Page 06
"It's a reasonable guess. Sharon would be a good name for a nurse."
She laughed. "Actually, the 'S' stands for Susan."
Her eyes became serious and she changed the subject.
"The other night you said I knew what to do with my son. What did you mean by that?"
"Nothing. Sometimes I talk too much."
"Please, it's important to me."
"Really. It was just the sedative."
"Warren, my son means the world to me, as I'm sure you meant a lot to your mother."
She raised her eyebrows and spoke with such intensity that I drew back into the pillows.
"You've said things while you were dreaming. I didn't mean to pry," she explained, "but I did stay by your side for a while because you were so restless. You spoke about…well, let's just say I know your relationship with your mother was…different."
I nodded but didn't say anything. She obviously knew about my mother now and I was intrigued that she wasn't looking at me with disgust. Susan grasped my right hand and held it between hers.
"I need to do something to save my son from those gangs, Warren."
With that, Susan pulled my hand forward, straightening my arm, until it rested on the white stocking covering her knee. When she leaned forward to touch my left cheek, my hand slid off to the side and my fingers closed lightly around her upper calf behind the knee.
"Tell me more about you and your mother," she demanded. "How did it happen, and why? Were you in trouble too?"
I don't know why I told her. Maybe it was to achieve the catharsis I had been seeking since Mom had passed away; maybe I just couldn't hold it inside any longer; or maybe it was Susan's desperate need to know if there was something in my story that could help her son. Whatever it was, I spilled my guts, cautiously at first, but then it was like a dam had burst and it all came rushing out. Well, most of it. I held some bits back.
"My mother was a beautiful woman," I started, "but not very nice. She had several friends but nobody close. You're a lot like her, I think. Anyway, it all started when I couldn't take her nagging anymore."
It took me several nights to get Susan caught up, mostly because she was called away to care for other patients. Every time she sat on the side of my bed and held my hand in her lap she would soon lean forward to listen, allowing my hand to slip onto her calf. Her eyes barely flickered when I stroked her leg.
On the third night, my hand fell between Susan's knees so I stroked the inside of her leg instead of the outside. When she shifted closer to hear me better—I have to admit I purposely lowered my voice to a barely audible whisper when I related the juicy bits—my hand pushed inside her skirt. Susan seemed unaware but I was acutely conscious that my fingers were embedded between her thighs. When I moved them, barely a wiggle at first, they slipped past the top of the stocking and onto her leg. I hadn't felt such intense emotion since my first tentative, fearful caresses of my mother's flesh.
Susan wanted to hear the tiniest details of the interplay between Mom and me and I struggled to retrieve them from my memory—I would have said anything to prolong the joy of tickling the inner thigh of this gorgeous woman who looked so much like my mother but most of it was true. In fact, the more I looked at her, the easier it was to remember and soon it was like I was replaying entire scenes in my head as if they were happening right then and not decades earlier. I became so engrossed, I almost forgot that my hand was deep inside Nurse Carver's skirt, caressing the inside of her thigh, now well past the top of her stocking.
****
For the rest of the week I watched Mom closely for any sign that she was either upset or pleased about what had happened but she was neither mean nor nice. She basically ignored me and I was afraid to approach her when I had no idea how she felt. She acted like she wanted to pretend nothing had happened, so I pretended too.
The weekend came and went with no change and nothing happened the following week either. We had reverted to our former life except that Mom didn't nag me anymore. I missed it and thought about doing something to instigate her wrath but in the end decided that our current relationship was better than it had been before and I didn't want to ruin it.
During that second week, I heard Mom and Dad arguing. They weren't yelling at each other, at least Dad wasn't. My father rarely raised his voice. They didn't mention the 'fight' and I didn't ask about it but the next day my father moved his dresser and all his clothes into the guest room across the hall.
The following Saturday, after mowing the lawn, I ate a quiet lunch with my parents in the kitchen. I couldn't help watching Mom whenever I thought she, or Dad, weren't looking. She moved with a feminine grace that was impossible to ignore and I wasn't surprised to feel my cock swelling to fill my pants. Though Mom didn't catch me looking, I sensed she was aware of my observation and it excited me that she didn't refrain from stretching to get things from the cupboard above the fridge or bending over to put something away in a lower drawer. When she sat down at the table to read a magazine, she crossed her legs and the loose skirt she was wearing slipped back to expose a large expanse of thigh. I made a point of saying I was going to hang out with some friends for the afternoon and left right after lunch.
