Chapter 2

Mom didn’t work the next day. The leather outfit was replaced by a loosely pleated skirt and one of the favored soft turtleneck tops surprisingly covered by a cardigan sweater that didn’t match. I arrived home before Dad and Mom met me by the door. She waited until I had hung up my coat and then slapped me hard in the face.

“Ow, Mom. What was that for?”

The reply was stern. “You know very well.”

I started to protest my innocence but Mom turned on her heel and walked away with a no nonsense gait. I decided to cut my losses and beat it upstairs. I was quite mollified but within fifteen minutes, thinking about what had happened, my emotional state changed to relief and gratitude. If that was all that was going to happen, it wasn’t so bad. In fact, I had come out ahead, way ahead. Maybe I wouldn’t be allowed to do what I did again, but I had a great memory to forever cherish.

Nevertheless, I went downstairs with some trepidation, worried that Mom’s slap was just the start of my punishment. Was she going to tell Dad? Thankfully, that worry was misplaced. Except for Mom’s cool attitude toward me, dinner was the usual affair. Not a word was spoken or a hint offered about my transgressions but I still felt uncomfortable and somewhat anxious.

When I had finished eating, I retreated to my room because I wan’t able to stay near Mom without staring at her. Unable to study, or even concentrate on a game, I wandered back downstairs. I looked in Mom’s room as I passed by even though I was pretty sure there wouldn’t be any further opportunities to see Mom removing her stockings. I proceeded downstairs knowing that I wanted to be near her anyway, even if she wasn’t wearing a short skirt and was mad at me. I had become entranced with my mother.

Dad and Mom were sitting exactly as they had been the night before except Mom was reading a book too, even though the TV was on. I sat down next to Mom. Nobody acknowledged my entrance. Had they been talking about what had happened in private? Worry sank from my head into the pit of my stomach. I felt like running away but needed to stay to see if I could pick up any hints from Dad.

I picked up the remote which was lying on the couch beside Mom and browsed the channel guide until I found another old movie, one that would be quiet and as undisturbing as possible. I looked at Mom’s legs, covered by the skirt that reached almost to her knees and her breasts, or where they would have been if they hadn’t been covered by that ugly sweater. I think Mom was aware of my attention but was studiously ignoring me, concentrating on her book almost as much as Dad did on his.

Ten minutes dragged by without a single glance my way from either Mom or Dad. On Dad’s part, that meant nothing. I already knew Mom was mad so that didn’t mean much either. I was about to return to my room when I noticed Mom’s hand slip under the sweater on the side closest to me to scratch an itch. A moment later, her hand returned, and then again a moment after that. This time, Mom itched so hard that the sweater fell off her shoulder and to her side. I noticed immediately that the material of the turtleneck, soft as it was, settled very closely over Mom’s breast, beautifully molding its sculptured, braless form.

All motivation to leave dissipated. Instead, I watched Mom’s breast jostle about with each breath for the next three or four minutes, especially where her nipple protruded under the white turtleneck. The more I watched, the better defined it seemed to become and I wondered if that was because Mom was breathing a little faster and thus stretching the material more. Was she reading a racy book? I strained to see the title but couldn’t.

Mom suddenly raised her eyes from her book and looked at my father.

“Do you want some hot chocolate?” she asked him.

Dad looked up and shook his head, then returned immediately to his book.

“Well, I do,” Mom said. Like Dad, she returned to her book, her eyes flicking from side to side as she read. She turned the page and spoke to me without looking.

“Why don’t you make some hot chocolate for us?”

I looked at Mom for a moment without responding, not quite understanding her simple request. Then, I shook my head and got up. In the kitchen, there were two mugs sitting beside the kettle which was already full of water. I depressed the switch and waited for the water to boil. It seemed to take forever and almost that long for me to realize that I didn’t want the hot chocolate to be too hot. I flicked the switch up prematurely and poured the water onto the mix already in the mugs, stirred, and carried them into the family room.

