'Christ, he's gorgeous!'
I looked at my mother in surprise - we were sitting at a small table in the dining room of the hotel, and she was staring over my shoulder, wide-eyed, running the tip of her tongue over her full, slightly pouting red lips.
We were on a long weekend break, and had flown in this morning. We'd spent the afternoon on the beach, sunning ourselves, and my mother's skin was glowing in the softly-lit dining room. She was wearing a cream sun dress with a deeply-plunging neckline that revealed the inner curves of her swelling breasts- the dress was backless, and left her arms and shoulders bare, and with her fair, shoulder-length hair and brilliant blue eyes I thought that it was she who looked gorgeous.
'He's sitting at a table behind you, by the window, with an older woman - can you see him in the mirror, darling?'
My mother's back was to the wall, with me facing her, and behind her was a mirror that ran the length of the room, from about five feet from the floor to the ceiling, and I quickly scanned the room. It wasn't difficult to see the object of my mother's attention - he was dark-haired, deeply tanned, handsome in a flashy way, quite tall, and he was obviously looking at my mother, a slight smile on his face.
'Yes, I can see him - and it looks as though he fancies you too, Mum. Looks like a bit of a gigolo ...'
'Don't be nasty, darling! He's very good-looking, and he keeps staring at me - the look in his eyes sends shudders through me ...'
I grinned at her - she never made any secret of her voracious appetite for men, and I was used to her constantly falling in lust with someone who appealed to her. She'd just broken off with a Hungarian, and she'd confessed that his brother had often joined in, which had only doubled her pleasure.
'Let's give him something else to look at,' she murmured, and deliberately dropped her serviette to the floor. When she unhurriedly bent down to retrieve it, her dress fell away from her body, giving him - and, incidentally, me - a full view of her bra-less breasts, and then she straightened up, equally slowly, staring at the man all the while. She touched the serviette to her lips, and then took a sip of wine. 'I think he enjoyed that,' she said contentedly. I was tempted to say that I did, too, but I just grinned again.
'Dance with me, darling! And hold me close - I want to make him jealous!'
The dance floor was tiny, and it would have been difficult not to dance close together, but my mother moulded her body to mine so that she was pressed against me from her breasts to her groin, and our legs moved between each other's thighs. She slid her bare arm round my neck, and I let my hand wander over her naked back, involuntarily remembering how it had felt when I'd rubbed oil into her soft skin on the beach that afternoon.
'Turn me round, darling, so that he can admire my bum,' she whispered, and I obligingly moved round so that her back was towards him, still smoothing my hand over her shoulders, until I let it drop to her bottom, squeezing it and forced her even tighter against my crotch. Mum smiled, and snuggled her face against my neck.
'That should have done something for him, dear,' she breathed in my ear.
I grunted, and forced myself to grin. 'It certainly did something for me,' I said. It was impossible that she couldn't feel my growing erection, and she giggled.
'Don't be silly, darling - I'm your mother!'
When we got back to our table Mum took a sip of wine, staring at the man over the rim of her glass. Our table was tiny, and our knees were touching, but she swung her legs sideways and crossed them in full view of the man, her skirt eased high up her bare thighs.
'That woman with him - look at her!' The man's companion was a dumpy, plain-looking woman, but expensively dressed, with glittering jewellry at her throat and wrists, and she gobbled her food hungrily, all the while talking to the man who appeared not to pay any attention.
'I bet she's his wife - and she's rich, and he married her for her money!' my mother said speculatively. 'And he's looking for a woman who's - more interesting!'
Just then the woman got up and waddled towards the powder room. The man looked round and signalled to a waiter, and when he hurried over the man borrowed a pen and paper and scribbled something, and then nodded towards my mother. The waiter brought the note to our table and my mother looked at it. She smiled and looked at the man, then raised the note to her lips. Then she looked at the waiter.
'Please tell the gentleman "Room 504"', she said, and the waiter nodded and bowed. 'Certainly, Madame!'
Room 504 was my mother's room, and she looked at me excitedly. 'The note said, "I want you"!'
We leisurely finished our meal, with my mother constantly exchanging glances with the man. Mum and I danced again, even more erotically than before – when we approached his table, she rubbed her breasts against my chest and brushed her lips against mine while she stared at him suggestively, as if to say 'I wish this was you I was doing these things to!'
