My Mom is a Hot Mom Ch. 03

SimonDoom©

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. What they don't say -- though it's true -- is that a picture of your mom, naked and on display for you, is worth a thousand other pictures.

I know it's true, because on a Saturday, mid-morning, I sat at my desk, looking at a photograph of my mom, her pussy exposed and on display on the computer screen in front of me. I was reviewing my collection of the photos I recently had taken of mom, including the photo in which she unwittingly had exposed her pussy to me.

It was the day after my mom's birthday, when I accidentally had seen her naked in her bedroom. I had slept in. I wasn't working that day, so I had no need to get up early. I only woke up because the next-door neighbor started mowing his lawn.

The noise roused me from my sleep, and it prompted me to get out of bed. I sat up on the edge of the mattress, feet on the floor and mind turning over what had happened the night before.

I had seen my mom naked. Standing no more than few feet from me. I had seen her completely naked for no more than about two seconds, after which she had tried, with only partial success, to cover her breasts and pussy. She had remained naked in front of me for about two minutes. We'd stood like that, next to each other, her naked and me clothed. It was the hottest thing I had ever seen in my life.

I sat like that on the edge of the bed, thinking, for a while.

It wasn't until 10:30 that I roused myself from bed and made it to the kitchen for breakfast. Mom was awake and tending to eggs frying in a black pan on the stove.

Mom had squeezed her slim hips and lean legs into a faded pair of skinny jeans. Up top, she wore a loose-fitting, long-sleeve, pale pink cotton shirt. A pink scrunchie bound her hair in a ponytail trailing behind her and down her upper back. She paced from one part of the kitchen to the other in bare feet.

Mom didn't see me at first when I entered the kitchen behind her. I wasn't sure what to say to her, after last night. Seeing her in front of me, I kept thinking about having walked in on her in her bedroom, naked. I hoped it wouldn't make things too awkward between us.

It didn't, or, it didn't seem to. When she heard me she turned around and gave me a hug, with no weird pauses or weird looks. We both acted like nothing strange had happened.

We ate breakfast together without talking a lot. When we were almost done, the doorbell rang.

I walked to the front door and opened it. I was surprised to see my dad standing at the threshold. He looked happy to see me but also a little embarrassed to be standing on the doorstep. It had been his house, once, but now it was mom's, courtesy of their divorce agreement.

"Randy!" he said, and we hugged. He crossed the threshold into the house, a little awkwardly.

"How are you doing?" he asked. We chatted for a few minutes about my work and my school. Then he brought up the real reason he was there.

"Is mom home?" he asked.

I told him she was and they met and walked off together to talk about something; I didn't know what. While they were talking, I went back to my room, and that's when I sat at my computer and pulled up the photographs I had taken of mom so far.

My file of hot photos of my mom had grown quickly in recent weeks. I had the photo of her in shorts on the sofa, exposing her pussy. That was the one I looked at most, obviously. But I also had the photos I'd taken of her when we had been running together. And I had the photos I'd taken of her the night before, in the running outfit I'd bought her. When I could tear myself away from the photo of her pussy, I pored over the photos of her in the skin-tight running outfit. The material was so thin and stretched over her body so tightly it almost looked like body paint in the soft living room light. I couldn't see her most intimate parts, but the outline of her delicious, thin but shapely figure was totally revealed. My finger tapped the keyboard, over and over, as I scrolled through the shots I'd taken of my hot mom. I savored every one of them.

And yet, the photos didn't satisfy my hunger to see my mom, they just stirred it. Just the night before, I'd seen mom completely naked, for just two seconds, but I didn't have a camera handy, and I wouldn't have taken a photo of her anyway, under those circumstances, because she was so embarrassed. But I wanted that. I wanted mom to get naked for me, willingly, and let me take a photo of her.

I had no idea how I would make that happen, but I wanted to. With a desperate, singular sense of purpose, I wanted to.

While I was looking over the photos a knock sounded at my door.

"Randy?" mom called. "You dad's about to leave. Come out to say goodbye."

I left my room and the photos of my mom on the computer. I met dad at the door. We didn't say much but we hugged. My relationship with dad was O.K. after the divorce, but it still was awkward to see him at the house, which mom now owned by herself.

After seeing dad off, I shut the door and walked to the kitchen and saw mom, cleaning up after breakfast.

"What did dad want?" I asked.

Mom laughed, softly and a little grimly.

"Your dad wanted something back," she said. "Something he had agreed I could have in our settlement agreement. Some old records, that we'd collected early in our marriage. We used to do that. Even when records weren't being made anymore, we collected some. I had a collection of records from the 70s. When we got divorced, your dad didn't care about the collection, so he agreed I could have it. This morning, he was telling me how important it was to him."

"So what did you say?" I asked.

