Incest/Taboo The Mom Memories

Mom was quite pleased with me. She loved the way I paid her so much attention and never hurried her. We took our time eating, having appetizers meal and dessert followed by special coffees. Mom compensated me by pulling her dress up to mid thigh and allowing me quite a few glimpses at the side of her bare breast during dinner without being obvious but indicating she was well aware of the positive features of this particular dress. Despite the extent of our sexual relations, Mom knew how to work the magic of her body in concert with her womanly aura to tease and arouse, any man. Or woman, for that matter, I thought. That thought jarred me. I filed it away for later consideration, distracted by Mom leaning far forward to retrieve her purse under the table, her breast handing free. I was hard as we left the restaurant, barely aware of the admiring glances of several men as we passed, but I still noticed the envious glances from their wives as they assessed her in their own way. I wonder how many of them realized that we were mother and son, and how that might affect their own maternal relationships.

At home, I tried to put on a romantic movie but Mom insisted she wanted to relax in bed, sipping champagne, saying she'd noticed an empty bucket there. Bring the movie upstairs with the bubbly, she suggested. She didn't go upstairs ahead of me, she waited so I could follow her. I hardened even more, knowing, as she purposely moved very slowly up the steps, that she was allowing me time to think about unwrapping this special gift. And think I did. She couldn't have been wearing anything larger than a thong, I thought, as the dress tightened over her cheeks as she traversed each step, reminding me of why I loved having her from behind so much. She stopped halfway of the stairs to remove her shoes, pulling the dress high up her thighs and pausing to rub her thumb along bottom of each foot. She must be the world's most fuckable woman, I thought, remembering how my father had lived so long without really tasting the fruits she had to offer.

She moved a little more quickly after that, sensing how eager I was to get my cock into her. She really knew how to read a man. Still, she waited until I had turned from filling the champagne bucket with ice and placing the bottle before she reached up behind her neck to undo the dress. She pulled her arms free and shrugged until the little silk number slid to the floor, standing there, arms still up bent at the elbows, breasts bounding free. She put one knee on the bed, letting me see her bare, shaven pussy, uncovered by even a thong. Stiffer, stiffer. She had sat there in that expensive restaurant totally nude under that shear dress, not even wearing panties!

She crawled up onto the bed, turning to lay on her back, on top of the covers.

"Let the bubbly cool for awhile," she said, smiling knowingly at me. She turned her head to the side, reaching up to lightly touch one of the straps hanging from the headboard, "Come help me get ready for bed."

I started across the bed from where I was standing but she waved me away.

"Take your clothes off first. Stand down there," she indicated the foot of the bed, "so I can watch."

Obediently, I took my place and removed my shirt, then my pants, socks, and shorts. Standing in front of her with my pole leaping out, I was pleased when she remarked, "I see you enjoyed dinner as much as I."

Taking that as my cue, I crawled up on the bed, grasping her ankles as I kneeled in front of her, raising her feet toward the straps.

"No," she cried, pushing her feet back to the mattress. "This way first." She slipped her wrists through the straps, grasping the leather above each loop, bracing her shoulder against the headboard. "Bring it to me," she whispered, opening her mouth into a big 'O'.

I couldn't move for a few seconds before I climbed up, placed my knees on each side of her waist, then shifted higher to straddle her breasts, bringing the tip of my cock to her chin. Mom lowered her face and the head of my cock slipped into her mouth.

"Mmmmmmmm," she mumbled, her tongue sliding under my head while her lips closed behind it. Her hands left the straps and came up to grab my ass, pulling me toward her, her knees bending as her calves crossed and locked into place behind mine. She squeezed my cheeks and yanked on my ass, forcing me into her mouth, then pulled back and shoved me in again, several times, showing me what she wanted. Then she shoved me out. Turning her head to watch herself slip her hands into the straps again, she turned her face up to look at me, "Fuck my mouth."

Instinctively, I shoved forward, my cock sliding off her cheek as I missed her wide open mouth in my eagerness. Twice more I bounced off, once on the other cheek, once on her chin. Reaching down, I grasped her head firmly in my hand and used cock-eye coordination to guide myself into her mouth. As soon as I was in I started humping her face, fascinated by her bulging cheeks, moving so I could watch myself alternately stretch each side of her face. Tiring of that, I pushed further into the center of her mouth, pulling back and mumbling sorry when I gagged her, but shoving right back in again as soon as she gulped in some air.

