Incest/Taboo The Mom Memories

Mary shook her hair out as Paul tossed the towel to the side. She really did look good, fresh from the shower, her healthy complexion defying any need for makeup. She brushed her hair back away from her face and over her ears, watching the TV the whole time. Paul started undoing the belt on her robe.

"Paul, we talked about that."

"I know, Mom but we don't have to go that far. I just want to look." He continued trying to undo her belt, obstructed by her hands.

"But I said it wouldn't be every night. You said you understood."

"I know, Mom, but I thought you meant I couldn't touch you every night. I didn't think you meant I couldn't look. You said we could relax down here, like adults."

"We can, but adults don't loll around barely dressed all the time."

"But this is our first night. I may as well read comics if I can't look at anything," Paul whined, turning away.

"Alright, alright," Mary barked, exasperated. She undid her belt and tossed the ends to the sides.

A sly smile crossed Paul's face but disappeared as he turned back to Mary. Surprisingly, he didn't grab her robe right away. Instead, he looked his mother over for a full minute before reaching out with both hands to grasp the lapels of her robe. Slowly he pulled them up and then out, revealing her naked breasts underneath.

"Wow, Mom. You're beautiful." Paul's breath sucked in. He was telling her the god's honest truth.

I think Mary's breasts actually swelled when he said that. Perhaps no woman can truly ignore such heartfelt admiration as her son was clearly expressing.

Paul dropped the robe to her side and ran his eyes from her belly to her neck, stopping again to ogle her breasts. Mary's nipples were stiffening, that much I noticed. Paul must have too, because he reached out and placed both hands palm down, one on each breast.

"Paul, you said you only wanted to look."

"I can't help it, Mom. Just a little, please?"

"Oh, alright, but we're not going to do what we did last night. I told you that's not going to happen again. Understand?"

"Yes, Mom," Paul answered. I'm sure he would agree to anything to keep touching her tits. Mary watched the movie as Paul rubbed his hands over and over her tits, down over her belly where her robe was still closed, and back up to her breasts, pushing them up, squeezing, just having a great time. He pushed the robe from her shoulders and she helped him, absently pulling her arms out as she watched the TV. After a while, he leaned on his side against the couch, facing Mary, continuing to caress her breasts with just his right hand, his left toying with her hair and stroking her neck. Despite herself, Mary was enjoying herself. Her breathing was shallow but rapid yet she seemed to be in control. However, her stiff nipples and the tightening tits gave her away. There was no question. Paul's calm manipulation and stroking was having an effect. Mary was getting excited.

The point came when Mary dropped her shoulder, leaning toward her son to rest her head against his shoulder. Her eyes closed. She was no longer watching the movie.

Paul continued doing exactly what he was doing, except he reached over to stroke her shoulder and neck on the other side, holding her head bent toward him. He was stroking in softer and longer strokes, with regular long and gentle squeezes of her tit, alternating each time, squishing his hand until it slipped to the nipple and tugged it out, pinched between his fingers.

Paul shifted his weight, moving back a little so Mary was leaning over more, her left hip rising as she twisted her torso toward her son. Although still regular, her breathing was now quite rapid. As she leaned over, the lower side of Mary's robe fell from her leg. Paul stretched his hand down from her breast, following her side along her waist to her hip, pushing the robe off behind her as he went. Mary was now quite naked, there were no panty straps snaking over her hips. She'd come naked straight from the shower.

I could see Paul staring at her bare pussy, covered only by a thin mat of dark brown hair. He pushed Mary upright again, squaring her back to the couch, her head rolling back, eyes still closed. When he stroked down her side and onto her leg, he slipped his hand between and pushed her left leg away, opening her, then pulled her other leg toward him. He held her open, staring at her pussy with its huge, prominent mound. So did I.

"Paul," Mary murmured.

"You said I could look," Paul whispered back, still staring at her pussy.

"Not there, not like this," Mary said. "Only when I have panties on."

