The Mother Memories Chapter 4

 

           The Mother Memories Chapter 4

I was rewarded with a big smile. “Ok. That’s so sweet of you.” Mom adjusted her position on the seat, with a pleased wiggle as I began pulling the brush slowly and gently through her reddy brown hair.

 

I brushed Mom’s hair for quite a while and after she took the last drink from her mug, she leaned her head back, looked up at my face, and asked me to do the front, meaning the part that draped down over her ears. She closed her eyes, leaving her face turned up toward me, and leaned back against me. That was my undoing.

 

As I looked down, carefully brushing the hair beside Mom’s face, I realized that I had an unobstructed view of Mom’s chest, barely covered by the thin nightgown. It was readily apparent that Mom was not wearing a bra and this time, I definitely noticed that her small but pert breasts were very sexy. I quickly jerked my eyes away but they returned when I realized that with Mom’s eyes closed, I was free to look. I could see the dark red spots encasing her nipples and a thrill rippled through me when I noticed her nipples poking into the silky material of her nightgown. I focused first on one nipple and then the other. As my gaze traveled between them, I realized the sides of her breasts were bare because the nightgown delved down in a big ‘V’ to the top of her tummy.

 

This wonderful vista generated a twinge in my groin and I became suddenly cognizant of a boner growing in my jeans which were pressed against the spongy flesh of my mother’s back. I couldn’t pull away because Mom was leaning too far back and she would have lost her balance. I had to act like nothing was happening. I willed my cock to behave itself, admonishing myself for getting hard while looking at my own mother. When that didn’t work, I started thinking of horrible things, like a hammer smashing my balls on an anvil but even that didn’t work.

 

Mom sighed and purred, “That feels wonderful.”

 

She moved her head slightly from side to side, just enough to press her back harder against my scrotum, my softness slowly stiffening away.

 

“Put the brush down and massage my head like your father does.”

 

I leaned forward to set the brush down on the dresser, my errant appendage pressing even harder into Mom’s back. I worked my fingers over Mom’s head, gently massaging her scalp and then down to erase the stress lines from on her forehead, letting my fingers stretch down her cheeks and along her jaw line before returning to her head, the way I’d seen my father do it many times before.

 

“Mmmmmmmmm,” Mom sighed, slowly twisting her head and neck, making the constrained ball within my jeans grow another inch.

 

Maybe she didn’t realize what was happening to me. Maybe she couldn’t feel it through thick material of my jeans. Of course she can’t, I reasoned, I was no porn star. I relaxed and my eyes strayed back to Mom’s tits, now stretching the nightgown tightly across her upthrust nipples which seemed longer than they were moments before. They may be small, but they were fucking nice!

       

Perhaps because of their subconscious desire to touch Mom’s breasts, my hands dipped lower on their next pass down Mom’s cheeks, below her jaw line, to stroke and massage her neck and throat, an action that pulled her tighter against my bulging jeans. I didn’t realize I was doing it until Mom spoke.

 

“Oh, that feels really nice,” she purred. “I like that.” Mom arched her neck, pushing her head back and stretching her nightgown until her tits looked like they were going to burst through.

 

When I returned to massage her forehead and scalp, I left one hand on Mom’s throat, gently massaging her windpipe and the underside of her chin. Mom purred a constant, throaty appreciation. I was sure that her nipples were definitely longer and her breasts seemed firmer all around, rising more abruptly from her chest. I don’t know how long I massaged her like that but it dawned on me that I wasn’t massaging her scalp so much as stroking her throat and face, and just after that realization I was startled by the sound of my father’s footsteps coming up the stairs.

 

“Your father’s coming,” Mom whispered.

 

I pulled my hands away from her neck and face, her whispered warning suddenly making me see my touch as a caress. My hands returned to Mom’s scalp and her eyes opened just as Dad entered the bedroom. Why had she whispered?

 

“Cliff, you can’t believe the wonderful scalp massage your son just gave me.”

 

“Oh?” my father asked, shuffling toward the bathroom, clearly not interested.

 

“Yes. You could be replaced, not that you’d care,” Mom jibed.

 

“Done,” Dad shot back. “You’ve got a job, Mike. It’s full time if you didn’t already know.”

 

The door closed and a few seconds later the tinkle of Dad’s pee could be heard even through the closed bathroom door. I gently prodded Mom to an upright position and pulled away.

 

“No, don’t go,” Mom protested.

 

“Dad’s going to bed. I should too.”

 

“No. Just a little longer,” Mom begged.

 

“Mom,” I complained, tugging the hand she had captured in her own.

 

“Go get in your pajamas while Dad gets changed and then come back for a while longer.”

 

“Mom.”

 

“Please. That felt so nice. Just a bit more,” Mom whined.

 

“Alright,” I conceded, wanting to escape with my still bulging jeans before Dad came back into the room.

       

Mom let go and I was gone, struggling with my thoughts. She couldn’t have known what was happening or she would have been mad. She certainly wouldn’t have asked me to come back for more. But how could I do it in my pajamas? No, I’d have to keep my jeans on. But she told me to get changed. That’s ok. I’d just stand back so she couldn’t lean back against me, rub her scalp for awhile, and get out.

 

Normally, I slept nude in the summer or with a pair of pajama bottoms from late fall through early spring. Following my habit, I put on a pair of PJ’s and was out the door before it dawned on me that I couldn’t wear just pajamas. What if I got a hardon again? How could I hide it? I returned and put on a pair of jockey shorts, rummaging around for a tight pair that would keep me close. Suitably armored, I put my PJ’s back on and headed for my parents room, resolved to make this a brief as possible to minimize the possibility of facing an awkward, embarrassing situation.

 

Dad was in bed when I entered and the lights had been turned off except for Mom’s the lamp on Mom’s dresser which had been dimmed. I approached Mom, leaving almost a foot between myself and her back, and awkwardly stretched forward to get the hairbrush from the dresser. Mom pushed my hand away.

 

“Just do my scalp like before,” she spoke quietly, glancing at Dad.

 

I looked over at Dad too before I put my hands on Mom’s hair. He was lying on his back with his eyes closed breathing quite deeply if not actually snoring yet. Turning back to Mom, I saw in the mirror that she had noticed where I was looking.

 

“He’s been doing that for about a year now. He goes to sleep as soon as he’s in bed. He’ll start snoring in a couple of minutes.”

 

My fingers were threading through Mom’s hair, pulling it back and away from her fac
e, revealing her relaxed smile. My fingers traced around the edges of her forehead, then down one cheek, under her chin and up the other side of her face, circling her ear to drag her hair out, letting it fall and returning my hand to her forehead to repeat the cycle. Mom closed her eyes.

 

“That’s feels so good, Michael.” Mom turned her face up toward me, I suppose to make it easier for me to reach.

 

I didn’t answer. There was no need, and anyway, I was captivated to the length of her exposed throat. Why should the vulnerability of a woman’s neck be so exciting? Porn sites certainly weren’t populated with pictures of women’s necks. As I caressed Mom’s face, my free hand slipped down to stroke her neck as I had been doing before Dad came upstairs. As that thought filtered through my mind, I glanced his way but he was still lying on his back. The only change I noticed was that he was breathing more deeply and before I looked away, he started to quietly snore. Surprisingly, I was more excited than scared to be touching Mom the way I was with my father lying not ten feet away.

 

For some reason, that brought a smile to my face and it made Mom relax. I could feel the tension flow from her neck on Dad’s first snore and by the third, despite the gap between us, Mom leaned back until her head collided with my groin.

       

I panicked then, sure she would open her eyes and suddenly leap forward, swing around and ask me what the hell was going on. She did no such thing. She just relaxed and let out a contented sigh. There was no adverse reaction about the back of her head resting on a lump that shouldn’t be there.

 

Somewhat mortified, I nevertheless continued Mom’s face and neck massage. What else could I do? As my fear melted away, my attention was once more captured by Mom’s chest. The dim light did little to reduce the illegitimate affect of her breasts, especially since they seemed to be more available than they had been a while ago. I looked closer.

 

Her breasts were covered but the nightgown draped more loosely over them. I could still see the dark color of her areolae and the jut of her nipples which seemed, if anything, to be longer now. Though the nightgown was looser, the edge of the nightgown was closer to her nipples and revealed more of her breasts. The cascade of Mom’s hair over her shoulder as she leaned back explained the physics of the situation. The straps of the nightgown had fallen off Mom’s shoulders to lay loosely on her upper arms, allowing the bodice to slip down her chest. My cock throbbed as this knowledge filtered through my brain.

 

I’m sure the ‘mmmmmmm’ that Mom exhaled at that precise moment was sheer coincidence but it flushed another surge of blood through my organ without evoking any further response from Mom. I continued my massage, acutely aware that my cock was pulsing into the back of Mom’s head and getting harder by the minute.

 

After a few more minutes, I was wishing I hadn’t put on the tightest jockeys I could find because my cock had stiffened so much it was bent quite uncomfortably inside my shorts. Soon, I couldn’t stand it any more and pulled my hips back so I could reach inside my pajamas and shorts to straighten myself. Mom was surprised by my sudden withdrawal but I quickly caught her with my free hand so she wouldn’t fall back and she didn’t open her eyes.

 

When I stepped forward again, I was closer and she was sitting more upright. I resumed my massage by kneading her shoulders and neck to an appreciative murmur, my now upright cock pressing between her shoulder blades and against her neck rather than her head. I looked down to check out her breasts and was pleased to see that the nightgown had fallen further down, catching on her left nipple and leaving the right completely exposed!

 

Her bare nipple was longer than it appeared when covered by the nightgown. My eyes darted quickly from one to the other. Were they different sizes? No, it had to be an illusion. My balls were bursting and I couldn’t stop exerting my own pressure for the first time against Mom’s back. Her free nipple stood out at least three quarters of an inch from her small tit, stiff and proud. How could anyone not be satisfied with that? I imagined the feel of it in my mouth, her soft tit pressing against my lips and tongue while her hard nipple poked into my palate.

       

Oh, god. If only she wasn’t my Mom. I could reach down and grab those tits and squeeze them and lean over to suck that luscious nipple. Mom purred again as I inadvertently kneaded her neck harder. Encouraged, I reckless extended my massage out to her shoulder and beyond, kneading the muscles in her upper arms, pushing in, loosening her nightgown even more and managing to brush her shoulder straps down toward her elbows.

 

Returning my hands to massage her neck and the sides of her face and throat, I eased back a half step, forcing Mom to lean further back like she had before. My cock slid higher into the groove in the back of her neck and I was surprised to sense bare skin. My cock had hardened enough to slip under the waistband of my shorts and pajamas and its head was now rubbing the back of Mom’s neck!

 

Settle down Mike, my brain screamed but my hands kept caressing Mom and my eyes feverishly sought out her chest to check out the results of my slippery handiwork. Her tits were both bare! Completely. The nightgown had slipped right over her breasts and they were both open for my inspection, heaving in unison with her heavier breathing.