Soon, I had a regular rhythm going, knowing I could go half a dozen shoves before I needed to let her breathe, she expelling thick, lubricating saliva onto the hardest cock I had ever wielded. Time was a series of my grunts and Mom's mmmmmm's as I shoved into her face, the headboard rattling from our efforts, followed by her gasping gulps for air and the squishy, liquid sound of my cock working her saliva back into her mouth. When I came, I kept fucking her mouth. I didn't hold still, or pull out. I blasted everything into her. Only a little squeezed out past my cock, the rest she swallowed.

She kept sucking as my spurts died off, so I kept my cock there. I never fully softened but when I was hard again, I didn't have the same desperation to shove myself in, letting her do more work sucking me, swirling her tongue around but mostly under the head, pulling out to lick my balls. Oh, the gorgeous feeling when she reached up to suck my cock back in again, closing her lips around the head and tugging back until her head pressed once more against the headboard. I pushed the rest of the way in slowly, now, relishing the feel of her wet mouth. It was on one of these journeys that I first nudged my cock against the entrance of her throat. I returned there again and again, until she pushed me right off, slid her hands out of the straps and lay crossways in front of me, laying her head back until it just tipped over the edge of the bed.

I got off the bed quickly then and shifted her farther down. Bracing my knees against the bed on either side of her shoulders, I leaned down to slip my cock into her mouth and pushed in until I could feel the tip at the entrance to her throat again. She was breathing loudly through her nose as I pushed in, watching her neck bulge with my cock's progress. Mom let me repeat that several times before pressing her hands on my thighs, pushing me out.

"Slowly," she whispered, "go real slow."

I nodded, leaning back to get my cock back into her, but she grabbed it in her hand.

"When you're ready to come, pull out. Understand?"

"Yes." I nodded for additional emphasis to show that I understood, eager to get my cock back inside her.

"And come on me." She nodded at me, demanding acknowledgement, "On my face."

I couldn't speak, I could only nod my head. I was stunned. My head continuing bobbing as she pulled my cock toward her, spit on it, and inserted it in her mouth while I was still digesting what she'd said. Come on her face? Like Paul had done? Had she gotten off on that? I remembered that after Paul left she had frigged herself. Was this a new fetish for her, something she didn't know about until it happened? What was clear was that she was into it now. She must have been thinking about it all evening, she'd led me straight to her mouth as soon as she got on the bed. Would she have kept sucking me if I had pulled out and blasted her in the face?

I had to restrain myself after that, to make sure I didn't hurt her. I was so eager to fuck her face hard, it was hard to hold back. As I fucked, I realized that Paul couldn't do this. He was too big to get into her throat, too big even for his own mom's mouth. That excited me even more. I might not be able to produce a huge puddle like his but I could treat them to feel of a cock sliding through their mouths and into their throats. I belatedly reached out to finger Mom's pussy then but I was too late, her hand was already busy there. A minute later, I pulled out, pointed my cock at Mom's face, and unloaded.

I forgot to ask Mom if Paul had said anything about the straps.

I mended that error the next morning at breakfast. Mary was just leaving with Dad's tray when I arrived in the kitchen. Mom smiled sweetly at me, her eyes dancing, as she watched Mary walk away.

"Oh, Mom, that reminds me," I said, as if Mary's presence had triggered my memory, "Do you know if Paul has ever been in our room?"

"In our room?" Mom looked surprised and, tellingly, blushed. "I don't know. There're no reason for him to be there, but the door's always open and he does help Mary with Dad sometimes. Why?

"Oh, no reason. I was just wondering."

"What's up, David. Why do you ask?"

I hadn't planned this, and her question showed that I should have thought before blurting out a question like that. If I said he's asked, she might follow up on that.

"Well, I had to check on something in the suite," I started lamely, thinking too long a pause would be suspicious, "and I noticed there were straps the bed downstairs."

"In Paul's room?" Mom looked truly surprised and I realized then that she hadn't said anything about the straps. Now I wanted to get out of this conversation right away.

"Uh, no. In Mary's room. Say, what should be have for breakfast," I ended up even more lamely.

"In Mary's room?" Mom repeated, then looked at me more closely. "What were you doing in Mary's room?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't think of anything.

"You can't go sneaking around downstairs, David," Mom admonished me, using my full given name which she usually reserved for those occasions when she wasn't pleased with me. "I know you're trying to help Mary get Paul's mind off comic books and computer games and onto girls, but invading their privacy isn't right."

