Beat the Clock: A Mom's Assignment

John eyed me warily and said, "Opinion on what, Mom?"

"Well, I'd like to get a man's perspective on some of my outfits -- you know, how I look in them. I'd hate to wear something and it turns out your father hates it."

John's face reddened again. "I don't know, Mom -- you mean like swimsuits. He shifted in his chair again as if he couldn't get comfortable. "I'm not sure I can, uh, should."

"Awww, c'mon, honey. I really need a man's opinion and you're definitely a man," giving his hand another squeeze. I pleaded, "You're my son -- you'd tell me the truth and besides, who else could I ask, Mr. Turner down the street?"

At that we both laughed and the tension seemed to break. Mr. Turner was an old letch that lived on our block -- well known for his proclivity to somehow turn up in a person's back yard whenever a woman was trying to sunbathe.

John sighed, still looking very uncomfortable, but he suddenly shrugged his shoulders and said, "I guess I could -- anything to save you from old man Turner."

I let go of his hand and jumped to my feet. "Really?" I exclaimed, sounding like an excited schoolgirl. "Just sit right there -- get another brownie if you want. I'll go change!" I rushed away, hurrying to the downstairs bathroom where I'd left some things. My heart was beating in my chest so hard I could scarcely breathe.

In the bathroom, I tried to quickly change, but my hands were shaking so much, it was difficult. I slipped out of the dress and my underwear and slipped on the first of three swimsuits I'd bought at a risqué lingerie store in the mall. It was a sand colored tankini -- a somewhat modest tank top and a French cut bikini bottom.

I gazed at myself in the mirror like a nervous girl about to go on a first date. Like the dress, I'd bought it a couple of sizes too small and the top hugged my heavy, drooping breasts like a second skin, leaving no doubt as to their shape and heft. My nipples stood out against the fabric -- I even imagined I could see the small bumps of my aureoles as well.

Still wearing my "fuck me" heels, I walked back down the hall, pausing to take a deep breath before I threw my shoulders back and strode into the kitchen. "Well, honey, what do you think?" I said in a voice of forced cheerfulness, striking a pose in front of my son.

John stared back, his fork suspended in mid air as his eyes took in the sight of his mother in her swimsuit. I tried to see myself in his eyes -- a middle-aged woman wearing a tank top that molded itself against her chest, leaving almost nothing to the imagination as to what her tits were like. I shivered as my son's gaze roamed downward and I felt oddly embarrassed that he might notice my round belly pooching out above the low cut bikini bottom, finding that I was idly wishing I had a flatter, more attractive stomach. I felt a flush of warmth wash across my face and neck as John's eyes moved lower, studying the tight expanse of cloth that covered my mound.

I shifted nervously on my feet as John continued to look appraisingly up and down. "Well, what do you think, son?" I asked. I felt so skittish that I couldn't stand still and I slowly turned around, feeling silly as I thrust my butt out a little. "Does this outfit look alright?"

It seemed like it took my son a moment or two for my question to sink in and then he slowly nodded his head up and down, a shy smile on his face as he continued to study my body and say, "Oh yeah, Mom. Dad's gonna love it! You look great!"

I felt a great sense of relief and was grinning from ear to ear as I responded, "That's so sweet! Think you can stand to look at another one?" John's shy smile turned into a silly grin as he shrugged and nodded. I felt strangely pleased and shot him another wink before I hurried out of the room, suddenly realizing that in my haste, I was giving him a show of bouncing breasts.

Back in the bathroom, I was surprised to find that I was breathing heavily and that there was a deep flush across my cheeks and neck and upper chest. I immediately dismissed any thought that I might be in any way aroused from my mind and focused on changing into my next outfit.

After looking in the mirror this time, it was a little harder to make myself move out of the small bathroom. That's not to say that the light blue bikini I was wearing was all that scandalous -- Kim would probably laugh herself silly that I would be embarrassed to be seen in it. It was, no doubt almost prudish compared to what she wore on the beaches in Florida. The bikini top was modest -- although, having again picked a garment of smaller size than I should've, my meaty breasts were overflowing the cups and the thin material left no doubt as to how dark my nipples were. The bottom part of the suit was little better. I have no doubt that if the material were to ever get wet, it would cleave to my pussy like it had been painted on, revealing the shape and contours of my labia.

