Maternal Solstice

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Blannister
Blannister
111 Followers

I looked at her expectantly. Her breathing was noticeably shallow. "Okay, I'm wet." She admitted. "Let's eat."

I pulled the taco shells out of the oven, turned off the timer with a minute to go, and put three on a plate for her. After putting her plate in front of her, I impulsively gave her a quick kiss on the lips. It was just a peck, but even so, I felt my mom kiss back, ever so slightly. That made me kiss her again, pressing my lips firmly against hers, and she tilted her head slightly and pushed back again. I confess, at this point I was actually light headed, so I was more than a little bit pleasantly surprised when, after I broke contact, she put her hand behind my neck, pulled me close, and opened her mouth. Her tongue on my lips was delicious; her tongue on my tongue was erotic, my tongue on her lips still makes me hard just thinking about it. That may be the best kiss I've ever had in my life; it was a combination of love, and exploration, and lust, and the sudden explosion of having known someone completely without ever having known them at all. If I had my way, we would still be having that kiss, but about the time I had decided to shift position and wrap my arms around her, Mom's phone rang.

It was my dad. "Hey, Honey," my mom said into the phone, unconsciously pulling her robe tighter across her body. "How did your day go?" I listened to her side of a general exchange of chit chat as I finished putting things on the table. "No," she said, "I'm having a wonderful evening. I got to take a long bath while your son made dinner, and we're just sitting down to eat." She listened and then smiled. "I know," she agreed, to whatever my father's response had been. "Yeah, me too," she added. "Well, I'm glad you got there safely, and that it looks like things will work out. You'll be back tomorrow, right?" She nodded. "Okay. Well, if you need anything, give us a call. We're just planning another boring evening here." She nodded again. "Okay. Bye bye. Love you, too."

My mom looked at the confusion and desire and affection on my face and sensed that I was about to ask her an awkward question that she didn't feel like answering. She smiled sweetly at me and asked "Can you please pass me the cheese and salsa?"

We ate our tacos mostly in silence. It wasn't the awkward silence of two strangers, or the strained silence of two people who have been arguing, but rather, the silence of two people processing an enormous amount of new information, and thinking deeply about it. To be honest, I wasn't reaching any conclusions, and after rinsing my plate in the sink and putting it in the dishwasher, I sat back down at the table.

"I really like those freckles on your chest," I said randomly. She was liberally speckled in the area of her permanent tan, and I wondered why I had never noticed it before. She looked down and shrugged. "I never liked them. I always thought they were unlady like. "

"Do you want to go into the living room?" I asked.

"I think I feel better right here with a table between us," my mom replied. At least she had given me an indication of where her head was, and that she, too, was a little uncomfortable.

"Do you want me to leave?" I asked.

She shook her head without thinking about it. "No, I want you to stay. I sort of want to understand whatever I can. And try to inch along cautiously to whatever conclusion I'm going to draw about what happened tonight."

"Did Dad calling in the middle of-"

"This really has nothing to do with Dad," Mom interrupted softly. "This is about me trying to deal with the problem that my simple feelings about you are actually quite complicated. It's about how a rigid wall of right and wrong can suddenly become a tissue thin curtain, and I'm not certain what side I want to be on. "She paused for a bit and ran her fingers through her hair. "What did you hope would happen when you started all this? Was your goal to fuck me?"

Hearing her use the f-word in that context was like a slap in the face. "No. I didn't have a goal. I didn't really even have a plan. What did I hope would happen? I hoped I could see your breasts in all their glory as an adult. That was my big hope."

"Were you telling the truth before? About masturbating and thinking about me? No! You wouldn't really think about me if you were masturbating." She suddenly looked perplexed. "Would you?"

I could feel myself blushing. "Yes I have thought about you. Yes I do think about you. Yes I do know what you smell like between your legs. And yes, I will use the image of you in the bathtub in the future."

She nodded absently, as if that made sense. "So, mission accomplished, and you're back on a normal track?"

I shook my head. "No."

"No?" She arched her eyebrows at me expectantly.

"That was before we kissed."

