepishly to me. "I'm sorry about that, Gerry. I've tried to make Mervin stop doing this but he doesn't understand. I never should have let him start but he was quite so a last year and it was the only thing that made him smile. I thought he'd tire of it, like everything else, but he hasn't yet."

"That's ok, Aunt Janice. I don't mind." I was still a little embarrassed, though mostly because I was still acutely aware of my aunt's chest, and the way it now seemed to fill her shirt so strenuously.

"No, it's not right. I'll speak to Mervin about it." Aunt Janice started to get up from the couch but I put my hand out to stop her.

"No, Aunt Janice. Mervin shouldn't be uncomfortable in his own home. It's ok with me and I won't say anything to anybody. It isn't their business." The intensity in my voice surprised me.

Aunt Janice relaxed and smiled. "You're such a good boy." She gave me a quick peck on the cheek and then a hug which I very much enjoyed, especially the feel of her loose breasts pressing against my left shoulder and breast. She pulled away and smiled again, "I told you to call me Janice." Then she was up and gone to tuck my cousin in bed.

I watched her walk away, for the first time noticing how her hips flared out from her narrow waist and how well the black material of her slacks molded over her still shapely buttocks.

Nothing happened the next night which was disappointing because I had been looking forward to it all day. Evidently Mervin only played this game during his favorite show, and it was on only three nights a week. I found this out the next night when the show came on and Mervin began to play as soon as the first set of commercials started.

At first, I kept my eyes averted but then turned to look. I thought Aunt Janice would be embarrassed or angry but she simply put her hand down by her side on the couch to grasp mine, squeezed it and smiled, her face wearing an apologetic expression, mouthing a silent, "Thank you."

I was surprised. My aunt clearly appreciated my effort to not disturb their life, at least, not to disrupt Mervin's life, and evidently felt slightly indebted. I lost my shyness in watching Mervin play. Over the next two sets of commercials, I openly watched as he giggled and pushed his mother's breasts around. In between, I even took longer glances at my aunt's breasts, not bothering to hide my looks. Aunt Janice didn't seem to notice but she must have been aware of my gaze.

During the last set of commercials, Mervin got a little carried away. In his excitement, he pushed his mom's breasts around quite roughly.

"Mervin," I rebuked my cousin loudly. "Be careful with your mom. Be gentle."

Surprised, Mervin immediately settled down and started to lightly nudge Aunt Janice's breasts instead of mauling them.

"That's better," I said. "It isn't fun for your mom if you play too hard."

I reached across Aunt Janice to pat Mervin on the shoulder but as I withdrew my hand he grabbed it and pushed it directly onto the breast nearest me. Shocked, my hand rested there a second or two before I tried to jerk it back but Mervin held it there, pressed tightly on her breast.

"Don't fight him, Gerry. It'll just make it worse." Aunt Janice's soft voice calmed the panic rising within me.

I relaxed and let my arm go limp. A few seconds later, Mervin pulled his hand off mine. I was about to pull my hand away when Aunt Janice said, "I hope you don't mind just playing along for a minute. He'll forget pretty quick."

Mind? Was she kidding? She had just asked me to touch her breast to make her kid happy. I was certainly happy to keep my hand there as long as she wanted, as long as I could. Mervin didn't pay any further attention to my hand but I didn't volunteer to remove it. Instead, I left it there, unmoving, as if it was frozen on my aunt's breast. When the show started its final segment, Mervin kept his hand pressed against the side of his mother's left breast, perhaps because mine was still resting on her right. So I kept mine there as the show played on.

After a few minutes, my hand 'thawed' and I became began to enjoy the fantastic sensation of my hand fitting like a glove over my aunt's tit and though I tried desperately not to move, my breathing nevertheless caused some motion. I turned to look at my aunt but this time she didn't meet my gaze. She just stared at the TV.

I too focused on Mervin's show. At some point, I became aware of something poking into my palm. Her nipple! Aunt Janice's tit was tightening under my loose grip and her nipple was stiffening into the tender skin of my palm. The tip of my cock tingled and excitement raged through me. I was just getting up the courage to react, to maybe squeeze her breast, when the show ended. Aunt Janice rose quickly and chased Mervin up to bed ahead of her. She didn't come back down that night.

The next two days passed as if they were epochs. I couldn't wait for Mervin's show to come on and yet I dreaded it too. What would I do if Mervin didn't invite me to play?

I waited anxiously for the first set of commercials to start and was crushed when Mervin seemed content to jostle his mother's breasts around on his own. He was gentle, providing me with no excuse to interject for his mom's protection. I was depressed through the next segment, wishing Mervin would get overexcited again during the second set of commercials.

But he didn't. He started quietly nudging Aunt Janice's left breast. My eyes wandered to the kitchen and I was about to get up to make some hot chocolate when I felt a tug on my arm.

"He doesn't want to play, Mervin," my aunt said. "Just play by yourself."

But Mervin, as always, was persistent, tugging harder on my arm.

"Mervin, leave him alone." Aunt Janice's voice grew stern.

Mervin ignored his mom and kept pulling at me. I turned toward Aunt Janice.

"You don't have to Gerry," she said, not looking at me.

"I don't mind, Aunt Janice," I replied, reaching over and depositing my hand lightly on her breast, half afraid she would push it away and half afraid she knew how eager I was to touch her.

Happy, Mervin continued lightly nudging his mother's breast, watching me for a minute but then losing interest. His hand went still as soon as his show started, barely brushing my aunt's breast. But I kept my hand resting heavily on Aunt Janice's breast and after a couple of minutes I let my hand change its shape until her tit was enclosed in my grasp, filling my hand. I turned to look at my aunt. She was staring at the TV.

Slowly, so slowly, I tightened my grip, applying the slightest pressure but still purposely squeezing my aunt's tit. Almost immediately, I felt her nipple poke into my palm. Using as much restraint as I could muster, I gently kneaded Aunt Janice's tit. At one point, she looked over at her son, who was oblivious and focused on the show. Satisfied, she returned her gaze to the TV. She didn't look at me.

I continued my subtle manipulation, relishing in the feel of her stiff nipple poking at my hand, and even began pushing my palm against it, bending it off to the side a few times as I pressed too hard. Aunt Janice never protested but she did look over to see if Mervin noticed twice more and then returned her eyes to the TV when she saw that he hadn't. My cock was rock hard by the time the show had ended. I was glad I'd worn my jeans and not changed into pajamas like the other nights. I felt a little guilty when the show ended and started to mumble an apology about getting carried away when she and Mervin stood up.

"Aunt Janice, I ..."

She leaned down and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek.

"You'd better call me Janice if you're going to do that," she whispered.

I was too stunned to reply and simply watched her body sway as she walked away, not able to focus on any particular feature. She didn't come back downstairs that night which both surprised and disappointed me.

The next night was Saturday. Mervin's show wasn't on until Monday but he was keen to watch another show. As usual, Aunt Janice asked him to get into his pajamas beforehand and asked me if I would help by doing the same, which I did. I wanted to be helpful in any way I could, hoping for a repeat of Friday night on Monday, which seemed an eternity away.

When I came downstairs, Mervin was already seated and sampling the snacks Aunt Janice had laid out on the coffee table. I sat down at the other end of the couch, leaving just enough room for my aunt. Munching on a cookie and sipping from one of the mugs of hot chocolate, my ear was tuned toward the kitchen, waiting for signs of Aunt Janice's imminent arrival. The show started while her seat remained empty. After several minutes and still no Aunt Janice, I noticed there were only two mugs on the table, the one untouched in front of Mervin, and mine. There had also been no sound from the kitchen. Deflated, I realized that my aunt was probably not joining us tonight.

Then I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Turning, I saw Aunt Janice dressed in flannel pajamas walking quietly toward us in bare feet. She stopped to turn off the kitchen and hallway lights leaving only the lamps on the tables at either end of the couch lighting the living room. My aunt looked so soft and feminine as she moved and my eyes stayed on her. She smiled at me as she negotiated the coffee table and sat down between us, the warmth of her thigh delighting me as it's softness pressed against mine.

Aunt Janice watched the show intently though she could hardly be more interested in its silliness than I. My eyes roamed over her pajamas, especially her chest. The flannel was soft, like her, but it performed a more capable job of confining her womanly assets than the turtlenecks Mervin, and now I, preferred. Still, the way her breasts rose and fell with her breathing managed to enthrall and I was surprised by my bold observation and her accommodation.

The commercials started and we all sat and watched. Mervin and his mother the TV, and I her. Nothing happened. Mervin knew this wasn't his special show but I almost sensed that Aunt Janice was waiting for something. Maybe it was just the tension in the air but I convinced myself it was so. During the last commercial before the show started again, I playfully nudged the side of my aunt's breast. She didn't respond but Mervin looked right away. Again, I bumped her breast but this time a little harder, visibly jostling it even through the cover of the thick flannel pajamas.

Mervin answered with a corresponding bump on the other breast. Several more bumps followed, accompanied by a couple of mild rebukes from my aunt, "Boys, boys."

When the show started a moment later, Mervin quit and glued his eyes to the TV but I kept my hand pressed to the side of Aunt Janice's right breast. As the show continued and Mervin's attention became ever more riveted, I opened my hand and slipped it further onto her breast, though still approaching from the side. My fingers cupped the underside, taking full measure of the weight of her meaty swell while my thumb coursed over the top of her stiffening nipple which I could just feel rising beneath the flannel.

"Boys and their toys," Aunt Janice sighed.

Mervin didn't seem to hear her, and she didn't look at either of us, but I read it as a signal that I was free to play. I wasn't shy about applying light squeezes to her tit and rubbing my thumb back and forth across her hard nipple though I tried not to attract Mervin's attention. I didn't want this to descend into a silly game. I wanted my aunt to enjoy my touch as the caress it was, to revel in it as much as I.

And so I changed the game. When the commercials started, I quickly slipped my hand away. Without a prompt to remind him, Mervin didn't renew his attack on his mother's breast. After all, this wasn't the special show to which his mother had limited him, probably so that she could control when his inappropriate behavior occurred.

But as soon as the show started and I could see Mervin immerse himself in it, I slipped my hand back onto my aunt's tit, quickly renewing my squeezes and rubs, and the slow dragging flicks of my thumb across her engorged nipple. I really wanted to fondle her other breast but I was afraid that Mervin would see and want to play too.

They say the grass is always greener on the other side of the hill and I guess the male exploring gene can't ignore the urge to find out if this is true. Anyway, I pushed my hand across to Aunt Janice's other breast, but higher up on the swell of her chest so I could slip in and hide under her flannel pajamas.

Aunt Janice didn't object. Ecstatic that I was able to touch her bare breast without censure, it wasn't long before I tried to slip my hand lower to feel her bare nipple. But the buttoned pajamas prevented me from reaching my goal. Slowly, so I wouldn't catch Mervin's attention, and tentatively, in fear of rejection from my aunt, I moved my hand to mid-chest and fiddled with the top button of her pajamas.

Time seemed to move in slow motion. Aunt Janice's beautiful chest swelled up and down under my hand with her breathing while my eyes were intensely tuned to any sign of attention or rejection. Finally, after an eon, the button slipped through and I felt the lapels loosen. Pulling my hand back a few inches, I immediately slid forward again, underneath, my hand gliding over soft, bare tit.

God. It was exquisite! To feel her turtleneck or pajama covered breasts was fantastic but this was truly divine. The rub of her stiff nipple in the crook between my thumb and finger, the tension of the skin covering her breast, were sensations I never wanted to end. Her tit seemed to throb in my hand. Oh, god. I closed my thumb and finger, pinching her nipple, rolling it between, pulling it back toward me. Fuck, this was so hot. I wanted Mervin to leave. When would this show end? No, it couldn't end. Aunt Janice would go upstairs to bed, like she always did. Please don't end.

The commercials started and I had to stop, though I was reticent to do so. They seemed to drag on forever, probably because it was the mid-show set at the half hour but they went on and on. Mervin never noticed that his mother's shirt was open at the top. He watched the commercials intently. I focused on more important concerns. Could I get another button undone? How could I get Aunt Janice to stay downstairs? 

Just before the commercials ended, I turned off the lamp beside me. Aunt Janice kept her eyes on the TV, as she had all along, but Mervin quickly looked and then turned his lamp off too.

"Like the movies," he laughed.

Seconds later, under cover of darkness broken only by the flickering light of the TV, I slipped another button undone. Although I was by no means adept, Aunt Janice watched the TV as if nothing untoward was happening. I slipped my hand inside her shirt and had my way with her tits. I retreated during the next set of commercials but quickly resumed my attack until the show was over, doing up my aunt's buttons to cover my tracks near the end. I was glad the room was dark. My pajamas did little to hide my huge boner.

"Lights on, boys. Time for bed," Aunt Janice ordered, stretching and yawning. "Come on. Upstairs, Mervin."

I picked up the remote and displayed the movie listings as Aunt Janice and Mervin started up the stairs. "There's a good movie on," I said. "Do you want to watch it?"

"I'm going to bed," Aunt Janice replied.

"It's a chick flick," I called out.

"I'm too tired," she said, shuffling up the stairs behind Mervin.

Though momentarily crushed, elation soon returned. What an incredible night. I was sure I could repeat this Sunday night. No need to wait until Mervin's show. In fact, it would be better to avoid his show so I could play with Aunt Janice all on my own. I just needed to get her to stay downstairs after he went to bed.

I was watching the start of the movie and about to touch myself when I heard her coming down the stairs. Was she just getting some tea for bed? Had she forgotten something?

If my boner could have become harder, it would have. I was again glad for the darkness when Aunt Janice sat down on the couch, beside me. Not at the other end now that Mervin wasn't there, but right next to me.

"Is it any good?" she asked.

"Yeah. I think it's a good one," I answered, putting my arm behind her on the couch.

"I don't think I've seen this one," she said, nestling into the couch and even snuggling my way a bit.

I didn't answer. I didn't want to talk. I wanted her to settle in and watch, leaving me to my own interests. She seemed happy to do that and before I ventured to continue our little game, she reached behind her left shoulder and pulled my hand tighter around her neck, expelling a satisfied sigh as her eyes intensified on the screen. I slipped my free hand down to her front and began undoing her buttons, making no attempt to hide my action. I continued right away to the second and then, with a little trepidation, I unfastened the remaining buttons.

I stopped to enjoy the sight of her shirt completely undone, slightly parted all the way down the middle to reveal her skin underneath in the flickering light. She lay there waiting, chest rising and falling smoothly, moving in concert with the smooth oval of her navel riding on her small but almost forty tummy. I slipped my hand inside.

Within five minutes I pushed the pajama lapels back, exposing her breasts in the twilight, nipples stabbing up, reaching for more of the twisting, pulling, rubbing attention that they had experienced more of in the last two hours than in the previous ten years. Her only move in response to my lowered head was to stretch her neck up and to the side so she could keep watching the movie. I sucked her nipple in, a long worshipping suck, squeezing it against the roof of my mouth and then pushing it out with my tongue. Oh, the sweet sound of my aunt's moan, the exciting sense of her acceptance.

I sucked and sucked her tits, right through the commercials. Her eyes closed when the commercials started and didn't open when the movie started again. Eventually, while sucking her nipple deep into my mouth, I let my hand wander down over her tummy, over her deep navel, and onto her flannel pajama bottoms. I followed the dip into her pelvis and then the rise of her pubic mound. Resting my hand there, unable to proceed further because of her tightly closed legs, I let her tit fall from my mouth, leaving only a fine strand of saliva to connect us.

"Open," I whispered.

Her thighs squeezed tighter and her knees rose as her toes pushed her heels up from the floor, tensing the muscles in her legs.

"Open," I gently commanded.

Slowly, she relaxed, her pelvis seeming to spread but her legs didn't open.

I waited, patiently, my hand poised above her closed crotch. I remained silent.

Like creaking doors to an ancient tomb, her thighs gradually parted. I didn't move until they stopped and then slowly, confidently, I pushed my hand over her mound and pressed my fingers into the damp flannel covering her pussy.

Aunt Janice moaned loudly. My mouth closed over her tit and sucked her nipple hard, pulling it deep into my mouth. My hand began to move, following an oval path, tracing her pussy lips, fingers pressing, rubbing. Little by little, I increased my pace, following the same ground, pressing in harder, pushing the wet flannel between her pussy lips, pressing the heel of my hand down hard onto her clit. Soon, I was rubbing her aggressively and she was moving her hips frantically, thrusting against my hand, thighs clenching, moaning loudly.

I dropped her tit from my mouth and tried to kiss her but she was too far gone. I hugged her, pressing my cheek to hers as her arms flew around my shoulders, pulling me tightly to her, incredibly tight. Her legs were now clamped around my hand and my movements were pulling her whole pelvis around. I could feel her fucking her pussy at me, desperately seeking release. Finally, it came, in one long spasm that I thought would break my wrist. Then she fell, limp into the couch, almost like she had passed out.

The movie continued. My breath, and hers, returned to normal. I alternated between listening to her breathing, to the movie, and for any signs from upstairs that would signal we had disturbed Mervin.

Aunt Janice didn't speak. Was she waiting for me to go so we wouldn't have to face each other? Perhaps, but I didn't want to leave. She was so beautiful, laying there, her shirt apart, breasts heaving and nipples still hard, legs open with my hand flopped between, draped over her covered pussy. Aunt Janice kept her eyes closed.

I was still incredibly horny. My cock was super hard, pushing up against my pajamas hard enough to form a circus tent. I looked down at my hand and slowly dragged it up, over her now wet flannel. She pulsed against me as my hand scraped by, still sensitive. My palm reached the bare skin of her tummy, followed by my fingers. I paused there, loving the feel of her warm skin.

Then, abandoning the course I originally intended to pursue, to play with her breasts, I slipped my hand downward again, but this time my fingers dug underneath the flannel pajamas and moved quickly across her increasingly warm skin, over her wet mound and back to its original position, cupping her pussy.

"No," my aunt whispered.

I didn't move.

"No," she repeated.

I twiddled my fingers, just barely.

"Don't," she said, more quietly.

My fingers continued to move, gently, slowly, inserting themselves between her soaked lips. Moving, rocking, side to side and just a little bit up and down.

There was no sound from my aunt.

More quickly now, my fingers loved her pussy, taking command, not afraid of the squishy liquid sounds that rose above the low, approving moans now emanating from Aunt Janice's throat.

There was no objection when my fingers first dug inside, exploring the wet, pink hole within. I pressed my lips down to her mouth. This time, her face reached toward me, her arms encircling my neck to pull me down. Her body arched up in ecstasy as my tongue filled her mouth and my fingers dug further inside her pussy. She went rigid as my hand began moving, my fingers frigging her cunt.

When the kiss ended, she slumped back into the couch, surprising me when her eyes opened, looking up first to my excited face and then down to my equally excited cock poking up beneath my pajamas. My aunt reached across with her left hand, squeezed under the elastic of my pajamas, and took hold of my almost bursting hardon. Her wild eyes returned to my face as her hand began jerking my meat, demanding a response, her small fist closing tightly over my shaft. Quickly, we both increased our pace, panting loudly, gasping for air, somehow matching our strokes. I twisted my torso, slipping my cock between her tits, her hand still yanking as my spurts burst onto her chest, splashing on her neck and the bottom of her jaw. I groaned, only dimly aware that she was moaning too, cumming for a second time.

