Chapter 2

I didn’t avoid Mom the next day. Not on your life. At breakfast and dinner I tried to send private messages to Mom through meaningful glances but she was oblivious to every one. Not once did I receive an acknowledgement of any kind. Mom didn’t flash me a secret smile or glance, or avert her eyes in sudden discomfort upon interpreting an uncomfortable signal. She was the same mother I had known every day of my life.

I hadn’t known what to expect. At first, I was apprehensive because I thought she might be angry with me, that I had forced myself upon her and she had to do what she did so Dad wouldn’t know. But then I remembered the way things had ended and I felt eager to engage her in anticipation of another wonderful evening brushing her hair. The last thing I expected was no change at all.

But that’s the way it was. Mom largely ignored when I got home after school, responding only when necessary to my atypical chit chat with her. I gave up and went to my room, as I normally did. Mom’s interaction with Dad was typical and she dealt with me the way she always did after I came downstairs to wait for dinner. Dinner ... you guessed it ... was exactly the same as any other dinner. Mom chatted about her day, asked Dad about his and me about mine and then she and Dad went to the living room while I cleaned up the table, loaded the dishwasher, and cleaned the counters before joining them to watch some TV.

Mom totally ignored my hints about her hair, my attempts to catch her attention, and my long looks at her legs and small breasts. Eventually, I became disgruntled and left for my room to blow off my built-up tension by killing something on the computer.

Was this it? Was last night a one-timer? Did she think the easiest way to handle it to pretend it didn’t happen? She hadn’t responded to any of my references to her hair. Though I hadn’t explicitly asked her if she wanted it brushed, she didn’t pick up on the hint. She couldn’t have missed the obvious request so the answer must be no, she didn’t want her hair brushed.

I was startled by the quiet knock on my door. Mom came in before I could answer, carrying a mug of hot chocolate. She brought over and set it down on the desk, her hand reaching out to rest across on my shoulders while she looked at the computer screen and the game I was playing. I thanked her for the drink.

“I thought you might be studying,” she said, implying she wouldn’t have brought me anything if she’d known I was just playing a game.

“No, I just needed to blow off some steam,” I replied. More like frustration, I thought to myself, conscious that Mom was wearing a housecoat which meant she’d already changed for bed. Her hip felt warm pressing against the side of my arm. Mom’s hand lifted from my shoulder and her fingers curled around to play with the hair at the nape of my neck.

“Well, that’s one way to do it,” she said.

Mom played with my hair for a few more seconds before pulling her hand away and walking to the door where she briefly paused.

“Dad’s just gone to bed.”

She was gone but somehow it felt like she was still there. It wasn’t just the faint smell of perfume or other feminine products, it was the excited tension her voice had inspired in me. My nerves tingled and I found it hard to breathe. Dad had gone to bed. She hadn’t said goodnight. She’d just told me that Dad had gone to bed, and she’d brought me a drink, implying I should take a few minutes to drink it.

I jumped up and stripped my clothes off, lunged to the dresser and grabbed a pair of pajama bottoms and jockey shorts, yanked them on and then searched for a t-shirt. After that I turned for the door.

Too quick, I thought, turning back. I’d better finish the hot chocolate. I strode to the desk and picked up the mug, taking a big swig. Shit! I sprayed frothy brown foam all over my LCD screen. Christ, that was hot! I picked up the front of my t-shirt and stuffed it into my mouth, trying to relieve my burning tongue. Jesus!

Seeing the stain on my t-shirt, I pulled it off and tossed it to the floor. I began looking for another one but changed my mind. The hell with it. I go the way I was. Thinking about it, I took my pajama bottoms off, stripped off my jockey shorts, and put the pj’s back on by themselves. No guts, no glory, I thought, suddenly riding a wave of confidence again. I returned to the computer desk and slowly sipped the hot chocolate until it was gone. As fast as I could, mind you, but without burning myself again. With confidence and anticipation, I strode out my door.

