Everything Happens For a Reason

Again, I felt a pang of guilt. I was eavesdropping, a common voyeur only worse as it was my mother I was spying on. Fuck it. I pulled my cock from my fly and went with the flow. The panties were next to come off, Mom discarding them along with her dress over the back of the couch. It was so natural. She at once freely moved back to the hallway and removed a duster from the other bucket and just like that, without even a nod to acknowledge the cameras presence, set about cleaning.

Was this normal? Was I missing something? Maybe it was natural to clean the house naked. It made sense. You didn't get dirty yourself, it was hard work, a way to prevent overheating perhaps? I was already leaking pre-cum freely when she moved onto the vacuuming, in the hall, the image caught in my screenshot. Edging, I watched her ass move down the hallway, switching to a different view to see her from the front enter the living room. Her boobs swung with each sweep of the vacuum, the muscles in her thighs and calves taut as she gained leverage. She looked good. Forty-nine years of age and if ever it was possible to look sexy whilst cleaning, Mom had nailed it. When she stretched her back after completing the kitchen and her boobs pointed directly up at the camera as if she was presenting them to me, I came in my hand and the guilt once more descended.

What kind of person was I? Jerking off to my own mother. I paused the video and cleaned up the considerable mess I'd created before making a coffee, periodically looking at the screen of the laptop in the background to be sure it was real. It was real alright. Coffee made I sat down before my computer and once more ran the video. I shouldn't have bothered putting away my dick!

She moved onto the mopping, dunking the mop head into the previously filled bucket and heading back into the hallway, me following with a camera switch, watching intently, unblinking, jaw dropped before rewinding to make sure what I viewed had actually occurred.

She stopped just inside the front door and with a hand on the mop like a staff, she stood static, her feet spread shoulder width apart and I wondered indeed what she was doing? And then she began to pee. My mouth dried up; my cock once more strained against my pants. I leaned into the screen to be sure of what I witnessed, to watch the flow from her hirsute pussy rain down between her legs. Casual she pissed as if nothing was out of the ordinary. That it was an everyday event. The flow slowed and just as casually she mopped the evidence away as I rewound the footage and watched it again. And again.

No camera in the bathrooms, I had no idea of what went on but, in the kitchen, over my shoulder from where I now sat, she repeated her performance. A steady flow of champagne, for near a minute my mother pissed on the floor of the kitchen, the pool around her feet stretching metres either side until her bladder emptied and I had the second orgasm in less than ten minutes.

I leaned back as I watched her mop the floor dry. To empty the bucket and place it and the mop beside the front door. To go back and complete the cleaning, wiping the kitchen benches and sink. The cupboard doors, me wondering if splatters of urine had collected upon the surfaces? She spent time in my bedroom and I cursed the lack of a better camera angle. What the fuck was she doing? What the fuck was I doing? My cock still hard I mindlessly fapped as she returned and dressed. A look around the apartment and she was gone.

With cock protruding from my fly, it led me around my house. To stare at the kitchen floor where Mom had pissed, the hallway where it had begun. To my bedroom where she'd spent so much time, the bed made and without creases. "She wouldn't have!?" I questioned my empty room, pulling back the cover and pressing my hand to the sheets below. I don't know what I intended to find. I had an image of her masturbating in my bed, that I'd see evidence. A stray pube, a damp patch. There was none and I was strangely disappointed. Was I reading way too much into everything? She'd just cleaned the house nude, maybe she was hot. Yeah, she'd pissed on the floor, but maybe she just really had to go? Was it a normal part of mopping? Some new cleaning method? Of course it wasn't you idiot, I told myself. What she'd done was perverse, primal even. Like an animal marking its scent. Was that what she was doing? Claiming her territory? Or was she just...mad!? I sat down on the bed and stared vacantly at the wall. "What the fuck was going on?"

*

I met the neighbor.

She commented on my tattoos as I was leaving the pool area and she was just getting home. Up close she was just as impressive as from a distance, nailing the blond bimbo look to perfection. That wasn't an insult. To be honest I always found it hot and she exemplified the image.

"My Dom would hate that one on your back," she proposed and I was confused as to whom she referred, reflecting it in my face. "That octopus thingy!" She explained, the wrong part of my confusion.

