The Prince s Momo
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Time With Mom free porn video
As every young boy does, I had always thought of her simply as "Mom". She was the ever-present, often invisible force that kept my small world in orbit. If trousers needed mending, they were mended. If they needed washing, they were washed. If they came home in tatters, stained by bleeding knees, they were taken away and the wounds were healed with stinging iodine and a loving kiss. She was always there. She was the hand I held as I took my first steps, the tear-stained cheek I kissed as I boarded the train for college.
There came a time - I can't tell you precisely - when I began to see her as more, as a woman, a sexual being. What I do remember is this: we were in the library. It might have been after the required "Saturday Night Bath". I was in my standard-issue flannel pajamas and we were curled up together on the sofa. There must have been a less-than-interesting program on the flickering, grey screen of our new television because I was concentrating on her breasts: a supple, rolling landscape barely concealed by the chiffon nightgown and peignoir she was wearing. I turned and rested my cheek against them. She responded by slouching down to offer me a more comfortable position. I remember it well: they were firm yet soft, warm and comforting. I tilted my head and felt them move against my face.
Fascination must have eventually overpowered discretion because she swatted me away and made me sit up again. No words were needed, message received. But as I retreated I saw two very noticeable bumps underneath the thin, silky fabric.
...
As my late teen years approached, I was increasingly captivated by her sexuality, realizing that not only was she my mother but also a very beautiful woman. She was tall, long-legged and shapely. I was the envy of my over-sexed adolescent friends. They would often come to the house, feigning interest in me but actually focused on her, hoping for a brief glimpse up her skirt or, the Holy Grail, down her blouse, events about as rare as snow in the Sahara. It didn't matter all that much - they were just as happy to simply watch her walk by, or bring us cold drinks on a hot day.
I felt protective of her but eventually even I began stealing glances, especially through the double doors of her bedroom as she dressed for the day. She was a stay-at-home mother but made a point of always being properly done up: sometimes slacks (quite controversial at the time) and a stylish top; sometimes a dress, or blouse and skirt - often worn with hosiery and heels. I too was expected to follow the dress code. Housecoats and pajamas were forbidden during visiting hours because "One never knows who might suddenly appear at the door."
Which reminds me of an argument we had during my rebellious period. As a lazy teenager, sometimes all I wanted to do was sleep in and spend the rest of the day camped out in front of the television. It was seldom allowed.
"Bradley, get off your derriere and do something constructive."
"Aw Mom, c'mon. Everybody else gets to."
"Yes, well, you're not everybody else, are you?"
"No, you always make sure of that!"
"I'll have none of your cheek, young man."
"There, see? You did it again!"
"What do you mean?"
"You keep using weird words like that. Why can't you be like the other moms? People always talk about you, you know, about how you seem to know about everything, about the way you talk, that accent. They say you don't belong here."
I knew I'd gone too far. Tears welled up in her eyes.
"I can't help how I was raised, Bradley! I wasn't born here, I didn't go to school here. I'm well aware that I don't fit in. You have no idea how difficult it has been for me -- to try to lose my accent, to learn how to use the 'proper' words. If you only knew how it feels to be laughed at by other people if I happen to use a word I grew up with! One would think that after all this time...!" She turned and ran out of the room, dabbing her eyes. I jumped up and followed her. She was in the kitchen, leaning on the counter, head down.
"I'm sorry Mom, I shouldn't have said that."
She looked out the window. "Sweetheart, if you could understand how hard it is sometimes..."
I put a hand on her back. "I'm sorry, I didn't know. People just aren't used to it, that's all."
"You'd think after twenty bloody years they would be!"
"Well, maybe you could explain..."
She cut me off: "The only explanation anyone needs is that I wasn't born here but I've done my best to fit in. That's all anyone needs to know."
I dropped it -- I knew her early life was off-limits. We hugged and I went upstairs to change. It was strange that she never talked about her past, always saying it didn't matter, that the here and now was more important. It was a mystery I had lived with all my life.
Anyway, back to my story...
Some days she would head out on her own, leaving me alone at lunch or after school to deal with my increasingly sex-obsessed thoughts of her. I'd steal into her bedroom, open each drawer of her lingerie cabinet and run my fingers over the brassieres, panties and stockings to feel the softness of the fabric, to imagine my hands on her silky legs or satin-covered breasts.
