MOTHER TUCKER free porn video

Bedtime, dear, may I tuck you in?

by Oediplex 8==3~



{Inspired by correspondence and suggestions from my OediPal, CestFabulous. There are two versions, Cest's, and his mother's, which starts about half way through and gives her perspective.

When I was a younger kid, I loved for my mother to tuck me into bed at night. This evolved from not just making sure I was snug in the blankets, have my glass of water, or whatever. She found the Teddy Bear that was hiding, he didn't want to go to bed that early either. She turned on the night-light, she drew the window shades down. She would stroke my chest, as she sang a lullaby. Mom always made sure I was content, so that I slept soundly and had sweet dreams.

That became a more elaborate ritual, as I grew. Now I didn't need Teddy, but wanted bedtime stories. Milk or juice became the refreshment. The window was adjusted to be closed or more open, she would turn the lamp to dim. Dad was always arriving later than my bedtime back then, because of his commute from the city. Often he had to work late at the office, to get the advancements he wanted. That paid off, later in his career, but it was mom who would be the parent present in the evenings.

She would sit on the edge of the bed, when I was settled for the night. We would talk, about everything under the sun, as she would give me my 'rubbie-dubbie'. A 'rubbie-dubbie' was a little massage that would help me to get calm and relaxed. Mom would rub my chest and stomach, my legs too. That was her way of providing a perfectly innocent and maternal connection to her. A way that her own mother had done for her, when she was a child also.

Then as I got even older, I needed to assert my independence and gain a feeling of maturity. I allowed the mothering to lapse at bedtime to just a kiss, as I was off in my pajamas to read a book before I fell asleep. (No TV, but reading was allowed; however books – not comics.) I got my own juice or soda (no cola though). I took care of the windows, lamps, and whatever, myself. Except when I got sick. Then, mothering was greatly appreciated. I got 'babied', if I was ill, and even enjoyed a 'rubbie-dubbie' as well.

As I became a teen, there was even less of the mothering, even though we were still very close. She was always there for me, typical mom things, which were never appreciated until they didn't happen. Like when she and dad went on a two week trip to Europe, the summer I was sixteen. They thought I could fend for myself. They trusted me to be own my own. No Grandma to watch over me, like at fourteen, when they had a week long cruise. Laundry and shopping were up to me. Of course neighbors and the minister were handy, if I really needed help.

I did alright and stayed out of trouble. The next two summers, I was a camp counselor at a Y camp, I had gone there ever since I was between sixth and seventh grades. I mention this for a reason. Sometimes we are blind to what is right before our eyes. When I came home from that first summer away, it took me an entire week to notice that the bathroom walls had been repainted blue. They used to be a pale green. Just as that obvious revelation was missed by my sight-challenged self-absorbed self, so when I came home the next year, another sort of insight slowly dawned on my dim-witted brain.

It was not quite as obvious, as the paint job that provided proof of my temporary color-blindness. But still, you would think that a guy who got the kind of above average marks in school I did, ought to catch on by the time he is eighteen, to when his folks are screwing. I listened, as I sat in bed reading that fall, to my parents routine. They had two basic variations of their bedtime procedure, either dad would go to bed first, or mom would. The other would read or watch television.

If mom went to bed first, sometimes I might hear them fooling around. Mother giggling, father grunting, bed squeaking. It's not like I didn't know the facts of life by sixth grade. Camp was dominated by dirty jokes in the cabin, at that age. But I had never really noticed my folks love life, until after I was back from counseling, that second year. The difference being, the first summer, I had grade school kids to take care of, as a junior counselor. I tucked them in at night, easy-peasy. The next summer season, I was helping with Junior Highs, and they were always trying to sneak away to make-out with their partner of the week.

This heightened sensitivity, to sexual activity, stayed turned on when I returned home. Hence, things that had obviously been happening for years, suddenly were given a clarity of vision. Just as one year, it was - 'Holy shit! The bathroom's a different color!' Next year, - 'Holy shit, that's means my parents are going to make love!' Because of some reason, I had never noticed that mom always went to bed early if they were screwing that night. Seldom it was otherwise, I realized. Though I didn't learn the reason until later, when I became a mother-tucker.

Hold on to your dicks, I'm getting to that – I know why your reading this. It was shortly after I returned from camp, having turned eighteen and become aware of the pattern that led to my parents having sex, that mom became rather ill with a prolonged bout of the flu. Now during that period, my father was on an extended business trip to Canada. It was a piece of fortunate circumstance, to the outcome of this story, that I thus became the nursemaid to my mother. I was the one who tucked her in now, as she suffered with fever, needed fluids, and ached all over.

I was attending her every need. I even stayed home from school a couple of times, during the worse of her sick days. Finally her temperature began to come down, but she was still weak. She was no longer throwing-up, but lay on her bed in a daze that evening. I was cooling her down with a damp washcloth. I sponged her arms and face, then she indicted she wanted me to do her chest as well, so I did, and her tummy too. In the process I inadvertently wet her breasts with my administrations. She was wearing just a light white nightie at the time.

The soaking made the material translucent. I unintentionally, had provided a showing of my mother's nipples. Now during this period, in being her care-provider, I had glimpsed various parts of mom's anatomy that I would not normally see. However, I was always more focused on her needs, rather than any prurient peeking. But with the those rosy round points prominent in my sight, I became arousingly aware, and rudely stared at them. Mother seemed not to notice what my eyes were focused on. Indeed, she slipped off to sleep.

I then dared to do a dastardly deed, I confess. I had now become rigid in the groin, the effect of my awareness of mother as a sexual being, surfacing to my consciousness. It was not the first time I had ever noticed her beauty and comeliness, but suddenly I was overpowered with desire for her. Like some light switch being thrown, the electricity was running through the circuits of my brain. The chemistry of my body, was like that science class demonstration, where the beaker suddenly foams over in reaction. So I was turned on, by the female form in front of me, mom.

I know it's a sick thing, to be having the hots for your own mother, when she's ill. But I did. And did a nasty thing; well, naughty at least. I peeked. At her pussy. Her gown was high, and she was asleep, it seemed. I thought. 'what's the harm', if she never found out that I got a gander at her privates. I always wanted to look. I was as curious as the next fellow, about what girls, women, were like down there. No matter how many Playboys I bought, you can't get enough at that age, or ever I guess. Anyway, I lifted the hem and saw the vision of my mother's vagina.