When we returned to our table, she slipped her hand into her dress and deliberately fondled her breast for his benefit, and again crossed her legs, letting her skirt ride up even higher than before. But then the wife got to her feet, and the man reluctantly rose with her. He smiled at my mother sadly and shrugged helplessly, and they both left the restaurant.
My mother tried to hide her disappointment, and not long afterwards we, too, went up to our rooms. They were adjoining, with a connecting door between them – Mum was holding my hand, and I went into her room with her. She sighed.
'I expect he's fucking that cow, and thinking of me!' she said. She shivered. 'I wonder what he'd like to do to me ...' then her face brightened. 'Perhaps he'll come later! Good night, darling! Sleep tight! If he does come, I'll try not to make too much noise!'
She kissed me on the lips – she was probably still thinking of the man, and was obviously excited, because the kiss was surprisingly passionate, with her mouth working on mine for several long moments – she didn't object when I put my arm around her, with my hand on her bare back as I pressed her against me, and then I went into my own room, once again nursing a throbbing erection.
The next morning we had breakfast by the pool – Mum was wearing a cotton beach robe over her bikini, and I wasn't the only one to look at her body admiringly. But her face showed her disappointment.
'He didn't come to my room, darling,' she said miserably. 'I waited and waited, but ... I suppose he couldn't get away from that old bitch of his. But I know he wanted to, wanted to have me instead ...'
After breakfast we swam in the pool, and then stretched out side by side on sun-beds. I'd brought a book, partly to take my mind off my mother's body, and I was just getting into it when Mum put her hand on my arm.
'Here they come, darling! God, isn't he wonderful?'
The man and his fat wife appeared, and I saw him glance around until he spotted my mother. His face lit up, and he guided the woman to a couple of loungers at right angles to ours, and they settled down. I studied the woman – she had small, piggy eyes and a tight, thin-lipped mouth, and she had on a one-piece bathing suit from which her vast breasts bulged. Her hair was unnaturally black, the colour that only comes from a bottle, and her thighs were flabby, and when the man started to rub her back with oil her fat shoulders wobbled beneath his hands. My mother, by contrast, had a firm, luscious body, and she radiated sexuality from every pore as she smiled demurely at the man.
The morning passed slowly – I was acutely conscious of the unspoken flirtation that was going on, with my mother constantly wriggling to give the man a better view of her, raising first one knee and then the other, parting her legs invitingly, and rubbing herself with oil. At last, she glanced around – many of the women were topless, and she reached behind her back to unfasten her bikini top. She let it drop to the ground, and proceeded to rub oil on her naked breasts, her nipples stiffening as she circled her palms on her breasts, all the while watching the man's reactions. I had reactions of my own, feeling my penis hardening as I looked at her.
There was a coffee bar by the poolside, and when the man got up and went over to it my mother jumped to her feet and followed him, her full breasts swinging provocatively. I saw her rub herself against him as they stood side by side, and they exchanged a few words, wwhile she gazed at him adoringly. When she returned carrying two plastic cups of coffee her eyes were sparkling and her face was flushed, and when I glanced at her nipples I saw that they were jutting rigidly.
'He wanted to know who you were, and I told him you were my young lover!' She giggled. 'He said that you looked young enough to be my son! I said you were wonderful, with fantastic stamina, but that it was all right – you didn't mind sharing me – and then he said "tonight", darling! – That was all – just "tonight", but it was enough!' Mum said delightedly as she handed me a coffee.
I sighed to myself – I knew that I'd hear all about it later. For as long as I could remember my mother had had a compulsion to talk about sex, and as I was the only one around she seemed to forget that I was her son, and she chatted to me like a friend and confidant, or maybe a confessor. After she'd been with a man she invariably came into my room, sometimes just in her underwear, or a short slip with nothing under it, or maybe a robe, and insisted on telling me about it. I always slept in the raw, and the sight of her with hardly anything on, talking about sex while I was lying in bed naked made me, to say the least, hugely uncomfortable. Sometimes I rested my hand on her bare leg, or she'd snuggle against me and I'd put my arm round her, feasting my eyes on her cleavage, and more than once her breasts were completely visible if she wasn't wearing a bra.
