It had been one of the worst years of my life. I had just gone through a very messy divorce, which had left me strapped financially. Then news came about my father being killed in an automobile accident. Being an only child, I knew my mother would be devastated, especially living alone and having no one else to comfort her during this critical period. As such, I made the only decision that made any sense under the circumstances, I moved back home.
Those first few weeks were filled with a lot of tension and stress. There was so much to do and sift through, but eventually things began to settle back down into some form of normalcy once again. After work we would often sit down for a nice home-cooked meal which mom enjoyed doing for me, and which admittedly I looked forward to as my ex-wife was no kind of cook at all. We would most often then settle in for a movie, laughing, sometimes crying, but thoroughly enjoying one another's company, something we hadn't really done in years.
One evening we happened across a movie called "Full Body Massage". It was erotic, sensual, without the sex. Watching it, I became aroused, and not just because of the nudity, nor the attributes of the actress that were nice to look at either, but because of a memory that came back to me every time I glanced over towards my mother.
When I was young, and after having a particularly hard day, mom would often ask me to rub her back for her. She would lie face down on the couch, I would crawl up and straddle her butt, then lift her blouse, or tee-shirt up around her neck, undo her bra, and proceed to massage her back for her. It was never more than that, and initially was as innocent as it could be. But I did begin to play a curious game with myself, though back then, I'm not even sure I knew what it was I was doing, nor did I ever have intentions of anything ever happening either.
After a time, as I continued to massage mom's back, I would very often include massaging her sides, which would bring me into close contact with just the beginnings of that extra bit of soft flesh just beneath her armpits as I worked my fingers delicately during her massage. For some odd reason, it had become a game with me to see how long, and then how far I could go before she would either shift and reposition herself to prevent my fingers from probing where they shouldn't be, or smile, sit up and end the massage session all together. Mother never said anything to me, one way or the other. There was never a cautionary word, nor a hint that she was aware of my silly game being played. But if she sensed it, or knew what I was doing, she was careful to allow only so much before ending it before I got very far. Very often, long afterwards when I had retired to my bedroom to sleep, I would masturbate with the excitement of whatever progress I had imagined I'd achieved, whether real or fictional in my mind. Again, and it wasn't the thought of this being my mother that excited me, because I had somehow distanced myself from that train of thought. It was simply the "game" the idea that my fingers were in such close proximity to a "breast" that excited me, that and nothing more.
In time of course, I grew up and as I did, the game ended. One that I never did win nor achieve reaching my ultimate goal. I found myself smiling in remembrance of those times, innocent as they truly were, yet exciting too in their own unique little way.
"You're smiling."
"What?" I turned facing towards my mother. She was smiling back at me though with a curious expression on her face.
"Something about the movie?"
"Oh yeah...in a way I guess," I replied feeling a blush begin to spread. "Was just remembering something."
She laughed, "Yeah, me too...it's been a long time since I've even had a massage," she finished.
"You want one?" I said half-jokingly. She giggled like a schoolgirl at the mere mention of it, shaking her head "no". But even as she did, I saw the slight hesitation as she'd considered it. "Really mom, I'd be glad to rub your back for you, just like I used to. Heavens knows you've gone through a lot lately, all that stress..." I left off saying.
At fifty-three, mom was still very, very attractive. She had always worn her hair shoulder length, which gave her an even younger appearance, but she'd also maintained her "girlish" figure as she called it through daily exercise and eating healthy foods.
"Come on," I said standing up from the couch. "Lay down on your stomach and I'll rub your back for you just the way I used to."
The memory, and the image of the "game" suddenly came rushing back to me. I was only wearing a tank-top and pair of sweat shorts. I felt my cock lurch with that old familiar interest, and immediately chastised "it" and myself for doing so. The last thing I needed was to stand there with an erection that would be impossible to conceal under the circumstances.
"Well, ok...that really would feel nice," she conceded as she grabbed one of the throw pillows and positioned herself face down on the couch. Suddenly I was transported back in time, no longer twenty years younger than my mother, but suddenly that much younger self that had so enjoyed playing the "game", one in which I had never achieved reaching my ultimate goal. And even as I positioned myself over my mother's butt, just as I had done so many years ago, I was smiling, nervous, as well as excited as I wondered at what I was actually doing here, or thinking I was doing here.
And like before, I lifted her tee-shirt up towards her shoulders, and then undid her bra just as I had always done before. But unlike those times, and without a word one way or the other, I saw mom pull her tee-shirt up and over her head, tossing it off one side towards the floor, then wiggling, without revealing anything, as she likewise discarded her bra.
