The Mom Memories - Chapter 10 - Alwayswantedto - Literotica

 The Mom Memories Ch. 10

by alwayswantedto©

All characters are 18 years or older.

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From Ch. 09

"Did you hear Paul calling me?" she asked.

"Yes, Mary. I think he's waiting for you downstairs. ... He said he wanted to be alone with you."

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Mom insisted on going out for dinner that night so I couldn't watch the action live. All through dinner, I worried that I would miss Paul's first time with his mom because I hadn't had an opportunity to slip downstairs to add cameras in Paul and Mary's bedrooms. Mom noticed that my thoughts were elsewhere and was annoyed at my lack of attention to her. I couldn't very well tell her that it was hard for me to warm up to her when three hours earlier she'd let Paul cover her face in his juvenile semen. So we had nice dinner in a romantic restaurant like two people who had been married for years.

I realized I was being a little ridiculous. I had convinced Mom to encourage Paul so he might transfer his behavior to Mary, so I could watch. It was disingenuous of me to expect her to do that without having any fun herself, and there was no question that Paul likely wouldn't be brave enough to do anything with his mother, other than look, if it wasn't for Mom. Face it, I thought, it was pretty hot watching Mom let him try to get that big cockhead of his into her mouth. I should be appreciating her efforts and trying to support her more.

I certainly didn't want to lose Mom over Mary and Paul. Looking across the table made my heart skip a beat as I realized how elegantly beautiful she was, especially with the candlelight flickering over her face and bare neck and shoulders, despite the rather grim look on her face. I resolved to change that look by the time we had finished dessert.

When we arrived home, there was a note from Mary. Apparently, Dad had been restless and she had been up and down looking after him until after ten. He was settled down now but she was exhausted and asked that Mom look after him tomorrow morning so she could sleep in. Mom felt sorry for Mary -- she expected something to happen tonight but didn't know I also knew that -- but I only felt relief that Dad had been such a bother since I was now sure that I hadn't missed anything.

However, there was a downside. Our dinner had turned into a fun and romantic evening with a good chance for a very satisfying evening upstairs. But Mom now felt a little tired from all the wine, rather than perky and adventurous as she'd been right up to reading the note, and now wanted to get a good night's sleep if she was going to be dealing with Dad all morning. So I was left high and dry.

When Mom headed upstairs for bed, I stayed downstairs to see if there were any good movies on, but soon found myself in the study, browsing through letters and reviewing the monitors to make sure I had indeed not missed any action. The recordings showed Mary and Paul in the kitchen, Paul making soup and sandwiches. Evidently he had offered to make dinner, and the only other thing he could make was kraft dinner but Mary looked very pleased by his efforts. They chatted while they waited but were interrupted by a call, evidently from my Mom who asked Mary to keep an ear out for Dad while we went to dinner. Mary looked tired when she put the phone down; she must have had a hard day. They ate their dinner quickly.

Not long after, Mary went into the living room to listen to the handheld monitor. Both she and Paul left to go upstairs. I guess Dad had started getting restless right away. While they were gone, I sifted through the letters and picked one up from a guy named Kevin.

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My name if Kevin and my mom's name is Margaret. We're a fairly typical family except that my older brother left home a few years ago and we haven't heard from him since. Matt was the outgoing one. He was pretty good at school but excelled at sports and was very popular, with the girls and guys, almost making captain of the football team. Me, I'm the bookish one. In the last year, my mother has become quite withdrawn, going to church at least twice a week until recently. We used to go only on Sundays, but since my brother left Mom became even more religious than before. My father is the same, except he seems to keep to himself more, spending most of his time at home out in his workshop or downstairs in the rumpus room listening to his old music or watching old movies.

Matt and my mother were close. He used to tease her a lot, about being so straight-laced, prim and proper. He tried to get her to let her hair down, literally, instead of wearing it in a bun all the time. Mom had thick brown shoulder length hair with deep red highlights, very sexy if it wasn't on an uptight, religious church woman. But Mom would only loosen her hair after extended harassment from Matt, and then only in the house, never outside, and only when no one else was around, especially Dad. I only saw her like that twice when they didn't realize I was home.

I still remember that first time. I came upstairs into the kitchen and heard their voices in the living room. For some reason, though I was on my way up to my room, I didn't just walk into the hallway and head up the stairs. I stopped in the kitchen, listening to them, creeping quietly up to the doorway to hear better, and peeking around the jamb.

"There," Mom was saying, "I don't know why you like this so much." Mom's hands were dropping from her shoulders just as she began shaking her head, her hair snapping out and swirling in the air, tossing out the kinks.

"Because your hair is so beautiful, Mom," Matt said, reaching out to take a handful in each hand when her locks settled to her shoulders, his fingers closing in to feel it as it slid through his hands. "Turn around," he said quietly, his hands pressuring her shoulders into a spin. He stopped her when she was halfway around, his fingers tugging through her hair to the end, then back up to fill themselves again at the sides of her head.

Mom's eyes closed as her head lifted to the pull of Matt's hands through her hair. Matt watched as his hands pulled through her hair, lifting them to do it again, but his eyes moved past the end of Mom's hair to the small of her back and then over the rise to her rear end. That was what drew my attention, this hint of illicit lust. This wasn't a girl at school. I'd seen Matt eyeing up most of the girls there. This was our Mom! I wasn't angry, I was simply confused. Why was Matt checking our Mom's ass? Aside from being our Mom, she was old, past forty. And she was dressed in her typical fair, long dress made of thick material that covered her from her neck to almost her ankles.

There was something odd about that look and the way he touched her hair, even the expression on Mom's face as if she really enjoyed the feel of Matt's fingers running through her hair. I tried to retreat then, feeling like an intruder, an observer of a moment not meant to be witnessed. But my elbow bumped a bowl sitting on the counter near the door as I backed away so I went to the fridge to get a glass of milk. When I passed through the living room on my way upstairs, glass in hand, Matt was sitting on the couch fumbling with the remote and Mom was in her chair, hair tied up in her usual bun.

The second time, I had come home from school early, surprised to see Matt's car already in the driveway. I entered the house quietly, thinking I might find Matt playing with Mom's hair in the living room again, but the house seemed to be empty. Then I heard the faint sound of muted voices downstairs. Quietly, I snuck down the stairs and along the hallway, stopping short of the rumpus room in the relative darkness of the hallway. Peeking around the door jamb, I saw Matt and Mom at the far end of the rumpus room, he playing with her hair again. Unlike the first time, I wasn't confused. There as an implicit erotic aura surrounding them and my groin stirred in recognition even before my brain processed the information impinging upon my eyes.

Mom was wearing a dress. Yes, of course. She always wore dresses, never pants. But she was wearing a dress you'd see on other women about town, not on my mother or most of the ones that attended our church. This dress was above Mom's knees, had no sleeves, leaving her arms bare, even dipped down over her breasts before reaching the buttons that ran down the front, rather than a zipper on the back. Mom didn't own a dress like that. At least, I had never seen her wear one.

Matt's hands slid through Mom's hair to her shoulders and onto the outside of her arms, holding her there. His head nestled beside hers and he was whispering to her as they both looked at the wall, I presume at the full length mirror I knew to be there. There was an odd sparkle in Mom's eyes as they looked out from her face which looked small embedded in the rich auburn surround of her rumpled hair. She seemed enthralled by what she was looking at.

"You see," Matt was saying, "I was right. You're beautiful."

I could see that. Mom looked like another woman. She could see it too, and I could see it fascinated her as much as Matt.

Matt's hand slid down her arm, slowly, caressingly, possessively. He lifted her hand, holding her arm by her slender wrist.

"Look how it shows your figure, like it's part of you, shouting at the world, here's a real woman!"

Mom's face broke out in a smile when he said that and she didn't object, or even seem to notice, when Matt's other hand slipped down inside Mom's other arm, sliding over her waist until his hand rested just above her hip, squeezing her flesh.

"This isn't a woman to hide." Matt's other hand loosened its hold on Mom's wrist, letting it fall against her other hip. He swung her torso in a tiny circle, his face nuzzling closer to her head. "You can't hide this kind of beauty with frumpy dresses."

Matt's face turned inward to kiss Mom on her jawbone. I remember going rigid, expecting her to swing angrily around to slap him. Instead, Mom raised her arm up to place her hand on the side of Matt's head, pressing him to her. His hands slipped down her hips and around the front. I could see him pulling her back into him and his own body pushing forward into her rear. Her face turned toward him then and he kissed her. Not like we kissed her goodbye before going to school. Mouth on mouth, for a long time.

My brother pulled Mom against him the whole time he kissed her. I could see his hips pushing forward and back, grinding against her behind just like his mouth was grinding on hers. Mom pulled away from his when the kiss ended, gasping for breath.

"No, Matt, stop."

