The Mom Memories - Chapter 8 - Alwayswantedto - Literotica

 The Mom Memories Ch. 08

by alwayswantedto©

All characters are 18 years or older.

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From Ch. 07

After a few more shoves, I hardened up and quickened my pace. I could hardly wait to talk to Mary.

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I woke up at four in the morning and couldn't get back to sleep, so I ended up in my (formerly Dad's) study looking for interesting letters to read. Searching the back of the big bottom drawer, I noticed it didn't go back nearly as far as it could, resulting in my discovery of a secret compartment in Dad's desk large enough to hold several more bundles of letters. There was also a small envelope holding what appeared to be a locker key which I pocketed.

The first bundle contained several updates from some of my favorite letter writers including one from Calvin, whom I told you about in Chapters 4 and 6. Calvin was the guy whose mother teased him during home haircuts. The last time we heard from him, he got completely carried away while banging his Mom on the kitchen floor, and eventually rocked her through the kitchen doorway into the living room, right in front of his father. Not a good move. Since I hadn't found another letter from Calvin, I thought he had been kicked out of the house. But apparently not.

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Hello everyone. I know my last letter ended on a traumatic note with my father screaming at me as my Mom and I, oblivious to the world in our ecstasy, fucked our way into the living room while he was watching a game on TV. I can easily see how you might think that my subsequent silence indicated that I had been kicked out of the house, and indeed, I expected at least that. But after his initial reaction, my father simply withdrew into himself. He kept drinking beer and watching games on TV as usual but ignored Mom and I completely.

Nevertheless, the haircuts were over, and everything associated with them, ended. My Mom's doing. But other than that, Mom and I lived like we always had before the sex started. This went on for months. Various times I tried to renew my relationship with Mom when Dad wasn't home but was always rebuffed. I even tried when Dad was home but in other rooms thinking maybe she got off on the fear of discovery, but was rejected again.

One evening we were sitting in the living room, Dad watching a game, and Mom and I reading. We happened to be sitting on the couch flipping pages in a magazine when my attention was caught by Mom's bare legs still shining from whatever she put on after she shaved her legs. Her loose skirt had just ridden up her left thigh after she changed to a more comfortable position. Try as I might, I couldn't keep my attention away from Mom's legs. All the memories of her body and our intimate encounters kept flooding my mind. I tried to get her to go to the kitchen on several excuses -- snacks, drinks, making sandwiches for lunch the next day, anything I could think of -- without success.

Mom had twigged to my interest by the second suggestion and, noticing her skirt, pushed it back down. A moment later, I pushed it back up her leg with my stocking feet whereupon she again smoothed it back in place. This to and fro was repeated several more times until she gave up, looking very annoyed with me but I guess not wishing to attract Dad's attention. Removing my socks, I placed my bare foot behind her knee and began flicking the back of her thigh with my toes. I think the only reason Mom didn't get up and leave is that she didn't want deal with me alone if I followed her.

Despite her dagger-eyed, recriminating glances, I kept scratching at her leg with my toes. And, despite her anger, I could tell it was triggering memories of our good times for her as well. The longer I stroked her thigh with my toes, the more agitated she became.

Finally, feigning interest in what she was reading, I slid over and sat next to her. She pulled her legs down to the floor but I slipped my arm behind her back and around her waist to keep her from moving. I don't think that was necessary because she didn't seem eager to leave Dad's circle of protection. I tried to hold her book to look at it but she pulled it away. Dad pointedly paid no attention to us.

"Come on, Mom," I badgered, "let me see. I won't keep it." I tried to grab her book again.

"No," she countered, holding the book away from me, "go read your own and leave me alone."

After a few minutes of this, I realized that Dad wasn't going to interfere, so I became bolder. Dropping my hand to Mom's lap, I rubbed her lower belly through her skirt and then slid my hand along the crease between her legs to the hem of her skirt. Returning my hand, I tried to tug her skirt higher up her legs, with some success. I kept badgering her to let me see her book to cover my actions because I knew I was skirting disaster if Dad looked over and saw what I was doing. I couldn't help myself, the danger made my hold body tingle. But Dad never even glanced our way, not even a flicker of his eyes, which were firmly fixed on the TV.

I let my hand stray above the waist of Mom's skirt, sliding up her blouse to pat her tummy below her breasts. I held her firmly around the waist with my right arm as I brushed her breast on the side away from Dad with the back of my hand. Mom went rigid, but there was still no reaction from Dad. As the game went into commercials, I backed off but when he didn't change his demeanor, watching the commercials just as intently as the game, I let my hand furtively return to cup the bottom swell of her breast. Mom was like a deer caught in headlights, sitting like a statue. Throughout the commercials, I gently squeezed and even rubbed her tit through her blouse and bra. Even so heavily ensconced, I could feel her flesh tightening.

When the game returned, I discreetly started undoing Mom's blouse. The commentators yacked on as I carefully revealed Mom's bra for the first time in months. After a short pause to relish the moment, I twisted the bra undone and slipped my hand inside to grasp her bare tit. Her whole body went even more rigid and my cock stiffened when I felt her hard nipple poke into my palm. I tried to kiss her neck but she twisted away. Amazingly, she didn't make any attempt to stop me from caressing her breast.

Keeping my hand on her tit, I pulled my other arm from behind her back and slid that hand under her legs. Grasping the hem of her skirt, I pulled until I had dragged it up behind her, tugging it all the way to her waist. Quickly, I slid my hand back underneath, pushing along the outside her panties, until my fingers were reaching between her legs from behind. I danced my fingertips around, massaging her pussy through her panties to the next set of commercials and beyond. Dad continued to ignore us.

When the game started again, I pulled Mom's hip up and cocked her ass sideways toward me, pulling my hand away from her tit to join its brother under her thighs. Prying her flesh apart, I slipped my fingers inside the panty leg and dipped into her pussy. She was wet and slick.

No longer concerned about what Dad was doing, I concentrated on pushing my fingers in and out of Mom's pussy using the other hand to open her wide. Soon she was slightly rocking and clutching at my invading fingers and a faint squishy sound matched her movements.

Suddenly, I guess Mom could take no more and she jumped up from the couch. Unsteadily, she walked across the room, her skirt noticeably disheveled as she headed up the stairs. I leapt up to follow, too far gone to be concerned about Dad's reaction but no booming voice or angry footsteps followed me. Mom was just entering her room as I topped the stairs and the door was almost closed by the time I reached it. She halfheartedly tried to push it closed but quickly gave up at the first sign of resistance and stumbled toward the bed. I followed, catching up to her before she could lay down.

I pulled her skirt up over her hips and shoved my jeans down over mine. Freeing my cock from my shorts, I yanked her panties down to her knees. Without any finesse, I pushed on her back until she leaned forward onto the bed. Lining myself up, I entered her and starting thrusting into her right away. Through the thunderous ocean-like sound rocking around in my head, I could distinctly hear her rasping breath and grunting against the backdrop of baseball sounds drifting in the open door as I lunged into her again and again, my calves and thighs straining with the effort.

When I came, I collapsed, gasping, onto her back. Catching my breath moments later, the realization of what we'd done crashed down on me. Stunned that I was still alive, yet alone unmolested, my cock began to harden again. Moving my hands up to grip her tits, I slowly began to work my still starved cock into my Mom. Months of nothing but my hand had taken its toll. I needed to have her again, right away.

Mom lay there, letting me have my way with her, lifting her ass up to help me only at the end. After finishing, I retreated to my room. Mom and I didn't say a single word to each other. I later learned that she showered, changed into her pajamas, and simply read a book, waiting for Dad to join her. I heard him come to bed after the game ended, expecting him to pay me an unpleasant visit, but he didn't. Less than an hour later, I welcomed Mom to my bed. We made love for two hours, slowly and tenderly, whispering about how we'd missed each other and vowing to never be apart again.

Mom and I continue to have sex. Dad never pays attention. We don't flaunt ourselves but it does excite Mom more if I initiate things when Dad is close by. If I don't, she'll often lift the back of her skirt while sitting on the couch, flashing her backside at me, covered by panties or not. She gives me a much wilder fuck if I first play this game with her in Dad's presence.

Once, we went too far with our foreplay and I actually slowly fucked Mom on the couch under a blanket while he watched a game. Dad hasn't had sexual relations with Mom since that fateful night when I banged her through the kitchen doorway. It's weird, but that's how things have turned out, and I'm not complaining. So this is my last letter, friends. I'm enjoying my new life, fucking my Mom every day.

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Calvin's letter was short enough that it was still only five in the morning. Flipping through the letters, ignoring my 'read every one' rule, I searched for a familiar name so I wouldn't waste time on a potentially boring story with only an hour until Mary got up. I was rewarded with a letter from Francis, whom I told you about in Chapters 3 and 6. Francis' mother was thin with small tits and long nipples. She enjoyed teasing Francis but lost control of the situation when he flipped her t-shirt over her head, covering her face. Both she and Francis were surprised by how wildly excited she became. Francis had taken immediate advantage and fucked her on the couch. Later, he was won a reprise when he bought her a sexy set of silky pajamas with a matching scarf. Tying the scarf around his Mother's eyes allowed Francis to have his sexy Mom from behind, again and again. This is what Francis had to say in his next letter.

