Incest/Taboo Mom, You Deserve a Good Lover

Over the years I've enjoyed many a Literotica story recounting the happy results of a mother stumbling on her son's pornography collection, or a daughter finding her father's secret stash, or... You get the picture. I've been wanting to try something along those lines. Here it is; I hope you enjoy.

This story is fiction; Jodi Palmer, its heroine, and the Osé are not. Jodi is based on a court reporter I know. The Osé came to my attention when I read how it'd been stripped of an innovation award and banned from the 2019 Las Vegas Consumer Electronics Show for being immoral.

As always, all story characters engaged in sexual activities are eighteen years of age or older.
​

* * * * *​

Mom texted. She'd be working late covering a deposition for one of the firm's other court reporters. Since Dad was out-of-town I was on my own.

I texted Sharon, invited her over for a massage. A month after we started dating Sharon suggested we take a massage class taught by her mother, Alex. I, of course, said yes. Any excuse to touch Sharon or check-out her mother – there was no mystery where Sharon got her hair, a rust color in contrast to her mother's flaming red, freckles, and general good looks – was welcome. Added bonus: little got my girlfriend's engines roaring like receiving, or giving, a massage.

I set up the massage table in the home theater then headed for Dad's computer to down-load massage porn. The best place to hide a tree? A forest. The best place to hide porn? Dad's computer, which was stuffed with it without discernible pattern or organization. My plan: spice up our massage by running massage porn – massage morphs into big-dicked masseuse fucking hot female client – through the television. My goal: wicked hot sex.
​

* * * * *​

I knew about Dad's porn, figured Mom had to – at night he'd disappear into his office, purportedly to check e-mails and work schedules, emerging thirty minutes later winded and flushed – and assumed Mom was happy to let Dad get his relatively innocent jollies. They rarely displayed physical affection for each other any more and I couldn't recall the last time they'd done it. From Mom's point of view it made sense. Dad, the co-owner of a small trucking company, letting his sedentary lifestyle and bad diet get to him, had grown, was growing ever wider.

From Dad's, not so much. Mom was perfect. Knowing that male lawyers, still a substantial majority in the insurance defense bar that dominated her clientele, preferred a court reporter who showed up on time, provided timely accurate transcripts, dressed professionally, did not mind the occasional rush job or working late, and was easy on the eyes, Mom worked hard on being easy on the eyes. A fixture at the gym, she was thin and, except for "C" breasts (she'd had work done) that looked even bigger on her slender toned frame, curve-free. If you approached her from the rear, her five foot three inch body dressed in a tight but appropriate suit, blonde highlighted hair in a pony-tail, moving gracefully on omnipresent heels rolling her equipment behind her, you'd swear she was in her twenties. It was only when you caught up with her and studied her narrow face and saw the wrinkles around her violet eyes, at the corners of her thin lips, on her hands, that you knew she was approaching forty.

Still there was something of the ice princess to her. She was meticulous, hair, make-up, clothes always just right, speech and diction impeccable, polite, formal, funny but never flirty, posture erect, manners irreproachable. The message: you could look, but keep your distance.

In re-reading this I see I've drawn a too negative a picture of my parents' marriage. We lived a good life, wanted for nothing. My parents liked each other, talked every day, never let a fight get out of control, and no one could make my mother laugh, a comical gut-busting laugh that shook her tiny frame, like my father. They were no longer lovers, but they were best friends.
​

* * * * *​

I've digressed, let me get back to my story. While downloading massage porn into my Dad's computer I noticed someone had opened a link to the porn that morning. Only Mom had been home. Mom watched porn? I knew Mom's sex drive was intact; I'd discovered a small pink vibrator in the back of her lingerie drawer, but still, my mother, the Queen of Appropriate, watched porn? I checked; it had been open for 22 minutes. Had Mom masturbated? My Mom, the ice queen, masturbated to porn?

I opened the drawer, took a picture of the vibrator. When next she used it I'd know.
​

* * * * *​

With massage porn playing on the television I finished Sharon's back and said, "Roll over."

Sharon did, and keeping an eye on the television, where the brunette masseuse dripped oil onto her customer's cock, stroked its impressive length with delicate strong hands.

I worked Sharon's breasts, changing motion and pressure, trapping her nipples between my fingers. Sharon, pussy lips swollen and wet, moaned.

On the televison the masseuse pulled her shirt over her head, covered her large tear-drop breasts with oil, climbed onto the massage table, leaned forward, captured her customer's cock between those tits.

