Incest Stories by Alwayswantedto

[nilr1]

Dear Friends...


This is a small collection of incest stories from Net by an extremely good author Alwayswantedto. I have a few of them, there are some sites in which his stories are still available - however, I think there could be Net security issues in some of those sites.
Hence, publishing them for you. Please let me know if you like them.


All credit goes to the original author... & I thank him/her for writing these stories so we can read & enjoy 



Index of the Stories
Story 1: Piano Mom

Story 2: Riding With Mom
Story 3: Brushing Mom's Hair

• Chapter II 
  
• Chapter III
  
• Chapter IV
  

Piano Mom
by alwayswantedto©
 

All characters involved in sexual situations are 18 or older.
 
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
 
First Sight
 
I'm an accomplished piano player for my age. I won't say pianist because I'm not that talented but I've had many years of training, starting with lessons at the age of five from my piano teacher mom.
 
Mom is a stay-at-home wife who always supplemented our family income through piano lessons, provided (mostly) to the members of our parish which produced a fresh crop of students each year. For years, I watched Mom teach other kids, from beginners to graduates just surpassing their teacher's ability. We often attended recitals at our church to hear these students regale our flock with their prowess.
 
Mom always said I was capable of surpassing all of her past students. She was especially encouraging during my last year of high school when I was particularly keen to quit the piano in favor of the more earthly pleasures I had discovered that year in the back seat of my friend's car.
 
I have to say that the special encouragements that actually kept me in the piano game weren't her enthusiastic exhortations but rather the warm press of her loosely skirted thigh as she sat next to me on the piano bench and the accidental brush of her breast, clad in the silky white blouses she favored for teaching. I would often forego the opportunity to hang out with friends because I couldn't bring myself to give up an evening practice with Mom. Anyway, those sessions provided fertile ground for my imagination late a night, lying in bed, particularly after a fruitless search for carnal activities.
 
Imagination provided my only glimpses under Mom's healthy white blouse, or the thrill of inserting my hand under her skirt, or the sensuous feel of her long, supple fingers caressing the length of my vibrating shaft, a silky touch that carried me to bliss even through the harsh yanking of my own hand. I'm sure the press of Mom's leg and brush of her breast were unintentional, as were the brief displays of her thighs when she adjusted her skirt to get more comfortable on the bench, or her habit of touching my arm with her soft fingers whenever she wanted to make a point, all of which happened often that year but never before. If it was intentional, in order to keep me interested in the piano, it worked.
 
After graduation, and my application to a music program in college, Mom wasn't as pushy about keeping up with the piano. I was busy with my summer job and Mom seemed too tired to practice since she had more than the usual number of students whose parents pushed for summer remedial classes. It wasn't until the end of the summer, just before I left for college, that Mom left me with a memory that furnished my imagination for the next four months.
 
Mom and Dad were going out for a big get together. As usual, after some significant preparations, Mom was ready to go but Dad's efforts weren't up to snuff so she sent him upstairs to do a proper job. Exasperated, she turned to me, took my hand, and led me to the piano.
 
"Oh, that man," she sighed. "Let's play something to wash my stress away."
 
I sat down at the near end of the bench while Mom walked around to the other end. She had difficulty sitting in her tight dress. Pinching the material between her fingers, she barely won a struggle to tug it higher so she could sit down. But she eventually won and the victory pleased me as I watched the hem climb above Mom's knees and higher, inch by inch, until the top of her nylons were exposed.
 
After Mom sat down she began shuffling through the music books leaning against the piano in front of us. My eyes, however, were aimed between her exposed thighs, following the black straps that clipped onto the wide band of thicker nylon, nestled against the softest flesh I had ever seen, and disappeared into the darkness of Mom's dress.
 
Mom couldn't seem to find the right music to relieve the stress my father had created and flipped back and forth through several books before she finally found a suitable piece. I didn't mind. I could have looked at the straps holding up her nylons or, more accurately, the inner sanctity of her thighs, forever.
 
"Pay attention, John," Mom chided, readying her hands on the keys. I did the same, though I was loathe to tear my eyes from between her legs. "Do you remember this one?" she asked.
 
I nodded, and Mom began to play. We had to begin twice because I fumbled the keys but Mom was patient, even smiling while waiting for me to start again.
 
It was a familiar piece, a duet I knew by heart and which required little effort on my part, just to play along to Mom's lead. My eyes soon strayed beneath the keyboard to appreciate the narrow gap between Mom's legs which briefly widened whenever her foot was applied to one of the pedals. I thanked the stars that Mom was playing more energetically than usual, lifting her foot high off the pedal rather than slipping it on an off, probably because she was wearing high heels. This minor difference, amplified many times, caused her dress to slip higher on her thigh whenever her knee lifted. Near the end, when Mom was playing with particular enthusiasm, a dark strip poked through from underneath her dress. Her panties.
 
Even in the dim light, the puffiness of this narrow strip created the distinct impression that it yearned to be free of constraint. Thankfully, the song ended or I would have flubbed even my simple role. Mom wound up with a flourish and turned to face me. I tore my eyes away to look into her flushed face.
 
"That was wonderful, darling!" she exclaimed, her usual cheerful self reclaimed.
 
I nodded rather than speaking so I could look at her legs, now closed but still bare almost to the very top.
 
"Well, I'd better go check on your father," Mom's sigh seemed to bring her back to earth. She spun around the end of the bench and I turned to get up on my side.
 
"Damn!" Mom yelled.
 
Her outburst caused me to wheel around. She was sitting with her back to me, looking down at her feet. She twisted further around, still facing at a slight angle away from me, and tried to lift her right foot onto her left knee so she could look at the bottom of her shoe, but she couldn't quite get it there because of her tight dress.
 
"Look at my shoe for me, Jon," Mom said, dropping her foot and using the other to help pull herself around to face me more directly. "See if the heel's broken."
 
I knelt down in front of Mom, taking the foot she lifted toward me, and looked at the shoe. But my eyes immediately slid up to Mom's knees and beyond when I realized that her legs were open and she had pulled her dress very high so she was free to lift her leg. My hand slid under the sole of her shoe and my thumb slipped between the shoe and the arch of her foot, but my gaze was aimed directly at the black panties I could now see without any problems at all.
 
Mom's dress was higher, her legs wider, and the light no longer dim. The panties, I could see, were solid in some parts and lacily revealing in others. There was definitely a prominent protrusion in the front which I could now observed had a more complicated structure than I was able to see under the keyboard. Two ridges rose on each side to form cliffs that faced each other across a narrow chasm. I leaned closer to Mom so the direction of my gaze wouldn't be so obvious and also to block my swelling cock which was throbbing in my jeans.
 
"See if the heel's broken, Jon," Mom said, seeing that I was holding her shoe sole downward when I should have been twisting it up to look underneath.
 
I gripped Mom's leg just below the knee and urged it outward as I gently twisted her foot up to examine the heel of her shoe. Two things happened then as Mom's legs widened even further. First, her panties were stretched more tightly, pulling away from her legs and allowing a little tuft of hair to appear in the gaps on each side. Second, the chasm widened, depicting the external structure of her pussy more distinctively. A familiar tingle graced the head of my cock, the one that signaled an impending eruption.
 
"Is it broken?" Mom asked, jarring my eyes back to the shoe.
 
I bent Mom's foot back toward her so she could see for herself, holding her knee steady while the gap between her heel and her thigh narrowed. Mom's eyes were drawn to her shoe and mine returned to her panties, following a line of sight along the narrow spike of her heel as it pointed directly toward my target.
 
Mom hunched over to look at her shoe, legs widening even more and thrusting her pubes hard against the lacy panties. It was too much. I began spurting in my jeans. I tried to hide my jerky movements by wiggling Mom's heel to demonstrate its adhesive strength but I knew no amount of shaking would cover the wet blotch that would soon stain my pants. I was wondering how to escape the situation when I heard my father's footsteps at the top of the stairs.
 
"I'm ready," Dad called, starting his descent.
 
Mom stood, rapidly smoothing her dress over her legs and wiggling her foot firmly into place in her shoe. She tousled my hair as I remained crouched before her, leaning over my offending crotch.
 
"Play a nice tune for us while we leave, Jon."
 
I crawled up onto the bench and quickly tapped out a jolly tune, thankful for the chance to hide my incriminating damp crotch under the keyboard. I nodded at my parents when the said goodbye. Mother told me not to stay up too late, a habit she couldn't shake even though I was leaving for college in a matter of days.
 
The Hook
 
Home for the Christmas holidays. I was eager to show off the new skills I had learned but Mom never joined me at the piano except to stand behind me while I played. My hopes for a replay of summer's end, especially another 'broken' heel incident, dwindled with each passing day. Christmas day passed uneventfully and we were approaching the last day of the year when Mom asked me if I would play a piece or two at the New Year's Eve party my parents were hosting that night.
 
"Sure, what would you like to hear?"
 
"Play a few pieces and I'll pick," Mom said, more cheery than she'd been all holiday.
 
I sat down and began to play. On the second song, Mom laid her hand on my shoulder. At the end of the song, she slipped down onto the bench beside me, eagerly awaiting my next number. I played my heart out for the third piece and my chest tightened when Mom exclaimed her pleasure when I finished.
 
"That was, how do you say it nowadays? Awesome," Mom enthused, turning slightly toward me.
 
"Thanks, Mom. I'm learning a lot at college," I said, proudly.
 
"That wasn't just learning, that was raw talent," Mom beamed.

[nilr1]

I blushed and looked down.
 
"You must do a recital at Church."
 
I looked up quickly. This wasn't what I was hoping to achieve. "Mom, ..."
 
"Oh, but you must. Please, Jon."
 
I shook my head. "Mom, you know I ..."
 
"It would mean so much to me," Mom interrupted, her voice softening.
 
The changed in her voice triggered and incredibly immediate feeling within me. I lowered my head to avoid her eyes, fearing my sudden carnal thoughts could be easily read, and was surprised to see the fingers of Mom's right hand scratching her skirt, slowly tugging it up from her knees. I went rigid, eyes fixed on Mom's thighs.
 
"It would be so wonderful to see you up there in front of everyone," Mom purred.
 
Mom's hand, now filled with her bunched up skirt, withdrew up her leg, dragging her skirt toward her hip. Her left knee moved but was blocked by the bench. Then, just as her hand stopped, Mom's right knee moved away, spreading her legs and drawing her skirt even higher. Suddenly, light reflected off a narrow expanse of white material, starkly outlined against the dark material of Mom's skirt.
 
"You will, won't you?" Mom asked, her voice still soft but not as smooth as before.
 
"I'm going back to school in a few days."
 
"Oh, but it won't be until summer. You can do it then, can't you?"
 
My voice caught in my throat but I nodded and managed to croak, "Yes, of course. If that's what you want, Mom."
 
"It is," Mom whispered, though we were the only ones home.
 
And with that, her hips pushed forward and her pubes strained against the cotton material that, though they didn't reveal as much as the lacy, black ones months before, still disclosed much, and my mind filled in the rest.
 
"You make me so happy, Jon," Mom's voice returned closer to normal but in a throatier version.
 
"But at the end of the summer, right?" I said.
 
Mom's brow furrowed. "The end?"
 
"Yes, we'll need to practice," I said.
 
"Practice? We?"
 
"Yes," I said, my confidence rising. "I want to do a duet, with you."
 
"Oh, Jon. I couldn't play with you, not the way you're playing now."
 
"Sure you can. You just need to practice."
 
"No. I'd look like a fool."
 
"Bull," I said, the closest thing to a swear word I could use in front of my mom. Mom's eyes widened, realizing that I must feel strongly if I used a word like that in her presence.
 
"But Jon ...,"
 
"I want to play, with you, Mom." I held my finger to her lips to silence further protest. "I need you to be up there with me," I pleaded, "the two of us, together."
 
Mom looked deep into my eyes and I held firm. She must have been satisfied because she suddenly smiled sweetly and agreed, "Alright, Jon. The two of us will put on a show, a mother and son duet."
 
She leaned forward to kiss me. Surprised, I actually pulled back and Mom's lips landed on my cheek, as intended, but caught the corner of my mouth. Her face flushed slightly when she pulled back, indicating she was aware of the miscue. On impulse, I followed her retreat and kissed her back, my mouth partly on her mouth, as if in retribution. When I pulled away, I was surprised to find my hand had found her waist during the short duration of our caress and awkwardly pulled it away. My mind flooded with the awareness of how firm her waist was and a strange excitement about how sharply it flared out to her hips.
 
I cast my eyes down for a final look at Mom's panties and the lovely triangle they formed with her thighs, patted her bare knee, and said, "You'd better let me practice now if I'm not to play the fool tonight, then."
 
I played rather well that night and was the hit of the party. At midnight, several of the women, somewhat tipsy from the evening's consumption and loud merriment, showed me their appreciation under the mistletoe hung from every door jamb in the house. Unfortunately, there were only two that I really didn't mind kissing and only one of them kissed like she didn't mind if anyone was looking. I was surprised by these church-going women who, under the cover of darkness and a couple of drinks, were eager to provide a taste of what they had promised to someone else.
 
After everyone had left and Dad had stumbled upstairs, I stayed to help Mom tidy up so there wasn't such a big cleanup job the next morning. Mom was just leaving the kitchen, and I was bringing the last two glasses from the living room, when we met in the doorway. Mom took the glasses from my hand and placed them on the counter beside her instead of taking them in to the sink.
 
"That's enough for tonight. Thanks for your help, Jon."
 
I nodded.
 
"You played wonderfully tonight. Everyone really enjoyed themselves," Mom said. After a short pause, she added, "I noticed Mrs. Erickson was particularly pleased," referring to the good looking woman that trapped me under the mistletoe with a particularly enthusiastic embrace.
 
Although she was joking, I sensed displeasure. I looked up to the top of the doorway to avoid her eyes but they followed mine and we both latched onto the mistletoe that still hung there. I reached around to the light switch and flicked it down, throwing the kitchen into darkness. Mom's upturned face reflected the dim light of the single lamp lighting the living room behind me. I circled her waist with my arm and lowered my face to hers.
 
"Happy New Year, Mom," I whispered, covering her lips with my mouth before she could react.
 
Mom didn't resist me. In fact, she actually pressed against me as earnestly as Mrs. Erickson had, squashing her breasts against my chest and standing on her toes to meet my lips as they moved on hers. It was neither a short nor a long kiss and though Mom ended it, she was breathing hard when she pulled away. Both of us seemed awkward after my spontaneous act.
 
"Whew, I guess it's going to be quite a year," Mom cried, turning her head to the side to avoid my eyes, unnecessarily, given I was similarly looking around.
 
Mom stepped around me and rushed up the stairs to her bedroom, and husband.
 
A few days later, I left for school.
 
The Hot Summer Begins
 
The summer started slowly. After my initial welcome home and an official barbecue party with family and old friends, I settled into my summer job and lazy weekends hanging out with old friends, few of whom were still around. Many had gone elsewhere for summer work since not many jobs were available in our small town, and some of those who remained had changed and it just wasn't the same hanging out with them anymore. So I began spending more and more of my evenings and weekends at home.
 
It was easily three weeks before Mom brought up the promised recital. I hadn't forgot about it, I just didn't know how to bring it up. Reacting on gut instinct, I decided it would be better if Mom first broached the topic. On a quiet Wednesday evening, after she finished a book and Dad wasn't keen on talking since he was in the middle of his own who-dun-it, did just that.
 
"So, when are you going to start practicing for the recital?" Mom just came right out with it.
 
I looked up, feigning confusion. "Recital?" I asked.
 
Mom threw a couch pillow at me. "Don't be a brat. You know darned well you promised me last Christmas that you would play for the Church."
 
"The Church?" I mused.
 
Another pillow. "Father!" Mom cried.
 
Dad looked up, first at Mom, then me, then back to Mom, then back into his book. "A duet, I believe, if my memory serves me right," he said.
 
Mom and I looked at each other, mouths open, then at Dad, shocked by this indisputable evidence that he was actually aware of what happened around him.
 
"You'd both better get to it, I imagine, and leave a man to read in peace," he said, nose still buried between the pages.
 
Mom and I looked at each other again and she crooked her head at the piano in the next room. I got up and led the way, sitting a little to one side to leave room for my mother. I waited for her to pick something to play, thinking about how fortunate it was that Mom was wearing a light and breezy summer dress and not the shorts or pants she typically gardened in during the summer. In fact, I realized now that I thought about it, she had been wearing dresses almost every day since I got home.
 
Mom sat down, sweeping the loose material of her dress under herself and then smoothing the topside over her thighs.
 
"You pick something," Mom said, seeing that I was waiting for her to choose.
 
"Alright," I replied, thumbing through the books, looking for something that wasn't designed as a duet, something that would put the onus on one player, Mom, leaving me with little to do. I was keen with anticipation, my body tingling so much, it was hard to breathe.
 
"This isn't a duet," Mom complained about my choice.
 
"It can be played like one," I assured her.
 
"But which parts should I play?"
 
"You play the whole thing, and I'll chime in."
 
Mom shrugged and began to play. I slipped in with little bits here and there, then more and more frequently with longer and longer parts. I ad-libbed the whole thing, thinking it up on the fly, enjoying the chance to put the long hours of improvizing with fellow music students into practice. Mom was really worked up. Not just her face but her whole body showed how delighted she was with this new experience. She sweated joy, and it was very endearing and quite infectious.
Copyright © 2009, alwayswantedto. All Rights Reserved.
 
All characters involved in sexual situations are 18 or older.
 
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
 
First Sight
 
I'm an accomplished piano player for my age. I won't say pianist because I'm not that talented but I've had many years of training, starting with lessons at the age of five from my piano teacher mom.
 
Mom is a stay-at-home wife who always supplemented our family income through piano lessons, provided (mostly) to the members of our parish which produced a fresh crop of students each year. For years, I watched Mom teach other kids, from beginners to graduates just surpassing their teacher's ability. We often attended recitals at our church to hear these students regale our flock with their prowess.
 
Mom always said I was capable of surpassing all of her past students. She was especially encouraging during my last year of high school when I was particularly keen to quit the piano in favor of the more earthly pleasures I had discovered that year in the back seat of my friend's car.
 
I have to say that the special encouragements that actually kept me in the piano game weren't her enthusiastic exhortations but rather the warm press of her loosely skirted thigh as she sat next to me on the piano bench and the accidental brush of her breast, clad in the silky white blouses she favored for teaching. I would often forego the opportunity to hang out with friends because I couldn't bring myself to give up an evening practice with Mom. Anyway, those sessions provided fertile ground for my imagination late a night, lying in bed, particularly after a fruitless search for carnal activities.
 
Imagination provided my only glimpses under Mom's healthy white blouse, or the thrill of inserting my hand under her skirt, or the sensuous feel of her long, supple fingers caressing the length of my vibrating shaft, a silky touch that carried me to bliss even through the harsh yanking of my own hand. I'm sure the press of Mom's leg and brush of her breast were unintentional, as were the brief displays of her thighs when she adjusted her skirt to get more comfortable on the bench, or her habit of touching my arm with her soft fingers whenever she wanted to make a point, all of which happened often that year but never before. If it was intentional, in order to keep me interested in the piano, it worked.
 
After graduation, and my application to a music program in college, Mom wasn't as pushy about keeping up with the piano. I was busy with my summer job and Mom seemed too tired to practice since she had more than the usual number of students whose parents pushed for summer remedial classes. It wasn't until the end of the summer, just before I left for college, that Mom left me with a memory that furnished my imagination for the next four months.
 
Mom and Dad were going out for a big get together. As usual, after some significant preparations, Mom was ready to go but Dad's efforts weren't up to snuff so she sent him upstairs to do a proper job. Exasperated, she turned to me, took my hand, and led me to the piano.
 
"Oh, that man," she sighed. "Let's play something to wash my stress away."
 
I sat down at the near end of the bench while Mom walked around to the other end. She had difficulty sitting in her tight dress. Pinching the material between her fingers, she barely won a struggle to tug it higher so she could sit down. But she eventually won and the victory pleased me as I watched the hem climb above Mom's knees and higher, inch by inch, until the top of her nylons were exposed.
 
After Mom sat down she began shuffling through the music books leaning against the piano in front of us. My eyes, however, were aimed between her exposed thighs, following the black straps that clipped onto the wide band of thicker nylon, nestled against the softest flesh I had ever seen, and disappeared into the darkness of Mom's dress.
 
Mom couldn't seem to find the right music to relieve the stress my father had created and flipped back and forth through several books before she finally found a suitable piece. I didn't mind. I could have looked at the straps holding up her nylons or, more accurately, the inner sanctity of her thighs, forever.
 
"Pay attention, John," Mom chided, readying her hands on the keys. I did the same, though I was loathe to tear my eyes from between her legs. "Do you remember this one?" she asked.
 
I nodded, and Mom began to play. We had to begin twice because I fumbled the keys but Mom was patient, even smiling while waiting for me to start again.
 
It was a familiar piece, a duet I knew by heart and which required little effort on my part, just to play along to Mom's lead. My eyes soon strayed beneath the keyboard to appreciate the narrow gap between Mom's legs which briefly widened whenever her foot was applied to one of the pedals. I thanked the stars that Mom was playing more energetically than usual, lifting her foot high off the pedal rather than slipping it on an off, probably because she was wearing high heels. This minor difference, amplified many times, caused her dress to slip higher on her thigh whenever her knee lifted. Near the end, when Mom was playing with particular enthusiasm, a dark strip poked through from underneath her dress. Her panties.
 
Even in the dim light, the puffiness of this narrow strip created the distinct impression that it yearned to be free of constraint. Thankfully, the song ended or I would have flubbed even my simple role. Mom wound up with a flourish and turned to face me. I tore my eyes away to look into her flushed face.
 
"That was wonderful, darling!" she exclaimed, her usual cheerful self reclaimed.
 
I nodded rather than speaking so I could look at her legs, now closed but still bare almost to the very top.
 
"Well, I'd better go check on your father," Mom's sigh seemed to bring her back to earth. She spun around the end of the bench and I turned to get up on my side.
 
"Damn!" Mom yelled.
 
Her outburst caused me to wheel around. She was sitting with her back to me, looking down at her feet. She twisted further around, still facing at a slight angle away from me, and tried to lift her right foot onto her left knee so she could look at the bottom of her shoe, but she couldn't quite get it there because of her tight dress.
 
"Look at my shoe for me, Jon," Mom said, dropping her foot and using the other to help pull herself around to face me more directly. "See if the heel's broken."
 
I knelt down in front of Mom, taking the foot she lifted toward me, and looked at the shoe. But my eyes immediately slid up to Mom's knees and beyond when I realized that her legs were open and she had pulled her dress very high so she was free to lift her leg. My hand slid under the sole of her shoe and my thumb slipped between the shoe and the arch of her foot, but my gaze was aimed directly at the black panties I could now see without any problems at all.
 
Mom's dress was higher, her legs wider, and the light no longer dim. The panties, I could see, were solid in some parts and lacily revealing in others. There was definitely a prominent protrusion in the front which I could now observed had a more complicated structure than I was able to see under the keyboard. Two ridges rose on each side to form cliffs that faced each other across a narrow chasm. I leaned closer to Mom so the direction of my gaze wouldn't be so obvious and also to block my swelling cock which was throbbing in my jeans.
 
"See if the heel's broken, Jon," Mom said, seeing that I was holding her shoe sole downward when I should have been twisting it up to look underneath.
 
I gripped Mom's leg just below the knee and urged it outward as I gently twisted her foot up to examine the heel of her shoe. Two things happened then as Mom's legs widened even further. First, her panties were stretched more tightly, pulling away from her legs and allowing a little tuft of hair to appear in the gaps on each side. Second, the chasm widened, depicting the external structure of her pussy more distinctively. A familiar tingle graced the head of my cock, the one that signaled an impending eruption.

[nilr1]

"Is it broken?" Mom asked, jarring my eyes back to the shoe.
 
I bent Mom's foot back toward her so she could see for herself, holding her knee steady while the gap between her heel and her thigh narrowed. Mom's eyes were drawn to her shoe and mine returned to her panties, following a line of sight along the narrow spike of her heel as it pointed directly toward my target.
 
Mom hunched over to look at her shoe, legs widening even more and thrusting her pubes hard against the lacy panties. It was too much. I began spurting in my jeans. I tried to hide my jerky movements by wiggling Mom's heel to demonstrate its adhesive strength but I knew no amount of shaking would cover the wet blotch that would soon stain my pants. I was wondering how to escape the situation when I heard my father's footsteps at the top of the stairs.
 
"I'm ready," Dad called, starting his descent.
 
Mom stood, rapidly smoothing her dress over her legs and wiggling her foot firmly into place in her shoe. She tousled my hair as I remained crouched before her, leaning over my offending crotch.
 
"Play a nice tune for us while we leave, Jon."
 
I crawled up onto the bench and quickly tapped out a jolly tune, thankful for the chance to hide my incriminating damp crotch under the keyboard. I nodded at my parents when the said goodbye. Mother told me not to stay up too late, a habit she couldn't shake even though I was leaving for college in a matter of days.
 
The Hook
 
Home for the Christmas holidays. I was eager to show off the new skills I had learned but Mom never joined me at the piano except to stand behind me while I played. My hopes for a replay of summer's end, especially another 'broken' heel incident, dwindled with each passing day. Christmas day passed uneventfully and we were approaching the last day of the year when Mom asked me if I would play a piece or two at the New Year's Eve party my parents were hosting that night.
 
"Sure, what would you like to hear?"
 
"Play a few pieces and I'll pick," Mom said, more cheery than she'd been all holiday.
 
I sat down and began to play. On the second song, Mom laid her hand on my shoulder. At the end of the song, she slipped down onto the bench beside me, eagerly awaiting my next number. I played my heart out for the third piece and my chest tightened when Mom exclaimed her pleasure when I finished.
 
"That was, how do you say it nowadays? Awesome," Mom enthused, turning slightly toward me.
 
"Thanks, Mom. I'm learning a lot at college," I said, proudly.
 
"That wasn't just learning, that was raw talent," Mom beamed.
 
I blushed and looked down.
 
"You must do a recital at Church."
 
I looked up quickly. This wasn't what I was hoping to achieve. "Mom, ..."
 
"Oh, but you must. Please, Jon."
 
I shook my head. "Mom, you know I ..."
 
"It would mean so much to me," Mom interrupted, her voice softening.
 
The changed in her voice triggered and incredibly immediate feeling within me. I lowered my head to avoid her eyes, fearing my sudden carnal thoughts could be easily read, and was surprised to see the fingers of Mom's right hand scratching her skirt, slowly tugging it up from her knees. I went rigid, eyes fixed on Mom's thighs.
 
"It would be so wonderful to see you up there in front of everyone," Mom purred.
 
Mom's hand, now filled with her bunched up skirt, withdrew up her leg, dragging her skirt toward her hip. Her left knee moved but was blocked by the bench. Then, just as her hand stopped, Mom's right knee moved away, spreading her legs and drawing her skirt even higher. Suddenly, light reflected off a narrow expanse of white material, starkly outlined against the dark material of Mom's skirt.
 
"You will, won't you?" Mom asked, her voice still soft but not as smooth as before.
 
"I'm going back to school in a few days."
 