Matt caught her in his arms, stopping her from getting away. "You promised .. you said if you liked the dress, you'd let me kiss you. And you like it. I can see you do," Matt insisted.

"But not like that," Mom was still struggling to catch her breath. "We can't kiss like that!"

Mom was pulling away from Matt but not so hard he couldn't hold her. He used his arms to smooth hers down her side and turned her to face him, moving close and taking her lips in his once more. As they kissed, Mom's hands came up, slowly, until she was again holding his face in hers. Matt's hands moved around her back and down, over her hips to hold her buttocks, pulling her to his own thrusting hips. Mom's hands slid past his face until her elbows crooked around his head, her body plastering itself to Matt's front, her hips moving in closer even than his hands were pulling.

The kiss ended but they broke apart only long enough to gulp in air and breath each other's name, before locking into another intense kiss. Matt walked Mom backward to the wall, holding her there with his body. When the kiss ended, he moved his hands up to the buttons on the front of her dress.

"No, Matt. I said I'd kiss you, that's all."

"Mom, even in your day, a girl would let her guy have a little feel when they were necking."

"No, I can't, Matt, please stop," Mom struggled to stop him as she complained. But Matt managed to undo a button anyway. He stopped then and Mom ceased struggling. Matt's head moved forward, his lips capturing Mom's again in another long kiss. Seconds later, Mom's hands returned to wrap around Matt's head, pulling him to her. And Matt's hands returned to Mom's dress, fumbling to get her buttons undone the whole time he kissed her.

"Oh, Matt, Mattie," Mom cried when the kiss ended, her dress undone to her tummy, which heaved as she recovered her breath.

Matt stared down her front. "Mom, you're awesome, just awesome." His hands slipped under her dress and I could tell he was holding her tits. The way the muscles in his forearms moved, I knew he was kneading them with his fingers.

Mom didn't fight him, she simply leaned back against the wall and let Matt play with her breasts, her hands loosely clasped behind his neck. I even saw her arch her back, I guess in response to something he was doing underneath her dress that I couldn't see. I had a boner by this time and I was wishing that he'd take her dress off so I could see her tits too. But he didn't try to. Mom was smiling at him as he continued fondling her and she kept smiling when his right hand dropped away from her breast to slide over her hip, behind her leg to her knee. She was still smiling when Matt pulled her knee up and pushed her calf behind him, pushing himself, and her in front of him, hard against the wall.

Matt started rubbing himself up and down against Mom, sliding her bum against the wall.

"No, Matt, stop!" Mom ordered, but she didn't do anything to inhibit his movements, and nothing was keeping her leg up around his hip. Matt ignored her, increasing the pace of his thrusts against her.

"Mattie, ... no, no." Mom was saying she wanted him stop, but her arms seemed to tighten around his neck.

I could hear Matt's breathing getting very loud. His hand slipped down to grasp Mom's raised leg just below her bum at the top of her thigh. Mom's other foot suddenly appeared behind him on his other side. I guess he was lifting that leg as well. Mom was only held up by the pressure of Matt's body against the wall.

Matt's hips were really moving now. He was shoving Mom up and down the wall with great vigor, and gasping loudly from the effort. Mom was gasping too, and she continued imploring him to stop, but her clutching feet were pulling him tight to the apex of her wide open legs.

Suddenly, Matt let out a great bellow, "AAAAAHHHHHHHH, Ahhhh, ahhhhh."

His hips stopped, legs straining mightily to almost push Mom through the wall, interrupted by sudden surges of even greater strength. Not until he was long still did Mom's legs loosen their hold and slide down to the floor. Gently, she pushed him away, her hands going to her dress, starting to button them as she slipped out sideways, toward me. Thank god she was looking at Matt.

"That was a mistake, Matt. It won't happen again."

"But I love you, Mom," he turned toward her, looking somewhat ridiculous as he exposed the front of his come-soaked jeans.

"I love you, too. But that was a sin before God. It won't happen again, and that's all there is to it."

I pulled back then, hiding in the furnace room as Mom passed by, followed by Matt a moment later.

That's the last time I saw them together, although I did hear them arguing when I came home early again to see if I could catch them again. Matt's car was there but all I heard when I came in was yelling, and Matt stomping upstairs. I fled to my room. Moments later, I heard him pull out of the driveway and when I crept out of my room to peek downstairs, I saw Mom standing in the living room, looking out the front window, sobbing. Two days later, Matt left.

So it's been a little over a year now. Dad has no idea why Matt left but he stopped to visit one of our distant relatives a few states away so we know nothing ill became of him. Mom and I have a pretty good idea, but only I know that we both know. Mom seems to have pulled back from the religion thing recently, perhaps not finding the solace there she's seeking. I've tried to comfort her, but I'm not Matt and don't have his personality. Don't think it didn't cross my mind to try to fill his shoes, but I know I don't have that easy banter with people the way he does. I think, deep down, I knew better than to try to be Matt.

I came home from school one day, at the regular time, to find Mom in Matt's room. The time must have slipped by her. I hadn't seen her there before, though she may have gone there often when nobody was home. She was sitting on Matt's bed, the dress she's worn the last time I'd seen them together draped over her lap, her hand absently stroking it.

She jumped when she saw me, clearly not expecting me to be home yet.

"Oh, sorry Mom. I didn't mean to scare you," I apologized for startling her. She seemed flustered, even after recovering from her surprise, trying to gather the dress behind her. I realized she felt guilty, though there was no way she could have known I knew the significance of the dress. She stopped trying to hide the dress after my eyes fell on it, fidgeting with it in her lap. "I just found myself here. I miss him so much," Mom said, feeling the need to explain herself, I guess.

"I miss Matt too, Mom," I replied. Then, I blurted out, "He liked you in that dress."

I don't know why I said that, giving myself away like that. How was I going to explain knowing about the dress?

"What?" Mom asked, her face going red, "What dress?" Her hands almost seemed to be trying to shove the dress between her legs, through the clothes she was wearing and out of sight.

"That one," I pointed, "The one he got for you."

I could believe my own pizzazz, brazening this out like this. Where was I going? My mind was frantically trying to catch up with my mouth.

"Got for me?" Mom looked confused. "What do you mean, got for me?"

I made good my escape then. "We're brothers, Mom. We talk." I turned and scurried to my room, leaving Mom with a shocked look on her face.

There was a knock on my door a few minutes later. "Can I come in?" Mom asked.

I didn't answer. Mom pushed my door open and came in. I kept my nose in the comic book I was pretending to read.

"What makes you think your brother got this dress for me?" Mom held the dress up in her hand.

I glanced over at the dress. "Because he told me he did. He showed it to me," I lied. I still wasn't sure what I was up to, I was playing this entirely by ear, not even knowing where I wanted to go.

"What did he tell you?" I could see fear in my mother's face.

"He said you looked good in it and that you liked wearing it," I casually tossed out, flipping the page of the comic I definitely wasn't reading.

Mom looked even more shocked. She didn't say anything for a minute, then explained, "Matt did buy this dress because he said Dad never buys me anything, 'modern', but I never did put it on." She turned and spoke to me over her shoulder as she walked away, "That's just nonsense, what he told you."

That night, I made a point of sitting in the kitchen while Mom prepared dinner. I was reading a comic book but I made it obvious that I was looking her over. When she got everything on the stove and the oven set to cook for a while, she came and sat down kitty-corner at the table next to me.

"What's going on?" she demanded.

"What?" I asked innocently, "I'm just reading a comic."

"You know very well what I'm talking about. I can't get a spoon out the drawer without you watching every move I make. I can feel your eyes on me when I'm getting something out of the cupboard or looking in the fridge. What's the matter with you?" Her voice was intense, angry, but subdued as well, lowered to limit its range to inside the kitchen.

"I just can't help thinking about what Matt said. He said you looked fantastic in that dress. He said 'You won't believe how great Mom looks'." I held her gaze.

"Kevin, I didn't wear that dress, I don't know why Matt told you that," Mom's voice was almost pleading. I let my eyes drop from her face to run over her chest, unhurriedly, then down her left side to the hip and leg nearest me. Mom's mouth opened in shock as she watched my lecherous gaze caress her body.

"Kevin! ... Stop that! ... Look at me." Mom reached out with her left hand and pulled my chin up to level my face. "I don't know why Matt told you that, but it's not true. Now just get it out of your head and behave yourself." She pushed the chair back and stood up, angrily turning away. Halfway to the stove, she suddenly whirled her head back my way, catching my eyes on her behind. She huffed as she carried on, and continued making dinner as normal, except she tossed utensils about more aggressively than seemed warranted. She didn't try to catch me again, but I think she knew I was watching her even more closely than before.

