Chapter 4

Would I like to learn how to braid Mom’s hair? Well, yeah!

I looked closely at Mom’s hair the next morning while eating breakfast. Her hair really was beautiful, a slightly wavy chestnut brown that fell a third of the way down her back. The swirl of her mane about her shoulders as she moved around the kitchen made my dick tingle and I loved it when she pulled her hair back from her face, tipping her head to let if fall over her shoulders. I could hardly wait until tonight when I could get my fingers in it.

But that wasn’t to be. Mom went out with her friends for dinner and didn’t return until late. I waited up but she went into her room before I could get out of mine to greet her, shutting the door behind her. What was up? Had I angered her? I reviewed the day in my mind, the morning and brief interaction after school, but couldn’t find anything I might have said or done that could have upset her. Disappointed, I retreated to bed and consoled myself with spanking the monkey.

Tuesday. This was the day. Nope.

Mom had to attend a business function with Dad. I waited but the door was shut again after my parents went to bed. Mom was aloof the next morning. I really must have done something but I couldn’t think of what no matter how hard I racked my brain.

Wednesday. Same standoffish mother, morning and night.

Thursday, the same. Had she been visited by Guilt.

Friday. Chipper mom. All bright and smiley, wearing a plain white, sleeveless cotton blouse that hid her small but perky assets, tucked into a pair of form-fitting, dark navy blue shorts. I had an instant crotch rise at the breakfast table as I looked at her long legs and shapely bottom, and was barely able to contain myself when she stood in front of me, right leg and hip slightly forward, stretching her shorts tightly over the prominence of her puffy mound.

“What are you up for this morning, sweetie?” Mom purred as if the past week’s aloofness was a figment of my imagination.

“To eat?” I asked, looking up, unable to keep hope from the tenor of my voice.

Mom smiled at my obvious hint, pushed her knee further forward and watched my eyes stray down to the front of her plush shorts, sensuously rocking her hips in a slow tease.

“And to drink. What would please your taste buds most this morning?” the twinkle in Mom’s eyes produced sparks in my cock, causing it to throb painfully in my jeans.

I want to throw you on the floor and fuck your brains out, my head screamed, but my mouth silkily mewed, “Whatever’s easiest for you, Mom.”

“How about yogurt and fruit again?” she asked.

“Sure, that would be great.”

Mom pivoted on her feet and tensed her buttocks before strolling slowly to the fridge. A moment later she returned with two bowls. I had watched her the whole time, keeping a tab on my father every time his newspaper rustled to make sure he was behind it, unable to see me ogling my own mother.

“Which one do you want?” Mom asked, setting the bowls down on the table. “This one’s French vanilla and this one’s lemon.”

Mom dipped her finger in one and moved it quickly to my mouth, inserting it between my lips and pushing it all the way in, sliding along my tongue. My eyes were saucers as she slowly dragged her finger out, scooped it through the other bowl and returned it to my mouth, wiggling on my tongue for a few seconds before retracting it the same teasing way.

“Well?” Her face literally dripped amusement, heightened, I’m sure, by my shocked visage.

Mom turned and walked to the fridge, returning with a container of orange juice to pour two glasses while standing in the same, sexy stance with knee bent and hip cocked forward.

“You can have this one,” she pushed the bowl with lemon yogurt toward me, “and we’ll find something sweet for you later today.” Again the big smile.

Mom sat down to eat her yogurt and fruit. She crossed her legs under the table and her foot bumped against my leg. Something was definitely up. Today was the day, my brain sang, as song that was interrupted by Dad suddenly rustling his paper as he flipped pages, the noise covering the clatter of Mom’s sandal dropping to the floor. Mom’s bare foot pried between my knees as my father snapped the paper before burying his face again, a moment later mumbling to himself as Mom’s toes scratched my thigh just above my knee.

“Eat up,” Mom said, nodding at my barely touched bowl, pushing her spoon into her mouth and turning it over to suck the yogurt off like she had a week ago. This time, when she pulled the spoon from her mouth she kept it near and her tongue snaked out to lick the already clean metal. Mom smiled innocently at me as her tongue flicked around the spoon.

“Don’t you want to eat it?” she asked, her eyes flickering as a mischievous smiled formed on her face.

