"PAINTING" MOM free porn video

Hi, I'm Ben. This is the story about my mother and me. It begins with the familiar return from college and a difficult re-insertion into the home life that I had left four years earlier and had not been part of except for Christmas holidays and the summer after my first year. Each summer after that I had worked a dream job as part of the crew for a company chartering sailboats in the Caribbean. I did that for the first two months after graduation but, due to the sagging economy, the company was forced to let me go. So there I was, on my parents' doorstep, degree in hand and a few hundred bucks in my pocket, and no job prospects whatsoever. So much for my degree.

I guess Mom and I were both a little surprised by each other. I hadn't been back to the west coast since the past summer so it had been more than a year since we'd seen each other. The deep tan caught Mom by surprise, probably because each time she'd seen me at Christmas it had had four months to wear off from the previous summer. Also, I was wearing summer garb — shorts and a t-shirt with the sleeves torn off — so my lean, twenty-two year old frame clearly showed the healthy lifestyle I had been living.

Looking at Mom, I could see that she had been making changes of her own. The Simon and Garfunkel tune, The Boxer, wafted out of the living room. Mom was wearing some kind of loose, hippy, tie-dyed long shirt over a pair of almost shredded jeans, an outfit straight from the seventies. Her hair, normally just brushing her shoulders, had been allowed a few more inches of freedom. In addition to the extra length, it was much bushier, its wavy blonde and reddish strands creating a tawny took befitting a younger woman ready for fun. Other than that, Mom looked much the same: a slender woman not much more than five feet tall with a nice figure despite her aversion to strenuous exercise.

We both laughed in pleasant surprise.

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming so I could pick you up?" Mom admonished me as the taxi pulled away.

"I wanted to surprise you," I said.

Actually, I didn't want to be a bother. I was kind of bummed out showing up at home almost broke. Truth be known, if I could have found a job, I wouldn't have come home.

"Well, you did that." Mom suddenly jumped up and kissed me again. "I'm so happy to see you!"

Mom turned around and led the way into the house.

"Are you hungry?" she asked.

"Starving," I said. I wasn't really but I knew Mom would want me to eat something and it would take the pressure off conversation if she was busy doing something and my mouth was full.

"Take your bags up to your room while I make you something to eat," she said. "It's just the way you left it, and come down right away to tell me what you've been doing. You can unpack later."

As I turned to go up the stairs, I cast a last glance at Mom's retreating figure. What had happened to my insurance-rep Mom? Where were the conservative business suits and crisp skirts and blouses? A tie-dyed shirt, faded denims and old tennis shoes? What had happened on the home front in the last year?

My apprehensions at coming home were over-ridden by my curiosity. I did just what Mom said; I tossed my suitcases into my old room and rushed downstairs. I had to find out what had caused this change in my mother.

Tomato sandwiches and a large glass of milk were already waiting for me on the kitchen table and Mom was just setting a teapot down with a tall, slim mug decorated with some kind of pseudo-medieval design in pastel colors.

Mom asked me what I'd been up to right away but when I started eating she slipped into telling me all about what she'd been doing. Evidently, she had had a life changing experience that led her to quit the insurance business to take up sculpting full time. Dad wasn't too happy about the loss of income but she had put her foot down and refused to change her mind. She was going to become a sculptor, a professional one, whether he liked it or not. However, she admitted that she felt under pressure to sell some of her works now that it had been almost a year since she'd quit her job.

I finished the first sandwich and Mom insisted I tell her what I'd been doing, interrupting me as soon as I started to apologize for not being able to come to my graduation because they just couldn't afford to fly across the country.

"I really feel guilty about that," she said, stretching her hands out to hold mine, the one not holding a sandwich.

It didn't take long for me to tell her about the sailing charters, something I'd already told her and Dad about before, and how the economic downturn had resulted in the failure of the company. I had the impression Mom just wanted to hear my voice.

"So, here I am, broke and without a job," I laughed, picking up the other half of the second sandwich.

"Oh, dear," Mom said.

Before I took a bite, I asked Mom what had happened to make her quit her job. I was curious but also wanted to change the subject from my situation. I had already dwelled on it enough by myself. Mom launched into a story about not feeling well for a long time, always feeling tired, and a list of other symptoms. I listened half-heartedly until she said the dreadful word.

"Cancer?" I blurted, my mouth full of half-chewed bread and tomatoes.

Mom nodded.

"Cancer?" I repeated.

"Yes, breast cancer."

My eyes dropped to Mom's breasts, a rather insensitive thing to do right after a woman has just told you she has breast cancer.

"I still have them," Mom laughed, seeing the direction of my gaze.

I blushed profusely and looked down at the sandwich in my hand.

Mom laughed out loud. "Don't feel bad. Every single man that hears about it does that. All my friends' husbands, even the ones who heard about it through their wives, as soon as they see me, they look at my chest. We all get quite a kick out of it. Jenny said, 'Now we know what the girls at Hooters feel like'."

I didn't recognize Jenny as one of Mom's regular friends. "Who's Jenny?"

"Oh, just a girl I met at the clinic. She's about your age, very pretty but a little different."

"She had cancer?" I asked.

Mom ignored the question. "Come on," she said, reaching out to grab my sandwich-free hand. "Look."

As soon as I looked up, Mom retrieved her hand and used both to heft her breasts.

"See...healthy as a horse."

"What about the cancer?" I asked, my eyes staying on Mom's breasts, nicely show-cased by the curved brackets of her hands.

"False alarm," Mom said as if it was a little thing but I noted a trace of relief that belied her light-hearted dismissal. Mom had obviously been scared silly, the little twitch in her cheek betraying her true feelings. She must have been afraid for her life.

"So you're ok?" I persisted.

"Absolutely," Mom banged her hand flat on the table for emphasis. "But your Dad...now, I'm not sure he's alright."

"Why?"

"Well, all these changes have upset him, especially me wanting to be a sculptor."

"Sculptress," I corrected her. I have no idea why I said that.

"Sculptress. I like the sound of that. Anyway, changes happened and your Dad is having a hard time dealing with it. He thinks things should have gone back to the way they were as soon as we heard the good news. He just doesn't realize what a life-changing experience it is to hear that awful word. It changes everything. Nothing is the same and there's no going back."

Mom reached out to grasp my hand again, this time holding it between both of hers. She looked me seriously in the eye.

"You understand, don't you."

I nodded, pausing with the last bit of sandwich inches from my mouth. "Of course," I said. "Everything's different."

