Mum/Son Tease Homestay Hosts Ch. 01

His erection was between my butt cheeks. I bent forward, over the desk, dramatically sweeping papers and objects to the floor with wide motions of my arms. I raised my naked arse up against his penis.

I looked back. I reached back and grabbed hold of his erection, guiding it to me.

"Is this how you want it, mum?"

"Yes, dear son. This is how I have dreamt I want it. And you are my dream son."

He gripped my arse cheeks with both hands. I felt his head pressed hard against my nether opening. I should be afraid, be very afraid, of this looming steel pole that could split me asunder. But, I found myself relaxed on the desk. It was because I had rehearsed this so many times in my dreams. My love portal was relaxed and fearless. The calm before the storm.

His penis slowly forced me open. Then, with a dramatic thrust, he was back in his mummy.

I winced as his full width forced into me. I squeezed on him and felt a shot of pleasure. Then, I relaxed again, willing myself to open to him.

I pushed my arse back against his hardness, completely enveloping him.

He gripped my butt cheeks and started pumping. I squeezed and relaxed rhythmically.

I moaned loudly as Seb sped up. Soon his hands were moving on my body until he gripped my breasts. Ouch! Sweet agony.

He was ramming me hard now. He grunted with exertion.

He was pounding me with an animal pleasure. He pushed on in a perambulating manner for a while, picked up hectic momentum, into violence.

I groaned and whimpered softly. My neck and chest were flush. l sucked all the air in the room. Seb was gasping.

All my butterflies lined up, spread their wings, and took flight with excitement in a rising cloud of every hue. My body shuddered and shivered. I made tiny noises in my throat.

Waves of emotion. Storm clouds parted, sun broke through. Ice caps melted. Mermaids sang. It was that good. So good. I had never climbed this high a pinnacle. I was in a state of sexual grace. Depleted and full all at once.

I had emerged from a dark tunnel and found myself in the middle of a Rio carnival.

Seb slowed, and pummeled me with two last massive thrusts. He stopped fully inside me. I felt him twitch. Then again. And then again.

The cathedral hush before dawn. Finally, he let out a sigh and pulled out. He let go of my breasts and stepped back.

I slumped on the desk. I felt fluids ooze out of me from every body crevice. But actually, it was only one.

We lingered in the moment. We relished the zone.

A scent permeated the air. My scent, suspect, like everything sexual that smelled really good.

Fine granules of sweat and other fluids, the small evidence of human desires and passions, lined our body parts.

I felt a wonderful lightness in my being. A ridiculous happiness. I felt unaccountably free. Just about anything was possible.

I could be a singer in the park. A violinist in the piazza. A dancer in the rain. Pirouetted till I fell over. Then, writhed a floor dance till my dress turned rag.

These emotions, they flowed from nowhere. And everywhere.

I experienced a kind of extraordinary peace as my muscles and sinews sighed back to the places they had come from.

After a respite, Seb picked me up, scooped me in a flurry, over the threshold of carpet, before laying me on the bed.

I nestled into his bakery warmth which was disablingly sensual. If only we could stay this way forever.

***

That was our last night at our homestay. The kind that was possible only when the minds were mum and son, the bodies, woman and man. The mind-body dualism in a twist. A delightful abstraction. Or maybe, this was another one of God's more sublime jokes on humanity.

***

Part 15

Photos For Dad

The last day of our homestay. We would be departing by train in the afternoon from Oxenholme station.

We had taken many photos. But, the self-timed photos and selfies of Seb and me hadn't turned out very well in terms of composition.

I asked J&J if they could take some memento pictures for us, particularly in the patio, to capture us and the glorious lake country as backdrop. We would be nude.

I added that my husband had asked for the photos, to get an idea on what he was missing out on. Jane shot Jake a look.

Jake said he was happy to help. He was a photography buff, though he mostly shot scenery given the panoramic countryside he was blessed to live in.

Although Jake owned a high-end DSLR camera which I had seen on the living room shelf, he did not offer to use it. I had a sense that he understood that we would prefer to take our photos on our own camera for privacy protection reasons. This was evidence of the social integrity and trustworthiness of our hosts. I was gratified.

So as not to be overly imposing on J&J, I said that we would like just five shots.

One photo in the bedroom. Another in the living room. Three in the patio. A kind of record of our wonderful cottage-on-a-hill experience.