I behaved myself during dinner but when it was just Mom and I in the kitchen again, I resumed my close observations. Usually, Matt and I did the dishes after dinner but since he had left, Mom washed and I dried. Every time I picked a dish from the rack I would step back to dry it, eyeing mom's figure up and down, imagining her in that dress that showed her legs above the knee and even higher, like it did when Matt pulled her foot up behind him. I became hard putting myself in his place. I started brushing by Mom every time I put a dish away.

"Please stop, Kevin" Mom sighed when we were nearing the end, working on the pots. "Why are you doing this?"

I know you put that dress on, Mom. Matt told me. He said you looked like a movie star."

"A movie star?" Mom couldn't help but laugh out loud, "me?"

"Yeah," I lied, "he said you let him undo your hair and you looked like that actress in 'Fatal Attraction', the one that played the jilted wife, Ann Archer."

"I don't look anything like Ann Archer."

"Matt said you did in that dress, with your hair down. He said you were even sexier than her."

"That's nonsense."

"You have the same hair as her, Mom, and your voice is real soft, like hers."

"So we have the same voice and hair. Big deal."

"That's what I said, Mom," I put a pot away and stood very close behind her, waiting for her to wash the next one, letting my jeans just contact the back of her dress, "but Matt said you were real sexy in that dress. He said I'd have to see it to believe it."

Mom looked wistful for a moment, perhaps thinking of a shared moment with Matt when she'd first put that dress on for him. Suddenly she looked down and began furiously scrubbing a pot, oblivious to the effect her shaking butt was transmitting through to my jeans as she scrubbed. I was at full mast when she stopped again.

"I'm not putting that dress on just so you can see if I look sexy. I'm your mother, not an actress, not a mannequin you put dresses on and gawk at." She yanked the pot out of the sink and banged it down in the rack. She pulled the plug in the sink and stomped out of the kitchen, her hands dripping suds across the floor.

I finished up and joined my parents in the living room. Mom became further annoyed with me several times that evening, catching my eyes on her legs and stocking feet. I really couldn't help it. When she crossed her legs, hanging one foot over her knee, the image of her leg crossed behind Matt's hip leapt into my mind. She noticed and stretched her legs out, still crossed, but that only tightened the muscles of her calf prettily. She glanced quickly toward Dad, who was oblivious, then back at me, 'Stop it' she mouthed.

But I didn't. I let my eyes run up her legs, over hips, to her chest, and stopped there, replaying the scene with Matt kissing Mom as he unbuttoned her dress and unfettered her tits. When I 'came to' Mom was getting up, seemingly angry, saying she was going to bed early. Dad barely acknowledged her.

The next night was a replay. I watched Mom the entire time she made dinner. She didn't admonish me or even talk to me. When we washed the dishes, I continued brushing against her and started to put my hand on her hip or waist every time I reached around her to put a dish away. She didn't stop me, or even rebuke me, but she became more angry and aggressive washing the dishes, banging them about more. She hurried through, finishing the dishes quickly but leaving them less clean than her normal standard. I rewashed a few dishes after she left before joining my parents again in the living room where I continued my admiration of her legs and breasts.

By the end of the week, Mom wasn't hurrying through the dishes, but she wasn't dragging it out either. She just went about her business as usual, ignoring my apt attention. I almost always had my hand on her hip or up along her waist when I wasn't actively drying a dish. In fact, I had made it a habit to grasp her waist when I passed by her if Dad wasn't around, usually giving her a quick kiss on her cheek, and sometimes on her neck. She just seemed to bear with it, pausing to let me finish but not reacting against it or for it, except that is if Dad was very near and sounded like he was coming our way. Then, her hand would press against my abdomen or chest to gently urge me away, or she would try to turn away early. The thing that excited me about those times was that her breath would quicken.

On Saturday night, we faced more dishes because we'd had our usual roast beef dinner. There was no hurry because Dad very rarely took Mom out. As we worked our way through the mound of dishes, I continued my usual brushes across Mom's backside but stepped up my waist holding to give her side a slight squeeze and, while drying a dish behind her, leaning in to kiss her neck. We didn't speak while we did the dishes, Mom concentrating on ignoring me, waiting me out I suppose, and I on enjoying myself, wondering how far I could push things. I was surprised, then, when she spoke.

"Kevin," she spoke softly, "if I let you see my legs, will you stop this nonsense?"

I finished drying the dish in my hand. "What nonsense?"

"You know. If I put a robe on tonight and show you my legs, after Dad goes upstairs, will you leave me alone? After all, you said you wanted me to wear the dress because it showed my legs."

"I don't know, Mom. Matt got to see you in that dress, and with your hair down. Wearing a bathrobe isn't the same."

Mom paused, her head turned to the side, thinking. "I can't wear that dress in this house," she blurted out, "I just can't."

Recognizing that this might be a painful memory for her, I relented. A little. "Will you go for a drive with me then, tomorrow?"

"Where?"

"Anywhere," I replied, "just out in the country."

"Ok," she seemed pleased at the opportunity to get away.

"And will you wear the dress once we're away?"

Mom frowned, but her frown slowly dissipated. "Alright," she said, "I'll wear the dress while we're out on our drive." She smiled and turned back to washing the dishes.

I had placed both hands on her waist while we were talking. I leaned in now to whisper, "And you'll wear your hair loose?" I asked, letting my breath blow past her ear and sliding my hands just a little higher so they were at the sides of her breasts.

She drew her breath in before answering, "Yes."

"Thanks, Mom." I turned my mouth down to connect with her neck, kissing the muscle cord running across to her shoulder, pressing myself into her behind just a touch more and squeezing my hands in tighter, against the side of her breasts. "Thank you," I repeated.

I was surprised when I entered the living room to see that Mom wasn't there with Dad. I sat down in the chair in the opposite corner from Dad and picked up a magazine from the side table, flipping through it while I thought of the concession I'd won, about what a great day tomorrow would be. I was surprised again to see Mom coming down the stairs, already dressed for bed in her bathrobe. She never did this and, given her commitment to wear the dress for me, I had thought the bathrobe and leg show were out. Was she going to give me a preview anyway?

My eyes never left her as she approached the couch and sat down at the end near me. She rummaged through the pile of magazines and picked one up to read. Dad didn't pay any attention. Fifteen minutes or more went by without anything happening. Mom changed her position a couple of times but she didn't loosen her robe at all, keeping herself covered from neck to ankle, with her feet covered by fluffy slippers.

Then, Dad's favorite show came on, CSI, and his eyes were glued to the set. Within minutes, Mom changed her position, re-crossing her legs again but this time, she didn't reach down to tug the robe firmly into place around her ankles. The robe lifted about six inches up to rest halfway to her knee but, more alluringly, it split to show the inside of her calf, on my side, all the way to her knee.

Mom extended her foot, letting the heel flop down, the sole marking a 45 degree angle away from the bottom of her toes. As I watched, she began tapping her foot to some silent tune. I ran my eyes up her legs, leaving her foot with difficulty, past the magazine in her lap and climbing her torso to glance at her face. She was smiling. I gazed intensely at her, demanding her attention, but she never looked my way.

Running my eyes down her legs I found even more showing as her robe seemed to have split even wider. Her foot was still tapping to the same tune and, as I watched, she curled her toes and let the slipper fall to the floor. Her toes stretched out and then spread wide. Relaxing, her foot arched, bending her instep into a tight curl and stretched out, toes spreading wide again. Mom repeated this languid stretching over and over. Gradually, I noticed how the muscles tightened and released in her leg as her foot played, how it made her calf look hard and muscular and then suddenly soft and yielding.

The sound of the show intensified as it neared the half-time commercial set, setting up the hook to keep viewers riveted so they wouldn't change channels. At that moment, Mom's hand slid off the top of her magazine to pinch the robe where it lay on her thigh. As Dad leaned forward toward the TV, Mom's delicate hand lifted her robe, re-arranging it on her legs, but pulled sufficiently high that I could see the tops of her thighs, at least a foot above her knees. The skin there looked incredibly soft and enticing. Her hand paused, holding the robe open, clearly letting me see. As the show reached its mid-point climax and the commercial started, the robe closed again, Mom's hand smoothing it down her leg, all the way to the ankle.

"That is such a great show," Dad exclaimed, getting up, "this is a really good one." He headed quickly upstairs for a bathroom break.

I sat there, staring at Mom, my mouth open, I'm sure. She had an enigmatic smile on her face, but seemed engrossed in her reading. By the time I realized this was a great opportunity to see more of her legs while Dad was upstairs, the toilet flushed and I could hear him tromping down the stairs. He resumed his position without saying anything more and quickly became engrossed as soon as the show started again.

I waited for Mom to renew her leg show, expecting a full half hour of tantalizing display. But she made no move to continue. I was noticeably fidgeting, becoming quite antsy actually, trying to indicate my great desire to see more of her legs. Her hands moved, but not down to pull on her robe. Instead they moved up behind her head, fussing with her hair.

