URL: http://web.archive.org/web/20130802100823/http://www.literotica.com/s/tied-mom
Author: alwayswantedto
Title: Tied Mom
Tags: Tied Mom, alwayswantedto, mother son incest, mother son sex, facial, mother, milf, sister, light bdsm, seduction, love

Summary: Son accidentally stumbles upon her secret passion.

All characters are 18 years or older.

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Hector. Can you imagine hanging that handle on your kid? Mine did. Everyone calls
me Heck so that's okay but when my parents are pissed at me they always call me Hector.


When I was a kid it made me stand up for myself, kind of like the guy in that Johnny
Cash song, A Boy Named Sue. I took judo and karate for my own protection but developed
a predisposition to straighten people out which eventually led me into wanting to
be a prison guard.

A few months ago I enrolled in a training program to help me get a job in a prison.
So, in a sense, my mother and father are partly to blame for what happened because,
as part of my course work, I had to learn how to restrain people. We learned how to
put people into cuffs, how to restrict their leg movements, and how to judge how long
it would take before they would simmer down. For my part, I guess I'm to blame for
bringing work, or rather school, home with me. I told Mom I needed to practise for
the practical exam.

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

"What's the big deal? I'm just going to put some cuffs on you for a few minutes."


Frustration, the product of an exasperating back and forth exchange for the previous
fifteen minutes, permeated my words. Mom shuffled stuff from one place to another
on the counter and didn't answer me.

"Arghh!"

I stomped out of the kitchen and thumped every step on the way upstairs to my room.
Ten minutes later, I was back, entering the kitchen quietly. Mom didn't turn to look
but her body stiffened so I knew she was aware of my presence.

"So what are you making?" I asked in the my I'm-a-good-boy voice perfectly honed over
years of practise from getting back on my mother's good side after misbehaving.

The tension in Mom's shoulders dissipated.

"An apple crumble," she replied in a voice lacking the tension of our previous exchange.


"That's great," I said.

Stepping closer to look, I leaned over Mom's shoulder and pulled her left hand out
of the way so I could see better. She didn't react when the cuff curled around her
right wrist and snapped closed, probably because her mind didn't had no basis to predict
what was coming, but that passive state persisted for only a brief moment. I pulled
her right arm behind her back and almost had the left within the cuff when she twisted
violently sideways to free herself. But it was too late. Her hand was firmly gripped
within mine and she was no match for my strength. Still, she struggled for almost
a full minute before I finally managed to snap the cuff closed.

In her rage, Mom actually swore at me several times. I realized I had made a mistake.
She hadn't settled down when faced with the fait accompli as I had expected and was
too furious to let loose now. She flailed about so much, knocking the Pyrex pan full
of apple crumble off the counter and onto the floor, that I was worried for her safety.
Putting my arms around her and almost lifting her off the floor, I gradually worked
Mom out of the kitchen with its loose objects and hard-edged counters and into the
living room. There, I forced her onto her knees and then onto the floor. Using my
weight, as I had been taught, I pressed Mom against the rug and waited for her to
settle down.

She was pissed, no doubt about it, but eventually she tired and her fury turned to
a sullen anger. Her body heaved as she recaptured her breath and I became aware of
the soft bottom trembling beneath the thigh I had thrown across to hold her down.
I looked down to check that the cuffs weren't too tight but my gaze strayed along
Mom's long, narrow waist and followed the rise up to a set of nice buttocks. Mom,
I was surprised to see, had a nice ass, especially for a woman her age. I also noticed
the lump in my pants that hovered above those twin, quivering humps. I jerked my head
away in an attempt to toss the wicked thought and sight from my head.

Mom's full-bodied, dark brown hair was in disarray, covering most of her face which
lay flat on the carpet, turned my way. Her breath rasped through the sprinkling of
curly strands pasted to her lips with the sweat by her struggle, breath pulsing with
a subtle rhythm that hinted of strange excitement not quite hidden underneath the
anger displayed on the flushed face. If she hadn't been my mother, I would have brushed
the hair from her mouth and pressed my lips to hers to taste the mystery of that raw
emotion. Instead, I relaxed the tension in my thigh to relieve the pressure on Mom's
back.

"Can I let you go now, or are you still too mad?"

Mom twisted her left shoulder up to look at me but her eyes were closed. The action
forced her breast tight against her light sweater, perfectly outlining its form. I
wondered why I noticed and questioned myself for continuing to stare as it sagged
beneath the sweater and then ballooned to refill it with each short breath. Mom's
eyes remained closed as she spoke.

"Are you done?" she asked.

"Yes."

Mom didn't respond further. I continued to watch her heaving breast for a moment but
came to my senses when I realized she could open her eyes at any moment and released
her wrists from the cuffs. I rose carefully, ready to protect myself from a sudden
attack, but Mom remained still on the floor. I scanned her body, taking in her legs,
quite exposed because her skirt had been pushed up high on the back of her thighs.
They, too, were rosy from effort, tense and muscular, yet gorgeously feminine.

I slunk away to hide in my bedroom. Despite self-recriminations, I masturbated.

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

Wary of Mom's anger, I waited for Dad to come home before I went downstairs but the
feeling of safety that had enveloped me upon his arrival dissipated as I descended
the stairs. I was worried that Mom was aware of my appreciative observation of her
tit and that she might have guessed what I had been doing in my room. What if she
had told Dad?

I watched Dad closely as I traversed the last few stairs to see if he looked angry.
I tried to be quiet and was poised for a hasty retreat but he saw me and called me
into the living room. I couldn't read his mood but dread filled me anyway. I trudged
into the living room as if an invisible hand was roughly nudging me along.

"So, how's the course going?" Dad asked, his face still buried in the newspaper.

Pent-up breath expelled so forcefully from my lungs that Dad looked up in surprise.


"Really good," I said, swamped with relief but trying to sound enthusiastic.

"Any problems?" Dad asked, looking concerned despite my bravado.

I sat down on the couch next to Dad's chair and looked across the intervening end
table.

"No, I just need to practise more," I replied, raising my voice in case Mom was listening.


"Oh," Dad responded and turned back to his paper.

I waited for another question. Dad was in the habit of extending his queries after
returning to whatever he had been occupied with prior to initiating an interrogation,
or staring into space if he hadn't been doing anything. However, my expectation wasn't
met. After a moment, possibly aware of my attention, Dad "mmhmmm'ed" and continued
reading the paper. Feeling awkward, as I always did in these moments, I got up and
went into the kitchen.

Mom's mood was easily determined. She moved about the kitchen in the tight, controlled
movements that were characteristic when she was angry.

"What's for dinner?" I asked in a tentative voice.

"You can set the table," she replied.

"Okay," I responded meekly.

I retrieved three plates and put them on the dining room table, then followed with
glasses and cutlery. By the time I was finished, the vegetables were ready so I fetched
some serving bowls from the cupboard and held them near the stove, ready to be filled.
I was sucking up and Mom knew it but then that was the whole point. Mom filled the
bowls without acknowledging my initiative but I knew she would be pleased. Despite
her rigid composure, I knew from experience that she would soften.

"Tell your father dinner is ready," she said, voice still terse.

I carried the bowls to the table and relayed the message to Dad. Returning to the
kitchen, I nearly blew it. Mom was bending over, pulling the roasting pan out of the
oven. She was having trouble getting hold of it which offered a pregnant moment in
which I had time to admire her hanging breasts as they swung to and fro, not to mention
her shapely butt.

Mom was wearing a pair of Capri's that ended just below her knees with a decorative
string tied on each side in a little bow. The cotton was thin and, in her current
position, molded to each buttock. When Mom abruptly stood up, the material clung to
each cheek, sticking so tightly that her behind looked for all the world like a set
of half pears begging to be sampled. They jiggled appealingly as Mom held the roasting
pan above the open oven door.

I had stopped dead in my tracks and didn't move but Mom became aware of my presence.


"Hector, don't just stand there, for goodness sakes. Get the door!"

I jolted forward, turning my head to see if Dad had witnessed the inappropriate ogling
of Mom's behind. Apparently he hadn't since he was pulling his chair back, getting
ready to sit down. I bent down to grab the door and swung it up, acutely aware that
my face was only inches behind the bottom I had so intensely admired just seconds
before. I dared to quietly inhale through my nostrils.

"Quickly, Hector!"

I pushed the door shut and stood back, glancing at the roast, but my eyes quickly
dropped to fix upon the tastier treat below.

"Bring the platter over here," Mom barked, nodding at the far counter.

I grabbed it and held it near the pan while Mom used two large forks to pull the roast
up and out, then set it down, her breasts scraping across my arm. I inhaled again,
this time loudly, as if appreciating the smell of a perfectly cooked roast but in
reality I was enjoying the scent of Mom's perfume.

"That smells awesome, Mom."

"Mmhmmm. Take it to the table while I make the gravy."

I did as she said and returned to get a carving knife for Dad. I stopped in the doorway
again to watch the gentle motions of Mom's body as she stirred the gravy. She turned
to look at me.

"Here, you can do this."

I took over and stirred the gravy while Mom filled a bowl with roasted potatoes.

"Take this to the table," she instructed, relieving me of the wooden spoon, "and then
come back." Her voice held less anger. I think she enjoyed bossing me around.

When I returned, Mom had set a gravy boat on the stove. She told me to hold it while
she emptied the pan. I managed to get my arm in position for couple more scrapes.


Supper was delicious and I probably expressed that opinion too many times but Mom
didn't seem to mind. I think she enjoyed me sucking up as much as she liked telling
me what to do.

After dinner, I was told to clean up while Mom joined Dad in the living room for a
glass of sherry. I was almost finished when she entered the kitchen.

"I completely forgot about dessert."

Mom dragged a large crystal serving bowl containing the apple crumble out from the
back of the counter and removed the tea towel that covered it. She arranged three
black bowls on the counter and dished out a generous amount to each one as I slowly
dried the roasting pan. Mom moved deliberately, transferring only a small amount of
dessert each time. She seemed to be aware that I was watching and I sensed she was
pleased by the attention. Time moved slowly and I had the strangest feeling that Mom
and I were momentarily in a world of our own.

Mom got some French vanilla ice cream from the fridge and began scooping small amounts
of ice cream into each bowl. Despite the glacial movement of her arms, her hips swayed
with each dollop of ice cream. When she was finished, Mom closed the container and
licked several droplets of melted ice cream that had strayed onto her fingers.

She floated toward the fridge. I put the roasting pan on the stove and neatly hung
the dish towel over handle for the oven door. Mom opened the freezer half of the fridge
and put the ice cream away and I moved to the fridge and stopped behind her just as
she shut the door. I was as surprised as she was when the handcuff closed over her
left wrist, having removed the cuffs from the belt pouch behind my back without being
aware I was doing it.

It was too late to undo what I'd done. I expected a violent reaction or, at the very
least, an angry retort, but Mom simply leaned toward the fridge, silent. I pulled
her left arm behind her and then captured her right. Bringing her hands together,
I closed the cuff around the right and pressed Mom against the fridge, forcing her
to sag onto the door.

"Don't resist," I said, using the command voice I had been taught despite her complete
acquiescence.

I held the chain linking the cuffs and knelt down behind Mom. Tentative in mind but
firm in motion, I patted her bare legs as if checking for hidden objects. The action
became somewhat less absurd when I reached her knees but only marginally so, given
the thinness of the cotton Capri's. I stood but kept my hand on the outside of Mom's
right thigh.

"Stop resisting," I said.

I spoke for effect only, Mom hadn't moved or even acknowledged her restraint let alone
offered any sign of resistance. My hand climbed up Mom's outer thigh to her hip and
dipped into her waist, then moved across her back to the other side where I flipped
my hand around. Slowly, I slid my palm down the outside of Mom's left thigh to her
knee. Instead of kneeling so I could continue down to her feet, I brushed my hand
past the back of her knee and slipped it between her legs where I paused to gauge
her reaction.

Nothing.

Slowly, much more slowly, I scraped my palm along the inside of her thigh. I chickened
out and stopped when the edge of my thumb was about to encounter the joining of her
legs. Twisting my hand around again, I slid it down the inside of Mom's right thigh
just as slowly as I had risen up the left. Reaching her knee, I turned my hand part
way and brushed it up the back of her thigh, and paused near the top.

"Don't move," I hissed.

I slid my hand up onto her buttock and stopped. Mom released a sigh so long I suspected
she had been holding her breath. I brushed my cupped palm across to her other buttock,
trailing my fingers behind but pressing inward to assess the curve of her left cheek.
I wanted to grip it hard but was afraid to step further out of line. Instead, I returned
to the right cheek and lightly cupped my hand over its delicious shape.

Now feeling too close to the edge, I left Mom's behind and pulled my hand higher,
over her cuffed hands, and brushed the back of my fingers up her spine. Twisting my
hand around, I found her bra strap, fitted my fingertips underneath, and ran them
across her back. Pulling her arms to one side, I rubbed down the inside of her waist,
pushing my fingers far enough forward to allow the briefest scrape along the outer
swell of her breast, then repeated this check on the other side. I wanted reach around
to search underneath the sag of her tits but was again afraid of going too far. I
leaned back. Mom looked flushed and her hair, despite the fact that I hadn't touched
it, was in disarray.

"Okay, Ma'am. I hope you understand this was necessary for the security of the nation."


I released Mom's hands from the cuffs. She remained still, slumped against the fridge,
forehead pressed to the door and eyes hidden behind her tousled hair.

"If you'd like to register a complaint..."

Mom shook her head, the only sign she made that she was even aware of my presence.
I stepped back and put the cuffs away. Mom pushed herself away from the fridge and
stepped sideways to the dessert bowls, smoothing her hair as she moved. She picked
up a bowl, walked across the kitchen to the cutlery drawer, and picked up a spoon.
She spoke without looking at me, once again using her command voice.

"Bring your father's in for him when you come."

Mom walked deliberately into the living room, unhurried and apparently unfazed.

I almost wore my cock out that night.

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

As usual, I joined Mom and Dad for breakfast the next morning. Mom was wearing the
same kind of outfit as she had the day before, just a different color of pants with
another white blouse, except this one was thinner or maybe her bra was a darker color.
Anyway, I could see the vague outline of her breasts beneath the blouse better than
the day before. They seemed to hang lower and appeared to be less constrained. Yes,
the bra had definitely matched the white of her blouse before but this one didn't.


Dad glanced up. "I thought you didn't go to school on Tuesdays and Thursdays," he
remarked.

I looked down at myself, realizing only then that I had put on my trainee uniform.


"Oh," I said, trying to cover up my surprise. "Yeah, well, uh, I'm meeting a friend
to practise some of our techniques."

Mom didn't look or comment. Satisfied with my answer, Dad returned to his newspaper.
I tried with little success not to pay attention to Mom but it was impossible. While
eating my eggs and toast, I couldn't keep my eyes off her pants, calves, ankles and
the painted toes sticking out her sandals. When she sat down, my gaze strayed repeatedly
to her chest and the outline of her bra which, I now noted, was black. This one let
her breasts hang lower and allowed more freedom of movement, an observation confirmed
each time she changed pages on her section of the newspaper.

Her and Dad's rapt attention to the news allowed me free reign to gawk at her imprisoned
tits. I was sporting a huge erection and it didn't help that several times, when Mom
shifted her legs under the table, her foot brushed against me. Such a simple, accidental
touch but one that had an electric effect. I almost forgot this woman was my mother,
I wanted to touch her so badly.

Dad dawdled over breakfast. Go, go! my mind screamed, so I can put Mom up against
the fridge. But he didn't. I could have killed him when he asked Mom for her section
of the paper. The Arts section, for Christ's sake. When had he ever read that?

Finally, he finished. Even then, it took him almost another fifteen minutes to get
out of the house. Mom went to the door to give him a kiss goodbye, as was her habit.
I stood up and waited for her to come, and she did, as soon as she closed the door
behind Dad.

"You can clean up those dishes," she snapped as she passed through the doorway into
the kitchen.

Sitting down in Dad's spot, Mom picked up the main section of the paper and lifted
her cup to her lips. I stared in shock as she sipped her coffee but Mom totally ignored
me.

Okay, fine. I'll do the fucking dishes!.

