Capítulo 192: My Mom is a Hot Mom Ch. 02
SimonDoom©
The morning light, streaming through my bedroom window, woke me from a deep sleep.
I was a slow riser, most of the time. I usually did not get out of bed right away, and it often took a few minutes after I awoke for me to get my bearings. This morning, however, I was awake for no more than five seconds before I remembered what had happened the night before: sitting on the sofa with mom, taking photos of her, and masturbating to a photo of her in my room, later, when I realized that one of the photos I had taken showed off her pussy.
I bolted out of bed -- something I never do. I was wearing black boxer briefs, nothing more, and a raging morning hard-on formed a big tent in front. I raced over to my desk and hit the button to turn on my computer monitor. I was reasonably certain the events of last night were not a dream. But I had to be sure.
They weren't. The photo of my mom popped up on the screen, in her gray top and loose gray shorts, her pussy on view in the gap in her shorts in the center of the photo.
My God, I thought.
A light knocking sounded at the door.
"Randy, are you awake?" my mom called softly through the door.
"Yeah, mom, I'll be out in a minute."
"O.K. I'm making some breakfast."
The clock on my computer said it was 7:30. Mom would be leaving for work before long, but I didn't have a class until 11, so I was in no hurry.
My cock had pushed through the fly of my briefs and stood straight and steel-hard above my lap. I couldn't leave my room and face my mom like this. Fortunately, the solution to my problem was spreading her legs on the computer screen in front of me.
I opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle of lotion and some tissue I kept there for, well, occasions like this one. It had taken me a while to clean up the mess I had made at my desk the night before, and I didn't want to do that again.
I pulled the briefs off and held and squeezed the lotion bottle over my cock and watched as the lotion squirted out, making a faint plop, plop, plop sound. Then I stared at my mom on the screen and started stroking up and down my shaft. It took no longer than the night before to release, but this time I was ready and sprayed into a wad of tissues I held over the tip of my cock with my left hand. I tossed the result in the waste basket next to the desk. I turned the computer off -- I didn't want mom see what was on the screen -- and then I pulled on shorts and a t shirt and walked out of my room to see mom in the kitchen.
Mom was at the stove, scraping a spatula over a skillet. The smell of frying bacon lay thick in the air. A few cereal boxes and a carton of milk perched on the counter to the side of the stove, along with bowls, plates, spoons, and forks.
Mom obviously had showered, because her hair fell straight and slightly damp behind her. It looked like hair that had been dried only partly with a few vigorous rubs with a towel. Mom wore a white cotton bath robe. It wasn't the long, plush kind of robe you expect someone to wear after getting out a shower. It was short, hitting about mid-thigh. The material looked thin, and it was imprinted with a waffle pattern. I recognized it as the kind of robe you might wear at a spa—I'd seen that in a magazine somewhere. I thought I recalled dad having bought it for her as a gift. It was a warm morning, and mom had no need to wear anything heavier. A sash was cinched tightly at her narrow waist, accentuating her curves. As far as I could tell, mom wasn't wearing anything beneath the robe. Her feet and legs were bare. The whiteness of the robe accentuated her summer tan. A V of skin showed on her chest where the robe parted between her breasts. She looked good.
Mom looks hot, I said to myself.
"Good morning," she said, turning to me with her big smile.
I walked over to her and wrapped my arms around her and gave her a big hug. She hugged me back tightly with one arm while the other hand still held the spatula. I felt her breasts mashed against my chest, and I knew that she wasn't wearing a bra.
Mom's mood was light and happy. I liked seeing her like that. She was light on her feet and nearly bouncing from one place to another in the kitchen as she made breakfast. I couldn't figure out why her mood was so good, though.
She asked me if I wanted some coffee, and I said no, because I don't drink much coffee. I pulled orange juice out of the refrigerator, poured myself a glass, and started drinking it, all the time watching mom as much as I could, cooking the bacon.
The little white waffle cloth robe accentuated, rather than hid, her body. The tightly cinched sash made the bottom part of the robe flare out, teasing me with the possibility of seeing something I wasn't supposed to see. Or was I? I wondered why mom had decided to wear such a short robe, and, as far as I could tell, nothing else, in front of me. Whatever her reason, I was glad she had done so, because she looked magnificent. The robe exposed a lot of her legs, and with her back turned to me while she was tending to the bacon, I saw a lot of her smooth and lightly muscled thighs. She stood with her legs apart just a little bit. I looked at the gap between her legs where the hem of the robe hit her mid-thigh, and I couldn't help but think that just a few inches above that gap was her pussy, probably uncovered and bare. I didn't know why I thought she wasn't wearing panties -- the robe, though thin, was thick enough that it wouldn't reveal a panty line in any case -- but I had a feeling she wasn't. I felt sure of it.
Mom's pussy. I'd seen it last night, in person, and again last night and this morning on my computer screen. It was the most arousing and exciting thing I had ever seen. And last night I had thought to myself that I wanted to see it again.
I still did. I wanted to see mom's pussy again. I had no idea how it would happen. But I couldn't let go of the vision of it in my mind.