Cork-screwing two fingers into Sharon's vagina I said, "You're soaking wet babe."

"You have talented hands."

A drop of sweat formed on Sharon's forehead, flowed down the side of her face.

I dragged my fingertips on the roof of her vagina and Sharon, locking her fingers on the edge of the table, moaned.

The movement of her hips letting me know what she wanted, I swirled my thumb on her clitoris, leaned down, kissed her, slid my tongue behind her lips, around the inside of her mouth, covered an oily breast with a hand, rolled her nipple between my fingers, moved my mouth to her ear, nibbled sucked an ear lobe, said, "I love your body, love to touch it."

The juice flowing from her sex rippled past my fingers. Curling a finger I ran it through the folds of her labia, did it again, again, bringing her closer, closer.

Her throbbing clit shed its hood, stood straight and tall.

"How does that feel babe, is your cunt on fire?"

She moaned squeaked, "Yes, fuck yes."

I surfed my pinkie on a stream of her juice to her anus, said, "You love this. You're a naughty girl who loves having her asshole played with."

"Unnhhh."

Her eyes were closed, her mouth open, her tongue flicked across her lips.

"You're a hot cunt."

"Uunnnhhhhh."

I pushed her to the edge of a powerful orgasm, eased off, walked her back, did it again, then again and again until her unfulfilled desire became an ecstatic torture and she begged, "Please, please, I can't stand any more, don't tease, I need it, I need it, I need it."

Wiggling the tip of my finger on her anus I said, "Please is not the magic word tonight. Instead, repeat after me, 'I'm a dirty girl who loves having her asshole stroked.'"

Groaning in need and despair, lips quivering, she said, "Please, yes please, my asshole."

"Close."

"Okay, I'm a dirty girl who loves having her asshole stroked."

"Again."

"Oh yessssss, I'm a dirty girl who loves having her asshole stroked."`

I sank the first digit of my pinkie into her anus; I played with her clit. My beautiful red-headed girlfriend groaning her delight had become a musical instrument and I the virtuoso. Jobbering, "Don't stop, please, please don't stop, please, oh..., oh..., of..., of..., ohgod, ohgod, ohmigod, aaaaahhh, nnnngggh, aaaaannnnhhh," she rolled her distended nipples between her fingers, bucked her hips, and, as we completed the coda screamed, "Oh, fuck yes, fuck yes, fuck yes, I'm coming," and detonated. I continued working her and another, then another, orgasm ripped through her until spent, gasping for air, flopping her hand atop mine she whispered, "Please stop, please stop," and, one leg quivering, slumped into the table.

I leaned down, kissed her, but at a groan of pleasure from the television Sharon turned her head to see the on-screen masseuse swallow her customer's cock.

Sharon reached for my dick. The actress was good; Sharon was better, much better.
​

* * * * *​

After Sharon left I folded up the massage table, returned it to the closet, went to my parent's bedroom, labeled the videos we'd watched "Massage Room" and scattered them through Dad's collection – clumped together they might draw attention. I showered, washed the smell of sex off me, and when Mom got home helped unload her gear, asked how her day went.

"Long and dull, the deposition was about accounting. They want to start early tomorrow. Before I hit the sack I'm going to have a cup of tea, watch a little television. Wanna join me?"

We made tea, I told her about school, nothing new there, that I'd invited Sharon over – Mom liked Sharon – for a massage, which is when we entered the home theater. It smelled of the afternoon's sex. Having earlier grown acclimated to it I'd not thought to open a window. Now I looked at Mom who, nostrils flaring, turned to me with a half smile and said, "Y'know dear, I like Sharon, much better then what's her name," my mother's pet name for a previous girlfriend, "but if you become intimate remember, use protection. I'm not ready to be a grandmother."
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* * * * *​

The next morning I loaded Mom's equipment while she, looking smashingly good, grabbed a cup of coffee, a protein bar, and kissed me good-bye. After she drove off I went to her bedroom to check the computer. Last night she'd opened and watched one of the videos I'd labeled "Massage Room," done so long enough to masturbate. I opened her lingerie draw, called up the picture on my phone. The vibrator had been moved. I picked it up, sniffed it, detected an odor, returned it to the same position, took another photograph.

