Page 05
I parked the car in the usual place, waited half an hour, and then made my way back to the house. In my room, I undressed and listened at the door, hardening the instant I heard a porno clip playing on Mom's TV. I crept into the hall, stark naked, and made my way down to Mom's room. I peeked in.
She was lying on the bed but not on a pillow. She was wearing a black, lacy camisole bunched up on her waist and nothing else. Each time her ass raised up, her bare pussy flashed into view, plugged full of her own fingers. From the sound of her breathing, I knew she was already ready for my entrance. Had I waited long enough for Dad to get home? I wasn't sure but then realized that Mom probably didn't know how much time had passed either.
Quietly, I retreated down the stairs where I opened and closed the door. I clumped upstairs and walked into Mom's room. Her ass started wriggling on her fingers faster as soon as I stopped at the end of the bed. Seeking perfect realism, I spotted some of Dad's clothes on a chair by his side of the bed, picked them up, and dropped each piece on the floor, one by one.
I loved waiting and watching her anticipation. The way she squirmed around, opening and closing her pussy lips, was almost enough to make me come. Fuck, she was hot. I pressed my knee onto the bed to let her know I was coming but instead of getting fully aboard, I bent her leg and started licking the bottom of her foot.
"Mmmm, yesss," Mom cried.
I flicked my tongue along the crease at the bottom of her toes and dragged it between each pair of toes in turn. After that, I chewed on the edge of her sole, nipped her heel and pinched the Achilles tendon between my teeth. I gave the same treatment to Mom's other foot while lightly stroking the calf of the first leg. When I was done, I bent both knees until Mom's curled feet were almost touching her ass above her widespread thighs. I kneeled behind her and found her waiting cunt, pushing immediately into her wetness with three fingers.
"Oh my God," Mom hissed. "Don't tease, just fuck me."
I was some taken aback, I can tell you. Mom lifted her ass and swirled it teasingly around in front of my face. What an invitation.
Don't you even think about it.
"Please baby. Just fuck me."
Mom's ass yawed in front of me. She lifted it really high. What to do?
I leaned forward and pushed my flat tongue onto her pussy. Mom lurched ahead and then quickly back.
"Ohhh baby, it's been so long since you did that."
I pulled back, rose up on my knees, and reached over her back to grab her head and, turning it, pushed her face down into the bed. It was a signal that her familiar talk was ruining the game. If I allowed Mom to talk too much, she would soon expect a response, and then the game would really be up.
I returned to her pussy and gobbled her lower lips into mine, sliced my tongue through her slit, and started lapping. My finger found her mons and began rubbing across it, occasionally curling down to flick her clit.
I took Mom through two orgasms before grabbing my cock and pressing it between her cheeks but she blocked me, putting her hands across her ass to cover the little hole. I pushed them aside but they quickly returned. Mom mumbled into the mattress. I couldn't understand her so I twisted her head until her mouth was clear.
"Sore," was all she said
What the fuck could I do now?
You can't fuck her.
Oh, go fuck yourself, conscience.
You can't!
I know, I know.
I looked at Mom's gorgeous, pouting, puffy, wet pussy, waiting for me to enter it. Oh my fucking God, give me strength. I kneeled my way back, away from temptation, grabbed Mom's legs and pulled them straight to make her pussy fall onto the bed. For extra measure, I pushed her legs closed.
Whew! That was a close call. But what to do now? Mom expected Dad to fuck her. I couldn't leave her getting turned down like that, I had to do something he might want more.
On her face! Dad liked to spew his spunk on a woman's face. Mom must know that.
I grabbed Mom's legs and yanked her lower on the bed, then pulled her feet around to the side. There, I twisted her feet until Mom rolled over onto her back, then walked around to the other side of the bed behind her head. I grabbed her arms and positioned her to get her neck on the edge with her head tipping just over. Mom smiled. She knew what was coming.
The sleeping mask had ridden up on Mom's face but not enough so she could see under it. Mom raised her hand and pulled it back into place and I realized how close I had come to total disaster. I sighed in relief and Mom smiled again, reading the sound as eager anticipation. She opened her mouth.
And I filled it.
