Brushing Mom's Hair Ch. 03byalwayswantedto©
All characters are 18 years or older.
Mom had gone all the way. Well, now that she'd been mine, she'd be available whenever I wanted her. So went my false male logic, or at least the limited logic of an inexperienced young man. Of course, things turned out to be a little more complicated than that.
The next day was Sunday and I expected to have access to Mom as soon as I could pry her away from Dad. It was a beautiful, sunny morning and Mom matched the day with white shorts and a multi-colored knitted top made of a stretchy material with a knitted look, the kind worn like a band covering a woman's chest but leaving her shoulders and tummy bare. It was perfectly suited for a woman with smaller breasts because it lifted them, making them seem larger and more prominent, while emphasizing their shape, greatly improving their sex appeal.
This sight wasn't lost on me when I joined my parents in the kitchen for breakfast. Dad was holding his coffee in one raised hand as he read the morning paper and Mom was just setting his breakfast plate on the table in front of him. Her tanned torso greeted me as I passed through the doorway and my eyes immediately latched onto her shapely top. She asked me what I wanted for breakfast, offering a couple of selections as I clumsily sat in my chair, the rest of my brain struggling with insufficient resources to properly manage that simple task.
I noticed another thing while Mom repeated the breakfast options. Although she was a thin woman Mom had a wonderfully full and sensuous oval navel rather than the little button type. When I finally looked up, she was regarding me with a smug smile, obviously amused by my intense appreciation of her ... summery attire.
"Well?" she asked as my face reddened and my eyes darted toward my thankfully oblivious father.
I was at a loss for words. Mom reached out to cup my chin in her hand.
"You look tired. Didn't you sleep well last night?"
Again, I didn't know what to say, surprised by her allusion to last night's activies.
Mom's smile broadened. "I think you should have a nap this afternoon if you're going to come to the theater with us tonight. What do you think, Cliff?"
"What?" my father looked up, not really aware of what had been said.
"Michael. He looks so tired. He should have a nap this afternoon before going to the theater with us tonight."
"Theater?" Dad repeated.
Mom's smile, which had changed to feigned concern, now morphed into an exasperated expression. "Yes, the theater. We're going to the theater, and you're both going to rest this afternoon. I don't want either of you nodding off and embarrassing me."
"Yes dear," Dad hid his face in the paper again. I began to protest but Dad spoke without raising his head, "No arguments, Mike. Do as your mother says."
"Ok Dad," I capitulated.
Mom had turned and walked back to the counter and my attention was drawn away by the white shorts which clung to her bottom, her bare midriff and tanned legs accenting the flare of her hips from her narrow waist. Last night I had straddled and pushed my cock between those thighs but it had been too dark to appreciate the lovely shape of her buns. I was certainly appreciating them now but was caught again when Mom turned to look back at the table. She smiled and didn't seem upset when she saw the direct line from my eyes to her shorts.
"It's going to be hot today. I might have a rest myself," Mom said. Continuing after a short pause, she mused, "I wonder what I should wear tonight?"
Mom drew her arm back, bent her elbow, and placed her hand on her right buttock, bending her knee to cock her hip and push her bun up to fill her hand. Her waist kinked inward and forced her right breast tightly into her top, making it quite clear that this was indeed a tit. My morning hardon, which had recently subsided, started to regenerate.
I guess Mom couldn't make up her mind about what to wear because she resumed the activities she'd been engaged in before striking that erotic pose. A moment later she brought two bowls of yogurt and fruit to the table, one for me and one for herself. She sat down, turning her chair so she could stretch her legs, one on top of the other, toward my end of the table. I ate my fruit but my eyes were on her legs, especially the upper one whose foot was bouncing up and down above the other.
Mom didn't talk. She amused herself by watching me look at her legs. When I looked up, she smiled and put a spoonful of yogurt and fruit into her mouth, turning the spoon over and leaving it inside, slowly sucking off its contents as she pulled it out. It was such a blatantly seductive action I couldn't help staring, immobilized except for my eyes which followed Mom's delicate hand as it set the spoon down and then joined its partner at opposite sides of her top. Her torso wriggled as her fingers tugged at the top, evidently adjusting it to make her breasts more comfortable. Even through the thick material I could discern the presence of Mom's nipples. Belatedly, I lifted my eyes to find that Mom had been watching me and once again my face reddened.