Mom released my hand. "It's amazing, actually. I feel so alive now. I feel like I know what's important and what's not but Ken just doesn't get it.

"He'll come around, Mom."

I popped the last of the sandwich into my mouth and watched Mom slowly shake her head.

"I don't know," she said. "I just don't know."

I cast my eyes down to Mom's medium-sized breasts and noticed something else that was different. Mom was wearing a regular t-shirt under the tie-dyed shirt but that was all. For the first time in my life, I really saw my new mother, the braless one.

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"You won't find anything around here to make a career out of," Dad said the same thing for the third time using different words.

"I know, Dad. I get it. I'm just going to get my shit together for a couple of months and then get my name out there."

"Get your shit together? That's just great. Your mother's finding herself and you're 'getting your shit together'. Perfect. Just perfect."

"Dad, I need a stable address and somewhere I can get steady access to the internet. And, frankly, a bit of a rest. I'll find something, probably in LA. Until then, I'm going to help Mom."

"Doing what? Stirring mud so she can make statues out of it?"

"No, I'm going to build a website so she can display her stuff and sell it. You should see it. Some of it's pretty good and will probably sell in the city."

"I have seen it and she has tried to sell it at every fair and market around here for almost a year. She hasn't made a hundred bucks."

"She said she's sold about a thousand."

"Well, a thousand then, but she's spent five grand on that studio out back and all that crap for making figurines."

"Statues," I corrected my father. "They're miniature garden statues."

"Whatever."

"Dad, she's had a big shock."

"We've all had a shock but it's time to move on, get back into the swing of things." Dad stopped walking and ran his right hand through his hair, then released a long sigh. "I know, Ben. I know. It's just that...well...I thought she would be getting back to normal but it doesn't look like she's going to, or even wants so. I don't know what to do," Dad lamented, his exasperation evident.

"Just give her some room," I suggested.

"Room? Room? I given her all the room in the world and all she's done is go further off track."

"Maybe she really needs to go in a different direction, Dad. It happened to her. The cancer happened to her, not to us."

"Yeah, well it affects all of us. I don't know how much more of this I can take." Dad ran his hand through his hair again. "All our friends are talking about it. She's doing nude statues, you know. Have you seen them? And that's not the half of it."

I ignored his question. In fact, I hadn't seen them but suspected they were underneath the tarp in the far corner of Mom's studio.

"How about you give her a while longer, maybe another two or three months?"

"Two or three more months?" Dad looked at me, stunned.

"Yeah, a couple of months or so. I'll get a website up and send some emails off and we'll see what happens. I think people will be interested in her sculptures and if they're not, well maybe Mom will realize sculpting has to be a hobby and she'll go back to work."

I felt guilty stringing Dad along. I didn't think Mom was ever going to return to work, not as an insurance agent anyway, but the carrot worked—the one about sales rather than returning to work as I thought.

"You really think people in the city might buy that stuff."

"There's the possibility. Yeah, I think so."

I wasn't convinced but I needed Dad to think there was a chance so he'd give Mom a breather. She needed it.

"Ok, son. Two months then."

"Three, Dad. Three."

"Ok, three."

Dad walked away with a spring in his step.

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"Ben, you're making me self-conscious," Mom complained.

She was washing a few dishes by hand while I finished my cereal. As she scrubbed the dishes, my eyes were drawn to the green tank top she was wearing or, more to the point, the tantalizing movement underneath that made the material so interesting to watch. I just couldn't believe my mom didn't wear a bra. This was my third day at home and Mom hadn't worn one yet. She wore t-shirts, loose blouses, and tank tops but never a bra.

Misinterpreting the reason for my attention, Mom added, "They're fine. I only have the one lump and it hasn't grown and there aren't any new ones."

My face reddened. Whenever that happens to me, trying to stop it makes it worse. I tried to hide it by looking down and scooping Honey Nut Cheerios into my mouth. "Whatever you say, Mom."

It was definitely better that she believed I was worried about her health than the truth, that is, that I was ogling my own mother's tits. I slurped down the last of the cereal and put the bowl on the counter, then returned to finish my coffee.

"You should quit drinking that stuff," Mom said. "You'll end up like your father, all antsy and uptight."

I laughed. She had Dad pegged alright. Mom cleaned my bowl and pulled the plug out of the drain. Immediately, she picked up a dish towel, dried her hands and then started on the dishes in the rack. My eyes followed her as she turned to put a glass away in the far cupboard. I barely managed to look away before she turned back to get another glass but kept my eyes suitably averted while she dried it. When she turned to put it away, my gaze locked onto her buns again. Mom had a great bottom, nicely lifted and outlined by the jeans. They may be old and faded, but they were designer none the less and made to highlight a woman's best feature, at least, the best for some women.

And Mom was one of those women. Her butt sloped gradually away from her waist to end in two beautiful lumps that looked like someone had filled a couple of longish balloons with water, held them over an edge, and covered them with denim. The bulk of the weight swelled out at the bottom and. As she walked, her ass swayed and the jeans tightened alternately over each cheek. Mom had remarked that her ass was getting fat, critically eyeing the way it jutted out more than it had a few years ago, but to me it was fulfilling its destiny, assuming a near-perfect form, the pinnacle of female assery. But Mom was the sculptor and that's why all her statues, which were all of women, sat in various poses. Not one was standing. It was a shame because I knew there were cretans out there like me that would gladly buy a statue adorned with a butt like Mom's.

Yeah, Mom used herself as a model for her sculptures. She had a large mirror set up in her studio and she looked at herself, striking a particular pose, as she created each new work. She must have put hours and hours into it to have made all the statues sitting around the studio. I hadn't seen the ones under the tarp, which I suspected were the nudes that Dad had referred to. I hoped that one day Mom would show them to me since I knew they had to be mirror images of her.

"If you're going to make a website, you'd better get a closer look at my stuff," Mom said, folding the towel and hanging it over the oven door handle. "Should I put them out on the lawn so you can take pictures, or would the patio be better?"

"Either way. It doesn't matter."

My eyes betrayed my dirty mind, dropping to Mom's chest even though I was strongly willing them to remain focused on her face.

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Ben. Here."

Mom took two quick strides toward me and, standing in front of my chair, grabbed my hand and pulled it up to the side of her breast. I was shocked as the soft yet firm flesh filled my hand. Mom pushed my hand underneath, guiding my finger to a small, hard spot part way but not quite in the middle of the underside of her breast.

"See? It's quite small and it's benign. It's nothing to worry about."

