Incest/Taboo Mom Tries Belly Dancing

"Shit!"

As I walked up the driveway, I reached in my pocket only to discover my key was missing, then remembered I had put it in my backpack before gym which I left it in my locker. I had just run all the way home during my free period, evidently keyless, to get the assignment I'd forgotten.

Mother fucker! If Dad would fucking help me buy a car I wouldn't be in this predicament. Now the assignment would be late. There was no way I could get back to school, get the key, run back home, and get back to turn the assignment. No way. No fuckin' way! So, now I wouldn't get the 'B' Dad required to help me buy a car.

"Fuck!"

I stomped on the driveway, turned to go back to school, but wheeled around again. What was the use of going back to school if I had nothing to turn in? I may as well skip my last class. And do what? I turned back toward school but had only gone three steps when I spun around again.

Was that music? Was Mom home? She was supposed to be working Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. I took several steps toward the house and the music got louder. Great! I could get my assignment and still make it back to school. I ran up to the house and rung the bell. Nothing. Oh yeah, it's been busted for three fucking years. Why doesn't Dad fix the frikken thing?

I knocked on the door but I could hardly hear it myself over the weird music inside. Some kind of eastern stuff. Jesus, Mom was getting weird. I knocked louder with similar lack of effect. Maybe Mom was in the kitchen and not the living room.

I walked around the house to the back yard, thinking about Mom. A couple of years ago she 'turned over a new leaf' and got into a bunch of yoga stuff. Mom lost a lot of weight which made her feel good about herself but since then she had gotten into all sorts of weird stuff. It was a blessing when she quit telling us what she was doing because Dad and I just looked at her like she was nuts. Dad eventually believed Mom had worked through her mid-life crisis but I suspected she was still doing weird stuff and just kept quiet about it. This confirmed it. It sounded like Mom was into some kind of weirdo eastern religious thing.

Mom wasn't in the kitchen as I suspected and the back door was locked which surprised me because she usually had it open during the spring and summer if she was home. If she was out, it was always locked. So who was playing the weird music?

Then I remembered the emergency key hidden in the ornamental bird box near the corner of the house. I retrieved it and returned to open the door. I stepped inside but didn't announce myself in case some weirdo had invaded our home. I grabbed a butcher knife and stepped quietly to the doorway, first peering up the stairs to the left and then into the living room to make sure nobody was there. I didn't want anyone behind me when I went upstairs. The fucker better not have hurt Mom if she was home.

What I saw in the living room stopped me in my tracks.

A woman dressed in some kind of Arabic costume was dancing with her back to me, shaking her hips and tossing her ass, which wasn't half bad, from side to side. Her whole body was in perpetual motion.

Fuckin' hell. It was Mom!

If this was what she was doing for exercise, no wonder she had lost so much weight. I was about to say something goofy but held my tongue because a strange feeling was percolating through me, like when you're scared, except this felt good.

Mom looked good! Real good. It was like I was watching a sexy older woman instead of my mother. The flab was completely gone from her thighs and her hips looked wide only because her waist was so narrow. I already knew she had lost lots of weight, of course, but it wasn't so obvious when she was dressed in normal clothes. In this outfit, I could see how nicely toned her body actually was.

The costume was made of a shiny gold material, with a see-through cape and a red silk skirt that swirled around Mom's body as she moved. The skirt was slit way up on each side so that one of Mom's upper legs was briefly exposed whenever she dipped down and lunged forward. There were extensions from the blouse, made of the same filmy material as the skirt, that reached to Mom's wrists, adding to the overall billowing effect. Mom's hips and breasts were constantly in motion, sometimes in impossibly opposite directions around her undulating midriff.

Mom was belly dancing!

Jesus, I was getting a boner! I looked down at my crotch in disbelief. What the fuck was the matter with me? Despite myself, I felt no shame at that moment, only wonder, but I was too enthralled with the show in front of me to spend much effort worrying about it. I no longer felt the urge to say something goofy. I just wanted to watch. I couldn't believe how hot Mom looked. The way she moved was something else, so fluid and sexy.

It was a huge effort to drag myself out of the kitchen. I only left because, if Mom had seen me, I knew I wouldn't be able to hide what I was feeling inside—pure, raw desire. I closed the door quietly though it was unlikely Mom would have heard it over the music even if I had slammed it shut.