So, I didn't have an opportunity to have Mom for some time after our 'pajama' affair. Not that Mom ignored me. Quite contrary, she seemed to take every opportunity to tease me. She wore blouses undone down to her navel when Dad wasn't around, allowing me to glimpse her small tits. If Dad was around, she would stretch when he wasn't looking, thrusting her nipples against the material of her blouse. She seemed to revel in such teasing but she didn't make herself available for more.

Weeks went by like this. Then one day at dinner, Dad announced that he was leaving for several days on a business trip and was catching a flight later that night. If I took him to the airport, I could use his car, as long as I picked him up as well.

"Oh Tom," Mother sighed, "do you have to go away for so long? You know I don't sleep well when you're gone."

"Come on, now," Dad consoled her, "you know you're perfectly safe with Francis around. He's more than capable of looking after you."

"I'm sure he is," Mom smiled sweetly at me, "but I need something a little extra when you're away."

"You're not taking pills again, are you?" Dad asked, his voice worried.

"No, no. But I got something to help me sleep, just the same."

"What?"

"A sleeping mask."

"Oh. Do you think that will work?" Dad asked, not convinced because Mom had complained about insomnia for years.

"Oh, I think it will be very effective," Mom replied, turning to look at me. "What do you think, Francis?"

I blushed furiously. "I guess so."

"Well, I hope so," Dad said, giving me an odd look. Standing, he went on, "I'd better get going. Come on, Francis."

"Don't you want to see the pajamas it comes with?" Mom complained.

"I don't have time, honey. Wait until I get back."

"That will be too late," Mom whined, "they'll be old by then."

"Well, show them to Francis. Then he can buy another pair and you can show them to me when I get back. Can you do that, Francis?"

"Sure Dad." I smiled at Dad and then at Mom.

"Ok, honey?" Dad asked Mom, picking up his suitcase at the door and pulling on his coat.

"Alright. I'm sure Francis has the same taste as you." Mom smiled broadly at me. Dad gave her a peck on the cheek and turned to go out the door. Mom held the mask up to her face and blew me a kiss. "Hurry back," she said.

Fortunately, Dad was worried about being late so I was able to drive fast to the airport. On the way back, I wasn't very safe. I burst into the house, to find it dimly lit by candles placed on various tables in the living room and in the kitchen.

"Pour us some wine, Francis," Mom's voice drifted down the stairs.

By the time I had poured the wine, Mom was standing at the bottom of the stairs. She wore a long, filmy, almost transparent green robe. Underneath, I could see an undergarment of the same material draped from her shoulders, falling sleeveless almost to her knees. Suspended around her neck she wore the mask she had displayed earlier. It rested on her breasts, covering them. Otherwise, I would have been able to make out the bare shape of her tits despite being covered by two layers of the filmy material of her 'pajamas'.

Mom took a glass of wine from my hand as she walked past me into the living room. "Put some mood music on, Francis."

Her movements were elegant and incredibly sexy despite her very slight frame and too thin legs. When I moved to take her into my arms, she pushed me away. "Go upstairs and put on one of Dad's suits."

When I returned, dressed to the hilt in Dad's most expensive suit -- shirt, tie, jacket and even shoes -- Mom was still standing next to the stereo. Except for an almost empty glass of wine, nothing had changed. Without her asking, I grabbed the bottle and refilled her glass as she held her hand out to me, the filmy robe hanging from her slender arm.

"Thank you, sweetie," she purred.

She turned her back to me.

"What do you think?"

I took time to run my eyes over her before answering. I wanted her to know that I was truly appreciative. "Awesome, Mom."

"Thank you, sir." She turned back to face me. "And what about this side?" she asked.

Again, I took my time appraising her form, running my eyes up and down as she watched. "Double awesome, Mom. Dad will be pleased."

She looked at me oddly, then smiled. Arching her back, she thrust her breasts up. "Dance with me?"

In response, I moved forward to take her into my arms. We danced for several songs. I didn't try to touch her inappropriately. I treated her as if we were on a public ballroom dance floor, thankful for the lessons she had insisted I take with her since my father had refused. At the end of the last dance, she rose up on tippy toes to kiss me, her breasts pointing into my chest. "Let's take a break for awhile," she whispered, though we were definitely alone.

We simply stood there, Mom chatting inanely about normal house stuff, while we finished our wine. As she talked, I swept my eyes up and down her body. Mom didn't seem to mind. If anything, she seemed pleased by my rapt attentions. After she swallowed the last drop, she whispered, "Put on something softer, for slow dancing."

When I turned to take her once more into my arms, she had tossed the robe onto the couch. She stood there with only the nightie covering her, her body showing through. Though the mask still covered her breasts, I could see that the panties were a simple wrap of the same material running over her hips and down between her legs. Mom raised her arms and her eyebrows as she saw where my gaze had fallen.

I danced with her just as I had before, without groping or unnecessary touching. Just dancing. After the first song, Mom peeled the suit jacket off my shoulders. After the second, she loosened my tie and pulled it through the collar and off at the end of the third song. By the middle of the fourth, enough buttons were undone to show the hair on my chest. I kicked off my shoes. In between the fifth and sixth songs, I lifted the mask from Mom's chest and adjusted it to fit snugly on her head. Mom kissed my chest during that dance. When it ended, I slid my hands down her back, below and under the hem of her transparent nightie, and up onto her ass.

I had noticed while dancing that the material of Mom's panties met in the back and was snapped together. Pulling the snap apart, I snaked the material through her legs, pulling it away in my hands. Mom gasped into my chest as the seventh song started. Barely moving to the music, I pulled her hands together behind her back and used her panties to tie them together. Mom's breathing was getting shorter and quicker as the song played on.

I pulled away, leaving her in the middle of the room, swaying to the music, tied and blindfolded.

Picking up her discarded robe, I stepped near. Slowly, I wrapped her robe around and around her head, finally tucking the end in, and stepped away. I undressed, saying nothing, but letting her hear the clothes being dragged from my body and dropped to the floor. I undressed completely and approached her from behind, though I could tell she still thought I was in front of her.

My cock sprung from my body at a proud angle, jutting ahead of me. I guided it carefully into her soft hands, bound behind her, threading it between her fingers. Grasping her hair, I lowered my lips to kiss the nape of her neck, pushing myself through her fingers. I whispered in her ear.

"Do you remember where it likes to go?"

She drew her breath in sharply, but remained silent.

I pulled back and thrust slowly through her fingers again.

"Help it," I whispered, hoarsely. "Help it find the place it loves."

A few more shoves and Mom's hands reacted, pulling me forward, nosing my cock down, between her cheeks, below her ass and into the dark, damp triangle. I thrust ahead, she bent forward, stumbling toward the window. I turned her, guiding her, past the coffee table, until her knees hit the couch. She crawled onto it, slowly, holding my member against her soft butt. She braced her knees wide apart, and leaned forward until her face lay against the wall, all the while holding my cock at the entrance to her pussy.

"Do you like it there," I asked.

"Yes," she moaned.

"Do you want it inside?"

"Yessss," she moaned again.

"Then pull it in."

Mom pulled, but I resisted, letting her just get the tip into her. I kissed her between her shoulder blades, sucking on her skin. Pulling up to nibble the nape of her neck, I whispered harshly, "Come on, pull it in."

Mom pulled harder but I pulled back almost as hard. Our tug of war continued until she managed to get the head in. I slipped my hands under her arms and underneath her nightie to cup her little tits, pinching her long, hard nipples, squeezing and stretching them forward into the couch.

"Ohhhhhhh, God," Mom groaned.

"If you really want it, pull it in." I pinched her nipples harder, tugging them out even more.

"ohhhhh, god ... ohhhhh, God." She pulled on my cock.

"Come on," I urged, "Pull it in ... suck it into your pussy."

Mom yanked on me, shoving a couple of inches in until her hands got in the way. Yanking her arms up, forcing her head harder onto the couch, I thrust up hard the rest of the way into her, lifting her knees right off the couch. With her legs splayed widely across the back of the couch, I began fucking her in earnest, holding her up by her arms tied behind her back.

As she moaned and grunted, I talked. "Do you love fucking me? ... Who fucks you the best?"

I don't know if I was insecure, wanting confirmation that she wanted me more than Dad, or what. I just kept rattling out these stupid comments, not expecting an answer and never getting one.

Mom just let me work on her, urging me on with her 'ohhhs' and 'ahhhs' and groans and moans. By the end, just before I burst in her, her feet were stretched out so far her toes were dug into the arms on each side of the couch, and my thrusts were sliding her head up the wall. It was incredibly intense.

