The Mom Memories - Chapter 11 - Alwayswantedto - Literotica

 The Mom Memories Ch. 11

by alwayswantedto©

All characters are 18 years or older.

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I came home early the next day, knowing that nobody would be home except Mary, and Dad, of course. I needed to understand what had compelled Mary to go so far with her son. After all, two days ago, even baring her breast had seemed outrageous to her. And now, she had let him put his deformed dick in her mouth. My own mother had let him unload on her face. What was there about this immature, unattractive geek that so fascinated these women? I had to find out, somehow, without revealing that I knew what had happened.

When I came home, Mary was just bringing Dad's lunch tray into the kitchen. She had just finished feeding him and would be free for a couple of hours. As Mary put the dishes in the dishwasher, I queried her about her progress with her son. She blushed furiously as soon as I mentioned Paul, then became quite agitated. Nevertheless, I pressed for more information as a co-conspirator, but she resisted. We circled around the issue until suddenly, she turned to face me and thrust herself against my chest, her arms slipping under mine and around my back.

"Oh, Dave," she cried, "I'm so ashamed. I've gone too far." Her arms tightened around me, squeezing very hard as she sobbed into my breast.

"There, there," I patted her shoulders, hugging her to me, not sure what to do.

She cried into my shoulder, mumbling words I couldn't make out. After a few minutes, she settled down, just sniffling. I pushed her back, holding her by the shoulders, "What do you mean, Mary," I asked, "too far?"

"The other night," she sniffed, "I let him see me. I pretended to be asleep, and I let him look at me, like you suggested, except I let him open my robe completely. I wasn't wearing anything but panties." She sniffled again.

"That's not too far, Mary," I assured her, then added, "Has he stopped reading his comics?"

"No. He was reading them again last night, so I went further."

"You let him see you completely nude?" I asked.

"No. I still had my nightie on."

"I don't understand," I replied, looking confused.

"I asked him to rub my back for me."

"And ..."

"I let him touch me, touch my breasts, ... under my nightie." Mary pressed herself to me again.

"That's ok, Mary. That's not so bad." I patted her back reassuringly, remembering her laying back against her son, letting him pull her nightie up, baring her tits, letting him take them in his hands, massaging them. "He probably thought you were sleeping again."

"Yes," she turned her face sideways against my chest to speak, "but I could feel him, against me, in my back. He was very excited, pushing against me, and he was so big."

There was still surprise in Mary's voice, a remnant of the astonishment she must have felt, but not just at his size, as her next comment revealed.

"It excited me, I couldn't believe it. It wasn't just because its been so long, since his father left, it was because it was his. Like you said it would be, different, like nothing else," she harkened back to my only ramblings when I was trying to gear her up.

"I got so excited, and I let him keep pushing against me, until he was finished. I'm so ashamed." She buried her face in me again.

"Has he quit reading his comics?" I asked again, trying to keep her focused, hoping to help her see that what she'd done was good for her son.

"Yes. He said he was done with them."

"Then, that's good Mary," I exclaimed. "You've made him grow up, so soon, and all it took was a little peek and a bit of rubbing. He'll turn to other girls soon. You've done him an immense favor."

"Yes, I suppose," she mused, "but there's more."

"More?" I asked.

"Yes. We talked about it after. And you're right. He said he's done with comics, he's interested in man things now."

"That's good."

"But he'll want more, or he'll go back to them."

"So let him do more of the same, but just that. After a while, he'll seek out girls that will let him go further."

"I don't know," Mary replied, unconvinced.

"Sure he will, Mary. It's working. He won't go back to comics, not now."

"I don't know if I can hold back," she interjected.

"What?" I asked.

"I don't know if I can deny him," she stated, quietly. She pulled away from me, walked to the counter and turned to face me, leaning back.

"Well, just ... just," I stammered, momentarily at a loss for words, "because it's been so long for you?" Mary didn't reply. I went on, "I can help you with that," I assured her, walking toward her, reaching out to grasp her shoulders. "I'd love to help you with that."

She smiled at me then, a welcoming smile. "I know," she said. "I don't understand it. But I know you do, I can sense that. I know you're intimate with Susan. Maybe you have a thing for older women, I don't know."

Mary smiled at me again and paused. If she'd been smoking, I think I would have felt smoke in my face. "Don't get me wrong. You're a good looking young man and I'm old enough to be your mother. I like the way you touched me the other day, and I think I'd like more. But now it's different."

"How is it different?" I asked, but Mary shook her head. "Make me understand," I said, placing my hands on her waist, letting the edge of my hands graze the sides of her breasts.

Mary was distracted, looking down and to the side. "While we were talking about it, he suddenly pulled his thing out, his cock." Mary's head shook slowly from side to side. "I stared at it. I just couldn't look away. I had the weirdest feeling, like I was compelled to look. And then I did it. He didn't make me, he didn't even ask. I reached out and touched it, closed my hand right around it. I could feel how alive it was, how intense, like nothing I've felt before."

She sobbed, then continued.

"Then I ran away, to my room. I didn't know what I'd have done if I stayed."

"That's it," I asked, you just touched it?"

"Yes," she cried, "but I couldn't stop myself. It scares me."

Mary didn't admit that she'd put her mouth on her son's cock, that she'd let him blast his semen into her throat. I was still digesting this, realizing that she wan in some state of denial, when she continued.

"I'm afraid of what I might do, and you can't help me, not like that," she said. "I can't now, it would be a betrayal. I don't want to do it with my son, but I can't be with anyone else. Not until he has me, or someone else."

Mary brushed my hands from her hips and walked past me, toward her suite.

Try as I might, I couldn't devise a plan to introduce Paul to any young women, so I could turn Mary back to me. I didn't know any young women who would even consider him. The only other woman I knew who might fuck the little prick was my own mother and I certainly didn't want to turn him that way.

It was Mom's night for dinner and theatre with her friends. I ordered pizza and retreated to my study. Looking for another letter from Kevin, I came across one from Grant, the fellow from Chapter 5 who had experienced an erotic back massage with his mom after his father's funeral.

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A week after my father's funeral, everyone had gone home and Mom and I settled into a routine. Nothing happened after the episodes that first afternoon and later in the evening, when I had inserted my finger into Mom's behind, and my cock into her mouth. The feigned 'stress sleep' worked. We didn't have to talk about it. But then nothing happened. Mom didn't ask me to rub her back for her again, and there was no way to bring that day up, at least, the special things that had happened.

We carried on, not mentioning Dad, as if he was just away for a while. It was more than five weeks later that Mom had a bad day, and began mentioning things about Dad throughout the day. Late in the afternoon, I slipped out and came home with some flowers to cheer her up. I've made a reservation for dinner, I told her, so dress up and let's go out. Mom seemed pleased to get out of the house.

I don't think she meant to, but Mom wore a cute black dress. It wasn't a funeral dress. Quite the contrary, it was one of her favorites when she and Dad would go out. Not too revealing, actually elegant and conservative, but she did look great in it. I was dressed too casually to match her but Mom didn't seem to mind. She laughed at my apology when she came downstairs, and said a woman should always be better dressed than her man. She wouldn't let me get changed.

We had a nice, relaxing dinner with a whole bottle of wine between us, but we stayed for dessert and coffee, too. It was easily ten when we got home. Mom insisted on a nightcap, just one more glass of wine. I opened a bottle and settled down on the couch with her. I turned on the TV but switched it to a soft music channel. For the first time that evening, our conversation turned to Dad again. We drank more than one glass of wine, as Mom's conversation become more personal, talking about their relationship, things my sister and I didn't know.

Mom snuggled up to me as she talked, her thigh pressed to mine, her dress only slightly higher, but not intentionally. She talked about their ups and downs over the years, how sometimes things were difficult between them, about my father's wandering eye, but how their sex life had always been good. You'd think this would be uncomfortable, hearing about your parents sex life, but it wasn't, perhaps because of the wine.

It wasn't that he was a great lover, she confided, but he was always different, trying new things. And she would let him, often adding her own twist, which she knew always drew him back to her. I couldn't help but get excited as she told me these things, feeling her hair against my cheek as she nestled against me, the weight of her breast when she turned toward me for a little laugh now and then. She didn't do anything explicitly sexual with me, or provide intimate details as she alluded to sex between them that was periodically somehow illicit.

I was hard by the time we finished that bottle of wine. And, despite all the talk, I didn't do anything except keep my arm around her shoulder, sometimes letting it fall to her waist when she pressed herself closer to me.

"I knew you miss him, Mom" I squeezed her to me, "but now I understand just how much. Thanks for letting me know." I kissed the top corner of her head. Mom didn't say anything. She just nodded her head in acknowledgement.

"You know Dad thought you should get married again. He talked to me about it. He thought you were too young to be a widow for the rest of your life."

"I know," she laughed, then sniffed, and wiped a tear from her cheek.

"She's too much woman to go to waste," I repeated, mimicking my father's voice.

Mom laughed at that, remarking on how he'd said exactly that to her. Shortly after that we finished the wine and Mom said she should get to bed. She thanked me for the flowers and the lovely evening, all of it. She turned to me and gave me a kiss on my cheek, her hand laying on my leg. "You're more than a son to me, you know. You're special, like your Dad."

She got up then, and so did I. We turned out the lights and walked upstairs. Mom turned to me before going into her room.

"I haven't been sleeping well lately," she complained, her voice frustrated. "I just can't fall asleep. I used to get like that sometimes, and Dad would rub my back for me until I fell asleep."

I nodded, not knowing what else to say, waiting for her to say goodnight.

"Would you do that for me tonight? Rub my back, just until I fall asleep?"

I nodded. "Sure, Mom."

"Just until I fall asleep. Then you can go back to your own bed."

I nodded.

"Ok. Go get ready for bed and come back. I'll be ready."

In my room, I rushed to change into some pajama bottoms. I didn't usually wear anything but put them on for my mother's sake. I waited for a few moments to let Mom get changed, then went back to her room.

