URL: http://web.archive.org/web/20140913221806/http://www.literotica.com/s/sons-18th-birthday-present
Author: alwayswantedto
Title: Son's 18th Birthday Present
Tags: Son's 18th Birthday Present, alwayswantedto, secuction, seduce, mom, son, mom-son, love, oral, mother/son, father, dad

Summary: Mom replaces special gift with something better.

This story is based on ideas put forth by Lit member "readinghypnosis" in a thread
under the Story Ideas forum titled "Mother is son's 18th birthday present". I would
like to thank all the contributors of that thread and hope they enjoy the story, even
though it's way longer than I intended it to be.

All characters are 18 years or older.

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

I took the envelope from Mom and opened it.

"What is it?" I asked, then saw the name of the local college and its logo embossed
on the upper left corner of the white envelope. I pulled the single page out but Mom's
nervous smile offered the only hint I really needed.

"You didn't!"

She shrugged.

"We can't afford it," I protested.

The envelope fell to the floor as I unfolded the single page and scanned the text,
reading silently until I reached the last sentence of the first paragraph.

"Congratulations on your acceptance to the Engineering Program at Central Technical
College."

The second paragraph started, "A full student package has already been mailed…"

I looked at my mother who was grinning from ear to ear.

"Mom, I…we can't…how did you…"

"I knew you could do it, Mason. I just knew it! Congratulations, baby!"

She threw her arms around my chest and squeezed tight, burying the letter between
us as her hands slipped up to press my head down so she could plant a wet smooch on
each cheek and then, in her exuberance, right on my lips.

"Mom, we can't afford it! Dad said so."

The memory of the dismal day when my father told me he couldn't afford to pay for
college popped into my mind. "I was downsized, remember?" he had said. "I could sell
the Cuda to get you started if you want but look what it did for me. Nothing," he
added bitterly. I didn't bite. I knew he would never sell the Cuda; it would break
his heart because he had always said the Cuda would be mine one day.

Mom's voice knocked me out of my reverie. "We can. I have the first two years put
away and we can handle the rest in time."

"Did you get a raise?"

Mom appeared coy.

"They save enough with me working at home to pass a little on and I don't have to
spend as much on clothes, driving, parking, lunches—it all adds up."

"I can't believe it."

"Well, it's true. You're going to be an engineer just like your father."

The downer was brief. Dad liked to say he was downsized but I knew he had been fired
for drinking on the job and now got consulting work wherever he could. Jobs had been
few and far between for the past year.

"Yeah, an engineer, just like Dad."

I shrugged it off and grabbed Mom in a big hug, lifting her off her feet and whirling
around the kitchen. I was so happy, I picked her up again less than a minute later
for another ecstatic tour around the room.

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

Two months later, I was rushing home from school, eager and pumped, but also a little
worried. I had attended a film course and wanted to take it as the one elective I
was allowed but knew Mom would prefer something more practical. If she was anything,
it was pragmatic, which wasn't surprising for someone who had been running our household
for almost three years. But hell, it was my birthday and the film course would top
off the big gift I had been waiting for since I was four years old. Surely, she would
allow a bit of icing on the cake.

Since I was a toddler Dad had promised the Cuda would be mine when I turned eighteen
and today was the day!

"If you want your father's car you better behave yourself," Mom had told me a million
times.

I turned the corner onto our street and slowed to a brisk walk after passing the first
three houses on the block. Two more to go, all of them nicer than ours because we
couldn't afford to keep it up like the neighbors did. Still, my parents—mostly Mom—had
managed to keep the house and that had to have been hard. Man, how had she managed
to save enough for me to go to college? She was a miracle worker, that was for sure.


I breathed deep. For years, it had been covered up in the garage but when Mom needed
space for an office at home, the Sassy Grass green 70 Cuda hardtop was put in storage.
But I knew she would have it all cleaned up, sparkling, licensed, insured and sitting
in the driveway ready to go.

I passed the second house from ours but still couldn't see the distinctive tail pipes
or the wide rear wheels. It must be parked further up the drive. Passing the house
next door, I began to worry. Surely she hadn't forgotten and left it all dusty in
storage? It wasn't the weekend yet but she had to know I couldn't wait two more days
to drive it!

I stopped at the end of our drive and stared in disbelief at the empty space stretching
all the way to the, now no longer functional, garage door. The Cuda wasn't there!


Neither was Dad's car. I unlocked the front door and entered the house.

"Mom? Mom? Mom!"

She didn't answer. I went upstairs and knocked on Dad's office door, formerly the
spare bedroom. He was slumped on his chair, passed out, as usual.

I went downstairs to the kitchen and was relieved to see evidence of preparations
for a special meal and baking pans in the sink. She hadn't forgotten!

That was it! She had gone to get the car. I had come home too early and ruined the
surprise. I had to get out, through the back door, in case she drove up while I was
still on the street. I started to go out the back, then remembered I hadn't locked
the front, and rushed to do it. I threw the bolt and turned to go but the red stamp
on the letter on the hall table caught my eye.

Last Notice

Though I didn't consciously read the return address I noted it anyway: Davis Storage.
That's where the car was stored. How could Mom forget to pay the bill? Was she behind
and having trouble getting the car out?

I opened the envelope and read the bill. This couldn't be right. The storage space
had been closed three months ago and fifty dollars was owing for the last month. The
letter explained that the space was rented monthly and even though it had only been
used for one week of the last month the full fee had to be paid. Mom had only paid
for the first week.

And that had been three months ago! Where had she put the car?

Tires crunched on the driveway but there was no satisfying rumble from the Cuda's
giant 440ci engine and thus no need to hide to keep the 'surprise' alive. I returned
to the kitchen and sat down, the overdue bill crumpled in my right fist, and waited
for my mother.

Mom came in, loaded down with bags, and bumped the door closed behind her. Her face
lit up when she saw me.

"Hi! Happy birthday, sweetheart."

Her pace slowed when she registered the dejected look on my face and it drained the
cheer from her own. She looked at the crumpled paper in my right hand and the envelope
hanging loosely in my left with the red stamp facing her. That brought her to a halt
at the far end of the table and she slowly set the bags down.

"Oh, baby. I know you're disappointed but an education is so much more important than
a car. You can buy another car when you're done." She started around the table but
my cold glare stopped her dead in her tracks.

"You sold Dad's car? My car."

"I had to, honey, I…"

"You sold the car?" I repeated, crumpling the envelope in my left fist and raising
my right toward her. "My car!"

"Honey."

"It was supposed to be my car, today!"

"I know, honey, but…"

"But nothing! I've waited my whole life for that car, and you…sold it! I don't believe
it!"

I got up and shoved the table away, pushing the chair at the far end into Mom's legs.
As she stumbled back I stomped out of the kitchen and all the way up the stairs, then
slammed the door to my room.

Mom didn't call me down to dinner. It was almost nine before hunger drove me from
my room. I descended the stairs cautiously, hoping my mother had gone to bed. It was
dark in the living room but there was a light on in the kitchen. Shit! I couldn't
avoid her if I wanted to eat. I went in anyway; I was starving.

The kitchen was empty. There was a plate with saran wrap covering it on the table
with a note saying how long to put it in the microwave and an accompanying large plate
of cake with my name inscribed on the top. The note was signed: 'Love you, Mom.'

I was still hurt and angry but my heart softened. Only a little, though, just a little.


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

Mom and I barely talked for the next few days, or more accurately, she hardly spoke
to me and I didn't answer at all. I never did tell her about the film class. I didn't
care any more what she thought about it. To hell with her!

By the middle of the next week I realized I had behaved like a spoiled brat. Yes,
I didn't have the car but I was on the path to being an engineer. Mom was right. I
could get my own car, even a 70 Cuda, or something better, something like the Cuda
would have meant to Dad in his day—a Ferrari maybe. And how much had Mom sacrificed
to give me that chance?

I felt like an asshole and hurried home to apologize. I wanted to make up. On the
way, I stopped to buy some flowers, just a few because I hardly had any money—Mom
had made me quit my part time job so I could concentrate on getting good grades—but
I wanted to make her feel better.

I entered the house quietly. She was in her office working so I put the flowers in
her favorite vase and put them on the dining room table, remembering to put a doily
underneath. The garage door opened and Mom stood there looking from me to the flowers.


"Oh, Mason."

She rushed past me to smell the flowers and my heart twisted even more. She really
lit a room up when she was happy.

"They're beautiful! Oh, you shouldn't have."

She turned toward me and I held my arms out. Her eyes began to tear and she stepped
close, wrapping her arms around my chest and resting her head on my chest. When she
shuddered, I felt the hurt pour out of her soul.

"I'm sorry, Mom. I acted like a little kid."

"You were so disappointed," she sobbed, finding it impossible not to protect me, even
from myself. "I should have remembered how important it was to you. I'm so sorry."


"There's nothing to be sorry about. You were right. An education is more important
than a car. Dad should have done it himself."

Mom drew back to look at me. She smiled and her eyes misted. "Actually, he did."

My mouth dropped open. Dad had sold the car? I couldn't believe it. Mom explained.


"He started spending the money so I took most of it out for your first two years in
college. He doesn't know it's gone yet."

I looked at Mom in disbelief. To my knowledge, she had never defied my father.

"So he didn't sell it to pay for my college?"

Mom shook her head and looked away.

"What will happen when he finds out its gone?"

"I don't know but don't worry, I'll figure something out."

Given how meek Mom had always been around my father that wasn't much comfort. On the
other hand, maybe it was a sign that, despite appearances, Mom wasn't just the one
that paid the bills, she was the one in control. Mom pulled away.

"Can we have your birthday dinner tomorrow?"

"Yeah, sure."

She stretched up, gave me a quick kiss, and settled back on her heels looking very
pleased. What a contrast from my father who hadn't even noticed that my birthday had
come and gone.

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

Mom was quiet at breakfast the next morning. I felt closer to her than I ever had,
knowing we shared a secret. I couldn't help smiling when Dad wasn't looking and could
barely contain myself until he went to his office upstairs which had once been the
spare bedroom.

"You know what?" Mom asked.

"What?"

"I know what I can give you for your eighteenth birthday."

"Mom, we can't afford presents while I'm in college."

"It isn't right that you don't have a present for such an important birthday, and
anyway, what I have in mind won't cost a thing."

"What won't cost a thing?"

"Me."

"You?" I was confused.

"Yes. I'm going to be your present."

I looked at her like she was nuts.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm going to do exactly what you say for a week."

"A week?"

"Okay, you lost a car, a very special one. How about a month?"

"I don't understand."

"You'll be my boss."

"Why?"

"Because I want to make up for selling the car."

"Why? It's not your fault. Dad's the one who sold it."

"Yes, but I knew he was going to do it."

"You knew?"

Mom looked away.

"Well, I knew it was only a matter of time. I haven't been leaving enough money in
the bank account for his…habit." She put her hand over mine. "Don't be angry. He can't
help it."

"Why'd you let him do it?"

"Because I wanted to use the money for your college and I couldn't do it unless he
sold it."

I grimaced and tried to withdraw my hand but Mom hung on.

"You know it's for the best, Mason."

I did but at that moment I felt very much like an eighteen year old.

"I know but I've dreamed about that car every night for years. I'll get over it."


"I know, sweetheart but let me help."

"How?"

"Like I said. You can be the boss. You say what you want for dinner and I'll make
it."

"Even if Dad doesn't like it?"

Mom laughed. "Especially if he doesn't like it."

"For a whole month?"

"Yes. You get to eat what you want for a whole month."

Actually, this didn't sound like such a bad idea.

"I get to say what we eat for dinner?" I asked, wondering if breakfast was included
too.

"Not just dinner. You can have the final say about everything."

"Like what?"

"Everything your father used to be in charge of."

"Like?"

"What we eat, when we go out, where we go, what I wear, what we watch on TV…"

"Mom, I don't think Dad will give up control of the TV."

"Okay, realistically the TV will have to stay in your father's domain."

"I don't know, Mom."

"Just say yes. It'll be fun and it will make me feel better."

"Okay, then. Yes. Can I finish my breakfast now?"

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

For the next week I decided what we were going to eat for breakfast and dinner. Mom
had to remind me the first few days but eventually I got the hang of it. Dad complained
about the meal once but Mom's curt reply, "You sold his car. He should at least get
to eat what he wants," put an end to that.

We were eating hash browns and deep fried beans for the third breakfast in a row when
it struck me that Mom no longer dressed for work the way she did when she went to
the office. I remembered how nice she looked in her business clothes and then her
words when she had told me that I would be the boss for a month: "You say when we
go out, where we go, what I wear…"

I guess Dad used to tell her how to dress, at least, when they went out. I watched
Mom move around the kitchen making my lunch. Even in the old house dress she looked
good. I had asked her once, after helping her get my passed-out father to bed, why
she didn't get a divorce. She didn't get mad, she just said, "Everybody falls in love
once if they're lucky, and I've had my turn. Anyway, I have you to look after now."


Mom was a slight woman but the house dress couldn't conceal her womanly attributes.
If she wore a little makeup and some nicer dresses she'd be a knockout for her age.


"You know, Mom, if you're going to work you should dress like it."

Mom turned to look at me, then down at herself, holding her hands away from her body.


"My office is right through that door. I work on a computer all day and don't see
anybody except from the neck up for online meetings."

"Still, dressing properly puts you in the right frame of mind."

"Oh really? I haven't had any complaints about my work."

"Even so," I said.

Mom turned back to the sink and I got up to go to school. I paused at the kitchen
doorway and spoke quietly without looking back.

"You should wear one of your business suits today."

I hurried out of the house, expecting an angry, 'Who do you think you are' response
but heard nothing. I went to school and forgot about the exchange. On the way home,
my mind was preoccupied with what to have for dinner that could be made quickly since
I had forgotten to tell Mom what to make.

She was working in her office but came in when she heard me in the kitchen. Nothing
was on the stove. I turned around and gawked. Mom was wearing a navy blue business
suit with a crisp white blouse. She had put makeup on and looked stunning.

"Don't look at me like that. You're the one who told me to wear a suit."

I turned away but soon looked back.

"You forgot to tell me what to make for dinner," she said, looking around the kitchen
with a bemused expression on her face. "I guess your father will have to take us out."


"Take us out?"

"Go get changed while I roust your father."

Mom came in the bathroom when I was combing my hair. She hung her suit jacket on the
back of the door and stood beside me to fix her hair. Her left arm lifted to hold
her hair while she brushed with the right but my gaze focused on the way her breasts
pressed against the white blouse with each stroke of the brush. I couldn't decide
what looked better, the tightening press of her breasts or the sagging relief that
seemed to define them even more clearly underneath the blouse.

I thought about how easy it would be for her to attract another man, someone who would
treat her better than my father did, somebody who would make her laugh again. Her
eyes met mine in the mirror and she smiled. I looked away, afraid my thoughts would
be plain to see on my face.

"Do I look okay?"

"Yeah. You look great."

"Makeup's okay?"

"Yes."

"Okay then. Let's go."

Mom lifted her jacket off the hook and handed it to me. I held it so she could slip
her arms into the sleeves and, as her torso twisted, noted how her breasts filled
the blouse. I looked away when her hand emerged and tried to hide the shudder that
rippled through my body.

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

"That was great!" I exclaimed, pushing my chair back.

"Yes, I've always liked this place," Mom agreed. "Should we have dessert?" she asked,
reaching for the menu.

"I'm not hungry," I said.

Mom looked up from the menu.

"Don't be silly. We can afford it," she spoke quietly but turned to follow my gaze
and frowned. Dad was listing in his chair, eyes closed, with his fourth glass of wine
hovering above the table.

"Don't worry. He never spills. I don't think he'll want dessert but I do, and so do
you."

Mom leaned toward me to share the menu. We made our picks and placed our order. Dad's
eyes opened and he sipped his wine twice while the waiter was there but closed them
as soon as he left. Mom raised her brows and shrugged. She knew him well and I guess
that's why they seldom went out. I was glad I had picked her second choice for dessert
so she could share it too.

"I shouldn't have," she said after we finished, "and you shouldn't have let me steal
half of yours."

Dad finished his wine and, seeing there was no more, settled in for a snooze while
we finished our coffee and waited for the check.

