Gidget Surfs Up At Bikini Beach
- 3 years ago
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You'll Get Used To ItChapter 3 free porn video
The next day, I was stealing a cookie while Mom’s back was turned to check the ham she had cooking in the oven. She straightened up before I could hide my action and playfully tried to grab the cookie out of my hand but I managed to get it into my mouth.
“You bad boy,” she cried, smacking my rump as I turned away.
“Mom, I’m not a kid anymore,” I laughed.
“Then why have you got your hand in the cookie jar?”
“I guess I’m not that grown up,” I answered.
“Hmmm, I guess not,” Mom replied. “Tell your father dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes.”
“Ok, Mom.” I started to leave but she called me back.
“Mark, about the other day...”
A chill swept through me. Had Sayuri said anything about coming over? Was Mom suspicious?
“Yeah?” I turned back.
“You won’t have to do much of that patting thing, will you?”
“No, Mom. Most people will go for the scans. It’s easier and faster. Some people might refuse the scan to make a point but they’ll soon tire of it. At least, that’s what my boss says. But they’ll need more people at first so they’re hiring and that gives me a chance to stay on.”
“So, you think the scans are ok?”
“Yeah, just don’t think about it. You’ll be ok, Mom.”
“Margaret wants us all to refuse to go through the scanner to make a point.”
“You don’t have to do everything Mrs. J says, Mom.”
“You know how she is, Mark. She’ll make a big scene and we’ll all give in just to get her to shut up,” Mom said, sounding exasperated already. She wrung her hands. “I guess I’ll have to get patted down.”
“It’s no big deal, Mom. They just rub along looking for anything that might be hidden in your clothes. They’re just checking for bumps, is all.”
“I’ve got lots of lumps,” Mom said, sounding depressed.
“Oh, you do not.” I stepped forward and put my arms around her and gave her a big squeeze. I patted Mom on the back and let her go, turning to leave to let Dad know about dinner.
“Mark?”
“Yeah?” I looked back.
“Is it really that simple, the way you did it with Margaret?”
“Yeah, it’s just like that,” I assured her.
“But, what about around the breasts?” Mom asked. The question reminded me of Sayuri’s concern and made me edgy. Why was Mom asking about this. She couldn’t have a problem like Mrs. Yamato, could she? I mean, if Mrs. Yamato’s were that long on her small tits, it was hard to imagine a similar situation on Mom’s ample stock.
“They just rub their palms across your stomach and press the edge of their hands up against your breasts to see if there’s anything that shouldn’t be there.” I felt heat flushing through my cheeks even though I didn’t feel embarrassed.
“Can you show me?”
“Show you?”
Mom nodded.
“Mom, it’s no big deal. Just stand there with your arms to your side and let them do it. It’ll be over in no time.” It was one thing to frisk Mom’s friends, quite another to do her, especially after what had happened when I did Mrs. J and Mrs. Yamato when we were alone. I was afraid I might forget who I was with and do something I shouldn’t.
“I need to know what to expect or I’ll be too nervous.” She turned around. “Oh, I should just cancel and not go,” she said, stamping her foot and raising her hand to cover her face.
“Mom, Mom,” I said, stepping up to her back and putting my arms around to comfort her. “Don’t be silly. It’s nothing, really.” She sniffed. “Look, I’ll show you.” Gently, I turned Mom around. When she was facing me, her head lowered, I started with my hands on her shoulders as I had with Mrs. J the day before. “See,” I soothed as I ran my palms down the outside of her arms, “there’s nothing to it.”
Mom was wearing a blouse and stretchy pants similar to the outfit Mrs. J had been wearing when I demonstrated the pat-down to their group. Quickly, I pushed my hands up the inside of her arms and then down her sides, scraping over the side swells of her smaller breasts like I’d done with Mrs. J and into the deeper curve of her smaller waist and then out to her hips. Pausing, I said, “See, nothing to it” before starting down the outside of her legs. I knelt down and felt along the backs of her calves and pushed my hands up the backs of her thighs, then slipped between her legs and down the inside. Finished, I jumped up. “See, nothing to it.”
