Incest/Taboo The Mom Memories: Jack's Story

Mom suddenly stepped forward and grabbed my cock, hissing in my face, "I have to punish you Jack. I'm going to have to be rough with you." Mom started jacking my cock, slow but hard, almost painfully.

"How do you like that?" she hissed, jacking me harder and faster. "You don't, do you?"

Yank, yank, yank. Mom's eyes were wild, watching herself manhandle my cock.

"Are you going to behave, now? Huh? Are you?" she yelled, forgetting her caution about Dad being right upstairs.

Mom pulled her skirt up with her free hand, baring her panties again. She pressed closer to me, jacking my cock, pulling it toward her until my tip was nudging her panties. She stopped then and rubbed my head on her mound, slowly jacking me against that puffiest part of her panties. She was gasping now.

"You bad fucking boy," she hissed, repeating it over and over, yanking my cock against her panty clad pussy.

It was too much. I came, splashing my cum all over the front of her panties and up onto the skirt where she was holding it above her belly. She moaned as I released spurt after spurt, holding my cock still against her mound, quivering. I think she came.

When I was finished, Mom dropped her skirt, and turned her back to me.

"Get dressed in clean clothes and go upstairs to visit with your Dad," she said. She didn't make any move to clean herself or take her spunked clothes off. She just stood there, though I knew she was covered in my cum. I dressed and left.
​

* * *​

"Don't you dare tell your mom," Carrie insisted, looking out the kitchen window into the backyard, watching my Dad and her husband drink a beer on the lawn as they chatted. She was holding her skirt high, showing me the back of the little panties she'd been telling me about since Dad and I arrived after my game on Saturday, supposedly to help Uncle Jim with some chores. But he'd forgotten all about it, so he and Dad decided to have a beer, leaving Aunt Carrie and I alone, just what Mom didn't want.

"She's so prudish, always has been," Carrie insisted, looking over her shoulder at me. "Do you like them?"

"Love them," I answered, the truth of it obvious in my eyes as I gazed at the delicate little triangle trying to cover at least part of her ass. Her ass really was surprisingly nice. Her cheeks were quite prominent, sticking out, but they had a really nice pear shape to them and were quite firm, something that wasn't that obvious when covered by jeans or a skirt.

"You have a really great ass, Aunt Carrie."

"You shouldn't talk like that. Anyway, you're supposed to be looking at my panties, not my ass."

"But your ass is beautiful, Aunt Carrie."

"I told you, you can call me Carrie when we're alone."

"Don't you like me calling you Auntie?" I stepped closer to her. "I kind of like it," I said.

"I don't mind," she husked, "if you like it."

"I do," I whispered in her ear, standing very close behind her, touching her panties on the outside of each cheek where they desperately tried to cover about a quarter of her supple ass.

"I didn't say you could touch me, Jack."

"I know," I whispered back, sliding my palms onto her little pears, squeezing them lightly in my hands.

"Oh, Jack. You're being very naughty."

"I know," I whispered, continuing to massage her cheeks. "Does Uncle Jim do you like this, from behind?"

"JACK!"

"Does he put his thing against your bum?"

"Of course not. He would never do that."

"He's crazy, then. You have a gorgeous ass, Auntie," I whispered in her ear, then kissed it. I used the distraction to hook my thumbs in the waistband of her panties, and tugged them down her cheeks.

"Jack, stop," she protested.

"Are they coming back in?" I asked.

"No."

"Then let me see. You showed me your panties, but I want to see your bare ass."

"No, that's too far."

"I'll tell Mom you showed me your panties," I threatened. I tugged her panties down from her cheeks, leaving them stretched across the top of her legs. "Just let me look at it," I purred. A second later, I added, "It's so beautiful it should be a shrine."

I kicked her feet wider, parting her legs. "Wow, just awesome." I ran my hands over her ass despite my promise just to look. "That's incredible, Auntie," I whispered, sliding my hand along her crack and underneath her bum. "You have the most awesome bum in the world. Are you sure Uncle Jim doesn't touch you from behind, like this?" I slipped my hand right under her, sliding my fingers forward to rub along her bare pussy.

"Jack, Jack," she gasped, her hips jerking forward, and then back as my finger slipped into her damp groove.

"Are they coming?" I whispered.

"No. But stop. You can't," she cried, but she didn't resist as I used my left forearm on her back to press her forward, reaching down and pushing my fingers into her, right up into her wet cunt. Quickly, I jammed my hand against her, fingering her cunt rapidly, the wet squishy sound bearing witness to how horny my aunt really was.