I was stunned. I was sitting there, looking up at Mom's breast, resting in my hand and hers, reveling in the sensation of its warmth and weight, and the perfect curvature of its globular form. Despite my mental effort, there was a stirring in my loins.

"Come on, stand up."

Mom pulled me up with her free hand, then used it to guide my other mit to her left breast.

"See? Nothing there."

Mom rubbed my hand in a small semi-circle under her other breast.

"Nada. All clear. Nothing to worry about."

Mom dropped her hands and, reluctantly, I let mine fall away too.

"It doesn't hurt to check," I mumbled.

"That's true, and I check all the time. Now, let's get down to business."

Mom swept out the patio door and headed for her studio at the far end of the yard. A few seconds later, I jolted into action, following her, my eyes firmly on the tick-tock, tick-tock action of her jeans. I had to rearrange myself before we got to the studio. I don't know what was the matter with me but I couldn't keep my eyes off Mom's body.

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Moving the statues out ready to take pictures, I discovered something else about Mom's new life. There were several bottles of wine in the cupboard in the cupboard near where she sat to shape the new statues. She saw me make the discovery and simply remarked, "'Sometimes it helps my creative juices get going."

I shrugged. It wasn't really any of my business. We hauled all of Mom's finished pieces out into the yard, all except for the ones under the tarp. I took pictures and then put them in a more orderly fashion at one end of the studio except for the best ones which I placed around the patio. If we managed to get someone to visit, they would be the first ones to be seen.

I stayed up to the wee hours of the morning that night getting a basic website up and running. It was noon before I got up. Mom was working in her studio. I made myself a cup of coffee and wandered out there, standing in the doorway for several minutes before she became aware of me. She paused to review her progress, picking up a glass of wine to sip as she eyed it critically. Putting the glass down, Mom arched her back and held her arms high, then bent her elbows so her hands could stretch her fingers along the back of her neck, her breasts thrust wonderfully tight against her cotton shirt. She turned to face me, smiled and let her arms drop slowly to her sides.

"Oh, good morning sleepyhead."

The sun shining through the window cast a bright slash across Mom's face but it couldn't compete with the sparkle in her eyes. Clearly, she thoroughly enjoyed what she was doing. If sculpting could do that, it was well worth it. I had to find a way for Dad to see how much Mom loved it.

"Hey, I have an excuse. I was up all night working on your website."

"Really?" Mom's smile widened and her face brightened even more, if that was possible. "Can I see it?"

"Anytime," I said, sweeping my arm toward the house in a wide guesture to show the way and spilling my coffee in the process.

Mom giggled. "Go get your breakfast started and I'll join you in a minute... for lunch," she laughed. "Then we'll see your new creation."

Mom sat across from me with a plate of fruits and vegetables she had pulled out of the fridge. I was eating Honey Nut Cheerios again and feeling a bit guilty about it. Mom was wearing a pair of black pants smeared with sculpting stuff and a white blouse similiarly streaked with clay. That, however, wasn't where my attention was drawn. The blouse was unbuttoned way down, so far that Mom's breasts threatened to spill out every time she lifted her hand to put a carrot in her mouth. She smiled when she saw where I was looking.

"I checked them this morning. They're A-OK," her smile widened.

I was surprised that my face didn't go red. I mumbled, "Ok."

Amazing. I had just stared at my mother's tits without any adverse repercussions. She even seemed to take it as a mark of my love for her that I was so worried rather than a lecherous leer. I made a pact that I would endeavor to be obviously worried at least once a day, if not more.
After lunch, we went upstairs to look at the website. I had created a page listing all her pieces with associated email links identifying the work if someone was interested. I didn't have enough information to create a proper shopping cart but could do that later if this first bit produced any results. I had put the photos in place but needed names and a short description for each piece. Mom proved to be excellent at dreaming up catchy names and artsy bits to say about them. It came naturally and it dawned on me that this was what she was thinking when each piece was created. She was simply recalling how she felt during that process. I marveled at the inspired look on her face while this happened, though I must admit, my eyes strayed downward several times to appreciate the heart she had put into it too. Mom's shirt was open to just below where her breasts swept off her chest and the sides were alternately covered and revealed, sometimes in quick succession but other times mostly covered and then mostly exposed. I even managed to glimpse the side of her right nipple several times.

Mom was ecstatic when we finished and asked when the first sale was likely to happen.

"It will take a while Mom, maybe a week or two before the site even gets noticed. We have to market it first."

Mom responded with a simple, "Oh," but quickly recaptured her enthusiasm. "Well, I should get back to work."

She started to get up, then turned back to face me, twisting her chair toward me a little.

"I know you're still worried about me, sweetheart, but I really am ok."

I started to protest but Mom interrupted. "I saw that you were worried a few times."

I guess staring at Mom's tits was evidence of me being 'worried'.

"Look, honey. Would it make you feel better if I checked myself several times a day? It isn't necessary, but would it make you feel better?"

I nodded as if greatly relieved. I had better act really worried or I would sure as hell be in deep shit.

Mom pulled her shirt apart, almost exposing her right tit in its entirety. She felt underneath, her fingers searching for and finding the little lump. I stared at her exposed nipple which, as Mom's fingers lifted her breast, pushed magically upward. My mouth dried and I found it difficult to breathe. I guess I looked pretty anxious along with sucking in my breath because Mom reacted right away. She sat up straight and smiled encouragingly at me.

"Would it make you feel better to check it yourself, honey?"

I looked into Mom's face, thankful for my slow comprehension and the blank look it provided for my face to wear.

"Check it myself?" I finally managed to say, afraid to believe what I thought I was hearing.

"Yes. Here." Mom grabbed my hand, as she had the day before, and placed it on her breast. "Go ahead, honey."

My fingers tentatively closed around Mom's beautiful globe, capturing the meatiest part, and slid underneath in search of the little lump. I wasn't as adept at finding it as Mom and she had to interrupt my search.

"It's here, honey," she said, guiding my finger to the right spot. "See how little it is? It's even hard to find."

Mom pulled my hand away in hers. A sense of disappointment welled up in me but it was squashed by the sheer joy of handling Mom's tit and the knowledge that this could be a daily event if not more often. I was thrilled. I was in heaven. Could it get any better?

"Here, honey. Check the other one to satisfy yourself it's ok too."

Mom dragged my hand under her shirt to her other breast and held it there. Immediately, I slipped my fingers around its orbit, gently searching for telltale little bits of hardness. I couldn't find any but Mom didn't interrupt me this time, instead letting me check longer to assure myself that she was safe. The feel of her skin made my fingers tingle, a sensation that ran up my arm and made it tremble.

