Incest/Taboo The Mom Memories

I could tell this was hard for her. "That's good, Mary, that's good," I assured her, placing my hand on her shoulder, squeezing her gently, comfortingly. She eased a bit. Her hands started buttering the bread again.

"It was good for you to do that. I'm sure it comforted him, for you to let him be close to your breasts, like when he could see Mom was doing for me."

"Maybe ... I hope so." She paused to make the sign of the cross on her chest.

"Mary, we've been through this. He needs to be close to you, but in different way. It worked for me and Mom," I added, wrongfully implying my relationship with Mom had started the same way.

"I know," she said, her voice now very quiet.

I squeezed her neck again and pulled her head to mine, hugging her. I let my side press against hers, hip to hip, leg to leg.

"Do you think he could feel them?"

"What?"

"Your breasts. Could he feel them?"

"I guess so," she answered awkwardly, "his head was right on them."

"Could he feel your nipples?" I pressed.

"Dave!"

"Could he?"

"I ... I don't know."

" He turned to watch us, I could tell. His face must have been on them. Could you feel his face on you?"

"Yes. I guess so. On one."

"Did it make you feel closer to him, like when he was a baby?"

"I guess."

"Did you push against him?"

"No!"

"You should have, Mary," I admonished, "You should have offered, like you would have when he was a baby, to comfort him. You should have just pressed against him a bit, to let him know it was alright."

She had stopped buttering the bread again. I turned her to face me.

"Did he try anything last night?"

"No."

"You should have encouraged him," I said, pulling her to me in a hug.

Mary nodded her head against my shoulder, "I guess."

I could feel her against me. She couldn't have been wearing much under her blouse. If Paul's head was on these with just a nightie covering them, then he definitely felt her nipples. I pressed my hand into her back.

"You should have pressed back, just a little." I pushed on her shoulder blade. She responded by pressing against me slightly. "Try it."

She arched her back, jutting her tits against me. It was great. I pressed my hand in, keeping her breasts tight to my chest.

"There. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"No."

"You wanted to, didn't you? To comfort him. You can tell me, Mary. You know I know."

"Yes." Her voice was very quiet, as if she was ashamed.

"It's because you love your son. It's natural, Mary. It's because you want to comfort him."

"I do," she whispered, intensely.

"Then do it for him. No more doubts. He may be confused at first, but he'll love you for it. He'll love that you'll do that for him." I moved my hand in a big circle on her back, keeping the pressure on, rolling her breasts around on my chest. "He'll love it, trust me."

I stepped back and looked her in the eyes. "Find a way to let him be close. Stay focused. Remember why you're doing it."

I left. Later that day, while Paul was at school, Mom was out, and Mary was upstairs looking after Dad, I placed a few wireless cameras around, including in Mary and Paul's suite. I know it was wrong, but I had to know. I rationalized my behavior by telling myself I needed to know what was going on so I could provide better tips, but my cock knew better.

At the end of the day, after Mary reviewed the day with Dad for Mom, I managed to catch Mary on her way through the kitchen before she went downstairs to her suite for the evening. As she started to pass me, leaning back against the counter by the door, she smiled. I reached out to block her path with my open hand, flat against her stomach.

"Mary," I whispered, "You can't go down like that."

"Like what?" she asked, whispering back, like were both in on a secret plan.

"Like this." I brushed my fingers across the of her blouse, buttoned right up to her neck. "Loosen up, undo a couple of buttons."

Mary's face flushed.

"Come on," I insisted, "a button or two for him."

She simply stood there, face reddening, so I used both hands to undo the top button on her blouse.

"Now you do one for him," I urged.

Without a word or a nod, she raised her hands and slipped another button out. I rearranged the lapels of her blouse.

"That's better," I said, "Now he'll see a mother, ... and a woman. I guarantee he'll be more interested."

She looked great, standing there, her breasts noticeably rising and falling.

"Go make him grow up."

Mary walked past me. As soon as the door closed behind her I rushed into my study and activated the monitoring program.

I missed her entrance. She was already in the kitchen, making dinner. Paul came in, sat down at the table, and began reading the comic he'd brought with him. He didn't pay any attention to her, even when she set a plate down in front of him, simply sliding his comic aside as she put it down. But when she brought the cutlery, she fussed about getting it lined up, reaching between his arms holding the comic book to the side.

I could see his head turn up, an annoyed look on his face which quickly changed to a blank stare. I could only see Mary's back so I don't know what Paul was looking at, but I could guess. Mary took a much longer time getting the cutlery straight around Paul's plate than her own and when she turned back to approach the counter, Paul's eyes followed her. I couldn't see very well, but it seemed to me that Mary may have undone another button on her blouse, at least as evidenced by the deep wedge of skin cutting through the olive green blouse.

