บท 1779: @5
Wishing he could sleep with his mother, Michael wished he could draw his mother a bubble bath before giving her a full body massage.
As if he had a medical condition, terminal horniness, Michael was forever horny, especially when alone with his mother in the way that he was alone with her now. As if she was another woman other than his mother, he watched her slowly cross and uncross her legs in the way that Sharon Stone did when flashing her naked pussy to the police detectives interrogating her in Basic Instinct. In the way that he saw Sharon Stone's naked pussy in the movie, he'd love to see his mother's naked pussy now. Only, she was too much of a lady not to wear panties, especially when sitting across from him, nonetheless he was content seeing flashes of her panties.
Such an erotic sight to see, he loved seeing up-skirt peeks of his mother's bright white, bikini panties. As if she was sexually teasing him by deliberately flashing him, whenever she crossed her legs in that slow, sexy way, he gave her shapely legs his full and undivided attention. His reward for appreciating his mother, whenever she slowly and sexily crossed her long, shapely legs like that, expecting her to do so, she always flashed him a patch of her white, sheer, bikini panties.
'I love seeing flashes of my mother's panties,' he thought while enjoying the view.
When she mindlessly crossed her legs ever so slowly as if she was lost in thought and was alone in the room, he wondered if she knew she was flashing him her panties and had flashed him her panties. He wondered if she forgot that he was sitting across from her. Wishing she was deliberately flashing him her panties, a game of exhibitionism and voyeurism that he enjoyed playing with his mother, he couldn't help but wonder if she intentionally flashed him. He'd love nothing more than for his mother to be an exhibitionist. He'd love nothing more than for his mother to be a slutty, incestuous whore.
'No, she's not like that. She's not an exhibitionist,' he thought. 'She's not a slut or a whore. She's my loving mother. She'd never give me incestuous sex,' he said while sadly lamenting his sexual frustration that he could no longer hide from his mother. He only wished his mother sexually wanted him as much as he sexually wanted her.
He didn't believe his mother was an exhibitionist even though he wished she was. Morally modest, he believed her flashing him her panties, her cleavage, and her bra was unintentional, inadvertent, and accidental. A good woman, a kind Christian woman, and a somewhat religious woman, that is whenever she attended church, she's not slutty enough to sexually tease him and deliberately flash him any part of her sexy and shapely body.
Even though he wished she'd purposely flash him, she'd never flash him or anyone her panties or her bra and cleavage on purpose. It sexually excited him to think of her as an exhibitionist whore. It sexually excited him to think of her flashing him and other unsuspecting men her shapely and sexy legs, her panties, the tops of her meaty breasts, her bra, and her long, line of sexy cleavage. Alas, if only she enjoyed exposing herself, he imagined all the sexy flashing fun they could have in the car and at the mall.
He'd love for his mother to flash her naked breasts to unsuspecting truckers on the highway and her panties to the tollbooth collector on the way to the mall. He'd love for his mother to flash her panties to the shoe stores salesman while lifting her leg and trying to fit her foot in a pair of boots a size too small. He'd love her to wear a short skirt and bend at the waist in front of the men behind her while on the escalator on the pretense of fixing her shoe. He'd love for his mother to try on clothes in a dressing room that had curtains instead of doors and without closing the curtain all the way.
'How hot would that be if my Mom was an exhibitionist? How hot would that be if my Mom enjoyed purposely flashing me and other unsuspecting men her panties? How hot would that be if my Mom purposely flashed me and other unsuspecting men her long, line of sexy cleavage and her low-cut bra? In the way that I'm a voyeur, I wish my Mom was an exhibitionist,' he thought.
If only harmless fun to have that thought that she deliberately flashed him, what if she was an exhibitionist and deliberately flashed him? Yet, if she was an exhibitionist and deliberately flashed him, she would have flashed him more than just her panties. She would have flashed him her naked tits, her naked ass, her naked pussy, and/or her entire naked body. If his mother was an exhibitionist and had deliberately flashed him, he would have seen much more of her than just her panties, cleavage, and bra.
Wishing his mother would deliberately flash him and/or was deliberately flashing him, how hot would that be for him to play a sexually exciting game of exhibitionism and voyeurism with his MILF of a mother? If she deliberately flashed him, he'd love to return the favor and deliberately flash her too. Only, women weren't sexually aroused by a man flashing them their cocks in the way that men were turned on by women flashing them their asses, pussies, and tits. Nonetheless, if she was unable to give him incestuous sex, a sexy game they could play, he wouldn't mind a bit of sexual teasing, flashing, and roleplaying. How hot would that be to have some sexy fun with Mom?
* * * * *
Returning to his senses while hoping that the wine worked its magic on his mother to suspend her lack of awareness of inadvertently flashing him her panties, he felt like such a pervert for incestuously lusting over his mother. What's wrong with him to sexually lust over his mother? What's wrong with him for wanting to have incestuous sex with her beautiful, naked body? Only, if anyone saw how beautiful and how sexy his mother looked tonight, they'd be sexually lusting over her too. He had always been sexually lusting over his mother and, now with them always together, it wasn't until after she divorced his father that his sexual lust for her grew.
Nothing new, with her such a good woman, he had lusted over her for so long that he couldn't remember when he didn't lust over her. She had always been a MILF and when his father decided to leave her, good riddance, was when he decided to return home to live with her. With his father such a nasty, foul, and angry, drunken man, he never would had returned home if his father was still in the picture. Now with them alone and always together without his father there to ruin things, as if they were a couple instead of mother and son, he hoped to see more of her beautiful body than he had ever seen of her before.
No longer having his father in the way to ruin his exhibitionism, he hoped to flash his mother his prick in the way she flashed him her panties. He walked around the house in his pajama bottoms without underwear or a robe. He hoped his mother was just as horny, sexually frustrated, and sexually interested in him as he was horny, sexually frustrated, and sexually interested in her. In the way he stared at her panties, she stared at the bulging impression his semi-erect prick made in his pajama bottoms.
More than once, he caught his mother looking at the impression his swaying, dangling cock made in his pajama bottoms. More than once, his erect prick made a surprise appearance when he was leaning over her. More than once his cock popped out of his pajama pee hole when cuddling with her on the couch while watching a movie. She pretended not to notice his stiff dick but he saw her look.
"For Christ sakes, Kimberly, put on your bathrobe. Michael can see everything you own through that sheer nightgown," said her husband as if she was his daughter instead of his wife.
Spoiling his fun, he remembered his father scolding his mother whenever she showed too much skin. Now, he no longer had his father's sexual and incestuous censorship in the way to ruin their sexy fun of voyeurism and exhibitionism. There was no one to make her feel guilty with how she was inappropriately dressed in front of him. As far as he was concerned, he'd love for his mother to walk around him in her bra and panties, topless, and/or naked but she'd never too that.
With his father always insisting that she wear a robe over her sexy nightgowns, unless she was answering the front door, she seldom wore a robe now. Then, again, with her having no reason for her to wear a sexy nightgown to bed, other than a short skirt and a low-cut blouse, she seldom wore anything sexually provocative. Once in a great while, when her nightgowns were all in the wash, she'd wear one of his shirts to bed or, as a last resort, one of her sexy nightgowns.
Back then, an 18-year-old, high school senior, obviously unbeknownst to her, he was always trying to see whatever he could see of his mother to masturbate over later. Only, in the way that his mother innocently walked around him, in the way that she'd never walk around any man but her husband, his Dad took offense of his wife showing their son any part of her sexy body. In the way that his mother was guiltfree about how she dressed in front of her own son, his father had a dirty mind, one of the few things that he inherited from his Dad.
Who knows? Maybe if he had paid the attention to his 18-year-old girlfriend that he paid to his 42-year-old mother, at the time, he'd still be with Jessica. Maybe Jessica never would have taken up with his father if he was giving her all the sexual attention that she obviously wanted and needed. Yet, glad to be rid of her, his ex-girlfriend was a real head case. She loved getting drunk and high and he didn't. With his father's love for alcohol, Dad was obviously the better man for her. He returned his focus back to his mother.
* * * * *
"What can I do to cheer you up, Mom? Just tell me, you name it, and I'll do whatever you ask. This is your special day, Valentine's Day. You're the one who always so loved this day of love," he said. "My Valentine's Day gift of love to you is to give you anything that I can do to make you happy," he said.
She smiled as if he had pushed all her pre-sex, sexual buttons. If only he knew what her sexual buttons were, he'd continue to push them. He knew that when it came to women, especially older women, he had a better chance of sexually arousing them with his words and the kind things that he did for them than just his touches.
