09 Panties and a Shirt

I woke early the next morning, but I stayed in my room, watching the clock on my phone strike eight, then a minute after, then another, until five minutes had passed, then another five and then another five. During that time, the mechanical growl of the garage opening told me my father was leaving for work, but still, my mother was going to be in her panties and a shirt for me--all day long. I couldn't wait, yet my nerves hit me, and they hit me hard.

The beating of my heart went from calm, unfelt throbs to a rapid, skipping pace, like a cymbal's rounded edge vibrating after receiving the battering of a drumstick. Goosebumps sprouted across my forearms while my small hairs stood on end, bringing with them a chill that caused my shoulders to dance. Little pinpoints of fuzzy lightness danced over my skin, making my palms and the soles of my feet sweat. Disgusting. My breathing rose, every inhale whistling through my nostrils and thickening in my ears, forming a gelatinous cushion between my eardrums and the outside world.

Holy shit.

I needed to get in the moment.

The first thing I did was leave my room, speed-walk to the restroom, and turn on the cold water to full blast. Breathing hard and anticipating the chill, I jump in, the water hitting the outermost edges of my body before the rest of me followed, stepping under its jetting streams and tightening up as the freezing liquid constricted my nerve endings.

Holy shit!

That was dumb, but it did the trick.

By the time I had dried off and dressed in a T-shirt and basketball shorts--basketball shorts minus my boxer briefs, and that had been a tremor inducing decision with my mind screaming, Choose something! as I stood there as still as an asshole during a snowstorm. Eventually, I settled down enough to walk downstairs without suffering a panic attack. I was going to enjoy my mother today, no matter what.

Every step out of my room was another step up a mountain, and the tingling had returned to my palms, along with the sweat--palms only. Jesus, but my mother had a strange effect on me. I didn't see her at the top of the stairs, so I hurried down at a jog, my feet rumbling down the steps. I turned right and walked straight through the hallway, cutting into the kitchen, and that's where I found my mother, dressed for me exactly as she had promised to dress for me.

God damn, but I was one lucky son of a bitch.

Mom had chosen a simple combination of clothes, but my cock still rose at the sight of her. She sat at the breakfast nook with her profile to me. A white T-shirt made of thin cotton clung to her body, molding to her breasts, their sides and undersides, and her already rock-hard nipples. The shirt pushed right up to where the underside of her breasts met her chest and then slid straight down, stopping above her belly button and leaving her slim stomach bare, her little belly bottom shallow and kissable to my mind's eye. A white, lacy, elastic band circled her waist, about a quarter-inch thick, and that was all that I could see from her profile, meaning the rest of her panties lay snuggled between her ass cheeks in some kind of thong or G-string. I hoped she was wearing a G-string.

I had stopped as soon as I had entered the kitchen, and my eyes slid from Mom to the table, where her striped pajama pants lay neatly folded atop her pajama shirt, along with a white, half-cup bra made of transparent threads. My cock thickened. The swelling was so tangible that I felt every blood vessel in my shaft expand until my thickness throbbed from root to tip.

"Morning," Mom said, not looking up from her coffee and paper.

"Morning," I said, my voice breaking like a kid's going through puberty.

Mom laughed, almost spilling her coffee, but she still didn't look at me. This was supposed to be business as usual, and I understood that, so I told myself.

While I did understand our arrangement, that didn't mean I was only going to take my glances as they came. I made myself some cereal and stood on the inside half of the island, leaning against the marble top with my vision in line with Mom's profile. I stared at her naked thigh, her hip, the outer half of her ass cheek, and her bare midriff. It was too bad she had her chair pulled in close to the table; otherwise, I'd at least get to see her back and her cheeks down to the chair's seat, but she'd have to stand soon enough.

Mom read her paper, and she let me watch as she sipped her coffee, taking her time and pretending as if I wasn't there, perving on her in ways a good son never would. I spent time admiring her breasts. Her shirt was so thin and tight that I could see how her nipples created a darker shade of color against the fabric. Her areoles looked small and beaded with goosebumps, but it was her nipples that stole the show.

