Mom's Errant Panties

Of course, I instinctively knew I shouldn't be evaluating my mother's ass, but while I was debating actions, I was obligated to take on her behalf, my ass-radar had been activated by something rare and special, even though I was psychologically incapable of acknowledging it in the moment.

The simple fact is...

...no, it's not simple at all. It's really fucking complicated, actually... but it's true.

My mother has the most symmetrically perfect, aesthetically pleasing, beautiful ass I've ever seen, and even though I'd been living with it, I had never noticed it before that moment. It had to be stripped down and pointed right at my face before I could even acknowledge its existence.

Even while attached to someone puking in a toilet, it was fucking beautiful. It was like a booty unicorn and might have been the GOAT. The one ass to rule them all. The Lock Ness Momster.

I think you probably get the idea and are justifiably creeped out by how much I liked it. But, if it's any consolation, I didn't understand that I was liking it that much while she was puking.

Some creepy subsystem tied to whatever had made me an ass man in the first place, was doing all the noticing on my behalf, and it was only able to do it because the absurd, drunken moment had torn a hole in something I've come to think of as The Veil of Familial Obscurity.

I think most of us have one.

It may be an evolutionary thing, masking the sexuality of immediate family to prevent genetic deformities in offspring or maybe it's environmental, possibly constructed as we grow up to preserve our closest relatives inside relationships that aren't subject to the fluctuations of attraction-based love.

I don't know... maybe it's just some crap I've made up to justify some of my choices, but I believe it's true as it would perfectly explain why Luke and Leia were able to enjoy sucking face before they knew they were siblings, for example.

So, the theory is clearly backed by science.

Standing in the bathroom doorway, my mother's most intimate parts on full display, I was a man in a buffering video that had lost connection to its source, knowing I should want to move on, to look away, but unable to do it. My body and head were trying to accomplish contrasting goals.

My legs felt the onus to turn, and my body seemed keen to comply, but my eyes absolutely insisted on taking in every contour, shadow, and reflection, committing each to memory.

When I finally managed to remove myself from the scene, it was like that old timey Vaudeville Hook trope you see in cartoons, where a performer is pulled off the stage by an unseen stagehand with a long-handled hook.

My head was sort of forced to fall in line when my legs finally won the battle.

As I moved down the hall on autopilot, passing pictures of extended family that suddenly seemed to have gone full Harry Potter in their frames, shaking their heads in disgust and making indignant noises as I passed, I called over my shoulder, loudly announcing that I was going to go turn the shower on in her bathroom.

I wasn't sure she'd want to take a shower, but I thought it was a safe bet and it gave me something to do other than stand there listening.

She responded with something guttural and echoey, probably because her face was still in the bowl, but it sounded like a 'thank you' so I proceeded into her bedroom's attached bathroom and set the shower temperature to a comfortable level.

I'd been contemplating how to interact with her as I exited her bathroom, heading back to check on her when she suddenly walked into her room looking much less happy than she had when I pulled her from the Uber.

She was as touch less wobbly now, but her normally large and vibrant brown eyes were barely open, and she looked like she wasn't quite done throwing up when she closed her bathroom door. She said something that was barely intelligible as she'd passed--another 'thank you' I believe--and I headed to the basement.

I'd only sat at my computer desk for a few seconds before I began berating myself for the prolonged, and certainly creepy, gawking I'd done at my mother's exposed ass and genitals.

Once I'd had some time to think about it, I understood why I'd been so enamored by what I saw, but I certainly wasn't excusing myself simply because I like asses and had realized hers was perfect.

On the contrary, I spent a considerable amount of time evaluating my sanity, trying to decide if I needed to go apologize. But then I managed to conjure up a measure of indignation, reflecting on how she'd put me in that position.

I mean, why didn't she have underwear on? Was she actually banging dudes at the club and then forgetting to put her underwear back on? Or was she not wearing underwear in the first place because she was anticipating banging dudes at the club?

About twenty minutes after I heard the water stop flowing in the pipes overhead (my desk was directly under Mom's bedroom), and for only the second time since I'd installed them, I activated her cameras, starting in her bathroom and half-expecting to see her sprawled out on the tile.