After we were done, we went upstairs. I followed Mom into her and Dad's bed, getting in on Dad's side. Mom turned on her side away from me to sleep. I nestled in behind her, lifted the nightie which she was still wearing, and pushed my cock between her legs. She pulled away and twisted forward to evade my eager rod. Stymied, I noticed the sleeping mask was still hanging around her neck, so I pulled it up and fitted it on her face.

Though she may have thought I had given in and was just helping her get ready for a good night's sleep, she didn't object when I started poking my cock into her again. Instead, she just leaned forward to give me better access. I slipped my cock inside her and fucked her until I came. I loved the feel of her this way, calmly fucking her, relishing in the slick feel of her as my cock moved back and forth until I couldn't hold back and twisted her onto her tummy for the final intense hump. There was a repeat the following morning when I entered her before she could remove the mask.

At breakfast, there was a knock on the door. It was a delivery man with a courier package for Mom from Dad. She had to sign for it so I asked the man to wait just inside the door while I went to the kitchen to explained to Mom that she had to sign for a package. I slipped the sleeping mask, which she was still wearing around her neck, onto her face. Pulling her up by the hand, I led her to the front door. Mom didn't know the man was inside until she was very close. I could feel her stiffen and balk as she heard his breathing, and the rustle of his coat as he handed me the clipboard.

"Sign here," he said. Ignoring me, he ogled Mom, dressed only in her almost see through nightie.

"We can't sign until we see if the contents are OK," I said.

"You're just signing to acknowledge receipt," the man responded, not even looking at me, his eyes running up and down Mom's body. "You can make a claim of there's anything wrong."

"We'd like to be sure," I insisted.

He turned to me to argue, then said, "Ah sure, sure. Go ahead, open it. I'll wait." He was in no hurry, now realizing he could ogle Mom while I fiddled with the package. I handed the clipboard back to him.

"It's a present from Dad, Mom."

The man glanced at me, his eyes widening.

I ripped the package open. Mom stood there, trembling, her face red.

It was another nightie, quite similar to the one Mom was wearing. I told Mom.

"We want to try it on to make sure it fits."

"Sure, sure," the man replied.

"They're beautiful, Mom. Just like these but bright blue." I placed my hand on her shoulder and dragged her nightie off, over her arm, and then did the other side. The nightie was stretched to Mom's outer arms, tightly across her breasts. Her nipples strained upward against the taut material.

The man's mouth dropped open.

I pressed Mom's arms together and pulled the material forward off her tits, letting it fall around her waist. I pushed it over her hips and let it drop to the floor, leaving Mom standing there in just her panties. Stooping to pick up her new nightie, I pulled it down over her head, slipped her arms through, and draped it over her body.

"Well, that part fits," I commented drily. "Let's try the panties."

Mom visibly tensed, but didn't move. Stepping behind her, I reached under the nightie to grasp her panties on each side and tugged them down her thighs, her calves, and off her feet, one at a time. Picking up the new panties, I slipped them over her feet and pulled them up, slowly, snugging them over her cheeks and pulling the sides up onto her hips. Putting my arms around her, I cupped her tits.

"What do you think?" I asked, "Isn't my Mom beautiful?"

It took a moment, but eventually the man responded, "You're a very lucky young man."

"Let her sign now," I said.

He held out the clipboard and guided Mom's hand to the right position but the man didn't notice, his eyes were still on her tits.

"Thanks for your patience," I said. As he opened the door to leave, I whispered to Mom but loud enough so he could still hear, "Let's start enjoying Dad's present right away."

I locked the door after he left and steered Mom to the couch. I almost had to carry her, her legs were so wobbly.

As soon as we reached the couch, she immediately stretched her feet out to the arms and placed the side of her head against the wall. I pulled the panties to the side and shoved myself inside her. It didn't take long, for either of us.

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I was ready to unload myself. I had been absently fondling myself while reading. I heard noises from the kitchen -- Mary, rustling about making breakfast for Dad and lunch for Paul. I rushed out to join her, hoping to hear about what happened before Paul joined her upstairs.

Mary was buttering bread on the counter when I came in, alone. She was wearing the casual nurse garb she favored when working with Dad, a plain green cotton blouse and pajama type pants. Though it was baggy and shapeless, I liked it because you knew it was mostly woman underneath. My eagerness to hear about the night before was joined by another eagerness below my belt.

"Mary," I whispered, "How did it go?"

Mary jumped, startled by my unexpected presence. I had never been in the kitchen this early before.

"Jesus ... Dave, you scared the hell out of me!" she exclaimed, turning back to butter the sandwich bread.

"What happened?" I queried again. "Did it work?"

Mary's neck reddened, but she didn't say anything. I stepped forward until I was standing behind and to one side of her. "Come on, Mary. Tell me," I urged, a fellow conspirator.

Still, she was silent. I asked her a direct question.

"Did he touch you?"

No answer.

"I saw him open your robe," I ventured.

"No," she continued to look down, watching herself butter the bread, "I did that."

"You opened your robe for him?" I asked, a bit shocked by her initiative.

A pause. She stopped buttering. "Yes," she said, barely audible. "You opened Susan's," she retorted.

"That's right," I responded, "I did," my tone demanding more.

"So I did the same for him."

"Did he touch you, like I touched Mom?"

Another pause. "No." Followed by a longer pause.

"... so ...," I prompted, pulling for more.

"I hugged him to me ... on my breasts."

"Were they bare?"

"God no. I had my nightie on." Her tone was indignant.

"Oh," I responded, disappointment in my voice.

As if defending herself, Mary added, "It wasn't like I had a bra on or anything. I was ... loose underneath," she stammered.

I could tell this was hard for her. "That's good, Mary, that's good," I assured her, placing my hand on her shoulder, squeezing her gently, comfortingly. She eased a bit. Her hands started buttering the bread again.

"It was good for you to do that. I'm sure it comforted him, for you to let him be close to your breasts, like when he could see Mom was doing for me."

"Maybe ... I hope so." She paused to make the sign of the cross on her chest.

"Mary, we've been through this. He needs to be close to you, but in different way. It worked for me and Mom," I added, wrongfully implying my relationship with Mom had started the same way.

"I know," she said, her voice now very quiet.

I squeezed her neck again and pulled her head to mine, hugging her. I let my side press against hers, hip to hip, leg to leg.

"Do you think he could feel them?"

"What?"

"Your breasts. Could he feel them?"

"I guess so," she answered awkwardly, "his head was right on them."

"Could he feel your nipples?" I pressed.

"Dave!"

"Could he?"

"I ... I don't know."

" He turned to watch us, I could tell. His face must have been on them. Could you feel his face on you?"

"Yes. I guess so. On one."

"Did it make you feel closer to him, like when he was a baby?"

"I guess."

"Did you push against him?"

"No!"

"You should have, Mary," I admonished, "You should have offered, like you would have when he was a baby, to comfort him. You should have just pressed against him a bit, to let him know it was alright."

She had stopped buttering the bread again. I turned her to face me.

"Did he try anything last night?"

"No."

"You should have encouraged him," I said, pulling her to me in a hug.

Mary nodded her head against my shoulder, "I guess."

I could feel her against me. She couldn't have been wearing much under her blouse. If Paul's head was on these with just a nightie covering them, then he definitely felt her nipples. I pressed my hand into her back.

"You should have pressed back, just a little." I pushed on her shoulder blade. She responded by pressing against me slightly. "Try it."

She arched her back, jutting her tits against me. It was great. I pressed my hand in, keeping her breasts tight to my chest.

"There. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"No."

"You wanted to, didn't you? To comfort him. You can tell me, Mary. You know I know."

"Yes." Her voice was very quiet, as if she was ashamed.

"It's because you love your son. It's natural, Mary. It's because you want to comfort him."

"I do," she whispered, intensely.

"Then do it for him. No more doubts. He may be confused at first, but he'll love you for it. He'll love that you'll do that for him." I moved my hand in a big circle on her back, keeping the pressure on, rolling her breasts around on my chest. "He'll love it, trust me."

I stepped back and looked her in the eyes. "Find a way to let him be close. Stay focused. Remember why you're doing it."

I left. Later that day, while Paul was at school, Mom was out, and Mary was upstairs looking after Dad, I placed a few wireless cameras around, including in Mary and Paul's suite. I know it was wrong, but I had to know. I rationalized my behavior by telling myself I needed to know what was going on so I could provide better tips, but my cock knew better.

At the end of the day, after Mary reviewed the day with Dad for Mom, I managed to catch Mary on her way through the kitchen before she went downstairs to her suite for the evening. As she started to pass me, leaning back against the counter by the door, she smiled. I reached out to block her path with my open hand, flat against her stomach.

"Mary," I whispered, "You can't go down like that."

"Like what?" she asked, whispering back, like were both in on a secret plan.

"Like this." I brushed my fingers across the of her blouse, buttoned right up to her neck. "Loosen up, undo a couple of buttons."

