Rich's Mum

"You know I'm terribly lonely," she said quietly. She held her son's gaze intently for a moment.

"I know, Mum," Rich murmured, "but..."

"It'll be alright." She inched closer to him. Mark watched the muscles of her leg move beneath the smooth fabric. She turned, then, to smile at Mark. It was a tentative, almost vulnerable smile. A smile that wanted -- no, needed - something, although what Mark couldn't be sure. Permission, perhaps? Approval? Once again, Mark felt a fluttering in his gut, a nervous anticipation. She held his gaze for a moment. One side of her face was shrouded in shadow; the other was imperiously beautiful. She turned back to Rich.

With a slow, almost stately motion, Rich's mum bent her head towards her son and kissed him lingeringly on the lips. Rich kissed her back and the two tasted each other for a moment, their yearning for one another obscenely transparent. She stroked his cheek again, smiling.

"That was nice," she said softly.

On the air-bed, Mark became almost instantly hard. He held his breath, not daring to move. If it hadn't been for her glance earlier, Mark would have sworn she'd simply forgotten he was there. But she hadn't, had she? Mark watched, stunned, as his friend's hand emerged from beneath the covers and slowly, almost casually, cupped his mother's left breast, squeezing it gently.

Mrs Macauley shivered and half-closed her eyes. "Very nice," she whispered.

Mark didn't know what to do. Rich's mother's odd, overly affectionate behaviour during the day suddenly made sense and the implications left him both shocked and excited. He felt an excruciating embarrassment, but also an irresistible desire to watch, to know. He stayed very still, his eyes as wide as saucers.

After a few seconds of silent fondling, Rich withdrew his hand from his mother's breast and instead touched her forearm, stroking it slowly. He was looking at her, frowning slightly.

"Good night, Mum," he whispered hoarsely. He glanced quickly at Mark and then back to his mother.

But she seemed not to have heard him. Instead, with a sudden jerking motion, she whipped the covers off Rich, revealing her son's naked body -- including a long, very hard cock resting against his stomach. Rich gasped. He had instinctively reached to stop her, but she had simply been too quick for him. He shot Mark an anguished look, but made no attempt to take back control of the covers and restore his modesty. Mrs Macauley turned to Mark, a mischievous smile on her face.

"Have you seen Richie like this before?" she asked, a twinkle in her eye.

Mark coloured and shook his head dumbly.

"Sit up so you can see better..."

"Mum!"

She turned back to Rich, shushing him gently. "Don't be silly, love. You should be very proud of yourself."

Rich's face burned with embarrassment, but he still made no effort to cover himself up. His cock bounced against his abdomen as he shifted in the bed. Mark stared at it, the tension between horror and desire within him almost unbearable. Desire won out as he watched Mrs Macauley grip her son's erection by the base and pull it upright so it was more or less perpendicular to his prone body. His friend's cock was perhaps six or seven inches in length and was mostly smooth. With his mother's hand around its base it seemed to sprout like some rigid plant from the dark tangled undergrowth of his hair. She let it go and Mark saw it flop, with an audible slapping sound, back on to his stomach.

Rich's mother reached down and held out her hand to Mark -- the same hand that had just been touching her son's member.

"Sit up, Mark," she said softly. "Have a good look."

Numbly, Mark took her hand, using it to steady himself as he sat up. Rich's mother's hand was very warm.

"That's better." She smiled at him encouragingly. Releasing his hand, she reached over and switched on the bedside lamp. This action necessitated her stretching her upper body in front of Mark and he was struck by the firmness revealed by the suddenly tight garment.

Now that there was a proper source of light in the room, Mark could see his friend clearly. Rich's cock was a little bit bigger than his, he thought. His stomach was toned and his nipples were dark brown against his pale skin. He was looking at the pair of them -- his mother and his best friend -- waiting.

Rich's mum slid off the bed and sat down next to Mark on the blow-up. There was a moment of clumsy collision as the air-bed adjusted to the additional weight and she giggled girlishly. Their thighs were touching and she slipped her arm around his waist, drawing his upper body closer to hers. The central heating had clicked off perhaps twenty minutes ago and the air in the bedroom was cooling appreciably. Mrs Macauley's skin was hot, almost feverish, in comparison.

"You're a fine young man." Her breath brushed his cheek, a feather touch. Mark found he could not bring himself to reply to the compliment. His friend's mother's body was pressing against him through the clinging satin of the negligee. She kissed him lightly on the cheek and his already hard cock twitched instinctively. His conscious mind was sinking, swamped by a deluge of pleasurable sensations, a tsunami of unlooked-for intimacies that threatened to overwhelm him. Mrs Macauley's perfume, delicate and subtle, was a sensual halo, its presence sanctifying and legitimising his growing desire.