We kissed, and hugged and nuzzled for awhile. Nothing was said. We just stayed close. After awhile I got up and we both walked upstairs, holding hands, and went to our respective beds.

The next night, after Mervin went to bed, Aunt Janice came downstairs to watch a movie with me again. I had turned the lights off, which Mervin hadn't copied me on this time, and was waiting, my eyes on the TV. I was surprised when she sat down next to me, right beside me again, but wearing a full length robe. What was this?

As Aunt Janice started to watch the movie, I tentatively moved my hand to her robe, a little unsure of myself. But she didn't object as I tugged the belt loose and I almost cried aloud in glee when I parted the robe and found my aunt beautifully naked underneath. The unkempt bush that I had assaulted so long the night before was now neatly trimmed and I couldn't help ignoring her tits and moving directly there to cup her bare pussy in my hand. She laughed, amused by my eagerness, my lack of guile.

"Like that, do you?" she asked huskily, smiling as her hand reached into my pajamas, slipping over my head and down my rigid shaft.

My head lowered to suck her tit into my mouth as my hand rubbed her pussy. In response to her long, sighing moan, I whispered, "Like that, do you?"

After that, we were busy. Her stroking, me stroking, me sucking. After she came, I continued to kiss and suck her nipples, my outstretched hand having never left her pussy. Her hips once again began to react in time to my digging fingers and my own cock reached toward her chest, as if in anticipation of last nights spillage through her tits. Aunt Janice used her free hand to pull my pajamas down over my hips and ass to my thighs. I twisted more toward her, reaching toward her breasts but was surprised when she ducked down and took me into her mouth.

I couldn't help thrusting. In and out. It looked a little uncomfortable for her but I couldn't stop and I was relieved when she adjusted herself to somehow accommodate me better. I pulled back suddenly when I felt I was about to explode, partly because I was afraid to loose a blast right into her mouth and partly because I didn't want this to end yet.

Looking down at my fingers shoved into her pussy, I used my free hand to push her leg up. Aunt Janice pulled her other leg back in a matching movement. I dropped my hand down to manipulate her clit while I continued pushing the other in and out of her, working further and further inside her slippery lips. Soon, I hand several fingers inside her cunt and Aunt Janice had closed her eyes. She was holding her legs back, hands behind her knees, to keep herself spread and open for me.

Looking down, a new idea popped into my head. Kneeling against the couch, I lowered myself until my cock was near but I didn't move until I suddenly pulled my fingers out of her pussy, grabbed my cock and quickly shoved it into her cunt. Her eyes flew open as I pushed into her surprisingly tight channel. She was tight deep inside. When was the last time she'd been fucked?

She didn't say anything to stop me. I was already in, after all, but I knew she hadn't wanted things to go this far. But she didn't say no or don't or anything, or even try to impede my progress. It was just the look on her face.

That changed after I finally got all the way in and started to fuck her. She closed her eyes again and I could tell she really loved it. I sped up and really had at her until I felt like I was about to come. Slowing, I pulled out and twisted her to lay lengthways on the couch, more comfortable for her, then pushed her legs back and tilted her ass up toward me, entered and again really started down on her. Our first incredible fuck. I slowed to a stop several more times before having at he again until eventually I loosed my seed inside her with a huge gasping groan.

After recovering, I gathered her robe about her and pulled on my discarded pajamas, turned off the TV and followed Aunt Janice up the stairs. She seemed to understand when I followed her into her room. She simply closed the latch she used so Mervin couldn't wake her up too early in the morning. When she came out of the bathroom I was laying on my back in the middle of her bed, cock standing straight up. That faint smile played across her lips as she walked calmly toward the end of the bed, climbed on and walked deliberately forward on her knees, straddling me until she was poised above my cock. Her smile widening only sightly, she lowered herself down, slipping like a tight glove over my cock.

I fucked Aunt Janice every night for the next two weeks. She was the most awesome woman I had ever been with in my short sexual career by a long, long shot.

Then my Mom came for an unannounced visit. 




The Mom Memories Ch. 18
byalwayswantedto©

All characters are 18 years or older.

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I'm sorry it's been so long since I've distributed any new letters. Things have changed significantly in my life. As I said in my last letter, I was and still am put off by my mother's sluttish behavior with Paul. Her original involvement, purportedly to instigate a relationship between Paul and his own mother, shifted into a seduction for her own pleasure and then sunk to a mutual exploration of depravity.

I began to avoid my mother and, since I wasn't home much, neglected to pass out the stories I know you appreciate and I love reading. After several weeks, I succumbed to a morbid curiosity to see what Mother and Paul had now lowered themselves to. Returning to the study, I reviewed the recordings which had filled my hard drives and finally quit a week earlier.

There was still enough to see but I won't describe it. I expected a progression along the path I had witnessed earlier but I was still unprepared for the debauchery displayed before me. Usually, I extracted the juicy bits and burned them onto DVDs for later viewing pleasure, but this time I deleted it all. To make it worse, I knew I had missed an entire week of recording that was probably even more sickening.

In the depths of my depression, watching my mother perform gross acts with Mary's demanding, user son, it slowly dawned on me that the recordings in the basement suite were devoid of sexual activity. True, there were a few occasions when Paul tried to have it off with his mother but she rebuffed him every time. And these incidents were few and far between. Not only was Mary avoiding her son, she wasn't allowing him to sleep in her bed either.

As I scanned through the almost two weeks of recordings I became more and more excited, realizing that Mary was giving her son the cold shoulder just as I was shunning my mother. I won't say my spirits soared but they were certainly lifted.

Did she suspect an affair between Paul and my mother? I remembered her looking at Mom's closed door as she passed, at her surprise when she once encountered Paul in the hallway while on her way to look after my Dad. She was aware of Paul's appetite and she knew about me and Mom. She had to know, if only in her heart.

This was the chance to renew my pursuit of this woman for whom I had grown so fond. She had put me off because, in her own words, she couldn't deny her son. Well, now, of her own accord, she was.

I deleted all the recordings currently stored on the computer and shut down the monitoring programs. I no longer wanted to witness my mother's lewd behavior and the thought of invading Mary's privacy now appalled me. Memories of my previous violations filled me with intense guilt.

Late that afternoon, just before Paul was due to arrive home, I asked Mary if she would like to accompany me to the store while I picked up a few things. She seemed to jump at the chance and I realized how much she now wanted to avoid her son as much as possible.

Our excursions to the local mall became a habit, as did mid-afternoon snacks alone with Mary. I sacrificed a course for that, skipping an afternoon class for over a month. But soon, I was able to restore our previous relationship to the point where she didn't pull away when I held her arm to guide her to the car, or took her hand when we stopped to walk in the park, even letting me circle her waist with my arm.

We talked about anything and nothing, but eventually, one day, broached the topic of my mother and her son. She was surprised when I voiced my suspicions, not by the suspicion itself, but that I held it. She clearly hadn't thought that I might be aware.

She confessed that she now found it difficult to be around her son and she was somewhat disgusted with his manipulative behavior. If she knew what I did, disgust would be a mild word. She was impatient for Paul to finish school and was thinking about finding another job and moving away. I was alarmed. I couldn't lose her now. I'd follow her and leave Paul here with my mother. Jokingly, I suggested the idea, that she and I run away. Surprisingly, she didn't laugh it off quickly, didn't even seem to take it as a joke as first. Could it happen? Would she actually go away with me?

Before I could pursue the thought, Paul arrived and shortly after that, my mother. It was distasteful watching them pretend their distant relationship through dinner for our benefit, knowing how frenzied and soily their coupling could be. I couldn't stop the images of my mother's upturned face awaiting the first splash of Paul's cum, of her panting and wailing while multiple vibrators worked away, anticipating his approach. Or Paul, having himself learned the joy of feigned captivity, strapped to the bed, craving my mother's own delayed attack, relishing her inevitable pounce onto his face, clutching his head between her thighs while she ground her naked pelvis back and forth across his shameless grin.

Turning to look at me, a slight smile briefly shaped Mary's beautiful mouth. When father's alarm sounded, mother and Paul almost tripped on each other to respond to the call, insisting that Mary and I stay put, that it was their turn. As they left the kitchen I wondered if she would raise her dress to tease him on the way up the stairs, if he would manage to get inside her before she could reach the landing. Or could she hold him off until he shoved her forward onto all fours on the carpet in the hallway, inserting his cock and flattening her to her tummy, pulling her head back and roughly pushing his fingers into her mouth, whispering lewd fuck words and thrilling in their illicit escapade with us just downstairs, the very thought bringing them both close to orgasm.

Or would my mother lead him into my father's bedroom, pulling him as she fell across the bed, over my Dad's knees, as Paul took her roughly from behind, the way I'd taken her, once thinking it was my idea. Oh yes, she'd love that. Making him watch, hoping that he could still see and still understand. I'm sure she kept the monitor on for father to see when she allowed Paul to demean her in her own bed, to deface her with his spunk, again and again.

I asked Mary if she would accompany me to a movie. We left before they came downstairs. In the theater, Mary allowed me to put my arm around her and snuggled close. We kissed like teenagers. Strangely, I didn't want any more than her sweet lips. It was Mary that pulled my hand over her breast, that pressed my palm tight until I could feel her stiff nipple underneath.

It seemed natural when I slid my hand under her cardigan sweater to rest on her hip as we walked toward the car. Before I could open the door, she turned to put her arms around my neck, pulling me down for a long kiss.

"I wish they wouldn't be there," she said, "that we could be alone."

She kissed be on the lips then, a brief kiss, before stepping back for me to open her door. I fumbled a bit but not too much. On the drive home, Mary stayed on her side of the car but her arm stretched out along the back of the seat so her fingers could play with the hair at the base of my neck.

She urged me to pull over just before we reached our driveway. Sliding over as soon as I put the car in park, we enjoyed a long, passionate kiss. When our lips parted, Mary pulled my hand down between her legs. Not right up, but I could still feel the heat emanating from her.

"I only want to be with you," she said earnestly, pulling my hand right up, turning it to cup her V tightly. "I'll never be with him again. With anyone. Only you."

She kissed me again. A shorter kiss this time, then slid over to the door.

"Let's go home," she said.

I spent as much time as I could with Mary after that. We spoke of how she and I would leave at the end of the school year. It was my last year and we decided we couldn't wait until Paul finished. She would send money for him and I would find a job.

All that changed when my father died.

My father's death had unexpected effects. For one thing, my mother unraveled. This was truly a great surprise. She simply lost her spark, as if her reason for being, the focus of her anger, had ceased to exist. It happened quickly. She seemed so shocked that I had to make all the funeral arrangements. Still, I thought this was a temporary problem or even, now a little wiser about what my mother was capable of, a sham.

But it wasn't. After the funeral, mother disappeared upstairs and rarely came down. I had expected her to give Mary her walking papers and had been readying myself to leave as soon as she dismissed my new love. After all, we didn't need a live-in nurse now that Dad was gone. But nothing happened.

I thought then that there must be some of contract whose term was due soon enough that mother was just letting it run out but that proved not to be the case. Querying mother one morning while bringing her breakfast, she became angry insisting that Mary stay, that she needed her and she wouldn't allow me to get rid of her. Her shouting embarrassed me into explaining what had happened to Mary lest she think I really was trying to terminate her employment.

As mother deteriorated, Mary provided more and more care, eventually looking after her much as she did my father. Soon, I had run out of cash and Mary confided to me that she hadn't been paid since father had passed away but had nevertheless been buying all the groceries from her savings.

One afternoon, I came home to find mother and Mary both waiting for me with another woman in a business suit, a lawyer. Papers were presented and signed and I found myself in sole possession of power of attorney over my mother's affairs.

I knew we had never lacked for anything but I was surprised by how much my parents were really worth. I couldn't help losing interest in school despite how close I was to finishing but Mary insisted I put my nose to the grindstone and finish well. I did as I was told.

And so life went on this way. Mary looked after mother, mother seemed to get better for a while, but then began a slide to the worse. Mary went to her own bed each night, alone. We were like a middle aged platonic couple.

Paul was hardly around. Clearly there was no sex to be had in this house. He came in late, often drunk, and once or twice tried to sneak an equally inebriated girl in with him but his mother put a firm stop to that. Not surprisingly, as soon as the school year ended Paul announced he was taking a construction job up north and was gone the next day.

For all intents and purposes, Mary and I were alone.

Nothing happened right away. There was no fervent sex the first night. Tension seemed to seep out of the house slowly. We came together through a thousand small intimacies. A smile or mutual laugh at some enjoyed moment while watching TV, quietly sipping wine and reading our own books while sitting on separate couches, longer and gentler kisses goodnight.

It wasn't until my mother was so far gone that we had to put her into extended care that Mary let me closer. That very first night I kissed her goodnight, longing for her to stay, trying my best to make her linger, to no avail. She turned toward the stairs that led to the downstairs suite, her hand trailing out behind, still grasped my mine trying desperately to keep her for a moment longer, dreading the inevitable break and widening gulf when she finally pulled away.

But her hand held me tight and I was pulled, stumbling forward as Mary refused to let me go. One step, two, even a third before my fuzzy mind realized that this gorgeous woman was taking me downstairs, with her, to heaven.

I thought about telling you about what happened ... for about two seconds. I would have rushed upstairs before, tripping in my haste to reach the computer to spill the beans, but now I know better. We didn't have sex, we made love. What happened, and will happen, is for us only.

So, I'll send a few more letters, but then I'm done.

Goodbye.

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Hi. My name is Marilyn. I know this is supposed to be a group for men sharing memories of their mothers but I found out about you -- I won't say how -- and I want to tell you about my son. You can do what you want with the letter. I just need to tell someone to get it off my chest, and I can't talk to anyone else about this.

Nathan is almost finished high school, something he's longed for, but the closer it comes, the more unhappy he seems. His father wants him to work for him, to learn the business and work his way up so one day he can take it over. I think this is the source of the problem. Nathan isn't a salesman type. He's bookish.

Three years ago, I found out about an affair between Mark and a woman that works for one of his big customers. We had a big fight and Mark promised to end it, but I'm pretty sure he has had flings before and now that some time has passed he's at it again. I can't be sure but I think Nathan knows about the affair because he drew away from his dad right after that and hasn't been close ever since.

Anyway, I think Nathan is afraid of confronting his father about his future and he's becoming more and more depressed the closer the time comes. And that time will arrive as soon as school ends.

So, what does that have to do with a group like yours?

Well, my heart goes out to my son and I've found myself trying to console him. If Mark is out at night, which he often is, Nathan will sit alone watching a movie. He hardly ever goes out with his friends anymore. If Mark is home, Nathan will disappear into his room but he always comes out if Mark leaves. It's clear he's just avoiding his father. In an effort to get him to talk, I've been joining Nathan whenever he's downstairs watching a movie and once even followed him to his room to chat while he surfed the net.

That was all well and fine, but the other night I had was surprised to find that although Mark was leaving for a meeting right after supper, Nathan went to his room anyway. Before he left, Mark said, "Marilyn, see if you can find out what is going on with that kid." Nathan's behavior was indeed obvious if his father noticed so I knew I had to do something before things came to a head.

I cleaned up the dishes and went upstairs. For some reason, I balked at Nathan's door and went on to my own room. I decided that I needed to relax before talking to my son, so I had a long shower. Putting on my soft, pale blue motherly robe, I walked slowly to Nathan's room, cocking my head to swing the hair out of my face and onto my back and straightening my shoulders before knocking. I didn't wait, I went right in.

He wasn't there.

Momentarily confused, I left and approached the main bathroom. The light shone through the slightly open door. Pressing my face near the opening, I quietly called Nathan's name. No answer. Cautiously, I opened the door just enough to peek into the bathroom, ready to pull back quickly in case he wasn't presentable.

He wasn't there.

Walking slowly downstairs, I was thinking Nathan had gone out and I'd missed my chance for a private talk but as I descended the stairs, I could see him slouched down in the middle of the couch, facing away from me toward the TV. All the downstairs lights were off and the living room flickered with each scene change on the television.

Quietly, I approached my son. He wasn't aware of my presence until I leaned over the back of the couch and folding my arms around him in a big hug, my damp hair falling past my ears to drape over his shoulder and onto his chest.

He was startled just enough to spill some of the popcorn from the bowl he held in his lap.

"It's so dark in here, it's like going to the movies," I remarked on the sanctuary quality the almost darkness shed on our living room, like the semi-privacy people sought in theaters.

"Yeah," he replied, providing no further explanation.

"Do you want some more popcorn?" I asked, noting that the bowl in his lap was almost empty.

"Yeah, that'd be great."

I left to make more popcorn, but not before I noticed that Nathan was also dressed in a robe and he was naked except for the pair of shorts underneath the bowl in his lap. While I made the popcorn, I puzzled about why I had noticed that, and why the term 'naked' had popped into my head. Anyway, before I joined Nathan, I was careful to turn out the kitchen light.

"Can I watch your movie, too?" I asked as I rounded the end of the couch and plopped down beside him. Nathan was still sitting in the middle and didn't move over so our thighs touched. I had room to move away but I didn't.

"Oh, sure mom."

I held out the new bowl of popcorn but before Nathan could pass me the empty one I grabbed it and slid it across his lap, setting the full one into its place. I hadn't meant to drag the bowl across my son's shorts but I was aware of what I was doing when I actually did it and that I could have lifted it before pulling it away. I was even more aware that the bowl hadn't moved across an even surface. I blushed and turned to watch the movie as Nathan grabbed the new bowl.

"Is it good?" I asked, looking at the TV.

"Yeah," he replied in his usual, offhand way.

We watched in silence, Nathan concentrating on the movie and I trying to think of some way to engage him in a conversation that would let me find a way to help him deal with his worries about the future.

I couldn't think of anything so I just watched the TV and picked at the popcorn. During one of these reaches for a handful of popcorn, I noticed Nathan glance at me. I'm right handed and, since he was sitting to my left, I had to twist that way, an action that forced a gap in my robe. I was shocked. Nathan was looking into my robe!

His eyes flicked to the TV as I drew back. I acted like I hadn't noticed his look. Had he? Had he really looked? Now I wasn't sure. I finished my handful of popcorn quickly and reached for another, this time twisting in an exaggerated fashion so my robe would gap more than necessary. I could sense his eyes straying down to seek my cleavage.

I can't explain what I did then. I turned my head toward the TV, feigning a sudden interest in what was transpiring there, leaving my robe open while I held my hand in the bowl, allowing my son a long look, knowing he must be able to see the whole inside of my right breast as it hung freely from my chest.

Could he see my nipple? I remember thinking that as I continued watching the movie. I can still feel the tingle that thought sent through me. Would a young man my son's age be interested in a woman's breasts, a woman my age? Evidently. I had just passed forty but despite my husband's wandering eyes, I still attracted my share of attention from the opposite sex. But I was Nathan's mother, not just an older woman.