"It's big like mine," Paul marveled, ignoring her. He reached out to touch her.

How Mary knew when her eyes were still closed, I'll never know, but her hand shot out and grasped his wrist before it travelled from her thigh to her pussy.

"No. Paul. No." Mary's voice was firm.

"Please, Mom," Paul wheedled.

"No," Mary replied firmly again. "If you do what I say, I'll let you look at it, and I'll touch you."

"Like last night?" Paul perked up.

"No. Just with my hand. If you cover yourself with the towel, I'll touch you.

Paul didn't move, so Mary twisted to reach behind him to grab the towel he'd taken from her head. She set his hand back on his own leg and released his wrist. Then her hand grasped the waistband of his pajamas and pulled it down, freeing his hard cock with its huge head. Paul gasped as he sprang free, and Mary's eyes glued to his abnormal cock. Though Paul wasn't looking I could see the attraction in Mary's eyes and knew then that she had told me the truth when she said she didn't think she could deny him if he really pushed her.

Mary's hand snaked around his shaft. Paul gasped loudly, his head falling back to the couch like his mother's had been a moment before. He wasn't looking at her pussy any more. Mary slid her hand up to cup his cock head, bring her other hand to complete the job. Paul was breathing very raggedly already.

"You like this, don't you baby?" Mary purred, suddenly becoming a bit of a hussy.

Paul was nodding vigorously, gasping for breath.

"Will you quit the comics if I do this for you?" Mary was swirling her hand around the top while the other stroked his shaft. "Hmmmmm? Would you like this every day?"

"Yes. Yes, yes, yes." Paul cried.

"What do you say?" Mary prompted him.

"Please .. oh please, Mom."

"No. No comics, promise?"

"No comics, I promise. I promise, Mom. No comics." Paul was gulping for air.

Mary stopped tickling Paul's cockhead, and grabbed the towel, getting ready. Her other hand jacked him faster. She leaned down, blowing hot air onto his cock. I could see her licking his tip, her tongue stretching far out to tongue his prick. Suddenly, her head jerked back and she barely got the towel over his as his hips bucked into the air, searching for her mouth.

He yelled. "Ahhhhhhhhhhhh, ahhhhhhh, ahhhhhhh, ahhhhhh, ahhhhh," as spurt after spurt racked his body.

Finally, he sat still. Mary pulled his head up. When he opened his eyes, she said, huskily, "I'll do this for if you quit the comics. If I catch you reading them just once, I'll never do it again."

Paul nodded as Mary stood, gloriously naked, and stretched in front of her son, arms high, tits thrust upward, buttocks taut, and thigh muscles tensed. Her athletic body was truly gorgeous. She relaxed, turned away, cocked her hip and looked over her shoulder.

"Every day," she promised, and walked slowly down the hall to her bedroom, her cheeks rocking like the ends of a teeter totter.
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I continued my search for a letter from Kevin, but came across another one from Mark.

Mark here again. I see there are new stories available but no one has commented on mine, or pm'ed me with personal advice. I wish somebody would. Anyway, it's been another week since I sent my letter, two weeks since that night on the couch. Nothing happed even though there were several games on, so it isn't just because Dad's attention is riveted on the TV when games are on. Mom hasn't asked me to rub her feet for her or even stretched them out toward me since that night. Until last night, that is.

Mom was late coming home from work again, even later than the last time. Dad and I had already ordered Chinese food as per Mom's instructions by phone but we ate when it was delivered, while it was still hot.

Mom came in, sighing, "I'm exhausted." Seeing the food on the coffee tables, she said, "You didn't wait for me? That's nice."

Dad didn't say anything, but I, mollified, jumped up to help Mom get her coat off. "Sorry, Mom. I'll warm a plate up for you," I said, trying to make up for our faux pas, hanging her coat up as she unzipped her knee length boots and kicked them off. "You go sit down."