Her face softened immediately. "Honey, that was a...a....that wasn't a kiss. Not the way you're thinking about it. I shouldn't have done that tongue in the ear thing, either – it turned out differently than I intended. "

"No, that's the problem, Mom. Those both turned out differently because you won't admit how it felt. "

She shrugged apologetically. "I feel like we're in an endless loop. We're back to whether or not your reaction was emotional or chemical."

"And I think that's stupid, because you are basically arguing that the proof of me being unable to understand intimacy on your level is that I am unable to understand intimacy on your level."

She thought about this for a while. Sighing, she shrugged. "You may be right; I don't know. Even if you are, I'm not sure it's helpful. I feel the way I feel, you feel the way you feel."

"Truth or dare." I challenged.

"What?" she asked, confusion on her face.

"Truth or dare. I think you felt just as much on that kiss as I did, but you're afraid if you admit it, then I will try to up the ante somehow that makes you uncomfortable. So let's deal with your intimacy theory one step at a time. We take turns. You can choose truth, or you can choose dare, but whatever the other person gives you, you have to do."

She looked skeptical. "What's the point? And the limits? What are the borders?"

"The point is that there is no limit. There are no borders. With that much solution space, you should be able to prove to me that I do not understand intimacy. On the other hand, I think that I can prove to you that this is about me trusting you and you trusting me. That's pretty key for intimacy, wouldn't you agree?"

She looked unconvinced. "I'll try it. But I'll tell you up front, I'm not real hopeful. Who starts?"

"My idea; I'll go first. You ask me 'truth or dare'?"

"Okay, truth or dare?"

"Dare" I answered.

"Anything?" she verified

"Anything," I confirmed.

"I dare you to take off your pants and your underwear."

In retrospect, I think she immediately regretted the dare when she saw me comply. I think she thought the game would end immediately, and we could move on to what she considered more productive conversation. So she was first surprised, and then somewhat embarrassed as I sat bare ass naked in the kitchen chair, with a woody staring at my chin, at her request. My mom kept glancing at my crotch, but she didn't want me to see her glancing at it, and finally decided to stare off into space.

"Truth or dare?" I challenged.

"Truth," she said without hesitation. She wasn't taking the chance that we would both be sitting naked at the table.

"Have you ever cheated on Dad?" I asked.

"No. I haven't. But I'm starting to appreciate the implications of this game. If I had cheated on your Dad, would I have the courage and trust to tell you? Interesting." She thought about this for a while until she realized I was waiting for her to take her turn.

"Truth or Dare?" she asked.

"Dare," I answered.

"Suck on my toes." she dared, after thinking for a few seconds.

I never really understood how she planned to interpret my response to this dare in regard to her concerns about my comprehension of intimacy. I'm pretty certain she doesn't have any kind of a foot fetish; I think she was still trying to test whether this was truly a game without limits. I carried my chair to her side of the table, my dick waving back and forth like a willow tree in a wind storm. She watched me warily, as if I might pounce suddenly. I patted my thighs and looked at her bare feet. With a sort of bemused anticipation, she lifted her feet onto my lap. I scooted a little closer to get some flex in her knees, then lifted her right foot and began nibbling on her toes. My tongue caressed each one in order. I got in between each one, and at times I had multiple toes in my mouth. I put down her right foot and started on her left. The slight parting of her legs gave me a highly motivating view of her recently wet underwear, and I was able to put a lot of tenderness in my chore. The only feedback I got was towards the end, when she closed her eyes and sighed out loud. She idly reached over with her right foot and rubbed it against my very erect penis, but I scooted back from that.

I placed her foot back in my lap. "Truth or dare?" I asked.

"Truth," she replied, without hesitation.

"Have you ever been intimate with another woman?" I asked.

"Nope." She replied. "Never even been vaguely interested. Why?" she asked.

"No reason," I answered, "just finding out who you are."

"Truth or dare?" she asked me without needing to be prompted. She seemed to be getting into the spirit of the game.

"Dare."

She laughed briefly. "We seem to have a pattern here. You're afraid of the truth, and I'm afraid of a dare."

I returned her gaze levelly. "Actions speak louder than words."

She smiled. "Okay, here's a dare that combines actions and words. Describe me in as much detail as you can."