 

I stepped closer to Mom, allowing my cock to slide back between her shoulder blades and causing her nightgown to fall ever further as her body returned to a more vertical posture. I concentrated my massage on her face and neck again, sliding one hand gently over her entire face and rubbing the other up and down her throat, allowing my thumb to slip over onto her chin and briefly rest between her lips. After awhile, I let that thumb press down slightly and noticed that Mom left her lips parted, ready to welcome its return. Incredibly, I found myself slightly hunching my cockhead into the hollow between Mom’s shoulder blades as my hand glided up her throat to cup her chin and my thumb inserted itself between her moist lips, even pressing into her mouth to caress the tip of her tongue.

 

Mom was breathing regularly and deeply, almost panting but not quite. Dad was now snoring just as deeply. My eyes were fixed on her tits, on that pair of long, stiff nipples. I dearly wanted to touch one. I could almost feel them in my mouth. Dare I touch one? No! That would be insane. But I couldn’t help thinking about it. God, how I wanted to.

 

And then I did it. I just continued the stroke of my hand down her throat, over the bony part of her chest, to the side and over the top of her right tit, its rigid nipple dragging across my palm. And that produced another shock.

 

Mom didn’t do anything. She acted like I was still just stroking her neck. Her breathing didn’t change. Nothing. No jerk away, no yelling. If anything, her tit pressed into my hand.

 

I slid my other hand from the side of her face and inserted my finger into Mom’s mouth as my other hand closed over her tit, gently squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing. I pushed my cock hard into Mom’s back and inserted my finger further into her mouth as if it was a cock seeking the bottom of her pussy. For a long couple of minutes I kept that up. My finger sliding slowly in and out of her mouth, hand pulsing over her right tit as if I was squishing a bulb, and my cock rubbing up and down her back.

       

This was insane. Unbelievable. Squeezing my mom’s tit, fingering her mouth and dry-humping her back wit
h my father snoring less than ten feet away. Holy fuck.

 

It was the sudden snort from Dad that changed everything. Mom jerked upright, hunching over and turning away from Dad to sit sideways on the bench seat. I jerked my head in absolute fear to look at my father, leaning back on bent knees but hunched forward, my bare cock sticking out above the waistband of my pajamas. He was changing his position, turning on his side, facing toward us. His eyes were closed, but they could open at any minute. Move! Turn away. Get out! Why couldn’t I move?

 

Dimly, I was aware that Mom was turning, swiveling around to face me. Her arms reached out and circled my hips, pulling me close, her forehead resting on my stomach.

 

“Brush my hair,” she hissed.

 

Dumbly I looked down at the hair covering her entire back and falling to her sides, concealing the state of her nightgown. My hand lurched toward the dresser, picked up the brush, and pressed it against the hair in the middle of her back. Dad’s eyes fluttered open but they didn’t seem to focus. He smiled at me and closed his eyes. His breathing began to deepen. My hand pushed the brush down through Mom’s hair.

 

I continued brushing Mom’s hair, my strokes lengthening as my fear subsided. Mom’s hands had slipped down to the side of my thighs, her fingers slipping around to grip their backs. Her forehead was against my stomach, face hidden. Dad’s breathing was almost to snore level, but not quite.

 

I was alive. We hadn’t been caught. Mom had saved me by turning around. Love poured out of me, falling on her hair, over her shoulders and down her back. I love you, Mom. I love you, I thought. What an incredible relief. Mom had saved my life and wasn’t mad at me for what I’d done. I didn’t want her to pull her head away, didn’t want to have to face her. My free hand lightly stroked the back of her head in tandem with my brush hand, gently pressing to keep her head still so she wouldn’t pull back and show me her face with its demand for an explanation. How long could I keep her there? Could I just run away?

 

Dad started snoring, and then something else happened.

 

Mom’s hot breath suddenly blew over my cock. With every stroke of the brush, there was a fresh puff of hot air, enveloping and warming, teasing, tickling, hardening. I quickened my strokes and her breath puffed more often. I pressed my hand more firmly against the back of her head but encountered resistance stiff enough to deny my wish. Still, the hot puffs continued.

 

God, my cock wanted to explode. It was tingling so hard I thought it would burst. I pushed forward, trying to find the source of that magic wind but Mom leaned back. Retracting, Mom leaned forward, shifting her position on the seat and following with her hot breath. Magnificent. I leaned toward her again and this time stepped closer as well. Mom leaned back again but her legs widened to accommodate my move. The hot breath continued though I had stopped brushing her hair.

       

I resigned myself to being a receiver. I wanted to press myself against her mouth but I couldn’t. I wanted to hold her tits again but I couldn’t do that without losing her wonderful maternal breath. I needed to cum!

 

A thought flooded into my mind on the backwash of that mind emptying flush, and I acted upon it. A simple change of footing, one foot ahead of the other, and my thigh, just above my knee, pressed between Mom’s legs, making solid contact with the apex of their connection. Gently, I pressed my knee in, pushing my leg against her pussy, her covering warmth searing around my thigh and rising up to my groin. I timed my presses to her breaths, leaning forward whenever I felt her hot breath on my cock.

 

How quickly we adapted to one another, as if we were genetically attuned. My presses became longer, enjoying both the heat of her connection and the hotness of her longer breaths. I started rubbing, pressing my knee in and rocking it against her from side to side, keeping it there longer than she could possibly expel her hot breath.

 

Gently, I urged her head forward again. She resisted but this time she was the weaker and slowly, slowly, I pressed her reluctant face closer to my cock. But not all the way. I couldn’t get her close enough to make contact though I could tell from the heat of her breath she was only millimeters away. God, what a tease. Please, please, let me touch your face, just once, that will be enough.

 

Then it happened. A thick, warm, wet slug pressed the underside of my cock, pushing, enveloping, sliding over me. Her tongue, her tongue, the thought crashed into my head. I was going to cum. The shock was too much. I could feel it gathering steam, starting to roil up my shaft. Her head was gouging into my stomach, her upper lip prying my head away, fighting against the strength of the two elastics keeping my cock tight to my skin. Hurry, my head yelled. It’s coming. The hot liquid left my balls, entering my shaft, rocketing up. My head tipped forward and Mom’s upper lip slipped over the top of my cock and her teeth grazed my head while her lower lip, softened by her tongue, sweetly tickled the underside of my glans. Splash, splash, splash. In the nick of time. I pushed, shoving more of my cock into Mom’s sweet mouth, gently nudging her tonsils. Squirt, squirt, squirt. I could hear her sucking, gulping, swallowing my copious treat, both hands now holding her head in place, the brush long since dropped to the carpet. She was sucking me now even though I was finished, pulling the dregs from my tip, letting me fuck her mouth with short strokes.

 

       

Finally, she pulled away. She didn’t look at me, swiveling around instead to face the dresser. Her face was turned down but I could see that her eyes were open. Her right hand stretched out, pointing down toward the floor, the strap of her nightgown hanging around her elbow.

 

“Hand me my brush before you go, please,” Mom’s said in a strangely disconnected voice.

 

I picked up the brush and placed it in her hand, turned, and walked away, feeling somewhat divorced from the situation myself.

 

“Michael,” Mom’s soft voice caught up to me.

 

I stopped and turned. “Yes.”

 

“I like my hair brushed every night.” Her voice seemed to echo, like an offstage direction.

 

I nodded, noticing her eyes watching me in the mirror.

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow night then, after Dad’s asleep.”

 

“Ok.” I turned away again, shuffling toward the door.

 

“Michael,” she called in her normal voice.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Say goodnight to your mother.”

 

“Goodnight, Mom … I love you.”

       

 

I didn’t avoid Mom the next day. Not on your life. At breakfast and dinner I tried to send private messages to Mom through meaningful glances but she was oblivious to every one. Not once did I receive an acknowledgement of any kind. Mom didn’t flash me a secret smile or glance, or avert her eyes in sudden discomfort upon interpreting an uncomfortable signal. She was the same mother I had known every day of my life.

 

I hadn’t known what to expect. At first, I was apprehensive because I thought she might be angry with me, that I had forced myself upon her and she had to do what she did so Dad wouldn’t know. But then I remembered the way things had ended and I felt eager to engage her in anticipation of another wonderful evening brushing her hair. The last thing I expected was no change at all.

 

But that’s the way it was. Mom largely ignored when I got home after s
chool, responding only when necessary to my atypical chit chat with her. I gave up and went to my room, as I normally did. Mom’s interaction with Dad was typical and she dealt with me the way she always did after I came downstairs to wait for dinner. Dinner … you guessed it … was exactly the same as any other dinner. Mom chatted about her day, asked Dad about his and me about mine and then she and Dad went to the living room while I cleaned up the table, loaded the dishwasher, and cleaned the counters before joining them to watch some TV.

 

Mom totally ignored my hints about her hair, my attempts to catch her attention, and my long looks at her legs and small breasts. Eventually, I became disgruntled and left for my room to blow off my built-up tension by killing something on the computer.

 

Was this it? Was last night a one-timer? Did she think the easiest way to handle it to pretend it didn’t happen? She hadn’t responded to any of my references to her hair. Though I hadn’t explicitly asked her if she wanted it brushed, she didn’t pick up on the hint. She couldn’t have missed the obvious request so the answer must be no, she didn’t want her hair brushed.

 

I was startled by the quiet knock on my door. Mom came in before I could answer, carrying a mug of hot chocolate. She brought over and set it down on the desk, her hand reaching out to rest across on my shoulders while she looked at the computer screen and the game I was playing. I thanked her for the drink.

       

“I thought you might be studying,” she said, implying she wouldn’t have brought me anything if she’d known I was just playing a game.

 

“No, I just needed to blow off some steam,” I replied. More like frustration, I thought to myself, conscious that Mom was wearing a housecoat which meant she’d already changed for bed. Her hip felt warm pressing against the side of my arm. Mom’s hand lifted from my shoulder and her fingers curled around to play with the hair at the nape of my neck.

 

“Well, that’s one way to do it,” she said.

 

Mom played with my hair for a few more seconds before pulling her hand away and walking to the door where she briefly paused.

 

“Dad’s just gone to bed.”

 

She was gone but somehow it felt like she was still there. It wasn’t just the faint smell of perfume or other feminine products, it was the excited tension her voice had inspired in me. My nerves tingled and I found it hard to breathe. Dad had gone to bed. She hadn’t said goodnight. She’d just told me that Dad had gone to bed, and she’d brought me a drink, implying I should take a few minutes to drink it.

 

I jumped up and stripped my clothes off, lunged to the dresser and grabbed a pair of pajama bottoms and jockey shorts, yanked them on and then searched for a t-shirt. After that I turned for the door.

 

Too quick, I thought, turning back. I’d better finish the hot chocolate. I strode to the desk and picked up the mug, taking a big swig. Shit! I sprayed frothy brown foam all over my LCD screen. Christ, that was hot! I picked up the front of my t-shirt and stuffed it into my mouth, trying to relieve my burning tongue. Jesus!