They had been hard when I had entered the kitchen, but I swear I watched them thicken further, becoming larger at their peak while tightening near their base. God, if only I could talk my mother into walking around in her bra and panties, or better still, nothing at all. Shoveling a mouthful of cornflakes into my mouth to hide a moan, I pressed my cock against the island and enjoyed the pressure running through my shaft.

Mom placed her paper down and pushed her coffee aside. She lifted her arms above her head, her long fingers interlaced, and she arched her back as she stretched upward. Her little titties reached upward, the morning light from the patio creating a halo of sunshine around her body, and then she exhaled and pushed her chair away from the table.

"I need to get to work," Mom said, turning to look at me for the first time that morning. "You'll be around when I take my first break?"

I nodded my head. Fuck, I should have gone downstairs sooner. Now I had nothing but my memory to preserve this moment. You can take pictures and videos for when you're alone. Fuck me, but Mom had spoken those words last night. Why'd I leave my phone in my room?

Mom stood, pausing as she faced forward, her head tilting to the left as if she were deciding what side of her body to reveal to me first. Was she? Maybe, I don't know, but I was eager to see both sides of her, front and back, at the same time. We needed a mirror for her to face. After another second, Mom turned away, giving me a shot of her perfect, pear-shaped backside.

It's one thing to describe what a floss-like band of nylon running through your mother's crack looks like, and it's another to see it live and in person when she wants you to see it. It's like she's naked, but not. The string lying between her cheeks hid the most vulnerable spots on her body, like her butthole, yet it presented my vision with the illusions of her crinkly spokes, and that's what I saw: The illusion of her nakedness.

Mom continued her turn, walking around her chair and facing me. My eyes dropped to the front of her panties, where lacy flowers covered the transparent patch of cloth and formed a triangle over her mound. It was a small triangle, like last night, about an inch of her sunny-hued landing strip visible above the waistline, as the rest of her mound, hips, and thighs lay smooth and exposed to my eyes. The triangle narrowed, almost forming a point as it cupped the tender bulge of her pussy, hiding only her clit and inner lips but leaving the curved swell of her outer labia uncovered.

"Close your mouth, Mark," Mom whispered. "It's not polite to chew with your mouth full."

I shut my mouth, my teeth clicking together hard.

Mom laughed and walked out of the kitchen. It took me a moment to calm myself, but then I chased her down the hallway, watching as her ass rolled with her strides, her butt cheeks sliding against the G-string running through her crack. When she turned at the foyer and walked up the stairs, I followed, but I also waited for my mother to get five steps above me before I chased her up the stairs.

I waited for a reason: Her pussy. I loved the way her small panties cradled the softness of her lips. It was like a hammock trying to contain too much weight. The way her pussy meat bulged and rolled, trapped in that tiny strip of cloth, had taken hold of my gaze and wouldn't let go. It had turned me into my mother's obedient boy until she reached the upstairs landing, turned, and hid her pussy from my eyes.

Snapping out of my trance, I made a quick turn at the top of the stairs and darted to my room. I grabbed my phone and ran back to Mom--ran, not speed-walked, but ran--catching her office door a moment before it clicked shut.

Mom turned around, puckered her lips, but then she said, "I need to work." She looked at me, first into my eyes, and then she glanced down at the hard-on poking against my pants. For a moment, her eyes widened, but then she saw my phone.

"I'll be downstairs in a couple of hours," sounding relieved.

I nodded my head.

She looked relieved.

What had she thought I had come here to do?

"I know," I said, doing my best not to think as I spoke, "but I remembered what you said last night, about the pictures I could take, and I thought, 'I don't have enough pictures of you,' at the moment." I shrugged. "Can a son have too many pictures of his mother?"

Mom's face remained calm, so I couldn't tell if she regretted her words from last night, but finally, she said, "Snap away, but be quick about it."

I held my camera up, my eyes shifting from my mother to my screen to my mother, and then I said, "Can you pose a little?"

"Pose?"

I nodded.

"How?" Mom asked, her eyes again flicking toward my hard-on.

I had my eyes on my screen, but I saw the downward angle of her gaze.

"Smile," I said, adding, "or stare, but how about crossing your arms under your"--I swallowed to keep myself from saying tits--"across the front of your stomach? And spread your legs a little."

Pink swirls of color backlit Mom's cheeks.