She was sitting on the end of the bed, still in her dress, one leg raised over the other knee as she tugged her pantyhose off her foot. Only one bedside lamp was on. She looked very sexy in the shadows. She held her hand up as she saw me.

"Sorry, Mom," I said as I took her hand, helping her to her feet, "I thought you'd be changed by now."

"I was waiting for you," she said, turning her back to me. "Dad always did my back after we went out for dinner, and he always unzipped my dress for me. It was like a little ritual."

Mom used both hands to lift her hair, sweeping it up behind her head, baring her neckline. God she looked great, waiting for me to undo her, her hips canted to the left, accenting her curvy body.

I unhooked her dress and slowly pulled the zipper down that elegant black dress. When I reached the bottom, Mom spoke, very softly.

"Since you're not your Dad, I guess you better close your eyes until I get into bed."

She didn't wait for me to answer, or look back, and I didn't close my eyes. Her hair fell as she dropped her arms and crossed them in front of her, raising them to push brush dress off each shoulder. I drank in her bare back as the dress fell to her hips, her shoulders covered by her hair. Seconds passed before she pushed the dress off her hips, her calves somehow seeming ultra sexy as the dress first covered and then bared them as it dropped to the floor.

As I pulled my eyes up Mom's legs they rested on her matching black, lace panties. Dimly, I became aware that her hands were pulling her bra off, and my cock hardened as it remembered being ensconced between those firm, substantial globes. I almost closed my eyes as I realized that she was about to get into bed, or turn around and catch me by surprise looking at her but before I could react, her hand had tossed the bra to the floor and placed itself on her hip. Stunned, I watched as she pushed her panties, dragging them over her hips and down her thighs to her knees. There, she lifted her foot and, hooking her toe in the little lacy affair, dragged it down her calf to the floor. Placing her foot on it, she stepped forward, pulling her other foot free.

She stood still for several seconds, allowing me to taste the vision of her full, womanly ass.

"I'll let you know when I'm in bed so you can open your eyes," she whispered.

Then, she moved with slow deliberate movements onto the bed, crawling up to the pillows, pulling the covers down, and getting in, never once looking back. She lay face down.

"Ok," she said, using her left hand to pull the covers back beside her.

I clambered onto the bed and got in beside her. Mom pushed the covers down so her back was bare to her hips.

"There's some oil on the table. Dad always put a little on his hands."

"Ok, Mom," I'm sure my voice cracked

"He always started at the top," she wiggled her shoulder, "and he kept the light on until he went lower."

She didn't explain what that meant. I had to reach across her to get the little tube of oil from the bedside table. Sprinkling several drops on the fingertips of my right hand, I began. I paused to put more oil on after doing her shoulders and upper arms, at least fifteen minutes later. I spent even more time on Mom's lower back, her waist, and her sides, where her breasts bulged out. I spent a lot of time there, tracing my fingers more lightly there, but she seemed most appreciative when my fingers delved into the small of her back, before the rise up to her buttocks.

"Dad used to pool some oil there before turning out the light," she said.

Though it was very low, her voice startled me because I was so focused on trailing my fingers around her skin. I put oil where she suggested and reached over to turn out the light, making sure not to let my huge hardon scrape her back even thought it was still inside my pajamas.

"Put more on," she said, before I reached the light.

Dutifully, I added more at the base of her spine where she seemed to be so sensitive to my touch, turning my hand over and letting the oil drip into the little dish in her back until a little puddle formed, spreading it in a little circle with my finger. She spoke for the last time that night.

"Lower," she whispered.

I turned out the light.

Starting at her neck, I slid my hand down her back in a languid arc, in no rush, skirted around the side of the little puddle of oil, and dragged my fingertips over the erotic slope of Mom's left buttock, the one nearest to me, pushing the covers ahead of my hand until I reached its crest. Sliding back down, I crossed her back and did the same on the other buttock, taking time to enjoy that one as much as the first. I paused at the top but rather than returning I pushed on, shoving the covers down the backslope to Mom's thighs, pulling my hand toward me to bare her left cheek as well.

I couldn't see in the dark but the vision of her perfect behind was vivid in my mind. No blind person could have read braille as intently as I read my mother's ass, sliding my fingers and palms around and around, over and over, until every millimeter of her bottom had felt the softest, gentlest touch I could muster. I could tell by Mom's breathing that she approved.

Dipping my fingers in the pool of oil, I raised my hand from Mom's flesh and held it above where I knew her crack to be. I traced my extended fingertips above that line back to her thighs, letting drips of oil fall into the crevasse below, moving ever so slowly so I could hear her breath change as the drops hit, formed little rivulets, and ran down into her crack. I repeated this again and again, until the puddle was gone. At last, I let my fingertips touch her ass. She was slippery all the way down her crack. I brushed my fingers back and forth several times relishing the feel as they slipped past the slick inner skin of both cheeks, pausing to let my longest fingertip remember her crinkly donut.

Her legs parted a tiny bit as I pushed beyond. I pulled gently, urging her left leg toward me a little more, then pushed out to demand similar compliance from her right. Like a short domino effect, this thigh moved further than the first, providing ample room for my oily hand to cup the juncture of Mom's behind and legs in its palm. A moment later my fingers stretched out to rest on the back of her pussy. I brushed my fingers side to side and was rewarded with a sound I hadn't heard for more than five weeks -- Mom purring.

Her right leg shifted out more as I brushed, so wide that I easily rested my arm on the back of her left thigh, allowing my fingers to stretch out from that side rather than from above. I was now pushing my fingers across the surface of her lower pussy. On one backward draw, I dug my fingertips in a little and dragged her pussy open. She gasped. I held it open for several long seconds before pushing across and dragging her other pussy lip back the same way, holding it open too.

Returning, I stopped to dig in just a little more, then slid up her moist slit as she gasped a long sigh. And though she twisted her hip to cock her ass up, my path was still blocked by the mattress. Mom raised her hips as I my left hand pushed under her tummy to the rescue. Unfortunately, this made it harder for me to keep my right hand as far forward, and it slipped back. By this time, the fingers and palm of my left were skidding under her from above. I stopped my hand there and delighted in the feel of her full mound as she relaxed her weight directly upon it. For several moments thereafter I cupped her damp pussy as my fingers stroked it from the rear. Mom's faint purring raised up a notch.

I hunched myself closer to rest my head on Mom's behind, the proximity allowing my right arm greater freedom of movement. I opened my left hand to form a pincer of my thumb and index finger, placing one on the inside of each pussy lip. Slowly, I spread her open, holding her like that, waiting. I could feel the tension, feel her wondering what was coming, all the while knowing.

Still, she flinched and gasped out loud when she first felt my finger seeking the center of her open cunt, trying without success to avoid touching their walls but then drawing immediately away, chased by the throb of her velvet sheath. The further in, the harder it became to avoid these brief, feathery touches, my finger failing to hide its presence as it crept inside her. My head laying on her ass could feel Mom's tension as she fought to keep still, waiting breathlessly for the next tickle, positive it would come. Yet, each time she gasped in total surprise.

Soon, I couldn't avoid touching her tunnel walls so I dipped in as far as I could and wiggled my finger all around. I drew my finger out and slid it back in, slowly, doing more of the same. I must have repeated this thirty or forty time before adding a second finger. The whole time I kept her pussy lips spread wide open but I let them go when I added a third finger. That's when she first started to moan and when I began strumming her clit with my dormant left hand she really got going.

I didn't try jackhammering my fingers in Mom. I had read somewhere that a woman is more responsive to her lover's girth, so I concentrated at the depth of each thrust to move my hand in a small circle, working my upper knuckles against her sensitive opening. It seemed that I was right, because Mom was really getting into it. I was incredibly excited to make her feel this good. It made me feel like her lover.

I think it was by accident that my thumb first dipped into her little hole, probably seeking traction to help my volatile fingers as they swirled in the entrance to my birthplace. Mom's moaning briefly reached a new octave which is what first brought the mini invasion to my attention. But the second time was not an accident, or the third and fourth, and after that, well, I just left it in there. She was still slippery there from the oil so it had likely slipped in easily to that first knuckle. Still, my main focus was working Mom's pussy, the more so because I could tell she was close, very close. Her hips were pushing back to meet my fingers and rolling around trying to accentuate their touch as I reamed her pussy lips.

It was on one of these backward thrusts that Mom suddenly went rigid, her hips lifted an inch or two in the air, her legs snapping shut on my hand, shuddering, followed by a feverish series of frantic bucks of her hips, her pussy squeezing my fingers, my hand trapped by her bear trap legs.

"Unnnnnnnnngggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhh," she let out a long, low grunt.

Her legs continued to clutch me for another minute and then she collapsed to the bed, her muscles sagging loose, expelling a long, long sigh. She went still and didn't move. Even her pussy was dormant.

After a few minutes, I pulled my hand from under Mom's tummy. I guess she thought I was going to sneak off so we could keep up our charade. I'm sure that's why she emphasized that I should go to my own bed after she fell 'asleep'. Well, she'd given me a beautiful show when she'd dropped her dress and taken off her bra and panties, allowing me to watch. She had certainly let me enjoy touching her body, but I had paid the piper and made it worth her while. I was still hard. She had repaid me with her mouth five weeks ago after I'd done her but I couldn't see how I could manage that now the way were laying. So I just lay there, my face still on her cheeks, my fingers still just inside her, thinking, how can I get mine?

Mom lay still, patiently waiting for me to go, her breathing returning to normal. I still hadn't come up with a plan when my fingers moved. I could feel her head shake, could sense her message, 'no, time for sleep'. I wiggled my fingers again and felt her head shake in reaction so I pulled them out, but as I did, my thumb slipped up to nudge her little bud which was still open from my little guys earlier visits. She stiffened when she felt that, so I circled my thumb around her little hole without trying to push it in. Mom remained tense, but I noticed that her head didn't shake.

