Awakening Obsession Ch. 03

They both burst into quiet giggles, and Mom turned to me and said, "I could kiss you for that."

I lied and said, "He's watching, so do it!" Still giggling, she leaned in, and I met her lips again. It was brief, there was no tongue, but we kissed for real that time, our lips brushing softly against each other, my hand gently squeezing her thigh, her squeezing mine. That first kiss was electricity to me, and if she'd slid her hand up my leg a couple of inches she would have been surprised at my total and complete arousal. For the first time, I truly believed that I might have a chance to pull this off.

Shortly after, Mom got up and went to the ladies' room. I could tell Donna was pretty far gone; there was no way she would have thought that kiss was anything normal if she'd been lucid. Now, though, she didn't seem to notice anything unusual between my mother and me. As we sat at the booth, Donna looked at me and said, "OK, now I'm getting jealous." At first I wasn't sure how to take it or who she was jealous of; after all, this was the woman I'd watched get my mother off, so I at first assumed she was jealous of me and the attention I was paying to Mom.

As I sat, confused, she said, "I want a good-looking guy to spend time with me. C'mon, let's dance." With that, she grabbed my hand and started to get up. I don't normally dance a lot, but I had learned how to dance to the music they liked, so I didn't have a problem joining her.

The song was some kind of disco number – keeping track of the genres of '70s music wasn't my thing – and pretty fast paced. As we bopped along, I noticed my mother had returned to the booth and was watching us. I was pretty sure Donna noticed too, because she started grabbing my hands and twirling and doing more interactive stuff with me. During one sequence, I saw Mom's eyes widen as she looked at Donna, and I realized that with each twirl, Donna's skirt was raising up and flashing the table. We weren't more than 5 feet from the booth, so Mom was getting an eyeful. I noticed Mom starting to slowly stroke her own thigh, and remembered her doing that same action while she was looking up Donna's skirt the other night. Things were getting better and better for me.

The next song started up, some crooner song, slow and "romantic". Donna stepped in close to me, and I gladly took hold of her firm body. Three months ago, I'd have been doing everything in my power to get with this woman, but tonight I had a different goal in mind. I wasn't above using her to my advantage, however. As we danced close, my hands on her waist, hers over my shoulders and clasped behind my neck, she complimented me on my dancing – now I knew she must have been really drunk – and told me how nice I smelled. She moved her head in close to my neck, and I could feel her breath hot on my neck. She was brushing my neck and cheek lightly with her nose and mouth and pulled me even tighter into her. I was loving it – I made a mental note that once this plan was done, I needed to make another one for Donna – and noticed an odd look on Mom's face as she watched us. I would swear that she looked jealous – of Donna. As if she should be the one dancing with me.

As we continued our slow dance, I slipped my hands down over Donna's ass. Her reaction was to grind her pelvis into mine a little harder. Encouraged, I waited until our slow rotation brought me around to wear I was facing my mother, and where she had a clear view of me lifting Donna's skirt to slide my hands over her exposed butt. Her eyes widened as they fixed on Donna's nylon-covered ass and my hands lightly brushing her cheeks with my fingers. Her face slowly flushed, and her hand started rubbing her thigh a little faster. She even licked her lips for a brief second. For the duration of the song, each time we circled around and faced my mother, I'd give her a little show, then drop the skirt as we turned back around to the rest of the dance floor. When the song ended, Donna whispered, "You're naughty – I like that!" and quickly squeezed the stiffness in the front of my pants.

As we stepped back to the booth, Mom got up to let me into the seat and asked Donna, with some playful heat to her words, if she liked the dance. Before Donna could answer, I said, "I hope so, 'cause it's your turn now!" I grabbed Mom's hand and pulled her out with me. I put my hands around her waist, so she had no choice but to hold onto me, putting her left hand on my right shoulder and her right hand on my waist. Our bodies weren't touching, and she seemed stiff and awkward, even though we'd danced a hundred times together before.

I leaned in close to her and whispered, "We can't let Brent think you're losing your date to your friend," and briefly nodded my head to the right. Mom's eyes followed my head movement, and she could see a smirking Brent looking at her while he danced with his lady. As we watched he looked away and dipped the woman, starting to put on more of a show.

