Mum Visits

“Do you want me to close the windows, Mum? I opened them just to air and freshen the room.”

“No, thank you, Pietr; I can do that myself.”

“Okay, Mum, I will leave you to it. Pop down when you are ready.”

I went downstairs and let out a big breath of air.

“And relax,” I said quietly.

Apart from her catching me looking up her skirt and her reference to me wanking, that had gone well, I thought. I shivered, I think, from relaxing after the tension of wondering what she would say and what she would find wrong. I didn’t know how Dad dealt with it, working long hours, I suppose.

I opened my laptop and fired up work email, just checking, and fortunately nothing that needed my attention. I then booked a table for six o’clock at the steakhouse. I then nipped to the loo, and after I washed my hands, I walked out and almost bumped into Mum.

“I hope you shook it,” she said.

Jesus, Mother, really? I am twenty-five years old; I know how to have a bloody piss. I thought it, but I sure as hell did not say it. I ignored it.

“Right then, Mum, where would you like to sit?”

“We can go back into the conservatory; it was nice and warm in there. I have shut my bedroom windows; it was getting a little chilly in there.”

“Okay, Mum, good idea, yes, and would you like another drink?”

“No, not just yet.”

I gathered the cups from our earlier drink, put them on the tray and took the tray through to the kitchen and went back to join Mum. We talked about my work and how busy it was, obviously not on the same scale as Dad being busy, but busy enough. We talked about Mum and her various clubs and charities that she was involved in, and I managed not to look up her skirt all the time. Just some of the time, and my dick got hard, and I knew damn well that she would notice.

It was time to get ready, and we went upstairs. Mum had the use of the main bathroom; I would use my ensuite. In my room I stripped and went into the ensuite; I had already showered earlier, so this would be just a good wash and a shave. I applied gel to my face and to my groin and began the process of shaving. My face first, slow moves and plenty of them, reapplying the gel a couple of times. I had found that to be the best way to avoid razor burn. And then my groin. I had shaved my groin years ago when a girlfriend at the time had said that if I wanted her to have a shaved fanny, then I had to have a shaved dick and balls, and I had kept them hair-free ever since.

Sophie had used wax and tried it on me once. Never again, and I mean never. That is the most painful procedure that I have ever had; it took days for the pain memory to recede. I grabbed the end of my dick and pulled it out straight; it was sporting a semi, and once I started shaving it, it would be a full hard on, much easier for shaving. As I started to shave, I recalled the images I had seen of Mum’s skirt. Pale blue semi-sheer knickers, very nice, Mum, and that got me to required hardness.

I shaved very carefully and slowly, applying lots of gel, especially on my balls; being rather wrinkly, there was a risk of a nick. Satisfied that I was once more completely hair-free, I filled the handbasin and washed and rinsed myself several times, and then applied a moisturiser.

Back in the bedroom, my dick now starting to go down as I had stopped handling it, I began to get dressed. A pair of dark cotton boxers and then a white shirt and blue chinos. Socks and loafers and a cotton twill jacket to complete.

I went to go downstairs, and as I exited my bedroom I could see that Mum had her door open, and I could see her reflected in her dresser mirror. She was naked, and as she turned, I had a full-frontal view of her boobs and fanny. I hurried on by, committing the vision to memory, and not wanting to get caught perving a look at my naked mother.

I sat on a chair in the kitchen, my dick hard and straining painfully at my zipper. Mum’s fanny was shaved, and her crease was glistening; had she put some makeup on there, moisturiser perhaps? Her inner lips slightly peaked out between her plump outer lips, and as I sat there visualising my mother, she started down the stairs, and I desperately tried to think of something else, running water, cows in fields, anything to get my dick to relax.

She was wearing a blue mid-length dress with a plunging front that showed off her cleavage. A pearl necklace sat on her décolletage; her legs had stockings or tights, difficult to tell which, and she was wearing small, perhaps four-inch, heels.

“Beautiful, Mum, you look lovely.”

“Thank you, Pietr, and you look very handsome. Shall we go?”

“Yes, let’s.”

I grabbed my wallet and house key and followed Mum out of the front door, turning to lock and check that the house was secure. It was a short walk to the Steak House, and we arrived in good time. We were met by the greeter and shown to our table.

A waitress appeared and asked if we wanted drinks whilst we looked through the order. I ordered two glasses of claret and a bottle of water. Looking through the menu, I fancied the porterhouse. Well, it was an occasion; why not? Mum went for the sixty-day-aged ribeye. Mum went for an accompanying green salad; I chose a jacket potato.

We both went for mushrooms in a garlic sauce to start and a basket of breads. Mum’s wine didn’t last long, and I signalled the waitress for another. After it had been delivered, Mum looked me in the eye and asked: