Jason's Mom

I had turned from the tile in the spasms of my orgasm and was facing her, my hand still wrapped around my dick. Praying that she couldn't see me through the curtain.

"Nothing."

"Yeah? Nothing, huh?" She was smiling—I could tell even through the curtain.

"Yeah, just washing up." I held both hands over my deflating but still semi-hard cock.

"Okay ... if you say so," she said playfully, turning back to the mirror. "I'm not looking ... anymore."

-

I was no help at all during dinner. Like an idiot, I had spent the entire day in the sun but hadn't put on enough sunscreen. Now I was feverish and miserable, useless for anything. But I tried to help anyway, standing in the narrow kitchen in my thin cotton gym shorts, too dumb to do anything without being told.

"Poor baby," said Mrs. White. "Look how red you are." She pressed her fingers into my fried bare chest, leaving four white prints. "You should go lay down on the sofa while we get dinner ready."

Waiting for dinner at the dining room table, Jason gave me a you dumbass look. Rachel was sprawled over the couch—she even didn't look up.

Mrs. White was in her bathrobe again—we were planning the big night out at the movies and she had showered before starting on dinner. I was hanging around the kitchen hoping to catch discreet glimpses of her hot body as the robe occasionally loosened or slipped open. Already, I had figured out she wasn't wearing anything underneath but a pair of pink cotton panties.

"Go sit down," she had commanded playfully a couple of times. But it was way more fun to be close to her. I leaned against the sink, not really trying to stay out of her way. Actually, the kitchen was so narrow it was impossible to stay out of her way. She brushed up close against me a couple of times, catching me with her flashing brown eyes as she came unnecessarily near. I played it cool, hanging around in my gray shorts and roasting sunburn, enjoying our flirting game.

"Can I help?" I offered.

She smiled, pulling on an oven mitt. "Go sit down, I'm telling you." She opened the oven, directly across from me, standing off to one side a little to avoid the heat. Bending down to peer in, her robe came open and I was treated to yet another unobstructed view of her pendulous dangling breasts in all their glory.

"What do you think?" she asked, nodding to the chicken baking on a cookie sheet in the open oven.

"Looks great to me," I replied, eyes resting on her milky white bosoms.

She paused for a moment, evaluating the chicken. "I think it needs a few more minutes."

"Yeah," I agreed, caring little about dinner. She lingered a moment longer, then quickly looked up at me, catching my eyes down her open robe. But I was growing braver and didn't look away this time. Jason was watching the television and his Mom was facing away from him anyway. Rachel wasn't paying the least bit of attention.

"Yeah, what?" she asked, smiling, still leaning over the open oven door.

"Huh?" Now I looked into her smiling brown eyes, crinkled at the corners.

"Yeah, what?" she repeated, still leaning over with her robe open. Through her cleavage I could see straight down over her stomach to her pink panties.

"Yeah, it looks great to me," I smiled, meaning every word.

Smiling, she closed the oven and rose, straightening her robe, pulling it tightly closed. But that mattered little—she had been closing it every few minutes, it just kept coming back open. So I would hang around a few more minutes until it just loosened up again ...

"Listen, big boy. You really should go sit down," she scolded, cocking her head to one side flirtatiously. But I wasn't leaving ...

A few minutes later she was in the oven again after the chicken. This time she went after it from the opposite side, so that she was facing away, instead of bending over towards me. The kitchen was so narrow that her behind bumped against my hip.

"Out of the way, please!"

But I just moved a little closer, so that I was more directly in front of the oven and even more in her way. She rose, pulling on the oven mitt, then bent again to reach for the chicken. This time, her butt came directly into contact with my crotch. I didn't say anything and neither did she. She just paused for a moment, pretending to get a better grip on the cookie sheet. And then pushed back against me, grinding her butt up against my crotch, aiming perfecting so that my flaccid dick was wedged right up between her butt cheeks, nuzzled at the entrance to her sweet juicy heaven. She rubbed against me for a second, then straightened, turning towards me with a cookie sheet full of delicious smelling chicken.

"Oops," she said, smiling broadly. "It's kind of warm in here, isn't it?"

-

There was no way I was up for a movie night out. During dinner, my fever spiked even higher—I retired to the couch to rest and recover from my sunburn.

"You're an idiot," Jason admonished.

