SATIN & SKIN = SEDUCTION & SIN
Introduction:
Mom had never slept in satin sheets, nor with me.
Mom had never slept in satin sheets, nor with me.
By Oediplex 8==3~
It was autumn. Not just the Fall, but Indian Summer too; one of those perfect set of days, when it was not too cold and the humidity remained low. My favorite time of the year. Mom’s too, and since I live in a pretty part of New England, with the foliage in full flourish, I invited her out to my place.
I wanted to get her out. Not just out to visit me, but out of her apartment, out of the City; and out of her depression about dad dying of bone cancer six months ago. And I wanted to get her in. Into my new digs, into my bed, into the satin sheets I had bought for her coming. I wanted to get into her, into her body. Yes, I had planned to seduce my mother.
The satin sheets were just part of my master plan. It was not nefarious, not too much anyway. I had prepared everything for her stay, as if the Queen were making a regal visit. Her favorite foods, wines, (and another intoxicant she had not experienced in some time), a royal treat of a super bubble bath, a new gown for dining out and matching shoes.
It wasn’t her birthday or any special occasion. These were just my machinations to lift her out of her funk and into a romantic mood, out of her shell and into my arms, into my bed and out of her skull with ecstasy. My older sister advised me on some things, but she had no idea I was making ready to turn mom’s world on its ear and spin her on a different axis. It might have been an evil plot if it was not done in love, but love and lust were my motivations; so while it might have been naughty to contemplate, it was noble to provide happiness again to the woman I loved most.
Not that I hadn’t wanted to have sex with my mom since I was at least out of junior high. But with one thing and another, pop’s illness and some distance between the City and the cottage I rented on an estate in the ritzy area of the Connecticut suburbs, her schedule etc., I had to wait for the right time. When dad died, she stopped most of her clubs and other organizations, events, charities. She was well off, but the empty nest in the high tower was lonely and she grew more insulated and withdrawn.
This was to be her new coming out gala. Though it would be only herself and I, I wanted her to come out of her hiding. The way I thought I could crack the shell was with a good old fashion screwing. But to instigate that intimacy, that incident of incest, I knew I had to prime the perfect conditions for that outcome. Thus Operation Satin Seduction was set in motion.
I picked her up at the Cos Cob train station, about a ten minute drive from where I lived. I had the guest cottage on a water front estate. The place was set back from the road, lovely grounds which had a caretaker to see after the property. The owners were in Europe and they would winter in Palm Beach, so I wouldn’t see them until after Easter. The caretaker had a home about a quarter mile away. Fortunately he was good about plowing snow, so I was told. I had only been there about two months.
I presented mom with the new dress for going to the restaurant that evening. She was delighted, the shoes made a big hit too. Her Highness was wearing the low-cut gown I had bought, an orange and yellow and tan pattern that went with the season. After a changing at my semi-posh digs, we dined at the Hound’s Tooth. An establishment with an English club atmosphere, refined decoration and prices fit for a king. Princely sums were needed to pay the check, I hocked the crown to take her on the town. The ‘family jewels’ would be needed for other pleasures later. We made the meal leisurely and relaxed and laughed a lot as we shared.
When we got back it was a bit late and mom was tucked out, so she decided to turn in. I explained that I would sleep on the couch and she was to have my king size bed. With the golden satin sheets. I explained to her that they were brand new and had just been put on that morning in her honor. There was one caveat, she had to sleep ‘in the raw’, nude in other words. That was the rule, satin sheets were meant to be slept in naked, no exceptions. It said so, I claimed, in the small print on the linen tags. Mom didn’t dispute my authority on the matter, even though we both knew I was spouting malarkey.
That was a good sign, that I seemed to have the dominate role in my own domicile. I also didn’t intend to sleep many nights on the sofa while mom was up for the week. But that I kept to myself. I arranged everything for her convenience, made sure she was taken care of, with towels and all the amenities that I could think of, like at a fancy hotel. No mini-bar, but the liquor cabinet in the kitchen was well stocked with her favorite booze. She chose a glass of sherry to have for her nightcap. Then she went inside the room and closed the door.
Myself, I usually wear sports-shorts for a robe, as was my habit for years, since I was fourteen. (However, I sleep au naturel.) When I heard no more of her moving about, after a few minutes, I knocked on the door. “Are you under the covers?” I called out. She replied in the affirmative. I entered and went and sat on the edge of the expansive mattress. Mom was covered from her neck down, swathed in shimmering bronze, a sea of satin. “How is it?” I asked.
“Ooo! It feels like I’m in water, but I stay dry. It’s so slippery and slick and smooth and cool and sensuous! God I love it! Why didn’t your father and I ever get a set? Never mind that, it’s very thoughtful for you to have made the special effort to make the bed with your brand new sheets for me. Have you tried them yet?”
“No, mom. You’re the first to be in them. You might say they were virginal until you slipped in.”
“So a naked lady has taken the innocence of these erotic bedclothes?”
“So you are in the altogether under the linens, like I told you to be?”
“Mmm hmm,” she murmured.
I leaned forward and whispered, “Good! I wanted you to have sweet dreams and a wonderful restful time while you’re here. Would you like me to give you a back-rub before I go?”
“That would be delicious! I’d love one.”
Mom turned toward me as she rolled over to be on her tummy. In doing so the sheets were raised slightly and I got a glimpse of her breasts. The sweet teats of my maternal parent, who had suckled me as an infant, were full and firm with surprising small bright pink round nipples, for such a buxom bounty. But it did prove that at least she was topless, though I took it on faith there were no panties either on her flesh.
She settled on her stomach and I ran my hand over her back on top of the sheet. The satin made my had slide easily over her muscles and I kneaded some of the places I was sure were tense. She moaned her contentment, like a cat purrs when stroked. I didn’t try any hanky-panky that evening, just allowed her to drift off. The next night the seduction would be in full swing.
I retreated when I her hear breathing soft and regular. I didn’t masturbate, as I wanted to keep my spunk for the following eve’s enjoyment. But I did review what I had seen of mom. The quick glance at her ta-tas was excellent. The form under the slinky coverings was still svelte and her hips while wide were not fat, just mature. Her legs had been shown to good advantage in the dress and heels I had given her, she was still the glamorous bride dad had married twenty-five yeas ago.
