Moving In with Mom Pt. 02

So I stood there, frozen in place, looking in at my mom sleeping on the couch. The porn I'd been watching a few minutes before in my bedroom must have messed with my mind a little, because I just...stood there. Looked. Took it all in.

My mom isn't a big woman - she's petite, as I already described, 5'1" and maybe 100 pounds. But she was lying on the couch, a sheet pulled halfway down her body, leaving her bare-chested, one leg bare all the way down. The flickering light from the television made it all somehow...unreal. Ethereal. Like something out of a movie. I could see her modest little breasts as slight mounds on her slim chest, her nipples poking upward.

It was surreal, but she was somehow glorious. I couldn't help just take it all in, one of my hands reaching down to grip and squeeze and rub at the erection I still had from the girl-on-girl scene I'd been watching at my desk just a few minutes before. Licking my lips, I subtly ground my palm against my cock, swallowing against a dry throat.

I had to get a better look - the first naked woman I'd seen in person in months, offered up to me like a plate of hors appetizers at a party. Sprawled out on her back, the line of her thigh lightly muscled - I could even see the ridges of some slightly defined abs along her belly. The treadmill and yoga mat in the basement were definitely not for show.

I took a slow, silent step forward, the sole of my socked foot gliding over the hardwood floor of the living room like a skater on ice. Willing the boards not to creak, I bit my lip, my eyes probably wide and staring as I took her in from a slightly better angle. The television went dark for a brief moment, a half-second pause between commercials, and I inwardly cursed at the blackness denying me my view.

Then the next commercial started with a clarion call of music, and she stirred in her sleep, shifting a bit. I swear, cheetah's don't move as fast as I did. One moment I was there, starting to ease my way into the living room, the next I was in the kitchen, without ever having crossed the space between. Usain Bolt would have been proud. Of my speed, that is - probably not what had been happening before.

"Ian?" I heard from the other side of the wall, in a sleepy, muzzy voice. I held my tongue, and my breath, then realized I was *also* still holding my cock. I let myself go - my hardon had vanished by that moment anyway - and just froze. I could have given lessons to any tombstone marker on the planet.

I didn't hear anything after that, and after what seemed like about two hours - but what was probably only about two minutes - the television clicked off and I heard a soft rustling. When nothing else happened, I carefully snuck back into my bedroom, taking my time about it so I could continue unheard and unnoticed.

Once there, I locked my door, dropped into my chair, and stripped off my jeans and briefs, letting them drop into a pile on the floor. I closed the lesbian scene that had been playing on my computer and, on a whim, did a search for 'mother son incest'.

Let me tell you, there are a LOT of perverts out there. And that night, I think I met them all. Especially the ones with petite blonde mothers in their mid-40s. The 'sons' always looked older than they should have been, but I only had eyes for the mothers, how they were - reluctantly at first, but eventually with seeming eagerness - wrapping their lips around hard cocks, crying out and shivering when they cocks that had come out of them went back into them.

Before long, I was sweating, groaning quietly through clenched teeth, pumping cum into a wad of toilet paper in my fist. Fuck, I hadn't cum that hard in months. I sat back in my chair, dabbing at the dribble from my softening cock with my handful of TP. I knew, right then, that this wasn't over. I wanted more. I'd get it, one way or another.

As I sat there in my refractory, feeling that energy drain from me, my cock wilting, numerous scenarios ran through my head. Ways I could see more. Get more. Do more. My mom and I had always been...close, but mother-and-son close, maybe even good-friend close, but not...this. Not like...lovers.

How would I go about this? I couldn't just...jump in. There were a lot of factors working against me, not the least of which the social taboo of what I was pondering. Funnily enough, that never seemed to be a factor to me. So she was my mother - so what? She was sexy, I wanted her, and as long as I didn't get her pregnant...there shouldn't be any problem with what two adults do together.

But that didn't mean it was going to be easy.

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