Jake's Progress

Similarly, perhaps the intensity of the Friday night wrestling session would have scared him off such close contact while we were awake. All I could do was hope that this wasn't the case, for both our sakes -- for me it would be like having a brand new toy snatched back from me before I even had a chance to properly play with it, and for Jake... well, if I didn't lose my nerve, then maybe he would get to see a little more of me than he might have expected.

I set about maintaining illusions over a late breakfast with my son, telling him that I had changed my brand of sleeping pills and that I loved the new ones because they were giving me wonderful dreams. To his credit, he didn't so much as twitch when I mentioned me sleeping and that gave me hope for the coming night (or nights if I was really lucky).

After that, as we were washing up the breakfast things, I warned him that there was another fashion show on that evening and that if he didn't want to be embarrassed in front of his mummy again, then he would have to make himself scarce. Again. To his credit, his reaction was completely normal -- although the faintest hint of a blush coloured his cheeks for a few seconds.

Having done all that I needed as far as my plans were concerned, I took myself off to the local supermarket and busied myself with the weekly grocery shop. By the time I got home Jake was, predictably, out and had left me a note saying that he would be back for supper by six o'clock, and that he was hoping and praying that my fashion show would be cancelled -- a message that had my heart skipping a beat.

I started to feel like a teenager again -- and no, not in that way! I mean that I felt as if I were a teenager again, such was my level of nervous excitement. Chiding myself for such silly sensations, I packed away the shopping and spent the next couple of hours in the garden, mowing, weeding, pruning and just generally keeping my mind occupied.

After that I took a much-needed shower and then selected a particularly short, light skirt, panties that bordered on see-through, and another one of my interminable collection of strappy t-shirts -- this one at least two sizes to big for me. The armholes came down so low that half of the side of my breasts were visible, and if I leaned forward there was a lot of clear air between my nipples and the thin cotton of the shirt. Satisfied that this was revealing enough -- and indeed, as revealing as I intended ever getting when Jake was around and we were both awake -- I spent a leisurely hour writing up notes about fashion-victimisation, and then prepared a summery salad for supper.

I could tell that Jake was suitably impressed by my choice of clothing by the way he studiously managed to keep his gaze fixed on anything except what I was wearing -- at least when I was facing him -- while we were eating. I was even more impressed when he told me after we had finished that he would take care of the washing up and that I should 'go and watch whatever rubbish you want to watch'.

I accepted gladly and settled myself on the sofa with my legs curled up, and my heart fluttering wildly. After a couple of attempts, I managed to locate a fashion programme and gave a wry smile as I saw that it was to be a Stella McCartney special -- for the uninitiated, Paul's daughter seems to have no concept of modesty in her designs.

Jake took his time in the kitchen, stopping by the sofa once with a large glass of wine and a heart-felt sigh as he glanced at the television. I thanked him absently, feigning studious interest in Stella M's risqué collection, thereby avoiding a girlish giggle which might have alerted Jake to something odd about my mood.

After what seemed like an eternity (approximately twenty minutes) Jake finally sauntered into the living room with his chore completed. The sauntering was, I admit, worthy of an Oscar nomination, if not one of the statuettes themselves. Even the long-suffering sigh he gave before he spoke was almost believable.

"So," he began, "How long does the torture last tonight?"

"What's that?" My reply was possibly not Oscar-standard, but it was a passable impression of someone who has barely registered the presence of another.

"I was just wondering how long you're going to be hogging the television with yet another one of your dull, exploitative shows?"

"You know the score -- just sit there and drool over the models, or leave me in peace."

"I do not drool over the models!"

I laughed, "I'll refrain from embarrassing you any further then. But as far as how long this goes on for, I think it's about forty minutes."

"Three quarters of an hour!"

"Not quite, but close, yes."

"Ma! That really is too much! I mean, fair's fair -- couldn't we compromise on something else? You like the Antiques Roadshow so maybe we could watch that?"

"Not a chance. I'm going off that show now that I'm almost an antique myself."

"You're a long way from that!" Jake said, a ghost of a smile making the comment seem almost light-hearted. "Well, quite a long way."

"Gee, thanks. Anyway, I guess I'm far enough to still give you a run for your money so don't think you can cheat your way to stealing the remote control again."

