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weekend sex e
modelle.pink.peperonity.net

weekend_sex_3e

14.03.2013 13:19 EDT
Hi. Colin here. So I'm going to tell you about my Mom
and I. She was quite a bit younger than my Dad, being
his second wife. He had two kids with his first wife.
They divorced because of his affair with my Mom. I
wasn't supposed to know that but my older half sister
told me about it. Mom was eighteen years younger
than Dad. She was forty-three now and still working
though my Dad had retired at sixty. He spent more and
more time away fishing with his buddies in their
campers.
Mom had short, brown hair with a pretty face. She was
slender but not muscular since she never exercised, at
least, not that I'd ever seen. Her arms were soft and
white, with a few freckles sprinkled about, like her face.
Her legs, as I found out, were quite nice. Not like the
sculptured stems you seen in magazines, or on some
of the more buff girls at school, but nicely shaped even
so.
This I discovered when Mom dug out some old dresses
she hadn't worn for years. Dad had buggered off a few
days earlier on yet another camping trip with his
friends as soon the warm weather hit. A few days later,
in the heat, Mom complained about not having
anything to wear, and the prices of clothes these days.
With Dad being retired, we were OK but not as pat as
we had been, which is why Mom still worked.
Anyway, I came home from school to find her sitting on
a lawn chair in a sundress that was shorter than her
normal dresses, riding several inches above the knee.
This was the first time I noticed her thighs, which were
normally covered but were now exposed half way up
because of the way she was sitting. I particularly noted
how the fleshy part underneath her leg bulged out.
"Hey Mom," I greeted her as I walked through the
screen door into the backyard.
"Hiya," she answered, continuing to read her magazine.
"New dress?" I queried.
"Oh," she put her magazine down, "just something I
pulled out of storage. I've got boxes of these in the
attic."
"Well, it's a good thing you're working on your tan,
because you'll have white parts showing for awhile," I
remarked, still focusing on the fleshy part of her thighs
I hadn't seen before.
"Don't worry, you brat," she laughed, lowering her
magazine, "I won't embarrass you. I'll only wear them
around the house."
I couldn't help notice that the sundress was cut lower
in front. Not plunging. It was a square cut but it
showed the tops of Mom's small breasts which were
very white of course. Mom noticed my gaze and
followed it down to look at herself.
"I'll get tanned soon enough so you won't hurt your
eyes, smarty pants," she laughed again. "Why don't
you make dinner tonight so I can work on my tan?"
She was quite pleased when I agreed to this. Over
dinner, I asked her about the boxes of clothes she'd
discovered. Evidently they were just old clothes she
used to wear and had kept. She intended wearing a
new outfit everyday, just for the fun of it, and to stretch
her wardrobe out which was in dire need of expansion.
Long after dinner, while I was watching a movie, Mom
wandered up the hall from her bedroom wearing a
strange outfit.
"What do you think of this?" she asked, smiling and
doing a slow twirl in front of the TV. She was wearing
a lime green pantsuit, or more of a one piece jumpsuit.
It had a hole over her tummy, swept in a cross over her
breasts behind and around her neck, leaving her entire
back bare. "Isn't it wild? Can you believe we used to
wear things like this?"
She struck various poses, laughing, then plopped down
on the couch beside me after I agreed it looked pretty
weird.
"What are you watching?" she asked, suddenly ignoring
her costume. I told her what had happened and she
settled in to watch it with me.
During one set of commercials, when Mom got up to
make some hot chocolate, I paid a little closer
attention to her outfit. As she stood and walked away, I
noticed that her butt seemed more clearly defined. This
observation floated in my mind without me really
grasping it while I listened to her in the kitchen. Then it
dawned on me. She wasn't wearing anything
underneath. There were no discernible panty lines, no
tightening and battening down of carelessly moving
parts. I had actually seen the independent action of
each cheek as she walked away. I felt a familiar
stirring, although one that had never been associated
with my mother.
"It's on," I called as the movie started. I glanced up
from the movie as she walked slowly back in the room,
treading carefully so as not to spill either of the two
large mugs she was carrying. Since she was looking
down, keeping a careful eye on her payload, I had the
opportunity to scrutinize her closely. I couldn't see any
pantyline from the front either and though I couldn't
