A Skinny Mom With Big Holes

All characters are at least 18 years old.

*

I can still remember with total clarity the moment when idle fantasy tripped over into an iron resolve to seduce my son's girlfriend, Robin.

I had just taken a shower, after having worked for an hour in the garden. I was tired, but energized, as always happened after I spent time tending the earth.

So I lay down on the bed and soon slipped into a light sleep. Drifting, drifting in the quiet Sunday afternoon....and I then I realized that it wasn't all

that

quiet. I could hear, distantly, a rhythmic grunting sound. "Uh, uh, uh...."

What was that? I concentrated in on it, and soon realized that I must be hearing Paul, my twenty-year old son, and Robin, two rooms away, having sex. I'd had Paul when I was just 17 years old. The end result of a mistake (his father, that is), but one I never regretted. Sam, his father was long gone, but that was OK with me. I'd had no trouble raising Paul by myself and prided myself on the excellent human that he was. I always told him that I would do anything for him, and I think having that foundation of support made a big difference for him.

He was an extra-large guy, 6 feet 4 inches tall, broad, muscled shoulders, thick head of black hair, long, strong legs. Played all sorts of sports and did just fine in school, too. For now, (he was going to the local community college, still living at home while he saved money. He and Robin had been seeing each other for about a year, and they seemed to get along great. She was, however, two years younger than him, and sometimes it seemed like he dominated her, insisted on his way. One time I caught him being downright aggressive with her, and all she could manage in response was to look at the ground and accept what he told her to do.

Well, mothers do need to mind their own business. Or maybe, just maybe, I should have paid more attention.

Now, I listened closely to the sounds and decided that it must be Robin, reacting with obvious pleasure to each stroke of her son's, her son's, her son's...cock. Yes, his hard cock. I didn't ever really think about Paul that way before, and it felt weird, very weird. But the sounds made it hard for me to ignore the reality: Paul was (I imagined) sliding a hard cock in and out of Robin. I pictured Robin's gorgeously large and upright breasts shaking with each thrust, her rather thick thighs (matching her breasts to perfection) raised high, her legs encircling Paul's waist, her pouty lips sucking on his tongue. And then I found myself suddenly sitting bolt upright in my bed, a thin sheen of sweat instantly appearing and then cooling on my forehead, on my breasts and on my lower abdomen....

My mind filled with images of Robin, both as I had seen her (once at the beach, her breasts spilled out the sides of her bikini as she gathered in the rays. I was

so

glad I was wearing sunglasses - I could all but stare at Robin's body and no one was the wiser for it) and as I could only imagine her: naked, sweating, back arching, mouth opening, inflamed and heading straight to an orgasm.

Images of Robin....

My lips parted slightly and somehow I could

feel

Robin's swollen nipple between them. My hands roamed over my breasts, down over my stomach. I was still a skinny girl, and I liked the way I felt. Who needs big tits? But, then again, big tits can be very nice.

I thought about Robin standing in front of me, demurely, as I pulled off her shirt. Robin with her head thrown back as I kneeled to take a nipple in my mouth. My fingers drifted further down and with just a few strokes, an powerful orgasm swept through me, leaving me both deeply satisfied and deeply desirous.

I decided right then and there that I

would

make it happen. I would seduce Robin. I would suck her nipples and

so

much more.

* * *

Robin hadn't quite moved in over the summer, but she sure spent lots of her days - and nights - at my house. Where Paul was thin, all muscle and tendon and long, slender fingers, Robin was all curves: beautifully round and full breasts that strained the seams of every blouse she wore; too-thin waist spreading out to a perfectly heart-shaped ass, which definitely filled out her jeans or her skit or her bikini bottom. I'd seen her in all these, and was impressed every time. I could see that in the coming years she would struggle to avoid letting her full figure blossom into rolls of unwanted flesh, but right now she was a vision to behold. Oh, and her face: soft again, but with the hint of mischief in her eyes, cheekbones just making their influence known, and those lips! It was easy to imagine them wrapped around Paul's cock, sliding up and down....