'What I would like for you to do for me is to give me hot, romantic sex,' he imagined her saying. 'If you don't mind and it's agreeable with you, I'd like you to make love to me. Then, after we make love, please fuck me. I'd love for you to fuck me hard and fuck me fast,' he imagined his mother asking him all that he'd love to do with her. 'I need to cum, Michael. If it's not too much trouble, I need for you to give your mother multiple, sexual orgasms with your fingers, your tongue, and your cock.'
He returned her smile with his smile. Only, when she gave him a motherly smile, undressing her with his eyes, he gave her a lustful smile.
"Just relaxing with you while talking and drinking wine by the warm fire is enough for me," she said holding up her wine glass as if to toast him. "This is nice. Thank you for staying home to keep a lonely, old woman company on Valentine's Day," she said with a laugh.
Unable to disassociate himself from the incestuous pervert that he was, he thought of all the things that he could do with his mother that would make him happy. He thought of his mother sitting across from him in her bra and panties. He thought of her sitting across from him topless. He thought of her sitting across from him naked. He thought of her kneeling in front of him with her blonde, pretty head in between his knees while giving him a blowjob.
'Oh, Mom, suck my prick. Blow me. I need to ejaculate in your beautiful mouth. I need to watch you swallow my cum. I need to save some cum to give you a cum bath,' he thought.
If only she knew what he was thinking, wouldn't she be shocked. He innocently smiling at his mother.
"You're hardly old, Mother. You're in the prime of your life. With people living longer and fuller lives, forties are the new thirties," he said willing to say and/or do anything to remove her sadness. "I know. What if I drew you a bath and gave you a massage after your bath? Surely, that would help you to relax and help you to sleep," he said hoping she'd take him up on his sexy offer to remove her clothes.
He imagined her agreeing to him running her a bubble bath. He imagined waiting until she climbed in the tub before opening her bathroom door, pulling up a stool to keep her company, and watch her wash her dirty body. He imagined washing her back while watching all those big bubbles popping and bursting in front of her to show him more of her big, naked breasts. Then, after her bath, he imagined slowly towel drying his mother everywhere. He imagined her agreeing to have him give her a full body, naked massage in the way that Mimi Rogers received a full body, naked massage from Bryan Brown in the aptly named movie, Full Body Massage.
'How hot would that be to draw my mother a bubble bath? I'd love to sit with her while she's bathing. How hot would that be to towel dry my mother's naked body? I'd love to dry her everywhere. How hot would that be to give my mother a full body, naked massage? I'd love to give my mother a full body, naked massage,' he thought. 'Maybe she'd return the favor and give me a bath. Maybe she'd return the favor and towel me dry. Maybe she'd return the favor and give me a full body, naked massage too.'
With his mother lying face down on her stomach naked, he imagined covering her naked ass with a small facecloth. Then turning to lay on her back, he imagined covering his mother's naked breasts and pussy with three, small facecloths that were barely large enough to cover anything. He imagined giving his mother a full body, naked massage while touching and feeling her naked body where no son should ever see, touch, and feel his naked mother. That Valentine's gift would be more his Valentine's gift than her Valentine's gift. Yet, with him knowing better, he'd have as much of a chance of giving her a full body, naked massage as he would of having incestuous sex with her.
Continuing his sexual fantasy of massaging his naked mother nonetheless, the imagined thought of her massaging his naked body was nearly as good as her allowing him to massage her naked body. If he couldn't draw her a bubble bath and/or give her a full body, naked massage, he could still imagine that he could while masturbating himself. He imagined drying her wet, naked body with a towel. He imagined stealthily moving his hand to her most sacred of body parts, her pussy. He imagined masturbating his mother and giving her a massage with a happy ending.
'Oh, Michael! Michael! I'm going to cum. I'm going to cum. Rub my clit faster while fingering my pussy deeper,' he imagined his mother saying all that he'd love to hear.
Then, after he masturbated her, he imagined his mother being just as horny as he was. He imagined his mother removing his cock from his jeans and underwear and taking him in her hand to stroke him. He imagined her taking him in her mouth to suck him. He imagined cumming in her mouth and all over her pretty face. He imagined making love to her before fucking her. With not a chance of any of that happening, it was sexually exciting fun to imagine that it would while masturbating.
* * * * *
She looked at him and smiled while leaning forward in her chair as if it was her turn to make a word when playing Scrabble. A daily event since he moved home, as if they were a retired married couple, when they weren't watching movies together, they played Scrabble every day. With them both competitive, they took turns in who'd win depending who got the better letters, the J, K, Q, X, Z, S's and blanks and who made a seven letter word. Just as she was doing when leaning forward now, every time she leaned forward to make her words, she'd inadvertently flash him her bra and her cleavage in a down-blouse view of her tits.
Even though he had never seen his mother's naked breasts, he loved her big tits. Depending on the bra manufacturer, she wore bras that were either a C cup or a D cup. Every time she wore her C cup bras with the tops of her breasts jiggling, she looked sexy. Then, whenever she wore her D cup bras, she looked busty. Whether she looked sexy or busty, he loved staring at her bra clad breasts. He loved his mother's tits. He only wished he could see her naked breasts while fingering and sucking her big, erect nipples.
Yet, whether she wore her C cup or D cup bras, they were all padded. What gay fashion designer decided that women with C cup breasts and especially women with D cup breasts needed padded bras? As far as he was concerned the only women who needed to wear padded bras were those women who had an AA or A cup breasts. As much as he hated pantyhose, he hated padded bras.
With nothing sexy about padded bras, whenever a woman is cold and/or sexually excited, padded bras don't allow men to see the impressions of erect nipples that appear in non-padded bras. Padded bras are stupid. Padded bras, especially for women who have big tits, are unnecessary. Just as he'd love to flog and strangle the gay fashion designer who invented pantyhose with pantyhose, he'd love to flog and strangle the gay fashion designer who invented padded bras with a D cup padded bra.
Having masturbated daily over his mother while recalling her flashes, even if she wasn't purposely flashing him, he wondered if she knew she was flashing him. He wondered if she knew that he was staring down her low-cut top while enjoying the view of her the tops of her meaty breasts, her long, line of sexy cleavage, and her low-cut brassiere. He more enjoyed the down-blouse views of her tits that his mother gave him than he enjoyed playing Scrabble with her. With both flashes equally as sexually enticing, he enjoyed seeing her panties in up-skirts peeks as much as he enjoyed seeing her bra and cleavage in down-blouse views. He only wished that he could see her topless and/or naked.
'For Christ sakes, Kimberly, go change your top. That's too low-cut. You're exposing yourself to our son,' he imagined his father saying to his mother as if she was his daughter instead of his wife. He imagined his father lambasting his mother as if he was here now and as if he saw her flashing her cleavage and bra to him. 'And put pants on instead of that skirt. That skirt is much too short. Every time you move, you flash Michael your panties,' he imagined his father chastising his mother.
Only, with his father no longer around, his mother was free to dress however she wanted to dress. With his father no longer around, he was free to enjoy whatever his mother was willing to deliberately or unintentionally show him of her sexy and shapely body. With his father no longer around, he was free to flash his mother his cock too in the way he flashed her his stiff prick this morning while masturbating and cumming.
Unable to remove the image from his mind, he thought again about her catching him masturbating. He recalled her staring at his cock and watching him stroke his stiff prick while he ejaculated cum all over himself. If his father still lived there, afraid he'd burst in his room without knocking in the way that his mother had, he never would have masturbated himself while he was home. Now home alone with his mother, he was looking forward to all the sexual things he hoped they'd do together.
* * * * *
"There's nothing you can do for me that you haven't done for me already Michael. You're a good son. Thank you for asking," she said feigning a smile and not even trying to hide her sadness.Wishing she'd change her mind about him drawing her a bubble bath, he was hoping that she'd take him up on his offer. As if she was the naked woman getting in the tub in the first scene of Deadwood, he'd love to see the side of his mother's big, naked breast. As if she was an exotic dancer taking a bubble bath, he'd love to see his mother's naked body surrounded by and covered by soapy, bursting and popping bubbles.
He wished she'd take him up on his offer to give her not just a massage but also a full body, naked massage with a happy ending. Just as he'd love to see his mother without her clothes, he'd love to masturbate his mother. Just as he hoped that one thing may lead to another and they'd have sex, he'd love for his mother to give him a full body, naked massage, one with a happy ending. If nothing else, especially if nothing sexually happened, later this evening, he'd be masturbating over the imagined thoughts of giving his mother a bubble bath and a sexy, full body, naked massage, one with a happy ending.
'How hot would that be to bathe my mother? How hot would that be to massage her naked body? How hot would that be to masturbate her? How hot would that be for my mother to bathe me? How hot would that be for my mother to massage my naked body? How hot would that be for my mother to masturbate me,' he thought?