 

Seeing the stain on my t-shirt, I pulled it off and tossed it to the floor. I began looking for another one but changed my mind. The hell with it. I go the way I was. Thinking about it, I took my pajama bottoms off, stripped off my jockey shorts, and put the pj’s back on by themselves. No guts, no glory, I thought, suddenly riding a wave of confidence again. I returned to the computer desk and slowly sipped the hot chocolate until it was gone. As fast as I could, mind you, but without burning myself again. With confidence and anticipation, I strode out my door.

 

By the time I reached the door to my parent’s room my anticipation was unchecked but my confidence had waned somewhat. Mom hadn’t actually asked me to come. What if Dad was awake? My pajama’s weren’t exactly tenting, shrinkage having wreaked havoc with my new found anxiety, but I was still loose and fancy free under there and anything could happen. I looked down; not now, anyway. I was through the door, having continued walking.

 

The room was dim and filled with the sound of my father’s heavy breathing periodically broken by a soft snore. Mom was sitting in front of the dresser, her back to me. I approached slowly, stepping quietly on the thick carpet. She looked up and smiled as I neared, lifting her right hand over her shoulder, offering the hairbrush. My fingers trembled as I took it. Saying nothing, Mom turned her eyes down, and waited.

       

I pulled the brush through her hair with my first tentative stroke. Mom’s hair was damp and I had to pull harder to force the bristles through her thick mane but not so hard that it would hurt. I worked diligently and actually lost myself in the task, pulling the hair away from her back with one hand to avoid snagging the robe, while tugging the brush through, slowly parting and straightening smaller and smaller bundles of hair. Eventually, I was stroking the full length of her hair without hitting a snag but found it harder to hold her hair away from her back. I kept snagging the robe.

 

After one such incident, probably the thirtieth, Mom lifted both hands to her neck, shrugged and wiggled, and her robe slipped off her shoulders, piling on the seat beside her and falling to hand down to the floor behind her. I continued brushing, expecting to snag her nightgown but encountered no resistance. Perhaps it was one of those ones made with silky material. Being cautious, I decided to pull Mom’s hair away from her back anyway. My knuckles grazed Mom’s back as I gathered her hair to pull it out a bit and was halfway through my brush stroke before I realized that the material was oddly warm and soft. The next stroke confirmed it but it wasn’t until the third stroke, when I peered under the pulled out hair, that I knew for certain that my knuckles had scraped along Mom’s bare back.

 

She wasn’t wearing a nightgown. I pulled her hair way out from her back before applying the brush on the next stroke, opening a long column of bare back, and buttock. Working my way from that side to the center, I was able to see a long column of smooth skin that ended in a canyon that quickly narrowed to a dark crack. I was looking down at Mom’s ass, at least the bit of it she wasn’t actually sitting on. For the first time, my pajamas began to tent. I looked over at Dad. He was still sleeping so my eyes returned to the magic slice of skin.

 

“Something wrong?” Mom’s soft voice startled me. She hadn’t whispered and I looked at Dad again in case he opened his eyes. “He’s sleeping,” Mom added, waiting for an answer her question.

 

I was still holding the hair away from her back, the brush in my other hand waiting to be applied. No wonder she’d asked. I was just staring at her ass crack.

 

“Um … no. I was just … um,”

 

“… going to massage my scalp?” Mom finished for me.

 

“Yeah, that’s … uh, yeah.”

 

Mom held her hand up and I put the brush in it. After putting it on the dresser, Mom leaned back toward me, tipping her face upward, eyes closed. My thighs pressed against her back. I started running my fingers through Mom’s hair and scratching lightly at her scalp. Mom didn’t make an aural response until my fingers slipped down to trace her forehead.

 

“Mmmmmmmmm, I like that,” she purred.

 

I trailed my fingertips around as lightly as I could, carefully running over her closed eyelids, feeling her eyes underneath, running along the side of her nose and then horizontally across her lips.

 

“Mmmmmmmm,” she murmured.

       

I pushed my other hand down to cup Mom’s cheek and let my other fingers slide over her chin and down the length of her neck, gently caressing her exposed throat. Slowly, slowly, I thought. I spent some time tickling around and around on her neck, up and down an also up each side, cradling her head in my other arm, its fingers now stretching across her chin and mouth.

 

She was naked to her waist where the still belted robe covered her lap. But her chest was bare and I had an open view of her breasts, topped by a small, pointier swelling before her nipples, so long, burst forth. I pulled up on her chin, twisting her head back and loving the way her tits pushed out as she arched her back to accommodate the additional stress on her spine. My pajama tent grazed the back of her neck and stayed there as my hand stroked her neck.

 

“Mmmmmmmm,” Mom purred again, her head moving in a small, appreciative oval which caused her neck to rub against my equally grateful cock.

 

I didn’t think I could take a minute of her twisting neck but I did. I let my neck-stroking fingers slide down further, further, until my palm scraped over her hard, long nipple.

 

“Ohhhhhhhhh.”

 

I don’t know which one of said that. Maybe both. I massaged her tit, gently squeezing her nipple. I stepped closer, forcing her more upright, my cock pressing against the back of her shoulders, my other hand stretching down to capture her free tit, fingers enveloping it and pinching that nipple in a gentle vice. I hunched my cock into Mom’s back as I tugged her nipples toward the mirror.

 

“Ohhhhhhhh.”

 

“Mmmmmmm.”

 

We were in perfect tune.

 

I rubbed my palms back and forth over her nipples, bending them all around her tits while I thrust my cock up and down between her shoulder blades. I was going to cum, I was near. My breath was raspy and ragged. Fuck, I was going to cum all over her back. In her hair?

 

Suddenly, Mom leaned way forward and her tits slipped from my hands. I was left leaning over with my hands empty and my pajamas forming a large pyramid in front. Panting, I stared down at Mom, also breathing hard, her head on the dresser, hands laying on its edge at either side of her head.

 

I’d gone too far, got too carried away. She’d stopped me. Was she waiting for me to go? I didn’t want to but could I face her when she turned around? Could I really stay and make her face me? Could I really just leave and pretend this hadn’t happened.

 

Mom’s head lifted, turned sideways toward Dad, briefly, then back down toward the floor. She was turning, away from Dad, spinning on the bench seat the way she’d done last night. Her knees were at the end now and coming around toward me on my side of the bench. I looked down at the top of Mom’s head, she was keeping her face turned down to the floor.

       

Her knees were square to me now and her legs opened. Head still down, Mom’s arms raised and stretched out, closing onto the side of my thighs, hands folding around and pressing me forward, toward her, like last night. I gave way.

 

My thigh once again made contact with the inside of Mom’s and continued pressing until my leg was stopped by the juncture of hers.

 

“Ohhhhhhh,” Mom purred.

 

A warm, damp bristly mat impinged on the soft flesh just above my knee. She wasn’t wearing panties. She was completely naked under that robe.

 

I put my hands gently on the top of Mom’s head and stroked the hair down the sides of her face, pushing it back. Slowly, Mom’s face turned up toward me but stopped when she was looking directly ahead, at my pajama pyramid. Why hadn’t I worn my jockey shorts? If I had, I would surely now be poking outside my pajamas, ready to feel her hot breath, and maybe even her wet tongue. But I was stuck inside, making this ridiculous tent.

 

Mom’s head moved forward and I gathered her hair in my hands, holding it up behind her head as she leaned in. I wanted to pull my pajamas down but was afraid to take the initiative. Please poke out. Please. But I wasn’t long enough.

 

No matter. Mom’s head kept coming and her face bumped my rigid tent, adjusted, and then her mouth slipped over the head of my cock, pajamas and all.

 

“Uuuuuuuhhhhhhh,” I cried, not able to dampen my cry regardless of my father’s presence.

 

“Ohhhhhhhhh,” I cried as Mom’s mouth pressed further, enveloping more of me and my pajamas.

 

Her mouth closed, clamping my cock firmly in her mouth. She didn’t move for several very long seconds. Then, instead of pulling away, as I expected, she began milking my cock, squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing, the same way I had worked on her tits. Mom’s arms circled my hips, pulling me closer, her legs closing on mine, her wet pussy rubbing my lower thigh, faster now.

 

I began to push my pajama-covered cock into Mom’s mouth, trying to fuck it, but I had limited degrees of freedom. Nevertheless, I kept thrusting, she kept milking, I pushed and twisted my knee, and she kept squeezing and rubbing.

 

Suddenly, Mom’s hand slipped down my hips, dragging my pajamas with them just as her mouth yanked off my soaked tent. One brief moment of freedom and my pole was quickly captured again, only this time the captor was warmer, wetter, softer and more vigorous. Mom’s head moved up and down on my cock of its own accord but I helped it along anyway, my own hands pushing and lifting, pushing and lifting.

 

Ah, fuck. The feel of my cock sliding in and out of her tight mouth, amid all those slurpy sucking sounds. Suddenly, I convulsed, bending over, pulling her head to me, keeping my cock shoved in her mouth. My hips were jerking, my spasms unloading my white son’s cream in her throat.

       

“Uggghhh, uggghhh, unnnggghhh.”

 

Finally, I was still. Gradually, the tension in my hips, legs and arms relaxed, releasing her head, her mouth slipping off my sagging cock. It flopped down as soon as it passed her lips. Her head sagged down again.

 

“Away you go now. Off to bed,” she said, like she used to when I was little after kissing me goodnight.

 

I backed away, pulling my pajamas up, my eyes straying belatedly over to check on Dad, relieved that he his eyes were closed even though I knew I was safe before that was confirmed because I he was still snoring. Mom didn’t move the whole time I backed away. She was still hunched over when I left the room.

 

The next day was the same as the day before. Mom acted like nothing had happened. I was relieved because she had looked so dejected when I’d left her room. I didn’t try to badger her this time, didn’t try to send or received any secret signals. I acted just like she did. I didn’t rush when she brought me a mug of hot chocolate. I took my time with it, relishing in her parting words, “Dad’s just gone to bed.”

 

Though I had taken my time, Mom hadn’t yet sat down in front of the dresser when I entered her room. She was just walking out of the bathroom, wearing a white robe that fit her body well. It wasn’t terry cloth or silky but a soft looking material. It was belted at the waist but open down her front to there. Nothing showed because she didn’t have big ones, but I knew those delightful treats were easily accessible.

 

Mom smiled as she passed between me and the bed where Dad was sprawled on his back, snoring quietly with his legs spread wide, and I stood unabashed by the tent already fully formed in my pajamas in full anticipation of tonight’
s brushing.

 

“Hello Michael.” She seemed pleased.

 

“Hi Mom.” My breath was already catching.

 

I started to follow her to the dresser but Mom motioned for me to stay put. She picked up her brush and tapped the light to turn it off, leaving the room lit only by the light that managed to escape the bathroom through the almost closed door.

 

Were we going downstairs? My already hard cock subsided a little. I realized that, despite the fear factor or maybe because of it, I got off on the danger of our little game proceeding in my Dad’s presence.

 

Mom returned, stood in front of me, and handed me the brush.

 

“It must be hard for you to brush my hair standing behind me like that when I’m sitting,” Mom said.

 

“No, it’s ok. I don’t mind,” I replied, not wanting to change anything we did.

 

“No,” she said. “We’ll do it here. It will be easier on you.”

 

I was happy just to hear her say we weren’t leaving the bedroom. I took the brush from Mom’s hand and she stretched up on her toes to give me a kiss on my cheek, then thought better of it and gave me a quick kiss on my lips, directly on my mouth for the first time in my life.

       

Mom turned away and kneeled on the floor, facing the end of the bed. Her hands were busy in front of her and I realized she was pushing the robe off her shoulders. As it fell to the floor, still caught around her waist, she leaned forward to rest her head on the edge of the bed, between Dad’s widespread feet. I fell to my knees behind her, knees straddling her outstretched calves, squatting above her feet. I started to brush her hair.

 

Like the night before, I brushed Mom’s hair for a long time. I knew she was naked under the robe and I was enjoying the anticipation of what was to come, fondling her tits before she turned to take me into her mouth. Eventually, as I brushed, I allowed my free hand to stroke her skin, caressing first her back but then more and more along her sides. I let my fingers stretch around to her front to strum over her waiting nipple, flicking it, sometimes pinching, sometimes grasping and squeezing her whole tit. The way she arched her back and sighed in response, I knew she loved this extended love play.

 

How was this to work, I wondered, when she turned around? We weren’t standing. Should I stand and pull her to her knees? No, that was too one-sided. What if, still kneeling, I forced her thighs around mine so she could rub her pussy on it? Could I then bend her head down to take me into her mouth?

 

Playing the scenario out in my mind made we think, why not get started? Why not press my knee between her legs now? I dropped the brush and the pretense of brushing her hair in favor of continuing to stroke her tit. Now free, I used my hand to pull her feet apart far enough that I could slip my knee between her legs. Quickly, I slid it forward until it nudged her behind. Mom accommodated me, lifting her bum up and opening her legs a little wider. I pushed in further, scraping the top of my knee across the bottom of her pussy.

 

“Ohhhhhhhhh,” I heard what she thought of what I was doing.

 

I continued brushing her tit and reached around with my other hand to similarly treat her other one that had so far been deprived of my attention. I kept pushing and lifting my knee, gently grinding my leg into Mom’s pussy. I could tell this was truly appreciated, not only by the sounds Mom made but also because she stretched her pelvis back so more of her pussy, especially the front, could scrape along my leg.

 

It was after one particularly loving moan in response to a long grind and rub that I decided to hell with it and slipped my hands down from her tits to undo the belt and pull her rob apart. I pulled it out to the right side and let it drop to the carpet. Mom was completely naked before me.

 

I grasped her hips and pulled her back and forth along my thigh, tensing my muscles to make it press harder into her pussy as it moved up and down. She seemed to love that and was really getting into it. Her abandoned response made we think again. I didn’t want to turn her around. I wanted to keep this going. I slipped my right hand down and in, over her belly and between her legs, my fingers stretching down to find her damp pubic hair, following it down until I pierced through her wet slit.

 

In response to her guttural moan, I pushed my fingers into her cunt. She was too far gone to deny me. She needed it. Had Dad fucked he in the last year? Two? I didn’t think so, not the way her cunt grabbed so desperately at my fingers.

       

I pulled up so my palm covered her mound and dug pressed back against her clit, rubbing in a small circle there. Her hips began to gyrate. She was getting really hot.

 

Frantically, I used my free hand to shove my pajamas down, awkwardly catching the waistband on my extremely hard cock, finally getting it free with great difficulty. I kicked her left wide to make room for mine and pulled her hips up, shoving forward to bring my cock below her gaping thighs. When I began to lower her, I think she realized what was happening.

 

“No Michael. No.”

 

But it was too late. My cock was already in her wet slit, spreading her lips, popping inside her hot cunt. As Mom’s knees hit the carpet, I lunged forward, impaling her on my cock, fully embedded inside her clutching pussy.

 

Mom didn’t try to stop me. She didn’t say no again, she just reacted. She seemed just as happy when I moved slowly in and out as when I rapidly jammed myself into her, hammering into her ass cheeks, making a wet slapping sound that should have woken the dead but didn’t wake my Dad. Not that we cared. We were beyond it. We were fucking, intensely joined, rutting like two animals. One arm was curled around her belly while the other held a handful of hair. For some reason, pulling her head back to turn her face up really turned me on.

 

I didn’t ever want to stop fucking her. I was both desperate to cum and wanted to avoid it at all costs. I couldn’t imagine my cock ever pulling out of her. The feel of it sliding through that textured tunnel was exquisite. I couldn’t live without it, my mother’s pussy, the feel of her ass billowing against my hips as my cock dug deep into her cunt. I came hard, spewing my seed in a series of wild, lunging thrusts, slowly winding down until I was still.

 

But I didn’t pull out. We leaned, her against the bed, me on her back, gasping for breath. I kept myself pressed tightly to her ass, keeping my cock inside that incredible warmth. As our breath returned and I could sense she was ready for me to pull out, I began moving again. A couple of tiny thrusts. I’m sure she thought I was taking those last, saddened pokes before leaving but I kept it up and by the time she realized what I was doing, as my cock stiffened inside her, she was ready too and started squeezing my shaft, pulling on it, welcoming it with a warm cuntal hug.

 

I pulled Mom away from the bed and turned her, pushing her down to the floor. She spread her legs wider and raised her hips, opening herself to my attack. After a while, I closed her legs and pulled her up to her knees, keeping her head down on the carpet. I got to my feet and straddled her, attaining an angle that allowed me to reach maximum depth inside her maternal womb. We ended with her flat on the floor, legs together with me sitting on her thighs, cock embedded in her pussy, grinding away as I held an ass cheek in each hand.

 

I came and then leaned forward, stretching my body over top of hers, kissed her on her mouth and whispered in her ear, “Tomorrow?”

 

M
om nodded, exhausted.

       

Wouldn’t it be nice to say that the next day was the same? That Mom continued playing the same innocent “I’m just your mom” game until her evening mutation into my woman. But the next day was different. The first day I had tried so hard to make a special connection, and the second day I resigned myself to the “I’m just your mom” gig, but the third day was Saturday and all of us were home all day.

 

One difference was that I stayed home whereas usually I hung out with my friends until dinner and then went out again. Typically, I was home no more than an hour after I got up and though Dad didn’t seem to notice anything different, Mom certainly did. She seemed antsy but didn’t say anything directly, instead asking how such and such a friend was, and I haven’t seen so and so for a long time … that kind of thing. But I didn’t bite on her ploy to ferret out an explanation for why I was staying home.

 

It took me a while but it eventually dawned on me that Mom was having trouble ignoring me. She wasn’t angry about me making suggestive remarks, or casting long yearning glances her way. Unlike the first day, I wasn’t doing any of that. It was as if my mere presence bothered her. To be clear, she didn’t seem angry or upset in that way. It was more like she was having difficulty acting normal with me constantly there, as if she couldn’t concentrate because she was aware of me all the time. I think I was making her excited.

 

It was in her mannerism somehow that I couldn’t precisely define. In her voice, for sure. There was a nervousness, a fragility that made her voice sound as if she was holding her breath, like she might if she was stepping gingerly over some sharp pebbles.

 

I tried hard not to glance her way and probably didn’t succeed but I certainly didn’t leer or let my eyes dwell on her body. But neither did I leave. I stayed near her. At one point late in the morning, when Dad left the kitchen to visit the bathroom, I sauntered over to where she was standing and stood beside her.

 

Looking out the window as she was, I casually remarked, “You look really nice today Mom.”

 

“Oh?” she replied wistfully.

 

“Yeah,” I said. “I don’t know what it is but there’s something special about you today.”

 

I didn’t touch her or say anything more. I left it at that. When I heard Dad approaching I simply walked away, outside, signaling my understanding that this special moment was over, that it wasn’t to be shared with anyone no matter how close or important. It’s hard to describe but that quiet moment seemed more intimate than the previous night when I lay on top of her with my softening cock still dripping between her legs. The connection was ephemeral yet concrete and enduring.

 

Later that afternoon, long after lunch, I was standing in the same spot looking out the back window watching Dad gardening in the back yard near the greenhouse. Mom came in quietly behind me and I didn’t notice her until she stood beside me, resting one hand on the counter in front of us. She looked out the window just as Dad stood and carried something into the greenhouse, leaned my way and pressed her hip against mine, curling her arm around my waist to rest her hand on my hip.

       

“He certainly enjoys his gardening these days, doesn’t he?”

 

“Yes,” I agreed, slipping my arm around her, resting it in the same spot on her hip.

 

“He’s more and more in his own world this past year,” Mom said, stating a fact rather than complaining.

 

I pulled her closer and she leaned her head toward me as her body was pressed more tightly to mine. I kissed the top of her head and let my hand fall, sliding from her hip to loosely cup the denim covering her buttock, my fingers finding and resting in the little hollow on the side while my palm experienced the full jut of her cheek.

 

“You’re not alone,” I whispered.

 

Mom’s arm squeezed me tighter but she didn’t reply. When Dad exited the greenhouse and walked toward the house, we parted again in tacit agreement that this was another moment meant only for us.

 

The rest of the afternoon passed slowly and dinner was excruciating. I told Mom and Dad I was going out. Mom looked surprised and I think a little disappointed. I wasn’t actually going anywhere, having already told my friends I was sick but I had to get out of the house. I drove around for an hour or so and returned home. It wasn’t even ten but when I entered the darl house I knew right away that my parents had gone to bed.

 

As I topped the stairs, I was disappointed to see no light shining from Mom’s bedroom, not even the dim light from her dresser. I went into my room and got changed for bed anyway, thinking I would play some games or cruise the net. I couldn’t believe Mom hadn’t waited for me after the ‘understanding’ we had shared earlier today. Naked, I searched for a new pair of pajamas but there weren’t any fresh ones in my drawer, nor could I find the ones I’d worn last night. I guess Mom had put them in the wash sometime during the day. I sat down at my computer buck nake but within moments I stood up, bored and uninterested in games or the web.

 

I don’t know why I wandered out of my room and down the hall to Mom’s room. The door was open about a foot and I quietly slipped inside and stopped, letting my eyes get used to the dark, listening past my Dad’s snoring for any sign that Mom was not asleep. I stepped closer, straining to hear and was startled when my foot bumped into another.

 

“Mom?” I whispered.

 

“Michael?” Mom’s reply drifted faintly from below, directly in front of me.

 

Cautiously, I stepped forward, hands stretched out feeling the darkness, expecting to make contact with her sitting on the end of the bed. How long had she been waiting in the dark? Why hadn’t she said something when I walked by when I first came home. How could her foot be stretched out so far? Just as I realized that she must be sitting down on the floor at the end of the bed, my knees collided with her chest. I started to kneel down but I was too close to the bed and my knees bumped against the end of the mattress, catching on the boxspring below it.

       

Mom’s hands were on my thighs, sliding up toward my hips. I was off-balance, only my knees pressing against the mattress kept me from falling onto Mom. I was startled again when my cock brushed by the side of Mom’s face, scraping by her ear and nestling in her hair. Christ, I didn’t have any clothes on. I’d forgotten. About to apologize, ready to spring back onto my feet, I was blocked by Mom’s hands grasping my hips. Her face pulled away but returned immediately. I could feel my tip bumping against her cheek, her chin and lips, and then it was wet, sliding into Mom’s mouth. Her fingers gripped my ass, pulling my cheeks, holding me inside.

 

Slowly, her head started moving back and forth and in no time I could the sound of her wet, sloppy cocksucking. I put my hand onto the bed to brace myself, a minute later leaning further forward onto my elbows, my hips moving slightly as I began fucking Mom’s face. It wasn’t gently. We were both too eager. Her teeth scraped my cock but I didn’t care. I shoved faster and faster into her face. I was too hepped up, I needed release. Too long a day, too much thinking, not enough fucking. Until now that is. My hips were bucking. How could that loud slurping not wake my father? Oh shit, my cockhead was vibrating, it was coming, bolting up my shaft, into her, gush, gush, gush. I could hear her, swallowing, then gurgling like she was drowing, then swal
lowing again, gulping. I tensed all my muscles, urging my sticky seed out, needing to fill her.

 

I was done. I slipped back, now finding it so easy to fall to the floor, straddling her thighs, collapsing against her, feeling her tits poke into my chest. She was naked. There was no robe. She had been sitting on the floor at the end of the bed, waiting, naked.

 

My wet cock pressed into her stomach, and I involuntarily hunched into her, fucking her torso for several thrusts. I leaned down and pressed my face to hers, feeling her wet cheeks. It was tears, not my cum.

 

“Mom?” I whispered.

 

“Michael … oh, Michael,” she mumbled.

 

I stood up, finding and pulling her hands with me.

 

“Come on,” I urged, tugging her toward the door.

 

“No, I can’t,” she whispered.

 

“Yes,” I whispered, more urgently. I pulled harder but her hands pulled out of mine.

 

I bent down but couldn’t retrieve her hand. Instead, I found her foot and curled my hand around her ankle. Lifting her leg, I pulled her across the carpet, through the door and into the hallway where the dim light from my open bedroom door highlighting her curves and casting shadows in her feminine valleys. Her eyes watched me as I dragged her like a caveman toward my room, luscious brown hair trailing on the carpet behind her. She made no protest, not by sound or struggle.

       

 

I pulled her well into my room, dropped her foot to the floor with a dull thud, and closed my door. Returning, I briefly surveyed my prize, then knelt between her legs, lifting her knees and pushing her legs back toward her chest. Scooting underneath, I rose up on my squatting feet and nudged my cock into her open slit, lifted a little more to improve my angle, and slid home with a loud grunt.

 

“Unnnnnghhhhh,” Mom responded to my first long thrust.

 

I stayed bottomed inside her while I adjusted my stance, pushing her legs back even further. I started fucking her, holding her knees tight to her chest, hands gripping her small tits, staring intensely into her eyes. I didn’t fool around. I didn’t vary my pace or try to be cute. I simply fucked her, straight and hard. I wasn’t in a hurry. Filling her mouth had freed me from any such desperate need. I just wanted to fuck her long and hard. Not once did I look away and neither did her eyes waver. I loved fucking her like this. She couldn’t move, she could only take me. And she did, pulling more and more from me, wresting control away from me until much later, when my cock was digging into her at a furious pace, and her eyes pleaded for release though our grunts and moans. I spewed all of my spunk inside her bare, unprotected cunt as her feet tried desperately to hold me closer, her heels digging into my shoulders.

 

A long time later, when my cock dropped out of her pussy followed by the dregs of my white cream, I stood and helped her to her feet. Wordlessly, she turned to walk back to her room but I pulled her back and took her in my arms, hugging her closely for over a minute. Our heads finally pulled back and we kissed. On the lips at first, just a light brushing, but quickly followed by several deep, tongue lashing duels. We were breathing faster when we finished. Mom pulled away again, our hands joined, stretching out as the gulf between our bodies widened but at that last moment, when our fingers should have parted, I pulled her to me again.

 

Mom rolled into my arms, expecting another long kiss, but I turned her and pushed her toward my bed. Belatedly, she realized what I was doing and protested but I pushed her forward until she fell on her tummy across my bed, knees and feet dangling over the edge. She tried to push herself up but I pressed her down with a hand in her back while my legs nudged hers apart. She was still.

 

I spent a few minutes arranging her hair until it was spread evenly over her back, untangled. She waited patiently while I did this, seeming to enjoy it as much as I did, as if she could see how beautiful her hair was through my eyes.

 

I bent my knees, my now hardening cock reaching for the juncture of her legs, finding her pungent pussy and pushing in, slowly, until I was all the way in. Her arms stretched out and her hands grasped the far side of the mattress. I leaned over her back, bringing my head close to hers.

 

“I love being inside you,” I whispered.

 

“Then fuck me,” she said, pushing her ass up and back, clamping down, and pulling on my cock.

       

I have started this thread in anticipation of finding a specific version of story in “The Mom Memories” series by alwayswantedto, but still couldn’t find it. Dear readers, if you’ve come across part-2 of “Evan’s story” in the series  please post it here in the replies.

I very much admire sarit11’s efforts in posting the stories of the great author alwayswantedto. Thank you very much sarit Garu. But please try to find the entire story of Evan if possible.

Comment reply or suggest

I have started this thread in anticipation of finding a specific version of story in “The Mom Memories” series by alwayswantedto, but still couldn’t find it. Dear readers, if you’ve come across part-2 of “Evan’s story” in the series  please post it here in the replies.

I very much admire sarit11’s efforts in posting the stories of the great author alwayswantedto. Thank you very much sarit Garu. But please try to find the entire story of Evan if possible.

I have got all the 20 chapters of The Mom Memories from Literotica as well as 14 more of individual stories of which Evan’s story is one of them.

I will post Evan’s story in a separate thread.

Brushing Mom’s Hair

Ch. 3 – Son enjoys more than Mom’s hair.

Mom had gone all the way. Well, now that she’d been mine, she’d be available whenever

I wanted her. So went my false male logic, or at least the limited logic of an inexperienced

young man. Of course, things turned out to be a little more complicated than that.

 

 

The next day was Sunday and I expected to have access to Mom as soon as I could pry

her away from Dad. It was a beautiful, sunny morning and Mom matched the day with

white shorts and a multi-colored knitted top made of a stretchy material with a knitted

look, the kind worn like a band covering a woman’s chest but leaving her shoulders

and tummy bare. It was perfectly suited for a woman with smaller breasts because it

lifted them, making them seem larger and more prominent, while emphasizing their shape,

greatly improving their sex appeal.

 

This sight wasn’t lost on me when I joined my parents in the kitchen for breakfast.

Dad was holding his coffee in one raised hand as he read the morning paper and Mom

was just setting his breakfast plate on the table in front of him. Her tanned torso

greeted me as I passed through the doorway and my eyes immediately latched onto her

shapely top. She asked me what I wanted for breakfast, offering a couple of selections

as I clumsily sat in my chair, the rest of my brain struggling with insufficient resources

to properly manage that simple task.

 

I noticed another thing while Mom repeated the breakfast options. Although she was

a thin woman Mom had a wonderfully full and sensuous oval navel rather than the little

button type. When I finally looked up, she was regarding me with a smug smile, obviously

amused by my intense appreciation of her … summery attire.

 

“Well?” she asked as my face reddened and my eyes darted toward my thankfully ob
livious

father.

 

I was at a loss for words. Mom reached out to cup my chin in her hand.

 

“You look tired. Didn’t you sleep well last night?”

 

Again, I didn’t know what to say, surprised by her allusion to last night’s activies.

 

 

Mom’s smile broadened. “I think you should have a nap this afternoon if you’re going

to come to the theater with us tonight. What do you think, Cliff?”

 

“What?” my father looked up, not really aware of what had been said.

       

“Michael. He looks so tired. He should have a nap this afternoon before going to the

theater with us tonight.”

 

“Theater?” Dad repeated.

 

Mom’s smile, which had changed to feigned concern, now morphed into an exasperated

expression. “Yes, the theater. We’re going to the theater, and you’re both going to

rest this afternoon. I don’t want either of you nodding off and embarrassing me.”

 

 

“Yes dear,” Dad hid his face in the paper again. I began to protest but Dad spoke

without raising his head, “No arguments, Mike. Do as your mother says.”

 

“Ok Dad,” I capitulated.

 

Mom had turned and walked back to the counter and my attention was drawn away by the

white shorts which clung to her bottom, her bare midriff and tanned legs accenting

the flare of her hips from her narrow waist. Last night I had straddled and pushed

my cock between those thighs but it had been too dark to appreciate the lovely shape

of her buns. I was certainly appreciating them now but was caught again when Mom turned

to look back at the table. She smiled and didn’t seem upset when she saw the direct

line from my eyes to her shorts.

 

“It’s going to be hot today. I might have a rest myself,” Mom said. Continuing after

a short pause, she mused, “I wonder what I should wear tonight?”

 

Mom drew her arm back, bent her elbow, and placed her hand on her right buttock, bending

her knee to cock her hip and push her bun up to fill her hand. Her waist kinked inward

and forced her right breast tightly into her top, making it quite clear that this

was indeed a tit. My morning hardon, which had recently subsided, started to regenerate.

 

 

I guess Mom couldn’t make up her mind about what to wear because she resumed the activities

she’d been engaged in before striking that erotic pose. A moment later she brought

two bowls of yogurt and fruit to the table, one for me and one for herself. She sat

down, turning her chair so she could stretch her legs, one on top of the other, toward

my end of the table. I ate my fruit but my eyes were on her legs, especially the upper

one whose foot was bouncing up and down above the other.

 

Mom didn’t talk. She amused herself by watching me look at her legs. When I looked

up, she smiled and put a spoonful of yogurt and fruit into her mouth, turning the

spoon over and leaving it inside, slowly sucking off its contents as she pulled it

out. It was such a blatantly seductive action I couldn’t help staring, immobilized

except for my eyes which followed Mom’s delicate hand as it set the spoon down and

then joined its partner at opposite sides of her top. Her torso wriggled as her fingers

tugged at the top, evidently adjusting it to make her breasts more comfortable. Even

through the thick material I could discern the presence of Mom’s nipples. Belatedly,

I lifted my eyes to find that Mom had been watching me and once again my face reddened.

