Mom’s Touch But Don’t Look Policy

I had fingered lots of girls — it was the hit game that all the cool kids were playing — so I felt pretty good about my skills to get Mom off. I gently traced around her pussy till I found the little nub that was certain to bring her pleasure. Then I started stroking it back and forth.

I was touching my mom’s clit. I was playing with her pussy. I could feel how hot and wet she was. Oh God.

As I worked Mom over, she redoubled her efforts on my dick. We mirrored each other’s movements. As if steering each other with our respective sexes. Whenever Mom slowed, I did the same. If she sped up, I matched that too.

I managed to get Mom off first. Is it weird that it was one of the proudest moments of my life? I saw Mom stiffen, her face flushed, and then she let out a long, drawn out sigh.

A moment later, she brought me my own pleasure. I came hard, coating her hand and the blanket with my spend.

Both of us sank into the cushions, looking at each other playfully.

“Stuff on your hand?” I asked.

“Weirdly, yes,” Mom said, “You?”

“Little bit,” I said, “I don’t mind it though, really.”

“Oh, me neither,” Mom said, “But we should still probably take care of it.”

We both got up and went over to the basement bathroom. Mom went first and I followed. As I dried myself off, Mom called to me from the couch.

“You know, I think this blanket is stained?” she said.

“Oh,” I said, “Well that’s too bad.”

“I guess we should throw it in the wash,” Mom said, “But don’t worry. I’m sure I can have it ready for tomorrow night’s movie.”

“Yes, I wouldn’t want to get cold,” I said, taking the comforter from Mom and stuffing it into the washing machine.

*

We established a whole new routine. In the mornings we’d wake up and go for a run. Then we’d clean up and have breakfast. We spent the middle of the day doing our own thing. I had class and Mom had Mom-stuff.

At night, we made dinner and cleaned up together. But we stopped watching movies. There didn’t seem to be any point. Since we weren’t really paying attention, we could have any old show on.

Every evening, we sat under the blanket on Dad’s couch, and brought each other off with our hands. Each of us pretending as best we could that nothing was going on.

Now that she knew she could trust me, Mom started changing up her habits. Sometimes, I would discover she’d put lubricant on her palm beforehand. Holy crap did I cum ropes the first time she did that. Other times, she’d use her other hand on my balls, lightly cupping them while she drained them dry. She’d also change up her movements, straight up and down, or kind of a corkscrew, or running her thumb up the underside of my dick. One time, she did all those things together, and I nearly died.

I had to keep up with her inventiveness. I brought out all the tricks I knew. I played with her clit again, yes, but I’d also slip a finger inside her (the first time I did that, I actually came without Mom needing to touch me). I found that Mom usually liked a combination of two fingers in her twat while my thumb rubbed her clitoris. Her butthole, on the other hand, was a flat no-go. Still, I found lots of other ways to make things interesting. Like me, it seemed that Mom mostly liked variety.

We never discussed our evening activities with each other. Once we were both satisfied, we’d turn off the TV and go to bed. The next morning, we’d do it all again. Nothing changed. I honestly believed that nothing ever would.

*

“Have you gone all the way?” Mom asked, as if this was a totally normal mother-son conversation.

We were sitting outside in the backyard. Mom’s feet were up on my lap, and I was slowly painting her toes. She’d already finished with her fingers — going from dark purple to a cute, canary yellow.

The problem was, Mom’s question actually felt perfectly normal. This weird existence we had where we were both fooling around regularly while also pretending that we weren’t, meant that we could have these incongruous conversations that seemed like they should have been weird but were actually ordinary.

“No, I’m not a virgin,” I said.

“Cassie?” Mom asked.

It said a lot that enough time and handjobs had passed that I didn’t even flinch when Mom mentioned my ex. Honestly, the only girl I ever thought about those days was the sexy, sultry woman whose toenails I was painting.

“I had sex with Cassie, yes,” I said.

“Was she any good?” Mom asked.

I eyed her. I wasn’t sure if this was a trap question. You don’t tell the person you’re fooling around with that you had amazing sex with your ex. But then, Mom and I weren’t doing that. Supposedly.

I decided to answer honestly. “It was OK,” I said, “Cassie had a lot of hangups.”

“Like what?” Mom asked, leaning forward as best she could with her foot in my hands.

“She was, well. She was sort of afraid of my stuff. You know what I mean?”

“Honestly, can you blame her?” Mom asked.

