Lusting After My 75 yo Mum

Perhaps you can imagine I was as hard as nails, a small damp patch visible on my trouser front. I adjusted myself but she didn't look - maybe deliberately so, I can't say. So again I asked, please, please could I have a picture of her topless? I'd keep it safe - she must surely understand that if she had needs then I would obviously have them? But she was having none of it, trying to console me that it was nothing to do with needs, simply that she would feel she was undermining my wife, going behind her back and that she wasn't prepared to do that. Inevitably we debated it for ages but it was no use, I recognised the signs, it was hopeless. And during all of this there was stuff I would usually find very titilating: the content of the conversation of course; the fact she had kicked off her slippers to reveal her golden-nylon-clad feet, wriggling her toes in the thicker nylon that covered them (she doesn't know of my fetish in that department); a slight chill in the air causing her nipples to make the slightest of bumps in her blouse (she never wears revealing clothing or low-cut necklines, again I have to make do with such scraps). Though of course I noticed these things all of them counted as nothing against the main disappointment. Still, what could I do?

Persist is the answer! And I did persist - almost every time we spoke for a month or so I would raise the subject in some way, asking supplementary questions about her own sexual activity, pleading with her to reconsider a photo, reasoning with her that it would not be betraying my wife but aiding our marital harmony (liar!). She must have been sick of it, and can have been in no doubt that I wanted some part of her to which I have had no entitlement since she stopped breast feeding me. With hindsight I feel somewhat guilty but she stuck to her guns, remaining tollerant and kind throughout - though goodness only knows what my Dad would have said.

And then, a couple of weeks back I cracked her! My persuasion was not that much improved so I don't know what did it. Having driven her home from a visit to our house we went into hers and I put on the kettle, still discussing what to do about the curtains I was intending to take down and take home to wash for her. She took off her jacket, unfastened her shoes and padded in her stockinged feet toward the coat cupboard - I watched, enjoying the spectacle. We sat at the kitchen table and drank coffee - would I like a biscuit? No thanks. The usual banal banter before some silence, not awkward, just no more to say. I finished my drink but stayed seated. "Mum - I'm sorry to go on about this but can I just ask one more thing and then I promise I'll let the subject drop?". Of course she knew exactly what the subject would be, rolling her eyes and smiling awkwardly but indulgently she nodded "Yes, go on then...".

I plucked up my courage again, largely because of my embarrassment at bringing up the subject for the umpteenth time. "You know when I first asked you for a photo you said couldn't I make do with just looking? Well... does that offer stand?". I exaggerated - it hadn't been an offer, but I was hoping her failing memory would distort things and make her feel guilty enough to relent. "It wasn't an offer Love - I was just talking. You know I can't." she seemed genuinely deflated, almost as though she were letting me down. So I argued a different tack. "But it wouldn't be betraying her..." meaning my wife - I might have used her name, I'm not sure. "I know you care about her, but you care about me too. You know how unfairly she treats me - wouldn't you like to redress the balance slightly? I'm not saying to get one over on her, just even things up for me, give me some pleasure...". I'm sure I held my breath, certainly I wasn't as stressed as I had been when I'd first asked her for the photo - clearly we'd talked of it too often for that.

She was quiet for what seemed like minutes but then eased herself to her feet and said a weary "Come on then!", not at all playful, more resigned to it. I tried to look uncertain and she said, "One quick look, and that's it, alright?" I was awe-struck. She said something about getting on with it before she got scared and then asked me "Will this be an end to it? No more badgering?". I really couldn't believe it and just nodded - not even sure it was what I wanted any more, so unexpected was this turn of events. I asked was she sure and she said she wasn't but (thank God!) nevertheless left the kitchen and went out into the hall, sitting on her stair lift and making it climb the stairs. My heart was pounding as I stood at the bottom of the first flight and asked "Do I come up now... or wait?". Her response might have been a little terse, I can't really remember but that's the impression it left with me "Up to you...". As she stood from the chair and disappeared onto the landing I just paced about, first making to climb the stairs, then not wanting to appear hurried so turning away, then realising I would of course be keen after all my pestering so why should I try to appear casual now?!

