Mom Lets Us Use Her Pt. 02

Weeks went by after our moment of absolute transgression with mom. Although mom at first did make allusions to it occasionally, they soon stopped, and our debauchery started to feel more and more like a distant memory. College started, and I was home less often.

I was both relieved and let down by this turn of events. Relieved, as I had started feeling shy around the girls at college, I somehow felt like they could see through me and peek right at my secrets as if I was a glass cupboard. The longer the time between me and my sexual acts with mom, the easier I started to feel again. But I was also let down, as mom had so clearly hinted that more was to follow. Many nights I lay in bed, staring hard at the ceiling, hoping that the door would open and mom would enter and the dream would continue.

My brother Mitch and I hardly spoke about it at all either, with time passing it felt harder to bring the subject up. I think he, as well, had mixed feelings about how we had behaved. It was shocking to remember how we had let ourselves go, how nothing but a thin veil seemed to be draped over primal lusts that knew of no limitations. However, after three months or so, I was almost certain that everything had just been a dream - a good and a bad one.

Later I would learn that mom and dad had taken these months to discuss what to do next. Mom would tell me at some stage that she had never been as aroused as when we took her, which had made dad jealous when she had accidentally told him so. He had at least hoped that their sex life of before his impotence had been of some value to her. Mom tried to convince him that it had been, but she felt torn: she wanted to let us have our way with her again, but she could not bring it up as long as dad was feeling insecure.

Moreover, as time passed, the whole thing had started to feel like a fluke to her, a slip of reason. Mom would tell me that she had felt so guilty for letting go, that it felt insane for a while to even look back upon it. We had been living too closely together, she would explain, which had led to the crossing of certain boundaries. On top of all this, dad was having severe anxiety attacks at the moment when he had decided to push mom to offer herself to us earlier. He had been going through a rough time at work, and somehow had given into humiliating himself as a way to cope with the stress. People work in mysterious ways.

Even though mom would explain all this to me, months later, I was not fully convinced. It did not explain why she had agreed to let us use her as we had done. I still do not know fully what drove her towards this act, although over time I have developed some theories. But I will get to that later.

For now, we did not know at all that mom and dad had these struggles at the time, but looking back, it did show in dad being away from home much more often than before. He took every chance to go on business trips, he went out to do sports every evening in the nearby park. We could watch him run rounds around the pond from our bedroom windows. Going in the same old circles. Again and again.

Mitch and I at first lingered around the house, hoping that mom would invite us into her bed room, but she kept a straight spine and stayed true to dad. She did not even as much as flirt with us: without dad's permission to engage in any further acts of debauchery, she wanted to remain his faithful wife. We could tell, however, that it took a toll on their relation. Mom looked less lively, dad was barely at home.

After these three months, in the warm summer of 2019, however, something changed. I remember going to the kitchen and finding mom singing again. When I sat down at the breakfast table, she playfully touched our shoulders when she put the pancakes she had made freshly on our plates. I saw her red nails resting on my shirt, as she gently squeezed my shoulder.

I was surprised because mom had not made us breakfast for quite a while. I mean, my brother and I were grown-ups, so there was no need really. That day, in the way mom's hand rested on my shoulder a tiny bit too long, I realized that change was coming. I felt shivers throughout my spine.

It was on a Saturday in July. My brother was home for the weekend, and we had watched a movie together with the family the night before. When we went to sleep, I already felt like something would change the day after. Mom stared at us a bit too intensely. I woke early the next day, when I heard the front door slamming. Through the small window of my attic room, I saw dad's car leaving. Why was he going away that early on a Saturday? His small Ford rattled through the street and turned the corner.

Rubbing my eyes, I went downstairs in my pajamas. The radio was softly playing some pop song from the eighties in the kitchen, which I heard through the door to living room already. I opened it. The table in the living room was already laid, with delicious marmalade and whipped cream. I did not see any bread or buns, so I thought to go to the kitchen to get the oven to the right temperature from some fresh bread. As no one greeted me, for a moment I thought I was the first to get up after dad, but I then froze in my movements. There was mom.

She was sitting on one of the green plastic kitchen chairs, which was placed in the middle of the small kitchen adjacent to the living room. The small table that was usually here was removed, and the kitchen looked quite empty like this, with just mom sitting in the middle. Besides her chair, there were two sturdy wooden boxes, which I had never seen before. I had trouble taking it all in.