"Thanks, sweetie," her voice softened in appreciation of my attention and apologetic manner. "My feet are killing me," she said as I dished up her empty plate which was sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch and rushed it into the kitchen to put in the microwave just as she plopped down with a loud sigh, "What a day."

When I came back, Mom was sitting with her head back on the couch, hand covering her eyes. She looked tired. "Here, Mom," I said setting her plate down in front of her and holding a full glass of red wine out.

"Oh, thank you, Mark," Mom smiled sweetly up at me, taking the wine. "You're a godsend."

I sat down a few feet from Mom and watched her while she ate. Dad just watched the game, some kind of football quarterfinal. Mom leaned back when she finished and I took her plate and empty glass to the kitchen, returning with another full glass of wine. She smiled sweetly again when she saw the wine. She put her feet up on the edge of the table when she sat back with her wine glass but, when I patted the couch beside my leg, she swiveled them over, resting her back against arm of the couch instead.

She didn't try to dig her feet under my leg, she just rested them against my thigh. I took one in each hand and, pushing a thumb into the instep of each one, began massaging her feet. Mom watched me over her bent knees, mouthing a 'thank you' as I worked. After a few minutes, she scrunched down, moving her hips closer to me and bending her knees more to make room. I didn't move farther away so she could stretch her legs out, though I had room to do so.

She was wearing a dress instead of a skirt like the last time and it fit much more loosely around her legs allowing me to see the back of her thighs, but just the outside since her knees were closed tightly together. As I worked, I twisted her feet to get better access to her soles and it wasn't lost on me that this put pressure on her legs, and she opened knees a little to relieve it. It wasn't long before I twisted her feet out a little more, winning a larger gap. Unfortunately, this dress was much longer than the skirt she'd worn before, coming down past her knees, so I couldn't see very much.

As I felt Mom relax, I started running my hands up her calves, just to the start of the muscle, like I'd done before. She didn't object. In fact, she sighed approval, so I soon continued higher, stroking my hands over her calves up to the back of her knees again. When I scratched my fingers down the back of her leg like this, I won my first quiet 'mmmmmmm'.

I was in heaven. I wanted to be sure to make her feel really good so maybe it wouldn't be so long until the next time she let me touch her. I spent a long time rubbing her legs and very subtly, I pressured her knees apart, wider and wider. At the same time, I used my thumbs on the front of her legs to push her hem higher and higher until it was resting just over her knees, tremendously improving my view of the backs of her thighs. I didn't make any attempt to touch her above her knees, despite eliciting a number of 'mmmmmm's.

I waited patiently for half-time and had moved my hands down to Mom's feet, pulling her dress down and urging her legs closed by the time Dad got up for a bathroom and beer break. He nodded approval at me when he saw me kneading her feet, Mom seemingly asleep with her head resting on the couch arm, her legs demurely closed and leaning on the back of the couch. The game started as soon as he sat down.

I didn't wait even ten seconds. I pulled Mom's knees from the couch and pushed the hem of her dress right up to her knees, holding it there with my left hand. Sliding my right hand down to her feet, I moved each one to rest farther apart, one by my hip and one almost to my knee. With her thighs together and calves spread apart, I could see all of the backs of her thighs and her panties covering the part of her bottom that was exposed to me. If Dad looked over, this wouldn't look good but I was quite confidant that he wouldn't. He hadn't before while the game was on, so why would he now?

I realized that Mom must be wondering what I was doing, since I'd moved her feet apart, pushed her dress up, but hadn't started massaging her feet or legs. It must be obvious that I was just looking up her dress, but she didn't make a sound or make any other movement. She just lay there with her legs open where I'd put them. Encouraged, I moved my hand up to her knees and, taking care to keep them covered by her dress, moved them apart too. Now, I could look right down the 'V' of her thighs to her panties, an unobstructed view. Mom was still quiet, as if waiting for something. It dawned on me that it might excite her as much to let me look as it did me for me to look. If that was true, I thought, I should take my time. After all, I was in no hurry. We were just past halftime and I was enjoying the view.