God, what would she think if she knew I was recording them, and her?

"I know, Mom, I know. I was just checking the lights. I blew a breaker in the study and it put some lights out in other rooms up here so I was just checking to make sure everything was working." Finally, my mind was working again. Mom knew that the power circuits in our house were distributed across many rooms to reduce the likelihood that they would be put under full load at the same time. Still, she didn't seem fully convinced.

"I see. Well, you should still ask before you go down there. It's their home, even if it is part of our house."

Breakfast the morning after wasn't as cozy as I'd thought it would be.

As soon as I finished, I told Mom I had to study for an exam and I went to the study. After firing up the monitoring program, I casually leafed through some letters, stopping at a short one from a guy named Mark.
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My name is Mark. My story is similar to some of the ones here, at least at the beginning, but not so hot. Maybe that's because I'm just at the beginning of the story about my mom. And maybe not. So if any of you have advice for me, I'd appreciated it. You could just put a note in at the end of your own story, if that's allowed.

Anyway, here's the thing. I'm an only child. I almost had a younger brother that would have been a few years younger than me but he didn't make it. Wasn't even born. My parents didn't try to have any more children after that. Fine as far as I'm concerned. Most of the guys I know have brothers and sisters but they usually can't stand them. I like my situation. I'm spoiled, always have been, and I've never had to share anything.

Both my parents, well, my mother anyway, dote on me. We used to do a lot of outside activities as a family until a few years ago when my father became really heavy. He still likes to go out with his buddies for some beers but he doesn't go fishing much anymore. He used to curl and stuff on his own, but now he just goes to watch ball games, football or baseball, never hockey or basketball, at the local pub. Once in a while, they all get together and go to the city to watch a real game. That's the extent of the sports activities.

It's different with my Mom. Since I went to school, she started work though she doesn't have to, my Dad does make good money. Maybe because of that, Mom has always kept her appearance up, needing to look good at work. She's not a stunning looker, don't get me wrong, but she has nice shoulder length, medium brown hair, a better than average face, and quite a nice figure, though she's only a few inches over five feet. Proportion-wise, you'd have to give her body an eight or nine. She has smaller breasts but they're ample for her small frame, partly because she has a flat stomach because of all that exercise. Her legs are well muscled but not so much that they look stringy like some of the runners you see. There's still a softness about her like younger women. And when she's not mad, her voice is really soft, almost husky. She could probably make a mint on one of the sex talk lines.

So anyway, to the story. Not a lot happened really, but it's really got me to thinking. First, let me set the stage for you. We usually watch TV after dinner, sometimes during dinner if there's a good game on. Dad and I watch, and Mom usually reads a book or some magazines. She's not interested in sports, but she stays in the room, just to be with us, I guess. She only watches if there's a movie on, or some other show. She never pays attention to sports or news.

Well, Dad and I were watching an early game when Mom came home, a little late. We told Mom we'd ordered Chinese food, so she came and sat down, grabbing a magazine to leaf through while we waited for dinner to arrive.

Now, our living room has a couch, loveseat, and a lazyboy chair situated with the loveseat at one end, the couch below the big front window, and the lazyboy across from it in the corner. Next to it, is the TV, one of those large, high definition flat screens that are so great for sports, and movies. Dad always stretches out on the loveseat, his head propped on one arm, his beer on the table in front of it, so he can watch the TV. Mom almost always sits at the end of the couch near the loveseat partly so she can access the magazines stacked on the lower shelf of the table between them in the corner, and partly because the light in the corner is the best one for reading. She only sits in the lazyboy facing the window during the day and Dad, for some reason, never sits there.

Anyway, I had moved to the other end of the couch, making room for Mom to claim her favorite spot. As she settled in after grabbing a magazine, back to the arm just like Dad, she stretched her feet out and tried to dig them under my leg.

"Mom," I cried, trying to bat her feet away, "cut it out."

"Come on," Mom complained, my feet are freezing," continuing to wiggle her toes in an attempt to slide them under my thigh.

The quarterback loosed a long pass. "Mom, stop it," I said again, trying to shove her feet away, "get a blanket." The pass went incomplete as the running back missed it by a foot. "Look, you made him miss it."

"Yeah right," Mom scoffed, still digging her feet at me.

"Mom, your feet stink," I complained.

"It's not my feet, its my hose. I've been on my feet all day."