"No, I mean, 'Dom?'" I not so subtly inquired.

"Oh, my boo," she elaborated. "My boyfr...well really my sugar daddy." She freely divulged.

"Oh," I felt myself blush. "I haven't seen you with anybody, I thought you lived alone."

"Yeah, I do," she brushed hair behind her ear and followed with running her hand down her collar to her cleavage, clearly flirting. "It's an open relationship."

Any other time in my life and I'd be all over her. A couple of days ago even. But as I'd gone to sleep Monday night in the bed Mom had made and indeed caught the scent of her perfume upon my pillow, there was only one woman I had on my mind.

"It's a shame really, you moving in now," she continued and I asked as to why? "Well, my daddy's finding another place for me. Says he wants me closer. Sucks as now finally cool people are starting to move in!"

I felt pretty good about myself, knowing it was to me she referred, promising to drop by my apartment before she left to say goodbye. I was more than amenable.

*

"You know what date it is this weekend?" Mom alluded to Dad's passing as I spoke to her Thursday night over the phone. Not waiting for me to confirm, she continued. "I was wondering if you'd like to drive up to the cemetery this weekend? Put flowers on his grave. Only if you're not busy."

I was watching (possibly for the hundredth time,) the edited footage of her cleaning my house as she spoke, and I agreed before she even finished her sentence.

*

If it wasn't the same dress she'd worn to my house, it was similar. Light, breezy, it caught the wind as it passed between her legs and flew up to reveal her panties as we walked back from the grave. A step behind her I was witness to the display, her hands seemingly slow to prevent the exposure, tight pink satin hugging her buttocks hermetically. Her laugh was innocent and playful, a great relief to the emotional weight we'd shared moments before.

We lunched upon a picnic blanket in the adjoining park before the hour-long drive home and under the sun, her face shadowed by a large hat, she looked as beautiful as I could recall her being. Had I ever thought of it however? Dad was always calling her beautiful, quick with a compliment, an embrace. To buy her presents and freely show his love before me with a kiss, a caress. Why couldn't a son express his love for his mother in much the same manner? Would it be so wrong for me to do the same?

"Why are you staring?" She startled me and I shook my head nonchalantly.

"Nothing," I smiled and she unexpectedly raised a hand to my cheek and caressed my face.

"You look so much like your father," she smiled and there was sadness as well as light in her eyes before her attention was caught by our picnic, the drinks she'd brought.

She crossed her legs as she opened a bottle of sparkling wine, concentrating on the cork and not her posture. The dress slid down her thighs and the crotch of her panties was revealed to me, the sunlight shining upon her pubic bulge. I thought once more if a son could love his mother as a husband would? No, it wouldn't be wrong at all.

*

"I shouldn't have had the whole bottle," Mom laughed as I drove.

"Well, you knew I wouldn't be drinking," I shared her mirth as she now openly squirmed in the passenger seat. She'd declared her need to pee prior our passing the last possible place to stop and was now clearly regretting her decision to wait for home. From the corner of my eye, I watched as she plunged a hand between her upper thighs and held her knees tightly together. "You want me to go back to the diner?"

She leaned forward and played with the radio, probably to take her mind off her bladder but it seemed to do no good, both hands now between her legs.

"Oh god I don't know," she squirmed, looking out the window at the passing trees. "I thought I'd make it home."

"It's no big deal Mom, we can turn back if you want," I offered, slowing the car somewhat if she chose to accept.

"Um..." I could hear her cogs turning. "Oh..."

"So?" I asked.

"Oh god Ash, I think you're just gonna have to pull over!" She gasped.

"Serious?" I laughed, a car passing by on the opposite side, another coming quickly up behind. "It's not very private."

"No, I know," she exhaled. "Yep, I've gotta go!"

I didn't stretch out the debate, slowing and pulling the car onto the verge as the station wagon behind whizzed by. She was unbuckling and opening the door even before I'd stopped and I offered a word of caution as she swung her feet out of the vehicle.

"There's no time," she expressed and I watched her dress fly up with her movement, once more offering me a tantalising view of her panties as she leaped from the car. I expected her to at least run off into the bushes that lined the road, her need so great however, she instead opted to go right there and then. In actual fact, she was already going. Not willing to waste the opportunity to watch, I ignored her laughing request for me not to look and feasted upon her display.