"Would you like a ride?" Mom asked. "I'm going shopping."
"No. I'm only going to Kent's place."
Mom smiled and turned her attention back to her magazine, recrossed her legs and tugged the skirt back into place but as soon as her hand moved away it somehow managed to slip farther back to expose more thigh than before. I loved the soft fleshy part that bulged out near her ass.
Of course, I wasn't going to Kent's place. As soon as I went out the front door I circled around to the back yard and slipped through the basement window into the hideaway.
I was downstairs leafing through the magazines and lazily stroking my cock through my unzipped jeans when I heard Mom come down the stairs. I didn't bother hiding the magazines because I knew by the sound of the shoes that it was Mom and she already knew they were in here anyway. She could have thrown the magazines in the garbage when I wasn't home, but she hadn't. In fact, I had noticed they weren't in the same order as I had left them and the special ones from the bedside table were on top of the pile.
Mom swung the tall skinny bookshelf open and came in, then carefully closed it. I ignored her presence and kept reading. I didn't even zip up my jeans, although I did stop stroking my cock and pulled my hand away. It did excite me to leave my jeans unzipped in Mom's presence and I tried to see if she looked without looking at her. I couldn't tell if she did or not.
Mom crawled onto the bed and I moved aside to make room for her, but not much. She picked up a magazine from the top of the stack and started reading. I noticed, without looking directly, that she had opened it to a specific page.
"Finished shopping already?" I asked, keeping my eyes on my magazine.
"Yes."
Mom didn't look up from her magazine.
"I didn't hear you come back."
"I parked down the street."
That was strange but I didn't query her about it.
"Is Dad home?"
"I think he's upstairs in his room."
"Oh."
I was silent after that and let Mom read in peace. She seemed engrossed and so was I when she drew her feet up close to her bum and planted them wide apart. The loose skirt slid part way down her legs giving me about the same view that I'd had at the kitchen table. I wondered how I could get my arm around her to put my finger in her mouth. She seemed to like that.
When I turned to a new page with pictures, I twisted the magazine this way and that, turned slightly toward Mom, and lined it up with her body. It was obvious that I was making a comparison. Mom smiled but didn't look up or say anything. I continued the comparison for another minute or so before reaching out to pull her skirt an inch higher. I made a big show of examining the picture and her leg, back and forth several times, and even dragged the skirt higher, then grunted in satisfaction.
"Who won?" Mom asked.
"You did. Hands down."
The smile widened.
I played it cool for a while, not wanting to ruin what seemed to be going well, then played the same routine but this time comparing a picture to her chest. I gently pushed the magazine she was reading toward her face and brazenly flicked the top button of her blouse apart. Again, I grunted my satisfaction.
"Who won?"
"I can't see well enough to tell."
Mom kept reading. After a minute or so, I got up the courage to flick another button apart and breathed deep in relief when Mom didn't say anything. So I did another. Mom sighed in feigned exasperation but didn't levy a rebuke so I set about undoing a fourth button.
"Boys are curious, aren't they?"
"Like cats," I laughed, thankful for the chance to ease the tension.
I fell silent when the button popped out of the blouse. My breathing quickened. Apparently, Mom wasn't wearing a bra!
"Well?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't move.
"Well?" Mom repeated.
Gathering my courage, I reached over and loosened a fifth button and, when she still didn't respond, the last one visible above her skirt. I pushed the blouse apart and stared. The lapels had fallen just wide enough to bare Mom's nipples. The one closest to me was partially hidden but I could see the other one completely. They were magnificent, standing up like little thumbs from her not huge but meaty breasts.
"Well?" Mom sighed.
I scrambled to hold up the picture and pretended to make a detailed comparison. In fact, the picture was simply a blur to me. I was about to announce my decision, in Mom's favor of course, then hummed and hawed instead. I placed a finger under Mom's closest tit, lifted it slightly, then let it fall. I repeated that several times and Mom smiled each time.