I have to confess that more than once I was so aroused by the idea of touching her that I wrapped my hardening cock in a pair of her panties and within a few minutes was heading to the bathroom with a handful of my cum.
As I think back to that time, I realize that she might have been giving me her own signals of attraction. I recall several times catching her, seemingly by accident, in various stages of undress as I passed by her open bedroom door. She would be sitting on the edge of the bed, drawing stockings up her legs, or sitting at her dressing table in just a skirt, no blouse. She would always let out a yelp and try to cover herself but I think we both knew it happened too often to always be innocent.
I don't know if I've ever told her this: one day near the end of high school there was a turning point for me. I was getting ready for school that morning, about to head downstairs. Once again, her door was open. She was standing in her nightgown, in front of that big bay window.
As I passed by, she called out and turned in profile to me as I stopped at the door. The bright light silhouetted her so completely that I could see every subtle curve and line of her body through the thin silk of her gown. She must have noticed me staring at her, especially her breasts, yet she stood there for just a moment longer than necessary, then turned to the bed.
"Sweetheart, be a dear and help me with the bed, would you please?"
We tugged and smoothed the sheets and blankets together, tucking corners and fluffing pillows but my mind and eyes kept drifting to her. She was stooped down low, handling the bedclothes. The neckline of her nightgown gaped open so much that her breasts were in almost full view. I couldn't help but watch as they hung down, swaying as she moved. Only the last inch of them was hidden. How I longed to see them! She must have sensed I was looking because she occasionally brought a hand up to close the gap. But then a moment later she always let go and allowed her gown to fall open again.
She didn't say anything at the time, didn't scold me for my obvious attempts to see her breasts. When we were done I remember that her cheeks were flushed as she straightened up and thanked me. I left the room, sweating, trying desperately to conceal my erection. I'm not sure if she noticed but as soon as I left I went and spent a long time in the bathroom. It was then that I vowed to someday, somehow, see them in all their full, naked glory.
...
I know she remembers this: it was my second year of college. By then I'd had some awkward, fumbling experiences with sex. It was the typical learning environment, both in and out of class. I was no longer a virgin but so far the process had been very limited.
It was the beginning of the summer break. I was back from school, goofing off, sleeping late whenever my part-time job allowed - the typical college boy being a pain in the ass around the house. Dad was away on business -- again. I was heading for the bathroom. Her bedroom doors were wide open and I could hear her in the closet, sorting through her clothes, getting dressed. I mumbled a "Good Morning" to her. There was a brief silence and then she called to me. When I walked into the room she was peeking around the edge of the closet door. She pointed to the bed.
"Sweetheart, be a dear and bring that to me please?"
There was a brassiere laying there. I remember it being a white satin one, one of those new push-up styles. Instantly my mind flew back to that day when we made the bed together. I pictured her pulling this bra up over her breasts, filling it with the part of her body I had always wanted so much to see, to touch.
I picked it up and brought it to her. I was still a step away but for some reason she didn't wait. She reached out for it and at that moment her breast slipped out from behind the door into full view. She felt it happen and with a gasp she instantly covered herself but it was too late. For the first time, for however briefly, I finally saw one of her breasts, nipple standing erect on her smooth, porcelain skin.
She quickly tucked in behind the door and once again reached out for the bra. Looking away, I slowly placed it in her hand. She asked me to wait a moment and disappeared behind the door. There was a quick rustling of fabric and then she opened it wide. She stood there with her back to me, holding the bra against her breasts, the clasp undone.
"Hon, would you mind doing me up please?"
Mind? How could I possibly mind? I took the opportunity to study her body, my eyes slowly drifting downward to her hips. She wore a girdle, a tight white sheath that accentuated her luscious curves. The attached garters held silk stockings up her long, slender legs. She was already wearing a pair of white low-heeled pumps. Her erotic beauty instantly brought the blood to my groin but there was more. A thrill went up my spine. Could it be? It was! She had not yet put on any panties. Her bare bottom peeked out from under the girdle.
My God, this was too much for me. I soon had a powerful erection. It took all the self-control I had within me just to take the clasp of her bra in my shaking hands. I fumbled with it and tugged at the stretchy fabric until I managed to hook the ends together.
