Chapter 4

The next morning Mom filled my plate with pancakes before serving Dad and my glass was filled with juice before his coffee was served. Dad didn’t notice but I did. Mom didn’t speak to me any differently, nor were her interactions abnormal, other than serving me first. Yet, there was something that made me hyper aware of her. It was a sexual awareness so intense it felt like a physical presence but Mom hadn’t made any overt movements nor did she strike any suggestive poses. If a camera had recorded the scene, I’m sure there would have been no visual evidence of inappropriate behavior. But something had triggered my awareness and, even though I couldn’t put my finger on it, I knew it was there. Since I couldn’t point to anything specific, I assumed it was simply a side-effect of the afterglow from Mom’s visit the previous evening and possibly her subliminal appreciation of my part in making it happen, that is, making myself scarce.

After Dad left Mom went upstairs. Fifteen minutes later she was back, wearing a different outfit. Though subdued, it modeled her figure very well and its rather conservative lines heightened rather than diminished her sexuality. I knew then that Mom knew I was aware that she was having an affair and that even though my tacit support wasn’t openly acknowledged, it was appreciated. It was interesting that the way Mom chose to show her appreciation was to dress nicely, even seductively, for me. Besides looking physically attractive, Mom appeared fresh-faced, alive, and full of zest.

“You look very nice, Mom. Are you going somewhere special?”

“Just out with some friends for lunch and a little shopping.”

“Oh. Well, have a good time.”

“I will, and speaking of that, are you going out again tonight?”

I didn’t hesitate, “Yes,” I replied.

“Oh, that’s too bad. I was hoping you could help your father so he could get away to come home earlier tonight.”

“Sorry Mom.”

She smiled. “Not to worry. He might be able to get away. He said he’d try anyway.”

That night, after our first fuck, which I tried to make tender and gentle, and failed again due to Mom’s urging, I pushed her legs up and bent then back onto her chest before entering her for a second fuck. I straddled her haunches and dug in deep, triggering an answering grunt that wasn’t entirely unappreciative.

“Oohhh, you’re so big tonight,” she cooed.

I loved that Mom said that, and I loved the way her body bounced off the bed after we had struck our rhythm, impaling her pussy upon my cock, and I loved the sound of our thighs slapping so noisily together they nearly drowned out our love sounds.

The third fuck was slow and gentle, a fuck both intense and restrained, full of tender touches and kissing, a fuck that really was making love and, when I finally reached orgasm, emptying my milk into Mom’s womb was an extended affair.

That was probably the best Saturday night of my life.

The next day was Sunday so there was no opportunity substitute myself for a supposed lover’s visit since the store was closed. However, Mom was especially attentive to me all morning and when she asked me to drive her to the mall to do some shopping I agreed right away although there wasn’t anything wrong with her car. In fact, we drove there in it.

I had thought Mom was going grocery shopping and wanted help carrying the bags so when she drove past the grocery store I thought she just wanted to get the food last, which made sense. Mom browsed through a ton of stores. Normally, I would have been quite impatient but I simply tagged along, happy to be with her. I had ample opportunity, toddling along behind, to watch Mom’s supple figure moving enticingly under her summer dress.

Mom browsed through several clothing stores but only tried on two things, a brown dress and a navy blue skirt. She emerged from the dressing room in the dress to check herself out in the mirror, preened about without comment and returned, presumably to try on the skirt next. A minute later, Mom called me to the fitting room door and, after asking if anyone was out there but me and hearing my negative reply, she opened the door.

“What do you think? Is it nice?”

Mom had replaced the dress with the navy blue skirt and was wearing only a bra on top. I guess since Mom had worn a dress into the store, she couldn’t come out to see what it looked like in the mirror. I was tongue-tied but Mom ignored my predicament, twisting her hips this way and that to model the skirt.

“How does it hang?” she asked, turning half around.

Recovering quickly, I gave serious attention to the way the skirt hung over Mom’s behind and said it looked great.

