Late For DinnerChapter 11 Out of the Frying Pan
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Suburban SuccubusChapter 5: Out Of The Frying Pan... free porn video
In accordance with the agreement I'd struck with Liira, tonight would be "date night." In part we were doing it to re-kindle the bond between my mother and I as we'd drifted apart, but part of it was to suit my growing interest in my mother's sexuality. Ordinarily, I would have simply done a casserole or some spaghetti, but I wanted tonight to be special. I messed around in my room for a while after I heard my mother leave for work, waiting until I was sure had gone and not forgotten anything before I went down into the kitchen and pored through our cookbooks. I idly wondered about attempting a supposed aphrodisiac like oysters, but I was on a budget and unsure of my culinary skills; the last thing I needed to do whilst attempting to turn my mother on was give her a severe case of food poisoning.
Eventually I settled on a French chicken dish, one that looked like it was going to be appropriate for a romantic dinner without looking as though too little effort had been put into its preparation. Scribbling the recipe down on some scrap paper kept around for note-taking purposes, I snagged my keys and wallet, heading off down to the local food store. While I was there, I picked up a dozen red roses and some candles, figuring that a little over-the-top cheese could hardly spoil things, especially since I was attempting to get back into my mother's good books, not just her pants.
I started cooking at around five, giving myself time to make some errors in the preparation of the food whilst lining the meal up to be served around seven. At five-thirty, the phone rang; it was my mother, telling me she'd be working back late that night and would be home closer to seven than the usual six o'clock. I put the extra time to good use, breaking out the good wineglasses and silverware, heading upstairs for a shower and a shave once I was done. Having cleaned and groomed myself, I decided to complete the picture by putting on a blue business shirt, a pair of black slacks, and my formal, leather boots; as I combed my hair into place, I heard my mother's car swing into the driveway. I hastened downstairs, grabbing the roses from the stand of water I had stored them in, waiting at the door to ambush my mother.
Hearing her keys clink against the deadlock, I made my move, opening the door and sweeping into an extravagant bow before presenting her with the flowers. My mother eyed me suspiciously, dropping her handbag on the hallway cabinet. "I know I haven't been to easy to get along with lately, so I wanted to make it up to you. Starting now, I'll cook dinner and we'll eat together every Friday." Mollified, she took the peace offering of my flowers; I helped her out of her coat, taking advantage of the opportunity to peer down her shirt as it rumpled, marvelling at the creamy flesh of her cleavage. So far, Liira was true to her word; just yesterday, merely standing so close to my mother- to say nothing of leering at her breasts- would have been enough to set me to hardening, but my loins finally remained quiescent.
Escorting my mother into the dining room, I held her chair out for her; she sat down graciously, and I uncorked the wine and poured it for her before vanishing into the kitchen, emerging with a tray of thick-crusted bread I had heated in the oven. Whilst my mother sipped at her wine, I slipped back into the kitchen and returned with my gourmet meal. My mother's eyebrows rose; she was impressed. Having organised the table, I killed the lights and lit the candles, their soft glow providing enough illumination for our purposes; outside, it had started to rain, a steady drumming against the roof and walls. It was as though my mother and I were the only ones in the world; suits me, I thought.
I muddled along through the meal, staring intently at my mother as we ate. She probably took it as me trying to make up for all the times in recent history that I had brushed her off with a single grunt, but I was mesmerised by the shifting shadows across her face and bust. We chatted about what had happened during the week, and I listened to her stories about idiot clients at work, along with how she'd had to fend off some unwanted advances from her younger male colleagues of late. I seized the opportunity, telling my mother that I thought she was beautiful, too; she blushed, lowering her gaze demurely to her plate and stirring the remnants of her meal. It broke the spell; she made as if to rise, announcing that she would do the washing. I forestalled her with an outstretched hand, saying that I'd already stored the leftovers and had the dishwasher all set up; it was waiting only for our plates and utensils. Gratefully, she sank back into her chair, slipping her high heels off and stretching her tired feet. I saw another opening, and rushed off to attend to the dishwasher.
When I got back into the dining room, my mother was sitting sideways in her chair, one leg crossed over the other whilst she rubbed at the sole of her foot. I dropped to my knees in front of her, orffering to give her a foot massage. She acquiesced. I'm not a foot man, but a woman's legs always appeal to me. On that day, my mother had worn a pencil skirt with a seam split mid-thigh on one side, enough to allow her freedom of movement but not too risque for a work environment. The way she was sitting, however, caused it to fall open, revealing an expanse of silky thigh I was all too familiar with. I set to with gusto, stopping to stand a few times to refill my mother's wine glass. By the end of the massage, she was wearing the lopsided smile of a happy drunk. Although it was not part of the plan, it was a happy development; as my mother wobbled to her feet, she stumbled forwards into me. She laughed, slurring only slightly as she asked me to "be a gentleman and help her to her room." It was a task I was more than happy to assist with. As I slipped my arm beneath her shoulder to help support her weight, I chanced a sneak fondle of her breast. She either did not notice or was too drunk to care, as we weaved over to the staircase.
Once we got there, my mother halted. "Carry me," she demanded, gesturing at the impediment to our prospects. "What, like a piggy back?" I asked, dubious at the prospect. "Nooo," she said, shaking her head. I understood what she had in mind, scooping her up so that her head would hang out safely over the banister, one arm beneath her knees and one hand around her torso. This time, my grab at her boob was entirely unintentional, but this time my mother noticed. She giggled, using her hands to bat my fingers away from her bust. Undeterred, I mounted the stairs. Once I reached the top, I did not set her down, instead carrying her into her bedroom. I hovered expectantly for a while, but evidently Liira had decided not to arouse my mother's lusts this night- or I hadn't worked hard enough to do so on my own. Sighing, I turned to walk away.
"Where are you going?" came a voice from behind me. "Can't sleep like this." I turned around; my mother had sat up on the side of her bed. My hopes rising, I approached her again; she held her arms up over her head, waiting for me to lift the blouse away. I complied, eager to drink in the sight of my mother's breasts, largely hidden beneath an accursed bra though they may be. Free of her blouse, she lay back on the bed, lifting her hips so I could slide her skirt off. I stood up, gazing down at my mother; today, she was wearing black satin bra, the upper half of each cup a gauzy lace that was enough to make her aureole indistinct beneath. Her bikini-style briefs matched, high-cut around her hips and inset with black lace panels that revealed slashes of creamy skin, untouched by the sun- or by anyone other than me or her.
She smiled up at me, propping herself up on one elbow so that one breast, pushed down and to the side, threatened to escape from its prison. "Well?" she challenged me. I attempted my most dazzling smile. "Like I said before, mum. You're beautiful. Add some white robes and we could call you Aphrodite." She laughed, her breasts rippling hypnotically in the bra that restrained them. Not for the first time that night I was glad for my compact with Liira to prevent my penis from rising without my consent; although we were in dangerous territory, at least in the morning my mother- if the wine did not rob her of all her memories- would not be dealing with the mental image of her son towering over her with a massive erection whilst she lay bare before him in her lingerie.
Pansy
- 05.10.2022
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