"Well, I guess I'm good to go until tonight," Mom joked as she got up to leave.

"Until tonight," I repeated, not meaning anything.

"Tonight," Mom repeated. "I usually check myself before going to bed."

Belatedly, I turned to watch her go but only managed the briefest glimpse of her shapely bottom. Could women get lumps there, I wondered. I turned to the computer and opened Google.

Mom came downstairs and presented herself to me in the living room that night after she and Dad had gone upstairs to go to bed.

"I almost forgot about my check-up," she explained her reappearance.

She stood expectantly in front of me in her bathrobe, still cinched tight by a bow in the terry cloth belt.

I got up and stood close to her. Mom smiled but didn't make a move to take my hand like she had before, or to offer her breasts for inspection. I glanced up the stairs.

"Your father's in bed," Mom said.

"Oh," I responded. Tentatively, I stretched out my hand and tried to pull the lapels of Mom's robe apart without success.

"You have to undo the belt, silly."

"Oh."

I pulled one end of the belt, expecting it to come completely undone but was left in a knot as often happened when I rushed to get my running shoes off.

"Damn," I muttered.

Mom giggled.

I struggled with the knot while Mom waited. Nervously, I glanced several times up the stairs but Mom didn't say anything, nor did she look impatient.

Finally, I got the bloody thing undone and pulled Mom's robe apart. Underneath, she wore a long nightgown with a long V open to her waist that was held together by three sets of laces, the uppermost already undone. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to check through the thin material or try to get my hand in through the top. I debated for several seconds while Mom continued to wait patiently, then abruptly tugged the end of the second lacy bow. It came apart easily. There was now plenty of room for my hand to slip inside but I moved to the final bow instead, picking up its ends in my trembling fingers, now overly eager upon the realization that Mom was going to let me get inside the nightgown. Could I undo the whole thing? Mom's smile widened but I still chickened out.

I released the last set of laces and moved my hand up. With a final glance upstairs, I slipped my hand under Mom's nightgown onto her right breast. I knew where the lump was now and went directly to it, grunting in satisfaction that it was still small, but then moved on, ostensibly searching with prodding fingers for other lumps. I felt Mom's right breast for as long as I thought I could get away with it before moving to the equally exquisite left and checked it out for just as long, managing to brush my palm over Mom's erect nipple.

When I was done, Mom said, "Thank you, sweetheart," and re-tied the laces, muttering under her breath as she did so, "It's nice to see at least one man in this house concerned about my health." Then, she smiled sweetly, leaned forward to give me a kiss, and said, "Nighty, night," like she used to when I was little. As she climbed the stairs, she cinched her robe up tight.

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The next day, I asked about the sculptures hidden under the tarp in the corner. Mom hadn't heard me step into the studio so I was able to watch her preen in front of the mirror, arching her back, pushing her arms up and bending them so she could play with the hair behind her neck, and, best of all, thrusting her breasts upward. She twisted her torso to and fro and glanced often between her refection and the piece she was sculpting. I startled her when I spoke.

"Can I see them?"

"Oh, Ben. You gave me a start for sure. See what?" Mom's lashes dipped. Had she glanced down at her chest?

"The ones you're hiding from me." I nodded toward the corner.

"Oh, those. I'm not hiding them," she said, defensively.

"Then, I can see them?" I walked toward the tarp.

"No, Ben. Don't."

I stopped. "Why, what's so terrible about them. If they're not up to snuff, we should move them to make room for the stuff you're doing now. It's great."

I started for the corner again.

"They're not duds, they're nudes," Mom explained.

I was astonished. "Nudes?"

"Yes, nudes. Well, bare-breasted, anyway." Mom looked down and blushed.

"You don't want me to see them because they're bare-breasted? Mom, I'm twenty-two." I started to move again.

"Wait. It's just that, it's just...well, they're of me."

"Mom, they're just statues."

"I know, but still."

"Mom, I you let me check your breasts for lumps last night, the real ones, not replicas."

"I know but that's a medical thing. This is different."

"Ok," I put up my hands, relenting.

Somehow, it didn't seem appropriate now to ask Mom if I could check her breasts which is what I'd come out to the studio hoping to do. I hung out for a bit, then quietly slipped away. I think Mom was relieved to see me go.

I was surprised when Mom slipped downstairs that night to present herself to me again. She wore an enigmatic smile the whole time I loosened and parted her robe and also while I slipped the second lace apart. This time, I quickly moved to the third and last bow and undid it too. Mom gave no indication of whether she approved or disapproved. As soon as it was done, I spread Mom's nightgown apart, peeling it back to her arms. I didn't need to open it that wide but Mom didn't object. My mouth dropped open at the unimpeded beauty of her perfectly shaped breasts jutting with surprising firmness from her chest. I slipped my hands over them, both at the same time, fingers first, followed by sliding palms, a whole hand check-up. My fingers strayed lightly all around Mom's tits before I used my palms to press them against her chest.

"I did a little reading," I explained. "You're supposed to flatten them so the smaller lumps will show."

This was bullshit of course which I suspect Mom knew but I felt I needed to provide an explanation and that was the best I could come up with. Squishing them for a mammary exam was one thing but squashing them with your palms was quite another. Still, Mom let me get away with it. She let me check her out for the longest time yet and when I was finished and stepped back, I thought that Mom's nipples looked more stimulated than when I had started but I couldn't be sure because Mom closed her nightgown quickly.

When she leaned forward to kiss me, she whispered, "I guess I'm ready for your father, now."

Those words reverberated around my skull for hours that night, 'ready for your father now'. Was she teasing me? I pictured her presenting her stiff nipples to my father, nipples I had prepared, the lucky bastard. I strained my ears for the sound of love-making but I didn't hear anything definitive which both pleased and disappointed me. Eventually, I satisfied myself by rubbing my dick until I spilled my seed in my shorts.

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The next day, Mom wore the old designer jeans again, topped by a loose shirt. The shirt had been buttoned right up until Dad left for work but when Mom returned from kissing him goodbye at the door, it was half undone. I tried to initiate a check-up but Mom spurned me, saying she had to get to work right away. When I tried again at lunch time, she flatly refused, saying that once a day should be enough. I was crushed. What had I done? She seemed to be okay with my extended check-up the night before, even pleased, and possibly excited. Was that it? Had I crossed a boundary that betrayed the sexual nature of my 'medical' examination? I hoped not.

Later that afternoon, Mom called me out to the studio. She was in the corner, holding one end of the tarp.

"Help me move these, will you Ben?"

