Page 02
"Because it hurt?" I asked, peering closer at the very slight bruise.
"Yes," Mom's voice sounded girlish.
"Does it still hurt," I queried, lightly pressing my fingertip near it, feeling amazed at myself for doing so.
"Yes," Mom's voice was very low.
I circled my fingertip around Mom's wound. She sucked in her breath.
"Careful," she cried.
I slowed my exploration, moving in a wider circle. After several circumnavigations, I abruptly trailed my finger quickly down Mom's thigh to the back of her knee, then returned to circle her bruise again. By the way her leg tensed up I had surprised her but she didn't say anything.
"Your leg really is tense, Mom. Maybe you should massage it after running," I suggested.
"I can't reach back there very well, now can I?" Mom replied.
Just then, we heard Dad coming down the stairs. Mom let her dress fall and I pulled my hand away as she slid her foot off the chair.
"What would you two like for dinner?" she asked as Dad entered the kitchen.
* * *
Mom was far more congenial with my father at dinner that night. While she wasn't exactly friendly to Dad, she didn't snap at him and actually spoke directly to him a couple of times without being prompted to do so. Dinner was ruined for me to some extent because I couldn't get the feel of Mom's soft skin out of my mind and the way her leg trembled when I ran my finger down its length. I didn't know what was happening but I knew I wanted more of it.
After dinner, Mom asked if I wanted to watch a movie. I declined, preferring to lie on my side pretending to read while watching Mom's legs. Mom surprised me by spreading a magazine out on the coffee table and proceeding to paint her nails. This was ok. Mom bent over so she could see what she was doing and frequently forgot to keep her knees together. I had many more views of Mom's pale yellow panties but from the front this time. Even though the dim light under her dress didn't allow me to see clearly, I was a happy camper.
"There," she declared happily, leaning back, lifting her feet and spreading her toes.
I made an issue of raising my head to admire her display, as if I hadn't been watching all along. Dad kept his face buried in his book. Mom seemed happy with the results.
"Want to watch a movie with me?" she asked.
"Sorry Mom, but this book is really good."
"Oh all right." Mom picked up the remote from the table between her and Dad and swung her feet onto the couch, legs open and toes spread to dry. I wished I was sitting on the end of the couch. What a vantage point that would be.
As Mom's chick flick progressed, she began to absently run her fingers up and down her leg again. I watched intently, marking each inch that her hem slid down until it was resting across her hips again. I could see the side of her entire leg and part of her panties to boot but even if Dad turned Mom's way, he wouldn't be able to see that with her back toward him.
It felt strange to be openly ogling Mom's leg with my father right there. I had stopped any pretense of reading since Mom kept her gaze focused on the TV. As her hand slid up and down the 'S' curve defining the underside of her thigh, I remembered the feel of her skin and wished it was me caressing her this way. What was that she had said before had Dad had so rudely interrupted us?
I can't reach back there very well, now can I?
Was that an invitation or just a casual remark? Even if it wasn't really meant, it was an opening I could use. I longed to touch her intimately again. The dryness in my mouth returned as I expanded to fill my jeans. I couldn't watch this much longer without messing my pants but I couldn't tear myself away. Every once in a while, Mom stretched her toes, tensing the muscles in her leg prettily. I'm sure she was unaware of the effect but it was thrilling to see. Such a simple, casual act had such a devastating effect on my groin.
Mom's hand paused, very low, fingers disappearing between her legs, and I lost it. I couldn't help it. I focused all my attention on remaining rigidly still, desperate not to be discovered coming in my pants. I was unable to stop my legs from vibrating. Shortly thereafter, Mom paused the movie.
"Hot chocolate?"
"No thanks, Mom," I managed to croak.
When she was gone, I got up and said goodnight to Dad, careful not to speak until I was past his line of vision. I heard Mom asking where I'd gone as I entered my room.
"He said he was tired and needed an early night. Jet lag catching up, I guess."
* * *
I showered and got in bed but I couldn't sleep. Mom's legs wouldn't leave my mind. About an hour or so passed before my parents went to bed. After everything settled down, I listened intently to the sound of my parents' low voices through my partially open door. I could see down the hallway that their door was partly open as well.
"I don't care." Mom's muffled, angry voice drifted down the hall to my room followed by a longer, unintelligible mumble from my father.
