Incest Mom, the goddess of love (Short Story)(Completed)

[RASCAL420]

This is the best ever romantic incest story of mom and son i have ever read!!!! I am not the original writer , credit goes to original writer.......

An open-minded son falls in love with his romantically neglected mother through fitness, tanning, and nude posing.


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It Begins (part 1)

"Beverly, Beverly, what has happened to you?"

I was walking past the downstairs bathroom when I heard those words. The door was open a few inches, and I could see my mother's reflection in the mirror when I looked inside. I wasn't trying to peep, but it happened that way.

Mom was wearing a tight sports bra and nylon shorts—workout clothes—that she spent more time wearing than working out in. The bra supported her large breasts without hiding her cleavage, and it left her abdomen bare down to her waistline. Mom wasn't heavy, but for the last few years she was picking up a pound here, and a pound there and they weren't going away.

The extra weight was evident in some of the clothes she wore, like her shorts. I noticed they fit tighter than they had a year ago, and I saw the way the fabric dug into the cleft between her thighs. I wouldn't have been aware of this if Dad hadn't pointed it out one night as a joke, but now my mother's thick, meaty camel toe was something to look forward to during her "workout" time.

She pinched the soft meat along her right side between her thumb and forefinger, frowning at the skin she was able to pull outward. Her left hand roamed over her undefined stomach. She sucked at her lip, glaring at the lack of definition in her body.

Mom pursed her lips and tick-tocked her eyes across her body, catching my reflection peeping on her as she swung them to the left. Her head snapped up, and I turned red under her gaze.

"Christopher, what are you doing?" Mom asked.

I pushed the door opened, unable to hide my blushing face. "Sorry. I heard you talking to yourself."

Mom laughed, her smile lighting up the mirror and forcing my lips to share in her amusement. "I know that step-stuff is trending now, by I'm your real mother, boy."

"Stop," I said, stepping inside.

"Who's the pornstar that your father said I looked like? You know who, the one you're always watching."

I shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Come on, tell me," Mom said.

"Alexis Fawx."

"She does a lot of that Mommy porn, right?" Mom laughed. "That's what your father said. If you're going to wear headphones while playing with your laptop, you should lock your door."

"You're never going to let me live that down," I said. "Everyone gets caught at least once. And do you ever wonder why Dad knows who she is when he has you?"

"Oh, I'm just joking," Mom said. "I was flattered, really. My very own Oedipus."

"Jesus, Mom, I wasn't even watching one of her fetish scenes."

"I'm teasing," Mom said, laughing. "Calm down. Since when does embarrassment run in this family?"

I shook my head, feeling the heat in my ears. "Anyway, Mom, you look fine, stop worrying about your weight."

Mom smiled at me and patted my cheek. Her creamy green eyes sparkled. "That's sweet, Chris, but I don't want to look 'fine.' I want to look better. I want to feel better." She made that sucking sound again. "Maybe your father would start paying more attention to me in the bed—"

"This conversation is over," I said, not wanting to picture my mother getting poked by my father. I left the restroom. "And it's the beer's fault he isn't paying attention to you, not your body."

Later that night, after the harsh hissing of an uncapped bottle of beer, Dad asked me, "Want one?"

"No," I said, sitting next to the couch in a leather recliner with a swivel base. Mom was lying on the smaller couch forming the little leg of an L next to Dad's couch.

"I used to have a body like yours," Dad said. He took several gulps from his beer. "But I've earned this." He tapped his stomach, shaking the strangely tight flab under his shirt. My father was a bear, with puffy cheeks and a neatly trimmed beard. "I don't want to give away what I've earned."

I nodded, tapping my stomach without realizing it. I didn't want to lose the hard muscles beneath my shirt, not after the year I spent earning them.

"You're still modeling?" Dad asked. "What kind of work is that for a man? You should be working at one of my auto shops."

"It pays twenty-five an hour, sometimes more, and it's not always nude," I said. "And I don't want to be a mechanic."

"See," Dad said. He pointed his beer bottle at Mom. "You paint one shirtless picture of him and the boy wants to be a pornstar."

I laughed.

"He's not a pornstar," Mom said. "Oh, look at that." Mom pointed at the casino commercial playing on TV. Dinner, dancing, and a show—that was the advertisement. "We should go out. It's been so long since we've gone out."

"Have a beer, read a book," Dad said. "Besides, you don't fit into your dressy-dresses anymore. There's no point." He finished his beer and held the empty bottle toward Mom.

Mom stared at him. Her eyes were wide, and her lips set in an unhappy line.

I didn't say a thing. I watched TV as Dad flipped through the channels, stopping only when a pretty girl highlighted the screen. The younger the girl, the better and the less she wore, the longer he watched. I looked sideways at my mother several times, watching as her frown deepened throughout the night. She rubbed her stomach—which wasn't big—and her other hand rubbed her thigh—which wasn't big either—but I could feel the unhappiness oozing from her.

"I'm off to bed," I said when the clock neared ten. "I've got classes in the morning."

"Goodnight," Mom said.

Dad mumbled something.

I admired myself in my mirror when I reached my room. I was eighteen and over the halfway point, a slightly taller version of my father, with a leaner jaw and bluer eyes, but the same dark brown hair. I traced the muscles of my abs, and flexed my muscular thighs, happy with the curve of my hamstrings. Is this what Mom wanted? Not my body, but a body?

"All right," I said to myself, "I'll help her out." My words came out strained and reluctant. I don't know why. She wasn't asking me for help, and I was going to volunteer my services to her.

I was already stripped down to my boxer-briefs, so I locked my door and turned on my laptop, wondering what new adventures Alexis Fawx was getting into.

Getting Into Shape (part 2)

I caught Mom in her in-home art studio the next day after class. I admired her from behind, leaning against the frame of the door-less entryway. She wore a yoga bodysuit, dark wine in color, but tight-fitting and I could see a few spots she might have thought of as a problem, but no else would have.

I waited for her to pull her brush from her canvas before I asked, "Mom?"

Mom turned at the sound of my voice. She tossed her straw-blonde hair over her left shoulder, her profile accentuated by the heavy curve of her left breast. I didn't let my eyes linger on her tanned cleavage for long.

"Come to model for Mommy?" Mom asked, laughing.

"Don't say it like that."

"Like what?" Mom asked, laughing harder.

"Oh, I thought you were making fun of me again." I walked into the room, looking around her home gallery. Some paintings would make it to her downtown gallery, but most would not. She was better at selling the work of others than her own, but it made her happy, which made me happy for her. "I was thinking."

"About?" Mom asked, slowly, after I didn't speak right away.

"About you." I turned, facing her. "You have a good body. A really good body. Anyone can see that."

"Oh"—Mom waved at me with one hand and fanned her face with the other—"you don't say."

"When I came to you a year ago and said I felt too thin, you told me to—"

"Get your skinny ass and stringy arms to the gym," Mom finished. She laughed. "Now look at you."

"Exactly," I said, waiting.

"No." Mom shook her head. "It's different for you. You have time."

I laughed. "I have college, labs, studying, work—"

"You don't work."

"You got me into nude modeling," I said. "It's not hard-hard, but I don't get to crack the books open when I'm there." I clapped my hands together. "You have the time, but you don't have the motivation. We can go to the gym—"

"No gym, nope."

"Will you stop cutting me off?" I walked to my mother and put my hands on her sides, above her hips, but below her breasts, like I always did when I tried to convince her of something. "We can work out at home."

"I don't know," Mom said. "I'm too old."

"You're what, twenty-five?"

Mom laughed. "Don't be an idiot. I'm thirty-eight."

"I meant you look twenty-five." I waited for Mom's laughter to end. "You don't need to lose much since you still have most of your body." I squeezed Mom's sides, surprised by her unexpected jump. "We'll stretch and do some yoga until your muscles are ready for weights. We'll also walk until you feel like running. What do you say?"

"All right, you sweet talker, we can try," Mom said. She put her hands on mine and slowly pushed them from her body. "Get out of here so I can paint." She surprised me again with a quick kiss on the side of my cheek, her full lips lingering against me for longer than a peck. "Thanks, sweetie."

"No problem," I said and left her studio.

I started easily with my mother. We stretched in the morning, performing a one-hour routine near the pool as the sun rose.

"This is silly," Dad said before leaving to work.

"Follow my lead," I told Mom when we were alone.

Stretching is easy, if uncomfortable. I stopped to coach Mom several times throughout the routine, straightening her back and moving her legs and arms as needed. She was wearing black yoga pants and a white, open-backed tank top with a black sports bar underneath. I touched her as little as possible, too aware of how her skin felt beneath my fingers. I don't know why I was so aware of her, but I was.

We went for a walk when we finished. Mom made me laugh by throwing on a pink baseball cap and a fancy watch that I'd never seen before. The watch counted her steps. It counted her calories. It had a GPS and more. It even detailed to her friends how her workout was going. An MP3 player, blue headphones, and pink sweatbands completed her outfit.

"Why are you laughing?" Mom asked me before we went out for our walk.

"I don't know," I said. "You're. . . really cute."

"Aw," Mom said. She patted my cheek and off we went.

We walked fast. Mom marched alongside me, finding some rhythm with her music. I looked at her and looked at her more, her swinging breasts drawing my eyes. They weren't what they were, but they were winning their fight against time. It was hard to look away from them, but I did.

She's your mother, I told myself. Not some MILF at the gym.

"So this is our routine?" Mom asked when we returned home.

"Part of it," I said. "Yoga tomorrow. Wear something you can stretch in."

Mom opened her mouth wide and laughed. "Really, you think?" she asked, still laughing as I went upstairs to shower and check out Alexis Fawx.

I woke before dawn the next day. Last night I had gone to bed listening to my dad telling Mom, "I can work you out, babe, just tell Chris to give us five minutes alone." Neither Mom nor I found that funny. I met Mom downstairs, and our day began as the day before, right after Dad left the house.

Mom was dressed for yoga, wearing white pants with gray, horizontal lines, the colors mixing into a camouflage-like style. Her top matched, showing off her white sports. We got started, and it wasn't long before Mom was sweating.

"You've never done yoga?" I asked, standing behind her. I was fixing her Downward Dog stance, and I had to grab her by the hips to pull her back.

"No," Mom said, whispering when I squeezed her hips.

My hands stayed on her body longer than necessary. It wasn't intentional—at first—but looking down at the swell of her ass through her painted-on pants, I saw the squishy bulge of her pussy pressing against the thin material. I watched her lips moves, rubbing against each other in a meaty swell that left my mouth dry. My cock jumped at the sight, thickening and I hurried back to my mat and fought the bastard in my pants for the next few minutes.

I never thought about the consequences of yoga with my mother, or working out with her. Throughout our hour-long routine, I had to stop several times to help her with her alignment. Afraid at first, soon I was enjoying my hands on her hips and watching her body sweat under the misty rays of the morning sun.

It didn't matter if I stood in front of her or behind her—Mom's body was on display for my eyes. The tops of her breasts glistened, and her breathing deepened the further we went into our routine. I silently thanked the perverts, who had come up with women's athletic wear, every time I looked at my mother's body.

Mom's breasts moved, but not much. Her sports bra held them tight to her chest. I couldn't see her nipples through her shirt, not that I was trying to—at first—but after breaking from my routine several times to train her, I couldn't help myself. I wondered if they were hard. I knew other girls whose nipples tightened during yoga, and they wore shirts that showed off their little nubs while pretending they didn't. Could I expect the same from Mom, one day?

Mom was covered in sweat by the end of the routine. She dripped, gracefully, and she wanted to change before our walk, but I gathered her gear and led her out the door. I walked in front of her at first, facing her as I quick-stepped backward, telling her how well she was doing. I could have encouraged Mom while standing at her side, but I wanted to see her camel toe follow the motions of her thighs.

Get a hold of yourself, I told myself. I went to my room as soon as we returned home, once again watching Alexis Fawx. In this video she wore a yellow dress while trapped under a table. So silly, but her stepson had helped her out of her predicament in the only way that made sense: he fucked her loose.

Our routine consisted of stretching twice a week, yoga three times a week and walking every morning. Dad didn't pay much attention to us, but he did try to get Mom to drink beers at night with him. I spent that first-week training more than participating, and Mom's outfits continued to draw my attention.

The smooth curves of her behind and the way her butt stuck out invaded my dreams at night. I imagined that she had to be wearing a thong under those pants, maybe a G-string, I didn't know, but my dreams told me that she did. In one of my reoccurring dreams, she would turn to me, looking over her shoulder while I checked her posture and asked, "Chris, sweetie, do you want to see what your Mommy wears for you?"

I couldn't guide her forever, though, not like this. Her posture improved, and the need for my hands-on help lessened, so I added free weights to our routine. We used dumbbells, of which I had four, adjustable to one-hundred pounds each.

"No mom, back up and butt down," I said, standing behind her, my favorite position when she wore her tight-fitting pants, sometimes shorts, but usually pants.

I put my hands on hips, two fingers above her waistline, and two below. Her skin warmed under my touch, and her sweat sent chills through my palms. I squatted behind her, spotting her, making her body mimic my movements. Mom's breathing was already hard, but I could hear the tremor that ran through her breaths when I touched her.

"There we go, Mom," I said, "you're looking great."

"Thank you, sweetie," Mom said, moving up and down with me.

"Just wait until we do this with a squat bar," I said, "then you'll really feel the burn."

"No gym," Mom said, laughing and throwing a you rascal look over her shoulder.

"In two months, you'll be dying to show off your body in the gym."

Mom laughed, her bright, opened-mouthed smile making me smile like it always did. She has an infectious glow to her when she's happy. She might have been saying no, but I wanted to get her on that gym equipment, where I could expose more of her body to my eyes. After the workout, I went upstairs to see what crazy adventures my favorite pornstar was getting into again.

It took three months to get her to the gym, mostly thanks to Dad saying, "Give it up, it's not making a difference in your body." He was wrong. There were noticeable changes taking place. Flab was melting away from Mom's frame, and her muscles were coming out. She was toned and whatever softness had crept into her flesh was hardening up.

"See, Mom," I said our first day at the gym, "you were worried over nothing."

"It's not about what you see," Mom said, "it's about how I feel." She must not have felt good enough to show off, because her form-hugging threads were gone, replaced by stylish sweatpants and a bedazzled hoodie.

"You'll be ready to pose nude again in another month," I said, teasing.

Mom laughed. "Oh, stop. I didn't think you'd be doing it too after I told you that story."

Pose nude. My words were a joke, but the idea stuck with me: Mom posing nude? Hmm?

"Mom," I said, "the entire point of working out is to show off what you've earned, and you're wearing sweats."

"Stop," Mom said. She was lying on a hamstring machine, curling the weights up and back. Her round butt, tighter and firmer than before, propped up into the air.

"Men are looking at you," I said.

"Why would you tell me that?" Mom's head came up, eyes scanning and lips smiling. She looked like a deer that was happy to have a hunter's crosshairs zeroed on her.

I shook my head, but some of Mom's self-consciousness faded away. She spent less time worrying about how she looked on the machines and more time darting her eyes around without moving her head. Did she think I wouldn't notice? I laughed. But as we left the gym, she said something that bothered me when it shouldn't have.

"The only man I want looking at me is your father," Mom said.

I nodded, hiding my frown by smiling. Over the next three months though, my mother gradually replaced her sweaters with tight sports bras that kept her large breasts close to her chest, and bright, eye-attracting, skin-hugging pants replaced her sweats.

Six Months Later (part 3)

"Doug," Mom said, "stop it."

I stopped as soon as I heard Mom's voice, not wanting to see my parents fooling around. I was a few steps from the kitchen entryway and hadn't given a thought to being overheard on my way there, but now I was afraid that my slightest movement would make it seem like I was eavesdropping on them.

"I thought people were supposed to have more energy after getting into shape," Dad said.

"You should go to the gym with me," Mom said. There was a hint of a struggle in her voice.

"I don't need a gym. I've got my cars, and I've got my beers: life is good."

"And?" Mom asked.

"Oh, and I'm trying to get some love with my wife right now." Dad paused, and I heard the wet sounds of an exaggerated smooch. "If you think about it, Chris has restored your body, like I do my cars, and he said he didn't want to be a mechanic."

"Restored?" Mom asked, and I pictured her pushing away from Dad by the rough sound of her voice.

"Well, you're not a newer model—"

"I'm not a fucking car."

"I'm not saying you are." Dad growled or grunted, or maybe it was some kind of low-throated moan that he uttered. "You've lost what, fifteen pounds in six months? You look great, but why? No one but me is going to look at you."

"Nice things to say to your wife," Mom said. "I haven't lost weight, I've changed it: soft to firm. You used to be romantic."

"We've been married for eighteen years; we don't need to be romantic anymore."

"Twenty years," Mom said. "I try hard to look good for you, and if you're not going to try for me, at least you can spend more time making me feel good about myself." Mom slammed something. "If you want more than a blowjob at night, take me out like you used to. Show off your older-model wife."

 

[RASCAL420]

Continues.......

This wasn't the first time I'd heard a conversation like this. "Ow," I said, raising my voice and hobbling into the kitchen a few seconds later. "I stubbed my fucking toe."

"Language," Mom said.

Dad went into the fridge and grabbed a beer. "I thought you weren't a car," he said, leaving.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"Nothing," Mom said. She looked at me. I looked at her. Her face softened. She walked over to me, hugging me, pressing her cheek into my chest. "Thanks, sweetie, at least you appreciate me."

I returned her hug. "Of course I do." I slid my hands up and down her back, letting my fingers feel the new angles of her sleeker muscles. "Everything all right?"

"Yeah," Mom said. She rested her hands on my lower back and looked up at me. Her full lips pulled into a warm smile. "You make everything better."

I cupped her cheek in my right hand. We looked into each other's eyes. We were quiet, holding each other, and I kissed her on the forehead.

"Oh," Mom said, blushing. "Get out of here while I make dinner."