It's amazing how a woman with a short haircut can change from curt to exotic by simply undoing a few buttons on a blouse. Something had surely changed in Paul's mind. The comic book lay on the table, ignored. I could see Paul's eyes flick up and down as they perused his mother's figure, their intensity signaling the discovery of something surprising, and new.

Mary returned to fill glasses with milk. Hers was poured quickly but Paul's was filled quite slowly as she leaned forward, reaching from behind her pushed in chair. Again, his eyes followed Mary back. In fact, his eyes hadn't left his mother since she had placed the cutlery in front of him. When the food was ready, Mary brought each individual dish and carefully served it on Paul's plate, one at a time. When that was done, she took her own plate and filled it from the stove, all at once.

After dinner, Paul offered to help clean up. I sensed that this was a rare if not unique occurrence. When the table and counters were cleared and the dishwasher loaded, Mary turned to thank Paul, opening her arms for a hug. I could see his eyes stray down from her face as she closed her arms around him. Mary gave him a good, long hug and, from my vantage point, I could see her put her back into it.

Nothing happened for quite a while after that. They retired to the living room and watched TV. Paul read his comic book but often looked up to look at his mom, his eyes sometimes lingering on her for quite some time. At the end of one show, Mary rose and disappeared down the hall toward the bedrooms. I hadn't placed any cameras there so didn't know what she was doing or if she would come back. When she returned, she was wearing pajamas, a blouse with large buttons and leg hugging pants that ended just below the knee. She had nice legs.

It was hard to see but I'm certain Mary wasn't wearing anything under her blouse. Paul certainly paid close attention as she returned to sit on the couch, tucking her feet up under her legs. His eyes seemed to be directed at her chest and upon examination, I could see why. Mary's blouse was gapping open to below her breasts. From his vantage point to the side, Paul must have been able to see most of the side of her right breast at times. While Mary watched TV, Paul watched her, never once taking his eyes away except during commercials. Mary seemed oblivious.

When the show ended, Mary got up and made tea. When she returned, she set two cups and a pot down in front of her on the coffee table. As she sat down, I could see her blouse was undone almost all the way to her pajama pants. The show started and so did Paul's vigil. At the first commercial break, Mary leaned forward to pour two cups of tea. She patted the couch beside her before picking up a cup. Paul sidled over to her side and did the same. Mary sipped her tea as she watched the show and Paul watched her as he sipped his. Clearly, he could now see better down her blatantly open blouse.

When Mary leaned forward to refill her cup, her blouse seemed to open more, widening at the point where it was tucked into her pajama bottoms. I don't know if this was from the natural pull of the material when she leaned over, or whether she was helping it along. But the effect was dramatic. I could see from the camera view, that her breasts were sometimes fully half visible and I'm sure that from Paul's vantage point he could see much more, probably enjoying the full rising slope out to their tips.

During the next set of commercials, Paul didn't look away. He engaged his mother in conversation. I'm not sure what was said, but at one point Mary seemed to be saying 'thank you' and turned to hug her son after putting her cup down. When the hug was over, the show had started again, and they turned back to watch it.

Mary's loose pajama top had been tugged down over one shoulder, something Paul clearly noticed right away. I could see him say something and Mary's lips moved briefly in response. Paul reached up to touch her blouse but on the shoulder that remained covered. Slowly, he pulled on it until it too was uncovered, baring both of Mary's lovely shoulders and the upper part of her breasts. Mary's eyes were fixed on the TV but Paul's, and mine, were diving between her breasts whose swells were fully exposed. I could see Mary's tummy and navel.

Paul never looked at the TV after that, not even once. He spent the entire time ogling his mother's chest. At the end of the show, Mary made a big show of stretching, arching her back and thrusting her chest out. She then turned to hug her son, giving him a kiss on each cheek and then on his mouth. He seemed surprised by this, so I assumed it was a first. After that, Mary rose and disappeared down the hallway toward the bedrooms. Paul remained for some time, staring down the hall before he too disappeared.

The comic book remained discarded on the couch at the end were Paul had first been sitting.

I had early classes the next day so I couldn't ask Mary about the evening. In case I missed anything, I set the cameras in Mary's suite and our kitchen to be activated whenever someone was there. During a break at school, I logged in to see if anything had happened. Nothing was going on, but there was an interesting segment recorded in our kitchen between Paul and my mom.

Paul, his mom and mine were having a coffee together in our kitchen. Mary got up and left, taking my father's breakfast tray with her. After a couple of minutes of polite chit chat, Paul suddenly directed a probing question to Mom.

"Can I ask you something personal, Mrs. H?" This is what Paul called Mom.

