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I reached down and untied her ankles and carried her to the sofa. I set her down across my lap and when I her kissed her forehead, her nose and then her lips, there was a salty taste from her perspiration.
With her face turned into my chest, I held her tenderly and waited while she regained her composure. She felt so small and vulnerable I had a desire to rock her gently as if she were a child.
Finally she stirred and swivelled on my knees to put her feet to the floor. After two preparatory rocking movements, she straightened her legs to stand but came back to my lap with a bump. On the second attempt, I helped with a gentle push.
She took a couple of unsteady paces forward and turned to face me. Her bare feet were apart and her arms hung by her side. Her usually neat hair was disarrayed and a lock of it obscured her right eye. Her dress was so crumpled it looked like corrugated paper.
She attempted to remove the offending lock by extending her lower lip and blowing upwards but it was unsuccessful. She looked so cute and comical I felt a bubble of laughter rising but managed to keep a straight face.
With an attempt to regain her dignity, she announced, “I shall now take a shower,” and added, “That is of course with your permission.” I waved a gesture of consent.
She took a couple of steps and then remembered that her shoes were still by the chair. As she started to bend down to retrieve them, she realised that her bottom would be towards me so she reached behind and pulled down the crumpled hem. Then still half-crouching, she shuffled in a semi-circle until she was facing me and narrowed her eyes in an accusing glare. It was a delightful pantomime. Eventually she left the room with a purposeful step and with her head held high.
It was then that I became aware of a damp feeling on my lap and saw the dark patch. An examination of the chair confirmed that she had leaked considerably. It took just a few minutes to get a sponge and wipe the chair, thereby saving her some embarrassment.
I solved the trouser problem by quietly going to my room and swapping them. I also had to change my boxer shorts.
When she returned to the lounge she deliberately avoided me to get to a chair. She had completely changed into a three-quarter length skirt and a blouse buttoned high to the neck. She sat down with her hands folded neatly and stared straight ahead without expression.
As one of us had to break the silence, I said unnecessarily, “I see you’ve changed Mother.”
She turned to me with a look of distain. “I wonder why? By the way, my clothes are in the laundry basket but I left the panties on top in case you want to play with them later. That’s what perverts do isn’t it?”
I felt the mirth rising again. “Why are you calling me a pervert?”
With a look of disbelief she asked, “Why?” and then more fiercely, “Why? Because you sexually assaulted me, that’s why.”
I said calmly, “No I did not, I didn’t even touch you.”
She made as if realisation had suddenly dawned and lifted her fingers to her temple. “Oh that’s right, it’s all coming back to me. Now I remember. I had an irrational impulse to tie myself to a chair and then while still tied, somehow managed to play a pornographic CD. Then I forced you to watch while I abused myself.”
I looked at the clock and saw that there was still time for a pint. “I’m going to the pub Mother. We’ll resolve who did what to whom some other time.”
I always kissed her when I left the house but as I moved towards her, she held up both hands in horror and turned her head away with, “Are you now going to rape me?” Nevertheless I managed to plant a kiss on her forehead without too much resistance.
On Tuesdays, my girlfriend Sue attended her Italian class and Thursdays she went to the gym. She kept her stunning body in good shape and loved every inch of it. Fridays we would go out with our friends and Sundays both stay at home. We spent the other three evenings together. At nineteen, she was a year younger than me and we both worked in IT.
She is very intelligent and highly sexed, and I am highly sexed. We enjoy masturbating together and we each take it in turn to make up erotic stories to enhance the excitement. She is a self-confessed exhibitionist and loves it when I watch while she tells me, “Tony my pussy is so hot and wet,” and, “Oh God I’m coming, are you watching me come?” We are both athletic and we have fucked in just about every position possible.
During the evenings that I spent at home with Mother, she would read and I would watch sport or surf the internet. During the days that followed, neither of us mentioned our intimate experience bahis firmaları together although Mother’s demeanour became quite amusing. I would feel her looking at me but when I glanced up she would drop her eyes with a little smile.
