Going Out With Daddy Ch. 06

Marie, I see you fidgeting there. It's okay. The story's getting to me, too. I can't tell you how wonderful it is to finally let you guys know about it. Experiencing it once was a dream. Telling it to you now is like reliving it all over again. I don't mind if you want to touch yourself while I'm talking. I'll try not to let it distract me!

I knew I must have been quite the sight, lying there in the half-light. I pulled my hair over to the side, and put my hands under my cheek to rest on, leaving my back and sides uncovered from neck to panties. Oh, they were no sexy little things, I know. Just a typical pair of thin cotton panties. Still, it must have been enough to get him going.

He started working again, now in the middle of my back, working down in long strokes along the sides of my spine. Each massage pushed the air from my lungs. As he came back up, his hands naturally moved more towards my sides, sweeping upward in a firm movement. I could tell my boobs were pushed out a little from under my torso, and I found myself catching my breath each time he moved up. Would his fingers graze them?

I allowed myself to make little noises of agreeable contentment. His movements became a little freer, and I made no effort to contain him. I wanted to see how far he would go before I had to call a halt. It was a little game of chicken I was playing in my mind. Each move he made forced me to decide between my increasing excitement and my ever-diminishing role as his mother.

I could feel his palms sweep over my lower back, the edges coming into contact with my panties, forcing them down slightly. That was all right. They were still covering me. I could live with that. My sex was actually throbbing. I could feel the heat between my legs like a living creature.

As he moved back up, his fingers rippled over my ribs, each time a little more around the front of me. Each time, I would try and decide if what he was touching counted as just my sides or whether he had crossed the border and was touching actual breast. What is the defining line between the two? It was a slippery thing, actively retreating with each move of his wonderful hands.

A similar game was being played at the lower border of my back. What was back and what was butt? I remember thinking that the back naturally curves out there, and that there must be some mathematical formula that would determine where the concavity of the lumbar curve became the convexity of the gluteal one. As my mind was preoccupied, his hands would very naturally and easily sweep across the waistband of my panties, each time pushing them oh so slightly up the curve of my ass.

I was breathing heavily by now, almost sighing with each exhalation. I felt like a teenager once more, so into the physicality of the moment. They say that peri-menopause is as hormonally active as puberty. Well, I was caught up in the swirl of hormones right then, let me tell you. I pushed my thighs together, trying to increase the sensations right where they counted.

Shocked, I suddenly realized that Don's fingers were tippling right around the full curve of my breasts, pushed out to the sides as they were. My God! He was less than an inch from my nipples! How had I let it get to this? But I could barely make myself move.

"Mmm..." I pulled up slightly on my elbows. His fingers stayed right where they were. Cheeky bastard! My breasts hung down now a little, and he caressed the sides as if fully entitled to do so. "I don't think I have any muscles there, Don."

"Really, Mom?" His voice was husky, excited. So masculine! "They're so well defined. Are you sure you have no muscles there that need to be rubbed down?"

"Hmmm. Flattery, huh?" Still I made no move to get away. How crazy it all seemed, and yet how natural as well. The unfamiliarity of our surroundings made everything seem like a dream, a fantasy. Harmless. Innocent. Fun. Right, Marie?

"Still, Don," I finally sighed. "I think it's time we got some sleep. Give me a kiss, and then go."

"You really are a lovely woman, Mom," he whispered. He leaned over my shoulder, and I turned my head to him. His hands still caressing my breasts, his mouth sought mine, and our lips met in a loving and very tender, lingering kiss. As he pulled away, his fingers danced right across my nipples, giving each one a light tweak. Chills shot down my spine, and I shuddered as I felt my pussy contract once, sweetly.

He stood up. I didn't dare look at him, for fear of what I might see, how I might react if faced with the hard evidence of his arousal. I settled back down on top of my sleeping bag, my breasts still tingling from his caresses. As he slipped out of the room, my hand sought release between my legs, touching myself exactly where I had felt that contraction. I found my relief in seconds. I had no doubt he did the same in the next room.

*****

Marie's hand was between her legs, gently caressing her sopping pussy while Carol told her story. It was like a romance novel come to life, only more so, given the illicit nature of the relationship. She could hardly believe how strongly she was reacting to it. Curled against her Daddy's side, she felt both safe and excited, protected and exposed to a whole new world of adult experience.