Mom and Dad were still reading but I almost spilled the hot chocolate when I got close enough to see that Mom’s skirt had slid down her legs and had bunched up on her lap. I handed her a mug and sat down, careful not to spill. Quickly, I took a sip and chastised myself for filling my mug so full.

I looked at Mom. She was holding the mug in her left hand and the book in her right, extended along the arm of the loveseat. The skirt had fallen even further up Mom’s thighs which made me lurch inside my pants. Why would she present such an inviting picture if she didn’t want to play? Her breast, seeming firmer than ever, did nothing to dispel my new theory. Mom was inviding me to play.

Sipping my hot chocolate, I stared at the TV, seeing nothing, my right hand creeping along the seat until it could grasp Mom’s skirt. I was scared yet determined. I tugged and the skirt slid an inch further down Mom’s thighs. I expected a slap or at least a quiet rebuke muttered under her breath but Mom continued reading as if nothing had happened. Encouraged, but still expecting a slap, I tugged again, gaining another inch. Mom casually took a sip of her hot chocolate so, now unafraid, I executed a third, harder tug, gaining almost two inches.

Mom’s skirt was now almost down to her panties. Her thighs, thickening until they met, looked so fucking hot I wished I could bury my face between them, slathering my tongue up to her panties. Her white panties. Somehow, I just knew she would be wearing white.

I took another sip of hot chocolate. It wasn’t too hot. Dipping my finger into the mug, I moved to hover it over Mom’s legs but her hand stopped me. She had put her mug down without me even noticing and laid it on my wrist, like she had last night, stopping me cold. It wasn’t a slap but it was just as effective.

I tried to look into Mom’s eyes but she was still reading. I tried to move my hand but she held it firmly in place. Why? Was this a just big tease to put me in my place? I didn’t dare move for fear of alerting my father. Her hand relaxed and I started to move but she gripped me again, very tight. I relaxed my hand. Satisfied, Mom moved hers away.

Ok, I would take my punishment like a man. I tried to look away but couldn’t stop admiring her legs. They were so wonderfully sculptured and sexy. Despite the comeuppance, my cock throbbed against the mug between my legs. Mom stretched, slightly arching her back, thrusting a breast and its stiff nipple into the soft turtleneck. I wanted to suck it but knew I couldn’t. That’s what she’s telling me, I thought, what she’s told every man that admired her so boldly. You can look but you can’t touch and you definitely can’t have it.

Except for that one guy. I was sure of that. That one guy, Guido, he knew what to do and he got it. No more games, I thought. Go big or go home.

Mom was sliding her skirt up her legs to her knees. She had registered my desire, put it where it belonged, and was now covering up. I had to do something, now, or forever lose my chance to become Guido.

On impulse, I took a pen from my shirt pocket and slowly unscrewed it, pulling the guts out and discarding everything but the bottom. I knew Mom was aware of what I was doing despite acting like I wasn’t there. Holding the bottom of the pen above my mug, I let it drop into the hot chocolate. Mom’s left eye flickered. Picking the pen up, I quickly put my pinky at the bottom to cover the hole where the refill normally peaked out and my thumb on the top. I now held a small cylinder full of hot chocolate.

I slid my right hand across the seat to Mom’s side and once again tugged on her skirt. One, two ... Mom tried to grab my hand but missed ... a third tug and another missed grab, then the last pull and Mom’s legs were exposed again. She turned to look at me, her eyes angry and piercing. I didn’t avoid them. For once in my life, I was defiant, holding her gaze as I swung my other hand over Mom’s thighs. Her eyes followed, looking at the pen, intrigued and confused. I pulled my pinky away and the hot chocolate started dripping from the bottom of the pen.

Mom stared, mesmerized by the pen and its dripping contents.

Splat ... splat ... splat.

Her head tilted and she stared at her thighs, at the hot chocolate trickling down her legs and disappearing under the skirt.

