章節 194: My Mom is a Hot Mom Ch. 04
SimonDoom©
After watching my mom masturbate from under her bed, a switch flipped inside me.
Before that day, I had wanted to see mom naked. But actually seeing her naked like that changed everything. What I felt now wasn't just a sneaky desire; it was a consuming passion. I could hardly look at mom without getting aroused. I spent hours and days tip-toeing around mom and retreating behind walls and counters so she wouldn't see the embarrassing tent that constantly filled my shorts.
I craved the next opportunity to see mom naked, or in her bikini, or in anything skimpy. But for several days, the opportunity didn't come. Either I was too busy, or mom was too busy, but for whatever reason, nothing happened. I had to satisfy myself with late-night stroke sessions to photos of mom on my computer.
At times during those few days, mom seemed preoccupied, even a little distant. I caught her looking at me a few times, like she wanted to say something to me, but when our eyes met she looked away and didn't say anything.
One night, she went on a date with a man she met through a web site. They met for drinks at a bar. Mom told me later that the guy was arrogant and pushy, and she left him after a quick drink with a lame excuse. So much for her first post-divorce date.
I felt bad for her that the date hadn't gone well, but I felt glad, too. I admit I felt a little jealous about mom dating. I liked having mom to myself.
One morning a few days later, I emerged from my bedroom, still waking up and in my usual morning attire of shorts and a t shirt, and I saw mom making coffee in the kitchen. She was wearing the short, white, cotton robe again. Her legs and feet were bare, as before. This time her hair was dry and combed. The sight of the bare skin of her legs and chest under the robe once again put my body in a state of high alert.
"Hello, Randy." She looked up at me and smiled. It was a half-smile, not her usual big smile. She poured herself a cup of coffee and handed me a glass already full of orange juice.
"Follow me," she said. "I think we should chat."
We walked to the sofa in the living room, which had become our place to have serious conversations. I sat down on one end of the sofa, and mom sat at the other. This time she sat with her legs folded under her, as demurely as she could in the short robe. With one hand, she gathered the edges of the robe together under her neck.
She seemed to take a moment to collect herself, and took a sip of her coffee, and then she looked at me.
"Randy, there have been some things going on lately that we should talk about. Things between us."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I think you know what I mean." She paused. "I know you've been watching me."
I didn't know what she knew and I didn't know what to say. I didn't want to play dumb and sound dishonest, but I didn't want to reveal everything I'd seen, either.
"Mom . . . what do you mean? What are you talking about?"
"Randy," she said. "I know you were under my bed the other day. Watching me."
Holy shit, I thought. I felt like sinking into a deep hole.
"How did you . . . when did you . . . " I tried to get the words out but was having trouble.
She interrupted me.
"You left the lens cap to your camera in my room," she said. "I figured you were taking pictures of me in the back yard from the bedroom. So, when you weren't around I checked your computer. You were careless. I just turned the monitor on and entered the password. You haven't changed it since you were a kid. You left the folder with the photos of me open on the computer. I saw the photo you took under the bed. I saw the other photos, too."
My jaw dropped. She continued.
"I'm sorry I invaded your privacy that way, but I was pretty sure you were spying on me and I wanted to know what you were doing. I also saw traces of . . . well . . . traces of you, dried on your desk, that you hadn't cleaned up completely. I figured out what you were doing."
I felt like I was a foot high, and shrinking fast. I wanted to sink into the ground, to disappear.
"Mom," I said. "The photos -- you saw ALL the photos I took?"
"I saw all of them," she said.
I let that sink in. If mom had seen all the photos, she knew everything.
"Mom, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I got excited and I got carried away. When I took that photo of you on the sofa, I didn't even know what was in it. And then I saw it on my computer when I got back to my room, and I got carried away, and I couldn't help myself. And since then, it's been . . . . I'm sorry, I'm really sorry."
"I know, Randy," she said. "You don't need to say it. I'm not angry with you."
That took me by surprise.
"You're not?" I asked her. I was relieved but also amazed.
"No. I'm not mad."
She seemed to be steeling herself to say something difficult.
"I think we should be honest with each other. I'm going to be honest with you. This is hard for me to say. But you are an adult, and I think I need to talk to you about this."
She cleared her throat.
"That night you took photos of me on the sofa, after we'd gone running together, I could tell you were looking at me in a different way, like you were sneaking peeks at me," she said. "I noticed you checking me out after our run together, when I was stretching, and then later in the kitchen. I'd never seen you do that before. And, I have to admit -- it's embarrassing to me to admit this -- I enjoyed it. It made me feel a way I haven't felt in a long time. You know the divorce was hard on me. I've felt old, and less attractive since then.
