This story is about that time when my wife and I requested our son to help photograph us nude.
I am Ethan. My wife is Emma, or Em in our Brit vernacular. We are in our late forties. We have been married for close to 30 years.
We have one child. David in his twenties, single, is a successful go-getter technopreneur. He has his own start-up in the Financial Technology sector. He raked in his first million before he was twenty-five. David is a 6-footer, good-looking, carries an energetic and vital demeanour. His brew of energy and chill makes him popular with the ladies. Em likens our son to Michelangelo's David.
We live in a remote countryside cottage perched on a picturesque sea cliff in southwest England.
Brown haired Em is the quintessential English rose. Em is pretty in a plain sort of way. Em was a ballet dancer in her youth. Although she has stopped active dancing a long time ago, she maintains the upright graceful mien of a ballerina.
Now, how do I best describe Em's body without contradiction? Confoundingly buxomly and nubile in the same hiss of breath.
Let's try this. Imagine you are doing a spot of photo editing. Your base image is a mature woman, five feet four inches, just shy of buxom. She has her obligatory share of flabs and sags of her age. Generous pendulous breasts. A dusting of freckles on upper chest. Softly contoured rump, prominent, but short of provocative. Soft rise of tummy. An artful delicate caesarean section cut filament line just above her mound. Well-turned legs flare into wide hips. Lite Rubenesque.
You have a secondary picture image resource to draw from in your photo editing project. A fresh faced nubile adolescent, also five feet four inches tall, on the cusp of womanhood. Her budding breasts are contoured in a soft wide arc. A gentle rise that promises lush in the fullness of time.
Her silken mons pubis is a minimalist dainty gash. A smooth impish cleft with no inner lips protruding.
Now, copy-and-paste the budding breasts, and pubescent bottom, from the secondary to the primary image.
Voila! There you have it, Em! A curious confluence abstraction of buxom and nubile, of pubescent and mature. It all hangs together surreally into a sensual womanly whole that is alluring. Easy to identify, but hard to define precisely.
Em has mixed feelings about her body. Self-evidently, she likes her buxom bits. But, she is acutely conscious of her modest top. While I feel that her buxomness heightens her pubescent allure to conjure a comely feminine whole, she feels that it accentuates her topside deficit. Em is shy. But, she is no prude.
I am five feet eight inches tall. I have my share of mellowed contours. My penis is above average in length, but by not much. My girth is below average, but not spindly. Em describes my endowment as statuesque, though which particular statue, I don't know. My shaved groin complements Em's virginal pubescence.
Em and I are on holiday. The holiday is a birthday, as well as a wedding anniversary gift from our son. An expression of his appreciation for our having given him the foundation of a nurturing upbringing and an education, to set him up for his technopreneurship success. He made all the arrangements unbeknownst to us until three days before our scheduled check-in. A most pleasant surprise. The hotel is 30 kilometers from our home, along the same coastline.
We are spending Em's and my fiftieth birthday in this well-appointed hotel. Our birthdays are a day apart. My birthday comes first, then Em's. Also, by design, we married on Em's birthday. This is our thirtieth wedding anniversary.
We agreed that we will do a triple celebration on Em's birthday. My birthday, belatedly by a day. Our wedding anniversary. A three-in-one milestone. We want this to be special and memorable.
The hotel is lovely. High floor. In-room jacuzzi. Breathtaking seaview. Balcony with 360 degree privacy. An overhang of mini infinity pool. Fancy electronics for illumination, climate control, audio, video. A single remote control unit controls this electronic universe.
The hotel apparently got wind of our birthdays from our check-in registration details. They throw in generous freebies. A bespoke dinner menu. Birthday cake. Wine. An in-room couples massage. The works.
After a lovely dinner, and then drinks at the piano bar, we repair to our room. As we are dressed to the nine, I tell Em that I would like to snap some pictures of her before we change into our bedwear.
Em is dressed in a mid-thigh length smouldering black dress number. The dress mercilessly hugs her body to the point of suffocation, thrusting every curve to the fore. Her fuck-me, criminally provocative high heels complete the sensual visual assault.
Em has never been a willing photography subject because of her ambivalence about her body. I tell her that this is a very special occasion. She looks gorgeous. The ambience is right. As is our mood. My camera is a Nikon DSLR. We can experimentally take any number of pictures, and delete the pictures that she doesn't like. And the picture collection will be our private possession, privy to our eyes only.
Em eventually reluctantly consents after much cajoling, on condition that she reserves the right to delete whichever pictures she chooses. I agree.
Em: Let me freshen my makeup.
Me: You look just fine. But, go ahead if that's what you want.
Em tarts up. I get ready my camera gear.
For starters, I have Em sit in the chair. I take a couple of portrait pictures from the front and sides.
I then sit Em on the bed against the headboard. I place a pillow to prop her back. Em is half-reclined, with her legs together, knees drawn up. I tell her to chill. Her raven black dress juxtaposed against the white bedtop provides perfect photographic contrast.
Click.
Me: Run your fingers through your hair. Raise your right leg to rest over your left knee.
Click.
Me: Dangle your right leg high heels from your toes, come hither.
Click.
Me: Move over to the coffee table. Sit near the edge. Legs crossed.
Click.
Me: Look to your left. Now, to your right.
Click.
Click.
Me: On the couch. Roll onto your tummy. Elbows on the couch. Prop your chin in your hands. Bend your right leg behind you, incline it left. Dangle your high heels from your toes.
Click.
Em: I think I'm showing too much of who I am not.
Me: You're a lovely model. And it's only you and me seeing these pictures. Now, I want to take some lingerie shots. Bra and thong. And high heels.
Em: Oh no! We have gone way too far.
Me: Come on! It's no different from your bikini. Just this once. Humour me on this night of our triple celebration. Wear your sexiest lingerie.
Em rifles through her wardrobe velvety stash. She selects a sinful dainty black lacy half-cup bra, and matching thong panties. She dresses up, or more aptly, dresses down, in these economical garments. Her light chocolate smear of areolas and perky nipples can be made out through the sheer fabric. She decides to freshen her makeup.
She then hesitates for a moment wondering just what she is doing. She appears to decide that she is enjoying herself.
I have Em pose in several positions. Coquettish, kittenish. Bordering on saucy. But never lewd, which I have an aversion to. And the ballerina in Em feels the same.
There is a sort of "marginal utility of sensuality" that a photographer is sensitive to. Knowing how to artfully calibrate the visual effect to the sensuality richter scale.
Me: Stand there. Put your foot on the dresser table as if you are a ballerina practising at the barre. Point your toes.
I click away from several angles.
Me: Now, lean forward towards the table. Hold your ankle.
Click.
Me: Execute a ballerina's arabesque position. Stand on one leg. The other leg turned out, extended behind your body. Both legs held straight.
I orbit Em.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Me: You're a super model. Nicely turned legs, flaring to lush hips. A good figure. Are you enjoying this?
Em: Like you say, it's the same as a bikini. I'm beginning to mindlessly believe you.
Me: On the bed again. Flat on your back.
Em: Hey! This is getting into the lewd zone.
Me: No. It won't. It is not necessarily the pose that defines the shot. It is the interaction of model, pose and photographic rendering. Trust me. I find lewd and lusty distasteful too.
I convinced Em.
Click.
Me: Flat on your back. Bend your knees. That's it.
Click.
Me: Raise your bent knees higher. Knees together in a knock-knee position. Gaze left with a contemplative faraway look. Lovely!
Her legs are presented in a playful flirty symmetry.
Click.
Me: Knees apart. Lovely thong.
Click.
Me: Now sit up in the middle of the bed.
I take hold of Em's hands and place them on her breasts.
Me: Push them up and together, like this.
Click.
I pull one bra strap off her shoulder and the cup of her bra down, revealing her perky nub which engorges even more as my thumb grazes over it.
Em (protesting): Hey! This is more exposure than a bikini!
Click.
Me: Can't stop now. We've come so far. Again, these are our private pictures.
I move behind Em. I slip off the fastening of her bra, taking it off completely. I put my hands round and cup her breasts, pinching her nipples between thumb and forefinger. I suggest she put her hands under her breasts, lifting them some, like an offering of treasured gifts.
Click.
I put my arms right round Em. I hold her right breast in my left hand, massaging and squeezing. My right hand slides down the front of her thong. My finger slips through the hermetic seal of her vagina. I move my finger inside her for a few seconds then withdraw. Em is sopping wet. I break away.
Me: Now, I want you to repeat what I have just done. Left hand massaging your right breast. Right hand into your thong pleasuring yourself.
Em: Whoa! We are deviating further and further from our script!
Me: Please...
She relents.
Click.
I move over to Em. I am so hot. I ease her thong to her ankles without asking her. She is surprised by my unannounced action. But, she does not resist. Em is now totally native.
I slip my finger into her vagina. She is leaking copiously. A musty smell permeates the air. Our eyes lock in a moment of heat.
Em: If I'm going to be naked, you should be too. Your trousers are contorted in agony. Lose your textile.
I am naked. Em cannot resist reaching out, kissing the hard flesh in front of her. She licks off the precum glistening on my proud head.
Em: I feel very exposed. Vulnerable. Just a couple more pictures only, please.
Em is conscious of her exposed bottom. She lays on the bed, flat on her stomach.
Em: Well, don't get anything up needlessly. I'm not showing much.
Me: Raise your head and shoulders. Pull yourself up enough. Nipples on the bed out of view, but only just so.
A provocative teasing peek-a-boo pose. I can see her soft rise of breasts nicely, but not her nipples.
Click.
Em: You get my bare derrière. But, I'm keeping my legs closed. So, don't billow your hopes up.
I go around the bed taking pictures of her back, especially her nice, round butt. Hot!
Me: Maintain your pose. But, bend your right leg. Dangle your high heels on your toes, come hither.
Click.
Me: Just a few standing shots and we will be done.
Em: Oh no! I am not exposing my bare lady part.
