I was standing at the center-island counter in my mother's large kitchen and spreading the sweet, white cream on the cinnamon buns I had just retrieved from the oven. Halfway finished, I stopped to take a long drink of milk out of the glass at my side. I was finishing the frosting on the buns when I spied my mother, Janet, entering the kitchen.
Her curly hair was visibly mussed and she wore only a light weight, knee length sleeping gown. Easily seen through, it was clear my mother was bra-less and panty-less. It was not an unusual thing to see, but mom was mom and I was so used to seeing such morning attire and more, it was a nonevent. I knew her body well, knew she was off limits...taboo... still, I studied her shuffling to the coffee pot as I took a bite of one of the warmth buns. I received no hello or acknowledgment of any kind.
My father-in-law, James, was close on my mother's heels. He was dressed in his usual business suit attire with a leather satchel in his hand. Stopping close in behind her, he gripped her left buttock, squeezing it as he kissed her on the neck. "Thank you for this morning! I'll see you in a few days." He told her in less than a whisper, before turning to me. "Good morning, Harry, take care of your mother while I'm gone. I hope you're enjoying your summer. You get through this year and I'll talk to my firm about an apprenticeship." With those words, he was out the kitchen door, in his Caddy, and headed for the airport.
"I thought the son-of-a-bitch would never get off of me!" Mom exclaimed, before taking a long drink of her hot coffee. "Tell me again why I married the dumb ass?"
"Money and security." I offered.
"Oh yea! That! And to get you into a good law firm. After you're there for a couple of years, I'll divorce his limp cock ass. You can thank me anytime you want to."
"Thank you mom." I said with a sarcastic tone.
*
Statue wise, I could easily compare mom to Honey Wilder, my favorite porn star. Like Wilder, mom was 5'7" tall, 36D-23-33, brown eyed, lank strawberry blonde hair rather than Wilder's black hair, her face touted freckles, and she weighted 125lbs. Mom's voice was much lower and a bit raspy, but it could still be called sexy. I even knew, read on, that mom had the lavish thick bush Wilder touted in her movies.
I was turned on to Honey Wilder when I was 19 and followed her movies. Arriving home after viewing her for the first time in "Taboo IV", I found mom and James leaving for dinner. I shook my head seeing my mother in profile from about 15 feet. Except for face-on, mom could be a body-double for the porn star. It was not a mystery how, at 44, she had managed to corral James, 56, who was a very successful criminal lawyer, but balding and beer bellied...and worthless in the sack.
In short order, I began wondering how mom actually stacked up to Honey Wilder in her birthday suit. I did some studying on spy gadgets, looked around mom's bedroom when no one was home, and decided on a plan. I purchased and placed a small wireless camera between two pictures that had not moved in years, hid the monitor in my closet and had a perfect view of the bed and a good portion of the bedroom. The camera excelled in the darkness too. I discovered soon enough, spying on mom dressing and undressing, that my nude mom was exceptional and in ever way equal to the porn star, maybe more so in the bush department.
I occasionally spied on mom and James fucking with the light on or early in the morning, but mostly at night which was a bit disappointing, even with the excellent light gathering capabilities of the camera. A full moon offered much better viewing. I also discovered that mom masturbated quite a bit when James was not home. More often than not, having to be very careful about making any noise, I masturbated right along with her. Honey Wilder's incest roles began to shine a new light on the forbidden fruit that was mom.
*
After eating three cinnamon buns, finishing my glass of milk, I returned to my bedroom. I did not have a regular girlfriend at present so I opened my bedside table drawer and grabbed the latest copy of Penthouse. Removing my T-shirt and cotton shorts, I reclined on my bed, my head on two pillows, thumbing through the magazine and playing with my rather limp cock. You wouldn't think that a 23-year-old would be having a problem jerking off to a young, pretty naked lass in a magazine. But I was having a problem; the only thing on my mind at present was mom's statement "I thought the son-of-a-bitch would never get off of me!"
This morning, I had not even thought about spying on them, though I knew they were probably fucking. Maybe that's what problem was... watching them fuck. In the beginning, it had been exciting and stimulating watching them. But I tired of watching their, actually his, boring intercourse. He never did anything different. He got on top, fucked mom quickly, often, not getting her off. I'll admit it! I watched her get herself off numerous times while James showered. No big deal...but I felt for her. She needed an orgasm! Her remark that morning summed up our mother/son relationship. It was taken for granted that adults have sex. She did not mind telling me she was unhappy with her own sex life. And right this second I was unhappy with mine.
I knew their habits and knew that James required a little good-bye pussy before he left on trips. I remembered him thanking mom earlier. I knew James could be a "bunny quick" and selfish lover, leaving mom wanting. I didn't know why I was giving it a second thought now, as mom had probably fingered herself. She had probably showered and, but wait, maybe not dressed. Maybe seeing a live naked woman might help my present problem.
I looked over my head towards the closet and thought a long moment.
