Mother's Touch

Mom's hand felt electric on my thigh. She meant nothing by it, other than the absent-minded affection of a mother absorbed in conversation about her son's achievements.

The ladies did this every week, kidnapping one of their kids so they could have a few drinks with lunch and dessert. I drew the short straw this week. I got a pleasant lunch out of it, but I had to listen to the women discuss their adult children, love life, and things I didn't want to hear.

The touch should have meant nothing to me, but my penis had a mind of its own. It woke from slumber, stretched, and filled out, turning into a chubby partial erection against my leg.

Mom rubbed her hand over it. I looked at her, deep in her conversation, and realized she had no clue what she'd done to me. "Hey, mom?"

"Yes, dear?"

"If you see the waitress, I need a refill." I moved my leg to let her know the real reason for my interruption.

"Oh! Oh. No problem," she said. It took her ten or fifteen seconds to remove her hand.

We made it through the rest of lunch without mishap. I drove the ladies home, dropping each of mom's tipsy friends in front of their homes one-by-one. I dropped Janet off last, to make it easier to watch her sweet ass without comments from a peanut gallery.

"You can have a lot closer look any time you want," mom said with a grin.

"Oh, yeah?"

"She's shared fantasies about you with me more than once."

Good to know.

"Sorry about earlier," she said.

"No worries."

"I didn't realize until you caught my attention."

"Forget about it."

"Because it embarrasses you, or because you really don't mind?"

"I really don't mind," I told her. "It felt kind of good."

"Kind of?"

"Well, it was under two layers of cloth and wedged against my thigh."

"Do you need me to finish what I started? Even it was accidental."

"Mom!"

"Oh, honey, it's just a handjob."

I'd never heard my mother use words like that. "What about dad?"

"I don't think he'd do it." She cracked up at her own joke.

"You know what I mean."

"We don't have to tell him," she said. "In fact, I would advise against it."

"You wouldn't have a problem wrapping your hand around my erect penis?" She shook her head. "Stroking it until I ejaculate?"

"When you put it that way, I want to do it even more."

"Geez, mom."

"I haven't grabbed a hard cock and watched it squirt in a long time," she said.

Cock? Now my mom said cock? "I thought you and dad had a pretty good, um, sex life."

"Your father likes to give me a kiss, squeeze my breasts, then climb on top, and get things done." She sighed. "But we match each other so perfectly otherwise, it never mattered."

"Sorry to hear that." And know about it. "How do you cope?"

"Janet and I play once or twice a week."

My mind went blank for about three seconds. "You're bi?"

"By definition, I guess so," she said. "But I don't have the urge to do things with other women. Janet and I never had the urge to do things together, really."

"I don't get it."

"One night at Janet's, we drank a little too much wine and talked a little too much about sex for our own good."

"How far have you gone?" Part of me didn't want to know, but the part that considered a handjob from my mom did.

"Just fingers and a little light kissing."

That sent my temperature, among other things, rising. In her late forties, Janet had a body most of the thirty-year-olds I dated would envy. And mom's matched hers. Sure, they exercised and ate right, but they'd both received more than their fair shares of good looking.

"So, what do you say? Will you let your old mom have a little fun with your manhood?"

"I don't know."

"I'd love to see your seed squirting out of your tool, but we can do it in the dark if that helps."

Hearing what passed for nasty talk coming from mom really turned me on. I wanted it but needed to make sure this wasn't some test or a joke. "No, but I want to see you naked, too."

"Of course, baby. You can lose it all over me."

I might not need her hand if she kept talking like that. "We better stop and get condoms," I said, pushing a little further.

"Whatever for?"

"In case I want more."

"You mean intercourse?" She didn't use any naughty words for that one. "You want to have sex with your mother?"

Did I? Did I want to fuck my mother? Could I? "You never know. Things happen when two naked people start touching each other."

She stared into the distance. "I hadn't thought of that."

"If we start, we might as well go all the way," I said, pushing.

"It won't scar you?"

Well, that backfired. I thought about it for several seconds. "No, I don't think it would."

"You won't need a condom." Was she testing me? "I take birth control."

Shock stole my ability to speak for several seconds. Not only had my mother just told me I could have sex with her, she'd just given me permission to spray my load in her womb. Why did I find that so hot? Why did I want it so badly?

"We can do it when we get home," she said.

"Mom, I've done it more than once, but I'm afraid I'll orgasm before we can do anything."

"You flatterer." She smiled. "I'll give you that handjob first. It will take away some sensitivity. Then we can make out, and you can eat mommy's pussy."

Burying my head between her legs seemed nastier than shooting my load inside her. Hotter, too. And I loved licking a hot, wet pussy.

We climbed the stairs to my high school bedroom the second we got home. I tore out of my clothes while mom squirmed and wiggled out of her shorts, shirt, and bra. She bent over as she slid pink panties down her round thighs, giving me a full view of my future.

She had a beautiful vagina, closed lips, puffy vulva. Her slit glistened. I'd hoped for a little brush on the mountain, I liked that, but you wouldn't hear me complain about that picture-perfect slice of pie.

Mom kneeled in front of me. She wrapped her lips around my head and lowered herself to my base. She moved down quickly and pulled up slowly, sucking hard.

Despite the promised handjob, mom never once touched me with her hand. She wrapped those around my butt and used them to squeeze. "I'm going to cum," I said in a hoarse whisper.

Instead of pulling away and letting me cover her face and chest, she stopped with the head in her mouth and sucked. She gulped down every drop I had to give, then stood and kissed me hard and deep.

We kissed for several long minutes, the hint of wine and the taste of my semen mixing in our mouths. Then she pulled away and sat on the edge of my bed. "When I get close, I'll tell you. Get yourself inside me."

Slimy wetness oozed from her slit. I kissed and sucked at it. Her moans started my next erection, and her gyrations against my face finished it. I drew her clit between my lips and had her bucking lightly in no time. "Okay, baby, get inside me," she said, pushing my head back.

We squirmed into a better position, and I climbed between her legs. I worked her slit with the tip of my cock until the head slipped in. I eased in until I felt her bottom against my scrotum, then pulled back and did it again.

Mom drove me faster until my sweaty thighs slapped wetly against her ass. Without warning, she clamped her knees tight against my legs and dug her nails into my back. I'd never heard anything as erotic as the moan that escaped her lips. It made the vent grill buzz and sent me over the edge.

I pumped stream after stream of DNA-filled spunk into my mother. It felt like it would never stop, and I didn't want it to. At last, it did, and I eased in and out of my mother's wetness until I grew too soft to stay inside.

"Did you feel it when I came just now?" I asked her. I'd always wondered, but never felt comfortable enough to ask anyone.

"I felt you swell inside me, but not the cum," she said. "I feel it running between my cheeks, though."

"So, was this a one-time thing?"

"You get to make that decision," she answered.

"Then definitely not," I told her. "Would you mind if I hit on Janet?"

"Not since I got you first," she said. "Let me call her so she knows."

With any luck, I'd roll around with Janet before I left for home. Divorced and solo, she didn't have to worry about anyone finding out.

What a day. Thirty years after my birth, I'd found my way back where I came from.
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Mother's Touch

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