Chapter 8

I woke up at four in the morning and couldn’t get back to sleep, so I ended up in my (formerly Dad’s) study looking for interesting letters to read. Searching the back of the big bottom drawer, I noticed it didn’t go back nearly as far as it could, resulting in my discovery of a secret compartment in Dad’s desk large enough to hold several more bundles of letters. There was also a small envelope holding what appeared to be a locker key which I pocketed.

The first bundle contained several updates from some of my favorite letter writers including one from Calvin, whom I told you about in Chapters 4 and 6. Calvin was the guy whose mother teased him during home haircuts. The last time we heard from him, he got completely carried away while banging his Mom on the kitchen floor, and eventually rocked her through the kitchen doorway into the living room, right in front of his father. Not a good move. Since I hadn’t found another letter from Calvin, I thought he had been kicked out of the house. But apparently not.

Hello everyone. I know my last letter ended on a traumatic note with my father screaming at me as my Mom and I, oblivious to the world in our ecstasy, fucked our way into the living room while he was watching a game on TV. I can easily see how you might think that my subsequent silence indicated that I had been kicked out of the house, and indeed, I expected at least that. But after his initial reaction, my father simply withdrew into himself. He kept drinking beer and watching games on TV as usual but ignored Mom and I completely.

Nevertheless, the haircuts were over, and everything associated with them, ended. My Mom’s doing. But other than that, Mom and I lived like we always had before the sex started. This went on for months. Various times I tried to renew my relationship with Mom when Dad wasn’t home but was always rebuffed. I even tried when Dad was home but in other rooms thinking maybe she got off on the fear of discovery, but was rejected again.

One evening we were sitting in the living room, Dad watching a game, and Mom and I reading. We happened to be sitting on the couch flipping pages in a magazine when my attention was caught by Mom’s bare legs still shining from whatever she put on after she shaved her legs. Her loose skirt had just ridden up her left thigh after she changed to a more comfortable position. Try as I might, I couldn’t keep my attention away from Mom’s legs. All the memories of her body and our intimate encounters kept flooding my mind. I tried to get her to go to the kitchen on several excuses — snacks, drinks, making sandwiches for lunch the next day, anything I could think of — without success.

Mom had twigged to my interest by the second suggestion and, noticing her skirt, pushed it back down. A moment later, I pushed it back up her leg with my stocking feet whereupon she again smoothed it back in place. This to and fro was repeated several more times until she gave up, looking very annoyed with me but I guess not wishing to attract Dad’s attention. Removing my socks, I placed my bare foot behind her knee and began flicking the back of her thigh with my toes. I think the only reason Mom didn’t get up and leave is that she didn’t want deal with me alone if I followed her.

Despite her dagger-eyed, recriminating glances, I kept scratching at her leg with my toes. And, despite her anger, I could tell it was triggering memories of our good times for her as well. The longer I stroked her thigh with my toes, the more agitated she became.

Finally, feigning interest in what she was reading, I slid over and sat next to her. She pulled her legs down to the floor but I slipped my arm behind her back and around her waist to keep her from moving. I don’t think that was necessary because she didn’t seem eager to leave Dad’s circle of protection. I tried to hold her book to look at it but she pulled it away. Dad pointedly paid no attention to us.

“Come on, Mom,” I badgered, “let me see. I won’t keep it.” I tried to grab her book again.

“No,” she countered, holding the book away from me, “go read your own and leave me alone.”

After a few minutes of this, I realized that Dad wasn’t going to interfere, so I became bolder. Dropping my hand to Mom’s lap, I rubbed her lower belly through her skirt and then slid my hand along the crease between her legs to the hem of her skirt. Returning my hand, I tried to tug her skirt higher up her legs, with some success. I kept badgering her to let me see her book to cover my actions because I knew I was skirting disaster if Dad looked over and saw what I was doing. I couldn’t help myself, the danger made my hold body tingle. But Dad never even glanced our way, not even a flicker of his eyes, which were firmly fixed on the TV.

