Page 04
One thing I did know. I wasn't going to get Mom all worked up so my Dad could walk in and steal all my effort like he did last week. If Mom and I were going for a drive, I wanted her horny tomorrow, not tonight. With tremendous effort, I kept my hand away from Mom's legs. I could tell she knew the effect her display was having on me. I could also sense her confusion about why I wasn't going for the bait, because she began to rock her crotch. Just the littlest bit, but those puffy shorts visibly twisted forward in tiny, fuck me thrusts. She looked so hot, I wanted to lean over and take those shorts into my mouth. Fuck!
My resolve dissolved. I stretched my hand out between Mom's parted feet, careful not to touch her legs. Resting my hand on the couch just below her shorts, I casually twisted it open so the backs of my fingers brushed up against the puffiest part of those pulsing shorts.
Mom flinched. I gazed steadily at the TV. Mom twisted her head around to look at Dad and then swung quickly back. I rubbed my knuckles against her mound. I noticed that Mom's knees were pressed harder together but her feet were in the same wide stance. I shifted my hand so that the knuckle of my longest finger nestled into the faint groove I could feel running vertically under Mom's shorts. As soon as it notched in, I wiggled it, pressing more firmly and felt thrilled when it received an answering push, a long one that sought to maintain contact.
I rubbed and rubbed. Why am I doing this? Why can't I stop? I knew Mom would soon go to bed, horny, and my father would get fucked while I sat in my room, listening and pulling my wire. It wasn't fair.
Sure enough, within minutes, Mom's book and her feet snapped shut, knocking my hand away. She swiveled her feet off the couch and stood.
"I think I'll go up. I'm tired," she said to Dad, leaning over to give him a quick peck goodnight. She didn't dally. She turned immediately and walked briskly upstairs.
At some point, Dad had stopped watching TV and started reading one of the pocket books he kept on the table between his chair and the couch. I sat up and scooted down to take over Mom's seat, picking up the remote from the table. I began searching the channels. There. Charlie Rose was just starting. I switched to that channel.
Dad looked up from his book when he heard Charlie's voice. That's it, I thought. Take the bait. Come on, bite.
Dad's book slowly lowered, falling with his hands into his lap. Bingo! He was hooked. I watched for a few minutes to make sure Dad was interested, that it wasn't an episode he'd seen before. Fantastic. It was an hour long interview with some DC politico. Dad didn't even notice me get up, didn't hear me say goodnight, or see me walk in front of him and up the stairs.
The white tennis dress was tossed on Mom's chair, and the shorts. She was lying face down on the bed again, her head on the pillow, looking back toward the door. A sheet covered her which, given the opportunity to invoke the Pathfinder, would make it more difficult to flip her nightie up to do his work. A small challenge, nothing more. The light from the hallway was blocked when I entered Mom's room, casting her face in shadow until I stepped aside and leaned against the wall.
Without a word or any other accepting expression, Mom lifted the pillow and slid underneath, pulling it down over her head. Her hips rose as she adjusted her position, making it obvious that her legs were open about a foot as the sheet draped over her limbs. I sauntered to the side of the bed accompanied by Charlie Rose's questioning voice. I sat down, but not before I slipped my hand under the sheet and moved it over to Mom's leg so I didn't sit on it.
I sat in silence to let hear me breathe so she would know the effect she was had on me. As I watched her covered back, I could see her breathing pattern begin to match my own. I reached over with my left hand and gently tugged the sheet down Mom's back until it was gathered across her waist beneath the rising swell of her buttocks. Mom's breathing ramped up, as did mine. Hers likely in anticipation of me dragging the sheet further down to uncover her ass; mine because I realized Mom dad gone to bed naked, and waited for me to come.
Instead of pulling the sheet down, I slid my hand up Mom's back to grasp a handful of her hair and twisted it around until it was knotted in my fist. I didn't think I would need to hold Mom down but I wanted her to feel controlled before I made my next move.
I slid my other hand up from the bed, along the outside of Mom's thigh to her knee, then up and over to the inside of her leg. I began my slow ascent up the thickening shaft of her soft-skinned limb, my fingers twiddling as my hand progressed closer and closer to her uncovered, open pussy. Though I moved very slowly, I never paused or retreated. I wanted her to know that the Pathfinder was coming, inevitably, inexorably. Nothing could stop him.