"Much better," she said simply, folding her arms beneath her, settling her head comfortably down into the pillow.
I think I had seen my mother nude just once. I'd certainly seen her in various stages of undress, but that fleeting image of her entirely nude when I had once stumbled stupidly into the bathroom as she was preparing to bathe had stuck with me. And now, though all I was looking at was her bare back, that image of her suddenly sprang to mind, and once again I felt the unwelcomed lurch of my prick as it too remembered the image, and the after affects as I later on had crawled into bed.
I spent a great deal of time on her back, far longer than I ever had in a single sitting. The only sound she made, the occasional sigh, the near purr of contentment as I worked and kneaded her sore muscles. As I sat on her butt, I once again saw myself, those initial tentative strokings up and down her sides, inching ever further upwards, one centimeter at a time. As I sat there, I found myself massaging her sides now, once again the game being played inside my head, each centimeter of advancement causing me to hold my breath, so sure that any moment now, mom would shift, reposition herself, her arms or worse, sit up pulling her top back down, ending the massage. Only in this case, I realized, she wouldn't be able to do that, this time she was completely bare on top, and the idea of what she would do when the massage actually came to an end also intrigued and aroused me even more.
"Bobby? Would you mind doing my legs for me as well?"
She hadn't called me "Bobby" since I'd left home. The sound of my boy-hood name made me laugh.
"What's so funny?" she asked curiously.
"You called me Bobby," I replied. "It's been years since you've called me by that name."
For a brief second she said nothing. "Sorry, guess it's just because I was half out of it here, your massage feels so good, sort of took me back in time," she replied almost apologetically.
"No need to be, I'm feeling the same way, though admittedly, I don't ever remember massaging your legs for you either."
"You don't have to if you don't want..."
"No, I do...but once again to be honest, I think for me to do any good here, you're going to have to take off your Levi's!"
"You don't mind?" she questioned tentatively. "I'd just be in my panties, though I could run into the bedroom and put a pair of my shorts on."
"Oh for hells sakes," I told her. "You're my mother, don't be ridiculous, it's not like I haven't seen you naked before," I replied before I could reconsider the sound of that. But she laughed.
"Oh you have, have you? I don't recall a time when you might have."
"Well, just once," I said honestly. "But I saw you plenty of times running around the house in just your bra and panties, no difference here."
"When?" She said ignoring everything else I'd just told her.
"When what?"
"When did you see me naked?"
So I told her about the bathroom incident. Told her how I had accidentally barged in on her desperate in need of a pee. The image of that experience once again coming to mind...but there was more. Suddenly, there was more. She wasn't in the tub, or even the shower, she was sitting there on the toilet, but she wasn't going to the bathroom, and she wasn't shaving her legs or anything like that either. Suddenly I remembered, something at the time made no sense to me, so I had not thought about it again, until now.
"Oh yeah, I'd almost forgotten about that," she said turning slightly to one side in order to look at me directly in the face. She was blushing. "What do you remember?" she asked hesitantly.
I lied, laughing nervously. "Very little...it was a LONG time ago," I reminded her. "I think you were just getting in the tub, so it wasn't like I really saw anything. Often you called me into the bathroom to tell me something, but you were always careful to slink down beneath the bubbles whenever you did."
She looked at me quietly for a moment, digesting what I'd just told her. "So seeing me partially naked now doesn't bother you?"
"You're my mother," I said simply, as though that explained everything. Then added, "Your pants?"
"Ok, just close your eyes for a second," she instructed. I did. Heard movement as she shucked off her jeans, repositioning herself back down on the couch again. "Ok," she said somewhat breathlessly, "you can look now."
I have to admit, even though I was prepared for this, I wasn't. Seeing my mother lying there on the couch the way she was took me a little by surprise. I'd expected 'granny' panties or something I guess, she wasn't wearing those, she was wearing a thong! What I saw instead was her twin ass cheeks staring up at me, and they were actually still taut, perfectly molded with skin as smooth as any twenty year old.
"Wow!" I actually said before realizing I'd spoken the word aloud.
"What? You expected me to be wearing granny pants?"
I actually did laugh at that one. "Yeah, guess I was. Never thought you would wear something like that at..."
"At my age?" she finished for me.
I didn't respond to that verbally, but reached up instead and began working her calves.
"There's some lotion on the nightstand next to my bed," she said simply.