"Well," mom said, "I didn't have that strong feeling about those, to tell you the truth. Until your dad slipped. He said his girlfriend liked those old records. And somehow, when he said that, suddenly I thought that I cared about having those old records more than I had before. So I said no. He didn't take it well."

"Sorry, mom," I said. "Sounds like dad wasn't being sensitive."

She paused for a moment before replying.

"I don't want to get you wrapped up in our squabbles, Randy," she said. "But you asked, and you're an adult. I don't want to hold a grudge, but I have a hard time with some of what your dad has done."

She stopped, and I could see it wasn't easy for her to talk.

I put my arm on her shoulder.

"It's O.K., mom," I said. "I understand."

Mom's hands were in the sink, washing dishes in sudsy water.

"So what are you going to do today, lazy boy?" mom asked.

"I don't know," I answered. "Think I'll go for a run. Mason texted about getting together with the guys later tonight. We might see the new Fast and Furious movie. What about you, mom?"

"I think I'm going to take advantage of the beautiful day by doing some gardening," she said. "The bushes need some trimming. Not sure about the rest of the day."

Mom scrubbed a few more dishes and then turned to me.

"Randy," she said, "Could you get my phone out of my bedroom? I think it's on the table next to my bed."

"Sure, mom," I said.

I walked down the hallway to her room.

Inside her room, I saw that mom had done the laundry, and piles of clothes that had been folded but not yet put away sat on her bed. Near the night table where her phone lay, she had stacked her panties.

The stack of panties caught my attention and made me stop before I picked up the phone. I combed through the stack. They were all different types and colors. Some were black, some white, some red, some turquoise. She had boy shorts and thongs. Some were shiny, some plain, some lacy, some see-through. I saw a pair with an opening in the gusset -- it wouldn't cover her pussy at all. Wow, mom, I thought.

Two-thirds of the way down the stack I pulled out a pale blue thong. It was nothing more than thin satin blue strings joined to a tiny, filmy triangle in front. The film was very nearly see-through. Had I seen mom wearing it I would, no doubt, have seen the slit of her pussy plainly through the blue film. I ran the fabric between my thumb and finger.

My thumb was touching the part of the thong that had been pressed right up against mom's pussy, I thought. I was getting hard again.

I put the blue thong in my pocket, readjusted the stack of panties, grabbed mom's phone, and returned to the kitchen.

"Here's your phone, mom," I said, handing it to her.

She dried off her hands and took it.

"Thanks, Randy," she said.

She looked up at me, her face close to mine. Mom was tall, for a woman, but I was taller, and she was in bare feet, so she had to look up to me, and the sight of her eyes close and turned up toward mine stirred something in me. She put a hand up and tapped it on my chest, lightly and lovingly, and I think I puffed my chest out a little at her touch.

"I really appreciate you, Randy," she said. "It's nice to have a man around the house. In some ways you play the role better than your dad did."

I liked the way she said it. At the same time, a part of me reflected on how odd it was that she hadn't said anything about me seeing her naked the night before. Either she didn't care, I thought, or she was trying to hide or forget whatever she felt about it.

Being around mom was making me horny and antsy. But she was in her skinny jeans and seemed preoccupied with her chores. She wasn't going to show me anything, dressed like that, even though her figure looked fantastic.

The day was sunny and warm. I decided the best thing to do was to go for a run. I left mom in the kitchen and went to my room, where I dumped her thong in my drawer, next to the lotion bottle.

A few minutes later I was out the door, wearing my running shorts and sunglasses and a phone strapped to my arm, and no shirt, as before.

I ran six miles, throwing in a few hard quarter mile intervals. My brain was filled with images of mom nearly the whole time, and my body surged with lust and desire, and the urgent need to see more of her.

As I ran I tried thinking of ways to move mom's exposure to the next step. I could suggest taking more photos of her, but at some point, if I wanted to take photos of her bare breasts, or of her exposed pussy, I'd have to ask her to slider her bra off, or pull her panties down or to the side. And I just couldn't quite visualize myself doing that, or mom saying yes if I did. As far as figuring out how to expose mom further, I was stuck.

I finished my run, jogged slowly back to the house, and let myself in the front door.

"Mom! I'm back," I shouted when I got in the front door.

I heard no response. I wondered where mom was. I'd find out, in a minute, but first I needed something to drink, so I went to the kitchen and pulled out a cold Gatorade. Ice blue, or some similar totally artificial flavor. I walked to the living room, where a large window opened onto the back yard.

Then I saw mom. She lay on a lounge chair by the pool, reading a book. She wore the little red bikini I had given her the night before for her birthday.

Shwing. Instant hard-on. In the store, when I had bought the bikini, I'd run the material of it through my fingers. I'd picked it up by the incredibly skinny string ties on the side and lusted at the idea of mom's delicious body being covered by nothing more than the bikini's miniscule pieces of fabric. And here she was, lying in the sun before me, covered in nothing but those pieces of fabric that looked even smaller on her tall, slender, shapely frame than I'd imagined. My fantasy had come true.