I gave her a kiss on the forehead, and quickly walked out of the kitchen. I didn’t look for Dad right away. For some strange reason, I was sporting the same half erection I had developed while searching Mrs. J. I went to my room, forgetting about Dad, and didn’t come out until Mom called.
That night, Mom popped her head in my door to say goodnight. I quickly clicked a tab to change the screen and turned to respond, flustered and feeling caught and guilty. Mom had entered my room and was walking toward me, which was quite unusual. Her robe gapped open as she walked and I felt the warm press of her body when she put her arm on my shoulder and hugged me to her, the robe having fallen behind to leave just the thin material of her nightgown between us.
“You didn’t put me through the whole routine, Mark.” She didn’t whisper but her voice was subdued. “Tomorrow, I want you to do the real thing. I don’t want to be surprised and made a fool of myself in front of people if something unexpected happens.” Mom pulled my head against her hip and rubbed the side of my face with her soft, warm hand.
“Are you sure, Mom? It can be a little intrusive.”
“So it isn’t just nothing, then?” Her laugh was soft and gentle.
“Not quite,” I answered honestly.
“Well, I want you to show me just the same. If you can do it for Margaret you can do it for me.”
“Ok, Mom.”
“Goodnight, son.” She kissed the top of my head.
“Goodnight, Mom.”
I imagined patting Mom down until I fell asleep, an unwanted full erection keeping me awake until well after midnight. Several times the next day, my mind wandered during training with a similar, if less intense, effect — I had been called back in for further training because my boss said the TSA hadn’t specified the procedures properly. Each time it happened, I forced the image of Mrs. J’s body into my mind but couldn’t erase the guilt that it was the thought of Mom’s more slender figure that had started the ball rolling. Twice, I thought about approaching Wendy, one of my fellow trainees, about coming home with me to show Mom what the pat-down was like. However, both times, I chickened out, convincing myself that I didn’t know her well enough to ask, but I think I knew that wasn’t the real reason. I was scared, but I wanted to pat Mom down.
So it was that I entered the house both eager and afraid at the same time. Eager to trace Mom’s form again but this time more closely and slowly; and afraid of letting my excitement show sufficiently for Mom to notice and consequently suffering her disdain. Still, my fear couldn’t overcome my desire to touch my mother.
I had just hung up my jacket and taken my shoes off when Mom appeared in the kitchen doorway wearing a short sweater that showed about an inch of bare midriff and a pair of faded jeans that were loose on her legs, snug over her hips, but left a gap between the skin of her narrow waist and the waistband of the jeans. She was wearing white tennis shoes without socks.
“Are you ready to check me out?” she smiled.
“Right now?” I asked, certain my voice betrayed my nervousness.
“We may as well get it over with before your father gets home.”
That was probably a good idea.
“Ok,” I said, walking toward her.
She was standing with one knee bent, forcing the opposite hip higher. As I approached her, Mom raised her arms and held the sides of the doorway.
“You have to stand up straight and hold your arms out to the side,” I instructed, my trainee voice sounding authoritative.
“Oh,” Mom said, backing away into the middle of the kitchen, her arms stretching out level with her shoulders.
I stepped up to her. “Stay still,” I said.
Mom nodded and I placed my hands on the top of her shoulders, then ran them out to her hands, around her wrists and back underneath to her armpits. Placing my palms flat against the side of her chest, I pulled them down, slowing beside the swells of her breasts and allowing them to fit themselves around her form. I was avoiding Mom’s face but I sensed her blush. Down, my hands traveled, cupping her waist and sliding out to her hips.
Kneeling, I pulled my hands down Mom’s legs, felt around her ankles, and slid slowly up the back of her calves to her knees, then continued up the back of her thighs, pressing firmly and rubbing all the way. I paused at the top of Mom’s legs, then moved my hands onto her bottom which was firm and supple underneath the loose-fitting jeans. The material moved with my hands a little and I was surprised to realize I was pressing so tightly that I could feel the edge of her panties underneath. I guess I was doing my job well.
