Chapter 5: Over the Edge

The next morning, I lay in bed wondering if last night had been a dream, but knowing it wasn’t. I hadn’t faced Mom at the end but I had to now. I would be expected at breakfast before we all left for Church.

My apprehension was ill-founded. Mom behaved as if everything was normal. I thought it was just an act that would soon fray under its own tension, but it didn’t. Somehow, Mom really acted as if last night hadn’t changed our lives like I thought it had. The entire day played out like any other Sunday, through Church, the afternoon and even supper. Dad was feeling better but worsened after dinner and repaired to his Lazy Boy, snuggling under the comforter Mom draped over him before walking to the couch and taking my hand. After tugging me to my feet, Mom pulled me across the floor.

“You don’t mind if I drag your company away do you Father?” Mom asked.

“Not at all,” Dad looked up from his book, smiling. “Do what you want with him,” he waved with his free hand.

In the piano room, Mom pushed me toward the piano. “Get the music ready. I’ll be right down.”

I opened the book to our piece and sat down after running to the living room to grab one of the flatter, silky pillows to place on the bench. Mom returned a moment later. There was something different but I couldn’t see what it was. Had she washed her face, freshened her lipstick? I couldn’t tell but something was different.

Mom stopped by the bench and slipped her slippers from her feet. The muscles in her calves tensed prettily and my breath caught when she looked at the pillow placed mostly on but partly off the front of the bench.

“Is that for me?” Mom asked.

“Yes,” I nodded.

“Thank you,” Mom said, hooking the top of her toes around the ankle of her other foot and sliding them up her calf. “Are you ready to play?” she asked, looking down at the bench, already pulled away from the piano.

I nodded again, taken aback by Mom’s sudden assertion of control. She dropped her hands to her side and pulled her summery, dark green dress with a loosely pleated skirt up, baring half her thighs as she stepped between the bench and the piano before sitting down on the pillow. Mom turned to look over her shoulder.

“Sit and play, Jon,” she said, before turning back to the piano.

I walked towards her in my summer shorts, and swung my barefooted legs over the bench one at a time to seat myself firmly behind her, immediately noting the greater expanse of fleshy behind available now that Mom was sitting on a pillow, as I had planned. Mom put her hands on the keyboard, ready to play, then turned her head as if waiting.

“Go ahead,” I said.

Mom didn’t move. I repeated myself but she still didn’t budge.

I raised my hands and placed them on Mom’s hips. Immediately, she faced the piano and began to play. I moved my hands up and down her waist, enjoying the swell of flesh out to her hips and pushing further around to splay my fingers across her tummy. I could feel the large indent that formed Mom’s navel and wished I could lay my bare hands on it, imagining teeny blond hairs, though Mom was a brunette, running from there over her soft belly until they thickened into the brown bush covering her pussy. I knew her pussy hair was brown because I’d seen it poking out the leg of her panties.

Mom continued playing as if that was all we were doing, playing the piano, despite the extent of my roaming hands. It was some time before I moved my hands up to cup Mom’s breasts and received a small shock. Her breasts were much softer and I could feel their shape better than before. Mom was not wearing a bra!

I could only see the side of Mom’s face but it seemed to me that the corner of her mouth was definitely turned up into a smile. I couldn’t be sure because it disappeared quickly and then I wondered if I had imagined it. Real or not, Mom was obviously not bothered by me flagrantly caressing the bottom of both her breasts. If there was any doubt about her allowing this transgression, it disappeared when Mom turned the page herself. I had forgotten all about it.

Encouraged, I formed my hands completely around her tits and began a gentle, squeezing massage, like I was handling two erotically shaped water balloons that required delicate care lest they break. Cautiously, so as not to disturb her playing, I laid my head sideways on Mom’s back and continued my loving embrace. When I felt Mom’s arm lift to turn the page again, I slipped both hands up to take a firmer grip of each breast, my fingers circling around those incredible little extensions I had only fondled in my dreams. Now, with a simple loosening of my grip, my fingers slid up to close around Mom’s wonderous nipples.