Me: Let's do this. I will take the shots. Artistically composed. In our review of the pictures, we can decide what to do. You can choose to delete the pictures. Or, based on your selection, I can photo edit them and airbrush the bits you deem offensive.
Em: Hmmm... you are determined! I guess I have to let you have your ration of jollies, this being your birthday celebration.
Em is standing in her buxom pubescent full glory, perched on her high heels. Her legs are together, clasped tightly, guarding her nether charms. Her pristine mons pubis, and impish hint of cleft accentuate her pubescent allure. A buxom pubescent curiosity.
Click.
Me: Sit on the edge of the table. Cross your legs. Kittenish look.
Click.
Me: Spread your legs. Look right, away from the camera as if something is holding your attention.
Em hesitates. This is the maiden shot of her revealed lady part.
Me: Please? We are almost done. You can delete this picture in our review if you are not happy with it. Or, I photo edit airbrush what little that we see of your muff.
Click.
Me: Stand with your back to me. Legs apart. Wider. Good! Bend right down. Right hand hold your left ankle.
Em: Oh God! No! This is smut!
Me: This is hot! Please? We can review later and decide if it is indeed smut. From my view here, it is a sensual aesthetic rendition of who you are. Your face can't be seen anyway. Lovely! This picture will be it.
Em relents.
Click.
I upload the pictures onto my laptop PC. I hook up the PC to the large TV monitor so that we can slideshow the pictures. Em is about to throw on her bathrobe, but I tell her that we stay native, enjoy our nudity, cuddle up, as we review our pictures.
I laze on the couch with my legs extended. Em sits in front of me, pauses, as if giving me notice of her next move, then reclines, and melts onto me as if I am a lounge chair. We make some fine bodily adjustments. We are in the groove.
As we view the slideshow, I fondle Em's breasts, and knead her pliant eraser tip nipples. Em mews a musical exotic kittenspeak. I drift south. I am in full flourish, as is Em, judging from her moist bottom.
Em is pleased with the black dress series of pictures. She looks regally elegant and yet, sexy.
After initial misgivings, Em warms up to her bra and thong shots. She particularly likes the ballerina pose shots. Dance is close to her heart. These shots resonate with who she is. The shots have the unlikely quality combination of the artistic, soft athleticism, the pristine pubescence of a ballerina, and yet coquettish appeal, all at once.
We are aroused viewing Em's nude series. I tell Em that we are in the mood, in our element, and I will love to take some shots of us together in intimate poses. Again sexy, but not lewd. I lament that I don't have a tripod for my camera now. We will do those shots belatedly when we get home. Hopefully, we can recreate this mood.
The doorbell chimes. It startles us as we are not expecting anyone. We promptly put on our hotel bathrobes. I go to the door.
Surprise, surprise! It is our son, David! He carries a champagne in an ice bucket on one hand, and what looks like a birthday cake in a box on the other.
David: Mum and Dad, Happy Birthday and Happy Anniversary!
Em: Oh David, this is such a pleasant surprise!
David (noting his parents in bathrobes with apparently nothing beneath): Errr... am I interrupting anything? Do you want me to come back later?
Me: No. Not at all!
David sets up the champagne bucket, and flutes on the coffee table in the lounge area. It is a Krug. Our fave bubbly poison.
Em loves strawberries. She remarks that the champagne will pair nicely with the strawberries from the complimentary fruit basket of the day that is in our room.
David: Oh! That reminds me. I have that covered too! My hands were full with champagne, ice bucket and cake. Let me go to my car to get the bouquet of fresh strawberries. Give me ten minutes.
As David turns to leave, he inadvertently sees the picture of his mum on the TV screen. We have totally forgotten about the slideshow! This is the picture of Em in full frontal on her high heels, with her legs closed, betraying a hint of cleft. Em is mortified.
David acts nonchalantly, pivots casually away, as if the picture isn't there. A perfect gentleman. He almost convinces me that he has seen nothing. As I let him out of the room, he gives me a knowing smile, "I apologise for interrupting mum and you. I will be back shortly with the strawberries."
Em (flustered): I'm so embarrassed! It's all your fault! This photos obsession.
Me: Chill, chill! I don't think David saw anything. If he did, it was fleeting. A blip. In any case, it is a tasteful artistic picture. Nothing to be embarrassed about.
Em: But, he saw my breasts! And horror of horrors, my lady parts!
Me: As you have witnessed yourself at the hotel beach, many guests sunbathe au naturel. David could just as well have dropped in on us while you are sunbathing nude at the hotel poolside or beach. In that situation, he would have seen you in the flesh.
Em: Hmmm... I don't see how this is relevant. We are not nudists. Many of the hotel guests are foreigners, enjoying carefree anonymity, far from home. And I have never been in anything less than a sensible one-piece in public.
Perversely, as we banter, the picture is still on the TV monitor in its epic cinematic glory. We revisit it intently. I feel a tingle knowing that a strapping young man, our son, no less, has admired this vision of loveliness just a moment ago, if only for a second.
Me: Look, Em! The picture is artistically rendered. Your slit is barely visible beneath your plump mound. Your barely legal pubescence lends a pristine aura to the image.
Em calms down somewhat.
Em (curiously): I saw David talking with you at the door. What did he say?
Me (jocularly): Boys talk! He said he saw the loveliest woman ever, and he came in his pants. Twice over. Just kidding, he he!
Em (lightening up): Very funny!
Me: David apologised for interrupting us. It must be because we are in our bathrobes. Maybe we look hot and bothered?
Em: Hmmm... so he saw my picture.
Me: Give him a break! You are reading way too much into this fleeting episode.
Em: Hmmm... I guess so. We raised him well. He is a gentleman. And a handsome strapping young one to boot. My very own copy of Michelangelo's David. I guess I am over reacting. To be honest, I do get a surge from his glimpse of my picture, fleeting as it may be.
I walk over to Em. I slither my hand beneath her bathrobe and caress her muff. She is devilishly dewy moist.
Em: So, now you know. You must be thinking badly of me, David being our son.
As I bend over my PC to close the slideshow, my penis peeks through my gaping bathrobe quivering.
Em (patting my tumescence): Hmmm... looks like the feeling is mutual.
Me (philosophically): There is an inherent dualism about us. You are a mum and a woman. Just as David is a son and a man. And if we have a daughter, I will be a dad and a man. Most times, you are a mum when you are with David. But, there is just no telling when the woman in you shows up. It is beyond your control.
Em: Hmmm... I have never thought of it this way.
Me: So, you have the combination modes of the usual state of mum-son, and then less frequently, mum-man, woman-son, culminating in woman-man. On the flipside, for David, hypothetically, from his perspective, son-mum, son-woman, man-mum, culminating in man-woman.
Em: So, what is the operating mode when I get a tingle from David looking at my nude picture just now?
Me: Hmmm... I don't know if he did look. Assume he did fleetingly. Only you will know what's playing in your head. I can only speculate at best.
Em: Your speculation?
Me (pondering): Mum-man. As in you are in a motherly frameset. You see, first and foremost, a man looking at your nude picture, even though that man is your son. And that gives you a tingle.
Em: Hmmm...
Me: And possibly woman-son mode. You are in a woman frameset. Either way, there is a lurking element of the taboo.
Em: Hmmm... we are ranging into unfamiliar topography.
Me (interestedly): So, what was it?
Em (feigning ignorance): What was what?
Me: The state you were in.
Em: I am not very bright on these matters. I am somewhat confused by the subtleties between mum-man and woman-son. But, assuming what I understand is correct, it is mum-man. I was most definitely in a mum mental frame. And I saw David as man first, son second.
Me: Remember the intimate photos that I would like to take of us? What do you think if we get David to take them for us when he returns?
Em: What? Are you out of your feverish mind?
Me: The conditions here are just perfect. We are in the mood, in the groove. We are in the privacy of our room. Tonight is a once a lifetime significant milestone in our lives, as well as for our family including David. David has proven to be an absolute gentleman so far. Having a trusted family member take our intimate photos is better than having an outsider such as a professional photographer, or a relative do it. You can never be sure if the photos are leaked out.
Em: Hmmm... we'll be crossing the line with our son.
Me: We have the remote control to control the room illumination. We can dim the lights. Arrange ourselves into intimate poses. We pose in such a way that we conceal your lady charms, nipples, and my genitals. And when we are ready, we will illuminate the room momentarily. David can take a shot. We dim the lights again. Repose. Repeat the cycle. Say, ten pictures. David will have fleeting glimpses of us only. Your feminine bits will be concealed.
Em: Are you serious?
I caress her muff again. It has since gone from moist to sopping wet. As is my glistening penis head.
Me: Just a little harmless tingling fun, as we capture our intimate moments for posterity, on this very special night. We are fifty only once in our lifetime.
Em (warming up to the idea): What does intimate mean? Are we having heaving, caterwauling sex in front of our son? Is that what you want? A carnal fest of exhibitionism, voyeurism, sex and simmering taboo? What will our son think of us? More importantly, what will our son think of his mum? Of me?
Me: It doesn't make a difference whether we do, or we don't. Our privates will be concealed from view throughout. In any case, like the rest of the pictures we have taken tonight, there will be no lewd and lusty shots. We stay faithful to our script.
Em (apparently softening up to my persuasive powers): Hmmm... living up your latent exhibitionist fantasies, are we? I'll be embarrassed facing off David.
Me: Let's do this. You don your bathrobe and go into the washroom after this to freshen your makeup. When David returns, I will request his help to take some pictures for us since I don't have a tripod. Kind of like help us finish off our photoshoot session, for the photos where using the self timer will deliver less than optimal results. This being our special night, the pictures will mean alot to us. I will explain to David that you are camera shy. Thus, we will pose in dim light, and when we are ready, we will brighten the lights, and he can take the shot. We then repeat the cycle.
Em: Hmmm... I'm beginning to suspect that this whole charade is precision engineered. Contrived by an overheated perverse mind.
