บท 197: My Mom is a Hot Mom Ch. 07
SimonDoom©
Sweat poured down my back as I hacked away at the backyard bushes with long-handled clippers. It was mid-fall, and not yet noon, but it was unseasonably warm. I was shirtless, and the late-morning sun warmed my sweat-covered skin.
In a few hours, several friends of mine would be coming over to watch a pro football game with me. But, now, I was in the back yard, and I had gardening chores to do. Mom wanted me to trim the hedges. So, I stood hunched over overgrown shrubs, trimming away all the excess and unruly branches.
I clipped away at the bushes for twenty minutes, working up a fine sweat all over my body. I wanted to finish the gardening chores as quickly as I could, so I could go inside, get showered, and get ready to watch the game with my buddies.
My phone was velcroed to my bicep, and it was streaming some 90s-era grunge rock that I listened to through wireless earbuds. Music always made gardening chores, which I did not love, go faster.
I was so intent on my work and music that at first, I didn't notice the shadow of someone behind me. But, eventually I did, and I turned around to see my mom standing behind me.
I looked down rather than up. Mom wore very short, tan, denim shorts. On top, she wore a tight, white t-shirt, old and ratty, with a few visible holes and tears, shrunken enough that it left a strip of her firm tummy uncovered. It was obvious that she wore no bra. Mom was looking awfully hot for a casual, mid-Sunday morning around the house.
She surveyed the many piles of leaf clippings from my work.
"Good job, Randy!" she said. "I appreciate you doing all this work. The yard needed it and I didn't want to have to hire a gardener to do it."
"No problem, mom," I said. The mid-morning sun lit mom's blond hair from the side, enveloping her in an angelic glow. It contrasted with the saucy, sassy, and much less angelic expression in her eyes and face. She was looking intently at me and I wondered what she was thinking.
"So, what are you listening to?" mom asked.
"It's Pearl Jam," I said. "Alive."
Mom threw her head back and laughed, loudly. I couldn't figure out what was funny.
"What's funny about that?" I asked.
"Nothing," she said, although she said it like she didn't mean it. Her laughter subsided, finally. When she got control of herself and stopped looking at me, she looked at me and her eyes twinkled with the light of the morning.
"You have a birthday coming up soon," she said. "Do you know what you want?"
I gave mom a wicked grin and swept my eyes up and down her body.
"I'm looking at it," I said.
"Down, boy," she said, putting her fingers on my bare chest. "Be good."
"I'd prefer not to be," I said. "I think you'd like it better naughty, too."
On an impulse, I put my free hand, the one without the clippers, up to her face, and I pulled her face gently and slowly to mine. She didn't resist. Our lips touched, and I kissed her lightly, my lips just barely touching hers.
I felt mom's lips push against mine and open slightly, so I pushed harder against her. My other hand dropped the clippers and went to the small of mom's back. Now I opened my mouth, and hers opened with mine. My tongue took its chance to press forward and into her, mashing and twirling against her tongue.
Now we were making out, my naked chest pressed against her thin t-shirt covered boobs, and our mouths writhing against each other. Her tongue pushed back, seeking an entry into my mouth. Mine relented and let hers in. My hands now were against the back of her neck and cupped over her ass. We stood like that in the backyard in the morning sun, kissing furiously, heedless of anyone that might happen to see us through or over the wood plank fence that surrounded the yard.
"Mmmm, mom," I growled at her.
"Unnnnh, Randy," she purred back.
We twisted and pushed against each other like that, on the edge of the lawn, for several minutes. The only sound we made was our mouths sighing and smacking each other. I squeezed her ass with my hand, then I moved it to the crack between her checks. I wasn't supposed to touch her between her legs, or so she'd told me, but it wasn't clear that the rule applied if a layer of thin cotton separated my hand and her intimate parts. I decided to press the point. My hand pressed further down and between her check, and I pressed my middle finger down hard between her crack. It dug in. To my surprise, mom's ass pushed back against my hand.
Okay, I thought. Mom has no problem with this. I decided to test her responsiveness from a different angle. My hand slipped around her, to her belly, and then it slipped down her front to the space between her legs. I cupped her mound through the shorts and pressed my fingers against her.
Now mom pressed forward, against my hand again. She didn't have any problem with this either, I thought. I was surprised, and I wasn't about to waste this opportunity.
I extended my middle finger and poked at the place where, under her shorts, I thought her pussy lay. I pressed hard, and the pants gave way and I felt the finger, through her shorts fabric, pushing and spreading her apart. I kept kissing her to distract her, but I could tell she wasn't distracted. Her body fully responded to my touch and pushed back against mine.
I curved my middle finger and flicked it harder and faster between mom's legs. I wanted to see if I could make mom come. She didn't pull away, but after half a minute of my attention she put a hand down and grabbed my hand, and she moved it up half an inch.
"There," she said. "That's the spot." Then she kept moving, pressing the shorts-covered mound between her legs against my finger as it pushed and stroked against her. I kept pressing my finger against her until she moaned softly.
"Mom," I whispered to her, "How about if I take your shorts off and rub you through your panties. I'll make you come."
Mom's mouth curled into a funny smile.
"That might work," she said, "If I were wearing panties. But I'm not. If I took my shorts off you'd have your hand right on my pussy, and I'm not going to let you do that."
"Why not, mom?" I asked. "Why not let me? I want to finger you. I want to fuck you. Let me fuck you, right now, in our back yard. It will feel so good. You know I'm going to fuck you, mom. You know it's going to happen. Let's do it now."
For a moment I thought I might be persuading her, because she kept pressing the mound between her legs against my finger, which I pushed against her, trying to get her off through the cloth of the shorts. But then she pulled away and looked me in the eye.
"Randy," she said. "We set some boundaries. You know that. And as much fun as this is, I want to keep those boundaries and I want you to respect them. OK?"
"But why, mom?" I asked. "Look what we're doing here. Think about what we've been doing. I know you like it as much as I do. It would feel so good. I respect your boundaries, but they seem artificial." I was trying hard to put on my best salesman voice. I wanted to sell this badly.
"It doesn't seem artificial to me," she said. "I've done a lot with you, and you're right, I've enjoyed it. You've brought something out of me that was buried deep and I've enjoyed it. But doing that is a whole different step. And that's not something I'm ready to do. So, for now, you're just going to have to respect that."
Mom's voice sounded firm, and I could tell it was no use arguing. But I couldn't help but notice that she'd said she "wasn't ready" to take that step, and that I would have to respect that "for now." Mom's words gave me hope. My time would come. I was going to fuck her, I knew it. We were getting closer, but it wasn't going to be right now, or right here.
Mom's eyes widened and flashed at me.
"We can't do 'that,'" she said. "But there's no reason we can't have a little fun while you finish your chores."
A wicked grin spread over her face, and she stepped back. Then she pulled up her white t-shirt, all the way up to her neck, exposing her breasts. They looked even more perfect than I had remembered them. Her nipples glowed like hard, pink pebbles in the morning light.
"Oh, mom," I moaned. "You're so beautiful."
"Thank you, son," she said, pulling the shirt back down. She turned quickly, and she stuck her ass out in my direction and swayed and strutted in bare feet toward the side of the yard, where I had laid a hose under some bushes whose leaves were turning brown.
Mom reached the hose, and bent over to it with her legs straight. The muscles in her long legs were stretched tight and lean. As she grabbed the hose she looked back at me. I glanced at her eyes but turned my gaze quickly to her ass. The tiny, tight shorts were riding up, exposing a strip of the smooth skin of her ass cheeks.
Then mom turned around, put her thumb on the end of the hose, and sprayed herself with water. She let out a little, high-pitched "Onnnh" when the cold water hit her, but the coldness didn't stop her. She doused her chest with it, and then set the hose back next to the bushes.