She looked over her shoulder. "Thank you, Love."
I was rooted to the floor, unable to move. She turned to me slightly.
"Bradley, is something wrong?"
I could say nothing. She turned to face me, hands up, shielding her breasts.
"What is it, Dear? What's the matter?"
And then she watched as my eyes slowly drifted down her body, down to the dark tuft of hair just visible under her girdle. I clearly remember her forcing her thighs together, bending forward, trying to hide herself from my bold stare.
"Bradley!"
Then I saw her eyes open wide, surprised by the tent my erection had formed in my boxers.
As we travel through life we sometimes face moments that dramatically change our journey. If we make that one decision, that one choice, life begins to follow a completely different path. That was my moment. It took all of those years, all of those "accidental" glimpses of her, to bring me to that point. Seeing her standing there like that - and her bare breast a moment earlier - it overwhelmed me. I remember my heart pounding as I reached out and took hold of her wrists. She backed away from me.
"Bradley, what's wrong? What are you doing?"
She struggled as I pulled her arms down until I could see her brassiere. Her breasts were straining against it, a deep cleft between them. She tried to break my grip.
"Bradley, stop! This is wrong!"
She kept backing away from me, trying to free herself, until she was against the wall. We struggled a moment longer but then she stopped resisting. She became very quiet and looked away. I let go of her wrists and quickly brought my hands to her breasts. I heard a sharp intake of breath as my fingers closed around them and squeezed. Once again she tried to push me away, one hand on my chest, the other covering her mouth.
"Bradley, Darling, please!"
"Photos http://cpmlink.net/SsGUAA
She weakly tried to break free from the grip I had on her. I had no intention to hurt her, but I was firm. As she struggled, I took hold of the bra strap on her left shoulder and pulled it down her arm until I could see her nipple. I kept pulling until her entire breast was exposed.
"Oh Bradley, Sweetheart, no. Don't do this," she whispered.
I pushed her up against the wall again and held her there, one arm across her chest. I cupped that bare breast in the palm of my hand and bent to it. My lips touched her hot skin, the dimples of the areola surrounding the hardened nipple. I sucked - and then sucked harder. I pressed my face against her and filled my mouth.
I heard her moan - a resigned, quivering wail.
It was then that she stopped struggling. It was then that her own turning point had arrived.
I felt her hand behind my head. I felt her pull me gently to herself. I watched as she drew the other brassiere strap down to reveal herself fully to me. Without a word she lifted her right breast, offering it to my mouth. I kissed it, leaving a trail of moisture that led away from her nipple. I watched her hot skin react to the cool dampness, her nipples extend further, harder. I held her breasts in my hands and pressed my face into them. She caressed my shoulders with her fingertips, ran them through my hair.
I looked up and our eyes locked. Silently she slid down the wall, just a little, just enough to reach into my shorts and take hold of me. My skin tingled. She began to stroke me, gently.
"Is this... Bradley, is this what you want?"
"Yes. Yes it is."
"Come to the bed."
She walked across the room, holding my hand, then sat down on the edge of the bed and looked up at me. She didn't say a word. She reached down under the waistband of my boxers and once again took hold of me. Her hand was strong, hot. I soon stood naked in front of her. I felt her palm slide down my cock with a light yet definite, repeated motion. It began to throb. I groaned.
"No. No, not yet." She gripped the base, hard. "Bite your lip. Quickly."
The urge went away. Her hand relaxed and held me gently.
"Bradley, I can give you this but there's something else, something more. Something I want from you."
She unclasped her bra and let it fall to the floor. She took my hands. As she lay back on the bed she pulled me down on top of her. The stockings covering her thighs felt smooth and hot as I slipped between them. Our bodies pressed together. Once again I took her breasts in my hands, suckling her nipples, exploring her skin. I felt her heart pound, her breath quicken.
Then she put her hands under my arms and pulled me up, gently, until my cock pressed between her legs. I felt her hand slide between us, take hold and guide me into herself, into that secret place. I rose up on my hands and looked directly at her.
"Mom, I... Do you want...?
"I want you inside me."
"Mom, I..."
"Shh, Sweetheart. Please. Do this for me. I've waited for too long."