"Oh, but it won't be until summer. You can do it then, can't you?"
 
My voice caught in my throat but I nodded and managed to croak, "Yes, of course. If that's what you want, Mom."
 
"It is," Mom whispered, though we were the only ones home.
 
And with that, her hips pushed forward and her pubes strained against the cotton material that, though they didn't reveal as much as the lacy, black ones months before, still disclosed much, and my mind filled in the rest.
 
"You make me so happy, Jon," Mom's voice returned closer to normal but in a throatier version.
 
"But at the end of the summer, right?" I said.
 
Mom's brow furrowed. "The end?"
 
"Yes, we'll need to practice," I said.
 
"Practice? We?"
 
"Yes," I said, my confidence rising. "I want to do a duet, with you."
 
"Oh, Jon. I couldn't play with you, not the way you're playing now."
 
"Sure you can. You just need to practice."
 
"No. I'd look like a fool."
 
"Bull," I said, the closest thing to a swear word I could use in front of my mom. Mom's eyes widened, realizing that I must feel strongly if I used a word like that in her presence.
 
"But Jon ...,"
 
"I want to play, with you, Mom." I held my finger to her lips to silence further protest. "I need you to be up there with me," I pleaded, "the two of us, together."
 
Mom looked deep into my eyes and I held firm. She must have been satisfied because she suddenly smiled sweetly and agreed, "Alright, Jon. The two of us will put on a show, a mother and son duet."
 
She leaned forward to kiss me. Surprised, I actually pulled back and Mom's lips landed on my cheek, as intended, but caught the corner of my mouth. Her face flushed slightly when she pulled back, indicating she was aware of the miscue. On impulse, I followed her retreat and kissed her back, my mouth partly on her mouth, as if in retribution. When I pulled away, I was surprised to find my hand had found her waist during the short duration of our caress and awkwardly pulled it away. My mind flooded with the awareness of how firm her waist was and a strange excitement about how sharply it flared out to her hips.
 
I cast my eyes down for a final look at Mom's panties and the lovely triangle they formed with her thighs, patted her bare knee, and said, "You'd better let me practice now if I'm not to play the fool tonight, then."
 
I played rather well that night and was the hit of the party. At midnight, several of the women, somewhat tipsy from the evening's consumption and loud merriment, showed me their appreciation under the mistletoe hung from every door jamb in the house. Unfortunately, there were only two that I really didn't mind kissing and only one of them kissed like she didn't mind if anyone was looking. I was surprised by these church-going women who, under the cover of darkness and a couple of drinks, were eager to provide a taste of what they had promised to someone else.
 
After everyone had left and Dad had stumbled upstairs, I stayed to help Mom tidy up so there wasn't such a big cleanup job the next morning. Mom was just leaving the kitchen, and I was bringing the last two glasses from the living room, when we met in the doorway. Mom took the glasses from my hand and placed them on the counter beside her instead of taking them in to the sink.
 
"That's enough for tonight. Thanks for your help, Jon."
 
I nodded.
 
"You played wonderfully tonight. Everyone really enjoyed themselves," Mom said. After a short pause, she added, "I noticed Mrs. Erickson was particularly pleased," referring to the good looking woman that trapped me under the mistletoe with a particularly enthusiastic embrace.
 
Although she was joking, I sensed displeasure. I looked up to the top of the doorway to avoid her eyes but they followed mine and we both latched onto the mistletoe that still hung there. I reached around to the light switch and flicked it down, throwing the kitchen into darkness. Mom's upturned face reflected the dim light of the single lamp lighting the living room behind me. I circled her waist with my arm and lowered my face to hers.
 
"Happy New Year, Mom," I whispered, covering her lips with my mouth before she could react.
 
Mom didn't resist me. In fact, she actually pressed against me as earnestly as Mrs. Erickson had, squashing her breasts against my chest and standing on her toes to meet my lips as they moved on hers. It was neither a short nor a long kiss and though Mom ended it, she was breathing hard when she pulled away. Both of us seemed awkward after my spontaneous act.
 
"Whew, I guess it's going to be quite a year," Mom cried, turning her head to the side to avoid my eyes, unnecessarily, given I was similarly looking around.
 
Mom stepped around me and rushed up the stairs to her bedroom, and husband.
 
A few days later, I left for school.
 
The Hot Summer Begins
 
The summer started slowly. After my initial welcome home and an official barbecue party with family and old friends, I settled into my summer job and lazy weekends hanging out with old friends, few of whom were still around. Many had gone elsewhere for summer work since not many jobs were available in our small town, and some of those who remained had changed and it just wasn't the same hanging out with them anymore. So I began spending more and more of my evenings and weekends at home.
 
It was easily three weeks before Mom brought up the promised recital. I hadn't forgot about it, I just didn't know how to bring it up. Reacting on gut instinct, I decided it would be better if Mom first broached the topic. On a quiet Wednesday evening, after she finished a book and Dad wasn't keen on talking since he was in the middle of his own who-dun-it, did just that.
 
"So, when are you going to start practicing for the recital?" Mom just came right out with it.
 
I looked up, feigning confusion. "Recital?" I asked.
 
Mom threw a couch pillow at me. "Don't be a brat. You know darned well you promised me last Christmas that you would play for the Church."
 
"The Church?" I mused.
 
Another pillow. "Father!" Mom cried.
 
Dad looked up, first at Mom, then me, then back to Mom, then back into his book. "A duet, I believe, if my memory serves me right," he said.
 
Mom and I looked at each other, mouths open, then at Dad, shocked by this indisputable evidence that he was actually aware of what happened around him.
 
"You'd both better get to it, I imagine, and leave a man to read in peace," he said, nose still buried between the pages.
 
Mom and I looked at each other again and she crooked her head at the piano in the next room. I got up and led the way, sitting a little to one side to leave room for my mother. I waited for her to pick something to play, thinking about how fortunate it was that Mom was wearing a light and breezy summer dress and not the shorts or pants she typically gardened in during the summer. In fact, I realized now that I thought about it, she had been wearing dresses almost every day since I got home.
 
Mom sat down, sweeping the loose material of her dress under herself and then smoothing the topside over her thighs.
 
"You pick something," Mom said, seeing that I was waiting for her to choose.
 
"Alright," I replied, thumbing through the books, looking for something that wasn't designed as a duet, something that would put the onus on one player, Mom, leaving me with little to do. I was keen with anticipation, my body tingling so much, it was hard to breathe.
 
"This isn't a duet," Mom complained about my choice.
 
"It can be played like one," I assured her.
 
"But which parts should I play?"
 
"You play the whole thing, and I'll chime in."
 
Mom shrugged and began to play. I slipped in with little bits here and there, then more and more frequently with longer and longer parts. I ad-libbed the whole thing, thinking it up on the fly, enjoying the chance to put the long hours of improvizing with fellow music students into practice. Mom was really worked up. Not just her face but her whole body showed how delighted she was with this new experience. She sweated joy, and it was very endearing and quite infectious.
Stiff, and playing with her breath caught in her throat, Mom gradually conquered the tension, her body relaxing even though she was breathing was fast. Slowly, I rubbed my closed fingers and palms under her breasts, wishing she hadn't worn a bra but even so still barely able to retain control of my own breathing. Throughout the rise, I continued to gently rub the bottom swell of her breasts, never squeezing, never gripping, just rubbing the soft underside of her tits, until the crescendo was breached and the music slowly rolled down to the gentle lap of continuous, evening waves. I turned the page and returned my hands to Mom's waist, matching the slow return of my breathing with hers, feeling the music through her.
 
It wasn't long before the music began to rise again. My hands massaged Mom's waist, fingers stretching around so far they almost met over her belly. I could sense Mom's anticipation that I was about to raise my hands to grasp her breasts directly above. Her expectation was so intense I could physically feel it in her muscles even as she continued to play with a sensitivity I'd never heard from her before.
 
But my hands didn't rise. When Mom reached the same point up the musical slope where I had first cupped her breasts, I moved my hands back and then downward instead, slowly scraping over her hips to make sure she could feel my progress. Down I ventured, onto the top of her thighs, dragging her dress toward her knees, until my hands were far enough they could slip between her legs.
 
With exaggerated movements of my fingers, I clawed the dull, gray material of the dress up until it was all bunched in my hands. After pausing for a moment, I released the dress and slipped my hands underneath, opening and stretching my fingers to clasp Mom's inner thighs, palm down on each leg. Slowly, in time with the music, I moved my hands in until they bracketed Mom's panties. Then, after another brief pause, I began pressing in, squeezing her panties between the edges of my two hands, puffing them out, like two hamburger patties being forced out of a bun but unable to escape, prevented by the thin wall of her panties.
 
Faster and faster I squeezed as the music rose, always gently, and never moving my hands onto the panties, just pressing from the side to squeeze Mom's pubes together, then relaxing, again and again and again. I couldn't help humping the fleshy part at the back of Mom's dress. I tried to stop myself but I couldn't. I twisted my hips in small thrusts, in tandem with my squeezing hands, faster and faster, with the music, always with the music, and then ...
 
Mom cried out.
 
"Ahhhhhhhooohhhhhhh."
 
A single cry and then the music stopped, echoing throughout the room as Mom's cry subsided, as my hips stopped moving and my seepage waned, until Mom stopped quivering between my hands.
 
Soon, it was quiet except for the ragged sound of our breathing. Slowly, that returned to normal. Reluctantly, I climbed off the bench, knowing I had to go. I kissed Mom's neck, said goodnight, and turned to walk up the stairs behind me, knowing I had to escape before my father came in and my wet pants betrayed me. I heard mom belatedly mumble when I was halfway up the staircase.
 
"Goodnight, Jon."
 
Over the Edge
 
The next morning, I lay in bed wondering if last night had been a dream, but knowing it wasn't. I hadn't faced Mom at the end but I had to now. I would be expected at breakfast before we all left for Church.
 
My apprehension was ill-founded. Mom behaved as if everything was normal. I thought it was just an act that would soon fray under its own tension, but it didn't. Somehow, Mom really acted as if last night hadn't changed our lives. The entire day played out like any other Sunday, through Church, the afternoon and even supper. Dad was feeling better but worsened after dinner and repaired to his Lazy Boy, snuggling under the comforter Mom draped over him before walking to the couch and taking my hand. After tugging me to my feet, Mom pulled me across the floor.
 
"You don't mind if I drag your company away do you Father?" Mom asked.
 
"Not at all," Dad looked up from his book, smiling. "Do what you want with him," he waved with his free hand.
 
In the piano room, Mom pushed me toward the piano. "Get the music ready. I'll be right down."
 
I opened the book to our piece and sat down after running to the living room to grab one of the flatter, silky pillows to place on the bench. Mom returned a moment later. There was something different but I couldn't see what it was. Had she washed her face, freshened her lipstick? I couldn't tell but something was different.
 
Mom stopped by the bench and slipped her slippers from her feet. The muscles in her calves tensed prettily and my breath caught when she looked at the pillow placed mostly on but partly off the front of the bench.
 
"Is that for me?" Mom asked.
 
"Yes," I nodded.
 
"Thank you," Mom said, crooking the top of her toes around the ankle of her other foot and sliding them up her calf. "Are you ready to play?" she asked, looking down at the bench, already pulled away from the piano.
 
I nodded again, taken aback by Mom's sudden assertion of control. She dropped her hands to her side and pulled her summery, dark green dress with a loosely pleated skirt up, baring half her thighs as she stepped between the bench and the piano before sitting down on the pillow. Mom turned to look over her shoulder.
 
"Sit and play, Jon," she said, before turning back to the piano.
 
I walked towards her in my summer shorts, and swung my barefooted legs over the bench one at a time to seat myself firmly behind her, immediately noting the greater expanse of fleshy behind available now that Mom was sitting on a pillow, as I had planned. Mom put her hands on the keyboard, ready to play, then turned her head as if waiting.
 
"Go ahead," I said.
 
Mom didn't move. I repeated myself but she still didn't budge.
 
I raised my hands and placed them on Mom's hips. Immediately, she faced the piano and began to play. I moved my hands up and down her waist, enjoying the swell of flesh out to her hips and pushing further around to splay my fingers across her tummy. I could feel the large indent that formed Mom's navel and wished I could lay my bare hands on it, imagining teeny blond hairs, though Mom was a brunette, running from there over her soft belly until they thickened into the brown bush covering her pussy. I knew her pussy hair was brown, I'd seen it poking out the leg of her panties.
 
Mom continued playing as if that was all we were doing, playing the piano, despite the extent of my roaming hands. It was some time before I moved my hands up to cup Mom's breasts and received a small shock. Her breasts were much softer and I could feel their shape better than before. Mom was not wearing a bra!
 
I could only see the side of Mom's face but it seemed to me that the corner of her mouth was definitely turned up into a smile. I couldn't be sure because it disappeared quickly and then I wondered if I had imagined it. Real or not, Mom was obviously not bothered by me flagrantly caressing the bottom of both her breasts. If there was any doubt about her allowing this transgression, it disappeared when Mom turned the page herself. I had forgotten all about it.
 
Encouraged, I formed my hands completely around her tits and began a gentle, squeezing massage, like I was handling two erotically shaped water balloons that required delicate care lest they break. Cautiously, so as not to disturb her playing, I laid my head sideways on Mom's back and continued my loving embrace. When I felt Mom's arm lift to turn the page again, I slipped both hands up to take a firmer grip of each breast, my fingers circling around those incredible little extensions I had only fondled in my dreams. Now, with a simple loosening of my grip, my fingers slid up to close around Mom's wonderous nipples.
 
Fuck. This was so great. I hunched my boner into the fleshiness of Mom's ass as I lightly pinched and rolled her nipples through the dress. In my mind, I was holding Mom's bare tits and her nipples protruded beyond my circling fingers at least an inch. I was going to cum. It was swelling up and up. I couldn't stop it unless I chucked that image out of my mind, quit humping against her bottom, and let go of her tits. I couldn't do any of them, so my jiz welled up until it flooded out of my cock, like a tidal swell rather than a burst, washing it's stickiness into my shorts.
 
When my surroundings came back into focus I realized Mom had stopped playing. I was still holding her tits but my fingers were loose and no longer moving. I just held them as I recovered my breath, leaning against her back, blanketed by a wonderful feeling of bliss.
 
I never wanted to let go but I realized I had to clean myself up. As mom started to play the piece over, I released her breasts and reluctantly pulled away.
 
"Is something the matter," Mom asked.
 
"No, I just have to go to the bathroom," I answered sheepishly.
 
"Hurry back," she said, her voice low and strangely urgent.
 
Upstairs, I pulled my shorts off and cleaned up the mess I had made, then tossed my shorts and underwear into the laundry hamper, still covered with my sticky cum. I walked half naked down the hall to my room, my swaying cock beginning to stiffen as I imagined myself feeling Mom up while she played the piano. Quickly, I removed my shirt and put on a pair of pajamas, and half ran back downstairs.
 
"That's a good idea," Mom said, turning to look at me when she heard me coming down the stairs.
 
I resumed my position straddling Mom's hips, the thought of Mom wearing a loose pair of pajamas with nothing on underneath greatly appealing to me and my stiffening companion.
 
"Maybe we should get changed before we start practicing tomorrow night," I suggested.
 
"That sounds like a good idea," Mom concurred. "Tomorrow night? Do you think we need to practice every night?"
 

[nilr1]

"I think it would be a good idea," I said. "We want to perform our best, don't we?"

 
"Of course we do," Mom breathed.
 
I snuggled up to Mom and noticed that her dress, which had been smoothed under her bottom and legs, was bunched up behind her. She was no longer sitting on it. As Mom played, I gathered the dress in my hands carefully so she wouldn't feel me doing it. After a quick glance toward the living room, I cautiously raised the dress. I could see the waistband of Mom's panties, just barely, running across the pillow. They must have been small ones because that's as far up as they came. Mom's crack was barely visible, squished between the pulpy flesh of her upper cheeks.
 
I leaned forward to lay my head on Mom's back again. Could I get my hands under her dress? Of course. Could I get away with it? Of course. Why else would she have pulled it out from underneath herself?
 
I was hard again. Mom must be able to feel me. She must have felt me before, bulging against her ass, and definitely would have felt me humping against her, but this time it was unmistakably a hard cock poking into her. I slipped my hands under the material of Mom's dress but kept them on the bench, behind her. I checked the living room to make sure I could still see Dad's feet resting on the footrest of his Lazy Boy.
 
Omigod. I could see Dad's face, reflected in the glass doors of the bookcase against the far wall of the living room. Jeez! I froze, staring at Dad's reflection. Can he see me? No. Dad wasn't looking at the bookcase but if he did, he probably could see me. I couldn't see that well, but he appeared to be reading.
 
God, I'm lucky he didn't catch me feeling up Mom. Dad could have turned his head anytime and looked, and when he was dozing off with his head turned to the side, all he had to do was open his eyes and focus on the reflection in the glass. Fuck! How could I keep ravishing Mom now?
 
I was pondering this very question when my hands answered for me. They twisted, palms facing Mom, and pressed against her bare ass above the waistband of her panties.
 
Jesus, Jon. Don't, I cried to myself.
 
But it was no use. My hands pushed outward, sliding forward onto the outside of Mom's thighs. Her bare skin! Fuck, this was awesome. I pulled my hands back and pushed them forward again, then started sliding them back and forth. I stared at the reflection of my father, ready to jerk my hands away at the slightest sign of movement.
 
No, don't. Just keep them still unless he gets up. That made more sense. He probably couldn't see well enough in the reflection to see what I was doing. This was much safer, with my hands under Mom's dress. Surely he would have seen me had he looked up while I was groping Mom's tits half an hour ago. He would have seen my hands which had no business being on the front of Mom's dress, but this, he couldn't see this, I was sure of it. Not from there in a reflection.
 
Did Mom know about the bookcase? Is that why she lifted her dress? Did she get off on danger? Was it an invitation to continue? There was only one way to find out.
 
In the next foray forward over Mom's legs, I drew up short and then slipped my hands up onto her hips, paused, then slid them around onto her bare tummy, my fingertips dipping in to her large, sunken navel. Other than a minor flinch from exploring fingers, there was no response. Mom kept playing without the slightest change in her playing. I circled one fingertip around and around into Mom's navel, then moved my hands up into position below Mom's breasts.
 
I made the move, cupping the roundness of her tits, my fingers folding lovingly around their perfect curvature. My cock lurched in my pajamas. Quickly, I moved my fingers up to explore Mom's wonderful nipples, unable to resist flicking them up and down with my thumbs before adding a finger to pinch, roll and tug them. There was the briefest flicker in Mom's playing but she quickly recovered. Oh my fucking god. Her bare tits! I twisted my head and tried to chew Mom's shoulder blade through her dress. They felt better than I ever imagined. They were perfect. Perfect! Perfect!!
 
I moaned into Mom's back and began hunching against her again. The picture in my mind of Mom's chest was now in HDTV, not a blemish in sight. I groped them mercilessly, unable to control myself, pushing myself painfully into her butt. I had to do something before I broke my cock.
 
I was loathe to do it but do it I did. I let go of Mom's right tit and pulled my hand away, down and out of her dress. I grabbed my swollen prick, which had poked through the hole in the front of my pajamas, and used it to find Mom's ass crack. I pushed in and down until I felt the waistband of Mom's panties and them pushed my cock between it and Mom's ass, humping a couple of times to make sure it didn't come out. Quickly, I slipped my hand up to retrieve Mom's tit and nipple and started humping.
 
Through my legs I felt Mom's feet lift from the pedal and plant themselves higher against the front paneling of the piano. She was bracing herself to keep me from pushing her off the seat as I vigorously shoved my cock back and forth under her ass. I couldn't care less what anyone thought now. I needed to come on Mom's ass and nothing could stop me. Mom had stopped playing. I jerked my head to the bookcase reflection to see if Dad had noticed. He was still reading! Mom's hands were now braced against the keyboard as my humping increased in force.
 
I had to hurry. Dad probably thought we were between pieces, not paying enough attention to realize Mom had quit in the middle. I started hunching my hips furiously, desperate to finish, needing to cum.
 
Splash! Spurt, spurt, ohhhhh goodddd, this is ... great, ahhhh, yeah, unggnhhh, unnghhhh, yeah, yeaaahhhh.
 
I relaxed on Mom's back but kept my eyes on Dad's reflection. He was still reading. I watched him as my breathing returned to normal. Mom's feet dropped back to the floor and her hands relaxed on the keyboard but she didn't resume playing. I let go of her tits and pulled my hands from underneath her dress and pulled my hips back, my slippery cock sliding out of her panties. I tucked my dick back inside my pajamas and, as soon as I did, Mom lifted herself and swept her dress underneath before sitting back down. She had no sooner finished than Dad's head poked around the corner.
 
"Would you guys like some tea and cookies?"
 
"Uhhh, yeah. Thanks Dad."
 
He was up and turning the corner, heading for the kitchen. I stood up and looked down at myself to make sure I was presentable. I was. Mom stood and I followed her, then veered toward the stairs.
 
"No, no. Come here. I want to show you something."
 
Dad waved Mom into the kitchen. Mom complied and I started up the stairs.
 
"No. You too, Jon."
 
I checked myself to make sure I was presentable, then followed Mom into the kitchen.
 
"Try some of these," Dad said, beaming. He held out a bag from our local bakery, full of treats. "I could hardly wait until you finished to give you these," he said. "You've been practicing so hard."
 
You can say that again, I thought.
 
Mom took a pastry and took a small bite, quickly raising her other hand to catch the crumbs that spilled from her mouth.
 
"Thanks Drew. You shouldn't have," Mom mumbled.
 
"You too, Jon," Dad insisted.
 
I chose a butterhorn, my favorite, and took a large bite.
 
I couldn't help thinking how ludicrous this was, eating special pastry treats my Dad bought while he made us some tea, my cock still firm enough to slap against my leg, slick from my own cum, most of which was in Mom's panties, drying on her ass as she munched on the eclair her husband had just given her. God. I wished I could guarantee my father wouldn't turn around. I dearly wanted to lift Mom's dress and shove my cock back inside her panties.
 
Oh, no. That thought was a killer. My cock was stiffening, rising off my leg and bending up, against my pajamas, pushing them out. Quickly, I shuffled over to the kitchen table and sat down, pulling my chair in to hide myself. Mom noticed and did the same. I loved the surprised look on her face as my cum must have made its presence better known as her cheeks pressed down on the chair.
 
We sat there, the three of us, drinking tea and eating all the pastries. I managed to get my cock down, helped along by imagining it lying across an anvil in front of my father who was wielding a huge hammer. I don't know what my mother was thinking. For all appearances, she could have been at a church social.
 
Mom declined another pastry just after I accepted another, never being one to turn down a treat. Mom left, saying she was going upstairs because she needed a shower before going to bed. I ridiculously thought she was going to give us away when she glanced at me just as she said she was getting a shower.
 
After Mom left, Dad spoke to me in a lowered voice.
 
"Son, I know this is a little sensitive, but it has to be said."
 
Oh, no. He saw us. Christ, I thought he'd be angry, raving mad. Not calm like this.
 
"I know you're a growing lad, full of vim and vigor as I once was," Dad said, "but you have to get better control of yourself."
 
"Control?" I mustered as much innocence as I could and plastered it onto my face.
 
"Yes. You know what I mean." Dad waved his hand several times, then pointed it around and under the table. "You were starting to show when you came in the kitchen."
 
Despite myself, my face flushed beet red.
 
"I know, I know. It's just one of those things. It happens sometimes when a man is near a woman, even his own mother."
 
Dad looked away, up at the ceiling, as if he was remembering something.
 
He went on, looking at the table rather than me, completing his thought, "... especially sitting so close. Not much can be done about it, but you have to try."
Dad paused, staring at the table. He looked up.
 
"If your mother ever gets wind of it, she'll have a fit. There won't be a recital, and that would break her heart. And she'll never look at you the same."
 
Dad looked away, wistfully, at the ceiling again.
 
"Nope. She won't, that's for sure."
 
"Dad, I ...,"
 
He looked back at me, cutting me off. "I know, I know. You couldn't help it, sitting right behind a good looking woman like your mother. Even if she is your mom, a man can't help it. I know you have to sit like that to play that piece, but, um, maybe you should put on a jock strap before you play. That would help. Can you do that?"
 
"Yeah, Dad. I can do that," I said, eager to please, then feeling ashamed, I dropped my head.
 
"No, no. None of that. It's natural. Don't feel bad about yourself. God knows you can't help it at your age, I know about that. You just do as I said and make sure your mother never finds out. OK?"
 
"Ok, Dad."
 
"That's my boy." Dad got up from the table and walked past me toward me the door. "Well, don't stay up too late and don't think about it too much." Dad put his hand on my shoulder and shook it. "OK?"
 
"Ok, Dad."
 
"Not a word of this in confession. Right?"
 
"Right, Dad."
 
Extracurricular Activity
 
Mom didn't want to practice the next two nights. I wondered if Dad had said anything to her after they went to bed but decided that he hadn't. She must just be freaked about standing in the kitchen, drinking tea and eating biscuits with her husband while her son's cum dried in her panties. I rushed home from work to talk to Mom on Wednesday, knowing I had about half an hour before Dad got home. I found her at the kitchen table drinking a cup of tea. I got right to the point.
 
"Mom, we have to practice or we'll blow the recital."
 
She avoided my eyes, looking down like my father had done Sunday night.
 
"You don't want that, do you?
 
"No."
 
"Is something wrong?"
 
There, I had opened it up. I had thought about this all day and was scared of this, knowing it might lead to an ultimatum.
 
"No. Well, not really. It's just that," Mom was twisting her fingers together on the table in front of her. "It's just that ... things went a little further than I thought. I just, I just ... oh, I'm so confused."
 
Tears appeared under Mom's eyes, running over her cheeks and dripping onto the table, but there was no sound, no sobbing or crying. I tried Dad's thought, that I was just an eager teenager that couldn't help himself.
 
"Mom, I know. It's just that, well, I can't help myself, being so close to you, you being so pretty and all."
 
"I know all about that, Jon. I'm not really all that worried because I know I won't let it get out of hand. You know that too, don't you?"
 
Mom's piercing look demanded my attention and I nodded.
 
"I know, Mom. Just a little fun, that's all. Maybe not so far from now on."
 
"Yes," Mom looked down. "Maybe not so far."
 
Thank god she wasn't cutting me off completely. Putting my dick into her panties was a little outrageous and I was certain if it hadn't been for the recital she would have cut me off for good. Instead, she was just putting the brakes on a little. I was pretty sure that meant I could still play with her tits, but had to keep my dick out of her panties. But maybe not my hands, I thought. She hadn't been upset after that, so that must be ok. It made sense. That must have felt good to her, but jamming my cock under her bum probably didn't do anything for her at all. I had to remember to make her feel good, I thought, repeating it, trying to burn it into my mind.
 
"It's something your dad said to me Sunday night. I couldn't sleep for hours after that."
 
"What did he say?"
 
"He said all boys have a little something for their moms but it doesn't mean anything, they grow out of it."
 
"He said that?"
 
"Yes. Do you think he knows? I couldn't bear that."
 
"No Mom. Sunday night, after you went up to bed, Dad told me to watch myself because he could see I was a little excited."
 