Mary's face flushed.

"Come on," I insisted, "a button or two for him."

She simply stood there, face reddening, so I used both hands to undo the top button on her blouse.

"Now you do one for him," I urged.

Without a word or a nod, she raised her hands and slipped another button out. I rearranged the lapels of her blouse.

"That's better," I said, "Now he'll see a mother, ... and a woman. I guarantee he'll be more interested."

She looked great, standing there, her breasts noticeably rising and falling.

"Go make him grow up."

Mary walked past me. As soon as the door closed behind her I rushed into my study and activated the monitoring program.

I missed her entrance. She was already in the kitchen, making dinner. Paul came in, sat down at the table, and began reading the comic he'd brought with him. He didn't pay any attention to her, even when she set a plate down in front of him, simply sliding his comic aside as she put it down. But when she brought the cutlery, she fussed about getting it lined up, reaching between his arms holding the comic book to the side.

I could see his head turn up, an annoyed look on his face which quickly changed to a blank stare. I could only see Mary's back so I don't know what Paul was looking at, but I could guess. Mary took a much longer time getting the cutlery straight around Paul's plate than her own and when she turned back to approach the counter, Paul's eyes followed her. I couldn't see very well, but it seemed to me that Mary may have undone another button on her blouse, at least as evidenced by the deep wedge of skin cutting through the olive green blouse.

It's amazing how a woman with a short haircut can change from curt to exotic by simply undoing a few buttons on a blouse. Something had surely changed in Paul's mind. The comic book lay on the table, ignored. I could see Paul's eyes flick up and down as they perused his mother's figure, their intensity signaling the discovery of something surprising, and new.

Mary returned to fill glasses with milk. Hers was poured quickly but Paul's was filled quite slowly as she leaned forward, reaching from behind her pushed in chair. Again, his eyes followed Mary back. In fact, his eyes hadn't left his mother since she had placed the cutlery in front of him. When the food was ready, Mary brought each individual dish and carefully served it on Paul's plate, one at a time. When that was done, she took her own plate and filled it from the stove, all at once.

After dinner, Paul offered to help clean up. I sensed that this was a rare if not unique occurrence. When the table and counters were cleared and the dishwasher loaded, Mary turned to thank Paul, opening her arms for a hug. I could see his eyes stray down from her face as she closed her arms around him. Mary gave him a good, long hug and, from my vantage point, I could see her put her back into it.

Nothing happened for quite a while after that. They retired to the living room and watched TV. Paul read his comic book but often looked up to look at his mom, his eyes sometimes lingering on her for quite some time. At the end of one show, Mary rose and disappeared down the hall toward the bedrooms. I hadn't placed any cameras there so didn't know what she was doing or if she would come back. When she returned, she was wearing pajamas, a blouse with large buttons and leg hugging pants that ended just below the knee. She had nice legs.

It was hard to see but I'm certain Mary wasn't wearing anything under her blouse. Paul certainly paid close attention as she returned to sit on the couch, tucking her feet up under her legs. His eyes seemed to be directed at her chest and upon examination, I could see why. Mary's blouse was gapping open to below her breasts. From his vantage point to the side, Paul must have been able to see most of the side of her right breast at times. While Mary watched TV, Paul watched her, never once taking his eyes away except during commercials. Mary seemed oblivious.

When the show ended, Mary got up and made tea. When she returned, she set two cups and a pot down in front of her on the coffee table. As she sat down, I could see her blouse was undone almost all the way to her pajama pants. The show started and so did Paul's vigil. At the first commercial break, Mary leaned forward to pour two cups of tea. She patted the couch beside her before picking up a cup. Paul sidled over to her side and did the same. Mary sipped her tea as she watched the show and Paul watched her as he sipped his. Clearly, he could now see better down her blatantly open blouse.

When Mary leaned forward to refill her cup, her blouse seemed to open more, widening at the point where it was tucked into her pajama bottoms. I don't know if this was from the natural pull of the material when she leaned over, or whether she was helping it along. But the effect was dramatic. I could see from the camera view, that her breasts were sometimes fully half visible and I'm sure that from Paul's vantage point he could see much more, probably enjoying the full rising slope out to their tips.

During the next set of commercials, Paul didn't look away. He engaged his mother in conversation. I'm not sure what was said, but at one point Mary seemed to be saying 'thank you' and turned to hug her son after putting her cup down. When the hug was over, the show had started again, and they turned back to watch it.

Mary's loose pajama top had been tugged down over one shoulder, something Paul clearly noticed right away. I could see him say something and Mary's lips moved briefly in response. Paul reached up to touch her blouse but on the shoulder that remained covered. Slowly, he pulled on it until it too was uncovered, baring both of Mary's lovely shoulders and the upper part of her breasts. Mary's eyes were fixed on the TV but Paul's, and mine, were diving between her breasts whose swells were fully exposed. I could see Mary's tummy and navel.

Paul never looked at the TV after that, not even once. He spent the entire time ogling his mother's chest. At the end of the show, Mary made a big show of stretching, arching her back and thrusting her chest out. She then turned to hug her son, giving him a kiss on each cheek and then on his mouth. He seemed surprised by this, so I assumed it was a first. After that, Mary rose and disappeared down the hallway toward the bedrooms. Paul remained for some time, staring down the hall before he too disappeared.

The comic book remained discarded on the couch at the end were Paul had first been sitting.

I had early classes the next day so I couldn't ask Mary about the evening. In case I missed anything, I set the cameras in Mary's suite and our kitchen to be activated whenever someone was there. During a break at school, I logged in to see if anything had happened. Nothing was going on, but there was an interesting segment recorded in our kitchen between Paul and my mom.

Paul, his mom and mine were having a coffee together in our kitchen. Mary got up and left, taking my father's breakfast tray with her. After a couple of minutes of polite chit chat, Paul suddenly directed a probing question to Mom.

"Can I ask you something personal, Mrs. H?" This is what Paul called Mom.

"Sure," Mom replied.

"It's confidential. You won't tell Mom I asked, will you?"

"No Paul," she assured him, "You can talk to me. Just think of me as another mom."

"I'd like that," Paul said. "Anyway," he continued, "I know you and Dave are really close, ... really close," he emphasized, "and I think I'd like to be like that with Mom, but I don't know how." He hung his head down, not meeting Mom's eyes. "But I'd like to," he mumbled.

Mom reached out, placing her fingers under Paul's chin, raising his head up so she could look into his eyes.

"Are you sure, Paul? You know Dave and I are very close. Do you feel that way about your Mom?"

"Yes."

"Is it just because it's your Mom? Because it's ... not allowed?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"I don't think so."

"Do you think she feel's that way about you?"

"I don't know."

"So you need to find a way to tell her." Mom got up and took her cup to the sink, rinsing it out before turning back to face Paul, who was still sitting at the table. It seemed so easy, when both Mom and I knew Mary was trying to encourage Paul, but I could see on Mom's face she was realizing that of course things appeared more challenging to Paul. Her expression made me realize that she knew she had to 'advise' Paul in a way that didn't give away the game.

"Come here, Paul," Mom gestured to him.

Paul went to Mom, carrying his cup.

"Put your cup in the sink."

Paul had to reach around Mom to get to the sink. Carefully, he placed his cup in the sink. As he did, Mom put her arms around him, holding him loosely in front of her. Paul looked nervously behind him.

"Don't worry. Your mom will be with Mr. H for awhile." Mom shifted her hands up and down Paul's sides, then rested them on his hips. "Now. How do you think you can go about letting your Mom know you like her in a special way, like Dave and I?"

"I don't know."

"You don't?" Mom asked, peering up into his eyes with a little disbelief. "Do you really not know, or are you just afraid?"

Paul squirmed, but didn't try to break free. "She might not like it. She might get really mad."

"But what if she doesn't get mad? What if she likes it?"

Paul ignored Mom's question, instead answering his own. "If she doesn't like it, she'll hate me."

Mom tried a different tack. "Well, you can do it in a way that it could have been an accident, if she gets mad."

"Really?" Paul asked, his interest aroused.

"Sure," Mom replied. "You hug your mom, don't you?"

"Yeah," Paul mumbled.

Mom demanded, "Put your arms around me. Show me how you hug her."

Paul put his arms loosely around Mom's shoulders, giving her a quick hug, squeezing his face lightly against her cheek and quickly pulling away.

"No, no, no," Mom rebuked him. "You can do better than that, now, can't you?"

Paul nodded, clearly not knowing what she meant.

"Come on, put your arms under mine." Mom raised her arms slightly, opening a gap between her arms and her sides. "Come on, I won't bite you." Paul slipped his arms in and Mom dropped hers, pinning his to her side.

"There, isn't that better than my shoulders?" Mom asked, putting her own hands up onto Paul's chest.

Paul didn't answer, he just stood close to Mom, his hands holding her sides under her arms.

"Squeeze me, honey," Mom said, "the way you want to hug your mom."