He looked at her with incestuous, lustful desire. Every time he looked at her, he imagined kissing her while feeling her through her clothes. Every time he was with her, he imagined stripping her naked. Once, he imagined her naked, he imagined having sex with her beautiful, naked body. He'd love to finger his mother while licking her pussy. He'd love to make love to her before fucking her. He wished she'd stroke his cock before sucking his cock.
"Well, being that this is your special holiday, if you think of anything that you'd like me to do for you, just name it," he said while hoping that she'd say that she wanted him to give her sex.
He gave his mother a loving smile before allowing his imagination to fill his incestuous mind with the naked images of his mother.
'Now that you mention it, Michael, I'd love for you to French kiss me while feeling my tits and fingering my nipples. If you don't mind, I'd love for you to lick my pussy while fingering my pussy. I'd love you to give me multiple orgasms with your fingers, your tongue, and your cock, Michael,' he imagined his mother saying.
He stared at his mother with his mouth open. If only she'd ask him to do those sexy, sexual things, he love to do those sexy, sexual things. Only, afraid to make the first incestuous move, he wished she'd make the first sexual move. Perhaps, she already had made the first sexual move. Perhaps, flashing him her panties in up-skirt peeks and her bra and cleavage in down-blouse views was her way of sexually teasing and erotically enticing him. Perhaps, she's waiting for him to make his incestuous move.
'Then, after you make me cum, may I stroke your cock while sucking your cock? I'd love for you to cum in my mouth and give me a cum bath in the way you ejaculated your cum all over your chest and stomach earlier today,' he imagined his mother saying all that he'd love to hear. 'I'd love for you to make love to me before fucking me,' he imagined her giving him her Valentine's Day, sexual requests.
He imagined making sweet, slow love to his mother before fucking his mother. He imagined pounding her pussy while bashing the top of her head against her headboard. He imagined his mother's big, naked breasts bouncing up and down and swaying side to side with his hard humps. He imagined his mother screaming his name in sexual passion. He imagined giving her an orgasm with his cock after he gave her an orgasm with his fingers and tongue.
'Fuck me, Michael. Fuck me. Pretend that I'm not your mother but your lover. Please fuck me. Fuck me faster and fuck me harder. Fuck your mother. Make me cum,' he imagined his mother begging him for sex. 'Oh, that's it. Right there. Don't stop. I'm going to cum. I'm going cum. You've giving me an orgasm. You're making your mother cum. God, you're such a good motherfucker,' he imagined her saying.
Only, no such luck. Nothing more than his dirty, incestuous mind working overtime on Valentine's Day, this day of love, romance, and sex, she wasn't like that. She wasn't incestuously perverted in the way that he was incestuously perverted. She'd never request any of those sexual things from him in the way that he'd love to request all those sexual things from her. Instead of naming what she'd like him to do for her, as if she was deep in troubled thought, she remained silent before speaking again.
He wondered what she was thinking. Like mother, like son, maybe she was thinking dirty, sexual thoughts of him in the way that he was thinking dirty, sexual thoughts of her. Maybe she was thinking about him fingering her, licking her, and fucking her pussy in the way that he was thinking about her stroking him, sucking him, and fucking his cock. Shaking him awake again and removing his sexual excitement with her sadness, she interrupted his sexual fantasy of having sex with her.
"Not even feeling that this is Valentine's Day, it's just another day to me now. I'm sorry. You've gone through a lot of trouble to make me feel better and to make me feel loved. I'm such a party pooper. I'll feel better in the morning when this holiday is over," she said with a shrug while giving him a look of sad dejection. "It's just that—," she said pausing again.
'Now that she had his attention, he wondered, it's just that...what?' With her not finishing her thought, he wondered what she was going to say. Instead of pressuring her to speak, he waited for her to continue while imagining all sorts of sexy things that she may say. 'It's just that I'm so sexually attracted to you. It's just that I want to have sex with you,' he imagined her saying. 'It's just that I need you to give me multiple sexual orgasms with your fingers, your tongue, and your cock,' he thought while wondering what his mother was about to say.
* * * * *
He watched her relax her knees and lean back in the soft comfort of the sofa to stare in her wineglass as if she could see her beloved ex-husband there. With the motion of her getting more comfortable on the couch, she mindlessly or deliberately parted her knees enough for him to see what he so wanted to see of her. She was flashing him her panties again. Was she unaware that she was inadvertently flashing him her panties or was she deliberately flashing him her panties again? He didn't know. He had no idea. He couldn't tell.
Whenever she leaned back like that in the soft couch her knees parted and she flashed him her panties. With her wearing such a short skirt, no matter how she sat, unless she kept her legs crossed, he could see her bright white, sheer, bikini panties. No matter how she sat, he could see her pussy slit, her camel toe, and the darker shadow of her blonde, trim, pubic hair that teased him through her panties. Such a sexually erotic sight to see, it was even more of an sexually exciting sight to see because she was his mother and not some stranger on a bus or a train.
Oxymoronically, she called him a good son. If only she knew that he was more of a bad son than he was a good son. With him ogling his mother panties whenever she sat back and ogled her cleavage and bra whenever she leaned forward, he was anything but a good son. If he was anything, he was an incestuously, perverted son. He was a son who always stared at, leered at, and ogled his mother to see whatever he could see of her. Continuously lusting over her sexually, he was a son who wanted to see his mother naked while having sex with her.
If only she knew what a good son he wasn't while he hoped to have an incestuous, sexual relationship with his mother, he wondered what she'd say. If only she knew what a good son he could be when having sex with her, he wondered what she'd do. If only she knew the sexual thoughts he always had of her naked while sucking and fucking him, he wondered what she'd think of him then.
What kind of son would she call him then if she knew that he wanted to have incestuous sex with her? Yet, now that she knows he lusts and masturbates over her while fantasizing having sex with her naked body, he didn't understand why she still thought of him as a good son. Perhaps, she lusts and masturbates over him too.
'Michael, I keep thinking of all those sexual things you said about me while masturbating yourself,' he imagined his mother saying while looking at him with shock. 'I'm sorry but do you really want to do all of those sexually incestuous things with me? Do you really want to have incestuous sex with me, your own mother? We can't have sex,' he imagined shaking her head as if she needed that extra bit of head movement to believe that they couldn't have sex. 'That's incest. That's wrong. That's nasty. That's illegal,' he imagined her scolding him while looking at him as if he was insane, and she'd be right. He was crazy for her and mad in love with her.
* * * * *
Unable to remove image from his mind, recalling it yet again while getting horny all over again, he thought about her barging in his room while he was masturbating. She saw his naked cock. His mother stared his erect prick. He couldn't believe his mother stared at his erect, naked dick. Why didn't she leave? He wished he had the nerve to ask her. He wished he had the nerve to barge in his mother's bedroom when she was dressing, undressing, or masturbating but he couldn't. He wished he had the nerve to walk in her bathroom while she was taking a shower, but he couldn't.
In the same way that he stared at his mother whenever she was inadvertently or deliberately flashing him up-skirt peeks of her panties and down-blouse views of her cleavage and bra, he couldn't believe his mother stared at his erection. He couldn't believe his mother watched him stroking himself and cumming. She heard him call her name. She heard him tell her all the incestuous, sexual things he wanted to do to her naked body. She now knows that he sexually wants her.
She stared at his erection in the way that he stared at her whenever she stood in front of the open refrigerator door in her sheer nightgown without a light on in the kitchen. She stared at his erection in the way that he stared at her whenever she stood in front of the TV in her sheer nightgown without a light on in the living room. She stared at his erection in the way that he stared at her whenever she opened the drapes in her sheer nightgown to allow in the bright, morning light that poured through her nightgown as if she was naked.
With the sunlight pouring in and passing through her thin, nightgown and illuminating her naked body in silhouette, he stared at her as if she was standing there naked. As if she walking through a TSA, X-ray machine, whenever she stood in front of the open refrigerator door, the backlight of the TV, or the bright sunlight from the bay window, he saw his mother through her flimsy nightgown as if she was naked. Whatever he saw of her that night or that morning, a never-ending cycle, he masturbated himself for days with the thoughts of having sex with his mother's naked body.
Yet, even more sexually exciting than her staring at his erection, as if mesmerized by him masturbating, she watched him stroke himself. She saw him cum. His mother saw him cum while telling her all that he wanted to do to her naked body. She watched him ejaculate all over himself in the way that he'd love to cum all over her. She heard him call her name in his sexual passion. She knows that he wants her. She knows that he wants to have incestuous sex with her.
While imagining having sex with his mother and cumming in her mouth, really believing that he was having sex with her, he forgot that he was masturbating himself. Until his mother entered his room, he forgot that he was masturbating over Kimberly until he felt his warm cum on his stomach and chest. While imagining having sex with her and giving her a cum bath, he forgot that he was masturbating instead of having sex with Kimberly until he heard his bedroom door squeak open.