I moved quickly to comply, not questioning her change of heart. A dozen miniature statues were revealed, all of them of a woman in various sitting poses, mostly with an arched back and uplifted arms and breasts, and hair that fell to barely graze an elegant pair of shoulders bracketing a sleek neck. The breasts were well-matched to the woman's slender form and perfectly shaped except for a tiny lump underneath the right breast, almost like a flaw in workmanship, or a signature.

"Mom, these are great. We've got to get them on the website right away."

"Oh, no. These aren't for sale."

"Not for sale? You're k**ding?"

"I couldn't. It would be too embarrassing."

"Mom, these will sell. The website isn't getting any traffic and this will attract lots of viewers."

"But that's so... pornographic."

"Mom, come on. All the great sculptors did nudes. Some of them, nothing but. You have to let me put these up. You need to earn enough to at least partly pay for all this or you'll eventually have to go back to selling insurance."

"Ok, but I don't want see anyone who wants to buy them."

"Don't worry, I'll look after that."

"And the wheeling and dealing."

"And I'll take care of the business too," I agreed.

It was harder getting the names and stories for these new pieces from Mom but I was glad I pushed her. The stories were incredibly touching. This was good stuff. I took great pain to get the pictures just right but I wasn't completely satisfied. As an avid amateur photographer, I wanted the lighting to be just perfect but the conditions weren't right. Still, I managed to get a sufficiently decent interplay of light and shadow for each piece to show well.

Mom noted my disappointment so I took great pains to explain it to her lest she think it reflected her workmanship which was superb. She understood in the end, leaving the discussion with a portentous comment.

"Too bad you can't put the light and shadow right on the statue. Then it wouldn't matter where you took the pictures."

I worked on the website that afternoon adding a bit about the shock of cancer and mentioned the tiny lump lest some mistake it for poor craftsmanship instead of a signature.

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That night, Mom was late coming downstairs. Given what had happened that morning and afternoon, I figured the check-ups were over. I was mildly surprised and greatly relieved when I saw her descending in her robe. I got up to meet her so stopped in the middle of the living room to wait for me with that strange smile on her face.

She spoke as I untangled the belt on her robe, "Your father's fallen asleep already."

The fact that she pointed that out to me made the hair on my arms tingle. Why had she felt it necessary for me to know that? Perhaps because I was thinking so hard about that, I was slower than the night before to get Mom's robe and nightgown undone. When I finally had her breasts exposed and my hands enveloping them, Mom whispered, "If you're only going to do this once a day, you'd best do it carefully."

I nodded but didn't look at her for I was already busy checking her breasts. In the interests of thoroughness, I allowed my fingers to slip up onto the top of Mom's breasts and even let them brush over her nipples, which were indeed stiff. My examination turned into an extended, continuous caress, barely disguisable as anything but. When Mom finally stopped me, at least five minutes later, we were both breathing more rapidly and swaying unsteadily on our feet. Mom pushed my hands away but she didn't step back or force me away.

"Did you know women can get lumps on their bottoms too?" I suddenly blurted out.

That had just popped into my head.

"No, really?" Mom whispered, still swaying on her feet, as was I.

"Yeah, especially if you've had a lump on your breast."

This was pure bullshit and I was sure Mom likely knew it as such but I still said it with conviction.

"Have you checked yours?" I asked, my hands already sliding down her shoulders and then jumping to her waist, inside the robe.

"No, I didn't even know about it," Mom replied.

"I better check, then," I mumbled, my hands slipping around the curve of Mom's waist, sliding easily over the silky material of her nightgown.

Gently, I urged Mom closer to me, pressing my hands into the small of her back. When she was almost touching me her arms lifted until her hands clutched my shoulders. I moved my hands lower, palms flat on Mom's back, sliding down until each was poised at the top of her buttocks. I paused for a moment, scared to continue without permission, then, when it didn't come, proceeded anyway.

Oh, what a gentle, erotic slope my hands traveled, a curve as magnificent as the underside of her breasts and just as perfect. How magically her buns filled my cupped hands, how sensuous they felt, soft yet firm, quivering with a life that couldn't be contained. Oh, if only I could touch them directly, sense their bare skin, I would be in heaven. I reached the bottom and curled my fingers underneath, testing the heft of each slightly sagging swell and, sighing, lowering my head to Mom's shoulder. I squeezed and pulled them closer, bringing Mom into full frontal contact.

"Ben," Mom whispered.

"Ben," she repeated, more firmly.

"Yes," I replied groggily.

"I think, perhaps, we should finish this tomorrow."

Mom's hands were gently urging me away.

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes, tomorrow."

I brought my left hand up to Mom's waist, preparing to part, but the right lingered. Slowly, I allowed its fingers to curl completely around Mom's left buttock until the tips were pressed into the base of the divide between her cheeks and then, just as slowly, I deliberately raised my hand, dragging my fingertips up the crevice that stretched above.

"Ok, tomorrow," I whispered.

Thankfully, Mom wasn't angry. She stretched up to kiss me on the neck, then lifted higher to kiss me on my ear, her slightly moist lips leaving a hot trail between.

"Goodnight, baby."

She was gone and I was left with the smell of her hair and her perfume. It filled my nostrils for hours after that as I dreamed of her and eventually squeezed my fluid out into my shorts for a second night.

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"You're not serious?" Mom was aghast. "You don't really think I'm going to let you smear that mess all over me, do you?"

"But you're the model. You look at yourself in the mirror as you work. It has to be on you."

"Why can't you just paint the statues?"

"Two reasons," I explained. "First, nobody wants a painted statue."

"I guess," Mom concurred. "And second?"

"And second," I continued, "it's what you see that counts. You'll see a different array of light and shadow and that will change what you create. Don't you see?"

"Yes, Mom," replied, her fingertip in her mouth, eyes narrowing as she thought. "I do see."

Mom stood up. "Go ahead, then, paint me," she said, holding her arms out at her sides.

"Not here, and not wearing all those clothes."

"Where, then? You can't put that on me in the house. It will ruin the floor if it spills."

"Right out there then, on the grass."

"On the grass? I'm not taking my clothes off in the back yard."

"Just your top, and your jeans."

"I don't need to take off my jeans. I only do women sitting."

"Yes, but the tops of the thighs and the sides of the hips are showing. They need to be painted too."

"What if someone comes?"

"Who ever comes here during the day?"

Reluctantly, Mom acquiesced. "Alright, but just down to my bra and panties, or maybe I should put on a bathing suit."