It was slightly puffy, with wispy light brown pubic hair. Her legs were parted a bit, and I thought I could make out the deeper area of the slit. Her still slender hips framed her tapered thighs, with the whole wondrous vista supported by a firm pair of butt cheeks. I must have been mad with hormonal excitement, because I reached out and touched it. I looked to mom's face, but it was impassive, though a slight smile seemed to grace her mouth. I made a little rubbing motion with my fingers. Still nothing but peace. I decided that was too bold, but thought that while the opportunity was yet open, I would attempt to cop a feel of her breasts.

I did so, the spongy globes were full, and the nipples were surprisingly erect. I was tempted to suck on the rosettes, but chickened out and just kissed them. Then I though I might kiss her pussy too. At that point mom moaned and rolled over to her side, away from me. I could see her exposed bottom and the labia. I held my breath. It seemed quiet, for some minutes more. I reached toward her pussy, cautious as a medieval thief for a rich purse hanging from a merchant's belt. Ever so softly and gently, I rubbed the pink flesh at her crotch.

Mother made some kind of noise just then. It wasn't a negative sound, nor was it a murmur of enjoyment. It wasn't her startling, and she didn't snore; more like a whimper combined with a little laugh. I was unsure if she was dreaming, or reacting to my impetuous petting, or simply a whinny while she slept. In any case though, I had pushed my luck as far as it could go, and didn't want to risk her waking to find me pawing my ma, if you will. So I disconcertedly discontinued my exotic exploration of my mater's matters, and made my escape clean - away from my dirty exploits. (Don't you hate it when I do those wordy things? 8==3~)

As it turns out, that was the start of things to cum.

Things went back to normal in a couple days after, as mom got better, dad returned, and I was catching up on my school work. Senior year is busy enough. But now more than ever, I was lusting after mother; ever since my touches and kisses, in places sons are not allowed. It's not that my parents were loud, when they made love, but that I was more attuned to their signals and sighs. I confirmed, that it was never when my father retired earlier than my mother, that they screwed. 'Why was that?', I wondered.

One night, a few weeks after her illness, mom came to my bedroom, as I was watching some porno – thinking of her. I immediately clicked it off when the door opened, no matter who appeared. It was mom, she sat on the edge of my bed, just like old times, only I wasn't a youngster anymore! She spoke in a soft voice. Almost a whisper.

“I just wanted to thank you for all your help and care when I was sick. I would like to think of some way to reward you for all your work and for nursing me back to health.”

“I was happy to, mom. Don't think about it, it was my pleasure.”

“Not so pleasant a job, taking care of somebody who's sick, I know! I haven't really sat here, since you were sick in Junior High. I used to do it all the time, remember?”

“Sure mom, I haven't forgot that you used to tuck me in.”

“And now, you tucked me in, when I was sick. Remember how I used to give you a 'rubbie-dubbie'?” She started to do that rub-on-the-chest movement with her hand. It felt good.

“That feels good, mom.”

“Would you like for me to give you a 'rubbie-dubbie' for old times sake?”

“You don't have to.”

“Maybe, mommy wants to?” She continued, I didn't object. Her hand roamed up and down my chest, then it went and cycled along my legs. Chest, stomach, right leg, tummy, pects, belly, left leg, thighs; then a brush by my still somewhat tumescent dick, which showed as a distinct lump in the middle of my body, covered only by the sheet. I always sleep in the raw, since I was sixteen. Was that an accident? She repeated the pattern but was definitely making a light touch on my cock!

We both heard my father, getting up and going into the john. She leaned over and said in a conspiratorial tone, “I would love it, if some day soon, you tucked me into bed. You can even give mommy a 'rubbie-dubbie'!” Then she quickly exited, to be in their bedroom when my father finished. I heard her giggle, him groan, their bed squeaking. I gasped as I came, thinking of her. I didn't need the porno, either. What was that all about? It couldn't be as obvious as what I thought it was, could it? I determined that I would find out if her offer was good. And if she wanted me to be as naughty, as she had seemed to be tonight!

It was several more days, before the Friday night, when I heard mom say, loud enough for me to hear it in my room, “I'm going to go to bed early tonight, Honey. See you in a little while.” By which I took to mean, that she meant not only for dad to hear her, but myself as well; and for me to visit her sooner. Which was confirmed as she passed by my open door and winked at me. That was definitely an invitation. I scramble out of bed, put my pajama bottoms on, and was in my folks room in a minute. If Dad was following their Standard-Operating-Procedure, and he always did, there would be a half hour or more before he hit the bathroom to take a leak.

I went and sat next to mom. She was in bed, and had on a rather skimpy and nearly translucent nightie. The sheet was pulled up to her waist. She grinned widely when she saw me. “I was hoping you would come.”

“Do you want me to tuck you in?”

“Yes, Please, and would you like to give mommy a 'rubbie-dubbie'?”

“I would, yes, may I start?”

“Yeah, before your father arrives and wants his piece of the action!”

Strange words from a mother to her son. But then odder things were to be between us, as it happened. I began with her legs, a safe gambit, and worked up to her tummy, careful for the moment to bypass the inner thighs, sticking to the hips as I worked my way north. Then down her limbs again and up, still on the outside of her middle, but doing the shoulders and the neck, her arms next. Returning by way of the breast bone, I was beginning to near her navel, when I felt her fingers grasp my wrist and guide my hand to her soft mammeries.

“Don't forget these areas. That's your reward for being my nurse while I was out of it.” Her nipples were erect as I ran my palms over them. I was surprised, but then what was I doing there in the first place? Hoping for something exactly like this to happen, and happily it had! “I know you got a little of your honorarium, one evening, but I was not fully able to enjoy it also. So now we have a little time to tend to you touching my tits.”

My brain went - '!!!' - I almost couldn't process the information. Then my father coughed on the way to the can, and I ran out of the the room, back to my own. When I heard his snores, in a short while, I breathed easy. He sleeps sound, when he snores loud. I tried to understand what just had happened, what my mother's words had meant.

She had clearly wanted my presence in her bedroom, sitting on her bed. She had invited me to touch her, not just a chaste rub but to actually feel her up. She seemed to be indicating, that not only was she thanking me for my care-taking during her convalescence, but that she hadn't minded the liberties I had taken when I had done my exploration. In fact, she said she had wanted to enjoy it to. She must have liked the plying my fingers gave to her bosom, welcomed it. Would there be a repeat of our little adventure of tonight? I certainly hoped so!

