1
Mum's last day...
If there was one way mum loved best to recover from a vigorous day of shagging, it was with a hot bath the next morning. Little did she know that since it was the last day before she went back home, I'd prepared a treat to really wow her with; something to leave her extra sad to have to go.
In a way I suppose that was me projecting my own feelings onto her, but only because I wasn't physically able to go with her – not at that time – otherwise I would have. No, she would have to go and we would have to rein in our deepening feelings for each other. It would be akin to two hearts being glued together and having to be torn apart. It was going to hurt.
Now Sara splashed and tunefully hummed to herself in the tub, late that morning, and for a while I stood on the landing, smiling to myself and straining in my shorts, because I knew what my plans would lead to, eventually. I'm a bad little boy at heart, it's true, but I liked to leave a good impression in the end.
I opened the door, wafting thick day-lit steam as I went, and when I saw my mother filling the bath with her voluptuous form – particularly those luscious big boobs all wet and glistening the way they were – I beamed a smile and commented how happy she sounded.
Contently she smiled back as if to say that I should have known very well why she was happy enough to be singing. 'Feeling awake and refreshed?' I asked.
'Mmmm,' she purred, 'I'm fine, darling, but you haven't half left me stiff and sore after these past few days.' Still her eyes said thank you – a big thank you!
'Well it just so happens I have something for that,' I pitched in as I knelt beside the tub and began to trace a finger from her perspiring shoulder, along the curve of the breast closest to hand, and then around the nipple. 'Something to work the kinks out...'
'Hmmm, sounds interesting,' Sara responded dreamily.
'Finish your bath, towel off, and come into the bedroom when you're ready, and I will treat you to something you will definitely enjoy,' I told her, and then kissed her on the forehead. I left her to it, hearing the loud sigh fill the bathroom behind me as I closed the door. It was almost a moan. Again I grinned to myself and went to prepare her surprise.
2
The men who sit at computers for a living get a bad reputation, I believe. Or maybe the problem is that we lack reputation where it counts. Because I "push pencils", or push buttons to be more acute, you wouldn't expect me to have any real practical skills or talents.
I don't follow trends and I don't play a guitar. I don't have aspirations other than to please the women (or woman) in my life. I'm boring to the outside world even though I do like to give as good as I get when drama rears its ugly head.
One thing I do have is a very capable pair of hands when it comes to pleasing the opposite sex, and it occurred to me that whereas my mother was no stranger to them, and sexually, she had never experienced the full-body massages that were once reserved solely for the woman who eventually betrayed me.
Shortly after Sara showered off the bath water and then dried herself off, she came sauntering into the bedroom wearing nothing but a towel on her head. I stood there still grinning, trying to be as proper as could be expected of me, dressed down in a vest and a pair of lounge shorts.
On the bed lay a few fresh white bath towels, duvet neatly folded away. And on the bedside table lay the last bottle of massage oil that I had bought but didn't get to use some months back. I told her to lie down on the bed, face down, and to relax. The central heating was on just enough to keep her warm, but strategically also to stop me from sweating all over her once my muscles were getting a good workout on her.
Mum pouted, smiled only with her eyes, approving of my plan. She climbed onto the bed, making sure I got a good eyeful of the goods – her swaying tits, her curvaceous bottom, and other things. No, I reminded myself, this is not going to turn into another incest porno. For once I may have been right. It wasn't long before mum was off in her own little world.
I warmed some oil in the palm of my hand and began to go to work, starting at her legs and thoroughly greasing her up to the top of her thighs to the soundtrack of her pleasured mumblings.
Though Sara is a voluptuous woman, soft and desirable and plentiful in her own beautiful way, she carries it all on the frame of a strong and independent woman. I consistently groped and pinched and kneaded for a long time at her calf muscles, and then her thighs, easing the tension out of her hamstrings and keeping her well-oiled.
And though it wasn't the most erotic thing, nor was it intended to be overwhelmingly erotic, I hoped that she was enjoying the sense of intimacy that I was, and especially as I moved up to begin at her bottom, which would require a LOT of attention from yours truly.
And then my mother starts to murmur, in a way that is irremovable of the many times in history that Homer Simpson found himself thinking about donuts. Well, there was one thing that separated her and Homer, at least. Even through the fruity aromatic scent of the oil I was certain that I could sense her arousal...
You try getting your mother's juices going for a few good years and then you tell me it's a forgettable scent. Hers always made me dizzy with desire, and that was what I was starting to feel by the time I'd worked my way up her spine to her shoulders and groped her into a coma.
When I asked her to turn around and to lie on her back, she uttered a naughty giggle under her breath and she asked me if I was sure I wanted that. 'Massage parlour rules,' I told her. 'I can't extort you for a job well done if you force me to finish with only half a job done.'