Me: Whatever. I don't pretend to deny the charge that I get from this. Anyway, you will come out of the washroom in your bathrobe before the first pose. I will dim the lights. You disrobe in the dark. We pose. Then, after the last pose is done, you go back to the washroom to clean your makeup. I will put on my robe. You then dress up. We reconvene at the lounge to celebrate and chill with David. This way, you don't have to engage David much during the photoshoot.
Em: Hmmm... yes, Mister Porn Director! The things you make me do!
As a sign of tacit approval, Em sashays to the washroom with exaggerated reluctance.
The doorbell chimes. I let David in. He bears a bouquet of fiery red strawberries. He betrays his interest in seeking out his mum by his furtive scan of our room, and then, the now featureless TV monitor.
Me: Thank you so much for the lovely strawberries. Very thoughtful of you.
David: Mum loves strawberries! It pairs well with champagne. Where is mum?
Me: Oh, mum is in the washroom, freshening up her makeup. David, this is awkward! I wonder if I can ask a favour from you?
David: Dad, shoot! This is your and mum's special night. Nothing is too big an ask. Now, how can I help?
Me: Well, you see, this is a very memorable night for your mum and I. I have taken some pictures of mum. I would like now to take some pictures of us together. But, I don't have a tripod. And as you know, self timer pictures don't pan out well one way or another. I don't wish to trivialise our special night here with wefies. Will you be so kind as to take a few pictures for us? This is my Nikon. A basic model. It's quite simple to operate.
David: No problem at all, dad. I have a Nikon of my own.
Me: Oh, one more thing. Our pictures will involve degrees of nudity, and some artistically rendered intimate poses. We are in the mood, you see. As we hit our big five-o, we want a visual record of our bodies at this significant milestone. I hope you don't mind? I hope it won't be too awkward for you?
David: Errr... will this be awkward for mum? And my seeing both of you naked, you OK with this?
Me: Well, for me, there is nothing much for you to see, ha ha! Mum and I have discussed this. She was initially uncomfortable. But, I have persuaded her. We are cool. We reckon better you as family member be the photographer than an outsider. In any case, where are we going to source a photographer at this hour? We do so want our pictures to be dated on the actual day of our anniversary, and mum's birthday. Mum can be maddeningly pedantic about such details. So, all the more reason that we have to get your help.
David: Cool! You know, I took a photography course module in uni. Nudes was part of the curriculum. This is a good time for mum and you to recoup your investment in my education, ha ha!
Me: I should let you know that your mum is hopelessly camera shy. I will use the remote control to dim the lights. We pose. We brighten the lights when we are ready for you to shoot. We then repeat the cycle. I know this dimming and brightening of lights routine is somewhat strange, if not downright comical. But this is what makes mum comfortable. I do want her to be relaxed for the pictures to turn out well. We will take ten shots.
David: Cool! Let's do whatever to help mum to be at ease.
Me: Great! We can get started. I will get mum.
I get Em. She emerges from the washroom in her bathrobe.
Em (sheepishly): Thanks David, for helping us out. I am only doing this because of your dad's inane persistence.
David: Mum, you look absolutely gorgeous! You are a piece of work! This alone is a necessary and sufficient reason to immortalise you on pixels.
Em (sceptical, but feeling validated): Hmmm... looks like I raised an inveterate liar! And I love you for that.
I dim the lights. I disrobe. Em hesitates for a moment, consciously scanning the dimness for David, not finding him, and then disrobes.
***
First shot.
We are standing, facing the camera. I get behind Em. She leans forward ever so slightly. My hands cup the underside of her breasts concealing them up to her nipples. Em minimises her right hand, covering her mound, teasingly only just so. Her left arm stretches back, her hand pressing my arse to her to cement our pose. I nestle my penis between Em's arse cheeks, the head nudging reachingly into her slit.
I do a pose check. Yes, our significant bits are concealed. I brighten the lights.
This is the first shot. David takes awhile to adjust to the photoshoot dynamics, and the sudden transition from dim to bright light. Or, maybe he is checking his mum out surreptitiously. I hope that he will take the shot soon because I can't resist sliding my penis any longer.
Click.
Dim.
***
Second shot.
A sitting coupling series. I sit on the chair facing the camera. Em parts her legs sitting astride my lap, facing me, her back to the camera. This pose accentuates her sacral dimples. We make some fine bodily adjustments. I am in Em. My hands cupping her breasts. Em's arms circle behind my back to possess me. We kiss passionately.
Lights.
Click.
Dim.
***
Third shot.
As before, I sit on the chair facing the camera. Em sits on my lap. She is facing the camera too, at an oblique angle. We make some bodily adjustments. My erect penis slips silkenly into her vagina. My hands cup Em's breasts concealing her nipples. Em places her right hand over her crotch coyly, covering my penetration, but only just so, leaving scope for titillating imagination. I do a pose check.
Lights.
Click.
David: This is a nice intimate pose. Is it OK if I move around to take some perspective shots?
I assess our pose. Our intimate bits are artfully concealed. I look at Em. She smiles in tacit assent.
Me: OK. You are the photographer. You can best assess the angles and perspectives. We'll leave it to your aesthetic discretion for this, and the follow-on poses.
David circles our tangled bodies. He asks Em and me to look this way and that, to add variety and focus to the pose.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Dim.
***
Fourth shot.
A variation of the third. I sit on the chair facing the camera as before. Em stands in front of me, facing me, her back to the camera. She inclines her body towards me suggestively. I place my hands on her breasts. Em bends her right leg at her knee, dangling her high heels on her toes. Come hither.
Lights.
Click.
By this time, David has the implicit awareness that we do not feel comfortable revealing Em's nipples and our genitals. So, he didn't offer to take the perspective shots for this pose even though we have granted him artistic license.
Dim.
***
Fifth shot.
I sit on the chair facing the camera as before. Em stands in front of me, facing me, her back to the camera. She tilts her head as if staring down piercingly, severely at me. Em surprises me. She raises her right leg, and plants her high heels at my crotch, but first, mercifully taking care not to puncture my sac. I gasp. I plant my hands gingerly on her breasts. Hmmm... can David can see his mum's slightly upraised lower cleft in this pose? But, since Em is at ease with this as the pose is her composition, I am cool. My wife the dominatrix! Oh well, you learn something new everyday.
Lights.
Click.
Again, our son the gentleman, knows better not to take the perspective shots as his mum's genitals are exposed.
Dim.
***
Sixth shot.
A standing coupling series. Em and I are standing facing each other. My penis nestles between Em's thighs. Thus primed, I make entry. Em circles her arms around my neck in possessive suffocation. My hands grip her buttocks with matching intensity. Em's breasts are squashed against my chest. Em bends her right leg, flirtatiously dangling her high heels on her toes.
Lights.
Click.
David goes around us to take the perspective shots. I can feel Em meld closer so that her breasts, and our genitals, are concealed in a searing tangle.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Dim.
***
Seventh shot.
The frisson is palpable. A more engaged variation of the previous pose. Em and I are standing facing each other. She clings tightly onto me. Her arms are around my neck in possessive lock. Em wraps her legs around my waist in a merciless vice grip. I make sloshful entry. I can't help it. Perhaps David heard? I am so moved by the white heat of the moment. I pump four frenzied shuddering strokes. Em is mortified by my cavalier abandon in the presence of our son. I summon all my will to stop. The tension taut. Em is photographically primed. Her face is in a kind of mid-fuck ecstasy.
Lights.
Click.
David goes around us to take the perspective shots. He angles this way and that to capture the erotic essence of our pose. Em duly tightens her clasp on me, to conceal our private bits.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Dim.
***
Eighth shot.
Me (whispering): Classic woman on top cowgirl.
Em (gasping): Oh, my god!
I lie down flat on the carpet. My legs together in parallel. I guide Em to sit astride me, on my genitals, facing me. I place my palms on Em's breasts, just so, up to her nipples. We make fine bodily adjustments. I enter Em's wetness. Can David hear my squishing entry? Can he smell the tang wafting in the air? Em places her left hand to conceal my penetration. She places her right hand just behind her right hip, girding her torso upright in a soft arc. She then looks intensely away from the camera as if focusing on something of interest in the distance.
Em then surprises me completely. She begins to bounce on me with frantic vigour. One, two, three, four. In rhythmic rising cadence. We emit wet musical notes. Can David hear us through the translucent dimness? When she stops momentarily, I assume that we are ready and primed for our shot.
Lights.
To my amazement and shock, a seemingly charged and dazed Em, restarts her movement again, presumably after her moment of breather. She then instantly realises, to her horror, that the lights are on. She freezes. Did David see this arrested movement?
David is momentarily stunned by this sensual sea change.
He gasps audibly.
Click.
David appears to deliberate on whether to take any perspective shots because he cannot be sure if all our privates all concealed. As the lights remain on after a few seconds, he interprets this as tacit approval.
David must have discerned the unfulfilled mid-fuck ecstasy on his mum's face. He captures a facial close-up to freeze the intensity of her moment.
Click.
Climbing down somewhat from the sensual high, David asks us to look this way and that to add variety to the pose.
Click.
Click.
I cannot be sure whether David is opportunistically checking out his mum, or just being professional and painstakingly thorough, orbiting us, one, two, then three rounds, as he shoots us. I feel Em's innards twitch in consonance to the crisp camera clicks.
David (somewhat boldly): Mum, arc your body, look up to the ceiling, to add dramatic effect to the pose.
Click.
Dim.
***
Ninth shot.
Me (whispering): Classic reverse cowgirl.
Em: Oh, god! Do we have to do this? This is smut.
Me: It is just a minor variation from the previous pose. Just a flip of orientation.
As before, I lie down flat on the carpet. My legs together in parallel. Em sits astride me, on my crotch, facing away from me, towards the camera. I snake my arms around Em, half-cupping her breasts, up to her nipples. We make fine bodily calibrations. I breach Em's fount of wet warmth. Can David hear my popping entry? Can he smell the sharp tang as I do? Em places her left hand to coyly conceal my penetration. She places her right hand just behind her right hip, buttressing her torso upright in a dramatic arc. She then looks rivetingly away from the camera as if focusing on something that is more compelling than our clammy union.