Dad was unsteady on the way to the car. Mom told him he wasn't driving and to move
over. I waited until he shifted over in case she had trouble with him but he moved
right over to the door. I started to get in the back but Mom waved the keys and said,
"You drive."

As I bent to get in the car I caught sight of Mom's legs as they slid under the steering
wheel. Why do women's legs look so nice? They're just legs. I closed the door and
settled in, then tried to start the car but the keys weren't in the ignition. I looked
at Mom. She held them up but they slipped through my fingers and fell, landing on
top of her legs between her knees and the hem of her dress. Jeez, I thought, she really
does have nice legs.

I followed the crease between her legs until it disappeared beneath the navy blue
dress. Suddenly self-conscious, and feeling guilty about a twinge in my groin, I looked
up to see if Dad could see where I was looking. Fortunately, his chin was tucked into
his neck and he looked like he was seriously dozing. Belatedly, I looked at Mom but
she was looking straight ahead through the windshield.

I looked at the keys and then at my mother, silently imploring her to pick them up
but she ignored my plight. I looked at my father again, took a deep breath, and reached
for the keys.

After a quick snatch my arm leapt for the ignition but the keys fell through my loose
fingers back onto Mom's legs. I tried again but, in my nervousness, they proved to
be the most slippery things I had ever tried to pick up.

Changing tactics, I curled my fingers and dragged them back in an attempt to scoop
the keys up but pressed too hard and pried a gap between Mom's legs. The keys fell
through onto the seat. I looked helplessly at Mom but she had turned her head and
was looking out the passenger window. I checked Dad's status and confirmed his head
was still sagging on his chest.

I twisted around a bit to face Mom and brought my left hand into play. After another
deep breath, I dove between Mom's legs until I encountered the keys and was shocked
to realize my fingers had grazed past the raspy scrape of nylon. Incredibly soft,
feminine skin rubbed the edges of my hand. The reaction in my groin was immediate
and the prisoner there would have risen to half mast for sure if it wasn't so tightly
constrained within my pants. Flustered, I nevertheless deftly hooked the tip of my
longest finger through the key ring and dragged them back, fighting the fearful urge
to yank my hand away.

Mom turned to look at me as the engine roared to life. "Let's go home. I'm not feeling
very well," she said.

It was a long drive. I gripped the wheel and glared at the road, trying desperately
not to look at Mom's legs, but to no avail. Despite the effort they were repeatedly
drawn to the hem of the navy blue dress which was still half way up her thighs. Was
she unaware of the state of her dress? Fortunately, every time I looked Mom was gazing
out the passenger window so my snooping went unnoticed.

That night, I dreamed that I was hitchhiking on a lonely road and was picked up by
an older woman. She twisted toward me in an unnatural way that was completely incompatible
with driving, her open legs beckoning wantonly until I lifted her half way up the
back of the seat. She was wearing stockings instead of pantyhose and no underwear
so I was able to impale her with my cock which had mysteriously become completely
unholstered. She laughed as I slammed into her again and again, her throaty moans
urging me to do it harder as we careened wildly down the highway. Her blouse burst
open and I buried my face in her tits as I came. Somehow, we didn't crash.

I woke up the next morning with soiled shorts.

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

I was nervous around Mom the next day. Thankfully, it was the weekend so I figured
I wasn't expected to tell her what to wear but she did ask me what to make for dinner.
The act of telling her what to do triggered a vivid image of my hand searching between
her legs for the keys and I experienced an urgent desire to relive the moment, only
this time her legs wouldn't part by accident, I would command them to open. The illicit
thought filled me with guilt and shame, rendering me too flustered to answer, and
Mom had to prompt me with suggestions to complete the meal plan.

When she asked about dessert the dream about the older woman in the car popped vividly
into my head except it was Mom pinned to the seat with legs wide open and feet planted
on the dash to accommodate my thrusts. I turned beet red, rushed out of the kitchen,
and ran up to my room. Why was I thinking about Mom in such a sexual manner? I loved
her but not in that way so why did I get turned on every time I looked at her? I felt
sick to stomach, especially because images of Mom's legs kept filling my head, and
didn't go downstairs until dinner time.

Time is an amazing healer. I had less trouble specifying Sunday's dinner and none
Monday morning when Mom asked me to suggest a dress for her to wear while Dad was
still eating breakfast. Dad glanced at her but quickly returned to his newspaper.
I guess asking me to make a suggestion didn't come across as an order though Mom and
I knew better. For the rest of the week, that became the routine. I would eat breakfast
quickly with Mom and Dad and, in front of him, she would ask me what I thought she
should wear that day. Of course, it was imposible not to imagine how she would look
in a short skirt getting in and out of the car and I felt and looked very uncomfortable.
Dad gave Mom a look and she jumped on him in answer to his unvoiced question.

"Well, I may be working at home but I should still dress professionally and there's
no sense asking your opinion!"

Dad ducked behind the newspaper and when Mom asked me for suggestions on Friday and
the weekend he didn't bat an eye. On Monday, I was stumped for a suggestion so Mom
told me to come upstairs to see what the choices were. I was nervous about it at first
but quickly got into the swing of it and actually enjoyed it. Though I was supposed
to be telling her what to wear some of my color blind suggestions didn't wash. Apparently,
my 'orders' would only be followed if they were acceptable.

As the week wore on I got a little cocky and began to pick outfits that showed off
Mom's figure. She had lots of nice clothes she hadn't worn since leaving the office
to work at home. She seemed to like wearing them and I definitely liked seeing her
in them. The more revealing clothes made it difficult not to watch her closely every
moment I was home. I found myself thinking about her during the day, imagining how
she looked doing simple household chores or leaning back in her chair in her office
the way she did when she was thinking. At night, I dreamed about the mature woman
in the car but her face always turned into Mom's at the moment of climax. By the end
of the week I realized Mom was aware of my scrutiny and that my clothing picks weren't
exactly innocent. On Friday I found a solution that would explain why I was always
staring at her. I declined to go upstairs with her to pick an outfit for the day and
waited until Dad had gone to his office.

"A time and motion study? Of me?" she asked, demanding confirmation.

"Not you, particularly. It's just practice so we can get a feel for the way people
move."

"Why?"

"It's for my Ergonomics class."

"Ergonomics?"

"Yeah. We're studying how to make people more comfortable in the workplace so they
can work more productively."

"And how will taking pictures of me help?"

"We're supposed to study people's posture and the way they move when performing simple
tasks. People move too fast so pictures and short clips will help."

"You're going to show them to the class?"

"No. We're not supposed to show them to anybody. That way, our subject won't be self-conscious."


"That's a tall order, for the subject."

"You're the one that wanted me to go to school. I'd rather be driving around in a
Cuda"

"Mason. Why can't you get over that?"

"I was just kidding," I retorted. "Will you help me or not?"

"Yes, of course I will darling." She gave me a hug. "Why don't you go upstairs and
lay something out for me to wear while I make your lunch?"

I was elated and literally bounced up the stairs. Now I could take pictures and video
of her and look at them later to my heart's content. Of course, it was all bullshit
but she would never know.

I found a form-fitting dress in the back of the closet that was obviously not part
of Mom's regular work wardrobe. I laid it on the bed and was about to leave when an
evil thought struck me. I rummaged through her drawers until I found what I was looking
for: a half-cup bra designed for evening dresses, the smallest panties I could find,
and a pair of very sheer stockings.

I walked to school full of an exuberance that was occasionally, but only briefly,
washed away by trepidation. I could hardly contain myself and broke into giggles several
times through the day including once in the middle of class. That was embarrassing
but didn't knock the thoughts and images of Mom out of my head.

It was late in the day when I remembered that I hadn't told Mom what to make for dinner.


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

I turned it over and over in my mind all the way home. Had she worn the sexy dress?
Was she angrily awaiting my arrival for daring to suggest what underwear she should
wear, especially such racy stuff? Though eager to get home the closer I got the more
apprehensive I became and accidentally went a block out of my way. Upon realizing
my error I almost repeated it on purpose but desire to see Mom in the sexy dress overcame
my fear.

I opened the door ready to bolt for the street if need be. I stepped cautiously inside
but Mom wasn't in the kitchen or her office. I was about to call out when she appeared
at the top of the stairs and slowly descended, the black dress hugging her figure,
molding her breasts and emphasizing the breadth of her hips as they flared out from
her narrow waist. Only the glimmer of the sheer nylon stockings drew my attention
lower to her legs and then the right foot which hovered for a moment, then failed
to complete the final step. I looked up, my breath caught in my throat. Mom was smiling
and looking right at me.

"No camera?"

I shook my head, my thick tongue preventing speech.

"I thought that's why you picked this dress, so I could look my best for your class."


"We're not supposed to show anyone. Remember?"

"Oh yes, I forgot. And you forgot something too, mister."

"What?"

"Dinner."

"Dinner?"

"Yes, dinner. Now we have to go out again."

She stepped onto the main floor and twirled around, looking down at her dress and
then at me, smiling radiantly.

"Oh well, it would be a waste not to wear this dress for something."

"We're going out again?"

"Of course. Go get your father."

I started to turn but Mom called me back.

"Take a picture of me first. I forgot how good it feels to wear this dress."

I took several pictures because Mom struck different poses. They were the first pictures
I took of her and I still love every one of them.

I found Dad in his office. He didn't want to go for dinner.

"You forget to pick what we should eat so I have to take you out for dinner?"

"I guess. It was Mom's idea," I added, to deflect blame.

"I see." He stumbled as he got up from his chair. "Be careful, son. Your mother only
plays the servant when she wants something."

"I'm already going to college," I said, in a tone that conveyed 'what else could she
possibly want'. I didn't mention where the money was coming from to pay for it because
I knew he'd be pissed when he found out.

Dad laughed. "Well, that'll keep you in the good books, for a while anyway."

His comments made me uncomfortable though I was sure he didn't know Mom was letting
me telling her what to wear, especially her underwear, or how I was thinking about
her. I couldn't look at her now without thinking about how attractive she was and
dreamed about having her every night. If he knew, he'd probably kick me out of the
house.

"I could tell her you don't want to go," I suggested.

I hoped he'd take me up on the suggestion—the thought of being alone with Mom was
immensely appealing—but sadly, it wasn't to be.

"No, it's not worth fighting about," he said.

I was about to say they didn't fight but remembered Dad getting the silent treatment
whenever Mom was peeved. Of course, that was years ago. Nowadays Dad didn't pay attention
to Mom and she ignored him just as much. They had an understanding: mutual disengagement.


When Mom saw us coming down the stairs, she said, "You better drive. It looks like
your father has started early."

I drank very little wine during the meal in the hope Dad would drink more, and he
did. I filled Mom's glass as often as I could and was thrilled when Dad ordered a
second bottle, probably to irk Mom. As the wine was consumed she became more talkative
and Dad, to my pleasure, began to fade so I dragged dessert and coffee out as long
as I could. To my disappointment Dad managed to stay conscious through both but sagged
appreciatively against the passage door as soon as we got in the car. I helped Mom
get in from the driver's side and pretended to look away as she swiveled her legs
around, lifting her knees high in the process. Pleased by the success of my delaying
tactics, I squeezed in behind the wheel, shut the door, and turned toward my mother,
ready and eager to play with the keys again.

"Keys?" I asked.

"You opened the door with them."

"Oh. Oh, right."

I looked stupidly at my right hand and the keys held within them. Shit! I was glad
for the dim light in the car because it seemed obvious to me why I had held my hand
out for the keys, directly above her legs. I stared past my father out the side window,
unable to fathom how I had fucked things up, and hoping I wasn't as obvious to Mom
as I was to myself. What an idiot. Seconds passed. How could I fix this? Was it possible
to salvage this colossal fuck-up? Mom was waiting. I held the keys up in front of
her.

"Did you want to drive, Mom?"

"Drive? Don't be silly. I've had way too much wine."

She pushed my hand away and I let the keys drop onto Mom's legs. It seemed hokey to
me—very put on. Unfortunately, they landed on her lap above the hem of the sexy, black
dress rather than between her legs where they could be pushed inside the skirt. How
could I have missed the mark with so much leg showing? Mom looked at the keys and
then raised her eyes. I tried to return her gaze but was starting to fail when she
spoke.

"Are you sure you can drive?"

Thank God! She thought I'd had too much wine and not trying to satisfy a disgusting,
forbidden desire. What a relief.

"Yeah, I barely had a glass and that was hours ago."

Mom held her gaze for a few more seconds and then looked away, out Dad's window.

"Well, pick up the keys and let's go."

I had second thoughts and hesitated because she seemed displeased.

"Can you get them for me?"

"You're the one that's driving."

"Okay," I agreed, reluctantly.

I tried to scoop the keys up with my right hand, I mean, I really did. My fingers
started to fold around them easily but stopped when I felt the silky material of the
black dress. It was much thinner than the navy blue business suit she had worn two
weeks earlier and the warmth of her body transferred erotically to my fingers. A picture
of the skimpy panties I'd laid out for her to wear crashed into my head and the knowledge
that my hand was only a fraction of an inch from what they covered.

I couldn't move! It was ridiculous. I was frozen with my hand in the triangle where
her legs and groin met. I loosened my fingers, as if changing my mind about picking
up the keys, then closed my fingers around them again in a tight grip. My knuckles
scraped over the warmth emanating from beneath the dress. Mom's thighs moved apart.
She must have thought her legs were pinching the keys and preventing me from picking
them up. My fist sunk between her legs until the back of my hand pressed against a
hot, spongy mass.

"We should go, Mason," Mom whispered.

I stuttered. "I meant to tell you…you look nice tonight…in that…this…dress."

I felt like an idiot.

"Thank you. I feel good in it, too."

"You should. You look sex…uh, awesome in it."

"Thanks. We really should get going. I think your father's done."

I looked at Dad. I had completely forgotten he was there!

"Oh. Oh yeah."

I lifted my hand and the keys miraculously came away but they fell as I swung my arm
toward the dash and crashed on the floor. I looked down, stupidly, then reached between
Mom's feet. It was too dark to see so I felt around on the carpet for the keys. My
head turned toward Mom as I leaned further down and reached past the hump to the floor
on Dad's side of the car. She was looking out the passenger window, or maybe she was
looking at Dad; I couldn't tell which. I did know, however, that I was looking straight
up Mom's dress because she had parted her legs to accommodate my reach and to let
me search for the keys between her feet.

It was one of those moments that seemed to drag on forever. Though it was dark on
the floor, there was sufficient light coming from a street light through the windshield
to see that the hem of Mom's dress was very high up her legs. I couldn't believe I
had managed to drop the keys on her dress. I suddenly realized I had stopped searching
and was gawking between her legs. I stretched further and got the keys, then sat up,
awkwardly, and fumbled the keys again. I was horrified. It was completely unintentional
but was that believable? The keys landed squarely between Mom's legs and in the dim
light I saw them slide through to the seat cushion and bounce into the darkness inside
the dress.

I looked at Mom with dumb disbelief written on my face but she only reset her head
in an impatient gesture that basically said, 'Get on with it.'

I turned and pushed my left hand between her legs, trying not to touch them as if
that would make it more innocent. I paused at the hem but then carefully reached into
the dress, foraging for the keys.

I scraped skin. It was as tender and exciting as I remembered. I wanted to keep my
hand there but knew I had to go higher. Where the hell were those keys? My hand had
to be almost to her panties.

My fingertips struck metal and timidly curled around the keys. I tried to retrieve
them without rubbing her inner thighs or scraping her panties but it was impossible.
I did both and although it was a thrill it also scared the shit out of me. Still,
I managed to accomplish the task quickly and retrieved my hand without a rebuke from
Mom. I only missed the ignition once and then started the car. I was pulling out of
the parking lot and thinking about the heat deep inside her dress when Mom spoke.


"I was surprised by the clothes you picked this morning."

The question caught me off guard. I looked at Dad to see it he had heard but he was
still slumped against the door. That was a relief but only partly. I wasn't sure how
to respond and it took almost half a minute to find an answer.

"Really? I think you look great in that dress."

"I meant the other selections."

I played dumb. "Other selections?"

"You know what I mean."

I rolled through a stop sign, turned onto the main road and looked at Dad, then stared
intently at the road ahead.

