Chapter 1

My parents were both a match and a mismatch. Dad was a senior executive and Mother stopped pursuing her own career once she married. Dad’s career became their joint project and each of them focused their attention on reaching the top, which they did. Social networking was essential for my father’s rise and my Mother was a crucial element in his success. In the last eight years they enjoyed being the arbitrator for other people’s success, as others had previously decided their fates. My mother, especially, thrived on the attention of all the people under my father. She loved the dinners and parties, small and large, over which she presided. Despite her relative youth at twenty years my father’s junior, she was the woman to please, and all the managers and their spouses knew it. They had to perform well on the job for Dad, and for Mom in the social milieu.

But then Dad retired. His career had been everything to him. Invitations disappeared with my father’s vanishing influence, and Mother wilted in the social vacuum that followed. Father’s health deteriorated quickly, and he withdrew into himself, eventually becoming housebound and confined to his room and office upstairs, moving between them in an electric wheelchair. Mother stayed home, not used to social interaction without the built-in respect for her position. My father shunned the titular directorships he was offered as a respected executive. He had always been a man of action and he preferred to simply fade away. But this closed the door for my Mother too, and their close relationship eroded further with each step away from the executive suite.

It was into this environment that I returned for summer at the end of my last year of college. I had grown up in private schools away from home, and had been sent away for summer activities as well. Since I was small, I had really only spent weekly breaks, Christmas, and a few weeks in the summer at home. And when I was there, my parents were usually distracted with work-related issues or events. In the summers at college, I hadn’t even gone home, spending the time traveling instead. I barely knew my parents, or they me.

By the time I came home, Mother was depressed. She and father rarely spoke, or interacted at all. Each stayed primarily on their own floor of the house, except at bedtime when my mother retired to her own room upstairs. But Mother retained the elegant beauty that had steadily helped my father up the ladder. She may have been a little faded compared to the vibrant exuberance of her thirties, but she retained her figure and was still a pretty woman.

However, a depressive atmosphere enveloped the house and my mother’s dress matched it, a remarkable change if you had known her. Gone were the figure enhancing gowns and chic dresses. Mom — odd, but I had always thought of her as Mother, until I saw her in such a vulnerable state — often shuffled about the house in a bathrobe, a simple housedress, or even, god forbid, sweatshirt and sweatpants. Never having felt close, in fact many times hating my self-absorbed parents, it was strange to feel my heart go out to this lonely, lost woman.

Perhaps this is why I started paying attention to my mom. After a couple of weeks, she started to react to my attention, not consciously, but her behavior began to change, little by little. One afternoon while I was laying on the couch reading a book, my mother came in and sat down on the chair at the far end of the couch, at about a 45 degree angle toward me. When she crossed her right leg over her left knee, her robe fell to the side, baring half her thigh. I kept glancing up at her lovely, exposed leg and I believe she finally noticed that I hadn’t turned a page for a long time. She didn’t say anything, but she began to dangle her slipper on her right toe. Her calf tensing and relaxing with each dip of her foot, and the muscle at the bottom of her thigh kept bulging and relaxing as well.

It was just a leg, but I could feel my cock begin to stir. Maybe it was partly because I was sure she knew I was transfixed by her legs. I stood up and started to leave, feeling the need to escape before a full-fledged boner prevented movement completely. As I passed my mother’s chair, her voice pulled me back.

“Jay?”

I turned, “Yes, Mother?”

“Be a dear, and refill my wine for me, will you?” She turned to get her glass, her robe parting on both of her legs. As she lifted her glass toward me, holding it over her partly bared legs, she smiled. As she reached forward to pass the glass to me her robe gapped over her chest bringing my attention to the swell of her breasts. Her smile widened. I grasped the glass and beat a retreat to the dining room.

“There’s an open bottle in the kitchen, dear.”

“Ok, Mother.”

After refilling my mother’s glass I waited for my boner to subside. When I returned, she had adjusted her robe to cover her left leg but her right thigh was still exposed, and the gap between her breasts was open lower down, clearly exposing the inside swell of both breasts as she leaned forward to take her glass of wine.