Lights.
Click.
This time, David takes the perspective shots unabashedly. He circles us predatorally, with purposeful confidence, issuing us instructions, capturing us this way and that. Our son is swimmingly in his element, brandishing his range of photography skills with artistic buoyancy.
And then, David surprises us, particularly Em. His photoshoot moves on to focus solely on Em, as if she is statuesquely mounted on a pedestal. David crouches and lies low on the floor, shooting up his mum this way and that from all manner of angles.
Em initially did not know how to respond to this renewed photographic assault. After a few shots, she warms up. I sense her most intimate sinews slacken. We maintain our modesty level. Our privates continue to be concealed.
Click.
Click.
Click.
David: Mum, can I make a pose variation request?
Em: Sure!
David: Instead of dad covering your breasts, can you do that with one arm? I will look away while you do that.
Em: How?
David: Arch your torso dramatically. Thrust out your chest loud and proud. Coyly cover your breasts by draping your right arm across them, pushing them up, heightening your cleavage, covering no higher than your nipples. Continue to place your left hand to, coquettishly, conceal your crotch.
Em (complying): Hmmm... getting a tad naughty here, are we?
David looks away while we repose.
I feel a series of tingling twitches. I cannot be sure if it is Em convulsing under the glare of the heat, or it is me. In all likelihood, both.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Me: Moving on.
Dim.
***
Tenth shot.
All too soon, our final shot, or rather final pose. I instinctively make up my mind to raise the game level. Ratchet up the tension to its peak in a rousing finale.
I lead Em to the bed. I position Em in a classic doggy posture, facing the camera. I position behind Em. I am about to enter Em when she turns around, realising what is coming.
Em (whispering in angry protest): No! No way! This is crossing the line. Not in front of our son!
Me: It's not so different from the other poses. My penetration is hidden from view. I will bend forward to cup your breasts, concealing them. None of our privates are exposed. And you may look away from the camera. There will not be any perspective shots for this pose. Please? This is our last shot.
Em (shaking her head in dissonance): I must have my head examined!
I read Em assuming again her doggy posture as tacit agreement. And when I enter her cavern of wetness, her affirmation is complete. I lean foreward. I cup Em's breasts, concealing her hush puppies only just so, up to her nipples. Em looks fixatedly away from the camera, to the left. I hump Em impulsively, four thrusts in rapid fire succession. Is that Em responding in recoil? In this frenzy, it is hard to tell. And then one final thrust, which leaves my rod in full measure buried deep in her far sanctum. Em shudders. Did David hear my animistic growl and Em's groan? Can he sense the piquant vinegarish scent in the air? We are primed.
Lights.
David is dumbstruck by the primal scene splayed before him. He is in suspended animation, in a pleasant stupor, processing the imagery before him.
Me (prompting): David, we are good to go for number 10!
Click.
I discern that David is about to make a move to take the perspective shots.
Me: David, thanks! This is it! We are done! If you don't mind, I will dim the lights for a few seconds.
As I dim the lights, I detect a fleeting unfulfilled look of disappointment, of lost opportunity, on David's face. It is evident that he wants to take the perspective shots, and in so doing, check out his mum, for the last time. For a brief moment, I am persuaded to let him round off the photoshoot in the best way he deems fit. After all, he has formal photography training in his uni course. And we did grant him a measure of artistic license. Then, I remember the promise I made to Em that there will be no perspective shots for this pose.
Em disentangles from our clammy union. A new release of musty smell permeates the air. She hurriedly dons her bathrobe, and makes a beeline to the washroom. I throw on my bathrobe, then turn the lights on.
I walk over to David. As he gingerly lays my camera on the coffee table, I notice that his trousers are disheveled. Hmmm... tough day at the office!
Me: Mum is freshening up in the washroom. She'll be out shortly for the champagne and cake.
David: Mum did well! Once she got into the groove, she posed like a pro. Grace. And lithe athleticism when called for.Me: Yes, she surprised me!
I pad over to the washroom. I knock. Em lets me in. Em has changed into a sheer black nightie, a minimalist flimsy babydoll, that extends to just below her fanny. I survey my lovely wife for a whole minute. I can make out clearly her dizzy contours and nipples.
Em (foraging into my bathrobe gap): I can tell you like.
Me: What is there not to like?
Em (trying to justify): This nightie is all I have for nightwear. I packed very few items for our stay here. Pool wear. Dinner wear. And we sleep nude. All my other clothes are in the laundry. The hideous hotel bathrobe makes me look matronly, ugggh!
Me: Your nightie looks lovely. After all, David has seen you in your native splendour. Our son did a good job shooting us, in what is a delicately nuanced photo project, and not without trauma. The lad deserves a reward, in kinds, don't you think?
Em (smirking): I should think he has been rewarded well enough tonight. Did you say trauma?
Me: Quite! He is gratified, and yet tormented in equal measures. I saw his contorted trousers. He is sporting an evil boner. The lad is in discomforting distress as we speak.
Em (interest piqued, asking rhetorically): This fifty year old venerable body brought that on the lad?
I sense that Em is validated by the demonstrated arousal of our young son. A pointed affirmation. I will play along.
Me: Let's go find out.
I pull Em to the door.
Em (apparently pleased with herself, flushed with newly charged confidence): Wait a minute!
She slips on her fuck-me high heels. As she lifts one foot, then the other, I note that she is pantyless. My hitherto shy wife has morphed into a dauntless commando. I say nothing. She looks up and meet my eyes. She gives a knowing look, then preens herself in front of the mirror. In her final resolute act of modesty, she coaxes her restive hemline down some. Em is a sight to behold. Even after my thirty years of beholding.
Em (winking): Hmmm... looks like our son is not the only one who is being rewarded tonight.
Em walks ahead of me as we make our way to our lounge. I am hypnotised by the algorithmic dance of her hemline, exposing and obscuring her cheeks in a harmonic motion. There is an eager spring in Em's step, in consonance with the marching motion of her arse cheeks. My mind's eye mentally flips to her front, imagining her hemline dancing a similar animated dance.
My spell is broken when David emits a lusty wolf whistle as his mum sashays up.
David: Oh mum! If I can be flippantly forward here, you are one hot babe!
Em (visibly pleased, feeling naughty): David, it's all your fault! You show up here unannounced. I had planned to sleep nude, and thus packed accordingly. This is all the threadbare nightwear I worldly possess on this night.
David: And, this is all you need, to do poetic justice to who you are.
David serves the bubbly, and the strawberries. He lights the candles on the birthday cake.
David (toasting): Mum and Dad, Happy Birthday and Happy Thirtieth Anniversary! I owe who I am to what you are. The best parents that a son can have! Cheers!
Hear! Hear!
Cheers!
Em and I blow off the candle flames. We cut the cake. David uncorks the champagne in a flurry of panaché, and then serves the bubbly.
Em (overcome with emotion, misty eyed): Let us sit down. Chill some. Savour this fine champagne. Let us enjoy this moment.
Em sits on the couch. David and I sit opposite her. Em crosses her legs, artfully obscuring her feminine cache. Em appears apparently bottomless. And yet, there is a pleasantly perturbing air of mystery. The charm is in not really knowing for sure.
I spy David's eyes darting between Em's top and her lush legs, as if agonizing, not unpleasantly, over a perplexing pickle. Eventually, his eyes land and linger generously on his mum's legs, visually caressing her luscious form, without awkwardness. Obviously a leg man. A connoisseur, no less. David appears to have lost his internal mental conflict, passing the point of bashfulness, to be fully committed to being enthralled by his mum.
I sense that David is tormented over ascertaining whether his mum is pantyless. Perversely, I become enthralled in David's private mystery even though I know Em's true state. I begin willing Em to show us the clue that will unravel it all.
As if reading my mind, Em recrosses her legs in a flurry, that lifts her hemline farther up, heightening the allure, but demystifying nothing.
Em then surprises us all. She uncrosses her legs as if she is going to get up. She then pauses.
Em: Gentlemen, can I freshen up your drinks?
David nails the incriminating evidence that he is looking for. He ogles at his mum's plump mound, and her demure peek of cleft.
There is a fleeting moment when Em's and my eyes lock. She twinkles a fiendish smile.
Me: Please, love, do freshen my glass.
David: Me too.
Em rises from the couch. The front of her hem rides up, and stays up waywardly. Her nether charms are revealed in their full glory. Em appears blissfully unaware of her disheveled state. She potters around the coffee table freshening up our champagnes, serving fresh strawberries, dishing out additional slices of cake, seeing to this and that. David's eyes track her heavenly movements. There is a moment of frisson when Em bends down to the coffee table, and her impish cleft winks mischievously at us.
The spell is broken when Em pirouettes back to the couch, and sits.
Em surprises us yet again. She makes a move of crossing her legs, and then momentarily decides otherwise. Instead, she sits with her left foot planted on the carpet. She bends her right leg, then tucks her right foot beneath her buttocks. Her mound is exposed, but only just so. Artfully revealed without being lewd.
Em is a light drinker. The pairing of champagne with her fave strawberries is inducing her to imbibe more than her custom tipple. The champagne is suffusing her, loosening her inhibitions, emboldening her.
Em: David, today is my fiftieth birthday. You have enjoyed deep insights of me today. I dare say you are the most privileged man after your dad, in the things about me that matter most. Dad gives me good feedback on my body. But, we have been together for thirty years, so I don't often regard his feedback too seriously because he is chronically biased, and I love him dearly for that. Tell me honestly, what do you think of my old body? Be brutally candid.
As if helping David to compute his answer, Em reclines back some on the couch.
David emits a polite measured laugh. He ponders sagely, ascertaining his mum intently, seeking maternal inspiration. He surprises Em with his succinct forwardness.
David: Mum, incongruent as it may sound, you look the part of a schoolgirl.
