Finish What You Started

edited by Femadorer

[ALL CHARACTERS ARE OVER 18. All characters are fictional and any resemblance to real or other fictional characters is by coincidence and unintentional. PLEASE NOTE: The character Marty's quips about other Literotica stories are NOT meant as swipes at my fellow Literotica authors. It is meant to reflect, as I've discovered, the good-natured humor our Literotica readers have.]

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"Son, always Finish What You Started," my father once taught me. "It may seem awkward at first, maybe even boring and you may not see where it's leading. But with some stick-to-it've-ness, you'll get your prize at the end with a big payoff."

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When did I realize that I was in love with the most beautiful woman I've ever seen? I've always 'loved' my mother, yet I don't remember when I fell in love with my mom. I do remember that the first time I came from masturbating happened while I was fantasizing about her. That may be when she became locked into my dreams. Still years later, nothing got me off more than stroking it to images of my mother -- that is until I finally got to taste the real thing.

For years, I would read the stories on Literotica hoping to find a way to seduce my mom. While the stories provided plenty of spank material, none seemed truly feasible. I mean what doctor could I find that would convince my mother that she would need to take care of my sexual needs? Or how would the conversation go where I coerce my aunt [my mom's sister] into talking her sister into shagging her own son? I'd jerk-off like an out-of-control sexual deviant to the grope-n-go stories, but none seemed guaranteed to work in real life. And let's be honest, if you are going to make a move on your mom, do you get more than one chance?

So late at night, I'd have one hand on my keyboard while the other played with my joystick. During the day, I tried to live the life of a normal, healthy, loving son. I did have some girlfriends and occasionally I was able to convince them to give me a little something, something. Still that did not stop me from getting familiar with myself while fantasizing about mom.

When I was 15, my parents separated and divorced. To me, this was not a big surprise as the years leading up to it my father was mostly a ghost. But mom took it really bad. For months after my father moved out, she would cry on my shoulder about this. During mom's crying jag, my older sister left to go to college and this only added to her list of woes. I was the stoic, supportive son. Truthfully, I didn't know what to say while she'd bawl her eyes out. I did the safe thing and said nothing.

Of course, I wasn't just the loving son. I had an ulterior motive. I figured if I showed mom that I was strong, dependable and caring to her, she would realize I was the perfect suitor for her. And if my life was a Literotica story, this would be when I would make my move by wiping her tears away and professing my love for her. She would respond by kissing me before leading me to the bedroom for some mind-blowing sex.

Unfortunately, this is real life and I timidly kept my mouth shut. After about four months, the tears ran out. Rubbing her eyes dry, mom stood up and announced to everyone and no one in particular, "I'm done crying and feeling sorry for myself." And she was.

"No more being a Gordita," she told me the next day as she joined Weight Watchers. (Gordita is Spanish slang for a cute, short chubby girl.)

Before this declaration, I always thought mom was a sexy Latina - being a curvy Colombian with milky caramel skin, dark brown eyes, and that exotic raven-colored mane of hair. She was 5'3" and that day I sinfully, gleefully watched as she stripped down to her bra and panties in her master bedroom.

My mother seemed unaware as I drank in the sight my mamasita presented to me. She wore a white Maidenform bra that held her mighty bosom in place. Even with that yard of fabric, she displayed an enchanting offering of cleavage. While the cups were a simple full-coverage design, there was a prominent seam that ran across the middle and another that ran vertical. Where they crossed left me wondering if that was where mom's nipples hid. Standing behind her, I loved seeing how her ample flesh absorbed her bra and made me wish I was that bra.

She also wore a pair of taupe colored satin panties that wrapped around her wide frame quite sensuously. In the back, they held onto all of her ass with the shiny material sparkling from the lighting. Way at the bottom, you could just glimpse the line where the cotton lining that provides added comfort to a woman's golden region stops. The elastic waistband was a thin, maybe ¼ inch strip, and I loved how she 'muffin-topped' over them. Her thick legs also bulged proudly out from the bottom leg openings. To me, she was a heavenly cherub.

She stepped onto the bathroom scale and we watched it wobble its way to a weight of 168 pounds. The perv that I am, I knew her measurements were 38D-34-40. And it was mom's tits I'd obsess about. In my fantasies, I always figured that it was through mom's tits that would ultimately lead me to her Pearly Gates. All of my unrefined stroke stories centered around me somehow getting at mom's boobs. From there I'd travel south.

