t was the middle of summer vacation. I was in the heart of the Caribbean, lounging poolside with a Long Island iced tea. That powerful combination had me feeling relaxed and carefree, determined to take advantage of the Sun. Our family rarely had the money for fancy vacations, so they were a big deal. My sister, Chelsea, had just graduated from high school a few months ago, and that qualified.
As far as I knew, the only reason we had gone on vacation at all had been because Mom had insisted. She had always been more involved in my life than Dad. Whether she'd been packing my lunch with handwritten notes or blessing me with some time-tested life advice, she'd always made a greater impact on my life than anyone else.
At the moment, the illustrious matriarch was lying beside me on a green beach towel, as she had been for the past several days since we had arrived at the resort. Dad and Chelsea were swimming in the deep end of the pool, leaving Mom and I to keep watch over the four lounge chairs we had laid claim to that morning.
There was a loose smattering of clouds in the sky, though they did very little to protect us from the Sun. Every so often one would pass in front of the bright, orange inferno and grant us a moment of reprieve, but it was not enough to stop my skin from wanting to melt off of my bones. I was thankful for the relief provided by the crisp breeze blowing through my hair. It rustled the leaves of the palm trees behind us, arranged in a single-file line and stretching as far as the eye could see.
Even under the shade of our large umbrella, Mom had insisted that we douse ourselves in suntan lotion so that we would not fry. She had not taken the same precaution for herself, however, and had proclaimed to know her body well enough that she needed only a light coating on her skin so that she would, in her words, "actually get some dang colour."
When Mom and Dad had announced that we were going to spend a week in the Caribbean heat that summer, my brain had immediately hyperfixated on the array of curvaceous women that I'd imagined I would be able to leer at. I had always harbored an affinity for sun-kissed skin, and had been intrigued by the idea of being surrounded by women with prominent tan lines. I loved them - the tan lines, to be precise. In fact, I went fucking crazy for them! The borders of opposing color had long pushed buttons in my brain like nothing else.
I had figured that beautiful, tanned women would be everywhere in the presence of such infamous heat, and I'd gotten myself wound up simply picturing the onslaught of half-tanned hotties who would be walking around in an equal state of undress at all hours of the day. I'd been wrong all the way around; there hadn't been that many women to gawk at in the first place, not all of them had tan lines or even tans, and calling many of them "hotties" would have been generous even for a horny college kid like myself.
But then there was Mom.
I'd seen a few other girls with subtle tans, sure, but they could not hold a candle to my mother's coloration. Many long hours in the sun had turned her a shade darker nearly everywhere, and with that darkening had come the appearance of incredibly distinct tan lines-- prominent enough to appear drawn on with a marker.
I think I I'd known right away that there was more to it than just the novelty. Still, she'd only ever been milky-white Mom to me. I'd been taken aback the first time I'd caught myself salivating at a glimpse of her pale cleavage, juxtaposed with the deep shade of mānuka honey that the rest of her body had turned. For a woman who had never had a visible tan, she wore hers with confidence.
At that moment, with the sun hovering overhead, staring was exactly what I was doing. Still hoping that my sunglasses would obscure my wandering pupil, I soaked in every inch of Mom's marbled perfection that I could without being too obvious about it. I also said a silent thank-you to some random literary goddess that she was distracted by the same novel that had captivated her since we'd landed.
Mom wore a baby blue bikini that did not fit her properly, but the only person who had complained about it had been Dad. I had overhead a squabble between them over how revealing it was, which had no doubt been spurred by the sheer amount of her breasts that were left uncovered. She had clearly won the argument, since she had exited their shared room wearing the controversial swimwear-- the least amount of clothing I had ever seen on her in my entire life.
Mom's tits were quite large, and while not the biggest pair around the pool, they were certainly the most impressive. Time had given them a slight sag, but her thin bikini top made it clear that they were still perky enough for her nipples to point directly forward, rather than down at the floor.
Through the sides of her top, just above the string that she had tied tightly behind her back, was a liberal spillage of soft, pasty flesh. Her upper chest was dotted with dozens of dark freckles that typically stood out against her fair, untanned skin, but they'd faded quite a bit into her delicious, burnt-caramel tan.
Even under the spaghetti straps on her shoulders, it was easy to see exactly where the sun had touched her and, more importantly, where it had not. The long, white lines underneath her bikini strap were brushstrokes that seemed to have been placed by a divine hand. Beginning at her shoulder, I traced one of those line with my eyes to its natural end - her breasts - then continued to stare as though I would be able to see straight through her swimsuit with enough patience.
"Honey?" she said.
I snapped to attention, pretending that she had just roused me from a nap. "Huh? What? What's up, Mom?"
She sighed happily. "Oh, nothing. Just wanted to make sure you were alive over there."
"Just barely," I grumbled.
That made her laugh. "Well, I'm sure you'll feel a lot better when you stop hydrating with alcohol. Your body wants water, Jason!"
I picked up my small plastic cup, its sides dripping with condensation that almost made me lose my grip. "I'll drink to that!"
She rolled her eyes, but I could tell that she was still entertained. "Very funny, sweetheart. Maybe you could have one glass of water for me?"
I lowered my sunglasses and peered at her over the top of the frame. "For you, Mom? Anything." I downed the rest of the drink and held up the cup triumphantly. "Water it is! After this next one, I mean."
She closed her book and rolled her eyes. "Fine! But I'm going to turn over to tan my back, and when I flip over again you had better be sipping something else."
I knew she was not being wholly serious, but there was a touch of sincerity in her tone that haunted me all the way to the bar to grab another drink. For her peace of mind, I grabbed a water, too, though I knew there was very little chance I would actually drink it.
With the drinks in hand, I waddled back to the lounge chairs while avoiding the occasional speeding child that elected to run in my path moments before they leapt - screaming madly - into the pool.
I spotted Dad and Chelsea still casually swimming in the deep, where the children were less bothersome. I waved to the two of them, but received only a brief head nod in return. I figured they were deep in conversation about the theory of psychology, or whatever else nerds of their calibre typically cared about - above my pay grade, without a doubt.
Truthfully, even if I could have understood them, I would not have wanted to join in; I wanted to get back to Mom as fast as I could. The morning show - her partially nude front half - had just ended, and I wanted desperately to see as much of the afternoon show as I could.
I returned to find her face down on the lounge chair with her arms folded under her head to act as a pillow. Her entire body was immersed in a luminous robe of yellow sunlight that made her skin shine like it were made of diamonds, with some help from the layer of tanning spray she had applied once the towels had been laid down. She had done so each of the previous days, and the darker she became, the more brilliantly she would glisten post-spritz.
The bottoms of her blue bathing suit had been swallowed into the long crease that ran between her plump ass cheeks. The thin runway of fabric covering her pussy had been pulled tightly enough between her rounded cheeks that a sizable portion of her untanned flesh had been exposed.
I doubted that Mom had intended to put so much of her bottom on display. A narrow crescent of unsullied, lily-white skin close to her crack peeked out from beneath the blue bottoms.
My brain seized upon the idea of how miraculous she would look if her bottoms were to be removed, exposing the entirety of her generous tan. I even tried to visualize it, though not with much success. As it stood, I was permitted but a tiny glimpse that had me salivating for more.
"Honey?" Mom said. "Are you just gonna stand there all day?"
I visibly cringed, though thankfully she had not yet turned around to look at me. "Oh, uh, me? Sorry! Just looking at the... well, all the beautiful sights around us! This place is gorgeous."
Mom shuffled around on the lounge chair, making her doughy bottom wobble back and forth like it was trying to drag the string of her bikini bottoms in even further. "Uh huh, sure."
I quickly sat on the lounge chair beside her, my legs quivering from the rush of adrenaline her wayward comment had sparked. Sure, she had not caught me staring, but I did not think that she believed my lie about stopping to smell the Caribbean roses. If she did suspect that it was her I was staring at, she chose not to press me any further.
"What did you get to drink?" she asked as she turned her head to face me.
I raised the cup of water with my eyebrows raised. "This."
She arched one of her own brows in suspicion. "And what else?"
I guiltily held up the second cup beside its water filled twin. "Uh, this, too."
"I knew it!" She rolled onto her back and bolted upright on the lounge chair to snatch the cup of alcohol from my hand. "This is for me! You can have water, mister. Got that?"