She crouched down on the lawn with the fence and greenery behind her, her knees on the grass, facing me. She put her hands on her knees, threw back her shoulders, and pushed her chest forward, giving me one of the most arousing shows I'd ever seen.
Mom's soaked and threadbare white t-shirt perfectly sculpted her breasts now: full, ripe, and round. The shirt was almost clear now, and the dark pink of her erect nipples stood out. I stood in the middle of the lawn, watching her from fifteen feet away, my feet rooted to the ground. I was paralyzed with arousal.
Mom swayed her shoulders back and forth. Once again, I was hit with an overwhelming sensation of disbelief. Despite all we'd done together so far, it still was almost impossible to believe: this was my mom! Writhing in front of me, lewdly but proudly showing off her 41-year old tits to me, her son.
And she didn't stop there. Her fingers hooked under the bottom edge of her tattered and now soaked shirt and pulled it up. The expanse of mom's thin and lightly muscled abdomen came into view, but still she didn't stop. She swept the wet shirt up and over her shoulders and head and tossed it to side. Now she sat, like a hungry animal, topless.
She put a hand up under each tit and pushed it up. She licked each nipple. Most of me was brain-dead at this point, utterly captivated by what my mom was doing and nearly incapable of any kind of rational thought. But a little part of me, somewhere inside, was thinking, where did my mom learn to act like a stripper? She and dad must have done a lot more at some time in their marriage than she had told me about. Wherever she had received her education, she'd earned her degree, and here I was, her horny and grateful son, receiving the benefits of my mom's advanced knowledge of how to be completely fucking hot.
I put a hand down between my legs and felt the growing bulge and discomfort of my cock being trapped in the tight jeans. I was about to pull the zipper down when I stopped, because mom was doing something new. She sat back and quickly pulled the zipper of her own shorts down. The shorts were wet now, and not as easy to pull off, I could tell. But she pulled them off quickly anyway, her butt bouncing off the grass to ease the way and her legs in the air. In a flash they were off and lying on top of the wet t shirt on the lawn. And mom had been telling the truth: she wasn't wearing any panties. She was naked.
She put her feet back on the plush carpet of grass, and then she spread her legs wide. One hand steadied her behind her, and the other went between her legs. With two fingers she splayed open the lips of her pussy.
I think my jaw must have dropped and my eyes bugged out without my realizing it, because mom looked at me and laughed. Then the smile faded, and a lusty look took over her face.
She silently mouthed some words, exaggerating the movement of her mouth so I could tell what she was saying:
"Is this what you want?"
I nodded.
A sheen of water from the spray of the hose lay over mom's nude body, and it reflected the morning light, enveloping mom in an angelic glow that contrasted with her lewd pose.
My hand went to my zipper. I needed relief. I would jerk myself off to the sight of my hot, naked, stripper mom. Maybe she would let me come in her face, or her blond hair. I wanted to see that.
Before I started, though, I heard a loud male voice.
"Hey Randy," the voice called. "Doing some yard work?"
It was our neighbor, Mr. Daniels, the male half of the elderly couple next door. My mouth dropped open in shock as I saw his face appearing a few feet back of the fence directly behind mom. He was climbing a ladder, slowly, and I could see he had some clippers in his hands that, apparently, he was going to use to lop off some unruly branches from a small tree next to the ladder. I had been so busy watching my mom I hadn't even noticed the ladder being set in place, or heard Mr. Daniels's movements. I could tell that he hadn't seen mom yet, but that he would if he kept climbing the ladder.
Mom's face showed even more shock and surprise than mine, I'm sure, and she looked all around her, wondering what to do and where to go. If she ran away from the fence, Daniels would see her. She couldn't let that happen. She snatched up her shorts and shirt and did the only thing she could, crawling backward toward the fence and taking a place right next to it between two bushes. She pushed her back against the fence and brought her legs up toward her chest to minimize the chance that Mr. Daniels would see her.
Mr. Daniels climbed as high as he was going to on the ladder. He was high enough that he would have seen mom if she hadn't moved, but the fence blocked his view of her where she was crouching. He didn't start clipping right away; instead, he craned his head, looking around our backyard. Obviously, he was looking for mom. I'd caught him ogling mom many times. He was an old hypocrite, because he and his wife Erma were constantly gossiping about and disapproving of the moral habits of their neighbors. Mrs. Daniels was worse than Mr. Daniels. She was a hawk-faced woman whose expression took on a predatory scowl whenever she saw children near her lawn or people dressed in a way that she didn't approve of. I had no doubt that Mr. Daniels lived in fear that Mrs. Daniels would catch him ogling my mom one day. Woe to him if she did.
"Your mom around, Randy?" he asked. I was right; he was hoping to catch a glimpse of my mom.
I looked at my mom under the fence directly opposite under him, her head was directly under his, not more than 12 feet away from where he stood on the ladder. She put a finger to her lips. Her back was pressed as far back against fence as she could go, and her other arm curled around her shins to keep them close to the fence and out of Mr. Daniels's view.
"Nope, she's not around," I said, looking back at my elderly neighbor. "I'm sure she's not far away, though."
"Well, tell her I say 'hi', he said in a croaking voice. "Your mom sure is a nice lady. Lots of class. Why, even Erma says she has a lot of class, and she doesn't say that about a lot of people."
I saw mom put a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh. I could almost swear that even from this distance I could see her eyes twinkle, and they looked up to the sky directly over her. Then she took her hand away from her legs, and she parted them, slowly, quietly, keeping them near the fence to avoid detection. Soon they were peeled all the way back, and once again mom's pussy was on display for me. Mr. Daniels had no idea that mom was so lewdly displaying herself directly underneath where he stood on the latter.
"Thanks for saying that, Mr. Daniels," I replied. "I think my mom is a classy lady, too. She's always telling me the importance of following the rules. And of being modest."
Mom gave me a wry look, as her hand went down between her legs and started rubbing there. I saw her folds pushed back and forth, up and down. She closed her eyes, obviously savoring the feeling.
I hoped Mr. Daniels would go away, but he was cutting branches very slowly, and he seemed to be in no hurry.
"It's a rare thing these days, people having class," he said. He lopped off a couple of branches and waited, then looked over the fence again, this time seeming to scan the house.
"Is your mom going to join you in the garden this morning?" he asked, hope in his voice.
"No," I said. "She's very busy doing something more important right now."
The conversation and the nearness of Mr. Daniels seemed to turn mom on, because her hand moved faster and faster, until it was a blur between her legs. I saw her legs jerk two or three times involuntarily, and her mouth opened.
Then she let out a little gasp. Not a big one, but loud enough that I could hear it, and I was sure Mr. Daniels must have heard something too, despite being somewhat hard of hearing. I saw his brow furrow.
"Did you hear something?" he asked. Mom's hand was clamped over her mouth.
"No, I didn't hear anything," I said. Mom took her hand away and mouthed the word "shit."
"Hmmmm," he said. He began to lean forward, away from the ladder, his head craning to see over the fence.
"Ron!" came a woman's voice from behind Mr. Daniels. It was his wife. Thank goodness. "Are you done with that tree yet? I need you." Her voice screeched, and Mr. Daniels looked downcast and resigned.
"Yes, I am," he called back in his croaky voice. "Coming." He turned back to me.
"Well, gotta go," he said. "See you later Randy. And tell your mother I said 'hi.'"
"I'll do that right away, Mr. Daniels," I said. He descended the ladder and his head dropped out of view, below the level of the fence. I gave mom the thumbs up signal.
Mom scooped up her top and her shorts, and she ran fast in a crouch from the fence toward the house. I chased after her. She looked back, as did I, and there was no sign of Mr. Daniels anymore. Mom opened the back door and ran into the house, and I followed right after her.