I gathered all the dishes, rinsed them, struggling not to bang them around, and put
the food away. I'll even go one farther, I thought. I washed the dishes and rinsed
out the sink.

"Dry them," Mom barked, "and pour me some more coffee."

That really ticked me off, more by the tone than the command, but I poured her coffee
anyway, motivated by the black bra beneath her blouse.

The hell with it. I thought, openly staring. Dad's not here to catch me.

Mom didn't even look up. I dried the dishes and put them all away, in their proper
place instead of just stashing them wherever as I usually did. I didn't want Mom to
have any excuse to get mad at me. I hung the dish towel neatly on the oven door handle
and turned to face Mom.

"You can do your own laundry from now on. Get started."

I stared at her.

Really?

I expected Mom to relent under pressure from my penetrating thought and put-upon stare
but she studiously ignored me and concentrated on the newspaper which she could have
read ten times over by now, her foot blithely tapping the air.

Fine! I'll do the fucking laundry.

I managed not to stomp up the stairs, gathered my dirty clothes and took them downstairs.
About to ask Mom how to operate the washing machine, I changed my mind. She was still
tapping the air with her foot and seemed all business except that the heel had fallen
off her foot and was flapping from her toes with each bounce of her leg. It was strangely
sexy but from Mom's composure it evidently wasn't intentional. I walked quietly past
her and made my way to the laundry room.

I washed my clothes. I actually did know how to operate the washing machine. I waited
until the washer was finished, figuring Mom would ignore me until it was done anyway.
After stuffing the clothes into the dryer, I went upstairs.

Mom was still reading the newspaper, for God's sake, and her foot was casually tapping
the air although the shoe had fallen completely off but something about her seemed
different. I approached cautiously and stopped ten feet away, unsure about disturbing
her, and tried to determine what had changed while I was doing the laundry.

There, I had it! Mom had brushed her hair and put on some make-up. It wasn't just
lipstick but, lacking sufficient knowledge, I couldn't tell what else. However, her
face had definitely experienced some kind of treatment during my absence. I felt a
twinge in my pants and moved toward her, my confidence returning.

"When your clothes are finished drying, take them up to your room. Put your socks
and underwear away and bring the rest down here to iron."

What the fuck? Did she expect me to do my own ironing too?

I was unable to hide my disappointment and, to make matters worse, I'm pretty sure
I noticed Mom smile. Well, if not a smile, at least the corners of her mouth turned
up. I stomped once on the way back to the laundry room but was careful to use more
measured steps when I returned with the dry clothes. Mom looked fabulous and was still
reading the newspaper. It was weird but the strangeness of it all made me even hornier.
I couldn't wait to get her up against the fridge. I was sure this was all about paying
my dues, at least, I hoped it was.

I did what I was told. I put my clothes away, underwear folded neatly and socks put
together in matched pairs, then walked jubilantly downstairs. I didn't hurry. I was
savoring what was about to happen.

"Mow the lawn."

Oh, come on! This is too fucking much!

But I did what I was told. I mowed the fucking lawn and didn't rush to make sure I
didn't burn the edges. I emptied the clippings into the dumpster at the back of the
yard, cleaned the underside of the lawn mower with a putty knife like Dad did, and
used a rag to polish the top before putting it away with the cord neatly coiled.

Finally! Now it was my turn.

I entered the house through the back door which opened directly on the kitchen. Mom
was making lunch. The table was set for two with a plate and glass in front of each
chair.

"Milk," Mom said, but I was already on my way to the fridge.

Mom put sandwiches on the plates and we sat down to eat. My baton, which I had put
on while putting my laundry away, clunked against the side of my chair. Despite the
noise Mom didn't look at me and we ate in silence. She sat in Dad's spot and read
her Kindle, which was placed near the wall so she was facing slightly away from me,
while I munched on my sandwiches and looked her over in barely concealed anticipation.


Mom was tapping the air with her now bare foot under the table. The shoes, both of
them, were neatly arranged by the table leg beside me. Every third bounce or so, Mom's
foot tapped my shins since my legs were stretched out underneath hers.

I looked closely at Mom's face, admiring the skill with which she sparingly applied
her makeup. She had class. Inevitably, my gaze dropped down to her breasts for another
look at that wonderful, black bra. My mind took a back step.

A button had worked its way loose and the inside edges of the bra were clearly visible.
The bra was lacy and followed the contours of Mom's breasts as they swelled together.
The ultra-feminine quality of this piece of clothing made me tingle inside my pants
and I was struck by a sudden realization that Mom had nice tits. Tits, not breasts.
Mom had nice tits.

Sure, they hung down a little but they were a nice size and their slump added to their
sex appeal. I especially liked it when Mom's breath expelled and her tits sagged beneath
the lace, providing a deeper though brief glimpse of their exquisite, pulsing beauty.
God I wanted to touch them. I had to find a way to get my hands on them.

I finished eating and got up. Without waiting for instruction, I gathered up the dishes
and took them to the sink to wash them, except for Mom's glass of milk which wasn't
yet finished. Quickly, I washed and dried the dishes, then leaned back against the
sink and waited.

Mom continued reading, quietly changing pages and ignoring my presence although I'm
sure she knew I was there and what I was waiting for. My cock had grown. Not yet a
full-fledged erection, it still my understanding that we were now on the breach of
what I had been anticipating all morning. My crotch was noticeably swollen but I didn't
care. I knew Mom wouldn't dole out any more orders. She had simply been teasing me
and was about to reward me for my diligence and patience.

At least, I was pretty sure she was.

Mom finished her milk and held out her glass. Despite my wish to be cool, I grabbed
it eagerly.

"Just a half glass," she said.

I froze in mid-turn toward the sink, processing her words and struggling to them to
what I had expected. Silently, loathe to betray my frustration, I went to the fridge,
filled her glass just over half full, and took it back to her. Mom grasped the glass
but didn't acknowledge my kindness with even a glance. She read for another half a
minute, then downed the glass in a single gulp. My heart surged.

Mom set her Kindle aside and stretched. She looked at me and smiled. That easily,
she tossed aside all the morning's frustrations. I doubt she was aware of the white
froth lining her lower lip but the sight of it made my cock tingle furiously. Mom
rose and walked toward me, padding sexily across the floor in her bare feet, and handed
me her empty glass.

I rinsed the glass, put a drop of dish soap in it, washed it with the dishrag, rinsed
it again, and then dried it. Mom watched me, but didn't say a word. I folded the dish
towel and walked across the kitchen to hang it on the oven door handle. When I turned
back to Mom, I witnessed her pulling the blouse out of her pants. I was stunned. Mom
had her back to me and was gazing out the window over the sink.

"It's so nice outside," she commented, freeing the last bit of blouse.

I didn't answer; I was too taken aback. I noticed two dimples in the area just above
the twin slopes that continued on to form Mom's buttocks. I didn't know Mom had dimples.
Her hands disappeared in front of her. By the movement of her forearms, I could tell
she was loosening the lower buttons of her blouse.

Holy shit, exlax!

Mom pulled up the loose bottom of the blouse, tugging it tight around her waist, and
tied it in a knot, leaving her midriff bare. When she was done, she turned and walked
over to the fridge. There, she peered at the various notes attached by the cutesy
little magnets she liked so much. Her behind pushed out when she leaned forward to
peer closely at one of them but I liked it even better when she straightened and cocked
her hip to bend sideways so she could look at another note half way down the left
side, freezer half of the fridge because this made her right buttock bulge out. Straightening
up again, Mom put her hands on her hips, and leaned slightly forward but there weren't
any notes or magnets directly in front of her face.

What the hell are you waiting for? I thought. This is it, an open invitation.

I moved behind Mom, pulled out the cuffs, but then paused. Mom had noticed the jangle
of the cuffs but I hadn't lost my nerve, I just felt it was my turn to make her wait.
I now knew how exciting anticipation could be.

So I did nothing, holding the cuffs in my right hand for over a minute. Mom was obviously
waiting for me to begin, and seemed impatient. Time began to slow like it had the
night before. I could see the skin on the side of Mom's face as if I was looking through
a magnifying glass. So feminine, mature, and sexy. Tiny blonde hairlets sprang into
focus along the side of her neck, undulating before an undetectable breeze, and her
neck pulsed gently as she breathed. I could hear the air suck in, watched her hold
it, and heard it expel.

Now, Heck. Do it now.

I returned the cuffs to the case on my belt and retrieved the waist chain instead.
Quietly, I slipped it around Mom's waist and secured it, then adjusted the integrated
cuffs so one was at the top of each hip. Gently, I lifted each arm in turn and snapped
the cuffs around Mom's wrists. Mom waited, arms held beside her hips as if poised
to push her hands into her pockets. I let her wait for another minute.

"Don't move."

I knelt down behind Mom and started brushing my hands up the sides of her legs the
same way I had done it the day before, except I took more time. I was surprised to
see that Mom had a small tattoo of a bunny just above her ankle. I was more surprised
that I had never noticed it before because it wasn't new. My staid Mom had a tattoo?


I circled the tip of my index finger around the tattoo several times, then flattened
my hands more appropriately on Mom's leg and continued up to her knees. There, I brushed
my fingertips across the spongy flesh behind her knees before starting up the outside
of her thighs, hands moving in parallel. Remaining on my knees, I reached Mom's hips
and slid my hands onto her pear-like ass. I paused to savor the press of her cheeks
in my palms before sliding my hands down the back of Mom's thighs. I caressed the
back of her knees again before switching my hands and proceeding upward again, this
time with my palms pressing against the inside of Mom's thighs. I stood as my hands
neared her ass and, when I brought them up onto her buttocks, I let them drag up along
the inside of her cheeks.

Mom's pear-like ass kept her cheeks well separated so my hands weren't touching when
I cupped her buttocks. I looked down to confirm what my hands were telling my brain.
Mom wasn't wearing any panties under the Capri's or, if she was, they were pretty
skimpy. I couldn't help imparting a gentle squeeze. Mom stirred at that and pulled
her tummy forward.

"Stop resisting," I commanded, following her ass in with my hands.

Mom ceased her forward movement. I lingered for a moment, then slid my hands over
her hips and onto her bare midriff. There, I traced a path upward onto her blouse
until my fingers found the outer swells of her breasts. I slid my hands up and down
several times, feeling a lurch in my pants each time my fingers scraped over the side
of her breasts. Becoming more daring, I dropped my hands to the bare skin of her waist
and pushed them around in front until they rested on her belly below the bow tying
her shirt together.

I felt a large depression under my hand and realized it was Mom's navel. I circled
my two index fingers around it, in turn dipping each into the center. Mom flinched
and pushed her bum into my erection, whereupon she jolted forward.

"Stop resisting," I hissed.

But Mom jerked forward and back two more times, banging her head softly on the fridge.


"Stop resisting," I commanded, hugging her to me and lifting her feet from the floor.


I turned Mom away from the fridge and walked into the middle of the room, unsure of
what to do next.

Had I gone too far?

Mom jerked her legs around, churning her ass on my crotch. My cock loved it and showed
its appreciation. Despite the wondrous feeling of Mom's cheeks rubbing around on my
cock, I had to put her down. This was way too obvious and I was worried that Mom might
put a stop to our game of pretending to practise for my course.

Take her into the living room and put her down on the rug.

Good idea. I moved Mom in that direction but a sudden lunge pulled me off balance
and threw us onto the kitchen table. I landed on Mom's back, erection firmly shoved
between her supple cheeks, instantly sending alarm bells off in my head. I pulled
myself up which unfortunately, depending on the way you looked at it, pressed my boner
more firmly against Mom's ass. Reaching around her waist, I pulled Mom up straight.
She struggled so I pulled her tight, lifted her off her feet, and walked into the
living room, repeating over and over, "Stop resisting."

I don't think I realized until we were in the middle of the room that my hands had
slipped up and I was holding Mom by the tits. Going red in the face, I quickly released
her and she dropped to her knees, surprised. Automatically, a product of my training,
I slipped my baton through Mom's arms and behind her back, immobilizing her. She stopped
struggling.

I was panting for breath. So was Mom. What to do now? Using a baton on Mom was going
too far. I pulled it out and tossed it on the rug behind me. Leaning forward, I forced
Mom onto her stomach on the carpet. She was quiet, the picture of submission. Satisfied,
I stepped backward and sat down on the couch to catch my breath. I watched Mom. She
was breathing lightly but quickly, recovering her breath as I was. Except for her
buttocks, which quivered slightly, she was still. Her hands were still secured at
her sides by the belt cuffs and her elbows jutted out behind her.

"You can stay there until you stop resisting," I said.

I wasn't sure what to do and thought that might hold Mom at bay while I dreamt up
something that would convince her to let me continue 'practising'. After a few minutes,
I reached out, grabbed Mom's ankles, and pulled her back toward me until her knees
were about a foot from the couch. I held her raised feet between my knees.

Now what? Make her stay still? Yeah, a time-out, like she made me do when I was a
kid.

I sat for five minutes. It was boring but I had noted a hint of excitement earlier
by the fridge when Mom was waiting for me to do something and I was hoping to capitalize
on that anticipation. I spotted the TV remote and reached over to grab it. Despite
the momentary freedom, Mom didn't try to move her upturned leg.

I turned on the TV. It was on the nostalgia channel, one of Mom's favorites. The "Walton's"
was on. John-boy hadn't yet resolved the current struggle in his rural microworld
but his triumph was near and the inevitable lesson would soon be imparted to the viewers.
I looked at my watch. Yup, about fifteen minutes to go. Perfect.

When it was over, I made Mom wait through the commercials. "Lassie" was next. I hadn't
seen that for ages. Before I knew it, it was half over. I decided to wait it out.
Mom had become very docile except for some discomfort evidenced by occasional bum
twitches. Contemplating her bottom, I agreed with my initial assessment that she wasn't
wearing much under those pants, which I found it hard to believe, but then, there
was the lacy black bra, another surprise. Thinking of that reminded me how nice Mom's
tits had looked. It seemed she had a nice ass too. The halfway commercials ended and
I returned to the TV.

"Lassie" ended and I refocused my attention on Mom's behind. It was twitching more
but she hadn't complained. In fact, her legs had relaxed and her feet had fallen against
the couch between my legs with the outside edges of her bare feet nestled between
my legs and her toes almost reaching the obvious bulge in my crotch. My attention
may have been stolen by these old shows but Mom was obviously still having an effect
on me.

Okay, time's up. What am I going to do with Mom?

"Dennis the Menace" started. The old show, not the cartoon. I was pulled in yet again.


Mischievous little Dennis, such a little brat, but in the end, an endearing cutie—his
mother's delight. The commercials started. I really had to do something with Mom,
but what?

I guess I should just let her go.

Before I knew it, the sucky ending with Dennis and his mom was over. I leaned forward
to check on Mom, forgetting about the position of her feet. Her toes bent against
my crotch. I was startled but reacted quickly, lifting her feet before the contact
lasted long enough to seem like a purposeful act on my part. To be safe, I pushed
Mom's feet to the outside of my knees and held them there. I looked down.

Mom's bum was twitching faster. I was surprised that she hadn't complained about her
discomfort in all this time. I suppose my instructions to 'stop resisting' had been
interpreted as real commands. Preoccupied, it was a moment before my mind fully processed
the visual evidence before me. I shook my head, not believing what I was seeing. I
looked again, leaning so far forward my chest pressed against my knees.

Mom was lying atop the baton. The handle had been forced under the couch but the shaft
extended out between Mom's thighs and disappeared underneath her so I couldn't see
the business end, which was capped by the large rubber pieces we used to protect ourselves
when we practised baton work in class. The white cap must be laying directly underneath
Mom's pussy and had to be the engine driving her twitching bottom.

"Leave It To Beaver" started up. Upon hearing Mrs. Cleaver's voice, Mom's ass twitched
more sharply than before. I wanted to watch the show but Mom's ass was the more appealing
attraction. It looked like she was getting off.

I must have stared for three minutes without moving a muscle while Mom rubbed herself
on the baton. When I finally did move, I only moved my foot, and then just an inch
or so sideways onto the baton. Mom seemed unaware of my foot's presence on the object
of her delight. I rolled the baton to the left and marveled at the way Mom's bum followed
it, leaning that way. It was only an inch, but she clearly moved to keep her pussy
on the stick. I rolled the baton to the right and Mom squiggled her ass after it.
Fantastic!