“She was on the pill, and we always used condoms,” I said. I was surprising myself with how candid I could be. “Even with oral. I couldn’t ever really enjoy my… Well, when I… You know.”

How was it that I was sharing an orgasm with my mom every night, but couldn’t say the word during the day?

“I understand,” Mom said, “You felt like you did everything to get her off, but when she did it for you it wasn’t the same.”

“Yes,” I said, “Exactly. One time, though, we got drunk and did it and it was like being with a different person. She totally abandoned all of her issues and it was amazing. The next morning, she was mad, though. Said it was all my fault.”

“Honey, you of all people can understand,” Mom said, “Considering our family history. Honestly, we all probably would have been much happier if I had a little more of your girlfriend’s healthy fear of ejaculate.”

“And then you wouldn’t have me,” I said.

“Oh, honey, that’s not what I mean.”

“Do you regret having me?” I asked, “Did I ruin your life?”

“No,” Mom said, “You’re amazing. Having a child was the best thing that ever happened to me. I just wish it could have happened when I was 28 instead of 20.”

I understood. Of course I did. I nodded and went back to painting Mom’s pinkie toe.

“The truth is,” Mom said, “If I ever got the chance to trade — if I could go back and be a regular mom? I would still choose you. Every time.”

“Why didn’t you have more kids?” I asked. I knew it was an impertinent question, but I couldn’t help myself. “You said you loved having me. You’re still young. Why not more?”

“Well, at the time taking care of one was enough,” Mom said, “And then your father got busy with work. One day, I looked up and you were going off to college. But…”

Mom looked away, blushing.

“What?” I asked.

“Well,” she said, her voice thin, “Your father and I… After you moved out, I missed having a baby around. So, we’ve been, you know. Trying.” Mom eyed me anxiously.

“Cool,” I said, “I’d love a little brother or sister.”

Mom let out a large sigh of relief. Like she’d really been anxious about how I would react. Admittedly, it would be weird if I was out of college with a sibling that was barely out of diapers. But Mom was so young, it made sense that she would want to start a second chapter of the family story.

“I guess when Dad gets back, you’ll be able to try again,” I said. For some reason, that thought bothered me.

“I guess so,” Mom said, and she gave me an empty smile.

*

The next morning, we woke up for our morning run. The days were getting hotter, and more people were out on the streets with us. The world was slowly reawakening.

We’d gotten up to five miles a day and I was starting to feel really good. It was warm enough, too, where I was able to run without a shirt. I tried to convince Mom to go with just a sports bra, but she told me she didn’t feel appropriate being exposed like that.

We were at our usual pace as we turned the corner down a quiet, tree-lined street. We were doing so well, I was starting to think about pushing it, maybe up to 7 miles. Mom usually trailed me when we ran, but as we turned, she caught up to my side.

She looked down at my bare chest. For a moment, I saw her eyes go wide. Then she fell back.

“Mom?” I turned around, thinking she’d just lost her pace. Instead, I found her sprawled in the middle of the street. “Mom!”

I raced back and knelt next to her. Mom was lying on the ground. She had a light scratch on her cheek. She looked at me, her blue eyes small and scared.

“I tripped,” Mom said, “I’m OK.” But her body belied her calm demeanor — lying in the fetal position on the ground.

“Can you stand?” I asked.

“Definitely,” Mom said. She started to get up, but when she put weight on her left leg, she tumbled back over again.

I rushed to be next to her.

“Knee?” I asked, worried. If her knee was out, we were calling an ambulance.

“Ankle,” Mom said. Ok, maybe that wasn’t so bad.

Gingerly, I helped my Mom stand. She was OK on her right leg, but she held her left lamely.

“I can walk home,” Mom said. She took a step, grimaced, then took another.

“I’m calling someone,” I said.

“No,” Mom said, “I’m fine.”

I watched, grimly, as she limped down the street. We were three miles from home. There was no way she would make it.

Before she could argue, I raced up and scooped my mom into my arms. I held her up, like a baby, and started to walk us back home. Mom wasn’t tiny, but she was light. I hadn’t done all that upper body work planning to one day carry a woman three miles, but it seemed like a worthy reward in the moment.

We walked down the street; my mother clutched to my chest.

“Sorry,” Mom said. She was clearly embarrassed by what had happened. “I guess I tripped on something.”

“It’s OK,” I said, “I’m just glad I can be here for you.”

“My little knight,” Mom said, remembering her old nickname for me. “Come to save me once again.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I said.