"Step your feet apart, I mean," I said in a rush of words as tiny beads of sweat pushed through my pores, causing a strained warmth to flow down my forehead and into my cheeks. "Do whatever you want, but try not to be stiff about it." I stretched my neck to the right. "Why is it so hot in your office?"

Mom tried to hold in a laugh as her eyes darted down to my stiffness again. Fuck it. Let her see. I wanted her to see, and before her eyes could move away from my cock, I flexed my shaft, pulling it inward at the base and tightening the underside of my pole, forcing the head to pop upward.

Mom turned her head to the side, then, after a deep breath, she crossed her arms beneath her breasts and stepped her right foot sideways, spreading her legs. The point of her pussy stood out with her legs separated and her cunny lips spreading, finding room to breathe and looking much fuller than they had downstairs. I snapped a picture, and I lowered the phone, finding an angle that gave me the best shot of the inside swells of Mom's ass that I could see when looking between her thighs.

"Enough?" Mom asked, her voice tight.

"Could you turn around," I said, making my question a statement. "And grab onto something." I licked my lips. "Lean forward, I mean."

Mom's jaw tightened, and the muscles in her neck rippled. She turned around, giving my eyes the freedom to roam over her ass. The closest thing for her to grab onto her was her chair. With her legs against the seat's edge, she leaned forward, her arms coming up and her hands resting on the headrest, the stance pushing her butt toward the camera.

"Spread your legs a little," I said, breathing hard.

I felt like a pervert for making my mother do this, yet, I also felt a thrill lighten my body, making my shoulders dance and my breath shudder. How could something so wrong make my dick so hard?

I loved it.

I hated it.

I didn't want it to end.

"Perfect," I whispered. "Mom, that's the perfect pose."

Mom's legs had tightened, the curve of her hamstrings created a sensual rise and fall that partitioned her cheeks from her legs, giving the hint of athleticism to her otherwise slender body. The bottom of her cheeks had spread, creating the illusion of a curtained window focusing on the tight band of white cloth pressing into her slit, forming a from-behind cameltoe that made my mouth water. I saw dampness there, between her legs, spreading outward. Above, where her gusset narrowed into her G-string at her perineum, I saw the rounded edges of her asshole, leading downward into a hole covered by a thin string of nylon.

"Take the pictures," Mom said, her voice tight and her breathing measured.

I snapped two pictures. I took the first one with a wide lens, keeping my mother's entire body in the frame, along with her chair and the window at the side of her desk. The next one, I zoomed in on the precious piece of meat between her legs, making sure to capture the dampness of her panties and the impression of her clit. After the second picture, Mom stood, turned around, and sat in her chair, crossing her right leg over her left.

"Run along now," she whispered as though I were a kid again. "I have to work."

I noticed fresh sparkles of sweat along her brow before I said, "I'll see you soon." I left her room, my cock swinging as I turned my body around. I hoped her eyes flickered down to my crotch one more time. She had to know her teasing wasn't going to be enough to satisfy me. She had to know, and so the question was: How was I going to tell her that I needed more from her?

I went back to my room to think about that, coming up with a scenario where I walked into her office with a speech in mind, to allowing her to catch me masturbating face to face, to--to weird, surreal fantasies that bordered on science fiction. In the end, I jerked off to Mom's pictures--making it last as long as I could--fisting several wads of cum into a towel, and then I went downstairs to wait for my mother's first break of the day.

It took forever, despite having edged myself for an hour to her photos. I filled the second hour with pacing, foot-tapping, regular jerks of my cock, and releasing the anxious waves of energy coursing through my body with push-ups, pull-ups, squats, and lunges. That last hour convinced me of one thing: I was going to put my mother's determination to keep me from the sex offender's list to the test as soon as I saw her again. I wasn't fucking around anymore. I needed pussy, and the pussy that I wanted answered to the title of Mom.

It was nearing noon when my mother came downstairs. She had changed from her T-Shirt into a small but loose, cropped, white tank top made of cotton. Her nipples were thick buds against the fabric. The hem of her shirt hung off her little breasts, baring her stomach from her sternum down and back to those tiny panties again. The whiteness of her outfit made her golden skin and hair shine, along with that small tuft of hair poking out above her G-string.