"Well they still smell," I said.

"Then let me put them under your leg."

"Mark, for christ's sake," my father yelled as the players lined up, getting ready. "Let her put her feet under your leg."

"But her feet stink," I whined.

"Carol, can't you just take your hose off?" Dad asked impatiently, his eyes intent on the TV as the play started.

Just then the bell rang. Our food was here. Mom paid the guy and I got plates. We loaded up the coffee table in front of the couch, and ate in silence as the game progressed. Mom picked up the plates and returned a moment later with a bottle of wine, two glasses, and a beer for Dad. She stuck her tongue out at me as she sat down, pouring herself a glass of wine and reaching behind her to get another magazine. She looked up at me and tentatively stretched her feet out to touch my leg. I lifted my leg and she poked them underneath. Smiling she leaned forward out and handed me the glass of wine, then over to the table to fill the other glass, sitting back with it to read her magazine.

I sipped wine and watched the game. Mom wiggled her feet a couple of times but I didn't complain since she'd brought me a glass of wine. It wasn't until the game went to commercials that I noticed that Mom had taken her pantyhose off. I was staring at her legs, realization setting in, so I guess it was a good thing her magazine blocked her view of me. I was still looking at her legs, noticing how soft her skin was, when the game started. Right after that, Mom's legs, bent at the knees, leaned toward the back of the couch, her legs still together. As my eyes followed her legs, I noticed Mom's magazine had lowered and she was watching me with a knowing smile. She pulled her left foot out and poked the side of my leg with her toe.

"Do my feet still stink?" she asked, "Huh, mister?" she prodded me again.

"Mom," I complained.

"Do you still think the bearer of your wine has stinky feet?" Mom's toe dug at me again and again.

"Mom," I replied in a exasperated tone, my hand reaching down to hold her offending foot still. She wiggled it, trying to poke my leg again, but I held it firmly in my hand.

"Huh?" Mom asked again, "huh?"

"Mom, stop."

"Carol, for christ's sake," Dad piped in.

"Ok," Mom said, "if you rub my foot for me, it's sore."

"Mom," I whined.

"Rub her goddam foot, Mark," Dad barked at me.

Mom stuck her tongue out at me. I started rubbing her foot, barely moving my hand, just dragging my thumb along her instep. Mom smiled, raised her magazine and swung her knees back up, hiding her face. I continued rubbing her foot, moving my thumb very slowly, doing the least I could. I knew I was giving in, but I wanted to make it clear that it was a small victory she'd won. I also pushed my thumb in hard a couple of times, trying to make sure she didn't enjoy it.

"Oh, that feels good," Mom said very quietly, I guess trying not to disturb Dad.

Surprised, I was about to change what I was doing when she said that when she twisted her foot, pointing her toes out along my leg so I could more easily reach the bottom of her foot. But that isn't what made me change my mind. When she turned her foot, her leg twisted as well and fell away from the other, parting her knees. I immediately noticed that I could now see between her upper legs and down the soft back of her thighs. I sipped my wine and continued to rub my thumb hard along the full length of her instep, now trying to please her.

"Mmmm," Mom responded, very softly. I looked up at Dad then, feeling guilty for some reason, acknowledging at least to myself that I was looking where my eyes had no business. Quickly, I looked back, my eye catching a slight movement of Mom's knee, moving wider still. Her other foot dug deeper under my leg as she tossed out another 'mmmmm', lowering that knee and causing her to open the other a little more to keep them even.

I could now seem Mom's panties. I could sip my wine as I rubbed her foot and gaze right down her skirt without suspiciously craning my neck. I jerked my head away, suddenly guilty. Jesus christ, Mark. You're looking at your Mom's panties. Get a grip on yourself.

But my eyes strayed back. Her panties. That's right. I'm looking right at my Mom's panties. I could feel myself stiffen, could feel a boner coming on. Jesus, I could see how her panties bulged between her legs with a cleft running down the middle, and I could see a few curly brown hairs peeking out the side of each panty leg. Oh my god. My cock throbbed in my pants.

I looked away, trying to settle myself down, raising my glass to take a sip. It was empty. I leaned forward to put my glass down. When I sat back, I noticed Mom's leg had widened considerably from my forward movement, but hadn't sprung back. I could see a little hollow on the outside of her panty leg now, leaving a little gap about a quarter of an inch. More hairs were visible now, and the panty was stretched tighter, clearly showing her pussy underneath. The thought rocketed through my head. I was looking at my Mom's pussy. Her pussy!