Three miles running is very different than three miles walking. Especially while carrying someone. We had to break a couple of times so I could rest. It had taken us less than an hour to get out but coming back to the house took more than three.

When we finally got home, both of us collapsed on the front lawn. We lay on the grass, staring up at the blue sky. The day was warm. The air smelled like honeysuckle. The world was comfortingly quiet.

“This is nice,” Mom said.

“No, it’s not,” I said.

She reached over and grabbed my hand, squeezing it tight. “Yes, but it kinda is.”

I pulled her hand to my lips and kissed it. Chivalrous to the end. For a moment, I thought Mom would yell at me for doing something affectionate where she could see it. Where everyone could. But instead, she beamed at me.

Eventually, we were able to get up and I carried Mom inside the house, up to her bedroom. Even as an adult, it felt strange being in Mom’s space. Like I’d crossed an invisible barrier into my parents’ private world. The room was well appointed with dark woods and a crimson comforter. It felt very mature. Quite demure.

I laid Mom down carefully on her Queen-sized bed. Then I went downstairs to the fridge and threw together a bag of ice. When I came back, Mom was lying back, head propped up by the pillows. She was still in her running outfit: tight black yoga pants and a green tank top. Her ponytail was askew, and her blonde hair stuck out in little, golden streaks.

With everything going on in the world, I really didn’t want to take Mom to the hospital. Instead, I looked up what Dr. Google thought and put together a little plan. Rest and ice, mostly, while checking for swelling. I knew that if Mom couldn’t put weight on the ankle, she’d be going to the doctor, but I was hoping it was just a sprain and she’d be fine.

Once I was sure my patient was OK, I went and took a shower. Then I made some breakfast and brought it up for Mom.

“Do you want to take a shower, too?” I asked, hoping for the chance to help her.

“I’m OK for now,” Mom said, and I knew that I’d gone too far. Again, that was the problem with hiding our relationship under a blanket, it was impossible to truly understand the shape of it. Instead, I had to guess and, occasionally, break the boundaries by accident.

I knew I’d overstepped, so I got up off the bed.

“Let me know when you’re done,” I said, “I’ll change out your ice bag.”

“It’s good to have my little knight back,” Mom said.

“He never left,” I replied, standing over her. Mom gave me a dubious look.

“You’re the one who pulled away, Mom,” I said, the bitterness creeping into my voice.

“Me? You’re the one who started spending all that time with your father,” Mom said, “I thought maybe you’d just, I don’t know, grown out of me.”

“I thought I’d done something to make you mad,” I said. I sat back down on the edge of the bed.

“So, we both separated for no reason,” Mom said, drawing the conclusion for both of us.

“I guess so,” I said, “I’m sorry. I feel like we lost so much time together.”

“I love you so much,” Mom said, “I don’t want to miss anything more.”

I climbed over and carefully hugged Mom. She kissed my cheek, then we broke apart.

Mom slept for a while. I heard the sound of water turning on and realized she’d gotten herself into the shower, somehow. Much as I was sad to miss out on shower time with Mom, I was glad she got in there. She was starting to smell a little ripe.

Around dinner time, I put together a quick, easy meal. I brought it up to Mom in her bed. I took the other side and we sat and ate.

“This is really good,” Mom said.

“It’s just pasta,” I said, “I guess I learned from the best.”

“Clearly,” Mom said.

When we were done, I cleared the plates then came back. Mom’s ankle was a little swollen but there wasn’t any bruising. Based on my hardcore, Internet-derived medical education, I felt pretty sure she hadn’t broken or torn anything.

Once again, I decided to take a chance. “Do you want me to help you into pajamas?” I asked.

Mom shook her head at me. “I’ll be fine like this.” Post shower, she’d changed into a surprisingly racy outfit (for her): a pair of long shorts and a yellow tank top.

“OK,” I said, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Hey Jay?” Mom called to me as I got to the door.

“What’s up?”

“I’m, um, sorry that we aren’t able to do our movie night,” Mom said, “I know you’ve come to enjoy it.”

“I think you’re getting pleasure from it as well,” I said.

“Oh, for sure,” Mom said, “I love watching shows with my handsome son. But since there’s no TV in here, I guess we’ll have to wait until I can move around better.”

“We can set up in here,” I said, “I’ll grab my iPad and we can watch in your bed.”

“That would be lovely,” Mom said, the excitement leaking into her voice, “I’d hate to break our tradition.”

I went to my bedroom and grabbed my tablet. Then I climbed into bed next to my mother. We propped the screen up between us and settled in. I found another nonsense reality show about people gardening and turned it on.