I grabbed a glass of water and left, but I looked back at her, catching a silly, happy smile on her face. Later that night, in the living room, Dad was flipping through channels. I sat in the recliner, taking a break from studying. Mom was sitting on the loveseat. She wore a pair of satin shorts, silver, and her long legs stretched out over the far armrest. I couldn't help but notice the fullness that a year's worth of work had done for her hamstrings, giving them a smooth, sloping line from the back of her knee down to her. . . . I looked away.

Dad flipped through channels, stopping on Baywatch, the movie.

"We should go to the beach," Mom said when Dad wouldn't turn the channel. It worked, and he did, but Mom continued. "I mean it. I could buy a new bikini, and we could tan, I could paint a seascape or the boardwalk or"—she looked at me—"Chris."

"At least he'll keep his clothes on for you," Dad said. He burped and drank more beer, the crunch of chips echoing in his cavernous mouth.

I spun the recliner on its swivel stand, trying to think of something to say. My father lay on his back, a beer in one hand, the remote in the other, his bag of chips resting on his bigger-than-needed-to-be belly. I could see nacho-cheese crumbs in his beard. I started laughing.

"What?" Dad asked. "What are you laughing at?"

"Nothing." I looked at Mom. "Never stop being you, Dad. The beard is looking good by the way. Dignified."

Mom looked at Dad and laughed. She looked back at me, sharing a smile and then laughed louder.

"I have an idea," Dad said. "Why don't you buy some new bikinis to wear around the house? Maybe, it would get Chris out and then we could have some of that romance you're always bugging me about."

I spun the chair back to the TV. Mom didn't answer Dad's comment, and I heard the crunch of chips again. I heard him drink beer and let out a soft, whispery burp that was mostly gas. He flipped the channel again, stopping on beach volleyball. The chips crunched. I pictured them, in his teeth, breaking and crackling and mixing with his spit. I heard that crunch again. I looked sideways at Mom. She had folded her arms beneath her breasts and set her lips in a stern line across her face.

"Mom, I'll take you to the beach," I said. "There's a new bar, right on the boardwalk with a view of the surf. It's nice."

"A bar?" Dad made a sucking noise. "You're not even old enough to go into a bar. If you want a beer, have one with me."

"Restaurant-bar," I said, harder than I should have. "And I don't drink much. An art student who painted me—I was nude—took me down there."

"A girl?" Mom asked.

Dad laughed. Loud.

"Yeah, Mom," I said, laughing while speaking, "a girl. I'll take you there since Dad won't. Buy a new bikini. It will be fun."

Dad mumbled something, but the only thing I heard was the crunching of chips. A minute later, with his mouth full of beer, he asked, "This girl, she what, eighteen?"

"What does that matter?" Mom asked.

"Twenty-two," I said.

"Bikinis and the beach are for young women," Dad said. "It's their playground." He crunched more chips with his mighty chompers. "I'm just saying."

"You act like I'm twenty years past retirement," Mom said. "Chris, it's a date."

"Saturday afternoon," I said.

"But," Mom said a few minutes later for no reason that I could think of, "I need to tan. I can do that tomorrow morning, after our jog."

I nodded my head, not sure why I needed to know, but now that I knew, I found myself wondering what she was going to wear while tanning. I went upstairs, to bed, and found a scene of my favorite pornstar tanning by the pool. The scene ended after her stepson came on her.

The next day Mom tanned after our jog. She ran upstairs to change into a modest bikini with crisscrossing back straps. It was a one-piece top she had to pull over her head to wear.

"You're going to have tan lines if you wear that again," I told Mom before heading to my class that morning. "Don't you have any tops you can untie?"

Mom laughed, embarrassed, but when she saw that I wasn't joking, she said, "Yeah, I do." She kissed me goodbye on the cheek, whispering, "Why didn't I think of that?"

The next day I spied on my Mom from the kitchen window above the sink. She was wearing a bright pink bikini top and a bottom that tied together at her hips. The bottoms covered her cheeks in full, and her top hugged her breasts two inches above her nipples. I went outside when Mom tried to apply lotion to her back.

"Do you want me to do that for you?" I asked. "Just to get it all."

"Sure," Mom said.

She handed me the bottle. A rush of excitement hit me as I touched my fingers to her back. I finished the job quickly, not touching my mother's body in any way that wasn't proper.

"Thanks, sweetie," Mom said.

"No problem, you look great by the way," I said. "Dad's missing out."

Mom laughed, but she gave me one of her you're silly smiles that made me laugh.

I decided to tan with my mother the next day.

I couldn't see her eyes under her sunglasses, but she couldn't see mine either. The morning mist was gone, and the light fell on us at an angle, warming, but not overpowering. I poured the oil into my hands and rubbed my arms, biceps, my shoulders, and my stomach. My muscles still held some of their pump from our dumbbell training, and I added a little flex to some of my movements. I may have overdone it with the lotion because I was one shiny motherfucker when it was over.

"Can you get my back?" I asked and turned around as I tried not to laugh at my slip-and-slide body.

"Sure, sweetie," Mom said.

I heard the squeeze of the lotion spurting into her hand. My heart sped up, making me wonder what was wrong with me, maybe I knew, but it wasn't something I wanted to admit to myself. Her fingertips caused my nipples to harden, and bumps rose across my smooth skin. Mom took her time, being thorough, and the gliding motions of her palms sent several shivers up my spine that I fought to control.

"If only your father would join us," Mom mumbled when she finished.

I wiped the excess lotion from my body as I turned over to enjoy the sun. Today Mom wore a dark red bikini, smaller than the previous ones, with a thick triangle that covered her mound and dipped below, between her now visible thigh-gap. The silky material cupped her labia, not too tightly, leaving just the impressions of her twin lips that she freely expressed while wearing her workout pants.

"Chris, do my back," Mom said when we turned over.

I let the oil drip onto her back above her bikini strings. I rubbed the lotion into her body, above and below the string, working her shoulders and a portion of her ribs, taking my time with her lower back. I could see the age in her flesh, but that maturity turned me on. I swallowed as my cock thickened in my boardshorts.

"There," I said, finishing.

"Oh, wait," Mom said. She reached back, taking one end of her bra string between her fingers and pulled, untying her top. She didn't say anything more. I finished the job quickly.

Throughout the day and later that night, while posing for three art classes over six hours, the memory of Mom's fingers gliding over my skin teased me with a ghostly touch. When my shirt came off, I could feel her behind me, pressing her palms into my body once again. My ball sack tightened, and blood pumped through my cock. I went to the restroom to get a hold of myself during a five-minute break.

I went straight upstairs as soon as I arrived home. I watched my favorite pornstar and went to bed, with visions of Alexis Fawx greeting me in dreamland. I think it was Alexis Fawx. Dreams are hard to remember sometimes.

The next day during yoga, I broke my Child's Pose and shuffled up beside Mom. The pose puts a person in a fetal position on their knees, with their arms stretching forward or backward by their sides, their choice. Mom looked at me. I smiled at her.

"Tell me how this feels on your back," I said. "I noticed you were a little stiff yesterday?"

"Maybe a little," Mom said, as if unsure.

I put my hands between her shoulder blades and pushed her forward. Mom moaned, grateful, it was the sound a woman makes when she's getting stretched to her limits. I used my position at her side to admire the way her stretchy blue pants dug into her muff from behind. My mother's. . . my . . . Mom's pussy bulged between her clothed thighs. Her pants hugged her, refusing to let go of her cunny while trying to push into her.

"Better?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah, sweetie," Mom said, her voice strained. "Much."

"I think I'll spend more time helping you stretch today," I said.

"Okay."

I spent all morning helping Mom gain a few extra inches with each stretch. She thanked me with many erotic-sounding moans. I found any reason to put my hands on her hips, shoulders, and calves, but I was too afraid to touch her thighs. I knew she would discover how much I was enjoying this if I touched her there.

I stood at angles to her body, each one giving my eyes access to the curves of her rounded backside, and the inward sloping muscles of her thighs as they danced beneath her pants. Every tight jiggle made my heart double-pump. Her Lycra sports bra strained obscenely against her large breasts whenever I helped her bend forward, backward or to the side.

I sighed like a fool when Mom was on her knees in Camel Pose. I was to the side of her, holding her beneath her shoulders and lower back so that she could stretch as far back as possible. I watched her body, my mind imagining my hand sliding over her smooth stomach and across her mound to cup her swollen muff. I looked for so long that I didn't notice when my mother brought her head back up.

After that and my more than semi-hard erection, I backed off, breathing hard and sweating despite the cool, morning air. I welcomed our jog and avoided watching Mom's tits as we ran—no easy task.

We tanned after our run, and I rubbed lotion onto her back before she did mine. She didn't untie her bikini top, but Mom did tell me to run my fingers underneath the strings. Mom took longer than the day before when she lotioned my back. She even rubbed my shoulders, saying, "You're too tense. How can you be tense after yoga?"

I went upstairs right after, watching another series of Alexis Fawx videos and comparing her to my mother. This wasn't the first time I'd watched her, and it wasn't the first time I've compared her looks to Mom's, but this was the first time I compared them to each other while watching a video. I paused the screen after I came, and I went to have a shower, and I left the house right after to clear my head.

I found my laundry folded on my bed when I came home that night. Nothing new. Mom doing my laundry was something I was going to miss when I moved out. I also found my laptop, closed, which didn't look right to me, but since I couldn't remember how I left it, I pushed it from my mind and went to bed.

Mom and I worked out with the dumbbells and went for a run on Friday morning. She wore her black yoga pants with a white leotard over that. The leotard slipping between her thighs put a spotlight on her pussy when framed against her black pants. I looked and looked, and Mom asked me several times to check her form as she did her squats.

"I don't know," Mom said, looking over her shoulder at me. "It doesn't feel right today. Guide me through a set. Maybe it's all in my mind."

I moved behind her. The leotard didn't hug her butt; it narrowed into a thong-like band that ran through the twin globes of her butt cheeks. Thanks to a year of working out, those two hills formed perfect crescents that bulged outward in a firm half-circle.

I took Mom by the hips as she squatted. I followed her, pressing my fingers into her flesh. She wasn't too thin to be all bones, and she wasn't too thick to be soft, she had a small amount of cushion covering her desirable firmness.

"Your father and I argued while you were out yesterday," Mom said, breathing deep at the bottom of her squat and holding the position for a three count.

"What about?" I asked.

"You," Mom said. Her breathing wavered as I dug my fingers deeper into her hips.

"About?"

"Us going out on Saturday," Mom said. "He said he'd take me. I said no. We talked and talked, and I asked if he wanted to take me so he could stare at the newer models."

We went down again and up, down and up, my eyes never leaving the thin string running between Mom's butt cheeks. Her muscles tightened. How would Dad not be staring at Mom all day?

"And?" I asked.

"He said, 'What's the difference as long as I'm there with you?' Can you believe that?"

I laughed. "Smooth. The man is smooth." I let go of her hips. "Your form is perfect."

"Thanks to you," Mom said. "Chris, remember that paying attention to a woman and making her feel wanted is the surest way into her heart."

"I will."

"And her pants," Mom blurted out, and then she laughed so hard she had to stop her set early.

Mom took longer to change than usual before we tanned that morning. She came downstairs wearing a black bikini-bikini. Not the typical style of a housewife, but a small top that left the upper portions of her breasts bare and her bottoms swallowed only a third of her cheeks. The front triangle that hid her muff required some bikini line-scaping to wear properly.

I swallowed the moan that was about to leave my mouth when she walked into the backyard. Her tinted glasses hid her eyes, but she smiled big and bright at me.

"I think I'm going to wear this tomorrow," Mom said. "They allow bikinis in that bar, right?"

I nodded. "It's right on the beach. They do."

Mom put lotion on me first that day. She took her time, really digging her fingers into my muscles. "You're tense again," she said, trying her best to rub the knots out of my back. I stretched my neck and enjoyed Mom's touch. What was I thinking? What was I doing? I didn't know—but I knew.

When it was my turn to lotion Mom, she said, "Could you rub my back a little bit, sweetie? I'm a little sore today."

"My pleasure."

Mom lay down, resting on her forearms. I grabbed the lotion, and she said, "Undo my top for me."

I touched her skin as I gathered one of the strings and pulled, unraveling the knot. I tossed the strings to the sides. The top fell to the cushions, giving me a side-shot of her breasts in all their round glory. They were firm, and when they sank into the lounge chair's cushion, they bulged outward around the sides like a twenty-year-olds.

"Don't forget to rub my shoulders," Mom said. "And my back. My lower back too. Just rub me all over."

"Sure," I said.

I poured the lotion over the center of her back. It pooled on her tan skin, a small drop of white on a golden canvas. I pressed my palms into her back and pushed upward, toward Mom's shoulders. She sighed and relaxed into the cushions below her.

"That's good, sweetie," Mom said.

I curled my fingers along her neck, into her traps, and holding her muscles in place, I slid my thumbs over them, pushing their soreness forward in a wave. Mom moaned a soft "mmm" sound that curled her lips curl into a pleasant smile.

"I can feel how much your body has changed," I said, voice low.

"I knew you would, at least," Mom said. "Let me relax, baby, and do the rest of my back."

I nodded, though she wasn't looking. I moved my hands lower, pushing against her shoulder blades and digging my fingers into her flesh. Her muscles rippled under my sweeping brushes. Mom uttered occasional moans, some sounding like a kitten's purr. These made my heart speed up and caused my crotch to stir. I had to close my thighs together in an attempt to ease my ache. I wasn't fully hard, but I was close.

I moved to her lower back and dug the heels of my palms into her spine and pushed outward toward her sides. My fingertips curled over hips, where her once small love-handles had been, but now there was only close-clinging smoothness and muscles that yielded to my pressure with youthful resistance. I did this several times, stretching my fingers out and pulling them back, enjoying the texture of my mother's skin.

"Baby," Mom whispered, "are you almost done?"

"Yeah," I said. "All done."

I moved to my lounge chair and tanned, face down. The last thing I wanted Mom to see is the effect she had on me.

A Crazy Decision

"What are you doing?" Dad asked on my way upstairs later that night.

"Going to bed," I said.

"No," Dad said. "What are you doing to your mother?"

"Nothing." I scratched my head, watching him sip his beer as we stood at the foot of the stairs.

"She's had her fun, she's back in shape, and now you're taking her out. Why?" Dad shook his head. "She was happy before you started all of this. Now all she does is complain that I don't put enough effort into making her happy."

I nodded. "She feels good about herself; why don't you let her?" I met my father's beer-filmed eyes, and I said something I regretted instantly, but I said it. "She's not going to leave you. Get rid of your insecurities or get rid of your beer. The problem is your twelve-pack a night habit."

Dad stared at me for what felt like a long time. Outside I was just me, looking normal after a helpful suggestion, but on the inside, I was cringing. That's a fucked-up thing to say to your father.

"You used to love her more," I said, unable to stop myself. "You used to show it, too."

"I didn't know you were majoring in psychology," Dad said. He sighed and left me alone.

I went upstairs, upset with myself, proud of myself. I sat at my desk and turned on my computer, searching through my files until I found the scene of Alexis that I wanted. In this one, she has a sleepwalking stepson who she blows on the stairway—because why wouldn't she? She's wearing a cream-colored dress that her figure dominates and later, she's dressed in a black onesie that clips between her legs and matching sheer stockings, and there's no taking your eyes from her for the rest of the scene. I didn't.

I had my cock in my hand as Alexis Fawx brought my big bastard to life the moment her blonde hair came into view. I jerked off, thinking about my mother and comparing her to my favorite pornstar. Both women were beautiful, blonde, with big breasts and dynamic bodies, but they were different people. One wasn't the other, and unlike Alexis Fawx, my mother was right under my roof, and my father didn't appreciate her.

Both of them together? I came right at that moment, and my bedroom door opened.

"Fuck," I said, diving for my shirt.

"Sweetie I just want to—oh god."

Mom closed my door. I heard her laughter coming from inside of my room. I turned my head as I held my discarded shirt over the tented front of my shorts. Mom was covering her mouth with both hands and trying to hide her amusement.

 

[RASCAL420]

Continues.......

"Get out," I said. "Fuck, Mom."

Mom turned, opened the door, and stepped outside. She didn't close the door. She said, "Sweetie"—laughing—"I just wanted to say I was looking forward to our date tomorrow. I'm excited about it."

"Yeah," I said, "me too." My entire body was red. I could feel the heat of my embarrassment cooking my hairs.

"I saw that," Mom said, laughing all over again.

"Close my door."

Mom closed the door, but her voice called through the wood, "Don't stay up all night, young man."

"Mom!" How does this happen to a nineteen-year-old?

"What, big boy?" Her laughter echoed down the hallway.

Artists! Nudity was nothing to them, and my mom was as open-minded and fun-loving as they came.

Open minded.

I looked at my laptop. I looked at Alexis Fawx. Damn her for being so sexy. I cleaned up and went to bed, hoping to dream of Alexis, and I did, with her above me saying, "Mommy is here for you, son, are you there for Mommy?" at least that's who I told myself I was dreaming about when I woke up in the morning.

Mom and I were at the beach the following afternoon. We walked the boardwalk, strolled the pier, played games, but neither of us won a prize. We didn't go into the water and Mom didn't bring her easel or her paints or her brushes, not even a sketchbook. We were there to walk around and eat and enjoy ourselves.

I was wearing boardshorts and a tight Lycra shirt that showed off my build. Mom was wearing a white, unbuttoned shirt, her bikini top cupping her breasts, but it didn't hide a thing. She wore a sheer white skirt over her butt-hugging, black bikini panties. We had a change of clothing in the car, just in case we decided to stay past sunset.

"Do you want one?" Mom asked inside of a liquor store. She held two single-serving bottles of Grey Goose in her hands.

"Sure," I said. I didn't want one, but her smile was infectious.

The liquor burned, but it burned good, and we moved on. Heartburn kicked in, and I bought us ice cream cones. Mom licked her ice cream slowly—deliberately—and I tried to remember the last time she had eaten one in front of me. I couldn't, but I wouldn't forget the way her tongue slipped across the vanilla surface before pulling a dollop of cream into her mouth.

"Yummy," Mom cooed. "I love the way it slides down my throat."

