Sudden Moves

He finally tensed with his wide baton planted deep in Catherine. His gushing warmth pulsed out deep inside her and spread to places she'd never considered. She groaned and whimpered and squirted a final dose of her own nectar onto her son's rod.

When they awoke, Randy asked, "By the way, you smell good, but what the hell was that fishy smell coming up from the kitchen?"

Catherine smiled, a knowing woman's smile.

***

She'd been born a few weeks premature, a small baby. She grew into a skinny toddler and in time a scrawny kid.

Her mother -- very petite herself -- didn't seem to notice. She rarely seemed to notice much beyond her day to day duties and her daydreams. Her hair was always messy, never well-kept like her father's. He'd been solid-built, barrel chested and a heavy walker about the house. It never occurred to her to wonder how the two could have come together.

She grew into a lanky teenager, finally becoming self-conscious of her slow development. Cruel boys and girls mocked her "mosquito bite" breasts. She also noticed that she had no real friends. There was nothing to do about the physical development, so she turned her laser focus on fitting in and making friends.

Developing friendships was a skill she learned with care. She applied each lesson with that doggedness she'd inherited from her father. The habit of running for daily exercise came from her newfound girlfriends. The girls were running for weight control, but Catherine stuck with it for the runner's high. It contributed definition to her already slim musculature. All in time for her late bloom from lanky teenager to slinky late-teen. And then to svelte young woman in her twenties. The boys and the men noticed. She enjoyed their attention with an underdeveloped understanding of sex and dating. Her mother -- in that constant distracted state - was no help.

She dated a handful of men in college, and went along with having sex with some of them. She enjoyed it most of the time but was rarely impressed. Most men faltered just when things started getting good.

She saw Mike often on her evening runs. He'd run track in high school and was trying to keep up the habit. She was impressed by how well he ran, and for how long. When he asked her out, she was happy to agree. He was funny, handsome, charming, well enough endowed and intelligent. And he was bound to have good stamina. Catherine supposed this one wouldn't peter out too early.

He did have stamina. But he was a marathon runner in bed whereas Catherine was more of a sexual long distance sprinter. He could go long enough, but she wanted to go hard too. It was disappointing, but still more pleasurable than any man she'd slept with before. She fell in love with Mike, and the issue of sexual pace diminished in her mind. At least there was no issue of duration.

When Mike proposed to her, though, she worried about it again. Would this be a problem? Till death do us part is a long time. Could it improve after marriage? She tried discussing it with her mother, woman to woman. But her mom just got glassy eyed when Catherine brought up sex. The dreamy matron thought that sex and marriage was "simply the best thing ever."

Catherine failed to ask her mother if she'd had sex before marrying her father.

So she agreed to be Mike's bride. They had a nice marriage, and that led to little Randolph. Catherine continued to run daily over the 23 years to follow. Mike did not. He worked in an office and ate and watched television and tried his hand at the links every week or so.

Golf, he said, was his exercise. He gained weight, which didn't bother the lean and wiry Catherine. She loved him, and liked having sex with him. For a time he became more creative in the bedroom, but always at that same jogging-along pace. She wanted to love having sex with him. She would have loved it if only he didn't wimp out when she wanted to fuck and get fucked for real. Slow and steady was well and good for many life pursuits, but it left her always wanting something more in bed. No, she wasn't bothered by his weight at all. But it finally created greater problems when Mike developed a heart condition.

His stamina and even his interest in sex had been dropping over the last two decades. The medication killed what libido he had left. She told him about her concerns and frustrations before he started with the meds. He promised to take care of her with his hands and mouth even if the heart medication kept him from using the preferred equipment.

The promise was short lived. If anything, he was relieved to never have sex on the brain. It gave him enough extra processing power to focus on his golf game among other life interests.

All the while, his wife had already been bored with their sex life. She was a hard-bodied 45 year old woman, burning well into her sexual prime. Every square inch of her skin was taut and firm. She was skinny by some people's estimation. But she still had an athletic strength and energy that could turn anyone on. Her breasts were a comfortable 36B. They were enough to fill a lucky man's hand, and still held their own against gravity. Her features had matured, and she had thick black/brown hair down to her shoulders. She had all the ingredients to be a remarkably sexy woman, and by this point in her life she knew it.