There was no other foreplay. No whispering, no teasing approach and withdrawal. Just a steady, plodding advance. My fingers were there, stretching out, the first feathery touch, the first time her son's fingers had ever graced her nether lips. I parted her lips and felt the wetness of her slit. Only then did I pause, brushing my fingers side to side, flipping her lips under my twiddling tips. She was very wet already. She got wetter.
"Ohhhhhhhhhhh, unnnngggghhhh," Mom moaned into the mattress under the pillow.
Her hips rose, as if to pull away, but my hand gripped her hair tighter and pushed her back into the mattress.
"Shhhhhh, Sandy," I whispered. "Your father's downstairs watching TV."
Mom's body went rigid but almost immediately relaxed. I pushed my hand forward, inserting two fingers into her soaked pussy. There was no need for foreplay. She was ready for it, had probably been ready from the moment she walked up the stairs. I immediately began finger fucking her, her wet pussy squishing and squelching as my fingers moved in and out. I was intent on making her come. I was not going to leave her super ready for my father's arrival. No. He could have Charlie Rose instead.
Mom lifted her hips and I allowed it, realizing she was trying to make it easier for my fingers to get into her. I slipped a third finger inside and started rubbing my thumb up into the crack of her ass. I slowed my in and out, pausing on the inward thrust to rub the flat of my thumb over Mom's anus. I loved the way she moaned as I did that. Did Dad do her this way? Somehow, I doubted that, and doubted she would let him, especially now.
After a few minutes of this slow grind and rub, I pulled my fingers out and cupped Mom's pussy in my palm, long finger stretching through the length of her slit to rest on the little hoodie above. I wriggled that fingertip as I leaned over Mom's back, bringing my face close to the pillow covering her head.
"Open your legs more."
Maybe Mom couldn't hear me over her moans generated in response to my wriggling fingertip. Anyway, she didn't comply with my request. I stilled my finger and repeated my demand.
"Open wider."
No response.
"Come on" I urged, wriggling my fingertip faster for encouragement, a promise of reward.
Nothing.
"Spread for me, Sandy," I whispered in an especially hoarse voice, one not under my control.
Mom's legs spread wide. I pulled my hand back, slowly dragging my fingers over her mound and through her slit, then inserted all of my fingers in her pussy. I pushed forward, a little bit at a time, until my fingers were completely buried and only my palm was visible as I twisted slowly left and right, opening and closing her hole, widening it for my next assault. Twist, twist, twist.
At first, Mom seemed to only tolerate my stretching attack but that changed abruptly with a sudden flood of slippery juice, allowing my hand to twist easily in her now sloppy pussy. Mom had acclimatized to the thickness of my hand and her willing acceptance was signaled by a change from murmurs and moans to guttural groans under the pillow. Mom's ass rose rhythmically against my spinning hand, forcing me deeper into her stretched pussy.
I swept the sheet off Mom's ass. I had to see this. In the dim light from the hallway, I could see my wrist exiting from Mom's widely stretched pussy, my hand was almost fully ensconced inside it. Holding her hair, I began fucking Mom's cunt with my hand. I was gentle, ready to stop at the first sign of pain, but Mom didn't give any sign of any. Grunting, yes. Lots of moans, groans, and grunts, but none that signaled pain. In fact, Mom kept shoving her hips and ass up, trying to get more.
Every once in a while, Mom's ass would scoot ahead, as if trying to get away, shudder violently on my hand, then shove back hard. She was loving this and I somehow knew that it was a completely new experience for her, not just something Dad didn't do, but anyone 'Sandy' had known before. Mom's hands had sipped off the pillow and dug into the mattress for extra leverage to shove her cunt onto my thrusting hand. She gave 'dig' a whole new meaning. Her ass and pussy were quivering constantly now, as if she was in the middle of a constant, huge orgasm.
With a long groan, Mom finally collapsed on the bed, legs shaking around my wrist. When she was relatively still, I pulled my hand out with a loud, wet, sucking squelch. Mom's ass vibrated for several seconds and she released a long, forlorn, post-partem moan. A few after shocks and Mom was quiet. I pulled my hands away and covered Mom with the sheet. When I stood to leave, I felt the stickiness in my shorts. They were full of cum. I hadn't even felt it.
I passed through the door to hear Charlie telling his audience about his next guest. Had I really been working on Mom for almost an hour?
