My Old Mum


As she needs my help with things I have plenty of opportunity to visit Mum (handy for borrowing her underwear too, of course) and within days I was in her kitchen, talking about anything and everything before popping the question. I didn't just blunder in, I made sure it was in context (as much as it could be) so I complained about being sex-starved at home (even though, as I've said, that's not the case these days) and she explained that women can go off sex during the menopause, that she had done so herself ("Not that I was ever much on it." she said, commiserating on behalf of my Dad). "But it'll come back Love, I'm sure, if you wait - it's bound to..." I wasn't so sure but of course that wasn't the point I was interested in.

I was so keyed up, tense, nervous. Perhaps you can imagine I was as hard as nails, a small damp patch visible on my trouser front more from adrenaline than arousal. I adjusted myself but she didn't look - maybe deliberately so, I can't say. So again I asked, please, please could I have a picture of her topless? I'd keep it safe - she must surely understand that if she had needs then I would obviously have them? But she was having none of it, trying to console me that it was nothing to do with needs, simply that she would feel she was undermining my wife, going behind her back and that she wasn't prepared to do that. Inevitably we debated it for ages but it was no use, I recognised the signs, it was hopeless. And during all of this there was stuff I would usually find very titillating: the content of the conversation of course; the fact she had kicked off her slippers to reveal her golden-nylon-clad feet, wriggling her toes in the thicker nylon that covered them (she doesn't know of my fetish in that department); a slight chill in the air causing her nipples to make the slightest of bumps in her blouse (she never wears revealing clothing or low-cut necklines, again I have to make do with such scraps). Though of course I noticed these things all of them counted as nothing against the main disappointment. Still, what could I do?

Persist is the answer! And I did persist - almost every time we spoke for a month or so I would raise the subject in some way, asking supplementary questions about her own sexual activity, pleading with her to reconsider a photo, reasoning with her that it would not be betraying my wife but aiding our marital harmony (liar!). She must have been sick of it, and can have been in no doubt that I wanted some part of her to which I have had no entitlement since she stopped breast feeding me. With hindsight I feel somewhat guilty but she stuck to her guns, remaining tolerant and kind throughout - though goodness only knows what my Dad would have said.

And then, a couple of weeks back I cracked her! My persuasion was not that much improved so I don't know what did it. Having driven her home from a visit to our house we went into hers and I put on the kettle, still discussing what to do about the curtains I was intending to take down and take home to wash for her. She took off her jacket, unfastened her shoes and padded in her stockinged feet toward the coat cupboard - I watched, enjoying the spectacle. We sat at the kitchen table and drank coffee - would I like a biscuit? No thanks. The usual banal banter before some silence, not awkward, just no more to say. I finished my drink but stayed seated. "Mum - I'm sorry to go on about this but can I just ask one more thing and then I promise I'll let the subject drop?". Of course she knew exactly what the subject would be, rolling her eyes and smiling awkwardly but indulgently she nodded "Yes, go on then...".

I plucked up my courage again, largely because of my embarrassment at bringing up the subject for the umpteenth time. "You know when I first asked you for a photo you said couldn't I make do with just looking? Well... does that offer stand?". I exaggerated - it hadn't been an offer, but I was hoping her failing memory would distort things and make her feel guilty enough to relent. "It wasn't an offer Love - I was just talking. You know I can't." she seemed genuinely deflated, almost as though she were letting me down. So I argued a different tack. "But it wouldn't be betraying her..." meaning my wife - I might have used her name, I'm not sure. "I know you care about her, but you care about me too. You know how unfairly she treats me - wouldn't you like to redress the balance slightly? I'm not saying to get one over on her, just even things up for me, give me some pleasure...". I'm sure I held my breath, certainly I wasn't as stressed as I had been when I'd first asked her for the photo - clearly we'd talked of it too often for that.

