He Takes Pics for Parents Ch. 03

Preamble:

There is nudity, exhibitionist and voyeuristic tension, incestual sex in this story.

In Chapter 1, in a hotel room setting, mature couple, Ethan and Em, enlist the help of their son, David, to take intimate photos of them to memorialise their fiftieth birthdays cum thirtieth wedding anniversary.

In Chapter 2, the playful champagne-fueled photoshoot frisson leads to the dad taking simulated intimate mum-son photos for a lark. As it is late, the son stays overnight in the room.

This chapter is on the morning after the photoshoot.

***

A mellifluous rising musical tone marks the new dawn.

It is David's cellphone.

David is a nocturnal beast. Not a morning person. Certainly not at the crack of dawn on a Saturday. But, David has a symbiotic, almost telepathic relationship with his cellphone. An uncanny bond. His eyes flicker open at the first chime of his cellphone. He quickly quieses the cellphone so as not to wake his parents.

The message reads: New development on Shanghai deal. Details in email. Need you there pronto.

David texts: No rest for the wicked. Noon flight. See ya.

David rises in a dissonant daze from the sofa bed, shaking off his pall of sleep. He makes his way to the washroom, passing his parents who are soundly asleep. He pauses at the bed to inform his parents that he has to go off, to attend to work matters.

The quilt is gathered in a clutter at his parents' feet. They are naked. His dad lies flat on his back, snoring in deep coma. A night person. His mum grafts herself over his dad. Her right leg drapes over his genitals, as if clambering on him in suspended animation.

David scans his parents. His eyes laser into his mum. In her position, each of her arse cheeks are proffered with distinct expressed personalities, like individually sculpted orbs. The underside of her lady parts is exposed.

Where one expects to see a lurid flowering of petals on this mature form, there is, almost surreally, a pristine minimalist gash. And then, less elegantly, but just as sensually compelling, a puckered anus, delineated by a faint imprint hint of oily o-ring. Barely six hours ago, David had entered this private nether universe, and left his visitation evidence there. This thought gives David a twitch.

This image before David can pass off as an art class perspective posterior study of a young woman, of youthful body lines, except for the light Rubenesque thighs and hips. A confounding concoction of mature and the cusp of womanhood. It is in this pleasant aesthetic frame of mind that David ponders adoringly over this body sculpt work that is his mother.

Sensing their deep transcendental sleep, an emboldened David bends down to appraise his mother's nether charms at the level of detail she deserves. How pretty her lady parts look. He is glad that she is giving him the privilege of seeing her most intimate charms again, albeit implicitly, this time, in the crystal clarity of early morning light, without the restraining tension of bashfulness of the night before, even though she doesn't know it. Or, does she? His parents have probably decided that given the chill nudity in the photoshoot of the night before, their sleeping nude is not a big deal.

David remembers that his mum is an early morning person. And a pin drop light sleeper. But, maybe on this new dawn, she is sleeping off her champagne. She is a light drinker. And she drank copious volumes last night. Her vulnerability to champagne-strawberries pairing.

David has to muster all his will to resist running his fingers through her vaginal slit. He imagines the sensation of caressing her delicate inner folds. The thing about women with minimalist exteriors is that there is a sort of layered mystique to be peeled, which adds to the allure, maddeningly rationing the sensuality.

David has to capture this moment. He takes a close-up photo with his cellphone. This is the least that he must do, even though it is so wrong on many levels.

A resounding click in the still room air!

Oops!

He forgot to mute his cellphone. Is that a fleeting flutter of his mum's eyes? Did he see the whites of her eyes?

But, she appears to be serenely asleep as before. An animation of rapid eye movement. Par for the dreamland course. He hopes...

His mum moves. David recoils in mortification. Will he be caught out? She turns to the other side, facing David, coiled, knees bent, right leg ahead of left, arse orbs dramatically trussed and cocked up.

Davids decides that he is skating on thin voyeur ice. He is a flicker of an eyelid from being caught out. It is one thing to study his mum with artistic intent in a champagne-fueled photoshoot. It is quite another to ascertain his mum like a museum treasure artefact. And he has a noon flight to catch.

He doesn't have the heart to wake up his slumbering parents. They are naked. It is different if they are under the quilt cover. In the glaring morning light, they may be embarrassed. He will message his parents later on his early departure. Much as he likes to linger to contemplate his mother's maternal charms, David wills himself away from the epicentre of the sensual maelstrom, to the washroom. He gazes back at his mother for a final lingering look. He deliberates on whether to take another cellphone photo of this refreshed perspective view of his mother's charm. No! He has to move on if he is not to miss his flight.

The washroom is bathed in brilliant skylight. The new dawn apparently starts right here. The last vestiges of David's sleepiness fall away in this assault of morning light.

David shrugs off his hotel bathrobe which he slept in. He sports a double boner. A fulsome aggregate of the frisson of appreciating his mother's feminine charms, and his custom morning wood. A unity of sensory and physiological impulses to start his day.