I gathered my thoughts. I lifted her feet, went and poured myself another couple fingers of Seagram's and sat back down. I returned her feet to my lap.

"Is that uncomfortable?" my mom asked, pointing with her chin at my still erect penis. "Would it be better with pants on?"

I smiled at her. "It's your dare. That's the game. Use your choices wisely." I continued. "Describe you. Okay. You're kind. You're patient. Despite all of the grief I've given you, you're really smart." My mom smiled appreciatively at that. "Your best facial feature is your eyes. They telegraph everything; when you are going to smile, what you are going to yell; when you are deep in thought. They crinkle at the edges and it just looks stunning. Your hair looks best like it is right now. Shampooed, air dried, just sort of wherever it happens to be. I like it longer, but I know that's harder to take care of. My absolute favorite thing is to give you a hug in the morning, and bury my nose in your tangled hair and just...smell you. It's clear that the gods of genetics favored you when they were building bodies because even though you may be a couple pounds overweight, you carry it in a way that makes you more attractive than less." My mom began shaking her head in dismissal of my appraisal. "I'm right. When you go to the beach, guys stare at you. I used to get tired of my friends telling me what they would like to do with you. You aren't a standard of physical perfection, it's just that every single part of you complements another part of you. You can ignore me if you want, but the fact remains that you've got a great chest, and nobody fills out a pair of jeans nicer than you, and no, your waistline isn't Barbie thin, but you do have a noticeable waste line. The whole of you adds up to something much better than the parts of you. And you know what is really weird? You know how usually your imagination runs wild and ends up so far from reality that it's just stupid? You're just the opposite. All those times I jacked myself off imagining you, and you know what? They physical you is about ten times better than my imaginary you ever was." I took a sip of the whiskey. "I think you've got the body of a goddess and I wish I could kiss every freckle on it."

Mom's face was void of any expression. I could see she was fighting hard to keep something under control, but I wasn't sure what. Finally, a single tear escaped from one eye, and I at least had a clue.

"Is that sad, or happy?" I asked.

"It's...overwhelmed." She answered truthfully.

"Truth or dare?" I asked.

"Dare," she said, very softly.

My heart pounded, as I asked her my dare. "Put your fingers inside you and then let me taste them."

"That's not intimacy," she protested.

"It's not a chemical reaction, either," I responded.

She stood up, untied her robe, hooked her thumbs inside the bikini briefs, slid them down her legs, and stepped out of them. She resumed the same basic position she had taken during the "get wet" challenge, with her knees bent, and her heels up next to her ass, only this time there was nothing left to the imagination between her legs. I watched as she rubbed herself briefly, gently, and then one red polished nail disappeared into the dark brownish-pink flesh. I glanced at her face, and she was watching me intently. A second finger slipped in, and she moved them rhythmically, deeper and deeper. She repeated the exercise on her ring and pinky and then extended that hand toward me.

I licked the back of her fingers, and then the front. Then I took each finger into my mouth in turn, and enveloped it until the taste of her was gone.

"What do I taste like?" she asked.

I smiled. "I'll take that as my truth question," but my mom was very serious.

"You taste like sweat, and humidity, and very dry white wine mixed with honey and salt."

"If this game is about telling the truth, then I think you just forfeited," my mother accused in a husky, shaky voice.

I reached forward slowly and stroked her vulva lightly. I could see her stomach contract as she inhaled sharply at my touch. Her labia were slippery and wet, and I slowly inserted my first two fingers. I watched her face for any discomfort as I slid them both in to the last knuckle. As I gradually withdrew them she rocked her pelvis slightly. I brought my fingers up to her lips and rubbed the thick wetness across them. She licked her lips, and then my fingers.

"Do you agree I told the truth and am still in the game?" I questioned.