I raised my head from Mom's cheeks and turned to look down at her ass, though I couldn't see my thumb in the dark. I swung my left arm over Mom's back, resting my elbow on it and my hand on her right cheek. Pressing the edge of my right hand into her cheeks, I let its thumb again press on her dark hole, circling the rim once more with its tip. Mom noticeably tensed up. Pulling her right cheek away, I lowered my head as I pulled my thumb back, sliding my tongue along her crack until I found the little hole. I flicked my tongue rapidly across it, swirled it around the edge, and quickly dipped inside before pulling just as quickly out.

Mom let out a weird sound, not loud, almost a whimper. I can't describe it accurately, but it was a sound of pleasure for sure, because her hip pushed up toward my face, eager for more. I drooled into her ass and moved my thumb up to mash it into her hole, pushing in and then out. Quickly, I teased her with my tongue, flicking, swirling, poking, circling, then up and drooling a big shot of saliva into her now quivering hole. When I didn't do anything, the whimper started but it only became louder when I inserted my thumb into her, this time pushing until it was all the way in. I stopped, letting her feel it plugged inside her, then began moving it in a small circle the same way I'd started to work her pussy less than a hour before.

She didn't moan like she did when I manipulated her cunt, but every once in a while she let out a small, quiet grunt. I liked the sound of that. There was something abandoned, almost primeval in that sound. I tried hard to make her do it again, pushing my face in so I could lick all around the base of my thumb as it dug around in her ass. Soon, I was able to make her grunt several times a minute, but couldn't predict exactly when or what would actually do it. I was so fucking hard.

I scrambled from my side to my knees without interrupting my work, passing first my right and then my left knee over her leg. Mom opened her legs to make room for me. She must have known what was coming but didn't object. Still, I wasn't 100% sure, so it was with a little trepidation that I lined my cock up with her pussy, my thumb still twisting in her ass. Her legs were open and inviting. I slipped my left hand under her to lift her hip and felt her helping, rising up to meet me. GOD, she was going to let me fuck her, she was even welcoming me, almost asking me!

Leaning forward, I pushed my cock at her, trying to find her pussy, to push into her gorgeous, hot wet cunt. I was there, but I couldn't get in! What was stopping me? I shoved, and shoved. I was blocked. It was her fingers! Mom had her hand covering her pussy. I poked again, and again. I reached around, trying to pull her hand away but couldn't. I pulled my thumb out of her ass, heard her whimper, reached down to dislodge her hand. I couldn't. Why was she stopping me?

I took my cock in hand and aimed it directly at her cunt again. No way. She wasn't going to let me in. What the fuck?

I stopped still. I could feel Mom spread before me, her ass still tilted up, open, ready for me. So why wasn't she letting me? I pressed my cock against her fingers, gently, nudging. She pushed me away, just as gently, not out, but up. Up? I used my hand to guide my cock higher, directly above her pussy, to the place my thumb and just vacated, to her little hole, still slick with my saliva. I let the tip rest there. She didn't try to avoid it. After a minute of me just resting there, her ass wiggled just the slightest little bit, from a small wriggle of her hips. The tip pressed in a little more.

Another wiggle. I pushed. Wiggle, wiggle. Push, push, oh this felt good, this wasn't rejection, wiggle, wiggle, shove, shove, POP. I was in.

"Ungghhh."

That little grunt. I shoved quickly in and back, rocking her forward but keeping the head of my cock just inside her ass.

"Ungghhh."

More shoves.

"Ungghhh, ungghhh, ungghhh."

I grabbed Mom's hips and held her as I shoved completely in her, a moan escaping my own lips as I felt the tight scrape of her anal ring dragging on my shaft. Mom let out a long grunt matching my moan, all the way in. God, this was great. Incredible. My very first fuck, and it was in my Mom's ass!

I pulled her hips up higher and started steadily fucking her. She grunted each time I shoved into her. It was amazingly exciting. I got up on my feet, squatting over her ass as she raised herself right up on her knees to follow me. I really dug into her. I was making sounds like an animal as I humped her ass, gasping and grunting, my hands on her waist, keeping her head down in the mattress. I pulled out, stretched her back and pushed her flat on the bed. Straddling her thighs, I spread her cheeks open and pushed my cock in, feeling around for her hole, digging in when I found it. She wailed as I shoved in. I laid down along her body, fucking, fucking, reaching around to grab her tits for the first time in my life, squeezing as I dug my cock into her ass, frantically now, pounding, pounding, coming ... oh my god, coming and coming.

I stumbled to my room in the dark ten minutes later. I forgot my pajama bottoms in Mom's bed, but didn't want to go back for them. When I woke up the next morning, they were on my bed. Everything was as usual for the next few days, just like last time. Was it going to be another five or six weeks? After last night? I knew I couldn't last that long. Fortunately, Mom starting mentioning intimate details about her and Dad's marriage at breakfast only eight days later.

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Interesting. I hadn't been intrigued by Grant's first letter at all, but now he was on my top watch list, along with Kevin. I was keen to look for more letters from these two but I needed to install cameras in the downstairs bedrooms while no one was home. I knew that Mary would knock any minute now to ask if I could cover for her while she went to the store, as she usually did at this time if I was home and Mom wasn't, and that would be my opportunity.

So when she did, I hurried downstairs right away. Paul's room was full of computer games and shelf after shelf of comics. No surprise. But you can imagine my shock when I entered Mary's room. I didn't notice anything at first, in my rush to get the cameras installed. When I was choosing a good site for a good view of Mary's bed, though, it almost knocked me off my feet. There, on the headboard of Mary's bed, was a set of ankle straps, just like the ones I had installed on my mother's bed!

Mary had given me no idea things had gone this far. What had I missed? From the videos, there was no indication that Paul and Mary ever did anything in their rooms. How had I misread the situation so badly? Just then, I heard Mary arriving. I barely made it out of her suite undetected.

I wasn't in the mood to read letters that evening, I just couldn't get the situation off my mind. Had Mom suggested the straps?

When Mom came home that night there were flowers waiting for her upstairs in her bedroom, next to a champagne bucket and two glasses. On the bed was one of her sexiest evening dress, a shimmery, royal blue number that fell almost to her knees and left her arms and shoulders bare. It left her sides mostly open as well as it dipped down almost to her hips, yielding brief, tantalizing glimpses of her bare breasts for the man lucky enough to be sitting beside her when she leaned forward, something I noticed at the restaurant after she removed her coat. We hadn't been able to finish our evening properly the other night, I had explained in the car, so I thought we should do the whole thing over again.

Mom was quite pleased with me. She loved the way I paid her so much attention and never hurried her. We took our time eating, having appetizers meal and dessert followed by special coffees. Mom compensated me by pulling her dress up to mid thigh and allowing me quite a few glimpses at the side of her bare breast during dinner without being obvious but indicating she was well aware of the positive features of this particular dress. Despite the extent of our sexual relations, Mom knew how to work the magic of her body in concert with her womanly aura to tease and arouse, any man. Or woman, for that matter, I thought. That thought jarred me. I filed it away for later consideration, distracted by Mom leaning far forward to retrieve her purse under the table, her breast handing free. I was hard as we left the restaurant, barely aware of the admiring glances of several men as we passed, but I still noticed the envious glances from their wives as they assessed her in their own way. I wonder how many of them realized that we were mother and son, and how that might affect their own maternal relationships.

At home, I tried to put on a romantic movie but Mom insisted she wanted to relax in bed, sipping champagne, saying she'd noticed an empty bucket there. Bring the movie upstairs with the bubbly, she suggested. She didn't go upstairs ahead of me, she waited so I could follow her. I hardened even more, knowing, as she purposely moved very slowly up the steps, that she was allowing me time to think about unwrapping this special gift. And think I did. She couldn't have been wearing anything larger than a thong, I thought, as the dress tightened over her cheeks as she traversed each step, reminding me of why I loved having her from behind so much. She stopped halfway of the stairs to remove her shoes, pulling the dress high up her thighs and pausing to rub her thumb along bottom of each foot. She must be the world's most fuckable woman, I thought, remembering how my father had lived so long without really tasting the fruits she had to offer.

She moved a little more quickly after that, sensing how eager I was to get my cock into her. She really knew how to read a man. Still, she waited until I had turned from filling the champagne bucket with ice and placing the bottle before she reached up behind her neck to undo the dress. She pulled her arms free and shrugged until the little silk number slid to the floor, standing there, arms still up bent at the elbows, breasts bounding free. She put one knee on the bed, letting me see her bare, shaven pussy, uncovered by even a thong. Stiffer, stiffer. She had sat there in that expensive restaurant totally nude under that shear dress, not even wearing panties!

She crawled up onto the bed, turning to lay on her back, on top of the covers.

"Let the bubbly cool for awhile," she said, smiling knowingly at me. She turned her head to the side, reaching up to lightly touch one of the straps hanging from the headboard, "Come help me get ready for bed."

I started across the bed from where I was standing but she waved me away.

"Take your clothes off first. Stand down there," she indicated the foot of the bed, "so I can watch."

Obediently, I took my place and removed my shirt, then my pants, socks, and shorts. Standing in front of her with my pole leaping out, I was pleased when she remarked, "I see you enjoyed dinner as much as I."

Taking that as my cue, I crawled up on the bed, grasping her ankles as I kneeled in front of her, raising her feet toward the straps.

"No," she cried, pushing her feet back to the mattress. "This way first." She slipped her wrists through the straps, grasping the leather above each loop, bracing her shoulder against the headboard. "Bring it to me," she whispered, opening her mouth into a big 'O'.

I couldn't move for a few seconds before I climbed up, placed my knees on each side of her waist, then shifted higher to straddle her breasts, bringing the tip of my cock to her chin. Mom lowered her face and the head of my cock slipped into her mouth.