I had to get a closer look.

I walked out back toward the pool. "Hey, mom," I said as casually as I could.

"Hi Randy!" mom replied cheerfully. Her eyes lay hidden by a pair of sunglasses but her white teeth showed in a wide-open smile. She lay with her back propped up at a 45-degree angle in the lounge chair, a book in one hand. She turned slightly to me as she said my name and I was struck by the length and litheness of her body and her exposed supple skin. The thinness of her waist accentuated the hourglass shape of her figure. From my view point her body was covered by nothing more than three small triangles of red fabric -- two barely reining in her breasts, and the other one barely covering the intimate region between her legs.

I drew closer to her and pulled up another lounge chair and sat on it with my legs off the side toward her.

"Looks like you had a good run," she said, and she put her finger against my abs again. I liked the way she did it, and I liked that she seemed to like doing it. My chest was bare and I wondered what she was seeing when she looked at me behind the cover of her sunglasses. I was trying to read mom's mood through her body language. Whatever she felt, she showed no trace of embarrassment or nervousness from what had happened the night before. She put her hands back and crossed over each other above and her head, against the chair. She bent her leg up, the one farther from me. The pose exhibited the sculpted grace of her thighs and the prominence of her calf muscle. I noticed she was wearing open-toed wedge sandals and that she'd painted her toenails vermillion to match her suit. It was a nice, sexy touch. I also noticed the way the little triangle of bikini fabric between her legs seems to disappear in a point where her legs met. I knew it wasn't a thong, but there wasn't a lot of material at its thinnest point between her legs, and from this angle it almost looked like it vanished altogether.

"I can't believe this weather," she said. "It's almost October, and it's hot. The sun feels great."

I was glad she liked it. I hoped she was in no hurry to get out of the sun. I had nothing urgent to do, and as far as I was concerned I could enjoy spending all day watching my mom sun herself in the tiny red bikini.

"Speaking of sun," she said, "I want to get some sun on the other side but I need some lotion on my back first. Can you help me?" She gestured to a bottle of SPF 30 sun screen on a little table next to her. Mom was fortunate that she could tan without too much effort; she used sun screen to avoid overdoing it.

"Sure mom," I said. "No problem." No problem -- that was an understatement. At that moment, almost nothing could have given me more joy than to fill my hands with lotion and run them over mom's lissome body.

Mom handed me the lotion bottle while I scooted my chair as close to hers as I could. I squirted a big dab of greasy lotion in my palm, rubbed both hands together, and leaned over mom to get to work. The lusty, tropical scent of coconut wafted through the air from my hands. By this time she'd turned over, and her back was exposed to me.

Before I started I had to catch my breath, because I saw the cut of the bikini bottom on mom for the first time. The bottom was, more or less, a Brazilian cut -- it wasn't a thong, but it exposed a lot more cheek on each side than a normal bikini bottom. On either side the bikini was held in place by spaghetti-thin strings that mom had neatly bow-tied. One little, easy pull, I thought, and the whole thing would come sliding off.

But I didn't pull it. Instead I applied my hands to mom's shoulders and began spreading the lotion around. I dug my fingers in a little, too, to massage her back as I went along. I rubbed it in, in wide, deliberate circles with my hands, starting at the back of her shoulders and moving down.

I squirted a little more of it directly onto the middle of mom's back, and her body recoiled just slightly at the plop of it against her skin. My hands, now seemingly guided by a force I had no say over, pushed the lotion out toward her sides. For the first time, I noticed how much side-boob the little bikini top revealed. It revealed a lot, even though the front of her boob was mashed into the lounge. How far should I go, I wondered? My hands wanted to find out. Both of them simultaneously swept down mom's sides, and my fingers briefly passed over the exposed sides of her breasts. For the first time ever, I actually had put my hands on mom's boobs.

She didn't flinch. That was good, I thought.

I didn't stop. I massaged the lotion into her lower back, and my fingers "innocently" traced the upper edge of her bikini bottom, which lay enticingly low on her hips, the skinny strings just over her hip bones. Two fingers passed just barely under the edge of the bikini bottom. The pressure of them pushed the bottom down just a little. It might have been so little that mom might not have noticed; but I noticed, because for a second I saw the top of her butt crack as my fingers swept from one side of her back to the other.

Mom wasn't saying anything and seemed relaxed, so I figured I'd keep going. My mouth watered at the prospect of running my hands along the exposed portion of mom's butt checks -- in the tiny bikini, a lot was exposed, and her flanks looked incredibly inviting. The skin was soft, but the shape was firm, with no trace of sag. Mom's butt, plainly, benefited greatly from all her exercise. My hands burned with the desire to feel it.