I put my fingertip in my mouth, as if in deep thought, then returned it to her tit. Instead of lifting her breast, I dragged it around the outside of her breast and, following a narrowing concentric path, traced a line that ended up circling the areolae and finally rubbing against the nipple, which by this time was quite stiff. I pulled my finger away and stared at the wet path my finger had left around her nipple.
"You win. It isn't even close," I whispered.
Mom held her magazine up and resumed reading but it was now very close to her face and didn't obscure her tits at all. I leaned toward her, as if re-examining her breasts to confirm my judgment. She didn't flinch when my lips encircled her nipple for a brief kiss.
"I'm sorry," I stammered. "I, uh…did you breast feed me when I was a baby?"
"No." There was a long pause and then Mom said, "But I wish I had."
I put my hand under the magazine near Mom's face and stretched my index finger out to touch her chin, then slowly slipped it up to rub across her lower lip before pushing it into her mouth. Leaning forward, I recaptured her nipple in my mouth and flicked it with my tongue.
For several minutes, I licked and sucked Mom's tit and fondled the far one. I settled into a pattern of sliding my finger in and out of her mouth in time with flicks of my tongue and mini sucks on her nipple. It wasn't, however, until I reached down to insert my hand inside her skirt, that Mom's hand caressed the back of my head and her fingers pushed through my hair.
"The mother in this story has a naughty son," she whispered.
I lifted my head. "Don't mother's like their sons to be a little bit naughty?"
"Sometimes," Mom answered, pushing my head forward and back onto her nipple. "But this one is very naughty."
I pulled my hand from her breast and reached around her hip to stroke the inside of her thigh. Gradually, I worked my way closer and closer to her panties, while Mom kneaded my hair and my mouth worked her nipple. When I reached her panties and rubbed the puffiness there, Mom started to suck my finger.
I pulled my hand from between Mom's legs, grabbed her hand and drew it away from the back of my head. Holding her by the wrist, I dragged her hand down to the waistband of my pants and returned, grazing her panties repeatedly with my knuckles.
Mom deftly released the snap at the top of my pants and as soon as it popped free her fingers reached inside to grasp the tip of my cock, fingers and palm molding over the head and upper shaft. She moved the skin up and down over the helmet and I helped her by hunching my hips. I flipped the narrow strip of panties covering her pussy aside and strummed my fingers across her slit, sucking harder on her nipple at the same time. Mom let the magazine fall away and I moved up to kiss her. As soon as our tongues entwined, I pushed first one and then a second finger into her wet cunt.
Mom really liked being kissed. Her free hand curled around my head and pulled it more firmly onto her face. I used my knee to spread her legs and she willingly complied and even moaned when I subsequently got my fingers deeper into her cunt. When I pushed a third finger inside and flicked my thumb sideways across her clit she mewled her appreciation and drew her legs back even farther. However, that changed when I moved on top of her and tried to get my cock onto her pussy.
"No, baby. Not that."
"Mom, please," I gasped. "I need to."
She chuckled. "You mean you want to."
"I want to," I agreed. I wasn't about to argue.
"Well, you can't."
I dropped my head beside hers and groaned my disappointment, then lifted my head and looked her straight in the eye. Pulling my fingers from her cunt, I slowly moved them toward her mouth. Mom watched like she wanted to stop me but couldn't. She didn't even try to stop me when I pushed them into her mouth. I worked my fingers in and out, then pulled them away and kissed her again.
Slipping my fingers back in Mom's cunt, I moaned into her mouth and she responded in kind. I pushed my fingers into her mouth again and kissed her deeply while returning all my fingers to her pussy. Three plunged into her cunt, my thumb strummed her clit, and the pinky stretched down to diddle her other hole. I did the finger thing in her mouth twice more and then poked my pinky into her asshole. Mom returned my kiss so feverishly that when I pushed my fingers into her mouth again I just had to try to get my cock onto her pussy again.
"No, baby!"
I groaned.
"We can play, but we can't fuck."
"But Mom…"
"Doesn't it feel nice?"
"Yes, but…"
And that's when we heard someone enter the rumpus room. Quickly, I reached past Mom's head and turned out the light. She was looking toward the rumpus room and didn't notice that my cock was now rubbing on her pussy, directly because the thin strip of panty was still pushed aside.
