Real Estate Power Couple Ch. 04

The following weekend my dad took my mom and I to one of our favorite camping spots. He loves to fish and there is a great lake nearby. We've been camping there for years and have a nice RV to stay in. I have a lot of great memories doing this as a family and was looking forward to keeping the tradition going.

It was a bit strange being out of the house with my mom and simply just being her son. For weeks we had been pretending to be married at times, a necessary ruse to support her real estate business in Canada. But at home in America, we were just mother and son.

When we arrived at the campsite my dad quickly parked and then took off to the lake to get some evening fishing in. My mom and I finished setting up, walking around the campground, paying our fees, getting our firewood. A few times I put my hand in hers, walking several steps before she quickly let go.

"Dylan! Not here. People can't see us like that. I'm your mom this weekend, not your wife."

"Old habits are tough to break," I joked.

Despite the change of roles, I still greatly enjoyed being around my mom in public. She is a ton of fun, and easy on the eyes. She was wearing flip flops and a knee-length casual summer dress. Especially after having my hands on more of her body at the concert, my cock was awakened simply by watching her hips sway under her dress, her round ass stretching the fabric with each step. While I had seen her wear the dress before occasionally, I wondered if she had picked it out just for me.

Her round tits bounced tirelessly under the fabric of her dress, their narrow straps doing little to support them. As we walked down a private trail, I grabbed her hand intentionally, enjoying feeling her touch again.

"Dylan!" she protested again. "We can't be seen like this, not with your dad around."

When she tried to pull away her hand, I just held on. Using her other hand, she tried to pry our hands apart, but I was too strong.

"I'm not joking Dylan, let go of my hand!" Her voice sounded so sexy, yelling at me while trying to still whisper, afraid of being overheard.

"Relax, mom. No one can see us," trying to soften her a bit. "See that big cedar tree down the trail. I'll let go once we get there, OK?"

"I don't care that no one can see us!" she protested. "This isn't about other people right now. This is about you and me. I'm your mother, for pete's sake. We shouldn't be holding hands like this!"

I could see a combination of panic and fury in her eyes. I suppose this situation was different. We weren't on assignment in Canada, play-acting with a purpose. Rather we were mother and son, holding hands as adults, which had my mom's moral radar going crazy. I glanced down, my eyes moving past her chest heaving up and down, her manicured nails clasped around my own hand. My cock stirred, enjoying the moment, absorbing my mom's coerced public affection.

Refusing to let go, I took a step forward and said, "C'mon slow poke. Let's go! Let's continue our nature walk as friends."

Finally giving in, she responded to my tug and we resumed walking hand in hand.

"Now that's what I'm talking about! Just two friends holding hands, enjoying the park," I playfully commented.

"Don't forget!" she warned. "Two friends who happen to be related to each other," the edges of her mouth beginning to curl up, slowly warming up to her son's banter.

"And related how, you might ask?" I said in my best radio voice. "Who really knows? Maybe they're siblings? Maybe that's his mom? Maybe they're married? Who really knows?"

Julie reached over with her spare hand and whacked her son's stomach lightly and squeezed his arm. She had to admit that being around him was a lot of fun. He certainly was a good friend. It made her feel young again. Despite her protests, she was glad Dylan kept pushing their friendship in new directions.

As they passed the cedar tree, Dylan felt a slight tug from his mom's hand, indicating a subtle request to let go. But Dylan held on, convincing his mom to extend their PDA. A few minutes later, they came around a corner and another couple was a few hundred feet ahead, coming their way.

Julie quickly jerked her hand, trying to get out of Dylan's grasp. But Dylan would not let go. Quickly realizing her son's perseverance, and becoming panicked over their public display of affection, she pulled him with her behind a nearby tree, out of sight of the oncoming couple.

Still pulling madly to escape his grasp, she said, "Dylan, what are you doing? Let go of me! I'm serious."

"Oh, now you're serious?" I said, tickling her with my spare hand.

Giggling uncontrollably, she tried to say sternly, "Yes, I am serious!" Trying to talk while being tickled only made her feel more ridiculous.

"Isn't this what best friends do? Hide behind trees together?" I said mockingly.

"Not funny Dylan!" my mom replied, smiling while she said it.

"Or are we more than friends, Honey?" I asked.

