Coming Home

You see, it wasn't that I didn't want a blow-job from my mother. I wanted one more than could possibly be imagined. More than anyone anywhere had ever wanted a blow-job in the entire history of the world. Of the universe. Of creation. More than words could ever dare to hope to describe...

But... If she had dropped down and taken me in her mouth right then, as worked up as I was, as so incredibly turned on as I was, I wouldn't have been able to last more than a couple of seconds. At best. I mean, I had been near to blowing in her hand moments before. There was no way that I could have lasted as long as I would've liked. As long as I needed to -- to really appreciate it, to form the memories that would stay with me the rest of my life.

There was no telling if another opportunity like this would ever present itself again. This could be my one and only chance to fulfill my dreams. My one shot at my fantasy. If I blew it (literally) after just a couple seconds, I would curse myself forever for not having had made it last longer. And there were so many things that I still wanted to do to her...

Her head popped clear of her shirt and I continued lifting it upward, forcing her long, slender arms up over her head as I worked to pull them free as well. Stretched as she was, I had a perfect view of her sleek, supple body, and I let my eyes rove over it hungrily, soaking it all in. Soaking her in.

It had been a couple years since I'd been home, and a couple years more even since I'd seen her in anything as revealing as a bathing suit. (You don't really spend a lot of time hanging out with your mom after you can drive). So, now, having her here in front of me in just a bra and a pair of jeans was not just an amazing sight, but a welcome reminder of what I'd been missing. Despite those nearly four years that had passed, and having to live up to my insanely lofty expectations (due undoubtedly to having fantasized about her for so long), I was happy to see that she looked as remarkable as ever.

I'd already checked out her ass a number of times during the course of the night, and had glimpsed a flash or two of cleavage, but that was with clothes on. I was well aware that the proper clothes, done right, could be used to make a woman look better than she really did. Fortunately, in this case, the clothes were mere window dressing for what lay beneath.

She was every bit as stunning as I remembered.

Her slender waist pinched in at the hips, and it was plain to see that she hadn't gained any weight during my time away. If anything, she might have lost some. Her belly was taut and tight, the skin smooth and toned and I wondered briefly if she was working out now. She seemed somehow firmer, leaner than I recalled. But that thought quickly faded as my eyes travelled eagerly onward and upward. Her bra was light-green and lacy, not one of those ridiculous padded things that women seem to think they need, and complimented rather than enhanced the natural pertness of her breasts. Also, happily, it did nothing to disguise how hard her obviously-erect nipples were. Perfect, little round bullets staring right back at me, practically begging for my attention. My mouth grew dry and my pulse quickened.

I tossed her shirt carelessly aside, eager to continue, and she let her arms drop and form a loose circle around my neck. Her eyes danced merrily, albeit wobbly, and she showed no signs of being the least bit disturbed at now standing shirtless in front of me. I admired the sweet curve of her breasts again, the cute little indent of her belly-button.

I was very conscious of the next move, but emboldened by the alcohol and the complete lack of any hesitancy on her part so far, I felt that it was important to push on. To not let a lull develop. I didn't want to push too fast -- wanting to take my time and appreciate and savor her body in all of its minuteness -- but neither did I want to move too slow. I didn't want the urgency and fire that was racing through us, pushing us into this most forbidden of trysts, to dampen and fade. I didn't want the moment to unravel.

I brought my hands lightly to her waist, loving the feel of her smooth skin against my fingertips, and then began to slowly slide them upward. Not too slowly. But not too eager either. I brushed across her ribs--"ooh, that tickles," she murmured--and then cautiously slid them around to her back and up to the firm skin beneath her shoulder blades. I gently pulled her forward, easing my arms around her, while my hands methodically homed in on where her bra hooked together.

Her hands were running lightly through my hair, and she made no move to stop me as I located the clasp and went to work on it. Luckily, it wasn't one of those monstrosities that took an instruction manual and the better part of an hour to figure out. Instead, it only had two small hooks, and I had it undone in a matter of seconds.

As it sprang apart, my mom favored me with another compliment and I felt my confidence beginning to rise. "Mm, very smooth," she whispered, her tongue flicking out to touch my ear, her hands gripping my hair a little more firmly. I felt a sudden surge of pride run through me, along with the pleasant tingle caused by her tongue, and it occurred to me that maybe college had taught me something useful after all.

