My Old Mum

But don't misunderstand me, I've had plenty of decent wanks about them - it's very exciting to see Mum's dainty little fingers from behind, fiddling between her legs after she's dabbed herself with tissue (goodness only knows what she's doing, it's definitely not sexual but does look that way) and of course even a boob and legs man can't help but be hardened by the sight of his fragile, 76 year old mother's bare arse being lowered slowly down as though onto an erect cock! Yes, I've emptied my balls about both movies many times.

Before then I also managed a couple of upskirt movies where Mum's knickers (including the crotch) are visible but I'm not really into underwear as such. They're OK to wank with or into but had they have been anyone's other than my Mum's knickers or some other lady of my acquaintance then I don't think I would have been particularly interested. As it is I've tossed myself off about the view quite a few times but more because of who it is, rather than what they are. In case you're interested (my mate who suggested the cam is interested, in fact he's very interested) Mum wears big, soft granny knickers - not the sort with legs in them but like big briefs; they sit as high around the waist as tights and extend a little way down her thighs, completely enclosing her buttocks; at the front you can just make out a dark triangle which is her pubic hair and at the crotch you can see where the crease of her bottom continues to make a crease in the cotton gusset following her pussy lips (well, I like to think that's what it is); she generally wears white but has pink and pale blue too, all very safe and very definitely not flaunting outfit! As I say, I'm happy to share videos and stills once I get some confidence in whoever's asking - so feel free to ask.

And until late last week that's how the rest of my year had progressed on a sexual level: still unable to persuade my Mum into a topless photo but some consolation from chatting to her anonymously online and from hidden cam fun involving various women but, of course, most excitingly Mum herself. I'd plans for all sorts of things in the coming months (no pun intended): showing Mum videos of my mate tributing her photo; maybe tributing her photo myself and showing her a movie of that; perhaps even confessing and showing her the secret filming that I'd done of her in the loo; and, still paramount, the burning urge to get a photo of Mum's boobs which I'd so enjoyed seeing in the flesh earlier in the year.

I considered (still do consider) these all realistic, achievable ambitions all centred on satisfying an otherwise unrealistic and unachievable craving to actually fuck Mum, a craving so intense that I can honestly say I've never felt anything like it before for any woman, I've never wanted anyone more. My absolute hunger for her has grown so strong over the past few months that she occupies my every waking thought. I wank about her almost every day; even when I fuck my wife I imagine it's Mum and last week I became more sure than ever that there was no woman on Earth I'd rather screw than my Mum. I'd just emptied my umpteenth load of cum into one of her stockings that I'd had for a few days and I still wanted more, still wanted something of her, not just her scent or clothing. That's when I decided I just had to push her again to let me take that photo.

Because of her severe arthritic condition Mum has to have periodic checks with a consultant rheumatologist. She can't drive (never learned) and a taxi fare is massive from where she lives to the hospital concerned so I generally drive her whenever I'm able. Her most recent check was last week and I dutifully arrived at her house at the appointed hour. As ever she was waiting, coat on and as I opened her garden gate I watched as her frail frame picked her way across the rugged garden path, wrapped tight against a strong wind. She was certainly looking old today, slightly hunched and for a few moments I found it hard to believe that only the night before I had been at the height of ecstasy as I masturbated about her.

We exchanged pleasantries and a quick peck of a kiss and I ushered her into the car, closing the passenger door behind her. Our conversation was banal, harmless and she told me of various things she'd like to do on the way home after the hospital appointment - if I had time? With luck on my side for once I had ample time - indeed, my wife was going to be away overnight so I effectively had over 24 hours where nobody was accounting for me.

As Mum had walked down the path her long coat had obscured all but her calves so there was definitely no leg show at that point but now she had hitched up her skirt and stretched out her legs into the foot well I saw that she was wearing delicious golden honey coloured tights (she wouldn't wear stockings to see a doctor), more expensive and sheer looking than her usual milky tan. Naturally I still couldn't see above her knee but it was an enticing picture and I quickly regained the belief I'd enjoyed the previous night. Mum never wears high heels these days, simply not her style and she usually wears flat, sometimes laced, brogue-type shoes - very severe. Today she had on low heeled brown court shoes with a gold buckle at one side of each - I'd known them for years but not seen her wear them for almost as long and I said as much.