As I mused over my fantasies about mom, she set her spatula down and walked over to the refrigerator.
"Randy, could you grab a couple of plates out of the cabinet over there?" she asked me. She pointed to the opposite side of the kitchen.
"Sure, mom," I said. I moved toward the drawer but I kept my head turned around and focused the other way. I couldn't take my eyes off my mom, who was turned away from me in front of the refrigerator.
She opened the door and leaned over to grab something from the bottom shelf of the refrigerator. And she didn't bend her legs. They remained straight, and when mom bent over at the waist the back of the robe rode up her legs -- up, up, up -- exposing more and more thigh. She paused for a moment in that position while she was fishing around for whatever it was she was looking for, giving me time to savor the view. The back hem of the robe was far up her thighs, so far that it must have been no more than an inch below her pussy, if that.
Then mom very quickly reached a little farther into the refrigerator and grabbed something, and before she moved back I saw it, again -- her pussy. It was just the briefest of flashes. A quick glimpse of just part of her lovely slit under the white robe, and then the glimpse was gone.
I'd seen mom's pussy again, from behind this time.
It's hard to describe what I felt. It was like a clap of thunder shaking my body. It was that powerful. Just the briefest glimpse of a small part of the body, one I had seen many times, in movies, on the Internet, and, less often, in person. But it stirred me down to my bones. The sight of my mom's sweet pussy, brief as it was, had that effect on me. My cock hardened immediately while I pulled the plates out of the cabinet.
Uh oh, I thought. I don't know how I'm going to hide that.
I would do my best.
When the cooking was done, I took my plate of fruit and bacon and bowl of cereal, and a glass of orange juice, to the table. Mom joined me. We sat at the end of the table near the window, and the morning light through the window lit the dining room.
While I ate my breakfast, I snuck glances at mom's figure, and particularly her legs, while I tried to pretend I wasn't looking at her. Mom crossed and uncrossed her legs a lot while we ate, and I kept hoping that the robe would part enough to give me a really good view between her legs. But this time I was disappointed. I saw glimpses of her supple thighs under the robe, but nothing more.
After ten minutes, she got up and said she had to get ready for work.
I watched her butt under the short robe as she walked away, toward her room.
With mom out of the room, I thought about what I had seen. Once again, mom's pussy had come into view. It almost seemed too good to be a coincidence.
Is mom trying to show off to me? I wondered.
It was hard for me to believe that could be true. Although mom had never been shy about wearing skimpy bikinis or athletic outfits around the house, I had never had the sense that she was trying to show off for me. But now, in the span of less than 24 hours, she had exposed her pussy to me three times. I wondered if she was playing a game with me -- if she wanted to show off, without being obvious that she was showing off.
Mom dressed and left the house a little later. With the house empty, and with time to kill before I had to get ready to go to my class at 11 a.m., I had time to think. I couldn't get the image of mom's body, and of her pussy, out of my mind. I wanted to see her pussy again. I couldn't stop thinking about it.
But how would I do it?
Mom's birthday was the next day. She had told me that some of her friends were taking her out for a birthday lunch, but she would be at home with me, just the two of us, in the evening. I had told her I would make her dinner. I liked to cook sometimes, and so long as I stuck to the recipe I usually didn't mess it up too badly. But I hadn't bought a gift for her yet.
That was it. The gift. I had to buy her something that would take this little game to the next step. I started to form a plan.
After thinking more about what I would do, I got dressed, got in my car -- mom's old Hyundai mini-sedan -- and drove to school. My classes were boring. Economics, and then art history. My attention perked up briefly in art history when the professor showed an image of Manet's painting Olympia on the white screen behind her. The image of the nude woman reclining on the bed made me think, Mom would look good like that.
Even in class I couldn't stop thinking about mom being naked.
After two hours of class I was done for the day. Next up was a stint at Best Deal. I had to work until 6.
I liked going to work. I enjoyed the job. It suited me. The Best Deal store was a vast, modern cavern filled with expensive appliances and teeming with people who needed a little convincing to buy them. My job was to convince them they should. I worked mostly in the television department; I'd been selling TVs for the previous four months, and already I was one of the better salesmen on the floor.
When I got the job, my boss, Mario, explained that my job wasn't to sell TVs. My job was to talk to customers and help them see what they needed. The TV was just the thing to fulfill the need.
Some guys never got it. They never figured out how to connect to the customer, so no matter how well they knew stuff about the TVs, they couldn't sell them. But I did figure out. It came naturally to me. Instead of just talking about the TVs, I'd chat them up and figure out what motivated them to want a TV. Once I did that, selling the TV was easy.
Just the week before, a guy in a Dallas Cowboys t-shirt had come in. I found out he wanted to get a bigger TV for a Cowboys game he'd invited a bunch of friends to his house to see that weekend. We didn't talk about TVs; we talked about football. We talked about the type of artificial turf Jerry Jones had installed in the stadium. By the end of the conversation I had convinced him there was no way he could enjoy the game without being able to see every artificial grass blade, and every crease in the cheerleaders' uniforms, with the highest resolution possible. I ended up selling him a 70-inch ultra- high definition model with dynamic range and the home theater speaker package. It sold for a lot of money. My boss was pleased. I made a nice commission, too.
