Hard Day's Night: A Seduction in Three Movements
Movement I: Allegretto Grazioso Dolce
Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Reluctant, Heterosexual, Fiction, Incest, Mother, Son, Oral Sex, Petting, Squirting, Pregnancy, Slow,
Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Movement I: Allegretto Grazioso Dolce - A son finds a way to work out his mother's frustrations. NOTE: This story is a lot slower than my other works, much more tender. Its (intended) progress is petting (Ch.1), oral sex (Ch.2), then finally actual sex (Ch.3). It has been written with an overwhelming amount of help from one of my readers, and is intended for her eyes first- but not, with her blessings, her eyes only ;) **UPDATE: I have recorded this story in audio format. Links are at the end of the story.**
My mother had suffered a bad day at work. She'd come home tense, upset with her bitchy and incompetent co-workers, and was even now working at the kitchen table on the household budget, sighing every now and then as she tapped morosely at the calculator.
She was wearing a red, satin negligee; I'd seen it before, and when the light was just right you could barely see through it to the dark smudges of her nipples and aureoles. I suppose I should explain. My mother is a wonderfully attractive woman; she has amazing rowan eyes, a bright and engaging smile, and a glorious figure that belies her true age of 36. I'd noticed that the first time she'd worn that strappy little number- in combination with a new and flattering hair colour that echoed its fiery colours, a little over a week ago. I'd been trying to sneak peeks at her ever since, "accidentally" walking into her bedroom in search of this or that, or barging into the bathroom after she showered, all to no avail.
As she dropped her pen and idly scratched her foot, I wondered if I might not be able to turn the situation to my advantage. When I was young- well, younger in any case- my mother had often asked me to give her back rubs. As I'd grown older and went through my difficult teenage years, that practice had gradually stopped, as in typical adolescent style I had no desire to be in the same room as my mother, let alone touching her. Now, however, I cursed my short-sightedness; but, I suppose, I didn't appreciate her beauty then as I do now. So I would have squandered it still.
I padded over to her, causing her to start in surprise as my hands came down on her shoulders. Then I began to massage her, thumbs rubbing at the corded muscles of her shoulders. She let out a little laugh, relaxing back into the chair. "God, baby, you frightened me. It's been so long since you did this for me, and I've really missed it. Today was a nightmare..."
As she spoke, I tuned out, offering the appropriate noises at the appropriate times. In truth, I was more interested in peering down the front of her negligee; her eyes were closed now as she sank into stillness beneath my hands, and I could see that the light- as I had hoped- was just right. My mother has the most unbelievable bust, full and natural with dark brown aureoles that are three, or perhaps even four, inches across. My eyes lingering there, I idly wondered how much of that dark flesh would pucker into her nipples when they stood up, aroused or responding to other stimuli. From where I stood, I could see the soft slopes of her breasts as they rose and fell in time with her slow breath.
As I worked, I "accidentally" brushed the straps aside, hoping one might fall away from her shoulder and take the top of the shift with it, exposing one perfect, milky mound. I moved slowly, not wanting her to realise what I was doing, but eventually I was able to get the top to slide down, the barest hint of a brown circle showing above the red fabric. I bit my lip, trying to find a way to proceed; I wanted to see more of her, but without taking away the seeming innocence of the situation.
As I salivated over my mother's amazing body, I blew lightly across her bust, hoping to catch the negligee up in my breath, push it just that little bit lower. As the chill air moved across her, the barely-hidden nipple hardened, and she shivered as goose bumps formed on her arms. And, in an instant seared forevermore into my mind, the slight instinctive twitch conspired with the slight poke of her nipple to make the neckline finally fall away.
It was erotic beyond belief. My own mother's breast! The last time I'd seen it was nearly twenty years ago now, when she was just my age, and I savoured the sight, knowing that it would provide fuel for a thousand incestuous flights of fancy. And as her nipple hardened in response to the cold, I saw at last how large they could become, standing proud and firm like the rubber at the end of an old-style pencil.