"Easier to take off slip-ons when they examine me" she explained and we fell back to inane chat until we arrived in the hospital car park. Sometimes I accompany her in to see the consultant if she needs help asking for or explaining about something more assertively than her character allows - I asked if I should stay in the car or go with her and was quite pleased that she wanted company on this occasion - quite childish pleasure really.

Mum's consultation passed without incident except at one point when she had to take off her shoes and balance on each leg alternately. Seeing her stockinged feet in the golden nylon gave me a raging hard-on almost instantly - again quite juvenile I suppose. I had to stoop slightly as I stood to leave in order to disguise the lump in my trousers - I'm not so well endowed but this was a full-on erection and I could feel I was leaking!

We set off for her house, stopping and running the few errands she'd mentioned but then got stuck in traffic on the motorway for ages so by the time we got to Mum's house it was mid-afternoon and we were both hot (the car's heater had been on too high), thirsty and Mum urgently needed the loo. I offered to put on the kettle while she went upstairs to the bathroom and she kicked off her shoes and sat on the stair lift, wriggling her toes as it started to climb.

As soon as Mum was upstairs I picked up her shoes. I've never been a foot or shoe-fetishist but the leather was still warm from her hours of wear and I had an urge to feel inside. The lining was still warm, clammy rather than damp and my fingertip dragged against the surface as I tried to feel the indentations made by Mum's bony feet. Older people tend not to perspire in the same way as younger and the scent is certainly less - the fragrance from Mum's shoes enchanted me, combining the smell of good leather with that of her nylon-clad feet and I buried my nose in one, trying to lick the instep but my tongue was too short. I licked my finger and realised I was hard for the second time that day, both times as a result of Mum's feet. Of course I've a thing for stockings but feet generally turn me off (especially bare ones) but it seemed my lust for Mum was so great that any intimacy was enjoyable.

By the time she came back to the kitchen I'd put her shoes in the hall cupboard (she thanked me - I wanted to thank her) and had made the tea. She'd put on slippers, flat, open toed mules in a plush, raspberry smoothie colour, quite incongruous with her drab grey pleated skirt, grey cardigan and pale green blouse but I didn't care, I could still follow the seductive curve of the arch of her foot and see through the thicker nylon of the reinforced toe of her luscious golden tights - perhaps I should have asked for a photo of her feet and gone home satisfied!

The rest of the afternoon passed without great incident. Mum seemed subdued but then frequently is. I nevertheless resolved to raise the subject of a photo only if she perked up - I didn't fancy her looking back at me too miserably every time I jerk off over her picture.

It grew dark and we dined on fish and chips from town. Mum ate little and ordinarily I would have finished hers too but my own appetite was muted by my nervous tension. I was sure she recognised something was amiss but was too wrapped up in her own mood to say anything to me. In my selfish way I was fairly pissed off too. I'd worked hard at being charming all day, had been a dutiful son and my wife was away giving me carte blanche to take advantage of my mother for as long as it took. Yet here she was being grumpy and miserable, further reducing my chances of persuading her to show me her boobs again. As I say, selfish, sorry but sex is a powerful driver.

As we stood washing up the plates I glanced at my watch and then it hit me, the date, the anniversary of my Dad's death –no wonder she was upset, I'd not even mentioned it. He'd died twelve years prior but she'd never got over his loss and anniversaries such as this or his birthday or Christmas seemed all the more poignant.

"I'm sorry Mum" I said and she gave a weak smile, eyes now giving way to tears but not actually crying, "It's the 9th isn't it?"

She nodded and looked down at the floor, I could tell the tears were now falling and I took the tea towel from her and put my arms around her bird-like frame. She felt vulnerable in my arms, not sobbing, quite quiet in fact but fragile from emotion as well as her infirmity. I hugged her a bit tighter, pulled away and kissed her cheek before looking into her eyes, like moist saucers. I leant forward and kissed her on the mouth – we have always done this, nothing sexual about it. And yet, in the split second my lips pressed against hers I felt swept away by desire, all powerful as my physique dwarfed hers, my confidence washing over her dependence and trust as I again put my arms around her waist.