The light was off but after adjusting the camera's setting a bit, I felt satisfied that she'd at least made it back into her bedroom.

I wasn't particularly worried about an overdose that night, although it wasn't outside the realm of possibility. If she'd had any hidden pills I'd not managed to find, her inebriated state could certainly facilitate a bad decision in that regard, but I thought it unlikely she would keep such a temptation around at that point in her recovery.

Still, I needed to see that she was okay so I could stop worrying about her.

I flipped her bedroom camera on, but only saw darkness. I could tell that the camera was on and recording because of the counter in the bottom left corner, but even after adjusting settings, it remained black.

The audio was working, but I couldn't tell if I was hearing some kind of feedback from the A/C or snoring or something else.

It seemed likely that something had been placed in front of where I'd installed the camera, which would explain the darkness with accompanying audio.

I'd just about resigned myself to an awkward late-night door knock when Mom let me know both what the sound was and that she was doing just fine.

I switched off the camera immediately and located the most recent data file that would have been recorded, pressing the shift+del key combination to permanently delete it before my devious mind could rationalize any sort of preservation effort.

A single throaty moan that was obviously Mom's, had informed me that she was masturbating with a device that was making the mechanical sounds I'd been hearing.

I was actually familiar with that mechanical device, having come across it while searching her room for pills, and it had become something of a test of wills between her and I.

Mom had stood there with her arms folded and one eyebrow raised while I removed the batteries and checked for hidden stashes during a room inspection. Since discovering it, I forced myself to lift her mattress and retrieve it every time I searched her room.

It was more than awkward, but I needed her to see how serious I was about finding anything she tried to hide. She seemed to want me to know that my vigilant, boundary-free efforts, were going to come at the embarrassing cost of handling her sex toy while she watched.

I sat back in my computer chair and pressed my palms into my eye sockets. It had all been way too much for one night and I noticed that it was half-passed three in the morning.

The audible masturbation sounds had been the embarrassment icing on a seven-layer cake of complete, complicated awkwardness. I was so discombobulated by it all that I felt the need to deprive my brain of free-range thinking.

My first thought, as was often the case when I felt stressed, was to watch some porn, but that seemed precarious given the state of mind I was in, so I instead opted to play a first-person shooter I'd been

into recently.

I knew the game would require my focus and serve as a good distraction from the complicated, unnatural thoughts saturating my mind.

It kind of worked for the first couple matches but I soon found that my brain was resisting the effort and I could no longer sink into the zone where muscle memory typically took over and my fingers became one with the keyboard, reacting instinctively as was required for the top tier competition I was being matched with.

Players I typically shit on were suddenly beating me and rubbing my face in it over the in-game voice coms.

After hearing the seventh or eighth, "Get rekt, shitter!" in a foreign accent, I was too frustrated to continue and I logged out of the game, reaching immediately for the bottle of melatonin I sometimes used when I couldn't sleep.

My next move was to take a warm shower and hopefully relax enough to quickly crash afterwards.

I occasionally jacked-off in the shower. Sometimes, the analog whacking to mental imagery was a nice change of pace from the glossy digital asses on my monitor. I'd fired off some enjoyable loads in that shower, but it was rare, and I certainly wasn't planning to do so then.

I was a little annoyed by the level-two, partial chub I found waiting under my boxers as I dropped them to the bathroom floor. The weighted, dangle-look that was typically an ego boost when I caught a glimpse of it in the mirror, wasn't particularly welcome just then, as I was all too aware of its dubious origins.

After a few minutes lying in the tub, I actually managed to purge some of the evening's stresses, letting the dual shower heads rain down on my body the way I liked.

My calm state didn't last long, however. The constant, almost vibrating pressure in my groin seemed to sense that I was ignoring it, and it started to become more and more aggressive, but it was related to what happened upstairs and that was a boundary I didn't care to cross.

While I was completely comfortable objectifying the women online who'd made a career of being objectified, my mother was a real person I cared a great deal for, and she'd not intended to be seen the way she had--at least not by me.