Instinctively, Em looks down at herself. As I do. Yes, she looks immaculately pubescent!
Then, Em realises what she has just done. She looks up sheepishly to see David grinning. Em winks. She is pleased as Punch.
Em (quipping coyly): So, I see you've a lot of experience with schoolgirls, huh?
David (jocularly): It's best that I keep mum on this. You know, there are laws on these matters, ha ha!
Em (quipping): I guess mums the word for you then.
Laughter.
More champagne.
Em: But, seriously David, tell me what do you think of your mum's venerable body. Flabs, sags, warts and all. Be brutally candid.
David (opportunistically): Well, the photoshoot was a flurry of activity. Half the time, I was adjusting my vision from dim to bright to dim light. And then focusing on the photo taking. My glimpses of you, mum, were at best, fleeting.
Me: We can slideshow the pictures, Em, if you are cool with it.
Em: Hmmm... well, David has already seen me in the flesh. So, seeing me again in pixels is not such a big deal. And to be fair to David, he has a right to review the pictures that he has taken. The artistic fruits of his labour.
I upload the rest of the pictures to my laptop PC. I hook the PC to the giant TV screen. I navigate to the pictures folder. The thumbnails of the pictures sprinkle on the screen like scintillating stars illuminating the wondrous night sky.
I initiate the slideshow, in widescreen cinematic splendour.
David (jocularly): Bring on the popcorn!
The slideshow begins with Em in her black dress.
Me (hitting the pause button): Oops! These include the pictures I took before David joined us. Em, are you cool with slide showing them? There are a few racy wicked ones in the collection if you recall.
Em (trying to remember the pictures): Hmmm... I can't remember all the pictures in that set. Let us just go with the flow.
Em scoots over to David. She leans into him, which surprises David somewhat. David peers down furtively. His mum's luscious creamy thighs are exposed, in contact with him. Her hemline extends deliciously to exactly the bottom of her vee with uncanny precision.
Em in smouldering black dress series.
Em: Your thoughts?
David: This dress flatters you, and you, the dress. You look hot! Smouldering.
Em in bra and thong series.
Em: Oh David, I am so embarrassed!
David (spontaneously): One word: hot!
Em in bra and thong, in ballerina pose.
David: Exquisite! This picture says so much about who you are.
Em's bra off. Left hand concealing and squeezing right breast. Right hand suggestively in thong. Left breast exposed. This is Em's first revelation topside.
Em: Oh God! This is so wicked!
David: Mum, you have a lovely top. So well-formed. So firm.
Em: But, they are so small! So insignificant. So modest.
David: Trust me, they are just right. Proportionate to your form. Lovely! Dad, you have it cut out for you!
Me (jocularly): They are handy!
Em: Hey, it's me you are talking about.
Em's thong off. Completely naked. On bed. Flat on her stomach, revealing her buttocks.
David: Lovely perky tush! Each buttock conspicuously separated. Each cheek defined. Proportionate.
Em is visibly pleased.
Full frontal. Em standing in her buxom pubescent glory. Perched precariously on high heels. Legs together, clasped tightly, betraying a hint of cleft.
Em: Oh, my God! Now, you see me!
David: An intriguing overlay of pubescent over lush. Sort arc rise of breasts. Luscious well-turned legs flare to hips. Delicious rump, provocative, just short of riotous.
Em (self-deprecatingly): Hmmm... you are conveniently, selectively myopic on my inconvenient flabs and sags.
David: No. They are part of who you are, blending up to your allure. This differentiates you from the impossibly perfect, sculpted, plasticky sweet young things in popular culture today.
Em: Hmmm... lies, lies! But, I believe them all!
Next up. Em sits on the edge of the coffee table. Legs spread. Maiden exposé of her bottom.
Em (sheepishly): This is embarrassing!
David: Mum, you are lovely! Dad, an artistic rendition of mum, well shot!
Em stands with her back to the camera. Legs apart. Body bent impossibly low. Right hand grasping left ankle, locking down her pose. Hint of crotch peeking out of arse cheeks.
Em (consciously): This is smutty!
But, Em lets the picture slide. She looks at David look at the picture, anticipating his reaction. David squeezes his mum's shoulder affectionately with one hand, as he brushes his other hand on her upper thigh, skimming near her nether charms.
Next up is our couple series, of ten poses, shot by David.
David: If I may be forward here, the passion is palpable. The intensity. At the risk of being intrusive, as a matter of artistic interest, are you guys doing it?
Me: Hmmm... ask us no questions and we will tell you no fibs.
Em (sheepishly volunteering): Study my face in the picture.
This full-feature viewing of the photo suite, and the champagne flow further loosen whatever residual inhibitions we have.
Em: We have consumed quite a bit of champagne. And it is quite late. It is dangerous driving along the winding coastal cliff road at night. David, I don't think you should be driving home. The cops will pull you up. Why don't you change into the hotel bathrobe to be comfortable, and stay the night with us. There is a sofa bed in the room. It is your room anyway. You paid for it. Enjoy a bit of your benevolence.
David: OK, I will do that. I hope I am not in your way. Cramping your style, seeing that this is your special memorable night.
Em: Your being with us makes this night special and memorable. Your sharing the night with us brings us up to another level.
Me: Yes.
David disengages from his mum. He makes his way to the washroom to change.
Me: Since David has seen us nude, what do you think of taking some nude pictures of David and us using the camera self timer? A kind of nude record of our family on this memorable night.
Em: We'll be crossing a red line with our son. And I don't know how David will react. It may embarrass him. It is one thing for him to photograph us nude. It is quite another for him to go nude himself. I don't know.
Me: We crossed many lines tonight. Maybe we can give David an incentive.
Em: Huh?
Me: We take self-timed pictures of the three of us. Then, as a lark, I casually suggest to David that you and David repose our earlier ten coupling poses. Just for fun. We can use the dim, lights, dim routine as before, to minimize the awkwardness for everyone. As before, no genitals and nipples will be exposed. All artfully concealed. The coupling is simulated.
Em: Now, you are really out of your mind! This is incest in loud uppercase! My genitals grinding my son's, even if simulated, without entry! What will David think of me?
Me: It is technically not incest if there is no entry. Just photographic poses. Art renditions. David is into photography. He knows these things as art.
I bend down. I lift Em's nightie hemline. I graze my hand on Em's glistening mound. I slip a finger into her warmth. She is sopping wet. Em looks at me with a deeply conflicted expression.
We hear the washroom door open.He drops in, unannounced, on his dad and mum at their hotel suite to celebrate their joint 50th birthdays, and their 30th wedding anniversary. He expected to do his surprise, surprise bit, pop the champagne, eat cake, hugs and kisses, chill some, and then leave his parents to their own devices, on this special night of theirs.
Instead, David has been commissioned to take nude intimate photos of his parents, enmeshed in lovemaking positions, albeit with breasts and genitals artfully concealed in the body tangle mash.
David has never seen his mum in anything less than a sensible one-piece swimsuit before tonight. No childhood accidental bathroom ooops nudity flashes. No teenhood inadvertent fleeting lingerie exposés. No spectacular wardrobe malfunctions. David cannot remember ever having any access to his mum's wardrobe and laundry basket lingerie velvety stash.
An underprivileged, dreary upbringing, cruelly deprived of his rightful oedipal rations. Freud would have been nauseated by this austerity.
In the last two hours, David made up this deficit in one fell swoop. He had seen his mum nude, in pixels, and in rippling flesh. He has seen his mum's breasts, just shy of her nipples. Her lady part coyly unveiled. Her convulsing in the throes of ecstasy, in her body locked photo poses with his dad.
And now, his mum has asked him to go the washroom, get changed comfortably into a hotel bathrobe, and stay the night.
What more is in store, he wonders? And what does his dad think of all this?
David takes off his shirt. Drops his trousers. He has a raging hard-on from the merciless visual teasing of his mum.
He dons the bathrobe. Hmmm... a womanly piquant scent wafts the air. He flips the front open. A wet patch at the crotch area. He brings the glistening patch to his nose. Hmmm... his mum. This is the bathrobe she wore before and after the intimate coupling photoshoot just now. Her mark of arousal. His hard-on twitches a notch north.
He is about to walk out of the washroom, when on an inexplicable whim, he stops, pulls down his underwear with abandon. His penis head is now in contact with the patch. Moist on moist. He shudders. His erection tents the bathrobe. What will his parents, particularly his mum think? Well, she caused it. So, this is par for the course. Par for her course. This thought emboldens him.
David rejoins his parents in the lounge. David senses an expectant air, although he doesn't quite know of what.
Em spies the tent in David's bathrobe. She appears like she is about to say something, and then bites her lip, as if knowing better, and saving it for later. Ethan looks at his son, discerns his condition, then directs his gaze instinctively to his wife's eyes.
Seeing his dad sitting on the single-seater across his mum, David sidles next to his mum on the couch. David reads that this is where they want him to be.
Em's right foot is flat on the carpet. Her left foot is tucked below her arse. Her hemline is bunched in a fluttered clutter around her bare mound, concealing it only just so. There is a certain uncanny precision in the sensuality. This has the effect of accentuating the flare of her thighs to hips, akin to a high-cut leotard. Em leans into David. Thighs flesh to flesh.
They have another round of bubbly.
Em (touching David's thigh): David, are you comfy?
David (stroking his mum's creamy silken upper thigh in corresponding bodily response): Never more so. This is bliss.
Ethan: Em, you are so relaxed now. Chilled to the bone. I want to take a few photos of you now, in this state.
Em stands up. She poses in her nominal nightie.
Ethan: Nude.
Em: Oh? Haven't you taken enough? David is here.
Ethan: Please... David has already seen us earlier.
David (feeling awkward): Do you want me to chill out at the balcony for awhile?
Em: Oh no, David! Please stay.
Em shakes her head. She stands up. She faces away from Ethan and David in an instinctive show of modesty. Em removes her nightie without any fuss. She feels a rippling tingle. She pivots around. Being completely naked in front of her husband and son obviously does not bother her at all.
