A Game of Seduction
- Be careful, young man, this is your mother you're looking at.
- Sorry Mom, just couldn't control myself. This is real nice ... wow.
- You think so?
- Definitely. Turn around, let me see. Not like that, put a little heart into it! That's better. Yes, very sexy. I like that.
I see you blush a little, but you show a little smile. I make no movement to hide the bulge in my pants that has swollen since you walked down the stairs. I wonder if you've noticed it.
You seem to relax a little, and take some sexy poses as I clap and whistle encouragingly. After a few minutes, you tell me "enough for today" and with a flourish, you turn around before you start climbing up the stairs, hips swinging sensuously. I stand at the bottom of the stairs, whistling, and you cast me a last glance over your shoulder. I'm rock hard in my pants.
When you get down wearing more reasonnable clothes, and I can't help but notice you are a little flushed. I decide to push you a little more.
- Hey Mom, why did you change? You were looking good in that little thing.
- Well, I thought it was a little too little for me to wear it around the house.
- I wouldn't complain ... I'm sure most of my friends would wonder who is that sexy thing that just moved in with me.
- Sexy thing? Flattery won't get you anywhere, Romeo.
- I'm serious! And I'm glad I had you buy that outfit, it's really far better than the ones you were considering. But I hope you'll wear it. You promise?
- Sure. But I won't strut around the house with it, that's all.
- Aw, you're no fun. And I mean, it's not "struting around the house", it's just being able to be confortable. Just like you can see me with my trunks on Sunday mornings, I never heard you accuse me of "struting", did you?
- That's not the same thing ...
- Why? It's exactly the same thing. I don't see why it should be any different.
- Because ...
- There's no because. It's just that you are not used to the idea, that you always dress up with those stern things, and I thing you should change with that. Okay, I've got an idea. You got upstairs, you change back to that little thing, and you spend the evening getting used to wearing it.
- But ...
- And just to make you feel a little more confortable, I'll do the same. I'll wear trunks, okay? Like a slumber party, but without the pajamas and with underwear instead. Is that something you can face? Hm?
- I ...
- So? Chickening out?
- No, but ...
- No? So that's a deal then. Go change, I'm doing the same. Meet you downstairs in five.
I climb up the stairs, a smile on my face. This promises to be a fun evening.
I decide to take my time. I know that you are going to take a little longer than me, and I don't want to give you the impression I'm impatient -- just want to keep the pretense that it's something completely innocent, that should feel absolutely normal. I take a deep breath, and wait until I can hear you walking down the stairs. I wait for another minute, then I follow you, wearing boxer shorts.
You are sitting on the sofa, reading a magazine, wearing the outfit we've chosen together (matching panties and bra of white lace, nicely cut over the hips and showing quite a lot of cleavage) but with an additional flimsy robe hanging from your shoulders made of some transparent fabric. I sit down on the armchair facing the TV.
- Tst tst tst.
- You're wearing far much than I am.
- Well, no way I'm going to walk around topless, buster.
- Oh no, I wasn't thinking of that. I was referring to this robe.
- (rolling your eyes) Oh come on. Pl-ease. I'm already dumb enough to take you up on this stupid dare, so humor me and let me wear this robe. And it's not like it's hiding anything anyway, okay?
- Okay. I was just teasing you, it's very nice, really. Shows off nicely the outfit.
- Thank you.
I switch on the TV, putting on some sports while you continue reading. From the corner of my eye, I see you looking in my direction once or twice, but I make no movement to indicate that this situation is anything but normal for me.
In fact, I have used the armchair to hide my rising erection when I saw you in this outfit, and now I'm doing my best to not think of how hot you are -- by focusing on some dumb lacrosse game that I have absolutely no interest in.
You stand up, asking me if I want something to drink. I grumble a "yes, Coke please" and get a good look of your lovely back as you turn towards the kitchen. The panties are really small at the back, and my cock becomes rock hard as I watch your ass swaying. Lacrosse, lacrosse -- gotta think lacrosse.
When you get back, you hand me the Coke, bending a little which has your heavy breasts hanging a little, sending another shiver through my cock -- but I've reajusted it so the bulge doesn't show so much. "Thanks Mom", I say, and you take back your place on the sofa. As the lacrosse game comes to an end, I take a deep breath and ask you:
- Hey, wanna see that action flick I've rented?
- Is that anything like the "horror" movie?