Had Sharon and I inspired my mother to masturbate? Had we inspired her choice of porn?
​

* * * * *​

It was said Mr. Hunakee had not varied the routine during his 37 years of teaching. I can't vouch for that, although it had been immutable during my four years of high school. He'd ride his bicycle the three blocks home, eat lunch with his wife, in good weather on the front porch, and ride back. This meant his chemistry lab was empty and so, after popping the rear door lock with my driver's license, it was where Sharon and I grabbed a quickie while our classmates chowed down.

After we were done I told her I'd discovered that Mom not only watched porn but, last night, after determining Sharon and I had sex, Mom had masturbated to massage porn.

Nonplused Sharon said, "You act surprised. You said she and your Dad don't do it anymore. Your Mom's a beautiful woman in her sexual prime. Of course she masturbates, of course she has toys. You know my Mom does."

Pushing the image of Sharon's hot mom pressing a vibrator to her sex from my mind I said, "I guess I don't think of Mom as having a sexual side. I know she's pretty, but that's for work. She's stand-offish, never flirts, is always appropriate and professional. Who'd guess she dug porn?"

With an exasperated roll of her eyes Sharon said, "Men! As hard as your Mom works to look as good as she does, with those implants, the way she dresses – classy, but never lets you forget she's built like a brick shithouse – you think that's an accident, you thinks that's for work? Your Mom likes eyes on her. Yeah, there's a sexual side to her, you just need to notice."
​

* * * * *​

Dad got home that night. We celebrated over pizza. Over the next few days he spent a lot time in his office catching up on company business and downloading porn.
​

* * * * *​

With Dad going back out on the road Mom prepared his favorite breakfast, chocolate chip pancakes, bacon, and orange juice. I joined them in the kitchen.

"Smell's great Mom. Can I top off your coffee Dad?"

"Thanks champ."

"Where ya' headin'?"

"Seattle. It'll be a week. Make sure to take good care of your mother."

"I doubt she needs me..."

"Don't be silly son, a lady always wants someone looking out for her. Now why don't you boys sit down, it's almost ready."

I turned my attention to Mom. She looked good. After my talk with Sharon not only was I seeing Mom's sexual edge, I could see little else. Hair in a bun, make-up perfect, dressed in a pencil skirt, leather heels, and a white loose-fitting white blouse that failed to hide her ample bosom, Mom was professional. She was also spectacular.

I said, "Mom, you look great. How do you manage to cook pancakes and bacon without getting a spot on yourself? Big deposition today?"

With an appreciative smile she said, "Thank you honey. The deposition should go all day. What are your plans?"

"Sharon and I will hang here. She owes me a massage."

Knowing Sharon and I were unlikely to stop at a massage Mom was, as always, imperturbable.

"That's wonderful son. Remember what we talked about."
​

* * * * *​

Providing fair warning Mom called on the way home asking what we wanted for dinner; we chose Thai. Once home I carried in her gear, Sharon helped unload the food, and when Mom entered the house she sniffed, noting the lingering smell of sex. I'd left the windows shut, this time on purpose.
​

* * * * *​

We ate, sat on the couch, shared our days. Mom said the deposition would run the rest of the week.

Sharon asked, "Do your fingers get tired?"

Mom said, "Sometimes."

Scooting closer, Sharon laid Mom's hand, palm up, on her thigh, dragged her thumb along the base of Mom's fingers, said, "How does this feel?"

"Mmmm..., nice, real nice."

Sharon said, "Sam, take her other hand," and for the next ten minutes we assiduously worked, Mom murmuring happy approval. When we finished Mom made two fists, stretched her fingers, and, as if not believing how good her hands felt, said, "That was wonderful, thank you."

"See, it pays to have your son date the daughter of a masseuse."

Mom, looking at her hands, said, "Sure does."
​

* * * * *​

That night, leaning on the headboard of her bed, caressing her breasts, Mom watched one of the videos I'd downloaded. Mom pressed her vibrator to a nipple, moved it down her body to her clit. On screen a massage, innocent at initiation, had turned erotic. The masseuse ran talented hands between his client's legs, across her pert breasts.
​

* * * * *​

The deposition took three days. Each evening Sharon and I massaged Mom's hands and arms, then her neck and shoulders, on the final day calves and feet. In the morning I'd check her computer. Her fantasy life tracking her real life Mom was watching massage porn. On the final day Sharon said, "Y'know Ms. P, Mom's teaching a seminar this weekend and her volunteer subject just canceled. Could you substitute? It'd be a couple of hours of free massage and a chance for you and Mom to get to know each other."

"I've never done that before."

"No reason for concern, you're the ideal subject."

"Why's that?"