"Mmmmmmmm," she mumbled, her tongue sliding under my head while her lips closed behind it. Her hands left the straps and came up to grab my ass, pulling me toward her, her knees bending as her calves crossed and locked into place behind mine. She squeezed my cheeks and yanked on my ass, forcing me into her mouth, then pulled back and shoved me in again, several times, showing me what she wanted. Then she shoved me out. Turning her head to watch herself slip her hands into the straps again, she turned her face up to look at me, "Fuck my mouth."

Instinctively, I shoved forward, my cock sliding off her cheek as I missed her wide open mouth in my eagerness. Twice more I bounced off, once on the other cheek, once on her chin. Reaching down, I grasped her head firmly in my hand and used cock-eye coordination to guide myself into her mouth. As soon as I was in I started humping her face, fascinated by her bulging cheeks, moving so I could watch myself alternately stretch each side of her face. Tiring of that, I pushed further into the center of her mouth, pulling back and mumbling sorry when I gagged her, but shoving right back in again as soon as she gulped in some air.

Soon, I had a regular rhythm going, knowing I could go half a dozen shoves before I needed to let her breathe, she expelling thick, lubricating saliva onto the hardest cock I had ever wielded. Time was a series of my grunts and Mom's mmmmmm's as I shoved into her face, the headboard rattling from our efforts, followed by her gasping gulps for air and the squishy, liquid sound of my cock working her saliva back into her mouth. When I came, I kept fucking her mouth. I didn't hold still, or pull out. I blasted everything into her. Only a little squeezed out past my cock, the rest she swallowed.

She kept sucking as my spurts died off, so I kept my cock there. I never fully softened but when I was hard again, I didn't have the same desperation to shove myself in, letting her do more work sucking me, swirling her tongue around but mostly under the head, pulling out to lick my balls. Oh, the gorgeous feeling when she reached up to suck my cock back in again, closing her lips around the head and tugging back until her head pressed once more against the headboard. I pushed the rest of the way in slowly, now, relishing the feel of her wet mouth. It was on one of these journeys that I first nudged my cock against the entrance of her throat. I returned there again and again, until she pushed me right off, slid her hands out of the straps and lay crossways in front of me, laying her head back until it just tipped over the edge of the bed.

I got off the bed quickly then and shifted her farther down. Bracing my knees against the bed on either side of her shoulders, I leaned down to slip my cock into her mouth and pushed in until I could feel the tip at the entrance to her throat again. She was breathing loudly through her nose as I pushed in, watching her neck bulge with my cock's progress. Mom let me repeat that several times before pressing her hands on my thighs, pushing me out.

"Slowly," she whispered, "go real slow."

I nodded, leaning back to get my cock back into her, but she grabbed it in her hand.

"When you're ready to come, pull out. Understand?"

"Yes." I nodded for additional emphasis to show that I understood, eager to get my cock back inside her.

"And come on me." She nodded at me, demanding acknowledgement, "On my face."

I couldn't speak, I could only nod my head. I was stunned. My head continuing bobbing as she pulled my cock toward her, spit on it, and inserted it in her mouth while I was still digesting what she'd said. Come on her face? Like Paul had done? Had she gotten off on that? I remembered that after Paul left she had frigged herself. Was this a new fetish for her, something she didn't know about until it happened? What was clear was that she was into it now. She must have been thinking about it all evening, she'd led me straight to her mouth as soon as she got on the bed. Would she have kept sucking me if I had pulled out and blasted her in the face?

I had to restrain myself after that, to make sure I didn't hurt her. I was so eager to fuck her face hard, it was hard to hold back. As I fucked, I realized that Paul couldn't do this. He was too big to get into her throat, too big even for his own mom's mouth. That excited me even more. I might not be able to produce a huge puddle like his but I could treat them to feel of a cock sliding through their mouths and into their throats. I belatedly reached out to finger Mom's pussy then but I was too late, her hand was already busy there. A minute later, I pulled out, pointed my cock at Mom's face, and unloaded.

I forgot to ask Mom if Paul had said anything about the straps.

I mended that error the next morning at breakfast. Mary was just leaving with Dad's tray when I arrived in the kitchen. Mom smiled sweetly at me, her eyes dancing, as she watched Mary walk away.

"Oh, Mom, that reminds me," I said, as if Mary's presence had triggered my memory, "Do you know if Paul has ever been in our room?"

"In our room?" Mom looked surprised and, tellingly, blushed. "I don't know. There're no reason for him to be there, but the door's always open and he does help Mary with Dad sometimes. Why?

"Oh, no reason. I was just wondering."

"What's up, David. Why do you ask?"

I hadn't planned this, and her question showed that I should have thought before blurting out a question like that. If I said he's asked, she might follow up on that.

"Well, I had to check on something in the suite," I started lamely, thinking too long a pause would be suspicious, "and I noticed there were straps the bed downstairs."

"In Paul's room?" Mom looked truly surprised and I realized then that she hadn't said anything about the straps. Now I wanted to get out of this conversation right away.

"Uh, no. In Mary's room. Say, what should be have for breakfast," I ended up even more lamely.

"In Mary's room?" Mom repeated, then looked at me more closely. "What were you doing in Mary's room?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't think of anything.

"You can't go sneaking around downstairs, David," Mom admonished me, using my full given name which she usually reserved for those occasions when she wasn't pleased with me. "I know you're trying to help Mary get Paul's mind off comic books and computer games and onto girls, but invading their privacy isn't right."

God, what would she think if she knew I was recording them, and her?

"I know, Mom, I know. I was just checking the lights. I blew a breaker in the study and it put some lights out in other rooms up here so I was just checking to make sure everything was working." Finally, my mind was working again. Mom knew that the power circuits in our house were distributed across many rooms to reduce the likelihood that they would be put under full load at the same time. Still, she didn't seem fully convinced.

"I see. Well, you should still ask before you go down there. It's their home, even if it is part of our house."

Breakfast the morning after wasn't as cozy as I'd thought it would be.

As soon as I finished, I told Mom I had to study for an exam and I went to the study. After firing up the monitoring program, I casually leafed through some letters, stopping at a short one from a guy named Mark.

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My name is Mark. My story is similar to some of the ones here, at least at the beginning, but not so hot. Maybe that's because I'm just at the beginning of the story about my mom. And maybe not. So if any of you have advice for me, I'd appreciated it. You could just put a note in at the end of your own story, if that's allowed.

Anyway, here's the thing. I'm an only child. I almost had a younger brother that would have been a few years younger than me but he didn't make it. Wasn't even born. My parents didn't try to have any more children after that. Fine as far as I'm concerned. Most of the guys I know have brothers and sisters but they usually can't stand them. I like my situation. I'm spoiled, always have been, and I've never had to share anything.

Both my parents, well, my mother anyway, dote on me. We used to do a lot of outside activities as a family until a few years ago when my father became really heavy. He still likes to go out with his buddies for some beers but he doesn't go fishing much anymore. He used to curl and stuff on his own, but now he just goes to watch ball games, football or baseball, never hockey or basketball, at the local pub. Once in a while, they all get together and go to the city to watch a real game. That's the extent of the sports activities.

It's different with my Mom. Since I went to school, she started work though she doesn't have to, my Dad does make good money. Maybe because of that, Mom has always kept her appearance up, needing to look good at work. She's not a stunning looker, don't get me wrong, but she has nice shoulder length, medium brown hair, a better than average face, and quite a nice figure, though she's only a few inches over five feet. Proportion-wise, you'd have to give her body an eight or nine. She has smaller breasts but they're ample for her small frame, partly because she has a flat stomach because of all that exercise. Her legs are well muscled but not so much that they look stringy like some of the runners you see. There's still a softness about her like younger women. And when she's not mad, her voice is really soft, almost husky. She could probably make a mint on one of the sex talk lines.

So anyway, to the story. Not a lot happened really, but it's really got me to thinking. First, let me set the stage for you. We usually watch TV after dinner, sometimes during dinner if there's a good game on. Dad and I watch, and Mom usually reads a book or some magazines. She's not interested in sports, but she stays in the room, just to be with us, I guess. She only watches if there's a movie on, or some other show. She never pays attention to sports or news.

Well, Dad and I were watching an early game when Mom came home, a little late. We told Mom we'd ordered Chinese food, so she came and sat down, grabbing a magazine to leaf through while we waited for dinner to arrive.

Now, our living room has a couch, loveseat, and a lazyboy chair situated with the loveseat at one end, the couch below the big front window, and the lazyboy across from it in the corner. Next to it, is the TV, one of those large, high definition flat screens that are so great for sports, and movies. Dad always stretches out on the loveseat, his head propped on one arm, his beer on the table in front of it, so he can watch the TV. Mom almost always sits at the end of the couch near the loveseat partly so she can access the magazines stacked on the lower shelf of the table between them in the corner, and partly because the light in the corner is the best one for reading. She only sits in the lazyboy facing the window during the day and Dad, for some reason, never sits there.

Anyway, I had moved to the other end of the couch, making room for Mom to claim her favorite spot. As she settled in after grabbing a magazine, back to the arm just like Dad, she stretched her feet out and tried to dig them under my leg.

"Mom," I cried, trying to bat her feet away, "cut it out."

"Come on," Mom complained, my feet are freezing," continuing to wiggle her toes in an attempt to slide them under my thigh.

The quarterback loosed a long pass. "Mom, stop it," I said again, trying to shove her feet away, "get a blanket." The pass went incomplete as the running back missed it by a foot. "Look, you made him miss it."

"Yeah right," Mom scoffed, still digging her feet at me.

"Mom, your feet stink," I complained.

"It's not my feet, its my hose. I've been on my feet all day."

"Well they still smell," I said.

"Then let me put them under your leg."

"Mark, for christ's sake," my father yelled as the players lined up, getting ready. "Let her put her feet under your leg."

"But her feet stink," I whined.

"Carol, can't you just take your hose off?" Dad asked impatiently, his eyes intent on the TV as the play started.