"Really? He wasn't mad?"
 
"No. He said he understood, that it was natural even if the woman was your mother, especially one as good looking as you."
 
Mom's face flushed. Her tears had stopped and dried on her cheeks.
 
"And?"
 
"He told me to be careful because you would get really, really mad if you noticed."
 
Mom couldn't help a little burst of quiet laughter at the irony of that.
 
"He told me to wear a jock strap whenever I practiced sitting right behind you."
 
Mom burst out laughing, loudly this time, and I joined in.
 
"Oh, goodness gracious," Mom said, tears in her eyes, of joy this time. "You better do as your father says," she said, laughing, "because he might check. So," she mused, "he doesn't know how far things have gone?"
 
"Nope."
 
"Don't say 'nope'."
 
"No," I corrected myself. "Is that all that was bothering you, Mom?
 
She said it was but I could tell there was something else. She insisted that was all. She got up and put her cup and saucer in the sink.
 
"Your father will be home any minute."
 
He should have been here now. I said as much.
 
"Oh, right. I asked him to stop by the store on the way home."
 
I was right behind Mom and she almost walked into me when she turned around. I looked down at her chest and she noted where I was looking.
 
"Will you show them to me, Mom?"
 
"Don't be ridiculous," Mom barked.
 
"Come on, Mom. I know they're beautiful. I can feel that."
 
"No way."
 
"Come on, Mom. Let me see them so I can imagine them at night."
 
"You think about me at night?"
 
"Yes."
 
"No. That's not right for you to think about me at night ... doing what?" Mom looked inquisitively into my eyes, thought better of it and, blushing, said, "Don't tell me. I don't want to know."
 
Mom tried to push past me but I blocked her way, putting my hands at the top of her arms to guide her back in front of me, then sliding them down and inward to let my palms brush the sides of her breasts.
 
"Come on, Mom. Just a little peek."
 
I twisted my hand, rubbing my palms on the tops of her breasts, then started undoing a button on her white blouse.
 
"Stop it, Jon. Your father will be home any minute."
 
"No he won't," I said, slipping the button out and moving down to the next one. "If you sent him to the store, you know he'll be at least fifteen more minutes. He can't find anything in there."
 
"Jon, don't," Mom said as I slipped the second button undone and moved to the next.
 
She was saying don't but she was breathing harder.
 
"Don't," she said, more quietly as I loosed the third.
 
"No," she peeped as the fourth gave in.
 
"Please," she whispered as the fifth fell.
 
Mom didn't say anything when I undid the sixth and last button, pulling her blouse up out of her skirt to get to it. I spread the blouse open, then reached for Mom's bra, fumbling, fumbling. Mom stood, silent, arms listless at her sides as I struggled with the hook.
 
"Christ," I said, impatient in my haste.
 
"Don't swear," Mom said automatically, like a drone.
 
Finally, the bra twisted open. I pulled it wide and Mom's full, bare tits spilled forward, and down, bouncing.
 
Man. They were gorgeous. Sure they sagged down a little but they were larger than I expected after handling them. The nipples didn't point down as I'd seen in National Geographic pictures of naked older women. They sat on top, above a large, round swell, perking up nice and thick, getting longer and stiffer as I looked.
 
"Ahhh, Mom. These are fantastic!"
 
I closed my hand around the bulk of her breasts, encircling her growing nipples in the crooks of my thumbs.
 
"You have incredible tits," I said, expressing my delight loudly.
 
"Quiet," Mom's head twisted around. "Do you want the whole neighborhood to hear?"
 
"Wow," I cried, just as loudly, then lower, "What fantastic tits."
 
"Breasts," Mom corrected me.
 
"Tits," I repeated. "Every woman has breasts," I said, "but these are tits."
 
The admiration in my face showed Mom how much I meant it. She smiled, then frowned as my head lowered.
 
"No, Jon, don't."
 
But she couldn't stop me even though she raised her hands to hold my head away. My lips approached her stiff nipple as I opened my hand to make room. It stood up like a pygmy's cock.
 
"No," Mom repeated as my mouth enveloped her nipple and I started sucking it.
 
"No," Mom cried, arching her back and pushing her tit further into my mouth, her arms suddenly pulling my head down instead of trying to push it away.
 
I knew then what else was bothering Mom. She liked it. She liked my attention, the way I teased her, and the way it made her feel. And yes, I think she even liked standing in front of her husband, eating a pastry, with my wet cum drying on her ass. And that bothered her, because that was way out there, and she was a good, church-going woman.
 
If my theory was correct, I reasoned, all I had to do was take my time, move Mom along in small steps, excite her in ways she wasn't used to, in ways that would never happen with Dad, and one day, when she was really horny, she might let me get into her.
 
That thought sent a zing through my cock but the crunch of tires on gravel sent a chill up my spine. Mom was bent back over the arm I had curled around the small of her back, and I was leaning over her, mouth enveloping her tit and sucking her nipple hard. My other hand was pushed between her legs, rubbing her front. Mom threw my head back with a quick snap.
 
"Your father," she cried, panic on her face.

[nilr1]

For a brief moment she stood still, arms wide tits jutting from her chest, the right one soaked with my slobber, then she ran past me out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
 
Dad and I were sitting at the kitchen table when Mom came downstairs wearing the same outfit but all buttoned up properly. She set about preparing dinner while Dad told her about his day and she commented here and there. I didn't say anything, pretending to read a magazine, and didn't look up until Dad surprised Mom with his little comment.
 
"You're traveling a little light today, dear," Dad said.
 
"Light?" Mom asked, wondering what he was talking about. Then she saw where Dad was looking. "Oh that. You don't mind, do you honey? It's so hot in the house this summer."
 
"Mind? No, I don't mind, but ...," Dad jerked his head in my direction.
 
"Jon?" Mom asked, really surprised. "He's not going to pay any attention to his old mother. Don't be ridiculous!" Mom's voice was suddenly angry.
 
Dad threw up his hands, capitulating before an argument even started.
 
"I would never go out like this, you know that, and if anyone came by I'd change."
 
"No, no. That's fine Mother," Dad kept backpedaling. "You're right. You should be comfortable in your own home and we're all family here."
 
"Oh, Drew. Really!" Mom was mad and turned away. Dad looked a me and ducked his head with a quick smile as if to say, 'Told you so.'
 
I looked at Mom, still tossing things around the counter, her breasts bouncing in reaction. I wondered if she had washed my slobber off upstairs. I thought not. I bet when she went to do it and then changed her mind, brazenly walking downstairs, braless, with my saliva still dampening her tit. I bet that shameless act sent tingles reverberating through her body, finally congregating in her special place.
 
Beyond the Pale
 
That night, Mom went upstairs and came back wearing pajamas. Man style pajamas with a cotton shirt top and bottoms. She sat on the couch for a while, reading, then, without a word she dropped her book and walked out of the room to sit in front of the piano. She started playing, practicing one of the pieces we'd been working on. I listened for a few minutes, then got up to join her.
 
"Maybe you should get changed too, son," Dad said as I passed in front of him.
 
"Changed?" I asked.
 
Dad made his hand into a claw and pulled it up in front of his crotch, then pointed a me.
 
"Oh," I said, blushing. "Right."
 
"I'll be right down, Mom," I called, rushing up the stairs. "I'm just going to get changed."
 
I put on my pajamas and a jock strap, just in case Dad wanted to check, then headed down to join Mom. I straddled her hips and snuggled up close, no longer shy about pressing my lump into her backside. Mom didn't break her stride but continued playing. I placed my hands on her hips. I wanted to slide between her legs but realized - I don't know why I hadn't thought about this when I first saw her in pajamas - that there was no skirt to hide under.
 
Oh well. I slid my hands under Mom's shirt and snuggled them underneath her breasts. There was nothing wrong about playing with these. Before long, I was squeezing and playing with Mom's nipples, flicking them about with my fingers, pulling and tugging. But now I had seen them and put my mouth on one and I wanted more. I wanted to suck them, and I whispered as much in Mom's ear.
 
"Shhhhh," Mom whispered, playing on.
 
"I want to do more," I complained. "Why didn't you wear a skirt?"
 
"To keep you from doing more," Mom whispered. Then she laughed. "Do you have your little chastity belt on?" she tittered.
 
"Very funny," I whispered.
 
"I'm sorry, honey. I couldn't resist teasing you."
 
"It's Ok."
 
I dropped my hands down to Mom's waist and began toying with her navel, circling my fingertip around and around, then slowly poking it in and out. The suggestion wasn't lost on Mom.
 
"Stop that."
 
"What?"
 
"You know what."
 
I kept playing with Mom's navel.
 
"Do you think Grandma let Dad touch her?"
 
Mom missed a beat.
 
"I'll bet she did. I bet Dad felt her up all the time."
 
Mom was stiff. I knew I was onto something and I pursued it.
 
"Let's look up some old pictures. I bet she had nice ones. That's probably why he married you, because you have such nice tits."
 
Mom was rigid. I don't know how she managed to keep playing.
 
"I'll bet Grandma let Dad suck them whenever he wanted, whenever Grandpa wasn't around." I paused for effect, then said, "Or do you think she let him suck them even when Grandpa was in the house?"
 
"Stop talking such trash."
 
But Mom was breathing faster. I was getting to her.
 
"Yeah, I bet she did. I bet she even let Dad touch her, down there."
 
I trailed my fingertip down from Mom's navel to the elastic band of her pajama bottoms.
 
"I bet that's where she liked it best."
 
I slipped my finger, just the tip, under the elastic.
 
"Yeah," I whispered. "I bet she let Dad get behind her and slip his hand under her pants," I husked in Mom's ear.
 
Mom went even more rigid and I pushed my hand under the waistband of her pajamas, stretching my finger down until I contacted pubic hair.
 
"He touched her puss," I whispered, swishing my fingertip across the top of Mom's bush, feeling her react to me now, not just my voice and the pictures I was planting in her head.
 
I rubbed all around Mom's clit and then inserted my fingertip inside the little hood covering it to trigger her clit. Mom expelled the air in her lungs in a long whoosh and her hips initiated a series of tiny humps. I pushed my other hand under her waistband, below my flicking finger, scraping back and forth across her rubbery lips, opening them, then wormed my fingers inside.
 
She was hot and very wet, and she had stopped playing the piano.
 
"Play," I hissed, pushing my fingers in and out.
 
"I can't."
 
"Play," I repeated, jamming my fingers in and out, circling and flicking her clit. "Play," I whispered again.
 
Mom only grunted in reply. I turned to look in the living room, into the bookcase, looking for Dad's reflection, but the door was open and I couldn't see anything at all. Desperately, I rubbed my finger up and down in Mom's soaked pussy, then side to side and in and out again. I circled her clit faster, then put the pad of my finger right on it and started shaking. Within seconds, Mom's hand flailed about and she went rigid, mouth open, hips jerking, legs vibrating. Suddenly, she relaxed completely, slumping in my arms.
 
I pulled my hands out of Mom's pants. Just in time, because Dad sat up and came into the hallway between the two rooms.
 
"Tea?" he asked.
 
"Yes. Thanks, Dad."
 
He bustled off to the kitchen. A minute later I joined him, leaving Mom to recover from what I guessed was the best orgasm she'd had in a long, long time. It was just fingers, but her son had played the piano since he was little, under her tutelage. Dexterity was his second name.
 
"Did the trick, did it?" Dad asked, looking back when I entered the kitchen, nodding at my crotch.
 
I smiled and snapped my pajamas out, showing him the jockstrap.
 
"A hundred percent," I laughed. "Mom didn't feel a thing. But then, I kept reminding myself that she's my mom and that pretty much settled me down."
 
"Good, good. That's the way son."
 
Mom joined us not long after that and we sat and chatted, sipping our tea. Dad got up first, saying he was off to bed and Mom said she would be right behind him, she'd had enough practicing for one night.
 
She stared at me after Dad left, as if I was a stranger. If she was wanting an explanation about what had just happened, why I started whispering to her about Dad and Grandma, I had none. Clearly, it bothered her, no maybe intrigued was a better word, that her husband might have tried to feel up his mother, or even more. How far had she let him go? No, she wasn't intrigued, she was excited.
 
"Maybe we shouldn't have a recital," Mom said. "Maybe it isn't such a good idea."
 
"Maybe," I answered, getting up and walking around the table to stand in front of Mom.
 
"I think we should quit right now," Mom said.
 
I grabbed Mom's hands and pulled her to her feet, twisting her around to sit her on the corner of the table.
 
"Don't be silly, Mom. You know you want the recital."
 
"Yes," Mom acknowledged. "But it's too dangerous."
 
"And exciting," I said. "Hasn't it been exciting? Don't you feel more alive?"
 
"Yes," Mom reluctantly agreed. "But it could ruin our lives. It's too much to risk."
 
"Won't you miss it?" I asked.
 
"The danger?"
 
"I was thinking more of the excitement. Like this," I said, plunging my cupped hand between her legs and gripping her pussy.
 
"Jon! Don't, stop it."
 
Mom tried to force my arm away but she couldn't and I palpitated her pussy, shaking my whole arm to add to the stimulation. Within a minute, Mom's resistance faded and she simply sat, letting me frig her through her pajamas. I stood her up but her legs were weak and she slumped to the kitchen floor. I followed her down, keeping my hand on her pussy.
 
She closed her eyes when I slipped my hand inside and inserted my fingers in her hole again. She didn't even notice, as she writhed around on the floor, that I managed to get her bottoms down to her knees. And then she got the shock of her life, and by the way she reacted, I think it may have been the first time she'd ever had such a treat. I pulled my fingers out of her and pushed my tongue inside.
 
She moaned aloud and began muttering 'Oh god' over and over as I lapped and licked, swirled and stabbed. She absolutely loved it when I pulled my tongue out, formed a tight little hook at the end and moved it up to flick her clit, rapidly at first, then slow, really slow, then fast and slow again. I kept it up until she exploded into a wild orgasm, her hands trying to plunge my head through her wildly thrusting hips.
 
When she was done, it was like she'd gone catatonic. She lay sprawled on the floor, arms and legs twisted about, head lying to the side on the floor, her mouth wide open in that silent scream I'd seen before.
 
My father, I was certain, didn't know how to fuck this woman. I was positive that was the first time she'd ever been eaten. I shuffled up to Mom's head, pushing my pajamas down. I had been ready to just go upstairs and jack off but that open, inviting mouth reminded me about my thoughts the night before. I needed to push Mom over the edge, to break her free of the constraints holding her in her strict, prudish life.
Lying on my side in front of Mom's head, I flipped the jockstrap down and freed my raging boner. Holding it with my right hand, I put my left behind Mom's head and pulled it onto my cock, quickly inserting a couple of inches before she could close her mouth. Mom's eyes flew open in shock as I began moving in her virgin mouth, perhaps the first cock it had ever tasted.
 
She struggled at first but she couldn't break my hold and then she just seemed to accept it, letting me push in an out, fucking her face, while she looked up at me. She never looked away. She watched me the whole time I fucked her mouth, right up to the second I unloaded on her tonsils, gagging and gurgling as she struggled to swallow my load. When I was done, I pulled my cock out until the tip was on her lips, moving it around until she began licking it, swirling her tongue all around the head to clean it off, letting me push it back into her mouth a few times to squeeze out a few remaining drops.
 
I pulled the jockstrap over me, got onto my knees and then stood up, pulling my pajamas up. Mom raised her hand and I pulled her up, stooping to grab her pajamas and pull them up over her hips before she could do it herself. Then I kissed her, catching her by surprise.
 
"Think about this, tonight. Let me know if the recital is still on."
 
I turned and walked away.
 
Lost and Found
 
I was pretty cocky the next day. The more I thought about things, the more I convinced myself that I had been right about Mom. It wasn't all about the recital. She had always used her allure and favors to accomplish her goals but she also got off on it and learned to like it, rationalizing her own behavior as necessary because she was too proper to want wild sex. But when pushed near the edge, she had the potential to leap far beyond. Last night had confirmed my theory.
 
I worked through lunch the next day and rushed home a half hour earlier than usual to give me extra time alone with Mom before Dad arrived. Mom was surprised to see me, and then again, perhaps not so surprised.
 
As with the last time, she was in the kitchen slicing vegetables for a salad. I surprised her and she whirled around, paring knife in hand, looking frightened, then relieved and pleased. I was just happy to see that Mom was following her new braless-around-the-household routine and that, at least while she was alone, a pair of buttons were deemed sufficient to keep her shirt together and allowed maximal access for cooling air.
 
And her son's hands. As I strode toward Mom, she lifted her arms for the hug she could see coming. I slipped my left arm around her waist and my right hand slickly inside her blouse to firmly grasp her tit. I smothered Mom's protest with my lips and soon slipped my tongue in her mouth. It was a long kiss. I wanted time to work on Mom's breast to get past the anger I detected in her brief protest before my mouth covered hers, time for her body to react and override her mind. My cock was tingling with excitement and so was my brain when I realized Mom's body was reacting as I hoped, so when I felt Mom's nipple poking hard into my palm, I released her and gulped in much needed air.
 
CRACK!
 
I reeled back, stunned. Mom's right arm was swinging back from what must have been a full swing right cross, open-hand slap across my face which stung like hell.
 
"Don't you ever grab me like that again! Do you hear me?", Mom screamed.
 
I yanked my head up and down.
 
"I want you to do that recital, and I'm willing to reward you for it, but it's something that I give, not something you take. Do you understand?"
 
I nodded.
 
"I can't hear you."
 
"Yeah. I mean, Yes, Mom."
 
"Alright. Now run along and make yourself scarce until your father comes home."
 
I was shocked but by the time I got to my room, I was angry. To hell with her stupid recital, I thought. I started a shoot-em-up game on my computer and took out my frustration until I was called down for supper. Mom was wearing the same blouse but three more buttons were now secured. Still, the movement of her breasts under the blouse was like an electric magnet to my eyes. For some reason, her recent rebuke made her seem incredibly desirable. I was happy when Dad asked if Mom minded if he ate his dessert in the living room while he watched the news. I stayed in the kitchen with Mom.
 
"Did you want to practice tonight?" Mom asked, slicing a piece of pie for me and one for her.
 
"Yeah, that would be great, Mom."
 
"So, the recital's still on then?"
 
"Definitely. Why wouldn't it be?"
 
"That's good," Mom replied. "I don't know. For some reason I wasn't sure."
 
Mom put the pie slices on a couple of plates and brought them to the table but she didn't set them down.

[nilr1]

 "Boy, it's been really hot here today," she said, glancing toward the living room where the sound of the evening news drifting down the hallway toward us. "Do you think you can help me with something before we have our dessert."

 
"Sure Mom," I answered, eager to make up for my transgression this afternoon.
 
Mom leaned forward, holding the pie plates out to her sides.
 
"Can you loosen my blouse for me," she lowered her voice, "to give me a little air."
 
What a reversal. Though taken completely by surprise, I nevertheless lifted my hands to her blouse with only the slightest delay. Shock may have registered on my face because Mom had a smug smile on her face. I didn't care. She was asking me to undo her blouse and that's all that mattered. One button, two. She made no move to stop me, waiting patiently while I stared at her expanding cleavage as if I'd never seen it before. I slipped a third button loose.
 
"Can you adjust them so they get more air," Mom asked. "My hands are full."
 
I slipped both hands tentatively inside, fingers slipping under the round bottoms of her breasts, lifting and separating her tits.
 
"That's it, like that," Mom whispered.
 
She set her pie down and then reached under my arms to put mine in front of me. I couldn't help taking the opportunity as her breasts dipped to slide my thumbs over to flick her distended nipples. I braced myself for another slap.
 
"That was little bratty, Jon," Mom said, raising her right hand. "Did you think that was worth it?"
 
I cringed. Mom's hand closed on my head, but slowly.
 
Grasping a handful of my hair, Mom pulled my head toward her and pulled her blouse apart with the other.
 
"Suck it, you bad boy," Mom hissed, lifting her left breast and feeding her long nipple into my mouth.
 
I sucked her nipple in hard but she still pushed her tit into my face and pulled on my head, her hand working it around in a circle around her breast. For at least a minute, Mom ground my head on her tit, then suddenly pulled her tit away and yanked my head back.
 
"That's better," she said, sitting down. She carved off a piece of pie with the edge of her fork and raised it to her mouth, smiling sweetly at me before slipping it into her mouth, tongue extended to receive it.
 
Fuck I was hard. I was panting and my boner felt like it was going to break.
 
"Eat your pie, sweetie," Mom said.
 
I picked up my fork and put a piece into my mouth, looking at Mom's breasts heaving under the partially closed but still unbuttoned blouse. Mom looked down at her ample bosom.
 
"Oh, yes," she said, putting her fork down. Mom grasped her blouse in both hands and pulled it apart, tucking it back beside her breasts, then resumed eating her dessert, bare tits jutting out, capped by stiff nipples.
 
"Don't you like your dessert?" Mom asked, since I wasn't eating. "I thought it was your favorite."
 
I put a piece of pie in my mouth.
 
"Don't you like your pie like this?" Mom sucked another piece in on her extended lips, smacked her lips, and thrust her breasts out. "Mmmmmmm."
 
She turned slightly toward me as if to show me something, jutting her left tit out. It was sparkly wet, covered in my saliva.
 
"I love dessert, too," Mom said, "but you can't have it all the time. Right?"
 
I shook my head.
 
"Should we practice especially hard tonight?" Mom put extra emphasis on 'hard'.
 
I nodded enthusiastically, hopefully.
 
Mom prepared a hot toddy for Dad and asked me to take it to him while she got changed for practice. I had already changed into my pajamas and lied to my Dad when he asked, on seeing me in my pajamas, if I had remembered my jockstrap.
 
I was surprised to see Mom descending the stairs in a fancy dress with a tight bodice and bare shoulders and a full, generous and loosely pleated skirt. Smiling, she walked past me to talk to Dad. I craned my neck to hear her words since she was speaking so quietly.
 
"Drew, I'm going to do a full dress rehearsal, to get in the mood. Please don't interrupt us until we're finished. Ok?"
 
"Ok, dear. You look beautiful in that dress."
 
"Thank you, honey," Mom replied, twirling in front of Dad. She started toward me but then spun around and walked to the open bookcase against the far wall. She closed the glass door and returned to the piano. Shit. I had purposely left the door open so Dad couldn't look up and see us in the reflection from the glass. Didn't Mom realize that Dad might be able to see us?
 
I leaned back to let Mom sit down and my worry dissipated, my groin flushing with oxygenated blood as she spread her skirt to her sides over my legs and didn't sweep it underneath herself. She began to play.
 
I was quickly disappointed when I realized that the tight bodice of Mom's dress prevented me from getting my hands underneath to play with her bare breasts. I much preferred a skirt and blouse. If she hadn't closed the bookcase, I could have fondled her without worry. With a shrug, I slipped my hands under the billowy skirt to rest my hands on Mom's hips, bare except for the narrow band of her panties. I slid my hands slowly up and down her legs, gradually working my way further inward on each backward pull. The loose skirt offered no resistance and I was soon running my fingers up and down deep inside Mom's thighs.
 
Mom played without missing a single beat. She turned her head to smile at me so I knew she didn't object to my long, stroking caresses. This was to be a reward practice and my cock leapt in my pajamas at the thought. In confirmation, as if she knew exactly what I was thinking, Mom arched her back after turning to face the piano again, twisting her ass up and toward me. Quickly, I shoved my hips forward to reap the reward of her more open and inviting ass, my stiffening cock lodging between her covered cheeks.
 
Under the pretense of pulling Mom closer, as if I had to pretend, I tried to get my fingers onto the front of her panties but her legs were a little too close together. Magically, they parted, allowing me easy access. I let my fingers stay on her panties, gleefully but delicately rubbing the silky material. Minutes later, I was pleasantly surprised when she didn't object to my prying fingers as they dug into her soft belly to slip under the waistband of her panties. Seconds later, the tips of my index fingers were running up and down her rubbery lips, already slippery from my caresses and, I suspect, Mom's own anticipation.
 
Once again, she turned, smiled, and arched her back before facing the piano. I pushed my throbbing member further under Mom's butt despite the roughness with which my cotton pajamas treated its tender head.
 
The music shifted to the long, lilting section I knew preceded the finale. Mom played with one hand, reaching behind her to grasp my wrist, pulling my hand away from delivering the delicate rubs she seemed to enjoy so much. Why was she stopping me?
 
Mom turned and smiled at me again, more a frustrated smile than a sweet one. She pulled my hand around her hip and then along her skin directly behind her, until my finger was poised in the small of her back. Down, she pushed, directing my finger between the swell of her buttocks and into the groove between, and below, until it snagged the waistband of her panties. After a brief pause, as if to signal that I was now where she wanted me, Mom released my hand and returned hers to the keyboard, broadened her smile, and turned away to face the keyboard.
 
I still exactly wasn't sure what Mom wanted me to do until she leaned way forward, her chest almost touching the keyboard, squeezing my left hand tightly between her belly and her leg, and cocking her behind up toward me in an exaggerated posture. Then, I knew.
 
Slowly, wanting to emphasize and prolong the sensation for us both, I pushed my hooked finger lower, dragging the waistband of Mom's panties with me. I had to push hard to pull the wings of her panties over her hips and around the bulge of her cheeks but Mom lifted her bum to make it easier for me. I really wanted to leave my finger embedded in her crack but the slow lilt on the piano was well under way and I didn't want to waste any more time.
 
I pulled my hand out and depressed the waistband of my pajamas, allowing my throbbing member to spring forth with such eagerness I had to push down with extra effort to guide its head under Mom's bum, sliding with a snap past the waistband of her panties. As soon as it was in, I slid my right hand around to rejoin its brother, easing Mom's right rubbery lip apart, opening her soaking butterfly wide. I wished I could have my head under Mom's skirt just to see that but not in lieu of dipping my fingertips into her wet pussy in time with the soft lilt of the music and the long slide of my cock between the panties and her cheeks.
 
It was all I could do not to cry out each time my cock skidded under Mom's perineum to the forchette of her vulva and beyond. Mom had leaned so far forward that my cock was able to just peek inside her open lips, spread apart by my teasing fingers. Though her playing was impeccable, Mom released a small moan each time my cockhead nudged into her slit.
 
I pressed my attack with a subdued but insidious fervor just ahead of the inexorable progression of the music. Ever just barely on the leading edge, my cock sawed back and forth, scraping less and less as Mom released her love oil in a silent welcome. Mom was so wet, I was convinced I could hear my cock sloshing through her panties above the music, but surely that was an illusion. Anyway, by the time I was conscious of it, the music was louder and more intense and we were nearing the climax. I could no longer hear anything but our panting breath.
 
Mom slipped into the final stretch, leaning into it to pound the keys and I followed suit, thrusting my hips forward as far as I could while at the same time being careful not to push her right off the bench. My cock was pushing into Mom's slit, dragging her fluid out, thus helping each subsequent forward shove but, try as I might, a slight insertion was all I could manage.
 
Mom and I were in divine harmony with the music and when the finale came crashing down I released my golden spunk in a series of glorious torrents, struggling to keep my head ensconced inside Mom's heavenly slit. As the echoes of the last keys resounded through the house and slowly receded into the walls, Mom sat back on the seat, forcing me out of her slit but enveloping me between her lusciously snug cheeks. Mom's behind squeezed, wringing out the final vestibules of my gift as my cock shrunk, the last drops seeping from its retreating head.
 