Two nights later, the same scenario played out. I didn't spend much time doing the 'rubbie-dubbie' before I began to knead her ta-tas. She smiled and closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation. Then she whispered, “Lower.” I move my hands to her slightly poochy tum, not daring to go where I wished with all my hard-on she meant. “Lower, you know where I mean.” I felt between her legs, with the sheet still a barrier. The thin gown had hardly separated my digits from her skin, as I had stroked her nipples, which stuck up like fat erasers on those oversize souvenir pencils.

I felt her bush under the cotton. She couldn't have been wearing any panties! Was I going to get under the cover with my hand? I could feel the heat, the material was actually getting slightly damp. DAMN! My head was a bit woozy, like a balloon, I was breathing rapidly. It was warm in the room. I was leaking pre-cum on my pajama bottoms. I rubbed between mom's legs, sensing her crack, trying to pressure a finger into her center hollow. I was right in the groove, when I heard the toilet flush. I kissed her lips and said “I love you mom!”, and was at the door when it opened.

Mother called out to my retreating back, “Thank you Sweetie, I'm glad we had the chance to chat!” That night there were giggles and grunts from them, and my own gasps. But I was flabbergasted that not only had I been allowed such familiarities with my mom, but she was leading me to take even more! I didn't know what was going on exactly, but I had started something very titillating and wild, when I had taken advantage of my mother's condition. I had at first felt a little guilty to have done so, but now?! I was eager to continue with our bedtime erotic-rubbie-dubbie's. I wondered how far the game would go - I mean we were already rounding second, and on the way to third! The exclamation points just kept popping up in my head - !

They calmed down a bit as the question marks multiplied in the next three days. During daylight, it was normal as could be, like back last springtime. But in the evenings the tension grew in my groin. When Next??? What Next??? I was miserable, though I was so happy; I was elated, but confused. Mother acted like nothing was going on between us, except that she stayed up rather late at night. I waited, seventy-two agonizing hours. Then the third night, when my father went to sleep early, I thought it was going to be another bust.

But then, a tiny tap came at my door, and mom came in. She was in her robe. She sat on my bed, then she indicated I ought to slide over and she lay next to me, on her side. Her one hand propped up her head, while the other began 'rubbie-dubbie'. She looked down, then back at me and began to talk. “Just listen for a moment, I have something to say. I know that you don't understand what's going on, but I'm going to explain. I don't want to take advantage of you . . .” I opened my mouth to say she wasn't, but she put a finger to my lips to shush me, then continued.

“I have been thinking real hard, the last several days . . .” She was going to stop our fun, I could hear it coming – rather going away. “I need to explain why I have been letting you do things, that are not what a boy should be doing to his mother.”

“I'm not a boy!”

“Sorry, a son ought not do to his mom. I have been taking advantage of you. I know better.” I had heard that in my own head, not so long ago, but now didn't want it to be our guideline. She went on. “You know what foreplay is . . .”

“Making-out before fucking.”

“Crudely put, but essentially yes. Well, your father is not one to play, before hand. He's fine when he is aroused and will fulfill his husbandly duty, but he doesn't want to be bothered with the preliminaries. That's just the way he is, and it won't ever change. I stopped trying years ago.” She sounded sad, resigned too. “So we worked out a sort of arrangement. I go into our bedroom about a half hour early and masturbate, then he comes in and does his thing. Don't think poorly of your dad, he was raised by a different culture, with other ways. And aside from the lack of foreplay, he is a satisfactory lover, and he cuddles before we sleep, usually.”

“So when you thought I was asleep, when I was sick, and . . uh .. tried some things, I got really turned-on. Only, I was too tired to enjoy them, then. I thought, maybe that you might help – raise the level of our, your father's and mine, sex life. Put new zing in it, zest, pizazz; and it did. For me at least, I am much more hornier than I was before we started to . . .”

All this while she had been doing a very non-naughty 'rubbie-dubbie', now her hand came to rest on my aroused cock, she handled my hard-on, stroking me. The sheet was over my dick but her fingers made plenty of sensation, nonetheless. “. . Before we started to tuck each other in.” I finished for her.

“”Yes, Darling.” She leaned over and kissed me on the lips, then her tongue entered my mouth. A moment later, her tongue was in my ear, then she whispered. “Daddy's asleep.” I did hear him snoring now. “You were my nurse.” Mom opened the top of her robe, she was bare there. I could see as the gown parted more, she only had some thin panties on. “Would you like to nurse on these?”

My lips began by kissing hers, and murmuring my “Uh-huh”. They traveled down her long graceful neck to the cleavage that was formed by her twin pillows. Then I suck one, and the other, as her hand sought to sneak under the cover and discover my boner. When at last, with some maneuvering and adjustments, I was hovered over her, my mouth feasting on her strawberry nipples and her fingers jerking daintily on my dick. We were happily gasping and giggling. Then I was shooting a long milky stream over her abdomen.

“Good, Baby! Good!' she said with the same tone as when I had played a hard piece on the piano. But this tune was even more in accord with my preferences. I returned to her lips with mine, the tongues came into play, tangling back and forth from mouth to mouth. I rested on top of her – not my whole weight – supporting myself on knees and elbows. “OH! You have a lot of goo, for your mother. Did you save that up, just for me?”

“No mom, that is the usual dose. If we play nurse again, can I give you an injecting, next time?”

“Mmm, I don't think we ought to go that far. This is just supposed to be foreplay, not the main event. I wanted to explain to you why I was allowing you to make out with your mother, then I couldn't help myself. But now, I think maybe we better cool it. I don't want to get caught by your father. YOU don't want to get caught by your father. And while I certainly have had a zesty time, you ought not to have a 'zing' for your mother.”

“Well, mom, it looks like you got my pizazz all over your tummy, even so!” We both laughed loudly, then shushed each other so we wouldn't wake dad. I got some tissues, from the box I always have beside my bed, and wiped the spunk off mom. She rolled off the mattress and on to her feet, closed her robe and threw me a kiss. She left. Well, that explained some things, alright! But what I didn't know, was how to get things back to our intimate relationship, if mom was determined to chill things. I decided that I ought not to blow it by pressing my luck, but by biding my time.

She was needing a better sex life, that was sure. I could provide it, I was sure of that. It wasn't a sure thing, but perhaps a bedtime story just might help. There must be some place on line that had mother/son stories of incest. I could print one out and read it to her, some night when dad was on another business trip. Then she might get in the mood for more 'rubbie-dubbie', perhaps even let me do a rubbie down where the I felt fur before!

