SOAKING MOM free porn video

Where to start? I don't know. Well, my mother was a legal secretary, one of many attractive women working in a large law firm. Most of the women were on the lookout for a husband and dressed to the nines, in full battle competition, going breast to breast with their coworkers. A lot of lawyers were aware of the situation, of course, and used it to their advantage to get laid regularly while being careful not to pay a price. What most of those lawyers didn't realize, being blinded by lust and their own arrogance, was that many of these less educated women were a whole lot smarter and more predatory than they were.

Although young and pretty like the rest of those legal secretaries, my mother had something a little extra, in addition to brains, that allowed her to snag one of the most promising attorneys in the firm: a stunning aura of confident sexuality. And so, Mom became Dad's second wife.

Their marriage, and the breakup of my father's first, led to something neither of them foresaw: Mom's expulsion from the firm. However, Mom was scooped up by a rival firm and worked there until she decided to stay home to raise my sister and me and, of course, to partake of the leisurely life of the reasonably well-off.

Some years later, my bored mother returned to work as a legal secretary in a posh firm that sometimes partnered with my father's firm in a senior-junior relationship. Seven years have passed since Mom's return to professional life and though her commitment has been reduced to four hours a day, three times a week, she still likes to keep a foot outside the home.

I have several theories on why. At first, after my older sister clued me in to the original context of Mom and Dad's romance, and her and my observation of the wild goings on at our parents' parties, I thought Mom might like the opportunities work provided for extracurricular dalliances. However, my sister put that one to bed right away, pointing out that for all the outrageous behavior we had observed at the many parties in our home, not once had Mom ever been seen to behave inappropriately within the context of their group, at least in the way I was implying. And my sister had it on good authority from a friend of hers who was the offspring of another lawyer in the same crowd, that neither Mom or Dad misbehaved within her sight either. Stoned, drunk and silly, yes, but cheating, no.

Nevertheless, I continued to maintain my late-night fantasies, though these I did not discuss with my sister. It was hard not to, especially when Mom came home from work dressed in the tight leather suits she favored. They ranged in color, from black and brown to blue and green, and were matched with various tops but invariably involved short skirts that showed off her long, shapely legs. Few women had legs as nice as Mom's and, though she was no longer quite as pretty as she once was — lines had started to form at the sides of her mouth and her skin wasn't taut and fresh like a twenty year old's — there was still something about her that strongly drew men's attention.

My latest theory about Mom's desire to work was based on this magnetic attraction she held for men. Mom had been used to it all her life and I reasoned, despite her dismissive behavior to such admirers, she actually thrived upon it.

My father probably chased Mom so hard partly because everyone else in the office wanted her, and he must have kept wooing her for years afterward to keep her away from the wife-swapping, or at least, the lets-turn-a-blind-eye exchanges common in the social life of lawyers at the time. My mother, I'm sure, would have been a choice target for the up and coming predators at Dad's and especially Mom's more upscale firm.

My theory was supported by Mom's own behavior. Despite complaining about having to dress up so much just to do such a simple job, Mom seemed to relish wearing clothes that advertised her as a hot commodity. Not that I'm complaining. The best part of her penchant for sexy clothes, from my perspective, was that Mom wasn't in a rush to change when she came home. I loved those three work days a week, especially after my sister went away to university while I finished high school and started in a local college, leaving me to freely indulge in discreet observation. I can tell you that I made the best of the rewards that a nerdy home-life had to offer.

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That was a little long-winded but I hope it sets the context for what happened.

We were sitting in the family room after dinner, Dad in his leather recliner reviewing some papers he had brought home from the office, and Mom and I sharing the plush, black leather loveseat that faced the large screen mounted on the opposite wall. The family room sported two such loveseats, both retained from previously retired living room sets.

Mom was wearing a green leather skirt with a white turtle neck blouse. The leather jacket had been removed before dinner and was presumably upstairs in Mom's bedroom, along with her discarded pantyhose. This was one of the benefits that had arisen after my sister left. Mom was in the habit of removing her pantyhose after work which made her legs look all the better. I thought about telling her that but didn't because it would sound weird coming from her son.

Anyway, I brought an A&W root beer downstairs from my room that was left over from an afternoon burger. This I had set down on the table beside me but was divorced from easy access when Mom shooed me out of her usual spot next to the lamp where she usuall sat to read while casually watching TV.

Mom was sitting with her feet drawn up on the couch and a book propped against her upraised legs, covering most of the skin exposed below the hem of her short skirt. I asked Mom to pass my drink but she didn't hear me because of the blaringly loud commercial which had just started. Impatiently, I leaned over to grasp the drink myself but didn't notice the tiny pool of root beer that had accumulated where the straw pierced the top of the plastic lid. My arm accidentally brushed against Mom's book.

"Robert, be careful," she barked, yanking her arm and the book away.

Unfortunately, Mom's quick reaction jerked my arm, shaking the drink and tipping it slightly before I managed to right it. Nevertheless, a drop of root beer fell onto Mom's right knee, quickly followed by several others. I watched as the brown drops splashed onto Mom's pale skin, aware that her mouth had opened in surprise and was slowly forming a further rebuke.

Everything thereafter happened as if in slow motion. The sticky fluid gathered into a pool which, succumbing to gravity, soon blazed a path downward. First, it dripped into the hollow at the side of Mom's knee, then trickled on, gathering speed until it slowed along the less vertical slope out to the thicker part of Mom's thigh and finally sped up until it disappeared into the darkness of her skirt.

I was in shock, awaiting a barrage from Mom that never came. I stared at the trail left behind by the errant root beer, unable to move or say anything. Mom's mouth clamped shut and she slowly returned the book to its former position, blocking my sight of the brownish trail.

"Sorry," I mumbled.

"It's ok," Mom replied, so low I could hardly hear her.

I sank back into the loveseat and watched TV, my eyes straight ahead, even though the show hadn't yet returned. When it did, I found myself missing chunks because my mind was distracted. I kept picturing the explosion of that first drop of root beer onto the edge of Mom's knee, the growing pool as it was joined by its companions with the inevitable surge and rush down Mom's thigh. The final scene played out longer each time I reviewed it in my mind, culminating in the ultimate tease: the slow motion disappearance of the brown trickle into the bowels of Mom's short, leather skirt.

A strange tension permeated. It felt like we were the only two people in the world; not even Dad, sitting less than ten feet away, was present in the mist surrounding us. Every nerve in my body was on alert and I sensed Mom was similarly on edge. Although she didn't look tense and was breathing normally, I knew she was anything but relaxed, just like me.