I spent the next ten minutes rolling the baton to the left and back, but sometimes
I moved it to the left and then a little farther, delighting in watching Mom's addicted
pussy chase after the rubber tipped target of its infatuation. A pleasing sense of
power washed through me as I controlled Mom's pelvic movements.

I wondered if she would rub herself on the shaft if I lifted the handle. Unfortunately,
it was stuck under the couch. Then I had an idea. I grasped Mom's feet and slowly
pushed them forward, until her knees were almost fully bent. I spread my feet to push
Mom's knees outward, forcing her thighs wide apart. I was now forcing Mom's pussy
to exert maximum pressure on the baton's tip.

While moving her feet gently back and forth, I started rolling the baton from side
to side with my foot. Mom sighed, a muted expression of pleasure that sent a bolt
through my cock. Mom's ass squiggled about, trying to keep her pussy centered on the
baton, and her buttocks clenched and released, clenched and released, as she humped
the stick. Whether she wanted to or not, Mom was getting off, despite my presence.


The show would be over soon so I rolled the baton sideways faster and faster and flexed
Mom's legs harder, rubbing her pussy on the rubber cap. I pushed her legs so hard,
she actually slipped over the end, lifted her ass up, and tried to push herself back
to recapture it. I knelt on the floor, grasped Mom's legs closer to her knees, and
pushed her back onto the cap. She immediately began squeezing herself onto it harder
and I rocked her forward and back, holding her calves just above her ankles. June
Cleaver's voice filled the air.

Mom's thighs and buttocks suddenly went rigid, quivering. She was coming! I left her
knees and pressed my open hands onto her clenched buttocks, pushing down, shaking
her butt back and forth, urging her to come harder. Mom's elbows, arched above her
side with her wrists clasped to the chain around her waist, flapped rapidly from side
to side as if she was trying to fly.

The rocking had moved Mom a couple of feet farther from the couch and she had dragged
along. As her orgasm subsided, I realized I should remove the baton before Mom came
to her senses and grasped the handle but it was pressed too tightly between her legs
to drag free. Lifting the baton in an effort to break it loose only made the problem
worse as mom scrunched down, pinning the inadvertent love stick to the carpet more
firmly than before. I swung the handle up with greater force in a last ditch effort
to pry the baton loose but this only pressed it even deeper between Mom's legs up
to the crack of her ass, leveraging her forward on the rug an inch or so. Frustrated,
I laid the handle down and left with the bulbous cap perfectly placed under Mom's
pussy where she had struggled so hard to keep it.

When Mom was completely still, I quietly released the cuffs and slipped the chain
from around her waist. The shirt-tails of Mom's blouse were loose at her sides. I
guess the knot holding it closed under her breasts had come undone. I would have loved
to turn her over, knowing her shirt was probably open except for one of two upper
buttons, and that I would get a great view of her breasts encased in just the skimpy
black bra, but I was afraid to go any further than I already had, especially since
she was no longer blinded by the throes of passion. I leaned back on my heels. Mom
was free. She looked spent but satisfied, her hair in much greater disarray than it
did after the episode against the fridge. I don't know if her eyes were closed because
she kept her face turned into the rug.

"Ma'am," I said, "I hope you understand this was necessary for the security of the
nation. If you'd like to register a complaint..."

I didn't finish. What was the point? The words were obviously inadequate as an excuse
for what had happened. What was done was done and I would have to pay the piper when
Mom regained her senses. In the meantime, Dad would be home soon and I had something
between my legs that needed urgent attention. I almost forgot the baton. Looking down
at it, still lodged between Mom's thighs, I threw caution to the wind and bent down
to grab it, twisting as I pulled it out. What the hell, in for a penny, in for a dollar.
By the time I reached the stairs, I was leaking into my shorts.

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

That evening was very strange because Mom acted like nothing untoward had happened.
She interacted with me and Dad like any other day. She wasn't even mad like she'd
been the night after the fridge incident. The evening was surreal. I was so aware
of her as a woman yet she acted like the mother she was and always had been. I wished
I could have sat with her on the couch as the woman she was in the afternoon, and
I imagined myself displacing my father when it was time to go to bed. The way Mom
acted made me question my sanity. Had I imagined it all?

The next day was Wednesday, a full day of classes. How could I do anything with Mom?
After dinner, she left me to do the cleanup again but didn't return to the kitchen
so I could play with her out of Dad's sight. That night, I waited, half expecting
her to sneak into my room, but she didn't, forcing me to again question my grip on
reality.

Wednesday dragged on forever and so did the evening. Mom definitely acted like nothing
had gone on between us. In fact, she seemed like the perfect mom, almost a fifties
TV mom, like June Cleaver without the retro clothes. Tomorrow was Thursday; no classes.
I fell asleep with my cock in my hand.

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

"Mow the lawn," Mom commanded.

Really? I had done the dishes and there wasn't enough laundry to do it again, but
the lawn? I had mowed it just two days ago, but Mom insisted, so I did it. When I
finished and came into the kitchen, she was making sandwiches and a fruit salad for
lunch even though it was only ten thirty. I waited for further instructions but none
came. Feeling it was too soon and that I hadn't performed sufficient penance to be
rewarded, I went upstairs and changed into my uniform.

Mom was waiting for me when I returned, leaning against the sink. She was wearing
a different blouse, a pale yellow one, and I'm sure the bra underneath was different
but it was still black. Beneath it, Mom wore a plain black skirt, not too tight but
not really loose either. It was almost knee length. The blouse was tucked securely
into the skirt; no bare midriff today.

Mom looked at my uniform and glanced at the baton hanging from my belt.

"I think you've had enough practise, Hector."

I didn't like her tone. "You can never get too much practise," I mimicked the tone
she used on me when she made me take piano lessons when I was younger.

Mom smiled, obviously getting my joke. I was standing in front of her. Despite the
fact that I was facing Mom and we were looking at each other, unlike previous times,
I took the waist chain out of my pocket and curled it around her waist. Mom didn't
try to block me.

"I'm serious," she said. "You've had enough practise, at least on me."

I clinched the chain—the cuffs were already perfectly placed at Mom's hips—grasped
her left hand and brought it up to the cuff. Mom resisted.

"No, Hector. I don't want to do this."

I closed the cuff.

"Don't be silly," I said, reaching for Mom's right hand.

"I'm not being silly," Mom protested as she tried, but not too hard, to tug her wrist
loose.

I closed the cuff over her right wrist.

"Suspects don't get to choose whether or not they're restrained," I said.

"Suspect? I'm not a suspect."

"Yes, you are."

"Suspect for what?"

"Terrorism."

"Terrorism? I'm not a terrorist."

"You fit the profile."

Mom laughed, a harsh laugh. "Don't be ridiculous."

I didn't reply. Instead, I pulled the black headband out of my pocket, a remnant from
my martial arts classes, spun Mom around and wrapped it around Mom's head before she
could move, and then tied it.

Prodding her back before she could react, I barked, "Move."

Mom stumbled forward a couple of steps. I prodded her again. "Keep moving."

I steered Mom to the doorway and into the living room, prodding her every second step.
I positioned her in the middle of the room and then left, making enough noise that
she could easily hear me going upstairs. Five minutes later, I returned and dumped
my supplies on the floor. Mom had worked her way back to the couch and sat down. I
pulled her up and placed her back in the middle of the room.

"Stand here," I barked.

I pulled the drapes closed and returned to my pile of supplies, noisily sorting through
them. Mom's head turned slightly. She was listening to every sound. Good.

I went into the kitchen and got one of the fruit bowls Mom had made for lunch. Mom
had put it in the fridge and I made a point of slamming the door shut. Returning to
the living room, I checked Mom's cuffs and the placement of the waist chain, though
I knew they were fine.

"Remove your shoes."

"What?"

"Don't talk. The suspect will remain silent and obey the officer's commands."

Mom kicked off one of her black pumps, and then the other with a little more difficulty,
almost stumbling in the process.

"Down on your knees."

"Heck, I'm wearing a skirt. I can't..."

"Silence!" I bellowed.

Mom was clearly shocked. Confused, she dropped onto one knee and then the other. I
walked over and stood above her. Grasping her chin in my left hand, I turned her face
upward.

"Good," I said, and slipped a slice of orange into her mouth.

Mom was startled and almost spit it out but recovered and swallowed it. A sheen of
juice shimmered on her chin.

"Let's not have any more unnecessary noise."

I went to my pile of stuff and returned with a length of rope. Kneeling behind Mom,
I started wrapping the soft rope around her left elbow. Mom opened her mouth to speak,
thought better of it, and clamped her lips tight. I pulled the rope through to her
other arm for a couple of wraps bringing her arms close together behind her back.
It couldn't have been comfortable but I made sure she didn't exhibit any sign of pain.
She grimaced, but only briefly.

I surveyed my handiwork from the front. Mom's breasts had been forced forward, thrusting
out and upward. At least one button had popped loose so Mom was showing as much cleavage
as she had on Tuesday, though I knew she hadn't loosened any buttons today.

Satisfied, I got behind Mom and wrapped another piece of rope around Mom's ankles.
When they were secure, I tugged them up, enough to make staying on her knees uncomfortable
but not too difficult. I tied the rope off to the line that kept her elbows together.
If I pushed Mom over and tightened that line, she would be hog-tied.

Surveying her from the front again, I was pleased that the upward pressure on her
legs made Mom's stomach taut and forced her breasts even harder into her blouse. I
turned the TV on and selected the nostalgia channel. "Streets of San Francisco". Nothing
too exciting.

I walked away and left Mom kneeling in the middle of the room. She didn't know it
but I stopped on the stairs and sat there to watch her. I watched until the show was
over and another one started. "Kojak." Mom occasionally struggled to stay upright
but she didn't whimper once. I returned to the living room.

"Is the prisoner hungry?"

To her credit, Mom simply nodded. I slipped a slice of orange into her mouth and then
a slice of apple. Before she finished it, I pushed another into her mouth. When she
exhibited difficulty swallowing, I put my hand on her throat and stroked it.

"Is that difficult?"

Mom nodded.

I put another slice of apple into her mouth and massaged her throat as she chewed.
When she swallowed, I slid my hand downward, onto her chest, as if following the apple
down.

"Does that help?"

Mom nodded. I pushed my fingers, bunched together, down to her solar plexus, my index
and baby fingers scraping along the inner swells of alternate breasts until my fingertips
collided with the bra stretched between them.

"Oh, this could be a problem," I said, but retrieved my fingers without explaining
why.

I fed Mom a couple more slices of orange and then sat on the couch behind her. When
"Kojak" was half over, I tested the ropes for the first time, making sure to run my
fingers along the inside of Mom's upper arms and the entire length of her legs, up
to and just under, the hem of her skirt. During the remainder of the show, I checked
the ropes three more times.

Mom had now been restrained, on her knees, for two hours. I pushed her gently forward
until she was lying on her stomach. "Father Knows Best" came on. I checked the ropes
twice more, turning Mom a little onto her side in the process, and managed to raise
her skirt a couple of inches as I twisted her over.

When the "Andy Griffith Show" came on, I used the baton to prod Mom's arms, legs and
sides, 'accidentally' pressing against the soft tissue of her breasts. Checking the
ropes near the end of the show, I laid the baton on the rug, between Mom's knees and
against the inside of her right leg so she was aware of its presence. The next time
I checked the ropes, during the commercial break, I "bumped" the baton, pushing it
underneath Mom's skirt. It landed high between her thighs but not far enough to strike
gold. We were now almost three hours into Mom's preparation. I noted by her flinching
right thigh that she was very aware of the baton's presence, a signal that we were
ready to move on.

"Lassie" started.

"Let's get you something more to eat," I said, crouching over Mom.

I pulled the tails of the blindfold back, lifting Mom's head and used a short length
of string to tie it back to the rope binding her elbows. Retrieving the bowl of fruit,
I fed her slices of orange and apple. After each one, I stroked and massaged her throat,
reaching down and around to her solar plexus, and managing to scrape my hand over
the front of her breast each time. I don't know if they were but I imagined her nipples
were stiffening under the bra and the picture wrought the same effect on my own equipment.


During the 'meal' I kicked the baton forward until it pressed into the crux of Mom's
legs. I 'accidently' rolled it about with my knee as I held her head back so I could
push fruit into her mouth. It hurt my knee, but it was worth it to hear the barely
audible sigh when I rolled the baton the right way.

After a while, I pulled Mom up onto her knees. Her feet were tied too high up toward
her arms for her to stay up on her own so I leaned her back against me. Mom didn't
protest when I wrapped more rope around her torso and over her shoulders, not even
when I pulled the rope too tight, 'accidentally' pinching her blouse and popping another
button completely off. A couple more 'accidents' left the blouse open almost to Mom's
waist, baring the lacy, black bra which made of material thin enough that her stiff
nipples were readily apparent. I wrapped the rope all around Mom's tits until they
were forced through a mat of encircling hemp.

I lowered Mom back to the carpet, slackened the string restraining the blindfold so
she could comfortably rest her head on the rug, and replaced the baton between her
thighs. Mom exhibited no surprise when I pushed it up a few more inches and positioned
it beneath her pussy. We were beyond pretending.

I left the room so Mom could enjoy the baton by herself and noisily washed the bowl
that had held the fruit so she would know she was alone. I went upstairs and took
my uniform off. When I returned to Mom, I was wearing only my underwear, my cock ensconced
within a rubber. I knew I wouldn't be able to last without coming and I didn't want
to make a mess. I had meant to pull my pants back up but at the last minute took them
off. Mom wouldn't know. She was blindfolded and I was certain she wouldn't remove
it. I took my shirt off too.

Mom was humping the baton and didn't abate even when she became aware of my approach.
She was also squiggling her chest on the carpet which I found strange until I realized
she was scraping her tits across its fibers. Mom must have sensitive nipples.

I grasped the baton and lifted the handle up, applying greater pressure of the tip
against Mom's pussy. I twisted it around and began rubbing it back and forth. Immediately,
Mom's thighs tried to clutch it tight but I kept it moving. Her moan startled me.
I guess she had been horny for hours now and was more than ready to come.

I pulled the baton away. Mom groaned. I pushed it in and Mom humped at it but I pulled
it away before she could trap it between her thighs. A minute later, I pushed it back
in and let her roll around on it. While she was occupied, I tugged her skirt up onto
her ass. For the first time, I could see the back of Mom's pantied mound working on
the white rubber tip. The back of her panties, damp from the sweat of her exertions,
were buried in the crack of her ass and the lower part covering her pussy was absolutely
soaked. I grabbed the baton and pulled it away, prompting more groaning, louder this
time.

For the next half hour, all through "Dennis the Menace", I teased Mom mercilessly.
In the commercial break before "Leave It To Beaver" I re-tied the blindfold so Mom's
head was raised. Inserting the blunt, white cap back under the front of Mom's panties
just as the show started brought a long, desperately pleased groan. As Mom humped
her way to glory, instinctively knowing that I wouldn't interfere, not with "Leave
It To Beaver" on, I slipped a couple of fingers into her mouth. While Mom sucked them,
I patted and stroked her fantastic ass.

I waited until the last commercial break of the show before sliding my fingers under
Mom's bum and onto the panties that were now so wet they were almost one with her
throbbing labia. I had thought she would be too far gone to notice my touch but Mom's
breath came harsh and fast as soon as my fingers brushed onto her panties. I wanted
to slip them underneath to touch her bare pussy but chickened out, thinking such direct
contact would be a mistake.

One step at a time.

I allowed myself the thrill of pressing against her puffiness, forcing it harder onto
the baton. My timing was awkward at first but soon I was applying pressure perfectly
in concert with her short, humping movements. As Mom got closer, her movements became
more erratic and her pussy sometimes jerked away from my probing fingers, but only
briefly. She seemed to love the reconnection so much that I started drawing my fingers
back as she strained for reunion, teasing her with just a pat before she just had
to find the baton again. Thrusting onto the baton and then back for a quick pat, then
two, quickly in a row. Soon, Mom was grinding on the baton, never leaving it. She
was near, very near.

