I didn't know why she had left her panties. Actually, I didn't even think about it. She was entering my room to say goodnight. It wasn't unusual. I was wearing my nightgown. I myself was ready to go to bed. It wasn't anything unusual. I went into my room only to say goodnight, that's all. I hadn't seen him much in several weeks since he left for university. I had missed him. I was very happy to have him home for the holidays.
He called before entering. It was a simple courtesy, established for a long time as the norm for them. If his door was open or closed, that's what he would do. She would call. He gave her the same courtesy every time he went to his room. She sat down beside his bed and looked at him with love. He was lying on his back, reading. When she entered, he closed his book and looked at her, noticing how beautiful she looked in her silk nightgown. Her curvaceous form wasn't fully obscured. She was playing with grace just behind the lightweight fabric, attracting his attention, awakening his interest. She didn't wear a shirt, he noticed, but the sheets were enough, covering him from waist down. He observed, with carefully moderated interest, that she had become a young and elegant man, very fit, very handsome. I'm so happy you're home, she said softly, extending her hand to caress his cheek. Me too, he assured her, with a slight smile on his beautiful face. He looked at her face, her plump lips, that beautiful smile of hers, the small wrinkles around her bright and loving eyes. Did he have something in mind ?, he wondered. She returned his gaze. So handsome, her lovely little boy, now a young man. Of age. Now, why was she thinking about that ?, she wondered, while sinking into the bed, reclining beside him, mussing his hair with her right hand, studying his face. Very handsome. His eyelids were heavy with satisfaction. He closed them, almost falling asleep. He wanted to be with him, stay and savor his presence. He had missed her terribly. She felt she could stay there in bed with him all night. He had been the man of the house for years. She didn't have another one. She appreciated him. Her left hand caressed his arm lazily, stroking it from the wrist to the shoulder and back, with the pads of her fingers brushing against his bare chest. He smelled a little like musk, masculine. She sighed, then kissed him Softly, she adjusted her face on her pillow, her breath in his ear. She left the book aside and remained perfectly still, feeling her chest lightly pressing against his shoulder, moving her thigh. She thought carefully about what she should do now. 'Mom?' 'Mmm?' she breathed softly. 'Do you remember facial massages?' The thought brought her back to full wakefulness. 'Yes, darling, I remember', she said, sitting up on her elbow, ready as always. 'I think the university has been putting me a bit tense', she suggested, stopping there, waiting, wondering. 'Want a massage?' she asked, smiling happily. 'It would be good.' 'We haven't done it since you were little'. 'Yes, I suppose... I don't know.' However, he knew. He stopped with puberty, with the changes he was experiencing, his growing anxiety about women. And then his father left, and she distanced herself for a time, and there were no more massages. They were forgotten, until now. Now, that's what he wanted, and that's why he asked. She sat down and leaned over him, her breasts falling, almost reaching his bare chest. She pressed her thumbs on his forehead and then crossed them in opposite directions along the hairline, ending with a small whirlpool around each temple. However, it was uncomfortable from this position. To massage a face, you need the correct angle. She considered her options. She could make him curl up a bit, letting her sit where his pillow used to be, with her head resting on her lap as she used to do when he was little. But she reasoned that she didn't need to bother him, possibly increasing his tension. Instead, she carefully passed her left leg over him, then sat down, sitting astride his thighs. He caught a glimpse of her pubic area during the transition and noticed she wasn't wearing underwear. His tension increased. His masculinity responded with enthusiasm. Once in the correct position, she put her thumbs back... Fingers against the center of his forehead, on the line of the scalp, and he started again. Slowly dragged his fingers across his forehead until his temples, firmly encircling each one, then back to his forehead, just a little below the scalp, and made the transition once and again, slowly, very deliberately, opening up a path towards hers. Then her cheeks, then her jawbone. He stayed quiet, making no noise. Tension? That was another matter. He was young, barely eighteen years old. He was worried about everything sexual. The simple fact that an attractive woman, without panties in her