The following story depicts a sexual mother – son relationship. All sexual activities and thoughts occur between adults at least 18 years of age.
My mother raised me all by herself. You might say that it's hard for a single woman to manage a rambunctious little boy, but I was always a well behaved child. Now that I look back on our life together, it's no miracle why.
My mom was always pretty. She managed her figure, wore flattering outfits and often went for youthful haircuts. When I was very little, I remember thinking that my mother was the "most beautiful mommy in the world" and I liked being near this beautiful woman.
As I got a little older, I noticed that she looked prettier on some days than others. When asked why she wasn't wearing much makeup or why she was not wearing one of her prettier dresses, she would tell me, "Mommy looks pretty when she's happy. Right now you're not making mommy happy. You want mommy to be happy, don't you?"
That was usually all it took to get me to do what she wanted. Mom was sly – finding this tactic effective, she would always wear two layers of clothes when we went out: an outer, frumpy layer for when I was bad (or just haven't proved that I was being good) and a prettier one underneath for when I was good. Being that the underlayer had to fit under her regular clothes, not to mention how hot it would get wearing two layers of clothes, the "pretty" outfit was often much more low cut. Miniskirts, strapless tops and short shorts were quite the norm when mom wanted to show how happy she was with me.
That was her style of dress no matter the time of day or season. Looking back, she must have looked like some kind of hooker ... with her small child in tow.
As I got older (18 of course), she would add "sexy outings" to her repertoire of rewards.
During the colder months, she would call me into her room before going out. "Baby, does mommy look nicer like this?" she would ask. She would pull her top tight from the back, emphasizing her lack of underwear. Her nipples would always be clearly noticeable and sometimes she would wear something shear enough that I would even be able to make out the darkness of them through the fabric. If I was being especially pleasant that day, she would even jiggle her breasts a little, playfully.
Of course spring and summer were another scenario altogether. Whereas in winter, you would have to look a little to see what mom was doing with her clothes – summer was more overt. A very special reward for me would be to go swimsuit shopping with her. Although I liked mommy in any swimsuit, our tastes would often gravitate towards bikinis. And while in public, she would never wear a thong with her son around – she could model them for me in the store.
Before you think that no store would allow a woman to model a thong for a man in plain view, most stores would allow a single parent to let their child (albeit an adult "child") into the changing area with them.
Behind the doors of the dressing room, mom would show me thongs and tiny string bikinis, suits with fabric so thin that they would leave nothing to the imagination and suits that were so tight that they looked painted on. All this, of course, with me being able to watch her change out of her clothes too.
It wasn't long before this modeling moved to the privacy of our home – where it became a frequent addition to our already scandalous activities. Almost every night, mom would ask me about my classes. If she deemed me "doing well in school," she would ask me into her bedroom and help pick out her outfit for the next day.
She would try on this one or that one, and sometimes even show me a new one that she just bought; it didn't matter whether or not she had shown me something sexy, presumably to wear into the office the next day, it was together time where I could watch my beautiful mommy undress frequently.
It was around that time that things became a little more physical. On an increasing basis, mom would come home from work, complaining about the tightness in her shoulders, and ask me to give her a little rub (this was above and beyond my normal reward system). She would then remove her bra from under her clothes, unbutton her top and slide it down enough to expose her shoulders. Thinking about mom's unfettered titties on the other side was enough to give me a boner. Being able to touch her skin and hearing her moan orgasmicly in return made me almost cream my pants. I always had to leave right away to relieve myself after massaging her.
Eventually, our daily after-work massage turned into weekend home spa days. The first day she proposed this idea, mom was undressing for me before her shower.
Mom was just making small talk. "I was talking to Mrs. Applebaum the other day; I heard you helped her out with her car battery," she said, stepping out of her skirt.
"Aw ma, it was easy. I knew right away what was wrong and they had a spare winter battery in the garage. It took, like twenty minutes."
"Still, it was a nice thing to do; otherwise, she would have to wait for Harold to get home and
that
would have taken him two hours." Mom had removed her slip and unbuttoned her blouse and was reaching for her bra hooks. "It was a nice thing to do," she emphasized, "Did she do anything for your trouble?"
"Just a Coke while I was working and she gave me a cookie afterwards."
She peeled her brasserie away. "Well, I'm proud of what you did son." Mom always made sure she told me what I was doing right. She paused as she slipped out of her panties.
"You know what would be real nice, hon?" she asked while getting her towel.
"What, mom?"
She turned to me, towel wrapped around her like a really short tube dress. "After my hot, steamy shower ... a nice, full back rub."
At the time, I thought, "cool, weekend back rub ... masturbate later." I never imagined the pleasures of what the phrase "full back rub" would entail.
We talked, like we usually do when she showers. She talked about local happenings; I watched her shapely silhouette through the rippled door.
Mom finished with the shower and toweled off in the stall. Emerging from the shower, mom untucked her towel wrap from her body, revealing herself to me like a blossoming flower. Mind you, I've seen her naked before, but never presented to me like she wanted me to see her like that. She had nice, full breasts that sat (not hung) nicely on her sturdy ribcage. Her figure was slim, yet curvy, and just a little bit motherly in the front. She had the grace of an oil painting and the exuberance of a cartoon.
She draped the towel on the floor in front of her and laid face-down on top of it; her round buttocks greeting me.
"Honey, get the baby oil out of the cabinet next to the sink, a body massage is so much nicer with baby oil," she purred. I did as she asked; what did I know about back rubs and who was I to argue with a sexy naked mother?
I squirted a little on my hands. "Don't be shy," she instructed, "the more the better." I began to squirt the oil directly on her back.
I started, kneeling between her legs, on her lower back. I imagined the bottle was my cock and I was jacking off on her ass. I squirted several shots before I figured that I should actually start rubbing it into her. I leaned forward, kneading her lower back, safely away from her curvy bottom.