I was just about to squirt some lotion on my hands again to get working on her butt when a voice called out from beyond the gate on the side of the house.

"Randy," the voice called. "Are you there?"

Mom looked up at me. "Are you expecting someone?" she asked.

"No," I said. "But that sounds like Tucker. I'll see what he wants."

I walked to the gate to let him in, cursing him under my breath the whole way for his rotten timing. My hands had been seconds away from rubbing the cheeks of mom's firm, perky butt.

I opened the gate, and Tucker stood in front of me with a huge grin on his face. He held a DVD in a plain jewel case in front of him and started talking loudly and excitedly before I could get a word in.

"Randy, my man. Looks like you've been running," he said, pointing to my shirtless chest. "You are a video god." He pointed at the DVD. "This was awesome. The one with the redhead who goes down on the janitor in the classroom --"

I waved my finger over my face in a desperate gesture to shut him up him and jerked my head back several times toward the yard to indicate we weren't alone. I had burned several porn videos on the DVD and given them to Tucker a couple of weeks earlier. Now he was returning it. I didn't think mom needed to hear his blow by blow review of the videos. Tucker got the hint and shut up.

"Mom's here," I whispered to him.

Tucker started looking over my shoulder.

"Oh," he said shifting gears. "Why didn't you say so. Can I, uh, say hello?"

"Sure," I said, and I ushered him through the gate, but as soon as I'd done so I wondered if I'd made a mistake.

Of all my friends, Tucker was the one who'd always taken the greatest joy in ogling my mom. When I was younger, I couldn't stand it. It wasn't something I'd had to deal with since my own feelings about mom had changed. I was still wrestling with how I felt about mom, and exactly what I wanted to do about those feelings, and Tucker's presence could only interfere with whatever plans I had with mom. Already, he had interfered with my hands' date with mom's hot, perky behind.

But, I'd invited him back, and I couldn't very well uninvite my best friend now. Tucker followed me along the path to the pool. I saw mom ahead, and I turned around so I could catch Tucker's expression when he saw her as well.

Tucker had stopped moving. His feet were rooted fast to the concrete path. His mouth was open. Tucker had seen my mom before in skimpy gym outfits, and even in a bikini or two. But he'd never seen her in a bikini like this one.

I wasn't sure his heart could handle it. That's only a slight exaggeration. Tucker had a steadfast aversion to exercise, and he wasn't in the best shape. He carried about 20 to 30 unneeded pounds around his middle. It took him a few seconds to regain his composure, and he followed me to the patio by the pool. Mom saw us and looked up at his in her dark sunglasses, which she took off as we approached.

"Well hi, Tucker," she said.

"Hi, Mrs. Crowley," said Tucker, his voice bursting with nervous eagerness.

"I'm going by my maiden name now, Tucker. It's Lund. But you know, you're an adult now, so you can call me 'Inga' if you like."

"Oh, I didn't know that. Sorry. Ms. Lund. Inga. Hmmm. I'm not sure about the first name thing, yet. I'll stick with 'Ms. Lund' if that's O.K. That's Norwegian, right?"

"Yah, it shore is," she said with a caricature of an accent, and flashed him a big smile. She took her glasses off and I guessed her green eyes distracted him for a second or two from staring at her exposed body. But probably not for longer than that. I knew the effect that seeing my mom dressed -- or, undressed, really -- like this was having on him. In the past, it would have bothered me. But not now. I was spending all my time thinking about how hot my mom was, and I now it turned me on to imagine Tucker thinking about her that way, too.

I didn't have to imagine it. His tongue practically was hanging out of his mouth.

Tucker was a nerd. He was a couple inches shorter than I was. He was physically lazy, and already had the beginning of a pot belly, and he had curly hair and wore thick dark glasses. But he talked a mile a minute, and had a kind of nerd charm that sometimes worked with the ladies. Last May he had sweet-talked his way into Kendra Kowalski's skirt, and he had been bragging about it to us all summer.

But now, in front of my mom, he was tongue-tied.

"What brings you here, Tucker?" she asked him sweetly.

"Oh, just dropping this off," he said, and he held the DVD up in front of him. "Randy let me borrow some . . . uh . . . class notes he saved to this . . . uh . . . DVD."

"I didn't know you were taking any classes together," she said, in a way that suggested she might be skeptical of Tucker's description of the DVD's contents.

"I was . . . auditing a class he's taking," Tucker replied. "To see if I wanted to take it."

"Well, it's nice to see you working together," she said. She shifted her legs in the recliner as she said it. She crossed her far, bent leg over the near one, and as she lay talking to us she moved the shoe on the foot of her far leg slowly up and down the calf of the other leg, as though to scratch an itch. Then she put the leg back on the other side, unbending and stretching out the leg nearer us and bending and raising her knee on the other leg still higher. The effect was to reveal more of the incredibly small red triangle of the bikini bottom to us.

