A Mother’s Worry – part 05

“Hurry up,” Mom whispered, her voice catching as I pressed the tips of my thumbs against the bottom of her ass cheeks. I followed the line of her hamstrings from the outside in, all the way to the inward curve down into the softness of her maternal muff. “Do my legs. Now.”

I stopped with my thumbs outside of her pussy. They were so damn near the nylon of her panties that my fingers trembled from the heat between her legs. As I pulled them away, I pressed my thumbs harder into her tender flesh and pulled outward, spreading her open between her legs like the velvet curtains of a Broadway stage. Mom’s pussy pulled outward, her outer lips slipping past the protection of her thong’s covering and giving me a glimpse of her softer, fuller crescents.

“Mm,” Mom moaned, the sound strained as she bit back the quiet, almost nonexistent sound.

I stopped my thumbs’ movement, holding my mother’s pussy open from the outside pressure on her inner thighs. Staring at the center of her cunny beneath her panties, I watched as her crimson nylon stuck to her lips, outlining the long slit beneath their fabric. I saw her folds, outer and inner, and the opening between them, where the red of her panties had darkened, growing wetter and–

Holy fuck, my mother was wet with pussy juice.

“I need to go back to work,” Mom said, her words coming in a rush that was almost a pant. She pulled away from me, holding her right hand over her breasts as she stood, facing away from me. “I expect you to stay at home while I work.”

Her voice had trembled as she spoke, though it carried it a hard edge, the edge that I was used to hearing whenever I managed to get myself into trouble.

“Okay,” I said.

Mom walked away, leaving me with my hard-on, and when I was sure she was in her office–with windows that faced the backyard–I took out my cock and jerked off hard and fast in full view of her windows. I sprayed my cum onto my stomach before wiping it off with my towel. Satisfied, I jumped back into the pool to cool down.

Had Mom watched me?

I hoped so.


An Agreement

I didn’t see my mother again until after Dad had arrived home. She had changed from her bikini into a pleated white tennis skirt that barely reached the middle of her thighs. A tight, dark blue polo shirt with white trim and short-short sleeves covered her upper body. We didn’t talk, and Mom made dinner, and we ate, her tits pushing against her top like two perky orbs outlined by the faintest impressions of a bra. It must have been a thin bra, maybe lace or something transparent, I didn’t know, but my mind spent most of its time thinking about what kind of bra she could be wearing.

Jenna had some transparent bras that she liked to wear for me.

Dad said nothing about Mom’s outfit. He was too busy mumbling, “My sleepless nights are getting worse. Can you believe that? They just won’t go away anymore.”

My dad, as far as I knew, had bouts of acute insomnia, typically lasting for several weeks, then they’d dissipate for several weeks, then they’d come back in an endless cycle of hell for him. When he mentioned this, I saw my mother’s face tighten, but my heartbeat sped up. Had the same thoughts gone through our heads at the same time? I didn’t know, but I’d like to think that they did. Despite her reaction, I was eager for my father to start taking his pills again.

Even though Mom was wearing a short tennis skirt that showed off her slender legs down to her little, bare feet with their perfect toes and elegant arches, it wasn’t like this morning and afternoon. Dad was here, so when Mom noticed me looking for a little too long or a little too hard, she narrowed her eyes at me and sent a firm headshake–with only the slightest hints of movement–my way.

Not long after dinner, I went upstairs, saying, “I need to give Jenna a call before she thinks I’m ignoring her.”

Mom, who had been reading a book on the couch while Dad watched TV, looked up at me as I headed upstairs and called out, “Remember our deal.”

Our unspoken deal, I thought just as my father said, “Yeah, remember it. I don’t want to have to explain to my mother why her grandson had to drop out of high school to take care of his bastard.”

“Jesus, Dad,” I said as my dad laughed, and I continued upstairs.

I talked to Jenna, but I was distracted. She could tell. I knew that she could, but I couldn’t tell her why. My thoughts kept drifting back to my mother and the promise I had made her. Did I really make her a promise? Do unspoken promises count? I didn’t think–so my cock said to me–but Jenna would be there for me in a week, while Mom might end her desperation tactic if she thought I wasn’t keeping my word.

“Come on,” Jenna was saying, “tell me how hard your cock is for me.”

“I can’t,” I said, licking my lips and continuing the lie I had told her at the start of our conversation. “Mom keeps walking into my room.”

