Incest/Taboo A Mother's Worry

"Hurry up," Mom whispered, her voice catching as I pressed the tips of my thumbs against the bottom of her ass cheeks. I followed the line of her hamstrings from the outside in, all the way to the inward curve down into the softness of her maternal muff. "Do my legs. Now."

I stopped with my thumbs outside of her pussy. They were so damn near the nylon of her panties that my fingers trembled from the heat between her legs. As I pulled them away, I pressed my thumbs harder into her tender flesh and pulled outward, spreading her open between her legs like the velvet curtains of a Broadway stage. Mom's pussy pulled outward, her outer lips slipping past the protection of her thong's covering and giving me a glimpse of her softer, fuller crescents.

"Mm," Mom moaned, the sound strained as she bit back the quiet, almost nonexistent sound.

I stopped my thumbs' movement, holding my mother's pussy open from the outside pressure on her inner thighs. Staring at the center of her cunny beneath her panties, I watched as her crimson nylon stuck to her lips, outlining the long slit beneath their fabric. I saw her folds, outer and inner, and the opening between them, where the red of her panties had darkened, growing wetter and--

Holy fuck, my mother was wet with pussy juice.

"I need to go back to work," Mom said, her words coming in a rush that was almost a pant. She pulled away from me, holding her right hand over her breasts as she stood, facing away from me. "I expect you to stay at home while I work."

Her voice had trembled as she spoke, though it carried it a hard edge, the edge that I was used to hearing whenever I managed to get myself into trouble.

"Okay," I said.

Mom walked away, leaving me with my hard-on, and when I was sure she was in her office--with windows that faced the backyard--I took out my cock and jerked off hard and fast in full view of her windows. I sprayed my cum onto my stomach before wiping it off with my towel. Satisfied, I jumped back into the pool to cool down.

Had Mom watched me?

I hoped so.

An Agreement

I didn't see my mother again until after Dad had arrived home. She had changed from her bikini into a pleated white tennis skirt that barely reached the middle of her thighs. A tight, dark blue polo shirt with white trim and short-short sleeves covered her upper body. We didn't talk, and Mom made dinner, and we ate, her tits pushing against her top like two perky orbs outlined by the faintest impressions of a bra. It must have been a thin bra, maybe lace or something transparent, I didn't know, but my mind spent most of its time thinking about what kind of bra she could be wearing.

Jenna had some transparent bras that she liked to wear for me.

Dad said nothing about Mom's outfit. He was too busy mumbling, "My sleepless nights are getting worse. Can you believe that? They just won't go away anymore."

My dad, as far as I knew, had bouts of acute insomnia, typically lasting for several weeks, then they'd dissipate for several weeks, then they'd come back in an endless cycle of hell for him. When he mentioned this, I saw my mother's face tighten, but my heartbeat sped up. Had the same thoughts gone through our heads at the same time? I didn't know, but I'd like to think that they did. Despite her reaction, I was eager for my father to start taking his pills again.

Even though Mom was wearing a short tennis skirt that showed off her slender legs down to her little, bare feet with their perfect toes and elegant arches, it wasn't like this morning and afternoon. Dad was here, so when Mom noticed me looking for a little too long or a little too hard, she narrowed her eyes at me and sent a firm headshake--with only the slightest hints of movement--my way.

Not long after dinner, I went upstairs, saying, "I need to give Jenna a call before she thinks I'm ignoring her."

Mom, who had been reading a book on the couch while Dad watched TV, looked up at me as I headed upstairs and called out, "Remember our deal."

Our unspoken deal, I thought just as my father said, "Yeah, remember it. I don't want to have to explain to my mother why her grandson had to drop out of high school to take care of his bastard."

"Jesus, Dad," I said as my dad laughed, and I continued upstairs.

I talked to Jenna, but I was distracted. She could tell. I knew that she could, but I couldn't tell her why. My thoughts kept drifting back to my mother and the promise I had made her. Did I really make her a promise? Do unspoken promises count? I didn't think--so my cock said to me--but Jenna would be there for me in a week, while Mom might end her desperation tactic if she thought I wasn't keeping my word.

"Come on," Jenna was saying, "tell me how hard your cock is for me."

"I can't," I said, licking my lips and continuing the lie I had told her at the start of our conversation. "Mom keeps walking into my room."

"Fuck it," Jenna growled, "let her hear how hard I make your cock. I'll let my dad hear if you let your mom hear." She made a tongue-clicking sound. "Every time that my dad thinks that I'm being naughty with you, he gives me this look, and I just want to say, 'Mark makes my pussy wet, Daddy, deal with it."

"Daddy," I said, laughing.

"Well, Dad's my father," Jenna said, "but you're my Daddy."

"Oh," I moan-groaned. "That's so fucking hot."

"I know, right?" Jenna giggled. "The dirtier this gets, the jucier my pussy gets for your big, adult dick. Maybe my dad's just jealous of you getting my ass instead of...."