In that moment, a telling sign and a sexual signal that she sexually wanted him as much as he sexually wanted her, she stared at him with sexual lust in the way that he stared at her with incestuous lust. In that moment, a telling sign and a sexual signal that she sexually wanted him as much as he sexually wanted her, she fingered her nipple through her blouse and bra. She had her horny hand beneath her skirt and tucked down inside her panties. She was masturbating herself while he masturbated himself.
* * * * *
While waiting for her to finish her thought, wishing he could read her mind, he wondered what she was thinking. In the way that she was focused on her wineglass, he wondered if she was sexually thinking about her ex-husband instead of sexually thinking about him in the way that he was incestuously thinking about her. In the way that he undressed her with his eyes while imagining her naked, he wondered if she ever undressed him with her eyes while imagining him naked. He wondered if she sexually and incestuously thought about him in the way that he was sexually and incestuously always thought about her.
Obviously, rather than thinking about him, her son, who was there with her now, instead of even looking at him, when she wasn't staring at her wineglass, she stared at the flames in the fireplace. Perhaps, she felt uncomfortable looking at him in the way he continued staring at her. Perhaps, she felt uncomfortable in the way that he was ogling her while hoping that she'd flash him her bright, white panties again. Perhaps, she felt uncomfortable looking at him after watching him stroke his cock and cumming while lusting over her. She knows he sexually wants her. She heard him call her name. She heard him say all the sexual things he wanted to do to her.
He wished she was sexually preoccupied with him in the way that she was sexually preoccupied with his father and in the way that he was always so sexually preoccupied with her. Gone, gone, gone, his father is gone for good and never returning. Good riddance. He still couldn't believe he dumped his MILF of a mother for Jessica, his whore of an ex-girlfriend. He couldn't believe his father would rather have a young, nothing of a woman instead of the complete woman that his mother was.
'Bye! Adieus! So long. See ya! Arrivederci! Don't let the door hit you in the ass. Just go. Leave! Beat it! Scram! Get out. Screw you,' he thought whenever thinking of his drunken, shit heel for a father.
If his father didn't think enough of her and care how she felt with him leaving her, why is she wasting her time thinking of him? Obviously guilty that he absconded with his ex-girlfriend, his father didn't even think enough of him to call him to tell him that he was leaving and why. Never saying goodbye, he left while he was an 18-year-old senior in high school. He didn't even attend his high school graduation nor his college graduation. No graduation cards, birthday cards, or Christmas gift, he acted as if he wasn't his father nor was he his son, even though he obvious was. He looked just like his father when he was his age.
* * * * *
"What mother? What were you going to say? You started to say something," he said returning his focused attention to his mother. "It's just that...what mother? You didn't finish your thought. Tell me," he said.
He stared at his mother's pretty face and her big, blue eyes before staring at the large impressions her bra clad breasts made in her low-cut blouse. Without doubt, she was wearing her D cup, padded bra today. Her breasts looked bigger than they normally looked. They looked huge. He'd love nothing more than to rest his head and his horny hands on her big, bra clad breasts while trying to find and finger her nipples through her ridiculously, padded bra.
Hoping she was thinking about something sexual, something incestuous, and something forbidden, he wondered what she was thinking. No doubt, she wasn't thinking what he was thinking. She wasn't sexually thinking of him in the way that he was sexually thinking of her. Obviously and unfortunately, she didn't sexually want him in the way that he sexually wanted her. Now that she caught him masturbating and cumming over the thoughts of her blowing him, having shown her his hand, she now knows that he sexually wanted her. She now knows that he masturbated over her while imagining having sex with her.
He looked at his mother as if she was the only woman in the world. In the way that he was so focused on her with his stare and with his thoughts, at that point in time, she was the only woman in the world. For years now, he didn't think of any other woman sexually in the way that he sexually thought of his mother. No matter which woman he was having sex with, he couldn't stop thinking of having sex with his mother. If only just once, he wished he could have sex with his mother.
"I know it sounds silly and I'm embarrassed confessing this to you, nothing more than the ramblings of a lonely, mature woman but, you're old enough to know such things," she said giving him an embarrassed, little smile.
She paused again as if rethinking was she was about to say.
"What Mother? I'm old enough to know what things?" He pressured her to tell him more. "Tell me."
With his sexual lust for his mother driving his imagination wild, he could only imagine what personal and private thoughts that she was embarrassed to confess. As if she was ashamed, she looked at him while biting her lip. She took another sip of her wine before emptying her wineglass seemingly for courage. Enabling her while hoping to get her a little drunk, ready to pour her a fourth glass of wine when she never had more than two glasses of wine, he was quick to pour her more wine.
With her drinking more than he had ever seen her drink before, her becoming drunk was seeming more of a reality. Only, he didn't want her to drink enough to become sick. He hoped she'd drink enough to fall asleep. The thought of his mother falling asleep drunk on the couch, him carrying her to bed, stripping her naked, and having his wicked, sexual, incestuous way with her naked body crossed his mind again.
"What I miss the most about your father is sleeping with him," she said biting her lip again while looking at her son. "I don't mean sex. Even though he cheated on me, lied to me, deceived me, and drank to an excess, he made me feel safely comforted when sleeping with me, holding me, cuddling me, and spooning me," she said. "I miss the warmth of his body."
Instead of looking up at him, obviously uncomfortable over what she had just confessed, she continued staring at her wineglass while remaining silent for a long minute.
"I understand that you're lonely, Mother," he said. "Yet, just because you miss sleeping with him, doesn't erase all the bad, mean, and nasty things that he said and did to you."
Instead he wanted to say, I understand that you're horny and sexual frustrated but saying those inappropriately, sexual thoughts would not only make her feel uncomfortable but also would insult her sensibilities as a woman and as his mother. Moreover, if he dared say what he was thinking and feeling, he may turn her off instead of sexually arousing her. He may ruin his chance to have sex with his mother, not that he had any chance at of having incestuous sex with her. Yet, the last thing he wanted to do was to offend her before she had the chance to voice what else she was thinking.
"More than that," she said looking over at him while biting her lip yet again. "He was a good and generous lover," she said with uncomfortableness.She suddenly looked embarrassed when she said that her ex-husband was a good and generous lover. As if she was ashamed by her private and personal, sexual feelings, she looked away from him to look at the fire again. Something she never did before, she was discussing sex with her son. With her sincerely honest and vulnerably open, he was seeing an emotional and sexual side of his mother that she had never revealed to him before.
'A good and generous lover?'
He wondered what her definition of a good and generous lover was. If he knew what she deemed was a good and generous lover, he could be her good and generous lover. Never thinking of his mother as a sexual person before, unless he was thinking of her having sex with him, he thought of her as a sexual person now. Never thinking of her having sex with his father, he thought of them having sex now. He imagined his mother sucking his father before fucking his father. For her to have good, sexual memories about his father, he must have given his mother orgasms not only with his cock but also with his fingers and tongue.
In the way that he imagined his father licking and fingering his mother's pussy, he imagined licking and fingering his mother's pussy. He imagined being positioned in-between his mother's shapely thighs and his nose filled with the sexual scent of his mother's cunt. He imagined licking and fingering her pussy. He imagined his face wet with her vaginal secretions.
Like father like son, after giving her an oral orgasm, he imagined mounting her to make love to her while giving her a second orgasm with his cock. If only he could, he would. In the way that he imagined her sucking his father's cock and allowing him to cum in her mouth, he imagined her sucking his cock and allowing him to cum in her mouth too. He wished he could be his mother's good and generous lover.
"I can understand that," said Michael with his mind filled with his father humping his mother before he had the image of him humping his mother.
For sure, even though he was jealous thinking about it, he'd much rather imagine his father humping his mother than imagine his father humping his whore of an ex-girlfriend, Jessica. He'd never understand why his father would divorce his wife to marry Jessica. Compared to his mother, she was a stupid slut with no class. Now that he thought more about it, the only reason why he was with her was because she sucked his cock and allowed him to cum in her mouth on their first date. If only he knew then what he knows now, he never would have introduced her to his father. Yet, glad that he did, now he was rid of the both of them.
Now, more than curious, with her from a different generation, he wondered if his mother sucked cock. If she did suck cock, he wondered if she allowed his father to cum in her mouth. If she did allow his father to cum in her mouth, he wondered if she swallowed. He hoped she did. In the way that she said she was a virgin when she married his father, if she did suck cock, he wondered if his father's cock was the only cock she ever sucked. Perhaps, in the way that his father's friends were always after her while trying to get her drunk to take sexual advantage of her, maybe one of them forced her to suck them.
Now more than curious, he wondered what she sounded like when having sex. He wondered what sounds she made when having sex and when having a sexual orgasm. He wondered if she was quiet or if she screamed. He wondered if his mother was as good and generous a lover in bed as she said his father was a good and generous lover. Now something new and something more to hope for, he wished he could be a good and generous lover to his mother.