Today, though, I was a little off my game, because I was so distracted with thoughts of mom. I sold two TVs, but I also let a customer get away. I kept thinking about how I could see more of mom.
It occurred to me that I could put the principles of my job to work: I needed to find out what motivated her. I had to find out what mom needed, what she wanted.
I had to figure out if mom wanted to show off to me. And, if she did, why she did.
I got off work at 5 p.m. By that time I knew where I wanted to go before going home. I drove to another store not far away. It was a high-end women's sportswear boutique. I knew what I was looking for, more or less, and it didn't take me long to find it. I stopped at another store next door, and purchased something there as well. My birthday shopping was done. I headed home.
I entered the front door carefully to make sure mom wouldn't see the bags from the stores at which I'd shopped. She wasn't there. I scurried to my room and hid the presents under my bed.
I left my room and walked to the kitchen, and I saw mom walking from her room as well. She must have finished a yoga routine in her room, because she was dressed for it: form fitting pale blue shorts that stopped high on her thigh, and tight-fitting t shirt with abbreviated sleeves, and nothing else. She was bare-footed.
She stretched her arms up and out to hug me, pulling up the little hem of the t shirt, and exposing a band of her taut, smooth tummy to my view. The shorts lay very low on her waist.
"How was your day, sweetie?" she asked me.
"It was fine, mom. Sold a few TVs." We hugged briefly.
Mom turned around and walked into the kitchen to make some dinner. My eyes strayed to her butt. I saw no sign of a panty line, but since mom wore thongs (I'd seen them often enough in the dryer), it was difficult to tell whether she was wearing anything under the shorts or not. Panties or no, her butt was a delicious sight: perky, firm, and perfectly rounded. At the sight of it, my cock started to swell under my pants.
Nothing exciting happened that evening. I helped mom make dinner, and we chatted about life and movies and her turning 41. My birthday was coming up soon; I would be turning 20, and we talked about what a milestone that was, too. I confirmed with mom that I would be making a birthday dinner for her the next night.
Throughout dinner, whenever mom turned away from me for whatever reason, I snuck peeks at her legs, her breasts, and her thin waist. I tried to be discreet; I didn't want her to see that I was ogling her. I couldn't tell if I was fully successful. A few times, she turned back quickly, and I think her eyes caught mine looking away. I couldn't be sure.
I helped her clean up dinner, and I walked off to my room to finish work for my classes the next day. I wanted to get everything done so that I could devote the next day to preparing for mom's birthday. When I finished my work, I went to bed.
The next day passed quickly. I had three classes in the morning, but no work that afternoon -- I'd made arrangements with Mario beforehand to get the day off so I could prepare for mom's birthday. I wanted everything to be right for her. I wrapped the gifts, signed the card, swept the floors and straightened up in the kitchen and dining room, and, finally, cooked dinner.
Mom got home from work in early evening, at the expected time.
"Happy birthday, mom!" I called to her as she walked through the door.
I kissed her, innocently, lightly on the side of her lips, and gave her a vigorous hug.
"Dinner is just about ready," I told her. "Why don't you freshen up and I'll have things ready when you come out?"
"This is so nice of you, Randy," she said. She scampered off to her bedroom.
Dinner was nearly ready, and needed just a few touches to make it complete. I turned off lights and lit candles already set in place. The dining room table was set.
I didn't have a lot of experience in the kitchen, but I knew how to follow a recipe. I felt pretty good about the meal I'd cooked for mom.
My preparations were done, so I walked to her room and knocked on her door. "Mom," I called softly. "Dinnertime." I thought about how many times she'd made that call for me and felt good about having returned the favor just a little.
I heard movement behind mom's bedroom door, and then it opened and mom came out.
She was dressed casually but elegantly, in a simple white sleeveless dress that fit snugly on the top but flared out a little at the waist and stopped a few inches above the knee. Her legs were bare and she wore white, low-heeled sandals that matched her dress. The mold of the dress to her breasts made me think at once that she probably wasn't wearing a bra. Her blondish hair fell around her shoulders.
I offered my arm and she took it and I escorted her to the dining room. I showed her her place and pulled out her chair for her.
When I set dinner in front of her, I was pleased to see that mom was impressed. I had set a bouquet of red roses in a glass vase on the table.
"Randy, the flowers are beautiful!" she said. "You didn't have to do that.'
"I didn't have to, but I wanted to," I said.
I set the plate with the food in front of her. I was no chef, but I did well that night. I'd pulled the recipes from one of mom's cookbooks. Dinner consisted of slices of roast lamb, garlic mashed potatoes, and asparagus with hollandaise sauce. The sauce had been tricky, but I pulled it off, and when I set the plate in front of mom I could tell she was impressed. Her eyes widened and she let out a long "oooooh."
I had turned off the overhead lights; our dinner was lit up only by candles burning on our table and on a side table in the dining room.