Inside the house, the door shut and Mr. Daniels's eager and prying eyes no longer a worry, mom stopped. She still was naked. Her shorts and shirt were soaked, and she showed no inclination to put them back on. Drops off water fell off her clothes and her body onto the wood floor -- plop, plop.
"Randy," mom said, "Can you get me a towel? My feet are dirty and wet, and I don't want to track up the house."
"Sure, mom," I said. I fetched a towel from the laundry room nearby and returned. It was a small towel -- big enough to clean off her feet but not big enough to cover her. I admit I wanted to keep seeing mom naked.
I knelt and gestured to her feet and mom lifted them. I wiped off each one in turn, massaging and wiping each one carefully and lovingly. But I took time to look up, too, to the slit between her legs, and to her eyes, alternately watching my work with the towel and searching my own eyes. Desire surged inside me at my mom's naked beauty and vulnerability.
"That was close," I said to her. "I think Mr. Daniels would have had a heart attack if he'd seen you."
"Thank goodness he didn't," mom said. "The last thing I'd need would be that old lech seeing me like that. The whole neighborhood would know."
I was done with mom's feet, so I put the towel down and stood up. Mom and I faced each other, me clothed and her nude.
"You liked that, though, didn't you, mom?" I asked her.
Mom smirked. She knew what I was asking her. She took a while to respond.
"Yeah, Randy," she said. "I liked it. You know your old mom well enough at this point that I can say that. I liked it. But we have to be careful. I can't let a guy like Daniels see me like that. I can't let the neighborhood know about that, and they will If I let old Ron Daniels see me."
"I know, mom," I said. My eyes ran up and down her nude, succulent body. "We have to be careful. But we can still have some fun. You know, I've got three friends coming over for the football game soon."
"Randy," mom said. "I am not going to get naked for your friends. If Tucker saw me that way everyone in the neighborhood would know before sunset. I can't allow that. I have a job and a reputation to keep."
"Mom, I know that," I said. "You're right about Tucker. You have to watch yourself around him. He's my best friend but he's not very discreet. He can't keep a secret at all. But that doesn't mean we can't have some fun today. We can. And I think you'll like it."
"What do you have in mind?" she asked. Her eyebrows arched high.
"I want you to put on a little show, mom," I said. "Within limits. Not so Tucker will go flapping his lips to everybody. You won't scandalize the neighbors. But I want to push you, mom. I know you like showing off and I want you to do that, this afternoon."
"Randy," mom said, "What in the world do you have in mind?"
I fished a crumpled piece of paper out of my pocket. I held it out to her, and after a moment or two of looking at it, she took it.
"What's this?" she asked.
"I wrote down what I want you to wear today, when my friends are over, during the football game."
Mom took the piece of paper and un-crumpled it. She looked at it and her mouth twisted. Then she looked up from the paper and back at me.
"What kind of son are you?" she asked.
"I'm the kind of son a mom like you wants to have," I said, my mouth turned up in a knowing smile. "Go ahead. Get showered and wear what I've written down. We'll have fun, but we won't cross any boundaries you don't want to cross."
At that, my naked mom took the slip of paper, clasped it in her hand, pivoted, and walked away from me toward her bedroom.
The day had gotten off to an interesting start, but I was certain it was going to get a lot more interesting.
Two hours later, the doorbell rang, and I let my friends, Alex, Mason, and Tucker, in the house. The game was about to start, so they quickly staked out their places on the chairs and sofa in the living room in front of the large screen television. I knew a thing or two about their appetites, so the coffee table in front of them was covered in bowls of chips and dip. I heard Tucker start boasting about the success of his fantasy team as I went to the kitchen to get some drinks. That started a loud but friendly argument over whose fantasy quarterback sucked the most.
The kitchen was divided from the living room by a floor to ceiling wall with a large space cut out to allow one to pass food and drinks across a counter from the kitchen to the living room. Three barstools perched at the edge. As you looked toward the kitchen from the living room you could see part of the kitchen behind the cut out in the wall, and to the right was the open dining room. The television was perched on the wall opposite the kitchen, so we could watch TV while making lunch in the kitchen. On the left side, the kitchen opened into the hallway toward the bedrooms, and on the right, it opened to the dining room.
It was a spacious kitchen. My parents had updated it before the divorce. In the middle of it stood an island counter, waist-high, on which I'd placed the bread, sandwich meat, and condiments mom and I were going to use to make sandwiches during the game. I hadn't seen mom for about an hour, but I expected her to appear any moment to help me.
I opened the refrigerator and started pulling some drinks out.
"Hey Randy," Mason called. I looked up and he was turned around in the sofa, looking at me. "Where's your mom?"
My friends never changed. They always wanted to see my hot mom. But I had changed. In the past, it would have embarrassed me. But not now. This time, I was fully aware of how hot my mom was, and I wanted them to see her in all her hotness. Well, maybe not all of her hotness. But some of it.
"She's around," I said. "She's going to help me with lunch, so she should be out soon."
"Excellent," he said, turning back to the game. The game started, and the visiting team kicked off.
Just then I heard the clack of heels on the floor. I looked up and mom stood in the doorway between the kitchen and hallway. Her hands rested on either side of the door frame.
She looked stunning. The first thing I noticed was the blue denim miniskirt. I hadn't seen her wear it in a long time, and it was even shorter than I had remembered it. It hit high on her thigh, and its brevity accentuated the length and exquisite tone of mom's legs, which seemed to go on forever until they ended at 4-inch strappy white and cork wedge heels. On top she wore a tight-fitting white tank top with a built-in shelf bra (I knew, because I'd checked it out earlier when preparing my list of what I wanted mom to wear). The bra provided enough support to keep mom from flopping around, but it was thin enough that I could see the faint outline of her nipples.
Mom had spent some time with her hair and face as well. Her hair lay in thick blond waves around her lovely face. She wore more makeup than normal for a Sunday afternoon, but not too much; it added a hint of extra glamour to her fresh-scrubbed, sporty beauty. She looked exactly as I'd wanted her to: adorable, and sexy, but not trashy. She could tease without being too obvious about it. That's what I wanted.
I pointed to the bottom of her skirt and mouthed the words, "Let me see."
She knew what I wanted. First, she looked to the side to see if anyone could see her. It was an unnecessary glance because my friends couldn't see mom from where they sat in the living room. She reached down slowly pulled the bottom hem of her skirt. I nodded to indicate she should keep pulling. She did, until the tiny, filmy, powder blue thong panties were fully exposed. They weren't fully see-through, but they were see-through enough that I could just make out mom's delicious slit through the fabric. Anyone with a good view up mom's skirt would see more than just panties, but not so much more that it would be obvious she wanted them to see it.
I nodded, and she pulled the skirt down. The look was perfect. We were ready to go.
I pointed to the drinks I'd put on a tray on the island.
"Mom," I asked, "Can you take these out to the living room?"
"Sure, Randy," she said with a knowing smirk. She picked up the tray and walked out the other end of the kitchen, through the dining room and into the living room, announcing her presence to my friends with the sound of her heels and a bouncy and flirty voice.
"Hi, boys!" she said. "Want some refreshments?"
All three of their heads swiveled around, the game instantly forgotten. From the kitchen cutout I could see their faces, and I could see mom from behind. Mom obviously made an impression, because none of them said anything for a few seconds, and Tucker's and Mason's mouths opened. Flies could have flown in and they wouldn't have noticed.
"Sure, Ms. Lund," Tucker said, at last, with a slight stammer. "Thanks a lot!"
"Now, Tucker," she said, "You know you can call me Inga. You're all adults now."