"Fine! You win. It's a good thing this water is so delicious, otherwise I'd be mad at you."
She winked at me and took a sip from the drink that made her nose scrunch up. "Oh, my. That's strong! And no, honey, I don't believe you could ever stay mad at me."
I shrugged. "Well, maybe one day."
She took a longer sip, then asked, "Have you seen any cute girls around here? I know you're not seeing anyone."
I made a big show of looking around the pool, my eyes lingering just long enough on the series of women that populated the poolside. I hoped it was a convincing act. "Er, well... not really, no." I knew I could not tell her the truth, no matter how badly I wanted to come clean.
When I looked back, Mom had surprise plastered across her face. "What, none? There are girls everywhere! I'm sure tons of them would wanna talk to a handsome young man like you."
"I'm happy where I am," I replied casually. I hoped she could not see through the lie, or see me staring at her tits through my tinted shades.
Our conversation was interrupted by Dad and Chelsea. They climbed out of the pool and hauled their soaking-wet bodies over to the empty lounge chairs beside Mom.
She did not so much as turn her head to look at them, or bother lift her head off of the lounge chair. "How was it?"
Dad slumped into his seat with a noise that was unmistakably that of an aging father, with everything from his creaky knees to the audible grunt he made when he had landed. "Hot one today, isn't it?"
"Sure is," Mom replied. She turned her head to look at him. "I'm practically boiling!"
Dad pointed to her prominent tan. "More like burning, if you ask me. You sure you aren't gonna fry? That tan is getting awfully dark."
She shook her head. "I know what I'm doing. I'm just getting some color, that's all."
Dad shrugged casually. "It's your body, hun." With that, he rolled onto his side to face my sister, turning his back on me and Mom in the process. "Anyway, Chel, I think your theory is strong, but redundant."
Chelsea rolled her eyes. "He was a hack, Dad!"
"Maybe, maybe not, but his psychoanalytical theories were paramount in leading psychology to where it is today. That's why we call him--"
"Yeah, yeah," Chelsea interrupted him with a wave of her hand. "'The father of psychology.' I know, Dad!"
Mom tried to insert herself into their conversation. "Who are you guys talking about?"
Dad waved her off. "Just science stuff, dear."
Chelsea put twice the effort into rolling her eyes that time. She was smart like Dad, but thankfully lacked his ignorance of social niceties. She leaned forward to look address Mom over Dad's shoulder. "Freud, Mom. He was a cocaine fiend pretending to be scientist."
"Oh, okay," she said, making sure to telegraph slight annoyance at Dad's attempt to keep her on the sidelines. "Was he at least a smart one?"
Chelsea smiled. "Depends on who you ask."
Dad threw up his hands and turned to lay flat on his back so that he could defend himself from both sides. "He was brilliant! He might've been wrong about--"
"Was wrong about," Chelsea interrupted.
Dad's left eye twitched, a telltale sign that he was getting impatient. "--about some of the weird stuff, sure. But his ideas changed psychology for the better! We should be thankful."
Something clicked in my mind that had been locked away since high school. "Wait, isn't Freud the incest guy?"
Dad sighed heavily. "That's reductive, Jason. He was a brilliant man, just a little misguided at times."
I looked back and forth between all three members of my family. "So then... he was the incest guy?"
Dad pursed his lips. "Sure. That's all he was. Just some literal motherfucker! I'm going to get a damn drink!" He stormed off to the soundtrack of poorly stifled snickering from the three of us.
"I love when he gets all riled up like that," Mom said once he was out of ear shot.
"I know!" Chelsea agreed. "It's even funnier that he doesn't know we're doing it on purpose."
Mom sipped her drink. "Of course I know 'the incest guy,' but your father is so adorable when he gets all pouty like that."
I felt a pang of jealousy strike my chest. "Well then, maybe I should start pouting more!"
Mom turned her attention to me and cocked her head to the side. "Uh, why is that, honey? So that I'll think you're adorable, too, you mean?"
My heart lurched into my throat. "I-- well, no I didn't mean that."
Chelsea giggled. "Sounds like you really have been reading Freud. Somebody got the hots for Mommy?"
I blushed. "Fuck no! That's not even funny to joke about. That's... that's... gross!"
Chelsea cackled wildly over having put me in a tiff, but Mom's tilted head implied that she was rife with curiosity. "Oh, leave him be, Chel. Poor boy has had so many drinks that his mommy had to cut him off a few minutes ago."
They laughed, but I found it no laughing matter the way my dick began to harden at that playfully deployed title.
The Sun was still high in the sky, indicating that we had plenty of time left with which to enjoy ourselves. To me, that meant several more hours of gawking at Mom's boobs while she worked on her tan. Unfortunately, that prospect dried up the moment Dad returned with a round of drinks for everybody.
"Ugh," Mom groaned as I landed on the lounge chair next to her. "I hope I'm not expected to drink one of those."
I lifted my sunglasses with a fiendish grin. "So you want me to drink them all, then?"
"No! But I'm getting a headache, so I don't think I'm going to be doing any more drinking today. In fact, I might just go take a little nap so I don't feel so crappy later."
I wanted to tag along, but knew that I wouldn't be able to explain why I was following her around like a puppy chasing after its owner.
I hated to see Mom leave the pool, but I loved watching her gigantic, bi-colored ass cheeks grind against each other as she did. Her plump bottom swayed side to side as she sauntered off, leaving me hypnotized by its alluring wobble until both of her gigantic cheeks were out of sight.
I could have sworn that her presence left a physical void around the pool. The sunlight seemed dimmer, as though the color had been sucked out of the world around me. Despite the raucous laughter from the three dozen other patrons around the water, my ability to appreciate the jovial community dwindled the moment she left my eye line.
I breathed a deep, solemn sign from the realization that I had been sentenced to listening to my dad and sister bicker about psycho-babble that I would never begin to understand.
The only way I could think of to keep myself from pouting was to distract my brain - which was still fixated on the lingering visual of Mom's jiggling rump as she had walked away - so I fished my phone and wireless earbuds out of my pocket. I did not care about song selection, so I hit shuffle and closed my eyes.
The last thing I heard before the music came on was Dad insisting, quite adamantly, that Carl Jung was... something. Honestly, I did not catch the end of his sentence and I did not care to.
Two songs passed by, neither of which stopped me from fantasizing about Mom in ways that I knew would have gotten me pushed off the family tree if they were to become public knowledge.
I wanted to touch, kiss, lick, fondle, suckle, and whatever other slew of verbs one might engage in when presented with tits as glorious as my mother's. With their staunch border of color separation fresh in my mind, it was easy for me to imagine what would be laying underneath the tiny blue bikini that had kept her (mostly) modest.
Just as the third song began to play, my phone vibrated alongside a ding that informed me of an incoming message. I opened my eyes and spent a few seconds adjusting to the harsh brightness of the blistering Sun, then focused on the message at the top of the screen.
It was from Mom. Hi honey I need your help with something can you come to the room please?
My room? I texted back.
No. My room.
I was suspicious as to what she would need help with, but initially assumed that a rat or some sort of gross bug had snuck its way into her room. Either way, I knew that I would never decline such a direct invitation, so I packed my earbuds into their carrying case and got up off of the lounge chair.
Dad did not even pause their conversation. In fact, I was not sure if he even noticed that I had stood up, but Chelsea did.
"Going somewhere?" she asked.
I stretched my arms up over my shoulders. "Yeah, just gonna--"
Bzzt. Bzzt.
I absentmindedly checked my phone before I finished, but I was thankful that I chose to do so. Several message popped up on the screen came just in time to stop me from revealing the reason for my sudden exit, and their rapid arrival made it clear that Mom was rushing to send them.
Done tell ANYONE.
*Don't
I hate autocorrect!
My suspicions were mounting. I could not think of a single logical reason as to why she would want me to sneak away to meet her, but I had never been one to go against Mom's wishes.
"Just gonna... um, you know. Go for a walk?" I was not sure if I sounded convincing or not, but the way Dad waved me away - like I was a waiter at a fancy restaurant - gave hint that he did not care why I was leaving. "I'll see you guys in a bit, then."
Chelsea winked at me. "Get out while you still can."
"Yeah, yeah," Dad said hurriedly. "Have fun, Jase."
I slid my feet into my flip flops. "I'll try my best."