I stood, heading off into the direction of her bedroom when I noticed that my unencumbered erection was preceding me.
"Fuck!" I thought to myself. "What's up with that?" Then I laughed, inwardly. "I KNOW what's up with that," I actually said aloud.
"Robert?"
"Yeah?" I called back to her.
"You say something?"
I realized I had, but replied. "Where'd you say it was?" Pretending stupidity.
"On the nightstand!"
"Oh, yeah!"
I grabbed it, but announced myself as I prepared to re-enter the living room. There was no hiding my erection, not without drawing even more attention to it. All I could hope for was to let her know I was coming, and as she herself was nude, that she would once again simply lay face down with her head in the pillow so as not to accidentally expose herself. As I'd hoped, that's exactly the way I found her when I entered.
"Got it!"
"Ah Robert? If you wouldn't mind, would you mind doing my back again? Only this time with the lotion? My skin really is pretty dry."
"Ah, sure..." I half stammered, repositioning myself on her nearly exposed ass, careful so as not to come into contact with her, though the direction 'it' was pointing in at the moment, made any prospect of that impossible.
"Make sure you warm it up first," she cautioned me.
I filled my hands, then worked them together until the lotion was considerably warmer before applying it on to her.
"How's that?"
"Wonderful," she actually purred.
Long moments passed without another word between us. I continued working her back, finding it much easier now with the aid of the soothing lotion. And as I did, once again, the "game" came to mind. I allowed my hands to begin working along her sides, really digging into her flesh this time, pushing, then pulling as I worked up and down, up and down. Each pass, allowing my finger tips to creep that much higher, watching as I did, seeing the fleshly tid-bit of breast flesh oozing out from beneath her protective arms like syrup slipping away from a pancake. Which is when she moved.
"Oh...sorry!" I exclaimed.
"Hmmm?" she half moaned.
"Maybe she didn't know...maybe it hadn't registered," I thought, and said nothing. I'd been working my hands up beneath her just like I always did. But she had lifted slightly, as though to more comfortably position herself, but she had done so the very instant that I had slid my hands upwards. The simultaneous movement had placed her right breast firmly within my grasping hand. It was there only for a second, the briefest of contacts, but I had actually touched my mother's breast, felt the hardness of her nipple, though even then I recounted that, wondering if it had simply been my over-active imagination.
I went back to massaging her back, my erection even harder than before, now cognizant of that fact, careful as I leaned forward and upwards to ensure that 'it' once again, didn't come into contact with her.
"That feels good," she announced, "but my sides still feel pretty tight, would you mind working on them some more?"
"Ah sure," I replied. "But to do a really good job, you should probably quit laying on your arms. Then I can work on them a little easier." Once again there was a moment of silence. "Robert?"
"Yeah?" I responded in a 'Bobby-like' voice.
"Would it embarrass you too much if I were to turn over on my back? I could place a towel or something over my boobs if it would. Then you could work my hips and sides a little easier."
"Of course not!" I said in a non-threatened, non-worried, all grown up now sounding Robert-like tone of voice. "Don't be silly!"
And I was fine with that, until I stood allowing her to roll over onto her back. I followed her gaze, and horror struck me. But as I looked up, she had closed her eyes, no indication of shock, worry or concern on her face that she had seen my obvious condition. "Think I have ok tits for an old broad?" she asked suddenly.
"You're not old," I said defensively. "And yeah...you've got great looking tits!" Once again, having heard myself say that, I imagined her hearing it the way it must have sounded. Her eyes opened, and she smiled.
"Thanks for saying that, even if it's not true. It's been a while since I've heard anyone, including your father say anything like that to me."
"Well they are!" I said trying to sound as complimentary as possible without sounding like some horny teenage kid, though in truth, I was beginning to feel like one.
"Really?"
"Yeah...really!" And then I surprised myself, AND my mother by giving them both a quick affectionate little squeeze. The moment I had done that, I figured the massage was over. Already I could see mother suddenly sitting up, dislodging me from my sitting position within her lap, and bolting for the bedroom. She didn't. Instead, she merely closed her eyes and sighed.
"Been a while since they've even been touched," she whispered nervously.
I coughed, trying to clear my head, trying to think of the right thing to say...something to say anyway.
"So you wouldn't mind it if I went ahead and massaged them with a little lotion for you then?"
"No," she said softly...simply.