"Are you going to stick around for a swim, Tucker?" she asked.

I didn't know what had gotten into my mom. I could swear she was showing off for him. Discreetly, not lasciviously, but it sure looked like she was showing off. She had to know the effect her movements were having on the way her body was exposed to us. I had never see her do anything like that before. Poor Tucker. He didn't say anything.

"No, Tucker has to leave," I said. "He's got some stuff to do, and he didn't bring a suit."

Tucker glared at me. I knew he was thinking I could have volunteered one of my suits. But I had other plans for the day, and he wasn't part of the plans. I wanted mom in her skimpy bikini for myself.

"It's been nice to see you, Tucker. Come by again soon," mom said.

"I will, thanks," he managed to say after getting his voice back. "See you later Mrs. C --- I mean, Ms. Lund."

Tucker and I walked into the house through the back door. I offered him a cold drink from the fridge.

"Randy," Tucker said. "I don't need a cold drink. I need a cold shower."

Instead of walking to the front door, he walked over to the big window in the living room that faced the back yard. He stared back at my mom, now lying back on the lounge chair with her sunglasses on, sideways to us.

"Your mom's Norwegian," he said. "That figures."

"Why is that?" I asked him.

"Norwegians are hot. Like, what's Norway offer? Fjords, and snow, and hot babes. I've said it before, Randy, but you have the hottest mom on the planet. I mean, holy shit. 'Inga.' She should be captain of the Norwegian MILF bikini team."

In the past, his words would have bothered me. They didn't now, but I wasn't going to let him know that. I acted like I was upset.

"Come on, Tucker, that's my mom."

"I know, man, but you're a guy, too, and she's a beautiful woman. Look at those abs, I could bounce quarters all day off those abs. And her toes. The nail polish matches the red suit. I could suck on those toes all day like popsicles."

"Tucker!" I said, acting like I was getting mad.

"Sorry, sorry," he said. "I know you've always been a little touchy about that. But you are a lucky guy."

He kept staring at her through the window.

"So, Randy, do you ever think about it?"

"Uh, think about what?"

"You know," he said, working up a sly smile. "You're single. Your mom's single. Divorced. Lonely. You're both adults. Ever think about you and your mom ---"

"Tucker, stop. No, I do not think about her that way."

"O.K., O.K., no need to get mad," he said. "It's just . . . I can't imagine what it would be like every day to wake up to a mom who looks like a super model. A super fitness model. Those abs. Shit. And look at the muscle tone on those legs."

"Tucker --"

He stopped for a minute but didn't stop staring.

"I think it's time to move on, bud," I said.

He was squinting his eyes and pursing his lips like his mind was furiously working up a scheme of some kind.

"Does your mom like younger guys? I mean, if you're not going to make a play, maybe I could give her a call and --"

"Tucker, no," I said firmly with fake impatience. I was enjoying watching the effect my mom had on Tucker, but I was determined not to show it. "My mom is totally out your league, buddy."

"That is for sure," he said with a resigned sigh and turned to the front door. "O.K., I'm out of here. Thanks for the videos." He glanced back at mom through the window. "And the social visit."

I closed the door on Tucker and walked back to the living room, the large picture window framing the backyard with mom in the little red bikini in the center of the picture. My first thought was to go back to the poolside and resume spreading sun screen on mom's body. But mom already was turned over and reading a book again.

I got a different idea. There was something sort of thrilling about watching mom through the window without her knowing I was watching her. Thrilling in a different way from watching her while standing right in front of her. Lying on the lounge chair, mom and her body were fully on display for me, standing where I was. I focused on the window glass. It looked like it had been cleaned recently. It was clear, without smudges. Mom was engrossed in her book and had no idea I was looking at her.

I ran to my room. I grabbed my DSLR camera. I also grabbed a zoom lens that I'd bought at a bargain price from Best Deal as a return item by a disgruntled customer. I swapped the zoom lens for the regular lens, and I walked briskly back to the living room. I wanted to use the camera to zoom in on mom's body, without her seeing me, and I wanted to take photos of her in her bikini without her knowing it. I don't know why. I just wanted to do it.

But when I got back to the living room, mom no longer was lying on the lounge chair. She wasn't in the pool, either, or anywhere in the pool area, that I could see. Where was she?

Then I saw her figure walk from behind a bush, behind and to the left of the pool area. Mom was walking across the lawn. And she had gloves and garden shears in her hand!

It was odd. Mom liked gardening, and I'd seen her out in the garden in skimpy shorts and top, but I'd never seen her gardening in a bikini. Yet, there she was: walking around the yard almost naked looking for bushes to trim.