I rolled off the bed, entered the closet and retrieved the monitor from its hiding place. I instantly reeled in shock at what I saw my mother doing. She was using, or attempting to use, the crown of the wooden bed-post. I thought, 'my lord, had she never thought of a dildo!' I had a pretty clear view of her pussy, or, better put, what she was attempting to to do with her pussy. I was instantly toying with my much firmer cock.
I can best describe the bed-post crown like the flame of a candle...but much larger. Perhaps 4-1/2" to 5" tall, the top not pointed but rounded, the size of a large marble. The bottom width the size of the middle of a good sized banana. Perhaps, half of a good sized, but straight, banana would be a better example.
Mom had positioned her naked body, her ass, precariously on top of three pillows, her right leg dangling over the rounded rail of the bed, the left leg bent, her foot flat on the bed. Her right hand gripped the rail and her left hand gripped the bed post, her forefinger in the decorative, router-ed indentation. Her strained left-handed grip was witness to her precarious position.
She was not taking the crown inside of her, but pressing the length of it against her pussy lips, spreading them wide, her ass seductively moving, scrubbing the interior of her pussy with vigor. I suspected the rounded top was teasing her clit. Her pussy appeared a creamy pink. I could not see her face clearly, as her head was partially lowered, but listening very closely. I could hear her soft moans.
As one might imagine, it was difficult not to jerk my cock. It had to be one of the oddest and sexiest things I had ever seen. I was stroking my cock hard, being careful not to bump the wall.
For the first time, I saw my mother as a sexual object to desire, one, I theorized, that could be had if I played my cards right. My plan was to catch her in the act, this act, then, hope she would let me participate, leading to intercourse, or, maybe I could blackmail her into spreading her legs for me.
Mom aspirated visibly and loud enough to indicate her reaching orgasm. I followed, shooting off strongly, having to stifle, what would have been, a loud grunt and moan, my eyes closed. I regained my sight to see mom flop backward off the pillows.
I looked to see the damage I had done with my semen. It would require a bit of cleanup which only took a few minutes. Checking mom's bedroom again through the peephole, I saw she was sleeping where she had flopped, having rolled to her left, drawing her knees up in a fetal position. I studied her bare butt for a few long minutes. My desire to lay with her showed in my renewed erection. I toyed with it.
I then showered, dressed and headed out to meet some friends at the local Village Inn ice-cream parlor. I was still looking for that steady girlfriend for the summer.
Weeks pasted. I kept a watchful eye on my mother's bedroom, but other than James fucking her, I spied mom doing nothing more than fingering herself to orgasm, as the bastard showered. Still, at such times, she never covered herself, I studied her body closely, comparing her to my favorite porn star, Honey Wilder, and, viewing mom in a new incestuous light, I usually jerked off.
When watching her masturbate when James was out of town, I found it curious that she would spend long minutes fingering herself with one, two and sometimes three fingers. She definitely liked having something inside her, making me ponder why she did not return to using the bed post, my plan A. I wondered if I should move on to a plan B, which I had not formulated yet!
I arrived home one day in a hurry. I fully expected to find mom home as I needed money to buy some CDs and a movie for a new girl I had just met and made a date. I did not see mom's car in the driveway and was immediately despondent. But, I knew she had a jar in her room where she kept some extra cash. She only insisted I tell her when and how much I took.
I hurried to her room, turned the knob, and entered. I stopped dead in my tracks. Mom, her front to me, was riding the bedpost, her left leg straight and locked, her right leg lifted, foot propped on the second foot rail of the bed. Looking down and moaning, the noise of the door opening apparently had not attracted her attention and I stood there for long moments watching her ride the bedpost, half the crown stroking in and out of her pussy. I squeezed my hardening crotch.
"What the hell are you doing in my room, Harry?" She yelled, finally aware of my presence and seeing me standing there staring. "How the hell long have you been standing there watching me, you fuckin pervert! Get the hell out of of my bedroom!"
What I found telling was that mom made no effort to extricate herself from the bedpost. She had onlt frozen in place, half of the flame shaped crown of the bedpost inside her as she browbeat me to get out.
"I don't want to, mom." I replied sheepishly. "I want to help."
"What the hell do you mean you want to help?" She yelled in a lower volume, but clearly taken aback by what I had said. "Do you know what you are suggesting...do you!"
"I'll show you." I said, moving to her.
I knew my next action would be extremely important and telling. I placed my right hand on her ass, my hand straddling her crack. I lifted just enough to let her know I had the strength to control her weight, giving her a sense of safety.
I studied her ample breasts as I waited a few moments to see if she was going to rebuff me. She didn't. A moment later I placed my left forefinger and middle finger softly to her pussy and began rotating them slowly. Any resistance she might have felt dissolved. It seemed she dispelled my presence as her ass began to move slightly, lifting and dropping onto the crown.
"Do you want more of it?" I whispered in her ear. "Don't be afraid. I've got you."