The house fell silent and I slipped out as Mom stood. She looked very sexy as she padded away in bare feet rather than the high heels one would expect to accompany such a fancy dress, across the hallway and into the living room where she turned to face my father, who was clapping loudly. Mom flung her hands wide, a huge smile gracing her face, then bowed to her audience and, with less professional affection, leaned forward out of my sight to give my father a kiss and accept his gratified hug.
 
I replayed that vision all night, each time I yanked my cock. My mother, leaning over to kiss my father as he hugged her tight to show his appreciation of her talented delivery. I wasn't visibly part of that beautiful family spectacle but I was there all the same, inside my mother's panties, full of my sticky offering after worshipping the entrance to her cathedral.
 
Mother was clearly over the edge. So was I.
 
Pictures
 
Several days followed with little interaction between us. Mom, I suspect, needed a little space and I was wary of approaching her after such an intense episode, given what had happened the last time. I decided to wait for a sign that she was approachable, no matter how hard that was for me to do.
 
We had gone through the weekend but I and the other serfs were laid off for a few days while the heavy equipment was moved to a new location. Mom sent me out to clean up Dad's carpentry shop in the backyard, mostly, I think, to keep me out of her hair, top and bottom.
 
I knew Dad didn't like anyone trespassing in his sacred shop, so I didn't do much. I swept the floors and put some stuff away that wasn't in obvious use for one of the several projects he had going on, but that was about it. In my general tidying, I came across a wooden box, obviously made by my father, lying atop our old kitchen cupboards mounted on the far wall of the shop. I stepped carefully down the ladder and placed the box on the large work-table in the center of the shop.
 
It took me a few minutes to figure out how to open the box and if Dad hadn't made me smaller versions as toys when I was a kid, I might have ended up simply putting it back unopened. But three simple pushes and pulls, sliding small pieces of embedded wood in or out, and the lid popped up. I eased the spring-loaded top open, wary of that it was some kind of trick box. It wasn't, but I was still surprised, by the contents.
 
There were three bundles of pictures neatly laid out left to right, in the sequence of their dates, noted on the paper wrapped around them to protect the pictures from the elastic bands keeping them together. The pictures were dust free, safe inside the felt-lined cedar box.
 
I picked up the first bundle and freed it from its wrapping. I began looking at the pictures, careful to place them face down in the box in the original order. Knowing my father, he would know if a single picture was out of place.
 
They were all pictures of Grandma, about Mom's age, and the resemblance to Mom was striking, given they weren't related. Oh, you wouldn't have mistaken them as relatives, but their hair was a similar color, something I didn't know because Grandma's had been gray as long as I remembered. What I did notice, and probably wouldn't have a few months ago, was how much their figures were alike. If you exchanged bodies under the heads, you wouldn't have noticed.
 
Both women, Mom now and Grandma in the pictures, had wonderful figures. Ample but not overly large breasts miraculously supported above surprisingly narrow waists atop flaring hips atop a pair of tapering legs that appeared long but weren't because both Mom and Grandma were only about five foot four, tops. I would wager that both women were slender in their youth and grew into their sexually appealing bodies late in their twenties, well after childbirth.
 
Half a dozen pictures down, I found another similarity between Mom and Grandma. The only picture I had encountered so far with another person in the frame, my grandfather. I was surprised to see that he was eight to ten years older than Mom, about the same difference between Mom and Dad's ages.
 
I moved on, examining each photo and carefully turning them over onto the 'seen' pile. The pictures grew increasingly familiar and Grandma seemed happier and happier with the unseen photographer, which I assumed was my grandfather except for that one, which could have been a delayed photo; cameras did have that ability even back then.
More and more of the pictures featured Grandma facing away from the camera and focused on parts of her womanly assets that only a husband would have knowingly been permitted to take. There were pictures of Grandma in a pert, navy blue dress followed by pictures in the same dress, but the entire frame was filled with her hip and legs, prominently displayed as she sat on a stool from a side perspective to the camera. The next picture was the same except one hand was not present, holding the hem a few inches above Grandma's left knee. Several more followed with the hand moving progressively higher until the hem was a far as it could go without pulling it over Grandma's hip.
 
She had nice legs, the calf muscle of the leg in the foreground tensed as she rested her foot on the lowest rung of the stool, the pressure of her weight bulging her bare thigh out in the later pictures, above her white stocking and the last two revealing garter snaps that disappeared under her dress. I remembered the first time I had seen straps like that between Mom's legs. As my cock stiffened, I pressed against the side of the heavy wooden table, pleased with the pressure exerted on my hardening member.
 
Well over a dozen photos followed with similar progression but in different skirts and dresses. Always, Grandma's face wasn't present in the revealing pictures. Then the theme changed to pictures of Grandma in a variety of different tops: full shirt blouses, tank tops, and sleeveless blouses. Again, Grandma's face disappeared when the photos became more intimate, focusing on her chest, the gap between her lapels widening as the sequence progressed. The final photo in that series depicted no gap at all. Instead, Grandma was wearing a muscle t-shirt that was way too large for her, a fortunate thing for the viewer because her breasts bulged out the open sides and her nipples poked stiffly into the thin material which was woefully inadequate for hiding her womanly charms.
 
A muscle shirt. Grandpa wore a muscle shirt? That was hard to believe.

[nilr1]

 

The last dozen pictures in the pile returned to the exposed leg theme but this time they were shot from a frontal perspective rather than from the side. Again, Grandma sat on a stool but both feet were now hooked on the lower rung and both legs were progressively exposed as the hems were pulled higher and higher, always by feminine hands that clearly belonged to the person wearing the dress. The photos cycled through various dresses and skirts but the final ones all featured a panty shot, the last one so close that I could see the woman's bush underneath a set of pale blue, lacy panties.
 
Despite knowing this was my grandma, I ground my cock against the edge of the heavy wooden shop table and I could feel myself leaking in my shorts. This was so fucking hot! I would never have imagined, or believed, before seeing these pictures, that my grandmother was once a hot looking woman that let someone take such erotic photos. The photographer had to be a man, but who?Grandma was teasing someone with peeks at her bosom and panties. Would she do that for her husband? Possibly. But would Grandpa have a muscle shirt to loan her for that one picture? I highly doubted it. She must have been teasing a younger man.
 
Slowly, a ridiculous idea formed in my brain but I think I subconsciously rejected it even before I became conscious of the thought. But it returned, demanding to be addressed, to be formally rejected. Why would my father have kept a box of pictures of Grandma teasing a man that wasn't his father? There was only one conclusion. The man was her son, my own father.
 
My mind reeled at the thought, recoiling in shock, despite the way I had teased Mom. I had just been fucking around then. The idea had just popped into my head for some reason I kept it up because it seemed to get Mom hot. My body had a different take. I exploded in my pants, and only then did I realize I had been grinding myself painfully against the table. Just then, Mom called out the back door. Lunch was ready.
 
Hurriedly, I flipped the stack over and bound it with the elastic. I knew my father had looked at these pictures recently, at least in the last few years, because the elastic was strong, not brittle with age, ready to break. I closed the box and carefully set it on top of the cupboards in the exact position it had previously lain, as demarcated by the dust around it.
 
I wasn't able to return to view the rest of the pictures that day. Mom made me mow the lawn and take a load of yard waste to the dump. By the time I finished, Dad was home, and the shop was out of bounds.
 
There was no practice again that night.
 
The next day, I escaped to the shop as soon as I could, fetching the box and releasing its contents with a keen eye on the house in case Mom should wander back, though to my knowledge she had never been in Dad's shop before.
 
I dragged the elastic off the second bundle. It was summer and the pictures started outside in my grandparents yard, the one I knew so well from being confined within it when I was little, free to run around, but only there. The pictures were taken in the backyard but to the right side of the house, the side that wasn't overlooked by any windows, from my grandparent's house or their neighbors. The front was screened by a trellis covered in a climbing vine that flowered in the summer. It was a private, shaded paradise.
 
Grandma sported colorful summer dresses in a couple of pictures which also featured Grandpa but those soon changed to short, white tennis dresses, tight white shorts, and event tattered jean shorts. The shorts pictures demonstrated something that the skirt photos hadn't: Grandma had a tremendous ass. My cock was pressed into the table again.
 
The pictures always dropped Grandma's face as the sequence progressed, inexorably moving to increasingly erotic views of Grandma's legs. Each outfit started with a smiling Grandma striking various poses, then dropped to her legs bent this way and that, then featured Grandma lying on the grass in similar postures, even lifting her legs in the air, bent and closed, then open and straight. Each outfit ended with the same series of poses. Grandma on her tummy, legs together, followed by three or four photos of her legs moving wider apart. The last few, my favorites, showcased Grandma with legs spread wide, in short skirts, a narrow band of panties clearly visible between her legs, especially the last picture but one, so close I could almost count the hairs supposedly hidden by her white panties.
 
But the last picture in the pile, that one I laid to the side, pulling my pecker out of my shorts, frantically yanking my pud as I stared at it, my breathing ragged and out of control as I burned the image of this last photo into my brain. Grandma was wearing her white tennis outfit but her legs were tightly pressed together. Why was this one so hot? Because Grandma's hips were lifted high off the grass while her head lay flat on the ground. Her short skirt was flipped over her hips onto her back and her butt was covered only partially by a skimpy pair of panties, the narrow band I'd seen in the previous photo. My eyes were initially drawn to the backs of her slender thighs and then much higher, to the stretch of her panties across her crack, halfway up her gorgeous ass. But it was the sight lower still that forced me to pull out my cock and stroke myself to orgasm. It was the darker colored patch framed by the triangle of her thighs and her ass, darker than the expanse of white above. Darker because it was soaking wet.
 
I came all over the floor. Mom was calling. For how long? Lunch was ready.
 
"I'll be right there," I yelled, stuffing my cock back in my shorts, scrambling around for some shop towels to clean up my mess.
 
Mom was wearing a nice outfit with matching tank top and tight shorts that emphasized how lovely and still youthful her body was. I compared her to Grandma. I'd fuck either one of them in an instant, and so would every guy I knew. I couldn't help getting hard again as Mom put a plate of sandwiches on the table and poured me a large glass of milk. I wondered if Mom knew about Dad's stash. I munched half a sandwich before I worked up the courage to broach the topic with Mom. She seemed cheery and in a good mood. Maybe tonight was going to be a good one again.
 
"Mom, do we have any old pictures of Grandma and Grandpa?"
 
"Old pictures?" Mom's eyes furrowed.
 
"Yeah. Ones I haven't seen before."
 
"No. You've seen all the pictures we have, many times, including the ones from their things after they passed away. You remember looking at them."
 
It was a statement, not a question, but it was Mom's diction that puzzled me, not her grammar.
 
"Yeah," I acknowledged, "but there's hardly any pictures of Grandma. I was just wondering if you or Dad had anymore lying around."
 
Mom's voice grew even more tense. "Why in the world would we hide pictures of your grandmother from you?"
 
"I didn't mean hide them. I just think it's weird that there are hardly any pictures of Grandma."
 
Mom looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Well, your father didn't like them around. That's all," Mom stated with finality, as if that was that.
 
"Why?" I persisted.
 
"I don't know," Mom snapped.
 
"Oh," I said, acting as if I had accidentally tread on sacred ground. "I'll ask Dad."
 
"You'll do no such thing," Mom exploded. "Don't you dare," she cried getting up.
 
I quickly leaned back, surprised by the vehemence of Mom's reaction. A degree of discomfort signaling she was aware of the photos; that I expected. But this?
 
"Just leave things alone!" Mom snapped as she stomped by me and out of the kitchen.
 
Well, I thought, I guess there's no practice tonight. And there wasn't.
 
The next day, I hurried to Dad's shop but not to look at pictures. Instead, I built a trellis to stretch from our house to our neighbor's fence, hiding our back yard from the street. With the trellis in front and the shop far behind, the high fence down the side and no overlooking windows from either house, I had created a sanctuary similar to the one the pictures of my grandparents old yard.
 
Why?
 
Because of the pictures I saw in the last pile the day before, right after Mom stomped out of the kitchen when I asked about pictures of Grandma. Did her startling reaction mean she knew about the pictures or was it that she didn't want to be reminded about her second fiddle status to a woman long since gone? Surely, knowledge of the pictures would explain Mom's reaction but so would a long haul knowing your husband had picked a wife like his mother, and letting her know that, however unintentionally, through a thousand minor slights over twenty years.
 
I needed to know. If Mom knew about the pictures, then her loose behavior with me might be part of a payback plan and her sudden trips beyond the pale were probably not so spontaneous as they appeared. On the other hand, if she didn't know about the photos, then I needed to continue cultivating Mom, laying the seeds in which those surreal situations could bloom. I had been lucky more than once, or had I?
 
I worked hard all morning. Despite the noise of saws and hammers, Mom never came out to investigate, though I saw her in the kitchen window watching me carry stuff from the shop to the side of the house. At lunch, Mom was almost her normal self, just not cheery. She wore a flowered blouse made of a light, breezy material tied in a knot below her breasts, leaving her flat midriff bare. Below, she wore a pair of tan colored shorts made of a similarly light material, kind of like that quick-dry hiking stuff, that stretched tightly over her buttocks with a lift and separating effect that was more than flattering. Mom's now tanned legs tapered down to a pair of cheap, summer flip-flops. She would have to be deaf, blind and dumb to be unaware of my silent appreciation as she washed the few dishes from lunch by hand instead of putting them in the dishwasher, perhaps to avoid sitting down to talk to me face to face.
 
"So, what are you building?" Mom asked, casually, as if she wasn't really all that interested.
 
"Built," I corrected her.
 
"Built, then," Mom replied, her tone indicating she was keeping herself in check.
 
"A trellis."
 
"A trellis? What for?"
 
"So you can plant a vine with some nice flowers that will block the view from the street. It'll make that side of the yard really private so you can use it if you want to read outside in the sun."
 
"Oh!" By the sound of her voice, Mom was very pleased. She twisted toward me, her face beaming. "That's a great idea. What a wonderful thing to do. Where did you get that idea? You know your father will have a fit that you were in his shop, using his tools."
 
"I just remembered that Grandpa and Grandma used to have something like that and I used to hide around there when I didn't want to be found," I explained.
 
Mom's smile faded at the mention of my grandparents and she turned back to the sink.
 
"You just remembered it, did you?"
 
"Well, I found some old pictures in Dad's shop. That's why I was asking you about pictures of Grandma yesterday."
 
There, I'd done it. I'd thrown it out there. I watched Mom carefully to see how she would react, bracing myself for a repeat of yesterday's performance. But the volcano didn't erupt. Instead, Mom just kept washing the glass she was working on, pushing a dishcloth inside and wringing it around and around. This glass threatened to become the cleanest one in history, if it didn't get worn out first. Finally, Mom spoke.
 
"Mmmmm, sorry about that, yesterday."
 
"Yesterday?"
 
"You know, yelling at you and all that."
 
"Sure. No problem, Mom."
 
"I know your father had a bunch of strange pictures of his mother," Mom explained. "He said she had nice legs and was quite proud of them so one day when she was complaining about getting old, he offered to take pictures of them so she could remember when she was in a nursing home. Just teasing her, he told me, but she took him up on it and the next thing he knew he was taking zillions of pictures of her in every dress she owned. He just couldn't bring himself to throw them away after she died. They were in her things. I don't know why they upset me, but they did, and yesterday all that came back in a flash."
 
I kept silent. Mom realized that the glass she'd been washing for almost five minutes was done and set it in the second sink.
 
"I guess I said more than a mouthful, didn't I? Is that what you found, pictures of Grandma's legs?" Mom turned to look at me.
 
"Yeah," I nodded. Before she turned away, I added, "Your legs are nicer though."
 
Mom turned back to the dishes.
 
"Thank you. I'm sure you feel obligated to say that."
 
"Not at all. The truth is the truth. Remember, I've seen the pictures. I know."
 
"Yah, yah," Mom replied.
 
"Let me take some pictures of you and I'll prove it."
 
"Just bring the pictures in and show me. Then we'll know."
 
"Nope. Pictures have to be compared to pictures."
 
"You're just trying to get in some extracurricular activity outside of piano practice. You don't fool me," Mom said.
 
Strangely, what I really noticed was Mom's failure to correct me when I said 'nope'. I was picking up her lack of attention to correct speech as an early indicator that she had entered the slippery slope.
 
"Ok," I countered. "Just thought you might be interested."
 
More extensive dish washing. A plate this time.
 
"Will you show me the pictures, if I let you take pictures of me? I haven't seen them for a long time."
 
"Sure," I immediately agreed. Had I triggered her competitive spirit? Did she need to prove to herself that she had nicer legs than her mother-in-law, and always had?
 
"Alright then. Go get you camera."
 
"You'll have to come upstairs."
 
"Why? You can see all of my legs right here," Mom waved her hand down beside her leg, dripping soapy water on the floor.
 
"But Grandma was wearing lots of different dresses. It won't be a fair comparison unless you do it the same way."
 
"Fine," Mom's voice tensed up. "I'll go put on a dress. Given me a minute before you come up."
 
I waited ten minutes before going upstairs to Mom's room. I knocked on the door.
 
"I can dress faster than that. I have other things to do this afternoon, you know," Mom delivered a mild rebuke. "What's that for?" she pointed to the high stool I had carried up from the kitchen.
 
I didn't answer right away because I was taken aback by the dress Mom had picked. It was a navy blue dress very similar to the one Grandma had been wearing in the very first picture I had seen. Had her subconscious been active when she chose that dress?
 
"Uh, Grandma was sitting on a stool," I explained.
 
"Oh yeah. I remember." Mom plunked herself on the stool as soon as I set it down in the middle of her room. "Snap away," she said.
 
I took one picture, then said, "C'mon Mom. You saw those pictures. Grandma was being very coy, sexy even."
 
"Yes," Mom snapped, "in front of her son."
 
"Exactly," I replied, not sure what I meant by that response but it galvanized Mom. In an instant, her whole demeanor changed from an angry, uptight lady to a warm, yet alluring woman. She lifted her left leg and placed it on the lower rung of the stool, mimicking Grandma's pose in the first photo to a T. Had she done that from memory?
 
I snapped a few pictures and, without any prodding from me, Mom's left hand dropped onto her thigh, then pulled her dress higher, pausing for a couple more pictures before sliding higher and then higher.
 
"Is this what you wanted?" Mom purred, her throaty voice sending a tingle reverberating around my pelvis.
 
"Yeah, yeah," I answered, sounding short of breath.
 
"Good," Mom said, raising her skirt very high, pausing for a snap or two, then running her fingers down and stroking under the fleshy part of her thigh all the way along the bottom to the underside of her knee, then slipped over and slid up to the top of her thigh, holding the dress near her hip.
 
With a shock, I realized that the pictures told only part of the story. When my father looked at them, he must remember everything that was said and how it was said. What had transpired between each picture? What had he said to convince her to pull her skirt higher, to open her legs, to show him her panties for the first time? Was she really reluctant at first? Did she banter with him, teasing him with slight movements of her legs and feet? Did she curl her toes when she finally dropped her shoes to the floor? Unlike the first pictures, Grandma's feet were bare in most of the photos, sporting bright red or soft pink toenails.
 
"Did you think I'd show you my panties, like she did?"
 
She had seen the pictures. At least the ones in the dresses.
 
"You don't have to sneak around. Come in front," Mom waved me over with her free hand, the left still busy holding her dress up to her hip, exposing one leg but leaving the other mostly covered.
 
"Come on," she encouraged me, lifting her left foot from the rung and shaking her shoe off, then straightening her leg, holding it tense to emphasize the muscles, her foot stretched out, pointing to the front with here black painted toenails, where she wanted me to be.
 
I moved in front. Mom dropped her left foot back to its rung but kept her legs closed, twisting her knees this way and that. Then she started sliding the dress up her other leg until it was held near her hip too, exposing both legs to the same degree as her shorts did, but this was orders of magnitude sexier.
 
"Do you want me to show you my panties?" Mom whispered.
 
I nodded, my cock hardening to her words, the way she said them, and the way I imagined my father felt when his mother said the same thing to him.
 
Mom's knees parted slightly, then stopped. Click.
But you've already seen my panties. I've already shown you." Mom's knees snapped shut.
 
What a fucking tease she was. I loved it.
 
"But that was in piano practice."
 
"That's right. That was to reward you, but this is different, isn't it?"
 
Mom's knees opened again, wider this time.
 
"This is just for the hell of it," Mom swore. Click.
 
"Do you like playing out of class," Mom straightened her left leg again, almost poking the camera with her pointing, flexing toes. "Hmmmmm?"
 
Click, click, click.
 
"I guess you do, don't you?"
 
Mom wasn't expecting me to answer. Of course I wanted to see them. Mostly, I'd only been able to touch them. She withdrew her foot but placed it on the highest rung on the stool, keeping her left knee high and her legs, necessarily, wide open. Her panties swam into view. Oh, but these weren't the same as the ones I'd seen that first time she'd opened her legs on the piano bench. No, these were bright red, made entirely of a fine, see-through mesh that did little to cover the pouting lips constrained beneath.
 
Click, click. As I crouched down to get a better view, I dropped the camera, looked down, and watched as it bounced on the carpet, seemingly in slow motion. I turned my head up and stared at Mom's red-screened pussy. I could feel the smile painted on her face, though I didn't look up. I moved forward, getting closer, my cheeks scraping along her inner thighs, and then I was there, my mouth covering that beautiful, red, dampish mesh, my nose inhaling its perfumed odor.
 
"Yes," Mom cried, her hands clamping on my head.
 
"Oh no. Wait!" she cried as her hands suddenly flailed wide. I grasped her legs, stopping her from falling backward off the stool. "On the bed, put me on the bed," she ordered, eyes wild.
 
I lifted my little mother easily from the stool and carried her to the bed, flopping her down and immediately diving down to get my head between her skirt, her hands, even as she fell, already grasping my hair to pull me into place.
 
Munch, munch, munch. I loved living past the edge. I pulled her panties up, half way to her knees, pushed my head underneath the waistband stretched between her legs, and was snapped into place again by her urging fingers entwined in my hair.
 
"Ohhhhh, yes, yes, yessss ... eat it ... that's it, lick me, oh yeah, lick me."
 
Mom descended into a constant sequence of yearnings and encouragements. She steered my head around, down for me to shove my tongue in deep, out to lick her slit, around to slather her lips, and up to tease her clit, flicking fast and slow, and dipping for lingering taste. I thought all my hair would be pulled out of my head by the time she finished which took much longer than that first time on the floor.
 
When she was done, I pulled my head away, crouched back on my heels, then braced my hands on her widespread knees and pushed myself up to my feet. Mom didn't try to hide herself at all. She kept her legs wide open even though the tightly stretched panties, still strung across her thighs, must be urging them to close. She didn't try to push her dress down to cover her soaking wet, throbbing pussy, framed by pubic hair slick from her juice and my saliva. She just lay there on her back, regarding me calmly though her chest was still heaving with excitement.
 
"I suppose you want me to let you do what you did the other day. Don't you?"
 
I didn't say anything but I looked down at the edge of the bed, assessing if I needed to lift her further onto the bed or if I could just put my knees on the bed and lean over her head.
 
"You want to put your thing in my mouth. Don't you?"
 
I nodded.
 
"Take it out then. Let me see if it's clean."
 
I shoved my hand in my shorts and popped the snap open with a twist, pulling my stiff cock out with a single, practiced movement.
 
"Do that a lot, do you?" Mom teased, acknowledging my expertise.
 
I leaned forward.
 
"I haven't said yes," Mom held up her hand.

[nilr1]

  

I stopped, confused, then dropped my eyes to the wet pussy lying open a foot from my yearning dick.
 
"Not on your life, mister," Mom barked, snapping her legs closed and sitting up.
 
She looked at my cock, then reached out and took it, tentatively, in the soft, delicate fingers of one hand. She pulled it toward her and gave it a quick lick, then another, and another, followed by a slow twirl around its head. She looked up at me and smiled.
 
"I don't remember any pictures with a trellis in them," she said.
 
So she hadn't seen all the pictures. The trellis had only shown up in the second and third bundles. So Mom didn't really know the half of it.
 
"I want to see them all," Mom purred, dipping her head to lick my cock again.
 
"Ahhhhhh, Mom. That feels so good."
 
"Will you show me the rest of the pictures?" Mom looked up at me.
 
I hesitated and she dipped her head down to flick her tongue around my straining cock, quickly looking up for my answer as I groaned my pleasure.
 
I nodded. "Yeah. Sure, sure."
 
I tried to grasp Mom's head, like she had mine, but she batted my hands away, leaving my cock to waver uncontrollably in front of her face.
 
"Please, Mom," I begged, my cock lurching about.
 
Mom grasped my cock in her incredibly soft fingers again and quickly dipped her head, surprising me by enveloping my head and squeezing it to the roof of her mouth with her tongue, then swirling around it before pulling her mouth away with a loud pop. She looked up at me, groaning above her.
 
"All of them. Promise?"
 
"Yes, yes, yes."
 
This time she let me grab her head but I couldn't force it forward. Either she was too strong or I was suddenly weak.
 
"Say it," Mom commanded.
 
"All of them," I gasped. "I'll show you every picture."
 
"Deal," Mom said, lowering her head, treating me with the gift of her warm, sucking, teasing mouth.
 
I bet Mom didn't have much practice giving head but you wouldn't have known it from the cocksucking she gave me. Her head bobbed fast and slow and her fingers blended in perfectly with the music she was composing on the fly, one stroking, the other tickling or squeezing my balls, gently to goad me higher, hard to bring me down. Sometimes she looked up to smile at me but mostly she looked down, concentrating on her task. Several times she twisted her head to the side and urged me with her hands on my ass to thrust into her cheek, somehow knowing the sight of my cock bulging her mouth out would be tremendously exciting.
 
After maybe the fifth time she had squeezed my balls painfully hard, she drew her head back in a long pull - she had been slowly sliding her mouth down my shaft until her lips tickled my hairs, and then back, until her mouth sucked noisily completely off. She had a way, as her mouth traveled up and down, of pulsing her tongue strongly along the underside of my shaft. That felt extremely good.
 
"Are you ready?" she asked.
 
"Yes. Please, please," I gasped. Please let me hold your head,I thought. I want to fuck your face.
 
But that was not to be. Mom quickly flipped around so that her back was facing me and then shuffled her hips away. She reached behind her and unzipped her dress, shaking it off her shoulders and letting it fall to her waist. Of course, she wasn't wearing a bra. Then Mom reached over and pulled a pillow from under the comforter and placed it behind her. She leaned back until she was lying flat on her back, her neck arched over the pillow, neck long and stretched, her tits, already thrusting from the curve of her back, held up from her chest by her small hands which gently squeezed them to emphasize her very stiff nipples. Mom dropped her chin, opened her mouth wide, and waited.
 