My eyes were repeatedly drawn to Mom's legs but I couldn't see past the book. Each time I looked away, my gaze returned seconds later. Eventually, Mom lifted the book toward her and, like an attack ladder slowly rising and falling against a castle wall, it crashed onto her chest with a dull thud, leaving her legs exposed.

Mom had been reading with her knees pulled up but leaning toward the arm of the loveseat to her right. Now, her knees slowly separated until they were about three inches apart. Without turning my head, I tried to see if Mom was aware of my attention. Thankfully, she seemed to be intent on watching the TV. My eyes recalibrated and the brown trail of the root beer came into focus, glistening in the light from the lamp beside Mom.

It must be sticky. Why hadn't Mom got up to clean it or at least grabbed a tissue from the table beside her to wipe her leg? My scrutiny intensified and I imagined what it must feel like to have that sticky rivulet drying on her leg, slowly contracting her skin and leaving a brittle, crusty residue.

My excitement rose ad my cock swelled in my pants, or vice versa. Looking down, I was relieved to see that my hands covered any potential accidental revelation but they had also pulled the drink, which was situated between my legs, so tightly into my crotch that the lid had popped off. I strained to relax my hands but it wasn't easy. Part of me wanted to keep the pressure of the drink container exactly where it was. I thought Mom's eyes flickered my way but assured myself my imagination was getting the better of me. Soon afterward, Mom pushed the book back onto her legs and I escaped to my room. I forgot to say goodnight.

My cock had a rough time of it that night. In my dreams, I smothered my mother in my spunk, from head to toe, and she reveled in my sticky gift but I knew it was me that was the pervert.

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The next day was back to normal. Although Mom wasn't working she wore a nice outfit anyway because she was meeting friends for lunch and afternoon shopping. Her attire didn't have the sexual appeal of her normal workday fare but her looks made up for it — in fact, she had to wear something hot like her leather work outfits to divert men's attention from her face. That evening in the family room wasn't anything unusual, lacking the tension between us I had felt the night before. Oh, well. Back to dreaming and hand-driven fantasies.

Wednesday was another matter. Mom arrived home in her creamy blue leather outfit with matching shoes, one of my favorites because it offset her piercing blue eyes. It also appeared that Mom had somehow managed to have her hair done during the day.

When Maria called us for dinner, Mom started to take her suit jacket off but changed her mind with one arm almost extracted. This caught my attention because the white turtleneck she wore underneath stretched tightly over Mom's breast as the jacket pulled away from her shoulder, making it very apparent why Mom changed her mind: she wasn't wearing a bra.

It had never occurred to me that Mom might sometimes go unheeled. It wasn't a hot day so that wasn't the reason. Did she just feel like it some days, or was there someone at work she wanted to tease, to cruelly dangle unattainable goodies?

During dinner, I tried to peek under the lapels of Mom's jacket. I have to admit, I offered her every bowl and dish and even the salt and pepper in an effort to get her to raise her arms. After dinner, I went upstairs, needing to hide the results of my deligntful observations. With some difficulty, I refrained from touching myself to the point of no return.

When I passed by Mom's room on the way back downstairs, I saw her standing in front of her dresser removing her earrings, her head tipping first one way and then the other. I paused, checking to make sure I couldn't see her reflection in the mirror and, thus, she mine. After putting her earrings down Mom lifted her skirt and slipped her hands underneath. Grasping her pantyhose, she pulled them down, wriggling her bottom as her hands urged the reluctant mesh from her supple flesh. I was so engrossed I was caught as Mom suddenly turned to throw the pantyhose into the laundry basket. She looked at me expectantly as if I must have come to tell her something.

"Uh... Maria's leaving," I said, lamely, blushing and hoping she wouldn't notice from where she stood.

Mom smiled. "Fine," she replied. "I'll be right down."

With that, she started to remove her jacket, again stopping one hand almost extracted and for the second time revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her braless breast stretching the material of her blouse. I desperately wanted to stay to see it come off all the way but my brain thankfully kicked me in the ass and started my feet moving. It was one thing to peek, another to imagine, and a quite a different thing to leer.

I was surprised to see Mom enter the family room with her jacket still on. She sat down in her usual seat which I had left empty beside me. Dad was stretched out on the other loveseat along the next wall beside us, the recliner where he usually sat on the other side of Mom sitting empty.

"Did Maria make coffee before she left?" Mom asked as she sat down.

I nodded toward the mug sitting on the table next to her and braced myself for a s**thing remark when she saw the container of root beer next to her coffee. However, Mom didn't say anything but her gaze lingered for a second or two during which I held my breath.

The pregnant moment ended when Mom picked up the remote from the table and put the station guide up on the screen. Great. This meant she wasn't going to read and I would have an unobstructed view of her legs which were nicely displayed below the hem of the blue leather skirt.

I swallowed an excited gurgle when I saw how far the short leather skirt had ridden up Mom's thighs as she pulled her knees up into their usual position. The hem was high enough to show the thickening of her legs. I traced the edge of her right leg along a delightful curve until her almost met. Mom clicked and one of the shows started. She discarded the remote and picked up her coffee, sipping it carefully while she watched.

I tried to watch the show but was distracted by the thought that Mom's panties must be only inches above the blue hemline. I glanced several times at the dark slot into which her thighs disappeared. I was working up the courage to lean across Mom to get my drink when Mom abruptly leaned forward and began removing her jacket.

"Hold the sleeve for me, Robert," she said, struggling to extract her left arm.

I did and Mom pulled her arm out, then slid the jacket off her other arm. She passed it to me and I laid it out on the arm of the loveseat beside me. When I turned back, Mom was settling into the seat, her breasts jostling slightly as she wiggled into the plush, leather cushion. I quickly looked away but a minute later I glanced sideways to confirm what I hoped: Mom was indeed not wearing a bra as attested by the faintly visible memories of mammarial movement.

I adored those two white mounds. They were like Alps with two small huts perched at the crests, ready to offer succor to the lost. I followed their rise and fall as Mom repeatedly breathed life into the twin temples and tried to revive c***dhood memories of finding solace there. Why would it be so wrong to do so now?

Halfway through the show, I raised the courage to reach for my drink, but completely forgot to peek up Mom's skirt and instead got caught looking down at her twin peaks.

"Be careful," Mom cautioned as I picked up my drink.

I made sure there was no root beer on the lid that could spill on her blouse or legs. I sucked on the straw for the next fifteen minutes, frequently sneaking peeks at Mom's breasts and very exposed legs. During the commercials at the half hour, I leaned across Mom to put the drink back on the table. I looked down at the white valley formed by the turtleneck as it fell between her breasts, like snow on a mountain slope, and was startled by Mom's sharp intake of breath.