I could see Mom's arms tighten to her sides, pressing Paul's hands against herself. Mom slipped her hands around to Paul's back, pressing him closer.

"Put your cheek against mine, and don't pull away."

"That's it. Now, as if it's an accident, slip your arms out a bit, slowly, so your hands are by my breasts." Paul didn't move. "Go ahead, Paul. I'm not your Mom. I won't get mad."

Paul's arms drew back until his hands were cupping the sides of Mom's breasts.

"Tighter, Paul. ... That's right. ... Now, isn't that nice? Do you like that?"

"Yes," he mumbled, but there was excitement in his mumble.

"Wouldn't you like to do that to your Mom?"

"Yessss," Paul hissed.

"That's right," Mom said moment later. "A little initiative is good," in response to Paul's obvious squeezing of her breasts. "That shows me you like me, that I'm attractive to you. And something else does, too," Mom laughed pushing him away.

"There," she said. "You can pretend that was an accident if she gets mad, but if she doesn't, you just squeeze her a bit like that, and then pull away. But next time, make sure you touch her like that again, and every time you hug her from then on, so she knows you still like her." Paul nodded. "And you can do it for longer each time, too."

Paul nodded again, looking down at Mom's breasts, clearly wanting to do hug her again. I was feeling a little jealous now, though I knew Mom was just trying to help out, like I'd asked her to. Mom smiled at Paul.

"Do you think you have the hang of it now?"

Paul looked unsure.

"You want to try it again?" Mom smiled, knowing he dearly wanted to. "Come on," she said, "one more time before your mother comes down."

She held her arms up. Paul immediately stepped forward, putting his hands directly on the sides of her breasts.

"No, no. Hug me first and then slip your hands back. It's important to let me pretend I'm not just letting you touch me." I was beginning to wonder if Mom had played me.

Paul stepped right back, and did the whole thing over, quickly sliding his hands back to grasp her breasts. Mom smiled over his shoulder, amused at his clumsiness, her smile turning to an 'oh' as his hips pressed against her. When she pushed him away a few minutes later, her breathing had quickened.

"You really are a big boy, Paul. I'm sure your mom won't object to you hugging her."

Paul nodded dumbly. I could tell he just wanted to hug my mother again.

"Do you kiss your mom?" Mom suddenly asked, a mischievous look dancing in her eyes.

Paul nodded.

"I don't mean little pecks. On the mouth?"

Paul shuffled his feet. "Last night ..."

"Moms like to be kissed," Mom stated. "Come on, show me how you'd kiss your mom." She pulled Paul to her, pulling his mouth down onto hers. A minute later, her hands grabbed his and pulled them to her tits, not on the sides, but right on them. Godammit! I had been getting hard watching them but now I was getting mad. She didn't have to go this far.

Mom was out of breath when the kiss ended but she managed to ask Paul if he wanted to practice more before trying to kiss his own Mom. Her exact words were, "Would you like to try that again, big boy, before chancing it with your Mom?"

Paul nodded, this time enthusiastically.

"Yes," Mom looked down at the front of Paul's pants, "I can see you want to," she laughed. "But it's our secret, OK? You can't tell anyone. If you promise me that, I'll let you practice, big boy," she repeated this maddening reference to him.

"Mom let me see her last night," Paul blurted, "a little."

"Oh?" Mom looked surprised.

Paul went on, "She let me see her shoulders. She opened her pajamas so I could see her shoulders." He ran his hands above Mom's shoulders, indicating how Mary had opened her top.

"Oh." Mom and Paul suddenly looked toward the kitchen door. They must have heard Mary coming down. Mom pushed herself away from the counter, walking toward the doorway. "We'll see what we can do, tiger."

I didn't know what to feel. I was excited by this exchange, but jealous and angry too. I wanted to reassert my 'ownership' of Mom, and to do something intimate with Mary just to 'get back' at Paul. I wasn't in a good mood when I got home that night and my mood didn't improve when I found Mary alone. Apparently, they had decided to order Chinese food and Paul had gone to pick it up, accompanied by Mom who insisted on tagging along to pay for it. My imagination was full of what could be going on and I queried Mary about how long they'd been gone. They'd just left, she told me. What was the matter?

"Nothing," I assured her. "I just wanted to have a few moments to talk about how things went with Paul."

"Oh," she replied, and went on to tell me about the night before.

"You know, Mary, I'm not sure you should let him touch you too soon. I think it would be better if you just let him look for awhile." I wanted to exact a little revenge, here. I suddenly thought things shouldn't be too easy for Paul.

"I don't know if I was going to let him touch me anyway," Mary assured me, "but you think I should show him more?"

"I don't know. What did you show him?" I asked, innocently. She started to tell me, but I insisted I couldn't tell how much it meant to Paul unless she showed me.

"We have time, before they get back." I was now more interested in Mary's revelation than in what could be going on in the car.

Reluctantly, Mary undid the buttons on her blouse, explaining there were only a few on her pajama top while she did. I have no idea what difference that made, and I don't know if she did either. But it didn't matter, because she kept undoing her buttons until she reached the waistband of her pants.

"Did he like that?" I asked.

"Yes," she replied, her breath quickening at the memory of her son's attention.

"Did you show yourself to him?" I asked.

"No."

"You didn't open your blouse for him to see?"

"I hugged him, and it fell off my shoulders."

She didn't admit that she let him pull her blouse off one shoulder. I guess, she was still having a hard time with this.

"Like this," I asked, brushing the blouse off, baring her shoulders and chest down to the tops of her breasts where the material was caught. I had lucked out. Evidently, Mary didn't wear a bra while working in the house. The swells of her breasts were open to my view unhindered by the cross member of a bra.

"Is this what you showed him?"

"Yes," she answered, her voice low.

"Good. That was brave of you, Mary."

"Thank you," she said even more quietly.

I took hold of each edge of her blouse, below her breasts. "Were you brave enough to show him this?" I asked, pulling her shirt apart, baring her tits, her nipples struggling to keep their hold on the cotton as it scraped over them.

"No," she admitted, not trying to keep herself covered, casting her eyes down to the floor.

"Good," I praised her. "He wouldn't be able to hold back if he saw these like this. And that would be too soon."

She nodded, as if understanding my meaning.

"Let him touch you, but not too far, too fast. Tease him as long as you can so you can control him. And if he starts playing his computer games, or reading comic books, cut him off and let him know why. You have to break him of that habit."

I raised my hands, brushing her breasts with the backs of my fingers. How could I get her let me have her? She was so sexy standing before me, letting me, barely older than her son, be an authority.

"Soon, he's going to want these," I brushed her breasts again, this time letting my fingers graze her nipples, stiff, proud and excited, not flaccid and oblivious. Whether it was this situation or the memory of her son mesmerized by her breasts, or both, she was clearly excited. I let my fingers brush more firmly against her on the down stroke, firmly flicking her nipples like I was turning off a pair of light switches. My cock twitched as I watched them spring back.

Just then, car lights swept across the windows. Paul and Mom were back. Mary turned away, flustered and feverishly buttoning her blouse. I pictured myself behind her, gently tugging her hair as I fitted myself to her. God! I wanted her.

We sat in the living room for our feast, so there was no opportunity to openly caress Mom. I wasn't really in the mood to put on a show for Paul anyway, and truth be known, I kind of wanted to touch Mary. We watched a movie while we ate -- not one of my study movies, I hadn't found anything else to show yet. Our seating arrangements changed through the movie as we sampled different dishes, from our original arrangement of Mom and I on one couch and Mary and Paul on another, to all of us squeezed onto the larger couch.

I managed to briefly put my hand on Mary's knee and press my thigh to hers several times unnoticed by the others, except Mary. I took it as a good sign that she seemed sensitive to my touch, glancing at the others to make sure they weren't looking. I was a little concerned when Paul was in the kitchen helping Mom get drinks. They seemed to be there for a while and there were one or two noticeable quiet parts. Given what I'd seen this afternoon, I imagine Paul was copping a feel and Mom was letting him. I tried to ignore it, taking advantage of their absence to offer 'advice' to Mary, mentioning that Paul would eventually try to touch her legs, and she should consider letting him. I demonstrated by sliding my hand between her thighs as I whispered to her, like we were conspirators.

The whole evening was like being at a high school party with your girlfriend but trying to flirt or sneak some time with the other girls there. When the movie was over, Mary professed to be tired and needing an early night. Mom claimed the same and after they left she went upstairs. I said I wasn't tired and went to my study as soon as Mom was out of sight. I moved right away to watch the cameras downstairs.

Paul was sitting on the couch, in the middle, not the end. He had changed into his pajamas and appeared to be waiting. As soon as that thought crossed my mind, Mary walked into view. She was dressed in an old, worn, plain cloth bathrobe. As she turned to sit, I could see the robe was tightly belted and the lapels were closed tight high up close to her neck. Strangely, this pleased me though at another level I wanted to see her open her robe.

