15 comments/ 217613 views/ 54 favorites A Game of Seduction By: ChrisGeyser I had decided to dump her. After almost two months of dating, going out, driving her home, I had had enough frustration with Jessica to not try and keep our thing going. What thing? I had not been able to go past second base, and every time I had felt her body tense, as if she was trying as hard as she could to please me, but would not let me go any further. So I had decided to call it a day for us. She'd cried a little, she'd ask (somewhat weakly) for me to reconsider, but I know that she was relieved. And I am back to square one. I drive back home, park the car and open the door. You are in the living room, watching the news on TV. You look up when your "hi there" doesn't get much of an answer, and indeed, I am not having the best of time. I feel frustrated, of course, but also furious to have wasted my time with Jessica. You notice something isn't right, and you come to see me in the kitchen as I am drinking Diet Coke from the bottle I have just taken from the open fridge. You close the door, then looking me in the eye, you ask me: - What is the matter, baby? - It's Jessica, that stupid ... - Oh, bad evening. You got dumped? - No, in fact, it's the contrary. I dumped her. - Wow. You did? Why is that? You seemed to be getting along fine though. - Well, too bad I didn't notice. - Want to talk about it? - What is it to talk about? I mean, we're done. I've had enough, that's all. - O-kay. Seems someone here is in a bad mood tonight. If you need me, I'll be in the living-room. Once you're gone, I take a deep breath, and I finally manage to get things a little under control. I put the bottle back in the fridge, and I go up to my room. I turn on my computer, log on the Internet, and begin surfing. After an hour or so, I'm logged onto Yahoo!Chat, trying to sort through the bots, while looking around for a few good dirty pictures. I know how things are going to end -- I feel it in the bottom of my stomach, this aching need that will have me jerking off no matter what happens (or not) online tonight. I hear you climb the stairs, you knock on my door and I lock the computer screen right away. - Yes, Mom? You open the door and step inside. - Are you okay, Chris? - Yeah, I'm sorry I yelled at you downstairs. I'm feeling better now. I know I dumped her, I shouldn't be angry about it, but I don't know, I ... it's stupid, isn't it? - No, it's normal. We all get a little disappointed when things do end up the way we wanted them to. Tomorrow's another day. - Yeah, I suppose. - Well, I'm going to bed now. Don't stay up too late. Good night. - Good night Mom. I close the door after you leave, and get back to the computer. Bots, bots and bots, and not a single interesting conversation in about half an hour. Somehow, I have a bad feeling about this evening. I browse a few pictures, find a couple sexy ones, then a link has me stumbling on thumbnails for different galleries of pictures -- sorted by categories, ranging from "schoolgirls" to "asians" to "anal" to "animals" to "grannies" and worse things even. I am going to close this window when I notice a picture by the "big tits" category. A blonde lady, late thirties, short hair ... she looks somewhat familiar, and it takes me a few seconds to realize that she kinda looks like you. I click on the link, opening a gallery of pictures as well as a couple of annoying popups. The pictures are nice but not great, showing the blonde lady in various stages of undressing, until a guy enters the scene and she starts sucking on his cock. Sixteen pictures, no cumshot, to be very technical. But the resemblance is there, even though you might be a little less busty than this lady (which, in my opinion, has been surgically enhanced, but that's another matter). I look around the same site, going through more popups and a few good pics, and I find another series featuring the same lady. The situation is the same, the guy is different, but she still looks a lot like you. And then I realize that those pictures are turning me on far more than they should. I can feel my cock tighten whenever I look at a picture where the resemblance is striking, soften for the others. I decide to call it a day, it's already past midnight and I don't want to stay up too late. I close all windows, switch off the computer and go to bed. As I lay on my back, my mind goes back to those pictures, I wrap my hand around my cock, and I jerk off silently, thinking of the blonde woman. Afterwards, tired and satisfied, I fall in deep sleep. The next morning, you wake me up by knocking on the door and calling me. As usual, I'm in grave danger of being late for my summer job (spending the day at a bookstore moving crates around, and God those books are heavy), so I rush in the shower. Soaping myself, I feel a familiar tingling in my stomach, but reason prevails and I refrain from jerking off -- and my morning erection finally wears down. I step out of the shower, wrap a towel around my waist and begin to brush my teeth. I'll grab a coffee on my way, there's a Starbucks next to the bookstore where there's this girl that has been hitting on me, I'm pretty sure. She's more my type than Jessica, blonde, a generous figure -- and a mouth to die for. Or at least cum for. Or in. Or all over. I shake my head, pushing away the dirty thoughts that have managed to thicken a little my cock, and finish brushing my teeth. At that moment, you knock on the door, and open it a crack. - Chris? Are you done? - A minute. - Do you mind? We're really running late, and I need some woman's stuff. You brush past me, wearing your bathing robe, and I can't avoid but notice how it reveals some cleavage -- and I kind of get mesmerized by the little movements of your breasts under the fabric. I snap out of it before you notice anything, and I leave the bathroom. Back in my room, as I dress up, I realize that my cock is thick again. I put on some trunks, my black pants and a black t-shirt -- can't get wrong with black. I pick my keys, a CD that I have promised I would lend to Steve (one of my co-workers at the bookstore), and I am ready to go. I stop by your door, you're in front of your mirror, still in your bathrobe, applying make-up. - Mom, I'm going. - Already? Damn you guys have it easy. Just a shower, and you're off. Sure you don't want to grab any breakfast? - Nah, I'll get a coffee on the way. See you tonight. - Have a nice day, baby. - Bye Mom. I don't know if that's the result of finally dumping Jessica, but it seems that I'm looking at the world with brand new eyes today. Or brand new horny eyes, to be honest. Every woman seems to be bristling with a sex-appeal I had not noticed previously -- you, for instance. It had taken me last night's picture to be aware of your sensuality. Oh, I had had my fling when I was a kid, Oedipus and all, but it had never been near any kind of sexual intimacy fantasy. But I would be lying to myself if I was to say that I had not tried to peek a little at your cleavage when I stopped by your room to tell you I had to go. The coffee girl is nice and very helpful, within the limits of her job -- I mean, how nice and helpful can you be when you just have to take an order and yell it at some poor shmuck who's like you, doing a summer job for a lousy pay? But I nearly ask her when she was off with her shift, but ... but I don't know, somehow she doesn't look so fine today. To be honest, I am still thinking of