Outside, I dithered. How to get my assignment? Should I just walk up to the front door and bang on it, pretending I didn't have my key and had forgotten where the spare was? No, Mom would still be in her costume and I couldn't face that because I wouldn't be able to stop myself from checking her out. In the end, I decided it would be best if Mom didn't know I had even been there.

But I couldn't go back without my assignment so I climbed onto the carport and slipped through my bedroom window. Before leaving, I crept down the hall and peeked over the stairs but couldn't see Mom very well. Disappointed, I withdrew to my room and left the house, leaving the butcher knife which I had been carrying all along, in my room. When I got back to the school, I still had a hardon.
​

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

I felt guilty for the rest of that day but once in my bed my hand found my cock and images of Mom's body dancing in that flimsy, teasing costume filled my head. I imagined having sex with it, the face a blank mask but the hair and every other detail of her body intact. I moaned as I fondled breasts and slid my hand up the inside of hot legs until I cupped a pussy while the other squeezed an ass. I wasn't overcome with guilt until after I came and remembered that several times I had moaned 'Lisa', Mom's first name.

If I could have whipped myself, I would have. As it was, I beat myself up mentally all the next day but the next night I drenched my head with images of Mom's body and my cock flooded my pajamas. I hid them under the bed and didn't remember my disgusting behavior the next morning until I walked down the hall to the bathroom sporting a huge morning hardon. The sound of Mom's voice made me look down, startled that I wasn't wearing my pajama bottoms. I barely made it back into my room before Mom topped the stairs.

At dinner, Mom said it was the strangest thing, but her favorite butcher knife was missing. Later, I got the knife from my room and put it back in the drawer. That night, before going to bed, I flung my belt over my back in an attempt to flagellate myself, like I'd seen a priest do in a movie once. It hurt, so I quit.

Once again, my hand found my cock and it filled my pajamas while I moaned into my pillow, "Mom, oh Mom."

It was Thursday. I tried to berate myself several times through the day but the punishing thoughts were replaced by potent fantasies that proved too elusive to quash. By early afternoon, I couldn't think of anything else and was admonished by my teachers for daydreaming several times.

I skipped my last class.

The music was playing again but not quite as loud as I remembered. Still, I managed to sneak in the back door and to the kitchen doorway without being discovered. I stopped to get the butcher knife, thinking that if Mom caught me watching I could claim I thought someone was in the house and the knife would back up my story.

Mom was belly dancing again, looking as fine as she had on Tuesday and even sexier than she appeared in my dreams. I hadn't imagined the muscular tone of her thighs as they thrust through the slits in the skirt, or the shadows that played over her tummy as she stretched and scrunched and twisted it around. And her ass, in constant motion, was a far cry from the stills that populated my masturbatory imagination. It was a magnet for my eyes and my cock.

"Curtis!"

My head jerked up. Mom had stopped dancing and was staring at me, in apparent shock, one hand held up in front of her mouth.

"Mom," I yelped, throwing my hands in front of myself to cover what I knew was big enough to show.

Of course, that was exactly the wrong thing to do. Mom looked down.

"What are you doing with that?"

I followed her gaze, starting to go red, then realized she was looking at my side. Oh yeah, the knife.

"I, uh...thought there was a burglar in the house."

The hand dropped away from her mouth. "What?" Mom laughed, looking relieved. "A burglar?"

"Yeah," I said, then laughed too. "You scared the shit out of me."

"Well, you scared me too," she said, ignoring my profanity. "What are you doing home?"

"My last class was canceled," I lied. "What are you doing? I thought you were working."

Mom blushed and suddenly looked self-conscious, her hands lifting to cover the costume and roaming across the front of her torso as she tried to cover everything but realized she couldn't.

"Well, uh, I'm dancing…belly dancing…for your father," she explained. "I'm going to surprise him, when I'm good enough," she added.

Mom's hands continued moving in a futile attempt to cover her womanly assets. She started moving toward the stairs.

"I better get changed."

"Wait," I cried.

I don't know why I said that. I guess I didn't want her to go just yet. But Mom ignored me and ran up the stairs. I followed, running up behind her.