"Sure," Mom replied.

"It's confidential. You won't tell Mom I asked, will you?"

"No Paul," she assured him, "You can talk to me. Just think of me as another mom."

"I'd like that," Paul said. "Anyway," he continued, "I know you and Dave are really close, ... really close," he emphasized, "and I think I'd like to be like that with Mom, but I don't know how." He hung his head down, not meeting Mom's eyes. "But I'd like to," he mumbled.

Mom reached out, placing her fingers under Paul's chin, raising his head up so she could look into his eyes.

"Are you sure, Paul? You know Dave and I are very close. Do you feel that way about your Mom?"

"Yes."

"Is it just because it's your Mom? Because it's ... not allowed?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"I don't think so."

"Do you think she feel's that way about you?"

"I don't know."

"So you need to find a way to tell her." Mom got up and took her cup to the sink, rinsing it out before turning back to face Paul, who was still sitting at the table. It seemed so easy, when both Mom and I knew Mary was trying to encourage Paul, but I could see on Mom's face she was realizing that of course things appeared more challenging to Paul. Her expression made me realize that she knew she had to 'advise' Paul in a way that didn't give away the game.

"Come here, Paul," Mom gestured to him.

Paul went to Mom, carrying his cup.

"Put your cup in the sink."

Paul had to reach around Mom to get to the sink. Carefully, he placed his cup in the sink. As he did, Mom put her arms around him, holding him loosely in front of her. Paul looked nervously behind him.

"Don't worry. Your mom will be with Mr. H for awhile." Mom shifted her hands up and down Paul's sides, then rested them on his hips. "Now. How do you think you can go about letting your Mom know you like her in a special way, like Dave and I?"

"I don't know."

"You don't?" Mom asked, peering up into his eyes with a little disbelief. "Do you really not know, or are you just afraid?"

Paul squirmed, but didn't try to break free. "She might not like it. She might get really mad."

"But what if she doesn't get mad? What if she likes it?"

Paul ignored Mom's question, instead answering his own. "If she doesn't like it, she'll hate me."

Mom tried a different tack. "Well, you can do it in a way that it could have been an accident, if she gets mad."

"Really?" Paul asked, his interest aroused.

"Sure," Mom replied. "You hug your mom, don't you?"

"Yeah," Paul mumbled.

Mom demanded, "Put your arms around me. Show me how you hug her."

Paul put his arms loosely around Mom's shoulders, giving her a quick hug, squeezing his face lightly against her cheek and quickly pulling away.

"No, no, no," Mom rebuked him. "You can do better than that, now, can't you?"

Paul nodded, clearly not knowing what she meant.

"Come on, put your arms under mine." Mom raised her arms slightly, opening a gap between her arms and her sides. "Come on, I won't bite you." Paul slipped his arms in and Mom dropped hers, pinning his to her side.

"There, isn't that better than my shoulders?" Mom asked, putting her own hands up onto Paul's chest.

Paul didn't answer, he just stood close to Mom, his hands holding her sides under her arms.

"Squeeze me, honey," Mom said, "the way you want to hug your mom."

I could see Mom's arms tighten to her sides, pressing Paul's hands against herself. Mom slipped her hands around to Paul's back, pressing him closer.

"Put your cheek against mine, and don't pull away."

"That's it. Now, as if it's an accident, slip your arms out a bit, slowly, so your hands are by my breasts." Paul didn't move. "Go ahead, Paul. I'm not your Mom. I won't get mad."

Paul's arms drew back until his hands were cupping the sides of Mom's breasts.

"Tighter, Paul. ... That's right. ... Now, isn't that nice? Do you like that?"

"Yes," he mumbled, but there was excitement in his mumble.

"Wouldn't you like to do that to your Mom?"

"Yessss," Paul hissed.

"That's right," Mom said moment later. "A little initiative is good," in response to Paul's obvious squeezing of her breasts. "That shows me you like me, that I'm attractive to you. And something else does, too," Mom laughed pushing him away.

"There," she said. "You can pretend that was an accident if she gets mad, but if she doesn't, you just squeeze her a bit like that, and then pull away. But next time, make sure you touch her like that again, and every time you hug her from then on, so she knows you still like her." Paul nodded. "And you can do it for longer each time, too."

Paul nodded again, looking down at Mom's breasts, clearly wanting to do hug her again. I was feeling a little jealous now, though I knew Mom was just trying to help out, like I'd asked her to. Mom smiled at Paul.

"Do you think you have the hang of it now?"

Paul looked unsure.

"You want to try it again?" Mom smiled, knowing he dearly wanted to. "Come on," she said, "one more time before your mother comes down."