"Game...set...match!" I thought inwardly. Never in all my wildest imaginations did I think I would ever get to this point, let alone touch them with my fingertips. Now, here I was sitting on my mother's thighs, sporting a rock-hard erection which I still wasn't sure she hadn't seen, gazing down at her still very beautiful breasts, each tipped with a light brown tiny erect nipple, just waiting for me to actually begin caressing them.
"Yeah, caressing them," I thought to myself. I certainly wasn't massaging them, I was caressing them both, simultaneously. And as I did, I found myself paying particular attention to her nipples, those taut hard little nipples that were becoming even harder, firmer if that were possible.
"Ohhh," she moaned outwardly, unabashedly.
"Feel good?" I pressed, hearing the catch in my own voice, surprised by all of this, surprised to find myself playing with my own mother's exquisite looking breasts, even more surprised, that she was allowing it.
"Yes, but we shouldn't be...you shouldn't be," she finally did manage to say. "It's...it's...not right."
And though she'd said that, and though I had heard her, I didn't stop, and neither did she make any attempt to dislodge me, or force my hands away. Something she could have very easily done.
"We're not doing anything wrong," I said simply. "I'm just giving you a massage, and besides, massages are supposed to feel good aren't they?" I argued lamely.
"Yeah, but that's a naughty kind of feel good," she admitted, allowing her eyes to close firmly once again, as though she was afraid to look into my eyes, in fear of whatever she might find there. "And I don't think that I'm supposed to be feeling the naughty kind of feel good."
"Then don't think of it in those terms," I offered. "Just let it be a feel good 'thingy' and let it go at that."
I'd given her an out, as lame as it was, and she took it. I continued to massage/caress her breasts, finding with each handful of tit-flesh that I held, my cock seemed to be magically growing in proportion to those thoughts. For a brief moment, I even imagined the bizarre comparison of a Jack and the Beanstalk-like image of my enormous cock wedged comfortably between my mother's breasts.
"You're making me sticky."
"What?" I opened my eyes, they'd been closed. I followed her amused gaze, and once again to my horror, saw what she had so openly referred to. The front of my light grey sweat shorts was soaked thru and thru. A very large round circular spot had spread across the front of them, the excess leakage of my desire dripping down onto her exposed flesh with utter disregard of my precarious positioning. "Oh fuck! Mom! I'm sorry!" It was I who suddenly dashed from the room, into my own bedroom. Though I had closed the door, I hadn't locked it, though I sat on the edge of my bed in complete and total horror with myself. She knocked, but didn't ask to be invited in, she simply came in. And she'd done nothing to cover herself, her breasts still fully exposed, though she did fold one arm across herself as she entered the room, taking a seat beside me on the bed.
"Robert, please...don't chastise yourself, it's perfectly natural, perfectly normal for that to happen with men," she said as normally as though we were discussing the weather.
"It's not that...not really," I said with an edge of excitement still lingering in my tone of voice.
"Besides, it's really all my fault, I was enjoying it. I was enjoying the "naughty" feel good of it, and I shouldn't have been."
"Me too," I admitted honestly.
"Obviously," she laughed, trying to ease the tension. "Listen, lets not make this into any big deal," but once again she laughed, glancing down at my still very hard, very firm, very obvious BIG erection. But her laugh, made me laugh in return. "Not like I haven't seen it before either," she added a second later.
Once again I laughed. "Yeah, but that doesn't count, you're all grown up."
"So were you," she near whispered. "Just after you'd graduated from high school, and went to that graduation party. You stumbled into the house at 3:00 a.m. the next morning, remember?"
I did. But I didn't remember seeing my mother. But I did remember what happened next, and wondered.
"What did you see?" I asked pointedly.
"Everything," she admitted.
"Everything?"
"Yeah."
I had gone to the graduation party with my then girl friend Cheryl. We'd been seeing one another on and off for most of high school. We'd kept breaking up however, and I kept going back to her. All it would take is for her to 'offer' a little more than she'd been willing to give the last time we were together, then off we'd go again...for a time. So far, the most we'd done is a little heavy petting, well, mostly me doing all the heavy petting, which she seemed to enjoy. Enjoy to the point that I am fairly positive she'd had a few semi-silent orgasms along the way, though each time she'd had, she'd suddenly change from this aroused horny woman I was with, to an indignant one. Usually soon after, we'd break up once again...for a while.
I remembered how she'd been hinting at me that "this" night was going to be a very, very special night. How that something "more" might happen. And it did, but not nearly as much as I'd allowed myself to imagine it would. At some point during the party, we'd gone outside to my car, slipped into the back seat (at her suggestion) where she finally allowed me to actually finger her, and likewise, actually stroked me. I was nearing the point of climax, told her so in anticipation of staving off the inevitable if she continued, and thus go on to bigger and better things, when she told me "she wouldn't do that," not that far any way.
