Chapter 2

“You’re not serious?” Mom was aghast. “You don’t really think I’m going to let you smear that mess all over me, do you?”

“But you’re the model. You look at yourself in the mirror as you work. It has to be on you.”

“Why can’t you just paint the statues?”

“Two reasons,” I explained. “First, nobody wants a painted statue.”

“I guess,” Mom concurred. “And second?”

“And second,” I continued, “it’s what you see that counts. You’ll see a different array of light and shadow and that will change what you create. Don’t you see?”

“Yes, Mom,” replied, her fingertip in her mouth, eyes narrowing as she thought. “I do see.”

Mom stood up. “Go ahead, then, paint me,” she said, holding her arms out at her sides.

“Not here, and not wearing all those clothes.”

“Where, then? You can’t put that on me in the house. It will ruin the floor if it spills.”

“Right out there then, on the grass.”

“On the grass? I’m not taking my clothes off in the back yard.”

“Just your top, and your jeans.”

“I don’t need to take off my jeans. I only do women sitting.”

“Yes, but the tops of the thighs and the sides of the hips are showing. They need to be painted too.”

“What if someone comes?”

“Who ever comes here during the day?”

Reluctantly, Mom acquiesced. “Alright, but just down to my bra and panties, or maybe I should put on a bathing suit.”

“No, Mom. We don’t have time. We need to be finished before Dad gets home. You can imagine what he’d say if he knew you were painting yourself.”

Mom walked out to the middle of the yard, kicked off her flip flops and loosened her jeans, then pushed them down her legs. She kicked them off, undoing the buttons on her blouse and letting it fall to the ground as she sank to her knees wearing only a brief pair of panties. Not a thong, mind you, but a nice small triangular pair of black panties with narrow ears that rose up and over the swell of her hips. The fleshy part of her ass bulged out a bit under the edge of the black panties.

“What a woman must suffer for her art,” Mom chuckled. “Come on, get it over with.”

As I started rubbing the mix on Mom’s shoulders and back, she barked, “Ugggh. This better work.”

I lathered the ‘paint’ on Mom’s shoulders, arms, back, stomach and thighs, spreading it slowly with my hands and working it into her soft skin. I left the best parts for last: her breasts, the inside of her thighs, and the bits closest to her panties in the back. I did her breasts first because she was used to me touching her there and was less likely to object to my exploring fingers on that part of her body. By the time I finished coloring her breasts, Mom’s nipples were definitely erect. I moved to her legs but as my fingers pushed the paint between her thighs, Mom objected and closed her legs tight.

“Hey, I don’t need this stuff there.”

“If you don’t, you’ll be disconcerted by the line that shows. You should have it right over the tops of your thighs.”

Mom reluctantly loosened her legs to let me apply the paint. I rubbed it up and down the length of her inner thighs but was careful not to get too close to her panties. I sensed that a boundary existed somewhere around there and that my proximity to it was making Mom a little tense. I definitely didn’t want to spook her so I chickened out on my plans to smear the stuff over Mom’s ass, especially those intriguing bulges at the bottom.

“Ok, you’re ready,” I said, standing back to admire my work.

“Well, now we’ll see,” Mom said, standing.

She walked awkwardly to the studio as if she was covered in mud and I supposed that’s what the stuff felt like as it dried. I stood as quietly as I could, out of Mom’s sight, as she worked on the next piece. She worked quickly and rarely stopped to examine her body. When she did, she struck a pose and merely glanced at the mirror rather than twisting and turning, preening, and peering intently as she usually did. Somehow, she was seeing immediately what she needed to see. When she was done, she started on another one right away.

“Ben. Ben!”

I ran to the bathroom.

“Ben! Come here!”

I opened the door, carefully peeking inside, ready to quickly yank my head out.

“Come in. Quickly. And shut the door.”

I stepped inside. Mom was in the shower, the sliding door half open, her eyes closed and her hair full of shampoo.

“This stuff isn’t coming off and your father will be home soon.”