I let my hand stray above the waist of Mom’s skirt, sliding up her blouse to pat her tummy below her breasts. I held her firmly around the waist with my right arm as I brushed her breast on the side away from Dad with the back of my hand. Mom went rigid, but there was still no reaction from Dad. As the game went into commercials, I backed off but when he didn’t change his demeanor, watching the commercials just as intently as the game, I let my hand furtively return to cup the bottom swell of her breast. Mom was like a deer caught in headlights, sitting like a statue. Throughout the commercials, I gently squeezed and even rubbed her tit through her blouse and bra. Even so heavily ensconced, I could feel her flesh tightening.

When the game returned, I discreetly started undoing Mom’s blouse. The commentators yacked on as I carefully revealed Mom’s bra for the first time in months. After a short pause to relish the moment, I twisted the bra undone and slipped my hand inside to grasp her bare tit. Her whole body went even more rigid and my cock stiffened when I felt her hard nipple poke into my palm. I tried to kiss her neck but she twisted away. Amazingly, she didn’t make any attempt to stop me from caressing her breast.

Keeping my hand on her tit, I pulled my other arm from behind her back and slid that hand under her legs. Grasping the hem of her skirt, I pulled until I had dragged it up behind her, tugging it all the way to her waist. Quickly, I slid my hand back underneath, pushing along the outside her panties, until my fingers were reaching between her legs from behind. I danced my fingertips around, massaging her pussy through her panties to the next set of commercials and beyond. Dad continued to ignore us.

When the game started again, I pulled Mom’s hip up and cocked her ass sideways toward me, pulling my hand away from her tit to join its brother under her thighs. Prying her flesh apart, I slipped my fingers inside the panty leg and dipped into her pussy. She was wet and slick.

No longer concerned about what Dad was doing, I concentrated on pushing my fingers in and out of Mom’s pussy using the other hand to open her wide. Soon she was slightly rocking and clutching at my invading fingers and a faint squishy sound matched her movements.

Suddenly, I guess Mom could take no more and she jumped up from the couch. Unsteadily, she walked across the room, her skirt noticeably disheveled as she headed up the stairs. I leapt up to follow, too far gone to be concerned about Dad’s reaction but no booming voice or angry footsteps followed me. Mom was just entering her room as I topped the stairs and the door was almost closed by the time I reached it. She halfheartedly tried to push it closed but quickly gave up at the first sign of resistance and stumbled toward the bed. I followed, catching up to her before she could lay down.

I pulled her skirt up over her hips and shoved my jeans down over mine. Freeing my cock from my shorts, I yanked her panties down to her knees. Without any finesse, I pushed on her back until she leaned forward onto the bed. Lining myself up, I entered her and starting thrusting into her right away. Through the thunderous ocean-like sound rocking around in my head, I could distinctly hear her rasping breath and grunting against the backdrop of baseball sounds drifting in the open door as I lunged into her again and again, my calves and thighs straining with the effort.

When I came, I collapsed, gasping, onto her back. Catching my breath moments later, the realization of what we’d done crashed down on me. Stunned that I was still alive, yet alone unmolested, my cock began to harden again. Moving my hands up to grip her tits, I slowly began to work my still starved cock into my Mom. Months of nothing but my hand had taken its toll. I needed to have her again, right away.

Mom lay there, letting me have my way with her, lifting her ass up to help me only at the end. After finishing, I retreated to my room. Mom and I didn’t say a single word to each other. I later learned that she showered, changed into her pajamas, and simply read a book, waiting for Dad to join her. I heard him come to bed after the game ended, expecting him to pay me an unpleasant visit, but he didn’t. Less than an hour later, I welcomed Mom to my bed. We made love for two hours, slowly and tenderly, whispering about how we’d missed each other and vowing to never be apart again.

Mom and I continue to have sex. Dad never pays attention. We don’t flaunt ourselves but it does excite Mom more if I initiate things when Dad is close by. If I don’t, she’ll often lift the back of her skirt while sitting on the couch, flashing her backside at me, covered by panties or not. She gives me a much wilder fuck if I first play this game with her in Dad’s presence.

Once, we went too far with our foreplay and I actually slowly fucked Mom on the couch under a blanket while he watched a game. Dad hasn’t had sexual relations with Mom since that fateful night when I banged her through the kitchen doorway. It’s weird, but that’s how things have turned out, and I’m not complaining. So this is my last letter, friends. I’m enjoying my new life, fucking my Mom every day.