"Oh. I thought I was supposed to pick everything."

"You're not my husband."

I glanced sharply at Dad.

"Oh. I thought I was supposed to do things the way Dad used to."

I looked at my passed-out father as if seeking confirmation.

Mom followed the direction of my gaze.

"I guess I did say that, didn't I?"

"Sorry, Mom. I won't, uh, pick that kind of stuff again."

Mom looked away from Dad and back at me.

"I didn't say you shouldn't. I just said I was surprised, that's all."

We drove in silence for a minute.

"So it was okay?" I mumbled.

She answered with a question of her own. "You like the dress?"

"It looks awesome, Mom."

We drove the rest of the way home in silence. When we got there I started quickly
for the house but Mom called me back.

"I need help with your father."

I shook Dad awake and walked him to the house. He was really unsteady on his feet.
Mom insisted I get him upstairs so I sat him on the bed and started to leave. Mom
was reaching behind to unhook the back of her dress and the lift of her breasts caught
my eye.

"Unzip me, please," she said.

I stood at the foot of the bed with my mother in front of me and my father beyond
her and unzipped the back of her dress. I tried to do it quickly but my hand wouldn't
comply and slowed to a crawl after passing her shoulders and then inched down her
spine. The flesh thickened past her waist as her hips took form and the upper boundary
of her behind threw the first hints of its presence. The top of her crack appeared
and I sucked in my breath as I tried to tug the zipper lower.

"Don't break it, Mason.

I didn't realize until then that the zipper was completely undone. Mom turned around.


"Kiss me goodnight before you go."

Dad fell onto his side as Mom tilted her face up. I kissed her, aiming for her right
cheek but seeing Dad fall over turned my head far enough for my lips to land halfway
across her mouth. Instead of pulling away she applied a correction that shifted her
lips until they fully meshed with mine. It was a short kiss but longer than the brief
peck I believed was expected or planned. When it was over Mom settled back on her
heels.

"Help me get your father undressed."

I pulled Dad up and took his shoes off while she unbuttoned his shirt and removed
it.

"Can you get his pants off? He's too heavy for me."

I started yanking on Dad's pant legs to break them loose from under his ass. As I
pulled, Mom put her left foot on the bed beside him, pulled the hem of the dress way
up, and rolled the stocking down her leg. I stopped pulling so hard. She lifted her
right foot onto the bed which put the entire inside of her leg on display, including
a flash of panties, and rolled the stocking down to her ankle, then lifted her foot
and slipped it off. It was a simple, innocent act but the image of her legs, being
exposed as the sheer sheath of nylon bunched in front of her rolling hands, kept me
awake for hours that night. Oh yeah. The slash of bare back visible through her unzipped
dress as she walked to her closet and the memory of spongy heat on the back of my
hand had an effect too.

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

"I'm not going to work on the weekend just so you can take pictures."

"But I'm at school all day through the week."

"You're off early on Wednesday and Friday. Shouldn't that be enough?"

"I don't think so."

"I don't do anything but sit at my desk. How long can it take?"

I hadn't thought of that. I lifted the camera and took a picture of Mom stirring the
pancake batter.

"Stop that. I thought you were supposed to be taking pictures of me when I'm working."


"Like you said, you don't do much but sit."

"But I'm a mess."

"It's about body movements and posture, not fashion."

"I still don't want to look like a wreck when I'm being photographed.

"So get changed."

"That reminds me. What happened to all my underwear?

I fought the urge to look away and lost, then pretended to make adjustments to the
camera to cover it up.

"I hid them."

"What? Why? I had to get some out of the laundry."

"Because they're ratty and, anyway, they're for old ladies."

"Well, you put them right back, Mister."

I gripped the camera but still avoided my mother's eyes.

"I can't," I said.

"What do you mean, you can't?"

"I threw them out," I lied.

"You threw them out? What am I supposed to wear?"

"Get new stuff. You'll feel better in something new, something…"

I choked on the word that sprang to mind—sexier— and offered another instead.

"…more modern."

Mom laughed. "I guess you're right. They were pretty old and old-ladyish."

I was relieved. I had been ready to bring up the Cuda trump card if necessary but
was glad I didn't have to. I snapped her picture.

"Stop that."

I turned the camera around to show her. She looked fresh and exciting with a smile
on her face. The messy hair added to the effect, making her look younger and edgy.
Mom was critical but seemed pleased with the picture all the same.

"I told you I look like a mess."

I snapped another picture.

"Get to work," I said.

Mom returned to the mixing bowl.

"You didn't really throw them all out, did you?"

"You better go shopping," I answered.

"Brat."

I snapped dozens of pictures of Mom before Dad came down for breakfast. In keeping
with the supposed purpose of the assignment, I got her to freeze in various poses
to get pictures from different angles. Almost all had her in positions that accented
some feature of her body, usually her breasts but sometimes I just captured the way
she looked with her hair swept back or the light on her face. Of course, there were
a quite a few with her bending over or reaching up in ways that defined her buns nicely.
I hadn't noticed before how prominent and nicely separately her buttocks were. They
were shaped like two slightly sagging balloons filled with heavy water.

It was a miracle she didn't catch on to what I was doing. After a while she didn't
seem to mind posing and even made fun of it and I think she was as disappointed as
I was when Dad showed up. After breakfast, before going up to my room to examine my
treasure trove of pictures, I reminded Mom to go shopping.

"We need more soda," Dad piped up, thankfully misinterpreting my message.

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

For the next two weeks I took snaps of Mom in the kitchen in the morning and in her
office when I came home. Usually, Mom had finished work by the time I came home except
when I got off early but now she was always in her office and I took that to mean
she wanted me to take more pictures.

I began taking liberties in the kitchen. I didn't just stop her mid-movement but adjusted
her posture, arching her back to push out her chest, pulling an elbow back to tighten
her blouse, pushing her feet apart or lifting her up on tippy toes to tighten the
definition of her legs, that kind of thing. Mom took it all in stride.

My success in the kitchen led to similar sculpting in the office. I had her put her
head on one hand while thinking, adjusting the tilt of her head to shine more light
on her face, pulling her hair back behind an ear, crossing her legs and even lifting
one side of her skirt back to show a bit of thigh.

At first I made a joke of my adjustments and Mom made light of it too though she did
say, "I thought it wasn't supposed to be a fashion show?"

The jokes eventually receded and Mom simply accommodated my adjustments without comment.
That's when I began to brush my hand over her tummy rather than just press on it when
I wanted to straighten her back and did the same with her hips and buttocks for other
adjustments to her posture. I even pressed on the side of her breasts to get her to
turn when I could have easily just twisted her shoulders. The first time I did it
without thinking and held my breath when I realized what I'd done but nothing happened.
I then adopted that as my default method and frequently found a need to turn her to
get better pictures, always sliding my hand over her body.

I worked my way through Mom's office wardrobe again but with the new underwear she
had bought. There were at least a dozen sets of matching panties, bras, short slips
and stockings in various colors: red, chocolate brown, black, gun metal blue and a
similar green. All of them were mated to a blouse and skirt combination or a dress.
The short slips were bordered with lace and that fit well with my penchant for pulling
Mom's skirt back far enough to display the fancy underwear.

"I could sell these to a magazine for professional women," I commented one day.

"I thought these were only for your own use?"

Boy, Mom had no idea what a mouthful she unloaded with that response. I kept the pictures
on my computer and used them late at night when the house was dark and silent, wanking
while watching and replaying Mom's movements in my mind. The smile on her face and
the sparkle in her eyes were evident in the pictures but my memory added the scent
of her perfume and the huskiness sometimes present in her voice, especially when I
stood by her side and instructed her to pull her skirt higher.

"Like this?" she would ask.

"Farther," I'd answer.

"Like this?" she teased.

"More," I managed to get out.

"Not this far?" she'd say in an exaggerated, husky voice.

It was hard to remember to click the camera. Sometimes, Mom had to prompt me and she
was always amused when it happened.

On Wednesday of the second week she asked me if I could really sell the pictures to
a magazine for office professionals. I confirmed that I could, though I had no idea
if it was possible or how to go about it.

"How much could you get for a picture?"

"Oh, I don't know. Forty or fifty bucks, I guess."

She seemed disappointed with the answer.

"What about other kinds of magazines?"

"Other kinds?" I repeated, not following her.

"For pictures like this."

Mom swiveled her chair so her feet were pointing toward me. Stretching them out, she
lifted the hem of the long skirt she was wearing onto her knees, then slowly pulled
it back until it was halfway up her thighs and the lacy edge of her short slip was
showing. She gazed steadily at me and for the life of me I couldn't tear my eyes away
even though the smile slowly disappeared from her face.

She closed her eyes and leaned back in the chair, opening and raising her legs. The
skirt rose and kept rising until a pair of chocolate colored panties burst into view,
full and puffy, and not just due to hair, a few strands of which peeked out each side.
Mom tilted her head back and arched her back which thrust her mound forward, outlining
its major features through the chocolate colored panties.

"Well?"

Her throaty voice startled me and sent a shiver through my body. I was about to answer,
with what words I have no idea, when she spoke again.

"Do you think someone would pay more than fifty bucks for a picture like that?"

"Absolutely," I almost gasped. I knew I would.

Mom held the pose but didn't reply. The office lights brightened her relaxed, peaceful
countenance. After a few seconds it dawned on me that she was waiting. I lurched out
of my stupor and started taking pictures.

Snap. Snap.

Mom's legs parted a bit more.

Snap, snap, snap.

Her legs started to close.

"Wait a minute."

I changed the camera from the picture to the video setting.

"Can you lean back a little farther?"

Mom arched her back but the chair was already as far back as it would go. Still, the
effort thrust her mound harder against the brown panties and the differential muscle
action in her legs twisted it from side to side. I would have to wait until later
to see if the camera caught what my eyes witnessed because Mom suddenly opened her
eyes and snapped the chair forward. The skirt tossed forward like a crumpled tidal
wave, teetering on her knees before plummeting over the precipice and falling neatly
into place.

A touch out of breath and face flushed, Mom asked, "What do you think you could get
for pictures like that?"

"A thousand bucks," I laughed to cover my excitement.

"Yeah, sure," Mom chuckled, the huskiness still evident in her voice.

"Want to try more like that?" I ventured.

"No. It's time to think about dinner."

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

The next day Mom didn't respond to my request to show more leg. She seemed genuinely
busy concentrating on a long email response to someone and her face flinched with
annoyance as if my question was an unwelcome intrusion.

I looked at the pastel green, sleeveless top and pleated, white skirt I had picked
out for her to wear that morning. I had matched the shimmery green slip and panties
to the outfit and in the end no stockings after waffling between white and green for
a full five minutes. I felt I had a lot invested in those panties and I wanted to
see them so I repeated my request. Mom raised her right hand briefly from the keyboard,
long enough to make a chopping gesture that shut me up.

But I didn't leave. I started taking pictures anyway. At first, I kept my distance,
not wanting to break her concentration but eventually got closer and closer.

"Mason, stop being a pest."

I ignored her and kept taking pictures, obviously aiming the camera at her upper torso
or her legs which were free of the white shoes I had selected. They were discarded
under the desk, one lying on top of the other. I knelt down to get an artsy close-up
of them on their own and Mom unconsciously moved her chair back and twisted sideways
to make room. I drew back and turned the camera on her, taking advantage of the twist
in her torso which emphasized the shape of her breasts.

"Mason!"

Click, click.

I aimed the camera down to get a close up of her lower legs which were held tightly
together. Mom's hand moved slowly off the keyboard in a half-hearted attempt to push
the camera away which was easily avoided.

Click, click.

I used my left hand to lift the hem of the pleated skirt and turned it back upon itself
to reveal the outside of her upper right thigh.

Click click click.

"Lift your leg."

I didn't say which one but the right rose and Mom tried to push me away with that
foot. I leaned to my left and took several pictures with her right thigh lifted from
the seat of the chair, capturing the sexy elongated S curve of the underside of her
leg as it transitioned from lean knee and tendon to fleshy female thigh.

"Mason!"

The leg dropped but not exactly where it originated. Mom's knees were now slightly
parted. I lifted the hem from the left knee and tossed it back. A red slip popped
into view, catching me by surprise.

"Well," I muttered.

Mom laughed but kept typing. She didn't try to turn her chair back toward the desk
though it had to be awkward typing in that position. I snapped a few pictures, then
pushed her knees apart.

"Who said you could change?" I asked.

"Shhhhh!"

I spread Mom's knees a little wider and pushed the skirt higher, took a snap, then
pushed it higher again. On the third push, the red panties burst into view. I pushed
her legs apart as far as the arms of the chair would allow.

Click, click, click.

I turned the camera to video mode which was difficult because my fingers felt like
they were afflicted with arthritis. I focused the camera for close action and noticed
that the red panties showed more than the brown ones—I was very familiar with pictures
of the brown ones from frequent and intense nightly examinations on my computer.

Or did they? On closer examination it seemed that what lay underneath was simply better
defined than before. It was a mystery until I noticed there were no stray hairs poking
out the sides. Mom had shaved, or at least trimmed, her pussy!

Desperate for a closer look I leaned forward and nosed the lens between Mom's legs.


"Mason, for crying out loud."

When I didn't back off Mom reluctantly pulled her hands away from the keyboard.

"Mother of Murphy, you're a pest. I should call your father."

"Go ahead," I countered.

"You'd be sorry."

"Just give me a minute. This is a hundred dollar picture."

She didn't reply and I leaned closer, adjusting the camera.

"Lean back," I said.

There was a long pause.

"Will you stop bothering me if I let you take the picture?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Don't get my face," she said.

The chair tilted back and I started the video.

In the absence of clicks, Mom asked, "I thought you wanted to take a picture?"

"I'm setting it up. Lean back and relax."

She did.

"Close your eyes."

After she complied I lifted the skirt, gently deposited it onto her stomach, and tried
to nudge her knees further apart but they were already as wide as they could go. I
brazenly lifted Mom's right leg and draped it over the arm of the chair, expecting
her to lurch forward and give me what for but she didn't.

"Mason," was all she said, without even opening her eyes.

"You're still covered by the skirt," I lied.

A few seconds later I gave Mom an outrageous instruction.

"Lift your knee over the other arm."

Amazingly, she did it and I captured the veiled movement beneath the red panties.


"Are you taking a video?"

"Yeah," I responded, my tongue feeling thick in my mouth. "I can get better pictures
from stills of the frames," I explained.

Finished between her legs, I stood up. Mom was leaning back with her head turned to
one side, eyes closed. She looked amazing. I think that was the first time I realized
I liked the look of a mature woman's face, the skin no longer taut with youth yet
bereft of wrinkles save for a few laugh lines around the eyes and the beginning of
a crease on either side of the mouth. Her lips were full and make-up was applied expertly
and sparingly. I took several pictures, then positioned her hand with a finger extended
to her lower lip. I snapped a couple more.

"Look like you're thinking about something sexy."

She smiled.

"Like a pool boy?"

"Whatever."

She pouted her lips around the tip of her finger.

"Like this?"

"Yeah," I whispered.

Snap, snap, snap.

"Just a minute."

I transferred the camera to my left hand and deftly slipped the top button of her
blouse undone with my right.

"That looks real sexy."

Mom laughed.

"Yeah, right."

"It's true."

I slipped another button undone and, in the absence of an objection, another.

"Whoa there, cowboy."

"Just showing a little red to attract the customers."

"What customers?"

"The magazine publishers and their readers."

"Oh."

Click. Click, click.

I put my index finger between the lapels of the blouse and spread them apart to show
more of the red bra. Incredibly, Mom didn't object. I snapped a few more pictures,
then slipped the last button above the waistband of her skirt undone and spread the
blouse wide open. I took more pictures, focusing on the way her breasts swelled up
to fill the bra.

Her eyes were still closed. I stood very close, so close the lump in my pants was
almost touching her face. I held still, looking down and imagining what it would feel
like to take it out and slip it into her pretty mouth, through those full, mature
lips. The bulge in my pants was throbbing.

Mom opened her eyes.

I didn't recover well.

"I was thinking, would it be alright to undo your bra?"

