บท 104: Mom’s worry 7
Fuck me, but Mom was horny. She wasn't just wet. She wanted to fuck!
"Mom," I said, still kneeling, "can you turn around for me?"
Mom pushed herself to a standing position and turned around. She looked down at me, but I didn't look up at her. I had my phone focused on the triangle of her labia, recording the blonde hairs sticking above her waistline and panning the camera over the exposed sides of her mound. I panned lower, loving how the outer edges of her lips lay outside of the triangle of her little panties.
I stood, keeping the camera on my mother's body, recording her stomach and belly button and her breasts. I captured each one, zooming in on her nipples, and then I moved up to her face, where she was nibbling on the last of her strawberry, and a little bit of juice escaped her lips as she bit into it.
My cock hurt so fucking much because of this... this... this craziness.
"Mom," I said, "I can't do this anymore."
"Mark," Mom said, dropping her hand from her mouth, the strawberry's top slipping from her fingers and crashing to the wooden floor below.
"I need to see Jenna." I lowered my camera. "This is too much. I mean, look!" I tilted my phone's viewer at my cock. "Your teasing--"
"Don't say that," Mom said. "You can't see Jenna. You can't. You have to do something else. You have to find a way to stay away from her. You have to--"
"Can I touch you?" I asked, my question slicing through her words and leaving her wide-eyed. "I'm not leaving Jenna for another woman. I'm not. But if you're going to insist on this, whatever this is, I need to touch you."
"Mark," Mom said, sighing.
"I need to." I licked my lips. "And not like when I put the oil on you. I need to touch you." I shut my eyes, my face clenching. I wasn't acting. "Jenna won't tease me like you do. She wants to give me the real thing. I need more from you, Mom."
I opened my eyes, but I didn't look at my mother. I stared down and to the left, the expression on my face a tangible mixture of shame, frustration, desire, and other emotions that left me feeling like a swelling ball of rage that would continue to grow until it burst.
Mom stared at me in silence.
A minute slipped into the past.
I almost looked up at her.
Another minute disappeared from my life.
"I'm going to Jenna," I said, turning around and walking toward the hallway cutting straight to the foyer. "This isn't working. Not the way you wanted it to work. I'm sorry."
"Mark," Mom said, her voice firm but not cold. There was a kind of resignation in her tone that warmed my blood. "Wait for me in the living room. Wait for me, no matter how long I take."
Not turning around, I nodded, and I walked to the living room and sat on the couch facing the TV, placing my phone on the armrest. Time went by, one minute, then two--my dick still hard. By the third minute, I had started tapping my right foot, my balls now aching. By the fourth minute, my left foot had joined my right, my knees rising and falling in unison. I breathed in deeply, taking in as much air as possible to calm myself, but it wasn't working. I looked toward the kitchen often for the next several minutes, and by the eighth minute, I stood and almost walked back to the kitchen, but Mom had said to wait, no matter how long she took.
Fuck.
God had not given horny eighteen-year-olds the patience to wait for sex. It was no wonder that so many of us got into trouble. I was ready to stand up again by the time half an hour had passed, but then I heard the soft tap of Mom's feet on the hallway's wooden floor.
I turned to the right, looking at my mother, who was coming out of the kitchen with a full glass of wine. I guessed it was not her first since I had left the kitchen, and maybe not her second. There was a soft glaze filming her eyes.
Mom stepped from the wooden foyer and down into the carpeted living room, walking around the far end of the couch. She sipped her wine and then walked forward, stopping in front of me. There was plenty of room between the couch and the coffee table--Mom didn't believe in clutter--and she stared down at me with an unreadable expression on her face.
"Mom?" I asked.
Mom licked her lips before saying, "If I let you touch my legs, you will not see Jenna."
"For today," I said. "I won't see Jenna for today."
Mom narrowed her brows.
"I promise." I tilted my head to the left and then rolled it to the right before straightening it. "Tomorrow too."
Mom inhaled deeply, then exhaled with a heavy sound. Was she trying to guilt me into changing my mind? It wasn't going to work. My mom--any mom--standing in front of their son while wearing a pair of tiny panties and a cropped tank top that hugged her tits like a second skin was not about to convince their sex-starved child that touching her wasn't in his best interest.
"Okay," Mom said. "Get off the couch."
I stood, looming over my mother. She brought her wine up to her lips and drank. Her green eyes found mine, and they didn't break contact. The stem of the wine glass tilted upward, the round base pointing at me as the wine disappeared into my mother's mouth. Every last drop of the wine ran down her throat before she turned to her left and moved away from me. Mom walked one step and then glided into the couch with a cat-like crawl, her right knee going up first, then her right hand. She braced herself as she set her wine glass down, the stretch of her arm and spine lifting her ass into the air. With her legs parted, that fabric capturing her pussy folds seemed to stretch, and she then brought her left hand and leg onto the couch and lay down on her stomach with her legs closed.
"Go ahead," Mom said. "Touch me."
"Anywhere," I said.
"No," Mom snapped. "Not anywhere."
"I mean anywhere that you aren't wearing clothes."