Eventually, I had to sit back but I took very little popcorn so only a brief moment later, I was back. Again, I seemed distracted by the movie and took longer than usual to retrieve even a small handful of popcorn, digging deeper in the bowl before finally filling my need. As I sat back to feed, I smiled to myself. I wasn't quite sure what I was up to but I felt good and the thought of my son sneaking peeks at my breasts excited me. A strange tingle traveled up and down my limbs and my breathed shortened. As I watched the movie, I shrugged my shoulders as if trying to ease stiff muscles but I was really trying to loosen my robe. Good grief, Marilyn, I thought. What are you up to?

I couldn't help myself. My robe hung loosely from my shoulders as I leaned forward further than before in search of more popcorn and I could feel my unkempt breasts sway with my movements. I searched for popcorn for so long that an independent observer would consider my behavior odd if not brazen. But Nathan didn't object. I kept fishing about in the bowl until the commercials started. Only then did I sit back.

After a minute, I asked Nathan if I should make more popcorn though the bowl was still almost half full. I reached over to grasp the bowl but Nathan held on to it tightly, keeping it in place.

"No, Mom," he cried, "there's still lot's left."

I laughed. "But we might run out before the commercials start again," I argued, tugging on the bowl.

Nathan didn't say anything but he held the bowl firmly in place and seemed agitated. Suddenly, clarity speared into my mind. He wasn't worried about popcorn. He needed to keep that bowl in place lest it reveal the effect of his observations and my seemingly innocent help with his spying. I relented and we sat in awkward silence waiting for the movie to start again.

While we waited, I toyed absently with the belt on my robe. Although I hadn't originally intended to, I found myself pulling the knot apart, surreptitiously, so as not to attract Nathan's attention. Why was I being so secretive? I argued to myself that I needed to get Nathan to talk, to confide in me so I could help him, and to do that I needed his attention. This was hogwash, and wrong, but I wasn't thinking clearly and didn't hold this ridiculous rationalization up for serious critical review. At some level, I knew I was being bad but I was enjoying myself and needed an excuse to continue a little longer.

Self doubt disappeared as soon as the movie started and, almost as if it was expected, I leaned forward to get more popcorn. Arching my back, I fished around in the bowl, my breasts stretching breasts up and out, knowing full well that my untied robe afforded Nathan a wonderful sideview of my bare breast. He should now certainly be able to see the swell of my right breast as it departed my chest and swept up toward my covered nipple. In no hurry, I repeated my distracted fishing expedition in the popcorn bowl, shamelessly digging and scratching longer and harder for my prey, knowing the painful thrill that each scrape of my fingers along the bottom of the bowl sent to my son.

I knew that my robe had parted along my thighs and though my nipples were still covered, the robe was open all down the front, exposing my tummy and the top of my panties. I held my position for as long as I could, blushing when I realized that Nathan must know by now that I was letting him look. What other explanation could there be? I drew away with a handful of popcorn, letting my hand fall along the outside of my leg, brushing the robe away and baring my thigh even more as I twisted back to settle into the couch.

Silently, I slowly munched popcorn, my robe covering my breasts but open down the middle, splaying to the sides of my legs to leave most of my thighs exposed. I felt like an actor in a lurid scene, that the movie wasn't playing on the television but here in our living room. Nathan wasn't looking at the TV. He was looking at me and though I didn't look at him I knew his eyes were on the valley between my breasts, rising and falling with the excited breathing that I couldn't quite suppress. Then they traveled further, over my belly and along the narrow strip of panties visible between through the gap in the robe.

I could feel myself warming there as his eyes lingered, betrayed by the cant of his head visible from the corner of my eye. As his eyes dwelled, I felt the urge to pull my robe together, to end this shocking hussy behavior. But instead, I slowly fed a few more kernels into my mouth, setting each one individually on my tongue and pulling it into my mouth. I could feel him tense beside me and this heightened the incredible sensation that was washing over me. I felt more seductive and desired than I had at any time in my life.

After sucking the last kernel into my mouth, I pulled both elbows tight to my sides and dragged on my robe as if drying my buttery fingers, bringing both hands down to my sides, parting the robe slightly more. I slouched down in the couch, pushing my legs out, opening my knees a little and thrusting my pelvis up. I felt a another rush go through me as my son's gaze slid from mouth, through my cleavage and over my tummy to my panties, briefly passing on to my knees and then back along my thighs to rest on my panties.

I gathered another small handful of popcorn without twisting around and we sat like that, Nathan staring at my body, and me pretending I was unaware, slowly popping single pieces of popcorn into my mouth while the warmth in my panties increased. Looking down along my body toward the TV, I could see that my pantied mound was swollen. I was more than ready for action and I could detect the faint aroma that would have signaled my pliant state to a more experienced partner. I had to put a stop to this, now.

When the commercials started, I sat up and turned toward my son.

"Nathan, I want to talk to you about your plans after school ends." I just blurted it out, surprising myself as much as he. He was taken aback and struggled for words. He looked away and I realized that in my haste, my robe had fallen wide open and completely off my left breast.

"Don't look away, Nathan. I want to talk to you. I know it's been bothering you."

I reached over to turn his face toward me but he resisted.

"But Mom," he protested, his eyes straying down to glance at my exposed tit and then away again.

"Don't worry about that. I'm your mother. It doesn't matter if you see me like that."

Nevertheless, I pulled the robe over to cover my breast.

"There, Mr. Prude," I laughed. "Now we can talk." I pulled his face toward me again, this time succeeding. "Now tell me. Are you planning on going away so you don't have to work for your father?"

Nathan's eyes widened.

"Don't look so surprised. Your father may not realize you don't want to work in the business but I'm your mother and I know what you're thinking."

His eyes widened even more, perhaps thinking that maybe I knew what he'd been thinking for the past half hour.

"I know you don't want to do what your father does," I added, mostly to assure him I was talking about what he was going to do this summer rather than our movie watching behavior, but also to avoid recognition that I was also aware of what had just transpired.

Nathan recovered himself, acknowledging that he was indeed worried about his father wanting him to work for him, that he didn't know how to tell him, and that he would probably do it rather than get into a fight, or leave.

Nonsense, I told him. "You have to stand up for yourself. This is your future."

"But you know how Dad is," he replied, turning his eyes down. "You know what he's like."

I did know. Mark was bellicose and persistent, rarely taking no for an answer. I noticed that Nathan was again looking at my left breast. Glancing down, I saw that the robe had fallen back and half my breast was exposed, the lapel clinging perilously to my nipple, partly distended from the rapt attention it had been receiving.

"I know," I sympathized, reaching out with my right hand to pull his head toward me and tilting it down so he could look without fear of being caught. "But this is your life. You can't just give in."

I raised my left hand to cup his cheek. I don't know if it was this action or the extra tweak my nipple felt from his renewed attention, but the robe fell away, leaving my left breast fully exposed.

"Mom ..."

He might have been trying to tell me but I cut him off.

"I'll help you. I'll talk to your father. I'll make him understand."

"Thanks Mom," he mumbled. I could tell he was barely listening to me, his attention elsewhere.

"But you have to promise me you won't take off after school's over."

I stroked the back of his head, keeping his gaze upon me though he needed no encouragement. As I lifted my right hand to stroke his hair, I could see that my right breast began to show itself too, poking out and hiding with each movement of my arm.

"Will you promise to stay home with me, no matter what happens?" I asked. As I said this, I realized just how important it was to have Nathan stay. My voice swelling with emotion, I pulled his face to my breast.

"Promise me," I asked. "Promise me," I demanded.

"I promise," his muffled voice came back.

I relaxed my arms. I had pulled Nathan tightly to me, pressing his face into my breast as the fear of losing him swept over me. As he pulled his head back, I realized that I had pulled his mouth right onto my bare breast, just above my extended nipple. His eyes were glued to it as he drew back, as if he'd never seen one before.

"It's important for you to stay," I reiterated, my voice charged with motherly emotion. "Your father hasn't been much of a companion these past few years. You know that, don't you."

Nathan nodded, his eyes still focused on my bare breast. He became aware that he was staring at my bare tit and tried to turn away, blushing.

"Mom ..."

"Don't worry about that. Don't let it bother you. It doesn't bother me." I pulled his head forward again, tilting his face toward me. "Will you stay?" I asked.

Nathan looked at my breast for a long minute, then turned his gaze up to hold my eyes. "I'll stay, Mom. I promise."

Love welled up inside me. I pulled my son to me and hugged him, kissed his cheeks and then kissed him on his lips, on his mouth. He was visibly shocked, but not horrified.

"Did that surprise you?" I asked, laughing.

"Yeah," he replied, laughing as well, nervously.

"Me too," I laughed.

Nathan laughed again, more relaxed this time.

"Let's celebrate with some wine."

I got up and rushed into the kitchen, opening a bottle of Merlot and bringing two glasses with me. Nathan had moved to the end of the couch so I set the glasses down on the table beside him and poured the wine. My robe was still untied and I made no effort to keep it closed as I filled the glasses, keeping my eyes on the wine so he could look if he wanted. When I finished I handed him a glass and, taking one myself, sat on the couch beside him, pulling my legs up and leaning my knees toward him.

"A toast to our pact," I said. "Us against Dad."

Clink. We sipped our wine.

"Oh, the movie's over," I observed.

"But another one's probably starting. Do you want to watch another?" Nathan asked.

"Yeah," I answered, parodying his typically disinterested response to my queries.

Nathan laughed and handed me the remote. "You pick," he said.

"You trust a mere woman to operate this?" I asked with feigned incredulity.

"Sure," he smiled.

I took the remote and pulled his arm over my shoulder, leaning further toward him as I flipped through the channels. Settling on a movie, I put the remote down and stretched across Nathan, turning my back so I was laying almost flat on my back with my head resting on the arm, facing the TV. My robe was still untied and open but it covered my breasts.

We watched in silence, not even speaking during the commercials. Nathan offered me a sip of his wine and I tilted my head forward to drink. As the movie progressed, we finished his glass and then the rest of mine but Nathan didn't refill either glass. My robe gradually fell open and though it didn't fall completely away, I knew that Nathan could probably see much of my breasts and probably the nipple on the left one.

I didn't care. My mind was in a strange place and I was thoroughly enjoying laying on my son's lap, partially naked, warmed by the glow of wine, and other things. I closed my eyes and stretched several times through the next set of commercials, and I knew the exact moment that the robe fell completely off my left breast. I kept my eyes closed but stopped stretching. I lay there, satisfied and happy that my son was looking at my naked breast, knowing that his eyes were sliding down my bare tummy to my panties. I could feel them resting there, caressing the mound pushing up under the now dampish cotton.

I was excited and it was all I could do not to touch myself. I could feel my son's rise, could feel the thickening expansion of the thing he'd been hiding under the popcorn bowl until it pressed between my shoulder blades. I shifted my back, pressing down, repeating several times as the movie continued. Sometime during before the next commercial break, Nathan rested his hand on my tummy and began stroking my hair with his other one. I kept my eyes closed, afraid to break the spell, loving the feel of his fingers as they moved in a small circle on my tummy, around my navel where it pouted up, just above my panties.

As the commercials ended I spoke, voicing a notion that had just occurred to me.

"You know, it might not be that bad to work with your Dad. You don't have to be him, you know. You could do it your own way. Maybe not at first, but eventually."

"Mom," Nathan's voice was equally quiet but stretched my name out into a long sound.

"He'd probably get you to take over the local stuff so he could focus on out of state sales. You know how he likes to travel, to be away from home."

Nathan's hand stopped. I wiggled my back, rubbing on his hidden fellow which hadn't retreated.

"That feels good. Don't stop."

Nathan's fingers began tickling my tummy again but in a wider circle. I don't know if he was following a new path because of the interruption or if he felt encouraged by my explicit acknowledgement of his caress and my appreciation of it. It didn't matter, it felt good, and so did the knowledge that I was clearly pleasing him.

"It might not be a bad idea for you to take on your father's responsibilities at home."

The movie started then and I turned my head toward the TV. The sound of my words echoed in my head. 'Take on your father's responsibilities at home'. I was talking about work but the words were loaded, especially in the current context. I smiled to myself. Was I in the twilight zone?

I was lost in my own thoughts for awhile, not sure what, but I suddenly became aware that Nathan's fingers had been traveling in an ever widening circle and he was now brushing over the top of my panties and pressing up against the bottom of my bare breasts, even nudging them up from my chest. I noticed that my right breast was bare now. Had he done that? He was hard in my back. Should I stop this? All I had to do was get up, say I was tired, and go to bed.

But I didn't. The commercials started again and I closed my eyes. His hand never paused, it kept up its loving caress over my tummy, scraping along the bottom swell of both breasts, dipping down to stroke along my waist, then up and over my panties, always above the rise to my mound but I could feel him there. Every time his fingers came close, it was almost as if he were touching me. Geez, I needed to stop this.

And then he began to caress my face. His fingers trailed across my forehead, draining any tensions held there, then down my cheek and across my lips and chin and around again, down to cross my neck but the next time across my lips again. It felt wonderful. I felt so sexy and I relished it. When was the last time a man had spent so much time trying to make me feel good?

I turned toward the TV at the sound of the movie starting again. My cheek pressed on Nathan's hand and his fingers curled around to cup my mouth. His fingers continued their caress on my torso. I closed my eyes as his finger nestled in to rest along the 'V' between my lips.

I must have dozed because when I opened my eyes again the movie was over and a different show was playing on the TV. Something felt strange. It was my mouth. Nathan's finger had bent and the tip was now in my mouth. Had I sucked it in or had he pushed it inside? I had no idea.

Then I had another shock. Nathan's fingers, the other ones, were still swirling around on my tummy. They were sliding up my waist toward the bottom of my breasts where they had been brushing by and as they approached, I felt myself tense in delighted anticipation. They came, pushed up against the weighty swell of my lower tit, then swept up and over, each finger brushing across my hugely distended nipple which flicked through them like a pick across the strings of a guitar.

Then his palm pushed my nipple over and slid down, rubbing through the valley between my breasts and up the slope onto my right tit where it replayed the same tune, strumming across that equally stiff nipple. As his hand slid down the cliff to my tummy his fingers dragged behind and just before they too slid over the precipice, they squeezed together and pinched my nipple, tugging it down before letting it spring back, vibrating like a stiff tong on a tuning fork. A matching feeling vibrated through me.

I had barely recovered my senses when I felt my son's hand brushing over my panties. It no longer seemed hesitant or afraid and continued its downward sweep until his fingers bumped across my puffy mound, pausing for a light squeeze when they fully covered my little mountain. I felt myself pulse against his cupping fingers and knew I was wet. Oh God! How long had this been going on?

I was in shock. I didn't know what to do. It would be so awkward to stop him now. I couldn't just get up and walk away. I would have to confront him about feeling me up. Unless he stopped. Yes. Maybe he'd quit and I could pretend to wake up and not know what had happened.

I lay still. His hand swept over me, teasing my nipples, squeezing and tugging, then down and over my panties, pausing to squeeze my mound, to feel me push back against him in appreciation, a reaction I couldn't stop. He moved his finger in my mouth when I did that and I couldn't help closing my lips and pressing my tongue along the length of his finger.

I don't know how many times I let him do that before I realized that he wasn't going to stop. He was eighteen and he had a half naked woman laying in his lap, letting him fondle her tits and stroke her panties. He wouldn't stop if we were hit by lightning. Only if his father came home. That would do it. Where the hell was Mark?

Another dozen circles. I was so very horny. This couldn't go on. I had to do something. As his hand dragged down my tit for the umpteenth time and approached my panties, I spoke.

"Nathan, what are you doing?"

His hand paused for only a second, and then continued.

"Taking on my home responsibilities," he replied calmly.

"Nathan, I didn't mean ..."

I didn't finish. Nathan's hand slid over my mound and squeezed. I pushed up against him. I just couldn't stop myself. Immediately, instead of going on as he had before, he pushed his hand down between my legs, cupping the entire front of my panties, then began rubbing quickly up and down, pausing to press in hard, then relaxing and starting to rub me again. My hips moved, rocking my pussy against my son's hand. When his hand paused to press against me, his thumb stretched up to flick across my clit, and then dragged down between the furrow of my lips, as his fingers, bunched together, tried to push inside me through my panties.

I was so wet. I thrust my hips up hard against his rubbing hand, groaning out loud. His finger was moving back and forth in my mouth and my lips closed over it as if I was sucking a small cock. He was rubbing hard and fast now and I was fucking his hand, all sensibility gone, overwhelmed with the feeling of an impending orgasm rocketing around inside my pussy, getting ready to explode through my body. My back arched and I lifted my ass off the couch, only touching with my head and my heels.

"I'm cumming," I yelled, my cry muffled by his finger which was expelled from my mouth allowing the sound of my orgasm to echo through the house. "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhaaahhhhhh!"

I fell back to the couch but my hips continued their frantic thrusting, clamping my son's hand in the vise of my clenched thighs. Slick as they were, there was no way he could have pulled his hand out even if he wanted to. Slowly, my orgasm began to subside and I loosened my legs, releasing his hand but he kept it there, not moving it, just holding it against me. 


When I could, I spoke calmly. "I shouldn't have let you do that, shouldn't have encouraged you. I'm sorry, Nathan. I don't what came over me." I crossed my forearm over my eyes to hide my shame.

"I wanted to, Mom."

"It was wrong, Nathan. It wasn't your fault. It was wrong of me. I won't let it happen again."

"But I want to do it again."

"No, Nathan. It can't happen again."

"But you ...," He paused, as if searching for a way to say something in a nicer way, then continued. "You really needed it."

I laughed at that. I couldn't help it. It was so true. "I know, Nathan. It's just been so long, but it's still wrong."

"But you shouldn't have to go without, just because of Dad." He almost spat his father's name out.

"I can't. Not with you."

"But you said ..."

"That's not what I meant." Wasn't it? Could I be certain the thought hadn't crossed my mind?

"Nathan, let me go now. Let me get up."

He was still holding me, his hand still gripping my panties, the other holding my head. He squeezed me when I said that.

"Not until you promise we can do it again."

"I can't promise that, Nathan." His hand was squeezing.

"Then at least say it won't never happen again."

"I can't say that either." Squeezing, squeezing. I had to get up soon.

"You have to say one or the other."

He was playing for time, softly squeezing my pussy, trying not to draw attention to what he was doing, delaying, hoping I'd eventually change my mind when I couldn't help it anymore. I knew what he was doing.

"No, Nathan. Now let me go." I tried feebly to lift my head.

"Then kiss me like you did before we had the wine."

"What?"

"Kiss me like you did before, on my lips."

"Will you let me up then?" He was still squeezing, squeezing, and I found myself almost wanting to drag it out a little longer too.

"Yes. But it has to be a long kiss."

He was a natural negotiator. He'd probably do well in his father's business. Squeeze, squeeze.

"Alright," I said.

Immediately his head lowered and his lips pressed against mine. Right away, his hand started to rub my pussy, no longer content to just squeeze. What the hell, I thought. After what I'd let him do, what was a little more rubbing through one kiss? And it felt so good. He had more than one natural talent, or did genetic relatives instinctively know how to touch one another?

Rub, rub, rub. His lips worked against mine. Softly, gently. I loved the way he kissed, much better than his father. I almost forgot about him rubbing my pussy. But not quite. The kiss ended.