That popped out because I was desperate to distract her from the proximity of my cock
to her mouth and the raw desire, surely evident on my face, of filling it. Her eyes
narrowed, foreshadowing the frown that followed. I quickly realized I needed to qualify
my inappropriate suggestion.

"I don't mean open it or anything, just loosen it to make an impression…for the magazine
people."

The smile returned, faintly.

"You mean, like a hint of seduction?"

"Yeah, that's right, to jazz up the picture."

"Okay, but only for a few seconds."

I backed away and Mom released the bra with a quick twist on the front and the two
halves separated an inch or so. I took several photos in rapid succession, afraid
she might change her mind and pull it closed. She looked fantastic with the inner
swells of her breasts nakedly displayed. No, I have to say tits. They were too awesome
to be called breasts. The whole inner sides of her tits were so exposed I could see
the bottoms lifting away from her chest in defiance of gravity.

"Hurry," she whispered.

The urgency in her voice signaled she was serious about the time limit. Perhaps she
was worried that my father might burst through the door. I snapped away, wishing I
could see underneath the bra hanging loosely over her breasts, only kept from sliding
off by nipples strong enough to hold it in place. I wondered if they were they stiff
and hard like my cock.

"Hurry, Mason."

Click, click, click, click, click.

I switched to video mode but Mom said, "That's enough."

She pulled the bra together but for an instant it was stretched out and her tits were
bared in a magical flash before her hands closed inward to scoop up the wayward treasures.
That wonderful image was seared onto my retinas and I stumbled back, as if blinded.


We didn't look at each other as Mom buttoned her blouse. We had gone too far and,
partly because it had been so thrilling, were a little ashamed. So we averted our
eyes but I could feel Mom's eyes on me as I left the room.

That night I played the short video over and over and marveled at the unexpected meatiness
of her tits and savored the feeling when I looked down at her face with my cock only
an inch from her mouth. In my mind, I slipped it through her lips and Mom opened her
eyes to gaze at me while she sucked. I almost passed out when the cum gurgled through
my shaft and boiled out the tip.

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

It was Friday morning and I had been laying in bed with one thought preoccupying my
mind since waking: Mom had been taking my instructions for more than a month, longer
than the original bargain, and I wondered why.

Did she like being ordered around or did she simply find it easier to have dinners
planned even if she still had to make them? Did she like the attention required to
pick out her clothes? Was she aware of the admiration I tried to hide but inadvertently
showered upon her?

Somehow, all of that that didn't offer a sufficient explanation for her continued
subservience. There were obvious sexual implications from my forays inside her skirt
while trying to retrieve the keys. The fact that she allowed it excited me greatly
though the thought would have been repugnant to me a month ago. Not that Mom wasn't
good looking. Although older she had an exciting body that any red-blooded male would
want to touch. If I'd thought about it then, and she hadn't been my mother, I would
have wanted to have my way with her. A month later, I didn't care that she was.

I groaned and my hand covered my balls, then slid up so my fingers could encircle
my shaft. That was the problem. I wanted my mother's body but I loved her too much
to dishonor her, except at night in my dreams. She looked so hot the way I dressed
her and the way she flirted when I made her pose—I wanted to fuck her so badly. I
remembered her upturned face so close to the bulge in my pants, so tantalizingly close.


Was Dad right? Was she just playing along because she wanted something, say forgiveness
for her role in selling the Cuda? Hell, I would trade that Cuda any day for a roll
in the hay with her. Somehow that didn't seem an adequate explanation for her behavior
either.

Did she simply like taking orders? Did she get off on doing what she was told? Did
it somehow absolve her of responsibility, free her to do things she couldn't otherwise
admit she wanted to do? I wondered if she would undress, show me her tits, if I told
her to. Would it be easier if there was an excuse like selling photos for extra money?
She was too smart to really believe such a ruse but would she go along with it? If
she did, then would she do even more? I had to get her alone, away from Dad. I needed
to find a way to get her to let me do a real photo shoot and then see what happened.


I dressed and went downstairs. Dad should already be in his office by so it was the
perfect time to set things up.

There was a note on the table.

Mason. It's been more than a month. We'll be going out for dinner but you can let
me know what to wear for the last day. Love, Mom.

I was crushed. I knew I had gone too far with the pictures in the office. After a
few minutes delusion set in and I began reading more into Mom's message than was probably
there. Was she trying to tell me to shit or get off the pot?

Okay, Mom hadn't given any indication she wanted me to do anything. Sure, she liked
dressing up and being noticed. Did that mean she wanted to undress for me and let
me take pictures and videos? All that, to absolve her guilt for selling car so I could
go to college?

It was a ridiculous notion but I went upstairs anyway and selected the black dress
and a pair of nylons so sheer they looked like a second skin. Then I looked for a
skimpy pair of panties. In the back of her drawer I found a new pair that weren't
much more than a thickening of material, barely enough to cover a pussy. I set them
on top of the dress and searched for a matching bra. Something with a push-up quality
to it. I rummaged through the drawer without success and tried the next one and then
another. I looked at the dress and shrugged.

Fine! No bra it was.

I was late for school and missed my first class. The day dragged on and on. I wanted
to go home but was afraid. If Mom wasn't wearing the dress, I knew it was all over.
I'd go along for the dinner and that would be it. There was a time to admit defeat.


My heart sank when I got home. Mom was sitting in the living room with Dad. They were
both watching the early news and neither was dressed to go out, nor did they look
like they intended to. My disappointment was so raw I wanted to scream but what could
I say? There was nothing I could do!

"What's for dinner?" I asked.

"We already ate," Dad answered. He tipped his glass back and turned back to the TV.


Mom smiled. "There's leftovers in the kitchen," she said.

I looked closely at Mom but she looked away. I dropped my backpack at the foot of
the stairs and went into the kitchen. Dinner was still on the stove but there wasn't
much left: a pork chop, a few beans and a dried up potato. It wasn't the feast I was
expecting but probably was a sign of things to come. I dished the meager meal onto
a plate and poured a glass of milk to wash it down. I took the meal upstairs to my
room.

About two hours later, Mom knocked on my door and then pushed it open enough to slip
her head through.

"Are you still hungry?"

I was starving but pride and anger prevented me from admitting it.

"No, I'm fine," was my sullen response.

"Oh," she said, and came all the way in, carrying my backpack to my desk and depositing
it on the chair. She stood with her back to me, weight on one foot with the other
tipped up to raise her heel. "That's too bad."

She looked incredible in the sleek black dress. I raised my eyes from her calves,
one straight with tense muscles and the other relaxed, soft and feminine. The thighs
were strong, both below and above the hem of the black dress, giving way to buttocks
whose shape refused to be hidden by the dark material. As Mom turned around, I could
see through the diving neckline that she had followed my wardrobe selection to the
tee. No wonder her buttocks had appeared so enticing; the tiny thickening that served
for black panties helped separate and define the shifting patterns beneath the fabric
that drew my attention so easily.

"I'm still hungry and I thought you might take me out for a late snack."

I was too surprised to answer.

"Your father fell asleep," she explained further. She rested her right elbow in the
palm of her left hand and put a finger to her lips. "Are you sure you don't want some
dessert?"

"Uh, um, sure, I guess."

Mom pushed herself away from the chair, propelling herself toward the door.

"Okay. Get dressed and meet me downstairs."

Hurriedly, I put on a shirt and slacks and threw on a sports jacket. I ran downstairs.
Mom was waiting at the foot of the stairs with a finger to her lips, shushing me.
Dad was out cold in his chair.

Mom drove to the restaurant and dessert and two special coffees each. I enjoyed myself
so much I forgot about trying to get her to let me take pictures of her undressed.
We talked like two adults who knew each other well for years. Surprisingly, at times
it felt like Mom was flirting with me. As soon as I recognized it the feeling vanished.
I couldn't put my finger on a specific act or thing she said but it happened several
times. My nerves were on edge but in a good way and, despite my earlier good intentions,
I wondered how I could get Mom to let me play with the keys again.

On the way to the car Mom walked toward the driver's side. I followed, hoping she
would give me the keys to open the door but she opened it herself. I held it open
and watched her get in, noting the goosebumps on her bare arms. Her right foot lifted
and swung into the car, forcing the left leg to bend and the dress to rise up and
stretch tightly across her thighs. I noticed again how strong her legs looked. They
were spread in a wide V that came dangerously close to exposing the black panties
I assumed were underneath. My gaze focused there too long. I shook my head and shivered.
Mom looked up but fortunately by then I was looking into her eyes.

"You can drive if you want." she said.

"It's okay," I replied and started to shut the door.

"Mason, you should do what you want. You're still the boss until tomorrow."

I hesitated and Mom pulled her left leg inside the car, my hopes slipping away with
it. She reached for the arm of the door and started to pull. I blocked the door.

"Move over," I said.

"What?"

"Move over," I repeated.

Mom shifted toward the middle and I got into the car, awkwardly lacking the grace
of her entry. The door shut with a firm thud. We sat there, at the far, dark end of
the parking lot, looking out the window. I didn't know what to say. Mom broke the
silence.

"Thanks for a nice evening."

I nodded. I was in a turmoil inside and incapable of speech.

"Seriously, I really enjoyed myself."

Say something, stupid!

"Well, it's time to go," I said, hoping she would hand me the keys and drop them.


"Is it?" she asked.

I turned to face her.

"I had a good time, too."

"I'm glad," she said, putting her hand on my cheek.

"Actually, I think the last month has been the best one in my whole life."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Mom pursued it. "What part did you like best?"

"I don't know, having whatever I wanted for dinner, I guess."

"That's it?"

"I guess."

I was uncomfortable and afraid if we kept talking along this line I'd give myself
away. Why didn't she just give me the keys?

"We should go."

"Do you want to know which part I liked best?" she asked.

"Sure."

"Guess."

"Mom."

"Come on, guess."

"Not having to decide what to make for dinner?"

Mom cocked her head, thinking. "Hmmmm. That was nice, but no."

"Um, I don't know."

"Guess."

"Not having to decide what to wear?"

"That was nice, too, but no."

"What? Going out for dinner?"

"That was very nice but I liked something else better. Do you know what?"

"No."

"I like it when you tell me what to do."

Mom leaned toward me and gave me a quick peck on the lips. I looked at her but didn't
say anything because my mind was blank. She gave me another light kiss.

"It means I don't have to be responsible for everything."

"Huh." I didn't know what else to say.

"Know what else I like?"

I shook my head.

"When you take pictures of me."

"Really?"

"Yes. It makes me feel special." She pecked me on the lips again. "You make me feel
special."

"Huh. Too bad the month's over."

"It doesn't have to be," she said.

She smiled and brushed my lips again.

"You better give me the keys," I said.

"Do we have to go so soon?"

"I think we should."

I don't know why I was suddenly scared but I was. Mom dug in her purse and held up
the keys. They dropped when I tried to take them. I looked down and so did she. She
laughed nervously. We looked at each other and I leaned toward her, making contact
with her lips. The kiss was over in less than two seconds. Despite the butterflies
in my stomach, I found a morsel of courage.

"I want to take some pictures of you when we get home."

"Okay."

Our lips met again.

I decided to go push it.

"In this dress."

"Okay."

I put my hand on Mom's legs and they parted, letting the keys fall between. I followed
but when my fingers contacted the keys I flicked them inside the skirt as I spoke
to distract her.

"I want to do one like we did last time."

"With my bra undone?"

"Yeah," I breathed, leaning toward her.

I pushed the keys further and the scrape of the shear nylons was replaced by the soft
flesh of her thighs. Her head drew back before I could kiss her.

"But I'm not wearing one."

"What?"

"You didn't put a bra out for me, remember?"

"Oh yeah. I forgot."

I couldn't think of anything else to say to distract her but wanted to feel her heat
on the back of my hand again. Mom surprised me with her own request, the perfect distraction.


"Honey, would you give me a real kiss so we can pretend this was a real date? I haven't
been on one for so long I forget what it's like."

"I don't mind at all."

I thought it would feel weird kissing Mom for real but it didn't. Actually, it was
so nice I forgot to use the distraction to get my hand deeper inside her dress.

"I'm sorry it's over," Mom whispered when the kiss was done.

"I was just catching my breath," I said.

I captured her mouth in mine and, now unafraid, kissed her like she was a girl I really
liked. My fingers moved over top of the keys and pushed deep between her thighs. They
had almost reached their destination when Mom pulled away. I cringed, knowing I had
gone too far for sure this time. I should have kissed her in a more platonic manner
or left my hand where it was.

"I should tell you," she said, somewhat out of breath.

I held still but Mom didn't say anything else. The silence became awkward, especially
since I had my hand way up her skirt.

"What?" I prompted.

"I didn't dress exactly the way you wanted me to."

"You didn't?"

"No. The panties were too uncomfortable."

"Oh," I said.

I tried to close the gap between our mouths to draw attention away from the presence
of my hand but Mom turned away. When she spoke I could hardly hear her.

"So I didn't wear them."

"That's okay," I whispered, and pushed my mouth onto hers.

Knowing the gig was likely up at the end of the kiss, I made the most of it. I curled
my fingers inward and pressed my knuckles against her warmth. The skimpy black panties
wouldn't be there but even big white ones would still feel good. I expected a rebuke
but nothing happened. My mind struggled to make sense of the tactile signals racing
up my arm. Confused, my lips fumbled on hers. What had my fingers encountered? It
felt smooth, and damp. I broke the kiss and spoke to Mom.

"You didn't wear the black panties?"

"No," she whispered.

I kissed her again and pressed my knuckles more firmly against her womanhood, kind
of stunned that she hadn't told me to remove my hand. Even more surprising, her arm
curled around my neck and she kissed me back. I brushed my knuckles up and down, testing
the puffiness I now knew was curly pubic hair. The kiss ended and our mouths parted,
but only by an inch. We breathed heavily, panting on each other's face while we gazed
into each other's eyes. My fingers pressed against her pussy and wiggled. Mom closed
her eyes.

"We really should go home now," she whispered, and pressed her knees together.

I didn't want to, not yet.

"Open your legs," I urged.

Her knees parted and I covered her lips to muffle another request to take her home.
My mouth pressed her face back and her hips shifted forward, forcing the wet groove
onto my longest finger. I crooked the tip up and tugged a few resistant hairs that
were reluctant to give way. I pushed my tongue into Mom's mouth and plied the canyon
of her slit for the duration of the longest kiss in my life, one I hoped would never
end, but Mom put her hand on my arm.

"We should go…"

Her hips shifted again and forced the tip of my finger to breach the entrance to her
cunt. A gasp replaced the words that would have finished her thought. I covered her
mouth and shoved my tongue in deep. I wanted to ply her pussy with my finger the same
way my tongue was exploring her mouth but was afraid of going too far, as ridiculous
as that sounds. Suddenly, Mom's hips jerked forward and my finger accidentally inserted
itself deeper into her cunt. My tongue and our lips became still. I opened my eyes
but hers remained closed.

Mom grunted softly when I slipped a second finger into her cunt. Her hand grasped
the hair on the back of my head in a death grip and pulled my mouth hard onto hers.
My fingers twisted back and forth and my thumb reached up to rub the nub above her
slit. She became very animated, chewing on my mouth and bucking her hips, as if trying
to swallow my hand with her pussy. She pulled her mouth away from mine and jerked
my head forward until it was beside hers, hips churning, her hand gripping my arm
and preventing it from moving.

"Oh my God, oh my God," she cried.

She shuddered, stiffened and shuddered again, cried out, then slumped in the seat,
her hands keeping my head and arm firmly in place. When I tried to pull away her grip
tightened. I relaxed until the pressure lightened. She took a deep breath and exhaled
slowly. Her hands slipped away, releasing my arm and head.

"Take me home, please."

Her tone was curt.

"Okay."

I retrieved the keys and started the car. I took my time driving home to give the
huge boner in my pants time to subside but it didn't, at least, not completely. I
held the door and helped Mom out of the car, touched by the way she kept her knees
together and tugged her skirt down as she exited on the driver's side. I held her
arm and escorted her to the house, opened the door, and stepped aside so she could
enter first. I could hardly wait to take the pictures she had promised and wondered,
after what had happened, if she would still let me.

Dad was awake!