I yanked my eyes away again, which was a good thing because Mom suddenly dropped her magazine, looking at me with a stern look on her face.

"Don't stop," she said, pulling the magazine up again.

I hadn't realized that my thumb had stopped moving. I jerked it into action again, relieved that Mom hadn't caught me staring down at her pussy. Didn't she realize her legs were wide open? How could I not look? My head turned back again, drawn straight to her panties. Keep moving, I thought, keep rubbing. I twisted toward her slightly, reaching over to replace my left hand with my right, cupping the outside of her foot as I slid that thumb along her arch in a longer line than I could manage with my left. I moved my left hand to cup the back of her ankle, sliding my hand softly up and down her lower calf. It was quite a brazen move, but Mom liked it. Perhaps my intentions seemed innocent to her.

"Mmmmm. That's better," she purred. I was sure Dad couldn't hear, her voice was barely audible. I leaned toward her, my left arm pushing her other leg back toward the couch, opening her even wider, her skirt, stretched tight across the middle of her thighs being forced back a couple of inches. Her panties were completely open to me now. She couldn't possibly not know that I could see everything. I rubbed my hand farther up the back of her leg, over the muscled part of her calf. Jesus, Mark, get a hold of yourself, I thought. You're going to catch it.

But I couldn't help myself. A few strokes later, I ran my hand right up the back of her calf to the underside of her knee, the backs of my fingers even brushing the soft skin just above. Mom's only response was to 'mmmm' again. Every time after that, I ran my hand right up and made sure to contact her leg just above the back of her knee. It was like I was on some kind of a dangerous mission. And danger, there was. At the first sound of a commercial, Mom's legs closed together smartly, and I jerked my hand back to my side, the one caressing the back of Mom's leg falling to the couch, as Dad slowly got up and then lumbered toward the bathroom.

We stayed like that, Mom reading, me dumbly watching the commercials with my hands at my sides, until Dad returned, carrying another beer. My heart was still pounding. I guess I half expected him to confront me, 'What the hell are you doing?', or even my mother, 'What the hell are you thinking?'.

The game started again. I nudged my hand forward and let my fingers lightly circle Mom's ankle. She flinched, but didn't draw her foot away. Instead, her knees parted a couple of inches. I stroked my hand up along the tendon to the bottom of the muscle and let it slide back down. Her knees opened another inch. Twisting toward her, I reached down with my right hand to dig my thumb along the bottom of her foot once more. Another two inches. When I slid my hand right up to the back of her knee her leg opened to its former position allowing her panties to burst into view. She knew! She knew what she was doing!

I could hardly contain myself as I caressed her legs, less tentatively now, deliberately stroking her in a sensual way. When I brought my palm down the back of her calf, I stroked her with my fingers too. When the backs of my fingers brushed the underside of her thighs above her knee, I fluttered them to accent their touch. After several minutes of this, I suddenly pulled my hands away. I could see the top of Mom's head turn to look at Dad as she closed her legs. She must have thought I'd yanked my hands away because Dad was looking but, realizing he was still focused on the game and that his hand had simply reached for his beer, she opened her legs again.

I didn't put my hands on her right away, understandably being a little nervous. Two long minutes passed while I vacillated between long looks up Mom's skirt and furtive glances at Dad. My upper lip was sweating. I had turned halfway toward Mom to improve my view up her skirt. If he looked this way, I'd have to act like I was just about to say something to Mom, I thought. No, I'd pretend I was reading the back of her magazine, the part sticking up above the end of her skirt, now halfway down her thighs.

Mom's toe tapped my leg, urging me to continue the game, the one she and I were playing. I didn't respond. She dug her toe into me again. When I ignored that, she pulled her inner foot out from under my leg, where it had rested all along, and set it on my hip, digging her heel into me. Dig, dig, dig. The motion of withdrawing her foot and shoving me with it had pushed her skirt higher on that side. I shot a glance at Dad and noticed the top of Mom's head was still turned toward Dad. She was watching him too.

Her right hand, closest to the back of the couch, slid down from her magazine to rest on the outside of her leg. Her fingers stretched out just below the hem and scratched her leg. As she scratched, she pulled her hand toward her, dragging the skirt even higher up her thigh, almost to her panties on that side. I looked over at Dad and then did something I can't believe I did. I reached out with my left hand and rested my fingers on the rear hem between her legs, and then I pushed it down, down, until the heel of my hand hit the couch.