Emboldened, I let my hands glide effortlessly up the smooth ridges of her shoulder-blades to the rounded curves of her shoulders themselves. This pulled her even closer to me, the hardened tips of her breasts now grazing against my chest, and I took a moment to inhale deeply of her hair where it tumbled off from her neck. It smelled of perfume, smoke from the bar, and just enough sweat to make it enticing.

Yet, as much as I enjoyed that position, I didn't hold it for long. I had more important things to get to. Hooking my pinkies around the straps of her bra, I recommenced my hands' passage over her shoulders, and slid them tenderly onto the smooth slopes of her upper arms.

It was here that I had to exert a little bit of force -- just a touch -- to show her what I wanted, and a moment later, she lowered her arms from around my neck. As they fell, I guided them slowly downward, toward her sides, pulling the bra along behind. Finally, with both of our arms hanging almost straight down, I released the trailing straps, and the bra slid the rest of the way off her arms and dropped to the floor with barely a sound.

My mother was now standing completely, utterly topless directly in front of me, and despite the fact that we were standing too close together for me to see anything yet, the simple knowledge that I was about to was enough to set my heart aflutter. This was it. It was actually going to happen. I was finally about to see that which I had strived so hard and so long for. Barely able to breathe, I eased a step back and gazed down for the first time at my mother's half-nakedness.

I can't even begin to hope to describe how wonderfully amazing and incredibly perfect they were! Perfect in every sense of the word. At least to my eyes. They jutted from her chest stunningly. Two twin little mountains. No sag, none of that flopping over onto the skin below, just two pert and perky handfuls of joy. Capped by the cutest, tightest, most mouth-watering little pink nipples ever created by God.

Nipples that I had dreamed of for so long. That I had tried so hard and so diligently to catch sight of for years. That I had fantasized about kissing, and licking, and rubbing my face against since I couldn't even remember when. Nipples that I wanted so badly to suck on right now, it was like a painful, primal need.

And so that's what I did. I leaned forward and licked lightly at her distended nipple. Her perfect, pink, tantalizing little nipple.

As I did so, I realized that I was holding my breath. That I was still unsure if this was going to be the act that finally broke the trance, that brought reality crashing back in. Was this going to be the one and only taste of my mom that I ever got?

She gasped, and I half-expected to be shoved forcefully away. Or maybe slapped. But instead, her hands went back into my hair and pulled my face roughly closer. Her already-hard nipple tightened up even more under the wet caress of my tongue, and she hissed out a long, sibilant "yessss!"

Emboldened, I let myself be drawn in tight against her bosom and sucked that sweet little nub into my mouth, running my tongue around it in long, slow swirls. She reacted even more enthusiastically, her fists tightening up in my hair, her hiss turning into a long, drawn-out moan.

"Mmmmm, yeah... that's it baby. That's it... suck mommy's titties."

Well, I'll tell you, I never thought to hear those words come out of my mother's mouth. But when they did, it was like throwing gasoline on my already burning fire. My lust level skyrocketed up to an even higher level, and my tongue renewed its vigorous assault on her turgid nipple. Now there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that she was into this as much as me. I no longer had to worry about pushing the boundary too far; I could push forward with impunity and truly enjoy myself.

Still suckling at her nipple like a thirsty newborn, I now slid my hands up to assist in the attack. I cupped those magnificent breasts gently in my hands, hefting them lightly, getting a feel for their size and weight. Relishing in my first ever feel of my mother's forbidden fruits. They were soft, yet firm, and seemed to fit perfectly in my hands. Like they were meant to be there.

My fingers roamed their surface, squeezing, caressing, taking note of every little, tiny detail. Storing it in my mind for future reference. I moved my mouth from one breast to the other, kissing and licking across the luscious valley in between. Tasting her sweat and perfume. Bathing in her aroma.

Her nipples were diamonds in my mouth. Hard, smooth, little gems that elicited moans of approval every time I flicked them with my tongue. I licked, sucked, bit, nibbled, slurped and slobbered over those mouthwatering, little nubs. All while she purred with pleasure, and occasionally muttered out some naughty encouragement. "Suck on mommy... suck mommy's titties."