I wasn't old enough to buy wine, but I'd taken a bottle of red wine from mom's pantry and brought it out, and before we ate I poured some of it into her glass, and then into mine.
I sat down for a birthday dinner with my mom. Mom was a beauty in any light, but in the flickering candlelight her beauty was magical. I raised a glass to toast her.
"Happy birthday to the best mom in the world," I said.
"Thank you so much, Randy," she said, her eyes shining and watery. I thought she might cry. "I'm overwhelmed. I can't believe you did this."
"I enjoyed it, mom," I said. "You do so much for me, it seemed like a little thing to do this, and it was kind of fun to cook the food."
I've always liked food. I mean, who doesn't like to eat? But until that night, I'd never thought of food, or eating, as something sensual or sexual. But watching mom slowly and carefully cut a slice of lamb and raise it to her full lips with her fork changed the way I thought about food forever. It was as though every one of my senses, for the first time in my life, had been turned on and amplified to the highest pitch possible. I noticed the squeak of the knife on her plate as she cut a piece from the lamb. I noticed the twinkling of light reflecting off her knife in the candlelight, and the contrast of mom's tanned skin and her white dress. I noticed the way the aroma of the food wafting up from the plate mixed with the smell of burning candle wicks. Most of all, I noticed the way mom's eyes widened with pleasure when she tasted the food I'd cooked for her.
Dinner was quieter than I expected, but in a good way. We didn't say a lot, but that was because we were both enjoying eating. I knew mom enjoyed it, because while she didn't say a lot during dinner she did praise the food I had cooked for her.
"Randy, this lamb is wonderful," she said. "Everything is delicious. I had no idea you were such a good cook. You're going to have to cook more of the meals from now on." We both laughed.
"I don't think your dad ever cooked a meal for me like this in 20 years of marriage," she said. "I'm sure he didn't."
Mom swallowed a forkful of asparagus and munched it with her eyes closed. A dollop of sauce spilled from between her lips and dribbled down her chin. I don't know why, but there was something mesmerizing about it -- the sauce I'd cooked tracing a crooked path from her lips and stopping at her pert chin. I couldn't take my eyes off it.
When she opened her eyes she noticed I was staring at her.
"What are you looking at?" she asked.
"Oh, you have a little . . . " I said and I held my finger to my chin to indicate where the sauce was.
"Oh," she said and picked up her napkin.
"No, wait," I said. "Let me."
I leaned forward and reached across the table and put my finger to her chin and swept up the drop of sauce. Then I put the tip of my finger to her lips. I didn't think about what I was doing; I just did it. Mom didn't hesitate. She accepted my gesture graciously and eagerly. She opened her lips and I pressed my finger forward. Her lips closed around my outstretched finger and sucked the sauce off of it with a tender smacking sound.
She closed her eyes for a moment as her lips caressed my finger. I wondered if she was imagining herself somewhere else, or if she imagined her lips on something else. When she reopened her eyes, she had pulled her lips off my finger.
Until that moment, I had never imagined I could be so aroused by the touch of my finger to a woman's lips. But I was. The electricity of the moment engulfed and surrounded me. And I think mom felt it too. Her eyes were wide and they didn't leave mine.
After that, we ate in silence for a while. Mom didn't say anything, other than to exclaim from time to time how much she liked the food I had cooked for her. I had to admit, dinner had turned out well, but I enjoyed mom's reaction more than I enjoyed the taste of the food.
When we got up the urge to talk again, we talked about food, and about birthdays (mine was coming up soon, so we talked about that for a while), and I talked about my classes and what I might take the next semester.
When it was time for dessert I pulled out a small cake I'd kept on the kitchen counter. I'd bought it at a store earlier that day. I lit candles and sang "Happy Birthday" to my mom, whose eyes and smile shined and flickered in the dim dining room light. We finished the cake quickly.
When we were done with cake I took the plates to the kitchen, and then I gestured to mom to join me in the living room. We sat on the sofa together, again, where we had been a few nights before when she had exposed herself in her little shorts.
This time, mom sat in her white dress in bare feet with her legs up on the sofa and folded under her. I set two colorful gift bags in front of her, and a card peeking out from one of them.
"Here you go, mom," I said. "Open the card and then that one first."
She took her time reading the card. It wasn't anything special, but I could tell she was touched. Then she pulled the first bag toward her and reached into it.
I was nervous about the gifts I'd bought her. I had a feeling about mom, and I wanted to test if my feeling was right, and I thought the gifts I'd bought would help me find out. But I was worried I was wrong, that mom would be offended or angry about the gifts, and that she might think I had overstepped my boundaries with her.
She pulled the presents out of the first bag. She pulled out, one after the other, a pair of running shorts and a running bra. They matched -- both were blue and black. The shorts were form-fitting, and quite brief. The bra provided ample coverage and support to make mom comfortable, but I knew it still would expose plenty of cleavage and the skin of her taut torso. I knew when I bought the gift that I was taking a risk -- that mom might think it too skimpy to wear, or that it would bother her that I'd bought her something so skimpy. I didn't want her to disapprove. But I thought the risk was worth taking.