Fuck. This was so great. I hunched my boner into the fleshiness of Mom’s ass as I lightly pinched and rolled her nipples through the dress. In my mind, I was holding Mom’s bare tits and her nipples protruded beyond my circling fingers at least half an inch. I was going to come. It was swelling up and up. I couldn’t stop it unless I chucked that image out of my mind, quit humping against her bottom, and let go of her tits. I couldn’t do any of these, so my jiz welled up until it flooded out of my cock, like a tidal swell rather than a burst, washing its stickiness into my shorts.

When my surroundings came back into focus I realized Mom had stopped playing. I was still holding her tits but my fingers were loose and no longer moving. I just held them as I recovered my breath, leaning against her back, blanketed by a wonderful feeling of bliss. I never wanted to let go but I realized I had to clean myself up. As mom started to play the piece over, I released her breasts and reluctantly pulled away.

“Is something the matter,” Mom asked.

“No, I just have to go to the bathroom,” I answered sheepishly.

“Hurry back,” she said, her voice low and strangely urgent.

Upstairs, I pulled my shorts off and cleaned up the mess I had made, then tossed my shorts and underwear into the laundry hamper, still covered with my sticky cum. I walked half naked down the hall to my room, my swaying cock beginning to stiffen as I pictured myself feeling Mom up while she played the piano. Quickly, I removed my shirt and put on a pair of pajamas, and half ran back downstairs.

“That’s a good idea,” Mom said, turning to look at me when she heard me coming down the stairs.

I resumed my position straddling Mom’s hips, the thought of Mom wearing a loose pair of pajamas with nothing on underneath greatly appealing to me and my stiffening companion.

“Maybe we should get changed before we start practicing tomorrow night,” I suggested.

“That sounds like a good idea,” Mom concurred. “Tomorrow night? Do you think we need to practice every night?”

“I think it would be a good idea,” I said. “We want to perform our best, don’t we?”

“Of course we do,” Mom breathed.

I snuggled up to Mom and noticed that her dress, which had been smoothed under her bottom and legs, was bunched up behind her. She was no longer sitting on it. As Mom played, I gathered the dress in my hands carefully so she wouldn’t feel me doing it. After a quick glance toward the living room, I cautiously raised the dress. I could see the waistband of Mom’s panties, just barely, running across the pillow. They must have been small ones because that’s as far up as they came. Mom’s crack was barely visible, squished between the pulpy flesh of her upper cheeks.

I leaned forward to lay my head on Mom’s back again. Could I get my hands under her dress? Of course. Could I get away with it? Of course. Why else would she have pulled it out from underneath herself?

I was hard again. Mom must be able to feel me. She must have felt me before, bulging against her ass, and definitely would have felt me humping against her, but this time it was unmistakably a hard cock poking into her. I slipped my hands under the material of Mom’s dress but kept them on the bench, behind her. I checked the living room to make sure I could still see Dad’s feet resting on the footrest of his Lazy Boy.

Omigod. I could see Dad’s face, reflected in the glass doors of the bookcase against the far wall of the living room. Jeez! I froze, staring at Dad’s reflection. Can he see me? No. Dad wasn’t looking at the bookcase but if he did, he probably could see me. I couldn’t see that well, but he appeared to be reading.

God, I’m lucky he didn’t catch me feeling up Mom. Dad could have turned his head anytime and looked, and when he was dozing off with his head turned to the side, all he had to do was open his eyes and focus on the reflection in the glass. Fuck! How could I keep ravishing Mom now?

I was pondering this very question when my hands answered for me. They twisted, palms facing Mom, and pressed against the bare skin above the waistband of her panties.

Jesus, Jon. Don’t, I cried to myself.

But it was no use. My hands pushed outward, sliding forward onto the outside of Mom’s thighs. Her bare skin! Fuck, this was awesome. I pulled my hands back and pushed them forward again, then started sliding them back and forth. I stared at the reflection of my father, ready to jerk my hands away at the slightest sign of movement.