I surveyed at Mom’s glistening body. She had the stuff mostly off her front and the backs of her legs but it still clung to the backs of her upper arms and all down her back. My eyes drifted to her pelvis, the swell of her tummy and the tuft of hair below it. If she turned, I would see my mother’s pussy.

“Ben. Get in here and scrub my back.”

“What?”

“Get in here. You put it on, now you get it off!”

“Oh, ok.”

I scrambled to get my pants and shirt off.

“Leave those on,” Mom yelled when I pushed my underwear down. “What are you thinking?”

I nodded, acknowledging my silliness. Mom pulled the shower door wide open and I stepped in behind her. She reached behind herself to hand me the soap and a wash cloth. I was staring at Mom’s bare ass, the one I had groped the night before and pounded my poor little dick all night over. Naked, it was even sexier than I had imagined it to be, firm but jiggling, the bulgy cheeks clearly separated. I dearly wanted to cup them in my hands.

“My back, Ben. Scrub my back.”

I started rubbing the soap all over Mom’s back and following it with the washcloth, working it in hard. The paint began to come off. When I got her back done, I searched out bits behind her arms and beside her breasts that she had missed. Mom had calmed down quite a bit when she realized the stuff was coming off and stood with both arms stretched up on the end of the shower wall to brace herself against my rubbing hands. Her head turned when they slid below her back and onto her slippery buttocks.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

“Some of the paint dripped down. You’ve got some here and here,” I said, touching the top of her bum just above her crack and the bottom of each cheek, the parts that would have been above and below her panties.

“Really? How on earth did that happen?” Mom asked, craning her neck to see but unable to.

“I don’t know,” I replied, scratching at the area just above her crack, my scraping fingertip managing to slip into her delightful crevice. “Should I get it?”

“Hurry then,” Mom said. “Dad will be home soon.”

I moved down to scratch at the fleshy bottom of Mom’s cheeks. I was in my glory, rubbing away at Mom’s fantastic butt, my head lowered to see what I was doing. There was, of course, no paint there. Employing both hands in the interest of getting the job done faster, I managed to pull Mom’s cheeks apart to observe her crinkly bottom hole. Of course, the pulpy lips below divided by her furry slit didn’t escape my attention either. If wasn’t long before Mom had had enough because she pushed herself away from the wall and abruptly shut off the shower.

Stepping out, she said, “I’ll get the rest later. Your father will be here any minute now.”

“I managed to get it all,” I said, in case she examined herself in her bedroom and found no paint on her butt.

“Good, good,” Mom replied, toweling herself hurriedly. “You better get to your room.” She glanced at me as she rubbed herself and I noticed that her eyes were drawn to my soaking wet underwear and the swollen cock they contained. “Maybe you should just get back in the shower,” she grinned, and left.

I did as Mom suggested. Of course, I couldn’t leave my cock alone. It was empty when I was done five minutes later and pictures of Mom’s wet cheeks were still floating in front of my closed eyes.

Mom didn’t come down that night. I waited for hours but finally went to bed but I couldn’t sleep. I checked the computer and found several emails requesting more information about the nude statues and their prices which I hadn’t put in because I didn’t know what was appropriate. I was about to answer when one email in particular caught my eye, offering five thousand dollars in the subject line for a commissioned work. The message body promised more to follow if they liked the first one.

Naturally, I read that email with great interest. They — it appeared to be from a man and a women — had read the bio of Mom that I had put up in an ‘About the Sculptress’ page, noting her recent cancer scare. They wanted to know if Mom would do a commissioned work with the woman lying down rather than sitting. I responded to the email saying that we were open to the idea. A response came back within minutes when I was in the middle of responding to a price request. I left that message to read the response.

Are you the Sculptress?

No. I’m her son.

The response was immediate.

Her son. How very nice to meet you. Will your mother do the piece we’ve requested and would she be interested in further requests? We’re willing to pay more.

I’m sure she will. She is very much the artist and is interested in the piece more than the money. That’s why she lets me look after the business part. My I ask how much more?