"Whatever, dickweed." I didn't care to argue, lying under a sheet in my shorts, red and burning up.

"Okay, guys. No fighting," Mrs. White intervened.

"Mom, I still want to go out—I don't care if Dave is too stupid to wear sunscreen." Rachel said. Sometimes she was a compassionless snake. But it was my own fault—I should have kept re-applying the block.

"You guys can still go out," I offered. "I'll be okay. I can chill here by myself and watch TV." Rachel and Jason looked to their Mom for her answer.

"Why don't you guys just go out and I will stay back to take care of David?" Mrs. White offered. There was a good idea! There was some mild arguing but it was shortly agreed—after she gave them the car keys and some cash.

A few minutes later the door clicked shut and I was alone with Ashley. At. Last.

"Do you need me to get you anything?" She was finishing the last bits of clean-up in the kitchen.

"No, I'm okay."

"Alright. Give me a couple of minute to get my jammies on and then we'll find something to watch."

She picked up the television remote control and fiddled for a moment, but it didn't seem to be working. So she switched on the tube by hand. The television was an older unit, perched on an entertainment center several feet off the floor. At about the same level as my head, as I lay lengthwise on the sofa reclining against a pillow. She pressed the button to flip through the channels for a moment, before settling on a sit-com.

"Is this okay for now?" she asked, and I nodded silently in agreement.

"I'll be right back. And I'll try to find a movie for us to watch," she said in a perky motherly voice, probably feeling guilty that I had gotten so sunburned in her care.

"Okay."

Off she hustled into her bedroom, closing the door loosely behind her. But it was swollen with humidity and the age of the place and slowly it swung back open. Lying on the sofa I had a clear view into her bedroom. She stood, back to me, rummaging through the upper drawer of a dresser on the far wall, still in her bathrobe. Then finding what she was looking for, she quickly slipped the robe down off her shoulders. Her hourglass figure was revealed from the rear—her tiny waist, the swelling curves of her hips, the white of her bare bottom, the few extra pounds jiggling. Swiftly she slipped the white pajama halter down over her head and the white tan line from her bikini top disappeared from my view. Her fleshy bottom rippled as she lifted first one leg and then the other to pull on the short bottoms. In all too brief a moment her naked beauty was covered again. She turned and I looked back toward the television, pretending to be engaged. She bustled back into the living room, breasts bouncing under the thin top, the texture of her soft nipples showing. She was carrying a jar of aloe.

"I want you to put something on your burn, okay?"

"Okay." I wasn't arguing.

"Can I get you anything before I sit down?"

"No thanks, Ashley—I'm good," I replied, moving to sit up, making space for her on the sofa.

"You're fine—you don't have to move, sweetie," she said, motioning that she would take the chair.

Damn!

She handed me the aloe, plopping into the recliner.

"We'll watch this for a bit, then I'll find something else, okay?"

I nodded, stretching out, not really having an opinion, curled up under the sheet, the aloe jar forgotten in the pillows. Feeling dozy, sunburned and tired ... the fading light of the sun comforting me through the floor-to-ceiling blinds over the glass door leading out onto our narrow balcony.

She sighed, sinking into the recliner, exhaling the relief of a well-earned rest after a busy dinnertime catering to three mostly unhelpful teenagers. "Whew, I'm kind of tired anyway. I don't know if I could've stayed awake thru a whole movie."

A minute later ... "You really should put some of that lotion on—okay, sweetie?"

"Okay, Ashley." I was out of it, eyelids drooping. The canned laughter from the sit-com droned on, the ceiling fan hummed fast. It was hard work, vacationing with the Whites—how could Jason and Rachel still have the energy to go out to the movies? All that sun and swimming ...

From far away, I heard her voice ... "David?" Then felt her hand on my foot, shaking me a little under the sheet. "David, are you sleeping? David, honey?"

"No, I'm still awake." I rallied, shaking myself awake, pulling back from far away. It was just me and her—our time alone ... I couldn't let it go to waste, falling asleep like that. "I'm awake." She laughed, sweet bells ringing. I raised my head to look towards her, curled comfortably on the recliner. "What?"

"You're falling asleep!"

"Yeah, I guess I'm kind of tired."

"Do you still want me to find a movie?"