“Fuck it,” Jenna growled, “let her hear how hard I make your cock. I’ll let my dad hear if you let your mom hear.” She made a tongue-clicking sound. “Every time that my dad thinks that I’m being naughty with you, he gives me this look, and I just want to say, ‘Mark makes my pussy wet, Daddy, deal with it.”

“Daddy,” I said, laughing.

“Well, Dad’s my father,” Jenna said, “but you’re my Daddy.”

“Oh,” I moan-groaned. “That’s so fucking hot.”

“I know, right?” Jenna giggled. “The dirtier this gets, the jucier my pussy gets for your big, adult dick. Maybe my dad’s just jealous of you getting my ass instead of….”

I groaned again as she trailed off, her voice slick, sly, and dangerously suggestive. My cock grew and grew. Maybe it was for the best if I put an end to Mom’s teasing and went straight to Jenna. Why should we torture ourselves by waiting? We could fuck, tell her dad, and call his bluff. It had to be a bluff. Jenna’s mom loved me!

“I’ve got to go, you nasty girl,” I whispered. “I can hear my mom outside of my door. I think she’s pacing. I’ll send you a picture later, okay?”

“Okay,” Jenna sighed. “Our parents suck.”

“Yes, they do,” I whispered, hoping it was true in my mother’s case.

“Love you,” Jenna said, “and don’t forget that dick pick you owe me. I want to see cum and lots of it.”

“I promise,” I whispered as her bratty voice sent a tingle through my glans. “Love you too.”

Would she be mad when I didn’t send her a picture?

Probably, but I’d think of something.

I left my phone on my bed as I headed downstairs. I had talked to Jenna for an hour; what would Mom make of that? Was she antsy? Was she pissed? Should I pretend that something happened, even when it hadn’t? There was danger in that; wasn’t there, but how much?

Fuck, there were too many variables to digest, so I tried to slow down my thoughts as I descended from the top of the stairs into the TV-lit foyer and living room. Mom, sitting on the back couch with her back against the armrest, turned her head to the left and gave me a long look. I smiled, and she watched me as I walked around the couch and sat opposite her. She had her knees up and together, along with her calves and feet, creating a wall that hid her panties from my eyes.

I leaned back against the couch’s arm, bringing my feet onto the couch. Mom looked at me, watching as the soft light flashed across my body. Dad yawned.

“Did you already take your pill?” I asked my dad.

“Yeah,” he yawned again. “I haven’t had a good sleep in days.”

I hadn’t noticed–what an asshole I was.

“Gonna go upstairs?” I asked.

“You want the TV?”

“No.” I shook my head, though he was lying on his back with his head on a pillow, staring at the TV. “Just making conversation.”

“Make it when the show’s over,” he said. “If I last that long.”

I nodded and turned back to Mom. She was still looking at me, and even though the living was dark, and I wouldn’t have been able to see much had she spread her legs for me, I nodded at her knees anyway. Mom tilted her head, and I lifted my hands, placed my palms together, then spread my fingers open by tilting them away from each other. Mom widened her eyes, and then she looked toward the TV. I sighed without making a sound, extending my right foot and nudging her left toes. Mom brought her feet back, and when they ran out of the room, she turned on her cushion and lowered her feet to the floor.

Damn it!

Was it because of Dad?

It had to be.

Or maybe she needed reassurance that I hadn’t done anything with Jenna–over the phone. How was I going to do that? Fuck it, I was going to press my luck, and I could assure Mom later that her son had followed her rules, mostly. Was talking dirty to my willing eighteen-year-old girlfriend going to get her pregnant? No!

I sighed again, a little louder this time. Mom didn’t look at me, and neither did Dad. I lowered my back down the armrest to my shoulders, and I stretched out my legs, pulling short of touching Mom with my feet. Her skirt lay a tiny bit above the middle of her lap, both atop and along the sides, while the back lay bunched against the back of the couch. The pleats were perfect and rectangular, layered, her long legs illuminated by the bluish-silver of the TV light.

Like moonlight.

When was Mom going to pull her skirt up? She wasn’t sitting on it, so it wasn’t like her movement would disturb Dad. Not that he’d notice by the way he was lying.

Time ticked by, the show went on, and Dad yawned.

Any day now, I thought, throwing my silent words at my mother.

Was she mad at me for touching her today? I had pushed it. Or, if not mad, was she having second thoughts? This game had barely started, so there was only one way to find out. I extended my right foot, the one closest to the back of the couch, with a slower-than-normal motion, making sure that my mother would notice me coming from the corner of her eyes. She did. Her lips twitched, but was she attempting to hide a smile, or had they tightened? She didn’t look at me, so I continued forward.