I could see everything now. The front of her panties and the part below where they widened to cover her bum. I could see her cheeks squishing out at the top of her legs and above that the start of her pussy. I don't know what I would have done if the game hadn't ended right then. I know I was thinking about touching her, and in my mind, as I lay in my bed jacking off that night, I did.

But right then, I blurted out, "So what are you reading, Mom?" as Dad harumphed in disgust at the score, his team having lost I guess, as Mom's legs snapped closed.

That was last week. I was pretty sure Mom was egging me on and that thought made me nearly pull my pecker off every night. But now I'm not so sure since nothing has happened since, no secret smiles, no requests to rub her feet, nothing. I'm afraid to say anything to her. Please let me know what you think.
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Fuck her you idiot, that was my advice for Mark. But then, maybe it wasn't so obvious from his perspective.

I had noticed some activity on the monitor near the end of Mark's story so I turned up the sound as Mary seemed to be confronting Paul about something in the living room, her hands waving back to point in the general direction of the hallway.

"What do you mean, its OK because they did it upstairs?" Mary seemed quite angry. She had obviously just had a shower, standing there in her bathrobe and a towel wrapped around her head. "You've ruined that bed. It's a mahogany headboard, and you're drilled holes in it. It's not ours. We can't afford to replace it!"

Paul looked defiant rather than sheepish like I would have expected of him just a few days ago. "It's fine, it's alright. They did it to theirs. They won't care, and anyway, they don't know about it."

"But they will when we leave." Mary was still angry, she was almost shouting.

"We're not leaving, are we." Paul was unapologetic.

Looking exasperated, Mary spread her hands, "But why did you do it?"

"I did it for us," Paul replied.

"For us?" Mary looked confused. "How .. what ..."

"I'll show you," Paul got up, "come on, Mom," he grabbed her hand and pulled Mary down the hall, she trudging reluctantly behind.

I switched to the newly installed bedroom cameras, the program automatically syncing to the time frame of the one I'd switched from. Paul came into view, still pulling Mary along. He stood proudly looking at the straps he'd installed on the headboard.

"It will bring us closer, Mom, like they are."

I could see realization dawning on Mary's face, "Like they are?" she mumbled.

"Yeah, Mom. You know how close they are. They really love each other." He put his arm around Mary's waist and pulled her against him, "Like we do now."

Mary stood there, looking a little shocked, staring at the straps.

"See," Paul pointed, "I put them on your side, just like theirs are on Mrs. H's side."

"My side? Paul ... you can't ..."

"I have to, Mom. I can't be alone with all those comics around."

"You said you didn't need them anymore."

"I don't."

"We can get rid of them."

"But not right away, Mom. Some of them are collectors. They're worth something."

"We can put them in storage then," Mary insisted.

Paul argued back, "I'm not sure I'm ready for that yet, Mom."

Mary was surprised by that, and worried.

"Let's just try it for a few days, Mom. So I can be sure. Then we can get rid of them and store the good ones. Ok?"

"Ok, Paul," Mary looked relieved, but I sensed she was still worried that Paul would revert to his juvenile obsessions. Paul had manipulated her well, she was going to let him in her bed.

"But why do we need these straps? What do you think they use them for?"

"Oh. I asked Mrs. H about them and she said they helped her sleep better," Paul answered innocently.

"They help her sleep better?" Mary asked, not so innocently since I'm sure she knew what they were for.

"Yeah. She said they held her arms up and it helped her circulation, and that made her sleep better." Paul was beaming, and lying through his teeth if Mom had told the truth, which I think she had.

"Oh," Mary said, "I see."

"Let's go watch a movie, Mom." Paul grabbed Mary's hand and tugged her out of the bedroom. Mary turned, looking uncertainly back at the straps as she was pulled out the door.

Paul sifted through a bunch of DVDs while Mary disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later, she appeared with a tray with mugs of hot chocolate and a plate of cookies on it which she set on the coffee table. She settled down at one end. Paul slid a movie in and sat next to her, right beside her. They watched the movie, sipped their hot chocolates, and ate the cookies. There were no overt acts of an even remotely sexual nature but after the last cookie was gone, Paul emptied his mug and set it down, immediately turning to his mother. He started to peel the towel from her head.

"Your hair must be dry by now, Mom."
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