Jake's Progress

Eventually, though, the clock ground around to eleven-thirty and I took a few deep breaths before heading up to my room.

I had already chosen what I would -- almost -- wear that night. The entire ensemble consisted of two items: a pair of panties that were the closest thing there is to non-existent, the gauzy material held in place by ties at my hips, and the baggiest, tiniest t-shirt I could find. I checked my appearance in the mirror before diving under the single sheet, content that however I was going to lay, the t-shirt offered a partial view of at least one breast and was too short to cover me below the belly.

I was certain that sleep would be beyond my capabilities, such was my levels of anticipation and excitement, but the earlier thrills had obviously taken more out of me than I had thought.

I woke -- mercifully without a start -- to the familiar sound of a creaking floorboard and my mind sprang from unconscious to hyper-conscious in a fraction of a second. My heart-rate likewise spiralled from a resting fifty to a hummingbird several hundred, and my entire body gave a thrilling shiver.

Among the many things I had pondered while waiting downstairs had been how Jake would approach things when -- or rather, if -- he made another nocturnal appearance, and I had come to the conclusion that he would almost certainly behave as he had the previous night.

Taking a deep breath before he was too close and would have heard it, I tried to prepare myself for a long wait. To my surprise and delight, however, my son only took a minute or so to acclimatise (or whatever it was he had been doing while standing there the previous night) before he approached the bed.

I sensed him leaning close, a delicate musky fragrance telling me all I needed to know about his state of mind, and I made sure my breathing stayed deep and steady as he listened to me. Whether he was confident that I was asleep because of the 'extra pill' or simply too desperate to wait, he quickly decided he was safe enough to draw the sheet off my and cool air was soon working its magic on my exposed flesh

A dull click was followed by a faint glow through my eyelids as Jake illuminated my 'sleeping' form. I could hear him draw a sharp intake of breath as he took in the skimpy garments -- and a lot of what lay beneath them -- and my excitement levels rose along with my son's.

He stared for just a few seconds before I felt his fingertips slide under the left strap of the old t-shirt and I felt it lifting away from my body and being eased gently down my upper arm. Above me, Jake paused for no more than ten seconds, presumably checking that he wasn't disturbing me, before he repeated the movement with the right strap.

The increase in his levels of boldness surprised me -- but delighted me at the same time. I knew that he aimed to expose me again -- this time more fully -- and I longed for the moment the material slid from both my nipples.

My son took another sharp breath and the fingers of both his hands slid just inside the front of my t-shirt. After a pause of no more than a couple of seconds, he pulled smoothly downwards, baring both of my breasts completely.

I heard a breathless sigh and the rustling of soft cloth and knew that Jake had freed his erection from the boxers he was probably wearing. That knowledge had my juices flowing and I hoped that the dampness would not show too obviously. I lay there, my body tingling from head to toe and luxuriated in the most erotic situation of my life.

My only concern now was self-control and Jake soon tested that. The fingers of his right hand, trembling softly, first brushed across my naked breasts and then cupped each of them as gently as if he were handling delicate china. To my credit, I didn't so much as stir a muscle -- except those deep within my belly.

My excitement and delight increased as I realised that Jake was not going to lose control quite so quickly this time, but his next move caught me by surprise and I let slip a soft groan as his lips encircled my right nipple.

Jake's hand and mouth shot away from me and he fumbled for a couple of seconds before he managed to pick up the flashlight and switch it off.

In my fake sleep, I cursed myself for scaring him off, calling myself every nasty name I could think of from idiot to... it took a few seconds before I realised that he was still kneeling beside the bed.

Clearly, he believed that I was experiencing one of the nice dreams that I told him the sleeping pills gave me -- or maybe he just hoped that was the case and was too desperate to move. Either way I didn't care, and I gave another happy sigh and fidgeted for a second before ensuring that my breathing returned to the deep, rhythmic pattern of earlier.

My act might not have fooled a doctor, but it was more than good enough for a sex-crazed teenager. After a few seconds the flashlight was switched back on and set on the table by the bed, and Jake's breathing began to gain pace. His hand returned to my bare breasts and his lips -- warm, moist and eager -- soon followed.