you. Remembering the last time I have seen you in a swimming suit, how you had complained that you had put on a little weight and it might be one size too small. Indeed, it was a little tight, but I remember thinking how hot you looked that day. And decide to stop thinking about that, as I am again having the begining of an erection. The whole day is the usual dull day. Moving heavy stuff around, helping customers with some books they couldn't find, trying to squeeze as much pauses as possible. I feel horny as hell, and I can't wait to get back home, log on the Internet and find some hot girl to chat with and cum with. With big tits and a hungry mouth. Yeah, would be nice. It is Richard's (the manager) birthday today, and he has decided to throw a little impromptu party after we close. I'm still in a strange mood, but I'm not going to walk away from free booze and crackers. Not that the staff is particularly feminine, except for Lorna who is 30 going on 60 and wears far too much make-up. Oh, and she's got about 40 pounds to lose too. I rememeber I have to drive home, so I keep it light. The party is okay, I mean, we're not exactly "friends", but Richard is a decent boss and everybody is more or less happy to work there. After a good hour, I've nearly exhausted all the subjects I can share with them, and I decide to drive home. I drop Steve (and my CD) at a bus stop on the way in, and when I park I can see you're already there. I'm a little disappointed, as I had planned to get back early and maybe squeeze in a good hour of chatroom surfing and dirty talk, and now I will most certainly have to wait until we have dinner. I open the door. - Mom, I'm home. - Chris, I was begining to worry. Have you seen the hour? - It was Richard's birthday, we had a couple of drinks to celebrate. And yes, I was reasonable. You can check outside, the car is fine, and I didn't run over anybody. - Still in a foul mood, it seems. Okay, dinner's served in five. - Gotcha. I sit down in front of the TV, switch on ESPN to watch some baseball recap. I look over my shoulder at you -- relaxed from the day, wearing a silk robe that shows off advantageously your body. Yeah, definitely some nice bod there, I think. Dinner is spent in a mix of chatting and long silences, and I keep throwing glances at the way your tits sway under the think fabric, getting a little turned on when I think I can make out a nipple. Then I'm off to my room, closing the door behind me, turning the computer on right away. Five minutes later, I'm on chat, with bots already PM'ing me. None of my regular "friends" are there, so I try some room-hopping, finding more bots and no real women. Damn. Looking for pictures doesn't really help -- most collections haven't been updated since the previous day, and the few ones that have been don't have anything that tickles my interest. So I turn to the stories. I browse down the list of new stuff, discarding the incredibly long ones (53 parts! who's to read all this!?) and the disgusting ones (bestiality AND scato? thanks, but no thanks), and picking one at random. Badly written, no characters -- crap. Four or five stories later, I'm beginning to think of going back to picture-hunting. Then I stumble on a little story. The story tells of a guy who had to go to a big party with a date but got dumped at the last time. Maybe it was that part that gets me hooked, I don't know. Anyway, he's disappointed, his separated mother proposes to help him and be his date for this night. He agrees reluctantly, and they go out together. His mother acts very flirtily, and things escalate -- he starts by groping her (at her suggestion) to show off in front of his friends, and they end up with her faking giving him a blowjob in his car. Well, of course, she can't resist anymore and actually gives him a blowjob, sucking him dry. A nice story, with a good pacing and a rather believable unfolding. And damn hot overall, I thought, my cock rock hard. I hear you climb up the stairs to go to your room, and I realize I've completely identified with the main character in the story -- and put you in the role of his flirty mother. I shake my head, and go back to chat. There's a name there, lady40_4u that seems interesting ... As it is often the case with online chat, I don't get lucky this evening. Another hour of bot abuse, and I decide to call it a day. As I lay on my bed, I think about the story again, about you as the flirty mother, about the whole scene ending with you gulping down my cock ... about my cock cumming in your mouth and splashing your beautiful tits ... about you smiling at me with cum dripping from your lips ... I'm hard in a minute, and cumming the next. Then, exhausted, I fall asleep. The following morning, over breakfast I can't help but look at you differently. The fullness of your hips, the heaviness of your tits, your mouth ... those thoughts make my head spin -- and my cock ache in my trunks, as I try to chew down my cereals. You seem to notice something. - Something is wrong? - Hm? Err, no, why is that? - You keep staring in a strange way, you seem to be miles away. - Yeah, I suppose. Not yet fully awake, you know, low caffeine level in the mornings. - Try not to do that, will you? You creep me out, it's like I'm having breakfast with a zombie, or a serial killer. - Really? Maybe a little bit a both, you know. (raising my hands in front of me, with a trembling voice) Need ... Coffee ... Woman ... Give ... Me ... Coffee ... You make a little high-pitched shriek, drawing your arms to your chest -- making those lovely breasts of you bulge under your bathrobe. I feel my cock jump again, and I chastize myself silently. I try and think of other things, serious things like the job ahead for the day, or else ... or else, I'll have to stand up before you with a full hard-on. After a couple of minutes, I feel I'm back to a more decent level, and I stand up to put my plate in the sink. I am still half-hard, but that can pass (I hope) for the normal "morning call". It's not as if you're looking at me anyway. I get dressed, and I leave the house for work, dropping by your door on the way. I'm a bit disappointed you are nearly dressed, and I caress the idea of popping in earlier to get a better view. I manage to get my head cleared during the day -- a slow day, where I spend most of the time sitting in the backroom chatting with Steve about music and movies. Richard, obviously in a good mood, allows us to leave earlier -- too bad his birthday comes only once a year. When I get home, you're still at work. I switch on the TV, get a coke, then climb up to my room to check my emails. Nothing much, so I do a little surfing ... and I end up checking a website with dirty stories, checking out the mom-son ones. As usual, there are horrible stories where the author has no grammar and only a vague idea of what characters are, some far-out stories involving all sorts of household pets (and others), and a couple of good ones among all that. I read for a full hour, my throat dry and my cock hard, as story after story unfolds -- a mother's seduction of her son (to make sure he wouldn't turn out to be gay), a funny story about a mother and a son abducted by aliens willing to understand human reproduction and love-making, a hot story about a son taking a photography class and his mother modelling for him ... I jump, startled, as I hear you closing the door downstairs, and calling my name. I answer you quickly, telling you I'm