Unspoken Pleasure

Mom pushed on my wrist again. I held myself firm, fighting her resistance and sinking the side of my ring finger into her pussy’s tender folds. Mom arched her back, pushing her titties and thick nipples outward, and I wiggled my little finger, slipping two knuckles beneath her panties. She uttered a soft whimper as my digit slid against her mound. Her pubic hairs feathered my skin, the strands softer and fuller than the finest threads of silk.

“Mark,” Mom whispered.

I didn’t answer her. Instead, I sawed my hand through my mom’s thighs, up and down, doing my best to get my finger sandwiched between her folds while hoping that I’d rub her clit with my motions. It’s not like I hadn’t touched a pussy before. I had Jenna, and we had practiced often, and as Mom continued the pressure against my wrist with her hand, she added a new pressure, on purpose or by accident, I didn’t know, but I felt the thrust of her hips against me as if trying to dislodge my fingers.

“Stop,” Mom whispered.

“No,” I whispered back, my voice lower and more forceful than hers.

“Please?”

I pushed harder against her pussy as I ran my little finger across her damp pubic hairs.

“I could always go to Jenna,” I said.

Mom made a frustrated sound. “Your father could wake up.”

“He’s not going to.” Mom hadn’t sounded like she believed that either. “He took his pill.”

Mom pushed harder against the side of my hand. She dug her heels into the base of the couch and pushed her hips hard against me. I was on an upward slide, and as our movements collided, Mom released a ragged breath that sounded like a muted whimper. I pushed down with unstoppable determination, trying to use the same path as before, and Mom’s next breath trembled. I did it again, and Mom closed her eyes and turned her face sharply to the right, her nostrils flaring, their sound reaching my ears.This content is © NôvelDrama.Org.

Again I pushed my hand through her thighs, rubbing her pussy hard. I swore I felt the dampness of her muff soaking her satin boyshorts. My pinky finger, still against her mound, was as slippery as my fingers got whenever I dipped them into Jenna’s pink well, but not as sticky–yet.

“Hurry up and come,” Mom mumbled through her clenched teeth, her voice breaking. “Finish this.”

I squeezed my knob. I wanted to come–god, how I wanted to come–but how much better would the next time be if I made my mother come with me? I wanted–no–I needed her teasing to be something she wanted to do, not something she felt that she had to do.

Uttering a moan, I pulled my hand from between Mom’s leg, and for the briefest of moments, I had to pull against her resistance as she pressed her pussy against my hand one more time. Mom let go of me, her fingers springing open and her legs spreading wide as if electrified. Her eyes opened as she turned her head toward me. I slid away from her a little, just a little, not much, and I bent forward, sliding my right arm under her knees, lifting, and swinging her legs toward me. Mom spun on her butt as I brought her knees up and sat her feet next to me on the couch. Her toes touched my thigh as she leaned against the couch’s armrest. I pulled my arm from beneath her knees and pushed my hands between her shins, forcing her left leg against the back of the couch and her right toward the cushion’s edge.

“What are you doing?” Mom hissed at me as the light bathed her in shades of silver and blue.

“Touching you,” I whispered, looking into her eyes as I placed my palm on the inner meat of her right leg.

Mom swallowed as I pushed my hand down her thigh. The loose leghole of her shorts lay in a wave, the peak giving my fingers access into her shorts. I pushed inside. Mom inhaled deeply as my fingers made contact with the crux of her thigh and swept inward, following the slope of her skin until I had fully cupped the wet heat between her legs. Mom’s breath caught, and she turned her wide eyes to the right, staring at the TV as her next breath trembled and a tremor ran through her body.

I held my mother’s creamy, hot pussy in my palm for several moments. The warmth between her legs sent squiggly rays of pleasure through my arm. My knob swelled, and a soft buzzing massaged my balls, forcing my sack to constrict and my asshole to clench.

“Mark,” Mom said in a low, shaky voice.

I squeezed her pussy, holding her wetness in the palm of my hand.

Mom sighed, pinching her eyes shut as a frustrated, puppy-like whine left her lungs.

My father lay still–still sleeping, still dreaming–unaware of what I was doing to my mother or the new, floral pussy scent that pollinated the room.

I released my mother’s snatch. Her breasts rose and fell in rapid motions, and when I squeezed her pussy meat again, they swelled upward as she sucked in her breath. Her silky panties lay matted to my palm, soaked through and sticky to the touch. The triangle protecting her pussy folds was thin and narrow, allowing my fingers to press against the exposed flesh of her outer lips. My middle finger was long enough to rest against her slit and then some, the tip settling against the dental floss covering her asshole. Mom jumped when I touched her back there, and she jumped again, pushing her pussy against my hand when I applied the slightest bit of pressure against the oven-hot crinkle of her rosebud.

“You,” Mom said, pausing as I squeezed her pussy again, “have to stop.”

“I can’t,” I said, speaking as low as she had. “I need this. I’m eighteen. I’m horny, and you’ve made my dick so fucking hard.”