“Stay with me while I drink my wine. I hate drinking alone,” she said, as she set her glass down on the table.

As I sat down she began to read again, slowly dipping her foot. Her head was turned slightly away from me, allowing me to gaze freely at her exposed leg, which I did. She had very nice legs. I stared at them intently, a strange enjoyment spreading through me as I dragged my eyes back and forth along their length, automatically moving up and down with the movement of her foot. On one swing up her legs, I noticed that the left side of her robe had gapped forward, providing an intriguing glimpse of the profile of her breast. As her foot came up, it gaped further, and I thought I could see the nipple briefly appear.

“Could you pass me my glass, dear?”

I froze as I realized she had turned toward me, catching me looking into her robe. But she didn’t seem angry. I woodenly picked up her glass and turned to hand it back to her. She reached out with her left hand, not her right, an action which forced her robe open sufficiently for me to see her entire tit hang out while she took the glass. She appeared to fumble it a bit, prolonging my view of her bare breast suspended in the air between us, then falling against her chest as she sat back with her wine.

The twisting motion of her torso had widened the gap in her robe wider but she didn’t seem to notice as she continued reading, and I resumed ogling her legs and trying to see her breast. Her legs were bared more too as the robe had pulled apart there as well.

After a few minutes, she said, “Wine, honey,” and held out her right hand.

I placed the glass in her hand, waited while she took a sip, and retrieved it from her outstretched hand when she was done, setting it back on the table. When I turned back to her, I noticed that the robe had pulled apart even more, opening the entire side of her breast to my gaze. The robe was open down to her navel, which was just visible. As I noticed this, she uncrossed her legs and raised her left knee, pulling her foot back to rest at the edge of the chair cushion. Her robe dropped off completely, baring her left thigh to my grateful eyes. After a moment, Mother turned to me. I didn’t avert my eyes, and she didn’t seem to mind.

“You’ve been in college for a few years now, and traveling. You’re probably up on the latest fashions, aren’t you, dear?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Mother,” I replied, absently, still concentrating on her legs.

“Nonsense. You’ve been out and about, you’ve seen what people are wearing. You know what the current styles are, don’t you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Sure you do, even if you don’t know it. If I try on some of my dresses, you could let me know what you think. It would be fun. Could you do that for me?”

I much preferred that she kept reading, but I realized that I had gotten away with rather brazen behavior, and quickly agreed that, yes, that would indeed be fun, although I didn’t think that at all. Nevertheless, I agreed and Mother stood up to go change into a dress. As she walked away she turned her head over her shoulder and said, “Fill my glass again, and pour some for yourself. We’ll have a fashion show and drink some wine. It’ll be fun,” she repeated.

I wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince me, or making a promise. Anyway, she walked upstairs with a bounce in her step. In the space of half an hour, my mother’s depression had lifted. Maybe devoting an afternoon to a fashion show was the least I could do, although, perhaps, altruism wasn’t my only motivation.

At any rate, I refilled Mom’s glass and poured one for me too. That about emptied the bottle, so I fetched another. I drank a full glass of that waiting for her to come back downstairs. By the time I heard her coming, my mind was full of sexy images of what she’s be wearing, from short black dresses slit up the side to see through negligees. Yeah, right.

She glided gracefully down the stairs, partly obscured by the railing, and came into full view as she reached the bottom three steps which turned toward the living room. She was wearing an elegant, full length green gown which nicely offset her eyes. She had put her hair up and done her makeup. She was gorgeous, but she wasn’t nearly as revealing as she had been in her plaid robe. I could feel a distinct droop below my belt.

“What do you think, darling?” she asked as she entered the room and did a slow turn around to her left as she crossed the floor toward me.

“Magnificent, Mom,” I said, “You look stunning.”

“Thank you, dear. It is a wonderful dress,” she said, deflecting my flattery to her clothes.

I vouchsafed my agreement, not entirely facetiously, as I noticed how low the gown was cut in the back despite the front covering up to her neck.

“Turn around again, Mom, but slowly so I can see.” She did, more than once, seeming to revel in the feel of the gown and the admiration of an audience, however small, once again.