I patted her puffiness constantly, never stopping, my fingertips probing inward until
they were stopped by the panties. Our timing was perfect. Mom came just as the show
ended, grinding into the carpet as I rubbed the underside of my bunched fingers over
her panties, cupping them for a better fit, and jiggling my whole hand to help her
reach nirvana.

I didn't even notice my cock filling the rubber.

I was very gentle when I removed the ropes. First I lowered Mom's head but left the
blindfold on. Then I released her feet so she could straighten her legs and rubbed
them before doing her arms. The cuffs came off and then the waist chain. I turned
her over to undo the ropes and watched her breasts as they heaved in shallow magnificence.
I promised myself that I would find an excuse to remove the bra next time.

Man, that was next Tuesday, way after the weekend. How could I wait that long? Mom
kept her eyes closed while I removed the blindfold and didn't stir a I made my way
upstairs.

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

Mom wasn't quite the same later that night. Before Dad came home she changed into
an older style, high-waisted skirt and blouse and did something with her hair. She
looked like, well, June Cleaver-ish. And, despite virtually acting no differently
toward me on Tuesday night, I became convinced Mom was striking poses, though briefly,
when Dad wasn't looking. She wasn't obvious, and she never looked to see if I had
seen or gave any indication that she was aware of what she was doing, but she was
definitely doing it.

It was simple things, like suddenly stretching a foot out to the side on her toes
and tensing the muscles in her calf, prettily displaying her leg for someone to appreciate,
someone who just might be looking. Or she would reach up into the cupboard to get
something and then pause, freezing the instant that her breast was pressed tightly
against her blouse. And once, she dropped a spoon and bent down, pausing as she picked
it up with her hips cocked to one side, emphasizing her behind in a frozen moment
that kept coming back to me for the rest of the night.

I dutifully set the table, cleared it after dinner, and washed and dried the dishes.
Dad noticed and commented when I joined my parents in the living room.

"You're being very helpful, son."

"He is, isn't he?" Mom chirped in, her expression looking as pleased as her voice
sounded. "He's already mowed the lawn twice this week." Mom shifted her legs, crossing
the left over the right as she spoke without missing a stroke in her knitting. I didn't
even know she knew how to knit. I had never seen her do it before.

"That's great but he's going to have to get a job before he gets a car. We'll loan
him the money, but not until he has a job."

"Oh father," Mom said. "That's not why he's being so helpful. He's just growing up.
He's becoming a young man."

"That so, son?"

"It's just discipline, Dad. A guard has to be to be disciplined and a good one should
be helpful at home and contribute to the community."

"Well, you are being helpful."

"I'm trying."

"Maybe you can have that loan a little sooner."

Dad shook his newspaper and buried his head within it, a sign that he had said his
bit. Mom said nothing but a faint, quirky smile perched on her lips. She looked so
hot I wished she would go into the kitchen so I could pull her arms behind her and
press her into the fridge and grind my pants against her old-fashioned, tweed skirt.


"Are you going to make tea, Mom?" I asked hopefully.

"No, I'm fine right where I am." The smile deepened. "I wouldn't mind a cup if you're
making it, though."

"Me too," Dad piped up.

I made the tea and brought them each a cup, fixed the way each one liked it without
asking for their preferences. Dad didn't notice but Mom did and rewarded me with a
warm smile.

"Anyone mind?" I asked, waving the remote.

Nobody answered. I turned the TV on. It was still on the nostalgia channel which threw
a splatter of electric sparks bouncing around my balls and cock for half a minute
of remembrance. There was an old movie on.

"I love this movie," Mom exclaimed.

We watched it. It was boring but watching Mom wasn't. She stretched a few times, arching
her back slightly. The good part was that she held her position, breasts thrust against
her blouse, for longer than seemed necessary. At one point in the musical, she re-crossed
her legs, bringing the right over the left, and began tapping her foot to the music.
Soon her shoe was dangling from her toes, reminding me of that moment a few days ago.
Eventually, the shoe dropped but Mom's freshly painted toes kept the beat.

I hardly got any sleep that night. I kept thinking of Mom in her June Cleaver outfit
and, in my mind, I criss-crossed ropes all around it. Somehow, even though she was
all tied up, Mom managed to cross her legs and bounce her foot over her knee, teasing
me with her dancing, painted toes.

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

I was in classes all day Friday and shortly after I got home, Mom and Dad went out
for their regular dinner date. Mom looked striking in a muted outfit borne of another
era. Dad was oblivious to what she was wearing but I complimented her and she seemed
pleased. They didn't come home until much later than usual. Mom's doing, I'm sure.
She knew how to tease.

The next day was Saturday. Dad always hung around the house on the weekends so I knew
there would be little opportunity to get Mom alone, at least for the time needed to
do what I wanted to do. I mowed the lawn yet again, did my own laundry, cleaned up
the garage, and washed the cars, both Mom's and Dad's.

Looking down the street, across and one house down, I saw Mrs. Draper washing her
car at the bottom of the driveway where it was easy to be seen, as usual. It was always
a long affair for her, more advertising than cleaning. Her bleached blonde head turned
whenever a car drove by and she often smiled and waved. Whenever she did, you knew
it was likely a man alone in the car, one of the husbands living on the street. She
was about ten years or so younger than Mom and had a killer body. Every man looked
at her as they drove by.

The key to Mrs. Draper's behavior was the van parked in her driveway. "The Love Den"
was painted on the sides underneath a line sketch of a sexy woman's prone figure.
She and her husband owned a sex shop and the preening display of her hot body, clad
in clinging, stretchy tank top and short shorts, was designed to attract potential
customers.

At first, many of the neighborhood women had shunned Mrs. Draper but a number of them
now nodded and waved discreetly as they drove by, though not as enthusiastically as
the men. These were the women who benefited from their husbands' patronage of the
Drapers' shop. She smiled when she saw me looking and beckoned for me to come over.
Reluctantly, I went. She loved to tease me.

"Hey Heck," she greeted me, opening her arms wide, sponge in one hand and hose in
the other, casually but not unknowingly thrusting her breasts out to be noticed and
appreciated. Dutifully, I scanned her assets and she laughed.

"Hector," she scolded. "What am I to do with you?"

I turned to leave but she gripped me with a question, as she always did.

"Hey, there's something different about you. Have you got a girlfriend?"

I turned back, trying to think of a smart-alec retort.

She laughed. "You do, don't you?"

"Nah," I tried to dismiss her accusation casually.

"Bullshit, I can see it just in the way you walked over here. You swaggered, brimming
with confidence."

Really? She can see that?

"A woman knows," she added. "Don't try to fool me."

"Well..."

"I knew it. Why don't you drop by the store. I can show you some stuff that will make
that girl never want to leave you, not that she ever would."

Mrs. Draper glanced down my body. She was teasing but in her eyes I could see a grain
of truth in what she was saying, or at least thinking. As her gaze dropped over my
chest and down my muscular arms and legs, the teasing glint was replaced by a warmer
but emptier look: Want.

I was surprised. Mrs. Draper had never looked at me like that. I was too young to
be a customer. She only teased me because I was shy. Did I really look that different?


"Hey, you know what? I'll lend you a few things you can try with your girlfriend."


"No, I don't think so," I said, starting to blush despite my new look.

"Come on," she urged.

Mrs. Draper dropped the sponge in the bucket and let the hose fall to the driveway.
She grabbed my arm but I resisted.

"Come on," she repeated. "She'll love it."

I let her pull me up the driveway to the "Love Den" van. She opened the side door
and rummaged around in the back. I didn't look inside but I did check out her behind.
Shit, it wasn't any better than Mom's, maybe not even as nice. I realized then that
Mrs. Draper's sexiness derived more from the way she dressed than anything else. The
thought of Mom made my cock stiffen.

"There," she said, straightening up and turning toward me. "An emergency pack. Trust
me. Your girlfriend might be a little shy but she'll love it in the end."

Mrs. Draper held the plain, beige recycling bag out toward me and I took it. She would
have made a scene if I refused. She dropped her eyes to the bulge in my pants and
giggled.

"You better save that for your girlfriend. I don't think Mr. Draper would allow it,
even if I wanted to."

"Thanks," I stuttered. "I will."

"Let me know how it works out," Mrs. Draper laughed.

I walked quickly home and managed to get into the garage without Mom or Dad seeing
me. Thankfully, nobody was on the street or out on their front lawn. I didn't look
into the bag until that night after sneaking it up to my room. By that time I was
very curious and eager to explore its contents, having been exposed to Mom's subdued
flirting for most of the day. I emptied the bag onto the bed.

The first thing that caught my attention was the large rod almost as long as my baton
but thicker and with a bulbous, spongy end that looked almost like the cover over
a microphone but made of rubber. At the other end was a ridged twist knob with a button
in the center. I picked it up and twisted the knob. Immediately, the stick began to
hum and vibrate and I almost dropped it. Yeah, of course. I twisted the knob twice
more and smiled as the vibrator revved up. Depressing the button at the end of the
joystick brought an even bigger smile as the love weapon throbbed, making me almost
drop it again.

Who buys this kind of stuff?

Next was a long, translucent orange dildo. I was surprised by how supple it was. I
had expected it to be hard but it felt stiffly spongy and so slick it almost looked
wet. There was a butt plug, black of course, which I recognized immediately though
I had never seen one in real life. For that matter, I had never seen a dildo or a
vibrator either.

Another dildo left me perplexed. It was a double-ender, which made sense to me if
one was bigger than the other, but they were both the same size. A combo pack, I supposed,
for those who didn't want to buy two. Each one had a raised clit-tickler near the
base.

The cuffs caught my eye next. There were four of them, two for the wrists and two
larger ones, presumably for the ankles. They were all more like wide bracelets than
cuffs, made of black leather with built-in rings to which ropes or chains could be
attached. Mrs. Draper was obviously more interesting than I thought. I wondered if
she shared Mom's fascination with restraint.

The last thing to catch my eye was a long, narrow wand. A set of tassels hung off
one end while the other sprouted a flapping leather patch. I puzzled over this for
a few minutes but finally realized it was pussy whip. I had seen one used on an online
porn site. It hadn't intrigued me then but the thought of using it on Mom made be
very excited.

Some emergency kit.

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

It was Sunday. How could I get Dad out of the house for a few hours? I racked my brain
but came up blank. In my despair, I managed to make myself feel worse. Even if I could
get rid of Dad, Mom probably wouldn't do anything because she wouldn't know for certain
when he would return. On Tuesdays and Thursdays we knew Dad wouldn't be home until
he got off work and drove home. He arrived at five-twenty-five like clockwork. Mom
wasn't a risk taker.

It was a long day.

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

Classes dragged all day Monday but the evening was better. Mom gave no signs that
the morrow would be different but nevertheless I felt a palpable tension in the air
between us. Tomorrow was going to be my day again, I just knew it.

Later that evening, I almost blew it playing around with the vibrator. I had it humming
along a full speed when I heard the bathroom door close. Quickly, I shut it off and
hid it under my pillow, then checked the hallway. The light was on in the bathroom
so I went downstairs. I was surprised to see Dad because I thought it was him in the
bathroom.

"Hey Dad, have you seen Mom?"

"I think she went upstairs."

So it was Mom in the bathroom. Why? She always used the ensuite off her bedroom.

I went back upstairs but the bathroom was dark and empty. Proceeding on to my room,
I was shocked to find Mom there. She was wearing a robe so I assumed she had changed
into her nightgown, ready for bed.

"Oh, Mom. What's up?"

"Nothing. I was just wondering if you needed your uniform washed or pressed before
tomorrow."

"I do my own laundry now."

Mom knew that. That wasn't why she was in my room but she nodded as if it was a valid
explanation anyway.

"Oh yes, of course."

Why had she come in? Was she as eager as I for the morrow to begin. Had the sound
of the vibrator intrigued her?

"Hey Mom. I've got something to show you."

"What?" Despite her curiosity, Mom seemed suddenly apprehensive.

"Wait, I'll show you." I reached under the bed where I'd thrown Mrs. Draper's bag
and rummaged around until I felt the leather cuffs. "No peeking," I said when I felt
Mom leaning to look over my shoulder.

I stood up with empty hands.

"Stand over here and don't look," I said, moving her toward my closet and behind the
door.

I faced Mom toward the corner and returned to the bed to retrieve the new cuffs and
grabbed several soft ropes that I had also hidden there.

"Heck, you're not in uniform," Mom complained when I snapped the first wrist band
closed but she didn't try to move her other hand away when I reached for it. I laughed
to myself. Obviously, she didn't know I had taken all my clothes off except for my
undershorts on Thursday.

"Wait until tomorrow," Mom said. She seemed strangely short of breath. I was encouraged.


"I just want to show you something."

"Your father..."

I cut her off. "It will only take a minute."

Mom allowed me to push her hands together in front of her and slip a rope between
the rings on the cuffs. I was about to tie them together when I remembered the karate
bag that used to hand in this corner of my room. I looked up. Sure enough, though
the bag was long gone, the ring that had suspended it from the ceiling was still there.
I fed the rope through the ring and hauled Mom's arms up above her head.

"Heck."

"Shhhhh," I cautioned. "Father."

I tugged the rope higher until Mom was on her tippy-toes, then relaxed it until her
heels returned to the carpet, but only just, so her weight was mostly on the balls
of her feet. I tied the rope off on the hook mounted into the wall in the corner that
used to take the weight of the karate bag.

"Why are you..."

"Shhhhhh."

I knelt at Mom's feet and set the ankle bracelets. I couldn't resist running my hands
up and down her calves before tying her left ankle off to the side, securing the rope
around the leg of my desk about eight fee t away, so that Mom's feet were about two
feet apart, forcing her slightly up onto her toes but not tippy-toes. I stood and
went to leave.

"Where are you..."

"Shhhh. I'm just going to check on Dad."

I walked quietly down the hallway and peered downstairs. Dad was reading. Returning
to my room, I searched under the bed for the blindfold and the vibrator. After covering
Mom's eyes, I placed the vibrator on the floor and turned it on to its lowest setting,
then sat on my bed to watch Mom while it hummed quietly behind her.

Mom's whole body had jerked at the sound when I first turned it on but then she stood
quietly. After a while, she said, "Very funny."

I didn't reply and Mom waited patiently for me to realize the joke was over, and a
bust. Eventually, I turned the vibrator off. Mom seemed smug and ready to be released
but instead I aligned the vibrator along the inside of her left leg and strapped it
to her thigh and calf. Mom tried to pull her leg away, to no avail.

"Hector, let me go."

Mom tried to stamp foot but couldn't. She repeated her demand, initially raising her
voice but then realized attracting Dad would be a mistake, perhaps because it would
be difficult to explain how she had let herself be tied up in the first place, let
alone allow a vibrator to be strapped to her leg.

"Hector."

I turned the vibrator on to its lowest setting. Mom's whole body jerked and her legs
flailed around in the restricted circle in which they were capable of moving.

"Hector!"

"Shhhhhh."

"Let me go, right now!"

"Shhhhh. It will be alright."

I stepped around Mom so I could see her front. The robe had fallen part way open to
Mom's waist, where it remained cinched, but it parted just below her panties to reveal
a simple, short night slip that covered her legs only to mid-thigh level. The bodice
wasn't deeply cut but was still low enough to expose more of the inner swells of her
breast than I had seen before. And, of course, she wasn't wearing a bra underneath.
She looked great.

The bulbous tip of the vibrator disappeared under Mom's slip and appeared to be lodged
tightly on the inside of her upper, left thigh, about two inches below her panties.
She was wearing panties. I could see their edges under the slip.

"I'll be back," I said.

"Hector!"

I left and closed the door most of the way, but didn't shut it completely. In the
hallway, I couldn't hear the vibrator. I was sure Mom had gone into my room because
she heard it but then I'd had it on its highest setting. I went downstairs and left
Mom to stew.

"Have you seen your mother?" Dad asked after I sat down.

"Yeah, I think she's in her room."

Dad nodded and continued reading. I turned the TV on but kept it so low I could barely
hear it. I sometimes did that to screw with Dad and make him think he needed a hearing
aid. I grinned thinking about Mom upstairs with the vibrator strapped to her leg.


