Chapter 10: Blackmail

I suffered through the rest of the week. We had piano practice every night but each time Mom wore a crisp white blouse, with a bra, and a tight black skirt. Her outfit prevented any underneath play and when I tried to hold her tits, she elbowed my hands out of the way. Mom insisted I play, but only the piano.

After each session, Mom walked slowly into the living room to receive Dad’s accolades. The light shimmered off the sheer hose, her high heels tensioning her calf muscles as she moved, turning nice legs into stunning ones. Mom leaned forward in an exaggerated fashion that emphasized the jut of her behind for a prolonged moment, mercilessly recalling my memory of the same pose she had struck when my jiz filled her panties. She always turned to smile sweetly at me when she straightened up. Each night, I went to bed with an unfulfilled, steel hard boner. No matter how hard I spanked the monkey in bed as I pictured Mom in my mind’s eye, it was a far cry from sliding it into her throat.

My father hung around the house all day Saturday and that night I suffered through an especially long practice, a full session in which we played each of three pieces, only one of which we would actually play at the recital.

The next day, we went to church. I hadn’t been able to devise a plan to get Mom into the shop to see the pictures, or to get them out and lose Dad long enough to show them to Mom. It had only been five days and I was like a junkie without a hit, nervous, fidgety, and desperate.

Mom, however, was the picture of her old cheery self Sunday morning. She wandered out of her bedroom to the main bathroom to get things she had ‘forgotten’ to put back into her ensuite, clad only in the slip she would wear under her dress. Dad admonished her but she shushed him.

“Jon’s in his room getting dressed. Anyway, we’re all family. Don’t be so silly.”

To see yet be unable to taste. How cruel. Mom was ruthless in the display of her naked charms under the slip as she padded barefoot back and forth three times, slowing down as soon as she passed through her bedroom door and turned into the hallway where her audience of one waited. She pretended everything was normal though it wasn’t every day that your mother dressed so, stopping to scratch an itch, high on the inside of her thigh.

I had to get those pictures. I would call in sick on Monday. I couldn’t take another day.

The sermon was interminably long but finally, we were outside the church, both Dad and Mom chatting to the rest of the flock. I was eager to leave, though why, I have no idea. Nothing would happen until tomorrow morning, after Dad left and I was alone with my mother and my feigned illness. I walked to the car by myself and waited until Dad arrived with the keys.

Fifteen minutes later, I saw Mom walking toward me, managing to look sexy even in her church clothes. I suppose it helped that I had seen her this morning dressed only in the slip she wore underneath but I think I would have felt that way looking at her anyway. She’s really is beautiful, I thought, the perfect balance of nature and nurture.

Wearing a pleased smile, Mom walked directly to the passenger side of the car where I was leaning against the back door and held her arm straight out from her shoulder, hand hanging limply down, the keys dangling from her fingers, a teasing smile on her face.

“Would you be so kind as to take me home, young sir?” Mom’s laugh tinkled in my confused brain.

I held out my hand and the keys dropped into my palm.

“Isn’t Dad...,”

“He’s going to stay and help out with some things around the church. One of the other men will give him a ride home,” Mom explained, then added, “later this afternoon.”

I ran to the front of the car but Mom’s ‘ahem’ pulled me up short and I ran back to unlock the door and hold it open for her, remembering not to slam it. Running around again, I quickly started the car, slipped it into drive, and drove out of the parking lot. Mom only had to caution me once to slow down on the way home.

Once there, I ran through the house and opened the back door, waiting impatiently while Mom put her purse away, kicked off her shoes and padded into the kitchen.

“Come on, Mom. Let’s go look.”

Mom looked at me, a quizzical expression on her face. I knew she was playing a game, but I went along, knowing it was the only way to pass Go.

“The pictures, Mom. You remember?”

“Oh yes. The pictures. Let’s have some lunch first.”

“Lunch? Dad could be home by the time we finish. We can eat after.”

“You can if you want, but I’m hungry.”

Maddeningly, Mom began making some lunch. Frustrated, I ran out the shop and retrieved Dad’s box, walking hurriedly back to the house as I tried to open it without success on the way. I burst through the back door and set the box on the counter where I managed to open it without problems, lifting the lid and stepping back so Mom could see the three bundles of photos.