"You're my son, but you're also a handsome young man. And the way you looked at me -- it made me feel good. I wanted it to continue. So, I put on those little shorts. And I left my panties off. I didn't plan to show off . . . you know . . . down there. But I didn't try to prevent you from seeing it, either. I think a part of me knew it was a risk. When we were sitting on the sofa, I knew you were checking out my legs. I enjoyed that feeling.
"And then on my birthday, you were so sweet. You got me roses. You got me the skimpy running outfit and the bikini. I felt funny about posing in those tiny shorts and the bra top in front of you, but it felt so good at the same time. And you kept taking photos of me and telling me how good I looked.
"And later that night, I knew you were outside my door. I was using my vibrator. I was thinking about the way you were looking at me while I was using it. I heard you outside, and I guessed you were jerking off. It made me come right away. Later on, I went into the bathroom. I saw your, well, your semen, on the bathroom counter. You hadn't cleaned it all it up."
"I'm sorry, mom," I said. "I feel really bad about this --"
"No," she said. "Don't feel bad. This isn't just you. Since that birthday night I've been teasing you. I wore the red bikini and wanted you to see me in it. I put my panties out on the bed, and I thought you might take a pair. And I was right. You did."
Mom's words came pouring out, like a confession. There was guilt in her voice, but not just guilt. There was a tone of relief, and of release.
"The other day, when I wore the bikini by the pool," she said, "I thought you might be spying on me from the house when you didn't come back after Tucker left. I took my top off -- I didn't plan that. It was a crazy, spur-of-the moment thing. And then I came in the house and I thought I might catch you, but I didn't. I didn't know you were in the room until after I saw the lens cap and checked your computer later."
She looked at me, calmly, a little nervously, but without reproach or guilt.
"I was surprised at the photos you had taken. I didn't realize it had gone that far. I didn't know how to talk to you about it. I don't blame you; to some degree I've been leading you on, so I'm to blame as well. I thought we should be honest about it. That's why I wanted this talk."
I was letting it all sink in. I was surprised mom told me she had known what I'd done, but I was even more surprised about what she'd done and felt.
"So you enjoyed it?" I asked her.
"What do you mean?" she replied.
"You knew I was looking at you," I said. "You knew I masturbated outside your door while you were using a vibrator. And it turned you on. And it made you want to show off more for me. And you did."
"I don't know about that, Randy, I --"
"Wait, mom," I interrupted. "You said we should be honest. Well, I'll be honest. I did look at you. I ogled you. I enjoyed it. I think I'm kind of a voyeur. And you just happen to be the most gorgeous mom I've ever seen. And in recent days, I've seen you . . . naked. Completely exposed. And it excited the hell out of me.
"It still does," I added.
"But you liked it too, you showing off for me. You even liked showing off for Tucker in that red bikini; I could tell.
"Mom, I think you are an exhibitionist," I said. "Or you've got a streak of it in you."
As I said it, I couldn't help but notice the glimpses of mom's thighs and her cleavage peeking out from under the little robe as she squirmed on the sofa.
"I think that's right," she said. "I admit that. I have an exhibitionist streak. It was a thrill to me to be watched, and I gave in to that thrill with you, and I'm sorry for that."
"Mom," I said. "You don't have to apologize. Don't say you're sorry. I didn't know everything you just told me. I didn't know you were aware I -- that I beat off to you. I'm glad you've told me. I feel bad about sneaking around spying on you. But mom, I loved it. I loved looking at you. If you think about it -- you being an exhibitionist and me a voyeur. We're a good match." I said it with a sheepish grin.
"I don't know about that," she said. "That's not a normal part of a mother-son relationship."
"I don't know if it's normal or not," I said, "but I don't think it's bad. I don't think we've done anything wrong."
Mom rolled her eyes.
"Mom," I said. "Let you ask you: how long have you known this about yourself? How long have you been an exhibitionist?"
She paused.
"I guess I've always liked being looked at," she said. "I was in the drama club when I was in school, and I liked being on stage. I was a cheerleader, and I liked wearing the short skirts and knowing people were looking at me. In college I went streaking once, and my best friend and I went to a nude beach a few times."
"Dad must have known about it," I said. "Did he? What did he think about it?"
"That's kind of personal, Randy," she said.
"Mom, I watched you masturbate. I saw you with your legs open. That's as personal as it gets. I saw your cunt. You and I are way beyond personal."
She winced when I said the word "cunt" but I had a point to make and I kept pressing it.
"You took your top off in the back yard and wanted me to see you. You wanted me to see your boobs. I did, and I loved it. And you loved it too. You said be honest, so let's be honest. Tell me about you and dad. Did he like it? What did he think about this part of you. Did he like to show you off?"
Mom obviously had to think about her answer before she replied.