She held herself open to me. I pressed forward and entered her deeply. The fire inside her body enveloped me, a burning, moist heat. Slowly, memorizing every detail of this moment, I pushed until I could go no further. I felt her tighten around me. She brought her legs up across my back and I felt her shiver.
She rose up from the bed and kissed me passionately, for the very first time.
We were soon lost in that urgent embrace. I watched her breasts rise and fall in time with our movement. Her eyes were shut tight, her face strained. Her fingernails dug into my back, her body rose to meet mine, her thighs locked around my hips. I bore down on her and once again tasted her skin, my face buried in her hair.
When it came, it arrived as a paralyzing force. It drove the breath from me, through clenched teeth. I heard her cry out loudly as she felt my cum rush into her. Her fingers drew long red trails down my back.
And then she was pleading with me: "Stay inside! Keep going, just a little longer!"
I followed her guidance, felt her hips rock against me and then watched as her face contorted into a mixture of pain and ecstasy. I discovered later that it is known as "the little death" and I understood. It traveled through her body, an irresistible power that raged inside her. Her cheeks flushed red as she cried out...
My strength was gone. She took my weight and enclosed me in her arms. Her lips met mine for the second time, but longer and gentler. She drew back, tilting her head to the side as she looked at me. Her eyes glistened.
"Bradley, Darling, how long?"
"For a very long time, Mom. I've wanted this for as long as I can remember."
I dropped down onto the bed. She moved over so that we lay there together, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, staring at the ceiling.
"I know it was wrong. I'm so sorry. I know I shouldn't have done it. But I... I..."
She brought my hand to her lips. "Shh. Bradley, Sweetheart. Don't take the blame for this. It's not your fault. I've often wondered if this might happen. There have been many times when I've even hoped it would."
I turned to her. "You have? But... why?"
"For so many reasons Sweetheart, so many reasons I can't even begin to explain. I just want you to know that I don't blame you for any of it. Do you see that?"
"I guess so but I don't understand it."
"I think you will, in time."
She sat up and looked at the clock. "Hon, we have to get up. Go now. We'll talk again when you come home this afternoon.
We kissed, this time as mother and son. I left her sitting there while I quickly got ready for work and headed for the door. She was standing in the hall in her dressing gown, waiting.
"Goodbye, Sweetheart. Come back as soon as you can."
Another kiss and I was gone.
There came a time - I can't tell you precisely - when I began to see her as more, as a woman, a sexual being. What I do remember is this: we were in the library. It might have been after the required "Saturday Night Bath". I was in my standard-issue flannel pajamas and we were curled up together on the sofa. There must have been a less-than-interesting program on the flickering, grey screen of our new television because I was concentrating on her breasts: a supple, rolling landscape barely concealed by the chiffon nightgown and peignoir she was wearing. I turned and rested my cheek against them. She responded by slouching down to offer me a more comfortable position. I remember it well: they were firm yet soft, warm and comforting. I tilted my head and felt them move against my face.
Fascination must have eventually overpowered discretion because she swatted me away and made me sit up again. No words were needed, message received. But as I retreated I saw two very noticeable bumps underneath the thin, silky fabric.
...
As my late teen years approached, I was increasingly captivated by her sexuality, realizing that not only was she my mother but also a very beautiful woman. She was tall, long-legged and shapely. I was the envy of my over-sexed adolescent friends. They would often come to the house, feigning interest in me but actually focused on her, hoping for a brief glimpse up her skirt or, the Holy Grail, down her blouse, events about as rare as snow in the Sahara. It didn't matter all that much - they were just as happy to simply watch her walk by, or bring us cold drinks on a hot day.
I felt protective of her but eventually even I began stealing glances, especially through the double doors of her bedroom as she dressed for the day. She was a stay-at-home mother but made a point of always being properly done up: sometimes slacks (quite controversial at the time) and a stylish top; sometimes a dress, or blouse and skirt - often worn with hosiery and heels. I too was expected to follow the dress code. Housecoats and pajamas were forbidden during visiting hours because "One never knows who might suddenly appear at the door."
Which reminds me of an argument we had during my rebellious period. As a lazy teenager, sometimes all I wanted to do was sleep in and spend the rest of the day camped out in front of the television. It was seldom allowed.
