06-11-2019, 08:43 AM
I pulled the brush through her hair with my first tentative stroke. Mom’s hair was damp and I had to pull harder to force the bristles through her thick mane but not so hard that it would hurt. I worked diligently and actually lost myself in the task, pulling the hair away from her back with one hand to avoid snagging the robe, while tugging the brush through, slowly parting and straightening smaller and smaller bundles of hair. Eventually, I was stroking the full length of her hair without hitting a snag but found it harder to hold her hair away from her back. I kept snagging the robe.
After one such incident, probably the thirtieth, Mom lifted both hands to her neck, shrugged and wiggled, and her robe slipped off her shoulders, piling on the seat beside her and falling to hand down to the floor behind her. I continued brushing, expecting to snag her nightgown but encountered no resistance. Perhaps it was one of those ones made with silky material. Being cautious, I decided to pull Mom’s hair away from her back anyway. My knuckles grazed Mom’s back as I gathered her hair to pull it out a bit and was halfway through my brush stroke before I realized that the material was oddly warm and soft. The next stroke confirmed it but it wasn’t until the third stroke, when I peered under the pulled out hair, that I knew for certain that my knuckles had scbangd along Mom’s bare back.
She wasn’t wearing a nightgown. I pulled her hair way out from her back before applying the brush on the next stroke, opening a long column of bare back, and buttock. Working my way from that side to the center, I was able to see a long column of smooth skin that ended in a canyon that quickly narrowed to a dark crack. I was looking down at Mom’s ass, at least the bit of it she wasn’t actually sitting on. For the first time, my pajamas began to tent. I looked over at Dad. He was still sleeping so my eyes returned to the magic slice of skin.
“Something wrong?” Mom’s soft voice startled me. She hadn’t whispered and I looked at Dad again in case he opened his eyes. “He’s sleeping,” Mom added, waiting for an answer her question.
I was still holding the hair away from her back, the brush in my other hand waiting to be applied. No wonder she’d asked. I was just staring at her ass crack.
“Um … no. I was just … um,”
“… going to massage my scalp?” Mom finished for me.
“Yeah, that’s … uh, yeah.”
Mom held her hand up and I put the brush in it. After putting it on the dresser, Mom leaned back toward me, tipping her face upward, eyes closed. My thighs pressed against her back. I started running my fingers through Mom’s hair and scratching lightly at her scalp. Mom didn’t make an aural response until my fingers slipped down to trace her forehead.
“Mmmmmmmmm, I like that,” she purred.
I trailed my fingertips around as lightly as I could, carefully running over her closed eyelids, feeling her eyes underneath, running along the side of her nose and then horizontally across her lips.
“Mmmmmmmm,” she murmured.
After one such incident, probably the thirtieth, Mom lifted both hands to her neck, shrugged and wiggled, and her robe slipped off her shoulders, piling on the seat beside her and falling to hand down to the floor behind her. I continued brushing, expecting to snag her nightgown but encountered no resistance. Perhaps it was one of those ones made with silky material. Being cautious, I decided to pull Mom’s hair away from her back anyway. My knuckles grazed Mom’s back as I gathered her hair to pull it out a bit and was halfway through my brush stroke before I realized that the material was oddly warm and soft. The next stroke confirmed it but it wasn’t until the third stroke, when I peered under the pulled out hair, that I knew for certain that my knuckles had scbangd along Mom’s bare back.
She wasn’t wearing a nightgown. I pulled her hair way out from her back before applying the brush on the next stroke, opening a long column of bare back, and buttock. Working my way from that side to the center, I was able to see a long column of smooth skin that ended in a canyon that quickly narrowed to a dark crack. I was looking down at Mom’s ass, at least the bit of it she wasn’t actually sitting on. For the first time, my pajamas began to tent. I looked over at Dad. He was still sleeping so my eyes returned to the magic slice of skin.
“Something wrong?” Mom’s soft voice startled me. She hadn’t whispered and I looked at Dad again in case he opened his eyes. “He’s sleeping,” Mom added, waiting for an answer her question.
I was still holding the hair away from her back, the brush in my other hand waiting to be applied. No wonder she’d asked. I was just staring at her ass crack.
“Um … no. I was just … um,”
“… going to massage my scalp?” Mom finished for me.
“Yeah, that’s … uh, yeah.”
Mom held her hand up and I put the brush in it. After putting it on the dresser, Mom leaned back toward me, tipping her face upward, eyes closed. My thighs pressed against her back. I started running my fingers through Mom’s hair and scratching lightly at her scalp. Mom didn’t make an aural response until my fingers slipped down to trace her forehead.
“Mmmmmmmmm, I like that,” she purred.
I trailed my fingertips around as lightly as I could, carefully running over her closed eyelids, feeling her eyes underneath, running along the side of her nose and then horizontally across her lips.
“Mmmmmmmm,” she murmured.
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