My big toe touched the hem of her skirt along the side of her thigh. Mom took a deep breath, her apple-sized breasts moving up and down, the tightness of her shirt accentuating the buoyant under-curve of her breasts. I imagined how they’d give under my fingers caresses, and my cock sprung forward as if trying to have a better look as my mother’s goods.

I moved my foot toward the back of the couch, pulling Mom’s skirt with me, baring her skin. Mom’s head tilted to the left, her eyes down for a moment before looking forward again. I kept moving her skirt, back and back, back as far as the curve of her ass and exposing the naked side of her left cheek. She must have been wearing a thong or nothing. The thought made my balls warm as my thoughts went back to my mother’s perfect cheek. When I ran my toe across my mother’s skin, she brought her left hand down and pushed my foot away, but she didn’t move her skirt back into place.


My cock had stretched out during this time, filling with wall-throbbing strength and turning my skin slinky into a hungry flesh pipe. Oh, man, but I wasn’t going to last a week away from Jenna at this rate. No fucking way.

I extended my foot again, touching my Mom’s thigh by her knee. She looked down as I slid my toe along her leg, her lips parting as she let out a long breath. Her head turned a little when I reached her butt cheek, and I saw her throat move in a swallowing motion when I brushed her flesh to the far curve of her ass. Her hand moved, but not before I traced the line of her soft backside upward.

“Does anyone want a drink?” Mom said, a touch out of breath and standing quickly. Her skirt fell back into place. “Rich? Mark?

“No, thanks,” Dad mumbled.

“I’m okay,” I said, studying my mother’s profile and the hardened protrusion of her left nipple.

Mom walked to the right, her back to me as she left the living room and entered the dining room, then turned to the right, out of sight beyond the narrower entryway before heading into the kitchen.

I waited a minute before I said, “I think I could use a drink.”

Dad mumbled something as I rose and turned to my left, hiding my semi-inflated sausage from his eyes in case he turned his head to watch me walk across the couch. Instead, I walked behind my couch, alongside the foyer, and down the narrow hallway along the stairs that cut across the living and dining rooms straight into the kitchen. I found Mom standing against the inside of the kitchen island, sipping on wine. I noticed that I could hear the faint sounds of the TV from where we stood.

“What are you doing?” Mom asked, her voice stern, and her eyes narrowed in a glare that I could only call petulant.

“What am I doing?” I asked, keeping my voice low though I probably didn’t have to. “What are you doing?”


“I know what you’re doing. You’re–”

“Don’t say it–don’t say it–don’t say it,” Mom said like a jackrabbit thumbing its food and shaking her head as her glare deepened.

I kept my mouth shut. We stared at each other. Mom’s expression softened as I did my best to remain neutral. I didn’t want to blow this.

She sipped her wine.

I watched, then I asked, “Can I have a sip?”

Mom, who had never allowed me a drink before, handed me her half-full glass. I took a long drink, not enjoying the spicy flavor, but I drank it anyway, then handed the nearly empty glass back to her. She refilled it, and we stood there, staring at each other in silence.

“Mom,” I finally said, “You can’t keep doing this to me.”

Mom flinched.

“I know you think it’s for the best, but look at me.” I looked at my semi-hard cock that was already coming back to life as my mother dropped her gaze downward. “Is this what you wanted? To give me a–”

“Don’t say it,” Mom said, her eyes lingering before returning to my face. “Don’t say anything. Just”–she licked her lips, her face tight, almost frowning–“just accept it.”

“I can’t just accept it,” I said, frowning. “It’s driving me crazy. I need to see Jenna more than ever now because of you.”

“Mark,” Mom said, letting my name hang in the air.

“Look what you do to me!” It was a harsh whisper that I gave her–an accusation. “Look.”

Mom looked down again to where my cock had hardened fully. Her eyes widened a bit, and her cheeks reddened. She moved her head backward. When her eyes returned to my face, I said, “I know you mean well, but this isn’t enough. I’m seeing Jenna tomorrow.” I shrugged, knowing that a helpless, I’m sorry, expression shimmered across my face. “I have to.”

I turned to leave.

“Mark,” Mom said, her voice sharp. “Wait.”

I turned around, facing her again, and watched as she finished her refill of wine. She set her glass on the island’s marble top, and then she lowered her hands to her skirt. My heart stuttered, then jumped into a sprint. She grabbed the hem of her tennis skirt and inched it upward, taking her time, the tops of her thighs brightened by the light.