"You have the perfect body for it. You're in great shape, slender with well-defined muscles. It makes it so much easier to demonstrate technique."

Mom looked at me and I said, "Who can argue with a two hour massage? Plus Sharon's right, it's a great way to get our moms together."

Tone positive Mom said, "What should I wear?"

Sharon said, "Something casual, Mom will provide your clothes."

"What time?"

"Noon to two, but try to be fifteen minutes early so you can get ready."

Taking a second to run her schedule though her head Mom said, "I'd love to."
​

* * * * *​

Her studio not being large enough to accommodate the twelve people who'd signed up for her class, Alex borrowed a friend's yoga studio. Sharon and I were setting up the massage tables when Mom, hair, make-up, and clothes – jeans and tee-shirt – impeccable, pulled up in of her BMW.

"Alex, my Mom's here."

Alex said, "Good, there's more than enough time to change," opened the building's door, welcomed Mom with a kiss, said, "Ms. Palmer it's so nice to finally meet you."

"My pleasure Ms. Mann."

"Please, it's Alexandra, but call me Alex, everyone does."

Mom said, "Thank you. It's Jodi."
​

* * * * *​

"My name is Alex Mann. This is Jodi Palmer, she's my demonstration subject although I'll move through the room to work with each of you individually. Jodi please lay on your stomach."

Multiple sets of eyes on her toned body, her full breasts on display in a white cotton sleeveless tee-shirt, Mom, moving with her usual grace, slid onto the massage table.

Alex went on. "I also want to introduce you to Sharon and Sam. They'll assist me today. Sharon is my daughter; Sam is Sharon's beau and Jodi's son. Now let's get started."

For the next two hours and ten minutes – Alex lets her classes run long, people love thinking they're getting something for nothing – Mom was the center of attention with hands, Alex's, Sharon's, and mine, working her body. And while the massage was not overtly sexual, it didn't need to be. The pornography Mom had been watching had already coupled massage and sex in Mom's mind.

Finally Alex said, "That's it for today. Thank you for coming. If you have any questions or suggestions text or e-mail me, my numbers are on the web-site."

The class gathered their things, Mom stood, stretched, took this final opportunity to show off her killer form, and Alex said, "Jodi, after a class I like to decompress over a cup of tea. Do you have a few minutes? The kids will break down the tables."

Feeling an unusual intimacy for this new friend– a two hour massage does that – deciding the burn between her legs could wait, Mom said, "That sounds wonderful," sat in one of the director's chairs in the back of the room and marinated in the lingering effect of the massage as Alex set a tea pot and two cups on the wicker table between them, said, "Sam tells me your husband's a trucker, he's on the road a lot."

Leaning forward for her cup of tea, enjoying the sensation of her erect nipples dragging on the soft cotton fabric of her shirt, Mom said, "Not as much as he used to, but a lot recently. He and a friend own the company, but it's small, ten trucks, so when it gets busy he has to pitch in and business has been good lately. He's on the road right now. What's your situation? Sharon never mentions her Dad."

"We divorced when she was young; Sharon barely knew him. He visited a few times those first couple of years, which was more often than he paid child support, then disappeared. Last year there was a question about her family medical history and I hired a private detective. She learned he'd passed away, opiods, five years ago. It was sad; he died alone."

The conversation was interrupted when, Sharon and I returning to the room, I said, "This is the last table Ms. M, do you need anything else?"

"No Sam, I'll close up."

Sharon, mischievous glint in her eyes, said, "Mom I know you want us to unload the tables at the house, but do we need to do that now? There are couple of things we'd like to do first."

"That's fine, no rush."

"Thanks Mom."

Watching us drive off Alex said, "Young people in heat, those two can't get enough of each other."

Mom, surprised by Alex's frankness, said, "Yeah, I'm not sure how I feel about it. Today's kids seem so much more relaxed about sex than we were."

"Yeah, and not that you asked, but my daughter has an implant – I took her myself – and gets regular check-ups; she's disease free, says so is your son. I'm partially to blame. I introduced them to massage. Sitting together at the house, in front of the television or whatever, they start rubbing each other's necks and you watch them heat up. Next thing I know there's this party they have to go to. Yeah, a two person party. They come home a couple of hours later happy and smelling of sex. But at least they have each other, right now all I have is my toys."

Mom, unsure of how to respond to this unexpurgated confession, offered an unspecific, "Really?" which Alex took as permission to go on.

"Yes, I have few, and just discovered the Osé, my new best friend."