On one occasion she gave a giggle so I continued to stare at her until she looked up again. When she saw my searching look she asked with exaggerated innocence, “What?”
“What are you giggling about Mother?”
“Oh it’s this book, there are some really funny bits in it.”
She was enjoying the ‘I know that you know what I know’ situation. She had access to all of my porn and I hoped that it was enhancing her masturbation pleasure. I assumed that she was still masturbating in the afternoons or whenever. She was certainly watching them because occasionally she would comment on the merit of one.
She had increased her vocabulary by adding pussy and clit and asked if the cocks she saw were real or strapped on. She talked about people coming but thought cunt was an ugly word and best used to describe the leader of the political party that she did not support.
My father had died two years previously aged fifty-two and I was curious about something. One evening I asked, “Mother did you enjoy having sex with Dad?”
The question startled her and she remained silent for a few moments during which she must have been considering her loyalty to him. Finally she said, “Not very much.”
I continued, “Did he satisfy you? Did you achieve orgasms?”
She laughed and answered, “I don’t think he knew that women are supposed to have them. He would roll on, push it in, give sufficient thrusts until he came and then roll off. Once when he kept going for nearly two minutes, I felt the beginning of an enjoyable sensation but it didn’t last. After he went to sleep I explored myself and had a tiny orgasm and it made me squeak. After that I usually did it when he was asleep.”
I looked at her with sadness. “Was sex always in bed?”
“Yes, and always in the dark. In twenty years of marriage, he never saw me naked nor I him.”
There was nothing I could do about her past but at forty-two she was still young enough to enjoy a sex life; although I had no idea how to help her achieve one.
The next weekend was Mothering Sunday and Sue and her parents plus Mother and I went for lunch at her father’s golf club. We had champagne when we arrived and then wine with the meal.
Mother cannot hold her drink which soon became apparent when she flirted outrageously with Sue’s father. I did the same with her mother so Sue was generously tolerant.
In view of the drink and drive problem, Mother and I went by cab and we got home about six in the evening. She changed out of her good clothes and flopped down in a chair with her feet outstretched. I also changed and relaxed on the sofa.
Suddenly Mother scampered across and squirmed onto my lap. She had never voluntarily done that before. She reached with her left hand and pulled my head down to plant a wet kiss on the side of my neck. She said, “Thank you Anthony, I’ve had a lovely time today.”
I smiled down at her. “I enjoyed it too Mother.”
She was very giggly and her face was still flushed from the alcohol. She pulled my head down again and put her lips to my ear. It was mostly hot breath and giggles but she eventually said, “I want to ask you something.”
“Go ahead.”
She had several more attempts between giggles and hot breath until she managed to ask, “When you masturbate, do you think naughty thoughts?” She immediately covered her face in feigned embarrassment.
The fact that she was still under the effects of the wine caused me to have reservations before answering. So I said, “You’re tipsy Mother and you’re not going to feel very well in the morning.”
She pouted, “Oh pooh, answer my question.” I could sense that this was leading up to something but what?
I answered, “Yes I do and most people think of something erotic that makes them come. One’s imagination is a powerful sex tool.”
She then asked, “Tell me what you think about that makes you come.”
Our mother and son relationship had recently become somewhat unusual and I was conscious that it was entirely my fault. I had briefly considered the prospect of an incestuous relationship with her and found it to be distinctly unpalatable.
I answered truthfully, “I have lots of different ones. Sometimes I imagine I’m watching a young girl masturbate but she doesn’t know that I can see her and when she comes, so do I. Or I’m spying on two girls who are experiencing their first lesbian encounter. I also think about Sue and some of the sex we kaçak iddaa have. What do you think about?”
She ignored my question and put her mouth to my ear and whispered, “Do you ever think about sex with me?”