"I don't want to play this game anymore," she said. She let the robe slide off her shoulders, moved to me and sat across me, straddling my lap. She pulled my face close to hers and kissed me, first softly, and then again, with more abandon. Her left hand reached between us and she caressed my penis gently. My hands ran over the curves of her shoulders, the slope of her waist, the spread of her hips. I kissed her eyes, her ears, her forehead and found her mouth again. She inched closer and I could feel the moistness and the heat from between her legs on my dick. I ran my hands down the length of her back and let my right one explore the crack of her ass. When I touched her anus she squeezed my neck so tightly I could barely breathe, and her tongue went deep in my mouth. I moved my hand away and felt her relax, and I rubbed my other hand through her hair. I returned my hand to her ass and she scooted closer. I pushed my little finger into her ass, just enough to feel penetration, expecting her to flinch and pull away. Instead, she grabbed my cock with almost primal urgency and started trying to guide it inside of her. I could feel her warm lubrication sliding across the head of my penis, and I knew that I was seconds away from coming if this continued. I put both hands on her waist and slid her away.

She pulled her face away from my lips and looked at me with a cross of hunger and impatience. Her breathing was ragged, and she had not released her grip on my dick. I didn't speak, or indicate my intention; I simply took her hand away, lifted her up and sat her on the kitchen table in front of me. Her eyes widened, either from the surprise that I was able to lift her easily with my arms, or that my face was about to be buried in her crotch. She sat motionless for a bit and made it difficult for me to do anything worthwhile. I nibbled at her thighs and she gradually moved them apart; I rubbed my lips over her pubic bone and got her to squirm just a little bit, but when I started at her left knee, and drug my tongue as far up the inside of her thigh as I could get, she finally got the idea and lifted her leg up onto my shoulder as she leaned back on her hands. This tilted the right things my way, and before long her right leg was on my shoulder as well. I licked her vulva, I nibbled her clit, and I slid my tongue as far inside her as I could. Sometime in there she began real moaning, the type of noise that is difficult to distinguish if someone is in pain or in ecstasy. I stopped long enough to take hold of her hands, and lowered her until she was flat on the table. I placed her hands on her vagina, and began licking them instead of her. As she began methodically caressing herself, I moved my tongue lower and lower until I once again was at her anus with a different exploratory tool. The first time I licked her with a long slow deliberate stroke, she arched her back as if she was having a seizure and shouted, "Oh God!" I repeated the maneuver with less dramatic results, but I noticed that her hands were becoming more and more frantic. With the encouragement of enough random "yeses", I finally just settled in to pushing my tongue as deeply into her rectum as I could, in rough cadence to her hand movements. Eventually a moment came in which the moans became one long continuous howl, and she crossed her legs behind my neck and squeezed my face into her for so long I had the brief thought that if I was going to die by suffocation, this was the place I wanted it to happen.

When she finally released me, I stood up, and ran my hands up her belly. Beneath those beautiful breasts, her heart was racing, and I bent over and kissed her lips. She licked all around my mouth with her tongue. "You taste like my come," she chided.

When I bent to kiss her again, my dick rubbed up against her hypersensitive vulva, and I felt her entire pubic area shudder. She pulled me close and kissed me. "Now" she murmured.

"What?" I asked, confused.

"I need you in me now." She scooted around on the table and I climbed up between her legs. She bent her knees and rubbed her heels up and down the length of my back. Her hand guided me into her smoothly, and any plans for a gradual penetration fell by the wayside as she thrust her hips forward and took all of me inside her. Our eyes were locked on each other, and I could only hope that the feel of my swollen flesh inside of her felt as good to her as the velvet sponge furnace of her pussy felt to me. She looked at me with those expressive eyes, and I understood what she meant by intimacy, and I hoped she saw it in my eyes as well.

"Move with me," she urged.

"I can't, I'm so close, "I responded.

"Just rock," she insisted. And so we did, small tiny movements, still joined as one, she swallowing me in heat and honey, and I stayed deep deep inside her, and felt my penis pushing against her cervix, and every time she gasped and I could feel her belly contract I would push harder, and in her eyes was a quiet desperation and I kissed her, and I felt her belly contract for a long long long long time, and she nodded up at me and smiled and said, "okay," and I exploded in her with the longest continual convulsions of come I had ever had or have ever had since. I tried not to collapse my weight on top of her, but I did bury my face in her breasts. I started to pull out of her, but she grabbed my ass and held tight.

"No," she said. "Stay in me. I never want to forget what this feels like."

Blannister
Blannister
111 Followers