Calvin’s letter was short enough that it was still only five in the morning. Flipping through the letters, ignoring my ‘read every one’ rule, I searched for a familiar name so I wouldn’t waste time on a potentially boring story with only an hour until Mary got up. I was rewarded with a letter from Francis, whom I told you about in Chapters 3 and 6. Francis’ mother was thin with small tits and long nipples. She enjoyed teasing Francis but lost control of the situation when he flipped her t-shirt over her head, covering her face. Both she and Francis were surprised by how wildly excited she became. Francis had taken immediate advantage and fucked her on the couch. Later, he was won a reprise when he bought her a sexy set of silky pajamas with a matching scarf. Tying the scarf around his Mother’s eyes allowed Francis to have his sexy Mom from behind, again and again. This is what Francis had to say in his next letter.

So, I didn’t have an opportunity to have Mom for some time after our ‘pajama’ affair. Not that Mom ignored me. Quite contrary, she seemed to take every opportunity to tease me. She wore blouses undone down to her navel when Dad wasn’t around, allowing me to glimpse her small tits. If Dad was around, she would stretch when he wasn’t looking, thrusting her nipples against the material of her blouse. She seemed to revel in such teasing but she didn’t make herself available for more.

Weeks went by like this. Then one day at dinner, Dad announced that he was leaving for several days on a business trip and was catching a flight later that night. If I took him to the airport, I could use his car, as long as I picked him up as well.

“Oh Tom,” Mother sighed, “do you have to go away for so long? You know I don’t sleep well when you’re gone.”

“Come on, now,” Dad consoled her, “you know you’re perfectly safe with Francis around. He’s more than capable of looking after you.”

“I’m sure he is,” Mom smiled sweetly at me, “but I need something a little extra when you’re away.”

“You’re not taking pills again, are you?” Dad asked, his voice worried.

“No, no. But I got something to help me sleep, just the same.”

“What?”

“A sleeping mask.”

“Oh. Do you think that will work?” Dad asked, not convinced because Mom had complained about insomnia for years.

“Oh, I think it will be very effective,” Mom replied, turning to look at me. “What do you think, Francis?”

I blushed furiously. “I guess so.”

“Well, I hope so,” Dad said, giving me an odd look. Standing, he went on, “I’d better get going. Come on, Francis.”

“Don’t you want to see the pajamas it comes with?” Mom complained.

“I don’t have time, honey. Wait until I get back.”

“That will be too late,” Mom whined, “they’ll be old by then.”

“Well, show them to Francis. Then he can buy another pair and you can show them to me when I get back. Can you do that, Francis?”

“Sure Dad.” I smiled at Dad and then at Mom.

“Ok, honey?” Dad asked Mom, picking up his suitcase at the door and pulling on his coat.

“Alright. I’m sure Francis has the same taste as you.” Mom smiled broadly at me. Dad gave her a peck on the cheek and turned to go out the door. Mom held the mask up to her face and blew me a kiss. “Hurry back,” she said.

Fortunately, Dad was worried about being late so I was able to drive fast to the airport. On the way back, I wasn’t very safe. I burst into the house, to find it dimly lit by candles placed on various tables in the living room and in the kitchen.

“Pour us some wine, Francis,” Mom’s voice drifted down the stairs.

By the time I had poured the wine, Mom was standing at the bottom of the stairs. She wore a long, filmy, almost transparent green robe. Underneath, I could see an undergarment of the same material draped from her shoulders, falling sleeveless almost to her knees. Suspended around her neck she wore the mask she had displayed earlier. It rested on her breasts, covering them. Otherwise, I would have been able to make out the bare shape of her tits despite being covered by two layers of the filmy material of her ‘pajamas’.

Mom took a glass of wine from my hand as she walked past me into the living room. “Put some mood music on, Francis.”

Her movements were elegant and incredibly sexy despite her very slight frame and too thin legs. When I moved to take her into my arms, she pushed me away. “Go upstairs and put on one of Dad’s suits.”

When I returned, dressed to the hilt in Dad’s most expensive suit — shirt, tie, jacket and even shoes — Mom was still standing next to the stereo. Except for an almost empty glass of wine, nothing had changed. Without her asking, I grabbed the bottle and refilled her glass as she held her hand out to me, the filmy robe hanging from her slender arm.