Since Jake had the full complement of photography lighting gear to shoot professional quality photos, he requested Jane to help him with them. We would navigate from bedroom, living room to patio.

First shot.

Seb and I sat close to each other, side by side, our torsos and thighs in contact, on the bed with our backs against the headboard. Behind the headboard was the floor-to-ceiling glass wall with the spectacular lake country view.

My legs were pressed together, stretched straight out, toes pointed. This produced a visual peeking hint of my mons pubis, with a little bush, without giving any feminine secrets away.

Seb sat, symmetrically, in a similar stretched fashion, except that one of his legs was bent at the knee. He was in a semi-flourish state, which was an ideal form because it hinted at his youthful vitality and vigour, without being lewd. I looked at Jane. She was eyeing this photographic detail studiously.

Jake asked Jane to help with the lighting, to be focused on the subjects as fill-flash to compensate for the glorious glare of scenery backdrop from the floor-to-ceiling window.

Click.

Second shot.

We moved to the living room. It was pleasantly déjà vu. Seb and I recreated the pose from the other night where I reclined over Seb as if he was a lounge chair. We went through the same body tuning fine calibration motions as the other night, before we settled down to a photo-ready state. Behind us was a view of the patio, and the beckoning lake country beyond. Great backdrop.

Click.

The same thought must have crossed Jane's and Jake's minds. As Seb and I disentangled from our pose, their eyes automatically lasered into Seb. They were not disappointed. I spied Jake wink at Jane. She grinned wickedly.

We carried on nonchalantly so as not to embarrass Seb. We needn't have bothered. Seb was totally unfazed. Mum had trained him well. Lovely.

We moved to the patio.

Third shot.

Seb sat on the patio chair. I lowered myself gingerly on his lap at an oblique angle, then crossed my legs. Seb's shaft was sticking through my junction of crotch and upper thighs. I tightened my crossed legs to obscure his head. J&J watched our posing adjustments with interest.

Click.

Fourth shot.

I turned to Jake and Jane.

Sheepishly, "I hope you're not offended by these last two shoot requests. They're kind of obligatory in our nudist culture. They're... hmmm... a little racy. A lark. We tried shooting with the self-timer. The results were unsatisfying."

Jake assured me, "Go for it! We're all adults here."

Jane nodded in confirmatory reassurance.

Seb stood behind me. He cupped my breasts gently, like twin treasured objects. We gazed at each other's eyes dreamily.

Click.

Fifth and final shot.

The tug shot.

Seb stood valiantly. I held him there. I looked deep into his eyes in connection. I was waiting for Jake to shoot. But, no click.

Uncharacteristic of Jake, he suggested hesitantly, "Saula, you may like to prime Seb a little for a more compelling shot..."

I looked at Seb to see how I could repose ourselves for better photographic effect.

Then, Jake's meaning hit me. I was a little stunned. Would this offend Jane, even though this was her hubby's suggestion? A mature woman rubbing a young man to flourish in the presence of other people? More outrageously, a mother pumping her son? I shot Jane a questioning look.

Jane grinned. And then, using her index finger, she measured the length of an imaginary object in the air.

I was freed of moral burden. I was duly following the photographer's well-intentioned instructions.

In an act of socially conditioned modesty, Seb turned away from J&J.

I faced Seb, and started priming him perfunctorily. I could see that J&J were invested in my actions. This was our photography project after all. They could only see my hand movements.

I decided to tease them a little. I increased my intensity and as if carried away in earnest action, I inadvertently shifted our body positions a little so that J&J had an oblique view of us now. They probably could see the activity on his painfully engorged bulbous head.

Seb was highly aroused by this frisson. I had never seen him in such a fulsome state. He was uncut. I had never seen his foreskin drawn so far back.

I decided to up the ante.

"Oh Seb, you're not clean there! It won't do to have this show up in the photo."

I kneeled before Seb, and made a motherly show of examining him earnestly.

I gingerly peeled back his skin a little more, gently, ever so slightly, as if reading his fear of tearing, if not painful rupture.

Beneath was grime, accumulated over time, clinging to the circular recess between his shaft and his head.

"There it is. Caked."

Delicately, cautiously, I used my finger tips to scrape the flakey grime off. I sensed he felt a warm charge of raw tingle with each tender scraping motion, heightening, as I was finishing up, loosening and clearing the remnant speckled dirt that was still nestled in the crevice ring beneath his helmet head.