I groaned again as she trailed off, her voice slick, sly, and dangerously suggestive. My cock grew and grew. Maybe it was for the best if I put an end to Mom's teasing and went straight to Jenna. Why should we torture ourselves by waiting? We could fuck, tell her dad, and call his bluff. It had to be a bluff. Jenna's mom loved me!

"I've got to go, you nasty girl," I whispered. "I can hear my mom outside of my door. I think she's pacing. I'll send you a picture later, okay?"

"Okay," Jenna sighed. "Our parents suck."

"Yes, they do," I whispered, hoping it was true in my mother's case.

"Love you," Jenna said, "and don't forget that dick pick you owe me. I want to see cum and lots of it."

"I promise," I whispered as her bratty voice sent a tingle through my glans. "Love you too."

Would she be mad when I didn't send her a picture?

Probably, but I'd think of something.

I left my phone on my bed as I headed downstairs. I had talked to Jenna for an hour; what would Mom make of that? Was she antsy? Was she pissed? Should I pretend that something happened, even when it hadn't? There was danger in that; wasn't there, but how much?

Fuck, there were too many variables to digest, so I tried to slow down my thoughts as I descended from the top of the stairs into the TV-lit foyer and living room. Mom, sitting on the back couch with her back against the armrest, turned her head to the left and gave me a long look. I smiled, and she watched me as I walked around the couch and sat opposite her. She had her knees up and together, along with her calves and feet, creating a wall that hid her panties from my eyes.

I leaned back against the couch's arm, bringing my feet onto the couch. Mom looked at me, watching as the soft light flashed across my body. Dad yawned.

"Did you already take your pill?" I asked my dad.

"Yeah," he yawned again. "I haven't had a good sleep in days."

I hadn't noticed--what an asshole I was.

"Gonna go upstairs?" I asked.

"You want the TV?"

"No." I shook my head, though he was lying on his back with his head on a pillow, staring at the TV. "Just making conversation."

"Make it when the show's over," he said. "If I last that long."

I nodded and turned back to Mom. She was still looking at me, and even though the living was dark, and I wouldn't have been able to see much had she spread her legs for me, I nodded at her knees anyway. Mom tilted her head, and I lifted my hands, placed my palms together, then spread my fingers open by tilting them away from each other. Mom widened her eyes, and then she looked toward the TV. I sighed without making a sound, extending my right foot and nudging her left toes. Mom brought her feet back, and when they ran out of the room, she turned on her cushion and lowered her feet to the floor.

Damn it!

Was it because of Dad?

It had to be.

Or maybe she needed reassurance that I hadn't done anything with Jenna--over the phone. How was I going to do that? Fuck it, I was going to press my luck, and I could assure Mom later that her son had followed her rules, mostly. Was talking dirty to my willing eighteen-year-old girlfriend going to get her pregnant? No!

I sighed again, a little louder this time. Mom didn't look at me, and neither did Dad. I lowered my back down the armrest to my shoulders, and I stretched out my legs, pulling short of touching Mom with my feet. Her skirt lay a tiny bit above the middle of her lap, both atop and along the sides, while the back lay bunched against the back of the couch. The pleats were perfect and rectangular, layered, her long legs illuminated by the bluish-silver of the TV light.

Like moonlight.

When was Mom going to pull her skirt up? She wasn't sitting on it, so it wasn't like her movement would disturb Dad. Not that he'd notice by the way he was lying.

Time ticked by, the show went on, and Dad yawned.

Any day now, I thought, throwing my silent words at my mother.

Was she mad at me for touching her today? I had pushed it. Or, if not mad, was she having second thoughts? This game had barely started, so there was only one way to find out. I extended my right foot, the one closest to the back of the couch, with a slower-than-normal motion, making sure that my mother would notice me coming from the corner of her eyes. She did. Her lips twitched, but was she attempting to hide a smile, or had they tightened? She didn't look at me, so I continued forward.

My big toe touched the hem of her skirt along the side of her thigh. Mom took a deep breath, her apple-sized breasts moving up and down, the tightness of her shirt accentuating the buoyant under-curve of her breasts. I imagined how they'd give under my fingers caresses, and my cock sprung forward as if trying to have a better look as my mother's goods.

I moved my foot toward the back of the couch, pulling Mom's skirt with me, baring her skin. Mom's head tilted to the left, her eyes down for a moment before looking forward again. I kept moving her skirt, back and back, back as far as the curve of her ass and exposing the naked side of her left cheek. She must have been wearing a thong or nothing. The thought made my balls warm as my thoughts went back to my mother's perfect cheek. When I ran my toe across my mother's skin, she brought her left hand down and pushed my foot away, but she didn't move her skirt back into place.

Good.

My cock had stretched out during this time, filling with wall-throbbing strength and turning my skin slinky into a hungry flesh pipe. Oh, man, but I wasn't going to last a week away from Jenna at this rate. No fucking way.