Mother fucker, I thought. Mom was wearing different panties. These ones were still cotton, light blue instead of white, but they were narrower than the other ones, leaving a wider gap between their edge and Mom's leg. Despite this, there weren't any stray hairs poking out the sides of her panty legs. She's trimmed her bush, I thought. She's made herself look prettier. For me? Just in case I did her legs again? The thought made me swell under my jeans. Examining her panties closely, I noticed that the vertical cleft in the center was more evident, at least by my memory, probably obscured by less hair. My cock throbbed as I realized she knew I'd been looking and she taken pains to make herself look good. She wants me to look, she wants to show me, her cunt. I almost came when that word popped into my head. I hadn't thought 'pussy', I'd thought 'cunt'. This was a stupid discussion to have with myself, but it's what was going through my head.

I let my right hand drop down between her legs, not touching them, until my wrist rested on my own leg, centered between her feet. Slowly, I moved my hand forward, along the surface of the cushion. I could sense Mom tensing in anticipation. She was aware that my hand was moving. I liked that feeling, that she was expecting me to touch her, that she was waiting for it. My cock was hard, I felt like I was about to come, as if I'd been jacking off for an hour.

I was almost there, nearing the juncture of her legs. Mom's calf muscles had tightened and the balls of her feet were digging into my leg. She knew I was coming and she was getting ready, she wasn't doing anything to ward me off. Did she know what I was going to do? Did I?

I stopped an inch away, watching my hand in fascination as it lay between my mother's open legs, almost touching her panties. I looked over her knees at her face. Her eyes were closed but her face wasn't relaxed as evidenced by her furrowed brow. I look at my father, then back to her face. I raised my hand up from the couch, two, four, six inches. Agonizingly slowly, my hand moved forward of its own accord, oblivious of my silent commands to move faster and at the same time, to withdraw. Ahead, ahead, ahead. My hand hovered above her panties, then down, touch, it pressed lightly on her panties, palm at the bottom, fingers together, stretched up to cover the cleft.

Mom's breath sucked in sharply, then expelled in a long, quiet sigh that made her lips purse and then pout outward. Her legs quivered and her feet shook my leg. I pressed down more firmly, holding my hand still, sensing her heat with a mild shock. I hadn't expected her to be literally hot. Mom wasn't making any move to discourage me let alone angrily shove me away. I shot a look at my father again and then back to my hand, moving it, more like scrunching my hand to bring my fingers and palm closer together, squeezing her pussy between. Stretching my hand out again, I slid in forward and back, just an inch. Then again, and again, and again. Then squeeze, squeeze.

I slid my hand further back, way back, exposing her panties to my eyes again, staring at the little furrow running between her mound. Centering my long fingertip at the bottom of that valley, I pushed my hand back up, digging a deeper path through her panties. They weren't dry like they'd been when I first touched her, they were damp, not wet, but moist. Throwing caution to the wind, I leaned down to rest my forehead on Mom's knees and inhaled deeply, filtering the musky aroma of her through my nostrils. Dragging my hand back, gouging my finger deeply in her trough, I slid it right off but quickly pressed my thumb onto her pussy, digging it between her lips, pushing her panties in, feeling it penetrate to a moister environment. I scratched the bottom of her panties with my fingers while I worked my thumb around in her almost, but not quite, getting inside her.

I moved my thumb away and, slipping my fingertips just underneath the panty at the top of her left leg, I pulled it up, away from her skin and then slid in, rubbing the backs of my fingers across her bare pussy lips. I swiveled my hand, scraping her lips up and down with my knuckles. Pulling my fingers out, I quickly pushed my thumb underneath, shoved her panty to the side, and inserted my thumb into her hole, her pussy, her cunt.

