Satin & Skin = Seduction & Sin

Having entered, I immediately withdrew to fetched a brace beers. Back in a jiffy, I simply walked in and got a terrific view of mom's bottom as it re-immersed in the foam, now which was now considerably reduced to less than half its original height. Evidently, she had decided to switch positions in the expansive tub and had not expected me to return quite so soon and without a pause at the door. Or maybe that was her way of giving me a thrill. Perhaps so, for as we made small talk about the joys of being naked in water and the happiness of slippery skin and feeling clean, she adjusted every now and then to be comfortable, this made her bosom play peek-a-boob. She did nothing to gather the rapidly disappearing floating effervescence to her for modesty.

I sat on the decorative chair that was not so comfy, but closer and a bit higher than the commode. I didn't know if the flashes of flesh were intended, but they were definitely appreciated. I could see down into the water when the rafts of soapy fluff drifted away and espied some leg and a dark delta once. I was high, and my manhood had risen with the erotic setting of being in the same room with mom when she was nude, even if mostly covered by the lather's spindrift. Mom moved a knee up, above the waterline, in a little while she switched and now the other rose. Her thighs were visible and the motion stirred the water so that the waves exposed her nipples sometimes.

Mom kept glancing at my middle now and then. Was she checking out my package? I was stiff; it showed a tenting in my shorts. I realized that since I had no jockeys on, she could look up my pants legs from her angle and see my balls! Then I noted another fact. The water level was getting lower, and had been doing so for awhile during our chit-chat. Finally, she saw that I had noticed the drainage. She laughed a little wicked laugh.

"I pulled the plug while you were getting the beers. Now, not only have I had a bubble bath in the lavatory, but I have had suds in the can too!" She raised the beer container and went into hysterics at her bad pun. Yup, mom was wasted, buzzed, stoned; as was I. "Okay, it's getting a little chilly now, could you hand me my towel?"

"I'll get the towels, mom."

"Oh so you remember now? I thought I'd have to drip dry." The smirk on her lips let me know she was pulling my leg.

I held up a finger to indicate I would return in a moment. I went and fetched the couple of over-sized swaths out of the machine where they had been tumbling, not bothering to fold them. I reentered the humid bathroom and held out one. "They're fresh out of the dryer!"

"Mmm, that is a treat!" Then to my amazement she stood, Venus rising from the sea foam. The soapsuds, what little remained, slid down off her parts; thus giving a sort of striptease as first a breast then a tummy, then a patch of fur was briefly exposed to her son's stare. I had no conscious thought as to my rude behavior; I was just mesmerized by her naked body. She reached for the towel slowly as if to let the image of her buxom and bodacious body linger in my eyes, and then she was wrapping it around her torso. "Mmm, warm!" she sighed. I used the other to tousle her hair and she let out squeaks and squeals of delight as I mussed with her head. Then she led the way into the bedroom.

I followed, wondering if she was still buzzed enough to be horny, like I was, or if I should offer her more mousse - no wouldn't work fast enough - do I have any joints rolled? I couldn't remember. Mom said, "Turn your back." I did and found myself looking into another mirror on the dresser and mom's eyes as well. She looked directly into mine, "No peaking, little man!" she pronounced and then dropped the towel and in one fluid motion slid into the turned down covers and pulled them up to her chest. But we both knew that was a freebie peep, from her to me as a thank-you for the marvelous day, and delicious meal and sensuous soak.

"Have you ever slept in satin sheets?" she asked.

"No, I just got them especially for you. Remember they were virgin sheets."

"Well, they haven't been baptized yet." I was unsure if I understood her analogy precisely. "Why don't you slide in here with me and try them out?" Mom made her suggestion in a sultry tone. I started to crawl in next to her. I had just begun to lift the corner of the covers, when she barked, "NO!" I stopped mid motion. Had I miss understood? Did she get cold feet and change her mind about both of us being in bed together?

Mother said with a lilt of amusement, "Aren't you forgetting the fine print on the label? You have to be bare to climb into these linens, remember, hmm?" Get into bed nude with my naked mother? Could it really be that easy? Had my seduction already come to fruition? Were we going to do it tonight?

"You don't actually want to sleep on the couch do you?" she asked. "This bed is big enough for the both of us. Just try not to poke me with that friendly weapon you're carrying at your groin and we'll be fine. Now give your old lady a kiss and let's get some shut-eye. Too much booze and marijuana tonight. Tomorrow evening just the dope, mousse or joints, or I prefer a pipe if you have one."