“Thank you, sweetie,” she purred.

She turned her back to me.

“What do you think?”

I took time to run my eyes over her before answering. I wanted her to know that I was truly appreciative. “Awesome, Mom.”

“Thank you, sir.” She turned back to face me. “And what about this side?” she asked.

Again, I took my time appraising her form, running my eyes up and down as she watched. “Double awesome, Mom. Dad will be pleased.”

She looked at me oddly, then smiled. Arching her back, she thrust her breasts up. “Dance with me?”

In response, I moved forward to take her into my arms. We danced for several songs. I didn’t try to touch her inappropriately. I treated her as if we were on a public ballroom dance floor, thankful for the lessons she had insisted I take with her since my father had refused. At the end of the last dance, she rose up on tippy toes to kiss me, her breasts pointing into my chest. “Let’s take a break for awhile,” she whispered, though we were definitely alone.

We simply stood there, Mom chatting inanely about normal house stuff, while we finished our wine. As she talked, I swept my eyes up and down her body. Mom didn’t seem to mind. If anything, she seemed pleased by my rapt attentions. After she swallowed the last drop, she whispered, “Put on something softer, for slow dancing.”

When I turned to take her once more into my arms, she had tossed the robe onto the couch. She stood there with only the nightie covering her, her body showing through. Though the mask still covered her breasts, I could see that the panties were a simple wrap of the same material running over her hips and down between her legs. Mom raised her arms and her eyebrows as she saw where my gaze had fallen.

I danced with her just as I had before, without groping or unnecessary touching. Just dancing. After the first song, Mom peeled the suit jacket off my shoulders. After the second, she loosened my tie and pulled it through the collar and off at the end of the third song. By the middle of the fourth, enough buttons were undone to show the hair on my chest. I kicked off my shoes. In between the fifth and sixth songs, I lifted the mask from Mom’s chest and adjusted it to fit snugly on her head. Mom kissed my chest during that dance. When it ended, I slid my hands down her back, below and under the hem of her transparent nightie, and up onto her ass.

I had noticed while dancing that the material of Mom’s panties met in the back and was snapped together. Pulling the snap apart, I snaked the material through her legs, pulling it away in my hands. Mom gasped into my chest as the seventh song started. Barely moving to the music, I pulled her hands together behind her back and used her panties to tie them together. Mom’s breathing was getting shorter and quicker as the song played on.

I pulled away, leaving her in the middle of the room, swaying to the music, tied and blindfolded.

Picking up her discarded robe, I stepped near. Slowly, I wrapped her robe around and around her head, finally tucking the end in, and stepped away. I undressed, saying nothing, but letting her hear the clothes being dragged from my body and dropped to the floor. I undressed completely and approached her from behind, though I could tell she still thought I was in front of her.

My cock sprung from my body at a proud angle, jutting ahead of me. I guided it carefully into her soft hands, bound behind her, threading it between her fingers. Grasping her hair, I lowered my lips to kiss the nape of her neck, pushing myself through her fingers. I whispered in her ear.

“Do you remember where it likes to go?”

She drew her breath in sharply, but remained silent.

I pulled back and thrust slowly through her fingers again.

“Help it,” I whispered, hoarsely. “Help it find the place it loves.”

A few more shoves and Mom’s hands reacted, pulling me forward, nosing my cock down, between her cheeks, below her ass and into the dark, damp triangle. I thrust ahead, she bent forward, stumbling toward the window. I turned her, guiding her, past the coffee table, until her knees hit the couch. She crawled onto it, slowly, holding my member against her soft butt. She braced her knees wide apart, and leaned forward until her face lay against the wall, all the while holding my cock at the entrance to her pussy.

“Do you like it there,” I asked.

“Yes,” she moaned.

“Do you want it inside?”

“Yessss,” she moaned again.

“Then pull it in.”

Mom pulled, but I resisted, letting her just get the tip into her. I kissed her between her shoulder blades, sucking on her skin. Pulling up to nibble the nape of her neck, I whispered harshly, “Come on, pull it in.”

Mom pulled harder but I pulled back almost as hard. Our tug of war continued until she managed to get the head in. I slipped my hands under her arms and underneath her nightie to cup her little tits, pinching her long, hard nipples, squeezing and stretching them forward into the couch.