The next day was bright and sunny and warm, perfect for foliage sightseeing. I took a personal day from work and we drove north along the back roads that were a spectacular riot of multicolored leaves. The windows were down and occasionally the perfume from burning leaves scented the air. Mom suggested that we take cameras, and we bought a couple of disposables to snap scenes for our memories later. We lunched at a park in Litchfield on sandwiches from a deli. I warned her that I was cooking that evening, she should save her appetite.
As we walked along the edge of the park’s pond, we held hands and acted more like a pair of chums, than mother and son. Mom expressed her joy at being in the country and with my company. I hugged her and gave her a kiss. Our family lip-kisses between members, it only meant that we were close, nothing sexual; until I gave her a squeeze and a smooch there under a brilliant red maple tree. Testing the waters, I Frenched her.
She laughed, afterward, “Watch it mister!” she admonished, “I might get the wrong idea and think your father’s ghost has come back!”
“Do I remind you of dad, when he was my age?”
“The spiting image, right down to your feet. He wore those same sort of Wallabies shoes.”
“And what would you do if it was dad, in ectoplasmic form?”
“If he could kiss me, he can touch me, like in that old movie with Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore? If that was so, I’d drag him behind some bushes and make him ball me until I almost couldn’t walk. I haven’t hit menopause yet and I’m totally horny!” she laughed some more. Our family was never shy about sex, we believed in open and honest talk about our feelings. While this statement was neither out of line for the direct approach we took to discussing such matters, nor could it be interpreted as a come on, obviously it was of a great deal of interest to me considering my plans for the week.
When we arrived home mom sat in the kitchen with a glass of white wine and watched as I made baked squab, buttered baby beans, and made our family’s ‘Special Tators’ (mashed potatoes with sour-cream and cream-cheese mixed in). It was a novelty for her to see her son cook. I enjoyed the companionship as I puttered about with the pots and pans. Mom was loosening up, and I had a special desert already made that would be instrumental in completing her relaxation.
We went to the living room to wait for the timer to ding and dinner to be done to perfection. After some small talk about the wonderful day we had, I broached the topic of my next surprise. “What do you think of the bathroom?”
“BATH-room is right, I’m astonished that they found space for the toilet, the tub is so huge! For a small cottage, though it is more of a house than cabin, it is quite unusual to have such well appointed facilities. What’s with that?”
“The original owner was a plumber and liked to have his professional creative flair on display. Not unlike the masons who do their walls, sidewalks and gardens and driveways all in brick. Also, there was something to do with this building having been the honeymoon and getaway lodge for several of their friends and family during the summers. The place has been winterized now though. That humongous tank surrounded by the blue tiles is going to be another treat I have planned for you tonight. I bought your favorite bubble-bath, lilac scented, and after dinner, you are going to soak until your skin is like a raisin!
“Can I have a glass of sherry too?”
“Absolutely! I am planning on waiting on you hand and foot.”
“There better be plenty of suds, if you are going to be the lavatory butler!” We both laughed. But did that remark mean I would be allowed in the room to bring her a drink? That would be unusual, the only time our clan generally invaded another’s bathroom time was to bring a fresh towel from the linen closet for somebody if they forgot. That might afford me another peek at her ta-tas perhaps. I decided that I would take it as a casual invitation, I could always retreat if indicated, and I certainly would knock first before entering.
DING! Went the bell and dinner was ready to be served. I did a fair job, the birds were only slightly overdone and the beans just needed a touch of milk to moisten them up. But the piece de resistance was the mousse. Not just a chocolate mousse, but a choco-mocha concoction with cinnamon (a touch of melted red-hots) and a special secret ingredient. I warned mom before she had a bite.
“Mom, I know you smoked pot when you were in college . .”
“Huh! Those were heady days, when I was a like the “Banger Sisters”; a ‘head’ – of my times, so to speak.” She chuckled at her pun.
“Well I have taken the liberty of spiking the mousse with hash-oil. You won’t taste it, but you will get buzzy in time for your bath. I had to make a special trip to the Village to make the connection.”
“I hope you didn’t by it from some street kid!”
“No, I know a guy, grad student, that lives near Washington Square. He can get most anything, but this took some doing as it is not so available as it was twenty years ago.”
“And you made momma marijuana mocha mousse because?”
“Things of a sensuous nature are more sensual stoned on pot, don’t you think? Since you don’t smoke anymore, I figured this was the best way for you to ingest the THC to get high before you luxuriated in the warm water, until well raisin-ed.”
“I have enough wrinkles on my old body, but if I’m stoned I won’t care.”
Your not so old, you’re young at heart, and your body is still a hottie. As for wrinkles, I’d have to check that out thoroughly before I concurred.”
“How complete an examination do you want to do? Are you a licensed wrinkle inspector? Is that service complimentary?”
“Totally free for our first class guest, I’m confident that after studying your skin in detail, I will be quite complimentary about the beautiful sexy physique you have.”
“STOP!” She barked out with a laugh, “You’ll turn my head before I’m even buzzed! I’m anxious to try your dessert, I want to be really mellow for my bubble-bath.”
We ate the dark wild pudding of my unique recipe, it was very good, not too bitter, but to cut that I had a raspberry liqueur in small glasses and ice water was at hand. Afterward we cleaned up and stuck the leftovers away, the dishes and pots in the dishwasher. We retreated to the living room for more liqueur, awaiting the buzz to kick in. Soon mom began to giggle. I raised my eyebrows in a questioning expression.
“I was just remembering the last time your father and I were stoned. We had that trip to the Poconos?”
“The second honeymoon trip?”
“More like a third or fourth, but who counts after the second? Anyway, your dad scored from the office gopher. Actually he confiscated the kid’s joints when he found the guy on the roof doing a doobie. The kid was scared he was going to be fired. Your pop told him that if he gave up his stash and promised not to do it anymore on the premises, he would keep mum. We were going on the trip in a week and he knew that I would get a kick out of doing a few joints in a safe environment. We sucked a couple of jays before getting in the heart shaped hot-tub and then we proceeded to fuck our brains out.”
I had surmised that was the circumstances from the conversation’s parameters, but it was interesting to hear the details, or at least a summery of them. OH! To be a mini-cam in that plush place of erotic activity when they got busy, a fly on the wall if you will. In fact, just imagining it was getting me hard. AHH! The dope was beginning to affect the head and gonads. I hoped that mom was getting the same reaction.