What are you grinning about?" Dad asked, annoyed.

"Nothing."

"I know the sound is turned down, if that's what you're up to."

I felt like the Beav if not quite Dennis the Menace. I turned the sound up and Dad
snorted. About ten minutes later I noticed Dad nod off. He jerked his head up but
a moment later it slumped back to his chest. I got up as quietly as I could and returned
to my room.

Mom heard me come in but she didn't say anything. Her left leg was quivering. I loosened
the lower strap around Mom's calf and pulled the upper one away from her thigh. Mom
sighed but I couldn't tell if she was pleased about her imminent freedom or disappointed
that her entrapment would soon be over.

I pushed the vibrator higher up Mom's leg until the bulbous tip briefly hit her panties
and then fell back a fraction of an inch, probably nestling in the hollow where her
upper thigh joined her torso. I tightened the strap around her calf and sat on the
floor to watch. Mom let a soft moan escape from her lips.

"Yeah, fuck yeah," I muttered, then clapped my hand over my mouth but Mom didn't hear
me.

I watched, fascinated by Mom's legs as they jerked and quivered, especially the left
one on which the vibrator was strapped. I loved the way her muscles tensed when she
pushed up on her tippy-toes, held herself aloft for as long as she could and then
relaxed, only to repeat the cycle seconds later.

Occasionally, I reached out and pushed the vibrator up to achieve brief contact with
her panties. Mom always moaned quietly whenever I did that so I did it more often.
On one occasion, I mistakenly pressed the button at the base of the handle and the
vibrator throbbed. Mom jerked violently, her legs moving spasmodically around the
vibrator as she tried desperately to close her thighs around the titilating shaft.


Wow!

I pulled the upper strap out and shoved the vibrator right up, leaving it in full
contact with Mom's panties, causing her thighs to clutch and quiver.

I retreated to my bed where I quietly undressed, completely, except for my socks.
I even took off my underwear before retrieving a condom from my drawer and pulled
it over my raging hard cock. I went to the closet and grabbed my robe, donning it
before stepping in front of Mom even though she was blindfolded. She was really grooving
on the vibrator.

I grabbed the bottom of Mom's partly open robe and pulled it up until I was able to
fold it over her shoulders but it fell down because she was twisting around so much.
Pulling the now loose belt out of the loops, I folded the night slip up and used the
belt to tie it around Mom's waist, exposing her panties and the full length of the
vibrator strapped to her left leg.

I stood back to admire my work. The robe, now completely open, hung down from Mom's
upstretched arms and flowed over her back like a cape. Her beasts jutted upward into
the thin night slip which failed to disguise her erect, encased nipples. I loved the
way I could now see more of Mom's fine figure covered, at least in front, only by
the thin material of her short nightgown. I stepped behind Mom and sat down, quickly
mesmerized by the faint motions of her active cheeks under the robe as she continued
to react to the buzzing vibrator.

Fucking awesome!

I placed the tip of my left index finger on the throb button and depressed it, holding
it in for at least five seconds. Mom moaned out loud. I threw off my robe and started
stroking my cock. Buzz, buzz, buzz. Moan, moan, moan. I jerked my head toward the
door, then kicked my foot out to close it.

Buzz, longer buzz, even longer buzz, really long buzz. Mom was moaning constantly,
jerking around beneath her clasped wrists, legs quivering and flailing. My cock was
humming, strumming, and then coming. I got up, stripped the rubber off my cock, and
wiped it on my bedspread—shit, I was doing the laundry, right?—and put on another.
I wasn't through yet.

I returned to Mom and loosened the upper leg tie. Her thighs instantly clamped around
the vibrator's bulbous head and her whole body jerked as her pelvis thrashed about.
I depressed the button and Mom went wild. She moaned loudly so I stood up and clamped
my hand over her mouth. Panicked, I reached down to remove one of my socks and stuffed
it into her mouth, then threw my arms around her to take some of her weight so she
didn't hurt her wrists. Still, I thanked God and Mrs. Draper for the padded cuffs.


In the heat of battle, I forgot that I was naked except for the one sock. When I realized
my cock was jammed between Mom's rampant cheeks, covered only by the robe and her
panties, I knew it was wrong and that I had to pull back, but I didn't want to. It
felt so good. Instead, I thrust my condomed cock against her and closed my hands over
her breasts, so thrillingly loose under the nightgown. As Mom began to come, reason
found a foothold in my brain and I let go of her tits and then, a few seconds later,
pulled my cock away from her ass. Mom sagged under the cuffs, gasping but body barely
flinching. I hoped she hadn't realized, or at least didn't remember, the feel of my
hard cock shoving between her cheeks or the clutch of my hands on her tits.

With my hands lightly on her shoulders, I whispered to Mom, keeping well back so she
didn't realize I was naked.

"I'm going to check on Dad."

I kissed the nape of Mom's neck and brushed the heaving sides of her breasts. There
was no response or demand that I let her loose like I expected. If Mom hadn't been
hanging from the ceiling, I would have said she was either sleeping or passed out


"I'll be back," I muttered in a bad Arnold inflection.

I almost forgot to put my robe back on. I don't know where my mind was. Thank God
I remembered because I was on the stairs before I saw Dad coming up.

"Hey Dad. You going to bed already?"

"Yes," he replied wearily. "I should have joined your mother an hour ago. I fell asleep
in my chair."

I slowed down, reluctantly passing by Dad a few steps, struggling to find a reason
to keep him downstairs or to rush back up. Too late, I realized I hadn't closed my
door completely and I had left Mom hanging with the vibrator still going. At least
it was on the low setting.

Dad shuffled up the stairs. What would he do when he didn't find Mom in bed? If her
heard the vibrator, would he follow the buzz to my room?

"Hey Dad?"

He stopped and half turned toward me.

"Yes?"

"Nothing."

I turned as if to continue down the stairs but stopped when Dad's back was to me.
He topped the stairs and shuffled down the hallway. I climbed a stair and then two,
just enough so I could see down the hallway. Dad went into his bedroom without looking
at my room. I guess the buzzing on the lowest setting wasn't audible even that short
distance away, at least, fortunately, not to my weary father.

I started to climb the stairs, then turned around and rushed downstairs and into the
kitchen, grabbed a glass from the cupboard and splashed some milk into it, then rushed
back upstairs. I almost collided with Dad coming out of his room.

"Have you seen your mother?" he asked. "She's not here."

"Oh, she's downstairs in the kitchen," I lied. "Didn't you see her?"

"No. I thought you said she was in her room."

"That was an hour ago, Dad. Before you fell asleep."

"Oh."

"Did you need something?" I asked, passing by Dad and standing between him and my
room.

"No. I better say goodnight to your mother."

"I told her you were going to bed."

"You did?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, good. Thanks. Goodnight."

"Night, Dad."

Dad turned to go back into his room. I proceeded on to my room but turned around before
entering.

"Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Dad?" I called again.

"What is it?" he appeared in his doorway, looking at me impatiently.

I backed into the door, pushing it farther open, and stepped into my room. Mom was
hanging in renewed appreciation of the buzzing vibrator. I grasped the edge of the
door and leaned back into the hallway.

"I'm charging some equipment for work tomorrow. Will the buzz from the charger bother
you?"

"What buzzing?"

I disappeared behind the door, turned the vibrator up a click with an immediate reaction
from Mom, then leaned back into the hallway.

"That buzzing."

"No, that's fine. It won't bother me but you better ask your mother when she comes
up. She might not like it."

"Okay Dad. Thanks. I'll ask her when she comes."

"Okay son. Don't forget."

Dad disappeared into his room and closed the door most of the way. I smiled, rejuvenated
by my audacity, and turned back to Mom. I closed the door.

The first thing I did was turn the vibrator off. I undid the rope securing Mom's ankle
and then unwound the one holding her wrists aloft and, with my arm around her waist,
let it go slack. It trailed thought the ring as I half carried, half walked, Mom to
my bed where I lay her down on her back. After spreading her arms and securing her
hands near the corners of my headboard, I tied her ankles in a similar manner, leaving
her spread-eagled. She was still blind-folded.

Removing my robe, I let it fall to the floor and took off my one remaining sock. Naked,
I walked to the end of the bed and surveyed Mom, re-hardened cock ensconced in new
rubber jutting out at a sixty degree angle. Mom lay quietly, breathing not quite normal
but subdued, waiting.

"What am I going to do with you?" I wondered aloud.

A smile appeared on Mom's face but quickly disappeared. She stretched, first her arms
and then her legs, the smile making a brief reappearance. She was one sexy woman and,
now awakened, clearly too sexy for my father.

But not for me.

I would allow her one more orgasm before sending her to bed. Tomorrow, I would have
to buy another box of rubbers.

Mom was squirming around on the bed. I arranged her robe so that it was wide open.
The belt still kept Mom's night slip pinned around her waist, leaving her lower pelvis
covered only by the black, lacy panties. Funny how I hadn't noticed their color before.


I turned the vibrator on its lowest setting and laid it on the bed between Mom's legs.
She immediately closed them in search of it but couldn't close her thighs enough to
reach it. I reached under the bed and retrieved my next toy. The whip.

I switched on my bedside lamp and then turned off the main light, leaving the room
bathed in a soft, yellow light that faded to semi-darkness just feet from the bed.
Mom squirmed in anticipation. I knew she was expecting me to push the vibrator up
the bed until it made contact with the quivering pussy between her legs and that made
the sound of her breath sucking in, exposing her total shock when I smacked the front
of her panties with the paddle, all the more thrilling. I almost came right then.


I smacked her pussy several more times in rapid succession, then held still. Mom's
breath was so ragged, so excited, it made me feel the same way but more so, if that
was possible. Down came the other end of the whip, landing the tassels on Mom's panties.
Slowly, I dragged them up the curve of her mound and onto her belly, letting the tails
pool in her navel, and then slipped them away.

Several times, I pushed the vibrator up to Mom's panties, teased her briefly, then
pulled it away. I kept this up for quite some time, occasionally smacking her panties
with the paddle, or dragging the tassels across her mound, before landing the vibrator
on her sex and depressing the throb button for a long grind. She almost came and growled
when I yanked it away.

The paddle landed on Mom's erect nipples next. A half dozen slaps to each one ensured
they were fully extended, each one standing up like a miniature cock. I dragged the
tassels around Mom's face and neck and she preened underneath, caressing them as much
as it caressed her. The tassels trailed down Mom's neck and between her breasts. Three
quick paddles followed on her panties and then the vibrator was applied.

I pressed and rubbed the vibrator on Mom' panties for five or six seconds, withdrew
for ten or twenty, over and over again. Every once in a while, I would depress the
throb button, or smack her pussy, or tickle it with the tassels. Mom never knew what
was coming.

Eventually, and much later, I decided to let Mom come. I dropped the pussy whip and
applied the vibrator to her pussy, keeping the throb button constantly depressed,
rubbing all over her panties. As Mom wrenched her body about, desperately trying to
pull away while at the same time attempting to capture the vibrator's tip, I did something
that shocked me.

I leaned over Mom's writhing torso and closed my mouth over an erect nipple, sucking
it and its covering night slip deep into my mouth. Despite all I had done, this was
an incredibly overt, sexual act, performed by my body on hers, not by a baton, vibrator,
paddle, tassel or other piece of equipment. This was my mouth operating directly on
Mom's tit.

Mom started coming with the first suck and I began filling the condom at the same
time. The ropes strained as Mom tried to put her arms around me and, upon failing,
arched her back to thrust her nipples even deeper into my mouth. Both of Mom's tits
were soaking by the time we were done and when I rose up to a sitting position, I
could see two large wet spots surrounding her nipples.

I pulled the belt free from Mom's waist and dragged her night slip down until it covered
her thighs. After untying Mom's ankles, I did her wrists, then removed all the cuffs.
I pulled the robe closed around Mom, slipped the belt through the loops and cinched
it tight around her waist.

Then I did something else that surprised me. I leaned over Mom and kissed her on the
lips.

After that, I pulled Mom to her feet and walked her to the door, then gently nudged
her into the hallway, said goodnight and closed my door.

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

I slept in the next day. I realized it was Tuesday but instead of rushing down for
breakfast, I smiled lazily, turned over, and soon fell back to sleep. When I did get
up, I showered and put on my uniform before sauntering downstairs. Dad was long gone
and Mom was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping from a half-empty coffee cup. The
breakfast dishes were still on the table, with Mom's plate holding the crust from
her toast. I always wondered as a child why I had to eat my crust and she didn't.


"You don't need to mow the lawn today, dear," Mom commented without bothering to look
up.

I surveyed her for a moment without replying. She was dressed in her most fifty-ish
outfit yet. A starched yellow blouse was tucked into a high-waisted, long brown skirt
and her toes, peeking through the ends of her shoes, were covered by hose. I couldn't
discern any darker color underneath the blouse and all the buttons save one were done
up. No black, lacy bra today.

"No, I think I'll mow it," I answered, "and do my laundry too."

Mom looked up at that and frowned. "Suit yourself," she replied as she turned her
attention back to her Kindle. She drained her coffee cup and held it out, obviously
expecting me to refill it.

I took the cup but set it down and retained a grip on Mom's wrist. She looked up sharply,
brow furrowing. I pulled.

"Come with me."

"What? No Hector, I'm reading..."

I tugged Mom's arm, forcing her to lean forward. I stepped farther away from the table
and Mom turned to follow her arm, resisting, but started to stand up as I pulled harder.
She stumbled to her feet and let go of her Kindle which clattered onto the floor.


"Hector!"

Instead of answering I backed up with Mom in tow, out of the kitchen, dragging Mom
into the middle of the living room.

"Hector, really!"

I ignored Mom's protests. She was facing the TV and I stepped around her to gather
some things I had thrown on the couch when I first came downstairs. I was surprised
that Mom didn't turn around to look.

"No Hector," Mom protested as I snapped the padded wrist bracelets on her arms.

Despite her complaint, Mom didn't move or try to stop me while I kneeled behind her
to attach the ankle bracelets and remained mute when I placed my hands on her shoulders
and firmly pushed down. Eventually, she succumbed and dropped onto her knees. Offering
no explanation, I brought Mom's right hand behind her back, passed a rope through
its integrated ring, and then passed it through the ankle bracelet on her right leg.
I repeated this with the left hand and leg.

Mom was now on her knees, leaning back slightly with a hand secured to each leg. I
pulled the blindfold around Mom's head but let it drop to her neck and tied it off
using a knot that wouldn't tighten any further. Using another short length of rope,
I secured the blindfold's tails with one extending to each ankle bracelet. Acting
as a collar, it had the effect of arching Mom's back so it would be difficult to lower
her head. When I was done, I turned on the TV, set it on the nostalgia channel, and
abruptly walked away.

In the kitchen, I set about making my breakfast. I made eggs over medium, toast, and
hash browns, then ate it at a leisurely pace while I listened to the dialogue from
"Father Knows Best". I always thought that Robert Young guy was pompous twit.

When I was finished eating, I walked into the living room and stood behind Mom. Possibly
angry, she ignored my presence and kept her eyes fixed on the TV instead. I checked
the ropes and picked up the baton. I rubbed it up and down the outside of Mom's arms
and legs, lightly probed each side of her waist, slid the shaft along each shoulder
to her neck and up each cheek, pushed it down over her solar plexus, between her starch-covered
breasts, and then let it drop onto the rug. Mom turned her eyes sideways to look at
it, but only briefly.

I left Mom and returned to the kitchen where I washed and dried the dishes. After
that I visited Mom again to check the ropes. Gathering more, I kneeled beside her
and tied a length around each calf just above the bracelets. Sliding the hem of Mom's
skirt up her thigh, I reached underneath and passed the left rope around Mom's thigh,
then fed it back to her lower leg, pulling it tight so that Mom had to lean farther
back. I put several more loops around both calf and thigh for effect, then did the
same thing to the right leg. I left and went outside.

I didn't spend a lot of time mowing the lawn. I just wanted Mom to hear the mower
going for a while. When I came back in Mom was still watching the TV. It was "Have
Gun Will Travel", one of my favorites. I had always liked Paladin, probably because
he looked cool in his black outfit.

