Nora in the Sun Pt. 10

"By the way," she added after she finished brushing, "what we're doing here, this is the absolute limit."

"What?"

"You've come in your mother's mouth, Brett," she said, as a matter of fact. "You won't be cumming anywhere else inside me. Do you understand?"

"Oh." I felt a little wave of disappointment putting a damper on everything. It was like the slowing of the car matched my mood.

"Listen," mom put her hand on my leg. "This is a lot of fun. More fun than I've had in a long, long time. If ever, honestly. And it's not like we're stopping." Mom pursed her lips, trying to word this as clearly for me as possible. "But you need to understand that I am your mother, and what we're doing, it's so, so crazy. We had sex -- you had to pull out, this is a giant, illegal mess, Brett. You're my son, I shouldn't have even jerked you off a few days ago."

We went quiet as the car settled into the speed limit.

"I'll be... a bit of a whore for you," Mom said, her mouth unused to saying the word, 'whore.' "But I've got a very, very serious line here. It's more than moral, do you understand? Can you imagine if... if you got me pregnant?"

I couldn't imagine it. It really was insane. I could see her point but the idea was so stunning that I didn't really know how to respond.

"Understand, Brett?" Mom was back to her motherly self, really confirming that I knew where she was coming from.

It was really weird, but my disappointment was immeasurable. "Yeah."

Mom glared at me.

"Yes, mom," I said reluctantly. "I understand."

I didn't want to.

I really, really, really wanted to cum inside my mother.

...

...

...

Chapter 21

I smiled sheepishly, trying to look cool while Cancun started to appear in flashes along the sides of the road. Tourist attractions, a zoo, hotels and motels from thatched water huts to blocky, adobe complexes. The names of the businesses we passed flitted in and out of English, names like Paradise Spa blended with Casa de Vino Anejo, and the speed limit brought us down, down, into a halting movement that timed with the stop lights.

We pulled into downtown, where the pearly exteriors of businesses stood alongside tall hotels while people filtered through the base, tourists with darkened skin, more six packs of beer than cell phones.

"Where are we staying?" I asked. Mom pulled herself out of some reverie and pointed along the right toward a highway sign that said "Isla Mujeres."

"Just follow those signs, Brett. It's a surprise."

I shrugged as I turned off according to her instructions. "Alright."

The streets suddenly lost all of their hotels. Strips of green ran up and down the sides of the road -- a broad park spread out to our left, dotted with palms and pools as we headed east, until we hit a straight wall of apartment buildings in a deep orange cream color. The apartments then disappeared, as fast as they arrived. To our left, broad, expansive complexes, endless mowed grass, and waving palms started to spread out, and beyond, we could see the ocean again as we cruised south along what I realized was a long, thin peninsula that carried more luxury hotel resort per square foot than anything I had ever seen.

"Woah," I marveled at the slick, minimalist modern buildings that stood atop expansive grass grounds that melted into the ocean, multicolored canopies dotting the sand line, flashes of dozens of pools interspersed between the resort buildings.

"It's this one," mom said, grinning, as we pulled up to an entrance lined with cool white monolithic stones.

"This one..." I stared at a bronze gilded and backlit sign and at the immaculately trimmed grass that sprinkled with fresh water and the warm smell of chlorine. "This one looks expensive. How'd you reserve a place like this?"

"Credit cards, Brett," mom laughed at me. "Someday, you'll be a big enough boy to use them too."

We pulled into the parking lot and got out, our legs tight from the journey and from our speed-themed sexual game. While mom checked in, I carried all of our luggage, acting as porter for the both of us. People looked us up and down -- not only the staff that wondered at the beautiful woman in the sunglasses, but also the much, much younger guy that carried everything for her.

It occurred to me that out here, without my dad as a barometer, people would make an assumption about us that wasn't entirely true, but at the same time they would also assume that we weren't related to begin with.

It was exciting.

Mom led the way once she finished checking in, chuckling to herself. "You know," she said, the smile apparent in her voice, "they asked me if they should spread rose petals, if we had any special days coming up. Like an anniversary. Or a honeymoon."

"For us?"

Mom's hips swayed seductively as she moved ahead of me. She looked back, laughing at me. "They said, 'we hope you make some unforgettable memories here.' All this, as if we were lovers, or something. Imagine that."

"Wow. Yeah."