“Yeah Mom, I do,” I assured her, digging my spoon in the bowl. Before I could eat it, Mom stretched her hand out and put her spoon in front of my mouth. When I leaned forward to take it she pulled it away but followed as I pulled my head back. Her eyes sparkled. I stuck my tongue out and she nodded. Quickly, I licked the spoon and found that a strangely erotic taste lingered from its presence in her mouth and the slithering bath of her sexy tongue.

“Slowly,” Mom said, “or you’ll give yourself an upset stomach.”

I dutifully followed her motherly advice and she nodded approval as my tongue bathed her spoon, trying to imitate the writhing action applied by her own tongue. When Dad shook the paper again in preparation for turning pages, Mom yanked the spoon away. After he settled in again, she stood, picked up her empty dishes, and stepped close to me.

“Oh, look what I’ve done,” she said, looking down at the gob of white yogurt spilled on her dark blue shorts, looking helpless with a glass in one hand and the bowl in the other. “Can you get that for me, Michael?”

I was slow to react. What was she asking? I looked at Dad, or at least the newspaper covering everything except his hand and the top of his head. I looked back at the creamy gob on the front of Mom’s shorts. Her hips moved, thrusting her pelvis toward me in the same motion she had teased me with earlier. Her pelvis stopped, and she waited.

I dropped my spoon and swung my right hand around toward Mom’s shorts until it was half an inch away under the offending dollup of yogurt. Casting a nervous glance at my father, I pushed my hand forward, crooking my finger into a half cup and pressing it against Mom’s blue shorts just under the yogurt, right on her pubic mound.

The yogurt peeled off onto my fingers. I looked at it, resting in my cupped fingers, then raised it to my lips and sucked it into my mouth.

“Get all of it Michael,” Mom said in a quieter voice. Her eyes were on me. She didn’t look at Dad.

I put my finger back against her mound and rubbed. Up ... pulled back and down without breaking contact ... then up again. I rubbed up and down her shorts, right over her pussy. I could feel the crevice dividing her secret lips even under the tight shorts, especially when Mom pushed her mound against my fingers as they rubbed. I kept rubbing, up and down, until the paper rattled again and Mom turned away, walking toward the counter, ass moving delectably under the tight shorts, hands with dishes crooked to the sides and moving with the sway of her hips. I was left with my hand and fingers hanging out, toward Mom’s retreating behind, as if I was making a point in conversation.

My face went red as I turned toward Dad to explain myself, but he had already returned to his paper. I could hear Mom putting her glass and bowl in the sink and turned to see her walking back toward me, a round damp stain marking the spot where I had removed the yogurt.

“I’d better go up and change these,” she said, walking past me and out of the kitchen.

I looked down at my own lap and the wet spot staining my jeans. I had cum in my pants and hadn’t even been aware of it. I extricated myself from the table and beat a hasty retreat upstairs to my room. I threw my soiled jeans and shorts in the laundry basket, put on a robe, and went to the bathroom to get a shower. Stepping out, I was surprised to find Mom looking in the mirror, though it was fogged up. She was wearing a different pair of tight shorts.

“Do these look ok?” she asked, putting her thumbs under the waistband on each hip and jutting her behind toward me, beautifully detailing her prominent cheeks and completely ignoring the fact that I was stark naked.

I stepped close to her, my dangling cock pressing into her behind. She scooted forward, breaking contact.

“You’ll get me all wet, silly,” Mom giggled, turning around before I could regain the softness of her ass. “Anyway,” she said, “it’s daytime.”

My face fell.

“But make sure you come straight home from school,” she said.

Was she going to give me a treat before Dad got home? My face brightened.

“Do you hear?” Mom demanded.

I nodded eagerly just as Mom’s soft little hand closed over my cock at the base, her fingers stretching down to cup my balls.

“Promise me,” she whispered.

“I promise,” I answered in a high pitch, barely able to speak.

Mom’s fingers closed over my cock, twisted around and squeezed up my shaft, her thumb rubbing across the bottom of my glans.

“Good boy,” she said, stretching up on her toes to kiss me lightly on my mouth, tongue poking just inside and sliding sideways back and forth across my lips, before pushing in for a brief kiss.

Settling down on her heels, she said, “I’m looking forward to tonight.”

She stepped around me and was gone, leaving me standing there with a huge boner. I turned to the toilet and started jacking off.