“Do you think I should get it?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Mom closed the door. She bought the skirt but not the dress and we continued shopping. The funny thing was, although the incident could be seen as provocative it could also be interpreted as completely innocent. I had seen Mom in her bra before and had certainly seen her often in two-piece bathing suits. However, given what had been going on in our house, I interpreted the incident as anything but innocent which both thrilled and unnerved me. It added weight to my theory that Mom’s interludes had put her in a heightened state of sexuality and thus she hadn’t given a second thought to the fact that she wasn’t wearing a blouse when she asked me about the skirt. It was, in fact, an innocent act.

My thoughts, however, were anything but. I racked my brain for an excuse to be with Mom that night but came up empty. I may have been distracted by the expanse of crossed leg that Mom managed to display as sipped her coffee when we stopped to have a snack. I was the only one able to witness the show except for the one man who walked by us to use the washroom. He made it quite obvious that turning his head was well worth the effort. Mom didn’t look at him but smiled at me when he looked at her. It sent my insides aflutter that Mom knew what she was doing, was aware of the effect it had on the man, and wasn’t bothered that I witnessed it. Nor did she cover up her legs then or afterwards.

We visited a few more stores and then returned to the car. Mom waited for me to open the door for her instead of simply unlocking it remotely with the key chain. I clued in after a few seconds and ran around to let her in and was glad I did when she treated me to a wonderful look at her thighs as she dipped to get into the car. Again, I asked myself if that was done on purpose or if it was simply unavoidable when getting into a car in a tight dress. I hadn’t been on that side of the car when we left the house, so I didn’t know. I drove around to the grocery store but Mom said she was tired of shopping and wanted to go home.

That night, Mom wore her new skirt. We sat for quite a while watching TV while Dad read before Mom switched to a book too. Another long period went by before Mom changed the position of her legs and folded them underneath herself, stretching her left foot out on the couch toward me. Even though I was into one of my favorite shows, I was aware of its proximity. It stopped just short of my leg but a moment or two later, Mom’s foot poked me just above the knee. I reached out to still her annoying foot.

I didn’t intend to rub her foot and wasn’t aware of quite when I started. I happened to notice during a commercial when I looked down to see my fingers wrapped around the top of Mom’s foot and my thumb rubbing her instep in a small circle. As I watched, my thumb began scratching a firmer path the length of Mom’s foot. This continued for several minutes until Mom changed pages and lifted the book from her lap as she shifted her weight to make herself more comfortable. Although she pulled her foot away to do this, it soon returned and shortly thereafter, I resumed my deliberate massage of her sole.

Mom’s toes started scratching the side of my leg. Just once at first and then again a minute later. I kept rubbing her foot and her toes scratched my leg more often. After a bit, I looked at Mom, thinking she might be trying to catch my attention without saying anything, but she was intently focused on her book. Mine, however, became riveted on Mom’s skirt, or rather, where it should have been. The wide hem of the pleated skirt had swept up onto Mom’s leg, exposing almost the entire expanse of the underside of her thigh though the top, visible from Dad’s perspective, was properly covered.

I couldn’t believe it. Mom’s toes scratched my leg again and I was convinced she had both uncovered her thigh and poked me on purpose but the way she continued reading, oblivious of all around her, produced doubts and I became convinced it was simply another innocent accident, just like the incident in the dressing room. I extended the reach of my thumb to tickle the underside of Mom’s toes and she shifted her leg slightly so that her thigh twisted up, exposing even more leg and even providing a glimpse of her panties.

It must have been fifteen minutes later that I became aware of Mom looking at me. I raised my eyes to meet hers, too far gone to be self-conscious about being caught in my obvious adoration. Mom was smiling, not a teasing smile, but one that was faint and hard to interpret.