We walked longer than I had expected. We entered shops, and Mom bought a straw hat. Along with her big sunglasses, she looked like she had stepped out of a commercial for a Caribbean cruise. We eventually made it to the bar I had invited her too, which sat across the street from the sand. We sat on the patio and ordered food to share.

"Are you sure you don't want a drink?" Mom asked.

"They'll card me."

"You can sneak mine," Mom said. "They work at the beach. They're cool."

I laughed. "They're so cool."

"Don't make fun of me." She play-slapped my hand. "I'm just kidding. It's cute when you do."

"I have to drive," I said. "But I don't like the taste of liquor anyway."

"You have more of me in you than your father."

"Well, we have both modeled nude for strangers," I said, not knowing that I was I going to say that.

"For art," Mom said. "I was painting the people, but I wanted to experience the other side of the canvas for a while." Mom shook her head, rolled her eyes, and drank from her margarita. "I couldn't do that now."

"You have the body for it."

Mom smiled. "Thanks to you."

"Even before we started working out together," I said. "Anyone willing to get naked can model nude, you know that. I may have helped with your confidence, but not your body."

"You do like to build me up." Mom sipped her margarita. "Not like your father."

The sun was setting. The sky turned lavender, with hints of pink and purple as the orange ball of flame dropped beyond the western curve of the world. I pointed the scene out to my mother.

"Now that is an image worth painting," Mom said. She held up her thumb, fucking around by closing one eye, and then she steered her hand in my direction. "It can be a backdrop for you, but you'd have to lose the shirt."

I almost choked on my Coke. Mom was teasing, we were having fun, but her words excited me. She hadn't brought up catching me last night, but a part of me wished we would. I reddened.

"What?" Mom asked. "What's making those cheeks of yours turn red?" She looked around. "Is there some hottie who doesn't know her thong is showing too much?"

"No," I said, laughing. "I was thinking. . . ." What was I thinking? "Modeling. You should do it again."

"What?" Mom asked. She looked down the front of her body. "Why?"

"For you," I said. "For your confidence. To show off what you've worked hard for." My heart sped up. "To annoy Dad into action."

Mom laughed, surprised.

"For not paying attention to you the way he should?"

"Sweetie, honey," Mom said, shaking her head. "I have you for that. You pay more than enough attention to me."

What did she mean by that?

"Don't you like being looked at?" I asked. "By someone sober and not hungover when he's not?" I drummed my fingers on the table. "It's harmless and . . . it feels good to be eye-candy."

Mom laughed, but quieter, as if remembering her past experiences.

My iPhone buzzed. I pulled it from my pocket, wondering if it was Dad asking where we were, but it wasn't. It was one of my employers.

My model had to cancel. Text me back. Class starts in an hour. First come, first serve.

Impulse made me send a reply.

"Who's that?" Mom asked.

"Someone wants to schedule me," I said. Another text came through, telling me to be there for a two-hour class. I confirmed. "We should go soon. I have a surprise for you."

"What?" Mom asked as her eyes lit up.

"It's a surprise."

Mom changed in the car, putting on a pair of jeans, and she buttoned up her shirt. I didn't bother to change before driving us to the studio, where I introduced Mom to Jen, an instructor who has thrown a lot of work my way. They sized each other up, both blonde, both thin, but Mom was more athletic while Jen had a willowy body and a flyaway sway to her step.

"Jen, this is my . . . lady friend," I said. "Beverly."

Mom looked at me, pulling back her head back as a wide "lady friend?" smile crossed her face. They shook hands. I said, "Can she borrow an easel and some gear?"

"Sweetie—baby—Chris?" Mom asked. "We're going to paint?"

"You are," I said. "I'm going to remind you what it's like to be the center of attention."

I left to grab my robe from my car's trunk so that I could change into my nakedness. The last thing I heard was Jen asking Mom if they knew each other because Mom looked familiar. I stripped down in the dressing room, my heart beating faster with each piece of clothing I removed. What was I doing? I looked at myself in the room's mirror and ran my hands through my hair several times, before jerking them back and forth over my scalp in a rapid-fire motion.

I dropped to the floor and did push-ups to get my blood pumping. I then did several squats and more lunges, ending my pump-up routine by flexing while watching my body in the mirror. This was my pre-showoff routine, but I wanted my body to look as cut as possible for a special lady in the room.

"Do you know what you're doing?" I asked myself.

Jen knocked on the door and cracked it open. "Decent?" she asked, teasing me.

"Let's go give them a show," I said, thinking of them as my mother and as soon as that happened, my cock twitched. The base thickened and I paused on my way to the door. Oh, shit. I took a deep breath and continued. How much of a problem was this going to be?

"You okay?" Jen asked.

We walked into the studio. A foot-high dais was set up in the center of the room. The artists worked in a double-layered circle around me, their easels at an angle and as close as possible to me without being in each other's way. I walked onto the dais; my robe closed as Jen explained the class' lesson plan.

Mom stared at me as Jen talked. She sat in the back circle. Her eyes widened at me, and her smile tightened. I imagined she was calling me a crazy fool for what I was doing. I rolled my eyes up and to the side, shrugging like I did when I was a kid who had done something foolish that she couldn't get mad at me for.

Mom laughed—loud—and that drew eyes to her.

"Sorry," Mom said and put her head down, turning red.

"Let's begin with the sketches," Jen said. "Chris, the robe?"

"Oh, yeah." My concentration was on Mom, not the class.

I set up my first pose, dropping my robe and keeping my goods hidden from Mom's eyes. She got a side view of me, with my left thigh pushed forward, concealing my manliness. I held my arms up and over my head and tilted my eyes skyward. This was a five-minute pose, giving the artists time to sketch me as quickly as possible. I would be doing a few of these before an hour-long pose to finish the night.

With each pose I shifted into, I made sure to hide my intimate parts from Mom's eyes. I met her gaze a few times, smiling and once sharing a wink. Mom used her expressive features to the best of her ability, sharing secret looks, little smiles, calling me a silly goofball once with her silent lips, but she sketched on. When I was looking at her, her eyes would meet mine and stay there, but I saw them drift over my body when I'd look away. I felt them too.

Feeling my mother's eyes roaming over my nakedness was the hardest part of the night. My heart thumped in my chest. I flexed more than necessary, showing off my leanness. Droplets of sweat formed on my brow and across my shoulders. My member went from hanging soft against my sack to plumping up, thickening under the gaze of several artists. There were a few smiles, but erections weren't exactly uncommon in an art studio. It happens.

"Break," Jen called. "Ten minutes."

I put on my robe, and as I walked away, I heard an artist complain. "He's not showing us his front. I'm here for a full-body experience." Mom laughed. The guy was on her side, but others agreed. I was going to have to give Mom an hour-long show when I returned.

The hard-on I was fighting jumped up to full thickness once I entered the dressing room. Jen visited me to discuss my final pose, and she noticed my problem. It was hard not to.

"Want some help with that?" Jen asked.

"Not tonight," I said. "Besides, you've already notched your brush with my number."

"Who's the woman?" Jen asked, adding, "someone special?"

"Very," I said.

"I'll leave you to handle that club of yours. See you soon."

She was right. I needed to handle this. I didn't mind Mom seeing me naked, but I didn't want to get hard in front of her tonight. I grabbed my cock and stroked, working fast, picturing Alexis Fawx from behind with her smooth, tasty peach open for my cock. Although I used Alexis' name, it wasn't her I was imagining. I came in double-quick time and cleaned-up in the connected bathroom.

I faced Mom back in the studio as I sat on the small, cloth-covered pedestal Jen provided for my comfort. I swept the back of my robe across it as I sat and crossed my right leg over my left, scissors-style, making sure to hide my cock from my mother's eyes with my thigh. I threw off the robe with a flourish, which brought another laugh from Mom and I settled into the Thinking Man's pose, with my eyes angled toward my mother.

Mom shook her head, smiling. Was that for the robe flourish, or because once again I was hiding my intimates from her? It didn't matter. She had seen almost all of me tonight, and what I was hiding she had seen on two separate, embarrassing occasions.

Time ticked along. I stayed seated. My thoughts drifted to Mom, wondering what I looked like on her canvas. Would she show Dad? Would this be our little secret? The taboo thrill of those words created an ache inside of me, below my waist, which throbbed and caused a swelling that I did not want.

Time became my enemy. I cleared my head—tried to—but Mom in her bikinis crept along the edges of the blankness I was imagining. Her touch against my skin, my fingers on her flesh, every second of our mornings replayed themselves within my mind. Damn it. I grew harder. Sweat beaded my forehead. I closed my eyes, concentrating on everything and anything I found unattractive. My balls began to hurt. My cock wanted up. The second-hand of the clock ticking on the wall beat a tattoo of misery into my mind.

Tick, tick, tick, the clock went. Tick, tick, tick, it would never end. I opened my eyes, looking at my Mom as she looked at me. She smiled, something motherly and caring, but more so. She went back to work as if someone had reminded her to stop staring at me. Tick, tick, tick. Hell was my existence. Tick . . . tick . . . tick.

When the class ended, I exhaled a sigh of relief that filled the room for all to hear. I bent, keeping my semi-stiff cock hidden and retrieved my robe. The class clapped for me, thanking me for my time and lack of shame, and off I went to change.

Once back in the class, I found Mom talking to Jen about Mom's gallery.

"I used to model," Mom was saying. "I wanted to know what it was like to be on the other side of the canvas."

"Is that how you met Chris?" Jen asked. "Did he model for you?"

Several deep-throated chuckles left Mom's body. "He's left some lasting imagines in my head that I'll never be able to forget."

"Actually," I said, "I was hoping you could schedule Beverly for a class."

Mom pursed her lips, her eyes wide.

"I don't mind," Jen said.

Mom shook her head. "Me, again, no, I couldn't. It's been a long time."

"Art is timeless," I said.

Jen laughed. Mom rolled her eyes.

"Let's go home," Mom said.

"You can pose as a pair if that's more comfortable for you," Jen said, looking at me without looking at me—doing me a favor.

Mom smiled and shook her head. "Thank you for the offer, but it's time to go."

I confirmed a few appointments with Jen and said goodbye.

"That was sneaky," Mom said on the road home.

"It was last minute," I said. "Unplanned, I swear."

"Your text," Mom said. "Uh-huh."

"I'm serious." I glanced at her. She was looking out the window, with her head against the headrest and her eyes cast upward at an angle. She looked relaxed. "If I can do it, you can do it."

Mom laughed.

"Why not?"

"Because," Mom said.

"That's no kind of answer." I whistled. "I do it for the thrill, and it makes me feel good. I don't know what went through your head when you did it, but it gives me a rush."

"My son, the exhibitionist." Mom laughed. "Is that why you don't lock your door?"

I chuckled and mumbled, "Maybe."

Mom's laughter faded away with that word. "'Maybe' can mean a lot of things, Chris."

"Think about Jen's offer," I said, after a minute. "With or without your new body, you deserve to have eyes on you. You deserve admiration." We were almost home. "If Dad won't show you that, then maybe strangers should. Someone other than me should get to appreciate your body."

Mom looked at me. I didn't look at her.

Mom showed me her drawings outside of my car, but the face was too vague to match mine. I didn't ask her why she did that, and she didn't explain. I think the question crossed our minds when I had a look at them, but we remained silent on the issue. I went to my room as soon as I entered the house. I needed to take care of some business.

I became aware of Mom and Dad engaged in a loud conversation later that night. It ended with a slamming door. I heard the words "Don't" and "Appreciate" and "Supportive" and "Asshole." I didn't try to listen. It was none of my business. And even though I was focusing on loving my mother, I still loved my father. It's strange that I knew what I was trying to do, but I didn't want to acknowledge it.

Mom knocked on my door about an hour after her fight with Dad. I locked it tonight, though I almost hadn't. I opened it, wearing only my boxer-briefs, not self-conscious nor considering if Mom would be—there was no way she would be.

"Okay," Mom said. "I'll model for Jen."

"I'll let her know," I said. "What day is good for you?"

Mom smiled a straight, flat smile. "Us, sweetie." Mom nodded, to herself or me, I wasn't sure. "I'll do it, but I can't do it alone. We can do a lot of side-by-side poses."

"We can do non-nude," I said. Why did I say that? Because I'm a good son.

Mom looked down and shook her head. "No. I want to do nude. I might as well go all out with this. Choose a day for us, okay?"

"Okay," I said.

We said goodnight. She leaned up and kissed me on the cheek, letting her hand balance herself on my bare chest. Mom walked away. I went back to bed, not needing to watch Alexis Fawx after I locked my door. My mind was clear.

The First Pose

Sunday came and went with Mom, but Dad and I had a conversation.

"Are you happy now?" Dad asked.

"Yeah," I said, but I wasn't sure why I was supposed to be happy. I sat in the breakfast nook, eating, and he had a before afternoon beer in his hands. It was a strong beer, imported, its alcohol content in the double digits.

"You've convinced your mother to pose in one of your classes," Dad said. "What kind of son does that?"

"The best darn son in the world," I said. Did she tell him? How much did she tell him? "Maybe if you took her out she wouldn't be getting up in front of strangers." Did she tell him it was nude? With me?

"I work all day," Dad said. "I manage my auto body shops. I work on my cars. I come home and want to relax with a beer. Haven't I earned that after twenty years?"

"Yeah," I said. "You and your beers make a strong case for keeping Mom inside." I smiled. "There's always the weekends?"

"Wait until you're older." He put his hand on his stomach without seeming to realize he had. "Things change. She's supposed to know that she's important to me."

I stayed quiet.

"So, what kind of poses is she doing?" Dad asked.

I smiled. "Nothing I would be embarrassed to see."

Monday came, and Mom and I worked out. Stretching, running and tanning, only this time Mom didn't go upstairs to change into her bikini. She walked into the backyard in her sweat-stained yoga pants and sports bra and standing next to my lounge, she bent her right knee, hooked her thumbs under her yoga pants and peeled the skin-tight clothing from her legs.

Her bottoms were not bikini bottoms. They were strings that circled her hips and ran through her golden cheeks, between her thighs and widened in front, but not by much. Mom removed her sports her and beneath that was a thin top that that hid her nipples with two small triangles of cloth.

"You're staring, sweetie," Mom said.

I blushed and looked away. Stupid.

"It's okay." Mom sat on her lounge chair. "We're going to see each other naked, aren't we?"

"Tonight," I said, nodding.

"So soon." Mom tapped her right thigh. "I was thinking we could ease into being nude in front of each other, but since it's tonight. . . ."

I swallowed. "I'm up for it if you are."

Mom giggled. "Don't be too up for it, I've seen how you get around my look-alike."

I sighed, but I managed to utter a weak, bitter laugh.

"You first," Mom said. "All the way, not like the other night."

"I was trying to give you confidence, not a show."

"Oh, you tease." Mom tapped my leg with her foot. "You've given me two shows since you've turned eighteen."

I smiled at her and stood. I took off my shirt, using the arms crossed in the front method, so my lats flex when I pulled my shirt over my head and back arched, emphasizing my chest. My muscles swelled with the effort, and I tossed the shirt onto the floor.

"I want the whole show," Mom laughed, spinning her finger in a circle.

 

[RASCAL420]

Continues.......

"What's the big deal, right?" Mom's eyes glanced down. "You're going to stare?"

Mom smiled. "Oh, sweetie, I have no doubt you're going to steal a few looks at me when you think I'm not aware of it."

I took a deep, calming breath.

"It's natural, sweetie. Take it off for Momma." She laughed, clapping her hands to her chest. "Where are my dollar bills?"

I laughed and followed her directions. My boardshorts and cotton undershorts dropped to my ankles, displaying my thick, well-hung cock for my mother's eyes.

"Make sure you oil that little rascal," Mom said, adding in a low, thoughtful voice, "Not so little though, is it?"

"Christ, Mom," I said, not as embarrassed as I pretended to be. I sat down and looked at her. "Your turn."

"I might as well be naked in this suit." Mom pouted. "Isn't that enough?"

I shook my head.

"Well, if you're going to make me. . . ."

She reached behind her back, undoing the top and slid the cloth from her large breasts. Mom's rosy nipples stood straight up, long and thick and mouthwatering. I was tempted to ask if she had breastfed me as a child.

"Well?" Mom asked. "They're out in the open. Compliment me before I cover these babies up."

"They look . . . great," I said. Fuck it. "Was I breastfed?"

"Why?" She was looking down at her breasts, idly swaying them side to side as if that was normal to do in front of her son.

"Because," I said, already feeling my adrenaline surging, "if you did, then I can brag to my friends about sucking on a perfect pair of tits when I was younger."

"Chris!" Mom said, turning bright red. She brought her hands to her mouth. "Oh my god, you little pervert."

I laughed, turning a shade of scarlet that showed through my tan. "If you can make fun of my fascination with Alexis Fawx, then I should be able to make that joke."

Mom waved away my comment, smiling and laughing, her mouth wide. There were still the bottoms to go. A few minutes passed before she was ready to slide those black strings down her legs.

"Well, you're going to see all of me tonight," Mom said. "Here goes nothing."

She grabbed the sides of her bikini and pushed downward. The strings rolled against her smooth skin. Her mound came into view, mostly shaven, but parted by a stream of wispy blonde hairs. Further down her panties traveled, the gusset sticking to the plump, peachy lips of her hairless pussy before following the rest of her outfit to the ground. Her smooth, golden cunny lips curved backward and around, out of sight between her thighs.

"There," Mom said, looking down at her body. "Nothing special, right?"

"Not even to a blind man," I said, having to force my eyes from my mother's pink pearl peeking out from beneath its short hood.

"Don't tell your father about this," Mom whispered.

We lay down. I put my sunglasses on, and so did she. We oiled our bodies in silence, and after a deep breath, I poured oil over my cock. Mom said nothing, but I saw her stomach collapse deeper than before as she inhaled.

It was hard not to put on a show, but I did cup my balls to slide the oil over them with a half-circle motion. My cock came last, and I gave it one quick tug to coat it in a protective layer of shiny cream. I stiffened, but only a little, fighting the urge to go full mast with all my strength and then some, biting my cheek until it stung.