Paul's "Thanks for watching with me," answered my next thought 'I thought she was tired'. "I know you're tired, Mom."

"That's Ok, Paul. I'm relaxed when I'm with you, but wake me if I doze off, don't let me sleep on the couch."

"Ok Mom."

Paul raised his hand, which I now noticed was holding a remote, and pointed it at the TV. As he tossed it aside, they both turned their faces toward the TV. A moment later, however, Paul's gaze turned back to his mom, and the bumps pushing the old cloth up from her chest. If Mary noticed his stare, she didn't let on.

After a while her feet, stretched out onto the coffee table, began to fidget about. Although this distracted me, it didn't seem to catch Paul's attention at all. Until, that is, one foot pushed the slipper off the other, letting it fall to the floor, and then the favor was reversed. As each foot took turns rubbing the other, the robe fell off Mary's lower legs, exposing her crossed calves. Eventually, a 'V' opened higher up her legs, far above her knees.

Paul's eyes fell from his mother's chest to her legs, and down to her squirming feet. Mary casually pulled her robe together, closing the gap on her thighs and leaning forward to pull the robe back onto her lower legs. A moment later, the robe fell away from her calves again. She repeated this several more time before giving up.

Leaning forward had loosened the belt on her robe, allowing the lapels to part a little to reveal a narrow line of flesh down the center of her chest. She was by no means exposed like she'd been the night before, but the revelation certainly recaptured Paul's attention, and mine. My cock stirred at the memory of her bare breasts hours earlier, and the snappiness of her nipples.

"Do you mind if I turn the light down a little?" she asked Paul. He shook his head.

Mary twisted to reach the lamp switch, turning it down one level. When she turned back to nestle into the couch again, I could see that her belt had loosened markedly from the twisting of her body. The lapels were drawn further apart, and the robe slid higher up her body, opening a small gap above her shoulders. Despite the dimmer light, I was sure I could make out her nipples poking into the thin cotton robe. Mary's eyes fluttered closed and open several times through the next few minutes.

Out of the blue, Mary quietly stated that she thought Paul was growing up a lot lately and it made her feel more comfortable to have a grown son around, one that was leaving comics behind. I thought the comment was a little obvious but Paul didn't seem to react. Mary closed her eyes.

"You can turn the light down a little more if you want Mom," Paul graciously offered.

"Would you mind?" Mary asked.

"I can't reach," Paul answered, not a hundred percent honestly. He must have noticed that her robe loosened after turning down the light.

Mary twisted around to reach for the lamp again, this time holding her body aloft from the couch for longer as she seemed to have difficulty finding the control. She turned back again after dimming the light to its lowest setting. She seemed unaware that her robe had parted widely from her chest to her waist, and that the belt was basically undone. The robe was so loose, I could clearly see her navel and the top of her panties, the low rider kind. My cock hardened quickly knowing she wore only panties under her robe.

The robe was now quite loose around Mary's shoulders but she didn't seem to notice. Nor did she object when Paul reached over to push the robe off her shoulders like he'd done the night before. She only squirmed lower in the couch and closed her eyes again allowing the robe to open wider exposing more of her panties. Paul ran his eyes up and down Mary's body taking time to watch the sensual rubbing of her feet, the sexy curl of her toes and arch of her insteps.

After a while, perhaps having worked up his courage, Paul gingerly picked up ends of the robe's belt and dopped them to Mary's sides. Carefully, he placed the tip of his finger at the edge of the robe near him by her navel and pulled it very slowly until it was poised to fall off her hip. He repeated this on the other side, pushing it away. Mary's panties were now almost fully exposed.

One thing struck me immediately, although this was probably lost on Paul who was likely looking at the first nearly nude woman he'd ever seen. Mary's mound was very prominent. It rose up from her pelvis like a huge bulb on her slender frame. I wanted to envelop it, forcing her to buck her hips against my mouth. But Paul didn't give it so much as a second look. He was focused on her chest.

Moving his fingers higher, he parted her robe until her breasts were fully exposed. Her springy nipples were harder than this afternoon, stabbing up into the dim light of the room, dancing on her chest as she breathed. I realized this was a pretty woman with a very exciting body who had probably not had sex in quite some time. Seeing her expose herself to her son, on my suggestion, made me want to run downstairs, throw Paul to the side, and take her. As this thought shot through my mind and down to my dick, Mary uncrossed her legs, setting her feet fully a foot apart. From the vantage point of my camera, I could now see her panties all the way around from the height of her mound down through the crease between her legs. My hips twitched involuntarily as I tried to make out the contours of her pussy. Man, oh man.

Paul seemed afraid to touch her. He was leaning so close to her I thought he was smelling her but then I realized he was blowing. He was leaning very close to her breasts and blowing softly on her nipples which were now very stiff indeed. I was amazed that Mary was allowing this, she who was so worried about going too far. But he blew on her for a long time and she didn't make a move to stop him until he suddenly blew a line down her belly, past her navel and onto her panties. At that point, she suddenly grabbed his head in both hands.

"Lie down and watch the movie, sweetheart."

She pulled his head up and lay it sideways across her chest, directly on her bare breasts. Awkwardly, Paul stretched his slender frame out on the couch, laying on his side. As he did so, I understood my mother's repeated reference to him as 'big boy' despite his small stature. Paul was sporting an enormous lump under his pajama bottoms.

Mary held Paul's head to her chest but he managed to pull back so he was resting on her right shoulder so he could continue blowing on her nipple. Mary apparently didn't object to this restricted behavior and Paul continued to blow for a long time while Mary lay there quietly, eyes close, very still. Then, all of a sudden, her feet crossed again and the muscles in her thighs tightened. She seemed to be having a huge charlie horse, her legs vibrating as if she was having a seizure. My concern gave way to the realization that I was witnessing Mary having her first orgasm with her son.

When her legs relaxed, Mary pushed Paul's head aside and sat up, pulling her robe about her.

"My leg is all pins and needles, I must have fallen asleep on it. I'd better get to bed if I'm going to doze off like that," she said, smiling sheepishly at Paul. She tied the belt around her robe and looked like she was going to sit up when she suddenly grasped Paul's head in both hands and kissed him on his cheek, and then again on his mouth.

"Thank you, baby, for looking after me while I was sleeping."

Then she got up and walked away, toward the bedrooms. Paul watched her pad away on her bare feet, nursing his huge hardon. Then, he too got up and left, leaving the dim light on and me wondering if they were going to separate beds.

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

I couldn't go upstairs thinking about Mary. I'd end up waking Mom and she wouldn't be happy. I'd been downstairs so long she was sure to be deeply asleep by now. So I searched for another letter to read, and found one from Colin. In Chapter 6, I told you about Colin's mother allowing him to 'tickle' her back, even letting him get frisky. In his last letter, his mom has promised to let him tickle her to sleep while her husband was still away camping with his buddies, but let him know she wouldn't let him get so frisky again.

The next day, Mom wore one of Dad's thick workshirts and sweat pants. I could hardly tell, with her slight figure, that there was a woman under there. But, trust me, my imagination filled in for me through the day. After supper, Mom sent me to the store to get some movies for us to watch. When I returned, she was dressed in a black suit. She had on a long, full length, form fitting black dress and a black jacket. Very elegant, but very conservative as well.

We sat and watched an entire movie, her sipping her wine, and she didn't even take the jacket off, let alone offer to lay across my lap for a nice 'tickle'. I did get to see her leg, at least the part that showed through the slit up the side. But not too far. This was a conservative suit fit for a funeral, so the slit only went to just above her knee.

I actually tried to get out of watching a second chick flick but Mom insisted. After it started, Mom paused the movie and stood up.

"Could you take my jacket off and hang it up for me, Colin?"

"Sure Mom." I stood, not enthusiastically, to remove her jacket for her. She unbuttoned the jacket and opened it to reveal a dress that reached right to her neck. As I pulled a sleeve down her arm I realized her dress must be sleeveless since her arm was bare. She turned as I pulled the sleeve off, her back to me, so I could slide the jacket off her other arm. As she turned, her back was revealed. Numbly, I realized the back of her dress was completely open. Her back was bared from shoulder to a blunted 'V' that reached to the crest of her behind providing an unrestricted view of her unblemished back. I pulled the jacket off her other arm as she turned once again to face me.

"Hang it up carefully, sweetie. I don't want it to get creased."

When I returned from hanging the jacket up in the hall closet, Mom was waiting for me, smiling.

"Do you like my 'funeral' dress?"

She spun slowly around, letting me gaze once more on the daring dip from her shoulders through the shallow valley at the base of her spine and up the sweeping rise onto her buttocks. She paused when her back was directly facing me, arched to emphasize the curve of her spine and the outline of her bottom as it pushed against the fine material of her elegant gown. My mother, I realized, was a woman who knew how maximize enjoyment for her audience and perhaps even thrived on delivering such satisfaction.