"I am not your honey!" She looked around the tree, the oncoming couple getting closer.

"Or are you just my mom, needing to spank her very naughty son?" I suggested.

Dylan's comment gave Julie the idea she needed. She began wacking his bottom with her spare hand, effective in getting him to release his grip. They stumbled back onto the path, like two lovers returning from a tryst in the woods. Just before they passed the couple, Dylan reached for his mom's hand. Julie instinctively pulled it back from him, embarrassing herself in front of the passing couple.

"You are evil. Simply evil!" she said several steps later, whacking him again on his stomach, her large reluctant smile matching Dylan's wicked grin.

That night we stayed up late by the campfire, telling stories and joking around. My dad enjoyed a few beers and was in a good mood. He was leering at mom, and it became clear what he wanted.

"Son, why don't you enjoy the fire a bit longer. After it burns down to coals, you can join us in the camper" my dad announced.

I could hear my parents giggling in the RV, my mom shushing my dad's semi-drunken lack of volume control. After a while it got quiet, and then I could hear the distinctive sounds of sex. The RV was slowly rocking, and I could hear my dad grunting, still unable to moderate his volume.

I quietly walked over to see if I could peer through the blinds. I saw my mom's tanned legs spread wide, my dad on top of her in the missionary position, pumping his cock into her. My dad blocked any clear view of my mom's body. If I was married to my mom, I would definitely be doing her doggy style. My dad was missing out for sure. His thrusting seemed to be increasing in tempo.

I returned to the campfire. I heard a short gasp come from my mom. A moment later I heard my dad provide a loud final groan.

After a few minutes, I could hear the soft snoring announcing that my dad had gone to sleep. The RV door swung open, and my mom came and stood by the fire, the light illuminating her luscious figure. She had on an oversized forest green t-shirt that ended mid-thigh, revealing her toned legs. She crossed her arms under her tits, causing the shirt to ride up a couple more inches. It was obvious she was not wearing a bra; not because her tits were sagging, but by the clear imprint of her nipples.

"Sorry about that," she said sheepishly, a bit embarrassed at it all.

"No problem mom. Dad's a lucky guy. Best friends don't get to do that. Only married people do."

Standing across the fire, she put her weight on one foot, sticking her hip out, placing her hands on her waist. I wonder if she even understood how provocative she looked at the moment. Was she doing that on purpose? My cock, already alert from their sexual sounds, ached just looking at her.

"Don't worry, son. You'll get married someday. She'll be a lucky girl."

"Thanks mom. Hopefully I'll be as lucky as dad."

The white of my mom's teeth glistened in the moonlight, an obvious smile greeting the dark.

"Well, goodnight Honey. I had fun with you today. See you in the morning," my mom said, turning to walk away, almost reluctantly.

I just had to get my hands on her. My body was having withdrawals after our evening concert.

Standing up I whispered, "Mom!" and motioned her over to where I was waiting. Her unsupported tits jostled sensually before my eyes as she quickly tiptoed over.

"I'm sorry about holding your hand so much today," I apologized. "It's just, it's just, well, I had so much fun at the concert. Sometimes it's hard to remember that you're still just my mom. It's fun having a girlfriend for once."

"Or are we siblings?" she mocked. "Or are we best friends? Or are we more than that? Who really knows?" She said, leaning forward and tickling my waist, always a jokester. Finding my weak spot, my startled body convulsed uncontrollably.

Eventually getting my body under control, I returned the favor, putting my hands on my mom's narrow waist, digging in my fingers. Her body jumped in immediate distress, propelled into mine, her loose tits flailing around my arms and torso, making contact multiple times.

Julie's hands were clasped around her son's wrists, fighting him to be released. Her shirt began riding up, her lower body feeling the draft of the cool air. Soon her white panties were visible to Dylans prying eyes. Feeling exposed all of a sudden, she was not sure what to do. There wasn't enough space between them for her to slap him, and pushing his chest would do nothing. Her panic increasing, she took one hand, curled it into a ball, and bonked Dylan in the crotch.

Dylan folded over like a newspaper, while Julie grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it down.

"Aaaah," Dylan moaned in pain, finding a seat on the picnic bench, still doubled over.

Julie just stood there, not knowing what to do. Her motherly instincts wanted to propel her to comfort her injured son. Her righteous anger prevented her from apologizing for the pain she inflicted.