Taking a deep breath, I moved out, my 'fuck me' heels clicking on the wooden floors. Knowing full well my son could hear me coming, I still called out, "Ready or not, here I come."

John was waiting and his eyes widened as I came strutting in, my breast flesh bouncing and jiggling as I moved into the room. Pleased with his expression, I charted a course all the way around the table, letting him see me from all angles. I even teasingly reached out and trailed my fingers through his thick, dark hair as I strolled around him.

I came to a stop in front of him and swiveled my upper body back and forth, knowing how the movement made my breasts roll and bounce. I didn't have to urge him to make an observation this time. "Mom, you look fantastic!" John said with real enthusiasm in his voice. Through his glasses, I could see his eyes flickering up and down, taking in my bikini-clad body again and again.

Again I felt a strange tingle of pleasure at my son's words, a tingle that sparked both at the tips of my nipples and between my legs...a tingle that had been sadly absent too often in my life in recent years. I felt weird and ashamed, but was surprised that there was a part of me that really enjoyed hearing him talk like that...to hear the enthusiasm in his voice.

"Really?" I said. "You don't think its too um, much, do you?"

If anything else was causing my son's face to be that dark a shade of red, I'd have been rushing him to the hospital, but I admired his effort to act nonchalant as he shook his hand in an expression of dismissal. "No, Mom -- it looks...you're beautiful!" he responded in a tight voice.

Again, I could feel my grin stretch across my face -- beaming appreciatively at my son for his generous words. I replied, "Thank you, baby. Do you think you can stand to see one more outfit?"

John's eyes roaming busily over my mostly naked body just nodded and said a bit too enthusiastically, "Sure, Mom!"

I hurried out, letting him get another look at my bouncing breasts (and upon later embarrassed reflection -- my meaty ass cheeks). Back in the bathroom, I stripped down quickly, pausing as I stepped out of my bikini bottoms to stare at the new stain in the gusset. I shivered as I realized that I was wet between my legs -- wet enough that in just a few minutes I had stained my swimsuit with my own juices. I turned the panties around and stared at the crotch -- there was just a hint of discoloration from my pussy cream -- I doubted that my son could have noticed it.

I paused and looked at myself naked in the full length mirror on the bathroom door and was amazed at what I saw. My breasts were heaving heavily, nipples thick and erect and amongst my wispy blonde pubic hair I could see glistening pink flesh as my labia had begun to swell and part. I hung my head in shame, knowing that what I was doing was a sin, but even worse, that this contemplated sin was turning me on.

Finally, I broke myself out of my reverie and moved to dress in my final outfit. It took me much longer to work up the courage to leave the bathroom than it did to put the outfit on. I'm sure even my daughter, Kim, would be appalled at the mockery of a bikini that I was wearing now. What little fabric it had was composed of, was a bright fire-engine red and consisted of three small swatches of fabric and some thin, threadlike strings. My breasts were totally exposed except for my aureoles and nipples which jutted out against the cloth like little door knobs. The bikini bottom -- a thong more or less, didn't adequately cover my wispy bush and I could only hope that the light in the kitchen wouldn't reveal the strands of whitish blonde hair peeking out of the bit of material that just barely managed to cover my mound.

I finally managed to open the door and step out into the hall, only to halt and try to control the sudden violent tremors that racked my body. I was ashamed. I was scared. And, God help me, I was inexplicably turned on. The heat between my thighs was akin to that I'd felt on my wedding night and as I realized that, I suddenly understood that I was feeling exactly like that virgin bride so many years ago -- nervous, embarrassed and very excited. I took several deep breaths and finally was steady enough to move out.

As I approached the doorway into the kitchen, my pace picked up and I strode determinedly into the room, forcing a smile on my face as I paraded practically naked in front of my son.

I couldn't even speak as I strutted across the tile floor, breasts bouncing and threatening to flop out of their tiny halter with every step. All I could do was keep my eyes steady on my son -- praying his reaction wouldn't be to run out of the house, terrified at his mother's sudden insanity.

John's mouth hung wide open and his eyebrows lifted high on his forehead as he ogled his middle-aged mother, my pale Nordic skin exposed almost completely for him, seeing every freckle and curve of my breasts and as I turned around for him, a completely total view of my ass cheeks, thong buried deep in my ass crack and tugging against my mound with every move I made.