"No, Mom. We don't have time. We need to be finished before Dad gets home. You can imagine what he'd say if he knew you were painting yourself."

Mom walked out to the middle of the yard, kicked off her flip flops and loosened her jeans, then pushed them down her legs. She kicked them off, undoing the buttons on her blouse and letting it fall to the ground as she sank to her knees wearing only a brief pair of panties. Not a thong, mind you, but a nice small triangular pair of black panties with narrow ears that rose up and over the swell of her hips. The fleshy part of her ass bulged out a bit under the edge of the black panties.
"What a woman must suffer for her art," Mom chuckled. "Come on, get it over with."

As I started rubbing the mix on Mom's shoulders and back, she barked, "Ugggh. This better work."

I lathered the 'paint' on Mom's shoulders, arms, back, stomach and thighs, spreading it slowly with my hands and working it into her soft skin. I left the best parts for last: her breasts, the inside of her thighs, and the bits closest to her panties in the back. I did her breasts first because she was used to me touching her there and was less likely to object to my exploring fingers on that part of her body. By the time I finished coloring her breasts, Mom's nipples were definitely erect. I moved to her legs but as my fingers pushed the paint between her thighs, Mom objected and closed her legs tight.

"Hey, I don't need this stuff there."

"If you don't, you'll be disconcerted by the line that shows. You should have it right over the tops of your thighs."

Mom reluctantly loosened her legs to let me apply the paint. I rubbed it up and down the length of her inner thighs but was careful not to get too close to her panties. I sensed that a boundary existed somewhere around there and that my proximity to it was making Mom a little tense. I definitely didn't want to spook her so I chickened out on my plans to smear the stuff over Mom's ass, especially those intriguing bulges at the bottom.

"Ok, you're ready," I said, standing back to admire my work.

"Well, now we'll see," Mom said, standing.

She walked awkwardly to the studio as if she was covered in mud and I supposed that's what the stuff felt like as it dried. I stood as quietly as I could, out of Mom's sight, as she worked on the next piece. She worked quickly and rarely stopped to examine her body. When she did, she struck a pose and merely glanced at the mirror rather than twisting and turning, preening, and peering intently as she usually did. Somehow, she was seeing immediately what she needed to see. When she was done, she started on another one right away.

"Ben. Ben!"

I ran to the bathroom.

"Ben! Come here!"

I opened the door, carefully peeking inside, ready to quickly yank my head out.

"Come in. Quickly. And shut the door."

I stepped inside. Mom was in the shower, the sliding door half open, her eyes closed and her hair full of shampoo.

"This stuff isn't coming off and your father will be home soon."

I surveyed at Mom's glistening body. She had the stuff mostly off her front and the backs of her legs but it still clung to the backs of her upper arms and all down her back. My eyes drifted to her pelvis, the swell of her tummy and the tuft of hair below it. If she turned, I would see my mother's pussy.

"Ben. Get in here and scrub my back."

"What?"

"Get in here. You put it on, now you get it off!"

"Oh, ok."

I scrambled to get my pants and shirt off.

"Leave those on," Mom yelled when I pushed my underwear down. "What are you thinking?"

I nodded, acknowledging my silliness. Mom pulled the shower door wide open and I stepped in behind her. She reached behind herself to hand me the soap and a wash cloth. I was staring at Mom's bare ass, the one I had groped the night before and pounded my poor little dick all night over. Naked, it was even sexier than I had imagined it to be, firm but jiggling, the bulgy cheeks clearly separated. I dearly wanted to cup them in my hands.

"My back, Ben. Scrub my back."

I started rubbing the soap all over Mom's back and following it with the washcloth, working it in hard. The paint began to come off. When I got her back done, I searched out bits behind her arms and beside her breasts that she had missed. Mom had calmed down quite a bit when she realized the stuff was coming off and stood with both arms stretched up on the end of the shower wall to brace herself against my rubbing hands. Her head turned when they slid below her back and onto her slippery buttocks.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

"Some of the paint dripped down. You've got some here and here," I said, touching the top of her bum just above her crack and the bottom of each cheek, the parts that would have been above and below her panties.

"Really? How on earth did that happen?" Mom asked, craning her neck to see but unable to.

"I don't know," I replied, scratching at the area just above her crack, my scr****g fingertip managing to slip into her delightful crevice. "Should I get it?"

"Hurry then," Mom said. "Dad will be home soon."

I moved down to scratch at the fleshy bottom of Mom's cheeks. I was in my glory, rubbing away at Mom's fantastic butt, my head lowered to see what I was doing. There was, of course, no paint there. Employing both hands in the interest of getting the job done faster, I managed to pull Mom's cheeks apart to observe her crinkly bottom hole. Of course, the pulpy lips below divided by her furry slit didn't escape my attention either. If wasn't long before Mom had had enough because she pushed herself away from the wall and abruptly shut off the shower.

Stepping out, she said, "I'll get the rest later. Your father will be here any minute now."

"I managed to get it all," I said, in case she examined herself in her bedroom and found no paint on her butt.

"Good, good," Mom replied, toweling herself hurriedly. "You better get to your room." She glanced at me as she rubbed herself and I noticed that her eyes were drawn to my soaking wet underwear and the swollen cock they contained. "Maybe you should just get back in the shower," she grinned, and left.

I did as Mom suggested. Of course, I couldn't leave my cock alone. It was empty when I was done five minutes later and pictures of Mom's wet cheeks were still floating in front of my closed eyes.

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Mom didn't come down that night. I waited for hours but finally went to bed but I couldn't sleep. I checked the computer and found several emails requesting more information about the nude statues and their prices which I hadn't put in because I didn't know what was appropriate. I was about to answer when one email in particular caught my eye, offering five thousand dollars in the subject line for a commissioned work. The message body promised more to follow if they liked the first one.

Naturally, I read that email with great interest. They — it appeared to be from a man and a women — had read the bio of Mom that I had put up in an 'About the Sculptress' page, noting her recent cancer scare. They wanted to know if Mom would do a commissioned work with the woman lying down rather than sitting. I responded to the email saying that we were open to the idea. A response came back within minutes when I was in the middle of responding to a price request. I left that message to read the response.

Are you the Sculptress?

No. I'm her son.

The response was immediate.

Her son. How very nice to meet you. Will your mother do the piece we've requested and would she be interested in further requests? We're willing to pay more.

I'm sure she will. She is very much the artist and is interested in the piece more than the money. That's why she let's me look after the business part. My I ask how much more?

If we like the first, then we're thinking $10,000 per piece. Does that sound reasonable to you?"