To David's surprise, the washroom door clicks open. David instinctively reaches for his bathrobe. But it is out of reach in the laundry basket.

It is his mother. Unfazedly naked as the day she gave birth to naked David.

David begins to explain. Em places a quietening finger to her son's lips. She then slides her finger sensuously from one extremity of his lips to the other. His lips are sealed. Hermetically.

Mother looks knowingly at her son's erection. Her senses were coddled and coloured by champagne last night. This morning, under brilliant skylight, she has a clarity of senses. It is the most formidable manhood she has ever seen, in rippling flesh, in her life. She drinks in its measure for a few seconds. What she has produced at birth, and enhanced over, in the frisson moment here and now, is what every mother wishes on her son. She feels a delicious tingle blend of taboo delirium and motherly pride elation. She shudders at the possibilities to come.

Em sits on the edge of the bathtub. She motions her son to come over. Curiously, she crosses her legs, sitting coquettishly, concealing her bottom, as if protecting what she can of her maternal modesty, under the circumstances.

David stands ramrod in front of his mother. Michelangelo's David, only better, sculpted in pliant warm flesh. He is statuesquely in her face.

Em runs her fingernails experimentally up and down her son's length. Slowly, softly. Her first touch in illuminating daylight. Then again. On one side. Then, the other. She traces an imaginary axis line up to the bulbous head, as if ascertaining its geometrical properties. She sees a prominent thick blue vein which veers a meandering pathway across the length of his shaft. His signature line. Drawn out. She studiously traces the vein once, one way, and backwards, as if ascertaining a wayward graph against its axis.

Em finds her son's penis pleasing to the eye. Nice size and girth. But, not so long and fat as to be lewd and vulgar. Michelangelo's David. And now hers.

David is piqued by his mother's fascination. As if his mother is a student all over again, in her first biology lab class, inspired by what mother nature can reveal to those who seek her deeper secrets. His noon flight recedes farther into the horizon of his mind.

Em examines David closely. This is only the second manhood she has seen in the flesh, in her life. She bends down to look. She touches it. It is so hard! She squeezes it a little. Strokes it. Feeling all around. She takes it all in for a moment to get its measure. She pays David no mind. It is as if his penis is a separate being, disembodied from her son.

Em loves the way her son's skin stretches as he grows. The way the head gets bigger and bigger. Those first little gathering drops of male arousal. And the way his balls tighten up. She cups them like treasured objects with one hand. Then, they loosen again, hanging down and swinging. Then, tightening up.

Em deftly uses a finger to move them back and forth, fondling them, just slightly swinging them as if they are bells. All in slow motion. No hurry. A studious look on her face.

David watches his mum's ministrations with a touch of amusement. It reminds him of his physics lab class where they experimented with a series of shiny hung balls in pendular motion.

Em halts. She grasps his penis with her whole hand. Holds it there. Feels its thickness and hardness. Squeezes it ever so slightly every few seconds.

This is driving David closer to the edge. But, he can tell his mother is just getting a sense of his physicality. His feeling is indescribable.

With her thumb and index finger, she encircles his penis. Grabs it right below the head, ascertaining its circumference.

Em marvels at the work of art. It is so beautiful. Art in service of sensuality. A life all its own. Her son can will it, and yet, it has a stubborn persistent will force of its own. A manifestation of the elusive mystery of body-mind dualism which philosophers continue to ponder sagely to this day. Kind of like free will. People have it for all intents and purposes, and yet, do we really? It is so David, and yet, not David. Spasming. Swaying. A poetic beast. It takes her breath away to watch how fabulous his body is.

Em touches the tip of his penis with her index finger. Teasing more drops to seep out. She doodles her finger in the liquid. She lightly spreads the moistness over the head of his penis. Coating it. She leans over for a closer look.

David loves watching her breasts with her every move. Her undulating arcs. Her nipples, hard and pointed with conviction. They too seem to have a life of their own.

Em holds her son's erection straight up, at a ninety degree angle to his stomach. She wraps her fingers around it. She begins stroking. Then, slowly pumping up and down. He is slippery from his own fluids, and is in such a state. She bends over closer, her face hovering above the head of his penis. A saliva drop. Her finger smooths her saliva around the head. Not that he needs extra lubrication. She is just having motherly fun.

She pumps more. Up and down. Then, with her hand firmly at his base, she holds it there. His shaft sticking straight up, like some spire. His penis wavers a little, leaks some, the fine granules of arousal dribbling down his shaft.

Em stops.

She assumes a classic doggy pose on the floor. Primal. David feels his loins stir in anticipation.

David gazes toward his mother's shoulders and her long soft hair cascading between them at the moment when she glances back at him. Their eyes lock.

David appears torn and agonized. The liberal excesses of last night's photoshoot of artistic simulated intimacies under the direction of his dad, and the champagne, is one thing. But, what is about to happen is willful carnal incest in broad daylight. And his dad is right outside the washroom, a mere five metres away. What if his dad suddenly decides to use the washroom?