"Ok, Nathan. Let me ...,"

His lips took hold of mine again, engaging me in another kiss. The rubbing stopped. Ok, I thought. Let's kiss a while. That kiss was longer than the first but I didn't protest when he started another as soon as it ended. After all, he had stopped rubbing me, though his hand was still there. I lost myself in his lips. By the time the kiss ended he had stretched his long finger along my lower lips and wiggled it in, pressing my panties between them. He had started rubbing me again.

"Nathan ...,"

"Shhhhhh," he whispered, taking my lips again and rubbing me harder. He kissed me hard then and at some point, his tongue must have slipped inside because I suddenly realized that I was pushing his tongue out of me and forcing my own between his lips. That moaning sound was me I realized with a small shock. So what, I thought as I resisted his tongue pushing mine back and shoving itself into my mouth again. I clamped my legs around his hand to stop it from pulling away.

"Just once more," he gasped.

"Yeah," I answered.

His tongue filled my mouth again.

OMG, I was so wet. What was that? His hand was inside my panties, rubbing my bare pussy. No! That's too far. Oh god. So good. So good.

"Ohhhhhhhhh," I cried as his finger slipped inside me, sloshed about for a few seconds, then started fucking into me.

"Oh Nathan. Oh Nathan," I cried, moaning his name.

Thicker. He'd put another finger in me and was working it in and out, in and out, quickly, feverishly. That was ok. That was fine by me. I moaned again as I quickly matched his thrusts with my own hip movements, fucking my son's hand. Where was my shame?

"Oh, god. Nathan. Finger me," I cried, bucking my hips frantically now, that recently familiar feeling starting to well up inside me again. "Please, please," I cried.

Wham. It fired through me, more intense this time. My legs quivered as I thrust my hips up from the couch, thighs straining to hold myself high to keep him inside me. Nathan dug his fingers into me, slipping yet another inside and shaking his hand, as if he was trying to loosen yet another orgasm from me.

I collapsed to the couch. This time, I got up, gathered my robe about me, and walked quietly away, upstairs to my room. I didn't even shower. I just got into bed and curled into a ball until fell asleep.


The Mom Memories Ch. 19
byalwayswantedto©

All characters are 18 years or older.

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Another letter from Marilyn.

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Having read many of the letters from your group, I fully expected that I would try to avoid my son in an effort to return to our normal relationship and refrain from further shameless behavior. And indeed, that is exactly what happened.

My son tried to entice me into joining him for more movie nights. As soon as Mark left the house, Nathan would make popcorn and dim the lights in the living room. If he hadn't already been to the video store, he would make a point of asking me if there was anything I wanted to see. But I was aloof.

After several weeks, Nathan stopped trying. Of course, I then began to worry that I would lose him, that he would leave as soon as school was over in just a few weeks. Had I made a big mistake by pushing him away?

I worried frantically for almost a week and tried to engage Nathan without success. Then, on a Thursday, I tried to bring up Nathan's future plans while we had dinner with just the two of us because Mark had called earlier to say he'd be late. Nathan was evasive and left the kitchen as soon as he finished eating, saying he was going to meet his friends to hang out.

To relax, I had a long hot shower and changed into a robe, the same blue one I'd worn that fateful night weeks ago. I made some popcorn and set a bottle of wine on the table beside the couch, then settled in to watch a movie. I was surprised to hear Nathan came downstairs only minutes later. I had thought he'd already gone.

"Have fun," I waved but didn't turn to look as he passed behind me to get his coat out of the entranceway closet.

"You're watching a movie?" he asked, pulling his coat off a hanger and putting it on.

"Yeah," I replied, not looking.

"What are you watching?" he asked, walking up to stand behind me but looking down at me rather than the movie.

"A chick flick."

"Which one?"

"That one where Meg Ryan loses her good girl image."

"Oh yeah," he said, obvious interest in his voice.

He watched in silence for a minute.

"I thought you were going out," I said.

"I still have a few minutes," he replied, not moving.

I filled my wine glass, deciding not to say anything else.

"She's hot," Nathan said. "Do you mind if I watch for awhile?"

"Suit yourself, but don't stand behind me."

Nathan removed his coat and shoes, then climbed over the back of the couch and plopped down beside me, almost spilling my wine as he bounced down hard.

"Nathan, how many times have I told you ..."

"Sorry Mom."

Meg was just starting to display her hot little body.

"She looks like you, Mom, except smaller upstairs."

"Yeah, right," I bantered back, sipping my wine.

Nathan watched Meg with keen interest, then turned to look at me. I ignored him and continued watching the movie. Rather than trying to sneak a peek like before, he candidly surveyed my chest before turning back to the movie, ostensibly comparing me to Meg. I should have said something, but I didn't. I should have been angry, but I wasn't. I simply felt relieved that he wasn't blocking me out, and that I may be able to find out what he was planning to do when school was over.

When the commercials started, Nathan asked if he could have some wine.

"Sure. Get yourself a glass."

"Can't we share?"

"Don't be so lazy." I elbowed him playfully.

"Mom," he protested, squirming away from me, then reaching for my glass. "It's cooler to share," he said, taking a long sip.

I pulled my feet up and tucked them under myself to sit cross legged on the couch. As Nathan finished his drink, I took the bowl of popcorn from the table, placed it in my lap and began feeding kernels of popcorn into my mouth with exaggerated slowness like I had that night so long ago. The way he watched and the act itself sent an illicit thrill through my body. Stop it, I admonished myself. Keep focused. You just want him to work things out with his Dad so he can stay home.

Nathan handed the glass back to me but I shook my head, guesturing with my hands full of popcorn. "My fingers are all buttery," I explained further. "I used too much."

Interpreting that as a request for a sip, Nathan held the glass to my lips, tipping it up until a trickle of wine dribbled into my mouth. A little spilled on my lips. Nathan reached across to set the glass on the table and then brushed the extra wine away with his fingertip, spreading it back and forth across my lips. Perhaps accidentally, he exerted sufficient pressure to depress my lips, making his touch more of a rub than a brush.

"You should wear lipstick more often," he said. "It makes your mouth look more inviting."

I just nodded as if it was normal for my son to make such inappropriate comments about my appearance. Nathan dipped his hand into the bowl to retrieve some popcorn, moving it about in my lap much like I had done to him. He ate it slowly, mimicking my own seductive consumption. I couldn't help grinning inside at his cockiness though I allowed only the faintest smile to bend my lips. When I lowered my hand to scoop some more popcorn for myself, Nathan quickly moved his fingers to rest a kernel between my lips, pausing for a second before pushing it in.

Though conducted in a playful manner, it was still a poignant, erotic moment. He leaned across me to reach for the wine, pressing closer than necessary, his chest brushing across mine. He scraped so closely across me on the way back that I suspected he was trying to loosen my robe as much as feel my chest.

"Nathan," I complained.

"Sorry Mom. It was a hard reach," was his flimsy excuse. I didn't challenge it.

He took a drink, looking down at my robe. I couldn't help glancing down too and noticed that he had indeed ruffled my robe sufficiently to see that I wasn't wearing anything else to cover my breasts. From his vantage point, he could see deep between the inside swells of my breasts.

"Here Mom," he offered the wine to me again, perhaps to distract my attention from his line of sight. This time he spilled more into my mouth, paused for me to swallow, then tipped the glass again. Savoring the taste, I asked him if he was trying to soften me up.

"For what?" he asked. I didn't answer that and he didn't pursue it.

Placing the glass back on the table, he dipped his finger into the nearly empty glass and rubbed it on my lips again. I knew I shouldn't be letting my son touch me in such a provocative manner and suddenly felt awkward. I tried to push his hand aside to put my own popcorn in my mouth, but he pushed my hand back down into the bowl.

"Let me do that for you while you watch the movie, Mom."

Nathan opened my hand, spilling its popcorn into the bowl. Filling his own hand, he returned to my mouth, pushing a single kernel against my pursed lips. After a brief resistance, I let my lips part so he could push it into my mouth. On the third piece, Nathan's fingers followed past my lips and briefly touched the tip of my tongue. Though a jolt speared straight down my spine to my pelvis, I didn't visibly react.

As he fed me the rest of the popcorn, I sat placidly watching Meg present her erotic side but Nathan never looked at the movie, even to see Meg's sexy body. When the popcorn was done, he picked up the bowl and set it on the side table, dipped his finger into the wine and again spread it over my lips, this time pushing his finger slightly inside my mouth.

"Nathan," I whispered, for no apparent reason since we were alone in the house. "Be good."

"You don't bite, do you?" he responded.

"You know what I mean," I laughed. "Behave yourself."

"You look so pretty when you pout with such ruby red lips," he bantered back. My answering laugh must have encouraged him because he suddenly dipped his hand down into my cleavage, fingers held tightly in a vertical line, and swung his hand towards himself and then away, pushing the lapels of my robe apart, significantly widening the gap between them and expanding his view of my breasts.

"Nathan!"

"What?" he cried, resting his fingers on the top of my left breast, just above my nipple.

"You know what. I'm your mother!"

"I know that," his hand brushed side to side, the tips of his fingertips teasing my breast.

"Your hand is inside my robe."

"I know," he made light of my complaint. "I didn't want to get butter on it."

"That's not the point," my voice rose.

At that moment, Nathan's hand suddenly twisted around, his buttery fingers sliding underneath to cup my full breast while his thumb pressed down on my stiffening nipple. His move shocked me so much I couldn't speak. My mouth was dry and words failed to frame within my brain though my mind was certainly not quiet. His thumb rubbed over and back across my hardening nipple as his fingers gently squeezed my tit below, and still I couldn't speak. Just as I was about to push him away, his voice shocked me again.

"I spoke to Dad."

Those four words froze me like a statue. His hand continued to fondle my breast, his fingers sliding up to join his thumb, pinching my distended nipple and rolling it their buttery grip. I finally managed a single word just as he stretched my tit up by tugging on my nipple.

"What?" I cried.

Nathan pushed my tit down, mashing and rolling it against my chest, before squeezing my nipple and tugging it up again. Even through my shock, my brain registered how good that felt.

"We talked," he said. "About the summer."

His lips covered mine in an impromtu kiss. Within seconds, I parted my lips to accept his tongue. The kiss was insistent, demanding, unlike the slow exploration I had so enjoyed weeks before. But somehow, it was just as exciting. He was different somehow, exhibiting a confidence he hadn't shown before. His hand slid off my breast and tried to push down to my panties but was blocked by the belt of my robe, still cinched tight around my waist.

I was gasping when the kiss ended.

"What happened?" I rasped, forgetting that he had just mauled my tit and pushed his tongue inside my mouth, my mind focused on the conversation that could govern my son's future.

His hand returned to manipulate my breast.

"I told him I did want to learn the business, but in my own way, that I couldn't become him."

"What did he say to that?" I asked, eagerly awaiting his response, consciously oblivious of his fondling or, the be more truthful, tolerating it and not finding it hard to do so.

Nathan looked down. "Undo your belt and I'll tell you."

"Nathan!" I looked suitably shocked.

Nathan shrugged.

"Tell me what your father said," I demanded.

He held my eyes, steadily. "Undo your belt first," he repeated.

Clamping my lips together in a show of repressed anger, I nevertheless loosened the belt. Nathan stared into my eyes, not once glancing away, but as soon as the belt was undone, he let go of my breast and pushed the robe apart, clearing it off both legs. Only then did he look down at the pair of black lace panties, the only thing I wore under the robe, the sheer material and my wide open thighs leaving little to the imagination. Why had I sat cross legged?

"Tell me what your father said," I repeated, my voice demanding.

Looking up, Nathan said, "You have beautiful hair, Mom." He brushed my hair back from my face, letting it slip through his fingers.

Disconcerted but refusing to be sidetracked, I said again, "What did he say?" my voice very firm.

"He seemed very pleased. He said I should do things my own way. A man has to, to get what he wants in life."

Nathan stared intently into my eyes as he repeated his father's words, moving his hand onto my tummy and sliding it slowly down, over my panties and between my legs. There, he curled his fingers and cupped his hand against my pussy. Try as I might, I couldn't close my legs. I'm not sure I wanted to. His newfound confidence was overpowering, intoxicating.

"Nathan," I gasped, my hand clutching his forearm.

"He's not interested in home," Nathan whispered, "but I am."

His fingers cupped me tighter, released, and squeezed again.

"Nathan ... the other night ... we can't."

"Do you want me to stay?" he asked, the implication of a negative answer hanging ominously in the air.

I didn't answer. His fingers began rubbing me. His lips choked off my protest and his hand bunched my soft red hair to hold my head still while he worked my mouth. When I opened my eyes, I became aware that my hips were moving, pushing my panties against his rubbing hand. How could I expect to stop him when I responded so easily, so desperately?

"Do you want me to stay?" he repeated. His fingers kept rubbing.

Reluctantly, I nodded. His hand paused to allow his thumb to hook over the top of my panties, sliding down on the inside, slipping between my damp, lightly haired furrow.

"Then, take off your panties," he whispered.

"What?" I said aloud, my surprise evident.

"Take off your panties," he reiterated, calmly, in the same firm voice.

I held firm, not moving.

"I know what he's done, what he's still doing. I want to be able to sit here in this room, while he's in it, knowing that his wife played the same game on him and took off her panties for another man, right here. For me."

I stared in shock. He and his father had already started their implicit competition but poor Mark had no idea how big the playing field really was, and just how much he stood to lose. Silently, I hooked my thumbs in the panties and slid them over my hips, lifting my ass to help, untucking my legs and raising my knees so I could snap the panties up my thighs and down my calves, held prettily together now, and off. Setting my feet on the floor, I dropped the panties in Nathan's lap.

Nathan looked down at the panties, then slid his hand between my closed knees and pulled them apart. He slid his hand up the length of my right thigh, along the inside, until his hand was poised in front of my pussy. He looked up into my eyes.

"Is that what you want?" I whispered.

"Yes." His voice was hoarse.

He pushed his fingers between my lips, brushing them up and down, soaking them before pushing inside. I opened my arms and welcomed his lips on mine again. I was so wet, I could hear his fingers sloshing lewdly inside me as we kissed. I didn't care. I loved the feel of him there. When the kiss ended, Nathan tried to pull me sideways down onto the couch.

"No, we should go upstairs," I whispered.

"We won't be able to hear his car if he comes home," Nathan answered.

He stood and dropped his pants, and then his boxers, letting his impressive, strong, young cock spring free to dangle before me. Even thought I had felt it pressing hard between my shoulder blades its size still surprised me. Poor Mark. Nathan smiled when he saw the expression on my face. He took my right hand and pulled, twisting me onto my back on the couch. Kneeling, he grasped my legs under my knees and pulled me toward him, holding my legs open and pushing my thighs back onto my breasts.

"Nathan, maybe we should ..."

He moved quickly forward, pushed his pole down to meet my hole, and shoved.

"Unnnngghhhhhh." He was inside me.

"Ohhhhhhh," I groaned as my son pushed his full length inside me, slowly, allowing my seldom used tunnel to expand as its walls retreated from this imposing invader. He stopped when he bottomed out, but only for a few seconds. Placing his hands over my tits and squeezing my nipples in the circle of his firm grip, he started fucking me, slowly at first, but ever increasing his pace and the strength of his thrusts.

There was a lot of pent up energy inside us both that needed to be released, and he was trying hard to break the shell that held it inside of me. I moaned and groaned shamelessly as Nathan slammed into me, bending me almost double as he stretched up on his haunches to really dig in. Our thighs slapped loudly and wetly together. There was no way we could have heard Mark's car drive up and I wondered afterward if passersby could hear us rutting inside.

He ended suddenly with a loud grunting groan, his seed gushing forth, filling me and triggering my own orgasm. We lay gasping for breath for a couple of minutes before Nathan pulled back, grasping my hands and pulling me with him. I thought he was helping me up but he tried to twist me around. God. He wanted to turn me over, to fuck me from behind right away.

My tame sex life with Mark hadn't prepared me for crouching on all fours in my own living room. I resisted. Failing to turn me over, Nathan pushed my tummy against the back of the couch, pressed my knees apart and slid his cock into me. God. I gasped loudly with the fullness of him. As he banged into me my head rocked forward over the back of the couch, a motion exacerbated when Nathan gripped the back of the couch on either side of me for leverage and began thrusting harder. He was shoving up so hard that my tummy was lifted to the top of the couch and I ended up draped over the back with Nathan half standing, wildly shagging the shit out of me.

I had never been fucked like this. Is this what Mark had wanted? A woman to wantonly let him have his way with her, any way he wanted, wherever he wanted? Why hadn't he asked? No. Why hadn't he taken me like this? There was no need to go astray. I liked it, and his son was proving that right now. Go ahead, I screamed in my mind. Bang me. Fuck me hard. Slam your cock in me. I don't care. Yeah, oh yeah. Fuck me hard. Come on, give it to me. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. Oh, yeah. It's coming, it's coming.

"Yeaaaahhhhhhh!" I wailed, just as Nathan's second gush burst inside me.

He pulled out a minute later, gathered his clothes and walked past me without saying a word. I was still laying over the back of the couch when I heard his bedroom door close. Minutes later I pulled myself together, put my robe on, and took the wine glass and popcorn bowl into the kitchen. Still the mother, I noticed that some of Nathan's seed had spilled out of me onto the back of the couch. I was still cleaning it up when Mark came home.

"Spill something?" he asked as he took his coat and shoes off, walking over to give me a peck on the cheek, probably not realizing he carried a faint smell of perfume.

"A little wine," I said.

"Oh, oh," he said, stooping to take a close look. "Will it come out?", he asked. "We just bought that couch."

Yeah, six years ago, I thought. It wasn't worth mentioning.

"Where's Nathan?"

"He went to bed. He seemed tuckered out." I smiled at my hypocrisy.

"Oh? Did he tell you he's going work for me, learn the ropes?"

"Yes," I replied. "He asked for my support."

"Oh yeah," Mark laughed. "Well you better help him all you can. He's going to need it. He has man up now." Mark turned to go up the stairs.

"Don't worry," I said to my husband's retreating back, "I'll give him everything he needs."

The next day I was wearing the blue robe again waiting for Nathan to come home from school. I was sitting in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee when he and his friend Ken came in. Nathan took one look at me and told Ken he'd forgotten that he had to do some chores he promised me so he couldn't hang out. Ken left after a few minutes. I followed the boys out of the kitchen as Nathan accompanied Ken to the front door. When the door closed, Nathan turned to find me bending over the back of the couch, digging my hands behind the cushions.

"I lost something here last night," I said. "Can you help me find it before your Dad comes home?"

"Sure Mom," he answered.

I heard him step up behind me but then he was quiet. I continued rummaging around behind the cushions, letting my bottom shake more than necessary. I wasn't surprised when Nathan's hands lightly gripped my hips, holding me gently but firmly. 

"I meant help me look, not hold me still," I said, my hips still managing to sway in his hands.

My robe bunched at the side of my legs as Nathan gathered it up in his fingers. When his hands were full, he slid them over my hips, pulling the robe up and piling it on my back.

"Nathan, stop it," I complained.

Ignoring me, Nathan said, "Mom. That's so bad. You're not wearing panties."