The short interruption had eased my excitement at first, but now I realised that Jake might well believe that he could act more boldly since I was obviously so deeply asleep -- and that set my excitement levels to a notch or five higher than they had been before.

When Jake's tongue trailed over one painfully erect nipple I gave another involuntary moan, but this time Jake did little more than freeze for a few seconds.

Now I was totally sure he thought that I was out cold, and with that knowledge came the realisation that I could show Jake that I was enjoying everything -- in my sleep, of course.

As he started to kiss and caress my breasts once more, I was careful to only allow myself the occasional moan of pleasure -- but with each one Jake's confidence increased as I stayed resolutely asleep.

This was all wilder than I had dared hope for and after another minute, it became wilder still.

Jake's hand and mouth left my breasts and, to judge by the ragged note that was creeping into his breathing, I assumed that his climax was imminent. Then I felt the fluttering fingers at my hip.

With all the care that he had shown with my t-shirt the previous night, Jake slowly pulled at the little lace tie. With an exhibition of will-power I didn't think I was capable of, I resisted the urge to let out a whimper as I realised what he was doing.

A super-fast check of my boundaries suggested that I had intended -- or at least hoped -- that he might gain a quick sight of my pussy, and this, I decided, was well within the acceptable rules. Plus, I had just added another goal to my list -- to reach orgasm in front of my son -- and this was likely to achieve that within a couple of minutes.

Unaware that he had been given permission to proceed, Jake took yet another deep breath and gave a final tug on the tie. It fell open and without a pause, he pulled gently on the front panel, exposing the trimmed dark hair at my groin.

For a few seconds there was no contact, and no sound except for Jake's softly hissing breath and a rhythmic movement of air as his left hand worked feverishly at his erection. I guessed that he was enjoying the view but to my delight he must simply have been weighing up his next move. With almost as much care as he'd chosen to the first tie, his hand pulled gently at the other.

I was desperate for some sot of contact that would give me the excuse I needed to moan -- because I was now in serious danger of losing control. A strong spasm fluttered through my belly to emphasise that fact when the second tie came undone and the front panel of the panties fell away between my slightly parted legs.

My beautiful son had bared me, exposed me, stripped away my most intimate item of clothing -- and the knowledge had my head spinning. Would he just look... I began to ask myself. And then finally gave into the moan that I yearned to give as his fingers slipped over the short, dark hairs and descended between my legs.

As his fingertips traced the outline of my outer labia I moaned in delight and by now Jake did not even bother to stay his hands for even a second. Above me his breathing became ever more ragged as his middle finger slid along the hot, wetness of me, and my breathing took on an identical cadence.

Jake's finger moved just enough for the tiniest buck of my hips to push the tip between my inner labia.

The sudden realisation that my son's finger was entering me had both of us struggling for control, and when Jake finally threw caution to the wind and pushed his finger hard, sliding it deep inside me, my muscles contracted around it and I started to climax as Jake let out a moan of pure delight and began to twitch as his own orgasm took control.

By now I was openly bucking against his finger, writhing as my orgasm sent wave after wave of mind-numbing, dizzying pleasure through every nerve and fibre of my body.

And yet, throughout it all, my eyes stayed closed.

Jake's orgasm had long finished by the time my own began to subside, and yet he stayed there, his finger buried deep inside me, his other massaging my naked breasts. My son managed to draw every last ounce of pleasure out of me, more fastidiously and thoroughly than any lover had ever managed.

As the intensity of the spasms wound gently down to soft ripples and twitches, I longed to open my eyes, draw Jake into my arms and hug him so tight that his ribs would be in danger of shattering. But despite this surge of love and, yes, gratitude, I somehow managed to hang on to the thought that if I stayed 'asleep', then a repeat performance was not out of the question. A final shudder convulsed the muscles in my belly as I also realised that this escalation might even translate into more boldness when we wrestled again.