Mom groaned as her slickness welcomed my small intruder, her eyes flew open and her head jerked to look at Dad, still watching the game. My eyes darted there too and then back to her as her head swung back, her knees closing, legs trapping my hand between. 'No' she screamed silently, her face panicked, her feet trying to push me away. I didn't react except to continue wiggling my thumb inside her. 'No' she screamed again, her hands reaching under her legs to grab my wrist, forcing it away.

Mom sat up then, drawing her feet tightly to her and her dress down, but still facing me on the couch. I stared at her, breathing heavily. I'm sure my eyes were wild but the panic was leaving her face. She looked so beautiful, I wanted to kiss her.

A moment later, she got up and began clearing away the leftovers, taking them into the kitchen. I followed, but she waved me away, not looking at me, but seeming upset. I didn't force it. I went upstairs and stayed in my room for the rest of the night. I didn't sleep much. I kept smelling my hand and trying to jack off with my left. When I woke up the next morning, I'd come in my pajamas. I must have dreamed of her all night.

It was Saturday, almost noon. No school. I showered and threw on some sweat pants and a t-shirt and went downstairs, both eager to see Mom and dreading it too. She wasn't there. While I was eating breakfast, Dad told me to mow the lawn if I wanted to watch the game with him because it started at one.

"Where's Mom?" I asked.

"Shopping," he grunted.

I mowed the lawn. When Mom arrived an hour later I rushed out to unload the groceries. Dad was watching the game which had already started, but he wouldn't have helped anyway. Usually, she really appreciated the help but this time she didn't look at me and didn't come out to get more bags, leaving it all to me. I dutifully carried them all in, setting them down on the counters and the kitchen table when I ran out of room there. I started helping Mom put the food away, but she still ignored me.

"Are you going to watch the game, Mom?" I asked, almost in a little boy voice.

Mom sighed, her shoulders slumping, sagging against the counter in front of her. She set the cans down that she had been about to put away, then turned to face me. Tears were welling up in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mom. I'm sorry. I just got carried away," I sobbed, tears suddenly springing from my eyes.

Mom held her arms up and I hugged her, my arms sliding around her shoulders and then falling down her back. Mom's arms were around my shoulders, patting me, "There, there. It's OK," she assured me. "It won't happen again."

Sniffling, I whimpered, "But I like massaging your feet for you, and your legs, and I know you like it too."

"I do," Mom confided, "It does feel good. We can, if we don't get carried away. How's that? Would that be OK?"

"Yeah, Mom," I nodded my head, sniffling, pulling back to dry my eyes. I smiled as she dried her eyes too, then pulled her back to hug her again, wanting to avoid her eyes as thoughts of her open legs popped into my mind. I was intensely aware of her body against mine as I hugged her, noticing the feel of her breasts for the first time in my life. How was I going to touch her legs and control myself, I wondered? Mom gave me a big squeeze, so hard I thought her tits would make a permanent imprint on my chest.

"Away you go now." She waved me off. But I stood my ground.

"Don't you want a massage while you watch the game?" I asked.

"I'm not interested in the game."

"But you've been out shopping for hours," I persisted.

"Yes. Maybe I'll lay down upstairs and have a quiet nap."

"Are you sure you don't want a massage? Your feet must be tired."

"No. I think I'll just lay down." Mom gave me a funny look. "Behave yourself," she said, "I'm still not sure I shouldn't be mad at you." She went upstairs. I watched her walk away in her sunny housedress with its loose pleated skirt swirling around her knees, emphasizing her wonderful calves.

I watched the game for a few minutes with Dad but grew bored and wandered up to my room. As I passed my parent's room I heard Mom call me, "Mark?"

I entered to find Mom laying back, head and shoulders slightly raised on two pillows, feet drawn up. She was still wearing her shoes. She must have been tired not to have taken them off downstairs, I thought.

"Maybe a little foot massage would be nice," she said, twisting her knees to the side to look at me. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all, Mom."

She closed her eyes as I crawed up onto the bed and slipped her shoes off.