- Oh, I don't think so, I mean, this kind of mistake should be very rare, otherwise they would be out of business, I suppose. Want me to check to be sure?
- Okay. What kind of movie is that?
- It's a Jackie Chan movie, one of his last ones. I can't say I've heard it's very good, but you know, it's Jackie Chan, at least there's bound to be some cool action scenes, don't you think?
- Why not ... what time is it, by the way?
- Close to 7pm. We can eat afterwards, it shouldn't last two hours. You got anything planned?
- Nothing. You?
- Wanted to look at some stuff on the Internet tonight, but that can wait. Nothing else, no.
- A young guy like you? How come you're not out there, seeing people?
- Mom, I see people everyday at the bookstore, I've got enough of "seeing people" for the week. Let me enjoy my weekends at home, will you?
You smile. I put the tape in the VCR, and the trailers before the movies are the usual array of Hong-Kong martial arts movies and Jackie Chan collection ads.
- Looking good, Mom. Sounds like a legit Jackie Chan to me.
- Mind if I sit on the sofa?
- Not at all.
I sit next to you, and focus on the movie, trying my best not to think of your near-naked body close to mine. The movie begins, and it doesn't take us long to realize that it's not one of the best Jackie Chan movies ever -- the plot is contrieved, Jackie himself looks a little tired ... I can feel you're losing interest and I can understand why.
About midway into the movie, you go back to the kitchen to get us some refill. I pause the VCR, waiting for you to get back.
- Oh, there was no need to pause it, you know.
- Not very good, eh? I'm sorry Mom, seems I had a lousy hand picking movies today.
- It's not your fault. You have to take chances, sometimes. But I'm not a Jackie Chan fan at the begining, so ...
- Yeah, and the movie's real bad. So fan or no fan, that doesn't count. Want me to stop it altogether?
- Oh no, we've started, we might as well go all the way, right?
- I'm really surprised the story is so bad. I thought that only happened in porn movies.
- Well Chris, correct me if I'm wrong, but they don't need stories for porn movies anymore, considering what we've seen this afternoon.
- True. So you think they hired porn writers to script this movie? Doesn't seem so far-fetched, you know ... Hey, I've got an idea.
- Another one? I'm careful now with your ideas ...
- No no, this one should be fun. It's like this afternoon, but in reverse.
- What do you mean?
- Well, we watch the remaining of the movie, and we try to imagine what kind of scene the porn writer would have written if it had been a porn movie.
- What kind of scene ...
- Yes, like ... okay, let's do it. You see, this scene, right now, he's going to see the cousin of the guy that stole the idol, okay? And then, there's going to be a fight with the cousin, because she's been an accomplice all along ...
- Okay, so what?
- Well, in a porn movie ... she would have been wearing something more skimpy, and there would have been an altogether kind of fight. With their pangs of passion resulting in the same amount of destruction, with them doing it on the patio and toppling the vases and stuff.
- Hm. I see.
- Wanna play? Come on, if I'm the only one doing it, I'm going to feel ridiculous ... please ...
- Why not? But I'm no good at that kind of thing ...
- Don't worry, it's easy, you'll see.
I press "play" on the VCR.
At first, you don't seem to be really thrilled by this little game -- after all, it's something that you play when you're a bunch of hormone-driven young guys, after a few beers, and it's difficult to get in the mood with only two Cokes to cheer up the evening. Which means we are off to a slow start, and I'm the one trying to give a funny twist to the first scenes.
I then propose I get you a drink, like a glass of wine, and I get back with the bottle that I lay by your side of the sofa, expecting you to refill your glass if need be.
I get back to my station, crouching by the VCR, pausing the tape at each sequence, taking time to detail what happens afterwards. After a few scenes (and the first glass), you seem to warm up a little, and you begin to make some suggestions, little ones at first, then getting bolder as you sip a little more wine. Our language also now tends to slip a little, becoming more descriptive -- "he's going to take her on the couch", "she's got no panties and she's going to flash her pussy", "they are going to corner her and they'll force her to suck them".
We get so much into it that, at some point, we end up encouraging the characters on screen to follow our version of the scenario ("come on, rip her clothes off!"). My cock is hard and throbbing against my thigh, hidden from your view.