Mom got under the comforter, so the covers were up to about her waist, and I did the same on the other side. On my father’s side. Suddenly I became very aware of what I was doing and where I was doing it. The guilt that should have overcome me never appeared.

As the show got started, Mom snuggled against my side. She rested her head on my shoulder. Flowing, gilded locks ran down my chest.

At this point, I was usually the one to make the first move, matching the stereotype of the overeager son. But that night I wanted Mom to initiate. I know it seems obvious in retrospect, but in the moment, I wanted to be sure that Mom, in her injured state, wasn’t actually interested in just watching TV. Then I felt her small hand wrap around my dick and all my questions were answered.

“Oh M… I mean, oh man. This show is really good,” I said, as her lithe fingers contracted on my cock.

“Mmhm,” Mom said, absently.

“I really like how it, um, feels,” I said, “What it must feel like, I mean, to get all that work done.”

With nothing to hold me back, I shot my hand between Mom’s legs. She let out a little gasp as I brushed her panty-clad pussy.

“They should, ah, wait a bit,” Mom said, “That is, um, prep everything for the garden before they get started.”

“Oh,” I said, moving my hand back so it was lightly stroking the material of Mom’s underwear. “Yes, I can see what that would result in a better, um, project.”

“Exactly,” Mom said.

Usually, I wasn’t this hyped up. Something about being in my parents’ bed, touching Mom in her private place, had me particularly excited.

“See, now I think they should start working,” Mom said, after I’d spent some time teasing at her.

I nodded. I found her clit with my fingers. She was particularly slippery that night and I wondered if some of the same thoughts that had me going were getting to her as well.

I glanced over at Mom. Her pretty face was even more beautiful in her pleasure. If anything, the fact that she was trying to keep from showing anything at all only increased how alluring she appeared. The muscles of Mom’s neck were taut. Her lips thin. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps.

“Oh!” Mom exclaimed as I filled her pussy with my finger. “Oh, that’s a nice… flower arrangement. Very nice.” Her embarrassment at her exclamation was almost as sexy as the sound itself.

I think she wanted to get me the same way, so Mom redoubled her efforts on my dick. She used all her secret tricks, stroking and twisting to get me to react. I decided to mess with her a little more. What can I say? I’m still a boy.

I got Mom right on the precipice. I’d reached this wonderful, intimate point where I knew Mom’s orgasm so well, that I recognized all the signs. I could tell that she was about to peak at any moment.

“Well, I think I’m going to turn in,” I said.

“What?!”

“It’s been a long day and I’m tired,” I said.

Mom looked directly at where my hand was, under the covers. She’d never acknowledged what we were doing more than this.

“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice weak and thready.

“Not much else going on, right?” I said. I made a show of looking in the exact same place she was. I didn’t think she was going to admit what was going on. In fact, I knew that if she ever did, it would probably be the end of things. But like any good son, I liked to see my mother squirm a little.

“Don’t you want to see the finish?” Mom asked. “Of the show, I mean. I hear the climax is, um, really super good.”

I pretended to think about it. “I guess you’re right,” I said, “Let’s get this one done before we call it a night.”

A moment later, Mom arched her bottom slightly, letting out a quick, sharp squeak.

“Ah!” she said, then quickly raised her free arm in the air and stretched, “I mean, ahhhhhh. So tired.”

“That was a big yawn,” I said.

Mom nodded. “Biggest one I’ve had in a while,” she said, “I must be super tired.”

She continued to stroke me under the sheet. A moment later, my eyes slammed shut as my orgasm overcame me. My body shook as I tried to hold it in. I was only partially successful.

“That was a pretty big yawn, too,” Mom said, quickly covering for me.

“Must be contagious,” I said. We shared a smile. Our foreheads rested against each other. For a moment, it seemed like Mom was about to lean forward and…

“Oh! Wouldn’t you know it,” Mom said, “I got that damn moisturizer on my hand again.”

“What is it with you?” I asked, playful.

“You know, I honestly don’t know,” Mom said.

“I can get you a tissue,” I said, starting to get up.

“Don’t bother,” Mom said, holding me back with her dry hand. “You know, my chest has been feeling sort of itchy lately, I think I’ll dispose of it there.”

I watched, gobsmacked, as Mom let go of my cock and slipped her hand up under her own shirt. She grabbed her breast and started rubbing it, slowly. Sensually.