Curious, Mom said, "What's an Osé?"

"Oh honey, with your husband on the road you need an Osé. It's the cutting edge in female self-pleasure, delivers a hands-free blended orgasm, mimics a real life partner who knows what he's doing, and god knows there are too few of them. It provides all the sensations of a human mouth, tongue, and fingers, hits all the right spots, flexes and adapts to your body, and there's no buzzing desensitizing vibrations. The best thing? It leaves your hands free and god, do we girls know there's better uses for our hands."

Captured by Alex's uninhibited enthusiasm Mom leaned forward and said, "What's a blended orgasm?"

"It's what happens with a guy who knows what he's doing. A combined clitoral and g-spot orgasm, which means you're hitting both places just the right way, which means you have an experienced talented to-die-for partner or an Osé. You slip the Osé's g-spot massager inside; it uses a come-hither motion. The clitoral massager covers your clit on the outside. It feels like a huge fricking mouth pulsing on your entire fricking clitoris. I didn't know how big my clit was until I got my Osé. And it's made of silicone, you can bring it, use it anywhere."

Mom said, "So this thing is real? You've used one?"

Alex said, "Sure have, planning to do so again when I get home. I'll text you the web-site and testimonials from women who've used them. The videos are classy, beautiful women in elegant lingerie who show how to use it, tell you how great it is. I love mine, my girlfriends love theirs, you will too, but," checking the clock on the wall, said, "I see it's time to clean up. My friend is leading a yoga class this evening."

Mom said, "Y'know I've never done yoga."

Alex said, "With your build and flexibility you'd be a natural. If your interested I'll bring you to a class, introduce you to Becky. There are beginner classes at 6:30 all week."

Mom said, "I'd like that, and let me give you a hand cleaning up. My way of thanking you for the wonderful massage."
​

* * * * *​

Mom got home, stripped, refreshed her computer, smiled when she saw she'd forgotten to close the massage porn she'd been watching before heading for the workshop. What if her husband had come home, found she'd dipped into his supposedly secret stash? Would he be embarrassed, angry, turned on? If the latter maybe he'd deliver the kind of power fuck he hadn't in years.

She logged onto, studied the Osé site, turned to the testimonials where two women, like Mom in their late thirties, large breasts on slender toned bodies, fair-skinned, hair highlighted blonde and in a pony tail, demonstrated the use of an Osé. And while, as Alex promised, the videos were classy, they were also pornographic. Mom's fingers found their way to the space between her legs.

Two days later an unmarked UPS delivery was waiting at the front door. I googled the return address; Mom was the proud owner of an Osé. The next day I opened the computer, determined that after some exploring Mom had found racier videos of women using their Osés, masturbating together, masturbating each other. I opened the lingerie drawer, picked up the Osé, sniffed – it smelled of sex – replaced it, took a picture.
​

* * * * *​

"You kids done?"

I opened my eyes. Alex, in her yoga outfit, was standing in Sharon's bedroom door holding a pitcher of water and three plastic cups. Sharon, voice sleepy and speech slurred, glanced at the clock and said, "Hey Mom, looks like we lost track of time."

She said, "You did, but I'm also home early. I called, but it appears you were preoccupied. Jodi and I had to cut our usual cup of tea after yoga short, she has a rush job on a transcript," then, turning her attention on me, said, "Still young man, if you're going to have sex with my daughter you should be done and cleaned up before I get home. You don't want to throw it in my face."

Sharon and I slid up the bed, leaned against the headboard, I said, "Sorry ma'am, I guess I'm a bad boy," and Sharon, reaching for one of the glasses of water, the sheet falling from her naked torso, her breasts swaying with the movement, concurred, saying, "He's very bad Mama."

Alex sat at our feet and said, "Sam, your Mom told me she loves her Osé, thanked me for introducing her to it. Tell me, how's she been using it?"

"The first day she watched the videos you suggested. Then she went searching, found videos of women using them together, branched out to other sex toys, watched some exhibitionist stuff. You were right about the lingerie, from the state of her drawer it's clear she wears it while she masturbates."

Turning to her daughter Alex said, "What have you noticed?"

"She's still Miss Manners, but her sexual side is definitely coming out. At the gym this week she wore leggings, she's never done that before, and had a wandering, if subtle, eye, checked out the guys. When doing squats she checked out the eyes checking her out, dug the attention. On the way home she mentioned a couple of random hot guys – she's never done that before – gently chided me when I said I did the same, said I'd make Sam jealous.