The movie comes to an end, and I sit down, legs crossed, by the VCR as the tape rewinds itself. I feel the fabric of my boxer shorts slide against my cock, and glancing quickly down, I can see that the head is poking out against the leg. I don't move, and act as if nothing happened. I turn towards you, I notice you are a little flushed.
- Well, that was a real bad movie. We should have been hired as scripts, I thought the second part was far more entertaining, what do you think, Mom?
- Hm, I ... I think I might have had one drink too many on an empty stomach. I'm going to prepare something to eat, okay?
- Sounds good Mom.
- Oh, erm ... and Chris ...
- I know we're among adults here, but you should be careful about staying PG-13.
- You're showing a little too much skin, buster.
You wink at me, stand up and head for the kitchen. I put my cock back in my shorts, and hide a smile.
I wait for a couple of minutes, then I follow you in the kitchen. I stop by the door frame, my eyes downcast, trying to look sheepish, my hands folded in front of me.
- Erm, Mom?
- I'm ... I'm sorry about ... well, you know ...
- About ...? Oh, that? Don't worry, I won't sue you for "emotional distress". Seems some of us got a little more into the game than others, I suppose ...
You wink at me, and I do the best I can to blush and fidget a little.
- Hey, buster, cheer up! That's not the end of the world. I know how young guys can be, I can understand ... and I suppose it's not the first time that happened, too bad you were not wearing enough clothes for it not to show ...
- Yeah, I suppose ... you're not mad at me?
- Of course not!
You brush past me, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. I stand there, not moving as you move around the kitchen.
- Want me to give you a hand?
- Oh, that should be okay, I'm not preparing anything fancy, you know.
- You sure?
- If you really want to, you could wash some tomatoes, and cut them in slices ...
- Consider it done.
I jump in to help you, and for a moment we are happily preparing diner, in a little ballet in the kitchen, brushing past each other from time to time, always giving my cock a thrill as I feel your skin so close to mine. At one point, I grab a bowl from a cupboard and move a step back -- and bump into your bum. I apologize profusely, you just laugh at me for being so polite. This happens again, by accident, and I apologize again.
But you seem to be in a teasing mood, and turn it into a game, bumping into me repeatedly, apologizing each time with a chuckle. Bum against bump, bum against hip, arm against back, shoulder against shoulder ... I play along, not letting my rising cock tying me down. I maneuver so that some of those "bumps" happen with the soft cushion of your breasts, while not being too obvious with it.
You look happy, and it seems that you are a little disappointed when the diner preparation is over, and we don't have any more pretext for our "bumping" game. You are breathing hard from too much laughing, and I can't help but notice how your breasts seem a little more full, with the hint of the shape of the nipples showing through the thin fabric.
As for myself, I know without having to look down that my cock is making a little tent of my trunks, with a damp spot at the tip.
We take our little meal to the living room, where we sit down on the sofa and switch on the TV. This is when you seem to notice the state of my trunks.
- Hey, young man, seems your hormones are running high of late.
- Hormones? Who's talking about hormones? (I slap you on the thigh) Don't need no hormones when you've got that hot little number moving around the house!
- Oh no -- that's definitely an hormones problem. Or your vision's gone bad all of a sudden. I'm just your old mother, remember?
- You might be my mother, but there's nothing old about you. Believe me, or I wouldn't have told you to get yourself this outfit. Frankly, you look young and great and sexy.
- Hm. Well, then if it's about the hormones, maybe I should go and cover all that up.
- Oh come on, you're at it again.
- At what?
- You're taking any excuse not to wear that outfit.
- No I'm not.
- Yes you are. And you are staying here, and no covering up. And that's non-negotiable.
- Oh, yessir. (an exaggerated sigh) Damn, Chris, you can be so bossy, at times.
- You're not taking me seriously.
- What if I am?
- Then I ... then I'll spank you!
You giggle, I laugh a little, and we begin eating. The meal is relaxed, and the whole topic seems to be forgotten. We watch some news, turn to a talk show and enjoy the beginning of this evening.
Even the silly jokes of the show we watch together do nothing to dampen my horniness. From time to time, I just cast a glance at you and my cock regains instantly whatever hardness it might have lost in the meantime. I shift in my seat, and end up sitting with my back against the armrest, my legs folded under me -- and again, my cock pops out of my trunks' leg in the process, but I act as if I hadn't noticed it.