Topping out over the upper swells of her buttocks, I ran my hands along the base of Mom’s back and around to the front of her hips. There, I turned my palms flat onto the front of her legs and slid them slowly down to her knees and then to her feet, reversed them, and slid palm in up the inside of her calves, past her knees, and up the inside of her thighs. At the juncture of her legs, I pushed my hands through, rubbing along the inner recess of her thighs until I felt the edge of her panties again. I heard Mom suck in her breath.
Pulling out, I raised my hands up to Mom’s stomach and slid them, palm in, over her tummy. I stood and slid my hands around Mom’s sides to run up the outer edge of her back onto her shoulder blades, then into the center and down her spine to the small of her back. Moving up, I found the lower edge of Mom’s bra strap and followed it around to her front, flipping my hands palm in before pushing underneath her breasts until my fingers met. As soon as they did, I dropped them down to Mom’s jeans and dragged my hands out to her hips and around to the middle of her back, letting my fingers trail along the inside of the waistband down to the top edge of her panties. I stepped back, finished.
“There,” I said, my breath short and face feeling flushed.
“Whew,” Mom said, her face similarly flushed and voice just as breathy. “Thanks.”
Mom turned away and I exited the kitchen and went upstairs. I was fully erect but hadn’t noticed myself getting excited while the pat-down was in progress. I hoped Mom hadn’t noticed and was quite sure she hadn’t. I was momentarily depressed now that it was over, knowing that it wouldn’t happen again, but then became strangely elated. I went straight into the bathroom, shut the door and took my cock out, stepped to the toilet, lifted the lid, and started wanking like mad.
I had barely finished cleaning up when heavy footsteps sounded near the door. I whirled around and sat on the toilet, hunching forward to cover my semihard cock.
“Dad!” I cried out, indignantly.
“Oh ... sorry, I...” he shut the door but I could tell from his confused glance that he could see what I was trying to cover up. Great, just great. Dad had caught me masturbating. I hoped to hell Mom didn’t mention getting me to pat her down. That would be an unmitigated disaster.
I was a nervous wreck during dinner but Mom didn’t say anything about her home investigation of the new airport security measures, either on Mrs. J or herself. In fact, Mom didn’t say much of anything which wasn’t atypical but the way she studiously maintained her silence was ominous. I was worried that Mom was offended and angry about how far I had gone during my pat-down demonstration.
Had I really been that improper? I replayed the scene in my mind which felt weird with both my parents calmly eating their dinner beside me. If anything, I hadn’t been overly intimate, at least, as far as I could determine from the training I had received and I imagined that some agents went further in certain cases, like when an attractive female was involved. Pushing my fingers inside Mom’s jeans and letting them feel the top of her panties was actually something she might experience in a real search but that wasn’t the point. The point was, did Mom feel I had transgressed the appropriate boundary, the one she was comfortable with? Her lack of acknowledgement of my presence made me feel she did, and I felt guilty and ashamed. The feeling only got worse when Mom ignored me for the rest of the evening and didn’t even say goodnight. She just went upstairs and went to bed and Dad joined her soon after.
I made a startling discovery when I went to bed. As I usually did, I laid out my clothes for the next day, setting a clean pair of shorts, socks and a shirt on top of my jeans that were already laid out on the top of my dresser. I got out some clean underwear last and that’s when I found the black panties neatly folded in my drawer. I almost fell over with shock.
Holy fuck! Maybe that was what all the silent treatment was about. Mom must have found Mrs. Yamato’s panties and thought I’d been messing around with a girl in the house. I remembered taking her panties off in the kitchen by the fridge, or at least yanking them down. Had I taken them right off? We had wandered around, fucking, in the kitchen and then went into the living room to fuck in the chair. She didn’t have panties on when we were in my room, so they must have come off in the living room or on the way upstairs or in my room. I didn’t remember Mrs. Yamato putting them back on, so these must be them, and Mom had found them. Thank God I hadn’t mentioned Mrs. Yamato coming over.
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