I was still doing research, when a new opportunity happened. I had found several good sites, and authors I liked, but not quite the right story to set the mood I wanted to create. I went through a ton of tissue though!! I wanted something realistic, romantic, not too long, close to our experience. I wanted to induce a longing in my mother for a liaison with her son. To lay with me, and allow our hands and lips and legs and tongues to roam free on each other. Maybe more? I was up for anything, everything; I was up for being up mom!

A week later, Dad had to be in the office early, to prepare for an important meeting. He was home late, and then did something he seldom allowed himself to do. He fell asleep on the couch, in the living room. Mom and I were both there when he started snoring loudly in the middle of a television show. We looked at each other, but said nothing. Mom got up and went toward the bathroom. She didn't return after a few minutes. I went to my room, striped to my boxers, and went to mom's room. I knocked once and entered.

She was sitting in bed, the lights low. The sheet was pulled up to her collarbone, but I saw no straps. I sat on the edge, but still neither of us spoke. I kissed her, just a small kiss on the lips. She kissed me back, no tongue, but gave a big sigh. She closed her eyes and slid down to lie flat. In a tiny voice, I almost couldn't hear, two words, “Rubbie-dubbie.” I began, over the sheet like I had the first time, but I immediately could tell that she was naked beneath. Soon my gliding palms were coming closer to her breasts and inner thighs. She made no objection, and I knew we were headed into deeper territory, tonight.

I went like a smooth sleigh-ride over the hills and dales of her body. Eventually, the little moguls of her nips where my fingers rippled, and the valley below the mons were my playground. Then mom grasped my hand nearest her, and lifted the sheet momentarily, putting my palm on her pussy. She smiled even as a few tears dripped down her cheeks. It was a special touch, I was emotional myself. However, I did manage to wiggle a finger in the furry furrow, and discovered she was weeping there as well. Then I worked the probe deeper still and found her hole. I moved the penetrating middle digit in and out a small ways, and felt her spread in compliance, I added a second.

She reached out and tried to get inside the waist band of my shorts. In a flash I got them down to my feet and off, still not loosing contact with the slick cavity of her womanhood. As she gripped my raging weapon I shuffled onto her bed, she made room, pulling me by my prick to lay next her. Now our mouths met and our Frenching was as urgent as my fingers thrusting in her pussy. Her hand hurried to make me spurt, before I rolled on top and took her. Our lust was like a bright glow, emanating from the bed, she wanted me, but couldn't let me. I had to have her, but still desired to respect her boundaries.

Something had to give, the strain was killing us. We were long past caring to be quiet, perhaps beyond control, even if dad walked in. Then mom came. Her hips bucked and her wails rose as her body spasmed under me, my hand banging her cunt to beat the band. Her grip forgotten on my cock but still around the meat, had the effect of pulling my trigger as her climax's song sent my libido into the sky. My hose pumped the load of jism that I had carried all day, once more to drain on her torso.

She looked at me with love and guilt. I could read her face, as if it were one of the tales of incest from the Internet. I hugged her and kissed her sweetly, gently, wanting to make the aftermath of our sin sacred, or at least loving and not naughty, but nice. Still we were silent; our deed done, our heat slaked, our lust languid at last. When I knew she had accepted the act as inevitable and okay, I rose and left her, covering her once more. I hoped that it was not the end of our affair. I wasn't so sure that the story would do any good. But I wouldn't stop looking. It was an outlet, for now at least.

Mother had dad, but he wasn't enough anymore, now that she had a taste of real passion. A few days past, then a few more. I found a great poem I felt captured the love and desire I felt for mom, but even though I printed it out, I kept it to myself, for the moment. First it was exclamation points, like the erection I sported, thinking about mom. Then the question marks, the waiting that weighed on my heart. Now there were all sorts of things being typed in my head. Those collection of symbols that are the substitution for curse words, as I was angry that I might have blown my chances with mom for more sexual intimacies, even the ultimate.

But she had waited for me, naked under the sheets, she had wanted it too. So then it was yearning, tilda, tilda, tilda ~~~ ; underlined looks of longing, bracketed remarks, slashing flashes of lust and stars in eyes when I looked at her. But from mom – no comma – period. Mom was mum. I would “ ” Shakespeare sonnets if I thought it would do me any good. It seemed more of >
What was to be done?! Except 8==3~ to porno

Finally, dad had a trip.

My hopes – were not dashed dot dot dot

That evening, a Saturday, I was waiting in my room for mom to go to hers. As she passed by my open door, she looked directly at me and said, “Give me twenty minutes, and then come.” I heard the shower as it ran a little bit, and then sounds of mom going to her bedroom. On the dot (no punctuation intended) I was through the entrance and on to the mattress. I was in my boxers, but when mom drew back the sheet to reveal herself in all her glory and none of her nighties, I lost those skivvies in scarcely a second. Mother took my face in her palms and drew me for a sweet kiss.

Still holding my head and attention, she looked at me and said with a serious expression and tone, “Now I need you to promise me something important. No matter what happens, and what else we do, you will NOT get carried away and fuck me. We mustn't. It's terrific fun, you're fantastic and special. I love you and our fooling around is something we both enjoy. But we both love your father and would not ever want to hurt him. Promise me that, and we can continue. Or if not, we will have to stop altogether.”

“Okay, mom, but can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Sweetie.”

“If you beg me to do it to you, what then?”

“You still must not, because if I lose control, then you must not, even more so. If you lose control, then I will have to be the firm partner. If we both lose control, then . . . well, then there will be very serious consequences neither of us is prepared to deal with.”

“Alright, you have my word.” I meant it at the time.

“Then, I have a favor to ask of you.” She paused as if embarrassed. She continued in a small voice, “Would you go down on me? Eat me?”

“Yes, mom, I would love to do that, to you – for you.” I rolled and scooted down to be between her legs. I had licked girls before, but this was the all the more exciting, as it was the most intimate mother and I had ever gotten. It took our physical sharing to yet another level. She spread her thighs as I nuzzled my mouth to her labia, lips nibbling and began to tongue her divide. I lapped there, then zoned in on the nub which popped out of the high end of the slit. I gave her my all, kissing the sensitive inner hollows on her legs, dipping as deep as I could into her well, making oral love to her womanhood in all its wonder.