"Oh," she said, "I forgot they were still on. I hope my feet don't smell," she laughed.

I lifted a foot up and sniffed it. "Nope," I answered. Mom laughed again, as I lowered her foot to my lap and started massing it, rubbing my thumb along her instep in my usual way. She sighed, and I could feel the muscles in her leg relax.

Lulled by the faint sound of the ballgame, I concentrated on giving her a good massage then, just like I'd done the day before. Soon I was stroking her leg to the knee, scratching my way down and Mom, though she'd said we couldn't get carried away, made no protests. I guess getting carried away was further up the line, or leg, as it were. But how far? Mom was resting quietly, almost like she was sleeping. I decided to work on her other foot and leg before venturing further, just to be carry on longer in case she stopped me. I lifted that foot to my face and sniffed it too.

"Does that one smell," Mom's voice was light, amused.

"No," I replied. Suddenly, I spontaneously kissed her foot and ran my tongue along her instep. "But it tastes salty," I laughed.

Mom squealed, tugging her foot, laughing, "Stop that, it tickles."

"I'll be more careful, then," I responded, kissing her foot again. "I like salt," I said, dragging my tongue through her instep again.

Mom laughed. She didn't squeal again, or try to tug her foot away, so I continued a mix of kissing her foot, rubbing her sole with my thumb, and running my tongue over her instep. Soon, I was running my tongue over her whole foot and around her ankle. I waited for some time, to be sure Mom wasn't going to stop me, before I ran my tongue down the back of her leg to knee, and kissed and nibbled my way back to her foot.

"Mark," she whispered, "Remember what we talked about."

"I will, Mom," I answered, kissing the top of her foot, "I'll just touch your legs." I quickly ran my tongue down her calf and back again, pausing to swirl my tongue in the hollow behind her knee.

"Mark, be careful," Mom admonished me.

"I'm just doing your legs, Mom. I can do your legs, can't I? If I don't go anywhere else?"

I kissed Mom's leg again, several times, digging my thumb into her sole while waiting for her answer.

"Ok," she whispered, "you can do my legs."

"All of them?" I pushed.

"Yes," she finally whispered back after a long pause, "but don't do what you did yesterday."

"I won't, Mom. I promise."

I lifted her leg higher and kissed and nibbled her calf muscle down to her knee, swirling my tongue around and nibbling the soft skin behind her knee. Then, catching her by surprise, judging by the sound of her quick gasp for air, I kissed and nibbled my way down the inside of her thigh, pushing her dress down with my head as I moved along. Mom's hand grabbed my head as I neared her panties.

I paused. "I said I wouldn't, Mom."

I continued raining little kisses around the top of Mom's thigh, hear the edge of her panties, right down between her legs and over to the other thigh, kissing and nibbling it too, pinching her soft flesh between my lips. Her hands followed my head around but they didn't push me away. After a while, I could feel her fingers gripping me, clenching my hair. Her smell was strong, she had to be wet.

I let my hands slide her dress up the outside of her legs, pushing it above her hips. When I pulled my head back to look at her panties, my face inches away from her pussy, she actually raised herself slightly from the bed, chasing my mouth. Quickly, I pushed her dress up behind her back before she settled back again. Pulling my hands inside her legs, I pushed them wide, breathed in deep, and expelled hot air over the front of her panties.

"Oh, Mark, don't."

I could see her pussy in great detail through her panties, cut the same as the ones she wore yesterday but made of thinner material, more like Saturday go out dancing panties that girls my age wore.

I took another huge gulp of air and blew a steady stream of hot breath onto her cunt.

"Don't, Mark, don't."

I let my fingers fall inside her leg until they were aongside her pussy lips, as close as they could be without actually touching her, like I promised I wouldn't. Pressing down into her leg, I pulled may hands apart. I could see the gap between her pussy lips widen and I blew right into it. Again, and again.

"Please, don't, don't," Mom whispered.

"Don't you want me to?" I asked, blowing into her again, puffing in short bursts.