"What the hell do you mean?" I asked her.
"It's gross," she said. "If you want to do yourself, be my guest," she said almost indignantly. "I don't blame you if you do, after all...but I just won't do it for you," she said simply.
That was the night we broke up for the very last time. Though I was hurt, angry, and frustrated, I was still horny as hell. I had come home, but rather than go into the house, or even into my own bedroom, I had gone instead out to the back yard to sit in one of the lawn chairs. I knew that the moment I entered the house, mom would hear the creek of the backdoor, she always did. And no doubt, being as late as it was, would get up in order to check on me, and make sure I hadn't come home too drunk, or too sick or something.
What I had done...was to slip out of my jeans, and proceed to jack myself off to a much needed, much wanted orgasm.
"Where were you?" I then questioned.
Shamefacedly, she admitted, "I was outside having a smoke."
Mother never really was a smoker. About the only time she ever did was after she'd had a fight with dad, or after something had happened that got to her. I swear, she'd had the same pack of stale cigarettes hidden away in the empty coffee can for as long as I can remember. So it wasn't like I didn't know she smoked occasionally, or rarely actually. But I certainly hadn't been aware of it that night.
"And?" I pressed, still wondering how much she knew, how much she really had seen that night.
"Well, you certainly never knew I was there," she began. "I put my cigarette out the moment I saw you come out back."
She didn't need to tell me where she'd been standing. Suddenly I knew. Suddenly I remembered that feeling of maybe being watched, though I had just used that, included that in my masturbatory fantasy, a fantasy that I no longer wanted to include involving Cheryl. So I'd included my mother instead. Imagined her watching me, seeing me as I stood there caressing my prick. The fact was, she had been.
"So you..."
"Saw everything," she completed.
I'd forgotten how we'd gotten here in the first place. Or why even. It no longer mattered. For whatever reason, she was trying to sooth me, but all she'd done was remind me of a very erotic experience, an experience where I had imagined myself watching her, watching her do what I had once so long ago accidentally caught her doing.
"I guess that sort of makes us even then," I told her. Her eyes widened in surprise, then acceptance.
"So...you did see me, you do remember and know what I was doing!" She said in a combination of embarrassment, and surprise.
I laughed, trying to make light of it. "How could I not mom? I mean that thing was making more noise than your electric toothbrush, and besides being black, it was also half buried inside you when I watched you pull it out and drop it on the floor beside you. But it was already too late, I'd seen enough to know, and wonder, and think about it."
"You...you thought about it?" she questioned.
"For days! I was curious, so then I searched..."
"Searched?"
"Yeah...for your toy. And then I found it, found where you'd hidden it away, amongst other things," I stated without giving specifics. Even in the half light of my darkened bedroom I could see she was blushing furiously, and thought momentarily I had taken things a bit too far.
"The reason..."
"You don't have to explain," I told her.
"No, I want to, you need to listen to me," she began again. "Never once did I cheat on your father, but I did have needs, desires...things that were not being fulfilled. So I turned to masturbation, something I did a lot."
"Mom...really," I made attempt to interrupt once again. "You don't have to explain to me...I know."
"Which is why I'm not ashamed to tell you," she told me. "I knew you and Cheryl were having problems sexually, I knew how frustrated sexually you were...because I was. That night, when I watched you masturbate," she paused. But I heard the words before she even said them. "I masturbated while watching you. I imaged you touching me, touching me the way you did when you used to massage me, that silly little game we played, a game I knew we had no business playing, which is why I always shut things down before they went too far."
"You knew?"
Once again she laughed. "How could I not? When your whole focus turned into nothing more than repeating the same move over and over again, with each one a little more exploratory, a little closer to my exposed breasts. Admittedly, at first I thought it was amusing, your little boy curiosities, harmless really. But then I found myself looking forward to it, actually wondering, excited to see just how far you'd press it."
"Or how far you'd let me press it," I told her catching her off guard.
"Yes, admittedly," she stated. "And afterwards, when you would run off to your bedroom to sleep...to masturbate, I would head off to my room and do the same...with one of my toys."
"How'd you know I did?" I asked once again, curious. And she laughed again, shaking her head.
"Even as young as you were then, you couldn't hide from me the fact that you always had an erection, just as you had tonight...just as you still do now."