What kind of pieces did you have in mind?

I was so excited I could hardly type. I was relieved this exchange wasn't taking place face to face. I couldn't have kept my cool if it was.

Several in the prone position and perhaps a few more sitting or lying with a young man son nearby.

The latter would be much more work.

We're willing to offer more for those.

If my mother is willing, will you put down a deposit?

We'll pay up front for the first piece. Please send us the details so we can wire the money to your account.

I couldn't believe it. I replied that I would send the details ASAP and then responded to the other requests saying that the prices would be posted soon. I wanted to get Mom to see this right away but it was after midnight. I had a heck of a time getting to sleep. I was so worked up, I didn't even beat off.

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I was up early the next day. Dad and Mom were still finishing their breakfast. Mom could see that I was excited but Dad was oblivious. I didn't say anything because I wanted to let Mom know first and let her decide what to say to my father. I could hardly wait for him to leave and Mom noticed my agitated state.

Finally, Mom accompanied Dad to the door, dressed in a white blouse and a black, pleated skirt. She kissed him goodbye, stood at the door until he got in his car, then waved as he backed out of the driveway. Closing the door, Mom turned and walked back toward the kitchen, already unbuttoning her blouse as she came.

"What's up mister? Why are you so antsy?" she smiled as she entered the kitchen, the buttons already undone almost to the waist of her skirt. Mom was pulling the blouse up, untucking it from the skirt but stopped, peering at my face. "What? What is it?"

"You won't believe it, Mom. Some couple wants to commission a statue... for five grand!"

"What? You're joking?"

"Nope, I k** you not."

I got up and went to Mom. Instead of hugging her, I brushed her stilled hands aside and grasped her blouse, pulling it up out of her skirt to finish the job for her.

"You're really serious, aren't you?"

"I am," I laughed. "I'm really, really serious."

I struggled and failed to keep a straight face. What I didn't fail at was undoing the remaining buttons on Mom's blouse. She didn't seem to even notice what I was doing, even when I pulled her blouse apart to reveal her naked breasts and started pushing it off her shoulders.

"What do they want?" Mom asked, automatically holding her arms out from her sides to make it easier for me to strip off the long-sleeved blouse.

I got it off one hand but it hung up on the other. I ignored it and grasped her breasts in both hands.

"I told you these, I mean they, would sell."

Mom was oblivious to my caressing hands.

"When do they need it?"

"When you're done. It's at your discretion."

"I can't believe it."

"You're a Sculptress, Mom. You've really done it."

"With you're help. You're the one that made it happen."

Mom threw her hands around my neck and hugged me hard, almost dislodging my hands but I managed to retain my grip.

"You wonderful, wonderful boy. You've given me a new career."

Mom kissed me, full on the mouth.

I was stunned. So stunned, I forgot her tits and actually let them go. Mom was giddy with laughter. I slipped my hands around her shoulders and kissed her back. We broke apart and laughed together. My arms slid down to the small of her back and I kissed her again. The laugh between was short-lived. Mom's arms tightened around my neck and we kissed again. This time, Mom really kissed me, her lips mashing against mine for several long seconds before her tongue slipped into my mouth. I moved my hands around to her front to reclaim her tits, sucking her tongue deeper into my mouth. Mine dueled with hers and finally pushed it back until it retreated to its home, closely chased my mine invading her own mouth. We were gasping for air when we finished. Mom's hands slid from my shoulders and she stepped back.

"Whew," Mom sighed. "I guess we got a little carried away."

"We had a good excuse," I panted.

"I suppose. I guess artists sometimes let their emotions get the better of themselves," Mom responded, turning away, pulling the blouse off her wrist and tossing it onto a chair. "We'd better finish our breakfast, we've got painting and sculpting to do."

As we finished breakfast, I filled Mom in on the email exchange. I could see her mind drifting off to plan the new sculptures as I spoke. As I suspected, the money, fantastic as is was, was secondary to the fact that someone wanted her work. As her mind toiled, I could have slapped myself to see if I was really awake and not dreaming. I mean, I was sitting at the breakfast table with my sexy mother, dressed in a skirt with her breasts nonchalantly on full display without a hint of discomfort on her part.

We walked together into the yard but Mom stopped in the middle of the grass.

"I guess you better paint me," she said, indicating with her flapping hand that I should fetch the paint.

I returned quickly to find Mom still standing where I had left her. When she saw me, she smiled and reached down and slid the zipper down the side of her hip, then kinked it up and back, letting the skirt fall of its own accord. Mom kicked it away several feet, then turned around and kneeled on the grass wearing only her panties. I went to her and sank to my knees behind her.

"I guess you'd better paint all of me," she instructed in a rather throaty voice.

I splashed the paint on Mom's back and spread it around, covering her arms and shoulders and even the back of her thighs and her calves. When I reached around to do her front, and Mom didn't object, I concentrated on her breasts, kneading and stroking them for long minutes, massaging and flicking her nipples, once even tugging them up until they dropped from the weight of their fleshy substrate.

The two pieces Mom had done the day before were really superb and I really thought it was due to the paint making the contours of her body more apparent to her as she worked. After all, she had worked quickly with the briefest of glances at her body in the mirror, but I had now changed my mind. I now believed the superior work was due to Mom's state of arousal and I was going to make sure she was aroused for this first commissioned piece of work. I think Mom was aware of it too, at least at some level, when I thought about the strength of her conviction that it was me that had made it happen. I had thought she was referring to the website but now I think she was voicing her own conviction and she, more than anyone, should know what was driving her.

I dipped my hand in the paint bucket and, with my left lightly stroking Mom's throat, I splashed the right on her belly, moving the paint slowly around in an ever widening circle. Again, I dipped my hand and spread the paint everywhere, even onto Mom's panties. Dipping my hand in again, I dropped it onto Mom's thighs which parted to give me access to the inside of her legs. My lips dropped onto Mom's neck and I nibbled the crook as my hand languidly pushed the paint deep between her legs, scr****g her panties on each upstroke.

I looked at Mom's eyes and was pleased to see they were shut, a wanton expression covering her face. Dipping my hand again, I surprised her by rubbing it onto her bottom, covering her cheeks and the panties. She slumped back against me so I curled my left arm around her torso beneath her breasts to pull her up on her knees. I dipped my hand again and applied a liberal quantity of paint to Mom's bottom again, this time working it between her legs from behind. I wasn't shy about rubbing my hand up her center, letting my fingers push into the crevice dividing her cheeks. The next handful went directly on the front of Mom's panties and my mouth covered her ear, the tip of my tongue swirling slowly around its rim, then tasting the center. When the first low moan escaped Mom's lips, I pushed her forward onto the grass.