Now I was getting scared and I replied sternly, “No I do not and I hope you do not think about sex with me. We must have a strict rule Mother; I don’t touch you and you don’t touch me. Is that fully understood?”
She giggled and said, “I was just teasing you. But it would be frustrating if I thought you were doing naughty things to me in your imagination without my actually enjoying it.” She added, “Although it would be flattering.”
I had to put this to bed so said emphatically, “Mother put it completely out of your mind. If you were somebody else’s mother then yes; but as you happen to be mine you can dismiss the thought entirely and don’t ever mention it again.”
She was in a thoroughly mischievous mood and said chidingly, “Don’t get so nervous Darling; you won’t have to lock your bedroom door each night.”
She shifted her position to get more comfortable. “My problem is I don’t have a very good imagination and I have no erotic experiences to recall. Tell me a sexy story and I’ll remember it the next time I’m being naughty in private.”
She was obviously feeling aroused but as the alcohol was the cause of it I replied carefully, “I’ll tell you what; I’ll write one on my computer and print it out for you to read when you’re feeling in the mood.”
She insisted petulantly, “I want you to tell me one right now.”
There seemed to be no way out it so I recalled one of Sue’s favourites. I decided not to make it too erotic and in an monotone I commenced, “It’s afternoon and you’re sitting in a cinema which is nearly empty and you have a row to yourself. A man enters your row and sits a few seats away.”
She looked up and said irritably, “Why are you gabbling? Talk slowly, it’s supposed to be an erotic story. You’re not reading the nine o’clock news.”
I sighed and said, “Mother you’re going to get horny and I shouldn’t be doing this.”
She responded with, “So what? It’s Mother’s Day and as a good son it’s you’re duty to make it a day of pleasure for me.”
She wriggled to get more comfortable and stretched full length across my lap with her head resting on a cushion and announced, “Okay I’m ready, so start again and this time make it sound sexy.”
Well I’ve had plenty of practice with Sue and I can tell a good story. So I set off again in a softer voice, “It’s afternoon and you’re in a half empty cinema with the whole row to yourself. You’re suddenly aware that someone has just sat down a few seats to your left.
You turn and it’s a young man. You continue to watch the film but you sense that he is looking at you and you begin to feel nervous.
He’s getting up, but to your surprise instead of moving away he’s sitting down beside you.
Now you are scared and your heart starts to beat quickly. Why has he moved next to you? You take your arm from the chair rest and press your knees together. You stare fixedly at the screen but you’re not watching the film any more because you’re worried that he’s going to do or say something.
He doesn’t seem to be doing anything but, oh God, now he is. He’s put his hand on your knee. Your heart begins to pound but you’re too frightened to move. What should you do? You want to get up and run but your legs have become too weak. Your mind is screaming to your body, “Get up and run for God’s sake,” but you’re paralysed with fright.
Now he’s pulling your dress up above your knees. He’s putting his hand on your bare thigh and you are letting him do it. This is insane; why are you not stopping him? He is moving his hand and pushing your closed knees apart.”
Mother shifted slightly and put her hand on her left breast and was gently squeezing the bulge. She moved her right hand down to between her legs but her thin dress was still covering her thighs.
I continued in an urgent tone, “Your heart is racing and you want him to stop, but do you really want him to stop? You turn your head to look at him but he’s staring straight ahead without any expression. Surely this can’t really be happening? You look down and your bare thighs are completely exposed.
His fingers are now caressing the inside of your left thigh and his warm hand is creeping higher. You can feel your pussy getting wet with excitement and you open your legs even wider. Why are you opening your legs? This is completely insane.
His hand has reached your panties and he’s stroking your wet pussy through the flimsy material. Your body is so heavy you’re sinking into kaçak bahis the chair and your head feels as if it’s going to explode.