Now, instead of just having sex with her, he imagined holding her, comforting her, cuddling her, and spooning his mother while sleeping with her. With someone who looked like her in his bed, he'd be a good and generous lover too. With someone who looked like her in his bed, in the way that his father obviously did, he'd be wanting to give her multiple, sexual orgasms too. With someone who looked like her in his bed, he could only imagine her giving him multiple, sexual orgasms with her hand, her mouth, and her pussy.
Now that she gave him a sexual image, he imagined spooning his mother while reaching over her to feel her big tits and finger her erect nipples. He imagined her spooning him while wrapping her long, manicured fingers around his erect cock and fondling the head of his hard prick through his pajama bottoms. His father was such a fool to let her go for some young, bimbo. Echoing what Paul Newman said about his wife, Joanne Woodward, when asked how he could remain faithful for all those years when so many young starlets threw themselves at him, he replied.
"Why go out for hamburger when I have steak at home?"
Precisely his point, what Paul Newman said was precisely how he felt about his ex-girlfriend when comparing her to his mother. Jessica was fatty, grizzled hamburger and Kimberly was filet mignon steak. Now that he was home alone with his mother and now that his girlfriend was out of his life, he could see the real difference between the two women. His mother was a lady and his ex-girlfriend was a whore.
Now that she was confessing what she did with his father, just as he couldn't help but imagine having sex with his mother, he couldn't help but imagine his parents having sex. The more he imagined his father having sex with his mother, the more he wanted to have sex with her. As if she was sitting there naked, he imagined his naked mother writhing in sexual passion while getting laid and/or eaten. As if she was sitting there with his cock in her hand, in her mouth, or in her pussy, he imagined his mother as the sexual Goddess that he believed she always was.
Instead of stopping with her telling him that she missed sleeping with his father and instead of stopping with her missing her husband holding her, comforting her, cuddling her, and spooning her, she continued with her sexual confession. Shocked by what she confessed before, he was even more shocked now. Giving him more of an image of his parents in bed having sex, obviously as if she was talking to one of her girlfriends instead of her son, it was obviously the wine talking.
"I know you may not understand but feeling his hands on my naked body while holding me, touching me, and fondling me was comforting. Just as he loved holding my naked breast while spooning me, I loved holding his naked penis in my hand while spooning him," said. "Holding one another while spooning one another was more soothingly and comfortingly reassuring than it was sexual."
Suddenly, he had the image of being in bed with his mother and holding her. He had the image of being in bed with his mother while she held him. When she turned to be spooned, he had the image of holding her naked breast while pressing his pajama clad cock up against her nightgown clad ass. Then, when she turned to spoon him, he had the image of her holding his naked prick while pressing her big tits against his back. If only just to hold her, comfort her, cuddle her, and spoon her, he wished he could sleep with his mother.
'I can do that for you, Mother, hold your naked breast in my hand while I spoon you and allow you to hold my naked cock in your hand while you spoon me,' he wanted to say but he didn't dare.
Not wanting to ruin the trust she had in him by sharing something so intimately personal, he needed to exert a modicum of respect and self-control over his horny self. If nothing else, now he had even more to masturbate over. Tonight, he'd masturbate while imagining him sleeping with his mother and imagining him spooning her while holding her naked breast in his horny hand. Tonight, he'd masturbate while imagining him sleeping with his mother and imagining her spooning him while holding his naked cock in her soft, motherly hand.
"I understand," he said instead while he continued listening to her.
As if she was still deeply hurt by her husband leaving her and she obviously was, she looked at him with sad, expressive eyes.
"Now left with nothing more than the memory of him in bed with me, tossing and turning every night while having bad dreams, sadly, I haven't had a good night's sleep since he left," she said. Not making eye contact with him and by the way she stared down at her wineglass, she was obviously too ashamed to look at her son. "I'm so lonely Michael," she said finally making eye contact with him while looking as if she was about to cry.
'I'm so horny,' he wanted to say but didn't say in response to her admitting that she was so lonely. 'I'm so sexually frustrated,' he wanted to say while hoping his mother would admit to being the same.
* * * * *
Something he had always been curious about his mother talking about with him, he couldn't believe they were talking about sex. A forbidden topic around her before, he didn't expect her to talk about sex now. As if she was a rose blooming in the morning light, she opened her vulnerability to him with her private thoughts.
'Something my father never even did with me, I can't believe my mother is talking to me about her personal sex life,' he thought.
Perhaps, no longer viewing him as an immature adolescent, with him a 24-year-old, college educated adult, she more viewed him as her equal. Perhaps, no longer thinking of him as her son, she thought of him more as a man. Perhaps, if only to imagine that she did, he imagined that she sexually wanted him as much as he sexually wanted her.
'I'd do anything to have sex with my mother,' he thought.
Wishing he could read her mind, he wondered why she looked at him now in a way that she never looked at him before. Was she as horny and sexually frustrated as she was lonely? Was she as horny and sexually frustrated as he was? Was she finally as sexually interested in him as he was sexually interested in her?
'Is this my chance to have sex with my mother,' he thought?
By making her sexual confession of her husband spooning her while holding her naked breast and while she spooned him while holding his naked cock, was she hinting for him to make a sexual move? Why would she say that to him? Did she want to sleep with him in the way that he'd love to sleep with her and in the way that she slept with her ex-husband? Just as he'd love to sleep with his mother while spooning her and holding her naked breast, he'd love her to spoon him while holding his naked prick.
'I wish I could feel my mother's big tit while spooning her just as I wish she could feel my erect, naked cock while spooning me,' he thought.
Nothing more than speculation and supposition, unable to read her thoughts, he couldn't help but wonder if she wanted him to sexually replace his father in the way that he wanted to sexually replace his father. Was the look she had given him inviting him to sleep with her, to hold her, to comfort her, and to spoon her? Was the look she had given him an invitation for him to give her sex or was her look just an innocent look, a lonely look, a sad look, and not an incestuous one? Curious to know, he didn't know. He had no idea. He couldn't tell.
'Not wanting to pressure my mother into having incestuous sex, being that she already knows how I sexually feel about her, I wish she'd tell me how she sexually feels about me,' he thought.
A first step in their incestuous, sexual relationship, he'd love nothing more than for her to invite him to sleep with her. After she told him what her father did with her, he'd love nothing more than to spoon her while holding her naked breast in his hand. After she told him what she did with his father, he'd love nothing more than for his mother to hold his naked cock in her hand while spooning him. He'd love nothing more than to have orgasmic sex with his mother in the way that his father had orgasmic sex with her. He wished he could be her good and generous lover in the way that his father was her good and generous lover.
'At the very least, I wish I could see my mother naked,' he thought while staring over at her.
Now that she shared her personal, private, and sexual feelings with him, he wanted to share his personal, private, and sexual feelings with her too. Yet, with him an immature, horny, incestuous man and her a mature, morally, modest mother, he feared that he'd go too far in his sexual confessions. He feared that he'd include his sexual perversions and confess the incestuous, sexual way that he felt about wanting to have sex with her.
'In the way that I confessed all that I sexually wanted to do with her while masturbating, I wish I could reiterate all that I sexually wanted to do with her now that she had been drinking,' he thought. 'In the way that she stared at my erect, naked cock, I'd love to stay at her sexy, naked body.'
Yet, he didn't want to ruin this opportunity to have sex with his mother. With his terminal horniness, sexual frustration, and incestuous desire always getting in the way, if this was the first step to an incestuous, sexual relationship, he needed to take it slow. The last thing that he wanted to do was to frighten his mother. Instead, he needed her to consume more wine for her to lose her modesty and her morals as well as her sexual inhibitions.
'That's right Mom, have another sip of your wine,' he thought while watching her taking a sip of her fourth glass of wine.
* * * * *
I'm so horny he wanted to say but again, not wanting to ruin their moment of honest and open sexual dialogue, he didn't dare say what he was thinking and feeling. He didn't want his feeling for his mother to be just about sex. Besides, this mother and son moment of sexual confessions was more about her than it was about him.
With their ages as much an issue as their mother and son relationship was forbidden, navigating through uncharted waters, there was an uncomfortable silence between a forty-eight-year-old mother and her twenty-four-year-old son. If their ages weren't a gap too wide to bridge, the fact that they were mother and son sexually lusting over one another could either be the road to their relationship ruination or the road to sexual their salvation. With him not experienced sexually with a mature woman, he wished her knew the right things to say to make her sexually want him as much as he sexually wanted her.
'I love you, Mom. I need you. I want you,' he thought as if trying to put his thoughts in her mind.