If we like the first, then we’re thinking $10,000 per piece. Does that sound reasonable to you?

What kind of pieces did you have in mind?

I was so excited I could hardly type. I was relieved this exchange wasn’t taking place face to face. I couldn’t have kept my cool if it was.

Several in the prone position and perhaps a few more sitting or lying with a young man son nearby.

The latter would be much more work.

We’re willing to offer more for those.

If my mother is willing, will you put down a deposit?

We’ll pay up front for the first piece. Please send us the details so we can wire the money to your account.

I couldn’t believe it. I replied that I would send the details ASAP and then responded to the other requests saying that the prices would be posted soon. I wanted to get Mom to see this right away but it was after midnight. I had a heck of a time getting to sleep. I was so worked up, I didn’t even beat off.

I was up early the next day. Dad and Mom were still finishing their breakfast. Mom could see that I was excited but Dad was oblivious. I didn’t say anything because I wanted to let Mom know first and let her decide what to say to my father. I could hardly wait for him to leave and Mom noticed my agitated state.

Finally, Mom accompanied Dad to the door, dressed in a white blouse and a black, pleated skirt. She kissed him goodbye, stood at the door until he got in his car, then waved as he backed out of the driveway. Closing the door, Mom turned and walked back toward the kitchen, already unbuttoning her blouse as she came.

“What’s up mister? Why are you so antsy?” she smiled as she entered the kitchen, the buttons already undone almost to the waist of her skirt. Mom was pulling the blouse up, untucking it from the skirt but stopped, peering at my face. “What? What is it?”

“You won’t believe it, Mom. Some couple wants to commission a statue ... for five grand!”

“What? You’re joking?”

“Nope, I kid you not.”

I got up and went to Mom. Instead of hugging her, I brushed her stilled hands aside and grasped her blouse, pulling it up out of her skirt to finish the job for her.

“You’re really serious, aren’t you?”

“I am,” I laughed. “I’m really, really serious.”

I struggled and failed to keep a straight face. What I didn’t fail at was undoing the remaining buttons on Mom’s blouse. She didn’t seem to even notice what I was doing, even when I pulled her blouse apart to reveal her naked breasts and started pushing it off her shoulders.

“What do they want?” Mom asked, automatically holding her arms out from her sides to make it easier for me to strip off the long-sleeved blouse.

I got it off one hand but it hung up on the other. I ignored it and grasped her breasts in both hands.

“I told you these, I mean they, would sell.”

Mom was oblivious to my caressing hands.

“When do they need it?”

“When you’re done. It’s at your discretion.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“You’re a Sculptress, Mom. You’ve really done it.”

“With you’re help. You’re the one that made it happen.”

Mom threw her hands around my neck and hugged me hard, almost dislodging my hands but I managed to retain my grip.

“You wonderful, wonderful boy. You’ve given me a new career.”

Mom kissed me, full on the mouth.

I was stunned. So stunned, I forgot her tits and actually let them go. Mom was giddy with laughter. I slipped my hands around her shoulders and kissed her back. We broke apart and laughed together. My arms slid down to the small of her back and I kissed her again. The laugh between was short-lived. Mom’s arms tightened around my neck and we kissed again. This time, Mom really kissed me, her lips mashing against mine for several long seconds before her tongue slipped into my mouth. I moved my hands around to her front to reclaim her tits, sucking her tongue deeper into my mouth. Mine dueled with hers and finally pushed it back until it retreated to its home, closely chased my mine invading her own mouth. We were gasping for air when we finished. Mom’s hands slid from my shoulders and she stepped back.

“Whew,” Mom sighed. “I guess we got a little carried away.”

“We had a good excuse,” I panted.

“I suppose. I guess artists sometimes let their emotions get the better of themselves,” Mom responded, turning away, pulling the blouse off her wrist and tossing it onto a chair. “We’d better finish our breakfast, we’ve got painting and sculpting to do.”