"It didn't happen right away in our marriage," she said, reluctantly at first. "We got married young, and you were born not long after we got married. For a long time we were focused on you and your dad was working hard. I stayed home with you for a most of my twenties. But then at some point when you were a little older and didn't need watching over so much, your dad got this thing about wanting to expose me. I'm sorry, this is funny to talk about. It feels awkward."
"Mom, it's not awkward for me," I said. "Tell me. Go on."
"We did little things at first, like having me go out wearing a skirt and no panties. One in a while he would ask me to flash someone in a restaurant."
"And you did?" I urged.
"I did," she said.
"And you liked it?"
"I did like it. I liked showing off my body, and it turned me on that it turned him on. He kept buying me bikinis, and it seemed like they kept getting smaller and smaller. And then he wanted me to go topless on the beach. So we went to beaches that weren't topless beaches, but where we thought we could get away with it. And I took my top off. It really turned him on, and it turned me on."
"You liked your bare tits being on display, in public, where everyone could see them?"
"Those weren't the words I was going to use, but, yes, I liked it. And I liked that he liked it. Until a certain point. And then he didn't like it, and it stopped."
"What happened?" I asked.
She took a loud sip from her coffee.
"This is embarrassing to tell you about," she said. "I don't know if I should."
"Come on, mom. Don't stop now. I want to know. Tell me."
"We went to a beach one day. Probably about six years ago. It wasn't a nude beach, but there was an area, set off by some rocks, where it was kind of understood that you could be nude and no one would bother you. So we went there, and Dan had us sit right on the edge of the so-called nude area and the non-nude area. He put the blanket down right at the distance from the water where the maximum number of people walking along the beach would be close to us. And then he had me get naked. He kept his suit on. Your dad liked that idea -- of him being clothed and me naked. "
"What happened then?" I asked.
"He told me to spread my legs open. Wide open, so anyone walking by would see me, and see my . . . between my legs."
"You mean your pussy," I said. "Say it, mom. Say 'pussy.'"
"My pussy," she said. "He wanted people to see my pussy. He looked at me and said 'Inga, I want you to spread your legs and show your pussy. I want people to see your wet pussy.' He didn't say it in a dirty way. He said it like you'd say 'Pass the chips.'"
"And you liked it," I said. "You liked showing your pussy."
"I loved it. I loved having my pussy on display like that. It turned me on so much. But it wouldn't have been the same if I'd just been sitting there alone. What I loved was that he was telling me to show off, and I was showing off for him. It sounds funny to say it, but I remember thinking how much I loved him in that moment."
"So, what happened?" I asked.
"I lay back on that blanket, with the sun shining down on my naked body. He put sun screen on my body, really slowly, lathering it on. And I remember him holding my leg to the side as he put it on me, so my pussy would remain exposed. People walking by could see me naked and on display, and my husband was making it easier for them by holding my legs open. And we acted very nonchalant, like it was no big deal, even though it was a really big deal for me. And I kept my legs open. I have no idea how many people passed by us. Maybe a hundred. Maybe more. Every single one of them saw my pussy. Some of them tried to hide the fact that they looked at it. Some of them looked away quickly. Some of them didn't -- a few even stared or did double takes. But everyone looked.
"And then I got the idea to take it a little further. I was having so much fun showing off for your dad. So I looked at him to make sure he saw what I was doing, and then I reached down between my legs, and I spread it open."
"You spread what open?" I asked her. "Say it. Tell me everything. Say the words."
"I spread my pussy open," she said. "I took my fingers and I pushed the lips back, as far as they could go. When I took my fingers away, the lips still were peeled back. All the way, and they stayed that way."
She stopped.
"I can't believe I'm telling you this, Randy," she said. "You must think your mom is perverted."
"No, mom, I don't," I said. "I don't at all. I'm glad you're telling me this. Please keep going."
She nodded slowly and continued.
"After I . . . spread myself open like that, when people walked by, then didn't just see my pussy. They saw me wide open. Inside. When no one was walking by, I even pulled out a little hand mirror from my bag, and I held it down between my legs so I could see exactly what I was showing off. My pussy was so wide open you could see deep inside it. It was like a pink, wet tunnel. I'm not sure but I think there was even some moisture dripping out of it, just a little. It made me think all these thoughts. Lewd thoughts. I thought, that's where my husband fucks me. That's where his cock goes. And he's put me on a show here so everyone can see where his cock goes when he fucks me."
"And you liked that," I said.
"I loved it," she said. She looked far away when she said it, like she wasn't next to me, but on the beach again. "I loved that feeling. It was one of the most arousing feelings I ever had. And it was . . . I don't know exactly how to say it . . . it was so satisfying. Even though it was wrong, I guess, it felt so right sitting like that, next to Dan."
"How did dad like it?" I asked.
Mom didn't answer right away.