This is the first time that David sees his mum in her full glory, without the pressing tension of the earlier photoshoot. Ethan takes some classic shots of Em looking coyly away from the camera before trying some perspective shots that concentrate on her body lines. These focus on just a breast, the curve of her hips, the arc of her arse orbs, or maybe a tight shot of her shaved mound.
David, who has completed a photography course module in uni, gives some photoshoot tips to his dad.
Em turns this way and that, twists, pivots, pirouettes, as Ethan orbits and hovers over her, like a drone, clicking away. As his dad has reassumed his photographic duties, David is at leisure, for the first time tonight, to ogle his mum, admire her maternal charms, according her the rapt attention she deserves, without distraction.
Ethan: David, what do you think of your mum?
David: A natural model in the making.
Ethan: That can't be all. Don't be bashful.
David: Simply alluring. Comely is my spontaneous gush word of choice, if a son is allowed to describe that of his mum. I have other adjectives in my word stock. But, I'd better rein myself in here because it's a small treacherous step to tripping headlong over the line. A son is socially permitted to describe his mum in only so many ways, before he ranges into a man describing a woman.
Ethan (running his hands lovingly through Em's hair): Yes, she is lovely, isn't she!
Em (evidently pleased, but faking annoyance, pouting): Hey, it's me here you're discussing.
Ethan: And so we are! You're a moveable feast! We menfolk are entitled to a connoisseurs tête-à-tête.
A champagne break.
David expects his mum to slip on her nightie again. Counterintuitively, he is looking forward to seeing her in her nominal kittenish nightie again, less is more, to refresh her sensuality.
But, Em casually sits back on the couch. It is as if it is everyday custom for a wife, and a mother to sit naked with her husband and son, to sip champagne, and banter. David's initial disappointment of not seeing his mum in her teasing nightie again immediately fades away when he sees his mum sitting coquettishly with her legs crossed, concealing her feminine charms only just so, peek-a-boo.
Ethan orbits Em, takes photos of her as she sits sipping her bubbly nonchalantly. Even in such an unlikely position, Em looks great.
Ethan: David, it's your turn now.
David: To shoot more photos?
Ethan: No! To be shot!
David (puzzled): Huh?
Ethan: In the festive mood we are in, I reckon it would be nice if we take a threesome photo, for posterity. We can use the camera self-timer.
David (stunned): A threesome?
Em: Huh?
Ethan: I mean a nude family photo. As in relax, smile, move a little closer, say cheese.
David (relieved and disappointed): Oh!
Em: Hmmm... I don't know about this. David has seen me in the buff. I am sure you boys have seen each other in the locker room, and are familiar with your pecker order. But, we don't want to make David feel awkward.
David: I am cool! A fun shot. A lark.
David starts stripping off his bathrobe. Luckily he does not have a boner at this time.
Em stares down at her son, at first squeamishly, and then unabashedly, in rapt fascination. This is only the second adult manhood that Em has seen in the flesh, in her life. Perversely, Em feels a tinge of gratification that she has saved herself all these years, for tonight. A tingle races through Em to her significant extremities.
This is her first view of her son's manhood since he was twelve. David is pristinely shaven. Not a blade. Average endowed. Five inches. Good girth.
David twitches. Em notices.
Em is undecided whether David's penis is erect, semi-erect or flaccid. For sure, it points unequivocally down. And yet, there is a statuesque dignified, if not regal, stiffness about it. It does not sway as a flaccid penis does when David moves. It gives a tingling prescient sense that it can be called to action at short notice. Em wonders what her son's full flourish be like? Or, maybe, this is it.
Her son is an enigma. Will she be able to demystify his manhood by the end of the night?
Em: Hmmm... my, my, how you have grown!
Ethan sets up the camera self-timer on a makeshift stand. Ethan drops his bathrobe. The family is nude.
The family takes six family shots of various posing configurations. Three serious pose ones, to immortalize the family legacy. Three featuring chill, playful spontaneity, indicative of the family bonding merriment and effervescence of the occasion.
As Em and David are returning to the couch for more champagne, Ethan stops them.
Ethan: David, I would like some photos of you with mum. Our family group self-timer photos are good, but nothing beats manually shot photos. An artistically rendered mum and son nude study. A contrast study of mature and youth. Just a lark. Posterity for this triple milestone night. Will you be OK with this? The photos will be for our eyes only.
David (tentatively): I guess this is OK. It's all in the family. And tonight being special and all.
Em (exaggeratedly hurt): Errr... do I get a say, any say, in this?
Ethan (jocularly): Em, you don't, ha ha!
David (respectfully): Mum, only if you are cool with this.
Em (with coy reluctance): Hmmm... I am only agreeing to this, to defer to your dad's inane photography obsession. He is so visual.
David: Dad, how do you want us?
Ethan: Em, stand beside David.
Click.
Ethan: David, stand behind mum. Hold her arms.
Click.
Ethan: David, kiss mum's neck.
Click.
Ethan: Em, stand behind David. Feel his chest.
Click.
Ethan: Em, put one hand on David's penis. The other hand at the side of his face.
Em: Hmmm... I am not sure about this. We are traipsing into uncharted topography. We are crossing a line. David, are you OK? I don't want to make you feel awkward.
David: It's a fun shot. A lark. I'm good to go. Enjoy this goofing around. The photos are for our private consumption. Nobody will ever see them. Mum, let's just go with the flow.
Em: Hmmm... I hope this doesn't come to flow...
Em places her hand gingerly on her son's penis. She appears to take his measure. She takes her time to find an optimal position placement for her hand. This is only the second adult manhood she has come in contact with. Is that a twitch from David?
Click.
Ethan: David, stand behind mum. Hold mum's breasts.
David touches his mum's breasts for the first time. Soft, pliant, firm. He can't help but graze her nipples. Em shudders from this first searing contact.
Click.
Ethan: Em, stand behind David. Wrap your arms around him. Kiss his neck.
Click.
Ethan: David, swoop around mum. Cross your arms under mum's breasts.
Click.
Ethan: David, cover mum's mound with one hand, and her breasts with the other arm. Em, hold David's head with both your hands and look up at his face. David, look straight at the camera.
David places his hand gingerly on his mum's mound. Moist. Silken. He brushes the area experimentally as he seeks a position for his hand.
Click.
Ethan: Em, go behind David, reach your hands in front of David to cover his penis with your hands. David, put your hands on mum's hips, and turn your head back to kiss mum's hair.
Click.
Ethan: Both turn sideways to the camera. Stand a little apart. Lean your heads together. Look intently into each other's eyes. Hold each other's hands. Hands higher.
Click.
Ethan: Hold it there. David, cup mum's breasts as if they are rare treasures. But don't lift them. Em, put your hands under David's hands. Look into each other's eyes.
Click.
Em and David still gaze longingly into each other's eyes. Ethan tells them that he is done for the series.
Ethan announnces that he has to go to the washroom to ease himself. Em looks at David knowingly, too weary to manage a smirk. Ethan says he will take five minutes. He pads over to the washroom. The washroom door clicks shut.
Em once more touches David's now hard manhood. Full flourish. Now, she knows the true nature of her son. Demystified him. As she slowly strokes his penis, David first caresses her breasts, thus emboldened, slides a hand experimentally, then exploratorily, into her womanhood.
David soon finds his mum's soaking wet clitoris. He unhoods her clitoris. Lets the hood snap back to reclaim it. He does this a few times relishing this highest intimacy that he can ever experience with his mum. Each new revelation of her clitoris gives him shudders. He gently massages the nub. Mother and son moan in pleasure.
Em comes first, and as her whole body shudders then shakes, David comes too, shooting semen onto her tummy. It is the most powerful orgasm David has ever had. When he finishes, David feels his legs give way. He sinks to the carpet. Em manages to land on the couch before her legs give way.
Mother and son sit looking at each other in stupor, as they recover their breath.
The washroom door clicks open. Ethan returns. He sees, first, David's shattered state, a dazed Em, and then the fluid that is slowly trickling down Em's tummy, to her mound. David and Em do not know what is coursing through Ethan's mind at this moment.
Indeed, Ethan is roiled with several unsettling questions.
Did his son climax because of the high frisson of the photoshoot? Did he masturbate himself? Did his wife jack off his son? In her hands? Against her tummy? Grinding her mound? Dare he think, gliding her slit?
Hmmm... but the trail of evidence points to a down trickle from tummy to mound... Each speculation gives Ethan a quiver. Ethan decides that there is no need to unravel this mystery for now.
Ethan goes back to the washroom. David and Em freeze in mortification. What now?
Ethan returns a moment later with tissues. He cleans up the semen on Em. Still not having completely laid his earlier speculations to rest, Ethan swipes the tissue along Em's slit. He can't be sure from the texture of the fluids whether they are Em's arousal, or something else? Or... a blend?
As a tacit sign that all is well and good, Ethan kisses Em's lips, noting her glazed eyes.
***
Ethan breaks the tension by serving another round of champagne. Em and David climb down from their high. The family doesn't bother to dress up. They remain native, at peace with their own, and each other's bodies. They are in their element. Body and mind. They banter on, oblivious to what has just happened.
Ethan: Em, David, you remember the couple 10-poses series we shot earlier. What say you if you both recreate the poses? Just simulate them as best as you can. Artistically rendered.
David: Errr... a rather bold artistic innovation, dad.
Em: Oh God! I can't believe this. Another lark, huh?
David: Mum, what the heck! Let's just do it.
Em: This will be it! The things that the men in this family make me do!
Ethan: Let us reuse the dim, pose, lights, shoot, dim routine from our earlier photoshoot. That way, you will not be under any pressure to pose. Take all the time you need to get your poses right. We will have more natural photos.
***
First shot.
Em and David are standing, facing the camera. David gets behind Em. She leans forward ever so slightly. David's hands cup the underside of her breasts concealing them up to her nipples.