By the time I reached the door to my parent’s room my anticipation was unchecked but my confidence had waned somewhat. Mom hadn’t actually asked me to come. What if Dad was awake? My pajama’s weren’t exactly tenting, shrinkage having wreaked havoc with my new found anxiety, but I was still loose and fancy free under there and anything could happen. I looked down; not now, anyway. I was through the door, having continued walking.

The room was dim and filled with the sound of my father’s heavy breathing periodically broken by a soft snore. Mom was sitting in front of the dresser, her back to me. I approached slowly, stepping quietly on the thick carpet. She looked up and smiled as I neared, lifting her right hand over her shoulder, offering the hairbrush. My fingers trembled as I took it. Saying nothing, Mom turned her eyes down, and waited.

I pulled the brush through her hair with my first tentative stroke. Mom’s hair was damp and I had to pull harder to force the bristles through her thick mane but not so hard that it would hurt. I worked diligently and actually lost myself in the task, pulling the hair away from her back with one hand to avoid snagging the robe, while tugging the brush through, slowly parting and straightening smaller and smaller bundles of hair. Eventually, I was stroking the full length of her hair without hitting a snag but found it harder to hold her hair away from her back. I kept snagging the robe.

After one such incident, probably the thirtieth, Mom lifted both hands to her neck, shrugged and wiggled, and her robe slipped off her shoulders, piling on the seat beside her and falling to hang down to the floor behind her. I continued brushing, expecting to snag her nightgown but encountered no resistance. Perhaps it was one of those ones made with silky material. Being cautious, I decided to pull Mom’s hair away from her back anyway. My knuckles grazed Mom’s back as I gathered her hair to pull it out a bit and was halfway through my brush stroke before I realized that the material was oddly warm and soft. The next stroke confirmed it but it wasn’t until the third stroke, when I peered under the pulled out hair, that I knew for certain that my knuckles had scraped along Mom’s bare back.

She wasn’t wearing a nightgown. I pulled her hair way out from her back before applying the brush on the next stroke, opening a long column of bare back, and buttock. Working my way from that side to the center, I was able to see a long column of smooth skin that ended in a canyon that quickly narrowed to a dark crack. I was looking down at Mom’s ass, at least the bit of it she wasn’t actually sitting on. For the first time, my pajamas began to tent. I looked over at Dad. He was still sleeping so my eyes returned to the magic slice of skin.

“Something wrong?” Mom’s soft voice startled me. She hadn’t whispered and I looked at Dad again in case he opened his eyes. “He’s sleeping,” Mom added, waiting for an answer her question.

I was still holding the hair away from her back, the brush in my other hand waiting to be applied. No wonder she’d asked. I was just staring at her ass crack.

“Um ... no. I was just ... um,”

“ ... going to massage my scalp?” Mom finished for me.

“Yeah, that’s ... uh, yeah.”

Mom held her hand up and I put the brush in it. After putting it on the dresser, Mom leaned back toward me, tipping her face upward, eyes closed. My thighs pressed against her back. I started running my fingers through Mom’s hair and scratching lightly at her scalp. Mom didn’t make an aural response until my fingers slipped down to trace her forehead.

“Mmmmmmmmm, I like that,” she purred.

I trailed my fingertips around as lightly as I could, carefully running over her closed eyelids, feeling her eyes underneath, running along the side of her nose and then horizontally across her lips.

“Mmmmmmmm,” she murmured.

I pushed my other hand down to cup Mom’s cheek and let my other fingers slide over her chin and down the length of her neck, gently caressing her exposed throat. Slowly, slowly, I thought. I spent some time tickling around and around on her neck, up and down an also up each side, cradling her head in my other arm, its fingers now stretching across her chin and mouth.

She was naked to her waist where the still belted robe covered her lap. But her chest was bare and I had an open view of her breasts, topped by a small, pointier swelling before her nipples, so long, burst forth. I pulled up on her chin, twisting her head back and loving the way her tits pushed out as she arched her back to accommodate the additional stress on her spine. My pajama tent grazed the back of her neck and stayed there as my hand stroked her neck.