"My legs," Mom said. "My back and my sides. That's where you can touch me." Mom made a clicking sound with her tongue. "I'm still your mother." She gathered her hair and pulled it over her left shoulder. "Remember that."
"I know," I said. "No other woman could convince me not to see Jenna."
Mom's head turned as if she were about to look over her shoulder at me, but then she faced forward. She grabbed a couch pillow and rested her cheek on its softness. Her eyes faced the backrest, and then they closed. I took that as a sign to get in my feels.
There was no lotion this time, only skin-to-skin contact. I dropped to my knees, my hard-on hovering above the cushions and pointing at Mom's hip. I placed my left hand on the small of her back, the warmth of her skin flowing into my hand, and I felt the rise of goosebumps across her flesh. I placed my right hand on her left leg, the outside leg, above her ankle, and I stroked upward toward the back of my mother's knee.
Mom stiffened, and she drew in a deep breath, releasing it with a tremor. I spread my fingers along her calf, touching as much of her as possible, with my thumb pointed upward along her leg. At her knee, I rubbed her skin in a small circle, then I moved back down and then back up, pulling her leg toward the edge of the couch cushions. Mom resisted at first, but I increased my pressure, and slowly, I managed to get her to spread her legs for me. A narrow V opened up, pointing straight to the white cloth cupping her cunny meat. My eyes focused between her legs, and my cock throbbed, begging me to stick it right there as if I had a say in the matter.
In due time, I told my prick.
I rubbed my mother's lower back as I moved my hand to her other calf. My fingers tips pressed into her, and I slid my hand up to the hem of her crop top and around to her far side, giving her slender body a squeeze. Mom's breathing deepened, but she didn't tell me to stop touching her above her waist. I could tell that she was trying to control the volume of her breathing.
I moved my right hand back to her left calf and moved upward, stopping at her knee, moving down, then pushing back to her knee and moving above it. Mom tensed at the first touch of my fingertips along her inner thigh, my long digits curving inward toward the softer part of her leg.
She felt smooth and soft, but the deeper I pressed into her skin, the firmer her muscles grew. I moved my fingers to her right thigh, brushing her flesh with the backs of my fingers and then moving back to her left thigh, feathering her skin with my fingertips, almost tickling her, and doing my best to send pleasure through her body. A man was touching her between her legs. It had to feel good, right?
My eyes moved to the cloth that was cupping my mother's pussy, and I smiled when I saw the damp line outlining the length of her maternal slit. God, my father was lucky to have been inside her small hole. My cock pulsed. I bit back a moan as I took my hand from my mother's back and angled my body toward her head, making it easier for me to place my hands on the back of her thighs, just above her knees.
Licking my lips as my mother shivered, I pulled my hands upward, adding pressure to my fingertips. My digits were on the top of Mom's thighs, but my thumbs were on the insides, where Mom had to be the most sensitive. Before my fingertips could reach the bottoms of Mom's butt cheeks, I stopped my hands, but I rowed my thumbs along her inner thigh, massaging her and then caressing her far beyond the measure of a normal mother/son relationship.
God, my dick hurt. If only I could take it out.
I moved my hands higher.
"Mark," Mom said, her voice rushed. "My legs only."
"I know," I said as I slid my hands inward, down to her inner thighs, my fingertip about a quarter inch away from the start of her inner lips. I curled my fingers over my mother's flesh, pulling her skin hard enough to stretch the exposed layers of her outer folds further away from the cover of her panties.
"Mark," Mom gasped as her cunny lips slipped away from each other.
I stretched my fingers outward, getting closer to the heat radiating from between her thighs. I curled them again, watching as her pussy pulsed with my movements. Her lower lips puckered as I pushed inward, and they opened as I curled my fingers away from her center groove. I placed more pressure on my mother's thighs, forcing her right leg against the back of the couch and her left leg closer to the edge. The left side of her cunny showed more skin than her right side.
I curled my fingers again.
A soft moan escaped my mother's lips.
Sighing, I swept my hands up the backs of her thighs, and as my heart beat faster, I pushed upward, inching my fingers onto her bare butt cheeks and then over them. Mom whimpered. As I did this, I humped my hips forward, rubbing the underside of my cock against the couch. Pleasure shot through me. I humped the couch faster, pushing precum from my cock and pressing my fingers harder into my mother's ass--really making her feel my touch. Mom reached back with her hands, placing her fingers over mine, but I pushed upward anyway, not stopping until I held both of her firm hams in my palms with my thumbs resting along her crack.
A strange, helpless whine left my mother's lips.
"Mom," I said, talking without thinking, "can I jerk off on you?"
My heart stopped. Why had I asked her that question? What happened to taking my time? What happened to moving slowly? What happened to not shoving my head up my ass? I squeezed my Mom's butt hard, not knowing what to do, but I had to do something.
Mom pushed herself up into the Upward Dog yoga pose. Without saying a word, she slid her left leg from the couch and then her right, facing away from me, and she walked around the couch and up onto the foyer, and then up the stairs, her pear-shaped as swaying as she left me alone.
Fuck me!
I had fucked up.
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