Em minimises her right hand, covering her mound, teasingly only just so. Her left arm stretches back, her hand pressing David's arse to her, to cement their pose.
David struggles somewhat to conceal his penis in the body tangle, without engaging his mum too intimately. Finally, he nestles his penis between his mum's arse cheeks, the head nudging reachingly into her slit.
David does a pose check. Yes, their significant bits are concealed. David brightens the lights.
Click.
Dim.
***
Second shot.
A sitting coupling series. David sits on the chair facing the camera. Em parts her legs sitting astride his lap, facing David, her back to the camera. This pose accentuates her sacral dimples.
They make some fine bodily adjustments. David is in his mum.
David (whispering nervously): Mum, are you OK?
Em (shellshocked, whimpering weakly): No... Yes, yes... Just do the best you can to make our pose work.
David's hands cupping her breasts. Em's arms circle behind David's back to possess him. Em reins in her son causing David to slip in a little more. Em winces. They kiss passionately.
Lights.
Click.
Dim.
***
Third shot.
As before, David sits on the chair facing the camera. Em sits on his lap. She is facing the camera too, at an oblique angle.
They make some animated body adjustments. David's erect penis slips silkenly into his mum's vagina. His mum appears to have gotten used to the drill of artfully concealing their genitals.
David's hands cup Em's breasts concealing her nipples. Em places her right hand over her crotch coyly, covering her son's penetration, but only just so, leaving scope for imagination.
David does a pose check.
Lights.
Click.
Dim.
***
Fourth shot.
A variation of the third.
David sits on the chair facing the camera as before. Em stands in front of him, facing David, her back to the camera. She inclines her body towards David suggestively. David places his hands on her breasts. Em bends her right leg at her knee, dangling her high heels on her toes. Come hither.
Lights.
Click.
Dim.
***
Fifth shot.
David sits on the chair facing the camera as before. Em stands in front of him, facing him, her back to the camera. Em tilts her head as if staring down piercingly, severely at her son. Em raises her right leg, and plants her high heels at his crotch, mercifully taking care not to puncture his sac. David plants his hands gingerly on her breasts. David is cowering under his dominatrix mum!
Lights.
Click.
Dim.
***
Sixth shot.
A standing coupling series. Em and David are standing facing each other. David's penis nestles between his mum's thighs. Thus primed, he makes entry. Em circles her arms around his neck in possessive suffocation. David's hands grip her buttocks with matching intensity. Em's breasts are squashed against her son's chest. Em bends her right leg, flirtatiously dangling her high heels on her toes.
Lights.
Click.
Dim.
Seventh shot.
The frisson is palpable. A more engaged variation of the previous pose.
Em and David are standing facing each other. Mother clings tightly onto son. Her arms encircle his neck in possessive interlock. Em wraps her legs around David's waist in a merciless vice grip.
David makes sloshful entry. He can't help it. Can his dad hear them?
David is so moved by the white heat of the moment. He pumps six frenzied shuddering strokes. Em is mortified by her son's cavalier abandon in the presence of his dad. David summons all his will to stop.
The tension taut. Em is photographically primed. Her face is contorted in a kind of mid-fuck ecstasy.
Lights.
Click.
Dim.
***
Eighth shot.
Classic woman on top cowgirl.
David lies down flat on the carpet. His legs together in parallel.
He guides his mum to sit astride him, on his genitals, facing him. David places his palms on Em's breasts, just so, up to her nipples. They make fine bodily adjustments.
David enters his mum's wetness. Can dad hear his squishing entry? Can dad smell the tang wafting in the air?
Em places her left hand to conceal her son's penetration. She places her right hand just behind her right hip, girding her torso upright in a soft arc.
She then looks intensely away from the camera as if focusing on something of interest in the distance.
Em then surprises her son. She begins to bounce on her son with frantic vigour. One, two, three, four, five, six. In rhythmic rising cadence. They emit wet musical notes. Can Ethan hear them through the translucent dimness?
Lights.
Click.
Dim.
***
Ninth shot.
Classic reverse cowgirl.
A minor variation from the previous pose. Just a flip of orientation.
As before, David lies down flat on the carpet. His legs together in parallel. Em sits astride her son, on his crotch, facing away from David, towards the camera.
David snakes his arms around Em, half-cupping her breasts, up to her nipples.
They make fine bodily calibrations. David breaches Em's fount of wet warmth. Can Ethan hear David's popping entry? Can Ethan smell the sharp tang?
Em places her left hand to coyly conceal David's penetration.
She places her right hand just behind her right hip, buttressing her torso upright in a dramatic arc.
She then looks rivetingly away from the camera as if focusing on something that is more compelling than their clammy union.
Just as David is about to brighten the lights, his mother grips his right hand in a vice grip, in apparent cryptic communication. She then bounces on her son. She bucks for a minute, each impalation searchingly deeper, and more intense than the previous.
David (whispering in mortification): Mum, mum, you have to stop!
Em stops joltingly. David pauses a few seconds just to be sure that his mum has indeed climbed down to earth.
Lights.
Click.
Dim.
***
Tenth shot.
All too soon, the final shot.
David leads his mum to the bed. He positions behind his mum in a classic doggy posture, facing the camera.
David enters his mum. A cavern of wetness. He leans forward. He cups his mum's breasts, concealing her hush puppies only just so, up to her nipples. Em looks fixatedly away from the camera, to the left.
David humps his mum impulsively, six thrusts in rapid fire succession. Is that his mum responding in recoil? In this frenzy, it is hard to tell. And then one final thrust, which leaves his rod in full measure buried deep in her far sanctum.
David ejaculates. His mother quivers then shudders. Mother and son in quaking orchestral harmony and unison.
Did Ethan hear David's animal growl and Em's groan? Can he sense the piquant vinegarish scent in the air?
David feels his mum slumping. He girds her up to maintain the doggy posture. He is still in his mother.
Lights.
Click.
Dim.
***
Em and David collapse in a tangled heap in the dimness.
Ethan: A great shoot! I am going to the balcony to get some air. You guys can take your time to freshen up. We can finish up the champagne after you are done.David is a nocturnal beast. Not a morning person. Certainly not at the crack of dawn on a Saturday. But, David has a symbiotic, almost telepathic relationship with his cellphone. An uncanny bond. His eyes flicker open at the first chime of his cellphone. He quickly quieses the cellphone so as not to wake his parents.
The message reads: New development on Shanghai deal. Details in email. Need you there pronto.
David texts: No rest for the wicked. Noon flight. See ya.
David rises in a dissonant daze from the sofa bed, shaking off his pall of sleep. He makes his way to the washroom, passing his parents who are soundly asleep. He pauses at the bed to inform his parents that he has to go off, to attend to work matters.
The quilt is gathered in a clutter at his parents' feet. They are naked. His dad lies flat on his back, snoring in deep coma. A night person. His mum grafts herself over his dad. Her right leg drapes over his genitals, as if clambering on him in suspended animation.
David scans his parents. His eyes laser into his mum. In her position, each of her arse cheeks are proffered with distinct expressed personalities, like individually sculpted orbs. The underside of her lady parts is exposed.
Where one expects to see a lurid flowering of petals on this mature form, there is, almost surreally, a pristine minimalist gash. And then, less elegantly, but just as sensually compelling, a puckered anus, delineated by a faint imprint hint of oily o-ring. Barely six hours ago, David had entered this private nether universe, and left his visitation evidence there. This thought gives David a twitch.
This image before David can pass off as an art class perspective posterior study of a young woman, of youthful body lines, except for the light Rubenesque thighs and hips. A confounding concoction of mature and the cusp of womanhood. It is in this pleasant aesthetic frame of mind that David ponders adoringly over this body sculpt work that is his mother.
Sensing their deep transcendental sleep, an emboldened David bends down to appraise his mother's nether charms at the level of detail she deserves. How pretty her lady parts look. He is glad that she is giving him the privilege of seeing her most intimate charms again, albeit implicitly, this time, in the crystal clarity of early morning light, without the restraining tension of bashfulness of the night before, even though she doesn't know it. Or, does she? His parents have probably decided that given the chill nudity in the photoshoot of the night before, their sleeping nude is not a big deal.
David remembers that his mum is an early morning person. And a pin drop light sleeper. But, maybe on this new dawn, she is sleeping off her champagne. She is a light drinker. And she drank copious volumes last night. Her vulnerability to champagne-strawberries pairing.
David has to muster all his will to resist running his fingers through her vaginal slit. He imagines the sensation of caressing her delicate inner folds. The thing about women with minimalist exteriors is that there is a sort of layered mystique to be peeled, which adds to the allure, maddeningly rationing the sensuality.
David has to capture this moment. He takes a close-up photo with his cellphone. This is the least that he must do, even though it is so wrong on many levels.
A resounding click in the still room air!
Oops!
He forgot to mute his cellphone. Is that a fleeting flutter of his mum's eyes? Did he see the whites of her eyes?
But, she appears to be serenely asleep as before. An animation of rapid eye movement. Par for the dreamland course. He hopes...
His mum moves. David recoils in mortification. Will he be caught out? She turns to the other side, facing David, coiled, knees bent, right leg ahead of left, arse orbs dramatically trussed and cocked up.
Davids decides that he is skating on thin voyeur ice. He is a flicker of an eyelid from being caught out. It is one thing to study his mum with artistic intent in a champagne-fueled photoshoot. It is quite another to ascertain his mum like a museum treasure artefact. And he has a noon flight to catch.
He doesn't have the heart to wake up his slumbering parents. They are naked. It is different if they are under the quilt cover. In the glaring morning light, they may be embarrassed. He will message his parents later on his early departure. Much as he likes to linger to contemplate his mother's maternal charms, David wills himself away from the epicentre of the sensual maelstrom, to the washroom. He gazes back at his mother for a final lingering look. He deliberates on whether to take another cellphone photo of this refreshed perspective view of his mother's charm. No! He has to move on if he is not to miss his flight.