My disappointment gave way to a thrilling bolt that shot from my eyes through to my hardening cock as she shook her head and the first pile of deep auburn hair tumbled out over her shoulders. She gave it another light shake, and then another. Then she shook her head hard, side to side, throwing her hair into a violent swirl, finally settling down around her face which was now pointed directly at me. She was smiling, that same enigmatic smile, her soft lips barely turned up. Then she looked away, picked up her magazine and began to read.

As I stared, cock hard, mouth open, Mom's hand slid across the magazine laying on her thigh, and on past to her knee. Her fingers slowly tapped her knee, then sped up to a light drumming that continued while the tension on TV grew. Mom pulled her right leg up from where it lay crossed on top of her left, slowly pulling her right foot up to her left knee and finally resting it there, her hand holding her robe in place. From Dad's side, she was completely covered, the robe stretched across her leg, but I could see the whole inside of her right leg, right up to where her panties would be if they weren't covered by her robe and the magazine.

My eyes were captivated by her bare leg and I wouldn't have thought it possible for them to look closer without burning her skin until she did a very simple thing, she arched her foot. Like before, this tensed the muscles in her calf, turning her soft looking skin into cordoned contours of shadow and light. I wasn't so focused on her lower leg to miss the tensing of her upper thigh, especially on the inside running up to her loins. Mom kept reading her magazine, she never looked at me but the whole time she flexed the muscles in her right leg, intensifying its dazzling effect on me. As CSI neared its conclusion, she collapsed her leg, stretching it out over the other, her robe demurely arranged by the time the commercials started.

Dad got up to go to bed after that and Mom followed, to my great disappointment. She didn't look back as she followed Dad up the stairs but she shook her hair, tosing it wildly over her shoulders. Dad hadn't even noticed that Mom's hair was loose.

The next day at breakfast Mom announced that I was going to take her out for a drive, and would he like to come? I almost choked on my eggs. Oh yeah, that would be a lot of fun. Given her actions last night, I had laid awake, hard, most of the night, my mind imagining over and over what could happen the next day. But Dad declined, which I'm sure Mom knew he would. When Dad headed out to the garage to get the rider mower fired up, Mom packed a picnic and we left shortly after. Mom wore a long coat with her typical kerchief covering her hair, tied back as usual in a tight bun.

It was a brilliant, sunny day, perfect for a drive. I headed for the country, toward some small, windy roads, still paved but seldom traveled. I rolled the windows down in my four door hardtop, the car my father had given me so much grief for buying because I could have gotten a sedan for much less. The wind blew by but it wasn't cold, it was such a beautiful summer day.

It wasn't until we were miles from town, turning off on the three digit country roadway that Mom pulled her kerchief from her head with her left hand. Reaching up, she pulled her bun apart and shook her head, tossing her hair out, fluffing it up with her hands and pulling it out through her fingers. I loved the look of her and watched her while she modernized her look, only glancing at the road as we drove along.

We had only driven a few miles before we ran into a little town. I had never been here before, having never strayed from the larger roads but it wasn't hard to find our way through. The downtown was only about two blocks long and we were almost out the other side when Mom implored me to stop at a Dairy Queen. We pulled in. There was no drive in window so I went inside to get a banana split, Mom's request. When I returned, Mom was sitting in the dress, her coat thrown across the back seat.

"Let's find somewhere nice to eat this," she said as I handed our splits to her. I couldn't help looking at her legs as I drove, though the dress came down almost to her knees. Mom's arms were also bare, something I hadn't seen since that afternoon with Matt. All in all, she was sporting more womanly skin that I'd ever seen on her.

I pulled off on a small, grassy/dirt road winding off to the right, probably toward a few small farms, turning off at the top of a small rise that afforded a view over the green fields. As soon as we stopped, Mom opened the door and got out, walking toward the edge looking back the way we'd come. "Bring a blanket," she yelled back, "I put one in the basket."

I retrieved the blanket and caught up to her, standing there looking over the field. I admired her legs as I spread the blanket. Mom sat down, tucking her legs to her side, handing a banana split to me, and digging plastic spoons and napkins out of the bag. We ate our splits in silence. I finished way before Mom and watched as she ate hers, delicately inserting small spoonfuls of ice cream into her mouth, licking any extra from her lips that didn't make it all the way in. I beat her near the end, reaching out quickly with my finger to wipe some chocolate from her upper lip. She smiled at me and didn't seem upset when I pulled it back to lick the chocolate off. She just turned her head sideways again, showing me the profile of her face. She really was quite attractive. She had a lot of sex appeal with her hair flowing free.

When she finished, Mom carefully put the spoons, the plastic dishes and our napkins into the bag. "Shall we go?" she asked.

"Let's stay her for a while longer," I responded. In answer, she stretched her legs out in front of her and leaned back, bracing herself on her hands. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes, allowing her hair to fall free behind her back. She used her feet to push her shoes off her feet, bending her knees and pulling them toward her, causing her dress to slide up her thighs, closer to her pelvis than her knees. My mouth was dry as I ran my eyes up and down her legs. I was surprised when I noticed her watching me.

"Matt was right, Mom. You look fantastic. Thanks for letting me see you in this dress." My eyes strayed back to her legs, following the curve of her calves down to her ankles.

"That's ok, Kevin. Fair is fair."

"So you admit wearing the dress for Matt."

"Yes," mom replied softly, "but I think you like me in it even more that he did." Her knees widened a little as she said that, forcing the dress a little farther up her thigh. I don't know if she knew, but from my vantage point, I could see most of the backs of her thighs, though not all the way to her panties. Still, it was very sexy and I could feel myself hardening in my jeans. "Perhaps you're more of a leg man than your brother," Mom added, moving her knees just slightly wider again.

"Perhaps," I mumbled in response, loving her legs with my eyes. We sat there for a few minutes, Mom quietly allowing me to look all I wanted, moving her legs side to side in unison, or apart and together again, once stretching her right foot up in the air, tensing her muscles and twisting her leg before bringing it back.

"You're more relaxed than Matt. That's nice. Oh, you've been pretty persistent up to now, a real pain in the butt, but now that you're here, you seem content to take your time. That's attractive in a man. Rare, but attractive."

I looked up at Mom. She was smiling at me. I smiled back. We were very relaxed with each other.

"Do I have a time limit, Mom?"

"No, sweetie. You don't. I'm yours all day."

"And after?"

"You can't keep doing what you're doing. Your Dad will notice."

"What if he doesn't?" I reached out to touch Mom's leg. She watched as I traced my fingers up and down her leg, from her ankle to her knee.

"Let's not think about that," she replied, continuing to watch me stroke her leg.

I stroked her leg in silence for a few minutes.

"So, you'll let me do what Matt got to do?"

Mom seemed surprised. "I'm letting you see me in this dress." She seemed suddenly nervous. "What do you think Matt got to do?"

I looked at her, my love showing in my eyes, I'm sure. "Can I touch your hair? Matt said you let him touch your hair."

Mom visibly relaxed. She shifted her hands behind her, her upper body moving enticingly as she did. "Sure, you can touch my hair, Kevin."

I shifted closer to Mom then, moving up beside her, letting my hand slide up her leg with my fingers dangling on the inside.

"Can I touch your legs for a while longer?"

"Sure," Mom smiled, "Like I said, we have all day and I like that you take you time."

"Thanks, Mom." I trailed my fingers down the back of her calf, my hand reaching around the inside of her leg to do so.

Mom closed her eyes, her head tipping back again, "Uh huh," she said, as she lowered herself onto her elbows instead of her hands.

I caressed Mom's leg for some time, tickling up and down, trying to be gentle yet stroking her as sensually as I could. Mom looked really relaxed. As I neared her knee, coming over the thick part of her calf, I arched my hand so it scraped against her thigh. She tensed the first time I did this but relaxed as I continued to her knee and journeyed back down to her ankle. I didn't scrape her again until the fifth time after that and the third time after that. She only tensed up the first and second times. Soon, I was regularly scraping along the back of her thigh, managing to hit sooner by arching my hand awkwardly so I could touch her higher up her leg. I was also arcing my fingers around the hollow behind her knee and I think I was on my third time down the back of her thigh with my fingers before she noticed. I caressed the outer part of her thigh and moved my fingers inward, toward her center, for the return journey. I heard a sudden intake of Mom's breath, and that, I think, is when she first noticed that I had strayed from her calf to her thigh.

"I think you should try my hair now, sweetie."

The tone of her voice didn't seem to leave room for choice but I tried anyway. "Just a few more times, Mom."

"Three more," she replied, "just three."

I tried to strain my fingers closer to the inside each time I reached the furthest point up her thigh. She smiled, amused by my attempts, but kept her eyes closed. She must have enjoyed what I was doing because I was on my ninth stroke when she shifted her leg downward, signaling that my leg time was over.