“Oh, Baby! Ooh that's soo goood!, yes like that!” Mom cried and whimpered and gasped and moaned, and let out shuddering wails even. But not once did she giggle. I understood this was something that my dad never did. This was more than just a little treat, like my petting her boobs, this was an important release. I don't know how many times she came. Big and little, long and sometimes in multiples, she let herself go; really allowed the femininity of her sex to be engaged fully in the cunnilingus. I could see why she had made me promise. Because she was certainly vulnerable while I had her at the mercy of my mouth.

At last, panting heavily and murmuring, “Enough, okay, enough!” She pulled me up to her and hugged me as we kissed leisurely and cuddled. The perspiration had dampened the sheets, but we were too overcome with our session to have the energy to change them. Instead, we moved to my bed and then though it was narrower, we fell asleep in each other's arms. You might say, we were 'tucker'ed out. But that would be an awful pun-ishment. But I was sure that now, mom would allow our foreplay to continue. Let's just say, she knew when she was licked.

(If you're through 'using those collection of symbols which substitute for curse words' at me, let's get on with the narrative. 8==3~)

Now the next day, being Sunday and 'lazy day' by tradition in our home, we slept late. I awoke with my traditional morning woodie. Only there was a new angle to things, as mom was bent over my body and was sucking on the turgid cock that sprouted from my undergrowth. I didn't get this as oft as I would have opted to, with my few dates and even less lasses who would be willing to perform fellatio. So I was very happy to have mom making my prick her breakfast sausage. It was soon to be toast though, as her technique and my reservoir from having foregone orgasm last night combined in explosive potency.

I looked down my torso, to the sight of mom bobbing on my boner. The shaft was stretched to a shining column, the bloated head - a large radish, though not quite as hard. I could feel the eruption rising and as my shout signaled the jumping balls were releasing their jism. Like the the handle on an old fashion well is worked, the pumping of my gushing seed seemed to be as if the lever was lifted high and brought down in hard strokes. The white cream dripped from mother's mouth, like ice cream dribbling down. She lifted her head and looked proud, like she had just done something special and accomplished her task with honors. Perhaps it was something that she'd not a lot of practice at – if so, then she was a natural!

Mother wanted to soak in the tub this morning, to wash up from the sex and sweat of the night before. I asked if I might sit next to her, and talk. I did not want the intimacy to end, for all to soon, I knew dad would be back. She agreed, on the condition that I bring her a large glass of orange juice and some buttered toast and feed her while she became a pink raisin. I laugh and said it was a deal. When I returned with a tray, including a glass of milk for me, mom was already sitting in the tub. I was glad to see it wasn't a bubble bath. I could never tire of viewing her charms.

We talked about movies we wanted to go to and some things I was studying in history that she also had interest in. I fed her pieces of toast, so her wet hands did not need to handle the food. It was fun. But then after the meal, the real recreation began. Mom let me wash her. All over. Now I sort of barely remember her giving me a bath when I was little. Like any good mother does, until the child can do for themselves. It might even be one of my earliest memories. This bath, as I washed her, would be etched in my brain until I drop dead, maybe it might be the last thing I remember?

There is both a sense of power and humility to wash another person. When combined with the sexual overtones, that were not at all subtle or surreptitious, but outright blatant and encouraged by the washee for the washer to freely do, it then becomes an awesome experience for both. At once, so personal, and intimate, and never not anything but stimulating to both. My hands and palms and fingers, explored every private and secret place. Rubbie-dubbied like it was the sacred ritual of an ancient faith. Inside and out, and inside and up, my fingers made the magic happen in a huge climax at the end of the cleansing.

Her legs were shaking as I helped her out of the tub. I got to towel her too, another delightful activity, if less hands-on than the wet and wild wash just finished. By that time I was sporting another erection. Mother lead me into the living room – thank God the drapes were closed, we were still naked. She sat me down on the easy chair, and knelt before me. I thought I was going to get another blow-job. But she had something else in mind, or rather that she wanted to get off her chest – what I mean to say is, that she wanted me to get off on her breasts, a titty-job.

She took her firm boobies and squeezed then together. Though they were not the hanging knockers I have seen on some strippers in porno, they were ample enough to provide a encompassing portal for my prick. She leaned forward and rocked, to allow my penis to plow between. The soft skin, made even velvetier by the soak in the suds, was nothing like I ever had felt capturing my boner before. Dry, yet silky smooth; pliant yet with a definite pressure all around; the visual of her nipples, the sight of her happy face; were a complete turn-on that made the erotic element overwhelming, and soon my sperm spilled on her bosom.

After that we changed the beds and did a few chores to straighten the house (and hid the evidence?). We then went for a drive to the park, stopping at the store for some bread to feed the ducks. Mom loves to feed the wild animals; the water fowl - ducks and geese, squirrels got their share; and even the sea gulls came, they were the greediest. But it made mom laugh and look like the girl she must have been, before my father met her and wooed her and won her. Too bad he was such a stuck in the mud, when it came to the bedroom. But, that had become my good fortune. I vowed to make sure mom got her fair share of the goodies I had to offer.

The evening finished with some favorite TV shows we both liked and we retired to bed, hers, to cuddle and make out. No heavy duty session, just some light fingering, sucking and a mutual hand job to bring each other off. Father would be home by the time I got back from school. Then it would be catch as catch can for our tucking-in and rubbie-dubbies and any other opportunities. I was certainly willing to warm up mom, if the folks were going to fuck. I did care about dad, and even if I were all but cuckolding him, I didn't want to leave him completely out in the cold, with an old cock.

Things settled into a routine, strange as it may sound, to mess around with your mom on a regular basis, as the surrogate foreplaymate for your father. But that is what was going on for nearly a month, as once or twice a week, mother would coax dad into doing it with her. She would let me know that my presence was requested in their bedroom before my old man, and I happily diddled with my digits, before he drilled with his dong. Mother, if time allowed would suck me, before her husband fucked her. Giggles and groan, and gasps - were a chorus of cums, together, though in separate rooms.

Then, one evening when dad seemed especially worn-out from a long day, he retired early and stertorous snores were soon sounding from his schnoz.

In my bed, in the buff as usual, I was on top of the covers that night. I was waiting with hope – wondered where she was – wished with all my heart – wanted with my rampant hard-on, for my mother to join me. A tiny tapping, and then she was through the door, closing it behind her. In a fluid flow of feminine grace; she shed her robe and showed she was not shy, as she glided into bed along side me naked and hot. Like she was burning with fever again, her skin radiated excess estrus energy. She pressed her fingers to my mouth to indicate I was not to say a word. Her frame arranged itself over mine, her tits on my chest, her bush tickling my turgid penis.