She toned down the seductive moves after that which allowed me to stand and leave after eating breakfast without having to hide myself from Dad. I would have hung around longer but Dad didn't seem in any hurry to leave and Mom stayed in the kitchen. When Dad offered to go out to pick some things up for Mom, my heart and cock leapt for joy but were quickly disappointed when Mom cheerily said she'd join him. I was stunned. Why the big tease if she was going to throw away the chance to be together for an hour or so? I desperately wanted to be with her but she smilingly left with Dad. They didn't return for hours, well after lunch in the middle of the afternoon. They had stopped to eat, Mom said.
"Have you eaten?" Mom asked. I shook my head in response.
"Can you bring in the other bags," she said to Dad, "while I make this brat a sandwich?"
By the time Dad brought in the rest of the stuff I was already wolfing down the sandwich. Dad was about to sit down to join us when Mom told him to go upstairs and have a nap before dinner and she'd be up in a few minutes after she made sure I did the same. Mom busied herself putting stuff away in the cupboards but she didn't strike any seductive poses like she had in the morning, she was just her normal, efficient self.
When she finished, she walked over near the doorway and leaned against the end of the counter, facing me. I had just finished eating. Mom leaned over to wipe a bit of mustard from the corner of my mouth and I grabbed her hand, trying to pull her toward me.
"No," she pulled back hard enough that I let her hand go. "I really want you to have a rest."
About to argue, I was silenced when Mom moved her hips in a small, seductive oval.
"Will you do as I ask?" , her strangely elusive morning smile returned.
I nodded. "Yes."
"Come on, then."
Mom walked away and I followed her upstairs, greatly enjoying the action of her shorts as she led the way. She turned into her room, taking my hand and pulling me in behind her. Dad was in his usual sleeping position but was lying on top of the bed, fully clothed.
"Thanks for your help, Michael. You know how useless Dad is at this kind of thing," Mom spoke in a semi-whisper.
I had no idea what she was talking about. She pulled me toward the walk-in closet and I turned to look at Dad and then forlornly at the makeup dresser that now held such a special place in my heart, and another organ.
"Thank god I have someone to help me choose what to wear," Mom said in that same, half normal, half quiet voice.
Dad was breathing regularly but wasn't snoring, and the room was barely dim even though the curtains had been drawn.
Mom entered the closet and began moving clothes about, evidently not worried about the noise of rustling hangers. I stood in the doorway, watching her petit but lithe body.
"How about this?" Mom held out a dress, still on its hanger. She quickly discarded it and held another in front. "Or this?"
I nodded to both. Mom retrieved two more dresses while I looked confused at the dresses she had so casually tossed to the floor, quite unlike her.
"This one?" she asked, holding a green dress that nicely offset her long, auburn hair.
"Or this?" Mom held up a similarly colored dress made of a silkier material.
I nodded, "Yeah."
Mom tossed the rejected dress to the floor and pulled the winner off its hanger. She held the dress out to me, "Hold this."
I had to step inside the closet to reach the dress.
Mom slipped her flats off, then said, "Turn away for a minute."
I turned my head away but Mom's hand reached out and turned my face back toward her, holding it steady for a few seconds. I realized then the instruction was spoken for my father's benefit. Looking me straight in the eye, Mom suddenly crossed her arms, grabbed her top and pulled it over head, then tossed it to the floor. Her mouth opened in a silent laugh as her breasts bounced on her chest, her expression of mirth fading to a smile as the enthusiastic chorus settled down, flatter I'm sure than when she was young but now accompanied by larger, more mature nipples. Mom seemed pleased by my very appreciative regard, my eyes actually jouncing in unison. I stepped toward her but she held her hand up to stop my advance, taking the dress when I jerked to a stop.
Mom pulled the dress over her head and settled it over her body. The front dipped low in the front and left a wide gap through which the sides of her tits were visible. Looking down, following my gaze, Mom pulled the two sides of the dress together, fingers twisting some kind of snap into place that held the dress together while still leaving tantalizing glimpses of the breasts underneath. She looked beautiful and very sexy.