upstairs, and I make a dash for the toilets. Through the closed door, I hear you climbing the stairs, going to your room to change into more comfortable clothes. My cock is still hard, and the stories come to torture me again, reminding me of the way that every scene can become the turning point where suddenly, hot steamy sex happens ... what if I was to step out of the toilets with my cock hard, pointing at you? Would you fall down on your knees and happily suck me? Nah, I'd be in for a scold and a harsh explanation of what is decent in this house ... but I decide to ignore that, and picturing the scene in my mind, I begin to stroke my cock slowly -- and quickly, I cum moaning your name, quietly. Over the next days, what started as a chance interest evolves progressively into a full-fledge obsession. As if I am digging deeper and deeper, and still unable to find satisfaction, moving towards more explicit, more graphic stories and pictures and fantasies. During the day, I don't notice any more the girl at the Starbucks, however nice she tries to be with me. I've bumped into Jessica yesterday, and I don't understand now what I was seeing in her before. And at the store, I've begun appraising women in their forties, basking in their smiles as they enjoyed being serviced by a polite young guy who seems genuinely interested in their needs ... and their figure, but they never notice that. During my evenings, I roam the Internet chat rooms in search of older women, trying to seduce them into playing with me. Some of them indulge me and let me watch them on cam, and I reciprocate, enjoying their enthusiastic comments on the size of my cock and its hardness. Everytime they tell me they would love to suck it for me, I feel like a little bubble in me. I also spend time looking for pictures, focusing on big tits and the "MILF" type -- "Mother I'd Like to Fuck", as they say. Of course, the biggest of my fantasies is you. The scenarios become more elaborate, more varied too -- but invariably end up with your lips tight around my cock, until I can't hold it anymore and yield to your hungry mouth. Some fantasies go even further, imagining how life would be with you as my lover, how I would meet you in the kitchen for breakfast -- me with my cereals, you on your knees with my morning erections ; how the showers would become soapy affairs, you bending forward to impale yourself on my hard cock ; how you would greet me back from my job or school, wearing a skimpy nothing and unbuttoning my pants as soon as I pass the front door ... The week passes, and tomorrow is Saturday. I get one Saturday off every two weeks, and tomorrow is a sleep-in day. I know I'll be up late tonight, ready to make the best I can of whomever I'm going to meet online. I've just gotten home, and you're there, sipping ice tea and watching the TV. I look at you, and I know I've made my mind. I'm not satisfied with my fantasies any more, not with you being so close. I want more. And I'm going to get it. I reread the stories, looking for clues about what to do. I know those are just stories, and I know that there is no way they would happen in real life. The chances you are going to fall down on your knees the first time you bump into me with a hard-on are non-existent. But I want to trick you into this just as I have been tricked -- little by little, by a slow seduction that will become (I hope) an obsession. I decide on the first phase of my strategy: make you realize I'm a horny young man, sexually active. I go to my room, and pick up my nudie mags from their hiding place in a plain folder labeled with "Maths" at the bottom of my cupboard. I take the most explicit one, put the others back in place, search the magazine for the hottest picture (a cute blonde getting some cum lipstick), open it at this page and slide it under my mattress so that it shows only a little -- enough to raise your curiosity. I also set up the computer: open a couple of "normal" windows, pointing to Google and the baseball scores on EPSN, and another one, hidden underneath, with a gallery of nice cumshots. I put the mouse on the edge of a magazine, and leave it that way. In about three minutes, the screensaver is going to kick in, but any minute movement around should get the mouse moving and the screen revert to normal. Then, I change into more "relaxed" clothes for the evening -- low-cut shorts, a t-shirt, no trunks. No point in looking like one of those guys on the covers of gay magazines, but the idea is to show off a little my wares. I go downstairs, and sit down on the couch next to you. - Hey Mom, watcha watching? - Hm, nothing, was going to cook something. Want to check out something in particular? - Mind if I change to the baseball highlights on ESPN? - Be my guest. You hand me the remote, and you go back to the kitchen. I'm a little disappointed -- my shorts are in a thin fabric, and the outline of my cock should be visible. Of course, I'm not erect, which might explain why I didn't even get a glance ... damn. Well, tomorrow morning, I'll make sure you get an eyefull of my "morning glory". I change the channel, and during the next commercial break, I go to the kitchen. You're there, preparing something simple but good (spaghetti with bolognese sauce, which I really like). A Game of Seduction - Care for a cocktail, Mom? - Isn't it a little early for this? - What? Come on, it's Friday evening. You have to have fun on Friday evenings, it's the Law. So? What's your poison of choice? - It's the law, eh? Make that a Margarita then. Not too strong though. I mix you one, forgetting about the "not too strong" part. I get myself a cool beer, and hand you your glass for a toast. - To what? - Well, Mom, I don't know. To this week-end? - Okay, to this week-end. Wow, Chris, I said not too strong. This stuff is flammable, I'm sure. - Is it? Let me try. Wow indeed. You know, Steve gave me the recipe, and I tried to adapt it accounting for his ... well, his taste in alcohol, but obviously I underestimated him. Want me to mix you another one? - No, no, that's okay. I'll drink it slow, otherwise you're going to have to put me to bed very early tonight. I raise my bottle to you, then go back to the TV. A little later, I hear you go upstairs and go to your room. I wait for a couple of minutes, then I call out. - Mom? You're upstairs? - Yes? - When you come down, could you please bring me something? - What is it? - In my room, there's a few comic books by the bed, title's "House of M". There are three of them, you should see them. - Okay, in a minute. - Thanks. I know exactly where the comic books were -- not by the bed, but on the desk, not far from the mouse. So I wait, my heart pumping furiously, my stomach feeling suddenly very light, my cock thickening a little by anticipation. Then I hear you come down, and I try and turn my head without showing too much eagerness when you come and hand me the comic books. - Oh, thank you. - Didn't found them in the first place by the bed, but I spotted them on your desk. You should clean your room, tomorrow, as you have the day off. Seems it's been a little too long since that place has been aired. - Sorry for that, Mom. Will do it, too. Thanks again. Is that a little blush I can see on your face? Have you found the nudie mag, seen the dirty website open on the computer? I know I can't go upstairs now, but how I would love to see whether the screensaver is still on or not... When I get back to my room after