"That's what I'm looking for," I said, acting again like there wasn't anything wrong with him baring my bottom. Talk about being obvious.

He didn't answer but I heard his belt being undone, and then his zipper.

"I guess I'm a bad girl," I said, wiggling my bottom.

"Yes," he said. "You're a very naughty woman."

I made a mental note to discard the little girl act. That was probably something Mark would like but clearly my son wanted to deal with a woman. I widened my stance a few inches and rose up on my tippy toes, tensing my leg muscles prettily. I may have put a few extra pounds on my bottom but I had nice legs. I knew that.

"God, Mom," Nathan gasped.

He was already breathing hard and he wasn't even inside me yet. I was pleased.

"Do you like that?" I asked.

"Oh yeah," he answered.

"Then don't bring your friends home with you if you want me to greet you properly," I repremanded him.

In answer, the head of his cock probed between my legs. Nudge, nudge. I offered little resistance, having waited all afternoon for my son to come home. As soon as his manhood popped inside it slid easily up through my slippery channel until it was more than halfway in. Nathan gasped in surprise, then pulled back and paused before starting his next thrust.

"That is, unless there's something else you'd rather do," I said, wiggling my bottom again.

"No," he gasped, pushing in, slowly, back to halfway and beyond, two thirds, three quarters, as deep then as his father had ever reached.

Again he pulled back, almost all the way out. I adjusted my feet, stepping on top of his like I'd done with my Dad as a little girl, giggling as he walked me around. Mark had never done that with Nathan.

In he plunged, his thighs tensing with effort as he thrust higher just to reach the same point now that I was standing on him, attaining his previous depth and pushing beyond, holding there, filling me with his gorgeous young cock. It was so thick and long, and it seemed to shimmy, transferring the strain from his quivering thigh muscles deep inside me. Five, ten, fifteen seconds. Only then did he withdraw, tantalizingly slow.

I was surprised when he pulled right out, filling the air with a sucking sound in concert with my disappointed groan. But he immediately pushed back in, and my elated moan lasted the entire traverse as his meat passed through me once more, meeting and exceeding its former goal yet again. I was pushed up onto my tippy toes, even standing on his feet. I could feel myself drooling on him on his cock. Only three thrusts and I was creaming all over his manliness. A final push and I was lifted completely off my toes, dangling on him, impaled. I think I whimpered.

"I love it. Do you Mom?"

"Yesssssss," I hissed. "Yessssss."

"I'll try to make you love it more every day," he whispered, starting his long slide out.

He stopped talking then, and I was grateful. I need him to just fuck me, and he did. Slowly, intensely. Never faster, just those long slow, penetrating thrusts, each time holding me up quivering on his love pole. I came after just a few more thrusts but he kept coming, relentlessly, until that overwhelming feeling began to spread through me again, and then again. Four times I came, and on the last one his cream gushed into my cunt, filling me, as his hands squeezed my tits hard, not on purpose, just reacting. Only then, in the final throes of his own orgasm, did his pace change and he jackhammered me with a series of frantic minithrusts.

Seconds later, he pulled out, just as Mark's car crunched into the driveway. Nathan stumbled up the stairs, trying to run but finding it hard to make his legs work. I was cleaning the couch, apparently, when Mark came through the door.

"Still at that?" he asked. "Didn't the stain come out?"

He tossed his coat over the back of the couch, leaving it for me to put away. He didn't give me a kiss or a hug.

"Is dinner ready?" he asked, walking quickly into the kitchen. "I'm starved."

"Just about," I called, following my husband into the kitchen to finish preparing dinner. He was sitting at the table and as I set out the dishes and food, I could feel my son's spunk trickling down the inside of my thighs.

"Can you call Nathan?" I asked. Mark was looking at his blackberry.

"Can you do that, babe?" It was a statement, though is sounded like a question. "I've got a few messages that I have to answer right away."

As I neared his bedroom door, Nathan came out wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants.

"Dinner's ready." I said quietly.

"Thank's Mom. Sorry I wasn't down sooner. I had to, you know, subside." He smiled sheepishly.

"Oh?" I smirked.

"Yeah," he replied.

"Tell your Dad I'm having a quick shower." I looked down as the lump in his sweats. "Maybe you should put on a pair of jeans." Laughing as I walked away, I added, "And don't be late tomorrow."

Nathan wasn't late. He was early. As I listened to him rushing around downstairs, calling my name, I smiled at the thought of this eagerness, picturing him roaring out of school as fast as his legs could carry him, arriving breathless at home. No wonder he sounded increasingly frantic when his calls went unanswered. Had he rushed home for nothing, bruising his favorite body part as he ran, chafing it against the inside of his jeans, thrusting harder against the rough denim with each burning thought of what awaited him at the end of his mad dash home.

"MOM," he called, his feet stamping up the stairs.

Mom," he yelled, stomping down the hallway and into my room.

Mom?" his voice drifted was more distant as he looked into my bathroom.

"Shit!" he swore, his voice closer now, in the hallway again, probably by the open bathroom door. "Shit," his frustration vented again, his steps coming closer, towards his room, to me.

The door burst open.

"Holy shit," he said but in a completely different tone.

I smiled, though Nathan couldn't see it because my face was buried in his mattress. I did, however, lift my pelvis from the bed, just slightly, so he could better see my naked ass and the strip of bare, glistening pussy through my parted legs. Lowering myself, I spread my legs wider.

The sounds of frantic undressing and tossed shoes and clothes followed immediately.

"Hurry," I said, not for myself though I had been laying there patiently for half an hour. I just wanted to step the intensity of the situation up as high as I could.

"Hurry," I groaned, reaching under myself with both hands to pry my thighs apart even as I lifted and waved my ass from side to side.

"Hurry," I begged as his weight depressed the mattress.

"Hurry," I cried joyously as his hands curled around my legs at the juncture with my hips, lifting me, readying me for his attack.

"God," I groaned as he impaled me with his weapon. I laughed in joy with the slap of each frantic thrust, at the sound of his raspy breath gasping his need with each shove, thrilled to the bulge of his meaty mass inside me. My whole body rocked into the mattress. How can anybody fuck so fast? He was like a desperate prisoner returning to his cell to find his dream girl tied to his bunk. How long would she be there before they took her away?

Just as I wondered how long I could take such a shagging, he yelled out and his copious spend burst inside me. He collapsed on my back, panting hard. I allowed him only a minute.

"Did you like that?"

"God, Mom," he gasped. "That was incredible. I'll never forget it."

He still hadn't recovered his breath.

"Who said you could stop?"

"What?"

I wiggled my bum and squeezed my pussy. He was still inside me.

"Keep going," I commanded.

He was only eighteen. I knew he could rise to the challenge, but could where was getting the energy, the need? Years of what I suddenly realized was boring sex? I don't know for sure. All I knew was I wanted him ... now. I pushed my ass up, bumping against him, urging him on.

"Come on," I insisted, closing my legs to increase the pressure on his cock which I could already feel stiffening to the task.

He pulled back but not all the way out and as I closed my legs tight together, he pushed, shoving al the way into me.

"That's it," I cried. "Fuck me."

He did, in long slow thrusts like he had against the back of the couch yesterday. But this time, he slowly increased his pace. Soon he lifted himself to straddle his knees on either side of me, almost sitting on me as he thrust harder and faster. Eventually, he reached forward to cup his hands over my shoulders so he could pull himself into me even harder, hips pistoning as he dug into me from behind.

He grunted with the effort. As he lifted his weight to reposition himself, I thrust my ass back into him, catching him by surprise. He seemed to like that and held himself up, moaning each time I thrust my ass back at him, impaling myself on his root, matching his moans with my own sexy womanly sounds. He shifted higher, squatting on his feet and I followed him, lifting myself to my knees, thrusting my ass up wantonly, my head still firmly buried in the bed.

We continued to fuck in desperate need. He reached down to grasp my hands and pulled them back to my hips, pulling on them to help his cock dig as far in as it could, plugging me completely. We moaned and groaned as his thrusts grew even wilder, rocking my head into the mattress. I loved it, loved the way he was taking me. Yes. Took me. He wasn't just fucking me, he was taking me, filling his room with our guttural sounds.

We cried out together, announcing our incestous love as he filled me again, his creamy gift squeezing out past the root of his stem, dripping as he pulled it out and wanked the dregs over my convulsing bottom and shaking thighs. He sat back on his haunches, gasping for air. I stayed as I was, head down, ass up, his cream covering my ass and thighs, dripping from my raw, puffy pussy. I lay like that with no shame so he could see what he'd done to me, to his mother, his woman.

I didn't move until we heard a car door slam in front of our house. Calmly, I climbed off Nathan's bed, put on my robe, and walked downstairs to greet my husband. Mark made several remarks about my appearance, wondering what was going on with me, dressing in a housecoat before supper and wandering around with my hair in such a mess. Was I sick, he wanted to know, because if not it was a hell of a thing for our son to see me like that.

I took Mark's words to heart and the next night, I didn't arrive home until after him.

"Where have you been?" he asked.

"Shopping," I replied. "Make reservations for dinner somewhere for the three of us. I want to go out," I said, carrying my bags upstairs.

Moments later, before Mark could finish his calls and join me in our bedroom, I came downstairs. Mark was sitting in the living room having a drink. Nathan stood just inside the kitchen doorway, out of his father's line of sight but well positioned to see me travel the entire flight of stairs. I stepped down slowly, allowing the muscles in my legs to tense nicely to show them to their best advantage. The look on Nathan's face was all the reward I needed. Mark hadn't seen me yet.

It wasn't until I neared the bottom of the stairs and Nathan whistled his appreciation that Mark looked up and saw my new dress, a very cute, sleeveless dark green number that offset my eyes and soft red hair perfectly. It was a simple dress with a high neckline but it hugged my figure closely, somehow giving the illusion of being very short yet the hem fell more than halfway to my knees. The high sandals that wrapped around my ankles matched the dress perfectly.

"So, you really want to go out, then?" Mark asked.

"Yes," I replied simply.

"I suppose I have to get dressed up if you're going like that," he muttered, looking at his watch.

"If you have to be somewhere, Nathan can take me out," I replied tersely.

"No, no. But I'll have to be done by nine. I have a late meeting." I could tell he was lying.

"That's lots of time," I said, turning to Nathan. "Please put on a nice pair of slacks, dear."

"Right away, Mom." He bounded up the stairs but I was pleased to see his reluctance to tear his eyes away from me. I don't think he'd stopped staring at me since he first saw me at the top of the stairs.

"Gregors would be fine. They should have room." Gregors was more than casual and fairly expensive.

"Uh, sure," Mark replied, getting up and walking toward me. "I better do a quick change, then. You look much better today, Marilyn."

"Thanks," I acknowledged his grudging compliment. "Why don't you take your own car so we don't have to worry about the time. Nathan can drive me home."

"Sure," Mark agreed, starting up the stairs.

I rode to the restaurant with Mark while Nathan followed in my car. We had a lovely meal and took our time in the rear booth I selected after rejecting the table near the other customers that the host initially chose for us. Mark was more attentive than usual, perhaps unconsciously competing with his son. He seemed genuinely reluctant to leave just before nine but he had set the stage for a 'business' meeting and although hesitant I'm sure he didn't really want to back out.

"Will you order a couple of drinks before you go. I want to relax over dessert and I want Nathan to keep me company."

Mark did as I asked without complaint or even an askance look, which was a little out of character for him. He even had the thoughtfulness not to leave until the waiter had delivered the drinks and brought our desserts, in case there was a hassle with Nathan's age.

Nathan and I had a nice time alone, I enjoying my wine and he the drinks his father had ordered. It took him fifteen minutes but he gradually edged closer to me after his father left. It was amusing to watch him innocently change his position but each time end up an inch closer to me. It was very flattering. Soon he had moved so far that he was just a few inches away, more than two feet from his original position at the center of the U-shaped booth.

Our conversation stayed on a completely platonic level and if anyone overheard us without seeing our age difference I'm sure they would have thought we'd been married for at least ten years. But there was no denying the tension in the air, a wonderful libidinous ether that seemed to surround us tightly, binding in our own little world. Maybe that was the invisible force that drove Nathan to sit so close to me.

It was only after the waiter had brought the bill and we were nearly finished our second drink that I introduced an explicit reference of an even remotely sexual nature.

"Do you like my new dress, Nathan? You seemed to."

"I absolute love it. It makes you look so beautiful, and your legs look astounding. Every man here noticed when we came in."

"Nonsense," I pooh poohed his comment, nonetheless very pleased.

"You're beautiful," he repeated.

We continued talking for awhile, in no hurry. Nathan didn't make any further references that could be considered innappropriate between a mother and son. He seemed to have an innate understanding that it would have been the wrong thing to do. Mark, I'm sure, would have made some kind of tacky reference about how he could hardly wait to get me home, especially within earshot of the waiter or another male patron. But my son had class and I was going to reward him for it.

Outside, I didn't have to signal Nathan to open the car door for me. He guided me to the passenger side with a light touch on my arm, nothing inappropriate to be observed in public. In the car, he turned to say how much he had enjoyed dinner and that he hoped we could do it again, on our own. He didn't try to put his hand on my leg, or kiss me, but he didn't dawdle on the way home.

As I expected, Mark wasn't home. While Nathan put my car in the garage I went in the house. By the time he came in the front door, I had removed my coat and was leaning against the back of the couch waiting. As Nathan took off his coat and slipped off his shoes, I lifted each leg in turn and pulled off the sheer knee highs I was wearing. I took extra time with the second leg, knowing that I had caught his attention. As I tugged the end of the nylon off my toes, I glanced sideways at my son, flashing him the softest, most seductive smile I could muster.

Leaning back and resting my bottom on the top edge of the couch, I widened my stance and cooed softly, "Can you unhook my neck for me before I go to bed?" I held the knee highs out behind me and dropped them onto the couch. I lifted my heels, holding myself up on the balls of my feet so the muscles in my legs would tighten and make them look sexier.

Nathan approached me but he didn't rush, which I appreciated. I knew his teenager hormones must be pushing hard, the lust in his eyes told me that, but I could also sense that he understood how much better these moments were if you savor them. I'm sure if he was with a young girl his own age he would have given in to his initial instinct and rushed in, pulling his cock out on the way, but being with a mature woman was teaching him how much more there was to extract from each new experience.

He paused in front of me, waiting.

"Aren't you going to turn around, so I can unhook it?" he asked.

"Just reach around," I instructed, huskily.

He stepped forward, placing his feet outside of mine so he could get close. I pushed him back.

"I want to feel you between my legs," I whispered.

As he stepped back, I moved my feet farther apart to make room for him. As he stepped forward, I tilted my head forehead to rest it on his shoulder and pulled my hair aside to bare my neck so he could find the little hook at the top of my zipper. My open thighs brushed the sides of his. Nathan had difficulty opening the hook with his big hands but he persevered until he finally succeeded. By that time, I had slipped my arms around his waist and was gently pulling him closer to me with my hands pressed into the small of his back.

"There you go, Mom," Nathan said in the most gentle voice I had ever heard from him.

I turned my head to the side, twisting it up so my mouth connected with his neck. Speaking into the side of his throat, I spoke in that same husky voice, "Please do my zipper too." I nuzzled his neck.

Nathan dragged the zipper down my back with the same relish he had exhibited on his deliberate, sauntering approach. His hand slowed as it slid into the sway of my lower back, as if it wanted to defer the end of its journey. When the zipper stopped, Nathan stood still and his hand continued to grasp the little handle on the zipper. I pulled my hands from his waist, dropping them to my sides. Nathan stayed close, breathing in deep, inhaling my perfume, reluctant to step away.

I pulled the dress up my legs until my hands were on my hips and the hem was high enough to expose me. Nathan looked down and could see what I saw, the lightlly colored, sparse tuft of hair above my pussy. I could feel the shock in the tensing of his body.

"Mom, you didn't ..."

I cut him off. "Of course not."

I knew it would shock him to think that his mother would go to a restaurant without wearing panties, and sit there with her husband and son. But further explanation was required, words that might excite him even more.

"Do you remember when your Dad left?" Nathan nodded. "I went to the ladies room?" He nodded again. Comprehension lit his eyes.

"You didn't ..."

"Yes," I whispered. "For you. I felt so wicked, speaking so properly with you, knowing that I was sitting there, open and bare for you." I slipped my hands around him, pulling him closer, spreading my legs more to fit him in. I could feel his hardness, could even feel it growing.

"I can't believe it," Nathan gasped.

"Believe it," I whispered.

I slipped my hands around to his front and undid his belt, then pulled his zipper down. I pulled his pants apart and immediately slipped my hand into his shorts, grasping his cock and pulling it out, tugging it up into full stance.

"Is this for your lady?" I asked.

Nathan groaned, and repeated that wonderful sound several more times as my hand closed around his shaft and stroked his gorgeous cock while my other hand cupped his cockhead, my thumb rubbing its underside.

"I want to feel this inside me before your father comes home."

"Let's go upstairs," he moaned.

"I can't wait. Put it in me here." I lifted myself onto the end of my toes, like doing point in ballet, lined his meat up with the entrance to my pussy and slipped it up and down in my slit, and then pulled the head inside me.

"Ohhhhhh. That's right. Fuck me, baby," I cried, my voice guttural. I slid forward, shifting my weight from the couch onto my son's fine cock, sliding all the way down to his root, lifting my legs to encircle his hips with my knees and closing my feet behind him.

"Oh, god Mom," he grunted, struggling to accommodate my weight.

"That's right, that's m name. Fuck your Mom," I urged, pushing my hips down and squeezing him hard, instantly rewarded when, as his legs strained up to hold me, his cock bulged deep inside me.

He fucked me differently than the day before from behind. Instead of long, slow thrusts he jolted into me with quick hard shoves, quick retreats, and fast, short jams upward. Quicker and quicker they came, in concert with our pants, my moans, and his groans. We were both grunting within a few minutes as he bounced me up with each upward shove.

"Mom, mom, mom," Nathan began gasping my name, his pace frenzied now. I struggled to hang on, holding tight, lifting and tightening my legs and, I hoped he'd forgive me, biting his neck. I unleashed a stream of womanly sounds, sounds of a wild, abandoned bitch in heat, a woman in the throes of ecstasy, the frantically desperate sounds that vault a man higher, too close to pull back from his own exploding release.

There. He was flushing his fluid into me, legs strained to the breaking point, not thrusting, just straining to hold his cock as far in me as he could. I was rigid on him, clasping him with every limb I had, then relaxing slowly, subject to sudden spasms, before finally resting, draped over him, slack legs held up only because his hands gripped the bottom of my thighs.

Nathan started to pull out.

"No!" I yelled. "Stay inside me."

Shocked by the intensity of my commanding voice, he turned into a statue.

"Take me upstairs, like this," I whispered, in sudden contrast from my previous tone.

I could have laughed the way my son struggled to hold me as he dipped down, making sure that my open legs stayed close enough not to lose his softening manhood as he reached to pull his pants up his legs. I grabbed his pants, hooking my fingers in the belt loops and holding them beneath my legs, high enough that he could walk awkwardly on his rubbery legs toward the stairs. Slowly, we shuffled our way up the stairs, swaying from side to side as we negotiated each step with difficulty, the rocking motion changing his semihard stick into a thick hard shaft by the time we reached the top.

