Page 03
"Unzip me, please," she said.
I stood at the foot of the bed with my mother in front of me and my father beyond her and unzipped the back of her dress. I tried to do it quickly but my hand wouldn't comply and slowed to a crawl after passing her shoulders and then inched down her spine. The flesh thickened past her waist as her hips took form and the upper boundary of her behind threw the first hints of its presence. The top of her crack appeared and I sucked in my breath as I tried to tug the zipper lower.
"Don't break it, Mason.
I didn't realize until then that the zipper was completely undone. Mom turned around.
"Kiss me goodnight before you go."
Dad fell onto his side as Mom tilted her face up. I kissed her, aiming for her right cheek but seeing Dad fall over turned my head far enough for my lips to land halfway across her mouth. Instead of pulling away she applied a correction that shifted her lips until they fully meshed with mine. It was a short kiss but longer than the brief peck I believed was expected or planned. When it was over Mom settled back on her heels.
"Help me get your father undressed."
I pulled Dad up and took his shoes off while she unbuttoned his shirt and removed it.
"Can you get his pants off? He's too heavy for me."
I started yanking on Dad's pant legs to break them loose from under his ass. As I pulled, Mom put her left foot on the bed beside him, pulled the hem of the dress way up, and rolled the stocking down her leg. I stopped pulling so hard. She lifted her right foot onto the bed which put the entire inside of her leg on display, including a flash of panties, and rolled the stocking down to her ankle, then lifted her foot and slipped it off. It was a simple, innocent act but the image of her legs, being exposed as the sheer sheath of nylon bunched in front of her rolling hands, kept me awake for hours that night. Oh yeah. The slash of bare back visible through her unzipped dress as she walked to her closet and the memory of spongy heat on the back of my hand had an effect too.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"I'm not going to work on the weekend just so you can take pictures."
"But I'm at school all day through the week."
"You're off early on Wednesday and Friday. Shouldn't that be enough?"
"I don't think so."
"I don't do anything but sit at my desk. How long can it take?"
I hadn't thought of that. I lifted the camera and took a picture of Mom stirring the pancake batter.
"Stop that. I thought you were supposed to be taking pictures of me when I'm working."
"Like you said, you don't do much but sit."
"But I'm a mess."
"It's about body movements and posture, not fashion."
"I still don't want to look like a wreck when I'm being photographed.
"So get changed."
"That reminds me. What happened to all my underwear?
I fought the urge to look away and lost, then pretended to make adjustments to the camera to cover it up.
"I hid them."
"What? Why? I had to get some out of the laundry."
"Because they're ratty and, anyway, they're for old ladies."
"Well, you put them right back, Mister."
I gripped the camera but still avoided my mother's eyes.
"I can't," I said.
"What do you mean, you can't?"
"I threw them out," I lied.
"You threw them out? What am I supposed to wear?"
"Get new stuff. You'll feel better in something new, something…"
I choked on the word that sprang to mind—sexier— and offered another instead.
"…more modern."
Mom laughed. "I guess you're right. They were pretty old and old-ladyish."
I was relieved. I had been ready to bring up the Cuda trump card if necessary but was glad I didn't have to. I snapped her picture.
"Stop that."
I turned the camera around to show her. She looked fresh and exciting with a smile on her face. The messy hair added to the effect, making her look younger and edgy. Mom was critical but seemed pleased with the picture all the same.
"I told you I look like a mess."
I snapped another picture.
"Get to work," I said.
Mom returned to the mixing bowl.
"You didn't really throw them all out, did you?"
"You better go shopping," I answered.
"Brat."
I snapped dozens of pictures of Mom before Dad came down for breakfast. In keeping with the supposed purpose of the assignment, I got her to freeze in various poses to get pictures from different angles. Almost all had her in positions that accented some feature of her body, usually her breasts but sometimes I just captured the way she looked with her hair swept back or the light on her face. Of course, there were a quite a few with her bending over or reaching up in ways that defined her buns nicely. I hadn't noticed before how prominent and nicely separately her buttocks were. They were shaped like two slightly sagging balloons filled with heavy water.