dinner, the screensaver is on, of course. Quickly, I check the nudie mag and the computer. I can't say for sure if the magazine has been displaced (though it seemed it's been slightly moved), but the windows order on the computer has been changed -- even if you have been careful to put the porn gallery at the back. Just in case, I turn the magazine to another picture (and others cummy lips), and put it back under the mattress. I turn to the computer, I smile, and I log on the chat rooms. About two hours later, I hear you come up to your room. You knock on my door. - Yes? You open the door a little. I make the movement of closing something quickly on the computer (hiding the chatroom window) and turn a little awkwardly towards you -- my cock making a little tent in my shorts under the desk. - Just wanted to say good night. I'm a little tired, and a good night sleep will make me good. - Okay Mom. Sleep tight. - Don't stay up too late, okay? I know you don't go to work tomorrow, but I want to go do some shopping at the mall in the morning, and I'd like you to come along. - Kay, Mom. G'night. You close the door, and I have the impression you have noticed my semi-hard on. I decide to spend another half hour in the chat rooms to see what I can find, but this is a slow evening. I hear you getting ready for bed, laying down for a quick read (like you always do) before switching the lights off. I have opened the hot story about the mother acting as her son's flirty date, and I reread again, feeling my cock harden as I imagine you and I in the same roles. I grab my cock as I read it, and start jerking off slowly, breathing hard and moaning just loud enough that you can hear it, but not too loud so that you think I'm trying to hide it. When I climax, shooting my cum in a bunch of tissues, I can help but moan your name. I stop and listen, afraid I've gone too far, but the house is silent. Then, I hear the tiny "click" of your bedside lamp being turned off. I wonder what you've heard -- and if you have listened to me. The following morning, I wake up with a raging hard-on -- even more than I usually do. It's around eight, and I can hear you downstairs in the kitchen. I put on a t-shirt and come down to meet you there. You're sitting by the table, a steaming cup in front of you, reading a magazine. I give you a light kiss on the cheek, then I move around as I prepare my breakfast -- cereals and milk. My cock makes a big tent in my shorts, and I make no efforts hiding it. When I sit down next to you, I move a little and quite naturally, the cockhead ends up pointing out of the trunks leg, alongside my thigh. Again, I act as if I wasn't aware of this, and begin eating my cereals hungrily. It takes all of my will not to cast a glance in your direction, but I definitely want it to appear natural, so I just assume you've seen my erection. Just thinking of you looking at my cock keeps me rock-hard, and when I stand up to clean up my bowl, I have to make a little ajustment not to be completely obscene -- and keep all things under wraps, safely tucked under the little tent of my trunks. - Mom, what time do you want to go to the mall? - Hm? Oh, I thought we could leave around nine thirty, maybe ten. I wasn't expecting you to be up around this time. - Well, seems I'm an early bird. So nine thrity, right? Going to grab a shower then. - Go ahead. I'll be up in a minute, I'll take the next shift. I go upstairs and quickly step in the toilets. I close the door, grab my cock and give it a few strokes, thinking of you, picturing you falling on your knees to suck hungrily on it ... and I cum on the spot, long strands of white cum that splatter on the porcelain. I milk my cock for the last drop, then I step out and get in the bathroom. I begin brushing my teeth, as I hear you climb up the stairs. As I expected, you go to the toilets, close the door behind you ... I hold my breath. A long moment of silence, then some watery noises. I finish brushing my teeth, and am about to step in the shower when I hear you flushing the toilets. For sure, shopping is going to be fun. Going to the mall with you is not something I usually enjoy. Usually, I spend most of my time getting bored waiting for you to get stuff for the house or checking out clothes, in the universal way males get bored in those situations, feeling completely out of place and having nothing better to do than looking at the ceiling and sighing a lot. But not this time. Today, I'm taking every opportunity to check out the women around us, and not very discreetly. Again, I do my best not to look at your reaction, trying to make it appear as the most normal behavior on my part. I am particularly pleased when I get the opportunity to oggle a forty-ish mother with a little top showing some cleavage, while ignoring completely her (otherwise cute) daughter. At one point, you have to stop in a lingerie shop, and surprising you a little, I insist I accompany you there. As you do your shopping, I check out some skimpy outfits, looking at the other consumers in the process -- focusing on those older women. I can see you considering two different outfits -- and clearly hesitating between them. I pick up another one, far more revealing than those, and hand it to you : "Mom, this one is far better than those two. Those might be suitable for someone's grandmother." You seem a little surprised, but you accept my suggestion and go to the dressing room to try them on. When you get back, you don't say a word, but you put back the two outfits I didn't like. I smile inwardly, feeling I've scored a point. Before we leave the mall, I ask you to wait a minute and I make a stop at a Blockbuster to rent three videos: an action flick, a chick flick, and a messy porn flick focusing on "Cream Queens". I pack them under my arm, and get back to the car where you are waiting for me. We get back home around eleven thirty, and I help you with the shopping bags. As I pick up the one from the lingerie shop, I tell you with a wink : "I hope you'll try it on for me". You blush a little, then answer "You wish" with a wink of yours. I go upstairs, change into something light (baggy shorts, no trunks, and a big t-shirt) and I lay on the couch in front of the TV. I want to think about how I'm going to maneuver today, and try and keep an eye on you. I've brought with me a couple of magazines -- with, of course, the one under my mattress. I put on some sports, and start reading some article. Whenever you happen to be around me, I act a little uneasy, with the magazine hidden under the others. I keep this until you call me for lunch. - So, Chris, what do you have planned for the afternoon? - Hm, I don't know. I thought I'd watch a movie, just to relax a little and avoid getting out in this heat. You know, I rented a couple of tapes this morning. - Yes, you kept me waiting for that. - Hey, don't complain, I chose one for you. There's a chick flick, you know, one of those things with Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks that we can watch together if you like. - Are there other options? - Well, there's also an action movie with Jackie Chan. And a ... an horror movie that Steve told me about, and I ... I wanted to check it out. - Oh, okay. - But if you want, after lunch I can put on the chick flick ... - You mean, the romantic one ... - Yeah, same difference ... oh no, Mom, I'm just teasing you. I don't mind those movies, you know, it's cute and sometimes I wish it could happen to