She made a last ditch attempt to get what she needed -- what her marriage needed. It was four and a half days before she would stink up the kitchen with sardines hidden at the bottom of a pot of oatmeal. She poured herself into a pair of thin black thigh-high stockings. She pulled on high hipped black panties and clasped on a matching lacy bra. Her hair was up to expose her graceful neck. The outfit was decorated with matching heels, garter belt and garters.

Dressing this way made her wet. The long lean muscles on her arms and legs were flexing with anticipation. (There was some built up frustration in there too.) Her flat tummy flexed with each excited breath. She stepped into the master bedroom to greet her husband and make this final pitch.

He passed on what could motivate most heterosexual men to crawl and howl. He didn't even turn the bedroom television down.

Wearing nothing but the fuck-me outfit, she stormed downstairs to the laundry room. She'd gotten herself so wet just putting on the outfit that the panties would need to be washed. She burst into the small room and reached up for the clip holding her hair in place. She grabbed it and ripped it off in towering frustration.

Randy was there, returned from an evening run. He was stuffing his shirt into the washing machine. He stood up bare chested and watched this firm vision-of-sex-and-lace let down her hair and shake the locks apart. The door slammed shut behind her. Startled, she looked up through her dark curtain. To her surprise she found a sweaty Adonis with an exposed heaving chest.

The space was tiny, a handful of square feet bigger than a broom closet. The smell of those damp panties filled the room. If Randy noticed, he said nothing about it. His nostrils flared as he looked down his mother's mostly exposed body. She could not help but appreciate her son's figure. He was chiseled from school sports and habitual exercise in the college years.

"Wow...Mom...look at you. You're..." He faltered at the tight little body in the small dark bra and panties. Those stockings and heels made her runners legs look lean and hard as polished wood. Her panties arced over her hips, hinted at the curvature of her ass and accentuated her pinched waist. The garter belt drew the eye to her toned stomach. Her bra held her breast swells together into a tempting cleavage. All the rest was the smooth skin of a woman glowing with health and sexual hunger.

She filled the gap at the end of Randy's sentence with a simple, "Yeah." She held her arms at her side. She'd always taken pride in her figure. She refused to hide it. Besides, at a basic level, she wanted to enjoy that look of appreciation from a man. Mike, still watching television upstairs, wasn't giving her a reaction. She felt her cleft self-lubricate even more than before. It was the thought of a strapping young man enjoying the visual feast her husband had spurned.

Perhaps it was the intensification of Catherine's feminine musk. Or was it the mutual looks of admiration between the parent and her grown man? In any case Randy stepped closer to his mother, and reached for the high lace waistband of her panties. "This looks...I mean Dad must..." The pad of his thumb made contact with her underwear, and she felt a jolting thrill. "Huh," Randy said with interest and care. "It looks soft, but it feels kinda rough."

Her breath was picking up. His large chest rose and fell in a matching rate. "Yeah," she said a second time, drawing her arm away to give free access to his touch. "It's lace. It's nice sometimes to look pretty and soft, but at the same time to be a bit..." Their eyes locked, and Catherine lay her finger tips upon Randy's elbow. "...Rough."

They had not been flirting or noticing one another in any sort of sexual way the previous days or weeks. The only sort of build-up was not between them but inside each individually. Catherine had been heating up unattended by Mike for months now. The frilly bits on her near-naked body had her ready to boil over. Randy hadn't gotten laid since moving back to his parent's house a month and a half ago. At 23 he didn't want to bring anyone to his parent's sad and angry home. Soon he would be moving out to a new apartment near a new job. He could feel his groin tightening in anticipation of expanding opportunities.

Now they had run into each other -- half dressed at most -- each blindsided by the sex appeal of the other. A chemically induced gravity had already drawn them into physical contact. Catherine's words, "pretty and soft, but at the same time...a bit...rough," hung in their minds. Their noses filled with her scent: soap and flowery perfume mixed with female arousal. Their eyes held almost nothing but the curving firm flesh and hungry eyes of another in their prime. Randy had no thought of looking away or drawing back. But he couldn't think of any response for his mother's arousing statement and obvious innuendo.