“Thinking of that time makes me smile . . .” she paused “. . . and horny too!” She snorted a guffaw, “I’m catching the buzz now, I guess.” She turned her head slowly to the left and then the right. “I always have the most interesting sensation in my neck when I get stoned, it doesn’t want to be straight, but to turn to one side or another. Do you ever feel that?”
“Well, PART of my anatomy actually wants to get – straight, if you catch my drift?”
“Is that log – driftwood?”
“It would be a floating woodie in the bathtub.”
Mom nearly choked at that while sipping of the last of her alcohol, “Well don’t let it drift toward your old mom!” I was unsure of what that meant, exactly, but it sounded like an interesting situation, if we were to bathe together. But that was for later, maybe – still, I would not turn down an invitation tonight if mom asked me to join her for a wash (and maybe more?).
“Mom, let me draw your bath. Why don’t you get changed into your robe, pour yourself any libation you care for and come to the ‘palais du lilac’ when you’re ready.” She nodded and fifteen minutes later arrived with a tumbler of her sherry and dressed in a satin dressing gown. The tub had a little ways to go though it was filling rapidly. That plumber knew his water pressure! She sat on the little chair that was in the room and I on the lid of the john. We were close in the crowded quarters. We chatted about the next day. I would be dropped off to work so mom could have use of my car. She wanted to see if Greenwich Avenue lived up to its reputation as the ‘Rodeo Drive’ of the East. As if she couldn’t go along Fifth Avenue in NYC anytime she wanted to descend from her Park Ave address!
Then the water was ready. Deep, warm – but not too hot, suds as high as half a foot across the whole expanse of the oversize tub or small swimming pool (I don’t think you could quite do laps). Mom raised her eyebrows at me to signal my exit. As I did a thought crossed my mind, I dearly wished I had the idea of hiding a mini-cam for the event. I admit, even if I succeeded in my seduction, it would be something to have as a keepsake of her visit. And I could watch it after she had gone back home. Outside the door I was struck by another thought of how to return and maybe get some glimpses of her creamy skin.
I secured the bottle of sherry and knocked on the closed door. “Bathroom butler, Madam, freshen your drink?” I called. She said yes, I could enter. She was already in the water, bubbles nearly to her chin. I went in, closing the door quickly to prevent any draft. I reached over and poured the ruby liquid so her glass was three quarters full once more.
“Thank you, Jeeves. Please give my compliments to the chef for his delicious dinner this evening – especially for the most unique dessert!”
“He will be pleased it met with your approval, Madam.” I turned to go out, slightly disappointed that I had been so enthusiastic with the suds that nearly all of mom was hidden by bubbles.
However, before I exited she said, “Your father always loved to wash my back, when he was . . .” she turned and presented her back to me, rising slightly out of the water, hardly trying to cover her full knockers with her arms, “Well, would you like to take over your father’s duties?” I nodded casually, as I thought to myself, (‘In more ways than one, mom!’).
But I was chaste in my soaping of her shoulders and down her back. I even was a good boy, stopping before the crack of her ass. Not even straying to the pout of her tits that bulged out under her crossed arms. I realized that by looking at the mirror I could catch the twin beauties from a better angle, and see more flesh. Suddenly I became aware that mom was looking at me checking out her charms. She smiled at my obvious voyeurism, “Boys will be boys,” I heard her murmur under her breath. A bit embarrassed at having been so blatant in my ogling, I finished my lathering and went to prepare the next little little benefit for the monarch of my heart.
There were no towels in the lav, I had set some out in her room, but none were stocked in the place they were needed. Well, after all, I was trying to seduce my mother. But it was a devious plan, since I put her towels in the clothes dryer to warm them up. Hence, when she was ready to dry off (though I was working on getting her wet between her legs and getting her off) I would be there with toasty terrycloth. Another perk at the Sonny Motel and Spa, what would I think of next? I changed finally into my sports-shorts and a tee shirt.
What I hadn’t anticipated was mom’s thirst. “Babe! Darling!!” she called. I knocked before entering, but without waiting to be asked in. After all she was calling me, and I did hope to catch a glimpse of some skin – of a personal nature, mom’s mammeries or more! No luck as her titties were well covered by the froth. “Sweetheart, could you bring your wrinkly-raisiny mommy a beer, dear boy? And bring something for yourself, this is nice, but I want some company.”
Having entered, I immediately withdrew to fetched a brace beers. Back in a jiffy, I simply walked in and got a terrific view of mom’s bottom as it re-immersed in the foam, now which was now considerably reduced to less than half its original height. Evidently, she had decided to switch positions in the expansive tub and had not expected me to return quite so soon and without a pause at the door. Or maybe that was her way of giving me a thrill. Perhaps so, for as we made small talk about the joys of being naked in water and the happiness of slippery skin and feeling clean, she adjusted every now and then to be comfortable, this made her bosom play peek-a-boob. She did nothing to gather the rapidly disappearing floating effervescence to her for modesty.
I sat on the decorative chair that was not so comfy, but closer and a bit higher than the commode. I didn’t know if the flashes of flesh were intended, but they were definitely appreciated. I could see down into the water when the rafts of soapy fluff drifted away and espied some leg and a dark delta once. I was high, and my manhood had risen with the erotic setting of being in the same room with mom when she was nude, even if mostly covered by the lather’s spindrift. Mom moved a knee up, above the waterline, in a little while she switched and now the other rose. Her thighs were visible and the motion stirred the water so that the waves exposed her nipples sometimes.
Mom kept glancing at my middle now and then. Was she checking out my package? I was stiff, it showed a tenting in my shorts. I realized that since I had no jockeys on, she could look up my pants legs from her angle and see my balls! Then I noted another fact. The water level was getting lower, and had been doing so for awhile during our chit-chat. Finally, she saw that I had noticed the drainage. She laughed a little wicked laugh.
“I pulled the plug while you were getting the beers. Now, not only have I had a bubble bath in the lavatory, but I have had suds in the can too!” she raised the beer container and went into hysterics at her bad pun. Yup, mom was wasted, buzzed, stoned; as was I. “Okay, it’s getting a little chilly now, could you hand me my towel?”
“I’ll get the towels, mom.”
“Oh so you remember now? I thought I’d have to drip dry.” The smirk on her lips let me know she was pulling my leg.
I held up a finger to indicate I would return in a moment. I went and fetched the couple of over-sized swaths out of the machine where they had been tumbling, not bothering to fold them. I reentered the humid bathroom and held out one. “They’re fresh out of the dryer!”