"That's the funny thing, the sad thing," she said. "He didn't. He didn't like it. I crossed a line. I don't mean just the amount of exposure. He didn't like that I took control, that it was my decision to open myself up further. I don't think he realized until that minute that it wasn't all about him, that this was something I really, deeply enjoyed, that I craved it. I think it scared him. I think when he realized that my exhibitionism was more than just my doing what he wanted it was scary to him, and it was no longer sexy.
"He got quiet after he saw me do that. And we left the beach not much later. In the car I knew something was wrong, and I tried to talk about it, but he didn't want to.
"We never did anything like that again. That was the end of him showing me off. And we never talked about it. And that's when our marriage took a turn. It was never the same after that. I felt like he looked at me in a different way."
After she finished we sat quietly on the sofa for a few minutes. She sipped her coffee and I finished my orange juice.
"Other than wearing short skirts or sometimes wearing bikinis," mom said, "I never did anything exhibitionist after that. Until the last few days, that is." She grinned uneasily.
"And how do you feel about that?" I asked. "What you've done the last few days?"
"Guilty," she said. "But I enjoyed it, too. I have to admit that. How do you feel about it? How do you feel about what I've said?"
"I feel great," I said. "And hearing you talk about the past makes me feel better about it. This is who you are. It's who we are. You like being looked at, and you like being looked at by me. It turns you on. And I like looking at you, and watching you show off. It turns me on.
"Mom, we've both masturbated over your showing your body to me. I can't turn that clock back. I can't stop being turned on by you. And I think if you're honest you'll admit you can't stop being turned on by it, either. The only way I could stop would be to move out, so I wouldn't be around you. And I don't want to do that. I don't think you want that, either."
She didn't say anything.
"Mom, I want to hear you say it," I said. "Admit you want to show off. Admit you were excited knowing I liked looking at you."
"I admit I like showing off," she said. "Yes, it was flattering and exciting to know you were looking at me. But that doesn't make it right. We have to set some limits, Randy. There have to be some boundaries. I'm your mother. You're my son."
"I accept that," I said. "I agree. I want boundaries, too."
"Well, I'm glad. So we agree we need to limit what we do, right?" she asked me.
"Of course, we should have limits. We should have boundaries," I said. "But mom, we don't need to limit everything."
"What do you mean?" she asked, suspicion and skepticism in her voice.
"You've admitted to me that you like showing off. You're an exhibitionist. I like watching you. I'm a voyeur, I guess you'd call it. Let's face it, you've shown your entire body to me -- everything -- and I loved it. I loved seeing it more than anything I've ever seen. And you liked it too. You want us to be honest with each other -- well, let's be honest. You enjoyed me looking at you. It turned you on. It still turns you on."
She didn't say anything. She didn't dispute what I said. She obviously was wrestling with what to say to me in reply. I pressed on before she could say anything.
"Mom," I said, "You've wanted to show yourself off ever since that time at the beach, when dad reacted badly. Well, I'm not like dad. I want you to show yourself off. I want you to feel free to do that. With me. In front of me. If you think about it, I'm the perfect person to do it in front of. I'll always love you and support you. I'll never hurt you or reject. And we can set appropriate boundaries."
Mom looked intently at me, her face tense and questioning.
"How do you suggest we do that, Randy?" she asked.
"I have an idea," I said. "We can talk about limits, right here, right now. We can make an agreement about what we will and won't do. We'll both agree to respect the boundaries we set. But first, there's something you need to do."
"What's that?" she asked softly.
It was all clear to me now, in a flash. I knew what I wanted to do; I knew what I wanted her to do. And I thought it would work for both of us. But I had to ask this one thing of her. I knew it was risky, but I had to ask her.
"Mom, take your robe off."
"What?" she said.
"Take your robe off," I said. "Right now. Sit in front of me without your robe."
"How is that setting boundaries?" she asked.
"Take your robe off and I'll show you," I said.
I could tell from the changing expression on her face -- the twists of the mouth and the eyebrows -- that she was wrestling inside with my suggestion.
But she didn't wrestle long. Keeping her eyes on mine, mom reached down and undid the sash around her waist. Then she pulled the robe back and off her shoulders. She lifted her butt to pull the robe off her legs.
Mom wore French-cut white lace panties, and nothing more. Her full, beautiful breasts were bare. She sat no more than three feet from me. Her legs lay under her, with her butt on her feet, and she held her hands down at her side, fingertips on the sofa. She was magnificent. Her breasts were full and ripe, and a little paler where the bikini top had hidden them from the sun. The panties were no more than about an inch wide on the side, and they sat high on her hip but dipped low in the middle, exposing the upper part of her pubic bone. I thought I saw a few stray blond hairs peeking out the top. Mom sat in that position, not saying anything, demure and quiet, staring at me.
"Mom, you are so beautiful," I said.
"Thank you," she said, in not much more than a whisper.
