Nora in the Sun Pt. 11

Chapter 22

Mom was changing in the bathroom, with the door locked. I waited anxiously for her, sitting on the bed, wearing the best I had. A pair of chinos. A button up shirt. Leather shoes. I even had product in my hair thanks to the mirror next to the bed. I did everything I could to look decent for my mom -- even if it meant it looked like I was a sex obsessed college kid trying to go a big boy dance club for the first time.

I heard the bathroom door clicking. Her hair dryer had been quiet for a few minutes, so I could only guess that she was ready, in as much as any girl could be ready when it was still light out.

But hot damn, mom was more ready than any girl I ever thought I'd see.

The first thing I noted were lips -- dark, red, a highlight against the soft curve of her chin. Flush, tastefully rouged cheeks. Dark eyes with lashes that were darker. Long, long hair that curved down in careful curls. Mom's lovely neck, the elegant lined collar bones of a queen, soft, light shoulders that held hints of tan lines.

And she wore a dress that could put any girl to shame, forever. Following the contours of her body, it curved up and around her in a way that made her ass look incredible -- firm, wondrously curvy, while tightening around her waist in a way that highlighted just how much she had tried over the years to keep fit. The dress itself was black, but it was woven through with gold colored threading that drew upward from her hips and along her sides, emphasizing the curve of her breasts. Low cut. High thigh. It made her legs look even longer than usual. Dark nylons stretched from her little shoes, and all the way up.

It looked like she came off the cover of Cosmopolitan -- dripping with sexual appeal. Like sexual royalty.

Mom looked at me expectantly. "Well?"

"Gorgeous," I admitted.

Mom gave a soft smile that broke the illusion, and once again, she was my mother. My sweet, lovely, beautiful mom. Except she was intensely sexy, and we were completely alone in a place that not even my dad knew about. Feelings swirled in me -- I wanted to hold her hand, to bend her over, to kiss her on the cheek, to fuck her senseless, to tell her I loved her, to make her scream in orgasmic delight, to tell her she was a great mom. All these things spun around me in a vortex. I couldn't decide what I wanted more.

It was time to take her dancing.

"Ready?" I asked, holding out my arm.

"Ready," she said, grinning.

We rode the elevator down, standing next to each other, her bare arm pressing lightly on my side, entwined in my own arm. Everyone we passed did a double take -- I wasn't sure if it was because mom was obviously much older than me, or if it was because she was so ethereally beautiful.

A short taxi ride took us into downtown Cancun, where we went to dinner, sipping wine, eating light food, eying each other through the entirety. There was a nightclub close by. Our thoughts were on it, and we kept our conversation minimal -- only a comment about the vinaigrette, the flavor of the oils, the delicate taste of spice and wine. Mom's eyes were so dark, so lovely. Between bites, her hand would move up to her cheek and her fingers would lightly touch at her ear, as she turned, looking at me, pondering.

My mother kept glancing at my arms. My neck. My chest. Time moved in slow motion as she drank one glass of wine. Then another. Her cheeks went pink as she finished it.

We finished, and she paid. The waiter glanced between us several times as he took mom's card, processing our age difference and the way we looked at each other.

We stepped out and walked down the street -- a nightclub was only a couple blocks away. Mom linked her arm in mine as we walked up to the bouncer, who did a single up and down look at mom's lovely curves under her dress, and then nodded, letting us in.

"I guess there's perks to having a mother like me," said mom in my ear as the club swallowed us up, the music deafening, the lights flashing, a crowd of gorgeous girls and well dressed men, blending together in a haze of drinks and dance.

The next hour was a blur -- Mom and I alternated shots with mixed drinks, periodically moving to the dance floor, where the gold thread shimmered on her -- her hair swinging back and forth, the elegant quality of her dress and makeup making her look leagues above the rest of the girls on the dance floor. Occasionally somebody would come up to my mom, offer her a drink. Guys with slicked hair. Open shirts. Watches. Mom put her hand up to each one and drew close to me each time. Elegant. Purposeful.

It felt so, so good to see them so disappointed.

After a round of tequila shots, mom and I got close on the dance floor and moved with slow purpose. It didn't matter that the pace of the music was high -- that mixed forms were grinding on each other, the scent of sweat and booze and the spice of bodies permeated the air. We moved close to each other, melting together -- I felt myself getting harder as she pressed the indent of her hip on me, pulling her arms around my neck, looking at me with dark, dark eyes.