As I continued to "innocently" massage my mother's shoulders, I began to grow hard. Lolling back over the top of the chair, she was too close, and as I surged, unrestrained in my boxers (for I, too, was dressed for bed), the tip slipped out of my fly and batted gently against the back of her head. Had she noticed? I began to panic, and my hands convulsed, the stronger grip causing her eyes to fly open.
"Oh, baby," she breathed, looking at me upside-down. "That feels so good. Can you do mommy's back?" I nodded, swivelling my hips to bring my erection back inside my pants. She glanced down, blushed as she realised she'd been exposed under my gaze, and covered her breast up again before leaning forward. I did my best to work at her, but with the back of the chair in my way, there was not a lot I could do. The obvious solution would be to have her sit facing the wrong way on the chair, leaning into its back as I massaged her, but I wanted... more.
And could you blame me? She might be my mother, but she could definitely be a model! So instead, I asked if we might go to her bedroom, where I could use her moisturising cream as lotion. She nodded, slowly, and told me that would be great. Hiding my erection from her whilst I followed her up stairs was a Herculean task, and as I watched her hips sway on the stairs above me, I caught sight of her panties. I could tell they were ivory, but that was all, and I resolved to see them fully.
I hovered carefully as she lay down on her bed, moving her pillows aside and placing her forehead on her crossed forearms. I decided to put my two-pronged plan of attack into motion. "Mom," I began uncertainly, "this moisturiser, it's kind of greasy. Do you want to fold your nightie down or something?" She lay there for a moment, considering it.
Sounding drowsy, she said "Or something," and rose to her knees, keeping her back towards me. She shimmied her hips, took the negligee off, and tossed it belligerently to one side. Then she lay back down, stretching lithely on her bed, all long limbed and graceful. Time, then, for the next part of my dastardly, deviant plan.
"One other thing," I squeaked, trying to sound casual. "Is it OK if I sit down on you? Just so I can get to your back better, of course."
I crossed my fingers. She sighed again, deeply, and told me that I could, so long as I was careful not to "crush your old mom." As I reached for the moisturiser she kept on her nightstand, I blurted "You're not old, mom. You're gorgeous."
She snorted a little at that. "Yeah, right. An old nag like me, compared to the girls your age? I've seen them, all blonde and-"
I cut in, there. "Vapid. They're airheads, mom. Besides," I said as I poured a dollop of moisturiser into my palm, rubbing it against my clean hand to heat the cold cream before applying it to her, "this new hair cut and colour really suits you. Makes you look ... a bit like Christina Hendricks," I finished. We were both incorrigible geeks, and I knew she'd remember the curvaceous, flirty YoSafBridge from Firefly, one of our favourite shows.
She chuckled a little at that. "I don't think she's got anything to fear from me, son. But it's nice of you to say so, any way." I shook my head, wishing she could see how pretty she really was, and eased down onto her, straddling her hips and starting to work at the small of her back. As my hands moved at her, rubbing where I could find knots of tension beneath her radiant skin, tracing the curve and hollow of her spine, I calculated the angles.
It wasn't good, I could tell; my penis had again worked its way out the fly of my boxers, and was even now tenting my grey tank top. I wished I'd worn something a little more appropriate, but how could I have known I would be in this position? But re-positioning my rebellious rod would take time, would mean removing my hands from my softly sighing mother, and to hell with that!
What I was afraid of most right now was that I'd lean too far forward, that my cock would brush against the skin of her back, dispelling this wondrous moment. And I couldn't bear the thought of that. Eventually, though, there was no more muscle I could soothe with my hands, so I lathered up with moisturiser again and placed my hands on her sides, careful not to tickle her as I slid my hands up her soft curves. She moaned slightly at that, and I pushed a little further than I should have, trailing my fingers down to where her breasts, crushed beneath her body, protruded slightly.
I made sure I moved back and away from them each time, barely running my fingers over her magnificent breasts. I wanted for her to turn over, for her to let me see them, touch them, but as I groped further and further at them, she shifted beneath me. I held my breath, but she merely muttered "Oh, yes, baby. Right there, right there." So I allowed my fingers to explore that silky skin a little more, pressing slightly against the sides of her breasts. After a few moments of that, I thought there could be no doubt as to my attentions, but my mother was either enjoying what I was doing or was pretending not to notice me feeling her up. I cared little as to which it might be, so long as I was able to touch those heavenly mounds.