Unfucking believable! When she went beyond the pale, she didn't walk, she leapt. I leaned forward, taking my own cock in hand since she wasn't providing any guidance. She was silent as I approached, intrinsically trusting her son, knowing she didn't have to warn me to be gentle. I pressed down, forcing my cock from its upright position, fighting its urgent need to spring upwards, bending it down, until the soft underside grazed the bottom of Mom's nose. Forward then, over her upper lip and into her mouth, Mom adjusting herself to save my tender head from grazing across her teeth, her tongue now tickling the top of my eager cock.
 
I pushed in. Oh, god. What a feeling. Slowly, ever so slowly, I nudged my prick deeper into her mouth until she could take it no more, gagging to warn me if I hadn't already twigged to the tension in her hands which gripped my thighs. I pulled back as Mom made a gargling sound, swallowing the extra saliva generated by my brief contact with her tonsils.
 
I pushed back slowly, trying to figure out where to stop short of my last stroke so Mom wouldn't gag. I stopped and Mom swirled her tongue around my head. I started to pull away but her hands tightened, clenching my thighs and pulled me forward, until my cock once again pushed against her throat. Again, Mom gagged and emitted that gargling sound but she quickly pulled me forward again, forcing my cock to the back of her mouth, gagging, holding me in place, twisting her head around my knob, before finally releasing me.
 
A quick, loud swallow and she pulled me back, faster this time, harder. Again the gagging, again holding me in place, her head grinding around on my cock. Release. Noisy swallow. My cock returning, in a thick, slippery bath. Gag, grind, no swallow this time. Away and quickly back, really wet now, gag, grind, pulled back, in on my own next time without Mom's urging, her fingers now inside my legs, tickling my balls. Oh god. Unbelievable. So hot, unimaginably good.
 
Back and forth, back and forth. No gagging. Mom holding me, by the balls, pulling, pulling, forward, in, shit, so tight, like I was in a cunt, slipping and sliding, Mom's head twisting, oh god, her hands pushing me away, pulling out, gasping, Mom gasping for air, sounding wet, her hand pulling my balls again, forward, fast, quickly popping into that cunt-like tunnel again.
 
I leaned forward, bracing my knees on the edge of the bed and placed my hands on Mom's tits which she had allowed to fall back on her chest. I grasped them firmly, squeezing her nipples into my palms, and used them to pull her throat closer to me, her head bending even more as it slipped over the edge of the bed. Alarmed, I lightened my grip on her tits, then realized that it was Mom, her heels digging into the mattress, who had shoved my cock deeper into her throat. I gripped her tits hard again and bulged my cock in her mouth.
 
Back and forth, I was staring down at Mom, dimly becoming aware this wasn't The Exorcist, it was me, not some demon, that was making her throat bulge like that. Was I a demon? The thought strangely excited me and I moved faster in Mom's mouth, stayed longer in her throat. The sloppy sucking sounds filled the room. Then suddenly, it was upon me. I burst forth, coating her throat, mesmerized by Mom's pulsating throat, knowing it was me flooding inside her.
 
"Ohhhhhh, Goddddd," I moaned.
 
When I was done, Mom pulled herself away from my cock with a final suck as it popped out of her mouth. She twisted around and got up onto her knees, sitting back on her heels, leaving her dress around her waist, tits bare and jutting toward me. She wiped her mouth delicately with one hand. Not a drop of my cum was to be seen.
 
"God had nothing to do with it," Mom said. "I want to see those pictures soon."
 
"I work tomorrow," I said. "You know how Dad is about his shop."
 
Mom knew I meant we couldn't get in there at night, when he was home. It had to be in the day."
 
"Tell me where they are," Mom said.
 
"I can't. Dad will know. They're in one of his secret boxes."
 
Mom knew then that I was speaking the truth. I had to get them for her.
 
"Don't be too long then," Mom said, climbing off the bed and walking past me, reaching behind to zip up her dress, walking awkwardly because the panties were still stretched across her knees, restricting her gait.
 
"There's no more play time until I see those pictures."
 
Blackmail
 
I suffered through the rest of the week. We had piano practice every night but each time Mom wore a crisp white blouse, with a bra, and a tight black skirt. Her outfit prevented any underneath play and when I tried to hold her tits, she elbowed my hands out of the way. Mom insisted I play, the piano.
 
After each session, Mom walked slowly into the living room to receive Dad's accolades. The light shimmered off the sheer hose, her high heels tensioning her calf muscles as she moved, turning nice legs into stunning ones. Mom leaned forward in an exaggerated fashion that emphasized the jut of her behind for a prolonged moment, mercilessly recalling my memory of the same pose she had struck when my jiz filled her panties. She always turned to smile sweetly at me when she straightened up. Each night, I went to bed with an unfulfilled, steel hard boner. No matter how hard I spanked it in bed as I pictured Mom in my mind's eye, it was a far cry from sliding it into her throat.
 
My father hung around the house all day Saturday and that night I suffered through an especially long practice, a full session in which we played each of three pieces, only one of which we would actually play at the recital.
 
The next day, we went to church. I hadn't been able to devise a plan to get Mom into the shop to see the pictures, or to get them out and lose Dad long enough to show them to Mom. It had only been five days and I was like a junkie without a hit, nervous and fidgety, and desperate.
 
Mom, however, was the picture of her old cheery self Sunday morning. She wandered out of her bedroom to the main bathroom to get things she had 'forgotten' to put back into her ensuite, clad only in the slip she would wear under her dress. Dad admonished her but she shushed him.
 
"Jon's in his room getting dressed. Anyway, we're all family. Don't be so silly."
 
To see yet be unable to taste. How cruel. Mom was ruthless in the display of her naked charms under the slip as she padded barefoot back and forth three times, slowing down as soon as she passed through her bedroom door and turned into the hallway where her audience of one waited. She pretended everything was normal though it wasn't every day that your mother dressed so, stopping to scratch an itch, high on the inside of her thigh.
 
I had to get those pictures. I would call in sick on Monday. I couldn't take another day.
 
The sermon was interminably long but finally, we were outside the church, both Dad and Mom chatting to the rest of the flock. I was eager to leave, though why, I have no idea. Nothing would happen until tomorrow morning, after Dad left and I was alone with my mother and my feigned illness. I walked to the car by myself and waited until Dad arrived with the keys.
 
Fifteen minutes later, I saw Mom walking toward me, managing to look sexy even in her church clothes. I suppose it helped that I had seen her this morning dressed only in the slip she wore underneath but I think I would have felt that way looking at her anyway. She's really is beautiful, I thought, the perfect balance of nature and nurture.
 
Wearing a pleased smile, Mom walked directly to the passenger side of the car where I was leaning against the back seat and held her arm straight out from her shoulder, hand hanging limply down, the keys dangling from her fingers, a teasing smile on her face.
 
"Would you be so kind as to take me home, young sir?" Mom's laugh tinkled in my confused brain.
 
I held out my hand and the keys dropped into my palm.
 
"Isn't Dad ...,"
 
"He's going to stay and help out with some things around the church. One of the other men will give him a ride home," Mom explained, the added, "later this afternoon."
 
I ran to the front of the car but Mom's 'ahem' pulled me up short and I ran back to unlock the door and hold it open for her, remembering not to slam it. Running around again, I quickly started the car, slipped it into drive, and drove out of the parking lot. Mom only had to caution me once to slow down on the way home.
 
Once there, I ran through the house and opened the back door, waiting impatiently while Mom put her purse away, kicked off her shoes and padded into the kitchen.
 
"Come on, Mom. Let's go look."
 
Mom looked at me, a quizzical expression on her face. I knew she was playing a game, but I went along, knowing it was the only way to pass Go.
 
"The pictures, Mom. You remember?"
 
"Oh yes. The pictures. Let's have some lunch first."
 
"Lunch? Dad could be home by the time we finish. We can eat after."
 
"You can if you want, but I'm hungry."
 
Maddeningly, Mom began making some lunch. Frustrated, I ran out the shop and retrieved Dad's box, walking hurriedly back to the house as I tried to open it without success on the way. I burst through the back door and set the box on the counter where I managed to open it without problems, lifting the lid and stepping back so Mom could see the three bundles of photos.
 
Mom was leaning back against the counter, one knee cocked out in front of the other, holding a container of yogurt, languidly dipping and filling a small spoon to deliver the milky contents to her mouth. Her tongue flicked out to lick the bottom of the spoon each time, pulling it into her mouth in the same way she'd eaten her pie.
 
I held my hand out, open palm facing out, indicating the open box.
 
"Yes, I see," Mom casually commented, then slipped another spoonful into her sexy mouth.
 
I removed the first bundle and opened it, placing the first picture on the counter. Mom turned toward it, leaning her left hip against the counter, still sliding yogurt into her mouth. Slowly, I put the pictures down, one by one, waiting for her to nod before proceeding to the next. Mom looked long and hard at the last picture.
 
"Yes, I've seen these before," she finally spoke. "Do you think I'd look good in that color of blue?" she asked, leaving the spoon in her mouth, pointing to the lacy panties covering Grandma's pussy.
 
"Absolutely, Mom. You'd look awesome in any color under the rainbow."
 
"I'm not so sure," Mom mused after removing the spoon from her mouth, digging more yogurt onto the spoon but concentrating on Grandma's parted legs.
 
"We could try some," I suggested hopefully.
 
"Yes, that might be the way to go," Mom said, her tone still thoughtful.
 
Suddenly, she turned her back to the counter again, her voice picking up in speed and volume.
 
"Well, I didn't see a trellis," she stated emphatically.
 
I scrambled to gather the photos together, quickly reversing their order before binding them in the elastic again. I fished out the second bundle. Mom turned to look, leaning her hip against the counter as I stepped through the pictures, one by one.
 
When she saw Grandma lying on her back, twisting her legs around, even opening them, Mom turned to face the counter directly. The yogurt container was placed on the counter. A good sign, I thought. A good sign.
 
The best indicator was the thickening of Mom's voice right after a sudden intake of breath when I dealt the last picture. Mom stared at her mother-in-law, head flat on the grass, her bottom held high, legs closed, which only emphasized the mysterious triangle she dangled in front of her boy, its dampness clearly evident.
 
"You can see the trellis, can't you?" I asked, seeking confirmation that I had fulfilled my end of the bargain.
 
"Not so fast, sonny. Show me the rest," Mom demanded.
 
"Mom, maybe that's not such a good idea. Dad might be home any minute now."
 
"Show me," her hoarse voice cut me off.
 
I gathered the pictures together and secured the second bundle. I was in no hurry. It was Mom who showed impatience now, her hips tapping lightly against the counter as she pushed herself away an inch or so and then pulled herself back. I unwrapped the third bundle but hesitated to place the first picture on the counter.
Mom reached behind her neck and deftly unhooked the tiny clasp at the top of the zipper at the back of her dress. A second later the sound of the zipper descending her back was the only sound in the kitchen, except for the loud ticking of the big clock.
 
I put the first picture down on the counter.
 
Mom looked at the photo, then picked it up to hold it closer. I stepped behind her so I could both look over her shoulder and inside her dress. Unfortunately, the slip covered Mom's skin. Since she had only unzipped the dress to her shoulder blades, I pulled the zipper the rest of the way down her back, gently, so I didn't distract her attention from the picture. I loved the feel of the delicate zipper as it dipped into the small of Mom's back and then swelled out onto her buttocks. I leaned close to Mom and looked over her shoulder.
 
It was a picture of Grandma, about Mom's age of course, standing in front of a make-up dresser with a large round mirror. Her dress was unzipped and she was looking into the mirror at the person taking the picture whose youthful body could be seen in the reflection but the head was cut off by the curve of the mirror. The skin on Grandma's back was broken by the backstrap of a bra. Mom put the picture down and picked up the next one.
 
The dress had been pushed off Grandma's shoulders. It was caught in the elbow of her left arm but the right had already been pulled out of the sleeve showing Grandma's bare waist. The bra had been unsnapped so just a hint of the side of her right breast was also visible but the front couldn't be seen in the mirror. I pushed the dress off Mom's shoulders and she moved on to the next picture.
 
The dress was off both shoulders now and Grandma was bare down to her waist, the bra gone. Her breasts could be clearly seen in the mirror. Pert and excited, they would have been a marvelous set of tits for a woman ten years younger than Grandma must have been at that age. They looked like a matched set for Mom's, which she might have realized, going by the sharp intake of breath as soon as she saw the picture.
 
I pulled the straps for Mom's slip off her shoulders and then pushed both the slip and dress off her arms, Mom switching the picture to her other hand to accommodate me. Reaching under her arms, I unsnapped Mom's bra and peeled it off, again with her help. Mom continued to stare at the picture while I undressed her but when I removed the bra, her eyes flicked back and forth several times from the picture to her own breasts in the mirror. Maybe she could see some differences, but I couldn't.
 
I didn't see the next picture at first because as soon as Mom reached for it, I pushed her dress and slip over her hips and knelt to pull them down to her feet. Mom was wearing white stockings that ended halfway up her thigh with ribbon-like, elastic straps joining them to a lacy band circling her waist above a pair of silky white panties. I stood, looking down at Mom's bum, into her crack which was visible under the waistband stretching across her cheeks. Her rapid breathing pulled my eyes away and I looked over her shoulder, first at her bare tits hanging out in mid air capped by her long thick nipples, then at the picture.
 
Grandma had been naked under the dress. The photographer had stepped closer behind her, reaching around to cup a breast in one hand, holding the camera above her shoulder to take a picture of her completely bare front, nicely trimmed bush prominent in the photo. Grandma was looking in the mirror at the tit being lifted from her chest. I couldn't tell where Mom was looking but my attention was immediately garnered by Grandma's bush and the gently sloping belly above it. The photographer's face was hidden by the camera.
 
I reached down to release each leg strap one by one and then knelt behind Mom to pull the waist apparatus over her hips and down her legs. Standing, I looked over Mom's shoulder again. She was still looking at the picture, comparing it to what she saw in the mirror. So was I. To help her comparison, I again knelt behind her and pulled her panties down her shapely legs. Mom lifted each foot to let me remove them completely. I stood up to look over her shoulder again.
 
Other than being naked, Mom looked remarkably similar to the photo. Her bush was slightly more hairy or, more accurately, not so recently trimmed. Truth be known, I thought Mom looked sexier, especially wearing the white stockings that emphasized her pelvic area more so than Grandma's stark nakedness. I pressed my bulge into Mom's bare ass.
 
Mom held this picture for long time. I think she was feeling a growing affinity with Grandma, understanding her better, perhaps no longer jealous of her love for her son or his for her. I stepped back and quietly removed my shirt and pants. I pressed forward, pushing my shorts ahead carefully, not wanting to disturb her but wanting to show her that she had her own secret admirer. I was surprised when Mom pushed her ass back to greet me.
 
"Ohhh, my," Mom sucked in her breath sharply.
 
She had picked up the next picture. Grandma's back was to the mirror and she was sitting down. In front of her, or behind from the picture's perspective since it was taken off the reflection, stood a naked young man, still headless. But the man's hard cock was in plain sight to Grandma's left and I'm sure that's what caused Mom's gasp because she brought the picture very close and peered at it. To me, a cock was a cock and not all that interesting. It didn't look special in any way, but I'm positive that Mom recognized it as my father's.
 
It was time to step over the edge. I stepped back and quickly doffed my shorts. I returned immediately but was careful to push my erection down, so that it fit it into Mom's crack and kept itself there by its own springy power. Mom kept staring at the picture. I placed my hands on her waist and began swaying against her ass, nudging my cock further into her ass.
 
Mom gasped again when she picked up the next picture. Though the young man's cock could no longer be seen, it was clearly right in front of Grandma's face, if not already in it. Myback and forth motion grew firmer. To compensate, I put my hands on Mom's waist to keep her ass from getting away.
 
The next picture confirmed everything, as I knew it would. Taken from above, Dad's cock was shown just entering, or possibly pulling out, of Grandma's pouting lips. Several more pictures followed, each showing Dad's cock and Grandma's head from above. In the last photo, Dad's hand was holding Grandma's hair and his cock was completely inside her mouth.
 
I grasped Mom's tits and tried to angle my cock up into Mom's slit and this caused her to drop the picture. She whirled around to face me.
 
"You can't do that, Jon. I don't care what your father did with Grandma."
 
I dipped my knees and tired to get my cock into Mom's pussy.
 
"No, Jon. You can't," Mom cried.
 
I ignored her, slipping my hands down to her waist, trying to get my cock into her, saying silly things, humping away at her.
 
"I want to be inside you. I want to fill you."
 
Mom started to kneel. I held her up.
 
"No. Not that. I want to be in you."
 
"No. I can't. I just can't."
 
"Please, Mom. Let me."
 
"No."
 
Suddenly, Mom clasped me tightly to her, my upright cock pinched against her soft belly.
 
She whispered harshly, excitedly, into my ear, "Do you want to lie on me? I'll let you on top and you can rub on me. Would you like that?"
 
Desperately, I nodded, "Yeah, yeah."
 
Mom turned and walked to the bed. I caught up to her as she leaned one knee on the edge, poking my hardon between her legs.
 
"Hurry," I gasped.
 
Mom quickly flipped over onto her back but she kept her legs closed. I flopped on top and my hips started churning right away, scraping my cock on her belly, my balls nestling in her treasured triangle.
 
"Don't try to put it in," Mom warned. "If you do I'll never let you play again."
 
"I promise," I gasped.
 
I knew she meant what she said. Her belly and tits felt so wonderful underneath me I barely cared but in my mind I knew I just had to fuck her. I had to get her to let me. There was just no way I could fuck this woman only once. I had to have her forever.
 
Mom ran her hands up and down my back and then grabbed my ass as I rubbed her more and more frantically. It didn't take long. I started spurting in no more than two minutes, releasing my sticky load all over Mom's belly and tits, crawling up to lodge my cock between them, squeezing out the last few drops on her upper chest where they slowly dribbled into the hollow of her neck. I collapsed, hunched over Mom, kissing her hair, her nose, her cheeks, everywhere.
 
"Ok, ok," Mom laughed. "That's enough."
 
I stopped, but moved my hips forward, trying to push my softening cock into Mom's mouth.
 
She blocked me at first, then said, "Ok, since you kept your promise."
 
Mom grabbed me gently by the balls and pulled me forward, her other hand guiding my softening cock into her warm mouth. As soon as her lips closed over me I began to harden. Half a dozen licks and swirls and I was fully hard, ready to go again.
 
"Oh, Jesus," Mom muttered, pushing me away. "What have I started."
 
I pushed back, shoving my cock back in her mouth.
 
"Mmmmphhhh," Mom mumbled, pushing me away again. "Ok, but be quick. Your father could be home anytime."
 
I hovered over Mom's head, pumping her face. I didn't try to get in too deep. I thought I couldn't unless she was lying on her back the other way. I was still naive then. But the squishy, sloppy sound soon materialized and helped speed me on my way. A few minutes and I was squirting in her mouth, Mom loudly slurping me up.
 
"Ok, get me the last pictures," Mom said when I was done.
 
I brought them back and Mom quickly shuffled through them, pausing longer for some. I knew by the sequence those were the ones where Grandma was lying on her tummy dressed only in the briefest of panties, lifting her ass up toward Dad, legs sometimes closed, sometimes wide open. The last picture was different, and Mom stared at it for a long time.
 
Grandma was naked in that one, on her tummy with her ass lifted in the air, legs only slightly parted but her pussy was in full view, clearly depicted, with milky white fluid oozing out of it.
 
"What the ..." Mom was shocked. She looked in my eyes.
 
"No," she said.
 
I searched deep for a flicker, a hesitation, some hint of uncertainty, but I didn't see any. Still, I wasn't going to give up and I could see in Mom's eyes that she knew it. I had the feeling she was flattered by my perseverance.
 
Recital and Sanctuary
 
Extracurricular activities were now accepted. I had shown Mom the pictures, letting her in on a secret, and I had proved worthy of her trust. I was justly rewarded. I came home most days to a quick blowjob before Dad got home. On the weekends, Mom let me get her outside and allowed me to lead her around the side for a blowjob in front of her trellis, sometimes twice a day.
 
Perhaps Mom was so generous because real piano practice was now being taken more seriously as the date for the recital was near. We truly practiced music in our sessions. But on one occasion, I followed Mom and waited on the blind side of the wall as she bowed and curtsied to Dad's applause. As soon as she came into the hallway, I took her into my arms and kissed her. The near proximity to my father must have lit a fuse because she very passionately returned my kiss and my hand was under her skirt by the time we finished.
 
Mom's face was very flushed and excited and, for the first time in an evening, we snuck out to the trellis where I ate her pussy. I stood and pulled my cock out, ready to put it in her mouth, but she got up from her knees and slipped around behind me. Her hands curled around my hips, one cupping my balls, the other gripping my cock. Mom jacked me off into the night, maneuvering me into position so my cum would spray all over the flowering vine now beginning to cover the trellis. Apparently, she found this very amusing.
 
On subsequent evenings, we practiced just as hard on our duets but partook of some extracurricular activity soon after. The next night, for example, Mom talked to Dad without going right into the living room, instead leaning against the entranceway after she completed her bow. I thought she was teasing me by delaying her departure and the beginning of our games, so I slipped my hands under her skirt and started playing with her bottom.
 
Soon, I had her panties stretched across the bottom of her buttocks and my hand pushed between her cheeks, rubbing along her perineum to the underside of her pussy. I was sure that would prompt her to leave but Mom kept leaning against the wall, talking to Dad, so I worked my hand as far forward as I could, enough to get the tips of my fingers into her slit with my thumb pressed firmly between her cheeks. I was surprised at the length of time she kept interacting with Dad until I realized he probably had his face buried in his book while providing minimal responses to Mom, a bad habit of his when talking to anyone who interrupted him.
 
In the end, I pulled Mom away. I had to bend down to get my hand under far enough to hook her pussy in a grip that was sufficiently strong to tow her backward, away from the wall and down the hall in to the kitchen. Mom only resisted enough to put up the pretense of a struggle. She didn't even turn around to accost me in the kitchen but laughed instead as I dragged her across the linoleum floor and out the back door, off the patio and around the corner to our trellis haven.
 
It was still light outside this late in the summer but we felt protected in our sanctuary. I sat down and pulled Mom with me. She quickly turned around and yanked my shorts down, freeing my rigid cock for a very brief time before it was engulfed by her oral attack. I pulled her skirt onto her back and dragged her panties down to her knees, reinserting my fingers as her head bobbed up and down my shaft with her signature pauses for a tongue swirl at the top and a firm lip bite on my root.
 
I discovered that Mom loved being fingered from the front and the back at the same time, especially a combination involving a sophisticated frontal manipulation of her clitoris and surrounding area together with the thick penetration of multiple digits from behind, sometimes fast, sometimes slow. After Mom sucked me to completion and released my cock, the force of my manipulations pushed her head over my thigh and onto the grass. I ended up twisting around to leverage my arm for heavier penetration from behind, leaving Mom's head lying sideways on the grass with her ass lifted high over her knees. Thankfully, Mom turned her face into the grass in the noisy lead up to her orgasm; we couldn't hide that by a well-positioned trellis.
 
That became the norm for our trellis events. Mom even allowed me to take pictures of her in that position. Before, because it got both of us even more excited, and after, well ... just because. I got many pictures of Mom's well-worked pussy, sometimes with her face still in the grass, and others with her face turned back, displaying an enigmatic smile.
 
I was one happy puppy. I almost forgot that Mom hadn't let me fuck her. Since I hadn't tried, I didn't know if she'd weakened on that front. By the time I thought that was a serious oversight on my part, it was too late. The recital was the next day, Saturday evening.
 
That night, we had another full dress rehearsal, both of us this time. We played all three pieces twice and music, believe me or not, was the only thing on our minds. When we were done, both of us presented ourselves in front of Dad. We all had a cup of soothing tea and had an early night. I fell asleep almost right away. I was exhausted. We didn't play the next day. Mom was superstitious about that. She gardened and I went for a long drive in the countryside. We had a small light supper, got dressed and went to the church.
 
Well, it was a superb performance. Despite the length of our performance, the audience begged us to play another piece, unheard of for piano recitals. But we complied with their request, playing the shorter but more difficult of the other two we practiced. The audience was awed when our performance of that more complex piece superseded the first. It was very late by the time we finished receiving accolades from the congregation and managed to go home. After another relaxing cup of tea, we all headed for bed.
 
Skipping Church
 
"Huh? What?" I muttered, unable to open my eyes.
 
"I said, get up, we're late for Church," Dad said, shaking my shoulder. I rolled over, trying to evade his disturbing hand.
 
"Can't you and Mom go alone. I'm exhausted," I whined.
 
"Everyone will be disappointed. They'll all want to see you."
 
"Dad. C'mon. I really don't feel well," I pleaded.
 
"You c'mon," Dad replied. "At least one of you has to go. Get up."
 
"I can't. Mom will. She never misses Church."
 
"Mom's too exhausted," Dad said. "She's staying home."
 
"Dad, I just can't. Anyway," I appealed to his intrinsic fairness, "it wouldn't be right for me to go alone and receive all the attention. Wait until next week when Mom and I can both be there."
 
"Hmmmm. You have a point. Mother worked so hard for this. Not the least of it, all that effort keeping you up for it."
 
I almost burst out laughing at that. Jesus. If Dad only knew what a mouthful he had just said.
 
"Ok, son. That's very thoughtful. I'll tell everyone you're both just too overwhelmed by their kind response last night. Ok. That's what I'll do."
 
And Dad was gone.
 
I confess, I turned over and went back to sleep but I awoke with a start only twenty minutes later.
 
Mom and I were home alone! Dad would be gone for hours.
 
I would have flung my covers off so hard they would have flown out the window had it not been so hot that I wasn't using any. Instead, I executed a spring leap out of bed to a full stance, naked except for my undershorts, poised as if ready for a martial arts battle.
 
Mom was alone in bed.
 
I started for the door. Halfway there, I began shoving my shorts down. By the time I reached the door, I was kicking them off my feet. Naked, I strode down the hallway, feeling strong and confident. My parent's bedroom door was ajar a few inches. Quietly, I pushed it open and entered.
 
Mom was lying face down on the bed, head sideways and directly on the mattress, the pillows pushed against the headboard. Her arms were aligned along her sides, hands flat on the bed, beside her hips. Mom's legs were parted about a foot and a half, feet turned slightly inward, soles facing up. Her breathing was regular, I noted, as I walked stealthily to the end of the bed.
 
Though eager, I watched Mom for a couple of minutes in silence, admiring the wrinkles on the soles of her feet, the taper of her legs from her muscled calves to the smoothness of her thighs and the tender softness on the inside. Her unblemished back provided a backdrop for the gradual descent from her buttocks to the valley in the small of her back, which itself gave way to the shallow groove rising between her shoulder blades to flatten into the slender arch of the neck that lay under her rich, brown, wavy hair.
 
I reached forward to slip my fingers around each ankle and ran my hand up to her knees and back, holding my fingers just tight enough to barely touch Mom's skin. Twisting my hands around, I scratched a long line down the center of her soles with my index fingers, regained my loose hold of her ankles, and took a return trip to knee and back. Gently, I lifted Mom's ankles and moved her feet wider until her legs were parted far enough for me to lie between them on the bed.
 
As I neared the apex of Mom's legs, I could tell she was breathing faster, though she had provided no indication that she wasn't sleeping.
She's awake, I thought as I lowered my face between her legs, using the back of my hands to pry her thighs apart. I dropped my mouth onto the bulb bulging out beneath her bum, my nose settling in her crack.
 