Whoever was there sat down in the Lazyboy chair. It had to be Dad. I pulled the blanket back a bit and leaned over to look into the room through the tall narrow slit I had left between two bookshelves for this purpose. Mom looked too despite the greater pressure my cock applied to her pussy.
Dad had turned on the TV and the VHS. We could see the right side of his face and body. The TV showed the still picture of a woman in her late thirties or so in old fashioned clothes. She looked strangely familiar but I couldn't put a name to her. I expected a movie since it was a VHS but the screen changed to another still picture and then another. Evidently, Dad had put a bunch of pictures on a VHS tape so he didn't have to operate a slide show.
The pictures of the woman kept changing. She was playing around, posing and teasing whoever was taking the pictures. Then she began opening her dress which was buttoned all the way down the front. Dad's hand started to move. He was jacking off!
I couldn't believe my eyes. My father was jacking off to old-fashioned pictures of a woman unbuttoning her dress. How pathetic!
I looked down at Mom for a mirthful exchange but she was staring at the pictures. I looked back at them, past Dad's now faster-moving hand, and received a shock. An expression flitted across the woman's face that I recognized from pictures I had seen of an older version: my grandmother.
Holy shit! Dad was pumping his cock while watching pictures of his mother undressing for an unknown photographer. Who? Grandpa? I couldn't picture it. I looked back at Mom. Did she know it was Grandma?
I could tell by her face that she did. Grandma had taken her dress off and was now wearing a full length set of white, cotton underwear that ended about half way between her knee and ankle. The underwear was tied down the front just like the dress and she was undoing it like she had the dress, only more slowly. Dad's hand beat faster.
The top of Grandma's underwear was now completely undone and she was kneeling in front of her photographer. A hand appeared in the next picture, pushing the underwear off her right shoulder.
I hazarded a rub of my cock on Mom's pussy. She didn't bat an eye, she was so engrossed by the pictures and Dad's now rapidly moving hand. I rubbed again, and again. Mom didn't react so I kept sliding my cock along her slit.
In the next picture the underwear had been pushed off Grandma's left shoulder as well and her tits were bare. They were smaller than Mom's but sported long, stiff nipples. Grandma smiled up at the camera. She had a different expression on her face in the next picture. A slender hand was cupping her right tit and in the next its fingers were pinching the right nipple and had pulled her breast out from her chest. Dad's hand beat faster.
I slid my cock repeatedly over Mom's wet slit, confident that she wasn't going to stop me. If I couldn't fuck her, at least I could come on her pussy. I put my finger near her mouth and she moved her head forward to suck it in. I flexed my hips and rubbed my cock sideways as well as back and forth and was pleased when Mom pushed back. She didn't show any sign of being aware but I was happy nonetheless.
That's right, Mom. The magazine stories might make you horny but watching your husband jack off to pictures of his Mom having sex will push you over the edge. At least, I hope they do.
I looked back at the pictures and was surprised to see Grandma kneeling before her photographer, mouth now plugged by a big baby soother. The handle was wide enough for an adult's hand to grasp. Several pictures followed of Grandma sucking on the soother and then there was one showing the top of her head. Holy shit. Grandma was sucking her photographer's dick. The soother had been discarded on the floor behind her.
A whole rash of pictures followed, coming faster, showing the top of Grandma's head in slightly different positions, clearly bobbing up and down on her photographer's lap. A hand appeared in the pictures, the same slender hand that pushed the underwear from her shoulders, cupped her tit, and tugged on her nipple. It stayed in all the subsequent pictures, steering Grandma's head around and holding it on his cock.
Mom was sucking my finger harder and pushing up to rub against my cock more urgently. She was definitely getting closer to the edge. Her knees pulled back further and I adjusted my position to maintain a firm pressure on her slippery cunt lips. I looked at the TV.
That hand. I looked closer. No. Yes, it was there. The long, white line of a scar, looking newer than I remembered but in the same place as the one that ran across the back of my father's hand.
Holy fuck! It was my father's hand holding Grandma's head, and it was his cock in her mouth. I looked at Mom and knew instantly that she had known as soon as the hand first appeared and that was the moment she had let me rub my cock on her pussy.