But all good things must come to an end, and with a deep sigh, she asked me to stop. My heart sank, but she merely asked me if I would like to massage her feet and legs. Trying not to give myself away through over-eagerness, I cleared my throat and rose off her, moving back to stare at her upturned ass.
The panties were perfectly suited to her, ivory French-cut briefs that only served to accentuate the perfectly-formed globes of her buttocks. I'm a breast man, not a butt man, though with that said as far as I could tell it was as amazing as the rest of her. I hoped that over the course of my massage I might be able to knead that creamy skin, knowing that it would be white, untouched by the sun's ravages.
I wondered if I might be able to use her request to my advantage again. Pretending to be thinking aloud, I said "Um, mom? Do you think you could ... you know ... err ... so I can get to your legs better?"
She turned to look at me, and I was glad that for that moment I was hunched over, the baggy tank top's shapeless form concealing my erection completely. "Open my legs, you mean?" I nodded. She shrugged. "Sure. I don't want to make it hard for you."
Hard for you. Choking back laughter at her unwitting double entendre, I settled down between her slightly-parted legs, working my way up their delicate lengths. I switched from one leg to the other, feet, than calves, than the beginning of her thighs. I swallowed. "Just let me know if I'm getting a bit too ... you know ... friendly, mom." Or don't, I thought desperately. She just nodded, sighing contentedly.
So I began to work my way up her creamy, well-muscled thighs, marvelling at how soft they were beneath my somewhat greasy hands. To me delight, the material of the panties proved slightly gauzy; not enough to see between her legs, but enough to make out the dark shadow of my mother's outer lips. As I moved my hands up, I "accidentally" brushed against the crotch of her panties, trying to get her turned on, hoping that she might soak through the panties the way water would a white t-shirt, giving me a veiled view of her sex. But it was not to be.
"Honey," she breathed, that feels very good. But," she continued, my heart falling like a stone, "would you mind maybe going a little bit ... higher? Take care of my glutes?" Biting my lip, I did, careful not to touch against the seams of her delicate underwear. And as I worked at her, so close to her upturned, peach-like buttocks, I tried to push just a little further.
"Mom," I started, carefully. "these ... err ... these..."
"Panties?" she supplied helpfully.
These wonderful, sexy panties, yes. "Err. Well. They're kind of, you know ... in ... my ... way."
My voice rasped to a whisper as I wondered if I'd gone too far, too soon- or too far, ever! But again she shrugged. "Is the moisturiser dry?"
"What?" I asked, not following.
"The moisturiser on my legs, honey. That stuff works wonders for my skin, but it's hell on fabric, and these were expensive."
I took the opportunity, examining her luscious long legs just a little too closely. They were marvels of architecture, as worthy of artistic admiration as any marble column in a Greek temple. Drawing the moment out, curious as to what she would say next, I finally said "Yes. Er, that is, looks to be."
And with that, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her lacy panties, slipping them down over the rolling curve of her buttocks. Her creamy skin, finally laid bare for me, was every bit as incredible as I'd dared to hope, marred only by small traces of cellulite. But I took those as a mark of distinction, that she merely strove to be healthy, not stick-thin; her curves were divine, and she was altogether beautiful.
I reached tentatively for her backside, and when I made contact, her eyes fluttered open. "Baby, don't forget to use moist- OH!" That last, shocked exhalation came as her eyes alighted on my secret shame. By now, so turned on by her tough and near nakedness, by running my fingers over her breasts and thighs, brushing against her femininity, I my cock was not merely hard, but leaking a large and unmistakable patch of pre-come into my grey t-shirt. Her eyes boggled.
"Did mommy do that?" She asked. In hindsight, I realised she had tried to play the situation off with a joke, but at the time I thought she was asking me seriously. So I froze, and attempted to come up with the right answer.
"Yes. Well, no. I mean..."