"Bradley, get off your derriere and do something constructive."
"Aw Mom, c'mon. Everybody else gets to."
"Yes, well, you're not everybody else, are you?"
"No, you always make sure of that!"
"I'll have none of your cheek, young man."
"There, see? You did it again!"
"What do you mean?"
"You keep using weird words like that. Why can't you be like the other moms? People always talk about you, you know, about how you seem to know about everything, about the way you talk, that accent. They say you don't belong here."
I knew I'd gone too far. Tears welled up in her eyes.
"I can't help how I was raised, Bradley! I wasn't born here, I didn't go to school here. I'm well aware that I don't fit in. You have no idea how difficult it has been for me -- to try to lose my accent, to learn how to use the 'proper' words. If you only knew how it feels to be laughed at by other people if I happen to use a word I grew up with! One would think that after all this time...!" She turned and ran out of the room, dabbing her eyes. I jumped up and followed her. She was in the kitchen, leaning on the counter, head down.
"I'm sorry Mom, I shouldn't have said that."
She looked out the window. "Sweetheart, if you could understand how hard it is sometimes..."
I put a hand on her back. "I'm sorry, I didn't know. People just aren't used to it, that's all."
"You'd think after twenty bloody years they would be!"
"Well, maybe you could explain..."
She cut me off: "The only explanation anyone needs is that I wasn't born here but I've done my best to fit in. That's all anyone needs to know."
I dropped it -- I knew her early life was off-limits. We hugged and I went upstairs to change. It was strange that she never talked about her past, always saying it didn't matter, that the here and now was more important. It was a mystery I had lived with all my life.
Anyway, back to my story...
Some days she would head out on her own, leaving me alone at lunch or after school to deal with my increasingly sex-obsessed thoughts of her. I'd steal into her bedroom, open each drawer of her lingerie cabinet and run my fingers over the brassieres, panties and stockings to feel the softness of the fabric, to imagine my hands on her silky legs or satin-covered breasts.
I have to confess that more than once I was so aroused by the idea of touching her that I wrapped my hardening cock in a pair of her panties and within a few minutes was heading to the bathroom with a handful of my cum.
As I think back to that time, I realize that she might have been giving me her own signals of attraction. I recall several times catching her, seemingly by accident, in various stages of undress as I passed by her open bedroom door. She would be sitting on the edge of the bed, drawing stockings up her legs, or sitting at her dressing table in just a skirt, no blouse. She would always let out a yelp and try to cover herself but I think we both knew it happened too often to always be innocent.
I don't know if I've ever told her this: one day near the end of high school there was a turning point for me. I was getting ready for school that morning, about to head downstairs. Once again, her door was open. She was standing in her nightgown, in front of that big bay window.
As I passed by, she called out and turned in profile to me as I stopped at the door. The bright light silhouetted her so completely that I could see every subtle curve and line of her body through the thin silk of her gown. She must have noticed me staring at her, especially her breasts, yet she stood there for just a moment longer than necessary, then turned to the bed.
"Sweetheart, be a dear and help me with the bed, would you please?"
We tugged and smoothed the sheets and blankets together, tucking corners and fluffing pillows but my mind and eyes kept drifting to her. She was stooped down low, handling the bedclothes. The neckline of her nightgown gaped open so much that her breasts were in almost full view. I couldn't help but watch as they hung down, swaying as she moved. Only the last inch of them was hidden. How I longed to see them! She must have sensed I was looking because she occasionally brought a hand up to close the gap. But then a moment later she always let go and allowed her gown to fall open again.
She didn't say anything at the time, didn't scold me for my obvious attempts to see her breasts. When we were done I remember that her cheeks were flushed as she straightened up and thanked me. I left the room, sweating, trying desperately to conceal my erection. I'm not sure if she noticed but as soon as I left I went and spent a long time in the bathroom. It was then that I vowed to someday, somehow, see them in all their full, naked glory.
...
I know she remembers this: it was my second year of college. By then I'd had some awkward, fumbling experiences with sex. It was the typical learning environment, both in and out of class. I was no longer a virgin but so far the process had been very limited.