Mom didn't react right away. She held the shorts up in one hand and the bra in the other and looked both over carefully. I don't think she knew how to respond. I decided to jump in and explain before she reacted more.
"We were talking the other day about your needing a new running outfit," I said. "So I thought you could use something like this."
Mom's eyes grew wide and she looked at me with a wry smile.
"It's skimpy!" she said. "Am I supposed to go running in that?"
"Of course you are, mom," I said. "Lots of women run in outfits like that. I see women out on the trail dressed in something like that all the time. And they're not as good-looking as you are."
"Well, thanks, Randy," she said. "Is this because of the conversation we had the other night?"
"Yeah," I said. "I don't want you to feel like you are over the hill. You're not. You're very pretty mom, and you should dress in things that make you feel that way. And if you put a photo of yourself in that outfit on your online dating profile, you are going to get a lot of attention."
"Maybe," she said. "I just hope it's good attention."
"Don't worry. Now try the other package.
She picked up the other package, put her fingers in it, and pulled out the contents. It was a bikini, bright red and very small. Not just small, but tiny-small. At the store, I'd seen it on a mannequin, and I immediately had imagined it on my mom's body. I'd never seen her wear a bikini that small. I knew it would be risky, and that it might seem a little strange for her son to buy her such a small swim suit. But from the moment I saw it in the store I was fixated on the idea of seeing her in it. I knew she would look askance at it and at me, so I'd rehearsed what to say when she saw it for the first time.
"That is a very small swimsuit, Randy," she said to me in a soft voice, not taking her eyes off it as she turned it over in her hands.
"I know it is, mom," I said. "I was thinking about what you said the other night. I felt bad about you thinking that you were old, or not attractive. Mom, you are still very young, and you can act like it. I think you should get out there and start dating. And dress and act like the beautiful woman you are. Besides, you can get a better tan in a swimsuit this size."
I hoped I was sounding convincing. Mom seemed a little skeptical as she held up the bikini and scanned the red fabric.
"Well, it's a good brand," she said. "And the quality seems to be good." She touched the fabric between her fingers. "But I'm not sure I can pull this off at 40. I appreciate the vote of confidence. Maybe I'll try it out here at home and see what I think before wearing it out in public."
"That sounds like a good idea," I said. "Now, let me give you a birthday hug.
"Happy birthday, mom," I said as I hugged her. Her firm breasts mashed against my chest as we embraced, and my dick stiffened.
"You're very sweet, Randy," she said. "This evening was wonderful -- the dinner, the roses, the presents. You're a very thoughtful son."
"Thanks, mom," I said. "You're a wonderful mom and I wanted to show some appreciation."
"Well, you did. You did a great job. Now I hope I can pull off wearing these clothes you bought. They are skimpy."
"I'm sure you can, mom," I said.
She gestured at the running shorts and top lying next to her on the sofa. "You don't think that outfit's a little small for me to be running around the neighborhood in?" she asked.
"No," I said. "You are a serious runner. You want to wear something light and comfortable. It's functional. And you'll look great. Don't worry about it."
I had had an idea for what I wanted to do next in the evening, but I made it sound like an idea that had just come to me.
"I have an idea, mom," I said. "Why don't you put on the running outfit, and I'll take a few photos of you. You can see if you like how you look, and if it looks good you can use some photos for your online dating profile?"
Her face showed she was skeptical. I wasn't sure if it was because of uncertainty about how it would look on her or because of discomfort with posing for me.
"Well, I don't know, Randy. How would you want me to pose?"
"Just some nice, athletic shots, that will show you how you look in the outfit. And I could use some photos like that for the portfolio I need for my photography class at school."
"You're going to show these photos to other people?" she asked, concern on her face.
"Only if you approve," I said. "I'll take the photos and put them on my computer. Then you can look at them and see if you like them. O.K.?"
My earnestness and enthusiasm appeared to be winning her over and beating back her reluctance.
"O.K., I'll give it a try," she said. "Should I go put this on now?" She held it up.
I was in my photographer mode now, and I knew how to direct her. I recalled mom's readiness to follow my posing directions the previous night on the sofa and knew that once I got her going she would be more comfortable and responsive in posing for me.
"Take the shorts and top and put them on, and come back here. I'll get my camera and straighten up the room and get it ready for the photos."
With that instruction, I went to my room and she went to hers, the little running outfit clutched in one hand.
I had a fairly good DSLR camera back in my room that I'd bought on an employee discount from the Best Deal store where I worked. I fetched it. Although it was night time, I left the flash behind. The living room was well lit and I wanted to work just with the ambient light. The light was good, I thought. There was enough overhead light to ensure the photos wouldn't be too grainy, and the light from the candles and lamps would provide some interesting side lighting.
I adjusted the settings of the camera. Then I picked up the birthday packaging and set it aside so it wouldn't spoil the photos.
I heard soft footsteps on the floor and looked up and saw mom. She was wearing the little running outfit.
