The kitchen hadn't been quite its usual immaculate self. Not messy by any means...but the wine bottle, with an inch or so of white left, was still on the island - as were both glasses, one not quite empty. The playing cards were stacked for the box, but not back in the box. Little things like that.
Evidently drawn by the smell of fresh coffee, my mother emerged from the bedroom, closing the door behind her quietly. Barefoot, wrapped in a dressing robe, she crossed to the cupboards, fished down a favoured mug, filled it and turned to me, adjusting an errant bang with her free hand, "Good concert?"
"Yes." And the rest, but she didn't need to know about any of that. "I've just popped home for some clothes - thought I'd stay with Julie, her parents are away."
My mother never batted an eye, merely sipped her coffee: the mug now held in both hands. "Good. Because I've earned the right to keep your dad naked all weekend so this should work for all of us."
'MOTHER!?' of course leapt to mind. But never did make it out of my mouth. In fact, nothing made it out of my mouth as my mother promptly retired, as they say, to the bedroom - closing the door behind her.
17 - and just learned, from my mother, in an oh-so nonchalant manner, that my parents were into CFNM. Could've been scarring for life of course. But after the fact I've always considered it a blessing. Especially as Julie's parents were indeed away, and Tom and Gene...well, I'd locked every stitch of their clothes in the boot of Tom's vehicle as I popped across to my house for a few items and that coffee.
Strip poker result. Enough said?
[And I won't discuss the goings on at Julie's that weekend beyond that - as the four of us were all underage, so any description published anywhere might be construed by some people as, well, child porn I guess. But believe me I was all in that weekend - very hands on and demanding. Yumm.]
But I also always checked before coming home after that. Which I assume was my mother's intention in informing me...
That fall, as planned for several years, I flew off to America to attend Uni - and to live with my Aunt: my mother's younger sister. There was a particular course of study at that uni that my aunt had taken - and I wanted to follow in her footsteps.
Within a matter of weeks, but after my 18th birthday - honest- I met an older man. Well, a grad student. 25. Educated. Well spoken. My Aunt definitely approved...and so, apparently, albeit with some persuasion from her sister, did my evidently 'dominant' mother.
We went to dinner, well, fish and chips, twice, 'because you're a Brit,' he'd teased - then an actual restaurant. We'd already discovered a common interest in certain types of films and been to several. (No, I won't name them because then you could age me too precisely).
One day, after convincing him Brits ate food other than fish and chips, we met for lunch at a pizza place. During which I persuaded him it was time for me to learn to drive. What I really wanted to persuade him was to get his finger out, of wherever it was, and insert it in me! But the best I could get was a driving lesson.
So outside of town on a quietish country road, he pulled over and we traded seats. I bunny-hopped, stalled it, started to get the hang of it...he was very patient, very patient. So it was easy-ish, comfortable on some levels, and I began to get up to speed. Literally.
Then he said: "I see with my little eye something that is red."
"Pardon?"
"A red octagon."
I'll never forget how calm his voice was...nor my own panic as we seemingly careened toward the stop sign. Stopping, abruptly, literally inches from the cross road. Mouth dry, and heart pounding, I tried to breathe, to calm myself... only to notice from the corner of my eye a movement, which turned out to be him: undoing his seatbelt, leaning forward, and peeling his teeshirt up and off.
And he was a hunk, girls. An absolute hunk. I knew he worked out but I had no idea this sort of six-pack was in the offing. Not a Tom and Gene teenage six-pack. A full grown MAN six-pack, with pecs to match. Enough to dry my mouth instantly...sending all moisture to my pussy, the way these things work.
He turned casually on the seat, angling toward me. Holding up the tee, keeping it out a bit so my view was clear, he said, "I believe in incentivizing positive behaviour. Is the back seat okay? I could toss it far enough not to be able to reach it..."
What?! Was my mind making this up!? Whatever, there was no moisture to speak in reply, none.
Whilst I was grappling with all this, he tossed the teeshirt away - I thought over the back seat even and into the hatch area - then he looked up at me once more, his eyes melting me to the core as he spoke again, still very calm, "I spy with my little eye something that is P."
Pardon!? What the hell!? His smiling eyes were now looking down, again. I followed them. Then quickly checked the rearview mirror and slammed the gearshift into Park. Good thing there was no traffic about - not least because he was now leaning forward, REMOVING his shoes
"This is unique driver instruction training," I heard myself say.