"Robert," she hissed.

"S...sorry," I stammered, thinking I had been caught leering at Mom's breasts but slowly realizing I was spilling root beer onto her legs again. I swung the drink outward in a wide arc, staring down at the brown rivulets trickling down the insides of Mom's legs. I looked at the drink in my hand, perplexed. Mom was glaring at me and as I reached out to wipe the sticky fluid from her legs, she barked at me.

"Leave it!"

I paused with my hand hovering over her legs, then retracted it.

"The show is on," Mom said. "You're in the way."

I leaned back, looked at the TV, then at Mom's legs, at her face staring intently at the screen, and back to her legs. I twisted about and eased back into the couch. Mom continued to watch the TV while I watched the root beer dry on her legs and the rise and fall of her breasts which seemed more apparent now, probably because of my heightened awareness.

The short skirt was even higher on Mom's legs now. She had opened her legs at bit, perhaps to let more air in to dry the pop? This was so much better than the first time. There were two large, brown stains splashed onto the thick, tender, inner part of Mom's thighs. My eyes were drawn deeper into the opening of her skirt, wondering if the stain had reached her panties. Of course it had, I thought, my cock twitching at the very idea. I pictured a brown discoloration spreading over pure white panties stretched across a pulsing, puffy mound.

Oh, man. I wanted so badly to spread something stickier all over those formerly pristine panties. I settled the cup between my legs and pulled it back. Oh yeah, I could imagine myself leaning against Mom's knees, wacking off and shooting down her legs, spraying my goo over the hand she held there, and watching it ooze between her spread fingers onto the panties underneath.

I can't believe I didn't come in my pants right away. It was torture and heaven both to sit there until the show was over. As soon as the credits started to roll I got up and left the room, once again failing to say goodnight, which was fortunate. Halfway up the stairs, I started shooting into my pants.

I couldn't get to sleep that night. I kept thinking about the way Mom sat there and let the root beer dry on her legs while holding them open as if she wanted me to see, to watch it with her. It was so freaking weird. I had never experienced anything so erotic, not even fucking my girlfriend, and she was a great lay.

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I met Gloria in my English class. She wasn't as pretty as Mom; in fact, she wasn't much like Mom at all. Gloria was short with closely cropped, light brown hair compared whereas Mom was tall and lithe with luxuriously long, dark brown hair that had a curly expression. However, like Mom, Gloria possessed an undeniably sexy aura. Her sexuality was so potent I was never at her place for long before we were in bed. Surprising? Well, not the first time, but the second and third? Despite rumors to the contrary, young guys do have their limits, but I digress.

Gloria had once murmured, while in the afterglow of an orgasm, that she loved everything about sex, even the smell of it. So the very first afternoon after spilling root beer on Mom's legs for the second time, I found myself banging my girlfriend hard. I had wacked off so much the night before that Gloria came twice before me and I had been fucking her for a further fifteen minutes, bringing her well on her way to a third, noisy orgasm, when I pictured Mom's sticky thighs bracketing a stained pair of white panties. I got real excited and it foolishly entered my mind that, since I couldn't do Mom, maybe Gloria would get off on being 'marked' with my spunk.


Well, to make a long story short, she didn't. In the tirade that ensued after I pulled out and sprayed my sticky juice all over her belly and tits, she mentioned, between intense and extremely vulgar expressions, what an asshole I was. But here's the kicker, she said her girlfriend had warned her about me because I might be a pervert like my mother.

My mother? A pervert? I had never heard this before and while ducking things thrown, I queried Gloria for more information which only seemed to make her even more furious. Suffice it to say I didn't get anything else out of her, not even the name of her friend, except that her Mom was a lawyer and had been to several parties that my mother attended.

Looking back, I really should have been more devastated by the loss of such a willing and eager bed partner but the revelation about my mother intrigued me to no end. It distracted me for days until, outside of cramming to complete assignments, I thought of little else. Mom hadn't joined us in the living room since that second spillage and I vacillated between ecstatic daydreams that always ended with me puddling my cum on Mom's belly and anxious fears that Mom was so pissed about what I'd done that she was thinking of telling Dad and getting me booted out of the house. Having it off with Gloria paled in comparison to dreaming about spunking my mother.

And, thinking of Gloria, what did she mean — pervert? My imagination having gone wild the past few days, I tried renewing contact with Gloria but that proved to be a non-starter. All she did was treat me to another earful of colorful words strung into novel phrases. I racked my brains. Why had Gloria mentioned Mom's supposed perverseness right after I'd spunked her belly? Had her friend said Mom was into it? And, thinking of that, why hadn't Mom cleaned her legs after I dribbled sweet, sticky root beer on them?

The whole thing reminded me of the time Mom and Dad had argued over some guy a few years ago. Who was he? My father referred to him as Guido but I'm pretty sure that wasn't his real name. He was way younger than Dad, and some years younger than Mom, an up-and-comer at Mom's firm that attended several parties at our place. I remembered him as handsome and confident. At the first party, Mom hadn't liked him but at subsequent affairs, they were quite friendly and that annoyed Dad. 'Guido' had an attitude toward Mom she wouldn't have tolerated from anyone else, not even Dad, let alone a junior lawyer, up-and-comer or not. Eventually, he disappeared from the scene, probably having moved on to another law firm.

Had Gloria's friend witnessed something that happened between 'Guido' and my mother? Unless I could renew my friendship with Gloria, I would never know, and that seemed out of the question.

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On Monday, Mom wore her dark brown, leather outfit. The skirt wasn't as short as the blue one and the turtle neck had been replaced by a silky white blouse that clung to her torso and was sufficiently transparent to reveal the presence of a designer bra underneath. I was enthralled throughout dinner and quickly ran upstairs as soon as I was finished, hoping to repeat the clandestine monitoring of the removal of Mom's pantyhose. I waited near the door of my room until I heard Mom climbing the stairs and going into her bedroom. As soon as she was in, I crept into the hallway until I was near Mom's open doorway and listened intently for the signature rustling that would signal the impending removal of her pantyhose.

For a long minute, there was no sound, except when I accidentally bumped my head against the wall. In near panic that I might be discovered, I almost fled back to my room but desire kept me in place. Right after that I heard the telltale rustling which is remarkable given how fast my heart was beating. I peeked around the edge of the doorway and there she was, one foot extended out and curled over the edge of the bed. Mom was leaning over her outstretched leg, watching her hands roll the barely visible, silk stockings down her leg to her foot. She paused, straightening a little to critically eye her gorgeous leg, staring for almost half a minute with her head tilting from side to side, like an eagle eyeing its imminent prey.