Mom looked a little tentative, a little nervous. But she didn't need to. She looked like a fitness goddess -- lean and sculpted but with skin that still was soft and supple. The shorts sat low on her waist and high on her thighs, accentuating long, shapely legs and a toned and defined torso. The bra top was more substantial and provided more coverage than a normal bra would, but it still revealed a fair amount of cleavage, and the effect of the firm, compressive material was to push her boobs up and together, accentuating the depth of the groove between them. Mom's dark blond hair flowed over her bare shoulders and down her back.
"Mom, you look great," I said to boost her confidence. "These are going to be great. We've got good light, too." I gestured around the room.
Though she looked amazing, mom seemed timid. She held her hands, clasped together, in front of her tummy. She acted like she didn't know where to go or what to do.
"Do you think this looks O.K.?" she asked.
I knew mom was feeling exposed and uncomfortable and that I had to do what I could to boost her confidence.
"Better than O.K., mom," I answered. "Trust me, you look wonderful. Now come over here, and I'll take some photos of you on the sofa."
Mom walked over to the sofa, still holding her hands together in front of her, and sat down on the sofa.
"I'm going to start with a profile photo," I said. "Just sit upright on the sofa, hands on your lap, and smile at me. Cock your head to the side just a little. Not that much. Yes, that's right."
Following my instructions seemed to give mom heart. She sat up straight and looked directly at me.
"Now give me a big smile," I said. She did. It was a great smile.
I took a few photos of her in that position. Then I got another idea. I walked over to the dining room and pulled a long stem red rose from the vase and walked back and handed it to her.
"Now," I said, "Hold the base of the stem of the rose, and hold it against you, with it just under your chin."
She did so.
"Excellent. I'll take a few shots." That's what I did. Mom was getting more comfortable. I was giving her easy poses to do, and her smile lit up with the brilliant red rose in her hand. She didn't have to pose; she was just sitting straight up, smiling into the camera lens. The rose added an appropriate romantic touch to the scene.
"That's great, mom, good smile. Now turn to the side a little, not quite 45 degrees. That's it. Shoulders back."
I was getting into it. It was fun taking charge of a photoshoot, even a strictly amateur one like this. It was doubly fun being able to tell my mom what to do and having her do it all, promptly and without reservation or hesitation.
The first few poses I had her strike were completely innocent, but it was impossible to avoid noticing how sexy mom looked in the short shorts and bra top. The mounds of her breasts strained against the tight-fitting bra. I wanted to set the camera to the side and just stare at her. But, of course, I couldn't do that. I kept up a steady patter of instructions and small talk to put her at ease and pose her, and to distract myself from the way mom's hot body was making me feel.
Then I decided to ramp up the sexiness of the shoot a little. I had mom lie back on the sofa, head against the pillow, arms bent and over her, one hand crossing over the other through the blond waves of her hair. I had her extend one leg in front of her (not fully straight, of course), and bend the other leg. Mom knew without coaching to point her toes, and I even noticed those for the first time in my life. I have my share of fetishes -- I'm a guy -- but feet had never done anything for me. But now, there was just something about mom's feet -- the curve of the instep, the thin ankles, the perfectly proportioned and -- it appeared -- freshly painted toenails.
I imagined my lips around one of those toes, spreading over it and taking it fully in my mouth and swirling my tongue around it. And as soon as I thought it I did everything I could to purge the thought. I had more photographs to take, and I didn't want to give away the rising temperature of my feelings for mom in that moment.
Lying back on the sofa, mom pushed her chest out an inch or two -- she really was getting the hang of posing with minimal instructions -- and looked squarely into the lens. She turned her face down just slightly, looking up at me through thick eyelashes, and she let her lips part without smiling. It was a seductive look, no doubt about it. I didn't think mom meant anything by it, but the look seduced me, anyway. I took my time over that pose, and took several shots.
I wanted to push the boundary more.
"Let's stand up now, mom," I said.
"Where do you want me?" she said. I had to try hard not to show her how I was letting her words sink in.
"Over there by the wall," I said. "Where it's uncluttered. Put your back against the wall, and your hands down and against the wall, and now move your hips away, and bend your legs. Get up on the balls of your feet, bend one leg slightly across the other, and point a toe. "
I kept running through the instructions quickly, in part because I thought if I slowed down mom might start wondering whether she really wanted to strike such a sexy pose for her son's camera. It seemed to work because mom had no objection, and she gave me another sexy, slightly opened mouth expression, as before.
The outfit was perfect for her, and she looked perfect in it. Sculpted but feminine, lean and curvy, sporty and graceful: she was all these things in one.
She seemed to be enjoying herself as well. She took instructions easily and even improvised on my directions, adding gestures and poses.
"Mom, you're a natural at this," I said. "Did you pose for dad? I remember him taking a lot of photos."
"I did some posing for your father," she said with a grin and a look that said she was thinking about the poses she struck.
I kept talking as I snapped photos of her.
"Can I see them?" I asked.
"You can see some of them," she said, the grin bigger now. "Some of them I can't show you."