“Mmm, that is a treat!” Then to my amazement she stood, Venus rising from the sea foam. The soapsuds, what little remained, slid down off her parts; thus giving a sort of striptease as first a breast then a tummy, then a patch of fur was briefly exposed to her son’s stare. I had no conscious thought as to my rude behavior, I was just mesmerized by her naked body. She reached for the towel slowly as if to let the image of her buxom and bodacious body linger in my eyes, and then she was wrapping it around her torso. “Mmm, warm !” she sighed. I used the other to tousled her hair and she let out squeaks and squeals of delight as I mussed with her head. Then she led the way into the bedroom.
I followed, wondering if she was still buzzed enough to be horny, like I was, or if I should offer her more mousse – no wouldn’t work fast enough – do I have any joints rolled? I couldn’t remember. Mom said, “Turn your back.” I did and found myself looking into another mirror on the dresser and mom’s eyes as well. She looked directly into mine, “No peaking, little man!” she pronounced and then dropped the towel and in one fluid motion slid into the turned down covers and pulled them up to her chest. But we both knew that was a freebie peep, from her to me as a thank-you for the marvelous day, and delicious meal and sensuous soak.
“Have you ever slept in satin sheets?” she asked.
“No, I just got them especially for you. Remember they were virgin sheets.”
“Well, they haven’t been baptized yet.” I was unsure if I understood her analogy precisely. “Why don’t you slide in here with me and try them out?” Mom made her suggestion in a sultry tone. I started to crawl in next to her. I had just begun to lift the corner of the covers, when she barked, “NO!” I stopped mid motion. Had I miss understood? Did she get cold feet and change her mind about both of us being in bed together?
Mother said with a lilt of amusement, “Aren’t you forgetting the fine print on the label? You have to be bare to climb into these linens, remember, hmm?” Get into bed nude with my naked mother? Could it really be that easy? Had my seduction already come to fruition? Were we going to do it tonight?
“You don’t actually want to sleep on the couch do you?” she asked. “This bed is big enough for the both of us. Just try not to poke me with that friendly weapon you’re carrying at your groin and we’ll be fine. Now give your old lady a kiss and let’s get some shut-eye. Too much booze and marijuana tonight. Tomorrow evening just the dope, mousse or joints, or I prefer a pipe if you have one.”
Oh well, perhaps the next night might prove to be the golden opportunity in the gilt-colored satin bedding. But it was clear I would not be screwing mom just yet, even if I had bedded her – or had she bedded me? Later that night I awoke, you guessed it, with a boner pressed to her ass-crack, but before I could muster my member to do a rubba-dub on her backside, I fell back into dreamland. When I next awoke I felt a slight chilly draft. Mom was holding the covers up and getting her fill of my morning hard-on. Since she was holding the sheets high I could look over and clearly observe close up the teats that had suckled me. How I wished I could resume that activity just then!
“Well, sleepy-head, I think that I have a slight hangover, but you have got work today and I have shopping to do. You look just like your dad, he was that size too. I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty to get your measure, while you were dozing. After all, you got some nice gandering in yesterday and momma likes her beefcake, just as much as her horny son goes for cheesecake.” Then she leaned over and Frenched me!!
I rolled out of bed and let mom admire my buns as I strolled into the lav and turned on the shower. I washed by rote, trying to remember where my dope pipe was tucked away. Mom was certainly molting her shell of mourning, the isolating defenses that she had erected. The effective widow’s weeds of a grief-stage stuck on hold, were now dissolving in the treatments I was dispensing. Soothing baths, special foods, satin sheets – wait until I was able to give her the ultimate therapy – an injection of the love lotion of my loins. Sex is a great cure for many ailments, especially emotional ones, when administered in love.
By the time mom picked me up from work, I had remembered the pipe’s location, scored a double-dime baggie from the janitor of our building, and thought of the next steps to continue my campaign to perk mom up and bed her down. I had bought a box set of Jimmy Steward movies on DVD. He was her favorite actor, she could choose to watch whatever she was in the mood for. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach? – Well, the way to a woman’s vagina is through her heart, i.e. you want to provide romance, plus pamper the pants off her. She chose ‘Harvey’, you know about the six-foot alcoholic rabbit?
Not romantic in first consideration, but with the grass (mom had no problem toking with the pipe!) to provide the recreation boost to the evenings festivities it turned out to be an excellent aphrodisiac of a film! Mom had the remote and as the film made some plot twists she talked about her childhood and teen years and college. The reminiscing got her mushy and she cuddled up to me and let me put my arm around her. Then she sighed.
“I guess I’m getting old, becoming so nostalgic.”
“Mom, this is my house, and I will not allow you use that bad nasty three letter word again. That is the rule.”
“What? You mean ol..”
Before she could finish the last word I interrupted her, “I said that word is band, banished, verbotten! not PC around here at all!”
“You want to see my wrinkles to prove my point?”
“Yes, you promised to let me inspect. I don’t believe I will find a single wrinkle on your delicate skin.”
“Well, what do you call these then?” she pointed to her crows feet, next to her right eye.
I was prepared for that very opening, “Those are laugh lines, from all the tears of joy you have wept. Like the water makes in a gully, only from your heart to your face, those marks were produced as happiness poured out.”
“Bull!”
“Now stretch-marks are another sort of line that ladies have sometimes for instance, but they are not wrinkles either.” I made my argument.
“How do you know if I have stretch marks?”
“I don’t, but that is part of the inspection.”
“You want to get a good look at mommy’s tummy?” She opened her robe and flashed me! She was in the dressing gown, I was in a sweatshirt and athletic shorts. I had wondered if she had undies on, I thought maybe not – no panty lines, and of course I didn’t, but that proved my supposition with indisputable evidence! She quickly closed the garment, but she had definitely given me a deliberate peek at her figure top to bottom, thighs to boobs. A few faded marks on her abdomen perhaps, but the flash had been too quick to memorize details.
That was the next step in our voyeuristic teasing, a dance that was getting rather risque, to say the least. No complaints from me! How to reciprocate? Or turn the situation even more daring? Ahh! The old . . – whoops! I mean the reliable back-rub ploy. It was good the other night for putting her to bed and getting her to sleep; would it be useful this eve for getting to her into bed, not for sleeping, but for put it to her?