negligee, mounted across the lower part of his body, had a predictable effect. He didn't worry about his age or the fact that she was his mother. In fact, he felt like he almost had her where he wanted and his hopes were increasing rapidly. He struggled to be patient, but knew he had to take the initiative in this small and daring dance. Gently, he lowered the blankets from his waist. She was so concentrated on her work that she didn't notice. But time was passing and quickly approaching a crisis. She was massaging his chin now, almost finished. If he wanted to get away with it, he was running out of time. He needed to act, but knew he had to go slow, not alarm her, attract her, lead her to a point from which she couldn't turn back. With great softness, he placed his hands on her hips. She felt his touch. It didn't surprise him entirely, the emotion it produced and the effects it had on his body. His nipples hardened. His stomach churned. His vagina moistened. She chose not to insist on those physical responses to his touch. She was enjoying this small game he seemed to be playing with her, the small indulgences, the thrill of tempting fate. It had been a long time since her husband left. A long and solitary time. He swallowed saliva and slowed down the massage, keeping pace with the passing time. Better than it could have been, maintaining the moment, the enchanting and intimate moment that was developing slowly for them. Now he put a little pressure on her back, pushing her slightly forward. She allowed only a small adjustment of her position, giving way to her impulses, almost imperceptibly but definitely yielding to him, at least a little. But she didn't give in completely. Not yet. Neither did she try to force the issue. She maintained her subtle impulses, enough to advance, but not enough to trigger alarms. He finished the massage and stopped, thinking about the loving feelings he had towards her and how the intimate moment could soon pass. Then she asked him, barely audible, almost whispering: Was that enough? Do you want me to do it again? Yes, he breathed. She put her thumbs on his forehead again and started over, the adjustment causing his back to rise a little more up his legs. He pushed the blankets a bit more while she moved. The tip of his erect penis had just come out from under the top sheet. If he looked down, he would see it, but he didn't. She was looking at his face, the beautiful, young, and loved face that was massaging him. Something in her expression encouraged him to go a bit further. He started caressing her ass very lightly. She barely seemed to notice, sighing only slightly at his soft and loving touch. He felt even more animated by the sound, no matter how slight it was, but he restrained himself, letting her massage him, waiting patiently and then pressing a little harder. Another small sigh. I think you're behaving badly, she observed casually, her voice sounding hoarse. That encouraged him even more. He was almost ready to make his move. She was halfway through her face again, but being very deliberate, taking her time. Her tension didn't decrease the slightest bit, but they played their game. She passed her thumbs over his upper lip and up his cheeks, then gave that A small whirlpool around her temples, the best part always; and as she whirled, he pulled on his backside with firmness but gentleness, and she advanced a little again. She let out another small sigh, as if accepting something, resigning herself. Her breathing became audible to him. He encouraged himself again and released her backside to push the blankets further down and expose herself more completely. She felt his movements and sat up a bit, letting it happen, but otherwise chose to ignore the liberties he was taking. It wasn't anything, she told herself, avoiding responsibility. She tried to calm her breathing. The massage would soon reach its inevitable end. Some things are simply inevitable, she thought to herself. You can't control everything. She remained timid about her exact intention. She pushed the blankets again. She felt it and knew exactly what was happening, and sat up a bit more, allowing the inevitable to develop, as if she had no intentions of her own, as if she couldn't help him expose himself to anything that came to mind. The massage ended and, without a word, without a clear thought, she untied the cord at the top of her nightgown, revealing the fullness of her décolletage. Then she moved her hands to her shoulders, squeezing, feeling her power. She leaned forward to kiss his forehead, and her décolletage opened completely, exposing her bare breasts to his view. She kissed him softly on the forehead, then on his nose, her lips near his. She considered bending down further, pressing their lips together, but thought about it too much, not entirely well at this moment.