It was the beginning of the summer break. I was back from school, goofing off, sleeping late whenever my part-time job allowed - the typical college boy being a pain in the ass around the house. Dad was away on business -- again. I was heading for the bathroom. Her bedroom doors were wide open and I could hear her in the closet, sorting through her clothes, getting dressed. I mumbled a "Good Morning" to her. There was a brief silence and then she called to me. When I walked into the room she was peeking around the edge of the closet door. She pointed to the bed.
"Sweetheart, be a dear and bring that to me please?"
There was a brassiere laying there. I remember it being a white satin one, one of those new push-up styles. Instantly my mind flew back to that day when we made the bed together. I pictured her pulling this bra up over her breasts, filling it with the part of her body I had always wanted so much to see, to touch.
I picked it up and brought it to her. I was still a step away but for some reason she didn't wait. She reached out for it and at that moment her breast slipped out from behind the door into full view. She felt it happen and with a gasp she instantly covered herself but it was too late. For the first time, for however briefly, I finally saw one of her breasts, nipple standing erect on her smooth, porcelain skin.
She quickly tucked in behind the door and once again reached out for the bra. Looking away, I slowly placed it in her hand. She asked me to wait a moment and disappeared behind the door. There was a quick rustling of fabric and then she opened it wide. She stood there with her back to me, holding the bra against her breasts, the clasp undone.
"Hon, would you mind doing me up please?"
Mind? How could I possibly mind? I took the opportunity to study her body, my eyes slowly drifting downward to her hips. She wore a girdle, a tight white sheath that accentuated her luscious curves. The attached garters held silk stockings up her long, slender legs. She was already wearing a pair of white low-heeled pumps. Her erotic beauty instantly brought the blood to my groin but there was more. A thrill went up my spine. Could it be? It was! She had not yet put on any panties. Her bare bottom peeked out from under the girdle.
My God, this was too much for me. I soon had a powerful erection. It took all the self-control I had within me just to take the clasp of her bra in my shaking hands. I fumbled with it and tugged at the stretchy fabric until I managed to hook the ends together.
She looked over her shoulder. "Thank you, Love."
I was rooted to the floor, unable to move. She turned to me slightly.
"Bradley, is something wrong?"
I could say nothing. She turned to face me, hands up, shielding her breasts.
"What is it, Dear? What's the matter?"
And then she watched as my eyes slowly drifted down her body, down to the dark tuft of hair just visible under her girdle. I clearly remember her forcing her thighs together, bending forward, trying to hide herself from my bold stare.
"Bradley!"
Then I saw her eyes open wide, surprised by the tent my erection had formed in my boxers.
As we travel through life we sometimes face moments that dramatically change our journey. If we make that one decision, that one choice, life begins to follow a completely different path. That was my moment. It took all of those years, all of those "accidental" glimpses of her, to bring me to that point. Seeing her standing there like that - and her bare breast a moment earlier - it overwhelmed me. I remember my heart pounding as I reached out and took hold of her wrists. She backed away from me.
"Bradley, what's wrong? What are you doing?"
She struggled as I pulled her arms down until I could see her brassiere. Her breasts were straining against it, a deep cleft between them. She tried to break my grip.
"Bradley, stop! This is wrong!"
She kept backing away from me, trying to free herself, until she was against the wall. We struggled a moment longer but then she stopped resisting. She became very quiet and looked away. I let go of her wrists and quickly brought my hands to her breasts. I heard a sharp intake of breath as my fingers closed around them and squeezed. Once again she tried to push me away, one hand on my chest, the other covering her mouth.
"Bradley, Darling, please!"
"Photos http://cpmlink.net/SsGUAA
She weakly tried to break free from the grip I had on her. I had no intention to hurt her, but I was firm. As she struggled, I took hold of the bra strap on her left shoulder and pulled it down her arm until I could see her nipple. I kept pulling until her entire breast was exposed.
"Oh Bradley, Sweetheart, no. Don't do this," she whispered.
I pushed her up against the wall again and held her there, one arm across her chest. I cupped that bare breast in the palm of my hand and bent to it. My lips touched her hot skin, the dimples of the areola surrounding the hardened nipple. I sucked - and then sucked harder. I pressed my face against her and filled my mouth.
I heard her moan - a resigned, quivering wail.
It was then that she stopped struggling. It was then that her own turning point had arrived.