“Ohhhhhhh, God,” Mom groaned.

“If you really want it, pull it in.” I pinched her nipples harder, tugging them out even more.

“ohhhhh, god ... ohhhhh, God.” She pulled on my cock.

“Come on,” I urged, “Pull it in ... suck it into your pussy.”

Mom yanked on me, shoving a couple of inches in until her hands got in the way. Yanking her arms up, forcing her head harder onto the couch, I thrust up hard the rest of the way into her, lifting her knees right off the couch. With her legs splayed widely across the back of the couch, I began fucking her in earnest, holding her up by her arms tied behind her back.

As she moaned and grunted, I talked. “Do you love fucking me? ... Who fucks you the best?”

I don’t know if I was insecure, wanting confirmation that she wanted me more than Dad, or what. I just kept rattling out these stupid comments, not expecting an answer and never getting one.

Mom just let me work on her, urging me on with her ‘ohhhs’ and ‘ahhhs’ and groans and moans. By the end, just before I burst in her, her feet were stretched out so far her toes were dug into the arms on each side of the couch, and my thrusts were sliding her head up the wall. It was incredibly intense.

After we were done, we went upstairs. I followed Mom into her and Dad’s bed, getting in on Dad’s side. Mom turned on her side away from me to sleep. I nestled in behind her, lifted the nightie which she was still wearing, and pushed my cock between her legs. She pulled away and twisted forward to evade my eager rod. Stymied, I noticed the sleeping mask was still hanging around her neck, so I pulled it up and fitted it on her face.

Though she may have thought I had given in and was just helping her get ready for a good night’s sleep, she didn’t object when I started poking my cock into her again. Instead, she just leaned forward to give me better access. I slipped my cock inside her and fucked her until I came. I loved the feel of her this way, calmly fucking her, relishing in the slick feel of her as my cock moved back and forth until I couldn’t hold back and twisted her onto her tummy for the final intense hump. There was a repeat the following morning when I entered her before she could remove the mask.

At breakfast, there was a knock on the door. It was a delivery man with a courier package for Mom from Dad. She had to sign for it so I asked the man to wait just inside the door while I went to the kitchen to explained to Mom that she had to sign for a package. I slipped the sleeping mask, which she was still wearing around her neck, onto her face. Pulling her up by the hand, I led her to the front door. Mom didn’t know the man was inside until she was very close. I could feel her stiffen and balk as she heard his breathing, and the rustle of his coat as he handed me the clipboard.

“Sign here,” he said. Ignoring me, he ogled Mom, dressed only in her almost see through nightie.

“We can’t sign until we see if the contents are OK,” I said.

“You’re just signing to acknowledge receipt,” the man responded, not even looking at me, his eyes running up and down Mom’s body. “You can make a claim of there’s anything wrong.”

“We’d like to be sure,” I insisted.

He turned to me to argue, then said, “Ah sure, sure. Go ahead, open it. I’ll wait.” He was in no hurry, now realizing he could ogle Mom while I fiddled with the package. I handed the clipboard back to him.

“It’s a present from Dad, Mom.”

The man glanced at me, his eyes widening.

I ripped the package open. Mom stood there, trembling, her face red.

It was another nightie, quite similar to the one Mom was wearing. I told Mom.

“We want to try it on to make sure it fits.”

“Sure, sure,” the man replied.

“They’re beautiful, Mom. Just like these but bright blue.” I placed my hand on her shoulder and dragged her nightie off, over her arm, and then did the other side. The nightie was stretched to Mom’s outer arms, tightly across her breasts. Her nipples strained upward against the taut material.

The man’s mouth dropped open.

I pressed Mom’s arms together and pulled the material forward off her tits, letting it fall around her waist. I pushed it over her hips and let it drop to the floor, leaving Mom standing there in just her panties. Stooping to pick up her new nightie, I pulled it down over her head, slipped her arms through, and draped it over her body.

“Well, that part fits,” I commented drily. “Let’s try the panties.”