"You okay, mom?" I asked, still rubbing my eyes as I had just come out of bed. Mom did not reply. Once I got closer and my eyes were used to the morning light, I saw that she was wearing a black satin blind fold. Her hands were behind her back. My heart skipped a beat. Was this the moment that our adventure of last time would continue?

As I approached, I noticed that mom was breathing deeply as she heard me approaching. She clearly was excited but tried not show. On her chest, on her white cotton blouse, there was attached a small piece of paper with a paper clip.

"Mom?"

I came even closer, and bent forward to read it. I took off the paper clip, touching mom's breast through her blouse with my finger tips in doing so. The note said, in what I recognized to be mom's curly handwriting:

"use my face however you two like. touch me where you want. just leave the blindfold on. remember the rules. x mom."

I felt my cock twitching immediately. Was this what I had been hoping for or what I had been fearing? I felt torn between walking out of here, not repeating what we had done, and doing precisely that. I simply stood there looking at mom for a while, feeling my breath speed up, as my body seemed to have made its choice as to what it would like to do.

About ten minutes later, I heard Mitch come down.

"Yo, bro. Where are dad and mom..."

His sentence broke off in the middle when he lay eyes on our mother, sitting in the kitchen.

"What the..." he murmured, to walk past me and around mom. I saw that he only wore a jogging trousers, not even a shirt. His eyes were opened widely, taking everything in. "Dude, her wrists are all tied up. Is this okay?"

I showed him the note I had found.

"Oh, my god." Mitch said over and over again, reading it. Then he looked up at me. From under his long hair, his blue eyes twinkled naughtily. He did not say anything, but I knew what that stare meant. Still, we remained in silence and both returned our gazes to mom.

In the morning light, everything was so rudely visible, providing us no shade to hide our desires. There were the crumbs on the kitchen counter, the black and white cups in the cupboard, the chairs chaotically moved to the living room. It was as if we saw all the traces of past, everyday actions, that had frozen in time. The coffee powder next to the machine led me to imagine how mom must have made herself a cup of coffee just before we came in, the chairs that she had simply pushed aside showed a certain hurry or urgency in her actions.

Now she sat there. A black satin blindfold of her eyes. Her lips painted a purplish red, its gloss reflecting the sun rays through the blinds of the kitchen window. Through her cotton blouse, I could make out the black of her bra, dotted with small red spots, which I knew to be tiny hearts - I was slightly too familiar, perhaps, with the look of mom's bra's. I had never been able to neglect them lying around in the bath room after our adventure with mom three months before.

Mom breathed heavily, her heavy chest rising and falling slowly, as if she were using all her efforts to constrain herself and her nerves about what she thought would be happening. We looked at her. Sensing her anticipation of us touching her started to make us want to touch her. Her vulnerability in this position called us forth to make use of her, whether we would have done so otherwise or not. Everything in this context pushed us into the role of predators, even if we might have been meek as rabbits before we stepped into the kitchen. Mom expected us to approach her and her expectations would lead to this approach. We felt it happening.

Mitch sighed deeply and bent forward, resting his hands on his knees, as if he had just received a blow to his stomach. "What do you say, Kyle?" he asked. "What do you say?"

I just shook my head.

"She wants it... Do we want it?" Mitch looked at me again, his eyes more serious this time.

I looked at mom, her tight, light blue jeans stretched around her impressive legs. Her upright posture seemed to press her breasts into our direction.

"I... I can't do it, I think. Not in this light. Not in this clear state of mind." I replied.

Mitch nodded and seemed to be thinking the same. It was really strange to be in front of our mother like this, so close to her in this state, speaking about her as if she was not here. Even after our adventure with her, there had been a huge disconnect between her as a person and her as the woman we had fucked.

"This is all so weird, man..." Mitch yelled and awkwardly slapped his legs, as if he had just heard a great joke. I didn't laugh. The pop song kept playing in the background, which made the silence that fell between us feel even deeper.

"I know..." I said, and I managed to swallow away some of the tension. My dick pressed against the leg of my trousers, and I hoped Mitch wouldn't see how hot I already was. "We should not do this. Let's untie her and just have breakfast, Mitch."