I parted my lips and pushed my tongue between hers, feeling her teeth against its tip. She recoiled a little but, unsure of my intention she didn't pull away, I suspect for fear of offending me. It was now or never and I pressed my tongue harder between her lips, her uneven lower teeth dropping and allowing me into her mouth, albeit involuntarily. She tried to speak but I held her closer to me and continued searching for her tongue with mine.

The sensation was so erotic, I'd felt nothing like it before and as I discovered her soft tongue and teased it into response I could feel my erection pressing hard against Mum's stomach. She can have been in no doubt about my intentions now but she didn't resist. Rather she began to kiss properly, our tongues entwining and saliva smearing outside our mouths. How long was it since she had kissed like this? At least twelve years, probably longer – in fact I didn't imagine she and Dad went in for passionate snogging much after I was born, even as part of their love making.

I know now and could tell at the time that Mum's response to my kissing was not from arousal or desire; she instead just needed the intimacy of an embrace with someone she loved and full and passionate kissing was no more than an exaggerated extension of that, diluting her loneliness and deadening the pain of her long departed husband's passing. But to me it was everything, at that moment better than sex. And in the way that I suppose the client of a prostitute temporarily ignores the knowledge that he's paying for the attention I too disregarded what I knew to be motivating Mum, instead allowing myself to pretend that she was mine to fuck.

We kissed long and vigorously but not hard. She didn't venture her tongue into my mouth but danced with mine in hers, my cock still pressed against her. I wanted to touch her and knew if we stopped kissing then the chance would be lost so I raised a hand from her waist and cupped the side of her breast, deliberately grazing my thumb over where I imagined her nipple would be but feeling nothing, other than lust. Her tongue hesitated, she was again unsure whether my action was conscious or coincidence but when I squeezed her bosom so hard that she could be in no doubt she tried to pull away and I let her.

"No Richard, it's not right!" she said, barely able to meet my gaze, her chin and one cheek shiny with our combined salivation.

"But it's good Mum" I whined "It's making you feel better and I like it..." I tailed off, somewhat feebly but took hold of her again, trying to resume the kiss, my heart pounding, but she turned her head away and down.

I pleaded but didn't stop my pursuit, gently wrestling her toward the Welsh dresser, trying to kiss her again - I genuinely wanted to feel Mum's small soft tongue in my mouth. She tried everything to persuade me to stop - saying the kitchen light was on and the curtains a little apart, someone might see, that sort of thing but I was almost out of control and forced myself up against her, slowly pushing her back against the dresser and pressing my mouth against her narrow lips. Although she didn't resist she didn't kiss with the same enthusiasm as before, only allowing me to push my tongue against her teeth but no further.

Holding her against me with my arm round her waist, still trying to kiss her, I started to unbutton Mum's blouse. Usually she wears a bra-slip but today there was no sign, presumably because it would've been more to take off had they wanted to examine her more closely. Much the same as her shoes, Mum's inability to easily and quickly manipulate her own clothing meant that I had a bonus - sexier footwear and now no need to get her blouse right off in order to free her tits! She squirmed and protested, obviously aware of what I was doing but I just took the opportunity to slip my tongue back inside her lovely mouth, yanked her blouse open and slid a bra strap from one shoulder, so soft and warm, so shapely and smooth I was nearly cumming on the spot.

I stood back and gathered myself. I had become out of breath with the effort and of course unable to breathe through my mouth while it was crushed against Mum's.

"Richard... please?" she asked, looking a little forlorn, her clothing dishevelled and wanting me to stop. Even though she still had her cardigan on top, Mum's boobs were poking out through her now open blouse, encased in white, crisp lace-topped cups, only the upper slope of her bosom uncovered as it joined her breastbone, the colour of her nipples obscured by her bra but nonetheless visible in shape (Mum pokies!) through each cup. Although the main part of the bra was conventional, even pretty, the shoulder straps were strange - broad, too wide, almost ugly. No matter, it just sticks with me. In the scheme of things there were better things to look at.

I said something like "Just let me do this Mum" and slid my hand, palm inwards into the looser cup where I had slid down the strap and for the first time since shortly after my birth I held Mum's breast, skin-to-skin, her nipple pressing into the middle of my hand. She bent down, trying to writhe the breast out of my grasp.

