Hey Mom, Look
All characters involved in sexual situations are 18 or older.
* * * * * * *
I pulled my flannel pajama bottoms up until they were snug against my balls which were already tightening underneath my stiffening dick.
Stop thinking about her, I commanded myself.
But it was no use. My disobedient member, gorged in blood, surged upward, creating a mini circus tent that I had to cover with a magazine as I walked down the hall. Neither Mom nor Dad looked up as I descended the stairs. Dad was reading the Economist but spared the occasional glance for the documentary playing on TV. Mom was reading a magazine that rested on her left leg which was crossed over the right, her nyloned foot tapping slowly to a tune that heard only in her head.
Quietly, so as not to disturb my parents, I sat on the free end of the couch, positioned my back to the arm, and planted both bare feet on the cushion so I could peer over my own magazine to watch my mother. She was toying with a lock of her dark, full-bodied hair, a habit she had practiced for as long as I could remember whenever she was concentrating. My gaze dropped from her pretty face and came to rest on her prominent chest, heaving slightly against the flowery blouse in time with her tapping foot, her arm thankfully pulled back so I had a clear view of her breasts.
Was she angry with me again?
* * * * * * *
Mom had been angry with me a lot over the past few weeks, and with good reason. I had grown a lot during the last year, not taller but I had filled out quite a bit, though I still wasn't as big as my father. That was why I had been so shocked when I'd seen how small his dick was. Dad had invited me to join him and his friends at a local pub. He was still in the john when I came in to take a leak, standing at the urinal next to his. He was just finishing and I saw his thing. I hadn't seen it since I was a kid when he showed me how to take a nature pee. It had seemed huge to me then. My shock was followed by a surge of pride in myself and then a feeling of compassion. I fumbled about, not wanting to show Dad up by pulling out my own stick.
"Don't be shy," Dad laughed. "I'm sure you have nothing to be ashamed of."
He slapped me on the back as he turned toward the sinks. I was still fumbling when he dried his hands and went out the door, laughing.
If I'd just forgotten about it, everything would have been fine. But I couldn't. The memory of Dad laughing kept resurfacing in my head. It bugged me. I should have shown him, I thought. That would have shut him up. Let him see what a real piece of meat looked like, at least, compared to his. How he had kept a looker like my mom with such a ridiculous little pecker was beyond me.
And that's how it started. I began looking at Mom, as a woman rather than my mother. She really was quite good looking with a nice body for her age. Dad was a handsome man, a nice guy, and well educated, but surely she must have wanted more in the downstairs department? Maybe she didn't find out until after they were married and it was too late. Did they not do it before they got hitched?
The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to show her mine. Each time, I reprimanded myself.
How ludicrous. Did I think I was living in the theater of the absurd?
Did I seriously think her reaction would be anything other than outrage? Get a grip.
But each time, my admonition was less severe until a gentle chiding was the order of the day.
I got hard every time I imagined myself displaying my wares to Mom. I created many scenarios n my mind, some believable, lots more ridiculously unreal. Some were accidental, others deliberate. I started with the inadvertent episodes but gravitated to the purposeful exposures, quickly finding a need to relieve myself by jacking off into the toilet, eyes closed so I could imagine the reluctant pleasure that Mom inevitably derived from looking at a real, manly cock.
I never imagined Mom actually touching it because, to tell the truth, there wasn't time. I always came when her face changed from shock to desire and she reached out to take hold of it.
So that should have been the end of it, right? Eventually, I should have tired of maternal fantasies and moved on to fresh ideas to feed my masturbatory fantasies.
Nope, not this kid. I wasn't that smart. Dad's brains hadn't been passed on to me, at least, not yet. I allowed my hallucinations to meet reality. I began wandering around the house in pajama bottoms and a t-shirt as soon as I got home from school to draw Mom's attention to my better-endowed groin. While trying to feign intense interest in whatever I was watching on TV or reading, I was nevertheless extremely sensitive to any tiny indication that Mom might actually be taking notice.
I convinced myself that she was. I was certain from the way she avoided looking down there that she was. And then there was the time she stopped what she was saying just as she turned to look my way, and the way she blushed on two other occasions in similar circumstances. Mom was aware of my cock!