Just then the bell rang. Our food was here. Mom paid the guy and I got plates. We loaded up the coffee table in front of the couch, and ate in silence as the game progressed. Mom picked up the plates and returned a moment later with a bottle of wine, two glasses, and a beer for Dad. She stuck her tongue out at me as she sat down, pouring herself a glass of wine and reaching behind her to get another magazine. She looked up at me and tentatively stretched her feet out to touch my leg. I lifted my leg and she poked them underneath. Smiling she leaned forward out and handed me the glass of wine, then over to the table to fill the other glass, sitting back with it to read her magazine.

I sipped wine and watched the game. Mom wiggled her feet a couple of times but I didn't complain since she'd brought me a glass of wine. It wasn't until the game went to commercials that I noticed that Mom had taken her pantyhose off. I was staring at her legs, realization setting in, so I guess it was a good thing her magazine blocked her view of me. I was still looking at her legs, noticing how soft her skin was, when the game started. Right after that, Mom's legs, bent at the knees, leaned toward the back of the couch, her legs still together. As my eyes followed her legs, I noticed Mom's magazine had lowered and she was watching me with a knowing smile. She pulled her left foot out and poked the side of my leg with her toe.

"Do my feet still stink?" she asked, "Huh, mister?" she prodded me again.

"Mom," I complained.

"Do you still think the bearer of your wine has stinky feet?" Mom's toe dug at me again and again.

"Mom," I replied in a exasperated tone, my hand reaching down to hold her offending foot still. She wiggled it, trying to poke my leg again, but I held it firmly in my hand.

"Huh?" Mom asked again, "huh?"

"Mom, stop."

"Carol, for christ's sake," Dad piped in.

"Ok," Mom said, "if you rub my foot for me, it's sore."

"Mom," I whined.

"Rub her goddam foot, Mark," Dad barked at me.

Mom stuck her tongue out at me. I started rubbing her foot, barely moving my hand, just dragging my thumb along her instep. Mom smiled, raised her magazine and swung her knees back up, hiding her face. I continued rubbing her foot, moving my thumb very slowly, doing the least I could. I knew I was giving in, but I wanted to make it clear that it was a small victory she'd won. I also pushed my thumb in hard a couple of times, trying to make sure she didn't enjoy it.

"Oh, that feels good," Mom said very quietly, I guess trying not to disturb Dad.

Surprised, I was about to change what I was doing when she said that when she twisted her foot, pointing her toes out along my leg so I could more easily reach the bottom of her foot. But that isn't what made me change my mind. When she turned her foot, her leg twisted as well and fell away from the other, parting her knees. I immediately noticed that I could now see between her upper legs and down the soft back of her thighs. I sipped my wine and continued to rub my thumb hard along the full length of her instep, now trying to please her.

"Mmmm," Mom responded, very softly. I looked up at Dad then, feeling guilty for some reason, acknowledging at least to myself that I was looking where my eyes had no business. Quickly, I looked back, my eye catching a slight movement of Mom's knee, moving wider still. Her other foot dug deeper under my leg as she tossed out another 'mmmmm', lowering that knee and causing her to open the other a little more to keep them even.

I could now seem Mom's panties. I could sip my wine as I rubbed her foot and gaze right down her skirt without suspiciously craning my neck. I jerked my head away, suddenly guilty. Jesus christ, Mark. You're looking at your Mom's panties. Get a grip on yourself.

But my eyes strayed back. Her panties. That's right. I'm looking right at my Mom's panties. I could feel myself stiffen, could feel a boner coming on. Jesus, I could see how her panties bulged between her legs with a cleft running down the middle, and I could see a few curly brown hairs peeking out the side of each panty leg. Oh my god. My cock throbbed in my pants.

I looked away, trying to settle myself down, raising my glass to take a sip. It was empty. I leaned forward to put my glass down. When I sat back, I noticed Mom's leg had widened considerably from my forward movement, but hadn't sprung back. I could see a little hollow on the outside of her panty leg now, leaving a little gap about a quarter of an inch. More hairs were visible now, and the panty was stretched tighter, clearly showing her pussy underneath. The thought rocketed through my head. I was looking at my Mom's pussy. Her pussy!

I yanked my eyes away again, which was a good thing because Mom suddenly dropped her magazine, looking at me with a stern look on her face.

"Don't stop," she said, pulling the magazine up again.

I hadn't realized that my thumb had stopped moving. I jerked it into action again, relieved that Mom hadn't caught me staring down at her pussy. Didn't she realize her legs were wide open? How could I not look? My head turned back again, drawn straight to her panties. Keep moving, I thought, keep rubbing. I twisted toward her slightly, reaching over to replace my left hand with my right, cupping the outside of her foot as I slid that thumb along her arch in a longer line than I could manage with my left. I moved my left hand to cup the back of her ankle, sliding my hand softly up and down her lower calf. It was quite a brazen move, but Mom liked it. Perhaps my intentions seemed innocent to her.

"Mmmmm. That's better," she purred. I was sure Dad couldn't hear, her voice was barely audible. I leaned toward her, my left arm pushing her other leg back toward the couch, opening her even wider, her skirt, stretched tight across the middle of her thighs being forced back a couple of inches. Her panties were completely open to me now. She couldn't possibly not know that I could see everything. I rubbed my hand farther up the back of her leg, over the muscled part of her calf. Jesus, Mark, get a hold of yourself, I thought. You're going to catch it.

But I couldn't help myself. A few strokes later, I ran my hand right up the back of her calf to the underside of her knee, the backs of my fingers even brushing the soft skin just above. Mom's only response was to 'mmmm' again. Every time after that, I ran my hand right up and made sure to contact her leg just above the back of her knee. It was like I was on some kind of a dangerous mission. And danger, there was. At the first sound of a commercial, Mom's legs closed together smartly, and I jerked my hand back to my side, the one caressing the back of Mom's leg falling to the couch, as Dad slowly got up and then lumbered toward the bathroom.

We stayed like that, Mom reading, me dumbly watching the commercials with my hands at my sides, until Dad returned, carrying another beer. My heart was still pounding. I guess I half expected him to confront me, 'What the hell are you doing?', or even my mother, 'What the hell are you thinking?'.

The game started again. I nudged my hand forward and let my fingers lightly circle Mom's ankle. She flinched, but didn't draw her foot away. Instead, her knees parted a couple of inches. I stroked my hand up along the tendon to the bottom of the muscle and let it slide back down. Her knees opened another inch. Twisting toward her, I reached down with my right hand to dig my thumb along the bottom of her foot once more. Another two inches. When I slid my hand right up to the back of her knee her leg opened to its former position allowing her panties to burst into view. She knew! She knew what she was doing!

I could hardly contain myself as I caressed her legs, less tentatively now, deliberately stroking her in a sensual way. When I brought my palm down the back of her calf, I stroked her with my fingers too. When the backs of my fingers brushed the underside of her thighs above her knee, I fluttered them to accent their touch. After several minutes of this, I suddenly pulled my hands away. I could see the top of Mom's head turn to look at Dad as she closed her legs. She must have thought I'd yanked my hands away because Dad was looking but, realizing he was still focused on the game and that his hand had simply reached for his beer, she opened her legs again.

I didn't put my hands on her right away, understandably being a little nervous. Two long minutes passed while I vacillated between long looks up Mom's skirt and furtive glances at Dad. My upper lip was sweating. I had turned halfway toward Mom to improve my view up her skirt. If he looked this way, I'd have to act like I was just about to say something to Mom, I thought. No, I'd pretend I was reading the back of her magazine, the part sticking up above the end of her skirt, now halfway down her thighs.

Mom's toe tapped my leg, urging me to continue the game, the one she and I were playing. I didn't respond. She dug her toe into me again. When I ignored that, she pulled her inner foot out from under my leg, where it had rested all along, and set it on my hip, digging her heel into me. Dig, dig, dig. The motion of withdrawing her foot and shoving me with it had pushed her skirt higher on that side. I shot a glance at Dad and noticed the top of Mom's head was still turned toward Dad. She was watching him too.

Her right hand, closest to the back of the couch, slid down from her magazine to rest on the outside of her leg. Her fingers stretched out just below the hem and scratched her leg. As she scratched, she pulled her hand toward her, dragging the skirt even higher up her thigh, almost to her panties on that side. I looked over at Dad and then did something I can't believe I did. I reached out with my left hand and rested my fingers on the rear hem between her legs, and then I pushed it down, down, until the heel of my hand hit the couch.

I could see everything now. The front of her panties and the part below where they widened to cover her bum. I could see her cheeks squishing out at the top of her legs and above that the start of her pussy. I don't know what I would have done if the game hadn't ended right then. I know I was thinking about touching her, and in my mind, as I lay in my bed jacking off that night, I did.

But right then, I blurted out, "So what are you reading, Mom?" as Dad harumphed in disgust at the score, his team having lost I guess, as Mom's legs snapped closed.

That was last week. I was pretty sure Mom was egging me on and that thought made me nearly pull my pecker off every night. But now I'm not so sure since nothing has happened since, no secret smiles, no requests to rub her feet, nothing. I'm afraid to say anything to her. Please let me know what you think.

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Fuck her you idiot, that was my advice for Mark. But then, maybe it wasn't so obvious from his perspective.

I had noticed some activity on the monitor near the end of Mark's story so I turned up the sound as Mary seemed to be confronting Paul about something in the living room, her hands waving back to point in the general direction of the hallway.

"What do you mean, its OK because they did it upstairs?" Mary seemed quite angry. She had obviously just had a shower, standing there in her bathrobe and a towel wrapped around her head. "You've ruined that bed. It's a mahogany headboard, and you're drilled holes in it. It's not ours. We can't afford to replace it!"

Paul looked defiant rather than sheepish like I would have expected of him just a few days ago. "It's fine, it's alright. They did it to theirs. They won't care, and anyway, they don't know about it."