A minute, maybe more passed as I posed and walked around the room for my son, waiting for his reaction. His eyes stayed glued to my body, John completely focused as if memorizing my every curve. Finally, still unable to trust my voice, I made a motion with my hand as if to say, "Well? What do you think?"

John remained motionless, only his eyes seeming to work until finally he closed his mouth and licked his lips and in a rough, husky voice that made something turn liquid between my legs, said, "Mom...my God. You are....Mom, Dad will never let you outside in that...in that, um outfit."

I felt crushed and disappointed in a way I wouldn't have expected -- emotions joined by raw fear that I'd disgusted him and that any chance I had to save Dale and Kim were disappearing before my eyes. "Oh God," I moaned almost in tears. "I look that bad, John?"

John slowly shook his head from side to side, his eyes never leaving me. "Noooo, Mom!" He said in a rush. "Dad would have a heart attack trying to beat all the other men at the beach off you." My son took a deep breath and gushed, "Mom, you are too sexy for your own good! That suit should be illegal!" John grinned guiltily and shrugged.

I grinned back at my son, unable to control my smile. I felt like I'd just had the weight of the world lifted off my shoulders. I felt lightheaded and suddenly incredibly warm all at the same time. "You mean you like it, John?"

"Mom, I love that outfit -- I mean, Mom, you are freaking hot!"

I shoved aside my relief that I didn't turn my son off and instead embraced the feelings of delight that my son was saying I was sexy. I pushed the envelope further and walking up to the kitchen table, put my hands on the table and leaned forward, well aware that my breasts were now hanging down like two full udders, barely contained by the bikini. "Are you saying I'm a MILF, son?" I asked John in a coy, flirtatious voice.

John's face regained its dark red tone as he realized what I was saying and his bashfulness reasserted itself and he tore his eyes away from my swaying breasts, looking down as he mumbled, "I, um, guess so!"

Silence filled the room as we both processed his response. John finally scooted back his chair and said, "I really should get cracking on my homework, Mom."

His words barely registered as I could now see the crotch of my son's school khakis, amazed to see the large bulge in his pants, a long tube running down his left inner thigh. Fireworks seemed to explode in my brain as I heard my inner voice screaming, "YOU JUST MADE YOUR SON'S COCK HARD, CONNIE!" Again, I could hear my caller's voice laughing at me.

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry and said, "Sure, baby, go ahead. I'm -- I think I'm going to take a shower before we decide what to do about dinner." Then I recovered enough to come around the table as my son stood up, him trying to turn away to hide his obvious erection. I pressed myself against his side, my breasts enveloping his right arm and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

"Thanks for making your mother feel good, son!" I whispered after I gave him a lingering peck on the cheek. I paused, holding myself against him as he turned and looked down at me -- unable to meet my gaze, his eyes wandering further south to look at the hard tipped and barely covered nipples grazing his arm and chest.

He nodded and then unable to handle the moment anymore, whispered, "Sure, I love you, Mom," and then he fled for the stairs and the safety of his room. I watched him go, smiling lovingly at him whenever he glanced back in his retreat until he disappeared from sight. I retreated to the downstairs bathroom, growing shakier with every step.

Inside, I tore the strips of cloth off me, shivering as I turned on the shower and letting it run until steam began to billow out. I could barely stand and I wondered if I was having a heart attack or a stroke as I unsteadily stepped into the stall. I let the hot water cascade across my body and then as I ran my shaky hand across my flesh -- over my breasts and down across my stomach, I understood what was wrong with me as my fingers instinctively ventured to my swollen labia and spliced through my dripping lips. I was aroused and needed relief!

I fell back again the shower wall -- the tiles cool and comforting against my hot skin while the pulsing jets of the water played over my pussy as I begin to work my fingers up and down my suddenly needy flesh. I closed my eyes and slipped two fingers inside my slick cunt, images of that large bulge in my son's pants flashing before me. I could see myself kneeling before him and unzipping his khakis, reaching in, wrapping fingers around that warm, hard pole and then bringing it out...