Oh my god, she was pulling her skirt back to see where the hot chocolae had gone. Down, bit by bit, more, until, there, her panties peeked through, white just like I knew they’d be ... another tug and more panty was exposed, another tug. Jeez, they were almost completely showing. Mom smiled, a very faint smile, and turned her head back to the book she still held in her hand.

I looked at Mom’s white panties and dipped the pen into the mug to fill it again. When I moved my hand above Mom’s legs, despite studiously ignoring me, Mom shifted her hand to keep the book between Dad and the pen. I released the next batch and saw Mom’s breast heave as she sucked in her breath.

Falling as more of a stream than a series of drops, the hot chocolate quickly ran down Mom’s leg, threading an almost straight curve directly to the white panties. I withdrew my hand to fill the pen again and slowly, so as not to attract Dad’s attention, repositioned my hand over Mom’s legs.

This time, I kept my thumb partially over the top of the pen, urging the hot chocolate out a drop at a time and moving its trajectory closer toward the juncture of Mom’s legs, drip by drip, until one finally fell directly onto her panties.

Splot!

Mom gritted her teeth. That reaction was all I needed. I released another.

Splot ... And another ... splot ... and another ... splot!

Each drop spread as it hit, staining Mom’s white panties brown. The panties were made of a cotton that, now wet in spots, showed more detail of what was underneath than when it was dry, kind of like a wet t-shirt. I returned with a full penload and dripped more hot chocolate, this time working around a central wet spot in a circle, extending the area of detail.

Mom had very little hair, if any. Her pussy could have been bald as far as I could see. My cock hurt as it tried to straighten in my jeans. The hot chocolate changed its tenor as Mom’s panties lost their tightness ... splat ... splat ... splat, falling on already wet cotton. Her panties were now so wet the form of her pussy was becoming well defined, revealing the crease between her lips and a protruding knob at the top. I filled the dropper and directed a stream of single drops directly onto that little button. Mom’s mouth opened in silent grimace and the hand holding the book quivered.

I returned for more but the mug was empty. Picking it up in my pen hand, I leaned across Mom and set the mug quietly on the end table, my left hand, under the cover of my chest, finding and fondling Mom’s breast. I took full possession of her tit, molding my fingers around its full extent, brushing her nipple and opening two fingers to squeeze it tightly between. I paused as long as I reasonably could, longer in fact, but finally had to withdraw, releasing Mom’s tit as I fell back to sit beside her again.

Mom’s eyes had glazed over. I don’t think she had expected me to grab her tit, especially with Dad right there. I grasped her skirt and tugged it up to cover her panties. As if suddenly coming to her senses, Mom pulled it the rest of the way up her legs. Shortly after that, she got up, straightened her sweater, and leaned over to kiss Dad goodnight. I followed soon after.

The next day was a work day. Mom was gone when I got up, which was unusual since she didn’t work until ten. She was home before me and I braced myself for a slap and more when I walked through the door. Sure enough, Mom was waiting. Nervously, I hung up my coat and faced her, ready for my punishment but she turned and walked into the kitchen.

“I made some cookies,” she said. “They’re fresh out of the oven.”

I followed, admiring her stunning legs and, remembering what the little leather skirt covered, started to get very hard. I walked over to the sink and leaned back as Mom put on a pair of oven mitts and bent over to get the cookies out. This was too good to be true. Mom was being pleasant to me and giving me quite a show, bending over lower than necessary, allowing her skirt to ride up with the hem stretched tightly across the back of her thighs just underneath her bum. For some reason, the cookie sheet wouldn’t come out easily and Mom struggled to get it out. I smiled. This really was great.

Mom stood up, holding the cookie sheet in one hand, lifting the oven door up with the other and bumped the oven door shut with her hip. Just then, I heard Dad’s car coming into the driveway. Shit! Motherfucking shit. Why did he have to come home early?

