Bobby came home from college for summer break. All during his freshman year, nearly all he could think about was his mother. He could picture her prancing around the house wearing nothing but a short skater's skirt and a short tied under her breasts, revealing lots of midriff and plenty of cleavage. My mom was something of an enigma. When she went out on the evening with dad she dressed in very conservative knee-length skirt and a button-down shirt, but when home, when dad was out working (or whatever), she would dress what was, in my opinion, slut-city. But I couldn't help but stare and wish.
He wasn't sure what overcame him that morning; maybe it was the woody with which he'd awaken, or the dreams of climbing into bed with his mother, but all he could see in his mind's eye was his mom, her skirt flapping about, her thin panty material being flashed while she cleaned the house. He started jerking off, as he had so many times when he fantasized how his mother would be in bed, but he quit beating his meat, realizing it was just not enough anymore. Not with his mother in the room next door. Dad had gone to a business conference and would be gone for a week. It was closing in on noon when he finally opened his bedroom door wearing only his briefs. He stealthily opened the door of his parents bedroom. Mom was in bed, her eyes closed, but it was obvious she'd been working as she had on her usual garb as she laid still, a magazine she had been reading laying on her chest, her legs slightly parted to expose white panties covering a pink labia with the trimmed black muff on her mound. He eased in to get a better look, calling out to his mother so softly it was like he was talking to himself. Her eyes fluttered open, then immediately clapped her legs together like her knees were spring-loaded.
"Bobby, er, um," she said, obviously embarrassed, the bright blush in her cheeks only turning her son on even more. "How long have you been there?"
"Long enough, mom," he said as he closed the door behind him. His erection was throbbing, peeking through the slit in his drawers. His mother looked at his eyes, then down to his cock, impressed despite her desire to look away. He walked to where his mother lay on the bed and took off his briefs.
"Bobby, what the hell."
"Mom, I've been dreaming about this for a long time,"
"Bu -- bu -- but Bobby, I'm your mother. You came out of me, and you aren't getting back in," she said, feeling queasy, but a wet spot forming on her crotch. It had been a long time since she'd been screwed since her husband lost his desire for her, but she couldn't let her son know that. She continued to protest, but her son's lustful intentions were evident, and he was quite muscular, so there would be little she could do other than reason with him.
"Mom, you're going to get this whether you want it or not."
"Bobby, you'd rape your own mother?"
"If that's what it takes, mom," he said as he reached under the skirt and yanked the panties to her knees. She again clapped her legs together, but Bobby wrenched them apart, hopped on board, noted his mother's wild eyes and placed a hand on her mouth to avoid more than muffled sounds. With the other hand he began feeling the soaked flesh. Am I really doing this? Am I raping my mother? He then put his weight on her and inserted his flesh into hers. Keeping his hand on her mouth, he watched her eyes. While they were so wild he kept her cries muted. Only when she softened her gaze did he remove his hand. bute kept pumping until he let go of his load, sorry it was over so soon, but not unhappy he'd just fucked his own mother.
He started to get up, but was pulled back down. "Where in hell do you think you're going, Robert. You may be done, but I sure as hell ain't," she said as she kicked her panties off her feet and told her son to eat her pussy. Bobby protested, but mom persisted. She told him he could stand to eat his own cum from her cunt if she ever wanted her to let him cum in her mouth.
OMG, this is more than I could ever want, he thought as he laid on his back next to his mother. She sat on his face without hesitance. His jizz dripped from her hot hole as he lapped the liquid, but continued to suck the juice when there was no more of his milk inside of her. Bobby wrapped his lips around his mom's clitoris, getting more into it as her body started quaking uncontrollably.
After both were sated, he laid next to his mom and asked her, on a whim, if he could sleep in her bed.
"For the week, yes. Your father no longer sleeps in our bed, and he'll probably leave soon, but until he does, you must stay out of this room when he's home"
I agreed and closed my eyes. I was sorry for only one thing, that I'd waited so long.