If I had left without saying a single word, I doubted that Dad would have even noticed.
Every step I took covered another inch of ground that brought me closer to Mom, and thus made my heart race a little bit faster. By the time I reached her room, I had to lean against the door frame for a couple of seconds to steady myself before I had the courage to knock.
Why am I so nervous? I thought. It's probably just a mouse or something! Relax!
With a slight - but quite noticeable - quiver in my hand, I reached out and knocked on the door.
"Who is iiiiiit?" Mom sang from behind the door.
"H-housekeeping!" I exclaimed with a stutter.
Mom unlocked the latch and opened the door, but only enough so that she could stick her head out to scan the scene. "You weren't followed, were you?"
I chuckled, which offered a nice break from the tension in which I had wound myself. "I don't know! I'm not a spy, Mom. I told them I was going for a walk, if that makes you feel any better."
She opened the door all the way and made a hurried motion for me to step inside. "Come in, come in."
I entered the room and was instantly greeted by the welcome presence of air conditioning. The shades were closed, letting in just enough light to make out Mom's beautiful, smiling face as I walked past her. The carpet under my feet was soft, and more welcoming than the hardwood floors I was used to at home. Despite the chill in the air, I had felt my soul begin to warm up as soon as I had laid eyes on her toothy grin.
"It's nice in here," I remarked.
Mom shrugged and closed the door behind me, then locked the deadbolt. "I like to keep it brisk. You don't mind, do you?"
"Nope. I love getting to see my breath in the air!"
She rolled her eyes. "Oh, hush. Now you sound like your father."
I feigned surprise. "Dad knows how to make jokes? First I've heard of it."
"I'm sure there is tons about your father that you don't know. One of the things that you do know is that he is not very perceptive of social cues."
I narrowed my eyes. "I guess not. What does that have to do with--"
"But I am," she said abruptly. "I notice things, honey -- lots of things."
I did not know why, but I began to grow even more uncomfortable. "Um. Okay? What kinds of things?"
She did not answer me right away, but rather backed up until her legs bumped into the foot of the bed, whereupon she promptly sat. "Can you come sit with me?"
I was thoroughly perplexed, but intrigued even more so. I obeyed her wish and sat down beside her, our combined weight making the mattress sag in the middle.
"Well, sweetheart," she began, "I'm going to ask you something and I just want the truth. I won't be mad, or upset, unless you lie to me."
"Okay..."
Mom reached over and took one of my hands in hers, then placed our interlocked mitts in her lap. "Are you having fun? Like, here?"
I nodded. "Yeah, it's pretty awesome."
She gently rubbed the back of my thumb with hers own. "Good, good. I'm happy to hear that. We've been here for a couple days already, and recently I've been noticing some... well, let's just call them 'patterns,' shall we?"
I did not get the hint that she wanted me to respond, so I waited silently.
"I didn't notice it at first, but over the last day or so you've been acting different. I just want to make sure that everything is okay, I guess. Do you know what I'm talking about?"
I shook my head.
She faked a smile that seemed designed to put me at ease, but there was worry behind her eyes - perhaps one of those thing that Dad wouldn't have noticed. "Then I'm just gonna say it, even if it's weird."
"O-okay, Mom." An influx of anxiety made my heart race in an entirely different way.
She licked her bottom lip, then bit down on the corner while she pondered her next words. "I've never noticed it before, so I feel like the heat may be getting to me... but I also know that I'm not crazy! I've been seeing things, honey -- things that make me wonder, and I just need answers. So, I guess I want to know..." She took a deep breath. "... if you've been looking at... well, me?"
I clenched my teeth so hard that I was certain they would crack under the pressure. "I mean, like, yeah? Sure. It's like, you know? I look at lots of stuff!"
Mom tilted her head. "Please, honey. No lying. You know what I'm asking, and I just want a straight answer. Yes or no?"
It felt like somebody had ripped my heart out of my chest. "Um. Okay I-- yeah, well, I guess... yes?"
"Yes?"
My jaw trembled, and I turned away from her in shame. "Yes. I... I don't know what to say. I didn't think you saw me."
"I did, honey," Mom said. "I saw, and if you're not careful, your Dad is going to see, too."
"I know!" I shouted much louder than I had meant to. "Sorry, Mom. I just mean, like... I know. You're right, I'll stop."
Mom tightened her grip on my hand. "I didn't call you in here to scold you. I'm not mad, I promise."
My brain was going haywire. "So... but, okay, so why did you call me?"
With her other hand, she reached behind me to rub the small of my back reassuringly. "I wanted to know why, honey. I was, like, ninety-nine percent positive that you'd been staring, but I just didn't know why. You've never done that before. Have you?"
I shook my head violently. "No! No, I haven't. I swear I haven't."
Her hand travelled up my back and came to a rest on my far shoulder. "Then why, Jason? What's going on with you? Talk to me, please."
I was frozen with such horror that my limbs refused to work. I was thankful that I had already taken a seat. Otherwise my quivering legs would have likely sent me tumbling to the ground. "It's the tan lines. I've always liked them - like, really liked them - and when I saw yours it was like someone flipped a switch in my brain."
"Oh, my." Mom was visibly flustered. "I didn't know I even could flip switches on someone your age. It's really all just because of my tan lines?"
I found it intriguing that could not deny herself the pride of having turned on a man who was half her age, regardless of our relationship. "It sounds silly, I know. But once I saw yours, and how pronounced they are, I couldn't stop thinking about them. I've imagined them a hundred different ways, which makes me feel like a crazy pervert, because you're my mother!"
Mom pressed her thumb into the center of my palm. "We can't control our bodies, honey. If my breasts turn you on, that's not your fault. Maybe it's my fault for flaunting them so much."
"Don't blame yourself, Mom," I insisted.
She thought for a moment while she continued to absentmindedly push her thumb into my palm. "Well, I have an idea, I think."
My heart skipped a beat, but I did not overplay my hand. "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah," she said softly. "Would it be helpful if I let you see them a little more? I don't want you to be so obsessed with my boobs - or, sorry, honey, my tan lines - that you end up missing the whole trip."
My heart skipped several beats that time. It as though it was pumping an emergency supply of blood directly to my cock, which was becoming semi-erect. I positioned my left hand -- the one that she was not holding on to -- over top of my burgeoning erection so that she would not see how pathetically hard I was getting over the mere mention of having her breasts displayed to me in all of their multicolored glory.
"I-- what? Are you-- y-you're being serious?"
She shook her head with a quiet chuckle. "I think you're giving them too much credit, sweetheart. They're just boobs!"
"But they're yours!" I argued.
"Do you... I mean, like that they're mine, rather than somebody else's?" The sincere curiosity painted on by her tightly knitted brow told me that she was not as disgusted as I had expected her to be. In fact, she seemed quite intrigued by my revelation.
"I don't know, Mom. I didn't feel this way - at least, I don't think I did - before the vacation. But now... all I do know is that I can't stop thinking about you!"
Mom shook her head and gestured to her bikini with a wave of her hand. "Serves me right. I thought this would get your father's attention, but I guess I caught yours instead!"
"Well, I think he's a moron for not giving you attention when you look this sexy."
Mom tilted her head to the side inquisitively. "You really don't have a problem calling me that?"
I shook my head so vehemently that I became dizzy, and was thankful that I had already sat down. It dawned on me that I had consumed enough alcohol to invite the spins, which, coincidentally, turned out to be the same amount that was required for me to be fully honest with my mother.
"I think you're gorgeous, Mom. Even if I did care that you were my mom - like, if my brain cared, I mean - my body wouldn't. Once I saw you tanning it just... everything changed. I felt like I was losing my mind!"
Mom shuffled about anxiously. "What do you mean your 'body would not?' Are you talking about--"
"Yes!" I cut her off curtly. "Yes, I am. That's exactly what I'm talking about."
She tried to stop the corner of her mouth from curling into a sheepish grin, but failed. "Wow. That's, uh-- that's a lot, honey."
I threw up my hands in defeat. "I know! I'm not in control here, Mom. I didn't want this to happen, but it did."
She sucked in a long, patient breath through her nostrils. "Can I see?"
Adrenaline momentarily spiked my heart rate. "W-what?"
"You heard me. Can I see it?"
I can only assume there was a very long pause before she spoke again. I wasn't in any state to count the seconds or eons.
