Chapter 1

My father and his brother died in an airplane accident in their own little four-seater when I was four and left me and mother on our own and the same faith was shared by my uncle's wife and there child, a girl a year older than me.

My dad and Uncle was successful stockbrokers long before it was a "normal" occupation and made a fortune long before they were thirty. They weren't poor to start with my grand-father had a business with more than forty employees and he had given them the capital to start the firm and was the oldest client they had so he too had improved on his wealth and he never neglected to remind me that I was the sole heir to half his fortune and the business.

Unfortunately I never understood mechanical things, still don't. All I know about moving metal-wheels or whatever is that they tend to be expensive to repair and never are trustworthy. I was and am good with figures so I guess I would be a good accountant in the business but apart from that...

My cousin, Emma, short for Emanuella, was and is a wizard with everything that moves, have wheels underneath it and make loud noises. The more noise the better. And the more oil and dirt under the hood the better and as a consequence she was always black under her fingernails, and hands, and face too. I admired my cousin and wanted to be just as good as her so when her mother bought her an old car on her sixteenth birthday that she could experiment on I wanted to help her with the task of getting it, I think she called it tuned up or something, but I couldn't have a spanner in my hand without getting deep bruises on my knuckles and when I one day almost electrocuted myself while tampering with the battery Emma forbade me to get under the hood. I still loved to watch her working though.

At the age of twelve I started to get interested in girls and from there on I could spend hours behind Emma watching her tight little butt press against the cloth of her jeans while my cock pressed against the material of *my* trousers.

In the autumn of the same year Mom and Aunt Caren decided that Emma and I should learn how to play bridge. When we protested they said that it would be nice to know how to play and that it was an excellent way to get together once a week, as if they ever needed an excuse to do that since they were the best of friends and played tennis and went shopping together almost everyday of the week and Emma and I were the best friends and met also every day.

Emma's and my protesting didn't do us any good. The bridge-lessons started and to my surprise I really enjoyed the game and Emma seemed to like it too and we looked forward to our evenings of bridge. They included more than just bridge. This was the night when we had to learn about the finer points of the French-kitchen as well and we were even allowed to taste a glass of whine and that was were I found my talent. It seemed as I was born with the knowledge of first-class cooking and soon I took over more and more of the cooking for our bridge-evenings while Mom sat on a stool sipping a glass of whine, watching me and at the beginning giving me some advise, mostly how to use the kitchen-knife and other practical stuff, never interfering with the spicing or cooking-times and such things.

We had been having our bridge-evenings for about a year when Aunt Caren called at the absolute last minute canceling the evening. Emma had come down with the flu but had insisted to go anyway but her temperature was to high for her to go anywhere.

So there we were with a lot of food, opened wine-bottles and no-one to share them with.

"Well, we have to do the best of the evening anyway," Mom said. "We have our meal and play something else. There's a lot of games you can play with only two players, you know."

Mom drank a lot of wine and she didn't object when I took a second glass. After dinner I cleared the table and we sat for a while talking about nothing while Mom had another glass of wine. By now she was a little giggly and happy. I loved it when she laughed so I didn't mind that she drank a little to much once in a while so I didn't object when she took the last opened wine-bottle as we went into the playroom and sat across each other by the card table.

"What is there to play with only two people?" I asked, rather eager to learn another game.

"Oh there're lots of games. Gin and... and... Oh yes! Poker! That's one of the hardest games to play well. It takes years to master it."

"OK. Lets play some poker then," I said.

Mom explained the rules to me and after that we played for a couple of hours. Mom finished the wine and when she asked me to get her another bottle I asked if she wouldn't rather have something else to drink. I meant a mineral-water or something soft but she misunderstood me.

"Yes. You're right. Poker is played with beer and whisky-chasers not wine. You know, you can have a beer too if you like. If we're gonna play some serious poker than it have to be the serious way."

I shrugged my shoulders and got a couple of beers and a bottle of whisky. Mom took a rather generous gulp of the whisky and a few swallows of beer to soothe it.

"Have you ever drunk whisky?" she asked me.

"No."

"Good. You shouldn't you know. You can taste it, just as you can taste the wine. A couple of beers aren't that bad either. But the hard stuff I want you to leave alone in greater quantities till you're eighteen," at this she smiled a little doubtful at me. "But you should know how it tastes."

She handed me her glass and I took a little sip of the beverage and felt how it burned its way down my throat, numbing my mouth for a short while, and then the tastes hit me. This was something that I could grow to like!

"Mmm, very good," I said in a little choked voice which made Mom laugh a little.

"Are there any other ways you can play poker?" I asked after a short silence.

"Oh, sure. Do you know what your dad and I used to play?" she smiled.

"No."

"Strip-poker! He loved it and we used to..."

She silenced. Not a sad silence, only such a silence that occurs when you've said a little too much and don't know if you should go on or not.

"Strip-poker?" I asked and took the deck in my hand. "How many cards do I deal? Five?"

Mom looked at me and suddenly she burst out in a heartfelt laugh.

"Oh what the heck. Yes. Five."

I dealt us five cards and looked at Mom for her to start the bidding but she just threw three cards.

"Aren't you gonna bet? I asked.

"We have, dear. Strip-poker is one long bet."

"Oh," I said not understanding a thing but did as she, threw three cards, keeping a pair of sixes.