Facing me again, she stood with her hip cocked slightly to one side to highlight the slenderness of her waist and curve of her hips. After a long moment in which I simply stood there as well, I'm sure with my mouth open, she broke the silence.

"Dance with me before you tickle my back."

She held up her arms, beckoning me toward her delicious figure. I shuffled toward her, slipping my arms around her waist and onto her back as we began a slow dance with her arms resting lightly on my shoulders.

"There's no music," I said, on my second turn, "should I put some music on?"

"We don't need music, sweetie, just move with me," she answered, her hands tightening on my shoulders.

As we moved silently around the living room, I became increasingly comfortable, adapting my movements to hers, melding with her body as our limbs flowed in unison. When we 'one', Mom turned her face up into my neck and whispered, "Tickle my back while we dance."

I moved my hands over her skin, up to her shoulders, around in circles, and down her sides.

"Fingertips," she instructed.

I obeyed, arching my hands so my palms were raised, skittering across her sensitive flesh with just the tips of all ten digits. I concentrated on giving her the best back tickle she'd ever had. When I managed to apply the lightest of feather touches, she squirmed, pressing her front to me. It was such a reward to feel her breasts against me, or the warm surge of her pelvis, but the greatest reward was the primeval sound emitting from her throat followed by a more delicate, "that's nice" or "that's lovely" or best, simply, "ohhhhh".

Not that I minded feeling her body suddenly pulse against me. Although I knew as soon as she took off her jacket, I could tell from the press of her body that there was no bra encumbering her breasts and, looking over her shoulder down her back, I couldn't see any hint of panties either. And I looked hard.

She surprised me when she first raised her lips to kiss my neck. The first was very brief but those that followed were longer, sustained attachments of her moist lips to the sensitive skin under my chin and along my throat.

"Mmmmmm," she murmured, "you're so good at this I might have to reward you with a little friskiness."

I couldn't help the reactionary throb in my groin on hearing that. As if in response, she added, "But not as frisky as last night," before planting a long, sucking kiss in the hollow of my neck. When she finished, she whispered, "It's time for you to tickle me to sleep, young sir."

I swept her up in my arms and headed for the stairs. She gasped, and then giggled.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, looking at the couch and waving her arm in that direction. "The movie ..."

"No more chick flicks. We're off to my tickling lair," I announced as I took the first step up the stairs.

"But I can't fall asleep in your lair," she protested.

"And you can't fall asleep on the couch, either."

I entered her room and carried her to her bed. Gently, I set her down on her feet but she protested, "No no, I can't stand anymore."

"But your dress, Mom. You don't want it to get wrinkled."

"No, but I think it would be a little too frisky to remove my dress in front of you, and I can't wait for you to start tickling me again. So lay me down."

I picked Mom up and set her down on her bed. She rolled onto her tummy, ready for me to tickle her back. I had hoped she would remove her dress and get under the covers, allowing me to peel them back to tickle her back while she maybe really fell asleep, but no such luck. Oh, well.

I walked back to the door and dimmed the lights, kicked off my shoes and returned to the bed. Mom raised her feet up and wiggled them as I approached, "Shoes."

I removed her low-healed black shoes, undoing the thin leather straps that wound around her ankles and part way up her calves. I didn't hurry, taking the time to caress her legs after the shoes were off, using my fingertips to trace her muscle line up to the hollow behind her knees several times before laying her feet gently back on the bed.

"Some woman is going to be very lucky one day," she remarked.

"I hope I can make you feel like that, Mom."

"I already do," she said.

When I started to climb onto the bed, she cried, "No way, Mister. Not on my bed with those dirty jeans."

"Oh, sorry Mom. I'll go get changed."

"No. Just take them off."

I was stupefied. She wanted me to undress. But if I was just in my shorts, and she did look, how could I hide my hardon? I stood, stuck in my quandary until she prompted, "Come on, I'm not going to look. Just keep your shorts on." She wriggled on the bed, "Hurry."

Quickly I dropped my jeans and kicked them off, followed by my socks and then my shirt. I clambered up on the bed, took a few breaths, and ran my fingers up her back. For the next twenty minutes, I did my level best to regain the reactions I had experienced while dancing with her. I wished I was still dancing with her. I missed the feel of her reacting against me. As my arms tired, I lay down beside her, caressing her back and sides with one hand at a time, switching sides about every five minutes. She seemed to be in a trance except for her sudden twitches in response to a particular touch, which I could neither predict nor reproduce regularly. I traced my fingers slowly along the sides of her breasts, as I had before, but couldn't think of a way to pull her up onto her side so I could get better access to her breasts like I'd done when she was laying across my lap.

"You should have got under the covers if you were going to go to sleep," I whispered, the first words spoken since I started tickling her back. I was hoping to prompt her into removing her dress to get into bed.

"There's time for sleep later," she laughed. "I warned you. You'll have to work hard to make me fall asleep."

So this was just a warm up? She was planning on getting into bed? Maybe she's let me continue tickling her after she changed into a nightie, maybe while I was in the can or something. She'd surprised me before.

"I'll just undo your dress then, if you're going to bed." I reached up to undo the snap on the material at the back of her neck, the only part of her dress evident until the dress reappeared to cover her behind.

"Colin, don't get frisky."

"Oops, too late," I laughed, undoing the snap and laying the ends to each side of her neck.

"You brat," she laughed in return.

I started tickling her all around her neck, taking extra special care to reward her for allowing me to undo her dress. It may not have shown me more of her body but it was huge for me psychologically. While I was leaning close to her shoulder blades, concentrating on her neck, I suddenly kissed her back. Startled by my impromptu action, I covered up by raining a number of 'butterfly' kisses across her upper back. Mom used to give me butterfly kisses when I was little, placing her eye close to me and fluttering her eyelashes. I loved it and so, apparently, did Mom.

"Oh, that feels wonderful."

Music to my ears. I ran my fluttering lashes all over her back, along her waist and even along the edge of her dress above her bum. Mom clearly loved it. I began brushing my lips on her skin as well and tracing the tip of my tongue behind the path blazed by my eyes. I even traveled down her upper arm. This was also a hit and I included this in my path.

On one pass at the top of her neck, I reached up to grasp the opened ends of the dress collar, stretching them out on the bed beside her neck, and then pulling them under her arms. Mom didn't seem to notice this despite the fact that I had to feed the ends under each arm to pull them through. On the next pass, I grabbed the ends again and tugged them downward as I traced a fluttering, kissing line down her spine. Working around in a circle on her back, I could see that I had pulled the ends down to her waist, meaning the bodice of her dress must be at least part way pulled off her breasts, though I couldn't see since she was laying on her tummy.

I began tickling, fluttering and kissing the small of her back and toward the rising swell of her buttocks. I repositioned myself from her side to straddle her legs, allowing my chest to rest on her bum as I worked. All the while, I kept steady downward pressure on the neck straps. When I was done, the straps were beside her hips, and the bodice must be under her tummy, leaving her breasts completely uncovered. I moved back up to caress her long neglected neck and shoulders.

"Was it worth it?" she whispered.

"What?"

"Pulling my dress down."

I was caught! I thought she hadn't noticed, that she was too carried away. Was she going to make me stop? No. She didn't seem angry. She seemed more amused than anything.

To my silence, she said, "You can't see anything, anyway."

"I know." I paused, not sure what to say, then added, "But it was worth it."

By her reaction, I guess that was the right thing to say.

"Just to see what you could get away with?"

"No Mom. I just want to do the best job I can."

"Uh huh. You know, for future reference, you shouldn't try to undress a woman without kissing her first."

"I thought kissing would be too frisky." I was glad to change the subject.

"Maybe, but undressing without kissing is just plain rude." Mom lifted her right shoulder up and twisted her face up toward me, smiled, and closed her eyes. "Now give me a quick kiss to make amends."

With her eyes closed, I chanced a prolonged look down her now exposed chest, marveling at how sexy her tit looked dangling in the air above the bed, its nipple long and hard. I guess she was enjoying my ministrations in more ways than one.

"Come on, kiss me. You can sneak looks later." I couldn't fool my mom, even with her eyes closed. I kissed her, my mind swirling with the implied acceptance in her statement.

It wasn't a long kiss but it was a proper one. She pushed her tongue into my mouth and accepted mine when I thrust back into hers. All too soon, she flopped back onto the bed. I could feel my boner almost breaking with the pressure against my shorts. As I resumed tickling her, I used my free hand to straighten it so it was poking out the top of my shorts instead of painfully trying to poke out the bottom.

I spent the next fifteen minutes doing the best job I could on Mom's back. Every second minute, I leaned awkwardly over her shoulder to give her a kiss, each time exchanging tongues. I think Mom liked kissing because she never broke the kiss first.

The end of that time period was marked by a foray along the edge of the dress just above her bum. I held her hips while I tried to slide the dress down to free new skin to caress. I was elated when it slipped down her hips an inch baring enough to show the very top of her crack. I was further elated when no reprimand about getting too frisky followed, not even a curt 'Colin'.