Then, again, with him hopefully wanting to have sex with her, he could be misreading his mother loneliness to his sexual benefit. Just because he sexually wanted her didn't mean that she sexually wanted him. Just because he was horny and sexually frustrated didn't mean that she was horny and sexually frustrated too. Just because he would freely have incestuous sex with his mother didn't mean that she'd willingly have forbidden sex with her son. Just because she stayed to watch him have sex with himself while she sexually touched herself too, doesn't necessarily mean that she wanted to have sex with him.
'I wonder what she's thinking. I wonder if she's thinking what I'm thinking,' he thought.
Again, maybe just wishful thinking on his part and/or a figment of his overactive, incestuous imagination but, because of all her up-skirts and down-blouse flashes, Michael couldn't help but to suspect that his mother was deliberately flashing him. In the way that he always did when imagining flashing her and her flashing him, if she was deliberately flashing him, he suspected that she received some titillating fun sexually teasing him. Sexual, sexy, sensuous, seduction, and flirtatious innocent fun, he knew that she sometimes played him in the way that she sometimes played his father to get whatever she wanted.
'I don't care if she sexually uses me and sexually abuses me as long as I can have sex with my mother's sexy and shapely, naked body,' he thought.
He didn't care that she sometimes used him by flashing him to get what she wanted and needed. As long as he got what he wanted and needed too, enough up-skirt peeks of her panties and down-blouse views of her cleavage and bra for him to masturbate over later, he was happy. Seeing as much of his mother's sexy and shapely body as he could helped him better imagine what she'd look like topless and/or naked. Seeing as much as he could of her sexy, shapely body helped him better imagine what it would feel like to have sex with her.
'I wish I could make love to my mother. I wish I could fuck my mother. I wish I could give her multiple, sexual orgasms with my fingers, tongue and cock just as I wish she'd give me multiple, sexual orgasm with her hand, mouth, and pussy,' he thought.
If nothing more than a harmless sexual fantasy, and as long as his mother didn't catch him looking, staring, and leering, and as long as he didn't touch, there was nothing wrong with him looking, staring, and leering whatever she was showing. As long as he didn't act on his incestuous, sexual desires, there was nothing wrong with him masturbating over the thoughts of his mother naked while having sex with her. Taking his incestuous perversion a step more, as long as his mother willingly watched while sexually touching herself, there was nothing wrong with him exposing his cock to his mother while masturbating. As long as she willingly watched, there was nothing wrong with him masturbating in front of her.
'Perhaps, this is as far as their incestuous relationship will go, her watching me masturbating and cumming while I pretend that I don't know she's there watching.
Michael watched his mother fidget with her wineglass as if she was rubbing off a water spot with her thumb. In the way that she was so focused on rubbing her wineglass, he couldn't help but imagine her sliding her long, manicured fingers over the head of his cock while rubbing him to an erection. Killing two birds with one stone, her loneliness and his horniness, and suddenly thinking better of it, he wondered how she'd take what he was about to say next.
'Do I dare say what I want to say,' he thought?
Only, how dare he sexually solicit his mother under the guise of helping her ease her sadness and erase her loneliness? What's wrong with him to take sexual advantage of his mother while she had been drinking and was obviously feeling so sad and lonely? What kind of son would he be to sexually proposition his own mother on Valentine's Day when he knew she was so vulnerable?
Only, with her bringing up the issue of missing his father holding her, comforting her, cuddling, and spooning her, this may be the best chance he'd ever have to sleep with his mother. With her mentioning his father holding her naked breast while spooning her one way and her holding his naked cock while spooning him the other way, he'd be a fool not to respond in kind to her sexual confession. If nothing more than testing the incestuous, sexual water, while hoping she did, he needed to know if his mother sexually felt the same way about him that he sexually felt about her.
He took another sip of his wine while imagining spooning her and holding her naked breast. He swallowed his wine in the way that he swallowed his horniness while thinking of spooning her while holding her naked breast and her spooning him while holding his naked prick. The two glasses of wine that he consumed gave him the courage that he needed to blurt out his true feelings for her. The two glasses of wine that he consumed made his tongue loose enough to solicit her for sex, hopefully. He hoped the nearly four glasses of wine that his mother consumed would loosen her tongue enough to say yes.
Disrupting his train of thought, she did something that made his decision to proposition his mother an easy one. With her working on her fourth glass of wine, she put her wineglass down to play with the hem of her short skirt as if there was an imaginary spot there. When she lifted the hem of her skirt to her waist to nervously fidget with it, she caused him to briefly forget what he was intent on asking her. With her feet on the floor and her knees closed tightly together as if cemented in place, when she lifted the hem of her skirt, she rewarded him with a continual flash of her bright, white, bikini panties.'Oh, my God,' he thought while staring between his mother's shapely thighs. 'Are you kidding me? What in the Hell is she doing? I don't believe this. Is she purposely exposing herself to me or is she too drunk to know what she's doing?" He stared at all that he could see through her panties, her camel toe, her pussy slit, and the darker shadow of her blonde, trimmed pubic hair. 'I'd do anything to finger her pussy, lick her pussy, make love to her pussy, and to fuck her pussy,' he thought with abject horniness while staring at his mother's bright, white panties.
As if she was pantiless, with her panties so sheer and so snug, he not only could see the shadow of blonde patch of trimmed pubic hair but also he could see her camel toe and her pussy slit. Other than teasing him and sexually driving him mad with incestuous desire, what was she doing by exposing her panties to him in that obvious, seductive way? Did she know she was flashing him her panties along with the outline of her pubic hair, her camel toe, and her pussy slit? Did she forget or not realize that he was sitting across from her? Was she already too drunk to know what she was doing?
Now with her being so obvious in her exhibitionistic intention, he couldn't help but now believe that she was deliberately flashing him her panty clad cunt. Was she just sexually teasing him or incestuously seducing him? Was she aware that he could see much more than the triangular patch of her panties over her shapely thighs that she customarily flashed him and that he routinely saw? Then, when catching him looking albeit with him unembarrassed and unashamed that she caught him staring between her legs at her panties, she fluffed down her short skirt and crossed her legs again. Nonetheless, his mother knows that he saw her panties.
'I'll be masturbating over this,' he thought while smiling at his mother as if his smile was his thanks for her flashing him her panties.
Now with her panty clad pussy filling his mind and adding more fuel to his incestuous horniness, still not knowing for sure and giving his morally modest mother the benefit of the doubt, he wondered if she purposely flashed him? Was she purposely teasing him? With her skirt so short and her panties so sheer, how could she not know she just flashed him her panty clad pussy? Just as he couldn't shake the image of her panties and her pussy, he couldn't shake the image of him sleeping with his mother.
He couldn't stop thinking about lying beside her while holding her, comforting her, cuddling her, and spooning her. He couldn't stop thinking about him holding her naked breast in his hand when he spooned her one way and her holding his naked cock in her hand when she spooned him the other way. Perhaps, different for a mother than it was for a son to cross the incestuous line, in the way that he sexually thought about her, he wondered if she sexually thought about him. Going for broke by taking a chance, not wanting to regret this moment as a lost opportunity to sleep with his mother, he blurted out what he needed to say to hopefully sleep with his mother.
* * * * *
"I'll sleep with you Mom," he said revealing and reinforcing the incestuous lust that he had for his mother by blurting out what he was thinking.
As he imagined himself sleeping in the same bed with his mother, he looked at her while watching for her reaction to what he had just said. As if someone else had said what he just said, he looked at her stunned by his own words and by the forbidden image he had of sleeping with her. Just like the story he read, Mother Sleeps with Son on Christmas, appropriately changed in his mind to Mother Sleeps with Son on Valentine's Day, he couldn't believe there was a chance of him sleeping with his mother. He'd hope she'd take him up on his offer to sleep with her.
If only she'd sleep with him, he'd sleep with her. Not even expecting her to ask him to hold her naked breast while she held his naked prick, he'd be content just to sleep in the same bed with her. He wouldn't even touch her, other than to hold her, cuddle her, spoon her, and comfort her. He just wanted her to feel the heat of his body as she finally peacefully slept. Only, turning his innocent offer sexual, without a doubt, if his body was pressed up against his mother's nightgown clad ass while he held her, he'd have a throbbing and pulsating erection. Obviously, he'd want to do much more than just sleep with her.
Now totally exposed in his lust for her while waiting for her reactionary response, not daring to push his luck by adding anything more to what he had said, he left his statement out there for her interpretation and comment. The time waiting for her to respond seemed like minutes instead of seconds. More than curious but sexually excited, he wondered how she'd receive what he had just volunteered to do, to sleep with his mother.
A flood of thoughts ran through his horny brain. Would she say no or would she say yes to his offer to sleep with her? Would she be offended by his offer to sleep with her or would she be flattered that he'd want to share her bed? Either she'd reject him or welcome him in her bed. He wondered what she'd say in return to his bold offer. As if she didn't hear him, as if she wasn't even in the room, there was no reaction to his offer to sleep with her, just silence, that is until his words finally penetrated her alcohol pickled and preoccupied brain.