"Do you want to get out of here?" A line I used at parties. Now boldly used on my mom -- my mother. If it were just two years ago, I would have asked her if she would just get out of my room, but now I was asking her to leave this club, with me, to go... somewhere else. Somewhere more private. A room.

Mom smiled at me. I could tell she felt like a girl in college again -- drunk, free, without a care. Her pink cheeks and her dark red lips mouthed the words, "let's go." We grabbed one more round of shots and stumbled out, drunk, the color and sound of the nightclub fading and the jealous looks of dozens of men in a line we completely skipped passing us by.

The taxi ride was a quick one back. Mom watched me from her seat, leaned back against the window, a finger gently hooked in the corner of her mouth. Our ears rang from the volume of the club, but when we exited the taxi by the entrance to the resort, the soft sound of the surf emerged, and we walked, warm, dizzy from the alcohol, urgently into the hotel.

I opened the door to our room as mom leaned against the wall, trying to keep her head upright. She looked at me, knowing what was coming. What we were about to do. Knowing that despite the fact that I was her son, we were about to touch.

To do more.

My mother's face didn't seem to have the guilt that it did before. It was flush with alcohol, with expectation. She had a look of acceptance -- drunk, loving acceptance.

We stumbled in as the door opened -- her body pushing against mine accidentally. I caught her side as she fell against the wall, trying to keep upright. The door closed, and we were entwined, were pressed together. I could feel her breath on my neck, my knee between her soft, lovely legs. Mom's breasts were pushed against my chest -- she looked up, her eyes half glazed. Her lips open. A forbidden look on her face.

"Hey, Brett," her words whispered through her dark red lips. "What are we doing here?"

"We're back at the resort," I replied, surprised that she'd even ask.

"That's not what I meant," she said. Mom smiled. "We're in this room, alone, and my son is awfully close to his mother, isn't he?"

I looked down. The straps along her shoulders were so thin. I drew a hand up and pulled one down, over her arm. She moved a hand upward and pulled down the other one. "What are we doing, Brett?" She asked again. Her hands went up and smoothed upward along my core, up my chest. Her breath smelled like tequila and warm sugar and cinnamon.

Her fingers left me, went to the top of her chest. Lightly touched at the top of her dress. Hooked under it. "What do you want me to do, Brett?"

"Take it off," I breathed.

Mom pulled the edges down by an inch. Her soft skin looked so white and pale. She looked up at me mischievously. "How much?"

I reached up and took the edges from her. Pulled it down at my own pace. She took in a deep breath as my fingers dragged down her breasts, peeling away the fabric, the mounds of her breasts pushing upward through the dress, her fragile, pale skin only barely colored. Soft, coral colors emerged. Her areolas were there now. A trembling pink.

Mom moved closer to me, pulling me against her hip. She bit her lip, feeling my knee pressing against her apex. "Baby, what are we going to do?"

I reached down, grabbed under her legs, lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around me and pressed her cheek against mine. I carried her to the bed. Threw her down. She made a soft squeal as she fell onto the sheets, her arms stretching out, light fingers gripping the fabric. She looked up at me, her legs crossed. Her eyes shining.

My mother lay on the bed before me. Her dress was hiked up along her legs. I could see the nylons reaching up, her hips barely covered by her skirt. Her fingers traced along the bottom of her dress, and she lifted it by a mere inch, watching my reaction.

"Take it off," I ordered.

"That's no way to talk to your mother," she sighed, lifting it another inch. The lacy black of her panties were now visible under the nylons, the smoothness of her hip just above their edge now bare. The glimmer of mom's sensitive white skin was blinding in the dark. "You first," she added. Her eyes tracing over my cock as it made a visible imprint against my pants.

I unbuttoned my shirt while mom watched. Her breathing grew more obvious as the shirt fell. I unbuttoned my pants, let them fall, and mom's eyes snapped to my cock as it sprang up. "Ohh..." she sucked in a breath. "I must have given you those genes, because that cock is so, so pretty."

"Take off your dress," I ordered her again. My cock ached, even though it was free -- it wanted to satisfy her, to go into the mouth that had just complimented it.

"Whatever you want, baby," she sat up on the bed, pulling the dress up and over her face. It climbed past her waist, the pale skin of her tight tummy now visible, and then went up and over her chest. Her heavy breasts dropped, the nipples bright pink. The dress drifted back, her face again visible. It fell behind the bed. Mom now sat, leaning on one arm in the bed, topless, only the sexy nylons and panties left.