me. It's just that in front of the guys ... well, I won't exactly boast about it, you know? - Okay. Well, why not the movie then. - That's a deal. About half an hour later, you are sitting on the couch and I'm putting a tape in the VCR. I've picked it up from the bag, and I know it's the porn movie. I put it in, and tell you I'm going to grab a drink before everything starts, and ask you if you want anything. I get you a Diet Coke and get one for me, and when I come back to the living room, you are sitting, a little surprised, in front of a trailer for "Cream Queens 2 & 3", complete with messy cumshots. I nearly spill my Coke, scramble to the VCR and stop the tape right away, and when I turn towards you I manage to blush. - I'm ... I'm sorry, Mom. It ... it must be the store, they might have ... mixed the tapes, maybe. - Yes, most certainly. (you say, with a knowing smile) So you don't have to apologize for it. Unless this is the ... horror movie that Steve had told you about. - Erm, no, absolutely not. It's ... I ... (busying myself, checking out the other tapes) Seems we have the Tom Hanks movie here. And the Jackie Chan movie is here. - So it is, indeed, the horror movie ... - ... that is missing. You know, I suppose, horror fans rent a lot of movies. Somehow, they might have mixed them bringing them back, someting like that. - But aren't the people at the store paid to sort them out and put them in the right boxes? - Oh, believe me, I work in a bookstore, I know how things are. Books are mislaid more often than not. - I didn't know that. I switch on the Tom Hanks movie, pick up my Coke and sit down next to you, a little sheepishly. You give me a gentle tap on the shoulder. I take a deep breath. Inside my baggy shorts, my cock is hard. After the movie credits start rolling, I yawn and strech a little. You turn to me: - Wake up, your ordeal is through. - Oh, it wasn't that bad ... - You sure? I think you would have enjoyed the other movie far more ... - Well, you know, Jackie Chan does pretty much always the same stuff. It's still enjoyable, but nothing too thrilling. And I rather enjoyed this one, even if it had its cheesy parts. - I wasn't thinking of this movie. - You mean ... oh, the "horror" movie. - Yes, the "horror" movie. - Nah. - No? Oh, come on, I can't believe that. It's nothing to be ashamed of, you know. - I'm not ashamed of it. It's just saying, well, porn movies are cool for a certain level, you know, when you're looking for something explicit and to the point and ... but as for enjoyment, the acting is bad, the stories are so lame, they don't rate that high in my opinion. - Honestly, you really care about the acting or the stories? - Sure. I mean, it's ridiculous the way that any situation, any scene can become an opportunity for sex. You know, the pizza delivery guy rings at the door, a girl opens, and two minutes later they are fucking their brains out in the patio. Give me a break. (you laugh) I mean, look at the movie we've just watched. There are plenty of moments where a porn movie would have easily moved the action towards something more horizontal. - Really? Like what? - Well, like the scene where they meet for the first time, you know, with the buffet. Where he tells her about the Godfather, I think. - Yes? - Well, in any porn movie, they chat, they go to a room, they fuck. And the movie carries on pretty much the same way afterwards. Same for the scene with his ex, when she comes to see him in his big office ... same conversation, but while they're doing it on the carpet. And voilà, change the title to "You've got male", and you're ready for rental. Of course, you'll have to throw in a couple more sex scenes ... - Like when she's got the flu? He could come in, and ... - Exactly -- see, it's easy. Well, this one is maybe too easy, since she's already in bed. No fun in doing that. But you know, the scene where he's on the boat with his father ... - You mean ... him and his father ...? - What? No, not that. But throw in the father's girlfriend, and they can be chatting together while she pleases both of them. Conversations like that are dull, spice them up with some pretty thing, and things start looking better. - Young pretty thing, you mean. - What? Oh, older is good too. The appeal of experience, plus the fantasy of doing one's friend's mother ... those things are big in those movies, believe me. Plus, some of those older ladies have superb bodies. - (you chuckle) Seems you are really into that stuff ... - Erm, no, not really. It cracks me up to look at them from this point of view, that's all. Some people I know spend most of their week-ends watching hours of porn, and I find that so sad. I mean, it's okay to be looking for some relief, but this ... that's freaky. Can't understand how they can enjoy it. Anyways. I stand up, and take the tape out of the VCR. I turn around, and with a wink: - So, since we just talked about all this, do you want to have a look at this "horror" movie? - Are you serious? - Yes. Not about watching it religiously together, but what if we play a little game? At the beginning of every scene, we try and guess how it ends up? What do you think? - I'm not sure ... - Hey, just to make things clear, I'll fast-forward through the naughty bits. I'm not in the mood for that kind of entertainment, but it's funny to discuss that with you. But if you don't feel like it, that's okay too. I don't want to push you, see? - Okay. Well, maybe we can try for a few scenes, then. - Deal. We start watching the tape. I'm sitting in front of the VCR, while you are still on the couch. I give you a nervous smile, just to get the opportunity to get a good look at you. I wonder if I'm only imagining you're a little flustered, if your breathing is a little quicker ... I turn back to the screen, where the first pictures appear. Of course, the tape starts with a bunch of trailers for other titles in the same collection, featuring extensive (and gooey) footage of the others "Cream Queens" and the companion collection, "Girls who swallow cum". Fast-forward. The movie begins, but it seems that there is very little done in terms of story. The first scene opens with a girl opening her door to some guys, they discuss a little about her wanting to become a "Cream Queen", and they get in the action soon after that. I fast-forward, moving to the next scene (and getting a few accelerated glimpses of the girl's cummy smile), but it ends up being very similar. Two fast-forwards later ... - I'm sorry, it seems that this is one of those tapes with no story, you know, just getting down to the dirty stuff. - Oh, that's okay. It's not like I've missed something special, I suppose. - Yeah. Well, sorry for that anyway ... I stop fast-forwarding, and let the tape roll. On the screen, a forty-ish blonde is getting into the action, and I can't but stop to watch it, mouth agape. The woman on the screen moans as she sucks, clearly enjoying it. Her heavy breasts move in rhythm, in a way that is very sensual and erotic. My cock is now standing to attention, and I nearly forget you are here, until you clear your throat. - Oh, sorry, Mom. I try to temporize a little, hoping for the first guy to cum in her mouth. With an eye still on the screen, I continue. - I ... I thought she looked a little like my math teacher in college, and ... do you remember her? I think you met her once or twice, for ... Well, would have been strange to imagine her doing that kind of movie. Anyways. On