Mom poured lotion onto her mound and gently slid her fingers outward through the cream. She oiled her flesh and wet her pubic hair, and then moved lower. She used her fore and middle fingers to rub the lotion into the muscles where her thighs met her outer labia. I lay still, trying to control my breathing as my mother spread her legs and pushed against her twat's softer outer folds.

Mom finished, not looking at me and lay back. I spent my time looking at her body without turning my head, straining my eyes. Her golden hairs thrilled me, sprouting up from her mound like the pale fingers of a tempting flame.

Mom lotioned my back first when we turned over, and she offered me the lotion after she finished. "Take your time," she said, resting her head on her forearms. "Get my sides too. I don't think I oiled them well enough to keep them from burning."

"Sure," I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking. This was a surreal moment in my life. I was naked, kneeling alongside my mother's lounge chair, where she lay naked, and we were acting this like it was a normal, everyday occurrence.

I couldn't see between my mother's legs from the side of her shoulder, even with the slight part between her thighs. I wanted to, but I didn't want my mother knowing I was trying to sneak a look at the soft cushion of sexy meat between her legs. I couldn't do that, even though I felt deep down in my gut that she wouldn't have minded if I tried.

I poured the lotion across my mother's spine. She sighed, and I pressed my palms into her skin, wishing I was behind her instead of beside her. I pushed the lotion across her body, moving laterally over her muscles. I ran my right hand downward, toward the upward curve of her ass and smoothed the oil across her flesh, watching as her skin gave way to the pressure of my fingers.

"Mm," Mom sighed. "Don't go lower, sweetie."

"I wasn't going to," I said as the tip of my pinky finger passed above the crack of her ass. I watched Mom's butt sway with my hands as I sawed them across her lower back, from one soft side to the next. My fingertips buzzed, and my balls tingled, making my cock jump. "Mom, I'm going to have to stand over you so I can get your right side."

"Okay, sweetie," Mom said, her voice soft and relaxed. "Do what you have to do."

I stood, my cock swinging like a rope across my balls. Mom faced my direction, but I couldn't tell if her eyes were open underneath her glasses. I hoped they were. I couldn't step over the lounge chair, it was too wide to do so comfortably, so I said, "I need to kneel. Can you spread your legs for me?"

Mom was quiet for a moment, and then she did as I asked. I looked down, watching as the hairless lips of her warm muffin came into view. They glistened from the oil and maybe more. I took a deep breath, smelling something thick and sweet in the air.

"A little more," I said.

Mom did as I asked, opening her pink seam to my eyes. I placed my right knee between her legs and kneeled, watching my cock hover above her buns. Her beautiful crack drew my eyes. I could see between her crevice to the rigid spokes of her clean, pale asshole.

I suppressed a groan and dropped more lotion onto her body. My cock was growing, so I bit the inside of my cheek again, wincing as I did. I put my hands on her shoulders and rubbed, pulling her from the cushion and moving her body as little as possible. Did this make her nipples rub against the cushion? I hoped so.

Mom sighed. I ran my fingers down to the base of her spine, and with my fingertips pointed outward, I caressed her sides. I didn't massage her—I stroked her. Her breath paused for a moment. I moved upward, slipping my fingers along her ribs and toward the sides of her breasts. I was almost there, and then I was closer, and then I was cupping her ribs right below the curves of her large mounds. I felt their heat. Mom held her breath, and I slid my hands away from sides, gliding my fingertips across her body and lifting them into the air.

My heart was racing, near exploding, and a dizzy sensation made me swoon as my blood supply rushed to my cock. "I need a drink," I said, stepping to Mom's right and away from her line of sight. My cock had pumped up to rock-hard stiffness.

Mom laughed, soft and low, but she didn't turn to look at me.

That night, Mom and I left as Dad grumbled and mumbled and opened a beer. Mom asked him if he wanted to drive her, and he said, "Why? So I can watch people paint you? I know what you look like." When Mom growled, he added, "Even with my eyes closed," but that didn't come off as romantic as I think he thought it would.

"You ready?" Mom asked I drove us.

"Yes," I said.

"Did you take care of yourself?" Mom asked, amused.

I laughed. "I'm good, thanks."

"You're okay with this?" Mom asked. "What we're doing?"

She was looking at me, smiling, but not the infectious smile that made me laugh. This one was different. Mom smiled with sympathy and understanding. There was something sad and yet, determined, in her eyes. She wanted to know if I, her son, was okay with what we were doing. What were we doing?

"Yes," I said. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Mom patted my arms and said, "Okay." She rubbed my forearm, her fingers sliding across my skin in a familiar way. "Okay." The second time she spoke was to herself.

Mom told Jen we wouldn't be doing anything too intimate with each other when we reached the studio. Surprise crossed Jen's face. I hid my disappointment, yet Mom's decision helped ease my nerves and calm my excitement.

"Oh, look, I must be excited," Mom said when we undressed together.

I was already looking. Mom's eraser-bud nipples stood half an inch from her breasts, their rosy surface beaded and tight and tasty enough to eat. My cock immediately swelled with those thoughts. I cursed, silently, and Mom looked down at my robe as if she could see through it. She smiled and said, "Control yourself, sweetie, we're going to be here for a few hours."

I groaned.

Mom laughed, smiling that teasing smile of hers. She looked excited—bouncy, energetic, happy—I laughed too. I took Mom by her hand and led her out of the room. Jen introduced us to the class while we disrobed. It felt like my first time, my skin prickled with energy, and Mom smiled and looked at me as her covering fell to the floor. Her smile screamed, "What am I doing?"

Our first pose was a simple five-minute pose. Mom and I held hands, leaning backward, finding a balance between our weights as we stood still. My eyes met hers, and a contest of wills began. Who would check out whose body first? I knew she wanted to look at mine—I knew it—but she kept focused on my eyes. My field of vision took in the in her breasts, but without looking down, I couldn't appreciate them.

Mom's lips twitched halfway into the pose. She pressed them together and swished them from side to side. Her attempt at making funny faces was so silly that I started to laugh. I looked away, to the side, and she uttered a soft chuckle. When I looked back, I turned my gaze downward and devoured her body.

Mom's breasts received a full minute of my attention. They were big and firm, and the two diamond-cutters capping her mounds sent blood coursing through my shaft. I swelled, unable to stop myself. My shaft swelled, my sack tightened, and I felt my hairs stand on end. I couldn't look lower, not until there were only a few seconds left in the pose; otherwise, I'd be pointing my stiff-rod at Mom's stomach like a wild divining rod. When I looked up, she was looking down.

"I forget how hot it gets holding a pose," Mom said when we let go of each other. "At least we get to move in yoga."

We mimicked the Creation of Adam for our next five-minute pose. Mom stood. I lay on the floor, partially on my side, holding my hand up to her outstretched arm so our fingertips could touch. God's flesh was not touching Adam's in the original, but mine was touching my mother's in our version.

We held still. I felt the slight burn in my arm as time passed, but that was a whisper in my mind compared to what the rest of my body was feeling. Mom stood above me, smiling, her eyes holding a devious light. I don't know why they did, but my eyes roamed over her body unafraid.

I spent most of my time gazing between her legs, slightly parted with one leg in front of the other. Her outer pussy lips hung full and thick, two smooth bulging crescents of flesh pressing together to protect her inner lips from her son's probing gaze. I wanted to see between them and memorize the pink, tallow-slick treasure within.

I watched her pussy, breathing deeply as my heart beat faster. A shade of rose blushed the surface of my mother's labia. Her scent drifted down to me, invading my nostrils and my lungs, flavoring my mouth with taboo spices that left me starving. When I flicked my gaze upward, Mom's answering smile and smoldering eyes held an intense, appreciative focus. My cock was thicker now, having moved at least once to stretch its length while I lay idolizing my mother's cunny.

"Let's take a ten-minute break," Jen said.

The class put down their brushes. Mom and I robed-up and went to the dressing room.

"This is fun," Mom said. She shook herself and uttered an energetic squeak. "I'm glad we're doing this, baby."

I nodded my head. "What do you want to do for the long pose?"

Mom tilted her head, thinking, and then she said, "Something relaxing. I know I said no touching, but we should do a pose that allows us to sit or at least lean against each other."

"We should test a few in here," I said and patted my robe-covered leg.

Our robes weren't thick. These weren't bathrobes. Mine was thin white cotton, and Mom's was pinkish-peach silk. Mom glanced at my thigh where I had patted my leg. The expression on her face was the one a woman used when she was contemplating a cup of coffee after a date.

"Let's stand this time," Mom said. "We can end the night by sitting together."

I nodded as Mom explained what she wanted to do. It was a simple pose that had me standing in front of her with her breasts against my back. It was amazing and awful, her nipples dug into my skin and my cock—which had softened some—plumped up gain for those facing me to see. Mom circled her arms around my waist. Instead of holding her palms against my chest as I had expected, she slid her fingertips down until they rested a breadth away from my trimmed hairs. I put my hands over hers and held still.

Mom's cheek rested against my back. Her breath warmed my skin, sending waves of heat across my flesh like a creeping fog. Her fingers dug into the top of my pubic mound halfway through our pose, a soft press of her fingertips that made my asshole tighten and tingle. Her nipples grew harder against me, and the head of my prick lifted from my ball sack. Fuck.

I calmed my breathing. I tried to block out the feel of her soft flesh even as I tried to absorb the memory of her body pressing into mine. My breath came out ragged when Mom shifted her breasts against me, rubbing my skin with her tender nubs. I thought I felt her lips touching my skin as Jen called time. We robed and went to the dressing room, where I was finally able to breathe again.

"Fun?" I asked.

Mom nodded. "Very. A lot of the girls are watching you."

I shrugged. "I'm with the only girl who matters."

Mom laughed and tossed her head, swinging her blonde hair in an over-the-top manner. "I'm not a girl. I'm a woman." She smiled. "With a girlish sense of adventure."

"So, the last pose?" I tapped my thigh. "Sitting?"

Mom looked at me, her smile soft and alluring. "If you can handle my weight."

"Let's find out."

I sat straight-backed on my chair. Mom moved forward as I spread my thighs. She sat on my left leg, circling my shoulders with her right arm.

"Close your legs," Mom said. I did, and she hid my crotch with her right thigh by draping her leg across my knees. "That's better." Mom kissed me on the forehead, surprising me. "But I think I should be leaning into you, with you behind me this time."

Mom stood and pushed me back on the chair. I spread my legs for her as she sat on the edge, pushing her back against my chest. She'd be nestling her lower back and upper butt cheeks against my aching member if we had more room to move.

"Put one arm around my shoulders," Mom said, "and the other around my waist." I did. "That's it, baby, just like that. Hold me."

We continued that pose in the studio. I placed a lightweight, white rectangular bench on the dais. I sat first, with my legs spread open and my cock semi-hard with lust. Mom sat between my legs, pressing her naked body tight to mine and leaned against my chest, resting her head on my right shoulder. I slid my right arm around her waist, and she cradled my forearm in her hands. I circled her shoulders with my left arm, holding her close.

The hour ticked away, accompanied by the sounds of Mom's deep, relaxed breathing. I closed my eyes, sighing several times when the warmth of her butt against my groin caused an unintentional jump of my prick. Mom moved her body now and then, not much, but enough to slide her cheeks against my sensitive crown. An electric jolt shot through my shaft into my groin every time she did this.

We roped up when Jen called time and received the standard appreciative applause from our audience. We looked at the paintings for those who wanted to show off their skills. We walked hand in hand, though I couldn't remember who grabbed whose hand first or when. We dressed after and Jen met us at the door to her studio.

"You two were perfect," Jen said. "There is a natural intimacy between you guys. I want to invite you to perform as a couple for one of my after dark shows."

"After dark?" Mom asked.

Jen nodded, putting a disarming hand on Mom's shoulder. "The setting will be more intimate, and my artists work to capture the emotions of the subjects, rather than their physical aspects. Would you care to model for us?"

"Yes," Mom said. "We'd love to."

"Thank you," Jen said. "Prepare yourselves for a sensual evening."

Mom smiled. I didn't know what to say. We said goodbye, and I drove us home. Our small talk was small, and the only words Mom said with any importance to her tone were: "Let me handle your father, baby. Go along with whatever I say."

"Was it fun?" Dad asked as soon as we entered the door. Half a dozen empty beer bottles sat on the end table next to the couch.

"It was exhilarating," Mom said. "I modeled by myself with a class full of people watching me. I think they enjoyed it. I did."

Dad frowned. He turned his head to look at her.

"Well, it was," Mom said. "And Chris posed with me."

"What?" Dad asked. "Why?"

"Because he could, because he was there," Mom said. "I wanted him to. It was like a family portrait. You were the only person missing."

Dad shrugged and waved his beer at her. "Take a digital and have them work off that. Who wants to sit around for hours doing nothing?"

I looked at the TV and then at Dad and his beers. I said, "I'm going to upstairs."

As I walked upstairs, I heard Dad ask, "Who liked looking at you?"

An hour after I lay in bed, my bedroom door opened. Mom walked in, her short robe dropping to mid-thigh. Light from the hallway turned her body into a moving silhouette. She sat on the side of my bed and sighed.

"Everything okay?" I asked.

"It's your father," Mom said. "The class made him jealous."

"Oh."

"He tried to 'show me' that he loved me, but. . . ."

Oh.

"It's not the same as it once was," Mom said. She moved closer to me, placing her hand on my chest. I felt her eyes on mine. "I put a lot effort into me and us, but he doesn't put any into himself or me or us." She rubbed my chest. "But you do, baby. I appreciate that more than you know."

"I like doing it," I said, covering her hand with mine and squeezing. "I love spending time with you."

"Thank you." Mom lowered her head, kissing me on the cheek. "You make me proud." She moved her head to the side, touching her lips to mine. It was a motherly kiss, but more so, sensual and non-threatening, speaking words without sound that my heart absorbed.

When Mom pulled away, she said, "We're going to have to practice our intimacy before Jen's next class." She stood, drifting her hand across my chest until her touch faded from my flesh. "By the pool tomorrow when we tan and leave the night to me. I'll handle your father."

 

[RASCAL420]

Continues.......

I couldn't speak.

"Goodnight, baby."

"Goodnight, Mom," I managed to say before she left.

Getting Comfortable

I woke up feeling as if I had slept a year. I had clear thoughts in my head. I had direction and purpose, drive, and I dressed for my morning workout with limbs buzzing with excitement. Mom was awake, coffeed up, and ready to go.

"Morning," Mom said, her smile bright. "Ready to have some fun with Momma?"

"More than," I said. No blush touched my cheeks. No embarrassment shook my voice. I was ready for today and tomorrow and our every moment together from now until forever.

Our workout went by fast. Not just in time, but in our actions as well. Our movements were fluid and quick, in constant motion, and we took the minimum amount of time between sets before we moved onto the next. Mom's eagerness bled from her, and her desire to rush through our workout filled my body with nervous energy. Our jog turned into a run, and we finished our three-mile circuit in half the time it usually took us.

"That was exhilarating," Mom said as we stepped back into the house. "We should run like that at least once a week, don't you think? I feel energized."

"Yeah," I said. "I feel good, alive."

"It's good to let go," Mom said. She cupped my cheek. "Ready to tan?" She smiled. "It's the perfect way to get ready for tomorrow night's gig."

"I've been ready all morning."

"That's so sweet."

We walked to the backyard, still sweating and in our workout clothes. I didn't hesitate to kick off my shoes and socks and toss my shirt.

"You're eager," Mom said. "I wonder why?

I smiled, only a little bashful, but I removed my shorts and undershorts in one quick motion. Mom's eyes took me in from the hairs on my head down to my toes, lingering below my waist before returning to my eyes.

"It's a good thing I've seen it before," Mom said. "You'd make some girls nervous with that thing." Her words made me blush and fed my ego, but her teasing tone reminded me that she was my mother and liked to poke fun at me.

Mom took her time undressing. She peeled her sports bra over her breasts, the tight Lycra clinging to her flesh hard enough to press them down against her chest. Her tits bounced when they came free, up and down and settled high on her chest. Her skin glistened with sweat from our run. Her gray leggings came next, exposing her round butt and smooth thighs to me. She stopped, turned to me, and said, "Get my shoes, baby."

I knelt in front of mom, lowering my face close to her thighs. Mom lifted her left leg. I held the back of her calf with my left hand and slid the sneaker off with my right. She raised her right, and I removed that sneaker, dragging my right hand down her calf to her socked-toes. Her sweat permeated my nostrils, sparking an animalist desire in me to run my hand up the back of her calf and over her hamstring.

"Might as well take my pants off for me since you're down there," Mom whispered.

Her thin, cotton pants yoga pants were wet with sweat. I curled my fingers into the fabric and peeled it down her calves and off her feet, which she lifted one at a time for me. I took her socks next, just because I could. When I pulled back, I admired Mom's white cotton thong that hugged inward against her pussy lips, highlighting the two soft crescents of her outer labia.

"Do you want to take these off for me too?" Mom asked, laughing. I reached my hands up. Mom laughed, slapping them away. "Really, Chris?"

"If it helps us."

Mom's smile put a twinkle in her eyes. "Okay, baby, but unlike breastfeeding, you can't brag about touching your mother's panties."

"I won't."

"I'm not going to watch this," she said, teasing. She faced away, with her feet planted at shoulder width.

I looked at my mother's golden butt. It was bigger than a year ago, due to new strength and firmness that sloped in a mouthwatering display of sensuality. Standing as she was, her thong slipped into her crack, but not all the way and her pussy lips sat snugly against the gusset of her panties like a soft muffin rising in the oven. My mouth watered at seeing her pussy-bulge hang sweetly between her open thighs.

I looked up, making sure that my mother was still facing away. I moved my nose within inches of her maternal opening. I breathed in, sighing on the inside as her sweat and sexual scent filled my lungs.

"Hurry up," Mom said, bouncing on her toes. Her butt shook. "I'm not standing on a pedestal."

"You're on my pedestal," I said, voice low.

"Aw," Mom said. "Hurry up anyway."