I didn’t have a good sense of the size of Mom’s breasts. I assumed, based on previous evidence, that they were about the size of an apple. I hadn’t focused on them before because they were never the part that was under the covers. And Mom was always wearing layers that kept them well hidden.

Now though, the whole universe could have exploded, and I would have stayed watching my mom rub my seed into her boobs, spreading it circular over her nipples. First one breast than the other. Moaning lightly as she did so.

“That feels much better,” Mom said. She sat back and sighed. “How about another episode?”

*

I woke up in Mom and Dad’s bed, Mom’s head resting on my chest. There was no inappropriate contact — we were just cuddling. In some ways, that was even worse. We’d slept together like lovers. Woken up as a married couple might.

Mom’s hand lightly played on my shirt-covered chest.

“How’d you sleep, baby boy?” she asked, using another one of my childhood nicknames that I hadn’t heard in years.

“Really good,” I said. It was true. Something about being in that big bed had felt like resting in a warm cloud. Cossetted and comfy.

Mom’s hand moved down my chest. It slipped under the covers. My eyes went wide as I realized we were about to expand our nighttime tradition. But right before she reached the waistband of my boxers, something started to ring, loudly.

“That must be your father,” Mom said, popping up. She grabbed her cell off the nightstand and picked it up, motioning for me to move over so that I wouldn’t be seen on screen.

“Hi David!” Mom said. I saw Dad’s face appear on the phone. He looked tired. Worn down. The guilt of what I’d been doing with Mom flooded in.

All Dad had ever done was work his ass off for me and Mom. Sure, I had a scholarship, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t taking care of me in a million other ways. And because of that work, he was alone, in another country, completely separate from his family. And all the while I was rewarding him by fingering his wife in his own bed.

“I had a little accident,” Mom said, “I’m OK, but I wanted you to know.”

“What happened?” Dad said. I could see the worry in his eyes.

“Jay and I went out running and I tripped and twisted my ankle,” Mom said, “Your son was such a hero, carrying me home and taking care of me.”

“Jesus Julie are you stupid?” Dad replied. His rage was neutered by how tinny it sounded through the speaker phone. “What were you doing out running with Jay in the first place?”

“We’ve been working out,” Mom said, “I want to be in good shape for you.”

“Julie, you’re too old to be pulling crap like that,” Dad said, shaking his head like she’d spent their life savings on magic apricots. “You can’t be chasing after Jay like some teenager.”

“I’m not chasing after him,” Mom said, her pride clearly wounded.

“Fucking hell,” Dad said, “I leave for one second and you completely fall apart. Are you going to climb Mount Everest this afternoon?”

“It’s not that big a deal,” Mom said, “It barely even hurts anymore.”

“Well, you can’t say you didn’t have it coming, Julie,” Dad said, “You acted like an idiot and got injured. So, congrats on that.”

“I’m sorry,” Mom said. Her voice quiet.

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Dad said, “Maybe this time you’ll actually learn your lesson.”

“I’ll be fine,” Mom said, and it sounded more like a decision than a promise. “Do you want to say hi to Jay? He’s right, um, in the other room.”

“No, I honestly, truly don’t,” Dad said, clearly still upset about what had happened to Mom.

“Well, is there anything you want me to tell him? When I see him? Later?”

“Tell him to stop dragging you along on his dumb escapades,” Dad said, “He’s a big boy. He doesn’t need his Mommy to watch everything he does anymore.”

“Yes,” Mom said, her response automatic. “OK, I will. We both really miss you, David.”

“Look, I’d better get going,” Dad said, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Try not to get a lacerated kidney in the meantime, OK?”

Mom blew him a kiss and hung up. She put the phone down on the bed carefully, like she was afraid she might accidentally throw it across the room. I tried to meet Mom’s eye, but she wouldn’t look at me.

Suddenly, I didn’t feel so bad for sleeping in Dad’s bed.

*

Mom spent the whole day on her feet, like she’d never hurt herself. A few times, I tried to check on her, but she wouldn’t let me. She seemed cold, distant, and it reminded me of the way Mom had acted when I was in high school. I doubted that was coincidental.

The good news was, she did seem to be moving OK on the ankle. I caught her wincing a few times, but she was able to put weight on it most of the time. Still, a part of me worried Mom was overdoing it just to prove a point to a person that wasn’t even there. So, I kept an eye on her throughout the day.