* * * * *
I had a quick shower and exited the bathroom. The house was in darkness. I padded quietly down the hall to my room. From the direction of my parent's room I heard low voices.
"Come on, Sandra."
"No."
Rustling sheets.
"I said no."
More rustling.
"I said I'm tired. Now go to sleep."
"All right then. See what happens next time you want it." My father was angry. I was pleased, especially since he was acting childishly. Fuck you, asshole. You can't compete with what I just gave her. Smiling, I pushed my door open and shut it firmly behind me. I didn't need to hear anymore.
Dad wasn't in a good mood the next morning. He finished his breakfast early and went out to sit on his lounge alone, even forgetting to take his coffee. Mom took his coffee out to him a few minutes later and set it on the table between their lounges. He didn't say thanks or otherwise acknowledge her kindness. I brought the morning paper out and handed it to Mom. She passed the front section to Dad, who took it without a word. I sat down on the mat beside Mom. A moment later, I lay back and folded my arms behind my head. I didn't close my eyes.
Mom dropped the paper in her lap and laid her head back against the cushion, facing my direction. Her eyes were closed. Casually, her hand dropped to the edge of the lounge and, a few seconds later, fell over the side, onto my shorts.
I had placed myself perfectly, my balls softening the landing for Mom's hand. She smiled but kept her eyes closed. Her hand stayed still, despite an urging lift from my impatient shorts, which only brought a wider smile but not extra pressure, let alone movement. Oh well, her soft touch alone was exquisite.
Many minutes later, Mom's fingers moved. Not much, just a little swirl. My cock throbbed under her soft caress, begging for more, and was rewarded when Mom's fingers moved again, then again, and again. Soon, Mom was tracing a complex path around and around on my bulging shorts, undeterred by the periodic thrusts of my hips.
Every few minutes I was rattled by the shake of newspaper as Dad changed pages. This served only to heighten my excitement with spikes of fear. When he changed to a new section, I knew he would be distracted for some time so I threw caution to the wind.
When Mom raised her hand, as she did for a moment every few minutes, I quickly pushed my shorts down over my hips. This was stupidly dangerous but I felt compelled to transgress the boundary I had so recently achieved. Mom's hand dropped.
Shock! Her eyes fluttered open, then quickly squeezed shut. Her hand pulled away and hovered in the air, then, after a smile graced Mom's face, slowly fell until her soft skin thrilled me again. The first time on my bare cock!
That's it. It might not be bigger, or even as big, but my son cock will feel much larger in your hand. Feel its energy. Imagine it in your sweet mouth or in your slippery pussy.
Mom's fingers fluttered over my cock. It stiffened even more rapidly as it lifted from my stomach and Mom's fingertips swirled over its head, then formed a circle and lightly grasped my shaft, then pushed down the length of my hardening cock. Wonderful. I had read on a true incest site that once a mother held her son's cock, she couldn't resist it. It had to be true, it just had to be.
Mom jacked me slowly, sliding her ring of fingers up and down my shaft. It was amazing what she would do with her eyes closed.
How did she rationalize this blatant behavior without a pillow over her head? Did she justify it as revenge, jacking off another man as she lay beside her cheating husband? Or was she now, in this moment, Sandy? I didn't know what was going through my mother's convoluted mind and I didn't care. I was lying beside her getting my cock lovingly handled while my father, the bastard who had stolen my poontang the week before, read a newspaper. Fuck you, I thought. I'm going to come right here with you three feet away.
My head lifted from the mat as I convulsed in sudden pain. Mom was squeezing my cock hard. Oww! My sperm ran and hid, sucking back into its cave. Jeez! Mom released my abused cock and returned to her lap. I waited, but it didn't return and I'm not so sure that was a bad thing. As surreptitiously as I could, I pulled my shorts up to cover my shriveling member, once so proud and strong, and slunk away to the house.
I Find Sandra
An hour later, Mom knocked on my door.
"Hey, what are you up to?" she asked.
"Not much," I said, not turning away from the computer. "Just playing a game."
"You must have something better to do than that on such a beautiful Sunday afternoon."
I shrugged. "Nope."
"I thought you were going out for drive?"
"Nope."
"I'll go with you if that girl isn't going," Mom offered. "That is, if you don't mind riding around with your old Mom."