Mom visibly tensed, but didn’t move. Stepping behind her, I reached under the nightie to grasp her panties on each side and tugged them down her thighs, her calves, and off her feet, one at a time. Picking up the new panties, I slipped them over her feet and pulled them up, slowly, snugging them over her cheeks and pulling the sides up onto her hips. Putting my arms around her, I cupped her tits.

“What do you think?” I asked, “Isn’t my Mom beautiful?”

It took a moment, but eventually the man responded, “You’re a very lucky young man.”

“Let her sign now,” I said.

He held out the clipboard and guided Mom’s hand to the right position but the man didn’t notice, his eyes were still on her tits.

“Thanks for your patience,” I said. As he opened the door to leave, I whispered to Mom but loud enough so he could still hear, “Let’s start enjoying Dad’s present right away.”

I locked the door after he left and steered Mom to the couch. I almost had to carry her, her legs were so wobbly.

As soon as we reached the couch, she immediately stretched her feet out to the arms and placed the side of her head against the wall. I pulled the panties to the side and shoved myself inside her. It didn’t take long, for either of us.

I was ready to unload myself. I had been absently fondling myself while reading. I heard noises from the kitchen — Mary, rustling about making breakfast for Dad and lunch for Paul. I rushed out to join her, hoping to hear about what happened before Paul joined her upstairs.

Mary was buttering bread on the counter when I came in, alone. She was wearing the casual nurse garb she favored when working with Dad, a plain green cotton blouse and pajama type pants. Though it was baggy and shapeless, I liked it because you knew it was mostly woman underneath. My eagerness to hear about the night before was joined by another eagerness below my belt.

“Mary,” I whispered, “How did it go?”

Mary jumped, startled by my unexpected presence. I had never been in the kitchen this early before.

“Jesus ... Dave, you scared the hell out of me!” she exclaimed, turning back to butter the sandwich bread.

“What happened?” I queried again. “Did it work?”

Mary’s neck reddened, but she didn’t say anything. I stepped forward until I was standing behind and to one side of her. “Come on, Mary. Tell me,” I urged, a fellow conspirator.

Still, she was silent. I asked her a direct question.

“Did he touch you?”

No answer.

“I saw him open your robe,” I ventured.

“No,” she continued to look down, watching herself butter the bread, “I did that.”

“You opened your robe for him?” I asked, a bit shocked by her initiative.

A pause. She stopped buttering. “Yes,” she said, barely audible. “You opened Susan’s,” she retorted.

“That’s right,” I responded, “I did,” my tone demanding more.

“So I did the same for him.”

“Did he touch you, like I touched Mom?”

Another pause. “No.” Followed by a longer pause.

“ ... so...” I prompted, pulling for more.

“I hugged him to me ... on my breasts.”

“Were they bare?”

“God no. I had my nightie on.” Her tone was indignant.

“Oh,” I responded, disappointment in my voice.

As if defending herself, Mary added, “It wasn’t like I had a bra on or anything. I was ... loose underneath,” she stammered.

I could tell this was hard for her. “That’s good, Mary, that’s good,” I assured her, placing my hand on her shoulder, squeezing her gently, comfortingly. She eased a bit. Her hands started buttering the bread again.

“It was good for you to do that. I’m sure it comforted him, for you to let him be close to your breasts, like when he could see Mom was doing for me.”

“Maybe ... I hope so.” She paused to make the sign of the cross on her chest.

“Mary, we’ve been through this. He needs to be close to you, but in different way. It worked for me and Mom,” I added, wrongfully implying my relationship with Mom had started the same way.

“I know,” she said, her voice now very quiet.

I squeezed her neck again and pulled her head to mine, hugging her. I let my side press against hers, hip to hip, leg to leg.

“Do you think he could feel them?”

“What?”

“Your breasts. Could he feel them?”

“I guess so,” she answered awkwardly, “his head was right on them.”

“Could he feel your nipples?” I pressed.

“Dave!”

“Could he?”

“I ... I don’t know.”

“He turned to watch us, I could tell. His face must have been on them. Could you feel his face on you?”

“Yes. I guess so. On one.”

“Did it make you feel closer to him, like when he was a baby?”

“I guess.”

“Did you push against him?”

“No!”

“You should have, Mary,” I admonished, “You should have offered, like you would have when he was a baby, to comfort him. You should have just pressed against him a bit, to let him know it was alright.”