We popped into an elevator. Mom watched my chest and shoulders as I hefted our things. She bit her lip, deep in thought. "You know," she said, "I wouldn't mind if we pretended something like that."

"Oh?"

"You may be my son, but it's not like anyone knows." Her small white hand tucked along her neck. "Oh Brett. Are we crazy?"

I had no idea what to say. I had just cum into my own mother's mouth half an hour ago -- and we were ignoring all of the calls from my dad -- her husband. It was as if we really had run away like lovers despite being more related than most lovers could be.

"We could be crazy," mom added, her smile a teasing, mischievous grin. It was clear she was cooking something else up in her mind -- something to add to our vacation. She leaned forward, kissed me on the lower lip, and let her tongue move along the corner of my mouth as she closed her eyes. I kissed her back.

The elevator doors opened, and mom pulled away in full view of some staff and guests that were waiting on our floor. I saw their gaze pulling away from us as a series of mental calculations went on in their faces as they compared my mother's age to mine.

Mom's hand boldly smoothed over my pelvis as she stepped out. "Come on, kid," she said, her eyes sexy and dark. "If this sugar momma arrangement is going to work I need you to hurry it up. I won't wait for my massage."

Some of the guests suppressed smiles at mom's implication while my face lit up, hot, as I stepped out and tried to duck out of sight. Once we rounded the corner I had the presence of mind to get what my mom was doing. She looked like she was having fun, occasionally turning to watch my red, embarrassed face.

When we got inside our room, mom sat on the bed. The only bed in the room. It glowed in the light filtering through the curtains. "I have a request," she said, slowly. She crossed her legs, letting her lightly tanned thigh shine over the white bed. "You're willing to do something for your mother, aren't you?"

"Sure," I said, ready for whatever she needed.

"What I said in the elevator... about you being a sugar baby," she leaned back, pushing her breasts up, drawing her knee upward. "I'd like to play that game." I understood where she was coming from, but mom explained, her voice seductive and slow. "I'll be your sugar momma. You'll do what I say in public. I'll pretend I'm lavishing all of this on my new, shiny toy. Are you willing to be mommy's pretty new toy?"

The idea was hilarious to me. But at the same time, I figured it would be a lot of fun to pretend that my mother wasn't my mother at all -- that she was a milf, a cougar who picked me up and whisked me to Mexico to have her all to herself. "Alright," I said, looking at mom differently. She really was her own woman, even though it was strange to think of her as anything but my mom. This woman had done my laundry for me for almost two decades -- she selflessly provided a clean, safe home, and picked up jobs on the side to make sure I could get things like braces or the best possible Christmas presents.

And now she was asking me to be her toy -- her luxury. "Sure. You deserve it, Mom," I added.

"That's Nora, to you," she said, her knee drifting to the side, the smooth, pale insides of her legs artfully revealing themselves under the cotton of her dress. I felt myself getting hard again, even though I had released myself in her mouth just an hour ago. She looked at me, toying with me. "Actually, I want you to call me something else." Her lips pressed softly together while she came up with something. "Mrs. Robinson."

That was definitely not our last name. But mom was trying something new. As if we weren't related. As if she were somebody I maybe knew in a professional or academic way. As if she were my professor, or my boss, or the wife of one of those. Mom traced a finger along the inside of her thigh. I looked at her hungrily.

"Just Mrs. Robinson?"

"Only Mrs. Robinson," mom decided with finality. "And don't you forget it. Or I'll have to ground you again."

"Alright."

"How about, yes, ma'am?" Mom started to laugh as her fingers pressed into the smoothness between her legs. Her thighs moved back together, and mom turned, angling the curves of her ass for me to observe.

I nodded obediently, transfixed. "Yes, ma'am."

"Do you know what I want you to do for me, little boy?" She whispered, pushing her fingers between her legs. "Come here."

I stepped forward, approaching the bed, ready. I was prepared to eat her out, to service her with my cock, to give her what she needed between her legs. "What do you want me to do, Mrs. Robinson?" I carefully moved my cock to the side and prepared to unzip my pants.

Mom leaned back, pulling me close. I felt my cock pressing against her leg, while she shifted, pushing her cunny against the hardness. Her lips went up to my cheek, giving it a soft kiss, and then moved up to my ear. She whispered while I eagerly listened.