I had better stop. The difference between optimisation and over-calibration was a mere quiver away. And then our photo project would have to end prematurely.

Did I look like I primed Seb maybe a little too enthusiastically? Was I too pedantic?

Seb was now in the desired photo-ready state.

My better senses returning to me, I looked at Jane in shame. She flashed an approving smirk.

I looked down at Seb in charmed fascination, held him there, as if astonished by how much my boy had grown.

Click.

***

Part 16

Dear Saula

Three months after our homestay...

Dear Saula

I hope that you and your family are well.

I know that this email will come as a surprise to you given that homestay guest-host relationships are nearly always transient, after the euphoria of the vacation leaks into the cloud of routine life. But, I feel that we've a connection of some kind, at some level, which I can identify, but can't quite define.

I so wanted to write to you all this time, but have been holding it off because I simply didn't know how to get started, how to go about expressing it. I've finally mustered the courage to come right out and say it because this is gnawing me away.

I feel that every secret story has a time to be told. Otherwise, I'll be a prisoner to the secret inside me.

Hosting Seb and you has stirred something deep in me. I think it was the combination of witnessing the deep affection you had for your son, and your son, you, and the way your nudism practice has bonded you both.

You already know that I adore my son, Jim. Something happened on that Saturday morning when Seb and you were sunbathing in the garden.

Jake was out golfing with his mates. I went upstairs to look for Jim to tell him something. I couldn't find him in his room. I thought he might be revisiting the attic, a fave chill bolt hole in his young days, where he spent his quiet time.

Jim was looking intently out of the attic window. I joined him there.

Seb and you were setting up your sunbathing. I was obliged to explain to Jim that you are both nudists. Jim was a bit taken aback that a mum and son could be nude together. It took him awhile to process that social fact.

Our first instinct was to pull away from the window to respect your privacy, even though I've been socialised to your nudism.

That was when Seb began applying lotion on you. If you don't mind my saying so, it was quite a sensuous sight. Young Seb rubbing your back, and then your front. We were enthralled by it all. It's not every day custom that one sees a nude mum-son pair, let alone a nude healthy son rubbing down a bare lush mum in a secluded place. I guess it would be different if the stage was on a Mediterranean or Rio beach. From a distance, it looked like peace. Equanimity.

Haplessly entranced, we continued watching you return the favour to Seb. And then, it appeared like you were giving Seb a vigorous massage. A workout.

Lest you misinterpret me, let me say, unequivocally, that we saw nothing untoward. We saw a mum and son at one with the universe, comfortable in their own skins, enjoying country sun and air.

We were quite moved by what we saw. I will just say here that we got affectionate, and then, it stirred us into a little light intimacy.

Jim asked if we could try out a little nudism of our own, just for a lark, right there in the attic. He said Dad would be away till late afternoon, a good six hours away, as if it carried the promise of more promises. I was flabbergasted, to say the least.

"Can I see you..." he asked without a question mark.

Jim had never seen me in anything less than a sensible one-piece swimsuit. No childhood accidental bathroom nudity flashes. No bathroom-to-bedroom three yard sprints. No teenhood inadvertent fleeting lingerie exposés. And should I even say this. I can't remember Jim ever messing with my wardrobe and laundry basket velvety stash.

Oh, the poor child! What an underprivileged, deprived, dreary childhood! Freud would be properly nauseated. LOL!

My, my, I am lightening up, am I not? Writing can be so liberating and therapeutic, don't you think?

Jim noticed that I was haplessly nervous and edgy.

He went nude first in hopes of spurring me on.

I can wax lyrical from this point on and lose myself completely in a giddy haze, so, I'll just be mindful to rein in myself here.

He had truly exceptional presence. My eyes could not help fixing on it with a touch of maternal proprietorial pride. On his head, a little moist dense sensual matter gathered. It gave me a strange ticklish sensation down below. The only way I could quell it was grinding my knees together under my dress. This son was mine. Even then, I felt that he had become that much more mine.

He encircled his girth at his base with his thumb and forefinger as if he was informing me something pertinent, gazing at me questioningly. I could only give a tiny nod, like a contented cat. The whole thing was too sensual for words.