Watching Mom doing her chores shouldn’t have been anything exciting, but it was. Doing laundry, washing dishes, vacuuming — these mundane things became interesting because it was Mom doing it. The way her perfect body moved around the house. It was kind of entrancing, actually.

Eventually, Mom caught on to what I was up to. She stood over me on the couch, hands on her hips.

“I’m sure you can find better things to do with your day, Jay,” Mom said.

“Nope,” I said, “I’d much rather spend time with you.”

Mom started to snap back, but then she faltered. “Thanks,” she said, the word so quiet I almost missed it. Then she left the room. But I noticed she stopped acting so frantic and angry.

That night, I made dinner while Mom sat on the couch. She finally allowed me to ice her ankle, which didn’t look swollen or bruised. I was now convinced that we’d dodged the danger and Mom was going to be alright.

We ate at the table together, in silence. We were doing OK, I could tell, but the remnants of the earlier tension were still there. It kept our conversation awkward and stilted. Both of us stared at our phones, mostly.

“Do you mind if I ask you to do the dishes?” Mom said, “It’s been a long day and I’m really tired.”

“No TV show tonight?” I asked. My disappointment must have been obvious because Mom gave me a guilty look.

“I’m sorry,” Mom said, “I don’t want to break our tradition.”

“No, I understand,” I said, “We can try again tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” Mom said. She got up and went upstairs.

I cleared the table and took the dirty dishes into the kitchen. Washing them by myself only increased the sadness I felt. I know I should have let it go. Bad enough that I was getting milked by my mom, regularly. I couldn’t then throw a tantrum when she, rightfully, wanted to stop.

Still, washing up all by myself was what hit it home. Weird that, with all the sexy stuff we were doing, the thing that really hurt my feelings was doing a chore without Mom’s company.

After I was done, I watched some crap on my tablet in my own bed and then turned out the light. I closed my eyes to sleep, but it wouldn’t come. I kept thinking about the day and how I could have done it differently.

Then, as I was finally about to fall into a troubled slumber, my bedroom door creaked open.

“Mom?” I asked, instinctive. She didn’t respond. But it was clear that my mother had come into my room. It was dark, but I could make out the shape of her. I was so confused by what she was doing, I didn’t know what to say.

The room went quiet. The next thing I felt was someone climbing onto the end of the bed. The covers lifted. Again, I asked Mom what she was up to. Again, I got no response.

I felt her now, crouched over my legs. The heat of her breath under the comforter. I realized: she was under the covers. Mom’s touch but don’t look policy was taking on a whole new dimension. I couldn’t imagine what was about to happen, but I understood I was supposed to pretend like nothing was happening.

Mom lifted the waistband of my boxers and pulled them down. My dick popped free, quickly stiffening. Mom wrapped her hand around my shaft. The feeling was familiar and wonderful. I settled back, only wondering why Mom had chosen a position where I couldn’t return the favor.

I felt a new sensation. Warm and wet. Oh my God. Those were the only words I could say. The only thoughts I could conjure.

“Oh my God,” I said as Mom’s mouth wrapped around my cock. Her tongue pressed under my dick.

I felt a hard pinch on my leg and realized that I’d spoken aloud. Mom’s rules still applied. I was experiencing Schrodinger’s blowjob in my bed. Or was it Heisenberg’s Uncertainly Oral? Oh fuck, why did it matter? My Mom was sucking my cock!

She slurped up and down, sucking me off with the enthusiasm of an amateur and the skills of a pro. Like with the handjob before, I realized how bad all my previous girlfriends were at oral sex. The sounds of wet slurping filled the room.

My only thought, damn me, was how much I wanted to look under that blanket. To see Mom’s mouth wide around my dick. Her sapphire eyes. Her golden hair. I wanted to experience it all. Yet I had to hold it in my head, only.

Mom worked me with abandon and soon I didn’t care about anything except that place under the sheets where my cock connected with her mouth. I tried to stay silent, but with the way Mom was working me there was no way.

I wanted it to last forever. I doubted it took more than five minutes. Then I had a new problem. I knew Mom was fine with me cumming — clearly by the way she was sucking me off it was currently her only goal in life. But I knew from previous experience I was supposed to warn a girl before I got off so she could prepare, as appropriate. Except, that would be breaking Mom’s rule about pretending nothing was going on. This truly was a ground shaking dilemma.

Finally, I let my chivalry get in the way of my obedience.

“I’m getting close,” I said, doing my best to keep my voice calm and even.

Mom didn’t say or do anything, but I felt her redouble her efforts, now stroking my shaft at the same time she sucked at my head. A moment later, I was gone.