I felt her hand behind my head. I felt her pull me gently to herself. I watched as she drew the other brassiere strap down to reveal herself fully to me. Without a word she lifted her right breast, offering it to my mouth. I kissed it, leaving a trail of moisture that led away from her nipple. I watched her hot skin react to the cool dampness, her nipples extend further, harder. I held her breasts in my hands and pressed my face into them. She caressed my shoulders with her fingertips, ran them through my hair.
I looked up and our eyes locked. Silently she slid down the wall, just a little, just enough to reach into my shorts and take hold of me. My skin tingled. She began to stroke me, gently.
"Is this... Bradley, is this what you want?"
"Yes. Yes it is."
"Come to the bed."
She walked across the room, holding my hand, then sat down on the edge of the bed and looked up at me. She didn't say a word. She reached down under the waistband of my boxers and once again took hold of me. Her hand was strong, hot. I soon stood naked in front of her. I felt her palm slide down my cock with a light yet definite, repeated motion. It began to throb. I groaned.
"No. No, not yet." She gripped the base, hard. "Bite your lip. Quickly."
The urge went away. Her hand relaxed and held me gently.
"Bradley, I can give you this but there's something else, something more. Something I want from you."
She unclasped her bra and let it fall to the floor. She took my hands. As she lay back on the bed she pulled me down on top of her. The stockings covering her thighs felt smooth and hot as I slipped between them. Our bodies pressed together. Once again I took her breasts in my hands, suckling her nipples, exploring her skin. I felt her heart pound, her breath quicken.
Then she put her hands under my arms and pulled me up, gently, until my cock pressed between her legs. I felt her hand slide between us, take hold and guide me into herself, into that secret place. I rose up on my hands and looked directly at her.
"Mom, I... Do you want...?
"I want you inside me."
"Mom, I..."
"Shh, Sweetheart. Please. Do this for me. I've waited for too long."
She held herself open to me. I pressed forward and entered her deeply. The fire inside her body enveloped me, a burning, moist heat. Slowly, memorizing every detail of this moment, I pushed until I could go no further. I felt her tighten around me. She brought her legs up across my back and I felt her shiver.
She rose up from the bed and kissed me passionately, for the very first time.
We were soon lost in that urgent embrace. I watched her breasts rise and fall in time with our movement. Her eyes were shut tight, her face strained. Her fingernails dug into my back, her body rose to meet mine, her thighs locked around my hips. I bore down on her and once again tasted her skin, my face buried in her hair.
When it came, it arrived as a paralyzing force. It drove the breath from me, through clenched teeth. I heard her cry out loudly as she felt my cum rush into her. Her fingers drew long red trails down my back.
And then she was pleading with me: "Stay inside! Keep going, just a little longer!"
I followed her guidance, felt her hips rock against me and then watched as her face contorted into a mixture of pain and ecstasy. I discovered later that it is known as "the little death" and I understood. It traveled through her body, an irresistible power that raged inside her. Her cheeks flushed red as she cried out...
My strength was gone. She took my weight and enclosed me in her arms. Her lips met mine for the second time, but longer and gentler. She drew back, tilting her head to the side as she looked at me. Her eyes glistened.
"Bradley, Darling, how long?"
"For a very long time, Mom. I've wanted this for as long as I can remember."
I dropped down onto the bed. She moved over so that we lay there together, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, staring at the ceiling.
"I know it was wrong. I'm so sorry. I know I shouldn't have done it. But I... I..."
She brought my hand to her lips. "Shh. Bradley, Sweetheart. Don't take the blame for this. It's not your fault. I've often wondered if this might happen. There have been many times when I've even hoped it would."
I turned to her. "You have? But... why?"
"For so many reasons Sweetheart, so many reasons I can't even begin to explain. I just want you to know that I don't blame you for any of it. Do you see that?"
"I guess so but I don't understand it."
"I think you will, in time."
She sat up and looked at the clock. "Hon, we have to get up. Go now. We'll talk again when you come home this afternoon.
We kissed, this time as mother and son. I left her sitting there while I quickly got ready for work and headed for the door. She was standing in the hall in her dressing gown, waiting.
"Goodbye, Sweetheart. Come back as soon as you can."
Another kiss and I was gone.
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