The washroom is bathed in brilliant skylight. The new dawn apparently starts right here. The last vestiges of David's sleepiness fall away in this assault of morning light.
David shrugs off his hotel bathrobe which he slept in. He sports a double boner. A fulsome aggregate of the frisson of appreciating his mother's feminine charms, and his custom morning wood. A unity of sensory and physiological impulses to start his day.
To David's surprise, the washroom door clicks open. David instinctively reaches for his bathrobe. But it is out of reach in the laundry basket.
It is his mother. Unfazedly naked as the day she gave birth to naked David.
David begins to explain. Em places a quietening finger to her son's lips. She then slides her finger sensuously from one extremity of his lips to the other. His lips are sealed. Hermetically.
Mother looks knowingly at her son's erection. Her senses were coddled and coloured by champagne last night. This morning, under brilliant skylight, she has a clarity of senses. It is the most formidable manhood she has ever seen, in rippling flesh, in her life. She drinks in its measure for a few seconds. What she has produced at birth, and enhanced over, in the frisson moment here and now, is what every mother wishes on her son. She feels a delicious tingle blend of taboo delirium and motherly pride elation. She shudders at the possibilities to come.
Em sits on the edge of the bathtub. She motions her son to come over. Curiously, she crosses her legs, sitting coquettishly, concealing her bottom, as if protecting what she can of her maternal modesty, under the circumstances.
David stands ramrod in front of his mother. Michelangelo's David, only better, sculpted in pliant warm flesh. He is statuesquely in her face.
Em runs her fingernails experimentally up and down her son's length. Slowly, softly. Her first touch in illuminating daylight. Then again. On one side. Then, the other. She traces an imaginary axis line up to the bulbous head, as if ascertaining its geometrical properties. She sees a prominent thick blue vein which veers a meandering pathway across the length of his shaft. His signature line. Drawn out. She studiously traces the vein once, one way, and backwards, as if ascertaining a wayward graph against its axis.
Em finds her son's penis pleasing to the eye. Nice size and girth. But, not so long and fat as to be lewd and vulgar. Michelangelo's David. And now hers.
David is piqued by his mother's fascination. As if his mother is a student all over again, in her first biology lab class, inspired by what mother nature can reveal to those who seek her deeper secrets. His noon flight recedes farther into the horizon of his mind.
Em examines David closely. This is only the second manhood she has seen in the flesh, in her life. She bends down to look. She touches it. It is so hard! She squeezes it a little. Strokes it. Feeling all around. She takes it all in for a moment to get its measure. She pays David no mind. It is as if his penis is a separate being, disembodied from her son.
Em loves the way her son's skin stretches as he grows. The way the head gets bigger and bigger. Those first little gathering drops of male arousal. And the way his balls tighten up. She cups them like treasured objects with one hand. Then, they loosen again, hanging down and swinging. Then, tightening up.
Em deftly uses a finger to move them back and forth, fondling them, just slightly swinging them as if they are bells. All in slow motion. No hurry. A studious look on her face.
David watches his mum's ministrations with a touch of amusement. It reminds him of his physics lab class where they experimented with a series of shiny hung balls in pendular motion.
Em halts. She grasps his penis with her whole hand. Holds it there. Feels its thickness and hardness. Squeezes it ever so slightly every few seconds.
This is driving David closer to the edge. But, he can tell his mother is just getting a sense of his physicality. His feeling is indescribable.
With her thumb and index finger, she encircles his penis. Grabs it right below the head, ascertaining its circumference.
Em marvels at the work of art. It is so beautiful. Art in service of sensuality. A life all its own. Her son can will it, and yet, it has a stubborn persistent will force of its own. A manifestation of the elusive mystery of body-mind dualism which philosophers continue to ponder sagely to this day. Kind of like free will. People have it for all intents and purposes, and yet, do we really? It is so David, and yet, not David. Spasming. Swaying. A poetic beast. It takes her breath away to watch how fabulous his body is.
Em touches the tip of his penis with her index finger. Teasing more drops to seep out. She doodles her finger in the liquid. She lightly spreads the moistness over the head of his penis. Coating it. She leans over for a closer look.
David loves watching her breasts with her every move. Her undulating arcs. Her nipples, hard and pointed with conviction. They too seem to have a life of their own.
Em holds her son's erection straight up, at a ninety degree angle to his stomach. She wraps her fingers around it. She begins stroking. Then, slowly pumping up and down. He is slippery from his own fluids, and is in such a state. She bends over closer, her face hovering above the head of his penis. A saliva drop. Her finger smooths her saliva around the head. Not that he needs extra lubrication. She is just having motherly fun.
She pumps more. Up and down. Then, with her hand firmly at his base, she holds it there. His shaft sticking straight up, like some spire. His penis wavers a little, leaks some, the fine granules of arousal dribbling down his shaft.
Em stops.
She assumes a classic doggy pose on the floor. Primal. David feels his loins stir in anticipation.
David gazes toward his mother's shoulders and her long soft hair cascading between them at the moment when she glances back at him. Their eyes lock.
David appears torn and agonized. The liberal excesses of last night's photoshoot of artistic simulated intimacies under the direction of his dad, and the champagne, is one thing. But, what is about to happen is willful carnal incest in broad daylight. And his dad is right outside the washroom, a mere five metres away. What if his dad suddenly decides to use the washroom?
Em smiles reassuringly, adding a slight nod. Em points her luscious rear upward in further affirmation. A completely unobstructed view of her slightly parted arse, and fully exposed and completely smooth vagina.
David is standing directly behind his mother's upturned arse. His penis feels so hard, so huge. It actually eclipses his view of her behind as he looks down at her, the length of his shaft obscuring her arse crack from his point of view. It is with a sudden jolt back to the reality of the moment that he realises this whole time that his mother has been turning her head, looking back and up at his growing manhood.
David's face reddens. Last night's experience had been different. In the dimness, his erection had understandably been fueled by the physical contact and repetitive motion of moving back and forth against his mother's naked flesh. Up to this point, he hasn't even touched her, yet here he is, a raging penis, a being unto itself, with an inconsequential man attached, little else.
He can smell his mother. Piquant. It is a scent that he finds intoxicating. He glances down at the source of the scent. With a perfectly silky smooth vagina, there is nothing to obscure the fact that she is wet, as stimulated as he is. He is so enthralled with the thought that his mother is as eager as he is.
Em lowers her upper half even further. David's penis brushes against his mother's arse. They both gasp. David lifts up slightly. He touches the tip of his penis against his mother's most intimate, as if to complete the electric current circuit.
David realises that he is drooling copious amounts of precum. It is so enthralling. He almost feels like the next time he even so much as grazes her body with his penis, it will explode into the largest climax of his life.
Slowly but surely, they lower themselves even further. Although it still sends shivers of lust through every fibre of David's being, he miraculously does not climax the moment his penis touches his mother's naked buttocks again. In fact, his shaft is now resting snugly in her crack.
David lifts up. Another electric shock of pleasure zaps through him as he feels his mother shift her weight slightly to one elbow, as she uses a free hand to reach back and tentatively grasp the shaft of his penis.
Davids feels his stiff penis being angled out away from his body, almost straight down. He realises what she is trying to do. She is trying to position it down and in-between.
Em parts her legs a little more. She angles her hips just so. David feels the shaft of his penis being pulled down and in-between his mother's inner thighs. The upper length of his penis is now pressed firmly up against her moist labia. David shifts his weight as they connect this way. A sudden gasp escapes from Em's lips. Her first emission of sound from this mime performance.
Em's body begins to quiver.
David feels a sheen of sweat form on his mother's back. Incredibly, it seems to get warmer and wetter where his penis is pressed against his mother's vagina.
Em is in orgasm. She is experiencing a powerful climax. And this is just with her son pressing against her. Not even moving.
All David can do is to stand there, his teeth clenched tight, his body stiff and shivering in excitement, as this incredible orgasm seems to bubble up from deep within his mother's core. It seems to build and build, and last and last.
David returns his focus on himself. At his first stroke his mother bucks, instinctively bringing her arse further up. She backs her son flush against the wall while he humps her mercilessly. David has his hands gripping her hips, guiding her pushes and grinds while his penis makes movements inside her, to emit loose, sucking sounds that electrifies him. His first ten measured strokes result in another of her vaginal contractions. She keeps pressing her arse harder against his strokes, wedging her son against the wall. The hot, meaty penetrations of her love canal is getting to feel more pleasurable with each new stroke now.
David feels his sperms welling. He starts pushing his mother away a little, grinding faster, trying to initiate long strokes, while cryptically warning his mother by his tightening grip on her hips that he is climaxing.
Em jams her son harder, swivels and grinds her arse tightly, as if demanding him to leave it in.
Em orgasms again. David feels a joyous jolt of semen lava. He is wedged. He can't pull out. David shoots again and again deep inside as he tries to pull out. But his mother slams him, to milk his every drop. When Em at last senses that her son has fired his last salvo, she gently, mercifully crawls forward as David exits.
Mother and son collapse into a tangled body heap. They stretch out on the floor, under brilliant glassy morning skylight, cuddling in an unstated bond of silence.
Curiously, after a minute, Em gets up without a sound. Not a word is exchanged. Em perfunctorily cleans herself. She leaves the washroom naked as if she has satiated a routine nature's call, and goes back to bed.
Ethan is unmoved in the same frozen slumberous position as when Em left him earlier. Em instinctively glances down at his bedroom slippers. Have they moved?
Em is a morning person. A dawn beast. Her morning is done. She lapses back easily to deep slumber. Ethan and Em are serene as canned peach.
In seven hours, David has come three times. And until last night, he has never seen his mum in anything less than a one-piece swimsuit. One word. Seismic.
David cleans up. He leaves the hotel room quietly. On the way to the car park, he messages his dad that he has to go off because of a work contingency.
Seven miles high later.
David is installed in his First Class cocoon. Champagne and strawberries lunch. The skylight emanating from his cabin window is brilliant. As pure as light can get.
David whips out his cellphone.