I watched the rest of the show with Mom and then went into the kitchen to slice up
an orange. I returned to feed Mom just as "Wanted Dead or Alive" started. Josh was
even manlier than Paladin with a hint of the smart-alec in him, quite unlike Robert
Young or my Dad for that matter.

As I watched the show with Mom, I fed her slices of orange, teasing her lips with
brief touches of each slice, sometimes sliding it from side to side, before letting
her suck it into her mouth. On the last two slices, I let my finger push into her
mouth too.

Near the end of the show, I checked the ropes using the baton. The ropes I tested
last were the ones tying Mom's thighs to her calves and I left the baton between her
legs, resting on top of the cross-rope tied to keep her ankles from splaying too far
apart. Pushing the baton forward, I pried it between her knees. With the handle on
the cross-rope, the baton exerted a light pressure along the underside of Mom's skirt.
I left to do my laundry as soon as the show was over.

While the washer was running, I checked on Mom again. She was sitting on the shaft
of the baton. Mom's shoes, which had been on when I left, were on the floor. Mom was
flexing her feet, digging her toes into the rug and using the back of her ankles to
press the cross-rope upward, thus exacerbating the pressure the baton exerted on the
bottom of her skirt. I smiled when I noted how strenuously Mom's calves flexed to
work the baton up to where she wanted it. Very resourceful.

Before leaving, I pulled the baton out from underneath Mom's skirt but replaced it
with the vibrator which was almost as long. Cupping the side of Mom's face in a tender
caress, I switched the vibrator onto its lowest setting before going downstairs to
switch my clothes from the washer to the drier.

Mom was breathing heavily when I returned with a basket of warm clothes fresh from
the drier. I adjusted the vibrator's position and turned it up a notch. When I knelt
in front of Mom, she closed her eyes. Pushing her skirt higher, I reached between
her legs, found the tip of the vibrator, and tugged it up until it made contact with
Mom's panties. A low moan immediately signaled her pleasure. I looped a short piece
of rope around the back of Mom's neck and the shaft of the vibrator to hold the pleasure
stick in place, then sat on the couch to fold my laundry.

When that was done, I knelt behind Mom and jolted her with the throb button periodically
over the course of several minutes. Then, I turned the vibrator onto its highest setting
and carried my laundry upstairs. When I returned, Mom seemed to be in the throes of
her first orgasm. When she settled down, I turned the vibrator off, removed it and
loosened the backstay so Mom could lean forward more.

Squatting in front of Mom, I fed her another orange. She kept her eyes closed except
for a couple of times when I paused longer between slices, barely opening and quickly
shut them when she saw I was still in front of her. I followed up the orange with
a glass of cold water, holding it to Mom's lips so she could drink. I tipped the glass
up too rapidly near the end and spilled water down the front of Mom's blouse. Unfortunately,
I had the same problem with the next glass too.

I fit the vibrator underneath Mom's skirt from behind but before I positioned it through
the loop I pushed her skirt way up on her thighs until I could see her panties peeking
through. I used the lowest setting again. I left Mom but returned quickly with a towel.
Making a big production of it, I tried to dry her blouse.

"This isn't working very well. Shit, you're wet inside, too."

On that note, I slipped a button undone and dabbed at Mom's upper chest. Of course,
I had to undo another button and then another.

"This work is really making me hot," I muttered.

I didn't hide the fact that I was removing my shirt and I'm sure that Mom knew, without
looking, which item of clothing I was taking off.

Upper body now bare, I picked up the towel and continued drying Mom but first slipped
two more buttons undone. Her blouse was now open to her waist. Without saying a word,
I tugged the bottom of the blouse completely out of Mom's skirt. There were two more
buttons to undo. I quickly slipped them loose and pushed the sides of Mom's blouse
back. Leaning over her, I pushed it over her shoulders and down her arms to her elbows.
I sat back to admire Mom's chest, now covered only by the conservative, white bra.


I wished it had been the black, lacy affair she'd worn a few days ago. That one was
made of thinner material which displayed the form of her breasts, and he placement
of her nipples, much better. The material of this bulky, white thing was so thick
I couldn't locate them.

"This just won't do," I muttered.

When I fiddled about with the front of Mom's bra, she looked alarmed but didn't open
her eyes. The usual twist didn't free the halves or make it obvious where the hooks
were. Frustrated, I got up and went to the kitchen. When I returned, I knelt behind
Mom and turned the vibrator up a notch, moved the handle about a little, then returned
to squat in front of her. Mom's eyes had closed the second she saw me coming around.
Well, "The Walton's" was on and it was boring anyway.

I doubt Mom had seen me long enough to see what was in my hand. I wondered if she
would have made a fuss if she had seen the scissors. Well, what was that I had said
before? In for a penny, in for a dollar.

I opened the scissors and slid the lower part under the center of Mom's bra. Mom's
eyes fluttered open, then snapped shut. The scissors sliced the material easily but
I couldn't get it to cut completely through. I struggled for a minute, then looked
closer. A wire, a fucking wire, for Christ's sake.

I had to get a pair of wire cutters from the garage. The bra came apart easily and
a couple of snips on the shoulder straps let me remove it completely. I gave the damned
thing a once over before tossing it on the floor. That's when I saw the hooks holding
it together. They were in the back for Christ's sake.

Ah, what a sight. Mom's tits hung down on her chest, then swept out, pulled up by
the arch of her back. I tightened the backstay from her neck to her ankles, making
her breasts thrust out a little more. Now her nipples were proudly displayed. How
that bra, even thick as it was, managed to camouflage these beauties was beyond me.
Standing up proudly, they begged to be sucked.

But not yet. First, I needed to get Mom worked up some more. I fetched the pussy whip,
and dragged its tassels around Mom's neck and shoulders, down her arms and then back,
and then, only then, let them spread over her upper chest. It was several minutes
before I tickled her nipples with it and longer still until the first light slap on
the side of her swells.

I looped a rope around and around Mom's waist, wrapping it under the sag of her breasts
and criss-crossing between them, over her shoulder and around her neck, until her
tits were trussed up and brazenly jutting out. "The Walton's" was over by then and
"Lassie" had started. I couldn't believe how the time was flying.

I tickled and lightly slapped Mom's tits with the paddle on the pussy whip for a good
ten minutes or so before tugging her skirt up until it was bunched around her waist.
I had to pull hard to get it over her hips and ass with the ropes in the way but finally
managed it. The vibrator was having a greater effect with the skirt completely out
of the way and I snugged up the loop holding it against Mom's panties. The throb button
made Mom's eyes fly open and, with me standing behind her, she kept them open. I throbbed
Mom until she didn't close her eyes even when I stopped, and returned to squat in
front of her.

Her eyes were so glazed over with lust I doubt she could see me anyway. I brushed
my fingers around the swollen edges of her breasts before grasping a nipple between
the thumb and forefinger of each hand. I rolled them back and forth and Mom closed
her eyes, until I pinched them. Her eyes flew open, startled, but soon glazed over
again. I rolled and pinched her nipples until "Lassie" was done. They were mine now.
I knew could touch them whenever I wanted to.

I reached under the tip of the vibrator and cupped it in my palm, then lifted it up
tight against Mom's panties, rubbing it around on her mound. I was so close to handling
her pussy. I kissed Mom's throat, then slid up to kiss her face and a moment later,
covered her lips with mine. Ducking my head, I latched onto a nipple and sucked while
grinding the tip of the vibrator into her panties. A long suck on the other nipple
and then I stopped. Mom's eyes parted but slowly closed. My hand was still on the
vibrator, moving it around.

I don't think she heard me pick up the scissors again. I'm pretty sure she didn't
know I had them until the first garter was snipped away. Her eyes flew open then and
she stared at me. I gazed into her eyes as I snipped the second garter, then moved
the scissors to Mom's panty leg. She froze but didn't protest, though she held her
breath, as I carefully slipped it underneath and threaded the point across the gusset
to the other leg. I snipped through the cotton until the yellow panties parted. Sneaking
the points under the panties proper, I snipped up to the waistband and tossed the
scissors aside, then grabbed the panties and yanked them off Mom's body.

The vibrator bumped onto Mom's bare pussy, perfectly centered underneath her neatly
trimmed bush, and I pressed the knob up between her lips, my fingers splaying around
to tickle Mom's labia. Bare pussy. I was touching Mom's, slick, bare pussy.

I slipped my hand around behind Mom's back and pulled her forward. The fingers of
my other hand stretched to reach around the vibrator's knob, sliding back to the shaft
where they could reach farther, past the edge of Mom's lips, and into her slit. Mom
closed her eyes.

I was in heaven. I pushed the vibrator back far enough that I could slip my fingers
into Mom's pussy. Soon, I had three of them deep in her cunt. I found her lips again
and covered it with my mouth, sinking my tongue in deep. Mom started humping my fingers
and moved faster and faster. I didn't pull my mouth off hers the whole time her restrained
hips bucked on my hand. She was like a terrier, raging so furiously I thought the
ropes would break.

Her second orgasm was so far beyond the first it taught me a lifelong lesson: Machines
cannot match human touch no matter how useful they are.

I loosened the ropes to let Mom stretch out on the floor but kept her hands and legs
tied together. I went upstairs to clean myself up and to put on another condom. I
returned with a wash bowl of hot water and soap. I cleaned Mom with a wash cloth and
dried her. She lay quietly all through this, not once opening her eyes, at least that
I witnessed.

When I was done, I turned Mom around on the floor so she was laying with her head
toward the TV. I placed a pillow under her neck and then retied her hands to each
ankle and restrapped her thighs to her calves. I stood and surveyed my work. Mom was
lying on her back, hands tied to the side of her ankles and knees draw way up, lewdly
displaying her pussy which was itself parted and showing the pinkness of her cunt.
I placed a loop around each foot and tied it off to the side, around the foot of the
couch for one and Dad's chair for the other, to keep Mom's legs apart.

I put the orange dildo on the floor beside the pillow and started the vibrator. Mom's
eyes opened just as I lay it on top of her bare pussy but they soon strayed to the
side when she glimpsed the flash of orange there. She stared at it for a long moment,
then fixed me with an equally long look. I operated the vibrator for a few minutes,
avoiding her eyes. Mom didn't close them and I couldn't look her in the face until
after I turned the vibrator up a notch and gave her a few throbs. When I finally got
my nerve up, Mom had closed her eyes.

I shifted around to kneel beside Mom and began dragging the tassels over her body,
occasionally using my hand to rub the vibrator more firmly on her mound. It was quite
a treat to slap her with the paddle on her bare pussy. Sometimes I missed, striking
her in the hollow at the top of her thigh, just to tease her. I don't know which she
liked better. Well, I guess I do, but the misses made her enjoy the hits all the more.


At one point, I stood and dropped my pants. Mom looked toward me but didn't open her
eyes. She knew what I was doing. I removed my undershorts and socks too, leaving myself
dressed in only a condom.

I teased Mom for a long time. Before I knew it, "Dennis the Menace" was on. We were
on the slide to "Leave It To Beaver", time move on to the next phase.

I think Mom knew when it was coming, perhaps because I hadn't tickled or paddled her
for almost a minute, but maybe just because she sensed it. Anyway, she hardly flinched
when the dildo first nosed between her lower lips to explore her slit. I loved the
way her body tensed as the dildo forced its way through the resistance of her tunnel
and the way she tried to lift her pussy to meet it.

After working the dildo into Mom and establishing a slow rhythm, I started kissing
her breasts and sucking her nipples. To reach both, I shuffled around until I was
above Mom's head, leaning over so I could reach around her right thigh to manipulate
the dildo while I sucked one tit and then the other.

I didn't mean for my sheathed cock to bump over Mom's face but it did. If felt wonderful,
sometimes tapping and others sliding over her skin. What surprised me was Mom stretching
back, tilting her head so her face could enjoy longer scrapes as my cock brushed over
cheeks. Soon, I realized Mom was kissing my shaft, licking and nibbling at it as it
slid past. I could hardly breathe, I was so excited. It had never occurred to me to
try touching Mom with my cock because I firmly believed, despite all we had been doing,
that she would absolutely freak out if I did. It would be so wrong!

But now, Mom was kissing the underside of my shaft as it slid across her lips and
I was gasping for air, blown away not just by the feel but the sight of her face straining
to make contact with my erection. She was tipping her head even farther back, arching,
tilting her chin up, opening her mouth. Opening her mouth! Oh God, could I? Is that
what she meant? Was she offering to...suck me?

I slid back. Mom groaned, and threw her chin upward. I slid forward, and in, into
her mouth, her warm, wet, lovely, awesome mouth. I withdrew, slid forward again, deeper,
just a bit, a little farther into Mom's mouth, back, all the way out, and forward
again, fucking Mom's mouth, fucking her face.

Oh no, oh shit. I was coming already, filling the condom. Moaning. Had that been me
all along? I thought it was Mom. It was me. Almost wailing. Ahh shit, that felt so
good, so fucking good.

I pulled back and moved forward again but couldn't get back in because Mom closed
her mouth. My spent cock skidded over her lips, dragging the drenched condom with
it. I should pull back and take my mess away, but it still felt so good. Mom was still
nibbling at my cock. I pulled it up.

"No," Mom cried.

I glanced down at Mom's demanding eyes. Uncertain, I lowered my cock again. It skidded
across Mom's mouth and she nibbled at it again. Bit, really. She was biting, gnashing
her teeth, like a beaver trying to peel the bark from a tree. Oh shit. I looked at
the TV. "The Beav" was on. Dad would be home soon after that.

That's it, Mom was trying to peel me, trying to get the condom off. I looked down
in wonder. Mom had finally captured the plastic sheath. I pulled back but she retained
her prize and the condom slowly tugged off my softened cock. It came off with a snap,
flinging a few droplets of cum across Mom's face. She pushed her chin up again, and
opened her mouth.

I filled it, pushing my bare cock into Mom's lovely mouth, groaning as her tongue
skidded over the helmet and her teeth scraped along the underside. Mom tilted her
head more and the teeth disappeared. She shook her head sideways and I pushed in deep,
really deep. Mom shook her head again and I started to withdraw but she shook again,
violently this time. I pushed back in, felt resistance, but kept pushing. Pop, I was
through something, her throat. I was in Mom's fucking throat!

I started fucking Mom's face slowly, all the way out and all the way in to the root.
Deep, really deep. Mom moaned around my shaft and I started plunging the dildo in
her cunt in concert with my cock's movements in and out of her mouth. Gradually, we
moved faster and faster until we were moving like we were having a regular fuck. How
could she take me so deep in her mouth like this, so fast? I was amazed and part of
my mind struggled to understand but my cock was otherwise occupied as it mined Mom's
face.

I filled Mom's mouth with the first two spurts and pulled out, afraid of choking her.
The next two spurts spilled across her face and onto her neck and tits before I pushed
it back into her mouth but a gurgle after the next spurt made me yank it out again
and I dropped the rest of my load all over Mom's eyes and nose.

It blew me away that she laughed with my spunk all over her face. There was a lot,
given I had already come once. I grabbed the wash cloth and cleaned her face, mumbling
about how sorry I was but she only laughed more. She didn't close her eyes once. The
sparkle in her eyes warmed me and I eventually calmed down. She wasn't mad.

When Mom's face was clean and dry, she kissed my cock, still bare, hard, and dangling
over her face. Briefly, she sucked it in, then pushed it out.

"You better untie me before your father gets home."

The credits were running on "Leave It To Beaver."

When Dad came home, all the doors and windows were open.

"What's up?" he asked.

"Spring cleaning," Mom answered.

"But it's not spring," Dad replied, puzzled.

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

I fell asleep quickly that night but woke up with a start. What was that noise? I
sat up in the complete darkness and listened. I couldn't hear anything. I was about
to turn on the lamp when Mom whispered.

"Leave the light off."

"Mom?"

"Shhhhh."

"Where are you?"

"Where do you think?" she giggled.

I threw the covers off and stood up. I was naked. Where was my robe? Why was I worrying
about my robe?

"Come here," Mom whispered.

Confused, with mind still full of cobwebs, I walked toward her voice, hands waving
in the darkness in front of me. My fingertips found Mom. She was standing in the corner,
apparently naked, holding her arms up. No, not holding up; they were held up. Mom
had tied her hands together and pulled them up with a rope through the ring in the
ceiling and was standing on the rope to keep them up.