My vision narrowed, focusing on my mother below her waist.

She stopped just below the bottom of her muff, only for a second before continuing upward and showing me a pair of small, white panties. They were nothing more than a tiny triangle covering her inner lips and mound, leaving so much of her tender labia exposed that I sighed aloud. Her sun blonde pubic hairs reached above the low-slung waistband and sprouted from beneath the sides of her small strip of panties. I didn’t fail to notice the darker shade of dampness below the outline of her clit.

“I have more,” Mom whispered. “Lots more. Panties that your father has never seen me wear. I can wear them for you, and only for you, if you don’t fool around with Jenna.”

“Mom,” I whispered, my insides deflating as I stared at her muff.

“I mean it.” Mom swallowed, her voice trembling and her tits rising and falling as though she were sprinting. “I can wear them and a shirt for you every day while your father is out of the house.”


“You can take pictures and videos, for when you’re alone,” Mom said, panting. “Just don’t fool around with Jenna. Please!”

Jesus, I thought she was about to cry.

“Whenever Dad is out of the house?” I asked, my throat tight. “You promise?”

“Yes,” Mom whispered.

It took forever before my lips moved, but I managed to croak out the word, “Okay,” before Mom could say anything else to convince me to agree to her demands.

“Okay,” Mom said, her voice trembling.

“Mom,” I said, “I don’t know how long I can hold out. I mean”–I swallowed, and my voice started to tremble–“you’re not a normal-looking woman. You’re”–I shook my head–“perfect.”

Mom lowered her skirt.

We stood in silence, and I realized that she wasn’t going to speak. I nodded before leaving, and I went up to my room, where I took my dick out and came, then came again, then came one more time before going to bed without sending Jenna a picture of my cock. I had honestly forgotten to send her one.


Panties and a Shirt

I woke early the next morning, but I stayed in my room, watching the clock on my phone strike eight, then a minute after, then another, until five minutes had passed, then another five and then another five. During that time, the mechanical growl of the garage opening told me my father was leaving for work, but still, my mother was going to be in her panties and a shirt for me–all day long. I couldn’t wait, yet my nerves hit me, and they hit me hard.

The beating of my heart went from calm, unfelt throbs to a rapid, skipping pace, like a cymbal’s rounded edge vibrating after receiving the battering of a drumstick. Goosebumps sprouted across my forearms while my small hairs stood on end, bringing with them a chill that caused my shoulders to dance. Little pinpoints of fuzzy lightness danced over my skin, making my palms and the soles of my feet sweat. Disgusting. My breathing rose, every inhale whistling through my nostrils and thickening in my ears, forming a gelatinous cushion between my eardrums and the outside world.

Holy shit.

I needed to get in the moment.

The first thing I did was leave my room, speed-walk to the restroom, and turn on the cold water to full blast. Breathing hard and anticipating the chill, I jump in, the water hitting the outermost edges of my body before the rest of me followed, stepping under its jetting streams and tightening up as the freezing liquid constricted my nerve endings.

Holy shit!

That was dumb, but it did the trick.

By the time I had dried off and dressed in a T-shirt and basketball shorts–basketball shorts minus my boxer briefs, and that had been a tremor inducing decision with my mind screaming, Choose something! as I stood there as still as an asshole during a snowstorm. Eventually, I settled down enough to walk downstairs without suffering a panic attack. I was going to enjoy my mother today, no matter what.

Every step out of my room was another step up a mountain, and the tingling had returned to my palms, along with the sweat–palms only. Jesus, but my mother had a strange effect on me. I didn’t see her at the top of the stairs, so I hurried down at a jog, my feet rumbling down the steps. I turned right and walked straight through the hallway, cutting into the kitchen, and that’s where I found my mother, dressed for me exactly as she had promised to dress for me.

God damn, but I was one lucky son of a bitch.

Mom had chosen a simple combination of clothes, but my cock still rose at the sight of her. She sat at the breakfast nook with her profile to me. A white T-shirt made of thin cotton clung to her body, molding to her breasts, their sides and undersides, and her already rock-hard nipples. The shirt pushed right up to where the underside of her breasts met her chest and then slid straight down, stopping above her belly button and leaving her slim stomach bare, her little belly bottom shallow and kissable to my mind’s eye. A white, lacy, elastic band circled her waist, about a quarter-inch thick, and that was all that I could see from her profile, meaning the rest of her panties lay snuggled between her ass cheeks in some kind of thong or G-string. I hoped she was wearing a G-string.