"Mmmmmmmm." The first indication that Mom was indeed awake.
 
"Ohhhhhhhhh," she moaned as my tongue finished its trace outside her pussy and moved inside, the tip of my tongue prying her flaps apart and delving into her pink slit.
 
"oh god," she sighed, reacting to my flicking tongue and the crooked fingertip that pushed underneath to rub her hooded clit.
 
"unnnnnnggghhhh," she groaned, as I wiggled my head from side to side, exacerbating the effects of my snake-like, oral digit as it pushed deep into her wet hole.
 
Mom's hips rose from the mattress, The easier to tongue me, I imagined her saying. She writhed around my face, her knees working to support her wide open legs as her hips tried desperately to maneuver her pussy to ever more titillating contact. Soon, Mom's hips were so high her legs rose straight up from her knees and I dropped my finger from her clit to pinch a nipple in each hand.
 
I was breathing through my nose with some difficulty because it was sometimes completely covered but there was no way I was going to pull my face way. Instead, I let go of Mom's tits and wrapped my arms around her waist, heaved her thighs onto my shoulders, and kneeled upright. Now there was no way Mom could have pulled her snooch from my head even if she wanted to. Up, I lifted myself on my knees, keeping her crotch tight to my face, lifting her completely from the bed, upside down, her head dangling free.
 
"Ahhhhhhh," I sighed as Mom steadied herself, her mouth latching onto my wavering dong.
 
"Ummmphhhh," I blew into her pussy as she suddenly pushed her mouth down to my root, squeezing her lips tight around the base of my super hard cock.
 
The rest was a rising crescendo of moans and groans as I ate and Mom sucked, my arms helping by lifting her body up and down, soon tiring and resorting to shrugging my shoulders, finding that raising her thighs and hips was enough to suit my needs.
 
When I came, I wondered if my father was singing a hymn. I convulsed in Mom's mouth and found it extremely difficult to breath as her legs clutched my head in a rapid series of uncontrolled clenches. We collapsed on the bed, falling to our sides, still gripping one another, moans subsiding with the expulsion of our respective liquids.
 
Minutes later I crawled back to my kneeling position and urged Mom to turn around. She did but instead of lying down so I could lie beside her, she straddled my closed thighs, pushing them onto my calves and my bottom onto my heels.
 
"Is that what you were hoping for?" she asked.
 
"Not quite," I said, seeing the wild look in her eyes.
 
"Did you pray for more, then?" she persisted.
 
"Maybe your father remembered you in his prayers," she said, making me wonder what on earth she was up to.
 
"Mom, that's weird. I don't think Dad would pray for me that way."
 
"No, but he might have prayed that you didn't get this," Mom said, scrunching her pelvis down to rub her wet pussy along my cock and onto my balls.
 
My cock immediately stiffened.
 
Mom rained soft kisses on my face, whispering to me, "I'll bet he's praying right now, hoping your mother is strong enough, unlike his, to ward of her son's beautiful, hard cock."
 
"Mom, that's not fair," I complained, loving the way her pussy had opened and her soaked slit was enveloped around my shaft, rubbing all the way up and down.
 
"I know. Aren't I cruel?" Mom laughed. "I'm so bad, such a tease."
 
She rubbed me a dozen more times.
 
"Are you sorry for what you did the other night, teasing me from behind like that?"
 
"No."
 
I was defiant. Mom kept up her seductive rubbing.
 
"So, did you pray for it?"
 
"You know I did," I gasped.
 
"And what did He say?" she cooed.
 
"He said its wrong," I panted. Gambling that I was playing the game right, going with my gut, I gasped, "He asked what kind of slut would fuck her own son for the first time, on a Sunday?"
 
"I would," Mom shrieked, suddenly rising up and impaling my cock as she dropped. "I would," she cried, immediately starting to fuck me, hips digging down to get me in as far as she could.
 
It was a fast, furious fuck, me lurching up, trying to hold her, and Mom, pulling herself down, grinding and twisting so hard I thought she would tear me off at the root, her heels digging into my ass to prod me deeper inside her.
 
It didn't last long. In no time, we released our liquid glues, our two-part instant, not-so-fast bond.

[nilr1]

  

Afterwards, we kissed and nuzzled each other, whispering our love. I began to get hard again, but Mom pulled away.
 
"We can't. Your father will be home soon."
 
I noticed how she referred to Dad as 'your father', as if distancing herself from him.
 
'My father' was ecstatic when he got home. We were the stars of the parish, deserving of the expensive dinner that he lavished on us at the best restaurant in town where we ran into several of our new fans.
 
Both Mom and Dad had a little too much wine so I drove home. Dad was sleepy in the car on the way home, but Mom wasn't. Dad had not taken my place in the back seat. Instead he got in the passenger side, crowding Mom into the middle, draping his arm around her shoulder. He soon nodded off and, with her husband's arm still affectionately clasping her shoulder, Mom's hand strayed to my crotch, her long piano fingers stretching down to scratch my cock and balls.
 
I was stunned when she unzipped me and slipped her hand inside to fondle my cock but I was scared silly when she fished me out and starting stroking my shaft. My father could have woken at any time but Mom nonchalantly moved her hand up and down, unfussed, like she was preparing dinner. When I pulled into the driveway, my cock was still out when Dad lifted his head and looked at the house in the headlights. Motherfucker! But Mom calmly urged Dad to get out as he groggily shook his head and then opened the door, turning on the dome light. I was freaking but Mom simply covered my cock, pressing it flat against my unzipped pants as Dad clambered out of the car.
 
In the house, Dad went straight upstairs, asking Mom, "Are you coming?"
 
"Yes, dear. I'll be coming in just a minute."
 
Mom pulled me by the hand, through the kitchen and out the back door, around the side to our sanctuary. She turned to face me, reaching down to insert her hand in my fly, roughly yanking my stiff cock out.
 
"This is your moment," she panted. "This is your dream."
 
With that, Mom spun around and fell to her knees, immediately flopping forward onto her hands, and then falling to her shoulders, her head twisting to the side.
 
"Hurry," she gasped, reaching behind to pull her dress up and over her hips.
 
I fell on my knees behind her, grabbed her panties and ripped them off her ass. A second later I was inside her, fucking her hard from behind, staring into her rabid eyes, both of us too far gone to smile. I lurched up onto my feet to get better leverage and pounded the snot out of her ass.
 
When I finished, I realized we had been moaning and groaning loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear, at least at night. But Mom didn't move. Still lying with her ass in the air and face on the ground, she commanded me.
 
"Go get your camera."
 
I ran up to my room, passing the open door of my parent's room, hearing my father in his bathroom.
 
"Is that you dear?" he called.
 
"No, it's just me Dad," I yelled.
 
As I hurried back, Dad emerged from the ensuite just as I passed the door.
 
"Can you get your mother for me?" he asked.
 
I paused. "Don't worry Dad, I will," I assured him.
 
"What are you doing with the camera?"
 
"I just want to take a picture of Mom. She looks so beautiful tonight I want to remember her exactly like she is."
 
"Good boy," Dad said. "Get some good ones."
 
"I will, Dad," I promised.
 
I ran downstairs to do what my father told me to do, but not quite in that order.
 
I took some pictures first, and then I got her again.
 
"That's what you really wanted, isn't it? Mom asked the next day, looking at the picture I had uploaded onto my computer.
 
There she was, on the screen, bending over on the grass with her head twisted to one side, dress thrown over her back, ass up in the air with legs slightly parted, with a white, milky fluid oozing out of her ravaged pussy, just like the picture of Grandma I held up next to the screen.
 
"We're just getting started, Mom."
 
"Good," Mom replied, tousling my hair. "Come on," she said, tugging me away from the computer, "your father should be asleep by now."
 
Epilogue
 
"You built a trellis? Whatever for?" Dad asked, needing to further understand my explanation for trespassing in his shop.
 
"I don't know, Dad. I remember that Grandpa and Grandma had one at their house and I felt this sudden urge to build one. So there it is," I waved my hand in the general direction of the trellis.
 
Dad walked over to it and stook looking for a long time. Then he turned and walked back to the house, speaking as he passed by.
 
"Good job, son."
 
My transgression was forgiven.
 
After that, Mom and I couldn't trust our sanctuary, for Dad could suddenly show up at any time. In fact, he began using it far more often than we did. On the weekends, and some evenings, Dad would disappear and we'd find him sitting in a lounge chair which he'd dragged around the side, staring at the trellis.
 
One Saturday afternoon, Mom and I watched him from the vantage point of the balcony off my parent's bedroom. We were lying on the thick cushion from one of the balcony's two lounge chairs, peeled from the chair and laid flat on the balcony, near the edge. Dad's back was to us. Every once in a while, he would wipe his eyes, as if drying a tear.
 
"You see," Mom whispered. "His mother was the love of his life. If only she realized that. It's sad really."
 
Mom had told me that Grandma's convictions never would have allowed her to have sexual relations with her son ... after he married. That was a big no no. Dad probably never realized that, and Grandma likely never told him, until it was too late.
 
I slid my cock slowly into Mom's pussy until I was fully in, then dug in farther, pushing her ass cheeks, and nudging her head forward until her hair brushed the guard rail at the edge of the balcony.
 
"I guess I better get as much as I can while the getting's good, then, hey Mom?" I threw an extra shove against her ass. Mom grunted.
 
"Why?"
 
"In case you cut me off?" I pulled out and lunged into her cunt again.
 
Mom dropped her face and moaned into the cushion. As I withdrew, Mom lifted her head and pushed herself back from the edge, raising her hips to allow her ass to follow me back. She twisted her head back to look at me.
 
"You just thank your lucky stars your Mom is more selfish than your Dad's."
 
Mom dropped her forehead onto the cushion but kept her eyes on me.
 
"Now you watch him, and give it to me, hard."
 
I gripped her by the hips, and rocked her hard the very next thrust, pleased that she found it necessary to muffle her face in the cushion. I didn't watch Dad the whole time I banged Mom. I liked to see her head bumping against the railing and I loved looking at her legs, covered in the white stockings she often wore as a signal that she was ready for me to find her somewhere in the house. Mom knew that a simple skirt over white stocking, with no panties, was a guaranteed recipe for a Mom full of her son.

The END
 

[nilr1]

STORY2: Riding With Mom
by alwayswantedto©

My father had promised me a trip when I finished college. He said it was a good idea to get away from it all to give yourself a chance to reset your mind. I knew my father had traveled in his youth, so I was pretty geared up for where he was going to send me, at his expense. I had visions of hitting all the sunspots, VISA and booze in hand, and girls waiting to take their place.

Ahhh, but not so fast, Roger. The promised land doesn't always meet your expectations. As it turns out, my trip around the world was an eight day wilderness horseback excursion with Ma and Pa Hamilton. That's right. After four years of college, straight out of school, my rite of passage was a ride about with mommy and daddy aback some sweaty old nag batting away horseflies. Swell!

My father, on seeing my disappointment, confided that this was my mother's idea, that she really wanted us to be together on our last family vacation. I was, under no circumstances, to display anything but the greatest enthusiasm, for my mother's sake. After all, he said, "I think you'll find it far more rewarding than you think."

He followed up those prophetic words with a further promise to fund a trip to Europe, if I behaved myself and made Mom happy during the trip. So I resigned myself to another week or so of drudgery. After all, I'd made it through college telling myself I could take anything for four years. What's another week and a half?

As trip time approached I learned, not surprisingly, that the horseback adventure was really my father's idea, something he'd always wanted to do. Mom had wanted us all to go to Europe. But my father usually got his way, typically awarding himself brownie points for fulfilling the wishes of others while he was at it.

So it was that we ended up in the foothills of the Rocky mountains on three horses provisioned for ten days of solitude in the wilds. Neither Mom nor I were happy to learn that we were on our own in the wild outdoors without guides. There were rustic cabins along the route equipped with sleeping bags, food, feed for the horses, and other supplies. We carried only our clothes and emergency provisions in our saddle bags.

And so we were off. My father leading the way, full of vigor on his sparky steed followed by his less ecstatic troop aboard their mellow plugs, as befitting their lower equestrian experience. By the afternoon, I did have to admit that the countryside was stunning. Rolling alpine meadows sprinkled with flowers against a backdrop of snowcapped peaks I'd only seen in pictures and movies. Completely alien and wonderful compared to the corn fields of home.

Along the way, we stopped for snacks, laying in the wild fields, once beside a small stream, reveling in the spectacular beauty that surrounded us at every point of the compass. I began to feel that perhaps this trip wouldn't be that bad, after all. Although we had been late leaving that morning, we easily reached the cabin we were to spend our first night in, set in a hillside within a clump of trees. We sat outside in the primitive wooden chairs drinking wine as the evening fell, gazing at the valley below and the craggy peaks beyond.

It was a very romantic setting, and I offered to set up a tent if Mom and Dad wanted the cabin to themselves. Mom laughed, saying that there'd be no need for that. Dad looked uncomfortable and disgruntled, muttering something and standing up to walk away a distance to take in the vista on his own. Mom quietly said, "Things have changed a little since you went to college, dear. Your father needs to do this. He isn't the man he used to be." She went inside without further explanation.

Feeling a little awkward, I checked to see that the horses were secure in the little corral and then headed into the cabin myself. When I entered, Mom was just slipping into her sleeping bag on one of the rustic, hand-hewn bunks. All of the sleeping quarters were in the same room. In the dim lantern light, the shadows played over her bare arms and legs, and the hem of her nightdress pulled high as she slid her feet into her bag. She zipped up the side of the sleeping bag part way, leaving a flap open across her tummy, the pink cotton material resting softly over her breasts as she leaned on her right elbow, facing me.

"Try to make your Dad happy on this trip, Roger. It's very important to him."

"I know, Mom. I will."

She laid back, curling her arm across her forehead, stretching her nightie over her breasts. "Oh, God, I'm stiff," she said. "I'll be sore tomorrow."

So am I, I thought, but not just from the horse. On the excuse of visiting the outside premises, I left, passing Dad on the way out.

"Goodnight, son. Check on the horses, will you?"

"Sure thing, Dad," I replied, quickly slipping by in the doorway facing away from him to hide the boner that had exploded in my pants so suddenly at the sight of my Mom. My face was red. This had never happened before. Why would I get a hardon seeing my Mom in her nightdress, something I'd seen probably hundreds of times before? It was ridiculous!

Outside, my dick refused to subside, and the picture of my Mom laying back, arm covering her eyes while her tits pressed against her light pink, flannel nightie, seared into my vision in true color HDTV. Walking around to the far side of the little coral, I pulled my dong out of my jeans and quickly jacked off into the grass. It didn't take long. I was glad it was dark when I returned to the cabin. I made my way to my bunk without turning on a flashlight.

I opened my eyes to the sun filtering in through the window and the open doorway. Mom was cooking breakfast on the cabin's little propane cook stove. Dad was nowhere in sight, out for a morning walk, I presumed. Mom was still dressed just in her pink nightie. I hadn't made as sound as I awoke, and I continued to lay still, peering at her as she moved about. The nightie fell to about the middle of her back, lower than in front, and the hem was about mid-thigh level, showing off her well-exercised, tanned legs. Mom was a pretty nice woman for forty-something, pretty nice. There was something basic, almost primordial, being alone in a cabin in the mountains with an attractive woman. My cock started to swell. I turned more onto my stomach, forcing my stiffness against the wooden bunk, closing my eyes as my mother turned to look at me.

When I cautiously opened them just a slit a moment later, she was next to her bunk fishing around in her pack. She pulled out a new pair of panties. Lifting her nightie a little, she sipped her hands underneath and then slid her old panties down her legs, stepping out of them and then pulled the new ones up and into place. I caught a brief glimpse of her bare ass as the change took place. Next, she grabbed her riding pants and pulled them up under the nightie, pulling them up tight.

Glancing over her shoulder in my direction, she then pulled her nightie over her head, stretching her arms far above, providing me with a wonderful view of her smooth back, her narrow waist flaring out to her hips, and a hint of the side of her right breast, sloping down and then bouncing as she brought her arms down and tossed the nightie to the bunk. Picking her bra up from the pack, she slipped her arms through it and pulled it around to the front, squeezing her breasts in. I could clearly hear the snaps click into place, the room was so still. Finally, she picked up her pullover blouse and put it on, pulling it down tight. As she turned back to check on breakfast, I feigned waking, perhaps a little too obvious.

"Oh, there's my boy. Finally. Come on, up and at 'em."

When I balked, looking around, she said, "Don't be shy, I won't peek. Anyway, I don't think there's going to be much room for privacy on this trip."

Fortunately, she kept her back to me as I dressed because my dick would not listen to my silent reprimands. As soon as I got my jeans, on I walked stiffly outside, shirt in hand.

"A little sore, I see," Mom laughed as I limped out the door, attributing my awkward gate to saddle sores.

After breakfast we saddled up and headed out. We expected a five hour ride to reach the next cabin, following a gently climbing trail through grassy meadows and thickets of small pine trees, just like the previous day. The scenery was even more fantastic than the day before, getting better and better as we climbed along the side of the mountains. We didn't run into anyone. This was by design, as the outfitters only let one group leave every second day. We were pretty much guaranteed a trip with the wilderness all to ourselves.

When we stopped for lunch we dug into our stash of wine again. That is, Mom and I did. Dad couldn't help but walk around. Mom and I laid back on our blankets, leaning on our elbows sipping wine, chatting and gazing about. It was soul cleansing, that's for sure. My mind didn't entertain thoughts beyond what I could see, and when Mom laid back, covering her eyes with her arm, allowing me to freely run mine over her figure, my thoughts remained very close by, indeed.

I couldn't understand why I was checking my Mom out so much. Why I kept getting boners watching her, as I had on much of the morning ride as I watched her butt swaying in the saddle ahead of me. Was it because she was the only woman around? She hadn't done anything to encourage me, though she definitely had a figure worth looking at. The stretchy riding breeches clung to her legs up and over her hips, outlining her buttocks in fine detail, and clearly molding the mound in front. The form fitting t-shirt she wore equally displayed her other womanly charms which, while not large, were firm and supple, and clearly hadn't strayed long from the best days of their youth despite the calendar years of their host.

"Its gorgeous, isn't it?"

Startled, I jerked my eyes away from Mom's breast up to her eyes which were regarding me, shading from the sun by her cupped hand held against her forehead.

"What?"

"There's a real beauty, here, isn't there?"

"Yes," I stuttered as I recovered enough to speak, "yes there is." Had she noticed where I was looking? Had I been saved by the sun in her eyes? At that moment, Dad sauntered out of the trees fifty feet away.

"Let's go, saddle up," he called out. Mom and I struggled up, stiffly.

"I have to visit nature first," Mom said and strode off toward the trees.

"You'll have to catch up then," Dad responded, then, to me, "Saddle up Mom's horse and stay with her. I'm going to scout out ahead and give this filly a stretch. Those plugs of yours can plod along behind."

"Ok, Dad. We'll tag along."

Mom emerged from the trees and waved to Dad as he trotted by. She walked up and put something into her saddlebag and then struggled to get on her horse.

"Roger, give me a hand. These old bones can't do it by themselves."

I walked to her side, and tried to lift her up by her elbow.

"No, give me a push. Come on, don't be shy, give my butt a boost." She stepped into the stirrup and started to lift herself up. I swung my open hand down and pressed it against the bottom of her ass as she started to rise, pushing up until she could swing her leg over the saddle.

"Thank you, sir. I think I might need a little push every time I get on this damned horse," she laughed as she prodded her nag into a walk.

I quickly swung up onto my hardly more spry steed and nudged it into action, catching up and pulling abreast so we could ride side by side. There was something different about Mom, but I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was. We rode along in silence, Mom surveying the scenery away from me to the right, but not turning away, sitting square in the saddle. Then I noticed. Her breasts were jouncing up and down, freely, bouncing along with the sway of the horse. A flash of her saddlebag entry shot into my mind. She'd taken off her bra while she was in the trees doing her business! My cock swelled up, throbbing against my jeans. She kept riding along, angled perfectly for me to watch her tits in their erotic dance, and her face turned away. Was she giving me a show? No. Impossible.

"Oh, God, it's so beautiful, it feels so exhilarating," she suddenly cried out in a throaty voice as she leaned back, pulling her elbows back to rest on the rear ridge of the saddle behind her, throwing her head back, arching her back and thrusting her tits up, the nipples expressing themselves strongly against the thin material of her shirt. I stared, riding along with my head moving up and down in time with the bounce of her tits. "It makes me feel so good."

I couldn't agree more. Despite the chance that she would suddenly look over and catch me staring, I kept my eyes fixed on her. She kept riding on, leaning back even further, almost lying on the horse's rump. Her t-shirt pulled out of her riding pants, baring her belly with just a hint of fuzzy blondish hair reflecting the sunlight. What a sight. She seemed to be part of the wild scenery as she swung along beside me, until we could hear my Dad riding back toward us. Mom jerked herself up at the first sound of his approaching hooves, tugging her shirt down.

[nilr1]

Come on, you guys. You wouldn't believe the scenery ahead." He swung around us and sped off again, quickly leaving us behind.

As Mom watched him disappear, she turned toward me, smiling, "I think you and I will have to amuse ourselves a lot on this trip." She laughed, a full throaty laugh, and spurred her nag into a trot.

I tried to catch up beside her to continue my observations, but my candidate for the glue factory wasn't up to the task. Every once in a while, Mom teased me, turning to laugh, "Can't keep up, young fella?"

We stopped for a snack when we caught up to Dad almost an hour later. He was waiting around a corner which opened to an incredible vista of craggy peaks. Dad waited for us to take it all in. When we got ready to leave, I reached to help mom into the saddle again but she declined, saying briskly, "I can get up myself, thank you. I'm not that old."

Disappointed, I mounted up and fell in behind Mom, plodding along. The ride was uneventful and not particularly exciting. Beautiful country, to be sure, but I was more interested in living vistas with captivating forms of movement than landscapes. Then, Mom seemed to get tired. She leaned forward over the neck of her horse, with her hands falling to its shoulders and grasping its mane. She seemed to be resting. But the interesting side effect was that, by leaning forward, her butt was prominently displayed, the tan riding breaches pulling tight around her cheeks and clearly outlining her panties. It was as if she was kneeling on all fours, brazenly displaying her ass in tantalizing, repetitive little rocking motions. My eyes stayed glued to her butt all the way to the next hut.

That evening was a repeat of the night before. We sat outside in the pleasant, waning sun as darkness fell over us. Dad got up and went to bed, leaving the lantern on but turned down low. Mom stayed behind until we could hear Dad snoring softly. She didn't talk, and neither did I. I felt tense, but didn't know if she did. I was confused about the day's events and didn't know what to make of them. So I did nothing.

Finally, Mom got up and said, "Let's go to bed, honey. Come on."

I had been waiting for her to go in and get into her sleeping bag first, but I did as she asked, following her in. Dad was sleeping facing the wall with his gear strewn around him on their bunk. There was no room for Mom to put her sleeping bag unless she woke him to move his stuff out of the way. Mom walked over to the other double bunk against the far wall, "I guess we're here, tiger," she whispered."

She spread her sleeping bag out on the edge, whispering back to me over her shoulder, "I like the outside." Then she sat on the bunk and motioned for me to pull her riding boots off. I pulled both boots off but she kept both feet up, so I pulled her socks off and threw them to the floor as well. Still, she kept her legs up, holding them together. With a soft smile on her face, she whispered so quietly I could hardly hear her, "I need help to get these off too, and Dad's out of commission." She looked down at her riding breaches and slid her right hand up to unbutton the top.

I grabbed the bottom of each leg and pulled, tugging several times, almost pulling her off the bed. She giggled as I yanked on her pants, ever harder, trying to pull them off. Resistance ended as her breeches cleared her hips and they suddenly slid quickly down her legs, up toward me, baring her legs right up to the bottom of her t-shirt. The breeches bunched around her ankles, her bare feet resting on my thighs. She slowly pulled her left foot out of her pants, lifting her knee, which opened her legs sufficiently for me to see under her t-shirt to her panties between her legs. She placed her left foot on the floor, leaving her right foot on my leg. She looked up at me, cocking her head slightly to the side, and said, "Hand me my pants, sweetie."

I lifted her foot from my thigh and pulled her pants off, then stood there dumbly, looking down at her with her pants in one hand and her foot in the other. Despite the fact that I knew she was looking at me, I couldn't help looking at her panties. I even moved her foot out to my side, without thinking, to open her legs to reveal more. I was having a hard time breathing. I pushed her leg out and her knee back toward her, opening her legs and stretching her panties tighter against her. She let me do it. I stood frozen, my eyes locked on the crevice faintly showing on the front of her panties, my cock swelling hard against my jeans. Her voice startled me, partly because it jolted me back to reality, and partly because it wasn't angry.

"I need my foot if I'm going to get into bed, honey."

I looked up to her face, she was smiling. Woodenly, I let her foot go and she swung her legs over to push her feet into the sleeping bag, bending them at the knees to do so. Although she didn't need to, she opened her legs wide, pushing her t-shirt up to her hips and exposing her brief pink panties completely. As she slowly pushed her legs into the bag, they gradually closed but the shirt didn't again cover her panties, and she didn't pull the sleeping bag up to cover herself. "You'll have to get undressed yourself," she laughed in that throaty laugh again, one I hadn't heard until today. "Don't forget to turn off the light."

I turned the lantern off but the cabin was still lit by moonlight. I quickly doffed my shirt, boots, socks and jeans, turning away to hide my swollen prick since she lay on her side, watching me. I found my sleeping bag and stretched it out behind Mom, having no choice but to lean over her to do so. I desperately hoped the dim light would hide the hardon bulging against my under shorts. Mom didn't say anything. I clambered over her and awkwardly got into my bag, nestling in and laying on my side facing her back. Within a few minutes, she sat up, facing her feet. "I'm too hot," she said. Crossing her arms to opposite sides at her waist, she grabbed the bottom of her t-shirt and pulled it up and over her head, her hair falling down over her shoulders as she tossed it on to the floor. She hadn't turned away. I stared at her tits as they slowly bounced to a standstill, the nipples jutting out in the moonlight.

Mom sat there for several moments. Then, she stretched her arms behind her, bracing her hands against the bed and arching her back, like she'd done on the horses rump that afternoon. "I feel so alive out here," she whispered.

I didn't know if she was speaking to me, or if she thought I was facing against the wall. I stayed as still as I could, hoping for nothing to change, for the world to stay just as it was. I couldn't believe how the slope of her tits, the curve of their undersides, the jut of her nipples, was so much more beautiful than all the incredible nature I'd observed that day. I could have gazed at them forever, and can still replay every minute movement in my mind, even now. Suddenly, she turned to face me, reaching out with her right hand to gently tousle my hair. "It is gorgeous, isn't it, honey? Are you glad you came?"
I nodded, too numb to speak.

"So am I, darling." She leaned over to kiss my forehead, her tits pushing on either side of my cheeks, her nipples brushing against my nose and lips as she pulled back at bit. "Give me a couple of bumps if you need to wake me," she said, "you know, if you need to get up." She snuggled down into her bag. Turning to face away from me, she pushed back until her rump was pressed against me. "Keep me warm tonight, baby."