Eminently a better class of hardon than my usual allotment. Jake was a dear, and he tried really hard, but, we just didn't have that same straining energy anymore. As was when I was highly aroused, I experienced the sensations of itch, tingle and then ache in succession.

I was feeling very shy. Pulled in inconvenient directions by an interior mother-woman-wife tension. Overwhelmed by the exorbitant occasion. Way too much bearing on me in so short a time. I had to find a way. I had to shut it out. But, how?

Softly, almost pleading, "This is not easy for me. Please turn around..."

I undressed, calmly folded my clothes and placed them in a corner. I laid naked on the thick shag pile carpet, facing down.

Nervously with a touch of mischief, I managed, "Don't get anything up needlessly. I'm not showing much."

I raised my head and shoulders as he turned around. I propped myself up just enough. I guess it was a provocative pose although I am unsure now if that was by devious design. He could see my breasts, though my nipples were hidden in the thick carpet. I supposed it was a sexy teasing view.

Gasping, "Oh, Mum, this is so sensual! So erotic. Can I go round to look at you?"

"You get to see my bare butt. I'm keeping my legs closed, so don't get your hopes up."

He went around checking me out. I closed my eyes, letting him know that I was doing that. Perversely, I was giving him quality privacy to violate my privacy. Let him rove and range my secrets.

I didn't know how long I stayed in this position. Time stopped. It was an utterly strange primal emotion. My son was studying a new breed of mother cat with scholarly anthropological interest.

After what seemed like the longest time, my eyes still closed, I felt a little tired. I lowered my bosom to the carpet, lying flat, my front totally obscured.

I slowly crossed my legs, intersecting at my ankles. I didn't know how long I locked in this position. My eyes remained blissfully closed.

Could he see past my butt cheeks? Was my thatch showing? My bush was quite luxuriant. If it showed, was it adequate to obscure my pouty lips? I was deeply aroused. Were my lips engorged?

I felt an emerging, welling moistness. The kind of feeling you experienced just before it rained full pelt. Oh dear, would it show? Would my pubes glisten? I hoped it wouldn't come to dribble. What would my son think of the mummy fluid? Maybe if he had his way, he would save it in tiny glass ampoules, stow them away in an unmarked shoebox deep in his cupboard, to relish it again at his pleasure another time.

I decided to tighten up a bit. I moved to cross my right thigh over my left thigh. My legs intersected at the back of my knees. This had to be the most prominent pear shape a woman could muster.

I clenched my buttocks. More compact now. This must have perked up my butt cheeks into pressed buns.

A gasp.

I relaxed, then clenched my butt cheeks.

Relaxed, clenched.

Relaxed, clenched.

Relaxed, clenched.

I relished the straining visceral tension in my body even though it was a little uncomfortable.

Again, I was unmoored from spacetime. I wondered what my son might be doing? There was a certain devilish charm in not knowing.

Perhaps he was surveying the curve of my hips?

Perhaps he was studying my pressed butt orbs? I had been gaining a little weight in my backside of late. I hoped he found them still appealing. Maybe the extra weight might have added a little sensual sway mass to my mature tail?

Could he see any tuft peeking from my butt crack? I should have been more meticulous in my bottom hirsute maintenance. But, how would I have known that I would be posturing like this for my son's private visual treat?

And horror of horrors, I hope my posture didn't reveal my puckered oily o-ring? That would be vulgar and unmotherly. No, that couldn't be. My cheeks were clenched. But, at an angle, and all perked up like an offering. What sort of rump perspective would that present? Oh, what a worrywart I am!

Perhaps he liked the muscle lines of my toned thighs? And lower, the arc of my calves? Would he discern the faint shading of mole dots on the back of my right thigh as an alluring feature or as unlovely blemish?

Perhaps he liked my turn of ankles? I instinctively pointed my toes. A sort of strained ballet en pointe.

Was that my feverish imagination, or was it a stifled click of a cell phone?

Oh my god! Should I stop him? But, I didn't know for sure. Maybe he was attending to an urgent cell phone message from work?

If he was indeed photographing me, would it matter, since my face was obscured in the thick shag pile carpet?

Maybe it was more than still life? Maybe he was orbiting me like a silent spy drone, hovering high and low, videoing the finer texture and nuances of his mother's geographical features? Oh my god, he would have recorded my rhythmic arse clenching movements!