"Come here," I beckoned to her with my hand. "Sit on my lap."
"Randy --"
"Just do it, mom," I said. "I'll explain, but I want you to sit on my lap while I do."
She delayed for a moment, but she came to me. She got off her heels and scooted across the sofa, into my lap. Her legs lay out in front of her. Her hands lay, one over the other, in her lap. She looked down, and I thought I saw her lip quiver.
I put my arms around her, one around her shoulder, and one lightly on her waist -- nothing sexual.
"Mom, look at me," I said. She did. We looked into each other's eyes.
"I love you, I love you so much."
"I love you too, Randy."
"I know," I said. "And this is part of our love. I like to see you like this. I want to continue to see you like this, and I want you to continue showing yourself to me. I think we would both like that.
"We need to set some boundaries, so we will. Here's my idea: look, but don't touch. You're going to keep getting naked. You're going to show yourself off to me, and I'm going to watch you. And I'm going to keep masturbating to you. And you're going to masturbate when you do it, too. We can't pretend that's not going to happen, so we should be honest. Maybe we can even do it in front of each other. I'd like that. We'll see.
"But we won't fuck. I won't fuck you, mom. And to preserve our boundaries, to keep that from happening, I won't touch you down there. I won't touch your pussy."
"Or . . . " she started to say.
"Or your asshole. I will leave your asshole alone. And I won't touch your tits. And you won't touch my cock."
"I think it's a little late for that, already, tiger," she said, "if you know what I mean." She looked down toward my lap.
My cock was rock hard and straining up against the cloth of my shorts, and I know she felt it pushing against her. In fact, the head of my cock was pushing somewhere between her legs, probably very close to her pussy, shrouded only by a thin layer of white lace.
"That's different," I said. "My clothes are between us. That's why I kept my shorts on now. Nothing can happen when we're like this. But when I'm naked, you won't touch my cock.
"So how does that sound to you?" I asked.
"It sounds weird, Randy," she said. "I don't know about this. I'm not sure if we should."
"Mom, listen to yourself. Should. The word 'should' has nothing to do with this. Don't think in terms of 'should.' Look at you. You're on my lap, practically naked, and my arms are around you. We both want this. We're not doing anything wrong, and deep inside you, you know this isn't wrong and nothing harmful is going to happen because of it. So, how about it? How about working with those boundaries?"
Her head bobbed around. She was struggling with the idea. But she spoke at last.
"O.K.," she said at last. "We can give it a try. But we have to be strict about the limits or it can't work."
Her arms were up, around my shoulders. Her fingernails scraped lovingly against the nape of my neck. The feeling of it was magical.
I smiled at my beautiful, naked mother. And then I kissed her. A quick, gentle peck on the nose.
"I agree, mom," I said.
I pulled back and we both looked at each other lovingly, and then I moved closer again and I gave her another kiss, a soft little kiss, to the side of her mouth. Then with my hand I gently turned her face up so I could plant a row of soft kisses on her chin, and then down her neck. I heard mom purr. Then with my hand I turned her face back to mine, and we looked into each other's eyes, and then I kissed her on the lips.
I kissed her softly at first, and she returned the kiss. I pressed harder, and she did too.
Soon we were kissing each other, deeply and passionately. I pushed my tongue past her lips into her mouth, and it sought her tongue. Our tongues danced together as our open mouths pressed against each other. In that moment, I wanted all of her, I wanted nothing to be held back. I was delirious with desire. I never had kissed such a beautiful woman.
You know that magical moment when you kiss a girl for the first time, a girl you've wanted and pined after? That magical moment where all those new sensations envelope you at once -- the taste of her mouth, the scent of her neck, the feel of her waist and breasts under your eager hands?
This moment was like that, only ten times better. Mom was not only in my arms, but nearly naked. She wasn't a girl, she was my mom. My hands were pressed against the bare, luminous skin of her waist. Her full breasts were inches from me, her tits nearly pressed against my shirt. I reached a hand out and ran it through her thick blond hair.
We kissed, on and on. I was careful with my hands. I held her tightly against me, and I moved my hands against her back and shoulders in broad circles, but I kept them away from her breasts and from between her legs.
I gestured toward her leg.
"Come here, mom," I said. "Swing this leg around to the other side of me. I want you to face me."
Mom complied. She straddled me. Her legs parted. I saw the thin strip of lace between her legs, and the bare skin on either side of the strip. It would have taken no effort to slip a finger under that lace strip, and to run it up and down the delicate lips of her pussy. She was excited, I could tell, and I don't think she would have stopped me if I'd tried. But I didn't. We had just set some boundaries, and I needed to show mom that I could stick to them.
But within those boundaries, there was a lot we could do.
I continued kissing her, deeply and ardently. She kissed me back just as vigorously, and I heard a small moan well up from her chest.