"Mom."

She ran into her room and closed the door. I was so close I almost bounced off it.

As you can probably imagine, imagine the rest of the day was quite awkward. Mom avoided me and the few times she couldn't, nothing was said.

The next morning, I woke up with crusty pajamas again which I hid under the bed with the other two pairs until I could wash them myself when nobody was home. But when I got home that afternoon, there was a pile of freshly laundered clothes on my bed, ready to put away. The pajama bottoms were there too. I felt very sheepish and didn't want to go down for breakfast. I waited until the last minute, slipped into the kitchen, gobbled my food, and got the hell out of there.

I hung around school late and didn't go home until I knew Dad would be there because I was still embarrassed. I ran straight up to my room when I got home. I didn't want to go downstairs for dinner either but went when my father bellowed for me to get downstairs. I still felt sheepish but Mom acted as if nothing was wrong and I eventually lightened up. All through the weekend, nothing was said about Mom's dancing, or my laundry problem.
​

- - - - - - - - - - - -​

On Tuesday, I skipped last class again.

I slipped through the back door, which was unlocked, but didn't bother with the knife. The music wasn't as loud but Mom was dancing. I watched her for a while, getting more and more excited, leaning against the door jamb in a way that partially hid the effect Mom was having on me.

I was being pretty obvious, and creepy I guess, but I could help watching. Strangely, I had a sense that Mom knew I was there but she didn't look my way until the dance was over and she finished with a dip to her right knee, the left thrust forward, forceful and bare.

"Curtis," Mom said, looking as if she had just discovered I was there. "Are you playing hooky?"

"Hooky?" I asked, in a voice just as ordinary as the one in which she had asked, though I felt anything but normal.

"Skipping out," she explained.

"No, uh, I'm finished the section ahead of schedule so Mr. Garret told me I could study whatever I wanted to."

"Well, he didn't tell you to leave school, did he?"

Mom was still down on one knee, the full length of her left leg exposed, making it hard for me to concentrate on anything else.

"What?"

"I said, he didn't give you permission to leave school, did he?"

"Um, yeah, actually he did. He didn't want me to stay in class and the library is being used by another class during last period."

Mom got up and I glimpsed a flash of green panties.

"Well, don't sneak into the house."

"I heard the music and didn't want to disturb you."

Mom looked suddenly self-conscious. "You should have let me know you were there." Mom walked toward me, screening herself with her hands, looking down and away from me. "And you should stay at school to study," she said.

"I...you...uh, you're pretty good," I stammered.

Mom didn't reply as she swept past me and started up the stairs. I followed her like I had on Thursday. She sped up and whisked into her room, flinging the door but not hard enough for it to close so I entered her room.

"Mom."

"What?" Mom picked up a dress which had been discarded on the bed and held it in front of her, a far more effective screen than her hands had been. I noted various other items of clothing on the bed: pantyhose, a bra, and most interesting, panties.

"I need to get changed," Mom said, eyes cast down in embarrassment and posture clearly indicating I should leave.

I tried to think of something to say that would allow me to stay longer. My thoughts ran around in circles as Mom looked increasingly uncomfortable.

Finally, I blurted out, "I won't tell Dad."

I didn't know how Mom would react to that and was somewhat surprised when she looked up and I saw relief in her eyes. "You won't?"

I shook my head, relieved myself and unsure of what to say next, but I rolled with, "I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise."

"Good, because I'm not ready yet."

"It looked like you were. You're pretty good."

Mom's hand relaxed and the dress lowered a bit.

"You think so?"

"Yeah, you looked like you really know what you're doing. You look ready now, but it's your call."

Mom smiled, looking quite pleased, then frowned.

"You don't know anything about belly dancing."

"I know what looks good. Don't forget Jenny took a class."

This was a big lie but I wasn't going around with Jenny anymore so it was unlikely Mom would find out. That was the second lie I'd told Mom in not many more minutes which was quite unlike me. It showed just how much I didn't want to leave, or more to the point, how much I liked seeing Mom in this costume.

"I know. I saw her in one of my classes last week."

Holy shit, that was news to me. Anger surged within me. Jenny wouldn't even let me put my hand down her pants and she was taking belly dancing lessons for that fucker Johnson?

