Based on art from Pandora's Box - email me if you want the drawing.
Mom and I weren't rich. After my father died of cancer at forty-one, the medical bills took most of the life insurance and we struggled financially. Our little bungalow house had few pieces of furniture. Just the basics. The best thing we had was this wonderful white couch that mom's aunt had given us when she move to a retirement home.
The fabric was a sort of soft velveteen and had been specially treated to resist stains. Which was good, since we ate there a lot in front of the TV. I was not too messy a 'Munchkin' as mom called me, since I was always feeding my face. But once in awhile I did dribble some soda or something, but it never stained the sofa. We loved that great soft seat. It had one long wide cushion which made it comfortable for napping. The broad arms were well padded, the back in three sections wasn't overstuffed and quite supportive.
In contrast, the dull orange coffee table that stretched in front of it was cheap looking. It came from the secondhand shop in town. So the food spills and rings from sweating glasses didn't matter. We lived on the poor side of the tracks, literally, since they were half a block from us. You learned to sleep through the freight trains that rumbled by during the night. Mom was a waitress at the local truck diner. I once got in trouble at school for hitting a kid who called her a dirty blond. I didn't know it was a hair color reference. I have the same shade.
But mom also had a bit of a reputation as a floozy, or 'woman of loose morals' I overheard a lady at church term it. I knew she dated a bit, but I'm not sure how much she 'put out' as the guys on the playground put it. She was no slut though. She dressed cheaply, because that was all we could afford. Jeez, even my green pajamas were from Goodwill! But of course she was going to go out with big tippers who wanted to show a hot babe like mom a good time. If once in a while she came home late, well she was an adult, and I was old enough not to need a babysitter – even if we could have afforded one.
So when she started dating this salesman that came to town on a regular basis, and the gent had plenty of dough, that was good times for us. I knew she was letting him have some action, the way they kissed when he picked her up, and how he grabbed her ass. More often than not she would get home in the morning. He stayed at a motel on the edge of town that had a reputation for being discrete. But when she saw him, he was generous, to us both. It was too good to be true. Four months into the relationship, she discovered he was married.
At least I got a new video game from the guy. There not much to do in our dusty little backwater mid-western town. The movies cost money. Bowling, you needed to belong to a league. How many places can you ride your bike to, when it's all cornfields anyway? They did have a small dance band at the local Elk Club on weekends. Mom and the the cheating bastard, used to go there. Until she heard from a friend who worked as a maid at the motel, that he was hitched, the son-of a-bitch. The gal-pal had heard him talking to what was obviously the Mrs., after mom had left one morning. He didn't deny it, he had four kids!
It was the middle of a hot August that the affair with her 'false-fella' from Sioux Falls went sour. She came home all depressed, put on her flimsy flamingo-pink night gown, the short one, and started knocking back beers from the fridge. I knew she wasn't going to be making any dinner that evening, in that mood; so I ordered some Chinese delivered for us both. She sat there next to me, on our white couch, in a mopey mood. I tried to get her interested in playing the game I was doing, but she just could at have any enthusiasm for anything.
I said that I was glad she had dumped the guy, even if he had given me my game new system, there was something oily about him – something not genuine. But this didn't help mom's ill humor. I put my arm around her and tried to comfort her. But then she started to get angry about the whole thing, began to rant how she wished she had know a day earlier. Why a day I asked, wouldn't it have been better a week, or a month earlier, or even that she hadn't taken up with the fella in the first place?
“Wait here,” mom told me, “I'll show you why!” She went to her room, when she came back she had on these black silk stockings. “I bought these yesterday! These damn things cost me a week of tips! Oh! He could spend like a sailor, when we went out on the town, and I am glad he bought the video game for you, but he hardly bought me anything, like clothes or jewelry. Sure he sprung for some flowers and candy. But I bought these to please him 'cause he said he like a gal to be wear stocking and heels when he was screwing her. Said it was his fantasy. What a fool I was over him!”
I looked at my mom, standing next to me in her ratty old red nightie and these black French silk stockings. Lacy elastic garter-tops and sheer material. To boot, she had on new shoes, stylish with straps and four inch high-heels. Four freaking inch heels! “God! mom you look hot!” I exclaimed.
“I am hot, now that you mentioned it, Sweetpea! It's awful humid tonight. We ought to get the fan on in here.” She was right, the weather was stifling, but she had mistook my meaning, clearly. Then things got steamier! Mom had a few too many beers, because she wobbled on the high heels and suddenly tipped over. She landed on the couch on her back with her legs flying up and her crotch flashing her beaver at me. It was not unusual on a hot evening for her to be so scantily clad in a short nightgown, panty-less no less but her butt covered. However, usually she was sober and in her bedroom.
Sure, once in a while she would walk by, in this semi-nude state from her room to the kitchen and back, grabbing a beer or bowl or ice cream. I'd be watching the television or absorbed in a video game and hardly noticed. She was my mom. We weren't prudes. She was proud of her body, though it was not meant to be a parade of display for my benefit, just casual dress. I lounged in PJs or shorts myself, sometimes my jockeys even – so what? But showing her snatch naturally got my attention when it was exposed right before my eyes, like a flower blooming in time-lapse photography, as a close-up!
She said “Whoops! Fall down go boom! I think your mamma's a little tiny tipsy!” I wasn't sure she even realized that she had been . .uh . . quite un-lady like with her tumble, letting her boy get a gander at her privates. She swung her legs to the floor and opened her buttons in the front, now her tits were partially in view. A trickle of sweat dripped in a rivulet down her front, between the twin mounds capped with round ruddy points. Her neatly trimmed pubic hair formed a triangle that was visible; even though as she sat on the couch, the bare labia that I had been privy to moments before, were now hidden.