I wanted to take my time, but I had taken too much already. I curled my fingers against her waistline and pulled down, turning her thong inside out as I dropped them to the cement around the pool. Mom's ass and pussy were open to me, but she turned around before I had the chance to appreciate her pink softness. I sat on my lounge chair, sighing.

"Baby, take this," Mom said. She grabbed the suntan lotion and handed me the bottle. "We need to get used to each other's bodies, so go ahead and lotion mine." Mom laughed. "All but the naughty bits, baby. I'm not Alexis Fawx."

"I know you're not."

"Mm-hmm," Mom said. She put on her big sunglasses. "Start with my backside."

She lay on her front, her forearms under her chin as she looked forward. A thrill raced through me, starting at my heart and surging through my entire body. My cock jumped, tingling, hardening—ready to go full-mast with or without my consent.

I squirted the lotion onto Mom's back, near her shoulder blades. She sighed, stretched and relaxed again. I started at her shoulders, spreading my hands over her body, awed by how big they looked against her naked frame. Mom purred when I ran my palms over her shoulders, her skin like silk, and she encouraged me to "Dig in" as I rubbed my fingertips along her neck. I did her arms, which she held out for me one at a time, and when I slid my fingers over her hands, she interlocked her fingers with mine for a brief moment.

More lotion went onto her shoulder blades and further down her spine. I massaged her lower back with outward rowing motions. I stood, urging Mom to spread her legs and I knelt on the cushions of her lounge chair with my right knee. I moved my palms downward, right to the dividing line where her back slipped into her buttocks and went no further. Mom sighed, long and low. I slid my slick fingers down her sides, held her hips for a moment, and then moved upward.

"Careful," Mom warned when I neared the sides of her breasts. I went as close to those mounds as I could. My forefingers were a tenth of a second from touching the bottoms of her tits before I pulled away. Mom shivered. Her skin glowed. I was in love.

"Legs now," I said, adding in an unsure whisper, "keep them open for me?"

Mom's body trembled.

I started at her ankles and moved up her calves, staring between her legs the entire time. I followed the V of her thighs up to the creamy folds of her soft kitty. My heartbeat thundered. My cock lunged forward, flooding with lust. Mom's outer folds snuggled up to her inner lips, which were pressed together like the two halves of a stage's velvet curtains before they opened to reveal the show.

I rubbed my lotion-slick hands across Mom's calves, making several passes between her ankles and the backs of her knees. I applied pressure to my mother's skin, which made her groan in appreciation.

"It feels good to be touched like this again," Mom whispered. "You're so careful and thorough."

I continued upward, past her knees and her groans at having her muscles loosened turned into a low moan that came from the pit of her stomach. The texture of her thighs hardened my cock all the way. I couldn't stop to give myself time to soften, I had my hands on the backs of my mother's thighs, nearing her ass and I didn't know if I was going to stop before things became indecent.

"Careful, baby," Mom said the higher I went. "Baby, careful."

Mom's voice got through to me. I stopped where her ass cheeks met her thighs. Pushing my fingertips into her skin, I dragged my hands downward, leaving her curves glistening with lotion. I ran my hands down the sides of her legs several times, before moving my hands to the inside of her thighs, even at the knee-for the moment.

Mom's breath caught.

I moved upward, applying more pressure that made her legs open as far as the lounge chair would comfortably allow. I was mid-way across her thighs when she hissed, forcing me to pause, but only for a second. Higher I went, my thumbs and forefingers spread, her soft inner flesh gliding against the curved web connecting my digits.

"Baby," Mom warned the closer to her glistening center I came. "Baby." The slot between her inner lips shined with newly forming dew. She uttered her words in a higher pitch. "Baby!"

I stopped my hands less than an inch from her outer labia. I held my fingers there and then I pushed outward, pulling on her skin until her wet pussy lips parted under the pressure of my touch. Mom moaned. A line of clear honey stretched between her inner lips, and the inside heat of her pussy washed over my fingertips. I groaned, a hungry sound, unable to stop myself. I smoothed my hands back down her legs before letting go of my mother's body completely.

"Time for your front," I whispered.

Mom was panting.

"Your front," I said more urgent this time.

Mom slid her right hand under her body, between her legs, and below her pussy with her palm facing upward. "Give me some lotion, baby."

I poured a dollop onto her fingertips. She closed them over her cunny, hiding her silky sex from my eyes as she worked the lotion into her squishy folds. I watched as she kneaded her lips, and a spurt of pre-cum beaded my cock. I wiped it way while she massaged the lotion into her twat.

"Since you can't, I better," Mom said, breathing heavy. She rubbed the excess into her butt cheeks, pulling both hills apart and giving me a wide-angle view of her smooth asshole as she lathered the narrow valley through her crack.

I almost dropped the bottle. Mom took her time, swirling her finger around her anal-ring once in a slow-motion circle that made my cock bob up and down. Mom turned over. I couldn't see behind her tinted glasses, but she could see my eyes and more. I looked down, remembering that my cock was fully hard.

"It's okay, baby," Mom said. "It's natural." She laughed. "I'm flattered, and I'm a little, well, you saw. Better here than when we model, and I have nowhere to run."

"Yeah," I said, "better in private." I didn't blush. My voice didn't shake. I flexed my cock, making Mom laugh. She turned her head to the side.

"Do my front," Mom said. "Everywhere—but—you know where."

I poured the lotion into my hands and rubbed them over Mom's shoulders and upper chest, staying away from her breasts. Her breathing deepened. Her nipples puckered into tight silos of rosy flesh. I massaged her sides and then her stomach, impressed by the firmness of her muscles. She didn't have a six-pack or the outline of one, but she did have a smooth wash of muscle that led down to the sharp cuts of her hips cutting across her waistline.

I continued downward, avoiding my mother's mound no matter how much that soft triangle tempted me. Focusing on the outside and tops of her thighs, I worked the lotion into her skin, bringing soft moans and catches of breath from her lips as I massaged my mother down to her feet and then back up to her knees.

"Spread for me, Mom," I whispered to her when I placed my hands on her inner thighs. Mom's breath trembled, but she opened her legs for me. "Bend your knees up and open your legs, so I can see where I'm touching." I coughed. "I don't want to go too far on accident."

Mom pursed her lips into a funny smile. Her eyes drilled into me, the strength of her gaze overwhelming, even behind her shades. She did as I said, pulling her feet up and bending her knees. She placed the soles of her feet together and opened her legs like a bear-trap beneath me.

My cock pulsed, forcing a teardrop of pre-cum through the shaft and out of its tip. Mom's pussy glistened with lotion, her lips dotted with her morning dew, or maybe sweat from the heat of the moment. Below her pussy, her perineum and her asshole shined. Sweat dripped from my forehead. Her slit opened for me, spreading wide enough to tease me with her pink walls as the tender meat of her insides pressed together, creating a closed seam that I wanted to open with my tongue.

I pushed a wave of lotion up Mom's inner thighs. My thumbs and forefingers formed a widening bracket the closer to my mother's pussy they came. Mom's breathing deepened. Her stomach rolled in I snake-like wave. I was close and getting closer. Mom opened her legs wider, spreading her inner pink as much as she could. My fingers touched her thighs where they flowed into her outer lips. I stopped, right there, right before putting my hands on her labia. I was so close to touching her shimmering line of wetness, and as I stared, a stream of whitish cream seeped from between her silky folds. I groaned and pulled away.

"Thank you," Mom said, her voice shaky. She grabbed the lotion and finished the spots I was not allowed to touch.

How could this get any better, I thought when Mom twirled her nipples between her fingers. I wanted tonight to come right now.

"Lay on your stomach, baby, if you can," Mom said. She laughed. "The cushions are soft, but. . . ."

I looked at my cock and then at the lounge chair. If pressing that stiff bastard between my body and something else meant that Mom would be putting her hands on me, then I'd lay on fire without a wince. The torture wouldn't come from being on my stomach; it would come from not being touched by my mother in the ways that I craved.

"It won't be a problem," I said.

"No?" Mom asked as I laid my cock on the cushions and flatted it against my stomach. "I was sure it was going to be a big problem."

I laughed, my cock swelling with pride. My mother just complimented me on my big dick—surreal.

Mom touched me with a mother's softness, tracing my muscles the way a mother would when her child hurts themselves. She took her time, pushing the lotion ahead of her fingers in a silent wave of absorption as she memorized the feel of my body. From my shoulders down to my hands and sliding her fingers between my fingers, her caress made my heart flutter. Her touch was more than motherly: A possible promise of things to come?

My mother's hands hesitated when they neared my butt, but not for long. Her fingers slipped over the taut meat of my muscular ass. I jumped, rubbing my cock against the soft cushions of the lounge chair, and I sighed as the welcomed friction.

"It's okay," Mom said. She brushed her fingertip over my butt, really digging her fingers into the firmness of my ass cheeks. "It's different for mothers." She squeezed me. "We birthed our sons. We raised you and took care of you." She ran her thumbs through the crack of my ass. "We let you suck on our tits."

I groaned as Mom's tone changed from soft to rough. She poured lotion onto the back of my thighs, each drop making me jump as they slid downward. Mom's hands weren't shy about sliding between my legs and then upward, cupping my balls gently with her left hand.

"Mom," I gasped.

"I've got you, baby," Mom whispered. "Moms are allowed to touch their sons. We've earned that right."

"I'm not complaining," I gasped as her fingers circled my nut sack and pulled, slowly stroking my tightening scrotum. Electric thrills buzzed through me, weakening my thighs as they pulsated with pleasure.

"Up, on your knees, baby," Mom said. "Get on your hands and knees for Mommy."

I obeyed my mother. I pushed myself onto my hands and spread my knees wider. She was on her knees, at my side, her left hand cupping my balls from behind and her right hand reaching under me to touch my stomach. She slid her hand downward, over my trimmed hairs, pulling them gently, and then she circled the base of my cock with her fingers.

"Fuck," I said, hissing the word.

"We can't do that," Mom whispered. "But we can do this." She stroked my cock. I groaned aloud. "That's right, baby, let Mommy hear you."

Fuck! I groaned again, louder. Her hand glided over my shaft, down to my head, pulling the flesh gripping my erection over my circumcised knob. The extra effort to cover my tip with my skin sent an unholy tingle through my asshole that made me groan with pleasure.

"Baby," Mom whispered. "One day, you're going to make some girl face her fears with this big dick." She shook my cock and stroked me faster. Harder. She fondled my balls with gentle, oscillating waves of her fingers. "You've always been good to me." Mom added a twist to her stroking motions. "So let Mommy be good to you."

"Fuck," I moaned, getting ready to come.

"Don't stain my cushions," Mom warned.

I grabbed the towel from the floor and placed it under my cock. My hips started jerking, trying to fuck my mother's grip as she jerked me off.

"That's it, Chris," Mom said, her voice rising with excitement as my moans grew frantic. "You can be a naughty boy for your mother this one time." She licked the side of my ass cheek with a long wet stroke of her tongue. "I'm a bit of a dirty girl—a bad Mommy."

"I'm close, Mom."

"But you wouldn't know that," Mom whispered, her voice intense, "because you can't hear me getting fucked from your room." Her teeth closed over the side of my ass cheek, pinching my meat and muscle, and that broke me.

"Mom," I moaned and came. Pleasure exploded from my balls, shooting through my shaft and onto the towel in thick robes of white jizz. I felt every quick, body-shaking rush of cum that billowed through my urethra. Mom laughed, excited and pleased as I shook and trembled under her touch.

"There, baby, there," Mom said, patting my ass and squeezing my glans. "We're just getting used to each other, that's all."

I lay down, breathing heaving, nearly panting as my muscles collapsed like water.

Mom stood and bent over me, lowering her lips close to my ear. "That's enough for this morning. I may have gone too far. I need to go to my gallery, but we should practice again tonight when your father is watching TV and drinking his beers."

"Definitely," I whispered.

"Leave it to me, baby." Mom rubbed my butt one last time, sinking her fingers into my crack. "I'll let you know when." She licked my ear and walked away.

I don't know what I was expecting the night to bring, but when Mom said, "Doug, let Chris and me have the couch," I knew that wasn't it. "Take the recliner."

"What?" Dad asked, looking up for where he lay. "Why do you need the couch?"

"I told you that Chris and I would be modeling together tomorrow night," Mom said. "We need to get comfortable with each other."

Dad mumbled something, maybe "I don't get it." He was on his sixth beer at home, but who knew how many he drank while at work and then after with the boys, before one of his mechanics dropped him off at home.

"Chris, go change while I talk to your father," Mom said.

Change into what? Mom had changed earlier, and she was wearing her white satin shorts with the loose leg holes and a matching button-up top, fancy pajamas. I went upstairs and changed into a pair of basketball shorts and a thin workout shirt, the last thing I heard my mother say was: "If Chris doesn't get used to holding me, embarrassing things. . . ."

I didn't know how long a conversation like that was going to take, so I stayed in my room for a lot longer than I think was necessary. Mom was lying on the couch by the time I headed downstairs. She had a thin blanket covering her and Dad was sitting in the leather recliner, his beer replaced by a twelve-ounce tumbler holding whiskey and Coke, probably half-and-half, plus ice.

 

[RASCAL420]

Continues.......

"You don't find this weird?" Dad asked me.

I shrugged. "It's art. It's supposed to be weird, right?"

"I don't know," Dad said, mumbling. "Who was that artist that cut off his pecker?"

"His ear," I said. "Van—"

"Chris, get under the blanket," Mom said, killing Dad's conversation. "Behind me and don't mind your father, he's jealous."

Dad laughed and sipped his whiskey.

Mom moved forward on the couch, allowing me to slip behind her. Dad had turned the recliner as much as he could in our direction without being obvious, which meant he couldn't see anything past the wings jutting forward from the backrest. Still, as I crawled behind my mother, I could see his transparent and incomplete reflection in the TV screen, which probably meant he could see mine, barely.

Mom pressed against me as I settled in behind her. I flushed as our body heat intensified the warmth between us. "Don't be afraid, sweetie," Mom said. "Put your arms around me. I'm not going to bite you." She laughed. "I'm your mother."

Dad laughed, neither loud nor quiet, and it seemed that he was laughing to himself.

I curled my right arm, the lower arm, under Mom's head. She used my bicep as a pillow. I put my left hand on her hip, and she covered the back of my hand with her palm. My hairs stood on end, and then she pressed her butt against my groin.

"There, sweetie, see, there's no reason to feel weird," Mom said. "We used to lie like this all the time when you were younger." Mom laughed, sounding silly. "But I was behind you."

I didn't feel weird, but I knew her words were not for me. Dad grumbled something that sounded like "So did we." He clicked to a baseball game and drank more from his whiskey and Coke.

The smell of Mom's air reminded me of flowers, the kind of scent that stays with you long after you've moved on. My cock hardened as I lay pressed against Mom's firm, but yielding backside. She pushed back when my semi-stiffness prodded between her cheeks. She rubbed her butt against me under the blanket, without disturbing the surface of our covering. I glanced at the side of my father's chair, and then at his reflection on the TV screen, but the screen was too bright to see if he was watching us or if he could.

Dad placed his drink in the left arm's coaster. He leaned back, tilting the chair under his weight. His every movement was loud to my ears. I was watching him, but when I flicked my eyes downward, Mom was watching the TV, unafraid. She pushed her butt back into me and whispered, "Get comfortable, baby."

I lowered my head, pressing my mouth against her hair for a moment to suppress a groan. She nudged my head upward. The sound of a bat hitting the ball made me look at the TV. Dad took another drink of his whiskey and Coke—that's right, numb yourself to the world, I silently urged him.

I tightened my fingers against Mom's hip, feeling her flesh, and firmness, her bone, and I curled my fingers back and forth across waist, reaching down as far as I could over her shirt. Mom shifted her body, her hand atop mine sliding off and upward, taking the hem of her shirt with her and giving me access to her bare stomach.

I glanced at her. She stared forward, the left side of her face awash in silvery-gray light. She didn't look at me or move her hand back to mine, but she rotated her hips against my groin. My cock lost its worry and hardened to its full length, pressing into the narrow crevice between her cheeks. Mom's visible eye closed, and she turned her head, a look of concentration on her face as she settled her butt against my knob.

Dad lifted his glass and drank. His reflection was nearly nonexistent in the TV. Mine would be too, right? Right. I slid my hands down Mom's stomach until I was touching the couch, and then I moved back up, my pinkie skirting the waistline of her satin shorts. I dipped my forefinger into her shallow belly button, making her flinch. She pulled the corners of her lips into a smile.

I moved my hand in slow circles under the blanket, careful to watch how our covering shifted under my manipulations. Mom had lotioned her skin, and as my hand glided over her smooth flesh, the rigid lines of my finger-printed skin tingled with a light, feathery energy.

I brushed my mother's waistline again and dug my cock into her ass. Mom breathed deep, but when my fingertips dipped beneath her shorts, she caught my wrist with her left hand and kept me from venturing lower. I didn't press, but on my return trip upward across her right side to her right breasts, I spread my fingers wide and cupped the underside of Mom's large, braless tit in the arched curve between my thumb and forefinger.

Dad lifted his drink and sipped, putting it back in place a moment later, his arm motions slower than before. The game went to commercial. He didn't change the channel. I tightened my grip, gently pressing against the underside of Mom's firm mound. Her shoulders stiffened. She took a deep, shaky breath, but she didn't try to stop me.

I moved to Mom's left breast, squeezing the underside and rocking my hips against her ass, rubbing my cock into the satin-covered crease between her cheeks. I was humping my mother, fuck! Her breathing deepened. She placed her left hand on my hip, clutching at my body as she danced her butt against me as a lover would.

I lowered my hand, back to her waist, and she stopped me again, gripping me hard when my fingertips touched low enough to discover no panty line encircling her hips. I kept from groaning—the fucking tease—and I lifted my hand to her right breast again, cupping the firm mound fully within my palm.

Mom's lips parted, releasing a calming breath. I squeezed her tit and humped my cock harder against her ass, moving her body on the couch. She fought back against my thrusts, grinding her butt against the tip of my dick. Dad drank again, longer this time. When he put the cup down, his hand slid to the side, hanging lifeless over the chair's armrest. I pumped my prick faster against my mother's butt.