       

She toned down the seductive moves after that which allowed me to stand and leave

after eating breakfast without having to hide myself from Dad. I would have hung around

longer but Dad didn’t seem in any hurry to leave and Mom stayed in the kitchen. When

Dad offered to go out to pick some things up for Mom, my heart and cock leapt for

joy but were quickly disappointed when Mom cheerily said she’d join him. I was stunned.

Why the big tease if she was going to throw away the chance to be together for an

hour or so? I desperately wanted to be with her but she smilingly left with Dad. They

didn’t return for hours, well after lunch in the middle of the afternoon. They had

stopped to eat, Mom said.

 

“Have you eaten?” Mom asked. I shook my head in response.

 

“Can you bring in the other bags,” she said to Dad, “while I make this brat a sandwich?”

 

 

By the time Dad brought in the rest of the stuff I was already wolfing down the sandwich.

Dad was about to sit down to join us when Mom told him to go upstairs and have a nap

before dinner and she’d be up in a few minutes after she made sure I did the same.

Mom busied herself putting stuff away in the cupboards but she didn’t strike any seductive

poses like she had in the morning, she was just her normal, efficient self.

 

When she finished, she walked over near the doorway and leaned against the end of

the counter, facing me. I had just finished eating. Mom leaned over to wipe a bit

of mustard from the corner of my mouth and I grabbed her hand, trying to pull her

toward me.

 

“No,” she pulled back hard enough that I let her hand go. “I really want you to have

a rest.”

 

About to argue, I was silenced when Mom moved her hips in a small, seductive oval.

 

 

“Will you do as I ask?” , her strangely elusive morning smile returned.

 

I nodded. “Yes.”

 

“Come on, then.”

 

Mom walked away and I followed her upstairs, greatly enjoying the action of her shorts

as she led the way. She turned into her room, taking my hand and pulling me in behind

her. Dad was in his usual sleeping position but was lying on top of the bed, fully clothed.

 

“Thanks for your help, Michael. You know how useless Dad is at this kind of thing,”

Mom spoke in a semi-whisper.

       

I had no idea what she was talking about. She pulled me toward the walk-in closet

and I turned to look at Dad and then forlornly at the makeup dresser that now held

such a special place in my heart, and another organ.

 

“Thank god I have someone to help me choose what to wear,” Mom said in that same,

half normal, half quiet voice.

 

Dad was breathing regularly but wasn’t snoring, and the room was barely dim even though

the curtains had been drawn.

 

Mom entered the closet and began moving clothes about, evidently not worried about

the noise of rustling hangers. I stood in the doorway, watching her petit but lithe

body.

 

“How about this?” Mom held out a dress, still on its hanger. She quickly discarded

it and held another in front. “Or this?”

 

I nodded to both. Mom retrieved two more dresses while I looked confused at the dresses

she had so casually tossed to the floor, quite unlike her.

 

“This one?” she asked, holding a green dress that nicely offset her long, auburn hair.

 

 

“Or this?” Mom held up a similarly colored dress made of a silkier material.

 

I nodded, “Yeah.”

 

Mom tossed the rejected dress to the floor and pulled the winner off its hanger. She

held the dress out to me, “Hold this.”

 

I had to step inside the closet to reach the dress.

 

Mom slipped her flats off, then said, “Turn away for a minute.”

 

I turned my head away but Mom’s hand reached out and turned my face back toward her,

holding it ste
ady for a few seconds. I realized then the instruction was spoken for

my father’s benefit. Looking me straight in the eye, Mom suddenly crossed her arms,

grabbed her top and pulled it over head, then tossed it to the floor. Her mouth opened

in a silent laugh as her breasts bounced on her chest, her expression of mirth fading

to a smile as the enthusiastic chorus settled down, flatter I’m sure than when she

was young but now accompanied by larger, more mature nipples. Mom seemed pleased by

my very appreciative regard, my eyes actually jouncing in unison. I stepped toward

her but she held her hand up to stop my advance, taking the dress when I jerked to

a stop.

 

Mom pulled the dress over her head and settled it over her body. The front dipped

low in the front and left a wide gap through which the sides of her tits were visible.

Looking down, following my gaze, Mom pulled the two sides of the dress together, fingers

twisting some kind of snap into place that held the dress together while still leaving

tantalizing glimpses of the breasts underneath. She looked beautiful and very sexy.

       

“Ok, you can look now. What do you think?” Her smile was huge, clearly showing her

pleasure.

 

My thoughts were obvious but Mom suddenly seemed unhappy with the way the dress caught

at her hips, pulled the hem up and fiddled about for a few seconds, then stooped down

and pulled her shorts over her feet, tossing them onto the pile of discarded clothing.

She smoothed the dress down over her almost nude body — no, make that completely

nude body as I now noticed a pair of panties inside the discarded shorts — bereft

of anything unnatural that could cause an unseemly lump.

 

“Well?”

 

“Awesome Mom. You look really nice. Dad will be pleased.”

 

Mom smiled. “And you?” she whispered.

 

I nodded enthusiastically, growing a huge smile, and started toward her again. Mom

motioned me to stop but wasn’t fast enough to stop me from taking her into my arms

and crushing her body against mine. I buried my mouth into her neck and moaned, one

hand sliding down over her bum while the other moved up to encompass her breast.

 

“No, Michael, no,” she hissed into my ear. “Not now,” her whisper was urgent. She

pushed me away hard.

 

I stood, slightly bent as if still holding her, panting, feeling empty.

 

She stepped closer to me and whispered in my ear. “Daytime is for your dad; nighttime

is for you,” she consoled me. Pulling back at bit, she continued, “Go lay down for

awhile and think of me, like I’m going to think of you, until tonight.” Mom kissed

my ear, brushing past me as she walked out of the closet.

 

I composed myself and followed. Mom was already lying on the bed beside Dad. I walked

toward the door, but Mom called out before I reached it.

 

“Wake us before dinner, Michael.”

 

I turned to look at her. She was lying on her back, propped up on a couple of pillows

with her feet stretched out but when my eyes turned her way, she pulled one knee up

and to the side, opening her legs and letting the dress slide down to her hips. One

arm languidly stretched out, its hand lazily curling down, slowly dropping until it

rested between her creamy thighs. Her fingers pressed in and moved.

 

“Ok dear?” she asked.

 

I nodded, eyes gripped by her rustling fingers. She enjoyed her audience for a moment,

then shooed me away with her free hand. Reluctantly, I left.

 

I almost yanked my cock off in the bathroom and, yes, I didn’t think about anything

else but her.

       

We had a quick dinner and got dressed for the theater. Mom came downstairs wearing

a different dress than the sexy number she had tried on earlier in the afternoon.

This one fell closer to her knees but displayed the top of her small bosom through

a square-cut bodice that was large enough to almost show her nipples. Her legs attracted

my attention because the high heels caused her calf muscles to tense nicely with each

step. At the door, as Dad put his coat on, Mom asked me to help her with a shawl she

pulled out of her purse. As I stood behind her, arranging the silky shawl with fashionably

frayed edges, I couldn’t help looking over her shoulder and down her dress at her

loosely confined, braless breasts despite the fact that my father was standing right

next to us.

 

At the car, I held the door for Mom and though the dress was conservative, I did enjoy

the sight of Mom’s lower legs as she teasingly pulled them slowly inside. The theater

wasn’t a fancy affair, it was more of a small community effort. Mom removed her shawl,

folded it neatly, and put it on her knees. As she chatted to Dad, it fell between

her legs and was in danger of falling to the floor except Mom caught it and pulled

it higher. Mom checked the shawl’s status several more times as she talked to my father,

each investigation resulting in a short tug higher up the seat. I wasn’t really that

interested in the shawl, other than its removal from Mom’s shoulders and subsequent

revelation of her open-necked dress, but every time Mom assured its safety by pulling

it further from the edge of the seat, her hand happened to brush the hem of her dress

higher up her legs. Now, that was worth watching.

 

At one point, Mom lifted and opened her legs to make room for the folded shawl, bringing

her hem more than halfway up her thighs. Just before the play started, she pulled

the shawl out and spread it over her lap but I noticed she didn’t push her dress back

down. Our seats were near the back under the balcony so when the play started and

the lights dimmed, it became quite dark. After a while, my eyes grew accustomed to

the darkness and I noticed that when Mom leaned forward to see better, catching the

light from the stage, I could see down her bodice as the material fell away from her

breasts. I leaned forward with her to extend my viewing time.

 

Mom had laid her hands on each arm of her chair, one over mine and one over Dad’s.

After one hard look down Mom’s front, I looked over at Dad when Mom leaned back to

make sure he hadn’t noticed my transgression. I don’t think Mom was aware of my illicit

attention but I was relieved to see that Dad was already glazed over and may have

been actually dozing with his eyes open.

 

Working my hand loose from Mom’s grip, I let it fall from the armrest on Mom’s side.

Though I didn’t move, I’m sure Mom was aware of the light touch on her thigh and,

a minute later, I knew she had to have felt my hand move underneath the shawl. I reasoned

that her lack of response meant she had decided to allow my touch under the discreet

cover of darkness even with, or maybe because of, my father’s presence right beside

her. I played it safe for awhile, just letting my hand rest on Mom’s thigh under the

shawl.

       

Mom quickly returned her attention to the play, periodically leaning forward in reaction

to the play. Under the cover of one of these movements, I signaled my own pleasure

by slightly digging my fingers into her thigh. I could tell she was aware of it by

the tightening of the skin beside her eyes, but again, she allowed it. It wasn’t long

before I did it again and soon I moved my hand from the outside of her thigh to the

top, letting my fingers hang inside, and gently squeezed her muscle there in a continuous,

pulsing caress. Although it was about
no more than I had accomplished on dates as

an adolescent, it made me much more horny. I was sporting a very large boner and had

difficulty trying to straighten it with my free hand without the person sitting next

to me realizing what I was doing.

 

Much later, I was startled by the intermission but managed to extract my hand as light

flooded the theater. Dad opened his eyes, trying to look like he’d been watching all

along. Perhaps feeling guilty, he eagerly offered to get Mom something from the concession

when she declined the invitation to stretch her legs with him. Mom didn’t mention

my leg activity to me after he left but chatted about the play before asking me if

I was enjoying myself; a leading question. I enthusiastically assured her that I was

just as Dad retuned. The second act started shortly thereafter.

 

Mom fidgeted in her seat for the first few minutes but she eventually settled down.

I watched Dad to see if he was now sufficiently refreshed to pay more attention but

he soon acquired the glazed look he displayed through the first half of the play.

When I observed that, I dropped my hand to the side of Mom’s leg and quickly slid

under the shawl to resume massaging her thigh.

 

I could feel the hem of Mom’s dress under my palm but was startled to feel a new material

with my fingers. It was her nylons but it wasn’t the harsher material that encompassed

most of a woman’s legs, it was the softer band of material at the top that wound around

the upper thigh. I turned to look at her just as the audience broke into gentle laughter

and Mom leaned forward again as she had in response to similar stage moments. I had

the feeling, though, that this time Mom’s amusement wasn’t all directed at the play.