"Yeah, that's great." I struggled from under the sheet, rising to a sitting position, determined not to squander my time alone with Ashley. Fumbling with the aloe, I started smearing it half-heartedly on my chest and arms while Ashley fiddled with the remote, quietly cursing it. The sit-com droned on. The aloe was cold on my burn under the fan and I shivered.

"I can put some on your back." Her voice was less mothering, a little hesitant, more timid than earlier.

"Okay."

She rose, taking the aloe jar. Stupid laughter still whined from the television. Apparently, the remote was not working.

"Lie down." This time with more authority. I laid face down, curling one arm under a pillow, turning my head so the television was still visible. Friends. Rachel and Ross were on again, off again. Not so important. More important was feeling Mrs. White kneel over me, her left foot and knee behind my left knee towards the back of the sofa, some of her weight resting on my legs, the rest balanced on her right foot on the floor.

"This might be cold." Kindly, she rubbed the aloe between her hands a little to warm it, but I shivered nonetheless when she touched my shoulders.

"Sorry!"

Her touch was business-like, smearing the lotion in deeply and well, covering my shoulders, spreading it evenly. Her fingers worked the cream in efficiently, economically, with experience, the way a parent covers a child. Gradually, she worked her way lower, rubbing in brisk circles in the center of my back, making the lotion disappear. I could feel the tension in her legs gather as she worked, trembling slightly. Then, as she began to relax somewhat, I could feel her body sink lower, more of her weight coming onto my legs. Pausing, her hands left me momentarily as she dipped her fingers back into the aloe. Sighing and uncomfortable, she finally allowed herself to relax onto me completely, sitting mostly on my right thigh, her left leg folded and tucked behind mine on the couch, her right foot still on the floor.

"Is this okay? Sorry, that was uncomfortable balancing like that."

"It's okay." Of course it was okay. Mrs. White was touching my legs with her warm booty, her hands kneading my back. She ran her hands up my sides, still engaged in spreading the lotion evenly.

"You are so lean, David." Her voice mixed envy and desire, so said my imagination. Starting at my shoulders again, her touch became a bit more tender, rubbing sensually, no longer at the organized business of treating a sunburn. My penis stirred in my shorts and I tried hard not to rub my groin into the sofa. Now she was slowly working her thumbs into the crease of my spine, her fingers spread towards the sides of my back. And it only felt natural, part of the rubbing, when she started to slowly grind her crotch against my thigh. Her fingertips were kneading the muscles of my shoulders, grasping and releasing, slowly and steadily. And thru her pajama bottoms I could feel her pussy, warm and damp. First it was ever so slightly, lightly, just barely touching. Then her hands were to my sides again and I sensed her leaning closer to me, felt her hot breath on my neck, the pressure of her crotch against my leg increasing. Her hair fell against my back and I felt her lean even closer. Inadvertently, I groaned in pleasure, not sexually, but just enjoying her hands on my sides, her wet cooch brushing against my leg—and she suddenly leapt up. The fan cooled a moist spot on my right thigh where her pussy juices had soaked through her pajama bottoms.

"Okay, I think that's good," she said, "it's getting really hot in here." Smiling and maybe embarrassed, she fanned her forehead. I ground my hard-on into the sofa.

-

"Damn this thing!" She shook the remote, pointing it towards the television and pressing buttons fiercely. She was back in the recliner—and I was trapped on the sofa, unable to slip from under the sheet because of my rampant erection. Damn teenage hormones—sometimes my dick would get hard if the wind blew on it.

"We can just watch this," I said, trying to alleviate her frustration.

"It's not working," she said, "this place is sort of run-down, isn't it?" She sighed, placing the non-functional remote on the end table. Slipping off the chair, she crawled across the carpet to the television. I stopped paying any attention to the television and watched her supple form cross the floor on all fours, slinking in her thin white pajamas. She pushed at the television buttons, switching the channel, resting on one hand and her knees, feet in the air, toes pointed at the ceiling. The short pajama bottoms left nothing to my imagination—even in the dim light I could see the white untanned lines in the creases between her butt cheeks and upper thighs. Her labia were hanging, little dark buttons on either side of her pajamas bottoms riding up into the dimpled crease of her vagina. She was in captivation to the television, flipping channels, poised, back arched, her bottom pointed right at me. The halter top fell away from her breasts and I had a full view of those too, pendulous orbs hanging towards the floor, swinging slightly as she flicked the channels, backlit by the television.

"There is nothing on ..."