I shifted to a position kneeling behind Mom as she moved back up to brace herself on her hands again. I slipped my fingers into her hair, pulling gently lest I hurt her by catching a snag.

"You're so much more thoughtful than your brother," Mom said.

I began stroking my fingers through Mom's hair, concentrating on giving her a relaxing head massage. A long while later she slumped back against me, her back laying on my thighs, tipping her face up to me as I massaged her temples and her jaw.

"Oh, god that feels so nice, Kevin."

"Just relax and enjoy yourself, Mom," I whispered.

I continued massaging her face and head, running my fingers through her hair as well. After a while, I reached forward to slip my fingers behind each knee, pulling them closer to me. Mom shifted her feet closer to her bottom to help. I slid the fingers of each hand in a slow caress down the back of each thigh. I could feel her legs tense, but she didn't stop me. I pulled back up just as slowly and ran my fingers down again.

As I pulled back up, Mom spoke softly, "You really do like my legs, don't you Kevin?"

"Yes, Mom." My voice was dry and cracked. My nerves were tingling, I was so nervous.

"Ok," she whispered.

I continued caressing her thighs, looking down to watch her face in my lap. She seemed serene, her eyes closed. Some time into this, I closed my wrists to the sides of her legs, pinching her dress and dragging it on the down stroke, right to the top of her legs. I could see her panties now. I looked down at Mom's face. She was smiling, that same enigmatic expression she's worn the night before. I stroked my fingers down her thighs, staring at her panties and the faint outline of her womanhood laying underneath.

As I brought my hands back up, her knees suddenly parted wide, forcing a small gap at the side of her panties by the hollows of her legs.

"Do the insides now, Kevin," Mom whispered.

I was stunned by this unexpected encouragement. My breath short, I slid my fingers over her knees and started down. Oh, the skin was so much softer here. My fingers trembled as they rose over the wide part of her inner thigh on the final approach toward her panties. I could hardly breathe. I stopped, afraid to go closer, returning to her knees. Several more times I traced my fingers down but was unable to move lower.

"Closer," Mom whispered.

But I retreated again. When I reached my turning point again, her legs moved wider apart.

"Closer," she whispered.

I pushed past my barrier, but only half an inch. Again, into the breach, and past again. My breathing was ragged, Mom's was simply quicker. Down I went, to the barrier and beyond again, just another half an inch. Again, again, again. I was there! My fingers were right beside her panties.

I forgot to pull back. I sat there, leaning far over Mom's head, close, watching my fingers on her inner thighs, beside her panties. Without comprehending, I watched as my finger, of their own accord, stretched open to form a semicircle between each thumb and the fingers of each hand. They slipped around, making an arc around the edge of her panties.

"I think that's enough for now, Kevin. We should be going." I looked down at Mom, she hadn't opened her eyes.

"Just a little longer, Mom."

"No," she said, pushing herself up and closing her legs. She turned and gave me a quick kiss on my lips. "Women will find it hard to say no to you, you have a way about you." Mom stood up, brushing her dress free of grass, "Come on, let's find another spot, maybe back in the trees a bit out of the sun, for our picnic." Mom headed toward the car, leaving me to pick up the blanket.

We drove about for more than an hour, taking our time, down little roads and then back out again, admiring small cottages and big old farmhouses we saw along the way. We didn't talk about what had just happened, and I didn't ogle Mom's legs. Mom loosened her seatbelt and tucked her legs up beside herself. I told her she should keep her belt on but she ignored me, squiggling around to get comfortable, pulling her dress up a bit to show her legs.

"You seem to have gone off my legs, sir."

"I don't think so, Mom," I smiled casually, glancing down at her.

"Well, if you're so worried about the seatbelt, pull off up there. We can walk over to the other side of that little hill over there for our lunch."

I pulled off and we carefully climbed over the barb wire fence. I loved the carefree look of Mom as she walked briskly up the little hill. It was a good spot. We were alone on the other side, invisible from the road. We sat down and had our lunch. I was surprised to find that Mom had brought a bottle of red wine. We lay back on the blanket, sipping our wine and enjoying the scenery. Mom, the hills, me, her legs as she lay on her side facing me.

Mom noticed me looking at her legs again and she quietly dropped her hand to the side of her leg and began tugging her dress up, and inch or two at a time, every few minutes, teasing me. When the dress couldn't go any further, she lifted her hips and tugged it hard, bringing the hem right up to her hip. It dropped across her front just below her groin, allowing me the full vision of her legs, but not her panties.

"Not so interested in the seat belt, now?" Mom laughed, following my gaze down to her exposed thighs.

"No," I answered, my voice a little hoarse, but not from the wine. I reached down, tentatively, to touch her thigh. She recognized that I was silently asking permission as I paused before making contact. When she said nothing, I slipped my fingers between her legs, just below the hem. I gazed into her eyes, softly regarding my face, left hand between her legs, right hand on the blanket holding my glass of wine, next to hers doing the same.

"You've trapped yourself," Mom laughed. "You're won't be able to move your hand when it's squeezed in there."

I wiggled my fingers, proving her point. I returned her laugh, "Oh well, it's not so bad here."

Mom laughed out loud at that.

"Of course, if you opened your legs for me ..."

Mom looked aghast, then smiled widely, "Opened my legs for you? Now, that's forward, young man."

Nevertheless, her top leg lifted leaving a small gap between her legs. I began moving my fingers in a small oval from there to almost touching her panties with the side of my index finger. We gazed at each other for several minutes while I did that, our breathing becoming more rapid with each minute. Mom raised her glass and sipped her wine.

"Don't like the wine?" she asked, that little smile taking over her mouth again.

She knew I couldn't drink without removing my hand, since I was propping my weight up on the elbow of the hand holding my wine. She laughed at my expense again and lifted her glass to my lips, letting me take a small sip before returning it to her own mouth. I had paused when she held the glass to my lips, holding my hand still right below her panties, the edge of my index finger actually touching them. When she finished taking her sip, I asked for another and stopped there again, this time pressing slightly harder as I leaned toward her glass.

And then, I almost blew it.

As she took another sip, I asked, "Are you going to let me do everything Matt did?"

She went rigid, pulling the glass form her lips.

"What did he tell you?"

I didn't respond verbally, realizing I'd said something dreadfully wrong, and not wanting to make it worse, but I couldn't help looking at her breasts.

"Oh," she said. "He told you I showed them to him?"

"He uh said you uh let him touch them."

"Let him touch them. He said that?" her voice was a little angry now in an incredulous tone as she looked straight ahead. She turned to face me directly, "Is that what you want? To do what Matt did? Tit for tat?"

I looked at Mom, a little shell shocked, fear, I'm sure, showing on my face. "No, Mom, no." I shook my head emphatically, "No."

Mom looked at me, steadily, then pulled back, drank the rest of her wine, and tossed the glass in the grass to the side of the blanket.

"Let's not have any more talk about Matt, then," she said. She twisted onto her back, pulling her legs from my hand, putting her arm over her eyes to shade them from the sun. "Finish your wine," she said, "and then let me rest against your knees so you can do my legs again. I liked it when you did that, it's your specialty, I think."

I tossed my wine off in one swig and moved behind her, incredibly relieved that the crisis had passed. I swore to never mention my brother's name again. I placed my hands under her shoulders and shuffled my knees under her back as she raised herself up. While I played with her hair, Mom bent her knees, tucking her feet very close to her bottom, allowing her dress to fall down her thighs again. I reached forward to caress her legs.

This time I stroked all of her legs, repeatedly, from foot to thigh, again and again, stroking softly for a long time. Our breathing was quite irregular. Mom stopped me by reaching up to grasp my wrists in her hands.

"Let me catch my breath for a few minutes," she gasped.

I thought that was it. She lay on my knees, eyes closed, regaining her normal breathing pattern. Then her hand slipped off my wrists, her elbows falling to her side, her hands resting on her chest. She lay still but her breathing was still heavy enough to make her breasts push her hands up and down, something that immediately captured my attention.

Then ... her fingers moved, she undid the top button of her dress, then stopped.

"Do you mind, Kevin?" she whispered, "It's so hot in the sun."

It took a moment for me to jerk myself into action. My fingers fumbled with the next button but I finally managed to get it undone in only three times as long as it had taken her. I stopped, unsure of whether I was to simply loosen her dress or had been given permission to see her breasts.

"I'll tell you when to stop," Mom whispered.

I continued with the next button and, hesitantly, the next. Though the dress still covered her, it was sufficiently undone that I could tell there wasn't a bra underneath. My boner was bending in my jeans big time. I realized I had stopped on this discovery but Mom hadn't said to, so I started on the next button, making sure during my fumbling to accidently spread the lapels of her open dress. I proceeded to the next button and did that one with some semblance of efficiency. It was the last one.