I decided to push things -- just a little. I pushed my lap up against her, just a bit. My erection pressed directly against the lace-covered mound between her legs. I pressed it like that several times, just barely, enough that she would feel it, but no so hard that she would worry I would lose control.
And then I felt her push back. My cock was a thick rod, pointed straight up under the shorts and ending just an inch from the waist band. Mom began pushing her mound against it, the lace-covered panties dragging several inches along my length. She pulled her panty-clad pussy mound back, and then she pushed it against me again.
The pushing became a steady, rhythmic rocking, her lace-layered pussy against my shorts-covered cock.
I slid a hand down to her bottom, uncovered by the lace thong back. My other hand held her firmly on the side. I shifted position, and I began pressing against her, pushing her down and back against the sofa. Soon I was on top of her.
Her legs lifted and squeezed my waist, and I felt her feet cross and lock behind me. We kept rocking our hips against each other.
My lips pressed against hers. Neither of us wanted to come up for air. Our mouths remained against one another, tightly and urgently, as our tongues danced and explored one another. I felt her grind her hips against me gently. Whatever boundaries we had set, we were pushing against them.
My hand remained on her ass, and I squeezed it, gently at first and then with greater strength. My fingertips reached forward until they were only inches from the cleft between her cheeks. With just a little forward movement I could have run my finger up and down the crack, pushing under her thong, or probed her asshole, or pushed it between the folds of her pussy. I wanted to. But we had agreed on setting some boundaries, and, as difficult as it was to hold back, I did.
We kissed and writhed and grabbed each other like that for a long time -- I don't know how long.
The entire time we writhed and clutched each other on the sofa, mom's legs were spread and her lace-covered pussy was pressed firmly against my hard cock, nothing more than a millimeter or so of fabric separating my cock and her pussy. She was moving back and forth and rocking her hips against me the whole time. But -- and I know this is hard to believe -- I wasn't thinking about that. Instead, I was thinking about mom's lips and mouth, and how much I craved them, and the feeling of my mouth and lips on hers. I couldn't get enough of kissing mom. The tip of her tongue entered my mouth, and my tongue pushed back.
But if my mind was focused on kissing my mom, my body was responding to the grinding motion of her covered pussy on my cock. Our steady dry-humping was bringing me near climax. My breathing grew more ragged and urgent and I moaned "mom, mom" between our kisses.
I picked up the pace of the grinding on mom's mound. I didn't care that my efforts would fill my shorts with sticky cum. The faster pace seemed to accelerate mom's arousal as well; soon the pace of her breathing and her higher-pitched moans matched mine.
"Randy, Randy," she called softly.
Then I felt the release coming, and I pushed my hips and cock forward against her in big, urgent sweeps to bring my need for release to fruition. Then I felt it: thick spurt after thick spurt of sticky wetness inside my shorts. My body shook and I nearly pulled away from mom, but she held my butt with her hand and said "Don't stop, I'm almost there!" A few seconds after I was done I felt mom's back arch, and she shuddered with relief and joy as well.
After we finished my body collapsed against and on top of her. I held the side of my face against hers and my lean, firm chest mashed down against her full, ripe breasts.
We lay like that for minutes -- I don't know how many. Five, ten, I don't know. A surge of pleasure swept my body and I almost dozed. But not quite. I remained alert and awake despite the thick feeling of spent pleasure that coursed through my body.
I pulled away from mom and stood up and over her, looking down on her. She lay back on the sofa with arms thrown back and hands above her head. Her hair framed her face in a wild blond mane. Her full breasts lolled over her thin and lightly muscled chest and shoulders. Her lips were parted and her eyes stared widely at me.
Standing up reminded me of the flood of wetness under my shorts. I unbuttoned and unzipped them. Then I let them drop to the ground and stepped out of them. I pulled my shirt off. I stood completely naked in front of mom. My cock no longer was at full length, but I was glad to see it still was longer and thicker than normal, and as soon as it popped out of my shorts mom's eyes were glued to it.
I bent over and retrieved the shorts, and I used them to wipe up the remaining cum on my cock. I tossed the shorts back on the floor.
I stood over my mom again, and my cock hung about two feet from her face. She was sitting up on the sofa now, and her face was level with it. She looked at it and then looked up at me.
I didn't know what had come over me. I had always had the gift of gab, and for a while I had known what to say to girls. But being with mom like this gave me a confidence I'd never felt before. I stood completely naked over her with my cock swinging no more than two feet from her lips, and I felt no shame or guilt or nervousness. Something about it felt right. It was like all the pieces were falling into place, and I felt confident about what to do and what to say.
But I could tell mom wasn't quite there. I'd unlocked her desire to show herself off, and I'd gotten her to admit her desire to me. We had both come together. But I could tell she was nervous and uncertain about what we were doing, even though her body was loving it.