"O.K., uh, Inga," Tucker said, his eyes still wide and obviously sweeping over her body. Mom walked around the sofa to the coffee table, giving my friends an impressive view of her legs moving under the tiny skirt. She knelt with her knees bent and together to set the tray on the table, but it was impossible to prevent the skirt from riding up her thighs as she did so, and I could tell from the way my friends craned their heads around that they were trying to get as good a view as they could. Mom acted oblivious to their attention, but I knew that she knew exactly what they were doing.
I felt a twinge of guilt. I'd orchestrated putting my hot mom on display for my three horny, best friends. I thought about what I was doing. I shouldn't have done that, should I? But I had done it, and mom had gone along. I'd set things in motion, but it was mom's show now. She wouldn't have worn the miniskirt and tank top if she hadn't wanted to put on the show. It was too late for me to worry about the ethics of what I'd done. I just needed to sit back and enjoy the show. The twinge of guilt passed.
Mom moved the drinks from the tray to the table. My friends' focus on her hadn't waivered. Each of them ogled her in a different way. Mason, who was always eager to please, sat closest to her, and he was bent over, helping her unload the drinks, but I could tell he was trying to look up her skirt as she was crouched. Alex, the coolest of the three, sat farthest away, and he feigned watching the game while looking at mom out of his side vision. Tucker, never concerned about looking or acting appropriately, just sat slack-jawed and stared at her boobs.
After taking longer than necessary to set the drinks on the table, mom stood up as primly as she could in the little skirt, turned on her heels, and came back to the kitchen. From the kitchen I noticed their eyes tracking her round, skirt-covered butt.
Mom smirked at me as she rounded the corner from the dining room into the kitchen.
"Did you like that?" she asked me, quietly.
"Not as much as you did," I think.
"You're bad," she said, and she lightly cuffed my chest with her hand.
I took a break from the kitchen to watch the game in the living room for a while. Mom stayed in the kitchen, working on some sort of savory little turnovers she was going to serve as an appetizer before lunch. The game was close, but my mind was on mom and what she was going to do next.
She appeared again early in the second quarter. She carried a small tray with the turnovers and napkins. Alex, Mason, and Tucker heard her heels against the floor, and their heads swiveled in unison to watch her approach. As she entered the living room, a napkin fluttered off the tray, to the floor. Without hesitating, and with startling grace for someone perched on four-inch heels, mom crouched down to the floor, balanced the tray on one hand, and scooped up the napkin with the other.
She didn't hold the position long, but she held it long enough, and with her knees held far enough apart, that all of us got a good look at the power blue panties under her skirt. I hoped to catch a glimpse of her sex under the blue fabric, and I did, just barely. I wondered if my friends had. I turned from my mom to look at them, and I guessed that they had, from the looks of astonishment on their faces.
Mom stood up, set the turnovers on the table, and walked back to the kitchen. I could have sworn her ass swished as she did. My hot mom, I thought. Wow.
Since it was getting close to half time, I decided to get up and get to work on making lunch.
I walked into the kitchen to see my mom standing next to the island over a head of lettuce, looking lean and luscious. Our eyes met, and I could tell she was thinking the same thing I was: what next? Where would we go with this craziness? I didn't want to go too far, and she didn't either. I didn't want to do something that might get her in trouble with her job or with her friends or reputation, which was, as far as I knew, spotless. But I wanted to push her. I wanted, somehow and someway without pushing too far, to explore the limits of my mom's desire to show off her hotness.
I walked up to her and put my hand on her ass and squeezed it through the denim skirt. Both of us stood on the opposite side of the island from where my friends sat. They were looking away, toward the football game on the television, but if they'd turned around they would have seen us only from the waist up, with the rest of us hidden behind the counter cutout and the island. I could squeeze my mom's ass as much as I liked, and my friends wouldn't see it.
I felt resistance against my hand; mom was pushing her ass back against my fingers. I looked at her face and her eyes were closed.
I pulled her skirt up, over and above her butt. Her cheeks were bare and exposed to me and I ran my hand across her bare skin. The thong back of her panties covered almost nothing. What purpose do they serve? I wondered. On an impulse I hooked my fingers around them and pulled down. Mom didn't resist. She stood there with her eyes closed and let me draw her thong down her legs until it was bunched at her ankles on the floor. She opened them to look at the lacy garment at her feet. She kicked it to the side.
"You're being naughty," she whispered, so my friends couldn't hear.
"And you didn't stop me," I said right back. I squeezed the bare cheek of her ass again. I felt the pressure of her ass pushing back against my hand. No, she wasn't going to stop me.
"I suppose you're not going to let me put the panties back on?" Mom asked me.
"Nope," I said, reaching down, scooping them up, and stuffing them in my pocket. "It's commando for you."
"That's not going to be easy in this skirt," she said.
"Easy wouldn't be any fun," I replied. "You'll have to do your best. It looks like the guys need some more chips." I poured a bagful into a big orange bowl and pushed it across the island counter toward mom.
"Why don't you take this out there to them," I said. "Be careful!" I said, and I smirked at her.
Mom took the bowl from my hands, pivoted on her wedge heels, and walked out of the kitchen. Her ass swayed as she went. I looked through the wall cutout to watch her deliver the chips. The game was on and the sound on the TV was turned up high, so my friends didn't notice her at first, but all three of them noticed he as she got near them. She bent over at the waist to set the chips on the table, keeping her legs straight. The skirt rode up and up, and I wondered for a second if she'd expose herself to my friends, but the hem of the skirt stopped rising no more than half an inch before it exposed her lack of panties. Even so, I could tell my friends were held rapt by the sight of her. Tucker, especially, looked at mom with his mouth wide. Mom pretended not to notice. She unbent herself, stood up, pivoted again, and walked back slowly to the kitchen. My friends looked after her for a few seconds and then turned back to the game.
Mom didn't come back to the kitchen right away. She stopped next to the dining room table, in a spot where she knew I could see her from the kitchen and my friends could have seen her from the living room, if their attention hadn't been focused on the game. Mom gave me a quick, wicked smile. I couldn't believe what she did next.
A set of extra napkins lay on edge of the table, and mom swept her hand over them and pushed them off. They spilled on the floor. Mom put her finger to her mouth and looked at me with feigned innocence. Then she crouched down to pick up the napkins. She squatted, right over her heels, with her knees wider than necessary. The skirt rode up -- all the way up. I could see everything, clearly. And my friends in the living room could have, as well, if they hadn't been looking the other way. Tucker, I knew, would have given his left nut to see what mom was showing: her bare pussy, under the little denim skirt.
Mom took her time gathering the napkins on the floor. She held the squat with her legs open the whole time. I admired her balance and leg muscles. I also admired the sweetness of her sex exposed to my eye, between her legs, thin lips dangling barely but noticeably at the junction of her thighs.
Finally, the napkins collected in her hand, mom stood up, her gaze on me as she did so. She set the napkins back on the table and then walked toward me in the kitchen. For about thirty seconds, mom had held herself in a position that completely exposed herself to my friends. But they didn't know what they'd missed. Their attention remained on the game.
Mom approached me in the kitchen and arched her eyebrows, with a twisted smile lighting up her face. I didn't know what to say.
"I guess we better make lunch," she said.
I nodded, having nothing better to say just then. Distracted and horny, I pulled some greens and other vegetables out of the refrigerator to make a salad.
Even without turning around to look at mom, I felt her presence near me. I heard cabinet doors open and I knew mom was pulling out plates on which to put the salad. From head to toe my body felt the heat radiating from mom's body near mine.
I set the vegetables for the salad on the island at the same time mom set the plates on it. I turned and looked at her, up and down. The skirt was short, and her legs looked supple and enticing under it. On an impulse, I put my hands on her waist, and I picked her up.