Pulling her yoga shirt over her head, tossing it onto a chair, Alex said, "Yeah, at the coffee shop she preened for, kept an eye on this cute Barista, then, feeling guilty, talked about her husband, trying to balance her burgeoning libido with fidelity. I think it's time she was my guest at another massage class."
​

* * * * *​

Unusual for my perennially prompt mother she pulled up a couple of minutes before class began; she'd dawdled, diddling herself while watching a favorite piece of massage porn. For her first stint as a model she'd come in a tee-shirt and jeans, but this time she'd gone shopping and her stylish sleeveless white cotton tank top and pants, snug in the right places, emphasized the gentle swell of her rump, her toned body, her bra-less breasts.

The center of attention, apologizing for being late, laying her bag to the side, Mom slid onto Alex's massage table.

For the next two plus hours hands were on her: Alex's primarily, but Sharon or I when Alex would wander the class answering questions, offering instruction and encouragement. And while neck rubs and foot and hand massages had become de rigeur at home, I went further, working my hands up the sides of her body, along the swell of her breasts, across the top of her chest. Alex and Sharon, more brazen, lavished attention on Mom's inner thighs and butt cheeks.

As we worked Mom's breathing slowed, her body warmed, an occasional low moan escaped her mouth.

At class's end, skin flushed, eyes dilated, Mom sat up, wet her lips, exhaled slowly smoothly. If you studied her breasts, and I did, you saw the outline of blood-engorged nipples.

As Mom savored the sensations pulsing through her Alex thanked everyone, asked Sharon and I to break down and load the tables, invited Mom to join her for a glass of tea.
​

* * * * *​

As Sharon and I drove off Alex locked the door, turned to Mom, said, "God I'm turned on. Little gets me going like giving or receiving a massage."

Mom, sitting in her director's chair, said, "You may be right, but I can't believe I'm doing this. I've never done anything like it."

Alex sat in the chair opposite Mom and said, "Why not? We mature ladies need to take care of our own needs, supply our own fantasies and desires."

"Yeah, but you're single, I'm not. Is it cheating? It feels like cheating."

"No, it's masturbating, what's wrong with masturbating, and what do you suggest? You love your husband, don't want the scandal and mess of an affair, divorce doesn't make sense, so what's the alternative? Abdicate control of your sex life, deny your needs and desires? Of course not. Instead find a safe place and push the edge of the envelope."

Mom said, "Okay, but you first."

Saying, "Certainly,"Alex casually pulled her tee-shirt over her head, her shorts down her legs, undid her bra, set it on a table beside her. Then, letting her legs drift apart, she watched Mom's eyes drop from her face to her breasts, natural "B's," spotted with freckles, splayed to the side, before focusing on the flaming red bush between Alex's legs.

Alex said, "I'm not as fit or toned as you, but still, whatta ya think?"

Mom paused, swallowed, said, "Don't sell yourself short, you're in great shape," and adding, "I can't believe I let you talk me into doing this," pulled her white tee over her head, worked her light cotton pants past her hips and down her legs. As the room's cold air hit her wet pubes Mom shuddered, looked up, saw Alex, her eyes locked on Mom's sex.

Alex said, "I've never gone bald down there. Is it comfortable? Do you shave, do you wax?"

Mom, who'd become fixated on the cue ball cunts omnipresent in her pornography, said, "I got a wax a week ago, my first time. Hurt at first, felt a combination of uncomfortable and strange the next few days. Now it feels sexy, my own sexy secret. You ever consider it?"'

"I considered it a few times, but hair as red as mine is rare, it seemed a shame to waste it."

Alex opened her legs, ran a hand down her body, stopped an inch from her sex, and Mom, any lingering embarrassment crumpling before her raging libido, accepted the invitation and took a studied look, comparing Alex's bushy cunt to the video ones that were her daily companions, swallowed, and with complete conviction said, "You're right, such beauty should be preserved."

Pulling the tie from her hair Alex shook her head, stood, and, her graceful form on full display walked across the room, handed Mom her bag, and returning to her chair said, "Good, I think it's time we got started. Don't worry, it'll be fun."

Mom said, "Okay, but you first," and Alex pulled a finger vibrator from her bag, turned it on, pressed it between her breasts, ran it down her body, let out a long languid exhalation.

Mom, thinking this was so much better than porn, retrieved the vibrator from her bag, leaned back in her chair, dragged it on the inside of her thighs, around her sex, across her trim stomach to the sensitive underside of her breasts.