"If you're uncomfortable--"
"I'm not," I said insistently. "I just wanted to make sure I heard you."
"You did," she said meekly. "Just move your hand, honey. Let me have a look."
I could not measure the dosages of fear, shame, excitement, and rampant horniness that were coursing through my body. It felt as though I were nothing but a concoction of those conflicting emotions, each warring to be the forward-facing feeling that drove my actions.
I suppose excitement grabbed the wheel for at least a moment or two. It guided my left hand away from the tent in my shorts that had been steadily growing for the past couple of minutes. Thanks to the loose fit of my swim trunks, there was nothing to stop my rigid cock from forming a vulgar bulge that made the fabric stick out nearly seven inches in front of me.
I looked to Mom, whose eyes had not left my lap for a single second, and found her stricken with awe, her mouth agape as she soaked in the scene before her.
"Wow, honey," she said breathlessly. "It's... yeah, wow."
I smirked arrogantly. "You're just saying that."
She scoffed in a manner that was borderline condescending, as though she considered me a fool for suggesting that she would ever lie about something so important. "I am not just saying that, Jason."
"Saying what, exactly?" I knew the answer with relative certainty, but I knew it would feel so much better to hear her say it aloud.
Mom huffed through her nose. "Saying that your dick is big, honey. Like, really big."
"Bigger than--"
"Yes," she cut me off curtly, as I had done to her moments prior. "A lot bigger, actually. But you cannot tell him I told you that."
"Deal."
I was surprised how casual - how oddly nonchalant - Mom seemed to be about admiring my erection while we held hands. She had not even so much as loosened her bikini string, and already my dick was pulsating with more life than I had ever felt.
The soft pads of her fingertips poked into my palm. She was sitting close enough to me - our thighs touching - that I could smell the faint chemical scent of her tanning oil singeing my nostrils. Her golden hair had fallen onto my shoulder and cascaded down my back like threads of silk whose ends tickled my skin whenever she moved her head.
"Lemme guess," she said. "You wish you were alone right now, huh?"
"Fuck no!" I insisted adamantly. "I wanna be right here with you."
She snickered, then pointed to my dick. "I just meant so that you could take care of this, sweetheart."
"I'm serious! I just... I dunno, Mom. I don't even want to go back to the pool if you're not with me, ya know? Does that make sense?"
"It sure does, honey. I believe it's called 'puppy love,' and you've got a really bad case."
I blushed. "Is it that obvious?"
"Extremely." She turned her head briefly to plant a kiss on my shoulder. "Are you really going to, you know... do that while thinking about me later?"
I grimaced awkwardly. "Is there a right answer here?"
"Just the truth."
I swallowed the dry lump in my throat. "Okay. Then... yeah, probably."
Mom clicked her tongue. "I guess I picked the right bikini, then."
I chuckled nervously. "Well, in the interest of honesty I should warn you; I'm gonna picture you out of the bikini."
Mom gasped a little. "Oh! Um, okay, that makes sense. But you don't even know what my boobs look like! Is it normal to just use your imagination like that?"
"Hey! You were the one that mentioned letting me see them."
She pulled her head off of my shoulder with a soft gasp. "I meant, like, to take a peek at the tan lines! I wasn't gonna just flat out show you my boobs! I didn't-- well, yeah. I mean, honestly, I didn't think you would be comfortable with that."
"I am!" I declared with full confidence.
She went quiet again, her tightly knitted brow informing me that she was weighing something heavy against the balance of her normal sensibilities. "So, what if we just get it over with, then? If you really want to see--"
"I do!" I insisted.
"--and if I really want to show you--"
"Do you?" I interrupted a second time.
"I... think I do, yeah. So... maybe it's not the worst idea in the world."
My jaw dropped. "You're saying you want to show me your boobs?"
Her leg was bouncing anxiously as she hurried to explain herself. "Well, I don't want to, exactly. I'm doing this so you don't spend the rest of the vacation obsessing over my breasts. You'll waste the whole trip! I figure that, if I show them to you, you'll realize they're just normal, boring boobs."
I did not buy her attempt convince me that she was being selfless. She'd already let too much slip: having tried and failed to catch Dad's eye during one of their - well, our -- extremely rare getaways, not to mention the compliment she'd given my cock. The prospect of seeing her boobs suddenly had me thinking like a dead-sober evil genius; if she needed to pretend she was doing nothing more than helping a horny goon get past an obsession, I was more than willing to play along.
"Maybe you're right," I said. "Maybe I'm overhyping them in my head, but... there's only one way to find out."
Mom offered a tempered smile, one that she did not permit to blossom into the full, toothy grin that I imagined it would have if she were not acting so coy. "I guess you're right, honey. Our hands are tied." She turned her body so that she was facing me and crossed her legs on the bed. "Is this okay?"
"Y-yeah.," I stammered. "I-- er, it's perfect."
Mom straightened her back and reached both hands behind herself to untie the bikini. First, she loosened the tether that looped around her chest. The two strings fell to either side of her body, dangling freely while she moved to untie the one around her neck. Then she pinched the knot with the fingers on one hand and used her opposite forearm to pin her loose bikini top against her breasts so it would not fall away once she finished her work.
My eyes were glued to her chest, but I could see in my peripheral vision that she was studiously observing my reaction to each of her movements. It easily came undone with just one tug, leaving her arm as her last line of defense against my unabashed leering.
"Okay, honey," she said softly. "Are you ready?"
I nodded and licked my lips. "Fuck yes."
She, too, nodded eagerly. With a deep breath, she opened her bra like she were pulling apart the flap of a trench coat. Her arm - with her fingers gripping the side of her bikini top - swung in a wide arc, bringing the top with her so that the entire blue garment was removed at once.
Her boobs hung low on her chest, full and heavy with the weight of time. They were not firmly sculpted, but softened and - most enticing of all - real, having been shaped by gravity and the many decades over which she had carried their tremendous burden.
The drooping udders bore pale markings, making it obvious exactly where her bikini had rested. The contrast between the sun-kissed bronze and white, virgin skin was bold enough that I imagined it could have been seen from outer space. The untouched flesh appeared soft -- almost porcelain -- against the surrounding area that had adopted a remarkable caramel hue.
The border separating the two zones was crisp, and so perfectly segmented that I would have ventured to call it geometric. Across her upper chest - just above her sternum with the smattering of light brown freckles - the tan had spread. The contrast in color operated as a map that showed precisely where she had allowed the light to reach, and where she had not.
"Wow, Mom," I whispered.
"What do you think?" she asked sincerely.
"I-I... yeah, wow." I could not think of anything smarter to say, but I believed that my facial expression was sending a clear message.
"I guess you like what you see?" Mom asked quietly.
"Yeah," I admitted without averting my eyes. "How could you tell?"
Mom chuckled, which made her tits jiggle a little bit. "Seriously? Honey, you've been touching your dick for the past thirty seconds."
I have? I looked down to see that my hand had subconsciously begun to paw at the growing tent in my shorts. Holy shit! I have, and I didn't even notice! That's so embarrassing.
I prepared to defend myself. "Oh, I guess I'm getting ahead of myself. My brain just went on autopilot or something!"
She arched an eyebrow. "And that autopilot made you start touching your dick in front of your mother?"
The mention of her title made my dick flex. "I'm not gonna 'get over it' - as you said - by just looking."
"You need to masturbate?" she asked bluntly, almost as more of a statement than a question.
"Er, yeah. That. Otherwise I'm just gonna feel wound up all day."
"Well... I mean, do you want to?"
My brain took control to answer her with a definitive "Yes!"
She was taken aback slightly. "You don't want to think it over for a second? I thought maybe you'd be embarrassed."
I shook my head. "I probably should be, but honestly right now I'm just too horny to care."
That straightforwardness made her laugh a little and diffused some of the tension. "Wow. My boobs are making my own son horny. Now that's something you don't hear every day!"
I would not be sidetracked by her attempt to lighten the mood. I was laser focused on giving my brain what it craved so deeply. "So... can I?"
She nodded with uncertainty, but seemed intrigued enough to let me proceed. "Sure, honey. Go ahead."
She had barely finished speaking by the time I had dropped my bathing suit around my ankles, leaving me completely naked from head to (mostly) toe when I sat back down on the foot of the bed.
Mom glanced down briefly, her eyes wide with shock. Then came the double take, which she performed with astonishment plastered across her entire face. "Jesus, Jason!""What?" I asked.