I had never picked up mom before like that. Maybe I was stronger than I had expected, or maybe mom was lighter than I had guessed, but she was easy to lift, and I set her on the counter to the side of the opening in the wall to the living room. Where she sat, mom was just out of sight of my friends in the living room focused on and yelling about the football game.
She didn't say anything. Her legs, lean and exposed in the little denim skirt, dangled from the counter. I put a hand on each warm, firm thigh. Mom gazed steadily at me as my hands moved up the dry but silky skin of her legs. As my hands moved up they pushed against the hem of the denim skirt. Soon the skirt was pushed back far enough to reveal mom's bare pussy.
A cheer came from the living room. My friends had called out in unison, presumably because our team had scored. I heard the voices of announcers coming from the television, but I couldn't make out what they were saying. I couldn't pay attention to them. I could pay attention only to my mom on the counter, the little skirt bunched up around her hips and her sex on display. And her eyes. They kept staring at me. I tried reading them. I wanted to know what she was thinking. Was she nervous? Was she horny? Was she doing this to please me, or to please herself? I didn't know.
What I knew was what I could see, and I could see the emerald pools of mom's wide-open eyes staring at me, barely blinking, while her splayed legs showed off her most intimate body parts under the pushed-up skirt. Her knees went up, giving me an even better view.
My friends had no idea what was going on. They sat not more than 20 feet away, yelling at the TV screen and the game, but if they'd known what my mom was doing it was would have driven them crazy. Especially Tucker. But he had no idea.
I put my hands between mom's legs, fingers under her thighs, and I pressed up. She lifted her legs without resistance, until her knees were up high and her heels were on the edge of the counter. Then I pushed her legs farther apart. I had to be careful, because if I pushed her right knee to far to the side it might become visible to my friends, were they to turn their attention away from the TV and toward the kitchen.
Mom passively took the direction of my hands and let me spread her wide. She smiled at me.
"You like what you see?" she asked in a whisper so as not to be heard over the din of the football game.
I squeezed mom's thighs gently and savored the touch of her silky skin, and the view of her legs stretched taut to either side of her. Mom leaned back against the cupboard over the counter, and she scooted her butt forward a few inches. She wanted to show her pussy as much as I wanted to see it. And I could see it all; the delicate lips parted and revealed a glimpse of mom's delicious pink wetness. The cute star of her asshole was in view directly beneath it. We were both excited, and it was getting more difficult to focus on the fact that three of my friends sat nearby, waiting for lunch and oblivious to my hot mom's lewd display.
They would have to wait for a few more minutes. I had an idea. On the counter I had put vegetables to make a salad. A thick carrot, already washed and peeled, lay next to a head of green lettuce. I picked it up and held it in front of mom's face and smiled as lewdly as I could at her. Her eyes went wide, and her head inclined to the side as though she were about to shake her head. But I nodded at her, and it seemed to stop her. She waited for me.
Holding the carrot at the thick end, I touched its thin tip lightly against the fold of skin just over mom's clitoris. Mom's body jerked slightly at the touch, and the barest gasp of air escaped her mouth. I sensed her tension -- I could feel it, and it was exquisite. All my senses were on fire.
I used the tip of the carrot to push back the fold of her skin until the salmon nub of her clit was fully exposed. It was damp, and it glistened in the bright kitchen light. I moved the carrot in small circles around the perimeter of her clit. Mom gasped again, a little louder this time, and her breasts arched toward me.
The tip of the carrot moved down, between her lips, and I maneuvered it to push a lip to the side. I'd seen my mom's pussy a lot in the previous few weeks, but never so closely and in such good light. I tickled the inside edge of her labia with the carrot. I looked up at mom's face, and she was looking down, too, at her pussy, as it gave way to my inspection. I'd seen pussies before, and like a lot of guys I never got tired of seeing more. But I'd never been held in such rapt fascination with the loveliness of a woman's raw, exposed sex as I was at that moment. It was beautiful. But I didn't want just to look at it.
I moved the carrot down and between her lips. Then I pushed it in, slowly and gently.
I wondered if I was breaking mom's rule about not touching her down there. Technically, I wasn't. The carrot was touching her, not me. I wondered if it would seem that way to mom. She didn't say anything. She kept her head down and watched as more of the thick orange carrot disappeared inside her. I took her silence to mean I wasn't breaking her rule.
The thick part of the carrot entered her, and I watched with fascination as its girth stretched her entrance further and as her pussy's wet, thin lips clutched the carrot's circumference. I gave the carrot a short, sharp push forward. Mom gasped again, and her eyes turned up to the ceiling. It was a good thing the TV volume was set so high, or my friends would have heard her.
My friends let out a cheer from the living room.
"Randy," Alex called. "You're missing a great game. You gotta get out here."
"Just a minute," I called. "We're getting the salad ready."
With that, I pulled the carrot out of mom, slowly. Its surfaced was slicked with the wet juices of her cunt, and her lips gripped it as though they didn't want to let it go.
A faint "plop" sounded when I pulled it out entirely, and mom's inner labia collapsed and folded together again. Mom's mouth was open. She was panting and looking at me with intense lust.
I wobbled the carrot in front of her face, and then I put the tip in my mouth. I sucked mom's wetness off the first two inches of it, and then I bit off the tip.
"What's up, mom?" I asked.
"Naughty boy," she whispered.
"I get it from my you," I replied.
Mom didn't have anything to say to that. I left her and walked to the cutting board. I picked up the big chopping knife and cut the rest of the carrot into thin slices. I scooped them up and put them in the salad bowl. I looked back at mom's face and she looked at me, incredulous.
"Are you serious?" she asked me.
"Yep," I said. I was. My friends had been lusting after my mom for years. They were going to get a taste of her in their salad, even if they wouldn't know it.
Mom put her legs down and hopped off the counter as I cut up the other vegetables and the lettuce and put them in the salad bowl. Mom whisked a quick salad dressing and poured it into the bowl.
"Why don't you take it to them while I make the sandwiches," I said.
I watched my mom through the space in the wall, bending and setting the salad bowl and little plates and knives on the table between my friends. They turned and stared at her, but their view wasn't as good as mine, because I could see the back of mom's lean legs under the skirt, riding up high on her thighs, as she bent over. And I knew that under that skirt she didn't wear any underwear. And, unlike my friends, I knew my mom had just been fucked by a carrot.
I wondered if she'd done anything like that before. My mom was full of surprises. I guessed she'd done a lot of things I didn't know about.
I made sandwiches in the kitchen for my friends. They probably wondered why I'd been in the kitchen so long, and I needed to do something to explain my absence from the living room. Mom came back to the kitchen and helped me finish the job.
"Hey Randy, great salad!" I heard Tucker call.
Before I could say anything, I heard Mason respond.
"Since when did you like salad, dude?" he asked. "I don't think I've ever seen you eat anything you couldn't get from a drive-through window at KFC or Taco Bell."
"Whatever," Tucker said. "But this is a good salad. It's got a good, uh, dressing."
"Thanks, Tucker," I called out from the kitchen. "Chef's secret recipe. I'm glad you like it."
If only he knew he was tasting my mom, the woman he'd lusted after for so many years.
I went back to work on the rest of lunch. When mom and I finished the sandwiches, I loaded them on a tray and took it out to the living room, where my friends were shouting about the game. The third quarter already was well underway, and the game was tied.
I wondered what mom was up to, and I wanted to get back to her, but my sense of duty to my friends made me sit and watch the game with them for a while. I ate half a sandwich. I joined them in cheering every completed pass our team made and booing the referee's penalty calls in favor of the other team.
But while I watched the game and cheered with my friends, I kept thinking about my mom. She hadn't appeared in the living room since I'd left the kitchen.
After a while I decided to get up and return to the kitchen. I swept up the tray and empty plates. As I walked back to the kitchen I realized how hungry I was -- for mom. I wanted her. I craved the sight and touch of her.