She was quiet for what seemed like minutes but then eased herself to her feet and said a weary "Come on then!", not at all playful, more resigned to it. I tried to look uncertain and she said, "One quick look, and that's it, alright?" I was awe-struck. She said something about getting on with it before she got scared and then asked me "Will this be an end to it? No more badgering?". I really couldn't believe it and just nodded - not even sure it was what I wanted any more, so unexpected was this turn of events. I asked was she sure and she said she wasn't but (thank God!) nevertheless left the kitchen and went out into the hall, sitting on her stair lift and making it climb the stairs. My heart was pounding as I stood at the bottom of the first flight and asked "Do I come up now... or wait?". Her response might have been a little terse, I can't really remember but that's the impression it left with me "Up to you...". As she stood from the chair and disappeared onto the landing I just paced about, first making to climb the stairs, then not wanting to appear hurried so turning away, then realising I would of course be keen after all my pestering so why should I try to appear casual now?!

I charged up - Mum had barely made it to her bedroom because of her aching legs but was drawing the curtains closed. "Can I put on the light?" I asked - she nodded and took off her cardigan, tossing it onto her neat little bed. She undressed without ceremony and I watched in disbelief as her bony fingers undid the buttons on her blue cotton blouse, from the top down, gradually revealing a nylon bra-slip in paler blue and with lace trimmings around each of her breasts. It was obvious that her hurrying hurt her arthritis a little and she winced as she pulled the tail of her blouse from her skirt before throwing that onto the bed too. "I'm not taking everything off." she warned and I nodded. "And just a quick look, alright?". I nodded again, aware that instead of an erection I simply had a pleasurable terror in my loins, leaking pre-cum that one can get when afraid or excited in other ways.

Stupidly I wasted some viewing time by looking away for a second or two in a mistaken gesture of respect, then regained my composure as she slid the straps of the slip from her shoulders and slid her willowy but baggy, wrinkled arms from them, pulling each cup from its place to reveal a ribbed breast bone and surprisingly scraggy neck (she always wears high necklines) above a white cotton bra again with lace trim, partly see-through on the top of her breasts but without the colour of her nipples being visible albeit, excitingly, I could just make out their shape. My cock was now swelling and I felt in danger of spontaneous ejaculation - it was all I could do not to touch myself but I sensed that if I came I might feel the disgust I used to feel when first wanking about her and as a result stop her from taking off her bra. That would never do.

Her slip now hanging down over the waistband of her skirt, revealing a slightly sagging pot belly Mum looked at me for confirmation that she should take of her bra. She didn't need to speak, nor I to reply and she looked down and pulled the bra straps from her sloping shoulders, one at a time, again lifting her arms through the loops as she took each cup from her breasts, revealing the soft, gently wobbling flesh to the stark electric lighting. It was magnificent! Rather than pulling the clasp to the front again as she had when I had filmed her at Christmas she simply pushed the still fastened band down, over her tummy and her boobs drooped slightly as they lost the support of the wire underneath, swaying from side-to-side under their own weight and pulling on the centre of her ribcage so that the skin stretched into vertical wrinkles at the her cleavage, pulling on each of her tits and causing it to lose a little more shape, her nipples being pulled towards her sides, pointing outwards like imperfectly aligned eyes. I didn't see her unfasten her bra but she threw it to one side and again her brilliant tits swayed from side to side, her nipples pricking hard in the chilled air - fucking hell!

Her skin was as pale as can be, almost translucent and with a bluish hue, one or two veins visible like rivers on a map as they traversed her round breasts, their tips drawn up into a dog-nosed pertness by the tightness of her elderly skin. Mum brushed the palm of each hand quickly over each of her nipples as if to fully free them from captivity and their centres were now quite proud and raised, standing up from rose pink areola which were crinkled with cold rather than age. I had to adjust my penis which was now pointing at my mother like an arrow and she must have seen both the enormity of my swelling and the dark patch developing on my light grey trousers. That touching nearly made me cum - I was like a virgin again, almost spunking at the sight of my first girlfriend's tits but here I was instead my fifties, highly experienced sexually and yet barely able to contain myself at the sight of my 75 year old mother's sagging boobs.

I bolted from the room and up a further half-flight of stairs to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me and uncontrollably ripping down my trousers before wanking into Mum's toilet - it could have taken only three strokes and I sent a jet of semen against the seat lid before better aiming the rest into the water in the pan, hanging there like candle wax setting. I was shaking with excitement and bright red in the face, the ammonia smell of spunk heavily laden with sperm like a younger man's, rather than my more usual watery offerings - this lot had come from deep inside and my stomach muscles felt almost cramped as I straightened up from the almost foetal position I had adopted as I'd tried to shoot into the loo, rather than over it.