“That’s fine for that side for now – but how about I give you a back-rub and I can examine you for evidence of these mythical wrinkles you claim to have?”
“Deal!” bring the wine coolers I bought today, they’re in the back of the fridge, top shelf.” She popped up to go to the powder-room to take care of business, while I fetched the bottles. I refilled the pipe’s bowl and brought that as well. I deposited the intoxicants in the bedroom on the dresser and switched with mom for the facilities. Not ready for sharing things quite that personal yet! When I returned to the pliant plateau of golden satin, mom was stretched out on top of the bottom sheet face down, without a stitch. She held her legs closed, not however in a clenched way, but relaxed and ready to be massaged. It only took me seconds to strip.
“Hey! I didn’t think you were going to be bare as well!”
“Remember the fine print?”
“OH! Okay, get your drink and come into the pool, the water’s wonderful. This satin is so fine against the skin, it almost makes one feel sinful.” She wiggled squirming to feel the fabric with her naked flesh. This moved her thighs back and forth, and provide tantalizing windows to the nether regions, briefly lit by the dim lighting, but very titillating!
“What sort of sinful? Sloth? Pride? Envy?” I queried my mater in the buff.
“Promise you won’t tell?”
“Promise!”
“Lustful!”
I reached over and ran my middle finger tip down her backbone, then used the palm to move the touching back up the spine, then round to the shoulders and to the blades, next the small of her back. “I’m not finding any wrinkles, yet!” I changed the subject abruptly.
“Check the bottom, Babe! There’s bound to be some down there!” She was chuckling.
I took her up on her offer as an opportunity not to be wasted. I separated her thighs a little, then parted her cheeks slightly. “Sphincter, buns with the standard division; nothing on these beautiful globes; back is smoothly muscled, and the neck has no folds that make you look . .”
“Don’t say the ‘O’ word sweetie!”
“I was about to say, ‘like a turkey’.”
“How are my legs?”
“Betty Grable would be jealous.”
“That old – oops! That antique broad? What about say, mm . . Angela Jolie?”
“Yes, especially her. Brad Pitt would be lusting after your legs.”
“Oh? I could teach him about lust tonight! That’s my secret sin, you remember I swore you to silence about it?”
“How could I forget because that is my secret sin too!”
“My! We have something in common. Who do you secretly lust after?”
“If I tell you mine, will you tell me yours?”
“Deal! But first, fire up the pipe.” We took a few hits and a swallow to cool our throats.
“Who goes first? Why don’t you, mom.” I asked, suddenly getting cold feet about being completely forthright about my lust for my parent present and presented in the altogether. What if it skewed the seduction, screwed up any chance I had to make love to my mother?
“Okay, I love, I mean I lust after . . a doppelganger.”
“A what?”
“A doppelganger, a double, a clone, a copy, an offshoot, or even an offspring in this case.” She said looking me directly in the eye to make sure I was paying attention and didn’t miss the point.
She had my undivided attention and my soldier, the private, was at attention too. Okay, lets see how bold things will get tonight. “Now it’s time to turn over and let me do a thorough inspection of your front for wrinkles.”
“What will you do if you find any?”
“Like you taught me, when ironing clothes, I’ll just have to press close and hard against you until they come out,” (‘or I cum in you.’ I finished in my mind’s ear.)
“I’m sure you will be hard and firm, but you need to be hot also to get the wrinkles out.”
“I will guarantee, if my services are needed in that area, it will be all that and more.”
“More than your father gave me, I think,” she softly muttered to herself, but I caught the words nevertheless.
Was she gaming me, while I was playing her? Or was her natural little streak of sardonic humor peeping out. Thinking about her words in a quick retrospect, the implication of mom’s mention of the size of my member in comparison to dad – did she really express what I think she was commenting about and gave me a complimented too? WOW! That was progress in the right direction. I started with her toes. When I reached her knees, having declared everything southward wrinkle free, I made a tickle on the back and that set her off into a burst of giggles and wriggles that gave me prurient peeks at her pussy.
“I shall leave the best for last,” I said moving up to look at my mother’s teats close up and without having to be sneaky about it. It was the most time I spent with them since I was breast fed.
“They’re crinkly and hard, I can’t help it.”
“Is it too chilly, mom?”
“More like a heat-wave.”
“Crinkly is not wrinkly.”
“My neck is going to be the give away. It’s like counting the rings on a tree, just in dog years. So that’s seven times . . .”
“Unless you count the leftover vampire hickey, you throat is flawless, wrinkle free. There are just one or two smile-ripples, don’t confuse the two.”
“Smile-ripples? What are they?”
“You know what laugh-lines are – they are not to be confused with crows-feet. They are not at all wrinkles from worry or pain or heartache, or even simple Ohh … -ver the hill stage of life. But we covered that already. Well, so too are smile-ripples. They are lines that are like the ripples in a pond, when a fish breaks the surface; when a grin breaks upon a face and the glad oscillations travel up the face and down the throat. Like the ripples of water are sometimes patterned in the sand, so too the waves of joy are manifested in the soft tissues of the neck. But they are certainly not wrinkles.”
“Okay, smile-ripples, that’s a nice way of thinking about them. Still, you can’t come up with a silly way of explaining each of the weathered cracks that my face has etched in it. I concede the ‘laugh-lines’, but I think you have met your match.”
“Actually that’s not on the inspection sheet.”
“It’s not? Why not?”
“Technically, it’s on the pillowcase, not the sheet; besides that, it was a full body inspection, so above the neck doesn’t count. Besides the biggest sex organ you have is blessed with lots of wrinkles.”
“You haven’t even looked down there yet, aren’t you going to look for evidence yourself?”
“I’m talking about your brain. That is the largest sex organ you have, and it has lots of wrinkles (if you opened the skull) but those are what make you smart .”
“Nonetheless, you still have to conduct an examination the last area of your tour of my torso. Chicken?”
“No,” I said lifting slightly so mom could see the erection that had been hanging from my loins, “more like tube-steak!” I maneuvered to where her legs joined and did what any good gynecologist or lover would do, I parted her thighs. As unique as each gal is in the crotch; some are like a sunset, – no make that a son-rise at the crack of Dawn, and some are a dusky mysterious abyss of magic; I prefer the light pink and rosy highlighted scenery mom concealed in her labia. I poured over every nookie and cranny, each fold and flap of flesh. I raked the pubic hair and stroked thighs, invoking sighs from my bedmate (mate?).