Gone but not forgotten! The image of my sexy mother's mons, slit and ass rocking up in the air inches from the tip of my nose was seared into my memory, you bet! “Are you okay, mom?” I asked. She didn't get drunk that often. Not on beer.
“”I guesh I shudna had those three shots of vodka at the bar, before I cum'd homm . .” she slurred. That explained somethings. I didn't want to take advantage of her inebriated condition – or did I? I had been a little jealous of this new lover, even if he had been nice enough to get me a new game console and controls and several of the more popular cartridges. But I owned him nothing for that, since he had wronged my mother. Besides which, now that she was no longer screwing the guy, that left the field wide open, so to speak. And I HAD seen it 'wide open'!
I always had been aware of my mom's erotic nature, her attractiveness and allure were not lost on me. But right now - we were alone, it was very warm, she was nearly nude, I was horny (especially after the inadvertent peep). She was loosened up . . but was she too gone, or would she sober up if I tried something. Either falling asleep or slapping my face would not be desired. What I wanted, what I lusted after, what I hoped for, was to have her let me make her feel good, very good between her legs, where her womanhood was. How to created a reason for her to let her son have a crack at her twat, put my terwilliger in her crack? That was a problem.
She looked at me, “Aren't you hot in those pajamas? Why don't you take off the top?” There's an idea, but not the top . . .
“Your right mom, I'm going to take them off, it is hot tonight.” I shucked my bottoms. My boner stuck out it's full length, big enough to please a pussy. “Damn! I forgot I didn't have my jockeys on!” (Yeah, right!)
“Oh! My! You're hard . . . That's a nice one.” She looked down at herself, then looked up and smiled, “Is that 'cause maybe I'm a liddle underdreshed?” she giggled.
“Oh you're dressed to the nines in those stocking and heels mom! But yeah, I do have a stiffy because of you. It's not the first time either.”
“Poor baby, mommy walks around with no pannies, and you got no pannies. We jus' po' folk without a pannie beteen us! Oops, mom made a funny!”
I made my move, I sensed that her mood was mellow and if I could turn her on, just maybe . . . “Mom, I'd love to hug you without any pannie-thing between us.” I played on her words and made an indecent proposal – we certainly both were indecent below the waist. “And I want to show you how sorry I am that you were bamboozled by that bastard.”
“I boozled myself, but he sure did bam me – wham-bam-no-thanks-mam-I'm-uh-married-man . . .” and she started to cry. Now I felt sorry for her.
“Don't cry mom, I'm here, I love you . .” I took her in my arms and hugged her. I was not unaware that we were pressing erogenous zones together, but that was not my immediate intent. “I'll never let you down. You can count on me no matter what. You know that right?”
“Aw Sweetpea! I know you'll always be there for me, Darlin'” she recovered a little, “An' Owl alwazh be there for you too.” Still a bit buzzy in her head – good or bed? I mean bad . .
I kissed her lips and she returned it. But then I kissed her again and let it go on a little longer. She let it linger. I did that lip thing where you mush mouthes, and she was responding to that favorably too. So I tried to French her; she allowed that, she liked that, she let me do more of that, and then she stuck her tongue in my mouth. I put a hand lightly on her right breast and she didn't move it off. I squeezed gently, she moaned. I was leaking pre-cum! I gave a itty-bitty pinch to the nip and suddenly her arms went around my neck and mom was turning so her back was flat on the sofa, her head cushioned on the arm rest.
We made out some more, my palms and finger exploring her tatas, and her right hand slid down and found my handle, which she proceeded to give a delicate jacking to. I was pretty sure that I was going to lose my virginity that night – understand it's a small town and the pickin's were slim to none at that age of early teens. I felt mom twist her hips so that her pelvis was scootching on to the couch. I maneuvered my legs so that she could lie on the cushion and I was kneeling between her thighs.
There! Once more I looked at paradise. It was the sweetest sight I'd ever seen and twice in the same night! The spread pussy of my mother, in all its splendor. The labia glistening with lubrication, the clit popped up, the bright pink tissues of her vagina, the darkness of the hole that led inside her body. That mysterious haven awaited the muscle which was pointed there. My left hand braced next to the round boobs of this dirty blond; using my right hand I guided the tip of my penis into the slit of my mother, dirty boy, I!
She gasp at the sinful touch. Let the church ladies know, mom isn't loose down there, she's damn tight! As I slid inside her quim it clutched me firmly and I felt every fraction of that penetration; as I proceeded to fuck my lady in her French silk stockings and four inch high-heels! Then it was “damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!” as I went to town in the privacy of our living room: on the white comfortable couch that now was our davenport of indecency, our sofa of sin. I gloried in the sensation of sawing in and out of mother's soft, hot, wet, snug sex with my cock constantly corking her cunt.
Who doesn't love fucking? SHIT! It's great! If I didn't have to cum I could do it all day. Beats the hell out of video games! Abet of course, it gets too good, then really great, then totally grand, as you grind your meat in the cavity that you came from, where you are about to cum in. Because screwing your mom is the ultimate pleasure, the mind blowing, dick glowing, prick pulsating explosion, that at last arrives in a searing spewing of burning sauce out the piss-hole of your penis. Deep in her body, where you feel the nubs of her uterus bumped by your swollen knob and you know that you are shooting your seed in her womb. WHOOWEE!!!!
Meanwhile mom is grabbing my ass, clutching my hunching buns and pulling her baby, her own boy, into her very being; while the climax of her life, the mother of all orgasms racks her throughout, while love incarnate is clamped to her center and thrusting to her very heart. The most intoxicating shot of all, the semen of your son!
But in her head, a little voice said, 'Thank God the furniture's stain proof!'