'He was wonderful! He came again and again! It nearly killed me!' she'd say. Another time it was 'Darling, he was beautifully hung, and I sucked him like mad. I love having a man's cock in my mouth!' And once: 'He looked me up and down, and my blood ran cold. I knew he wanted to hurt me, and I could hardly wait. Sometimes I like a man to be rough with me. Look what he did to me!' She was still wearing her dress, and she hoisted it up to show me the bruises he'd made on her thighs, apparently forgetting that at some stage she'd lost her panties, and I got a glimpse of her neatly trimmed bush. Then she slipped the dress off her shoulder so that I could see the marks on her breast and back.
It wasn't only after she'd had sex that she wanted to talk – almost anything would set her off. One Saturday morning she was loading the washing machine, and she looked down at herself. She was wearing a brightly coloured patterned sweater and tight jeans, and she peeled off the sweater and tossed it into the machine. 'It's about time it had a wash,' she said. She never bothered about wandering around half naked. Sometimes she'd come out of the bathroom clutching a towel to her breasts, undisturbed that from behind she was completely naked, and I'd stare at her bare back and swaying bottom.
Now, her bra consisted of a couple of scraps of virtually transparent lace that revealed her nipples in all their glory, but she just sat down at the kitchen table unconcernedly. 'I've only just realised – I had a sweater just like that when I was a girl!' she said.
She giggled. 'I was wearing it – or rather, I had been wearing it – when I lost my virginity! I used to go around with these three boys – two brothers and their cousin. They were four or five years older than me. It started off with me asking them to kiss me, and then I made them feel my tits. We went round to the cousin's house one Sunday when his parents were out, and I asked them if they'd like to see me with nothing on. Then we started kissing and touching each other, but of course it didn't end there, and soon the oldest boy had his dick in me, and then they had me in turns all afternoon!'
Afterwards I saw my mother with her jeans undone, her hand down inside her panties, probably thinking about that first time as she fingered herself ...
Once we were watching TV when and old Spencer Tracy film came on, and Mum shivered. 'He always reminds me of a boyfriend – man friend, really - I had when I was a girl. He was in his forties, old enough to be my father, and I let him abduct me for a week. He kept me naked the whole time, and he had these toy handcuffs, and sometimes he used them on me. Sometimes he chained me to the kitchen table. He just grabbed me whenever he liked and had me ... if I did anything wrong he'd slap me, and then have me ... one night he made me sleep on the floor naked, with just a blanket ... I loved it ...'
But now, suddenly it was lunchtime, and the man and his wife went into the hotel. After a while they appeared at their table by the window, overlooking us at the poolside. My mother rolled onto her stomach, her head pillowed on her arms, looking towards them.
'Rub me with some oil, darling – I want him to see your hands on me!'
Dutifully, I perched on the sun bed beside her and started to rub oil on her, starting with her back and shoulders and working my way down. I paused long enough to let my fingers stroke the sides of her bare breasts, and Mum wriggled involuntarily. Her bikini bottom was just a skimpy triangle of material that made no attempt to cover her rounded cheeks, and when I reached it I sank my fingers into her exposed flesh, moving on to the backs of her smooth thighs.
We were both aware of the man watching my every move, and I deliberately slid my hand between her legs, letting him see me touching her sex through the thin material. Then I started working on her bottom in earnest, squeezing her yielding cheeks and letting my fingers creep inside her bikini bottom until they slid into the crack between her buttocks and linger for a long moment, and Mum gave a little gasp.
'Look at him, darling! You're driving him crazy!'
I was driving myself pretty wild, too, caressing her like that, even if it was for the man's benefit. It reminded me of the time Mum had spent the night with a man who had beaten her. The next day she soaked in the bath, and then she lay face down on her bed, naked apart from a towel draped across her bottom, and she'd asked me to rub some cream on her bruises.
'He used a strap on me, darling. Not too hard, but enough to sting and be nice and painful. Once or twice he hit me harder than he'd intended, but I didn't mind ... and afterwards the sex was fantastic!'