I must admit, I don't generally find myself all that attracted to women. But Robin? She made me want to

do

things to her. Maybe it was because she was so much the opposite of me. I'd grown up with three brothers and tended towards the tomboy side of things. I'd always been skinny, but wiry, long and strong. That's great for playing soccer with my brothers, but it absolutely sucked when I was fifteen and still looking like I was ten. But, finally, finally, finally, at age 16, my breasts grew a

little

, my hips widened a

little

, and I started to look like (and feel like) a woman. Now I was 37 and 5 feet 9 inches tall, and I liked to believe I still had the body of a 25-year old: firm but small breasts with big nipples, tight abs, and long legs. When I was a teenager I was desperate for breasts like Robin's: big and round, eye-catching, boy-catching. But now I realized that those breasts also paid a heavy debt to gravity, while mine barely sagged at all.

I was an early riser, usually up by 6 AM and puttering around the kitchen or my home office (ah the perks of the software programmer!). Paul, on the other hand, had always loved to sleep in. Getting him up as a teenager for school had been four years of stress and irritation. Robin was kind of in between the two of us.

So usually at about 8 AM, Robin would get up, visit the bathroom and then wander into the kitchen. She always wore one of Paul's t-shirts: long enough to reach just pass the curve of her ass into her legs, big enough around so that the fabric hung straight down off those young-pert breasts. She'd fill a glass of water, sit at the kitchen table, rub her eyes, stare vacantly into the backyard, and after a while, drift back to Paul's bedroom. Paul would appear perhaps an hour later and head for the bathroom for a long pee.

I wanted to need to go to the bathroom to relieve myself after pressing my wet cunt against Robin's mouth and feeling her tongue slide in and out of me.

This was the sort of the thing I found myself thinking about in those days.

After my vision of seduction and corruption, I tortured myself each day, watching Robin as closely as I could without her noticing, then later building elaborate fantasies, stroking myself to fantastic orgasms, and then waking up the next day, promising to myself that this would be the day I would

do

something about this insane obsession.

Then one Saturday morning, I woke up with same, firm resolve in my mind: this would be the day. But somehow, I felt different. I no longer felt satisfied by the fantasy. I wanted the real thing. And just thinking that got me wet. And really, really nervous at the same time. "Screw that," I said to myself. I was going to banish that nervousness. So I climbed out of bed and grabbed my pipe. I then smoked just a

tiny

bit of hash and lay back in bed, feeling the world grow more wondrous, watching Robin (in my head) become more and more alluring, and, most important of all, felt my inhibitions flow away like water soaking into the earth around my plants.

It was time!

I headed out to the kitchen and put away the clean dishes in the dishwasher. Just passing the time. But when Robin appeared and sat down at the kitchen table with her glass of water, I stepped up behind her and gently placed my hands on her shoulders and massaged.

Robin was startled. I'd never done this before. She glanced back at me, her eyes wide and questioning. I smiled and rubbed some more. She gave me a tentative smile back and what felt like a little shrug, and then surrendered to the massage.

After a few moments her head fell forward and she let out the smallest moan. Good. She liked this. I liked it, too. But it was hard. I refused to let my hands drift down her back and certainly not down the front. I didn't even try to learn forward and peer down her nightgown to see if I could catch a glimpse of her breasts.

Pitiful, right? I know what breasts looked like. But I needed, for some reason, to see hers. To touch

hers

. Whoa, girl, calm

way

down.

So I just gently rubbed her shoulders and then up both sides of her neck for a few moments more, then pulled away. It was one of the hardest things I'd ever done (OK, so I haven't faced lots of obstacles in my life!). Robin sighed, said "Thanks, that was really nice...." and went back to Paul's room.

Oh, goody! That was nice! I went back to my bedroom, and collapsed on the bed, simultaneously exhausted and exhilarated. Then my hand made its way down my body, slid inside my robe, and let me know just how amazing I would feel if I could convince Robin to let me slide

my

fingers inside of

her

.

* * *

Well, it didn't take long for me to establish the morning neck rub as a new tradition, a little "thing" between us girls. In no time at all, Robin followed a new routine: she got her glass of water, then she'd sit at the table and immediately rest her head on her arms on the table. Fully expecting me to come over and apply myself to her pleasure. Which I always did. with pleasure. And it was easy and oh so natural for me to

start

with her neck, but then cruise over her shoulders and even down her back some.