As we finished breakfast, I filled Mom in on the email exchange. I could see her mind drifting off to plan the new sculptures as I spoke. As I suspected, the money, fantastic as is was, was secondary to the fact that someone wanted her work. As her mind toiled, I could have slapped myself to see if I was really awake and not dreaming. I mean, I was sitting at the breakfast table with my sexy mother, dressed in a skirt with her breasts nonchalantly on full display without a hint of discomfort on her part.

We walked together into the yard but Mom stopped in the middle of the grass.

“I guess you better paint me,” she said, indicating with her flapping hand that I should fetch the paint.

I returned quickly to find Mom still standing where I had left her. When she saw me, she smiled and reached down and slid the zipper down the side of her hip, then kinked it up and back, letting the skirt fall of its own accord. Mom kicked it away several feet, then turned around and kneeled on the grass wearing only her panties. I went to her and sank to my knees behind her.

“I guess you’d better paint all of me,” she instructed in a rather throaty voice.

I splashed the paint on Mom’s back and spread it around, covering her arms and shoulders and even the back of her thighs and her calves. When I reached around to do her front, and Mom didn’t object, I concentrated on her breasts, kneading and stroking them for long minutes, massaging and flicking her nipples, once even tugging them up until they dropped from the weight of their fleshy substrate.

The two pieces Mom had done the day before were really superb and I really thought it was due to the paint making the contours of her body more apparent to her as she worked. After all, she had worked quickly with the briefest of glances at her body in the mirror, but I had now changed my mind. I now believed the superior work was due to Mom’s state of arousal and I was going to make sure she was aroused for this first commissioned piece of work. I think Mom was aware of it too, at least at some level, when I thought about the strength of her conviction that it was me that had made it happen. I had thought she was referring to the website but now I think she was voicing her own conviction and she, more than anyone, should know what was driving her.

I dipped my hand in the paint bucket and, with my left lightly stroking Mom’s throat, I splashed the right on her belly, moving the paint slowly around in an ever widening circle. Again, I dipped my hand and spread the paint everywhere, even onto Mom’s panties. Dipping my hand in again, I dropped it onto Mom’s thighs which parted to give me access to the inside of her legs. My lips dropped onto Mom’s neck and I nibbled the crook as my hand languidly pushed the paint deep between her legs, scraping her panties on each upstroke.

I looked at Mom’s eyes and was pleased to see they were shut, a wanton expression covering her face. Dipping my hand again, I surprised her by rubbing it onto her bottom, covering her cheeks and the panties. She slumped back against me so I curled my left arm around her torso beneath her breasts to pull her up on her knees. I dipped my hand again and applied a liberal quantity of paint to Mom’s bottom again, this time working it between her legs from behind. I wasn’t shy about rubbing my hand up her center, letting my fingers push into the crevice dividing her cheeks. The next handful went directly on the front of Mom’s panties and my mouth covered her ear, the tip of my tongue swirling slowly around its rim, then tasting the center. When the first low moan escaped Mom’s lips, I pushed her forward onto the grass.

Mom lay still where she had landed. My eyes drinking in her painted body. It was a surreal, extremely erotic sight. I leaned forward and pushed the back of her right knee, moving it up until her leg was bent at almost ninety degrees. Observing her position critically, I moved her left leg up too but not as much. After a brief pause, I pulled on Mom’s right shoulder until her upper body was almost perpendicular to the grass. Gently, I pried her face up so it looked like she was trying to look back, waiting expectantly for someone behind her, except her eyes were closed. Almost satisfied, but not quite. I adjusted Mom’s hips so they tilted forward slightly but her ass pushed up and back. For the final touch, I moved Mom’s knees together and aligned her lower legs so they matched, one on the other, with one foot curling over the other.

Perfect. A woman waiting expectantly for her lover. Apprehensive, yet offering him everything, from behind.

I laid down behind Mom, snuggling up to her and fitting myself around her body, the lump in my shorts just barely touching the triangle below her painted panties. As I leaned over to whisper in her ear, my bulge pressed into that sacred spot.

