Timmy #13: Poolside Moms

Poolside Moms

Sunday, Team Party

Today was a team-building day, and for some reason, my mother had decided that we were going to help Mrs. James set up whatever it was that she needed to set up. Maybe we’d rearrange her pool chairs and fill bowls with chips or dial for pizza; I didn’t know what we were going to do. I thought it was a waste of time—Mom hadn’t needed any help for the team’s pool party at our house.

Diana told me to have fun and that maybe she’d stop by later for a dip with me—it wouldn’t be the first time. The realization that what we were doing was taboo didn’t bother her in a public setting. I used to think that she wanted people to know that we were together, and I’d laugh it off, but now I told myself that was a crazy idea because I didn’t want to admit that she did want people to know that we were together. And if Diana wanted people to know, people would know whether I wanted them to or not.

I had to trust her judgment. I had no other choice if I wanted to be with her, and I did want to be with her, my sister.

Mrs. James has an American name, but that’s because she married a white guy of Angelo-Saxon descent, but she was an Indian from India, well, her parents were. Mrs. James was a West Coast girl through and through, born and raised, and now she was like all of the other tennis MILFs who practiced yoga as though every Downward Dog they performed was a mind-blowing spiritual experience.

She was tall and willowy, fighting off the natural curviness—the not overweight, but also, not thin image—that many Indian women who weren’t gym bunnies appeared to have. Mrs. James’ first name was Prisha, and that’s what she wanted me to call her.

There wasn’t much to set up in her large house. Everything was open, with arching entryways and wooden floorboards. The backyard was a wide-open square surrounded by trees that kept out the neighbors’ eyes, and they had a huge, lazy L-shaped pool, surrounded by expensive landscaping, a wooden deck, miniature palm trees, and it was just a nice house. Like my mother’s, but different.

Prisha’s son, my teammate, was a senior, eighteen, in good shape, and several weight classes below me and a bit shy. He had dark hair, brown eyes, and very light, honey-colored skin, a mixture of his father’s fairness and the caramel hue coating his mother’s sexy body.

We had everything set up within ten minutes of our arrival. Mr. James was out of the house, golfing, and Prisha had ordered sandwiches from some deli before we had come over. There wasn’t much to do except jump into the pool and swim around for a while as they sat in the sun.

“So, you and your sister are close,” Justin said to me as we sat along the edge of the pool, with our legs in the water up to our knees.

“Who says?” I asked.

“My mom.” He shrugged. “Other people. Other moms—my mom said.”

“It’s too bad that only our moms are here right now,” I said, changing the subject. “I wonder who’s going to wear the smallest bikini this week.”

Justin smiled, and a little color entered his cheeks. “I bet Mrs.—”

His mouth never opened to start the next word as his eyes stared toward the sliding glass door to his house. I turned my head, following his gaze, and I had to force my teeth together to keep from dropping my jaw into my lap. Our mothers had walked outside in their bikinis, and these were some small fucking bikinis ... made of ... string.

My mother wore a red bikini with strings that rode high on her hips, tied off by looping bows, the front and back fastened together at her sides. Her golden body had a slight jiggle when she walked, her meat outlining the muscle beneath her skin, her smooth lines and flat tummy making her large, round breasts seem even larger by how far they curved up and away from her chest.

The sight sent a rush of blood through my cock, and that big bastard raised its head a little.

Mom had pulled her hair up and back in a fancy knot that left her shoulders and back bare, the thin strings of her bikini curving around her neck and body. The cups of her bra formed triangles that swept downward from just above her nipples to just below her areoles—so much of her breasts lay exposed to my eyes. The fabric hid her eraser thick buds, but not the impressions they made against her top as they stood at attention atop her tits.

“Fuck me,” I whispered as goosebumps rose across my skin.

Prisha wore a near-identical bikini to my mother, save hers was black, and I wondered if they had gone shopping together for them. Maybe they exchanged pictures? Anyway, Prisha wore her black hair up as well, and the front triangle of her bikini panties made it clear that this MILF had no hair between her legs. Fuck, neither did my mother. Prisha’s breasts were as big as Mom’s, though heavier, with a curvier bulge around their bottoms, and her nipples looked thicker than my mother’s, but not by much.

“How much time until everyone else gets here?” I asked Justin. My balls had tightened as if they were expecting me to slam them against some pussy soon.

Justin couldn’t talk.

Our mothers had towels on their arms, and they covered their lounge chairs with them, my mom choosing the chair left of Prisha. We saw a profile view of them, and we saw their backsides, where two thin strings—the kind Diana liked to wear for me—ran between the crescent slopes of their yoga-toned asses.