She held her arms up. Paul immediately stepped forward, putting his hands directly on the sides of her breasts.

"No, no. Hug me first and then slip your hands back. It's important to let me pretend I'm not just letting you touch me." I was beginning to wonder if Mom had played me.

Paul stepped right back, and did the whole thing over, quickly sliding his hands back to grasp her breasts. Mom smiled over his shoulder, amused at his clumsiness, her smile turning to an 'oh' as his hips pressed against her. When she pushed him away a few minutes later, her breathing had quickened.

"You really are a big boy, Paul. I'm sure your mom won't object to you hugging her."

Paul nodded dumbly. I could tell he just wanted to hug my mother again.

"Do you kiss your mom?" Mom suddenly asked, a mischievous look dancing in her eyes.

Paul nodded.

"I don't mean little pecks. On the mouth?"

Paul shuffled his feet. "Last night ..."

"Moms like to be kissed," Mom stated. "Come on, show me how you'd kiss your mom." She pulled Paul to her, pulling his mouth down onto hers. A minute later, her hands grabbed his and pulled them to her tits, not on the sides, but right on them. Godammit! I had been getting hard watching them but now I was getting mad. She didn't have to go this far.

Mom was out of breath when the kiss ended but she managed to ask Paul if he wanted to practice more before trying to kiss his own Mom. Her exact words were, "Would you like to try that again, big boy, before chancing it with your Mom?"

Paul nodded, this time enthusiastically.

"Yes," Mom looked down at the front of Paul's pants, "I can see you want to," she laughed. "But it's our secret, OK? You can't tell anyone. If you promise me that, I'll let you practice, big boy," she repeated this maddening reference to him.

"Mom let me see her last night," Paul blurted, "a little."

"Oh?" Mom looked surprised.

Paul went on, "She let me see her shoulders. She opened her pajamas so I could see her shoulders." He ran his hands above Mom's shoulders, indicating how Mary had opened her top.

"Oh." Mom and Paul suddenly looked toward the kitchen door. They must have heard Mary coming down. Mom pushed herself away from the counter, walking toward the doorway. "We'll see what we can do, tiger."

I didn't know what to feel. I was excited by this exchange, but jealous and angry too. I wanted to reassert my 'ownership' of Mom, and to do something intimate with Mary just to 'get back' at Paul. I wasn't in a good mood when I got home that night and my mood didn't improve when I found Mary alone. Apparently, they had decided to order Chinese food and Paul had gone to pick it up, accompanied by Mom who insisted on tagging along to pay for it. My imagination was full of what could be going on and I queried Mary about how long they'd been gone. They'd just left, she told me. What was the matter?

"Nothing," I assured her. "I just wanted to have a few moments to talk about how things went with Paul."

"Oh," she replied, and went on to tell me about the night before.

"You know, Mary, I'm not sure you should let him touch you too soon. I think it would be better if you just let him look for awhile." I wanted to exact a little revenge, here. I suddenly thought things shouldn't be too easy for Paul.

"I don't know if I was going to let him touch me anyway," Mary assured me, "but you think I should show him more?"

"I don't know. What did you show him?" I asked, innocently. She started to tell me, but I insisted I couldn't tell how much it meant to Paul unless she showed me.

"We have time, before they get back." I was now more interested in Mary's revelation than in what could be going on in the car.

Reluctantly, Mary undid the buttons on her blouse, explaining there were only a few on her pajama top while she did. I have no idea what difference that made, and I don't know if she did either. But it didn't matter, because she kept undoing her buttons until she reached the waistband of her pants.

"Did he like that?" I asked.

"Yes," she replied, her breath quickening at the memory of her son's attention.

"Did you show yourself to him?" I asked.

"No."

"You didn't open your blouse for him to see?"

"I hugged him, and it fell off my shoulders."

She didn't admit that she let him pull her blouse off one shoulder. I guess, she was still having a hard time with this.

"Like this," I asked, brushing the blouse off, baring her shoulders and chest down to the tops of her breasts where the material was caught. I had lucked out. Evidently, Mary didn't wear a bra while working in the house. The swells of her breasts were open to my view unhindered by the cross member of a bra.

"Is this what you showed him?"

"Yes," she answered, her voice low.

"Good. That was brave of you, Mary."

"Thank you," she said even more quietly.

I took hold of each edge of her blouse, below her breasts. "Were you brave enough to show him this?" I asked, pulling her shirt apart, baring her tits, her nipples struggling to keep their hold on the cotton as it scraped over them.

"No," she admitted, not trying to keep herself covered, casting her eyes down to the floor.

"Good," I praised her. "He wouldn't be able to hold back if he saw these like this. And that would be too soon."

She nodded, as if understanding my meaning.
​