I shuddered with an incredible wave of pleasure -- heralding the approach of a huge orgasm and I snapped open my eyes and jerked my fingers from my clasping pussy, sobbing with frustration and shame and disbelief at my own actions. I could scarcely believe it -- I had masturbated thinking about my own son! Part of me laughed sardonically -- I felt ashamed because I had almost gotten myself off thinking of John, yet I planned on fucking him before midnight.

That brought me back to reality -- that and the sudden remembrance of why I was going to fuck my son -- images of my husband and daughter flashed through my head. Trembling now with frustration, I climbed from the shower, hoping that in denying myself satisfaction I might give myself an edge -- that perhaps my frustration might help inspire me to achieve my goal. Slivers of pleasure echoed through my body as I imagined my son on me, in me. I took a deep breath and moved to the next stage of my plan.

Naked and dripping wet in more ways than one, I opened the door and yelled, "John, help!"

I had to repeat myself before I heard his bedroom door open and he called down from the stairs, "What's wrong, Mom?"

"Honey, there's no towels down here, can you bring me one from the linen closet?"

There was a long pause and I hoped it was because my son was imaging his mother, wet and naked, then he said in a slightly hoarse voice, "I'll be right there, Mom." I heard him walk down the upstairs hallway and then come back and like all teenagers, he came tromping down the stairs. I peeked out at him from the doorway, only my head and bare shoulder showing as I watched him approach. His face was a fiery red again -- I hoped over me. Then I withdrew moving so that he couldn't see me from the door and held out my hand. I hoped I had this figured right.

"Here you go, Mo..." My son's voice simply failed as he handed me a bath towel and from the angle he was standing at the door, he found himself staring at his naked mother in the mirror over the sink. I took my sweet time taking the towel from him and then as he continued to stand there as if pole-axed, instead of covering up, I whipped the towel behind me and began drying my backside, my heavy breasts swaying and bouncing as I worked the towel back and forth.

From my point of view, the mirror showed my son's pants begin to tent up again and after a minute or so, I winked at him, causing him to look at me with shock and alarm and then he started to move away, back towards the stairs. I quickly followed, bringing the towel around and sort of holding in front of me, I stepped out into the hallway and said, "John?"

My son froze in his steps and slowly turned around and I wasn't sure if it was relief or disappointment in his face when he saw me -- breasts mostly exposed and the edge of the towel just below my crotch. He swallowed a couple of times and said, "Yeah, Mom?" There was fear in his voice and I suddenly realized he thought he was being busted for ogling his naked mother.

"I'm sorry to ask -- I guess I'm having a real blonde moment, but I left my undies upstairs on the bed, would you be sweet and bring them down to me?"

Again, I wasn't sure if there was relief or disappointment in his expression, but he nodded and said, "Sure thing, Mom," and hurried upstairs, walking awkwardly with the stiff pole in his pants.

I retreated back into the bathroom and began drying myself while I waited for the next stage of my plan to kick in. A minute or two dragged by and then I heard John call down from upstairs. "Uh, Mom -- um, which pair of your...uh undies did you want?"

I grinned at my reflection in the mirror at the sound of discomfort in my son's voice. I'd left three pair of panties on the bed -- all bought earlier in the day at the lingerie store. The tamest of them had a see-through crotch. The other two were crotchless panties, a pair of silky red ones and a pair of lacy black ones. I felt that tingle between my legs again as I imagined John standing upstairs holding them, picturing me wearing them.

"It doesn't matter, sweetheart. Just pick one and bring them down to Momma!" I responded in a flirty voice.

Another couple of minutes passed and as I heard John's footsteps, I delayed bringing my towel up to cover myself properly until it was just a few seconds too late, again giving my son a glimpse of his mother naked. He hung back at the door as I wrapped the towel around me and then walked up to him.

Holding my black crotchless panties gingerly, he extended his arm and handed them to me. "Ooooh, good choice, son," I purred, shaking them out and slipping my fingers through the open crotch. I wiggled my fingers at him through the open area and said, "Again, I guess I need a man's opinion. If you were my husband, would you like these?"

John just stood there, eyes wandering back and forth between my lacy, slutty panties and the jiggling globes of flesh my towel barely concealed. He licked his lips, looking pained and no wonder considering the size of the bulge in his pants. His hands were trembling and he rubbed them on the sides of his khakis nervously as if trying to keep them busy lest they do other things. "Um, yeah. I think Dad is gonna love them, Mom."