She gawked like a fish out of water a couple times, searching for the words. "I-I, uh... yeah. I just don't remember it looking so... um, like that."
"Like what?"
She shrugged so that her shoulders were up around her ears. "I don't know! All, like, big and hard... and veiny!"
I raised an eyebrow as I tried to see my dick in the same admirable light she had. "Uh, thanks, I guess. I didn't think it was that big, to be honest."
She smiled, and added a soft purr. "Yeah, it is. Trust me."
"I guess I'm not the only one with big, like... things." Damn, that sounded way smoother in my head.
Mom tilted her head to the side with a curious twinkle in her eye. "Big blessings, you mean?"
I licked my lips hungrily. "Huge, gigantic, tanned blessings!"
She used the insides of her elbows to push the heavy, drooping twins together so they met at the center of her chest. "Well, they appreciate the appreciation, honey. Did you want to start touching yourself now?"
I knew that I sure as hell did, and at her suggestion I hastily wrapped a hand around my cock and began to slowly stroke it, fueling my already-raging horniness by unabashedly staring at Mom's exposed tits.
Besides her extraordinary tan, which rivaled any I had ever seen on the internet, my eyes were drawn to her nipples. They were striking, and jutted out at least a full inch in their puffy, enlarged state. They were a faint, rosy hue, but that color deepened towards the center, becoming darker like the pistil of the flower. Both of the pink nubs stood at attention, though I was not sure if it were the air conditioning that had made them stiffen, or the excitement of having my eyes ravenously scour her naked flesh.
Surrounding both of the perky nubs were two wide, rubbery areolas that looked to be larger than my hand. They were truly enormous, and I loved how they encompassed nearly a third of the surface of her sagging breasts. The edges of the muted mauve caps were not as boldly defined as her tan lines, but I admired how their border seemed to melt gently into the surrounding skin like watercolor seeping into wet paper.
Mom summoned me out of my hypnotic trance. "Is this okay? Should I... I mean, do you want me to do anything special?"
I grunted my approval and motioned to her breasts with my chin, my hand already a flurry as I beat off to her enchanting nudity. "Touch!"
"Touch?" she asked.
"Touch them!" I instructed urgently.
"You want-- oh! Like, play with them?" She feigned innocence, as if my caveman-like request had not been obvious enough. "I mean, I guess I could try that. Are you close yet?"
I knew by her inquiry that she was hoping that - in the event she did play with her tits - it would be a short stint, so I slowed my rapid stroking in order to encourage her to play along-- literally! "Come on, Mom. It would really help if you jiggled them around a bit. Please?"
She sighed and chewed on the corner of her mouth. "Fine, but only because you asked so nicely."
Yeah, that's totally the only reason! Deep down, I figured that Mom relished having someone marvel at her nudity. It was something she needed, apparently, and Dad wasn't providing it. I was more than happy to pick up his slack.
She placed her palms flat against her nipples, leaving the edges of her wide areolas to peek out from the sides of her hand, and splayed out her fingers as widely as she could. With each of the extended digits, she dug in hard enough to draw thin creases in her pliable flesh where the pressure was at its strongest.
I watched with bated breath as she leaned forward slightly. The full weight of her drooping breasts responded to gravity, shifting downward only to be drawn up again by her steady hands. Their sheer weight made them slump and spread under their own mass, distorting with gravity as if slowly melting from the warmth of her hands.
"Like that?" Mom asked quietly.
I nodded. "Yeah, like that. Can you, like, squeeze them more?"
With a grin, she said, "I sure can, sweetheart."
She straightened her back and continued to massage each bulky udder, following an alternating pattern of squeeze, squish, and knead, as though she were thoroughly working two enormous heaps of softened dough. Her forearms flexed slightly as she lifted her breasts upward, letting them billow, sag, and settle before molding them back into shape.
There was a certain elegance about my mother that was simply captivating. She had not spoken, nor had she looked up after a few seconds of silent massaging. Her breathing had quickened slightly, but I did not think that it was from the strain of carrying such weight in her arms.
Mom held up the wobbling piles of tenderized meat, one in each hand, with their rosy nipples pointed towards me -- presenting them as though her palms were serving platters. Her first finger and middle formed a "V" that flanked the stiffened nubs on either side. She then closed her fingers, firmly trapping her nipples between the insides of her digits.
It had been almost two decades since I had nursed from her, and seeing her nipples sandwiched between her fingers made me long to have them dribbling milk into my mouth. I began salivating at the mere thought, even though my throat had felt like a desert just moments prior.
"Should I go slower?" Mom asked. "Faster?"
"Just keep doing what you're doing," I insisted.
She clicked her tongue with disapproval. "Uh-huh, sure. Are you even trying to cum? You're going so slowly!"
I knew she was right; I had been taking my time in the hopes that the moment - and my view of her brown-and-white tits - would last for as long as possible.
"This is how I do it! It always takes a while." I was lying, but she did not know that.
"Okay, just... hurry up, sweetheart. Your father might come back to check on me at any minute."
She was right; I could not stall forever, but I wanted to see just how much further I could take things before she formally refused my advances.
"Well, Mom. If you really want to help--"
"Tell me!" she interrupted with excited urgency.
"Maybe... could I try touching them?"
Mom starred at me, her face blank and eyes unblinking. "I don't know if that's a good idea, Jason."
"Please, Mom? Pleeeease can I touch them?"
She smirked, entertained by my desperation, though it looked as though she still possessed the good sense to be at least somewhat ashamed that she was considering it at all. "I mean, you're only going to use one hand, anyway. Is that even worth it?
"Fuck yes!"
She rolled her head side to side, likely playing out the possibilities in her mind. "I don't know, honey. Maybe we should just-- oh!"
Against my better judgement, and driven by lustful urges, I impulsively reached out my left hand and grabbed onto her breast before she could finish talking. In my mind, I had convinced myself that she wanted to say yes, and just needed a bit of coaching.
Mom's mouth hung open even after the shock of being touched had subsided, but even then she did not tell me to remove my hand. She looked down to see her adult son kneading her doughy breast, undeniably enchanted by the sight. "W-wow. This is really happening. You're touching my... my boob, honey. Wow."
"I can't believe it either," I said, though it was obvious that Mom was having a tougher time processing the sudden groping.
Mom's skin was terrifically smooth, and the texture of her massive breast uniquely pillowy. As my fingers sank in, the malleable putty oozed between them, reinforcing just how soft and supple she was. Her breast was heavy and dense, but easily shaped by my firm squeezes. Each one molded it around my rigid fingers, whose tips sought to leave a swirled imprint in her pliable flesh.
I could not believe that I was awake. It was positively surreal to have my hand freely groping my mother, and even more bizarre that she seemed to be into it. The more I fidgeted with the firm, pink peak, the further Mom expressed her enjoyment by making soft, barely audible whimpers. As she watched me fumble around with her breast, she seemed to become antsy, squirming around on the bed while my fingers prodded her naked flesh.
"Oh, sweetheart," she mewed quietly. "You... wow, you're really touching me. But... it's okay. This is okay, right?"
I nodded. "I think so. Can I keep going?"
"Mmhmm!" she murmured through pursed lips. "Yeah, just... it's been a while since anyone else touched them like this! Do they, um..."
I looked up at her, reluctantly tearing my eyes away from the warm, doughy handful into which my fingers were still embedded. "Do they what?"
She looked away with a slight redness upon her cheeks. "Do they feel, like, good?"
I was unsure of how to process such an absurd question, and instinctively chortled as though taken aback by an off color joke. "Do they-- what? Seriously? They feel fucking amazing, Mom! This is awesome!"
Her shameless grin revealed the entire top row of her teeth. "Yeah? I kind of thought they'd gotten a bit saggy."
"No, Mom. They're beautiful. You have the most amazing boobs I've ever seen!"
She blessed me once again with her beautiful smile. "Oh, honey. Thank you, that's nice to hear. Are you getting any closer now?"
"Er, not really," I lied.
Had I wanted to, I would have been able cum on command, but since I had been taking it slow, I still had some control. I knew that lying would allow me to push things even further, and I was curious as to what else Mom would allow me to get away with.
"Maybe you could use both hands?" she suggested.
"But then I couldn't... you know," I said with a gesture toward my cock. "Unless you're offering to take over for me."