"But they will when we leave." Mary was still angry, she was almost shouting.

"We're not leaving, are we." Paul was unapologetic.

Looking exasperated, Mary spread her hands, "But why did you do it?"

"I did it for us," Paul replied.

"For us?" Mary looked confused. "How .. what ..."

"I'll show you," Paul got up, "come on, Mom," he grabbed her hand and pulled Mary down the hall, she trudging reluctantly behind.

I switched to the newly installed bedroom cameras, the program automatically syncing to the time frame of the one I'd switched from. Paul came into view, still pulling Mary along. He stood proudly looking at the straps he'd installed on the headboard.

"It will bring us closer, Mom, like they are."

I could see realization dawning on Mary's face, "Like they are?" she mumbled.

"Yeah, Mom. You know how close they are. They really love each other." He put his arm around Mary's waist and pulled her against him, "Like we do now."

Mary stood there, looking a little shocked, staring at the straps.

"See," Paul pointed, "I put them on your side, just like theirs are on Mrs. H's side."

"My side? Paul ... you can't ..."

"I have to, Mom. I can't be alone with all those comics around."

"You said you didn't need them anymore."

"I don't."

"We can get rid of them."

"But not right away, Mom. Some of them are collectors. They're worth something."

"We can put them in storage then," Mary insisted.

Paul argued back, "I'm not sure I'm ready for that yet, Mom."

Mary was surprised by that, and worried.

"Let's just try it for a few days, Mom. So I can be sure. Then we can get rid of them and store the good ones. Ok?"

"Ok, Paul," Mary looked relieved, but I sensed she was still worried that Paul would revert to his juvenile obsessions. Paul had manipulated her well, she was going to let him in her bed.

"But why do we need these straps? What do you think they use them for?"

"Oh. I asked Mrs. H about them and she said they helped her sleep better," Paul answered innocently.

"They help her sleep better?" Mary asked, not so innocently since I'm sure she knew what they were for.

"Yeah. She said they held her arms up and it helped her circulation, and that made her sleep better." Paul was beaming, and lying through his teeth if Mom had told the truth, which I think she had.

"Oh," Mary said, "I see."

"Let's go watch a movie, Mom." Paul grabbed Mary's hand and tugged her out of the bedroom. Mary turned, looking uncertainly back at the straps as she was pulled out the door.

Paul sifted through a bunch of DVDs while Mary disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later, she appeared with a tray with mugs of hot chocolate and a plate of cookies on it which she set on the coffee table. She settled down at one end. Paul slid a movie in and sat next to her, right beside her. They watched the movie, sipped their hot chocolates, and ate the cookies. There were no overt acts of an even remotely sexual nature but after the last cookie was gone, Paul emptied his mug and set it down, immediately turning to his mother. He started to peel the towel from her head.

"Your hair must be dry by now, Mom."

Mary shook her hair out as Paul tossed the towel to the side. She really did look good, fresh from the shower, her healthy complexion defying any need for makeup. She brushed her hair back away from her face and over her ears, watching the TV the whole time. Paul started undoing the belt on her robe.

"Paul, we talked about that."

"I know, Mom but we don't have to go that far. I just want to look." He continued trying to undo her belt, obstructed by her hands.

"But I said it wouldn't be every night. You said you understood."

"I know, Mom, but I thought you meant I couldn't touch you every night. I didn't think you meant I couldn't look. You said we could relax down here, like adults."

"We can, but adults don't loll around barely dressed all the time."

"But this is our first night. I may as well read comics if I can't look at anything," Paul whined, turning away.

"Alright, alright," Mary barked, exasperated. She undid her belt and tossed the ends to the sides.

A sly smile crossed Paul's face but disappeared as he turned back to Mary. Surprisingly, he didn't grab her robe right away. Instead, he looked his mother over for a full minute before reaching out with both hands to grasp the lapels of her robe. Slowly he pulled them up and then out, revealing her naked breasts underneath.

"Wow, Mom. You're beautiful." Paul's breath sucked in. He was telling her the god's honest truth.

I think Mary's breasts actually swelled when he said that. Perhaps no woman can truly ignore such heartfelt admiration as her son was clearly expressing.

Paul dropped the robe to her side and ran his eyes from her belly to her neck, stopping again to ogle her breasts. Mary's nipples were stiffening, that much I noticed. Paul must have too, because he reached out and placed both hands palm down, one on each breast.

"Paul, you said you only wanted to look."

"I can't help it, Mom. Just a little, please?"

"Oh, alright, but we're not going to do what we did last night. I told you that's not going to happen again. Understand?"

"Yes, Mom," Paul answered. I'm sure he would agree to anything to keep touching her tits. Mary watched the movie as Paul rubbed his hands over and over her tits, down over her belly where her robe was still closed, and back up to her breasts, pushing them up, squeezing, just having a great time. He pushed the robe from her shoulders and she helped him, absently pulling her arms out as she watched the TV. After a while, he leaned on his side against the couch, facing Mary, continuing to caress her breasts with just his right hand, his left toying with her hair and stroking her neck. Despite herself, Mary was enjoying herself. Her breathing was shallow but rapid yet she seemed to be in control. However, her stiff nipples and the tightening tits gave her away. There was no question. Paul's calm manipulation and stroking was having an effect. Mary was getting excited.

The point came when Mary dropped her shoulder, leaning toward her son to rest her head against his shoulder. Her eyes closed. She was no longer watching the movie.

Paul continued doing exactly what he was doing, except he reached over to stroke her shoulder and neck on the other side, holding her head bent toward him. He was stroking in softer and longer strokes, with regular long and gentle squeezes of her tit, alternating each time, squishing his hand until it slipped to the nipple and tugged it out, pinched between his fingers.

Paul shifted his weight, moving back a little so Mary was leaning over more, her left hip rising as she twisted her torso toward her son. Although still regular, her breathing was now quite rapid. As she leaned over, the lower side of Mary's robe fell from her leg. Paul stretched his hand down from her breast, following her side along her waist to her hip, pushing the robe off behind her as he went. Mary was now quite naked, there were no panty straps snaking over her hips. She'd come naked straight from the shower.

I could see Paul staring at her bare pussy, covered only by a thin mat of dark brown hair. He pushed Mary upright again, squaring her back to the couch, her head rolling back, eyes still closed. When he stroked down her side and onto her leg, he slipped his hand between and pushed her left leg away, opening her, then pulled her other leg toward him. He held her open, staring at her pussy with its huge, prominent mound. So did I.

"Paul," Mary murmured.

"You said I could look," Paul whispered back, still staring at her pussy.

"Not there, not like this," Mary said. "Only when I have panties on."

"It's big like mine," Paul marveled, ignoring her. He reached out to touch her.

How Mary knew when her eyes were still closed, I'll never know, but her hand shot out and grasped his wrist before it travelled from her thigh to her pussy.

"No. Paul. No." Mary's voice was firm.

"Please, Mom," Paul wheedled.

"No," Mary replied firmly again. "If you do what I say, I'll let you look at it, and I'll touch you."

"Like last night?" Paul perked up.

"No. Just with my hand. If you cover yourself with the towel, I'll touch you.

Paul didn't move, so Mary twisted to reach behind him to grab the towel he'd taken from her head. She set his hand back on his own leg and released his wrist. Then her hand grasped the waistband of his pajamas and pulled it down, freeing his hard cock with its huge head. Paul gasped as he sprang free, and Mary's eyes glued to his abnormal cock. Though Paul wasn't looking I could see the attraction in Mary's eyes and knew then that she had told me the truth when she said she didn't think she could deny him if he really pushed her.

Mary's hand snaked around his shaft. Paul gasped loudly, his head falling back to the couch like his mother's had been a moment before. He wasn't looking at her pussy any more. Mary slid her hand up to cup his cock head, bring her other hand to complete the job. Paul was breathing very raggedly already.

"You like this, don't you baby?" Mary purred, suddenly becoming a bit of a hussy.

Paul was nodding vigorously, gasping for breath.

"Will you quit the comics if I do this for you?" Mary was swirling her hand around the top while the other stroked his shaft. "Hmmmmm? Would you like this every day?"

"Yes. Yes, yes, yes." Paul cried.

"What do you say?" Mary prompted him.

"Please .. oh please, Mom."

"No. No comics, promise?"

"No comics, I promise. I promise, Mom. No comics." Paul was gulping for air.

Mary stopped tickling Paul's cockhead, and grabbed the towel, getting ready. Her other hand jacked him faster. She leaned down, blowing hot air onto his cock. I could see her licking his tip, her tongue stretching far out to tongue his prick. Suddenly, her head jerked back and she barely got the towel over his as his hips bucked into the air, searching for her mouth.

He yelled. "Ahhhhhhhhhhhh, ahhhhhhh, ahhhhhhh, ahhhhhh, ahhhhh," as spurt after spurt racked his body.

Finally, he sat still. Mary pulled his head up. When he opened his eyes, she said, huskily, "I'll do this for if you quit the comics. If I catch you reading them just once, I'll never do it again."

Paul nodded as Mary stood, gloriously naked, and stretched in front of her son, arms high, tits thrust upward, buttocks taut, and thigh muscles tensed. Her athletic body was truly gorgeous. She relaxed, turned away, cocked her hip and looked over her shoulder.

"Every day," she promised, and walked slowly down the hall to her bedroom, her cheeks rocking like the ends of a teeter totter.

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

I continued my search for a letter from Kevin, but came across another one from Mark.

Mark here again. I see there are new stories available but no one has commented on mine, or pm'ed me with personal advice. I wish somebody would. Anyway, it's been another week since I sent my letter, two weeks since that night on the couch. Nothing happed even though there were several games on, so it isn't just because Dad's attention is riveted on the TV when games are on. Mom hasn't asked me to rub her feet for her or even stretched them out toward me since that night. Until last night, that is.