She whispered in her most sultry tone, a breath of the faintest syllables in my ear, “I'm going to tuck you . .” She moved, her hips, her pelvis, her torso; all rocking over my body so that my dick was rubbing against her abdomen, on her mons, lubricious along the labia. Back and forth, the sensation went, the cunt/cock mashing made slick with her secretions. I was too stunned to do anything but hold her haunches and hang on, daring to imagine, but not bold enough to try to make the move that would secure an entry. The tip plied the pudenda, yet for all its sliding didn't slip in.

Again, her cry, a wavering, quavering quiet articulation, “~I'mm going tooo tuck you~”. Was that the place I felt with the end of my straining probe? Did it just dip into the soft center of her sex? There! it seemed to happen again, it was finding the wet, hot sweet spot! Yes, it was, it was RIGHT THERE! I held my breath. “I'm going to . . going to . .” Yes, mom, YES?! “I'm going to . . tuck you . . in . . tuck you in! - - I'm going to tuck you in!” Mother tilted herself, in that way women have of making the angle just so, and my dick-head did sink within the mouth of her vagina. It sank, (or was it thrust?) another inch, then more into her body. It infiltrated the place I had longed to be, and was so long (6 ½) for, infatuated by, inflamed for, finally in for real!

A small withdrawal was preliminary to the primary penetration. Then I was in, to the root, to the balls, to the deepest I could go with my entire manhood. We paused, the consanguine connection completed and incontestably incestuous, the most consequential coupling of our lives and greatest thrill. Then we began the movement of mating, the rhythm of our raunchy rutting in slow deliberate fashion. As if the journey of six inches was a lot longer, a yard of yearning, millimeter by millimeter of meat making its gradual way up the moist channel.

All too shortly though, the furrow of mom's womanhood was being fucked furiously by my frenzied and frantic frankfurter. Hot-dog! I was in humping heaven! Mother was making the most of the moment as well, as I plunged and plugged her pussy. We rolled and nearly tumbled off the mattress, but with a swooping bounce, bounded back to the middle of the bed and continued with our pounding, hardly missing a stroke. Now I was between her legs, the knees were raised and she was opened to the most vigorous ravishing she ever had. I was taking tucking to a new height, as over the mountain-tops of climaxes we climbed.

Then it was time for the rivers to flow, the springs to flood, the geysers to gush. Boy, did we ever drenched the sheets, swamped is the word that spells the spill we spewed.

By blood we are bound, by tender ties,
Our coupling certainly folly unwise,
If in the morn, from incest we arise
Remember last night our satisfied sighs

Hyperbole, must serve our lust it's dues,
When other lesser terms fail the muse,
Our love at long last we may not refuse,
Nor our partners, whom the fates do choose.

There was more, but I won't send you screaming into the night with the poor poetry, definitely doggerel, I dug up, which I read to mom, after we had screwed our mutual brains out. Mom did go screaming into the night, in shrieks of laughter at the over wrought verses that I shared. Fortunately, she didn't wake my father up. Anyway, that's how I became a mother-tucker. It wasn't the last time we tucked, tupped, and two-timed dad. Mom finally decided that her masturbating was not sufficient for the sex-life she deserved, but didn't want to have an affair. At least not with someone she didn't already love. So there were no complications, or rivals out of the home, for her affections.

Not that we didn't have a balancing act to workout, inside the walls of our domestic setting. But since it had been understood from the start, we were to be sensitive to father's feelings, such as he had, that was not too difficult. I never did find a story quite right to inspire mom to have sex with me. But as we did anyway, she suggested I offer our own for others to read, and perhaps it might be instrumental to help people of similar cir-cum-stances, to resolve their issues. We would love to hear from any that have done so.

For the rest of you, we hope you had fun with our bedtime story. Kiss mommy goodnight, and turn out the light. Sweet wet dreams!



MOTHER TUCKS CEST IN
Uncovering what went on under the sheets
or
What the growing boy was growing for his mom

by Oediplex 8==3~

Now that was a lovely story. However, I understand that some places don't allow children under the age of twelve, or a below a certain height; like those carnival rides, or R-rated movies in theaters. Unless accompanied by an adult; that would be me, his mother. He's grown up now, but what couldn't be said in the bowdlerized version, was that he was actually fourteen when it happened the first time. It certainly would be considered X-rated material, but sometimes the truth is naughtier than fiction.

It happened much like his story, but I think the record ought to be set straight. He definitely was, straight – and stiff, under the sheets. That growing boy with his hormones making his erections most prominent, and not so little either. Goodness! Was I surprised the first time I was confounded with his male member most rampant! I knew that 'Cest', his “nom de naughty” he uses, was getting to an age where boys become young men. But it did take me unexpectedly, that first night, not so much because of his physical man-ifestation, as my reaction to it.

He never did want to go to sleep when it was bedtime. I swear he deliberately hid the Teddy bear, so that I would have to spent extra minutes searching. Always an excuse to prolong the moments before the lights went out and I left. Yes, it was mostly me that settled him down to sleep. We did do the 'rubbie-dubbie' bit. I enjoyed the opportunity to sooth his hyperactive mood to a mellow calm, by doing what my mom had done for me in the smooth stroking of my child. But that was long a thing of the past, when his burgeoning boner made itself boldly known against my body.

At the time he was no little tyke, but a strong and teasing teen. His trick was to grasp my arm as I leaned over to kiss him goodnight, and catch me off balance. I would land on the bed next to him, and allow him to continue to converse with me a few minutes longer, before rising and going out. It was all perfectly innocent, at least it started out that way. I never had anything otherwise in mind, but the task of getting him out of our hair, and asleep. Like every concerned parent, I wanted him to be well rested for his school day, so that he might do well in his classes.

Yes, we talked about lots of things, whether I sat on the edge of the mattress, or stretched out along side him when he pulled me down. He's a smart guy, and had many interesting things to share. We have much in common and have always been close. So I had no idea that this energetic rough-house ploy would turn into an erotic encounter. Actually, I'm fairly certain neither did Cest, originally. I think it just kind of happened accidentally, when he did it and I discovered what he had under the covers. The sheets had hid his hard-on well enough, I had no idea!

Perhaps he just was in the midst of a natural state of arousal, having nothing to do with his thoughts of me. Youths of that age have spontaneous erogenous moments, so my brother informed me back when we were both in college. We were sharing things at that point, which earlier we could have never been open about when we were younger. I learned a lot about males and their reactions, of their inner workings, from my sibling. So later, with my husband, and then my son, I did have an inkling of what was going on in their heads and gonads.