Who knows what would have happened if Dad had remained asleep or got up and gone to
bed. Instead, my father had caught a second wind. I noticed that the back of Mom's
dress wasn't zippered. There was a gap that revealed back from the waist to the button
that fastened the dress behind her neck. She obviously wasn't wearing a bra which
meant she was completely naked under the dress except for stockings! A lump of missed
opportunity formed at the top of my gut. To think I could have slipped my hand inside
to hold her breast when I kissed her.

That chance seemed remote now. Mom actually seemed relieved that Dad was awake and
that depressed me. She sat on the end of the couch near his chair and told him about
our dessert and how she hadn't wanted to wake him. I felt she was sending a signal
to me that a mistake had been made that wouldn't be repeated.

For a while I sat on the other side of Mom and admired her back while she talked to
Dad and imagined her naked body under the dress. I thought of the movie Notting Hill
where Hugh Grant follows Julia Roberts to her hotel room only to find her boyfriend
Alec Baldwin has paid her a surprise visit. Hugh's dream, unexpectedly within reach,
was suddenly yanked away. That's how I felt.

I got up and went to bed. Dad said goodnight and so did Mom but hers lacked enthusiasm.


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

Mom avoided me the next day and talked Dad out of playing golf so he hung around all
day. On Sunday, she got him to take her for a drive. On Monday, I laid out an outfit
for her to wear and suggested what we should have for dinner but she didn't seem to
be listening. When I got home she wasn't waiting in her office and wasn't wearing
the clothes I had set out. Dinner was also completely different from what I specified.
Pictures, I supposed, were completely out of the question but, being persistent, I
suggested dinner for Tuesday and set out a blouse and skirt for Mom to wear with the
same result as Monday.

Attempts on Wednesday and Thursday were also unsuccessful. I persisted Friday with
a similar lack of success. Mom wasn't waiting in her office for me to get home; dinner
was not as I specified; and she was wearing a frumpy sweater and jeans rather than
the dress I had set out for her to wear.

I gave up. I avoided home as much as possible over the weekend even though Dad did
go golfing on Saturday and fishing with his buddies on Sunday. On Monday I made no
suggestions about dinner and did not select any clothes for Mom. Tuesday was the same
but Wednesday morning, as I was leaving the breakfast table, Mom asked me what I would
like for dinner.

"Pardon me?"

"What would you like for dinner?" she repeated.

My mind was blank so she suggested a few options and I selected one. I wasn't sure
if she was just asking, like she might have in the old days, or if she was inviting
me to take charge again. Minutes later she caught me as I was going out the door.


"You're leaving already?"

"Yeah, I'm already late."

Looking concerned, she said, "Oh dear." She sighed, then added, "Should I wear the
green blouse with the pleated skirt?"

I couldn't tell is she was jerking me around or if she was serious so I didn't agree
though I liked the outfit she suggested.

"I prefer the navy blue skirt with a white blouse."

Mom nodded but didn't make a commitment before wishing me a good day and turning to
walk away, leaving the door open. I stepped back to close the door and watched her
slow return to the kitchen. She was wearing a pair of tight black leotards and a tank
top with a loose, translucent white shirt over top that was long enough to cover her
ass, only it didn't. Mom had pulled it up in front as if about to tie it up and that
left her leotard-covered buttocks on full display. A younger woman with a slimmer
butt wouldn't have been able to compete with that vision. With each step, one of Mom's
cheeks bulged its fullness atop a leg and then the other took its turn. They rolled
from one side to the other until she reached the kitchen doorway and stopped.

I should have looked away but I didn't. With the shirt still held around her waist,
Mom twisted her torso so she look back, tossing her hair around her face. Belatedly,
I raised my eyes from her ass which had tightened to highlight her right buttock perfectly.
Her right breast jutted out in full profile and her eyes twinkled as she spoke.

"Pork chops?"

"Yeah, pork chops," I confirmed.

All day at school, I wondered what she would do and went around in circles in my mind
about whether or not she was renewing our game. Wednesday was one of my early days
but the tension was so great I skipped my last class anyway and rushed home.

Mom's office door was closed but that didn't mean anything because I was so early.
I checked the kitchen and found a cookie sheet loaded with breaded chicken breasts
ready to go in the oven. Shake and bake wasn't the option I had selected.

I climbed the stairs far enough to see that Dad's office door was closed and returned
to Mom's office. I almost knocked but caught my hand in time. Quietly, I turned the
knob, stepped inside, and carefully closed the door behind me.

She was wearing white blouse and pleated, navy blue skirt!

Mom didn't look at me or acknowledge my presence in any way. She was leaning back
in her chair and keeping herself balanced with both feet on the opened lower right
hand drawer. Her lower legs were encased in sheer stockings that shimmered with a
bluish glow produced by the brilliant sunshine streaming through the window and reflecting
off the skirt. The light highlighted the muscles in her calves which were tensed nicely
by the effort to keep her chair tilting back. I wished I'd brought the camera. She
looked beautiful, gorgeous, stunning—words weren't adequate.

In one hand she held a small notepad and in the other a pen. Her arms fell to the
side until they were supported by the chair and her head tilted back. She shook her
hair loose, then closed her eyes and sighed as if tired of confronting an intractable
problem. It looked like she'd had hard day.

I approached quietly and took the notepad from her left hand. When she didn't react
I knew she had been aware of my presence all along. I put the notepad on the desk
and that's when I noticed the camera. I picked it up and took a picture. She opened
her eyes.

"Mason, don't. I'm a mess."

"No you're not. You're beautiful."

I snapped another picture.

"Liar."

"Close your eyes."

She did and I took lots of pictures from every angle around her. Though I stooped
down to get a couple of good ones of her legs I didn't push the camera under her skirt.
The way I'd done that before seemed crass to me now.

When I stood up, Mom's left hand dropped inward from the arms of the chair and, pinching
her skirt, slowly dragged it up her thigh until the hem cleared her knees. I snapped
a couple more pictures and then she grasped the skirt higher and pulled it up several
more inches. A couple of snaps and she did it again until a good six or seven inches
of thigh was showing. I stopped to enjoy the show. I guess Mom interpreted that to
mean the skirt wasn't high enough because she pulled on it again and it slid down
her slightly raised legs until a pair of blue panties was exposed.

Forgetting crassness, I leaned over and took several shots of the front of her panties.
It wasn't until I was focusing through the lens that I realized that Mom wasn't wearing
a bra under the white blouse. Her nipples were pressing into the fancy, delicate material,
surrounded by the bulging swell of her breasts. My cock stiffened but I didn't care
if she opened her eyes. She should know that she would excite any man, including me.


I took several close-ups of her chest, then flipped the top button undone and snapped
a couple more. The corners of Mom's mouth turned up in a weak smile. I ventured to
undo another button and then another after taking a couple of hasty pictures. When
she didn't complain I casually flipped the remaining button open above her skirt and
spread the blouse apart until it threatened to completely expose her breasts. Only
her nipples, stiff and excited, kept that from happening.

As if to reassure her, I said, "Dad was still working when I came in."

I could have shot myself. Why did I remind her he was in the house? What a frikken
idiot!

"Is he?" she asked. "He'll be finished soon."

"Not for a while yet," I countered, apprehensive.

"No," she whispered. "Not for a while."

I put the camera on the desk and stood looking at her, free to do so because she had
considerately kept her eyes closed. Though the bulge in my pants was now huge I wasn't
afraid. I knew she wouldn't open her eyes, that she would let me enjoy her beauty.


And what beauty! Her tilted back face held a serene expression, her breasts were completely
exposed except for the nipples, and the blue panties hardly disguised the mound my
knuckles had so happily caressed not two weeks earlier. To think my fingers had explored
the pussy underneath those panties only a week before. I remembered how she reacted
to the insertion of my fingers and had to bend forward to let my cock unfurl a little
in my pants.

I reached down and let my extended finger flip the edge of the blouse aside and then
off Mom's right nipple. I sucked in my breath, overwhelmed by its magnificence and
fear that she would be upset, but she wasn't. If anything, a small sigh escaped her
lips but otherwise she remained calm and relaxed. It took almost a minute for me to
regain control of my breathing and throughout that time my gaze never left Mom's nipple.
It seemed to have a life of its own, perched precariously upon her breast, swaying
like a skyscraper in a strong wind when she breathed, and becoming ever more erect
as I watched.

I moved closer to the chair and noticed that Mom still held the pen in her right hand.
Gently pulling it from her grasp, I was about to put it on the desk beside the notepad,
but paused, then moved my hand over her legs and dropped it between her thighs.

"Woops-a-daisy," I said.

Mom smiled.

I dropped my right hand between her legs and tried to pick it up but, not so surprisingly,
was unable to get a good hold. The elusive pen evaded my grasp as my fingers rubbed
and scraped between her thighs. It was just like my pursuit of the keys except that
was in the darkness of the car and this was in the late afternoon sunshine streaming
into Mom's office. I could see the back of my fingers caressing the tender inside
of her thighs, could monitor their slow, clandestine approach nearer and nearer the
blue panties, and imagined the expected instant of first contact.

Just four inches away the pen caught in the crevice of Mom's thighs where they thickened
and touched each other, clearly making it an easy task to retrieve the pen. I placed
my fingers and thumb on either side and pressed against her flesh to dig in for the
capture. Mom parted her thighs and the pen fell, one end lodging into the leather
seat and the other crashing onto the blue mound with an imagined thump. It threatened
to roll off but then settled into the shallow groove running up the center.

I stared, stupidly wondering what to do and why Mom hadn't said anything, grabbed
the pen herself, or just sat up. I looked up, my gaze sliding over the skirt bunched
up on her tummy and through the gap between her breasts, pausing to drink in the sight
of the magic nipple, then continued up until I discovered the wan smile still painting
her face. My eyes retraced the path back to the panties and my fingers reestablished
contact but instead of picking it up they pressed it deeper into the groove. There
was no response from Mom, neither a murmur of pleasure nor sound of complaint, not
a stiffening of limbs or, looking up, removal of the smile.

It was my turn to smile. I gripped the lower part of the pencil between thumb and
forefinger and wiggled it in the groove. Still no response. Pressing the pen in more
firmly, I let my other fingers flower out to brush over the puffiness surrounding
the pen and that caused the slightest of tremors in Mom's legs and tummy. I let them
flutter around the pen again causing a somewhat more discernible response and, while
looking at her face to gauge her reaction, flipped the other side of the blouse off
the left nipple. Her tit was now fully exposed, plump but firm, rising up to form
a perfect bed for the dark pink extension. My left thumb hovered over the right one,
closest to me, and I leaned down to breath on the other, freshly revealed wonder.
Like a three-point landing of a jet, I lowered my thumb onto the right nipple, captured
the other between my lips, and pushed the pen aside so I could cup Mom's mound with
my fingers.

"Oh my, oh no, ohhhhh."

I pinched, and sucked, and pressed my fingers in hard, gouging the panties into her
damp slit and scrunching my hand down to cup her mound in my palm. The fingers of
my left hand tried to encompass Mom's right breast without releasing her nipple while
my mouth enveloped the left until its nipple poked the roof of my mouth. I rubbed
her panties hard and felt her right hand grasp my forearm. I braced myself to make
it hard for her to pull it away but she didn't. Instead, she steered it, forcing it
into a circular motion. A minute later her left hand pushed the waistband of her panties
down, dragging it off and baring her pussy. Immediately, my fingers found her wet
slit and seconds later pushed inside, quickly and easily accessing the depths of her
cunt.

Ecstatic, I ravished her pussy with my fingers, fingering her so frantically that
the wet, sloppy sound filled the room. I had never fingered a girl so callously, so
desperately. I must have pinched her nipple too hard or bitten the other for Mom cried
out.

"Ohhhhhh, Jeeeezzusss!"

"Sorry," I mumbled into her tit. The sound barely escaped.

"Uh, uh, uh, unnnggghhh."

Her thighs stiffened and clamped around my hand. She was coming. I kept my fingers,
three of them I now realized, plugged in as hard as I could and held them still while
Mom's pussy writhed around them. I lifted my head and watched her face contort into
an amazing variety of expressions, culminating in an open-mouthed, silent scream.


When she was done, Mom relaxed back into her serene demeanor, partial nakedness open
before me, as if she didn't have a care in the world. I pulled her panties up, arranged
her skirt properly, and then buttoned up her blouse. Her eyes never opened. I positioned
myself near her head and leaned down to give her a gentle kiss then stood up. Looking
down to enjoy her pretty face, I noticed how close my bulging erection was and remembered
dreaming of sliding my cock between her lips.

It must have been that thought, and carelessness, that made me sway toward her. My
pants brushed the side of her face. Before I could pull away, Mom turned toward me
and her lips pressed against my covered manhood. Incredibly, she kissed it through
my pants. I groaned and chased her mouth as her face retreated. Her head couldn't
retract very far and contact was reestablished. I thought she would lift her hands
to push me away and I foolishly grabbed her head to keep it in place. Miraculously,
Mom kissed my bulge again.

I held her head, more to provide support than to prevent its escape, because Mom was
now kissing my bulge repeatedly as I swayed against her face. Her kisses turned into
little munches, then bigger ones, and finally her mouth opened wide enough to gently
bite my shaft. That's when I came. I flooded my pants, holding her head with both
hands, my legs trembling as my cock throbbed its sticky deposit throughout my shorts.


I managed not to fall. Mom was still in a reclined position with her eyes closed when
I turned away. I opened the door and turned for a last look. She was already sitting
up, one end of the retrieved pen held to her lips, looking at the notepad.

"Mason."

"Yeah," I choked out.

"Tell your father it's time for dinner, please."

"Okay."

I shut the door firmly, feeling that would somehow help keep what had just happened
there a secret. When I knocked on Dad's door and told him to come down for dinner,
it did seem to help. It didn't feel so obvious that I had just mauled and sucked his
wife's tits, fingered her pussy, and pushed my cock against her face until I came.
I felt terrible for doing what I had done but insanely elated at the same time and
could hardly await the opportunity to do it again.

To feel better, I reminded myself that Dad had sold the Cuda. That made me wonder
if Mom would do more to erase the guilt she felt from her own involvement in getting
rid of the car. Not that she should feel guilty. I liked school and knew that I would
have more opportunity when I was finished than most of my friends who were working
in coffee shops and waiting tables. No, Mom shouldn't feel guilty at all.

But did she, or was that just a cover so she could be 'made' to do things she secretly
wanted? She had to be lonely. She and Dad were so estranged I couldn't imagine them
having sex and I hadn't them coupling at night for years. How could she have let me
get away with what I'd done if she wasn't as horny as all get out?

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

On Thursday, after Dad took his coffee into the living room to watch the morning news,
I gave Mom instructions for dinner and told her I had laid out the green blouse and
skirt combo for her to wear.

"No substitutions this time," I said.

"I wouldn't think of it, oh great Master," she joked, bending forward in a deep bow
and sweeping her right arm wide as she straightened up.

"Do that again," I whispered.

She did, without asking why.

"No, slowly," I said.

Mom bent forward again, exaggerating the arch in her back so her breasts pushed out,
maintaining the curvature of her back as she stood, and swept her arm wide so her
tits thrust hard against her robe. I stepped behind her and lifted the robe from her
shoulders. She looked toward the open kitchen doorway and the sound of the news, then
shrugged her arms out of the sleeves. I moved in front of her with the robe folded
over my forearm.

"Do it again," I said.

Mom bent low, very slowly, back arched as before but now her breasts and nipples were
clearly outlined despite the thick material of her nightgown. She laughed when she
was bent right over because her big fluffy slippers looked silly in contrast to the
elegant bow. She stood and shucked them off her feet, clearly expecting me to make
her bow again.

I draped the bathrobe over the back of a chair, put my hands under her arms and beside
her breasts to turn her to face the doorway, and said, "Again."

Mom bowed even more slowly so it was easy to stop her before her back was quite horizontal.


"Stop."

I walked around her, knelt down to examine her dangling tits and passed my hand underneath,
close, but without touching them. I just wanted to suggest that I could if I wanted
to. I stood behind her, again very close, but without touching.

"Lower."