I had to get photos of her. I raised my camera, but before I could get the camera ready mom disappeared from view. She walked off to the left, to a part of the back yard that wasn't visible from the living room window because it was obscured by a clump of bushes.

Well, darn it, I thought. I wanted to take photos of mom gardening in her bikini, but she wasn't visible from where I stood.

I knew, however, that there was one place in the house from which I would be able to see that part of the yard, and see mom: her bedroom. I ran from the living room to her bedroom with my camera in hand.

On one wall of mom's bedroom a window opened onto a part of the backyard I could not see from the living room. When I got to mom's room I slowed quickly and sidled up slowly to the edge of the window. I wanted to see mom, but I didn't want her to see me.

I saw her. Ah, did I see her. She was turned away from me, on all fours, at the edge of the lawn, using the shears to clip dead flowers from a late-blooming bush.

She probably crouched about 50 feet away from me in a direct line. I put my camera to my eye and focused the zoom lens, zooming in slowly and carefully on mom's firm, sculpted, and bikini-clad butt. From this angle, mom's butt rose high in the air, and the tiny red bikini stretched thinly and tightly against her round, gym-sculpted behind.

I pushed the button to take several photos, zooming the lens in as much on mom's butt as I could while maintaining good exposure and focus.

Mom stood up from that position. She dumped the dead flower heads into a little pile in one place in the garden bed. I wondered what she would do next in the garden. My camera was ready to capture her, magnificent in the red and tiny bikini.

She didn't do anything at first. Instead, she looked around the yard. I saw her looking toward the backyard fence at various places. She wasn't looking at plants. I wondered what she was doing. It looked like she was trying to figure out if anyone could see her.

Then I saw her set the shears and the gloves on the garden bed just off the edge of the grass. And then she stood straight up and put her hands behind her back. Her hands worked at the red tie of her bikini top.

Mom removed her bikini top and pulled it off her and over her head. Then she dropped it to the garden bed next to the shears and the gloves, which she put back on.

Mom was going to do her gardening in the back yard, topless.

I watched through the window, fascinated, my camera down at my side. I was so struck by what mom was doing that at first I couldn't even think about taking photos of her. With her pert, firm breasts unfettered, the tiny red bottom was the only thing covering her body, and it barely covered her. Mom turned away from me, showing off her thick blonde hair spilling down her bare back, and the firm, mostly uncovered butt cheeks. I remembered my camera, finally. I pulled it up to my eye, zoomed in on mom's body with the adjustable lens, and started snapping photos.

She turned halfway toward me again, and now I saw her nearly nude body in profile. Mom's boobs weren't huge, but they looked bigger than they were jutting out from her slender frame. They showed little sag, and through the zoom lens I easily saw the erect, pink thimbles of her nipples standing out straight and saucy.

I don't know why mom had decided to trim the bushes topless, but it was one of the most exciting things I'd ever seen. And the excitement was heightened by the utter nonchalance mom seemed to show being almost naked in the back yard shearing leaves off bushes. She went about her business like it was a perfectly normal thing to do.

She bent over to cut off some greenery closer to the ground, and I watched mesmerized through the lens as the firm mounds of her boobs hung down from her body. Gravity pulled them down. I imagined myself sitting on the garden bed, underneath her, my mouth open and waiting to accept her hanging tits with my lips and tongue.

Then she squatted to cut some dead flowers off the bottom of a bush. She squatted low, with her butt almost on her feet, and her knees spread wide open. I zoomed in still more to get a closeup of the red bikini bottom stretched tightly over the flesh between her legs. I snapped several more photos of her.

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I held on to the camera with one hand, but with the other I pushed my shorts down until my cock sprang loose. I seized it and started stroking. My mind was in an erotic frenzy over my mom, whose every action seemed to be driving me crazy with voyeuristic lust. I looked down at my cock and felt how hard it was, squeezed between my fingers. Already, precum was flowing from the tip, and the extra lubrication made me harder still.

I must have gotten distracted by what I was doing for a couple of minutes, because when I looked back out the window mom wasn't there. Where had she gone? I wondered.

I heard the back door open and bang shut, suddenly. Then, I heard mom's wedge sandals on the floor. I could tell she was coming this way.

Shit, I thought. I looked around frantically. In less than 20 seconds mom would be coming through the bedroom door, and she'd see me standing next to her bedroom window with my erect dick in one hand and my camera with zoom lens in the other. Even a dummy would know exactly what I had been doing, and mom was no dummy. There was no exit from the bedroom other than the bedroom door, and I didn't want mom to see me running out of her room with the camera.

I looked to the bathroom. I could try to hide in there, but mom probably would go in there to shower or take a leak, and if she did she would see me, and I didn't know how I'd explain that.

I turned every which way. I heard her footsteps. I had no time left to decide what to do.

I saw the bed. It was my only option. I ducked down and pushed myself under it. In the cramped space, I turned around and pulled myself back from the edge of the bed just as I saw mom's bare legs and sandal-clad feet enter her room.