Mom wasn’t there when I came home from school.

“We’re on our own,” Dad said when he came in. “Mom’s gone to a show with the girls,” he explained.

We ordered in pizza. Dad had just gone up to bed when Mom came home about ten.

“Hi baby,” she greeted me cheerily, hanging her coat up in the closet. “Where’s your Dad?”

She was wearing a nice dress that clung to her slender frame, a matching, integrated belt emphasizing her hips. She walked toward me, eyes questioning.

“In bed,” I answered sullenly.

“Already?” Mom said in a tone that didn’t really demand an answer.

“I thought you wanted me to braid your hair,” I said, sounding sullen.

“Oh, I completely forgot. Marge called,” she explained. “The girls wanted to go to this new show and, well, you know.” Mom regarded me with that apologetic look that women sometimes use, knowing you must forgive them for whatever transgression was involved, real or not. “I’m sorry honey. I hope I didn’t mess up your plans with your friends for nothing.”

I shook my head.

“Can you do it tomorrow night? Please?” Mom knew I had already forgiven her.

“Sure,” I said.

“Can I show you a little bit tonight so you know what to do tomorrow?” she pressed.

I nodded.

“Great. Come on.” Mom grabbed my hand and started pulling me toward the stairs.

“Dad just went to bed,” I said, looking at the kitchen, much preferring to fondle her hair there, in private.

“That’s ok. He’s probably asleep already.”

Mom paused halfway up the stairs to remove her high heels. Somehow that innocently normal action cranked up the sexual tension and she looked so hot walking ahead of me in her stocking feet, her buttocks patiently taking turns bulging against her dress.

Dad wasn’t sleeping. He was sitting up in bed reading and I immediately felt uncomfortable but Mom wasn’t fussed at all.

“Hi dear. I’m going to show Michael how to braid my hair so he can do it for me tomorrow night,” Mom explained as she pulled me toward their ensuite bathroom.

Without looking up, Dad asked, “Did you have fun with the girls?”

“Yes,” Mom said without slowing her pace, knowing that was all the exchange that was needed, expected, or wanted.

I followed Mom inside and stood behind her as she stepped up to the sink and looked at herself in the mirror. The door was open and as I looked over Mom’s shoulder I could see the mirrored door, and through it, my father from the side, sitting up in bed reading his book.

“These have been killing me all night,” Mom was saying. She had raised her dress up and slid her hands underneath from the sides. She ducked and her pantyhose appeared around her knees and were pushed down her legs so her feet could step out and kick them aside.

Mom looked at me in the mirror. “Ok, now watch what I do.”

She proceeded to give me a lesson on braiding hair, showing me by doing it herself with several strands she picked on the right side of her head, toward the front. She talked steadily as the demonstration proceeded, and I wondered if it was for my benefit, or my father’s. I leaned closer and closer to her as I looked over her shoulder and my pelvis was eventually pressed tightly against her behind. She had looked up and caught my eyes when I first made contact, and smiled, before glancing to the side at the reflection in the bathroom door of my father. He had slumped down in the bed but was still reading.

Mom’s ass wiggled against my sweatpants and the hard cock underneath settled into her womanly notch.

“We’ll have to finish this tomorrow night,” she said, pushing back and rubbing her ass on me. God, she was such a fucking cock tease.

“Maybe you should do another one,” I said. “I haven’t quite got it yet.” I pushed, pressing my cock along the length of her crack.

“Alright, one more,” she said. “But then I have to get to bed.”

I ground my cock into her ass in appreciation.

“Unhook me,” she whispered, loud enough for only me to hear, holding her hair up from her neck.

I struggled but finally managed to undo the little hook above the zipper on Mom’s dress. Mom let her hair fall over my hand still at the back of her neck. Looking over her shoulder into her eyes in the mirror, I grasped the zipper and very slowly pulled it down her back, trying hard not to make a sound. I had sufficient presence of mind to take advantage of the rustling as Dad turned to a new page in his book, quickly running the zipper down to Mom’s hips.

Mom tipped her head to the side and started braiding a strand on the other side of her face. She didn’t seem surprised when my hands slid around her waist, inside her dress, and moved up her tummy to cup her breasts. Her training voice started again, repeating the same instructions she had used the first time. Her voice was calm and didn’t change as my hands slid over the top of her breasts and squeezed her tits, my fingers finding and pinching her nipples, rolling and tugging.