It was a miracle she didn't catch on to what I was doing. After a while she didn't seem to mind posing and even made fun of it and I think she was as disappointed as I was when Dad showed up. After breakfast, before going up to my room to examine my treasure trove of pictures, I reminded Mom to go shopping.
"We need more soda," Dad piped up, thankfully misinterpreting my message.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
For the next two weeks I took snaps of Mom in the kitchen in the morning and in her office when I came home. Usually, Mom had finished work by the time I came home except when I got off early but now she was always in her office and I took that to mean she wanted me to take more pictures.
I began taking liberties in the kitchen. I didn't just stop her mid-movement but adjusted her posture, arching her back to push out her chest, pulling an elbow back to tighten her blouse, pushing her feet apart or lifting her up on tippy toes to tighten the definition of her legs, that kind of thing. Mom took it all in stride.
My success in the kitchen led to similar sculpting in the office. I had her put her head on one hand while thinking, adjusting the tilt of her head to shine more light on her face, pulling her hair back behind an ear, crossing her legs and even lifting one side of her skirt back to show a bit of thigh.
At first I made a joke of my adjustments and Mom made light of it too though she did say, "I thought it wasn't supposed to be a fashion show?"
The jokes eventually receded and Mom simply accommodated my adjustments without comment. That's when I began to brush my hand over her tummy rather than just press on it when I wanted to straighten her back and did the same with her hips and buttocks for other adjustments to her posture. I even pressed on the side of her breasts to get her to turn when I could have easily just twisted her shoulders. The first time I did it without thinking and held my breath when I realized what I'd done but nothing happened. I then adopted that as my default method and frequently found a need to turn her to get better pictures, always sliding my hand over her body.
I worked my way through Mom's office wardrobe again but with the new underwear she had bought. There were at least a dozen sets of matching panties, bras, short slips and stockings in various colors: red, chocolate brown, black, gun metal blue and a similar green. All of them were mated to a blouse and skirt combination or a dress. The short slips were bordered with lace and that fit well with my penchant for pulling Mom's skirt back far enough to display the fancy underwear.
"I could sell these to a magazine for professional women," I commented one day.
"I thought these were only for your own use?"
Boy, Mom had no idea what a mouthful she unloaded with that response. I kept the pictures on my computer and used them late at night when the house was dark and silent, wanking while watching and replaying Mom's movements in my mind. The smile on her face and the sparkle in her eyes were evident in the pictures but my memory added the scent of her perfume and the huskiness sometimes present in her voice, especially when I stood by her side and instructed her to pull her skirt higher.
"Like this?" she would ask.
"Farther," I'd answer.
"Like this?" she teased.
"More," I managed to get out.
"Not this far?" she'd say in an exaggerated, husky voice.
It was hard to remember to click the camera. Sometimes, Mom had to prompt me and she was always amused when it happened.
On Wednesday of the second week she asked me if I could really sell the pictures to a magazine for office professionals. I confirmed that I could, though I had no idea if it was possible or how to go about it.
"How much could you get for a picture?"
"Oh, I don't know. Forty or fifty bucks, I guess."
She seemed disappointed with the answer.
"What about other kinds of magazines?"
"Other kinds?" I repeated, not following her.
"For pictures like this."
Mom swiveled her chair so her feet were pointing toward me. Stretching them out, she lifted the hem of the long skirt she was wearing onto her knees, then slowly pulled it back until it was halfway up her thighs and the lacy edge of her short slip was showing. She gazed steadily at me and for the life of me I couldn't tear my eyes away even though the smile slowly disappeared from her face.
She closed her eyes and leaned back in the chair, opening and raising her legs. The skirt rose and kept rising until a pair of chocolate colored panties burst into view, full and puffy, and not just due to hair, a few strands of which peeked out each side. Mom tilted her head back and arched her back which thrust her mound forward, outlining its major features through the chocolate colored panties.
"Well?"
Her throaty voice startled me and sent a shiver through my body. I was about to answer, with what words I have no idea, when she spoke again.
"Do you think someone would pay more than fifty bucks for a picture like that?"
"Absolutely," I almost gasped. I knew I would.