So, there I sat, horny and irritable but afraid to jack off.

I could have ended my shower, dried off, gone back to my computer, cranked one out to porn and then cleaned up and gone to bed, but that felt like a lot.

Fortunately, Mrs. Snow came to the rescue.

As I'd considered stroke-worthy, non-familial, fantasies, I remembered the last time I'd seen my neighbor sunbathing in her backyard with her top untied. She'd not turned over that day like I'd been willing her to do with my mind (I apparently don't have telepathy) but seeing her ass cheeks mostly exposed on either side of her thin bathing suit, not to mention the half inch of side boob that was visible, had been enough before and would be now.

I didn't have to look to know that my cock was partially erect, as I could feel it resting low on my thigh where it would never reach unless it was inflated to some degree.

Almost immediately after giving my mental faculties over to enhance the resolution of my neighbor-based fantasy, I felt my dick lift away from my leg, doing its leaning tower of Pisa impression.

Mrs. Snow had begun pooching her ass up, lifting her hips into the air a little so I could really get my face in there. I imagined her pushing against me, helping me spread her cheeks and probe her crevasses with my nose and tongue.

Normally, if I was going analog like this, sans visuals, I'd have to work up to it, doing some light flaccid wiener-work with my thumb and forefinger as I let the fantasy de jure materialize in my mind's eye. Feeling the increasing tensile strength of my hardon as it progressed, was often part of the process to shower wanking.

But there was no need for the finger-foreplay. Simply letting my mind drift towards that oft frequented, flesh-toned headspace where I stored offline spank-material, had been more than enough to fully raise the curtain on the evening's presentation.

The keynote speaker had already taken to the podium, not bothering to wait for his introduction.

Even with my eyes closed and my lids pooling with water, I knew I was pretty hard; I could feel the stoney pressure in my pelvis turned launch pad.

My pulse quickened and my breath got heavier as Mrs. Snow moved off her pool lounger, smirking salaciously as she took to her yoga mat and began to demo the downward dog position, reaching back and pulling her bathing suit bottom to the side for me, revealing her little off-white pucker of an anus.

It was time to take control of my flight stick and steer this fantasy into Mrs. Snow's tight little canyon.

I'm not Jewish, but I was circumcised at birth for aesthetic purposes and over the years, I've become very familiar with the Hebrew hammer that operation gave me. I was subsequently startled when I reached for the promised land and felt an unfamiliar erection.

I immediately opened my eyelids, not bothering to clear the water from them first.

I had to blink several times before I could see properly, but once it came into focus, I couldn't believe the veiny monster currently rising out of my pubic hair.

It almost looked like a medical emergency, dark purple and swollen to a degree I'd not known was possible.

Even with the water spraying, I could feel an inordinate amount of viscous precum dribbling from my cock hole onto my fingers.

I was a little alarmed at first, then intrigued, then downright turned on by what I was seeing.

I was fairly certain that the angry boner I was observing would relax once I came, but I'd be lying if I said I had no concerns at all. This was, at a minimum, unusual.

I've heard horror stories about overdoses on Viagra, and the unrelenting, often painful, engorgements that must be drained with a needle before they go flaccid, but I'd not taken any prescriptions, and what I was experiencing wasn't exactly painful.

If there was any discomfort at all, it was a dull ache in my testicles, but that felt like the good kind of ache I associated with edging; something I sometimes did when I knew nobody would be in the house all day.

On those special occasions, the swollen-nuts sensation was self-inflicted and came from repeatedly bringing myself to the edge of orgasm, then stopping before the actual ejaculation. I'd do this a couple times an hour for as many hours as I could stand it, which is more difficult than it sounds.

The payoff to edging could be a mind-blowing orgasm, often compensatory, or close to it, to the duration and frequency of the sacrificial jerks that created it.

I'd not been edging, though, and my cock was positively throbbing; the mushroomed head looked hard enough to break glass.

I'd measured my penis before; of course, I had, just like every guy does at some point in their life, and while I wasn't packing anything that would get me into porn, I'd been pleased to find that I was a solid inch above the national average in both length and girth.