She didn’t look at me but I think she quite enjoyed my surprise at finding that her

dress had moved significantly higher, almost up to her panties.

 

The next time Mom leaned forward, I leaned with her, sliding my hand between her legs

towards her knees. When she leaned back, I followed, pulling my hand back to the hem

of her dress. My fingers came to rest above the top of her nylons on bare skin. Oh

man, the softness of a mature woman’s thighs. Even then, at that age, I knew that

girls may have tighter skin but it lacked the softness found on a mature woman. I

don’t know why that is, it just is.

       

Anyway, when my fingers first felt the tender inside of her thigh, I pushed my hand

deeper between her legs, down to the seat cushion, and curled my hand so my fingers

were pointing back toward her panties. Mom’s hand moved quickly in response to my

move but I was surprised when, instead of blocking or grabbing my hand, she simply

rearranged the shawl to better cover my presence in her lap.

 

As soon as I realized what she’d done, I moved my fingers up and down, brushing the

inside of both legs since I was so close to her sexy ‘V’. So incredibly soft to the

touch, the feeling accentuated by the heat emanating from her center. I was intensely

excited as my fingers plied her sensitive tissue while my eyes fixated on the stage

props. I wasn’t capable of following an actor around. I tickled the inside of Mom’s

legs for a long time and I knew she loved it because she tried several times to shift

closer to my teasing fingers, and once even attempted to pull my hand back.

 

What stopped me from pushing my fingers onto her panties, you might ask, or even into

her waiting pussy? Concern about getting caught? No, I was too far gone for that to

even cross my mind. Why then?

 

Payback, that’s why.

 

Just as I was about to push my fingers onto her damp panties, and maybe beyond, I

remembered the way she had teased me in the afternoon. ‘Not in the day’ she had said.

Well, I’d show her what it felt like to come so close only to be denied. I couldn’t

do anything for myself anyway, not in here, and if I kept it up, I might not be able

to walk out of the theater without borrowing Mom’s shawl to cover a pair of wet pants.

 

 

Mercilessly, I fluttered my fingers near Mom’s pussy but refused to bless her with

a direct touch. It was probably just as well since she probably would have had an

obvious orgasm, as I was in danger of doing. That didn’t stop me from teasing her,

suddenly flicking my fingertips near after drawing further and further away, only

to repeat the long slow progression of my fluttering fingers back up her thighs.

 

This time, I barely managed to get my hand out when the lights came on and Mom struggled

to get her dress pulled down without being noticed, especially by Dad. Thank god he

was groggy and nobody else was paying us any attention. I had to steady Mom several

times as we left the theater. At the car, Mom didn’t stop her dress from riding up

her legs as she sat in the seat before swinging her feet inside the car, and Dad surprised

me by getting into the back seat behind Mom.

 

“You better drive, Mike. I had a little wine at intermission.”

 

He could have only had one glass more than an hour earlier so I was sure he was ok

to drive. He clearly wanted to snooze in the back to avoid dissection of the play

and risk providing incriminating evidence of his lack of knowledge about the show.

By the time I had started the car, done up my belt, and turned around to back out

of the parking space, Dad had closed his eyes and stretched his legs into snoozing

position. Turning forward to put the car in drive, I saw that Mom’s dress was more

than halfway to her hips, leaving a lot of her thighs showing, enough that I could

see bare skin above the tops of her nylons. In her struggle with the seatbelt, she

had leaned toward me and was sitting closer to the middle of the car than the door,

and slightly facing my way.

       

I maneuvered the car into line and slowly made our way out of the parking lot with

everyone else. I checked the mirror to make sure Dad’s eyes were still closed and

was pleased to observe his head lolling against the rear seat. Though we weren’t yet

out of the parking lot and the car was awash in light from nearby stores and cars,

I reached over to put my hand possessively on Mom’s thigh, fingers draping between

her legs. Mom’s gaze remained fixed ahead. She didn’t react at all. Encouraged, I

pushed my hand deep between her legs, like I had in the theater, and slid it back

toward her.

 

This time, I cupped her panties with my fingers, letting them move a little as we

inched along. We were driving alongside a sidewalk and one couple definitely noticed

my hand shoved up Mom’s dress as they walked by but Mom ignored them, seemingly unaware

of their presence let alone their giggles and stares. By the time we left the parking

lot and turned into the street, I was actively rubbing Mom’s panties and evenly dividing

my attention between the road, the mirror to check on Dad, and watching my hand moving

between her legs.

 

She had her first orgasm as we curved away from the street and accelerated up the

on ramp. As soon as I safely merged into the slow lane and then over into the middle

lane, I pulled my hand up until my fingers could push underneath Mom’s panties. I

shoved them into her wet slit as I attained highway speed. Driving down the highway,

I gently moved my fingers up and down in her slit, slowly finding it easier and easier

to fit inside her. I played around for quite awhile before suddenly pushing two fingers

inside her. I jiggled my
hand as I drove, amused by how she managed to appear as if

nothing was happening. Did she realize Dad was dozing with his eyes closed? After

all, he wasn’t snoring and she didn’t have a rear view mirror like I did. We were

more than halfway home when Mom suddenly grabbed my arm and started gently humping

my hand. She wasn’t loud but if Dad had been awake there would have been no doubt

about what was happening.

 

“Oh god, oh god … uhhhh … unnnnggghhh … uhhhh … unnhhh … unnnnh … unnggghh

… ohhhhh.”

 

When she finished her heavy panting and stopping grinding on my hand, she lifted it

from her panties and pushed it away, as if discarding a soiled utensil. I returned

my hand to the wheel as Mom fidgeted in her seat, pushing her dress down and fixing

her hair. I drove on for several miles.

 

“What did you think of the play?” I asked, breaking the silence.

 

That started a very normal back and forth about the merits of the play, which actors

we had liked or disliked, scenes that were good and parts we thought could have been

done better, mostly by Mom. The conversation continued until we got home. Dad snoozed

until the car was stopped and we woke him. Everyone went in the house and immediately

headed for bed, including me. It had been one hell of a night.

 

But it wasn’t over.

 

I waited for fifteen minutes and then wandered down to Mom and Dad’s room … naked.

       

Their room was dark, lit only by the light from the hallway as I quietly stepped inside.

I could hear Dad’s characteristic snore. I waited for my eyes to acclimatize to the

darkness, smiling to myself, knowing that Mom was probably not sleeping and had likely

heard me come in. She had to know I would come for her.

 

Several more minutes passed. Dad’s snoring was monotonously consistent, as was Mom’s

silence. Now able to make out the dim shapes of the larger pieces of furniture in

the room, I walked across the end of the bed and down my mother’s side. I looked down

at her still body, knowing she wasn’t sleeping even though she acted as though she

was. Leaning down, I slowly pulled the covers back, revealing her beautiful, naked

body. I smiled again. She hadn’t even put on a nightie.

 

I grasped her hand and tugged but she resisted, confirming that she was indeed awake.

I pulled harder and she applied an equal effort to remain where she was but when I

upped the ante, she couldn’t call and slowly slipped off the mattress, pushing her

feet ahead of her captured hand so she didn’t fall to the floor.

 

I helped her stand up, slipping my arm around her back and curling my hand onto her

waist. With my free hand, I smoothed her hair back over her shoulders and away from

her face. When I was done, I cupped the back of her neck and head, and kissed her.

She resisted at first but eventually she was kissing me back as much as I was kissing

her. Our lips and tongues dueled as much as our bodies writhed together, pushing and

straining, my hard cock trapped between our soft bellies, bathed in the cadence of

my father’s gentle snore.

 

When my legs started to tremble, I pulled Mom toward the door. She followed, probably

thinking I was taking her to my room and that I would have dragged her again if she

resisted. I had intended to take her to my room but when we were at the end of the

bed, I changed my mind. I turned Mom around to face the bed and applied pressure on

her shoulders, urging her down. Understanding, Mom complied, falling to her knees,

leaning forward to rest her head on the end of the mattress, her hands rising to grip

its edge and her ass pushing back on spread legs, ready.

 

As much as I had loved the look of her white shorts this morning, nothing compared

to her bare ass. I fell to my knees behind Mom, admiring her shapely cheeks in the

dim light from the hallway, reaching out to touch them, to cup their slightly sagging

fullness in my hands, lifting and spreading, opening her pussy for my cock. I nudged

my head into her slit and slowly pushed, conquering resistance the full length of

her silky channel until she was fully cocked. I held myself firmly ensconced inside

nirvana, enjoying the simple peace of this maternal sanctuary for a magic moment.

 

 

And then something wonderful happened. Mom started fucking my shaft. First it was

just a little lift and resettlement, as if she was adjusting an uncomfortable position.

But then she lifted and pushed back down on my shaft a little further, her tightness

scraping over my root, only to repeat her little mini fuck a couple of seconds later.

Soon, I was kneeling, reaching back to brace myself on my heels, while my mother fucked

me. In my short sexual history, I had never been with a woman who was so horny that

she took over, and fucked me. I loved it. Mom was really going now and her sounds

showed she was really into it.

       

Needing to act, I pulled her away from the bed and turned her ninety degrees, pushing

on her back until she laid her head on the floor. She kept working her hips up and

down on my cock and I encouraged her, keeping myself closely aligned to her upturned

ass to make it easy for her, surprising her every once in a while with a vigorous

lunge into her cunt, my thighs slapping against hers. She moaned loudly when I did

that so I did it again a minute later. Before long, I was leaning over and lunging

hard into her every few strokes and then I was hammering fast, desperate for release,

fucking, slamming, cumming, oh … cumming … cumming.

 

I squirted and squirted and, when I stopped, she fell away, leaving me finished but

still panting on my hands and knees. She lay on her stomach below me but soon turned

around to face me, opening her legs, stretching her feet up to curl around my back,

lifting herself until her tummy pressed against mine, her pussy searching, moving

around, finding my cock and then pushing, squeezing and forcing herself onto me, pulling

tight with her clamping feet, her body completely off the floor, hanging from me.

 

 

And then she began again, her face hanging below mine, eyes demanding as her hips

ground on my hardening cock.

 

How could a woman be so incredibly erotic? Braced on all fours, this sexy woman, my

own mother, writhed against my body, squeezing my cock with each downward pull, forcing

her pussy open with each exquisite upward shove, repeatedly opening the collapsing

tunnel my cock had just vacated. Her mouth was busy around my neck, licking, sucking,

latching onto my mouth, kissing, falling away, head hanging down and laughing, jerking

back up to whisper urgent fuck sounds in my ear, telling me she needed it, to give

it to her, asking if I liked it.

 

If I hadn’t just emptied myself inside her I couldn’t have taken more than a minute

of that without blowing my load. As it was, it was barely more than three minutes

when my cock gushed forth again. Her legs clamped around me like a vice as if it would

be a crime for her to miss a single drop of my jiz.