"Tie it off," she said, wiggling her leg.

I picked up the rope and wound it around the cleat on the wall.

"Did you prepare yourself?"

"Prepare myself?"

"You know."

Oh, the condom. I stumbled getting back to the drawer in my bedside table and swore
twice when my eagerness to put it on set me back. I was almost back to Mom when I
remembered the vibrator and other accessories hidden under my bed. I went back to
retrieve them. Mom heard me rummaging around under the bed.

"Forget that stuff," Mom hissed. "Come here."

The intensity and need in her voice brought me quickly back, without stumbling, by
the way. I ran my hands along her upstretched arms, then down her sides following
her waist but pausing to feel the weight of her breasts, then continued over her hips
and along her thighs. I pressed my chest into her back and nestled my cock between
the crack of her ass. If only she would let me inside her. One day, maybe, but for
now her mouth was just fine. I needed her to kneel or lay down.

"Put it in," Mom hissed.

"Mom?"

"Put it in," she repeated.

"Then kneel down."

"I don't need to. Put it in."

"Are you sure?"

"Do you want me to change my mind?"

So that was the first time I fucked Mom. Not after careful preparation until she was
too horny to know what she was doing, but rather by her invitation when I was the
one totally unprepared.

The squeeze of her pussy enveloping my cock on its first maternal thrust was almost
too much to bear and I just about fell on my ass. My legs crumbled and I had to clasp
my arms around Mom to keep from falling down.

"Like it, hey?" she teased, wiggling her butt and almost making me come.

"Fuck yeah."

"Fuck yeah," Mom mimicked, wiggling her butt again.

"Fuck yeah," I cried, straightening my legs and lifting her right off her feet.

"Fuck yeah," Mom groaned.

I lowered Mom to the floor and her hips churned around my cock as I slowly withdrew
it from her hole, then pushed back in until she was back up on her tippy-toes.

"Oh yeah, baby. Make me feel good enough to get through to Thursday."

"Like this," I suddenly thrust up hard, lifting Mom off her feet again. Holding her
aloft, I found her tits and pinched her nipples, then tugged up, holding them off
her chest.

"Yeah, oh yeah," she mewled, spiraling around my shaft, toes still off the floor.


"I'm going to tease you all day Thursday. No mercy."

"No mercy," she parroted.

Enough talk. I started fucking Mom in earnest and only released her tits to play with
her clit with my left hand, then using my right to stroke her throat and stick my
fingers in her mouth. The whole time I fucked her, standing behind her, I always had
one hand on her tits. When I came, I tore the condom off and flung it onto the floor.
Eyes now acclimatized, I easily found my way back to the drawer to get another. Mom
giggled as my already hardening cock probed the entrance to her slick tunnel, ready
for a second go.

"Can't get enough?"

"I'll never get enough of you."

"Promises, promises," Mom teased.

I cut her off with a hard thrust.

"Unngghhhhhh!"

"That's better."

"Shut up."

"Stop moaning."

"Make me."

"Take that."

"Unnnghhh."

"And that."

"Unnnnghhhh."

No, I didn't want her to stop moaning. I loved it and I vowed to make her moan all
day long on Thursday and every fucking day after that I got to have her for a few
hours to myself. After tossing a second load into Mom, or into the condom buried deep
within her, I released her and carried her to the bed. I lay down beside her but within
a minute she said, "Put on another one."

"Really?"

"You're not up to it?"

"Fucking right I am."

"Watch your language."

I grabbed another rubber from the drawer and put it on, then turned toward Mom. She
was on her back with her legs wide open.

"Get in," she said.

I did as I was told and started pumping right away but she stopped me.

"Slow down. I want this one to last."

Mom traced the edges of my face with her fingertips and rubbed the back of my legs
with her feet as she repeatedly strained and relaxed against me as she whispered in
my ear. Her words were almost nonsensical and I slowly realized they weren't meant
to be understood. Mom was using the feminine lilt of her voice as a sexual stimulant,
urging me forward and then pulling me back, similar to the press and release of her
flesh. Her lips and tongue, when finally applied, sent my mind and cock racing ahead.
Thankfully, she didn't try as hard to slow me down and soon we were coupling furiously.
It was hard to believe that Dad couldn't hear us but right then, I couldn't care less
if he did. It was a noisy climax for us both.

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

On Wednesday, Mom treated me the way she always had, as a regular son. No flirts,
no looks, no poses, nothing. The only tip of the hat was the June Cleaver outfit she
wore. Even Dad noticed, asking her if she and her friends were doing some kind of
retro fashion show benefit.

"No," she replied. "I just like dressing this way. Some people like it."

She didn't even smile or look my way.

I cleaned up after dinner and joined Mom and Dad in the living room. Mom was sewing.
When I sat down on the other end of the couch and saw what she was sewing, I almost
fell over. Mom was sewing buttons onto her blouse, the buttons I had popped off the
week before. That was the only time that Mom rewarded me with one of her quirky smiles,
but she didn't look toward me.

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

I won`t bore you with all the details of what happened between Mom and I the next
day or the many days we had over the years after that. Suffice it to say that I became
expert at tying Mom up and teasing the shit out of her. Over the years, I obtained
a lot more equipment from Mrs. Draper and became more sophisticated in its use.

Toward the end of each long day of teasing I would slip behind Mom. She would usually
be on her back or on her knees, calves and thighs tied together, since that was her
favorite constraint. Either way, I would crouch over her and pound away until we both
came for the final time that day. We had learned to spread a sheet over the rug and
to keep the windows open. It made for a rapid cleanup, allowing us to test fate by
holding off our climax the last minute.

After hour of lovemaking, we started winding up the parade during "Dennis the Menace"
and culminated our lust while listening to "Leave It To Beaver". We were incapable
of having a quickie. Mom sometimes visited my room in the wee hours of the morning
but even those occasions rarely consumed less than two hours. The only thing we managed
in a short period of time was our regular weekend blowjob. Mom knew I couldn't last
through a weekend so she looked after me. But even that took half an hour. We simply
couldn't be together without squeezing every ounce of enjoyment from one another.
I think that's why we were initially attracted to each other. It wasn't a mother-son
thing, it was a recognition of what each other desired. Somehow, we both knew what
the other craved.

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

On second thought, there is one occasion worth sharing. One afternoon, while Dennis
was being a particularly bad brat, Mom started nibbling the condom off my cock. Usually,
she let me fuck her mouth with my bare cock before moving on to the grande finale
but she had insisted I wear one right from the start that day. So I was surprised
when she started chewing it off.

"You want it on your face today?" I huffed.

"Mmm baby. Let me get it off."

"You want it on your face?" I repeated.

"I want your bare cock," Mom panted.

"You got it baby. Peel that sucker off."

Mom nibbled.

"Come on," I urged. "Chew it off."

I was getting hot at the thought of her wanting me to spew all over her face instead
of it just happening. I had to admit, I loved the look of my spunk on her face, but
when more got on there rather than in her mouth, I pretended it was an accident because
I thought she didn't really like it. Yet, now she was begging for it, desperate for
me to unload on her pretty face. What a fantastic woman!

Mom finally got the condom off and I tried to plunge it into her mouth to bring myself
to the brink so I could unload. Pushing into her throat always got me there, but Mom
clamped her lips shut and I skidded over her face. Undeterred, I grabbed my cock and
started wanking off, already huffing and puffing at the thought of unloading on her
willing face.

"Fill me," Mom gasped.

"So open your mouth," I cried, wanking faster.

"No, fill me," Mom cried, stressing the last word.

"Then open your fucking mouth," I wailed desperately, already feeling the twinge that
signaled an impending eruption.

"Fill me, fill ME" Mom shouted.

I looked into her pleading eyes, saw the desperate need there, queried with my own
look and found the answer that shocked me but which I knew to the depth of my being
was what Mom wanted. I stood up, stumbled toward the couch, turned, and kneeled in
front of Mom's upturned pussy, I sank deep within her, burying my whole, bare cock.


One, two, three strokes. I was coming, like never before, truly exploding. I threw
back my head and wailed. I was coming, for the first time the way God meant me to
come, free and full, oh so full, emptying my seed into my mother, not just cum, but
my seed.

What mischief will be born of this day?" I wondered as the last, wrenching gob squeezed
past my brutalized tip.

I collapsed between Mom's wide open, tied thighs, and reached back to release her
wrists from the side of her ankles. Immediately, Mom threw her arms around me and
clasped me tight. We kissed, pulled back to look at each other, and cried.

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

On third thought, I guess I should tell you about Mrs. Draper. I've already mentioned
that we became more sophisticated in our methods and the equipment we used. I didn't
tell you that Mrs. Draper never charged me a cent for any of it. She was, however,
curious. At first she hinted, and later outright asked, to meet my sexy girlfriend.
Mrs. Draper always asked how she liked the things she provided me and I sensed she
had more than a passing interest. I had a growing sense that Mrs. Draper was bi, even
if she didn't know or admit it. That would figure. The ones that were so attractive
to men preferred women.

Anyway, the day came when I cockily answered the door even though Mom was wrapped
up in rope in the middle of the living room floor, kneeling on a sheet and watching
"Dennis the Menace". I had done this once before to receive a package from UPS. Mom
had almost had a fit but afterward she was so excited by the thought we could have
been discovered. So this time, Mom protested, but not too vigorously. She was more
playing the expected role in our game.

"Mrs. Draper," I almost shouted, both surprised and wanting Mom to know this was an
order of magnitude beyond the UPS guy on the excitement scale.

"How many times have I told you to call me Lisa?"

"I don't know. I guess I just like calling you Mrs. Draper."

"Do you have a thing for older women, Heck?" she teased.

I blushed. I was bare-chested and bare-footed, having answered the door wearing only
my pants since I was expecting a UPS guy. But that wasn't why I was blushing. Mrs.
Draper had no idea how close to the truth she was. I shook my head.

"Well, if you don't let me meet Samantha, I'll find her and tell her about your secret
fantasy."

First of all, Samantha was the name I had divulged under pressure as the name of my
supposed girlfriend. Secondly, Samantha was my Mom's middle name. There was a muffled
gasp from the living room. Mrs. Draper tried to look beyond the door but couldn't
see past me.

"I thought it was just your Dad that was out of town. Did your mother go to?"

Caught off guard, I stumbled for an answer. "Well, um, uh, actually she..."

Mrs. Draper caught me completely by surprise when she bolted past me.

"Samantha, it's so nice to finally meet you. Heck has told me so much...What the fuck?"


I turned around. Mrs. Draper was standing behind me in the entranceway, looking into
the living room, in utter shock. I turned and quickly caught up to her. Mom was craning
her neck to the side, mirroring the look on Mrs. Draper's face but her hips were churning
on the vibrator tied up against her yearning pussy. We'd been at it for hours and
Mom was incapable of stopping.

"Uh, Lisa, meet Samantha. Samantha, Lisa," I mumbled, inanely.

Mrs. Draper took a step toward Mom. I put my hand on her arm to restrain her and she
paused but then leaned forward and I let her go. She took three more steps and stopped
in front of Mom.

"I don't believe this."

"Lisa, you can't say anything, to anyone."

"No, of course not. This is so fantastic, so much better than I ever imagined. You
look so wonderful, so sexy, so fucking hot," Mrs. Draper spoke directly to Mom.

Mom looked up at Mrs. Draper, despair at being discovered plainly evident on her face,
mixed in with the lust to which she would soon succumb.

"Don't worry, honey. My lips are sealed, unless you want them open, for you."

A new kind of shock washed over Mom's face, then gave way to understanding, but not
acceptance.

"Wait. I'll be right back."

Mrs. Draper ran into the kitchen. I followed her. She was bent over the sink, the
tap already on, leaning in, scrubbing her face.

"Get me a towel," she cried.

I grabbed a dish towel and handed it to her when she pulled her head out of the sink.
Mrs. Draper immediately buried her face in it and rubbed it vigorously all over. She
scrubbed so hard I worried that she might hurt herself. Did she not believe what her
eyes had seen? Was she trying to scrub her eyes out?

Mrs. Draper stood up and flung the towel at me.

"How do I look?"

I had never seen her without makeup.

"Fine," I answered.

"Fresh-faced?"

"You look very clean. Rosy and fresh," I added.

"Good."

Mrs. Draper rushed out of the kitchen and I followed. She was standing in front of
Mom.

"Better?" she asked.

Mom looked up, looking as perplexed as I felt.

"Maybe this will make it better," Mrs. Draper said.

With that, she grabbed the top of her head, fingers sinking into her perfectly coiffed
bleached-blonde hair, and tore it off.

My mouth dropped open, and so did Mom's.

Under the wig, Mrs. Draper's real dark brown hair was cut in a boyish cut but it looked
cute and sexy on her. Without the bleach-blonded wig and overly thick make-up, Lisa
looked like one hell of a sexy thirty-something MILF, except she wasn't a mother.


"Better?"

Mom nodded.

Mrs. Draper lifted her right foot and loosened the strap holding her shoe on, peeled
it off, and let it drop on the rug, then did the same with the left. In no hurry,
she reached under her skirt and dragged her panties down over her nice legs. She flung
them at me without looking to see where they landed. I caught them and watched as
Mrs. Draper bent her knees and slowly lowered herself, feet planted on the outside
of Mom's thighs, until her tummy was pressed to Mom's and she captured the part of
the vibrator that was protruding beyond Mom's own pussy. They both moaned loudly together
and I realized that I hadn't shut the front door. I turned away to close it.

When I returned, Mrs. Draper's hips were moving with Mom. She had unzipped the back
of her dress and was pulling it over her head. When she threw it away, her breasts
bounced on her chest before she moved closer to let them caress Mom's tits. They weren't
bad, not bad at all.

I shucked my pants. Having not bothered to put underwear on to answer the door, my
cock sprang out, long and hard. I walked close to them, slowly stroking my cock. Mrs.
Draper looked at me, smiled, and opened her mouth.

"It's about time, Heck."

I wanted to fill her face but I declined, simply shaking my head. Mrs. Draper understood.
She turned back to Mom and kissed her. This was their moment, and mine to, but to
share. They were the central actors in this scene; my time would come later and I
knew it would be better if I waited. That was, after all, the underlying them of all
the sex between Mom and me. I stroked my cock slowly and got off on the expressions
on Mom and Mrs. Draper's faces.

It took longer than I thought but eventually Mrs. Draper turned looked at me again,
this time with an enormously satisfied grin on her face. Mom looked at me too with
much the same look. They both opened their mouths at the same time. What a choice,
I mean, what a fucking choice.

I sank it into Mom's mouth first. Loyalty, you might ask? Perhaps, but at the time
I thought I wanted Mrs. Draper to see how it was properly done. I wanted her to see
how Mom took it deep, really deep, on the first thrust.

Mrs. Draper was only the second woman to give me a blowjob. She learned fast and it
was hard not to come even with all the training I had received holding off from fucking
Mom while she was tied up, spread and available, for hours. Dipping my cock first
through one warm and wet set of tonsils only to plunged it deep into another waiting
mouth, then back, and switching again, over and over. I mean, who would ever want
that to stop? Not me. I was proud of how long I lasted.

Man, to come all over two eager faces. What a fucking rush. Dad was gone for three
days. Three glorious days during which Mrs. Draper was at our house almost the whole
time. She looked so good I could never understand why she wore all that make-up and
that stupid bleached-blond wig. To see her naked, standing naturally, without a push-up
bra or a stretchy tank-top artificially lifting her wonderful breasts. She had a really
nice set of slopey hangers, I mean, the way the slung down and then jutted out with
those longish nipples. Fucking fantastic.

Almost as good as Mom's.

I was a spoiled boy, a very spoiled boy, for years.

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

Yes, years. But it all had to come to an end. For a time, we thought Mom was pregnant
but she miscarried. One day, she came home with the news. She was sick, very sick.
The first night Dad was out of town, she and I and Mrs. Draper watched old movies
in the living room in the flickering light of dozens of candles. We didn't have sex
but we cuddled a lot and cried too.