"Maybe. I admit it's multitasking." He straightened, turned and tossed. At least one of the shoes cleared the seat to join the teeshirt in the hatch area. "But I want you to focus. I don't want to use too many I SPY statements - mostly because I want to survive, of course, but also because if we go on like this and a cop happens along it could get very very embarrassing all around."
Chuckling now, I wiped my eyes. He had a knack. He could make me laugh, even with a molten pussy. Back on my game now, more or less, I glanced sidelong and said, "Perhaps you should undo the belt, relieve some pressure?"
"You mind the road."
"Yes, sir. Certainly, sir. Anything you say..."
"I spy with my little eye a truck!"
My foot had only just left the brake and I slammed it back down: watching as, in what seemed to be slow motion, a pickup flew through the intersection mere feet in front of us...
Having crossed the intersection, oh so very carefully, and gone another 100 metres give or take up the road, I noticed he was sitting upright again...then tossing the balled-up socks away. Turning back forward he folded his arms across his chest, for a second, he said: "Watch the road, please. It's not just my life in your hands the way things keep flying all the way into the hatch it's also my modesty."
Chuckling again, relaxing, once again gaining confidence, I focussed on the here and now again. Became comfortable enough in fact to start bantering, with: " Are you sure you don't want to release that belt?"
He did. He also undid the button at the top of his jeans.
'Licking my lips would have been a dead giveaway!' Julie had hissed, the two of us giggling in the bathroom whilst Tom and Gene waited, starkers in the sitting room of Julie's family home. "I just kept saying to myself so hang in there because licking him will be far more fun!'
Back in real time, he broke into my reverie with a chuckle and, "I wish now I'd started with the pants."
So do I, I thought. But he was cold poor thing, rubbing his arms the way you do. 'Probably no blood getting that high up!' I heard myself think in a distinct Julie ridicule-hilarious tone. Suppressing the chuckle, I replied: "Here, I'll turn on the heat." I started to lean toward the controls
"I spy with my little eye the road."
Back in the present, I sat back, correcting course - as out of the corner of my eye I saw him adjust the controls, then heard and felt the heat start flowing.
Over the next few seconds it did cross my mind this might be hereditary. From mother to daughter - dna sequencing to attract the right males in some unspoken way. Had it been today, 2017, I might have text my mother to ask her. It wasn't. So I was on my own.
"You're doing very well," he said calmly.
"Thank you." Glancing sideways, I noticed his right arm had gone to the rest on the passenger door whilst his left arm was up behind his head, absently straightening the back of his hair. A fairly common gesture of his. In this instance, one that completely cleared the view for me. I soaked it in for a few seconds...the curve pressing up into the jeans, the flick of black - presumably the very tip of his briefs flashing through the gap at the top of the zipper... before dragging my eyes back to the road, with a quick smile, and, "You do know that voluntarily undoing your belt effectively removes it from play."
"Meaning?"
"That I won't accept it as a separate item. And I could say the same about your jeans, which you've also started to remove..." the ideas were coming in Julie's voice, not my mother's. But that wasn't important.
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Why is it females always, always want to make the rules?"
"Because we should. But, on a more important note, I think you owe me," I winked over at him, "For that last I Spy. I did correct in a timely manner."
His shoulders sagged. Only a bit. But he made no attempt to cover up and from what I could tell nothing of real significance softened or in any way reduced the stress on the jean fabric. After a moment, he sighed, rather theatrically, and brought his arm down to help heft his rear from the seat - then he unzipped and pushed the jeans down, following them headfirst into the area under the dash to drag them off his feet...
The jeans made it all the way to the hatch area. Well, part of one leg was hung up on the rear seat headrest.
I should say I had pulled off the road. Driving being an impossibility. So I could watch the jeans arc over the seats, and study his eyes - once I noted and absorbed the fact that the briefs were stretched beyond actually covering everything, so that one smooth ball and the very tip of his cock were both visible.
"Is this a moist spot?" I heard my voice say.
"Yes." But he was quick to add, "But I haven't cum."
Tom had, whilst he was peeling down his briefs. Gene had only moments later positively soaked Julie's mother's favourite chair before we thought to bring out towels, etc.
And both had recovered, again and again over the weekend in question.
And this was a grown mature man.
This time it was my mother's voice. The same tone as 'I've earned the right to keep your dad naked all weekend so this should work for all of us'. The implication of course being that he would be pleased too.
As had Tom and Gene.
As would ... well, it was obvious, in the movement inside the stretched briefs. Clearing my throat, I said, "Where do we go from here? The sign ahead says there's a community about 2 miles farther...what is 2 miles in kilometres by the way? And what is inches in millimetres?"
