Brushing Moms Hair
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Brushing Mom's HairChapter 7 free porn video
“Your Dad asked me to do something special for you on Father’s day.”
Those words replayed in my mind morning, noon and night. I just couldn’t shake them loose. It was like my head was one giant echo chamber, a walking sea shell.
To make things worse, Mom put me on a starvation diet. Not food, of course. Mom treats were few and far between. By the time Father’s Day was only a week away, Mom had let me fuck her only twice since that fateful night when she’d whispered those deafening words. She did, however, milk my cock with her hand several times.
The first time was after I asked if she needed help washing her hair. I had been bugging her daily to brushed or braid her hair but when I came out with that Mother’s frown indicated her clear displeasure. She walked into the kitchen and when I followed she let me have it, dishing out a real tongue-lashing, but not the kind I would have liked.
“What the hell are you up to?” she demanded angrily.
Though whispered, the intensity in her voice was more effective than the blare of the train blasting by. Of course, I just looked dumb as if I had no idea what she was talking about.
“Are you retarded?” she hissed.
I looked around toward the living room, sure that bullet would be heard but her voice probably hadn’t carried past me. I turned back to Mom’s face which wore an expression typically paired with, “Duh!”
I shrugged my shoulders, my hands opening and lifting at my sides.
“Do you think your father is stupid?”
Again, I just shrugged, not knowing what to say. I felt like a deer caught in headlights and was afraid to speak in case I said the wrong thing.
Mom’s expression softened when she recognized my dilemma.
“Baby,” she said, more kindly. “You have to be smarter.”
I answered with an ‘I know but can’t help it look.’
Mom suddenly seemed to be all soft and feminine. She stepped toward me.
“I know,” she said. “It’s hard to think when that thing is armed, isn’t it?” Mom looked down at my boner which hadn’t subsided in my jeans despite her tirade. I don’t know how I had managed to get up from the couch and walk into the kitchen without my father noticing my odd gait. Mom’s hand stretched out, pointing down with her palm up.
“It’s hard, isn’t it,” she whispered, the double entendre not lost on me but was obliterated as soon as her hand cupped my scrotum. “It won’t be long now,” she whispered, her head tipping up to direct her voice straight at my ear, her palm rubbing me as if to emphasize how wonderful ‘soon’ would be.
“Do you need something tonight?” she asked, rubbing harder but not faster, the heel of her hand grinding against the underside of my cock, forcing it into my belly.
“Can’t you wait?” she whispered, her fingers closing on my balls as her hand moved faster.
I nodded more vigorously each time, first yes, then no.
Mom stood on tippy toes and slid her tongue out to flick my neck. Her hand was rubbing furiously now, almost painfully, but I didn’t care. She stopped talking and breathed heavily into my neck, just below my ear, communicating her own excitement. My arms circled her shoulder to help me stay on my feet. My legs felt weak and my knees felt like they might buckle.
“I’ll given you a little present tonight,” she whispered.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I nodded.
“Would you like that?”
Yeah, yeah. I was speechless, my hips grinding against her cruel hand, the heel of her palm rubbing and twisting right on my cockhead.
“I’ll come fuck you,” she said in a throaty whisper.
I erupted in pants, clasping her to me, loving the way she ket rubbing me, more softly, urging me to discharge every ounce of my cum. When my hips were still, she patted my damp crotch, gave me a quick kiss, and said, “There, that should hold you until tonight.”
“Now, behave yourself,” Mom added, walking by me to the door.
I promised myself I would. It wasn’t until I was lying in bed, waiting for Mom, that I realized her anger must mean that Dad really didn’t know what was going on, that he hadn’t actually asked her to do the special thing she had hinted at. Didn’t it?
In a way, I was disappointed. If Dad had known, if he’d actually asked her, then I could have Mom openly without any need to hide. On the other hand, the thrill of fucking her right under his nose when he didn’t know was perhaps too much too give up. I wasn’t sure what I wanted but I resolved to ask Mom what the real situation was that night.
I fell asleep. Can you believe it?
It was completely dark when I woke up and I felt like I was still in a dream. Mom was on top of me, lying very still. I was on my back, head turned to the side, looking at the big red numbers on my clock. It was just after four in the morning. No wonder I had fallen asleep. My cock was hard, very hard. How long had she been milking it, her palpitating muscles steadily dragging it deeper into her cunt?
“Finally,” she whispered. “Were your dreaming, about being in my pussy?”
She ground her hips and squeezed her muscles hard. My cock felt like it was being exquisitely crushed in a circular vice. I groaned out loud.
“Oh, so you like that,” she laughed.
I started fucking up at her but she used her weight to dampen my thrusts, laughing harder.