Of course, none of this happened.

Our birthdays are only two days apart, and we'd often celebrate them together. Our age difference was perfectly 22 years apart. This meant that when I became 18, she would hit the dreaded four-O. For a year leading up to this event, I yanked my crank to different variations of this theme.

On mom's 40th birthday, she and I went out to dinner together. Mom wore a loose semi-satiny lavender blouse that clung to her in all the right places. With the dark lighting of the restaurant and the way the folds and creases shifted every time she moved, I watched with pleasure as new spots were highlighted and other receded into shadows. Unbuttoned at the neck, as she moved I would catch glimpses of the gold necklace I had given her for her birthday. I loved how it softly hung around her neck before V'ing down her chest. With the charm weighting on it, I could envision how the charm rested between her tits. I also wished I were that charm nestled between my mom's breasts.

She also wore a black light-weight wool skirt that charmingly hugged her hips before cascading down to end at mid-calf. She wore a pair of calf-length high-heeled black leather boots. When mom crossed her legs, I was able to catch a glimpse of the dark stockings she wore. Of course, that left me wondering if she was wearing pantyhose or thigh-length stockings. Her boot-heels were tall enough that when standing next to me, her 5'3" figure did not seem so short. One of the things I oddly found arousing was how the zipper on the in-step side of the boots only reached halfway down the length. I imagined that even unzipped, there would still be a certain level of tugging required to remove them.

As expected, mom wasn't handling reaching this milestone with much aplomb. She was cranky about the fact she was still single at 40, while my 45-year-old father had married a 28-year-old trophy wife.

I tried to cheer her up by pointing out that how successful she is being a bank manager. I also complimented how great she looked now. How impressed I was with her dedication to going to the gym regularly. (Although I hated the fact she belonged to Curves, the all-female gym, which meant I couldn't get to watch her exercise.) In the three years since my parents' divorce, she had lost 32 pounds, now down to 136 pounds. She was intent about getting down to 125 pounds. She was also now measuring a svelte 36C-28-38. In her happier moments, she'd flex her arm and brag, "No flabby arms here."

I wanted to tell her that she had gone from a Gordita to a MILF, but bashfulness prevented me.

Instead, mom took advantage of the opportunity that I would be driving us home. My mother isn't much of a drinker. One glass of wine and she's good; two and she's tipsy; three, she's merrily drunk. Tonight she reached her three-drink limit. In my fantasies and according to many Literotica stories, this would be my chance to make my move and take advantage of my more than slightly tipsy mom. Previously, I'd imagine us going to 'make-out point' before going home to finish the job. Things started out pretty good as we got in the car. With me in the driver's seat, mom leaned up against me. "You're so good to me, Marty. So good for me." She kissed me on the cheek. Then she rested her head on my shoulder and her right hand lay just above my knee. My pants became tight with the chubbie I was sporting.

Unfortunately, real life intruded upon us. Within ten minutes of leaving the restaurant, she was sleeping upon me. Reaching the intersection to decide whether I should continue driving straight towards 'make-out point' or turn right and head home mom answered it for me by emitting a soft, gentle, female snore. I turned right.

Arriving home, she didn't even wake! Being a gentleman and loving son, I carried her inside and into her bedroom. She never woke, even as I tucked her into bed -- without undressing her! And believe me the temptation to do so was there. I kissed her on the forehead and wished her "a good night."

"I love you, too." She mumbled. I left her bedroom as the man of steel and had to relieve myself of some excess pressure.

Yet Fate finally intervened and dealt me a fresh shuffle. A new set of cards that I realized I could use to play to a winning hand.

I was now 19 and in my second year of college. Being a less than stellar student, I was attending the State university and still living at home. On a beautiful, warm, sunny Spring day I got home after my classes. I knew mom was home but the house was empty. Heading out onto the back patio, I was greeted by a sight that would change my life.

There was mom on her hands and knees tending to her flower garden. She must not have heard me come outside and kept her back turned to me. And that's what I focused on -- her backside! For years, I'd been a tit man, especially my mom's; but like Saul, I became enlightened. Now I understood why a man could obsess over a woman's ass.

