Brushing Mom's Hair
Dimly, I was aware that Mom was turning, swiveling around to face me. Her arms reached out and circled my hips, pulling me close, her forehead resting on my stomach.
"Brush my hair," she hissed.
Dumbly I looked down at the hair covering her entire back and falling to her sides, concealing the state of her nightgown. My hand lurched toward the dresser, picked up the brush, and pressed it against the hair in the middle of her back. Dad's eyes fluttered open but they didn't seem to focus. He smiled at me and closed his eyes. His breathing began to deepen. My hand pushed the brush down through Mom's hair.
I continued brushing Mom's hair, my strokes lengthening as my fear subsided. Mom's hands had slipped down to the side of my thighs, her fingers slipping around to grip their backs. Her forehead was against my stomach, face hidden. Dad's breathing was almost to snore level, but not quite.
I was alive. We hadn't been caught. Mom had saved me by turning around. Love poured out of me, falling on her hair, over her shoulders and down her back. I love you, Mom. I love you, I thought. What an incredible relief. Mom had saved my life and wasn't mad at me for what I'd done. I didn't want her to pull her head away, didn't want to have to face her. My free hand lightly stroked the back of her head in tandem with my brush hand, gently pressing to keep her head still so she wouldn't pull back and show me her face with its demand for an explanation. How long could I keep her there? Could I just run away?
Dad started snoring, and then something else happened.
Mom's hot breath suddenly blew over my cock. With every stroke of the brush, there was a fresh puff of hot air, enveloping and warming, teasing, tickling, hardening. I quickened my strokes and her breath puffed more often. I pressed my hand more firmly against the back of her head but encountered resistance stiff enough to deny my wish. Still, the hot puffs continued.
God, my cock wanted to explode. It was tingling so hard I thought it would burst. I pushed forward, trying to find the source of that magic wind but Mom leaned back. Retracting, Mom leaned forward, shifting her position on the seat and following with her hot breath. Magnificent. I leaned toward her again and this time stepped closer as well. Mom leaned back again but her legs widened to accommodate my move. The hot breath continued though I had stopped brushing her hair.
I resigned myself to being a receiver. I wanted to press myself against her mouth but I couldn't. I wanted to hold her tits again but I couldn't do that without losing her wonderful maternal breath. I needed to cum!
A thought flooded into my mind on the backwash of that mind emptying flush, and I acted upon it. A simple change of footing, one foot ahead of the other, and my thigh, just above my knee, pressed between Mom's legs, making solid contact with the apex of their connection. Gently, I pressed my knee in, pushing my leg against her pussy, her covering warmth searing around my thigh and rising up to my groin. I timed my presses to her breaths, leaning forward whenever I felt her hot breath on my cock.
How quickly we adapted to one another, as if we were genetically attuned. My presses became longer, enjoying both the heat of her connection and the hotness of her longer breaths. I started rubbing, pressing my knee in and rocking it against her from side to side, keeping it there longer than she could possibly expel her hot breath.
Gently, I urged her head forward again. She resisted but this time she was the weaker and slowly, slowly, I pressed her reluctant face closer to my cock. But not all the way. I couldn't get her close enough to make contact though I could tell from the heat of her breath she was only millimeters away. God, what a tease. Please, please, let me touch your face, just once, that will be enough.
Then it happened. A thick, warm, wet slug pressed the underside of my cock, pushing, enveloping, sliding over me. Her tongue, her tongue, the thought crashed into my head. I was going to cum. The shock was too much. I could feel it gathering steam, starting to roil up my shaft. Her head was gouging into my stomach, her upper lip prying my head away, fighting against the strength of the two elastics keeping my cock tight to my skin. Hurry, my head yelled. It's coming. The hot liquid left my balls, entering my shaft, rocketing up. My head tipped forward and Mom's upper lip slipped over the top of my cock and her teeth grazed my head while her lower lip, softened by her tongue, sweetly tickled the underside of my glans. Splash, splash, splash. In the nick of time. I pushed, shoving more of my cock into Mom's sweet mouth, gently nudging her tonsils. Squirt, squirt, squirt. I could hear her sucking, gulping, swallowing my copious treat, both hands now holding her head in place, the brush long since dropped to the carpet. She was sucking me now even though I was finished, pulling the dregs from my tip, letting me fuck her mouth with short strokes.
Finally, she pulled away. She didn't look at me, swiveling around instead to face the dresser. Her face was turned down but I could see that her eyes were open. Her right hand stretched out, pointing down toward the floor, the strap of her nightgown hanging around her elbow.
"Hand me my brush before you go, please," Mom's said in a strangely disconnected voice.
I picked up the brush and placed it in her hand, turned, and walked away, feeling somewhat divorced from the situation myself.
"Michael," Mom's soft voice caught up to me.
I stopped and turned. "Yes."
"I like my hair brushed every night." Her voice seemed to echo, like an offstage direction.
I nodded, noticing her eyes watching me in the mirror.
"I'll see you tomorrow night then, after Dad's asleep."
"Ok." I turned away again, shuffling toward the door.
"Michael," she called in her normal voice.
"Say goodnight to your mother."
"Goodnight, Mom ... I love you."