I leaned over her, uncertain and eager. I dearly wanted to plunge my hands inside that dress but remembered Mom's appreciation of the way I took my time. I'm sure Matt would have reached in and grabbed a handful of tit, and that is probably what she expected me to do. Instead, I carefully pulled her dress apart until the edge of the dress was just hiding her nipples. Her chest was pulsing with her quickening breath. I nudged the material over a little more, just exposing both nipples, which now stood up past the thick material of her dress.

Gingerly, I inserted my hands under the dress above her breasts, palms flat, and slid them down and outward, cupping the side of each globe. Letting my fingers slide further around and underneath, I pulled each breast up toward me, sliding my thumbs down at the same time. The parts of my hands met on her nipples, fingers from the bottom, thumbs on top. I pinched gently, and pulled. I loved the sharp and deep intake of breath that resulted as I pinched her tits.

"Awesome, Mom. Just awesome."

"Shhhhh, Kevin." There was a break in her speech as I rolled her nipples. "It's late. You only have a few minutes, and then we have to go."

It was half an hour later that Mom finally buttoned her dress. On the way home, she said, "Now I want you to stop this nonsense at home before you get us both into big trouble, do you hear me?"

"Yes, Mom," I answered, sulking a bit.

"Don't sulk," Mom cut in, "I let you do more than Matt. I had a bra on when I let him, so you're way ahead."

That perked me up. I saw Matt undo her dress and take hold of her, but I didn't know she was wearing a bra. The very fact she didn't wear a bra with me was encouraging.

"So you want me to behave myself now?" I asked.

"Yes."

"At home?"

"Yes," she confirmed, a suspicious questioning tone apparent in her voice.

"So will you go for a drive with me next week, Mom?"

Mom laughed when she looked at me, and slapped me playfully on the shoulder. "You brat."

"Well?"

"I guess you did make my legs feel nice. Maybe. If you behave yourself."

I looked down at Mom's legs, since she'd mentioned them. She noted my line of sight, and made a comment about not being used to tight dresses. Then she lifted herself and pulled the dress way up her legs. I reached over past the stick shift to her seat and rested my hand on the inside of her left leg. A moment later, sure of her acceptance, I pulled it toward me. Most of the way home, she let me run my fingers up and down the inside of her thigh.

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

I would have carried on with Kevin's letter but I noticed some action on the monitor recordings. Quickly, I retraced the video back to where Mary and Paul came back into their suite. They both disappeared down the hallway to their rooms. Damn, I thought. Out of sight. But, Paul returned a few minutes later in his bathrobe and sat down on the couch, and Mary joined him half an hour after that, clearly having had a shower. She was dressed in a robe and was drying her hair with a towel.

Mary watched TV while Paul read a comic. Mary glanced disapprovingly several times at Paul and his comic book and asked him to watch the movie with her, but Paul declined. After the third time, Mary got up to go into the kitchen, returning with a large glass of juice for each of them. Paul suddenly paid rapt attention to his mother. She had removed her robe, presumably leaving it in the kitchen. She made no mention of the fact that she was now wearing just a thigh length cotton nightie. I could tell through the cameras that she wasn't wearing a bra, so I'm sure Paul could.

Mary sat down and continued watching the movie. Paul sat with the comic in his lap and his head turned toward Mary, blatantly watching his mother. Mary's demeanor indicated she thought everything was normal. Every minute or so, she would take a sip of juice, but she didn't look at Paul, affording him the opportunity of uninterrupted viewing. Mary even stretched a couple of times.

Perhaps thinking that she couldn't just sit there and let Paul ogle her all night, Mary asked him if he'd give her a shoulder rub. He agreed and swung his legs up on the couch, patting the seat between his legs. Mary slid over, situating herself in front of him, and he began massaging her shoulders.

Paul must have been adept at this because Mary seemed truly relaxed after about five minutes and leaned back against her son, resting her head on his shoulder as he began go massage her sides. He had to be rubbing past the sides of her breasts but Mary seemed content. Her eyes were closed so I don't think she noticed when Paul began to discreetly edge Mary's nightie up as his hands pulled up her sides. When Mary had sat between his legs, her nightie must have slid high enough to be clear of her bottom as she raised her knees to push herself back, because Paul was able to get her nightie up above her hips. Mary's small bikini panties were completely showing, and even a couple of inches of lower tummy above that. Again, I noticed the prominence of her mound.

"Paul," Mary suddenly spoke, startling both Paul and myself, "could you undo your robe? The belt is poking into my back." She didn't raise her head or open her eyes.

Paul slipped his hands behind Mary and fumbled around for a minute. Mary arched her back to give him space, which was a nice treat as her breasts pushed up against her nightie. Paul pulled his robe open, not just the belt, but the robe as well. He must be sitting with just his shorts between he and his mother. Mary relaxed, sinking back against her son. Paul began rubbing her sides again. Mary seemed almost asleep on him.

I noticed that Paul was a little more daring now. He must be thinking that he was about to have another show from his mother, she couldn't really be sleeping, and he seemed to letting his hands press harder against her sides when he was next to her breasts. If so, his thoughts were confirmed when Mary spoke again.

"Paul, are you sure you undid your belt?"

"Yeah, Mom." Paul looked almost annoyed, I imagine because he wanted her to pretend to doze off so he could feel free to look and touch her more openly.

"But it's still poking in my back. Make sure, ok?"

Mary arched her back again and Paul fumbled behind her. I couldn't see what he was doing but my guess was he was pulling his dick out of his shorts.

Mary leaned back again when he assured her the belt was gone. I could tell from her expression something was still pressing into her back, followed by a shocked expression and reddening of her face. But she didn't complain when Paul started rubbing her again and she soon began breathing deeply and regularly, Paul's signal to play.

It wasn't long before Paul had worked Mary's nightie right up to bunch below her breasts. This nightie was one piece so he couldn't undo it like her robe. It looked like he was going to try to pull it right over her breasts, a pretty gutsy move. I was just thinking, no way, when he did exactly that. He just pulled it over her tits, lay it on her neck, and stared at her tits for a while. Mary didn't react. Paul watched her tits rise and fall as she breathed heavily but regularly for some time. Then he passed his threshold for action and his hands slipped up from her sides to hold her breasts.

He didn't move at first. He just held her tits, his palms resting flat on top of them, but eventually he started to squeeze, just a little, kneading her tits like he was squeezing a pair of small lemons. Squeeze, release. Squeeze, release. Squeeze, release.

Mary let him continue. He didn't play with her nipples, he just kneaded her tits. I could see Mary's tummy pulsing which was odd until I realized Paul was pushing himself into her back. Good god, I thought, my own cock surging, she was letting him dry hump her back. Her tummy was pushing up now as Paul strengthened his thrusts behind his mother and quickened his pace. Mary's eyes opened with a frantic look. I think things had got out of hand and she didn't know what to do. She was looking about wildly but I she guess couldn't think of anything to do but ride it out. She closed her eyes as Paul cranked into the final stretch.

It wasn't long but there was no way she could pretend to have slept through that ride. She was bouncing on top of him at the very end. He ground himself into her back as he slowed down and finally stopped. His hand fell from her tits. Mary reached up and dragged her nightie down to cover herself, awkwardly climbed off her son, and disappeared down the hallway. I heard the shower start.

Paul lay there, gasping for breath, his big cock laying flat on his stomach. He struggled up and put his robe on, pulling it closed over his cum-stained stomach. He just sat there, looking a little stunned at what he'd done.

Mary appeared a moment later wearing another robe. She looked at the monitor.

"I'm going up to check on Mr. H," she said, sounding a little angry. "Go get a shower." And she was gone.

I turned back to Kevin's letter.

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I was true to my word. I didn't bother Mom for at least four days. I have to admit, though, that it was awfully hard, especially later in the week when our Sunday drive was so close. Standing behind her doing the dishes for four days without trying to give her a kiss, put my hand on her waist, or brush against her behind, was murder. But on Friday night, I got a reprieve.

"You've been awfully good all week, mister," Mom said as soon as we started the dishes.

"I've tried hard, Mom. Are you going to come for a drive?" I asked, a little desperate.

"I haven't made up my mind yet," she replied.

"Mom," I complained.

"You've been good, it's true. But I have to say, you've been pretty boring all week."

I took a cup and dried it, looking at her as she scrubbed another. What was she saying? Did she want me to fool around? If I did, and I was wrong, she surely wouldn't come for a drive. What to do?

I finished the cup and put it away. As I passed behind her, I leaned in and gave her a kiss on her cheek.

"Sorry, Mom."

"That's ok."

I picked up the next dish, dried it, and put it away also. Then I stood behind her as she washed the next one. I kissed her cheek, and then her neck as she worked. She just smiled, so I kissed her again, letting my lips linger on her face. She finished the dish and started another. I didn't move to pick it up. Instead, I put my hands on her waist, and whispered, "Can we go to the same spot?"

"Don't you like to try new places?" she asked.