Encouraged, I slipped her dress down another inch, eyes fluttering, fingers tickling, and lips caressing across the top of her butt and around the curve of her hips. Soon, I had the dress near the crest of her buttocks but at this point my fear of a stop action command forced me back to the small of her back where I brushed my lips across the small blonde hairs standing up from her skin. Clearly, this was a hit as Mom's legs moved about, bending at the knees and slowly stretching out again, again and again as I circled my face along her waist, up across the rise of her butt, and back into the hollow of her back.

While skittering across her butt, I noticed something about her long black dress. It was made of stretchy material. Mom was able to bend her knees despite how tightly the dress hugged her figure. The writhing of her legs had forced the hem higher and higher and as I watched her bend her knees again, it rode above her knees. A horny thought immediately flooded my mind. Instead of trying to pull the dress down over Mom's prominent cheeks, I could work with her moving legs and push it up her thighs.

The next time she bent her knees, I placed my own knee between hers so she couldn't close her legs when she straightened them and when she bent her legs open again, I shifted my knee closer to her open leg. After several iterations of this, her legs were wide open most of the time, and the dress was riding very high on her thighs. I made my next move.

"I'm going to tickle your legs for a while Mom," I whispered.

I repositioned myself directly behind her, kneeling on both knees between her parted legs. I stopped for a moment to admire her open thighs before caressing them with long, loving, feathery strokes down to the backs of her calves. Steadily, I raised my end point until I was only stroking the inside of her thighs, from knee to butt, reaching under her dress to reach the crease at the top of her legs on each side, near her pussy.

Mom didn't react at all. She simply lay there breathing regularly. On each stroke up near forbidden skin I pressed her legs outward, pushing her dress ever higher. Her legs were now splayed wide open, her feet pointing out with the insteps flat on the mattress.

"Tense your legs, Mom," I whispered softly. "It will make the tickling more intense."

Mom complied silently. I could feel her muscles tense under my fingers. As she went rigid, I lifted her, pushing my knees under her thighs.

"Use your toes to hold yourself up," I commanded in my soft, whispering voice.

"Stand on your toes," I repeated.

Mom turned her toes straight down and dug them into the mattress. I lowered my lifting hands, setting her down on the tops of my thighs. I returned my fingertips to her back and renewed my attack there. As I leaned forward to reach her shoulders, my shorts, the tip of my cock preceding, pressed against her bum, still partly covered by the dress. Again, there was no reaction. I moved my hands up and down her back, leaning forward often to brush my lips on her skin, thrilling at the touch of my knob against her thinly covered bottom.

Suddenly, I straightened up and slid my hands up and down her legs once more but after a few strokes I accomplished my real intention -- I slid my shorts down to my knees. Once more I leaned forward to caress her back, allowing my now completely free and naked cock to press against her dress. To my delight, as I slid my hands along her sides, I was able to reach underneath because her raised pelvis was resting on my thighs. I pushed my hands under onto her tummy and slid them up, running them along the side of her breasts.

"Mmmmm," Mom purred, "I wondered when you were going to get frisky."

"Haven't I done a good job?" I whispered back. "Shouldn't I be allowed a little friskiness?"

"Yes you have. A wee bit then," she answered.

I didn't waste any time. I leaned forward right then to kiss her, slipping my hands under to cup her tits in my palms, squeezing gently. I don't think she noticed my cock poking harder against her butt, hard enough that it slid under her, between her legs. I tried to kiss her for as long as I could so I could keep feeling her tits and pressing my cock between her legs. She must have been aware of its presence, but she didn't object.

When I broke the kiss, I gulped in more air and promptly engaged her in another long kiss. After that, I pulled back, straightening up to rest my hands on her hips.

"Thanks Mom, that was awesome."

Mom didn't answer. She simply buried her head further into the bed and wiggled her back, waiting for me to start tickling again.

I slid my hands underneath her legs once more, along her thighs until I reached the inside of her pelvis on either side of her most secret place, my hands palms up. I pressed up, lifting her slightly, pulled her back higher on my thighs and lowered her again. My cock still rested between her legs but now it was further in, still with no objection.

I looked down at Mom's beautiful back, her dress piled up on her raised ass and her head buried in the mattress, her legs splayed out widely on the bed. Dropping my hands to her hips, I slid her dress up and over her bum, pushing it into a pile on her lower back. Before skittering my hands across her bottom, I admired the shape of her cheeks, standing up prominently, dented in the sides like an older style corvette.

I loved the look of her ass. I couldn't help leaning down to kiss each cheek, and then run the tip of my tongue along her crack from the bottom to the top and down into the hollow of her back.

"Colin," she whispered, barely audible, her voice muffled by the mattress.

Time to back off. I stroked her legs again. Her entire ass was now bare before me, and she was laying on my bare cock, even though her dress, pinched between, still separated us. I felt her relax as the 'dangerous' moment passed.

"Come on, Mom," I whispered, my throat dry, trying to keep her mind off my actions, "stay up on your toes. It's better for tickling."

Mom's legs stiffened again as her toes dug into the mattress, complying with my request. I stroked her legs for a few moments more and then leaned forward, running my hands along her waist again before dipping them under to grasp her tits. This time I pinched her nipples and stretched them toward the mattress. They were already very hard and long. I pressed my mouth to Mom's and pushed my tongue inside for the longest kiss of the night, kneading her tits the whole time. The other thing I did was to move my cock just the slightest bit, back and forth. I tried hard to find that point where I could rub it against her but not so much that she would have to react.

I guess I found the right spot because when the kiss ended, she didn't say anything as I lay there except, "I thought you were supposed to be tickling me."

Dutifully, I rose up and began tickling her shoulders once more, but it was only a moment before my hands again found themselves on her ass. I openly squeezed and rubbed her cheeks, kneading them like dough. I let my thumbs slide down the inside, poking underneath to rub the bottom of her pussy lips.

"Colin."

I pulled my hands out and slipped them around to the outside of her hips, safe territory. She relaxed again. When I slid my hands up on their journey along her sides to her tits, my allowed area of friskiness, I held onto the hem of her dress. I don't think Mom noticed the dress sliding up her front, tugging itself free from the pinch hold between her tummy and my cock. But I did. As I grasped her tits and pinched her nipples, my cock sent shock waves to my brain in reaction to the warm moist skin it was now in direct contact with. Mom's pussy lips were right on my very hard, bare cock.

Immediately, I launched into a long kiss but my mind wasn't on her mouth or her exquisitely elongated nipples, it was on the slippery feel of her pussy as I repeated the illicit, almost subliminal rubbing of my cock along its length. How could she not feel it? She must. She must be letting me. I couldn't help rubbing harder at that thought and then screaming at myself, 'Don't ruin it!'

Finally, I could kiss her no longer. I gulped in air, gasping, excited beyond belief.

"Colin." Mom's voice was only audible because I was only an inch away from her mouth. It sounded almost desperate, a cry in the dark.

At that moment, still gripping her tits, unconsciously rolling and tugging her nipples, I pulled my rigid, rigid cock back and pushed it forward, forcing its head into her pussy. As she gasped loudly, I cried, inanely, "On your toes, Mom ... on your toes," and pushed my cock all the way in.

She moaned the whole time I was shoving it in. It couldn't have been long but it seemed like forever. The warm, wet feel of my shaft running along that slippery, yet clinging channel. I'll never forget it, or the sound of her as I pushed home for the first time.

"Push back, push back," I yelled, urging her to resist, seeing her shove her hands against the headboard.

I pulled back, her body following as she shoved against the headboard, her cunt still enveloping me. Forward I lunged, her breath expelling with the force of my own shove. Back and forth we fought, no more talking, breathing heavily, raggedly, moaning and grunting. I was surprised how long I lasted. I never wanted to stop. It was wonderful. She was wonderful, the feel of her, thrilling. But finally, I found myself bursting, emptying, falling on her, forcing her flat on the mattress, gasping on her back.

As I recovered my breath, I kissed her. Many kisses.

"I love you, Mom, I love you."

"I love you too, honey."

Stupidly, I replied, "You're not asleep?"

"Are you kidding?" she answered.

"Does this mean I have to keep tickling?"

"Of course," she laughed.

My cock, still buried deep inside her, began to harden.

"Did I tell you I love you, Mom?"

"Yessss," she whispered, "but I want you to show me again."

"One more tickle from behind, and then I'll do the front, OK?"

"Ok."

"Will you let me sneak a peak then?" I laughed in her ear, "or will that be too frisky?"

"Brat," she said, followed by a little moan as I ground my cock deep into her, rolling it from side to side. "Stop talking now ... just fuck me ... that's it baby ... ohhhhhh ... fuck me ... unngghhh ... fuck me you little brat."

I just had to get my Dad to go camping even more.

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

I wanked myself for the first time in ages after reading Colin's letter. I made sure the cameras would record before going to bed, in case I slept in. I didn't want to miss anything.