Unspoken Pleasure

I swallowed as my heart punched the underside of my chest hard enough to make my throat hurt. The world brightened, and I sat on the edge of Mom’s chair as my vision swooned, moving left-to-right and left again, like a pendulum. I shivered again, and then I took a deep breath that sounded extra loud to my ears. I released it, then took another, and released that in a tunnel of wind through my lips.

“Are you okay?” Mom asked.

“Yeah,” I said as my prick hardened fully. “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Mom whispered.

The cap to the oil was one of those push-down on one side and spring-up on the other kind, and I depressed it with my thumb and then held the bottle over my mother’s back. My eyes stared at the strings of her bikini bra, and I asked, “No tan lines, right Mom?” in a faraway voice.

Mom took a deep breath.This belongs © NôvelDra/ma.Org.

“Mom,” I said with enough urgency in my voice to make my suggestion sound like a demand.

“Untie my bra for me,” Mom said, “and drop the strings to the sides.” The sides, where I could already see the bottom flesh of her breasts, bulging outward as her upper body pushed their roundness into her cushioned chair.

I reached down with my hand, fingers extended, the tips trembling, and I plucked one of the strings of her bra’s bow on the first try. I pulled, watching as the string slid through the knot, and the bow shrank and shrank, snapping free and leaving a simple crossover knot. Pulling the string to the side and giving it a shake to loosen it from its partner, I tossed it to the side, and then I grabbed the other string, dropping it to Mom’s left side, undressing her back. As the strings landed on the cushions, the cups of Mom’s bra fell away, baring the side of her tits to my eyes. My cock jumped, and I pulled my hips back, trying to find room within my shorts for my aching erection.

There was no room.

Tilting the bottle of oil, I let a stream of the thick liquid spill from the cap’s nozzle. The sunlight caught its burnished gold color, making it sparkle–reminding me of that album cover in my grandmother’s collection where honey drops from the comb. The end bulb struck the center of Mom’s back. Her spine moved as she reacted to the oil’s touch, and I watched as a pool formed over her skin, then slipped to the side in thin rivulets of liquid sex.

Sex.

I placed the bottle to the side, freeing my hands, and extended my fingers, bringing the tips down to my mother’s back. They shook until they touched her skin and moved upward, my digits spreading as far apart as they could as I stroked my mother’s skin. My adrenaline spiked, starting in my heart and radiating outward, finding the pathways through my shoulders and arms and down into my hands, where the energy passed through me and into my mother.

“Mm,” Mom moaned, but it sounded like a low, muffled groan that she had tried to hold back. Her mouth never opened, and the sound was low and faint, but it was there. My heart raced, and I pushed harder into her skin, trying to get her to moan again. She didn’t, but her lips twitched as I increased the pressure across her smooth skin.

I reached Mom’s neck, pushing my fingers into the slope running down to her shoulders. My mother had a firm body, but not too firm, her muscles lying beneath a single layer of feminine softness, giving her body all the hints of having curves while still appearing thin. She had a showgirl’s body, a runner’s body, a dancer’s–the kind of body that deserved admiration, coupled with a beauty that could turn a strong man weak or a hard man soft.

All this from just touching her, I thought.

I had never touched my mother before. Not like this. A hug, a kiss on the cheek, a tug on her arm or hand, but I had never stroked her in such a familiar way. There was no other way to rub oil on a person, whether they were a friend, a girlfriend, your mother, or a client at a spa. This was as intimate as two people could physically become, outside of sex.

Sex.

I ran my hands down my mother’s shoulders and over her arms, straightening each of her arms one at a time and having to tug the first one loose before she gave it up. I ran my hand down her arm, over her small bicep and forearm, my long fingers circling her limb completely. I reached her fingers, and I covered them with oil as well, taking time to stroke each one of her digits before making my way back to her shoulders, where I rowed my thumbs over her skin, warmed by the sun–and, I hoped, by me.

The more I touched my mother, the harder she breathed and the calmer I grew. I stayed hard, and my excitement rushed through me, pushing through my veins in thick pulses of light, but I remained calm.

What was my mother feeling?

I lowered my hands down her back with my thumbs meeting along her spine. Her skin moved before my fingertips as I fanned them outward, turning them sideways so that they faced my mother’s ribs and the sides of her breasts. Oil glistened in the light, and the velvet texture of her flesh sent ripples of desire through my arms. My cock swelled, and out poured a hefty glob of precum that would have given me a thick droplet of dewy goo to add to the oil covering her back.

If only I could rub my precum on her….

If only I could.

What a terrible, horrible, and thrilling thought. And like that, I had begun to free myself of every reservation that I had concerning how far I was willing to push my mother in her game of tease with me.

Freeing myself–that final moment that pushed me across the line that Mom had drawn–didn’t mean that I was without fear or anxiety. It took an effort to push my hands outward, the tips pointing left and right, and then curling over Mom’s slick back toward the outer bulges of her breasts. Mom tensed as my fingers slid down her ribs, straight down toward the cushion, not backward toward her hips. Straight down, to her titties, almost reaching them, almost there, almost touching their softness until–

“Mark,” Mom said in a whispered rush, “your hands are slipping in the oil.”

They aren’t slipping, Mom.

I swallowed to regain my composure. My cock ached and twitched, and after a pause, I moved my hands down her ribs to her sides. Touching her like this made her seem small. Her great Motherhood shrunken down to a normal woman, a sexy woman, who was letting me touch her in ways that she never had before. My cock jerked again, spitting up more precum, and I released a shaky breath as I moved my hands over her sides to the small of her back.

My thumbs pressed into my mother’s spin, then rowed up and around, and I opened and closed my fingertips. This was no casual massage that I was giving my mother. I caressed her, opening my fingers wide and gliding my palms over her skin, watching as her flesh moved before my fingertips in a wave of visual stimulation.

What was my mother feeling?

Her breathing had deepened. She lay still, mostly, with her lips tight and her eyes unreadable behind her sunglasses. I moved my hands lower, then higher, then lower, nearing the quarter-inch-thick waistband of her thong bikini. Closer and closer and closer….

“Mark,” Mom snapped when my oil-slick hands moved over her thong’s waistband and right on her ass.

“I have to get all of you,” I said, my voice heavy and low, the sound of my breathing exciting me in its perversion.

Did it excite my mother?

Her breathing had deepened.

“Jenna,” I said as I pressed my palms into my mother’s small, soft ass. Soft on the outside, firm on the inside, yet not as firm as a teenager’s ass. That contrast between young tightness and mature firmness sent a sensual heat through my body that made the world spin. “Jenna lets me do this whenever I want.”

Mom hissed.

I curled my fingers down her butt, then opened them, my thumbs riding the edges of her shallow crack and grazing the line of the thong running between her cheeks. I didn’t try to go under her thong, but I wanted to. Fuck, I wanted to, and my cock, dripping precum, was more than enough proof of my desire for my mother.