“Mmmmmmmm,” Mom purred again, her head moving in a small, appreciative oval which caused her neck to rub against my equally grateful cock.

I didn’t think I could take a minute of her twisting neck but I did. I let my neck-stroking fingers slide down further, further, until my palm scraped over her hard, long nipple.

“Ohhhhhhhhh.”

I don’t know which one of said that. Maybe both. I massaged her tit, gently squeezing her nipple. I stepped closer, forcing her more upright, my cock pressing against the back of her shoulders, my other hand stretching down to capture her free tit, fingers enveloping it and pinching that nipple in a gentle vice. I hunched my cock into Mom’s back as I tugged her nipples toward the mirror.

“Ohhhhhhhh.”

“Mmmmmmm.”

We were in perfect tune.

I rubbed my palms back and forth over her nipples, bending them all around her tits while I thrust my cock up and down between her shoulder blades. I was going to cum, I was near. My breath was raspy and ragged. Fuck, I was going to cum all over her back. In her hair?

Suddenly, Mom leaned way forward and her tits slipped from my hands. I was left leaning over with my hands empty and my pajamas forming a large pyramid in front. Panting, I stared down at Mom, also breathing hard, her head on the dresser, hands laying on its edge at either side of her head.

I’d gone too far, got too carried away. She’d stopped me. Was she waiting for me to go? I didn’t want to but could I face her when she turned around? Could I really stay and make her face me? Could I really just leave and pretend this hadn’t happened.

Mom’s head lifted, turned sideways toward Dad, briefly, then back down toward the floor. She was turning, away from Dad, spinning on the bench seat the way she’d done last night. Her knees were at the end now and coming around toward me on my side of the bench. I looked down at the top of Mom’s head, she was keeping her face turned down to the floor. Her knees were square to me now and her legs opened. Head still down, Mom’s arms raised and stretched out, closing onto the side of my thighs, hands folding around and pressing me forward, toward her, like last night. I gave way.

My thigh once again made contact with the inside of Mom’s and continued pressing until my leg was stopped by the juncture of hers.

“Ohhhhhhh,” Mom purred.

A warm, damp bristly mat impinged on the soft flesh just above my knee. She wasn’t wearing panties. She was completely naked under that robe.

I put my hands gently on the top of Mom’s head and stroked the hair down the sides of her face, pushing it back. Slowly, Mom’s face turned up toward me but stopped when she was looking directly ahead, at my pajama pyramid. Why hadn’t I worn my jockey shorts? If I had, I would surely now be poking outside my pajamas, ready to feel her hot breath, and maybe even her wet tongue. But I was stuck inside, making this ridiculous tent.

Mom’s head moved forward and I gathered her hair in my hands, holding it up behind her head as she leaned in. I wanted to pull my pajamas down but was afraid to take the initiative. Please poke out. Please. But I wasn’t long enough.

No matter. Mom’s head kept coming and her face bumped my rigid tent, adjusted, and then her mouth slipped over the head of my cock, pajamas and all.

“Uuuuuuuhhhhhhh,” I cried, not able to dampen my cry regardless of my father’s presence.

“Ohhhhhhhhh,” I cried as Mom’s mouth pressed further, enveloping more of me and my pajamas.

Her mouth closed, clamping my cock firmly in her mouth. She didn’t move for several very long seconds. Then, instead of pulling away, as I expected, she began milking my cock, squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing, the same way I had worked on her tits. Mom’s arms circled my hips, pulling me closer, her legs closing on mine, her wet pussy rubbing my lower thigh, faster now.

I began to push my pajama-covered cock into Mom’s mouth, trying to fuck it, but I had limited degrees of freedom. Nevertheless, I kept thrusting, she kept milking, I pushed and twisted my knee, and she kept squeezing and rubbing.