The bed was king-sized, a holdover from the marriage, so it offered plenty of room to hide. A thick cotton skirt hung down over the bottom mattress, to within a few inches above the floor. If I was very quiet and kept my face and limbs away from the edge, there was an excellent chance that mom wouldn't see me. If she went into the bathroom, I might be able to make a quick escape without her ever knowing I had been in her room.

From my view point under the bed, I couldn't see any of mom above her calves. She kicked off her sandals. Then she walked to the bathroom. I was hopeful she would go in and take a shower and give me a chance to get away.

But she didn't go in the bathroom. She opened the bathroom door and pulled it back. The inside of the door was covered by a full-length mirror, and mom pulled the door back far enough that I could see the reflection of her legs and feet in it.

She just stood there. I couldn't tell what she was doing with her upper body, so I moved my face a little closer to the edge of the bed. Her upper thighs and the bikini bottom came into view. Mom stood with her butt toward me and her legs apart, and I had a great view of the red fabric narrowing as it descended over her butt cheeks and gathered in a thin strip in the delicious gap between her thighs. Before I could take stock of what I was seeing I saw the bikini top drop to the floor. Then I saw a hand reach down to her hip bone and draw quickly on the string tied there. The knot untied at once with a fast pull, and then the bikini bottom dropped to the floor at her feet next to the top.

Mom stood naked in front of the mirror. Her position and the angle of the mirror gave me two views at once of her pussy. I could just make out the shadowy slit between her legs from behind and underneath, and I could see the front of her pussy reflected in the mirror as well, with a trim patch of blondish hair lying right over it.

It was like a fantasy, seeing my mom like that. I felt a little guilty spying on her from under the bed, but my guilt was overwhelmed by the joy and arousal of seeing her exposed, nude body. Then the fantasy became even better, because the hand at mom's side moved to her front, and she toyed with her pussy with two fingers. At first, she held the fingers together and rubbed them over the nub of her clit, but then she moved them down into the flesh of her lips. I had to adjust myself slightly, as quietly as I could, because my cock was uncomfortably hard between my body and the bedroom floor.

Then mom moved away from the mirror, and I saw her bare legs walking around the side of the bed. I heard a drawer to her nightstand being opened, and I felt the mattress shake, like she was moving the bed covers around. Mom's legs walked back to the mirror. I saw a pillow drop to the floor. And then, wonder of wonders, I saw mom sit down on the floor, facing the mirror, her back to the pillow. And she spread her legs. I kept far enough under the bed that I couldn't see her face, but I saw her holding a slender pink rod in one hand, with a bulb at one end. It was a vibrator. I heard it begin buzzing when she turned it on.

Mom was going to masturbate in front of the mirror, and I was going to watch.

It was a tricky angle, because her back was to me, but I could see her pussy reflected in the mirror through her bent, open legs. It was the best view of it I'd had yet. Mom kept a patch of hair over her clit, but the lips of the pussy themselves had been shaved, so nothing was obscured. The outer lips, bare and gently mounded, framed her slit. She held the vibrator above her pussy, and I saw her push it down slowly on and past the clit until it dipped into the tender flesh beneath. Then the pink bulb dipped further, fully inside her, and her lips closed over it.

She held it like that for a full minute, and I heard the buzz grow louder when she must have adjusted a setting on the vibrator. Mom started rocking the head of the vibrator in and out of her, and I saw the thin lips of her pussy rise and fall like waves over the pink bulbous head.

I was excited and aroused beyond belief, but I couldn't do anything about it. My crotch was pressed against the floor, leaving me no room to stroke myself. And even if I had had room, I could not have started masturbating without risk of exposing myself to mom. I couldn't do that, no matter how great my need.

I could hear mom panting over the steady buzz of the vibrator, and her spread legs occasionally twitched or jerked this way or that. She arched her back against the pillow, and she put a hand, the one without the vibrator in it, in back of her on the floor to hold her up.

Slowly, and as quietly as I could, I pulled my camera in front of my face, and I focused the lens on mom. I was so close to her, and the zoom lens so powerful, that the view through the lens was blurry at first, but I adjusted the lens until the view was clear. Once I did that, I could see mom's pussy in the most amazing, intimate detail -- the thin, inner lips stretched over the vibrator head, the film of moisture that framed her opening, and even a little milky fluid gathering at the lower edge of her pussy and beginning to flow down the skin between her lean legs.

Then mom lowered her arched back and set her shoulders against the pillow. She raised her feet, which had been set on the ground with her toes pointed. She put her legs in the air, still holding them spread open as before.