Tossing the stocking onto the bed, Mom dropped her leg and swung her other foot onto the edge of the bed. Only then did I realize Mom was wearing stockings and not pantyhose. For some reason, that made my cock leap inside the constraints of my jeans.

Mom swept her skirt back and, after fumbling with something, started rolling the stocking down her leg. The skirt flew back so far it bared all of Mom's leg and the side of her buttock too, revealing a glimpse of white panties. I was surprised they didn't match the brown leather skirt. As Mom's hands approached her foot, I noticed a brown strap dangling down from underneath the skirt. It was a garter belt.

Mom stood up straight again as she discarded the second stocking on the bed, then moved her hands under her skirt to grasp the garter belt, lifted the skirt high and turning away from me. This was okay because I got a full-on look at her panty covered ass, not that they covered much. Mom appeared to have difficulty slipping the garter belt over her hips which was another boon. Unlike the last time when I got to see Mom's skirt-covered, wiggling bottom, this time I was treated to pair of slender cheeks protruding from a tiny triangle of stark white panties. I can't believe I didn't groan out loud.

The skirt fell back into place as Mom drew the garter belt down her legs and stepped out of them. I quietly withdrew and slunk back to my bedroom. I didn't think it would do for me to appear at her door a second time just when she had finished removing her stockings.

Mom was sitting in her spot reading when I came downstairs and Dad was back in his recliner. I walked past Dad and sat on the loveseat, picking up the remote as I passed by Mom's end table. There wasn't anything good on so I selected an old movie since I didn't want to put on a show that required actual attention. I watched for a couple of minutes, then glanced at Mom's legs. Crap. They were covered by the magazine Mom was reading. I switched to her chest and was pleased to find that the filmy, white blouse clung to the outline of Mom's breasts. The lacy, skin-colored bra underneath enhanced their appearance, pushing them up for a marvelous presentation. My imagination completed the picture by adding in a couple of bumps just like the ones I'd admired when Mom had gone braless under the white turtleneck.

Five minutes later, I was ready to try spilling some root beer. Root beer! Shit! I had forgotten to get some. Now what?

A minute later, I got up.

"I'm making hot chocolate. Anyone want some?"

Dad looked nodded but Mom kept reading, ignoring me. I disappeared into the kitchen, bothered by the way Mom had shunned me. Five minutes later, I returned with two mugs in hand, one of which I handed to my father. Taking my place back on the couch, I returned to the movie which Mom was now diligently watching. I sipped my hot chocolate for the next ten minutes until it was almost half gone and no longer steaming hot. I looked over at my father, happy to see that he was now thoroughly engrossed in a pocket book, having put aside the legal papers he had been reading. A weird thrill coursed through me because when Dad read a book, he really immersed himself in it.

I glanced at Mom. She was similarly ensconced in the movie, the magazine lying back against her chest, leaving her legs bare and slightly parted, the brown leather skirt having slipped more than halfway from her knees to her lap. Perfect. Now, if only I had the guts for the plan I'd dreamed up that had prompted me to make the hot chocolate. I pushed down on the handle of the mug, pressing its bottom onto the bulge in my pants. Please let this work, I pleaded, glancing up at the ceiling. Then, I risked home and hearth.

I dipped my finger into the hot chocolate, moved my hand quickly to hover over Mom's legs, and let hot chocolate drip onto her thighs.

Before the first drops splattered over Mom's pale skin, fear overwhelmed me. What had I done? What the fuck was the matter with me? Mom would freak out, and so would my father who was sitting five feet away. Even his legendary concentration wouldn't withstand the shriek that was about to launch from Mom's mouth, already tearing open as her jaw dropped in absolute shock.

If I could have run from the room right then, I would have, but my whole body felt numb and responded like lead. I couldn't even move my hand away, watching in growing horror as hot chocolate continued to dribble from the tip of my longest finger.

Mom's legs were already quivering from the heated impact of the brown liquid, as if they had been pierced by sharp pins. Mom's hands were pushing the magazine forward, off her chest, reacting faster than her lungs could create sound to block the fall of the remaining few drops.

But then, the strangest thing happened. The magazine stopped short, allowing the last drops to fall past onto Mom's legs, reinforcing the pool of those that had fallen first and inciting them to advance, probing blindly down the inside of Mom's thighs. Mom's jaw clamped shut and, with my peripheral vision, I saw her turn to look at Dad but I couldn't rip my eyes away from the fascinating descent of the hot chocolate underneath Mom's skirt. I stared, completely enthralled, until the two tiny rivulets lost their forced, stopped flowing, and began to dry up. Mom hadn't moved and seemed to be equally mesmerized. Finally, she raised her head but avoided me and looked straight ahead at the TV. It was as if nothing had happened. Except for the drying brown trickles on Mom's legs, the only evidence of my transgression was my throbbing cock pulsing against the mug I was squeezing between my legs.

The situation in the room was surreal. I continued stare at Mom's thighs while she studiously studied the TV. My father, blithely unaware, flipped to the next page in his thick pocket book. Mom was breathing more quickly but was otherwise oblivious to what had just happened. My hand had returned, unnoticed, to rest on my lap.

I watched the show for several more minutes, in disbelief about what I'd done and that I'd gotten away with it. Was it possible that Mom wasn't going to do anything, or was she waiting until she could get me alone before whacking me a good one and really laying into me?

I dipped my longest finger full-length into the mug and moved it once more to hover over Mom's legs. I noticed her eyes flicker and knew she was aware of the movement. Her only reaction was to move her right hand, holding the magazine upright, onto the arm of the loveseat, partially blocking Dad's view of her lap should he raise his eyes from his book. Mom's eyes shifted to the magazine and the hot chocolate began dripping onto her legs.

Splat, splat ... splat ... splat ... splat ... splat.

I withdrew my hand but not my eyes, watching intently as the drying rivers were renewed. Mom's gaze fell onto her thighs, watching the trickles disappear under her skirt as they slowly subsided.

My left hand found the side of Mom's skirt, its fingers capturing the hem and slowly dragging it back toward the couch, exposing another inch or so of leg to reveal that the hot chocolate had begun to curve over the fatty part of Mom's thighs toward the center, toward her... panties, the middle of her panties to be exact, the puffed up mound of her pussy.

My finger dipped again, hovered over Mom's legs, closer to the hem, and dripped right onto the fat part.

Splat ... splat ... splat ... splat.

I withdrew my hovering hand but the fingers on the other dragged Mom's skirt back even farther. Way back, bringing her white panties into view. The two rivers of hot chocolate had curled in right to the edges of Mom's panties and had then followed the material down each side, well I assumed it had but I could only see the side nearest me. I was more fascinated by the way Mom's white panties were pulsating, just like my cock was throbbing in my own pants. Her pussy was obviously reacting to what I'd done.