"What's the matter?" Mom asked, stepping toward me, looking concerned, forgetting about the dress which dropped lower, exposing more cleavage.

"Nothing," I said, removing the anger from my face. "It's just that, uh, Jenny dumped me."

"Oh no. Sweetie, I didn't know."

Mom raised a loving hand to my cheek and let the other, which was holding the dress, fall to her side. I tilted my head and cast my eyes downward, as if depressed, but really I was taking in the wonderful vista of Mom's swelling upper breasts and the intriguing separation between them. The skimpy costume left little to the imagination, exposing the inner swells of Mom's breasts to the point where they swept away from her chest. Mom pulled back to look at me and I averted my eyes just in time.

"You should have told me. I wouldn't have been so friendly if I'd known." Mom's eyes slid down and to the right as a thought struck her. "Come to think of it, Jenny did seem a little uncomfortable around me."

I dropped the crestfallen look and replaced it with a cheery one. "It's okay, Mom. I didn't like her all that much anyway. Though I have to say, I did like watching her belly dance."

"Poor baby."

Mom put her hand to my cheek. She wasn't worried about me missing out on watching Jenny dance. Instead, she was consoling me, interpreting my cheery expression as simply putting on a brave face. She obviously believed Jenny had hurt me and, in truth, she was right.

"I could watch you instead."

"Watch me? Oh no, I don't think so." The hand withdrew from my cheek.

"Well, how else are you going to know if you're good enough to show Dad? You want to be sure before you do it in front of him, don't you?"

The fear of embarrassment shone in Mom's eyes and I leapt on the opportunity to take advantage.

"I'm family, for crying out loud. You don't need to be shy in front of me. You're good, Mom, but you need to practise in front of an audience. Who better than me?"

"I suppose," Mom mused, but she didn't look convinced.

"Well, I guess you could just dive right in with Dad, put yourself right out there like."

I let my voice trail off and started to turn away but Mom reached out and grasped my arm. I turned back to look at her.

"I guess it would help it you watched to see if I make any big mistakes. I know you don't know about the finer aspects, like Mrs. Sadat, but like you said, you can see if I'm making a fool of myself."

I nodded. "I can do that," I assured her.

Mom brought the dress up between us as if she had suddenly become self-conscious again.

"Okay. So let me get dressed now and on Thursday you can watch me for a bit before Dad gets home."

I took hold of the dress and tugged it toward me.

"There's still time to practise before Dad gets home."

Mom shook her head. "Thursday," she said.

"Now," I insisted. "There's no sense putting off until tomorrow what can be done today."

Mom laughed, realizing I was teasing her with her own words. "Brat."

"Slacker," I retorted.

I tugged on the dress and Mom resisted but let it slide through her fingers. I didn't want to wait until Thursday in case she changed her mind and, anyway, if we got started now it would be less awkward on Thursday.

"Come on," I urged, pulling harder and gaining six inches of dress. "Don't be lazy."

Mom reluctantly let her hands go loose and the dress came free. I stepped back several feet, holding the dress in front of me like Mom had held it in front of her. I realized then that I was hard and probably had been, unbeknownst to both of us, the whole time we had been talking. Now it was I who was thankful for the cover.

The music was still playing downstairs. Mom canted her head to the side, listening to the song, then began to move her hips in mini-movements in time with the beat. She seemed a little hesitant and I wished we were downstairs in the shadowy living room where Mom had pulled the drapes but was afraid to suggest moving now that she had started.

"I'll set the mood," I said, moving toward the large windows.

I pulled the curtains closed but it didn't darken the room much so I followed with the heavier drapes. The room darkened so much that I had to turn on one of the bedside lamps. I sat on the edge of the bed, draped Mom's dress over my lap, and looked at Mom who was now sweeping more confidently across the floor with hips that did more than just twitch.

Mom avoided my eyes as she became more animated. I sat as still as I could, hoping Mom would forget I was there. Within a minute or so, she looked much like she had downstairs, cocking, swaying, and thrashing her hips. Though her movements were more muted than when she was dancing alone, and a tinge of self-consciousness hindered her performance, it was still wonderful to behold. In fact, it was so fantastic I was glad to have the dress tossed over my lap. Thus protected, I leaned back on the bed, bracing on hands stretched behind me, to enjoy Mom's dance in comfort.