“Not so fast,” she instructed. “I want it slow and hard.”
And that was how it went. As long as I pushed up slow, as far as I could, I was allowed to fuck her, but as soon as I humped faster, she shut me down. The whole time she whispered encouragingly in my ear, that is, when she wasn’t swirling her warm tongue around in there. She was hot. She could have been any woman you cared to imagine, but she was the only one I pictured in my mind. I didn’t cum, I detonated. My back lifted completely off the bed as my whole body tensed, held aloft by head and heels, every muscle engaged in bursting my sperm into Mom’s pussy, the best pussy in the world. Her deep, sultry laugh goaded me on until I collapsed, exhausted.
She was gone before I remembered to ask her about Dad’s request.
Over the next few days, Mom wore clothes that accented her behind. Although she wasn’t obvious, I knew she was teasing me. I struggled not to say or do anything inappropriate which was all the harder because she didn’t let me touch her for days. I was treated, or tortured, with several days of tight shorts and jeans that hugged her buttocks and separated her cheeks as if announcing a womanly welcome. Once, while looking at her jeans as she and Dad were talking, I imagined that her ass was speaking directly to me, “Fuck me, come on, fuck me.”
I gave my head a shake just as Dad looked up at something, I guess whatever they’d been discussing, and Mom turned around to look at me, smiling enigmatically as she straightened one leg taut, lifting that hip, and placed her hand on its buttock.
“What was that, dear?” she turned back to follow my father’s gaze.
That night Mom headed me off just outside her bedroom door as I tried to enter. I had heard the shower come on in their room, not surprising since I had been waiting in the hallway. As I leaned against the wall in the hallway outside their bedroom, Mom’s hand snaked inside my pajamas and fished my cock out. Her arm curled around my neck as she stretched up to kiss me, jacking my cock throughout a long and sensuous embrace.
She looked down when we finished and, her breath as short as mine, said, “It looks like you need it again.” Her hand didn’t stop pumping my cock. “Do you like that?” she cooed.
Well, yeah.
Her hand gripped me tightly, rubbing hard down the length of my shaft, then squeezing so hard as she pulled my cock up that I though the head would come off.
“Do you want it again?”
I nodded, a pleading expression filling my face. Up and down, she continued her harsh masturbation.
“Do you want me to?” she demanded.
I nodded, looking at the ceiling, trying to hide the desperation in my eyes. I was completely surprised when her mouth engulfed my cock. Shocked, I looked down to see her wonderful head of hair pumping up and down, vigorously sucking my joyous member right down to the root. My hands dropped to her head but when I tried to hold her down she batted my hands away. I backed off, acceding to her demand.
She was almost biting my cock but it still felt wonderful. In a matter of seconds I released a torrent, a veritable flood built up over three days of her dangling that Mom ass in my face. A picture of me sliding between her cheeks filled my head as I filled hers. Take that, I cried to myself, thrusting forward, shoving my cock into her throat, holding her head to stop her from pulling away, thrilled that she let me.
“That’s it until Father’s day,” she said when she straightened up and then quickly disappeared into her room, shutting the door behind her.
I noticed that the shower had stopped. When? I wondered, hobbling to my room, pajamas almost down to my knees.
I woke up with Mom splayed over my cock again. It was just after four in the morning, like the last time. I hadn’t expected her after her parting remark. Had she changed her mind or planned this all along? Who cared? I started fucking her slowly, like before.
“Faster,” she urged, displeased. “Come on, fuck me harder.”
I thrust faster and harder, lifting us both off the bed. It wasn’t enough. She yelled in my ear.
“Come on! Fuck me!”
I went wild, digging my heels and elbows in the bed, throwing myself up at her, almost trying to heave her clutching pussy off my cock, to no avail. Try as I might, she rode me like a rodeo star, goading me on, mocking me, then just hanging on and cooing in my ear as I convulsed inside her, emptying my spunk insider her.
“That’s it, that’s it,” she cried, hugging me close. “Give me everything, baby, squirt it in me.”
She disappeared quickly again but no matter, I wasn’t going to ask her anything anyway. I was happy the way things were going. It was only a week away now.
You’d have thought she might have some mercy that last week, especially after telling me I wasn’t getting any more until Father’s day. But no. She wore the same tight shorts and ass-defining jeans but added short skirts to top it off. But that wasn’t the worst. Every night in the living room, she sat opposite me, twisting her hips to the side and pulling her legs up but holding her feet far enough out that I could see her accented bottom and the bare backs of her upper legs. And she always found a moment to suddenly look at me and flash that enigmatic smile, slowly closing her eyes just long enough for her lashes to flutter on her cheeks.