Mom lay still where she had landed. My eyes drinking in her painted body. It was a surreal, extremely erotic sight. I leaned forward and pushed the back of her right knee, moving it up until her leg was bent at almost ninety degrees. Observing her position critically, I moved her left leg up too but not as much. After a brief pause, I pulled on Mom's right shoulder until her upper body was almost perpendicular to the grass. Gently, I pried her face up so it looked like she was trying to look back, waiting expectantly for someone behind her, except her eyes were closed. Almost satisfied, but not quite. I adjusted Mom's hips so they tilted forward slightly but her ass pushed up and back. For the final touch, I moved Mom's knees together and aligned her lower legs so they matched, one on the other, with one foot curling over the other.

Perfect. A woman waiting expectantly for her lover. Apprehensive, yet offering him everything, from behind.

I laid down behind Mom, snuggling up to her and fitting myself around her body, the lump in my shorts just barely touching the triangle below her painted panties. As I leaned over to whisper in her ear, my bulge pressed into that sacred spot.

"You've got work to do," I whispered thickly into her wet ear.

I stood and dragged Mom to her feet.

I kept my distance, quietly watching Mom as she worked feverishly for the next few hours. She worked right through lunch, though I set a plate of fresh fruits and vegetables nearby. She finished the first statue, lying on its side, twisting up to look at the sky, the pert upper breast leaping from its chest as if it wanted to launch itself up to meet the target of its gaze. The second was finished in the middle of the afternoon. It, too, was lying on its side, though turned down toward the earth, it's prominent, naked bottom pushing up as if unashamed of the heathen triangle it blatantly offered.

When she was done, Mom looked vacantly about, almost immediately noticing the food. She devoured it ravenously, the speed with which she ate forcing juice from the oranges and tomatoes spilling over her chin. She didn't drink until the food was gone and then she gulped it down in one go. Then, she slumped in her seat before getting up and tottering like an old woman. I stepped quickly forward and grabbed her, fearing that she was about to fall. I carried her in my arms, upstairs, to the bathroom and the shower. There, I pulled the panties down and, God help me, kissed each bare cheek as I pushed the panties down her legs and off her feet.

As she stood in the shower, leaning against the wall, letting the water run over her back, I undressed... completely. Mom was watching me with listless eyes but they still tracked my underwear being dragged down to my feet and off... then rose to follow the spring of my cock. I stepped into the shower behind her, soap in one hand and a washcloth in the other. I set to work, wiping away the paint and the stress.

I cleaned her well and massaged her body as I went, interested more in relaxing than caressing. Yes, I took liberty in touching every part of her body but I didn't try to rub my hard cock on her though my tip did accidently bump into her bum several times. I don't know how but I resisted the urge to push it between her legs. She was susceptible and I didn't want to take advantage. I let her know that I loved her in the tender way I touched her, that I was fascinated with her beauty in body and soul, but most of all, just that I loved her.

We didn't say a word to my father about the emails or the new sculptures.

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Mom didn't come downstairs again that night either. Perhaps the day's events had taken too great a toll.

I was up early again the next day, eager to see her. Mom wore a simple white blouse, braless again, and a dark, navy blue skirt with intricate designs sketched in thin white lines. The thin cotton skirt swirled about her legs as she walked but when she returned from waving goodbye to Dad it was her blouse that attracted my attention. It was fully buttoned and Mom didn't give any indication that she was going to unbutton it as she walked unsmiling toward me and stopped in front of my chair.

I can't describe the thrill that spread through my chest when, once there, a smile appeared and Mom started to undo her blouse. Slowly, very slowly. I didn't say a word as I craned my neck to see and neither did she. The white blouse was dropped carelessly and my eyes followed it to the floor despite the fact that Mom wasn't wearing a bra. Her fingers were already sliding the zipper down on the navy blue skirt and my attention focused there, intent on the bare skin being exposed as Mom slowly lowered it over her hips. The depression between hipbone and tummy was revealed only to be hidden by the unfortunate appearance of panties but, as the skirt continued its fall, Mom's flesh, in the form of soft, white thighs, reappeared. The skirt passed her knees and Mom stepped carefully out of it before dropping it onto the blouse. Two pieces of clothing. Only white panties were left. Mom leaned over me to brace her hands against the wall behind my head.
"I don't want to get paint on these. I had to throw the black ones out yesterday."

Mom waited, still smiling, but didn't say anything more. Her words sank in and I reached out with both hands to tug the panties down her hips. They caught briefly on the jutting swells of her behind, then snapped down to the base of her ass and the thickness of her thighs. Her pussy was bare, a neatly trimmed slot barely covering the puffy lips. I savored its musky aroma. Slowly, I tugged the panties further, in no hurry, leaning closer to Mom the farther I pushed them down her legs. When they were near her feet, my face was so close I could have stuck out my tongue and tasted her. Mom stepped out of the panties and I dropped them where they were on the floor.

"Come," Mom whispered. "We've got work to do."

She pulled me up by my hand and turned to lead me outside. I stumbled trying not to step on her panties. What would Dad think if he came home to find Mom's clothes strewn around the kitchen, especially her panties? Halfway across the yard, just as she had the day before, Mom stopped and pulled me even with her, then pushed on my back to urge me ahead.

"Go get the paint," she said.

I turned back to Mom and folded my arms around her naked body.

"We don't need the paint."

I leaned down to plant a kiss in the crook of her neck.

"No," she whispered.

I stiffened, then pulled back and looked into her eyes.

"I guess you're right, we don't," she said and stretched up to kiss me on my mouth.

I pulled her to me and mashed my lips on hers, slowly slipping my tongue into her mouth. My hands roamed down Mom's back and onto her gently sloping buttocks, curling around her bottom and squeezing her delicious buns. The kiss was intense and when we stopped twisting our faces to catch our breath, I had pulled Mom hard against the fullness of my swollen private parts. I realized what I had done and was about to pull away when Mom's mouth sought mine again, her tongue pushing thickly into me. I responded to its demand, kissing her hard and wrapping my arms tightly around her. Her pelvis thrust against mine and I ground my cock into its yielding flesh, forcing it into a rotational movement that continued until we parted again to breathe.

"No," Mom said. "We certainly don't need the paint." She stepped back, out of breath, but didn't turn away. My eyes moved down from her flushed face to her heaving chest and quivering nipples, then below to her pubic hair which was pulsing with excitement. I noticed that the