So Dad was home, for a couple of weeks at least, and life dropped back into its dull summer routine. Dad worked, I worked out and Mom kept her gorgeous figure toned by doing laps in the pool. I felt as though a fleeting, sexual game of musical chairs had been played, with Mom and me getting naked and fucking, my big cock pounding her pussy and squirting cum on her face in perfect time to one of those screechy Bon Jovi tunes on the Billboard chart that month. But the party had ended when Dad opened the front door. Mom kept sleeping with Dad, of course, and I slept alone. Worse, fucking Mom hadn't so much as put a chisel to my rock-hard desire for her; I wanted her more than ever.
Dad didn't notice anything amiss. (Then again, it's not like he'd ever suspect his wife and son of screwing each other. What she and I had done was so unthinkable, it carried a built-in alibi.) He and I had manly discussions about the upcoming NFL season-our one topic of mutual interest-and he even accompanied me to the gym a couple of times. Four, five minutes on the treadmill and he was done for. Call the paramedics. Call Domino's and ask for extra cheese. Call Richard Simmons and tell him to get his sissy ass over here and whip my father into shape.
As for Mom, her ultra-busty shape didn't need any help. One morning when I got a nice long look at her in profile, her big tits were stretching a thin T-shirt like two springy water balloons and her curvaceous ass was rounding out a pair of tight cotton slacks. My cock got hard so fast I felt my underwear rip. I had to have her again. I was losing my mind.
She, on the other hand, acted like nothing had happened. She was as flirtatious as ever-but in a knowing, teasing way. She'd walk up and throw her arms around me, arching her back to rub her massive breasts against me and sliding her hands down to my ass. She'd coo with lust, then she'd let go and walk away before I could return the favor.
When I made overtures, her roadblocks went up. Once when I came home for lunch after a long morning at the gym, I found her lounging by the pool in a white bikini I'd never seen on her.
"It's new," she said with a naughty grin, and her eyes led mine down her body. The triangle cups strained against her huge tits like patches on inner tubes; lower down, beneath her flat, oil-slicked tummy and between the womanly flare of her hips, a tiny triangle of fabric revealed a maddening wisp of her beaver at its top edge. "Looks like you like it," she said, gazing at my crotch.
I looked down. My cock was tenting monstrously in my sweatpants like a ten-inch lead pipe. I kneeled down and ran my tongue along her cleavage. It was a long trip. Her skin tasted like coconut.
Her nipples sprouted under the bikini, but she gripped my shoulders and gently nudged me away. "Bobby, we can't," she said.
So the sexual drought dragged on, and I started getting used to it. I'd spent half of my life wanting to bang Mom, so the frustration was nothing new. I hung out at Frieda's Diner with my buddies. I started football training camp. I watched Mom's big tits jiggle around the house and I thought back on that unbelievable night.
Then I unknowingly found Mom's weak spot. I asked a girl out.
Her name was Rachel and she was a varsity cheerleader. She was nicely built-nothing like Mom, of course, but she had smooth legs and a set of D-cups. A guy who'd gone with her the previous year told me she was a good fuck. Two or three dates and jackpot. At least it would take my mind off Mom for a while.
Mom's eyebrows shot up in alarm when I told her my plans for the evening. "Oh, really?" she said as we stood in the kitchen drinking tomato juice. Then her lips pursed in the usual pouting routine, but the humor was absent. She almost sounded bitter when she asked, "Rachel, eh? Is she prettier than me, Bobby?"
I tried to match her earnest tone. "No, Mom. No woman is as gorgeous as you."
"Okay," she whispered, her eyes glimmering with tears. She hurried out of the room.
"Mom?"
"Have a good time, sweetie-bear," she said, her voice breaking and fading away. I could tell she was heading up the stairs to her bedroom. A second later the door slammed.
She needn't have worried. My date with Rachel turned out boring and I couldn't wait to get home. She droned on about the chemistry class she flunked and how Donny Blake was a dick. I liked Donny and couldn't pay her much lip service on that one. Instead I pulled onto a side street and paid her some of the other kind of lip service. She was a decent kisser but she stopped my hand when I slipped it under her sweater.
"I like you, Bobby, but that's as far as I want to go on the first date."
"Sure, okay," I said. I drove her home and she gave me a long, juicy kiss goodnight. She probably was a good fuck, just like Donny the dick said. I told her I'd call her.
II
Mom didn't ask about my evening the next day and seemed just as cheerful as ever. In fact, she was more flirtatious than ever. As I was storing some boxes on a high shelf in the pantry, she came up behind me and squeezed my shoulders. "Mmm, nice and big," she purred. "You're big in all the right places." She scrubbed her breasts against my back and ran one hand lightly over my crotch.
This banter kept my cock hard all day. And it got better. Around five that evening, she turned her back to me and said, apropos of nothing, "How does my butt look, honey? Is it firm and curvy enough?"
I looked down. She was wearing her tightest, sexiest jeans, a pair of faded Levis with small back pockets and a narrow cut that clung to her wide hips and sumptuous ass like wet tissue paper.
"It looks great," I said.
She spun around and my eyes ventured back up. "How about my big rack?" she asked. Her huge tits were thrusting up out of a pink, square-necked tank top, one of the hottest pieces of clothing she owned. It was stretched so taut over them that I could plainly make out the lace pattern of a sheer white demi-bra. I almost blew my nuts in my shorts.
"Think I need to go in for a lift yet?" she asked. "I don't." She cupped her hands under her globes and hoisted, letting them heave up and down a couple of times just like she had done that day on the sidewalk years before. I recognized the same wicked grin on her face, too.
"Your tits are fantastic," I said. "They're huge and they're perfect." I took a step toward her. "Watching them bounce up and down like that makes me want to squeeze and suck them and then put my big dick in your pussy."
She drew a breath and unzipped her jeans. "Ooh, yeah, Bobby, let me see your big, thick cock. Then I want you to fuck me with it." She grasped her jeans at the waist and started pulling them down over her hips. Then she pulled down her black, high-cut panties and showed me her beaver.
I reached down and grasped my zipper. My cock was throbbing. It would break in half if I didn't get it out of my pants and into her cunt.
Then I heard something I didn't want to hear. A car was pulling into the garage. A BWM 750i. Dad was home.
Taking deep, calming breaths, Mom and I trotted into the living room and enacted a normal-looking scene. Her jeans were back up, of course, and she lounged on the sofa with an issue of Redbook. I sat in a Broyer chair with my feet propped disobediently on the coffee table-that alone should have signaled everything was fine.
Dad came in and said hello. He sat on the arm of the sofa next to Mom and seemed more lively than usual. Talking fast, he told us about a big project at the oil company. The firm was going to buy out some little outfit called Allied Conduits, and company stock would split two-for-one.
"Oh, Charles, that's wonderful," Mom said.
"Yeah, it is," I mimicked blankly. I had no idea what the hell he was talking about.
"Let's go to a movie!" he said.
Mom and I looked at each other. "Sure," we said in unison.
We chose a show early that evening at a multiplex just down the beltway. After dinner we got ready. Dad snatched his keys from the kitchen counter and Mom threw a cardigan over her tank top.