“Nary a mark that isn’t appropriate for a wonderful lady, not a wrinkle to be found anywhere.”
“Careful! Flattery will get you . . places that you might find it hard to resist.”
“If it was hard, would you resist?” I can’t believe we are flirting like this in so blatantly a sexual manner, without some sort of truth being exposed. We were totally without a stitch on, but also our souls, or at least our lust had been exhibited, physically if not confessed outright. Mom said she had lusted after a doppelganger, who could be an offspring. Her words were once more in my ear, ‘the spitting image’, save for the comment ‘more than your father’, when she was checking out my package under the covers the other day.
“Your turn!” mom broke in to my thoughts, I had no idea what she was referring to. Was she going to inspect my genitals now? “You never told me who you lust for. I told you mine. You gotta tell yours now! Come on, out with it, who do you want to fuck?”
“I . . .” (God! Could I say it and not get slapped?)
“You.” There I said it, now let’s see if it hits the fan or hits the sack?
“Yeah, so what’s new?” Mom was blas?as if it was an everyday thing for me to declare my desire for her physically. She laughed at the expression on my face. “Well, Honey, It’s not like you have never gotten boners hugging me and made long looks when you see me in my slip, and so on. I noticed your interest years back. I just been waiting for you to come out with it eventually. But it wasn’t a surprise. Did you puzzle out my object of infatuation?”
“Uh . . You meant me, right? Off-shoot, a clone – right down to my Wallabees . .”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean, that just because we have mutual lust, that we should give in to our lascivious cravings. That is not an automatic green light to having an affair between us. That would be incest, and even if we both want to make love with one another, that doesn’t make it right, no matter how hot it would be. It would turn that bubble-bath into a steam-room! So don’t get any ideas, and especially not the kind your dirty-minded mom is thinking. Do you understand young man?” The last phrase was used as when she had disciplined me as a youngster. But as an adult she knew I could catch the backhanded nuances about the fact that her condition was as turned-on and aroused as my own!
She continued, “Now, I know your . . manhood is . . turgid, and that condition is manifested several times through the day, even when the male is in deep sleep. If you are asleep, even if erect, then I don’t expect you will be conscious enough to ravage me. If you are awake and have a poker of a peter, just role the other way and go back to sleep, no prodding momma with that porker!” With that she turned on her side, with her back toward me, pulled up the covers over her, getting quiet and seemed to settle in.
I slipped under the sheets as well and mirrored that position and with my back to her. I let out a sigh. Progress was slow and sometimes painful, as in blue balls? She sighed too. It was the sound a sex-kitten makes when she wants something, but can’t have it. The tone triggers a chemical reaction in males that puts them into a servile mode. “What can I do for you mom?”
“I miss cuddling.”
“Do you want to cuddle?”
“Yes, please.” Spoken in a little girl timbre.
“I still have a . .”
“I don’t care, just come here and hold me, it’s been so long!”
We rolled together to be face to face. So I wound up hugging my naked mother to my nude body, with the six plus inches of pulsating meat mashed between us. This was more like it!!
“Mom?”
“Mmm?”
“Your nipples are hard. Does that mean you’re enjoying . .”
“Does that mean I find our clench quite stimulating? Yes, of course, what did you think it would do to a naughty girl like me?”
“How naughty are you?”
“Naughty enough to help you get rid of that pesky telescope you keep between your legs. Or at least help you fold it up.”
“How are you going to do that? (Inside my head I’m going, ‘Hand job, felatio? Any way you want to get me off is good, but how about the missionary position to start?’) My imagination was creating a dozen scenarios of our foreplay, much less consummation.
Mom didn’t say a word, but began to hump her hips to my abdomen, so that the underside of my penis was rubbing against her patch of pubic fleece, soft as lamb’s wool and the heated flesh beneath was pliant and damp. Could I nose into the outer courts and then gain the inner sanctuary of the hallowed place of my maternal divinity, of this gorgeous goddess? Could the snout of the one-eyed-snake I was hunching on mom’s tummy invade her temple? Could I sneak inside that holy haven, where once my father had sired me, with my own princely scepter of love? I worked my way down lower with my tool of temptation.
Mom was grabbing my buttocks. I was unsure if it was because she liked to have a handful of buns, or to keep my pelvis from dropping lower, or to aim my wicked widget at the tender target of her womanhood. It only enhanced the pressure, which was hard and firm and hot on her as my rolling-pin pushed across the delta and dipped closer to the divide that was sin to enter. So close. This seduction was a head of schedu . . – WHOOPS! Mom had snuck a finger tip into my anus. Why that triggered my cum I have no idea. But it did.
I discovered later that it was a trick that mom had used with dad, if needed. Chip off the old block, I was born with the same button located there. So after having wasted a couple of days of stored semen on mother’s stomach (she had to use a wad of tissues to wipe the goo up), we turned to a more comfortable cuddle position and fell asleep.
The next morning, I awoke suddenly aware of the unusual phenomena of having a second body in bed with me. That it was the delightfully naked feminine form of mother was a treat. My morning woodie was hard at work already, cranking up the hormones to feed a hungry libido, or perhaps whet its appetite? I rolled to the center and took mom in my arms. I snuggled under the covers and bridged over her with my knees and elbow taking my weight. My penis was giving a good-morning nudge to her abdomen, rocking along the pooch and providing proof that last night’s confessions were not forgotten.
Mom hugged me back in return, her hips responding to my pelvic motion. We resumed the hunching, butt grabbing sort of dynamics of last night, except that my legs were outside of hers, and she was not spread with my member dangerously close as previously. Still a stimulating and sexy clench. I kissed her, she Frenched me back. I felt like it was getting a bit steamy warm, so I kicked the covers down a ways and they slid off to the floor. A slightly cool draft wafted over us. It had a very stimulating effect on mom.
Of her own accord her legs parted and I did a vertical shuffle and then I was between her thighs. Mom didn’t seem to be threatened by my imminent penetration with the gates open and the ram just lightly politely tapping at the portal of her heavenly haven. The center of her crotch was slick with her lubrication, as the tip of my eager instrument was ever so gently and cautiously seeking the passage I knew was there. Perhaps a slip into her for just an instant? Might she be still so fuzzy-buzzy as to let the cap of my member sink an inch into her heat?
“Babe?” Mom whispered.
“Mm?”
