My Mom Is a Hot Mom

Sweat poured down my back as I hacked away at the backyard bushes with long-handled clippers. It was mid-fall, and not yet noon, but it was unseasonably warm. I was shirtless, and the late-morning sun warmed my sweat-covered skin.

In a few hours, several friends of mine would be coming over to watch a pro football game with me. But, now, I was in the back yard, and I had gardening chores to do. Mom wanted me to trim the hedges. So, I stood hunched over overgrown shrubs, trimming away all the excess and unruly branches.

I clipped away at the bushes for twenty minutes, working up a fine sweat all over my body. I wanted to finish the gardening chores as quickly as I could, so I could go inside, get showered, and get ready to watch the game with my buddies.

My phone was velcroed to my bicep, and it was streaming some 90s-era grunge rock that I listened to through wireless earbuds. Music always made gardening chores, which I did not love, go faster.

I was so intent on my work and music that at first, I didn't notice the shadow of someone behind me. But, eventually I did, and I turned around to see my mom standing behind me.

I looked down rather than up. Mom wore very short, tan, denim shorts. On top, she wore a tight, white t-shirt, old and ratty, with a few visible holes and tears, shrunken enough that it left a strip of her firm tummy uncovered. It was obvious that she wore no bra. Mom was looking awfully hot for a casual, mid-Sunday morning around the house.

She surveyed the many piles of leaf clippings from my work.

"Good job, Randy!" she said. "I appreciate you doing all this work. The yard needed it and I didn't want to have to hire a gardener to do it."

"No problem, mom," I said. The mid-morning sun lit mom's blond hair from the side, enveloping her in an angelic glow. It contrasted with the saucy, sassy, and much less angelic expression in her eyes and face. She was looking intently at me and I wondered what she was thinking.

"So, what are you listening to?" mom asked.

"It's Pearl Jam," I said. "Alive."

Mom threw her head back and laughed, loudly. I couldn't figure out what was funny.

"What's funny about that?" I asked.

"Nothing," she said, although she said it like she didn't mean it. Her laughter subsided, finally. When she got control of herself and stopped looking at me, she looked at me and her eyes twinkled with the light of the morning.

"You have a birthday coming up soon," she said. "Do you know what you want?"

I gave mom a wicked grin and swept my eyes up and down her body.

"I'm looking at it," I said.

"Down, boy," she said, putting her fingers on my bare chest. "Be good."

"I'd prefer not to be," I said. "I think you'd like it better naughty, too."

On an impulse, I put my free hand, the one without the clippers, up to her face, and I pulled her face gently and slowly to mine. She didn't resist. Our lips touched, and I kissed her lightly, my lips just barely touching hers.

I felt mom's lips push against mine and open slightly, so I pushed harder against her. My other hand dropped the clippers and went to the small of mom's back. Now I opened my mouth, and hers opened with mine. My tongue took its chance to press forward and into her, mashing and twirling against her tongue.

Now we were making out, my naked chest pressed against her thin t-shirt covered boobs, and our mouths writhing against each other. Her tongue pushed back, seeking an entry into my mouth. Mine relented and let hers in. My hands now were against the back of her neck and cupped over her ass. We stood like that in the backyard in the morning sun, kissing furiously, heedless of anyone that might happen to see us through or over the wood plank fence that surrounded the yard.

"Mmmm, mom," I growled at her.

"Unnnnh, Randy," she purred back.

We twisted and pushed against each other like that, on the edge of the lawn, for several minutes. The only sound we made was our mouths sighing and smacking each other. I squeezed her ass with my hand, then I moved it to the crack between her checks. I wasn't supposed to touch her between her legs, or so she'd told me, but it wasn't clear that the rule applied if a layer of thin cotton separated my hand and her intimate parts. I decided to press the point. My hand pressed further down and between her check, and I pressed my middle finger down hard between her crack. It dug in. To my surprise, mom's ass pushed back against my hand.

Okay, I thought. Mom has no problem with this. I decided to test her responsiveness from a different angle. My hand slipped around her, to her belly, and then it slipped down her front to the space between her legs. I cupped her mound through the shorts and pressed my fingers against her.

Now mom pressed forward, against my hand again. She didn't have any problem with this either, I thought. I was surprised, and I wasn't about to waste this opportunity.