"Oh!" I said. "I had no idea, mom. I don't mean to pry."
"You're not prying. It's O.K. I haven't thought about those photos he took in a while."
She seemed to like thinking about them, and I wondered how dad had posed her. I was getting hard again.
Now I had another thing on my checklist. I wanted to see the photos dad had taken of mom -- even the ones I wasn't meant to see.
"Let's go over here to the table," I told her. "Put your hands on the back of the chair, turn partly to the side, but with your back to me, and get up on the balls of your feet."
"Are you trying to take a photo of my butt?" she asked, looking at me with eyebrows raised high.
"It's not a butt shot," I said. "It's a shot of your back and your figure from the back." I think I sounded convincing. Mom paused a few seconds before taking up the pose.
Mom turned her butt toward me, her feet apart and her torso twisted part-way to the left so she could hold the back of the chair and look because over her shoulder at me.
From that angle she looked magnificent. The fabric of the little shorts looked like no more than the thinnest layer of black paint over the hard, perfect mounds of her ass. The muscles of her legs were tensed under smooth, taut skin. She rose as high as she could on the balls of her feet, causing her calf muscles to pop out noticeably. Her back was uncovered, save for the three-inch strap of her running bra.
Mom looked back over her shoulder at me with an expression similar to the one from before -- chin down slightly, eyes upturned through thick eyelashes.
I took a few photos of her in that position.
I could see from my view point that mom was conflicted. She enjoyed posing and having her picture taken, but with every passing minute that she was on display in her skimpy outfit the challenge to her sense of propriety grew. I wanted to get as many sexy shots of mom as I could, but I also wanted to end the shoot before she was too uncomfortable.
After a few photos of her with her backside to me I decided to end the shoot.
"Mom, that was great," I said. "I think we got some good shots. I think that's enough for now."
With the photo shoot done, I told mom I would clean up the dinner, but she insisted on helping me. We picked the dishes up off the table together and moved into the kitchen to clean the mess off the dishes. I told her I would do it by myself, but she seemed determined to stay near me and help me. I don't know why, exactly, but I had the feeling she enjoyed lingering near me in the skimpy shorts and bra I had bought her.
When we were done cleaning up in the kitchen, we parted. Mom went to her room and I went to mine.
I wanted, before her birthday was done, to deliver copies of the photos I'd taken of her to her. I downloaded the photos on the camera to my computer, and then I saved them to a handy flash drive I'd kept in a drawer. The copying took almost no time, and when it was done I grabbed the flash drive out of the socket in the computer and walked down the hallway to my mom's room. I wanted mom to be able to see herself -- to see how youthful and attractive she looked in the shorts and bra top I'd given her.
The door to mom's room was open just a crack, so I pushed it open all the way and walked in without knocking or announcing myself.
My mom stood naked in the middle of her room, facing me. She was just stepping out of the tiny running shorts, which lay on the floor at her feet.
She looked even better than I had imagined her. Her body was sculpted and lean, but shapely. Her breasts were full and round, her nipples pink and succulent. Her pubic hair was light and well-trimmed, and it left her pussy fully exposed to me. I saw the outline of thin lips dangling in the gap between her slender thighs.
Mom saw me and let out a shriek.
"Randy!" she cried.
Her left hand flew down between her legs, and her right hand swept across her chest to cover her breasts. In a second she had covered her tits and pussy.
But not completely. Her right arm, though she held it across her body, was positioned just under her right nipple, leaving it half exposed. The fingers of her right hand were over the left nipple, but the fingers were apart, not pressed together, leaving glimpses of pink areola and nipple on view between them. The left hand was pressed down between her legs, but the fingers were off to the side just a bit, leaving some of her pubic hair -- and, I thought, a little bit of her pussy lip -- still on view.
She didn't move. She just stood there, semi-covered.
"Randy, what are you doing? You can see I'm . . . I was getting dressed."
I guess the proper thing to do would have been immediately to turn around and run out of the room with an apology. But I didn't do that. I just stood there, openly staring at her almost nude body.
"Mom, I'm sorry," I said. "I told you I'd show you the photos so I put them on a flash drive to give them to you. Here it is."
I stretched my arm out to her with the flash drive between my fingers. I was so mesmerized by the sight of mom naked in front of me that I wasn't thinking clearly. Obviously, she wasn't going to pull her hands away from her body to grab the flash drive.
She didn't. She kept covered up -- sort of. Her arms over her body weren't completely still, and as she moved them I caught glimpses of her tits and pussy left exposed in the gaps between her fingers.
I was aware that the chivalrous and proper thing to do was to stop looking and leave the room. But I wanted to keep looking at her. Mom was naked. I liked seeing her naked and I didn't want to stop seeing her naked.
"I can't exactly take that from you, Randy," she said. "Why don't you just leave it on the dresser over there." She inclined her head to the side to indicate where she wanted me to take it.
I walked over to the dresser and set the flash drive down on top of it. Then I turned around. Mom had not changed her position; she still was facing the bedroom door, so I now was looking at her from the side. She was covering her front, but her petite bubble butt was uncovered and on display from the side, and the way she stood she pushed it out a little, making the profile view of her all the more delicious.