God, how I loved her nipples. They were like two perfect little cylinder, jutting out, waiting to be teased. I wanted to suck them and I whispered as much in her ear, digging my hard cock into her soft behind.

“Tomorrow,” she whispered, her voice faltering a bit as I tugged her nipples out far enough to pull her breasts away from her chest.

“Now,” I insisted, dropping her tits back to her chest and rolling her nipples between my fingers.

“Tomorrow night,” she countered.

“I can’t wait,” I gasped into her ear.

“Tomorrow,” she pleaded.

“In the day?” I bargained.

A pause. “Alright.”

“In the morning?”

A shorter pause. “Alright.”

The light snapping off in the bedroom startled us both. I slid my hands down to Mom’s waist and out of her dress, stepping back so my cock wasn’t pressed between her cheeks but not so far that the huge pyramid in my sweatpants wouldn’t be readily apparent should Dad suddenly walk through the bathroom door. Try as I might, I couldn’t see anything in the bedroom, it was too dark. Mom was looking too, her eyes straining to see though she continued braiding her hair.

Clearly Dad had decided to go to sleep, but had he turned this way? Was he watching us? Obviously he could see us in the mirror if we could see him before he turned out the light. What was he doing? The air was taut with tension. Would he suddenly burst angrily through the door? What was he doing? My eyes weren’t accommodating to the darkened room, not standing here in the bright bathroom, so my ears strained for telltale sounds that he was either coming or going to sleep.

We kept up our act of learning to braid Mom’s hair. Several minutes passed but I still couldn’t see or hear anything. My cock, aching for the press of her ass, pushed back between her buns. Mom, looking panicked, shook her head vigorously in short, sharp movements. I held her waist to stop her from leaving, relaxing when she didn’t seem about to go, letting my hands slip under her dress once more.

I didn’t dare to move up to hold her tits. It would be too obvious, but I did push my hands around her hips to rest on her belly and, after no outraged bellow from the other room, I thought it safe to let them move, brushing lightly across her lower tummy, trying not to raise a visible profile under the dress.

I was shocked when my fingertips brushed through Mom’s pubic hair. She wasn’t wearing panties! My cock throbbed on her ass, the ass that had been naked under the dress all along. I leaned down into her neck and groaned, pushing my hand lower, meshing in her pussy hair and pulling her ass tighter against my cock.

Mom’s eyes darted toward the bedroom and her hands dropped from her hair, down to her hips. I held her tighter, ready to fight to retain access to her pussy and ass, but I didn’t have to. Mom’s hands worked at her sides and I realized that she was pulling her dress up, baring her ass. I pulled my hands out and down, grabbing her dress and helping to pull it over her hips as I felt Mom’s hands reach back to push my sweatpants down. I bent my knees to help her get the waistband over my boner and wasted no time getting it against her hot skin as soon as it flopped clear.

Throwing caution to the wind, I humped my cock between her cheeks, moving my hands up under her dress to grab her tits again. If Dad came in to kill me, it was worth it. I pulled my cock back and poked at her, trying to find her fuckhole.

“Let me,” I rasped in her ear.

Mom’s arms were stretched over her head, elbows bent to allow her hands to hold my head.

“No,” she whispered frantically. “Just rub me ‘til you cum.”

Mom moved her ass up and down, encouraging me to do as she asked but I wanted to fuck her and kept trying to get my cock in her. We struggled for a couple of minutes and I finally gave up, realizing I couldn’t get it in her moving, twisting target unless she let me. I panted in her ear as I stood, cock slowly grinding against her ass as she pushed it back to goad me on.

That’s when we heard Dad’s gentle snore. I looked in the mirror, into Mom’s eyes, and pulled my cock back, sliding it under her ass and between her legs, searching in her damp heat. Holding my gaze, Mom leaned forward and allowed her slit to find me, opening, sucking my eager cock inside.

I loved the almost pained look on her face and the way her mouth opened as I shoved my cock all the way in.

“Unnngghh.”

Again.

“Unnnghhhh.”