I extended my middle finger and poked at the place where, under her shorts, I thought her pussy lay. I pressed hard, and the pants gave way and I felt the finger, through her shorts fabric, pushing and spreading her apart. I kept kissing her to distract her, but I could tell she wasn't distracted. Her body fully responded to my touch and pushed back against mine.

I curved my middle finger and flicked it harder and faster between mom's legs. I wanted to see if I could make mom come. She didn't pull away, but after half a minute of my attention she put a hand down and grabbed my hand, and she moved it up half an inch.

"There," she said. "That's the spot." Then she kept moving, pressing the shorts-covered mound between her legs against my finger as it pushed and stroked against her. I kept pressing my finger against her until she moaned softly.

"Mom," I whispered to her, "How about if I take your shorts off and rub you through your panties. I'll make you come."

Mom's mouth curled into a funny smile.

"That might work," she said, "If I were wearing panties. But I'm not. If I took my shorts off you'd have your hand right on my pussy, and I'm not going to let you do that."

"Why not, mom?" I asked. "Why not let me? I want to finger you. I want to fuck you. Let me fuck you, right now, in our back yard. It will feel so good. You know I'm going to fuck you, mom. You know it's going to happen. Let's do it now."

For a moment I thought I might be persuading her, because she kept pressing the mound between her legs against my finger, which I pushed against her, trying to get her off through the cloth of the shorts. But then she pulled away and looked me in the eye.

"Randy," she said. "We set some boundaries. You know that. And as much fun as this is, I want to keep those boundaries and I want you to respect them. OK?"

"But why, mom?" I asked. "Look what we're doing here. Think about what we've been doing. I know you like it as much as I do. It would feel so good. I respect your boundaries, but they seem artificial." I was trying hard to put on my best salesman voice. I wanted to sell this badly.

"It doesn't seem artificial to me," she said. "I've done a lot with you, and you're right, I've enjoyed it. You've brought something out of me that was buried deep and I've enjoyed it. But doing that is a whole different step. And that's not something I'm ready to do. So, for now, you're just going to have to respect that."

Mom's voice sounded firm, and I could tell it was no use arguing. But I couldn't help but notice that she'd said she "wasn't ready" to take that step, and that I would have to respect that "for now." Mom's words gave me hope. My time would come. I was going to fuck her, I knew it. We were getting closer, but it wasn't going to be right now, or right here.

Mom's eyes widened and flashed at me.

"We can't do 'that,'" she said. "But there's no reason we can't have a little fun while you finish your chores."

A wicked grin spread over her face, and she stepped back. Then she pulled up her white t-shirt, all the way up to her neck, exposing her breasts. They looked even more perfect than I had remembered them. Her nipples glowed like hard, pink pebbles in the morning light.

"Oh, mom," I moaned. "You're so beautiful."

"Thank you, son," she said, pulling the shirt back down. She turned quickly, and she stuck her ass out in my direction and swayed and strutted in bare feet toward the side of the yard, where I had laid a hose under some bushes whose leaves were turning brown.

Mom reached the hose, and bent over to it with her legs straight. The muscles in her long legs were stretched tight and lean. As she grabbed the hose she looked back at me. I glanced at her eyes but turned my gaze quickly to her ass. The tiny, tight shorts were riding up, exposing a strip of the smooth skin of her ass cheeks.

Then mom turned around, put her thumb on the end of the hose, and sprayed herself with water. She let out a little, high-pitched "Onnnh" when the cold water hit her, but the coldness didn't stop her. She doused her chest with it, and then set the hose back next to the bushes.

She crouched down on the lawn with the fence and greenery behind her, her knees on the grass, facing me. She put her hands on her knees, threw back her shoulders, and pushed her chest forward, giving me one of the most arousing shows I'd ever seen.

Mom's soaked and threadbare white t-shirt perfectly sculpted her breasts now: full, ripe, and round. The shirt was almost clear now, and the dark pink of her erect nipples stood out. I stood in the middle of the lawn, watching her from fifteen feet away, my feet rooted to the ground. I was paralyzed with arousal.

Mom swayed her shoulders back and forth. Once again, I was hit with an overwhelming sensation of disbelief. Despite all we'd done together so far, it still was almost impossible to believe: this was my mom! Writhing in front of me, lewdly but proudly showing off her 41-year old tits to me, her son.