Then, giving him a curious look, she looked at him shocked as if she had just heard what he had said. Then, much like father like son, looking at him as she never looked at him before, she looked at him as if he was her husband reincarnated in the image of her son. Much more than that, she looked at him as if he wasn't her son but a man. She looked at him as if she was considering his offer to sleep with her.
'Oh, boy, this is it. Here we go. Here we go,' he thought. 'Will she sleep with me or not? The ball is in her court. She wants me or she wants me not,' he thought as if he was removing the pedals from a flower. 'I did all that I could do and say to show my mother how I sexually feel about her by even allowing her to catch me masturbating and cumming while calling out her name. There's nothing more than what I've already done.'
As if on cue, deliberately or unintentionally sexually teasing him, he watched her slowly uncross her shapely legs and, when she did, she turned more towards him and flashed him her panties yet again. Maybe it was the wine but, one of his favorite sights to see, she had never flashed him her panties as much as she had flashed him her panties tonight. Instead of thinking that her flashing was from the wine, he liked thinking that the masturbation show he gave her this morning caused her sudden burst of exhibitionistic flashing tonight.
Now that she knows he wants her, perhaps because he had sexually aroused her by her watching him masturbate, she wanted to sexually aroused him by flashing him her panties. Intimate with all her sexy, undergarment apparel, whenever she was working, he'd routinely go through her underwear drawer or her laundry hamper. As much as he enjoyed touching and feeling his mother's bras and panties, he enjoyed stiffing his mother's dirty bras and soiled panties too. As if she was there wearing them, it excited him to take her underwear to bed while masturbating over seeing his mother in her bra and panties, topless, and/or naked.
Now with her knees parted just enough to give him what he loved to see, she gave him a continual between her thighs view of her bright, white, bikini panties. Driving him crazy with sexual desire for her, while imagining having sex with her, he'd be masturbating tonight over his mother flashing him her panties again tonight as he did nearly every night and every morning. Hoping to return the favor of exhibitionism, he'd love for her to barge in his room without knocking again and catch him masturbating and cumming tomorrow and every day thereafter.
Yet, tired of masturbating over the thoughts of his semi-naked and naked mother while having incestuous sex with her, he'd love her to masturbate him. If only she'd masturbate him, he'd masturbate her too. Yet, ludicrous to think that his mother would ever have sex with him, it was sexually exciting enough to think that she would have sex with him while he masturbated over the thoughts of seeing his mother naked and having sex with her. Imagining that she'd say yes to him sleeping with her, he impatiently awaited her response.
* * * * *
"Sleep with me?" She looked at him as if he was nuts and, now sorry that he mentioned it, he felt insanely perverted by her look. She looked at him as if there was something wrong with him and he felt as if there was something wrong with him by her look and by volunteering to sleep with her. Then, making him feel much better about his suggestion, she looked at him with love, compassion, and understanding mixed with sexual excitement. "Really? You'd do that for me? You'd sleep with me?"
With his foot firmly placed in her bedroom door, he beamed her a broad smile while nodding his head in the affirmative. Only with him having ulterior motives and his own incestuous, sexual agenda, if he was sleeping with her for anyone, he'd be sleeping with her for himself. More than just holding her, comforting her, cuddling her, and spooning her, he was driven by the thought of holding her naked breast while spooning her and her holding his naked prick while she spooned him. If she dared invite him to sleep with her, as soon as she fell asleep, he'd be touching and feeling her mother everywhere he shouldn't touch and feel his mother.
"Yes," he said. "If feeling the warmth of my body will help you to sleep, I'd be happy to sleep with you, Mother," he said while wanting to say that it would be my sexual pleasure to sleep with you. "You need to get your sleep and if I can help you to do that, I'd love to help you in that loving way," he said laying it on thick.
As if questioning his intentions, she looked at him confused before looking at him with suspicion. After watching him masturbating over her and calling out her name, no doubt, she wondered if his intentions were innocent or sexual. Yet, what did it matter what his intentions were as long as she got a good night sleep? If he touched and felt her in her sleep, she'd never even know that he touched and felt her where he shouldn't. She'd be sleeping.
"Now why would you want to sleep with your old mother?"
Hoping that she was toying with him, he imagined that she wasn't looking at him with feigned shock, curiosity, and suspicion but with sexual excitement. Yet, unable to conceal what she was pondering behind her look of feigned shock, her sexy, naughty look revealed what she was really contemplating. Just as he was thinking about sex, obviously she was too.
Perhaps because of her wine consumption, she looked at him with sexual excitement while he stared back at her with incestuous lust. He waited with sexual anticipation for her to respond to his offer to sleep with her. If only she'd sleep with him, he'd love to sleep with her. If only she'd hold his naked cock in her hand, he'd love to hold her naked breast in his hand.
As if she was considering his proposition of him sleeping with her, she looked at him in a way that she had never looked at him before. She looked at him in the way that he had always looked at her and continued looking at her now. She looked at him in the way that a woman he just met and picked up from a nightclub and who had just invited him home looked at him. Wishing he didn't have to but feeling compelled to do so, especially after her catching him masturbating over her, he felt that he'd have a better chance of sleeping with his mother if he clarified his statement.
"If sleeping with you in the same bed will help you get a good night's rest, I'm willing to do that for you. I don't mean having sex with you, Mom," he said waving his hands as if flagging down a car and as if having sex with her was the last thing on his mind. "I mean just lying beside you as if we were resting instead of sleeping," he said clarifying his meaning. "We could even sleep in our clothes and on top of the covers if that would make you feel more comfortable about sleeping with me."
As if there was a drumroll of suspense going off in his head, he waited for her reaction before speaking again. As if he had just proposition a woman in a bar, he waited for her response to know if he was going to get lucky or not. Even if they didn't have sex, he'd feel lucky to sleep with his mother in the same bed. He'd feel lucky just to hold her, comfort her, cuddle her, and spoon her. A bonus would be if she allowed him to hold her naked breast while spooning her and if she held his naked prick while spooning him.
'I'd love nothing more than to hold my mother's naked breast. I'd love nothing more than for my Mom to hold my naked cock,' he thought with his head filled with incestuous lust for his mother. 'I'd love nothing more than to sleep with my mother.'
As if he just offered to help her clean the house, she gave him a warm, motherly smile.
"I understood your meaning," she said flashing him a look as if she was disappointed that he wasn't propositioning her for sex.
Wondering what she was thinking, for all he knew he was misreading her. For all he knew he may have offended her. For all he knew she may want sex as much as he wants sex. Was she thinking that he just wanted to sleep with her to hold her naked breast while she held his naked cock? Now he wondered if he did proposition his mother for sex, if she was lonely, horny, sexually frustrated, and drunk enough to have sex with him in the way he'd love to have sex with her.
'Please say yes. Please say yes,' he thought. 'I'd love to sleep with you. I'd love to sleep with my mother.'
* * * * *
Why not? Even though they were mother and son, they're both human with physical wants, emotional desires, and sexual needs. Consenting adults, none of anyone's business, no one needs to know what happens behind her closed, bedroom door. If they both can give one another comfort, albeit sexual comfort, instead of being sad and lonely, why shouldn't they? Why wouldn't they? It's better to have sex than to not have sex.
'I love you, Mom,' he thought while imagining sleeping with her.
He'd definitely do her, if she asked. If she agreed to have sex with him instead of sleep with him, he'd welcome the opportunity to give her sex. She looked at him as if she was some cougar of a woman he had just asked to go home with him. He wondered if she was seriously considering what he had just asked her or if she was going to sweep that under the carpet too. Hopefully she was considering his offer. Even if they slept in their clothes and on top of the covers, he'd love to sleep in the same bed with his mother. Not waiting for her to answer his question, he asked her again.
"Seriously, Mom, what if I slept with you? Would that work for you to finally have a good night's sleep?" As if he was speaking to his mother in his sexual fantasy, as if he was Charlie and she was Susan, and as if he was confessing what he'd masturbate over later while imagining himself having sex with her, he persevered. "What if I held you, comforted you, cuddled you, and spooned you in the way that Dad used to do and in the way that you used to do with me when I was young, would that help you to get some much-needed rest?"
He imagined himself in bed with his mother. With his arm wrapped around her and his horny hand in contact with her abundant breasts, he imagined his erect cock pressed tightly against his mother's nightgown clad, nearly naked ass. Taking advantage of her by having his wicked, sexual way with her sexy body, he imagined touching her and feeling her shapely body through the thin material of her satin nightgown as soon as she fell asleep. His sexual fantasy come true, spooning her one way, he imagined holding his mother's naked breast before she spooned him the other way and held his naked cock.