Suddenly, Mom’s hand slipped down my hips, dragging my pajamas with them just as her mouth yanked off my soaked tent. One brief moment of freedom and my pole was quickly captured again, only this time the captor was warmer, wetter, softer and more vigorous. Mom’s head moved up and down on my cock of its own accord but I helped it along anyway, my own hands pushing and lifting, pushing and lifting.

Ah, fuck. The feel of my cock sliding in and out of her tight mouth, amid all those slurpy sucking sounds. Suddenly, I convulsed, bending over, pulling her head to me, keeping my cock shoved in her mouth. My hips were jerking, my spasms unloading my white son’s cream in her throat.

“Uggghhh, uggghhh, unnnggghhh.”

Finally, I was still. Gradually, the tension in my hips, legs and arms relaxed, releasing her head, her mouth slipping off my sagging cock. It flopped down as soon as it passed her lips. Her head sagged down again.

“Away you go now. Off to bed,” she said, like she used to when I was little after kissing me goodnight.

I backed away, pulling my pajamas up, my eyes straying belatedly over to check on Dad, relieved that he his eyes were closed even though I knew I was safe before that was confirmed because I he was still snoring. Mom didn’t move the whole time I backed away. She was still hunched over when I left the room.

The next day was the same as the day before. Mom acted like nothing had happened. I was relieved because she had looked so dejected when I’d left her room. I didn’t try to badger her this time, didn’t try to send or received any secret signals. I acted just like she did. I didn’t rush when she brought me a mug of hot chocolate. I took my time with it, relishing in her parting words, “Dad’s just gone to bed.”

Though I had taken my time, Mom hadn’t yet sat down in front of the dresser when I entered her room. She was just walking out of the bathroom, wearing a white robe that fit her body well. It wasn’t terry cloth or silky but a soft looking material. It was belted at the waist but open down her front to there. Nothing showed because she didn’t have big ones, but I knew those delightful treats were easily accessible.

Mom smiled as she passed between me and the bed where Dad was sprawled on his back, snoring quietly with his legs spread wide, and I stood unabashed by the tent already fully formed in my pajamas in full anticipation of tonight’s brushing.

“Hello Michael.” She seemed pleased.

“Hi Mom.” My breath was already catching.

I started to follow her to the dresser but Mom motioned for me to stay put. She picked up her brush and tapped the light to turn it off, leaving the room lit only by the light that managed to escape the bathroom through the almost closed door.

Were we going downstairs? My already hard cock subsided a little. I realized that, despite the fear factor or maybe because of it, I got off on the danger of our little game proceeding in my Dad’s presence.

Mom returned, stood in front of me, and handed me the brush.

“It must be hard for you to brush my hair standing behind me like that when I’m sitting,” Mom said.

“No, it’s ok. I don’t mind,” I replied, not wanting to change anything we did.

“No,” she said. “We’ll do it here. It will be easier on you.”

I was happy just to hear her say we weren’t leaving the bedroom. I took the brush from Mom’s hand and she stretched up on her toes to give me a kiss on my cheek, then thought better of it and gave me a quick kiss on my lips, directly on my mouth for the first time in my life.

Mom turned away and kneeled on the floor, facing the end of the bed. Her hands were busy in front of her and I realized she was pushing the robe off her shoulders. As it fell to the floor, still caught around her waist, she leaned forward to rest her head on the edge of the bed, between Dad’s widespread feet. I fell to my knees behind her, knees straddling her outstretched calves, squatting above her feet. I started to brush her hair.

Like the night before, I brushed Mom’s hair for a long time. I knew she was naked under the robe and I was enjoying the anticipation of what was to come, fondling her tits before she turned to take me into her mouth. Eventually, as I brushed, I allowed my free hand to stroke her skin, caressing first her back but then more and more along her sides. I let my fingers stretch around to her front to strum over her waiting nipple, flicking it, sometimes pinching, sometimes grasping and squeezing her whole tit. The way she arched her back and sighed in response, I knew she loved this extended love play.