Mom was late coming home from work again, even later than the last time. Dad and I had already ordered Chinese food as per Mom's instructions by phone but we ate when it was delivered, while it was still hot.

Mom came in, sighing, "I'm exhausted." Seeing the food on the coffee tables, she said, "You didn't wait for me? That's nice."

Dad didn't say anything, but I, mollified, jumped up to help Mom get her coat off. "Sorry, Mom. I'll warm a plate up for you," I said, trying to make up for our faux pas, hanging her coat up as she unzipped her knee length boots and kicked them off. "You go sit down."

"Thanks, sweetie," her voice softened in appreciation of my attention and apologetic manner. "My feet are killing me," she said as I dished up her empty plate which was sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch and rushed it into the kitchen to put in the microwave just as she plopped down with a loud sigh, "What a day."

When I came back, Mom was sitting with her head back on the couch, hand covering her eyes. She looked tired. "Here, Mom," I said setting her plate down in front of her and holding a full glass of red wine out.

"Oh, thank you, Mark," Mom smiled sweetly up at me, taking the wine. "You're a godsend."

I sat down a few feet from Mom and watched her while she ate. Dad just watched the game, some kind of football quarterfinal. Mom leaned back when she finished and I took her plate and empty glass to the kitchen, returning with another full glass of wine. She smiled sweetly again when she saw the wine. She put her feet up on the edge of the table when she sat back with her wine glass but, when I patted the couch beside my leg, she swiveled them over, resting her back against arm of the couch instead.

She didn't try to dig her feet under my leg, she just rested them against my thigh. I took one in each hand and, pushing a thumb into the instep of each one, began massaging her feet. Mom watched me over her bent knees, mouthing a 'thank you' as I worked. After a few minutes, she scrunched down, moving her hips closer to me and bending her knees more to make room. I didn't move farther away so she could stretch her legs out, though I had room to do so.

She was wearing a dress instead of a skirt like the last time and it fit much more loosely around her legs allowing me to see the back of her thighs, but just the outside since her knees were closed tightly together. As I worked, I twisted her feet to get better access to her soles and it wasn't lost on me that this put pressure on her legs, and she opened knees a little to relieve it. It wasn't long before I twisted her feet out a little more, winning a larger gap. Unfortunately, this dress was much longer than the skirt she'd worn before, coming down past her knees, so I couldn't see very much.

As I felt Mom relax, I started running my hands up her calves, just to the start of the muscle, like I'd done before. She didn't object. In fact, she sighed approval, so I soon continued higher, stroking my hands over her calves up to the back of her knees again. When I scratched my fingers down the back of her leg like this, I won my first quiet 'mmmmmmm'.

I was in heaven. I wanted to be sure to make her feel really good so maybe it wouldn't be so long until the next time she let me touch her. I spent a long time rubbing her legs and very subtly, I pressured her knees apart, wider and wider. At the same time, I used my thumbs on the front of her legs to push her hem higher and higher until it was resting just over her knees, tremendously improving my view of the backs of her thighs. I didn't make any attempt to touch her above her knees, despite eliciting a number of 'mmmmmm's.

I waited patiently for half-time and had moved my hands down to Mom's feet, pulling her dress down and urging her legs closed by the time Dad got up for a bathroom and beer break. He nodded approval at me when he saw me kneading her feet, Mom seemingly asleep with her head resting on the couch arm, her legs demurely closed and leaning on the back of the couch. The game started as soon as he sat down.

I didn't wait even ten seconds. I pulled Mom's knees from the couch and pushed the hem of her dress right up to her knees, holding it there with my left hand. Sliding my right hand down to her feet, I moved each one to rest farther apart, one by my hip and one almost to my knee. With her thighs together and calves spread apart, I could see all of the backs of her thighs and her panties covering the part of her bottom that was exposed to me. If Dad looked over, this wouldn't look good but I was quite confidant that he wouldn't. He hadn't before while the game was on, so why would he now?

I realized that Mom must be wondering what I was doing, since I'd moved her feet apart, pushed her dress up, but hadn't started massaging her feet or legs. It must be obvious that I was just looking up her dress, but she didn't make a sound or make any other movement. She just lay there with her legs open where I'd put them. Encouraged, I moved my hand up to her knees and, taking care to keep them covered by her dress, moved them apart too. Now, I could look right down the 'V' of her thighs to her panties, an unobstructed view. Mom was still quiet, as if waiting for something. It dawned on me that it might excite her as much to let me look as it did me for me to look. If that was true, I thought, I should take my time. After all, I was in no hurry. We were just past halftime and I was enjoying the view.

Mother fucker, I thought. Mom was wearing different panties. These ones were still cotton, light blue instead of white, but they were narrower than the other ones, leaving a wider gap between their edge and Mom's leg. Despite this, there weren't any stray hairs poking out the sides of her panty legs. She's trimmed her bush, I thought. She's made herself look prettier. For me? Just in case I did her legs again? The thought made me swell under my jeans. Examining her panties closely, I noticed that the vertical cleft in the center was more evident, at least by my memory, probably obscured by less hair. My cock throbbed as I realized she knew I'd been looking and she taken pains to make herself look good. She wants me to look, she wants to show me, her cunt. I almost came when that word popped into my head. I hadn't thought 'pussy', I'd thought 'cunt'. This was a stupid discussion to have with myself, but it's what was going through my head.

I let my right hand drop down between her legs, not touching them, until my wrist rested on my own leg, centered between her feet. Slowly, I moved my hand forward, along the surface of the cushion. I could sense Mom tensing in anticipation. She was aware that my hand was moving. I liked that feeling, that she was expecting me to touch her, that she was waiting for it. My cock was hard, I felt like I was about to come, as if I'd been jacking off for an hour.

I was almost there, nearing the juncture of her legs. Mom's calf muscles had tightened and the balls of her feet were digging into my leg. She knew I was coming and she was getting ready, she wasn't doing anything to ward me off. Did she know what I was going to do? Did I?

I stopped an inch away, watching my hand in fascination as it lay between my mother's open legs, almost touching her panties. I looked over her knees at her face. Her eyes were closed but her face wasn't relaxed as evidenced by her furrowed brow. I look at my father, then back to her face. I raised my hand up from the couch, two, four, six inches. Agonizingly slowly, my hand moved forward of its own accord, oblivious of my silent commands to move faster and at the same time, to withdraw. Ahead, ahead, ahead. My hand hovered above her panties, then down, touch, it pressed lightly on her panties, palm at the bottom, fingers together, stretched up to cover the cleft.

Mom's breath sucked in sharply, then expelled in a long, quiet sigh that made her lips purse and then pout outward. Her legs quivered and her feet shook my leg. I pressed down more firmly, holding my hand still, sensing her heat with a mild shock. I hadn't expected her to be literally hot. Mom wasn't making any move to discourage me let alone angrily shove me away. I shot a look at my father again and then back to my hand, moving it, more like scrunching my hand to bring my fingers and palm closer together, squeezing her pussy between. Stretching my hand out again, I slid in forward and back, just an inch. Then again, and again, and again. Then squeeze, squeeze.

I slid my hand further back, way back, exposing her panties to my eyes again, staring at the little furrow running between her mound. Centering my long fingertip at the bottom of that valley, I pushed my hand back up, digging a deeper path through her panties. They weren't dry like they'd been when I first touched her, they were damp, not wet, but moist. Throwing caution to the wind, I leaned down to rest my forehead on Mom's knees and inhaled deeply, filtering the musky aroma of her through my nostrils. Dragging my hand back, gouging my finger deeply in her trough, I slid it right off but quickly pressed my thumb onto her pussy, digging it between her lips, pushing her panties in, feeling it penetrate to a moister environment. I scratched the bottom of her panties with my fingers while I worked my thumb around in her almost, but not quite, getting inside her.

I moved my thumb away and, slipping my fingertips just underneath the panty at the top of her left leg, I pulled it up, away from her skin and then slid in, rubbing the backs of my fingers across her bare pussy lips. I swiveled my hand, scraping her lips up and down with my knuckles. Pulling my fingers out, I quickly pushed my thumb underneath, shoved her panty to the side, and inserted my thumb into her hole, her pussy, her cunt.

Mom groaned as her slickness welcomed my small intruder, her eyes flew open and her head jerked to look at Dad, still watching the game. My eyes darted there too and then back to her as her head swung back, her knees closing, legs trapping my hand between. 'No' she screamed silently, her face panicked, her feet trying to push me away. I didn't react except to continue wiggling my thumb inside her. 'No' she screamed again, her hands reaching under her legs to grab my wrist, forcing it away.

Mom sat up then, drawing her feet tightly to her and her dress down, but still facing me on the couch. I stared at her, breathing heavily. I'm sure my eyes were wild but the panic was leaving her face. She looked so beautiful, I wanted to kiss her.

A moment later, she got up and began clearing away the leftovers, taking them into the kitchen. I followed, but she waved me away, not looking at me, but seeming upset. I didn't force it. I went upstairs and stayed in my room for the rest of the night. I didn't sleep much. I kept smelling my hand and trying to jack off with my left. When I woke up the next morning, I'd come in my pajamas. I must have dreamed of her all night.

It was Saturday, almost noon. No school. I showered and threw on some sweat pants and a t-shirt and went downstairs, both eager to see Mom and dreading it too. She wasn't there. While I was eating breakfast, Dad told me to mow the lawn if I wanted to watch the game with him because it started at one.

"Where's Mom?" I asked.

"Shopping," he grunted.

I mowed the lawn. When Mom arrived an hour later I rushed out to unload the groceries. Dad was watching the game which had already started, but he wouldn't have helped anyway. Usually, she really appreciated the help but this time she didn't look at me and didn't come out to get more bags, leaving it all to me. I dutifully carried them all in, setting them down on the counters and the kitchen table when I ran out of room there. I started helping Mom put the food away, but she still ignored me.

"Are you going to watch the game, Mom?" I asked, almost in a little boy voice.