"Go get me some more towels and some massage oil. You're going to give me a massage, and in return, I'll take you to dinner." Her lashes batted at me. Mom was clearly set on getting as much of a treat out of me as she could.

Disappointed, my cock throbbing, I pulled myself up.

"If you need money," she said, drawing out her words as if she were the richest woman in the world, "I have cash in my purse. Thank you, doll." She stretched out on the bed, smiling at me, watching as I sullenly left with a fistful of pesos.

The staff at the front desk didn't take long at all in getting me towels. I had to buy massage oil from a store inside that also sold bathing suits and sunglasses. I figured mom would probably want to drop by here at some point -- it had an elegant variety of the latest styles -- each one something I could imagine her wearing, from bold reds to sea greens to dotted whites and sheer blacks. I wanted to surprise mom with one, but she only gave me enough for the oil. And maybe it was better for my dignity that I didn't buy them, but that didn't stop me from wanting to pick something sexy for her.

There was one particular swimsuit that caught my eye -- it was extremely thin, extremely skimpy, barely a sliver of black cloth to cover nipples, more string than actual bathing suit. It would create a crisscrossed network of lines for anyone tanning in it. It was nearly pornographic in how little cloth was actually a part of it.

While checking out, I imagined mom wearing it for longer than I could really control myself. My own mother would go far, far beyond sheer beauty -- she would be a creature of pure sex, decorated by only ounces of string over her nakedness. I saw the lady at the check stand shake her head disapprovingly as I left. I couldn't imagine how that lady would look if she knew I was thinking about my own mom. I finished salivating over the thought and wiped my mouth and left, trying to figure out when I could bring her down here and convince her to buy it.

I was half certain that the poor passengers in the elevator might have gotten a glimpse of what I was tenting. I got back to the room, trying to keep my erection under control.

There was a new addition to the center of the suite. One of the staff must have brought up a massage table. Mom sat on the edge, wearing only a bathrobe. Her arms were crossed around her body, her gaze only for me. The window sashes were open, allowing light and a breeze to swirl through the room. The sound of the surf was quiet outside.

"They're fast here, aren't they?" Mom noted, her fingers trailing on the massage table. "What do you think?"

"I think you're right, Mrs. Robinson," I said, trying to stay in the role.

"I was looking forward to this service a little more, though," she whispered. Her hands went to the edges of the bathrobe. Her soft, pale fingers wrapped around the edges. I could see that the tie wasn't in a knot around her. It wasn't going to take much for all of her to be revealed. "I want you to... ease some of my tensions. Can you do that for me?" She lightly pulled on one edge of the bathrobe, exposing a sliver of her chest. The rosy nipple of her right breast appeared for me, a warm color in the lightness of my mother's skin. She stared at me as if she really were a different woman -- as if she weren't the one who gave birth to me, as if she were a seductress who had picked me up and flown me halfway around the world as her plaything.

"Absolutely," I said, my mouth dry.

"I don't even know what to call you," Mom said. She cocked her head to the side. "It's hard enough knowing you're my little boy. What am I supposed to call you if we're playing this game? Help me out, Brett."

I was at a loss for words.

"Do I call you, cutie? Young man? 'Hey you'?" She smiled, pulling at her robe, baring a full, heavy breast. "I give up. Did you bring the massage oil?"

"I did," my voice barely came out.

Mom straightened, running her hand through her hair, bringing it around her front. It draped across her chest, hiding some of the skin as she turned and bent over, allowing me to observe the lovely shape of her bottom underneath the bathrobe. She drew her arms apart, pulling at the edges of her robe... and it fell to the floor.

Her soft skin, tinged with the sun, touched with bikini lines that revealed an impossibly fragile paleness was so glorious, so delicious. Her hips smoothed around, the curve of her bottom plump and dreamily fuckable.

My mother turned her head and watched my reaction as she stretched out, pulling herself over the massage table, settling onto it, a flash of moist pink at the intersection of her legs, the curve of her bottom even more accentuated now that she lay face down. Her breasts were tucked under her chest, her hair drifted over her eyes. She looked at me through her locks, waiting for me.

"You look so hungry, but we have an arrangement, boy toy," she said, hiding her smile behind her soft shoulders. "Massage first. Then we'll get dinner."