 

Mom’s legs loosened and she fell to the carpet. I followed, into her open legs, gasping

for breath, confessing my love for her. My breathing returned to normal over the next

few minutes but as soon as I was calm, Mom’s husky laughter spilled over my ears again.

 

 

“Did you like that Michael?” The husky laugh followed her query. “Was it worth the

teasing? Hmm
mm?”

 

I raised my head to look into her laughing eyes.

 

“Get off me you big oaf,” she said, pushing my chest with her small hands.

 

Stunned, I rose up to my knees and then stood, taking the hand she offered and helping

her to her feet. I tried to take her into my arms but her small hand pressed against

my chest and pushed me back.

 

“Go to bed, now. We have a big day tomorrow.”

 

With that, Mom turned and walked away but she half turned at the corner of the bed

to look back at me, eyes delighted by the confused look on my face, and perhaps the

direction of my gaze, on her ass with its jutting cheeks, deliciously molded by the

twist of her legs as she strained to face me.

 

“Would you like to learn how to braid my hair?”

 

Her face broke out into a huge smile and her dancing eyes stayed on me as she walked

seductively along the bed, lifting the covers and sliding her naked body, shiny with

our sweat, next to my father.

 

“Goodnight,” she whispered, dismissing me as she closed her eyes.

       

Ch. 4 – Son is keen to braid Mom’s hair.

Would I like to learn how to braid Mom’s hair? Well, yeah!

 

I looked closely at Mom’s hair the next morning while eating breakfast. Her hair really

was beautiful, a slightly wavy chestnut brown that fell a third of the way down her

back. The swirl of her mane about her shoulders as she moved around the kitchen made

my dick tingle and I loved it when she pulled her hair back from her face, tipping

her head to let if fall over her shoulders. I could hardly wait until tonight when

I could get my fingers in it.

 

But that wasn’t to be. Mom went out with her friends for dinner and didn’t return

until late. I waited up but she went into her room before I could get out of mine

to greet her, shutting the door behind her. What was up? Had I angered her? I reviewed

the day in my mind, the morning and brief interaction after school, but couldn’t find

anything I might have said or done that could have upset her. Disappointed, I retreated

to bed and consoled myself with spanking the monkey.

 

Tuesday. This was the day. Nope.

 

Mom had to attend a business function with Dad. I waited but the door was shut again

after my parents went to bed. Mom was aloof the next morning. I really must have done

something but I couldn’t think of what no matter how hard I racked my brain.

 

Wednesday. Same standoffish mother, morning and night.

 

Thursday, the same. Had she been visited by Guilt

 

Friday. Chipper mom. All bright and smiley, wearing a plain white, sleeveless cotton

blouse that hid her small but perky assets, tucked into a pair of form-fitting, dark

navy blue shorts. I had an instant crotch rise at the breakfast table as I looked

at her long legs and shapely bottom, and was barely able to contain myself when she

stood in front of me, right leg and hip slightly forward, stretching her shorts tightly

over the prominence of her puffy mound.

 

“What are you up for this morning, sweetie?” Mom purred as if the past week’s aloofness

was a figment of my imagination.

 

“To eat?” I asked, looking up, unable to keep hope from the tenor of my voice.

 

Mom smiled at my obvious hint, pushed her knee further forward and watched my eyes

stray down to the front of her plush shorts, sensuously rocking her hips in a slow

tease.

 

“And to drink. What would please your taste buts most this morning?” the twinkle in

Mom’s eyes produced sparks in my cock, causing it to throb painfully in my jeans.

       

F

 

I want to throw you on the floor and fuck your brains out, my head screamed, but my

mouth silkily mewed, “Whatever’s easiest for you, Mom.”

 

“How about yogurt and fruit again?” she asked.

 

“Sure, that would be great.”

 

Mom pivoted on her feet and tensed her buttocks before strolling slowly to the fridge.

A moment later she returned with two bowls. I had watched her the whole time, keeping

a tab on my father every time his newspaper rustled to make sure he was behind it,

unable to see me ogling my own mother.

 

“Which one do you want?” Mom asked, setting the bowls down on the table. “This one’s

French vanilla and this one’s lemon.”

 

Mom dipped her finger in one and moved it quickly to my mouth, inserting it between

my lips and pushing it all the way in, sliding along my tongue. My eyes were saucers

as she slowly dragged her finger out, scooped it through the other bowl and returned

it to my mouth, wiggling on my tongue for a few seconds before retracting it the same

teasing way.

 

“Well?” Her face literally dripped amusement, heightened, I’m sure, by my shocked

visage.

 

Mom turned and walked to the fridge, returning with a container of orange juice to

pour two glasses while standing in the same, sexy stance with knee bent and hip cocked

forward.

 

“You can have this one,” she pushed the bowl with lemon yogurt toward me, “and we’ll

find something sweet for you later today.” Again the big smile.

 

Mom sat down to eat her yogurt and fruit. She crossed her legs under the table and

her foot bumped against my leg. Something was definitely up. Today was the day, my

brain sang, as song that was interrupted by Dad suddenly rustling his paper as he

flipped pages, the noise covering the clatter of Mom’s sandal dropping to the floor.

Mom’s bare foot pried between my knees as my father snapped the paper before burying

his face again, a moment later mumbling to himself as Mom’s toes scratched my thigh

just above my knee.

 

“Eat up,” Mom said, nodding at my barely touched bowl, pushing her spoon into her

mouth and turning it over to suck the yogurt off like she had a week ago. This time,

when she pulled the spoon from her mouth she kept it near and her tongue snaked out

to lick the already clean metal. Mom smiled innocently at me as her tongue flicked

around the spoon.

 

“Don’t you want to eat it?” she asked, her eyes flickering as a mischievous smiled

formed on her face.

 

“Yeah Mom, I do,” I assured her, digging my spoon in the bowl. Before I could eat

it, Mom stretched her hand out and put her spoon in front of my mouth. When I leaned

forward to take it she pulled it away but followed as I pulled my head back. Her eyes

sparkled. I stuck my tongue out and she nodded. Quickly, I licked the spoon and found

that a strangely erotic taste lingered from its presence in her mouth and the slithering

bath of her sexy tongue.

 

“Slowly,” Mom said, “or you’ll give yourself an upset stomach.”

 

I dutifully followed her motherly advice and she nodded approval as my tongue bathed

her spoon, trying to imitate the writhing action applied by her own tongue. When Dad

shook the paper again in preparation for turning pages, Mom yanked the spoon away.

After he settled in again, she stood, picked up her empty dishes, and stepped close

to me.

 

“Oh, look what I’ve done,” she said, looking down at the gob of white yogurt spilled

on her dark blue shorts, looking helpless with a glass in one hand and the bowl in

the other. “Can you get that for me, Michael?”

 

I was slow to react. What was she asking? I looked at Dad, or at least the newspaper

covering everything except his
hand and the top of his head. I looked back at the

creamy gob on the front of Mom’s shorts. Her hips moved, thrusting her pelvis toward

me in the same motion she had teased me with earlier. Her pelvis stopped, and she

waited.

 

I dropped my spoon and swung my right hand around toward Mom’s shorts until it was

half an inch away under the offending dollup of yogurt. Casting a nervous glance at

my father, I pushed my hand forward, crooking my finger into a half cup and pressing

it against Mom’s blue shorts just under the yogurt, right on her pubic mound.

 

The yogurt peeled off onto my fingers. I looked at it, resting in my cupped fingers,

then raised it to my lips and sucked it into my mouth.

       

“Get all of it Michael,” Mom said in a quieter voice. Her eyes were on me. She didn’t

look at Dad.

 

I put my finger back against her mound and rubbed. Up … pulled back and down without

breaking contact … then up again. I rubbed up and down her shorts, right over her

pussy. I could feel the crevice dividing her secret lips even under the tight shorts,

especially when Mom pushed her mound against my fingers as they rubbed. I kept rubbing,

up and down, until the paper rattled again and Mom turned away, walking toward the

counter, ass moving delectably under the tight shorts, hands with dishes crooked to

the sides and moving with the sway of her hips. I was left with my hand and fingers

hanging out, toward Mom’s retreating behind, as if I was making a point in conversation.

 

 

My face went red as I turned toward Dad to explain myself, but he had already returned

to his paper. I could hear Mom putting her glass and bowl in the sink and turned to

see her walking back toward me, a round damp stain marking the spot where I had removed

the yogurt.

 

“I’d better go up and change these,” she said, walking past me and out of the kitchen.

 

 

I looked down at my own lap and the wet spot staining my jeans. I had cum in my pants

and hadn’t even been aware of it. I extricated myself from the table and beat a hasty

retreat upstairs to my room. I threw my soiled jeans and shorts in the laundry basket,

put on a robe, and went to the bathroom to get a shower. Stepping out, I was surprised

to find Mom looking in the mirror, though it was fogged up. She was wearing a different

pair of tight shorts.

 

“Do these look ok?” she asked, putting her thumbs under the waistband on each hip

and jutting her behind toward me, beautifully detailing her prominent cheeks and completely

ignoring the fact that I was stark naked.

 

I stepped close to her, my dangling cock pressing into her behind. She scooted forward,

breaking contact.

 

“You’ll get me all wet, silly,” Mom giggled, turning around before I could regain

the softness of her ass. “Anyway,” she said, “its daytime.”

 

My face fell.

 

“But make sure you come straight home from school,” she said.

 

Was she going to give me a treat before Dad got home? My face brightened.

 

“Do you hear?” Mom demanded.

 

I nodded eagerly just as Mom’s soft little hand closed over my cock at the base, her

fingers stretching down to cup my balls.

 

“Promise me,” she whispered.

 

“I promise,” I answered in a high pitch, barely able to speak.

 

Mom’s fingers closed over my cock, twisted around and squeezed up my shaft, her thumb

rubbing across the bottom of my glans.

 

“Good boy,” she said, stretching up on her toes to kiss me lightly on my mouth, tongue

poking just inside and sliding sideways back and forth across my lips, before pushing

in for a brief kiss.

 

Settling down on her heels, she said, “I’m looking forward to tonight.”

 

She stepped around me and was gone, leaving me standing there with a huge boner. I

turned to the toilet and started jacking off.

 

Mom wasn’t there when I came home from school.

 

“We’re on our own,” Dad said when he came in. “Mom’s gone to a show with the girls,”

he explained.

 

We ordered in pizza. Dad had just gone up to bed when Mom came home about ten.

 

“Hi baby,” she greeted me cheerily, hanging her coat up in the closet. “Where’s your

Dad?”

 

She was wearing a nice dress that clung to her slender frame, a matching, integrated

belt emphasizing her hips. She walked toward me, eyes questioning.

 

“In bed,” I answered sullenly.

 

“Already?” Mom said in a tone that didn’t really demand an answer.

 

“I thought you wanted me to braid your hair,” I said, sounding sullen.