But, then, Mitch took a step towards her. He bent forward, moving his face towards mom's. My heart skipped a beat. Mitch looked like a hungry animal about to devour his prey. However, when he was close to mom's face, framed with blonde curls that twisted over her blind fold, he suddenly stopped. He appeared to be sniffing. He returned to his upright position.

"She... is wearing her perfume. You know that deep, flowery one?"

I knew what he meant. It was the smell of summer holidays. The smell of comfort when one of us fell when we were kissed and were pressed against mom's warm body. It was the smell of my parents' bedroom. It was one hundred percent mom.

"I... She is our mother. Seeing her like this... It is impossible..." Mitch swallowed, visibly distressed.

"So, once more: shall we just release her and walk away from this?" I tried. "We still have the freedom to say 'no'!" The moment I said it, I knew that I had started to hope that Mitch would take initiative. I was already lost in desire.

Mitch did not reply for a while. Then he walked into the living room and returned with the whipped cream and the strawberry marmalade.

"I have an idea... Maybe we can just play around a bit and see where we end, okay? Nothing needs to happen."

Mom was almost panting now out of excitement. We tried to ignore it, but seeing her chest go up and down increased the tension in the situation. We felt like ropes stretched over an abyss - about to snap.

Mitch unscrewed the lid of the marmalade and put his finger in. Awkwardly he walked towards mom, and gently touched her cheek, where a tuft of marmalade stuck as if he were finger painting. He then turned towards me.

"Lick it." he said. "Lick it off." And in his eyes there was a mix of lust and agony, the same I think he would see in mine.

I laughed, pretending to be thinking that he was making a joke. But, clearly, he was not. Mitch kept staring at me, with a devious twinkle in his eye.

Before I knew what I was doing, I felt myself walking up towards mom. It felt like there were heavy stones in my stomach, slowing my movements. I almost could envision myself as seen from behind, walking up towards my own mother. She - dressed in a fancy cotton blouse. Me - in sleazy pajama trousers and a black shirt with folds.

I bent forward. I smelled her perfume, which I remembered that I had actually bought for her again last Christmas: Eternity by Calvin Klein. I could just see the bottle standing there in our bath room, which mom must have put on this morning to be attractive for us. For a I moment I imagined how she must have felt, spraying the perfume on her neck in the anticipation of her sons using her body again. Had she hesitated? Or was this something she longed for as much as we had?

I leaned on the chair with my wrists, pushing my face forward even further. The warmth of mom's body greeted me, welcomed me. My mouth was inches from her cheeks. I saw ever so tiny hairs on her face in the bright light, as of a peach. My mental schemas collided. I had only approached mom like this to kiss her goodbye, or when it was her birth day, or when I had hugged her when I had been younger. Now, this schema mixed with the times I had approached girls to kiss them when going out. The two did not go together, and I had to make a mental effort to stick my tongue out, to taste her, to lick her cheek.

I felt my breath condensing on mom's cheek, so close was I now. Then I gently held her by her right shoulder, while I let the surface of my tongue meet her pliant cheek. The strawberry marmalade mixed with a bitter tinge of the make up mom was wearing, as I let the tip of my tongue slide over mom's cheek, lapping up the sweet sticky marmalade. My nose was close to her ear, softly pressing against her temple under the blind fold, while I sniffed and smelled mom's perfume mixed with her shampoo. I stayed like this for a while, before I leaned back. Mitch was looking at me with large eyes, both shocked and excited about what we were doing.

"Your turn." he said, and handed me the marmalade.

I dipped my finger in the jar, and scooped up a teaspoon full of marmalade. Again, I leaned towards mom, gently pressing my finger against the soft cushions of her luscious lips. I felt the tip of her tongue as I softly pressed them apart, for a moment revealing the insides of her lips that were slightly more red and warm. Her cheek was still glistening with my spit.

Mitch gulped, as he took my place. "This feels intense." he just remarked. Then he leaned in for the kiss. I saw his back arching, his muscles tensing, as he lowered himself to be face to face with mom. He had the same hesitation as I had had, before he pushed his face forwards and pushed his lips against mom. At first I thought he was just subtly licking the marmalade off of mom's lips, but he lingered longer. I started to hear smacking sounds, and when I took a step to the side, I saw that Mitch had pushed his tongue into mom's mouth. Mom had opened her mouth slightly, letting Mitch's tongue circle over hers, which she seemed to keep still in her mouth. Mitch moaned like a horny dog.