"Cheat?" A slight tension entered Jake's voice, "I... I won that fair and square!"

"Yeah, right! You wouldn't have stood a chance if I'd been ready for your surprise attack." My mouth was going dry, but I persevered, "Just know that I'm ready for any of your underhand tricks tonight."

"Ma? I don't have to be underhand. You seem to forget that I've been working on a building site for the last few weeks and I'm in the best shape I've ever been. You're way too small and weak for me now."

"Just because you've developed a few muscles doesn't mean that you can use them," I said, goading as gently as I dared, "There's more to wrestling things away from someone than brute force."

"Don't tempt me to prove you wrong, Ma..."

I laughed, partly to keep up the act, and partly because Jake's last comment had been oh-so close to being a question. "Well," I managed, "Whether I'm tempting you or not, you don't stand a chance tonight."

"Are you sure, Ma?"

"Oh, quite sure," I said as airily as I could given that my heart-rate had just sky-rocketed.

Jake moved a few inches closer, "Totally sure?"

"Beyond totally..."

Jake took a deep breath, telegraphing his move, but needing to bring himself under some sort of control.

I squealed and grabbed the remote, pushing it down beside my leg, hunching my back and curling myself over the top of it. As Jake started to tickle me once more, my giggles poured out of me, generated as much by the release of tension as by Jake's fingers.

I twisted and squirmed, the skirt riding up my thighs as I scooted a few inches along the cushions, seemingly intent on covering the remote with my whole body. Jake's hands seemed to miss a few beats -- no doubt as he stared at the rapidly exposed flesh of my legs -- before he redoubled his efforts, bringing forth more giggles from me.

The skirt slid inexorably higher, an inch at a time, and I let it ride as Jake's breathing became ragged. I could feel cooler air caressing the lower part of my butt cheeks and the heat blossoming in my groin -- and beside me, Jake was pressing closer.

Like Friday night he started to try flipping me, but tonight three of his fingers met the flesh of my upper thigh and this time he didn't try nearly as hard to turn me over. At first I was confused, until I realised that his acting skills were of the highest order. By making out that it was more difficult than it seemed, he was able to let his fingers linger at my thigh -- and even to slip a little higher, until his thumb was resting on my get hip.

I squirmed and squealed, giggling for all I was worth, and just about managing to goad him as I did so. "See? You can't do it tonight!"

"Oh, no?" Jake panted, his breathing ragged more from excitement than from exertion, "I guess we'd better see about that!"

He slid his other hand underneath me, palm upwards, ostensibly to try to grasp the front of my shoulder in order to turn me. His hand, of course, slid further 'than intended', his fingertips pressing into the softer flesh of my breast. I giggled again -- louder -- covering a shiver and a moan.

Emboldened by my lack of reaction to where he was grasping me, Jake let his hand slide another inch -- until the tip of his middle finger was almost touching my nipple.

I was breathing much harder now myself and my excitement levels were higher than ever before. I ignored the fingers and squirmed some more, the movement designed to look desperate and to achieve one more thing... moving my breast into Jake's hand. I giggled to cover both the movement and the result, somehow feigning a lack of awareness of the hand-to-breast situation, "You're not gonna anywhere without trying your tricks!"

Jake almost squawked, his fingers going limp for a second before he realised that -- just maybe -- I either hadn't noticed or didn't care. After a short pause he risked tightening his grasp -- or possibly his just couldn't help himself -- and in a decidedly strangled voice, said, "Well if that's what it takes!"

He gave a sudden heave and was flipped onto my back before I realised what was happening. I pulled one knee upright, the skirt falling down my legs and into my lap, cool air caressing the front of my panties. I squealed, still giggling, making no effort to cover myself and instead, pushed the remote control under the small of my back with one hand and tried a weak attempt at pushing Jake back with the other.

My son's right hand had slipped away from my hip, but his left was still on my upper chest -- but now his fingertips were under the shoulder strap of the t-shirt. He seemed frozen again, and I could see him glance down towards my exposed panties, and the colour flaring brighter in his cheeks as he saw the shadow of my pubic thatch through the gauzy material.