When she turned onto her side to adjust her position, I could instantly see why she was apprehensive of having to move. Her pussy had saturated the towel beneath her, leaving a big wet spot behind. Her face was a picture of sleepy bliss. Maybe, I thought, she didn't even realise just how turned on she was at this point.
'Enjoying it so far, mum?' I probed.
'Hmmm,' I never realised just what wonderful therapeutic hands you have,' she said almost deliriously, before obediently lying on her back and shaking the weighty feeling out of her hands. 'I may drift off...'
'You go right ahead if you want to,' I encouraged. 'I'll wake you later if you do. You deserve a good rest.'
'Hmmm,' she agreed, already slipping away. So next I started with her arms, specifically from the fingers and hands upward. As I did, now I could gauge her reaction by her face. And as I did that, I found myself drifting for a while. Sara clearly delighted in the feel of having her hands played with, which she signified with a whimsical smile – eyes closed.
I oiled my way up the wrists, to her elbows and to her shoulders, taking extra special care to be gentle, more emphasis placed on the power of touch rather than force. For some reason I just could not prevent myself from brushing up against her heavy breasts – her nipples now thick and erect – and becoming mesmerised by their responsive movements.
I stifled a mischievous chuckle. Immediately so did she. It was time to move on. 'I'm going to work on your feet now. If they get too ticklish, feel free to tell me to stop,' I said. For the next twenty minutes I had a perfect view of her exposed pussy, which gleamed wetly with her not so modest arousal.
Rather than do the gentlemanly thing of climbing between her legs and fixing her plumbing with my wagging tongue, I decided – fuck it, but not that way – I was going to leave her horny like an evil bastard instead. That was the plan. I was going to stick to it.
But my willpower waned as I once again made my way up her legs and gradually found myself wrestling with her gorgeously thick thighs. One hand working the outside of each leg, and the other working the inside, her legs were now spread to allow me ease of access. And as I worked my way to the very top of her thighs, the knuckles of one hand could not avoid grazing against her wetness and stirring her up, leaving her to wrestle with her own urges.
For those long minutes her deep and even breathing had turned to near-panting and whimpering. Rather strategically I moved up to her shoulders and neck. 'You rrrr a wicked tease,' she slurred. Her eyes seemed closed at first glance, but upon longer inspection, I could make out that she was ever so slightly peeking out through the thinnest slits in her eyelids.
'I don't know what you mean, mum,' I said innocently, thumbing gently along the sides of her neck and up to her ears behind the jaw. Those were amongst her special places, along what's called the great auricular nerve. Know how to use your fingers right and it works for everyone. Work that part well enough and you have yourself one sleepy customer.
'Oh what the hell,' I mumbled to myself when her light snoring became apparent. Mum's breaths were deep and even, her breasts heaving up into the air and back down again, like the waves on the ocean.
I took the bottle of oil and liberally poured it over her naked torso, from just above her belly button to the valley between those magnificent peaks. I no longer cared about making a mess. I stealthily began to distribute the oil across her torso, but mostly over and around her breasts, and shivered at the feel of those thickened nipples as they tickled the slippery palms of my hands.
Either time slowed down or I was there for a very long time, cupping those soft, heavy mounds, squeezing them, squashing them together, and thoroughly pinching and pulling at those nipples. I was tempted to take them into my mouth, to suck on them and nibble them, and all manner of other things, but just in awe at the sight of my mother's oily, slippery body, as she snoozed away – just the sight of her ample delights – all curves and contours – glistening in the afternoon light, I became mesmerised again and continued to play away with those beautiful tits.
I was disturbed some time later by a polite cough, and Sara looking at me, then down her naked body and back to me. I didn't stop. 'Those aren't muscles, dear,' she informed me.
'Shhh, mum,' I silenced her. 'I'm making milkshakes!'
3
Surprisingly, I cannot say whether my plan worked or whether it spectacularly backfired. That night after a rather ordinary family day of dinner in town and a movie that evening – Trains, Planes & Automobiles was a strange choice of film to watch that time of year, but it's still one of our favourites – mum announced that she would be sleeping in the spare room to make sure she was up early enough to prepare for the trip back home.
Yes, I wanted to tease her a little before she left so that we would have something to look forward to when we met again. Well I'd clearly confused myself as now I was kicking myself. By bedtime I was thinking how I wanted to shag her brains out while I still had the chance, but she was too happy to have herself an early night... alone.
Sleep took me at around 1am, I think, and whereas I did enjoy the extra sprawl space here and there, I woke up at half six with one seriously hard and throbbing case of morning glory. There I lay flat on my back, not thinking too hard about what to do with the thing – the window open, the birds outside singing, and the sunlight of a dazzling day glowing brilliantly against the slightly parted blinds.