He was thrusting into me again as we wobbled down the hallway, desperate to reach his bed. Frustration spilled out when I flung my hands out to grasp the doorway, preventing him from getting me to the bed.

"MOM!" he cried, puzzled by my sudden resistance.

"Work for it," I laughed.

He pushed hard but my grip held.

"Don't you want it?" I laughed. "It's going to be good, I promise."

"Unnngggghhhhh," he yelled, lunging, breaking my grip on the doorway, stumbling forward, losing his footing and falling on top of me just as we reached the bed, slipping out of me.

"Ahhhhhhh," he cried, flinging my knees back, grasping them from behind and pushing them to the mattress beside me, rolling my ass up from the bed, opening my pussy, now defenseless before him. His eyes were wild with desperation, fiery with passion and glinting with victory. I stared at his eyes, then let my eyes fall to his wobbling cock, hard and hungry, hovering near my entrance. Smiling wickedly, he lowered it until it nuzzled my soaking slit. He flicked his hips, rubbing the head of his cock up and down my puffy lips, grinning as my eyes glazed and my mouth opened to release a long moan.

He pushed the head inside, but no more. Leaning half over me, holding my legs firmly in place, he taunted me, "Say please."

I tried to push up, to suck him inside me but he held himself aloof. He laughed then, enjoying his payback, wiggling the tip of his cock, teasing me.

"I said say please," he panted.

"Never," I shot back, reaching up to grasp him just below his arms, trying to pull him down on me, but he was too strong.

"Say it," he laughed again, moving his cockhead in me again.

"No!" I was defiant, at least outwardly, but my resolve was weakening. Then he twisted he knife.

"Beg me, and I'll lick it." He smiled that wicked smile again. And then, just as he had been appropriately classy in the restaurant, he became appropriately lewd. His tongue slid slowly out of his mouth and squirreled around in mock manipulation of my pussy, swirling around my lips and then digging up through my slit to flick and circle my clit, then stabbing stiffly inside my cunt.

I disintegrated.

"Please," I whispered, my toes spreading as my feet arched in anticipation.

"Please," I whispered. "I beg you. Please fuck me."

Relenting, Nathan leaned even further over me, down, down until his lips met mine. As his tongue slipped between my lips he shoved himself home inside me. I wailed loudly, my glee muffled by the tongue deep inside my mouth. Having tortured me for such a brief moment, he now lavished my frayed nerves with thrusting bursts of pleasure, hard, fast, and deep.

My defiance, resistance and pleading had worked him into another frenzy. He pounded me furiously, crouching above my haunches, literally rising and dropping on me, bludgeoning me with his cock, forcing the breath out of me in loud groans. Suddenly he pulled my legs flat, continuing to shove himself into me at the same frantic pace, laughing when I raised my legs and struggled to hold them back, opening myself in unprotected submission again.

"You like it like that?" he laughed.

"Yesssss," I hissed.

He scrambled to his feet, straddled my thighs again, and triumphantly lowered his cock into my gaping cunt.

"Then take it," he cried, slamming into me, quickly regaining and surpassing his previous intensity.

It wasn't much longer before he filled me again, taking almost a full minute to unload, squatting over me to drip every last drop on me while I held my ankles beside my head. Finally, he dropped to my side and I stretched my legs out normally. We didn't speak for several minutes.

"Wow, Mom. That was awesome."

"Yeah," I said, turning to smile at him.

"Are you ok with that? It was pretty intense."

"Yeah," I said.

"Awesome," was his only response.

I turned on my side, brushing his chest with my fingers, reaching up to stroke his face and cup his cheek.

"You're my lover now. I'll do anything for you, at least once."

Nathan looked at me intently, seriously. Then he smiled and looked down at his cock, and reached over to touch his finger to the corner of my mouth.

"Anything?"

I couldn't help but laugh. What a little bugger.

"Yes, anything," I confirmed. "But not tonight, and you, mister, have a promise to keep first."

I got up then, surprised to find that my dress was still on, in a band around my waist. I stepped out of it and stood in front of my son, still wearing my bra above my bedraggled dress. "Goodnight," I said and walked to my room.

Mark came home sometime while I was in the shower. He was passed out. I turned out the lights and went to sleep, waking up to a beautiful, sunny Saturday morning. Mark always slept in on Saturdays.

I got up, though it was earlier than my norm. I didn't bother putting on a dressing gown, leaving our room in just my nightie. It was a three quarter length affair and, though not of erotic design, it was still obvious that I wasn't wearing anything underneath. Not the kind of thing I had ever worn outside my bedroom in front of anyone but Mark without being covered by a robe. But I was just going to get a coffee and come upstairs to read the paper. So out I went.

At the top of the stairs, I changed my mind, and turned back, walking carefully and quietly into Nathan's room. He was laying on his back, dead asleep. How beautiful my son looked. I stood admiring him, love swelling up to spread through my body, flooding my mind.

Gingerly, I crawled onto his bed, slowly, taking great care not to wake him. Finally, I reached my goal, and straddled his chest, knees on either side of his shoulders, and thighs wide open. I turned to look back at the open doorway, listening for and comforted by the distant sound of my husband's gentle snoring.

I began to gently stroke Nathan's face. So softly. It took several minutes to wake him. He'd been sleeping so deeply he was even startled when his eyes fluttered open an he saw me looking down at him. Confusion turned to questioning and then to concern. I rarely woke my son.

"Mom! Is something wrong?"

"No sweetie." I smiled.

"Then ... what ..."

"You promised," I said, looking down at my lap, my nightie pulled back to my hips.

Nathan followed my eyes, only then noticing my wide open, bare pussy, now nice and clean and perfumed. I pushed my hips forward, grazing his face with my eager pussy, already moistening. I lifted his head up slightly to bring his mouth into firmer contact, making our orifices one.

"Yes," I groaned as his tongue slipped through his lips to toy with my lower ones, flicking them side to side, then running up and down my slit a dozen times. Soon he was digging deeper, gouging a trench which kept filling with my fluid.

It's hard to believe I didn't wake Mark with my moaning appreciation over the next twenty minutes. I climbed off my son's bed with a huge smile on my face and left his covered in my juice. I turned to look back before I left his room, my smile turning to sympathy as I saw the huge moving tent on his bed. He had already begun to take care of himself.

I swirled my tongue quickly around my lips and whispered, "You have a huge treat coming sometime today."

I went downstairs for my coffee, completely forgetting to put on a robe. 




The Mom Memories Ch. 20
byalwayswantedto©

All characters are 18 years or older.

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Here's another letter from Marilyn about her adventures with son Nathan. There's a surprise after this one.

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"You have a huge treat coming sometime today."

That's what I'd said to Nathan Saturday morning after he'd fulfilled his promise, selflessly licking me to a thunderous orgasm, letting me squeeze my juice all over his beautiful young face. He seemed to truly enjoy it, keeping his eyes closed while he patiently worked his tongue inside me, then swirling it all around my lips and up to my sensitive little button. He worshipped every part of my pussy I pushed against his mouth, content to let me control the what was most deserving of receiving a religious experience from his moist little snake. And when I was coming, when I was bucking my hips and jerking my cunt all over his jutting chin, sucking his tongue inside ... he opened his eyes and sent me over the top, lost, flailing about in uncontrolled ecstasy.

But I didn't follow up with my own promise. I couldn't. Mark was with us all day and he was keen to go out for dinner again. Nathan declined but Mark didn't appear too upset. So hubby and I were out late, and we were both a little inebriated when we finally got home. I meant to make it up to Nathan after Mark fell asleep but I drifted off while waiting for my chance to sneak out of bed and didn't wake up until early the next morning. Mark was still snoring, so I quietly made my escape and went downstairs.

It was too early to wake Nathan, so I made a pot of coffee and sat down with a cup, thinking about how I'd take care of my son the same way he'd looked after me yesterday morning, and afterwards crawl back into bed with my cheating husband. The wickedness of it all started a tingle in that little triangle down below. Maybe I'd do more than service him with my mouth. I smiled at the thought. Mark and I had taken a taxi home, so maybe I'd get Nathan to drive me over to pick up his father's car and get him to fuck me in the back seat. My reverie was interrupted when Nathan stumbled sleepily into the kitchen.

"Hey Mom," he mumbled sleepily.

"Hey yourself. You're up early."

"Yeah," he answered, looking from me to my cup and then to the coffee pot, dozily shuffling over to pour himself a mug.

He turned around to lean back against the counter, sipping his coffee black.

"You and Dad were out late. Have a good time?"

"Actually, yes," I replied. "Your father was very attentive for a change. I don't know what got into him."

I smiled knowingly at Nathan, then added, suddenly not wanting him to be jealous, "We were both a little tipsy when we got home but we were so tired we just crashed right away."

I turned in my chair to face him but Nathan didn't give any indication if he was upset or not.

"He's still sleeping," I added.

Nathan just nodded and sipped his coffee.

"You may have to drive me down to get his car. We cabbed it home."

Nathan's nod was similarly noncommittal.

I felt like I'd lost control of the situation. It wasn't going the way I'd played it out in my mind and I wished he'd just stayed in bed so I could have sneaked in and surprised him awake with my mouth. My eyes dropped to the bottom of his t-shirt and beneath, to his bulging shorts. Was that a piss hard, or had he already relieved himself?

"You don't have to wear that."

"What?" I asked, caught off guard, not sure I'd heard him correctly.

"You don't have to wear a robe, at least when Dad's not around."

My hands automatically clutched my robe, pulling it tighter about my neck.

"You are wearing a nightie aren't you?" Nathan's gaze seemed suddenly reproachful.

"Yes, I am." Why was I nervous?

Nathan abruptly pushed himself from the counter and stepped deliberately toward me, taking care not to spill his coffee. He stopped in front of me but didn't say anything or make any gestures. He simply stood there, looking down at me.

I twisted to face him more squarely. Slowly, uncertainly, I relaxed my hold on my robe, allowing it to open just enough to reveal my neck. Nathan smiled.

I smiled back, faintly, still curiously unsure of myself. Nathan sipped his coffee. I opened my robe wider, then again when he didn't smile, continuing to display more of my cleavage until he smiled again. Nathan calmly sipped his coffee, watching me. My hands fidgeted in my lap, then timidly began to loosen my belt. Nathan smiled.

I pulled the belt apart and opened my robe, exposing the sexy nightie I had put on last night. It was cut low. I must have been expecting something from Mark last night or I wouldn't have put it on, but he was passed out by the time I came out of the bathroom, and I must have fallen asleep shortly after because I don't remember sitting up awake.

Nathan's eyebrows raised when he saw how low cut the nightie was, my breasts almost spilling out in front. I suddenly felt inexplicably guilty for wearing a sexy nightie for my husband. Nathan kept staring vacantly, so I pulled the robe completely open, then opened my knees a few inches so he could see my legs. He smiled at that so I opened them more and pulled my nightie higher. Nathan nodded, taking another sip, so I pulled the nightie slowly up, and up, until my pussy hair was showing.

He nodded, as if confirming something he had suspected. I had gone to bed in my sexiest nightie without any panties on. Whether or not I got any, I had wanted to get fucked.

I felt annoyed by his knowing smile, yet guilty and apologetic at the same time. The emotions that washed over me were confusing, but the rising excitement wasn't. I was exposing myself to my son and acknowledging that I'd wanted to get fucked the night before, but didn't. I pulled the nightie up that last little bit so he could see my lightly haired pussy, open and hungry. My tits were shaking with heightened breathing, and I slid my hands up my waist to tug on the nightie until it spread wide enough to let my one of my nipples spring out.

Nathan stepped forward until one of his knees leaned against the chair between my legs. I stared at the growing tent in his shorts, right in front of my face. I looked up.

Nathan smiled and nodded. Tentatively, I pulled the waistband of his shorts out and down, freeing his own hungry beast. It almost touched me as it sprang out and rested on the stretched out elastic band of his shorts, his balls still hanging inside. I tried to take him in my hand but he batted me away. Confused, I looked up seeking direction but he just stared back, his eyes listless.

I tugged his shorts further down until his balls were free, slipped my hand underneath and tickled his hairy scrotum, lightly scratching his nuts. He seemed to like this but when I moved my hand up to grip his shaft he pushed my hand away again.

When I looked up, he leaned forward until his cock bumped against my chin. Our eyes locked. I cast mine down and tilted my head forward, allowing his cock to slide forward, the helmet rubbing over my lower lip. When I opened my mouth, he slid inside.

I sucked him. For the first time in my life, I sucked my son's cock. For the first time in my life, I sucked a man's cock in my kitchen, for the first time anywhere in my house outside of my bedroom. My son was the first man to fuck me in my living room and here he was with his cock in my mouth. I licked and swirled my tongue around, bobbing my head, slicking his shaft and teasing the tender underside of his tip.

I tried to take his cock in my hand again, to jack him in my mouth, but again he pushed me away. Fine. I slid one arm behind his ass to pull him closer and dropped the other to my lap, slipping it between my legs onto my pussy, rubbing the damp mat of hair I found there.

I was surprised when his cock suddenly lurched forward an inch, filling my mouth and pushing my head back. I renewed my sucking effort, swirling, licking, bobbing my head, losing myself in it. Mark could have walked in and I wouldn't have noticed.

Again, he caught me off guard with a sudden thrust into my mouth. Deeper this time, gagging me. I coughed on his cock and he withdrew, holding back as if waiting to see if I was alright, only then slipping his now very slick cock back into my mouth.

I worked harder at sucking him now, as if I needed to make up for the interruption I'd caused by coughing. I was still surprised the next few times when he suddenly lurched forward in my mouth. I couldn't predict it. Each time, he pulled back, waited, then pushed inside me again, each time more quickly, and each time his cock grew slicker as my saliva became more copious.

The next time he lunged forward his hand cupped the back of my head, holding me while he kept his cock in place for me to cough on, finally pulling out to wait for me to recover, a string of gooey saliva connecting his throbbing muscle to my open mouth. He seemed more eager to get back inside that time.

The next time came quicker yet. Again, he held my head, pushing himself into me while I gurgled around his cock, only pulling back when the squelching sound showed how desperately I needed to breath. I felt used, gasping for breath, his slick pole waggling around in front of my nose, waiting to shove back in.

He wasn't concerned about my comfort. The thought flooded through me like a revelation. He was using me as a warm, wet orifice, and he was enjoying the roughness of it. Had I done the same, mashing my cunt against his face? My own juices suddenly surged and I pushed my fingers inside myself, opening my mouth wide at the same time, beckoning him.

He plunged in quickly and didn't wait for me to start sucking him. Instead, he stared fucking, sliding his cock in and out, holding the back of my head, fuckng my face. Strangely, I was aware of him setting his coffee mug down on the kitchen table beside me, grasping my head in both hands, increasing his thrusts until I was gagging again, pulling back, waiting for me to recover, thrusting inside as soon as I did.

I don't know how long this went on. I lost track of how many times he paused, waiting, before starting the onslaught again. Each bout of squishy, squelching thrusting lasting longer and longer as I learned to take him, to let him sloppily fuck my mouth, taking him deeper, matching his oral attack with my own assault down below, my fingers jamming in farther and faster with each passing second.

Finally it came, bursting, gushing, filling my mouth, then back and blasting into my face. Splat, spat, splat. His hard cock was rubbing back and forth on my cheek, along my nose, to the other side of my face, back into my mouth. He was moaning. Had he been moaning all along? Were we loud?

His body was shaking, his legs straining with the effort to squeeze the last drops of his jizz inside me, his cock sliding about between his mother's lips until, finally, he pulled out.

Once so strong, he now seemed barely able to stand. I pulled my robe tightly around me and, despite the white deposits flung across my cheeks, nose, and forehead, mustered a motherly tone.

"You'd better go back to bed."

Nathan nodded and turned away.

I got up and walked half shocked to the sink, bending over to wash my face, my knees buckling as the second wave of my orgasm thundered through me as the warm water splashed over my face.

Later that morning, while my husband lay hungover in bed, we drove down to get his car which was sitting by itself at the end of the parking lot. And yes, I did entice my son into the back seat of the car, opening my legs wide and laughing at his fumbling eagerness to get his pants down as soon as he saw me lay back in the seat, pulling my skirt up to reveal my bare pussy. His thrusts were frantic, goaded on by my whispers in his ear and my flicking, swirling tongue, urging him to fuck me hard, that I'd need him again that night.

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And now, here's the surprise. A letter from Nathan, unaware that his mother has already written us.

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You're such an interesting group of people. Hello. My name is Nathan. I've enjoyed learning about your experiences and I'm looking forward to sharing mine with my mother Marilyn. My mother is one of those just past forty women that look younger than they are, mostly because they have worked hard to preserve their figures, but whose sexiness isn't recognized by the men that pass by without noticing them. And this is largely because these women have long stopped committing the effort required to look sexy since they're focused on their family and have more important things to do. But given the right set of circumstances that could change and once their sexuality is rekindled, though intrinsically different from that in their younger days, is likely to be far stronger.

My father's attitude triggered such a change in my mother and I have been the beneficiary of a revived woman that now exudes sexuality from every pore in her body. For several months now, since before I finished high school and joined my father to learn his business, I have been fucking my mother on a daily basis. Missionary, doggy, standing in front and from behind, kneeling, licking her and letting her grind her pussy all over my face, riding me face on and from behind, and her sucking and letting me spunk all over her face. Sometimes, we're at each other as soon as my father leaves but then we can spend hours together -- talking, reading, watching a movie or working in the garden -- before something triggers one of us into action.

I'll tell you how all this started, but first I'd like to tell you how I convinced my mother to cede the one joy she had not provided me, or anyone else for that matter. Strangely, it all came about because of my father, although it certainly wasn't intended.

My father is one of those successful, outgoing types with a huge ego and a way with women, at least, certain types of women. My mother knew about his escapades and this was, in fact, what first opened the door for me with her because, though he promised her it would end, he started up again after a few months.

Dad didn't pursue women that worked for him. He was smarter than that, but everyone else was fair game. Typically, he chased women working for companies that did business with his, sometimes customers but more often suppliers that had a vested interested in falling to his amorous advances. I guess everyone uses an edge if its available.

But my father wasn't above seducing the wives of his business colleagues if they were attractive and he sensed an opening, either because they were ignored by their husbands, as his own wife was, or their husband's bread was buttered through doing business with him, and they were unlikely to complain. After all, it was just a few fucks.

In the typical scenario, Dad would arrive in town for a supposed business meeting when the husband was out of town, something he had assured himself of earlier. He would act as if he was supposed to meet for a dinner meeting with the woman's husband, being miffed at first but soon turning into an accommodating gentleman. He would insist that the husband not be called, lest it embarrass him, and that she share this secret with him to spare her husband. How kind, right?

Of course, he would mention that he was now in a strange town with nothing to do. If there were no children there, he would allow himself to be talked into staying for a bite to eat and a drink or two. Dad would casually remind his target of how important his company was to her husband's business, usually grossly exaggerated, while directing compliments to him but later exclusively toward her. Eventually, he would have her comfortable and laughing and would manage to get her to put on some music, suggesting something they could dance to.