One hand lifting her dress, the other unceremoniously tugged her panties down as a steady flow of pee streamed from between her spread thighs. Saturating her lowering panties, she got them down to her knees before pointing her ass back towards me to better aim her flow. This allowed me to look directly into her asshole, surprisingly un-puckered, the sphincter, a perfect circle almost winking at me, no, more like blowing me kisses, as her piss rained down below.

She was within arms distance. I could reach across and easily slide a finger into her ass as she peed. Better still, my cock. I thought of fucking her, climbing across and pulling her back into my lap as her fountain of piss shot out onto the roadside. A car approached from behind and tooted as it passed, Mom looking in its direction as it disappeared down the road. "Oh no, they probably saw everything," she bemoaned, her neck craning further to look over her shoulder at me. "Oh my god Ashley!" She gasped good-naturedly. "I told you not to look." I didn't even disguise where I gazed. Watching fascinated as her flow of urine decreased before me, her back straightening and allowing the dress to partly obscure her buttocks. "You can't be watching your mother go to the toilet Honey," she added as the last of her pee came out in a dribble and she wiggled her hips to hasten the drips.

I was speechless. I struggled to swallow with my mouth so dry as she turned and lowered her dress proper, preventing me from seeing her pussy form the front. Her panties still around her knees, she reached down and lifting one then the other foot, removed them from her legs before getting back into the car. An erection lining my inner thigh, I put the car in gear and pulled back into the road as Mom offered an explanation as to what she held in her hand. "I couldn't put them back on, they're saturated," she looked in the back seat and cursed. "Oh, my handbag's in the trunk," she acknowledged before opening the glove compartment. "I'll just put them in here until we get home."

That just happened, I told myself as I drove. Mom pissing on the floor of my apartment was one thing, her wetting her panties then pissing in the road an arms distance from me; finally taking off said panties and putting them in my glovebox...that was an entirely different matter.

I drove in relative silence, Mom casually making comments about things we passed, the weather. I was left with my thoughts. Was I making too big a deal about this? She'd just peed, we all did it. Maybe there was something wrong with me for even being sexually attracted to her right now? Maybe!? I yelled at myself. She was my mother. There was no way on Earth I should be sexually attracted to her, let alone her pissing. She'd done nothing to say she wanted me. Flashing of panties, nude cleaning, pissing in front of me, washing my naked body in the shower aside! And then came the dream. Her lips around my cock. I'd cum in her mouth...No, I told myself. That WAS a dream.

*

She leaned on the open car widow as we said our goodbyes at her house.

"Don't worry I won't make you come in and say goodbye to Dom," she laughed and it took me out of the spell I was under somewhat.

"What? Dom. Who's Dom?" I questioned, my blond neighbor immediately coming to mind.

Mom frowned. "Franklin, Dom," she looked confused. "His middle name's Dominick. You knew that."

Had I? I'd never heard her call him that, or anyone else for that matter.

"He uses that?" I asked. "You call him that?"

"Sometimes," she once more frowned. "Why? What's it matter?"

"Oh, nothing," I waved it away and took a deep breath in anticipation of what I'd been planning on asking her for the last half hour. "So..."

"What?" She sensed my manner and smiled.

"My place. Well, it's pretty messy already," I lied. "I was wondering if maybe you could come around again on Monday? Only if you're not busy," I quickly added. "I could pay you."

She grinned as she pushed back from the window and headed backwards toward the house. "You don't have to pay me Honey," she smiled. "It's what mothers are for," she winked and waved me farewell.

Frustratingly we hadn't kissed goodbye. Not even a little peck before she left the car. I watched her ass sway as she walked up the garden path to the front door, her legs so smooth. She wasn't wearing panties, I absently thought to myself and then really became aware. No, she wasn't wearing panties. They were in my glovebox. We'd both completely forgotten about them. Or I had anyway. I quickly drove away before she remembered and called me back and turning onto the next block, I pulled over to the curb.