And she didn't stop there. Her fingers hooked under the bottom edge of her tattered and now soaked shirt and pulled it up. The expanse of mom's thin and lightly muscled abdomen came into view, but still she didn't stop. She swept the wet shirt up and over her shoulders and head and tossed it to side. Now she sat, like a hungry animal, topless.

She put a hand up under each tit and pushed it up. She licked each nipple. Most of me was brain-dead at this point, utterly captivated by what my mom was doing and nearly incapable of any kind of rational thought. But a little part of me, somewhere inside, was thinking, where did my mom learn to act like a stripper? She and dad must have done a lot more at some time in their marriage than she had told me about. Wherever she had received her education, she'd earned her degree, and here I was, her horny and grateful son, receiving the benefits of my mom's advanced knowledge of how to be completely fucking hot.

I put a hand down between my legs and felt the growing bulge and discomfort of my cock being trapped in the tight jeans. I was about to pull the zipper down when I stopped, because mom was doing something new. She sat back and quickly pulled the zipper of her own shorts down. The shorts were wet now, and not as easy to pull off, I could tell. But she pulled them off quickly anyway, her butt bouncing off the grass to ease the way and her legs in the air. In a flash they were off and lying on top of the wet t shirt on the lawn. And mom had been telling the truth: she wasn't wearing any panties. She was naked.

She put her feet back on the plush carpet of grass, and then she spread her legs wide. One hand steadied her behind her, and the other went between her legs. With two fingers she splayed open the lips of her pussy.

I think my jaw must have dropped and my eyes bugged out without my realizing it, because mom looked at me and laughed. Then the smile faded, and a lusty look took over her face.

She silently mouthed some words, exaggerating the movement of her mouth so I could tell what she was saying:

"Is this what you want?"

I nodded.

A sheen of water from the spray of the hose lay over mom's nude body, and it reflected the morning light, enveloping mom in an angelic glow that contrasted with her lewd pose.

My hand went to my zipper. I needed relief. I would jerk myself off to the sight of my hot, naked, stripper mom. Maybe she would let me come in her face, or her blond hair. I wanted to see that.

Before I started, though, I heard a loud male voice.

"Hey Randy," the voice called. "Doing some yard work?"

It was our neighbor, Mr. Daniels, the male half of the elderly couple next door. My mouth dropped open in shock as I saw his face appearing a few feet back of the fence directly behind mom. He was climbing a ladder, slowly, and I could see he had some clippers in his hands that, apparently, he was going to use to lop off some unruly branches from a small tree next to the ladder. I had been so busy watching my mom I hadn't even noticed the ladder being set in place, or heard Mr. Daniels's movements. I could tell that he hadn't seen mom yet, but that he would if he kept climbing the ladder.

Mom's face showed even more shock and surprise than mine, I'm sure, and she looked all around her, wondering what to do and where to go. If she ran away from the fence, Daniels would see her. She couldn't let that happen. She snatched up her shorts and shirt and did the only thing she could, crawling backward toward the fence and taking a place right next to it between two bushes. She pushed her back against the fence and brought her legs up toward her chest to minimize the chance that Mr. Daniels would see her.

Mr. Daniels climbed as high as he was going to on the ladder. He was high enough that he would have seen mom if she hadn't moved, but the fence blocked his view of her where she was crouching. He didn't start clipping right away; instead, he craned his head, looking around our backyard. Obviously, he was looking for mom. I'd caught him ogling mom many times. He was an old hypocrite, because he and his wife Erma were constantly gossiping about and disapproving of the moral habits of their neighbors. Mrs. Daniels was worse than Mr. Daniels. She was a hawk-faced woman whose expression took on a predatory scowl whenever she saw children near her lawn or people dressed in a way that she didn't approve of. I had no doubt that Mr. Daniels lived in fear that Mrs. Daniels would catch him ogling my mom one day. Woe to him if she did.

"Your mom around, Randy?" he asked. I was right; he was hoping to catch a glimpse of my mom.

I looked at my mom under the fence directly opposite under him, her head was directly under his, not more than 12 feet away from where he stood on the ladder. She put a finger to her lips. Her back was pressed as far back against fence as she could go, and her other arm curled around her shins to keep them close to the fence and out of Mr. Daniels's view.

"Nope, she's not around," I said, looking back at my elderly neighbor. "I'm sure she's not far away, though."