I felt my cock reacting, throbbing. My heart pounded in my chest -- I couldn't help myself anymore. I couldn't control it -- I needed her. I need the rest of her naked, now, I needed to be inside her. Now.

I rushed forward, jumping on the bed, leaping over mom, grabbing her arms and forcing them to either side of her head. She looked at me, wide eyed. "Brett..." her breath brushed against my neck as I moved my face close to hers. "What are you going to do?"

I want it, mom," I said, unable to stop myself. "I need it. I need it now."

She looked at me with earnest, heated eyes. "Take it," she whispered.

I let go of her arms, reached down, pulling on the nylons with an urgency and strength I forgot I had. They strung off of her, her panties going with them, and her legs, long, firm, lovely, pale, opened for me. I could see her pussy in its prettiness, the perfect lips, the pink slit, a jewel of a nub. She was already wet -- soaked, the lips red with arousal.

I pulled forward, my cock brushing against the inside of her leg. I brought myself up to her, forcing her legs wider, moving closer to her. She was already whining, even her breath begged me to enter her. Mom stared at me, as I felt the slick warmth between her legs make contact.

I pushed the head of my cock against my mother's pussy and watched as her eyes widened. Her mouth opened. I slipped in, the wetness guiding me, the heat inside her swallowing up my cock, and I sank in, pushing hard and she rolled her eyes back, the pleasure of my entry overtaking her. "Fuck, Brett!"

"Mom," I groaned as I started to fuck, making slick noises in and out of her. Her cunt felt impossibly tight, clenching on me. I didn't hesitate. I drove in and out of her, making the fullest use of my length, her gasps timing with the movement of my cock as each push inward made her writhe. I pushed in and held it, and mom sighed, shaking, tense.

Then my mother's phone rang. Dad's ringtone.

Mom's eyes shot open. We stopped, looking at each other, completely interrupted, entirely stuck as the ringtone went on, and on, and on. I felt my cock stirring inside mom -- she was still reacting to the sensation, still tense, impaled, but the phone was interrupting everything. She seemed frozen.

It stopped. But the voicemail chime didn't go off.

"Maybe he's given up?" I asked. In response to my ridiculous hope, the phone went off again from mom's purse. She looked at me, hesitant, mildly horrified.

"I have to answer it," she said reluctantly.

"No you don't."

"He very rarely calls twice," she replied. "Your father only gets insistent like this when there's an emergency." She started to shift. My cock pulled out of her as she pulled back, trying to get up.

I felt my blood boiling. "Or when he's really angry," I tried to reason with her. "Fuck him. He's been such a fucking prick the whole trip -- let him deal with it." The phone went on urgently.

"He might be in trouble, and if that's the case, I'm his wife, you're his son, and we'll need to do something about it," mom said, firm, as if everything we were doing over the last day never happened -- as if I were just a brat that didn't give a shit about his dad. She went over to her purse, pulled out the phone, and answered it. I got off the bed and stood by it, waiting, impatient, frustrated that mom was bowing to dad again like this.

"Ross?" She hit an icon on the screen and put her husband on speakerphone.

"Nora, for fuck's sake," dad's voice carried harshly and loudly, making both of us wince. Mom eyed me as we detected more annoyance in dad than emergency-related urgency. "Do you have any fucking idea how rude it is to ghost me like that?"

"Somewhat," said mom, rolling her eyes. She looked so incredibly sexy, hip cocked, a hand around her waist, completely nude, talking on the phone with her husband while his voice went on in an agitated rage.

"Where the hell have you been? And where the fuck is Brett?"

Mom pursed her lips as she hesitated. I couldn't imagine her not having some kind of plan, some kind of lie prepared. She was too smart, too forward thinking to let something like this slip.

"Hello?" Dad's voice sounded like nails.

"Chetumal isn't that big, Ross," mom said, her voice even. "I thought you would have run into us by now, what with all your drinking." She looked at me, her mind clearly running gears. She looked down at my cock and made a quick blink. An idea was forming.

Dad went quiet. "You're still in Chetumal?" He finally asked.

"Where do you think we went?" Mom's voice drew out sarcastically, her stare fixated on my cock. "It's not like we would have flown back." She stepped over to me. Looked up at me. Back down to my cock. Her hand left her waist, her fingers trailing up the length of my cock.