I wonder if you are breathing a little harder, if your breasts are a little more tense. From the corner of my eye, I can see you looking down at my lap when you think I'm immersed in the show. You shift a little yourself, taking a more confortable position on your armrest, raising a knee with your foot resting on the edge of the seat.
You move again, and I hear you give a little sigh. I cast a glance at you, following the tantalizing curves of your body -- and I nearly gasp when I notice that the crotch of your panties has moved a little, revealing a hint of hair and (but maybe that's me imagining it) moistness.
My heart is beating like crazy, but I decide to try a little something. I shift a little, causing my cock to slide against my thigh, the skin exposing my throbbing cockhead. I hear another sigh, feel you change position, and when I look at your legs again, it seems that your panties are covering even less.
I stretch myself, then sit back again normally, my legs extended in front of me, my cock pointing upwards against my thigh. I hold my breath, awaiting your next move. You reply by bringing both feet up on the sofa, knees right below your chin, your legs pointing towards me.
My eyes flash downwards -- and indeed, your panties have slipped a little to the side, revealing part of a wet pussy lip. I swallow hard.
I keep casting furtive glances at you, wondering if you are aware of this display or not. I can feel the wetness of my precum-covered cockhead throbbing against my thigh. I notice you looking in my direction, and ...
... I say "oh, sorry for that, Mom", and I slide my hand in my trunks, grab my cock through the leg of the trunks, make a planned false start (tangled in the fabric, which results in a little pull on my cock and nearly sends me cumming on the spot), then manage to pull it back inside to hide it from your view. Even though it still makes a big tent with a wet spot around the head, at least there is a semblance of decency.
I look up at you, apologetic. You choose this moment to say "oops, seems this fabric is a little too small" and with one hand, pull the fabric back in a decent position -- but in the movement, giving me nearly a full flash of your pussy. You wiggle a little your ass after that, and I wonder if it is a little smile I can see on your lips.
A few minutes later, I stand up (my cock still hard and pointing) and go to the toilets by the kitchen. I only push the door behind me, pull my cock out of my trunks, and very slowly, begin to stroke it. I let out a little moan of pleasure, hoping that you can hear me above the sound of the TV show. I just have to picture this sexy movement (your hand pulling the panties over your pussy), and it doesn't take me long to get close, oh so close... until I can't hold it anymore, and I moan "Mom" a little louder, and my cock erupts and splatters the porcelain with a long strand of cum. I cum again and again, so hard my legs tremble and I feel a little wobbly.
I hear you enquire from the sofa -- "Chris, you called me?". I swallow and answer "Erm, yeah, false alarm. I ... I thought there was no paper left." I clean myself up, flush the toilets, wash my hands and get back to the sofa, flustered from my climax. Awkwardly relaxed (on purpose), I ask you if you don't want a refill of your drink, but you tell me you're fine.
As I sit down my trunks slip a little upwards, and I'm sure that from where you are, you might be able to see my tired cock, with a last pearly drop still attached to the tip. I cannot help but notice that one of your hands is casually laying between your legs, and your cheeks are a little red -- or is it just a trick of the light?
Shortly after that, the talk show we are watching comes to an end. I stifle a yawn, stand up and stretch. I tell you "Mom, I'm done with the TV tonight, going upstairs". I start for the stairs but you ask for a goodnight kiss -- I wrap my arms around your neck from behind, and smack a kiss on your cheek. From where I am, I have a superb view of your cleavage, your stomach and lower still, the enticing small panties. I feel my cock twitch again, I squeeze your shoulders once more, then I climb up, feeling your gaze following me.
Once in my room, I turn on the computer, and spend the evening looking for sexy pics, thinking about you again, picturing you and those sexy moments, trying to imagine your reaction while I was ostensibly jerking off in the toilets. I hear you going to your room in the middle of the evening, manage to bump into you as you come out of the bathroom (with my cock back in shape), exchange a little joke with you before going to the toilets to put up another little audio show for you. Then, exhausted, I get back to my bed and fall asleep.
The morning after, I wake up with my usual morning hard-on, and get down to the kitchen for breakfast. To my surprise, you're there already, wearing a rather revealing outfit -- even more than the one you had on the day before. Top and bottom are sporting quite a lot of lace, and there's a lot of skin exposed -- a hint of your nipples and quite a lot of your pussy hair in the front. The light nightie that you had on yesterday also does nothing to cover all this, and I react to it in the most natural way -- my cock hardening again.