21-08-2019, 06:27 PM
It came apart easily. There was now plenty of room for my hand to slip inside but I moved to the final bow instead, picking up its ends in my trembling fingers, now overly eager upon the realization that Mom was going to let me get inside the nightgown. Could I undo the whole thing? Mom’s smile widened but I still chickened out. I released the last set of laces and moved my hand up. With a final glance upstairs, I slipped my hand under Mom’s nightgown onto her right breast. I knew where the lump was now and went directly to it, grunting in satisfaction that it was still small, but then moved on, ostensibly searching with prodding fingers for other lumps. I felt Mom’s right breast for as long as I thought I could get away with it before moving to the equally exquisite left and checked it out for just as long, managing to brush my palm over Mom’s erect nipple. When I was done, Mom said, “Thank you, sweetheart,” and re-tied the laces, muttering under her breath as she did so, “It’s nice to see at least one man in this house concerned about my health.” Then, she smiled sweetly, leaned forward to give me a kiss, and said, “Nighty, night,” like she used to when I was little.
As she climbed the stairs, she cinched her robe up tight. ————————————— The next day, I asked about the sculptures hidden under the tarp in the corner. Mom hadn’t heard me step into the studio so I was able to watch her preen in front of the mirror, arching her back, pushing her arms up and bending them so she could play with the hair behind her neck, and, best of all, thrusting her breasts upward. She twisted her torso to and fro and glanced often between her refection and the piece she was sculpting. I startled her when I spoke. “Can I see them?” “Oh, Ben. You gave me a start for sure. See what?” Mom’s lashes dipped. Had she glanced down at her chest? “The ones you’re hiding from me.” I nodded toward the corner. “Oh, those. I’m not hiding them,” she said, defensively. “Then, I can see them?” I walked toward the tarp. “No, Ben. Don’t.” I stopped. “Why, what’s so terrible about them. If they’re not up to snuff, we should move them to make room for the stuff you’re doing now. It’s great.” I started for the corner again. “They’re not duds, they’re nudes,” Mom explained. I was astonished. “Nudes?” “Yes, nudes. Well, bare-breasted, anyway.”
Mom looked down and blushed. “You don’t want me to see them because they’re bare-breasted? Mom, I’m twenty-two.” I started to move again. “Wait. It’s just that, it’s just…well, they’re of me.” “Mom, they’re just statues.” “I know, but still.” “Mom, I you let me check your breasts for lumps last night, the real ones, not replicas.” “I know but that’s a medical thing. This is different.” “Ok,” I put up my hands, relenting. Somehow, it didn’t seem appropriate now to ask Mom if I could check her breasts which is what I’d come out to the studio hoping to do. I hung out for a bit, then quietly slipped away. I think Mom was relieved to see me go. I was surprised when Mom slipped downstairs that night to present herself to me again. She wore an enigmatic smile the whole time I loosened and parted her robe and also while I slipped the second lace apart. This time, I quickly moved to the third and last bow and undid it too. Mom gave no indication of whether she approved or disapproved. As soon as it was done, I spread Mom’s nightgown apart, peeling it back to her arms. I didn’t need to open it that wide but Mom didn’t object.
My mouth dropped open at the unimpeded beauty of her perfectly shaped breasts jutting with surprising firmness from her chest. I slipped my hands over them, both at the same time, fingers first, followed by sliding palms, a whole hand check-up. My fingers strayed lightly all around Mom’s tits before I used my palms to press them against her chest. “I did a little reading,” I explained. “You’re supposed to flatten them so the smaller lumps will show.” This was bullshit of course which I suspect Mom knew but I felt I needed to provide an explanation and that was the best I could come up with. Squishing them for a mammary exam was one thing but squashing them with your palms was quite another. Still, Mom let me get away with it. She let me check her out for the longest time yet and when I was finished and stepped back, I thought that Mom’s nipples looked more stimulated than when I had started but I couldn’t be sure because Mom closed her nightgown quickly. When she leaned forward to kiss me, she whispered, “I guess I’m ready for your father, now.” Those words reverberated around my skull for hours that night, 'ready for your father now’.
Was she teasing me? I pictured her presenting her stiff nipples to my father, nipples I had prepared, the lucky bastard. I strained my ears for the sound of love-making but I didn’t hear anything definitive which both pleased and disappointed me. Eventually, I satisfied myself by rubbing my dick until I spilled my seed in my shorts. ————————————— The next day, Mom wore the old designer jeans again, topped by a loose shirt. The shirt had been buttoned right up until Dad left for work but when Mom returned from kissing him goodbye at the door, it was half undone. I tried to initiate a check-up but Mom spurned me, saying she had to get to work right away. When I tried again at lunch time, she flatly refused, saying that once a day should be enough. I was crushed. What had I done? She seemed to be okay with my extended check-up the night before, even pleased, and possibly excited. Was that it? Had I crossed a boundary that betrayed the sexual nature of my 'medical’ examination? I hoped not. Later that afternoon, Mom called me out to the studio. She was in the corner, holding one end of the tarp. “Help me move these, will you Ben?” I moved quickly to comply, not questioning her change of heart.