Her cheeks turned a shade of red so fantastically dark that it appeared almost purple in the dim light provided by the drawn curtains. "I... I certainly wasn't. I don't even know if I could do something like that!"
I batted my eyelashes innocently. "Please, Mommy?" I had hoped that invoking her matronly name would awake some kind of deep-seated instinct to coddle me.
"Honeyyyyy," she groaned. "Are you really asking me to jerk you off? You don't want that, right?"
I got the impression that she wanted me to push back so that she felt less guilty about giving in to her lustful urges. It seemed that she was only resisting so that I would work extra hard to convince her to drop her guard, so I arched an eyebrow and prepared to call her bluff. "I really, really want that. Are you saying you don't want to?"
"I..." She huffed, then thought for a few seconds. "It's not about what I want; it's about what you'll think of me if I do. Touching you would be... well, it's something we could never take back. I feel like a bad mom for even letting you see me like this, let alone putting your hands on me-- or mine on you!"
I energetically shook my head. "No! No, Mom. No. You're an amazing mom, trust me. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do."
She sighed deeply. "That's what scares me, honey. I do want to, but I know I shouldn't. You're my son and I can't just... I shouldn't want to touch you that way."
"But you do, don't you?"
She nodded with a head that seemed weighed down by the plethora of heavy thoughts swimming through her brain. "Yeah, I do. I miss feeling like this -- feeling... sexy, I guess. The way you look at me makes me feel like I'm twenty years old again."
"Well," I said, "I'm already touching you! I wouldn't blame you for wanting to get even."
Mom scrunched up her nose. "My god, honey. I can't believe I'm think about saying yes to touching your penis!"
"But you are, right?" I asked eagerly. I had been all for playing games, but my cock was growing impatient.
Mom raked her teeth across her lower lip with a subtle nod that grew more pronounced as she came to the realization. "Yeah. Yeah, I am. I'm on vacation, so screw it! You only live once, right?"
I had never been happier to hear another series of words in my life. "Really, Mom? You mean it?"
She gave a bashful smirk. "Better start before I change my mind! Hands off, mister. Mommy wants a turn."
I shuddered at the use of that word again. There was something fantastically erotic about her referring to her position in our familial hierarchy while she agreed to jerk me off. The contrast of those conflicting energies tied my guts in a knot that refused to loosen.
I removed my hand and lifted it up alongside the one that was still groping her. It had been a dream come true to touch her with one hand, but using both felt right. Being able to move them in unison - pushing her tits together like two great, white waves crashing against each other - was a spectacle that I knew would never be matched.
Mom responded to my attentive squeezing by applying pressure of her own around my cock. She firmly wrapped both of her hands around it, using all ten tiny fingers to simultaneously massage the fat pipe. Even with her fists stacked on top of each other, the reddened mushroom head at the tip still stuck out from between her curled fingers.
"Wow," she remarked, though I did not feel as though the utterance was for my benefit; she was truly in awe. "I think I need a few more fingers for this thing. Either that, orrrr..." She gestured, with a flick of her head, towards her bedside table. "Grab me that brown jar, please. I think you're gonna like this."
I leaned back and stretched my arms out to grab hold of the plastic tub. I opened the lid with one sharp twist that instantly had my nostrils inundated by the scent of lotion infused with cocoa butter. "You use this stuff?"
"Mmhmm," Mom replied. "On my boobs, especially."
I gave one of her hanging breasts a firm squeeze for emphasis. "So that's why they're so soft!"
Mom reached into the jar with one hand while the other stayed obediently wrapped around the root of my cock. She coated four fingers with the yellowish goop, then smeared it across her fingers and palms by rubbing them together. Then she extended her hand towards me. "Does that look slippery enough, sweetheart?"
I could nearly see my slack jawed reflection staring back at me in the shiny surface of her palm. "I-I think so, yeah."
She held my dick in place with her clean left hand, which was still tightly secured against my pelvis. With the slimy, lotion-covered hand, she slowly tightened each of her fingers, one by one, around the knob at the end. First she coiled her pinky, then her ring finger, and so on until the throbbing behemoth was completely cocooned.
Mom pulled her left hand off of me, which made space for her lotion-covered fist to plummet to the base of my dick in its place. The lotion left behind a glossy shimmer that glistened even in the low light. She quickly replaced her clean hand around the pulsating, red crown - where the slimy one had originally been - so that it, too, could be coated with a slippery layer of lotion.
"F-fuck, Mom," I grunted. "That feels amazing."
"Just wait, honey. I haven't even started yet."
To prove that she was not bluffing, Mom began to rotate her wrists in opposite directions, applying an alternating corkscrew motion to each half of my erection. It might have stung had she done it dry, but the copious layer of lotion saturating my dick made it so that her fingers effortlessly glided back and forth. She worked herself into a pattern of long, attentive strokes and did not slow down once she found a comfortable rhythm.
Every few strokes, she would gingerly raise her clenched fists toward the head of my cock as though she were trying to squeeze the cum out of it like toothpaste. She tugged with both arms, her touch rhythmic and methodical.
"Whooooaaaaa," I said as I exhaled all of the breath in my lungs.
"Good, honey?" Mom asked perkily.
"Your hands feel so silky! Fuck, Mom. You're good at this!"
"Thank you, honey." Mom pinched the excess skin against my pelvis with her lower hand, which made the already-bloated head inflate even further. "I'm just trying to hurry before somebody comes snooping around."
"I'm not trying to hold back," I lied insistently. "It feels amazing, but I'm not quite there yet."
"Shhhhh, honey." She squeezed until the fleshy balloon grew to a size that she was satisfied with, then wrapped one hand squarely around it and pressed down until lotion oozed through her clenched fingers. "Don't rush. Just focus on Mommy's hands touching you."
My eyelids fluttered madly, and a guttural groan escaped my throat. "Why is that so sexy?"
She giggled with glee. "I thought you liked it when I used that word earlier. You like Mommy's slippery fingers, sweetheart?"
"UUuuhhhHHH!" I wailed, overwhelmed with pleasure that made my dick throb mightily.
Mom must not have expected such a powerful flex, and seemed genuinely surprised at the muscle trying to break out of her secure grip. "Jesus, Jason! Are you sure you're not close? It sure feels like you are!"
"Not yet, not yet," I chanted. I knew there was still time for her to explore me before I reached my limit, and I wanted to use every second that we had to its fullest.
"Do you like having your balls played with? I can do that, too."
"Holy shit, for real?"
"Of course, sweetheart," Her voice - soft and comforting - carried me back to my youth, imbuing her offer to juggle my balls with a confusing yet enticing hint of nostalgia.
She did not wait for a response, and instead inferred by my excited reply that it was something I wanted desperately.
My spine turned to butter as she encircled the base of my dangling sack with her left hand, securing my plump testicles in her palm when she closed her fingers around the root. She had wisely left her other hand around my cock, which she treated to a repeated flurry of short squeezes, although it was clear that her main focus was on my balls as she began to gingerly roll them around in her fingers.
"They're so heavy," she remarked giddily. "I've never held a pair of balls this big before."
It may have been both sick and stupid, but her comment filled me with pride. "That feels fucking amazing, Mom."
"Yeah?" she piped up. "You like when I do this?" She then tossed my balls up and down like she was weighing a sack of coins in her palm. Each time they landed against her soft palm heel it felt like she was giving them a gentle pat; it was enough for me to feel each impact without being enough to hurt.
I emitted an unseemly groan. "Oh, Christ. That's fucking awesome."
She lazily juggled them a few more times, then reaffirmed her grip around the base with her thumb and first finger. She then pulled downward on the hefty eggs, proving once again that she knew exactly how to walk the line between pain and pleasure. "Good, sweetheart. Good boy."
Though she had paused her stroking routine while she'd grown acquainted with my balls, the hand gripping my dong had not remained idle for long. Once she'd become familiar with how to properly massage my balls, Mom had combined the two techniques into one performance.
The bottom of her clenched fist drew an imaginary line halfway up the length of my cock -- one that her hand refused to cross. She focused her stroking solely on the upper portion of my dong so she could zero in on the fat, puffy helmet. Her greasy fingers tenderly hugged the sides of my shaft. She closed them around the mushroom head over and over again, each time twisting her wrist in a different direction, at a new speed, and with varying degrees of strength. Her movements were wildly unpredictable, yet expertly practiced.
one moment she would subject me to a calm, clockwise rotation that made her fingerprints loosely scrape against my sensitive cock head. Before I'd gotten used to that sensation, she would rapidly change direction just as she tightened her slippery, makeshift sheath.