My hands landed in something silky. It was Mom's underwear, the bra on the left and the panties on the right. I froze, momentarily panicked that Mom would see where my hands were and stop dancing to angrily decry my outrageous behavior but I needn't have worried. Mom was moving more fluidly now and seemed unaware of my presence, let alone what my hands were doing.

The feel of Mom's underwear in my hands, especially her panties, made my cock surge within my jeans. I scrunched my right hand, bunching Mom's panties until they were held in a ball within my fist. I leaned forward, bringing my right hand alongside my hip, and tried to shove the panties into my pocket when Mom's back was to me but missed on the first and second try because I was watching the swing and bump of Mom's ass.

Mom looked awesome. She really did know what she was doing which made me wonder how long she'd been at it. A long time, I suspected. From time to time, her legs were tantalizingly exposed, thrusting forcefully through the slits in the red skirt with even more abandon than I had previously witnessed. Mom seemed to have totally forgotten my presence and was really getting into the music. I was a little disgusted with myself for getting a boner over my own mother, but who wouldn't get a woody watching this? I felt an urge to rub my cock through my jeans and barely managed to kill the impulse.

Mom had turned to face me and was slowly shaking her way toward me with a saucy smile on her face. She was truly captivated by her role. My chest constricted and my eyes widened as I reacted to her undulating body, heated eyes and flashes of flesh competing for my attention. I could do little but stare, open and dry-mouthed. I wanted to cover my crotch, sure that my erection must be showing despite the dress thrown across my lap, but I couldn't move any more than I could breathe.

Just as it felt like I would die of asphyxiation, the music stopped and Mom slowly unwound, standing in front of me at the side of her bed, and laughed breathlessly, clearly delighted with her performance. Her eyes were wild with excitement and she breathed heavily from exertion. I remembered to breathe myself.

"So what do you think?"

"That was awesome, Mom."

"You really think so?" her eyes lit up even more, if that was possible.

"Absolutely," I confirmed enthusiastically, bathed in her excitement.

"I didn't make any mistakes?" Mom asked.

I shook my head. "No, you were perfect."

Mom was pleased but sought criticism anyway. "I couldn't have been perfect. I must have done something wrong."

"No," I said, slowly shaking my head, "your performance was flawless."

"So you think I'm ready for your father."

I felt a sudden and inexplicable urge to deny my father this special treat.

"I didn't say that."

"But you said..."

I jumped to my feet, bringing myself to a standing position close to Mom, poised to explain myself but scrambling to find the words. The dress fell off my legs, leaving my crotch unhidden, and all cognitive capacity suddenly deserted me. I tried to step past Mom because I had no explanation for why I thought she wasn't ready and knew I was incapable of coming up with one, but Mom grabbed my arm and held me back. Somehow I managed to keep myself partly turned away from her.

"Do you think your father would prefer a different style? There are different ways if that's what you mean."

"Yeah, I know," I said, stalling, hoping Mom would expand and provide me with a suitable reason for why she supposedly wasn't ready to dance for Dad.

"You're thinking of something in particular?"

I shook my head and the joy began to fade from Mom's face.

"Slower," I blurted.

"Slower? Hmmmm, well, I have to dance to the music, but...hmmmm, I'll...let me think about it."

"I mean, you were great, but..."

"No, don't worry about it. I appreciate your feedback, really I do. I think I actually do dance better with an audience."

"Yeah, well, anytime," I said, trying to appear nonchalant. I pulled my arm away from Mom. I needed to get away because my erection wasn't subsiding and I felt uncomfortable knowing that Mom only had to glance down to know what I really thought.

"Thanks, Curtis," Mom called as I exited her room and made a beeline for my room.

For the rest of the afternoon I tried not to think about Mom, especially when she was dancing. Away from the situation, I felt pretty uncomfortable about my reaction to her. Dinner that night dragged on forever and I escaped to my room as soon as possible.