Ahhhh, the way she lifted with each thrust. I liked that so much I stretched up on my toes just to see her face at the moment she was completely suspended on my cock. As Dad’s snoring grew louder, I really began shoving into her, long hard lunges and mom hung her head down as I bounced her ass up and down. Her hair had fallen around the sink but I grabbed a handful to pull her head up so I could watch her face as I fucked her faster and faster. I couldn’t stop. I was like a train, steadily gaining speed, never slowing, always faster and faster. I reached in front to rub my fingertip on her clit, then crooked my long finger and slid it into her cunt, on top of my cock, feeling it slide back and forth, jiggling my hand around as I fucked, pounding against her ass.

She started making the little sounds I was now familiar with and changed into an accompanying characteristic breathing pattern. She was close, near her orgasm. I sucked her ear into my mouth and felt her cunt flood me with her fluid, triggering my own explosive eruption. I jerked and jerked, convulsing inside her until I had nothing left to give, finally letting go and letting her head fall forward again. She gasped for breath, her dress caught on her hips, legs open, my cum trickling down the inside of one thigh.

Fuck she was so hot. If I could sleep with her, I knew I’d fuck her again before morning. A picture flashed in my head of me waking up and sliding my cock inside her while she was still sleeping, waiting for her eyes to open so I could see her joy at feeling her son’s cock inside her again. I needed to get Dad out of town. I had to sleep with Mom. I pulled my sweatpants up and kissed Mom on the back, between her open dress.

“Tomorrow morning,” I whispered.

I went to bed.

I woke up in the middle of the night with a huge hardon. I got up and wandered down the hall to find Mom and Dad’s door closed. I pushed but it didn’t budge. I pushed harder without further success. Had Mom jammed it with a door stop? Something was blocking it. I gave up and went back to bed.

In the morning, I found Dad alone in the kitchen, drinking his coffee and reading the Saturday paper. He looked up when I came in.

“It’s Mother’s day tomorrow.”

“Yeah?” I responded, getting a bowl out of the cupboard.

“Yeah,” Dad replied. “I want you to be extra nice to your mother today. You should braid her hair for her like she asked.”

“I was going to do that anyway,” I said, pouring some granola with raisins into the bowl.

“That’s good. Make sure you tell her it looks great, no matter what.”

“I will Dad,” I assured him as I opened the fridge to get some milk.

Mom sauntered in while my head was buried in the fridge, saying good morning and adding, in an explanatory tone, “All my shorts are in the laundry.”

I almost dropped the milk when I pulled my head out of the fridge. Dad was focused on the paper, spread flat on the table rather than held up with his face in it, and Mom was reaching up to get a box of cereal out of the cupboard above the counter behind me. She was wearing a short, light blue jean skirt with frayed edges. I mean short.

One foot lifted from the floor as Mom strained to reach the cereal, highlighting the muscles in her supporting leg. I didn’t help her, I just straightened up and watched her, milk bottle in one hand, fridge door still open.

Mom turned around and took the milk from my hand.

“Thanks,” she said.

She poured the cereal in a bowl, got a coffee, added milk to each, and walked outside to have her breakfast on the patio. Belatedly, I poured milk on my granola and put it away before joining Dad at the table.

“You should have said something about how nice she looks.”

“What?” I looked at Dad, surprised.

“You should have said something about her legs.”

“About Mom’s legs?” I said, my voice rising an octave.

“Mm hmm. She does this every once in a while, usually just before her birthday or Mother’s day, whenever she’s feeling older.”

My memory told me Dad was right but I hadn’t really noticed it before. But things had changed.

“I’ve never heard her...”

“Well, that because she says it to me. She gets all antsy but calms down after few compliments about her hair, or her legs. She works hard on both, you know.”

Dad cleared his throat, then went on.

“Women need to feel men’s attention though they often profess to spurn it. Your mother’s not a buxom woman. A bigger woman would wear a revealing blouse. Women like your mother emphasize other things, like their hair or legs. They all have something and know how to use it, just to get a few glances, to let them know they still have it.”

Dad cleared his throat again.

“Your mother has nice legs and hair, so you should say something about them.”

Thus, my father imparted his wisdom about women to me.

“But it’ll sound weird coming from me,” I argued.

“Won’t matter,” Dad changed to a new page. “A compliment’s a compliment. Tell you what. I’ll ask her to get my prescription filled and you take her down to the mall to the drug store. She’s sure to get a few admiring looks in that skirt, and she’ll feel safe with you along.”