I snuggled closer to her, but kept my errant hardon pulled back. I couldn't sleep for a long time, thinking about her body, clad only in little pink panties, pressed against me between our sleeping bags. I kept my arm around her until I fell asleep, keeping her pressed in against me.

I awoke during the night, reasserting my hold and pulling her in to me. My cock had somehow released itself from the confines of my shorts. If she hadn't been sleeping, she would have had to feel it, but she didn't move. Cautiously, I pushed it a little harder against her ass. When she still didn't respond, I pushed again, a little more firmly. No reaction. I repeated the action several more times, slowly so as not to wake her, but more firmly each time, and stayed pushed against her for longer as well. I could always claim I was trying to wake her, I thought, as per her suggestion. Why had she provided me with such a convenient excuse? I lost this train of thought as I softly thrust and slowly ground my cock into my mother's ass through the material of the sleeping bags. I kept grinding and holding my cock against her until I came, spurting all over the inside liner of my bag.

Only after the final spurt did I come to my senses. She hadn't moved or responded in any way, thank God, but she hadn't been breathing like she was sleeping either. She was just very, very still. I fell back, and eventually fell asleep, in my own mess.

When I awoke, Dad was gone again, and Mom was making breakfast. She was wearing a new t-shirt, a long one that stretched down below her bum. I think that's all she had on, as the material was thin white cotton and I couldn't see the line of any panties underneath, and she clearly wasn't wearing a bra. Her tits sloped down in a slight sag, standing out from her belly against her shirt, her nipples jutting out like craggy little peaks. Mom's legs were muscular. I could see the muscles tensing along the outside of her thigh and the tightening of her calf muscles as she moved about in her bare feet. Finally, she turned and saw that I was awake. She padded over to me, leant down and gave me a big kiss on my forehead, and then, to my shock, directly on my mouth.

But she acted as if nothing was out of order. "Hey, sleepyhead, its about time. Dad's been up for hours. He couldn't wait so I told him to go on ahead. Get up and eat while I saddle the horses."

Mom grabbed her boots and put them on, then strode out the front door. I got up, pulled my jeans on and ate. Just as I finished, she came back in, grabbed a riding skirt out of her pack and pulled it on over her boots, tucking the t-shirt into it. She rolled her sleeping bag up, grabbed her pack and told me to hurry up. Then she laughed and said, "There's clean sleeping bag liners in the cupboard over there."

Shocked and embarrassed, I nonetheless did as she said and then rushed out after her. She must have known what I was up last night. She couldn't have been sleeping. But she'd let it happen. Holy shit!

Mom was already down the trail. I got on my horse and took off after her. We rode for several hours before Dad came up behind us. He'd gone on a little adventure on a side trail loop. About half an hour later we stopped for a short lunch. Dad was eager to get going because he wanted us to take another side trail loop because the one he'd just done had been so cool. And do we did. It was a longer loop with an overnight stay at a more remote cabin halfway around the loop. An hour after lunch, Mom's horse came up lame.

Dad looked at the horse, picking her foot up, examining its hoof, and so on. "Well, we can't do anything here," he said. "You two will have to double up. You have to take things in stride out here," he said, "You can't whine about things, you just have to handle them." He seemed almost happy at the opportunity to 'rise to the challenge'.

So Mom got up ahead of me and we tied a lead for her horse to follow behind. Dad led the way. Doubling up soon became uncomfortable for me. Mom's ass was right against my dick, moving back against it with each swaying step of the horse. I couldn't help but get an enormous hardon. After a while, she leaned forward over the horse's neck, grasping its mane to steady her self, as she had done the day before. This raised her ass allowing me to fit even tighter under her, closer to her pussy.

Soon, unable to stop myself, I started rocking my crotch forward into her, thinking I could blame it on the horse's movement. Mom didn't call me to task, so I became bolder until I was rocking into her hard enough to shove her forward a little along the horse's neck. She turned her head to look back at me. Oh, oh, I thought, I'm going to get it now. But she only said, "'Grab hold of me so I don't fall off."

I put my hands loosely around her waist to steady her but she put her hands over my wrists and pulled them forward, higher up above her waist until my hands were grasping the sides of her chest, right beside the swell of her breasts. Mom turned her head back down onto the horse's neck and grasped its mane in her hands again. I slipped my hands further in and slid my fingers around the front of her breasts, splaying my fingers on either side of the nipple of each tit. I pushed my cock into her. She squeezed her legs on the horse's shoulders and lifted her ass higher, providing even greater access for my bulging jeans. The lump there matched up with the rear of her pussy, and I pushed it in hard to make contact. I stood in the stirrups and started pushing against her, rocking her forward. There was no question about horse movements now, I was dry humping my Mom and she was letting me do it. I leaned forward, resting my head on her back, increasing the tempo of my thrusts, grasping her tits in my hands. Panting wildly, I finally came, pulling her back hard on my jean-covered cock.

I pulled back. Dad was further ahead. As far as I know, he never looked back. Mom lay as she was, still grasping the horse's mane, breathing heavily. She hadn't come, I'd left her hanging.

Dad stayed with us for a while longer but soon quickened his pace, pulling ever farther ahead. I looked down at Mom, leaning ahead, still breathing heavily. I grabbed the back of her riding skirt and pulled on it until it came free from under her. I lifted it up and looked down at her ass, at the line of her panty as it disappeared into the crack of her ass. The saddle below was slippery with her juice. I slid my right hand down, cupping it and pushing it up against her ass, slipping forward with my fingers along the bottom of her pussy.

"No, oh no!" She tried to get up but I kept her down with my left hand pressing into her back.

"No, Roger, don't!" I ignored her, sliding my fingers back and forth from her asshole to her pussy, pushing ever further forward until soon I was rutting right through the crevice between her lips up to her clit. Back and forth I rubbed, back and forth, ending when my thumb pressed between her cheeks onto her little rosebud. I grasped her hair and tugged her back. She clenched her knees and pushed her ass higher up, giving me more room to savage her pussy with my hand, I stopped moving, holding my finger on her clit and mashing the bridge of my palm against her cunt lips, moving in a very small circle but pushing firmly against her. She was grunting. She started to fuck my hand. "oh, oh, oh, unngghhhh, unngghhhh, unnnggghhhhh, unngghhhh" until she was constantly moaning.

She got so wild, I thought she was going to throw herself off the horse. Christ, Dad must not have fucked her for ages. I knew he was older than her but had he stopped doing her altogether? How long for her to be this horny?

Finally, she came. She clutched my hand tightly, squeezing it in random, involuntary pulses, while she continued little fuck moves, slowly subsiding until she was still. She tried to get up but I stopped her. Leaning over, I whispered into her ear, "You're beautiful, you're so beautiful."

I pulled back and tugged her up with me. I leaned back in the saddle, pulling her with me, my arm around her waist. Her head fell back against my shoulder, turning off to the side.

"Isn't it gorgeous, Mom? Don't you just love it out here?"

She was quiet for a moment, then she answered me, "Yes, I do, I do love it."

Up ahead I could see Dad had dismounted for our afternoon break. Mounting. Dismounting. The words echoed in my head. I had some ideas for tonight.

Mom showed no discomfort or embarrassment during our afternoon snack. Her face was flushed, making her seem more beautiful than ever. Dad mentioned that the outdoor air was really seeming to agree with her. She laughed, a genuine, throaty burst of humor. "Maybe," she said, "I think I'm just enjoying being alone with my men," she laughed again, getting up and dancing away toward the trees.

"You're doing a great job, son. You're really making your Mother happy. Keep it up."

"Oh, I will Dad. I like seeing Mom so happy."

I stood up and went to my saddle bag. "I've got to put some shorts on, Dad, it's so hot."

"Well, let's get going," he said as Mom sauntered back. I was just pulling my shorts up.

She smiled at me as she walked up, a little gleam in her eye. "Pant's tightening up from all this horsing around? Getting a little stiff, are we?" She laughed as she stepped in the stirrup and swung her leg over the saddle. As Dad started off, she said, "Come on, get up in front of me."

I stopped and stared. She laughed, "I'm just kidding. Get in behind me, where you belong. But you behave yourself, you little rascal." She laughed again.

As I fit myself in behind her, Mom casually reached back to pull the back of her skirt up from underneath her and let it fall to the sides of the saddle over her legs and mine. Taking the reins, she started us off. She leaned back in against me, turning her head up and giving me a kiss on my jaw, then nibbled it with her lips and teeth.

"We've got at least two more hours of riding, tiger. What ARE we going to do?" Then she laughed again. "Giddy up," she cried, "Giddy up."

I reached around her waist, sliding my hands up to take the weight of her breasts. I grasped a tit in each hand, squeezing them gently, pinching her nipples, tugging them outwards.

"Stop it," she chided me gently, "your Dad could turn around any time."

I pulled my hands away, reached down and slid both of them under her skirt, out of sight, over her hips and onto her the front of her thighs. I pulled them back toward me, letting my fingers push down in between her legs, which were opened wide over the saddle. She wasn't wearing panties any longer. I pushed deep in and covered each pussy lip with the fingers of my hands, then pulled them gently apart, spreading her cunt wide.

"We've got at least two hours. Don't be in such a hurry."

I didn't respond. My breathing was ragged into the hollow of her neck.

"You really need it, don't you?" she asked. I said nothing again. "Well, I know what that's like. Ok, baby, ok."

I pushed my fingers back in, dipping into her wide, wet hole. Then I pulled them slowly out, dragging on her slippery lips. Then back in, and out, and in, and out, again and again. My breathing was hoarse, and her's started to match mine. I pushed two fingers of each hand into her and held them there, tugging her cunt wider. She got very excited. I whispered hoarsely into her ear, "I need to fuck you!" I started to push her forward.

[nilr1]

No, Dad's right there. He could turn around." She kept upright, pushing on the horse's neck.

"Stand up in the stirrups," I said. She did. Reaching down, I unbuttoned my shorts, pulling my very hard cock out with great difficulty. I reached under her skirt again, sliding my hands up to grasp her by the hips. I scrunched forward under her, my cock bursting up like a little flagpole. I pulled her down on me.

"No, Roger, oh no," she cried, somewhat unconvincingly since I'd just told her I needed to fuck her. I kept her pulled down while I poked by cock around. Finally, the head found its slot and shoved its ugly face into her beautiful, steamy wet pussy. I slid all the way into her, right to the hilt. It seemed like a long slide, she was so hot and wet, and exquisite!

"Ohhhhh, Roger, ohhhhh, Rog, ohhhhhhh." That was the best sound I'd heard in these mountains, as far as I was concerned. She continued to make her little sounds. I kept myself fully plugged into her, content to let the motion of the horse do our fucking. I peered around at my Dad, riding ahead, way up there. If he did look back, there was nothing to see except me sitting behind Mom.

I slid my hand around and grasped the front of her pussy under her skirt. We rode along, rocking together, pussy and cock, pussy and cock. Time slowed to align itself with our gentle yet intense little fuck. It was all friction, rocking and friction. I was fully in her, and I never pulled back. She never rose up. We stayed plugged to the hilt the whole time. I don't know how long it took, but it was a long time. It was probably the longest fuck of my life. We just rode along, my cock in her cunt, my finger circling slowly on her clit. She got wetter and wetter, soaking me and the saddle.

I started pulsing my cock, tensing my muscles and bulging into her cunt. She loved it, and so did I. Finally, I felt her trying to clench my cock, but her legs were too wide. I could feel her buttocks tightening in cheeky little muscle spasms. She started to really soak me. I began spurting into her, again and again and again. I had never come so much. We both relaxed, still riding along, my cock periodically twitching inside her. Eventually I softened up and fell out of her, but we kept our soaking wet, sticky crotches firmly together.

After a while, Mom turned up and kissed me again. She laughed, "Well, I guess you fucked me. Is that what you call a Rogering," and she laughed, loudly. Dad turned and looked at us, smiled and continued riding.

"I'll show you a real rogering tomorrow, Mom, or tonight. Whenever we get the chance."

"Is that a threat? I can hardly wait," she laughed again.

"Neither can I," I replied, but with more serious intent. I don't think Mom knew what a rogering really was, but now that she'd mentioned it I was intent on showing her.

That night, Dad threw his sleeping bag onto the same bunk as Mom's, his on the inside. He was the first to sleep, as usual, facing the wall and snoring softly. After Mom had washed herself and got ready for bed, she motioned me over for a hug goodnight, standing there in the middle of the room in the moonlight, wearing only a long t-shirt that barely covered her ass, with my father laying behind her. I took her into my arms, sliding my arms over her body, engaging her in a long, leisurely french kiss. My cock rose and lodged in her crotch, between her legs. She stood up on tippy toe, accommodating my rod and pinching my ear lobe between her teeth, she whispered teasingly, "Roger wants to fuck me, doesn't he?"

I nodded into her.

"Oh, you bad boy. That's soooo naughty."

She stepped back, grasped my cock through my shorts and tugged it as she pulled away. She turned to her bed and bent over to get into her bag. Pausing, she turned to look back at me, pulling her t-shirt over her hips, baring her cheeks, swaying from side to side, thighs tight together.

"I'm not sure I can ride tomorrow," she said, I'm so sore from rubbing on that saddle, I guess." She flashed a big smile at me and slipped into her bag.

I sat down on my bunk, facing her, slid down my boxers, and sat with my cock standing up like a pole. I grasped, it and waved it at her, smiling away.

Not to be outdone, Mom sat up, and pulled her t-shirt over her head, tossing it onto the bunk, arched her back and thrust her tits out and up, her stiff nipples poking up into the night.

OK, you win, I mouthed at her. She laughed, made a face, and lay down to sleep. Facing her, I was sure that I could see her eyes sparkling in the fading light. I fell asleep.

I awoke to the smell of eggs and bacon. Mom was cooking breakfast again and Dad, as usual, was nowhere to be seen. Perfect. Even more perfect, Mom was wasn't wearing her t-shirt, but she wasn't naked. She was wearing one of Dad's white undershirts, not the t-shirt type, but the kind with no sleeves at all. Her breasts literally jutted out in this thing, the nipples threatening to rip right through the thin cotton material that clung to her sides, swept over the swell of her belly and buttocks until it ended just below her ass. I couldn't believe she was wearing this in front of me with Dad nearby.

"Come on, sit up, its ready now. Come on, get up."

I pulled myself out of my bag and stumbled to the table where a plate and a coffee cup was waiting. I wore only boxers, and as I sat down I realized that I had a huge boner. I thanked God that Dad hadn't come in and tucked myself under the table, hiding my errant prick. My eyes strayed back to Mom, gluing onto the crack of her ass which drew a line from between the dimples below the small of her back to the bottom of her cheeks, visible through the cotton undershirt. Her legs were tanned and lightly muscled, reflecting the morning sun filtering through the window and open doorway, and her feet were bare.

Mom brought a large black frying pan over to the table and filled my plate with eggs and bacon. She returned with a pot of coffee after putting the empty frying pan back on the stove and filled my cup and hers.

"Aren't you eating?" I asked.

"I ate with Dad, sleepyhead," she answered. "Eat up while its hot."

I guess she didn't want to talk, so I did as I was told. Mom sipped her coffee and gazed out the door. I let my eyes dwell on her chest, her tits sloping down toward her belly, perfectly outlined by the tight undershirt. My eyes followed down to the bottom of the shirt which just barely covered her pussy.

"Do you find me attractive?"

Startled, I looked up to find her looking right into my eyes. "Yes," I replied, quietly.

"Do you like looking at me?"

"Yes," quietly again.

"You can't let Dad see you. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes, Mom."

"You took a big risk yesterday. You could have ruined everything for all of us. Don't do it again. Understand?"

"Yes, Mom, I understand."

"Good," she smiled, a big generous smile, and her eyes softened. "Look," she said, her eyes dropping to her lap. I followed her gaze down to her beautiful thighs. "Look what you did to me." She opened her legs a little. She looked up to me, querying. I furrowed my brow. She looked back down, spreading her legs wider. The undershirt slid up as her legs parted, further and further until she was spread wide open, her pussy bared to my eyes. "See?"

I just stared. My mother was sitting there, legs wide open, showing me her pussy. I didn't know what she was wanting me to see but I said, "I'm sorry, mom, did I make it sore?" remembering her comment the night before.

"Sore? No. Look harder."

I stared. Yes, I could see her pussy, lightly covered by a glistening strip of brown hair, her pussy lips shining as well.

Exasperated, she said, "I'm wet, silly. See what you do to me. It's so wrong but I can't help myself. I've never felt so alive. My whole body tingles when you're looking at me. I've been wet for three days."

I reached out to touch her but she stood up quickly and backed away.
No. You finish eating and then come help me with the dishes."

I brought my dishes to the sink when I finished. Reaching around her, I dumped them in the sink. Picking up a towel, I reached for a cup to dry.

"No. Just leave them. Stand behind me and watch out the window for your Dad."

I did as she asked. She swirled the water around but she was really wasn't washing. She'd done only one cup and a plate the whole time she'd been standing there. Clearly, doing dishes wasn't on her mind.

I threw the towel onto the counter beside the dish rack. She turned her head slightly to look at it, then back to the sink. I did nothing. Her hands stopped swirling. She just stood there. I reached forward to grasp the sides of the undershirt and slid it up over her hips, baring her ass and leaving the shirt bunched at her waist. I waited again, just taking in her gorgeous butt.

Finally, I said, "Do you like it when I look at you?"

"Yes."

"Lean forward a little." She did, stretching her hands to the far side of the sink, still in the water.

"Open your legs. Just a little." She shuffled her bare feet a little to the side.

"Why did you do that at the table? Did you want me to look at it?"

"Yes."

"Look at what?"

"My pussy."

"No," I said, grasping her hair and gently tugging her head back. "When you open your legs like that, it's not a pussy anymore, is it?"

"No."

"What is it?"

"A cunt."

"That's right. You wanted to show it to me, didn't you? You wanted to show it to your son, didn't you?"

"Yes. I wanted to show it to you, to show my cunt to my son. I can't help it."

"You're a very naughty woman, Mom. You let me fuck you yesterday. You waved your ass in front of me. You knew what you were doing. And you let me fuck you. Didn't you?"

"Yes," she hissed.

"You're going to do more naughty things with me, aren't you?"

"Yes."

I hadn't touched her but her breathing had become rapid and deep while we talked. So had mine. I placed the back of my hand on the counter beside her, cupping my palm upwards.

"Squirt some of that into my hand," I said in a firm, commanding voice, nodding my head toward the plastic squeeze bottle of mazola oil she'd used in the frying pan. She didn't question me. She lifted her right hand and squeezed some into my palm.

"More," I said.

She squeezed more. I pulled my hand back, careful not to spill it, and turned it over onto the top of her right cheek, spreading it down over her butt, cupping the bottom and squeezing it, pushing the mazola into the flesh as I pressed it back up. I returned my hand to the counter. Still holding the bottle, she filled my hand again without waiting for me to tell her. I brought it back and covered her left cheek with the slippery oil. After spreading it around, I moved to her other cheek and fondled it for a minute before returning for another handful. I let this drip slowly into the crack at the top of her ass, then, using the edge of my hand on the thumb side, I pressed between her cheeks, sliding it up and down, making sure the knuckle of my thumb grazed and even dug into her anus.

"Give me a big handful, then push back and open your legs more." Again, she did as she was told.

I shoved the whole handful into the crack of her ass then quickly shoved my hand between her cheeks, pressing the slippery goo against her rosebud, then moved my hand under her ass, cupping it and catching the extra fluid. I pushed it back up against her ass and rubbed forward along the bottom of her pussy. Oil was dripping down the inside of her thighs. I started massaging her pussy, back and forth, rubbing not quickly, but firmly sliding through her slick crevice. I started pushing my fingers farther in, and when my hand was fully forward, I stretched my thumb up to her little rear whole and pressed it in. I did this again and again.

I still held her hair in my left hand, keeping her head back, her face looking up at the ceiling. She was breathing very hard. She looked so awesome! I was now getting three fingers into her and pushing my thumb up to the knuckle on every pass. She was incredibly slippery. She grunted a little each time my thumb pushed into her little hole.

"That's right, Mom. Grunt. I like the sound of that." I pushed forward again but this time I didn't stop my thumb at the first knuckle, I slid it in all the way, and held it there. She rewarded me with a longer grunt. Keeping my thumb completely in her, I started moving it around in a small circle. I pushed all four of my fingers into her, and started pushing into her, pulling back but never out because her ass followed my hand as it withdrew. She really wanted it, at least her body did.

I pulled her upright, sliding my left hand around to the front of her throat. I rasped into her ear, "If Dad wasn't here, I fuck this right now," wiggling my thumb in her ass to emphasize my meaning.

"He's gone," she gasped, "He went to get help because your horse was lame this morning, too."

"What? He's not here?" I almost shouted. So that's why I was treated to the undershirt display. Well, I guess things were going a little beyond what Mom had expected. I turned her and steered her over to the bunk, Dad's bunk. I saw that he'd actually rolled the mattress and placed it neatly in the middle of the bunk.

Standing before the bunk, mother in front of me, I told her, "Grab the rails."

She leaned forward to bend over for me.

[nilr1]

"No, on the top bunk."

She stood back up and did as I said. I pushed her legs wider apart, kneeled down slightly and brought my cock up into her pussy from behind. I stood, shoving her up with me. Grasping her hips, I pulled her a step away from the bunk, and started fucking her in slow, hard thrusts. Within a minute the thrusts turned into lunges, and a minute later I was jackhammering into her. Then I stopped, ordering her to hang on to the bunk, I pulled her back farther until her feet left the floor. Holding her thighs, I held her splayed out and started lunging into her again. I didn't speed up but I really slammed into her. On each plunge I stood up on my toes, tensing the muscles in my legs as I bulged my cock in her cunt. We were both grunting like animals. I didn't stop until her muscles spasmed on my cock and I felt her drench my balls with her juice.

I walked her forward, set her feet on the ground, then pushed her onto the bunk and over the rolled up mattress. I grasped her ankles and spread her legs widely apart, then pushed her cheeks apart with the thumbs of both hands. I pressed the head of my cock against her little hole, which was still open the size of a quarter from the action of my thumb, and twisted her head to its side.

"What's my name, Mom?"

"Roger."

"That's right, Roger," I said as I pressed harder, slipping my cock into her hole. I kept up a steady, gentle pressure until my cock slid all the way in and my pelvis was pressing firmly against her butt. She let out a long grunt all the way in. I stayed pressed into her, glorying in the moment. Then I started to move back and forth, just a little, slowly. Every few times, I suddenly thrust hard into her, then rolled around in a circle while fully plugged into her. I kept repeating this. As her grunting became louder, I reached down and grabbed her hair in both hands, pulling her head back. I really started grinding my cock in her ass. This was absolutely incredible. Mom may not have known it, but I had never fucked anyone in the ass before. I loved it. It was such a power trip, to hear her grunting and moaning, right out of control.

I suddenly stopped moving, staying still. I pulled out of her very slowly, then pushed back in, then out, completely. Her ass was pulsing, opening and closing, her thighs quivering.

"Please, ... don't stop. Please."

I pushed my cock into her, slowly until her cheeks were once again against my pelvis. I held her tight against me and started to shove back and forth in a big circle, then pushed her down onto the rolled up mattress and really started pounding on her. Every time I pounded down on her she released a loud, long grunt. Our fuck became frenzied. Finally, she let out a loud wail just as I gushed into, not spurting, but almost like a steady hose of cum.

I fell forward onto her back, gasping for breath. "Oh, god, oh god, oh god."

I don't know if I fell asleep or if I passed out. But I was aware of opening my eyes and realizing I was still on top of my Mom. I got up, stripped off my boxers and put a kettle of water on. Mom appeared to be sleeping, still splayed lewdly over the mattress. When the water boiled I brought a cloth and some soap over and started to clean her. She opened her eyes and smiled at me.

"So, I'm guessing that was a real Rogering. You seem to really like doing that."

"It was fantastic, Mom. I'm sorry if I got carried away. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You didn't hurt me. But it isn't the gentlest thing for a woman."

"I'm sorry, Mom."

"It's alright. I might let you do it again, if you're a good boy."

"If I'm good?"

"That's right." She stood up, pulled the undershirt over her arms and threw it to the floor, then walked over to the table and sat down in the same chair where she'd shown me her pussy that morning. "Come here," she said.

I went and stood before her. She opened her legs wide again. "See."

I knelt down in front of her. She reached out and cupped my head in her hands, her fingers playing with my hair. She tilted my head forward forcing my eyes to look directly at her pussy.

"Kiss it," she commanded.

I leaned forward, bracing myself with both hands on the floor between her legs, and covered her pussy with my mouth. I started licking her, pushing my tongue in and dragging it up and down in her slit. After a few minutes, she pulled my head in hard, and started to fuck my face. She became very agitated, pushing forward more and more, thrusting harder on my mouth glued to her pussy, fucking my tongue held stiff in her quim. Suddenly, she rocked forward too far pushing me over onto my back, my shoulders rolling against the hard floor. Her legs clenched my head tightly in a vice-like grip, her pussy never breaking contact. My head on the floor, she continued pounding on my face, her clit rubbing against my nose as she hunched again and again against my lips. Finally, she held still, her thighs shuddering on my face, and then she relaxed. A moment later, she stood, walked over to the counter and picked up a dish towel. Calmly walking by me on the return, she casually threw the towel down on my face, "Clean yourself up," she said. She stooped to pick up her tennis shoes and walked out the door, stark naked, turning left from the trail up the mountain.

Scrambling to get my running shoes on, I grabbed my shorts from the floor and ran out the door. I could see Mom, beautifully naked, striding up the grassy meadow a hundred yards away. I ran up the hill after her, naked myself.

Cresting the hill I looked frantically about for her. I couldn't see her, even though the meadow flattened out for quite a ways. She couldn't have moved fast enough to get out of my sight.

"Lose something?"

She was laying in the grass, off to my far left, braced up by an elbow, wearing only a cocky smile. I went over and laid down beside her on the grass, on my back. I didn't say anything and for the longest time, neither did she. Finally, she said, "Well, we've certainly fucked each other. What's next?"

"I don't know, Mom, I don't know," I replied, thinking about all the complications we now faced in our lives.

"Well, I do," she said, quietly.

When she didn't expand, I asked, "What?"

She rose up on her elbow and looked down at me. "Now you can make love to me," and then she laid back.

I got up on my elbow and looked down at her. Her eyes were closed, a slight smile on her face. I leaned down and brushed my lips against hers. I kissed her. Then again, and again, until she parted her lips and started to kiss me back. She put her arm around me and we started really kissing. When I pulled up, she said, "That's more like it," and pulled me back down. We kissed for several more minutes before she pushed my head away. "You know, son, you haven't sucked my breasts for 20 years."

She arched her back, thrusting her tits up. Her nipples, I could now see, were standing up hard. I leaned down and took one in my mouth, sucking it up and then pushing my closed lips down around it, then swirling it around in my mouth before dragging my teeth gently back along it.

"Ohhh, that's nice. That's it. Suck them. Yeah. Slowly. Yeah, like that. Do it that for a long time."