After he was done, a thread of spit connected his and mom's mouth before it slowly became thinner and thinner and then slung itself back to mom's face, where it landed on her chin. Mom's chest was now moving up and down quickly.

"Wow..." Mitch said as he wiped the marmalade of his own lips. "That was... You should try it.... Actually, wait..."

He took a spoon out of a kitchen drawer, and filled it with the whipped cream. Then, he shook it off the spoon and part of the cream landed on mom's chin, the rest on her neck. He repeated the movement, with now some cream seeping into mom's subtle cleavage above her cotton blouse.

"Go for it..." he whispered.

Before long, I approached mom again. This time, I felt more secure. I pressed my lips against her. First, gently. I had kissed her before like this, this meant nothing yet. But then I felt mom's tongue very softly, very tentatively stick out between her lips. It sent electrical shocks through me. Even last time we had not done this . I pushed my tongue back, swirling it around hers, which she now held still after she had baited me. I was kissing mom, this was my mother's mouth!

The thought drove me crazy. I felt our noses press against one another, I felt her breasts squeezed into my torso as I tried to get closer to her. I felt her breath move past my cheek. Then, I pulled my tongue out of her mouth, and started to lap up the cream on her chin. With uncontrolled movements of my tongue, I completely cleaned her. I licked her cheeks, feeling the tiny, tiny blonde hairs against the surface of my tongue. Then I went lower, where the taste of perfume mingled strongly with that of whipped cream. Lower still, as I frantically groped mom's shoulders trying to find some hold, perhaps to get a hold of myself. But I was beyond control, and I went lower and lower still, now sliding my tongue against mom's pronounced collar bone, before I allowed myself to stick my tongue between her two warm, fat breasts to gobble up all the cream that had leaked there.

I was panting. Mom was panting. Mitch was panting. We all knew that there was no going back now, and that thought, as by telepathy, seemed to make something snap in all of us. Mitch used the spoon to leak new clots of cream onto mom's shirt, then using his hands from behind me to knead her large breasts right in front of my face. Meanwhile, I returned to licking mom's chin, again exploring her mouth. When I gasped for air, Mitch used the opportunity to fill my mouth with a huge spoonful of marmalade. I again leaned forward and exchanged it in a long and passionate kiss with mom, parts of it leaking out of the sides of her mouth onto her shirt.

Mom's cotton shirt was now drenched with the cream that Mitch kept pouring onto her, and the shirt was clenching onto her breasts, it had become transparent and started showing her bra through it. Patches of red marmalade were seeping into the cotton, making stains that would be hard to be removed later.

I couldn't resist any longer. I pushed my face in mom's cleavage, feeling her warm, flesh give way and plying around my cheeks. I wiggled my head, I felt mom's breasts bulge and almost roll out of her bra. With my hands, I groped her, pushing her boobs together, to fully immerse myself in her motherly tit flesh. They were so huge and fat, I felt like I could disappear in them completely. Through the cotton I tried to stuff my mouth full with mom's breasts, sucking my cheeks concave, sucking the cotton in, feeling the suction work on her flesh, feeling the texture of her blouse against my tongue, tasting the whipped cream.

My fingers, as if they had a mind of their own, grabbed mom's shirt and started to tug on it. I exerted force in two ways, trying to rip it open. Above my head, Mitch was still leaning in, French kissing mom with audible smacking noises. I gave the shirt a firm tug, then heard, with a satisfying snapping sound, different buttons of mom's shirt come off.

I tugged again, and I was soon able to pull her shirt to the side. My tongue slid over the naked flesh of mom's breasts, seeking its way into her bra. I let go off her shirt, and now used my free hand to scoop mom's right tit out as if I was freeing a stuck animal. It felt so insanely soft and fat in the palm of my hand, her rubbery nipple pressing against my palm. Half holding her tit, I was able to finally circle my tongue around her nipple again, licking her aureola, feeling its slight bumps and unevenness. This was coming home, I thought, when I finally stuffed my mouth with her nipple, sucking in a fair bit of her boob as well, gorging on my own mother's breast.