Oh well, perhaps the next night might prove to be the golden opportunity in the gilt-colored satin bedding. But it was clear I would not be screwing mom just yet, even if I had bedded her - or had she bedded me? Later that night I awoke, you guessed it, with a boner pressed to her ass-crack, but before I could muster my member to do a rubba-dub on her backside, I fell back into dreamland. When I next awoke I felt a slight chilly draft. Mom was holding the covers up and getting her fill of my morning hard-on. Since she was holding the sheets high I could look over and clearly observe close up the teats that had suckled me. How I wished I could resume that activity just then!

"Well, sleepy-head, I think that I have a slight hangover, but you have got work today and I have shopping to do. You look just like your dad, he was that size too. I hope you don't mind that I took the liberty to get your measure, while you were dozing. After all, you got some nice gandering in yesterday and momma likes her beefcake, just as much as her horny son goes for cheesecake." Then she leaned over and Frenched me!!

I rolled out of bed and let mom admire my buns as I strolled into the lav and turned on the shower. I washed by rote, trying to remember where my dope pipe was tucked away. Mom was certainly molting her shell of mourning, the isolating defenses that she had erected. The effective widow's weeds of a grief-stage stuck on hold were now dissolving in the treatments I was dispensing. Soothing baths, special foods, satin sheets - wait until I was able to give her the ultimate therapy - an injection of the love lotion of my loins. Sex is a great cure for many ailments, especially emotional ones, when administered in love.

By the time mom picked me up from work, I had remembered the pipe's location, scored a double-dime baggie from the janitor of our building, and thought of the next steps to continue my campaign to perk mom up and bed her down. I had bought a box set of Jimmy Steward movies on DVD. He was her favorite actor; she could choose to watch whatever she was in the mood for. The way to a man's heart is through his stomach? - Well, the way to a woman's vagina is through her heart, i.e. you want to provide romance, plus pamper the pants off her. She chose 'Harvey', you know about the six-foot alcoholic rabbit?

Not romantic in first consideration, but with the grass (mom had no problem toking with the pipe!) to provide the recreation boost to the evening's festivities it turned out to be an excellent aphrodisiac of a film! Mom had the remote and as the film made some plot twists she talked about her childhood and teen years and college. The reminiscing got her mushy and she cuddled up to me and let me put my arm around her. Then she sighed.

"I guess I'm getting old, becoming so nostalgic."

"Mom, this is my house, and I will not allow you use that bad nasty three letter word again. That is the rule."

"What? You mean ol.."

Before she could finish the last word I interrupted her, "I said that word is band, banished, verbotten! not PC around here at all!"

"You want to see my wrinkles to prove my point?"

"Yes, you promised to let me inspect. I don't believe I will find a single wrinkle on your delicate skin."

"Well, what do you call these then?" she pointed to her crow's feet, next to her right eye.

I was prepared for that very opening, "Those are laugh lines, from all the tears of joy you have wept. Like the water makes in a gully, only from your heart to your face, those marks were produced as happiness poured out."

"Bull!"

"Now stretch-marks are another sort of line that ladies have sometimes for instance, but they are not wrinkles either." I made my argument.

"How do you know if I have stretch marks?"

"I don't, but that is part of the inspection."

"You want to get a good look at mommy's tummy?" She opened her robe and flashed me! She was in the dressing gown; I was in a sweatshirt and athletic shorts. I had wondered if she had undies on, I thought maybe not - no panty lines, and of course I didn't, but that proved my supposition with indisputable evidence! She quickly closed the garment, but she had definitely given me a deliberate peek at her figure top to bottom, thighs to boobs. A few faded marks on her abdomen perhaps, but the flash had been too quick to memorize details.

That was the next step in our voyeuristic teasing, a dance that was getting rather risqué, to say the least. No complaints from me! How to reciprocate? Or turn the situation even more daring? Ahh! The old . . - whoops! I mean the reliable back-rub ploy. It was good the other night for putting her to bed and getting her to sleep; would it be useful this eve for getting to her into bed, not for sleeping, but for put it to her?

"That's fine for that side for now - but how about I give you a back-rub and I can examine you for evidence of these mythical wrinkles you claim to have?"