The website I'd referenced for the measuring guide and statistics, suggested that the information was provided for health purposes only and that size wasn't particularly important for sex and had no bearing on fertility.

My limited knowledge on penis size and its importance to women came primarily from pornography where it seemed the goal was always to get the biggest dick possible inside the tiniest, legal pussy that would agree to being skewered on camera for money.

In my case, I suppose, it really didn't matter what size I was as I wasn't disappointing or pleasuring anyone with what I was packing; Kikko's prerecorded moans notwithstanding.

My dick felt almost hot to the touch as I held it, and shivers ran through me in response to an initial squeeze I gave it.

The thing was ready to blow like Krakatoa and while I knew deep down that it was being fueled by an unprecedented and entirely inappropriate memory of my mother's surprisingly perfect ass, it simply had to be attended to.

I pictured myself directly behind Mrs. Snow and the downward dog position she was demonstrating in her backyard as I prepared to enter her backyard.

With her face pressed into the foam mat, looking back up at me in anticipation, I imagined myself guiding the tip of my inordinately swollen cock back and forth through the delicate folds of her slick crease, bathing it in the wetness of her natural lubricant as I prepared to use it on her asshole.

Her torso jostled with anticipatory shivers as I imagined her sensing the moment arriving, taking deep breaths and then steeling herself as she giggled nervously, saying, "Okay. I think I'm ready."

I secured my grip on the overinflated base of my cock in the shower, seeing myself doing the same in my fantasy as I got up on one knee and began tapping the tip of my cock against her nervous little butthole, transferring her pussy's lubricant into her ass crack, then dipping back to her cunt for more.

She cooed adorably as I added more and more slickness to the tight little hole I was about to stretch.

I was so deep into my fantasy that I could almost feel Mrs. Snow pushing back into my erection as I lined it up with her little pucker, feeling the tight resistance begin to give as my advancing helmet began making space for itself, my cock just peaking inside the dark tightness it would soon be wrapped in.

She winced a little and I backed off the pressure, weirdly feeling a need to let the fantasy representation of Mrs. Snow relax and feel safe.

After a couple seconds,

Mrs. Snow took a deep breath and nodded for me to continue. Her expression was resolute with a hint of apprehension that somehow made it all the hotter.

I went back to slowly pushing, now imagining the warmth of her anus as it began to tulip open and allow my mushroom tip to dip inside, her body expanding to accommodate the wedge as she alternated between pleasure-filled moans and the occasional grimace.

My fantasy Mrs. snow began to issue throaty, vowel-heavy noises as her body transitioned from apprehensive excitement to raw, meaty pleasure, sinking into the stuffing sensation of her butthole being filled with hot, turgid cock as I began penetrating deeper and deeper between her spread ass cheeks.

Her whole body began to quiver like a vibrator and when her eyelids fluttered open, I only saw white.

I paused the thrusting to ask if it felt okay and she pumped back onto my cock, greedily taking the last inch I'd thus far denied her as my pelvis smashed against her moist ass crack.

She began pumping herself on and off my cock, answering me without answering me, and then groaning, "Nguuh hung-ffffuck Me!"

But the voice was wrong and the next time she turned back to meet my gaze, Mrs. Snow had vanished and my mother had taken her place, posed in the same downward dog position but she didn't have her bikini bottom pulled to the side.

My interloping mother wasn't wearing anything other than the dress she'd come home in earlier that night. The slinky accordion of fabric lay under her breasts like it had upstairs, but now it was inching higher with each thrust, threatening to reveal breasts I hadn't actually seen since I was breastfeeding.

Mom breathed hard through gritted teeth while eagerly pushing herself up towards me, forcing my penetrating hardon deep inside her greedy, beautiful ass.

I immediately released my grip, pulling my hand away from the stroking it was doing in the shower, but feeling my cock continuing to twitch of its own accord as if protesting the sudden stoppage of play and trying to finish on its own.

I pushed off with my feet on the bottom of the tub and slid my body into an immediate sitting position, tingling all over with equal parts lust and horror at what had almost happened.