After Mom was gone, Mrs. Draper stopped coming. Not right away, but it wasn't the
same with just the two of us. We needed Mom and she wasn't there no matter how much
we told each other she was. We drifted apart.

Dad started a relationship with one of the women he knew from work shortly after Mom
was gone. I knew in my heart that it had started long before Mom became sick and I
hated him for it. I wasn't that sad when he got sick too. Well, at first I wasn't
but he was my Dad after all and he had been a great one when I was young. I imagine
he hadn't been a bad husband to Mom either, back in the day, but they grew out of
love. They were just comfortable together.

So I ended up alone in the house I was raised in, a house full of memories, too many
memories. I put the house up for sale and started looking for another place to live
but soon came to the realization that I needed to move away, far away.

I was more than surprised when I received the call.

"Samantha?"

"Yes, didn't your mother tell you about me?"

"Um, Dad mentioned that Mom had a half-sister that Mom didn't talk about."

"That's rich. Actually, it was your father didn't like to talk about me."

"I don't get it."

"Your father wasn't comfortable with me around."

"I see."

"No, you don't. Look, my husband and I just moved into the area and I'd like to get
to know you. I think Sam would like it."

"You mean Lilly."

"No, I mean Sam. She hated her first name but your father insisted on using it."

"Whatever. Look Samantha, I'm moving so I don't think...," I paused unintentionally
as the fact that Mom's half-sister's name was the same as Mom's middle name.

"Your mother sent me some things I think you should have," Samantha took advantage
of the pause.

"What things?"

"I can't tell you over the phone. They're...personal. I can't keep them and I don't
think your mother would want them destroyed. I think they're for you. I don't know
why she sent them to me."

"Okay. Tomorrow at ten, but I've got to be somewhere for 10:30."

"That's fine. I don't want to impose. I know you don't know me. I mean, I'd love to
get to know you, for Sam's sake, but I understand, really I do. I'll just drop these
things off and be gone."

She hung up.

I felt bad. I didn't have to be such a prick but she caught me by surprise. I remember
Mom mentioning her a couple of times, accidentally, and then trying to cover up. Once,
she had become really flustered after I had picked up an old picture of Gramps and
Mom and this little girl, way younger than Mom. I asked her who it was but Mom just
turned and walked away from me. That's when Dad had said it was Mom's half-sister
and I shouldn't ask Mom about her. So what Samantha said didn't square up with my
memory. I decided not to get rid of her so quickly. I wanted to find out more about
her because she was a part of Mom that I didn't know anything about.

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

"Samantha?"

Oh my God, this was going to be way harder than I thought. My eyes teared up. Samantha,
this strange woman standing in the doorway that looked the spitting image of Mom,
at least, in pictures of her when I was about nine or ten years old. She was in her
thirties, maybe thirty-five or six, and a dead ringer for Mom. She stretched out her
hand and laid it on my arm.

"I'm sorry, Heck. I should have warned you."

I turned away and shuffled into the house. I meant to go into the kitchen, to keep
things sterile and formal, but I sat on the couch instead. Samantha followed me after
closing the door and sat beside me, leaving almost enough room for another person
to sit between us. She angled toward me and smoothed her skirt over her knees. Nice
knees, held tight together. Very proper. I looked up, noticing that she was very nicely
dressed, quite conservative, with make-up tastefully applied on her very pretty face.


"It's just that you..."

"I know."

"You could be twins. How could half-sister's look so much alike?"

"Well, we had the same father?"

"The same father? Oh, I thought, I don't know why, but I always thought it was the
same mother and different fathers."

An odd expression came over Samantha's face. "No," was all she said.

I probed, "Are you sure?"

She smiled. "Yes, Heck, I'm sure. We definitely had different mothers."

I nodded, dumbly, staring at her. I just couldn't take my eyes off her. It was as
if I was sitting with Mom before I really knew her.

"Well anyway, Heck, I've brought these things." Samantha pulled the straps of a cloth
bag off her shoulder and pulled them over her arm. She put the bag on the couch between
us. "I know you really want me to be on my way, so..."

I put my hand out and caught her by the wrist. It was like getting an electric shock
and I quickly released her arm.

"No, uh, stay. I was rude to you on the phone. I'm sorry. Let me make you some tea,
or no, let's have a drink."

"I don't drink."

"Tea then. I'll make us some tea."

"I don't know. I really should be going. I don't think it's a good idea for me to
stay."

"Please. You said Mom wanted us to get together. Stay, for her sake at least."

"Okay, but not for long."

I forgot about the offer to make tea and grabbed the bag. I dug into it. It was full
of DVD's and USB memory sticks.

"What's all this?"

"Oh, I don't think we should, I mean, I think you should wait until I'm gone to..."


I took a DVD to the player and slid it in. Samantha got up and started for the door.


"Samantha!"

She turned and looked at me.

"You've watched these?"

Samantha nodded, hesitantly.

"Stay and watch it with me. I don't think I can do it alone."

"I don't think I can. I shouldn't."

"Please."

I went to her and grabbed her arm. Backing up, I tugged Mom's half-sister back to
the couch and sat down, pulling her with me. I put the bag on the floor and shifted
closer to her, found the remote, and turned the TV on.

Mom was looking up at the camera. She stepped back, smiling. She looked lovely in
one of her best June Cleaver outfits. She turned her back to the camera, which must
have been mounted in the corner above Dad's chair. I looked but didn't seen anything
there. I looked back at the TV. Mom was spreading a sheet on the floor. The veins
in my neck bulged and I became intensely aware of Samantha sitting next to me. What
the hell had Mom done?

Mom disappeared but soon returned. She stood on a stool and put a rope through the
ring on the ceiling, the one I was always amazed that Dad never noticed. When the
loop was through, Mom stepped off the stool and put it aside. She turned on the TV.
I couldn't see what was on but soon realized by the sound it was "The Walton's". Mom
connected the rope to the hand bracelets, raised her arms, and kicked the rope down
until she could step on it, pinching it to the rug, then used her other foot to wind
the rope around her leg.

Mom hung from the rope for about five minutes. Samantha and I watched, sitting stone
still, neither of us looking at the other. Mom began squirming and I realized that
she had something under her skirt. A memory flashed into my mind, a memory of coming
home to find Mom, dressed in this very June Cleaver outfit, the big orange dildo sucked
all the way inside her. She had been wild with lust after hours of waiting and preparing
herself for me.

In another five minutes the sound on the TV abruptly changed and I realized that the
movie had been edited. The single DVD must contain a whole day of fun enjoyed by me
and Mom. I lifted an edge of the cloth bag on the couch looked inside. There must
be fifty DVDs and a dozen memory sticks in there, years of incestual sex that Mom
had sent to her half-sister. Why? Why had she given us away when nobody knew except
for Mrs. Draper. Why?

I looked at Mom's sister. Although she must have watched these DVDs, perhaps many
times, she was mesmerized by the action on the screen. I didn't know why Mom had send
the DVDs to her sister but I was beginning to understand why Samantha had brought
them here. I stretched to the far end of the couch and leaned over to open the cupboard
door of the small end table where Mom and I had brazenly stashed some of our equipment,
right under Dad's nose. I retrieved a set of bracelets and sat back.

For a moment, I watched the video but then slid my left hand sideways until my fingers
brushed Samantha's. She didn't draw hers away so I pushed my hand on top of hers.
A few seconds later, I pulled her hand toward me and casually encircled her wrist
with the bracelet. Samantha didn't even look at me. I snapped the bracelet closed
and let her hand drop onto the couch. A moment later, I got up and moved to sit on
the other side of Mom's half-sister.

After snapping the bracelet on Samantha's other hand, I pulled her hands together
and laid them on her lap, then returned to the end table cabinet and got a rope. Sitting
on the couch again, I threaded the rope through the ring of each bracelet, then calmly
stood and did the same for the swivel ring on the ceiling. Samantha ignored me completely.


Gently, I pulled on the rope. Samantha's hands slowly lifted from her lap and rose
in front of her but she kept her gaze studiously fixed on the TV. I tugged and Samantha
rose from the couch until she was standing before me. I pulled on the rope and Samantha's
hands lifted, up to her shoulders, then to her head and well over.

Holding the rope in one hand, I retrieved the ankle bracelets from the cabinet and
snapped them onto Samantha's legs, then threaded the rope through the ring on each
and tied her legs off to the legs on opposite ends of the couch.

I stepped in behind Samantha and put my hands on her hips, then slid them up the sides
of her blouse, following the contours of her waist. I whispered in her ear.

"Would you like a few slices of orange?"

Samantha sucked in her breath in a sharp hiss and, for the first time since the DVD
had started playing, acknowledged my presence.

"Yes," she husked.

I quietly withdrew to the kitchen and busied myself making a bowl of sliced oranges.
When I returned, I saw that Samantha's couldn't bring her feet together but was able
to rub her thighs together. I smiled and enjoyed the tingling feeling in my groin.
It had been a long time since I had been blessed by that feeling.

I stood behind Samantha and fed her several slices of orange, smoothing her throat
after pushing one into her mouth because I knew she would have seen me do it with
Mom. When the oranges were gone, I put the bowl down and returned to stand behind
Samantha. Pressing lightly against the back of her skirt, I whispered in her ear.


"What color are your panties?"

Before she could answer, I spoke again.

"No? You're not going to tell me?"

Samantha shook her head. I visited the cabinet again and returned to put a collar
around her neck.

"Tell me," I hissed.

Samantha shook her head again.

I smiled. She looked like Mom, but she wasn't, and she played the game differently.
This was going to be a lot of fun. I pulled down on the rope at the back of the collar
and tied it off around her waist. Samantha's head was drawn back but not so much she
couldn't watch the TV. I grasped her throat with one hand and brushed the fingertips
of the other across her lips.

"Tell me."

She shook her head.

"Don't make me find out for myself," I warned.

Samantha didn't react so I dropped my hands to her hips, then slid them lower, along
the outside of her thighs. Stooping, I found the hem of her skirt and pulled it up
to mid-thigh level and then straightened up. As I did, I slipped my hands underneath
her skirt and followed the inside of Samantha's thighs up to her panties.

Fingertips lightly poised on the front of Samantha's panties, I whispered in her ear,
"Yellow. You're wearing yellow panties, my favorite."

Samantha sighed and, whether she meant to or not, let her mound pout onto my welcoming
fingers. I was right of course. Her skirt was brown and I knew that Mom always wore
yellow panties when she wore a brown skirt.

"If you say please, I'll take them off and save them as a souvenir."

"Please," Samantha croaked.

I tickled the gusset, discovered the groove and teased it vertically with one finger
while rubbing across it with another. Pinching the dampish material between my fingers,
I pushed Samantha's panties down her legs and left them stretched across the top of
her thighs. My plans for teasing her for hours were disintegrating. There was something
about her that made me so horny I wanted to fuck her right away.

I yanked my hands from under her skirt and quickly undid my belt and shoved my pants
and shorts down to my knees. Lifting the back of Samantha's skirt, I pushed my hard
cock between her legs, under her ass and above the stretched panties until my rod
was pressing along the bottom of her pussy.

"Did you come here thinking I would fuck you, Auntie?"

Samantha moaned. She was already ready.

"You didn't really think I'd fuck my mother's sister, did you?"

I grabbed the front of Samantha's blouse and ripped it apart, then tore off her bra.
I grabbed her tits, not bothering to be the gentle, patient lover she would have seen
in the DVDs. I squeezed her tits and pinched her nipples roughly.

"I might film you and show it to your husband. Do you still want to fuck your sister's
son?" I growled.

In answer, Samantha's legs weakened and she slumped onto my cock and her hips began
moving back and forth on it. I peered over her shoulder. "Leave It To Beaver" was
just starting on the DVD and Mom and I were getting it on.

I was lost. I tipped my cock upward and slid into Mom's half-sister from behind. I
don't know why you sent those DVDs to her, Mom, but I'm glad you did.

I came to my senses then and managed to do Samantha slowly, gradually building up
until the end of the show was near. That's when Samantha lost all the strength in
her legs and so did I. I let the rope go slack and fell to my knees behind Samantha,
keeping my cock fully ensconced in her pussy. We finished with a rousing, pounding
grande finale. I didn't give a second thought to protection. I filled her with a stockpile
of sperm built up from almost a year's abstinence. If she got pregnant, she would
just have to pass it off as her husband's.

For the next twenty minutes, I leaned back, taking Samantha's weight upon me. My cock
softened a bit but didn't slip out because her love muscle never stopped moving. Whenever
I thought she was done, I would be jolted by a sudden squeeze, or a slow-building
pressure grinder along the full length of my cock. I began hardening and moved my
hands up so I could strum her nipples. Soon, I took them between thumb and forefinger
and teased her by tugging them off her chest. Upon her first whimper, I bulged my
cock inside her but didn't offer a full-length thrust until she uttered her first
real moan. It was a much longer, restrained fuck but no less intense.

After that, I took Samantha upstairs and scrubbed her gently in the shower. While
she dressed, having picked one of Mom's blouses to replace the one I destroyed, I
got the urge again and took her on Mom's bed. It was a long and tender affair, one
that Samantha didn't want to end, probably because she knew we were making love in
Mom's bed.

"Next time, Auntie," I murmured during the afterglow, "I'll make you wait for hours
before we do it. I promise."

"I have a confession to make," Samantha said. "You've made a mistake. I'm not your
mother's half-sister."

I pulled my head back and fixed her with a steady stare.

"You said you were."

"No, you said I was. You said your father told you your mother had a half-sister.
I simply didn't correct you."

"Is this some kind of sick joke?" I demanded angrily, feeling the wonderful glow from
our beautiful afternoon slipping away. "You just thought you'd pretend to be my mother's
sister after you got hold of those DVDs, to see what incest might be like?"

"No. Well, yes, in a way I wanted to see what incest was like."

"Well, you still don't know, you stupid bitch. You have to do it with a relative to
know what it's like."

"I know. Don't be angry, Heck."

"Why the hell shouldn't I be angry. You can't just...you..., wait a minute, how did
you get those DVDs?"

"My mother gave them to me."

"Your mother? Your mother? Who..., is your mother my mom's half-sister?"

"No, Heck."

"Then how did she get them? Why would Mom send them to her? Was she a close friend?"


"No Heck. Slow the fuck down. Listen, they were my mother's, and she sent them to
me before she died."

I shook my head. What the hell was she saying?

Samantha's eyes softened and she reached out to touch her hand to the side of my face.
Confusion reigned within my head and I felt my anger toward her dissipating.

"I'm not your mother's half-sister, Heck. I'm yours."

"What?"

"Your mother was my mother, when she was much younger."

"But Mom was never married before. She and Dad met in high school. Mom couldn't have
had a baby with another boy. Dad would never..."

"She didn't, Heck, but she did have a baby, and the father wasn't another boy, he
was your grandfather."

"Are you trying to say that Mom had her father's baby?"

"Yes, Heck, that's exactly what I'm saying. My father was your grandfather, and my
Mom was your Mom."

I collapsed back on the bed and threw my arm across my eyes.

"I don't believe it."

"You know it's true," Samantha spoke gently, climbing over me until she was lying
on top. "Make love to me again, bro," she laughed. "If you've got anything left."


Holy shit. My mind was reeling so much Samantha had a hell of a time getting me to
rise to the challenge.

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

So that's how I started another family relationship. Samantha and I took up where
Mom and I had left off. One day, upon Samantha's arrival, I noticed Mrs. Draper washing
her car and looking longingly our way. I waved her over.

"That's Mrs. Draper. She's...."

"I know who she is, Heck."

"Oh, of course."

Lisa followed us into the house. As soon as we were inside, she turned to face Lisa
with cocked hip and a sultry smile on her face. The wig came off and was thrown aside.
We all laughed.

Hours later, Lisa and Samantha were lying on the carpet, face to face, their bodies
wrapped in saran wrap to keep them stuck together. They could barely move but did
so continually, both of them working the double-ended dildo between them. I rolled
them over until Mrs. Draper was on top and straddled her ass, about the only part
that wasn't covered in saran wrap. I pulled the butt plug out and showed it to Samantha.
Her eyes widened when she saw it but not as much as when she heard what I said as
I sank my cock into Lisa's ass.

"It's your turn next."

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

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