Smooth skin exposed around her neck, lovely lines tapering down from her shoulder to her waist. I rubbed gently, drew my fingers softly across her back, while my mind was in torment, urging my fingers to do so much more.

And then one day I did. As she learned forward and I rubbed down her back, both hands moved to the sides of her back, up and down, and then fingers extended, curving towards her front, I brushed against the sides of her breasts. I held my breath. Would she be offended? Would she get up and leave?

Nope. She sighed, a long, slow sigh - and I didn't even know if it was related to my touch or general relaxation. That's OK. Good enough for now.

Of course, "now" is always changing. And day by day, my massages moved further down her back and more confidently around her sides. I gave her lower back, especially right where it spread into her hip, slots of attention. I loved to trace that curve a cupped hand, And it soon became routine that I would stroke the sides of her breasts. Oh, how my fingers ached to curve forward and circle her nipples!

Then the day came when it was time to up my game.

Robin sat at the table, I rubbed for a few minutes. Then I said: "I like giving you these morning rubs, but it's hard on my back to lean over. Why don't you lie down on my bed? It'll be more comfortable for both of us."

"OK," she said in a muffled voice, and raised her head. She gave me a little smile and off we went. As she lay down on the bed, the t-shirt pulled up a bit exposing her undies. She grabbed the bottom of the shirt and wiggled around as she pulled it back down to cover herself. I watched her ass move, I watched her long, solid legs adjust themselves on the bed, and I swear I almost came right then and there.

But I was good. I was patient. I was not going to screw this up. I pushed down the rising tide of lust that threatened to engulf me and sat on the edge of the bed, next to Robin.

I started with her neck and moved steadily down her back. I furiously fought with myself over how far down I should go. It was OK to massage her all the way down to the rise of her ass, I knew this from past experience. But I could go beyond that? And what could I do when I reached the end of the t-shirt? I fought the law, and the law won: I kept my hand in safe territory and simply reveled at the sight of this beautiful woman lying in my bed and sighing with pleasure at my touch.

If only I'd been satisfied with that. Not a chance.

The next morning, Robin drank a few gulps from her glass and headed over to my bedroom, without being invited, and with me grinning widely as I followed her in. She lay down on the bed, and her t-shirt slide high enough to reveal that she wore dark purple panties. I thought they were really sexy and was delighted when Robin didn't bother pulling the t-shirt back down over her ass. I counted that as substantial progress, and a real opportunity.

So after a nice long neck rub, I moved down her back, kneading muscle around her spine, and then, do it, Susan, do it....I slid my hand under her shirt - and moved my hand gently over her skin. My hand on her skin - nothing in between!

What a wonderful feeling! So soft and warm....my fingers tingled as if they were receiving small electrical shocks. I ran my hand all over her back, and then casually reached around her side and - yes! Ran my fingers over the swell of her breast pushed out from lying on her stomach.

I touched Robin's breast, finger to skin, nothing in between. And she made no objection, just kept on sighing occasionally to signal that she was enjoying the rub. No news in this case was very

good

news.

That night, I relived the moment. A fingertip brushes the side of a breast....followed the curve down to wear her breast met her chest. That was more than enough to bring me almost instantly to a shattering orgasm. It was an orgasm fueled by the excitement of

potential.

Oh, baby, I was on a

roll

!

Soon, I was now certain and certainly justified to believe, there would be a nipple between my fingers, then between my lips, and then my lips down between her legs....

Sooner, in turns, than I really expected. It seems like that touch

was

significant to Robin, too. The very next morning, she drank a bit from her glass, headed to my bedroom and ever so smoothly pulled off her t-shirt and lay down on the bed. She did it with her back turned to me, so I couldn't revel in the full joy of her, but I gazed down on that goddess-like body, which now wore nothing but a black thong. A thong! I followed the smooth, straight lines of her back interrupted by the swell of her breasts, pressed out on each side, and said a silent prayer of thanks to whatever was looking out for me and all the other basically good, but incredibly horny middle-aged women.

Then, before I could second-guess myself, I climbed right on top of her, straddling her ass, and got to work. Long hard strokes, up and down her back, shoulder squeezes, then down her arms, back up and then down along the sides, slowing as my fingers extended over the parts of her breasts that were exposed.