When I got to the kitchen, she was there, her back turned to me, cleaning one of the kitchen counters with a sponge. She was bent over only a little, but it was enough to show off a lot of the back of her thighs. I felt the familiar pressure in my pants as my excitement grew.
I put the empty tray and plates on the kitchen island and kept walking toward mom. She didn't turn to me; she seemed intent on what she was doing. I was aware of my chest rising and falling with sharp, short breaths; my body shivered with an overwhelming sense of need and purpose. I'd forgotten everything else; only the sight of my mom in front of me mattered.
I came up behind her and put my hands on the part of the denim skirt over her hips. She twirled around in my hips at once, her hands still down by her side. She looked at me with her mouth half open and her eyes fixed on mine. She didn't say anything.
Without even thinking about what I was doing I reached for the button at the front of her little skirt, and I unbuttoned it. With one hand I grabbed the zipper and pulled it down, and with the other hand I yanked at the skirt. It dropped below her hips before mom had a chance to respond. When she did she tried half-heartedly to stop me, putting her hands on mine, but not really trying to stop them from their task. I resisted her effort, and my hands kept pushing her skirt down.
In a few seconds her denim skirt was at her ankles, and mom stood in the kitchen naked at the waist.
I didn't stop there. As soon as the skirt hit the floor my hands went to the bottom of her camisole, and they pulled it up fast. Mom's hands didn't seem to know what to do. They didn't stop me. Instead, her arms and hands moved up to accommodate the sweep of the camisole over her shoulders and head. I pulled the little top up and off her. And then mom was completely naked.
She stood just a few feet out of view from my friends in the living room. They couldn't see her from where they watched the game, but if one of them had walked to the space in the kitchen wall they would have seen everything.
I threw the camisole to the floor and took mom in my arms. One hand went to her ass and the other went to the back of her neck. My mouth was on hers in an instant, my tongue pushing forward to meet hers. Our tongues wrestled with one another as I kneaded her firm, sweet ass with my hand.
And then I pulled back. As much as I wanted mom's body against mine, I wanted something else even more.
"Mom, get on the floor," I said, quietly enough that my friends in the living room wouldn't hear.
Mom's response skipped a beat, like she didn't quite know what I'd asked her to do, but then she responded, and complied. Her open, steady eyes on mine and her slight smile told me she knew what I wanted. We didn't have to say it to one another. She knew what I wanted, and she wanted it too.
Mom's knees bent, and her hands went forward, and then she was on the floor on all fours. She made eye contact with me and I looked back at her and gestured at her with my chin. Mom turned around, until her ass was turned toward me. She pressed her chest against the floor and pushed her ass up toward me.
Nothing in the universe could be more inviting than my mom's upturned ass and the sight of her beautiful pussy, lips parted slightly, on view to my hungry eyes. But there she was, mashing her breasts against the wood strip floor, parting her legs and turning her back side to me so I could see everything.
My eyes scanned the kitchen island counter next to me. I saw what I needed and grabbed it. I spit on it, and then I bent down.
I pushed a thick, green cucumber into mom's exposed pussy. It was bulkier and thicker than the carrot I'd tried earlier, so it didn't go in as quickly or as easily. But go in it did. My spit helped, but the chief lubricant was from mom. She was sopping wet down there; I could feel it from the lack of resistance as I pushed the cucumber into her.
When it was about half-way in I stopped pushing. I wanted to look at what I'd done. The cucumber was thick -- much thicker than the carrot I'd put in her earlier. The rim of her pussy was stretched tight and thin around it. Mom's body moved up and down with her quick, excited breaths. She pressed her chest down low against the floor and held her ass high, in the air. The cucumber was lodged in tightly, and it wasn't going anywhere.
Mom raised her head off the floor, craned her neck, and looked back at me. I got down on the floor, on my hands and knees, and I scooted more closely to her. I bent my face down to hers and kissed her on the lips. Our tongues touched.
I pulled back to listen. The game was still going on and my friends were still hollering. I didn't want one of them to appear suddenly in the kitchen, but there didn't seem to be any fear of that now. They were immersed in the game.
Mom sat up, partly. With one hand she grabbed the cucumber and held it inside her. She pressed her other hand against my chest, pressing me to step backward. Mom guided me back behind the kitchen island. She scooted forward, on her knees, as I stepped back, until both of us were fully behind the kitchen island opposite my friends in the living room. From their position, they could see the top half of me, but they couldn't see my mom at all. I wasn't sure what mom had in mind.
I figured it out quickly. Mom took her hands away from me and leaned back and put her hands slightly behind her. Then she pushed down until the tip of the cucumber touched the floor. She pushed down further, and more of it disappeared inside her. Mom's back arched and her breasts pushed forward, nipples hard and erect. Then she began rocking up and down on the cucumber. I was spellbound by the sight of the thick green fruit vanishing inside her, a little more with each downward thrust.
My cock, already half-erect, instantly grew to full length and stretched uncomfortably in my pants. I put my hand on my crotch to adjust it so it would be more comfortable. It wasn't enough. There just wasn't enough room inside my tight pants for my throbbing cock.
I needed release and relief, so I unzipped my pants and took it out. I looked out to the living room. My friends' attention still was on the game, but even if they had looked my way they wouldn't have seen anything because it was below the level of the kitchen island counter. But they might have noticed my heavy breathing and semi-pained expression, and they might have wondered why I was standing sideways behind the kitchen island when I could have been in the living room watching the game. I had to be careful.
Mom, though, had other ideas. She reached out her hand and grabbed my cock, and her fingers curled around the thick shaft behind the purplish head. The feel of her fingers was pure heaven.
Oh my God, I thought, mom's going to give me a hand job in the kitchen, with my friends in the other room. It was so risky. But it was worth it. The thought of her jerking me to orgasm, and of coming in her face, right here, right now, was exciting beyond words and worth any risk.
But mom wasn't content to give me a hand job. That became clear as she smiled and moved even closer to me, until her face was no more than two inches from my engorged cock head. I looked at it and saw a glistening drop of precum at the tip. Mom looked and saw it too. Then she looked deeply into my eyes and opened her mouth.
My God, was she going to . . .
She was. She did. Mom held her tongue out until it just barely touched the tip of my cock, and with just a flick of her tongue she lapped up the precum. The drop disappeared in her mouth. Mom puckered her lips and kissed the hard, full bulb. Her lips opened, and she took it in. I watched, rapt, as the head slowly disappeared, and her mouth widened to accommodate it. Mom's eyes never left mine. In no time the head was gone, fully inside her mouth and against her swirling tongue, and her lips encompassed my thick shaft. I could see the outline of my cock head inside her mouth, against her cheek. Her right hand kneaded the base of my shaft, working in tandem with her mouth to maximize the sheer bliss I felt.
I knew, instantly, that it would take almost no time for me to blow my wad and come inside her mouth. I pushed my hips forward. I wanted it to happen.
But we were interrupted.
"Randy!" Tucker's voice ripped through my delicious reverie.
I clutched the side of the island counter to steady myself and looked up at the source of the voice. Tucker had stood up from the sofa and walked to the counter between the kitchen and living room. He held two empty beer bottles. Mom stopped bobbing on my cock and held still after lowering her body enough to ensure Tucker couldn't see her. Still, he probably wondered why I was standing at a semi-angle to the counter.
"What's up, Tucker?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steadier than my body, which felt like it was shaking with arousal and nervousness.
He raised the beer bottles.
"I'm out, bud," he said. "I need a refill. Want me to get it?"
"No!" I said, more excitedly than I should have. I couldn't exactly let Tucker come into the kitchen and see my naked mom on the kitchen floor with her mouth wrapped around my cock. Fortunately, I'd put more beers in a metal tub filled with ice on the island counter top. I fished a cold bottle out of the ice and without delaying tossed it to Tucker.