I wailed like a banshee being exorcised. "F-fuuuuuck, Mom!"
"I'm good with my hands, huh?" she boasted. "It's different with a big one, though."
"D-different h-how?" I stammered between breaths.
She mused over the considerable differences, but did not pause her disciplined tugging - or tear away her wide, fascinated stare - for a single second. "More fun when there's this much to play with. And your balls, honey! How do you even walk around with these big, fat things between your legs?"
I laughed, which made my balls pull tighter to my body despite the firm grip she had around them. "I've wondered the same thing about your boobs before."
Mom giggled with her eyes trained on my cock. "They're more than a handful, that's for sure. Speaking of handfuls, honey, are you getting close? I don't mean to rush you, but my arms are starting to get a bit tired."
I knew that the end was nigh, but there was one thing that I felt I needed to do before it was all over. "Uh, I guess so. But..."
The force of her fervent stroking made a speckle of lotion splatter against her chin on the upstroke. "What is it, honey?"
"Can I..." I swallowed nervously. "Can I kiss you?"
Mom closed her eyes for a bit longer than a standard blink, and when she opened them again she was looking over at me, rather than down at my cock. "You want to kiss me?"
"Yeah."
She looked astonished, her mouth shaped in a perfect circle and her eyebrows raised high on her forehead. "Like, really kiss me?"
"God, yes!"
"Good." She relaxed her brow. "Because I want to kiss you, too - but I have an idea first!" She slid down off of the mattress and slumped onto her knees on the floor, where she rested her butt on her calves.
"An idea for what?"
Mom looked at me like I was a moron with her head cocked to the side. "For your cum, sweetheart. I thought maybe you'd want to shoot it on my boobs?"
The thought of decorating her spectacular coloration with cum immediately took root in my brain. "Uh-huh! Yeah! Yeah, I wanna do that!"
Mom was grinning ear to ear. "That's my boy."
By the look of happiness on her face, she seemed elated to be a canvas that I desired so desperately to grace - or sully -- and I did not blame her.
Given Mom's position on the floor, I would have needed to bend over quite far to reach her there, so she closed the distance between us by sitting up to rest her weight on her knees instead. That brought her tummy flat against the foot of the bed and made it so that she - along with her large, drooping udders - were tucked closely between my parted legs.
My spot on the bed made me almost a foot taller than her, and looking down on my doting mother gave me a wicked rush of dominant energy. I felt invincible having her hands dutifully tugging, squeezing, and caressing my cock while I stared down from above. That captivating sight was made even better thanks to her naked breasts - painted with the immaculate bronze marbling that I so adored - as they wobbled back and forth in tune with her energetic stroking.
Mom tilted her head back and looked up at me. Her eyes were alive with crackles of lightning that made the once calm, blue pools buzz energetically while she studied my face. "Lean forward, honey."
I craned my neck and arched my back so that, when I lowered my face, it was only a couple of inches away from Mom's. I could feel tiny gusts of hot air tickling my nose as she drew deep, haggard breaths. Mine was ragged, too, though not from exertion. I was nervous, and for good reason.
The loud, repetitive squelches made by her tiny hands as she furiously jerked me off became background noise to the rush of blood to my head. Rather than distract me, it made it easy to focus on the secluded reality that Mom and I had retreated into. Right then, I genuinely forgot that anything outside of her bedroom existed, or ever had.
I brushed my nose against hers; that elicited an adorable, high-pitched giggle from the woman whom I felt thoroughly compelled to kiss, and I considered it an invitation that I would not dare ignore. I was clearly not the only one who enjoyed pretending that we were young, horny lovers who had escaped to the privacy of our bedroom.
Mom slithered her tongue out and licked the opening of my mouth, trailing its tip through the slit between my lips until I inched mine out to greet her. She cooed happily when they connected, then pushed hers forward to breach my defences and make her way inside.
She needn't have forced the issue. I welcomed her, ushering her tongue in as deep as she dared to go before using my own to flatten hers against the roof of my mouth. She took that as a bid for control that she would not willingly concede, and fought against me to be the leader in the dance of saliva-laden dominance.
Something in the back of my head urged me to reach out my hands, and I did not question it. It told me to cradle her face -- to gently coddle the sides of her head while we made out. It felt natural to hold her steady while her tongue thrashed wildly around my mouth, but it felt even more fulfilling once I began to let my hands wander.
I moved my left hand to the back of Mom's head, then dug in with all five fingers to firmly root them in her mane of golden hair.
The moment I took hold of her, she released a satisfied groan from deep in her stomach. "Oh, m-my," she whimpered between sloppy kisses.
I growled seductively as I pulled away just enough to make her want to chase after me. "You like that?"
"I like having your hands on me." Mom lurched forward, desperately trying to find my mouth for another kiss. She was panting with her eyes closed tightly. Her mouth hung open, and had she not licked her lips with unquestionable hunger, there would have been a trail of saliva drooling down her chin. "More kisses, please, and--" Mom drew a raspy breath through her sodden gullet. "--pull my hair, honey."
I wove my fingers into her flowing blonde hair, then pulled down so that her nose was pointed towards the ceiling. The faint, fluttery gasp that escaped her mouth was at an unrecognizably high pitch. I had never heard a woman moan with such overt lust, but she clearly thrived on being manhandled and did not want to conceal that truth.
I mashed my mouth against Mom's while keeping a tight hold on the reins, ensuring that she stayed in position while I mauled her open mouth with an onslaught of hungry kisses.
I felt as though I could devour her whole. I towered over the woman who had given me the divine gift of life, holding her frail head in my powerful hands, riddled with an insurmountable hunger to consume her. The affection she gave me was of such purity, and so encompassing, that I quickly realized I did not want to ever go another day without being satiated by it-- by her.
It was that unprecedented sense of comfort -- one that only a boy's mother can provide for him -- coupled with the surreal pleasure of her throttling my cock that finally brought me to the edge. I knew that I could have lasted a couple more minutes had it not been for the serendipitous peace that she gave me-- a feeling so strong that it could only be compared to magic.
"M-Mom!" I spat out between a flurry of lashing tongues.
"I know, she whispered breathily. "I know. Do it, honey. Shoot it all on Mommy's boobs."
My dick throbbed in response, as though her encouragement - the permission to add a dash of white to that canvas of sharp contrasts - had summoned it forth.
I released a passionate roar into Mom's open mouth, the might of which evoked a small gasp from her. I clung to her skull, surrounding it in a tight hold that forced her to remain stationary, though her hands were not bound by the same restriction.
My cock head bloated to the size of a full, ripe strawberry - with color to match, as Mom coiled a slippery mitt around it and began giving it a series of quick, cozy clenches. With that technique, she began to drag the cum out of me one hot, sticky rope at a time.
I buried my tongue as deep in her throat as I could reach, hoping that her mouth would muffle the eccentric wailing that I'd taken to when the first of many eruptions had come flying out of the engorged bulb. I was not sure how many times I actually fired cum from my piss slit. I was lost in the sensational feeling of Mom's milking to keep track, and the same could be said for time. It could have been a minute, or two, or an entire hour. The very concept of passing seconds became nonsensical, and I would have floated blissfully for an eternity in the void where only she and I existed.
I finally relinquished my hold on her head and allowed my body to relax. My eyes fluttered as the final shockwaves of pleasure rang out through my body.
"Baby?" Mom called to me, her voice cutting through the dense fog of palpable pleasure that hung around my head.
I opened my eyes and lifted my head, but it took another few seconds for my vision to focus. "Holy fuck."
She giggled and gave my cock -- which had barely begun to deflate -- a loving squeeze. "You can say that again. I thought you were gonna pass out, honey."
"No, no," I said wistfully with half of my brain still lost in dreamland. "Feels good. So, soooooo good."
She purred with glee. "You made quite the mess."
"I did?"
"Uh-huh. Take a look at my boobs, sweetheart."