Her face fell in. I cursed myself; not minutes before I had been paying her compliments, trying to make her feel desirable, and now I dashed what confidence she had drawn from my words. I knew she was sensitive- needlessly, I thought, about her figure. She exhaled, sadly, murmuring "So mommy didn't do that..."
I swallowed. Here it was, my opportunity. If I could but say the right thing, do the right thing, I might be able to parley this- whatever this was- into the something more I wanted it to be. But the situation was a minefield, and one false move would destroy not only my hopes, but potentially also my relationship with my mother.
"I ... you ... it..." I gave up, started over. "It's just ... confusing, you know? You're a beautiful woman, and you're nearly naked, and I've been touching you all over, and..."
She had the picture by now, I was sure. She had a strange look in her eyes as she looked back at me, and I could hold back no longer. I leaned in for a kiss, brushed my lips against hers. She jerked away, rolled over as if to flee, revealing her amazing bust and the trimmed- but not shaven- patch of hair that obscured the cleft between her legs. I had never seen a more enticing sight in my life, and doubted I'd ever see anything to match- let alone beat- it.
"Baby, we can't-"I cut her off again, with another kiss. This time I wrapped one arm around her, bringing her in tight to me, and tried to open my lips, insinuate my tongue into her mouth. Her lips remained stubbornly together, and seized by a flash of inspiration, I reached up to one of her nipples, tweaking it slightly. She gasped, involuntarily, and in that moment of instinctive response, I darted my tongue into her mouth, hoping she would not simply bite down on the offending appendage.
Thankfully, however, she did not; as I cupped her breast, ran my palm over its softness, rubbed my thumb across her nipple, she relaxed into my embrace, flickered her tongue against mine. Finally, she pushed me away, breathing heavily. "Son, we can't. We can't go any further. It would be wrong."
So wrong? I thought, no longer caring about the incest taboo. "Don't ... don't think about it that way, mom. You're such a beautiful woman, and I'm just ... just..."
"A man?" she finished for me primly.
"Yes," I whispered, nuzzling at her cheek and her neck, laying her back down on the now-rumpled bed. "Just a man. I couldn't help it. Can't help it," I corrected myself, kissing her again. This time- this time- she kissed me back, moulding the crimson bow of her mouth to mine. I chanced an exploration with my tongue, and again she acceded to my unspoken demand, opening her mouth. Out tongues twined together, like two snakes locked in mortal... something. Combat? Desire? Who could say which, and did it really matter?
I kissed her again and again, running my hands across her breasts, feeling their weight and rolling her nipples between thumb and forefinger, listening to her thrill to my touch. Daring, I slid one hand down to the furred, V-shaped patch of fur above my mother's groin, sliding down lower and lower. She kept her thighs clamped tightly together, and disappointed, my hand moved back to her breast. I stopped kissing her mouth, moved to her left ear, trailing little pecks down to fer chin, under her jaw, and then gently ran my tongue down the hollow of her throat. She let out an appreciative moan, and as I suckled at her breast, taking a hard nipple into my mouth, working at it with my tongue, I again tried for her sex, questing through that dark and mysterious growth for the ultimate prize.
Again, her thighs remained together, denying me a second time. "Baby, it would be wrong," she whispered.
Frustrated, I moved back to her mouth, kissed her passionately, moaned softly into her mouth, and trailed back down to her breasts, sucking at first one nipple and then the other. And then I realised two things, was struck by two searing epiphanies; not only had she not said no or stop, but she'd been telling me what I would need to do all along, had I the eyes to see it and the ears to hear it.
I kissed my way back up to her mouth, working at her breasts the whole time, caressing their soft undersides, paying attention to all of her immaculate, irresistible bust. And then, I kissed all the way back down to her chest, sucked one nipple into my mouth, and moved my jaw carefully from side to side, rasping my teeth against her. She stiffened, gasped, and I knew I had it, knew what I needed to do to continue seducing my mother.