Mom was wearing a simple pair of white shorts, ones I've seen many times before. Now they were stretched tight across her ass-cheeks, highlighting their majesty. I was spellbound by the vision I beheld. She leaned further down to reach deeper into her flowerbed and her ass responded by pointing even more directly at me. As I watched her crawl along her flowers, I studied her ass dancing beneath those shorts. It was as if someone had taken a honeydew melon and split it in half. After giving those halves the malleability of clay, they then stuffed them into my mother's shorts. As I inspected her glorious rear, I could see her pantie line dividing where her butt ended and the back of her thighs began. I may have imagined it but I thought I could see a dark crease hiding underneath the seam that ran up the middle of her shorts.

I lusted at that shadow knowing that hiding inside that canyon was my mother's butthole and just an inch below that was mom's Pearly Gates -- the entrance to the Heaven that I had dreamed of for years! My cock snapped to attention so quickly that it was now in a painfully uncomfortable position. My sleeping giant had previously been hanging to the left but now it fought with my shorts to stand proudly at full attention. At first, I tried to just shift and twist my body to allow 'Lil Willie' to work his way free. However, my shorts were being obstinate and I had to reach deep into my shorts to grab hold of my stick and manually shift him into a more comfortable position.

Fate having a twisted sense of humor took this opportunity to alert my mother of my presence. As she twisted around to welcome me home, she was greeted by the sight of her 19-year old son with his arm down his shorts with his hand wrapped around his crank.

"Hey...Oh...umm, it's great to see you too," she awkwardly said to me as I burned with embarrassment.

"Oh, god I'm sorry. Oh god, I just had to...I just had to..." I fumbled for words as I yanked my hand out of my shorts.

Mom just laughed and my shame burned even more. "Sweetie, it's alright. Believe it or not, I was young once and remember how young men don't need any reason to have to adjust their equipment." She laughed some more, "I think baseball players touch themselves more than they spit."

Even though I felt relieved, I still needed to get the heck out of there. "Ok, I just wanted to let you know I was home. I'll talk to you later."

I beat a hasty retreat back into the house and then fled to my room. I closed and locked door because this isn't a Literotica story; I did not want my mother walking in on me while I was expressing myself. I dropped my shorts and squirted some lotion on my hand. Plopping down on my bed, I started jerking off like a crazed primate. I didn't need any fantasies or any pictures; I needed nothing but that image of my mom's butt doing its booty-shake in those shorts. Three minutes later Mt. Vesuvius exploded and buried Pompeii in its greatest eruption ever.

While taking a shower to clean off my lava flow, I had a great idea. Isn't it amazing how most of our greatest ideas come while standing under a flow of hot water? I knew how I was going to seduce my mother. After drying off and getting dressed, I logged onto my computer and signed into Literotica. This time it wasn't to choke the chicken; it was for research. I remembered reading a story - at the time, I thought it was pretty hot but now it was perfect research for my plan. After hunting the story down, entitled "How to Seduce Mother Version 01 by AuralSects69" I knew the exact depiction in it wouldn't work but the ideas it had planted in my brain were germinating.

With the magic of the Internet, I hunted down what a massage oil heater is and where I could get one. Miraculously, my local Wal-Mart had in stock the Master Massage Oil Warmer and its accompanying Master Massage 8 oz. Aromatherapy Oil Variety 4 Pack. I ordered them both online, selecting the Site to Store option. Grabbing my car keys, I ran out the door. As I drove, I thought about how to make my plan work.

"Marty do you mind giving me one those fantastic back rubs?" my mom would ask at the end of the night. For years now, I've been giving her back massages to relieve the tension from work, or ease her sore muscles after exercising, doing house or yard work.

Do you think I would say no? In her bedroom, she'd pull her nightgown over her head and then lay on her bed. Underneath she always wore a bra and a pair of panties. I'd give her a back-rub, often using the body lotion she kept on her nightstand.

"It's ok if you want to open my bra, if it's in the way," she'd often say, as I worked my way to the middle of her back. Unfastening her bra was always an ultra-thrill for me as I was obsessed with her boobs. Lying on her stomach, her tits would flatten out and I could see the rounded edges of them. Oh how I longed to reach underneath her and take them into my hands. I'd rub her sides as far low as I dared but I lacked the courage to actually go so far as to actually rub the exposed breast meat she offered to me.