"I have no fucking clue, Nora -- I wake up, there's no note, no explanation, and you're gone all fucking day without answering your phone."

Mom's fingers curled around me. I felt myself getting harder in response, little sparks of pleasure going up my shaft as she smoothly moved her hand up my cock, then down.

Dad's voice continued while mom jerked me slowly. "I don't know what the hell is wrong with you. For a few minutes today I figured you guys were kidnapped by the fucking cartel or something."

"I didn't know you cared, Ross," Mom murmured. I felt my cock twitching in pleasure as she started to jerk me faster. She looked up at me, watching me as I listened in.

"I don't feel like paying a ransom, Nora. Or for insurance, every time I go on vacation," dad's lecture went on as a mischievous glint appeared in mom's eye. The way she looked at me was strange. It was almost like the way she looked at me when we were in the kitchen, and dad was giving mom a hard time from the couch. It was exactly the look mom gave me before...

In real time, while my dad's voice hammered through the phone, my mother dropped to her knees, her lovely nakedness now below me, her face approaching my waist while she jerked at me. She looked at my cock more closely, hardly even listening to dad, entranced by the way I was reacting to her touch. She was breathing, focused, thinking, watching the way the head twitched and flexed as she jerked me off faster, watching as my hips involuntarily moved as I felt the pleasure my own mother gave me while dad was on the phone.

"Oh Ross," my mom interrupted dad's rant, which stopped abruptly. "It can't be that bad." Her tone was calculated. Precise. Barely a hint of bitch.

"Can't be that bad?" Dad's voice rose and mom smiled, getting the exact reaction she wanted out of him. And then she locked eyes with me, looking up... and then she moved forward and in a fluid motion took my entire cock into her hot, wet mouth. She must have gotten the exact reaction she wanted out of me too because she started smiling even as dad's voice got louder from the phone.

I couldn't even hear what he was saying, but he was definitely talking, now angry. But the volume was covered up as mom's mouth sucked on me, her hand on the base of my cock, still jerking me lightly as her mouth slicked over me. I couldn't help it -- I started moaning as mom's saliva coated my length, as I felt surges of pleasure and power while mom's tongue moved up and down the underside of my shaft.

Dad went on for what felt like minutes, the seconds stretching as mom grew artful with the way she was blowing me. Dad's voice carried through the hotel room while the gentle sound of wetness came from mom's movements, while I shook with pleasure at the way her tongue curled around my cock, the way her hands went lower and gently cupped my balls. Her tongue went over my head, swirling in a circle, a lapping noise obvious as dad's voice slowed. I realized if I could hear the sound, so could dad. He was on speakerphone.

I looked down at mom and mouthed, "we need to be quieter," as if we were just two kids hiding from parents. But mom looked up at me, defiant, sucking harder, jerking faster, trying to elicit a reaction out of me while the juicy sounds of her mouth on my cock grew louder. She got her reaction. I felt the power of a train running through my taint, running up my cock as the pleasure increased tenfold, mom's enthusiasm and the excitement of my dad actually hearing the noises multiplying everything I was feeling by leaps. I shuddered, trying to keep my vocals suppressed, but a groan escaped me as I got lost in the wet, hot sensation of my mother's lovely mouth.

"Nora?" Dad's voice was different. "Nora, I'm hearing something on your end."

Mom sucked on me, hard, and then pulled her head back. My cock popped out of her mouth with an audible sound, the exact kind you could hear from porn -- the unmistakable sound, the one that could not be confused with anything else. Dad went quiet.

Mom paused for a second, a thin trail of her saliva connecting my cock to her lower lip. She looked up at me and held the phone closer to her. "What is it, Ross? Are you inside or something? Because I can hear you loud and clear."

"No," dad said, suspicious. "You said you were with Brett, right?"

Mom's mouth went back up to my cock. She licked at my head, and moved a hand up my legs, feeling my hamstrings and then going up and holding me by my backside as she guided my hard, throbbing cock between her lips again. As it filled her slick mouth, she made a sound of affirmation. "Mhm." The hum buzzed over me, everything about the situation making my cock flex involuntarily.

She pulled back, purposefully letting as much spit cling to my shaft as possible. Multiple trails of it now followed along her lips, the wet, sticky noise painfully obvious.