Tim, for his part, was torn. On the one hand, Carol was detailing the seduction of her own son, the betrayal of her marriage to him, and her peculiar plan for him to start an incestuous relationship with their daughter. At the same time, his body was reacting to what was indubitably a highly erotic story, told with exquisite detail by a woman with a vivid imagination, an articulate tongue, and, apparently, a superb memory.

Not to mention which, his lovely daughter was softly wriggling against his side. Her sweet little breasts were pressed against his chest, the nubbins of her nipples burning into his skin. Her hand, active between her legs, also pressed against his thigh. Her other arm was draped across him. He was not unconscious of the way it drifted lower, creeping downward over his abdomen.

He knew what it was she sought. Could he, would he allow her to caress him, right here, in front of his wife? And yet, was that not exactly what she wanted, expected? And he could hardly complain about his wife's story. After all, his erection, tenting the sheet at his groin, told its own tale of his true reaction. He sighed, and relaxed.

*****

Are the two of you quite comfortable {Carol continued}? It certainly appears that way. It's so wonderful when something you've hoped for and dreamed of comes true before your eyes. I must say that you both look happier than I've seen either of you in a long time. And, please, Marie. Keep doing whatever feels natural to you.

The next morning, I was more than a little unsettled. I had no idea how to interpret what had gone on the night before, and I was worried about facing Don. I brought my clothes with me to change in the bathroom, embarrassed at my brazen manner from the day and night before.

I quickly found that I couldn't wear my sports bra again, as it was still damp right through. I put on one of my normal bras, a beige full cup with a small amount of lace trimming, with a light blue t-shirt over it. I hesitated over what to wear below. The matching underwear to the bra was a French-cut pair of lace panties, and it revealed more than I was willing to show. But I quickly chastised myself for these thoughts. Why would Don even get a chance to see them? I slipped them on, and put on a pair of grey cotton running shorts over them. I pulled my hair back into a practical pony tail and went out to find my son.

I needn't have worried about his reaction, as it turns out. He couldn't have been more natural in his morning conversation. He had already made coffee and set out bagels and fruit on the kitchen counter. He was wearing a white muscle shirt and a pair of khaki shorts with many pockets, perfect for the work the day had in store.

"Did you sleep well, Mom?"

"Yes," I said, cautiously. "I couldn't have slept better. I don't even feel sore."

"A good rub-down'll do that for you," he said, casually. He was leaning back against the counter, and I couldn't help but glance down at his crotch. I had never even once looked at him there with the intention of divining what lay beneath, so I had nothing to compare with. And yet, it did appear a little fuller than I would have imagined.

"How about you, Don? How was your night?"

"Perfect," he grinned easily. "Everything was just right. I'm so glad you're here to help me out, Mom. It's making the dull work so much more fun."

"I couldn't agree more," I laughed. It was fun, this little flirting. So harmless.

The morning air was delightful as it filtered through the dusty house. We got back to work painting, and for the first hour or so, the temperature was cool enough that my clothing didn't bother me. I hardly noticed when the sweat started to accumulate at the small of my back. In fact, it wasn't until Don took off his shirt that I realized how damp I had become. I felt a little thrill run through me once again as I contemplated what I was thinking of doing.

"Well, if you're going to get comfortable, I will too," I announced, pulling my t-shirt off over my head. I casually tossed it aside and returned to my painting. I was very aware of Don's stare as I worked next to him. I had not realized just how much less of my breasts this bra covered compared to the sports bra.

"What?" I turned to Don, catching him looking at my chest. "Is there a rip somewhere or something?" I teasingly repeated what I had said the day before, laughing at his stare.

"No, no rip, Mom," he said, smirking.

"Well, then, what is it? You know, I was wearing less than this last night." My heart pounded as I made the first unveiled reference to our activities.

"I couldn't see much at that time, Mom. It was pretty dark."

"Didn't stop you from exploring some," I laughed.

"Do you blame me?" His eyes twinkled. My stomach flipped. How handsome he was. This was incredibly fun, dangerous, exciting.

"Well, I don't know." I turned back to the wall, starting to paint again. "When you were complimenting me yesterday on my physique, you didn't say anything about my boobs. I thought you didn't like them or something." I mock-pouted at him.