As she climbed the stairs, she cinched her robe up tight. ————————————— The next day, I asked about the sculptures hidden under the tarp in the corner. Mom hadn’t heard me step into the studio so I was able to watch her preen in front of the mirror, arching her back, pushing her arms up and bending them so she could play with the hair behind her neck, and, best of all, thrusting her breasts upward. She twisted her torso to and fro and glanced often between her refection and the piece she was sculpting. I startled her when I spoke. “Can I see them?” “Oh, Ben. You gave me a start for sure. See what?” Mom’s lashes dipped. Had she glanced down at her chest? “The ones you’re hiding from me.” I nodded toward the corner. “Oh, those. I’m not hiding them,” she said, defensively. “Then, I can see them?” I walked toward the tarp. “No, Ben. Don’t.” I stopped. “Why, what’s so terrible about them. If they’re not up to snuff, we should move them to make room for the stuff you’re doing now. It’s great.” I started for the corner again. “They’re not duds, they’re nudes,” Mom explained. I was astonished. “Nudes?” “Yes, nudes. Well, bare-breasted, anyway.”
Mom looked down and blushed. “You don’t want me to see them because they’re bare-breasted? Mom, I’m twenty-two.” I started to move again. “Wait. It’s just that, it’s just…well, they’re of me.” “Mom, they’re just statues.” “I know, but still.” “Mom, I you let me check your breasts for lumps last night, the real ones, not replicas.” “I know but that’s a medical thing. This is different.” “Ok,” I put up my hands, relenting. Somehow, it didn’t seem appropriate now to ask Mom if I could check her breasts which is what I’d come out to the studio hoping to do. I hung out for a bit, then quietly slipped away. I think Mom was relieved to see me go. I was surprised when Mom slipped downstairs that night to present herself to me again. She wore an enigmatic smile the whole time I loosened and parted her robe and also while I slipped the second lace apart. This time, I quickly moved to the third and last bow and undid it too. Mom gave no indication of whether she approved or disapproved. As soon as it was done, I spread Mom’s nightgown apart, peeling it back to her arms. I didn’t need to open it that wide but Mom didn’t object.
My mouth dropped open at the unimpeded beauty of her perfectly shaped breasts jutting with surprising firmness from her chest. I slipped my hands over them, both at the same time, fingers first, followed by sliding palms, a whole hand check-up. My fingers strayed lightly all around Mom’s tits before I used my palms to press them against her chest. “I did a little reading,” I explained. “You’re supposed to flatten them so the smaller lumps will show.” This was bullshit of course which I suspect Mom knew but I felt I needed to provide an explanation and that was the best I could come up with. Squishing them for a mammary exam was one thing but squashing them with your palms was quite another. Still, Mom let me get away with it. She let me check her out for the longest time yet and when I was finished and stepped back, I thought that Mom’s nipples looked more stimulated than when I had started but I couldn’t be sure because Mom closed her nightgown quickly. When she leaned forward to kiss me, she whispered, “I guess I’m ready for your father, now.” Those words reverberated around my skull for hours that night, 'ready for your father now’.
Was she teasing me? I pictured her presenting her stiff nipples to my father, nipples I had prepared, the lucky bastard. I strained my ears for the sound of love-making but I didn’t hear anything definitive which both pleased and disappointed me. Eventually, I satisfied myself by rubbing my dick until I spilled my seed in my shorts. ————————————— The next day, Mom wore the old designer jeans again, topped by a loose shirt. The shirt had been buttoned right up until Dad left for work but when Mom returned from kissing him goodbye at the door, it was half undone. I tried to initiate a check-up but Mom spurned me, saying she had to get to work right away. When I tried again at lunch time, she flatly refused, saying that once a day should be enough. I was crushed. What had I done? She seemed to be okay with my extended check-up the night before, even pleased, and possibly excited. Was that it? Had I crossed a boundary that betrayed the sexual nature of my 'medical’ examination? I hoped not. Later that afternoon, Mom called me out to the studio. She was in the corner, holding one end of the tarp. “Help me move these, will you Ben?” I moved quickly to comply, not questioning her change of heart.
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)