Mom held the pose but didn't reply. The office lights brightened her relaxed, peaceful countenance. After a few seconds it dawned on me that she was waiting. I lurched out of my stupor and started taking pictures.
Snap. Snap.
Mom's legs parted a bit more.
Snap, snap, snap.
Her legs started to close.
"Wait a minute."
I changed the camera from the picture to the video setting.
"Can you lean back a little farther?"
Mom arched her back but the chair was already as far back as it would go. Still, the effort thrust her mound harder against the brown panties and the differential muscle action in her legs twisted it from side to side. I would have to wait until later to see if the camera caught what my eyes witnessed because Mom suddenly opened her eyes and snapped the chair forward. The skirt tossed forward like a crumpled tidal wave, teetering on her knees before plummeting over the precipice and falling neatly into place.
A touch out of breath and face flushed, Mom asked, "What do you think you could get for pictures like that?"
"A thousand bucks," I laughed to cover my excitement.
"Yeah, sure," Mom chuckled, the huskiness still evident in her voice.
"Want to try more like that?" I ventured.
"No. It's time to think about dinner."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The next day Mom didn't respond to my request to show more leg. She seemed genuinely busy concentrating on a long email response to someone and her face flinched with annoyance as if my question was an unwelcome intrusion.
I looked at the pastel green, sleeveless top and pleated, white skirt I had picked out for her to wear that morning. I had matched the shimmery green slip and panties to the outfit and in the end no stockings after waffling between white and green for a full five minutes. I felt I had a lot invested in those panties and I wanted to see them so I repeated my request. Mom raised her right hand briefly from the keyboard, long enough to make a chopping gesture that shut me up.
But I didn't leave. I started taking pictures anyway. At first, I kept my distance, not wanting to break her concentration but eventually got closer and closer.
"Mason, stop being a pest."
I ignored her and kept taking pictures, obviously aiming the camera at her upper torso or her legs which were free of the white shoes I had selected. They were discarded under the desk, one lying on top of the other. I knelt down to get an artsy close-up of them on their own and Mom unconsciously moved her chair back and twisted sideways to make room. I drew back and turned the camera on her, taking advantage of the twist in her torso which emphasized the shape of her breasts.
"Mason!"
Click, click.
I aimed the camera down to get a close up of her lower legs which were held tightly together. Mom's hand moved slowly off the keyboard in a half-hearted attempt to push the camera away which was easily avoided.
Click, click.
I used my left hand to lift the hem of the pleated skirt and turned it back upon itself to reveal the outside of her upper right thigh.
Click click click.
"Lift your leg."
I didn't say which one but the right rose and Mom tried to push me away with that foot. I leaned to my left and took several pictures with her right thigh lifted from the seat of the chair, capturing the sexy elongated S curve of the underside of her leg as it transitioned from lean knee and tendon to fleshy female thigh.
"Mason!"
The leg dropped but not exactly where it originated. Mom's knees were now slightly parted. I lifted the hem from the left knee and tossed it back. A red slip popped into view, catching me by surprise.
"Well," I muttered.
Mom laughed but kept typing. She didn't try to turn her chair back toward the desk though it had to be awkward typing in that position. I snapped a few pictures, then pushed her knees apart.
"Who said you could change?" I asked.
"Shhhhh!"
I spread Mom's knees a little wider and pushed the skirt higher, took a snap, then pushed it higher again. On the third push, the red panties burst into view. I pushed her legs apart as far as the arms of the chair would allow.
Click, click, click.
I turned the camera to video mode which was difficult because my fingers felt like they were afflicted with arthritis. I focused the camera for close action and noticed that the red panties showed more than the brown ones—I was very familiar with pictures of the brown ones from frequent and intense nightly examinations on my computer.
Or did they? On closer examination it seemed that what lay underneath was simply better defined than before. It was a mystery until I noticed there were no stray hairs poking out the sides. Mom had shaved, or at least trimmed, her pussy!
Desperate for a closer look I leaned forward and nosed the lens between Mom's legs.
"Mason, for crying out loud."
When I didn't back off Mom reluctantly pulled her hands away from the keyboard.
"Mother of Murphy, you're a pest. I should call your father."