I lay on the couch opposite the TV, on its left side, the side that allowed me to look up the stairs as my mother walked downward. She saw me watching her, but I'm positive what she saw was me waiting for her in that way I used to wait for my parents when I knew that they were taking me somewhere fun, with fast rides and cotton candy and every treat that a growing boy wanted to get his hands on. Now, though, the treat I wanted was my mother, and her cheeks reddened as my eyes locked onto the pouty pussy between her thighs. (Would teasing me always embarrass her?) The thought made my knob swell.

"Hey," I said, "good to see you."

Mom rolled her eyes as she said, "It's good to see you too."

I looked down at my shorts and the growing tent, but I don't think that's what Mom meant. Hopefully, she looked as well because I gave her at least ten seconds to follow my eyes as my erection sprouted to its full hardness in front of her.

"Talk to me," Mom said when she reached the bottom of the stairs. "Follow me around while I do things."

"Yeah," I said, standing and my cock bobbing as I walked around the couch and stopped in front of her. I topped her by a head while being twice as broad as her, and her smallness sent a tingle through my cock.

It was a strange thing to notice; our size difference, but while my mother was still Superwoman to me, she was also a woman. A very sexy and desirable woman, who now may have been attainable for me. The knowledge took away some of the fear I had for my mother's authority. When she was teasing me, she wasn't Superwoman; she was... pussy.

I shivered.

"Walk with me," Mom said, walking toward the kitchen.

I followed her to the kitchen island, talking to her as she made herself a snack of fruits cut down to bite-sized portions. Every slice of her knife made her titties shake. Mom knew I was looking at them because sometimes she'd say, "Don't stand with your head hunched; it's bad for your posture." Then she'd go back to cutting with a smile on her face. When she had finished cutting her fruits, she pushed her plate to the right so that it lay between us, but I wasn't in the mood to snack on an array of neatly assorted fruits.

I pulled out my camera, snapping more pictures of her, her cheeks filling with pink with every click of the button. She continued eating even as the digital shutter snapped away. We talked about my senior year of high school, about college, about the possibility of me getting a job to keep me busy.

I laughed when she said that, but then I said, "I think a job would be good for me, but I'm not going to let it ruin my social life." I smiled at her. "I have commitments."

Mom's lips tightened, but then she put her hands together and stretched them over her head, inverting her palms and arching her back. Her breasts pushed toward me, her nipples hard and thick as they attempted to cut through her shirt. She stretched so high that she rose onto her tiptoes, and maybe she meant to, or maybe she didn't, but the barest hint of the bottom of her breasts came into view. I snapped a quick picture, and Mom relaxed and went back to eating.

Meanwhile, I stared at her picture, my cock throbbing as I admired the bottom roundness of her tits. As Mom talked about something, college, I think, and that perhaps it would be best if I went to school somewhere out of the state so that I could get a taste of the real world on my own.

"Yeah, that's the reason I should go to school out of state," I said.

Mom continued talking, and I moved from where I was, walking around her. Mom's eyes followed me, and then she turned her head over her right shoulder as far as she could as I stopped several feet behind her and then backed up several feet more.

"Well...." Mom said, still trying to look at me.

"Can you spread your legs a little," I said, making my question a statement the way I had upstairs in her office.

Mom continued standing straight up and down. She lowered her right hand to the fruits, plucking a strawberry from the plate. Her hand went up, and the strawberry disappeared as Mom brought it to her mouth. I pictured her full lips opening and the deep red of the strawberry touching the bed of her tongue, her fingers clutching the stem and holding the strawberry lightly as her teeth closed, slicing the fruit in half. Juices exploded in my mind's eye, and Mom's cheeks rippled, and her tongue bobbed as she chewed on her delicate, mid-morning treat.

"Your legs, Mom," I said as I stared down at her ass and the white string riding her crack. "Spread them."

Mom chewed, creating a wet sound, and then she sighed as she stepped her feet apart, first the left and then the right, widening her stance. Her outer labia pulled to the sides, so smooth and tender, giving my camera the perfect view of that crescent cunny bulge between her legs.

"Lean forward," I whispered as I knelt. "And stick your butt out." I didn't sound like myself in my own ears.

"Mark," Mom snapped. "Don't talk to me like that. I'm still your mother."