My mother's eyes tightened, and she said something about showing that jerk. She moved in closer to me, her ample chest pressing into mine, and curled her left hand around the back of my neck. She leaned her head in so that we were cheek-to-cheek. Since her heels made us nearly eye-to-eye, it was easy for me to tilt my head down slightly, so that my breath was brushing her neck. This was a very different experience for me – before, when we danced, I was always thinking about the steps, what I was supposed to do, things like that. Now, all I concentrated on was the feeling of her body against mine, the smell of her hair and perfume, the luscious womanly curves underneath my hands. She must have been feeling something similar, as any trace of awkwardness was gone, and our bodies gradually came closer and closer together. My hands started moving slightly, lightly rubbing her hips. The feeling of the satin lining of her skirt sliding against her nylons made my hands move a little more as each minute passed. Her hand tightened on the back of my neck as my lips brushed the curve of her neck and I could hear her breath start to pant in my ear.

When the song ended, I realized that my hands were still on my mother's ass. I slowly slid them back to her hips as I took a half-step away from her, nervous that I may have pressed things too far. I kept a confident face, though, smiling at my mother as if everything was quite normal. I must have been underestimating her level of drunkenness and horniness; she leaned forward, squeezing my hand, and kissed my cheek and said that she was glad she taught me how to dance. She led me back to the table by the hand and was glowing when she slid in after me. She sat close, hip to hip, and put her hand on my left thigh while she asked Donna about Brent's reaction. While they laughed about his consternation, I just relaxed, enjoying the feeling of her closeness and her casual intimacy. I thought my plan was proceeding smoothly, better than I'd even hoped.

I soon realized a serious flaw in my plan. It was getting near to closing time and the crowd was thinning out a bit. I was coming back from the bathroom, feeling pretty good about myself, when I saw a major problem. While I was gone, Donna had sat down on my side of the booth, so now she was on the outside and my mother was on the inside. I saw Donna's hand sliding up and down my mother's leg, and she was whispering something in Mom's ear. My mother's face was flushed and she had a smile on her lips. I felt like an idiot. Of course, my mother was worked up, and here she was with someone who could and would do something about it, who wasn't me. My mind started racing, and I came up with just one hope: I needed Donna to pass out before she could get to our house.

Desperately scrambling for an idea, I walked back to the table. I knew Donna had just gone to the bathroom, but my Mom didn't join her, so when I got back I suggested this was the last call for a stop before we left. I sighed inwardly in relief as my mother slid out of the booth and Donna stayed put. We both watched my mother walk across the floor; she was wobbling more than a little. I turned to Donna, smiled, and suggested a couple of shots before we left. Knowing her party attitude, Donna was all for it. I went to bar and ordered 8 shots. I didn't have any problems with trifles like IDs or anything – a $100 tip on the bar bill helped that – and came back to the table loaded for bear. Donna gasped when I spread the shots out, 4 per side. I told her that if it was too much for her, I understood, and she rose to my challenge just like I knew she would. My only hope was the fact that I'd had a whole lot less to drink than they thought, and that I could handle the influx. We each went through the first 3 shots back-to-back. As she finished her fourth, I pretended – it was easy – that I just couldn't take another. She made a remark about kids thinking they could hang tough, and as I'd hoped, drank my last shot. I prayed that it would be enough on the car ride to put her out.

The three of us walked out much as we'd come in, one on each arm, except now they each needed the arm to help for balance. I assisted them into the car, getting my expected upskirt shot, and settled in. As before, they slid together towards the middle of the seat. I turned the car on, turned the radio up slightly, and pushed the fader so that all the sound was coming from the rear speakers; I figured that way they might think that I'd hear a less than I was actually able too. I turned the heat up a little more than I needed to as well, hoping that it may help speed Donna off to sleep.

My hopes started to sink as I drove. As soon as the car was moving, I saw Donna's hand slide its way up my mother's thigh and right under the hem of her skirt. Mom's knees spread apart and soon I was watching Donna's hand working rhythmically in my mother's lap. I changed lanes so I could take a quick glance in the back seat: Mom's eyes were shut and breathing heavy as Donna kissed along the curve of her neck. Shortly after, I could hear their lips softly working as they kissed. I was nearly to the house and my plan was falling apart. I had to do something, so at the next intersection, I made a wrong turn. They were too busy to notice and too drunk to think about their driver, so I kept my eyes in the mirror, watching them caress each other, and kept driving.