“oooOOOH FUCK!”

I couldn’t help it; the pleasure was all too much. Through the white haze of ecstasy, I heard my mother gulping down my cum. I’d never exploded in a girl’s mouth before. Even Cassie had always finished me with her fist.

Mom swallowed my spend like it was the world’s tastiest treat. The sounds of her swallowing amplified my orgasm from brain blowing to mind shattering.

When I regained a sense of myself, Mom was gone. I lay back, panting from what had happened. Then my door popped open again. This time, the hallway light was on, and I could see Mom, standing there in her green, shapeless sleep shirt.

“Are you OK, honey?” Mom asked, coming into the room and standing over my bed. “I heard noises. Were you having a nightmare?”

“Oh, I’m sorry I woke you,” I said, “No I actually had the most incredible dream.”

“Well, that’s OK then,” Mom said, “You know I’ll do anything to take care of you. The same way you take care of me. You did an amazing job the last few days of making me feel protected and safe. I just wanted to make sure I said, ‘thank you’ in a way that would mean something to you.”

“I’m fine, Mom,” I said. Actually, I was way better than fine. I was floating like a feather coming down from heaven.

“OK sweetie. Have a good night,” Mom said. She bent over and kissed my forehead. Her breath smelled like my sperm.

*

I woke up early the next morning, before the sun was even up. I tiptoed out of my room, careful to avoid all the creaky spots in the hallway. When I got to my parents’ bedroom door, I twisted the knob before pushing it forward. I hadn’t even gotten to the naughty part of my plan, but already my stomach was twisting with the excitement of what I was about to do.

Mom was lying back in the bed, clearly out. I could see she still had the green sleep shirt on. Like she’d done the previous evening, I lifted up her comforter at the end of the bad and slipped under it. Mom stirred but stayed asleep.

I crawled up the bed, feeling my way up Mom’s legs. For all her complaining about being out of shape, her calves and thighs felt as firm as a college girl’s. Goddamn. I’d never been a leg man, but maybe it was time to try.

When I got to the bottom of Mom’s shirt, I started to slowly push it up to her waist. I noticed the difference immediately: she wasn’t wearing panties under there!

For a moment, I cursed the dark of the room. This was my chance, finally, to see Mom’s bare pussy. Instead, I only got the vague sense of full labia and thick pubic hair. I could smell her slight musk, though, and that almost made up for everything else.

Then, for another moment, I had a far more wicked thought. I was under the covers with Mom, she was asleep, and my cock was hard as hell. Was I breaking the rules if I broke into her most sacred spot with my bare battering ram? After all, it was still under the sheets.

But I stopped myself from thinking further. I was already taking liberties no son should ever try for; going for more was asking far too much. At least, this time.

Instead, I leaned forward and tentatively licked at my mother’s vagina. Her taste, still subtle, was even better than the smell of her. I’d gone down on previous girlfriends a couple of times, but it felt like the minor leagues compared to what I was doing now. I did what I thought would feel good, based on my mother’s previous responses, and hoped for the best.

On my second lick of her clit, Mom groaned, low and stretched. Her head shot up from the pillow.

“Oh my!” She froze in place. “Well, that is just the oddest sensation,” she said, regaining her composure as she sank back down into the bed.

Now that I had Mom’s attention, I began to gradually build her up. First with my tongue, then supporting with my fingers. I heard her heavy breathing in the distance. I felt her legs tighten around my back.

I couldn’t wait to make Mom cum. I didn’t want it to ever end. But my selfless side won out. When I felt Mom’s body begin to break, I gave her one last shove, sinking my tongue into her slot.

“HrrrrAH!” Mom cried out. Her legs closed over my head like a bear trap snapping shut. To my shock, a burst of warm liquid spattered on my tongue. Mom shook like she was having a seizure. Then she dropped back. Stilled. She didn’t loosen her legs, though. She kept me there. Both of us panting heavily.

Finally, I had to tap out. I don’t think Mom even realized she was holding me with her hips. But she opened them as soon as she felt me lightly slap her thigh. Careful to keep the illusion, I slipped silently out of the bottom of the bed, then crawled out of Mom’s room.

Just like she had the night before, I came back a moment later, standing in the doorway like I didn’t know what was going on.

“You OK?” I asked, “I was about to go out for my run when I heard something.”

“Fine,” Mom said, absently. I was gratified to see her post-orgasm face. Hair everywhere. Jaw slack. Cheeks a rude shade of red. Even her azure eyes were distant and unfocused. “I’m just, y’know, waking up.”