I turned to look at Mom. Had she forgotten it was her who suggested I was going for a drive with 'Sandy'? That thought left my mind when I saw Mom. She was leaning halfway in my room, hanging onto the doorjamb, wearing a fashionable summery print dress that with a loose skirt that fell from her hips in a way that hinted strongly at the fine shape of her legs. An open bodice showcased the tops of her heat swollen breasts and a zipper down the front kept the dress legal. Mom's eyes twinkled with secret mirth.
"I made us a picnic," Mom sweetened the pot.
"That's the ticket," I cried, rolling my chair back and leaping to my feet.
"Always the stomach," Mom laughed. "Men," she said with disgust.
I followed Mom downstairs. There was a large picnic basket waiting in the hallway by the front door.
Mom opened the door. "Bring the basket," she said.
Mom drove. She headed straight toward Dad's work and parked at the same vantage point we had used before. Sure enough, the same two cars were there. Mom waited for several minutes, her face growing grimmer and grimmer, before she finally threw the car into drive and peeled out.
I was disappointed when Mom steered the car past Connaught Hill. I turned and looked back with a forlorn glance as it fell behind us.
"Where are we going Mom?"
"You'll see".
As we drove, I glanced more often at Mom. Eventually, I ignored the passing countryside in favor of Mom's figure, the slender thighs under the summer skirt and sculptured calves operating the pedals. I even loved the sexiness of her bare arms with the ultra-fine tiny blond hairs waving in the breeze blowing over her forearms through the open window.
"Is it far?"
"Don't worry. It'll be worth it, trust me. It's a beautiful spot."
"A secret place?"
"Yes."
"Did you go there with Duke?"
"That's a probing question to ask your mother."
"I was asking Sandy."
There was a subtle change in Mom's demeanor, something about her posture indicated that a transformation had been initiated. I couldn't put my finger on exactly what was different but there was a palpable change in the air.
I slipped my sandals off and unhooked my seatbelt. That alone would have brought a sharp rebuke from Mom but none came. I twisted my back to the door and swung my feet onto the seat, bringing them to rest against Mom's hip and thigh. I watched Mom intently as she drove, trying to figure out what is was about her that made me so certain a metamorphosis was underway. I saw nothing.
Mom was aware of my scrutiny but said nothing to dissuade it. I shifted my right foot along Mom's right thigh and pressed against it.
"So answer the question."
"What question?"
"Did you go there with your Duke?"
I slid my foot back toward Mom's hip, dragging her skirt with it.
"Yes," Mom replied.
"Dad too?"
I winced as I said that, thinking it was a mistake to mention my father.
"Just once, when you were born."
When I was born? She was taking me to the place I was conceived?
I quickly changed the subject back to Duke.
"What was this Duke like?"
"Oh, he was tall and muscular but that wasn't what attracted all the girls to him. It was more the way he had about him."
"What way?"
"He had a easy way about him. He wasn't controlling but somehow you always ended up doing what he wanted to do." Mom paused. "You remind me of him, actually."
That was music to my ears. Mom seemed to have a thing for this guy from her past so the similarity couldn't hurt me.
"Did he tell you about this secret place?
"No. It was my idea. My father had taken to cruising through Connaught Hill to see if we were there. He didn't like the Duke. Told me to stay way from him."
"The Duke?"
Mom laughed. "That's what the kids called him. The Duke."
"Like John Wayne?"
"He was no John Wayne."
I had been playing with Mom's skirt with my foot during this exchange and had pushed it back as far as I could, then used my other foot to drag it further onto Mom's hip. Mom looked down at her pushed-up skirt, and shook her head.
"Men. One track mind."
Mom dropped a hand from the wheel and pulled the hem of her skirt way up, exposing the panties that had only been peeking out.
"There, is that what you wanted to see?"
Yes, I thought, but I barely nodded. When she looked back at the road, my neck craned so I could see as much as possible.
"Sit closer, then," Mom said, before you break your neck.
My face flushed at getting caught being so obvious but I responded immediately to the invitation. Shifting into the middle of the seat, I was happy to see that Mom's hand still held her skirt up, exposing the entire front of her panties.
"Hold this," Mom shook the hand holding her skirt, "while I drive."
I took the skirt. Mom's panties were plain white but they were made of a very thin fabric that outlined her pussy in pleasing detail. When I sighted the notch running down the middle, my guy instantly sprang into life.
"You better get an eyeful, because we're almost there."
This had to be Sandy talking now. Was adopting the Sandy persona Mom's way of closing her eyes in broad daylight?