I didn't want to be lewd, but I didn't want to stop looking at her, either.
"Mom, I'm really sorry about this. Really. I'll knock next time," I said.
"That's O.K."
I just stood there for a few moments looking at her, and I noticed that the side of her left boob was completely uncovered. The shape of it was perfect, I thought.
"I'm going to go," she said.
With that, she turned around and walked quickly and awkwardly to the bathroom. I saw her naked butt for the first time, completely uncovered. I looked down to the space between her thighs, hoping to catch another sight of her pussy, but she was too quick and it was hidden.
"I'm sorry again, mom," I said, and I left her room.
I closed the door behind me, but it didn't close all the way. It remained open, just a crack.
I paused right outside her door and thought about what I'd seen. I'd seen my mom naked. Fully naked. Her tits, her ass, and her pussy -- all on view to me.
I was rock hard again. I knew what I needed to do. I ran to my room.
Two minutes later I had exploded into a wad of tissue paper.
I sat in the chair at my desk for a long time, with my cock in my hand. Thoughts of my naked mom were driving me crazy, even after I had come.
After a while, I put my shorts on. I opened my bedroom door, and the lights were out. It appeared that mom had gone to bed for the night.
I was thirsty so I walked to the kitchen to get a glass of water. As I approached, I could hear a noise coming from mom's side of the house. I hadn't heard it before, and I didn't recognize it.
I tip-toed down the hall, toward her room. The door was closed. When I got close to the door, I realized it wasn't completely closed; it still was open, just a crack, as before.
The noise came from inside mom's bedroom. It was a low, steady buzz. I still couldn't tell what it was.
Then I heard mom let out a soft, low moan, and I understood the source of the buzzing sound.
It's a vibrator, I thought. Mom was getting herself off with a vibrator.
My cock responded, again, tenting out against my shorts. The idea that on the other side of the thin door -- a door that wasn't even fully closed -- my hot mom was probably naked and lying on the bed, probably with her legs open and with a vibrator pressed down on her clit or pushed inside her pussy, was incredibly arousing. I had orgasmed in my room not long before, but the thought of mom masturbating made my cock spring back to life.
I pulled the shorts down, below my cock, watching it jump up and forward. Then I decided to pull them off altogether. I did so very quietly. As long as she didn't hear me, there wasn't much chance she was going to come to the door while her vibrator was buzzing.
I stood completely naked outside mom's door, my head inclined to the crack in the door so I could hear her better, and I started stroking myself. I was trying to be very quiet about it. Already, things were crazy enough; I didn't need to have her catch me beating off to the sound of her vibrating herself.
I heard the steady buzz, and mom's low moaning at regular intervals. I started stroking in sync with her moaning.
Her moaning increased in pitch; now it sounded more like an urgent, needy whine. It was louder, and faster. I sped up my stroking to keep pace.
Then I heard her say something. I couldn't tell what. I leaned to the door more closely.
"Randy . . . " I heard her say.
Shit, I thought.
"You shouldn't look at me like that," she said. "You shouldn't see your mom naked."
Wow, I thought. My mom is masturbating herself with a vibrator while thinking about me looking at her.
I heard her say my name again, and then again. Then she moaned again, still faster and at a higher pitch. Then I heard the high-pitched "unh . . . unh . . . unh" that told me she was about to come.
I noticed with a start that I was about to come, too. If I didn't act fast I was going to spray cum all over the carpet outside her room. I couldn't do that.
I scooped my shorts up with my left hand and held my right hand fast to my cock and ran awkwardly toward the bathroom off the hallway. I could feel the cum welling up inside ready to burst out, and I applied my fist to my cock like a tourniquet to keep it from doing so. I didn't want to pour my jism all over the floor.
I stumbled into the bathroom and ran, as quietly as I could, to the sink. I loosened my grip on my hard shaft and watched as another gusher of cum sprayed into the bathroom sink. I kept milking my cock until it was emptied of cum.
A big mess of it lay all over and around the sink.
I couldn't turn the water on without the risk of mom hearing me. So I scooped up a roll of toilet paper and mopped up my cum as well as I could. I couldn't flush it down without making noise, and if I put it in the trash mom might see it later. So I grabbed the mess of tissue, peeked my head out the bathroom to make sure the coast still was clear, and then tiptoed off as quietly as I could to my room.
I dumped the tissue in the waste basket in my room. I stripped my shorts off and fell into bed naked.
I lay in bed for a while, holding my cock and thinking about my mom.
I had wanted to see my mom naked again, and I had, but I hadn't expected so many crazy things to happen. It seemed like things were accelerating, out of control. I still had no idea where all this was going, but I wanted to find out. I wanted to see more of my mom.
And, too, another thought was taking shape in my mind: that maybe, just maybe, mom wanted me to see her as well. Maybe my desire was more than just a bedtime fantasy.
With thoughts and fantasies of my hot mom crowding my brain, I slowly drifted off to sleep.
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