Ah, cheeks. I couldn’t keep that word out of my head. I pictured those beautiful globes for hours in my head, at home and all day at school. I couldn’t think of anything else. All my time on the internet was now spent watching ass fucking or reading up on how to get a woman to enjoy anal sex. That was a good thing because my first impulse for Father’s day had bee to upend Mom at the first opportunity and shove my hard cock into her behind. I learned that if I did that, it would be the shortest ass fuck in history, and my last, at least with Mom. So I researched and read carefully.
Slow, slow, everything I read told me. Use lots of lube and relieve yourself first. This latter was usually a caution to women readers to get their lover off first so they didn’t lose control and ruin the experience for both of them. I did the equivalent of a year long correspondence course in anal sex in one week. If astrophysics was ass fucking, I would have been put in charge of the space program.
Friday. I left school early so I could get a ride home with Mom from her club before she went home, thinking I might even be early enough to catch her still working out. No such luck. I spotted her sitting in the food court on the way in. I was about to join her when I recognized the woman sitting with her. It was the one we’d met on the trail, the one that had watched us from the bluff.
I figured they knew each other but I thought in just a passing fashion, like recognizing someone you passed when changing machines. Not a coffee partner. Yet, there they were, in cheerful, animated discussion, hands waving, and tossing smiles and laughs in abundance. What the hell was this?
I slunk back into the hallway outside the cafeteria, lurking and watching, trying to figure out what this obviously closer friendship meant. They hadn’t seemed so friendly on the trail. Was this new, then? Or, had Mom been surprised to see her friend and felt uncomfortable given what had happened only moments before? As my mind chewed through the possibilities, both women suddenly stood and turned to the exit, walking toward me, still talking. Mom’s friend looked up, spied me, and said something to Mom who then looked up with a big smile, beckoning to me.
“Michael, what a lovely surprise,” she said, walking up to me and taking my hand. Turning to her friend, she said, “Do you remember Alicia, from our hike the other day?”
I shook my head and though I’m sure Alicia had seen the recognition in my face when she had first spotted me, she graciously played along.
“Hello, Michael. It’s so nice to meet you. Your mother has told me so much about you.” Her voice was soft and silky and her smile seemed to convey a hidden message that she knew a lot more than her perfunctory statement indicated.
“Oh, don’t listen to Mom,” I blushed slightly. “I’m just an ordinary guy, like your son,” I burst out, blowing my feigned ignorance about meeting her on the trail, but both women let it pass.
“No,” she mused. “Not ordinary and certainly not like my son.” She smiled sweetly, and then provacatively looked me up and down. I blushed again.
Alicia grabbed Mom’s arm and walked her away. “Come on, Emily, walk me to my car.”
I followed these two attractive, fortyish women, leaning into one another as they walked and giggling like schoolgirls. Though they were different and couldn’t be mistaken for each other, they were similar in many ways, and one in particular. If you were just looking at their gorgeous behinds, you’d be hard pressed to say which was whose. I’m sure I drew more than one frown as we walked out of the club, my eyes glued on the two sexy asses in front of me. A leer is so obvious, especially to women, but I didn’t care.
At the car, Alicia managed to stand between us, her facing Mom and me staring at her ass which she managed to sway about. She even said something so funny to her and Mom that they both bent over laughing, her cheeks straining against her tight, white shorts. My boner grew uncomfortable in my jeans. When we left, as soon as Mom turned away, Alicia looked directly down at my bulging pants and smiled.
In our car, Mom said, “She’s nice, isn’t she?”
“Sure,” I answered, as flippantly as I could, guiding the car out of the parking lot.
“You sure seemed to like her,” Mom poked the side of my knee with her toe, evidently having dropped her sandal on the floor.
“Mom,” I complained. “Put your seatbelt on.”
Defiant, Mom poked me with her toe again. “Come on, admit it,” she said, glancing down into my lap. “I can see you really liked her.”
“Whatever you say, Mom.”
“I could feel your eyes,” Mom persisted. “But not all the time. I wonder where they were?” she teased.
“Mom,” I said, exasperated.
“She fills out a pair of shorts nicely, doesn’t she?” Mom twisted sideways on the seat, crossing her right leg over her knee, stretching it out and bringing it to rest on my thigh.
“So do you,” I replied.
Mom ignored my compliment. “Did you like her shorts?” Mom’s heel dug into my leg, pulling it toward her while her foot twisted and pointed her toes into my lap, pressing against the bulge her teasing had produced.
“I like yours better,” I tried again. “She has her own son to admire hers.”
Mom dug her foot in, using the balls of her foot to rub my jeans.
“But her son isn’t as handsome as mine, or as loving,” Mom purred, her foot rubbing my cock. I didn’t answer. I was trying to stay focused on the road.