I knew, for a certainty, that I wanted to keep pushing things with mom. I thought she'd be receptive if I handled it the right way. I just had to keep things at the right pace, and at the right rhythm.
"Do you like what you see?" I asked her.
She grinned slightly and cocked her head back and forth, appraising my cock from two sides. Then she looked back at me.
"Impressive," she said.
"How does it compare with dad's?" I asked.
"You are very pushy with the questions, naughty boy," she said. "That was one area with your dad where I had no complaints. But you might be a little bit bigger."
She laughed. "Don't get a big head about it."
I grinned.
"That's not what's going to get big, mom. It's my cock that's going to get big when you keep taking your clothes off like this in front of me."
"You sound confident I'm going to keep doing this," she said.
"I am confident, mom," I said. "You're going to get naked for me, a lot. You're going to show off for me and you're going to spread your legs. You're going to let me take photos of you. We're going to keep kissing like we just did. I'm going to come with you again, too."
I squatted down in front of her as I said it, until my face was a little below hers, and with my hands I gently pushed her knees farther apart. I kept pushing them until they were as far as back as they would go against the edge of the sofa.
The strip of lace between her legs was perhaps no more than an inch and a half wide, enough to cover the most intimate details of her sex but not enough fully to hide her outer labia, which mounded sweetly on either side. An obvious damp spot blotted the center of the white lacy strip.
I touched my finger to it. I started at the bottom and moved it up slowly until I felt the fabric give way just a little, where my finger found the spot just over the entrance to her pussy, the source of all the wetness. Although the pressure of my finger was light, it was enough to create a dimple in her thong. My finger pressed inward and entered the shallow dimple, and the white lace closed around my finger. In a way, I was finger-fucking my mom, now, I thought.
"Randy," she said, "I don't think we should do that."
But she pushed forward, against my finger, slightly but noticeably, as she spoke.
"I'm not breaking any boundaries, mom," I said. "And I'm not going to. We agreed to them and I'm going to stick by them."
I looked in mom's eyes with arched eyebrows.
"What about you, mom?" I asked. "Are you going to stick with our boundaries?"
She had started to rock herself more noticeably against my finger as I spoke, and she was staring down at what she was doing, but my question seemed to snap her attention away from the needs of her body. She pulled back an inch, parting her lace-covered pussy from my finger, and she looked up at me.
"Of course," she said. "Randy, we absolutely have to stick with these boundaries."
"I'm glad we agree on that, mom," I said.
"Just a sec," I added.
I stood up and walked over to a counter where I had left my phone.
"What are you doing?" mom asked.
She hadn't moved; she remained on the edge of the sofa with her legs splayed wide on either side and her hands supporting her on the sofa on either side of her.
"I'm going to take some pictures of you, mom," I said. "I've already taken photos of you naked but I want to record this moment between us, where you're showing yourself to me deliberately for the first time."
I loved the combination of nerves and desire I saw in her face, the internal battle she was going through between yes and no. So far, the yes side was winning, and I wanted to press my advantage and keep it that way.
"Point your toes," I said.
She put her hands on her knees and propped her feet up on her toes, keeping her legs wide. She threw her shoulders back and her pushed her ripe breasts toward me. I took two photos like that.
"O.K., mom," I continued. "I want you to turn around and put your hands on the top of the sofa. I'm going to take a photo of that sweet ass of yours."
She turned around, and her ass was even sweeter than I thought it would be. Mom's whole body was lean and well-defined from years of steady exercise, but her butt still was rounded and feminine -- more than I might have expected. The lace thong completely disappeared in the crack between her legs underneath and then reemerged to join in an inch-wide strip with the horizontal strip across her waist.
"Spread your legs apart more, mom," I said. I knew I was going to be telling her to do that a lot, and I knew she was going to do it a lot and like it.
I moved around from side to side and took a few photos of her in that position.
"Turn around and sit back on the sofa again," I said.
She did so.
I set my phone on the floor and approached her again.
I put my hands on her knees, and I brought them together. Then I pushed my hands up her thighs, my fingers savoring the touch of her skin underneath. My fingers stopped at the white thong, and I hooked them under the edge of the light fabric.
"What are you doing?" she asked, a trace of nervousness in her voice.
"These panties are wet," I said. "Too wet for you to wear. I'm going to take them off for you. Now lift up." I said it firmly but politely.
She hesitated, but then she complied. She lifted her hips, just slightly. I seized the opportunity and gripped the lace garment and pulled it down. She brought her legs together to help me and I pulled the thong all the way off and dropped it on top of my shorts.
Now, for the first time, mom sat completely and knowingly naked in front of me. She didn't try to hide anything.
"I want you to scoot out all the way to the edge of the sofa," I said, "And then spread your legs wide again."