But as enjoyable as it was, it was far from my ultimate goal. Far from the fantasies of my youth-- when I used to sniff her dirty panties and masturbate, and imagine what I would do to her if I ever got the chance. Well, here was that chance! Or the closest thing that I was ever going to get to it. And I'd be damned if I wasn't going to at least make the attempt to make some of them come true.

Still working her nipple in my mouth, I slid my hands down between us and went to work on her belt. It took a little fumbling with, my hands were so eager and excited and I wasn't used to working a belt backwards, but I finally managed to unclasp it. Then, no longer hesitating, I followed with the button and zipper of her jeans in rapid succession.

Unlike my jeans -- that had slid off my waist easily, and now had worked their way all the way down to my ankles -- her jeans stayed put, held in place by her sweet curves. I fumbled at them, sliding my fingers inside the waist and trying to push them down but my efforts were rebuffed. I tried a little bit harder, trying to shrug them off, back and forth, but still the denim clung stubbornly to the enticing swell of her hips, stymieing my every move.

What the fuck?! What are these, some kind of chastity jeans? I pushed on them again, but they refused to obey my wishes. Wouldn't slide down over her hips. And I was so close... so fucking close. Please don't do this! Please! Things were going so well. Please God, don't fail me now.

Despite my pleas, I failed to force her pants any lower, and now I had lost track of my oral ministrations on her breasts as well. She groaned out her disappointment and pushed my head away from her body. As I stepped back, wondering if I'd finally done it, if I'd finally blown my golden opportunity, she reached down with both hands and -- with a couple wiggles of her butt -- forced the offending jeans down over her hips.

Once clear of that obstacle, they easily slid the rest of the way down to puddle around her ankles. With a mischievous grin, she kicked her feet clear of them (somehow managing not to stumble in her drunkenness) and stood before me in nothing but her panties.

They were light-green silk with lace around the edges (the same as her discarded bra), and the way they tapered to two thin strands around her hips, I knew that they were a thong. Instantly, my heart ratcheted up another notch. She had always had a wide array of panties, from silk bikinis (her mainstays) to clingy boy-shorts, but there was no doubt that, above all, the thongs had been my favorites.

Snuggled up into the cleft of her ass all day, they were the most aromatic. Rife with the smell of her pussy and ass and all their various secretions. I couldn't begin to count how many times I had strung the thin strand of one of her soiled thongs beneath my nose and sucked the stained cotton crotch into my mouth, while imaging how great it would've been to trade places with that thong for a day.

Even now, just the simple knowledge that a thin piece of fabric was wedged up my mother's crack, probing at her pussy lips, hugging her tight, puckered asshole, thirstily sucking up all of her womanly scents--it was enough to make my mouth water and my head spin. Enough to start my pulse pounding, my cock throbbing, and make me willing to do anything, anything, for just one smell of their delicious dirtiness.

"See something you like?" my mother quipped, flashing me a coquettish smile.

Something I liked? Dear God, I was staring at the most amazing, incredible, wonderful thing I had ever seen in my life. The thing that I had dreamed about for years. Heaven on Earth, Nirvana, the Garden of Eden... whatever term you wanted to use for it -- it was staring right back at me.

I wanted to tell her that--all of that and more. To impress upon her just what a wonderful gift she was giving me, how beautiful she was, the things I was willing to do for her. But like an idiot, my brain was too stunned to work, my mouth slack, unable to speak. All I could do was nod my head dumbly.

She didn't seem to mind. Reaching down, she seductively traced a finger across the front of her panties, highlighting the damp spot that had formed there. "I believe there was some talk of seeing to a lady's need?" she queried. Her finger continued to stroke the thin silk of her panties right where I figured her clit to be, making a subtle 'come hither' motion, beckoning me forward.

I took the two steps and fell obediently to my knees. Already, the smell of her arousal was wafting out around me, and I could see that the wet spot was continually growing, stretching up to meet her finger, the silk beneath clinging stickily to her slightly parted lips. Entranced by the sight, intoxicated by the smell, I was drawn forward like a bee to a flower. Unable and unwanting to resist.