She lifted herself to look at her face again, now flushed with reddish tints on her cheeks. Her breasts swayed before her anxious eyes. They were heavy and full and hung there, tormenting him. He licked his lips and remained open-mouthed, and she let him do so for one or two minutes. Then he lowered his head and finally looked at her nakedness, pulsating beneath her, observing that her own nakedness was only a few centimeters away from his. She inclined her head back and arched her back a little, pushing her hips forward. Now he could see she was open to him, although he felt he still had to go slow, not rush, let her succumb to the inevitable at his pace. He put his hands on her bare buttocks again, this time under her camisole, feeling her naked skin. Never before had he touched her bare buttocks. She gasped loudly but didn't say anything. He listened to her breathing, still more audible, faster, excited. 'I love you, Mom', she whispered with a hoarse voice. He closed his eyes, savored the moment, closeness, love. 'I also love you, baby', she whispered back. She was as stiff as his virility, her back still arched, her head back, her eyes closed, her thoughts confused. Her intentions still eluded her conscious thoughts. But her body imposed demands on him that he couldn't reject. He pressed firmly on her bare buttocks and again she gasped. He pulled again and her wet buttocks came into contact with his scrotum. He could feel his full testicles resting on his thighs, and felt like he wanted to rub against them, but restrained himself, still without fully recognizing his intentions, the inevitability of what they would do. However, he clearly knew his own intentions, his desire to couple with her, to make love with his beautiful and sexy mother. He pulled again. She advanced again, almost against her own will, practically unable to stop him. Now he could feel his erection against hers Burning lips, but she still restrained herself, still not fully willing to take it. Then she started swaying her hips, feeling herself slide up and down in the impotent humidity of a mother in heat. She slid from side to side, exciting her swollen clitoris, tempting her painful and hungry vagina, making her desperate for more. She had become unable to stop. 'We shouldn't', she protested. He responded by pulling her forward a little more. She feigned resistance, but now felt the head of his penis against her open and soaked vaginal canal and finally, inevitably, knew she would give in. 'We shouldn't', she said again, even as she lifted herself up a little. This was finally her opportunity. The moment had arrived. She was his to take. She could no longer enforce her own protests. He pushed against her and slid into her. There was no resistance. He thrust himself fully into her with a simple push. Once more, he gasped, then gave in completely, lay on top of him and began kissing him on the mouth, saying over and over again, like an explanation of her actions, 'I love you, baby. So much! Taaaaaaaaaaaa!' Then simply started screwing him, balancing her hips with deep pleasure, rebounding up and down on his abdomen, feeling his hardness sliding into her, pleasing herself and him, giving in to the inevitable. It didn't take long before she began to come, groaning with deep satisfaction from her first sexual relationship in so many years. The guttural and luxurious sounds she made were all she needed, all she could handle, and filled her backside with powerful bursts of thick and hot semen, groaning her love for her mother, her lover. If you want more stories like this don't forget to leave your points
He called before entering. It was a simple courtesy, established for a long time as the norm for them. If his door was open or closed, that's what he would do. She would call. He gave her the same courtesy every time he went to his room. She sat down beside his bed and looked at him with love. He was lying on his back, reading. When she entered, he closed his book and looked at her, noticing how beautiful she looked in her silk nightgown. Her curvaceous form wasn't fully obscured. She was playing with grace just behind the lightweight fabric, attracting his attention, awakening his interest. She didn't wear a shirt, he noticed, but the sheets were enough, covering him from waist down. He observed, with carefully moderated interest, that she had become a young and elegant man, very fit, very handsome. I'm so happy you're home, she said softly, extending her hand to caress his cheek. Me too, he assured her, with a slight smile on his beautiful face. He looked at her face, her plump lips, that beautiful smile of hers, the small wrinkles around her bright and loving eyes. Did he have something in mind ?, he wondered. She returned his gaze. So handsome, her lovely little boy, now a young man. Of age. Now, why was she thinking about that ?, she wondered, while sinking into the bed, reclining beside him, mussing his hair with her right hand, studying his face. Very handsome. His eyelids were heavy with satisfaction. He closed them, almost falling asleep. He wanted to be with him, stay and savor his presence. He had missed her terribly. She felt she could stay there in bed with him all night. He had been the man of the house for years. She didn't have another one. She appreciated him. Her left hand caressed his arm lazily, stroking it from the wrist to the shoulder and back, with the pads of her fingers brushing against his bare chest. He smelled a little like musk, masculine. She sighed, then kissed him Softly, she adjusted her face on her pillow, her breath in his ear. She left the book aside and remained perfectly still, feeling her chest lightly pressing against his shoulder, moving her thigh. She thought carefully about what she should do now. 