Mom bent until her head was almost to the floor and waited for further instruction.
Her ass was now pressing against the growing bulge in the front of my pants. I waited
until she became unsteady and began to sway. I enjoyed the rub of her bottom on my
pants for a few seconds, then commanded her to stand but stopped her when she had
risen just past half way and her ass had broken contact with my groin.

I gently grasped a handful of hair and stroked it in both hands, molding it into a
short pony tail. The action 'accidentally' pulled her behind against my pants. I tugged
the pony to one side and then the other which twisted her shoulders and forced her
ass to rub across my bulge.

"Do you remember what I want for dinner?" I asked.

Mom nodded and that added an extra dimension of pleasure for my cock which was now
fully erect.

"Tell me."

Mom repeated the entire meal plan while I played with her hair, pulling it to one
side or the other and even up, as if reining a horse. The soft rubbing effect transferred
to my cock, exquisitely.

"And what should I put out for you to wear?"

"The green skirt and blouse," she answered.

Did she know me so well?

"That's right. Up… Stop!"

I halted Mom at a forty-five degree angle, perfect for exerting maximum pressure on
my cock. I transferred my hands to her waist to hold her more firmly but she kept
her head tilted back herself.

"You can choose what to wear underneath."

"Okay."

"What color of bra are you going to wear?"

"Nothing."

My cock lurched in my pants.

"No bra?"

"No," her voice thickened.

I moved my hips forward in a not-so-subtle thrust.

"And panties?" I asked, my voice matching the thickness of hers.

"None."

My cock lurched against her ass again, then again, and again. My hands slipped up
to cup her breasts.

"Bend," I instructed.

Mom bent right over and I lost my grip on her breasts, my hands sliding down her waist
to her hips. I pressed myself into her ass and pulled.

"Stand."

Mom stood up and immediately stepped forward to retrieve her robe. I realized she
had heard something but was too slow to do anything about it. She was slipping her
feet into her slippers when Dad entered the kitchen. His eyes swept over me and then
back at her. A funny look came over his face.

"Anything wrong?" he asked her.

"No. Just trying to figure out what to make Mason for lunch."

"Can't he make his own lunch?"

"I can do it faster and he's already late."

Dad frowned. "You need to get up earlier," he said to me. "Can you do that?" he asked,
a hint of anger in his voice.

"Yup. I can get it up anytime."

Mom choked back a laugh and my face blanched as I realized my error. Thankfully, Dad
missed it.

"That'll be the day," he said.

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

Mom defied me. I found her in her office wearing the green blouse without a bra. That
was well and fine but the green skirt had been replaced by white slacks.

"I can't take good pictures in those," I said.

"Don't start, Mason. I've had a long day."

"Why, what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Work?"

"Partly."

"Was Dad bugging you?"

"He's having one of his days," she answered.

"Where is he?" I asked.

"In his office." I turned to leave but Mom reached out and grabbed me. "Leave it be
honey."

"Did he hit you?"

"Oh no. He'd never do that. He's just…tiring, that's all."

I stood behind her and started kneading her shoulders. She reached down with her left
hand and pulled the release out to let the chair lean back. I worked on her shoulders
but as she leaned farther and farther back it got harder and I ended up stroking her
forehead, the sides of her head, and her face. She put her hand over mine and kissed
it.

"You make me feel good," she whispered.

"I like making you feel good," I replied.

I stroked her face and her neck, gradually working my fingers past her throat until
they were touching the first glimmer of the flesh that would eventually swell out
to form her breasts. Mom grabbed my hands in hers.

"Make me feel good, Mason."

She pulled my hands lower until they were spread out, palm down, over her breasts.
I closed my hands over their shape, fingers splayed out on either side of her nipples,
then closed in until they were pinched between. It was probably my imagination but
they seemed to harden and grow under my touch. I looked down at Mom's face. Her eyes
were closed but she seemed to sense that I was looking at her.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you too, Mom."

"Make me feel good," she repeated.

I started kneading her breasts. Gently, as if rough handling would damage them. I
remembered how carried away I had got when I fingered her. This time would be different.


I stretched my fingers over top and slid them underneath her tits, lifting them as
I kneaded them, then letting them relax on her chest, mashing my palms on her nipples,
bending and rolling them, then repeating the lifting massage. I loved the feel of
her stiffening nipples.

Her heightened breathing excited me. I was very hard in my pants. I pulled the green
blouse apart but the buttons didn't break which surprised me. Her tits burst into
view, bouncing and falling slightly to the side. I pulled them together and kneaded
them into a unit, trying to push her nipples together without success. I leaned forward
and brushed my lips on hers, kissed her, then bent lower so I could put my mouth on
her tits, kissing and licking until I garnered the courage to suck a nipple inside.


"Oh, Mason. That feels so good."

"You like that?" I whispered.

"Oh yes."

I sucked her other nipple into my mouth.

"Do you like that too?"

"Yes. Yes."

"How about this?"

I reached down and put my hand between her legs, them pulled it back to snugly possess
her crotch and rubbed her pussy. She didn't answer but her breathing quickened and
a long sigh escaped her lips. I rubbed her pussy and pressed my palm onto her mound,
moving my hand in a circular motion, and loved it when I felt her hips lift to get
more. I kissed her.

"Undo your pants," I whispered into her ear.

She didn't seem to hear me so I repeated the command. Mom's hands slowly lowered to
her waist and I watched as she unbuttoned her pants. I pulled my hand back to rub
her tummy, then lowered it between her legs to massage her pussy. She wasn't wearing
panties!

My fingers surrounded her labia, then found her slit and tickled for a minute or two
before pushing inside. As soon as my fingertips breached her entrance, Mom lifted
her hips and thrust herself upon my fingers, taking two and then three inside. I forgot
about gentleness and twisted them around, digging inside her sloppiness. The squishy
sounds made my cock ache and I leaned down to bite her nipple. Mom arched her back
and groaned.

"Yes, oh yes. Bite them!"

I wasn't fingering her so much as she was fucking my hand. The chair squeaked and
rattled but neither of us was concerned about the noise. Our panting filled the air,
almost drowning out the chair's complaints as it was pushed lower. Mom had hooked
her feet under the main desk drawer to keep the chair from sliding back and I had
leaned against its back to do the same. This brought my crotch into contact with her
head and my balls were rubbing on her forehead.

Mom's hips slowed but her movements became more exaggerated, jerking and thrusting
as a climax overcame her. After a minute of convulsions, her body slackened and relaxed
into the chair. I pulled my fingers out but kept my hand on her quivering pussy for
a minute, then pulled it away and stood up. My left hand was still clutching her tit
and I brought it up to her neck where the other was already caressing her skin. I
massaged her neck and cheeks.

I was so horny, and wanted to rub my cock on her face like I had before until I came
in my pants. I rubbed the bottom of my bulge on her forehead and she tilted her head
back. Would she kiss my pants like before? Would she nibble at it?

I couldn't get my bulge against her face standing behind her like I was. I moved back
in preparation for a move to the side but suddenly had a better, more invasive idea.
Could I get away with it? Would she let me go that far?

I unzipped my pants and scrutinized Mom's face for a reaction. Nothing. Had she heard
it?

I pushed my shorts down and my long, hard cock popped out. I grasped it near the base
and pushed it down until it was almost level, then leaned toward Mom, steering it
into a hovering position over her face. I pressed down until the underside of my shaft
grazed her forehead. This was it. What would she do?

Mom tilted her head back, as if to see what was scraping her head, but her eyes remained
closed. I rubbed my cock from side to side across her forehead. Mom tilted her head
further back and I pushed forward until my balls pressed into the top of her head.
I pressed down on my shaft until the underside touched her right cheek, moved sideways
until to her nose and applied pressure until it popped up and over to grace the left
side, then rubbed it back to the original position. Mom's lips parted and her tongue
darted upward to lick the underside of the tip and then retreated. My cock tingled
and throbbed violently.

"Make me feel good, Mom," I cried hoarsely.

Her tongue darted upward and licked my shaft, staying longer this time.

"Oh God, that feels good."

Lick, lick, lick.

I rubbed my cock back and forth across Mom's nose and slid over her lips while her
tongue flicked all over the bottom of my shaft. It felt especially good under the
tip. I pushed the chair lower until it was in danger of falling if I didn't hold it
up.

"Please," I whispered.

Mom tilted her head back, craning her back. I pressed my tip onto her mouth and she
smothered the underside with her wet tongue. Her hands gripped the sides of the chair
and she pushed herself upward, arching her back and opening her mouth.

Oh God. I pulled my cock back an inch or two, then slid it between her lips and into
her mouth. Holy fucking Christ, it was wonderful, better than I ever imagined. I pushed
in and out, sliding through her slick wetness, almost dying when her lips closed over
the head and sucked. I groaned and started fucking into her mouth, fucking her face—fucking
my Mom's face!

It was too much, too fantastic. My cock spewed its white froth, filling her mouth
until it spilled out and dribbled from the corners. I thrust harder and she gasped,
struggling for a second or two, until my cock breached another entrance. Mom's nostrils
flared and I realized she was breathing through her nose because I was blocking her
throat. Her neck bulged and I wanted to pull out but my cock kept shoving itself in,
back and in, back and in, all the time spewing its gooey mess inside her mouth. Mom
gurgled and her hands left the sides of the chair to push against my thighs. I finally
came to my senses and pulled back, extracting my cock from her mouth and dribbling
cum on her chin and upper lip, right cheek and forehead, but thankfully missed her
eye.

I held the chair up with an effort. My legs were weak but that wasn't what made my
cock quiver as it hovered over Mom's beautiful face, nor was it my ragged breathing.
Slowly, it steadied and I stepped back and eased the chair up. Mom buttoned her blouse,
then tucked it into her pants and fastened them. Belatedly, I started stuffing my
cock back into my pants but it was a struggle. With difficulty, I bent it into my
shorts and zipped up.

Mom sat up, swiveled around in the chair and, as if nothing improper had happened,
said, "You better tell your father it's time for dinner and I would like to go out.


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

I didn't want to go because playing around with keys wouldn't do it for me anymore
but Mom insisted, just as she insisted that Dad had to come along too. We sat in a
booth and I sat beside her because Dad sat on the opposite side. Mom shifted closer
to me while we looked at the menu and the heated press of her thigh drove me nuts.
As both she and Dad consumed wine her hand found my leg under the table and squeezed.
I thought it an outrageously dangerous thing to do and a needless risk but when my
father put his nose into the wine menu for the second selection of the evening, I
put my own hand on Mom's thigh and gave it a squeeze.

It was after the first sip of the second bottle, and Dad's insistence that I join
him in a glass, that he dropped the bomb. He wasn't aware of the blunder, or that
the shock of it almost made me miss his glass as we clinked. Of course, he didn't
know what Mom had told me. I didn't look at her because I was digesting the revelation
and realizing exactly why she was felt so guilty.

"I have to say, Mason, I was dead set against selling the Cuda but now that I see
how well you're doing at school I know it was the right thing to do. I'm glad I let
your mother talk me in to it. She was right, as usual."

Dad beamed at me and smiled at Mom.

"To the Cuda," he said, lifting his glass again, "and the reward its sale has brought
to our family."

I clinked his glass. "To the Cuda," I said.

"To the Cuda," Mom mumbled, eyes downcast and arm stretched half-heartedly to raise
her glass but not far enough to clink ours.

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

It was a quiet ride home with no break for fun and games with keys and I suspected
there wouldn't have been even if Dad had slumped in the corner as usual. As it was,
he remained alert. For my part, I was trying to understand why Mom had blamed Dad
for selling the Cuda. She had always assumed some guilt which I thought was undeserved
but now I understood it was all hers. Yet, Dad was right. I was much better off having
an education and future prospects than driving around in a cool car, and that was
all Mom's doing.

I contemplated explaining to her that I understood and appreciated what she had done
but knew I wasn't going to do it. If she wanted to feel guilty and if that provided
an opportunity for me to have my way with her then by all means she should feel guilty.
After all, a price should be paid for deceitfulness. I wasn't proud of the plan forming
in my mind but I was eager to carry it out as we got home and I could get her away
from Dad.

When we arrived, I didn't open the door right away. Dad got out and closed the passenger
door without waiting to see if Mom was getting out that side. I dropped my hand onto
Mom's upper left thigh and clamped it tight.

"I want to talk to you."

Mom slid over and got out the passenger door without replying and walked briskly to
the house. Dad had gone inside without closing the door so I couldn't catch her before
she went upstairs. She didn't leave her room that night and since Dad had gone to
bed too I couldn't initiate my plan.

Mom avoided me the next day, announcing at breakfast that she had a big report to
finish before Monday. She locked herself in her office and didn't emerge until dinner.
Dad and I surprised her with a prepared meal. Nothing fancy—just pork chops, potatoes,
carrots and broccoli—but it took Mom by surprise. We even tried to bake a cake but
it was a disaster and I think that made it even more special for Mom.

I was pleasantly surprised when she stayed behind to help me clear the table. I wouldn't
let her do anything but she talked as I bustled back and forth to the kitchen. Dad
left to assume his post in his chair in the living room, switching channels between
the news and a football game. When I was done, I pulled Mom's chair back so she could
get up. She didn't notice that I swung it completely out of the way from her end of
the table. She turned to thank me.

"Thank you, Mason. I don't know how to thank…"

The words were stifled in her throat as my left hand clamped over her mouth and my
right circled her abdomen, pulling her back against my body.

"I think you do," I whispered, pressing my hips forward until her thighs hit the table.


She shook her head but failed to dislodge my hand and then tried to pull it away but
wasn't strong enough so next she attempted to push my arm down and away from her stomach.
That didn't work either and I rewarded the attempt with a kiss on the side of her
neck and a press into her backside. She mumbled something into my hand so I loosened
it, confident she wouldn't call attention to her current predicament since that would
require an explanation.

"Your father's right there," she hissed.

"I know. I can see his feet."

I moved my right hand up to cup her left tit and gave it an appreciative squeeze.
She struggled for a few seconds, then relaxed and tried a different tact.

"Mason, stop kidding around."

"I'm not kidding. You blamed Dad for the Cuda but it was you all along."

"I did it for you."

"You blamed him for me?"

"You know what I mean and I didn't put it all on him."

"I know." I slid my hand onto her right tit and dropped my left onto the one just
released. "But now you have to take all the blame."

She didn't try to physically stop me from fondling her tits, instead resorting to
argument. Talking, or not, had always been her strength.

"You admitted it was the right thing to do, and so did your father."

I rubbed my bulge into her soft, pliant behind, rolling her buttocks from side to
side, and squeezed her tits until I could feel her nipples through the bra under the
dress.

"Maybe, but your trickery makes it me want to quit."

"No," she hissed. "You can't. Not after all I've done."

I rubbed my cock harder on her ass.

"I don't want you to wear a bra when you're in the house," I whispered in her ear.


"Promise me you won't quit."

I let go of her tits and slid my hands slowly down her sides, over her hips and down
the outside of her thighs. Mom didn't protest until I started lifting her skirt and
pressed her hands against her legs to block the rise.

"Mason don't. Your father!"

"I don't care about him. He didn't even try to stop you," I hissed, speaking more
vehemently than I felt.

The pressure exerted by Mom's hands eased and I lifted the dress higher. My hands
slid underneath and cupped her buttocks.

"You have a nice ass, Mom. Did anyone ever tell you that?" A little flattery couldn't
hurt.

"No," she said, resigned. "What if your father gets up?"

"I'll let the dress drop."

My hands pressed and rubbed Mom's ass. She did have a nice ass, bigger than most of
the girls at school but shaped better. I pictured her on her knees lifting it up,
offering it to me, and groaned.

"Shhhhh," she cautioned.

I started tugging her panties down. Mom freaked and tried to stop me.

"I want to kiss the real thing," I objected. "It really is beautiful," I added, already
picturing it in my mind.

"No, you can't. Not here!"

"Yes, here."

"Go up to your room. I'll let you do it up there."

"No, I want to touch it now, right here."

"Mason, that's stupid."

"I can't help it. Just for a minute," I pleaded.

Mom gave in. Her hands relaxed and I tugged the panties off her buttocks and pushed
them halfway down her thighs. Immediately, I cupped and fondled her cheeks, spreading
them and rubbing the inner curves, stretching my longest finger through the crevasse
until I felt the back of her pussy.