* * * * * * *
One night, I sat at the end of the couch wearing a loose-fitting pair of shorts that were arranged so Mom couldn't help but see my guy peeking out the leg if she looked my way. But she didn't. Refusing to be deterred, I held out my magazine and called Mom's attention to a picture, holding it low so her eyes would be pulled down along a line of sight that led straight to the exposed head of my dick.
She couldn't hide it. Her attention definitely strayed. She had looked!
Even better, after jerking her eyes back to the magazine, she became flustered, her voice faltering for a moment while her eyes tried to focus on the picture I was marking with my finger. But it was the second peek that really did it. Later, I tried to show her another picture but Mom refused to look, waving me off.
"I'm trying to read," she said, testily.
By then, I needed to keep the magazine up anyway, to hide my huge boner. A few minutes after that, I slunk upstairs and yanked my cock mercilessly until it exploded all over the toilet, leaving myself a big cleaning job.
* * * * * * *
Mom was mad the next morning at breakfast. I dallied over breakfast and turned my chair at a 45 degree angle to face the center of the kitchen, leaning back with my legs open so my pajamas were stretched tight over my genitals. Though she tried not to, Mom looked a couple of times, right after Dad flipped the newspaper to a fresh page and pulled it close to his face to read more easily. She was quick, but couldn't escape my careful observation, and, though that seemed to make her angry, she indulged in several more glances.
I followed Mom downstairs a few minutes after she left to do the laundry. She had just started a load in the washer and was emptying the dryer when I arrived. I admired the way her bottom filled the thin material of the house dress, stretching it tight enough to show the lines of her panties. She stood and faced me, a hand on her hip.
"What do you want?" her stern voice, despite everything, surprising me.
"I was just wondering if you could wash my pajamas," I answered coolly, looking down to indicate that something had spilled on them.
Mom followed my eyes down, to the orange juice that slicked the pajamas over my swollen cock. She looked longer than was necessary and that excited me. I could see she knew she had looked too long and that I was aware of it. She bent down to load the dryer with freshly washed clothes and my eyes returned to her ass.
"Bring them down and put them in that pile," Mom barked, pointing at a pile of colored clothes on the floor in front of the washer.
That's when I did the unthinkable. I dropped my pajamas and stepped out of them, then tossed them onto the indicated pile. As soon as the pajamas landed, time seemed to move very slowly.
I was standing in my t-shirt, bare, half-stiff cock dangling in the air, as Mom stopped loading the dryer and turned her head to look at the pile, staring while she struggled to comprehend the presence of my pajama bottoms. Slowly, her eyes and head turned up, following my now bare legs until she was looking straight at my dangling cock, as if she needed to confirm what her brain was telling her, that I had actually taken my pajamas off. My cock tingled and straightened when I saw her eyes widen.
Then, the world suddenly exploded back into real time. The washer stopped filling and kicked into its first wash cycle as Mom jerked to her feet.
"What do you think you're doing?" she hissed.
"You said to put them in that pile," I replied in an incredibly calm voice, given the circumstances and the fact that I felt anything but serene.
"I didn't mean now," Mom raised her voice.
I looked blankly at her as if I didn't understand what the fuss was all about. A look crossed her face as if she had just made a decision.
"Alright, this has got to stop," she said, confirming my suspicion. "Do you want me to call your father down here?"
I shrugged, calling her bluff.
"Put your pajamas back on or I'll call him right now."
Mom jabbed her hand at the floor to emphasize her point but the back of her hand inadvertently scraped the side of my now hard cock. She looked down in shock, then yanked her hand away. She started to go around me but I stepped back to block the doorway.
"But they're dirty," I said.
"Then put something clean on."
I looked at the basket of clean laundry and managed to convey that this was a task beyond my capabilties. Exasperated, Mom dug through the basket and found another pair of my pajamas which she held out to me. I took them and stooped to slip my feet through each leg, then slowly straightened, pulling the pajamas up with me. I stopped when the waistband scraped over my balls and pressed against the bottom of my cock, kicking it into a series of slowly dampening bounces.
Mom was looked directly at it and watched each diminishedbounce.
"I don't mind if you look at it, Mom," I spoke softly. "I know it's nicer than Dad's."
