Anticipation

I wondered whether watching Betty would teach me any new tricks but decided to let him learn alone for now. While Betty was being blindfolded and four or five hands were seen roaming over her huge tits, I carried a glass of water to him. "You should have some water too before you hit the hay." I was facing him as I bent to put the glass on the coffee table in front of him, anticipating before I did that his eyes and thoughts would fix on the outline of my perfect nipples poking through the sarong. "Goodnight honey, come to bed whenever you're ready; I'll probably be in a dreamless sleep in two minutes."

I have experience at lying awake for long periods anticipating when a man will enter the darkness of my room. So I was ready the half an hour later when my son joined me.

I anticipated he'd be shirtless and in the loose shorts he'd been wearing for Betty.

I felt the mattress as he tried to slide onto the bed without making a movement or sound to wake me. A full moon outside the window lighting me as I lay with my back to him. Anticipating him looking at me, seeing the sarong that I'd lifted and thrown open as if it had ridden up in the stirrings of my sleep. My ass so tantalizingly almost bare. Anticipating his thoughts. "If she moves just a fraction that cloth will probably slip off and I'll see those cheeks fully"

Then, breaking the silence, a test. "Goodnight mom."

I made no reply. A few minutes later I gave the snore sound of a sleeping persons brief strangled snort. "Mom, are you awake?" Said quieter than before. No reply, I'm quietly anticipating.

The feeling was so gentle, so minuscule, so invisible that I couldn't be sure it wasn't just an anticipated movement rather than an actual one. But had he just ever so carefully lifted that sarong to expose my naked ass?

My eyes tight shut, I lay there anticipating his next move.

Would he spoon up behind me? As my father had.

I recall the first time my father spooned up behind me in bed. I was 18 then as my son is now.

It was a cold night and I remember hearing his distinctive cough in the corridor, then my bedroom door opening.

He always took his time, my father.

It seemed quite a few minutes before I sensed the covers lifted and the cold air against the back of my nightie. There was another gap in time before I felt the mattress sink and he was lying behind me, the covers thrown back over us.

Then, snuggling up close to keep us both warm, he put his arm over my side and spooned up against me. I wondered whether I was meant to know he was there or if he was being so slow and gentle thinking I was asleep. I kept quiet thinking he would say something if he expected me to be awake.

He never made a sound or said anything in all those months he came to my bed. And nor did I.

It was warm and comforting feeling my fathers loving arms around me and I began to drift off close to sleep.

His arm over me moved. His hand cupping my breast. I wondered if he'd fallen asleep himself. The fingers on the hand began to move also. Feeling for and fondling at my nipple through the bra under my nightie. He must be awake surely? Or is he trapped in a dream?

I knew he must be awake when his fingers found and undid the two buttons at the top of my nightie. His hand sliding inside to again cup and fondle me through the bra.

When his hand moved again it was to be between my legs lifting the bottom of my nightie. My fathers fingers on the front of my panties, the same circular probing fondle that I'd felt through my bra.

The court shrinks were right about one thing only. This is when my anticipation of pleasure began. The next night I was waiting for him, already wet in anticipation. They were wrong to think I'd testify against him and they were wrong to think they could get a conviction without it. No body has ever been found and a 'victim' saying there was no crime, what did they expect? I anticipated his arrival the next night.

I knew even when they were young and budding and boys and men alike would stare at them, that my breasts were something special. When my father took his time slipping into bed behind me that next night, I had a special surprise for him. I had no bra under my nightie. His fingers inside my nightie, playing at my naked nipples, were more lusty and exploring than they had been the night before. When my fathers fingers found my already moist panties, they were more vigorous and probing there too. He would push and poke at them till they began to enter my slit. Then he stopped.

And took his time.

He was still in the bed but his arm was no longer over me. The mattress and sheets told me he was squirming around doing something.

Then it started over again; as slowly and filled with anticipation as before.

First his arm over my side to cuddle me. Then a gap of anticipation. Then the hand cupping me. Then anticipation. After a gap that was some nights a few seconds and some nights minutes, his fingers again were inside my nightie fondling my breasts. But there was also a different sensation.

Something firm, thicker than any finger, was rubbing up and down against the back of my panties. As my fathers fingers moved between naked nipples and panties wetness the rubbing continued, getting faster. As was his warm breath on the back of my neck. The next morning I found a dried crusty stain on the sheet behind where I lay.

On the night I left my panties off, something different happened. It wasn't just that the finger between my legs was able to find its way deeply inside me and dance passionately against my wanting clitoris; there was also no rubbing against my butt. Instead my leg was lifted and pulled back over my fathers.

Then there was a gap of anticipation.

The hand over me again lifted my thigh, then slipped deep between my legs and pulled something back with it. I could feel my fathers thick stiff cock hard against the mouth of my wet pussy. Smoothly and expertly he pushed his cock into me. And waited. Buried deep inside me not moving.

When he was ready he began to fuck me. Gently and slowly at first. My fathers hand gripping tightly at my breast as his passion and pace increased. Some nights he would cum quickly, others he would fuck long and hard. Always silently. I would sometimes finger the deposit of cum after he left.

I thought once of changing my position for him. By now it was summer and lying on top of the covers I would wear nothing to bed but one of his old cotton shirts, already unbuttoned and waiting for his fingers to find my perfect tits. As I heard him enter the room, I rolled onto my back my eyes closed tight.