“Would you like some tea and cookies for a snack?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

Mom’s smile widened and she put her book on the arm of the couch. As she got up the skirt fell over her legs and I was left wondering if the whole incident had even happened, a raging boner the only evidence that it really had. Nothing else happened that night. When Mom returned with tea and snacks, she didn’t lift her foot back onto the couch and, consequently, there was no further display of her leg.

The next day Mom was less attentive to me, switching her appreciation to Dad who arrived downstairs sooner than me. This made me think that I was right in believing her previous consideration was the result of heightened sexual awareness generated from her lover’s visits, that the attention to me or to Dad was the result of guilt, and the target was simply whoever was nearest at the time.

That morning I helped Mom with the grocery shopping and was treated to a leggy display both getting in and out of the car. After lunch at home I told Mom I had to go out for the afternoon. I parked the car in the usual place and sneaked into my room, undressed, and crept down the hall to peek into Mom’s room.

She was lying on her back again but this time was naked except for the sleeping mask. Approaching confidently without fear that Mom would open her eyes, I knelt on the floor at the end of the bed. There, I breathed quietly on the soles of Mom’s feet for a couple of minutes. Her breath immediately became more shallow, as if anticipating an imminent action and her toes, now painted in a coral color, curled in appreciation. Delicately, I stretched out my tongue and traced the sole of her right foot from heel to toes and then ran the tip sideways along the crease at the base of her toes.

Knowing Mom expected me to repeat the caress on the other foot, I stood, leaned over, and kissed the inside of Mom’s left leg just below the knee. She moved her knees apart in surprise and I used the opportunity to shift her feet wider apart. Lowering my face close to her pelvis, I breathed on Mom’s pussy the same way I had breathed on her foot.

This time, I made Mom wait longer before flicking my tongue out to find and trace the groove between her lips, then flicked sideways several times before piercing through to her inner sanctum. Mom opened her legs wider in anticipation of an imminent munching episode but instead I crawled over her and held myself in push-up ready stance, hovering over the full length of Mom’s body.

I lowered myself until my chest was brushing Mom’s nipples and arched my back so the tip of my cock dangled onto her mound. Holding myself there was difficult but Mom eventually realized I was waiting for her to react. Lifting her ass, Mom searched for and found my cock with her open slit and pushed until the head slipped into her cunt.

Still, I held my ground. Slowly, Mom starting fucking, pushing her hips up until my entire shaft was embedded within her. I held my ground and Mom started flexing her hips up and down in a steady rhythm. Her hands soon flattened under her ass, palms up, to assist her lift. We fucked like that until we were both gasping with pleasure and Mom additionally with effort.

At last, I took pity on her, scooped her legs up by threading my elbows under her knees and pushed them back onto her chest, then started a very serious, pounding fuck. Mom was very wet and the lovely sound of wet, slapping flesh filled the room. When I came, I remained deep within Mom’s pussy and, for her part, she twisted around until she wrung every drop out of me. I collapsed on top of her and lay still, panting, until I could breathe normally. We fucked again about half an hour later and then I left.

Every day that week, I visited Mom in the afternoon for similar fucks and twice, on Thursday and Friday, I also visited her at night, taking her twice from behind. I wasn’t so surprised by my stamina, having masturbated nightly for years, but I was by Mom’s. I read up on it on the Internet and found that it wasn’t abnormal for a mature woman to be capable of having sex daily, especially if she hadn’t been very active for a long period.

Strangely, Mom reverted to not paying much attention to me, or to Dad, and the foot game was not re-enacted.

On Saturday afternoon, I visited Mom again. I hadn’t expected to have the opportunity until the evening but Mom took the lead.

“I’m feeling a little tired, Rob. I think I’ll go upstairs for a nap,” she announced.

“Oh, sure, okay Mom,” I responded.

Mom turned half way up the stairs. “If your father comes home, could let him know I’m having a nap?”

“Uh, I’m going out Mom. Maybe I’ll go down to the store to see if I can help out.”

“Oh. Would you mind leaving him a note then in case he misses you?”