Each woman trailed the fingertips of their free hand on their torso, cupped a breast, squeezed, dragged a thumb across a nipple, felt the pressure grow.

Alex, starring at Mom, said, "You're so sexy."

Too aroused to be embarrassed Mom said, "Thank you," and pressed the vibrator to her plump vaginal lips.

Alex, circling her throbbing nipples with her vibrator, replied, "You're welcome," and spread her labia, exposed her clit – a little British soldier, tall, erect, and red – pushed a finger inside her sex. She reached into her bag, retrieved her Osé.

Mom, voice slurred with lust and desire, said, "Oh yes," and retrieved hers.

Each watched the other press the toy's curved tail to the mouth of her sex, rock it back and forth; the Osé, coated with juice, flexed, adapted, slid inside their body. Next they moved the outside bulb over their clits, leaned back in their chairs, closed their eyes, and, knowing the Osé would remain in place, ran their hands on their torsos, their fingers as light as feathers.

The Osés worked their magic. Micro-robotics, pulsing air flow, thumping come-hither motion. Juice flowed; g-spots throbbed; enflamed clits burned bright.

Hands, exploring chests thighs tits, became less gentle, grew more forceful.

The room filled with soft moans and heavy breathing, smelled of arousal and need.

Alex said, "Doing this together is so fricking hot."

Opening her eyes, seeing her friend's undulating body, the good girl in her reveling in the guilty pleasure, Mom wheezed out, "Yesss..."

Having hooked her target Alex reeled her in. "You've got perfect breasts."

Mom thumbed her nipples, said, "The best money can buy."

Panting, wetting her lips, Alex said, "Fricking priceless."

Mom sputtered, "Thank... uunnnhhh... you... uunnnnhhhh."

The women rocked their hips, wished their Osés were attached to a man, a man who knew how to fuck you silly, who'd make you come and come until you were sure you'd die.

Drunk on the site of her beautiful red-headed friend's undulating body, Mom jerked her hips in short hard motions, punctuating each with a guttural, "Unh, unh, unh, unh, unh, unh, unh, unh, unh."

It was burrowing through her, growing, unstoppable.

Seeing Mom was about to come Alex, voice intense and needy, added fuel to the fire. "This is so fricking hot, you're so sexy, so beautiful. Come for me girl, come for me, come you sexy bitch."

No pornography could equal Alex's sexy stare, forbidden words, writhing body. Mom's clit and g-spot merged, became a single pulsing pulsating raging thing. Mom squeezed her breasts, twisted her nipples, brayed, "Oh god yes, I'm so glad, so glad, I let you, let you, let you talk me, let you talk me, let you, into this. Oh yes, oh yes, yes yes yes yes, oh yes, oh Alex, oh yes Alex, yes, yes, yes, Alex Alex Alex I'm ffrriiiggiiinggg comminnnngggggggg...," the spasming walls of her cunt caressing clutching the Osé as if it was a cock, a perfect cock.

The sight of Mom's jerking body, the sound of her animal groans, sent Alex over the edge and moaning, "Me fricking too..." her convulsing body rattled and shook her chair until, skin flushed and covered in perspiration, spent and exhausted, legs spread wide, arms hanging to the floor, she slumped back in her chair.

And with Mom starring right at her Alex said, "Watch this beautiful," and employing the core developed by years of yoga, flexed her stomach muscles and pushed the Osé from her body. Mom, watching in fascination, said, "I can't believe you just did that; I can't believe I just did this."

Alex laughed, said, "Y'know my point of view."

"Yes, we older ladies need to look out for own needs, regardless."

"Exactly, so instead of worrying if you went too far, why not think of what else you might do."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Oh honey, there are few limits to my imagination, but in good time, in good time."
​

* * * * *​

On returning home from our date Sharon and I heard, "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, yes baby, oh yes, yes, yes, YES, YES, YES, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, I'M CCOOOMMMIIINNNGGGGG, E-YANNNNNHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!

After waiting a long enough to ensure Alex was not entertaining, Sharon and I stuck our heads in her bedroom. Naked, glistening with sweat, her muscles slack, she leaned on the headboard taking long cleansing breaths. On the bed beside her was her phone, between her legs – her bright red pubic hair was plastered to her skin – was her Osé, and on the screen of her televison were three beautiful young women in heels and skin tight dresses home from a night of clubbing, complaining about the fruitless search for Mr. Right, deciding it was time for Ms. Right, peeling off each other's clothes.