A slow number would soon play and while he wouldn't make a move on the first one, he would get closer and closer with each subsequent song, making her aware that she was in a the company of a handsome, personable man. Between her loneliness and the drinks, she would become aroused. My father would sense the right time to make an explicit move, direct or subtle, depending on the woman. It might lead to immediate, fervent sex right there on the floor, or the need to laugh off that initial suggestive move and keep her going, slowly working her around to the idea. If he had to, he would refresh her memory about how important he was to her husband's success.

Evidently, he enjoyed this latter type of conquest the most. He was almost addicted to the thrill of slowly winning a reluctant woman who, though very aroused, was loath to capitulate her honor. In the end, he knew she would succumb, they always did. The joy of loosing her breasts, of dragging her panties off and spreading her legs, of shoving his cock deep inside her as she turned her face away, forcing an involuntary groan from her tightly clamped jaws. The thrill as first her arms and then her legs wrapped around him, pulling him closer, moaning as she realized how much better he was than her husband. He'd laugh as she abandoned herself while he thought ahead of all the ways he would fuck her until he finally tired of her months later. Often by then she would be hooked on the excitement he brought into her life and would still be available for a periodic fling if he felt like it.

The end wouldn't change if children were present, just the route. He would implore her to join him for dinner, at a nice restaurant in a romantic setting, consuming lots of wine over a dinner far more expensive than she was used to with her husband. Of course, they would have to stop by his room, in the hotel or close by, to pick up some papers he wanted to leave for her husband. Once in his room, the same game would play out. It would always end with his cock inside her, mouth or pussy, typically both. Strange as it seems, he usually found the women to be wilder in their own homes.

Eventually, one of these plays went dreadfully wrong. I'm sure that others had misfired before but he was probably able to keep those situations quiet because it would be mutually embarrassing but also because the offended wife would leave things alone if her husband's business wouldn't suffer. But this time, Dad moved on the wife of a major client, and it was his business that was in danger of a major blow. He just couldn't help himself, she was so attractive, and he misread the signs that showed her complete lack of interest in him.

I was called in to manage the disaster. I was dispatched right away with the authority to do whatever it took to placate my father's most recent target to ensure that her husband never found out. Dad told me this woman had misunderstood his social nature as an advance. He just couldn't understand it and was unable to persuade her that she was mistaken in the short time before he was given the bum's rush out the door.

Given my father's unconvincing story, I was pretty sure about what had happened. This was an embarrassing task but one I had to do if our family was to retain a viable business, for the word would certainly spread. I also knew that if I was successful, and let Dad know that the truth had come out, I would forever have an advantage over him. So I went and, though reluctant at first, my enthusiasm for the task grew as I drove.

She was a very attractive woman. In her mid to late thirties, just a few years younger than my mom, second wife and married several years but still no children -- I had done some homework -- her husband's attention had turned back to the business and then to other distractions, like my father.

I approached Greta with honesty. I turned up at her door because I was certain she wouldn't meet me otherwise. There, I told her about what my father had said, and my instructions, and how utterly convinced I was that it was total bullshit. I added that my father had done this before and that he was an extreme embarrassment to my mother and myself.


Mentioning my mother was a godsend; Greta invited me in. I following her, admiring the fall of her long black hair cascading over her pale yellow sweater, falling just short of the black stretch pants clinging to her long legs. The movement of her finely shaped behind rhymed with the sway of her hips. She was naturally seductive and I could see why my father thought she was worth the risk. It was an effort to tear my eyes away from the perfectly timed pair of animated half-pears and but I forced myself to concentrate on what needed to be done.

Greta led me through the house and outside down a stone path that led over a small bridge between a pair of ponds to a garden-surrounded gazebo. She motioned for me to sit on one of the cushioned lounges and poured us each a glass of orangy-pinkish looking juice from a large pitcher that was almost full. The ice cubes clinked as they tumbled into the short stubby glasses. I was surprised by the taste of alcohol.

Over the next hour or so, I explained my suspicions about my father's transgression and made my pitch to assure her that it would never happen again and that in future I would handle her husband's account. There would be no uncomfortable chance meetings with my father. I talked about how messy the situation could become and acknowledged the emotional damage Dad may have caused. In compensation, I described how, soon after I took over the account, I would negotiate a more amenable business arrangement for her husband which he would assume was achieved because of my youth and naivete.

She smiled when I finished. "I don't think you're a very naive young man," she said.

"Nevertheless," I replied, "he will assume so, if he's anything like my father."

Her smile widened, "I believe they are cut from the same cloth."

I was disconcerted by this remark and wondered if she knew just how much like my father her husband really was. What a shame to waste a woman like this, and my mother, on men like them. I tried to continue outlining plan but Greta turned the conversation around to focus on me and my mother. She needed to know what we were like, she said, before she could make up her mind about whether to go along with my plan.

So we spent another hour chatting, very pleasantly, about myself and Mom, with a few anecdotes about Greta thrown in that were relevant to the discussion at the time. When Greta refilled our glasses, I was surprised to see that the pitcher was empty. I was feeling quite pleasant. Eventually, there was a pregnant pause in the conversation.

"Well, I'd better be going," I said, pushing myself to my feet. "I shouldn't have stayed so long. I hope I didn't overstay my welcome."

"Not at all, Nathan." Greta stood with me. "I'm very glad to have met you and I'm glad you came. This was the best afternoon I've had for some time. You're welcome anytime."

"So you'll think about my proposal, then?"

"Perhaps over dinner," she smiled.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I have stayed too long. Is your husband coming?" I had thought he was away for a couple more nights and was a bit flustered that he might arrive at any minute.

"No," she laughed. "Don't panic. He'll be gone for a few days yet."

I couldn't help looking relieved.

"I was just about to make some supper, that's all."

"Oh." I felt awkward. "I'm sorry, I should have invited you to dinner. It's the least I could do."

"No, but thank you." She stepped through the glass doors into the house, carrying the pitcher and two glasses. I hadn't even thought to bring my glass inside. "Isn't that one of your father's tricks?"

"Yes, I guess it wouldn't look good for you to be out with someone when your husband's out of town." I realized as soon as I said it how silly it sounded. After all, I was just a kid barely out of high school. I actually shuffled my feet. Good grief. She was teasing me.

Greta smiled, but it was a smile that didn't make fun of me.

"Actually," she said, "I wouldn't say no to some pizza, but we've both had too much punch to drive, don't you think?"

I nodded.

"Right," she said. "You order some pizza -- there's a number on the fridge -- and I'll make some more punch."

I didn't think I should have any more punch, in case I lost my head. It would be easy to think she wasn't just being nice.

She handed me a full glass when I got off the phone and turned to walk into the living room. I followed, unable to keep my attention from her seductive assets. When the pizza arrived half an hour later, Greta let me pay for it without any argument. She was in the kitchen refilling our glasses while I was at the door and waited there until I brought the pizza in.

"Let's eat it right out of the box," she said, enthusiastically. "I haven't done that for years. Come on, bring it along" she said in a sparkly voice, leading me back to the living room.

As soon as I sat down, Greta handed me another glass of punch.

"I shouldn't," I said.

"Nonsense. You have to keep me company. It's part of the deal."

That was a good sign. It sounded like she was going to go along with my plan. I took a sip.

"That's better," she said. "Dig in."

The time passed quickly while we gorged ourselves on pizza. Greta talked more about herself, especially her college days. It made me rethink my own future, that maybe I should go to college instead of learning Dad's business. College hadn't appealed to me but as Greta recounted the joys of her past I began to reconsider my choice.

My glass was empty and, though I shouldn't have had any more, I was in the mood for it. The pitcher more than half gone. Greta saw me glance at the pitcher, grabbed it, and refilled my glass.

"No, I shouldn't," I protested.

"Have you booked yourself into a hotel?"

"Uh, no. Not yet."

"Then go out to your car and bring your bag in."

"Bring my bag in?" I was stupefied.

"Yes. You're staying here tonight."

"I can't do that. I can't impose like that. You don't even know me."

"I know you better than you think. Enough to trust you more than some men I've known for years."

I was pleased that I'd earned her trust but even more please that she'd referred to me as a man.

"Still, I can get a cab. It wouldn't look right."

"You can't go riding about in a cab trying to find a room. Go out and get your bag while it's still light outside. Go on, don't argue." Greta stood and stepped toward the front door.

"While it's still light?" I asked, not comprehending.

"Of course. You're my second cousin's son," she explained, cooking up a story for curious neighbors. "Why wouldn't you stay?"

As I walked to the door, Greta said, "We're having so much fun and you can't drive now so you may as well stay here. You can leave in the morning, and I'll give you my answer then.

I didn't see anyone outside. Greta's words sunk in as I pulled my case out of the trunk. She wasn't going to tell me until tomorrow morning, not at dinner like she said. Then I remembered, she said she'd think about it at dinner. She hadn't said she'd tell me. Just relax, I thought. Don't push, and be yourself. There's no need to treat her like a client. She's really nice and fun to be around. Just relax and everything will be alright. I felt better walking back into the house.

Greta wasn't there when I came in, but as soon as I shut the door, her voice rang out.

"Up here," she called. "In the spare room."

I carried my bag up the stairs and walked down the hallway toward the light coming out from an open doorway. Greta was inside, just finishing laying a set of men's pajamas out on the double bed.

She walked past me as I entered. "Put those on and we'll have a movie night," she instructed, walking out of the room. "See you downstairs." She sounded quite pleased.

It was a strange situation I found myself in, one I certainly wouldn't have predicted starting out on the highway this morning. I tried to think while I got changed, but wasn't able to come up with a plan, or even if I should have one. Just go with the flow, I thought. Have some fun.

I walked downstairs in her husband's flannel pajamas, holding the bottoms up. He was a little broader in the hips, or paunchier, than I. I found Greta in the kitchen, just closing the oven door.

"That will make a nice snack later," she said. "I love hot apple crumble with vanilla ice cream and tea. Don't you?"

Greta was wearing a pair of flannel pajamas that matched my own. It was a bit of a disappointment really because the loose flannel hid the small breasts and supple bottom I'd been noticing since I'd arrived, though I had tried hard to be discreet and kept my glances to a minimum. Still, I had the feeling that Greta was aware of my disappointment and my attempt to find the curves hidden by the shape hiding clothes. Though she didn't look it, somehow I thought she was amused.

Greta regarded me with a soft look. "Come on, let's go watch a movie."

She grabbed my hand and pulled me into the TV room where a large flat screen was fixed to one wall with three sofas arrayed in a semi-circle in front of it. She sat in the center one and gestured for me so to sit beside her.

"Tell me more about your mother," she demanded.

I sat down before the reaction of her mentioning Mom in this setting stimulated embarrassing effects in me. Within a minute, I became flustered as my member stiffened in response to thoughts about my mother that didn't match what I was telling Greta. Thankfully, I was saved by the previews ending and the screen awaiting the push of the play button, which Greta did. The chick flick started.

There were no heated sex scenes in this movie. It was a chick's chick flick. Was Greta seeing if I would go the distance to keep her happy, to see if I was willing to pay a price for her silence? Well, she'd find out, no matter how many chick flicks I had to sit through. I settled in to watch.

Sometime during the movie, I settled in the corner of the sofa and put my feet up on the seat. Greta had done the same in the opposite corner. Our feet mingled together, touching lightly, by accident at first, but by the end of the movie, they were nestled together. It was quite comforting and, though intimate, only mildly erotic and then only because I couldn't forget how fantastic her ass had looked as she'd walked ahead of me when she first invited me inside. But now I could only see her bare feet and her ankles up to where her calves began to thicken with muscle. And her very pretty face, of course.

I tried to see the outline of her cheeks as I followed her to the kitchen for our dessert but the flannel defeated me. Only for the brief moment when she bent over before the open oven to retrieve the apple crumble was I treated to the sculptured behind I'd witnessed that afternoon.

"Get the ice cream, silly," she admonished me as she straightened up to put the dish on top of the stove. Her tone could have implied, 'You're not your father, you know.' I felt the blood rush to my face.

"Let's eat it here on the counter."

She let the crumble cool while she made two tall mugs of tea in the single shot machine. We sat, on stools either side of the counter, eating our hot crumble and ice cream, face to face, smiling at each other. The alcohol buzz had worn off but I felt another now, one not entirely in my head. She really was a pretty woman. There was something so soft and feminine about her.

I was glad for the counter separating us because as I watched her delicately deposit each spoonful into her mouth and then close her lips tight as she pulled the spoon out, savoring each tasty molecule. I got a boner.

I tried to will it down, but every time that spoon entered her mouth and she raised it up in front of her upturned nose before spinning it upside down to drag it slowly out, digging her tongue into the concave bowl, my cock lurched.

What a moron her husband was. He was probably out in a bar or club, getting drunk, hitting on some tawdry tart half his age, the kind that would actually go to bed with an old fart like him. That was if he hadn't been able to influence some woman he worked with to offer herself up. Just like my Dad I thought, but a few years younger.

"Oops! Whoa!!" Greta cried out, grabbing at her chest. "Whoa. That's cold!"

She was digging at her pajama top, undoing a button, trying to get her hand inside to stop the downward progress of a spoonful of ice cream and crumble. She grabbed a dish towel and dabbed at herself, laughing, undoing another button.

I was entrhalled. I could see the hint of her small breasts, even glimpses of her bare flesh, as her pajamas were briefly dragged apart so she could get the towel in, and then again as she wiped it away. I was further thrilled when she looked down between her breasts and slipped yet another button undone, reaching down to wipe something unseen from her tummy below the divide of her breasts.

"You can dress her up ...," she laughed. Standing, Greta grabbed her freshly poured mug of tea and stepped down from the stool. "Let's finish our tea while we start the next movie before I spill on myself again," she giggled.

I was very aware that she hadn't refastened any of the buttons even though her top was now loosely flapping between her breasts. They were small, so there wasn't any breast flesh bursting out, but I could make out the sides as she passed by. I was thankful that Greta didn't look at me until I'd settled back into the couch, giving me time to get my boner under my hands which I held crossed in my lap.

She started the movie right away. I would have noticed that it was steamier than the last one, restricted but not X-rated, except that my attention was on her blouse that opened whenever she stretched around to reach for her mug of tea. When she finished it, she turned to put her feet up on the couch like I had only this time she stretched her feet out past mine to nestle them under my thighs. A moment later, I let mine stretch out too, the feeling imparted by the soft underside of her legs giving me more cause to keep my hands covering my lap.

Greta's back was square to the end of the sofa but her head was twisted toward the screen, pulling her pajama top apart. Though I couldn't see her breasts because their small size still kept them hidden under the flannel, I could see the skin between all the way down to her navel. It didn't help my condition that every once in a while, seemingly in reaction to something on the big screen, she would scrunch her toes, scratching them down the underside of my thighs. There was no hope of quelling my raging boner. I gave up trying.

I became aware that this chick flick was about a woman who, depressed by her adulterous husband, by chance found new meaning in her life when she takes a holiday alone and meets a young artist living in a cabin down a lonely stretch of beach from the one she rented. Flashbacks show the young man to be much like her husband in his youth, before other recounted life events changed him, and her. The woman falls in love with the young man who is afflicted with a rare terminal disease, and she ends up sharing her bed with him in a very romantic but steamy fireside love scene before the inevitable tear-jerker ending.

The parallel with her own life was obvious but I couldn't help my own thoughts, despite the tear that ran down her cheek near the end, from noticing the camel toe between her legs which had opened as the movie progressed. The flannel was pulled tightly across her crotch and there was no mistaking the clear outline of her pussy and the crevice between her mound.

My eyes were on her face when the final scene ended. There were tears running down both cheeks when she turned to face me. It was heartbreaking actually, and my heart went out to her. She stretched her hands toward me and I raised mine to take hers. They were so small and delicate.

"Would you dance with me?" she asked, quietly.

How could I decline?

"Sure," I replied.

Greta stood, grabbed the remote and punched a few buttons. Music, slow and gentle, softly filled the room. She held her arms out to me, lifting her pajamas away from her chest, revealing a little more of herself. I tried very hard not to look but probably didn't succeed. As her arms circled my neck, I remembered my condition and kept my hips away but as we moved, she stepped closer and I stepped back, trying to avoid contact. Try as I might, I knew I couldn't avoid that embarrassing moment when she'd discover me and realize what a cretan I'd been all evening. Just after the start of the second song, I felt my tented pajamas graze hers and braced for her rebuke.

"I know about my husband, Nathan," she whispered, stepping closer, bending me up against myself.

"What?" I cried. "You do?" I was surprised that she wasn't angry, but flustered as well and I tried to act as if my condition didn't exist, even though she must be able to feel me.

"Yes. I've known for a long time. But I wasn't about to take revenge with someone just like him, like your father."

Her arms slid down to my hips and she pulled herself closer to me, pressing her belly firmly against my hardening erection. Her face turned up into my neck.

"If that's for me, it's very flattering," she whispered. She rubbed herself against me.

There was no need to hide anything now, but I was still trying to act like I was a little innocent, at least, that I hadn't been planning anything. She stood up on her tippy toes, bringing my stiffness into line with the mound under her flannel pajamas. Her mouth pressed against the side of my neck, pinching my skin between her lips.

"Keep dancing," she whispered, circling her arms around my neck.

I pulled her around the carpet, slowly turning in an oval in front of the big screen. I wouldn't have won any awards, that's for sure, but Greta murmured her approval.

"That's it, that's nice," she whispered, nibbling my neck, her arms circling tighter around me.

I shuffled from one foot to the other, turning slowly, arching back so she folded over the front of me, pressing on my erection, chafing against it. I twirled and twirled and all the while she hung from my neck, nuzzling and nibbling on my neck and, though I wasn't certain, a few times I think she pressed her pelvis harder against me in a brief rub.

Tugging herself up higher, completely hanging from my neck, her flannel covered pussy aligned perfectly with my knob. As she held herself pressed against me, her tongue slowly circled the rim of my ear several times and then dug into the center. When it pulled out her mouth remained, enveloping my entire ear, whispering.

"I love the feel of it."

"What?" I cried, in the hoarsest sound I'd ever heard emanate from my throat.

"Your cock."

I was totally blown away. In celebration, I emitted the most inane comment ever to exit my mouth.

"Thank you," I replied lamely.

Greta laughed. A low, throaty, amused roll of sound. "You're welcome."

I groaned as her legs lifted and circled around my hips, her pussy opening and surrounding my knob and the upper section of my shaft.

"Take me upstairs, Nathan," she whispered.

I didn't move. I wasn't sure I'd heard her right. Maybe that was just my mind wishing.

"Quickly," she whispered. "Take me upstairs."

I ventured my first stumbling step, then another. Her arms and legs tightened around me. As I climbed the stairs, her heels dug into my buttocks.

"Hurry," she whispered.

I did, goaded by her mouth sucking on my neck and the softness enveloping my hardon. I didn't know where her bedroom was but somehow it was the first one I entered. My legs were weakening and I stumbled the last few steps before falling onto her bed. She was laughing, and she kept laughing as I struggled, pushing her farther onto the bed, hampered by her legs that continued to hold me like a vice. 