"Stick it out, please." A pulse shot through my cock, dropping a thick load of sticky precum into my shorts. "It's a great view, Mom. I don't think Jenna could look this good from here, but I'm willing to find out."

Mom released a long breath that sounded like exasperation. It was a sound I knew well. When I was younger, and Mom would take me to the park, she always made that sound about an hour after I had first begged her for just one more push on the swing, or one more slip down the slide or one more anything, and Mom would give--my mother really would do anything for me.

My cock throbbed again.

Mom bent forward, still holding her strawberry, and placed her elbows on the island's marble top. Her lower back arched, her spine barely visible, the little bumps pushing against her sensual skin, and her legs straightened, making her muscles go taut and adding a sexy firmness to the swan-like grace of her limbs.

"Yeah," I whispered, my voice not as shaky as it had been. "Perfect."

I needed to find out how far Mom was willing to go, and I needed to find out soon.

I snapped a picture. Then I snapped another. Mom tried to stand, but I said, "Not yet," in a low growl, and she made a wet, clicking noise with her tongue, but she leaned back onto her elbows. "I need to video this."

"Mark," Mom said, almost pouting.

"You said I could video you."

Mom did pout this time, and more precum left my balls, making my sack tingle as my cock convulsed. She stood still, though, and even leaned farther forward, stretching her upper body along the counter. I heard the plate of fruit slide across the marble island as I hit my phone's video record button.

I captured Mom's body, panning the camera down one leg, then up, then down the other, then up again. I moved the camera to the side and recorded my mother's small feet before bringing the camera back to that special bit of love between her thighs. I zoomed in on her pussy, first on the outer edges, moving the camera in so close that I could see the smoothness of her skin. The twin bulges of her labia made my balls ache, and they seemed to open and spread for me the longer I focused my camera on them--natural-born stars. The fabric of her panties pushed inward against her slit, turning a darker shade of white as her wetness dripped from her.

"Almost done?" Mom asked, her voice breathy and shaky.

"Almost," I said and moved closer to her.

"Mark," Mom whispered.

"Almost."

I stopped with the camera about six inches from her cunny. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my heartbeat, and that's when an intoxicating fragrance caressed my nostrils, inside and out, making them flare as threads of pink mists curled about them. Mom's pussy. Mom's pussy perfume. She smelled like flowers and sweetness, and her fragrance clung to the hollow of my nostrils, thickening and blooming with the promise of sex and the keen notes of her desire. Holy shit, this was that intoxicating scent that came from nowhere but instantly made a person think of fucking and nothing else.

Fuck me, but Mom was horny. She wasn't just wet. She wanted to fuck!

"Mom," I said, still kneeling, "can you turn around for me?"

Mom pushed herself to a standing position and turned around. She looked down at me, but I didn't look up at her. I had my phone focused on the triangle of her labia, recording the blonde hairs sticking above her waistline and panning the camera over the exposed sides of her mound. I panned lower, loving how the outer edges of her lips lay outside of the triangle of her little panties.

I stood, keeping the camera on my mother's body, recording her stomach and belly button and her breasts. I captured each one, zooming in on her nipples, and then I moved up to her face, where she was nibbling on the last of her strawberry, and a little bit of juice escaped her lips as she bit into it.

My cock hurt so fucking much because of this... this... this craziness.

"Mom," I said, "I can't do this anymore."

"Mark," Mom said, dropping her hand from her mouth, the strawberry's top slipping from her fingers and crashing to the wooden floor below.

"I need to see Jenna." I lowered my camera. "This is too much. I mean, look!" I tilted my phone's viewer at my cock. "Your teasing--"

"Don't say that," Mom said. "You can't see Jenna. You can't. You have to do something else. You have to find a way to stay away from her. You have to--"

"Can I touch you?" I asked, my question slicing through her words and leaving her wide-eyed. "I'm not leaving Jenna for another woman. I'm not. But if you're going to insist on this, whatever this is, I need to touch you."

"Mark," Mom said, sighing.

"I need to." I licked my lips. "And not like when I put the oil on you. I need to touch you." I shut my eyes, my face clenching. I wasn't acting. "Jenna won't tease me like you do. She wants to give me the real thing. I need more from you, Mom."