Once I had brought my breathing under control and, as far as Jake was concerned, had subsided back into a deep sleep, my son carefully re-dressed me -- or at least clumsily re-tied my panties and with a final brush of his lips across my breasts, drew the straps of my t-shirt back over my shoulders.

He must have knelt beside me in silence for at least a couple of minutes, and I would have given a large sum of money to know what was going through his mind right then. I just hoped that he didn't feel guilty, and I vowed to myself that I would find a way -- sometime later and maybe much later -- to make sure that these episodes didn't leave him with any such emotion.

When Jake finally stood, extinguished the flashlight and walked carefully from my room, I sighed deeply, feeling a strange sort of contentment unlike anything I had felt before. I slept like a baby.

I have the strongest desire to tell you of what followed each night for the rest of that glorious week, but with the possible exception of Jake's growing confidence that I would remain awake, there was little difference. Jake would come into my room an hour or so after I had gone to bed and he would strip me, caress me and use his fingers to bring me to shuddering climaxes in my 'sleep' that left me drained and deliriously happy.

The wrestling sessions weren't repeated during the weekday evenings, mostly because I had a series of meetings for work that saw me returning home no earlier than nine o'clock and Jake, I believe, figured that a frenetic wrestling session was the last thing I needed after a hectic day. Given how much I was beginning to need to see the look on his face as he brought me to such peaks of excitement, I'm pretty sure he wasn't right in his assumptions about the wrestling -- but I wasn't going to risk anything.

Each morning I awoke feeling a slight 'other-worldliness' as if Jake's nocturnal visits really were some kind of strange, vivid dream, but the intensity of my memories soon brought me back to reality and a short session of soul-searching.

Every day I asked myself whether things were staying within my self-imposed rules and boundaries, and every day I wondered whether there was any way in which I could bend the rules just a little bit in order to satisfy my own new desires.

Primarily, I yearned to see the look in Jake's eyes as his hands and mouth caressed my naked body, but I acknowledged to myself that there was, maybe, a little more that I would like to see.

I had bathed Jake as a baby, of course, and had been surprised and quite amazed when my infant son sometimes became erect during such activities. A few quick and cautious questions to girlfriends soon taught me that this was all perfectly normal (and between us, rather amusing), and I ignored the reaction thereafter.

The bathing continued until he was approaching his eighth birthday and declared that he no longer needed his mummy to do such things for him, and I happily handed over the duties.

Since then, however, I had only seen Jake naked a few times -- and not for at least four years. Now, though, I had to admit that I wanted to see just how much he had grown -- and how much more a certain area grew during our sensual encounters.

I had taken a chance that Thursday night and opened my eyes ever so slightly while Jake's attention was (I had hoped) focused on my body, but although I got away with the quick peek, I couldn't see what I had hoped to see. The flashlight he was using only illuminated me, and in any case, Jake was kneeling and the particular area of interest for me was out of my line of sight below the edge of the bed.

Despite my best efforts, my daily morning soul-searching and planning sessions proved fruitless when it come to finding a solution to satisfy my new desires. I was determined not to break the rules, and this meant that only a slip by Jake would bring about the desired result -- and Jake was very careful.

Saturday finally arrived and I was a little disappointed to wake to an empty house. My son had, according to the note he left me, been offered a day's overtime at the site and had jumped at the chance of making some extra cash. For me, left to my own devices and with no urgent work to do, the day promised to be long and dull.

I busied myself by catching up on some of the household chores and spent a while idly browsing the 'net for background information for my planned fashion-victim articles. I was finding it hard to concentrate on the stories I was reading and during one of my mind's moments of random thought the word 'wrestling' popped into my mind.

A flurry of excitement stirred me and I dashed outside. Jake was due home in less than an hour and my movements were hurried and not a little desperate as I sought to carry out the preparations I needed.

First I took the washing from the line and ran upstairs with it. I quickly sorted Jake's clothes from mine and dumped most of his on top of a chest of drawers where most of his clean clothes lay rumpled. One item, though, I dropped in the middle of the carpet -- a pair of ancient baggy shorts with an elasticated waist. When Jake returned from the site he would normally shower first and then pull on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt -- and if he saw those shorts laying there he would, hopefully, take the lazy option and choose those.