Mom took a deep breath. I could see the uncertainty in her face, but I could tell she was going to do it. She did.
I pulled my phone out and held it up to take a picture. I focused on her pussy, first. It was beautiful. A triangular patch of trimmed blond fur lay over her clit, the pink button of which peeked timidly from under the fold of her hood. The inner lips of mom's pussy were unusually thin and delicate, like flower petals. They parted just slightly, revealing an uneven, barely open, damp, dark slit, and they dangled a little, too, between her legs.
Her hands were on her knees again and the muscles of her lean legs stood out when she raised her feet on her toes. Her breasts jutted forward and her nipples stood out with the color of strawberries against her mildly tanned skin.
I took several pictures of her like that.
I was squatting as I took the photos, and even while I focused and snapped them I was aware of my cock hanging down between my legs. I saw mom's eyes stray to it from time to time.
I stood up when I was done. I had another idea for a photo.
"Mom, wait here and don't move," I said. "I'll be right back."
I ran to my room, grabbed what I needed, and ran back to mom, my cock flopping against my thigh along the way.
I reentered the living room, mom still in the same place on the sofa. I had my DSLR camera, a tripod, and a remote control in my hand. I set it up quickly about ten feet away from the sofa in front of mom.
"Randy," she said, "What are you doing?"
"I want to get a photo of both of us, mom," I said. "I want to save this moment."
After setting it up, I walked to the sofa and scooted behind mom. My cock contacted her butt and started to grow hard again, but I had to ignore it for now. I put my hands on mom's waist and lifted and positioned her on my lap.
"Randy ---" mom said. I could tell she was concerned about the proximity of my hardening cock to her uncovered pussy.
"Don't worry, mom," I said quickly. "It's just picture time."
I held out the remote in my hand.
"Here," I said. "I'll direct, but you take the pictures."
I directed us, first, to sit with her on my lap and both of us sitting and smiling at the camera together. With my hands free, I could put them on mom's body. I put one on her hip and the other on her abdomen, just under her breast.
She snapped the photo. We took more. It made it more erotic for me knowing that mom was exposing herself and taking the photos. Every time she clicked the remote she affirmed her desire to show herself to me.
With my arm around her waist I pulled her against me, until my back was against the back of the sofa. With my other hand, I pushed her legs apart until her knees were bent and up and her legs spread as wide as they could go. I wanted her to know that she was fully revealed to my camera when she clicked the remote. She clicked it several times. We took several photos like that, a few with us smiling at the camera and a few with her head turned toward mine as we kissed deeply in front of the camera.
Finally, we were done. I took the remote from her hand and set it to the side on the sofa. I kissed her softly a few times, on and around her mouth.
My cock by now was hard and at full length. Her position on my lap left her pussy gaping open and just an inch or two away from my protuberant shaft. Mom and I were at a precipice. It would be easy to jump and fall from it. I wanted to take her with every fiber of my being. But I wasn't going to. Not today, anyway.
I had made an agreement with her. We'd set boundaries. I wasn't sure how long those boundaries were going to last, or if I wanted them to last. But I knew I had to stick to them for now if I didn't want to screw everything up.
Mom said nothing. She remained in my lap, her eyes on my face, her open pussy perched vulnerably over my hard cock.
With supreme effort, I gently lifted mom up and moved under and away from her on the sofa.
She opened her lips as though she was about to say something, but she didn't.
I put a few fingers on her face next to her lips.
"It's O.K., mom," I said. "Everything is fine."
I stood up, then I turned around, and I scooped up mom in my arms. I hefted her up to the level of my chest and her arms encircled my neck. Mom's eyes opened wide in surprise.
"You're lighter than I expected," I said.
I carried mom to her bedroom. I walked slowly and steadily to show her that it wasn't difficult to carry her. I lay her gently on her bed, and she fell back against it. Her arms were at her side and her body lay still and glowing in the morning light coming through the window. She waited to see what I was going to do.
I smiled at her and said, "It's time to get dressed." And I walked away.
It took more will power to do that than I knew I had. But I knew, to a certainty, that I had to do it.
I wanted my mom. I didn't just want to see her, or to take photos of her. I desired her, craved her, needed her. But I had to handle this right, or I would lose her.
I walked naked back to the living room. I retrieved my shorts and shirt, and mom's thong as well. I gathered my camera equipment, and I went to my bedroom and closed the door.
Mom and I had started something. But we had put boundaries on it. I had agreed not to cross certain lines with her. Standing in my room, naked, I resolved that I would not break my promise to her, no matter how hard it would be.
But boundaries could be changed. By time, persuasion, and agreement, they could be changed. I had a feeling -- no, I knew -- that in time the boundaries that mom and I had set with each other would change.
I wanted my hot mom, fully and completely. And I was determined to have her.
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