"Well, tell her I say 'hi', he said in a croaking voice. "Your mom sure is a nice lady. Lots of class. Why, even Erma says she has a lot of class, and she doesn't say that about a lot of people."

I saw mom put a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh. I could almost swear that even from this distance I could see her eyes twinkle, and they looked up to the sky directly over her. Then she took her hand away from her legs, and she parted them, slowly, quietly, keeping them near the fence to avoid detection. Soon they were peeled all the way back, and once again mom's pussy was on display for me. Mr. Daniels had no idea that mom was so lewdly displaying herself directly underneath where he stood on the latter.

"Thanks for saying that, Mr. Daniels," I replied. "I think my mom is a classy lady, too. She's always telling me the importance of following the rules. And of being modest."

Mom gave me a wry look, as her hand went down between her legs and started rubbing there. I saw her folds pushed back and forth, up and down. She closed her eyes, obviously savoring the feeling.

I hoped Mr. Daniels would go away, but he was cutting branches very slowly, and he seemed to be in no hurry.

"It's a rare thing these days, people having class," he said. He lopped off a couple of branches and waited, then looked over the fence again, this time seeming to scan the house.

"Is your mom going to join you in the garden this morning?" he asked, hope in his voice.

"No," I said. "She's very busy doing something more important right now."

The conversation and the nearness of Mr. Daniels seemed to turn mom on, because her hand moved faster and faster, until it was a blur between her legs. I saw her legs jerk two or three times involuntarily, and her mouth opened.

Then she let out a little gasp. Not a big one, but loud enough that I could hear it, and I was sure Mr. Daniels must have heard something too, despite being somewhat hard of hearing. I saw his brow furrow.

"Did you hear something?" he asked. Mom's hand was clamped over her mouth.

"No, I didn't hear anything," I said. Mom took her hand away and mouthed the word "shit."

"Hmmmm," he said. He began to lean forward, away from the ladder, his head craning to see over the fence.

"Ron!" came a woman's voice from behind Mr. Daniels. It was his wife. Thank goodness. "Are you done with that tree yet? I need you." Her voice screeched, and Mr. Daniels looked downcast and resigned.

"Yes, I am," he called back in his croaky voice. "Coming." He turned back to me.

"Well, gotta go," he said. "See you later Randy. And tell your mother I said 'hi.'"

"I'll do that right away, Mr. Daniels," I said. He descended the ladder and his head dropped out of view, below the level of the fence. I gave mom the thumbs up signal.

Mom scooped up her top and her shorts, and she ran fast in a crouch from the fence toward the house. I chased after her. She looked back, as did I, and there was no sign of Mr. Daniels anymore. Mom opened the back door and ran into the house, and I followed right after her.

Inside the house, the door shut and Mr. Daniels's eager and prying eyes no longer a worry, mom stopped. She still was naked. Her shorts and shirt were soaked, and she showed no inclination to put them back on. Drops off water fell off her clothes and her body onto the wood floor -- plop, plop.

"Randy," mom said, "Can you get me a towel? My feet are dirty and wet, and I don't want to track up the house."

"Sure, mom," I said. I fetched a towel from the laundry room nearby and returned. It was a small towel -- big enough to clean off her feet but not big enough to cover her. I admit I wanted to keep seeing mom naked.

I knelt and gestured to her feet and mom lifted them. I wiped off each one in turn, massaging and wiping each one carefully and lovingly. But I took time to look up, too, to the slit between her legs, and to her eyes, alternately watching my work with the towel and searching my own eyes. Desire surged inside me at my mom's naked beauty and vulnerability.

"That was close," I said to her. "I think Mr. Daniels would have had a heart attack if he'd seen you."

"Thank goodness he didn't," mom said. "The last thing I'd need would be that old lech seeing me like that. The whole neighborhood would know."

I was done with mom's feet, so I put the towel down and stood up. Mom and I faced each other, me clothed and her nude.

"You liked that, though, didn't you, mom?" I asked her.

Mom smirked. She knew what I was asking her. She took a while to respond.

"Yeah, Randy," she said. "I liked it. You know your old mom well enough at this point that I can say that. I liked it. But we have to be careful. I can't let a guy like Daniels see me like that. I can't let the neighborhood know about that, and they will If I let old Ron Daniels see me."