"That's your problem. You don't really expect me to do anything after what you've done, do you?"
More mumbling.
"I don't know. As long as it takes." Mom's voice was shrill.
My father's voice rose. "Fine! You need it too. You know how you are."
This was followed by what sounded like someone jumping on a bed, or perhaps turning over aggressively to make a point. Silence ensued.
Some time later, Mom said, "You left the hall light on."
Dad didn't answer. I was caught off guard by Mom's sudden appearance in the hallway to turn off the light. I was sitting up, propped on my elbow to listen better and quickly flopped down, twisting round to lie on my stomach. The bed creaked and Mom's head swiveled around just as she was about to flip the switch.
Through slitted eyes, I saw her turn and walk toward my room. She was dressed in a long, gossamer nightgown. The light fell behind her as she approached my doorway, lighting her head like a halo and starkly outlining her body through the nightgown. I couldn't see much detail on the dark front of her body but I had the distinct impression she was naked underneath. Mom stopped at my door.
"Eric?" she whispered.
I didn't answer. I shut my eyes and feigned sleep.
"Are you awake? Did you hear us?"
I chanced a deep breath, breathing as evenly as I could, followed by more of the same. When I heard the soft sound of Mom's hand sliding off my doorjamb, I partly opened my eyes. Mom was treading quietly back to the light switch. The slight sway of her hips as she walked away made her look incredibly sexy. As she passed under the hall light, her back lit up. I only caught a brief glimpse before the hallway went dark but in that instant I knew Mom wasn't wearing anything under that nightgown.
I closed my eyes and slid my hand down to cup my cock and balls.
* * *
Dad wasn't in a good mood the next day. I felt awkward between them, given what I'd heard the night before and was happy when they each slipped off to engage in their own activities for the day. I did the same, retiring to my room to fart around on my computer.
I waited until early afternoon to go downstairs to get lunch, hoping to be on my own, but Mom was there. She was drinking a cup of coffee and browsing through a stack of magazines on the kitchen table. I felt her eyes on me several times as I made a couple of sandwiches and poured a large glass of milk. I was about to take it all upstairs with me when she asked me to sit with her for a few minutes. I sat down and filled my face.
"I guess you've probably noticed that your father and I are having a difficult time right now."
"Oh?" I said, innocently.
Mom smiled. A weak smile that allowed my pretense but acknowledged that she knew I knew.
"Something happened and we're trying to work through it," she explained. "I'm having a hard time with it," she added, wringing her hands.
"Is there something I can do?" I asked.
"No. I don't want this to affect you. Just give us some room. It may take a while."
I guess I looked curious because Mom headed me off.
"You don't want to know," she said.
I nodded.
"Your father needs to pay some penance," she added. "A little punishment won't hurt him."
"Like no TV. No sports. Except chick flicks," I stated.
"Right," Mom confirmed. "I'll bend a little soon and let him have some of that back."
I nodded, agreeing that might be a good idea.
"But not anything else."
Mom didn't explain what that meant but I had an idea.
Later that afternoon, Mom asked me to help her swap the TV unit and the love seat around. Dad didn't notice until after supper but seemed very pleased. He immediately put the news on. Mom sat in her usual place and touched up her toenails before getting into her magazines. I stretched out on the love seat, lying on my side, supposedly reading but actually watching Mom, reveling in the fine line of her legs and the arch of her feet, loving the way her calf muscles tensed when she examined her toes.
After the news, Dad put on a baseball game and Mom swiveled around with her back to him, perhaps making a point about his selection. I was thrilled because with the new position of the loveseat, I was looking straight at the back of Mom's raised thighs. I spent the next hour following her hand as it strayed up and down her leg. From this angle, I could see her fingers stretching right across the underside of her thigh, tickling the inner part of her leg. I imagined it was my fingers coming so close to her panties.
"Hot chocolate and pie?" Mom broke me out of my reverie.
"Yeah. That would be great, Mom." I didn't even blush though Mom had surprised me while I was looking over the top of my book.
"You have to work for it," she said. "Help with the dishes?"
I looked pained but I looked forward to being alone in the kitchen with Mom. Maybe I would get another leg show on the chair or even another look at her 'bruise'. If not, I could ask her how it was doing.
"Ok," I said, as if it was a huge conciliation.