"Deal!" Bring in the wine coolers I bought today, they're in the back of the fridge, top shelf." She popped up to go to the powder-room to take care of business, while I fetched the bottles. I refilled the pipe's bowl and brought that as well. I deposited the intoxicants in the bedroom on the dresser and switched with mom for the facilities. Not ready for sharing things quite that personal yet! When I returned to the pliant plateau of golden satin, mom was stretched out on top of the bottom sheet face down, without a stitch. She held her legs closed, not however in a clenched way, but relaxed and ready to be massaged. It only took me seconds to strip.

"Hey! I didn't think you were going to be bare as well!"

"Remember the fine print?"

"OH! Okay, get your drink and come into the pool, the water's wonderful. This satin is so fine against the skin; it almost makes one feel sinful." She wiggled squirming to feel the fabric with her naked flesh. This moved her thighs back and forth, and provided tantalizing windows to the nether regions, briefly lit by the dim lighting, but very titillating!

"What sort of sinful? Sloth? Pride? Envy?" I queried my mater in the buff.

"Promise you won't tell?"

"Promise!"

"Lustful!"

I reached over and ran my middle finger tip down her backbone, then used the palm to move the touching back up the spine, then round to the shoulders and to the blades, next the small of her back. "I'm not finding any wrinkles, yet!" I changed the subject abruptly.

"Check the bottom, Babe! There's bound to be some down there!" She was chuckling.

I took her up on her offer as an opportunity not to be wasted. I separated her thighs a little, then parted her cheeks slightly. "Sphincter, buns with the standard division; nothing on these beautiful globes; back is smoothly muscled, and the neck has no folds that make you look . . ."

"Don't say the 'O' word sweetie!"

"I was about to say, 'like a turkey'."

"How are my legs?"

"Betty Grable would be jealous."

"That old - oops! That antique broad? What about say, mm . . Angela Jolie?"

(This story was written before recent events.)

"Yes, especially her. Brad Pitt would be lusting after your legs."

"Oh? I could teach him about lust tonight! That's my secret sin, you remember I swore you to silence about it?"

"How could I forget because that is my secret sin too!"

"My! We have something in common. Who do you secretly lust after?"

"If I tell you mine, will you tell me yours?"

"Deal! But first, fire up the pipe." We took a few hits and a swallow to cool our throats.

"Who goes first? Why don't you, mom." I asked, suddenly getting cold feet about being completely forthright about my lust for my parent present and presented in the altogether. What if it skewed the seduction? Screwed up any chance I had to make love to my mother?

"Okay, I love; I mean I lust after . . . a doppelganger."

"A what?"

"A doppelganger, a double, a clone, a copy, an offshoot, or even an offspring in this case." She said looking me directly in the eye to make sure I was paying attention and didn't miss the point.

She had my undivided attention and my soldier, the private, was at attention too. Okay, let's see how bold things will get tonight. "Now it's time to turn over and let me do a thorough inspection of your front for wrinkles."

"What will you do if you find any?"

"Like you taught me, when ironing clothes, I'll just have to press close and hard against you until they come out," ('or I cum in you.' I finished in my mind's ear.)

"I'm sure you will be hard and firm, but you need to be hot also to get the wrinkles out."

"I will guarantee, if my services are needed in that area, it will be all that and more."

"More than your father gave me, I think," she softly muttered to herself, but I caught the words nevertheless.

Was she gaming me, while I was playing her? Or was her natural little streak of sardonic humor peeping out. Thinking about her words in a quick retrospect, the implication of mom's mention of the size of my member in comparison to dad - did she really express what I think she was commenting about and gave me a complimented too? WOW! That was progress in the right direction. I started with her toes. When I reached her knees, having declared everything southward wrinkle free, I made a tickle on the back and that set her off into a burst of giggles and wriggles that gave me prurient peeks at her pussy.

"I shall leave the best for last," I said moving up to look at my mother's teats close up and without having to be sneaky about it. It was the most time I spent with them since I was breast fed.

"They're crinkly and hard, I can't help it."

"Is it too chilly, mom?"

"More like a heat-wave."

"Crinkly is not wrinkly."

"My neck is going to be the giveaway. It's like counting the rings on a tree, just in dog years. So that's seven times . . ."