I dipped my finger again but Mom's left hand shot out to grasp my wrist. Her eyes pleaded for me to stop yet also seemed to invite me to continue. I tried to move my hand to overcome her resistance but her grip tightened and the pleading look intensified. As my hand relaxed, Mom's face softened, and her hand withdrew. Her attention returned to the TV allowing five more minutes to enjoy looking at her legs and panties before her hand, lying limply on the couch beside her, tugged the skirt up her legs. I got up a couple of minutes after that, leaned over to kiss Mom goodnight on her cheek, said goodnight to Dad, and went upstairs to bed where I mercilessly beat my cock nearly to death.

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Mom didn't work the next day. The leather outfit was replaced by a loosely pleated skirt and one of the favored soft turtleneck tops surprisingly covered by a cardigan sweater that didn't match. I arrived home before Dad and Mom met me by the door. She waited until I had hung up my coat and then slapped me hard in the face.

"Ow, Mom. What was that for?"

The reply was stern. "You know very well."

I started to protest my innocence but Mom turned on her heel and walked away with a no nonsense gait. I decided to cut my losses and beat it upstairs. I was quite mollified but within fifteen minutes, thinking about what had happened, my emotional state changed to relief and gratitude. If that was all that was going to happen, it wasn't so bad. In fact, I had come out ahead, way ahead. Maybe I wouldn't be allowed to do what I did again, but I had a great memory to forever cherish.

Nevertheless, I went downstairs with some trepidation, worried that Mom's slap was just the start of my punishment. Was she going to tell Dad? Thankfully, that worry was misplaced. Except for Mom's cool attitude toward me, dinner was the usual affair. Not a word was spoken or a hint offered about my transgressions but I still felt uncomfortable and somewhat anxious.

When I had finished eating, I retreated to my room because I wan't able to stay near Mom without staring at her. Unable to study, or even concentrate on a game, I wandered back downstairs. I looked in Mom's room as I passed by even though I was pretty sure there wouldn't be any furrther opportunities to see Mom removing her stockings. I proceeded downstairs knowing that I wanted to be near her anyway, even if she wasn't wearing a short skirt and was mad at me. I had become entranced with my mother.

Dad and Mom were sitting exactly as they had been the night before except Mom was reading a book too, even though the TV was on. I sat down next to Mom. Nobody acknowledged my entrance. Had they been talking about what had happened in private? Worry sank from my head into the pit of my stomach. I felt like running away but needed to stay to see if I could pick up any hints from Dad.

I picked up the remote which was lying on the couch beside Mom and browsed the channel guide until I found another old movie, one that would be quiet and as undisturbing as possible. I looked at Mom's legs, covered by the skirt that reached almost to her knees and her breasts, or where they would have been if they hadn't been covered by that ugly sweater. I think Mom was aware of my attention but was studiously ignoring me, concentrating on her book almost as much as Dad did on his.

Ten minutes dragged by without a single glance my way from either Mom or Dad. On Dad's part, that meant nothing. I already knew Mom was mad so that didn't mean much either. I was about to return to my room when I noticed Mom's hand slip under the sweater on the side closest to me to scratch an itch. A moment later, her hand returned, and then again a moment after that. This time, Mom itched so hard that the sweater fell off her shoulder and to her side. I noticed immediately that the material of the turtleneck, soft as it was, settled very closely over Mom's breast, beautifully molding its sculptured, braless form.

All motivation to leave dissipated. Instead, I watched Mom's breast jostle about with each breath for the next three or four minutes, especially where her nipple protruded under the white turtleneck. The more I watched, the better defined it seemed to become and I wondered if that was because Mom was breathing a little faster and thus stretching the material more. Was she reading a racy book? I strained to see the title but couldn't.

Mom suddenly raised her eyes from her book and looked at my father.

"Do you want some hot chocolate?" she asked him.

Dad looked up and shook his head, then returned immediately to his book.

"Well, I do," Mom said. Like Dad, she returned to her book, her eyes flicking from side to side as she read. She turned the page and spoke to me without looking.

"Why don't you make some hot chocolate for us?"

I looked at Mom for a moment without responding, not quite understanding her simple request. Then, I shook my head and got up. In the kitchen, there were two mugs sitting beside the kettle which was already full of water. I depressed the switch and waited for the water to boil. It seemed to take forever and almost that long for me to realize that I didn't want the hot chocolate to be too hot. I flicked the switch up prematurely and poured the water onto the mix already in the mugs, stirred, and carried them into the family room.

Mom and Dad were still reading but I almost spilled the hot chocolate when I got close enough to see that Mom's skirt had slid down her legs and had bunched up on her lap. I handed her a mug and sat down, careful not to spill. Quickly, I took a sip and chastised myself for filling my mug so full.

I looked at Mom. She was holding the mug in her left hand and the book in her right, extended along the arm of the loveseat. The skirt had fallen even further up Mom's thighs which made me lurch inside my pants. Why would she present such an inviting picture if she didn't want to play? Her breast, seeming firmer than ever, did nothing to dispel my new theory. Mom was inviding me to play.

Sipping my hot chocolate, I stared at the TV, seeing nothing, my right hand creeping along the seat until it could grasp Mom's skirt. I was scared yet determined. I tugged and the skirt slid an inch further down Mom's thighs. I expected a slap or at least a quiet rebuke muttered under her breath but Mom continued reading as if nothing had happened. Encouraged, but still expecting a slap, I tugged again, gaining another inch. Mom casually took a sip of her hot chocolate so, now unafraid, I executed a third, harder tug, gaining almost two inches.

Mom's skirt was now almost down to her panties. Her thighs, thickening until they met, looked so fucking hot I wished I could bury my face between them, slathering my tongue up to her panties. Her white panties. Somehow, I just knew she would be wearing white.

I took another sip of hot chocolate. It wasn't too hot. Dipping my finger into the mug, I moved to hover it over Mom's legs but her hand stopped me. She had put her mug down without me even noticing and laid it on my wrist, like she had last night, stopping me cold. It wasn't a slap but it was just as effective.

I tried to look into Mom's eyes but she was still reading. I tried to move my hand but she held it firmly in place. Why? Was this a just big tease to put me in my place? I didn't dare move for fear of alerting my father. Her hand relaxed and I started to move but she gripped me again, very tight. I relaxed my hand. Satisfied, Mom moved hers away.