"Catch!" I said, without giving him much warning.
It was a dumb thing to do, because Tucker wasn't the most coordinated friend I had and easily could have dropped the bottle, maybe causing it to break or to spray out when he opened it. But he did catch it, just barely. He gave me a funny look.
"Everything all right?" he asked. "Don't you want to come and watch the game?"
"Sure," I said. "Just a minute."
I wanted to join my friends, but first I wanted to get the relief I needed by spraying my jism down mom's throat. I didn't dare look down at mom while Tucker was looking at me and talking to me, but from my side vision I could see her still looking up at me, and I felt her lips still wrapped tightly around my shaft.
"Where's your mom?" Tucker asked, looking around. I looked around, too. Shit. Mom's skirt lay on the kitchen floor, and I couldn't tell whether Tucker, from his position, might be able to see it. But he didn't seem to. I would have seen his eyes widen if he had, and they didn't change.
"She had to take care of something," I said. "She should be done with it in just a minute, and then she'll be back."
"Okey dokey," Tucker said. "Come join us. It's a good game. The team's up by 3 and there are only 10 minutes left."
He turned away and joined Mason and Alex in front of the TV.
Finally, I looked back at mom and nodded to encourage her to keep going. My balls weren't blue, they were purple, and I needed relief more than I could ever remember having needed it.
But mom shook her head faintly. Her lips parted and moved off my cock, which still was rock hard.
"We'll do this later," she said. "Join your friends."
With that, mom rocked back on her back and heels, and she lifted her ass off the ground. She pulled the thick green cucumber out of herself, thin lips trailing along the fruit's circumference. As it popped out of her, a small, fine spray of clear fluid followed it and left a tiny puddle on the floor. The cucumber's absence left mom gaping wide and pink between her outstretched legs. Mom scooted backward in that position a few feet, turned around, gathered her skirt and top, and crawled on all fours out the kitchen doorway to the hallway and disappeared. I stared at the empty doorway, my feelings a mixture of frustration, arousal, and disbelief.
Not four seconds after mom disappeared I heard Alex's voice behind me.
"Hey, man," he said. "Have an extra beer for me?"
"Su . . . sure," I said, the words coming slowly. It was hard to concentrate. I pulled a beer out of the tub and gave it to him.
Alex looked down at the floor and gestured with the beer. He was looking at the remnants of mom's squirt on the shiny wood.
"Looks like you spilled something," Alex said. "Better get that up or you'll slip."
"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, I'll, uh, take care of that. I'll be right there."
Alex left me. I took a towel and soaked up mom's juices from the floor. Before tossing the towel to the counter I put it to my noise and inhaled. I didn't smell much -- a fresh scent with just a trace of mom's aroma.
With mom gone and my chores done I was ready, finally, to rejoin my friends in the living room. I walked in with a beer of my own and fell into a large chair.
I watched the rest of the game in the living room with my friends. A few minutes before the game ended my mom reappeared, fully dressed again, picking up empty beer bottles and pouring some more chips into the bowl on the coffee table.
As she started to walk back to the kitchen I almost rose to follow her. I was like a dog in heat at the sight of her, barely in control of what I was doing. But mom game me a look and put her hand out, obviously signaling she wanted me to stay and watch the game with my friends. So, I resisted my urges and stayed with them.
It was a great game. The other team got the ball back with three minutes left and marched down the field, using all but one of their time outs. It didn't look good. But with two seconds left on the clock the kicker shanked a 30-yard field goal off the left upright. Time expired, and our team won. We all cheered.
I liked my friends, but I liked my mom's hot, naked body more, and I needed it very, very badly. So, with the game over I dropped what hints I could, some subtle and some not so subtle, to suggest it was time for them to go. My friends weren't always the most responsive group to hints, but they seemed to get the picture. They helped me take the empty beers and leftover chips to the kitchen, and then we all walked to the entry way.
"Thanks for the game party, Randy," Mason said. "Thanks to your mom, too. Where is she?"
He looked around, and Alex and Tucker did too. They looked chagrined at the prospect of leaving without seeing her one more time. But mom was nowhere to be seen.
"Not sure where she is," I said. "She probably has some things to do. But I'll tell her you said thanks and good bye."
They all looked around one more time, then said their farewells, and walked out the front door. I closed the door behind them. Football and my friends were behind me. Time with mom was ahead. I needed it like nothing I'd ever needed before.
Before I'd walked three feet from the door I heard the clacking of mom's wedge heels on the floor, and a second after that I saw her running around the corner from the hallway, toward me. She was naked again. She kept running, and when she got close she jumped onto me. In an instant her legs were wrapped tightly around my hips and her hands were at the back of my neck.
She pressed her mouth against mine. I think I saw stars, or something that could only be described as stars, glowing and hot against a sky of desire and need. I put my hands under mom's ass to hold her up and steady her, and I grabbed it hard, pressing my fingers in and pulling her against me. I repositioned her slightly so the bare gap between her legs was pressed tightly against my pants-covered crotch. I stood like that for what seemed like minutes, mom in my arms, kissing me with crazy urgency. Her tongue was a ravenous animal against mine. I spread her ass cheeks wide with my hands, and in a mirror on the opposite entryway wall I could see her puckered, pretty anus peeking out from the cleft of her bottom.
I want to see it all, feel it all, and fuck it all, I thought. I intended to do that, right then and there.
Before I could do anything, though, the doorbell rang, and I think I jumped a foot off the ground, even with my mom in my arms. Mom jumped in my arms, too. We both looked at the door, and before we could react we heard the knob turning. Somebody was coming in! Mom jumped down from my arms. As the door began to open she moved to the side of it rather than backward, where she would have been seen, and as the door swung wide she hid behind it.
It was Tucker.
I immediately moved to the door to block him from coming in and to keep him from seeing my naked mom, who was shielded from his sight by only a slender panel of wood.
"Tucker, what's up?" I tried not to sound annoyed, but I was -- at his interrupting me and at his entering without permission.
"Hey, Randy, sorry, but I left my sunglasses here. They should be in the living room. I can get them."
He started to push past me, but I stopped him with a light hand on the chest.
"Don't bother," I said. "You stay right here. I'll get them."
I stared at him to confirm he would stay, and he seemed to accept my instruction. I backed away from the door, trying very hard not to glance at my naked mom right behind the door. I jogged to the living room, and, sure enough, Tucker's sunglasses were on the arm of the sofa on which he'd been sitting. I grabbed them and ran back to the front door.
Fortunately, Tucker hadn't moved, and he obviously hadn't seen or become aware of my mom, who stood bug-eyed and still behind the door and looked like she was holding her breath.
I handed the glasses to Tucker.
"Thanks, Randy. Sorry to barge in."
He looked around one more time.
"Sorry I couldn't say goodbye to your mom. Tell her thanks for the food."
"I will. See you, Tucker."
Tucker left, finally, and I closed the door behind him, again. I locked it this time. Then I looked at my mom. She exhaled loudly. We both laughed.
"I'm still shaking," mom said. "I've spent the whole day almost getting caught."
"You did. But mom, I think you kind of liked it."
"Yeah, I guess so." Mom's breathing calmed down and she looked intently at me. "You're getting to know me too well. A son shouldn't know some things about his mom."
"I want to get to know you a lot better, mom. A lot better."
Mom paused, and almost said something, but didn't. Instead she strode toward me and reached for my waist. I felt my shirt coming up and I raised my arms and mom swept it off me. Here eyes were wide and intent with hunger . . . for me. She put her hands up and I felt her fingernails dig into the muscles of my chest. She pressed them in and ran them down, over my nipples and onto my abdomen -- not hard enough to draw blood but hard enough to hurt. But I wasn't about to stop her.