To my delight, I looked down to find that she had not exaggerated. An utter mess of thick, sticky cum had been pasted across her sagging breasts like streaks of white paint. In addition to the gluey globs, there was a heap of watery, translucent seminal fluid that, unlike its opaque counterpart, was dribbling down over the swell of her drooping tits, following their curvature until the glistening droplets reached the undersides where they hung like beads of sweat.
I had never made myself orgasm that hard in my entire life; Mom had clearly coaxed my dick into giving her literally every drop my body had made.
The staunch, solid borders of conflicting color drawn onto her udders had been coated indiscriminately with cum, lending a sense of homogeneity to the once segregated shades. It looked as though the pristine purity of her raw flesh and the darkened, bronze finish of her magnificent tan were melting together. I thought she looked truly beautiful, and must have communicated that by the look of wonder that was apparently stuck on my face.
Mom joined me in gazing longingly at the masterpiece of splattered cum that was dribbling down her tits. "I didn't think you'd cum that much! I'm gonna have to take a shower now."
I gave her a wry smile. "Room for two?"
She flashed me a sly grin of her own. "Not on your life, mister. I need to actually get clean, and somehow I don't think you'd help me with that!"
"What am I supposed to do, then?" I whined.
Mom hopped to her feet and stood up abruptly enough to shake loose some of the blobs of baby batter. The globs that had been trickling slowly up until that point began to race towards their inevitable endpoint, wherefrom they plummeted off of her tits and fell onto her tummy below. "Wait here for me!" she said. "We can walk back together."
I groaned in annoyance. "Do we have to go back?"
"Yes, honey," Mom said sternly. "At some point we will have to see your dad and sister again."
With an exhausted sigh, I laid down on the mattress. "Well, if I'm lucky, my heart will have stopped racing by the time you're done in there."
Mom blew me an audible kiss, then turned to walk towards the bathroom. "Good luck with that, honey."
I heard the door click shut, followed by the shower water beginning to run. I knew that the smart move would have been to get dressed in case someone came around - Dad did have his own key, after all - but I could not find the energy, or perhaps the willpower, to get off of the bed.
All that I wanted to do was to wait for Mom to come back so we could further explore whatever it was that we had just embroiled ourselves in. She was all I could think about, and I had no problem with that; she was all I wanted to think about.
I had expected post-nut clarity to kick in once the ordeal had ended, and perhaps to feel a bit of shame that Mom and I had broken such a sacred boundary, but there was nothing of the sort for me to feel. I felt happy and fulfilled... but that wasn't all.
How am I already horny again? I silently asked myself. Am I just that obsessed with Mom?
I knew I had never experienced such profound lust for a person before, whether in real life or through a screen, which made it clear to me just how special my love for Mom truly was.
"Ahem." Mom cleared her throat from the doorway to the bathroom, where she stood with a towel wrapped around her body that covered everything below her chest, including her tits.
I flung my eyes open and turned my head to look at her. "Hey, Mom."
She smiled and tilted her head, gesturing to my groin with her chin. "I thought I took care of you, Mr. Horndog."
I looked down to see that, for the second time that day, I had begun unconsciously grabbing at my cock while I fantasized about my mother. That time, however, I felt absolutely no guilt after being caught. "I can't stop thinking about you, Mom. It's not my fault!"
She put on a pair of doe eyes and batted her long eyelashes at me. "Are you blaming Mommy for making your penis all big and hard?"
"Well, if I wasn't before, I definitely am now! I was satisfied, but then I started to think about you in the shower."
She smirked playfully and walked towards the bed. "Oh? And what did you think about, exactly?"
My heart thumped against my ribcage. "How I bet your tan is just as sexy on the bottom half as it is on the top!"
She tittered and gave me a sympathetic pout. "Poor baby. Were you hoping Mommy would show you her bum before we left?"
I shook my head. "Not just your ass, Mom."
She was taken aback momentarily. "I mean, I probably shouldn't be surprised. I guess your fascination doesn't stop with my boobs."
I shook my head again. "It does not, no."
Mom seemed tickled by my boldness, but the brief smile was washed off of her face in exchange for a wince. "Sweetheart, I haven't... I'm not, like, shaved or anything. I tidied it up a bit before we left for vacation, but--"
"Good," I said as I licked my lips. "I want to see you as you are."
"You really wanna see my pussy that badly?"
"More than anything in the world, Mom."
She blushed a staggering shade of red, but could not hide her enthused smile. "I, uh-- okay. Okay, sweetheart -- as long as you don't mind a bit of fur."
"I want to see you, whatever that means." It was completely true; I had never longed for a singular woman with such determination. I felt that Mom was the center of my universe, and I wanted to keep it that way.
Her goofy grin told me that she thoroughly enjoyed being ogled so brazenly. Her body language told me that a piece of her - quite a large one, too - craved to be the center of someone's attention.
Mom turned her back to me and swayed her butt back and forth, and I'm sure my eyes were bulging out of my head like I was a cartoon character. She clutched the edge of her towel, which was pinned under her arms, and slowly opened one side of the cotton curtain, then the other.
I was forced to stare at the back of her towel while she slowly, at a painstaking pace, began to lower it. I was once again greeted by the immaculate etching of her bikini top that the Sun had branded onto her skin, leaving behind a ghostly outline of where its spaghetti straps had once rested whilst the surrounding flesh had been cooked to a tantalizing golden-brown.
The towel dropped another foot, exposing the swell of her gigantic breasts that, due to their incredible size, were already partially visible. Even the faintest jostle made them wobble in such a way that I could see them trying to peek out around the sides of her body, swaying one way and then the other in a bid to remain in the spotlight whilst the exposure of her plump ass cheeks loomed on the horizon.
The small of her back came into view. The slender curve of her spine made me want to run my tongue along it until I reached the back of her neck. Just below it, right where her ass began to bow outward to form her two huge, blubbery cheeks, came the faintest hint of creamy white skin that mirrored the hue left behind by her bikini top.
Mom kept her ass hidden mostly behind the towel, but began to drop it slowly, dragging it side to side to slowly reveal more of her pasty flesh with each pass.
She tucked the edge of her towel below the swell of her cheeks, then pulled the fabric as tightly as she could so that it formed a long, makeshift pedestal for her fat rump to rest upon. The swell of her ass was so great that, with just a little effort, she was able to snugly embed the hem of the towel beneath the crux where her the bottom of her cheek met her upper leg.
The overlapping pudge made her ass appear visibly heavy, and I imagined that, if she'd wanted to, she could have used her large cheeks to pinch the towel and hold it in place without using her hands at all.
My heart quickened its already frantic pace. "C-can you bend over?"
"Of course, honey," she said cheerfully.
Mom bent at the waist without bending her legs, forming a right angle with her body that I was sure would cause gravity to drag her breasts straight down to the floor. If she'd not still been holding up the towel - which I longed for her to drop - I could tell that she would have been able to touch her toes easily. I'd had no idea that she was so flexible but hardly had a moment to be properly surprised.
"Should I let go of the towel?" she asked with a soft, upward curl in the tone of her voice.
"Y-yeah," I stammered.
"I thought soooooo," she sang happily as she dropped the cotton curtain.
Her full nudity -- at least that of her backside -- was offered up to me. It was sensational to look at Mom in all of her natural, unashamed glory, and knowing that she wanted me to look made it twice as delicious to do so.
Mom patted her bum with one hand a few times, giving her cheek a light spanking whose impact did not make nearly as much noise as I had hoped it would. Then she dug her fingernails into her swatted cheek and pressed down until they sank in. She squeezed a couple more times, treating the dense, juicy putty like a stress ball to clench and release, each time leaving red finger markings in her flesh.
"Are you watching?" Mom asked rhetorically.
She knew that I was, and so did not wait for a response. She gripped one plump cheek with each hand and began to spread them, correctly assuming that I was transfixed by the evolving scene.
Mom pulled herself apart slowly, allowing me to soak in each passing second of further exposure until her thin, pink slit had been fully splayed open. It was a blooming flower whose lush, ripe petals stretched open in a deep "V." She was slightly open from how wide she had spread herself, and that small, gaping mouth called to me like a siren to a sailor.
The gap between her thighs was narrow, yet I could see wisps of long, dark pubic hair peeking out between them. The coils that had been wetted by her juices clung to the inside of her leg, while the tendrils that had remained dry seemed as soft as the wool on a black sheep. The hair was either black or dark brown; I could not yet be sure, but I knew that I wanted to find out as soon as I could.