I thought the marks on her soft body were beautiful, and as I smeared cream on them I managed to kiss them without her noticing. The towel was soon discarded, and I fondled her bottom as I massaged her with cream, and she appeared not to notice when my fingers strayed between her legs, as they were doing now ...
But after a while Mum made me stop, and we had beer and sandwiches by the pool. She sighed. 'It was nice having someone's hands on me, darling, even if he was my son!'
As soon as the man and his wife reappeared Mum said she wanted to go down onto the beach, and sure enough they followed us, despite the woman obviously protesting. We found a spot to spread out our beach towel, and the man found a place nearby, and once again my mother made sure he had a good view of her body.
Then she decided that we should go in for a swim. We were both good swimmers, and for a while I forgot about the man, although not my mother's body, because we fooled around a good deal, dunking each other under the surface, giving me plenty of opportunities to touch her apparently accidentally.
When we finally waded out of the sea hand in hand we were only a few feet from the man and his wife, and then Mum stumbled, dragging me onto my knees beside her. She laughed, and the surf swept up between her legs and over her body, draining between her bare breasts before rushing up over her again. The water glistened in droplets on her skin as she tried to struggle up, with me helping her, but she fell again, this time face down. When she finally got to her feet she was covered in sand, and she tried ineffectually to brush it off her.
'Come back in the sea and wash this stuff off me, darling!' she cried, and I followed her until we were waist deep in the water.
I started to rinse the sand off her back, and then let my hands roam to brush her breasts, and Mum giggled. 'Did you see the look on his face when I was crawling round like that?' She hesitated, then: 'Kiss me darling! As if you meant it! Let him see you!'
I needed no urging, and I took her wet, practically naked body in my arms and covered her mouth with mine. I kissed her passionately, and I felt my mother yield against me, her naked breasts pressed against my bare chest, and for an unguarded moment she returned the kiss eagerly, her arms round my neck, until finally she broke away, laughing uncertainly.
'I – I didn't mean you to get carried away quite like that, darling! But I hope it did something for him!'
We returned to our towel, and stretched out side by side. After a while, my mother rolled on her side towards me, and ran her hand over my chest. Her bare breasts were resting against my arm, and she lazily circled my nipple with her forefinger. Then her lips brushed my ear as she nuzzled against me, and she whispered 'I bet he's thinking that I'm telling you what I'm going to do to you later!' Eventually she finished the performance by draping her leg across my thigh, and lowering her head to suck my nipple ...
That evening, Mum wore a short, strapless dress with the skirt slit almost to her hip – most women would have been constantly hitching up the top, but she tugged it down to reveal her swelling breasts practically to their nipples. We went down to dinner early, and my mother suggested we have a drink in the bar before going into the restaurant.
We sat at the bar sipping our drinks – my mother wriggled sideways on her stool to cross her legs, and of course the slit skirt fell away, baring her thighs completely. Just then the man and his wife appeared, on their way to the restaurant, but when he saw us he steered his wife into the bar and they sat down at a small table where he could feast his eyes on my mother.
She began to idly rub the outside of her foot up and down her other calf, and I realised that every time she raised her knee the man got a good view of her panties – if she was wearing any. Then she smiled at me seductively.
'Put your hand on my leg, darling, and leave it there – I want to see his reaction!'
I dropped my hand to her warm, soft bare thigh, and she ginned at me mischievously. 'He's looking at you as if he wants to kill you!'
I stroked her thigh, feeling her smooth skin taut over her beautiful shapely muscles while we stared at each other while she looked at the man out of the corner of her eyes.
'That's right – look at me as though you want me! Now, let's try this!' and she put her hand on my groin. Her eyes widened when her fingers touched my erection.
'Darling, you're getting carried away again! Don't be silly – it's only pretending. And anyway, I told you, I'm your mother!' Then, quite deliberately, she squeezed me, glancing at the man from the corner of her eye, and I felt my penis harden even more.
When we got up to go into the restaurant, I slipped my arm round my mother's waist – all the way round, until I could briefly squeeze her breast while the man watched. When we went in, my mother's bare leg emerging completely from her slit skirt with every step, and we sat at our usual table. It wasn't long before the man and his wife followed us, and I noticed that she was as red as a lobster from her day in the sun. I mentioned it to my mother, and she laughed.