'Mom?' 'Mmm?' she breathed softly. 'Do you remember facial massages?' The thought brought her back to full wakefulness. 'Yes, darling, I remember', she said, sitting up on her elbow, ready as always. 'I think the university has been putting me a bit tense', she suggested, stopping there, waiting, wondering. 'Want a massage?' she asked, smiling happily. 'It would be good.' 'We haven't done it since you were little'. 'Yes, I suppose... I don't know.' However, he knew. He stopped with puberty, with the changes he was experiencing, his growing anxiety about women. And then his father left, and she distanced herself for a time, and there were no more massages. They were forgotten, until now. Now, that's what he wanted, and that's why he asked. She sat down and leaned over him, her breasts falling, almost reaching his bare chest. She pressed her thumbs on his forehead and then crossed them in opposite directions along the hairline, ending with a small whirlpool around each temple. However, it was uncomfortable from this position. To massage a face, you need the correct angle. She considered her options. She could make him curl up a bit, letting her sit where his pillow used to be, with her head resting on her lap as she used to do when he was little. But she reasoned that she didn't need to bother him, possibly increasing his tension. Instead, she carefully passed her left leg over him, then sat down, sitting astride his thighs. He caught a glimpse of her pubic area during the transition and noticed she wasn't wearing underwear. His tension increased. His masculinity responded with enthusiasm. Once in the correct position, she put her thumbs back... Fingers against the center of his forehead, on the line of the scalp, and he started again. Slowly dragged his fingers across his forehead until his temples, firmly encircling each one, then back to his forehead, just a little below the scalp, and made the transition once and again, slowly, very deliberately, opening up a path towards hers. Then her cheeks, then her jawbone. He stayed quiet, making no noise. Tension? That was another matter. He was young, barely eighteen years old. He was worried about everything sexual. The simple fact that an attractive woman, without panties in her negligee, mounted across the lower part of his body, had a predictable effect. He didn't worry about his age or the fact that she was his mother. In fact, he felt like he almost had her where he wanted and his hopes were increasing rapidly. He struggled to be patient, but knew he had to take the initiative in this small and daring dance. Gently, he lowered the blankets from his waist. She was so concentrated on her work that she didn't notice. But time was passing and quickly approaching a crisis. She was massaging his chin now, almost finished. If he wanted to get away with it, he was running out of time. He needed to act, but knew he had to go slow, not alarm her, attract her, lead her to a point from which she couldn't turn back. With great softness, he placed his hands on her hips. She felt his touch. It didn't surprise him entirely, the emotion it produced and the effects it had on his body. His nipples hardened. His stomach churned. His vagina moistened. She chose not to insist on those physical responses to his touch. She was enjoying this small game he seemed to be playing with her, the small indulgences, the thrill of tempting fate. It had been a long time since her husband left. A long and solitary time. He swallowed saliva and slowed down the massage, keeping pace with the passing time. Better than it could have been, maintaining the moment, the enchanting and intimate moment that was developing slowly for them. Now he put a little pressure on her back, pushing her slightly forward. She allowed only a small adjustment of her position, giving way to her impulses, almost imperceptibly but definitely yielding to him, at least a little. But she didn't give in completely. Not yet. Neither did she try to force the issue. She maintained her subtle impulses, enough to advance, but not enough to trigger alarms. He finished the massage and stopped, thinking about the loving feelings he had towards her and how the intimate moment could soon pass. Then she asked him, barely audible, almost whispering: Was that enough? Do you want me to do it again? Yes, he breathed. She put her thumbs on his forehead again and started over, the adjustment causing his back to rise a little more up his legs. He pushed the blankets a bit more while she moved. The tip of his erect penis had just come out from under the top sheet. If he looked down, he would see it, but he didn't. She was looking at his face, the beautiful, young, and loved face that was massaging him. Something in her expression encouraged him to go a bit further. He started caressing her ass very lightly. She barely seemed to notice, sighing only slightly at his soft and loving touch. He felt even more animated by the sound, no matter how slight it was, but he restrained himself, letting her massage him, waiting patiently and then pressing a little harder. Another small sigh. I think you're behaving badly, she observed casually, her voice sounding hoarse. That encouraged him even more. He was almost ready to make his