I had to close my mouth again. My nipples had tightened, and now they ached. A chill crossed my shoulders, bringing with it a soft, quiet shiver.

Justin and I slid into the pool as though we were part of a synchronized swim team. We faced our mothers as they sat on a pair of lounge chairs across from our side of the pool. They put on mirrored sunglasses—I wished that I had had a pair at that moment—and Prisha grabbed a bottle of lotion that had been sitting on the poolside table between their chairs. They ignored us and went to work rubbing lotion onto the fronts of their bodies.

Our mothers weren’t shy with their motions. They rubbed their hands over their smooth skin, basting themselves until their flesh shined with a layer of slippery oil. They sat near the ends of their chairs, their fingers sliding over their thighs—thicker than a teen’s thighs—but yummy in that so-this-is-what-a-woman-looks-like kind of way. Matured beauty, their tits jiggled when they ran their fingers over them, cupping them without meaning to and pushing them to the sides as they smothered oil across their ripened flesh. Both of our moms stood, and they stroked their quads, then they moved their hands to their inner thighs, rubbing their lotions upwards, right up to their bikini-clad muffs. Their tiny panties dug right into the center of their meaty clefts, teasing us with two pouty cameltoes ... maternal cameltoes, the kind every son has sneaked a peek at, jerked off to, then felt guilty about doing so later.

I hope that every son has dreamt of their mothers in that way at least once; otherwise, I was some kind of fringe-side pervert whose fantasies were better off left unspoken.

Our mothers talked to each other, and I pretended to speak with Justin, then my mother looked at us and called out across the pool, “Can you boys do our backsides?”

Prisha added, “Please, boys? We don’t want to burn.”

I looked at Justin.

He looked at me.

“Be good to your mothers,” Mom said with a parent’s over-the-top silliness. “Get your cute butts over here.”

They lay on their stomachs with their feet pointed towards us, their legs spread just enough to let us see up their thighs to the twin hammocks their pussies rested in. Sunshine beat off their buns, and I licked my lips.

“Fuck it,” I told Justin as I turned around and pushed myself out the water, and walked toward our mothers. He hesitated a moment before following my lead.

I was walking to my mother’s side when Justin uttered the soft question: “Umm?”

“I guess boys don’t want to touch their mothers,” Mom teased.

“Timmy,” Prisha said, “why don’t you put some lotion on me, and my son can take care of your mom, okay?”

“Okay,” I said as I kept my brows from furrowing. (I had become too used to touching my sister, I think. I couldn’t just go feeling up my mom, could I?) “Makes sense.”

Justin didn’t speak, I don’t think he could, but he walked to my mom’s side as if in a daze. Mom’s ass wasn’t shiny with oil yet, but it would be soon—her ass?—and that was enough to send another jolt of size through my semi-hard cock and start the unmistakable bulge of a growing erection in my shorts. I knelt next to Prisha’s caramel body and took the lotion she offered me.

We had to share the bottle, so I drew three lines across Prisha’s back, two more across her shoulders, and little ones for her arms. She whispered that I had better not forget about her legs, so I drew two lines across the backs of her thighs and calves. She shook her right leg, and her butt cheeks wiggled. The motion was like half a twerk. The black floss between her buns winked at me, and the pussy meat that her thighs squished between her thickness shifted beneath the clinging nylon covering it. She shook her leg at me again, shaking her ass cheeks again, and I drizzled a few drops onto the dusky hills of her butt. She didn’t say a word against it, but she stopped shaking her leg at me.

I handed the bottle to Justin, who did everything I had done, except for dabbing some lotion on my mother’s butt. Mom’s head faced me, her mirrored shades hiding her eyes. Prisha’s glasses faced her son, who knelt on the far side of my mother. I took a deep breath, the warm sun beating down on me, and I put my hands on Prisha’s shoulders.

The first touch of her skin sent a shiver through my palms all the way up to my neck. Prisha uttered a soft sigh. My mother’s voice followed, and I glanced to see Justin rubbing my mother’s shoulders. I swept my hands up to Prisha’s neck and dug my fingers in, holding her in place while my thumbs rowed in a half-circle across her flesh. She moaned again. I looked down her back and saw the side-swells of her breasts pushing outward against the lounge chair. I slid my hands down her shoulders to her arms and coated her firm biceps in lotion, surprised by the strength in her willowy limbs.