I should have known, should have prepared myself: the sensations almost knocked me off my feet. I would have fallen had my knees not hit the edge of the bed. As it was, my cock simply slid deep into Mom's mouth on the first thrust whereas I had meant to introduce myself gently. After regaining my balance, I pulled back and barely stopped myself from saying, 'sorry.'
I gently massaged Mom's throat, worried I might have hurt her but she took hold of my rod in her delicate fingers and pulled me deep into her mouth, right to the back, and into her throat. I groaned as I both saw and felt my cock in Mom's throat. It was the strangest and most exciting feeling I had ever experienced. Mom tilted her head further over the edge of the bed, straightening her neck and making the presence of my shaft more obvious.
When I noticed Mom struggling to breathe through her nose, I pulled back, to a popping sound followed by a rush of air as Mom inhaled. I waited until she tugged on my cock before pushing it back in and thought I had reached the pinnacle of bliss when the fingernails of her other hand scratched my balls, sending me even higher. And then she inserted a fingertip into my ass!
What followed was the first, and of course, best blowjob of my life. I kept sliding in and out of Mom's mouth, slow and deep, and never shoved it in roughly like Dad had down to Mrs. Omed and Jennifer. The very thought of abusing Mom like that turned me off. She was awarding this tremendous gift, unknowingly to me rather than Dad, so how could anyone even contemplate mistreating her?
Somewhere along the line, I pulled the camisole up and grabbed Mom's tits, massaging the meaty swells and tweaking her nipples, flicking them with my fingers, pinching and rolling them, pulling, then finally leaning over to suck them into my mouth. The whole time, Mom's finger wiggled, paused, then wiggled again.
When I came, I didn't pull my cock out to spew all over Mom's face like I knew Dad would. I kept it firmly plugged into Mom's mouth and watched her throat swell and contract repeatedly as she took every spurt.
I hated to go when I was done but knew I had to. I wanted to lie down on the bed and wrap my arms around her. As I dressed in my room an emptiness came over me. Yes, it was exciting to shove my whole hand up Mom's pussy; yes, it was incredible to take her ass; and yes, it was mind-blowing to blow my wad down her throat; but what I wanted to do right then was kiss her and hold her in my arms.
Crawling out the window, it struck me that I really loved my mother and always had. I had simply discovered a new aspect of her, one that I wanted to have all to myself. As I walked back to the car, dark thoughts filled my mind, about my father.
I didn't want anything to do with the prick anymore. He was a selfish asshole and I didn't want to be anything like him. Why had I done that to Mom? Why had I fisted her, taken her in the ass? Pounded her throat? Why?
I thought about Mom until I fell asleep but didn't masturbate. Instead, I cried, ashamed of myself.
- - - - - - - - - - -
As usual, Mom was super attentive to Dad the next morning while treating me the same as usual. I was jealous. It was me who was the architect of her newfound zest for life, so it should be me she was dressing for, me who should be the target of her perfume, and me who should be the reason she spent so much time in the bathroom doing her make-up and softening her skin in a bubble bath.
Dad didn't even notice the extra work she put into his breakfast and dinners and the sad part was that he wasn't acting, he simply didn't notice, yet I'm sure Mom thought it was all part of their strange sexual game. He had neglected her for so long she was desperate for his attention. What Dad had said to Mrs. Omed was probably true, that Mom was too straight to satisfy him in the sack, but that was years ago and now, after years of being discounted, she would do anything for him in bed, or out. She needed to be loved.
That thought triggered a startling realization. I knew that Mom thought it was Dad participating in the mystery visitor game but what I hadn't known until now was that it had just begun, otherwise Dad would know how much she was willing to do, or take.
The game had to stop. Even if Mom didn't find out the truth about me, she would learn the truth about Dad: he hadn't rediscovered his love for her as she thought; she would just be another receptacle for him to use. And I didn't want him using her. After seeing him with two women, I don't think it was in my father to love a woman. Want one, yes, but not love. I had to do something to protect Mom, to shield her from this inevitable discovery.
My mind was dwelling on what I could possibly do when I noticed Mom looking at me strangely during lunch. She appeared to be avoiding making eye contact with me but when she didn't know I was aware she peered at me with an odd expression on her face. I first noticed this when I saw Mom's reflection in the glass door on the china cabinet but it happened several more times that afternoon. It was very disconcerting.