Her hand reached out to cup the back of my head anyway, guiding it forward the last few inches, pressing me firmly up against her dampened, panty-covered mound. I inhaled deeply, loudly, almost delirious in my desire, and she responded with a soft moan of her own, her fingers tightening possessively in my hair. "Oh, you like that baby? You like the smell of mommy's pussy?"

Like it? Like it? Oh my god, I loved it! It was even better than I'd imagined! So damp and musky, and... well, Mom!

I'd been with a handful of girls throughout my college years so far, and had buried my face in my share of pussies, and I gotta say that I've never come across a pussy I didn't truly, truly enjoy. Maybe it was due to my obsession with my mother's dirty panties, but I have always found the smell of a girl's pussy to be completely intoxicating. There's just something to be said about losing yourself in the wonderful, wet femininity of a beautiful pussy. Inhaling its ripe scent, licking at its welling nectar. Each one similar yet different. All with their own little nuances of taste and smell, their own little uniqueness. I loved them all.

That being said, none of them were my mother's pussy. My mother's pussy was like the Holy Grail of pussies. Ripe and delectable, and oh so wonderful. I drew great shuddering breaths of it deep into my nostrils. Held it in. Savored it like I would the bouquet of the finest wine, the most redolent rose. Of a peach picked at the height of perfection. It was a smell I wanted to remember and carry with me for the rest of my days.

As much as I was willing to draw it out, to appreciate it in the manner in which it deserved--no, in which it fully merited--it seemed that Mom was now starting to get a little riled up. Still holding me firmly in place, she began to sensually arch her hips up and down. Dragging those bedewed panties across my nose and mouth. Bathing me in her scent and leaving behind a moist, shiny trail of her excitement.

I felt like I had died and gone to heaven. This was better than any masturbatory fantasy. Better than anything I could have ever imagined, ever. This was reality. A blend of visual, auditory, olfactory, and tactile sensations that could never be matched, no matter how vivid the dream. How deeply-wrought the fantasy. Even my mom's ripest, freshest panties and my kinkiest, most-audacious imaginings couldn't begin to compare with this. Not even close.

I licked out with my tongue, letting it flit gently across that growing wet spot, adding her taste to the ever-flowing sexual stimuli that was racking my brain. Like everything about her, her taste was exquisite. A beautiful, wonderful combination of salty and sweet. I flattened my tongue and ran it slowly up and down her panty-limned lips, trying my very best to pull every single drop of her deliciousness through that thin silk and into my yearning mouth. Wanting nothing more than to stay like this forever.

She moaned her encouragement, hands still twining in my hair, pushing her mound firmly back against my lapping tongue. "Mmmmm, that's it baby. That's it. Lick Mommy... lick Mommy's pussy."

I renewed my efforts, forming my tongue into a point and driving the now-translucent fabric of her panties slowly, ever so slowly, deeper and deeper into her wet and weeping slit. Her juices flowed through and around that silk, coating my tongue and lips, filling my mouth. I swallowed it hungrily, aware that I'd likely never again taste anything so wondrous for the rest of my life, and continued to work my tongue up and down in search of more.

Her moans grew deeper, more guttural, and then turned to small gasps as I let my tongue roam further, just barely grazing the hard nub of her clit on each up-swipe before sliding back down again. Her eyes had been closed, her head thrown back, but now her gaze swiveled down to meet my own, locking on to it, boring into me with beseeching intensity. One hand pulled her sticky panties roughly aside.

"Oh fuck, yesss. Do it baby. Eat Mommy." She arched her hips, mashing herself against my face. "Eat Mommy's pussy."

I stared into those eyes, those loving, imploring eyes, and did as I was told. I licked and sucked and slurped at her flowing hole like a man dying of thirst. My tongue probed her depths, traced her lips, flicked her clit and even occasionally made a jaunt farther south to ever-so-lightly tickle the edge of her rosebud. I was a man on a mission, and nothing was going to stop me from achieving my goal of having my mom cum on my face. Cum like she had never cum before.

We continued to hold gazes as I tendered my ministrations, my hands locked firmly on her ass, hers twined tightly in my hair. Our moans and groans cascaded over one another, our breathing hot and hard and heavy in the otherwise still room. A symphony of desire that echoed around us as we both sought to wordlessly convey the unbounded depths of our desire.