As I followed Mom into the kitchen, Mom said, loudly, "Close the door so we don't disturb your father's game."
I pulled the pocket door from the wall and snugged it shut. We were alone.
It made sense to have our pie and hot chocolate first so we could wash those dishes too, but Mom insisted we work first. We loaded the dishwasher, me rinsing and Mom loading, and then filled the sink to do the delicate dishes and the pots that wouldn't get clean enough in the machine to satisfy Mom. It was while the sink was filling that I made my move.
"How's your bruise?"
"My bruise? Oh. It's ok. I didn't feel it at all today. Forgot all about it."
Shit!
"I think it must have gone away."
Shit, and more shit.
"Are you sure?" I asked. "With all the exercise you're doing, it could be a sign of a bigger injury." Like I knew anything about exercising.
"Hmmm," Mom considered what I'd said. "Can you take a peek for me? My hands are all wet."
Fantastic!
Tentatively, I lifted the hem of Mom's skirt.
"Go ahead. You've seen my legs before."
I lifted the skirt up. There was a very faint trace of the bruise, barely visible.
"Well? Is it gone?"
"Almost."
I ventured a brief touch. Mom flinched.
"Did that hurt?
"A little."
I touched Mom again, gently this time, circling around the edge of the slight discoloration like I had the day before.
"Does it hurt there?"
"No. Actually that makes it feel a little better."
I circled my fingertip around and around, slowly.
Mom turned off the tap and began washing a wine glass, just as slowly. I widened my circle so I could touch her further inside her leg, until my fingertip brushed against her panty leg at the top of the circle.
Feeling the need to make excuses, I said, "You really should massage your leg, Mom. It's really tight."
"I can't reach back there easily. Could you do it?"
"Sure," I answered.
We were both speaking quietly, though there was no need with the dishwasher on and the pocket door closed.
"Since your father and I aren't getting along so well right now." Mom must have felt the need to explain why she wasn't asking him to do it for her.
"I understand," I said, almost whispering.
I continued caressing Mom's soft skin, reaching further inside her leg. I was still holding her skirt up and, keeping my hand away so she wouldn't realize what I was doing, lifted it higher until I could see Mom's panty-covered ass.
Awesome!
Mom finished the glass, put it in the rack, and started washing something else. It must have been a pot because she scrubbed harder and this made her butt jiggle. Her panties were part way down her ass so I could see a stretch of bare crack. I loved the way her cheeks jutted out and jiggled underneath the panties. Her butt was so prominent it was almost like looking at her cleavage.
I couldn't believe she was letting me do this and that made me think of my father's words to her last night: You need it too. You know how you are.
Mom seemed to be getting a little restless with the extent of my finger massage. I was afraid she was about to put a stop to this, realizing how odd it was to let her son do this, argument with Dad notwithstanding.
"Oh, I think you've got a bruise on your other leg."
"Really?"
Concern now replaced restlessness.
"Yeah. In the same spot. Were you riding a bike?"
"No. Well, the exercise bike at the club."
"Jeez, this one looks worse."
I moved my hand to Mom's other leg and began gently stroking the skin under her other buttock. There wasn't a mark to be seen but the skin was just as soft.
"It is bigger," I said as I let my fingers stray further between Mom's legs. "Does it hurt more?"
"A little," Mom replied.
Christ, I really wanted to push my other hand under her panties to cup her ass and let my thumb slide into her crack, but I didn't dare. I was amazed at what I was doing, let alone touching her bare ass. Mom let me rub around her new bruise for a couple of minutes until we heard a commercial come on in the other room.
"I think that's enough for now," Mom said.
"Ok." I dropped Mom's skirt, letting it fall, and pulled my hand away. But I when I did, I let it brush against Mom's panty-covered ass, lightly dragging over her cheek. I smiled as she sucked in her breath.
"Do you want me to massage your legs tomorrow?"
"Maybe," Mom answered after a brief pause.
Just then, the pocket door started to open so I stepped to Mom's side and picked up a pot from the rack, grabbing a dish towel with my other hand. I let the towel drape over the front of my jeans so my hard cock couldn't be seen.
* * *
I made sure I was in bed way earlier than my parents that night. I turned the hall light off so my more than half open door wasn't so obvious. I drifted off.
"I don't care."
Mumble, mumble.