He took longer than usual to approach the bed. I anticipated him undressing, getting ready to spread my legs and mount me in the missionary position. The first feeling of his presence was the opening wide of my shirt. On my back fully naked to him for the first time. His fingers on my breasts were more delicate and roaming than usual. He was running a soft feather touch over my young body. Tickling my nipples till they were swollen and erect. His fingers in my pussy were also more intimate and giving than usual. It was like he was looking at my body with his hands, gently seeing the curves of my breasts, affectionately watching my wetness flow onto his fingers. My father would insert two fingers into me and excite my clitoris to produce more juice, then remove his fingers and in the pause I'd anticipate their return. I knew he was dipping his fingers in to cover them with juice, but I never knew if it was to put them in his mouth or to smear them over his cock. After a few pause filled dips he would stop. But he would still be in the room.

I'd be on the cusp of orgasm, anticipating the very moment when he'd make the next move. My skin was alive and waiting for a touch - would it be a hand on my knees or feet pushing my legs wider for him to put his legs between, or his own knees forcing their way between mine, or a pussy wet finger drawing circles around my nipple? I anticipated all these touches and more. The gap of anticipation between touches was longer than any before, the absence of any sound, no hot breath on the back of my neck, no tiny telltale vibrations through the mattress. I lay there unmoving, eyes shut in ecstasy.

Then finally an unanticipated touch upon my senses. A string of cum tossed across my belly. Then another. Across both tits. A few drops of cum dribbled among the strings.

That's how it was with my father, sometimes on my back sometimes on my side, sometimes I'd leave my panties on, sometimes I'd be completely naked. Always we'd never make a sound and always my eyes would be screwed up tight. In all those months I never touched his cock once. I never felt it in my hand. I never saw it.

I thought about my fathers cock now, with my son lying silently behind me. I never felt my fathers cock. I anticipated a time when I'd feel my sons.

With the exception of some faint vibrations through the mattress (I anticipated he was masturbating) there'd been no movement or sound from my son since the thought that he may have lifted my sarong. Remembering the good times with my father, I'd been anticipating my son spooning up behind me in the same way. Thinking of my fathers untouched cock, I began to anticipate a different 'thing' with my son.

I rolled onto my back. My eyes closed to him in the moonlight. I paused there in anticipation. Will he be anticipating at this time tomorrow?

I rolled onto my side. My arm going over where I anticipated his chest would be. He was on his back.

A whispered question. "Mom?" There's enough light from the moon. Is he looking at me? Eyes shut. Silent. No more movement. Anticipating he'll think I'm asleep.

When I was ready; when the anticipation had built up in me and when, since it was his first time, the anticipation in him had subsided; I moved my arm again. Down his chest. My hand on his other side pausing in anticipation at his hip.

His shorts still on.

Had he been masturbating after all? Anticipating the possibilities. Perhaps he'd been masturbating with his hand in the pants, perhaps he'd been lying innocently all along. 'My thing' titillated by the unknown before and the unknown to come.

He may still think these are casual movements in sleep. I moved my hand. Flat across the front of his groin. I could feel the soft lump under my palm. I couldn't decide if it had been so long since his masturbation that he'd gone soft by now anyway, or he'd never been hard, or he was just so nervous about what was happening that any erection had shrunk away in shyness. I cupped my hand and paused. He'd know I was awake now surely? "Mom?" One last almost inaudible inquiry. Along with the silence I gave him, I moved my hand to cover his flat firm belly. The tip of my fingers touching the top of his pants.

The anticipation for me was exciting. His mind would be racing. Is she really awake? But would she have cupped me like that if she is? His cock stirring uncertainly with the thoughts. Beginning to swell at the memory of the first hand other than his own to touch him there. Shrinking in embarrassment on second thoughts. Growing again the longer the hand on his belly felt warm and close but wasn't actually moving back into the discovery zone.

He would have no doubt now that I'm not asleep. Wouldn't he? My fingers, sticking close to his stomach, slid down and under the elastic of his pants. Continued on inside his underpants. Cupping my sons naked cock and balls as I had before over his pants.

As before, I also paused. Anticipating a curious "Mom?" But he was silent. The longer the silence the longer my excitement grew with the anticipation.

I started by wriggling and toying with my cupping fingers. Then feeling the weight of his balls, then his cock, in my hand.

Looking into his curious interested face with my eyes wired shut, I began to slowly fondle my sons cock. Squeezing lightly near the head then stroking down to roll the foreskin back. It only took a few easy movements of my hand and his cock began to swell.

As you know by now 'my thing', the thing that turns me on the most, is not seeing not knowing what my lover will do next. I had never really known until this moment that my son would get turned on at my touch. I had a silent unmoving orgasm at the pleasure of a realized anticipation.

I could feel a droplet of wetness run coolly across the top of my leg to the bed. My sons cock was beginning to grow hard in my hand.

Stiff and fully erect, my sons cock was hard to stroke in the tight space of his shorts. I won't take it out for him. Let him learn, as I had with my father, that if he wants to anticipate something he should prepare for it properly.

Though my anticipation of his erection had been satiated, there was still lots for me to anticipate. When would he cum; this stroke, this stroke, THIS stroke? How would he cum; with a violent jerking of his hips, with a groan or silent like his grandfather?

I thought of his grandfathers cock then. The time it had been buried deep inside me. Is this how it would have felt in my hand, is he the same size, is there some genetics to it, was he circumcised also?

My sons cock felt beautiful in my hand. I suppressed a smile of pleasure and kept my eyes closed. Stroking him faster. Stroke stroke stroking harder and more urgently. Feeling his cock muscles tighten during one stroke, his cock puffing out. I knew he was close. Anticipating; he'll cum this stroke, this stroke, THIS stroke.

And then he came.

In the confined space of his underpants, my sons cumming cock covered my fist with cum.

I took my hands from my sons pants, rolled over, put the cummy hand between my legs where he couldn't see, and went to sleep.