I poured the lotion into my hands, reliving the moment where I first applied tanning oil to my lovely mother's skin. This time, mom waited for it, watching me, eager to feel my hands. I rubbed it through my fingers, allowing the excess to drip all over my mother's back.

Like cum.

I had already cum on my mother's face over the last few days, but I realized I wanted very, very badly to take her from behind again, and to pull out and spray my cum all over her back, just like on the couch last night. The sight of the oil alone was enough to send me into a deep, heavily urgent horny space.

My cock stood at attention under my shorts. Mom looked at it from behind her arms and I heard a soft laugh. "Not so fast. I hope you realize just how far I want you to go for now."

"What?"

"Massage my back, kid," mom made a humming sound, the cool scent of her perfume rising around me. "Put those muscles to use."

I poured some extra oil over her back. Mom gasped as she felt the cool slickness go up her spine, splashing over her ass. I then pushed my hands into her skin, and mom gave a soft moan as I pressed at the tension I felt under her sexy, soft skin. The more I pushed, the more I slid my hands up and down her body, the less tense she grew in her back, but the more tense her noise seemed to get.

Mom's breathing grew heavy. I slid my hands up to the back of her neck and gripped it tightly, feeling her neck muscles relax while her eyes flicked open to watch my cock straining against my pants.

"Oh, you look so yummy sometimes," she almost whispered, her eyes on my dick as I moved back and forth to massage her more deeply. "I almost want to suckle you, baby..." Mom's gasps were intense -- almost as strong as when she and I fucked on the armchair last night.

"Almost?" My fingers were slick -- so was her lovely neck, so was all of her smooth, curved back.

Mom let out a moan as I pushed my fingers, slipping along her lower back, holding her as if I were mounting her from behind. I pushed my cock against the firmness of her bottom and felt the shock of pleasure in me as I pushed against her side. Mom opened her mouth and let herself go, making sounds of pleasurable relaxation as I worked at the muscles in her back, plying her gently, witnessing with my fingers the sensation of her body as it smoothed out.

It occurred to me that I had only been paying attention to half of her. My fingers didn't need to be limited to her back.

I could feel much, much more if I pressed. Outside... and in... and down.

Her lower half looked so delightful. My hands slipped down, pressed along the base of her spine, spread out, smoothing as I widened my hands to grab her plush, lovely round bottom. Mom's gorgeous ass made smooth, firm indentations as my fingers sank in. She shifted, humming, feeling my fingers along her nakedness. I wanted to look closer. I wanted to go deeper. Between her legs, was a soft, secret, wet place. My mother's eye peeked from over her shoulder at me, waiting as I licked my lips, seeking the spot she kept hidden.

"I don't know, Brett..." She commented. "You shouldn't be looking there. I'm your mother, aren't I?"

I hooked my thumbs under each cheek. Pulled outward. Her ass was so firm, so soft, an impossible dichotomy of feminine perfection that meant I could push deep, that meant she was truly a woman. My thumbs pushed in, pulled farther out, revealing her warm, wet pussy lips, a perfect pink slit. I heard mom's breath pulling in as I explored her, as her most private place opened, only for me. I went further, and her labia drew apart, and my mother's cunt gaped for me, already wet, already inviting, looking so, so moist and sweet.

Like home.

I felt my cock throbbing against the table, took in the scent of my mother's heady musk, was completely aware of mom's gaze on me, watching me, waiting to see what I would do. "Remember, Brett," my mom said quietly, playfully. "This is an arrangement. It's not for you to do whatever you want."

"I know," I said, trying to mean it.

Then a ringtone came from mom's purse. We stopped, both looked toward it. It rang, and rang, and rang, the ringtone mom chose specifically for dad's contact singing over and over. The more it played, the darker the mood in the room became. Mom suddenly felt tense under me.

Her arms shifted underneath her. She pushed herself up, and my fingers slipped out from the soft place under her bottom. She turned around, lifting one knee, eyeing me. Her taut breasts lightly pulled to the sides, her pink nipples looking like candies. She looked concerned again.

"Brett..." mom said, sounding worried, "what are we doing?"

I didn't have an answer.

"I know I just gave you a big talk about boundaries... but I've also been thinking. We're drawing boundaries on something we've gone so, so far on already. Too far. To be honest with you," she began, "I've been having so, so much fun over the last few days that I haven't been honest with myself. About the fact that I've been sexually playing with my own son."