"That's it, baby," Mom said, her words rushed, "get used to me. Get comfortable."

I strummed my fingers across her rosy right nipple, its rubbery thickness bending under my pressure. I pulled. Mom gasped. Her left hand slipped between us, grabbing my cock through my shorts. She squeezed my shaft around the base and ground her butt harder against me, turning my dick in circles.

I let go of her tit and slid my hand—fingers first—down her stomach, pushing under her waistband and managing to get my fingers onto her golden pubic hairs before she caught me with her right hand. She squeezed my prick, hard, and tugged against my wrist.

"Let me," I whispered into her ear.

"No, baby," Mom said. "You can't get too comfortable with me."

I pushed harder. Mom fought harder. She turned onto her back, looking up at me and shaking her head while holding my hand against her mound. She jerked my cock through my shorts, forcing a low groan from my lips. The heat, drifting up from her pussy, dampened my palm.

"Mom—"

Dad snored. We both paused until he mumbled something and went back to sleep. My cock throbbed. I pushed it against my mother's thigh, humping her leg under the blanket like a horny dog.

"I know, baby," Mom said. "I know you want my pussy. All sons want their mothers' fuck-holes."

I growled, holding most of that animalistic sound within my chest.

"It's natural, baby," Mom said. "To you want your mother. To want to go back from where you came from." She turned on her side, facing me and freeing her mound from my grasp. "Grab my ass, baby, and let Mommy take care of you."

I slid my hands down her back and over her butt, the satin cloth skating through my fingers, but it wasn't enough. I went lower. To her leg holes and pulled up, exposing my mother's ass cheeks as I turned her shorts into a thong.

"That's it, baby," Mom said as I cupped her bare butt flesh. She pushed her right hand between us, into my shorts. Her fingers wrapped around my shaft, squeezing me hard. "You have a big dick that wants me, don't you, you bad boy?"

I nodded my head. I snaked my fingers into the crack of my mother's ass as her firm skin filled my palms. Fuck, but she was hot and taut in my hands. Her ass had the right amount of meat to hold onto while still letting me feel the muscles lingering below her skin.

"You're a naughty fucker, Chris," Mom whispered, almost hissing the words. "Getting hard for your mother like this." Her breath scalded my chin. She pulled my cock upward, having to move her body so the head and shaft could push past the waistband of my shorts. She wiggled her left hand between us, cupping my balls. "Fuck, baby, I don't want you wearing underwear in my house anymore."

"God," I panted, humping my cock upward through my mother's hand.

"We're comfortable now, aren't we, baby?" Mom pushed her ass against my palms. My fingers brushed her asshole. "Ooh, you dirty fucking boy, touching Mommy's asshole like that."

She continued jerking me off. The game went on, the announcers talking, interrupted by Dad's snoring, but he never woke—not that I could tell, but my attention wasn't on him. My mind and body focused on my mother's hands, on her dirty words, on the flesh of her ass branding my palms with their heat.

"I want you," I panted. "I want to fuck you."

"Mm," Mom whispered as my pre-cum glazed her fingers. She rubbed the slimy liquid over my knob and jerked me harder. "With this big dick? With this fucking cock in my hands? You want to stick this into your mother's creamy cock-slot?"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I moaned. "Yes."

Mom caressed my balls, making my hairs stand on end. "You can't have my pussy, baby." Mom jerked me faster, my pre-cum coated shaft creating wet noises as she stroked me. "You can want it. You can dream of it, and I'll let you look at it, but you can't have it. It's too fucking wrong to fuck your slutty mother."

I came, giving no warning, and Mom uttered a strangled, delighted sound from between her pursed lips as I splattered our shirts with my seed. She kept pumping my prick as I shivered under her touch, doing my best to hide my broken moans of pleasure.

"There, baby, there," Mom said. "Get it all out, baby. Let Mommy have your hot cum."

I did, and when my breathing returned to normal, she said, "Watch," and my mother lifted her cum-soaked fingers to her mouth and licked them clean. "I think we're ready for tomorrow."

She left me on the couch as I dripped sweat and smelled like sex. Dad was still asleep when I went upstairs to shower, but he was no longer snoring.

Early Morning Visit

Sleep did not come right away. My shower had cooled off my flesh, but it had done nothing to relieve the heat that pulsated throughout my body. I was tempted to walk down the hallway to Mom's room, but I couldn't make myself do it. She had said no to the one thing I wanted most—her completely. I went to bed naked and atop my covers, my cock in a constant state of semi-hard arousal. I touched, and I held back, staring at my door with my mom on my mind. I hadn't locked my door, and I would later be thankful I hadn't.

Dad stumbling through the hallway woke me from my half-sleep. My doorknob turned five minutes later, pushed open by my mother from the other side. She walked in and closed the door, shuttering my room in darkness.

"No lights," Mom said. I was aware of her walking across my room right before she sat on my bed. "Your father wanted to prove something to me." Her hands slid across my sheets, coming to rest on my left bicep. "But he doesn't appreciate me. I can't sleep with a man who doesn't appreciate me, even if he is willing to take what he wants." Mom lay down next to me. "But you appreciate me so much."

But I don't take? My shaft hardened as blood rushed through my veins.

"I told your father I wanted to sleep with a man who could do both." Mom rubbed my chest. "So I told him I was going to sleep in your room for now." She lay against me, her naked flesh hot against my body. "You're comfortable with me, right, baby?"

"Very," I said, turning on my side toward her. I slid my knee between her legs. She let me. Within seconds my thigh pressed into the dampness between my mother's legs.

"Me too," Mom whispered. She rolled her pussy over my thigh. "I've been watching those Alexis Fawx videos you like so much."

"Mom—"

"Her stepmother videos," Mom said. "Her fetish videos. I like them a lot."

I put my hand on Mom's hip, sliding down her thigh and then back up. She sighed. I continued upward over her ribs and cupped her breast in my hand. Mom's moan sounded loud in the darkness. I let the fullness of her breast fill my palm and then I squeezed, enjoying the yielding softness of her tit.

"I like them, too," I said and leaned my face forward, kissing my mother on her forehead. I lowered my body on the bed, coming even with her mouth and kissed her again.

"Mm," Mom sighed into my lips. She didn't open them, but she allowed me to lick my tongue across her mouth.

"Let me in," I whispered.

"We're more comfortable than we should be," Mom said and opened her mouth.

We kissed. Mom's tongue intertwined with mine in ways that most mothers would call immoral, while secretly wishing they could experience a moment like that with their sons.

"We can only go so far," Mom whispered.

I slid my hand down her side, moving behind her as I forced my left hand under her body. I cupped her ass, groaning as the meat of her buns filled my palms. Soft on the outside, but the more I squeezed, the firmer they became. Our workouts had turned her butt into twin hills of malleable perfection.

"That's it, baby," Mom whispered, "hold Mommy like you want to."

I used my mother's butt to pull her up my thigh, grinding her pussy against my flesh and rubbing her clit as I pushed my leg hard against her sex. Mom moaned, low and long. I rolled her onto her back, sinking my weight into her. Her thick nipples rubbed my chest, poking into my skin as her breasts flattened under me. I used my knees to spread her legs, and Mom pushed against my hips with her hands.

"No, baby," Mom said as my erection pressed lengthwise across the bottom of her pussy. "No fucking. I mean it."

"Mom," I groaned, sawing my cock between her slippery folds, fucking her soft lips and spreading them around the top of my shaft. "I want you, Mom."

"I know, baby, I know," Mom said, soothing me. Her legs locked around my thighs, holding me tight against her, keeping me from finding the room to fit my knob against her slippery opening. "Not now, baby. No." She pulled my hips tight between her open legs.

"Fuck," I groaned, forcing my body away from my mother's. The tip of my dick brushed her tiny wet hole. Her body jerked back, but I kept moving upward, laying my cock across her mound. I let go of her ass and hooked my arms behind her knees, and surged forward, bending her body double.

"No, baby," Mom uttered, a note of panic in her voice. I had spread her knees wide, and they were nearly touching my mattress. I tilted her pussy up and back, opening her wet seam for penetration, and there was nothing she could do about it if I decided to fuck her right then. Her pussy was open and helpless, and it was mine, all fucking mine.

I groaned again, fitting the thick vein running along the underside of my shaft between the soft folds of her muff. Her lips spread around me, wet and warm, coating me with her hot honey. I started fucking my dick over her opening, sliding my length against her, humping her soaked canyon while pushing down hard against her clit at the same time.

"Oh, fuck," Mom moaned, her surprise exciting me. "Yeah, baby, you can fuck Mommy like this. Just like this. Good boy. Naughty boy."

"For now," I growled, pressing my lips close to hers. "But I want you."

"Mm," Mom moaned, "I know you—uh—do. I can feel how eager your big fucking dick wants in." Mom whimpered, letting her sounds fill my room. "My son's big dick wants into Mommy's pussy, doesn't it baby?"

"Yes," I said, fucking the lips of her twat faster, using longer strokes so I could rub her little jewel with my entire prick.

"Maybe, baby," Mom moaned. "Maybe one day—umm—soon." Her voice cracked as I worked the rubbery pleasure nub at the peak of her slit.

I felt Mom's tits bouncing under me. I wanted to suck them into my mouth. She humped her hips upward, trying to slide her sopping wet juice-box against my shaft. We kissed, and her tongue flicked against mine.

"Uh, yeah, grind your cock against Mommy's pussy," Mom moaned. "You fucking big boy—my naughty fucking son—trying to take your father's pussy away."

"God, Mom," I grunted, thrusting my knob downward through her lips and nudging her hole.

"No, baby," Mom said, panicked again. She grabbed my ass as best she could to keep me from moving lower. My cock slipped over her mound again. "Make Mommy come, baby. Keep fucking me like this and make me come. Make your mother come with your big, fat cock."

Our bodies slid together. Sweat dripped down our skin despite the cool of the room. Mom tensed, her muscles firming under me and liquid heat spilled from her wet slash in a frothy mixture of excitement and cream. My cock glided through her, pressing her pink pearl against her pubic bone, and then she came. Mom uttered a series of helpless moans—high pitched whimpers that sent my humping hips into overdrive.

"Oh, fuck, baby, fuck," Mom cried. She dug her nails into the flesh of my ass. "Coming baby—oh god—I'm coming on my son's cock."

My balls tingled as a fresh wave of cummy cream coated my dick. A light, anxious energy engulfed my knob and tightened my asshole and then I came, spraying a thick load of jizz onto my mother's stomach. I trembled, clenching my jaw as several secondary spurts splashed across my mother's flawless skin.

"Fuck," I whispered, falling onto Mom's body.

"Yeah, baby," Mom said. "You're a fucking workout all by yourself."

Mom wrapped her arms around my neck, her lips touched mine, and she dipped her tongue inside my mouth. Our lingual muscles connected, sliding against each other. We kissed, wet and soft, relaxing and loud, and the heat of our bodies went from hot to hotter. I felt like I was devouring her and my cock hardened again, wanting more.

"Oh, look at that," Mom whispered against my lips. "I should go before we go too far."

"No," I said. "Don't go."

"I better. You can abuse your mother another time, I promise."

Mom slid her small body from underneath mine. I growled. I knew my room, even in the dark, and I crawled from my bed, led by instinct to my mother's body. I pressed myself into her from behind, the spongy head of my cock leading the way. It hit the bottom of her ass, right between her cheeks and slipped upward, sinking between buns like a thick, juicy bratwurst.

"Chris," Mom gasped.

She moved forward, but I stayed with her. I cupped her breasts as we collided with my door. Mom pushed against it, fighting for the extra space that I wouldn't give her. I started fucking my cock between her butt cheeks while playing with her tits, pinching and pulling her hard nipples in my hands rough enough to make her whimper.

"Baby, baby," Mom moaned, helpless to move. "Oh, you little bastard."

"I am," I said, licking her ear as her body strained against me. "I'm your little bastard."

My fingers led the way as I lowered my hands over her stomach. I covered her mound, running my thumbs through her landing strip and then I was bracketing her pussy lips with my forefingers. I pressed my thumbs together and hooked them over her clit, mashing her wet ruby against her pubic bone.

"God," Mom gasped, "that's so fucking good. Mm—baby—you're touching Mommy's pussy like a pro." She swiveled her hips, grinding her slimy pearl harder against my thumbs.

 

[RASCAL420]

Continues......

I fucked my dick through her ass and squeezed her outer lips together, where they swelled against her clit. I kept this up, pushing and pulling her lips apart while fucking the twin cheeks of her ass. Tremors shook Mom's whimpers of pleasure, which turned into soft sobs of tortured bliss.

"Oh-oh-oh," Mom purred. She hit my door hard with a closed fist. "Play with Mommy's pussy, baby. Play with it."

She reached back with both hands and squeezed her ass cheeks together while dancing her beautiful butt up and down on my dick. I pumped her buns faster, losing control, and I pressed her pussy lips together harder. Mom came for the second time in a few minutes, crying out in the dark and sobbing at the end.

My orgasm hit me a moment later. I spilled my seed onto my mother's lower back as my hips jerked against her. As I pulled away, my knob slid through the crack of her ass, painting a stream of cum across the center of her narrow valley.

"Come to bed," I said, pulling Mom by her hand. Mom followed, and we lay together, with me behind her, and my cock snuggled against her bottom as I held her within my arms.

"We can skip our workout today," Mom whispered.

I agreed, and we slept, exhausted.

Intimate Posing

Dad stayed home that morning, too hungover to work, he said. He only left his room once, and that was to empty our fridge of beers. He looked at me with an unreadable expression, but he didn't say a thing.

"How much does Dad know?" I asked Mom later before heading off to my morning class.

"He knows enough to be worried," Mom said. "He knows that there are pieces of me he'll never get back because they belong to you." Mom smiled at me. "Let me handle your father, sweetie."

Mom was wearing an elegant brown dress that wrapped around her shoulders and stopped at mid-thigh. She was on her way to her downtown gallery. I walked up to her, where she was leaning against a counter drinking her coffee. I slid my hands up the sides of her legs, under the hem of her skirt, touching her French-cut panties that wrapped around her privates like lacy booty-shorts that left her ass cheeks bare.

"Is that how you're going to touch me from now on?" Mom asked. She set her coffee down.

"You don't want me to?"

"I want to hear you say, 'Yes, that's how I'm going to touch you, Mom.'"

"Yes," I said. "That's how I'm going to touch you, Mom." I lowered my lips. We kissed hard enough that she'd have to redo her lipstick later. "How much does Dad know, the truth?"

"This has been building for a year," Mom said. "I've been preparing your father for almost half of the year. He knows I love your company." She kissed me. "He knows I love your touch." She squeezed my arms. "He knows I'd do anything for my son." She kissed me again, holding my cheeks. "You don't have to be afraid of him."

"I'm not afraid," I said. "I want the best for you and him." I squeezed her hips. "For all of us."

"Oh, my loving son," Mom said. I slid my right hand across the front of her thigh and cupped her pussy with my fingers. I pushed my middle finger between her cunny lips. "I'm going to have to change panties if you keep doing that."

"Are you and Dad going to be okay?" I asked, sawing my finger through her soft folds. Her panties dampened quickly, wetting my middle finger.

Mom closed her eyes and breathed quietly through her mouth. "That's up to him." Her breath trembled. "We love each other, but how—mm—much is in his hands."

I fingered my mother through her panties, listening to her breathing to tell me how to touch her. I caressed her softly, boyishly, exploring her outside flesh and adapting my touch to her needs. I lowered my head and nudged her dress down over her right tit. She wore a thin, transparent bra, and I captured her thick nipple between my teeth and pulled.

"Fuck," Mom gasped. I sucked her nub and rosy areola into my mouth.

Mom gripped my shoulders and rocked her panty-clad muff against my fingers. I traced the frilly leg holes of her panties with my ring and fore-finger, splitting them to either side of her juicy clam and then I slipped under the material to touch her bare cunny lips.

"Oh, Chris," Mom whimpered and came, staining her panties with her cum before my fingertips could penetrate her wet hole.

I let her tit slip from my mouth. "I better go," I said into her ear, "before I lose control and fuck you right here, right now."

I licked my finger in front of her and left the kitchen on my way to school.

Dad was home when I returned to the house after my classes. Mom had another hour at the gallery at least, and then we would be off to the studio to model intimately in front of strangers. The thought of holding my mother while other's watched us without knowing our relationship made my heart skip.

"You've grown up on me," Dad said while we watched TV.

"Still me," I said.

"Not to your mother." I think he wanted to say more, but nothing came out.

Mom changed into a pair of jeans and a shirt as soon as she came home, and then we were off to model. Jen's studio had a different setup than before. The lights were off. Each easel had a lamp attached at the top of the side legs, shining light onto its canvas. Candles surrounded the dais that Mom and I were to model on, while a spotlight washed the dais in a honeyed glow.

"Art after hours," Jen told us after we had changed into our robes. "Choose any pose you wish. Do anything you want. Tonight is about your emotions. You can change positions as often as you like, the artists have dozens of sheets for their sketches and drawings. There are no rules, not tonight."

"No rules?" Mom asked when we were alone.

"Jen is very open-minded," I said.

Mom smiled. "Oh, is she?"

I shook my head and led Mom into the studio by the hand. Speakers from somewhere in the background played classical music. We disrobed, naked, and unafraid in front of the artists watching us. We started with a comfortable, basic pose: my hands on Mom's hips and her hands on my shoulders. I don't know what people expected, but I don't think this was it.

Anxious energy buzzed throughout the room. The darkness around us, the candlelight encircling us and the soft light from above spoke to me—to Mom?—and I wanted to be closer to her. I wanted to touch her, skin to skin, body to body. Her flesh glistened with lotion, as did mine, and I watched goosebumps rise along her arms the longer I looked at her. Her nipples elongated in time-lapsed slow motion so that I could see their growth as the flesh constricted. My cock swelled thickening like a hose jerking to life as it filled with water.

"You're beautiful," I whispered to my mother and made the first move. I lowered myself to my knees, kissing her breasts on my way down. I heard a turning of canvas papers as I pressed my lips to Mom's stomach. Her stomach rolled, her navel sloping inward as I touched her skin. I wrapped my arms around her thighs and held her against me.