She didn't answer. I blew into her again, long and steady.

When she still said nothing, I suggested, "Just this once, Mom?"

"No," she whispered, then, "no," more quietly.

"Just once," I persisted, blowing again.

No answer.

Just once," I repeated, blowing longer, scratching my index fingers in the hollows along the edge of her panty legs. Her pussy seemed to pulsate with my scratches.

"ok."

I could barely hear her voice but that didn't matter. I pressed my face an inch closer, right onto her panties, stuck out my tongue and dragged it up between her pussy lips right up to the top, over her clit. I raised my hands up to grab the waist of her panties as her hands pulled my head tightly against her mound. I don't think I could have pulled my head back then even if I tried. Putting muscle into it, I ripped her panties, tearing them right down the middle, the material shredding away, baring her pussy to my tongue which immediately dipped into her wetness.

Mom started groaning and bucking her hips, mashing her pussy against my mouth. I held on for the ride, digging my tongue in deep and lapping her soaking, pink cunt. My hands slid under her ass, squeezing her cheeks hard, pulling her against me, trying to get my whole mouth over her pussy lips while my tongue dug away. She was bucking frantically now, urgent and wild. She yelled out when she came. I panicked for a minute, turning my head to listen as her cimax subsided, but there was no sign of Dad's lumbering weight creaking up the stairs. I turned back to lick her pussy some more, plunging my tongue in deep and then up to flick her clit to pull one last, long moan from Mom.

When she was still, I crawled up and lay between her open legs, pressing my boner against her cunt which still felt hot even through my sweatpants. I started humping against her.

"No, Mark. Don't."

"I have to, Mom," I gasped, "I have to. Just once. Just this once."

Frantically, I humped harder, trying to come before she stopped me. But she didn't try. Her arms circled my neck and pulled me toward her. Seconds later, her hips started thrusting up to meet me, like we were really fucking. It sent me over the top, and I unloaded in my pants.

I collapsed on Mom, gasping for breath. Her arms stayed around me, patting my shoulders. When I recovered, I could hear the sounds of the game wafting upstairs. Mom's voice spoke quietly, "Away you go now. We'll talk about this tomorrow afternoon when Dad's at the pub watching the big game with his friends."

I stood, looking down at her, her legs still spread, panties in tatters with the shreds clinging to the leg bands and in between her beaver, moist, swollen and glistening in the afternoon light. As I left, Mom called out, "If you see Dad, make sure you face away from him". She nodded toward me, smiling. Looking down, I saw that the entire front of my sweat pants were soaked.

I ate dinner quickly that night and went straight back to my room.
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Mary was sleeping when Paul finished his shower. At least she seemed to be sleeping. She had left the light on for him and I worried that I wouldn't be able to see despite the sophistication of the cameras I had installed. They weren't night vision cameras but were supposed to be quite good in low light situations. But if he turned off the bedside lamp, I was sure it would be too dark and I would only have an audio record of the first time he fucked his mom.

Mary may have thought she'd satisfied him so she could sleep through the night but I wasn't convinced. He was young, like me, and I just knew he was probably already to have at her. Paul was wrapped in a towel when her entered Mary's room and he walked straight to his side of the bed, dropped the towel, and slipped under the covers, naked. It was a quick glimpse, but I was sure he was already hard. Thankfully, he left the light on.

Paul turned on his side, facing his mother's back. He edged closer to her.

"Turn out the light and go to sleep," Mary said, crisply.

"I can't sleep in the dark, Mom. You know that."

Mary sighed loudly, opened the drawer of the bedside table on her side and pulled out a sleeping mask. Laying on her back, she fitted the mask over her eyes. Paul edged closer to her.

"No, son. You've had your treat for today. You have to wait until tomorrow, but only if you're a good boy."

"But, Mom."

"I said no." Mary turned onto her side, facing away from him again.

Paul, looking resigned, and settled down to sleep. And that was it.
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