Sharon said, "Hey Mom, you look like you could use a glass of water."

Alex smiled and said, "Sure could."

We returned with two, both of which Alex drained before saying, "I was just on the phone with your Mom. We watched lesbian porn, masturbated together. Second time this week. It's time she met Colette."
​

* * * * *​

The small Victorian house was located in a residential neighborhood, its owner having secured a zoning waiver allowing her to operate a shop in the front two rooms of her home. When Alex opened the door a bell rang, an actual bell, not an electronic one, and a voice came from the back of the shop. "I'll be right with you."

Alex said, "No reason to rush Colette, it's me, Alex, and the friend I mentioned."

Mom looked around. The vintage lingerie was beautiful. The small feminine shop smelled of fresh lilac

There were the rustling sound of a body brushing against clothing and my mother found herself looking at the face of a stout woman who..., it was hard to tell. The youthful sparkle in her eyes and healthy skin were contrasted by short red-brown shoulder-length hair dabbled with gray and the knowing wisdom of a countenance suggesting a woman of experience.

Alex stepped forward, embraced the woman, turned to Mom, said, "Jodi, this is my friend Colette, she owns this wonderful shop. Colette this is Jodi, the woman I spoke of."

Leaning in to kiss Mom's cheek Colette said, "It's good to meet you. You're every bit the beauty Alex described. Please look around while I pour everyone a glass of wine."

As Colette headed for the back Mom's eyes were drawn to two corsets, one made of brown leather, studded with straps and metal clasps, the other of elegant red satin. Both were designed to be worn on the outside.

Returning with the wine Colette said, "Have you seen anything you like?"

Alex nodded her head towards the corsets and said, "Jodi seems fascinated by these."

Colette said, "They're among my favorites. They bring out a lady's bawdy side. Would you like to try them on?"

Mom said, "If it wouldn't be any trouble."

"None at all, although the leather one's a bit complicated. Have you worn anything like it before?"

Conscious of her relatively innocent past my mother flushed a bit red and said, "No."

"I see I've embarrassed you, I apologize. I was asking to see whether you could use a hand."

Mom, confused by the corset's array of buckles and snaps, said, "It's fine and yes, I'd love your help."

Removing the corset from the rack Colette said, "Alex, we'll be a few minutes. Would you mind the shop?"
​

* * * * *​

Mom expected a department store dressing room – small, barren, swinging door, relatively private – but followed Colette into what was another room of the house. Although exquisitely decorated there was no privacy, she'd be undressing in front of a woman she barely knew. Six months ago she wouldn't have done it, and while she briefly hesitated, spurred on by the recent nurturing of her exhibitionist side, knowing Alex trusted Colette, and Colette's nonchalance Mom kicked off her flats, took off her shirt, bra, and jeans, and when Colette, scanning her up and down, said, "You have the perfect build for this," enjoying the attention Mom said, "What do you mean?"

Colette said, "Big boobs, tiny waist, and so strong, your body's made for this corset. The contrast with your hair will also bring out its color. The first thing to do is adjust the cups," and moving behind Mom wrapped a measuring tape around her chest, her warm fingers brushing Mom's breasts. Mom, thinking of the lesbian porn she'd been watching recently, felt stabs of pleasure as Colette, touch gentle and sensitive, made additional measurements. Goose bumps erupting on her skin Mom ran outstretched fingers down the front of her thighs.

Colette, as if oblivious to the effect she was having, said, "We're ready," and slid the leather corset onto Mom, zipped up the back, took hold of the waist, adjusted the fit, then moved in front of Mom and with knowing hands and practiced fingers fine-tuned the straps, molding the corset and its soft sensual leather to mother's body. When done she ran her hands down Mom's torso, turned her towards the full length mirror, said, "What do you think?"

Tits barely contained, waist tinier than ever, Mom saw sex, pure sex, the triumph of the libido she'd always fought to contain. She was concupiscent desire incarnate.

"Oh my god, I can't believe it's me."

Circling Mom, inspecting, evaluating, Colette said, "It's you. Do you mind if I ask Alex in?"

Eager to show off for her friend Mom, looking over her shoulder at her ass, said, "No, not at all."

When Colette left Mom pressed the flat of her hand to her sex, drove her hips into it – her pussy spasmed, her toes curled — yanked the hand away when the door reopened and Alex said, "Wow, you were right. Jodi, you are some hot. We definitely need stilettos."​