Mom nodded vacantly, as if answering something in her mind rather than what I had said. Then she looked at me.
"What are you trying to do Brent? What are you up to?"
"I just want you to look, that's all."
"I don't know. I just do," I said.
Mom nodded as if she understood.
"Put it away now and let me by," she said.
"I will if you put it away," I countered, astounded by my precocious response.
Mom sighed, then grabbed my pajamas and pulled them up, the waistband snapping from under my balls to squeeze my tool against my stomach. She hadn't let her hands contact my skin. Mom stepped back and waited for me to get out of the way. I looked down. The whole head of my cock was sticking out of my pajamas.
"Is that the best you can do?" I asked.
Mom looked down.
"Yes," she replied in a quiet voice.
"OK," I said, and stepped aside to let her by.
* * * * * * *
After that, I seemed to have tacit permission to display myself when Dad wasn't around, at least, not in the same room. Mom changed her tactic from pretending not to see to ignoring me as best she could. When she did look, she acted as if it was no big deal and I should hurry up and get over my juvenile fetish.
But I was immune to any cure. The following Saturday at breakfast, after a week of clandestine exposures, I waited until Dad left the kitchen. As soon as I heard him going up the stairs, I pushed my pajamas down to free my hard cock and smiled at Mom, hardly able to wait for her to see. She finally looked, though I was sure she knew the second I had let loose.
"For crying out loud, Brent. When are you going to get over this?"
"Over what," I laughed, rotating my hips on the chair to make my hardon sway around.
Mom laughed back, surprising me. She actually laughed.
"That," she cried, pointing at my wobbling pole.
"Never," I answered. "I always want you to be able to see a big one."
Mom's face went red.
"You'd better put that away before your father comes down."
"Why?" I asked. "I don't care if he sees it," I bluffed, though I knew my father could wipe the floor with me.
"Just put it away."
I shook my head.
"I'm not doing it for you," Mom insisted, referring to the laundry room episode.
"Ill put it away if you show me your legs," I bargained.
"Show you my legs? You can see my legs." Mom grabbed the knee-length skirt of her dress and ruffled it over her thighs.
"I mean higher up." My voice was suddenly hoarse.
"Yeah," I croaked. "Higher. Lift it above your knees."
Mom stared at me. Until now, this had been all about me. It was like that time in the laundry room when I had first tossed my pajamas to the floor and Mom had turned her head to look. We were in the midst of another watershed moment.
Mom remained still, one hand holding a handful of her dress. I stared at her, matching her frozen stance, and my cock wobbled to a standstill. Mom's eyes dropped from my face to my cock but otherwise she remained frozen. Then, her hand moved. Not the one holding the dress. The other one. It fell to her side and slowly started gathering material.
Please don't come down now, I tried to force a mental command upstairs into my father's brain. Don't ruin this for me.
Mom's hand, filled with bunched skirt, moved upward, slowly revealing legs not yet tanned by the spring sun. It stopped where her thighs started to thicken and, even at this distance, I imagined I could see tiny blondish hairs swaying over the tender skin there.
"Higher," I croaked, my voice climbing an octave and ending in a squeak.
Incredibly, Mom's dress resumed its rise. An inch higher. I grasped my tool with my right hand. Another inch. I stroked myself, eyes glued on Mom's bare thighs, the dress stretched across them just below where her panties must be.
"All the way," I gasped, my hand slowly sliding up and down my cock while Mom's eyes followed.
Mom's panties burst into view, puffed up over a mound with a slack line in the middle where the panties rounded and disappeared between her legs. Her pussy!
My hand moved faster and Mom's head bobbed up and down, following it. Christ, I was going to cum already!
I struggled to my feet, still pulling my wire, and stumbled toward Mom, trying to get past her to the sink but I didn't make it. A rope of cum burst from my wagging boner and shot onto Mom's thighs before her dress dropped. Another wad of cum spurted from my roaring cock but this one landed on the apron covering the front of Mom's dress. I bent my knees and threw my free arm around Mom's waist, holding on as I crouched before her, jacking off into her apron, which Mom lifted to wrap around my squirting, throbbing member. I groaned until the last gob shuddered out.
"Oh god. Mom. I'm sorry." I gasped. "I'm sorry."
"It's OK. It's over." Mom's hands moved the apron, cleaning me.
