Leaving the Nest Ch. 01

I received yet another good look inside her vest as she turned and pulled a coaster over, then placed her cup on it beside mine. This time I could almost see them in their entirety, big swinging tits that held my gaze until she actually sat down... right next to me. I must have given her the strangest look imaginable, because she actually laughed at me.

"I'm making sure you don't go anywhere," she told me as she picked up the remote and put her free hand on top of mine on my left leg. "Your torture starts here and you will endure it just as I had to endure yours."

"Uh-oh," Dad said, grinning at me from above his newspaper. "Sounds bad." He chuckled and I rolled my eyes at him

I watched as Mum lifted the remote and started pressing buttons rather exaggeratively. Every press made her tits jiggle, drawing my shameful eyes downward yet again. I tried to stop, but once I saw how her nipples were tenting the vest again I couldn't look away. I swear I could see the darker smudges of her areolae underneath, or maybe it was a trick of the light. The fabric undulated and swayed as her furious pressing of the remote made her tits bounce and wobble. I suddenly realised that they had been all over me during the tickling phase but I had been too preoccupied with laughter to even notice.

"Maybe it won't be so bad watching something of mine after all."

It took about fifteen seconds for my mind to take in those softly-spoken words, replay them and apply them to the situation I was in. Fifteen seconds it took for me to go from the shameless ogling of my mother's bountiful breasts to the downright unabashed shock of what she meant by that sentence. If it had been said in a normal tone of voice, at an acceptable decibel level for everyone present to hear it, then I would have dismissed it simply as a reference to watching a tortuous period drama. But no, it had been said quietly for my ears alone and its meaning hammered on my consciousness for the rest of the night.

Period drama or no, needless to say I didn't have to worry about boredom creeping in. Granted, I didn't sit there staring at my mother's chest like an idiot, but I did allow myself to glance that way every once in a while and when she moved to get her cup she actually leaned toward me. Of course with Dad being there I had to be careful, but he was more interested in his paper. The second time she reached for her cup, she picked up mine as well, a task that made her lean to the side slightly and as a result, display a bit more. I looked at her tits, then at her face and she smiled... she actually smiled.

Nothing more was said, nothing needed to be said. I 'watched' the TV until the bodice-ripping whatever-it-was had finished and bid my good-night's to my parents, noting that Mum was slipping her cardigan back on as I left with the empty cups.

On the way to bed I stopped off at the bathroom and grabbed some tissue. Mum and Dad were still downstairs, but I had one more thing to do before I went to sleep.

I came like a fucking fountain.

After the clean up I just lay there for a while, going over everything in my mind and still unable to come up with any rational explanation for my mother's behaviour.

I was left with a nagging question, though. What happens tomorrow?

Finally I felt the warm embrace of sleep slowly creeping up on me, pulling my eyelids closed and hugging me into comfort. Then I heard it, the term of endearment she had used just after the tickle tackles... Baby-boy. It sounded familiar, but so very distant, yet my mind couldn't dwell on it just then. My body was too relaxed, exhausted from all the laughing and tickling and the dark blanket of sleep finally laid itself over me proper.

I slept like a baby-boy.