"Jeez, Mom! Why'd you do that to me?" Dylan asked moments later, still grimacing in pain.

Julie didn't know how to respond. Her son was looking up at her, an expectant look on his face.

"I, I, I don't know. I, I was just wanting to..." Julie paused, trying to find her words.

Finally she confessed, "My shirt was riding up and my panties were showing!"

"You didn't have to hit me in my nuts. You could have just asked me to stop," I reasoned.

Julie's barefoot foot drew circles in the dust, her fingers pinched together in front of her, feeling a bit guilty.

"Ya, that's a valid point. I, I, didn't think of that."

"Uuugh," Dylan groaned, rising to his feet. His mom looked down at the ground, like a little girl recently chastised for stealing a cookie.

"I'm, I'm sorry," she muttered.

"It's OK mom. I might have done the same thing if my panties had been showing." Dylan's witty comment caused his mom's chin to quickly rise. The sparkle in her eyes returned, knowing that her son was not holding a grudge.

Relief in her eyes, she leaned up on her tiptoes, placing one hand on his shoulder. She quickly gave him a peck on the cheek, one of her loose breasts pressing against his chest.

"Thanks, son. Let's go to bed," she suggested.

Julie's heart was pounding now as much with her son as it was just a few minutes ago with her husband. While her body was not necessarily stimulated, her soul had been refreshed. The new arrangement with her son had brought a heightened level of gratification. All of the fun that she had with her son was now packaged with deeper meaning. The sexual tension that Dylan often introduced added a disturbing layer of complexity, one that her body subconsciously responded to eagerly.

The next morning my dad woke up with a slight hangover. My mom made breakfast on the outdoor skillet, wearing loose sweats and a thin flannel shirt. Our family hung around the campfire for much of the morning, talking about our plans for the day.

One of our camping traditions was always spending a day in the nearby town. So that afternoon my dad and I played for an hour at an arcade, enjoying their antique pinball machines. We caught up with mom who had been shopping. All three of us took turns trying on sunglasses, striking our best pose in the mirror.

We went to our favorite ice cream shop to enjoy some double scoop cones. My parents were sitting opposite each other, and I sat down next to my mom. She had traded her sweats for jean shorts, her tan legs now rubbing up against my own as the three of us shared our favorite camping memories.

My mom kept pulling one of my favorite pranks, pushing my ice cream cone into my face every time I went to take a lick. Holding my cone with my left hand, I put my right hand on her bare thigh, squeezing it gently, looking at her face with a warning in my eye. Each time she pressed my cone into my face, I would squeeze her thigh, my mom immediately squealing like a little girl. She is so ticklish.

Even my dad was enjoying the game, watching either his son's face get coated with ice cream, or his wife get a tickle torture. Every time I squeezed her leg, she would press her body against mine, almost climbing up on me. Losing control of her body, begging me to stop, made this a fun game for me as well. Each time I could feel her warm breast press against my young body through her thin flannel. I figured my mom would soon stop, but it seemed both of us were addicted to the playful affectionate horseplay. Combined with my hand on her bare leg, all while dad was watching, made it all highly erotic.

As the game ended, we began to argue about the best flavor of ice cream. Julie noticed that her son still had his hand on her leg. It was no longer squeezing, but resting gently half way up, cupping her inner thigh. She was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Her husband obviously couldn't see it, but without the playful game going on, it was definitely now an inappropriate touch for anyone but her husband.

She wiggled her body, hoping to wake up her son to the fact that he should move his hand. But in doing so, she only caused his hand to curl up her leg a bit farther. She didn't want to make a scene, conspicuously moving her hand down to move her son's hand. But it was getting hard to concentrate on the conversation and look at her husband, all the while her son's hand was claiming her thigh as his own.

Dylan turned his head, looking at his mom and said, "I can't believe you think mint ice cream is the best!"

Julie looked at her son, inches from her face, her husband observing their harmless dialogue. But as they talked, she could feel her son's hand readjusting on her bare leg. He had moved it further up, the edges of his fingers grazing the denim hem of her short cutoff jeans. She felt his fingers curl in between her legs, palming her inner thigh. Her body felt like it was going to explode. Both from indignation, and from a new sense of evil arousal. How could her son be doing this to her with his dad watching them only feet away!