I gave Mom her three new cards and the same for me and after checking my hand I looked at Mom who just lay her cards down, face up, on the table. A pair of Jacks. Hesitantly I lay my three sixes down showing them to Mom.

"Oh, a shoe then," she said and reached under the table, showed me the shoe before she flung it on the floor about between us on the floor.

I looked, if not shocked at least surprised at her.

"It's STRIP poker, silly," she laughed when she saw my looks. "You play for your clothes!"

"Oh," I could feel myself getting a blush at this. Playing for clothes. With my mother.

Mom giggled even more when she looked at me.

"Shocked?"

"N-no."

"Scared?"

"N-no," I stammered. I was both but I wasn't going to let her know. One of the first things she had taught me about poker was that you shouldn't let your opponents 'read' your face.

"Want to quit?"

"N-no," I would rather have done just that but I wasn't going to let her know that either. I was determined though that she wasn't going to win *this* game.

"OK, hand me the deck then."

I gave it to her and she dealt the cards. I had to brace myself to stop the tell tale shaking of my hands when I picked up the cards. Nothing. Five cards and not a Jack in sight.

"Well?"

"Oh, four," I said, forgetting what Mom had taught me about poker.

She laughed a little chuckle that I'd never heard before and threw four cards in front of me and took three herself.

I looked at her while she sorted the cards in her hand. For the first time I looked at her as a woman. And I liked it. Mom had always been beautiful to me and I had taken her beauty for granted. She worked out with tennis and gardening, she wouldn't let me mow the lane, well maybe that was out of fear that I would get my foot in the mower and not for her exercise, but still. You could tell that she kept herself in shape, maybe she drank a little too much but I had noticed that almost all the adults I knew did that.

Anyway. For the first time I took my mother in and savored what I saw. Blonde. A little more than shoulder-long hair which she wore in a pony-tail most of the time. A small round face, rather thick eye-brows angled over her dark blue eyes, small nose, her mouth was as they say full, a long neck, for a woman broad shoulders, small tits, and I knew that her ass was small and tight from before.

"Mhm," Mom coughed a little to catch my attention.

"Oh, sorry," I looked down at my cards. And looked at a pair of kings. I lay them down on the table.

"Damn," Mom breathed as she saw them and folded her cards without showing them to me. She reached down, took her other shoe off, showed it to me and flung it almost by the other shoe's side. "You deal."

Mom lost again and this time she fumbled under the table for a while but finally she showed me what she had been fumbling with. A stocking. Not a pantyhose. I must admit that I was intrigued by this. I wasn't at all familiar with what a woman would wear underneath. I was happy just studying Emma's trouser-clad ass and hadn't even speculated in what she might wear under the pants just what was under them. I understood that it wasn't boxer-shorts but had never given it a thought.

Mom didn't throw the stocking as she had with her shoes but let it sort of sail in the air, over to were the shoes lay and it floated gracefully down on top of them.

Next hand I lost and a shoe made mom's company on the floor. And another the next deal but then I won again and the same scene played as the stocking sailed though the air.

Now I thought it would be interesting. I took for granted that Mom now had only her panties and bra under the dress but when she again lost she half-stood with her hands under the skirt and when she dangled something white, with a lot of straps and frills I just looked with my mouth open. What in heavens name was this?

"Oh, you silly boy. It's a garter belt. Don't you know anything about what a woman have on?"

"N-no," I could feel my face turn red.

"Oh. You don't? Well it's a device made to make the stockings stay up. You sort of hook them into this." She showed me the straps. "And you button it here in the front, it's just as a belt."

She let it land on the other clothes.

A sock later I again won. This time Mom hesitated for a while before she reached under her skirt and took off her panties. She dangled them on her finger in front of me before she let them fall down on the heap by the side of the table. She poured herself another glass of whisky, raised the bottle to me, inviting me to have another glass with her, which I did. She raised her glass in a salute and I sipped where she took a gulp.

I lost and had to shed my other sock and then I again won a game and Mom had to take off her dress, now she sat in front of me in only her frilly, white bra were you could see the pinkish shadow of her nipples shine through.

Now it dawned on me that my mother sat almost naked in front of me, with nothing on but her bra and if I, which I for a very short while considered, would drop a card on the floor and bend down to pick it up, I would be able to see her cunt! The mere thought of it made my cock jump, jerk and harden! If I was lucky I would soon see my mother's breasts! But I wasn't. I lost the next two games and was down to my trousers and boxers, thank heaven for Mom insisting that I should wear something under my shirt!

Then luck changed again and Mom lost! Her last item of clothing would have to be shed!

She looked me in the eyes while she reached behind her and unclasped her bra, let the straps slowly glide down from her shoulder over her arms, still with the cups covering her breasts, till she made a little bow letting her breasts free and dangling the bra from her finger just as she had done with her panties before she let it fall down on the floor. Now first she broke eye-contact letting me take an eyeful of her tits. They were... well... beautiful! Although I didn't have anything to compare them with I just knew that they were almost perfect. If it hadn't been for the very slight sag they would have been absolutely pear-shaped. Pears with a strawberry topping it. That was it. Not made to soothe your hunger but to awaken it!

I was vaguely aware of Mom drinking from her whisky but was all the same a little startled when she almost slammed the glass down on the table.

Chapter 2 »