I was finding speech difficult myself, but I was in such a state of arousal that I forced myself to utter, "See? You might have the strength but you haven't got the guile. There's no way you can get the remote until you learn that simple lesson!"

"Ma?" Jake managed, "I can pin you down with one hand and take it with other, no problem."

"Oh yeah? Well, why don't you?"

"It might be a little... well embarrassing for you." His eyes were almost pleading now.

"Excuses, excuses!"

Jake swallowed noisily, "Don't say I didn't warn you!"

He shifted his weight with a jerk and pressed down with his right hand, the strap of the t-shirt slipping off my shoulder as his fingers pressed into the upper part of my chest. The overlarge t-shirt was now loose across my bust and I was incredibly conscious of the sensation of being so close to exposed. In fact, the sensation consumed my attention so much that it took me a few moments to realise that Jake's other hand was sliding underneath me in an effort to reach the remote control -- or at least, in an effort to make it look as if he was reaching for it.

I had pushed the plastic gizmo down the small of my back and my son's hand was taking the scenic route to reach it, his palm turn upwards as it snaked under my butt. The touch of his fingers across the almost bare cheeks of my ass had me squealing again and I started to wriggle like crazy -- partly to protect the remote and prolong the game and mostly so that I didn't lose control by focusing on any one of the myriad sensations coursing through me.

When I paused for breath, I found Jake's right hand holding my wrist and his left still pressing down on the upper part of my chest. My skirt was now virtually around my waist and the t-shirt had slid an inch or two lower. My son's hips were pressed against the side of my right thigh, and his erection was dizzyingly obvious, his cock now almost upright inside his tennis shorts.

I knew that my panties would be showing just as obvious signs of my own arousal, but such was that arousal, I really didn't care. Jake, though, was beginning to struggle for self-control.

He clearly knew that a single, 'accidental' move would pull the front of the t-shirt down and I could see the desperation in his eyes battling with the need to continue the seemingly innocent nature of the game. I could also see from his colour and hear from his rapid breathing that, whatever happened, he was finding things extremely difficult.

As if to confirm this, Jake's muscles relaxed and he pulled his right hand out from underneath me, "Sorry, Ma, but I need to get to the bathroom." He paused a second, did a double-take, and rapidly added, "To pee, I mean!"

Jake wasn't the only one that was desperate, however. I had set my boundaries and so far they hadn't been reached. Plus, I had a new goal in mind -- a desperation (because there is no other word) to actually make my son lose control. I confess, also, that my rational brain was on vacation, having left everything in the less-than-capable hands of my libido.

"Oh, you chicken! You just don't want to admit that you can't beat me! In fact...." I took my chance as Jake tried to keep his eyes on my face rather than my panties. I lifted both hands and pushed Jake off the edge of the sofa, my sudden movement catching him by surprise, "In fact... you are just trying to avoid being beaten by your little mum!"

Unprepared for my sudden attack, Jake slid to the floor, his rump hitting the rug and his shoulders following as I rolled off the sofa and leapt on top of him.

I've probably done my libido a disservice by suggesting that it's less-than-capable, because right then it was on top form. I landed with my knees either side of Jake's hips, and with the skirt still up around my waist, my panties were in direct contact with my son's shorts. To make things even better, his height advantage meant that I had to lean forward quite a distance in order to keep my hands pressed onto his shoulders.

Jake's genuine surprise turned to totally faked helplessness as his eyes focused on the view down the front of my now gaping t-shirt -- a view made all the more obvious because the left shoulder strap was still hanging low on my upper arm.

"I win!" I laughed, "Admit it!"

Jake's eyes took on a look of panic, "Yeah, yeah you win, Ma, but I really do need to go... to go pee."

For a few long seconds I considered pinning him there until he climaxed. The feel of his throbbing cock against my pussy -- even through three layers of material -- was just so compelling. And, I admit, I was excited beyond anything I'd felt before. Fortunately, though, my rational brain made a brief appearance and I understood that if I scared him at all now, then the game would probably be over for good. So far we had managed to maintain the mutual pretence that we were just playing and that everything was innocent, but if I took things just that fraction too far the myth would be shattered.