I opened my eyes, but I didn't look at my mother. I stared down and to the left, the expression on my face a tangible mixture of shame, frustration, desire, and other emotions that left me feeling like a swelling ball of rage that would continue to grow until it burst.

Mom stared at me in silence.

A minute slipped into the past.

I almost looked up at her.

Another minute disappeared from my life.

"I'm going to Jenna," I said, turning around and walking toward the hallway cutting straight to the foyer. "This isn't working. Not the way you wanted it to work. I'm sorry."

"Mark," Mom said, her voice firm but not cold. There was a kind of resignation in her tone that warmed my blood. "Wait for me in the living room. Wait for me, no matter how long I take."

Not turning around, I nodded, and I walked to the living room and sat on the couch facing the TV, placing my phone on the armrest. Time went by, one minute, then two--my dick still hard. By the third minute, I had started tapping my right foot, my balls now aching. By the fourth minute, my left foot had joined my right, my knees rising and falling in unison. I breathed in deeply, taking in as much air as possible to calm myself, but it wasn't working. I looked toward the kitchen often for the next several minutes, and by the eighth minute, I stood and almost walked back to the kitchen, but Mom had said to wait, no matter how long she took.

Fuck.

God had not given horny eighteen-year-olds the patience to wait for sex. It was no wonder that so many of us got into trouble. I was ready to stand up again by the time half an hour had passed, but then I heard the soft tap of Mom's feet on the hallway's wooden floor.

I turned to the right, looking at my mother, who was coming out of the kitchen with a full glass of wine. I guessed it was not her first since I had left the kitchen, and maybe not her second. There was a soft glaze filming her eyes.

Mom stepped from the wooden foyer and down into the carpeted living room, walking around the far end of the couch. She sipped her wine and then walked forward, stopping in front of me. There was plenty of room between the couch and the coffee table--Mom didn't believe in clutter--and she stared down at me with an unreadable expression on her face.

"Mom?" I asked.

Mom licked her lips before saying, "If I let you touch my legs, you will not see Jenna."

"For today," I said. "I won't see Jenna for today."

Mom narrowed her brows.

"I promise." I tilted my head to the left and then rolled it to the right before straightening it. "Tomorrow too."

Mom inhaled deeply, then exhaled with a heavy sound. Was she trying to guilt me into changing my mind? It wasn't going to work. My mom--any mom--standing in front of their son while wearing a pair of tiny panties and a cropped tank top that hugged her tits like a second skin was not about to convince their sex-starved child that touching her wasn't in his best interest.

"Okay," Mom said. "Get off the couch."

I stood, looming over my mother. She brought her wine up to her lips and drank. Her green eyes found mine, and they didn't break contact. The stem of the wine glass tilted upward, the round base pointing at me as the wine disappeared into my mother's mouth. Every last drop of the wine ran down her throat before she turned to her left and moved away from me. Mom walked one step and then glided into the couch with a cat-like crawl, her right knee going up first, then her right hand. She braced herself as she set her wine glass down, the stretch of her arm and spine lifting her ass into the air. With her legs parted, that fabric capturing her pussy folds seemed to stretch, and she then brought her left hand and leg onto the couch and lay down on her stomach with her legs closed.

"Go ahead," Mom said. "Touch me."

"Anywhere," I said.

"No," Mom snapped. "Not anywhere."

"I mean anywhere that you aren't wearing clothes."

"My legs," Mom said. "My back and my sides. That's where you can touch me." Mom made a clicking sound with her tongue. "I'm still your mother." She gathered her hair and pulled it over her left shoulder. "Remember that."

"I know," I said. "No other woman could convince me not to see Jenna."

Mom's head turned as if she were about to look over her shoulder at me, but then she faced forward. She grabbed a couch pillow and rested her cheek on its softness. Her eyes faced the backrest, and then they closed. I took that as a sign to get in my feels.

There was no lotion this time, only skin-to-skin contact. I dropped to my knees, my hard-on hovering above the cushions and pointing at Mom's hip. I placed my left hand on the small of her back, the warmth of her skin flowing into my hand, and I felt the rise of goosebumps across her flesh. I placed my right hand on her left leg, the outside leg, above her ankle, and I stroked upward toward the back of my mother's knee.