What had happened between breakfast and lunch to cause this strange attention?
Dad came home for dinner, which was unusual for him on a Friday night. We ate dinner in silence and I had the distinct feeling that Mom was looking at me every time I looked down at my plate. I looked down often to avoid making uncomfortable eye contact. After dinner, I excused myself and went upstairs but I crept down the hall and laid on the carpet near the top of the stairs, like I had done when I was a kid to listen to my parents discussing my report cards.
"So what was it you wanted to talk to me about?"
"Oh, nothing. Something came up this morning that worried me but it's nothing, just silly woman stuff. Don't worry about it."
"Damn it, Lisa. I'm busy down at the store. You made this sound so important, that's why I came home for dinner."
"I know dear, but I, you know, it's nothing really. I just was worried, that's all."
"Well what was it, for Christ's sake? I'm here now."
"Well..."
"Come on, spit it out."
"Well, I was talking to Alice, and she said she was at the store last night..."
My heart sank into my stomach, even lying down. This was it. I wanted to get up and run but I couldn't tear myself away from the terrible scene below, the one that would write my epitaph.
"Well, Robbie told me he was going to help you down at the store starting tonight..."
"I don't need his help. His heart isn't in it and that's not good for the staff to see."
"Well, anyway, I thought it might be nice, you're working so hard lately and all, so..."
"That's right. I am busy and I don't have time to find things for Robbie to do."
I sighed in relief. This was all it was about? Of course Dad didn't want me around. It was too bad Mom found that out before I got started with my new helping act but it wasn't really a problem, it just spelled the end of my planned game nights and afternoons. The decision to quit had been made for me now, and I felt kind of relieved. No more taking advantage of Mom.
"I see. Alright, well, I just thought it would be nice..."
"Yes, yes, but what the hell has this got to do with Alice?"
"Oh, well Robbie told me he was going down to the store last night but I was talking to Alice this morning..."
Dad silently interrupted Mom, waving his hand in a rolling circle, indicating she should get on with it. I didn't like the sound of this. My heart began descending into the pit of my stomach again.
"...so Alice said she was in the store last night and Robbie wasn't there."
Dad looked exasperated. "So? Maybe he changed his mind and went out with his friends."
"Well, Alice said you were there." Mom sounded very troubled. Her voice even cracked as she said this but Dad didn't notice. In fairness, why should Alice's discovery of him in the store be important?
"Yes, I saw her but I didn't have time to talk with her. Is that what this is about, I didn't have time to talk with one of your friends?" Dad held his hands out in a 'so what' expression. "That's it. Alice didn't see Robbie but she saw me and I didn't talk with her? Woopdie do."
Mom shrugged.
"Another thing, Lisa. Rob is eighteen. You should stop calling him Robbie. He's almost a man and he can go out at nights without telling his Mommy where he's going. He was probably just having a beer with his friends and told you he was going to the store so you wouldn't question him. Jesus."
Dad got up.
"I've got to get back to work. I'll be later because of this."
"I'm sorry dear. I guess it just rattled me because...because Robbie lied to me."
"Don't be hard on the boy. It was just a little lie, Lisa."
"I suppose so."
Dad gave Mom a peck on the cheek. "Don't wait up for me."
"I won't dear."
Dad left and I worked my way back to my room.
Shit, shit and double shit!
Dad didn't have a clue what was going on but Mom must now suspect me, otherwise why would her voice have cracked like that? Wait, just wait. Of course she's upset. Someone had been fucking her, someone pretending to be Dad, but why should that mean it was me? Why would she suspect her own son, for fuck's sake?
Because you said you'd be out, and she knows that at least one time, you lied about it.
Well, yeah. But if it doesn't happen again, then there's no proof. And anyway, Dad supplied the answer for me. I'll just admit I went out to drink with my friends.
Right.
That's it then.
Finally, you've come to your senses.
- - - - - - - - - - -
It's hard to believe I had come so close to discovery but gotten away with it. For the next week I thanked my lucky stars. I didn't even go down to the store to watch Dad with Mrs. Omed or Jennifer. Partly, I didn't want to get caught and partly I just wasn't interested in watching Dad abuse women that way, whether they seemed to like it or not. I thought I wanted was disgusting to force a woman to do one's will.