the screen, the first cumload drips from her hungry tongue, and she turns toward another guy. I switch the VCR off, and I eject the tape. - Well, that was instructive. Thanks Chris, for this little interlude. Now, if you don't mind, I have some more shopping to do this afternoon. I'll come back around six, okay? - Okay. You're not mad at me, are you? - What? Oh no, as I said ... it was instructive. I'm off. - Take care. As you exit the house, I push the tape back in the VCR, and, pulling my cock out of my pants to stroke it slowly, I watch the entire scene with the blonde, thinking of you, picturing you in her place, wishing I could cum again and again and again to coat your hungry tongue, to fill your mouth and cover your tits and leave you with the contended smile of the woman on the screen. I run to the toilets, and shoot long gooey strands all over the porcelain, my legs buckling under me, leaving me spent. I rewind the tape, put it back with the others and sit down on the sofa to watch some sports. At some point, I almost doze off ... You come back a little after six, with a couple of bags under your arm. - Found what you wanted? - Yeah, more or less ... - What did you get? - Couple of things ... a nice blouse, a skirt, and some other things ... - Well, I hope you're going to show me. Try them on ... - What, right now? - Why not? Do you have anything better to do? - Well, I'd like to take a shower first, maybe change a little ... - Go ahead with the shower, but show me what you got afterwards, okay? You make a face, but you finish by grumbling a "ok". I've got the intuition that the reluctancy is only on display for show, and that you enjoy this. You come back down ten minutes later, fresh after your shower, with your blouse and skirt on display. You say "tadaa!" and spread your arms without much enthusiasm. - Very nice. Turn around. - Oh come on, Chris, it's only something for work ... - No, it's nice. What else did you get? - A couple of pantyhose pairs and some socks. Want me to try them on too? - What about that thing you bought this morning? - What? - The neglige. Try it on. - Chris ... - Don't be shy, come on, try it on. You sigh, then, shaking your head, you climb up the stairs to your room. A couple of minutes later, you come back, wearing the neglige -- which is more than a little revealing, while still remaining decent. I whistle through my teeth, and you scowl a little. A Game of Seduction - Be careful, young man, this is your mother you're looking at. - Sorry Mom, just couldn't control myself. This is real nice ... wow. - You think so? - Definitely. Turn around, let me see. Not like that, put a little heart into it! That's better. Yes, very sexy. I like that. I see you blush a little, but you show a little smile. I make no movement to hide the bulge in my pants that has swollen since you walked down the stairs. I wonder if you've noticed it. You seem to relax a little, and take some sexy poses as I clap and whistle encouragingly. After a few minutes, you tell me "enough for today" and with a flourish, you turn around before you start climbing up the stairs, hips swinging sensuously. I stand at the bottom of the stairs, whistling, and you cast me a last glance over your shoulder. I'm rock hard in my pants. When you get down wearing more reasonnable clothes, and I can't help but notice you are a little flushed. I decide to push you a little more. - Hey Mom, why did you change? You were looking good in that little thing. - Well, I thought it was a little too little for me to wear it around the house. - I wouldn't complain ... I'm sure most of my friends would wonder who is that sexy thing that just moved in with me. - Sexy thing? Flattery won't get you anywhere, Romeo. - I'm serious! And I'm glad I had you buy that outfit, it's really far better than the ones you were considering. But I hope you'll wear it. You promise? - Sure. But I won't strut around the house with it, that's all. - Aw, you're no fun. And I mean, it's not "struting around the house", it's just being able to be confortable. Just like you can see me with my trunks on Sunday mornings, I never heard you accuse me of "struting", did you? - That's not the same thing ... - Why? It's exactly the same thing. I don't see why it should be any different. - Because ... - There's no because. It's just that you are not used to the idea, that you always dress up with those stern things, and I thing you should change with that. Okay, I've got an idea. You got upstairs, you change back to that little thing, and you spend the evening getting used to wearing it. - But ... - And just to make you feel a little more confortable, I'll do the same. I'll wear trunks, okay? Like a slumber party, but without the pajamas and with underwear instead. Is that something you can face? Hm? - I ... - So? Chickening out? - No, but ... - No? So that's a deal then. Go change, I'm doing the same. Meet you downstairs in five. I climb up the stairs, a smile on my face. This promises to be a fun evening. I decide to take my time. I know that you are going to take a little longer than me, and I don't want to give you the impression I'm impatient -- just want to keep the pretense that it's something completely innocent, that should feel absolutely normal. I take a deep breath, and wait until I can hear you walking down the stairs. I wait for another minute, then I follow you, wearing boxer shorts. You are sitting on the sofa, reading a magazine, wearing the outfit we've chosen together (matching panties and bra of white lace, nicely cut over the hips and showing quite a lot of cleavage) but with an additional flimsy robe hanging from your shoulders made of some transparent fabric. I sit down on the armchair facing the TV. - Tst tst tst. - What? - You're wearing far much than I am. - Well, no way I'm going to walk around topless, buster. - Oh no, I wasn't thinking of that. I was referring to this robe. - (rolling your eyes) Oh come on. Pl-ease. I'm already dumb enough to take you up on this stupid dare, so humor me and let me wear this robe. And it's not like it's hiding anything anyway, okay? - Okay. I was just teasing you, it's very nice, really. Shows off nicely the outfit. - Thank you. I switch on the TV, putting on some sports while you continue reading. From the corner of my eye, I see you looking in my direction once or twice, but I make no movement to indicate that this situation is anything but normal for me. In fact, I have used the armchair to hide my rising erection when I saw you in this outfit, and now I'm doing my best to not think of how hot you are -- by focusing on some dumb lacrosse game that I have absolutely no interest in. You stand up, asking me if I want something to drink. I grumble a "yes, Coke please" and get a good look of your lovely back as you turn towards the kitchen. The panties are really small at the back, and my cock becomes rock hard as I watch your ass swaying. Lacrosse, lacrosse -- gotta think lacrosse. When you get back, you hand me the Coke, bending a little which has your heavy breasts hanging a little, sending another shiver through my cock -- but I've reajusted it so the bulge doesn't show so much. "Thanks Mom", I say, and you take back your place on the sofa. As the lacrosse game comes to an end, I take a deep breath and ask you: - Hey, wanna see that action flick I've rented? - Is that anything like the "horror" movie? - Oh, I don't think so, I mean, this kind of mistake should be