I cleaned myself and the toilet, resisting the temptation to see if there were any knickers or nylons in Mum's laundry basket - I was by no means disgusted at the prospect of fucking her as I thought I might have been once I'd shot my load. God - what to do now? She must have known I had cum and that was difficult - it's one thing to tell someone that you do it, it's another to do it visibly as a consequence of the sexual arousal they've just caused. Instinctively I left the bathroom and scurried downstairs, shouting back that I would put on the kettle (the English solution to most things).

When Mum came downstairs she was full dressed and there felt to be an uncomfortable silence. My face was still flushed and this made worse my difficulty about having cum in Mum's bathroom - I didn't know what to say, nor did she it seems. When we parted it was easier, almost friendly - I went to say thank you but she motioned me not to - she did a watery smile and, I think, said "No, don't." or some such.

And I'm afraid that's it. I've had great sex with my wife since and wanked about nothing else (so far borrowing only some of Mum's freshly discarded laddered stockings for added pleasure - she won't possibly know I have them!). I still want a photo, but it's early days yet - I must let her get used to the idea that I've seen her tits first, then raise the subject again, but don't hold your breath!

Part 2

I've spent much of the last year working harder than I like, lots of it away from home so haven't been able to dedicate the time I'd hoped to sexual matters. Life with my wife goes on, ups and downs both in and out of the bedroom; my Mum's now 76 (in fact going on 77) and is still the main object of my desire; and I've had a few triumphs.

Chief among the smaller triumphs has been getting Mum online. I can't believe it but she's an ardent silver surfer now despite her aversion to technology and general ineptitude with anything new. I gave her my old PC when I upgraded and she just took to it after a few lessons (I had to be patient). She even progressed onto a better one when the first broke and was quite heart-broken when she couldn't use her favourite chat room until the new one was set up. Suffice to say I've taken some advantage of that, gradually forming a chat relationship with her (of course she doesn't know it's me, I pose as another elderly widow in fact) and we have fairly intimate albeit not overtly sexual conversations about underwear, our dead husbands and their likes and dislikes, that sort of thing.

I've been intrigued to learn of Dad's sexual preferences towards her and although she's definitely not had massive sexual appetites I'm beginning to think she might have taken more pleasure than merely satisfying her beloved's needs. Of course she doesn't use the sort of terminology I can here and she types her accounts without much lust but broadly it seems to me that as a younger couple they were fairly active but then as Mum's arthritis began to bite they moderated their behaviour and found other avenues of erotic excitement which saved her the real pain she would otherwise experience from full intercourse, especially with my Dad on top. Despite the fairly mild way she refers to things, because they're true (as I've said before) I find it incredibly exciting - and this is all added to by the thrill of deceit in that she doesn't know who she's chatting with! I've had two amazing wanking sessions whilst chatting with her, making more cum than I have for years, shooting it further than I have for years and full of more sperm (well, whiter and thicker anyway) than it's been for years. Thanks Mum!

I've now got so into her that I even tossed myself off while talking with her on the phone about household repairs! I managed to keep up the conversation right through when I came, spurting what felt like a pint of spunk inside my trousers (my wife was about so I had to keep dressed), although I admit I was only making uh-huh type sounds and she did accuse me of nodding off through boredom - naturally I protested the opposite although didn't admit how excited I really was!

Whilst chatting online I've learned how the seams on Morrisons tights tend to rub her toes but other supermarket and M&S brands don't; why she always wears only tan coloured tights and stockings (essentially because her mother did and Mum was made to feel by her that any other shade was somehow an invitation to bed!); why she still wears stockings occasionally (because they're easier than tights to pull up with her painful hands) but only rarely (because her thighs are now wasting so hold-ups slip down and suspenders are also fiddly with her sore joints); how M&S knickers are best, warmer cotton in the winter but cooler cotton blend in the summer and how if they're soft enough and not too tight around the waist that makes them not only more comfy but easier to get on and (more importantly) off - such detail!