"Bend over," I whispered.

"No."

"Yes," I hissed, pushing her forward with my chest.

Slowly, Mom leaned over the table.

"Your father?"

"Watch his feet. If they move, just stand up. It'll be alright."

Mom bent all the way over the table but kept her head raised so she could watch Dad's
feet. I pictured myself fucking her from behind and holding her hair to keep her face
up like that. My fingers found and nestled between her pussy lips from behind while
my left hand reached around to her tummy, tickled her navel, and traced downward until
it found the top of her clit. I shoved two fingers from the right inside her.

I thought she would jerk up in protest but she didn't. She released a brief, muted
grunt and then covered her mouth with her right hand. My fingers plied deeper as her
cunt's lubrication greased a path for them and her ass lifted to make it easier. Man,
she got horny fast! Of course, you dummy. She never gets fucked!

I concentrated on what I was doing, rubbing the pads of the fingers of my left hand
in a circular motion above her mound and fingering her cunt with twisting jabs with
the right. I said I only wanted to play with her ass for a minute or so but after
five minutes I had three fingers buried inside her. Apparently Dad's whereabouts didn't
interest her anymore because she had dropped her head onto the table and was lying
with her left cheek pressed against the mahogany, her face moving back and forth on
the table in time with the thrust of my fingers. I tried to keep an eye on his feet
but it was like texting while driving; long seconds passed when I was distracted by
the task at hand and he probably could have walked to the kitchen and back for a beer
in the interval.

I withdrew my left hand and clumsily starting undoing my pants.

You're crazy. Your father's right there!

I ignored my conscience with the same ease I had ignored my mother, flipping my cock
out and lining it up with her ass crack.

You'll get caught!

"Just for a minute," I whispered, as if someone had really been speaking to me.

"What?" Mom whispered.

"Lift up on your toes," I whispered.

"What?"

"Get up on your toes," I repeated.

I nudged the inside of her right foot to push it out a couple of inches. She lifted
up onto her toes and in that instant I shoved my cock into her pussy. Her head flew
up and for a moment I was afraid she would cry out. Instead, her hands slid out and
forward to brace herself on the table. She tried to straighten up but I pushed her
down and threw my hips forward, shoving my cock deeper into her wonderful tunnel.
It was the most fantastic cunt I have ever experienced, and it was my first!

I pulled back and shoved in, out and in, again and again, plunging my cock as deep
as I could with every stroke. Mom's head flopped forward and banged on the table.
In that moment I realized the table had been creaking. I looked at the living room
and was relieved to see Dad's feet still in place on the footstool. I grasped Mom's
hair and gently pulled to lift her face up. Confidence flooded through me so I lifted
Mom's dress onto her back, baring it to the shoulders. I widened my stance, grabbed
the back of her bra, and began fucking her in a determined but less frantic rhythm.


The table began to rock again so I pulled Mom back a step and thrust my cock in and
out in relative silence except for our ragged breathing. I held her wrists and moved
within her in long, intense thrusts until my seed began to spill inside her. We stopped
then and I ground my cock around in a big circle as my cum gurgled out, the circles
growing smaller and smaller until they matched the seepage of my flow and Mom sagged
on my quivering pole.

That's when I pushed the tip of my thumb inside her dark little hole like I'd seen
in porn vids. Her head snapped up sharply, face contorted, but not completely in pain.
I regretted it instantly but at the same time a strange pleasure sucked an extra spurt
from my spent dick. Mom's ass suddenly quivered and her legs began to shake. Her pussy
expelled my softening cock as her toes lost the strength to keep her up. I sank back
onto my own heels, a final spurt leaving a gob of cum on her cheeks which was quickly
covered when the dress fell into place over her hips. Mom smoothed it down her legs,
straightened her hair, and walked away without looking back at me. She went into the
kitchen and, from the sounds, began loading the dishwasher. Unsure of how to handle
the situation, I went upstairs to my room and stayed there until the next morning.


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

It was Saturday and my damned father didn't go out all day. When I asked if he was
going golfing he asked me if I wanted to play.

"No, I have to study."

"That's too bad," he replied.

"Have you seen Mom?" I asked. "Did she go out?"

"No, I think she's in her office."

I knocked lightly on Mom's door then opened it and entered. She was sitting at her
desk but didn't look at me though she didn't seem to be doing anything. She was staring
at her computer screen, which was blank.

I felt bad about the night before. I had done the wrong thing but I couldn't help
myself. She had just looked so sexy I got carried away. I approached her, ready to
beg forgiveness. It wasn't all my fault. She could have walked away when I lifted
her dress and put my hands on her ass. She could have said 'No' in a forceful manner
but she didn't. She simply let me lift her skirt, put my hands on her ass and pulled
her panties down. No, it wasn't all my fault, not by a long shot. Still, I hated to
see her looking so sad. I had to apologize. I had to make things right.

I stopped beside her but my presence was not acknowledged. I didn't like being ignored.
She gave the silent treatment to my father when she was angry with him. It was something
I refused to tolerate. I didn't want to fight with her but before I knew it I had
grasped her chin and turned her head toward me. Though I did it gently, Mom kept her
eyes averted. I spoke softly.

"Look at me."

She refused. She didn't say anything but her gaze remained fixed, staring at my belly
rather than at my face. I tilted her face upward.

"Look at me," I repeated.

Still, she didn't speak and her eyes lowered to remain fixed on my stomach.

"Mother, do as I say."

But she wouldn't. I looked back to make sure I had shut the door, then looked down
at her and put my hands on my belt.

"Well?"

My request, demand really, was met with a silence that drained away the last of my
desire to apologize. I pulled my belt until the buckle loosened and held it, looking
at Mom. She didn't even blink so I released it and pulled it through the buckle. My
zipper was down in a flash and I paused again. Mom's gaze was steadfast. I stretched
my shorts out and unlimbered my cock. I was sure she would react then but she didn't.
She had called my bluff.

I steered my cock toward her and touched her cheek with the tip, then slid it to the
corner of her mouth and across her chin to the other side. Lifting it higher, I rubbed
it across her lips, their fullness depressing and springing back to mark its passage.
Mom didn't shy away and that was tremendously exciting.

"You shouldn't defy me," I said.

I tried to push the tip between her lips but they were clamped too tight so I put
my thumb on her chin and pressed down to open her mouth. My cock slipped inside and
for the second time in my life I started to fuck Mom's face. I moved steadily but
gently in and out. I didn't hold her head because, as strange as it seems, I wanted
to afford her the opportunity to pull away so she couldn't say I forced her. God,
her mouth felt good! Too good, in fact. My hand found the back of her head.

"Suck it," I whispered, urging her forward to take more.

I couldn't stop now if I tried and I knew that meant I had lost control despite the
fact that my hand held her head in place and my cock was moving back and forth in
her mouth, forcing her to produce more and more saliva. The feeling was exquisite.
I had never felt anything like it, except for her cunt. Ahhhh, I wanted that again
too. Tonight. I had to find a way to have her tonight, father or no father.

"Suck it," I growled. I pulled on her head. "Oh yeah, like that. Suck it!"

Mom put the flat of her hands on my thighs, bringing my cock to a full stop. Despite
the sudden loss of ecstasy, I didn't try to pull her head back onto my shaft. She
looked up at me, then abruptly forced her mouth down the length of my shaft, was stymied
about three quarters down but then progressed the rest of the way with a hard shake
of her head, lips chewing as she gobbled the remains of my cock. It felt so incredible
my legs weakened and if it hadn't been for Mom's arms circling around my thighs I
might have fallen. Shaking her head again, Mom withdrew up my shaft which reflected
the harsh light of the office as the slick pole emerged from her lips. I almost fainted
when the tip slid out of her throat and gasped when her mouth released it completely,
abandoning it to the cold air.

Mom pulled back, glanced up at me and smiled, unaware of the thin stream of saliva
that connected her lips to the tip of my cock. She looked at it then, chuckled hoarsely,
and scooped it up with her mouth before the strand broke. I sighed as the tip of my
cock was recaptured and moaned as her lips scraped down my shaft, groaned when her
head shook to gobble the rest of me and cried out when I felt myself breaching the
tightness of her throat. She stayed on me longer this time, pushing her face into
the flesh surrounding my root and closing a hand around my balls. The retraction was
slower and her head swirled around the tip, tongue working, before she released, this
time pulling back more carefully and watching the thicker stream of saliva stretch
from cock to lips.

Mom laughed without looking up at me and threw herself back onto my cock, quickly
gobbling it to the root, swallowing the head and an inch or so of my shaft and squeezed
with her throat while she tickled my balls. When she pulled off the stream of saliva
connecting us was very thick but it lost its hold anyway and snapped, a strand falling
towards both of us like a broken bridge collapsing back to its banks. Mom was looking
at the section falling toward me when the unexpected happened, a demonstration of
my youth and lack of control. My cock exploded in her face!

A huge rope of white goo bolted from my tip and sailed the six or eight inches to
splash onto her forehead, quickly followed by another stream that, because I started
to hunch forward in reaction to the awesome pleasure bolting through my cock, struck
lower and sprayed her nose and upper left cheekbone. Most of the third flew into her
mouth but some painted her lips. The rest landed on her neck and dress. I was powerless
to stop any of it, my limbs racked by convulsions gripping my groin.

Mom calmly opened a lower drawer and pulled out a bunch of Kleenex. Then she did an
incredibly erotic thing. She pulled my cock into her mouth and sucked it clean, extracting
one or two ghost squirts in the process, and then wiped my shaft dry before wiping
a single drop of goo from her face. She leaned back in her chair and swiveled it toward
the desk, swiping the mouse on the pad to activate the screen. I felt like I had been
dismissed so I refastened my pants and stood awkwardly for a moment before turning
away. As I opened the door, Mom spoke.

"Did you get what you came for?"

I turned around but she was looking at the screen rather than me.

"For the most part," I answered.

"That's all there is," she replied.

I started to answer but she lifted the hand holding the mouse and waved it to indicate
she was busy and we were done. I closed the door behind me.

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

Later that night, awake in my bed and slowly stroking my cock, I was planning scenarios
that would enable me to have Mom even if Dad was home. I knew I couldn't fuck her
on the dining room table again. That had ended well only because he had probably passed
out and hadn't been awake when I pummeled her from behind.

Despite the cutoff implied by Mom's words, I meant to have her again, and not just
once; many times. I wanted her face to face and more gently than the first time to
convince her of my love and that I didn't want her just for sex. I cringed at the
memory of my cock filling her face with my goo but my cock stiffened anyway. Sure,
that had been hot, but I wanted to make love to her too. How could I get her away
for long enough to do it well and have the freedom to speak and, hopefully, make her
cry out in pure joy the way she had done for me?

In a flash, I snapped out of my reverie. What was that? I was sure I had heard something.
I listened for the telltale sound of my father emptying his bladder. Sometimes he
went to bed without remembering to pee but there was nothing. I strained my ears.
I had heard something but couldn't say exactly what, a click, a scrape—my mind was
blank. The fridge kicked in downstairs. Relief. That was it. The motor must click
when it started.

I sucked in my breath. No. There was something else. I could sense it even if I couldn't
hear it. I lifted my head and stared at the door, or more accurately, where I knew
it was, and the hallway beyond. It was pitch black in my room, by design because of
the black curtains I used to shut out light from the street. Something was in the
hallway. No, closer. In my room! The hair rose on the back of my neck and a chill
wriggled down my spine.

There! I couldn't hear it but I sensed mass pressing into the carpet. I released my
cock and put my hands on the mattress to enable a springing escape should one be needed.
Thankfully, I had been thinking of Mom and had pulled the covers down to fondle my
cock. I was ready.

"Mason, are you awake?"

It was Mom! Relief flooded through me. I wasn't about to be killed in a home invasion.
It was just Mom. Mom! Shit my cock was sticking up like a lighthouse. I reached for
the covers, then remembered it was pitch black. If I couldn't see her, she couldn't
see me.

"Yeah, what's wrong?"

"About tonight…" she started, then stopped.

"Yeah?"

I could understand, and sympathize, if she was guilty about how far we'd gone. I had
felt the same way but the lure of her body—her legs, breasts, mouth, and pussy—and
her mature but pretty face, sparkling eyes, and laughter when she was happy, had taken
me far beyond guilt. I wanted her, badly, and now that I'd had her I would never give
her up. I braced for an argument that I had to win, folded my hands behind my head,
and forced myself to relax.

Be cool, Mason. Don't blow it.

A soft footstep fell beside me. I didn't know she was so close! The mattress depressed
beside my chest, followed by another depression on the other side, and skin scraped
my chest. Mom had straddled me. Hands found the back of my elbows and pressed outward,
holding my hands in place until knees pinned them for good.

"Mom…"

"Shhhhhhhh. Don't be stupid," she spoke harshly, then followed up in a softer tone.
You'll wake your father."

"What do…"

"Stop talking and listen."

I remembered the advice I had given myself just seconds ago. Okay, she wants to tell
me it's over. I'll listen and dissuade her after, gently moving her off her position
until she sees the justice in mine. We loved each other. That was a good start. She
didn't love Dad, at least not the way she used to, and wasn't sexually attracted to
him anymore; that much was obvious. And clearly, we got off on each other. Surely,
we could forget the fact we were mother and son?

Mom repositioned her knees, squirming higher until they were above my shoulders with
her feet hooked under my armpits. I couldn't feel any material. There wasn't any sign
of a nightgown. She must be wearing a very short one. I wished I could see because
I would be looking right at her pussy. The image was so strong I could actually smell
it, her beautiful, pungent pussy. The scent of cunt was strong in my mind.

"Downstairs you had your turn. Now it's mine."

Fingers clutched my hair and lifted my head. Thighs pressed in against my cheeks and
a pair of huge, puffy, wet lips smashed upon my mouth.

"Lick it," Mom hissed.

Her hips churned, rubbing her pussy up and down my face, her lips lower parted to
let her slit skid over my nose. She shook from side to side, squishing across my face.


"Stick your tongue out."

There was more rubbing.

"Stick it out!"

I did. I stuck my tongue out as far as it would go and tried to make it stiff.

"That's it," Mom cried, forgetting the need to be quiet.

Her pussy rotated until her inner hole found my stiff tongue and sunk upon it. Immediately,
she began working on it and I tipped my head back to free my nose so I could breathe.
Her pubic hair ground against my lips and I had to fight the tension of her hands
lifting my face to keep it mashed against her gyrating pussy, at least enough to let
in a little air. Was this what it was like to accept my cock plunging in and out of
her mouth and throat? If so, it was a worthwhile trade. If this felt as good to her
as my cock felt in her mouth then I could suffer this as long and as often as she
wanted to do it. As long as I got a turn. I moved my face, trying to figure out what
would feel best for her. She became more animated.

"Yes, yes, oh yessss," she mewled.

I sucked and poked and swirled my tongue and even managed to work my hands free so
I could reach up and hold her tits, squeezing and teasing her nipples. Mom was absolutely
buck naked! I imagined her sneaking out of bed and creeping silently down the hall,
naked as a jailbird, thinking about what she was about to do. The definition of horniness
on the prowl!

This was not to be a two minute ravaging of my face. Mom had a much greater capacity
to absorb pleasure than I did. I had spurted off after a few short strokes into her
throat but she worked my face for ages. She slowed down and rubbed and scrubbed my
face, mashed her labia on my cheeks and nose. Hell, once she even rubbed it up and
down on my throat for a bit. For a long time she held my head and steered my tongue
around and around her lips, pausing to let it flick around her clit, then around the
labia again. Over and over. I lost track of time. It had to be twenty minutes but
I wouldn't be surprised if it was longer.

I wondered how many orgasms she'd had. She became quite agitated several times but
when she did come, bathing my face in a tidal wave of feminine fluid, the mystery
was solved. One big one, a huge one, with smaller achievements piled upon each other
on the way. That lesson stood me well in later years. How to squeeze every drop of
pleasure from sex, approaching the brink only to withdraw and enjoy nearing the precipice
again, and again.