"Unless you count the leftover vampire hickey, you throat is flawless, wrinkle free. There are just one or two smile-ripples, don't confuse the two."

"Smile-ripples? What are they?"

"You know what laugh-lines are - they are not to be confused with crows-feet. They are not at all wrinkles from worry or pain or heartache, or even simple Ohh ... -ver the hill stage of life. But we covered that already. Well, so too are smile-ripples. They are lines that are like the ripples in a pond, when a fish breaks the surface; when a grin breaks upon a face and the glad oscillations travel up the face and down the throat. Like the ripples of water are sometimes patterned in the sand, so too the waves of joy are manifested in the soft tissues of the neck. But they are certainly not wrinkles."

"Okay, smile-ripples, that's a nice way of thinking about them. Still, you can't come up with a silly way of explaining each of the weathered cracks that my face has etched in it. I concede the 'laugh-lines', but I think you have met your match."

"Actually that's not on the inspection sheet."

"It's not? Why not?"

"Technically, it's on the pillowcase, not the sheet; besides that, it was a full body inspection, so above the neck doesn't count. Besides the biggest sex organ you have is blessed with lots of wrinkles."

"You haven't even looked down there yet, aren't you going to look for evidence yourself?"

"I'm talking about your brain. That is the largest sex organ you have, and it has lots of wrinkles (if you opened the skull) but those are what make you smart."

"Nonetheless, you still have to conduct an examination the last area of your tour of my torso. Chicken?"

"No," I said lifting slightly so mom could see the erection that had been hanging from my loins, "more like tube-steak!" I maneuvered to where her legs joined and did what any good gynecologist or lover would do, I parted her thighs. As unique as each gal is in the crotch; some are like a sunset, - no make that a son-rise at the crack of Dawn, and some are a dusky mysterious abyss of magic; I prefer the light pink and rosy highlighted scenery mom concealed in her labia. I poured over every nookie and cranny, each fold and flap of flesh. I raked the pubic hair and stroked thighs, invoking sighs from my bedmate (mate?).

"Nary a mark that isn't appropriate for a wonderful lady, not a wrinkle to be found anywhere."

"Careful! Flattery will get you . . places that you might find it hard to resist."

"If it was hard, would you resist?" I can't believe we are flirting like this in so blatantly a sexual manner, without some sort of truth being exposed. We were totally without a stitch on, but also our souls, or at least our lust had been exhibited, physically if not confessed outright. Mom said she had lusted after a doppelganger, who could be an offspring. Her words were once more in my ear, 'the spitting image', save for the comment 'more than your father', when she was checking out my package under the covers the other day.

"Your turn!" Mom broke in to my thoughts; I had no idea what she was referring to. Was she going to inspect my genitals now? "You never told me who you lust for. I told you mine. You gotta tell yours now! Come on, out with it, who do you want to fuck?"

"I . . ." (God! - Could I say it and not get slapped?)

"You." There I said it, now let's see if it hits the fan or hits the sack?

"Yeah, so what's new?" Mom was blasé, as if it was an everyday thing for me to declare my desire for her physically. She laughed at the expression on my face. "Well, Honey, It's not like you have never gotten boners hugging me and made long looks when you see me in my slip, and so on. I noticed your interest years back. I've just been waiting for you to come out with it eventually. But it wasn't a surprise. Did you puzzle out my object of infatuation?"

"Uh . . . You meant me, right? Off-shoot, a clone - right down to my Wallabees . ."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean, that just because we have mutual lust, that we should give in to our lascivious cravings. That is not an automatic green light to having an affair between us. That would be incest, and even if we both want to make love with one another, that doesn't make it right, no matter how hot it would be. It would turn that bubble-bath into a steam-room! So don't get any ideas, and especially not the kind your dirty-minded mom is thinking. Do you understand young man?" The last phrase was used as when she had disciplined me as a youngster. But as an adult she knew I could catch the backhanded nuances about the fact that her condition was as turned-on and aroused as my own!

She continued, "Now, I know your . . manhood is . . turgid, and that condition is manifested several times through the day, even when the male is in deep sleep. If you are asleep, even if erect, then I don't expect you will be conscious enough to ravage me. If you are awake and have a poker of a peter, just role the other way and go back to sleep, no prodding momma with that porker!" With that she turned on her side, with her back toward me, pulled up the covers over her, getting quiet and seemed to settle in.