I didn’t have much time, so when Mom turned around to offer me a hot cookie, I accepted it with a shit-eating grin.

“What are you grinning at?” Mom asked. The tone of her voice should have been a warning.

“Nothing,” I cracked in a smart-ass manner.

Crack! My head jerked completely sideways, almost turning backwards.

“Owwww,” I cried, really meaning it.

“You keep your eyes to yourself, Mister.”

The door opened.

“Hi. I’m home,” Dad yelled.

Mom replied, “We’re in the kitchen. Come and get a cookie, dear.”

She glared at me while Dad hung up his coat but as soon as he entered the kitchen her eyes softened and she cooed, “They’re good, aren’t they, Rob?”

I turned my face away to hide the red mark where Mom had slapped me.

“Yeah, they’re great. Did Maria wash my blue jeans?” I shuffled over to the stairs and went downstairs to the laundry room, needing to hide the hardon that, despite the slap, refused to die.

After dinner, Mom made a point of leaning with her back to the arm of the loveseat, ostensibly to shed more light onto her book, but I knew better. She stretched her legs out in my direction, one crossed over the other, her foot in constant motion, bouncing slowly up and down. She changed legs frequently, first the left over the right, then right over left, then back, working the short skirt way up on her legs. Each time Mom changed legs, she lifted the upper one high, exposing the underside of her thigh all the way down to her color-matched panties. When I asked her if she wanted some hot chocolate, she quickly replied in the negative and seemed to relish doing so.

I didn’t run away. I sat there and took my punishment. If she wanted to tease me, then I would take it. Despite the slap, I wasn’t convinced Mom was cutting off our little game but I was afraid if I didn’t take what she doled out, she might. She was on a power trip but I had a nagging feeling she was after something else, something she used to crave, and I had triggered a need for it. I think I was beginning to understand her fascination with Guido. I didn’t leave until Mom had gone upstairs. She bent over to kiss me goodnight, her back to Dad, and gripped the underside of my chin hard, almost painfully.

“You better be a good boy from now on,” she whispered.

I sat up in bed, wondering where to go from here. Mom wouldn’t be wearing a leather outfit tomorrow but I wasn’t worried about that. I felt we were beyond that now. I still wasn’t sure whether the slap was a warning or a provocation but I was leaning toward the latter. I needed to be alone with her to figure it out but the weekend was a long way off.

I heard Mom in her room getting ready for bed after her shower. I badly wanted to go in there but knew I couldn’t, not with Dad about to come up the stairs any minute. I no sooner thought that than I heard him coming.

Half an hour later, I was still sitting up in the dark. Thinking. An hour later, I was still there. After another hour, I got up. Quietly, I stepped toward the hall but the whisper of my pajama bottoms scraping together as I walked pulled me back. I pushed them down and stepped out, then continued into the dark hallway, stark naked.

Mom and Dad’s bedroom door was open a foot or so and I slipped easily inside without brushing the door or the jamb. I could see better there by the light of the moon shining through the window. Dad was snoring softly. I couldn’t hear Mom but knew she must be sleeping. I stepped quietly toward the bed. I just wanted to look at her, at her pretty face. Maybe the covers were part way down and I would be able to see her breasts covered only by her nightgown. I was so fucking hard; for some reason, I hadn’t wacked off.

She was lying on her back. I could see that now. I stepped closer, trying to control my breathing. My cock wavered in the air in front of me and I imagined I could hear the air it displaced as I walked.

I stopped, dead in my tracks.

Mom’s eyes were open, glinting in the semi-darkness. She was looking right at me and must have been watching me approach all the way from the door. Should I run away?

Mom didn’t move and her gaze didn’t waver. She was looking directly into my eyes, despite my nakedness, of which she must be aware. I stepped closer and the glints became more intense. I stopped beside the bed, gazing down, acknowledging her own observation, then let my eyes slowly descend over her covered form.