Afterward, Mom pulled the sheet up to clean and dry my face, then yanked it away the
way she did when stripping the bed. I was surprised when she lay down beside and snuggled
in against my left shoulder. I leaned down and our lips met. It was a sweet, platonic
kiss but nice. When it was done, she shifted up to lay on top of me.

"Do you want to be inside me again?"

God, the capacity of women was amazing. I nodded, forgetting she couldn't see me in
the dark but she knew the answer anyway. Her body lifted and I knew she was preparing
to suck my cock inside her.

"Can you be quiet?" she asked.

That was rich, given the sounds she had just made.

"Yeah, no worries."

She proved me wrong on the first stroke, sinking down in a dramatic drop that banged
her slick lips into the hair around my root.

"Sorry," I muttered, to make up for the wail that met her exquisite attack.

"It's okay," she said, laughing. "I shut both bedroom doors just in case."

That explained the click.

Mom rode my cock which was already at full mast so she didn't have to be gentle in
case it bent. She drew her tight lips all the way up, almost coming off, then plunged
down, sometimes straight and other times twisting her cunt around my shaft. She played
with me and that ruined me for many other women. She thoroughly pleasured my cock
and, though I knew she was a considerate lover, took every opportunity to reach her
own peaks and kick them higher.

We fucked for a long time, a very long time. I played with her tits and forgot about
them, dropping them in favor of caressing her hips, thighs, stomach, whatever I could
reach, then rediscovered her breasts again. For a while I held the sides of her face
as if I could gaze lovingly into her eyes if I could actually see them. Sometimes
Mom sat upright upon me working in a steady, almost languid rhythm and others she
leaned over me and galloped like a jockey heading for the finish line. That's how
she ended it, riding me like a race horse, her face close to mine, our breaths intermingling
in a steady stream of frantic gasps.

She stayed on my cock for a long time afterward, giving it the occasional squeeze,
but it eventually softened and slipped out. We kissed and nuzzled most of the time
for a while after that but didn't speak except to express out love for each other,
once. A long, tender final kiss was awarded before she slipped out of my bed. Somewhere
in the dark, while she was still in the room, she spoke.

"I think I'll make you blueberry pancakes for breakfast."

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

You'd think all my ire would have been directed at Mom after learning she alone was
responsible for selling the Cuda and the desire for retribution would be diminished
once she gave herself to me in atonement for her sin. But that wasn't the case. I
was angry that my father hadn't sacrificed the Cuda himself for my benefit, like Mom
had done, so I found myself making Mom pose for pictures in front of him.

I positioned her in the way I had become accustomed. I molded her into alluring poses
by with hands that fondled as much as guided. At first Mom was upset but when I persisted
she acquiesced though she remained nervous about my father's reaction. For his part,
he seemed unaware but after a few days I realized he was actually pretending not to
notice. I couldn't figure out why he was tolerating my behavior except to think that
if it was okay with Mom it was okay with him.

This was strange ground. Though she seemed uncomfortable Mom was always excited after
a posing session in front of Dad and would often find an excuse to go upstairs or
downstairs soon after. Of course, I followed her.

Mom was quick to give me a blow job and sometimes impatiently dug my cock out of my
pants. Once, she couldn't wait to go farther afield and did it in the kitchen but
usually we had full sex upstairs in her room or mine or downstairs in the laundry
room. That time was scary because we got carried away and the dryer rattled like a
freight train roaring by when I banged her against it. It as safter to bend her over
the bed.

Things took a turn deeper into the strange when I began fondling Mom without the excuse
of taking pictures for my Ergonomics class. I slipped my hand around her waist while
talking to her and grazed my palm up and down the side of her breast before sliding
down over her buttock. I sat next to Mom on the couch when we watched TV and caressed
the side of her leg, hip and breast and often kissed her on the cheek. My father said
nothing but he must have been aware of what I was doing.

One day, before Dad came down from his office, I was sitting in his chair watching
TV and noticed something that shocked the hell out of me. At the end of the movie
the credits scrolled upward leaving a mostly dark screen lit only by white letters.
In the reflection of the screen I saw the vase on the dining room table. Instantly,
the memory of the first time I have fucked Mom flashed through my head. I had pushed
her forward onto the table and she had turned her face to the side, pointing this
way!

Was is possible? Could Dad have seen me taking her from behind, had he witnessed her
face rocking over the mahogany, and had she seen him watching?

I strained my eyes. The image of the vase wasn't very clear. But did that matter?
I would know if someone was fucking on that table right. I might not be able to see
sufficient detail to know if someone was looking back but I would certainly notice
gross body motions. I jumped out of Dad's chair and ran into the dining room. I laid
over onto the table and looked at the TV. Sure as shit, I could see Dad's chair!

Dad's door opened upstairs at that moment and at the same time Mom came out of her
office. She immediately pressed me into service to help with dinner and I didn't have
time to think though took every opportunity then and all during dinner to see if Dad
looked at me strangely. I was convinced Dad knew but wasn't sure if Mom knew he knew
or whether he knew she knew he knew? It made my head hurt.

That night, I didn't just fondle Mom's leg. I worked her skirt up high enough to slip
my hand inside and under her leg so I could wiggle my fingers on the front of her
panties. She resisted and squirmed around at first but soon gave up, probably to avoid
unwanted attention. True to form, Mom got horny fast and suggested several times she
should get the laundry going but I talked her into staying to watch the end of the
movie.

I sensed that my father knew something was different but he didn't say or do anything.
During the commercials I engaged him in a discussion about the movie without removing
my hand from between Mom's legs. Strangely enough, when he acted normally, she relaxed.
During the next segment of the movie I managed to wiggle Mom's panties down far enough
to get my hand inside and slipped a finger into her pussy. Leaning over her during
the next set of commercials I managed to get a second finger into her cunt and worked
them both around while talking to Dad.

In the next commercial break Dad left to take a leak. I thought Mom would turn on
me then but instead she leaned over the arm of the couch which gave me better access
to her from behind. I think she was expecting more handwork but I surprised her with
a little more meat than she anticipated. My cock slid easily into her lubricated hole
and despite trying to push me away with a flailing left hand she grunted her pleasure
with each full length slam against her backside.

The toilet flushed and Dad returned half a minute later but by then Mom and I were
watching the movie. Though everything looked proper the smell of eager pussy hung
in the air. I wondered what he would make of it and braced myself for a violent reaction
while asking myself why I had been so crazy.

I was quite nervous but Mom seemed to have lost all restraint. She had turned so her
left thigh was lifted above the right, toward my father, and was constantly squirming
around. I returned my hand to its place inside her skirt and started fingering her,
at first absently because of concern for what my father might do but when he did nothing
I paid more attention to what I was doing. Incredibly, Mom reached back to rub my
pants and managed to get my zipper half undone.

For some reason, Dad needed to take another pee during the next commercial break.
As soon as he disappeared my pants were down and my cock was deep inside Mom's pussy.
I slammed frantically against her and this time the grunts originated equally from
us both. I didn't hear the toilet flush but when Mom shoved violently backward I sat
back in the couch and not an instant too soon. Dad appeared and immediately sat in
his chair without giving either of us a glance.

The movie started and Mom stayed absolutely still. Either she had come or she thought
Dad knew something was up. I started to return my hand to continue playing but she
pushed it away and guided it back to my pants. I was shocked. My pants were wide open
and my cock was sticking straight up in the air, slick with her juice!

I pushed it into my pants and slowly, a fraction of an inch at a time, got my zipper
done up as quietly as I could. Mom and watched the movie with no further shenanigans
until the next commercial break. I waited for my father to leave for another pee break
but he remained in his chair.

Eventually, I said, "I don't think I'll watch the rest. I have to study for a test."


"In Ergonomics?" Dad asked.

That took me by surprise.

"Uh, no, uh it's in, uh, math."

"Maybe you should have been studying instead of fooling around."

I stared at him, trying to see if there was more to his words than met the eye but
his expression was unreadable and he was looking at the TV, not me or Mom.

"I'll come up and get the laundry going to make sure you have something nice to wear
for your test," Mom said.

"That's okay. It doesn't matter what I wear."

"I'm not enjoying the movie either and I'm up so I'll do the laundry anyway," Mom
insisted.

She went upstairs and I followed her, reluctantly, because I thought it best we be
apart to avoid further suspicion. However, the sway of her ass and the smooth skin
of her calves made me glad of her company by the time we topped the stairs. I caught
up to her in the doorway to her room.

"I think he knows," I whispered.

"No he doesn't, but you're being stupid!"

I encircled Mom with my arms and pressed my bulge into her ass. "I can't help it."


"Why?"

"Because you're so sexy."

"Bull."

"You are," I insisted, kissing the side of her face and nuzzling her neck.

"You have to be more careful," she sighed, allowing my hands to capture and squeeze
her breasts.

"He was really into the movie. He didn't notice anything."

"I know."

"So I thought…"

"Yes, I know what you thought."

"You didn't seem to mind."

My right hand moved under her skirt and discovered her panties were still below her
buttocks. I slipped my hand inside and poked two fingers into her wet hole.

"He's still watching the movie," I said when she pulled away but not far enough to
dislodge my fingers.

"He might stop," she protested.

My fingers twisted into Mom's cunt until my knuckles scraped a semicircle into the
flesh of her ass.

"He won't, he was really into it," I said.

Mom laughed. "Not as in to it as you are."

I covered her throat with my left hand. "I can stop it you want."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"So stop."

Mom laughed when my finger kept grinding in her cunt. "What's the matter?" She leaned
against the door jamb and grabbed it with both hands, wiggling her butt backward against
my hand.

I struggled to get my pants unzipped and she laughed again. Unlimbering my cock, I
pulled her dress up and guided my cock to the hole my fingers had just vacated.

"Do you want to fuck me," Mom goaded.

"Are you crazy? Keep your voice down!"

She laughed again. "Then don't fuck me," she whispered.

My cock slid into her so far she lifted up onto her tippy toes. The grunt she exhaled
was satisfying, very satisfying, and I slammed into her again.

"What's the matter? Nothing to say?"

Her head bumped into the jamb.

"Uh, uh, unghh."

I slid my hands up to her waist and pulled her ass back a bit, bent my knees, and
started pummeling her from behind, the front of my thighs slapping against the back
of hers.

"He knows." I grunted for emphasis.

"Shut up," she hissed.

"Unghh, unghhh, unghhh," I grunted in reply. "He knows."

"Uh, uh, uh. He doesn't."

"He does."

Words were beyond us after that. Mom slid down the wall until her hands met the floor.
I walked her into her room, banging her from behind until I couldn't stand and fell
on top of her when her legs crumpled, unable to take my weight. We finished on the
floor, my thighs straddling hers, as she lay flat on the carpet. Her pussy was as
delicious as the first time it had graced my cock. I loved it, I loved her. I wanted
to do her again but she lifted her ass and tossed me to the side.

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

I thought about that the next day, about how delicious Mom's pussy was, that is. I
felt her up twice during breakfast when I got up from the table while Dad was in the
kitchen. Several times through the day I managed to touch her when he was about and
after dinner when he went to watch TV I backed her against the fridge, knelt down,
and put my head under her skirt. She tried to push me away, or at least made a good
show of it, but in the end let me nuzzle and kiss the front of her panties. She resisted
when I pulled them down but stopped when my mouth covered her labia and my tongue
snaked between her lips. Her hands flipped from pushing to pulling then. A minute
later she was completely unaware of her panties being pulled off her feet.

That behavior carried on for the next week and though I felt Mom up on a couple of
nights when we watched TV I didn't chance putting my dick in her again, but my fingers
were another story. I got her really worked up both times. My father seemed totally
oblivious of what was going on but I couldn't see how he couldn't know.

Something else happened. The dynamic between my parents started to change. They actually
spoke to each other nicely and my father began drinking less.

The following week we watched more movies together. It became a ritual for us to gather
in the living room about eight to watch a movie with the lights turned off. On the
third night, half way through the movie, I sat on the floor with my back to the couch
just before Dad left for his usual bathroom break. When he came back, Mom was sitting
in front of me, leaning back. Dad hardly gave us a second glance.

As soon as the movie started I put my arms around Mom and started massaging her tits.
I was circumspect at first but then became more brazen. When Dad took a pee break
during the next set of commercials I unzipped Mom's dress and removed her bra. It
was done up when he returned but her tits felt better through the next segment. Her
nipples were as hard as diamond studs.

Dad went upstairs as soon as the movie was over that night. I turned Mom around and
she fished my cock out for a nice suck before straddling me for the main course. I
unzipped her dress and pulled it off her shoulders so I could look at and massage
her tits. Her skin was taut with lust and the nipples looked so hard and long I thought
they would break. I didn't dare look upstairs in case Dad was watching. I had the
distinct feeling he was, just as I knew he was sure he had watched me massage Mom's
tits while we were watching the movie. I figured if I didn't provoke him by letting
him know I knew he knew, I could continue doing what I was with Mom.

We watched movies the rest of the week but Mom only let me feel her up. She wouldn't
have sex with me before or after except to let me eat her in the kitchen before the
movie started but she did suck me a couple of times. On Saturday, we sat on the couch
properly but on the first commercial break I pushed her off and got her to sit in
front of me on the floor. Again, Dad paid no attention.

When the movie started I leaned forward and began massaging Mom's shoulders. I'm sure
both she and Dad were expecting me to reach around to fondle her tits but I didn't.
Instead, I massaged her scalp and occasionally fingered her lips and then pushed a
finger into her mouth. When Dad took his pee break I leaned over and reached down
to push my hand between Mom's legs to massage her pussy. I had licked her before the
movie started but was still surprised to feel how wet she was, and that she had taken
her panties off, something I hadn't done.

The movie started soon after Dad's return and in the semi-darkness I twisted Mom's
head until she was half-turned toward me. I turned her head a little farther and slid
my cock into her mouth. You'd think she would have freaked out or at least resisted.
Even given what we'd been doing this was way beyond the pale. But she simply took
what I shoved in and strained her neck forward to gobble more. Without urging, Mom
twisted completely around and started sucking my cock in earnest.

I shifted forward to ease her task and flexed my hips to savor the feel of her lips
and tongue. Throwing caution to the wind, I turned to look at my father. He was watching
us openly, his eyes like burning coals. Amazingly, he had taken his cock out and was
lazily stroking it. For all I knew, he had done the same on previous nights, or at
least rubbed himself through his pants. I now knew why he took such frequent pee breaks.
He was masturbating in the bathroom!

I put my left hand on top of Mom's head and closed my fingers in her hair while cupping
her chin with my right. I flexed my hips harder and she accommodated my thrusts. Dropping
my hand to her backside, I started pulling up her dress and she got up on her knees
to help. I pulled the dress over her hips, baring her ass. Dad's gaze shifted to me
and I nodded my head toward Mom's rear end. He looked at her, back at me, and then
got up.

He stood behind Mom and let his pants drop, then kneeled behind her and lined up for
the attack. Mom mumbled something when he entered her but otherwise didn't react.
Soon, her head was tossing about in an erratic fashion on my cock as Dad started fucking
her more vigorously. Somewhere along the line he put his hand on Mom's head and gently
urged her to take more of me into her mouth. He came not long after that.

As soon as Dad pulled out of Mom she scrambled up and sat on my cock. Her hips began
churning frantically and she didn't let up until she came. Dad watched patiently,
standing behind her and absently stroking his dick. While she was slumped forward
on me Dad unzipped her dress and slipped it over her head. She turned around and kneeled
in front of him and soon our positions had reversed with him sitting on his footstool
while I fucked Mom from behind.

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

We didn't openly fuck after that. We played out the same scenario every night. I felt
Mom up through the day and we watched movies at night. I fondled Mom until she was
horny enough to suck or fuck but Dad took part less than half the time. We never went
to bed together but I heard Mom and Dad fucking a couple of nights a week.

Dad quit drinking on his fifty-eighth birthday and never touched a drop again.

Mom and I are still having sex. It's best after a lot of teasing, usually in front
of Dad or when my wife is in the house but out of sight when we visit. She can't understand
why sometimes Mom makes my favorite breakfast—blueberry pancakes—and others not. It
all depends, of course, on whether or not we had a chance to be alone together.

I think I saved my parents' marriage and possibly even my Dad's life. Looking back
on it I have to smile. It was a tough job but someone had to do it.

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