However, once in bed, I kept thinking about Mom in ever more lurid detail. My cock was suddenly in my hand and I turned my face into the pillow, into Mom's panties, and pulled on my dick. By the time I exploded, I was mumbling into the pillow, "Mom, Mom." She returned, dreamily dancing toward me, breasts shimmying, hips shaking, and smiled at me with smoky eyes. A final burst emptied into my pajamas.
​

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

Thursday morning at the breakfast table, Mom asked me if I had a free period at school that day. I guess I wasn't awake yet because I responded, "No."

Mom looked disappointed, flashed a brief look at Dad who was reading some papers from work, and then looked at me more intently but I didn't respond. I was confused about her question because guilt about what I'd done last night soaked my brain.

At school, after lunch, the memory of Mom asking her question at breakfast popped into my mind again. El stupido! Of course. On Tuesday, I had used the excuse of a free class to explain why I was home early and she knew my schedule. I had a class with Mr. Garret on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I banged my hand against my forehead. Dimwit! Mom was probably wondering if I'd observe her dancing again.

I skipped my last class and beetled home. Sure enough, the sound of middle eastern music emanated from the house. I walked around to the back and noticed that the door had been left ajar. I slipped through the door, slung my bag off my shoulder and set it quietly on the floor, then approached the doorway to the living room.

Mom wasn't there but just as I started up to look for her she appeared at the top of the stairs, looking down at her side as she fussed with one of the veils attached to her costume. I stopped dead in my tracks. The outfit she was wearing was similar to the one she had worn the week before but this time it was green and gold and was, if anything, more revealing. Or, maybe I had just forgotten how good Mom looked in the other costume. Mom looked up, startled, and frowned when she saw it was me.

"I thought you didn't have a free period? You're not skipping out, are you?"

"No, no. I just forgot about it this morning."

Mom shook her head and walked past me. "You better screw that head of yours on before it falls off."

I turned as Mom passed by me. She was wearing a dark green bikini under the silky blouse and skirt. Everything shimmied nicely as she moved. At the bottom of the stairs, Mom stopped and turned around, almost catching me before I lifted my eyes.

"I need to play the music pretty loud. You should have stayed at school if you need to study."

"I'm all caught up. That's why I came home."

Mom turned and walked into the living room.

"I can watch, if you like."

"You don't have to," she said, turning the music up, "but suit yourself."

It was obvious from Mom's tone that she wanted me to watch her performance to make sure it was up to snuff but she had been miffed this morning when I didn't pick up on her hint. I yelled over the music as she started to move. "I forgot about my free period this morning," I said.

Mom put a hand to her ear, "What?"

I shouted louder. "I forgot about not having a class."

Mom acknowledged me with an off-the-cuff wave of hand so I plopped down onto Dad's chair and watched her dance. It was pretty tame compared to what she'd been doing but it was still worth watching. She rattled her hips and shook her shoulders, which made her breasts jiggle, but there weren't any dipping lunges with legs thrust through the slits in her skirt or fast twirls that spun it high to expose her thighs. I was somewhat disappointed and hoped she was just getting warmed up.

Mom finished the dance and then another no more exciting than the first followed by a third that was a little better. She stopped the music after that and sauntered into the kitchen with the matter-of-fact demeanor of a ballet dancer at rehearsal. Anyone familiar with these events knows that ballet dancers are athletes and backstage resembles the locker room at a football or hockey game more than a haven for artists.

Mom returned with a large glass of water and took a huge drink. Some dribbled from the corner of her mouth and onto her chin which she absently wiped away with the back of her hand as she looked at me with a blank expression and lifeless eyes. I couldn't read her which made me nervous.

Was she done? One moment I thought she was and the next I was sure she would continue and the dancing would get a lot better. I didn't know what was going to happen until Mom brushed past me, walked to the stereo and started the music, then began dancing to the gentle beat, swaying more than jiggling, and hips rolling rather than shaking. The skin on my balls, already pre-warmed, tightened, and my whole body tensed as I leaned forward to watch with greater concentration.

Mom moved fluidly around the room for several minutes, her pace constrained by the beat of the music, yet the intensity increased with each step. She wasn't dancing faster but the definite, controlled movements conveyed an impression of barely contained, pent-up energy and her hair whirled through the air when she spun around though she hardly moved faster than someone doing Tai Chi.