Ok, I would take my punishment like a man. I tried to look away but couldn't stop admiring her legs. They were so wonderfully sculptured and sexy. Despite the comeuppance, my cock throbbed against the mug between my legs. Mom stretched, slightly arching her back, thrusting a breast and its stiff nipple into the soft turtleneck. I wanted to suck it but knew I couldn't. That's what she's telling me, I thought, what she's told every man that admired her so boldly. You can look but you can't touch and you definitely can't have it.


Except for that one guy. I was sure of that. That one guy, Guido, he knew what to do and he got it. No more games, I thought. Go big or go home.

Mom was sliding her skirt up her legs to her knees. She had registered my desire, put it where it belonged, and was now covering up. I had to do something, now, or forever lose my chance to become Guido.

On impulse, I took a pen from my shirt pocket and slowly unscrewed it, pulling the guts out and discarding everything but the bottom. I knew Mom was aware of what I was doing despite acting like I wasn't there. Holding the bottom of the pen above my mug, I let it drop into the hot chocolate. Mom's left eye flickered. Picking the pen up, I quickly put my pinky at the bottom to cover the hole where the refill normally peaked out and my thumb on the top. I now held a small cylinder full of hot chocolate.

I slid my right hand across the seat to Mom's side and once again tugged on her skirt. One, two ... Mom tried to grab my hand but missed ... a third tug and another missed grab, then the last pull and Mom's legs were exposed again. She turned to look at me, her eyes angry and piercing. I didn't avoid them. For once in my life, I was defiant, holding her gaze as I swung my other hand over Mom's thighs. Her eyes followed, looking at the pen, intrigued and confused. I pulled my pinky away and the hot chocolate started dripping from the bottom of the pen.

Mom stared, mesmerized by the pen and its dripping contents.

Splat ... splat ... splat.

Her head tilted and she stared at her thighs, at the hot chocolate trickling down her legs and disappearing under the skirt.

Oh my god, she was pulling her skirt back to see where the hot chocolae had gone. Down, bit by bit, more, until, there, her panties peeked through, white just like I knew they'd be ... another tug and more panty was exposed, another tug. Jeez, they were almost completely showing. Mom smiled, a very faint smile, and turned her head back to the book she still held in her hand.

I looked at Mom's white panties and dipped the pen into the mug to fill it again. When I moved my hand above Mom's legs, despite studiously ignoring me, Mom shifted her hand to keep the book between Dad and the pen. I released the next batch and saw Mom's breast heave as she sucked in her breath.

Falling as more of a stream than a series of drops, the hot chocolate quickly ran down Mom's leg, threading an almost straight curve directly to the white panties. I withdrew my hand to fill the pen again and slowly, so as not to attract Dad's attention, repositioned my hand over Mom's legs.

This time, I kept my thumb partially over the top of the pen, urging the hot chocolate out a drop at a time and moving its trajectory closer toward the juncture of Mom's legs, drip by drip, until one finally fell directly onto her panties.

Splot!

Mom gritted her teeth. That reaction was all I needed. I released another.

Splot. ... And another ... splot ... and another ... splot!

Each drop spread as it hit, staining Mom's white panties brown. The panties were made of a cotton that, now wet in spots, showed more detail of what was underneath than when it was dry, kind of like a wet t-shirt. I returned with a full penload and dripped more hot chocolate, this time working around a central wet spot in a circle, extending the area of detail.

Mom had very little hair, if any. Her pussy could have been bald as far as I could see. My cock hurt as it tried to straighten in my jeans. The hot chocolate changed its tenor as Mom's panties lost their tightness ... splat ... splat ... splat, falling on already wet cotton. Her panties were now so wet the form of her pussy was becoming well defined, revealing the crease between her lips and a protruding knob at the top. I filled the dropper and directed a stream of single drops directly onto that little button. Mom's mouth opened in silent grimace and the hand holding the book quivered.

I returned for more but the mug was empty. Picking it up in my pen hand, I leaned across Mom and set the mug quietly on the end table, my left hand, under the cover of my chest, finding and fondling Mom's breast. I took full possession of her tit, molding my fingers around its full extent, brushing her nipple and opening two fingers to squeeze it tightly between. I paused as long as I reasonably could, longer in fact, but finally had to withdraw, releasing Mom's tit as I fell back to sit beside her again.

Mom's eyes had glazed over. I don't think she had expected me to grab her tit, especially with Dad right there. I grasped her skirt and tugged it up to cover her panties. As if suddenly coming to her senses, Mom pulled it the rest of the way up her legs. Shortly after that, she got up, straightened her sweater, and leaned over to kiss Dad goodnight. I followed soon after.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The next day was a work day. Mom was gone when I got up, which was unusual since she didn't work until ten. She was home before me and I braced myself for a slap and more when I walked through the door. Sure enough, Mom was waiting. Nervously, I hung up my coat and faced her, ready for my punishment but she turned and walked into the kitchen.

"I made some cookies," she said. "They're fresh out of the oven."

I followed, admiring her stunning legs and, remembering what the little leather skirt covered, started to get very hard. I walked over to the sink and leaned back as Mom put on a pair of oven mitts and bent over to get the cookies out. This was too good to be true. Mom was being pleasant to me and giving me quite a show, bending over lower than necessary, allowing her skirt to ride up with the hem stretched tightly across the back of her thighs just underneath her bum. For some reason, the cookie sheet wouldn't come out easily and Mom struggled to get it out. I smiled. This really was great.

Mom stood up, holding the cookie sheet in one hand, lifting the oven door up with the other and bumped the oven door shut with her hip. Just then, I heard Dad's car coming into the driveway. Shit! Motherfucking shit. Why did he have to come home early?

I didn't have much time, so when Mom turned around to offer me a hot cookie, I accepted it with a shit-eating grin.

"What are you grinning at?" Mom asked. The tone of her voice should have been a warning.

"Nothing," I cracked in a smart-ass manner.

Crack! My head jerked completely sideways, almost turning backwards.

"Owwww," I cried, really meaning it.

"You keep your eyes to yourself, Mister."

The door opened.

"Hi. I'm home," Dad yelled.

Mom replied, "We're in the kitchen. Come and get a cookie, dear."

She glared at me while Dad hung up his coat but as soon as he entered the kitchen her eyes softened and she cooed, "They're good, aren't they, Rob?"

I turned my face away to hide the red mark where Mom had slapped me.

"Yeah, they're great. Did Maria wash my blue jeans?" I shuffled over to the stairs and went downstairs to the laundry room, needing to hide the hardon that, despite the slap, refused to die.