Mom sighed, her shoulders slumping, sagging against the counter in front of her. She set the cans down that she had been about to put away, then turned to face me. Tears were welling up in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mom. I'm sorry. I just got carried away," I sobbed, tears suddenly springing from my eyes.

Mom held her arms up and I hugged her, my arms sliding around her shoulders and then falling down her back. Mom's arms were around my shoulders, patting me, "There, there. It's OK," she assured me. "It won't happen again."

Sniffling, I whimpered, "But I like massaging your feet for you, and your legs, and I know you like it too."

"I do," Mom confided, "It does feel good. We can, if we don't get carried away. How's that? Would that be OK?"

"Yeah, Mom," I nodded my head, sniffling, pulling back to dry my eyes. I smiled as she dried her eyes too, then pulled her back to hug her again, wanting to avoid her eyes as thoughts of her open legs popped into my mind. I was intensely aware of her body against mine as I hugged her, noticing the feel of her breasts for the first time in my life. How was I going to touch her legs and control myself, I wondered? Mom gave me a big squeeze, so hard I thought her tits would make a permanent imprint on my chest.

"Away you go now." She waved me off. But I stood my ground.

"Don't you want a massage while you watch the game?" I asked.

"I'm not interested in the game."

"But you've been out shopping for hours," I persisted.

"Yes. Maybe I'll lay down upstairs and have a quiet nap."

"Are you sure you don't want a massage? Your feet must be tired."

"No. I think I'll just lay down." Mom gave me a funny look. "Behave yourself," she said, "I'm still not sure I shouldn't be mad at you." She went upstairs. I watched her walk away in her sunny housedress with its loose pleated skirt swirling around her knees, emphasizing her wonderful calves.

I watched the game for a few minutes with Dad but grew bored and wandered up to my room. As I passed my parent's room I heard Mom call me, "Mark?"

I entered to find Mom laying back, head and shoulders slightly raised on two pillows, feet drawn up. She was still wearing her shoes. She must have been tired not to have taken them off downstairs, I thought.

"Maybe a little foot massage would be nice," she said, twisting her knees to the side to look at me. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all, Mom."

She closed her eyes as I crawed up onto the bed and slipped her shoes off.

"Oh," she said, "I forgot they were still on. I hope my feet don't smell," she laughed.

I lifted a foot up and sniffed it. "Nope," I answered. Mom laughed again, as I lowered her foot to my lap and started massing it, rubbing my thumb along her instep in my usual way. She sighed, and I could feel the muscles in her leg relax.

Lulled by the faint sound of the ballgame, I concentrated on giving her a good massage then, just like I'd done the day before. Soon I was stroking her leg to the knee, scratching my way down and Mom, though she'd said we couldn't get carried away, made no protests. I guess getting carried away was further up the line, or leg, as it were. But how far? Mom was resting quietly, almost like she was sleeping. I decided to work on her other foot and leg before venturing further, just to be carry on longer in case she stopped me. I lifted that foot to my face and sniffed it too.

"Does that one smell," Mom's voice was light, amused.

"No," I replied. Suddenly, I spontaneously kissed her foot and ran my tongue along her instep. "But it tastes salty," I laughed.

Mom squealed, tugging her foot, laughing, "Stop that, it tickles."

"I'll be more careful, then," I responded, kissing her foot again. "I like salt," I said, dragging my tongue through her instep again.

Mom laughed. She didn't squeal again, or try to tug her foot away, so I continued a mix of kissing her foot, rubbing her sole with my thumb, and running my tongue over her instep. Soon, I was running my tongue over her whole foot and around her ankle. I waited for some time, to be sure Mom wasn't going to stop me, before I ran my tongue down the back of her leg to knee, and kissed and nibbled my way back to her foot.

"Mark," she whispered, "Remember what we talked about."

"I will, Mom," I answered, kissing the top of her foot, "I'll just touch your legs." I quickly ran my tongue down her calf and back again, pausing to swirl my tongue in the hollow behind her knee.

"Mark, be careful," Mom admonished me.

"I'm just doing your legs, Mom. I can do your legs, can't I? If I don't go anywhere else?"

I kissed Mom's leg again, several times, digging my thumb into her sole while waiting for her answer.

"Ok," she whispered, "you can do my legs."

"All of them?" I pushed.

"Yes," she finally whispered back after a long pause, "but don't do what you did yesterday."

"I won't, Mom. I promise."

I lifted her leg higher and kissed and nibbled her calf muscle down to her knee, swirling my tongue around and nibbling the soft skin behind her knee. Then, catching her by surprise, judging by the sound of her quick gasp for air, I kissed and nibbled my way down the inside of her thigh, pushing her dress down with my head as I moved along. Mom's hand grabbed my head as I neared her panties.

I paused. "I said I wouldn't, Mom."

I continued raining little kisses around the top of Mom's thigh, hear the edge of her panties, right down between her legs and over to the other thigh, kissing and nibbling it too, pinching her soft flesh between my lips. Her hands followed my head around but they didn't push me away. After a while, I could feel her fingers gripping me, clenching my hair. Her smell was strong, she had to be wet.

I let my hands slide her dress up the outside of her legs, pushing it above her hips. When I pulled my head back to look at her panties, my face inches away from her pussy, she actually raised herself slightly from the bed, chasing my mouth. Quickly, I pushed her dress up behind her back before she settled back again. Pulling my hands inside her legs, I pushed them wide, breathed in deep, and expelled hot air over the front of her panties.

"Oh, Mark, don't."

I could see her pussy in great detail through her panties, cut the same as the ones she wore yesterday but made of thinner material, more like Saturday go out dancing panties that girls my age wore.

I took another huge gulp of air and blew a steady stream of hot breath onto her cunt.

"Don't, Mark, don't."

I let my fingers fall inside her leg until they were aongside her pussy lips, as close as they could be without actually touching her, like I promised I wouldn't. Pressing down into her leg, I pulled may hands apart. I could see the gap between her pussy lips widen and I blew right into it. Again, and again.

"Please, don't, don't," Mom whispered.

"Don't you want me to?" I asked, blowing into her again, puffing in short bursts.

She didn't answer. I blew into her again, long and steady.

When she still said nothing, I suggested, "Just this once, Mom?"

"No," she whispered, then, "no," more quietly.

"Just once," I persisted, blowing again.

No answer.

Just once," I repeated, blowing longer, scratching my index fingers in the hollows along the edge of her panty legs. Her pussy seemed to pulsate with my scratches.

"ok."

I could barely hear her voice but that didn't matter. I pressed my face an inch closer, right onto her panties, stuck out my tongue and dragged it up between her pussy lips right up to the top, over her clit. I raised my hands up to grab the waist of her panties as her hands pulled my head tightly against her mound. I don't think I could have pulled my head back then even if I tried. Putting muscle into it, I ripped her panties, tearing them right down the middle, the material shredding away, baring her pussy to my tongue which immediately dipped into her wetness.

Mom started groaning and bucking her hips, mashing her pussy against my mouth. I held on for the ride, digging my tongue in deep and lapping her soaking, pink cunt. My hands slid under her ass, squeezing her cheeks hard, pulling her against me, trying to get my whole mouth over her pussy lips while my tongue dug away. She was bucking frantically now, urgent and wild. She yelled out when she came. I panicked for a minute, turning my head to listen as her cimax subsided, but there was no sign of Dad's lumbering weight creaking up the stairs. I turned back to lick her pussy some more, plunging my tongue in deep and then up to flick her clit to pull one last, long moan from Mom.

When she was still, I crawled up and lay between her open legs, pressing my boner against her cunt which still felt hot even through my sweatpants. I started humping against her.

"No, Mark. Don't."

"I have to, Mom," I gasped, "I have to. Just once. Just this once."

Frantically, I humped harder, trying to come before she stopped me. But she didn't try. Her arms circled my neck and pulled me toward her. Seconds later, her hips started thrusting up to meet me, like we were really fucking. It sent me over the top, and I unloaded in my pants.

I collapsed on Mom, gasping for breath. Her arms stayed around me, patting my shoulders. When I recovered, I could hear the sounds of the game wafting upstairs. Mom's voice spoke quietly, "Away you go now. We'll talk about this tomorrow afternoon when Dad's at the pub watching the big game with his friends."

I stood, looking down at her, her legs still spread, panties in tatters with the shreds clinging to the leg bands and in between her beaver, moist, swollen and glistening in the afternoon light. As I left, Mom called out, "If you see Dad, make sure you face away from him". She nodded toward me, smiling. Looking down, I saw that the entire front of my sweat pants were soaked.

I ate dinner quickly that night and went straight back to my room.

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

Mary was sleeping when Paul finished his shower. At least she seemed to be sleeping. She had left the light on for him and I worried that I wouldn't be able to see despite the sophistication of the cameras I had installed. They weren't night vision cameras but were supposed to be quite good in low light situations. But if he turned off the bedside lamp, I was sure it would be too dark and I would only have an audio record of the first time he fucked his mom.

Mary may have thought she'd satisfied him so she could sleep through the night but I wasn't convinced. He was young, like me, and I just knew he was probably already to have at her. Paul was wrapped in a towel when her entered Mary's room and he walked straight to his side of the bed, dropped the towel, and slipped under the covers, naked. It was a quick glimpse, but I was sure he was already hard. Thankfully, he left the light on.

Paul turned on his side, facing his mother's back. He edged closer to her.

"Turn out the light and go to sleep," Mary said, crisply.

"I can't sleep in the dark, Mom. You know that."

Mary sighed loudly, opened the drawer of the bedside table on her side and pulled out a sleeping mask. Laying on her back, she fitted the mask over her eyes. Paul edged closer to her.

"No, son. You've had your treat for today. You have to wait until tomorrow, but only if you're a good boy."

"But, Mom."

"I said no." Mary turned onto her side, facing away from him again.

Paul, looking resigned, and settled down to sleep. And that was it.