"Don't be silly, Mom," he remonstrated. "How could I ignore one of your best features? It just didn't feel gentlemanly to comment so crassly on our first date."

"Our first date?" I raised an eyebrow at him. "My goodness. Does that make today our second date, then?"

"If you like," he replied.

"I think I would like that," I said, seriously. I was walking an incredibly thin line here, and I knew it. But the seductive nature of our game was taking over. "So? It's our second date. You can comment away now."

"You really want to know what I think, Mom?" I nodded. He laughed. "All right, then. You asked for it. I think you have one of the most amazing pair of breasts I've ever seen. I've thought so for some time, now."

"Really? How so?"

"They're not so big that they sag, yet they have a pleasing fullness to them." He looked at me, then quirked a smile, and directed his gaze right at my chest. I turned and faced him full on, my hands on my hips, displaying my bra-clad boobs directly for his inspection.

"The line that goes from your underarm moves so smoothly into the curve of your breast, here," and he reached out and traced the area he was referring to. I made no move to get away. "There's a lovely symmetry between them. They sit on your chest, perky and mature at the same time. And they don't over-shadow the rest of your body. Best of all, you seem perfectly comfortable with them, not self-conscious the way some women are."

"I can see you really have put some thought into it, Mister," I replied, archly. "If they're so wonderful to look at, I'll have to give you more opportunities to indulge." I turned back to the wall and started painting once more. The side of the breast he had touched lightly with his finger still tingled deliciously. Part of me was screaming that I had gone too far, that I was pushing my relationship with my son far past the bounds of normal behavior. And yet, another part of me wanted to simply strip down, to see how my wonderful boy would react.

And, after all, I reasoned to myself, it wasn't like anything was really going to happen. I could put a stop to anything before it got too serious. We were just having fun, and I enjoyed it.

As we worked painting, I felt a little lightheaded. It was a combination of heightened arousal and the fumes from the paint. I excused myself and stepped to the restroom.

I looked flushed when I examined my reflection. The sweat caused me to glow slightly, and there were beads of moisture gathering in my cleavage. My nipples were rock hard, pushing out against the thin nylon of my bra. I had a wicked thought. I so wanted to push the situation a little further. Could I make myself look a little more enticing? With a few tissues, I padded the bottom of each cup. It was like creating a wonder-bra.

Back in the mirror, I adjusted myself to create the impression I wanted. My heart was pounding like crazy. What was I doing? Why was I doing it? I didn't want to know the answers, so I just went along with it. It was just for fun.

I stepped back out of the bathroom and approached Don from behind. I put my hands around his waist and hugged him tightly. My boobs squashed into his back.

"Mmmm, Don. It's soooo nice to spend some time with you alone." I lightly kissed the back of his neck.

"I'm enjoying it too, Mom," he said, grasping my arms. He turned in my embrace and we stood face to face. He had a few inches on me, so I looked up at him. I felt dreamy and detached. He was so strong, so pure, so sure. He looked down at me, love in his eyes. His gaze was caught by my newly enhanced cleavage.

"You're looking fine, Mom," he said quietly.

"Now you're just making fun of me," I giggled. I felt seventeen again. It was such a wonderful feeling. I felt something thick against my leg. I knew what it was, but I pretended not to notice it. God knows he was entitled to be aroused, the way I was behaving around him. And I was flattered to know that I had done this to him. Me, his own mother! My sex felt hot, trembly.

"Nonsense," he replied, and held me away at arm's length. He looked squarely at my chest. The extra padding (now starting to feel uncomfortable from the tissues getting damp) had pushed my breasts up even further, so that they wobbled above the cups. I wondered if they were high up enough now after our embrace that any part of my areolas would show. I hardly cared. I was flying high. "What's not to like?"

"Well, I'm none too fond of my waist, and my butt, and my thighs," I cataloged, ticking them off on my fingers.

"Hmm. All I can comment on at this moment is your waist. And I don't see any extra fat there. You've still got those curves that netted you Tim. As far as your butt and thighs, my guess is that they're much like the rest of you. Still in extra good shape."