Baseball, talking heads, news, cartoons—she was reaching the end of the dial. Nature programming, black and white movies, more sports, fast cars ... and suddenly, naked people having sex!

"Oh!" She paused on it for a moment. A middle-aged woman, maybe a few years older than Mrs. White's age, was getting it served to her from a somewhat younger guy—the woman was obviously having a good time, lying back on a sofa as the muscular man boned her mercilessly, skin slapping noises.

"What the hell!" She flipped to the next channel, talking heads, looking back over her shoulder quickly with a guilty embarrassment. "I can't believe that was just on the TV! I hope you didn't see that?" Laughing, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Wait, can you turn that back?"

She looked back at me with mock disgust, peering over her shoulder, her back arched, full breasts scraping against the floor, her rounded bottom begging to be fucked.

"I can't let you watch that. Are you kidding me?"

"C'mon, Ashley. I'm a big boy." Smiling.

She intentionally turned the knob the wrong way, flipping to a newscaster. "Look, it's over anyway."

"No, you turned it the wrong way."

Flipping back the other way, there was the woman, head back, her eyes closed, toes pointed at the ceiling, cock sliding in and out of her juicy pussy ... squelching noises and moans of pleasure filled the room.

"Oh my God! How can this even be on the television?" She was incredulous, still poised on her knees.

"Leave it on!"

"David ..." Her tone indicated disapproval but she left it on anyway, watching from her close vantage as the porn stud slowly worked his swollen horse cock into the woman's vagina. The camera moved—seated next to the sofa in a chair was another man, watching the couple fuck and stroking his erect dick, which was much smaller than the first man's horse cock. The woman was obviously enjoying herself, grunting and groaning, eyes closed. Yet another man's voice came from off-camera.

"How do you like watching your wife get fucked like that?"

The man playing with his dick looked up towards the off-camera voice, smiling, nodding his approval and the woman opened her eyes, reaching over toward him. The stud kept ramming his dick into her, skin slapping and smacking.

Mrs. White made a sound of disgust but she didn't move to change the channel. She was engrossed, eyes wide.

"Oh my God!" she repeated, "can you believe these people?" She was mostly exclaiming to herself so I didn't say anything in reply. I was hoping and praying she would just leave it on—my dick was a raging mess, straining to leap out of my shorts.

And my prayers were answered. Without taking her eyes from the television, Mrs. White crawled over to the couch and took the end opposite me. Clutching a pillow tightly, she curled up, her knees tucked in close to her chest.

"Cool, Ashley. You picked an awesome movie!"

She didn't look at me, just glancing briefly towards the wall clock, before back to the television intently. "Don't tell Jason and Rachel," she commanded in a low husky voice.

The woman beckoned towards the man playing with his penis and he came over onto the sofa with her, sitting so that his penis was near to her face. And she started sucking his dick while the other man fucked her mercilessly.

"That's it. She needs two dicks," came the voice from off-camera.

"Oh my God," Mrs. White repeated again. She settled lower into her corner of the couch, stretching out slightly so that her feet came over towards my side. Illuminated only by the television, it was difficult to see her face clearly and I didn't want to stare. But she was definitely engrossed in the ménage à trois and it seemed one of her hands had slipped down between her legs, although her body was somewhat concealed by the pillow. I said nothing, stretching my feet out from the low couch onto the floor, giving Mrs. White plenty of room to make herself comfortable. Grunts and groans of pleasure from the television filled the apartment. Inconspicuously, I tried to arrange the sheet over part of my lower body in an attempt to obscure my rampant boner, which I am sure looked like a tent from Mrs. White's perspective. But she was engrossed in the carnality coming from the television.

The woman was paying close attention to her husband's penis, her neck bent so that she could suck him off while the other man continued ramming his huge dick into her pussy. Her saliva ran down over her husband's dick, dripping around his scrotum, and he ran his hands through her hair and over her face lovingly.

"Oh, my ..." I heard Mrs. White sigh. She had settled even further into the couch—now her feet were reaching me, touching lightly against my thigh. She was almost completely reclined lengthwise on the couch, a pillow behind her, another clutched tightly against her body. I squeezed against the far end, pressing my lanky body into the arm so to give her as much space as I could. Whatever she needed to be comfortable. Her hand was definitely moving around under the pillow—I could feel her body movements through her feet, now kneading softly against my leg.