I've also learned where I get my stocking fetish from - Mum confided online that Dad was very keen and hugely disappointed when tights became the norm. When they were younger he would buy her old fashioned style nylons which Mum found too hot to wear on an everyday basis but which occasionally she would (I think she was hinting) wear in bed for him. Stepping up a gear he also liked Mum to suck him off (she didn't use that phrase but she did more than hint about this) through the foot of her tights or stockings (presumably those she'd just taken off which is another kinky pleasure of mine - sadly not with my Mum though!) which apparently made her lips sore. As they grew older and if Mum was having a particularly bad spell of stiffness and pain he would resort to her pulling him off into her knickers (again, she wasn't wholly explicit but there was little doubt what she meant) or even onto her breasts but not between her legs (I asked but didn't find out why not). The list is quite long - shall I go on? Doubtless of greater interest to me than to you but I will...

Dad never wore Mum's knickers or hosiery (I asked) but he did like her to use the clothing she'd taken off on him (a stocking worn as a glove for instance) when they were making love. Otherwise their intercourse was "...fairly usual" as Mum called it - I took her to mean missionary position although I know she would sometimes go on top (but could only wriggle, not bounce up and down) and would infrequently stand, leaning against "...something tall, like the dressing table..." so that he could enter her from behind (never in her bottom you understand, so just doggy fashion up her cunt I suppose). Amazing - I was bursting when she typed about this even though I'd already cum about something else only minutes earlier.

I've yet to find out what he thought of her tits but I know he was a "...bosom man...". She's also confided that he wanted her to pose for photographs - I don't yet know if she did but I doubt it, it was before the days of digital photography and they'd have had no idea where to get saucy pictures developed. I took the impression that for the last few years of their life together Dad had increasingly relied on these side activities to get him off as Mum was rarely able to go the whole way in bed because of her infirmity. He'd apparently proposed that she flaunt herself to one of their younger neighbours (I've no idea what this meant but as much as I might find her an object of fascination, believe me, Mum's not the flaunting kind - more the old-lady-who-lived-in-a-shoe kind, even 20 years ago) I shall try to find out of course but can't appear too interested. Showing her off sort of ties-in with Dad's photography request in that earlier in their marriage he'd had apparently wanted photo's to show to workmates - again I must get more detail, what did he hope to achieve? Did they wife swap? (No way!) I so hope those photos exist, unlikely though it is.

Even in that there's a certain symmetry, Dad's urges matching my desire to get a photo of Mum topless - spooky. I've got nowhere on that front. I have raised the subject twice more but Mum just side-steps. It's so frustrating because I get worked up to ask, dry mouth, pounding heart and she just says things like "Now we've had all this out before, you're supposed to have left that subject behind", looks kind of hurt and then starts on about yoghurt or some other trivia. I have got some photography though, as you'll see. However, just to finish the online subject, I've given Mum's chat details to one of my online mates (he loves elderly women too and has a thing for his own very desirable 78 year old mother) in the hope he can get her to reveal more, perhaps even have cyber-sex with him so he can share a few highlights with me. Again, no luck to date but obviously it's difficult for two total strangers to co-ordinate being online at the same time, especially when one of them doesn't know she's being set up, nor even the existence of her would-be cyber stud!

My other small triumphs come in the shape of some hidden camera filming, thanks to the same mate. He put me on to an affordable discreet device I've managed to hide and have filmed my wife, mother in law and Mum in various states of undress and undressing. I'm happy to share the movies or screen prints with those I can trust to keep my secrets but, again, Mum's involvement has been limited by circumstance. With few exceptions (one very notable, to which I shall come later) the only times Mum gets at all undressed while in the same house as me (and my cam) is when she uses the toilet. Consequently I have two movies of Mum pulling down her knickers, sitting on the loo to wee and then dabbing herself dry after. They're not great, except for the invasion of her privacy which is very exciting to me. You get a really good view of her cute little bottom (but I've never really been a bottom man), you can't see her pussy (too little light) or pubic mound (she turns too quickly) and on both days she was wearing those awful knee-high stockings rather than full stockings or tights so there's no hosiery action for me to enjoy!

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byRustyDusty© 12 comments/ 157429 views/ 42 favorites

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