"Ok, you can look now. What do you think?" Her smile was huge, clearly showing her pleasure.
My thoughts were obvious but Mom suddenly seemed unhappy with the way the dress caught at her hips, pulled the hem up and fiddled about for a few seconds, then stooped down and pulled her shorts over her feet, tossing them onto the pile of discarded clothing. She smoothed the dress down over her almost nude body -- no, make that completely nude body as I now noticed a pair of panties inside the discarded shorts -- bereft of anything unnatural that could cause an unseemly lump.
"Awesome Mom. You look really nice. Dad will be pleased."
Mom smiled. "And you?" she whispered.
I nodded enthusiastically, growing a huge smile, and started toward her again. Mom motioned me to stop but wasn't fast enough to stop me from taking her into my arms and crushing her body against mine. I buried my mouth into her neck and moaned, one hand sliding down over her bum while the other moved up to encompass her breast.
"No, Michael, no," she hissed into my ear. "Not now," her whisper was urgent. She pushed me away hard.
I stood, slightly bent as if still holding her, panting, feeling empty.
She stepped closer to me and whispered in my ear. "Daytime is for your dad; nighttime is for you," she consoled me. Pulling back at bit, she continued, "Go lay down for awhile and think of me, like I'm going to think of you, until tonight." Mom kissed my ear, brushing past me as she walked out of the closet.
I composed myself and followed. Mom was already lying on the bed beside Dad. I walked toward the door, but Mom called out before I reached it.
"Wake us before dinner, Michael."
I turned to look at her. She was lying on her back, propped up on a couple of pillows with her feet stretched out but when my eyes turned her way, she pulled one knee up and to the side, opening her legs and letting the dress slide down to her hips. One arm languidly stretched out, its hand lazily curling down, slowly dropping until it rested between her creamy thighs. Her fingers pressed in and moved.
"Ok dear?" she asked.
I nodded, eyes gripped by her rustling fingers. She enjoyed her audience for a moment, then shooed me away with her free hand. Reluctantly, I left.
I almost yanked my cock off in the bathroom and, yes, I didn't think about anything else but her.
We had a quick dinner and got dressed for the theater. Mom came downstairs wearing a different dress than the sexy number she had tried on earlier in the afternoon. This one fell closer to her knees but displayed the top of her small bosom through a square-cut bodice that was large enough to almost show her nipples. Her legs attracted my attention because the high heels caused her calf muscles to tense nicely with each step. At the door, as Dad put his coat on, Mom asked me to help her with a shawl she pulled out of her purse. As I stood behind her, arranging the silky shawl with fashionably frayed edges, I couldn't help looking over her shoulder and down her dress at her loosely confined, braless breasts despite the fact that my father was standing right next to us.
At the car, I held the door for Mom and though the dress was conservative, I did enjoy the sight of Mom's lower legs as she teasingly pulled them slowly inside. The theater wasn't a fancy affair, it was more of a small community effort. Mom removed her shawl, folded it neatly, and put it on her knees. As she chatted to Dad, it fell between her legs and was in danger of falling to the floor except Mom caught it and pulled it higher. Mom checked the shawl's status several more times as she talked to my father, each investigation resulting in a short tug higher up the seat. I wasn't really that interested in the shawl, other than its removal from Mom's shoulders and subsequent revelation of her open-necked dress, but every time Mom assured its safety by pulling it further from the edge of the seat, her hand happened to brush the hem of her dress higher up her legs. Now, that was worth watching.
At one point, Mom lifted and opened her legs to make room for the folded shawl, bringing her hem more than halfway up her thighs. Just before the play started, she pulled the shawl out and spread it over her lap but I noticed she didn't push her dress back down. Our seats were near the back under the balcony so when the play started and the lights dimmed, it became quite dark. After a while, my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness and I noticed that when Mom leaned forward to see better, catching the light from the stage, I could see down her bodice as the material fell away from her breasts. I leaned forward with her to extend my viewing time.
Mom had laid her hands on each arm of her chair, one over mine and one over Dad's. After one hard look down Mom's front, I looked over at Dad when Mom leaned back to make sure he hadn't noticed my transgression. I don't think Mom was aware of my illicit attention but I was relieved to see that Dad was already glazed over and may have been actually dozing with his eyes open.