I'd rub her lower back and she would let me go as low as I wished. The ignoramus that I am, I never thought that beneath the thin layer of nylon that were my mother's panties was what I was searching for. Even the times I'd rub her sore thighs, I ignored mom's butt fixated on the idea that I had to get to her tits first. I thought that was the only way I would be able to get to her other goodies.

As I swiped my credit card at the checkout for $110 dollars, I confidently knew how I was going to seduce my love -- who happened to be my mother. I was confident she would ask for a back massage tonight since she had spent time out in her garden; I would start Phase One of my plan. Oh, and if you think spending $110 is expensive -- ask yourself, "Is it really, considering what the prize is?" I've spent more than that on girlfriends I half-liked and only wanted them to give up some of the chocha.

Phase I

"Marty, come here and look." I heard mom yell from her bedroom as I was putting my purchases away in my closet. Heading in there, her bedroom was empty.

"Where are you?" I questioned.

"In the bathroom," she called out. Entering the connected master bathroom, I could feel the warm, moist steam that lingered from her shower. But that wasn't what really caught my attention. Mom was standing on her bathroom scale in only a bra and panties.

"Look," she eagerly said pointing at the numbers the scale showed. Standing close to her, I could smell her fresh-showered scent. And look I did, not at the scale but at her. She was wearing a white bra with a hint of lace that encased her bosom. It looked like a soft and comfy bra that held her breasts; I wished it was my hands that were holding them. Her panties were a thin white nylon that wrapped around and hugged her tight. The material was so thin and semi-transparent enough for me to make out her soft caramel skin underneath.

Leaning close, I crouched down and rubbed my shoulder on her bare thigh. "Look, look, look," she eagerly pleaded. I saw that the dial proudly pointed to 124 pounds.

"Wow, congratulations mom. That's awesome." I honestly told her.

Stepping off the scale, she girlishly bounced up and down, clapping her hands from the joy of her accomplishment. I watched her giddy body with my own pleasure.

"I'm so fucking happy. Do you know how hard I've worked?" she asked. She then jumped at me, wrapping me in her arms and hugged me tight. She bopped up and down with merriment, and all I knew was how hard I was. On her last bounce up, she surprised me by giving me a quick peck on my lips. It may have lasted only two tenths of a second but I was cognizant of every nano-second.

"Do me a favor, go in the top right drawer of my dresser and get my tape measure." Following orders, I opened my mother's top right drawer and was treated to the sight of all hers bras tossed willy-nilly about. Shuffling through her boulder holders, I found her tape measure and returned to the master bathroom.

"Great, can you please measure me? You don't mind, do you?" she inquired. To answer her question, I simply stepped behind her and began wrapping the tape around her bust-line.

She laughed at my presumption, pushing the tape measure lower. "I know what that one is," she giggled. "Can you do my waist and hips?" Damn!' I thought but consented. My hands shook a little as I wrapped the tape around her now shrunken waist.

"Don't suck it in," I jokingly chided.

"I'm not," she lied. I waited and she finally had to take a breath. After our laughs settled down, I measured an impressively diminutive 27 inches. [Remember it was 34 inches four years ago.]

"Can I lie and say it's a 26?" she conspired.

"I won't tell anyone," I promised and she beamed with glee.

"You're so good to me, Marty. Now do my hips." Squatting down, mom's ass was chest-level with me and I had to fight the urge not to caress those globes. My hands trembled as I laid the tape along the swell of her hips and across her butt. The tape crossed thankfully on her left hip and revealed slightly more than 36 inches.

"I think we can call that 36," I announced.

"That works for me. Ok, now get out of here so I can get dressed and get dinner ready." My tease said as she pushed back away from me. Returning her tape measure to her dresser draw, I checked the label of one of her bras and was surprised to see printed 34C. Checking another, it confirmed that mom now had a yummy 34C-27-36 figure.

I left quickly to go to my room since I had to take care of some business that had suddenly sprang up. All I needed was the images of mom in front of me, her measurements dancing in my head and the sting on my lips from hers. Having mailed a heavy package a few hours earlier, this one was only envelope sized.