My cock strained against the confines of my jeans the first time Mom swooped low, right knee thrusting through her skirt and briefly exposing an expanse of thigh before she pulled out of the dip with her left leg, then dipped low with it too before quickly dragging herself out with the right, drawing it into line with the left and stopping in a pose that tightened the muscles in both legs beneath her arched back and thrusting breasts, head and hair tossed wildly back. Mom's arms remained stiff by her sides as she dipped her hips and thrust herself forward in an aggressive, grinding bump before swirling away in a flourish.

The rest of the dance continued like that, building slowly, then bursting forth in a continuous blaze of thrusts and straining poses, bumps and grinds, but never too quick for me to appreciate, and always sensuous, a perfect depiction of constrained, sexual fury. It was hot, Mom was hot—I was hot!

When the dance came to a crashing finale, Mom held her last pose, straining up on her toes for a long moment, then relaxed and turned to me, excited and pleased.

"Was that slow enough?" she teased, mocking me.

Though Mom didn't look at the obvious physical confirmation in my lap, I had the feeling she was aware that it was definitely enough. She picked up her glass and disappeared into the kitchen. Looking down at the bulge in my jeans, I wondered if she was giving me time to recover. I got up to sneak away to my room to relieve myself, or at least remove the evidence of my illicit thoughts, but Mom returned with a full glass of water. Another song started playing, one even slower than the last one.

"Where are you going?"

"Um, I...uh, I..."

Mom grabbed my wrist and my cracked voice dwindled to a mumble. Mom took a big swig of water and stared into my eyes as her mouth filled, over-flowed the corners and dribbled onto her chin. She didn't have a spare hand this time to wipe it away. She stood, looking at me, still breathing heavily, with that same expressionless face. She took another swig.

"Let me know if your father would like this one," she husked.

I nodded and Mom dragged me into the middle of the living room. She turned and gulped down the rest of the water, regarding me with the same indecipherable look she had at the base of the stairs. She tossed the empty glass carelessly onto the couch.

"Stay still," she said.

Mom started the song over and immediately began to dance. She swept slowly around, sometimes facing me and sometimes sliding by with her back or side toward me. It was quietly exciting, her perfume filling my nostrils as she swished around, almost as good as the musk of her body sweat.

But the most exciting thing was the way Mom looked at me. The expressionless face was gone and she no longer acted like I wasn't there. Sure, I was standing in for my father, but I was still part of the action, and the way Mom reveled in her steamy performance would have made a piece of wood get excited. There was no way I could hide how I felt, her presence was too powerful and the feelings it produced too strong. I was turned on and Mom knew it but rather than being put off she used my reaction to sink deeper into the dance.

Mom became wilder and wilder and she pulled me deeper into her world. I was sporting a huge erection but there was nothing I could do about it and I didn't much care. Mom never looked anywhere but at my face anyway but I knew by the glint of her eyes she was aware of the effect she was having on me. Mom was thrilled with the power of her dance.

As the music became more frenzied and Mom's dance matched its intensity, she began swirling closer and closer to me until, eventually, her body grazed mine. First, it was across my back, then my front as she scraped her vibrant ass across my bulge, then whirled around and brushed her breasts across my back. The music ended just as Mom flung herself to the floor in front of me, one foot stretched back and the other supporting a bare thigh thrust through the skirt toward me, as she tossed her head back and let her hair dangle to the floor.

Mom retained this final pose as the music ebbed away, more than long enough for me to look through the split skirt and take in the full, puffiness of her throbbing, sweat-drenched panties. I barely managed to meet Mom's eyes when she pulled her head up and fixed her triumphant gaze upon my face.

"Wow!" I cried. "Just wow."

Mom laughed and got to her feet. It was then I realized that Mom had been on her knees before me. She had been looking up at me but her face had still been even with my bulging jeans.

"You think your Dad will like it?"

"If he doesn't, he's dead inside."

Mom looked very pleased but when she looked down she laughed nervously and then looked away. It was a weird feeling, knowing she had looked right at the bulge in my jeans. It made me uneasy but at the same time, I loved it.

"I guess you would know," she said, then added right away, "Gosh, I need a drink."