Her hands drew together at the waistband of my pants and she unbuttoned and unzipped them and yanked them, together with the boxer briefs I was wearing underneath, down hard over my hips and thighs, until all my clothes were piled on the floor and I stood in the entryway as naked as my mom was. She pushed down on my shoulders and I followed the pressure until I knelt on the ground, knees against hard, cold tile. Mom pushed on my chest then, and I lay back until my body was stretched out on the floor. My cock stood straight up, fully erect, from my supine figure, and with no further delay mom took it and descended on it like an animal.
It went straight up and inside her descending mouth, all the way, until her lips ground against my pubic hair. I sat up on my elbows enough to see what mom was doing, and I loved the sight of it. Mom's face, hair all askew and flying in every direction, bobbed up and down over my hardness, her lips tight and wet against me.
I'd had blow jobs before, but never one this good. Mom didn't just want to please me, she wanted to please herself -- wanted to take and devour her son's hard cock, the visible proof of his desire and lust for her. I couldn't tell exactly tell how mom was doing it -- with her tongue, with her cheeks, with whatever -- but she closed her mouth around the length of my cock so well that it felt as good as fucking any pussy I'd ever had. Up and down, on and on it went. Mom wouldn't stop.
I didn't want it to stop, either. She'd transported me to a place I'd never been, and I didn't want to leave. I couldn't wait to feel the discharge of my impending orgasm into her mouth and to know every drop of it was in mom's belly.
But I wanted something else, too, even more than a blow job, however it was. I wanted to feel myself inside my mom, between her legs, where I knew I was meant to be.
Between the steady up and down thrusts of mom's head and my irregular gasping it was hard to get the words out, but at least I managed.
"Mom, I love this. But I need you. I need to fuck you. Let's do it. Now. Mom, let me fuck you."
Mom heard me and looked up at me, her face framed by her disheveled hair. One hand kept stroking me.
"I know you want it, Randy. I want it to. I want you to fuck me. But not yet. Not just yet. Wait a little longer. I'll give you something else, though."
Mom's mouth plunged back on my cock, but the rest of her body rotated around my cock until she raised a leg and straddled me, her ass now over my face and her pussy, now gaping and visibly wet, directly over me. The pink open gash hovered over me for perhaps ten seconds, and then it came down. Mom pressed her eager pussy against my mouth.
Instinctively I put my tongue forward and it entered her, past her parted lips and into her depths. And then, wonder of wonders, I tasted the inside of my mom. I pushed my tongue in as far as it could go. I breathed deeply and savored her fresh womanly scent. My lips danced with hers -- sucking on them, spreading them. I took her flesh between my teeth and nibbled gently on it.
All the while mom devoured my cock in a steady but frenzied rhythm. I felt the familiar swell inside me, the wave of orgasm coming on. I tried to push back against it. I wasn't ready to come, but it was hard to suppress it. On each upstroke I felt my hips and my entire body lift with her. I was dimly aware of the discomfort of the cold floor underneath me. I knew a comfortable bed was nearby. But there was no way either one of us was going to move, not until we were done. My cock needed her mouth and her cunt needed mine.
Mom's cunt. I'd seen it for the first time, several weeks earlier, on the sofa. I'd seen it many times in the weeks since then. I'd fantasized and dreamed about it, and I'd even sprayed my cum on the outside of it. I'd watched my juices dribble down in the shower between her lips. Now, at last, my mouth was on her, tickling her, tasting her, fucking her furiously with my tongue.
I wanted to make mom come. I pulled my tongue from her depths and went to work on her clit. I swirled, I tickled, I mashed. I flicked the tip of my tongue right over her exposed nub, gently at first but then faster, increasing the pressure by the minute. Mom showed her approval by pressing down on me. I heard a moan escape her mouth, still full of my cock.
The sensation of being blown by my mom was so exquisite that it would have been easy to focus only on that and to stop concentrating on my ministrations to her own sex. But I was determined to be a good son and a good lover and to make her come first.
I grabbed her ass cheeks hard as my tongue kept massaging her pert clit. I felt a shudder go through mom's body, and I shuddered and moaned in response. I could tell she was getting near. I kept up a fast but steady rhythm on her, never relenting and never pausing. I had no sense of time. It might have been five minutes since we had started. It might have been twenty. Mom and I were in a world of our own, a world forged by our mutual white-hot lust. Nothing else mattered in that world -- the passage of time, the coldness of the hard floor, the possibility of being caught. All that mattered to me was the taste and scent and feel of mom's wet cunt, and the consuming need to bring her off.
Her body shuddered again, and she let out another moan from her cock-filled mouth, this moan higher-pitched than the last. I felt her body losing control. Her mouth's grip on my cock loosened. Then mom started moaning more audibly, almost squealing: "Unh, unh, unh."
With no further warning, mom shrieked and her pussy spasmed away from my face. My tongue lost contact with her clit and I felt my chin and cheeks doused in warm wetness. I lapped up what I could with my tongue. Mom's body shook and shuddered over me, displaying the wet, pink gash of her sex to my still hungry eyes.
Mom gave her orgasm almost no time to subside before she went back to work on my cock. I felt strong, thin fingers clasp my balls, gently kneading them. The other hand pulsed against the base of my shaft. The rest of my cock was enveloped by mom's mouth.
I could concentrate fully on my mom's cock-sucking, now. She was good -- very good. The best I'd had. Her hands and mouth worked in tandem with expert skill. I briefly wondered how many cocks mom had sucked in her life. Had mom been a slut before she met dad? Had she fucked and sucked a lot of guys? It was curious, in a vague, far-off kind of way. I knew I'd find out more about my mom's past later. But it didn't matter whether she'd had a slutty past. All that mattered now was that she was my slut.
The swell returned, rising inside me and cresting on its way to my cock. Mom's mouth and hands sucked and milked me in a frenzy, drawing the wave out of me. My hips bucked uncontrollably, but the bucking didn't stop mom from her cock sucking. Her mouth and my sex were joined, and the sensation was the sweetest and purest I'd ever felt.
I came then, suddenly. I could have sworn I felt my cock bulge like a firehose as the cum passed through it. I felt the hot jet from my cock head. Mom felt it too, I could tell, because her lips clamped tightly on my shaft just behind the bulb while her hands kept milking me. There was a lot of cum. Mom half gagged as she gulped it down, but she didn't stop. She kept going, and I kept spewing cum into her mouth. I lost count of how many times she had to swallow to take it down. But at last, my cock stopped pulsing and mom stopped swallowing.
Mom finally pulled her mouth off my cock and gasped for air. I could see at once that despite her efforts she hadn't swallowed everything. Some cum still lay visibly pooled in her mouth and rivulets of it leaked out either side of her lips onto her chin. After she caught her breath she smiled at me, open-mouthed and spent, and I smiled back.
We sat like that for another minute or two, breathing heavily and staring at each other. She didn't take her hand off my cock the whole time.
Then, she did. Both of us fell back on our elbows, and then each of us half crawled, half slid across the entry floor, away from each other until each of us turned and lay our backs against the entry walls, opposite each other. We sat and looked at each other, gasping for breath and with limbs sweaty and askew. Neither of us said anything right away. We were like two prize fighters that had just battled each other to a draw, and neither of us could find the words to describe the trial we'd just gone through. The triumph of release gave way to a warm blissful buzz in my belly.
"I loved that mom. I love you. But when? When?"
A sly smile curled on her face in small, fitful steps. Her gaze never left mine for an instant.
"Soon, Randy, soon."
Mom bit the tip of her pinky finger.
"You have a birthday coming up in a few days, Randy."
I'd completely forgotten. Mom was right.
My birthday. I wouldn't forget again.
Damn.
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