After dinner, Mom made a point of leaning with her back to the arm of the loveseat, ostensibly to shed more light onto her book, but I knew better. She stretched her legs out in my direction, one crossed over the other, her foot in constant motion, bouncing slowly up and down. She changed legs frequently, first the left over the right, then right over left, then back, working the short skirt way up on her legs. Each time Mom changed legs, she lifted the upper one high, exposing the underside of her thigh all the way down to her color-matched panties. When I asked her if she wanted some hot chocolate, she quickly replied in the negative and seemed to relish doing so.

I didn't run away. I sat there and took my punishment. If she wanted to tease me, then I would take it. Despite the slap, I wasn't convinced Mom was cutting off our little game but I was afraid if I didn't take what she doled out, she might. She was on a power trip but I had a nagging feeling she was after something else, something she used to crave, and I had triggered a need for it. I think I was beginning to understand her fascination with Guido. I didn't leave until Mom had gone upstairs. She bent over to kiss me goodnight, her back to Dad, and gripped the underside of my chin hard, almost painfully.

"You better be a good boy from now on," she whispered.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I sat up in bed, wondering where to go from here. Mom wouldn't be wearing a leather outfit tomorrow but I wasn't worried about that. I felt we were beyond that now. I still wasn't sure whether the slap was a warning or a provocation but I was leaning toward the latter. I needed to be alone with her to figure it out but the weekend was a long way off.

I heard Mom in her room getting ready for bed after her shower. I badly wanted to go in there but knew I couldn't, not with Dad about to come up the stairs any minute. I no sooner thought that than I heard him coming.

Half an hour later, I was still sitting up in the dark. Thinking. An hour later, I was still there. After another hour, I got up. Quietly, I stepped toward the hall but the whisper of my pajama bottoms scr****g together as I walked pulled me back. I pushed them down and stepped out, then continued into the dark hallway, stark naked.

Mom and Dad's bedroom door was open a foot or so and I slipped easily inside without brushing the door or the jamb. I could see better there by the light of the moon shining through the window. Dad was snoring softly. I couldn't hear Mom but knew she must be sleeping. I stepped quietly toward the bed. I just wanted to look at her, at her pretty face. Maybe the covers were part way down and I would be able to see her breasts covered only by her nightgown. I was so fucking hard; for some reason, I hadn't wacked off.

She was lying on her back. I could see that now. I stepped closer, trying to control my breathing. My cock wavered in the air in front of me and I imagined I could hear the air it displaced as I walked.

I stopped, dead in my tracks.

Mom's eyes were open, glinting in the semi-darkness. She was looking right at me and must have been watching me approach all the way from the door. Should I run away?

Mom didn't move and her gaze didn't waver. She was looking directly into my eyes, despite my nakedness, of which she must be aware. I stepped closer and the glints became more intense. I stopped beside the bed, gazing down, acknowledging her own observation, then let my eyes slowly descend over her covered form.

When my eyes returned to Mom's face, the glints were gone and her eyes looked like to pitch black holes. Slowly, her far hand crossed her chest, grasped the covers, and peeled them away from her body. Mom's nightgown was bunched up onto her stomach and below that she wore the stained while panties. I knew she'd had a shower, so she must have put them back on. Holy fuck!

Mom pulled her nightgown higher, over her breasts and up to her neck, baring her gorgeous tits with their stiff nipples betraying her own excitement. Lowering both hands, Mom pushed her hands out, palms down, stroking her thighs, her eyes burning. Her back arched and relaxed, causing her belly to undulate on the bed. My eyes traveled down the length of her body to her toes, stretched out past her curling feet, and back up her tensed calves to her thighs, now bare because her hands were cupping her mound, the long finger of each stretching down between her legs. My hand found my cock and began to stroke it. Mom's eyes fell away from mine for the first time, to watch. I leaned over and pulled part of her nightgown away that was partly obscuring her face.

Silently, we caressed ourselves, me stroking and Mom rubbing and squeezing. Our panting intermingled and as my excitement grew I hunched over her. I knew I was going to come on her, and she knew it too. Her arms, stretching down to her pussy, squeezed her tits together, pushing them up toward me. I dropped my free hand onto her right tit and gently massaged it, testing the water to see if this was a non-touch scenario. Mom didn't react until I pinched her nipple and rolled it between my thumb and forefinger, and then all she did was release a quiet whimper.

I played with Mom's tit, beating my cock faster and faster. The expression on her face seemed tense and expectant but her eyes were still coal black, so strangely unlike their normal, piercing blue. I was almost there. I looked at her panties, covered by her hands, then up to her face. She was close, too.

I released Mom's tit and moved my hand to her face, finding her mouth and inserting two fingers which she immediately began to suck. She lifted her ass off the bed and opened her hands. I leaned over, pointing my cock between her bracketing hands and erupted, spraying the front of her stained panties, then aiming sideways over her tummy to land a direct hit on her navel. The next two bursts I directed at Mom's tits and her body writhed on the bed, her legs straining with the effort and quivering as she started to come. I released another rope onto her tits and watched it dribble into the hollow of her neck under the nightgown as I, now depleted, dribbled the dregs onto her tummy. I had wanted to shoot some onto Mom's face but as soon as I had steered my cock up her body she had retracted her hands to block her face.

I pulled the nightgown away from Mom's neck and she lifted herself up from the mattress to make it easier for me draw it down her body, helping with her own hands until she was completely covered. I leaned over to grasp the covers and pulled them across her body, then kissed her on the forehead, turned, and walked quietly away.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

There was no slap when I came home the next day but there wasn't any action on the couch either. Mom was wearing a rather conservative dress and didn't offer any opportunities for me to dribble hot chocolate or root beer on her legs. The absence of the slap and the tease worried me.

I sat up for ages waiting for Dad to go to bed. Well after I thought he would have been asleep, I heard their bedroom door push closed. When I crept down the hall to check it out, it was indeed shut. I returned to my room, immensely disappointed.

I couldn't sleep. I crept down the hall again. I was wearing my pajama bottoms and was armed with a small flashlight. I was going to go into my parents bedroom and if Dad was awake, I would claim I'd heard a burglar downstairs and was coming to get him up.

In the dark, I stealthily walked toward the bed. Mom was awake, lying with the covers already off. I swept my eyes over her, from head to toe, several times but she made no move to remove her nightgown and didn't arch her body like she done the night before.

I turned the flashlight on and Mom immediately jerked her head up, frantically gesturing with her hand to shut it off. I clicked the light off. Mom looked at Dad, softly snoring beside her, facing the other way. Cautiously, she sat up and then stood. I stepped back, expecting her to follow me to my room, but turned when I realized she wasn`t coming.