"ohhhh, ohhh, ohh, ahh, ahhh, ahhh," she gasped, pushing her bottom out to provide better access for my supposedly unwanted touch.

"I'd take you from behind, Auntie," I whispered harshly, shoving my fingers in and out, reaming her pussy, "like this, against the counter."

"No, Jack ... don't," she moaned. I slipped my hand around to lightly grasp her by the throat.

"Don't you want get fucked from behind?" I gasped, feeling my load surging from my balls, mentally trying to stop it before I messed my shorts. I shoved my fingers right in and held them, vibrating, until she came. I couldn't help shooting into my own pants as she did.

When we were done, Carrie stood at the counter, not even pulling her panties up. Perhaps she was in shock, realizing that she had lost control of her little game with me.

I rubbed my hand over her ass. "Awesome," I said, dipping down to rub the wet part underneath. "I need to have you," I said, "I can't wait long."

"I can't, Jack. I just can't let you do that."

"Think about it, Auntie," I nibbled her ear, "next time you're in bed with old Jim on top of you, and then think about me instead, behind you, hard and ready."

I left. On the way home I held my jersey in my lap to hide my soaked jeans from Dad. I couldn't believe how confidently I had handled my aunt. I don't know where that had come from, but it came easily to me. As soon as I showed a little confidence she let me take over. Women must like a man to be decisive, I realized. It was like if the man was in control, then they weren't responsible for what happened.

I could hardly wait to get home so I could crank my little game with Mom up another notch.
​

* * *​

"How was the game," Mom asked cheerily when Dad and I got home.

"Okay," I tossed back as Dad and I sat at the kitchen table.

"Okay?" Dad said, "the kid was awesome, he was the star of the game."

"That's great," Mom said. "So, did you go out to celebrate? Its almost dinner time."

"No, no," Dad replied, "we dropped in to see if Jim still needed help."

"Oh." Within a single syllable, Mom's tone became noticeably less cheery. "And did he?"

"No, no," Dad said, "he'd forgotten all about it. You know Jim."

"So what kept you?" Mom was fussing around in the cupboards as she talked.

"Oh, we just sat outside and had a couple of beers," Dad answered.

"To celebrate Jack's game?" Mom casually asked. I could tell she was digging for information but Dad didn't seem to see it.

"No. Just Jim and I. Jack stayed inside and visited with Carrie."

"Oh, I see," Mom said, quietly, turning to work at the far counter, her back towards us.

Dad got up to get another beer out of the fridge. "Jack?" he held the beer up toward me. I shook my head. "Call me when dinner's ready," Dad said, walking out, "I'm gonna watch the news."

I sat alone, watching Mom, knowing she was pissed that I'd been alone with Carrie. I watched her, admiring her legs, at least from the part that was showing from her knees down. I liked the way her bottom shook as she cut vegetables up on the counter. Carrie had a dynamite ass. I had been really surprised by how awesome it looked, how sexy her protruding cheeks were when bared. Mom's ass looked to be the same, just like everything else about them. Her cheeks jiggled under her pleated skirt, making my cock tingle. I was surprised that I hadn't noticed her bottom before and, despite my desperate need for a shower, I couldn't pull myself away from watching it. Having seen Carrie's magnificent butt, I could hardly wait to see Mom's.

I stood and walked to stand about five feet behind Mom, still holding my jersey in front of my shorts.

"Nothing happened, Mom," I quietly offered. "We just talked. Aunt Carrie wasn't about to do anything with Dad and Uncle Jim right outside."

Mom kept slicing and dicing for a bit but then responded, "No. I guess not. But I bet she wanted to."

"Maybe," I laughed, "She looked pretty good from behind, I have to admit."

"From behind? What are you talking about?"

"I mean she looks good in tight pants, that's all."

Mom seemed angry again. "Oh, so she was showing off her tush?"

"Well its worth showing, Mom. Almost as much as yours."

"Uh huh. So you think I'll feel better if you tell me I have a nice fanny too?"

"What do you think I'm looking at?" I laughed.

Mom whirled around, the knife still in her hand. "Oh, you," she cried, her face flushing red.

I backed off. "Whoa Mom," I laughed. "I was just looking. I just wanted to make sure yours was the best."

Mom looked down at the knife in her hand and at me backing away and laughed herself. "And?"

"Definitely, Mom. You're the best."

I turned to leave for the shower.

"You'd better say that, young man," she called after me.