Minutes ticked by and I sat down cross-legged on the floor. My hands held Mom's, and I pulled her to the floor with me. She sat in my lap, wrapping her legs around my back. She interlocked her fingers behind my neck while I ran my hands down her body, grabbing onto her butt to support her weight, though she was as light as a feather on my thighs.

"This is so naughty," Mom whispered into my ear when I lifted her enough to suckle at her breasts. I licked one and then other, wetting them with my saliva as I pulled them into my mouth. "You're so naughty, baby."

My cock jumped, curving upward as it hardened beneath my mother's pussy. My shaft straightened, my knob thickened, and it turned into a solid bar of flesh that pressed against my mother's wet labia.

"I want you," I whispered for my mother's ears only.

"You're making me wet," Mom said. "Your dick is hot against my twat." She licked my ear.

I groaned. No one in the room minded or seemed to as they continued drawing. I squeezed my mother's ass, nudging her backdoor as I dipped my fingers into her crack. Mom's hips jerked, sliding her cunny across the length of my prick, but she didn't try to pull away from my fingers. She settled back against them, tensing.

"Careful back there," Mom said. "It's been a long time."

"I want somewhere else." I tapped my ring fingers against her perineum. "Somewhere hotter." I rubbed the bottom of her slit.

"I know you do." Mom tensed her legs, using her muscles to slide her cunny across my cock. "Baby, there's nowhere for me to run, not tonight." She dug her heels against the small of my back. "And I'm not about to tell a bunch of strangers that my son is trying to fuck me."

I buried my face in my mother's neck, kissing her. Sweat dampened her body, making her cheeks feel smoother in my hands, and I squeezed her round ass, sending a tingle through my knob. The smell of her sex-hungry pussy curled about our bodies, filling my nostrils with the sweet, pungent aroma of a woman in need of a slow, deep fucking.

Lifting my mother by her ass, I flexed my cock, springing it upward. Canvases turned. Mom inhaled deeply, holding the air in her lungs as I nudged the round head of my prick against the soft folds of her maternal opening. Her outer labia pushed inward and then spread open, giving me access to the smaller lips they protected. They kissed the head of my spongy tip, dripping heat and wetness across my crown. My back arched and I moaned.

"You sure, baby?" Mom whispered, kissing me on the lips. "There's no going back if we do this." She kissed me. "I won't share you with anyone."

I found her hole and eased her downward. Mom's eyes opened wide as if surprised by the stretching I was putting her through. "Oh," Mom moaned, and she added a grunt-like "uh," as my glands slipped into her juicy body.

"Mom," I said, breathing into her ear. "You feel perfect."

"You're big," Mom said. The gentle tug of her teeth below my ear made me shiver. "It's been half a year, baby, go easy on me."

I moaned and pulled my mother's hole another inch down my cock. Her low-throated moan filled the room, and our silent watchers continued painting, drawing, and doing whatever the fuck it was that they were doing. Their eyes sent a chill through my body. My knob tingled, the light buzzing making me flex my thighs and I parted my mother's pink walls with another inch of my dick.

"Fuck, baby," Mom said. "Your dick is going to be a tight fit." She rocked her pussy over my cock, sliding another inch of my hard pole into her inner channel. "I've missed this feeling so much."

Mom took my hardness deeper into her small channel—there was no need to rush. Soft breaths escaped her lungs, rolling over my skin as her velvet pussy drenched me in her warm oils. By the time we lodged my cock fully within her slippery cunt, we were panting, and sweat beaded our bodies. Mom rowed herself against my prick, using her legs to pull her pussy forward and her ass to push herself backward. I let her fuck herself on my hot, hard prick as her cunny walls adjusted to my size.

Time lost meaning for me. I held Mom tight, helping only a little as she slid back and forth along my hard length. We kissed, our tongues melting against each other in a rhythm matching our connected bodies. Her pussy juices dripped, making my cock slippery-slick in a way it had never been before.

"Ah, ah, ah," Mom breathed into my ear, hissing after each moan. "You're fucking your mother, baby—in front of strangers!" Her were words were spoken with a harsh hiss that was drowned out from everyone else by the playing music. "People are watching. You better fuck me good."

I held the back of my mother's head and devoured her tongue. Mom whimpered when I surged to my knees, burying my cock to the balls within her body. I laid her down on her back and braced my body on my forearms. I ran my fingers through her blonde hair as I settled my dick between her thighs. She brought her knees up, opening her small pink pussy for my pleasure as she locked her ankles across my lower back. I pulled out until just my glans lay at the wet entrance to her cunny and then I sank all the way into her with one—firm—thrust.

"Ugh," Mom grunted, breaking my kiss, and arching her entire body. I pulled out and pushed back in, giving her every inch of my dick. "Ugh—ugh—ugh—fuck!" I picked up my pace, fucking my mother's pussy faster, firmer, smacking my hips against her upraised thighs while my balls spanked her round ass.

"Yeah, baby, oh yeah, umm, fuck me," Mom whimpered, no longer able to kiss me as I rocked her body underneath mine. Wet, sloshy noises mixed with the music. Mom's cries made my balls tingles. Her tits shook beneath me, forcing her nipples against my chest and sending shivers of pleasures down to my asshole. She reached down my sides, clutching onto my cheeks as best she could, her fingers digging into my flesh.

"Do you like it?" I whispered into my mother's ears. "Do you like your son's dick?"

"Baby, fuck, I'm coming." Mom sobbed, my words a sinful trigger to our wanton lust and she came. Cum gushed from between her soaking lips, spilling over my balls and running down the crack of her ass to dais below.

I pumped my mother's coming cunt faster. My body had become a lightning bolt of pleasure, struggling to fracture the heavens. My ball swelled to overflowing for one torturous moment, and then blissful release sent a torrent of cum through my shaft and into my mother's pussy, coating her inner walls with family cum that soaked her insides with cream.

I spilled the last of my seed into her body as I lay above her. She whispered forcefully into my ear, "That's it; make Mommy a mommy again."

"Fuck," I grunted, and a mini-orgasm, unlike nothing I had ever felt raced through my shaft one last time.

"That was wonderful," Jen said, clapping. The rest of the class clapped with her. "Break time, and do we dare hope there is enough left in you for another hour?"

We wiped down in the dressing room. Mom kissed me as soon as the door closed, her tongue everywhere, but in a practiced attack, touching my tongue, my lips, and even the roof of my mouth in ways no eighteen-year-old ever had.

"Baby, sweetie, honey," Mom said. "I want to suck your dick."

"Okay." I opened my robe.

Mom laughed, tossing her head and rolling her eyes, genuinely amused. "Out there," Mom said, jerking a thumb toward the door. "But also when we get home." She kissed me. "There's something about nineteen-year-old cock that makes me so fucking creamy."

"Yeah, of course," I said. "Out there."

"'Yeah, of course.'" Mom laughed.

She snaked her hand into my robe and grabbed my cock, stroking. "What happened to the son who threatened to fuck me this morning?" Mom jerked my dick, bringing me back to life. "Do you know how wet that made me? Aw, sweetie, do you get shy if you're not in control?" Her fingers caressed my knob. "I'll break you of that. I'm a dirty talking Mommy"—she licked her tongue vertically across my lips—"and I want a dirty talking son."

Back on the dais, I stood while Mom dropped to her knees in front of me. She stared upward and ran her hands up and down my thighs, over my stomach, nearer and nearer to my balls. I was already hard by the time I disrobed, and Mom tortured me for minutes before giving my cock any attention.

Mom's smiled at me, teasing me, her eyes tempting me, daring me. I tensed, aware of all the eyes on me and the open ears connected to them.

"I want," I said, pausing, before going on, "I want to feel your mouth on my cock."

Mom's mouth surged upward. Her tongue darted out and slid across the length of my shaft. I groaned, tossing my head back. Someone said, "Hold that," which brought a few chuckles, but it wasn't hard to keep my head back, mouth open, and my face masked with ecstasy.

Mom swirled her tongue around my glans, the noise sloppy and wet as she began worshipping my prick. She wrapped both of her hands around my shaft, the neck and knob exposed to her greedy mouth. Her lips closed over my crown, sucking as her tongue licked through my piss-slit. My legs trembled. I put my hands on her head, and then in her hair, but I didn't try to guide her. My mother was a mature woman; I didn't doubt that she knew how to suck a dick in ways I could never imagine.

"Your fucking mouth is so hot, Mo—more," I stuttered.

Mom laughed, her cheeks billowing around my knob for the briefest of moments before she went to work. Her spit drenched my shaft. She jacked me off, one hand, then two, then one, twisting her grip around my spit-soaked prick as her nasty, naughty slurping sounds filled the room.

"Umm, umm, umm," Mom moaned around my shaft, only to pull off and say, "this is a throat-gagging fuck-stick, baby." And then she went all the way down, gagging midway, choking, drooling spit as she shook her head side to side until she swallowed me to the balls. Mom pulled her mouth from my prick and gasped for air, her mascara running, creating a sexy, cock-sucking mask of determination and sacrifice.

"More," I whispered to her, "I need more of your mouth, you sexy . . . slutty . . . whore."

Mom squeaked something and attacked my cock again. I couldn't call her Mom, but those words did the trick. She fondled my balls as she gobbled my meat, licking and sucking, slurping and spitting—jerking my cock until my hips humped back and forth. She sucked on her left fingers and reached between my open legs, sliding her middle finger between my butt cheeks. I jumped.

"No, baby," Mom whispered, "you stand still for me."

I did, scared, nervous, wondering where that finger was going. When she touched it to my anal-ring while she ran her tongue around my glans, I lost it. She caressed my nut sack, using only her mouth to suck me off and her finger danced behind me, pushing, teasing, but never entering. She brought me to the point of wondering what it would feel like to have her little finger slide into me—only a fraction of a fraction of an inch—and then I came.

"Coming, oh mother—fucker!" I cried. Jizz exploded from me. Mom sunk her fingertip into my asshole, and my knees collapsed as my vision went black, and my body quaked with pleasure. Mom jumped back, quick as a cat, and swallowed my cum as she preened on all fours, her heart-shaped ass the air, giving the artists a cock-hardening show of her open, pink muffin.

I fell backward, lying down as I regained my composure. Mom never stopped licking me, cleaning my cock as a loving mother should. She eventually kissed a path up my body to my mouth and shared the aftertaste of my pleasure with me. Only my mother could do that and not freak me out.

"I love you," I said after our kiss ended.

"I know you do, baby," Mom pecked me on the lips. "Your eyes could never hide how you felt about me." She kissed me again. "I love you too."

Home Life

Life changed quickly after our first modeling after dark gig. Dad no longer discouraged Mom form doing anything. He was quiet at first, but his attitude changed as time went on. It wasn't overnight, but it was happening. I don't know what went on between him and Mom behind closed doors, but it didn't interfere with my new relationship with my mother.

It started the night we came home after making love in front of people. Dad had gone to bed. Mom and I went upstairs to shower, separately, but when I settled down for sleep that night, Mom joined me again, this time turning my bedroom lights on.

"And Dad?" I asked.

"That's between him and me," Mom said. She was wearing a white slip that just hid her pussy, with a V neck that didn't hide the inside swells of her large breasts. "He doesn't get to be mad at you." Mom rolled her eyes. "I honestly don't think he is."

"What is he then?"

"Surprised," Mom said. "I warned him this could happen." Mom laughed at my expression. "Do you want to talk about your father, or do you want an after-dinner snack?" Mom teased the hem of her nightie, baring the meat of her blonde pussy topped by her light, wispy curls. "I brought you some pie."

 

[RASCAL420]

Continues.......

"I want the pie," I said, throwing back my covers. "What flavor did you bring me?"

Mom laughed. "Pussy." She walked to my bed, climbing onto the mattress with her knees. "Aged thirty-nine years. It's vintage, so eat it slowly."

I tried to grab my mother's hips and lay her on her back, but she pushed me down onto my pillows. "No, I'll feed you the first few bites," she said, shaking her head and swinging her hips.

I settled down. Mom straddled my hips before shuffling up my body, bringing her pussy closer to my mouth by the second. She raised her nightgown above her waist, giving me an eyeful of her thick, lust-swollen lips. They curved backward in a perfect half-moon, with a small valley leading to her inner pink, where the juiciest of her flavors awaited my tongue's touch.

Mom placed her knees on either side of my head. She looked down at me, smiling, circling her pussy side to side above me. Blood rushed through the veins, hardening my cock and allowing me to feel every swell of flesh that thickened my shaft. I sighed as I looked upon my mother's soft twat with love.

"Lick, baby," Mom said. "Lick the sides of my pussy first, and then you can have a taste of my cream."

I groaned. Mom's smile widened. I tilted my head up, licking her right thigh and then her left. My hands found her ass, squeezing her cheeks, and creating a small chair with my palms. Mom put some of her weight on my hands, but not all. She could still tease my tongue with quick movements that stole her tasty twat from my mouth.

My tongue slid across the muscles that ran through the V between her legs. I pushed against the curves of her outer labia; the thicker folds gave way to the pressure of my need. I wanted to taste the center of my mother's cunny, but she swung her snatch away, making sure I only teased the flesh bordering her wet slit.

I licked her lips one at a time and then swished my tongue across them. Mom uttered a series of sharp breaths as the tip of my tongue brushed her inner labia, the smaller, wetter folds bending under the force of my movements.

"That's Mommy's pussy you're licking," Mom purred to me. "You naughty boy. How many times have you jerked off in your room thinking about this moment?"

Fuck? A hundred? Two—million? "Too many," I said, pushing her pussy closer to my face.

"Is that why you watch Alexis Fawx?" Mom asked. "Because you were thinking about me? Your mother?" Mom sounded shocked, offended, and turned on by the sinful obsession that her son had for her.

"Yes," I said, breathing a cloud of hot hair against her equally hot cunny. "You're the first woman I've ever wanted, and you'll be the last."

"Here you go, baby," Mom sighed and fed me the slot between her legs.

Her pussy melted on my tongue. Cream ran down the center of my hard and soft palates, coating my uvula in a wash of sensual flavors that caused saliva to bubble from my glands. I savored my mother's cunny-taste as I drank her forbidden nectar.

"Yeah, baby, yeah," Mom moaned. "Eat Mommy's pussy. Be a bad son for Mommy." She humped her hips forward with a rocking motion that spread the center crease between her folds across my tongue. Mom fucked my mouth from her perineum to her clit, stopping to mash her pink pearl against the tip of my tongue in a slow circle.

I slipped my fingers through the crack of Mom's ass and tickled her backdoor as she rode my face. My left fingers slid between her legs, feathering her dewy lips to the sides and prodding the sticky, inner walls of her cunny meat.

Mom whimpered and shook her ass faster over my mouth. She leaned forward, clutching the top of my headboard as she ground her snatch across my tongue. She gritted teeth, breathing harshly through them as her cunny-juices dripped down my throat, soaked my chin, and infused their scent into my very soul.

"Coming, baby," Mom whimpered, now grinding her pussy on my mouth in a clockwise motion. "Mommy's coming on you. Fuck! I'm coming in my son's mouth."

I swallowed every drop of motherly honey that poured from Mom's creamy snatch. I've never experienced anything like it before. Her scent intensified, flooding my nostrils and lungs, sending me into a dream-like state that lightened my entire soul. A burst of pre-cum exploded from my cock. By the time Mom's body stopped shaking, she had coated the inside of my mouth in a sweet-flavored cream whose taste I would remember forever.

"Fuck, Chris, oh you pussy-eating bastard," Mom sighed, sounding relieved that her orgasm was over.

I spun, lifting her and dumping her on my bed with my head between her legs. Her breath left her lungs. I pushed my fingers into her pussy and pulled—spreading her pink walls open. Mom gasped and opened her legs wide as I stretched her. Her thighs tensed as she planted her heels on the bed and arched her pussy upward for me. I looked down into her little hole, admiring the pink swells of flesh and the deeper darkness within and then I extended my tongue as far as I could, pushing it into her open pussy-hole.

"Oh, baby," Mom moaned. "Fuck me with your tongue."

I did the best I could, but it wasn't enough. My hard prick wanted to go home. I moved up Mom's body and pushed my knob against her opening. My dry, spongy head met her oval opening, and I pushed in. We both moaned as her pussy fought to lubricate my cock. I eased my dick into her inch by fucking inch. Our groans mingled together: mine strained by the torture of holding back and Mom's strained by the slow, rough stretch I was putting her pussy walls through.

We sighed in unison when I was all the way inside of her. My balls touched her asshole, and her frothy cream ran down the crack of her ass.

"Fuck me, Chris," Mom moaned. "Fuck your mother with that big dick I gave you."

I didn't want to disobey, so I did as my mother ordered. I slid my cock out and fucked back in, making Mom grunt as my tip bottomed out against her velvety insides. I felt every inch of her inner walls caress my dick as I pushed through her tasty tunnel. Mom took my prick like a champ, urging me to fuck her with every ounce of energy my nineteen-year-old body could conjure.

"Oh, baby, oh, fuck—mm—you're pounding Mommy's pussy good, baby," Mom moaned. She wrapped her legs around my back, her arms around my neck, and hung onto me as my cock sloshed through her incest-loving snatch.

"Fuck, Mom," I whispered in her ear. "Your pussy so fucking hot. So fucking wet." I licked her ear, and I listened as my balls spanked her asshole. "You're as tight as a fucking teenager."

"Oh, god," Mom cried and came and bit my shoulder as she did.

Her walls clung to my shaft. Her pussy muscles rippled along my length as her cum washed over my prick's sensitive crown. I came, loosening thick ropes of jizz into her unprotected womb. We shook together, trembling, gasping, our muscles flexing as our bodies convulsed under the strain of our orgasms. We lay together, panting and sweating as we regained our breaths.

"Chris," Mom whispered, "you haven't finished yet, have you? Fucking my son makes me so horny."

Mom wasn't kidding when she said fucking me made her horny. We fucked a lot. We made love a lot. We kissed, we touched, we went down on each other whenever we could. Mom was a bundle of sexual energy, and I was delighted to help her release it.