“I’ll make something when I get back,” I said.

Mom nodded. I was about to step away when she said my name.

“Jay, honey?

“Yeah Mom?”

“So you know, you have some, um, stuff on your chin. And your cheeks. And a bit on your nose, too.”

“Oh, weird,” I said. I slowly dragged my finger on my face, then popped it into my mouth. Licking hard.

I swear Mom had another little cum as she watched me suck her juices off my finger.

*

“You should get some sun,” Mom said, “Be tan for all the college hotties.”

We were out in the backyard. Birds chirping happily over the low hush of leaves rustling in the wind. Someone’s dog barked in the distance. Mom leaned back in her lounger while I carefully painted her toenails a playful shade of green.

Mom’s eyes were half shut, to the point that I thought she might have fallen asleep before she spoke. Her hair, longer than usual from the lack of open salons, spilled out over the seat like a golden waterfall. Even though I knew Mom’s ankle was fine, I still held it carefully, in case.

“There are no college hotties, Mom,” I said.

She gave me a dubious look. “I understand that right now — under quarantine and all — that it’s easy to forget that there is a whole world out there. But once you go back to school, I’m sure you’ll meet some other girl. Lots of them, I imagine.”

Her implication was clear. I nodded in agreement. “Of course,” I said.

“So, you should do a bit of bronzing,” Mom said. She looked at me, the challenge clear in her eyes. I gave it right back to her. Finally, I spoke.

“I will if you will,” I said.

Mom’s face pinked. “Honey, it’s a little different for girls.”

“So what?” I said, “There’s no one in the backyard with us. The fence is plenty high to keep out random lookers.”

“You’re here,” Mom said.

“So?”

Mom withered under the weight of my indisputable dialectic.

“Just my shirt,” Mom said.

“You’ll have tan lines,” I said.

“Better than getting sunburned boobs,” Mom said. We both giggled. I don’t think either of us was expecting her to use that word.

“You first,” I said.

Mom tipped her head at me and tsked her tongue.

“Both at the same time,” I said.

“Fine,” Mom said. She unbuttoned her flannel shirt and tossed it to the side. Then she took off her white, ribbed tank top.

I stared at the glory that was revealed. Mom was wearing a deep red lacy bra, nothing fancy, with a bit of a swooping cut that kept her breasts well covered. She had a cute little tummy with only the slightest hint of fat to it.

I’d imagined Mom’s breasts more than a few times by now. They were better — bigger, fuller — than I’d ever conceived. And that was with the bra still on! My dick tried to shoot right out of my pants as my eyes traced every inch of my mother’s newly bared body.

“Ahem,” Mom said.

I’d been so entranced by her unveiling, I’d forgotten to do my own.

“Sorry,” I said.

I reached down for the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head. Mom stared straight at my chest, like a hungry cat. Then, and I swear this happened, I saw her little pink tongue slip out and lick her lips.

“That’s, um, very nice,” Mom said.

“You look good too,” I said. I waited for Mom’s usual self-hating argument, but instead she nodded, like she’d been hypnotized by my pecs. A little smirk snuck across her face.

“Eyes on your own paper, miss,” I said, playfully. Again, I waited for her to snap back, but she said nothing.

“Can I touch it?” Mom asked. Her voice shaky like a teenager’s.

“My chest?” I asked.

“Yeah.” She licked her lips again, like her mouth was covered in cotton.

“I will if you…”

“No,” Mom said. Her abrupt response made it clear that there was no way I could argue around it. “I just want to, you know, appreciate all the hard work you’ve done. On your body.”

She said this like it made any sense at all. Like her explanation, in any way, added up to why she could fondle my bare chest. The weirdest part about her argument though, was that it worked.

“OK,” I said, and leaned closer so Mom could touch me.

She reached over and slowly traced my pecs. Then she dragged lower, feeling the ridges of my six pack. I had a little tuft of dark hair down the middle of my chest, and she let her fingers tangle in it, the lime green nails shining through. Her wedding ring golden in the dark of my chest hair.

Mom moved her hand lower now. Down to the waistband of my shorts. I think both of us, for a second, thought she was about to do something more. Then she ripped her hand away; like she couldn’t trust it.

“That’s, um, very nice,” Mom said, “You should be proud of all the exercise you’re doing.” She lay back and let her eyes drift shut.

“You sure you won’t let me have a turn?” I asked.