She giggled at my frantic efforts to pull her pajamas down, and mine. I had to pry her feet apart, unlocking her hold on me, yanking her bottoms off and thrusting my hips down to meet hers, between her open legs. She laughed as I tried to enter her, moving her hips, denying me. Her arms were still locked around my neck, her mouth by my ear.

"Do you want it?" she laughed.

I grunted in reply, stabbing away with my eager stick.

She shrieked with laughter, then suddenly went still. Her tongue snaked into my ear and she spoke clearly, "Fuck me."

She was waiting. I pulled back until my cock fell between her open legs, then slid forward, tracing along her inner thigh into the little hollow before the final treasure, bumping there, finding the crevice, the head slipping and sliding easily between her moist lips, into the wet slit of her cunt.

"Yessss," she hissed in answer to the long moan I emitted as I slid up her clutching channel, reacting ecstatically to her magic grip. I paused when I reached bottom, groaning loudly. Her hands pulled my head closer to her but she didn't say anything. She never said another word the whole time I fucked her, pulling out and shoving in, slowly, then fast and hard, then gentle, grinding around, doing my best to jerk a moan or a grunt from her mouth. I loved it when I succeeded but the best was the mewling whimper she started to make when I was near and continued as my cum spewed inside her.

She didn't move when I stopped. She lay there, her fingers tracing up and down my back, over my buttocks and up my sides. Steadily, lazily. I was still inside her, soft, almost slipping out. Then, I began to harden. Her arms locked around my neck again and her legs lifted, her feet settling into the small of my back.

"Again," she said.

It was a much longer fuck. I tried very hard to please her and found that if I held myself high she would stretch her lithe body up to stay with me. I pulled so high I pulled out and her long legs strained with the effort to reach high enough to capture me again, back deeply arched, only her head and heels touching the bed. A dozen strenuous thrusts and I did it again. We played that game over and over until we finally climaxed in thunderous orgasms.

Laying quietly, recuperating, she shared an intimate laugh. "So you enjoyed making me work for it too, did you?"

I smiled, exhausted.

She got up and a moment later I heard the shower running. I didn't have the energy to join her, though the thought of warm water running over her beautiful, slender body was almost too much to resist. Returning to towel herself dry, she prodded me to get cleaned up. I thought she might be done with me and wanted me gone so I dragged myself up and into the shower. When I came back, she was laying on the bed, on her tummy, legs together with one foot resting on the back of the other. My eyes were drawn to the triangle outlined by her buttocks and the top of her thighs. Her head twisted to look back at me.

"You liked my ass when you first followed me in, didn't you?"

I was caught. How had she known? I thought I'd been so discreet.

"Yes," I answered honestly.

She smiled and unclasped her feet, spreading her legs. Her ass lifted and waved from side to side the tiniest bit.

"Take me this way," she said in a throaty voice, turning her face down and pressing it into the mattress, lifting her hips until I could see her pussy come into view between her parted thighs.

I tossed the towel to the floor and advanced, still wet, onto the bed, waddling on my knees between her legs, my cock rising to full mast by the time it was able to nuzzle against her furry delight. My hands gripped her hips as my knob started to nudge into her slit. Her head turned to the side.

"I don't let him do me like this anymore," she said, still in that husky voice.

God. I held her hips and shoved in, pulling back on her at the same time. Her "ohhhhhhhh" turned into a series of moans as I thrust in and out of her, full length. I wanted to get into her as deeply as I could, to make her moan louder. I got up onto my feet, straddling her hips and rocked my hips forward, plunging my cock down until my balls lay on her ass, and then digging into her as far as I could.

She grunted. God, what a sound. I almost came. I thrust into her long and hard a dozen times and then dug into her again as far as I could, grinding. Another grunt, longer this time. I pounded her for a full minute, then the same grinding dig. Grunnnnt. Oh god. To make this woman do that, grunting to the rooting of my cock. Incredible. I did it again. Sliding my hands down her front to grab her small tits, squeezing them, pinching her nipples, hanging onto them through the next volley of thrusts, pinching them harder as I dug into her again, rewarded with a louder and longer grunt.

I gathered her long hair and pulled it as I thrust, tugging her head back just as I started the grind. I was fucking like an animal, crouching on my feet, thrusting repeatedly. Finally, I got so carried away that my weight pushed her flat onto the mattress. I straddled her hips, continuing to fuck her, to dig into her from behind, holding her hair, tugging just enough to raise her head so I could hear her sounds. I came soon after that.

Catching my breath, I was about to slide off her when she stopped me.

"No, stay there. I want you to lay on me like that. I want to feel you covering me."

I fell asleep laying on her. When I woke up, the sun was streaming in the window and Greta was laying on her side, gazing at me, smiling. The morning sunlight shining on her face accented her natural beauty. An incredible feeling rushed through me, culminating in a zing that zoomed up my cock and burst in a shower of teasing tingles.

"What should we do today?"

I can't describe the look on her face but it made me want to start making love to her right away.

"Today? I should get back. I have to work."

Greta frowned. "Isn't our account big enough to hold you until this afternoon?"

"It's not that. You know I don't care about that."

Greta put her finger to my lip, silencing me. "I know, she said. I was just teasing. But I do need your help. Will you help me?" Greta lifted her finger for me to speak.

"Yes," I replied.

Her finger pressed down on my lips again.

"I'm going to cleanse myself of my husband's crap."

Greta paused and didn't continue until I nodded to acknowledge that I was listening.

"Last night was a start. I gave you something I won't let him have again, but there's two things I never gave him, though I know he wanted them, and he deserves to have me give them to another man. I choose you."

I nodded.

"Do you understand?" She lifted her finger, indicating a nod wasn't enough.

"I think so."

"Do you know why you're so deserving?"

I shook my head. Greta smiled.

"Because you been laying there, patiently listening to me and all the while I've been holding your cock." Greta laughed out loud.

I was shocked. No wonder my cock felt so wonderful. I was suddenly blissfully aware that her small, soft, womanly fingers were wrapped around my knob. A groan escaped my lips.

"You have a girlfriend, don't you Nathan?"

I shook my head.

"It's ok. I don't mind."

"No," I groaned. "I don't have a steady girl."

"If you say so. But I know there's a woman in your life."

"Why?" I groaned as her hand slid down, gripping me hard at the root of my erection.

"Because you talk in your sleep," Greta explained. "You slept like a rock but you started mumbling when I teased you with my fingers, stroking it softly, like this." Greta shifted closer to me and started jack my cock slowly, squeezing her fingers tight as she rubbed up and down my length.

"Mumbling?" I gasped.

"And talking," she said, "when I did this." Greta bent her head and took my knob into her mouth, swirling her tongue around, her hand receding down my rod, followed a second later by her enveloping mouth. Quickly, she bobbed her head up and down, then pulled off with a loud sucking pop.

"Who's Marilyn?"

"Ohhhhhhhhhhuuuunnnnhhhhh," I gasped. Her fingers gripped my knob as her thumb kept rubbing underneath.

"That's what you said this morning, and when I took you into my mouth again, you whispered her name, so I know she's the woman you want to do this."

Greta bent her head again, folding her lips over my cock and pushing down until she met my belly, holding her head there. What an incredible feeling. She pulled off with another loud sucking sound, gasped for air and dove down, rapidly and loudly sucking my cock with wet, squishy sucks. If she thought the wet sound of her mouth would get me really horny, she was right. She pulled off and looked at me again.

"I'm going to give you a treat now. Something I wouldn't give him, and I want you to take it."

She turned and propped her pillow against the headboard, then laid on her back, head on the raised pillow. She tugged on my cock, pulling me around and up towards her mouth. I followed, too surprised to respond under my own power. I think my cock was going there whether I wanted to follow or not.

My knees straddled her shoulders and I towered over her face as Greta pulled me into her mouth. Her hands slipped around my hips to grab my ass, pulling, forcing me forward until I was plugged all the way into her throat. She held me there again, until she had to push me off, gasping for air.

"Fuck it, Nathan. Fuck it until you come all over," she panted heavily, chest heaving, eyes wild, "so when he brags to me about some stupid deal, I can smile and remember the feel of your jizz all over my face."

She pulled me forward hard, into her mouth, and I started fucking it. So this was all about revenge, last night, and this morning. Alright. My hips moved faster. I could do it. As many times as she wanted. I'd fuck her face. I moved faster, reaching down to grasp the sides of her head, now loving the sloppy wet sound, the squishing and gurgling. Fuck yeah. Fuck yeah.

I bounced up and down on her head, only pulling out of her face long enough to let her breath, then jamming back in again. Fucking a woman's face is a real rush but one that is as pretty as Greta is a real special treat. She must have taken something in her mouth to numb her throat. Otherwise, I don't know how she could have taken cock like that. She was drooling out the corners, soaking the pillow but I couldn't slow down, though I meant to make sure she was ok. I just got carried away.

I felt close to the lord when it burst up my pipe and I yelled as splat after splat struck her face, nose, forehead, hair, headboard, back to her eyes and nose, squeezing my cock to get the last dribble onto her upper lip. I pushed my cock into her mouth for a few gentle thrusts and pulled out as the second cumming surged up my shaft, dribbling it all around her face, as she pushed it up to take it all. I rubbed my cock all over, spreading my spunk, rubbing it to engrain the memory, the easier for her to recall in her husband's presence. 'Fuck you,' I shouted to a man I'd never met.

"Yeah. Fuck him," Greta cried.

I'd said that aloud?

I looked down at this gorgeous woman, buried under a sea of my white spunk. We both burst out laughing. A long purging and, yes, cleansing laugh. I pulled the sheets over and wiped Greta's face. She didn't stop me but she didn't help either. I got off the bed and fetched a facecloth, rinsed in warm water, and returned to gently clean her.

"Thank you," she said when I finished. "I know that must have been a hard thing for you to do."

Again, we burst out laughing, our mirth lasting for several long minutes, restarting twice as soon as our eyes met. We had a shower after that. Both of us, together, washing each other but not initiating anything sexual. We dressed and walked downstairs together. We talked about inane things as we ate a light breakfast and drank coffee.

It was almost noon when I finished my second cup of coffee and started making movements like I was getting ready to leave. Greta filled a container with very hot water in the sink, fetched something from the fridge, and put it into the makeshift bath. When I stood a few minutes later, about to say my goodbye, she took my hand and led me to the sink, pulling a bottle out of the sink.

"There's still one more thing I need you to do, Nathan."

"Today?"

"Today," she replied, firmly, walking toward the kitchen door, tugging me along.

I trailed behind her, admiring the sheen of her freshly washed hair, still damp from the shower, my eyes dropping to the panties that stretched across those gorgeous little pears that defined her ass, about halfway down where they bulged out into the fleshy bits that moved so enticingly under her panties. My scrutiny switched to her hand and the bottle she held. Some kind of oil. A massage? She wanted me to give her a massage, with warm oil?

Ok. I guess I could force myself to run my hands over that athletic body of hers. Was I up for another fuck? The tingle below provided my answer. My eyes looked down into the gap where her panties stretched across her cheeks, cupping the part that jutted out. I remembered last night and I started getting hard. If I could get her on her tummy, maybe I could take her from behind again. I topped the stairs with renewed energy.

She allowed me to slip my hand out of hers as we walked down the hallway toward her bedroom, perhaps realizing that I wanted to lag behind to watch her sexy ass. I followed my boner as it pursued her beckoning buns. She stopped at the end of the bed, stooping to grab the covers, pulling them off with one sweep to leave only a sheet covering over the mattress cover. She turned to face me.

"Take off your shorts."

She watched as I obeyed her, smiling as my hard cock sprang forth. I stood looking at her, waiting for her next instruction, but she said nothing. Slowly, she twisted the top off the bottle she held in her hand, tipping it to fill her hand with a clear, oily looking liquid. She lowered her hand and held it in front of me. I stepped forward until my cock hovered above it. Her hand rose and closed around my shaft, rubbing down and then back, repeating, slowly, working the warm oil into my skin.

Was I to get the massage?

Just as the thought flashed through my mind, she dropped the bundle of my nerves in her hand, recapped the bottle and turned away from me.

"Take my panties off," she whispered.

Eagerly, I pushed the panties over her hips and down her upper thighs. As I was about to bend down to tug them down her legs, she stopped me with another command.

"Push them the rest of the way with your feet."

Hooking my toe into her panties between her legs, I pushed them down. It was a struggle because she kept her legs apart, stretching them tight. I had to push first one side, then the other, then the front waistband, followed by the back. Finally, I succeeded. I waited.

Greta turned to face me again, stepping sufficiently close for my cock to rest upright against her belly on the slope down to her belly button. Silently, she uncapped the bottle, filled her hand, and again worked the slippery warm liquid up and down my rod. Refilling her hand, she worked the next palm full in just as thoroughly, then recapped the bottle and put it in my hand before stretching up to kiss me lightly on my mouth.

"You must do this for me," she whispered.

I nodded. Though I wasn't sure exactly what she wanted, I knew I would do anything for her.

"He threw my love away," she hissed, almost spitting. "Take everything, Nathan. Take it all."

She turned and crawled up on the bed. I expected her to lay flat and waited, deciding that I would work my way slowly up her entire body, from her toes to her ears. I would give her the best massage of her life, the most memorable experience I could create for her. But she remained on her knees, bending forward to rest her head on folded arms, ass high in the air, knees slightly parted.

She wanted to get fucked. From behind. I crawled up onto the bed, almost disappointed to miss the massage now that I could picture her body almost begging for my touch. But that feeling passed, superseded by the anticipation of rooting my cock into her from behind like I'd done last night.

I almost dropped the bottle.

The bottle. Why had she given me the bottle. She gotten so wet last night, why would I need it. I knelt behind her, looking at her open ass, her little hole crinkling above her pulsing slit, bracketed by those incredible cheeks, waiting for me.

Like lightening struggling to find its way through heavy rain, understanding wiggled through my brain. I glared at the bottle, then stared at her ass, my eyes riveting on the tight little hole above my previously intended target. 'Take it all,' she'd said.

Numbly, I twisted the cap off and tossed it aside. Reaching forward to hold the bottle above her back, I tipped it until a thin stream of oil fell onto her bum and trickled into her crack, running down over that little brown asterisk. Her breath expelled in a sudden gasp and her hips lurched, first forward and then back. Waiting.

I dipped my finger into the bottle and tipped it up to drench it, pulled it out and reached forward to award that awaited touch.

She flinched but then held her ground as my slippery digit worked a circle around her tiny target. I poured the oil across the top of her buttocks, dropped the bottle and rubbed her cheeks with my free hand. My oily finger never left the vicinity of her secret spot, that dark little treasure that evidently only I had ever been invited to touch.

I slipped my fingers into her slit, loving the surprised little gasp, and pushed two fingers easily inside her, twisting them back and forth before suddenly and rapidly thrusting them in and out. I pulled up with my fingers, lifting up to her dark side, letting them slip out to drag across that forbidden spot. Drag slowly, pressing in, dipping my fingertip, making her gasp again.

I picked up the bottle and poured more oil onto her buttocks but before it could drip over her pussy and onto the bed, I plugged my cock into her, forcing the oil to pool above, against the bottom of her anal ring. Dipping my thumb into the oil, I spread it upwards, rubbing it across her crinkled bud, thrusting my cock slowly in an out.

She was moaning but she gave it a little extra each time my thumb rubbed its little circle around her asshole. I kept coming back to tickle her there, trying to surprise her. She certainly wasn't avoiding my touch. On one rub, I suddenly pushed my thumb inside, plugging her hole. I was surprised how easily it slipped in and by her gasp, so was she.

I slammed my cock into her hard five or six times and then stopped to twist my thumb around in a semicircle, back and forth, working her hole open. Keeping my cock still but fully inside her, I pulled my thumb in and out, fucking her ass with my little pretend prick.

I traded off, fucking her pussy with my cock and then holding still while I worked my thumb in her, pausing between to pull on her hole, trying to stretch it wider. I don't know why, because her ass was slippery from the oil, but on impulse I leaned over and drooled a large dollop of saliva onto her hole. Greta gasped and then moaned, as she heard me spitting on her ass. It was gross, and wildly exciting at the same time.

I slammed into her hard a dozen times, this time trying to work my thumb in tandem. I stopped and dug my thumb into her as far as I could, pushing the wider part inside. I pulled my thumb out and gobbed on her, replacing it with two fingers, pushing them easily inside. I pulled my cock out and concentrated on working my fingers in her. Kneeling to her side, I reached across her back and under her tummy, stretching my hand over her belly and slipping my fingers through her slit and into her cunt, rubbing my palm on her clit. I began frigging her ass in earnest. 

I kept this up for quite a while, surprised that she let me continue my rough massage. She was moaning and groaning yet I was still surprised how much she liked it. I'd had the impression she wasn't expecting to enjoy it, that it was some kind of price she was prepared to pay for revenge. But revenge, it seemed, was sweet.

I stopped, pulled my fingers out of her holes and gripped her shapely cheeks, spreading them wide. Leaning down, I pressed my mouth to the top of her crack and drooled as much saliva into it as I could produce. Twisting my face around, I stretched my tongue down her crack to her little hole, catching and swirling my spit around, then plunging my tongue inside.

God the sound that came out of her! Quickly, I lined myself up behind her and pushed my cock to her gaping hole, and pushed.

In. I was in. Oh, it was so tight. The resistance, the chafing as I shoved. Push, push. My first ass! My very first ass. God, I was only halfway in. Shove harder. What was that? What did she say?

Nothing. She was grunting every time I pushed. I shoved again. Another grunt. Groaning. Moaning. Take it, my mind screamed. Take it.

I pushed her forward, forcing her flat to the bed, straddling her ass with my thighs as I continued shoving my meat between her cheeks. Almost all the way now. Just a little more.

"Unnnngggghhhh," I cried, jamming my cock in that last inch. I pressed her into the mattress, rocking on her cheeks.

"Take my cock," I cried. God. I'd yelled that out. How loud? Grunt, grunt. God, I loved fucking her ass. I grabbed a handful of her hair, leaned down close to her and rasped into her ear, "My cock is in your ass. In your ass. My ass."

"Yessssss," she hissed. "Fuck it, fuck it."

Incredibly, she lifted her ass against me, bucking against the cock embedded between her cheeks. I answered her thrusts, fucking her as if I was in her pussy, just as hard. I couldn't believe it. I was so hard. She was so wild. She was going nuts. The sounds she was making were like they were from another planet. Her whole body was shaking.

We kept it up, pounding and thrusting, gasping and moaning. We may have cum simply because we were running out of energy. I know I couldn't have gone any longer. I meant to pull out. I thought about it as I fucked her and planned it but in the end I burst my load inside her. Like the night before, I collapsed on top of her, keeping my cock inside, but unlike the night before, I didn't offer to slide off. I stayed where I was.

It was a long time before our breathing returned to normal.

"Wow," I summarized our mutual first time anal experience.

Greta laughed that soft laugh.

"Did I hear you right? Did you say my ass was yours?"

"Uh, I got a little carried away. I, uh ..."

"Nathan, just tell me."

"Yes."

"Ok."






