Mom was leaning back against the counter, one knee cocked out in front of the other, holding a container of yogurt, languidly dipping and filling a small spoon to deliver the milky contents to her mouth. Her tongue flicked out to lick the bottom of the spoon each time, pulling it into her mouth in the same way she’d eaten the pie.

I held my hand out, open palm facing out, indicating the open box.

“Yes, I see,” Mom casually commented, then slipped another spoonful into her sexy mouth.

I removed the first bundle and opened it, placing the first picture on the counter. Mom turned toward it, leaning her left hip against the counter, still sliding yogurt into her mouth. Slowly, I put the pictures down, one by one, waiting for her to nod before proceeding to the next. Mom looked long and hard at the last picture.

“Yes, I’ve seen these before,” she finally spoke. “Do you think I’d look good in that color of blue?” she asked, leaving the spoon in her mouth, pointing to the lacy panties covering Grandma’s pussy.

“Absolutely, Mom. You’d look awesome in any color under the rainbow.”

“I’m not so sure,” Mom mused after removing the spoon from her mouth, digging more yogurt onto the spoon but concentrating on Grandma’s parted legs.

“We could try some,” I suggested hopefully.

“Yes, that might be the way to go,” Mom said, her tone still thoughtful.

Suddenly, she turned her back to the counter again, her voice picking up in speed and volume.

“Well, I didn’t see a trellis,” she stated emphatically.

I scrambled to gather the photos together, quickly reversing their order before binding them in the elastic again. I fished out the second bundle. Mom turned to look, leaning her hip against the counter as I stepped through the pictures, one by one.

When she saw Grandma lying on her back, twisting her legs around, even opening them, Mom turned to face the counter directly. The yogurt container was placed on the counter. A good sign, I thought. A good sign.

The best indicator was the thickening of Mom’s voice right after a sudden intake of breath when I dealt the last picture. Mom stared at her mother-in-law, head flat on the grass, her bottom held high, legs closed, which only emphasized the mysterious triangle she dangled in front of her boy, its dampness clearly evident.

“You can see the trellis, can’t you?” I asked, seeking confirmation that I had fulfilled my end of the bargain.

“Not so fast, sonny. Show me the rest,” Mom demanded.

“Mom, maybe that’s not such a good idea. Dad might be home any minute now.”

“Show me,” her hoarse voice cut me off.

I gathered the pictures together and secured the second bundle. I was in no hurry. It was Mom who showed impatience now, her hips tapping lightly against the counter as she pushed herself away an inch or so and then pulled herself back. I unwrapped the third bundle but hesitated to place the first picture on the counter.

Mom reached behind her neck and deftly unhooked the tiny clasp at the top of the zipper at the back of her dress. A second later the sound of the zipper descending her back was the only sound in the kitchen, except for the loud ticking of the big clock.

I put the first picture down on the counter.

Mom looked at the photo, then picked it up to hold it closer. I stepped behind her so I could both look over her shoulder and inside her dress. Unfortunately, the slip covered Mom’s skin. Since she had only unzipped the dress to her shoulder blades, I pulled the zipper the rest of the way down her back, gently, so I didn’t distract her attention from the picture. I loved the feel of the delicate zipper as it dipped into the small of Mom’s back and then swelled out onto her buttocks. I leaned close to Mom and looked over her shoulder.

It was a picture of Grandma, about Mom’s age of course, standing in front of a make-up dresser with a large round mirror. Her dress was unzipped and she was looking into the mirror at the person taking the picture whose youthful body could be seen in the reflection but the head was cut off by the curve of the mirror. The skin on Grandma’s back was broken by the backstrap of a bra. Mom put the picture down and picked up the next one.

The dress had been pushed off Grandma’s shoulders. It was caught in the elbow of her left arm but the right had already been pulled out of the sleeve showing Grandma’s bare waist. The bra had been unsnapped so just a hint of the side of her right breast was also visible but the front couldn’t be seen in the mirror. I pushed the dress off Mom’s shoulders and she moved on to the next picture.