His fingers are pulling at the top of your panties and he’s slipping them inside. Now he’s moving them down towards your hot wet crevice. You feel helpless and you must stop him but your pussy doesn’t want him to stop; it’s waiting impatiently for those fingers. It is tingling with anticipation and opening like a soft wet flower.
His fingers have arrived and he’s slipping two of them inside you. You gasp as his fingers probe deep and then upwards, gently sliding your clitoris between them. Your whole body is burning with the delicious sensation.”
Mother was pulling up her dress and opening her legs. I watched as she pushed her fingers under the band of her panties and then downwards. Her eyes were shut and she was breathing audibly through her mouth.
“Your body is paralysed with excitement and you can move only your eyes. You look left and he’s taken out his cock and sliding his hand slowly up and down as his fingers caress your hot gaping slit.
He’s removing his hand from your panties and now he’s dropping onto his knees. What is he going to do? He’s getting between your legs and he’s reaching up to take off your panties. Why are you lifting your bottom to let him do that? Are you crazy?”
Mother suddenly lifted herself and commanded, “Take them off.”
I said in surprise, “What?”
She was insistent. “Take off my panties. Take them off right now.” She meant it so I slid them down and took them from her feet.
She lifted herself higher and pulled her dress up to her waist. For the first time I saw my Mother’s vagina. I didn’t know what to expect but it was really cute. It was unshaven with dark pubic hair and the labia were swollen and glistening with her excitement. She was rotating her fingers slowly inside the engorged crimson lips and as they spread to her touch there was a soft wet sound. I was directly above and the acrid scent of her filled my nostrils.
I decided to let her take over so I asked softly, “What is he doing now Mother?”
She was breathless and her speech was jerky. “He’s kissing the insides of my thighs.” Her tiny brown clitoris was prominent and her fingers began to encircle it.
Suddenly she gasped, “Oh God, he’s going to lick my pussy.”
She was lying across my lap when suddenly she brought both feet up with her knees wide apart and her heels pressing into the side of my thigh. She said hoarsely, “Oh God, he’s started to lick me.” Her fingers were now his imaginary tongue as they teased the drenched slit of her vagina.
Her imagination was now totally in control as she groaned, “He’s sucking my clit and he’s going to make me come soon.” As the realism of her erotic fantasy excited her so her fingers began to stroke her protruding clitoris with greater urgency.
Her voice sounded pitiful when she whimpered, “Oh God I’m starting to come.” Her eyes opened wide and her voice was desperate as she blurted chokingly, “I’m coming.”
She stopped breathing as the exquisite sensations started and gouged her fingers deep into her crimson orifice. As her excitement increased, her body began to lift crablike with her weight on the soles of her feet and her shoulders resting on my thighs. Her body strained in an upwards curve until her bottom was high above my lap.
The first stabs of delicious pain were so intense she gave a shrill cry and her pelvis jerked violently. Her eyes were tightly shut and almost immediately she convulsed again with a gasp of, “Jesus”.
With her bottom still in the air and her thighs wide apart, her fingers continued to grind in fierce circles. As a third exquisite spasm racked her body, she gasped despairingly, “Oh God I can’t stop coming.”
That was the last one and she collapsed slowly back onto my lap. Her fingers sank deep into her sopping crevice and she kneaded it gently as the delicious pleasure slowly faded. Eventually she became motionless and lay exhausted with her arms by her side and her knees bent and still wide open.
More than a minute passed before she straightened her legs and brought them together. She lifted her head and looking along the length of her body she realised that her dress was still up, so she pulled it down to cover her exposure.
I wondered who was going to speak first and the minutes dragged by. Finally I thought I’d better say something, so I asked, “Can you remember what the film was about Mother?”
She exploded with laughter and reached with her arms for me to lift her up. She turned my head towards her face and kissed me firmly on the lips, but there was nothing sensual about it.
Her eyes were shining delightedly and I had never seen her look so pretty. She said with a giggle, “I’m getting really naughty aren’t I.”
I wondered how naughty she intended to get.
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