“I’m straight now, this morning.”
“No hang-over?”
“None, but I want you to know I am in full control of myself and my senses. Therefore, anything we do, is done not because I’m still tipsy or stoned, but because I want to. As a reward for all of what you have done, all the trouble you went to, on my account; just this once, just once and that’s all. Okay?”
Without waiting for an answer she tilted her hips and spread her thighs a might wider and . . . Jeez! I was going in! My piss-hole was damp with pre-cum and mom’s lotion coated the very tip of my stiffy. It was pressing on a soft spot that went deeper and deeper until the rim had snugged into the vagina. I almost came with the feeling of being engulfed in the sweet swamp of mom’s pussy. Her son’s shaft was continuing to sink down to the very womb. I felt it bump the uterus, the pressure was on high in my balls and in my skull. Damn! I was in and already cumming!
I whimpered like a little boy, and held on to my mother, as my orgasm involuntarily shot it’s load. Not as much jism as last night but it was exquisite nonetheless. Mom kept holding on to my rear and clawed my buttocks as she socked me to her to get all my seed into her receptacle. Though my spasms were still quivering from the powerful spurt, I ramped up the ramming and went for making mom peak too.
Mom’s face changed from the happy smile she had, from having provided her boy his treat, to one of consternation. She began to moan, “NO! No! Not me, just you . . uuhh! OOOH! No, oh no, OH! YES! UH! YEH yeah! Oh, I’m going to come too, don’t make me cum, but don’t stop, . . . I’m not allowed to have sex with my son, it’s a sin, . . . harder! Faster! No – yes – YESS!! Now! I’m cumming NOWW!! With that a series of shrieks and cries of her paroxysm issued forth, as I banged her cunt with all my cock had to give before it deflated. I had a very quiet sort of second orgasm as she finished.
Not planned, but wonderfully spontaneous, we had had sex for the first time. But was it to be the only time? Mom’s words indicated that perhaps she had not intended to cum with me, but just to get me alone off. However, best laid plans, she had been unable to resist the physical stimulation, and had been aroused to the point of her own pleasure being undeniable. But I needed to lay the ground work for more of this type of fun. I wanted to convince her that it would be good to continue with full operations amidst the satin sheets of sensuality and skin, of seduction and sin.
“If you’re late this morning, you’ll loose privileges!” Mom declared. I looked at the alarm clock. If I did a my quick short routine I could be out the door and off to work; with mostly green lights I would make it on time. Not that the office cared, but the last time that phrase had been heard it was high school and not the job. I knew that mom had a compulsion about being prompt and on time. Not just herself but it extended to the rest of the family. I won’t say it drove my father to his grave; let’s just say he wasn’t late for his own funeral. So with that kind of motivation, I scrambled to get launched.
Of course that left me no time to cuddle and snuggle and connivingly convince mom to have more fun with me, such as that morning had been for us both. Unexpected and thrilling as it had been, surely we ought to explore the many possibilities there were in that connubial combination? It should not be just a one time thing / fling / bada-bing bada-boink, gone-with-the-wind screw. We would be very happy sharing the physical pleasures, we were just beginning to connect on that primitive, but essential, level. But I had to leave before I could make a case for our continued carnal knowledge, or lose privileges.
Now there were no actual privileges mom provided anymore for me as an adult; except the one she had just granted that morning. If she got irritated by my being late, even though it was her that allowed our little AM liaison which put me up against the deadline, might she decline my further advances? So, if I wanted to stay on her good side, I best scoot and fly to my employment, thus to keep options open I hoped. I certainly could use some recuperation time to for the instrument of love to be rejuvenated. I wasn’t sixteen anymore. I ate a steak for lunch, and a baked potato; protein and carbs, good for the groin-grinding I wanted to resume with mom, if I could find the proper persuasion.
When I got home, I was in for a surprise. As I got in the door I found a note taped just where I hang my coat. It instructed me to find my mother in the bathroom and join her in the tub. A chilled six pack of beer was already on hand in my small cooler on top of my dresser. Well, while I had done a number of intimate activities with mom, this was a new one. I wondered, as I got undressed, if this was a ‘privilege’. I would consider it as such, certainly so! I grabbed a brew, popped the top and quaffed a couple of swallows. Then with can in one hand and cooler in the other I walked stark naked to where my mom was soaking in a different sort of suds.
An eerie sensation sent a frisson of thrill up my spine, as I had a memory of walking naked to have a bath as a child, my mother coming along behind me to scrub the dirt from the playground off my small boyish frame. Now I was nude, headed to a bathtub where my mother awaited to do dirty things with my full grown manly physique, our ‘playground’ the soapy water we’d share. The excitement of that thrill traveled around my crotch and put spring into my growing manhood. As I open and swiftly closed the door to what dad had termed in polite company, ‘the facilites’, I smelled a combination of lilac and maryjane in the steamy atmosphere. I spied the pipe close to mom, in one hand she held a tumbler with the dregs of what I presumed was sherry.
“Time to switch to beer, Babe” she quipped, “The grass spoils the taste of the wine. Grab me a can..” she laughed, “can in the can – get it?” Somebody was feeling a buzz already, she didn’t remember making the same pun yesterday! “Wade in and keep the cooler close, the water is warm and I’m hot and I see that my boy’s beefstick is ready for a wiener roast!” More snickering.
“If its cooked in a liquid that would be boiled.”
“Hotdogs belong on buns.” she retorted.
“Does that mean your going to eat my bratwurst?”
“I could do worse than swallow my brat’s fat sausage. Come here and let me get a gander at that gorgeous banger.”
Holding my brew and hers, I waded toward her like a satyr after a water nymph, the kielbasa of my loins now standing out like the prow of a three-masted schooner. When I got to where she was sitting, the long dong all but dinged on her lips. “Frank-ly, my dear, I don’t give a damn what you may call this salami, I’ve been hungry to do this all day!” With that declaration mom gulped a good third of my full length of six inches (and a half for the intensity of the situation) and did her best to deep throat the rest, then made several more going-down strokes before coming up for air.
She took her can and chugged, belched, and grinned up at me. “Sit next to mermaid and fire up the pipe, there’s still half a bowl and you need to catch up with your paramour!” I obeyed, as any good son should. The lighter was tricky to handle with my wet hands, the beer rested on the broad side of the tub. I passed her the pipe after my second toke. We sat and smoked. But it was a small bowl and quickly finished, so I bent over to where the stash was to refill. My ass was turned toward my mother and she goosed me good!