"Go ahead," I countered.
"You'd be sorry."
"Just give me a minute. This is a hundred dollar picture."
She didn't reply and I leaned closer, adjusting the camera.
"Lean back," I said.
There was a long pause.
"Will you stop bothering me if I let you take the picture?"
"Yeah, sure."
"Don't get my face," she said.
The chair tilted back and I started the video.
In the absence of clicks, Mom asked, "I thought you wanted to take a picture?"
"I'm setting it up. Lean back and relax."
She did.
"Close your eyes."
After she complied I lifted the skirt, gently deposited it onto her stomach, and tried to nudge her knees further apart but they were already as wide as they could go. I brazenly lifted Mom's right leg and draped it over the arm of the chair, expecting her to lurch forward and give me what for but she didn't.
"Mason," was all she said, without even opening her eyes.
"You're still covered by the skirt," I lied.
A few seconds later I gave Mom an outrageous instruction.
"Lift your knee over the other arm."
Amazingly, she did it and I captured the veiled movement beneath the red panties.
"Are you taking a video?"
"Yeah," I responded, my tongue feeling thick in my mouth. "I can get better pictures from stills of the frames," I explained.
Finished between her legs, I stood up. Mom was leaning back with her head turned to one side, eyes closed. She looked amazing. I think that was the first time I realized I liked the look of a mature woman's face, the skin no longer taut with youth yet bereft of wrinkles save for a few laugh lines around the eyes and the beginning of a crease on either side of the mouth. Her lips were full and make-up was applied expertly and sparingly. I took several pictures, then positioned her hand with a finger extended to her lower lip. I snapped a couple more.
"Look like you're thinking about something sexy."
She smiled.
"Like a pool boy?"
"Whatever."
She pouted her lips around the tip of her finger.
"Like this?"
"Yeah," I whispered.
Snap, snap, snap.
"Just a minute."
I transferred the camera to my left hand and deftly slipped the top button of her blouse undone with my right.
"That looks real sexy."
Mom laughed.
"Yeah, right."
"It's true."
I slipped another button undone and, in the absence of an objection, another.
"Whoa there, cowboy."
"Just showing a little red to attract the customers."
"What customers?"
"The magazine publishers and their readers."
"Oh."
Click. Click, click.
I put my index finger between the lapels of the blouse and spread them apart to show more of the red bra. Incredibly, Mom didn't object. I snapped a few more pictures, then slipped the last button above the waistband of her skirt undone and spread the blouse wide open. I took more pictures, focusing on the way her breasts swelled up to fill the bra.
Her eyes were still closed. I stood very close, so close the lump in my pants was almost touching her face. I held still, looking down and imagining what it would feel like to take it out and slip it into her pretty mouth, through those full, mature lips. The bulge in my pants was throbbing.
Mom opened her eyes.
I didn't recover well.
"I was thinking, would it be alright to undo your bra?"
That popped out because I was desperate to distract her from the proximity of my cock to her mouth and the raw desire, surely evident on my face, of filling it. Her eyes narrowed, foreshadowing the frown that followed. I quickly realized I needed to qualify my inappropriate suggestion.
"I don't mean open it or anything, just loosen it to make an impression…for the magazine people."
The smile returned, faintly.
"You mean, like a hint of seduction?"
"Yeah, that's right, to jazz up the picture."
"Okay, but only for a few seconds."
I backed away and Mom released the bra with a quick twist on the front and the two halves separated an inch or so. I took several photos in rapid succession, afraid she might change her mind and pull it closed. She looked fantastic with the inner swells of her breasts nakedly displayed. No, I have to say tits. They were too awesome to be called breasts. The whole inner sides of her tits were so exposed I could see the bottoms lifting away from her chest in defiance of gravity.
"Hurry," she whispered.
The urgency in her voice signaled she was serious about the time limit. Perhaps she was worried that my father might burst through the door. I snapped away, wishing I could see underneath the bra hanging loosely over her breasts, only kept from sliding off by nipples strong enough to hold it in place. I wondered if they were they stiff and hard like my cock.
"Hurry, Mason."
Click, click, click, click, click.