very rare, otherwise they would be out of business, I suppose. Want me to check to be sure? - Okay. What kind of movie is that? - It's a Jackie Chan movie, one of his last ones. I can't say I've heard it's very good, but you know, it's Jackie Chan, at least there's bound to be some cool action scenes, don't you think? - Why not ... what time is it, by the way? - Close to 7pm. We can eat afterwards, it shouldn't last two hours. You got anything planned? - Nothing. You? - Wanted to look at some stuff on the Internet tonight, but that can wait. Nothing else, no. - A young guy like you? How come you're not out there, seeing people? - Mom, I see people everyday at the bookstore, I've got enough of "seeing people" for the week. Let me enjoy my weekends at home, will you? You smile. I put the tape in the VCR, and the trailers before the movies are the usual array of Hong-Kong martial arts movies and Jackie Chan collection ads. - Looking good, Mom. Sounds like a legit Jackie Chan to me. - Good. - Mind if I sit on the sofa? - Not at all. I sit next to you, and focus on the movie, trying my best not to think of your near-naked body close to mine. The movie begins, and it doesn't take us long to realize that it's not one of the best Jackie Chan movies ever -- the plot is contrieved, Jackie himself looks a little tired ... I can feel you're losing interest and I can understand why. About midway into the movie, you go back to the kitchen to get us some refill. I pause the VCR, waiting for you to get back. - Oh, there was no need to pause it, you know. - Not very good, eh? I'm sorry Mom, seems I had a lousy hand picking movies today. - It's not your fault. You have to take chances, sometimes. But I'm not a Jackie Chan fan at the begining, so ... - Yeah, and the movie's real bad. So fan or no fan, that doesn't count. Want me to stop it altogether? - Oh no, we've started, we might as well go all the way, right? - I'm really surprised the story is so bad. I thought that only happened in porn movies. - Well Chris, correct me if I'm wrong, but they don't need stories for porn movies anymore, considering what we've seen this afternoon. - True. So you think they hired porn writers to script this movie? Doesn't seem so far-fetched, you know ... Hey, I've got an idea. - Another one? I'm careful now with your ideas ... - No no, this one should be fun. It's like this afternoon, but in reverse. - What do you mean? - Well, we watch the remaining of the movie, and we try to imagine what kind of scene the porn writer would have written if it had been a porn movie. - What kind of scene ... - Yes, like ... okay, let's do it. You see, this scene, right now, he's going to see the cousin of the guy that stole the idol, okay? And then, there's going to be a fight with the cousin, because she's been an accomplice all along ... - Okay, so what? - Well, in a porn movie ... she would have been wearing something more skimpy, and there would have been an altogether kind of fight. With their pangs of passion resulting in the same amount of destruction, with them doing it on the patio and toppling the vases and stuff. - Hm. I see. - Wanna play? Come on, if I'm the only one doing it, I'm going to feel ridiculous ... please ... - Why not? But I'm no good at that kind of thing ... - Don't worry, it's easy, you'll see. I press "play" on the VCR. At first, you don't seem to be really thrilled by this little game -- after all, it's something that you play when you're a bunch of hormone-driven young guys, after a few beers, and it's difficult to get in the mood with only two Cokes to cheer up the evening. Which means we are off to a slow start, and I'm the one trying to give a funny twist to the first scenes. I then propose I get you a drink, like a glass of wine, and I get back with the bottle that I lay by your side of the sofa, expecting you to refill your glass if need be. I get back to my station, crouching by the VCR, pausing the tape at each sequence, taking time to detail what happens afterwards. After a few scenes (and the first glass), you seem to warm up a little, and you begin to make some suggestions, little ones at first, then getting bolder as you sip a little more wine. Our language also now tends to slip a little, becoming more descriptive -- "he's going to take her on the couch", "she's got no panties and she's going to flash her pussy", "they are going to corner her and they'll force her to suck them". We get so much into it that, at some point, we end up encouraging the characters on screen to follow our version of the scenario ("come on, rip her clothes off!"). My cock is hard and throbbing against my thigh, hidden from your view. The movie comes to an end, and I sit down, legs crossed, by the VCR as the tape rewinds itself. I feel the fabric of my boxer shorts slide against my cock, and glancing quickly down, I can see that the head is poking out against the leg. I don't move, and act as if nothing happened. I turn towards you, I notice you are a little flushed. - Well, that was a real bad movie. We should have been hired as scripts, I thought the second part was far more entertaining, what do you think, Mom? - Hm, I ... I think I might have had one drink too many on an empty stomach. I'm going to prepare something to eat, okay? - Sounds good Mom. - Oh, erm ... and Chris ... - Yes? - I know we're among adults here, but you should be careful about staying PG-13. -??? - You're showing a little too much skin, buster. You wink at me, stand up and head for the kitchen. I put my cock back in my shorts, and hide a smile. I wait for a couple of minutes, then I follow you in the kitchen. I stop by the door frame, my eyes downcast, trying to look sheepish, my hands folded in front of me. - Erm, Mom? - Yes? - I'm ... I'm sorry about ... well, you know ... - About ...? Oh, that? Don't worry, I won't sue you for "emotional distress". Seems some of us got a little more into the game than others, I suppose ... You wink at me, and I do the best I can to blush and fidget a little. - Hey, buster, cheer up! That's not the end of the world. I know how young guys can be, I can understand ... and I suppose it's not the first time that happened, too bad you were not wearing enough clothes for it not to show ... - Yeah, I suppose ... you're not mad at me? - Of course not! You brush past me, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. I stand there, not moving as you move around the kitchen. - Want me to give you a hand? - Oh, that should be okay, I'm not preparing anything fancy, you know. - You sure? - If you really want to, you could wash some tomatoes, and cut them in slices ... - Consider it done. I jump in to help you, and for a moment we are happily preparing diner, in a little ballet in the kitchen, brushing past each other from time to time, always giving my cock a thrill as I feel your skin so close to mine. At one point, I grab a bowl from a cupboard and move a step back -- and bump into your bum. I apologize profusely, you just laugh at me for being so polite. This happens again, by accident, and I apologize again. But you seem to be in a teasing mood, and turn it into a game, bumping into me repeatedly, apologizing each time with a chuckle. Bum against bump, bum against hip, arm against back, shoulder against shoulder ... I play along, not letting my rising cock tying me down. I maneuver so that some of those "bumps" happen with the soft cushion of your breasts, while not being too obvious with