For the next week I slept with mom in her bed, waiting for her to awaken so I could feel her wet panties and massage her to orgasm. She would often wrap her soft hand around my cock and jerk me off as I reached under her pajama shirt and fondled her large breasts.
"Oh Bobby, I wish your dad would just leave so we could do this all the time."
"Me too, mom."
"Do me a favor, stud, call me mommy from now on. Sometimes I'll let you call me Cassie when not in bed, but always mommy when you want my body. If you do I will gladly give you my pussy whenever you want it. And maybe even my ass if you play your cards right.
"Something tells me this will be your father's last business trip. He's fallen for one of those bimbos at the office, so more than likely he'll move in with trollop. And I will tell you, once he leaves, it'll be his last goodbye."
I smiled and smoothed mom's hair, kissed her on the lips and told her I hoped so. I never wanted to see my mother hurt, but I was falling in love with her and, I thought, she me.
Mom had me when she was fresh out of high school, still 17, so was not really prepared for motherhood, not really eager to deal with the pain of childbirth. But she wanted a couple of kids. My father was about 25 when they decided to adopt me. He never really considered me his son, and I would often hear mom and dad arguing about "that little prick", referring to me. Mom never called me that, and it rankled her when he said it, but even when he wasn't calling me names, he still resented me.
They argued about me, about her not wanting to give him a child of his own. Even when I went off to college, I worried that their marriage would fall apart, but secretly hoped it would. She didn't need the stress.
I didn't want to admit to myself that I was sexually attracted to my mother, but she was hot and, I suspected, in need of real love.
"Mom, can I ask you a question?"
"Sure, honey, anything. My life, like my legs, are fully open to you."
I smiled and began feeling her juicy cunt.
"Why'd you marry him?"
She was taken aback by the question, and I almost told her to forget I asked, but she explained it to me.
"I was 17 and had a romantic view of what life should be. A good husband, a house and a couple or three kids. But after we got married I got to talking to some of my girlfriends, and they convinced me that the pain of giving birth was harder than it was worth. I convinced your father, quite against his will, that adopting was a great path. You were five when we brought you into this house. You were a little hell raiser, but you could be an angel, too. You were always sensitive when I needed you to be. And when you went off to college, I was still romanticizing that perhaps your father would grow up, too, and we could rekindle what I thought we'd had in the beginning. He resented everything; you, the fact that I made more money with my business than he did. Instead of growing to love me he learned to hate me. Then I realized that not only did he hate me, but he was unfaithful. I discovered that every business trip found a new affair, and those trips were pretty much monthly.
"Which brings us to the last journey he made before this one. He came home wearing a grin I'd never seen before, even when we were considering marriage. He whistled a tune softly, seemingly mesmerized by something, or someone. And when he left the house this time, he practically tripped on his dick while he was leaving. And that is why I think he will be leaving."
I began swooning. I might not have to spend one night sleeping away from the woman I adored. I began to think about being a surrogate "husband" to her. I wondered if I could be a father to her child, and how I could do that being away at college. I hadn't committed to anything, yet. I would be a sophomore the next semester and had all the next year to worry about declaring a major. At that point in time I wasn't sure if I wanted to continue on with my secondary education. My so-called father had insisted that I go to college, but I think it was more likely that he just wanted me out of his sight as much as possible. Besides, the business classes I'd taken more than prepared me to help out mom with her business.
A few days later, after it seemed like my parents were reconciling (the old man was even relatively decent to me), and me being very bummed out about that prospect, dad seemed ready to go on one of his business trips again. I didn't know how mom felt about it, but as much as I loathed myself for the thoughts, I secretly hoped dad would cheat again so he could move out and I could move into mom's bedroom. But less than a week later dad came home, and mom and he seemed to be still in a reconciliation posture. I stayed in my room, biding my time, knowing that dad couldn't stay away from the skirts too long. Screwing around with other women seemed to be installed in his DNA.
One morning I was milling about in the kitchen. Dad came in to tell me he was running out to the store and would be gone a few hours. By now I was hornier than ever. The moment I heard the door close and saw his car head down the street, I realized I needed to get laid in the worst way.