So she added, "There's lace on the bra too." His hand on her hip twitched but did not move to test her assertion. She felt torn. Did she really want him to touch her breasts? Even through her bra? Yes, she was sure she wanted contact; her nipples ached for attention. She could tell Randy was struggling with the opportunity. In a snap judgement she decided to compromise. She stepped into her son's space and pressed the frilly black lingerie into his bare chest. Her eyes still held his. She shifted her shoulders side to side, rubbing her scantily clad tits against his bare chest. She wouldn't try to force his hands upon her, but he was going to have to take this or leave it now. The movement bumped and rubbed her groin and tummy against his crotch. It was unintentional, but she decided in the moment that that was fine too.

Randy shuddered as the lacy bra (not to mention his mom's ripe tits inside it) scratched at his chest. Every step of this had been accidental for him. When he had tested the fabric of Catherine's waistband he'd been genuinely curious about its texture. But a growling primal force deep down drove him to stand close to the woman in slinky black underwear. It held him in place when she stepped close enough to press her chest and fragrant groin against him. His body felt what the animal part of him had seen from the start: a woman, fit and ready to pounce or be pounced upon.

Awareness rose at last to his mind with that shudder. He recognized what had already started on a mammalian level. Concern about social norms came and passed through his mind like a phantom breeze. His family -- especially his mother -- had always set the norms. He'd learned in his early school years to navigate the outside world norms for the sake of getting along. But they held no sacred place in his mind. The feel of a woman's touch. The scratch of her lacey bra. The increasing pungent scent of her arousal. Her piercing stare and the smooth curving lines of her hard-earned shape. These things left little mental space for worries about their future relationship. If his mom wasn't worrying, why should he? Even as an inner voice tried to bubble up to argue caution, he grunted.

This is stupid, he thought. A few tens of seconds had passed since Catherine came through that door. Things were already too far gone. This was going to happen. Sometimes we move like that in life. Somelife times it is that sudden.

Randy grabbed his mother's tight little panty clad ass, and pulled her hard against himself. The matriarchal vagina and tummy crushed against his long and wide tube of flesh. Its promise elated her. Her eyes widened with a flash, and he saw a smile play at the corners of her mouth. She was definitely game. Her stocking clad left leg coiled around his right, and her hands were already on his shoulders.

He dragged her wiry body up his torso, lifting her into the air.

Catherine's cunt gushed at her son's powerful and sudden move. She stared into his eyes as he carried her up to be face to face. Eye to eye. Mouth to mouth. She said, "Yes." Her tone was low and clear like a game show contestant sure this was the winner's choice.

Their mouths met, open. Catherine brought her right leg around to lock ankles with the left. The circle they formed around her son was complete. She squeezed at his neck and crushed her orange sized breasts against him. This was it. Catherine was determined. She was dressed to fuck. She was primed for action. Her husband had passed, so this stallion was going to get the lay of the century. Yes, it was her son. She would figure all that out later. He was a grown adult, so for now Catherine was going to get what she needed.

Randy's big hands dug into the flesh of her bottom. She moaned into his mouth. She felt him turning them leftwards, about ninety degrees. She ground her pussy into him. She was ready to work miracles on the young man and the fat trunk he was holding her up to. He lowered her onto the smooth warm surface of the recently stopped dryer. He released her buns of steel and drew back from her enough to get a grip on the waistband of his shorts.

"Oh fuck." she said in a soft voice. He was going to do it. Her son was going to fuck her here in the laundry room!

He yanked down his shorts and a ruddy pillar of flesh sprang free. About nine inches, she guessed, and thick. Not as big as some of the whoppers she'd seen in some porn flicks, but for sure bigger than Mike was packing.

"Oh Fuck! Oh, YES!" She leaned back on her left arm and used the right hand to yank the gusset of her panties aside. The lips were gleaming under the harsh laundry room lights. Randy could see that the mound was trimmed short and neat. He loved a woman who took care of herself. "Tell me," his mom panted. "Tell me you know how to use that beautiful thing!"

He stepped forward and grabbed her hips. He rubbed the fat head of his penis on his mother's small and slippery cunt. "I never tell," he said, and forced the head into the opening of his origin. "But I'm going to godamned well show you."