“What would you do with a pair of shorts like that?” Mom pestered.
“You’ll find out on Father’s day,” I growled.
“Ohhhhh, so intense,” she teased.
“Mom. I’m driving.”
“Then you’d better hurry home.”
Mom’s foot softly rubbed my cock the rest of the way home. Unfortunately, Dad’s car was parked in his spot on the far side of the driveway. He was already home. I pulled up beside it.
“I think we should put the car in the garage early today.” Mom laid her head on the seat, her foot lazily scraping up and down the front of my jeans as she smiled at me, fingers toying with my shirt sleeve.
The garage door was still closing and I had just shut off the engine when Mom’s hands roughly pulled me out of my jeans. Holding me upright, her mouth closed over my cock. She was rough again but this time didn’t push my hands away when they closed over the back of her head. I probably would have thrust her face against the roof but the steering wheel restricted my movements. Still, I held her head firmly in my crotch, grinding it down on my cock, thrilled as she gurgled for breath, foolishly undisturbed by her choking gasps. Triumphantly, I splattered her tonsils, remorse seeping into my brain only after I filled her mouth.
She didn’t swallow it. Instead, she let it gurgle out, streaming and oozing down my shaft, soaking my jeans. Mom looked up, a wanton, horny woman with a streak of cum dribbling over her lip onto her chin. Her eyes were wild and excited as she swiped my goo away with the back of her hand.
“I’ll keep Dad busy while you sneak upstairs.”
Saturday. Tomorrow was Father’s day. Mom was dressed in an absolutely killer outfit, shortie white shorts with a matching sleeveless top that emphasized her tanned and supple upper arms, and hugged her sides to accent the narrowness of her waist, the wide flare of her hips, and the jut of her firm ass. Her top was unbuttoned deep between her small breasts to ward off the heat, but not my eyes which dipped into her tanned cleavage.
Several times that day she sat in the patio lounge, one leg resting over the other, foot dangling a sandal languidly up and down in the oppressing heat, before struggling up and walking barefoot across the grass to remove an offending weed from the garden. Always, she bent over with her ass pointing directly at me, pulling on her victim with gentle force so the roots wouldn’t snap and stay in place to grow again. Such care took time, time for her buttocks to press against her shorts, to move with the slight sway as her legs adjusted to minute variations in the force applied by her arms, cheeks alternately tensing with the effort to maintain the balance of the sexiest weeding machine on the planet. ‘Soon,’ they whispered.
Towards the end of the day, as Dad and I shared the double lawn chair divided by a shared, built-in table, Mom stretched out face down on the lounge in front of us. Dad was engrossed in a book while I was enamored with, well, you know what I was looking at.
Mom’s feet were crooked in about a foot apart, leaving a slight part between her tanned legs all the way up to her shorts. Without looking back, Mom’s hands suddenly lifted from her sides and came to rest at the back of her shorts. Grasping the hem of each leg, she pulled her shorts up high on her ass, allowing her cheeks to bulge out and stretching the material tightly against her crotch. Casually, with the legs of her shorts so lifted, Mom’s fingers reached in scratched the inner sides of her cheeks for at least a minute before letting her shorts loose and dropping her hands back to her sides. Several seconds later, she turned head to look back to deploy a cheeky smile.
It was a long night, probably the longest one in my life. I reviewed my notes from my internet research, over and over.
Father’s Day. I was up early, in more ways than one, but I wasn’t the first one, at least in that other respect. Both of my parents were up, already finishing breakfast when I arrived in the kitchen. Mom smiled at my surprise to find them both up so early. Only Dad seemed surprised to see me.
“Oh, good morning,” I said. “What’s up?”
Before either of them could answer, I followed up with, “Happy Father’s Day, Dad.” I rushed over and bent down to give him a big hug.
Dad clasped me back in a manly, bear-like embrace, hands slapping my shoulders.
“Thanks, son,” Dad said as we released each other and I straightened up. “I’m sorry I can’t be here.”
I immediately looked confused. I was elated at the opportunity to be alone with Mom, but I really was confused. Dad was always home on Father’s Day. We always did something special together, and it was usually a surprise.
“I have a very special meeting in New York, Monday morning so I have to leave,” he explained, nodding toward the front door where his suitcase and laptop bag sat in the entranceway. “Perhaps you can give me a lift to the airport?”
I nodded, “Sure Dad.”
“I knew this was coming but I had hoped to reschedule so I didn’t say anything,” Dad explained further. “But I couldn’t. This day has always meant a lot to us, so I’ve asked your mother to fill in for me, to do something special with you today. Would that be OK?”
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