Even with the decision made, pulling back was one of the toughest things I'd had to face as far as sexual gratification was concerned. I began to sit up, but at the last second decided I deserved one tiny little treat more.

"Ok, a technical victory to me then," I sighed. With as much nonchalance as I could muster, I paused and reached for the remote control, sitting forgotten on the sofa cushions. "The trophy remains mine!"

I smiled down at Jake as I sat back, tensing my thighs to take my weight off of his hips. As I straightened, I feigned a tiny loss of balance and with the remote control in one hand, struggled to regain my equilibrium. As I jammed my left hand down beside us I felt the front of the t-shirt suddenly slip lower and had to suppress a moan of pure delight as cool air fanned across my now exposed nipple.

I continued to stand, seemingly unaware of my state of dishabille and only as I attained an upright position did I 'realise', my attention being drawn to the fact by Jake's jaw-hanging stare.

"Oh god, sorry!" I laughed, pulling the strap back onto my shoulder and trying not to whimper at the look of pure lust in my son's eyes.

Jake paused just long enough to check that the show really was over and then shot to his feet before almost running from the room.

Of course I knew what Jake had to do, and it was certainly at the opposite end of the scales from 'going' -- and I knew just how he felt.

There's a full length mirror in the corner of the living room and I stood in front of it, rearranging my clothing to the way it was just a few moments before -- my left breast bare and my skirt around my waist. In all honesty and trying to suppress my modesty, I'm amazed that Jake held on as long as he did.

With a whimper I slid the panties a few inches down my thighs and knelt before the mirror. Jake would be ages upstairs, I reasoned, and even if he wasn't I wouldn't take long. As my fingers sought the hot wetness at my groin I wondered briefly how I would explain things if Jake returned quickly for any reason -- but I didn't have a chance to answer myself before my climax started with a sudden, urgent intensity. Shocked but delighted, I could barely suppress the moans as wave after wave of pure pleasure engulfed me.

Unlike Friday night, Jake made a reappearance after the wrestling session. He was certainly cautious at first, but it was soon clear that he was merely checking that I had remained 'unaware' of just how exciting he had found the whole episode. He made sideways references to it being an unfair fight and even chanced his arm with a mention of a 'next time'.

To judge by the flush that coloured his face when I replied 'you won't win however many times you try', this was something he had been praying rather hard for.

I resisted the urges I had to mention my 'wardrobe malfunction' on the grounds that I wanted to maintain the illusion of innocence, but I made no effort to hide the fact that my nipples were almost painfully erect as we chatted.

Jake eventually decided that he needed an early night on the grounds that he was due back on the building site in the morning, and I casually mentioned that I was going to take an extra sleeping pill on the grounds that the weather was too hot to make sleeping easy -- especially for a chronic insomniac like me -- and that I enjoyed the dreams they gave me. I had directed the comment at Jake's back as he left the living room, and I had to suppress a laugh as he almost walked into the doorframe.

I knew that if I was to maintain the pretence of 'life as usual' then I wouldn't be able to head for my bed for at least another hour, and the next sixty minutes dragged interminably. To make matters worse, I was as certain as I could be that Jake would once again visit my room once he was sure I was asleep -- and it was a prospect that filled me with that weird mixture of excitement, nervousness and teenage angst.

I tried not to think about what might happen later, but my mind insisted on returning to the subject in the manner of dogs and vomit the world over. I didn't believe that Jake would have the nerve to even come close to exceeding my self-imposed limits, and for that I had mixed feelings. On the one hand, it would mean that we would both get to experience the dizzy heights of our taboo lusts, but on the other, it meant that I wouldn't be too shocked but what he might try.

I chided myself for even thinking such a thing because any indiscretion on Jake's part would end the fun -- and the pretence -- for good. Instead I concentrated on the positives, and the knowledge that Jake was convinced I would be totally out for the count and that he must still be incredibly horny from the earlier wrestling session.

This turned my mind to the prospect of potential disappointment. What if the wrestling had exhausted him or provided him with enough satisfaction? Never having been a teenage male, I could hardly gauge whether this might be the case, but the thought of me waiting there in bed all night and him not showing was, I realised with a start, too much to contemplate. If I hadn't been quite so desperate, I would have had another giggling fit!