Next I hurried into my room and stripped off. I rummaged through one of my lingerie drawers until I found a pair of translucent panties with a slightly frayed waistband. After some gentle work with a pair of nail scissors, I slipped them on and turned the scissors onto the waistband of a pair of old running shorts. Once these were ready I pulled them on, careful not to strain the weakened waistband too much.

The top I chose was much more straightforward -- and yes, you've guessed it, a strappy, loose t-shirt.

If that outfit didn't persuade Jake to try to get me wrestling, I wasn't sure what would.

My preparations were complete once I'd located a television programme profiling the work of Vivienne Westwood, due to start not long after Jake returned home, and I settled back with a cold beer to soothe my nerves.

Mercifully, Jake arrived home at the usual time and I spent the next twenty minutes while he showered, practising my yoga relaxation breathing techniques. By the time he sauntered into the living room I must admit that I certainly felt a lot more relaxed than I had been when he'd first arrived home, and my heart-rate must have been well below a thousand beats per minute. The situation wasn't helped when I noted with barely disguised glee that he had chosen to old pair of shorts that I'd left on the floor.

"Hi, Ma!"

"Hi yourself. Good day at the office?"

"Hot as hell, but yeah, it was... oh no!"

I smiled up at him, "Anything wrong?"

Jake pointed at the television, "Another one?"

"All in the name of research, my wonderful son, and tonight you will not distract me with one of your fruitless efforts to steal the remote control."

If I had needed any confirmation of Jake's increasing boldness -- or probably desperate need -- he provided it in an instant, "Fruitless? You only won the other night because I had to answer a call of nature!"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Patronising me doesn't help your already lost cause, Ma."

"Whatever!"

I gave an involuntary giggle. Jake pounced.

So fast and unexpected was the raid, that I almost lost the remote control before I could react, but at the last second I clutched it to my belly and tried to curl my body around it.

Jake, though, learns fast and instead of chasing the prize straight away, he turned his attention to stopping me curling up. One hand grasped my left thigh and the other took hold of my upper arm and my progress was halted. I gave a grunt of what I hoped would be perceived as annoyance or frustration, but Jake had, in fact, done just what I had wanted him to do.

Before he had come into the room I had positioned myself right in the centre of the sofa, deliberately leaving myself plenty of room to either side, and now I changed my own tactics, and tried to scoot along the cushions instead of struggling to curl myself around the remote.

My sudden change of direction surprised my son and his grip loosened for a vital couple of seconds. I was almost free of his clutches before he lunged at me again, and his hands met material this time instead of flesh -- the hem of my shorts and the side of my t-shirt, just below the arm hole.

Jake's grip was strong, but my momentum carried me a few extra inches - maybe four or five. My son's firm grasp, however, meant that my clothing didn't move nearly as far.

The doctored elastic in the waistband of my shorts snapped silently, and was followed almost at once by the elastic in my skimpy panties. Together, the garments slid just over my hipbones, enough to bare the top couple of inches of my butt cheeks. My t-shirt reacted in an even more dramatic fashion. The strap over my left shoulder had slipped enough that when Jake grasped the material at the side, the strap slid down my arm, taking the front and back panels with it. I gave a genuine squeal as the very top of the shirt's front stopped just an inch above my nipples.

Jake did his damnedest not to notice and somehow managed to keep his eyes more or less focused on the remote control which I had clutched to my belly. He used one hand to try to prise it from my desperate grasp, while the other maintained a vice-like grip on the side of my t-shirt.

I risked a tentative wriggle and almost let out a moan as the t-shirt slipped just a fraction more. Not wishing to scare Jake off just yet, I tried to scoot back down the cushions, hoping that it would push my clothing back up, but Jake reacted quickly and by shadowing my move and never relinquishing his grip, the t-shirt slipped just a fraction more.

I was suddenly aware that whichever way I moved I was more than likely going to become exposed -- a thought which had flutterings of panic mixing in with an almost painful level of arousal.