Some time later, I could have sworn I heard a whimper from the back seat. Donna's hand wasn't moving anymore and was lying loosely on my mother's leg. Another lane change and quick glance back showed her head resting against the back of the seat. I quickly started heading in the right direction for home; I'd been keeping close to the right way and knew it would only be a couple of minutes to get to the house. Mom kept talking to Donna, but her return replies were just garbled nonsense. Newly confident, I pulled up to the house and got ready to complete the deal.

As I let Mom out, she started complaining; she wasn't done having fun. I said everything would be alright and ended up carrying Donna up the stairs. Thank goodness she was light, because I was pretty buzzed from that final round and barely managed to make it up the stairs without incident. I heroically stood by while Mom fiddled with the door and got it open. Finally, I was able to deposit her friend on the couch. In the process, the front of Donna's skirt flipped up, so her neatly trimmed crotch was clearly visible through the sheer hose. Happy accident, I thought, as I pretended not to notice and walked out of the room. I stopped in the bathroom, got myself off quickly – if something happened, I didn't want it to be over too soon - splashed some water on my face, checked my hair, and walked into the kitchen. I grabbed a bottle of red wine and two glasses and walked back out into the living room.

Mom was sitting on the end of the couch, staring down at Donna. It was pretty dark in there still, but I could clearly see that my mother's skirt was pulled up enough to allow her hand access to her own lap. I put the wine down on the table and walked over to the radio, turning on some light, slow music. I could see Mom in the reflection of the glass cabinet, and saw her quickly pull down her skirt and flip Donna's back into place as she became aware that I was in the room. My last stop was the dimmer switch, which I used to add just a little light into the room. When I turned around, Mom was pouring herself a glass of wine and looking flushed and frustrated.

As I poured my own glass, I apologized to my mother. Startled, she looked at me confused, and I explained my remark to mean that I'd basically made sure she ended up coming home alone. She smiled and told me not to worry about it, that she'd had a great time, that she was lucky to have someone like me in her life. I thanked her, and told her that the night wasn't quite over yet. I set my wine down, grasped her right hand and gently moved her towards the open area of the living room, pausing to let her set her own glass. She smiled and laughed as I swept her into my arms and began to dance with her. Soon after, my hands were gently squeezing her hips, her arms were around my waist, and our bodies were pressed together. As before, I gradually moved my hands around to her rear, enjoying the sliding action of her skirt under my fingers. My breath was warm on her neck as I brushed my cheek against the side of her face.

Mentally I braced myself as I prepared for the next, bolder step. I extended my fingers, resting them on her skirt, then curled them into my palm, gathering the fabric in my hands. I repeated the procedure, each time getting a little more of her skirt, until I reached the hem. I then brushed my lips softly against her neck, and again, softly kissing along the curve of her neck. I heard an intake of breath next to my ear, and her right hand moved up to cup the back of my head. Her breath began to return to the near-pant from before. Encouraged, I slipped my hands onto her silky nylon ass, as I had months earlier, letting her skirt rest on my wrists. Her only response was to gently thrust her pelvis into mine, where they began to softly grind together.

I don't know who she thought she was dancing with in her drunken state: Brent, random guy X, or, hell, if she knew it was me. Whoever she thought I was, her increasing need for intimate contact was becoming clearer and clearer. I started softly kissing up along her jawline, until we were face-to-face, lips nearly touching. Her lips were slightly parted and her eyes half-open. I saw her eyes look up towards mine, then down to my mouth, and I closed the slight remaining difference between us. The kiss was long, slow, and sensual, and when our tongues delicately touched for the first time, my passion and desire for this woman grew exponentially. The kiss grew more intense, the hand cupping the back of my head pushing me forward, any pretense of dancing completely forgotten. When the kiss broke, her eyes again looked into mine, but widened this time. She stepped back, her skirt sliding back down over her hips, with a look of confusion on her face.