The part of my going to bed early to masturbate, as a warm up for sex with my spouse is accurate. I didn't put my son to bed often as he was older, nor was it in conjunction with that aspect of my life, they were totally unrelated initially. In fact, as he became matured he was more likely to pop into the living room for a goodnight peck and then was off to read, before falling asleep. But at that tender age of fourteen, if sometimes he was already engrossed in his book, he might not appear. But I made it a point of my motherly duties, to wish him sweet dreams every night I could.

Here I sigh; they grow up so fast, as any parent will tell you. It so happened on the night in question, that I went to his room, before I retired to my own for my self-administered preliminaries, prior to the appointment with my husband for our matrimonial assignation. That's a fancy way to say I frigged myself to get ready for fucking my old man. Aside from being a fuddy-duddy when it came to foreplay, he was okay, and he doesn't mind being tender afterwards. In many ways he is very sweet, and I do love him dearly. However, he is only human and limited by his background.

Happenstance, happily had a hand in the taboo-tucker--two-timing with my teen. That fateful evening, he was in his own room, watching porno, which I only found out about now by reading his story. (Of course since our relationship strayed into incest, I have known that he did have adult media.) I would have squashed any such inappropriate activity, had I know at the time, however. I am a good mother, despite the events of which we are recording in our double versions. Now this time, when he got me to flop down on his bed, I landed not beside, but on top of him. Him and that hard-on, that mass of muscle that was prominently protruding at his middle.

I had my nightgown on, It might even have been the flannel one. He did have his boxer-shorts on and the sheet added a third layer of material. But there was no mistaking that lump which poked me in the lower abdomen. I pretended I didn't feel it, ignored the bulge, rolled to his side and continued as if nothing had happened. He followed suit, though I thought his face was slightly flushed at the time. We talked a few minutes, then I left. No harm done. An accident, an innocent incident, an inconsequential occurrence.

So I thought, as I went to my bedroom. But then, as I lay upon my own mattress, with my digits diddling in my genitals, I thought back to the stiffy that I had come in contact with. Abet through clothing and bedding, but still . . . I wondered what it looked like. Of course, I had seen it plenty of times when I bathed him as a child. But he was certainly not a tyke any longer. In fact, he seemed longer that his dad's dick. My imagination began to speculate, and as my fingers did the walking through my charms, I imagined getting a peek at the pike.

That really got my cunt cooking, and when my partner arrived, it was like that old joke. 'How are a frying pan and a woman alike? You have to get them both hot, before you put the meat in.' I was sizzling. His sausage was nicely boiled in the wet pot of my pussy that session. I didn't think about it again, until perhaps a week later, when the cycle of sex once more was signaled between my spouse and I. Then as I made my way to the bathroom, passing Cest's door, which was nearly closed, I heard a sound. He had kissed us a half-hour ago, then went to his room. To read, I thought.

But I heard a gasp, and some bedsprings squeaking. It didn't take Sherlock Holmes to deduce what my son was doing. I remembered the risque erection that had pressed my flesh, the thrill it had provided and extra zest of our screwing that had resulted. I tapped my finger nails on the door-frame and walked in. His hands quickly appeared from under the covers and folded over the tenting his pole made. I acted normal, but my crotch was suddenly moist. I maneuvered so he was able to do the grab and yank trick on my arm, falling into my scheme, as I fell on him, and felt him hard against me once more! No boxers tonight!

This time I wasn't in such a hurry to disengage our meshing, as his manhood mashed my tummy. His eyes were bright and his talk animated, but he wasn't focused on any one topic, he sort of caromed about. It would have been amusing, if I was playing games, but I was taking advantage of him. I kept my manner motherly, while inside I was feeling like a school girl, teasing the fellow she liked. It was serious business, sensual and sexy and salacious; but sobering, nonetheless for the secret zing that it sent to my center. While he never let on either, about the indelicate and delectable contact our middles were making, my boy was enjoying it too.

Eventually, I needed to exit so that I could take advantage of the priming of my privates, make myself ready to rock when hubby rolled in. I was certain that Cest would return to his own pumping action when mom retreated. As before, the pizazz was prized as I was plowed by my mate, our pleasure heightened from the cock of my kid connecting with my body, in a way no son should be doing with his mother. But we were, and it was wild. I got a boost from his boner, there was no denying it. And I determined that I would repeat the experience, cum what may!

Cum what may indeed! That is exactly what happened. I should have expected it, but I was just as surprised as Cest seemed to be, that it occurred. But in the meanwhile our little unacknowledged mutual stimulations went several times along the same scenarios, with thiner gowns and no underpants under the sheets, etc.; so that the stimulation became all the more progressive and intimate. I'm not sure whether it was the sixth or seventh time that our bodily bravura behavior in his bedroom breached more moral standards of propriety, but the breaking point was reached.

Perhaps, to be less dramatic, the spill happened; or maybe simply - the sperm from the erection he sported was spent, and we had a wet spot! We actually did nothing different. But this evening his tumescence was tipped past his ability to contain his seed, and the turgid penis spewed his spume on his mum's tum. I gave him a quick kiss, on the lips, smiled, said “I love you too!” and made for the hall. It's not like I had rubbed his cock with my pussy, even though there was hardly anything between us, we were not in contact flesh to flesh, skin against skin.

It was spontaneous, if not to be unexpected in hindsight. What was the poor boy to do? Masturbating, then mom arrives to mush on top of his stomach and presses his prick with her pudenda. Could he have felt the indentation of my groove? He must have, and sensed the heat emanating through the thin clothing. The thought that we were having clandestine erotic interaction, collusive coupling even if though both of us pretended it was not happening, was too much. Cest soaked beneath me. I couldn't blame him, I was wet from our motionless hump as well.

That night the fireworks in our bedroom must have been clearly heard by him. My groans as hubby hunched his dick in my vagina, were echoed by my spouse's grunts, and I swore I heard moans from Cest's room. After that, the games did begin. I would come to Cest's bed and we would make slow movements of hips against pelvis, of mons rubbie-dubbie on woodie. Never naked, he often might have a climax, but not always. I never came, but saved my orgasms for fucking.

Perhaps, I was being selfish, I certainly did not explain my desires and dilemma to my son during this period. There was an unspoken agreement that what was going on was not to be spoken of, nor acknowledged. For if we did, then we would have had to stop, or go further. It was safer to have the status quo remain as is. And so it was for several years, the same pattern, the silent incest, the secret sin we shared.