She kissed him again and tightened her grip on his waist. Rich was looking at them, his face strained and his eyes intent. What was he thinking?

Acutely aware of Rich's mum's touch, Mark tried to consider the implications of what was happening, of the kiss between mother and son, of the easy closeness between them, of the hard cock resting against his friend's belly. How well did he really know Rich if he had kept this secret all this time? Who was his friend, really?

"Why don't you hold him?" Rich's mum words slipped into his ear borne on breath that was hot and sweet and seductively delicate. He was already reaching for his friend's cock before he had time to think about it.

He paused, hand outstretched, perhaps an inch or two from his friend's erection. His eyes sought out Rich's, questioning, wondering.

"Oh, God," moaned Rich, lifting his eyes to the shadowy ceiling, and that seemed to decide the matter.

Mark felt his hand close around his friend's hardness. It should have been no different from those many times when he had touched himself, but it was different in all sorts of ways. He had thought that he might be repulsed by this, that it might be some cataclysmic rejection of his well-established sexuality, that it would be a signal to himself -- and to Rich -- that he was something other than he appeared to be. That, underneath it all, he was a fraud, a charlatan...

It was none of those things. He had always cared for Rich. Through celebrations and crises too numerous to mention, the pair had been inseparable, unconquerable. They were a team. This... did not feel wrong.

That Rich's mum was present too was... well, it was bloody weird is what it was, but it was also an affirmation, an approval. There was something... right about this. This holding and squeezing and...

He felt his heartbeat quicken. Rich's cock had a pulse, a life of its own. He was not surprised to see -- and feel -- his mother's hand rest on his for a moment, before settling on a point a little further up her son's shaft. Together, as if reacting to some unspoken signal, they squeezed and stroked, starting to wank him slowly.

Beneath them, Rich's body undulated languidly. His balls were tight in their hairy sack; his thigh muscles tensed and relaxed, tensed and relaxed.

Mrs Macauley leaned into Mark, kissed him again, this time opening her mouth a little to make the kiss wetter, more obviously sexual. She kissed him again and again, marking out a path from his cheek to his jaw to his neck. Mark shivered at the intimacy of the gesture, at the ticklish warmth of her mouth against his neck, at the gentle way her hair brushed his face.

"Yes," she murmured. "He likes that. You can tell, can't you?"

Yes, he could tell. His friend's cock gave the occasional twitch; a small bead of pre-cum glistened at the entrance to his urethra. Mark looked at it, fascinated.

"Taste it, Mark," whispered Rich's mother. "Why don't you taste it?"

He swallowed nervously.

He watched his hand on Rich's cock, moving in a slow, steady rhythm, working in concert with the experienced, feminine hand above it. What was going on? It was like some strange, hallucinatory dream, from which he would wake up to find life -- its friendships, its relationships, its certainties about sex and identity -- reassuringly unchanged.

Mrs Macauley rested her head on his shoulder. It was a comfortable, intensely pleasurable sensation.

"It would mean so much to me," she said, quietly. "To both of us."

Her hand left her son's cock and strayed to Mark's lap. Unlike his friend, he had not been planning on sleeping naked. A pair of cotton boxers protected his modesty underneath the rucked up covers around his lap. Mrs Macauley's hand burrowed under those covers easily enough and found its prize. Her hand brushed the tip of his erection, which was already moistening the thin barrier of cotton against which it was straining. She brought her fingers back for another rub.

He gasped.

Rub. Pause. Rub. Pause.

"Hmmmm." She nestled her head against his skin. The smell of her perfume filled his nostrils; her hair was soft and beautiful. "I know the thought of it... excites you."

Rub. Pause. Rub.

He leaned forward, shifting so that the covers fell away from him and his body was more fully exposed. At the movement, Mrs Macauley sat up and watched him closely. Her hands were on his hips, his buttocks, his back, as he kneeled over his friend's member. Only his hand was on it now. His mother was busying herself with his cock, gripping it beneath the thin cotton, squeezing, squeezing.

"Rich, I..."

His friend stayed silent, but his fingers stroked his forearm gently.

Shivering in response, he bent down and took the head of his friend's penis into his mouth.

TO BE CONCLUDED

AFTERWORD:

Yes, I know. I'm a bit of a tease. (Although not, I don't think, as much of one as Mrs Priscilla Macauley.) The concluding part shouldn't take too long to appear, I don't think. We'll have to see.

I hope you've enjoyed this first instalment. It was fun to write and I've grown quite attached to Priscilla. You can probably expect to see more of her at some point. Thanks for taking the time to read. I am very open to receiving comments of all kinds. Good, bad, indifferent -- I value them all. -- I9