And then, ah so sweet, she arched her back, lifting herself away from the bed every so slightly, and my hands naturally - what could be more natural? - found themselves surrounding her breasts, the full globes.

I gently caressed them and gradually worked my way to the nipples. Oh yes, they were hard. Small and hard, like pencil erases. I rubbed them and Robin sucked in her breath. But she didn't pull away.

So I rubbed and squeezed and pulled. Robin moaned and shuddered. Then I lowered my head and began to kiss her back softly, just brushes of my lips against her hot skin.

Robin arched her back some more. Her breasts now hung heavily in my hands. I wanted desperately to take the nipples in my mouth - and then I felt her body shifting. I pulled away to give her some freedom of movement, and she turned on her back, eyes closed, lips parted.

I stared down at her, trembling, my whole body trembling with desire and anticipation. I knew I would only live this moment once, and wanted to soak up every detail. It was one thing to feel those breasts in my hands, to pull at a hard nipple. It was quite another to be offered them in such a way. They were such lovely shapes, and going up and down so quickly - Robin was panting.

I took that for an invitation and, bending over, finally fulfilled my original vision: my lips closed around her left nipple, my tongue licked it, swirled around it. Robin shook, moaned, ran her fingers though my hair. I moved to the right nipple, sucked harder, pulled it into my mouth, and then Robin was grunting "oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, ooooooooh" and her body sagged into the bed. I realized that I had just for the first time given my son's girlfriend an orgasm.

That's how I thought of it: the first time. There were sure to be many more. I slowly let the nipple escape from my mouth. Then I licked it and Robin gasped. Which brought my attention to her face. Her eyes were open, her lips curved upwards in a quiet smile of contentment.

Contentment? It was too soon for that. I brought my lips against hers. Her eyes went wide, but her tongue revealed no reluctance. As we kissed, my hands roamed her body and headed south to the tropical zone, where it was hot and moist. My hands slide under her panties and then -

She broke the kiss. "Gotta go," she murmured, and pulled away from under me, put on her t-shirt and hurried from the room. A moment later I could hear sounds from Paul's room. He was getting up.

Smart girl.

There was always tomorrow. No reason to wreck the whole deal by getting lost in the moment.

* * *

And that was true. Tomorrow was better. And the day after that, better yet. Each day Robin gave over more of her body to me and I made the most of every opportunity. It was

really

nice; in fact, it was

way

more than nice. It was a total addiction.

I was addicted. There was no other way to describe my frame of mind. I found myself going to sleep earlier at night, to get to the morning faster, but then I would wake up earlier and wonder what I would do for the next two hours until Robin appeared.

Fortunately, Robin also seemed to be appreciating the attention, and started to get up around 7 AM, giving us more time to play.

And play we did. Well, really,

I

played. I played Robin. I learned how she liked the lightest little bites on her nipples, and how she

loved

to have a tongue deep inside her while she was on her hands and knees, rocking back and forth. She also seemed to enjoy licking my fingers after they had been inside of her. I sure liked the sensation of her tongue flicking over my fingers, her lips sucking on my fingertips.

Those were the mornings. The evenings, as I lay in bed before sleep, were for me to fantasize about what I would do the

next

morning with Robin.

Yes, I was a great one planning, for but not everything goes according to plan, does it?

And so it happened that one morning, I got everything ready, including a brand-new vibrator that I'd gotten in the mail last week. I'd been trying it out. It was

very

nice. I'd decided that Robin was ready to start playing with toys.

She came in and in just a few minutes, my tongue was deep inside her cunt, her pelvis thrusting up to greet me, my lips covering her opening and sucking and swallowing her juices. I reached back with one hand to slide fingers inside my panties, and I stroked myself. An incipient orgasm rumbled inside me, but I didn't want to cum until after Robin. And there was still so much to do. I glanced over at the vibrator.

Still, I pulled off my panties and ran my hand all over myself. At the same time, the fingers of my other hand stroked Robin's inner thigh, over and under and up, getting closer every moment to her tight, puckered hole. My tongue flicked down from her vagina to skin above her anus, bring some of her juices along with it. I prepared to press the tip of my middle finger right on that special spot. Here goes nothing!