Until he was seventeen, a senior in school, and I came down sick. Then things began to go much as Cest described in his version. Perhaps I ought to provide my perspective on some of the highlights of the affair. It touched my heart and soul, when Cest surreptitiously (he thought) touched my body and sent sensations shivering through me; shaking me more than the illness, making me hotter than the fever, affecting me with a malady I never recovered from. Is there a cure for the burning I have in my loins for him? Don't tell me, because I would rather live with the inflammation of this infatuation I have been infected with.

It really had been a very debilitating illness, that bout of the flu. I get my shots every year now, I learned my lesson. Cest was my hero, my nurse, my caring attendant while my husband was away and I was confined to my sick bed. When the worse had passed and I was still recovering my strength and simply being tired, rather than exhausted, Cest made his move. If it had been when I was well, and only napping, or if he had not been so wonderful in his bedside manner and committed to my comfort; then I would have not allowed his ballsy brushes and carnal kisses. But I had no stamina to stand up to his explorations and accepted his exploitation of the opportunity to do what I would have explicitly objected to otherwise.

In fact, I did enjoy the tentative tender touches on my tush and the careful kisses on my tit-tips. The cool water from the washcloths sponging was a blessed relief, and I hardly notices when my rosettes were dampened, it all felt good. I drifted into a fugue state, only semi aware of what was going on, and not at all inclined to do anything to stop the curious peerings my offspring was making at my pair, or even my hair, down there. My disheveled estate was the least of my priorities as my muzzy mind floated through the fuzzy fog of consciousness. So when he lifted the hem, I was not thinking about what he was seeing, nor caring.

I blended his tentative rub of my pussy with the dubbie of a loving son and the sweet naughtiness we had been having on his bed. I was sleepy, but a half smile turned up the corners of my lips, at that filial fingering. Then he provided a satisfying squeeze on my breasts, a double handful, like one of my fantasies that I indulged in, between the moments on his body and the mechanics of marital copulation. My nipples rose and were rewarded by a smooch on each. My son was taking liberties, but I was letting him with laizze-faire, as I lay lazily there.

Much as I might love sex, I was not in the mood just then, not that in my right senses would I have allowed Cest to do what he did, at that stage of our affair. So I did as I did when hubby wanted to, and I was disinclined, I rolled to my side exposing my bottom but away from the more vulnerable position. I felt the tingling as his hand began to slide over my labia, the digits along the slit of my pussy. Even though it tickled, it felt titillating and elicited a little giggling whinny from deep in my throat at that illicit touch. It was all I could do, despite my condition not to take his hand and guide it to my puffy pink pleasure bud for good measure.

One night, a few weeks after my illness, I stopped at my son's bedroom. He clicked off the TV as the door opened, I now realize what he was watching. I sat on the edge of his mattress, just like old times, except it was a young man I was visiting now. I used a soft voice, almost a whisper when I spoke. “I just wanted to thank you for all your help and care when I was sick. I would like to think of some way to reward you for all your work and for nursing me back to health.”

“I was happy to, mom. Don't think about it, it was my pleasure.”

“Not so pleasant a job, taking care of somebody who's sick, I know! I haven't really sat here, since you were sick in Junior High. I used to do it all the time, remember?”

“Sure mom, I haven't forgot that you used to tuck me in.”

“And now, you tucked me in, when I was sick. Remember how I used to give you a 'rubbie-dubbie'?” I started to do that rub-on-the-chest movement with my hand. I could tell he enjoyed it still.

“That feels good, mom.”

“Would you like for me to give you a 'rubbie-dubbie' for old times sake?”

“You don't have to.”

“Maybe, mommy wants to?” I could see the bulge below his waist, I thought that it would be nice to reciprocate the intimate contact he had initiated when I was convalescing. But I didn't want to freak him out, so I decided to go slow. I moved my hand along his legs to his torso, then lower again down to his calves, then up and so on ever closing in on my real target. Then I ever so casually brushed his dick. Then moved passed, but returned even more boldly and was less circumspect on subsequent strokes. There were no shorts under the sheet!

But then we heard my husband go into the john and soon the toilet flushed. I leaned over Cest and said in a conspiratorial tone, “I would love it, if some day soon, you tucked me into bed. You can even give mommy a 'rubbie-dubbie'!” Then I quickly exited, to be in our bedroom when my husband was done. He does not provide any foreplay, but it tickles me when we get going, as we maneuver our limbs and bodies to make love. I giggle with glee at the simple preliminaries of the jolly gymnastics we do to get into position.

Then we are connected and the serious business of screwing is started. I am rather silent then, more into my own fantasies and sensations to provide the psychological stimulation to attain orgasm. He just groans as the plowing plods on and then the long groan/grunting when he cums. I had better be finished by then too, and usually I am, so we are both happy and satisfied. But I have arranged that he spend at least thirty minutes in the living room before following me to the bedroom, otherwise there would be less fun in coupling. I need my warm-up.

That night, after feeling my son up, I got on top of my husband and pretended that I was seducing Cest. I felt a little guilty for having those naughty thoughts, but rationalized it was just fantasy, that I would never actually do it. But I thought that I could handle a bit of 'handling' back and forth, between Cest and myself, to provide spice to what had become routine in the sack. I hadn't started it, and he was unlikely to object, quite the opposite I was sure. Though I would have to make sure he kept his mouth closed about our private game of (as he puts it) erotic-rubbie-dubbie).

It was several evenings later, as I was remembering the heightened stimulation of the other evening, when I had touched my son. I was feeling horny with the recollection, so I said to my husband, “I'm going to go to bed early tonight, Honey. See you in a little while.” I spoke loud enough that the kid could hear me in his bedroom, then just to make sure he got the message, I walked by his partly open door and seeing him glance my way, winked at him. I put on a sheer nightie before I got into bed. I had pulled the covers only to my middle. Sure enough my boy was coming to sit beside me in just a few minutes. We had maybe a half hour before my spouse's TV program was done.

I had a big grin for Cest when he came in. “I was hoping you would come.” I said

“Do you want me to tuck you in?”

“Yes, Please, and would you like to give mommy a 'rubbie-dubbie'?”

“I would, yes, may I start?”

“Yeah, before your father arrives and wants his piece of the action!” I figured I might as well be brazen, if I wanted him to help me get hot for sex. It was not like we had all night. He began rather co