“You’ve got work to do,” I whispered thickly into her wet ear.

I stood and dragged Mom to her feet.

I kept my distance, quietly watching Mom as she worked feverishly for the next few hours. She worked right through lunch, though I set a plate of fresh fruits and vegetables nearby. She finished the first statue, lying on its side, twisting up to look at the sky, the pert upper breast leaping from its chest as if it wanted to launch itself up to meet the target of its gaze. The second was finished in the middle of the afternoon. It, too, was lying on its side, though turned down toward the earth, its prominent, naked bottom pushing up as if unashamed of the heathen triangle it blatantly offered.

When she was done, Mom looked vacantly about, almost immediately noticing the food. She devoured it ravenously, the speed with which she ate forcing juice from the oranges and tomatoes spilling over her chin. She didn’t drink until the food was gone and then she gulped it down in one go. Then, she slumped in her seat before getting up and tottering like an old woman. I stepped quickly forward and grabbed her, fearing that she was about to fall. I carried her in my arms, upstairs, to the bathroom and the shower. There, I pulled the panties down and, God help me, kissed each bare cheek as I pushed the panties down her legs and off her feet.

As she stood in the shower, leaning against the wall, letting the water run over her back, I undressed ... completely. Mom was watching me with listless eyes but they still tracked my underwear being dragged down to my feet and off ... then rose to follow the spring of my cock. I stepped into the shower behind her, soap in one hand and a washcloth in the other. I set to work, wiping away the paint and the stress.

I cleaned her well and massaged her body as I went, interested more in relaxing than caressing. Yes, I took liberty in touching every part of her body but I didn’t try to rub my hard cock on her though my tip did accidently bump into her bum several times. I don’t know how but I resisted the urge to push it between her legs. She was susceptible and I didn’t want to take advantage. I let her know that I loved her in the tender way I touched her, that I was fascinated with her beauty in body and soul, but most of all, just that I loved her.

We didn’t say a word to my father about the emails or the new sculptures.

Mom didn’t come downstairs again that night either. Perhaps the day’s events had taken too great a toll.

I was up early again the next day, eager to see her. Mom wore a simple white blouse, braless again, and a dark, navy blue skirt with intricate designs sketched in thin white lines. The thin cotton skirt swirled about her legs as she walked but when she returned from waving goodbye to Dad it was her blouse that attracted my attention. It was fully buttoned and Mom didn’t give any indication that she was going to unbutton it as she walked unsmiling toward me and stopped in front of my chair.

I can’t describe the thrill that spread through my chest when, once there, a smile appeared and Mom started to undo her blouse. Slowly, very slowly. I didn’t say a word as I craned my neck to see and neither did she. The white blouse was dropped carelessly and my eyes followed it to the floor despite the fact that Mom wasn’t wearing a bra. Her fingers were already sliding the zipper down on the navy blue skirt and my attention focused there, intent on the bare skin being exposed as Mom slowly lowered it over her hips. The depression between hipbone and tummy was revealed only to be hidden by the unfortunate appearance of panties but, as the skirt continued its fall, Mom’s flesh, in the form of soft, white thighs, reappeared. The skirt passed her knees and Mom stepped carefully out of it before dropping it onto the blouse. Two pieces of clothing. Only white panties were left. Mom leaned over me to brace her hands against the wall behind my head.

“I don’t want to get paint on these. I had to throw the black ones out yesterday.”

Mom waited, still smiling, but didn’t say anything more. Her words sank in and I reached out with both hands to tug the panties down her hips. They caught briefly on the jutting swells of her behind, then snapped down to the base of her ass and the thickness of her thighs. Her pussy was bare, a neatly trimmed slot barely covering the puffy lips. I savored its musky aroma. Slowly, I tugged the panties further, in no hurry, leaning closer to Mom the farther I pushed them down her legs. When they were near her feet, my face was so close I could have stuck out my tongue and tasted her. Mom stepped out of the panties and I dropped them where they were on the floor.