TITLE    : The Mom Memories Ch. 13

STORYID  : the-mom-memories-ch-13

SUMMARY  : Secret group exchanges maternal memories.

AUTHOR   : alwayswantedto@lit

DATE     : 2008-11-17

CATEGORY : taboo-sex-stories

FLAGS    : h

TAGS     : |mom|son|anal|reluctant|tease|younger man|older woman|milf|incest novella|mother/son|





<i>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?

------------------------------------------</i>

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.
<hr pg="2" />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).

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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.
<hr pg="3" />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. 
<hr pg="4" />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.

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

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.

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

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." 
<hr pg="5" />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.

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

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."