it. You look happy, and it seems that you are a little disappointed when the diner preparation is over, and we don't have any more pretext for our "bumping" game. You are breathing hard from too much laughing, and I can't help but notice how your breasts seem a little more full, with the hint of the shape of the nipples showing through the thin fabric. As for myself, I know without having to look down that my cock is making a little tent of my trunks, with a damp spot at the tip. We take our little meal to the living room, where we sit down on the sofa and switch on the TV. This is when you seem to notice the state of my trunks. - Hey, young man, seems your hormones are running high of late. - Hormones? Who's talking about hormones? (I slap you on the thigh) Don't need no hormones when you've got that hot little number moving around the house! - Oh no -- that's definitely an hormones problem. Or your vision's gone bad all of a sudden. I'm just your old mother, remember? - You might be my mother, but there's nothing old about you. Believe me, or I wouldn't have told you to get yourself this outfit. Frankly, you look young and great and sexy. - Hm. Well, then if it's about the hormones, maybe I should go and cover all that up. - Oh come on, you're at it again. - At what? - You're taking any excuse not to wear that outfit. - No I'm not. - Yes you are. And you are staying here, and no covering up. And that's non-negotiable. - Oh, yessir. (an exaggerated sigh) Damn, Chris, you can be so bossy, at times. - You're not taking me seriously. - What if I am? - Then I ... then I'll spank you! You giggle, I laugh a little, and we begin eating. The meal is relaxed, and the whole topic seems to be forgotten. We watch some news, turn to a talk show and enjoy the beginning of this evening. Even the silly jokes of the show we watch together do nothing to dampen my horniness. From time to time, I just cast a glance at you and my cock regains instantly whatever hardness it might have lost in the meantime. I shift in my seat, and end up sitting with my back against the armrest, my legs folded under me -- and again, my cock pops out of my trunks' leg in the process, but I act as if I hadn't noticed it. I wonder if you are breathing a little harder, if your breasts are a little more tense. From the corner of my eye, I can see you looking down at my lap when you think I'm immersed in the show. You shift a little yourself, taking a more confortable position on your armrest, raising a knee with your foot resting on the edge of the seat. You move again, and I hear you give a little sigh. I cast a glance at you, following the tantalizing curves of your body -- and I nearly gasp when I notice that the crotch of your panties has moved a little, revealing a hint of hair and (but maybe that's me imagining it) moistness. My heart is beating like crazy, but I decide to try a little something. I shift a little, causing my cock to slide against my thigh, the skin exposing my throbbing cockhead. I hear another sigh, feel you change position, and when I look at your legs again, it seems that your panties are covering even less. I stretch myself, then sit back again normally, my legs extended in front of me, my cock pointing upwards against my thigh. I hold my breath, awaiting your next move. You reply by bringing both feet up on the sofa, knees right below your chin, your legs pointing towards me. My eyes flash downwards -- and indeed, your panties have slipped a little to the side, revealing part of a wet pussy lip. I swallow hard. I keep casting furtive glances at you, wondering if you are aware of this display or not. I can feel the wetness of my precum-covered cockhead throbbing against my thigh. I notice you looking in my direction, and ... ... I say "oh, sorry for that, Mom", and I slide my hand in my trunks, grab my cock through the leg of the trunks, make a planned false start (tangled in the fabric, which results in a little pull on my cock and nearly sends me cumming on the spot), then manage to pull it back inside to hide it from your view. Even though it still makes a big tent with a wet spot around the head, at least there is a semblance of decency. I look up at you, apologetic. You choose this moment to say "oops, seems this fabric is a little too small" and with one hand, pull the fabric back in a decent position -- but in the movement, giving me nearly a full flash of your pussy. You wiggle a little your ass after that, and I wonder if it is a little smile I can see on your lips. A few minutes later, I stand up (my cock still hard and pointing) and go to the toilets by the kitchen. I only push the door behind me, pull my cock out of my trunks, and very slowly, begin to stroke it. I let out a little moan of pleasure, hoping that you can hear me above the sound of the TV show. I just have to picture this sexy movement (your hand pulling the panties over your pussy), and it doesn't take me long to get close, oh so close... until I can't hold it anymore, and I moan "Mom" a little louder, and my cock erupts and splatters the porcelain with a long strand of cum. I cum again and again, so hard my legs tremble and I feel a little wobbly. I hear you enquire from the sofa -- "Chris, you called me?". I swallow and answer "Erm, yeah, false alarm. I ... I thought there was no paper left." I clean myself up, flush the toilets, wash my hands and get back to the sofa, flustered from my climax. Awkwardly relaxed (on purpose), I ask you if you don't want a refill of your drink, but you tell me you're fine. As I sit down my trunks slip a little upwards, and I'm sure that from where you are, you might be able to see my tired cock, with a last pearly drop still attached to the tip. I cannot help but notice that one of your hands is casually laying between your legs, and your cheeks are a little red -- or is it just a trick of the light? Shortly after that, the talk show we are watching comes to an end. I stifle a yawn, stand up and stretch. I tell you "Mom, I'm done with the TV tonight, going upstairs". I start for the stairs but you ask for a goodnight kiss -- I wrap my arms around your neck from behind, and smack a kiss on your cheek. From where I am, I have a superb view of your cleavage, your stomach and lower still, the enticing small panties. I feel my cock twitch again, I squeeze your shoulders once more, then I climb up, feeling your gaze following me. Once in my room, I turn on the computer, and spend the evening looking for sexy pics, thinking about you again, picturing you and those sexy moments, trying to imagine your reaction while I was ostensibly jerking off in the toilets. I hear you going to your room in the middle of the evening, manage to bump into you as you come out of the bathroom (with my cock back in shape), exchange a little joke with you before going to the toilets to put up another little audio show for you. Then, exhausted, I get back to my bed and fall asleep. The morning after, I wake up with my usual morning hard-on, and get down to the kitchen for breakfast. To my surprise, you're there already, wearing a rather revealing outfit -- even more than the one you had on the day before. Top and bottom are sporting quite a lot of lace, and there's a lot of skin exposed -- a hint of your nipples and quite a lot of your pussy hair in the front. The light nightie that you had on yesterday also does nothing to cover all this, and I react to it in the most natural way -- my cock hardening again.