When my eyes returned to Mom’s face, the glints were gone and her eyes looked like two pitch-black holes. Slowly, her far hand crossed her chest, grasped the covers, and peeled them away from her body. Mom’s nightgown was bunched up onto her stomach and below that she wore the stained white panties. I knew she’d had a shower, so she must have put them back on. Holy fuck!

Mom pulled her nightgown higher, over her breasts and up to her neck, baring her gorgeous tits with their stiff nipples betraying her own excitement. Lowering both hands, Mom pushed her hands out, palms down, stroking her thighs, her eyes burning. Her back arched and relaxed, causing her belly to undulate on the bed. My eyes traveled down the length of her body to her toes, stretched out past her curling feet, and back up her tensed calves to her thighs, now bare because her hands were cupping her mound, the long finger of each stretching down between her legs. My hand found my cock and began to stroke it. Mom’s eyes fell away from mine for the first time, to watch. I leaned over and pulled part of her nightgown away that was partly obscuring her face.

Silently, we caressed ourselves, me stroking and Mom rubbing and squeezing. Our panting intermingled and as my excitement grew I hunched over her. I knew I was going to come on her, and she knew it too. Her arms, stretching down to her pussy, squeezed her tits together, pushing them up toward me. I dropped my free hand onto her right tit and gently massaged it, testing the water to see if this was a non-touch scenario. Mom didn’t react until I pinched her nipple and rolled it between my thumb and forefinger, and then all she did was release a quiet whimper.

I played with Mom’s tit, beating my cock faster and faster. The expression on her face seemed tense and expectant but her eyes were still coal black, so strangely unlike their normal, piercing blue. I was almost there. I looked at her panties, covered by her hands, then up to her face. She was close, too.

I released Mom’s tit and moved my hand to her face, finding her mouth and inserting two fingers which she immediately began to suck. She lifted her ass off the bed and opened her hands. I leaned over, pointing my cock between her bracketing hands and erupted, spraying the front of her stained panties, then aiming sideways over her tummy to land a direct hit on her navel. The next two bursts I directed at Mom’s tits and her body writhed on the bed, her legs straining with the effort and quivering as she started to come. I released another rope onto her tits and watched it dribble into the hollow of her neck under the nightgown as I, now depleted, dribbled the dregs onto her tummy. I had wanted to shoot some onto Mom’s face but as soon as I had steered my cock up her body she had retracted her hands to block her face.

I pulled the nightgown away from Mom’s neck and she lifted herself up from the mattress to make it easier for me draw it down her body, helping with her own hands until she was completely covered. I leaned over to grasp the covers and pulled them across her body, then kissed her on the forehead, turned, and walked quietly away.

There was no slap when I came home the next day but there wasn’t any action on the couch either. Mom was wearing a rather conservative dress and didn’t offer any opportunities for me to dribble hot chocolate or root beer on her legs. The absence of the slap and the tease worried me.

I sat up for ages waiting for Dad to go to bed. Well after I thought he would have been asleep, I heard their bedroom door push closed. When I crept down the hall to check it out, it was indeed shut. I returned to my room, immensely disappointed.

I couldn’t sleep. I crept down the hall again. I was wearing my pajama bottoms and was armed with a small flashlight. I was going to go into my parents bedroom and if Dad was awake, I would claim I’d heard a burglar downstairs and was coming to get him up.

In the dark, I stealthily walked toward the bed. Mom was awake, lying with the covers already off. I swept my eyes over her, from head to toe, several times but she made no move to remove her nightgown and didn’t arch her body like she done the night before.

I turned the flashlight on and Mom immediately jerked her head up, frantically gesturing with her hand to shut it off. I clicked the light off. Mom looked at Dad, softly snoring beside her, facing the other way. Cautiously, she sat up and then stood. I stepped back, expecting her to follow me to my room, but turned when I realized she wasn’t coming.