"You're so beautiful. I couldn't help it," I cried.
"Shhhhh. It's okay." The apron slid back and forth, enclosed in Mom's gentle hands.
Steps! I heard steps on the stairs. Mom jerked back and crouched, the apron held before her, full of my cum. She whirled around and ran to the basement stairs, then disappeared through the open doorway. I spun around the other way, yanking my pajamas up and just managed to sit and twist my chair toward the table to hide my still stiff cock before Dad cruised into the kitchen.
"Still eating breakfast?" he asked.
I nodded and looked down, unable to meet his eyes.
"Still not dressed?"
I shook my head and was glad he wasn't looking, pouring himself a mug of coffee instead.
"It's a crime to waste a day like this," he said.
Mom came up from the basement carrying a basket of laundry. I could hear the washer filling downstairs.
"Are you going to take your coffee outside?" she asked Dad, walking behind him but turning to face him with the basket in front of her, standing between him and me.
Dad turned around to face Mom, leaned against the counter, and raised his mug to take a sip of coffee.
"Yup. Going to join me?"
"Sure. I'll just take this upstairs," Mom nodded her head at the basket.
Mom's dress was hitched up a bit in the back, dragged above her knees by the basket. A white stream of my cum trickled down the inside of her right thigh. My eyes widened in horror as Mom turned away from Dad and walked past me out of the kitchen, carrying the laundry upstairs. Dad watched Mom go, sipping his coffee. I couldn't see how he could miss the white string clinging to the inside of her right knee because it was all I had seen as I watched her leave.
* * * * * * *
It was early on Saturday night yet here I was, in my pajamas again, sitting on the opposite end of the couch from Mom. Dad was stretched out on his back on the other couch, perpendicular to ours, reading and occasionally glancing at the TV.
I had been unable to get Mom alone all day so I didn't know if she was angry about what had happened in the morning. She was tapping her foot in a determined fashion but I couldn't tell if it was an angry rhythm or not.
As I watched, it slowed and moved in a less purposeful but more seductive and fascinating manner. Suddenly, Mom pulled up her right leg and dropped her left foot to the floor for leverage. The magazine she was reading slid into the middle of her lap and kept the loose skirt from riding up her legs as her legs parted, demurely protecting her private parts from exposure. Mom pushed the magazine higher on her now upright right knee and leaned toward me.
"Look at this, Brent," she said, pointing at a picture.
I craned my neck to look but couldn't really see.
"Look closer," Mom said.
I pulled my feet close to cross my legs and lifting my weight to shift my butt closer to Mom, so close that I had to raise my knees above Mom's left leg. I looked down at the magazine to where she was pointing.
"See," she said.
I couldn't figure out what it was she was trying to show me. She was now pointing to some text on the far page rather than the picture she had originally indicated.
"What?" I asked quietly, so as not to disturb my dad.
"This," Mom's voice lowered in concert with mine.
Her hand, the one closest to me that wasn't holding the magazine, dropped to back where it had been resting on her thigh but then moved, dragging Mom's skirt with it. All my senses were suddenly on full alert.
"Oh," I said, leaning further and trying to look under the magazine that covered most of the leg Mom had just bared.
Mom changed hands. Now it was the left pulling her skirt higher. Everything that wasn't already stirring under my pajamas began to move. This was so incredibly sexy yet I could barely see anything more than I could a moment ago. The magazine, spread open over Mom's lap, still covered her bare and parted thighs.
The sides of the skirt were very high indeed, almost up to Mom's crotch. I could see all of the outside of her left thigh, but nothing between her legs. Still, my cock now throbbed against my pajamas.
"Did you look at this part?" Mom asked, lifting the top of the magazine up and toward me.
Feigning intense interest, I leaned to the right so I could look under the magazine at Mom's parted thighs. Her stockings ended just where her legs thickened, marked by a wide band of layered nylon. Soft, tender, creamy thigh bulged out of each legging in an unblemished expanse until it crashed into lacy, black panties that covered but hinted at the treasure underneath sufficiently for me to discern the structure of her pubes.
"What do you think of that?" Mom asked, as if she was discussing an ordinary article.
I was at a loss for words.
"Hmmmm?" Mom prodded.