I trailed my tongue down to the valley between her breasts, stroking her sides, running my hands all over her belly and her breasts, repeating the process to her other nipple. And then, skirting the direct route, I moved my left hand down to her hip, slid it across the skin where her legs joined her trunk, and took her nipple between my teeth again. This time, she moaned, and I understood where I had been going wrong; coming at my mother like a bull at a gate would never work; she needed to be wooed, needed to be bought along gently.
Instead of diving straight at her sex, I ran my hands up and down her thighs, her hips, tangled through her pubic hair, exploring everything except that one place I wanted to feel so badly. The wolf who leaps at his prey will merely startle it; the crafty hunter circles his prey, wears it down, strikes when it could no longer resist. And so I kept suckling at my mother's breasts, kept wearing her down her resolve, stoking her desire, until I felt her hips twitch upwards. Drawing back, I went to her legs, snaked her panties down over het thighs, calves, and feet, before working my way up her legs with my hands, again stopping short of her sex.
I waited patiently until she opened her thighs again, gently placing my left hand on her lower lips. She gasped, shuddered at my touch, but again did not tell me to stop, did not fight me. I ran my fingers up and down that delicate cleft, mindful not to scratch her with my nails. Slowly, slowly, I infiltrated into her sex, as she whimpered and trembled. I felt about for her inner lips, trying to recall everything I'd learned about the female anatomy in biology classes. Faced with the enormity of what was before me, I wished I'd been a better student.
Finally, I could feel her beginning to moisten, dew collecting on her satiny inner lips. I gathered her juices on my fingertips, moved up to rub the hardening nub of her clitoris in slow, gentle circles. She moaned again softly, parting her thighs further still, and I crabbed around to position myself between her now-outstretched legs, where I could work at her more effectively. I kept suckling at her breasts, kissing her mouth every now and then, nuzzling at her ear and the hollow where her neck met her shoulder.
I moved my right hand down, probing gently at her, attempting to slide one finger into her heated core, but she was still unready, still needed more stimulation. I moved it back to her belly, her hips, the underside of her breasts. Finally, my mother became an active participant, her hands tangling in my hair and guiding me first to one nipple, then the other as the fancy took her. She moved her hips slightly, pressing her crotch more firmly against me, and I tried again to slip a finger into her.
This time, she was ready, and I moved carefully, slowly, not wanting to startle her or press too hard. I ran my right hand through her lips, wetting my fingertips, and swapped it with my left, uncramping my wrist and making use of the more heavily lubricated digits to make a second attempt at entering her. This time, she parted without much resistance, and I marvelled as my left index finger slid into my mother's vaginal sheath. I was careful not to scratch her with my nails, as I could only imagine how horrendous an error that would be. As I felt about in her, worming my way into her depths, I noted a strange patch on the upper arch of her tight depths. It felt strangely corrugated, spongy to the touch, and as I ran my finger over it, her hips shuddered.
"Oh, God," she gasped. "Right there, baby. Right there." Glad I was getting something right, I insinuated another finger into her; gripped by her tightness, slickened by her juices, it was pressed behind my first finger, as though I had crossed them for good luck. I giggled inwardly at that; how much luckier could one man get, after all?
But I rubbed insistently at that strange, cobbled spot, working at it as I circled my hand on her clitoris. She writhed slowly, undulating her body, arching her back. I kept my pace slow, savouring the moment, listening as her gasps grew louder, her cries more frequent. Her hands clasped me firmer and firmer to her, then she dragged me up to meet her mouth again, moaning as she first stiffened entirely, then shuddered violently beneath my hands. As a new flood of juices was released- directly onto my fingers? I realised with a sudden burst of pride that I had bought my mother to orgasm.
She still moved slowly, and I withdrew my left hand from her depths, sat back and watched as the last aftershocks of her climax quaked throughout her body. Curious, I sniffed at her heady scent, then carefully touched it to my tongue. She tasted ... unique. Sugary, something like a musk stick, but with a strange, tangy aftertaste. Exotic, I thought; addictive, certainly. I leaned back down, kissed her again, tangled my tongue with hers, then wound my way slowly down her throat, breasts, and belly, lightly kissing her navel as I went. Eager to taste her again, I moved backwards until my mouth was lined up with her pink, glistening lips...