I whacked off in the shower, partly because I was remembering Carrie's ass, partly because I was imagining Mom's, and partly because I'd sat and talked to Mom with my shorts full of cum after fingering her best friend. Unfortunately, there was no practice tomorrow, so I didn't know how to get some alone time with Mom.
​

* * *​

Mom had made a roast beef with yorkshire pudding and potatoes around the roast, the way I loved them. We had wine for dinner, to celebrate my great game. I helped Mom with the dishes after we had custard for dessert while Dad disappeared into the living room. Since the good china couldn't go in the dishwasher we did the whole lot by hand. I spent a lot of time behind Mom, drying dishes, and watching her behind.

"I know what you're doing back there, mister. You just remember your Dad is right around the corner," Mom gave me a quiet warning to behave myself. "I don't think he'd understand you staring at your mother's butt."

"I'd hear him coming," I defended myself.

"I don't care. Cut it out."

I put a bowl she'd just washed back into the sink.

"There's nothing wrong with that, it's clean," she complained, carefully turning it over in her hands, inspecting it closely.

"It's dirty," I insisted, but Mom was suspicious.

"You're just trying to make this take longer, you little brat," she accused me.

"Why would I want to take longer to do the dishes?" I asked.

"I wonder, Mom," replied sarcastically.

I laughed at her implication. "Come on, Mom. You may have a great heinie, but I don't think I'd do dishes all night just to look at it."

"Really?" Mom asked, taking a plate she'd just put in the rack and rewashing it, "So I guess it's not all that great then, maybe not as nice as Carrie's."

I leaned close to her and quietly said, "If you lift your skirt so I can see better, I could tell for sure."

Mom pushed her elbow back to shove me away. "Stop that nonsense," she whispered. "Your Dad is sitting right there in the living room."

I took a plate to dry and wandered over to the kitchen door while I dried it and peeked into the living room. I sauntered back, put the plate on the counter, and stood behind Mom, without taking another dish.

Leaning over her shoulder, I whispered in her ear, "He's sleeping. Passed right out."

"No way," Mom replied.

"Go see for yourself," I suggested. "He and Uncle Jim had more like four our five beers, so with a couple glasses of wine, he's probably done for a couple of hours."

Mom was angry. "He knows he's not supposed to have that much alcohol, especially while he's on his medicine. Damn it. When will he ever learn?" Mom started scrubbing quite vigorously, venting her anger on a pot.

"Jeez, Mom. Your little tush looks wonderful when it's angry?"

Some of her anger dissipated when she heard my ludicrous comment.

"Good grief. One track mind. Can't you think of anything else?" she said, exasperated.

"Not when you're in the room," I admitted, "and I think about you most of the rest of the time too. I even thought about you while I was visiting with Aunt Carrie," I added, truthfully.

"You didn't."

"I did."

Mom's scrubbing relaxed to a gentle wash, slowly rubbing the scrubber lightly over the same pot.

"Let me see it, Mom."

"What?"

"Your butt."

"No!"

"Just a little peek."

"Your Dad is right next door."

"He's sleeping, Mom," I argued. "Just let me lift your skirt for a quick peek," I pleaded, "you're wearing panties anyway."

"Jack, for god's sake."

"I didn't look at Aunt Carrie's," I lied, "because YOU'RE my Mom."

I dropped that bomb, feeding off her similar statement to me, hoping to push her jealousy buttons. Mom didn't reply, she just kept scrubbing that same pot, but more roughly now. I could see she was pissed about me mentioning Carrie, reminding her that I'd been alone with her while Dad and Uncle Jim downed several beers, and no doubt not liking the implied threat to do something with Carrie if Mom wouldn't.

I walked over to the doorway and checked on Dad and then back to Mom. "He's snoring, Mom."

She didn't acknowledge me, she just kept scrubbing that same pot.

"I'm going to take a quick peek," I said, reaching down to grasp the hem of her skirt behind her knees. Mom kept scrubbing, ignoring me. "Just a peek," I said, slowly pulling her skirt up the back of her legs, feeling a little thrill as the back of her thighs were revealed, then her panties as I lifted the skirt up and over her bottom.

I was right. Her butt was just like Carrie's, sloping out from her back in a gentle curve, like following the surface of a pear from the top onto the bulbous part of the fruit. Her cheeks were widely separated, leaving a distinct divide between them, unlike some older women whose cheeks were mashed together. Her panties covered less than half her butt, and there was an enticing gap where they stretched across the canyon between her cheeks.

"My god, Mom. You're awesome!" I cried, stunned that her butt was even nicer than Carrie's. How did these older women hide such great asses?

"It's demeaning," Mom said, "you looking at me like that. It's gross."

"Demeaning?" I repeated incredulously. "How can it be demeaning to look at something so beautiful? You have the most gorgeous ass, Mom."