I followed Mom into the kitchen, watched her fill a large glass and down it, focused on the water that spilled over her chin and dribbled onto her chest before trickling into her heaving cleavage. I waited while she refilled the glass and watched her drink it more slowly. We looked at each other in silence and I couldn't help letting my eyes wander down the length of her body. When I came to my senses, I looked up just as Mom turned away to refill the glass a third time.

For a minute, I thought she had been looking at my jeans but quickly dismissed the notion. I was turned on, and Mom was aware of it, but there was no way my sexual excitement could be reciprocated. Her excitement was completely derived from the dance and the realization that she was good, good enough to please my father. I could have been anybody, any man.

I turned away and went up to my room. Half way there, I realized what that meant. I could have been any man. Mom wanted to know if she was ready to dance for Dad and had danced in front of me as if I was a man. I started touching myself before I even got into my room.

After supper, I helped Mom clean up in the kitchen. She was in a good mood and whenever she crossed the kitchen, she danced a few steps. When she caught me watching her, she smiled and gave her hips an extra twitch, her eyes sparkling with deviltry. We shared a muted laugh.

That night in bed I thought about Mom kneeling on the floor before me but this time my cock miraculously flopped out and landed on her lower lip which seemed extra pouty for some reason. My glans bounced off that moist cushion and the upper ridge of my helmet scraped beneath Mom's upper front teeth on the way into her mouth. At that point, I filled my pajamas again and had to hide them under the bed with the pair from Wednesday. I made a note to wash them after school the next day because I couldn't rely on Mom missing the evidence again.
​

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

When I came home at the usual time on Friday afternoon, Mom greeted me cheerily. I went upstairs to get rid of my bag and change into my weekend grungies but stopped as soon as I entered my room. My pajama bottoms were piled, neatly folded, on the bed, although the rest of my laundry had been put away.

What did that mean? Was Mom sending a signal that she knew what I was doing and that I should stop? My face went red. I was too embarrassed to go downstairs so I hung around in my room playing video games but my heart wasn't in it. All I could think of was Mom, whirling around the room in her sexy costume, midriff bare, legs pushing through her skirt, eyes aflame. She would never dance in front of me like that again. I just knew it! I banged my forehead with a fist. Why hadn't I whacked off in the bathroom where I could flush the evidence away?

Reluctantly, I went downstairs when Mom called us for dinner. I couldn't look Mom in the face but she acted as if nothing had happened and the embarrassment of the crusty pajamas soon left my mind replaced by jealousy because Mom was particularly cheery and attentive to my father.

"So, I made a reservation at Milo's tomorrow night," Mom said when the conversation hit a lull.

"Milo's," Dad said. "Isn't that the Greek place?"

"Yes," Mom seemed very pleased.

"I hate Greek food," Dad complained.

"No you don't, dear. You've had it before and said you liked it."

"I have?"

"Yes. Remember, at the Carson's"

"Oh, then. I was just being polite."

"Well, then you were being very polite."

"Yes, but I didn't like it very much and it's worse at a restaurant. Half the time they have middle-aged women, who should know better, dancing around your table while you're trying to eat. Disgusting."

The conversation stopped dead. I could see Mom was hurt and trying not to cry. I tried to lighten things up but Dad ignored my comments and blithely continued denigrating Greek food and belly dancing while Mom sat silent, eyes cast down. I wished I could have taken a round out of my father right then.

I didn't sleep well that night but it wasn't from spanking the monkey. I felt bad for Mom. She had been taking lessons for at least a year if not more and had become quite good, all for her husband, and he pissed all over her parade. Sure, he didn't know it, but even if Mom did dance for him and he feigned appreciation, it wouldn't be any good. Mom wasn't looking for sympathy, she wanted to put a spark back into her marriage, and Dad's ignorant words had crushed her. I hated him for it.

I got up early the next morning even though it was Saturday. I wanted to cheer Mom up but she was still in bed. Dad had already eaten and was getting ready to go out.

"Where's Mom?"

"She's still in bed. She's not feeling well."

"What's wrong with her?"

"I don't know. Maybe one of those woman things." Dad smiled at me and opened the door. He left.

I made myself some toast and ate it with a tall glass of orange juice. After breakfast, I watched TV for an hour, waiting for Mom to come downstairs but she didn't so I made some more toast and took it upstairs with some juice.​