There they were. Pink, bunched into a ball that I quickly retrieved. They were cold to the touch and still damp. Damp? No, they were saturated. I'm not proud of myself, it was an invasion of privacy, it was immature, it was perverted. But as I raised my mother's pissed in panties to my mouth and nose and inhaled, it was as hot as hell. I came to my senses and looked around the car to be sure I wasn't observed before pulling back into the traffic, panties snug in my grip.

*

My neighbor Misty was just getting into her Porsche as I arrived home and I tucked Mom's panties under my leg as she came over to my open window. I wondered why she never parked it in her garage and meant to ask her but she was quick to talk, clearly in a hurry.

"Give me your mobile," she leaned into my car much as Mom had done twenty minutes earlier. Mesmerized by the amount of cleavage she exhibited, I robotically handed her my unlocked phone and she used it to call her own, a Britney Spears ringtone playing from her handbag. "I'm leaving in a couple of days, Dom's found me some shitty little apartment closer to him. Call me," she matter-of-factly ordered and just as robotically, I nodded my agreement.

The still damp underwear in my hand, dick in the other, video of Mom pissing in my kitchen cast onto my 65inch television in my rent reduced luxury apartment, and a blond bombshell's number in my phone. I was in heaven.

Could life get any better?

*

Monday progressed agonizingly slowly. I intermittently checked my phone for a security system update from my apartment but on each occasion, no luck. I was well aware what I was doing was a massive invasion of privacy, should I have informed her the cameras were on? The pros and cons revolved around my head, ultimately my dick overriding any argument. It was in my house, the cameras were obvious, if someone, anyone, wanted to walk around nude, piss on my floor and hopefully masturbate in my bed, they shouldn't be surprised that they might be witnessed! My own mother or not. Come 5pm and still nothing appearing on my phone, I was packing up to go home, more than a little frustrated she had seemingly been a no show.

Misty's Porsche was out the front of her apartment as per usual, meaning she was still yet to move. It offered me a lifeline of at least some company if indeed I found Mom hadn't cleaned, hadn't repeated her bizarre and sexy show. To my surprise as I pulled up to my apartment at the other end of the complex, there was Mom's Nissan. And when I finally made it to my door, the woman herself, once again struggling with the passcode.

"What are you doing here?" I startled her and incredulous she looked down at her buckets and vacuum.

"What does it look like?"

"No, I mean I thought you'd come earlier."

She sighed and revealed she'd had to work and it explained her office attire. It also made me feel doubly guilty for having her clean my house in the first place and I made it clear, she wasn't doing any more work today.

"Come in for a coffee though?" I offered and flustered, admittedly looking tired, she gratefully accepted.

The cleaning products abandoned at the door, I noticed Mom scan the apartment as I prepared coffee. She didn't say it, but I knew what she was thinking. The place was spotless, having myself spent two hours the night before cleaning up. Her presence there wasn't needed at all and I wondered if she knew I had ulterior motives?

With coffee made we moved to the couch and it was time for me to admire her appearance. The sleeveless dress was grey and form fitting, with legs crossed on my couch, it rode up high on her thigh over tan pantyhose. With black high heels on her feet, it was clear she wasn't dressed appropriately for cleaning and I cursed myself for coming home on time. Twenty minutes later I'd have walked in on her naked, I was sure of it. Is that what she'd planned? No, I answered myself. Her working at the office today hadn't been organized. Most likely expecting me home she would've cleaned in her dress, minus shoes. Was I overthinking everything?

She blew on her coffee before attempting a sip and deciding it was too hot, placed it back on the coffee table. I studied her every move. Was I becoming obsessive? You betcha.

"Ugh, these shoes," she moaned and reached down to remove a heel, massaging her foot in the process. "That's another thing I miss about your father."

"What?" I asked, sensing an opening.

"He'd rub my feet when I got home," she smiled. "Remember?"

"I do," I cherished the memory, their love so enveloping. If only ours could compare. "You want me to do it?"

She laughed at the suggestion and I felt myself blush; I'd gone too far.

"No," she chuckled but removed her other heel as well, looking back at me slyly. "You'd really do that?"

"Sure, why not?" I declared and not letting any time pass, deposited my coffee mug on the table and reached for her feet.

She laughed as I swung her legs up onto the couch, her torso falling back onto the cushions. "Oh goodness," she exhaled as I ran my thumbs up along her soles before she sighed. "That feels nice."