When Mom came in the house, Dad talked her into getting his prescription but he wanted me to so I could check the oil in the car.

“Anyway,” he added laughing, as if making joke, “I need someone to protect my interests if you’re going to wear a skirt like that.”

“I’ll get changed then,” Mom huffed.

“No no,” Dad laughed. “Don’t cover up those gorgeous legs. They’re really something, aren’t they son?”

“Uh yeah, Dad. They really are,” I said awkwardly.

“They sure are and I want everyone to know what a lucky guy I am. But you be there to make sure no one bothers your mom.”

“I will Dad.”

Looking exasperated, Mom walked out of the house. I caught up and we drove to the mall where the closest drug store was located. I noticed that Mom had undone a couple of buttons on the jean shirt she wore to match her skirt, I suppose because it was hot outside in the sun, but she had forgotten to do them back up. I wasn’t about to remind her, thinking her chest looked pretty good this morning. She must be wearing one of those push-up bras.

As we walked through the mall, Mom did garner a few looks from passing men but Mom ignored them and simply increased her business-like pace. She didn’t do anything I could see to attract attention to herself. I guess she wasn’t as keen to show off her wares as Dad thought. In the drug store, we walked straight to the back counter to place our order. There was one older man sitting in the little U-shaped waiting area, waiting for his prescription. His head rose when Mom walked by him and his eyes fixed on her bare legs and short skirt, landing on her ass. He didn’t see me at first but only glanced away from Mom for a second when he did. He wasn’t shy.

I sat in a chair opposite the old man and watched him look at Mom. I couldn’t blame him, she did look sexy. After placing her order, Mom sat beside me, legs held demurely together. The old fella’s eyes followed her all the way to her chair and locked onto her slender legs.

“You’ve got a fan, just like Dad said,” I whispered to Mom.

Mom nodded, seeming a bit annoyed.

“Poor old guy, probably doesn’t get to look at legs like yours often,” I said. “He probably has to rent dirty movies.”

Mom laughed out loud. “No doubt,” she said, looking at me, eyes sparkling.

A funny look flashed over her face. She raised her right foot and crossed it over her left knee toward me, her eyes holding mine and she let her leg fall snugly onto the other.

“Did your father say I should let the guys see what a lucky man he is?” she asked, eyes glinting.

I nodded and Mom raised her right leg and pulled it to the side until just its ankle was resting on the other knee, opening her thighs to provide a shocking view for the older man. Mom’s eyes were intent on mine, as if she was unaware that the stranger must be able to see not just her legs but her panties too. She held that pose until the pharmacist approached the counter and called our name.

The old fellow followed her legs all the way to the counter. I stood and walked over to stand by Mom, leaving a clear line of sight for the old guy. When the pharmacist took Mom’s credit card to process it, I put my hand possessively on Mom’s skirt, directly over her right buttock.

In the car, Mom burst out laughing. “That was a riot,” she roared, slapping her thighs and leaning back in the seat, covering her eyes with one hand. “Oh, I was so bad. I gave him such a view.”

Mom opened her legs wide, replaying her saucy action. I looked down at her dark blue panties, covered with a lacy, flowered design. No wonder he hadn’t looked away. The panties were molded to her prominent pussy mound so tightly that there was a distinctive line, slightly dipped in, marking the meeting of her pussy lips.

Mom’s laughing stopped and I was aware of her hand pulling away from her now questioning eyes.

“Do you think he could see the pretty design?” I asked.

“You mean this one?” Mom opened her thighs wider and pulled her skirt higher.

“Yeah,” my voice lowered to a husky whisper.

“I don’t know. Can you see it from that far away?”

I leaned toward Mom, resting my elbow on the middle of the seat, twisting to get past the steering wheel. Mom shifted her hips so she was pointing more toward the middle of the car and pushed her left knee against the back of the seat.

“Is that some kind of flower?” I asked, leaning over, my face hovering above her thighs.

“Yes,” Mom husked.

“What kind?” I stretched to get my face closer to her panties.

“Pussy willow,” Mom panted.

“Aren’t they soft?” I asked as Mom’s fingers threaded through the hair on the back of my head.

“Yes.”

I pushed Mom’s left leg higher so I could get closer.