Trying to hide that fact was pointless. I still did. And I was still wearing the same pair of grey sweat shorts with the enormous round wet spot pointing that out.
"How long has it been?" she asked suddenly.
"Almost three years," I said simply. Though it had been just over a year since my divorce. For the last two years of my marriage, my wife and I hadn't had sexual relations of any kind, which was just the beginning of the end for us.
"What about you?" I asked just as curiously. And then she really did laugh.
"About the same, so I guess we were both going through the very same things at about the very same time."
"You mean you and dad?" "Quit having sex? Yes. About the time I discovered he was having an affair."
Which is what I had caught my ex-wife doing.
"So you haven't done anything with anyone else since?"
"No...you?"
"Nope...nadda."
For a brief moment we simply sat there in silence. The tension in the air was becoming unbearable. Then I felt her hand reach across my lap, grasping fully my somewhat weakening cock.
"Just say the word," she whispered.
"What word?" I screamed inside my own head. "Stop? Continue? What?"
"It's a naughty kind of feel good, I know. And if you want me to stop, just say so...and I will."
Instead, I reached for her breasts, felt them fill my hands just as my cock began more fully filling hers.
"Just this once, and never again," she told me. "This will be the end of our little game, it will be finished, here...now. Agreed?"
"Agreed," I told her.
She had me stand then, and just like that small child ages ago, I felt her pull down my shorts, only this time it wasn't to dress me, or undress me to dress me. When her soft warm mouth encircled my prick, I wanted to melt inside her mouth, right then and there. And I almost did. For the briefest of moments, I wondered how on earth my own father could have given this up for someone else. The way she sucked me, tickled me, pleasured me with her lips and tongue was beyond anything I had ever experienced before with anyone. And when I had reached that point of no return, I stopped her, reluctantly, even though I knew and saw within her eyes that she had wanted to continue.
"Not yet," I somehow managed to breathe. "Later...but right now, it's your turn."
The look on my mother's face was one I will never forget, and always remember. It was one of pure lust, pure desire, and pure wonder. Now it was my turn as she stood before me, as I slipped the tiny black thong down her legs, revealing the treasure of her femininity that was glistening with desire. I licked at her lips, savoring the taste of her nectar, sucked in the tiny bud of her clitoris, felt her shiver as she placed her hands on my head, running her fingers through my hair as she held me there, shivering, quivering expectantly. When she came, it was as though a dam had burst. A dam of pent up desire, frustration, and more. She literally exploded, the sweetness of her honey-dew spraying forth from somewhere deep inside her pussy, splashing my face as though I had stood beneath the shower. She laughed, cried, all the while crying out her joy and pleasures in wild abandon as I continued licking her, pleasuring her until the pleasure became more than she could continue to take.
"Fuck me," she said then. "Don't make love to me, I couldn't handle that under the circumstances, but fuck me...fuck me as a woman," she urged me with a desperation in her voice I had never heard before.
For the moment at least, she wasn't my mother, nor was I her son. She was a pussy that needed fucking, and I was a prick that needed to be fucked. It was that simple. Even the images and fantasies I had had of her, and perhaps she me, began to evaporate with each plunge of my prick inside her. All the frustrations, anxiety, and heartaches we'd experienced along the way began to vanish. Only the sweetness remained. The sweetness of her breasts as I kissed, sucked, and caressed them. The audible sighs of pleasure, a woman's pleasure, reached my ears as I licked, flicked, and once again devoured this woman's cunt in abstract pleasure and ecstasy. And all she asked of me was that I not climax inside of her. Not that she could become pregnant, as she couldn't, but it was a line for whatever reason she wouldn't cross, and I respected that. Nor did I mind it, as she knelt before me, once again sucking me deeply, fiercely into her mouth. When I came, it was harder and more glorious than I could ever imagine.
I feared for a short time afterwards that that would be it. That guilt, remorse and even sorrow would set in and chase her away from my room, possibly even from my life. It was a surprise then as we lay side by side there on the bed, still fondling, still cuddling, still playing abstractly with one another.
"Whenever you're ready," she said softly still stroking my cock as it slowly began hardening once again.
"But I thought..."
Mother placed a finger against my lips, shushing me just as she'd done years before.
"When the sunlight filters through the curtains, then a new day will have begun. A new tomorrow for both of us."
It did, though we stretched the night for as long as it was physically possible to do. Never again did we even discuss that night, nor make any attempt to become intimate again. The game had indeed come to an end. But we both knew, it was one we'd both very much enjoyed playing.