Catherine cried out, "Holy Fucking SHIT!" She laughed at his line, and swiveled her hips to help his progress. "Yussssss! I want every INCH! I neeeed you to fuck me with that whole big fucking beast! I need it ALL, Randy."

"That's good, Mom," he said as he worked more and more into her. "'Cause if you're gonna walk around me dressed like that, you're going to get it all. Unh! It's time. Mm! Open wide, Mom."

She spread her stockinged legs wider, and jutted her hips at him. More and more of Randy's member snaked its way into Catherine's stretching glistening hole. "Talk...Unnnnhhhhh!...cheap." Randy smiled at how his mom didn't back down. Most of the women he'd layed tended to get weepy and just lie down to take it as best they could. "Just...uh!...keep fucking...YEAH!...keep fucking me! Uh! More! Harder! All the way in, baby, and keep up with Mommy!"

Wow! What a response, and the talk was the least of it. Her tight body was rippling as she fucked her way onto the last inch or two of his cock. He leaned over her to give as good as he got. Her bra, he could now see, clasped in the front between the cups. He reached towards her breastbone, and popped the latch with a snap. She threw her shopulders back as she fucked at her son, so the bra sprang apart. Her tits were exposed to him for the first time since nursing. Considering her age, Randy expected drooping -- even deflated -- breasts. But Catherine's breasts were round and succulent like fruit still on the tree. The areolas were the size of quarters, and her nipples were fat and bulging.

They were in his mouth before he could think to do it. She threw her head back and gulped down deep breaths. Her whole body began shaking. She'd always had sensitive breasts, and Randy's slavish attention to them set off fireworks across her body. That swollen hard mass he was slamming into her was sending her to another world. It was a perfect sexual experience, and she resolved to keep it going for as long as young Randy could last. So she rewrapped her legs around him, relocked her ankles together at the small of his back and urged him on and on. She came with a drawn out grunt, creaming all over his balls and the top of the dryer.

Randy kept plugging away at Catherine. There was something perfect about the shape and feel of her breasts in his hands and between his lips. He couldn't get enough. And her sex! His mother was so wet and tight! He pulled most of the way out before rushing all the way back in, on and on to cheering screeches over his head. That tight little body in his hands drove him into a state of constant sexual frenzy. Her pussy felt like magic! Other women begged for mercy by this point. He rarely dared to go so hard, but his mother took it and kicked him in the ass for more! What a woman!

Most guys in Catherine's past would've busted their nut for the clutching twisting fuck she was giving her son. Especially in her tiny black lingerie. Mike would've begged her to slow down five times by now. But Randy -- holy shit, Randy! -- was working her over like a titan! And he showed no sign of slowing! She figured, he wasn't pacing himself and was bound to shoot off any minute now. He was a spectacular fuck anyway, and she was going to enjoy it as long as it lasted.

It lasted through three more orgasms and kept on going.

"Wow, baby, I'm impressed! Yeah, hard and fast...uh! Like that! Ooooh shit, you motherfucker. I can't believe what you're doing to me!"

"I had no idea you could get so hot, Mom. Uhn! Your tits are amazing! You've got such a tight little body...Huh!...and that fucking outfit...those rock solid legs...fuck, Mom!...and this ass!" He reached down and squeezed her ass cheeks. "It fits in my hands like perfection! So fucking hot!"

She lay three fingers on his chest to slow him down. "If you like my ass, baby, pull that fire hose out of my pussy for a second, and I'll give you a better view."

Her wicked grin assured the young man. She wasn't going to beg off. They were not done by a long shot. He took his time drawing out of her. He wanted to make her miss what he had to give. Catherine's mouth hung open, dumbstruck at the sensation of Randy's languorous withdrawal. She grunted as the bulbous head rubbed her inner lips and finally exited her body with a plopping sound.

She smiled at the big-dick-swinging stud, and eased her way off the dryer. Her eyes shimmered with mischief; she knew she was about to play her ace card. The wet panties stretched string thin as she shimmied out of them and dropped them around her heels. She kicked them aside as she stepped out of their loose rings. Then she turned around. The mother -- in nothing but stockings and heels -- leaned over the drier. Her immaculate tits rested on the hot slippery metal, and she pointed her fantastic ass at her son. She smirked at him over her shoulder. Things were already hot. It was time to set the scene on fire.