see her belly because of the mugs, I could see the
nipples of her breasts which were never visible. She
couldn't be wearing a bra. Of course not, dimwit, I
thought. Her back was bare.
"Here, sweetie," she handed me one of the mugs and
carefully sat down beside me again, but a little closer.
We watched the movie while we sipped our hot
chocolates. Mom drank hers faster than I since I was
either sneaking glances at her, or thinking about her
instead of the movie. When she leaned forward to set
her cup on the coffee table the front of her outfit, held
to her only by the loop around her neck, gapped
forward allowing a peak at the sides of her breasts.
There was no doubt about it, she wasn't wearing a bra
and there wasn't anything built into it to hold her
breasts from falling against the thin material.
When the next set of commercials started, Mom
commented on how well the hot chocolate had 'Hit the
spot' and asked me if I wanted more.
"No," I replied, and quickly added, "Here, have mine. I
don't really want it," to dissuade her leaving. I wanted
her to stay next to me.
"Are you sure," she asked, settling back down.
"Absolutely," I assured her, handing the mug to her.
"No, leave it there," she said, indicating that I should
leave it on the end table. Disappointed, I set it back
down. Now there was no reason for her to lean forward,
no opportunity for me to glimpse the side of her bare
tit through the gap in her suit.
"Oh, I'm so stiff," she groaned as soon as she sat
down, stretching her arms up and leaning forward until
her hands rested on the edge of the table, then pushing
them further into the middle.
Wonderful. Her outfit gapped wider than it had when
she had reached for her mug. I could now see more
than just the side of her tit, I could see the top sloping
down almost to where her nipple must be. I could feel
my cock swell. Unconsciously, as she started to pull
back, I stretched my hand out to rest it on her back,
blocking her retreat. Belatedly realizing the how blatant
my action was, I moved my hand across her shoulders,
brushing my fingers lightly across her back. She
instantly relaxed, leaning forward again.
"Oh, that feel's good," she sighed. Encouraged and
relieved that my action wasn't seen for what it was, I
continued, tickling her upper back with my fingertips.
She shuddered and shivered as if I was touching very
sensitive parts though I was just tracing her shoulder
blades. "Oh, that's lovely," she cried softly.
"Your father used to do this for me," she mentioned a
moment later, "for ages, a long time ago."
"Don't stop," she added as I paused, digesting this hint
of intimacy between her and my father, something I
couldn't remember witnessing. I continued tickling her
back as the movie started. She didn't look up to watch.
I brought my other hand into play and let my brushing
fingers caress more than tickle.
When the commercials started again, Mom leaned back,
collapsing against the couch, and me, nestling against
my side. "Oh god that felt great," she sighed. "Thank
you."
"Anytime," I answered.
She looked up and smiled. "Can I have some of your
hot chocolate now?"
I picked up the mug and handed it to her.
"No, you do it. My arms are too relaxed."
I held the cup gingerly to her lips. Not because it was
hot -- it was surely cold by now -- but because I was
suddenly nervous for some reason. She opened her lips
and I tipped some in, careful not to spill. I tipped it
several more times until she shook her head slightly
and then I set it back down. As I twisted back toward
her, she asked, "Will you do my back some more?"
"Sure," I replied, like it was no big deal. Mom stretched
her feet out on the couch and, turning on her stomach,
lay her head in my lap. Oh no! She was sure to feel my
bulging crotch. Not to brag, but how could she not
notice laying right on it? What would she think of me?
"Go ahead, sweetheart," came the quiet response,
"don't wait for the movie."
I started again, using my left hand to lightly brush
across her shoulders. As the movie progressed, I again
brought my other hand into play, moving my left lower
on her back to make room. Mom didn't make a sound
except for the odd sharp intake of breath as I struck a
sensitive part, which seemed to be a different spot
every time. Soon I was straying farther and farther,
dipping into her sides, running my fingers along her
waist up to the sides of her breasts, eventually letting
them press her flesh where it squished against the
couch.
"Dad use to get frisky like that."
Her voice startled me. I stopped, my hands freezing to
her skin. "Don't stop," she instructed. I continued,
slowly regaining my 'frisky' ground as I realized she
wasn't mad. I caressed her right through the next set of
commercials. Suddenly, she raised her head. ...
Next part ►


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