Working my hand loose from Mom's grip, I let it fall from the armrest on Mom's side. Though I didn't move, I'm sure Mom was aware of the light touch on her thigh and, a minute later, I knew she had to have felt my hand move underneath the shawl. I reasoned that her lack of response meant she had decided to allow my touch under the discreet cover of darkness even with, or maybe because of, my father's presence right beside her. I played it safe for awhile, just letting my hand rest on Mom's thigh under the shawl.
Mom quickly returned her attention to the play, periodically leaning forward in reaction to the play. Under the cover of one of these movements, I signaled my own pleasure by slightly digging my fingers into her thigh. I could tell she was aware of it by the tightening of the skin beside her eyes, but again, she allowed it. It wasn't long before I did it again and soon I moved my hand from the outside of her thigh to the top, letting my fingers hang inside, and gently squeezed her muscle there in a continuous, pulsing caress. Although it was about no more than I had accomplished on dates as an adolescent, it made me much more horny. I was sporting a very large boner and had difficulty trying to straighten it with my free hand without the person sitting next to me realizing what I was doing.
Much later, I was startled by the intermission but managed to extract my hand as light flooded the theater. Dad opened his eyes, trying to look like he'd been watching all along. Perhaps feeling guilty, he eagerly offered to get Mom something from the concession when she declined the invitation to stretch her legs with him. Mom didn't mention my leg activity to me after he left but chatted about the play before asking me if I was enjoying myself; a leading question. I enthusiastically assured her that I was just as Dad retuned. The second act started shortly thereafter.
Mom fidgeted in her seat for the first few minutes but she eventually settled down. I watched Dad to see if he was now sufficiently refreshed to pay more attention but he soon acquired the glazed look he displayed through the first half of the play. When I observed that, I dropped my hand to the side of Mom's leg and quickly slid under the shawl to resume massaging her thigh.
I could feel the hem of Mom's dress under my palm but was startled to feel a new material with my fingers. It was her nylons but it wasn't the harsher material that encompassed most of a woman's legs, it was the softer band of material at the top that wound around the upper thigh. I turned to look at her just as the audience broke into gentle laughter and Mom leaned forward again as she had in response to similar stage moments. I had the feeling, though, that this time Mom's amusement wasn't all directed at the play. She didn't look at me but I think she quite enjoyed my surprise at finding that her dress had moved significantly higher, almost up to her panties.
The next time Mom leaned forward, I leaned with her, sliding my hand between her legs towards her knees. When she leaned back, I followed, pulling my hand back to the hem of her dress. My fingers came to rest above the top of her nylons on bare skin. Oh man, the softness of a mature woman's thighs. Even then, at that age, I knew that girls may have tighter skin but it lacked the softness found on a mature woman. I don't know why that is, it just is.
Anyway, when my fingers first felt the tender inside of her thigh, I pushed my hand deeper between her legs, down to the seat cushion, and curled my hand so my fingers were pointing back toward her panties. Mom's hand moved quickly in response to my move but I was surprised when, instead of blocking or grabbing my hand, she simply rearranged the shawl to better cover my presence in her lap.
As soon as I realized what she'd done, I moved my fingers up and down, brushing the inside of both legs since I was so close to her sexy 'V'. So incredibly soft to the touch, the feeling accentuated by the heat emanating from her center. I was intensely excited as my fingers plied her sensitive tissue while my eyes fixated on the stage props. I wasn't capable of following an actor around. I tickled the inside of Mom's legs for a long time and I knew she loved it because she tried several times to shift closer to my teasing fingers, and once even attempted to pull my hand back.
What stopped me from pushing my fingers onto her panties, you might ask, or even into her waiting pussy? Concern about getting caught? No, I was too far gone for that to even cross my mind. Why then?
Payback, that's why.
Just as I was about to push my fingers onto her damp panties, and maybe beyond, I remembered the way she had teased me in the afternoon. 'Not in the day' she had said. Well, I'd show her what it felt like to come so close only to be denied. I couldn't do anything for myself anyway, not in here, and if I kept it up, I might not be able to walk out of the theater without borrowing Mom's shawl to cover a pair of wet pants.