move. She was halfway through her face again, but being very deliberate, taking her time. Her tension didn't decrease the slightest bit, but they played their game. She passed her thumbs over his upper lip and up his cheeks, then gave that A small whirlpool around her temples, the best part always; and as she whirled, he pulled on his backside with firmness but gentleness, and she advanced a little again. She let out another small sigh, as if accepting something, resigning herself. Her breathing became audible to him. He encouraged himself again and released her backside to push the blankets further down and expose herself more completely. She felt his movements and sat up a bit, letting it happen, but otherwise chose to ignore the liberties he was taking. It wasn't anything, she told herself, avoiding responsibility. She tried to calm her breathing. The massage would soon reach its inevitable end. Some things are simply inevitable, she thought to herself. You can't control everything. She remained timid about her exact intention. She pushed the blankets again. She felt it and knew exactly what was happening, and sat up a bit more, allowing the inevitable to develop, as if she had no intentions of her own, as if she couldn't help him expose himself to anything that came to mind. The massage ended and, without a word, without a clear thought, she untied the cord at the top of her nightgown, revealing the fullness of her décolletage. Then she moved her hands to her shoulders, squeezing, feeling her power. She leaned forward to kiss his forehead, and her décolletage opened completely, exposing her bare breasts to his view. She kissed him softly on the forehead, then on his nose, her lips near his. She considered bending down further, pressing their lips together, but thought about it too much, not entirely well at this moment.She lifted herself to look at her face again, now flushed with reddish tints on her cheeks. Her breasts swayed before her anxious eyes. They were heavy and full and hung there, tormenting him. He licked his lips and remained open-mouthed, and she let him do so for one or two minutes. Then he lowered his head and finally looked at her nakedness, pulsating beneath her, observing that her own nakedness was only a few centimeters away from his. She inclined her head back and arched her back a little, pushing her hips forward. Now he could see she was open to him, although he felt he still had to go slow, not rush, let her succumb to the inevitable at his pace. He put his hands on her bare buttocks again, this time under her camisole, feeling her naked skin. Never before had he touched her bare buttocks. She gasped loudly but didn't say anything. He listened to her breathing, still more audible, faster, excited. 'I love you, Mom', she whispered with a hoarse voice. He closed his eyes, savored the moment, closeness, love. 'I also love you, baby', she whispered back. She was as stiff as his virility, her back still arched, her head back, her eyes closed, her thoughts confused. Her intentions still eluded her conscious thoughts. But her body imposed demands on him that he couldn't reject. He pressed firmly on her bare buttocks and again she gasped. He pulled again and her wet buttocks came into contact with his scrotum. He could feel his full testicles resting on his thighs, and felt like he wanted to rub against them, but restrained himself, still without fully recognizing his intentions, the inevitability of what they would do. However, he clearly knew his own intentions, his desire to couple with her, to make love with his beautiful and sexy mother. He pulled again. She advanced again, almost against her own will, practically unable to stop him. Now he could feel his erection against hers Burning lips, but she still restrained herself, still not fully willing to take it. Then she started swaying her hips, feeling herself slide up and down in the impotent humidity of a mother in heat. She slid from side to side, exciting her swollen clitoris, tempting her painful and hungry vagina, making her desperate for more. She had become unable to stop. 'We shouldn't', she protested. He responded by pulling her forward a little more. She feigned resistance, but now felt the head of his penis against her open and soaked vaginal canal and finally, inevitably, knew she would give in. 'We shouldn't', she said again, even as she lifted herself up a little. This was finally her opportunity. The moment had arrived. She was his to take. She could no longer enforce her own protests. He pushed against her and slid into her. There was no resistance. He thrust himself fully into her with a simple push. Once more, he gasped, then gave in completely, lay on top of him and began kissing him on the mouth, saying over and over again, like an explanation of her actions, 'I love you, baby. So much! Taaaaaaaaaaaa!' Then simply started screwing him, balancing her hips with deep pleasure, rebounding up and down on his abdomen, feeling his hardness sliding into her, pleasing herself and him, giving in to the inevitable. It didn't take long before she began to come, groaning with deep satisfaction from her first sexual relationship in so many years. The guttural and luxurious sounds she made were all she needed, all she could handle, and filled her backside with powerful bursts of thick and hot semen, groaning her love for her mother, her lover. If you want more stories like this don't forget to leave your points
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