I went all the way to her hands, and when my fingers touched hers, she stretched hers outward and closed them, briefly interlocking them with my mine. My heart raced as a throb of pleasure rushed through my cock, tickling the head. I thought of Diana and wondered what she would say. My breath caught, but then my mother sighed, the noise waking me up and forcing my focus back onto Prisha.

I moved down her back, my fingers catching on her strings.

“You don’t mind, do you, Timmy?” Prisha said and reached back to untie the simple knots she used to keep her top on.

Fuck me—I didn’t mind at all.

My mother did the same without asking Justin if he was okay with it.

Every joke we wrestlers made about our groupie mothers was coming true right now. Fuck. Justin glanced at me, his cheeks reddening and his fingers shaking as they glided over my mother’s skin. Mom’s breasts bulged outward from under her as the strings of her bra came to rest against the lounge chair cushions, uncovering the entire side of her right breast. I glanced at her shaded eyes, and she smiled.

I swept my hands over Prisha’s body. She was different from the absolute firmness of my sister’s CrossFit body. Prisha was softer but tight, a natural firmness that yielded to my fingers and palms. Her flesh gave me something to hold onto as I ran my fingers over her skin, my eyes devouring the tender wave of brown tissue that I was able to push ahead of my fingertips.

Prisha’s skin glistened as I moved my hands along her sides and over her ribs. She stretched her body upward, shimmying her shoulders and lengthening her back. I could see the bumps of her spine, and those small lumps made my breathing deepen. I stopped my fingertips near her breasts. The bulging swells of tit meat called to me, begging for my touch. I had to get up and sit on the side of her lounge chair to reach both sides of her body, but she didn’t object.

Justin stood next to my mother, leaning over her instead of sitting down. I shook my head, watching his fingers slide over my mother’s skin did something strange to me. It turned me on. It shouldn’t have, right? But it did ... I didn’t want to see him do the things I wanted to do to his mother, but still, my cock hardened to the point of pain. I noticed the lump in Justin’s pants as well, but he wasn’t being nearly aggressive with his hands as I was.

“Don’t stop,” Prisha whispered. “Spread the lotion all over my body.”

“Yeah, boys,” Mom said. “If we fall asleep, just keep going until you’ve finished.”

Diana laughed in my head; she didn’t sound upset. How much did my mother know about her children? How much did Abbey know about her siblings? How much did everyone know? Why was I asking myself these questions now?

My mind went back to the forced play with Diana. I had pushed against her hands with enough pressure to let her decide if I was going to caress her or if she was going to push me away—it had been her choice. I looked at the back of Prisha’s head: I’d push, but she’d have to let me know how far I could go.

I feathered my fingers across Prisha’s side, tracing the curve of her breast just before their soft edges. I was half an inch from touching her tit meat, maybe less, as I oiled her warm skin. A shiver rippled through her shoulders as I grazed the bulge of her titty mound. Goosebumps rose across her caramel skin, creating bumps with a whitish hue that dotted her body like soft hills. Sunlight glistened against her, and as I slid my hands back down her sides, away from her tits, she sighed. When I moved my hands upward, her breath caught. Back down, back up, only this time I moved closer to her breasts.

Down again.

Up again.

Down again, closer.

“Chedo Mujhe,” Prisha whispered.

I had no idea what Prisha had said, so I looked at Justin.

I don’t know if he had heard what his mother had said. He was watching me as I pressed my palms flat to his mother’s sides, my fingers pointed forward toward her breasts, and as he watched, I pushed my way up his mother’s sides without stopping. Prisha tensed. I felt a buzz shoot through my arms. Right before my fingertips caressed the soft swells of her tits, a barrier seemed to form, and fear hit me—it excited me—then I broke through it and slid my hand onto the sides of Prisha’s tits as a surge of adrenaline exploded throughout my chest.

“Mmm,” Prisha moaned.

Justin shook his head. He moved his hands up my mother’s body. Mom smiled, and then Justin ran away before he touched the sides of my mother’s tits. I sighed and pressed into Prisha’s tit mounds, her flesh giving and yielding like two gel-filled stress balls. They were eager to bounce back to their original roundness after the pressure of my fingers left them.

What was Diana going to say about this?

I spread my thumb and forefinger wide and cupped the sides of Prisha’s breasts, openly molesting her in front of her son and my mother. I asked in a whisper of sound if she thought I was doing a good job, and she called me honey, and in a soft voice, saying that I was the perfect man for the job. Her son concentrated on my mother’s back, and it looked like the longer I left my fingers on the sides of Prisha’s tits, the more scrunched Mom’s forehead became.