By lying back and holding her legs in the air, mom exposed more of the area between her legs, until the puckered star of her anus came into my view. The hand that had supported her when she was sitting up and leaning back went to her butt cheek, and in the mirror I saw fingers pressing forward from the side of her ass toward her asshole. She snaked a single finger toward its destination until the tip rested right on the hole and began tracing tiny circles around it.

Then the finger pushed forward further, sliding beyond the tight rim of the hole and into her. Her finger was buried in her ass to the first knuckle. I saw her push still more. Her finger had disappeared into her asshole up to the second knuckle. I saw it twitching, and I knew mom was moving her finger around inside her ass.

Mom now was going hard at both her holes, one with a finger and one with the slender vibrator. And I was there, miraculously, to see her doing it. I had to take a photo. I had to. It would be risky, because taking it would make a small noise, but I thought there was a better than even chance that the sound would be masked by the vibrator's steady, loud buzz and mom's heavy breathing.

I held the camera in place and focused. It was hard to maintain focus because of the dim indoor light and because of the constant jerking of mom's body under the assault of her finger and the vibrator. But I was determined. I would take one shot -- no more. I couldn't risk making more noise than that.

Mom's breathing sped up and her legs spasmed and jerked in the air. I knew she would come soon, and I had to take the photo before she came and turned the vibrator off. It was getting harder to get a shot because of the constant, jerky movement of her legs. But then she pulled the vibrator up and out of her pussy, and the lips gave way and the maw of her sex remained open as the tip of the vibrator lay against her nubby, exposed clit. She splayed her legs even farther. Everything came into view. I chanced it, and I took the photo.

The camera made a quiet but noticeable -- to me -- click, which I hoped was muffled by the bed skirt and the noises mom was making. She showed no sign of hearing it; her body kept jerking and tensing as the moment of orgasm obviously approached.

And then the orgasm came. Mom's thin frame arched over the bedroom carpet and her legs straightened and her whole body shook. She let out a long, thin, high-pitched gasp. Her finger remained in her ass but she obviously struggled to keep the vibrator on her wildly bucking body.

I could see her body swept by the orgasm as she brought her feet down on the ground. Visible tremors swept across her body like waves. Like ripples on a pond, they flowed back and forth through her damp, nude body until they receded and her body grew still. Her high-pitched panting became slower and quieter.

She quieted down, and I didn't dare move. Because mom lay back on the floor, her head was visible, and if she had turned her head and looked my way she might have seen me under the bed. Fortunately, she didn't.

After what seemed like ages, but probably only was a few minutes, mom sat up. She sat for another minute with her legs open in front of the mirror. I couldn't see her face or upper body, but I had the impression she was appraising her spent and orgasm-wracked body. I looked through the zoom lens; the entire area between her legs was shiny with moisture.

Finally, mom grabbed the bikini pieces and stood up. Her legs looked unsteady, and she staggered, slightly, to the bathroom.

I heard water in the sink, and then I heard the shower turned on.

This was my time to get away.

I crawled from under the bed on the side opposite the bathroom door. I peeked around the edge of the bed. I couldn't see all the way into the bathroom from where I was, but it looked like it was clear. I darted from my spot next to the bed to the door, and as quietly as I could I turned the knob, opened the door enough to let me through, and closed it behind me.

I let out a quiet sigh. I'd made it.

I ran back to my room, stealthily at first, and then with abandon as my need for relief took over. I shut the door behind me and pushed my shorts down and off in a rapid sweep of my hand.

I needed relief more desperately than I ever had before, but I needed something else, first.

I hooked my camera up to my computer with a USB cord. A pushed a few buttons with frantic fingers. The files from camera downloaded quickly, but it didn't feel quick; it felt agonizingly slow. Finally, it was done and I scrolled through the photos until I found the last one. I had to see how it had turned out before I let myself release.

I saw it. It had turned out.

In my photo of her, mom lay on the floor with outstretched legs, a finger from one hand buried in her anus and the pink bulb of the vibrator pressed to clit, her delicate lips peeled back underneath, exposing her damp and pink flesh.

It wasn't the clearest photo I'd ever taken, but it was clear enough, and the resolution was remarkable given the circumstances, my shaking hands, and the awkward vantage point.

More to the point, it was the hottest photo I'd ever taken or seen in my life. My cock pointed, steel-hard, toward the image, and I no more than touched the tip of my cock head with two fingers before my restraint gave way and I erupted, spurt after spurt, uncontrollably, and, once again, all over the place. I pushed my cock down and most of my cum landed on the carpet, but some of it landed on my desk top and a few dozen drops of translucent milky fluid stuck to the lower edge of my computer monitor. The sheer quantity of it rivaled the gusher I'd had the first time I jerked off to the site of mom's lovely pussy, days earlier.

I lay back in back in my desk chair, panting and naked below the waist.

My god, my god, my god.

I looked at the cum all over the place. I'd left myself with quite a mess to clean up.

But it was worth it.