"I kind of like familiar ground," I replied, rubbing my hands up her waist, feeling the swell of her breasts.

"Do you now?"

"Yes. When you have the best ground, why go anywhere else?"

"Men always like to explore," Mom replied.

"True. But some discover new things on old ground," I whispered, leaning in against her. She felt softer tonight, different somehow. I pushed my hands forward a little so my fingers touched the sides of her breasts instead of her waist.

"So I'm old now, am I?" Mom teased, finishing another dish and putting it in the rack.

I pressed in harder and let my fingers slide under her breasts. "An old woman wouldn't feel like this."

Mom seemed pleased by my comment but she pushed me back and spread her arms to force my hands away from her. "You're falling behind. Let's get these dishes done now."

That was it for that night. Saturday, I had to work. Dinner was done and the dishes too by the time I got home, even though I rushed to get there. I was up early Sunday. It was a beautiful day. Mom made a great breakfast but wouldn't let me help with the dishes. She sent me out to help Dad in the yard. I was angry, thinking she'd drawn me in Friday night and was now canceling the drive. But when I got back in the house, she was waiting, dressed in her long coat and holding a picnic basket.

"Are you ready?" she asked, a little smirk on her face.

She asked me to stop as soon as we left town so she could take her coat off. She was wearing the same dress and she let the hem ride up as she got back into the car. I didn't stop at the Dairy Queen, I sped right past. Mom didn't protest, she simply reached across and laid her hand on my leg. "We're not in a hurry, Kevin," she said.

It was an hour before we arrived at our afternoon spot.

Quickly, I spread the blanket and we sat down to have our lunch and wine. I relaxed as we ate. I was filled with anticipation, but I somehow knew she would let me do what we'd done the week before. She teased me, but she wasn't mean. I enjoyed looking at her, her hair moving in the slight breeze. She had an easy manner when she was with me out here, I noticed, she was different. We took our time drinking our wine. Mom finished hers first and asked me if I was going to massage her like I had last week. "Of course," I assured her, sipping my wine.

"Don't hurry, take your time," she said as she got up on her knees, legs tucked underneath, lifted her fingers to her dress and began slowly undoing the buttons. She did all of them as I watched, moving at the same deliberate pace.

I finished my wine and tossed the glass aside, moving to kneel behind her and squat on my haunches, making a place for her to rest on my thighs, like she had before. Her hands reached down to grasp the hem of her dress and she tugged it up high on her legs as she wiggled herself back closer to me. I thought she was about to sit down and lean against my legs but she paused for a moment, then she started shrugging her shoulders, like something was bothering her.

Her dress slipped off one shoulder and then the other. I could see that she had pushed it off with her hands. She looked back at me then and smiled, then sat down and leaned back. There she lay, on my legs before me, her dress pushed down to her waist and her breasts bare and thrusting up toward me. God, this woman was exciting.

"I love the feel of your hands, Kevin. Love me with them," she whispered, closing her eyes.

I reached down to take a breast in each hand, testing their softness, rubbing my thumb down to meet my palm, nipple squeezed between. I pulled her nipples up about an inch and gently shook her tits. I let them drop, them pushed them flat with my palms and rolled her nipples around for several minutes, followed by an extended period of pinching and tugging her nipples.

Reluctantly, I moved to caress her legs. I repeated, as close as I could remember, the same sequence of stroking caresses I had done the previous week. I took a long time stroking her thighs until I reached the same point as the week before, my fingers spread around the edge of her panties. I think she'd been close to letting me touch her then, but she'd stopped me, enticing me away with the hint of her breasts. But she'd let me start with her breasts today.

"Touch my breasts again," she whispered.

"I'm almost finished your legs, Mom."

"Ok," she whispered back, "but just a bit longer."

I squeezed my hands together, just the slightest bit, pushing against her panties, shoving her womanhood up. Mom's breath sucked in hard. She seemed about to speak, to stop me. I flicked my thumbs down, brushing them over her panties, over her mound.

"Ohhhohhhohhh." Mom's hips moved, twisting her panties up against my thumbs. I don't think she could help it. I brushed my thumbs back and forth, pressing more firmly as I rubbed them along her pussy lips. I could feel they were damp even through the panties.

"Ohhhhh, ohhhhhhh, ohhhhh," Mom sighed and purred, music to my ears. I was proud that I could make her feel like this. Her eyes fluttered and she seemed about to speak again. I moved the fingers of my right hand into the center of her panties, on the lower side, and pushed, the tips of my middle three fingers making a hollow, between her lips. I began moving them in a circle, pressing in and out as I worked them around.

She was gone. Her hips began generating little thrusts, pushing her up against me. Her eyes were now screwed tightly shut, her face no longer serene.

I slipped the fingers of my top hand under the elastic of her panties, finding her groove and laying my long finger in it. I pressed down with my finger and released, then again and again, at a steady pace. Her hips were really straining now, pushing her pelvis against my hands. I slipped my lower fingers under the leg of her panties and pushed them inside, gratified by the wet, squishy sound as they slid in. Her hips began bucking furiously, there was no need to move my fingers, I just held them still while she did all the work. She was moaning. She seemed very close. A tremendous urge struck me. I leaned way over and covered her damp, panty covered mound with my mouth, pulling my upper fingers back to make room for my tongue, pushing it into the top of her panties.

Mom shuddered, lifting her ass off the ground, legs straining, heels dug into the blanket. Her whole body quivered as her pussy shoved frantically into my face. Between gasps she was wailing. She collapsed to the ground, my face landing half a second later cushioned by her panties and the puffy lips underneath. I took one last munch and was rewarded by a long, throbbing shove into against my face.

I don't think Mom knew what to do after that. She lay still, breathing very hard. My face was still on her panties but she didn't try to push me away. I realized that Mom didn't know how to handle letting herself get that carried away, but I didn't have a clue how to proceed either. I was very horny, so I just kept touching her. I was still kneeling with her head laying on my legs. I twisted my hips against her head, repeatedly pressing the bulge in my jeans into her hair. I moved my lips against her panties and slid my hands back to squeeze her tits. There was no way she could miss the point that I hadn't had mine.

Mom put her hands on my head and tried to move it away from her pussy, but I held steady, continuing to work my lips on her panties. Her hands dropped away. It crossed my mind that my father had probably not put his mouth on her for a long time, if ever. Anyway, it didn't seem that she wanted to stop me all that bad. I shifted my knees back and opened my legs, letting Mom's head drop to the blanket. Dropping my hands from Mom's breasts to brace myself, I stretched my legs out to help hold my weight and lowered my hips until the front of my jeans pressed lightly against Mom's mouth.

I don't think I could have been more obvious but Mom didn't take the hint to unzip me. I was so horny, I almost came anyway. I rubbed myself sideways across her face for emphasis but she only turned her head, facing away from my desperate knob. I needed to do something, I was so horny I thought I would die. Lifting off her and twisting around, I laid down between her legs, lowering myself until I felt my jeans contact her mound.

"No, Kevin, no," she cried, her hands grasping my hips and trying to push me away.

"Yes," I gasped, "I'm so horny, I have to do something."

"I can't, I can't," she pleaded, struggling desperately to push me away, without success as my bulge pressed into her.

"I can't help it," I panted. "You let Matt rub you," I accused her. "I need to too."

Her hands relaxed. Unrestrained, I humped against her.

"Yes," she acknowledged, "and he ran away when I refused to do it again."

"I won't run away, Mom," I promised, "Just let me rub you like Matt did."

When her hands slid up over my shoulders, I knew I'd won.

"Ok, Kevin. I'll let you do what Matt did, and then that's it." She patted me on my back with both hands, giving me the signal to go ahead.

Reaching under, I undid my belt and pushed my jeans down over my throbbing cock. Released from the constraining power of my jeans, my dick straightened out against the mild strength of my jockey shorts.

"No!" Mom cried. "Keep your jeans on, like Matt."

"I'm still wearing my shorts," I wailed back, pressing down on her, delighting in the greater warmth from this closer connection.

"No, Matt wore his jeans," cried, less emphatically.

"It's too late," I gasped, rubbing my boner up and down on her pussy, humping against her like I was really fucking her.

In the time before she replied, I had rubbed my stiff cock through her a dozen times.

"It's not the same," she panted, "it's not fair."

I rolled sideways into her as I rubbed up and down. She moaned and raised her legs, her knees reaching almost to my shoulders. I rubbed her really fast, then slowed down to a slow grind. She shoved her pussy up to meet me.

"Why is it so hard to say no to you?" she panted, then let out a long, slow, "ohhhhhhhhhh, Kevin."

I became less desperate when I heard that. I concentrated on giving her the best rubbing, or fake fuck, I could manage. I changed my pace and pressure frequently and staved off coming until she did too. I kissed her when we finished, a long, languid tongue exchange.