"Ha! Smooth-tongued cheeky bastard," I laughed. I loved that he was being so open, so frank with me. And of course I drank down the compliments. His shorts did nothing to hide his own increasing arousal. Even more amazing, he seemed completely comfortable with it. I found myself wondering what he looked like. But I chastised myself. This was just fun flirting, nothing more. "If I need more building up, I'll know who to go to."

"Hey, Mom, any time you want me to ogle your body, I'm there!" I blushed. It was better than being seventeen again! After all, then, I had been unsure of myself, and there was no way any of the guys I had dated had been as self-confident as my son was now. My fingers were toying with the waistband of my shorts. I had half a mind to take him up on his challenge, and to rid myself of the annoying garment. I wanted him to see me. To see his own mother, as God intended her to be seen. Well, maybe He had nothing to do with my thinking at that moment.

We went back to work, although neither of us had any interest in the work. It was more just a chance to covertly (on my part) look at the other's body. And Don's body was well worth taking an interest in. His muscles were so well defined, and his shorts rode low enough on his hips that I could see that thrilling line that defined the bottom edge of his abdominal muscles. It dipped into his shorts, leading the eye to the thick bulge sitting at the junction of his thighs.

His whole body glistened and shone with his sweat, and he mopped his brow frequently with the back of his thick forearm. His dark hair stuck to his forehead and the back of his neck.

"You know what, Mom?" His voice snapped me out of my reverie. I suddenly realized I had been staring at him. His eyes were glinting with happy mischief.

"Uh, what?"

"I think we deserve a little break. And I have a great idea for how to break the heat."

"Um, okay," I said, hesitantly.

"No, I think you'll like it. The water is connected, and there's a garden hose in the back yard. Why don't we hose ourselves down a bit?" The idea was more than tempting. It sounded like heaven.

"That's a great idea, Don. Just give me a second, and I'll meet you out back." I slipped into the bathroom and fished the sodden tissue out of my bra. I didn't want the evidence of my silliness to come flushing out when I was getting a rinse down!

As soon as I stepped out the back door, I was greeted with a splash of ice-cold water. I shrieked, and hid back inside.

"Donald Matthew Spencer! How dare you mistreat your mother in that way!"

"Don't be sore, Mom," he called. "Just a taste of what's to come." I looked down at myself. The sudden shock had caused my nipples to get rock hard, and they poked out against the sodden material of my bra. I shrugged internally. After all, Don had seen so much more of me than that. You couldn't even see the darker skin of my areolas through the bra. I stepped back outside again.

"You could at least give a woman a chance to prepare herself," I complained. In the brighter light of the sun, Don looked even more scrumptious. His well-defined muscles stood out beautifully, and he held himself with such composure. His shorts were riding low on his hips, and the little triangle of hair leading down from his navel led my eyes down to his groin.

"Are you ready now?" His voice had a teasing quality to it. I smiled coquettishly.

"Not yet. Would you like to get cooled off first?"

"Sure." He walked over to me with the hose. Standing a foot or so away, I was suddenly overcome with love for this man, this boy I had raised. What I wouldn't do for him. He paused as I took the hose from him. "Um, do you mind if I..." He hesitated.

"What, Don?"

"Um, took my shorts off? I'd rather they didn't get soaked as they're the perfect shorts for painting."

"Why should I mind? It's not like you're going to show me anything I didn't see at our last vacation at the beach." Yeah, right, I thought. Except that I hadn't been paying as close attention at that time to the area of particular interest. He smiled at me, then stepped back a few paces, back into the sunlight. He stopped and, staring right at me with that curious smile on his face, reached down and unsnapped the front of his shorts.

Suddenly, my throat was dry. It was like he was showing off for me, for me alone. I stared back at him, my eyes flicking down to his waist, and then back up to his face. He unzipped, then slipped his hands under the waistband. My God! What would I do if he had no underwear on? Would I scold him like a mother? Or faint, like an overheated woman?

But there, as he lowered the shorts, I saw the white band on a pair of thin white boxers. My heart pounded in mixed relief and disappointment. The boxers came down slightly with his shorts, and I caught a glimpse of the thicker profusion of hair just above where his sex would start. My eyes were now riveted to the scene. I couldn't look back up at his face for fear he would laugh at me. My cheeks flushed with shame, but God help me, I couldn't stop looking!