I let out a sound like a shriek that warbled into a yelp and ended in a chortle. “Careful, mom, or I’ll spill the baggie of grass!”
“Couldn’t resist!” She giggled. I sat back down, but now mom arose and sat on my lap, her hips moving slightly back and forth, with my cock most delightfully captured in the crack of her derriere. She tilted her beer and finished the drink, flipped it over the side making a clean shot right into the wastepaper basket. “Need a few more tokes, Honey.” I fired up the stoker as we soaked and her split stroked my stalk. I was getting very turned on in both head and libido. The pot was finished but mom was just getting started as I put the pipe on the floor, she flexed and reached under her legs to grasp my dick.
She aimed it well, for as she settled lower again it sheathed smoothly in her vagina like we had practiced the move for a hundred times. Our pubic hair meshed, and I could feel her tightness and the inner muscles gripped my penis with the clutching of her experienced pussy. Her hands went to my kneecaps for bracing and with just a slight rocking she accomplished a sawing motion that never disengaged our organs but granted long strokes of in and out, nonetheless. I was building to an orgasm but she was ahead of me that way too. She shuddered and climaxed, and climbed off my prick before I peaked.
“That’s the advantages of being a mermaid without a fish-tail, you can get hooked on a fisherman’s pole and have a whale of a time.”
“Are we going with ‘naughty-call’ terms this evening?”
Mother was reversing to face me and remount my mast. “Well, I’m not “three sheets to the wind” yet, but I’m well on my way to a voyage of ‘sin-bad’. Do you like my water balloons?” She thrust a nipple to my mouth, and between alternately sucking on one jug or the other, I didn’t say much. Mom’s moans were the main sounds she was making now and conversation was not the way we communicated for quite a few minutes. This time I was primed and blasted first, a good flood of jism within the scalding grotto that I was plugged into, however the forceful ramming was plenty of stimulation to bring my Lorilei lover to her licentious culmination.
“THAT was . . . thaat wuuzz . . . tthhat wass . . .” mom’s voice trilled, “Fantastic!!” she cheered throwing her arms high in the air, fingers spread wide, tits bouncing and then she toppled backward in the water; by design or accident I couldn’t tell. She rose back out with her hands bracing behind her and spouted a huge mouthful of water right in my face, then gave a quick bark of a laugh. “You’re a dirty boy indeed, fucking your old – make that mature – mother in the bathtub! You ought to be spanked! YES! Turn around so your mother can slap your caboose until its pink!”
I wasn’t into masochism or any type of S&M kinky stuff, but I wasn’t about to argue with my maternal parent who had just screwed me royal; so I turned my buttocks to her once more not knowing if I would get a good whooping or a whoopsie goosing again or what. I sensed her move up behind me. I held the edge of the basin, not daring to look back, my anus subconsciously slightly clenched in suspense of anticipating the sensation to come. ‘Pat-a-tat-pat-tat’ the palms of mom’s hands beat out a slightly tingling tattoo rhythm on my bottom like she was playing the bongos.
“What ta know somethin?” she said in ‘baby-talk’ fashion, as she rubbed my hindquarters. “I always loved your fanny cheeks. I always thought they were cute, and when you got to be older they were sexy, a turn on, I’d peek at you when I could and then go and make your dad ball me hard. He never actually knew what set me off on a horny streak, but it was these scrumptious buns, I almost want to bite them!” She bent down, but instead of teeth, I felt her lips place a smack on each side. Then she gently took a testicle in each hand and rolled them. “What your pop did know was that I like to play with a guy’s hairy nuts. I’m always very careful, because they are so delicate and a lady doesn’t mistreat the equipment that she’ll be having fun with soon.
Indeed, the pair of balls were now in one hand while the other went along the ventral side to grasp the fully turgid phallus I was once more sporting. “Kiss me, son. Turn around and hug me, hold me and kiss me. I love you, you have set me free and I’m so grateful for our being together like this, in liberated libertine lusty love!” I didn’t think about how well my plan had worked, or what came next, or when she would leave to go back to New York City, of if she would stay longer than planned; I just clutched her to me and kissed her face, and Frenched her mouth, and ran my hands over her breasts, and down her abdomen, and through her pubic hair, and fingered her clit, then slid them into her cunt, and loved the marvelous woman in my arms.
Her hands roam me as well. Her fingers combed my chest hair and the back of my head. She fondled my genitals keeping the eroticism stoked with her strokes. After this wild foreplay, she moved and in a reversal of how we had been a little while ago, now her tush was presented to me, the crack of her divide wide and waiting, wanton and willing, wet and womanly lubricated. I knew what she wanted and waddled on my knees to place my harpoon in her poontang. Even with the double drubbing of earlier she was still a snug fit around my boner. I made waves as I speared her again and again. This time I was definitely touching bottom as I felt the head of my meaty shaft beating against the prongs of her cervix.
Mother was having multiple orgasms, like Roman candles shooting on the Fourth, I was building a good head of pressure that would explode a wad like a bullet from my sex pistol. I was banging my mom, the slap of flesh rang off the tiles, the moans and grunts mixed with the cries and calls like animals in a zoo. But it turned very human again as I began to shout in my frantic haste to cum inside her. “MOMMY!” I yelled, “MOM, Oh God! I love you, I’M going to – YES, nooww! CUMMINGGG!!!” I gave my lock-in / fire the cannon / dynamite-dick going nova / blast within the womanhood of my dear and most sexy mother. Nothing could be better, no female ever got me so totally pleasured with paroxysms as dearest, darling mom.
After that we leisurely washed each other and climbed out. We dried one another off, that was a lot of laughs. Mom had made a favorite casserole of mine, ‘Cincinnati Chilli’, a pasta and chilli combo with green peppers chopped up and mixed in for added zing. Which made the left over marijuana laced mousse a perfect desert. Then we retired to the satin sheets in only our skins and settled in for even more of our incestuous sinning. After all, I had yet to go down on her. But during our pillow talk, when mother found out sis had helped with planning her seduction (even though unknowingly), she thought that I might be interested in getting my sibling in bed with us, “See,” mom said with her girlish giggle, “I bet you didn’t know that your sister had a bi side to her; and I could be tempted to try that with her and you. Now here’s what we do . . .”
Butt, that’s another story.