"Richard!" she protested, but I had too firm a grip and all she succeeded in doing was to pull the cup away from herself, exposing her full, plump little boob to my gaze. Every inch was already etched on my memory from the previous time I had seen them naked but I drank in the sight thirstily as we sprang apart, both shocked by what had happened.

"There now!" Mum chided – whether she was saying to look what I'd done in a scolding way or to suggest that ought to be enough to satisfy me I couldn't tell. Either way I did look but it wasn't enough. Her pink nipple was darker than I remembered, somehow reflecting Mum's own anger; erect, pert – almost indignant at having been rough handled then ripped from its hammock – her areola pitted with small points amidst the pink wrinkles.

"Please can I take a picture?" I pleaded. She hesitated. My mind raced, my cock throbbed, it was soaked. Before she had chance to speak I pulled the other breast free – this didn't hang freely like its pair but was squashed upwards by the cup beneath it, the nipple pointing up in a grotesque fashion. It clearly hurt and Mum shouted, pulling the cup away to ease her pain, but unintentionally increasing my pleasure as both her perfect tits swung before me, one pointy nipple, one flat but marked like a carpet burn where I had wrenched her bra down.

I pulled her to me, squashing her breasts against my lower chest and kissed the top of her head. Of course I couldn't see her boobs any more but I just wanted her touch so badly, to feel her pressed on me. I wanted her. I kissed the top of her head and she let me hold her still, the lesser of two evils perhaps. She was panting from exertion, her rising and falling breath making her nipples rub against me - they both felt quite hard, I felt elated, an almost drug-like ecstasy.

My cock was pressing just above Mum's upper thigh. I pressed harder, enjoying the sensation, it was almost like thrusting into her for real. I reached down, between her legs and hauled up her skirt, getting tangled in her petticoat beneath. I looked down and caught sight of Mum's stockinged toes peeping out of her slipper. So pretty, so horny even when so much more was going on but another random image sticks with me – the seam of the reinforced nylon on one of Mum's feet followed her toes perfectly, like it was meant to, whereas the other had twisted and the reinforcing ran up rather than across her foot, revealing some of her toes more clearly through the thinner honey coloured nylon. In my excitement this minor disarray seemed almost slutty and I liked it.

I pulled again at her skirt and petticoat, hauling them up to her waist to reveal the waistband of her tights, large pink knickers visible beneath the golden nylon sheen. She squirmed to try and prevent me but it was token resistance; either she didn't have the strength or the inclination. She certainly said nothing as I stood back and pulled down her tights to her knees, her boobs swaying before me, both nipples now hardened to brittle peaks, pointing at me in angry accusation. I crushed one breast in my hand, pinching its nipple between the crook of my thumb and forefinger perhaps a bit too hard. She cried out. Mum's tits looked round and firm but when squeezed they felt quite empty and soft, except for those hard nips that maintained all their female vitality.

Looking at the soft pink cotton of Mum's knickers I could just make out the triangle of pubic hair behind, making the pink seem darker. The elastic waist was still just below her navel and the gusset still fully in place at Mum's crotch. I wanted to be inside. With urgency like I had never felt before I unfastened my belt and pulled my trousers apart, reaching inside and freeing my erect cock, a line of pre-cum swinging from its end onto Mum's now bare thigh.

"No Richie, please!" she panted but I wasn't sure she meant it and, to tell the truth, I don't think I would have stopped even had I been certain.

I pulled her to me, her hard nipples pressed against my lower chest as I guided my erection towards her crotch. I felt her knickers against my helmet, the hairs beneath quite coarse but softened by the fine silky cotton. Taking hold of myself with one hand I used the tip of my cock to pull the elasticated leg of Mum's knickers away from her soft, withered thigh and then pushed it inside the underwear, onto their gusset immediately below her cunt. My foreskin still covered my dick but only just, straining to roll back as my erection swelled like never before. I could feel Mum's cunt lips dragging along the top of my shaft, as though kissing it, while her knickers felt cold and slimy at the gusset - partly my pre-cum but partly her. I don't pretend she was turned-on, it could have been fear or simply a weak bladder but she was certainly wet down there.