I couldn't see anything. The hall light had been turned off.
"Well, obviously I don't need it as much as you."
Mumble, mumble. Angry mumbles.
"Go get it from her if you need it that bad. But don't come home if you do."
Mumble, mumble, mumble. Submissive mumbles.
Silence.
I waited, straining to hear more. Nothing.
Time passed. I don't know how much, but it was a long time.
I started drifting off.
The light flicked on!
I opened my eyes, then squeezed them into a squint. Mom was in the hallway by the light switch. She turned and walked slowly toward my room. She was wearing a housecoat loosely tied at her waist. Shit. The light didn't shine through that. As she neared my room, I couldn't see any evidence of a nightgown underneath. By the time she reached my door, I was sure of it. Christ, she was sure making my Dad pay. She must have gone to bed naked and then put him off. What a tease. She must be really mad at him.
I shut my eyes and waited for Mom's call to see if I was sleeping and readied my deep breathing gambit. The call didn't come. I raised my eyelids enough to see. Mom was still standing by the door. Slowly, as if not really sure about what she was doing, Mom pulled the belt loose on her robe. She held the belt in her hands for a moment, then let them drop to her sides. A few seconds later, she parted her robe, holding it open.
Curse the darkness! I could see the naked swells at the sides of her breasts, could sense their heaviness, but the light, behind her, was too dim to provide any detail. I had the sense she wasn't wearing panties but couldn't see for sure. She just stood there, holding her robe open.
Then, slowly, Mom shucked the robe off her shoulders and swung it around, folding it over one arm. Just as slowly, she turned, pausing halfway around, her tits sloping down and then sweeping out, nipples jutting upward. She completed her turn and sauntered down the hall and as she passed under the light, I saw her bare ass wiggling away from me above a pair of legs that looked longer than I knew they were.
Mom paused at the light switch, turning her head to the side as if she was going to look back, but she didn't. The light went out.
* * *
Mom didn't ask me to give her a massage but she did put on the same leg show for me each of the next three nights. It wasn't until Thursday that she mentioned that she'd made another pie. BTW, Dad didn't like pie. She waited until the news was over and a game had started before making the offer and demanding I help with the dishes. I didn't put up the pretense of a fuss and I closed the pocket door without being asked.
I stood behind Mom, dishtowel in hand, as she filled the sink. Mom started washing a glass but she moved with the same unusual slowness as on Sunday night. I draped the dishtowel over the rack and lowered my hand to the hem of her skirt. Mom kept washing. Slowly, I raised her skirt and followed it up with my other hand. Not a word. No invitation but no rebuff. Gingerly, I touched her leg.
"Careful," Mom cried, startling me. "It's sore, today."
I was touching the 'new' bruise, the nonexistent one.
"Sorry, Mom. I'll be gentle."
Mom didn't say a word as I began my 'massage'. I caressed Mom's thighs while she slowly washed each glass, moving back and forth between legs. I held her skirt high so I could see what I was doing and also look at her ass which jiggled delightfully when she scrubbed the pots. She was wearing a smaller pair of panties tonight that clung lower on her ass, showing more of her crack. Once more, I felt the strong urge to push my fingers into it, under her panties, but chickened out again.
I was ready for the mid-game commercial set this time and was drying a pot when Dad opened the pocket door. I kept my boner turned toward the counter. It was in no danger of subsiding, nor was the tingle on the back of my hand, where Mom's panties had rubbed as I scraped it up her behind.
Dad left the pocket door open when he returned to his game. I didn't care. I slipped my hand under Mom's skirt. I didn't bother lifting it, I just slid my hand up and continued where I had left off. Only this time, I rubbed further between Mom's legs and 'accidentally' bumped the bottom of her panties several times.
When Mom finished the last pot, I offered to check out her bruises to see if the massage had helped. I lifted Mom's skirt and leaned down for a close look. She smelled warm and damp. I noticed that her panties had slipped down on her buttocks, baring more of her crack, possibly from my bumping hand.
"It looks like they're getting better," I said, straightening up.
I glanced at the open kitchen door and grinned, holding Mom's skirt even higher. I leaned close to Mom and let my hot breath expel over her ear.
"I think the massage is working," I whispered, patting her on the ass and letting my hand linger, cupping her right cheek so lightly it could be considered accidental.