Shit, I thought. My own need was burning in me, and I was so close to realization of my obsession. I had gotten her drunk, inflamed her arousal, fended off my rivals, and now I just needed to get her clothes off. I had somewhat planned for this moment, just in case, so I had a couple of ideas. I started talking, thanking her for the dance, trying to act like everything was totally normal. She seemed to be fading in and out of awareness, balancing between blackout, passing out, and staying coherent. I kept talking, a constant stream of nothing important, talking about how much fun I'd had and sipping from the wineglass. As I'd hoped, she looked at the table, saw her own glass, picked it up and started to drink. Perfect.

As I set my own glass back on the table, I "accidently" jostled my mother's elbow. Red wine spilled down either side of her mouth, running onto her white silk blouse and spattering my own white shirt. I cursed loudly and started fretting about her blouse staining. Helpfully, I insisted that she take it off. The spill had brought her back to lucidity, slightly, so she was aware of the ramifications of red wine on white silk, and instinctively she began to unbutton her shirt, giggling as she did so. I helped guide her the few steps over to the laundry area while she worked on the buttons, and where I had, before we went out, already gotten the water ready to soak and remove a red wine stain from a white silk blouse. I removed my own shirt, and then helped slip my mother's shirt off her shoulders. My fingertips tingled as they lightly glided over the bare skin of her arms. I tossed the shirt into the waiting water, and said, hoarsely, that some got on her skirt as well. Her hands moved behind her, where they undid the button on the top of the skirt and pulled the zipper down a couple of inches. My hands trembled with anticipation as they went to her hips and then slid the skirt down my mother's legs. I helped her step out of the skirt as it lay puddled on the floor, sliding my hand up each taut calf and guiding her feet to either side. I picked up the skirt and tossed it onto the dryer.

She was still giggling as she turned around, and I couldn't help but stare at her body in the dim light. The lacy cups of her maroon bra barely covered her nipples and pressed her breasts together, creating the tantalizing cleavage she'd been showing all night. Her long legs were gorgeous in her hose and heels, and the light wasn't dim enough to hide the dark patch of trimmed hair between her legs. Her hips were round and curvy, creating a perfect hourglass that I prized above any skinny model's figure. She started to walk past me to her room, eyes mostly shut, hand on her forehead, saying something about needing to lay down. I fell into step behind her, watching her ass as it bunched and rolled with each step, mesmerized by the sway of her hips. We walked into her room, and I was surprised when, instead of going to the bed on the left, she went to the right, towards her closet and bathroom. She stopped in front of the vanity, where her makeup stood in orderly rows in front of the mirror, and flicked on the light. I'd anticipated making my final move in the dark, where she'd be much less likely to realize who I was. I hesitated as she looked into the mirror, apprehensive of the light, needing to go on. As she put her foot on the small stool she kept there and bent over to undo the ankle strap on her right leg, I decided.

I stepped forward, sliding my hands over her shoulders and bending down to kiss her neck. As I continued kissing along the curve of her neck to her shoulder, she straightened, forgetting about her shoe, putting her left hand on the counter for balance and putting her right hand over mine as it gently rubbed her shoulder. I watched her face in the mirror as she tilted her head back to rest on my shoulder, lips parted, breath almost audible enough to become a moan. The mirror reflected the companion full-length mirror behind me, and the image of us in a lover's embrace was replicated a dozen times. My hands slid down her sides, to her waist, then her hips. Her right foot was still on the stool, and my right hand stroked her thigh, rasping against the nylon, then moved to her inner thigh, until finally moving up to glide between her legs.

Her first real moan spilled out and her back arched against my chest. Even through the nylon covering her I could feel her heat and dampness. As I continued stroking her sex, I brought my left hand up to squeeze her left breast. "You love how this feels, don't you?" I whispered into her ear as her hips began tilting forward to increase the pressure from my hand. I started to suck and bite harder on her neck, and her moans echoed louder and louder in the small space we were in. As I watched her face and the pleasure written across it, her eyes opened and focused on mine, clearer than they had been. My mother took her leg down from the stool and pulled away from me, turning around so that we were face-to-face, the tops of her thighs pressing against the counter behind her. "Don't...we can't...I..." she panted, left hand pressed against her chest.