Em smiles reassuringly, adding a slight nod. Em points her luscious rear upward in further affirmation. A completely unobstructed view of her slightly parted arse, and fully exposed and completely smooth vagina.

David is standing directly behind his mother's upturned arse. His penis feels so hard, so huge. It actually eclipses his view of her behind as he looks down at her, the length of his shaft obscuring her arse crack from his point of view. It is with a sudden jolt back to the reality of the moment that he realises this whole time that his mother has been turning her head, looking back and up at his growing manhood.

David's face reddens. Last night's experience had been different. In the dimness, his erection had understandably been fueled by the physical contact and repetitive motion of moving back and forth against his mother's naked flesh. Up to this point, he hasn't even touched her, yet here he is, a raging penis, a being unto itself, with an inconsequential man attached, little else.

He can smell his mother. Piquant. It is a scent that he finds intoxicating. He glances down at the source of the scent. With a perfectly silky smooth vagina, there is nothing to obscure the fact that she is wet, as stimulated as he is. He is so enthralled with the thought that his mother is as eager as he is.

Em lowers her upper half even further. David's penis brushes against his mother's arse. They both gasp. David lifts up slightly. He touches the tip of his penis against his mother's most intimate, as if to complete the electric current circuit.

David realises that he is drooling copious amounts of precum. It is so enthralling. He almost feels like the next time he even so much as grazes her body with his penis, it will explode into the largest climax of his life.

Slowly but surely, they lower themselves even further. Although it still sends shivers of lust through every fibre of David's being, he miraculously does not climax the moment his penis touches his mother's naked buttocks again. In fact, his shaft is now resting snugly in her crack.

David lifts up. Another electric shock of pleasure zaps through him as he feels his mother shift her weight slightly to one elbow, as she uses a free hand to reach back and tentatively grasp the shaft of his penis.

Davids feels his stiff penis being angled out away from his body, almost straight down. He realises what she is trying to do. She is trying to position it down and in-between.

Em parts her legs a little more. She angles her hips just so. David feels the shaft of his penis being pulled down and in-between his mother's inner thighs. The upper length of his penis is now pressed firmly up against her moist labia. David shifts his weight as they connect this way. A sudden gasp escapes from Em's lips. Her first emission of sound from this mime performance.

Em's body begins to quiver.

David feels a sheen of sweat form on his mother's back. Incredibly, it seems to get warmer and wetter where his penis is pressed against his mother's vagina.

Em is in orgasm. She is experiencing a powerful climax. And this is just with her son pressing against her. Not even moving.

All David can do is to stand there, his teeth clenched tight, his body stiff and shivering in excitement, as this incredible orgasm seems to bubble up from deep within his mother's core. It seems to build and build, and last and last.

David returns his focus on himself. At his first stroke his mother bucks, instinctively bringing her arse further up. She backs her son flush against the wall while he humps her mercilessly. David has his hands gripping her hips, guiding her pushes and grinds while his penis makes movements inside her, to emit loose, sucking sounds that electrifies him. His first ten measured strokes result in another of her vaginal contractions. She keeps pressing her arse harder against his strokes, wedging her son against the wall. The hot, meaty penetrations of her love canal is getting to feel more pleasurable with each new stroke now.

David feels his sperms welling. He starts pushing his mother away a little, grinding faster, trying to initiate long strokes, while cryptically warning his mother by his tightening grip on her hips that he is climaxing.

Em jams her son harder, swivels and grinds her arse tightly, as if demanding him to leave it in.

Em orgasms again. David feels a joyous jolt of semen lava. He 
is wedged. He can't pull out. David shoots again and again
deep inside as he tries to pull out. But his mother slams him, to milk his every drop. When Em at last senses that her son has fired his last salvo, she gently, mercifully crawls forward as David exits.

Mother and son collapse into a tangled body heap. They stretch out on the floor, under brilliant glassy morning skylight, cuddling in an unstated bond of silence.

Curiously, after a minute, Em gets up without a sound. Not a word is exchanged. Em perfunctorily cleans herself. She leaves the washroom naked as if she has satiated a routine nature's call, and goes back to bed.

Ethan is unmoved in the same frozen slumberous position as when Em left him earlier. Em instinctively glances down at his bedroom slippers. Have they moved?

Em is a morning person. A dawn beast. Her morning is done. She lapses back easily to deep slumber. Ethan and Em are serene as canned peach.

In seven hours, David has come three times. And until last night, he has never seen his mum in anything less than a one-piece swimsuit. One word. Seismic.

David cleans up. He leaves the hotel room quietly. On the way to the car park, he messages his dad that he has to go off because of a work contingency.

Seven miles high later.

David is installed in his First Class cocoon. Champagne and strawberries lunch. The skylight emanating from his cabin window is brilliant. As pure as light can get.

David whips out his cellphone.

To be continued...

In the next chapter, the couple reviews the mum-son intimate photos of the previous night's photoshoot. How will it pan out?