I charged up - Mum had barely made it to her bedroom because of her aching legs but was drawing the curtains closed. "Can I put on the light?" I asked - she nodded and took off her cardigan, tossing it onto her neat little bed. She undressed without ceremony and I watched in disbelief as her bony fingers undid the buttons on her blue cotton blouse, from the top down, gradually revealing a nylon bra-slip in paler blue and with lace trimmings around each of her breasts. It was obvious that her hurrying hurt her arthritis a little and she winced as she pulled the tail of her blouse from her skirt before throwing that onto the bed too. "I'm not taking everything off." she warned and I nodded. "And just a quick look, alright?". I nodded again, aware that instead of an erection I simply had a pleasurable terror in my loins, leaking pre-cum that one can get when afraid or excited in other ways. Stupidly I looked away for a second or two in a mistaken gesture of respect, then regained my composure as she slid the straps of the slip from her shoulders and slid her willowy but baggy, wrinkled arms from them, pulling each cup from its place to reveal a ribbed breast bone and surprisingly scraggy neck (she always wears high necklines) above a white cotton bra again with lace trim, partly see-through on the top of her breasts but without the colour of her nipples being visible albeit, excitingly, I could just make out their shape. My cock was now swelling and I felt in danger of spontaneous ejaculation - it was all I could do not to touch myself but I sensed that if I came I might feel the disgust I used to feel when first wanking about her and as a result stop her from taking off her bra. That would never do.

Her slip now hanging down over the waistband of her skirt, revealing a slightly sagging pot belly Mum looked at me for confirmation that she should take of her bra. She didn't need to speak, nor I to reply and she looked down and pulled the bra straps from her sloping shoulders, one at a time, again lifting her arms through the loops as she took each cup from her breasts, revealing the soft, gently wobbling flesh to the stark electric lighting. It was magnificent! Rather than pulling the clasp to the front again as she had when I had filmed her at Christmas she simply pushed the still fastened band down, over her tummy and her boobs drooped slightly as they lost the support of the wire underneath, swaying from side-to-side under their own weight and pulling on the centre of her ribcage so that the skin stretched into vertical wrinkles at the her clevage, pulling on each of her tits and causing it to lose a little more shape, her nipples being pulled towards her sides, pointing outwards like imperfectly aligned eyes. I didn't see her unfasten her bra but she threw it to one side and again her brilliant tits swayed from side to side, her nipples pricking in the chilled air - fucking hell!

Her skin was as pale as can be, almost translucent and with a blueish hue, one or two veins visible like rivers on a map as they traversed her round breasts, their tips drawn up into a dog-nosed pertness by the tightness of her elderly skin. Mum brushed the palm of each hand quickly over each of her nipples as if to fully free them from captivity and their centres were now quite proud and raised out of rose pink areola which was crinkled with cold rather than age. I had to adjust my penis which was now pointing at my mother like an arrow and she must have seen both the enormity of my swelling and the dark patch developing on my light grey trousers. That touching nearly made me cum - I was like a virgin again, almost spunking at the sight of my first girlfriend's tits but here I was instead my fifties, highly experienced sexually and yet barely able to contain myself at the sight of my 75 year old mother's sagging boobs!

I bolted from the room and up a further half-flight of stairs to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me and uncontrollably ripping down my trousers before wanking into Mum's toilet - it could have taken only three strokes and I sent a jet of semen against the seat lid before better aiming the rest into the water in the pan, hanging there like candle wax setting. I was shaking with excitement and bright red in the face, the ammonia smell of spunk heavily laden with sperm like a younger man's, rather than my more usual watery offerings - this lot had come from deep inside and my stomach muscles felt almost cramped as I straightened up from the almost foetal position I had adopted as I'd tried to shoot into the loo, rather than over it.

I cleaned myself and the toilet, resisting the temptation to see if there were any knickers or nylons in Mum's laundry basket - I was by no means disgusted at the prospect of fucking her as I thought I might have been once I'd shot my load. God - what to do now? She must have known I had cum and that was difficult - it's one thing to tell someone that you do it, it's another to do it visibly as a consequence of the sexual arousal they've just caused. Instinctively I left the bathroom and scurried downstairs, shouting back that I would put on the kettle (the English solution to most things).

When Mum came downstairs she was full dressed and there felt to be an uncomfortable silence. My face was still flushed and this made worse my difficulty about having cum in Mum's bathroom - I didn't know what to say, nor did she it seems. When we parted it was easier, almost friendly - I went to say thank you but she motioned me not to - she did a watery smile and, I think, said "No, don't." or somesuch.

And I'm afraid that's it. I've had great sex with my wife since and wanked about nothing else (so far borrowing only some of Mum's freshly discarded laddered stockings for added pleasure - she won't possibly know I have them!). I still want a photo, but it's early days yet - I must let her get used to the idea that I've seen her tits first, then raise the subject again.