"Oh, Michael, you're such a good son. Too good to be true, I wish it was that simple but," as if changing her mind in midsentence, she paused. "Actually yes, now that I think about it, you sleeping with me would probably help me to sleep better. In the way that I used to comfort you when you wanted to sleep in Mommy's bed, now you can comfort Mommy by sleeping with me in my bed. Just until I fall asleep," she said with a nervous, little laugh while unembarrassed and unashamed.
With him sleeping with his mother, even for only an hour was his foot in the door to her bedroom. Maybe him sleeping with her would become their nightly routine. He could only imagine not only holding her, comforting her, cuddling her, and spooning her but also touching her and feeling her too. Not stopping there in his sexual fantasies, just as it happened with Charlie and Susan in Mother Sleeps with her Son on Christmas, maybe one thing would lead to another. Maybe she'd eventually have sex with him. He'd love nothing more than to have sex with his mother. Just as she watched and heard him cum, he'd love to watch and hear her cum too.
Maybe by sleeping with her, with him hoping beyond hope that they'd have sex, she'd want to do more than just sleep. At the very least, unable to stop thinking about it, he'd love to hold her naked breast. At the very least, unable to stop thinking about it, he'd love for her to hold his naked cock. At the very least, he'd love to touch and feel his mother's semi-naked body while she slept. At the very least, he'd love to finger her nipple while holding her big, naked tit just as he'd love for her to stroke his cock while she held his hard, naked prick.
With him looking like a younger version of his father and with her possibly pretending that he was her husband, maybe she'd ask him to touch and feel her in places where a son should never touch and feel his mother. With her so sad, so lonely, so horny, and a little drunk, maybe, just like in the story, she'd want to make love. Maybe just like in the story, she'd want to fuck. Maybe she'd ask him to finger and lick her pussy. Maybe after he gave her an oral orgasm, again just like in the story, she'd agree to stroke his cock before sucking his cock.
"Wonderful," he said excited by the thought of sleeping with his mother on Valentine's Day night.
She gave him a warm, sexy smile as if he was her lover instead of her son. He'd love nothing more than to be his mother's lover. He'd love nothing more than to feel and fondle his mother's big tits before sucking her erect nipples. Hoping that she'd return the favor, he'd love nothing more than to sexually satisfy his mother by giving her multiple orgasms with his fingers, his tongue, and his cock. He'd love nothing more than for his mother to return the favor and give him multiple orgasms with her hand, her mouth, and her pussy.
"I'd like that very much," she said nodding her head as if she needed that extra bit of head movement to convince herself that it was okay to sleep in the same bed with her adult son. "You holding me, cuddling me, and spooning me while comforting me in the way that your father used to do would be just what I need to get a good night's sleep," she said before saying what he was hoping to hear. "It would help me to pretend that you were him," she said innocently yet immodestly and immorally while making solid eye contact with him.
'What? Huh? Did I hear her correctly? It would help her to pretend that I'm my father? Is that what she just said? Seriously? Maybe that would lull her into having sex with me,' he thought.
He couldn't believe she said what he was thinking. Was she thinking what he was thinking in having him give her sex in the way that his father gave her sex? Was that what she meant by her pretending that he was his father? Did she mean sex or was she just referring to him sleeping beside her?Unable to stop his horny, incestuous thoughts, he wondered if his mother was thinking about having sex with him in the way that he was thinking about having sex with her. He wondered if his mother was just as horny for him as he was horny for her. Just the thought of him being in bed with his mother already gave his cock a hardening twitch. His sexual fantasy come true, he'd love nothing more than to have sex with his mother on of all nights, the night of love, romance, and sex, Valentine's Day night.
"Let me know when you're ready for bed and we'll go up together," he said.
* * * * *
Already plotting and planning his mother's sexual seduction as if he was Benjamin Braddock, played by Dustin Hoffman, in The Graduate and she was Mrs. Robinson, played by Anne Bancroft. Only, Mrs. Robinson, a sexual cougar, was the aggressor. She was the one who planned Benjamin's seduction. Now, he wondered if his mother was a cougar too. Perhaps, all of this was a ruse and she had been planning his sexual seduction all along.
'Oh, my God, I'm so excited. I can't wait to sleep with my mother,' he thought.
Making no difference if his mother was a cougar or just lonely, he wondered what his mother would wear to bed. He hoped she'd wear the sexy nightgown he gave her for Valentine's Day. Or maybe she'd wear her clothes to bed, her short, skirt and her low-cut blouse. Forget about going to bed in his clothes, a bold, horny move, he'd remove his underwear and just wear his thin, cotton, pajama bottoms and a tee shirt to bed.
'I hope she doesn't wear her clothes to bed,' he thought.
Once up against her, he'd purposely throb and pulsate his cock for his erection to eventually work its way out of his pee hole. Then, as if taking a stiff bow, with his hard cock making a proud, albeit surprised appearance, the rogue, bull elephant in the room and in his mother's bed, he wondered if she'd notice his naked cock rubbing against her backside. He wondered if she'd comment on his exposed erection or if she'd reach around herself to touch his engorged prick and/or take his cock in her hand to finger his dick before stroking his dick while turning to spoon him.
'I'd love nothing more than to hump my mother with my exposed, naked prick during the night,' he thought.
Even more important than what he was wearing or not wearing, he wondered again what his mother would wear to bed. Just as he hoped she wouldn't sleep in her clothes, he hoped she wouldn't wear a long, flannel nightgown. Yet, her sleeping in her short skirt wouldn't be a total bust. No doubt, with her wearing her short skirt to bed, the hem of her skirt would make its way all the way up to her waist and expose her panties to him during the night. Not a total loss, while he comforted his mother, he'd love for his hand to be in constant contact with her white, bikini panties.
Hoping beyond hope, he hoped she'd wear her short, low cut, black, sexy, slinky nightgown, the one she always packed when going away with his father. Her perfect opportunity to flash him her sexy, shapely body, he hoped she'd wear the sexy, Victoria's Secret nightgown that he gave her for Valentine's Day. If she wore either of those two nightgowns, he'd see more of his mother's nearly naked body than he ever saw before. If she wore either of those two nightgowns, he'd be copping cheap feels of her as she slept.
'I can't wait to see what she wears to bed,' he thought.
Then, sexually exciting himself by the mere thought, he wondered in the way that he chose not to wear underwear beneath his pajamas to bed, if she'd choose not to wear panties to bed. Yet, taking a giant leap, for all that he knew his mother may wear pajamas to bed. He had no idea what she'd wear to bed. With his luck and with nothing sexy or sexual about that, she'd probably wear her bra and panties beneath a flannel pajama, one-piece jumpsuit.
'I hope she doesn't wear pajamas to bed,' he thought.
He stared over at her while wondering what she'd look like wearing one of her sexy nightgowns or wearing the nightgown he bought her for Valentine's Day. He couldn't wait to see more of his mother's sexy and shapely body that he had ever seen before. He couldn't wait to expose his erect prick to his mother during the night. Just as he hoped she'd spoon him while holding his naked prick, he hoped she'd allow him to spoon her while holding her naked breast.
* * * * *
"I'm ready for bed now," she said standing, yawning, and stretching. When she stood, yawned, and stretched like that, she gave him a deliberate or an accidental up-blouse view of the underside her bra. From the lower vantage point of his chair and with her standing in front of him while stretching with her arms held high over her head, he watched her blouse rise to expose the bottom of her big, bra cups. "This wine is making me sleepy," she said stretching again before pulling down her blouse to deny him from seeing anymore of her bra cups.
'Oh, my God. Are you kidding me? If a down-blouse view of my mother's bra clad breast wasn't enough now she gave me an up-blouse view of her brassiere. God, I love her big tits,' he thought.
Inadvertently or deliberately, while knowing he was sitting there staring up at her, she exposed the bottoms of her big bra cups to him again by yawning and stretching yet again. She let out another big yawn before carrying the wineglasses to the kitchen to dump the rest of the wine in the sink and to rinse the glasses. Accustomed to seeing down-blouse views of her bra, he couldn't believe she gave him up-blouse views of her bra.
Yet, more than up-skirt views of her panties and down-blouse and up-blouse views of her bra, he couldn't believe he was going to bed with his mother. He couldn't believe he was sleeping in the same bed with his mother. He couldn't believe he'd hopefully be holding, comforting, cuddling, and spooning her as if she was his girlfriend or his lover instead of his mother. He hoped he'd get to hold his mother's naked breast in the way that he hoped she'd hold his naked cock.
'This is the best Valentine's Day gift my Mom could have given me,' he thought.
He smiled at her while she smiled at him.
"This is the best Valentine's Day gift you could have ever given me," she said as if reading his thoughts.
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