By the second week, I wasn't so pleased. I was sure Mom suspected me. She kept looking at me with that weird expression on her face. I had become adept at catching her looking at me in various reflective surfaces about the house. The strange thing was, even though Mom knew Dad wasn't visiting her and really was ignoring like always, she continued to dress nicely and do her make-up. That was a plus anyway; Mom seemed to have been permanently lifted from her depression. Maybe it had all been worth it after all.
But the strange looks continued but one day I caught Mom looking with a different expression on her face. It was softer and no longer angry, more curious than horrified, and I found that more disconcerting. What did it mean?
Despite Mom's continued care with her appearance, I had been careful not to compliment her or even mention anything about the way she dressed or looked. Mom must have missed it because she began specifically asking me about this or that piece of clothing, which shoes I thought would go better with a certain dress, whether her lipstick was the right color, and whether or not I liked her hair which had now grown almost long enough to touch her shoulders. Mom was continually drawing my attention to her and, though it made me nervous at first, I grew to like it. Soon, I was making unsolicited complimentary remarks about Mom's appearance. One day, while we were sitting on the couch waiting for Dad to come home for supper, I complimented Mom on her new shoes.
"You always did notice my feet, even when you were little."
The comment startled me so I queried her for more detail.
"I always liked your feet?"
"Yes," Mom laughed. "When you were little, you used to play with them."
"I did?"
"Yes. First you were fascinated that I painted my toenails and you wanted to have yours painted too. You were quite particular about the colors. Don't you remember me telling you not to let your Dad see?"
I shook my head.
"Then you just liked to play with my feet. You would rub them for ages."
I thought about how I had kissed Mom's toes and licked the bottom of her soles. Had I given myself away somehow even before Alice visited the store? Had Mom sent Alice to the store to see if I was there, looking for corroboration of already developed suspicions? Was she trying to trap me now?
"I don't remember that Mom."
Mom stretched her leg out toward me and put her foot on the couch.
"Tell me if you like the color."
I looked at Mom's blue shoe.
"Yeah, it's okay."
"Not the shoe, silly. My toenails."
"I can't see them."
"Well, take my shoe off."
Mom wiggled her foot.
Reluctantly, afraid of somehow giving myself away, I pulled the shoe off Mom's foot. Her toenails were painted a color somewhere between orange and red.
"No, I don't like the color."
Mom looked disappointed.
"Really? That was your favorite color when you were little."
Just then, Dad's car pulled into the driveway and Mom pulled her foot away. She leaned down and put the shoe back on her foot before getting up to greet Dad at the door.
Nothing else was said that day about Mom's toenails but I couldn't stop thinking about it and wondering why she had brought up the subject of me liking her feet when I was a kid. It was weird and it made me nervous.
I had a hard time getting to sleep that night. I had been deathly afraid if Mom's suspicions were confirmed in her mind that I would be kicked out of the house and be disowned. Now, I was scared that her suspicions had been confirmed and nothing bad was going to happen to me, and that Mom might in fact have been flattered if not pleased by the attention. Could this be?
Although the prospect of Mom being pleased had its obvious rewards, it was scary new territory. It was one thing to sneak up on Mom from behind under the protection of anonymity, but quite another to look her honestly in the face with my desires.
I managed to get to sleep but only after convincing myself that Mom had only been regarding me with strange looks because I had been complimenting her and had then ceased. She probably believed, I reasoned, that I had noticed her buoyant mood, revived looks, and renewed attention to Dad, without observing anything that would motivate such a change. Therefore, I must suspect her of having an affair. In fact, hadn't I provide opportunities by making it clear, perhaps overly so, that I would be gone for hours on end in the afternoons and evenings? Maybe Mom thought I was spying on her to confirm my own suspicions and had in fact witnessed a visit by her mysterious lover. Maybe she even thought I was jealous.
That was it. My near incestuous, at least technically in my mind, indiscretion was still undiscovered. I was safe.
- - - - - - - - - - -
Mom went shopping the next day and came home with a ton of stuff including skirts, blouses, dresses, pants, shoes, and under things. I thought she was being kind of obvious but then, given Dad and I didn't get along, and the fact that I hadn't said anything, why should she worry?