"It's just a bum, a place for doing your business. It's not beautiful."

"You're wrong, Mom. You have an incredible ass and I love the look of it." I released one hand from her skirt and moved it to rest on the bare skin of her hip above her panties. "You can't tell me that Dad doesn't spend a lot of time looking a this little wonder," I patted the side of her right cheek to make my point.

"Of course he doesn't!" Mom barked, in her anger not realizing I was touching her bottom, having let my hand stay on the side of her cheek.

I pushed her further. "I don't believe it. You mean, he's never put you over on your tummy?" I let my fingers slide over the underside of her cheek. God, what an ass.

"Jack! Don't talk filthy like that. That's how animals do it."

"That's how women like to do it nowadays," I whispered, squeezing her right cheek, "that's what the guys at school say, anyway."

I moved my hand away and let Mom's skirt drop. She seemed to be pretty rattled and I didn't want to go too far. She seemed to breathe easier once she was covered her again.

"Are you sure Dad doesn't touch your bum?"

"Of course he doesn't."

"He's nuts then. I'd love to touch it."

"Why?" Mom seemed genuinely perplexed.

"Because it's beautiful, and it's yours, and ..." I pushed another button, "because I'd be the first, the only one you let touch it."

I watched her face, from behind and to the side, noted the flicker of her eyes as my words sunk in. I spoke again, before she thought too much about it.

"You haven't, have you?" I asked. "Let anyone else," I explained further.

I put my hand on her cheek, outside her skirt, possessively, like I had a right to do so.

"No," Mom replied quietly. "You'd be the first."

"That's great," I whispered, letting my hand slide across to her other cheek, then brushing around in an oval across both. "Just me then, not even Dad."

Mom's face tilted forward, her chin hitting her chest. I continued brushing my hand across the back of her skirt, hoping to trigger a sensation she hadn't experienced before.

"All right," she said quietly.

As soon as she said that I put both arms around her, hugging her from behind, whispering in her ear, "I love you, Mom."

"Mmhmm."

"Will you let me look again when we're by ourselves?" I asked.

"Yes," she sighed, sounding a little exasperated.
​

* * *​

The next day produced a rare event right. My father missed church. Mom was still mad at him so she had little patience for his complaints about not feeling too well. She wore an angry demeanor as we left for church alone, She was dressed in a conservative, grey tweed dress with matching jacket and white blouse. Try as I might, I couldn't see the outlines of her magnificent ass while following her to the car, and there was no flashing action as I held the door open for her.

On the way home, I suggested we take a Sunday drive since it was such a nice day. Mom agreed, being in no hurry, I think, to rush home to her hungover husband. I headed out on a circular route that would take us through pleasant country and several small burgs on our way home, stopping at the first little place for ice cream cones. Before we got back in the car, Mom took her dress jacket off in case the ice cream dripped, laying it carefully on the back street. We were now far enough from home that we were unlikely to meet anyone we knew but, even so, I was surprised when Mom slid into the middle as we drove away.

Mom didn't say anything. She seemed to be interested in surveying the sunny countryside which suited me. I was able to glance down at her figure and enjoy the closeness of her body, her thigh touching mine, even though it was covered by a thick tweed skirt that covered her knees and offered no opportunity for me to slip my hand between her legs. So my eyes shifted elsewhere, drifting up toward her neck and face, but soon slipped lower when my brain processed the input from my retinas.

It had taken a moment for me to register that Mom's white blouse, pleasantly filled out by her nicely sized breasts, seemed to fit her rather closer than usual. As I stared, it slowly dawned on me that there were no heavy lines indicating the presence of a motherly bra under the white cotton of her blouse. What the hey? Mom wasn't wearing a bra? Did she always dress this way when going to church? I racked my brain, dredging up memories of us getting ready for church. Mom usually didn't put her grey jacket on until we were about to leave, and I didn't remember ever seeing her like this, and there's no way I wouldn't have noticed her walking around in a blouse with her breasts jiggling about. Nope. This was a first.

Immediately, my real brain stirred between my legs, flooding my consciousness. As soon as I finished my ice cream, I casually stretched my arm around Mom's shoulders, resting my hand on the outside of her upper arm. Mom didn't say anything but she turned and smiled, snuggling in closer to me. As we drove, I brushed her arm, from her shoulder to her elbow, with my fingertips. The presence of her unencumbered breasts so close to my hand sent electric tingles up my fingers, sparking all the way to my shoulder and then splitting, traveling up to my head and down to my groin. I grew a substantial semi-stiffy.​