Mom stiffened, and she drew in a deep breath, releasing it with a tremor. I spread my fingers along her calf, touching as much of her as possible, with my thumb pointed upward along her leg. At her knee, I rubbed her skin in a small circle, then I moved back down and then back up, pulling her leg toward the edge of the couch cushions. Mom resisted at first, but I increased my pressure, and slowly, I managed to get her to spread her legs for me. A narrow V opened up, pointing straight to the white cloth cupping her cunny meat. My eyes focused between her legs, and my cock throbbed, begging me to stick it right there as if I had a say in the matter.

In due time, I told my prick.

I rubbed my mother's lower back as I moved my hand to her other calf. My fingers tips pressed into her, and I slid my hand up to the hem of her crop top and around to her far side, giving her slender body a squeeze. Mom's breathing deepened, but she didn't tell me to stop touching her above her waist. I could tell that she was trying to control the volume of her breathing.

I moved my right hand back to her left calf and moved upward, stopping at her knee, moving down, then pushing back to her knee and moving above it. Mom tensed at the first touch of my fingertips along her inner thigh, my long digits curving inward toward the softer part of her leg.

She felt smooth and soft, but the deeper I pressed into her skin, the firmer her muscles grew. I moved my fingers to her right thigh, brushing her flesh with the backs of my fingers and then moving back to her left thigh, feathering her skin with my fingertips, almost tickling her, and doing my best to send pleasure through her body. A man was touching her between her legs. It had to feel good, right?

My eyes moved to the cloth that was cupping my mother's pussy, and I smiled when I saw the damp line outlining the length of her maternal slit. God, my father was lucky to have been inside her small hole. My cock pulsed. I bit back a moan as I took my hand from my mother's back and angled my body toward her head, making it easier for me to place my hands on the back of her thighs, just above her knees.

Licking my lips as my mother shivered, I pulled my hands upward, adding pressure to my fingertips. My digits were on the top of Mom's thighs, but my thumbs were on the insides, where Mom had to be the most sensitive. Before my fingertips could reach the bottoms of Mom's butt cheeks, I stopped my hands, but I rowed my thumbs along her inner thigh, massaging her and then caressing her far beyond the measure of a normal mother/son relationship.

God, my dick hurt. If only I could take it out.

I moved my hands higher.

"Mark," Mom said, her voice rushed. "My legs only."

"I know," I said as I slid my hands inward, down to her inner thighs, my fingertip about a quarter inch away from the start of her inner lips. I curled my fingers over my mother's flesh, pulling her skin hard enough to stretch the exposed layers of her outer folds further away from the cover of her panties.

"Mark," Mom gasped as her cunny lips slipped away from each other.

I stretched my fingers outward, getting closer to the heat radiating from between her thighs. I curled them again, watching as her pussy pulsed with my movements. Her lower lips puckered as I pushed inward, and they opened as I curled my fingers away from her center groove. I placed more pressure on my mother's thighs, forcing her right leg against the back of the couch and her left leg closer to the edge. The left side of her cunny showed more skin than her right side.

I curled my fingers again.

A soft moan escaped my mother's lips.

Sighing, I swept my hands up the backs of her thighs, and as my heart beat faster, I pushed upward, inching my fingers onto her bare butt cheeks and then over them. Mom whimpered. As I did this, I humped my hips forward, rubbing the underside of my cock against the couch. Pleasure shot through me. I humped the couch faster, pushing precum from my cock and pressing my fingers harder into my mother's ass--really making her feel my touch. Mom reached back with her hands, placing her fingers over mine, but I pushed upward anyway, not stopping until I held both of her firm hams in my palms with my thumbs resting along her crack.

A strange, helpless whine left my mother's lips.

"Mom," I said, talking without thinking, "can I jerk off on you?"

My heart stopped. Why had I asked her that question? What happened to taking my time? What happened to moving slowly? What happened to not shoving my head up my ass? I squeezed my Mom's butt hard, not knowing what to do, but I had to do something.

Mom pushed herself up into the Upward Dog yoga pose. Without saying a word, she slid her left leg from the couch and then her right, facing away from me, and she walked around the couch and up onto the foyer, and then up the stairs, her pear-shaped as swaying as she left me alone.

Fuck me!

I had fucked up.