“It really is marvelous, Mother, truly elegant.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Her eyes shone. “I’ve set out a bunch of others. Oh, this is going to be so much fun, Jay.”

Leaning down, she picked up her glass and downed most of it is a single gulp, then turned and swept away to the stairs.

“I won’t be long, dear, I’ve already got the next one picked out.”

True to her word, she was back in less than fifteen minutes in another gown. The hem was still below her knees and her back was covered more but the neckline was lower, although not exactly revealing. I wondered how soon I could get her back into her plain old robe.

“What do you think of this one? Cat got your tongue?”

“Well...” I began.

“You’re right. It’s not really me, is it?”

“Uh, no Mom, I don’t think it’s quite you. I’m not sure why, it just doesn’t seem quite right.”

“I know what you mean. Oh, you’re so helpful, Jay. You’ve grown up so much. I do need someone to be honest with me, like your father used to be. Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

And off she went, too excited to stop for a sip of wine. But I wasn’t, as I drained another glass.

Five minutes later, she was back, swinging around in a pirouette as soon as she entered the room. This time she was wearing a very chic, white dress cut just above her knees but it was low in both front and back, and her arms were bare. Her hair was shaken out, falling to her shoulders. She really did look stunning.

She walked straight to me and stopped, resting one hand on a cocked hip, “Well...?”

“Gorgeous, Mom, you’re beautiful. That is a real keeper.”

“It feels great, too. Almost sporty.” She leaned forward with her hands at her sides, grasping the dress. “But I think it should be a little shorter, don’t you think?” She raised the hem about two inches as she leaned further forward to look, giving me a great view of her cleavage.

“Maybe even a bit higher,” I said, still fixated on her boobs and not looking at her legs at all.

“Yes, I think you’re right. I’ve got something like that upstairs I used to wear to some of our more fun parties,” and she started to turn away.

“Wait, Mom, you’re forgetting about your wine,” I said reaching over to pick up her refilled glass.

“Oh, yes. Thanks.” She stooped down to take the glass but she didn’t straighten up to drink it. Instead, she sipped the wine while remaining stooped over, tilting her head back. She continued taking small sips until half the glass was gone. Her breasts hung forward, crowding the V in her neck for the whole time, well over a minute, during which my eyes stayed glued on her delicious swells. I’m not sure if she was rewarding me or just trying to avoid spilling any on her white dress.

Then she passed the glass back to me, “Well, I must be off for the next number. Put some nice music on.” And she was gone again.

I was still trying to figure out what kind of music to play when I heard her step softly into the room behind me. The high heels had been replaced by a pair of very low navy blue pumps that matched the color of her dress. And what a dress! It was even lower in the front, dipping down to her tummy, being held together by a pair of gold chains, one just above her breasts and another just below. The hem was a hair lower than mid-thigh. As I stood there with my mouth open she turned very slowly in front of me, and then again. The dress was cut so low in the back that I could see the swell of her buttocks. I was speechless!

“I can see you like this one, don’t you, dear?”

I nodded, slowly, openly looking her up and down. I couldn’t help it.

“Oh, your father used to love the look on people’s faces when we arrived and he took off my coat. He loved dancing with me in this dress, and he wouldn’t let anyone else have a dance. He said it was only for us.”

“Well, I can see why he wanted to keep that one in the family, Mom,” I said, finally regaining some composure.

“Yes, isn’t it just wicked,” her eyes glinted above a mischievous grin that I’d never seen before. “Oh, where is that song?” She started sorting through the CDs, grabbed one and replaced the one I had put on. “Come dance with me, Jay,” she cried, as a slow number drifted out from the speakers.

“Mom, I can’t dance,” I objected as she grasped my hands and pulled me to the middle of the room. She dropped my hands, undulated sexily in front of me, then held her hands out.

“Come, on sweetie, dance with your Mother.”

I stepped toward her and she came right into me, throwing her arms around my neck, nestling her head into my shoulder. She moved to the music, burrowing her head into my shoulder, facing away, her breasts pressing against me. As she pulled in tighter I could feel her tummy and pelvis slowly twist against me. We moved like this for several minutes. When the song ended, she kept swaying against me until the next one started.