My relationship with my father changed—some. Not much, but it was quieter at first. I could never tell what he was thinking. His beers disappeared for a while, replaced by a single bottle here and there, and then those disappeared. He spent less time at the shops and fewer nights out with his employees, but the nights he did go out, he went all out but in a jovial way.

"What do you think about putting in a home gym?" Dad asked me one morning.

"You want me to do it?" I asked.

"No," Dad said, laughing. "Are you sure you're going to college? I'd hire people." He looked toward the backyard. "There's too much space out there. We can fit in a fifteen by forty-five room along the property line, don't you think? Fill it with weight and machines." He rubbed his belly. "I could spend more time with your mother and . . . you?"

I nodded my head until I realized he wanted me to say something.

"I think it's a good idea."

"Me too," Dad said. He rubbed his face. "Long overdue."

Mom spent the first day of construction in her bedroom with Dad. I didn't feel alone when I went to bed that night. I wasn't jealous, and I wasn't angry—I loved my family. I wanted to be a part of one, even if it was different than what society considered normal. Mom woke me with a blowjob the next morning.

"I had to pick your fucking lock," Mom said, giving my balls a gentle squeeze. "Don't ever make me have to do that again." She spanked the side of my ass and put her mouth back to work.

Our modeling never stopped. There were times Dad would meet us afterward for a late-night dinner, but he never went inside. Mom had no problem kissing both of us in private or in public when we were together or separate. She teased us. She hugged us. She introduced us to people as "These are my men." But there was one big difference in how she behaved with us: while she was never overtly sexual in front of me with Dad, Mom never spared him the-more-than-motherly affection she showered on me.

The first time our quiet touching near Dad went beyond all things reasonable was in the living room. We sat in the recliner, and Dad lay on the couch behind us.

"Doug, you can stay on the couch," Mom said, walking into the living room. She was wearing a soccer jersey, black with white lettering, short enough to just cup the bottom curve of her butt. Thigh-high knit-stockings encased her legs, and she had pulled her blonde into a ponytail. "I'll share the recliner with Chris."

I was on the loveseat. Dad looked at me, but he said nothing. His eyes swung to the love seat as if to say, "Listen to your mother."

I stood, moving to the recliner and sat, wearing only a shirt and my basketball shorts with nothing underneath, just as Mom expected of me. Mom lowered herself onto my lap, her buns making the head of my cock tingle. Her jersey rode up her legs, baring her butt, and a barely-there string ran between her smooth cheeks. She tilted to the right, resting her head on my shoulder.

The recliner sat to the side and in front of the couch. I knew Dad's view was at an angle to us. The chair's forward jutting wings would hide my body, and probably most of Mom's. My heart sped up, knowing that Dad would be looking toward us tonight instead of wondering what was happening behind him.

"Choose a movie, Doug," Mom said. "Something sexy."

My heart stopped. My shaft firmed. Mom wiggled her butt against my lap, aligning her center groove against my knob before settling down. My breath shook for several seconds before I was able to get myself under control. Mom rested against me, and I put my hands on her warm thighs, absorbing the feel of her soft flesh and firm muscles.

Dad flipped through the channels, stopping on Unfaithful with Diane Lane, a woman who only grew sexier with age, like some mythical MILF out of Legend. Mom watched in silence, as did Dad, an unspoken agreement passing between them that allowed me to molest my mother's willing body openly.

That's what I told myself, but it didn't stop the nervous energy that pulsed through my veins. I wanted to touch my mother, everywhere, right then and all at once, but there were times Mom liked to be fucked fast and raw, in a whirlwind of sex that left her hair disheveled and her legs open with cum leaking from her snatch. And then there were times she wanted to be teased and toyed with, caressed and loved and this was one of those times.

I ignored the movie. I massaged my mother's thighs, rubbing her skin from the bend in her hips to the tops of her stockings. I pushed my fingertips underneath their welts, moving my fingers in a half-moon under the knitted thread before sliding my hands back to her hips. I drove Mom's thighs open on my next trip downward. I caressed the softer, inner flesh of her legs on my return trip, inching my way to the warmth hiding between her thighs. I stopped near her pussy, not touching it, but so fucking close to her lips that the heat from her muff dampened my fingers.

Mom's breathing trembled. I teased the edges of her little panties. They were small, too small for her, leaving her outer labia exposed. I licked her left ear, and she stretched her neck to the right as she shivered. My hands moved upward, over her hips and across her belly. Mom's breathing deepened. I cupped the bottom curve of my mother's breasts between my thumbs and forefingers. Mom dug her hands into my thighs and waited.

On-screen, Diane Lane sat on a train, remembering the events of the first time that she had cheated on her husband. Her character smiled, and cried, excited and sad, but elated at the sense of new freedom in her life. I moved my hands over Mom's breasts, wondering what thoughts had gone through her head before she decided that she was tired of being ignored. Did she cry before or after our first time together? I pinched Mom's thick nipples, forcing a gasp from her lips. I decided never to ask her that question.

In the movie, Diane Lane kissed her costar, hungrily, almost violently, the scene short but effective. I pulled on the hardened nubs of my mother's tits. She sighed, hissing at the end when I stretched her nipples too far, and they snapped away from my grip. I kissed her neck, licking my tongue along the line of her sloping shoulder.

"Mm," Mom moaned, low, from deep within her lungs, trying to keep the sound trapped within her body. The scene ended with Diane Lane washing her panties in the sink in the train's restroom, implying she did the same for her pussy before cutting away. I lowered my hands to my mother's waist and relaxed.

Shortly after, there was another love scene in a café. The characters fucked in a bathroom stall. I slid my fingers down Mom's open thighs, bracketing her panties with my extended digits. Mom opened her legs wider, and as Diane Lane took her fucking in the stall, I squeezed the thick lips of my mother's cunny together.

"Baby," Mom whispered. She turned her head and kissed my chin. Her teeth nibbled my jawline. I slid my fingers beneath the leg holes of her panties and pushed on her outer lips, puffing up her pussy as I moved toward her inner slit. "You touch Mommy so good."

I heard Dad shift on the couch. There were only the faintest of reflections in the TV, so transparent that his imagination would have to fill in the details of his son touching his wife.

"Do you like Mommy's pussy, baby?" Mom asked, turning her body enough to lick the curve of my earlobe.

"Yes," I said, sliding my forefingers into the wet hole hidden between her inner lips. I hooked my fingers against the underside of my mother's mound and rubbed.

"Umm," Mom moaned. She rocked her butt over my shorts, grinding the crack of her ass against my knob. I reached back with my left hand, hooked my fingers under the G-string riding her ass and pulled it to the side over her left ass cheeks. I cupped her pussy from behind, her dewy trench soaking my palm with her honey-slick juices as her cheeks sat on my forearm.

The movie continued. I fingered my mother, parting her nether lips with the fingers of my right hand and sliding the fingers of my left into her cum-hole. She moaned, riding me, her voice quiet, but not quiet enough. The scent of sex drifted about the living room, thick and heavy and unmistakable.

By the time Diane Lane ran to her lover's house to break off her affair, my fingers were making soft, wet slushy sounds through my mother's slit. Mom's excitement rose when Diane Lane fought with her lover, pushing against him as he pulled her to him, refusing to give her up. Mom shoved her hand between us, slithering her fingers into my shorts and grabbing my cock. Her other hand pulled at my shorts. I lifted my hips, helping her frantic motions to free to my dick.

"Fuck me," Mom whispered when Diane Lane bent over a stairway's railing. I removed my hands from between Mom's legs, taking my cock in my hand as she balanced her palms on the arms of the recliner. Diane Lane pushed her panties down her ass, and Mom planted the heels of her feet onto the ends of the armrests.

Fuck, I thought.

"Are you going to fuck me, huh?" Diane Lane asked, her voice angry and impatient.

"Hurry, baby, fuck me," Mom said, her voice loud enough to reach Dad's ears. Mom lifted her ass. My knob dug a trench through her pussy lips before finding her slippery hole.

"I want you to fuck me, I want you to fuck me," Diane whispered on screen.

"I want you to fuck me, baby," Mom whispered, more urgent than before. "Fuck your big dick into Mom—uh!"

My cock disappeared into my mother's pussy. Her juices coated my crown and dripped down my shaft, wetting me as I fed her pussy my meat. Diane Lane moaned. Mom moaned louder. Her legs tensed on the chair's arms as her cunny slid downward and her walls opened around my thickness.

"Oh god," Mom grunted when her ass met my lap, and there was no more dick for her twat to take.

I breathed out a long sigh of relief. I hadn't realized I had been holding my breath. Dad said nothing. Mom rocked against me, using her legs to pump her pussy up and down my iron-hard fuck-rod. Dad could see most of Mom's body from his angle. He could hear my mother's—his wife's—low-throated groans as she took every inch of my prick over and over again.

"That's it, baby, fuck Mommy," Mom whispered. "Fuck my pussy. Make Mommy a mommy again with your cum."

I groaned. My father groaned. I didn't know what he was doing back there, but whatever it was, it wasn't anger that he was directing at us.

"Oh, oh, oh—fuck—your dick is big, baby," Mom whimpered. I grabbed her hips when she lifted her pussy so that only my knob was inside of her, and I pulled her down. Hard. "Fuck," she grunted, her breath shallow and helpless. "Do that again. Go ahead, tear your Mommy's pussy apart."

I lost it. I fucked my hips upward while pulling her hips downward. Our bodies, slapping wetly together, drowned out the noise from the TV. Mom was panting. I was grunting as her butt smacked against my hips hard enough to leave bruises. She whimpered and sobbed as I filled her hot pussy full of dick meat. We were close. I could feel it in the way her inner chamber rippled around my shaft. I reached around her right butt cheek, under her leg and found her pussy-slit, feeling my cock as it spread her cunny lips wide.

"Yeah, baby, do it," Mom gasped. "Make me come on our family dick."

I slid my fingers to the apex of her snatch and pushed against the shiny pearl sticking out from under its hood. Mom cried out. I swished her swollen clit hard and fast, pushing it against her pubic bone as she bounced her little, wet cunt hard on my cock.

"Coming," Mom shouted. "Doug, our son's making me come."

"Fuck," I grunted and came a moment later.

Our bodies slammed together. Her slippery snatch swallowed me to the balls and then some, fighting to take me as deep into her narrow hole as possible. Her legs shot out. I dug my fingers into her hips, and she clawed at my thighs. We came together, trembling and shaking and gasping as our cum mixed within her womb. Her pussy pulled every strand of white from my balls, making me shiver as the last of my seed spilled from the tip of my prick.

"Make me a mommy again," Mom whispered to me as we relaxed.

Her words chambered one last round of jizz into my shaft that I shot straight into her womb.

Life Continues

Things only got better for us. Dad started working out, not that that was what Mom wanted, but it was the first step in spending more time together. His energy increased, his desire to be with Mom grew, and his mood changed to one of encouragement, and he never tried to stop Mom from being with me.

 

[RASCAL420]

Continues.......

Mom was wild at home—a controlled wild. Sex was a possibility at any moment, but it was the teasing and our self-restraint that made our fucking and lovemaking an intense experience. But all of that restraint dissolved into nothing when we were in front of an audience.

Our first sixty-nine together was in front of a crowd, under a spotlight that beaded our bodies with sweat. Mom lay on top of me; her knees spread to either side of my head. I made sure to open her pussy for those who could see her backside. She worked my cock with delicious slowness, screwing her hand up and down my shaft while slurping on my knob. I finger-fucked her little pink hole, kissing and nibbling on her thighs as I thumbed her clit in soft circles. We changed positions many times that night, but sixty-nine was always the outcome.

The first time that I had fingered my mother's asshole was in Jen's studio. It started as a wrestling match when Mom understood what I planned to do to her. She fought me, playfully, pushing, and trying to get away as I held her close to my body. I managed to get her on her knees, her ass in the air and her head down with a cheek on a pillow. I drooled onto her rosebud until it shined. I went to work on her backdoor when her butt crack was slippery with spit.

"Oh—oh god—oh," Mom moaned as I teased her narrow entrance. I pushed my finger against her forbidden ring, fascinated by how her rubbery muscles collapsed inward under my gentle pressure. I twisted my forefinger into her slowly, making her grunt. Mom chewed on the pillow below her, growling as I slid my digit through her asshole. I could feel every rub of her slick backdoor as it gripped my probing finger. The spokes of her pucker were soft, but textured, squeezing my skin with dick-hardening traction.

One finger became two. I used more spit, and Mom grabbed my cock, stroking me while I double-fucked her backdoor. My slow pokes through her cinching rear tunnel turned into a glide and then I was twisting my fingers into her asshole, stretching her pristine insides so I could massage her anal canal.

Mom purred. "You naughty fucking boy. Wait until I tell your father."

I petted Mom's pussy, telling her, "I'm going to fuck your ass tonight." Mom came, and after, she pushed me onto my back and rode my dick like a cowgirl grinding her pussy against a saddle. When I came, she whispered, "Make Mommy a mommy again, baby, I know you can."

In the car, in our driveway, Mom said, "You know, some girls get butt fucked in the backseat on the first date, so they stay virgins until marriage." Mom looked into the back of my car, her smile silly. "This isn't our first date, and I'm in the front seat. What's taking you so long to go after my ass?"

I was on her in a moment. The summer dress she wore was around her hips a second later. Mom laughed at my excitement. We grappled, twisting and turning until I pushed her seat back as far as it would go. She lowered the backrest. I kneeled on the floorboard, surprised at the amount of room in my car. Mom lifted her legs up and back and spread herself for me.

"I haven't had a cock back there in years, baby," Mom whispered, excited. "Pump my butt slowly."

I ran my cock through my mother's pussy lips, pausing to spank her clit several times with my spongy tip, making her jump. I spat on her pussy and lubed her asshole with a combination of our juices. She held her legs behind her knees, looking down as my cock pushed against the tiny pucker of her backdoor.

"Ooh, you big fucker," Mom moaned as my cock entered her. She smiled at me, tight and playfully promising revenge against me for putting something so big up her butt. Mom groaned when my head popped into her rectum, and she groaned again as I slid my shaft up her rear until my balls touched her cheeks.

"You okay?" I asked.

"You're supposed to ask that before you bottom out," Mom panted, fanning her face with each hand. "You'll never know how good the pain feels, will you?"

I shook my head. I was in awe of her toughness when I looked down and saw her ass full of cock and the way her rear-hole spiraled open around my thick shaft. Her pussy glistened under the starlight shining through my windows. Her lips pressed together in a juicy, meaty bulge of soft flesh. I slipped two fingers between her pussy lips, dipping into her pink with my palm up. I massaged the underside of her mound with my fingers, while I rubbed her clit with my thumb.

"Fuck, yeah, you naughty boy," Mom said, scolding me, thanking me. "Did I raise—oh—you to treat me this way?" Mom whimpered as I flexed my cock inside of her. "Give it to me, baby. Fill Mommy's holes and make me come."

I moaned and started fucking, shaking with every movement through her backdoor. Mom's anal ring gripped me hard, the constriction unreal. Mom began to grunt. Her forceful breaths sped up my heartbeat. I could feel my cock in her ass against the back of my knuckles, the sensation making me lengthen my strokes. When my glans reached her asshole, Mom tightened her muscles. I gasped, my body shaking and I came, spilling a healthy wad of cum right up her butthole.

Mom laughed. "So soon, baby?" She laughed again. "That's okay. We have all night, don't we?" Mom may have regretted those words because she spent the night biting my pillow. She missed our morning workout, and she spent the next night sleeping on her stomach, so I tenderly made love to her from behind while she told everything was okay.

I was in Mom's room a few weeks later. She was standing in front of her wall mirror, facing sideways with her right hand atop her stomach and her left below. She was pushing her belly out, and when she saw me, her eyes widened, and then she smiled.

"What are you doing?" I asked. "It shouldn't take long if you want a six-pack."

"Remember when I asked you to make Mommy a mommy again?" she sounded so happy. "Well, someone in this house did. Was it you?"

Mom told me I fainted, but I don't remember doing it.

Life changed a little after that. My anxiety eventually went away. Dad opened up more than he already had. We had our first threesome when Mom broke the news to him. She kissed him; then she kissed me. And then with a hand on each of our chests, she kissed us again and again and again.

I lasted longer than my father, and I made love to Mom one more time while he watched. It was strange. It was thrilling. It was something that we would eventually become used to, but it was a rare treat for special occasions.

Mom and I posed for Jen a month before Mom was due to give birth. It was a private performance, commissioned, in our home studio—our family pictures hidden until after Jen left. Mom lay on her side on a white mattress, and I lay behind her. Her belly gleamed with the cocoa butter we used to keep her skin smooth as her stomach grew larger. Mom didn't gain much weight during her pregnancy, but she was proud of her sloping baby bump. And so was I.

After

Mom gave birth to a healthy baby boy. We listed Dad as the father on the birth certificate, and that was fine by me. We never learned who the birth father was. He was a handsome baby, with Mom's infectious smile and laugh, and since my father and I looked so much alike, he could have belonged to either of us. There was one oddity that set him apart from a normal child. He was born with one green eye that resembled Mom's and one blue eye that resembled mine. Mom named him Adam.

The next time we modeled for a portrait, it was as a family-family, fully clothed with each of us cradling a portion of the little guy's body in our hands. It wasn't long after that that Mom and I went back to modeling for Jen. It was something that we could share between ourselves even as others watched.

One Last Thing

One night, at Mom's gallery, while I was holding Mom in my arms, a woman who could have been Mom's twin walked through the doors. She was blonde, beautiful, and someone I had watched many-a-time by myself before my love life with my mother began, though now we watched her together more often than not. It had to be her. It just had to be.

"Baby," Mom said, snapping me out of my musings.

"What?" I asked, shaking my head.

"What do you want to do tonight?"

What did I want to do tonight? I looked at the woman walking around the gallery who look all too familiar to me. That was a very good question. I looked at my mom and then back to the woman admiring the artwork displayed about the floor space. It was a very good question . . . that needed answering.


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[SEEMASINGH]

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