I did as she asked. I sucked and pulled on her hard nipples until I thought they'd come off. She didn't seem to tire of it. She continually moaned, murmured, arched her back, lifting off the ground to push her tit into my mouth as I tugged on her nipple. Eventually, I parted her legs and shoved my cock into her again. We had a long, slow fuck in the meadow on the side of that mountain, blissfully unaware of anything else in the entire world, mother and son. I came close to coming many times. Her pussy was magic. It massaged, pinched, squeezed, milked, twisted and scraped me. Just when I was about to burst in her, she'd do something to stop me, squeezing my balls really hard, biting my ear, and so on. Then her pussy would start working on me again. When we finally finished, I lay on her, my cock still in her, kissing her, squeezing her nipples. We didn't talk, we just enjoyed being close.

At last, I rolled off and sat up. Mom sat up beside me and I put my arm around her. Something made us turn and look behind us at the same time. There, about a hundred feet away, looking down at us, was a bear with two cubs playing about her. As we watched, frozen into inaction, she turned and ambled away, her frolicking entourage tagging along behind.

It was late afternoon when we headed back to the cabin.

"I guess help with arrive tomorrow afternoon," Mom conjectured. "I'm starving."

I smiled as I followed Mom down the hill, staring at her pear-shaped cheeks, my cock already hardening. "Me too," I replied. "Let's drink the rest of the wine and really have a little party."

Mom put on a flannel nightie (she'd been expecting the nights to be cold on the trail) and started rustling up some grub as soon as we reached the cabin. I put on my boxers, fetched some wood and started a fire. Then I scrounged all the extra pillows, blankets and a comforter and spread them in front of the fire. That done, I went to see if I could give Mom a hand.

"No," she said, laughing, "I don't think I can use the kind of help you have to offer." She took a big sip, finishing her first glass of wine.

"Hey, no fair. You've got a head start," I complained.

"And I'm going to keep it too. I'm going to get a good sleep tonight, so don't get any ideas. So fill up my glass before you get yours, young man," and she held her glass out to me.

"Yes, ma'am," I saluted, and poured two large glasses of wine. Standing behind her, I held her glass ahead of her. When she reached for it, I leaned forward, pulling it away.

"Oh, you tease," she grumbled, not yet realizing that my crotch had pressed against her ass, nestling my cock lightly in the valley between her cheeks. She made a grab for the wine and I spilled a little but was compensated by her action which also parted her cheeks, allowing my now stiffening member to lodge securely, still pointing down but pressing up with vigorous anticipation.

"OHHH, YOU! You bad boy," she berated me, trying to push me off, but finding that this simply worsened her situation (or improved it, depending on your point of view). She stopped, submitting to my pressure forcing her against the counter, but said, "No way, Roger. I have to eat, and I don't think I'm up to any more tonight. Maybe in the morning, ok, hon?"

Not to be deterred, I responded, keeping it lighthearted, "Ok, dear lady, but I demand a kiss in reparation." I set her wine down and pulled her face back and to the right so I could kiss her from behind. I put all my effort into the longest, sexiest kiss I could muster, all the while swaying my hard cock gently from side to side in her cheeks.

When the kiss ended Mom whispered, "That's very nice but I just don't have your youthful stamina."

I kissed her mouth quickly several times, slipping my tongue just a little inside. "You might find that you do if you just let something get started," I whispered back. I plunged my tongue down into her mouth before she could answer. After a minute, I slid my hands slowly up her sides, cupping her breasts and squeezing them a little, then bringing my fingers up to squeeze, roll and tug her nipples. Ending the kiss prematurely, I said, "But let's eat first anyway." And turned away. "I'll get extra wood for the fire."

We ate our meal and drank our wine in front of the fire, talking about many things. Mom and Dad's life before I came, me when I was little, and various worldly issues that revolved around relationships between people, nothing about politics or the war or sports. I offered to get another bottle of wine, our third, while taking the plates to the sink. When I returned, Mom was stretched out on her tummy, holding her empty wine glass in front of her. She looked gorgeous with the firelight playing over the backs of her legs, her hair laying back over her shoulders. Kneeling down to fill her glass, I casually pulled her nightie up over her ass, and stroked her cheeks.

"Hey, buster."

"You have to pay to get your fill, lady," I laughed back at her. When her glass was full, I said, "Oh, I forgot my glass," and returned to the counter. While I was there, I asked her if she'd like me to put some skin lotion on her, to which she replied, "Yes, but you better be good." I assured her I would and came back carrying her lotion and something else I'd picked up from the counter.

I started applying the lotion on her feet, working my way up her calves and then her thighs. I took my time. By the time I was ready to do her back, she had emptied her glass again. I hadn't remembered to fill mine.

"You'll have to take your nightie off, Mom, for me to do your back."

"Just push it up, honey."

"Nope, if you want the backrub and wine special, you have to follow instructions. Come on, up you go." I helped mom get up to her knees, leaning back into me as I pulled her flannel nightie over her head. She was a little dozy from the wine and the heat of the fire. I ran my hands over her tits, pressing them and tugging on her nipples.

"Roger."

"I'm just helping your circulation before you lay down again," and gently pushed her forward, naked, onto the comforter. I filled her glass again, squirted a generous portion of lotion between her shoulder blades, and started rubbing it into her back, working in large circles, pushing down more firmly whenever I was directly behind where her nipples would be pressing into the floor below. I kept applying more lotion, squirting it on in little puddles. Every once in a while, Mom would raise her head and take a sip of wine, then flop back down, more heavily each time. I never touched her ass.

"That's lovely," she slurred, when she took her last gulp.

That's when I pulled my hands back to the small of her back and started scratching the little dimples she had just above the rise to her cheeks.

"I have to do your bottom now, Mom. It's the only part left. It has to be done," I whispered gently but firmly, trying not to intrude on the crackling of the dying fire. I squirted some fluid on her left cheek and then some on her right, I started slowly massaging her prominent, pear-like globes, gently squeezing them as I pushed them around, and pulled them apart to apply a spreading pressure. I squirted more on and slowly worked that around as well.
Then, I squirted some directly into her ass crack, let it soak in, then squirted in more. "Oops," I cried as I pressed my fingers in a cupping motion between her cheeks at the bottom of her buttocks, catching the extra fluid and pushing it back up against her little hole. Holding my fingers there, I squirted more fluid in, letting it pool over her rosebud and soak in.

"Roger," she burst out, hoarsely, her voice betraying a hidden excitement.

"Just relax, Mom. I'm almost finished. Just rest now." I pressed my middle finger in, laying it along her rosebud, and slid it gently back and forth, then pulling it up and swirling its tip around her little hole. She hadn't yet realized that I'd been soaking her butt and her little hole in the mazola oil I'd grabbed from the counter. It wasn't the best thing to use, but it was all I had. As I pushed my finger tip into her, she protested again. "It's just part of the massage, Mom, just let me finish."

When I slid my finger all the way in and started slowly working it in and out of her ass, part of the massage routine lost its value. "No, Roger, don't, don't."

"Mom, remember what I said about giving things a chance? Just give it a minute."

I squeezed even more mazola around her hole and pushed two fingers in. She dug her pelvis into the floor, away from my merciless intruders, grunting. I kept pushing in, loving the sound of her grunts, "I can't," she cried, "I can't!"

"You can," I whispered back harshly, "and you will!"

"No, no, don't, Roger, don't."

I pulled my fingers back, and then shoved them in again, pressing deeply into her cheeks. "Yesssss," I hissed. Suddenly, I pulled my fingers out of her, paused, then slid them down along her peritoneum and wiggled them into her cunt.

"Oh, my God, oh my god," she panted. I twisted my fingers around, loosening her up for a minute, them started jamming them back and forth into her, increasing the tempo, pushing in harder, faster. Her panting became ragged. I stopped, twisting around again, then started jamming in more slowly but more firmly. She started grunting again, moving her pussy back against my hand. I was very excited and breathing quite raggedly.

Pushing my hand in, I held it there while I twisted my body with my feet to the left, outside her widespread legs. I leaned my torso down, pressing her back flush to the floor as I aimed my cock and nudged it up against her little hole.

"No, Roger, don't. Wait, wait until tomorrow."

"I can't," I rasped back, and pushed the head in.

"OHHHHH, OHHHHH, UNNNGGHHHH," she wailed as I slid in. She was tight, but slippery, being very well oiled. I pushed all the way in, and fell to my chest laying across her. I stayed still, feeling her tight pucker gripping me, convulsing around the root of my cock. Slowly, I started moving. Out a little, and back. Again. Out and back, again and again. I started pressing in, grinding a little, just a little. Soon, I could hear little grunts with each grind into her cheeks. I started working my fingers in her pussy again, in time with my fucking of her ass. I pulled my fingers out and slid my long finger up to her clitoris and pressed it in there, swirling it about in tiny little circles. She began moving her ass back onto my cock, groaning, moaning and grunting all at once.

I pulled my hand quickly out from between her legs, around her hips and back onto her clit. Lifting myself, I straightened out behind her, between her legs. I moved my cock back between her cheeks, pressing it into to her opened hole. I let it hover there.

"Push your ass back on my cock, Mother."

"Come on. Push back. Fuck me with your ass."

I could feel the muscles in her thighs before she moved. And then I felt the exquisite feel of her round, puckered hole pushing back and enveloping the head of my cock. Suddenly, she shoved quickly upward, exhaling a loud grunt, "UNNNGGGHHH!" followed by many quick shoves in succession. She was going wild! I felt my hand on her clit brushed roughly aside as she replaced it with her own. I reached around and grabbed both her tits, squeezing them hard and pinching the nipples tightly as well. Each time she buried her ass around my cock, I tensed my thigh muscles as hard as I could, bulging my cock into her. We were in a frenzy. This was not tender lovemaking like we'd had that afternoon on the mountain. We were each stealing something from the other. Abruptly, I released my goo in her with explosive force. She began violently twisting her ass around on my cock, frigging herself frantically until I could feel her legs clenching and shuddering uncontrollably. We collapsed on the floor, panting raggedly.

After a long while, Mom blurted out, "You little bastard. What you make me do. You little bastard."

"Be honest, Mom," I countered. "You've had boring fucking all your life. I'm your son, and I know you. I know what you need, and I know what you really want."

A long pause followed.

"You're still a little bastard."

"I know. I'll leave you alone tonight, but I'm having you in the morning. Understand?"

No answer.

"Do you understand?" I repeated.

Quietly, "Yes, I understand."

"All morning," I insisted, "they can't get here until the afternoon."

"All morning," she acknowledged.

The next morning, both Mom and I learned how she could get her mouth down over my whole cock, using copious amounts of saliva generated while I held her head firmly down on me. I found that I could even continue fucking into her as I held her head tight, for a few thrusts, more and more each time. Eventually, I exploded in her face. I hadn't meant too but at the last minute, I couldn't help it, having never done it before. I immediately felt ashamed of myself but she didn't mind. She laughed at the huge amount of come dripping all over her, like it was a ridiculous joke that anything could be left after last night. I laughed too and then pushed the head of my cock back into her mouth. She slowly, sucked and licked it, milking the tip while looking into my eyes until I was soft. Unbelievable!

We cleaned up and had breakfast. Just as I was wondering if I had anything at all left and how I was ever going to live up to my manly demands of the previous evening, we saw riders coming around the bend in the trail, Dad at the lead. My ride with Mom was over.

As we rode back on fresh horses, I wondered about how things would go once we got back home. I no longer wanted to go away. Ever. I wanted to stay and have Mom again and again in all the ways I was starting to imagine.

And then the image of her rocking my head back into the floor popped into my mind, and the way she'd strode back across the room tossing the dish towel down into my face as she walked nonchalantly by, "Clean yourself up," she'd barked.


Maybe, this wasn't going to be so one-sided, I thought, just as Mom twisted around in her saddle to look back at me, the two of us again bringing up the rear. Keeping her eye on me, she smiled and leaned forward to grasp the horse's mane. She was still looking back, smiling, as she lifted her ass up to the edge of the saddle.

THE END

[nilr1]

STORY 3

Brushing Mom's Hair Ch. 01 to 03
by alwayswantedto©

All characters are 18 years or older.

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"Cliff, you said you would," Mom complained. "It has to be brushed out tonight or it won't be right for tomorrow." Mom shook her heavy mane of hair, the red highlights glinting against the background of her rich brown locks.

"I know, Emily," Dad acknowledged, "but I have to get this done for tomorrow morning." Dad waved the papers in his hand at Mom, finishing with a sweeping gesture toward the stack occupying the coffee table in front of him. "Bill had to go to LA and this got dumped on me. I can't help it."

"That's just great. You know what my hair is like. I'll look like a flathead, and it's the biggest fundraiser of the year. Not that you care."

Mom turned on her heel and walked quickly away. Though she didn't stomp, it was clear from her deliberate tread that she wasn't happy. Exasperated and already stressed, Dad muttered something under his breath and settled back into his papers. I left for the kitchen, ostensibly to make myself some hot chocolate but just as much to escape. I made a couple of extra mugs, one for each of my parents and carried a tray into the living room, offering one to my Dad.

"Oh, thanks Mike. Did you make one for your Mom?"

I nodded at the two mugs left on the tray.

"Good boy. Look, can you do me a favor and brush her hair for her. You know how she is about her hair.."

"Sure Dad."

"Great. Thanks son."

I walked carefully across the room and up the stairs, trying not to spill the hot chocolate. I knew about Mom and her hair, that's for sure. Because of the red highlights, Mom's long, thick and full-bodied head of hair was especially beautiful in the sunlight but if it wasn't brushed it lost its shine and hung flat. This had a dramatic effect on the way Mom felt about herself, especially because her hair compensated for a lack of prominent assets in the chest area. She did have very nice legs, at least my dad was always saying so, but she thought they were too thin and was convinced his compliments simply confirmed that he thought her breasts were too small. So Dad had learned not to say anything. Thankfully, I wasn't expected to say.

Mom's door was open and she was sitting in front of the mirrored dresser brushing her hair. As I approached, I stepped around her discarded robe which looked like it had been tossed toward the bed but fell short and sprawled on the floor. Mom was dressed in a pale blue nightdress I had seen before, though I could only see the bit covering her hips and the lower six inches of her back; the rest was covered by her hair.

Mom's eyes looked up when I entered and her expression softened.

"Oh Michael, you didn't need to do that." Mom always called me Michael and Dad always called me Mike.

"No problem, not for my favorite lady," I sucked up, hoping to drain Mom's anger though I knew she would already be feeling sorry about getting mad at Dad.

"That's so sweet," Mom said as I put her mug down on the dresser in front of her. "Will you stay for a few minutes with me?"

"Sure." I took my mug over to the bed and sat down, tossing the tray behind me. I sipped hot chocolate and watched Mom brush her hair after taking a small drink from her mug.

"Is Dad mad at me?" she asked, pulling the brush slowly through her hair.

"You know he's not," I answered, causing a slight smile that conveyed both relief and acknowledgement that she knew this to be true.

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With each stroke of the brush, her breasts stretched up to strain against the front of her nightdress, starkly outlining their form for a brief moment before her descending arm relaxed the material sufficiently to camouflage her feminine physique. As I drank my hot chocolate, my eyes were drawn again and again to this exposition but I thought nothing more of it than to note that there was more there to meet the eye than Mom thought. It was strange to notice this feature of my mother with such platonic regard, for I wasn't feeling anything sexual about it.. I just noted, with some surprise, that from this vantage point, Mom's breasts were more substantial than I had thought.


Mom took her second drink and looked over to smile at me but she didn't say anything. Feeling suddenly self conscious, I drained my mug in one gulp and stood to leave. As I walked behind Mom, she thanked me again for being so thoughtful. Something made me stop. I leaned past Mom, set my empty mug beside hers, and stopped her hand in mid-stroke, relieving her of the brush.

"I'll do it for you Mom," I quietly offered my services.

"You don't have to do that, Michael."

"I want to. Let me do it for you Mom."

I was rewarded with a big smile. "Ok. That's so sweet of you." Mom adjusted her position on the seat, with a pleased wiggle as I began pulling the brush slowly and gently through her reddy brown hair.

I brushed Mom's hair for quite a while and after she took the last drink from her mug, she leaned her head back, looked up at my face, and asked me to do the front, meaning the part that draped down over her ears. She closed her eyes, leaving her face turned up toward me, and leaned back against me. That was my undoing.

As I looked down, carefully brushing the hair beside Mom's face, I realized that I had an unobstructed view of Mom's chest, barely covered by the thin nightgown. It was readily apparent that Mom was not wearing a bra and this time, I definitely noticed that her small but pert breasts were very sexy. I quickly jerked my eyes away but they returned when I realized that with Mom's eyes closed, I was free to look. I could see the dark red spots encasing her nipples and a thrill rippled through me when I noticed her nipples poking into the silky material of her nightgown. I focused first on one nipple and then the other. As my gaze traveled between them, I realized the sides of her breasts were bare because the nightgown delved down in a big 'V' to the top of her tummy.

This wonderful vista generated a twinge in my groin and I became suddenly cognizant of a boner growing in my jeans which were pressed against the spongy flesh of my mother's back. I couldn't pull away because Mom was leaning too far back and she would have lost her balance. I had to act like nothing was happening. I willed my cock to behave itself, admonishing myself for getting hard while looking at my own mother. When that didn't work, I started thinking of horrible things, like a hammer smashing my balls on an anvil but even that didn't work..

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Mom sighed and purred, "That feels wonderful."


She moved her head slightly from side to side, just enough to press her back harder against my scrotum, my softness slowly stiffening away..

"Put the brush down and massage my head like your father does."

I leaned forward to set the brush down on the dresser, my errant appendage pressing even harder into Mom's back. I worked my fingers over Mom's head, gently massaging her scalp and then down to erase the stress lines from on her forehead, letting my fingers stretch down her cheeks and along her jaw line before returning to her head, the way I'd seen my father do it many times before.

"Mmmmmmmmm," Mom sighed, slowly twisting her head and neck, making the constrained ball within my jeans grow another inch.

Maybe she didn't realize what was happening to me. Maybe she couldn't feel it through thick material of my jeans. Of course she can't, I reasoned, I was no porn star. I relaxed and my eyes strayed back to Mom's tits, now stretching the nightgown tightly across her upthrust nipples which seemed longer than they were moments before. They may be small, but they were fucking nice!

Perhaps because of their subconscious desire to touch Mom's breasts, my hands dipped lower on their next pass down Mom's cheeks, below her jaw line, to stroke and massage her neck and throat, an action that pulled her tighter against my bulging jeans. I didn't realize I was doing it until Mom spoke.

"Oh, that feels really nice," she purred. "I like that." Mom arched her neck, pushing her head back and stretching her nightgown until her tits looked like they were going to burst through.

When I returned to massage her forehead and scalp, I left one hand on Mom's throat, gently massaging her windpipe and the underside of her chin.. Mom purred a constant, throaty appreciation. I was sure that her nipples were definitely longer and her breasts seemed firmer all around, rising more abruptly from her chest. I don't know how long I massaged her like that but it dawned on me that I wasn't massaging her scalp so much as stroking her throat and face, and just after that realization I was startled by the sound of my father's footsteps coming up the stairs.

"Your father's coming," Mom whispered..

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I pulled my hands away from her neck and face, her whispered warning suddenly making me see my touch as a caress. My hands returned to Mom's scalp and her eyes opened just as Dad entered the bedroom. Why had she whispered?


"Cliff, you can't believe the wonderful scalp massage your son just gave me."

"Oh?" my father asked, shuffling toward the bathroom, clearly not interested.

"Yes. You could be replaced, not that you'd care," Mom jibed.

"Done," Dad shot back. "You've got a job, Mike. It's full time if you didn't already know."

The door closed and a few seconds later the tinkle of Dad's pee could be heard even through the closed bathroom door. I gently prodded Mom to an upright position and pulled away.

"No, don't go," Mom protested..

"Dad's going to bed. I should too."

"No. Just a little longer," Mom begged.

"Mom," I complained, tugging the hand she had captured in her own.

"Go get in your pajamas while Dad gets changed and then come back for a while longer."

"Mom."

"Please. That felt so nice. Just a bit more," Mom whined.

"Alright," I conceded, wanting to escape with my still bulging jeans before Dad came back into the room.

Mom let go and I was gone, struggling with my thoughts. She couldn't have known what was happening or she would have been mad. She certainly wouldn't have asked me to come back for more. But how could I do it in my pajamas? No, I'd have to keep my jeans on. But she told me to get changed. That's ok. I'd just stand back so she couldn't lean back against me, rub her scalp for awhile, and get out.

Normally, I slept nude in the summer or with a pair of pajama bottoms from late fall through early spring. Following my habit, I put on a pair of PJ's and was out the door before it dawned on me that I couldn't wear just pajamas. What if I got a hardon again? How could I hide it? I returned and put on a pair of jockey shorts, rummaging around for a tight pair that would keep me close. Suitably armored, I put my PJ's back on and headed for my parents room, resolved to make this a brief as possible to minimize the possibility of facing an awkward, embarrassing situation.

Dad was in bed when I entered and the lights had been turned off except for Mom's the lamp on Mom's dresser which had been dimmed. I approached Mom, leaving almost a foot between myself and her back, and awkwardly stretched forward to get the hairbrush from the dresser.. Mom pushed my hand away.

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"Just do my scalp like before," she spoke quietly, glancing at Dad.


I looked over at Dad too before I put my hands on Mom's hair. He was lying on his back with his eyes closed breathing quite deeply if not actually snoring yet. Turning back to Mom, I saw in the mirror that she had noticed where I was looking.

"He's been doing that for about a year now. He goes to sleep as soon as he's in bed. He'll start snoring in a couple of minutes."

My fingers were threading through Mom's hair, pulling it back and away from her face, revealing her relaxed smile. My fingers traced around the edges of her forehead, then down one cheek, under her chin and up the other side of her face, circling her ear to drag her hair out, letting it fall and returning my hand to her forehead to repeat the cycle. Mom closed her eyes.

"That's feels so good, Michael." Mom turned her face up toward me, I suppose to make it easier for me to reach.

I didn't answer. There was no need, and anyway, I was captivated to the length of her exposed throat. Why should the vulnerability of a woman's neck be so exciting? Porn sites certainly weren't populated with pictures of women's necks. As I caressed Mom's face, my free hand slipped down to stroke her neck as I had been doing before Dad came upstairs. As that thought filtered through my mind, I glanced his way but he was still lying on his back. The only change I noticed was that he was breathing more deeply and before I looked away, he started to quietly snore. Surprisingly, I was more excited than scared to be touching Mom the way I was with my father lying not ten feet away.

For some reason, that brought a smile to my face and it made Mom relax.. I could feel the tension flow from her neck on Dad's first snore and by the third, despite the gap between us, Mom leaned back until her head collided with my groin. I panicked then, sure she would open her eyes and suddenly leap forward, swing around and ask me what the hell was going on. She did no such thing. She just relaxed and let out a contented sigh. There was no adverse reaction about the back of her head resting on a lump that shouldn't be there.

Somewhat mortified, I nevertheless continued Mom's face and neck massage. What else could I do? As my fear melted away, my attention was once more captured by Mom's chest. The dim light did little to reduce the illegitimate affect of her breasts, especially since they seemed to be more available than they had been a while ago. I looked closer.

Her breasts were covered but the nightgown draped more loosely over them. I could still see the dark color of her areolae and the jut of her nipples which seemed, if anything, to be longer now. Though the nightgown was looser, the edge of the nightgown was closer to her nipples and revealed more of her breasts. The cascade of Mom's hair over her shoulder as she leaned back explained the physics of the situation. The straps of the nightgown had fallen off Mom's shoulders to lay loosely on her upper arms, allowing the bodice to slip down her chest. My cock throbbed as this knowledge filtered through my brain.

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I'm sure the 'mmmmmmm' that Mom exhaled at that precise moment was sheer coincidence but it flushed another surge of blood through my organ without evoking any further response from Mom. I continued my massage, acutely aware that my cock was pulsing into the back of Mom's head and getting harder by the minute.


After a few more minutes, I was wishing I hadn't put on the tightest jockeys I could find because my cock had stiffened so much it was bent quite uncomfortably inside my shorts. Soon, I couldn't stand it any more and pulled my hips back so I could reach inside my pajamas and shorts to straighten myself. Mom was surprised by my sudden withdrawal but I quickly caught her with my free hand so she wouldn't fall back and she didn't open her eyes.

When I stepped forward again, I was closer and she was sitting more upright. I resumed my massage by kneading her shoulders and neck to an appreciative murmur, my now upright cock pressing between her shoulder blades and against her neck rather than her head. I looked down to check out her breasts and was pleased to see that the nightgown had fallen further down, catching on her left nipple and leaving the right completely exposed!

Her bare nipple was longer than it appeared when covered by the nightgown. My eyes darted quickly from one to the other. Were they different sizes? No, it had to be an illusion. My balls were bursting and I couldn't stop exerting my own pressure for the first time against Mom's back. Her free nipple stood out at least three quarters of an inch from her small tit, stiff and proud. How could anyone not be satisfied with that? I imagined the feel of it in my mouth, her soft tit pressing against my lips and tongue while her hard nipple poked into my palate.

Oh, god. If only she wasn't my Mom. I could reach down and grab those tits and squeeze them and lean over to suck that luscious nipple. Mom purred again as I inadvertently kneaded her neck harder. Encouraged, I reckless extended my massage out to her shoulder and beyond, kneading the muscles in her upper arms, pushing in, loosening her nightgown even more and managing to brush her shoulder straps down toward her elbows.

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Returning my hands to massage her neck and the sides of her face and throat, I eased back a half step, forcing Mom to lean further back like she had before. My cock slid higher into the groove in the back of her neck and I was surprised to sense bare skin. My cock had hardened enough to slip under the waistband of my shorts and pajamas and its head was now rubbing the back of Mom's neck!


Settle down Mike, my brain screamed but my hands kept caressing Mom and my eyes feverishly sought out her chest to check out the results of my slippery handiwork. Her tits were both bare! Completely. The nightgown had slipped right over her breasts and they were both open for my inspection, heaving in unison with her heavier breathing.

I stepped closer to Mom, allowing my cock to slide back between her shoulder blades and causing her nightgown to fall ever further as her body returned to a more vertical posture. I concentrated my massage on her face and neck again, sliding one hand gently over her entire face and rubbing the other up and down her throat, allowing my thumb to slip over onto her chin and briefly rest between her lips. After awhile, I let that thumb press down slightly and noticed that Mom left her lips parted, ready to welcome its return. Incredibly, I found myself slightly hunching my cockhead into the hollow between Mom's shoulder blades as my hand glided up her throat to cup her chin and my thumb inserted itself between her moist lips, even pressing into her mouth to caress the tip of her tongue.

Mom was breathing regularly and deeply, almost panting but not quite. Dad was now snoring just as deeply. My eyes were fixed on her tits, on that pair of long, stiff nipples. I dearly wanted to touch one. I could almost feel them in my mouth... Dare I touch one? No! That would be insane. But I couldn't help thinking about it. God, how I wanted to.

And then I did it. I just continued the stroke of my hand down her throat, over the bony part of her chest, to the side and over the top of her right tit, its rigid nipple dragging across my palm. And that produced another shock.