She turned her head inward and mumbled, “It’s been so long. Oh, I’ve missed this so much.”

Mother looked up and kissed me on the side of my chin, on the corner of my mouth, before nestling in again, pressing harder this time. I reacted, my cock swelling against her. I couldn’t hide it dancing like this, but I didn’t want to stop. I couldn’t think of anything but how hot she was. There wasn’t anything I could do so I just got harder.

Mom danced slowly and stayed close, swaying against me between songs. By the third dance, she was simply swaying all the time, her feet no longer moving. My cock was as hard and fragile as peanut brittle. My hands had slipped down from her shoulders to hold her against me, pressing into her bare back just above her hips. From time to time, I moved them up and down her skin, sliding the tips of my fingers along her sides to the swell of her hips.

As the fourth song started, she whispered, “I’d better go and try on the next outfit.”

“No more, Mom,” I protested, “this one’s the best anyway.”

“But you haven’t seen the others, yet. I have lots more.”

“Not today, Mom. Wear this one longer,” I wheedled, desperate to have her continue.

“Will you promise to let me show you the rest another time?”

“Absolutely, Mom. I promise.”

“Will you dance with me for the whole CD?”

“Ah, Mom,” I protested, but feebly.

“It’s fashion show or dancing. Your choice.”

“OK.”

She broke away from me. “Start the CD over. You promised to dance to the whole thing.”

She walked over to her wine glass, picked it up and drained it. I started the CD over as she filled her glass again. When she turned back to me, she kicked off her shoes, took another big drink of wine, then walked to the window and pulled the curtains closed. She walked slowly toward me, her arms raised up ready to dance, “Come on, honey.”

Her arms circled around me as she pulled herself in tight, breasts pressing lightly and nipples poking into my chest, and sweetest of all, her tummy brushing against my hardon. Mother pulled my hands around her waist and down to the swell of her hips, then further around until they rested at the top of her buttocks.

“Let’s dance like it’s the end of the evening,” she whispered, then turned her face into my chest and started swaying against me.

I held her like that through the first two songs. On the third, I started to push against her with subtle presses. By the fourth song, I let my hands stray onto her buttocks and pulled her gently to me as I pushed against her.

At the end of the fifth song, we paused the CD and broke to refill our glasses. I’m not sure about Mom, but I was definitely getting light headed. When we started again, she came right to me and pressed in tight. I moved my hands down over the swell of her cheeks and pulled her in, slowly grinding her against me. The sixth song was a long one. Not thinking, I nibbled on her shoulder and kissed the hollow of her neck but she didn’t object or protest in any way.

I took this as tacit permission to take further license with her. I rocked my cock from side to side, even rubbing it up and down a little against her mound, and she didn’t shy away. I couldn’t believe I was doing this, much less getting away with it!

For the seventh song, we stood in the middle of the room, gently rubbing ourselves against each other. We continued this through the break. I sucked on the hollow of her neck while she clutched my shoulders, lifted one foot and slid it around to rub the back of my leg. I dropped my hand down behind her thigh and lifted her leg higher onto mine, then mashed my cock unexpectedly into her pelvic bone, yanking a response from deep within her throat.

“Ohhhhhh,” she moaned.

I rubbed harder, peppering her with little fuck movements. Our breathing was now ragged and we weren’t really dancing, we were just humping each other through our clothes and moaning in unison.

Suddenly Mother went limp in my arms. I continued thrusting against her jerky pelvis as she shuddered her climax onto my swollen member, causing me to start spurting in my pants. “Oh, Mom, mom, mom,” I cried softly into her neck.

Gradually our movements subsided and her leg fell down to the floor, the dress falling back into place. She started to sway in a dance and I matched her movements. When the next song started, Mom pulled away and said, “I don’t think I can finish the whole CD, sweetie. You win.” And she stepped away to the couch, turning and sitting down. She reached for her wine glass, but it was empty and so was the bottle.