I turned just in time to see Mom grasp the hem of her nightgown and, with crossing arms, swept it over her head and tossed it on the bed behind her. She took a deep breath, lifting her breasts up until they were almost perky, almost but not quite, their mature weight defeating the effort. In one smooth motion, Mom twisted and sat down, then lay back on the carpet along the side of the bed.

I approached and knelt down beside her. I clicked the light on and this time she didn`t object. Silently, I played the light up and down her gorgeous body, shifting it about to highlight different parts, leaving others in the shadows, if only briefly. She was completely naked and I couldn't help letting the light dwell on her pussy. Mom had a pretty one and it was shaved bare. She let me admire her this way for several minutes before putting her hand up to block the light`s path.

She looked at me with hot eyes and then directed them to my pajamas. I shone the light onto my crotch, illuminating the bulge from my swollen genitals, lifting my ass up from my heels to push it forward. Reaching down, I slipped my right hand under the waistband of my pajamas and pulled my hardness out, displaying my cock in all its rigid glory.

I didn`t touch it. I played the light on it from various angles, sweeping my left hand around in a circle above. Leaning forward, I let it hover over Mom`s belly, then pushed it down until it stretched across her skin to her navel. Carefully, barely moving, I made humping motions against her side, slowly scr****g my cock over her tummy.

Mom raised her head to watch. After a couple of minutes during which I lengthened my strokes, I pulled her far hand up to replace mine so she was now holding my cock against her belly with the flat of her palm. I quickened my pace, rubbing through her warm tummy on one side and her slightly sweaty palm on the other.

My right hand was now free and I moved it lower but Mom lifted her legs up, pulling her knees back until her thighs were atop her stomach, making it hard for me to reach my target. I surmised that Mom wasn't yet comfortable with the thought of me actually touching her bare pussy so I retracted my hand and loosely gripped her right leg just below the knee. I moved my other hand onto Mom's right tit and gently fondled it but soon grasped it hard enough to help leverage my hips to and fro, helped by the grip I had on her knee.

I was at the gates of heaven but I was eager to get inside. I loosened my grip on Mom's tit and concentrated on fondling it more gently, squeezing to force the nipple up, then rolling it between my fingers and finally using it to lift her whole breast off her chest. After a minute or so of this I used it as a distraction to cover the slippage of my hand on Mom's knee to the backside her thigh just below. As I kneaded and tweedled Mom's tit, I slowly stroked down the back of her thigh, venturing the tiniest bit further each time. Soon, my fingertips were traveling the full length along the back of her thigh, all the way down and over the curve of her buttock.

I pinched and rolled Mom's nipple harder and, under that cover, I slid my fingertips inward from her buttock until they fluttered across her nether lips.

"Ohhhhhhh," Mom sighed, the first sound she had made.

I brushed my fingers up to the top of her pussy and then down, lifting my fingers away.

"Ohhhhhh," she cried again as if lamenting their absence.

I let them return for a repeat performance to a softer but longer cry. Up and down, and lift. I repeated this ministration many times and then, surprising both Mom and myself, lightly smacked her puffy lips.

"Unnnnghhhhh," Mom's cry changed to a lower, more guttural sound.

Stroke up, then down, lift, and smack.

"Ungghhhh."

That was the play for the next couple of minutes. Then, lifting and pausing before diving in to the expected smack, I reoriented my fingers and plunged them directly between her puffy lips, diving through her slippery slit into her hole, and thrust my fingers deep into Mom's soaking cunt.

"Oohhaahhhhhhh," she cried, loud enough that I jerked my head up to look at Dad. His snoring coughed and sputtered. I froze, my fingers plugged deep inside Mom as Dad twitched on the bed, looking like he was going to turn around. Was he waking up?

Mom was oblivious, moaning softly and trying to lift her hips up to get my fingers even deeper inside her. Dad's head lifted an inch, shook, then dropped heavily back to the pillow. A splutter and his snoring resumed.

I looked down at Mom. In the light of the discarded flashlight, I could see that her eyes were closed and her face wore a mask of strained desperation. I twisted my fingers about, exploring her cunt like a rotorooter, then started finger fucking her as I quickened my pace, slithering between her hand and belly. Mom was breathing in ragged gasps, as was I. I could smell her lust and it made me crazy. I humped and frigged her wildly until she cried out and I unloaded across her stomach. I looked down in time to see Mom redirect my cock toward her tits and I tried to shove my erection between them. Mom twisted toward me, encouraging my move, but held a hand in front of her face to block any stray streams of cum.
Spent, we stared at each other while we tried to recover our breath. Mom lowered her legs but I kept my fingers in her cunt, like I was afraid to abandon new territory lest it be stolen from me. Mom moved her hand down to cover mine but she didn't try to pull it away. Instead, she just gazed into my eyes reassuringly. I leaned down to kiss her on the forehead, then on her lips and, with a final gentle thrust, pulled my slippery fingers away. I left the flashlight where it was and stumbled my way back to my room. I went to sleep without cleaning myself, sure that Mom was doing the same.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Mom worked the next day but even though she wore one of her leather skirt outfits, I didn't try to approach her in an inappropriate way. For her part, Mom was equally muted in her interaction with me, almost shy. There were no suggestions of hot chocolate, by her or me. As the evening wore on, Mom's long legs attracted me more and more but I didn't say or do anything improper. I was deathly afraid of ruining a good thing and was quite content to bide my time until later, after Dad had fallen asleep.

Mom, on the other hand, despite her earlier shyness, seemed to be seeking my attention more and more as the night progressed, to the point of restlessly crossing and recrossing her gorgeous legs, and periodically reaching under her leather jack to scratch a supposed itch, underneath her left breast. Once, she rubbed so vigorously her entire tit was lifted up and down, plainly showing the lack of any restraint upon it. My cock and balls became swollen but I resisted the urge to behave incorrectly. Wait, just wait, I counseled myself.

I'm going to make some tea," Mom announced, getting up. "Do you want some?" she asked Dad.

"Yes, please. That would be nice," Dad replied.

Expecting to be asked next, I was already nodding my head but Mom ignored me. After a few minutes, I followed Mom into the kitchen. I sure didn't want her mad at me so I thought I'd ask her if she needed any help.

"No," she replied, keeping her face toward the kettle.

I walked closer but stopped a pace away, uncertain about the stiffness of her posture and what it meant. We stood there in silence, she looking at the kettle which was now starting to boil, and me looking at her back. What had I done wrong? What could I say?

I was just about to speak, not even knowing what I was going to say, when the kettle started to whistle. Despite quickly growing in volume, Mom didn't pull it off the stove. Instead, she whirled around and whacked me, hard, twice, right across the face. Stunned, I gawked at her.

"Did you come to show me that?" she hissed, rapping my bulging erection