When that was done, I whispered in her ear, "I'll never go away, Mom. I'll never leave you alone."

"I know, Kevin," she whispered back, "that's what I'm afraid of."

She watched me as she cleaned herself with a towel from the picnic basket. I took off my jeans, slipped off my shorts, cleaned myself with the dry back, and tossed them away. Buttoning her dress, still sitting on the blanket, she kept her eyes on me as I stepped back into my jeans. Instead of pulling them all the way up, I turned toward her, my cock sticking straight out.

"Are you boasting that you're bigger than the rest of the men in the family?" she laughed.

"Am I?" I asked.

Her response was to let her eyes twinkle as she held her hand out for me to help her up. I pulled her up but held onto her hand, moving it down to my cock. She pulled back when she realized what I was trying to do.

"Come on, Mom. It won't bite." I pulled her hand nearer, looking down to watch.

"No, I can't," she said, "I mustn't." She wasn't tugging her hand any harder, despite the extra pressure I'd brought to bear to get it closer to me. Her eyes, like mine, were on my cock and her hand.

I twisted my cock to nudge against the fingers of my hand and hers.

"Touch it, Margaret," I suggested softly. I don't know why I used her first name.

She groaned and stopped trying to pull her hand away. I loosened my hold and saw her fingers open within my hand. I pushed my shaft in, nestling it against her palm. Her fingers closed over me. Her fingers were so soft and gentle, like little vines snaking around my cock. I started to harden immediately. She gasped, yanked her hand away, and ran toward the car. Calmly, I gathered all our things and followed her. She didn't let me stroke her leg on the way home this time. She was quiet, lost in her thoughts all the way. So was I.

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

Mary was gone at least half an hour. By the time she returned, Paul was sitting on the couch, wearing the same robe, reading a comic and drinking a coke. Mary sat down on the couch beside him, rather than at the far end.

"Put that comic down, you're not a little boy anymore."

"Oh, sorry Mom." Paul closed the comic, holding it in his lap. He did look like a little boy about the get heck for something he'd done, and knowing he had to sit through it.

Mary's tone softened as she looked at him. "Look," she said, "we have to talk." She reached out to pat his hand with her left and tugged on the comic with her right. Reluctantly, his grip loosened sufficiently for her to pull it away and toss it behind her on the couch. Paul looked even more lost without his comic to hang on to for support.

"Look," Mary started again, her gaze still where the comic had lain, but she was distracted when she saw the large lump in her son's lap. Her face flushed as she remembered it pushing into her back.

"Look," she started again, looking at Paul's face, "I know things have been a little crazy around her the last little while, that I ... uh ... have been a little different."

Paul nodded slowly. He seem confused, probably expecting to just get shit.

"You're old enough to be a man, now. Too old for comic books." Mary nodded her head to the side, back toward the comic book. "And I ... uh ... just thought we could ... could relax in our home, like two adults. You understand?"

Paul nodded again, his head moving faster.

Mary continued, "I wasn't wrong, was I? You're not a boy anymore, are you?"

Paul shook his head emphatically.

"Good," Mary said, "because when I saw you reading a comic book, I thought I was wrong."

Paul finally spoke, "No Mom. I just picked it up 'cause it was there. I wasn't really reading it," he lied.

Mary took his hands, still lying in his lap, into hers and looked him in the eye, "So we can get rid of them? Right?"

Paul looked very unsure. Mary's head nodded once, seeking his agreement, and her hands seemed to grip his more tightly. Paul's eyes glanced down from Mary's face to her chest, then quickly back again. He nodded.

"Right?" Mary prodded.

"Right Mom. I don't need them anymore."

"That's good, son. I'm glad to hear that you can leave little boy things behind." Mary leaned forward to kiss Paul on the cheek. As she did, she pressed her hands, and his enclosed in her clasp, into his lap. She pulled back a few inches, her eyes searching his face, then leaned in and kissed him softly on the mouth, lingering for a half a minute.

"You're a man now, Paul," she spoke as she pulled away. "So I can relax around the house, the way I have been lately, like I couldn't when you were a boy. Can't I?" It was a demand more than a question.

Paul nodded, looking encouraged. Mary pulled her hands away, leaving his in his lap, laying on either side of the large lump under his robe. Mary glanced down, then went on, "And we can ... relax together, as long as it doesn't go too far." Mary nodded her head once, her eyes seeking agreement once more.

Paul nodded, then, after looking into her eyes, said, "Right," in a solemn voice.

"Because I'm your Mom, and there's some things you can only do with other women."

Paul nodded again. Mary leaned in and hugged him, pulling back to kiss him on the mouth again, a little longer this time. When she pulled back, Mary looked down at the swelling mass under Paul's robe, now bracketed by her hands as well as his.

"Like pushing that against me," Mary canted her head down, "at least, all the way like you did tonight."

Paul shook his head in agreement, embarassed.

"That's for other women."

Paul didn't nod in agreement this time. Instead, he said, "I understand, Mom. But I can't do anything with other girls because they think I'm deformed."

"Deformed?" Mary asked, her voice rising. "Deformed?" she repeated, indignant.

"Yeah," Paul responded, "you know, you felt it."

"You're not deformed," Mary insisted angrily.

"It's got a really big head," Paul insisted back, "they said it was ugly, they said it's deformed."

"Who said?" Mary demanded.

"Some girls at a party."

"Well they're wrong. There's nothing wrong with you."

"There is, Mom," Paul said quietly, "look." And Paul pulled his robe apart, pushing Mary's hands aside as he did.

Paul's semi hard cock sprang free. A normal, healthy six inch dick, the shaft a little thicker than usual, but otherwise normal, except the large head, which was easily more than three, almost four inches across in any direction.

Shocked, Mary stared at her son's bare cock, a little slow to realize he hadn't put on shorts after his shower. Long seconds dragged by.

"You're not deformed," Mary finally whispered.

"Yes, Mom, the top is way too big."

"No. Some women would like that," Mary replied, still staring at her son's cock. Was she imagining what it would be like to feel that massive head trying to bludgeon its way inside her? Or, was she simply marveling that her son was a match in his way to her own prominence?

"Really? One girl told me it was ok, just big. Too big for her, she said." Paul, noticing that his mother was entranced, pushed her hand toward his cock, lifting it with his until her palm pressed against his enlarged head. "She said she could hardly hold it," he whispered.

I was amazed. Mary's hand closed over her son's cock, but she was unable to close her fingers around it. I couldn't believe this. Mary, who thought it would be going too far to flash her boobs a few days ago.

Paul continued, still whispering, "She had to use both hands." He nudged Mary's other hand up until it too circled his cockhead. Mary's hands were held as if she was trying to cup water in her palms but instead they surrounded the head of Paul's cock like a planter holding a large flower.

Seeing that Mary was still enthralled, Paul continued, "I asked her where I could find a girl that wouldn't think it was too big." Paul pushed his cock up and down, once, through Mary's hand without any reaction from her. "She said, only a mother would kiss something like that, and only if she had a smile as big as Cameron Diaz."

Paul twisted his hips toward Mary, his knees pushing her farther down the couch so that she had to lean forward, her arms outstretched, to keep holding him. He nudged her again and she shifted her own hips to slide farther back. Paul lifted his hands, sliding up Mary's arms, outside her robe, to her shoulder and over to rest against her neck.

"Like your smile, Mom," Paul's voice lulled, his hand stretching behind Mary's neck and tilting her head forward. His other hand slipped over her head and pulled it down. "Everyone says you look like Cameron Diaz with dark hair." Mary nodded, the first indication she was conscious since she'd touched his cock. Her thumbs brushed across it's wide tip as if prepping it.

The final tug and Mary's lips contacted her son's most notable feature. I expected her to jerk back, startled from her strange trance but she didn't. Instead, her mouth stretched, stretched wide, and as I watched, Paul's cock disappeared slowly into her mouth.

He was smart enough not to try shoving it into her. He waited while she worked her mouth until the entire head was inside. Mary's jaws were at an incredible angle. I was reminded of a snake trying to swallow a much larger animal.

Then Paul did something I'll never forget. Holding his mother's head, he gently twisted it sideways and then back. A few times more and he let go. Mary continued twisting her head on his cock.

"Only my mother would do this, she said." Paul whispered.

A minute later, it happened, as with my mother. Mary had no idea of the load that was coming or she would have pulled back. Paul suddenly arched his back, exploding into Mary's mouth. Mary's cheeks suddenly puffed out and her throat thickened, pulsing as she struggled to swallow the gush of cream forcing its way into her. Some spilled out of her mouth, flowing down Paul's shaft, but even that wasn't enough. By the time she managed to pull herself off his cock, come was flowing from her nostrils. And still, she took two major splashes in her face.

Mary stood, her hands splayed to her sides, cum frothing from nose and mouth, then ran down the hallway out of sight.