"There are so many other flavors that would definitely be better than mint," Dylan continued his ice cream argument. Unnoticeable to Cliff, a mischievous grin flavored his words, something his mom had noticed. She had also noticed how his hand was now gently massaging her naked thigh, a pleasant burning sensation ignited deep inside her. Her leg began to tremble at times, quaking under her son's touch.

As Cliff turned to talk to the waitress, Julie pulled Dylan's hand away. She was immediately relieved, though her thigh suddenly felt empty and cold. She secretly admitted to herself that despite the impropriety, the feel of her son's hand had been pleasurable, even exciting. Her heart skipped a beat, as she dwelt on her scandalous thoughts for another moment. But then she immediately chastised her weak mind for thinking like that about her son.

That night Cliff went to bed early. He was mad at himself for missing the early morning fishing from his hangover the previous morning. He wanted to get up early for their last day at the campground. My mom had changed into some shiny black yoga pants with a long sloppy sweatshirt over the top. The two of us sat around the fire, enjoying the evening. I spotted an extra 6-pack of beer that my dad had forgotten about.

"What do you think, mom? A little beverage?"

"No thanks, son. I don't even like the taste of beer." My mom knew that was partially a lie. She preferred the taste of wine, but at the concert, the hoppy fragrance and buzzed feeling had certainly been enjoyable.

Ignoring her refusal, I popped the lid of two beers, and placed one next to her. I began to drink mine slowly, as we continued our conversation.

Julie knew she should resist drinking alcohol alone with her son. Yet each time he took a drink, her own mouth watered, her body remembering the pleasant feeling at the concert. What's one little drink, she thought to herself. Eventually she succumbed, grabbing the open bottle, and joined in with her son. The first drink of the bitter cold liquid made her body shiver as a warmth slowly filled her insides.

Julie and Dylan continued chatting around the campfire, their typical jovial conversation gaining momentum. It was the weekend with no commitments, just a mother and son enjoying the evening.

After they had both finished their first microbrew, Dylan said,"Hey mom, let's walk around the campground loops." He knew that was something his mom loved about camping, and something his dad rarely did with her.

"Yes! Great idea," she responded, rising out of her chair.

Dylan quietly opened two more bottles of beer, carrying them with him. As they got about 100 yards away from the campsite, he handed one to his mom.

"Oh no! I'm good," Julie said, lifting her hands in protest. Now that she was upright, she was already feeling a buzz from the more potent microbrew.

"Well, I can't drink it!" Dylan said. "I brought an extra. Come on mom, two beers is nothing. You're an adult now."

She grabbed the bottle, but didn't take a drink. As they walked into another loop, darker than the others, Dylan grabbed her free hand.

"No, Dylan," she responded firmly, whispering in the dark. "We can't do that. I"m your mother. Let's not play this game again."

Not releasing his grip, he said, "Mom, it's completely dark. No one can see us. Besides, it's my job to protect my mom."

Despite her son's clear attempt at manipulation, she confessed to herself that it was mostly harmless. Her hand did feel good once again in his, and she did feel better having him close to her in the dark. This loop was mostly empty anyway she reasoned. Without realizing it, she was soon taking sips on her second beer in rhythm with Dylan.

The couple wandered into another loop, still holding hands, Julie forgetful of her previous concerns of PDA. Her mind and body slowly being conditioned to the natural feeling of Dylan beside her, not just as her son, but as her affectionate partner. The alcohol caused her body to tingle, feeling like she was gliding on a cloud. Embracing the pleasant feeling, she allowed her curvy hips to swing side to side suggestively, bumping into her son at times. This was fun!

They heard some rowdy noise ahead of them, and came upon a campfire with a large group of people around them. It looked like several campsites had come together for the evening. A guitar was out, and chairs were scattered everywhere.

"Cheers!" someone shouted in our direction, seeing the beers in our hands, lifting up their own.

I moved my feet in their direction, pulling on my mom's hand despite her resistance. Her protest of "No! Dylan," I ignored.

Soon we were in a circle of friendly campers, introducing ourselves, making new friends. My mom had a polite smile on her face, but her body was tense. Underneath she was seething, mad at Dylan for putting them in that situation, and mad at herself for allowing it to happen. As they were still holding hands when they entered the campsite, it was clear to everyone that they were a couple.