I extended my foot again, touching my Mom's thigh by her knee. She looked down as I slid my toe along her leg, her lips parting as she let out a long breath. Her head turned a little when I reached her butt cheek, and I saw her throat move in a swallowing motion when I brushed her flesh to the far curve of her ass. Her hand moved, but not before I traced the line of her soft backside upward.

"Does anyone want a drink?" Mom said, a touch out of breath and standing quickly. Her skirt fell back into place. "Rich? Mark?

"No, thanks," Dad mumbled.

"I'm okay," I said, studying my mother's profile and the hardened protrusion of her left nipple.

Mom walked to the right, her back to me as she left the living room and entered the dining room, then turned to the right, out of sight beyond the narrower entryway before heading into the kitchen.

I waited a minute before I said, "I think I could use a drink."

Dad mumbled something as I rose and turned to my left, hiding my semi-inflated sausage from his eyes in case he turned his head to watch me walk across the couch. Instead, I walked behind my couch, alongside the foyer, and down the narrow hallway along the stairs that cut across the living and dining rooms straight into the kitchen. I found Mom standing against the inside of the kitchen island, sipping on wine. I noticed that I could hear the faint sounds of the TV from where we stood.

"What are you doing?" Mom asked, her voice stern, and her eyes narrowed in a glare that I could only call petulant.

"What am I doing?" I asked, keeping my voice low though I probably didn't have to. "What are you doing?"

"Mark--"

"I know what you're doing. You're--"

"Don't say it--don't say it--don't say it," Mom said like a jackrabbit thumbing its food and shaking her head as her glare deepened.

I kept my mouth shut. We stared at each other. Mom's expression softened as I did my best to remain neutral. I didn't want to blow this.

She sipped her wine.

I watched, then I asked, "Can I have a sip?"

Mom, who had never allowed me a drink before, handed me her half-full glass. I took a long drink, not enjoying the spicy flavor, but I drank it anyway, then handed the nearly empty glass back to her. She refilled it, and we stood there, staring at each other in silence.

"Mom," I finally said, "You can't keep doing this to me."

Mom flinched.

"I know you think it's for the best, but look at me." I looked at my semi-hard cock that was already coming back to life as my mother dropped her gaze downward. "Is this what you wanted? To give me a--"

"Don't say it," Mom said, her eyes lingering before returning to my face. "Don't say anything. Just"--she licked her lips, her face tight, almost frowning--"just accept it."

"I can't just accept it," I said, frowning. "It's driving me crazy. I need to see Jenna more than ever now because of you."

"Mark," Mom said, letting my name hang in the air.

"Look what you do to me!" It was a harsh whisper that I gave her--an accusation. "Look."

Mom looked down again to where my cock had hardened fully. Her eyes widened a bit, and her cheeks reddened. She moved her head backward. When her eyes returned to my face, I said, "I know you mean well, but this isn't enough. I'm seeing Jenna tomorrow." I shrugged, knowing that a helpless, I'm sorry, expression shimmered across my face. "I have to."

I turned to leave.

"Mark," Mom said, her voice sharp. "Wait."

I turned around, facing her again, and watched as she finished her refill of wine. She set her glass on the island's marble top, and then she lowered her hands to her skirt. My heart stuttered, then jumped into a sprint. She grabbed the hem of her tennis skirt and inched it upward, taking her time, the tops of her thighs brightened by the light.

My vision narrowed, focusing on my mother below her waist.

She stopped just below the bottom of her muff, only for a second before continuing upward and showing me a pair of small, white panties. They were nothing more than a tiny triangle covering her inner lips and mound, leaving so much of her tender labia exposed that I sighed aloud. Her sun blonde pubic hairs reached above the low-slung waistband and sprouted from beneath the sides of her small strip of panties. I didn't fail to notice the darker shade of dampness below the outline of her clit.

"I have more," Mom whispered. "Lots more. Panties that your father has never seen me wear. I can wear them for you, and only for you, if you don't fool around with Jenna."

"Mom," I whispered, my insides deflating as I stared at her muff.

"I mean it." Mom swallowed, her voice trembling and her tits rising and falling as though she were sprinting. "I can wear them and a shirt for you every day while your father is out of the house."

"Mom--"

"You can take pictures and videos, for when you're alone," Mom said, panting. "Just don't fool around with Jenna. Please!"

Jesus, I thought she was about to cry.

"Whenever Dad is out of the house?" I asked, my throat tight. "You promise?"

"Yes," Mom whispered.

It took forever before my lips moved, but I managed to croak out the word, "Okay," before Mom could say anything else to convince me to agree to her demands.

"Okay," Mom said, her voice trembling.

"Mom," I said, "I don't know how long I can hold out. I mean"--I swallowed, and my voice started to tremble--"you're not a normal-looking woman. You're"--I shook my head--"perfect."

Mom lowered her skirt.

We stood in silence, and I realized that she wasn't going to speak. I nodded before leaving, and I went up to my room, where I took my dick out and came, then came again, then came one more time before going to bed without sending Jenna a picture of my cock. I had honestly forgotten to send her one.

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.​